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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Golden Face
A Tale of the Wild West
By Bertram Mitford
Published by Trischler and Company, London.
This edition dated 1892.
Golden Face, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
GOLDEN FACE, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
PREFACE.
An impression prevails in this country that for many years past the Red
men of the American Continent have represented a subdued and generally
deteriorated race. No idea can be more erroneous. Debased, to a
certain extent, they may have become, thanks to drink and other
"blessings" of civilisation; but that the warrior-spirit, imbuing at any
rate the more powerful tribes, is crushed, or that a semi-civilising
process has availed to render them other than formidable and dangerous
foes, let the stirring annals of Western frontier colonisation for the
last half-century in general, and the Sioux rising of barely a year ago
in particular, speak for themselves.
This work is a story--not a history. Where matters historical have been
handled at all the Author has striven to touch them as lightly as
possible, emphatically recognising that when differences arise between a
civilised Power and barbarous races dwelling within or beyond its
borders, there is invariably much to be said on both sides.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE WINTER CABIN.
"Snakes! if that ain't the war-whoop, why then old Smokestack Bill never
had to keep a bright lookout after his hair."
Both inmates of the log cabin exchanged a meaning glance. Other
movement made they none, save that each man extended an arm and reached
down his Winchester rifle, which lay all ready to his hand on the heap
of | 659.175341 |
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Produced by Markus Brenner, Irma Spehar 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.)
BLOOD and IRON
_Origin of German Empire
As Revealed by Character
of Its Founder, Bism | 659.273356 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
CHILD'S OWN BOOK
_of Great Musicians_
SCHUMANN
[Illustration]
_By_
THOMAS TAPPER
THEODORE PRESSER CO.
1712 CHESTNUT STREET
PHILADELPHIA
[Illustration]
Directions for Binding
Enclosed in this envelope is the cord and the needle with which to bind
this book. Start in from the outside as shown on the diagram here. Pass
the needle | 659.273365 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Inglises, by Margaret Murray Robertson.
________________________________________________________________________
Margaret Robertson generally wrote about rather religion-minded people,
and this is no exception. The women in her stories tend to moan on a
good bit, and this book is also no exception to that. Having said that,
don't say I didn't warn you. However, like all novels of the second
half of the nineteenth century, they are about a bygone age, and things
were different then. For that reason it is worth reading books of that
period if you want to know more about how people lived in those days.
One very big difference was illness. Nowadays, you go to the doctor,
and very probably he or she will be able to cure you. In those days you
either died or were confined to your bed for a long time. If you died
but had been responsible for income coming into the house, in many cases
that stopped, too. The women-folk and the children would be left
without support. No wonder they moaned a lot, and turned to religion,
to comfort themselves. It is hard for us to realise what huge progress
has been made in social reforms. Reading this book, and others of that
period (this book was published in 1872) will teach a lot about how
lucky we are to live in the present age, despite all its other faults.
________________________________________________________________________
THE INGLISES, BY MARGARET MURRAY ROBERTSON.
CHAPTER ONE.
In the large and irregular township of Gourlay, there are two villages,
Gourlay Centre and Gourlay Corner. The Reverend Mr Inglis lived in the
largest and prettiest of the two, but he preached in both. He preached
also in another part of the town, called the North Gore. A good many of
the Gore people used to attend church in one or other of the two
villages; but some of them would never have heard the Gospel preached
from one year's end to the other, if the minister had not gone to them.
So, though the way was long and the roads rough at the best of seasons,
Mr Inglis went often to hold service in the little red school-house
there. It was not far on in November, but the night was as hard a night
to be out in as though it were the depth of winter, Mrs Inglis thought,
as the wind dashed the rain and sleet against the window out of which
she and her son David were trying to look. They could see nothing,
however, for the night was very dark. Even the village lights were but
dimly visible through the storm, which grew thicker every moment; with
less of rain and more of snow, and the moaning of the wind among the
trees made it impossible for them to hear any other sound.
"I ought to have gone with him, mamma," said the boy, at last.
"Perhaps so, dear. But papa thought it not best, as this is Frank's
last night here."
"It is quite time he were at home, mamma, even though the roads are
bad."
"Yes; he must have been detained. We will not wait any longer. We will
have prayers, and let the children go to bed; he will be very tired when
he gets home."
"How the wind blows! We could not hear the wagon even if he were quite
near. Shall I go to the gate and wait?"
"No, dear, better not. Only be ready with the lantern when he comes."
They stood waiting a little longer, and then David opened the door and
looked out.
"It will be awful on Hardscrabble to-night, mamma," said he, as he came
back to her side.
"Yes," said his mother, with a sigh, and then they were for a long time
silent. She was thinking how the wind would find its way through the
long-worn great coat of her husband, and how unfit he was to bear the
bitter cold. David was thinking how the rain, that had been falling so
heavily all the afternoon, must have gullied out the road down the north
side of Hardscrabble hill, and hoping that old Don would prove himself
sure-footed in the darkness.
"I wish I had gone with him," said he, again.
"Let us go to the children," said his mother.
The room in which the children were gathered was bright with
fire-light--a picture of comfort in contrast with the dark and stormy
night out upon which these two had been looking. The mother shivered a
little as she drew near the fire.
"Sit here, mamma."
"No, sit here; this is the best place." The eagerness was like to grow
to clamour.
"Hush! children," said the mother; "it is time for prayers. We will not
wait for papa, because he will be very tired and cold. No, Letty, you
need not get the books, there has been enough reading for the little
ones to-night. We will sing `Jesus, lover of my soul,' and then David
will read the chapter."
"Oh! yes, mamma, `Jesus, lover;' I like that best," said little Mary,
laying her head down on her mother's shoulder, and her little shrill
voice joined with the others all through, though she could hardly speak
the words plainly.
"That's for papa," said she, when they reached the end of the last line,
"While the tempest still is high."
The children laughed, but the mother kissed her fondly, saying softly:
"Yes, love; but let us sing on to the end."
It was very sweet singing, and very earnest. Even their cousin, Francis
Oswald, whose singing in general was of a very different kind, joined in
it, to its | 666.045567 |
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Produced by Brian Coe, Graeme Mackreth 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: ThePocketBooks]
[Illustration: ThePocketBooks]
THE GERMAN FLEET
_BEING THE COMPANION VOLUME TO "THE FLEETS AT WAR"
AND "FROM HELIGOLAND TO KEELING ISLAND."_
BY
ARCHIBALD HURD
AUTHOR (JOINT) OF "GERMAN SEA-POWER, ITS RISE, PROGRESS
AND ECONOMIC BASIS."
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXV
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. PAST ASCENDENCY 19
II. THE FIRST GERMAN FLEET 26
III. GERMANY'S FLEET IN THE LAST CENTURY 51
IV. BRITISH INFLUENCE ON THE GERMAN NAVY 80
V. THE GERMAN NAVY ACTS 93
VI. GERMAN SHIPS, OFFICERS, AND MEN 142
VII. WILLIAM II. AND HIS NAVAL MINISTER 155
APPENDIX I.--GERMANY'S NAVAL POLICY 183
APPENDIX II.--BRITISH AND GERMAN SHIP-BUILDING
PROGRAMMES 189
INTRODUCTION
In the history of nations there is probably no chapter more fascinating
and arresting than that which records the rise and fall and subsequent
resurrection of German sea-power.
In our insular pride, conscious of our glorious naval heritage, we are
apt to forget that Germany had a maritime past, and that long before
the German Empire existed the German people attained pre-eminence in
oversea commerce and created for its protection fleets which exercised
commanding influence in northern waters.
It is an error, therefore, to regard Germany as an up-start naval
Power. The creation of her modern navy represented the revival
of ancient hopes and aspirations. To those ambitions, in their
unaggressive form, her neighbours would have taken little exception;
Germany had become a great commercial Power with colonies overseas, and
it was natural that she should desire to possess a navy corresponding
to her growing maritime interests and the place which she had already
won for herself in the sun.
The more closely the history of German sea-power is studied the more
apparent it must become, that it was not so much Germany's Navy
Acts, as the propaganda by which they were supported and the new and
aggressive spirit which her naval organisation brought into maritime
affairs that caused uneasiness throughout the world and eventually
created that feeling of antagonism which found expression after the
opening of war in August, 1914.
In the early part of 1913 I wrote, in collaboration with a friend who
possessed intimate knowledge of the foundations and the strength of the
German Empire, a history of the German naval movement,[1] particular
emphasis being laid on its economic basis. In the preparation of
the present volume I have drawn upon this former work. It has been
impossible, however, in the necessarily limited compass of one of
the _Daily Telegraph_ War Books, to deal with the economic basis
upon which the German Navy has been created. I believe that the
chapters in "German Sea-Power" with reference to this aspect of German
progress--for which my collaborator was responsible and of which,
therefore, I can speak without reserve--still constitute a unique
presentation of the condition of Germany on the eve of the outbreak of
war.
Much misconception exists as to the staying power of Germany. The
German Empire as an economic unit is not of mushroom growth. Those
readers who are sufficiently interested in the subject of the basis
of German vitality, will realise vividly by reference to "German
Sea-Power" the deep and well-laid foundations upon which not only the
German Navy, but the German Empire rest.
Whether this history should be regarded as the romance of the German
Navy or the tragedy of the German Navy must for the present remain an
open question. In everyday life many romances culminate in tragedy,
and the course of events in the present war suggest that the time may
be at hand when the German people will realise the series of errors
committed by their rulers in the upbuilding of German sea-power. Within
the past fifteen years it is calculated that about £300,000,000 has
been spent in the maintenance and expansion of the German Fleet, the
improvement of its bases, and the enlargement of the Kiel Canal. Much
of this money has been raised by loans. Those loans are still unpaid;
it was believed by a large section of the German people that Great
Britain, hampered by party politics and effete in all warlike pursuits,
would, after defeat, repay them. That hope must now be dead.
The German people, as the memorandum which accompanied the Navy Act
of 1900 reveals, were led to anticipate that the Fleet, created by
the sacrifice of so much treasure, would not only guarantee their
shores against aggression, but would give absolute protection to their
maritime and colonial interests, and would, eventually, pay for itself.
The time will come when they will recognise that from the first they
have been hoodwinked and deceived by those in authority over them. It
may be that German statesmen, and the Emperor himself, were themselves
deceived by the very brilliance of the dreams of world power which they
entertained and by the conception which they had formed of the lack of
virility, sagacity and prescience of those responsible for the fortunes
of other countries, and of Great Britain in particular.
German Navy Acts were passed in full confidence that during the period
when they were being carried into effect the rest of the world would
stand still, lost in admiration of Germany's culture and Germany's
power. The mass of the German people were unwilling converts to the
new gospel. They had to be convinced of the wisdom of the new policy.
For this purpose a Press Bureau was established. Throughout the
German States this organisation fostered, through the official and
semi-official Press, feelings of antagonism and hatred towards other
countries, and towards England and the United States especially,
because these two countries were Germany's most serious rivals in the
commercial markets of the world, and also possessed sea-power superior
to her own.
It is interesting to recall in proof of this dual aim of German policy
the remarks of von Edelsheim, a member of the German General Staff, in
a pamphlet entitled "Operationen Ubersee."[2]
The author, after first pointing out the possibility of invading
England, turned his attention to the United States.[ | 666.060543 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.]
ANATOLE FRANCE
BY
GEORGE BRANDES
MEN OF CONTEMPORARY LETTERS SERIES
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
MCMVIII
[Illustration: ANATOLE FRANCE--Bust by Lavergne]
The true author is recognisable by the existence on every page of his
works of at least one sentence or one phrase which none but he could
have written.
Take the following sentence: "If we may believe this amiable shepherd
of souls, it is impossible for us to elude divine mercy, and we shall
all enter Paradise--unless, indeed, there be no Paradise, which is
exceedingly probable." It treats of Renan. It must be written by a
disciple of Renan's, whose humour perhaps allows itself a little more
licence than the master's. More we cannot say.
But take this: "She was the widow of four husbands, a dreadful woman,
suspected of everything except of having loved--consequently honoured
and respected." There is only one man who can have written this. It
jestingly indicates the fact that society forgives woman everything
except a passion, and communicates this observation to the reader, as
it were with a gentle nudge.
Or take the following: "We should not love nature, for she is not
lovable; but neither should we hate her, for she is not deserving of
hatred. She is everything. It is very difficult to be everything. It
results in terrible heavy-handedness and awkwardness."
There is only one man who would excuse Nature for her indifference to
us human beings in these words: "It is very difficult to be everything | 666.275175 |
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Produced by David Widger
ATALA
By Francois Auguste de Chateaubriand
Illustrated by Gustave Dore
[Illustration: 005]
INTRODUCTION.
Among the illustrious names which adorn the annals of France, that of
Francois Auguste de Chateaubriand, the author of "Atala," "Les Martyrs,"
"The Last of the Abencerages," and many other brilliant and renowned
works, occupies a proud pre-eminence. But his fame rests not merely upon
his literary achievements. His services as a statesman and the record
and example of his private life-even his sufferings and misfortunes-have
served to enhance his reputation and endear his memory, both among
his own countrymen, and among just, noble and patriotic minds in other
lands. He was great both by his character and abilities; and, while his
celebrity is undiminished by the lapse of time, his works are still read
and will long continue to be read and admired, even through all
changes in the manners and sentiments of mankind. Fashions and modes in
literature and art, as in society, come and go; new institutions
arise, demanding new methods and modifying cherished customs; and men's
thoughts enlarge and widen with improved conditions, as with the
inevitable progress of the age. But the master mind ever asserts its
power. He who has once truly stirred the human heart in its purest
depths speaks not alone to his own generation, but appeals to all other
hearts and belongs to all his race. His good gifts are the birthright
of the world. The rank of Chateaubriand has been fixed by the united
judgment of his associates and his successors; and since time has
allayed the fierce passions which raged in France during his lifetime,
his character is more and more deeply respected and admired. His
sincerity of purpose and enlightened understanding, his grandeur and
nobility of thought, his energy of action and loftiness of aim, preserve
for him ever his exalted position, made brilliant by the fires of genius
and perpetuated by the force of truth.
Chateaubriand was born at St. Malo in September, 1768, and died in
Paris, after an active and most eventful career, on the fourth of July,
1848. The earlier portion of his life was passed in the quiet of his
home at Combourg. At the termination of his collegiate training at Dole
and Rennes, he entered the army, in which he soon gained promotion. At
about the age of nineteen he was presented at court, became acquainted
with the fashionable world, and was received and welcomed into the
choicest literary circles of Paris, where he gained the friendship of La
Harpe, Fontanes, Malesherbes, and others among the distinguished savants
of that period. It was a troubled and stormy epoch in France. The social
and political forces which culminated in the great Revolution were
beginning to be seriously felt, and faction, turbulence and anarchy
were already rife in Paris when Chateaubriand left his native shores for
America, moved by a desire to discover the northwest passage, but also
with an attendant purpose, long cherished, of observing the mode of life
and studying the characteristics of the aborigines, for the purpose
of embodying in his writings the impressions thus gained of man in a
primitive condition.
From this period to the time of his death his life was a singular series
of vicissitudes--at one time the brilliant and revered statesman, at
another the voluntary abdicator of all his rights and honors; and even,
at one bitter passage of his existence, living in an unwarmed London
garret and obtaining a precarious livelihood by giving lessons in his
native tongue and translating for the booksellers.
The utter upheaval of affairs in France brought the greatest distress
upon himself, his family and his immediate friends, and, with the
sensitive heart of genius, the blows which had fallen so keenly
doubtless engendered the melancholy cast with which his writings are
sometimes tinged. His first work, an idyllic poem, showed little of
the genius so finely developed in after years; but his finest literary
productions--"The Martyrs," "The Last of the Abencerages" and
"The Genius of Christianity," to which "Atala" and "Rene" properly
belong--remain a splendid monument to his powers and exhibit his earnest
desire to be numbered among the benefactors and enlighteners of mankind.
The present work, "Atala," is the gathered fruit of his previous studies
amid the wilds of America. It abounds in sparkling description, romantic
incident and sentiments tender and heroic. It is pervaded by purity of
tone and elevation of thought, qualities the more commendable and marked
because produced in an age proverbially lax and frivolous.
The illustrations of M. Dore have given an additional value to this
tale, so simple, so unsophisticated, yet blooming with all the wild
luxuriance of nature. The artist has added his gifts to those of the
poet; and those acquainted only with his ready and original powers as
the delineator of farce and drollery, or of the exceptionally tragic and
horrible, will find new cause for admiration in these quiet renderings
of the primeval beauties of the American wild--its plains and forests,
its still lagoons and roaring cataracts, its mountain <DW72>s and deep
defiles--all its aspects of rudest workmanship--and will welcome these
efforts of his genius in the lovely realm of descriptive art, wedded as
they are to the exquisite simplicity of this Indian romance. As in
his other works, here may be noted the same surpassing fertility of
resource, the same alertness of intellect and readiness and swiftness of
touch; but there may also be found new proofs of his complete sympathy
with all that is picturesque in forest beauty and his high intuitive
perception of every possible phase of nature in her wildest caprice and
most tender bloom.
We append the following extracts from different prefaces to the author's
writings, as constituting what is explanatory of the story that follows:
[From the Preface to the First Edition.]
"I was still very young when I conceived the idea of composing an epic
on 'The Man of Nature,' to depict the manners of savages, by uniting
them with some well-known event. After the discovery of America, I saw
no subject more interesting, especially to Frenchmen, than the massacre
of the Natchez colony in Louisiana, in 1727. All the Indian tribes
conspiring, after two centuries of oppression, for the restoration of
liberty to the New World, appeared to me to offer a subject almost as
attractive as the conquest of Mexico. I put some fragments of the work
to paper; but I soon found that I was weak in local coloring, and
that, if I wished to produce a picture of real resemblance, it became
necessary for me, in imitation of Homer's example, to visit the tribes I
was desirous of describing.
"In 1789 I made M. de Malesherbes acquainted with my idea of going to
America; but, wishing at the same time to give a useful object to my
voyage, I formed the project of discovering the overland passage so long
sought after, and concerning which even Captain Cook himself had left
some doubts. I started, visited the American solitudes, and returned
with plans for a second voyage, which was to last nine years. I proposed
to traverse the entire continent of North America, afterwards to explore
the coasts to the north of California, and to return by Hudson's Bay,
rounding the pole. M. de Malesherbes undertook to submit my plans to the
Government, and it was then that he listened to the first fragments of
the little work I now offer to the public. The Revolution put a stop
to all my projects. Covered with the blood of my only brother, of my
s | 666.646188 |
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Produced by Ralph Zimmerman, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
PECK'S BAD BOY WITH THE COWBOYS
By George W. Peck.
Author of Peck's Bad Boy Abroad, Pe | 666.745573 |
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Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed
Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org)
The
Emily Emmins Papers
By
Carolyn Wells
With Illustrations by
Josephine A. Meyer
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1907
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
TO
EDITH MENDALL-TAYLOR
IN MEMORY OF
PICCADILLY
[Illustration] CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A TICKET TO EUROPE 1
II. CROSSING THE ATLANTIC 23
III. “IN ENGLAND—NOW!” 45
IV. MAYFAIR IN THE FAIR MONTH OF MAY 67
V. A HOSTESS AT HOME 86
VI. THE LIGHT ON BURNS’S BROW 106
VII. CERTAIN SOCIAL UNCERTAINTIES 126
VIII. A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY 146
IX. ALL IN A GARDEN FAIR 167
X. “I WENT AND RANGED ABOUT TO MANY CHURCHES” 186
XI. PICCADILLY CIRCUS AND ITS ENVIRONS 208
XII. THE GAME OF GOING ON 230
XIII. A FRENCH WEEK-END 252
Transcriber's Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
THE EMILY EMMINS PAPERS
[Illustration] _I._ _A Ticket to Europe_
It has always seemed to me a pity that nearly all of the people one
meets walking in New York are going somewhere. I mean they have some
definite destination. Thus they lose the rare delight, that all too
little known pleasure, of a desultory stroll through the city streets.
For myself, I know of no greater joy than an aimless ramble along the
crowded metropolitan thoroughfares. Nor does _ramble_ imply, as some
might mistakenly suppose, a slow, dawdling gait. Not at all; the
atmosphere of the city itself inspires a brisk, steady jog-trot; but the
impression of a ramble is inevitable if the jog-trot have no intended
goal.
I am a country woman,—that is, I live in a suburban town; but it is
quite near enough to the metropolis for us to consider ourselves
near-New Yorkers. And Myrtlemead is a dear little worth-while place in
its own way. We have a Current Culture Club and a Carnegie library and
several of us have telephones. I am not a member of the Club, but that
must not be considered as any disparagement of my culture—or, rather,
of my capacity for assimilating culture (for the Club’s aim is the
disbursement of that desirable commodity). On the contrary, I was among
the first invited to belong to it.
[Illustration: Oh! yes, you have temperament, she twittered.]
“You must be a member, Miss Emmins,” said the vivacious young thing who
called to lay the matter before me, “because you have so much
temperament.”
This word was little used in Myrtlemead at this time (although, since,
it has become as plenty as blackberries), and I simply said “What!” in
amazement.
“Oh! yes, you have,” she twittered, “and you create an atmosphere. Don’t
attempt to deny it,—you know you do create an atmosphere.” This was too
much. I didn’t join the Club, although I occasionally look in on them at
their cultured tea hour, which follows the more intellectual part of
their programme. As they have delicious chicken-salad and hot rolls and
coffee, I find their culture rather comforting than otherwise.
Living so near New York, I find it convenient to run into the city
whenever I hear it calling.
[Illustration: Lilacs blossom along the curb]
In the spring its calls are especially urgent. I know popular sympathy
leans toward springtime in the country, but for my part, as soon as
March has blown itself away, and April comes whirling along the cleared
path of the year, I hurry to keep my annual appointment to meet Spring
in New York. The trees are budding in the parks, daffodils and tulips
are blooming riotously on the street-corners, while hyacinths and lilacs
blossom along the curb. A pearl-colored cloud is poised in that intense
blue just above the Flatiron Building, and the pretty city girls smile
as they prank along in their smart spring costumes behind their violet
mows. The birds twitter with a sophisticated chirp, and the
street-pianos respond with a brisk sharpness of tune and time. The very
air is full of an urban ozone, that is quite different from the romantic
lassitude of spring in the country.
Of course, all this is a matter of individual taste. I prefer walking in
dainty boots, along a clean city pavement, while another equally sound
mind might vote for common-sense shoes and a rough country road.
[Illustration: Common-sense shoes and a rough country road.]
And so, as I, Emily Emmins, spinster, have the full courage of my own
convictions, I found myself one crisp April morning walking happily
along the lower portion of Broadway. Impulse urged me on toward the
Battery, but, as often happens, my impulse was side-tracked. And all
because of a woman’s smiling face. I was passing the offices of the
various steamship companies, and I saw, coming down the steps of one of
them, a young woman whose countenance was positively glorified with joy.
I couldn’t resist a second glance at her, and I saw that both her hands
were filled with circulars and booklets.
It required no clairvoyance to understand the situation; she had just
bought her first ticket to Europe, and it was the glorious achievement
of a lifelong desire. I knew, as well as if she had told me, how she had
planned and economized for it, and probably studied all sorts of
text-books that she might properly enjoy her trip, and make it an
education as well as a pleasure. And as I looked at the gay-colored
pamphlets she clutched, I was moved to go in and acquire a few for
myself.
With Emily Emmins, to incline is to proceed; so I stepped blithely into
the big light office and requested booklets. They were bestowed on me in
large numbers, the affable clerk was most polite, and,—well, I’m sure I
don’t know how it happened, but the first thing I knew I was paying a
deposit on my return ticket to Liverpool.
I may as well confess, at the outset, that I am of a chameleonic nature.
I not only take color from my surroundings, but reflect manners and
customs as accurately and easily as a mirror. And so, in that great,
business-like office, with its maps and charts and time-tables and
steamer plans, the only possible thing to do seemed to be to buy my
ticket, and I did so. But I freely admit it was entirely the influence
of the ocean-going surroundings that made the deed seem to me a casual
and natural one. No sooner had I regained the street, with its spring
air and stone pavement, than I realized I had done something unusual and
perhaps ill-advised. However, a chameleonic nature implies an ability to
accept a situation, and after one jostled moment I walked uptown,
planning as I went.
Two days later the postman brought me an unusually large budget of mail.
The first letter I opened caused me some surprise, and a mild amusement.
It began, quite cosily:
MISS EMILY EMMINS.
_Dear Madam_: Learning that you intend sailing from New York in
the near future, I take the liberty of calling your attention to
the Hotel Xantippe as a most desirable stopping place during
your stay in this city.
The letter went on to detail the advantages and charms of the hotel, and
gave a complete list of rates, which, for the comforts and luxuries
promised, seemed reasonable indeed! But how in the world did the urbane
proprietor of the Hotel Xantippe know that I contemplated a trip abroad?
I hadn’t yet divulged my secret to my fellow-residents of Myrtlemead,
and how an utter stranger could learn of it, was a puzzle to me. But the
other letters were equally amazing. One from a dry-goods emporium
besought me to inspect their wares before going abroad to buy. Another
begged me to purchase their shoes, and gave fearful warnings of the
shortcomings of English footgear. Another, and perhaps the most
flattering, requested the honor of taking my photograph before I sailed.
But one and all seemed not only cognizant of my recently formed plans,
but entirely approved of them, and earnestly desired to assist me in
carrying them out.
With my willingness to accept a situation, I at once assumed that
somehow the news of my intended departure had crept into one or other of
the New York daily papers. I couldn’t understand why this should be, but
surely the only possible explanation was my own prominence in the public
eye. This, I placidly admitted to myself, was surprising, but
gratifying. To be sure, I had written a few nondescript verses, and an
occasional paper on some foolish thing as a fine art, but I had not
reached the point where my name was mentioned among “What Our Authors
are Saying and Doing.”
However—alas for my vainglory! | 666.766615 |
2023-11-16 18:28:10.8867020 | 7,436 | 8 | WEAKNESS***
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Royal Society of Canada Series.
No. 1.
OUR INTELLECTUAL STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS.
* * * * * *
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
Parliamentary Practice and Procedure, with a review of the origin,
growth, and operation of parliamentary institutions in Canada. And
an Appendix containing the British North America Act of 1867 and
amending acts, Governor-General's commission and instructions, forms of
proceeding in the Senate and House of Commons, etc.; 2nd ed., revised
and enlarged, 8vo., pp. 970, cloth and calf. Montreal: Dawson Bros.,
1892. $8.
A Manual of the Constitutional History of Canada, from the earliest
period to the year 1888, including the B. N. A. Act of 1867, and a
digest of judicial decisions on questions of legislative jurisdiction.
12mo. pp. 238. Montreal: Dawson Bros. Cloth, $1.25.
Canadian Studies in Comparative Politics: I. Canada and English
Institutions; II. Canada and the United States; III. Canada and
Switzerland. Large 4to. pp. 100. Montreal: Dawson Bros. Cloth, $1.
Local Government in Canada. 8vo. pp. 72. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Studies. Paper, 50c.
Federal Government in Canada. 8vo. pp. 172. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins
University Studies, 1889. Paper, 50c.
Parliamentary Government in Canada: an historical and constitutional
study. Annals of American Historical Association. 8vo. pp. 98.
Washington: Government Printing Office, 1893. Paper, $1.
Descriptive and Historical Account of the Island of Cape Breton,
and of its Memorials of the French Regime, with bibliographical,
historical and critical notes, and old maps; plans and illustrations
of Louisbourg. Large 4to. pp. 180. Montreal: Foster Brown & Co., 1892.
Fancy cloth, $3.
* * * * * *
Royal Society of Canada Series.
OUR INTELLECTUAL STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS
A Short Historical and Critical Review of Literature,
Art and Education in Canada,
by
J. G. BOURINOT, C.M.G., LL.D., D.C.L., D.L. (LAVAL).
Author of "Cape Breton and Its Memorials of the French Regime," and of
Several Works on Federal and Parliamentary Government
in the Dominion of Canada.
Montreal:
Foster Brown & Co.
London:
Bernard Quaritch.
1893
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada by J. G. BOURINOT, in
the Office of the Minister of Agriculture, in the year 1893.
Gazette Printing Company, Montreal.
To my Friends
SIR J. W. DAWSON, (C.M.G., F.R.S.C., LL.D.)
AND
MONSIGNOR HAMEL, (M.A., F.R.S.C.),
WHO REPRESENT THE CULTURE AND LEARNING OF THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH
ELEMENTS OF THE CANADIAN PEOPLE,
I dedicate
THIS SHORT REVIEW OF THE INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT
OF THE NEW DOMINION.
PREFATORY NOTE.
This monograph on the intellectual development of the Dominion was
delivered in substance as the presidential address to the Royal Society
of Canada at its May meeting of 1893, in Ottawa. Since then the author
has given the whole subject a careful revision, and added a number of
bibliographical and other literary notes which could not conveniently
appear in the text of the address, but are likely to interest those who
wish to follow more closely the progress of culture in a country still
struggling with the difficulties of the material development of half
a continent. This little volume, as the title page shows, is intended
as the commencement of a series of historical and other essays which
will be periodically reproduced, in this more convenient form for the
general reader, from the large quarto volumes of the Royal Society of
Canada, where they first appear.
OTTAWA, 1st October, 1893.
ANALYSIS OF CONTENTS.
I.--P. 1.
Introductory remarks on the overestimate of material success in
America; citation from an oration on the subject by James
Russell Lowell; application of his remarks to Canadians.
II.--P. 4.
Three well defined eras of development in Canada; the French regime
and its heroic aspect; the works of Champlain, Lescarbot,
Potherie, Le Clercq, Charlevoix and others; evidences of some
culture in Quebec and Montreal; the foundation of the Jesuit
College and the Seminaries; Peter Kalm on the study of science;
the mental apathy of the colony generally in the days of French
supremacy.
III.--P. 9.
The period of political development from 1760-1840, under English
government; low state of popular education; growth of the press;
influence of the clergy; intellectual contests in legislative
halls; publication of "Sam Slick"; development of a historical
literature.
IV.--P. 14.
An era of intellectual as well as material activity commences in 1840,
after the concession of responsible government; political life
still claims best intellects; names of prominent politicians and
statesmen from 1840-1867; performance in literature and science;
gross partisanship of the press; poems of Crémazie, Howe,
Sangster and others; histories of Christie, Bibaud, Garneau and
Ferland.
V.--P. 19.
Historical writers from 1867-1893--Dent, Turcotte, Casgrain, Sulte,
Kingsford, etc.; Canadian poets--LeMay, Reade, Mair, Roberts,
Carman and others; critical remarks on the character of French
and English Canadian poetry; comparison between Canadian and
Australian writers; patriotic spirit of Canadian poems.
VI.--P. 27.
Essay writing in Canada; weakness of attempts at fiction; Richardson's
"Wacousta"; De Gaspé's "Anciens Canadiens"; Kirby's "Golden
Dog"; Marmette's "F. de Bienville," among best works of this
class; Professor De Mille and his works; successful efforts of
Canadians abroad--Gilbert Parker, Sara Jeannette Duncan and L.
Dougall; general remarks on literary progress during half a
century; the literature of science in Canada eminently
successful.
VII.--P. 33.
A short review of the origin and history of the Royal Society of
Canada; its aim, the encouragement of the literature of learning
and science, and of original ethnographical, archæological,
historic and scientific investigation; desirous of stimulating
broad literary criticism; associated with all other Canadian
societies engaged in the same work; the wide circulation of its
Transactions throughout the world; the need of a magazine of a
high class in Canada.
VIII.--P. 42.
The intellectual standard of our legislative bodies; the literature of
biography, law and theology; summary of general results of
intellectual development; difficulties in the way of successful
literary pursuits in Canada; good work sure of appreciative
criticism by the best class of English periodicals like the
"Contemporary," "Athenæum," "English Historical Magazine,"
"Academy," etc.; Sainte-Beuve's advice to cultivate a good style
cited; some colonial conditions antagonistic to literary growth;
the necessity of cultivating a higher ideal of literature in
these modern times.
IX.--P. 49.
The condition of education in Canada; speed and superficiality among
the defects of an otherwise admirable system; tendency to make
all studies subordinate to a purely utilitarian spirit; the need
of cultivating the "humanities," especially Greek; remarks on
this point by Matthew Arnold and Goldwin Smith; the state of the
press of Canada; the Canadian Pythia and Olympia.
X.--P. 53.
Libraries in Canada; development of art; absence of art galleries in
the cities, and of large private collections of paintings;
meritorious work of O'Brien, Reed, Peel, Pinhey, Forster and
others; establishment of the Canadian Academy by the Princess
Louise and the Marquess of Lorne; necessity for greater
encouragement of native artists; success of Canadian artists at
the World's Fair; architecture in Canada imitative and not
creative; the White City at Chicago an illustration of the
triumph of intellectual and artistic effort over the spirit of
mere materialism; its effect probably the development of a
higher culture and creative artistic genius on the continent.
XI.--P. 58.
Conclusion: The French language and its probable duration in Canada;
the advantages of a friendly rivalry among French and English
Canadians, which will best stimulate the genius of their peoples
in art and letters; necessity for sympathetic encouragement of
the two languages and of the mental efforts of each other; less
provincialism or narrowness of mental vision likely to gain
larger audiences in other countries; conditions of higher
intellectual development largely dependent on a widening of our
mental horizon, the creation of wider sympathy for native talent,
the disappearance of a tendency to self-depreciation, and greater
self-reliance and confidence in our own intellectual resources.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL, ART AND GENERAL NOTES.
(1) P. 61.--Lowell's remarks on the study of the Liberal Arts.
(2) P. 61.--Jamestown, Va.
(3) P. 61.--Champlain's Works; his character compared with that of
Captain John Smith.
(4) P. 62.--Lescarbot's "Histoire de la Nouvelle France."
(5) P. 62.--Charlevoix's "Histoire et Description Générale de la
Nouvelle France."
(6) P. 63.--Hutchinson's "History of Massachusetts."
(7) P. 63.--Sagard's "Le Grand Voyage," etc.
(8) P. 63.--P. Boucher's "Mœurs et Productions de la Nouvelle
France."
(9) P. 63.--Jesuit Relations.
(10) P. 63.--Père du Creux, "Historia Canadensis."
(11) P. 63.--La Potherie's "Histoire de l'Amérique Septentrionale."
(11_a_) P. 63.--The Jesuit Lafitau and his work on Indian customs.
(12) P. 64.--C. le Clercq, "Etablissement de la Foy."
(13) P. 64.--Cotton Mather's "Magnalia."
(13_a_) P. 64.--Dr. Michel Sarrazin.
(13_b_) P. 64,--Peter Kalm and the English colonies.
(14) P. 65.--Education in Canada, 1792-1893.
(15) P. 65.--Upper Canada, 1792-1840.
(16) P. 66.--Canadian Journalism.
(17) P. 66.--Howe's Speeches.
(18) P. 66.--"Sam Slick."
(19) P. 66.--Judge Haliburton's History of Nova Scotia.
(20) P. 66.--W. Smith's History of Canada.
(21) P. 67.--Joseph Bouchette's Topographical Works on Canada.
(22) P. 67.--M. Bibaud's Histories of Canada.
(23) P. 67.--Thompson's Book on the War of 1812-14.
(24) P. 67.--Belknap's History of New Hampshire.
(25) P. 67.--The poet Crémazie.
(26) P. 68.--Chauveau as a poet.
(27) P. 69.--Howe's Poems.
(28) P. 69.--The poets Sangster and McLachlan.
(29) P. 69.--Charles Heavysege's Works.
(30) P. 69.--Todd's Parliamentary Government.
(31) P. 69.--Christie's History of Lower Canada.
(32) P. 70.--Garneau's History of Canada.
(33) P. 70.--Ferland and Faillon as Canadian Historians.
(34) P. 70.--Dent's Histories of Canada.
(35) P. 71.--Turcotte's History since Union of 1841.
(36) P. 71.--B. Sulte, "Histoire des Canadiens Français," etc.
(37) P. 71.--Abbé Casgrain's Works.
(38) P. 71.--Kingsford, Dionne, Gosselin, Tassé, Tanguay, and other
Canadian historians.
(39) P. 72.--A Canadian Bibliography.
(40) P. 72.--Later Canadian Poets, 1867-1893: Fréchette, LeMay, W.
Campbell Roberts, Lampman, Mair, O'Brien, McColl,
Suite, Lockhart, Murray, Edgar, O'Hagan, Davin, etc.
Collections of Canadian poems. Citations from
Canadian poems.
(41) P. 77.--"In My Heart." By John Reade.
(41_a_) P. 78.--"Laura Secord's Warning," from Mrs. Edgar's "Ridout
Letters."
(42) P. 79.--Australian poets and novelists.
(43) P. 80.--Howe's "Flag of Old England."
(44) P. 81.--Canadian essayists: Stewart, Grant, Griffin and others.
(45) P. 81.--W. Kirby's "Golden Dog" and other works.
(45_a_) P. 82.--Major Richardson's "Wacousta," etc.
(46) P. 82.--Marmette's "François de Bienville," and other romances.
(47) P. 82.--De Gaspé's "Anciens Canadiens."
(48) P. 82.--Mrs. Catherwood's works of fiction.
(49) P. 83.--Gilbert Parker's writings.
(50) P. 83.--DeMille's fiction.
(51) P. 83.--Sara Jeannette Duncan's "A Social Departure," etc.
(52) P. 83.--Matthew Arnold on Literature and Science.
(53) P. 83.--Principal Grant's Address to Royal Society.
(54) P. 84.--Sir J. W. Dawson's scientific labours.
(55) P. 84.--Elkanah Billings as scientist.
(56) P. 84.--Origin of Royal Society of Canada.
(57) P. 84.--Sir D. Wilson, T. S. Hunt and Mr. Chauveau.
(58) P. 84.--Canadian Literary and Scientific Societies.
(58_a_) P. 85.--The Earl of Derby's farewell address to the Royal
Society. His opinion of its work and usefulness.
(59) P. 86.--S. E. Dawson on Tennyson.
(60) P. 86.--The old "Canadian Monthly."
(61) P. 86.--Form of Royal Society Transactions.
(62) P. 86.--Goldwin Smith on the study of the Classics.
(63) P. 87.--Canadian Libraries.
(64) P. 87.--List of artists in Canada. Native born and adopted. Art
societies. Influence of French school. Canadian
artists at the World's Fair. J. W. L. Forster on
Canadian art.
(64_a_) P. 89.--Architectural art in Canada. List of prominent
public buildings noted for beauty and symmetry of
form.
(65) P. 91.--"Fidelis."
[Illustration]
OUR INTELLECTUAL
STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS.
A SHORT REVIEW OF
LITERATURE, EDUCATION AND ART IN CANADA
I.
I cannot more appropriately commence this address than by a reference
to an oration delivered seven years ago in the great hall of a famous
university which stands beneath the stately elms of Cambridge, in
the old "Bay State" of Massachusetts: a noble seat of learning in
which Canadians take a deep interest, not only because some of their
sons have completed their education within its walls, but because it
represents that culture and scholarship which know no national lines
of separation, but belong to the world's great Federation of Learning.
The orator was a man who, by his deep philosophy, his poetic genius,
his broad patriotism, his love for England, her great literature and
history, had won for himself a reputation not equalled in some respects
by any other citizen of the United States of these later times. In
the course of a brilliant oration in honour[1][A] of the two hundred
and fiftieth anniversary of the foundation of Harvard, James Russell
Lowell took occasion to warn his audience against the tendency of a
prosperous democracy "towards an overweening confidence in itself and
its home-made methods, an overestimate of material success and a
corresponding indifference to the things of the mind." He did not deny
that wealth is a great fertilizer of civilization and of the arts that
beautify it; that wealth is an excellent thing since it means power,
leisure and liberty; "but these," he went on to say, "divorced from
culture, that is, from intelligent purpose, become the very mockery
of their own essence, not goods, but evils fatal to their possessor,
and bring with them, like the Nibelungen Hoard, a doom instead of a
blessing." "I am saddened," he continued, "when I see our success as
a nation measured by the number of acres under tillage, or of bushels
of wheat exported; for the real value of a country must be weighed in
scales more delicate than the balance of trade. The garners of Sicily
are empty now, but the bees from all climes still fetch honey from the
tiny garden-plot of Theocritus. On a map of the world you may cover
Judea with your thumb, Athens with a finger-tip, and neither of them
figures in the Prices Current; but they still lord it in the thought
and action of every civilized man. Did not Dante cover with his hood
all that was Italy six hundred years ago? And if we go back a century,
where was Germany outside of Weimar? Material success is good, but
only as the necessary preliminary of better things. The measure of a
nation's true success is the amount it has contributed to the thought,
the moral energy, the intellectual happiness, the spiritual hope and
consolation of mankind."
These eloquently suggestive words, it must be remembered, were
addressed by a great American author to an audience, made up of
eminent scholars and writers, in the principal academic seat of that
New England which has given birth to Emerson, Longfellow, Bancroft,
Prescott, Motley, Hawthorne, Holmes, Parkman, and many others,
representing the brightest thought and intellect of this continent.
These writers were the product of the intellectual development of the
many years that had passed since the pilgrims landed on the historic
rock of Plymouth. Yet, while Lowell could point to such a brilliant
array of historians, essayists, poets and novelists, as I have just
named, as the latest results of New England culture, he felt compelled
to utter a word of remonstrance against that spirit of materialism
that was then as now abroad in the land, tending to stifle those
generous intellectual aspirations which are best calculated to make a
people truly happy and great.
Let us now apply these remarks of the eminent American poet and thinker
to Canada--to ourselves, whose history is even older than that of New
England; contemporaneous rather with that of Virginia, since Champlain
landed on the heights of Quebec and laid the foundations of the ancient
capital only a year after the English adventurers of the days of
King James set their feet on the banks of the river named after that
sovereign and commenced the old town which has long since disappeared
before the tides of the ocean that stretches away beyond the shores of
the Old Dominion.[2] If we in Canada are open to the same charge of
attaching too much importance to material things, are we able at the
same time to point to as notable achievements in literature as results
of the three centuries that have nearly passed since the foundation of
New France? I do not suppose that the most patriotic Canadian, however
ready to eulogize his own country, will make an effort to claim an
equality with New England in this respect; but, if indeed we feel it
necessary to offer any comparison that would do us justice, it would
be with that Virginia whose history is contemporaneous with that of
French Canada. Statesmanship rather than Letters has been the pride and
ambition of the Old Dominion, its brightest and highest achievement.
Virginia has been the mother of great orators and great presidents,
and her men of letters sink into insignificance alongside of those
of New England. It may be said, too, of Canada, that her history in
the days of the French regime, during the struggle for responsible
government, as well as at the birth of confederation, gives us the
names of men of statesmanlike designs and of patriotic purpose. From
the days of Champlain to the establishment of the confederation, Canada
has had the services of men as eminent in their respective spheres,
and as successful in the attainment of popular rights, in moulding the
educational and political institutions of the country, and in laying
broad and deep the foundations of a new nationality across half a
continent, as those great Virginians to whom the world is ever ready
to pay its meed of respect. These Virginian statesmen won their fame
in the large theatre of national achievement--in laying the basis of
the most remarkable federal republic the world has ever seen; whilst
Canadian public men have laboured with equal earnestness and ability in
that far less conspicuous and brilliant arena of colonial development,
the eulogy of which has to be written in the histories of the future.
[Footnote A: In all cases the references are to the Notes in the
Appendix.]
II.
Let me now ask you to follow me for a short time whilst I review some
of the most salient features of our intellectual progress since the
days Canada entered on its career of competition in the civilization
of this continent. So far there have been three well defined eras of
development in the country now known as the Dominion of Canada. First,
there was the era of French Canadian occupation which in many respects
had its heroic and picturesque features. Then, after the cession of
Canada to England, came that era of political and constitutional
struggle for a larger measure of public liberty which ended in the
establishment of responsible government about half a century ago.
Then we come to that era which dates from the confederation of the
provinces--an era of which the first quarter of a century only has
passed, of which the signs are still full of promise, despite the
prediction of gloomy thinkers, if Canadians remain true to themselves
and face the future with the same courage and confidence that have
distinguished the past.
As I have just said, the days of the French regime were in a sense days
of heroic endeavour, since we see in the vista of the past a small
colony whose total population at no period exceeded eighty thousand
souls, chiefly living on the banks of the St. Lawrence, between Quebec
and Montreal, and contending against great odds for the supremacy on
the continent of America. The pen of Francis Parkman has given a vivid
picture of those days when bold adventurers unlocked the secrets of
this Canadian Dominion, pushed into the western wilderness, followed
unknown rivers, and at last found a way to the waters of that southern
gulf where Spain had long before, in the days of Grijalva, Cortez and
Pineda, planted her flag and won treasures of gold and silver from an
unhappy people who soon learned to curse the day when the white men
came to the fair islands of the south and the rich country of Mexico.
In these days the world, with universal acclaim has paid its tribute of
admiration to the memory of a great Discoverer who had the courage of
his convictions and led the way to the unknown lands beyond the Azores
and the Canaries. This present generation has forgiven him much in view
of his heroism in facing the dangers of unknown seas and piercing their
mysteries. His purpose was so great, and his success so conspicuous,
that both have obscured his human weakness. In some respects he was
wiser than the age in which he lived; in others he was the product of
the greed and the superstition of that age; but we who owe him so much
forget the frailty of the man in the sagacity of the Discoverer. As
Canadians, however, now review the character of the great Genoese, and
of his compeers and successors in the opening up of this continent,
they must, with pride, come to the conclusion that none of these men
can compare in nobility of purpose, in sincere devotion to God, King
and Country, with Champlain, the sailor of Brouage, who became the
founder of Quebec and the father of New France.
In the daring ventures of Marquette, Jolliet, La Salle and Tonty,
in the stern purpose of Frontenac, in the far-reaching plans of La
Galissonière, in the military genius of Montcalm, the historian of the
present time has at his command the most attractive materials for his
pen. But we cannot expect to find the signs of intellectual development
among a people where there was not a single printing press, where
freedom of thought and action was repressed by a paternal absolutism,
where the struggle for life was very bitter up to the last hours of
French supremacy in a country constantly exposed to the misfortunes
of war, and too often neglected by a king who thought more of his
mistresses than of his harassed and patient subjects across the sea.
Yet that memorable period--days of struggle in many ways--was the
origin of a large amount of literature which we, in these times, find
of the deepest interest and value from a historic point of view. The
English colonies of America cannot present us with any books which,
for faithful narrative and simplicity of style, bear comparison with
the admirable works of Champlain, explorer and historian,[3] or with
those of the genial and witty advocate, Marc Lescarbot,[4] names that
can never be forgotten on the picturesque heights of Quebec, or on
the banks of the beautiful basin of Annapolis. Is there a Canadian
or American writer who is not under a deep debt of obligation to the
clear-headed and industrious Jesuit traveller, Charlevoix,[5] the
Nestor of French Canadian history? The only historical writer that can
at all surpass him in New England was the loyalist Governor Hutchinson,
and he published his books at a later time when the French dominion had
disappeared with the fall of Quebec.[6] To the works just mentioned we
may add the books of Gabriel Sagard,[7] and of Boucher, the governor of
Three Rivers and founder of a still eminent French Canadian family;[8]
that remarkable collection of authentic historic narrative, known as
the Jesuit Relations;[9] even that tedious Latin compilation by Père
du Creux,[10] the useful narrative by La Potherie,[11] the admirable
account of Indian life and customs by the Jesuit Lafitau,[11_a_]
and that now very rare historical account of the French colony, the
"Etablissement de la Foy dans la Nouvelle France," written by the
Recollet le Clercq,[12] probably aided by Frontenac. In these and other
works, despite their diffuseness in some cases, we have a library of
historical literature, which, when supplemented by the great stores
of official documents still preserved in the French archives, is of
priceless value as a true and minute record of the times in which the
authors lived, or which they described from the materials to which
they alone had access. It may be said with truth that none of these
writers were Canadians in the sense that they were born or educated
in Canada, but still they were the product of the life, the hardships
and the realities of New France--it was from this country they drew
the inspiration that gave vigour and colour to their writings. New
England, as I have already said, never originated a class of writers
who produced work of equal value, or indeed of equal literary merit.
Religious and polemic controversy had the chief attraction for the
gloomy, disputatious puritan native of Massachusetts and the adjoining
colonies. Cotton Mather was essentially a New England creation, and
if quantity were the criterion of literary merit then he was the most
distinguished author of his century; for it is said that indefatigable
antiquarians have counted up the titles of nearly four hundred books
and pamphlets by this industrious writer. His principal work, however,
was the "Magnalia Christi Americana, or Ecclesiastical History of New
England from 1620 to 1698,"[13] a large folio, remarkable as a curious
collection of strange conceits, forced witticisms, and prolixity
of narrative, in which the venturesome reader soon finds himself
so irretrievably mystified and lost that he rises from the perusal
with wonderment that so much learning, as was evidently possessed
by the author, could be so used to bewilder the world of letters.
The historical knowledge is literally choked up with verbiage and
mannerisms. Even prosy du Creux becomes tolerable at times compared
with the garrulous Puritan author.
Though books were rarely seen, and secular education was extremely
defective as a rule throughout the French colony, yet at a very early
period in its history remarkable opportunities were afforded for the
education of a priesthood and the cult of the principles of the Roman
Catholic religion among those classes who were able to avail themselves
of the facilities offered by the Jesuit College, which was founded
at Quebec before even Harvard at Cambridge, or by the famous Great
and Lesser Seminaries in the same place, in connection with which, in
later times, rose the University with which is directly associated the
name of the most famous Bishop of the French regime. The influence
of such institutions was not simply in making Canada a most devoted
daughter of that great Church, which has ever exercised a paternal and
even absolute care of its people, but also in discouraging a purely
materialistic spirit and probably keeping alive a taste for letters
among a very small class, especially the priests, who, in politics
as in society, have been always a controlling element in the French
province. Evidences of some culture and intellectual aspirations in
the social circles of the ancient capital attracted the surprise of
travellers who visited the country before the close of the French
dominion. "Science and the fine arts," wrote Charlevoix, "have their
turn, and conversation does not fail. The Canadians breathe from
their birth an air of liberty, which makes them very pleasant in the
intercourse of life, and our language is nowhere more purely spoken."
La Galissonière, who was an associate member of the French Academy of
Science, and the most highly cultured governor ever sent out by France,
spared no effort to encourage a systematic study of scientific pursuits
in Canada. Dr. Michel Sarrazin,[13_a_] who was a practising physician
in Quebec for nearly half a century, devoted himself most assiduously
to the natural history of the colony, and made some valuable
contributions to the French Academy, of which he was a correspondent.
The Swedish botanist, Peter Kalm, who visited America in the middle of
the last century, was impressed with the liking for scientific study
which he observed in the French colony. "I have found," he wrote, "that
eminent persons, generally speaking, in this country, have much more
taste for natural history and literature than in the English colonies,
where the majority of people are entirely engrossed in making their
fortune, whilst science is as a rule held in very light esteem."
Strange to say, he ignores in this passage the scientific labours
of Franklin, Bartram and others he had met in Pennsylvania.[13_b_]
As a fact such evidences of intellectual enlightenment as Kalm and
Charlevoix mentioned were entirely exceptional in the colony, and
never showed themselves beyond the walls of Quebec or Montreal. The
province, as a whole, was in a state of mental sluggishness. The germs
of intellectual life were necessarily dormant among the mass of the
people, for they never could produce any rich fruition until they
were freed from the spirit of absolut | 666.906742 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Unawares
By Frances Peard
Published by Roberts Brothers, Boston.
This edition dated 1872.
Unawares, by Frances Peard.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
UNAWARES, BY FRANCES PEARD.
CHAPTER ONE.
"Quaint old town of toil and traffic."
Longfellow.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You might tell us something, Madame Angelin, since you know so much!"
"Yes, indeed. What is the good of knowing if you keep it to yourself?"
cried a younger woman, impatiently, placing, as she spoke, her basket of
herbs and vegetables upon the broad stone edge of the fountain around
which a little group had gathered.
"Was it a fit?"
"Has Monsieur Deshoulieres gone to him?"
"Is he dead?"
"What becomes of her?"
"Holy Virgin! will the town have to bury him?"
The individual upon whom this volley of shrill questions was directed
was a small, thin, pungent-faced Frenchwoman, who had just filled her
pitcher at the fountain, and stood with hands clasped over her waist,
and with ineffable satisfaction in her twinkling black eyes, looking
upon the excited questioners who crowded round her. It is not given to
everybody to know more than their neighbours, nor, as Veuve Angelin
shrewdly reflected, is it a privilege to be lightly parted with. There
was something very enchanting in the eager attention with which her
information was awaited, and she looked round upon them all with a
patronising benignity, which was, to say the least, irritating. The May
sun was shining brightly over old pointed roofs; the tiny streams
running out of three grim carved heads in the stone fountain danced and
sparkled in its light; the horse-chestnuts stiffly standing round the
little "Place" threw deep shadows on the glaring stones; from one side
sounded the soft wash of an unseen river; old, dilapidated houses were
jumbled together, irrespective of height and size; behind the women, the
town with its clustering houses rose abruptly on the side of a steep
hill, crowned by the lovely spires of the Cathedral; and before them,
only hidden from sight by the buildings of a straggling suburb,
stretched the monotonous plains and sunny cornfields of the granary of
France.
Veuve Angelin smiled indulgently and shook her head. "You young people
think too much of gossip," she said.
"So they do, Marie, so they do," responded an old woman, pushing her
yellow, wizened face through the shoulders of those in front of her.
"In our day things arranged themselves differently: the world was not
the magpie's nest it is now. The young minded their elders, and
conducted themselves sagely, instead of chattering and idling and
going--the saints know whither!"
Veuve Angelin drew herself up. She was by no means pleased with this
ally. "All that may have been in your day, Nannon," she said
spitefully, "but my time was very much the same as this time.
Grandfather Owl always thinks the days grow darker."
"Hear her!" cried the old woman, shrilly. "Has she forgotten the
cherry-trees we used to shake together, the--"
One of the younger of the group interrupted her unceremoniously, "Ta,
ta, Nannon, never mind that now! Tell us, Madame Angelin, whether it is
all true which they say about the poor old gentleman and the beautiful
young demoiselle. _Ciel_! there is the clock striking noon, and I
should have been back from market an hour ago. Quick! we all die of
curiosity;" and she caught some water in the palm of her hand and
sprinkled it over the drooping herbs in her basket, while the others
pressed round more eagerly than ever.
But Veuve Angelin's temper had been roused by Nannon's reminiscences.
"I am going," she said crossly. "No one shall ever accuse me of
gossiping. Monsieur's breakfast has to be prepared by the time he
returns from the Cygne, and with this monster of a pitcher to carry up
the hill, just because the _fille_ who fetches the water is ill--"
"Let me carry your pitcher, Madame Angelin!"
"I will take it to the very door. _Peste_, it is hard if one can't do
so much for one's friends."
"Yes, yes, Fanchon will carry it like a bird. And so Monsieur is
absolutely at the hotel?"
"Bon jour, mesdames," said old Nannon, laughing shrilly. "No one cares
to help me with my basket, I suppose? It is heavy, too: it contains the
clean clothes of my sister's girl, Toinette, a good, hard-working girl
she is, and _fille_ at the Cygne, as you know.--What, Fanchon, my child,
you would carry it! How admirable you are with your attentions to a
poor old woman like me! I was wrong, Madame Angelin, I acknowledge it,
in my estimate of your generation."
There was a hesitating movement among the women: they had forgotten
Toinette, and with such a link it was possible that Nannon might be the
best newsmonger after all. Veuve Angelin noticed the movement, and it
filled her with dismay.
"I saw it myself, I tell you," she cried loudly, plunging at once into
the heart of her subject. "I saw them come out of the Cygne, the old
monsieur and the young lady, and walk up and down, up and down, under
the trees before the door, and then just, just as they came towards
me--"
She stopped. The women pressed closer. Fanchon was drawn back, and
listened enthralled; old Nannon, whose temper was not so sharp as her
words | 667.048196 |
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Produced by David Widger
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES
by William Dean Howells
CONTENTS:
Biographical
My First Visit to New England
First Impressions of Literary New York
LITERARY FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES--First Visit to New England
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
Long before I began the papers which make up this volume, I had meant to
write of literary history in New England as I had known it in the lives
of its great exemplars during the twenty-five years I lived near them. In
fact, I had meant to do this from the time I came among them; but I let
the days in which I almost constantly saw them go by without record save
such as I carried in a memory retentive, indeed, beyond the common, but
not so full as I could have wished when I began to invoke it for my work.
Still, upon insistent appeal, it responded in sufficient abundance; and,
though I now wish I could have remembered more instances, I think my
impressions were accurate enough. I am sure of having tried honestly to
impart them in the ten years or more when I was desultorily endeavoring
to share them with the reader.
The papers were written pretty much in the order they have here,
beginning with My First Visit to New England, which dates from the
earliest eighteen-nineties, if I may trust my recollection of reading it
from the manuscript to the editor of Harper's Magazine, where we lay
under the willows of Magnolia one pleasant summer morning in the first
years of that decade. It was printed no great while after in that
periodical; but I was so long in finishing the study of Lowell that it
had been anticipated in Harper's by other reminiscences of him, and it
was therefore first printed in Scribner's Magazine. It was the paper
with which I took the most pains, and when it was completed I still felt
it so incomplete that I referred it to his closest and my best friend,
the late Charles Eliot Norton, for his criticism. He thought it wanting
in unity; it was a group of studies instead of one study, he said; I must
do something to draw the different sketches together in a single effect
of portraiture; and this I did my best to do.
It was the latest written of the three articles which give the | 667.447981 |
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Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES
by
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
I. THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY
II. THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW
III. THE FIRST CUSTOMER
IV. A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER
V. MAY AND NOVEMBER
VI. MAULE'S WELL
VII. THE GUEST
VIII. THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY
IX. CLIFFORD AND PHOEBE
X. THE PYNCHEON GARDEN
XI. THE ARCHED WINDOW
XII. THE DAGUERREOTYPIST
XIII. ALICE PYNCHEON
XIV. PHOEBE'S GOOD-BYE
XV. THE SCOWL AND SMILE
XVI. CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER
XVII. THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS
XVIII. GOVERNOR PYNCHEON
XIX. ALICE'S POSIES
XX. THE FLOWER OF EDEN
XXI. THE DEPARTURE
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.
IN September of the year during the February of which Hawthorne had
completed "The Scarlet Letter," he began "The House of the Seven
Gables." Meanwhile, he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in Berkshire
County, Massachusetts, where he occupied with his family a small red
wooden house, still standing at the date of this edition, near the
Stockbridge Bowl.
"I sha'n't have the new story ready by November," he explained to his
publisher, on the 1st of October, "for I am never good for anything in
the literary way till after the first autumnal frost, which has
somewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliage
here about me-multiplying and brightening its hues." But by vigorous
application he was able to complete the new work about the middle of
the January following.
Since research has disclosed the manner in which the romance is
interwoven with incidents from the history of the Hawthorne family,
"The House of the Seven Gables" has acquired an interest apart from
that by which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne (as the
name was then spelled), the great-grandfather of Nathaniel Hawthorne,
was a magistrate at Salem in the latter part of the seventeenth
century, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there.
It is of record that | 668.045894 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
THE
BEACON SECOND READER
BY
JAMES H. FASSETT
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON - NEW YORK - CHICAGO - LONDON
ATLANTA - DALLAS - COLUMBUS - SAN FRANCISCO
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JAMES H. FASSETT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
431.1
The Athenaeum Press
GINN AND COMPANY - PROPRIETORS -
BOSTON - U.S.A.
PREFACE
In the "Beacon Second Reader" the author has chosen for his stories only
those of recognized literary merit; and while it has been necessary to
rearrange and sometimes rewrite them for the purpose of simplification,
yet he has endeavored to retain the spirit which has served to endear
these ancient tales to the children of all ages. The fairy story appeals
particularly to children who are in the second school year. It has been
proved by our ablest psychologists that at about this period of
development, children are especially susceptible to the stimulus of the
old folklore. They are in fact passing through the stage which
corresponds to the dawn of the human race, when demons, dragons,
fairies, and hobgoblins were as firmly believed in as rivers and
mountains.
As a test of this theory the author asked hundreds of second-grade and
third-grade school children to recall the stories which they had read
during the preceding year, and to express their preferences. The choice
of more than ninety per cent proved to be either folklore stories, pure
and simple, or such tales as contained the folklore element. To be sure,
children like other stories, but they respond at once with sparkling
eyes and animated voices when the fairy tale is suggested. How unwise,
therefore, it is to neglect this powerful stimulus which lies ready at
our hands! Even a pupil who is naturally slow will | 668.048106 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
By William Makepeace Thackeray
CONTENTS
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS
On a Lazy Idle Boy
On Two Children in Black
On Ribbons
On some late Great Victories
Thorns in the Cushion
On Screens in Dining-Rooms
Tunbridge Toys
De Juventute
On a Joke I once heard from the late Thomas Hood
Round about the Christmas Tree
On a Chalk-Mark on the Door
On being Found Out
On a Hundred Years Hence
Small-Beer Chronicle
Ogres
On Two Roundabout Papers which I intended to Write
A Mississippi Bubble
On Letts's Diary
Notes of a Week's Holiday
Nil Nisi Bonum
On Half a Loaf--A Letter to Messrs. Broadway, Battery and Co., of New
York, Bankers
The Notch on the Axe.--A Story a la Mode. Part I Part II Part III
De Finibus
On a Peal of Bells
On a Pear-Tree
Dessein's
On some Carp at Sans Souci
Autour de mon Chapeau
On Alexandrines--A Letter to some Country Cousins
On a Medal of George the Fourth
"Strange to say, on Club Paper"
The Last Sketch
ROUNDABOUT PAPERS.
ON A LAZY IDLE BOY.
I had occasion to pass a week in the autumn in the little old town
of Coire or Chur, in the Grisons, where lies buried that very ancient
British king, saint, and martyr, Lucius,* who founded the Church of St.
Peter, on Cornhill. Few people note the church now-a-days, and fewer
ever heard of the saint. In the cathedral at Chur, his statue appears
surrounded by other sainted persons of his family. With tight red
breeches, a Roman habit, a curly brown beard, and a neat little gilt
crown and sceptre, he stands, a very comely and cheerful image: and,
from what I may call his peculiar position with regard to Cornhill, I
beheld this figure of St. Lucius with more interest than I should have
bestowed upon personages who, hierarchically, are, I dare say, his
superiors.
* Stow quotes the inscription, still extant, from the table
fast chained in St. Peter's Church, Corn | 668.323062 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
Issued May 31, 1907.
U. S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE.
FARMERS' BULLETIN 297.
METHODS OF DESTROYING RATS.
BY
DAVID E. LANTZ,
_Assistant, Bureau of Biological Survey_.
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON:
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE.
1907.
[Transcriber's Note: Words surrounded by tildes, like ~this~ signifies
words in bold. Words surrounded by underscores, like _this_, signifies
words in italics.]
LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL.
U. S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE,
BUREAU OF BIOLOGICAL SURVEY,
_Washington, D. C., May 15, 1901_.
SIR: I have the honor to transmit herewith for publication Farmers'
Bulletin No. 297, containing concise directions for the destruction of
rats, prepared by David E. Lantz, an assistant in this Bureau. The
damage done by these rodents, both in cities and in the country, is
enormous, and the calls for practical methods of destroying them are
correspondingly numerous and urgent. It is believed that by following
the directions here given the numbers of this pest can be greatly
reduced and the losses from them proportionally diminished.
Respectfully,
C. HART MERRIAM,
_Chief, Biological Survey_.
HON. JAMES WILSON,
_Secretary of Agriculture_.
CONTENTS.
Page.
Introduction 3
Methods of destroying rats 4
Poisoning 4
Trapping 5
Use of ferrets and dogs 6
Fumigation 7
Rat-proof construction 7
Natural enemies of rats 8
Conclusions 8
ILLUSTRATION.
Page.
FIG. 1.--Method of baiting guillotine trap 6
METHODS OF DESTROYING RATS.
INTRODUCTION.
The brown or Norway rat (_Mus norvegicus_) is the worst mammal pest in
the United States, the losses from its depredations amounting to many
millions of dollars yearly--to more, indeed, than the losses from all
other injurious mammals combined.[A] In addition to its destructive
habits, this rat is now known to be an active agent in disseminating
infectious diseases, a fact which renders measures for its destruction
doubly important.
[Footnote A: Several species of rats are known as "house rats,"
including the black rat (_Mus rattus_), the roof rat (_Mus
alexandrinus_), and the brown rat (_Mus norvegicus_). Of these, the last
is the commonest and most widespread in this country. Not one of these
species is a native, but all were imported from the Old World. As their
habits in general are similar, the instructions given in the bulletin
apply alike to all.]
Introduced into America about the year 1775, the brown rat has
supplanted and nearly exterminated its less robust relative, the black
rat, and despite the incessant warfare of man has extended its range and
steadily increased in numbers. Its dominance is due to its great
fecundity and its ability to adapt itself to all sorts of conditions. It
breeds three or four times a year and produces from 6 to 12, and even
more, young at a litter. Young females breed when only 4 or 5 months
old. The species is practically omnivorous, feeding upon all kinds of
animal and vegetable matter. It makes its home in the open field, the
hedge row, and the river bank, as well as in stone walls, piers, and all
kinds of buildings. It destroys grains when newly planted, while
growing, and in the shock, stack, mow, crib, granary, mill, elevator, or
ship's hold, and also in the bin and feed trough. It invades store and
warehouse and destroys fur, laces, silks, carpets, leather goods, and
groceries. It attacks fruits, vegetables, and meats in the markets, and
destroys by pollution ten times as much as it actually eats. It carries
disease germs from house to house and bubonic plague from city to city.
It causes disastrous conflagrations; floods houses by gnawing lead water
pipes; ruins artificial ponds and embankments by burrowing; destroys
the farmers' pigs, eggs, and young poultry; eats the eggs and young of
song and game birds; and damages foundations, floors, doors, and
furnishings of dwellings.
METHODS OF DESTROYING RATS.
A compilation of all the methods of destroying rats practiced in
historic times would fill a volume. Unfortunately, the greater number of
them are worthless or impracticable. Few have more than temporary effect
upon their numbers, and even the best of them fail unless persistently
applied. Conditions vary so much that no one method of dealing with this
pest is applicable in all cases. Among the more important measures to be
recommended for actively combating the brown rat are: (1) Poisons; (2)
traps; (3) ferrets; (4) fumigation, and (5) rat-proof construction of
buildings.
POISONING.
~Barium Carbonate.~--One of the cheapest and most effective poisons for
rats and mice is barium carbonate, or barytes. This mineral has the
advantage of being without taste or smell; and, in the small quantities
used in poisoning rats and mice, is harmless to larger animals. Its
action on rodents is slow, but reasonably sure, and has the further
advantage that the animals before dying, if exit be possible, usually
leave the premises in search of water. Its employment in houses,
therefore, is rarely followed by the annoying odor which attends the use
of the more virulent poisons.
The poison may be fed in the form of a dough made of one-fifth barytes
and four-fifths meal, but a more convenient bait is ordinary oatmeal,
with about one-eighth of its bulk of barytes, mixed with water into a
stiff dough; or the barytes may be spread upon bread and butter or
moistened toast. The prepared bait should be placed in rat runs, a small
quantity at a place. If a single application of the poison fails to
drive all rats from the premises, it should be repeated with a change of
bait.
~Strychnine.~--Strychnine is a more virulent poison, but its action is so
rapid that the animals often die upon the premises, a circumstance which
prohibits its use in occupied dwellings. Elsewhere strychnine may be
employed with great success. Dry strychnine crystals may be inserted in
small pieces of raw meat, Vienna sausage, or toasted cheese, and these
placed in the rat runs; or oatmeal may be wet with a strychnine sirup,
and small quantities laid out in the same way.
Strychnine sirup is prepared as follows: Dissolve a half ounce of
strychnia sulphate in a pint of boiling water; add a pint of thick
sugar sirup and stir thoroughly. A smaller quantity of the poison may be
prepared with a proportional quantity of water. In preparing the bait it
is necessary that all the oatmeal should be moistened with sirup. Wheat
is the most convenient alternative bait. It should be soaked over night
in the strychnine sirup.
~Other Poisons.~--The two poisons most commonly used for rats and mice are
arsenic and phosphorus, nearly all commercial preparations containing
one or the other as a basis. While experiments prove that rats have
great powers of resistance to arsenic, it may sometimes be used | 668.374179 |
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Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger
THE LIFE OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS
FROM HIS OWN LETTERS AND JOURNALS
AND
OTHER DOCUMENTS OF HIS TIME.
by EDWARD EVERETT HALE,
[This was originally done on the 400th Anniversary
of 1492, as was the great Columbian Exposition in Chicago.
Interesting how our heroes have all been de-canonized in the
interest of Political Correctitude]
--Comments by Michael S. Hart
PREFACE.
This book contains a life of Columbus, written with the hope of
interesting all classes of readers.
His life has often been written, and it has sometimes been well written.
The great book of our countryman, Washington Irving, is a noble model
of diligent work given to a very difficult subject. And I think every
person who has dealt with the life of Columbus since Irving's time, has
expressed his gratitude and respect for the author.
According to the custom of biographers, in that time and since, he
includes in those volumes the whole history of the West India islands,
for the period after Columbus discovered them till his death. He also
thinks it his duty to include much of the history of Spain and of the
Spanish court. I do not myself believe that it is wise to attempt, in a
book of biography, so considerable a study of the history of the time.
Whether it be wise or not, I have not attempted it in this book. I have
rather attempted to follow closely the personal fortunes of Christopher
Columbus, and, to the history around him, I have given only such space
as seemed absolutely necessary for the illustration of those fortunes.
I have followed on the lines of his own personal narrative wherever we
have it. And where this is lost I have used the absolutely contemporary
authorities. I have also consulted the later writers, those of the
next generation and the generation which followed it. But the more one
studies the life of Columbus the more one feels sure that, after the
greatness of his discovery was really known, the accounts of the time
were overlaid by what modern criticism calls myths, which had grown up
in the enthusiasm of those who honored him, and which form no part of
real history. If then the reader fails to find some stories with which
he is quite familiar in the history, he must not suppose that they are
omitted by accident, but must give to the author of the book the credit
of having used some discretion in the choice of his authorities.
When I visited Spain in 1882, I was favored by the officers of the
Spanish government with every facility for carrying my inquiry as far as
a short visit would permit. Since that time Mr. Harrisse has published
his invaluable volumes on the life of Columbus. It certainly seems as
if every document now existing, which bears upon the history, had been
collated by him. The reader will see that I have made full use of this
treasure-house.
The Congress of Americanistas, which meets every year, brings forward
many curious studies on the history of the continent, but it can
scarcely be said to have done much to advance our knowledge of the
personal life of Columbus.
The determination of the people of the United States to celebrate fitly
the great discovery which has advanced civilization and changed the face
of the world, makes it certain that a new interest has arisen in the
life of the great man to whom, in the providence of God, that discovery
was due. The author and publishers of this book offer it as their
contribution in the great celebration, with the hope that it may be of
use, especially in the direction of the studies of the young.
EDWARD E. HALE.
ROXBURY, MASS., June 1st, 1891.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER 1. EARLY LIFE OF COLUMBUS.
His Birth and Birth-place--His Early Education--His
experience at Sea-His Marriage and Residence in Lisbon--
His Plans for the Discovery of a West | 668.420031 |
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Produced by K.D. Thornton, Jason Isbell, Josephine Paolucci
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: _By courtesy of The New York Times_
NEW YORK'S BETTER BABY
Little Hiss Johanna Wiggers, who won the first prize in New York's
Better Babies Contest by scoring 100 points, is the type of little girl
that will make the best mothers, and the better race tomorrow. Her score
card showed; age, 28 months; weight, 33 lbs. 14 ozs.; height, 35-1/2
inches; circumference of head, 19-1/2 inches: circumference of chest, 20
inches; lateral diameter of chest, 6 inches; diameter of chest from
front to back, 4-1/2 inches; length of arm to tip of middle finger,
14-1/2 inches; length of leg to the sole of the foot, 16-1/2 inches;
total, 100 points.]
The Eugenic Marriage
A Personal Guide to the New Science of Better Living and Better Babies
By W. GRANT HAGUE, M. D.
_College of Physicians and Surgeons (Columbia University), New York;
Member of County Medical Society, and of the American Medical
Association_
In Four Volumes
VOLUME II
New York
THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS COMPANY
1914
Copyright, 1913, by
W. GRANT HAGUE
Copyright, 1914, by
W. GRANT HAGUE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
SEX HYGIENE FOR THE BOY
CHAPTER XII
BUILDING OUR BOYS
PAGE
A word to parents--Interest in sex hygiene--The "Social Evil"--Ten
millions suffering with venereal diseases in the United
States--Immorality not confined to large cities--Venereal diseases
common in country places--What are the consequences of venereal disease
to the boy?--Gonorrhea, or clap--Symptoms of gonorrhea in the
male--Complications of gonorrhea--Syphilis, or the "pox"--How syphilis
is acquired--Syphilis attacks every organ in the body--Not possible to
tell when cured--The chancre--Systematic, or constitutional
symptoms--Mucous patches and ulcers--Syphilis of the blood vessels and
lymphatic glands--The interior organs--Brain and spinal cord--The nose,
eye, ear, throat--Hair and nails--What the boy with venereal disease may
cause in others--The infected wife--A girl's fate when she
marries--Young wife rendered sterile--Young wife made to miscarry--Is
the husband to blame--Building the man--Age of puberty--"Internal
Secretion"... PAGE 139
CHAPTER XIII
THE PARENTS AND THE BOY
Abuse of the procreative function--The continent life--Provide the
environment necessary to the clean life--The period of procreative
power--Self-abuse--Masturbation--Treatment of masturbation--Night losses
or wet dreams--Causes of night emissions--Sexual excesses--Treatment of
sexual excesses--What parents should know about the so-called "social
evil" before speaking with authority to the boy--The need of
enlightenment in sexual matters--"No one told me, I did not know"--Fake
medical treatment of venereal diseases--Sowing wild oats--Should
circumcision be advised... PAGE 153
SEX HYGIENE FOR THE GIRL
CHAPTER XIV
A MOTHER'S DUTY TO HER DAUGHTER
What a mother should tell her little girl--Where do babies come
from--How baby birds and fish come from eggs--How other animals have
little nests of their own--The duty of mothers to instruct and
direct--What a mother should tell her daughter--Every mother should
regard this duty as sacred--Every female child is a possible future
mother--Motherhood the highest function of the sex--Health the one
necessary essential--Symptoms of the first, or beginning
menstruation--The period of puberty in the female--Changes in the
reproductive organs at puberty--The female generative organs--The
function of the reproductive organs--The age of puberty in the
female--The function of the ovary--The function of the womb--Why
menstruation occurs every twenty-eight days--The male or papa egg--The
function of the spermatozoa--"Tell the whole story"--"How do these
spermatozoa get there"--The union of the species--"How can a baby live
in there for such a long time"--How the baby gets its nourishment in the
womb--Girls must not become mothers... PAGE 173
CHAPTER XV
PREPARING FOR MOTHERHOOD
Menstruation--Irregular menstruation--Changes in the quantity
of the flow--How the womb is held in place--Symptoms of
menstruation--Menstruation should not be accompanied with pain--Don't
give your daughters patent medicines, or "Female Regulators"--Take your
daughter to the doctor--Leucorrhea in girls--Bathing when
menstruating--Constipation and displaced wombs--Dress and
menstruation--Absence of menstruation, or amenorrhea--Treatment of
amenorrhea--Painful menstruation, or dysmenorrhea--Causes of
dysmenorrhea--Treatment of dysmenorrhea--Sterility in the
female--Conditions which affect the fertility of women--Climate, station
in life, season of the year, age, the tendency to miscarry--Causes of
sterility in the female--Displacement of womb--Diseases of womb,
ovaries, or tubes--Malformations--Lacerations--Tumors--Leucorrhea--Physical
debility--Obesity--Special poisons--"Knack of miscarrying"--Miscarriage--Cause
of miscarriage--The course and symptoms of miscarriage--What to do
when a miscarriage is threatened--Treatment of threatened
miscarriage--Treatment of inevitable miscarriage--After
treatment of miscarriage--The tendency to miscarriage... PAGE 187
THE BABY
CHAPTER XVI
HYGIENE AND DEVELOPMENT OF THE BABY
What to prepare for the coming baby--Care of the newly-born baby--The
first bath--Dressing the cord--Treatment after the cord falls off--A
pouting navel--Bathing baby--Clothing the baby--Baby's night
clothes--Care of the eyes--Care of the mouth and first teeth--Care of
the skin--Care of the genital organs--Amusing baby--Temperature
in children--The teeth--The permanent teeth--Care of the
teeth--Dentition--Treatment of teething--How to weigh the baby--Average
weight of a male baby--Average weight of a female baby--Average height
of a male child--The rate of growth of a child--Pulse rate in
children--Infant records, why they should be kept--"Growing
pains"... PAGE 209
CHAPTER XVII
BABY'S FEEDING HABITS
Overfeeding baby--Intervals of feeding--How long should a baby stay at
the breast--Vomiting between feedings--Regularity of feeding--Why is
regularity of feeding important--A baby never vomits--What is the
significance of so-called vomiting after feedings--Mother's milk that is
unfit for baby--Fresh air for baby--Air baths for baby... PAGE 223
CHAPTER XVIII
BABY'S GOOD AND BAD HABITS--FOOD FORMULAS
Baby's bed--The proper way to lay baby in bed--Baby should sleep by
itself--How long should a baby sleep--Why a baby cries--The habitual
crier--The habit of feeding baby every time it cries--The habit of
walking the floor with baby every time it cries--Jouncing, or hobbling
baby--Baby needs water to drink--The evil habit of kissing
baby--Establishing toilet habits--Baby's comforter--What can be done to
lessen the evil effects of the comforter habit--Beef juice--Beef juice
by the cold process--Mutton broth--Mutton broth with cornstarch or
arrowroot--Chicken, veal, and beef broths--Scraped beef or meat
pulp--Junket or curds and whey--Whey--Barley water--Barley water gruel
or barley jelly--Rice, wheat or oat water--Imperial Granum--Albumen
water--Dried bread--Coddled egg... PAGE 235
ARTIFICIAL FEEDING
CHAPTER XIX
ARTIFICIAL FEEDING
Elementary principles of milk modification--The secret of the efficiency
of mothers' milk--Two important factors in successful artificial
feeding--Every child is a problem in itself--Proprietary foods of little
value as infant foods--Their value is in the milk added to them--The
credit belongs to the cow--Difference between human and cow's milk--What
"top-milk" feeding means--Utensils necessary for home modification of
milk--Artificial feeding from birth to the twelfth month--How to
measure "top-milk"--Easy bottle-feeding method--Condensed milk
feeding--Objections to condensed milk feeding... PAGE 249
CHAPTER XX
ARTIFICIAL FEEDING (_continued_)
How to prepare milk mixtures--Sterilizing the food for the day's
feeding--How to test the temperature of the food for baby--When to
increase the quality or quantity of food--Food allowable during the
first year in addition to milk--Beef-juice--White of egg--Orange
juice--Peptonized milk--The hot or immediate process--The cold
process--Partially peptonized milk--Completely peptonized milk--Uses of
peptonized milk--Objections to peptonized milk--What a mother should
know about baby's feeding bottle and nipple--Should a mother put her
baby on artificial food if her supply of milk during the first two weeks
is not quite enough to satisfy it--Certain conditions justify the
adoption of artificial feeding from the beginning--Mothers' mistakes in
the preparation of artificial food--Feeding during the second
year--Sample meals for a child three years of age--The diet of older
children--Meats, vegetables, cereals, bread, desserts, fruits... PAGE 259
WHAT MOTHERS SHOULD KNOW
CHAPTER XXI
THE EDUCATION OF THE MOTHER
What mothers should know about the care of children during illness--A
sick child should be in bed--The diet of the sick child--A child is the
most helpless living thing--The delicate child--How to feed the delicate
child--How to bathe the delicate child--Airing the delicate
child--Habits of the delicate child--Indiscriminate feeding--Poor
appetite--Loss of appetite--Treatment of loss of appetite--Overeating in
infancy--What correct eating means--Bran as a food--Breakfast for a
child at school--Lunch for a child at school--Bran muffins for school
children--Bran muffins in constipation--Hysterical children--What a
mother should know about cathartics and how to give a dose of castor
oil--Castor oil--Calomel--Citrate of Magnesium--When to use castor
oil--When to use calomel--Vaccination--Time for vaccination--Methods of
vaccination--Symptoms of successful vaccination... PAGE 277
CHAPTER XXII
CONSTIPATION IN INFANTS AND CHILDREN
Constipation--Regularity of bowel function--The function of the
stomach--Fermentation--Incomplete constipation--Importance of a clean
bowel--A daily movement of the bowel necessary--Constipation in
breast-fed infants--Treatment of constipation in breast-fed
infants--Constipation in bottle-fed infants--Treatment of constipation
in bottle-fed infants--Constipation in children over two years of
age--Diet list for constipation in children--Bran muffins in
constipation--Treatment of obstinate constipation--Oil injections in
constipation... PAGE 303
CHAPTER XXIII
CONSTIPATION IN WOMEN
Chief cause of constipation in women--Constipation a cause of domestic
unhappiness--The requirements of good health--The cost of
constipation--Constipation and social exigencies--One of the important
duties of mothers--Constipation and diseases of women--Constipation is
always harmful--Constipation and pregnancy--Explanation of incomplete
constipation--Causes of constipation--Negligence--Lack of exercise--Lack
of water--Lack of bulk in the food taken--Abuse of cathartic drugs and
aperient waters--Overeating--Treatment of constipation in
women... PAGE 315
SEX HYGIENE FOR THE BOY
CHAPTER XII
"The evil that men do lives after them. The good is often
interred with them."
"The pleasure in living is to meet temptation and not yield to
it." Elmer Lee, M. D.
BUILDING OUR BOYS
A Word to Parents--Interest in Sex Hygiene--The "Social
Evil"--Ten Millions Suffering with Venereal Diseases in the
United States--Immorality not Confined to Large
Cities--Venereal Diseases Common in Country Places--What Are
the Consequences of Venereal Disease to the Boy?--Gonorrhea, or
Clap--Symptoms of Gonorrhea in the Male--Complications of
Gonorrhea--Syphilis, or the "Pox"--How Syphilis is
Acquired--Syphilis Attacks Every Organ in the Body--Not
Possible to Tell When Cured--The Chancre--Systematic or
Constitutional Symptoms--Mucous Patches and Ulcers--Syphilis of
the Blood Vessels and Lymphatic Glands--The Interior
Organs--Brain and Spinal Cord--The Nose, Eye, Ear, Throat--Hair
and Nails--What the Boy with Venereal Disease May Cause in
Others--The Infected Wife--A Girl's Fate When She
Marries--Young Wife Rendered Sterile--Young Wife Made to
Miscarry--Is the Husband to Blame?--Building the Man--Age of
Puberty--"Internal Secretion."
A WORD TO PARENTS.--Within recent times the subject of sex hygiene has
been freely discussed by members of the medical profession and through
them the general public has been made more or less acquainted with the
problem. It has therefore acquired a degree of genuine interest which
speaks well for the future of the eugenic ideal. Eugenics is based to a
very large extent upon the principles underlying sex hygiene.
As a result of this widespread interest and investigation, we have
discovered that the only method that promises actual progress, is to
talk plainly and to tell the actual truth. The day of the prude has
passed. To attempt to achieve results in the education of youth in sex
problems, without giving, facts, is wasted effort. To give facts we must
explain each problem so that its principles may be clearly understood
and its meaning grasped. To point out the duty of youth is not
sufficient. They must be shown why it is to their best interest to live
the clean life. In every department of education we are beginning to
appreciate that to achieve results it must be based upon the individual
equation. This is why we have found it necessary to assert that it is
the duty of parents to make sex hygiene a personal matter and to
acquaint their children with the facts relating to this problem. It has
been discovered, however, that a very large percentage of parents are
inadequately informed on these subjects, in fact they know practically
nothing about the actual facts which they are supposed to teach. I shall
try to tell the story in a way which every parent will understand.
When a boy reaches the age of puberty he is susceptible to sexual
desire. If he has not been told the story of his growth from boyhood to
man's estate he will either begin to abuse himself, or he will be later
enticed to commit himself to intercourse with some unclean female and he
will acquire a disease as a result.
Inasmuch as it has been asserted that practically every boy has been
addicted to self-abuse at some time, and that eighty per cent. of all
males, between the ages of sixteen and thirty years, are victims of
venereal disease, it would seem justifiable to assume that the boys who
are informed of the facts in time are the boys who constitute the
percentage who escape. This, of course, may not be literally true, but
it is a reasonable assumption.
While self-abuse is a pernicious habit and may be attended with serious
consequences, it is not a disease and, as will be explained later, it
can be cured. It is therefore a menace to the individual, not to the
race, and consequently need not concern us at the present time. On the
other hand the venereal diseases are not to be considered as individual
problems since they affect the welfare of the race. The venereal
diseases which we will consider are gonorrhea and syphilis.
THE SOCIAL EVIL.--It has been estimated that there are more than _ten
millions_ of people in this country to-day suffering from the effects of
venereal diseases. In New York city alone, there are _two million_
victims suffering from the direct or indirect consequences of these
diseases. It has been authoritatively asserted that, out of every ten
men between the ages of sixteen and thirty, eight have, or have had, one
or other of these diseases. When it is remembered that these diseases
are not merely temporary incidents, but that they may be regarded as
practically incurable in the vast majority, because of antagonistic
social conditions and ignorance, and that they are highly infectious, we
may begin to realize how important they are from the standpoint of race
regeneration.
Statistics of these conditions are never reliable because much of the
evil is hidden and lied about. It is quite probable,--if the estimates
were based upon absolute knowledge--that the extent of the prevalency of
these diseases would be greatly increased rather than reduced. It is
however a fact, that the combined ravages of the Great White Plague,
leprosy, yellow fever, and small-pox, are merely incidents compared to
the effects which the venereal diseases have had upon mankind. It is
useless to think that these diseases can be driven out of the land. Any
hope of this nature is the impression of the dreamer. By a propaganda of
education, by the spread of the eugenic idea and ideal, we may, however,
reasonably hope to minimize the evil and, at least, to protect the
innocent.
THE SOURCES OF IMMORALITY.--It is a fallacious idea to assume that the
sources of immorality are confined to the large cities. This is far from
the truth. In smaller towns and country places the diseases are quite
common and conditions there tend to the spread of the contagion in a
more intimate and a more harmful way. The individuals who are most
likely to become affected are those most liable to succumb to temptation
and whose home ties are of the best. There are many instances on record
where one or two loose women spread the infection all over the country
communities, infecting boys and men alike. No one can estimate what the
final effect of such an epidemic may mean or how many innocent
individuals may have their lives wrecked as a direct consequence. It is
because these consequences are the product of ignorance in a very large
percentage of the cases that there is such urgent need for
enlightenment. It is at least our plain duty to tell the boy the actual
facts--to post him with reference to consequences. The more thoroughly
we instruct him in the elementary facts relative to the venereal
diseases, the safer he will be from temptation, and if he possesses this
knowledge and acquires disease, he will be more likely to immediately
seek competent aid and advice.
WHAT ARE THE CONSEQUENCES OF VENEREAL DISEASE TO THE BOY HIMSELF?
GONORRHEA OR "CLAP."--This is the most frequent of the venereal
diseases. It is also the most serious. It is an unfortunate fact, that
in the past,--and even to-day--boys have been told that gonorrhea is no
worse than "a bad cold." This lie has been responsible for much evil and
a great amount of unnecessary suffering and misery.
Gonorrhea is caused by a germ, obtained, as a rule, during intercourse
with an infected person. This germ is called gonococcus. It thrives on
any mucous membrane; it is not, therefore, limited to the sexual organs.
For this reason it may attack any part of the body where mucous membrane
is. It is particularly liable to damage, sometimes seriously and
permanently, the eye. It may be spread from one person to another, or
from any infected article to a person in numerous ways. The innocent may
thus suffer as a result of the carelessness of the vicious.
THE SYMPTOMS OF GONORRHEA IN THE MALE are slight itching and burning of
the mouth of the urethra. This is noticeable at any time from the third
to the fourteenth day after exposure. These symptoms become more
pronounced and a slight discharge appears. The patient is compelled to
urinate frequently and it is painful and difficult. The discharge
increases, it becomes thicker and looks like ordinary yellow pus. If the
case is a severe one, the discharge may be blood stained, and if this
symptom is present urination is more painful and more frequent.
In about ten days the disease reaches its height; it remains stationary
for a number of weeks and then slowly, seemingly, gets better. The
discharge grows thinner, less in quantity and lighter in color. It may
refuse, despite the most careful and efficient treatment, to stop
altogether; it is then known as "gleet." If the discharge stops
completely the patient is apparently cured, as far as any external
manifestation of the disease is concerned. _In seventy-five per cent. of
the cases, however, this apparent cure is no cure at all, as will be
seen later._
Certain complications are likely to arise in the course of gonorrhea.
The infection itself may be of such an acute or virulent type, that it
invades the deeper structures of its own accord and despite the most
careful, competent treatment; or if the treatment is not adequate or
skillful it may be forced backward; or through neglect in not beginning
the right kind of treatment in times, a simple infection may grow in
degree into a serious disease, and invade the more important structures.
In this way are produced disease of the bladder, prostate gland, seminal
vesicles, testicles, and of the kidneys. Gonorrheal rheumatism may
follow, and even disease of the lining membrane of the heart, and death.
When disease of the deeper parts occur the patient is frequently
incapacitated and compelled to go to bed. He may have chills, fever and
sweats, intense pain and the passage of bloody urine. He may have to be
operated upon, and his general health may be permanently wrecked. So
long as the germs are present there is danger despite the most
scientific treatment. It is not the quality of the treatment that is at
fault, it is the presence of the germs; and since it is impossible to
pursue any certain method of eradication, we must continue treatment--as
long as the germs are present--and hope for favorable results. The
infection may last for many years. The germs having found entrance into
the small tubes in the interior organs they can only be dislodged with
difficulty, if at all. These pockets of germs may be excited to renewed
activity by sexual intercourse, or by injury to the parts, and may
reinfect the patient at any times. In a very considerable number of
these cases where the deeper structures are involved, the patient may
recover from the acute or painful period of the disease, only to find
that he is sterile. There are many such cases, and the most vindictive
individual who may believe that every who sins should be punished will
admit that sterility, as the price of a moment's forgetfulness, is a
terrible fee to pay.
SYPHILIS, OR THE "POX," is an infectious, germ blood disease. It is most
frequently acquired through sexual intercourse.
It may be acquired by direct contact with a diseased person. In order to
render such contact effective, it is essential that the skin of the
healthy person be abraded, or the contact may be directly on a mucous
membrane, as the mouth in the act of kissing.
It may be acquired by using any article which has been used by a
syphilitic, as a drinking cup, or towel.
It may be acquired through hereditary transmission.
Surgeons frequently contract syphilis while operating on, or examining
patients who have the disease. Dentists may convey it by means of
instruments which have not been rendered aseptic, or thoroughly clean.
Using a towel which has been used by a syphilitic has many times
conveyed the infection to an innocent party. For this reason the roller
towel has been done away with, and some states have legislated against
its use in hotels and other public places. To use dishes, spoons,
tobacco pipe, beer glasses, etc., which have been used by one having the
disease is an absolutely certain way of being infected. Cigars which may
have been made by a syphilitic will infect whoever smokes them with the
virus of the disease. Syphilis has been known to have been caught from
using the church communion cup. The public drinking-cup has been a
prolific source of syphilitic dissemination to innocents. Legislators
are just waking up to the danger that lurks in this institution and it
will no doubt be done away with, not only in public places, but on all
railroad and steamboat lines.
An infected mother can transmit syphilis to her child. If the father is
affected, but not the wife, the child may escape.
Syphilis attacks every organ in the human body. The actual degree of
infection has no relation to the size or character of the external
manifestations. The external evidence may be minute and insignificant,
while the internal extent and ravages of the disease may be tremendous
and of large proportions. Many men when asked regarding incidents of the
long ago, may state, "Oh, yes, I had a chancre twenty-five years ago,
but it was a very small affair and soon healed up and was cured." Yet
that same little chancre, that made only a mild impression on the man's
mind, may, and most probably will, be the direct cause of that man's
death.
It is not possible to tell with absolute certainty that an individual is
suffering with syphilis by any known test. The most recent one--the
Wassermann test--is not absolute by any means.
The first symptoms, or what is known as the initial lesion of syphilis,
is the chancre.
THE CHANCRE is a small, hard tumor, or it may be a small ulcer with a
hard base, or it may simply appear as a thin small patch on any mucous
membrane. It is not painful, it can be moved if taken between the
fingers, showing it is not attached to the deep structures, and when it
is so moved it is not tender or sore. Any little lump which ulcerates
located on the genitals must be regarded with suspicion. Boys and men
should not be satisfied with any offhand statement that, "it is
nothing." It may be a chancre, and it may be exceedingly serious if not
properly diagnosed.
Systemic, or constitutional symptoms, begin to show themselves any time
from the sixth to the tenth week after the appearance of the chancre.
ERUPTIONS OF THE SKIN characterize every case of syphilis. They occur in
all degrees from the mild rash to the foul ulcer. The ulcerative process
is very often extensive and loathsome.
MUCOUS PATCHES AND ULCERS affect the mucous membranes. The mouth and
throat are favorite locations for these lesions. They occur in the anus
and rectum, and may be mistaken in that region for other serious
conditions. Men who drink and smoke suffer as a rule severely from
mucous patches in the mouth and throat.
Syphilis attacks the blood vessels and the lymphatic glands. These cases
may have been unrecognized, and may have existed for many years. A man
may die from a rupture of a blood vessel in the brain during middle life
as a consequence of a forgotten, supposedly cured case of syphilis many
years before.
THE INTERIOR ORGANS may be attacked by syphilis. As a result we get
disease of the liver, heart, stomach, kidneys, lungs, and other parts.
It has been suggested that many diseases affecting these organs, for
which treatment proves unsatisfactory, may have had their origin in a
former syphilis.
THE BRAIN AND SPINAL CORD are quite often the seat of syphilitic
affections. A tumor, known by the name of "gumma," is the result. The
blood vessels of the entire nervous system may be affected and, as a
consequence, we often see cases of paralysis, apoplexy, epilepsy,
locomotor ataxia and death.
THE NOSE, EYE, EAR, THROAT, are frequently very seriously compromised as
a result of the syphilitic poison. Deformity, caused by rotting of the
bones of these parts is not infrequent. Loss of voice, or smell, or
hearing, or sight, may result.
THE HAIR AND NAILS may fall out. The bones may ulcerate and rot. The
organs of procreation usually participate in the degenerative process.
Virility is destroyed, and impotence is quite common after a severe
attack.
WHAT THE BOY WITH VENEREAL DISEASE MAY CAUSE IN OTHERS
GONORRHEA.--When the average boy acquires gonorrhea he frequently does
not know, for many weeks, that he is the victim of a dangerous,
infectious disease. He appreciates probably, that it relates to the
sexual indiscretion he was guilty of, and feels that it is something to
be ashamed of. He therefore hides his condition, confides in no one, and
blindly hopes it will get better somehow or at some time. Meantime the
disease, which may have been mild at the beginning, is gradually gaining
ground and strength, and his neglect may eventuate in lifelong misery.
No means are taken to guard against spreading the infection, the
discharge may lodge on his fingers and he may infect his eyes and may
lose his sight because he did not know that the discharge is one of the
most dangerous fluids known. It may get on water-closet seats and infect
others. Eventually he is compelled to seek aid, and he may, after a long
period, be freed from the immediate consequences of his folly. At a
later date he marries, and as previously explained, he infects his wife.
This is the beginning of much of the domestic infelicity that is so
prevalent to-day, and, inasmuch as it is a subject that should be
thoroughly understood by every woman and mother, I shall carefully and
clearly explain its significance and its consequences.
Let us first, however, briefly consider what may occur to others if the
boy is unfortunate enough to acquire syphilis. Again the boy fails to
comprehend the nature of his affliction. There is imminent danger of the
members of his household becoming infected. He uses the same dishes,
spoons, towels, and utensils, any one of which may convey the disease to
his father, mother, sister, or brother. He may use the common drinking
glass in school, college, or office, and spread the disease in this way.
He may kiss any member of his family, or a baby, and infect them. He may
have his hair cut, or be shaved, and the virus may be spread around in
this way if the barber does not sterilize the article used,--which he
never does. He may drink at a soda fountain, or at a saloon, and the
next individual to use the same glass may acquire the disease. He is a
menace to the individual, to the community, and to the race. Wives often
acquire syphilis from their husbands.
THE INFECTED WIFE.--It has been previously stated that eight out of
every ten males between the ages of sixteen and thirty, have had or
have, gonorrhea or syphilis. Seventy-five per cent. of these cases have
not been cured. About thirty-five per cent. of these are destined to
infect wife, or wife and children, and in all probability many others.
If a young wife acquires infection from her husband, she is exactly in
the same condition as the diseased boy,--she does not know what ails
her, so she wastes precious time in unprofitable worry. Why should she
know what the trouble is? She came to the marriage bed pure, and clean,
and healthy. Her previous education did not include instruction which
would even help her to guess what the trouble might be. She is simply
conscious of new distressing conditions which she does not understand.
She may try to believe that these conditions are incidental to the
change in her life. Shortly, however, the discharge, which she has had
for a number of weeks, and which she thought was only a leucorrhea, | 668.4457 |
2023-11-16 18:28:12.7330050 | 925 | 214 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Emmy and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: _Frontispiece--Dear Little Couple Abroad_
"Polly drew her stockings and shoes on."
_See p. 6_]
HOW "A DEAR LITTLE COUPLE" WENT ABROAD
BY
MARY D. BRINE
AUTHOR OF
"THE DOINGS OF A DEAR LITTLE COUPLE"
WITH SEVENTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
DEDICATION.
To my little friends who have known and loved our "Dear Little
Couple" (Polly and Teddy) I herewith dedicate this story, which
tells of _more_ of the Doings of the Little Couple, and am
lovingly the friend of all my little readers,
MARY D. BRINE.
COPYRIGHT, 1903.
BY HENRY ALTEMUS.
HOW "A DEAR LITTLE COUPLE" WENT ABROAD.
CHAPTER I.
POLLY THINKS OVER HER "SURPRISE."
[Illustration]
Polly opened her blue eyes one lovely morning in May, and found the "sun
fairies"--as she called them--dancing all about her wee bed-chamber, and
telling her in their own bright way that it was high time little girls
were up and dressing for breakfast.
At first she was sure she had been having a beautiful dream, for what
else could make her feel so happy and "sort of all-overish," as if
something very nice and unusual had come upon her? She was sure she had
dreamed that a splendid surprise had happened, and it was something
about going away, too!
Polly lay still in her little white nest of a bed, and thought over her
dream, and lo! on a sudden, as she grew more and more awake, the real
cause of her new and glad sensations came into her curly head, and she
bounced, like a little rubber ball, right out of bed, and danced a wee
lively jig on the floor.
Why, of course it wasn't a dream! No, indeed! it was as real--oh! as
real as Polly Darling herself, and no wonder she had felt so
"all-overish" and so "glad all inside of her"! She sat down on the soft
carpet and drew her stockings and shoes on, but it was slow work,
because Polly was thinking, and she had a great deal to think about, you
see.
[Illustration]
First--oh! how it all came back to her now!--first she remembered that
last night after supper Papa had taken her on his knee and whispered in
her ear: "Pollybus, how would you like to go with Mamma and Papa across
the sea for a little trip?"
And while she was squeezing him almost to pieces by way of answer, Mamma
had come along, and had shaken her finger at Papa, as she said: "Oh,
naughty Papa! the idea of telling Polly that _just when she's going to
bed_! She won't sleep a wink for thinking of it." And Polly remembered
jumping down from Papa's knee, and going to Mamma's side, saying very
earnestly: "Oh, yes, I will! I truly will, Mamma! I'll shut my eyes and
think 'bout little lambs jumping over a fence, 'cause Cook says that's
the best way to get sleepy, and it's worked be-yewtifully on _her_ lots
of times! Oh, true and true, black and blue, I'll go right to sleep! And
oh, I'm so happy!"
And pretty soon after that the bed-time for little girls had come, and
Polly had been kissed and petted a little, as was usual after she had
snuggled down in bed, and had a little while alone with her dear Mamma,
and then she had tried very hard to keep her promise, and "go right to
sleep." But oh, dear, it had been such hard work to keep those blue eyes
sh | 668.753045 |
2023-11-16 18:28:12.7537490 | 7,435 | 20 |
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Makers of History
Darius the Great
BY
JACOB ABBOTT
WITH ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1904
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.
Copyright, 1878, by JACOB ABBOTT.
[Illustration: DARIUS CROSSING THE BOSPORUS.]
PREFACE.
In describing the character and the action of the personages whose
histories form the subjects of this series, the writer makes no
attempt to darken the colors in which he depicts their deeds of
violence and wrong, or to increase, by indignant denunciations, the
obloquy which heroes and conquerors have so often brought upon
themselves, in the estimation of mankind, by their ambition, their
tyranny, or their desperate and reckless crimes. In fact, it seems
desirable to diminish, rather than to increase, the spirit of
censoriousness which often leads men so harshly to condemn the errors
and sins of others, committed in circumstances of temptation to which
they themselves were never exposed. Besides, to denounce or vituperate
guilt, in a narrative of the transactions in which it was displayed,
has little influence in awakening a healthy sensitiveness in the
conscience of the reader. We observe, accordingly, that in the
narratives of the sacred Scriptures, such denunciations are seldom
found. The story of Absalom's undutifulness and rebellion, of David's
adultery and murder, of Herod's tyranny, and all other narratives of
crime, are related in a calm, simple, impartial, and forbearing
spirit, which leads us to condemn the sins, but not to feel a
pharisaical resentment and wrath against the sinner.
This example, so obviously proper and right, the writer of this series
has made it his endeavor in all respects to follow.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I. CAMBYSES 13
II. THE END OF CAMBYSES 38
III. SMERDIS THE MAGIAN 59
IV. THE ACCESSION OF DARIUS 82
V. THE PROVINCES 99
VI. THE RECONNOITERING OF GREECE 123
VII. THE REVOLT OF BABYLON 144
VIII. THE INVASION OF SCYTHIA 167
IX. THE RETREAT FROM SCYTHIA 189
X. THE STORY OF HISTIAEUS 210
XI. THE INVASION OF GREECE 233
XII. THE DEATH OF DARIUS 264
ENGRAVINGS.
Page
MAP OF THE PERSIAN EMPIRE.
DARIUS CROSSING THE BOSPORUS _Frontispiece._
THE ARMY OF CAMBYSES OVERWHELMED IN THE DESERT 35
PHAEDYMA FEELING FOR SMERDIS'S EARS 69
THE INDIAN GOLD HUNTERS 121
THE BABYLONIANS DERIDING DARIUS FROM THE WALL 156
MAP OF GREECE 232
THE INVASION OF GREECE 256
[Illustration: MAP OF THE PERSIAN EMPIRE.]
DARIUS THE GREAT
CHAPTER I.
CAMBYSES.
B.C. 530-524
Cyrus the Great.--His extended conquests.--Cambyses and
Smerdis.--Hystaspes and Darius.--Dream of Cyrus.--His anxiety and
fears.--Accession of Cambyses.--War with Egypt.--Origin of the war
with Egypt.--Ophthalmia.--The Egyptian physician.--His plan of
revenge.--Demand of Cyrus.--Stratagem of the King of Egypt.--Resentment
of Cassandane.--Threats of Cambyses.--Future conquests.--Temperament
and character of Cambyses.--Impetuosity of Cambyses.--Preparations for
the Egyptian war.--Desertion of Phanes.--His narrow escape.--Information
given by Phanes.--Treaty with the Arabian king.--Plan for providing
water.--Account of Herodotus.--A great battle.--Defeat of the
Egyptians.--Inhuman conduct of Cambyses.--His treatment of
Psammenitus.--The train of captive maidens.--The young men.--Scenes
of distress and suffering.--Composure of Psammenitus.--Feelings of the
father.--His explanation of them.--Cambyses relents.--His treatment of
the body of Amasis.--Cambyses's desecrations.--The sacred bull
Apis.--Cambyses stabs the sacred bull.--His mad expeditions.--The sand
storm.--Cambyses a wine-bibber.--Brutal act of Cambyses.--He is deemed
insane.
About five or six hundred years before Christ, almost the whole of the
interior of Asia was united in one vast empire. The founder of this
empire was Cyrus the Great. He was originally a Persian; and the whole
empire is often called the Persian monarchy, taking its name from its
founder's native land.
Cyrus was not contented with having annexed to his dominion all the
civilized states of Asia. In the latter part of his life, he conceived
the idea that there might possibly be some additional glory and power
to be acquired in subduing certain half-savage regions in the north,
beyond the Araxes. He accordingly raised an army, and set off on an
expedition for this purpose, against a country which was governed by a
barbarian queen named Tomyris. He met with a variety of adventures on
this expedition, all of which are fully detailed in our history of
Cyrus. There is, however, only one occurrence that it is necessary to
allude to particularly here. That one relates to a remarkable dream
which he had one night, just after he had crossed the river.
To explain properly the nature of this dream, it is necessary first to
state that Cyrus had two sons. Their names were Cambyses and Smerdis.
He had left them in Persia when he set out on his expedition across
the Araxes. There was also a young man, then about twenty years of
age, in one of his capitals, named Darius. He was the son of one of
the nobles of Cyrus's court. His father's name was Hystaspes.
Hystaspes, besides being a noble of the court, was also, as almost all
nobles were in those days, an officer of the army. He accompanied
Cyrus in his march into the territories of the barbarian queen, and
was with him there, in camp, at the time when this narrative
commences.
Cyrus, it seems, felt some misgivings in respect to the result of his
enterprise; and, in order to insure the tranquillity of his empire
during his absence, and the secure transmission of his power to his
rightful successor in case he should never return, he established his
son Cambyses as regent of his realms before he crossed the Araxes,
and delivered the government of the empire, with great formality, into
his hands. This took place upon the frontier, just before the army
passed the river. The mind of a father, under such circumstances,
would naturally be occupied, in some degree, with thoughts relating to
the arrangements which his son would make, and to the difficulties he
would be likely to encounter in managing the momentous concerns which
had been committed to his charge. The mind of Cyrus was undoubtedly so
occupied, and this, probably, was the origin of the remarkable dream.
His dream was, that Darius appeared to him in a vision, with vast
wings growing from his shoulders. Darius stood, in the vision, on the
confines of Europe and Asia, and his wings, expanded either way,
overshadowed the whole known world. When Cyrus awoke and reflected on
this ominous dream, it seemed to him to portend some great danger to
the future security of his empire. It appeared to denote that Darius
was one day to bear sway over all the world. Perhaps he might be even
then forming ambitious and treasonable designs. Cyrus immediately sent
for Hystaspes, the father of Darius; when he came to his tent, he
commanded him to go back to Persia, and keep a strict watch over the
conduct of his son until he himself should return. Hystaspes received
this commission, and departed to execute it; and Cyrus, somewhat
relieved, perhaps, of his anxiety by this measure of precaution, went
on with his army toward his place of destination.
Cyrus never returned. He was killed in battle; and it would seem that,
though the import of his dream was ultimately fulfilled, Darius was
not, at that time, meditating any schemes of obtaining possession of
the throne, for he made no attempt to interfere with the regular
transmission of the imperial power from Cyrus to Cambyses his son. At
any rate, it was so transmitted. The tidings of Cyrus's death came to
the capital, and Cambyses, his son, reigned in his stead.
The great event of the reign of Cambyses was a war with Egypt, which
originated in the following very singular manner:
It has been found, in all ages of the world, that there is some
peculiar quality of the soil, or climate, or atmosphere of Egypt which
tends to produce an inflammation of the eyes. The inhabitants
themselves have at all times been very subject to this disease, and
foreign armies marching into the country are always very seriously
affected by it. Thousands of soldiers in such armies are sometimes
disabled from this cause, and many are made incurably blind. Now a
country which produces a disease in its worst form and degree, will
produce also, generally, the best physicians for that disease. At any
rate, this was supposed to be the case in ancient times; and
accordingly, when any powerful potentate in those days was afflicted
himself with ophthalmia, or had such a case in his family, Egypt was
the country to send to for a physician.
Now it happened that Cyrus himself, at one time in the course of his
life, was attacked with this disease, and he dispatched an embassador
to Amasis, who was then king of Egypt, asking him to send him a
physician. Amasis, who, like all the other absolute sovereigns of
those days, regarded his subjects as slaves that were in all respects
entirely at his disposal, selected a physician of distinction from
among the attendants about his court, and ordered him to repair to
Persia. The physician was extremely reluctant to go. He had a wife and
family, from whom he was very unwilling to be separated; but the
orders were imperative, and he must obey. He set out on the journey,
therefore, but he secretly resolved to devise some mode of revenging
himself on the king for the cruelty of sending him.
He was well received by Cyrus, and, either by his skill as a
physician, or from other causes, he acquired great influence at the
Persian court. At last he contrived a mode of revenging himself on the
Egyptian king for having exiled him from his native land. The king had
a daughter, who was a lady of great beauty. Her father was very
strongly attached to her. The physician recommended to Cyrus to send
to Amasis and demand this daughter in marriage. As, however, Cyrus was
already married, the Egyptian princess would, if she came, be his
concubine rather than his wife, or, if considered a wife, it could
only be a secondary and subordinate place that she could occupy. The
physician knew that, under these circumstances, the King of Egypt
would be extremely unwilling to send her to Cyrus, while he would yet
scarcely dare to refuse; and the hope of plunging him into extreme
embarrassment and distress, by means of such a demand from so powerful
a sovereign, was the motive which led the physician to recommend the
measure.
Cyrus was pleased with the proposal, and sent, accordingly, to make
the demand. The king, as the physician had anticipated, could not
endure to part with his daughter in such a way, nor did he, on the
other hand, dare to incur the displeasure of so powerful a monarch by
a direct and open refusal. He finally resolved upon escaping from the
difficulty by a stratagem.
There was a young and beautiful captive princess in his court named
Nitetis. Her father, whose name was Apries, had been formerly the King
of Egypt, but he had been dethroned and killed by Amasis. Since the
downfall of her family, Nitetis had been a captive; but, as she was
very beautiful and very accomplished, Amasis conceived the design of
sending her to Cyrus, under the pretense that she was the daughter
whom Cyrus had demanded. He accordingly brought her forth, provided
her with the most costly and splendid dresses, loaded her with
presents, ordered a large retinue to attend her, and sent her forth to
Persia.
Cyrus was at first very much pleased with his new bride. Nitetis
became, in fact, his principal favorite; though, of course, his other
wife, whose name was Cassandane, and her children, Cambyses and
Smerdis, were jealous of her, and hated her. One day, a Persian lady
was visiting at the court, and as she was standing near Cassandane,
and saw her two sons, who were then tall and handsome young men, she
expressed her admiration of them, and said to Cassandane, "How proud
and happy you must be!" "No," said Cassandane; "on the contrary, I am
very miserable; for, though I am the mother of these children, the
king neglects and despises me. All his kindness is bestowed on this
Egyptian woman." Cambyses, who heard this conversation, sympathized
deeply with Cassandane in her resentment. "Mother," said he, "be
patient, and I will avenge you. As soon as I am king, I will go to
Egypt and turn the whole country upside down."
In fact, the tendency which there was in the mind of Cambyses to look
upon Egypt as the first field of war and conquest for him, so soon as
he should succeed to the throne, was encouraged by the influence of
his father; for Cyrus, although he was much captivated by the charms
of the lady whom the King of Egypt had sent him, was greatly incensed
against the king for having practiced upon him such a deception.
Besides, all the important countries in Asia were already included
within the Persian dominions. It was plain that if any future progress
were to be made in extending the empire, the regions of Europe and
Africa must be the theatre of it. Egypt seemed the most accessible and
vulnerable point beyond the confines of Asia; and thus, though Cyrus
himself, being advanced somewhat in years, and interested, moreover,
in other projects, was not prepared to undertake an enterprise into
Africa himself, he was very willing that such plans should be
cherished by his son.
Cambyses was an ardent, impetuous, and self-willed boy, such as the
sons of rich and powerful men are very apt to become. They imbibe, by
a sort of sympathy, the ambitious and aspiring spirit of their
fathers; and as all their childish caprices and passions are generally
indulged, they never learn to submit to control. They become vain,
self-conceited, reckless, and cruel. The conqueror who founds an
empire, although even his character generally deteriorates very
seriously toward the close of his career, still usually knows
something of moderation and generosity. His son, however, who inherits
his father's power, seldom inherits the virtues by which the power
was acquired. These truths, which we see continually exemplified all
around us, on a small scale, in the families of the wealthy and the
powerful, were illustrated most conspicuously, in the view of all
mankind, in the case of Cyrus and Cambyses. The father was prudent,
cautious, wise, and often generous and forbearing. The son grew up
headstrong, impetuous, uncontrolled, and uncontrollable. He had the
most lofty ideas of his own greatness and power, and he felt a supreme
contempt for the rights, and indifference to the happiness of all the
world besides. His history gives us an illustration of the worst which
the principle of hereditary sovereignty can do, as the best is
exemplified in the case of Alfred of England.
Cambyses, immediately after his father's death, began to make
arrangements for the Egyptian invasion. The first thing to be
determined was the mode of transporting his armies thither. Egypt is a
long and narrow valley, with the rocks and deserts of Arabia on one
side, and those of Sahara on the other. There is no convenient mode of
access to it except by sea, and Cambyses had no naval force sufficient
for a maritime expedition.
While he was revolving the subject in his mind, there arrived in his
capital of Susa, where he was then residing, a deserter from the army
of Amasis in Egypt. The name of this deserter was Phanes. He was a
Greek, having been the commander of a body of Greek troops who were
employed by Amasis as auxiliaries in his army. He had had a quarrel
with Amasis, and had fled to Persia, intending to join Cambyses in the
expedition which he was contemplating, in order to revenge himself on
the Egyptian king. Phanes said, in telling his story, that he had had
a very narrow escape from Egypt; for, as soon as Amasis had heard that
he had fled, he dispatched one of his swiftest vessels, a galley of
three banks of oars, in hot pursuit of the fugitive. The galley
overtook the vessel in which Phanes had taken passage just as it was
landing in Asia Minor. The Egyptian officers seized it and made Phanes
prisoner. They immediately began to make their preparations for the
return voyage, putting Phanes, in the mean time, under the charge of
guards, who were instructed to keep him very safely. Phanes, however,
cultivated a good understanding with his guards, and presently invited
them to drink wine with him. In the end, he got them intoxicated, and
while they were in that state he made his escape from them, and then,
traveling with great secrecy and caution until he was beyond their
reach, he succeeded in making his way to Cambyses in Susa.
Phanes gave Cambyses a great deal of information in respect to the
geography of Egypt, the proper points of attack, the character and
resources of the king, and communicated, likewise, a great many other
particulars which it was very important that Cambyses should know. He
recommended that Cambyses should proceed to Egypt by land, through
Arabia; and that, in order to secure a safe passage, he should send
first to the King of the Arabs, by a formal embassy, asking permission
to cross his territories with an army, and engaging the Arabians to
aid him, if possible, in the transit. Cambyses did this. The Arabs
were very willing to join in any projected hostilities against the
Egyptians; they offered Cambyses a free passage, and agreed to aid his
army on their march. To the faithful fulfillment of these stipulations
the Arab chief bound himself by a treaty, executed with the most
solemn forms and ceremonies.
The great difficulty to be encountered in traversing the deserts which
Cambyses would have to cross on his way to Egypt was the want of
water. To provide for this necessity, the king of the Arabs sent a
vast number of camels into the desert, laden with great sacks or bags
full of water. These camels were sent forward just before the army of
Cambyses came on, and they deposited their supplies along the route at
the points where they would be most needed. Herodotus, the Greek
traveler, who made a journey into Egypt not a great many years after
these transactions, and who wrote subsequently a full description of
what he saw and heard there, gives an account of another method by
which the Arab king was said to have conveyed water into the desert,
and that was by a canal or pipe, made of the skins of oxen, which he
laid along the ground, from a certain river of his dominions, to a
distance of twelve days' journey over the sands! This story Herodotus
says he did not believe, though elsewhere in the course of his history
he gravely relates, as true history, a thousand tales infinitely more
improbable than the idea of a leathern pipe or hose like this to serve
for a conduit of water.
By some means or other, at all events, the Arab chief provided
supplies of water in the desert for Cambyses's army, and the troops
made the passage safely. They arrived, at length, on the frontiers of
Egypt.[A] Here they found that Amasis, the king, was dead, and
Psammenitus, his son, had succeeded him. Psammenitus came forward to
meet the invaders. A great battle was fought. The Egyptians were
routed. Psammenitus fled up the Nile to the city of Memphis, taking
with him such broken remnants of his army as he could get together
after the battle, and feeling extremely incensed and exasperated
against the invader. In fact, Cambyses had now no excuse or pretext
whatever for waging such a war against Egypt. The monarch who had
deceived his father was dead, and there had never been any cause of
complaint against his son or against the Egyptian people. Psammenitus,
therefore, regarded the invasion of Egypt by Cambyses as a wanton and
wholly unjustifiable aggression, and he determined, in his own mind,
that such invaders deserved no mercy, and that he would show them
none. Soon after this, a galley on the river, belonging to Cambyses,
containing a crew of two hundred men, fell into his hands. The
Egyptians, in their rage, tore these Persians all to pieces. This
exasperated Cambyses in his turn, and the war went on, attended by the
most atrocious cruelties on both sides.
[Footnote A: For the places mentioned in this chapter, and the track
of Cambyses on his expedition, see the map at the commencement of this
volume.]
In fact, Cambyses, in this Egyptian campaign, pursued such a career of
inhuman and reckless folly, that people at last considered him insane.
He began with some small semblance of moderation, but he proceeded, in
the end, to the perpetration of the most terrible excesses of violence
and wrong.
As to his moderation, his treatment of Psammenitus personally is
almost the only instance that we can record. In the course of the war,
Psammenitus and all his family fell into Cambyses's hands as captives.
A few days afterward, Cambyses conducted the unhappy king without the
gates of the city to exhibit a spectacle to him. The spectacle was
that of his beloved daughter, clothed in the garments of a slave, and
attended by a company of other maidens, the daughters of the nobles
and other persons of distinction belonging to his court, all going
down to the river, with heavy jugs, to draw water. The fathers of all
these hapless maidens had been brought out with Psammenitus to
witness the degradation and misery of their children. The maidens
cried and sobbed aloud as they went along, overwhelmed with shame and
terror. Their fathers manifested the utmost agitation and distress.
Cambyses stood smiling by, highly enjoying the spectacle. Psammenitus
alone appeared unmoved. He gazed on the scene silent, motionless, and
with a countenance which indicated no active suffering; he seemed to
be in a state of stupefaction and despair. Cambyses was disappointed,
and his pleasure was marred at finding that his victim did not feel
more acutely the sting of the torment with which he was endeavoring to
goad him.
When this train had gone by, another came. It was a company of young
men, with halters about their necks, going to execution. Cambyses had
ordered that for every one of the crew of his galley that the
Egyptians had killed, ten Egyptians should be executed. This
proportion would require two thousand victims, as there had been two
hundred in the crew. These victims were to be selected from among the
sons of the leading families; and their parents, after having seen
their delicate and gentle daughters go to their servile toil, were now
next to behold their sons march in a long and terrible array to
execution. The son of Psammenitus was at the head of the column. The
Egyptian parents who stood around Psammenitus wept and lamented aloud,
as one after another saw his own child in the train. Psammenitus
himself, however, remained as silent and motionless, and with a
countenance as vacant as before. Cambyses was again disappointed. The
pleasure which the exhibition afforded him was incomplete without
visible manifestations of suffering in the victim for whose torture it
was principally designed.
After this train of captives had passed, there came a mixed collection
of wretched and miserable men, such as the siege and sacking of a city
always produces in countless numbers. Among these was a venerable man
whom Psammenitus recognized as one of his friends. He had been a man
of wealth and high station; he had often been at the court of the
king, and had been entertained at his table. He was now, however,
reduced to the last extremity of distress, and was begging of the
people something to keep him from starving. The sight of this man in
such a condition seemed to awaken the king from his blank and
death-like despair. He called his old friend by name in a tone of
astonishment and pity, and burst into tears.
Cambyses, observing this, sent a messenger to Psammenitus to inquire
what it meant. "He wishes to know," said the messenger, "how it
happens that you could see your own daughter set at work as a slave,
and your son led away to execution unmoved, and yet feel so much
commiseration for the misfortunes of a stranger." We might suppose
that any one possessing the ordinary susceptibilities of the human
soul would have understood without an explanation the meaning of this,
though it is not surprising that such a heartless monster as Cambyses
did not comprehend it. Psammenitus sent him word that he could not
help weeping for his friend, but that his distress and anguish on
account of his children were too great for tears.
The Persians who were around Cambyses began now to feel a strong
sentiment of compassion for the unhappy king, and to intercede with
Cambyses in his favor. They begged him, too, to spare Psammenitus's
son. It will interest those of our readers who have perused our
history of Cyrus to know that Croesus, the captive king of Lydia,
whom they will recollect to have been committed to Cambyses's charge
by his father, just before the close of his life, when he was setting
forth on his last fatal expedition, and who accompanied Cambyses on
this invasion of Egypt, was present on this occasion, and was one of
the most earnest interceders in Psammenitus's favor. Cambyses allowed
himself to be persuaded. They sent off a messenger to order the
execution of the king's son to be stayed; but he arrived too late. The
unhappy prince had already fallen. Cambyses was so far appeased by the
influence of these facts, that he abstained from doing Psammenitus or
his family any further injury.
He, however, advanced up the Nile, ravaging and plundering the country
as he went on, and at length, in the course of his conquests, he
gained possession of the tomb in which the embalmed body of Amasis was
deposited. He ordered this body to be taken out of its sarcophagus,
and treated with every mark of ignominy. His soldiers, by his orders,
beat it with rods, as if it could still feel, and goaded it, and cut
it with swords. They pulled the hair out of the head by the roots, and
loaded the lifeless form with every conceivable mark of insult and
ignominy. Finally, Cambyses ordered the mutilated remains that were
left to be burned, which was a procedure as abhorrent to the ideas and
feelings of the Egyptians as could possibly be devised.
Cambyses took every opportunity to insult the religious, or as,
perhaps, we ought to call them, the superstitious feelings of the
Egyptians. He broke into their temples, desecrated their altars, and
subjected every thing which they held most sacred to insult and
ignominy. Among their objects of religious veneration was the sacred
bull called Apis. This animal was selected from time to time, from the
country at large, by the priests, by means of certain marks which they
pretended to discover upon its body, and which indicated a divine and
sacred character. The sacred bull thus found was kept in a magnificent
temple, and attended and fed in a most sumptuous manner. In serving
him, the attendants used vessels of gold.
Cambyses arrived at the city where Apis was kept at a time when the
priests were celebrating some sacred occasion with festivities and
rejoicings. He was himself then returning from an unsuccessful
expedition which he had made, and, as he entered the town, stung with
vexation and anger at his defeat, the gladness and joy which the
Egyptians manifested in their ceremonies served only to irritate him,
and to make him more angry than ever. He killed the priests who were
officiating. He then demanded to be taken into the edifice to see the
sacred animal, and there, after insulting the feelings of the
worshipers in every possible way by ridicule and scornful words, he
stabbed the innocent bull with his dagger. The animal died of the
wound, and the whole country was filled with horror and indignation.
The people believed that this deed would most assuredly bring down
upon the impious perpetrator of it the judgments of heaven.
Cambyses organized, while he was in Egypt, several mad expeditions
into the surrounding countries. In a fit of passion, produced by an
unsatisfactory answer to an embassage, he set off suddenly, and
without any proper preparation, to march into Ethiopia. The provisions
of his army were exhausted before he had performed a fifth part of the
march. Still, in his infatuation, he determined to go on. The soldiers
subsisted for a time on such vegetables as they could find by the way;
when these failed, they slaughtered and ate their beasts of burden;
and finally, in the extremity of their famine, they began to kill and
devour one another; then, at length, Cambyses concluded to return. He
sent off, too, at one time, a large army across the desert toward the
Temple of Jupiter Ammon, without any of the necessary precautions for
such a march. This army never reached their destination, and they
never returned. The people of the Oasis said that they were overtaken
by a sand storm in the desert, and were all overwhelmed.
[Illustration: THE ARMY OF CAMBYSES OVERWHELMED IN THE DESERT.]
There was a certain officer in attendance on Cambyses named
Prexaspes. He was a sort of confidential friend and companion of the
king; and his son, who was a fair, and graceful, and accomplished
youth, was the king's cup-bearer, which was an office of great
consideration and honor. One day Cambyses asked Prexaspes what the
Persians generally thought of him. Prexaspes replied that they
thought and spoke well of him in all respects but one. The king
wished to know what the exception was. Prexaspes rejoined, that it
was the general opinion that he was too much addicted to wine.
Cambyses was offended at this reply; and, under the influence of the
feeling, so wholly unreasonable and absurd, which so often leads men
to be angry with the innocent medium through which there comes to
them any communication which they do not like, he determined to
punish Prexaspes for his freedom. He ordered his son, therefore, the
cup-bearer, to take his place against the wall on the other side of
the room. "Now," said he, "I will put what the Persians say to the
test." As he said this, he took up a bow and arrow which were at his
side, and began to fit the arrow to the string. "If," said he, "I do
not shoot him exactly through the heart, it shall prove that the
Persians are right. If I do, then they are wrong, as it will show
that I do not drink so much as to make my hand unsteady." So saying,
he drew the bow, the arrow flew through the air and pierced the poor
boy's breast. He fell, and Cambyses coolly ordered the attendants to
open the body, and let Prexaspes see whether the arrow had not gone
through the heart.
These, and a constant succession of similar acts of | 668.773789 |
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Produced by Clare Boothby and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| | 669.279024 |
2023-11-16 18:28:13.3267620 | 158 | 25 |
Produced by Ken Reeder
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
THE STORY OF THE GREAT VALLEY CAMPAIGN
By Joseph A. Altsheler
FOREWORD
"The Scouts of Stonewall," while an independent story, is in effect a
continuation of the series which began with "The Guns of Bull Run"
and which was carried on in "The Guns of Shiloh." The present romance
reverts to the Southern side, and is concerned with the fortunes of
Harry Kenton and his friends.
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONE | 669.346802 |
2023-11-16 18:28:13.3441180 | 2,797 | 6 |
Produced by David Reed
TREATISES ON FRIENDSHIP AND OLD AGE
By Marcus Tullius Cicero
Translated by E. S. Shuckburgh
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, the greatest of Roman orators and the chief
master of Latin prose style, was born at Arpinum, Jan. 3, 106 B.C.
His father, who was a man of property and belonged to the class of
the "Knights," moved to Rome when Cicero was a child; and the future
statesman received an elaborate education in rhetoric, law, and
philosophy, studying and practising under some of the most noted
teachers of the time. He began his career as an advocate at the age of
twenty-five, and almost immediately came to be recognized not only as a
man of brilliant talents but also as a courageous upholder of justice in
the face of grave political danger. After two years of practice he left
Rome to travel in Greece and Asia, taking all the opportunities that
offered to study his art under distinguished masters. He returned to
Rome greatly improved in health and in professional skill, and in 76
B. C. was elected to the office of quaestor. He was assigned to the
province of Lilybaeum in Sicily, and the vigor and justice of his
administration earned him the gratitude of the inhabitants. It was at
their request that he undertook in 70 B. C. the Prosecution of Verres,
who as Praetor had subjected the Sicilians to incredible extortion and
oppression; and his successful conduct of this case, which ended in the
conviction and banishment of Verres, may be said to have launched him
on his political career. He became aedile in the same year, in 67 B.C.
praetor, and in 64 B. C. was elected consul by a large majority. The
most important event of the year of his consulship was the conspiracy of
Catiline. This notorious criminal of patrician rank had conspired with
a number of others, many of them young men of high birth but dissipated
character, to seize the chief offices of the state, and to extricate
themselves from the pecuniary and other difficulties that had resulted
from their excesses, by the wholesale plunder of the city. The plot was
unmasked by the vigilance of Cicero, five of the traitors were summarily
executed, and in the overthrow of the army that had been gathered in
their support Catiline himself perished. Cicero regarded himself as the
savior of his country, and his country for the moment seemed to give
grateful assent.
But reverses were at hand. During the existence of the political
combination of Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, known as the first
triumvirate, P. Clodius, an enemy of Cicero's, proposed a law banishing
"any one who had put Roman citizens to death without trial." This was
aimed at Cicero on account of his share in the Catiline affair, and in
March, 58 B. C., he left Rome. The same day a law was passed by which
he was banished by name, and his property was plundered and destroyed,
a temple to Liberty being erected on the site of his house in the city.
During his exile Cicero's manliness to some extent deserted him. He
drifted from place to place, seeking the protection of officials against
assassination, writing letters urging his supporters to agitate for
his recall, sometimes accusing them of lukewarmness and even treachery,
bemoaning the ingratitude of his country or regretting the course
of action that had led to his outlawry, and suffering from extreme
depression over his separation from his wife and children and the wreck
of his political ambitions. Finally in August, 57 B. C., the decree
for his restoration was passed, and he returned to Rome the next month,
being received with immense popular enthusiasm. During the next few
years the renewal of the understanding among the triumvirs shut Cicero
out from any leading part in politics, and he resumed his activity in
the law-courts, his most important case being, perhaps, the defence of
Milo for the murder of Clodius, Cicero's most troublesome enemy. This
oration, in the revised form in which it has come down to us, is ranked
as among the finest specimens of the art of the orator, though in its
original form it failed to secure Milo's acquittal. Meantime, Cicero was
also devoting much time to literary composition, and his letters show
great dejection over the political situation, and a somewhat wavering
attitude towards the various parties in the state. In 55 B. C. he went
to Cilicia in Asia Minor as proconsul, an office which he administered
with efficiency and integrity in civil affairs and with success in
military. He returned to Italy in the end of the following year, and he
was publicly thanked by the senate for his services, but disappointed in
his hopes for a triumph. The war for supremacy between Caesar and Pompey
which had for some time been gradually growing more certain, broke out
in 49 B.C., when Caesar led his army across the Rubicon, and Cicero
after much irresolution threw in his lot with Pompey, who was overthrown
the next year in the battle of Pharsalus and later murdered in Egypt.
Cicero returned to Italy, where Caesar treated him magnanimously,
and for some time he devoted himself to philosophical and rhetorical
writing. In 46 B.C. he divorced his wife Terentia, to whom he had been
married for thirty years and married the young and wealthy Publilia in
order to relieve himself from financial difficulties; but her also
he shortly divorced. Caesar, who had now become supreme in Rome, was
assassinated in 44 B.C., and though Cicero was not a sharer in the
conspiracy, he seems to have approved the deed. In the confusion which
followed he supported the cause of the conspirators against Antony;
and when finally the triumvirate of Antony, Octavius, and Lepidus was
established, Cicero was included among the proscribed, and on December
7, 43 B.C., he was killed by agents of Antony. His head and hand were
cut off and exhibited at Rome.
The most important orations of the last months of his life were the
fourteen "Philippics" delivered against Antony, and the price of this
enmity he paid with his life.
To his contemporaries Cicero was primarily the great forensic and
political orator of his time, and the fifty-eight speeches which have
come down to us bear testimony to the skill, wit, eloquence, and passion
which gave him his pre-eminence. But these speeches of necessity deal
with the minute details of the occasions which called them forth, and
so require for their appreciation a full knowledge of the history,
political and personal, of the time. The letters, on the other hand,
are less elaborate both in style and in the handling of current events,
while they serve to reveal his personality, and to throw light upon
Roman life in the last days of the Republic in an extremely vivid
fashion. Cicero as a man, in spite of his self-importance, the
vacillation of his political conduct in desperate crises, and the
whining despondency of his times of adversity, stands out as at bottom
a patriotic Roman of substantial honesty, who gave his life to check the
inevitable fall of the commonwealth to which he was devoted. The evils
which were undermining the Republic bear so many striking resemblances
to those which threaten the civic and national life of America to-day
that the interest of the period is by no means merely historical.
As a philosopher, Cicero's most important function was to make his
countrymen familiar with the main schools of Greek thought. Much of
this writing is thus of secondary interest to us in comparison with his
originals, but in the fields of religious theory and of the application
of philosophy to life he made important first-hand contributions. From
these works have been selected the two treatises, on Old Age and on
Friendship, which have proved of most permanent and widespread interest
to posterity, and which give a clear impression of the way in which
a high-minded Roman thought about some of the main problems of human
life.
ON FRIENDSHIP
THE augur Quintus Mucius Scaevola used to recount a number of stories
about his father-in-law Galus Laelius, accurately remembered and
charmingly told; and whenever he talked about him always gave him the
title of "the wise" without any hesitation. I had been introduced by my
father to Scaevola as soon as I had assumed the _toga virilis_, and I
took advantage of the introduction never to quit the venerable man's
side as long as I was able to stay and he was spared to us. The
consequence was that I committed to memory many disquisitions of his,
as well as many short pointed apophthegms, and, in short, took as much
advantage of his wisdom as I could. When he died, I attached myself
to Scaevola the Pontifex, whom I may venture to call quite the most
distinguished of our countrymen for ability and uprightness. But of this
latter I shall take other occasions to speak. To return to Scaevola the
augur. Among many other occasions I particularly remember one. He was
sitting on a semicircular garden-bench, as was his custom, when I and
a very few intimate friends were there, and he chanced to turn the
conversation upon a subject which about that time was in many people's
mouths. You must remember, Atticus, for you were very intimate
with Publius Sulpicius, what expressions of astonishment, or even
indignation, were called forth by his mortal quarrel, as tribune, with
the consul Quintus Pompeius, with whom he had formerly lived on terms of
the closest intimacy and affection. Well, on this occasion, happening
to mention this particular circumstance, Scaevola detailed to us a
discourse of Laelius on friendship delivered to himself and Laelius's
other son-in-law Galus Fannius, son of Marcus Fannius, a few days after
the death of Africanus. The points of that discussion I committed to
memory, and have arranged them in this book at my own discretion. For
I have brought the speakers, as it were, personally on to my stage to
prevent the constant "said I" and "said he" of a narrative, and to give
the discourse the air of being orally delivered in our hearing.
You have often urged me to write something on Friendship, and I
quite acknowledged that the subject seemed one worth everybody's
investigation, and specially suited to the close intimacy that has
existed between you and me. Accordingly I was quite ready to benefit the
public at your request.
As to the _dramatis personae_. In the treatise on Old Age, which I
dedicated to you, I introduced Cato as chief speaker. No one, I thought,
could with greater propriety speak on old age than one who had been an
old man longer than any one else, and had been exceptionally vigorous
in his old age. Similarly, having learnt from tradition that of all
friendships that between Gaius Laelius and Publius Scipio was the most
remarkable, I thought Laelius was just the person to support the chief
part in a discussion on friendship which Scaevola remembered him to have
actually taken. Moreover, a discussion of this sort gains somehow in
weight from the authority of men of ancient days, especially if they
happen to have been distinguished. So it comes about that in reading
over what I have myself written I have a feeling at times that it is
actually Cato that is speaking, not I.
Finally, as I sent the former essay to you as a gift from one old man to
another, so I have dedicated this _On Friendship_ as a most affectionate
friend to his friend. In the former Cato spoke, who was the oldest and
wisest man of his day; in this Laelius speaks on friendship--Laelius,
who was at once a wise man (that was the title given him) and eminent
for his famous friendship. Please forget me for a while; imagine Laelius
to be speaking.
Gaius Fannius and Quintus Mucius come to call on their father-in-law
after the death of Africanus. They start the subject; Laelius answers
them. And the whole essay on friendship is his. In reading it you will
recognise a picture of yourself.
2. | 669.364158 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER.
BY
T. S. Arthur
PHILADELPHIA:
1859.
INTRODUCTION.
UNDER the title of Confessions of a Housekeeper, a portion of the
matter in this volume has already appeared. The book is now
considerably increased, and the range of subjects made to embrace
the grave and instructive, as well as the agreeable and amusing. The
author is sure, that no lady reader, familiar with the trials,
perplexities, and incidents of housekeeping, can fail to recognize
many of her own experiences, for nearly every picture that is here
presented, | 669.645789 |
2023-11-16 18:28:13.6271860 | 835 | 294 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Katherine Ward, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
MY
UNKNOWN CHUM
"AGUECHEEK"
WITH A FOREWORD
BY HENRY GARRITY
NEW YORK
THE DEVIN-ADAIR COMPANY
1930
_THE ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND_
Copyright, 1912, by
_The Devin-Adair Company_
_All rights reserved by The Devin-Adair Co._
_Printed in U. S. A._
CONTENTS
- FOREWORD
- SKETCHES OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
- A PASSAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC
- LONDON
- ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS
- GENOA AND FLORENCE
- ANCIENT ROME
- MODERN ROME
- ROME TO MARSEILLES
- MARSEILLES, LYONS, AND AIX IN SAVOY
- AIX TO PARIS
- PARIS
- PARIS--THE LOUVRE AND ART
- NAPOLEON THE THIRD
- THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
- PARIS TO BOULOGNE
- LONDON
- ESSAYS
- STREET LIFE
- HARD UP IN PARIS
- THE OLD CORNER
- SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THEATRE ALLEY
- THE OLD CATHEDRAL
- THE PHILOSOPHY OF SUFFERING
- BOYHOOD AND BOYS
- JOSEPHINE--GIRLHOOD AND GIRLS
- SHAKESPEARE AND HIS COMMENTATORS
- MEMORIALS OF MRS. GRUNDY
- THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE
- BEHIND THE SCENES
- THE PHILOSOPHY OF CANT
FOREWORD
_Life is too short for reading inferior books._
_Bryce._
In 1878 a letter of introduction to Mr. S---- of Detroit was
instrumental in securing for me the close friendship of a man some
twenty years my senior--a man of unusual poise of mind and of such
superb character that I have ever looked upon him as a perfect type of
Newman's ideal gentleman.
My new friend was fond of all that is best in art and literature. His
pet possession, however, was an old book long out of print--"Aguecheek."
He spoke to me of its classic charm and of the recurring pleasure he
found in reading and rereading the delightful pages of its unknown
author, who saw in travel, in art, in literature, in life and humanity,
much that other travellers and other writers and scholars had failed to
observe--seeing all with a purity of vision, a clearness of intellect,
and recording it with a grace and ease of phrase that suggest that he
himself had perhaps been taught by the Angelic Doctor referred to in the
closing lines of his last essay.
A proffered loan of the book was eagerly accepted. Though still in my
teens, I soon became a convert to all that my cultured friend had said
in its praise.
With the aid of a Murray Street dealer in old books, I was fortunate
enough to get a copy for myself. I read it again and again. Obliged to
travel much, I was rarely without its companionship; for I knew that if
other reading-matter proved uninteresting, I could always find some new
conversational charm in the views and words of the World-Conversant
Author.
Fearing that I weighed the merits of the work with a mental scale
wanting in balance, I asked | 669.647226 |
2023-11-16 18:28:14.2387790 | 158 | 12 | RELIGIONS***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Jeannie Howse, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE IDEA OF GOD IN EARLY RELIGIONS
by
F. B. JEVONS, LITT.D.
Professor of Philosophy in the
University of Durham
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1913
First Edition, 1910
Reprinted 1911, 1913
_With the exception of the coat of arms at the foot, the
design on the title page is a reproduction of one used by
the earliest known Cambridge printer, John Siberch, 1521_
PREFACE
In _The Varieties of Religious | 670.258819 |
2023-11-16 18:28:14.3256850 | 601 | 11 |
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: A CINGHALESE GENTLEMAN.]
[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE BULLER, NEW ZEALAND.]
GREATER BRITAIN.
_A RECORD OF TRAVEL_
IN
ENGLISH-SPEAKING COUNTRIES
DURING 1866-7.
BY
CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE.
_TWO VOLUMES IN ONE._
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO.
1869.
TO
MY FATHER
I Dedicate
THIS BOOK.
C. W. D.
PREFACE.
IN 1866 and 1867, I followed England round the world: everywhere I was
in English-speaking, or in English-governed lands. If I remarked that
climate, soil, manners of life, that mixture with other peoples had
modified the blood, I saw, too, that in essentials the race was always
one.
The idea which in all the length of my travels has been at once my
fellow and my guide--a key wherewith to unlock the hidden things of
strange new lands--is a conception, however imperfect, of the grandeur
of our race, already girding the earth, which it is destined, perhaps,
eventually to overspread.
In America, the peoples of the world are being fused together, but they
are run into an English mould: Alfred's laws and Chaucer's tongue are
theirs whether they would or no. There are men who say that Britain in
her age will claim the glory of having planted greater Englands across
the seas. They fail to perceive that she has done more than found
plantations of her own--that she has imposed her institutions upon the
offshoots of Germany, of Ireland, of Scandinavia, and of Spain. Through
America, England is speaking to the world.
Sketches of Saxondom may be of interest even upon humbler grounds: the
development of the England of Elizabeth is to be found, not in the
Britain of Victoria, but in half the habitable globe. If two small
islands are by courtesy styled "Great," America, Australia, India, must
form a Greater Britain.
C. W. D.
76 SLOANE STREET, S. W.
1_st November_, 1868.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
PART I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. VIRGINIA 3
II. THE <DW64> 16
III. THE | 670.345725 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
MASSACRE AT PARIS
By Christopher Marlowe
Table of Contents with inital stage directions:
Dramatis Personae
Scene 1: Enter Charles the French King, [Catherine] the Queene
Mother, the King of Navarre, the Prince of Condye, the Lord high
Admirall, and [Margaret] the Queene of Navarre, with others.
Scene 2: Enter the Duke of Guise.
Scene 3: Enter the King of Navar and Queen [Margaret], and his
[olde] Mother Queen [of Navarre], the Prince of Condy, the
Admirall, and the Pothecary with the gloves, and gives them
to the olde Queene.
Scene 4: Enter [Charles] the King, [Catherine the] Queene
Mother, Duke of Guise, Duke Anjoy, Duke Demayne [and Cossin,
Captain of the Kings Guard].
Scene 5: Enter Guise, Anjoy, Dumaine, Gonzago, Retes, Montsorrell,
and Souldiers to the massacre.
Scene 6: Enter Mountsorrell and knocks at Serouns doore.
Scene 7: Enter Ramus in his studie.
Scene 8: Enter Anjoy, with two Lords of Poland.
Scene 9: Enter two with the Admirals body.
Scene 10: Enter five or sixe Protestants with bookes, and kneele
together.
Scene 11: Enter [Charles] the King of France, Navar and Epernoune
staying him: enter Queene Mother, and the Cardinall [of Loraine,
and Pleshe].
Scene 12: Sound Trumpets within, and then all crye vive le Roy two
or three times.
Scene 13: Enter the Duchesse of Guise, and her Maide.
Scene 14: Enter the King of Navarre, Pleshe and Bartus, and
their train, with drums and trumpets.
Scene 15: Enter [Henry] the King of France, Duke of Guise,
Epernoune, and Duke Joyeux.
Scene 16: Alarums within. The Duke Joyeux slaine.
Scene 17: Enter a Souldier.
Scene 18: Enter the King of Navarre reading of a letter, and
Bartus.
Scene 19: Enter the Captaine of the guarde, and three murtherers.
Scene 20: Enter two [Murtherers] dragging in the Cardenall [of
Loraine].
Scene 21: Enter Duke Dumayn reading of a letter, with others.
Scene 22: Sound Drumme and Trumpets, and enter the King of France,
and Navarre, Epernoune, Bartus, Pleshe and Souldiers.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CHARLES THE NINTH--King of France
Duke of Anjou--his brother, afterwards KNIG HENRY THE THIRD
King of Navarre
PRINCE OF CONDE--his brother
brothers
DUKE OF GUISE
CARDINAL OF LORRAINE
DUKE DUMAINE
SON TO THE DUKE OF GUISE--a boy
THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL
DUKE OF JOYEUX
EPERNOUN
PLESHE
BARTUS
TWO LORDS OF POLAND
GONZAGO
RETES
MOUNTSORRELL
COSSINS,--Captain of the King's Guard
MUGEROUN
THE CUTPURSE
LOREINE,--a preacher
SEROUNE
RAMUS
TALEUS
FRIAR
SURGEONENGLISH AGENT
APOTHECARY
Captain of the Guard, Protestants, Schoolmasters, Soldiers,
Murderers, Attendants, &c.
CATHERINE,--the Queen Mother of France
MARGARET,--her daughter, wife to the KING OF NAVARRE
THE OLD QUEEN OF NAVARRE
DUCHESS OF GUISE
WIFE TO SEROUNE
Maid to the Duchess of Guise
THE MASSACRE AT PARIS.
With the Death of the Duke of Guise.
[Scene i]
Enter Charles the French King, [Catherine] the Queene Mother,
the King of Navarre, the Prince of Condye, the Lord high
Admirall, and [Margaret] the Queene of Navarre, with others.
CHARLES. Prince of Navarre my honourable brother,
Prince Condy, and my good Lord Admirall,
wishe this union and religious league,
Knit in these hands, thus joyn'd in nuptiall rites,
May not desolve, till death desolve our lives,
And that the native sparkes of princely love,
That kindled first this motion in our hearts,
May still be feweld in our progenye.
NAVAREE. The many favours which your grace has showne,
From time to time, but specially in this,
Shall binde me ever to your highnes will,
In what Queen Mother or your grace commands.
QUEENE MOTHER. Thanks sonne Navarre, you see we love you well,
That linke you in mariage with our daughter heer:
And as you know, our difference in Religion
Might be a meanes to crosse you in your love.
CHARLES. Well Madam, let that rest:
And now my Lords the mariage rites perfourm'd,
We think it good to goe and consumate
The rest, with hearing of an holy Masse:
Sister, I think your selfe will beare us company.
QUEENE MARGARET. I will my good Lord.
CHARLES. The rest that will not goe (my Lords) may stay:
Come Mother,
Let us goe to honor this solemnitie.
QUEENE MOTHER. Which Ile desolve with bloud and crueltie.
[Aside.]
Exit [Charles] the King, Queene Mother, and [Margaret]
the Queene of Navar [with others], and manet Navar,
the Prince of Condy, and the Lord high Admirall.
NAVARRE. Prince Condy and my good Lord Admiral,
Now Guise may storme but does us little hurt:
Having the King, Queene Mother on our side,
To stop the mallice of his envious heart,
That seekes to murder all the Protestants:
Have you not heard of late how he decreed,
If that the King had given consent thereto,
That all the protestants that are in Paris,
Should have been murdered the other night?
ADMIRALL. My Lord I mervaile that th'aspiring Guise
Dares once adventure without the Kings assent,
To meddle or attempt such dangerous things.
CONDY. My Lord you need not mervaile at the Guise,
For what he doth the Pope will ratifie:
In murder | 670.347197 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
TWO YELLOW-BIRDS.
By Anonymous
[Illustration: 001]
[Illustration: 003]
[Illustration: 004]
[Illustration: 005]
[Illustration: 006]
TWO YELLOW-BIRDS.
|When Lucy Tracy was a very little girl, her mother had a beautiful
yellow bird. He was quite tame, and would come out of his cage, and sit
upon Mrs. Tracy's plants, and then fly upon the breakfast table, and
pick the crumbs from the white cloth, while Lucy and her lather and
mother were eating their breakfast.
Little Lucy had no brother or sister | 670.557177 |
2023-11-16 18:28:14.8259330 | 867 | 13 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration]
PERCY.
A TRAGEDY,
IN FIVE ACTS.
BY MRS. HANNAH MORE.
CORRECTLY GIVEN,
AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRES ROYAL.
[Illustration]
London:
PRINTED BY AND FOR D. S. MAURICE,
_Fenchurch Street;_
SOLD BY
T. HUGHES, 35, LUDGATE STREET; J. BYSH, 52, PATERNOSTER ROW;
J. CUMMING, DUBLIN; J. SUTHERLAND, EDINBURGH; &c. &c.
REMARKS.
This tragedy, in which Mrs. Hannah More is supposed to have been
assisted by Garrick, was produced at Covent Garden Theatre, in 1778,
with success; and revived, in 1818, at the same Theatre.
The feuds of the rival houses of Percy and of Douglas have furnished
materials for this melancholy tale, in which Mrs. More[1] has embodied
many judicious sentiments and excellent passages, producing a forcible
lesson to parental tyranny. The victim of her husband's unreasonable
jealousy, _Elwina's_ virtuous conflict is pathetic and interesting;
while _Percy's_ sufferings, and the vain regret of Earl _Raby_, excite
and increase our sympathy.
[1] Of this estimable lady, a contemporary writer says, "This lady has
for many years flourished in the literary world, which she has richly
adorned by a variety of labours, all possessing strong marks of
excellence. In the cause of religion and society, her labours are
original and indefatigable; and the industrious poor have been at
once enlightened by her instructions, and supported by her bounty."
As a dramatic writer, Mrs. More is known by her "Search after
Happiness," pastoral drama; "The Inflexible Captive,"--"Percy,"
and "Fatal Falsehood," tragedies; and by her "Sacred Dramas."
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Percy, Earl of Northumberland Mr. Lewis.
Earl Douglas Mr. Wroughton.
Earl Raby, Elwina's Father Mr. Aickin.
Edric, Friend to Douglas Mr. Whitefield.
Harcourt, Friend to Percy Mr. Robson.
Sir Hubert, a Knight Mr. Hull.
Elwina Mrs. Barry.
Birtha Mrs. Jackson.
Knights, Guards, Attendants, &c.
SCENE,--Raby Castle, in Durham.
PERCY.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I. A GOTHIC HALL.
_Enter Edric and Birtha._
_Bir._ What may this mean? Earl Douglas has enjoin'd thee
To meet him here in private?
_Edr._ Yes, my sister,
And this injunction I have oft receiv'd;
But when he comes, big with some painful secret,
He starts, looks wild, then drops ambiguous hints,
Frowns, hesitates, turns pale, and says 'twas nothing;
Then feigns to smile, and by his anxious care
To prove himself at ease, betrays his pain.
_Bir._ Since my short sojourn here, I've mark'd this earl,
And though the ties of blood unite us closely,
I shudder at his haughtiness of temper,
Which not his gentle wife, the bright Elwina,
Can charm to rest. Ill are their spirits pair'd;
His is the seat of frenzy, her's of softness,
His love is transport, her's is trembling duty;
Rage in his soul is as the whirlwind fierce,
While her's ne'er felt the power of that rude passion.
_Edr._ Perhaps the mighty soul of Douglas mourns,
Because inglorious love detains him here,
While our bold knights, beneath the Christian standard,
Press to the | 670.845973 |
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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 stanch fidelity. When
stipendiary troops were employed, infantry always constituted a
considerable portion of the military force; and this _arme_ has
since acquired, in every quarter of the globe, a celebrity never
exceeded by the armies of any nation at any period.
The weapons carried by the infantry, during the several reigns
succeeding the Conquest, were bows and arrows, half-pikes, lances,
halberds, various kinds of battle-axes, swords, and daggers. Armour
was worn on the head and body, and in course of time the practice
became general for military men to be so completely cased in steel,
that it was almost impossible to slay them.
The introduction of the use of gunpowder in the destructive
purposes of war, in the early part of the fourteenth
century, produced a change in the arms and equipment of the
infantry-soldier. Bows and arrows gave place to various kinds of
fire-arms, but British archers continued formidable adversaries;
and, owing to the inconvenient construction and imperfect bore of
the fire-arms when first introduced, a body of men, well trained
in the use of the bow from their youth, was considered a valuable
acquisition to every army, even as late as the sixteenth century.
During a great part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth each company
of infantry usually consisted of men armed five different ways; in
every hundred men forty were "_men-at-arms_," and sixty "_shot_;"
the "men-at-arms" were ten halberdiers, or battle-axe men, and
thirty pikemen; and the "shot" were twenty archers, twenty
muskete | 671.005417 |
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[Transcriber's Note: | 671.747359 |
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ESSAYS
_OTHER WORKS BY Mr. A. C. BENSON_
_In Verse_
POEMS, 1893
LYRICS, 1895
_In Prose_
MEMOIRS OF
ARTHUR HAMILTON, 1886
ARCHBISHOP LAUD: A STUDY,
1887
MEN OF MIGHT (in conjunction
with H. F. W. TATHAM), 1890
ESSAYS
BY
ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON
OF ETON COLLEGE
_Post aliquot, mea regna vid | 671.949247 |
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+------------------------------------------------------------------+
| TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES |
| |
| * Where the original work uses text in italics or bold face, this|
| e-text uses _text_ and =text=, respectively. Small caps in the |
| original work are represented here in all capitals. Subscripts |
| are represented as _{subscript}. |
| * Footnotes have been moved to directly below the paragraph or |
| table to which they belong. |
| * Several tables have been split, transposed or otherwise re- |
| arranged to make them fit within the available width. |
| |
| More Transcriber's Notes will be found at the end of this text. |
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
PAINT TECHNOLOGY AND TESTS
Published by the
McGraw-Hill Book Company
New York
Successors to the Book Departments of the
McGraw Publishing Company Hill Publishing Company
Publishers of Books for
Electrical World The Engineering and Mining Journal
Engineering Record American Machinist
Electric Railway Journal Coal Age
Metallurgical and Chemical Engineering Power
PAINT TECHNOLOGY
AND TESTS.
BY
HENRY A. GARDNER
_Assistant Director, The Institute of Industrial Research,
Washington, D. C._
_Director, Scientific Section, Paint Manufacturers' Association
of the United States, etc._
McGRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY
239 WEST 39TH STREET, NEW YORK
6 BOUVERIE STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1911
_Copyright, 1911, by the_ MCGRAW-HILL BOOK COMPANY
THE.PLIMPTON.PRESS.NORWOOD.MASS.U.S.A
TO
MY MOTHER
PREFACE
A few years ago the producer and consumer of paints possessed
comparatively little knowledge of the relative durability of various
pigments and oils. There existed in some cases a prejudice for a few
standard products, that often held the user in bondage, discouraging
investigation and exciting suspicion whenever discoveries were made,
that brought forth new materials. Such conditions indicated to the more
progressive, the need of positive information regarding the value of
various painting materials, and the advisability of having the questions
at issue determined in a practical manner.
The desire that such work should be instituted, resulted in the creation
of a Scientific Section, the scope of which was to make investigations
to determine the relative merits of different types of paint, and to
enlighten the industry on various technical problems. Paint exposure
tests of an extensive nature were started in various sections of the
country where climatic conditions vary. This field work was supplemented
in the laboratory by a series of important researches into the
properties of pigments, oils, and other raw products entering into the
manufacture of protective coatings. The results of the work were
published in bulletin form and given wide distribution. The demand for
these bulletins early exhausted the original impress, and a general
summary therefore forms a part of this volume.
The purpose of the book is primarily to serve as a reference work for
grinders, painters, engineers, and students; matter of an important
nature to each being presented. Without repetition of the matter found
in other books, two chapters on raw products have been included, and
they present in condensed form a summary of information that will prove
of aid to one who desires to become conversant with painting materials
with a view to continuing tests such as are outlined herein. In other
chapters there has been compiled considerable matter from lectures and
technical articles presented by the writer before various colleges,
engineering societies, and painters' associations.
The writer wishes to gratefully acknowledge the untiring efforts of the
members of the Educational Bureau of the Paint Manufacturers'
Association, whose early endeavors made possible many of the tests
described in this volume. Kind acknowledgment is also made to members of
the International Association of Master House Painters and Decorators of
the United States and Canada, who stood always ready to aid in
investigations which promised to bring new light into their art and
craft.
HENRY A. GARDNER.
WASHINGTON, October, 1911.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PAINT OILS AND THINNERS 1
II A STUDY OF DRIERS AND THEIR EFFECT 21
III PAINT PIGMENTS AND THEIR PROPERTIES 42
IV PHYSICAL LABORATORY PAINT TESTS 70
V THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF SCIENTIFIC PAINT MAKING 93
VI THE SCOPE OF PRACTICAL PAINT TESTS 105
| 671.949591 |
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THE THREE CITIES
PARIS
BY
EMILE ZOLA
TRANSLATED BY ERNEST A. VIZETELLY
BOOK V | 672.069887 |
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GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXIV. April, 1849. No. 4.
Table of Contents
The Poet Lí
The Naval Officer
Victory and Defeat
To Mother
On a Diamond Ring
The Recluse. No. I.
Rome
The Missionary, Sunlight
Thermopylæ
Lost Treasures
The Brother’s Temptation
The Unsepulchred Relics
Reminiscences of a Reader
The Gipsy Queen
The Brother’s Lament
Sonnet to Machiavelli
The Darsies
The Unmasked
Mormon Temple, Nauvoo
Rose Winters
The Zopilotes
History of the Costume of Men
The Beautiful of Earth
Wild-Birds of America
Jenny Lind
Storm-Lines
Review of New Books
Editor’s Table
Adieu, My Native Land
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
[Illustration: Anaïs Toudouze LE FOLLET _Robes de M^{me.}_ Bara Bréjard,
_r. Laffitte, 5—Coiffures de_ Hamelin, _pass du Saumon, 21_. _Fleurs
de_ Chagon ainé, _r. Richelieu, 81—Dentelles de_ Violard, _r. Choiseul
2^{bis}_ 8, Argyll Place, Londres. Graham’s Magazine ]
[Illustration: D. Bydgoszcz, pinx. A.L. Dick
THE BRIDGE & CHURCH OF S^{T}. ISAAC.]
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
* * * * *
VOL. XXXIV. PHILADELPHIA, April, 1849. NO. 4.
* * * * *
THE POET LI.
A FRAGMENT FROM THE CHINESE.
BY MRS. CAROLINE. H. BUTLER, AUTHOR OF “RECOLLECTIONS OF CHINA,” “MAID OF
CHE-KI-ANG,” ETC.
PART I.
Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never
appeased—injury returns upon him who injures—and sharp words
recoil against him who says them.
_Chinese Proverb._
On the green and flowery banks of the beautiful Lake Tai-hoo, whose
surface bears a thousand isles, resting like emeralds amid translucent
pearl, dwelt Whanki the mother of Lí. _The mother of Lí!_ Ah happy
distinction—ah envied title! For where, far or near, was the name could
rank with Lí on the scroll of learning—receiving even in childhood the
title of the “Exiled Immortal,” from his skill in classic and historical
lore!
Moreover, he was of a most beautiful countenance, while the antelope
that fed among the hills was not more swift of foot. Who like Lí could
draw such music from the seven silken strings of the Kin! or when with
graceful touch his fingers swept the lute, adding thereto the
well-skilled melody of his voice, youths and maidens opened their ears
to listen, for wonderful was the ravishing harmony.
Yet although the gods of learning smiled upon this youthful disciple of
Confucius, poverty came also with her iron hand, and although she could
not crush the active mind of Lí, with a strong grip, she held him back
from testing his skill with the ambitious _literati_, both old and
young, who annually flocked to the capital to present their themes
before the examiners. For even in those days as the present, money was
required to purchase the smiles of these severe judges. They must read
with _golden_ spectacles—or wo to the unhappy youth who, buoyant with
hope and—_empty pockets_, comes before them! With what contempt is his
essay cast aside, not worth the reading!
Sorely vexed, therefore, was poor Lí—and what wonder—to know that he
might safely cope with any candidate in the “Scientific Halls,” yet dare
not for the lack of _sycee_ (silver) enter their gates, lest disgrace
might fall upon him.
Yet Lí was of a merry heart—and, as all the world knows, there is no
better panacea for the ills of fortune than the spirit of cheerfulness.
Thus, although poverty barred the way to promotion, it could not
materially affect his happiness—no more than the passing wind which for
a moment ruffled the surface of the lake, yet had no power to move its
depths.
Now it happened that one day taking his nets Lí went down to the lake,
and as he cast them within the waters, not knowing any one was near, he
broke forth into a merry song, which sent its glad burthen far off to
the lips of mocking Echo, like Ariel, seeming to “ride on the curled
clouds.” Now it also chanced, that within a grove of the graceful
bamboo, which skirted the path down which Lí had passed on his way,
walked the great Mandarin Hok-wan.
“_Hi!_ by the head of Confucius the fellow sings well!” he exclaimed, as
the song met his ear, (for, as we have said, Lí had a voice of rare
melody,) and forthwith issuing from his concealment, Hok-wan seated
himself upon the bank and entered into conversation with the young
fisherman.
If the mere melody of the voice had so charmed the mandarin, how much
more was he captivated by the wit and learning of the youth, who, thus
poorly appareled, and humbly employed, seemed to share wisdom with the
gods! Hok-wan stroked his eye-brows in astonishment, and then bidding Lí
leave his nets, he bore him off as a rare prize to his own house, where
he that day feasted a numerous company.
First conducting Lí to an inner apartment, he presented him with a
magnificent robe richly embroidered, together with every article
necessary to complete the toilet of a person of distinction, and when
thus appareled, introduced him into the presence of his guests. And
truly Lí walked in among them with all the stateliness and hauteur of a
man who feels that he is conferring an honor, instead of being honored,
as no doubt Lí should have considered himself, in such an august
assemblage of grave mandarins. With what an air he seated himself at the
sumptuously loaded table! where, according to Chinese custom of the
higher classes, the various dishes of meats, soups, fish, preserves,
etc., were all nearly hidden by large bouquets of beautiful flowers, and
pyramids of green leaves.
And now no sooner had Hok-wan delivered with all customary formality the
speech of welcome, and drained to the health of his guests the tiny
goblet of crystal, embossed with gold, than rising to his feet, and
joining his hands before his breast, in token of respect to his host, Lí
called a servant, and bidding him take a part from all the good things
spread before him, said:
“Carry these to the dwelling of Whanki, the mother of Lí. Say to her
that as the sands on the lake shore, countless are the blessings of the
gods, who have this day smiled upon her son. Bid her eat—for although
from hunger he should gnaw his flesh, and from thirst drink his blood,
yet not one morsel of this banquet shall pass the lips of Lí unless his
aged mother be also sustained by the same delicacies.”
At hearing which, all the mandarins, and Hok-wan himself, loudly
expressed their admiration. Such is the esteem which the Chinese
entertain for filial piety.
This duty discharged, Lí attacked the dainties before him like a hungry
soldier, yet seasoning all he said and did with so much wit and humor,
that the guests laid down their chop-sticks and listened with wonder.
With the wine, Li grew still more merry—his wit cut like hail-stones
wheresoe’er it lighted, and at his jovial songs the grave dignitaries
forgetting their rank, (somewhat washed away by copious draughts of
_sam-shu_,[1]) snapped their fingers, wagged their shorn heads, and even
rising from the table embraced him familiarly. At length, when after an
interval of a few hours their hilarity was somewhat abated, during which
the guests walked in the beautiful gardens, or reclining upon luxuriant
cushions, regaled themselves with their pipes, or in masticating their
favorite betel-nut, Lí made bare his bosom before them, and to their
astonishment they found it was only a needy scholar whose praises they
had been shouting.
_A needy scholar!_
How firmly they clutched their fobs, lest a _candareen_[2] might jump
into the pocket of the needy scholar. But of advice they were as profuse
as grass-hoppers in August.
“Go to the capital—go to Kiang-fu,” (Nankin the ancient capital of the
empire,) “thou wilt perplex the learned—thou wilt bewilder the
ignorant!” said one.
“_Hi!_ this fellow Lí will yet stand with honor before the emperor,”
cried another.
“Appear boldly in the ‘Scientific Halls’ before the Examiners,” said a
third, “and never fear but thy name shall be cried at midnight from the
highest tower in the city,[3] as the successful Lí, with whom no other
candidate can compete!”
“When the wind blows over the fields does not the grass bend before it!”
said Hok-wan. “When the great Ho speaks will not inferiors obey! the
learned academician Ho is my brother—to him then you shall go—one word
from him, and even the judges themselves shall cry your name.”
“Ivory does not come from a rat’s mouth, or gold from brass clippings,”
thought Lí, as he listened to these remarks—“a few candareens now would
be better for me than all this fine talk—truly I must be a fool not to
know all this stuff before. Yet by the sacred manes of my ancestors, I
_will_ go to the capital, and that, too, ere another sun ripens the
rice-fields—furnished with a letter to the illustrious Ho, I may dare
admittance.”
Giddy with wine, and with the excitement of high hopes for the future,
at a late hour Lí was borne in a sumptuous palankeen to the humble
dwelling of Whanki.
The poor old soul at first knew not the gay gallant who stood before
her, so much had the gift-robes of the mandarin changed his appearance.
“_Heigh-yah!_ but, Lí, thou art as fine as a magpie,” quoth she, raising
her head from the pan of charcoal, over which she seemed to be simmering
something in a small dish—“_Heigh_—and now I look at you again, I see
you have drank of that cursed _sam-shu_—forever abhorred be the name of
I-tih![4] with all thy wit dost thou not know the wise saying of
Mencius—‘_Like a crane among hens is a man of parts among fools_.’ (It
may be inferred, I think, that the good old Whanki was something of a
scold.) And while thou hast been guzzling, see what I have prepared for
thee—what had _I_ to do with birds-nest soup, and with shark’s fins,
and with pigeon’s eggs from the table of Hok-wan! My poor Lí will be too
modest to eat with | 672.282625 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Draw Swords! by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
DRAW SWORDS! BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A FEATHER IN HIS CAP.
"Oh, I say, what a jolly shame!"
"Get out; it's all gammon. Likely."
"I believe it's true. Dick Darrell's a regular pet of Sir George
Hemsworth."
"Yes; the old story--kissing goes by favour."
"I shall cut the service. It's rank favouritism."
"I shall write home and tell my father to get the thing shown up in the
House of Commons."
"Why, he's only been out here a year."
Richard Darrell, a well-grown boy of seventeen, pretty well tanned by
the sun of India, stood flashed with annoyance, looking sharply from one
speaker to another as he stood in the broad veranda of the officers'
quarters in the Roumwallah Cantonments in the northern portion of the
Bengal Presidency, the headquarters of the artillery belonging to the
Honourable the East India Company, commonly personified as "John Company
of Leadenhall Street." It was over sixty years ago, in the days when,
after a careful training at the Company's college near Croydon, young
men, or, to be more correct, boys who had made their marks, received
their commission, and were sent out to join the batteries of artillery,
by whose means more than anything else the Company had by slow degrees
conquered and held the greater part of the vast country now fully added
to the empire and ruled over by the Queen.
It was a common affair then for a lad who had been a schoolboy of
sixteen, going on with his studies one day, to find himself the next, as
it were, a commissioned officer, ready to start for the East, to take
his position in a regiment and lead stalwart men, either in the
artillery or one of the native regiments; though, of course, a great
deal of the college training had been of a military stamp.
This was Richard Darrell's position one fine autumn morning a year
previous to the opening of this narrative. He had bidden farewell to
father, mother, and Old England, promised to do his duty like a man, and
sailed for Calcutta, joined his battery, served steadily in it for a
year, and now stood in his quiet artillery undress uniform in that
veranda, looking like a strange dog being bayed at by an angry pack.
The pack consisted of young officers of his own age and under. There
was not a bit of whisker to be seen; and as to moustache, not a lad
could show half as much as Dick, while his wouldn't have made a
respectable eyebrow for a little girl of four.
Dick was flushed with pleasurable excitement, doubly flushed with anger;
but he kept his temper down, and let his companions bully and hector and
fume till they were tired.
Then he gave an important-looking blue letter he held a bit of a wave,
and said, "It's no use to be jealous."
"Pooh! Who's jealous--and of you?" said the smallest boy present, one
who had very high heels to his boots. "That's too good."
"For, as to being a favourite with the general, he has never taken the
slightest notice of me since I joined."
"There, that'll do," said one of the party; "a man can't help feeling
disappointment. Every one is sure to feel so except the one who gets
the stroke of luck. I say, `Hurrah for Dick Darrell!'"
The others joined in congratulations now.
"I say, old chap, though," said one, "what a swell you'll be!"
"Yes; won't he? We shall run against him capering about on his spirited
Arab, while we poor fellows are trudging along in the hot sand behind
the heavy guns."
"Don't cut us, Dick, old chap," said another.
"He won't; he's not that sort," cried yet another. "I say, we must give
him a good send-off."
"When are you going?"
"The despatch says as soon as possible."
"But what troop are you to join?"
"The Sixth."
"The Sixth! I know; at Vallumbagh. Why, that's the crack battery,
where the fellows polish the guns and never go any slower than a racing
gallop. I say, you are in luck. Well, I am glad!"
The next minute every one present was ready to declare the same thing,
and for the rest of that day the young officer to whom the good stroke
of fortune had come hardly knew whether he stood upon his head or heels.
The next morning he was summoned to the general's quarters, the quiet,
grave-looking officer telling him that, as an encouragement for his
steady application to master his profession, he had been selected to
fill a vacancy; that the general hoped his progress in the horse brigade
would be as marked as it had been hitherto; and advising him to see at
once about his fresh uniform and accoutrements, which could follow him
afterwards, for he was to be prepared to accompany the general on his
march to Vallumbagh, which would be commenced the very next day.
Dick was not profuse in thanks or promises, but listened quietly, and,
when expected to speak, he merely said that he would do his best.
"That is all that is expected of you, Mr Darrell," said the general,
giving him a friendly nod. "Then, as you have many preparations to
make, and I have also, I will not detain you."
Dick saluted, and was leaving, when a sharp "Stop!" arrested him.
"You will want a horse. I have been thinking about it, and you had
better wait till you get to Vallumbagh, where, no doubt, the officers of
the troop will help you to make a choice. They will do this, for they
have had plenty of experience, and are careful to keep up the prestige
of the troop for perfection of drill and speed."
"No one would think he had been an old school-fellow of my father," said
Dick to himself as he went out; "he takes no more notice of me than of
any other fellow."
But the general was not a demonstrative man.
The preparations were soon made, the most important to Richard Darrell
being his visit to the tailor who supplied most of the officers with
their uniforms. The little amount of packing was soon done, and, after
the farewell dinner had been given to those leaving the town, the time
came when the young subaltern took his place in the general's train, to
follow the detachment of foot artillery which had marched with their
guns and baggage-train for Vallumbagh, where the general was taking
charge, and preparations in the way of collecting troops were supposed
to be going on.
Travelling was slow and deliberate in those days before railways, and
the conveniences and comforts, such as they were, had to be carried by
the travellers themselves; but in this case the young officer found his
journey novel and pleasant. For it was the cool season; the dust was
not quite so horrible as it might have been, and the tent arrangements
were carried out so that a little camp was formed every evening; and
this was made the more pleasant for the general's staff by the fact that
there were plenty of native servants, and one of the most important of
these was the general's cook.
But still the journey grew monotonous, over far-stretching plains,
across sluggish rivers; and it was with a feeling of thankfulness, after
many days' journey, always north and west, that Richard Darrell learned
that they would reach their destination the next morning before the heat
of the day set in.
That morning about ten o'clock they were met a few miles short of the
town, which they could see through a haze of dust, with its temples and
minarets, by a party of officers who had ridden out to welcome the
| 672.389261 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rick Morris, Rod Crawford,
Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: HE LANDED HIMSELF THROUGH THE AIR WITH A LONG GRACEFUL
LEAP. —Page 31.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOYS _of_ OAKDALE
ACADEMY
BY
MORGAN SCOTT
AUTHOR OF “BEN STONE AT OAKDALE,” ETC.
_With Four Original Illustrations_
_By MARTIN LEWIS_
NEW YORK
HURST AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1911,
BY
HURST & COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Boy of Mystery 5
II. Playing the Part 13
III. Rod's Wonderful Jump 26
IV. The Fellow Who Refused 39
V. Ambushed 50
VI. The Result of a Practical Joke 61
VII. The One Who Laughed Last 70
VIII. The White Feather 80
IX. Moments of Apprehension 88
X. Who Told? 99
XI. In Doubt 110
XII. Cold Weather in Texas 118
XIII. A Bond of Sympathy 129
XIV. A Narrow Escape 136
XV. When a Grant Fights 150
XVI. Independent Rod 162
XVII. The First Snow 170
XVIII. Rabbit Hunting 179
XIX. An Encounter in the Woods 192
XX. A Sunday Morning Caller 200
XXI. What Sleuth Piper Saw 208
XXII. The Fate of Silver Tongue 218
XXIII. Following the Trail 229
XXIV. The Proof 239
XXV. Settlement Day Draws Near 248
XXVI. Grant’s Defiance 254
XXVII. Spotty Refuses to Talk 264
XXVIII. Aroused at Last 274
XXIX. The Incriminating Letter 283
XXX. The Reason Why 291
XXXI. Something Worth Doing 300
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOYS OF OAKDALE ACADEMY.
CHAPTER I.
A BOY OF MYSTERY.
“He’s a fake,” declared Chipper Cooper positively, backing up against
the steam radiator to warm himself on the other side. “I’ll bet a
hundred dollars he never was west of | 672.840122 |
2023-11-16 18:28:16.9125880 | 1,759 | 6 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
The Motor Boat Club at the Golden Gate
OR
A Thrilling Capture in the Great Fog
By
H. IRVING HANCOCK
Author of The Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec, The Motor Boat Club at
Nantucket, The Motor Boat Club off Long Island, The Motor Boat Club and
the Wireless, The Motor Boat Club in Florida, etc., etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY HOWARD E. ALTEMUS
[Illustration: "I Trust You, But I'll Hold Onto the Pitcher."
_Frontispiece._]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TOM HALSTEAD, KNIGHT OF THE OVERLAND MAIL, 7
II. HAZING, M. B. C. K. STYLE, 22
III. CAPTAIN TOM'S NEW COMMAND, 34
IV. HALSTEAD IS LET INTO A SECRET, 52
V. A HUNT IN THE UNDER-WORLD, 59
VI. FACING THE YELLOW BARRIER, 68
VII. DICK TAKES THE RESCUE BOAT TRICK, 81
VIII. THE REAL KENNEBEC WAY, 94
IX. THE CHASE OF THEIR LIVES, 100
X. COMING TO CLOSE, DANGEROUS QUARTERS, 111
XI. GASTON GIDDINGS MAKES TROUBLE, 122
XII. TOO-WHOO-OO! IS THE WORD, 129
XIII. THE CALL FROM OUT OF THE FOG, 136
XIV. MR. CRAGTHORPE IS MORE THAN TROUBLESOME, 146
XV. THE MIDNIGHT ALARM, 155
XVI. THE FIRE DRILL IN EARNEST, 164
XVII. CRAGTHORPE INTRODUCES HIS REAL SELF, 172
XVIII. A TRICK MADE FOR TWO, 183
XIX. TED DYER, SAILOR BY MARRIAGE, 196
XX. THE FIND IN THE FOREHOLD, 206
XXI. ON A BLIND TRAIL OF THE SEA, 213
XXII. A STERN LOOMS UP IN THE FOG, 222
XXIII. ROLLINGS'S LAST RUSE, 228
XXIV. CONCLUSION, 243
The Motor Boat Club at The Golden Gate
CHAPTER I
TOM HALSTEAD, KNIGHT OF THE OVERLAND MAIL
"I feel it in my bones," announced Joe Dawson, quietly though
positively.
"That's no talk for an engineer," jibed Tom Halstead. "Tell me, instead,
that you read it in your gauge."
"Oh, laugh, if you want to," nodded Dawson, showing no offense. "But
you'll find that I'm right. You know, I don't often make predictions."
"Yet, this time, you feel that something disastrous is going to happen
before this train rolls out on the mole at Oakland? In other words,
before we set foot in San Francisco?"
"No, I don't say quite that," objected Joe, thoughtfully. "There's a
heap of the navigator about you, Tom Halstead, and you're pinning me
down to the map and the chronometer. I won't predict quite as closely as
that. But, either before we reach 'Frisco, or mighty soon after we get
there, something is going to happen."
"And it's going to be a disaster?" questioned Tom, closely.
"For someone, yes; and we're going to be in it, at great risk."
"Well, it's a comfort to have it narrowed down even as closely as that,"
smiled Tom Halstead. "I hope it isn't going to be another earthquake,
though."
"No," agreed Joe, thoughtfully.
"Oh, well, that much of your prediction will comfort the people of San
Francisco, anyway."
"Now, you're laughing at me again," grinned Joe, good-naturedly.
"No; I'm not," protested Halstead, but belied himself by the twinkle in
his eyes, and by whistling softly the air of a popular song that the
boys had heard in a New York theatre just before leaving for the West.
At the present moment both boys were sitting comfortably facing each
other in their section in a sleeping car on the luxurious Overland Mail.
It was early forenoon. They had left Sacramento behind some time before,
on the last stretch of the run across the state of California.
Joe Dawson was riding facing forward. Tom Halstead, in the seat
opposite, half lolled at the window-ledge, with his back toward the
engine. Both boys had slept well on their last night out from San
Francisco. Both had breakfasted heartily, that morning, in the dining
car now left behind at the state capital. The next thing that would
interest them, so far as they could now guess, would be their arrival at
Oakland, and the subsequent ferry trip that would land them in San
Francisco.
It may seem a curious fact to the reader, but neither Tom Halstead nor
Joe Dawson knew just what new phases of life awaited them in the City by
the Golden Gate. They were engaged to enter the employment of a man who
owned a motor yacht. The owner had agreed to their own terms in the way
of salary, and he was paying all their expenses on this luxurious trip
westward. Moreover, the same owner had engaged some of the other members
of the Motor Boat Club of the Kennebec, as will soon be told.
Readers of the preceding volumes of this series are already well
acquainted with bright, energetic, loyal and capable Tom Halstead, who,
from the start, had held the post of fleet captain of the Motor Boat
Club. The same readers are equally familiar with the career of Joe
Dawson, fleet engineer of the Club.
As narrated in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OF THE KENNEBEC," Tom and Joe were
two boys of seafaring stock, and natives of Maine, having been born
near the mouth of the Kennebec River. That first volume detailed how the
two young men served aboard the "Sunbeam," the motor yacht of a Boston
broker, and how the boys aided the Government officers in solving the
mystery of Smugglers' Island. Out of those adventures arose the founding
of the Club, with Tom and Joe at its head.
In "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AT NANTUCKET" the two boys were again seen to
great advantage. There they had some most lively sea adventures, all
centering around the abduction of the Dunstan heir. Next, as told in
"THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB OFF LONG ISLAND," the motor boat boys played an
exciting part in the balking of a great Wall Street conspiracy. In
recognition of their services at this time, the man whom they most
helped presented them with a fifty-five foot cruising motor boat, which
the two proud young owners named the "Restless." Afterwards they
installed a wireless telegraph apparatus on the boat, and then came one
of their truly famous cruises, as related in "THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB AND
THE WIRELESS," wherein wireless telegraphy was employed in ferreting out
one of the great mysteries of the sea.
"THE MOTOR BOAT CLUB IN FLORIDA" described the sea wanderings of Captain
Tom and Engineer Joe in the Gulf waters, and their subsequent
adventures in the Everglades and at Tampa, including the laying of the
Ghost of Alligator Swamp.
From time to time other seafaring boys, whose experience aboard motor
yachts qualified them, were elected members of the Motor Boat Club, an
organization which now boasted some forty members along | 672.932628 |
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┌────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes │
│ │
│ │
│ Punctuation has been standardized. │
│ │
│ Characters in small caps have been replaced by all caps. │
│ │
│ The symbol ‘‡’ indicates the description in parenthesis has │
│ been added to an illustration. This may be needed if there │
│ is no caption or if the caption does not describe the image │
│ adequately. │
│ │
│ The page numbers from the original book are shown in braces │
│ {} for reference purposes. │
│ │
│ Non-printable characteristics have been given the following │
│ transliteration: │
│ Italic text: --> _text_ │
│ superscripts --> x{th} │
│ │
│ This book was written in a period when many words had │
│ not become standardized in their spelling. Words may have │
│ multiple spelling variations or inconsistent hyphenation in │
│ the text. These have been left unchanged unless indicated │
│ with a Transcriber’s Note. │
│ │
│ Footnotes are identified in the text with a number in │
│ brackets [2] and have been accumulated in a single section │
│ at the end of the text. │
│ │
│ Transcriber’s Notes are used when making corrections to the │
│ text or to provide additional information for the modern │
│ reader. These notes are not identified in the text, but have │
│ been accumulated in a single section at the end of the book. │
│ │
└────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘
[Illustration]
Engraved by J. Cochran.
JOHN KNOX
FROM THE ORIGINAL PICTURE IN THE POSSESSION OF
LORD TORPHICHEN.
_Published by W. Blackwood, Edinburgh, April 10, 1831._
{i}
LIFE
OF
JOHN KNOX:
CONTAINING
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE HISTORY OF
THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.
WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES OF THE PRINCIPAL REFORMERS,
AND SKETCHES OF THE PROGRESS OF LITERATURE IN
SCOTLAND DURING THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY;
AND
AN APPENDIX,
CONSISTING OF ORIGINAL PAPERS.
BY
THOMAS M‘CRIE, D.D.
THE FIFTH EDITION.
VOL. I.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH; AND
T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXXI.
{ii}
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,
PAUL’S WORK, CANONGATE.
{iii}
PREFACE
TO THE
FIRST EDITION.
The Reformation from Popery marks an epoch unquestionably the most
important in the History of modern Europe. The effects of the change
which it produced, in religion, in manners, in politics, and in
literature, continue to be felt at the present day. Nothing, surely,
can be more interesting than an investigation of the history of that
period, and of those men who were the instruments, under Providence,
of accomplishing a revolution which has proved so beneficial to
mankind.
Though many able writers have employed their talents in tracing the
causes and consequences of the Reformation, and though the leading
facts respecting its progress in Scotland have been repeatedly stated,
it occurred to me that the subject was by no means {iv} exhausted.
I was confirmed in this opinion by a more minute examination of the
ecclesiastical history of this country, which I began, for my own
satisfaction, several years ago. While I was pleased at finding that
there existed such ample materials for illustrating the history
of the Scottish Reformation, I could not but regret that no one had
undertaken to digest and exhibit the information on this subject
which lay hid in manuscripts, and in books which are now little known
or consulted. Not presuming, however, that I had the ability or the
leisure requisite for executing a task of such difficulty and extent,
I formed the design of drawing up memorials of our national Reformer,
in which his personal history might be combined with illustrations of
the progress of that great undertaking, in the advancement of which he
acted so conspicuous a part.
A work of this kind seemed to be wanting. The name of KNOX, indeed,
often occurs in the general histories of the period, and some of our
historians have drawn, with their usual ability, the leading traits
of a character with which they could not fail to be struck; but it was
foreign to their object to detail the events of his life, and it was
not to be {v} expected that they would bestow that minute and critical
attention on his history which is necessary to form a complete and
accurate idea of his character. Memoirs of his life have been prefixed
to editions of some of his works, and inserted in biographical
collections, and periodical publications; but in many instances their
authors were destitute of proper information, and in others they were
precluded, by the limits to which they were confined, from entering
into those minute statements, which are so useful for illustrating
individual character, and which render biography both pleasing and
instructive. Nor can it escape observation, that a number of writers
have been guilty of great injustice to the memory of our Reformer, and
from prejudice, from ignorance, or from inattention, have exhibited a
distorted caricature, instead of a genuine portrait.
I was encouraged to prosecute my design, in consequence of my
possessing a manuscript volume of Knox’s Letters, which throw
considerable light upon his character and history. The advantages
which I have derived from this volume will appear in the course of the
work, where it is quoted under the general title of _MS. Letters_.[1]
{vi} The other manuscripts which I have chiefly made use of are
Calderwood’s large History of the Church of Scotland, Row’s History,
and Wodrow’s Collections. Calderwood’s History, besides much valuable
information respecting the early period of the Reformation, contains
a collection of letters written by Knox between 1559 and 1572, which,
together with those in my possession, extend over twenty years of
the most active period of his life. I have carefully consulted this
history as far as it relates to the period of which I write. The copy
which I most frequently quote belongs to the Church of Scotland. In
the Advocates’ Library, besides a complete copy of that work, there
is a folio volume of it, reaching to the end of the year 1572. It
was written in 1634, and has a number of interlineations and marginal
alterations, differing from the other copies, which, if not made by
the author’s own hand, were most probably done under his eye. I have
sometimes quoted this copy. The reader will easily discern when this
is the case, as the references to it are made merely by the year under
which the transaction is recorded, the volume not being paged.
Row, in composing the early part of his Historie of the Kirk,
had the assistance of Memoirs written {vii} by David Ferguson,
his father‑in‑law, who was admitted minister of Dunfermline at the
establishment of the Reformation. Copies of this History seem to have
been taken before the author had put the finishing hand to it, which
may account for the additional matter to be found in some of them.
I have occasionally quoted the copy which belongs to the Divinity
Library in Edinburgh, but more frequently a copy transcribed in 1726,
which is more full than any other that I have had access to see.
The industrious Wodrow had amassed a valuable collection of
manuscripts relating to the ecclesiastical history of Scotland, the
greater part of which is now deposited in our public libraries. In the
library of the University of Glasgow, there is a number of volumes in
folio, containing collections which he had made for illustrating the
lives of the Scottish reformers and divines of the sixteenth century.
These have supplied me with some interesting facts; and are quoted
under the name of Wodrow MSS. in Bibl. Coll. Glas.
For the transactions of the General Assembly, I have consulted the
Register commonly called the Book of the Universal Kirk. There are
several copies of {viii} this manuscript in the country; but that
which is followed in this work, and which is the oldest that I have
examined, belongs to the Advocates’ Library.
I have endeavoured to avail myself of the printed histories of the
period, and of books published in the age of the Reformation, which
often incidentally mention facts that are not recorded by historians.
In the Advocates’ Library, which contains an invaluable treasure
of information respecting Scottish affairs, I had an opportunity of
examining the original editions of most of the Reformer’s works. The
rarest of all his tracts is the narrative of his Disputation with the
Abbot of Crossraguel, which scarcely any writer since Knox’s time
seems to have seen. After I had given up all hopes of procuring a
sight of this curious tract, I was accidentally informed that a copy
of it was in the library of Alexander Boswell, Esq. of Auchinleck,
who very politely communicated it to me.
In pointing out the sources which I have consulted, I wish not to be
understood as intimating that the reader may expect in the following
work, much information which is absolutely new. He who engages in
researches of this kind, must lay his account with finding the result
of his discoveries reduced {ix} within a small compass, and should
be prepared to expect that many of his readers will pass over with a
cursory eye, what he has procured with great, perhaps with unnecessary
labour. The principal facts respecting the Reformation and the
Reformer, are already known. I flatter myself, however, that I have
been able to place some of these facts in a new and more just light,
and to bring forward others which have not hitherto been generally
known.
The reader will find the authorities, upon which I have proceeded in
the statement of facts, carefully marked; but my object was rather
to be select than numerous in my references. When I had occasion to
introduce facts which have been often repeated in histories, and are
already established and unquestionable, I did not reckon it necessary
to be so particular in producing the authorities.
After so many writers of biography have incurred the charge either
of uninteresting generality, or of tedious prolixity, it would betray
great arrogance were I to presume that I had approached the due
medium. I have particularly felt the difficulty, in writing the life
of a public character, of observing the line which divides biography
from general history. {x} Desirous of giving unity to the narrative,
and at the same time anxious to convey information respecting the
ecclesiastical and literary history of the period, I have separated a
number of facts and illustrations of this description, and placed them
in notes at the end of the Life. I am not without apprehensions that
I may have exceeded in the number or length of these notes, and that
some readers may think, that, in attempting to relieve one part of the
work, I have overloaded another.
No apology will, I trust, be deemed necessary for the freedom with
which I have expressed my sentiments on the public questions which
naturally occurred in the course of the narrative. Some of these are
at variance with opinions which are popular in the present age; but
it does not follow | 673.145548 |
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS
CONTENTS
American Tract Society, The
Ann Potter's Lesson
Asirvadam the Brahmin
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, The
Autocrat's Landlady, A Visit to the
Autocrat, The, gives a Breakfast to the Public
Birds of the Garden and Orchard, The
Birds of the Pasture and Forest, The
Bulls and Bears
Bundle of Irish Pennants, A
Catacombs of Rome, The
Catacombs of Rome, Note to the
Chesuncook
Colin Clout and the Faery Queen
Crawford and Sculpture
Daphnaides,
Denslow Palace, The
Dot and Line Alphabet, The
Eloquence
Evening with the Telegraph-Wires, An
Farming Life in New England
Faustus, Doctor, The German Popular Legend of
Gaucho, The
Great Event of the Century, The
Her Grace, the Drummer's Daughter
Hour before Dawn, The
Ideal Tendency, The
Illinois in Spring-time
Jefferson, Thomas
Kinloch Estate, The
Language of the Sea, The
Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm von
Letter-Writing
Loo Loo
Mademoiselle's Campaigns
Metempsychosis
Minister's Wooing, The
Miss Wimple's Hoop
New World, The, and the New Man
Obituary
Old Well, The
Our Talks with Uncle John
Perilous Bivouac, A
Physical Courage
Pintal
Pocket-Celebration of the Fourth, The
President's Prophecy of Peace, The
Prisoner of War, A
Punch
Railway-Engineering in the United States
Rambles in Aquidneck
Romance of a Glove, The
Salons de Paris, Les
Sample of Consistency, A
Singing-Birds and their Songs, The
Songs of the Sea
Subjective of it, The
Suggestions
Three of Us
Water-Lilies
What are we going to make?
Whirligig of Time, The
You | 673.245586 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration:
Photo by Pach Bros., New York
PRESIDENT TAFT
]
_Washington_
_ITS SIGHTS AND INSIGHTS_
BY
MRS. HARRIET EARHART MONROE
_Author of "The Art of Conversation," "The Heroine of the Mining
Camp," "Historical Lutheranism," etc._
_NEW AND REVISED EDITION_
[Illustration]
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1909
COPYRIGHT, 1903 AND 1909, BY
HARRIET EARHART MONROE
[_Printed in the United States of America_]
Revised Edition Published September, 1909
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. The City of Washington 1
II. A Genius from France 4
III. The Capitol Building 12
IV. Interior of the Capitol 17
V. The Rotunda 21
VI. Concerning Some of the Art at the Capitol 26
VII. The Senate Chamber 33
VIII. The House of Representatives 40
IX. Concerning Representatives 46
X. The Supreme Court Room 53
XI. Incidents Concerning Members of the Supreme Court of the 58
United States
XII. Teaching Patriotism in the Capitol 67
XIII. People in the Departments 73
XIV. Incidents In and Out of the Departments 80
XV. Treasury Department 84
XVI. Secret Service Department of the Treasury of the United 92
States
XVII. Post-Office Department 100
XVIII. Department of Agriculture 105
XIX. Department of Chemistry on Pure Foods 109
XX. Department of the Interior 114
XXI. Branches of the Department of the Interior 121
XXII. Bureau of Indian Affairs 126
XXIII. The Library of Congress 131
XXIV. The Pension Office 138
XXV. State, War, and Navy Departments 146
XXVI. State, War, and Navy Departments (_Cont'd_) 155
XXVII. Department of Commerce 161
XXVIII. The Executive Mansion 166
XXIX. Interests in Washington Which Can Not Here be Fully 179
Described
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
President Taft _Frontispiece_
Bird's-eye View of Washington, Looking East _Between_ 4 _and_ 5
from the Monument
Bird's-eye View of Washington, Looking Down _Between_ 8 _and_ 9
the Potomac from the Monument
The Capitol _Between_ 12 _and_ 13
Plan of the Principal Floor of the Capitol 15
Brumidi Frieze in Rotunda 22
Brumidi Frieze in Rotunda 23
The First Reading of the Emancipation 27
Proclamation
The Mace 41
The Speaker's Room 42
GROUP I _Between_ 48 _and_ 49
Statuary Hall
"Westward Ho!"
Washington Declining Overtures from
Cornwallis
The Senate Chamber
Some Prominent Senators
The House of Representatives in Session
Some Prominent Representatives
New House Office Building
Seating Plan of the Supreme Court Chamber 54
GROUP II _Between_ 80 _and_ 81
Justices of the Supreme Court
The Supreme Court Room
The Treasury | 673.246459 |
2023-11-16 18:28:17.2471440 | 928 | 17 | OGLETHORPE***
E-text prepared by Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
BIOGRAPHICAL MEMORIALS OF JAMES OGLETHORPE,
FOUNDER OF THE COLONY OF GEORGIA, IN NORTH AMERICA.
by THADDEUS MASON HARRIS, D.D.
MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES; OF THE
ARCHAEOLOGICAL SOCIETY AT ATHENS, GREECE; OF THE MASSACHUSETTS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY; THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY; THE AMERICAN
ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY; AND CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE GEORGIA
HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
MDCCCXLI.
TO THE PRESIDENT, THE VICE PRESIDENTS, THE OFFICERS AND MEMBERS
OF THE
GEORGIA HISTORICAL SOCIETY,
THIS WORK IS
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
TO I.K. TEFFT, ESQ., WILLIAM B. STEVENS, M.D., AND A.A. SMETS, ESQ.,
_OF SAVANNAH_;
WITH A LIVELY SENSE OF THE INTEREST WHICH THEY HAVE TAKEN IN THE
PUBLICATION OF THIS WORK, THIS PAGE IS INSCRIBED BY THEIR OBLIGED AND
GRATEFUL FRIEND,
THADDEUS MASON HARRIS.
"Thy great example will in glory shine,
A favorite theme with Poet and Divine;
Posterity thy merits shall proclaim,
And add new honor to thy deathless fame."
_On his return from Georgia_, 1735.
[Illustration: GEN. JAMES OGLETHORPE. _This sketch was taken in
February preceding his decease when he was reading without spectacles
at the sale of the library of Dr. S. Johnson.
PREFACE
Having visited the South for the benefit of my health, I arrived at
Savannah, in Georgia, on the 10th of February, 1834; and, indulging
the common inquisitiveness of a stranger about the place, was informed
that just one hundred and one years had elapsed since the first
settlers were landed there, and the city laid out. Replies to other
inquiries, and especially a perusal of McCall's History of the State,
excited a lively interest in the character of General OGLETHORPE, who
was the founder of the Colony, and in the measures which he pursued
for its advancement, defence, and prosperity. I was, however,
surprised to learn that no biography had been published of the man who
projected an undertaking of such magnitude and importance; engaged in
it on principles the most benevolent and disinterested; persevered
till its accomplishment, under circumstances exceedingly arduous, and
often discouraging; and lived to see "a few become a thousand," and a
weak one "the flourishing part of a strong nation."
So extraordinary did Dr. Johnson consider the adventures, enterprise,
and exploits of this remarkable man, that "he urged him to give the
world his life." He said, "I know of no man whose life would be more
interesting. If I were furnished with materials, I would be very glad
to write it." This was a flattering offer. The very suggestion implied
that the great and worthy deeds, which Oglethorpe had performed, ought
to be recorded for the instruction, the grateful acknowledgment, and
just commendation of contemporaries; and their memorial transmitted
with honor to posterity. "The General seemed unwilling to enter upon
it then;" but, upon a subsequent occasion, communicated to Boswell
a number of particulars, which were committed to writing; but that
gentleman "not having been sufficiently diligent in obtaining more
from him," death closed the opportunity of procuring all the requisite
information.
There was a memoir drawn up soon after his decease, which has been
attributed to Capel Lofft, Esq., and published in the European
Magazine. This was afterwards adopted by Major McCall; and, in an
abridged form, appended to the first volume of his History of Georgia.
It is preserved, also, as a note, in the | 673.267184 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Hathi Trust (The Ohio State University)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=osu.32435001496009;
(The Ohio State University)
THE SILVER BULLET
---------------------------
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE SILENT HOUSE IN PIMLICO
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
THE CRIMSON CRYPTOGRAM
THE GOLDEN WANG-HO
THE TURNPIKE HOUSE
A TRAITOR IN LONDON
WOMAN--THE SPHINX
THE JADE EYE
----------------------------
John Long, Publisher, London
THE SILVER BULLET
BY
FERGUS HUME
London
John Long
13 & 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
THE SILVER BULLET
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOOD
"We had better lie down and die," said Robin peevishly. "I can't go a
step further," and to emphasise his words he deliberately sat.
"Infernal little duffer," growled Herrick. "Huh! Might have guessed
you would Joyce." He threw himself down beside his companion and
continued grumbling. "You have tobacco, a fine night, and a heather
couch of the finest, yet you talk as though the world were coming to
an end."
"I'm sure this moor never will," sighed Joyce, reminded of his
cigarettes, "we have been trudging it since eight in the morning, yet
it still stretches to the back-of-beyond. Hai!"
The pedestrians were pronouncedly isolated. A moonless sky thickly
jewelled with stars, arched over a treeless moor, far-stretching as
the plain of Shinar. In the luminous summer twilight, the eye could
see for a moderate distance, but to no clearly defined horizon; and
the verge of sight was limited by vague shadows, hardly definite
enough to be mists.
The moor exhaled the noonday heats in thin white vapour, which shut
out from the external world those who nestled to its bosom. A sense of
solitude, the brooding silence, the formless surroundings, and above
all, the insistence of the infinite, would have appealed on ordinary
occasions to the poetical and superstitious side of Robin's nature.
But at the moment, his nerves were uppermost. He was worn-out,
fractious as a child, and in his helplessness could have cried like
one. Herrick knew his friend's frail physique and inherited neurosis:
therefore he forebore to make bad worse by ill advised sympathy.
Judiciously waiting until Joyce had in some degree soothed himself
with tobacco, he talked of the common-place.
"Nine o'clock," said he peering at his watch; "thirteen hour's
walking. Nothing to me Robin, but a goodish stretch to you. However we
are within hail of civilization, and in England. A few miles further
we'll pick up a village of sorts no doubt. One would think you were
exploiting Africa the way you howl."
He spoke thus callously, in order to brace his friend; but Joyce
resented the tone with that exaggerated sense of injury peculiar to
the neurotic. "I am no Hercules like you Jim," he protested sullenly;
"all your finer feelings have been blunted by beef and beer. You can't
feel things as I do. Also," continued Robin still more querulously,
"it seems to have escaped your memory, that I returned only last night
from a two day's visit to Town."
"If you _will_ break up your holiday into fragments, you must not
expect to receive the benefit its enjoyment as a whole would give you.
It was jolly enough last week sauntering through the Midlands, till
you larked up to London, and fagged yourself with its detestable
civilization."
Joyce threw aside his cigarette and nervously began to roll another.
"It was no lark which took me up Jim. The letter that came to the
Southberry Inn was about--her business."
"Sorry old man. I keep forgetting your troubles. Heat and the want of
food make me savage. We'll rest here for a time, and then push on. Not
that a night in the open would matter to me."
Joyce made no reply but lying full length on the dry herbage, stared
at the scintillating sky. At his elbow, Herrick, cross-legged like a
fakir, gave himself up to the enjoyment of a disreputable pipe. The
more highly-strung man considered the circumstances which had placed
him where he was.
Two months previously, Robin Joyce had lost his mother, to whom he had
been devotedly attached: and the consequent grief had made a wreck of
him. For weeks he had shut himself up in the flat once brightened by
her presence to luxuriate in woe. He possessed in a large degree that
instinct for martyrdom, latent in many people, which searches for
sorrow, as a more joyous nature hunts for pleasure. The blow of Mrs.
Joyce's death had fallen unexpectedly, but it brought home to Robin,
the knowledge--strange as it may sound--that a mental pleasure can be
plucked from misfortune. He locked himself in his room, wept much, and
ate little; neglected his business of contributor to several
newspapers, and his personal appearance. Thus the pain of his loss
merged itself in that delight of self-mortification, which must have
been experienced by the hermits of the Thebiad. Not entirely from
religious motives was the desert made populous with hermits in the
days of Cyril and Hypatia.
Herrick did not realize this transcendental indulgence, nor would he
have understood it, had he done so. Emphatically a sane man, he would
have deemed it a weakness degrading to the will, if not a species of
lunacy. As it was, he merely saw that Robin yielded to an unrestrained
grief detrimental to his health, and insisted upon carrying him off
for a spell in the open air. With less trouble than he anticipated,
Robin's consent was obtained. The mourner threw himself with ardour
into the scheme, selected the county of Berks as the most inviting for
a ramble; and when fairly started, showed a power of endurance amazing
in one so frail.
Jim however being a doctor, was less astonished than a layman would
have been. He knew that in Joyce a tremendous nerve power dominated
the feebler muscular force, and that the man would go on like a
blood-horse until he dropped from sheer exhaustion. The collapse on
the moor did not surprise him. He only wondered that Robin had held
out for so many days.
"But I wish you had not gone to London," said Herrick pursuing aloud
this train of thought.
"I had to go," replied Joyce not troubling to query the remark. "The
lawyer wrote about my poor mother's property. In my sorrow, I had
neglected to look after it, but at Southberry Junction feeling better,
thanks to your open air cure, I thought it wise to attend to the
matter."
Then Joyce went on to state with much detail, how he had caught the
Paddington express at Marleigh--their last stopping place--and had
seen his lawyer. The business took some time to settle; but it
resulted in the knowledge that Joyce found himself possessed of five
hundred a year in Consols. "Also the flat and the furniture," said
Robin, "so I am not so badly off. I can devote myself wholly to novels
now, and shall not have to rack my brains for newspaper articles."
Herrick nodded over a newly-filled pipe. "Did you sleep at the flat?"
"No, I went up on Tuesday as you know, and slept that night at the
Hull Hotel, a small house in one of the Strand side streets. Last
night, I joined you at Southberry."
"And it is now Thursday," said Herrick laughing. "How particular you
are as to detail Robin. Well, Southberry is a goodish way behind us
now and Saxham is our next resting place. Feel better?"
"Yes, thanks. In another quarter of an hour, I shall make the attempt
to reach Saxham. But we are so late, I fear no bed----"
"Oh, that's alright. We can wake the landlord, I calculate we have only
three miles."
"Quite enough too. By the way Jim, what did you do, when I left you?"
In the semi-darkness Herrick chuckled. "Fell in love!" said he.
"H'm! You lost no time about it. And she?"
"A daughter of the gods, divinely tall; dark hair, creamy skin,
sea-blue eyes the figure and gait of Diana, and--"
"More of the Celt than the Greek," interrupted Joyce, "blue eyes,
black hair, that is the Irish type. Where did you see her?"
"In Southberry Church, talking to a puny curate, who did not deserve
such a companion. Oh, Robin, her voice! like an Eolian harp."
"It must possess a variety of tones then Jim. Did she see you?"
Herrick nodded and laughed again. "She looked and blushed. Beauty drew
me with a single hair, therefore I thrilled responsive. Love at first
sight Robin. Heigh-ho! never again shall I see this Helen of
Marleigh."
"Live in hope," said Joyce, springing to his feet. "Allons, mon ami."
The more leisurely Herrick rose, markedly surprised at this sudden
recuperation. "Wonderful man. One minute you are dying, the next
skipping like a two year old. Hysterical all the same," he added as
Joyce laughed.
"Those three miles," explained the other feverishly, "I feel that I
have to walk them, and my determination is braced to breaking point."
"That means you'll collapse half way," retorted the doctor unstrapping
his knapsack. "Light a match. Valerian for you my man."
Robin made no objection. He knew the value of Valerian for those
unruly nerves of his, at present vibrating like so many harp-strings,
twangled by an unskilful player. His small white face looked smaller
and whiter than ever in the faint light of the match; but his great
black eyes flamed like wind-blown torches. The contrast of Herrick's
sun-tanned Saxon looks, struck him as almost ludicrous. Joyce needed
no mirror to assure him of his appearance at the moment. He knew only
too well how he aged on the eve of a nerve storm. For the present it
was averted by the valerian; but he knew and so did Herrick, that
sooner or later it would surely come.
"We must get on as fast as possible," said Herrick, the knapsack again
on his broad back. "Food, drink, rest; you need all three. Forward!"
For some time they walked on in silence. Robin was so small, Dr. Jim
so large, that they looked like the giant and dwarf of the old fairy
tale on their travels. But in this case it was the giant who did all
the work. Joyce was a pampered, lazy, irresponsible child, in the
direct line of descent from Harold Skimpole. If Jim Herrick must be
likened to another hero of romance, Amyas Leigh was his prototype.
The shadows melted before them, and closed in behind, and still there
was nothing but plain and mist. At the end of two miles a dark bulk
like a thunder-cloud, loomed before them. It stretched directly across
their path. "Bogey," laughed Robin.
"A wood," said the more prosaic Jim, "this moor is fringed with
pine-woods: remember the forest we passed through this morning."
"In the cheerful sunshine," shuddered Joyce. "I don't like woodlands
by night. The fairies are about and goblins of the worst. Ha! Yonder
the lantern of Puck. Oberon holds revel in the wood."
"Puck must be putting a girdle round the earth then Robin," said
Herrick and stared at the white starry light, which beamed above the
trees.
"Hecate's torch," cried Joyce, "a meeting of witches," and he began to
chant the gruesome rhymes of the sisterhood, as Macbeth heard them.
"The scene is a blasted heath too," said he.
By this time the moon was rising, and silver shafts struck inward to
the heart of the pines. The aerial light vanished behind the leafy
screen, as the travellers came to a halt on the verge of the
undergrowth.
"We must get through," said Dr. Jim, "or if you like Robin, we can
skirt round. Saxham village is just beyond I fancy."
"Let us choose the bee-line," murmured Joyce. "I want a bed and a meal
as soon as possible. This part of the world is unknown to me. You
lead."
"I don't know it myself. However here's a path. We'll follow it to the
light. That comes from a tower of sorts. Too high up for a house."
With Herrick as pioneer, they plunged into the wood, following a
winding path. In the gloom, their heads came into contact with boughs
and tree-trunks but occasionally the moon made radiant the secret
recesses, and revealed unexpected openings. The path sometimes passed
across a glade, on the sward of which Joyce declared he saw the
fairies dancing: and anon plunged into a cimmerian gloom suggestive of
the underworld. No wind swung the heavy pine-boughs; the wild
creatures of the wood gave no sign, made no stir: yet the explorers
heard a low persistent swish-swurr-swish, like the murmur of a dying
breeze. It came from no particular direction, but droned on all sides
without pause, without change of note. Herrick heard Robin's
hysterical sob, as the insistent sound bored into his brain. He would
have made some remark; but at the moment they emerged into a open
space of considerable size. Here, ringed by pines, loomed a vast grey
house, with a slim tower. In that tower burned the steady light
outshining even the moon's lustre. But what was more remarkable still,
was the illumination of the mansion. Every window radiated white fire.
"Queer," said Robin halting on the verge of the wood, "not even a
fence or a wall: a path or an outhouse. One would think that this was
an inferior Aladdin's palace dropped here by some negligent genii. All
ablaze too," he added wonderingly; "the owner must be giving a ball."
"No signs of guests anyhow," returned Herrick as puzzled as his
companion. "H'm! Queer thing to find Versailles in a pine wood.
However it may afford us a bed and a supper."
It was certainly strange. The circle of trees stopped short of the
building at fifty yards. On all sides stretched an expanse of shorn
and well-kept turf, pathless as the sea. In its midst the mansion was
dropped--as Joyce aptly put it--unexpectedly. A two-storey Tudor
building, with battlements, and mullioned windows, terraces and
flights of shallow steps: the whole weather-worn and grey in the
moonlight, over-grown with ivy, and distinctly ruinous. The
dilapidated state of the house, contrasted in a rather sinister manner
with the perfectly-kept lawn. Also another curious contrast, was the
tower. This tacked on to the western corner, stood like a lean white
ghost, watching over its earthly habitation. Its gleaming stone-work
and sharp outlines showed that it had been built within the last
decade. A distinct anachronism, which marred the quaint antiquity of
the mediæval mansion.
"He must be an astrologer," said Joyce referring to the owner, "or it
may be that the tower is an inland pharos, to guide travellers across
that pathless moor. A horrible place," he muttered.
"Why horrible?" asked Dr. Jim as they crossed the lawn.
Robin shuddered, and cast a backward glance. "I can hardly explain.
But to my mind, there is something sinister in this lonely mansion,
ablaze with light, yet devoid of inhabitants."
"We have yet to find out if that is the case Robin. Hullo! the door is
open," and in the strong moonlight they looked wonderingly at each
other.
The heavy door--oak, clamped with iron--was slightly ajar. Herrick
bent upon consummating the adventure, pushed it slightly open. They
beheld a large hall with a tesselated pavement, and stately columns.
Between these last stood black oak high-backed chairs upholstered in
red velvet: also statues of Greek gods and goddesses, holding aloft
opaque globes, radiant with light. A vast marble staircase with wide
and shallow steps, sloped upwards, and on either side of this, from
the height of the landing fell scarlet velvet curtains, shutting in
the hall. The whiteness of the marble, the crimson of the draperies,
the brilliance of the light; these sumptuous furnishings amazed the
dusty pedestrians. It was as though, on a lonely prairie, one should
step suddenly into the splendours of the Vatican.
"The palace of the Sleeping Beauty," whispered the awe-struck Robin.
"Who can say romance is dead, when one can stumble upon such an
adventure."
Herrick shared Robin's perplexity: but of a more practical nature, he
addressed himself less to the romance than to the reality. Seeing no
one, hearing nothing, he touched an ivory button, that glimmered a
white spot beside the door. Immediately a silvery succession of
sounds, shrilled through the--apparently--lonely house. "Electric
bells, electric light. The hermit of this establishment is
up-to-date."
"He is also deaf, and has no servants," said Joyce impatiently after a
few minutes had passed. "Has a Borgian banquet taken place here? The
guests seem to be dead. Hai! the whole thing is damnable."
"Don't let yourself go," said the doctor roughly squeezing the little
man's arm, "wait and see the upshot."
Again and again they rang the bell, and themselves heard its
imperative summons: but no one appeared. Then they took their courage
in both hands, and stepped into the house. Passing through the crimson
curtains, they found themselves in a wide corridor enamelled green,
with velvet carpet and more light-bearing statues. On either side were
doors draped with emerald silk. Herrick led the way through one of
these, for Joyce, rendered timorous by the adventure would not take
the initiative.
In the first room, an oval table was set out for a solitary meal. The
linen was bleached as the Alpine snow, the silver antique, the crystal
exquisite, the porcelain worth its weight in gold. An iridescent glass
vase in the centre was filled with flowers, but these drooped,
withered and brown. The bread also was stale, the fruits were
shrivelled from their early freshness. Magnificently furnished and
draped, the room glowed in splendour, under innumerable electric
lights. But the intruders had eyes only for that sumptuous table, with
its air of desolation, and its place set for one. Anything more
sinister can scarcely be conceived.
"No one has sat down to this meal," said Herrick lifting the covers of
the silver dishes, "it has stood here for hours, if not for days. Let
us see if we can find the creature for whom it was intended."
"Perhaps you expect to find the Beast that loved Beauty, since you
call him a creature," said Robin hysterically. "Here is wine."
Dr. Jim went to the sideboard, whereon were ranged decanters of
Venetian glass containing many different vintages. Passing over these
he selected a pint bottle of champagne. "We must make free of our
position," he said, unwiring this, "afterwards we can apologise."
"Ugh!" cried Robin as the cork popped with a staccato sound in the
silence. "How gruesome; give me a glass at once Jim."
"I don't know if it is good for you in your present state," replied
the doctor brimming a goblet, "however the whole adventure is so
queer, that an attack of nerves is excusable. Drink up."
Robin did so, and was joined by Jim. They finished the bottle, and
felt exhilarated, and more ready to face the unknown. Again Herrick
led the way to further explorations. Adjacent to the dining-room, they
discovered a small kitchen, white-tiled and completely furnished. "Our
hermit cooks for himself," declared Dr. Jim, eying the utensils of
polished copper. "This is not a servant's kitchen: also it is off the
dining-room."
Robin made no reply, but followed his friend, his large eyes becoming
larger at every fresh discovery. They entered a drawing-room filled
with splendid furniture, silver knick-knacks, costly china, and
Eastern hangings of great price. There was a library stored with books
in magnificent bindings, and with tables piled with latter-day
magazines, novels and newspapers. "Our hermit keeps himself abreast of
the world," commented Jim.
Then came a picture gallery, but this was on a second storey and
lighted from the roof. Treasures of art ancient and modern glowed here
under the radiance of the light, which illuminated every room. A
smoking-room fashioned like a ship's cabin: a Japanese apartment,
crammed with the lacquer work, and stiff embroideries of Yeddo and
Yokahama; a shooting gallery; a bowling alley; a music room,
containing a magnificent Erard. Finally a dozen | 673.364371 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net
[Illustration: ALFIERI AND THE COUNTESS OF ALBANY
_From the original portrait in the possession of the Marchesa A.
Alfieri de Sostegno_]
THE COUNTESS
OF ALBANY
BY
VERNON LEE
WITH PORTRAITS
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY. MCMX
SECOND EDITION
Printed by BALLANTYNE AND CO. LIMITED
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FRIEND
MADAME JOHN MEYER,
I DEDICATE THIS VOLUME,
SO OFTEN AND SO LATELY TALKED OVER TOGETHER,
IN GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE REGRET.
PREFACE
In preparing this volume on the Countess of Albany (which I consider as
a kind of completion of my previous studies of eighteenth-century
Italy), I have availed myself largely of Baron Alfred von Reumont's
large work _Die Graefin von Albany_ (published in 1862); and of the
monograph, itself partially founded on the foregoing, of M. St. Rene
Taillandier, entitled _La Comtesse d'Albany_, published in Paris in
1862. Baron von Reumont's two volumes, written twenty years ago and when
the generation which had come into personal contact with the Countess of
Albany had not yet entirely died out; and M. St. Rene Taillandier's
volume, which embodied the result of his researches into the archives of
the Musee Fabre at Montpellier; might naturally be expected to have
exhausted all the information obtainable about the subject of their and
my studies. This has proved to be the case very much less than might
have been anticipated. The publication, by Jacopo Bernardi and Carlo
Milanesi, of a number of letters of Alfieri to Sienese friends, has
afforded me an insight into Alfieri's character and his relations with
the Countess of Albany such as was unattainable to Baron von Reumont and
to M. St. Rene Taillandier. The examination, by myself and my friend
Signor Mario Pratesi, of several hundreds of MS. letters of the Countess
of Albany existing in public and private archives at Siena and at
Milan, has added an important amount of what I may call psychological
detail, overlooked by Baron von Reumont and unguessed by M. St. Rene
Taillandier. I have, therefore, I trust, been able to reconstruct the
Countess of | 673.36983 |
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Produced by Stanley A. Bridgeford
A
Greek–English Lexicon
to
The New Testament
Revised and Enlarged
by
Thomas Sheldon Green
with a preface by
H. L. Hastings
Editor of the Christian, Boston, U.S.A.
and
A Supplement
Prepared by Wallace N. Stearns
Under The Supervision of
J. H. Thayer, D.D., Litt.D.
Professor of New-Testament Criticism
and Interpretation in the
Divinity School of Harvard University
Containing Additional Words and Forms to be found in one or
another of the Greek Texts in current use, especially those
of Lachmann, Tischendorf, Treglles, Westcott
and Hort, and the Revisers of 1881
THIRTY-THIRD THOUSAND
Boston
H. L. Hastings, 47 Cornhill
1896
Copyright, 1896
Boston, Mass, U.S.A.
H. L. Hastings
Repository Press,
47 Cornhill
Greek-Eng Lexicon–33M–6, '96
Printed in America
PREFACE
The hidden depths both of the wisdom and knowledge of God were
manifest, not only in the revelation of his will contained in the
Scriptures of truth, but in the manner of giving that revelation, and in
the language in which is was given.
Egypt had wisdom, but it was enshrined in hieroglyphics so obscure that
their meaning faded centuries ago from the memory of mankind, and for
many successive ages no man on earth could penetrate their mysteries.
Assyria and Babylon had literature, art, and science; but with a
language written in seven or eight hundred cuneiform signs, some of them
having fifty different meanings, what wonder is it that for more than
two thousand years the language and literature of these nations was
lost, buried, and forgotten? The vast literature of China has survived
the changes of centuries, but the list of different characters, which in
a dictionary of the second century numbered 9353, and in the latest
imperial Chinese Dictionary numbers 43,960,—some of them requiring
fifty strokes of the pencil to produce them,—shows how unfit such a
language must be for a channel to convey the glad tidings of God's
salvation to the poor, the weak, the sorrowful, and to people who cannot
spend ten or twenty years in learning to comprehend the mysteries of the
Chinese tongue.
Who can imagine what would have been the fate of a divine revelation if
the words of eternal life had been enswathed in such cerements as these?
In the wisdom of God, the revelation of his will was given in the Hebrew
tongue, with an alphabet of twenty-two letters, some of which, as
inscribed on the Moabite stone, b.c. 900, are identical in form and
sound with those now used in English books.
This Hebrew alphabet, so simple that a child might learn it in a day,
has never been lost or forgotten. The Hebrew language in which the
Oracles of God were given to man, has never become a dead language.
Since the day when the Law was given to Moses on Mount Sinai, there
never has been a day or hour when the language in which it was written
was not known to living men, who were able to read, write, and expound
it. And the Hebrew is the only language of those ages that has lived to
the present time, preserving the record of a divine revelation, and
being conserved by it through the vicissitudes of conflict, conquest,
captivity, and dispersion; while the surrounding idolatrous nations
perished in their own corruption, and their languages and literature
were buried in oblivion.
In later ages, when the gospel of the Son of God was to be proclaimed to
all mankind, another language was used as a vehicle for its
communication. The bulk of the Israelitish race, through their
captivities and eternal associations, had lost the knowledge of the holy
tongue, and had learned the languages of the Gentiles among whom they
dwelt; and now as their corporate national existence was to be
interrupted, and they were to be dispersed among the peoples of the
earth, the Hebrew language was not a fit channel for conveying this
revelation to the Gentile world. Hence the same wise Providence which
chose the undying Hebrew tongue for the utterances of the prophets,
selected the Greek, which was at that time, more nearly than any other,
a universal language, as the medium through which the teachings of the
Saviour and the messages of the apostles should be sent forth to
mankind.
This language, like the Hebrew, has maintained its existence,—though
it has been somewhat changed by the flight of years,—and the modern
Greek spoken in Athens to-day is substantially the Greek of 1800 years
ago.
The gospel of Christ was to go forth to every nation; and the miracle of
Pentecost indicated that it was the Divine purpose that each nation
should hear in their own tongue wherein they were born, the wonderful
works of God. Hence the Scriptures have been translated into hundreds of
languages, and to-day six hundred millions of people, comprising all the
leading races and nations of the earth, may have access to the Word of
God in their native tongues. Nevertheless, no translation can perfectly
express the delicate shades of thought which are uttered in another
language, and it often becomes necessary and desirable to recur to the
original Scriptures, and by searching them to find out the precise
meaning of those words which were given by the Holy Ghost, and which are
"more to be desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold." For while,
speaking in a general way, we have faithful translations, which give us
with great accuracy the sense of the Scriptures as a whole, yet there
are times when we desire fuller and more accurate information concerning
particular words uttered by those men to whom the Holy Ghost was given
to bring all things to their remembrance, to guide them into all truth,
and to show them things to come. Frequently there are depths of meaning
which the casual reader does not fathom, and the study of the Greek and
Hebrew becomes as needful as it is agreeable to those who love God's
law, who delight in his gospel, and who have time and opportunity to
prosecute such studies.
There are few lovers of the Bible who do not at times wish that they
might clearly know the precise sense of some one original word which may
sometimes be obscurely translated; or who would not be delighted to
inquire of some competent scholar as to the meaning of certain
expressions contained in that Book of God. Such persons are glad to
study the original Scriptures, that they may learn, as far as possible,
exactly what God has said to man.
The learning of a living language from those who seek it is no trifling
task; but a language which must be learned from books, presents much
greater difficulties; and to many persons the mastery of the Greek
tongue looks like the labor of a lifetime. It is; and yet | 673.449074 |
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CATALOGUE
OF THE
GALLERY OF ART
OF
THE NEW YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY
NEW YORK
PRINTED FOR THE SOCIETY
1915
OFFICERS OF THE SOCIETY
PRESIDENT,
JOHN ABEEL WEEKES.
FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT,
WILLIAM MILLIGAN SLOANE.
SECOND VICE-PRESIDENT,
WALTER LISPENARD SUYDAM.
THIRD VICE-PRESIDENT,
GERARD BEEKMAN.
FOURTH VICE-PRESIDENT,
FRANCIS ROBERT SCHELL.
FOREIGN CORRESPONDING SECRETARY,
ARCHER MILTON HUNTINGTON.
DOMESTIC CORRESPONDING SECRETARY,
JAMES BENEDICT.
RECORDING SECRETARY,
FANCHER NICOLL.
TREASURER,
FREDERIC DELANO WEEKES.
LIBRARIAN,
ROBERT HENDRE KELBY.
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE
FIRST CLASS--FOR ONE YEAR, ENDING 1916.
ACOSTA NICHOLS,
STANLEY W. DEXTER,
FREDERICK TREVOR HILL.
SECOND CLASS--FOR TWO YEARS, ENDING 1917.
FREDERIC DELANO WEEKES,
PAUL R. TOWNE,
R. HORACE GALLATIN.
THIRD CLASS--FOR THREE YEARS, ENDING 1918.
RICHARD HENRY GREENE,
JAMES BENEDICT,
ARCHER M. HUNTINGTON.
FOURTH CLASS--FOR FOUR YEARS, ENDING 1919.
BENJAMIN W. B. BROWN,
J. ARCHIBALD MURRAY.
JAMES BENEDICT, _Chairman_.
ROBERT H. KELBY, _Secretary_.
[The President, Vice-Presidents, Recording Secretary, Treasurer, and
Librarian are members of the Executive Committee.]
PREFACE
This catalogue describes the paintings in the Gallery of Art of The New
York Historical Society, with two hundred and eighty-six miniatures,
comprising the Marie Collection and seventy-six objects of Sculpture.
The New York Gallery of Fine Arts, presented to the Society in 1858,
with paintings donated to the Society at various times, are numbered
1 to 488 inclusive. Any notice of this collection would be deficient
which should fail to commemorate the name of Luman Reed, Patron of
American Art. In this connection the Society was chiefly indebted to the
liberality and cordial cooeperation of one of their most valued members,
who was himself the chief promoter of the original design of the New
York Gallery of Fine Arts, Mr. Jonathan Sturges.
The Bryan Collection, presented to the Society in 1867 by the late
Thomas J. Bryan, numbers three hundred and eighty-one paintings and are
designated by the letter B. before each number.
The Durr Collection, presented to the Society in 1882 by the executors
of the late Louis Durr, numbers, with subsequent additions, one hundred
and eighty-one paintings, which are designated by the letter D. before
each number.
Short biographical sketches of deceased artists represented in the above
collections have been added, together with indexes to Artists, portraits
and donors.
The Marie Collection of miniatures is arranged alphabetically by
subjects and is not included in the index of portraits.
CONTENTS
PAGES
OFFICERS OF THE SOCIETY v
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE vi
PREFACE vii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi
SKETCH OF LUMAN REED 2
NEW YORK GALLERY OF FINE ARTS AND REED COLLECTION WITH
PAINTINGS DONATED TO THE GALLERY OF THE SOCIETY 3-53
SKETCH OF THOMAS J. BRYAN 56
BRYAN COLLECTION OF PAINTINGS 57-100
SKETCH OF LOUIS DURR 102
DURR COLLECTION OF PAINTINGS 103-118
PETER MARIE COLLECTION OF MINIATURES 121-138
SCULPTURE 141-148
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES OF ARTISTS 151-205
INDEX OF PORTRAITS 209-213
INDEX OF SCULPTURE 214
INDEX OF ARTISTS 215-220
INDEX OF DONORS 221-223
PRESIDENTS OF THE SOCIETY 224
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
PORTRAIT OF ASHER B. DURAND, by Himself 42
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS J. BRYAN, by W. O. Stone 56
A VIRGIN AND CHILD, WITH FOUR SAINTS, by Guido of Sienna 58
KNIGHTS AT A TOURNAMENT, by Giotto di Bondone 60
THE BIRTH OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST, by Uccello 62
ADORATION OF THE INFANT CHRIST, by Macrino d'Alba 64
THE CRUCIFIXION, by Andrea Mantegna 66
PORTRAIT OF A JANSENIST, by Phillippe De Champagne 68
THE CRUCIFIXION, by Jan Van Eyck 72
PORTRAIT, by Paul Rembrandt 74
PORTRAIT OF A KNIGHT OF THE ORDER OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE,
by Rubens 76
WILLIAM, PRINCE OF ORANGE (WILLIAM III), by Gerard Terburg 78
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON, by Albrecht Duerer 80
PORTRAITS OF TWO LADIES, by Largilliere 86
PORTRAIT OF JOHN SINGLETON COPLEY, by Himself 90
PORTRAIT OF CHARLES WILSON PEALE, by Benjamin West 92
BUST OF LOUIS DURR, by Baerer 102
THE THREE MARYS, by Luini 116
THE NEW YORK GALLERY OF FINE ARTS
AND
REED COLLECTION
WITH PAINTINGS DONATED TO THE GALLERY OF THE SOCIETY
LUMAN REED
Luman Reed was born in Green River, Columbia County, N. Y., in 1785,
and died in 1836. He removed when a boy to Coxsackie, N. Y., where he
was educated in an ordinary school at the expense of an uncle. Later he
was employed in a country store and subsequently became the partner and
brother-in-law of his employer.
He made frequent trips to New York City on a sloop called the
"Shakespeare," belonging to the firm, selling produce of the farms
around Coxsackie and purchasing goods in New York for his country store.
Later he became a merchant in | 673.552782 |
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#4 in our series by Hector Malot
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Produced by Matthew H. Heller
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
By B. M. Bower (B. M. Sinclair)
AUTHOR OF "The Lure of the Dim Trails," "Her Prairie Knight," "The
Lonesome Trail," etc.
Illustrations by CHARLES M. RUSSELL
LIST OF CONTENTS
I The Old Man's Sister
II Over the "Hog's Back"
III Silver
IV An Ideal Picture
V In Silver's Stall
VI The Hum of Preparation
VII Love and a Stomach Pump
VIII Prescriptions
IX Before the Round-up
X What Whizzer Did
XI Good Intentions
XII "The Last Stand"
XIII Art Critics
XIV Convalescence
XV The Spoils of Victory
XVI Weary Advises
XVII When a Maiden Wills
XVIII Dr Cecil Granthum
XIX Love Finds Its Hour
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Came down with not a joint in his legs and turned a somersault
"The Last Stand."
Throwing herself from the saddle she slid precipitately into the
washout, just as Denver thundered up
CHAPTER I. -- The Old Man's Sister.
The weekly mail had just arrived at the Flying U ranch. Shorty, who had
made the trip to Dry Lake on horseback that afternoon, tossed the bundle
to the "Old Man" and was halfway to the stable when he was called back
peremptorily.
"Shorty! O-h-h, Shorty! Hi!"
Shorty kicked his steaming horse in the ribs and swung round in the
path, bringing up before the porch with a jerk.
"Where's this letter been?" demanded the Old Man, with some excitement.
James G. Whitmore, cattleman, would have been greatly surprised had
he known that his cowboys were in the habit of calling him the Old Man
behind his back. James G. Whitmore did not consider himself old, though
he was constrained to admit, after several hours in the saddle, that
rheumatism had searched him out--because of his fourteen years of
roughing it, he said. Also, there was a place on the crown of his head
where the hair was thin, and growing thinner every day of his life,
though he did not realize it. The thin spot showed now as he stood in
the path, waving a square envelope aloft before Shorty, who regarded it
with supreme indifference.
Not so Shorty's horse. He rolled his eyes till the whites showed,
snorted and backed away from the fluttering, white object.
"Doggone it, where's this been?" reiterated James G., accusingly.
"How the devil do I know?" retorted Shorty, forcing his horse nearer.
"In the office, most likely. I got it with the rest to-day."
"It's two weeks old," stormed the Old Man. "I never knew it to fail--if
a letter says anybody's coming, or you're to hurry up and go somewhere
to meet somebody, that letter's the one that monkeys around and comes
when the last dog's hung. A letter asking yuh if yuh don't want to get
rich in ten days sellin' books, or something, 'll hike along out here in
no time. Doggone it!"
"You got a hurry-up order to go somewhere?" queried Shorty, mildly
sympathetic.
"Worse than that," groaned James G. "My sister's coming out to spend the
summer--t'-morrow. And no cook but Patsy--and she can't eat in the mess
house--and the house like a junk shop!"
"It looks like you was up against it, all right," grinned Shorty. Shorty
was a sort of foreman, and was allowed much freedom of speech.
"Somebody's got to meet her--you have Chip catch up the creams so he can
go. And send some of the boys up here to help me hoe out a little. Dell
ain't used to roughing it; she's just out of a medical school--got her
diploma, she was telling me in the last letter before this. She'll be
finding microbes by the million in this old shack. You tell Patsy I'll
be late to supper--and tell him to brace up and cook something ladies
like--cake and stuff. Patsy'll know. I'd give a dollar to get that
little runt in the office--"
But Shorty, having heard all that it was important to know, was
clattering down the long <DW72> again to the stable. It was supper time,
and Shorty was hungry. Also, there was news to tell, and he was curious
to see how the boys would take it. He was just turning loose the horse
when supper was called. He hurried back up the hill to the mess house,
performed hasty ablutions in the tin wash basin on the bench beside the
door, scrubbed his face dry on the roller towel, and took his place at
the long table within.
"Any mail for me?" Jack Bates looked up from emptying the third spoon of
sugar into his coffee.
"Naw--she didn't write this time, Jack." Shorty reached a long arm for
the "Mulligan stew."
"How's the dance coming on?" asked Cal Emmett.
"I guess it's a go, all right. They've got them <DW53>s engaged to play.
The hotel's fixing for a big crowd, if the weather holds like this.
Chip, Old Man wants you to catch up the creams, after supper; you've got
to meet the train to-morrow."
"Which train?" demanded Chip, looking up. "Is old Dunk coming?"
"The noon train. No, he didn't say nothing about Dunk. He wants a bunch
of you fellows to go up and hoe out the White House and slick it up for
comp'ny--got to be done t'-night. And Patsy, Old Man says for you t' git
a move on and cook something fit to eat; something that ain't plum full
uh microbes."
Shorty became suddenly engaged in cooling his coffee, enjoying the
varied emotions depicted on the faces of the boys.
"Who's coming?"
"What's up?"
Shorty took two leisurely gulps before he answered:
"Old Man's sister's coming out to stay all summer--and then some, maybe.
Be here to-morrow, he said."
"Gee whiz! Is she pretty?" This from Cal Emmett.
"Hope she ain't over fifty." This from Jack Bates.
"Hope she ain't one of them four-eyed school-ma'ams," added Happy
Jack--so called to distinguish him from Jack Bates, and also because of
his dolorous visage.
"Why can't some one else haul her out?" began Chip. "Cal would like that
job--and he's sure welcome to it."
"Cal's too dangerous. He'd have the old girl dead in love before he got
her over the first ridge, with them blue eyes and that pretty smile of
his'n. It's up to you, Splinter--Old Man said so."
"She'll be dead safe with Chip. HE won't make love to her," retorted
Cal.
"Wonder how old she is," repeated Jack Bates, half emptying the syrup
pitcher into his plate. Patsy had hot biscuits for supper, and Jack's
especial weakness was hot biscuits and maple syrup.
"As to her age," remarked Shorty, "it's a cinch she ain't no spring
chicken, seeing she's the Old Man's sister."
"Is she a schoolma'am?" Happy Jack's distaste for schoolma'ams dated
from his tempestuous introduction to the A B C's, with their daily
accompaniment of a long, thin ruler.
"No, she ain't a schoolma'am. She's a darn sight worse. She's a doctor."
"Aw, come off!" Cal Emmett was plainly incredulous.
"That's right. Old Man said she's just finished taking a | 673.789999 |
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The Little Girl’s Sewing Book
THE
LITTLE GIRL’S
SEWING BOOK
EDITED BY FLORA KLICKMANN
[Illustration]
New York:
Frederick A. Stokes Company, Publishers.
[Illustration]
A Word to the Grown-ups.
This book contains lessons in practically all the stitches used in
plain needlework, as well as the more useful of the fancy stitches.
Each article described and illustrated will be found to contain
instructions for some definite branch of sewing; and though all the
stitches required in making the article will not necessarily be
illustrated in that chapter, they will appear in other chapters, and
can easily be referred to, by aid of the comprehensive index.
[Illustration]
Things you can make for Yourself.
A Handy Work Apron.
If you are going to set to work to make some of the pretty articles
described in this little book, the little work apron shown in the
picture on this page is just the very thing you will need to put on
while you are sewing.
It has two deep pockets and two small ones, and you will be able to put
the silks and cottons necessary, for whatever it is you are making,
into these, so that they will be ready as you want to use them.
[Illustration: THIS HAS FOUR POCKETS]
You will find it is so handy, too, to have a pocket to slip your
scissors into after cutting your thread. You know what a nasty way they
have of slipping off your lap on to the floor. And then, when you pick
them up, it is quite likely that you get a little dust on your hands,
and this gets on to your pretty work and makes it look soiled.
Then, when your sewing time is ended for the day, how convenient it is
to be able to fold your work away in your little work apron, so that it
is kept well protected from any stray specks of dust, and will be quite
ready for you when next you want it.
So you see how this little apron is going to help you to keep your work
nice and clean, and I | 673.845577 |
2023-11-16 18:28:17.9641380 | 6,281 | 7 |
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THE LADY OF THE FOREST.
A STORY FOR GIRLS.
By L. T. MEADE
Author of "The Little Princess of Tower Hill,"
"A Sweet Girl Graduate," "The Palace Beautiful,"
"Polly," "A World of Girls," etc., etc.
"Tyde what may betyde,
Lovel shall dwell at Avonsyde."
ILLUSTRATED EDITION.
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.--FAIR LITTLE MAIDS.
CHAPTER II.--MAKING TERMS.
CHAPTER III.--PREPARING FOR THE HEIR
CHAPTER IV.--A SPARTAN BOY.
CHAPTER V.--IN THE FOREST.
CHAPTER VI.--THE TOWER BEDROOM.
CHAPTER VII.--"BETYDE WHAT MAY."
CHAPTER VIII.--THE SACRED CUPBOARD.
CHAPTER IX.--A TRYSTING-PLACE.
CHAPTER X.--PROOFS.
CHAPTER XI.--THE LADY WHO CAME WITH A GIFT.
CHAPTER XII.--LOST IN THE NEW FOREST.
CHAPTER XIII.--ONE MORE SECRET.
CHAPTER XIV.--THE AUSTRALIANS.
CHAPTER XV.--WAS HE ACTING?
CHAPTER XVI.--LOST.
CHAPTER XVII.--LOOKING FOR THE TANKARD.
CHAPTER XVIII.--THE MARMADUKES.
CHAPTER XIX.--A TENDER HEART.
CHAPTER XX.--PUNISHED.
CHAPTER XXI.--WHAT THE HEIR OUGHT TO BE.
CHAPTER XXII.--RIGHT IS RIGHT.
CHAPTER XXIII.--FOREST LIFE.
CHAPTER XXIV.--A GREAT ALARM.
CHAPTER XXV.--A DREAM WITH A MEANING.
CHAPTER XXVI.--LOVE VERSUS GOLD.
CHAPTER XXVII.--TWO MOTHERS.
CHAPTER XXVIII.--THE LADY WHO CAME WITH A GIFT.
THE LADY OF THE FOREST.
"Tyde what may betyde
Lovel shall dwell at Avonsyde."
CHAPTER I.--FAIR LITTLE MAIDS.
"And then," said Rachel, throwing up her hands and raising her
eyebrows--"and then, when they got into the heart of the forest itself,
just where the shade was greenest and the trees thickest, they saw the
lady coming to meet them. She, too, was all in green, and she came on
and on, and----"
"Hush, Rachel!" exclaimed Kitty; "here comes Aunt Grizel."
The girls, aged respectively twelve and nine, were seated, one on a
rustic stile, the other on the grass at her feet; a background of
splendid forest trees threw their slight and childish figures into
strong relief. Rachel's hat was tossed on the ground and Kitty's parasol
lay unopened by her side. The sun was sending slanting rays through the
trees, and some of these rays fell on Kitty's bright hair and lit up
Rachel's dark little gypsy face.
"Aunt Grizel is coming," said Kitty, and immediately she put on a proper
and demure expression. Rachel, drawn up short in the midst of a very
exciting narrative, looked slightly defiant and began to whistle in a
boyish manner.
Aunt Griselda was seen approaching down a long straight avenue
overshadowed by forest trees of beech and oak; she held her parasol well
up, and her face was further protected from any passing gleams of
sunlight by a large poke-bonnet. She was a slender old lady, with a
graceful and dignified appearance. Aunt Griselda would have compelled
respect from any one, and as she approached the two girls they both
started to their feet and ran to meet her.
"Your music-master has been waiting for you for half an hour, Rachel.
Kitty, I am going into the forest; you can come with me if you choose."
Rachel did not attempt to offer any excuse for being late; with an
expressive glance at Kitty she walked off soberly to the house, and the
younger girl, picking up her hat, followed Aunt Griselda, sighing
slightly as she did so.
Kitty was an affectionate child, the kind of child who likes everybody,
and she would have tolerated Aunt Griselda--who was not particularly
affectionate nor particularly sympathetic--if she had not disturbed her
just at the moment when she was listening with breathless interest to a
wonderful romance.
Kitty adored fairy tales, and Rachel had a great gift in that direction.
She was very fond of prefacing her stories with some such words as the
following:
"Understand now, Kitty, that this fairy story is absolutely true; the
fairy was seen by our great-great-grandmother;" or "Our great-uncle
Jonas declares that he saw that brownie himself as he was going through
the forest in the dusk;" then Kitty's pretty blue eyes would open wide
and she would lose herself in an enchanted world. It was very trying to
be brought back to the ordinary everyday earth by Aunt Griselda, and on
the present occasion the little girl felt unusually annoyed.
Miss Griselda Lovel, or "Aunt Grizel" as her nieces called her, was a
taciturn old lady, and by no means remarked Kitty's silence. There were
many little paths through the forest, and the two soon found themselves
in comparative night. Miss Lovel walked quickly, and Kitty almost panted
as she kept up with her. Her head was so full of Rachel's fairy tale
that at last some unexpected words burst from her lips. They were
passing under a splendid forest tree, when Kitty suddenly clutched Aunt
Grizel's thin hand.
"Aunt Grizel--is it--is it about here that the lady lives?"
"What lady, child?" asked Miss Lovel.
"Oh, you know--the lady of the forest."
Aunt Grizel dropped Kitty's hand and laughed.
"What a foolish little girl you are, Kitty! Who has been putting such
nonsense into your head? See, my dear, I will wait for you here; run
down this straight path to the Eyres' cottage, and bring Mrs. Eyre back
with you--I want to speak to her. I have had a letter, my dear, and your
little cousin Philip Lovel is coming to Avonsyde to-morrow."
* * * * *
Avonsyde was one of the oldest places in the country; it was not
particularly large, nor were its owners remarkable for wealth, or
prowess, or deeds of daring, neither were the men of the house specially
clever. It was indeed darkly hinted at that the largest portion of
brains was as a rule bestowed upon the female side of the house. But on
the score of antiquity no country seat could at all approach Avonsyde.
It was a delightful old place, homelike and bright; there were one or
two acres of flower-garden not too tidily kept, and abounding in all
kinds of old-fashioned and sweet-smelling flowers; the house had a broad
frontage, its windows were small, and it possessed all the charming
irregularities of a family dwelling-place which has been added to piece
by piece. At one end was a tower, gray and hoary with the weight of
centuries; at the further end were modern wings with large
reception-rooms, and even some attempts at modern luxury and modern
ornamentation. There were two avenues to the place: one the celebrated
straight avenue, which must have been cut at some long-ago period
directly out of the neighboring forest, for the trees which arched it
over were giant forest oaks and beeches. This avenue was the pride of
the place, and shown as a matter of course to all visitors. The other
avenue, and the one most in use, was winding and straggling; it led
straight up to the old-fashioned stone porch which guarded the entrance,
and enshrined in the most protective and cozy manner the principal doors
to the house.
Avonsyde had belonged to the Lovels for eight hundred years. They were
not a rich family and they had undergone many misfortunes; the property
now belonged to the younger branch; for a couple of hundred years ago a
very irate and fiery Squire Lovel had disinherited his eldest son and
had bestowed all his fair lands and the old place upon a younger son.
From that moment matters had not gone well with the family; the younger
son who inherited the property which should have been his brother's made
an unfortunate marriage, had sickly children, many of whom died, and not
being himself either too strong-minded or in any sense overwise, had
sustained severe money losses, and for the first time within the memory
of man some of the Avonsyde lands had to be sold.
From the date of the disinheritance of the elder branch the family never
regained either their wealth or prestige; generation after generation
the Lovels dwindled in strength and became less and less able to cope
with their sturdier neighbors. The last squire of Avonsyde had one
sickly son and two daughters; the son married, but died before his
father, leaving no son to inherit the old place. This son had also, in
the family's estimation, married beneath him, and during the squire's
lifetime his daughters were afraid even to mention the names of two
bonny little lasses who were pining away their babyhood and early youth
in poky London lodgings, and who would have been all the better for the
fresh breezes which blew so genially round Avonsyde. After the death of
his son Squire Lovel became very morose and disagreeable. He pretended
not to grieve for his son, but he also lost all interest in life. One by
one the old pleasures in which he used to delight were given up, his
health gave way rapidly, and at last the end drew near.
There came a day when Squire Lovel felt so ill that he sent first of all
for the family doctor and then for the family solicitor. He occupied the
doctor's attention for about ten minutes, but he was closeted with the
lawyer for two or three hours. At the end of that time he sent for his
daughters and made some strong statements to them.
"Grizel," he said, addressing the elder Miss Lovel, "Dr. Maddon has just
informed me that I am not long for this world."
"Dr. Maddon is fond of exaggerating matters," said Miss Grizel in a
voice which she meant to be soothing; "neither Katharine nor I think you
very ill, father, and--and----"
The squire raised his eyebrows impatiently.
"We won't discuss the question of whether Maddon is a wise man or a
silly one, Griselda," he said. "I know myself that I am ill. I am not
only ill, I am weak, and arguing with regard to a foregone conclusion is
wearisome. I have much to talk to you and Katharine about, so will you
sit down quietly and listen to me?"
Miss Griselda was a cold-mannered and perhaps cold-natured woman. Miss
Katharine, on the contrary, was extremely tender-hearted; she looked
appealingly at her old father's withered face; but she had always been
submissive, and she now followed her elder sister's lead and sat down
quietly on the nearest chair.
"We will certainly not worry you with needless words, father," said Miss
Griselda gently. "You have doubtless many directions to give us about
the property; your instructions shall of course be carried out to the
best of my ability. Katharine, too, although she is not the
strongest-minded of mortals, will no doubt, from a sense of filial
affection, also respect your wishes."
"I am glad the new poultry-yard is complete," here half-sobbed Miss
Katharine, "and that valuable new breed of birds arrived yesterday; and
I--I----"
"Try to stop talking, both of you," suddenly exclaimed the squire. "I am
dying, and Avonsyde is without an heir. Griselda, will you oblige me by
going down to the library and bringing up out of the book-case marked D
that old diary of my great-grandfather's, in which are entered the
particulars of the quarrel?"
Miss Katharine looked in an awe-struck and startled way at her sister.
Miss Griselda rose at once and, with a bunch of keys in her hand, went
downstairs.
The moment she had left the room Miss Katharine got up timidly and, with
a certain pathos, stooped down and kissed the old man's swollen hand.
The little action was done so simply and naturally that the fierce old
face relaxed, and for an instant the wrinkled hand touched Miss
Katharine's gray head.
"Yes, Kitty, I know you love me; but I hate the feminine weakness of
tears. Ah, Kitty, you were a fair enough looking maid once, but time has
faded and changed you; you are younger than Grizel, but you have worn
far worse."
Miss Katharine did not say a word, but hastily resumed her seat; and
when Miss Lovel returned with the vellum-bound diary, she had not an
idea that her younger sister had ever moved.
Sitting down by her father, she opened the musty old volume and read
aloud certain passages which, written in fierce heat at the time,
disclosed a painful family scene. Angry words, bitter recriminations,
the sense of injustice on one side, the thirst for revenge on the other,
were faithfully portrayed by the dead-and-gone chronicler.
The squire's lips moved in unspoken accompaniment to the words which his
daughter read aloud, and Miss Katharine bent eagerly forward in order
not to lose a syllable.
"I am dying, and there is no male heir to Avonsyde," said the squire at
last. "Griselda and Katharine, I wish to state here distinctly that my
great-great-grandfather made a mistake when he turned the boy Rupert
from the old place. Valentine should have refused to inherit; it is
doubtless because of Valentine's weakness and his father's spirit of
revenge that I die to-day without male issue to inherit Avonsyde."
"Heaping recriminations on the dead won't help matters now," said Miss
Griselda in a sententious voice. As she spoke she closed the diary,
clasped it and locked it, and Miss Katharine, starting to her feet,
said:
"There are the children in London, your grandchildren, father, and our
nearest of kin."
The squire favored his younger daughter with a withering look, and even
Miss Griselda started at what were very bold words.
"Those children," said the squire--"girls, both of them, sickly, weakly,
with Valentine's miserable pink-and-white delicacy and their low born
mother's vulgarity; I said I would never see them, and I surely do not
wish to hear about them now. Griselda, there is now one plain and
manifest duty before you--I lay it as my dying charge on you and
Katharine. I leave the search which you are to institute as your mission
in life. While you both live Avonsyde is yours, but you must search the
world over if necessary for Rupert Lovel's descendants; and when you
discover them you are to elect a bonny stalwart boy of the house as your
heir. No matter whether he is eldest or youngest, whether he is in a
high position or a low position in the social scale, provided he is a
lineal descendant of the Rupert Lovel who was disinherited in 1684, and
provided also he is strong and upright and well-featured, with muscle
and backbone and manliness in him, you are to appoint him your heir, and
you are to bequeath to him the old house, and the old lands, and all the
money you can save by simple and abstemious living. I have written it
down in my will, and you are tied firmly, both of you, and cannot depart
from my instructions; but I wished to talk over matters with you, for
Katharine there is slow to take in a thing, and you, Grizel, are
prejudiced and rancorous in your temper, and I wish you both clearly to
understand that the law binds you to search for my heir, and this, if
you want to inherit a shilling from me during your lifetime, you must
do. Remember, however, and bear ever strongly in mind, that if, when you
find the family, the elder son is weakly and the younger son is strong,
it is to the sturdy boy that the property is to go; and hark you yet
again, Griselda and Katharine, that the property is not to go to the
father if he is alive, but to the young boy, and the boy is to be
educated to take up his rightful position. A strong lad, a manly and
stalwart lad, mind you; for Avonsyde has almost ceased to exist, owing
to sickly and effeminate heirs, since the time when my
great-great-grandfather quarreled with his son, Rupert Lovel, and gave
the old place to that weakly stripling Valentine. I am a descendant of
Valentine myself, but, 'pon my word, I rue the day."
"Your directions shall be obeyed to the letter," said Miss Griselda; but
Miss Katharine interrupted her.
"And we--we have only a life-interest in the property, father?" she
inquired in a quavering voice.
The old squire looked up into his younger daughter's face and laughed.
"Why, what more would you want, Kitty? No longer young nor fair and with
no thought of marrying--what is money to you after your death?"
"I was thinking of the orphan children in London," continued Miss
Katharine, with increasing firmness of manner and increasing trembling
of voice. "They are very poor, and--and--they are Valentine's children,
and--and--you have never seen them, father."
"And never mean to," snapped the squire. "Griselda, I believe I have now
given implicit directions. Katharine, don't be silly. I don't mean to
see those children and I won't be worried about them."
At this moment the door behind the squire, which was very thick and made
of solid oak, worn nearly black with age, was opened softly, and a clear
voice exclaimed:
"Why, what a funny room! Do come in, Kitty. Oh, what a beautiful room,
and what a funny, queer old man!"
Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine both turned round abruptly. Miss
Griselda made a step toward the door to shut it against some unexpected
and unwelcome intruder. The old man muttered:
"That is a child's voice--one of the village urchins, no doubt."
But before Miss Griselda could reach the door--in short, before any of
the little party assembled in the dying squire's bedroom could do
anything but utter disjointed exclamations, a child, holding a younger
child by the hand, marched boldly and with the air of one perfectly at
home into the chamber.
"What a very nice room, and what funny ladies, and oh! what a queer,
cross old man! Don't be frightened, Kitty, we'll walk right through.
There's a door at the other end--maybe we'll find grandfather in the room
beyond the door at that end."
The squire's lower jaw quite dropped as the radiant little creatures
came in and filled the room with an unlooked-for light and beauty. They
were dressed picturesquely, and no one for an instant could mistake them
for the village children. The eldest child might have been seven; she
was tall and broad, with large limbs, a head crowned with a great wealth
of tangly, fuzzy, nut-brown hair, eyes deeply set, very dark in color, a
richly tinted dark little face, and an expression of animation which
showed in the dancing eyes, in the dancing limbs, in the smiling,
dimpled, confident mouth; her proud little head was well thrown back;
her attitude was totally devoid of fear. The younger child was fair with
a pink-and-white complexion, a quantity of golden, sunny hair, and eyes
as blue as the sky; she could not have been more than four years old,
and was round-limbed and dimpled like a baby.
"Who are you, my dears?" said Miss Katharine when she could speak. Miss
Katharine was quite trembling, and she could not help smiling at the
lovely little pair. Squire Lovel and Miss Grizel were still frowning,
but Miss Katharine's voice was very gentle.
"Who are you, my dear little children?" she repeated, gaining courage
and letting an affectionate inflection steal into her voice.
"I'm Kitty," said the younger child, putting her finger to her lip and
looking askance at the elder girl, "and she--she's Rachel."
"You had better let me tell it, Kitty," interrupted Rachel. "Please, we
are going through the house--we want to see everything. Kitty doesn't
want to as badly as me, but she always does what I tell her. We are
going straight on into the next room, for we want to find grandfather.
I'm Rachel Lovel and this is Kitty Lovel. Our papa used to live here
when he was a little boy, and we want to find grandfather, please. Oh,
what a cross old man that is sitting in the chair!"
While Rachel was making her innocent and confident speech, Miss
Katharine's face turned deadly pale; she was afraid even to glance at
her father and sister. The poor lady felt nearly paralyzed, and was
dimly wondering how she could get such audacious intruders out of the
room.
Rachel having finished her speech remained silent for a quarter of a
minute; then taking Kitty's hand she said:
"Come along, Kit, we may find grandfather in the other room. We'll go
through the door at that end, and perhaps we'll come to grandfather at
last."
Kitty heaved a little sigh of relief, and the two were preparing to
scamper past the deep embrasure of the mullioned window, when a stern
voice startled the little adventurers, and arresting them in their
flight, caused them to wheel swiftly round.
"Come here," said Squire Lovel.
He had never spoken more sternly; but the mites had not a bit of fear.
They marched up to him boldly, and Kitty laid her dimpled baby finger,
with a look of inquiry, on his swollen old hand:
"What a funny fat hand!"
"What did you say you called yourself?" said the squire, lifting
Rachel's chin and peering into her dark face. "Griselda and Katharine,
I'll thank you not to stand staring and gaping. What did you call
yourself? What name did you say belonged to you, child? I'm hard of
hearing; tell me again."
"I'm Rachel Valentine Lovel," repeated the child in a confident tone. "I
was called after my mamma and after father--father's in heaven, and it
makes my mother cry to say Valentine, so I'm Rachel; and this is
Kitty--her real name is Katharine--Katharine Lovel. We have come in a
dog-cart, and mother is downstairs, and we want to see all the house,
and particularly the tower, and we want to see grandfather, and we want
a bunch of grapes each."
All the time Rachel was speaking the squire kept regarding her more and
more fiercely. When she said "My mother is downstairs," he even gave her
a little push away. Rachel was not at all appalled; she knit her own
black brows and tried to imitate him.
"I never saw such a cross old man; did you, Kitty? Please, old man, let
us go now. We want to find grandfather."
"Perhaps it's a pain him got," said Kitty, stroking the swollen hand
tenderly. "Mother says when I's got a pain I can't help looking cross."
The fierce old eyes turned slowly from one lovely little speaker to the
other; then the squire raised his head and spoke abruptly.
"Griselda and Katharine, come here. Have the goodness to tell me who
this child resembles," pointing as he spoke to Rachel. "Look at her
well, study her attentively, and don't both answer at once."
There was not the slightest fear of Miss Katharine interrupting Miss
Griselda on this occasion. She only favored dark-eyed little Rachel with
a passing glance; but her eyes, full of tears, rested long on the fair
little baby face of Kitty.
"This child in all particulars resembles the portrait of our great-uncle
Rupert," said Miss Griselda, nodding at Rachel as she did so. "The same
eyes, the same lift of the eyebrows, and the same mouth."
"And this one," continued the squire, turning his head and pointing to
Kitty--"this one, Griselda? Katharine, you need not speak."
"This one," continued Miss Griselda, "has the weakness and effeminate
beauty of my dead brother Valentine."
"Kitty isn't weak," interrupted Rachel; "she's as strong as possible.
She only had croup once, and she never takes cold, and she only was ill
for a little because she was very hungry. Please, old man, stop staring
so hard and let us go now. We want to find our grandfather."
But instead of letting Rachel go Squire Lovel stretched out his hand and
drew her close to him.
"Sturdy limbs, dark face, breadth of figure," he muttered, "and you are
my grandchild--the image of Rupert; yes, the image of Rupert Lovel. I
wish to God, child, you were a boy!"
"Your grandchild!" repeated Rachel. "Are you my grandfather? Kitty,
Kitty, is this our grandfather?"
"Him's pain is better," said Kitty. "I see a little laugh 'ginning to
come round his mouth. Him's not cross. Let us kiss our grandfader,
Rachel."
Up went two rosy, dimpled pairs of lips to the withered old cheeks, and
two lovely little pairs of arms were twined round Squire Lovel's neck.
"We have found our grandfather," said Rachel. "Now let's go downstairs
at once and bring mother up to see him."
"No, no, stop that!" said the squire, suddenly disentangling himself
from the pretty embrace. "Griselda and Katharine, this scene is too much
for me. I should not be agitated--those children should not intrude on
me. Take care of them--take particular care of the one who is like
Rupert. Take her away now; take them both away; and, hark you, do not
let the mother near me. I'll have nothing to say to the mother; she is
nothing to me. Take the children out of the room and come back to me
presently, both of you."
CHAPTER II.--MAKING TERMS.
The moment the two little girls found themselves outside their
grandfather's door they wrenched their little hands away from Miss
Griselda's and Miss Katharine's, and with a gay laugh like two wild,
untamed birds flew down the wide oak staircase and across the hall to a
room where a woman, dressed very soberly, waited for them. She was
sitting on the edge of a hard cane-bottomed chair, her veil was down,
and her whole attitude was one of tense and nervous watchfulness. The
children ran to her with little cries of rapture, climbed together on
her knee, pulled up her veil, and nearly smothered her pale dark face
with kisses.
"Mother, mother, mother, he was so cross!"
"He had pain, mother, and him's eyes was wrinkled up so."
"But, mother, we gave him a kiss, and he said I was strong and Kitty was
weak. We have not seen the tower yet, and we haven't got our grapes, and
there are two old ladies, and we don't like them much, and we ran away
from them--and--oh, here they are!"
The children clung tightly to their mother, who struggled to her feet,
pushed them | 673.984178 |
2023-11-16 18:28:18.0330300 | 274 | 9 |
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IN THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR
by Samuel E. Lowe
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter
I. Allan Finds A Champion
II. Allan Goes Forth
III. A Combat
IV. Allan Meets The Knights
V. Merlin's Message
VI. Yosalinde
VII. The Tournament
VIII. Sir Tristram's Prowess
IX. The Kitchen Boy
X. Pentecost
XI. Allan Meets A Stranger
XII. The Stranger And Sir Launcelot
XIII. The Party Divides
XIV. King Mark's Foul Plan
XV. The Weasel's Nest
XVI. To The Rescue
XVII. In King Mark's Castle
XVIII. The Kitchen Boy Again
XIX. On Adventure's Way
XX. Gareth Battles Sir Brian
XXI. Knight Of The Red Lawns
XXII. Sir Galahad
XXIII. The Beginning Of The Quest
XXIV. In Normandy
XXV. Sir Galahad Offers Help
XXVI. Lady Jeanne's Story | 674.05307 |
2023-11-16 18:28:18.1396670 | 65 | 52 |
Produced by Demian Katz, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
[Illustration: The plunging monster glided by | 674.159707 |
2023-11-16 18:28:18.1404800 | 4,844 | 39 |
Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
Special thanks to the Internet Archive, American Libraries
A FLEET IN BEING
NOTES OF TWO TRIPS WITH THE CHANNEL SQUADRON
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1914
_COPYRIGHT_.
_First Edition, December_ 1898.
_Reprinted, December_ 1898; _January, February, May,
and October_ 1899, 1910, 1914.
A FLEET IN BEING
CHAPTER I
'.... _the sailor men_
_That sail upon the seas_,
_To fight the Wars and keep the Laws_,
_And live on yellow_ peas'
'A Gunroom Ditty-Box.' G. S. BOWLES.
Some thirty of her Majesty's men-of-war were involved in this matter;
say a dozen battleships of the most recent, and seventeen or eighteen
cruisers; but my concern was limited to one of a new type commanded by
an old friend. I had some dim knowledge of the interior of a warship,
but none of the new world into which I stepped from a Portsmouth wherry
one wonderful summer evening in '97.
With the exception of the Captain, the Chief Engineer, and maybe a
few petty officers, nobody was more than twenty-eight years old. They
ranged in the ward-room from this resourceful age to twenty-six or seven
clear-cut, clean-shaved young faces with all manner of varied experience
behind them. When one comes to think, it is only just that a light
20-knot cruiser should be handled, under guidance of an older head,
by affable young gentlemen prepared, even sinfully delighted, to take
chances not set down in books. She was new, they were new, the Admiral
was new, and we were all off to the Manoeuvres together--thirty keels
next day threading their way in and out between a hundred and twenty
moored vessels not so fortunate. We opened the ball, for the benefit of
some foreign warships, with a piece of rather pretty steering. A consort
was coming up a waterlane, between two lines of shipping, just behind us;
and we nipped in immediately ahead of her, precisely as a hansom turning
out of Bond Street nips in in front of a City 'bus. Distance on water
is deceptive, and when I vowed that at one crisis I could have spat on
the wicked ram of our next astern, pointed straight at our naked turning
side, the ward-room laughed.
'Oh, that's nothing,' said a gentleman of twenty-two. 'Wait till
we have to keep station to-night. It's my middle watch.'
'Close water-tight doors, then,' said a Sub-Lieutenant. 'I say'
(this to the passenger) 'if you find a second-class cruiser's ram in
the small of your back at midnight don't be alarmed.'
FASCINATING GAME OF GENERAL POST
We were then strung out in a six-mile line, thirty ships, all heading
Westwards. As soon as we found room the Flagship began to signal, and
there followed a most fascinating game of general post. When I came to
know our signalmen on the human side I appreciated it even more. The
Admiral wreathed himself with flags, strings of them; the signalman
on our high little, narrow little bridge, telescope jammed to his eye,
read out the letters of that order; the Quartermaster spun the infantine
wheel; the Officer of the Bridge rumbled requests down the speaking-tube
to the engine-room, and away we fled to take up station at such and
such a distance from our neighbours, ahead and astern, at such and such
an angle on the Admiral, his bow or beam. The end of it was a miracle
to lay eyes. The long line became four parallel lines of strength and
beauty, a mile and a quarter from flank to flank, and thus we abode till
evening. Two hundred yards or so behind us the ram of our next astern
planed through the still water; an equal distance in front of us lay the
oily water from the screw of our next ahead. So it was ordered, and so we
did, as though glued into position. But our Captain took up the parable
and bade me observe how slack we were, by reason of recent festivities,
compared to what we should be in a few days. 'Now we're all over the
shop. The ships haven't worked together, and station-keeping isn't
as easy as it looks.' Later on I found this was perfectly true.
A VARYING STRAIN
One thing more than all the rest impresses the passenger on a Queen's
ship. She is seldom for three whole hours at the same speed. The liner
clear of her dock strikes her pace and holds it to her journey's end,
but the man-of-war must always have two or three knots up her sleeve in
case the Admiral demands a spurt; she must also be ready to drop three or
four knots at the wave of a flag; and on occasion she must lie still and
meditate. This means a varying strain on all the mechanism, and constant
strain on the people who control it.
I counted seven speeds in one watch, ranging from eight knots to
seventeen, which, with eleven, was our point of maximum vibration. At
eight knots you heard the vicious little twin-screws jigitting like
restive horses; at seventeen they pegged away into the sea like a pair
of short-gaited trotting ponies on a hard road. But one felt, even in
dreams, that she was being held back. Those who talk of a liner's
freedom from breakdown should take a 7,000 horsepower boat and hit her
and hold her for a fortnight all across the salt seas.
IN CLUB AND COTERIES
After a while I went to the galley to get light on these and other
matters. Once forward of the deck torpedo-tubes you enter another and
a fascinating world of seamen-gunners, artificers, cooks, Marines (we
had twenty and a sergeant), ship's boys, signalmen, and the general
democracy. Here the men smoke at the permitted times, and in clubs
and coteries gossip and say what they please of each other and their
superiors. Their speech is soft (if everyone spoke aloud you could
not hear yourself think on a cruiser), their gestures are few (if a
man swung his arms about he would interfere with his neighbour), their
steps are noiseless as they pop in and out of the forward flats; they
are at all times immensely interesting, and, as a rule, delightfully
amusing. Their slang borrows from the engine-room, the working parts of
guns, the drill-book, and the last music-hall song. It is delivered in
a tight-lipped undertone; the more excruciatingly funny parts without a
shade of expression. The first thing that strikes a casual observer is
their superb health; next, their quiet adequateness; and thirdly, a grave
courtesy. But under the shell of the new Navy beats the heart of the old.
All Marryat's immortals are there, better fed, better tended, better
educated, but at heart unchanged. I heard Swinburne laying down the law
to his juniors by the ash-shoot; Chucks was there, too, inquiring in the
politest manner in the world what a friend meant by spreading his limbs
about the landscape; and a lineal descendant of Dispart fussed over a
4in. gun that some one had been rude to. They were men of the world, at
once curiously simple and curiously wily (this makes the charm of the
Naval man of all ranks), coming and going about their businesses like
shadows.
NOT FROM THE ADMIRALTY STANDPOINT
They were all keenly interested in the Manoeuvres--not from the Admiralty
standpoint, but the personal. Many of them had served under one or other
of the Admirals, and they enlightened their fellows, as you shall later
hear.
Then night fell, and Our Fleet blazed 'like a lot of chemists'
shops adrift,' as one truthfully put it--six lights to each ship;
bewildering the tramps. There was a cove of refuge, by one of the forward
4-in. guns, within touch of the traffic to the bridge, the break of
the foc'sle, the crowded populations below, and the light banter near
the galley. My vigil here was cheered by the society of a Marine, who
delivered a lecture on the thickness of the skulls of the inhabitants of
South America, as tested by his own hands. It ended thus: 'An' so I
got ten days in one o' their stinkin' prisons. Fed me on grapes they
did, along with one o' their own murderers. Funny people them South
Americans. Oh, 'adn't killed any one. We only skirmished through
their bloomin' Suburbs lookin' for fun like.'
'Fun! _We've_ got all the fun we want!' growled a voice in the
shadow. A stoker had risen silently as a seal for a breath of air, and
stood, chest to the breeze, scanning the Fleet lights.
''Ullo! Wot's the matter with _your_ condenser?' said the Marine.
'You'd better take your mucky 'ands off them hammick-cloths or
you'll be spoke to.'
'Our bunkers,' said the figure, addressing his grievance to the
sea-line, 'are stuck all about like a lot o' women's pockets.
They're stuck about like a lot o' bunion-plasters. That's what our
bunkers are.' He slipped back into the darkness. Presently a signalman
pattered by to relieve his mate on the bridge.
'You'll be 'ung,' said the Marine, who was a wit, and by the same
token something of a prophet.
'Not if you're anywhere in the crowd I won't,' was the retort,
always in a cautious, 'don't-wake-him' undertone. 'Wot are you
doin' 'ere?'
'Never you mind. You go on up to the 'igh an' lofty bridge an'
persecute your vocation. My Gawd! I wouldn't be a signalman, not for
ever so.'
When I met my friend next morning 'persecuting his vocation' as
sentry over the lifebuoy aft neither he nor I recognised each other; but
I owe him some very nice tales.
WHEELING, CIRCLING, AND RETURNING
Next day both Fleets were exercised at steam tactics, which is a noble
game; but I was too interested in the life of my own cruiser, unfolding
hour by hour, to be intelligently interested in evolutions. All I remember
is that we were eternally taking up positions at fifteen knots an hour
amid a crowd of other cruisers, all precisely alike, all still as death,
each with a wedge of white foam under her nose; wheeling, circling, and
returning. The battleships danced stately quadrilles by themselves in
another part of the deep. We of the light horse did barn-dances about
the windy floors; and precisely as couples in the ball-room fling a word
over their shoulders, so we and our friends, whirling past to take up
fresh stations, snapped out an unofficial sentence or two by means of
our bridge-semaphores. Cruisers are wondrous human. In the afternoon the
battleships overtook us, their white upperworks showing like icebergs as
they topped the sea-line. Then we sobered our faces, and the engineers
had rest, and at a wave of the Admiral's flag off Land's End our
Fleet was split in twain. One half would go outside Ireland, toying with
the weight of the Atlantic _en route_, to Blacksod Bay, while we turned
up the Irish Channel to Lough Swilly. There we would coal, and wait for
War. After that it would be blind man's bluff within a three hundred
and fifty mile ring of the Atlantic. We of Lough Swilly would try to
catch the Blacksod Fleet, which was supposed to have a rendezvous of its
own somewhere out at sea, before it could return to the shelter of the
Bay.
THE EXPERTS OF THE LOWER DECK
There was, however, one small flaw in the rules, and as soon as they were
in possession of the plan of campaign the experts of the lower deck put
their horny thumbs on it--thus:
'Look 'ere. Their Admiral 'as to go out from Blacksod to some
rendezvous known only to 'isself. Ain't that so?'
'We've 'eard all that.' This from an impertinent, new to War.
'Leavin' a cruiser be'ind 'im--_Blake_ most likely, or
_Blenheim_--to bring 'im word of the outbreak of 'ostilities.
Ain't that so?'
'Get _on_. What are you drivin' at?'
'You'll see. When that cruiser overtakes 'im 'e 'as to navigate
back to Blacksod from 'is precious rendezvous to get 'ome again
before we intercepts the beggar.'
'Well?'
'Now I put it to you. What's to prevent 'im rendezvousin' out
_slow_ in order to be overtook by that cruiser; an' rendezvousin'
back quick to Black-sod, before we intercepts 'im? I don't see that
_'is_ steamin' rate is anywhere laid down. You mark my word, 'e'll
take precious good care to be overtook by that cruiser of 'is. We
won't catch 'im. There's an 'ole in the rules an' 'e'll
slip through. _I_ know 'im if you don't!'
The voice went on to describe ''im,' the Admiral of our enemy--as
a wily person, who would make the Admiralty sit up.
And truly, it came out in the end that the other Admiral had done almost
exactly what his foc'sle friends expected. He went to his rendezvous
slowly, was overtaken by his cruiser about a hundred miles from the
rendezvous, turned back again to Blacksod, and having won the game of
'Pussy wants a corner,' played about in front of the Bay till we
descended on him. Then he was affable, as he could afford to be, explained
the situation, and I presume smiled. There was a 'hole in the rules,'
and he sailed all his Fleet through it.
We, of the Northern Squadron, found Lough Swilly in full possession of
a Sou'-west gale, and an assortment of dingy colliers lying where they
could most annoy the anchoring Fleet. A collier came alongside with
donkey-engines that would not lift more than half their proper load; she
had no bags, no shovels, and her crazy derrick-boom could not be topped
up enough to let the load clear our bulwarks. So we supplied our own bags
and shovels, rearranged the boom, put two of our own men on the rickety
donkey-engines, and fell to work in that howling wind and wet.
COALING: A PREPARATION FOR WAR
As a preparation for War next day, it seemed a little hard on the crew,
who worked like sailors--there is no stronger term. From time to time a
red-eyed black demon, with flashing teeth, shot into the ward-room for a
bite and a drink, cried out the number of tons aboard, added a few pious
words on the collier's appliances, and our bunkers ('Like a lot of
bunion-plasters,' the stoker had said), and tore back to where the
donkey-engines wheezed, the bags crashed, the shovels rasped and scraped,
the boom whined and creaked, and the First Lieutenant, carved in pure
jet, said precisely what occurred to him. Before the collier cast off a
full-blooded battleship sent over a boat to take some measurements of her
hatch. The boat was in charge of a Midshipman aged, perhaps, seventeen,
though he looked younger. He came dripping into the ward-room--bloodless,
with livid lips, for he had been invalided from the Mediterranean full
of Malta fever.
'And what are you in?' said our Captain, who chanced to pass by.
'The _Victorious_, sir, and a smart ship!' He drank his little glass
of Marsala, swirled his dank boat-cloak about him, and went out serenely
to take his boat home through the dark and the dismal welter.
Now the _Victorious_, she is some fourteen thousand nine hundred tons,
and he who gave her her certificate was maybe ten stone two--with a
touch of Malta fever on him!
THE WARD-ROOM DISPORTED ITSELF
We cleaned up at last; the First Lieutenant's face relaxed a little,
and some one called for the instruments of music. Out came two violins,
a mandoline, and bagpipes, and the ward-room disported itself among
tunes of three Nations till War should be declared. In the middle of a
scientific experiment as to how the ship's kitten might be affected by
bagpipes that hour struck, and even more swiftly than pussy fled under
the sofa the trim mess-jackets melted away, the chaff ceased, the hull
shivered to the power of the steam-capstan, the slapping of the water
on our sides grew, and we glided through the moored Fleet to the mouth
of Lough Swilly. Our orders were to follow and support another cruiser
who had been already despatched towards Blacksod Bay to observe the
enemy--or rather that cruiser who was bearing news of the outbreak of
War to the enemy's Fleet.
It was then midnight of the 7th of July--by the rules of the game the
main body could not move till noon of the 8th--and the North Atlantic,
cold and lumpy, was waiting for us as soon as we had put out our lights.
Then I began to understand why a certain type of cruiser is irreverently
styled 'a commodious coffee-grinder.' We had the length of a smallish
liner, but by no means her dead weight, so where the Red Duster would
have driven heavily through the seas the White Ensign danced; and the
twin-screws gave us more kick than was pleasant. At half-past five of
a peculiarly cheerless dawn we picked up the big cruiser (who had seen
nothing), stayed in her company till nearly seven, and ran back to
rejoin the Fleet, whom we met coming out of Lough Swilly about 1 p.m. of
Thursday, the 8th. And the weather was vile. Once again we headed W.N.W.
in company at an average speed of between thirteen and fourteen knots
on a straightaway run of three hundred and fifty miles toward the Rockal
Bank and the lonely rock that rises out of the sea there. The idea was
that our enemy might have made this his rendezvous, in which case we had
hope of catching him _en masse_.
Through that penitential day the little cruiser was disgustingly lively,
but all we took aboard was spray, whereas the low-bowed battleships
slugged their bluff noses into the surge and rose dripping like half-tide
rocks. The Flagship might have manoeuvred like half a dozen Nelsons, but
I lay immediately above the twin-screws and thought of the Quartermaster
on the reeling bridge who was not allowed to lie down. Through the
cabin-door I could see the decks, dim with spray; hear the bugles
calling to quarters; and catch glimpses of the uninterrupted life of the
ship--a shining face under a sou'wester; a pair of sea-legs cloaked
in oil-skins; a hurrying signalman with a rolling and an anxious eye; a
warrant officer concerned for the proper housing of his quick-firers, as
they disappeared in squirts of foam; or a Lieutenant serenely reporting
men and things 'present' or 'correct.' Behind all, as the cruiser
flung herself carelessly abroad, great grey and slate- scoops
of tormented sea. About midnight the scouting cruiser--same we had left
that morning on the look-out for the _Blake_ or the _Blenheim_--rejoined
the Fleet; but the fleet might have gone down as one keel so far as one
unhappy traveller was concerned.
By noon of July 9 we had covered 325-1/2 miles in twenty-four hours, with
never a sight of the enemy to cheer us, and had reached the limit of our
ground. Here we turned, and, on a front of twenty-four miles from wing
to wing, swept down 250 miles South-eastward to the offing of Blacksod
Bay.
'MISSED!'
Mercifully the weather began to improve, and we had the sea more or
less behind us. It was when we entered on this second slant, about
three minutes after the Fleet swung round, that, as though all men had
thought it together, a word went round our forecastle--'Missed!'
After dinner, as they were smoking above the spit-kids, the doctrine
was amplified with suitable language by the foc'sle experts, and
it was explained to me with a great certainty how the other side had
out-manoeuvred us 'by means of the 'ole in the rules.' In other
words, 'he had been overtook by 'is cruiser,' precisely as the
wiser heads had prophesied; and even at that early stage of the game we
had been sold.
There was no way of finding out anything for sure. A big scouting cruiser
slipped off again a little before dawn of | 674.16052 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: RAPHAEL SANZIO D' URBINO (BY HIMSELF)
_Uffizi Gallery, Florence_]
Masterpieces of Art
RAPHAEL
A COLLECTION OF FIFTEEN PICTURES
AND A PORTRAIT OF THE PAINTER
WITH INTRODUCTION AND
INTERPRETATION
_EDITED BY_
ESTELLE M. HURLL
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Copyright, 1899, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO
* * * * *
PREFACE
The object of this collection of prints is to introduce the student to
Raphael through the pictures which appeal directly to the imagination
with some story interest. With this characteristic as the leading
principle of choice, the variety of subjects is perhaps as wide as the
conditions admit. No attempt is made to represent all the sides of the
painter's art; his portraits are ignored and his Madonnas inadequately
represented, in order to give place to pictures which awaken as many
points of interest as possible. Within these narrow limits Raphael, as
an illustrator and a composer, is even in these few pictures clearly
represented.
Had choice been limited to pictures painted throughout by Raphael
himself, the value of the collection would have been seriously
affected, as some of the master's most interesting works were handed
over to his pupils for execution. Our list, however, contains only
such works as are at this date reckoned indisputably to be from
Raphael's own designs.
The text has only the modest aim of making the pictures intelligible.
Critical explanations are beyond its scope, and historical data are
for the most part relegated to the accompanying tables. The
Introduction is intended for teachers, and contains suggestions for a
comparative study of the pictures which may be carried out at
discretion.
All the reproductions in this book are from photographs made directly
from the original paintings. In order to get the best results a
careful comparison was made of the work of leading photographers. The
photographer of | 674.345786 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
[Illustration: LITTLE ORIENTALS]
CHINESE MOTHER GOOSE RHYMES
TRANSLATED AND ILLUSTRATED
BY
ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND
OF PEKING UNIVERSITY.
Fleming H. Revell Company
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1900
By Fleming H. Revell Company
PREFACE
There are probably more nursery rhymes in China than can be found in
England and America. We have in our possession more than six hundred,
collected, for the most part, in two out of the eighteen provinces,
and we have no reason to believe that we have succeeded in getting any
large proportion of what those two provinces contain.
In most of the rhymes there are features common to those of our own
"Mother Goose," among which are those referring (1) to insects, (2)
animals, (3) birds, (4) persons, (5) children, (6) food, (7) parts of
the body, (8) actions, such as patting, grabbing, tickling, etc., (9)
professions, trades and business.
We have tried to reproduce the meaning of the original as nearly as
possible; this has not always been an easy task. Let it be understood
that these rhymes make no pretentions to literary merit, nor has the
translator made any attempt at regularity in the meter, because
neither the original nor our own "Mother Goose" is regular. Our desire
has been to make a translation which is fairly true to the original,
and which will please English-speaking children. The child, not the
critic, has always been kept in view.
Attention is called to the affection manifested in such rhymes as
"Sweeter than Sugar," "Sweet Pill," "Little Fat Boy," and "Baby is
Sleeping." There is no language in the world, we venture to believe,
which contains children's songs expressive of more keen and tender
affection than those we have mentioned. This fact, more than any
other, has stimulated us in the preparation of these rhymes. They have
been prepared with the hope that they will present a new phase of
Chinese home life, and lead the children of the West to have some
measure of sympathy and affection for the children of the East.
The compilation was much facilitated by the work done by Baron Vitali,
of the Italian Legation in Peking; Rev. Arthur H. Smith, author of
"Chinese Characteristics;" Miss Mabel Whiting, of Peking; Miss
Mitchell, of Chinkiang; Mrs. McClure, of Honan; Miss Chalfant, of
Shantung; Mr. Chao Tsz-chi, Chinese Consul at New York; Mr. Yamamoto,
of Peking, and Rev. Chauncy Goodrich, of T'ung Chou, while the entire
work is due to the fact that our attention was called by Mrs. C. H.
Fenn, of Peking, to her old nurse repeating these rhymes to her little
boy.
The illustrations have all been prepared by the translator specially
for this work.
I. T. H.
OCTOBER, 1900
SWEETER THAN SUGAR
My little baby, little boy blue,
Is as sweet as sugar and cinnamon too;
Isn't this precious darling of ours
Sweeter than dates and cinnamon flowers?
LITTLE SMALL-FEET
The small-footed girl
With the sweet little smile,
She loves to eat sugar
And sweets all the while.
Her money's all gone
And because she can't buy,
She holds her small feet
While she sits down to cry.
THE CRICKET
On the top of a mountain
A hemp stock was growing,
And up it a cricket was climbing.
I said to him, "Cricket,
Oh where are you going?"
He answered: "I'm going out dining."
THE BUTTERFLY
Away goes the butterfly,
To catch it I will never try;
The butterfly's about to 'light,
I would not have it if I might.
OF WHAT USE IS A GIRL?
We keep a dog to watch the house,
A pig is useful, too;
We keep a cat to catch a mouse,
But what can we do
With a girl like you?
THE FIRE-FLY
Fire-fly, fire-fly,
Come from the hill,
Your father and mother
Are waiting here still;
They've brought you some sugar,
Some candy and meat,
Come quick, or I'll give it
To baby to eat.
COME AND PLAY
Little baby, full of | 674.467437 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel 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:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Inconsistent punctuation in the ads section has been
left as printed. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs= | 674.68919 |
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E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
NINA BALATKA
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
INTRODUCTION
Anthony Trollope was an established novelist of great renown when _Nina
Balatka_ was published in 1866, twenty years after his first novel.
Except for _La Vendee_, his third novel, set in France during the
Revolution, all his previous works were set in England or Ireland and
dealt with the upper levels of society: the nobility and the landed
gentry (wealthy or impoverished), and a few well-to-do merchants--people
several strata above the social levels of the characters popularized by
his contemporary Dickens. Most of Trollope's early novels were set in
the countryside or in provincial towns, with occasional forays into
London. The first of his political novels, _Can You Forgive Her_, dealing
with the Pallisers was published in 1864, two years before _Nina_. By the
time he began writing _Nina_, shortly after a tour of Europe, Trollope
was a master at chronicling the habits, foibles, customs, and ways of
life of his chosen subjects.
_Nina Balatka_ is, on the surface, a love story--not an unusual theme for
Trollope. Romance and courtship were woven throughout all his previous
works, often with two, three, or even more pairs of lovers per novel.
Most of his heroes and heroines, after facing numerous hurdles, often
of their own making, were eventually happily united by the next-to-last
chapter. A few were doomed to disappointment (Johnny Eames never won
the heart of Lily Dale through two of the "Barsetshire" novels), but
marital bliss--or at least the prospect of bliss--was the usual outcome.
Even so, the reader of Trollope soon notices his analytical description
of Victorian courtship and marriage. In the circles of Trollope's
characters, only the wealthy could afford to marry for love; those
without wealth had to marry for money, sometimes with disastrous
consequences. By the time of _Nina_, Trollope's best exploration of
this subject was the marriage between Plantagenet Palliser and Lady
Glencora M'Cluskie, the former a cold fish and the latter a hot-blooded
heiress in love with a penniless scoundrel (_Can You Forgive Her?_
1865). Yet to come was the disastrous marriage of intelligent Lady
Laura Standish to the wealthy but old-maidish Robert Kennedy in _Phineas
Finn_ and its sequel.
But _Nina Balatka_ is different from Trollope's previous novels in four
respects. First, Trollope was accustomed to include in his novels his
own witty editorial comments about various subjects, often paragraphs
or even several pages long. No such comments are found in _Nina_.
Second, the story is set in Prague instead of the British isles. Third,
the hero and heroine are already in love and engaged to one another
at the opening; we are not told any details about their falling in
love. The hero, Anton Trendellsohn is a successful businessman in his
mid-thirties--not the typical Trollopian hero in his early twenties, still
finding himself, and besotted with love. Anton is rather cold as lovers
go, seldom whispering words of endearment to Nina. But it is the fourth
difference which really sets this novel apart and makes it both a
masterpiece and an enigma. That fourth--and most important--difference
is clearly stated in the remarkable opening sentence of the novel:
Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents,
and herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her
story.
Marriage--even worse, love--between a Christian and a Jew would have
been unacceptable to Victorian British readers. Blatant anti-semitism
was prevalent--perhaps ubiquitous--among the upper classes.
Let us consider the origins of this anti-semitism. Jews were first
allowed into England by William the Conqueror. For a while they
prospered, largely through money-lending, an occupation to which
they were restricted. In the 13th century a series of increasingly
oppressive laws and taxes reduced the Jewish community to poverty, and
the Jews were expelled from England in 1290. They were not allowed to
return until 1656, when Oliver Cromwell authorized their entry over
the objections of British merchants. Legal protection for the Jews
increased gradually; even the "Act for the More Effectual Suppressing
of Blasphemy and Profaneness" (1698) recognized the practice of Judaism
as legal, but there were probably only a few hundred Jews in the entire
country. The British Jewish community grew gradually, and efforts to
emancipate the Jews were included in various "Reform Acts" in the first
half of the 19th century, although many failed to become law. Gradually
Jews were admitted to the bar and other professions. Full citizenship
and rights, including the right to sit in Parliament, were granted in
1858--only seven years before Trollope began writing _Nina Balatka_. By
this time wealthy Jewish families were growing in number. This upward
mobility and increasing economic and political power no doubt made the
British upper classes envious and resentful, fuelling anti-semitism.
Trollope chose to have _Nina_ published anonymously in _Blackwood's
Magazine_ for reasons which he described in his autobiography:
From the commencement of my success as a writer... I had
always felt an injustice in literary affairs which had never
afflicted me or even suggested itself to me while I was
unsuccessful. It seemed to me that a name once earned carried
with it too much favour... The injustice which struck me did
not consist in that which was withheld from me, but in that which
was given to me. I felt that aspirants coming up below me might
do work as good as mine, and probably much better work, and yet
fail to have it appreciated. In order to test this, I determined
to be such an aspirant myself, and to begin a course of novels
anonymously, in order that I might see whether I could succeed in
obtaining a second identity,--whether as I had made one mark by
such literary ability as I possessed, I might succeed in doing so
again. [1]
Why did Trollope start his "new" career with a novel whose central theme
was a subject of distaste at best--more likely revulsion--to the vast
majority of the reading public? Perhaps the nature of the novel itself
led him to consider publishing it anonymously, although we know he was
not averse to controversial subjects. In his first book, _The Macdermots
of Ballycloran_, which he thought had the best plot of all his novels,
the principal female character is seduced by a scoundrel and dies giving
birth to an illegitimate child.
Certainly _Nina_ was well-suited for the experiment because of it's
different setting and subject matter. Perhaps further to disguise his
authorship, Trollope wrote _Nina_ in a style of prose that reads almost
like a translation from a foreign language.
The experiment did not last long enough to test Trollope's hypothesis.
Mr. Hutton, critic for the _Spectator_, recognized Trollope as the author
and so stated in his review. Trollope did not deny the accusation.
One cannot discuss _Nina Balatka_ without addressing the question, was
Trollope himself anti-semitic? A careful reading of his works does not
provide a clear answer. Jews appear in some of his books and are referred
to in others, often as disreputable characters or money-lenders. They are
seldom mentioned by his Christian characters with respect, probably
realistically reflecting the sentiments of the classes he wrote about.
Some of his greatest villains in his later novels--Melmotte in _The Way
We Live Now_ (1875) and Lopez in _The Prime Minister_ (1876)--are rumored
to be Jewish, but Trollope never unequivocally identifies them as Jewish.
Perhaps his Christian characters expect them to be Jewish because they
are foreigners and villains.
However, if one ignores the dialogue of his characters, even the
descriptive and editorial comments by Trollope himself at first seem
anti-semitic. He consistently uses "Jew" as a pejorative adjective
instead of "Jewish." His descriptions of the appearance of Jewish
characters are usually unflattering and stereotypical. Even Anton
Trendellsohn, the hero of _Nina Balatka_, is described as follows:
To those who know the outward types of his race there could be no
doubt that Anton Trendellsohn was a very Jew among Jews. He was
certainly a handsome man, not now very young, having reached some
year certainly in advance of thirty, and his face was full of
intellect. He was slightly made, below the middle height, but was
well made in every limb, with small feet and hands, and small
ears, and a well-turned neck. He was very dark--dark as a man can
be, and yet show no sign of colour in his blood. No white man
could be more dark and swarthy than Anton Trendellsohn. His eyes,
however, which were quite black, were very bright. His jet-black
hair, as it clustered round his ears, had in it something of a
curl. Had it been allowed to grow, it would almost have hung in
ringlets; but it was worn very short, as though its owner were
jealous even of the curl. Anton Trendellsohn was decidedly a
handsome man; but his eyes were somewhat too close together in his
face, and the bridge of his aquiline nose was not sharply cut, as
is mostly the case with such a nose on a Christian face. The olive
oval face was without doubt the face of a Jew, and the mouth was
greedy, and the teeth were perfect and bright, and the movement of
the man's body was the movement of a Jew.
This is not the typical description of the romantic hero of a Victorian
novel. Even so, Trollope's description of Anton is less derogatory than
his description of Ezekiel Brehgert, a character in a later novel, _The
Way We Live Now_:
He was a fat, greasy man, good-looking in a certain degree, about
fifty, with hair dyed black, and beard and moustache dyed a dark
purple colour. The charm of his face consisted in a pair of very
bright black eyes, which were, however, set too near together in
his face for the general delight of Christians. He was stout fat
all over rather than corpulent and had that look of command in his
face which has become common to master-butchers, probably by long
intercourse with sheep and oxen.
The case for Trollope being anti-semitic is harder to support, however,
when one considers the behavior of his Jewish characters. Brehgert,
whose physical description above is stereotypic, is one of the few
characters in _The Way We Live Now_ whose actions are completely
honorable. Trollope wrote 16 novels before _Nina Balatka_; only two of
those contain Jewish characters. The first, who plays a minor role in
_Orley Farm_ (1862), is Soloman Aram, an attorney--a Victorian Rumpole
--known for defending the accused at the Old Bailey. His skill is needed
to defend Lady Mason against a charge of perjury, much to the distaste
of her Christian advisors. He acts with dignity and shows great
consideration for the personal comfort of Lady Mason during her trial.
The second Jewish character in Trollope's novels was Mr. Hart, a London
tailor who runs for a seat in Parliament in _Rachel Ray_ (1863). This
served no purpose in the plot; the situation probably was included
because legislation to allow Jews to serve in Parliament had been
passed only five years before, and the issue was still one of public
discussion. Mr. Hart's appearance is brief; he speaks only one or
two lines, and the reader is not told enough about him to judge his
character. Trollope describes him thus:
... and then the Jewish hero, the tailor himself, came among
them, and astonished their minds by the ease and volubility of his
speeches. He did not pronounce his words with any of those soft
slushy Judaic utterances by which they had been taught to believe
he would disgrace himself. His nose was not hookey, with any
especial hook, nor was it thicker at the bridge than was becoming.
He was a dapper little man, with bright eyes, quick motion, ready
tongue, and a very new hat. It seemed that he knew well how to
canvass. He had a smile and a good word for all--enemies as well
as friends.
In that novel, Trollope, himself, comments on prejudice and bigotry:
... Mrs. Ray, in her quiet way, expressed much joy that Mr.
Comfort's son-in-law should have been successful, and that
Baslehurst should not have disgraced itself by any connection
with a Jew. To her it had appeared monstrous that such a one
should have been even permitted to show himself in the town as a
candidate for its representation. To such she would have denied
all civil rights, and almost all social rights. For a true spirit
of persecution one should always go to a woman; and the milder,
the sweeter, the more loving, the more womanly the woman, the
stronger will be that spirit within her. Strong love for the thing
loved necessitates strong hatred for the thing hated, and thence
comes the spirit of persecution. They in England who are now
keenest against the Jews, who would again take from them rights
that they have lately won, are certainly those who think most of
the faith of a Christian. The most deadly enemies of the Roman
Catholics are they who love best their religion as Protestants.
When we look to individuals we always find it so, though it
hardly suits us to admit as much when we discuss these subjects
broadly. To Mrs. Ray it was wonderful that a Jew should have been
entertained in Baslehurst as a future member for the borough, and
that he should have been admitted to speak aloud within a few
yards of the church tower!
_Nina Balatka_ presents a sharp contrast between the behaviors of the
Jewish and Christian characters. Nina and her father Josef Balatka
live on the edge of poverty; he was cheated out of his business by his
Christian brother-in-law, who is now wealthy. Josef's only source of
money was to sell his house to Anton Trendellsohn's father, who for many
years has allowed Josef and Nina to remain in the house without paying
any rent. Nina's Christian relatives use every form of deceit in their
attempt to turn Anton against Nina. Nina's Aunt Sophie spews invective
in every direction. She tells Nina, "Impudent girl!--brazen-faced,
impudent, bad girl! Do you not know that you would bring disgrace upon
us all?" To Nina's father she says, "Tell me that at once, Josef,
that I may know. Has she your sanction for--for--for this accursed
abomination?" To her husband she says, "Oh, I hate them! I do hate them!
Anything is fair against a Jew." And during a meeting with Anton she
exclaims, "How dares he come here to talk of his love? It is filthy--it
is worse than filthy--it is profane."
Anton's family also opposes the marriage, but Anton's father's behavior
toward Nina is in sharp contrast to that of her aunt:
The old man's heart was softened towards her. He could not bring
himself to say a word to her of direct encouragement, but he
kissed her before she went, telling her that she was a good girl,
and bidding her have no care as to the house in the Kleinseite. As
long as he lived, and her father, her father should not be
disturbed.
Anton, being more a businessman than a lover, at times behaves
insensitively toward Nina. Otherwise, throughout the novel, the Jewish
characters act with honesty and kindness. Even the Jewish maiden who
wants to marry Anton does not scheme to break up his engagement to Nina
but rather befriends Nina and eventually saves her life. One has to
wonder whether Trollope intended this contrast to induce his readers to
reconsider their prejudices. Consider his perception of his duty as a
writer:
... And the criticism [of my work offered by Hawthorne],
whether just or unjust, describes with wonderful accuracy the
purport that I have ever had in view in my writing. I have always
desired to 'hew out some lump of the earth', and to make men and
women walk upon it just as they do walk here among us,--with not
more of excellence, nor with exaggerated baseness,--so that my
readers might recognise human beings like to themselves, and not
feel themselves to be carried away among gods or demons. If I
could do this, then I thought I might succeed in impregnating the
mind of the novel-reader with a feeling that honesty is the best
policy; that truth prevails while falsehood fails; that a girl
will be loved as she is pure, and sweet, and unselfish; that a man
will be honoured as he is true, and honest, and brave of heart;
that things meanly done are ugly and odious, and things nobly done
beautiful and gracious... There are many who would laugh at the
idea of a novelist teaching either virtue or nobility,--those, for
instance, who regard the reading of novels as a sin, and those
also who think it to be simply an idle pastime. They look upon the
tellers of stories as among the tribe of those who pander to the
wicked pleasures of a wicked world. I have regarded my art from so
different a point of view that I have ever thought of myself as a
preacher of sermons, and my pulpit as one which I could make both
salutary and agreeable to my audience. I do believe that no girl
has risen from the reading of my pages less modest than she was
before, and that some may have learned from them that modesty is
a charm well worth preserving. I think that no youth has been
taught that in falseness and flashness is to be found the road to
manliness; but some may perhaps have learned from me that it is
to be found in truth and a high but gentle spirit. Such are the
lessons I have striven to teach; and I have thought that it might
best be done by representing to my readers characters like
themselves,--or to which they might liken themselves. [1]
Given Trollope's philosophy, it is reasonable to believe that the
actions of his characters should speak louder than their words. If
so, Trollope might well have been holding up a mirror to his audience
that they might examine their own prejudices. Unfortunately, we shall
never know.
[1] Anthony Trollope. _An Autobiography_. Oxford University Press,
Oxford, 1950.
Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
Midland, 2003
Copyright (C) 2003 Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
This Introduction to _Nina Balatka_ is protected by
copyright and/or other applicable law. Any use of the
work other than as authorized in "The Legal Small Print"
section (found at the end of the book) is prohibited.
NINA BALATKA
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Nina Balatka was a maiden of Prague, born of Christian parents, and
herself a Christian--but she loved a Jew; and this is her story.
Nina Balatka was the daughter of one Josef Balatka, an old merchant
of Prague, who was living at the time of this story; but Nina's mother
was dead. Josef, in the course of his business, had become closely
connected with a certain Jew named Trendellsohn, who lived in a mean
house in the Jews' quarter in Prague--habitation in that one allotted
portion of the town having been the enforced custom with the Jews then,
as it still is now. In business with Trendellsohn, the father, there
was Anton, his son; and Anton Trendellsohn was the Jew whom Nina
Balatka loved. Now it had so happened that Josef Balatka, Nina's
father, had drifted out of a partnership with Karil Zamenoy, a wealthy
Christian merchant of Prague, and had drifted into a partnership with
Trendellsohn. How this had come to pass needs not to be told here, as
it had all occurred in years when Nina was an infant. But in these
shiftings Balatka became a ruined man, and at the time of which I write
he and his daughter were almost penniless. The reader must know that
Karil Zamenoy and Josef Balatka had married sisters. Josef's wife,
Nina's mother, had long been dead, having died--so said Sophie Zamenoy,
her sister--of a broken heart; of a heart that had broken itself in
grief, because her husband had joined his fortunes with those of a Jew.
Whether the disgrace of the alliance or its disastrous result may have
broken the lady's heart, or whether she may have died of a pleurisy, as
the doctors said, we need not inquire here. Her soul had been long at
rest, and her spirit, we may hope, had ceased to fret itself in horror
at contact with a Jew. But Sophie Zamenoy was alive and strong, and
could still hate a Jew as intensely as Jews ever were hated in those
earlier days in which hatred could satisfy itself with persecution. In
her time but little power was left to Madame Zamenoy to persecute the
Trendellsohns other than that which nature had given to her in the
bitterness of her tongue. She could revile them behind their back, or,
if opportunity offered, to their faces; and both she had done often,
telling the world of Prague that the Trendellsohns had killed her
sister, and robbed her foolish brother-in-law. But hitherto the full
vial of her wrath had not been emptied, as it came to be emptied
afterwards; for she had not yet learned the mad iniquity of her niece.
But at the moment of which I now speak, Nina herself knew her own
iniquity, hardly knowing, however, whether her love did or did not
disgrace her. But she did know that any thought as to that was too
late. She loved the man, and had told him so; and were he gipsy as well
as Jew, it would be required of her that she should go out with him
into the wilderness. And Nina Balatka was prepared to go out into the
wilderness. Karil Zamenoy and his wife were prosperous people, and
lived in a comfortable modern house in the New Town. It stood in
a straight street, and at the back of the house there ran another
straight street. This part of the city is very little like that old
Prague, which may not be so comfortable, but which, of all cities on
the earth, is surely the most picturesque. Here lived Sophie Zamenoy;
and so far up in the world had she mounted, that she had a coach of
her own in which to be drawn about the thoroughfares of Prague and its
suburbs, and a stout little pair of Bohemian horses--ponies they were
called by those who wished to detract somewhat from Madame Zamenoy's
position. Madame Zamenoy had been at Paris, and took much delight
in telling her friends that the carriage also was Parisian; but, in
truth, it had come no further than from Dresden. Josef Balatka and
his daughter were very, very poor; but, poor as they were, they lived
in a large house, which, at least nominally, belonged to old Balatka
himself, and which had been his residence in the days of his better
fortunes. It was in the Kleinseite, that narrow portion of the town,
which lies on the other side of the river Moldau--the further side,
that is, from the so-called Old and New Town, on the western side of
the river, immediately under the great hill of the Hradschin. The
Old Town and the New Town are thus on one side of the river, and the
Kleinseite and the Hradschin on the other. To those who know Prague,
it need not here be explained that the streets of the Kleinseite are
wonderful in their picturesque architecture, wonderful in their lights
and shades, wonderful in their strange mixture of shops and palaces--
and now, alas! also of Austrian barracks--and wonderful in their
intricacy and great steepness of ascent. Balatka's house stood in a
small courtyard near to the river, but altogether hidden from it,
somewhat to the right of the main street of the Kleinseite as you pass
over the bridge. A lane, for it is little more, turning from the main
street between the side walls of what were once two palaces, comes
suddenly into a small square, and from a corner of this square there is
an open stone archway leading into a court. In this court is the door,
or doors, as I may say, of the house in which Balatka lived with his
daughter Nina. Opposite to these two doors was the blind wall of
another residence. Balatka's house occupied two sides of the court,
and no other window, therefore, besides his own looked either upon it
or upon him. The aspect of the place is such as to strike with wonder a
stranger to Prague--that in the heart of so large a city there should
be an abode so sequestered, so isolated, so desolate, and yet so close
to the thickest throng of life. But there are others such, perhaps many
others such, in Prague; and Nina Balatka, who had been born there,
thought nothing of the quaintness of her abode. Immediately over the
little square stood the palace of the Hradschin, the wide-spreading
residence of the old kings of Bohemia, now the habitation of an
ex-emperor of the House of Hapsburg, who must surely find the thousand
chambers of the royal mansion all too wide a retreat for the use of his
old age. So immediately did the imperial hill tower over the spot on
which Balatka lived, that it would seem at night, when the moon was
shining as it shines only at Prague, that the colonnades of the palace
were the upper storeys of some enormous edifice, of which the broken
merchant's small courtyard formed a lower portion. The long rows of
windows would glimmer in the sheen of the night, and Nina would stand
in the gloom of the archway counting them till they would seem to be
uncountable, and wondering what might be the thoughts of those who
abode there. But those who abode there were few in number, and their
thoughts were hardly worthy of Nina's speculation. The windows of
kings' palaces look out from many chambers. The windows of the
Hradschin look out, as we are told, from a thousand. But the rooms
within have seldom many tenants, nor the tenants, perhaps, many
thoughts. Chamber after chamber, you shall pass through them by the
score, and know by signs unconsciously recognised that there is not,
and never has been, true habitation within them. Windows almost
innumerable are there, that they may be seen from the outside--and such
is the use of palaces. But Nina, as she would look, would people the
rooms with throngs of bright inhabitants, and would think of the joys
of happy girls who were loved by Christian youths, and who could dare
to tell their friends of their love. But | 674.747951 |
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Transcriber's note
Some of the spellings and hyphenations in the original are unusual; they
have not been changed. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected
without notice. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected,
and they are listed at the end of this book.
STARLIGHT RANCH
AND
OTHER STORIES OF ARMY
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER.
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
AUTHOR OF
"MARION'S FAITH," "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1891.
Copyright, 1890, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
STARLIGHT RANCH 7
WELL WON; OR, FROM THE PLAINS TO "THE POINT" 40
FROM "THE POINT" TO THE PLAINS 116
THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP 201
VAN 234
STARLIGHT RANCH.
We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the night was chill, and
we were yet high up along the summit of the great range. We had been
scouting through the mountains for ten days, steadily working southward,
and, though far from our own station, our supplies were abundant, and it
was our leader's purpose to make a clean sweep of the line from old
Sandy to the Salado, and fully settle the question as to whether the
renegade Apaches had betaken themselves, as was possible, to the heights
of the Matitzal, or had made a break for their old haunts in the Tonto
Basin or along the foot-hills of the Black Mesa to the east. Strong
scouting-parties had gone thitherward, too, for "the Chief" was bound to
bring these Tontos to terms; but our orders were explicit: "Thoroughly
scout the east face of the Matitzal." We had capital Indian allies with
us. Their eyes were | 674.796942 |
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THE IDYL OF TWIN FIRES
[Illustration: "So that is why you wanted my brook to come from the
spring!"]
THE IDYL OF TWIN FIRES
BY
WALTER PRICHARD EATON
Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers : : New York
Copyright, 1914, 1915, by Doubleday, Page & Company
All rights reserved, including that of translation
into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian
CONTENTS
I. I Buy a Farm on Sight 3
II. My Money Goes and My Farmer Comes 19
III. New Joy in an Old Orchard 34
IV. I Pump up a Ghost 47
V. I | 674.853392 |
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Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE COUNTRY COMMUNITY
THE EVOLUTION OF
THE COUNTRY
COMMUNITY
A STUDY IN RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY
BY
WARREN H. WILSON
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY LUTHER H. CARY
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON
TO
MISS ANNA B. TAFT
WHO FOUND THE WAY OF
RURAL LEADERSHIP
IN SERVICE ON THE NEGLECTED BORDERS OF
NEW ENGLAND TOWNS
PREFACE
The significance of the most significant things is rarely seized at the
moment of their appearance. Years or generations afterwards hindsight
discovers what foresight could not see.
It is possible, I fear it is even probable, that earnest and intelligent
leaders of organized religious activity, like thousands of the rank and
file in parish work, will not immediately see the bearings and realize
the full importance of the ideas and the purposes that are clearly set
forth in this new and original book by my friend and sometime student,
Dr. Warren H. Wilson. That fact will in no wise prevent or even delay
the work which these ideas and purposes are mapping out and pushing to
realization.
The Protestant churches have completed one full and rounded period of
their existence. The age of theology in which they played a conspicuous
part has passed away, never to return. The world has entered into the
full swing of the age of science and practical achievement. What the
work, the usefulness, and the destiny of the Protestant churches shall
henceforth be will depend entirely upon their own vision, their common
sense, and their adaptability to a new order of things. Embodying as
they do resources, organization, the devotion and the energy of earnest | 675.246637 |
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Thomas Hutchinson and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team
[Illustration]
TALES OF DARING AND DANGER.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: SIGHTING THE WRECK OF THE STEAMER.]
TALES OF
DARING AND DANGER.
BY
G.A. HENTY,
Author of "Yarns on the Beach;" "Sturdy and Strong;" "Facing Death;" "By
Sheer Pluck;" "With Clive in India;" &c.
_ILLUSTRATED._
[Illustration]
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, 49 & 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C. GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND
DUBLIN.
1890.
CONTENTS.
Page
BEARS AND DACOITS, 7
THE PATERNOSTERS, 37
A PIPE OF MYSTERY, 71
WHITE-FACED DICK, 99
A BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE, 119
[Illustration]
BEARS AND DACOITS.
A TALE OF THE GHAUTS.
CHAPTER I.
A merry party were sitting in the verandah of one of the largest and
handsomest bungalows of Poonah. It belonged to Colonel Hastings, colonel
of a native regiment stationed there, and at present, in virtue of
seniority, commanding a brigade. Tiffin was on, and three or four
officers and four ladies had taken their seats in the comfortable cane
lounging chairs which form the invariable furniture of the verandah of a
well-ordered bungalow. Permission had been duly asked, and granted by
Mrs. Hastings, and the cheroots had just begun to draw, when Miss
Hastings, a niece of the colonel, who had only arrived the previous week
from England, said,--
"Uncle, I am quite disappointed. Mrs. Lyons showed me the bear she has
got tied up in their compound, and it is the most wretched little thing,
not bigger than Rover, papa's retriever, and it's full-grown. I thought
bears were great fierce creatures, and this poor little thing seemed so
restless and unhappy that I thought it quite a shame not to let it go."
Colonel Hastings smiled rather grimly.
"And yet, small and insignificant as that bear is, my dear, it is a
question whether he is not as dangerous an animal to meddle with as a
man-eating tiger."
"What, that wretched little bear, Uncle?"
"Yes, that wretched little bear. Any experienced sportsman will tell you
that hunting those little bears is as dangerous a sport as tiger-hunting
on foot, to say nothing of tiger-hunting from an elephant's back, in
which there is scarcely any danger whatever. I can speak feelingly about
it, for my career was pretty nearly brought to an end by a bear, just
after I entered the army, some thirty years ago, at a spot within a few
miles from here. I have got the scars on my shoulder and arm still."
"Oh, do tell me all about it," Miss Hastings said; and the request being
seconded by the rest of the party, none of whom, with the exception of
Mrs. Hastings, had ever heard the story before--for the colonel was
somewhat chary of relating this special experience--he waited till they
had all drawn up their chairs as close as possible, and then giving two
or three vigorous puffs at his cheroot, began as follows:--
"Thirty years ago, in 1855, things were not so settled in the Deccan as
they are now. There was no idea of insurrection on a large scale, but we
were going through one of those outbreaks of Dacoity, which have several
times proved so troublesome. Bands of marauders kept the country in
confusion, pouring down on a village, now carrying off three or four of
the Bombay money-lenders, who were then, as now, the curse of the
country; sometimes making an onslaught upon a body of traders; and
occasionally venturing to attack small detachments of troops or isolated
parties of police. They were not very formidable, but they were very
troublesome, and most difficult to catch, for the peasantry regarded
them as patriots, and aided and shielded them in every way. The
head-quarters of these gangs of Dacoits were the Ghauts. In the thick
bush and deep valleys and gorges there they could always take refuge,
while sometimes the more daring chiefs converted these detached peaks
and masses of rock, numbers of which you can see as you come up the
Ghaut by railway, into almost impregnable fortresses. Many of these
masses of rock rise as sheer up from the hillside as walls of masonry,
and look at a short distance like ruined castles. Some are absolutely
inaccessible; others can only be scaled by experienced climbers; and,
although possible for the natives with their bare feet, are
impracticable to European troops. Many of these rock fortresses were at
various times the head-quarters of famous Dacoit leaders, and unless the
summits happened to be commanded from some higher ground within gunshot
range they were all but impregnable except by starvation. When driven to
bay, these fellows would fight well.
"Well, about the time I joined, the Dacoits were unusually troublesome;
the police had a hard time of it, and almost lived in the saddle, and
the cavalry were constantly called up to help them, while detachments of
infantry from the station were under canvas at several places along the
top of the Ghauts to cut the bands off from their strongholds, and to
aid, if necessary, in turning them out of their rock fortresses. The
natives in the valleys at the foot of the Ghauts, who have always been a
semi-independent race, ready to rob whenever they saw a chance, were
great friends with the Dacoits, and supplied them with provisions
whenever the hunt on the Deccan was too hot for them to make raids in
that direction.
"This is a long introduction, you will say, and does not seem to have
much to do with bears; but it is really necessary, as you will see. I
had joined about six months when three companies of the regiment were
ordered to relieve a wing of the 15th, who had been under canvas at a
village some four miles to the north of the point where the line crosses
the top of the Ghauts. There were three white officers, and little
enough to do, except when a party was sent off to assist the police. We
had one or two brushes with the Dacoits, but I was not out on either
occasion. However, there was plenty of shooting, and a good many pigs
about, so we had very good fun. Of course, as a raw hand, I was very hot
for it, and as the others had both passed the enthusiastic age, except
for pig-sticking and big game, I could always get away. I was supposed
not to go far from camp, because, in the first place, I might be wanted;
and, in the second, because of the Dacoits; and Norworthy, who was in
command, used to impress upon me that I ought not to go beyond the sound
of a bugle. Of course we both knew that if I intended to get any sport
I must go further afoot than this; but I merely used to say 'All right,
sir, I will keep an ear to the camp,' and he on his part never
considered it necessary to ask where the game which appeared on the
table came from. But in point of fact, I never went very far, and my
servant always had instructions which way to send for me if I was
wanted; while as to the Dacoits I did not believe in their having the
impudence to come in broad daylight within a mile or two of our camp. I
did not often go down the face of the Ghauts. The shooting was good, and
there were plenty of bears in those days, but it needed a long day for
such an expedition, and in view of the Dacoits who might be scattered
about, was not the sort of thing to be undertaken except with a strong
party. Norworthy had not given any precise orders about it, but I must
admit that he said one day:--
"'Of course you won't be fool enough to think of going down the Ghauts,
Hastings?' But I did not look at that as equivalent to a direct
order--whatever I should do now," the colonel put in, on seeing a
furtive smile on the faces of his male listeners.
"However, I never meant to go down, though I used to stand on the edge
and look longingly down into the bush and fancy I saw bears moving
about in scores. But I don't think I should have gone into their country
if they had not come into mine. One day the fellow who always carried my
spare gun or flask, and who was a sort of shekarry in a small way, told
me he had heard that a farmer, whose house | 675.497639 |
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SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO
BY
NELLIE BLY
AUTHOR OF "TEN DAYS IN A MAD HOUSE," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
AMERICAN PUBLISHERS CORPORATION
1888
TO
GEORGE A. MADDEN,
MANAGING EDITOR
OF THE
PITTSBURG DISPATCH,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF HIS NEVER-FAILING KINDNESS
JAN. 1st, 1888.
CONTENTS
I. ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES
II. EL PASO DEL NORTE
III. ALONG THE ROUTE
IV. THE CITY OF MEXICO.
V. IN THE STREETS OF MEXICO
VI. HOW SUNDAY IS CELEBRATED
VII. A HORSEBACK RIDE OVER HISTORIC GROUNDS
VIII. A MEXICAN BULL-FIGHT
IX. THE MUSEUM AND ITS CURIOSITIES
X. HISTORIC TOMBS AND LONELY GRAVES
XI. CUPID'S WORK IN SUNNYLAND.
XII. JOAQUIN MILLER AND COFFIN STREET
XIII. IN MEXICAN THEATERS
XIV. THE FLOATING GARDENS
XV. THE CASTLE OF CHAPULTEPEC
XVI. THE FEASTS OF THE GAMBLERS
XVII. FEAST OF FLOWERS AND LENTEN CELEBRATIONS
XVIII. GUADALUPE AND ITS ROMANTIC LEGEND
XIX. A DAY'S TRIP ON A STREET CAR
XX. WHERE MAXIMILIAN'S AMERICAN COLONY LIVED
XXI. A MEXICAN ARCADIA
XXII. THE WONDERS OF PUEBLA
XXIII. THE PYRAMID OF CHOLULA
XXIV. A FEW NOTES ABOUT MEXICAN PRESIDENTS
XXV. MEXICAN SOLDIERS AND THE RURALES
XXVI. THE PRESS OF MEXICO
XXVII. THE GHASTLY TALE OF DON JUAN MANUEL
XXVIII. A MEXICAN PARLOR
XXIX. LOVE AND COURTSHIP IN MEXICO
XXX. SCENES WITHIN MEXICAN HOMES
XXXI. THE ROMANCE OF THE MEXICAN PULQUE
XXXII. MEXICAN MANNERS
XXXIII. NOCHE TRISTE TREE
XXXIV. LITTLE NOTES OF INTEREST
XXXV. A FEW RECIPES FOR MEXICAN DISHES
XXXVI. SOME MEXICAN LEGENDS
XXXVII. PRINCESS JOSEFA DE YTURBIDE
SIX MONTHS IN MEXICO.
By NELLIE BLY.
CHAPTER I.
ADIEU TO THE UNITED STATES.
One wintry night I bade my few journalistic friends adieu, and,
accompanied by my mother, started on my way to Mexico. Only a few
months previous I had become a newspaper woman. I was too impatient
to work along at the usual duties assigned women on newspapers, so I
conceived the idea of going away as a correspondent.
Three days after leaving Pittsburgh we awoke one morning to find
ourselves in the lap of summer. For a moment it seemed a dream. When
the porter had made up our bunks the evening previous, the surrounding
country had been covered with a snowy blanket. When we awoke the trees
were in leaf and the balmy breeze mocked our wraps.
Three days, from dawn until dark, we sat at the end of the car inhaling
the perfume of the flowers and enjoying the glorious Western sights so
rich in originality | 675.847451 |
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LADIES
MANUAL OF ART
OR
PROFIT AND PASTIME.
A SELF TEACHER IN
All Branches of Decorative Art,
EMBRACING EVERY VARIETY OF
PAINTING AND DRAWING
On China, Glass, Velvet, Canvas, Paper and Wood
THE SECRET OF ALL
_GLASS TRANSPARENCIES, SKETCHING FROM NATURE. PASTEL AND CRAYON DRAWING,
TAXIDERMY, Etc._
[Illustration]
CHICAGO:
DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.
407–425 DEARBORN STREET
1890
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT,]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
[Illustration]
In presenting to the public and our artistically inclined people our
“Art Manual” we should do so with some trepidation had we not the
assurance, in placing before them this work, that it would instantly win
its way into their favor by its merits. Most books produced by the press
of the present day are novels, compilations, scientific and theological
ones, meeting as they do only certain classes, and are subjects which
have been constantly before the people. We present you a “new book” in
every sense of the word. We propose entering with our readers into the
beautiful realms of Art, than which there is no more interesting
subject; our object being its promotion and dissemination. We want to
see the great majority of our refined, educated, but needy women embrace
it as a source of profit as well as pleasure, many of whom with an
intellect for greater things, but incapable of muscular labor or
exposure, can, by applying themselves energetically to this occupation,
earn a good livelihood and famous name, and assist in disseminating its
beauties everywhere. Many homes are there in our land, which they can
ornament, and embellish to their profit, and the pleasure of others.
Those comfortably situated in life, whose home decorations they prefer
to be the product of their own hands, will hail our “Manual” as “a
friend indeed.” To the child in whom is observed traits of genius it
will be of invaluable assistance in developing those traits. Our aim is
to combine in this work all the different methods of producing
portraits, landscapes, painting on canvas, wood, china, etc., etc., to
furnish to all lovers of the useful and beautiful in art a true teacher,
making every instruction so plain and comprehensive, that a child can
grasp the meaning. In thus combining all these arts in one volume, we
save the learner the expense of purchasing a large number of books at a
cost which effectually precludes the possibility of many engaging in
this profitable and pleasant occupation. Then, to those whose tastes are
artistically inclined, and who find it most inconvenient to obtain
instructions in all the branches desired; to those in whom genius lies
dormant and whom necessity compels to earn their own livelihood; to
those who desire to combine pastime with pleasure, and to those who have
the means, tastes and desire but not the necessary assistance at hand to
ornament their homes, we respectfully dedicate our “Art Manual.”
THE PUBLISHERS.
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
In learning the art of drawing or writing, like all other Arts and
Sciences, there are certain first and fixed principles to be observed as
a foundation upon which the whole is built. A right understanding of
these is absolutely necessary that we may become masters of that art
which we undertake to learn. A neglect of these first principles is the
reason why so many who have spent time sufficient to become accomplished
artists, are, after all their pains and loss of time, incapable of
producing even fair work; and are often at a loss to know how to begin.
Many commence by copying the work of others, and are surprised to find
how little such ability avails them when attempting to make sketches
from nature. The instruction for those who intend prosecuting this
delightful study, is prepared with great care by the author, who has had
very many years of experience in landscape drawing. ’Tis true that much
of his ability has been attained by years of patient industry and
practice. Yet time might have been saved by little earlier attention to
principles and study of works on the subject, prepared by experts. The
best advice to those contemplating a study of the art—who possess any
degree of skill in the use of the pencil, is to go out into the field,
with the “instructor” in one hand and your sketch-book in the other,
select some object of interest, and “take it in.” If not satisfactory,
try again—be not too easily discouraged. You will find the study of
nature a source of pleasure, objects of interest will appear on every
hand, in the valleys, on the mountains, the lakes, or by the river side,
and as you become familiar with the scenes in nature, difficulties will
disappear, and you are happy in the thought that sketching from nature
is truly one of the most pure and refined of intellectual pleasures and
professions, and the sketch-book with you, as with the writer, will ever
be a chosen companion.
When this branch of the work has been completed, and the landscape
transferred to paper and shaded up, the most difficult part of the task
is accomplished. The next essential element in the advancement of the
picture, and that which renders it more beautiful to the eye, is color.
’Tis well to turn aside from your unfinished landscape or portrait, and
study the colors in nature, the mixing of tints, and how to apply them,
as shown on a subsequent page of this book.
To become an artist requires only a love for the art, a good eye, and an
abundance of continuity.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
=Sketching from Nature.=—How to Make a Drawing—Linear
Perspective—Materials—Terms in a Picture—Lines in Nature—Line of
Beauty—Landscapes—Selecting a Position—Lights and Shades 9
=Colors in Nature.=—Primary Colors—Advantages of Colors—Colors of a
Spectrum—Mixtures of Colors—Transmission of Light—Pure White,
Black, Gray, Green—Neutralization of Colors 23
=Pen and Pencil Drawing.=—Paper Used for Transferring—Preparation
of Paper—Method of Transferring—Shading by Pen—Pentagraph—How to
Use it—Copying with Transparent Paper 27
=Pastel Painting.=—Crayons and Pastels—Paper Used—Exposure to the
Sun—Colors Employed—Colors of Paper—Mounting the
Picture—Sketching In the Outlines—Applying the Crayon—Colors and
Composition of Tints—Background 29
=Landscape Painting in Crayon.=—Paper—Arranging the
Paper—Drawing—Using the Colors—Fixing the Drawing—Materials for
Pastel Drawing 33
=Monochromatic Drawing.=—Directions—Materials
Used—Shades—Blending—Sky—Mountains—Water—Moonlight—Old Ruins,
etc. 37
=Water Colors.=—Instructions—Colors Used for Sky and
Distances—Hills—Trees—Foreground—Sky—Moonlight, etc.—Selecting
the Paper—Different Kinds—Brushes—Other Materials—Colors Used 38
=Landscape Painting in Oil Colors.=—Technical Names and Materials
Used—Mixing of Tints—How to Apply Them—A
Glaze—Impasting—Scrumbling—Handling—Light—Brushes—Materials
Used—Canvas—Prepared Paper—Millboards—Panels—Palettes—A
Dipper—Rest Stick—Knives—Easels—Vehicles—Mixed Tints 45
=Oil Photo.=—Miniature or Cameo Oil—Improved Method—Treating the
Photograph—Paste Preparation—The Glass Cleaning—Colors
Applied—Wedges—Caution—Directions for Coloring—Second
Method—Ivory Type or Mezzotint—Mounting the Photograph—Materials
Used—Another Plan 55
=Photo Painting in Water Colors.=—Selecting Photograph—Preparing
the Photo—Colors Used—Coloring Background, Face, Eyes, Mouth,
Hair, Clothing—Shadowing 60
=Russian or Egyptian Method.=—To Produce First Class
Picture—Applying Colors—Palette—Liquid Colors Used—Brushes 63
=Making Photographs.=—Gelatine Dry-plate Process—The Outfit—Filling
the Plate-Holder—Taking the Picture—Making Negatives—Chemical
Outfit—Directions for Using Chemicals—Instructions
Summarized—Making Prints from Negatives—Sensitized Paper
Prints—Toning Process—Mounting Pictures 65
=Draughtsmen’s Sensitive Paper for Copying
Drawings.=—Directions—How to Use—Printing by Exposure 70
=Wood Painting.=—From the German—General
Preliminaries—Requisites—Colors—Transferring the Drawing on
Wood—Enlarging and Reducing Designs—Divisions of Wood
Surface—Tracing and Transferring Designs—Fixing Transferred
Design—Coloring—Retouching—Wood Articles—Polishing Designs 71
=Transparencies.=—Instructions—General Directions 81
=Crystal, or Oriental Painting.=—Materials Used—Colors
Used—Directions 83
=Antique Italian Landscape Painting.=—Style of the
Painting—Transferring—Quality of the Glass
Used—Materials—Directions—Paints Used 85
=Grecian Oil Painting.=—Selecting the Engraving—Applications—Method
of Painting—Mixing the Paints—Eyes, Hair,
Flesh—Suggestions—Colors—Brushes 87
=Ornamental Glass Sign Work.=—Lettering Door Plates—Ornamenting
Glass Work, Boxes, etc.—Instructions—Lettering the Glass—Holding
the Letters—Next Process—Remaining Directions—Articles Used—Note 89
=Vitremanie.=—Easy and Inexpensive Decoration of Windows, Churches,
Public Buildings, Private Houses, etc.—Supersedes
Diaphanie—Defects of Diaphanie—Materials Used in
Vitremanie—Simple Instructions—Applying the Design—Removing the
Paper—Arranging the Designs 91
=Diaphanie.=—Similarity to Decalcomanie—Materials Required—The
Application—Designs Used 93
=Painting on Silk.=—Satin and Silk—Its Beauty and
Popularity—Transferring—Painting Directions—Using Colors
Lightly—Raised Work—Colors Used—Bringing out the Picture 94
=Staining Wood and Ivory.=—Yellow Mahogany—Black, Red, Blue,
Purple—Acids and Materials Used 96
=Crystalline Surfaces.=—Paper, Wood, and Glass—Mixture
Used—Application—Directions 97
=China Painting.=—On China, Porcelain, Earthenware, and
Enamel—Colors Used—Process of Burning In—Tracing and
Drawing—First Method—Second Method—Third Method—Cleaning
Brushes—Composition, Use, and Mixing of Colors—Classification of
Colors—Tests—Fusibility—Thickness—Mediums—Conduct of the
Work—Special Information Concerning Painting Colors—Mode of
Use—Mixtures—Concordance of Enamel with Moist and Oil
Colors—Technical Names 99
=Monochrome.=—China Painting—Painting on Porcelain or
Earthenware—Tints of Monochromes—Sketching In—Painting the
Head—Hair—Flesh Tints—Drapery—Retouching—M. Lacroix’s
Colors—Finishing the Monochrome—General Suggestions 111
=China Painting.=—Painting the Head in Colors on Porcelain—Drawing
and Sketching In—Highly <DW52> Faces—Cast Shadows—Painting the
Lips—Blue Eyes—Fair Hair— Draperies—The Palette 115
=China Painting.=—Style of Boucher—Flowers, Fruits, Birds and
Landscape on Porcelain—Retouching Leaves—Peaches—Instructions on
Landscapes—The Sky—Trunks of
Trees—Branches—Houses—Ground—Water—Strengthening
Touches—Directions for Packing 118
=Terra Cotta Painting.=—Enamel, Oil and Water Color Painting on
Terra Cotta—Special Instructions—Materials and Brushes Used 123
=Burning In.=—Mineral Decalcomanie—New and Beautiful
Art—Transferring Pictures to China and Other Ware—Imitating
Exactly Beautiful Painting—Directions, Materials Required,
Designs, Numbers, Prices 126 | 675.849236 |
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Transcribed from the 1893 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP
BY
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLIFFORD CARLETON
LONDON: GAY AND BIRD
5 CHANDOS STREET STRAND
1893
_All rights reserved_
First Edition June 1893.
Second Edition July 1893.
Third Edition September 1893.
Fourth Edition November 1893.
Fifth Edition October 1894.
TO MY BOSTON FRIEND
SALEMINA
NO ANGLOMANIAC, BUT
A TRUE BRITON
SHE
WINCHESTER, _May_ 28, 1891
The Royal Garden Inn.
We are doing the English cathedral towns, aunt Celia and I. Aunt Celia
has an intense desire to improve my mind. Papa told her, when we were
leaving Cedarhurst, that he wouldn't for the world have it too much
improved, and aunt Celia remarked that, so far as she could judge, there
was no immediate danger; with which exchange of hostilities they parted.
We are traveling under the yoke of an iron itinerary, warranted neither
to bend nor break. It was made out by a young High Church curate in New
York, and if it had been blessed by all the bishops and popes it could
not be more sacred to aunt Celia. She is awfully High Church, and I
believe she thinks this tour of the cathedrals will give me a taste for
ritual and bring me into the true fold. I have been hearing dear old Dr.
Kyle a great deal lately, and aunt Celia says that he is the most
dangerous Unitarian she knows, because he has leanings towards
Christianity.
Long ago, in her youth, she was engaged to a young architect. He, with
his triangles and T-squares and things, succeeded in making an imaginary
scale-drawing of her heart (up to that time a virgin forest, an unmapped
territory), which enabled him to enter in and set up a pedestal there, on
| 675.945614 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Joris Van Dael and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
A TALE OF ONE CITY:
THE NEW BIRMINGHAM.
_Papers Reprinted from the "Midland Counties Herald"_,
BY
THOMAS ANDERTON.
Birmingham: "MIDLAND COUNTIES HERALD" OFFICE.
TO BE HAD FROM CORNISH BROTHERS, NEW STREET; MIDLAND EDUCATIONAL CO.,
CORPORATION STREET.
1900
I.
PROLOGUE.
The present century has seen the rise and development of many towns in
various parts of the country, and among them Birmingham is entitled to
take a front place. If Thomas Attwood or George Frederick Muntz could
now revisit the town they once represented in Parliament they would
probably stare with amazement at the changes that have taken place in
Birmingham, and would require a guide to show them their way about the
town--now a city--they once knew so well. The material history of
Birmingham was for a series of years a story of steady progress and
prosperity, but of late years the city has in a political, social, and
municipal sense advanced by leaps and bounds. It is no longer
"Brummagem" or the "Hardware Village," it is now recognised as the
centre of activity and influence in Mid-England; it is the Mecca of
surrounding populous districts, that attracts an increasing number of
pilgrims who love life, pleasure, and shopping.
Birmingham, indeed, has recently been styled "the best governed city in
the world"--a title that is, perhaps, a trifle too full and panegyrical
to find ready and general acceptance. If, however, by this very lofty
and eulogistic description is meant a city that has been exceptionally
prosperous, is well looked after, that has among its inhabitants many
energetic, public-spirited men, that has a good solid debt on its books,
also that has municipal officials of high capabilities with fairly high
salaries to match--then Birmingham is not altogether undeserving of the
high-sounding appellation. Many of those who only know Birmingham from
an outside point of view, and who have only lately begun to notice its
external developments, doubtless attribute all the improvements to Mr.
Chamberlain's great scheme, and the adoption of the Artisans' Dwellings
Act in 1878. The utilisation of this Act has certainly resulted in the
making of one fine street, a fine large debt, and the erection of a
handful of artisans' dwellings. The changes, however, that culminated in
Mr. Chamberlain's great project began years before the Artisans'
Dwellings Act became law.
The construction of the London and North Western Railway station--which,
with the Midland Railway adjunct, now covers some thirteen acres of
land--cleared away a large area of slums that were scarcely fit for
those who lived in them--which is saying very much. A region sacred to
squalor and low drinking shops, a paradise of marine store dealers, a
hotbed of filthy courts tenanted by a low and degraded class, was swept
away to make room for the large station now used by the London and
North Western and Midland Railway Companies.
The Great Western Railway station, too, in its making also disposed of
some shabby, narrow streets and dirty, pestiferous houses inhabited by
people who were not creditable to the locality or the community, and by
so doing contributed to the improvement of the town. Further, the
erection of two large railway stations in a central district naturally
tended to increase the number of visitors to the growing Midland
capital, and this, of course, brought into existence a better class of
shops and more extended trading. Then the suburbs of Birmingham, which
for some years had been stretching out north, south, east, and west,
have lately become to a considerable extent gathered into the arms of
the city, and the residents in some of the outskirts, at least, may now
pride themselves, if so inclined, upon being a part of the so-called
"best governed city in the world," sharing its honours, importance, and
debts, and contributing to its not altogether inconsiderable rates.
I do not purpose in these pages to go into the ancient history of
Birmingham. Other pens have told us how one Leland, in the sixteenth
century, visited the place, and what he said about the "toyshop of the
world." Also how he saw a "brooke," which was doubtless in his time a
pretty little river, but which is now a sewery looking stream that tries
to atone for its shallowness and narrowness by its thickness. They have
likewise told us about the old lords of Bermingham--whose monuments
still adorn the parish church--who have died out leaving no successors
to bear for their proud title the name of the "best governed city in the
world."
These other pens have also mentioned the little attentions Birmingham
received from Cromwell's troops; how the Roundheads fired at Aston Hall
(which had given hospitality to Charles I.) making a breakage--still
unrepaired!--in the great staircase of that grand old Elizabethan
mansion. My purpose, however, is not to deal with past records of
Birmingham, but rather with its modern growth and appearance.
MUNICIPAL STAGNATION.
After the sweeping alterations effected by the construction of the new
railway stations in Birmingham, further improvements were for a time of
a slow, jog-trot order, although the town, in a commercial sense, was
moving ahead, and its wealth and population were rapidly increasing.
Small improvements were made, but anything like big schemes, even if
desirable, were postponed or rejected. Birmingham, indeed, some thirty
years ago, was considerably under the influence of men of the
unprogressive tradesmen class--many of them worthy men in their way but
of limited ideas. In their private businesses they were not accustomed
to deal with big transactions and high figures, so that spending large
sums of money, if proposed, filled the brewer, the baker, and
candlestick maker with alarm. They were careful and economical, but
their care in finance was apt at times to be impolitic, and their
economy has in several cases proved to have been somewhat costly.
Indeed, until recent years, the leading authorities of the town were
anything but enterprising, and their view of future possibilities very
limited. Could they have seen a little farther ahead they might have
laid out money to the great profit and future advantage of the
community. They could have erected new corporation offices and municipal
buildings before land in the centre of the town became so very costly;
the gas and water interests might have been purchased, probably at a
price that would have saved the town thousands of pounds. It is also
understood that they might have purchased Aston Hall, with its 170 acres
close to the town, on terms which would have made the land (now nearly
all built upon) a veritable Tom Tidler's ground for the town and
corporation. But our shopkeeper senators would have nothing to do with
such bold and far-reaching schemes, and were given to opposing them
when suggested by men more courageous and far-seeing than themselves.
Between twenty-five and thirty years ago it was felt by the more
advanced and intelligent portion of the community that the time had come
for the town to arouse itself, and that certain reforms should no longer
be delayed. It was beginning to be felt that the Town Council did not
fairly represent the advancing aspirations and the growing needs,
importance, and wealth of the town. Sanitary reforms were required, the
growing traffic in the principal streets called for better and more
durable roadways, and Macadamised and granite paved streets no longer
answered the purposes required. The latter were heavy, noisy, and
lumbering; the former were not sufficiently durable. Moreover, "Macadam"
consisted of sharply-cut pieces of metal put upon the streets, which
were left for cart and carriage wheels to break up and press down into
something like a level surface. When this was done it made objectionable
dust in dry weather, and in wet weather it converted the streets into
avenues of mud and puddle to be scraped up, or to be swept off, by some
curiously-devised machine carts constructed for the purpose. Carriage
people, I fear, often cursed the stone stuff they had to grind into the
roads, and pedestrians anathematized the mud and the dust.
As many people will remember, in some of the less important streets the
footways were paved with what were called "petrified kidneys"--stones
about as big as a good-sized potato, very durable but extremely
unpleasant to walk upon. Little or nothing was done to improve the
slummy and dirty parts of the town, or to remove some of those foul
courts and alleys which were not only disgraceful in appearance but were
a menace to the health of the inhabitants.
In fact, for one reason or another, the authorities left undone the
things they ought to have done, and possibly they did some things they
ought not to have done, and if allowed to go on it is probable there
would soon have been no health in us. It may, however, be admitted that
Birmingham was no worse governed than many other large towns in the
comparatively unprogressive days of which I speak, but a new race of
more advanced and energetic men were dissatisfied with the sluggish,
stagnant state of local government, and they felt that the hour had
struck for the inauguration of some large and important improvements.
Such was the state of affairs about the year 1868.
II.
ENTER MR. CHAMBERLAIN.
The present position of Birmingham and its improved appearance in these
later years are largely attributed to the work and influence of Mr.
Chamberlain. | 675.951454 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Chris Curnow and the Online
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[Illustration: Ruffed Grouse.]
BIRD GUIDE
Water Birds, Game Birds and Birds of Prey
BY
CHESTER A. REED
Author of
North American Birds' Eggs, and, with Frank M. Chapman, of Color Key to
North American Birds. Curator in Ornithology, Worcester Natural History
Society
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1921
Copyrighted 1906.
Copyrighted, 1910, CHAS. K. REED,
Worcester, Mass.
PREFACE
While strolling through a piece of woodland, or perhaps along the marsh
or seashore, we see a bird, a strange bird--one we never saw before.
Instantly, our curiosity is aroused, and the question arises, "What is
it?" There is the bird! How can we find out what kind it is? The
Ornithologist of a few years ago had but one course open to him, that is
to shoot the bird, take it home, then pore through pages of
descriptions, until one was found to correspond with the specimen.
Obviously, such methods cannot be pursued today, both humane and
economical reasons prohibiting. We have but one alternative left us: We
must make copious notes of all the peculiarities and | 849.473156 |
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Produced by David Widger
TWICE TOLD TALES
SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
O! I have climbed high, and my reward is small. Here I stand, with
wearied knees, earth, indeed, at a dizzy depth below, but heaven far,
far beyond me still. O that I could soar up into the very zenith, where
man never breathed, nor eagle ever flew, and where the ethereal azure
melts away from the eye, and appears only a deepened shade of
nothingness! And yet I shiver at that cold and solitary thought. What
clouds are gathering in the golden west, with direful intent against the
brightness and the warmth of this dimmer afternoon! They are ponderous
air-ships, black as death, and freighted with the tempest; and at
intervals their thunder, the signal-guns of that unearthly squadron,
rolls distant along the deep of heaven. These nearer heaps of fleecy
vapor--methinks I could roll and toss upon them the whole day long!--seem
scattered here and there, for the repose of tired pilgrims through
the sky. Perhaps--for who can tell?--beautiful spirits are disporting
themselves there, and will bless my mortal eye with the brief appearance
of their curly locks of golden light, and laughing faces, fair and faint
as the people of a rosy dream. Or, where the floating mass so
imperfectly obstructs the color of the firmament, a slender foot and
fairy limb, resting too heavily upon the frail support, may be thrust
through, and suddenly withdrawn, while longing fancy follows them in
vain. Yonder again is an airy archipelago, where the sunbeams love to
linger in their journeyings through space. Every one of those little
clouds has been dipped and steeped in radiance, which the slightest
pressure might disengage in silvery profusion, like water wrung from a
sea-maid's hair. Bright they are as a young man's visions, and, like
them, would be realized in chillness, obscurity, and tears. I will look
on them no more.
In three parts of the visible circle, whose centre is this spire, I
discern cultivated fields, villages, white country-seats, the waving
lines of rivulets, little placid lakes, and here and there a rising
ground, that would fain be termed a hill. On the fourth side is the sea,
stretching away towards a viewless boundary, blue and calm, except where
the passing anger of a shadow flits across its surface, and is gone.
Hitherward, a broad inlet penetrates far into the land; on the verge of
the harbor, formed by its extremity, is a town; and over it am I, a
watchman, all-heeding and unheeded. O that the multitude of chimneys
could speak, like those of Madrid, and betray, in smoky whispers, the
secrets of all who, since their first foundation, have assembled at the
hearths within! O that the Limping Devil of Le Sage would perch beside
me here, extend his wand over this contiguity of roofs, uncover every
chamber, and make me familiar with their inhabitants! The most desirable
mode of existence might be that of a spiritualized Paul Pry hovering
invisible round man and woman, witnessing their deeds, searching into
their hearts, borrowing brightness from their felicity, and shade from
their sorrow, and retaining no emotion peculiar to himself. But none of
these things are possible; and if I would know interior of brick walls,
or the mystery of human bosoms, I can but guess.
Yonder is a fair street, extending north and south. The stately mansions
are placed each on its carpet of verdant grass, and a long flight of
steps descends from every door to the pavement. Ornamental trees--the
broad-leafed horse-chestnut, the elm so lofty and bending, the graceful
but infrequent willow, and others whereof I know not the names--grow
thrivingly among brick and stone. The oblique rays of the sun are
intercepted by these green citizens, and by the houses, so that one side
of the street is a shaded and pleasant walk. On its whole extent there
is now but a single passenger, advancing from the upper end; and be,
unless distance and the medium of a pocket spyglass do him more than
justice, is a fine young man of twenty. He saunters slowly | 849.476436 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
Volume I.
Part 10.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL THE
CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA
Happy and fortunate were the times when that most daring knight Don
Quixote of La Mancha was sent into the world; for by reason of his having
formed a resolution so honourable as that of seeking to revive and
restore to the world the long-lost and almost defunct order of
knight-errantry, we now enjoy in this age of ours, so poor in light
entertainment, not only the charm of his veracious history, but also of
the tales and episodes contained in it which are, in a measure, no less
pleasing, ingenious, and truthful, than the history itself; which,
resuming its thread, carded, spun, and wound, relates that just as the
curate was going to offer consolation to Cardenio, he was interrupted by
a voice that fell upon his ear saying in plaintive tones:
"O God! is it possible I have found a place that may serve as a secret
grave for the weary load of this body that I support so unwillingly? If
the solitude these mountains promise deceives me not, it is so; ah! woe
is me! how much more grateful to my mind will be the society of these
rocks and brakes that permit me to complain of my misfortune to Heaven,
than that of any human being, for there is none on earth to look to for
counsel in doubt, comfort in sorrow, or relief in distress!"
All this was heard distinctly by the curate and those with him, and as it
seemed to them to be uttered close by, as indeed it was, they got up to
look for the speaker, and before they had gone twenty paces they
discovered behind a rock, seated at the foot of an ash tree, a youth in
the dress of a peasant, whose face they were unable at the moment to see
as he was leaning forward, bathing his feet in the brook that flowed
past. They approached so silently that he did not perceive them, being
fully occupied in bathing his feet, which were so fair that they looked
like two pieces of shining crystal brought forth among the other stones
of the brook. The whiteness and beauty of these feet struck them with
surprise, for they did not seem to have been made to crush clods or to
follow the plough and the oxen as their owner's dress suggested; and so,
finding they had not been noticed, the curate, who was in front, made a
sign to the other two to conceal themselves behind some fragments of rock
that lay there; which they did, observing closely what the youth was
about. He had on a loose double-skirted dark brown jacket bound tight to
his body with a white cloth; he wore besides breeches and gaiters of
brown cloth, and on his head a brown montera; and he had the gaiters
turned up as far as the middle of the leg, which verily seemed to be of
pure alabaster.
As soon as he had done bathing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a
towel he took from under the montera, on taking off which he raised his
face, and those who were watching him had an opportunity of seeing a
beauty so exquisite that Cardenio said to the curate in a whisper:
"As this is not Luscinda, it is no human creature but a divine being."
The youth then took off the montera, and shaking his head from side to
side there broke loose and spread out a mass of hair that the beams of
the sun might have envied; by this they knew that what had seemed a
peasant was a lovely woman, nay the most beautiful the eyes of two of
them had ever beheld, or even Cardenio's if they had not seen and known
Luscinda, for he afterwards declared that only the beauty of Luscinda
could compare with this. The long auburn tresses not only covered her
shoulders, but such was their length and abundance, concealed her all
round beneath their masses, so that except the feet nothing of her form
was visible. She now used her hands as a comb, and if her feet had seemed
like bits of crystal in the water, her hands looked like pieces of driven
snow among her locks; all which increased not only the admiration of the
three beholders, but their anxiety to learn who she was. With this object
they resolved to show themselves, and at the stir they made in getting
upon their feet the fair damsel raised her head, and parting her hair
from before her eyes with both hands, she looked to see who had made the
noise, and the instant she perceived them she started to her feet, and
without waiting to put on her shoes or gather up her hair, hastily
snatched up a bundle as though of clothes that she had beside her, and,
scared and alarmed, endeavoured to take flight; but before she had gone
six paces she fell to the ground, her delicate feet being unable to bear
the roughness of the stones; seeing which, the three hastened towards
her, and the curate addressing her first said:
"Stay, senora, whoever you may be, for those whom you see here only
desire to be of service to you; you have no need to attempt a flight so
heedless, for neither can your feet bear it, nor we allow it."
Taken by surprise and bewildered, she made no reply to these words. They,
however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand went on to say:
"What your dress would hide, senora, is made known to us by your hair; a
clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has disguised your
beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into solitudes like these
where we have had the good fortune to find you, if not to relieve your
distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no distress, so long as life
lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such a height as to make the
sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered with good intention. And so,
senora, or senor, or whatever you prefer to be, dismiss the fears that
our appearance has caused you and make us acquainted with your good or
evil fortunes, for from all of us together, or from each one of us, you
will receive sympathy in your trouble."
While the curate was speaking, the disguised damsel stood as if
spell-bound, looking at them without opening her lips or uttering a word,
just like a village rustic to whom something strange that he has never
seen before has been suddenly shown; but on the curate addressing some
further words to the same effect to her, sighing deeply she broke silence
and said | 849.488735 |
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FRENCH WAYS AND THEIR MEANING
by
EDITH WHARTON
Author of "The Reef," "Summer," "The Marne" and
"The House of Mirth"
[Illustration: PPpublisher's logo]
D. Appleton and Company
New York London
1919
Copyright, 1919, by
D. Appleton and Company
Copyright, 1918, 1919, by
International Magazine Company
Printed in the United States Of America
PREFACE
This book is essentially a desultory book, the result of intermittent
observation, and often, no doubt, of rash assumption. Having been
written in Paris, at odd moments, during the last two years of the war,
it could hardly be more than a series of disjointed notes; and the
excuse for its publication lies in the fact that the very conditions
which made more consecutive work impossible also gave unprecedented
opportunities for quick notation.
The world since 1914 has been like a house on fire. All the lodgers are
on the stairs, in dishabille. Their doors are swinging wide, and one
gets glimpses of their furniture, revelations of their habits, and
whiffs of their cooking, that a life-time of ordinary intercourse would
not offer. Superficial differences vanish, and so (how much oftener) do
superficial resemblances; while deep unsuspected similarities and
disagreements, deep common attractions and repulsions, declare
themselves. It is of these fundamental substances that the new link
between France and America is made, and some reasons for the strength of
the link ought to be discoverable in the suddenly bared depths of the
French heart.
There are two ways of judging a foreign people: at first sight,
impressionistically, in the manner of the passing traveller; or after
residence among them, "soberly, advisedly," and with all the vain
precautions enjoined in another grave contingency.
Of the two ways, the first is, even in ordinary times, often the most
fruitful. The observer, if he has eyes and an imagination, will be
struck first by the superficial dissemblances, and they will give his
picture the sharp suggestiveness of a good caricature. If he settles
down among the objects of his study he will gradually become blunted to
these dissemblances, or, if he probes below the surface, he will find
them sprung from the same stem as many different-seeming characteristics
of his own people. A period of confusion must follow, in which he will
waver between contradictions, and his sharp outlines will become blurred
with what the painters call "repentances."
From this twilight it is hardly possible for any foreigner's judgment to
emerge again into full illumination. Race-differences strike so deep
that when one has triumphantly pulled up a specimen for examination one
finds only the crown in one's hand, and the tough root still clenched in
some crevice of prehistory. And as to race-resemblances, they are so
often most misleading when they seem most instructive that any attempt
to catch the likeness of another people by painting ourselves is never
quite successful. Indeed, once the observer has gone beyond the happy
stage when surface-differences have all their edge, his only chance of
getting anywhere near the truth is to try to keep to the traveller's
way, and still see his subject in the light of contrasts.
It is absurd for an Anglo-Saxon to say: "The Latin is this or that"
unless he makes the mental reservation, "or at least seems so to me";
but if this mental reservation is always implied, if it serves always as
the background of the picture, the features portrayed may escape
caricature and yet bear some resemblance to the original.
Lastly, the use of the labels "Anglo-Saxon" and "Latin," for purposes of
easy antithesis, must be defended and apologised for.
Such use of the two terms is open to the easy derision of the scholar.
Yet they are too convenient as symbols to be abandoned, and are safe
enough if, for instance, they are used simply as a loose way of drawing
a line between the peoples who drink spirits and those who drink wine,
between those whose social polity dates from the Forum, and those who
still feel and legislate in terms of the primaeval forest.
This use of the terms is the more justifiable because one may safely
say that most things in a man's view of life depend on how many thousand
years ago his land was deforested. And when, as befell our forbears, men
whose blood is still full of murmurs of the Saxon Urwald and the forests
of Britain are plunged afresh into the wilderness of a new continent, it
is natural that in many respects they should be still farther removed
from those whose habits and opinions are threaded through and through
with Mediterranean culture and the civic discipline of Rome.
One can imagine the first Frenchman born into the world looking about
him confidently, and saying: "Here I am; and now, how am I to make the
most of it?"
The double sense of the fugacity of life, and of the many and durable
things that may be put into it, is manifest in every motion of the
French intelligence. Sooner than any other race the French have got rid
of bogies, have "cleared the mind of shams," and gone up to the Medusa
and the Sphinx with a cool eye and a penetrating question.
It is an immense advantage to have the primaeval forest as far behind one
as these clear-headed children of the Roman forum and the Greek
amphitheatre; and even if they have lost something of the sensation
"felt in the blood and felt along the heart" with which our obscurer
past enriches us, it is assuredly more useful for them to note the
deficiency than for us to criticise it.
The French are the most human of the human race, the most completely
detached from the lingering spell of the ancient shadowy world in which
trees and animals talked to each other, and began the education of the
fumbling beast that was to deviate into Man. They have used their longer
experience and their keener senses for the joy and enlightenment of the
races still agrope for self-expression. The faults of France are the
faults inherent in an old and excessively self-contained civilisation;
her qualities are its qualities; and the most profitable way of trying
to interpret French ways and their meaning is to see how this long
inheritance may benefit a people which is still, intellectually and
artistically, in search of itself.
HYERES, FEBRUARY, 1919.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE v
I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 3
II. REVERENCE 20
III. TASTE 39
IV. INTELLECTUAL HONESTY 57
V. CONTINUITY 76
VI. THE NEW FRENCHWOMAN 98
VII. IN CONCLUSION 122
NOTE.--In the last two chapters of this book I have incorporated,
in a modified form, the principal passages of two articles
published by me respectively in _Scribner's Magazine_ and in the
_Ladies' Home Journal_, the former entitled "The French as seen by
an American" (now called "In Conclusion"), the other "The New
Frenchwoman."
FRENCH WAYS AND THEIR MEANING
I
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
I
Hasty generalisations are always tempting to travellers, and now and
then they strike out vivid truths that the observer loses sight of after
closer scrutiny. But nine times out of ten they hit wild.
Some years before the war, a French journalist produced a "thoughtful
book" on the United States. Of course he laid great stress on our
universal hustle for the dollar. To do that is to follow the line of
least resistance in writing about America: you have only to copy what
all the other travellers have said.
This particular author had the French gift of consecutive reasoning, and
had been trained in the school of Taine, which requires the historian to
illustrate each of his general conclusions by an impressive array of
specific instances. Therefore, when he had laid down the principle that
every American's ruling passion is money-making, he cast about for an
instance, and found a striking one.
"So dominant," he suggested, "is this passion, that in cultivated and
intellectual Boston--the Athens of America--which possesses a beautiful
cemetery in its peaceful parklike suburbs, the millionaire money-makers,
unwilling to abandon the quarter in which their most active hours have
been spent, have created for themselves a burying-ground in the centre
of the business district, on which they can look down from their lofty
office windows till they are laid there to rest in the familiar noise
and bustle that they love."
This literal example of the ruling passion strong in death seems to
establish once for all the good old truth that the American cares only
for money-making; and it was clever of the critic to find his instance
in Boston instead of Pittsburg or Chicago. But unfortunately the
cemetery for which the Boston millionaire is supposed to have abandoned
the green glades of Mount Auburn is the old pre-revolutionary grave-yard
of King's Chapel, in which no one has been buried since modern Boston
began to exist, and about which a new business district has grown up as
it has about similar carefully-guarded relics in all our expanding
cities, and in many European ones as well.
It is probable that not a day passes in which the observant American new
to France does not reach conclusions as tempting, but as wide of the
mark. Even in peace times it was inevitable that such easy inferences
should be drawn; and now that every branch of civilian life in France is
more or less topsy-turvy, the temptation to generalise wrongly is one
that no intelligent observer can resist.
It is indeed unfortunate that, at the very moment when it is most
needful for France and America to understand each other (on small
points, that is--we know they agree as to the big ones)--it is
unfortunate that at this moment France should be, in so many
superficial ways, unlike the normal peace-time France, and that those
who are seeing her for the first time in the hour of her trial and her
great glory are seeing her also in an hour of inevitable material
weakness and disorganisation.
Even four years of victorious warfare would dislocate the machinery of
any great nation's life; and four years of desperate resistance to a foe
in possession of almost a tenth of the national territory, and that
tenth industrially the richest in the country, four such years represent
a strain so severe that one wonders to see the fields of France tilled,
the markets provided, and life in general going on as before.
The fact that France is able to resist such a strain, and keep up such a
measure of normal activity, is one of the many reasons for admiring her;
but it must not make newcomers forget that even this brave appearance of
"business as usual" does not represent anything resembling the
peace-time France, with her magnificent faculties applied to the whole
varied business of living, instead of being centred on the job of
holding the long line from the Yser to Switzerland.
In 1913 it would have been almost impossible to ask Americans to picture
our situation if Germany had invaded the United States, and had held a
tenth part of our most important territory for four years. In 1918 such
a suggestion seems thinkable enough, and one may even venture to point
out that an unmilitary nation like America, after four years under the
invader, might perhaps present a less prosperous appearance than France.
It is always a good thing to look at foreign affairs from the home
angle; and in such a case we certainly should not want the allied
peoples who might come to our aid to judge us by what they saw if
Germany held our Atlantic sea-board, with all its great cities, together
with, say, Pittsburg and Buffalo, and all our best manhood were in a
fighting line centred along the Ohio River.
One of the cruellest things about a "people's war" is that it needs,
and takes, the best men from every trade, even those remotest from
fighting, because to do anything well brains are necessary, and a good
poet and a good plumber may conceivably make better fighters than
inferior representatives of arts less remote from war. Therefore, to
judge France fairly to-day, the newcomer must perpetually remind himself
that almost all that is best in France is in the trenches, and not in
the hotels, cafes and "movie-shows" he is likely to frequent. I have no
fear of what the American will think of the Frenchman after the two have
fraternized at the front.
II
One hears a good deal in these days about "What America can teach
France;" though it is worth noting that the phrase recurs less often now
than it did a year ago.
In any case, it would seem more useful to leave the French to discover
(as they are doing every day, with the frankest appreciation) what they
can learn from us, while we Americans apply ourselves to finding out
what they have to teach us. It is obvious that any two intelligent races
are bound to have a lot to learn from each other; and there could hardly
be a better opportunity for such an exchange of experience than now that
a great cause has drawn the hearts of our countries together while a
terrible emergency has broken down most of the surface barriers between
us.
No doubt many American soldiers now in France felt this before they left
home. When a man who leaves his job and his family at the first call to
fight for an unknown people, because that people is defending the
principle of liberty in which all the great democratic nations believe,
he likes to think that the country he is fighting for comes up in every
respect to the ideal he has formed of it. And perhaps some of our men
were a little disappointed, and even discouraged, when they first came
in contact with the people whose sublime spirit they had been admiring
from a distance for three years. Some of them may even, in their first
moment of reaction, have said to themselves: "Well, after all, the
Germans we knew at home were easier people to get on with."
The answer is not far to seek. For one thing, the critics in question
knew the Germans at home, _in our home_, where they had to talk our
language or not get on, where they had to be what we wanted them to
be--or get out. And, as we all know in America, no people on earth, when
they settle in a new country, are more eager than the Germans to adopt
its ways, and to be taken for native-born citizens.
The Germans | 849.493336 |
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DISCIPLINE
by
MARY BRUNTON
CONTENTS
Chapter I 1
Chapter II 11
Chapter III 19
Chapter IV 32
Chapter V 41
Chapter VI 51
Chapter VII 61
Chapter VIII 73
Chapter IX 83
Chapter X 101
Chapter XI 114
Chapter XII 124
Chapter XIII 143
Chapter XIV 156
Chapter XV 165
Chapter XVI 178
Chapter XVII 193
Chapter XVIII 210
Chapter XIX 217
Chapter XX 231
Chapter XXI 244
Chapter XXII 257
Chapter XXIII 269
Chapter XXIV 286
Chapter XXV 301
Chapter XXVI 313
Chapter XXVII 327
Chapter XXVIII 340
Chapter XXIX 351
Chapter XXX 367
CHAPTER I
_--I was wayward, bold, and wild;
A self-willed imp; a grandame's child;
But, half a plague and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, carest._
Walter Scott
I have heard it remarked, that he who writes his own history ought to
possess Irish humour, Scotch prudence, and English sincerity;--the
first, that his work may be read; the second that it may be read without
injury to himself; the third, that the perusal of it may be profitable
to others. I might, perhaps, with truth declare, that I possess only the
last of these qualifications. But, besides that my readers will probably
take the liberty of estimating for themselves my merits as a narrator, I
suspect, that professions of humility may possibly deceive the professor
himself; and that, while I am honestly confessing my disqualifications,
I may be secretly indemnifying my pride, by glorying in the candour of
my confession.
Any expression of self-abasement might, indeed, appear peculiarly
misplaced as a preface to whole volumes of egotism; the world being
generally uncharitable enough to believe, that vanity may somewhat
influence him who chooses himself for his theme. Nor can I be certain
that this charge is wholly inapplicable to me; since it is notorious to
common observation, that, rather than forego their darling subject, the
vain will expatiate even on their errors. A better motive, however,
mingles with those which impel me to relate my story. It is no unworthy
feeling which leads such as are indebted beyond return, to tell of the
benefits they have received; or which prompts one who has escaped from
eminent peril, to warn others of the danger of their way.
It is, I believe, usual with those who undertake to be their own
biographers, to begin with tracing their illustrious descent. I fear
this portion of my history must be compiled from very scanty materials;
for my father, the only one of the race who was ever known to me, never
mentioned his family, except to preface a philippic against all
dignities in church and state. Against these he objected, as fostering
'that aristocratical contumely, which flesh and blood cannot endure'; a
vice which I have heard him declare to be, above all others, the object
of his special antipathy. For this selection, which will probably obtain
sympathy only from the base-born, my father was not without reason; for,
to the pride of birth it was doubtless owing that my grandfather, a
cadet of an ancient family, was doomed to starve upon a curacy, in
revenge for his contaminating the blood of the Percys by an unequal
alliance; and, when disappointment and privation had brought him to an
early grave, it was probably the same sentiment which induced his
relations to prolong his punishment in the person of his widow and
infants, who, with all possible dignity and unconcern, were left to
their fate. My father, therefore, began the world with very slender
advantages; an accident of which he was so far from being ashamed, that
he often triumphantly recorded it, ascribing his subsequent affluence to
his own skill and diligence alone.
He was, as I first recollect him, a muscular dark-complexioned man, with
a keen black eye, cased in an extraordinary perplexity of wrinkle, and
shaded by a heavy beetling eyebrow. The peculiarity of his face was a
certain arching near the corner of his upper lip, to which it was
probably owing that a smile did not improve his countenance; but this
was of the less consequence, as he did not often smile. He had, indeed,
arrived at that age when gravity is at least excusable; although no
trace of infirmity appeared in his portly figure and strong-sounding
tread.
His whole appearance and demeanour were an apt contrast to those of my
mother, in whose youthful form and features symmetry gained a charm from
that character of fragility which presages untimely decay, and that air
of melancholy which seems to welcome decline. I have her figure now
before me. I recollect the tender brightness of her eyes, as laying her
hand upon my head, she raised them silently to heaven. I love to
remember the fine flush that was called to her cheek by the fervour of
the half-uttered blessing. She was, in truth, a gentle being; and bore
my wayward humour with an angel's patience. But she exercised a control
too gentle over a spirit which needed to be reined by a firmer hand than
hers. She shrunk from bestowing even merited reproof, and never
inflicted pain without suffering much more than she caused. Yet, let not
these relentings of nature be called weakness--or if the stern morality
refuse to spare, let it disarm his severity, to learn that I was an only
child.
I know not whether it was owing to the carelessness of nurses, or the
depravity of waiting-maids, or whether, 'to say all, nature herself
wrought in me so'; but, from the earliest period of my recollection, I
furnished an instance at least, if not a proof, of the corruption of
human kind; being proud, petulant, and rebellious. Some will probably
think the growth of such propensities no more unaccountable than that of
briars and thorns; being prepared, from their own experience and
observation, to expect that both should spring without any particular
culture. But whoever is dissatisfied with this compendious deduction,
may trace my faults to certain accidents in my early education.
I was, of course, a person of infinite importance to my mother. While
she was present, her eye followed my every motion, and watched every
turn of my countenance. Anxious to anticipate every wish, and vigilant
to relieve every difficulty, she never thought of allowing me to pay the
natural penalties of impatience or self-indulgence. If one servant was
driven away by my caprice, another attended my bidding. If my toys were
demolished, new baubles were ready at my call. Even when my mother was
reluctantly obliged to testify displeasure, her coldness quickly yielded
to my tears; and I early discovered, that I had only to persevere in the
demonstrations of obstinate sorrow, in order to obtain all the
privileges of the party offended. When she was obliged to consign me to
my maid, it was with earnest injunctions that I should be
amused,--injunctions which it every day became more difficult to fulfil.
Her return was always marked by fond inquiries into my proceedings
during her absence; and I must do my attendants the justice to say, that
their replies were quite as favourable as truth would permit. They were
too politic to hazard, at once, my favour and hers, by being officiously
censorious. On the contrary, they knew how to ingratiate themselves, by
rehearsing my witticisms, with such additions and improvements as made
my original property in them rather doubtful. My mother, pleased with
the imposition, usually listened with delight; or, if she suspected the
fraud, was too gentle to repulse it with severity, and too partial
herself, to blame what she ascribed to a kindred partiality. On my
father's return from the counting-house, my double rectified _bon mots_
were commonly repeated to him, in accents low enough to draw my
attention, as to somewhat not intended for my ear, yet so distinct as
not to balk my curiosity. This record of my wit served a triple purpose.
It confirmed my opinion of my own consequence, and of the vast
importance of whatever I was pleased to say or do: it strengthened the
testimony which my mother's visiters bore to my miraculous prematurity;
and it established in my mind that association so favourable to feminine
character, between repartee and applause!
To own the truth, my mother lay under strong temptation to report my
sallies, for my father always listened to them with symptoms of
pleasure. They sometimes caused his countenance to relax into a smile;
and sometimes, either when they were more particularly brilliant, or his
spirits in a more harmonious tone, he would say, 'Come, Fanny, get me
something nice for supper, and keep Ellen in good humour, and I won't go
to the club to-night.' He generally, however, had reason to repent of
this resolution; for though my mother performed her part to perfection,
I not unfrequently experienced, in my father's presence, that restraint
which has fettered elder wits under a consciousness of being expected to
entertain. Or, if my efforts were more successful, he commonly closed
his declining eulogiums by saying, 'It is a confounded pity she is a
girl. If she had been of the right sort, she might have got into
Parliament, and made a figure with the best of them. But now what use is
her sense of?'--'I hope it will contribute to her happiness,' said my
mother, sighing as if she had thought the fulfilment of her hope a
little doubtful. 'Poh!' quoth my father, 'no fear of her happiness.
Won't she have two hundred thousand pounds, and never know the trouble
of earning it, nor need to do one thing from morning to night but amuse
herself?' My mother made no answer;--so by this and similar
conversations, a most just and desirable connection was formed in my
mind between the ideas of amusement and happiness, of labour and misery.
If to such culture as this I owed the seeds of my besetting sins, at
least, it must be owned that the soil was propitious, for the bitter
root spread with disastrous vigour; striking so deep, that the iron
grasp of adversity, the giant strength of awakened conscience, have
failed to tear it wholly from the heart, though they have crushed its
outward luxuriance.
Self-importance was fixed in my mind long before I could examine the
grounds of this preposterous sentiment. It could not properly be said to
rest on my talents, my beauty, or my prospects. Though these had each
its full value in my estimation, they were but the trappings of my idol,
which, like other idols, owed its dignity chiefly to the misjudging
worship which I saw it receive. Children seldom reflect upon their own
sentiments; and their self-conceit may, humanly speaking, be incurable,
before they have an idea of its turpitude, or even of its existence.
During the many years in which mine influenced every action and every
thought, whilst it hourly appeared in the forms of arrogance, of
self-will, impatience of reproof, love of flattery, and love of sway, I
should have heard of its very existence with an incredulous smile, or
with an indignation which proved its power. And when at last I learnt to
bestow on one of its modifications a name which the world agrees to
treat with some respect, I could own that I was even 'proud of my
pride;' representing every instance of a contrary propensity as the
badge of a servile and grovelling disposition.
Meanwhile my encroachments upon the peace and liberty of all who
approached me, were permitted for the very reason which ought to have
made them be repelled,--namely, that I was but a child! I was the
dictatrix of my playfellows, the tyrant of the servants, and the
idolised despot of both my parents. My father, indeed, sometimes
threatened transient rebellion, and announced opposition in the tone of
one determined to conquer or die; but, though justice might be on his
side, perseverance, a surer omen of success, was upon mine. Hour after
hour, nay, day after day, I could whine, pout, or importune, encouraged
by the remembrance of former victories. My obstinacy always at length
prevailed, and of course gathered strength for future combat. Nor did it
signify how trivial might be the matter originally in dispute. Nothing
could be unimportant which opposed my sovereign will. That will became
every day more imperious; so that, however much it governed others, I
was myself still more its slave, knowing no rest or peace but in its
gratification. I had often occasion to rue its triumphs, since not even
the cares of my fond mother could always shield me from the consequences
of my perverseness; and by the time I had reached my eighth year, I was
one of the most troublesome, and, in spite of great natural hilarity of
temper, at times one of the most unhappy beings, in that great
metropolis which contains such variety of annoyance and of misery.
Upon retracing this sketch of the progress and consequences of my early
education, I begin to fear, that groundless censure may fall upon the
guardians of my infancy; and that defect of understanding or of
principle may be imputed to those who so unsuccessfully executed their
trust. Let me hasten to remove such a prejudice. My father's
understanding was respectable in the line to which he chose to confine
its exertions. Indifference to my happiness or my improvement cannot
surely be alleged against him, for I was the pride of his heart. I have
seen him look up from his newspaper, while reading the'shipping
intelligence,' or the opposition speeches, to listen to the praises of
my beauty or my talents; and, except when his temper was irritated by my
perverseness, I was the object of his almost exclusive affection. But he
was a man of business. His days were spent in the toil and bustle of
commerce; and, if the evening brought him to his home, it was not
unnatural that he should there seek domestic peace and relaxation,--a
purpose wholly incompatible with the correction of a spoiled child. My
mother was indeed one of the finer order of spirits. She had an elegant,
a tender, a pious mind. Often did she strive to raise my young heart to
Him from whom I had so lately received my being. But, alas! her too
partial fondness overlooked in her darling the growth of that pernicious
weed, whose shade is deadly to every plant of celestial origin. She
continued unconsciously to foster in me that spirit of pride, which may
indeed admit the transient admiration of excellence, or even the passing
fervours of gratitude, but which is manifestly opposite to vital
piety;--to that piety which consists in a surrender of self-will, of
self-righteousness, of self in every form, to the Divine justice,
holiness, and sovereignty. It was, perhaps, for training us to this
temper, of such difficult, yet such indispensable attainment, that the
discipline of parental authority was intended. I have long seen reason
to repent the folly which deprived me of the advantages of this useful
apprenticeship, but this conviction has been the fruit of discipline far
more painful.
In the mean time, my self-will was preparing for me an immediate
punishment, and eventually a heavy, and irremediable misfortune. I had
just entered my ninth year, when one evening an acquaintance of my
mother's sent me an invitation to her box in the theatre. As I had been
for some days confined at home by a cold, and sore throat, my mother
judged it proper to refuse. But the message had been unwarily delivered
in my hearing, and I was clamorous for permission to go. The danger of
compliance being, in this instance, manifest, my mother resisted my
entreaties with unwonted firmness. After arguing with me, and soothing
me in vain, she took the tone of calm command, and forbade me to urge
her further. I then had recourse to a mode of attack which I often found
successful, and began to scream with all my might. My mother, though
with tears in her eyes, ordered a servant to take me out of the room.
But, at the indignity of plebeian coercion, my rage was so nearly
convulsive, that, in terror, she consented to let me remain, upon
condition of quietness. I was, however, so far from fulfilling my part
of this compact, that my father, who returned in the midst of the
contest, lost patience; and, turning somewhat testily to my mother,
said, 'The child will do herself more harm by roaring there, than by
going to fifty plays.'
I observed (for my agonies by no means precluded observation) that my
mother only replied by a look, which seemed to say that she could have
spared this apostrophe; but my father growing a little more out of
humour as he felt himself somewhat in the wrong, chose to answer to that
look, by saying, in an angry tone, 'It really becomes you well, Mrs
Percy, to pretend that I spoil the child, when you know you can refuse
her nothing.'
'That, I fear,' said my mother, with a sigh, 'will be Ellen's great
misfortune. Her dispositions seem such as to require restraint.'
'Poh!' quoth my father, 'her dispositions will do well enough. A woman
is the better for a spice of the devil!'--an aphorism, which we have
owed at first to some gentleman who, like my father, had slender
experience in the pungencies of female character.
Gathering hopes from this dialogue, I redoubled my vociferation, till my
father, out of all patience, closed the contest, as others had been
closed before, by saying, 'Well, well, you perverse, ungovernable brat,
do take your own way, and have done with it.' I instantly profited by
the permission, was dressed, and departed for the play.
I paid dearly for my triumph. The first consequence of it was a
dangerous fever. My mother,--but what words can do justice to the cares
which saved my quivering life; what language shall paint the tenderness
that watched my restless bed, and pillowed my aching temples on her
bosom; that shielded from the light the burning eye, and warded from
every sound the morbid ear; that persevered in these cares of love till
nature failed beneath the toil, and till, with her own precious life,
she had redeemed me from the grave! My mother--first, fondest love of my
soul! is this barren, feeble record, the only return I can make for all
thy matchless affection?
After hanging for three weeks upon the very brink of the grave, I
recovered. But anxiety and fatigue had struck to the gentlest, the
kindest of hearts; and she to whom I twice owed my life, was removed
from me before I had even a thought of my vast debt of gratitude. For
some months her decline was visible to every eye, except that of the
poor heedless being who had most reason to dread its progress. Yet even
I, when I saw her fatigued with my importunate prattle, or exhausted by
my noisy merriment, would check my spirits, soften my voice to a
whisper, and steal round her sofa on tiptoe. Ages would not efface from
my mind the tenderness with which she received these feeble attributes
of an affection, alas! so dearly earned. By degrees, the constant
intercourse which had been the blessing of my life was exchanged for
short occasional visits to my mother's chamber. Again these were
restricted to a few moments, while the morning lent her a short-lived
vigour; and a few more, while I received her evening blessing.
At length three days passed, in which I had not seen my mother. I was
then summoned to her presence; and, full of the improvident rapture of
childhood, I bounded gaily to her apartment. But all gladness fled, when
my mother, folding me in her arms, burst into a feeble cry, followed by
the big convulsive sob which her weakness was unable to repress. Many a
time did she press her pale lips to every feature of my face; and often
strove to speak, but found no utterance. An attendant, who was a
stranger to me, now approached to remove me, saying, that my mother
would injure herself. In the dread of being parted from her child, my
fond parent found momentary strength; and, still clinging to me, hid her
face on my shoulder, and became more composed. 'Ellen,' said she, in a
feeble broken voice, 'lift up thy little hands, and pray that we may
meet again.' Unconscious of her full meaning, I knelt down by her; and,
resting my lifted hands upon her knees as I was wont to do while she
taught me to utter my infant petitions, I said, 'Oh! let mamma see her
dear Ellen again!' Once more she made me repeat my simple prayer; then,
bending over me, she rested her locked hands upon my head, and the
warmth of a last blessing burst into tremulous interrupted whispers. One
only of these parting benedictions is imprinted on my mind. Wonder
impressed it there at first; and, when nearly effaced by time, the
impression was restored with force irresistible. These were the
well-remembered words: 'Oh be kinder than her earthly parents, and show
thyself a father, though it be in chastising.'
Many a tender wish did she breathe, long since forgotten by her
thoughtless child, till at last the accents of love were again lost in
the thick struggling sobs of weakness. Again the attendant offered to
remove me; and I, half-wearied with the sadness of the scene, was not
unwilling to go. Yet I tried to soothe a sorrow which I could not
comprehend, by promising that I would soon return. Once more, with the
strength of agony, my mother pressed me to her bosom; then, turning away
her head, she pushed me gently from her. I was led from her chamber--the
door closed--I heard again the feeble melancholy cry, and her voice was
silent to my ear for ever.
The next day I pleaded in vain to see my mother. Another came, and every
face looked mournfully busy. I saw not my father; but the few domestics
who approached me, gazed sadly on my childish pastime, or uttered an
expression of pity, and hurried away. Unhappily, I scarcely knew why, I
remembered my resort in all my little distresses, and insisted upon
being admitted to my mother. My attendant long endeavoured to evade
compliance, and when she found me resolute, was forced to tell the
melancholy truth. She had so often combated my wilfulness by deceit,
that I listened without believing; yet, when I saw her serious
countenance, something like alarm added to my impatience, and, bursting
from her, I flew to my mother's chamber.
The door which used to fly open at my signal was fastened, and no one
answered my summons; but the key remained in the lock, and I soon
procured admission. All seemed strangely altered since I saw it last. No
trace appeared of my mother's presence. Here reigned the order and the
stillness of desolation. The curtains were drawn back, and the bed
arranged with more than wonted care: yet it seemed pressed by the
semblance of a human form. I drew away the cover, and beheld my mother's
face. I thought she slept; yet the stern quietness of her repose was
painful to me. 'Wake, dear mamma,' I hastily cried, and wondered when
the smile of love answered not my call. I reached my hand to touch her
cheek, and started at its coldness; yet, still childishly incredulous of
my loss, I sprang upon the bed, and threw my arm round her neck.
A frightful shriek made me turn, and I beheld my attendant stretching
her arms towards me, as if fearing to approach. Her looks of horror and
alarm,--her incoherent expressions,--the motionless form before me, at
last convinced me of the truth; and all the vulgar images of death and
sepulture rushing on my mind, I burst into agonies of mingled grief and
fear. To be carried hence by strangers, laid in the earth, shut out for
ever from the light and from me!--I clung to the senseless clay,
resolved, while I had life, to shield my dear mother from such a fate.
My cries assembled the family, who attempted to withdraw me from the
scene. In vain they endeavoured to persuade or to terrify me. I
continued to hang on the bosom which had nourished me, and to mingle my
cries of Mother! mother! with vows that I would never leave her, not
though they should hide me with her in the earth. At last my father
commanded the servants to remove me by force. In vain I struggled and
shrieked in anguish. I was torn from her,--and the tie was severed for
ever!
CHAPTER II
_Such little wasps, and yet so full of spite;
For bulk mere insects, yet in mischief strong._
Tate's Juvenal
For some hours I was inconsolable; but at length tired nature befriended
me, and I wept myself to sleep. The next morning, before I was
sufficiently awake for recollection, I again, in a confused sense of
pain, began my instinctive wailing. I was, however, somewhat comforted
by the examination of my new jet ornaments; and the paroxysms of my
grief thenceforth returned at lengthening intervals, and with abating
force. Yet when I passed my mother's chamber-door, and remembered that
all within was desolate, I would cast myself down at the threshold, and
mix with shrieks of agony the oft-repeated cry of Mother! mother! Or,
when I was summoned to the parlour, where no one now was concerned to
promote my pastimes, or remove my difficulties, or grant my
requests,--on the failure of some of my little projects, I would lean my
head on her now vacant seat, and vent a quieter sorrow, till reproof
swelled it into loud lamentation.
These passing storms my father found to be very hostile to the calm
which he had promised himself in a fortnight of decent seclusion from
the cares of the counting-house. Besides, I became, in other respects,
daily more troublesome. The only influence which could bend my stubborn
will being now removed, he was hourly harassed with complaints of my
refractory conduct. It was constantly, 'Sir, Miss Ellen won't go to
bed,'--'Sir, Miss Ellen won't get up,'--'Sir, Miss Ellen won't have her
hair combed,'--'Sir, Miss Ellen won't learn her lesson.' My father
having tried his authority some half-a-dozen times in vain, declared,
not without reason, that the child was completely spoiled; so, by way
of a summary cure for the evil, so far at least as it affected himself,
he determined to send me to a fashionable boarding-school.
In pursuance of this determination I was conveyed to ---- House, then
one of the most polite seminaries of the metropolis, and committed to
the tuition of Madame Dupre. My father, who did not pique himself on his
acquaintance with the mysteries of education, gave no instructions in
regard to mine, except that expense should not be spared on it; and he
certainly never found reason to complain that this injunction was
neglected. For my own part, I submitted, without opposition, to the
change in my situation. The prospect of obtaining companions of my own
age reconciled me to quitting the paternal roof, which I had of late
found a melancholy abode.
A school,--it has been observed so often, that we are all tired of the
observation,--a school is an epitome of the world. I am not even sure
that the bad passions are not more conspicuous in the baby commonwealth,
than among the 'children of a larger growth;' since, in after-life,
experience teaches some the policy of concealing their evil
propensities; while others, in a course of virtuous effort, gain
strength to subdue them. Be that as it may, I was scarcely domesticated
in my new abode ere I began at once to indulge and to excite the most
unamiable feelings of our nature.
'What a charming companion Miss Percy will make for Lady Maria,' said
one of the teachers to another who was sitting near her. 'Yes,' returned
the other in a very audible whisper, 'and a lovely pair they are.' The
first speaker, directing to me a disapproving look, lowered her voice,
and answered something of which only the words 'not to be compared'
reached my ear. The second, with seeming astonishment at the sentiments
of her opponent, and a glance of complacency to me, permitted me to hear
that the words 'animation,''sensibility,' 'intelligence,' formed part
of her reply. The first drew up her head, giving her antagonist a
disdainful smile; and the emphatical parts of her speech were, 'air of
fashion,' 'delicacy,''mien of noble birth,' &c. &c. A comparison was
next instituted aloud between the respective ages of Lady Maria and
myself; and at this point of the controversy, the said Lady Maria
happened to enter the room.
I must confess that I had reason to be flattered by any personal
comparison between myself and my little rival, who was indeed one of the
loveliest children in the world. So dazzling was the fairness of her
complexion, so luxuriant her flaxen hair, so bright her large blue
eyes, that, in my approbation of her beauty, I forgot to draw from the
late conversation an obvious inference in favour of my own. But I was
not long permitted to retain this desirable abstraction from self. 'Here
is a young companion for you, Lady Maria,' said the teacher:--'come, and
I will introduce you to each other.'
Her little Ladyship, eyeing me askance, answered, 'I can't come now--the
dress-maker is waiting to fit on my frock.'
'Come hither at once when you are desired, young lady,' said my
champion, in no conciliating tone; and Lady Maria, pouting her pretty
under lip, obeyed.
The teacher, who seemed to take pleasure in thwarting her impatience to
begone, detained her after the introduction, till it should be
ascertained which of us was eldest, and then till we should measure
which was tallest. Lady Maria, who had confessed herself to be two years
older than I was, reddened with mortification when my champion
triumphantly declared me to have the advantage in stature. It was not
till the little lady seemed thoroughly out of humour that she was
permitted to retire; and I saw her no more till we met in school, where
the same lesson was prescribed to both. Desirous that the first
impression of my abilities should be favourable, I was diligent in
performing my task. Perhaps some remains of ill-humour made Lady Maria
neglect hers. Of consequence, I was commended, Lady Maria reproved. Had
the reproof and the commendation extended only to our respective degrees
of diligence, the equitable sentence would neither have inflamed the
conceit of the one, nor the jealousy of the other; but my former
champion, whose business it was to examine our proficiency, incautiously
turned the spirit of competition into a channel not only unprofitable
but mischievous, by making our different success the test of our
abilities, not of our industry; and while I cast a triumphant glance
upon my fair competitor, I saw her eyes fill with tears not quite'such
as angels shed.'
At length we were all dismissed to our pastimes; and 'every one strolled
off his own glad way;' every one but I; who finding myself, for the
first time in my life, of consequence to nobody, and restrained partly
by pride, partly by bashfulness, from making advances to my new
associates, sat down alone, looking wistfully from one merry party to
another. My attention | 849.575885 |
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Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Mary Meehan and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
MARTHA BY-THE-DAY
By JULIE M. LIPPMANN
1912
CHAPTER I
If you are one of the favored few, privileged to ride in chaises, you
may find the combination of Broadway during the evening rush-hour, in a
late November storm, stimulating--you may, that is, provided you have a
reliable driver. If, contrariwise, you happen to be of the class whose
fate it is to travel in public conveyances (and lucky if you have the
price!) and the car, say, won't stop for you--why--
Claire Lang had been standing in the drenching wet at the
street-crossing for fully ten minutes. The badgering crowd had been
shouldering her one way, pushing her the other, until, being a stranger
and not very big, she had become so bewildered that she lost her head
completely, and, with the blind impulse of a hen with paresis, darted
straight out, in amidst the crush of traffic, with all the chances
strong in favor of her being instantly trampled under foot, or ground
under wheel, and never a one to know how it had happened.
An instant, and she was back again in her old place upon the curbstone.
Something like the firm iron grip of a steam-derrick had fastened on her
person, hoisted her neatly up, and set her as precisely down, exactly
where she had started from.
It took her a full second to realize what had happened. Then, quick as a
flash, anger flamed up in her pale cheeks, blazed in her tired eyes.
For, of course, this was an instance of "insult" described by "the
family at home" as common to the experience of unprotected girls in New
York City. She groped about in her mind for the formula to be applied in
such cases, as recommended by Aunt Amelia. "Sir, you are no gentleman!
If you were a gentleman, you would not offer an affront to a young,
defenseless girl who--" The rest eluded her; she could not recall it,
try as she would. In desperate resolve to do her duty anyway, she tilted
back her umbrella, whereat a fine stream of water poured from the tip
directly over her upturned face, and trickled cheerily down the bridge
of her short nose.
"Sir--" she shouted resolutely, and then she stopped, for, plainly, her
oration was, in the premises, a misfit--the person beside her--the one
of the mortal effrontery and immortal grip, being a--woman. A woman of
masculine proportions, towering, deep-chested, large-limbed, but with a
face which belied all these, for in it her sex shone forth in a
motherliness unmistakable, as if the world at large were her family, and
it was her business to see that it was generously provided for, along
the pleasantest possible lines for all concerned.
"What car?" the woman trumpeted, gazing down serenely into Claire's
little wet, anxious, upturned face at her elbow.
"Columbus Avenue."
The stranger nodded, peering down the glistening, wet way, as if she
were a skipper sighting a ship.
"My car, too! First's Lexin'ton--next Broadway--then--here's ours!"
Again that derrick-grip, and they stood in the heart of the maelstrom,
but apparently perfectly safe, unassailable.
"They won't stop," Claire wailed plaintively. "I've been waiting for
ages. The car'll go by! You see if it won't!"
It did, indeed, seem on the point of sliding past, as all the rest had
done, but of a sudden the motorman vehemently shut off his power, and
put on his brake. By some hidden, mysterious force that was in her, or
the mere commanding dimensions of her frame, Claire's companion had
brought him to a halt.
She lifted her charge gently up on to the step, pausing herself, before
she should mount the platform, to close the girl's umbrella.
"Step lively! Step lively!" the conductor urged insistently, reaching
for his signal-strap.
The retort came calmly, deliberately, but with perfect good nature. "Not
on your life, young man. I been steppin' lively all day, an' for so
long's it's goin' to take this car to get to One-hundred-an'-sixteenth
Street, my time ain't worth no more'n a settin' hen's."
The conductor grinned in spite of himself. "Well, mine _is_," he
declared, while with an authoritative finger he indicated the box into
which Claire was to drop her fare.
"So all the other roosters think," the woman let fall with a tolerant
smile, while she diligently searched in her shabby purse for five cents.
Claire, in the doorway, lingered.
"Step right along in, my dear! Don't wait for me," her friend advised,
closing her teeth on a dime, as she still pursued an elusive nickel.
"Step right along in, and sit down anywheres, an' if there ain't
nowheres to sit, why, just take a waltz-step or two in the direction o'
some of them elegant gen'lemen's feet, occupyin' the places meant for
ladies, an' if they don't get up for love of _you_, they'll get up for
love of their shins."
Still the girl did not pass on.
"Fare, please!" There was a decided touch of asperity in the
conductor's tone. He glared at Claire almost menacingly.
Her lip trembled, the quick tears sprang to her eyes. She hesitated,
swallowed hard, and then brought it out with a piteous gulp.
"I _had_ my fare--'twas in my glove. It must have slipped out. It's
gone--lost--and--"
A tug at the signal-strap was the conductor's only comment. He was
stopping the car to put her off, but before he could carry out his
purpose the woman had dropped her dime into the box with a sounding
click.
"Fare for two!" she said, "an' if I had time, an' a place to sit, I'd
turn you over acrost my knee, an' give you two, for fair, young man, for
the sake of your mother who didn't learn you better manners when you was
a boy!" With which she laid a kind hand upon Claire's heaving shoulder,
and impelled her gently into the body of the car, already full to
overflowing.
For a few moments the girl had a hard struggle to control her rising
sobs, but happily no one saw her working face and twitching lips, for
her companion had planted herself like a great bulwark between her and
the world, shutting her off, walling her 'round. Then, suddenly, she
found herself placed in a hurriedly vacated seat, from which she could
look up into the benevolent face inclined toward her, and say, without
too much danger of breaking down in the effort:
"I really _did_ have it--the money | 849.603271 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE CRISIS
By Winston Churchill
Volume 5.
CHAPTER XVI
THE GUNS OF SUMTER
Winter had vanished. Spring was come with a hush. Toward a little island
set in the blue waters of Charleston harbor anxious eyes were strained.
Was the flag still there?
God alone may count the wives and mothers who listened in the still hours
of the night for the guns of Sumter. One sultry night in April Stephen's
mother awoke with fear in her heart, for she had heard them. Hark! that
is the roar now, faint but sullen. That is the red flash far across the
black Southern sky. For in our beds are the terrors and cruelties of life
revealed to us. There is a demon to be faced, and nought alone.
Mrs. Brice was a brave woman. She walked that night with God.
Stephen, too, awoke. The lightning revealed her as she bent over him. On
the wings of memory be flew back to his childhood in the great Boston
house with the rounded front, and he saw the nursery with its high
windows looking out across the Common. Often in the dark had she come to
him thus, her gentle hand passing over aim to feel if he were covered.
"What is it, mother?" he said.
She said: "Stephen, I am afraid that the war has come."
He sat up, blindly. Even he did not guess the agony in her heart.
"You will have to go, Stephen."
It was long before his answer came.
"You know that I cannot, mother. We have nothing left but the little I
earn. And if I were--" He did not finish the sentence, for he felt her
trembling. But she said again, with that courage which seems woman's
alone:
"Remember Wilton Brice. Stephen--I can get along. I can sew."
It was the hour he had dreaded, stolen suddenly upon him out of the
night. How many times had he rehearsed this scene to himself! He, Stephen
Brice, who had preached and slaved and drilled for the Union, a renegade
to be shunned by friend and foe alike! He had talked for his country, but
he would not risk his life for it. He heard them repeating the charge. He
saw them passing him silently on the street. Shamefully he remembered the
time, five months agone, when he had worn the very uniform of his
Revolutionary ancestor. And high above the tier of his accusers he saw
one face, and the look of it stung to the very quick of his soul.
Before the storm he had fallen asleep in sheer weariness of the struggle,
that face shining through the black veil of the darkness. If he were to
march away in the blue of his country (alas, not of hers!) she would
respect him for risking life for conviction. If he stayed at home, she
would not understand. It was his plain duty to his mother. And yet he
knew that Virginia Carvel and the women like her were ready to follow
with bare feet the march of the soldiers of the South.
The rain was come now, in a flood. Stephen's mother could not see in the
blackness the bitterness on his face. Above the roar of the waters she
listened for his voice.
"I will not go, mother," he said. "If at length every man is needed, that
will be different."
"It is for you to decide, my son," she answered. "There are many ways in
which you can serve your country here. But remember that you may have to
face hard things."
"I have had to do that before, mother," he replied calmly. "I cannot
leave you dependent upon charity."
She went back into her room to pray, for she knew that he had laid his
ambition at her feet.
It was not until a week later that the dreaded news came. All through the
Friday shells had rained on the little fort while Charleston looked on.
No surrender yet. Through a wide land was that numbness which precedes
action. Force of habit sent men to their places of business, to sit idle.
A prayerful Sunday intervened. Sumter had fallen. South Carolina had shot
to bits the flag she had once revered.
On the Monday came the call of President Lincoln for volunteers. Missouri
was asked for her quota. The outraged reply of her governor went back,
--never would she furnish troops to invade her sister states. Little did
Governor Jackson foresee that Missouri was to stand fifth of all the
Union in the number of men she was to give. To her was credited in the
end even more men than stanch Massachusetts.
The noise of preparation was in the city--in the land. On the Monday
morning, when Stephen went wearily to the office, he was met by Richter
at the top of the stairs, who seized his shoulders and looked into his
face. The light of the zealot was on Richter's own.
"We shall drill every night now, my friend, until further orders. It is
the Leader's word. Until we go to the front, Stephen, to put down
rebellion." Stephen sank into a chair, and bowed his head. What would he
think,--this man who had fought and suffered and renounced his native
land for his convictions? Who in this nobler allegiance was ready to die
for them? How was he to confess to Richter, of all men?
"Carl," he said at length | 849.67335 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Volume One, Chapter I.
HIS HOUSE.
Early morning at Saltinville, with the tide down, and the calm sea
shimmering like damasked and deadened silver in the sunshine. Here and
there a lugger was ashore, delivering its take of iris-hued mackerel to
cart and basket, as a busy throng stood round, some upon the sands, some
knee-deep in water, and all eager to obtain a portion of the fresh fish
that fetched so good a price amongst the visitors to the town.
The trawler was coming in, too, with its freight of fine thick soles and
turbot, with a few gaily-scaled red mullet; and perhaps a staring-eyed
John Dory or two, from the trammel net set overnight amongst the rocks:
all choice fish, these, to be bought up ready for royal and noble use,
for London would see no scale of any of the fish caught that night.
The unclouded sun flashed from the windows of the houses on the cliff,
giving them vivid colours that the decorator had spared, and lighting up
the downs beyond, so that from the sea Saltinville looked a very picture
of all that was peaceful and bright. There were no huge stucco palaces
to mar the landscape, for all was modest as to architecture, and as
fresh as green and stone- paint applied to window-frame, veranda
and shutter could make it. Flowers of variety were not plentiful, but
great clusters of orange marigolds flourished bravely, and, with
broad-disked sunflowers, did no little towards giving warmth of colour
to the place. There had been no storms of late--no windy nights when
the spray was torn from the tops of waves to fly in showers over the
houses, and beat the window-panes, crusting them afterwards with a coat
of dingy salt. The windows, then, were flashing in the sun; but all the
same, by six o'clock, Isaac Monkley, the valet, body-servant, and
footman-in-ordinary to Stuart Denville, Esquire, MC, was busy, dressed
in a striped jacket, and standing on the very top of a pair of steps,
cloth in one hand and wash-leather in the other, carefully cleaning
windows that were already spotless. For there was something in the
exterior of the MC's house that suggested its tenant. Paint, glass,
walls, and doorstep were so scrupulously clean that they recalled the
master's face, and seemed to have been clean-shaven but an hour before.
Isaac was not alone in his task, for, neat in a print dress and snowy
cap, Eliza, the housemaid, was standing on a chair within; and as they
cleaned the windows in concert, they courted in a special way.
There is no accounting for the pleasure people find in very ordinary
ways. Isaac and Eliza found theirs in making the glass so clear that
they could smile softly at each other without let or hindrance produced
by smear or speck in any single pane. Their hands, too, were kept in
contact, saving for cloth and glass, and moved in unison, describing
circles and a variety of other figures, going into the corners together,
changing from cloth to wash-leather, and moving, as it were, by one set
of muscles till the task was concluded with a chaste salute--a kiss
through the glass.
Meanwhile, anyone curious about the house would, if he had raised his
eyes, have seen that one of the upstairs windows had a perfect screen of
flowers, that grew from a broad, green box along the sill. Sweet peas
clustered, roses bloomed, geraniums dotted it with brilliant tiny
pointless stars of scarlet, and at one side there was a string that ran
up from a peg to a nail, hammered, unknown to the MC, into the wall.
That peg was an old tooth-brush handle, and the nail had been driven in
with the back of a hairbrush; but bone handle and string were invisible
now, covered by the twining strands of so many ipomaeas, whose
heart-shaped leaves and trumpet blossoms formed one of the most lovely
objects of the scene. Here they were of richest purple, fading into
lavender and grey; there of delicate pink with well-formed starry
markings in the inner bell, and moist with the soft air of early
morning. Each blossom was a thing of beauty soon to fade, for, as the
warm beams of the sun kissed them, the edges began to curl; then there
would be a fit of shrivelling, and the bloom of the virgin flower passed
under the sun-god's too ardent caress.
About and above this screen of flowers, a something ivory white, and
tinged with peachy pink, kept darting in and out. Now it touched a
rose, and a shower of petals fell softly down; now a geranium leaf that
was turning yellow disappeared; now again a twig that had borne roses
was taken away, after a sound that resembled a steely click. Then the
little crimson and purple blossoms of a fuchsia were touched, and
shivered and twinkled in the light at the soft movements among the
graceful stems as dying flowers were swept away.
For a minute again all was still, but the next, there was a fresh
vibration amongst the flowers as this ivory whiteness appeared in a new
place, curving round a plant as if in loving embrace; and at such times
the blooms seemed drawn towards another and larger flower of thicker
petal and of coral hue, that peeped out amongst the fresh green leaves,
and then it was that a watcher would have seen that this ivory something
playing about the window garden was a soft white hand.
Again a fresh vibration amongst the clustering flowers, as if they were
trembling with delight at the touches that were once more to come. Then
there was a brilliant flash as the sun's rays glanced from a bright
vessel, the pleasant gurgle of water from a glass carafe, and once more
stillness before the stems were slowly parted, and a larger flower
peeped out from the leafy screen--the soft, sweet face of Claire
Denville--to gaze at the sea and sky, and inhale the morning air.
Richard Linnell was not there to look up and watch the changes in the
sweet, candid face, with its high white forehead, veined with blue, its
soft, peachy cheeks and clear, dark-grey eyes, full of candour, but
searching and firm beneath the well-marked brows. Was her mouth too
large? Perhaps so; but what a curve to that upper lip, what a bend to
the lower over that retreating dimpled chin. If it had been smaller the
beauty of the regular teeth would have been more hidden, and there would
have been less of the pleasant smile that came as Claire brushed aside
her wavy brown hair, turned simply back, and knotted low down upon her
neck.
Pages might be written in Claire Denville's praise: let it suffice that
she was a tall, graceful woman, and that even the most disparaging
scandalmonger of the place owned that she was "not amiss."
Claire Denville's gaze out to sea was but a short one. Then her face
disappeared; the stems and blossoms darted back to form a screen, and
the tenant of the barely-furnished bedroom was busy for some time,
making the bed and placing all in order before drawing a tambour frame
to the window, and unpinning a piece of paper that guarded the gay silks
and wools. Then for the next hour Claire bent over her work, the
glistening needle passing rapidly in and out as she gazed intently at
the pattern rapidly approaching completion, a piece of work that was to
be taken surreptitiously to Miss Clode's library and fancy bazaar for
sale, money being a scarce commodity in the MC's home.
From below, time after time, came up sounds of preparation for the
breakfast of the domestics, then for their own, and Claire sighed as she
thought of the expenses incurred for three servants, and how much
happier they might be if they lived in simpler style.
The chiming of the old church clock sounded sweetly on the morning air.
_Ting-dong_--quarter-past; and Claire listened attentively.
_Ting-dong_--half-past.
_Ting-dong_--quarter to eight.
"How time goes!" she cried, with a wistful look at her work, which she
hurriedly covered, | 849.989983 |
2023-11-16 18:31:13.9700940 | 6,498 | 7 |
Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN
VOL. II
EDITED BY
MONTAGUE SUMMERS
CONTENTS
ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE
THE YOUNG KING; OR, THE MISTAKE
THE CITY HEIRESS; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TREAT-ALL
THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE
NOTES
ABDELAZER; OR, THE MOOR'S REVENGE.
ARGUMENT.
The old King of Spain, having conquered Fez and killed the Moorish
monarch, has taken the orphaned prince Abdelazer under his protection and
in time made him General. Abdelazer, though always courageous, has the
desire of revenge ever uppermost, and to gain influence, rather than from
any love, he becomes the Queen's paramour. She, being a lustful and
wicked woman, joins with the Moor in poisoning her husband, at whose
death Philip, her second son, newly returned victor from a martial
expedition, leaving his army at some distance, rushes in mad with rage
and publicly accuses his mother of adultery with Abdelazer. She is
greatly incensed, but Cardinal Mendozo, as Protector of the King,
promptly banishes her gallant. The young King Ferdinand, however, to
please Florella, the Moor's wife, whom he loves, revokes this decree.
Abdelazer, in revenge, next orders his native officer Osmin to kill
Philip and the Cardinal. They escape by night disguised as monks, whilst
Abdelazer alarms the castle with cries of treason and tells the King that
Philip and the Cardinal are plotting to murder him. Ferdinand orders
Abdelazer to follow them, intending to visit Florella during her
husband's absence. Abdelazer, fully aware of his plan, out of pride
and mischief furnishes Florella with a dagger, bidding her stab the
King if he persists in his suit. Elvira, the Queen Mother's confidante,
Watches the King enter Florella's apartment and conveys the news to her
Mistress who, with dissembled reluctance, informs Alonzo, the Moor's
brother-in-law. Florella resists the King's solicitations and produces
the dagger threatening to stab herself. At this juncture the Queen rushes
in and, feigning to think that Florella was about to attempt the King's
life, kills her. Her motive for this deed is, in reality, jealousy.
Whilst the King falls weeping at his dead mistress' feet Abdelazer enters,
and in the ensuing fight Ferdinand is slain. Philip is then proclaimed
King, but Abdelazer announcing he is a bastard, an avowal backed by the
Queen, declares himself Protector of Spain, Overpowered by his following,
The lords accept him. Alonzo, however, flies to Philip's camp with the
tidings. A battle between the two parties follows, but the Queen
treacherously detaches Mendozo, who loves her, from Philip, and although
the Moors are at first beaten back they now gain the advantage and Philip
is captured. At a general assembly of the nobles the Queen relates the
false tale of Philip's illegitimacy and asserts that the Cardinal is his
father. She privately bids Mendozo acknowledge this and so gain the
crown, but he refuses to support the lie and is promptly arrested as a
traitor. Abdelazer now brings forward the Infanta Leonora and proclaims
her Queen of Spain, He next disposes of the Queen Mother by bidding
Roderigo, a creature of his own, assassinate her forthwith. Roderigo
gains admittance disguised as a friar and stabs her, upon which
Abdelazer, to screen himself, rushes in and cuts him down. He next openly
declares his love for Leonora and is about to force her when Osmin, his
officer, enters to inform him that Alonzo, to whom Leonora is affianced,
has resisted arrest but is at last secured. Abdelazer, enraged at the
interruption, wounds Osmin in the arm. Leonora pities the blow; and the
Moorish soldier, deeply hurt at the insult, resolves to betray his
master. He accordingly goes to the prison where Philip, the Cardinal, and
Alonzo are confined, and killing his fellow Zarrack who was to have been
their executioner, sets them free. When Abdelazer enters he finds himself
entrapped. He glories, however, in his crimes, and as they set on him
kills Osmin, himself falling dead in the melee. The Cardinal is forgiven,
Leonora and Alonzo are united, whilst Philip ascends the throne.
SOURCE.
_Abdelazer; or, the Moor's Revenge_ is an alteration of the robustious
_Lust's Dominion; or, the _Lascivious Queen_, printed 12mo, 1657, and then
attributed to Marlowe, who was certainly not the author. It is now
generally identified with _The Spanish Moor's Tragedy_ by Dekker
(Haughton and Day, 1600), although, as Fleay justly says, there is 'an
under-current of pre-Shakespearean work' unlike either Dekker or Day.
There are marked crudities of form and a rough conduct of plot which
stamp it as of very early origin. Probably it was emended and pruned by
the three collaborators.
Although often keeping close to her original, Mrs. Behn has dealt with
the somewhat rude material in a very apt and masterly way: she has, to
advantage, omitted the old King, Emanuel, King of Portugal, Alvero,
father to Maria (Florella), and the two farcical friars, Crab and Cole;
she adds Elvira, and whereas in _Lust's Dominion_ the Queen at the
conclusion is left alive, declaiming:--
'I'll fly unto some solitary residence
When I'll spin out the remnant of my life
In true contrition for my past offences.'--
Mrs. Behn far more dramatically kills her Isabella. Perhaps the famous
assassination of Henri III of France by the Dominican, Jacques Clement,
gave a hint for Roderigo masqued as a monk.
The sexual passion, the predominance of which in this tragedy a recent
critic has not a little carpingly condemned, is entirely natural in such
an untamed savage as Abdelazer, whilst history affords many a parallel to
the lascivious Queen.
THEATRICAL HISTORY.
_Abdelazer; or, The Moor's Revenge_ was first produced at the Duke's
Theatre in Dorset Garden during the late autumn of 1677. It was supported
by a strong cast, and Betterton, whose Othello, Steele--writing
exquisitely in the _Tatler_--seems to have considered artistically quite
perfect, was no doubt n wonderful representative of the ferocious Afric.
The effective role of Queen Isabella fell to Mrs. Mary Lee, the first
tragedienne of the day, Mrs. Marshall, the leading lady of the King's
Company, having at this time just retired from the stage. [Footnote: Her
last role was Berenice in Crowne's heroic tragedy, _The Destruction of
Jerusalem_ (1677).] It is interesting to notice that Mrs. Barry on her
way to fame played the secondary part of Leonora.
_Abdelazer_ seems to have met with good success, and on Easter Monday,
April, 1695, the patentees, after the secession of Betterton, Mrs. Barry,
Mrs. Bracegirdle and their following to Lincoln's Inn Fields, chose the
tragedy to reopen Drury Lane. The Moor was played by George Powell, a
vigorous and passionate actor, who also spoke a new prologue written for
the nonce by Cibber, then a mere struggler in the ranks. Colley's verses
were accepted at the eleventh hour in default of better, and he tells us
how chagrined he was not to be allowed to deliver them in person. The
house was very full the first day, but on the morrow it was empty,
probably owing to the inexperience of many of the actors and a too hasty
rehearsing of the play.
On the stage _Abdelazer_ was superseded by Edward Young's _The Revenge_,
a tragedy largely borrowed in theme and design from Mrs. Behn, with
reminiscences of _Othello_. Produced at Drury Lane, 18 April, 1721, with
Mills, Booth, Wilks, Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Horton in the cast, it attained
considerable success, and Zanga, the Moor, was long a favourite part with
our greatest actors even down to the days of Kean, who excelled in it,
and Macready. _The Revenge_ is not without merit, and it stands out well
before the lean and arid tragedies of its time, but this, unfortunately,
is not much to say. It is not for a moment to be compared with the
magnificent tapestry of _Abdelazer_, woven though the latter may be in
colours strong and daring.
ABDELAZER; or, The Moor's Revenge.
PROLOGUE.
_Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,
That you have almost cool'd your Diligence;
For while we study or revive a Play,
You, like good Husbands, in the Country stay,
There frugally wear out your Summer Suit,
And in Prize Jerkin after Beagles toot;
Or, in Montero-Caps, at Feldfares shoot.
Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,
That they swear never to come up again,
But all their Charge of Clothes and Treat retrench,
To Gloves and Stockings for some Country Wench:
Even they, who in the Summer had Mishaps,
Send up to Town for Physick for their Claps.
The Ladies too are as resolved as they,
And having Debts unknown to them, they stay,
And with the Gain of Cheese and Poultry pay.
Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,
To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;
And in Discourse with Secresy report
State-News, that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
Those of them who are most refind, and gay,
Now learn the Songs of the last Summer's Play:
While the young Daughter does in private mourn,
Her Lovers in Town, and hopes not to return.
These Country Grievances too great appear:
But cruel Ladies, we have greater here;
You come not sharp, as you are wont, to Plays;
But only on the first and second Days:
This made our Poet, in her Visits, look
What new strange Courses, for your time you took,
And to her great Regret she found too soon,
Damn'd Beasts and Ombre spent the Afternoon;
So that we cannot hope to see you here
Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
Suppose you should have Luck--
Yet sitting up so late, as I am told,
You'll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold:
And what each Lady of another says,
Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
_Ferdinand_, a young King of Spain, in love with
_Florella_. Mr. _Harris_.
_Philip_, his Brother. Mr. _Smith_.
_Akdelazer_, the Moor. Mr. _Betterton_.
_Mendozo_, Prince Cardinal, in love with the Queen. Mr. _Medburn_.
_Alonzo_, a young Nobleman of _Spain_, contracted to
_Leonora_. Mr. _Crasbie_.
_Roderigo_, a Creature to the Moor, Mr. _Norris_.
_Antonio_, |
_Sebastian_, Two Officers of _Phillip's_. | Mr. _John Lee_.
_Osmin_, | Mr. _Percivall_.
_Zarrack_, Moors and Officers to _Abdelazer_. | Mr. _Richards_.
_Ordonio_, a Courtier.
A Swain, and Shepherds.
Courtiers, Officers, Guards, Soldiers, Moors, Pages, and Attendants.
WOMEN.
_Isabella_, Queen of _Spain_, Mother to _Ferdinand_
and _Philip_, in love with _Abdelazer_. Mrs. _Lee_.
_Leonora_, her Daughter, Sister to _Ferdinand_
and _Philip_. Mrs. _Barrey_.
_Florella_, Wife to _Abdelazer_, and Sister to Mrs. _Betterton_.
_Alonzo_.
_Elvira_, Woman to the Queen. Mrs. _Osborne_.
A Nymph, and Shepherdesses.
Other Women Attendants.
SCENE _Spain_, and in the Camp.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _A rich Chamber_.
_A Table with Lights_, Abdelazer _sullenly leaning his Head
on his Hands: after a little while, still Musick plays_.
SONG.
_Love _in fantastick Triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh Pains he did create,
And strange Tyrannick Pow'r he shewed;
From thy bright Eyes he took his Fires,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took Desires,
Enough t'undo the amorous World.
From me he took his Sighs and Tears,
From thee his Pride and Cruelty;
From me his Languishments and Fears,
And ev'ry killing Dart from thee:
Thus thou, and I, the God have arrri'd,
And set him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free_.
[_After which he rouzes, and gazes_.
_Abd_. On me this Musick lost?--this Sound on me
That hates all Softness?--What, ho, my Slaves!
_Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.
_Osm_. My gracious Lord--
[_Enter_ Queen, Elvira.
_Qu_. My dearest _Abdelazer_--
_Abd_. Oh, are you there?--Ye Dogs, how came she in?
Did I not charge you on your Lives to watch,
That none disturb my Privacy?
_Qu_. My gentle _Abdelazer_, 'tis thy Queen,
Who 'as laid aside the Business of her State,
To wanton in the kinder Joys of Love--
Play all your sweetest Notes, such as inspire
The active Soul with new and soft Desire,
[_To_ the Musick, they play softly.
Whilst we from Eyes--thus dying, fan the Fire.
[_She sits down by him_.
_Abd_. Cease that ungrateful Noise.
[_Musick_ ceases.
_Qu_. Can ought that I command displease my Moor?
_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.
_Qu_. Nay, prithee be more kind.
_Abd_. Nay, prithee, good Queen, leave me--I am dull,
Unfit for Dalliance now.
_Qu_. Why dost thou frown?--to whom was that Curse sent?
_Abd_. To thee--
_Qu_. To me?--it cannot be--to me, sweet Moor?--
No, no, it cannot--prithee smile upon me--
Smile, whilst a thousand Cupids shall descend
And call thee Jove, and wait upon thy Smiles,
Deck thy smooth Brow with Flowers;
Whilst in my Eyes, needing no other Glass,
Thou shalt behold and wonder at thy Beauty.
_Abd_. Away, away, be gone--
_Qu_. Where hast thou learnt this Language, that can say
But those rude Words--Away, away, be gone?
Am I grown ugly now?
_Abd_. Ugly as Hell--
_Qu_. Didst thou not love me once, and swore that Heav'n
Dwelt in my Face and Eyes?
_Abd_. Thy Face and Eyes!--Baud, fetch me here a Glass,
[_To_ Elvira.
And thou shalt see the Balls of both those Eyes
Burning with Fire of Lust:
That Blood that dances in thy Cheeks so hot,
That have not I to cool it
Made an Extraction even of my Soul,
Decay'd my Youth, only to feed thy Lust?
And wou'dst thou still pursue me to my Grave?
_Qu_. All this to me, my _Abdelazer_?
_Abd_. I cannot ride through the _Castilian_ Streets,
But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me,
And cry--That's he that does abuse our King--
There goes the Minion of the _Spanish_ Queen,
Who, on the lazy Pleasures of his Love,
Spends the Revenues of the King of _Spain_--
This many-headed Beast your Lust has arm'd.
_Qu_. How dare you, Sir, upbraid me with my Love?
_Abd_. I will not answer thee, nor hear thee speak.
_Qu_. Not hear me speak!--Yes, and in Thunder too;
Since all my Passion, all my soft Intreaties
Can do no good upon thee,
I'll see (since thou hast banish'd all thy Love,
That Love, to which I've sacrific'd my Honour)
If thou hast any Sense of Gratitude,
For all the mighty Graces I have done thee.
_Abd_. Do;--and in thy Story too, do not leave out
How dear those mighty Graces I have purchas'd;
My blooming Youth, my healthful vigorous Youth,
Which Nature gave me for more noble Actions
Than to lie fawning at a Woman's Feet,
And pass my Hours in Idleness and Love--
If I cou'd blush, I shou'd thro all this Cloud
Send forth my Sense of Shame into my Cheeks.
_Qu_. Ingrate!
Have I for this abus'd the best of Men,
My noble Husband?
Depriving him of all the Joys of Love,
To bring them all intirely to thy Bed;
Neglected all my Vows, and sworn 'em here a-new,
Here, on thy Lips--
Exhausted Treasures that wou'd purchase Crowns,
To buy thy Smiles--to buy a gentle Look;
And when thou didst repay me--blest the Giver?
Oh, _Abdelazer_, more than this I've done--
This very Hour, the last the King can live,
Urg'd by thy Witch-craft, I his Life betray'd;
And is it thus my Bounties are repaid?
Whate'er a Crime so great deserves from Heav'n,
By _Abdelazer_ might have been forgiven: [_Weeps_.
But I will be reveng'd by penitence,
And e'er the King dies, own my black Offence--
And yet that's not enough--_Elvira_-- [_Pauses_.
Cry murder, murder, help, help.
[_She and her Women cry aloud, he is surpriz'd,
the_ Queen _falls_, _he draws a Dagger_ at Elvira.
_Elv_. Help, murder, murder!--
_Abd_. Hell, what's this?--peace, Baud--'sdeath,
They'll raise the Court upon me, and then I'm lost--
My Queen--my Goddess--Oh raise your lovely Eyes,
I have dissembled Coldness all this while;
And that Deceit was but to try thy Faith.
[_Takes her up, sets her in a Chair, then kneels_.
Look up--by Heav'n,'twas Jealousy--
Pardon your Slave--pardon your poor Adorer.
_Qu_. Thou didst upbraid me with my shameful Passion.
_Abd_. I'll tear my Tongue out for its Profanation.
_Qu_. And when I woo'd thee but to smile upon me,
Thou cry'st--Away, I'm dull, unfit for Dalliance.
_Abd_. Call back the frighted Blood into thy Cheeks,
And I'll obey the Dictates of my Love,
And smile, and kiss, and dwell for ever here--
_Enter_ Osmin hastily.
How now--why star'st thou so?
_Osm_. My Lord--the King is dead.
_Abd_. The King dead!--'Twas time then to dissemble. [_Aside_.
What means this Rudeness?--
[_One knocks_.
_Enter_ Zarrack.
_Zar_. My Lord--the Cardinal inquiring for the Queen,
The Court is in an uproar, none can find her.
_Abd_. Not find the Queen! and wou'd they search her here?
_Qu_. What shall I do? I must not here be found.
_Abd_. Oh, do not fear--no Cardinal enters here;
No King--no God, that means to be secure--
Slaves guard the Doors, and suffer none to enter,
Whilst I, my charming Queen, provide for your Security--
You know there is a Vault deep under Ground,
Into the which the busy Sun ne'er enter'd,
But all is dark, as are the Shades of Hell,
Thro which in dead of Night I oft have pass'd,
Guided by Love, to your Apartment, Madam--
They knock agen--thither, my lovely Mistress, [_Knock_.
Suffer your self to be conducted--
_Osmin_, attend the Queen--descend in haste,
[Queen, Osm. _and_ Elv. _descend the Vault_.
My Lodgings are beset.
_Zar_. I cannot guard the Lodgings longer--
Don _Ordonio_, Sir, to seek the Queen--
_Abd_. How dare they seek her here?
_Zar_. My Lord, the King has swounded twice,
And being recover'd, calls for her Majesty.
_Abd_. The King not dead!--go, _Zafrack_, and aloud
Tell Don _Ordonio_ and the Cardinal,
He that dares enter here to seek the Queen,
[_Puts his Hand to his Sword_.
Had better snatch the She from the fierce side
Of a young amorous Lion, and 'twere safer.--
Again, more knocking!--
[_Knocking_.
_Zar_. My gracious Lord, it is your Brother, Don _Alonzo_.
_Abd_. I will not have him enter--I am disorder'd.
_Zar_. My Lord, 'tis now too late.
_Enter_ Alonzo.
_Alon_. Saw you not the Queen, my Lord?
_Abd_. My Lord!
_Alon_. Was not the Queen here with you?
_Abd_. The Queen with me!
Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister,
You, like your Sister, must be jealous too:
The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil!
A Slave of _Barbary_! for so
Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don,
Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins
Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.--
My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life
Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish'd
By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean.
How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv'd
E'er he would yield to part with Life and Empire:
Methinks I see him cover'd o'er with Blood,
Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer'd.
I was but young, yet old enough to grieve,
Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters:
For then began my Slavery; and e'er since
Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn,
Which crown'd the sacred Temples of my Father,
And shou'd adorn mine now--shou'd! nay, and must--
Go tell him what I say--'twill be but Death--
Go, Sir,--the Queen's not here.
_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou'd,
I've no old King to tell--the King is dead--
And I am answer'd, Sir, to what I came for,
And so good night.
[_Exit_.
_Abd_. Now all that's brave and villain seize my Soul,
Reform each Faculty that is not ill,
And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance.
Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods,
For which they form'd their Thunder,
Till Man usurp'd their Power, and by Revenge
Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing.
And thou, almighty Love,
Dance in a thousand forms about my Person,
That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame,
May be bewitch'd, and dote upon me still;
Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame
To set all _Spain_ on fire.--
Mischief, erect thy Throne,
And sit on high; here, here upon my Head.
Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy:
The influence of this--must raise my Glory high.
[_Pointing to his Sword.
[Exit_.
SCENE II. _A Room in the Palace_.
_Enter_ Ferdinand _weeping_, Ordonio _bearing the Crown,
followed by_ Alonzo, _leading_ Leonora _weeping_; Florella,
Roderigo, Mendozo, _met by the_ Queen _weeping_;
Elvira _and Women_.
_Qu_. What doleful Cry was that, which like the Voice
Of angry Heav'n struck thro my trembling Soul?
Nothing but horrid Shrieks, nothing but Death;
Whilst I, bowing my Knees to the cold Earth,
Drowning my Cheeks in Rivulets of Tears,
Sending up Prayers in Sighs, t' implore from Heaven
Health for the Royal Majesty of _Spain_--
All cry'd, the Majesty of _Spain_ is dead.
Whilst the sad Sound flew through the ecchoing Air,
And reach'd my frighted Soul--Inform my Fears,
Oh my _Fernando_, oh my gentle Son--
[_Weeps_.
_King_. Madam, read here the truth, if looks can shew
That which I cannot speak, and you wou'd know:
The common Fare in ev'ry face appears;
A King's great loss the publick Grief declares,
But 'tis a Father's Death that claims my Tears.
[Card. _leads in the_ Queen _attended_.
_Leon_. Ah, Sir!
If you thus grieve, who ascend by what y'ave lost,
To all the Greatness that a King can boast;
What Tributes from my Eyes and Heart are due,
Who've lost at once a King and Father too?
_King_. My _Leonora_ cannot think my Grief
Can from those empty Glories find relief;
Nature within my Soul has equal share,
And that and Love surmount my Glory there.
Had Heav'n continu'd Royal _Philip's_ Life,
And giv'n me bright _Florella_ for a Wife,
[_Bows to_ Florella.
To Crown and Scepters I had made no claim,
But ow'd my Blessings only to my Flame.
But Heav'n well knew in giving thee away, [_To_ Flor.
I had no bus'ness for another Joy. [_Weeps_.
The King, _Alanzo_, with his dying Breath,
[_Turns to_ Alon. _and_ Leon.
To you my beauteous Sister did bequeath;
And I his Generosity approve,
And think you worthy _Leonora's_ Love.
_Enter_ Card. _and_ Queen _weeping_.
_Alon_. Too gloriously my Services are paid,
In the possession of this Royal Maid,
To whom my guilty Heart durst ne'er aspire,
But rather chose to languish in its Fire.
_Enter_ Philip _in a Rage_, Antonio _and_ Sebastian.
_Phil_. I know he is not dead; what envious Powers
Durst snatch him hence? he was all great and good,
As fit to be ador'd as they above.
Where is the Body of my Royal Father?
That Body which inspir'd by's sacred Soul,
Aw'd all the Universe with ev'ry Frown,
And taught 'em all Obedience with his Smiles.
Why stand you thus distracted--Mother--Brother--
My Lords--Prince Cardinal--
Has Sorrow struck you dumb?
Is this my Welcome from the Toils of War?
When in his Bosom I shou'd find repose,
To meet it cold and pale!--Oh, guide me to him,
And with my Sighs I'll breathe new Life into't.
_King_. There's all that's left of Royal _Philip_ now,
[Phil, _goes out_.
Pay all thy Sorrow there--whilst mine alone
Are swoln too high t' admit of Lookers on.
[_Ex_. King _weeping_.
Philip _returns weeping_.
_Phil_. His Soul is fled to all Eternity;
And yet methought it did inform his Body,
That I, his darling _Philip_, was arriv'd
With Conquest on my Sword; and even in Death
Sent me his Joy in Smiles.
_Qu_. If Souls can after Death have any Sense
Of human things, his will be proud to know
That _Philip_ is a Conqueror.
_Enter_ Abdelazer.
But do not drown thy Laurels thus in Tears,
Such Tributes leave to us, thou art a Soldier.
_Phil_. Gods! this shou'd be my Mother--
_Men_. It is, great Sir, the Queen.
_Phil_. Oh, she's | 849.990134 |
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THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
By REX BEACH
Author of "THE SILVER HORDE" "THE SPOILERS" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.
Illustrated
TO
MY WIFE
CONTENTS
I. VICTORY
II. THE TRAIL DIVIDES
III. A GAP
IV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES
V. A REMEDY IS PROPOSED
VI. IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED
VII. THE REWARD OF MERIT
VIII. EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND
IX. SPANISH LAW
X. A CHANGE OF PLAN
XI. THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. CORTLANDT
XII. A NIGHT AT TABOGA
XIII. CHIQUITA
XIV. THE PATH THAT LED NOWHERE
XV. ALIAS JEFFERSON LOCKE
XVI. "8838"
XVII. GARAVEL THE BANKER
XVIII. THE SIEGE OF MARIA TORRES
XIX. "LA TOSCA"
XX. AN AWAKENING
XXI. THE REST OF THE FAMILY
XXII. A CHALLENGE AND A CONFESSION
XXIII. A PLOT AND A SACRIFICE
XXIV. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION
XXV. CHECKMATE!
XXVI. THE CRASH
XXVII. A QUESTION
XXVIII. THE ANSWER
XXIX. A LAST APPEAL
XXX. DARWIN K ANTHONY
THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
I
VICTORY
It was a crisp November night. The artificial brilliance of Broadway
was rivalled by a glorious moonlit sky. The first autumn frost was in
the air, and on the side-streets long rows of taxicabs were standing,
their motors blanketed, their chauffeurs threshing their arms to rout
the cold. A few well-bundled cabbies, perched upon old-style hansoms,
were barking at the stream of hurrying pedestrians. Against a
background of lesser lights myriad points of electric signs flashed
into everchanging shapes, winking like huge, distorted eyes; fanciful
designs of liquid fire ran up and down the walls or blazed forth in
lurid colors. From the city's canons came an incessant clanging roar,
as if a great river of brass and steel were grinding its way toward the
sea.
Crowds began to issue from the theatres, and the lines of waiting
vehicles broke up, filling the streets with the whir of machinery and
the clatter of hoofs. A horde of shrill-voiced urchins pierced the
confusion, waving their papers and screaming the football scores at the
tops of their lusty lungs, while above it all rose the hoarse tones of
carriage callers, the commands of traffic officers, and the din of
street-car gongs.
In the lobby of one of the playhouses a woman paused to adjust her
wraps, and, hearing the cries of the newsboys, petulantly exclaimed:
"I'm absolutely sick of football. That performance during the third act
was enough to disgust one."
Her escort smiled. "Oh, you take it too seriously," he said. "Those
boys don't mean anything. That was merely Youth--irrepressible Youth,
on a tear. You wouldn't spoil the fun?"
"It may have been Youth," returned his companion, "but it sounded more
like the end of the world. It was a little too much!"
A bevy of shop-girls came bustling forth from a gallery exit.
"Rah! rah! rah!" they mimicked, whereupon the cry was answered by a
hundred throats as the doors belched forth the football players and
their friends. Out they came, tumbling, pushing, jostling; greeting
scowls and smiles with grins of insolent good-humor. In their hands
were decorated walking-sticks and flags, ragged and tattered as if from
long use in a heavy gale. Dignified old gentlemen dived among them in
pursuit of top-hats; hysterical matrons hustled daughters into
carriages and slammed the doors.
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" shrilled the newsboys. "Full account of the big game!"
A youth with a ridiculous little hat and heliotrope socks dashed into
the street, where, facing the crowd, he led a battle song of his
university. Policemen set their shoulders to the mob, but, though they
met with no open resistance, they might as well have tried to dislodge
a thicket of saplings. To-night football was king.
Out through the crowd came a score of deep-chested young men moving
together as if to resist an attack, whereupon a mighty roar went up.
The cheer-leader increased his antics, and the barking yell changed to
a measured chant, to the time of which the army marched down the street
until the twenty athletes dodged in through the revolving doors of a
cafe, leaving Broadway rocking with the tumult.
All the city was football-mad, it seemed, for no sooner had the
new-comers entered the restaurant than the diners rose to wave napkins
or to cheer. Men stepped upon chairs and craned for a better sight of
them; women raised their voices in eager questioning. A gentleman in
evening dress pointed out the leader of the squad to his companions,
explaining:
"That is Anthony--the big chap. He's Darwin K. Anthony's son. You've
heard about the Anthony bill at Albany?"
"Yes, and I saw this fellow play football four years ago. Say! That was
a game."
"He's a worthless sort of chap, isn't he?" remarked one of the women,
when the squad had disappeared up the stairs.
"Just a rich man's son, that's all. But he certainly could play
football."
"Didn't I read that he had been sent to jail recently?"
"No doubt. He was given thirty days."
"What! in PRISON?" questioned another, in a shocked voice.
"Only for speeding. It was his third offence, and his father let him
take his medicine."
"How cruel!"
"Old man Anthony doesn't care for this sort of thing. He's right, too.
All this young fellow is good for is to spend money."
Up in the banquet-hall, however, it was evident that Kirk Anthony was
more highly esteemed by his mates than by the public at large. He was
their hero, in fact, and in a way he deserved it. For three years
before his graduation he had been the heart and sinew of the university
team, and for the four years following he had coached them, preferring
the life of an athletic trainer to the career his father had offered
him. And he had done his chosen work well.
Only three weeks prior to the hard gruel of the great game the eleven
had received a blow that had left its supporters dazed and despairing.
There had been a scandal, of which the public had heard little and the
students scarcely more, resulting in the expulsion of the five best
players of the team | 849.990281 |
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Produced by Tom Roch, Carla Foust, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images produced by Core Historical
Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University)
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE COUNTRY COMMUNITY
THE EVOLUTION OF
THE COUNTRY
COMMUNITY
A STUDY IN RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY
BY
WARREN H. WILSON
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY LUTHER H. CARY
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON
TO
MISS ANNA B. TAFT
WHO FOUND THE WAY OF
RURAL LEADERSHIP
IN SERVICE ON THE NEGLECTED BORDERS OF
NEW ENGLAND TOWNS
PREFACE
The significance of the most significant things is rarely seized at the
moment of their appearance. Years or generations afterwards hindsight
discovers what foresight could not see.
It is possible, I fear it is even probable, that earnest and intelligent
leaders of organized religious activity, like thousands of the rank and
file in parish work, will not immediately see the bearings and realize
the full importance of the ideas and the purposes that are clearly set
forth in this new and original book by my friend and sometime student,
Dr. Warren H. Wilson. That fact will in no wise prevent or even delay
the work which these ideas and purposes are mapping out and pushing to
realization.
The Protestant churches have completed one full and rounded period of
their existence. The age of theology in which they played a conspicuous
part has passed away, never to return. The world has entered into the
full swing of the age of science and practical achievement. What the
work, the usefulness, and the destiny of the Protestant churches shall
henceforth be will depend entirely upon their own vision, their common
sense, and their adaptability to a new order of things. Embodying as
they do resources, organization, the devotion and the energy of earnest
minds, they are in a position to achieve results of wellnigh
incalculable value if they apply themselves diligently and wisely to the
task of holding communities and individuals up to the high standard of
that "Good Life" which the most gifted social philosopher of all ages
told us, more than two thousand years ago, is the object for which
social activities and institutions exist.
In one vast field of our social territory the problem of maintaining the
good life has become peculiar in its conditions and difficult in the
extreme. The rural community has suffered in nearly every imaginable way
from the rapid and rather crude development of our industrial
civilization. The emigration of strong, ambitious men to the towns, the
substitution of alien labor for the young and sturdy members of the
large American families of other days, the declining birth rate and the
disintegration of a hearty and cheerful neighborhood life, all have
worked together to create a problem of the rural neighborhood, the
country school and the country church unique in its difficulties,
sometimes in its discouragements.
To deal with this problem two things are undeniably necessary. There
must be a thorough examination of it, a complete analysis and mastery of
its factors and conditions. The social survey has become as imperative
for the country pastor as the geological survey is for the mining
engineer. And when the facts and conditions are known, the church must
resolutely set about the task of dealing with them in the practical
spirit of a practical age, without too much attention to the traditions
and the handicaps of an age that has gone by.
It would not be possible, I think, to present these two aspects of the
problem of the country parish with more of first hand knowledge, or with
more of the wisdom that is born of sympathy and reverence for all that
is good in both the past and the present than the reader will find in
Dr. Wilson's pages. I welcome and commend this book as a fine product of
studies and labors at once scientific and practical.
FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION IX
I THE PIONEER 1
II THE LAND FARMER 18
III THE EXPLOITER 32
IV THE HUSBANDMAN 48
V EXCEPTIONAL COMMUNITIES 62
VI GETTING A LIVING 79
VII THE COMMUNITY 91
VIII THE MARGIN OF THE COMMUNITY 108
| 849.997095 |
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Produced by Christine Aldridge and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcribers Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. 4 minor spelling corrections have been made. See list at end of text.
Edition d'Elite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from
the Dramatists," etc._
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume XII
Japanese and Chinese
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1898, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
[Illustration: GREAT GATE NIKKO.]
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
THE FIRST OF THE MIKADOS 5
HOW CIVILIZATION CAME TO JAPAN 12
YAMATO-DAKE, A HERO OF ROMANCE 19
JINGU, THE AMAZON OF JAPAN 27
THE DECLINE OF THE MIKADOS 35
HOW THE TAIRA AND THE MINAMOTO FOUGHT FOR POWER 41
THE BAYARD OF JAPAN 51
THE HOJO TYRANNY 59
THE TARTAR INVASION OF JAPAN 67
NOBUNAGA AND THE FALL OF THE BUDDHISTS 73
HOW A PEASANT BOY BECAME PREMIER 80
THE FOUNDER OF YEDO AND OF MODERN FEUDALISM 86
THE PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN 97
THE DECLINE AND FALL OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN 106
THE CAPTIVITY OF CAPTAIN GOLOWNIN 113
THE OPENING OF JAPAN 123
THE MIKADO COMES TO HIS OWN AGAIN 133
HOW THE EMPIRE OF CHINA AROSE AND GREW 142
CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE 150
THE FOUNDER OF THE CHINESE EMPIRE 156
KAOTSOU AND THE DYNASTY OF THE HANS 172
THE EMPRESS POISONER OF CHINA 180
THE INVASION OF THE TARTAR STEPPES 186
THE "CRIMSON EYEBROWS" 192
THE CONQUEST OF CENTRAL ASIA 197
THE SIEGE OF SINCHING 202
FROM THE SHOEMAKER'S BENCH TO THE THRONE 205
THREE NOTABLE WOMEN 212
THE REIGN OF TAITSONG THE GREAT 217
A FEMALE RICHELIEU 223
THE TARTARS AND GENGHIS KHAN 228
HOW THE FRIARS FARED AMONG THE TARTARS 236
THE SIEGE OF SIANYANG 242
THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF CHINA 249
THE PALACE OF KUBLAI KHAN 255
THE EXPULSION OF THE MONGOLS 264
THE RISE OF THE MANCHUS 272
THE MANCHU CONQUEST OF CHINA 281
THE CAREER OF A DESERT CHIEF 290
THE RAID OF THE GOORKHAS 299
HOW EUROPE ENTERED CHINA 306
THE BURNING OF THE SUMMER PALACE 315
A GREAT CHRISTIAN MOVEMENT AND ITS FATE 323
COREA AND ITS NEIGHBORS 330
THE BATTLE OF THE IRON-CLADS 339
PROGRESS IN JAPAN AND CHINA 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
JAPANESE AND CHINESE.
PAGE
GREAT GATE, NIKKO _Frontispiece._
FUJIYAMA 10
SHUZENJI VILLAGE, IDZU 36
FARMERS PLANTING RICE SPROUTS, JAPAN 52
LETTER-WRITING IN JAPAN 63
KARAMO TEMPLE, NIKKO 78
RETURNING FROM MARKET, JAPAN 98
MAIN STREET, YOKOHAMA 108
CHUSENJI ROAD AND DAIYA RIVER 132
A CHINESE IRRIGATION WHEEL 165
AN ITINERANT COBBLER, CANTON, CHINA 180
A CHINESE PAGODA 197
WATER CART, PEKIN, CHINA 210
SHANGHAI, FROM THE WATER-SIDE 222
MARKET SCENE IN SHANGHAI 255
CHINESE GAMBLERS 281
CHAIR AND CAGO CARRIERS 306
STREET SCENE, PEKIN, CHINA 318
A BRONZE-WORKER'S SHOP 330
THE PEKIN GATE 347
* * * * *
_THE FIRST OF THE MIKADOS._
The year 1 in Japan is the same date as 660 B.C. of the Christian era,
so that Japan is now in its twenty-sixth century. Then everything began.
Before that date all is mystery and mythology. After that date there is
something resembling history, though in the early times it is an odd
mixture of history and fable. As for the gods of ancient Japan, they
were many in number, and strange stories are told of their doings. Of
the early men of the island kingdom we know very little. When the
ancestors of the present Japanese arrived there they found the islands
occupied by a race of savages, a people thickly covered with hair, and
different in looks from all the other inhabitants of Asia. These in time
were conquered, and only a few of them now remain,--known as Ainos, and
dwelling in the island of Yezo.
In the Japanese year 1 appeared a conqueror, Jimmu Tenno by name, the
first of the mikados or emperors. He was descended from the goddess of
the Sun, and made his home at the foot of Kirishima, a famous mountain
in the island of Kiushiu, the most southerly of the four large islands
of Japan. As to the smaller islands of that anchored empire, it may be
well to say that they form a vast multitude of all shapes and sizes,
being in all nearly four thousand in number. The Sea of Japan is truly
a sea of islands.
By way of the sailing clouds, and the blue sky which rests upon
Kirishima's snowy top, the gods stepped down from heaven to earth. Down
this celestial path came Jimmu's ancestors, of whom there were four
between him and the mighty Sun goddess. Of course no one is asked to
accept this for fact. Somewhat too many of the fathers of nations were
sons of the gods. It may be that Jimmu was an invader from some foreign
land, or came from a band of colonists who had settled at the mountain's
foot some time before, but the gods have the credit of his origin.
At any rate, Hiuga, as the region in which he dwelt was called, was not
likely to serve the ends of a party of warlike invaders, there being no
part of Japan less fertile. So, as the story goes, Jimmu, being then
fifty years old, set out to conquer some richer realm. He had only a few
followers, some being his brothers, the others his retainers, all of
them, in the language of the legends, being _kami_, or gods. Jimmu was
righteous; the savages were wicked, though they too had descended from
the gods. These savages dwelt in villages, each governed by a head-man
or chief. They fought hard for their homes, and were not easily driven
away.
The story of Jimmu's exploits is given in the _Kojiki_, or "Book of
Ancient Traditions," the oldest book of Japan. There is another, called
the _Nihongi_, nearly as old, being composed in 720 A.D. These give us
all that is known of the ancient history of the island, but are so full
of myths and fables that very little of the story is to be trusted.
Histories of later times are abundant, and form the most important part
of the voluminous literature of Japan. The islanders are proud of their
history, and have preserved it with the greatest care, the annals of
cities and families being as carefully preserved as those of the state.
Jimmu the conqueror, as his story is told in the _Kojiki_, met strange
and frightful enemies on his march. Among them were troops of spiders of
colossal size and frightful aspect, through whose threatening ranks he
had to fight his way. Eight-headed serpents had also to be dealt with,
and hostile deities--wicked gods who loved not the pious
adventurer--disputed his path. Some of these he rid himself of by
strength of arm and sharpness of sword, some by shrewdness of wit. His
line of march lay to Usa, in the district of Buzen; thence to Okada,
where he took ship and made his way through the windings of the Suwo
Nada, a part of the Inland Sea of Japan.
Landing in Aki, Jimmu built himself a palace, and dwelt there for seven
years, after which he sought the region of Bizen, where for eight years
more he lived in peace. Then, stirred once more by his in-dwelling love
of adventure, he took to the sea again with his faithful band and sailed
to the eastward. Rough waves and swift currents here disputed his way,
and it was with difficulty that he at length landed on Hondo, the main
island of Japan, near where the city of Osaka now stands. He named the
spot | 850.028065 |
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E-text prepared by Mary Glenn Krause, MFR, Stephen Hutcheson, 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 55845-h.htm or 55845-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55845/55845-h/55845-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/55845/55845-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. | 850.18512 |
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[Illustration: LISBETH LONGFROCK]
LISBETH LONGFROCK
TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF HANS AANRUD
BY
LAURA E. POULSSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
OTHAR HOLMBOE
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. LONDON
ATLANTA. DALLAS. COLUMBUS. SAN FRANCISCO
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
LAURA E. POULSSON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The Athenaeum Press
GINN AND COMPANY. PROPRIETORS.
BOSTON. U.S.A.
PREFACE
Hans Aanrud's short stories are considered by his own countrymen as
belonging to the most original and artistically finished life pictures
that have been produced by the younger _literati_ of Norway. They
are generally concerned with peasant character, and present in true
balance the coarse and fine in peasant nature. The style of speech is
occasionally over-concrete for sophisticated ears, but it is not
unwholesome. Of weak or cloying sweetness--so abhorrent to Norwegian
taste--there is never a trace.
_Sidsel Sidsaerk_ was dedicated to the author's daughter on her eighth
birthday, and is doubtless largely reminiscent of Aanrud's own
childhood. If I have been able to give a rendering at all worthy of the
original, readers of _Lisbeth Longfrock_ will find that the whole story
breathes a spirit of unaffected poetry not inconsistent with the common
life which it depicts. This fine blending of the poetic and commonplace
is another characteristic of Aanrud's writings.
While translating the book I was living in the region where the scenes
of the story are laid, and had the benefit of local knowledge
concerning terms used, customs referred to, etc. No pains were spared
in verifying particulars, especially through elderly people on the
farms, who could best explain the old-fashioned terms and who had a
clear remembrance of obsolescent details of saeter life. For this
welcome help and for elucidations through other friends I wish here to
offer my hearty thanks.
Being desirous of having the conditions of Norwegian farm life made as
clear as possible to young English and American readers, I felt that
several illustrations were necessary and that it would be well for
these to be the work of a Norwegian. To understand how the sun can be
already high in the heavens when it rises, and how, when it sets, the
shadow of the western mountain can creep as quickly as it does from the
bottom of the valley up the opposite <DW72>, one must have some
conception of the narrowness of Norwegian valleys, with steep mountain
ridges on either side. I felt also that readers would be interested in
pictures showing how the dooryard of a well-to-do Norwegian farm looks,
how the open fireplace of the roomy kitchen differs from our
fireplaces, how tall and slender a Norwegian stove is, built with
alternating spaces and heat boxes, several stories high, and how
Crookhorn and the billy goat appeared when about to begin their grand
tussle up at Hoel Saeter.
_Sidsel Sidsaerk_ has given much pleasure to old and young. I hope that
_Lisbeth Longfrock_ may have the same good fortune.
LAURA E. POULSSON
HOPKINTON, MASSACHUSETTS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LISBETH LONGFROCK GOES TO HOEL FARM 1
II. LISBETH LONGFROCK AS SPINNING WOMAN 12
III. LEAVING PEEROUT CASTLE 22
IV. SPRING: LETTING THE ANIMALS OUT TO PASTURE 33
V. SUMMER: TAKING THE ANIMALS UP TO THE SAETER 52
VI. THE TAMING OF CROOKHORN 68
VII. HOME FROM THE SAETER 84
VIII. ON GLORY PEAK 98
IX. THE VISIT TO PEEROUT CASTLE 113
X. SUNDAY AT THE SAETER 129
XI. LISBETH APPOINTED HEAD MILKMAID 139
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LISBETH LONGFROCK _Frontispiece_
PAGE
HOEL FARM 4
THE BIG KITCHEN AT HOEL FARM 12
LISBETH'S ROOM UNDER THE STAIRS 34
THE VALLEY AND THE FARMS 52
UP AT THE SAETER 68
LISBETH LONGFROCK
CHAPTER I
LISBETH LONGFROCK GOES TO HOEL FARM
Bearhunter, the big, shaggy old dog at Hoel Farm, sat on the stone step
in front of the house, looking soberly around the spacious dooryard.
It was a clear, cold winter's day toward the beginning of spring, and
the sun shone brightly over the glittering snow. In spite of the bright
sunshine, however, Bearhunter would have liked to be indoors much
better than out, if his sense of responsibility had permitted; for his
paws ached with the cold, and he had to keep holding them up one after
another from the stone slab to keep from getting the "claw ache."
Bearhunter did not wish to risk that, because "claw ache" is very
painful, as every northern dog knows.
But to leave his post as watchman was not to be thought of just now,
for the pigs and the goats were out to-day. At this moment they were
busy with their separate affairs and behaving very well,--the pigs over
on the sunny side of the dooryard scratching themselves against the
corner of the cow house, and the goats gnawing bark from the big heap
of pine branches that had been laid near the sheep barn for their
special use. They looked as if they thought of nothing but their
scratching and gnawing; but Bearhunter knew well, from previous
experience, that no sooner would he go into the house than both pigs
and goats would come rushing over to the doorway and do all the
mischief they could. That big goat, Crookhorn,--the new one who had
come to the farm last autumn and whom Bearhunter had not yet brought
under discipline,--had already strayed in a roundabout way to the very
corner of the farmhouse, and was looking at Bearhunter in a
self-important manner, | 850.185855 |
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Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
By Reef and Palm
by
Louis Becke
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
CHALLIS THE DOUBTER
"'TIS IN THE BLOOD"
THE REVENGE OF MACY O'SHEA
THE RANGERS OF TIA KAU
PALLOU'S TALOI
A BASKET OF BREAD-FRUIT
ENDERBY'S COURTSHIP
LONG CHARLEY'S GOOD LITTLE WIFE
THE METHODICAL MR BURR OF MAJURU
A TRULY GREAT MAN
THE DOCTOR'S WIFE
THE FATE OF THE ALIDA
THE CHILIAN BLUEJACKET
BRANTLEY OF VAHITAHI
INTRODUCTION
When in October, 1870, I sailed into the harbour of Apia, Samoa, in the
ill-fated ALBATROSS, Mr Louis Becke was gaining his first experiences
of island life as a trader on his own account by running a cutter
between Apia and Savai'i.
It was rather a notable moment in Apia, for two reasons. In the first
place, the German traders were shaking in their shoes for fear of what
the French squadron might do to them, and we were the bearers of the
good news from Tahiti that the chivalrous Admiral Clouet, with a very
proper magnanimity, had decided not to molest them; and, secondly, the
beach was still seething with excitement over the departure on the
previous day of the pirate Pease, carrying with him the yet more
illustrious "Bully" Hayes.
It happened in this wise. A month or two before our arrival, Hayes had
dropped anchor in Apia, and some ugly stories of recent irregularities
in the labour trade had come to the ears of Mr Williams, the English
Consul. Mr Williams, with the assistance of the natives, very cleverly
seized his vessel in the night, and ran her ashore, and detained Mr
Hayes pending the arrival of an English man-of-war to which he could be
given in charge. But in those happy days there were no prisons | 850.189234 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=w8gBAAAAQAAJ
(Oxford University)
KISSING THE ROD.
LONDON:
HOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS,
PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
KISSING THE ROD.
A Novel.
BY EDMUND YATES,
AUTHOR OF "BROKEN TO HARNESS," "RUNNING THE GAUNTLET,"
"LAND AT LAST," ETC.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND.
1866.
[_All rights of translation and reproduction reserved_.]
Inscribed to
THE COUNTESS OF FIFE.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAP.
I. DAZZLED.
II. A MORNING CALL.
III. WITHIN THE PALE.
IV. MR. GUYON'S FRIEND.
V. HESTER GOULD.
VI. IN CHAMBERS.
VII. KATHARINE GUYON.
VIII. AMARYLLIS IN A MARQUEE.
IX. INVESTMENTS.
X. STRUGGLE.
XI. LEFT LAMENTING.
XII. VICTORY.
KISSING THE ROD.
CHAPTER I.
DAZZLED.
There was no name on the doorposts, nothing beyond the
number--"48"--to serve as a guide; and yet it may be doubted
whether any firm in the City was better known to the postman, the
bankers'-clerks, and all who had regular business to transact with
them, than that of Streightley and Son. The firm had been Streightley
and Son, and it had been located at 48 Bullion Lane, for the last
hundred and fifty years. They were money-brokers and scrip-sellers at
the time of the South-Sea bubble, and were among the very few who were
not ruined by that disastrous swindle. So little ruined were they that
they prospered by it, and in the next generation extended their
business and enlarged their profits; both of which, however, were
consider curtailed by rash speculations during the French Revolution
and the American War. Within the first quarter of the present century
the business of Streightley and Son recovered itself; and, under the
careful management of old Sam Streightley and his head clerk, Mr.
Fowler, the house became highly esteemed as one of the safest
bill-broking establishments in the City. It was not, however, until
young Mr. Robert, following the bounden career of all the eldest sons
of that family, joined the business, and, after close application, had
thoroughly mastered its details, that fortune could be said to have
smiled steadily on the firm. Young Mr. Robert's views were so large
and his daring so great, that his father, old Mr. Sam, at first stood
aghast, and had to be perpetually supplicated before he gave
permission to experiment on the least hazardous of all the young man's
suggestions; but after the son had been about two years a partner in
the firm it happened that the father was laid up with such a terrible
attack of gout as to be incapable of attending to business for months;
and when he at length obtained the physician's grudging assent to his
visiting the City he found things so prosperous, but withal so totally
changed, that the old gentleman was content to jog down to Bullion
Lane about three times a month until his death, which was not long in
overtaking him.
Prosperous and changed! Yes; no doubt about that. Up that staircase,
hitherto untrodden save by merchants'-clerks leaving bills for
acceptance or notices of bills due; by stags with sham prospectuses of
never-to-be-brought-out companies; or by third-rate City solicitors
giving the quasi-respectability of their names to impotent
semi-swindles, which, though they would never see the light, yet
afforded the means for creating an indisputable and meaty bill of
costs;--up that staircase now came heavy magnates of the City,
directors of the Bank of England, with short ill-made Oxford-mixture
trousers, and puckered coats, and alpaca umbrellas; or natty
stockbrokers, most of them a trifle horsy in garb, all with undeniable
linen, and good though large jewelry, carefully-cultivated whiskers,
and glossy boots. In the little waiting-room might be found an Irish
member of Parliament; the managing director of a great steam-shipping
company; a West-end dandy, with a letter of introduction from some
club acquaintance with a handle to his name, who idiotically imagined
that that handle would serve as a lever to raise money out of Robert
Streightley; a lawyer or two; and, occasionally the bronzed captain of
a steamer arrived with news from the Pacific; or some burnt and
bearded engineer fresh from the inspection of a silver mine in Central
America. A long purgatory, for the most part, did these gentlemen
spend in the little waiting-room, or in the clerk's room beyond it,
where they were exposed to the sharp fusillade of Mr. Fowler's eyes
and the keen glances of the two young men who assisted him. The only
people who were shown by the messenger at once into Mr. Streightley's
presence were the City editors of the various newspapers, and a very
prettily-appointed young gentleman, wise withal beyond his years, who
occasionally drove down to Bullion Lane from Downing Street in a
hansom cab, and who was private secretary to the Chancellor of the
Exchequer.
Robert Streightley had done all this by his own talent and
exertion--"on his own hook," as the Stock Exchange men phrased it. The
keenness of his business intellect was astounding. He seemed to sift a
proposition as it was being laid before him; and as soon as the
proposer ceased speaking, Robert Streightley closed with or
pooh-poohed the offer, with incontrovertible reasons for his decision.
He spoke out plainly and boldly before the oldest and the youngest who
sought his advice; he was neither deferential nor patronising; and
never sought to please--simply for the sake of pleasing--any of his
clients. The young men looked up to him in wonder, and spoke of him
over mid-day chops and sherry as a "cool card," a "long-headed chap,"
"just about one," and in other complimentary slangisms. The older men
scarcely knew what to make of him; they hated him for his daring and
success, for the dashing manner in which he was passing them all in
the race for wealth and distinction; and they would have well liked to
have shrugged their shoulders and hinted about his being "fast," and
"going ahead," and finally making a grand smash of it; but they had no
pretext. So long as Robert Streightley's business relations were
thoroughly sound and wholesome it | 850.244685 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
THE
MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
BY
GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS,
AUTHOR OF "FAUST," "PICKWICK ABROAD," "ROBERT MACAIRE,"
"WAGNER: THE WEHR-WOLF," &C., &C.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
VOL. III.
VOL. I. SECOND SERIES.
LONDON:
G. VICKERS, 3, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
MDCCCXLVII.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. FAUTLEY, "BONNER HOUSE" PRINTING OFFICE, SEACOAL LANE.
THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER I.—The Travelling Carriage 1
II.—Tom Rain and Old Death 4
III.—Bow Street 6
IV.—Esther de Medina 9
V.—The Appeal of Love 13
VI.—Dr. Lascelles 15
VII.—The Beautiful Patient 18
VIII.—Seven Dials 20
IX.—A Death-Scene.—Lock's Fields 23
X.—A Scene at the House of Sir Christopher Blunt 28
XI.—The Two Thousand Pounds.—Torrens Cottage 30
XII.—Adelais and Rosamond 33
XIII.—The Elopement 36
XIV.—Lady Hatfield and Dr. Lascelles.—Esther de Medina 39
XV.—The Opiate 42
XVI.—The Lover and the Uncle 43
XVII.—The Mysterious Letter.—Jacob 44
XVIII.—The Lovers 48
XIX.—Mr. Frank Curtis's Pleasant Adventure 51
XX.—Happiness.—The Diamond Merchant 55
XXI.—The Oath 59
XXII.—The Alarm.—The Letter 61
XXIII.—Old Death 64
XXIV.—Castle Street, Long Acre 67
XXV.—Matilda, the Country-Girl 70
XXVI.—The Lady's-Maid 73
XXVII.—London on a Rainy Evening.—A Scene in a Post-Chaise 75
XXVIII.—Tom Rain's Lodgings in Lock's Fields 77
XXIX.—The Mysteries of Old Death's Establishment 82
XXX.—The Store-Rooms 86
XXXI.—Another Deed of Infamy brought to Light 88
XXXII.—Rainford in the Subterranean 92
XXXIII.—Mrs. Martha Slingsby 94
XXXIV.—The Pious Lady 96
XXXV.—Mr. Sheepshanks 100
XXXVI.—The Baronet and his Mistress 102
XXXVII.—Tom Rain and Jacob 104
XXXVIII.—The History of Jacob Smith 107
XXXIX.—Continuation of the History of Jacob Smith 116
XL.—Conclusion of the History of Jacob Smith 120
XLI.—Fresh Alarms 126
XLII.—The Paragraph in the Newspaper 128
XLIII.—Lord Ellingham and Tom Rainford 131
XLIV.—Mr. Frank Curtis again 134
XLV.—Mr. <DW18>s and his Myrmidons 139
XLVI.—Explanations 141
XLVII.—Farther Explanations 144
XLVIII.—Lord Ellingham and Tom Rain 147
XLIX.—A Painful Interview 151
L.—The Lawyer's Office 155
LI.—Lord Ellingham in the Dungeon 157
LII.—Lord Ellingham's Exertions 162
LIII.—The Execution 164
LIV.—Galvanism 166
LV.—The Laboratory.—Esther de Medina 167
LVI.—A History of the Past 172
LVII.—A Father 185
LVIII.—The Resuscitated 188
LIX.—The Jew's Family 194
LX.—Sir Christopher Blunt's Domestic Hearth 196
LXI.—Captain O'Blunderbuss 198
LXII.—Frank's Embarrassments 202
LXIII.—The Meeting in Battersea Fields 204
LXIV.—Old Death and his Friend Tidmarsh 206
LXV.—The Examination 208
LXVI.—Mrs. Slingsby and the Baronet again 215
LXVII.—The Marriage.—Rosamond 219
LXVIII.—Dr. Wagtail.—Rosamond Torrens 222
LXIX.—Misery and Vice 229
LXX.—Tim the Snammer 232
LXXI.—The History of Tim the Snammer 234
LXXII.—Mr. and Mrs. Curtis 255
LXXIII.—Captain O'Blunderbuss again 260
LXXIV.—Three Months after Marriage 264
LXXV.—The Knight and the Captain 268
LXXVI.—Tim the Snammer and Josh Pedler out on Business 271
LXXVII.—The Father and Daughter 273
LXXVIII.—Retribution 276
LXXIX.—The Earl of Ellingham and Lady Hatfield again 279
LXXX.—Mrs. Slingsby and Mrs. Torrens 283
LXXXI.—Rosamond at Home 288
LXXXII.—The Forged Cheque 292
LXXXIII.—The Reward of Crime 295
LXXXIV.—Old Death's Party 299
LXXXV.—The History of a Livery Servant 303
LXXXVI.—Conclusion of the History of a Livery-servant 312
LXXXVII.—The Blackamoor 322
LXXXVIII.—Scenes at the Blackamoor's House 326
LXXXIX.—The Surprise.—Jeffreys and Old Death 331
XC.—The New Justice of the Peace 334
XCI.—Captain O'Blunderbuss again.—Another Strange Visitor 337
XCII.—The Confession 342
XCIII.—Newgate 344
XCIV.—"The Stout House." 349
XCV.—Clarence Villiers and his Aunt 354
XCVI.—Sir Christopher Blunt a Hero 357
XCVII.—Carlton House 360
XCVIII.—An Acquittal and a Sentence 363
XCVIX.—The Condition of the Working Classes 368
C.—The Earl of Ellingham and Esther de Medina 371
CI.—The Blackamoor's Strange Adventure 375
CII.—A State of Siege 380
CIII.—The Surprise.—A Change of Scene 384
CIV.—The Visit.—The Habeas Corpus 389
CV.—The King's Bench Prison 391
CVI.—A Farther Insight into the King's Bench 396
CVII.—A Tale of Sorrow 400
CVIII.—Conclusion of the Tale of Sorrow 408
CIX.—The Prisoners 413
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL. I.
SECOND SERIES.
For Woodcut on page 1 see page 5
For Woodcut on page 9 see page 15
For Woodcut on page 17 see page 22
For Woodcut on page 25 see page 31
For Woodcut on page 33 see page 37
OLD DEATH page 41
For Woodcut on page 49 see page 53
For Woodcut on page 57 see page 60
For Woodcut on page 65 see page 68
For Woodcut on page 73 see page 80
For Woodcut on page 81 see page 86
For Woodcut on page 89 see page 95
For Woodcut on page 97 see page 101
For Woodcut on page 105 see page 111
JACOB SMITH IN THE
POWER OF SATAN page 113
For Woodcut on page 121 see page 127
For Woodcut on page 129 see page 131
For Woodcut on page 137 see page 141
For Woodcut on page 145 see page 150
For Woodcut on page 153 see page 159
DR. LASCELLES page 161
For Woodcut on page 169 see page 176
For Woodcut on page 177 see page 176
For Woodcut on page 185 see page 189
For Woodcut on page 193 see page 198
For Woodcut on page 201 see page 205
For Woodcut on page 209 see page 210
For Woodcut on page 217 see page 224
For Woodcut on page 225 see page 229
TIM THE SNAMMER page 233
For Woodcut on page 241 see page 245
For Woodcut on page 242 see page 255
For Woodcut on page 257 see page 263
For Woodcut on page 265 see page 272
For Woodcut on page 273 see page 274
For Woodcut on page 281 see page 286
For Woodcut on page 289 see page 292
For Woodcut on page 297 see page 300
For Woodcut on page 305 see page 309
For Woodcut on page 313 see page 317
For Woodcut on page 321 see page 323
For Woodcut on page 329 see page 335
For Woodcut on page 337 see page 342
For Woodcut on page 345 see page 348
For Woodcut on page 353 see page 358
For Woodcut on page 361 see page 362
For Woodcut on page 369 see page 372
For Woodcut on page 377 see page 384
For Woodcut on page 385 see page 390
For Woodcut on page 393 see page 396
For Woodcut on page 401 see page 406
For Woodcut on page 409 see page 410
THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
THE TRAVELLING-CARRIAGE.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening of the 2nd of November, 1826,
that a travelling-carriage stopped, on its way to London, to change
horses at the principal hotel in the little town of Staines.
The inmates of the vehicle were two ladies:—an elderly domestic in
livery and a female attendant occupied the box.
The night was clear, fine, and frosty: the moon shone brightly; and the
carriage lamps threw a strong glare to a considerable distance in front
of the vehicle.
The active ostlers speedily unharnessed the four wearied steeds, and
substituted as many fresh ones in their place: the two postboys leapt
into their saddles; the landlord cried "All right!"—and the carriage
rolled rapidly away from the inn, the horses' shoes striking fire
against the stones.
"If there be any thing particularly calculated to raise the spirits,"
said one lady to the other, a few minutes after the chariot had left the
peaceful town behind, "it is travelling upon such a beauteous night as
this."
"I am delighted to observe that you _are_ in good spirits this evening,
my dear Lady Hatfield," was the reply. "After passing four long months
at Sir Ralph Walsingham's country seat, London will present fresh
attractions for your ladyship."
"My dear Miss Mordaunt," returned Lady Hatfield, in a serious tone, "you
are aware that I am indifferent to those formal parties and ceremonial
assemblies which are reckoned amongst the pleasures of the fashionable
world; and I can assure you that had not my uncle purported to return to
London in a few days, my own inclinations would have urged me to prolong
my stay at Walsingham Manor."
"For my part," said Miss Mordaunt, "I am quite delighted with the idea
of hastening back to the great metropolis. A summer in the country is
only tolerable because each day brings one nearer to the enjoyments of a
winter in town. But really, my dear Lady Hatfield, you are not
reasonable. Rich, young, and beautiful as you are—your own mistress—and
with the handsomest man in England dying to lay his coronet at your
feet——"
"I shall never marry, Julia," hastily interrupted Lady Hatfield. "Pray
let us change the conversation. A few minutes ago I was in excellent
spirits; and now——"
She paused—and a deep sigh escaped her bosom.
"Did I not say that you were quite unreasonable?" exclaimed her
companion. "Here am I—five years older than yourself,—for I do not mind
telling you, my dear friend, that I shall never see thirty again;—and
yet I have not renounced the idea of changing my condition. I know that
I am neither so good-looking nor so wealthy as you;—still I have my
little ambition. Sir Christopher Blunt would deem himself honoured were
I to smile graciously upon him; but my brother, the lieutenant—who, by
the by, expects his captaincy in a few days, thanks to the interest of
your kind uncle Sir Ralph—declares that if ever I marry a mere knight,
he will never speak to me again."
Lady Hatfield had fallen into a profound reverie, and paid not the
slightest regard to the confidential outpourings of her garrulous
companion.
Miss Mordaunt, who laboured under the pleasing impression that Lady
Hatfield's silence was occasioned by the deep interest which she took in
the present topic, continued to rattle away with her tongue as fast as
the carriage did with its wheels.
"I am sure it was a very great act of kindness in you to ask me to spend
the winter with you in London; for as papa is compelled to reside in
Ireland, in consequence of the unsettled state of his tenantry, I should
have been under the necessity of returning to the Emerald Isle, after my
four months' visit with you to Walsingham Manor, had you not taken that
compassion on me. But let us speak of yourself, dear Lady Hatfield.
Without a soul in the world to control your actions—with the means of
procuring every enjoyment—and with Lord Ellingham going mad on your
account——"
"Julia," said Lady Hatfield, with a start,—"again I beseech you to drop
this subject. And, as you will be my companion for some months to come,
let me now, once for all, enjoin you to abstain from such topics. As you
cannot read the secrets of my heart, pray bear in mind the fact that
many a light word uttered thoughtlessly and with no malicious intent,
may touch a chord that will thrill," she added calmly, but bitterly, "to
the inmost recesses of my soul."
"Oh! my dear Lady Hatfield," exclaimed Miss Mordaunt, who, in spite of
her loquacity, was a very good-natured person, "I am rejoiced that you
have given me this warning. And how foolish of me not to have
observed—what indeed I now remember—that the topic of Love never was
agreeable to you. To be sure! it was during the sermon upon the felicity
of the wedded state, that you fainted and were taken into the vestry!"
Lady Hatfield writhed in mental agony; and bitterly at that moment did
she repent the invitation which she had given her thoughtless companion
to pass the winter with her in London.
The carriage had now reached the little town of Bedfont, which it
traversed without stopping; and continued its rapid way towards
Hounslow.
But all of a sudden the course of the chariot was checked—as if by an
unexpected impediment in the way; and the horses began to plunge
frightfully.
At the same time the lady's-maid on the box uttered a dreadful scream.
Lady Hatfield drew down the window nearest to her: the chaise that
moment came to a full stop; and a stern, but evidently disguised voice
exclaimed, "Keep your horses quiet, you damned fools—and don't mind me!
If you stir till I give you leave, I'll blow out the brains of both of
you."
"Robbers!" shrieked Miss Mordaunt in a despairing tone: "Oh! what will
become of us?"
Lady Hatfield looked from the window; and at the same instant a man,
mounted on horseback, with a black mask over his countenance, and a
pistol in each hand, was by the side of the vehicle.
"Villain!" cried the livery-servant on the box. "But you shall swing for
this!"
"Perhaps I may," said the highwayman, coolly, though still speaking in a
feigned tone, as is the custom with individuals of his profession upon
such occasions as the one we are describing: "and if you attempt to
move, old fellow, from where you are, an ounce of lead shall tumble you
down from your perch. Beg pardon, ma'am," continued the robber, turning
towards Lady Hatfield, who had shrunk back into the corner of the
carriage the moment the desperado appeared at the window; "sorry to
inconvenience you; but—your purse!"
Lady Hatfield handed the highwayman her reticule.
"Good!" said he, perceiving by its weight and a certain jingling sound
which it sent forth, that it contained gold. "But you have a companion,
ma'am—_her_ purse!"
Miss Mordaunt complied with this demand, and implored the "good
gentleman" not to murder her.
The highwayman gave no reply; but vouchsafed a most satisfactory proof
of his intended forbearance in that respect, by putting spurs to his
steed, and darting | 850.334394 |
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Produced by Paul Flo Williams, from images provided by the
Internet Archive
The Religio-Medical Masquerade
A Complete Exposure of Christian Science
By
FREDERICK W. PEABODY, LL.B.
OF THE BOSTON BAR
THE HANCOCK PRESS
BOSTON, MASS.
Copyright, 1910
BY
Frederick W. Peabody
The price of this book is $1.00.
Mailed to any address upon receipt of price and eight cents in
stamps for postage.
The Hancock-Press, Post-Office Box 2789, Boston, Mass.
CONTENTS
Introduction
I. The Sacrifice of Children
II. The Detached Heart
III. Pretended Equality with Jesus
IV. The Faked "Revelation"
V. The Fiction of God's Authorship
VI. A Sham "Religion"
VII. A Bogus Healing System
VIII. Immeasurable Greed
IX. The Eddy Autocracy
X. The "String" on the Gifts
XI. The Eddy Ban on Marriage
XII. Christian Science Witchcraft
Introduction
Christian Science is the most shallow and sordid and wicked
imposture of the ages. Upon a substratum of lies a foundation of
false pretense has been laid, upon which has been built a
superstructure of outward beauty in which multitudes of credulous
people gather to glorify the founder as God's chief anointed.
Never before has the world witnessed a masquerade like that of
Christian Science. Being everything that Christianity is not, it
puts on the garb of Christianity and seizes the name of Christ
the better to attract and the more strongly to hold people of
shallow mind, but sincere heart. Having nothing in it remotely
worthy of the name of science, it meaninglessly appropriates
scientific terms and phrases in order to parade before the world
with an air of learning.
The founder of this pretended religion, this bogus healing
system, audaciously and irreligiously professing equality of
character and of power with Jesus, has, throughout her whole long
life, been in every particular precisely antithetical to Christ.
Sordid, mercenary, unprincipled, the consuming passion of her
life has been the accumulation of money, and she has stopped at
no falsehood, no fraud and no greater wickedness that seemed to
put her in the way of adding to her accumulations, or overcoming
her supposed enemies.
Jesus condemned nothing so forcefully as the mercenary spirit.
With a whip he scourged the money changers from the Temple, and
in language that burned as flaming fire he denounced the
hypocrites and liars of his time as "like unto whited sepulchers
that are indeed beautiful outward, but within are full of dead
men's bones and all uncleanness."
If the language of this book seem severe, if its denunciations
are emphatic, if things are called by their right names and facts
handled without the least equivocation, if contrasts are drawn
between the founder of Christianity and the founder of Christian
Science that seem to border upon the irreverent, let it not be
assumed that there is in the heart of the author the slightest
particle of personal animosity, or in his attitude toward real
Christianity and Christ anything but the most complete reverence.
It is time the plain facts should be stated in plain terms, that
the hand of truth should ruthlessly tear away the mask of
falsehood from the face of hypocrisy and expose to the horrified
gaze of mankind the hideous lineaments upon which are indelibly
and unmistakably written the craft and insincerity of utter
selfishness and monstrous greed, and the hardness of a cruelty
almost unbelievable.
Without egotism, I may say that no other man knows, as I know,
the true inwardness of Christian Science, because no other man
has come face to face with it again and again on so many
occasions as I have, and no other has been in the position I have
to force from the lips of reluctant witnesses, under the sanction
of an oath, unwilling and discrediting testimony.
Ten years ago I knew nothing and cared less about Christian
Science, assuming it to be a sincere, but deluded, manifestation
of the childish credulity to which the human race is prone. But
ten years of investigations and repeated professional
employments, in which it became my duty as a lawyer to get at the
actual facts with the aid of legal process, have qualified me, as
no other not having had my experience can be qualified, to set
forth the amazing story in utter nakedness. In order that it may
appear that I am talking from a basis of knowledge, and not of
rumor or gossip or speculation, let me briefly narrate the
professional experiences above referred to.
My first encounter with Christian Science came about through an
employment by the Arena Company, publishers of the _Arena_
magazine, in 1899. In the May number of the magazine for that
year an article by Mrs. Josephine C. Woodbury, that was in the
nature of an _expose_ of Christian Science, was published, and
instead of bringing suit against Mrs. Woodbury or the magazine
for the statements contained in the article, an endeavor was
made, in Mrs. Eddy's interest, to suppress the magazine by a suit
in equity to restrain its publication based upon the
incorporation in the article of a photograph of Mrs. Eddy said to
have been copyrighted. The Arena Company retained me to represent
its interests in the litigation, and during that employment I was
brought in contact with the author of the article, and from her
got my first inkling of the real character of Mrs. Mary Baker G.
Eddy, and her religio-medical-commercial system.
Mrs. Woodbury had been a Christian Scientist for many years,
during a long portion of which time she enjoyed Mrs. Eddy's
confidence as one of her leading lieutenants. She had accumulated
many letters from Mrs. Eddy, and all her published utterances,
whether in book or pamphlet form, from the beginning of the
movement down to that time. Mrs. Woodbury was a woman of
forceful, dominating personality, of much greater culture than
Mrs. Eddy and the rank and file of her following, and in course
of time she attracted to herself a personal popularity and
influence that so threatened Mrs. Eddy's, that it became
important, if her ascendency was to be maintained unimpaired,
that Mrs. Woodbury be cast into outer darkness and her influence
wholly destroyed. Occasion was readily found for this and, in due
time, without warning, without a notice of the charges made
against her, and without an opportunity to be heard, Mrs.
Woodbury was excommunicated from the Boston Christian Science
Church and cut off from fellowship with the faithful. This placed
her in a position where rational reflection was forced upon her,
and she speedily came to the necessary conclusion that she had
been duped.
Arriving at this conclusion, with a courage much to be admired
Mrs. Woodbury wrote and published in the _Arena_ magazine the
article to which I have referred, and in unmeasured terms laid
open the sinister and sordid quality of the whole movement, and
exposed the consummate selfishness and greed in the heart of its
"founder." The article went forth in the _Arena_, and
Christian-Sciencedom was up in arms. Mr. Septimus J. Hanna, then
editor of the _Christian Science Journal_, Mrs. Eddy's organ,
hastened to Concord, New Hampshire, to confer with Mrs. Eddy
regarding ways and means of meeting it, and the method of
squaring the account with Mrs. Woodbury was considered and
determined.
Let it be remembered that the article in the _Arena_ was
published in the May, 1899, number. Almost immediately after the
appearance of the article, Mrs. Woodbury's husband, to whom she
had been much devoted, died and paeans of rejoicing went up from
the Christian Scientists that the Judge of all the world had thus
righteously punished one who had dared to assail the sanctified
personality of "God's voice to this age."
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_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
JULES SANDEAU. LA ROCHE AUX MOUETTES (Extracts). [_Nutt’s Short
French Readers, 6d._]
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER. VOYAGE EN ITALIE. [_Cambridge University
Press, 3s._]
ÉMILE SOUVESTRE. LE PHILOSOPHE SOUS LES TOITS (Extracts).
[_Blackie’s Little French Classics, 4d._]
PIERRE CŒUR. L’ÂME DE BEETHOVEN. [_Siepmann’s French Series.
Macmillan, 2s._]
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
“_Omne epigramma sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi,
Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui._”
MARTIAL.
[Thus Englished by Archbishop Trench:
“_Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all;
Its sting, its honey, and its body small._”]
[And thus by my friend, Mr. F. Storr:
“_An epigram’s a bee: ’tis small, has wings
Of wit, a heavy bag of humour, and it stings._”]
“_Celebre dictum, scita quapiam novitate insigne._”
ERASMUS.
“_The genius, wit, and spirit of a nation are discovered in its
proverbs._”--BACON.
“_The people’s voice the voice of God we call;
And what are proverbs but the people’s voice?_”
JAMES HOWELL.
“_What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed._”
POPE, _Essay on Criticism_.
“_The wit of one man, the wisdom of many._”--Lord JOHN RUSSELL
(_Quarterly Review_, Sept. 1850).
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
A COMPANION TO DESHUMBERT’S
“DICTIONARY OF DIFFICULTIES”
BY
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE
PRINCIPAL OF KENSINGTON COACHING COLLEGE
ASSISTANT EXAMINER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON
_FOURTH REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION_
[Fifth Thousand]
LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE
1905
“_Tant ayme on chien qu’on le nourrist,
Tant court chanson qu’elle est aprise,
Tant garde on fruit qu’il se pourrist,
Tant bat on place qu’elle est prise.
Tant tarde on que faut entreprise,
Tant se haste on que mal advient,
Tant embrasse on que chet la prise,
Tant crie l’on Noel qu’il vient._”
VILLON, _Ballade des Proverbes_.
PREFACE
In this edition I have endeavoured to keep down additions as much
as possible, so as not to overload the book; but I have not been
sparing in adding cross-references (especially in the Index) and
quotations from standard authors. These quotations seldom give
the first occasion on which a proverb has been used, as in most
cases it is impossible to find it.
I have placed an asterisk before all recognised proverbs; these
will serve as a first course for those students who do not wish
to read through the whole book at once. In a few cases I have
added explanations of English proverbs; during the eleven years
I have been using the book I have frequently found that pupils
were, for instance, as ignorant of “to bell the cat” as they were
of “attacher le grelot.”
I must add a warning to students who use the book when
translating into French. They must not use expressions marked
“familiar” or “popular” except when writing in a familiar or
low-class style. I have included these forms, because they are
often heard in conversation, but they are seldom met with in
serious French literature. A few blank pages have been added at
the end for additions. Accents have been placed on capitals to
aid the student; they are usually omitted in French printing.
In conclusion, I have to thank Mr. W. G. Lipscomb, M.A.,
Headmaster of Bolton Grammar School, Mr. E. Latham, and
especially M. Georges Jamin of the École Lavoisier, Paris, for
valuable suggestions; while M. Marius Deshumbert, and Professor
Walter Rippmann, in reading through the proof sheets, have made
many corrections and additions of the greatest value, for which I
owe them my sincere gratitude.
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE.
AUTHORITIES CONSULTED
BELCHER, H., and DUPUIS, A., “Manuel aux examens.” London, 1885.
BELCOUR, G., “English Proverbs.” London, 1888.
BOHN, H. G., “Handbook of Proverbs.” London, 1855.
CATS, JACOB, and FAIRLIE, R., “Moral Emblems.” London, 1860.
DUPLESSIS, M. GRATET, “La fleur des Proverbes français.” Paris,
1851.
FURETIÈRE, A., “Dictionnaire universel.” La Haye, 1727.
GÉNIN, F., “Récréations philologiques.” Paris, 1856.
HOWELL, JAMES, “Lexicon Tetraglotton.” London, 1660.
KARCHER, T., “Questionnaire français.” Seventh Edition. London,
1886.
LACURNE DE STE. PALAYE, “Dictionnaire historique de l’ancien
langage françois.” Paris, 1875-82.
LARCHEY, LORÉDAN, “Nos vieux Proverbes.” Paris, 1886.
LAROUSSE, P., “Grand Dictionnaire universel du xix^e siècle.”
1865-76.
LE ROUX DE LINCY, A. J., “Livre des Proverbes français.” 2^e
édition. Paris, 1859.
LITTRÉ, E., “Dictionnaire de la langue française.” Paris,
1863-72.
LOUBENS, D., “Proverbes de la langue française.” Paris, 1889.
MARTIN, ÉMAN, “Le Courrier de Vaugelas.” Paris, 1868.
QUITARD, P. M., “Dictionnaire étymologique des Proverbes.” Paris,
1842.
QUITARD, P. M., “Études sur les Proverbes français.” Paris, 1860.
RIGAUD, LUCIEN, “Argot moderne.” Paris, 1881.
TARVER, J. C., “Phraseological Dictionary.” London, 1854.
TRENCH, R. C., “Proverbs and their Lessons.” Sixth Edition.
London, 1869.
_Quarterly Review._ July 1868.
_Notes and Queries._ _Passim._
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
_Expressions to which an Asterisk is prefixed are Proverbs._
A.
A
_Il ne sait ni A ni B_ = He does not know B from a bull’s foot;
He cannot read; He is a perfect ignoramus.
_Être marqué à l’A_ = To stand high in the estimation of others.
[This expression is supposed to have originated in the custom of
stamping French coin with different letters of the alphabet. The
mark of the Paris Mint was an “A,” and its coins were supposed
to be of a better quality than those stamped at provincial
towns. But as this custom only began in 1418 by command of the
Dauphin, son of Charles VI., and as the saying was known long
previous, it is more probable that its origin is to be sought in
the pre-eminence that A has always held in all Aryan languages,
and that the French have borrowed it from the Romans. Compare
MARTIAL, ii. 57, and our A i, at Lloyd’s.]
Abandon
_Tout est à l’abandon_ = Everything is at sixes and sevens, in
utter neglect, in confusion.
[Also: _Tout va à la dérive._]
Abattre
*_Petite pluie abat grand vent_ = A little rain lays much dust;
Often quite a trifle calms a torrent of wrath.
[Compare: “Hi motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta Pulveris
exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.”
VERGIL, _Georgics_, iv. 86-7.]
_Abattre de l’ouvrage_ = To get through a great deal of work.
Aboi
_Être aux abois_ = To be reduced to the last extremity; To be at
bay.
[Compare BOILEAU: “Dès que j’y veux rêver, ma veine est aux
abois.”]
Abondance
*_Abondance de biens ne nuit pas_ = Store is no sore; One cannot
have too much of a good thing.
_Parler avec abondance_ = To speak fluently.
_Parler d’abondance_ = To speak extempore.
Abonder
_Il abonde dans mon sens_ = He is entirely of the same opinion as
I am; He has come round to my opinion.
Abord
_Il a l’abord rude, mais il s’adoucit bientôt_ = He receives you
roughly at first, but that soon passes off.
_A_ (or, _De_) _prime abord_ = At first sight; At the first blush.
Aboutir
_Les pourparlers n’ont pas abouti_ = The preliminary negotiations
led to nothing.
Absent
*“_Les absents | 850.335424 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
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(the New York Public Library)
LEISURE HOURS SERIES.
---------------------
THE SHIELD OF LOVE
BY
B. L. FARJEON
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1891
COPYRIGHT, 1891,
BY
HENRY HOLT & CO.
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. In which some particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery
family.
II. Poor Cinderella.
III. A family discussion.
IV. Wherein Cinderella asserts herself.
V. In which John Dixon informs Mr. Fox-Cordery
that he has seen a ghost.
VI. In which we make the acquaintance of Rathbeal.
VII. Billy turns the corner.
VIII. The gambler's confession.
IX. Mr. Fox-Cordery is not easy in his mind.
X. In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse.
XI. Little Prue.
XII. "DRIP--DRIP--DRIP!"
XIII. In which Rathbeal makes a winning move.
XIV. Do you remember Billy's last prayer?
XV. Friends in Council.
XVI. Mr. Fox-Cordery's master-stroke.
XVII. Retribution.
THE SHIELD OF LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
In which some particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery Family.
This is not exactly a story of Cinderella, although a modern
Cinderella--of whom there are a great many more in our social life
than people wot of--plays her modest part therein; and the allusion to
one of the world's prettiest fairy-tales is apposite enough because
her Prince, an ordinary English gentleman prosaically named John
Dixon, was first drawn to her by the pity which stirs every honest
heart when innocence and helplessness are imposed upon. Pity became
presently sweetened by affection, and subsequently glorified by love,
which, at the opening of our story, awaited its little plot of
fresh-smelling earth to put forth its leaves, the healthy flourishing
of which has raised to the dignity of a heavenly poem that most
beautiful of all words, Home.
Her Christian name was Charlotte, her surname Fox-Cordery, and she had
a mother and a brother. These, from the time her likeness to
Cinderella commenced, comprised the household.
Had it | 850.335565 |
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Produced by D Alexander, Linda Hamilton, and the Online
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Yours truly Charles Carleton Coffin (signature)]
FOLLOWING THE FLAG
FROM AUGUST 1861 TO NOVEMBER 1862
WITH THE
ARMY OF THE POTOMAC
BY
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN
AUTHOR OF "MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BATTLEFIELD," "BOYS OF '76,"
"BOYS OF '61," "WINNING HIS WAY," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN SERIES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN
Following the Flag.
Four Years of Fighting.
My Days and Nights on the Battlefield.
Winning His Way.
_Price, postpaid, 50c. each, or any three books for $1.25_
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
PREFACE.
It will be many years before a complete history of the operations of
the armies of the Union can be written; but that is not a sufficient
reason why historical pictures may not now be painted from such
materials as have come to hand. This volume, therefore, is a sketch
of the operations of the Army of the Potomac from August, 1861, to
November, 1862, while commanded by General McClellan. To avoid detail,
the organization of the army is given in an Appendix. It has not been
possible, in a book of this size, to give the movements of regiments;
but the narrative has been limited to the operations of brigades and
divisions. It will be comparatively easy, however, for the reader
to ascertain the general position of any regiment in the different
battles, by consulting the Appendix in connection with the narrative.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
Introductory 9
I. Organization of the Army of the Potomac 11
II. Ball's Bluff 22
III. Battle of Dranesville, and the Winter of
1862 38
IV. Siege of Yorktown 49
V. Battle of Williamsburg 65
VI. On the Chickahominy 82
Affair at Hanover Court-House 84
VII. Fair Oaks 88
VIII. Seven Days of Fighting 108
Battle of Mechanicsville 111
Battle of Gaines's Mills 115
Movement to James River 121
Battle of Savage Station 123
Battle of Glendale 125
Battle of Malvern 131
IX. Affairs in front of Washington 138
Battle of Cedar Mountain 140
X. Battle of Groveton 147
The Retreat to Washington 157
XI. Invasion of Maryland 158
Barbara Frietchie 160
Battle of South Mountain 165
Surrender of Harper's Ferry 171
XII. Battle of Antietam 175
Hooker's Attack 187
Sumner's Attack 194
The Attack upon the Center 206
Richardson's Attack 212
General Franklin's Arrival 216
Burnside's Attack 221
XIII. After the Battle 238
XIV. The March from Harper's Ferry to
Warrenton 250
Removal of General McClellan 269
APPENDIX.
The Organization of the Army of the Potomac,
April, 1862 278
LIST OF DIAGRAMS.
PAGE
Ball's Bluff 29
Battle of Dranesville 41
Battle of Williamsburg 69
Battle of Fair Oaks 91
Battle of Mechanicsville 112
Battle of Gaines's Mills 116
Battle of Glendale 128
Battle of Malvern 134
Battle of Groveton 149
Battle-Field of Antietam 180
Sedgwick's Attack 198
French's and Richardson's Attack 208
Burnside's Second Attack 232
INTRODUCTORY.
For more than three years I have followed the flag of our country
in the East and in the West and in the South,--on the ocean, on the
land, and on the great rivers. A year ago I gave in a volume entitled
"My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field" a description of the Battle
of Bull Run, and other battles in Kentucky, Tennessee, and on the
Mississippi.
It has been my privilege to witness nearly all the great battles fought
by the Army of the Potomac,--Antietam, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg,
at the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, the North Anna, Coal Harbor and at
Petersburg. Letters have been received from those who are strangers to
me as well as from friends, expressing a desire that I should give a
connected account, not only of the operations of that army, from its
organization, but of other armies; also of the glorious achievements of
the navy in this great struggle of our country for national existence.
The present volume, therefore, will be the second of the contemplated
series.
During the late campaign in Virginia, many facts and incidents were
obtained which give an insight into the operations of the armies of the
South, not before known. Time will undoubtedly reveal other important
facts, which will be made use of in the future. It will be my endeavor
to sift from the immense amount of material already accumulated a
concise and trustworthy account, that we may know how our patriot
brothers have fought to save the country and to secure to all who may
live after them the blessings of a free government.
FOLLOWING THE FLAG.
CHAPTER I.
ORGANIZATION OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
The battle of Bull Run, or of Manassas, as the Rebels call it, which
was fought on the 21st of July, 1861, was the first great battle of the
war. It was disastrous to the Union army. But the people of the North
were not disheartened by it. Their pride was mortified, for they had
confidently expected a victory, and had not taken into consideration
the possibility of a defeat. The victory was all but won, as has been
narrated in "My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field," when the arrival
of a brigade of Rebels and the great mistake of Captain Barry, who
supposed them to be Union troops, turned the scale, and the battle was
lost to the Union army.
But the people of the North, who loved the Union, could not think of
giving up the contest,--of having the country divided, and the old flag
trailed in the dust. They felt that it would be impossible to live
peaceably side by side with those who declared themselves superior to
the laboring men of the Free States, and were their rightful masters.
They were not willing to acknowledge that the slaveholders were their
masters. They felt that there could not be friendship and amity
between themselves and a nation which had declared that slavery was
its cornerstone. Besides all this, the slaveholders wanted Maryland,
Kentucky, and Missouri in the Southern Confederacy, while the majority
of the people of those States wanted to stay in the Union. The Rebels
professed that they were willing that each State should choose for
itself, but they were insincere and treacherous in their professions.
Kentucky would not join the Confederacy; therefore they invaded the
State to compel the people to forsake the old flag.
A gentleman from Ohio accompanied a Southern lady to Columbus, on the
Mississippi, to see her safely among her friends. General Polk was
commander of the Rebel forces at that place, and they talked about the
war.
"I wish it might be settled," said the General.
"How will you settle?"
"O, all we ask is to have all that belongs to us, and to be let alone."
"What belongs to you?"
"All that has always been acknowledged as ours."
"Do you want Missouri?"
"Yes, that is ours."
"Do you want Kentucky?"
"Yes, certainly. The Ohio River has always been considered as the
boundary line."
"But Kentucky don't want you."
"We must have her."
"You want all of Virginia?"
"Of course."
"You want Maryland?"
"Most certainly."
"What will you do with Washington?"
"We don't want it. Remove it if you want to; but Maryland is ours."[1]
[Footnote 1: Ohio State Journal.]
Such was the conversation; and this feeling, that they must have
all the Slave States to form a great slaveholding confederacy, was
universal in the South.
Besides this, they held the people in the Free States in contempt. Even
the children of the South were so influenced by the system of slavery
that they thought themselves superior to the people of the Free States
who worked for a living.
I heard a girl, who was not more than ten years old, say that the
Northern people were all "old scrubs"! Not to be a scrub was to own
slaves,--to work them hard and pay them nothing,--to sell them, to
raise children for the market,--to separate mothers from their babes,
wives from their husbands,--to live solely for their own interests,
happiness, and pleasure, without regard to the natural rights of
others. This little girl, although her mother kept a boarding-house,
felt that she was too good to play with Northern children, or if she
noticed them at all, it was as a superior.
Feeling themselves the superiors of the Northern people, having been
victorious at Manassas, the people of the South became enthusiastic for
continuing the war. Thousands of volunteers joined the Rebels already
in arms. Before the summer of 1861 had passed, General Johnston had a
large army in front of Washington, which was called the Army of the
Potomac.
At the same time thousands rushed to arms in the North. They saw
clearly that there was but one course to pursue,--to fight it out,
defeat the Rebels, vindicate their honor, and save the country.
The Union army which gathered at Washington was also styled the Army
of the Potomac. Many of the soldiers who fought at Manassas were three
months' men. As their terms of service expired their places were filled
by men who enlisted for three years, if not sooner discharged.
General George B. McClellan, who with General Rosecrans had been
successfully conducting the war in Western Virginia, was called to
Washington to organize an army which, it was hoped, would defeat the
Rebels, and move on to Richmond.
The people wanted a leader. General Scott, who had fought at Niagara
and Lundy's Lane, who had captured the city of Mexico, was too old and
infirm to take the field. General McDowell, although his plan of attack
at Bull Run was approved, had failed of victory. General McClellan had
been successful in the skirmishes at Philippi and at Rich Mountain.
He was known to be a good engineer. He had been a visitor to Russia
during the Crimean war, and had written a book upon that war, which was
published by Congress. He was a native of Pennsylvania and a resident
of Ohio when the war broke out. The governors of both of those States
sent him a commission as a brigadier-general, because he had had
military experience in Mexico, and because he was known as a military
man, and because they were in great need of experienced men to command
the troops. Having all these things in his favor, he was called to
Washington and made commander of the Army of the Potomac on the 27th of
July.
He immediately submitted a plan of operations to the President for
suppressing the rebellion. He thought that if Kentucky remained loyal,
twenty thousand men moving down the Mississippi would be sufficient
to quell the rebellion in the West. Western Virginia could be held
by five or ten thousand more. He would have ten thousand protect the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the Potomac River, five thousand
at Baltimore, twenty thousand at Washington, and three thousand at
Fortress Monroe. One grand army for active operations was needed, to
consist of two hundred and twenty-five thousand infantry, six hundred
pieces of field artillery, twenty-five thousand cavalry, and seven
thousand five hundred engineers, making a total of two hundred and
seventy-three thousand men. In his letter to the President, General
McClellan says: "I propose, with the force which I have requested, not
only to drive the enemy out of Virginia, and occupy Richmond, but to
occupy Charleston, Savannah, Montgomery, Pensacola, Mobile, and New
Orleans; in other words, to move into the heart of the enemy's country,
and crush the rebellion in its very heart."[2]
[Footnote 2: General McClellan's Report, p. 4.]
It was found a very difficult matter to obtain arms for the soldiers;
for President Buchanan's Secretary of War, Floyd, had sent most of the
arms in Northern arsenals to the South before the war commenced. But,
notwithstanding this, so earnest were the people, and so energetic the
government, that on the 1st of October, two months from the time that
General McClellan took command, there were one hundred and sixty-eight
thousand men in the Army of the Potomac, with two hundred and twenty
pieces of artillery; besides this, the government had a large army
in Kentucky, and another in Missouri. The Rebels had large armies in
those States, and were making great efforts to secure them to the
Confederacy. It was not possible to send all the troops to Washington,
as General McClellan desired.
The Rebel army was commanded by General Joseph E. Johnston. He had
about seventy thousand men, with his headquarters at Manassas. Some
of the spies which were sent out by General McClellan reported a much
larger force under Johnston, and General McClellan believed that he
had one hundred and fifty thousand men. Strong fortifications were
erected to defend Washington; General Johnston wished very much to
take the city, and the people of the South expected that he would gain
possession of it and drive out the hated Yankees. He pushed his troops
almost up to General McClellan's lines, taking possession of Munson's
Hill, which is only five miles from the Long Bridge at Washington.
The Rebels erected breastworks upon the hill, and threw shot and shells
almost to Arlington House. From the hill they could see the spires of
the city of Washington, the white dome of the capitol, and its marble
pillars. No doubt they longed to have it in their possession; but there
were thousands of men in arms and hundreds of cannon and a wide river
between them and the city.
One bright October morning I rode to Bailey's Cross-roads, which is
about a mile from Munson's Hill. Looking across a cornfield, I could
see the Rebels behind their breastworks. Their battle-flags were waving
gayly. Their bayonets gleamed in the sunshine. A group of officers had
gathered on the summit of the hill. With my field-glass, I could see
what they were doing. They examined maps, looked towards Washington,
and pointed out the position of the Union fortifications. There were
ladies present, who looked earnestly towards the city, and chatted
merrily with the officers. A few days after, I saw in a Richmond paper
that the officers were Generals Lee, Beauregard, and Johnston, and that
one of the ladies was Mrs. Lee.
General Lee was within sight of his old home; but he had become a
traitor to his country, and it was to be his no more. Never again would
he sit in the spacious parlors, or walk the verdant lawn, or look upon
the beautiful panorama of city and country, forest and field, hill and
valley, land and water,--upon the ripened wheat on the hillside or the
waving corn in the meadows,--upon the broad Potomac, gleaming in the
sunshine, or upon the white-winged ships sailing upon its bosom,--upon
the city, with its magnificent buildings, upon the marble shaft rising
to the memory of Washington, or upon the outline of the hills of
Bladensburg, faint and dim in the distance.
He joined the rebellion because he believed that a state was more than
the nation, that Virginia was greater than the Union, that she had a
right to leave it, and was justified in seceding from it. He belonged
to an old family, which, when Virginia was a colony of Great Britain,
had influence and power. He owned many slaves. He believed that the
institution of slavery was right. He left the Union to serve Virginia,
resigned his command as colonel of cavalry, which he held under the
United States. He accepted a commission from Jefferson Davis, forswore
his allegiance to his country, turned his back upon the old flag,
proved recreant in the hour of trial, and became an enemy to the nation
which had trusted and honored him.
The summer passed away and the golden months of autumn came round. The
troops were organized into brigades and divisions. They were drilled
daily. In the morning at six o'clock the drummers beat the reveille.
The soldiers sprang to their feet at the sound, and formed in company
lines to answer the roll-call. Then they had breakfast of hard-tack
and coffee. After breakfast the guards were sent out. At eight o'clock
there were company drills in marching, in handling their muskets, in
charging bayonet, and resisting an imaginary onset from the enemy. At
twelve o'clock they had dinner,--more hard-tack, pork or beef, or rice
and molasses. In the afternoon there were regimental, brigade, and
sometimes division drills,--the men carrying their knapsacks, canteens,
haversacks, and blankets,--just as if they were on the march. At
sunset each regiment had a dress parade. Then each soldier was expected
to be in his best trim. In well-disciplined regiments, all wore white
gloves when they appeared on dress parade. It was a fine sight,--the
long line of men in blue, the ranks straight and even, each soldier
doing his best. Marching proudly to the music of the band, the light
of the setting sun falling aslant upon their bright bayonets, and the
flag they loved waving above them, thrilling them with remembrances of
the glorious deeds of their fathers, who bore it aloft at Saratoga,
Trenton, and Princeton, at Queenstown and New Orleans, at Buena Vista
and Chapultepec, who beneath its endearing folds laid the foundations
of the nation and secured the rights of civil and religious liberty.
Each soldier felt that he would be an unworthy son, if traitors | 850.340984 |
2023-11-16 18:31:14.4202510 | 790 | 16 |
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POLLY
OF LADY GAY COTTAGE
BY
EMMA C. DOWD
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY EMMA C. DOWD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: HAROLD WESTWOOD!]
TO
MY CRITIC, COUNSELOR
AND COMRADE
CONTENTS
I. THE ROSEWOOD BOX 1
II. LEONORA'S WONDERFUL NEWS 12
III. A WHIFF OF SLANDER 20
IV. COUSINS 36
V. A MONOPOLIST AND A FANFARON 46
VI. "NOT FOR SALE" 66
VII. THE BLIZZARD 73
VIII. THE INTERMEDIATE BIRTHDAY PARTY 89
IX. THE EIGHTH ROSE 105
X. A VISIT FROM ERASTUS BEAN 119
XI. UNCLE MAURICE AT LADY GAY COTTAGE 125
XII. LITTLE CHRIS 138
XIII. ILGA BARRON 152
XIV. POLLY IN NEW YORK 165
XV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST 175
XVI. ROSES AND THORNS 184
XVII. A SUMMER NIGHT MYSTERY 194
XVIII. AT MIDVALE SPRINGS 212
XIX. TWO LETTERS 237
XX. MRS. JOCELYN'S DINNER-PARTY 250
POLLY OF LADY GAY COTTAGE
CHAPTER I
THE ROSEWOOD BOX
The telephone bell cut sharp into Polly's story.
She was recounting one of the merry hours that Mrs. Jocelyn had given
to her and Leonora, while Dr. Dudley and his wife were taking their
wedding journey. Still dimpling with laughter, she ran across to the
instrument; but as she turned back from the message her face was
troubled.
"Father says I am to come right over to the hospital," she told her
mother. "Mr. Bean--you know, the one that married Aunt Jane--has got
hurt, and he wants to see me. I hope he isn't going to die. He was
real good to me that time I was there, as good as he dared to be."
"I will go with you," Mrs. Dudley decided.
And, locking the house, they went out into the early evening darkness.
The physician was awaiting them in his office.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked Polly anxiously. "What does he want to see
me for?"
"We are afraid of internal injury," was the grave answer. "He was on
his way to you when the car struck him."
"To me?" Polly exclaimed.
"He was fetching a little box that belonged to your mother. Do you
recollect it--a small rosewood box?"
"Oh, yes!" she cried. "I'd forgotten all about it--there's a wreath of
tiny pearl flowers on the cover!"
The Doctor nodded.
"Mr. Bean seems to attach great value to the box or its contents."
"Oh, what is in it?"
"I don't know. But he kept tight hold of it even after he was knocked
down, and it was the first thing he called for when he regained
consciousness | 850.440291 |
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Proofreaders
BELTANE THE SMITH
BY
JEFFERY FARNOL
AUTHOR OF "THE BROAD HIGHWAY," "THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR E. BECHER
TO
FREDERICK HUGHSON HAWLEY
TO WHOM BELTANE IS NO STRANGER I DEDICATE THIS ROMANCE
Jeffery Farnol
London, August, 1915.
CONTENTS
I HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
II HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH THE DUKE, BLACK IVO
III HOW LOVE CAME TO BELTANE IN THE GREENWOOD
IV OF THE LOVE AND THE GRIEF OF HELEN THE PROUD
V WHICH TELLS OF THE STORY OF AMBROSE THE HERMIT
VI HOW BELTANE FARED FORTH OF THE GREEN
VII HOW BELTANE TALKED WITH ONE HIGHT GILES BRABBLECOMBE, WHO WAS
A NOTABLE AND LEARNED ARCHER
VIII HOW BELTANE HELD DISCOURSE WITH A BLACK FRIAR
IX WHEREIN IS SOME ACCOUNT OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOLLY AND THE
WISDOM OF A FOOL
X HOW BELTANE MADE COMRADE ONE BLACK ROGER THAT WAS A HANGMAN
XI WHICH TELLS HOW THREE MIGHTY MEN SWARE FEALTY TO BELTANE: AND
HOW GOOD FRIAR MARTIN DIGGED A GRAVE IN THE WILD
XII WHICH TELLS HOW DUKE IVO'S GREAT GALLOWS CEASED TO BE
XIII HOW THEY BRAKE OPE THE DUNGEON OF BELSAYE
XIV HOW BELTANE CAME NIGH TO DEATH
XV HOW BELTANE HAD WORD WITH PERTOLEPE THE RED, AND HOW THEY
LEFT HIM IN THE FOREST
XVI OF THE RUEFUL KNIGHT OF THE BURNING HEART
XVII OF THE AMBUSHMENT NEAR THORNABY MILL
XVIII HOW BELTANE MET SIR GILLES OF BRANDONMERE
XIX CONCERNING THE EYES OF A NUN
XX HOW BELTANE PLIGHTED HIS TROTH IN THE GREEN
XXI OF THE TALE OF GODRIC THE HUNTSMAN
XXII CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
XXIII OF THE HUMILITY OF HELEN THE PROUD
XXIV OF WHAT BEFELL AT BLAEN
XXV HOW BELTANE BECAME CAPTIVE TO SIR PERTOLEPE
XXVI OF THE HORRORS OF GARTHLAXTON KEEP, AND HOW A DEVIL ENTERED
INTO BELTANE
XXVII HOW BELTANE TOOK TO THE WILD-WOOD
XXVIII OF THE PLACE OF REFUGE WITHIN THE GREEN
XXIX HOW BELTANE SLEW TOSTIG AND SPAKE WITH THE WILD MEN
XXX HOW THEY SMOTE GARTHLAXTON
XXXI HOW GILES MADE A MERRY SONG
XXXII HOW BELTANE MET WITH A YOUTHFUL KNIGHT
XXXIII HOW BELTANE HAD NEWS OF ONE THAT WAS A NOTABLE PARDONER
XXXIV HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE
XXXV HOW GUI OF ALLERDALE CEASED FROM EVIL
XXXVI HOW THE FOLK OF BELSAYE TOWN MADE THEM AN END OF TYRANNY
XXXVII HOW THEY LEFT BELSAYE
XXXVIII OF BELTANE'S BLACK AND EVIL MOOD, AND HOW HE FELL IN WITH THE
WITCH OF HANGSTONE WASTE
XXXIX HOW BELTANE FOUGHT FOR ONE MELLENT THAT WAS A WITCH
XL FURTHER CONCERNING THE MAID MELLENT; AND OF THE HUE AND CRY
XLI HOW THEY RODE INTO THE WILDERNESS
XLII HOW BELTANE DREAMED IN THE WILD-WOOD
XLIII HOW BELTANE KNEW GREAT HUMILITY
XLIV HOW A MADNESS CAME UPON BELTANE IN THE WILD-WOOD
XLV HOW BLACK ROGER TAUGHT BELTANE GREAT WISDOM
XLVI HOW BLACK ROGER PRAYED IN THE DAWN: AND HOW HIS PRAYERS WERE
ANSWERED
XLVII HOW BELTANE SWARE AN OATH
XLVIII HOW BELTANE SET OUT FOR HANGSTONE WASTE
XLIX HOW BELTANE FOUND PEACE AND A GREAT SORROW
L TELLETH HOW BELTANE WENT FORTH TO HIS DUTY
LI HOW BLACK ROGER WON TO FULLER MANHOOD
LII HOW THEY HAD NEWS OF WALKYN
LIII OF JOLETTE, THAT WAS A WITCH
LIV HOW BELTANE FOUGHT WITH A DOUGHTY STRANGER
LV HOW THEY MARCHED FOR WINISFARNE
LVI WHAT THEY FOUND AT WINISFARNE
LVII TELLETH OF THE ONFALL AT BRAND
LVIII HOW BELTANE HAD SPEECH WITH THE ABBESS
LIX TELLETH HOW SIR BENEDICT WENT A-FISHING
LX TELLETH HOW THEY MARCHED FROM THE VALLEY OF BRAND
LXI HOW THE FOREST FOUGHT FOR THEM
LXII HOW THEY CAME TO BELSAYE FOR THE THIRD TIME
LXIII TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF THE WOES OF GILES O' THE BOW
LXIV HOW GILES CURSED BELSAYE OUR OF HER FEAR
LXV TELLETH OF ROSES
LXVI CONCERNING A BLUE CAMLET CLOAK
LXVII TELLETH WHAT BEFELL IN THE REEVE'S GARDEN
LXVIII FRIAR MARTIN'S DYING PROPHECY
LXIX HOW AT LAST THEY CAME TO PENTAVALON CITY
LXX WHICH SPEAKETH FOR ITSELF
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Thus Helen the Proud, the Beautiful, yielded her lips to his
Now did she look on him 'neath drooping lash, sweet-eyed and languorous
Beltane stood up armed in shining mail from head to foot
So came Winfrida, and falling on her knee gave the goblet into her
lady's hand
She stared and stared beyond Sir Gui, to behold one clad as a dusty
miller
Her eyes swept him with look calm and most dispassionate
BELTANE THE SMITH
CHAPTER I
HOW BELTANE LIVED WITHIN THE GREENWOOD
In a glade of the forest, yet not so far but that one might hear the
chime of bells stealing across the valley from the great minster of
Mortain on a still evening, dwelt Beltane the Smith.
Alone he lived in the shadow of the great trees, happy when the piping
of the birds was in his ears, and joying to listen to the plash and
murmur of the brook that ran merrily beside his hut; or pausing 'twixt
the strokes of his ponderous hammer to catch its never failing music.
A mighty man was Beltane the Smith, despite his youth already great of
stature and comely of feature. Much knew he of woodcraft, of the growth
of herb and tree and flower, of beast and bird, and how to tell each by
its cry or song or flight; he knew the ways of fish in the streams, and
could tell the course of the stars in the heavens; versed was he
likewise in the ancient wisdoms and philosophies, both Latin and Greek,
having learned all these things from him whom men called Ambrose the
Hermit. But of men and cities he knew little, and of women and the
ways of women, less than nothing, for of these matters Ambrose spake
not.
Thus, being grown from youth to manhood, for that a man must needs
live, Beltane builded him a hut beside the brook, and set up an anvil
thereby whereon he beat out bill-hooks and axe-heads and such
implements as the charcoal-burners and they that lived within the green
had need of.
Oft-times, of an evening, he would seek out the hermit Ambrose, and
they would talk together of many things, but seldom of men and cities,
and never of women and the ways of women. Once, therefore, wondering,
Beltane had said:
"My father, amongst all these matters you speak never of women and the
ways of women, though history is full of their doings, and all poets
sing praise of their wondrous beauty, as this Helena of Troy, whom men
called 'Desire of the World.'"
But Ambrose sighed and shook his head, saying:
"Art thou indeed a man, so soon, my Beltane?" and so sat watching him
awhile. Anon he rose and striding to and fro spake sudden and
passionate on this wise: "Beltane, I tell thee the beauty of women is
an evil thing, a lure to wreck the souls of men. By woman came sin
into the world, by her beauty she blinds the eyes of men to truth and
honour, leading them into all manner of wantonness whereby their very
manhood is destroyed. This Helen of Troy, of whom ye speak, was nought
but a vile adulteress, with a heart false and foul, by whose sin many
died and Troy town was utterly destroyed."
"Alas!" sighed Beltane, "that one so fair should be a thing so evil!"
Thereafter he went his way, very sad and thoughtful, and that night,
lying upon his bed, he heard the voices of the trees sighing and
murmuring one to another like souls that sorrowed for sin's sake, and
broken dreams and ideals.
"Alas! that one so fair should be a thing so evil!" But, above the
whispers of the trees, loud and insistent rose the merry chatter of the
brook speaking to him of many things; of life, and the lust of life;
the pomp and stir of cities; the sound of song and laughter; of women
and the beauty of women, and of the sweet, mad wonder of love. Of all
these things the brook sang in the darkness, and Beltane sighed, and
sighing, fell asleep.
Thus lived my Beltane in the woodland, ranging the forest with eye
quick to see the beauty of earth and sky, and ear open to the thousand
voices around him; or, busied at his anvil, hearkening to the wondrous
tales of travel and strange adventure told by wandering knight and
man-at-arms the while, with skilful hand, he mended broken mail or dented
casque; and thereafter, upon the mossy sward, would make trial of their
strength and valour, whereby he both took and gave right lusty knocks;
or again, when work failed, he would lie upon the grass, chin on fist,
poring over some ancient legend, or sit with brush and colours,
illuminating on vellum, wherein right cunning was he. Now it chanced
that as he sat thus, brush in hand, upon a certain fair afternoon, he
suddenly espied one who stood watching him from the shade of a tree,
near by. A very tall man he was, long and lean and grim of aspect, with
a mouth wry-twisted by reason of an ancient sword-cut, and yet, withal,
he had a jovial eye. But now, seeing himself observed, he shook his
grizzled head and sighed. Whereat said Beltane, busied with his brush
again:
"Good sir, pray what's amiss?"
"The world, youth, the world--'tis all amiss. Yet mark me! here sit you
a-dabbing colour with a little brush!"
Answered Beltane: "An so ye seek to do your duty as regardfully as I
now daub this colour, messire, in so much shall the world be bettered."
"My duty, youth," quoth the stranger, rasping a hand across his
grizzled chin, "my duty? Ha, 'tis well said, so needs must I now fight
with thee."
"Fight with me!" says Beltane, his keen gaze upon the speaker.
"Aye, verily!" nodded the stranger, and, forthwith, laying by his long
cloak, he showed two swords whose broad blades glittered, red and evil,
in the sunset.
"But," says Beltane, shaking his head, "I have no quarrel with thee,
good fellow."
"Quarrel?" exclaimed the stranger, "no quarrel, quotha? What matter for
that? Surely you would not forego a good bout for so small a matter?
Doth a man eat only when famishing, or drink but to quench his thirst?
Out upon thee, messire smith!"
"But sir," said Beltane, bending to his brush again, "an I should fight
with thee, where would be the reason?"
"Nowhere, youth, since fighting is ever at odds with reason; yet for
such unreasonable reasons do reasoning men fight."
"None the less, I will not fight thee," answered Beltane, deftly
touching in the wing of an archangel, "so let there be an end on't."
"End forsooth, we have not yet begun! An you must have a quarrel, right
fully will I provoke thee, since fight with thee I must, it being so my
duty--"
"How thy duty?"
"I am so commanded."
"By whom?"
"By one who, being dead, yet liveth. Nay, ask no names, yet mark me
this--the world's amiss, boy. Pentavalon groans beneath a black
usurper's heel, all the sins of hell are loose, murder and riot, lust
and rapine. March you eastward but a day through the forest yonder and
you shall see the trees bear strange fruit in our country. The world's
amiss, messire, yet here sit you wasting your days, a foolish brush
stuck in thy fist. So am I come, nor will I go hence until I have tried
thy mettle."
Quoth Beltane, shaking his head, intent upon his work:
"You speak me riddles, sir."
"Yet can I speak thee to the point and so it be thy wish, as thus--now
mark me, boy! Thou art a fool, a dog, a fatuous ass, a slave, a
nincompoop, a cowardly boy, and as such--mark me again!--now do I spit
at thee!"
Hereupon Beltane, having finished the archangel's wing, laid by his
brush and, with thoughtful mien, arose, and being upon his feet, turned
him, swift and sudden, and caught the stranger in a fierce and cunning
wrestling grip, and forthwith threw him upon his back. Whereat this
strange man, sitting cross-legged upon the sward, smiled his wry and
twisted smile and looked upon Beltane with bright, approving eye.
"A pretty spirit!" he nodded. "'Tis a sweet and gentle youth all good
beef and bone; a little green as yet, perchance, but 'tis no matter. A
mighty arm, a noble thigh, and shoulders--body o' me! But 'tis in the
breed. Young sir, by these same signs and portents my soul is uplifted
and hope singeth a new song within me!" So saying, the stranger sprang
nimbly to his feet and catching up one of the swords took it by the
blade and gave its massy hilt to Beltane's hand. Said he:
"Look well upon this blade, young sir; in duchy, kingdom or county you
shall not find its match, nor the like of the terrible hand that bore
it. Time was when this good steel--mark how it glitters yet!--struck
deep for liberty and justice and all fair things, before whose might
oppression quailed and hung its head, and in whose shadow peace and
mercy rested. 'Twas long ago, but this good steel is bright and
undimmed as ever. Ha! mark it, boy--those eyes o' thine shall ne'er
behold its equal!"
So Beltane took hold upon the great sword, felt the spring and balance
of the blade and viewed it up from glittering point to plain and simple
cross-guard. And thus, graven deep within the broad steel he read this
word:
RESURGAM.
"Ha!" cried the stranger, "see you the legend, good youth? Speak me now
what it doth signify."
And Beltane answered:
"'I shall arise!'"
"'Arise' good boy, aye, verily, mark me that. 'Tis a fair thought, look
you, and the motto of a great and noble house, and, by the Rood, I
think, likewise a prophecy!" Thus speaking the stranger stooped, and
taking up the other sword faced Beltane therewith, saying in soft and
wheedling tones: "Come now, let us fight together thou and I, and deny
me not, lest,--mark me this well, youth,--lest I spit at thee again."
Then he raised his sword, and smote Beltane with the flat of it, and
the blow stung, wherefore Beltane instinctively swung his weapon and
thrilled with sudden unknown joy at the clash of steel on steel; and
so they engaged.
And there, within the leafy solitude, Beltane and the stranger fought
together. The long blades whirled and flashed and rang upon the
stillness; and ever, as they fought, the stranger smiled his wry smile,
mocking and gibing at him, whereat Beltane's mouth grew the grimmer and
his blows the heavier, yet wherever he struck, there already was the
stranger's blade to meet him, whereat the stranger laughed fierce and
loud, taunting him on this wise:
"How now, thou dauber of colours, betake thee to thy little brush,
belike it shall serve thee better! Aye me, betake thee to thy little
brush, 'twere better fitted to thee than a noble sword, thou daubing
boy!"
Now did my Beltane wax wroth indeed and smote amain until his breath
grew short and thick, but ever steel rang on steel, and ever the
stranger laughed and gibed until Beltane's strokes grew slower:--then,
with a sudden fierce shout, did the stranger beset my Beltane with
strokes so swift and strong, now to right of him, now to left, that the
very air seemed full of flaming, whirling steel, and, in that moment,
as Beltane gave back, the stranger smote thrice in as many moments with
the flat of his blade, once upon the crown, once upon the shoulder, and
once upon the thigh. Fierce eyed and scant of breath, Beltane
redoubled his blows, striving to beat his mocker to the earth, whereat
he but laughed again, saying:
"Look to thy long legs, dullard!" and forthwith smote Beltane upon the
leg. "Now thine arm, slothful boy--thy left arm!" and he smote Beltane
upon the arm. "Now thy sconce, boy, thy mazzard, thy sleepy, golden
head!" and straightway he smote him on the head, and, thereafter, with
sudden, cunning stroke, beat the great sword from Beltane's grip, and
so, laughing yet, paused and stood leaning upon his own long weapon.
But Beltane stood with bent head, hurt in his pride, angry and beyond
all thought amazed; yet, being humbled most of all he kept his gaze
bent earthwards and spake no word.
Now hereupon the stranger grew solemn likewise and looked at Beltane
with kindly, approving eyes.
"Nay, indeed," quoth he, "be not abashed, good youth; take it not amiss
that I have worsted thee. 'Tis true, had I been so minded I might have
cut thee into gobbets no larger than thy little brush, but then, body
o' me! I have lived by stroke of sword from my youth up and have fought
in divers wars and countries, so take it not to heart, good youth!"
With the word he nodded and, stooping, took up the sword, and,
thereafter, cast his cloak about him, whereat Beltane lifted his head
and spake:
"Art going, sir? Wilt not try me once again? Methinks I might do a
little better this time, an so God wills."
"Aye, so thou shalt, sweet youth," cried the stranger, clapping him
upon the shoulder, "yet not now, for I must begone, yet shall I
return."
"Then I pray you leave with me the sword till you be come again."
"The sword--ha! doth thy soul cleave unto it so soon, my good, sweet
boy? Leave the sword, quotha? Aye, truly--some day. But for the nonce--
no, no, thy hand is not fitted to bear it yet, nor worthy such a blade,
but some day, belike--who knows? Fare thee well, sweet youth, I come
again to-morrow."
And so the tall, grim stranger turned him about, smiling his wry smile,
and strode away through the green. Then Beltane went back, minded to
finish his painting, but the colours had lost their charm for him,
moreover, the light was failing. Wherefore he put brushes and colours
aside, and, stripping, plunged into the cool, sweet waters of a certain
quiet pool, and so, much heartened and refreshed thereby, went betimes
to bed. But now he thought no more of women and the ways of women, but
rather of this stranger man, of his wry smile and of his wondrous
sword-play; and bethinking him of the great sword, he yearned after
it, as only youth may yearn, and so, sighing, fell asleep. And in his
dreams all night was the rushing thunder of many fierce feet and the
roaring din of bitter fight and conflict.
* * * * *
Up to an elbow sprang Beltane to find the sun new risen, filling his
humble chamber with its golden glory, and, in this radiance, upon the
open threshold, the tall, grim figure of the stranger.
| 850.442071 |
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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 | 851.281491 |
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CONFESSIONS AND CRITICISMS
BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. A PRELIMINARY CONFESSION
II. NOVELS AND AGNOSTICISM
III. AMERICANISM IN FICTION
IV. LITERATURE FOR CHILDREN
V. THE MORAL AIM IN FICTION
VI. THE MAKER OF MANY BOOKS
VII. MR. MALLOCK'S MISSING SCIENCE
VIII. THEODORE WINTHROP'S WRITINGS
IX. EMERSON AS AN AMERICAN
X. MODERN MAGIC
XI. AMERICAN WILD ANIMALS IN ART
CONFESSIONS AND CRITICISMS.
CHAPTER I.
A PRELIMINARY CONFESSION.
In 1869, when I was about twenty-three years old, I sent a couple of
sonnets to the revived _Putnam's Magazine_. At that period I had no
intention of becoming a professional writer: I was studying civil
engineering at the Polytechnic School in Dresden, Saxony. Years before,
I had received parental warnings--unnecessary, as I thought--against
writing for a living. During the next two years, however, when I was
acting as hydrographic engineer in the New York Dock Department, I
amused myself by writing a short story, called "Love and Counter-Love,"
which was published in _Harper's Weekly_, and for which I was paid
fifty dollars. "If fifty dollars can be so easily earned," I thought,
"why not go on adding to my income in this way from time to time?" I
was aided and abetted in the idea by the late Robert Carter, editor of
_Appletons' Journal_; and the latter periodical and _Harper's Magazine_
had the burden, and I the benefit, of the result. When, in 1872, I was
abruptly relieved from my duties in the Dock Department, I had the
alternative of either taking my family down to Central America to watch
me dig a canal, or of attempting to live by my pen. I bought twelve
reams of large letter-paper, and began my first work,--"Bressant." I
finished it in three weeks; but prudent counsellors advised me that it
was too immoral to publish, except in French: so I recast it, as the
phrase is, and, in its chastened state, sent it through the post to a
Boston publisher. It was lost on the way, and has not yet been found. I
was rather pleased than otherwise at this catastrophe; for I had in
those days a strange delight in rewriting my productions: it was,
perhaps, a more sensible practice than to print them. Accordingly, I
rewrote and enlarged "Bressant" in Dresden (whither I returned with my
family in 1872); but--immorality aside--I think the first version was
the best of the three. On my way to Germany I passed through London,
and there made the acquaintance of Henry S. King, the publisher, a
charming but imprudent man, for he paid me one hundred pounds for the
English copyright of my novel: and the moderate edition he printed is,
I believe, still unexhausted. The book was received in a kindly manner
by the press; but both in this country and in England some surprise and
indignation were expressed that the son of his father should presume to
be a novelist. This sentiment, whatever its bearing upon me, has
undoubtedly been of service to my critics: it gives them something to
write about. A disquisition upon the mantle of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and
an analysis of the differences and similarities between him and his
successor, generally fill so much of a notice as to enable the reviewer
to dismiss the book itself very briefly. I often used to wish, when,
years afterwards, I was myself a reviewer for the London _Spectator_,
that I could light upon some son of his father who might similarly
lighten my labors. Meanwhile, I was agreeably astonished at what I
chose to consider the success of "Bressant," and set to work to surpass
it in another romance, called (for some reason I have forgotten)
"Idolatry." This unknown book was actually rewritten, in whole or in
part, no less than seven times. _Non sum qualis eram_. For seven or
eight years past I have seldom rewritten one of the many pages which
circumstances have compelled me to inflict upon the world. But the
discipline of "Idolatry" probably taught me how to clothe an idea in
words.
By the time "Idolatry" was published, the year 1874 had come, and I was
living in London. From my note-books and recollections I compiled a
series of papers on life in Dresden, under the general title of "Saxon
Studies." Alexander Strahan, then editor of the _Contemporary Review_,
printed them in that periodical as fast as I wrote them, and they were
reproduced in certain eclectic magazines in this country,--until I
asserted my American copyright. Their publication in book form was
followed by the collapse of both the English and the American firm
engaging in that enterprise. I draw no deductions from that fact: I
simply state it. The circulation of the "Studies" was naturally small;
but one copy fell into the hands of a Dresden critic, and the manner in
which he wrote of it and its author repaid me for the labor of
composition and satisfied me that I had not done amiss.
After "Saxon Studies" I began another novel, "Garth," instalments of
which appeared from month to month in _Harper's Magazine_. When it had
run for a year or more, with no signs of abatement, the publishers felt
obliged to intimate that unless I put an end to their misery they
would. Accordingly, I promptly gave Garth his quietus. The truth is, I
was tired of him myself. With all his qualities and virtues, he could
not help being a prig. He found some friends, however, and still shows
signs of vitality. I wrote no other novel for nearly two years, but
contributed some sketches of English life to _Appletons' Journal_, and
produced a couple of novelettes,--"Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds" and
"Archibald Malmaison,"--which, by reason of their light draught, went
rather farther than usual. Other short tales, which I hardly care to
recall, belong to this period. I had already ceased to take pleasure in
writing for its own sake,--partly, no doubt, because I was obliged to
write for the sake of something else. Only those who have no reverence
for literature should venture to meddle with the making of it,--unless,
at all events, they can supply the demands of the butcher and baker
from an independent source.
In 1879, "Sebastian Strome" was published as a serial in _All the Year
Round_. Charley Dickens, the son of the great novelist, and editor of
the magazine, used to say to me while the story was in progress, "Keep
that red-haired girl up to the mark, and the story will do." I took a
fancy to Mary Dene myself. But I uniformly prefer my heroines to my
heroes; perhaps because I invent the former out of whole cloth, whereas
the latter are often formed of shreds and patches of men I have met.
And I never raised a character to the position of hero without
recognizing in him, before I had done with him, an egregious ass.
Differ as they may in other respects, they are all brethren in that;
and yet I am by no means disposed to take a Carlylese view of my actual
fellow-creatures.
I did some hard work at this time: I remember once writing for
twenty-six consecutive hours without pausing or rising from my chair;
and when, lately, I re-read the story then produced, it seemed quite as
good as the average of my work in that kind. I hasten to add that it
has never been printed in this country: for that matter, not more than
half my short tales have found an American publisher. "Archibald
Malmaison" was offered seven years ago to all the leading publishers in
New York and Boston, and was promptly refused by all. Since its recent
appearance here, however, it has had a circulation larger perhaps than
that of all my other stories combined. But that is one of the accidents
that neither author nor publisher can foresee. It was the horror of
"Archibald Malmaison," not any literary merit, that gave it vogue,--its
horror, its strangeness, and its brevity.
On Guy Fawkes's day, 1880, I began "Fortune's Fool,"--or "Luck," as it
was first called,--and wrote the first ten of the twelve numbers in
three months. I used to sit down to my table at eight o'clock in the
evening and write till sunrise. But the two remaining instalments were
not written and published until 1883, and this delay and its
circumstances spoiled the book. In the | 851.377605 |
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by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Sir Henry Morgan--Buccaneer.]
_Sir Henry Morgan, BUCCANEER_
_A Romance of the Spanish Main_
_BY_
_CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY_
_Author of "For Love of Country," "For the Freedom of the Sea," "The
Southerners," "Hohenzollern," "The Quiberon Touch," "Woven with the
Ship," "In the Wasp's Nest," Etc._
[Illustration]
_Illustrations by J.N. MARCHAND and WILL CRAWFORD_
G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1903, IN
GREAT BRITAIN
[_All rights reserved_]
_Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer_ _Issued October, 1903_
_TO MY ONLY BROTHER_
COLONEL JASPER EWING BRADY
_LATE U.S. ARMY_
"Woe to the realms which he coasted! for there
Was shedding of blood and rending of hair,
Rape of maiden and slaughter of priest,
Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast;
When he hoisted his standard black,
Before him was battle, behind him wrack,
And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane,
To light his band to their barks again."
SCOTT: "Harold the Dauntless."
_PREFACE_
In literature there have been romantic pirates, gentlemanly pirates,
kind-hearted pirates, even humorous pirates--in fact, all sorts and
conditions of pirates. In life there was only one kind. In this book
that kind appears. Several presentations--in the guise of novels--of
pirates, the like of which never existed on land or sea, have recently
appeared. A perusal of these interesting romances awoke in me a desire
to write a story of a real pirate, a pirate of the genuine species.
Much research for historical essays, amid ancient records and moldy
chronicles, put me in possession of a vast amount of information
concerning the doings of the greatest of all pirates; a man unique among
his nefarious brethren, in that he played the piratical game so
successfully that he received the honor of knighthood from King Charles
II. A belted knight of England, who was also a brutal, rapacious,
lustful, murderous villain and robber--and undoubtedly a pirate,
although he disguised his piracy under the name of buccaneering--is
certainly a striking and unusual figure.
Therefore, when I imagined my pirate story I pitched upon Sir Henry
Morgan as _the_ character of the romance. It will spare the critic to
admit that the tale hereinafter related is a work of the imagination,
and is not an historical romance. According to the latest accounts, Sir
Henry Morgan, by a singular oversight of Fate, who must have been
nodding at the time, died in his bed--not peacefully I trust--and was
buried in consecrated ground. But I do him no injustice, I hasten to
assure the reader, in the acts that I have attributed to him, for they
are more than paralleled by the well authenticated deeds of this human
monster. I did not even invent the blowing up of the English frigate in
the action with the Spanish ships.
If I have assumed for the nonce the attributes of that unaccountably
somnolent Fate, and brought him to a terrible end, I am sure abundant
justification will be found in the recital of his mythical misdeeds,
which, I repeat, were not a circumstance to his real transgressions.
Indeed, one has to go back to the most cruel and degenerate of the Roman
emperors to parallel the wickednesses of Morgan and his men. It is not
possible to put upon printed pages explicit statements of what they did.
The curious reader may find some account of these "Gentlemen of the
Black Flag," so far as it can be translated into present-day books
intended for popular reading, in my volume of "COLONIAL FIGHTS AND
FIGHTERS."
The writing of this novel has been by no means an easy task. How to
convey clearly the doings of the buccaneer so there could be no
misapprehension on the part of the reader, and yet to write with due
delicacy and restraint a book for the general public, has been a problem
with which I have wrestled long and arduously. The whole book has been
completely revised some six times. Each time I have deleted something,
which, while it has refined, I trust has not impaired the strength of
the tale. If the critic still find things to censure, let him pass over
charitably in view of what might have been!
As to the other characters, I have done violence to the name and fame of
no man, for all of those who played any prominent part among the
buccaneers in the story were themselves men scarcely less criminal than
Morgan. Be it known that I have simply appropriated names, not careers.
They all had adventures of their own and were not associated with Morgan
in life. Teach--I have a weakness for that bad young man--is known to
history as "Blackbeard"--a much worse man than the roaring singer of
these pages. The delectable Hornigold, the One-Eyed, with the "wild
justice" of his revenge, was another real pirate. So was the faithful
Black Dog, the maroon. So were Raveneau de Lussan, Rock Braziliano,
L'Ollonois, Velsers, Sawkins, and the rest.
In addition to my desire to write a real story of a real pirate I was
actuated by another intent. There are numberless tales of the brave days
of the Spanish Main, from "Westward Ho!" down. In every one of them,
without exception, the hero is a noble, gallant, high-souled,
high-spirited, valiant descendant of the Anglo-Saxon race, while the
villain--and such villains they are!--is always a proud and haughty
Spaniard, who comes to grief dreadfully in the final trial which
determines the issue. My sympathies, from a long course of reading of
such romances, have gone out to the under Don. I determined to write a
story with a Spanish gentleman for the hero, and a Spanish gentlewoman
for the heroine, and let the position of villain be filled by one of our
own race. Such things were, and here they are. I have dwelt with
pleasure on the love affairs of the gallant Alvarado and the beautiful
Mercedes.
But, after all, the story is preeminently the story of Morgan. I have
striven to make it a character sketch of that remarkable personality. I
wished to portray his ferocity and cruelty, his brutality and
wantonness, his treachery and rapacity; to exhibit, without lightening,
the dark shadows of his character, and to depict his inevitable and
utter breakdown finally; yet at the same time to bring out his dauntless
courage, his military ability, his fertility and resourcefulness, his
mastery of his men, his capacity as a seaman, which are qualities worthy
of admiration. Yet I have not intended to make him an admirable figure.
To do that would be to falsify history and disregard the artistic
canyons. So I have tried to show him as he was; great and brave, small
and mean, skilful and able, greedy and cruel; and lastly, in his crimes
and punishment, a coward.
And if a mere romance may have a lesson, here in this tale is one of a
just retribution, exhibited in the awful, if adequate, vengeance finally
wreaked upon Morgan by those whom he had so fearfully and dreadfully
wronged.
CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY.
BROOKLYN, N.Y., _December, 1902_.
NOTE.--The date of the sack of Panama has been advanced to comply
with the demands of this romance.
_TABLE OF CONTENTS_
BOOK I.
HOW SIR HENRY MORGAN IN HIS OLD AGE RESOLVED TO GO A-BUCCANEERING
AGAIN.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--Wherein Sir Henry Morgan made good use of the
ten minutes allowed him 25
II.--How Master Benjamin Hornigold, the One-Eyed,
agreed to go with his old Captain 45
III.--In which Sir Henry Morgan finds himself at the head
of a crew once more 65
IV.--Which tells how the _Mary Rose_, frigate, changed
masters and flags 81
BOOK II.
THE CRUISE OF THE BUCCANEERS AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE SEAS.
CHAPTER PAGE
V.--How the _Mary Rose_ overhauled three Spanish treasure
ships 97
VI.--In which is related the strange expedient of the
Captain and how they took the great galleon 115
VII.--Wherein Bartholomew Sawkins mutinied against
his Captain and what befel him on that account 128
VIII.--How they strove to club-haul the galleon and failed
to save her on the coast of Caracas 145
BOOK III.
WHICH TREATS OF THE TANGLED LOVE AFFAIRS OF THE PEARL OF CARACAS.
CHAPTER PAGE
IX.--Discloses the hopeless passion between Donna Mercedes
de Lara and Captain Dominique Alvarado,
the Commandante of La Guayra 161
X.--How Donna Mercedes tempted her lover and how he
strove valiantly to resist her appeals 174
XI.--Wherein Captain Alvarado pledges his word to the
Viceroy of Venezuela, the Count Alvaro de Lara,
and to Don Felipe de Tobar, his friend 190
XII.--Shows how Donna Mercedes chose death rather than
give up Captain Alvarado, and what befel them on
the road over the mountains 200
XIII.--In which Captain Alvarado is forsworn and with
Donna Mercedes in his arms breaks his plighted
word 218
BOOK IV.
IN WHICH IS RELATED AN ACCOUNT OF THE TAKING OF LA GUAYRA BY THE
BUCCANEERS AND THE DREADFUL PERILS OF DONNA MERCEDES DE LARA AND
CAPTAIN ALVARADO IN THAT CITY.
CHAPTER PAGE
XIV.--Wherein the crew of the galleon intercepts the two
lovers by the way 231
XV.--Tells how Mercedes de Lara returned the unsought
caress of Sir Henry Morgan and the means by
which the buccaneers surmounted the walls 248
XVI.--In which Benjamin Hornigold recognizes a cross and
Captain Alvarado finds and loses a mother on the
strand 265
XVII.--Which describes an audience with Sir Henry Morgan
and the treachery by which Captain Alvarado
benefited 283
BOOK V.
HOW THE SPANIARDS RE-TOOK LA GUAYRA AND HOW CAPTAIN ALVARADO FOUND A
NAME AND SOMETHING DEARER STILL IN THE CITY.
CHAPTER PAGE
XVIII.--Discloses the way in which Mercedes de Lara fought
with woman's cunning against Captain Henry
Morgan 301
XIX.--How Captain Alvarado crossed the mountains, found
the Viceroy, and placed his life in his master's
hands 326
XX.--Wherein Master Teach, the pirate, dies better than
he lived 347
XXI.--The recital of how Captain Alvarado and Don Felipe
de Tobar came to the rescue in the nick of time 354
XXII.--In which Sir Henry Morgan sees a cross, cherishes
a hope, and makes a claim 370
XXIII.--How the good priest, Fra Antonio de Las Casas, told
the truth, to the great relief of Captain Alvarado
and Donna Mercedes, and the discomfiture of
Master Benjamin Hornigold and Sir Henry
Morgan 385
XXIV.--In which Sir Henry Morgan appeals unavailingly
alike to the pity of woman, the forgiveness of
priest, the friendship of comrade, and the hatred
of men 402
BOOK VI.
IN WHICH THE CAREER OF SIR HENRY MORGAN IS ENDED ON ISLA DE LA
TORTUGA, TO THE GREAT DELECTATION OF MASTER BENJAMIN HORNIGOLD, HIS
SOMETIME FRIEND.
CHAPTER PAGE
XXV.--And last. Wherein is seen how the judgment of
God came upon the buccaneers in the end 421
_ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY J.N. MARCHAND
Sir Henry Morgan--Buccaneer _Frontispiece_
PAGE
With the point of his own sword pressed against the back
of his neck, he repeated the message which Morgan had
given him (_see page 39_) 41
Their blades crossed in an instant... There was a
roar from Carib's pistol, and the old man fell (_see
page 87_) 89
Morgan instantly snatched a pistol from de Lussan's hand
and shot the man dead (_see page 138_) 139
Alvarado threw his right arm around her, and with a
force superhuman dragged her from the saddle (_see
page 217_) 215
The moonlight shone full upon her face, and as he stooped
over he scanned it with his one eye (_see page 267_) 269
... he reached the summit--breathless, exhausted,
unhelmed, weaponless, coatless, in rags; torn, bruised,
bleeding, but unharmed (_see page 332_) 333
... he threw the contents at the feet of the buccaneer,
and there rolled before him the severed head of
... his solitary friend (_see page 412_) 413
Hell had no terror like to this, which he, living,
suffered (_see page 443_) 441
BY WILL CRAWFORD
PAGE
"To our next meeting, Mr. Bradley" (_see page 44_) 25
There was one man... who did not join in the singing
(_see page 49_) 45
Carlingford had risen in his boat... and with
dauntless courage he shook his bared sword (_see
page 91_) 81
The high poop and rail of the Spaniard was black with
iron-capped men (_see page 121_) 115
"Wilt obey me in the future?" cried the captain (_see
page 143_) 128
"Are you in a state for a return journey at once, senor?"
he asked of the young officer (_see page 173_) 161
"The fault is mine," said Alvarado (_see page 183_) 174
Early as it was, the Viceroy and his officers... bid
the travelers Godspeed (_see page 200_) 200
During the intervals of repose the young man allowed his
party, the two lovers were constantly together (_see
page 224_) 218
But de Lussan shot him dead, and before the others could
make a move, Morgan stepped safely on the sand (_see
page 239_) 241
"Slay them, O God! Strike and spare not!" (_see
page 281_) 265
"What would you do for him?" "My life for his," she
answered bravely (_see page 289_) 283
"Hast another weapon in thy bodice?" (_see page 319_) 321
Quite the best of the pirates, he! (_see page 351_) 347
By an impulse... she slipped her arms around his
neck... and kissed him (_see page 366_) 354
"Treachery? My lord, his was the first" (_see page 378_) 370
"'Tis a certificate of marriage of----" (_see page 400_) 385
"God help me!" cried Alvarado, throwing aside the
poniard, "I cannot" (_see page 386_) 387
"I wanted to let you know there was water here.... There
is not enough for both of us. Who will get it?
I; look!" (_see page 436_) 437
"Harry Morgan's way to lead--old Ben Hornigold's to
follow--ha, ha! ho, ho!" He waded out into the
water... (_see page 444_) 445
BOOK I
HOW SIR HENRY MORGAN IN HIS OLD AGE RESOLVED TO GO A-BUCCANEERING AGAIN
_SIR HENRY MORGAN, BUCCANEER_
CHAPTER I
WHEREIN SIR HENRY MORGAN MADE GOOD USE OF THE TEN MINUTES ALLOWED HIM
His Gracious Majesty, King Charles II. of England, in sportive--and
acquisitive--mood, had made him a knight; but, as that merry monarch
himself had said of another unworthy subject whom he had ennobled--his
son, by the left hand--"God Almighty could not make him a gentleman!"
[Illustration]
Yet, to the casual inspection, little or nothing appeared to be lacking
to entitle him to all the consideration attendant upon that ancient
degree. His attire, for instance, might be a year or two behind the
fashion of England and still further away from that of France, then, as
now, the standard maker in dress, yet it represented the extreme of the
mode in His Majesty's fair island of Jamaica. That it was a trifle too
vivid in its colors, and too striking in its contrasts for the best
taste at home, possibly might be condoned by the richness of the
material used and the prodigality of trimming which decorated it. Silk
and satin from the Orient, lace from Flanders, leather from Spain, with
jewels from everywhere, marked him as a person entitled to some
consideration, at least. Even more compulsory of attention, if not of
respect, were his haughty, overbearing, satisfied manner, his look of
command, the expression of authority in action he bore.
Quite in keeping with his gorgeous appearance was the richly furnished
room in which he sat in autocratic isolation, plumed hat on head,
quaffing, as became a former brother-of-the-coast and sometime
buccaneer, amazing draughts of the fiery spirits of the island of which
he happened to be, _ad interim_, the Royal Authority.
But it was his face which attested the acuteness of the sneering
observation of the unworthy giver of the royal accolade. No gentleman
ever bore face like that. Framed in long, thin, gray curls which fell
upon his shoulders after the fashion of the time, it was as cruel, as
evil, as sensuous, as ruthless, as powerful an old face as had ever
looked over a bulwark at a sinking ship, or viewed with indifference the
ravaging of a devoted town. Courage there was, capacity in large
measure, but not one trace of human kindness. Thin, lean, hawk-like,
ruthless, cunning, weather-beaten, it was sadly out of place in its
brave attire in that vaulted chamber. It was the face of a man who ruled
by terror; who commanded by might. It was the face of an adventurer,
too, one never sure of his position, but always ready to fight for it,
and able to fight well. There was a watchful, alert, inquiring look in
the fierce blue eyes, an intent, expectant expression in the craggy
countenance, that told of the uncertainties of his assumptions; yet the
lack of assurance was compensated for by the firm, resolute line of the
mouth under the trifling upturned mustache, with its lips at the same
time thin and sensual. To be fat and sensual is to appear to mitigate
the latter evil with at least a pretence at good humor; to be thin and
sensual is to be a devil. This man was evil, not with the grossness of a
debauchee but with the thinness of the devotee. And he was an old man,
too. Sixty odd years of vicious life, glossed over in the last two
decades by an assumption of respectability, had swept over the gray
hairs, which evoked no reverence.
There was a heavy frown on his face on that summer evening in the year
of our Lord, 1685. The childless wife whom he had taken for his
betterment and her worsening, some ten years since--in succession to
Satan only knew how many nameless, unrecognized precursors--had died a
few moments before, in the chamber above his head. Fairly bought from a
needy father, she had been a cloak to lend him a certain respectability
when he settled down, red with the blood of thousands whom he had slain
and rich with the treasure of cities that he had wasted, to enjoy the
evening of his life. Like all who are used for such purposes, she knew,
after a little space, the man over whom the mantle of her reputation had
been flung. She had rejoiced at the near approach of that death for
which she had been longing almost since her wedding day. That she had
shrunk from him in the very articles of dissolution when he stood by her
bedside, indicated the character of the relationship.
To witness death and to cause it had been the habit of this man. He
marked it in her case, as in others, with absolute indifference--he
cared so little for her that he did not even feel relief at her
going--yet because he was the Governor of Jamaica (really he was only
the Vice-Governor, but between the departure of the Royal Governor and
the arrival of another he held supreme power) he had been forced to keep
himself close on the day his wife died, by that public opinion to which
he was indifferent but which he could not entirely defy. Consequently he
had not been on the strand at Port Royal when the _Mary Rose_, frigate,
fresh from England, had dropped anchor in the harbor after her weary
voyage across the great sea. He did not even yet know of her arrival,
and therefore the incoming Governor had not been welcomed by the man who
sat temporarily, as he had in several preceding interregnums, in the
seats of the mighty.
However, everybody else on the island had welcomed him with joy, for of
all men who had ever held office in Jamaica Sir Henry Morgan, sometime
the chief devil of those nefarious bands who disguised their piracy
under the specious title of buccaneering, was the most detested. But
because of the fortunate demise of Lady Morgan, as it turned out, Sir
Henry was not present to greet My Lord Carlingford, who was to supersede
him--and more.
The deep potations the old buccaneer had indulged in to all outward
intent passed harmlessly down his lean and craggy throat. He drank
alone--the more solitary the drinker the more dangerous the man--yet
the room had another occupant, a tall, brawny, brown-hued, grim-faced
savage, whose gaudy livery ill accorded with his stern and ruthless
visage. He stood by the Vice-Governor, watchful, attentive, and silent,
imperturbably filling again and again the goblet from which he drank.
"More rum," said the master, at last breaking the silence while lifting
his tall glass toward the man. "Scuttle me, Black Dog," he added,
smiling sardonically at the silent maroon who poured again with steady
hand, "you are the only soul on this island who doesn't fear me. That
woman above yonder, curse her, shuddered away from me as I looked at her
dying. But your hand is steady. You and old Ben Hornigold are the only
ones who don't shrink back, hey, Carib? Is it love or hate?" he mused,
as the man made no answer. "More," he cried, again lifting the glass
which he had instantly drained.
But the maroon, instead of pouring, bent his head toward the window,
listened a moment, and then turned and lifted a warning hand. The soft
breeze of the evening, laden with the fragrance of the tropics, swept up
from the river and wafted to the Vice-Governor's ears the sound of hoof
beats on the hard, dry road. With senses keenly alert, he, also,
listened. There were a number of them, a troop possibly. They were
drawing nearer; they were coming toward his house, the slimmer house
near Spanish Town, far up on the mountain side, where he sought relief
from the enervating heats of the lower land.
"Horsemen!" he cried. "Coming to the house! Many of them! Ah, they
dismount. Go to the door, Carib."
But before the maroon could obey they heard steps on the porch. Some one
entered the hall. The door of the drawing-room was abruptly thrown open,
and two men in the uniform of the English army, with the distinguishing
marks of the Governor's Guard at Jamaica, unceremoniously entered the
room. They were fully armed. One of them, the second, had drawn his
sword and held a cocked pistol in the other hand. The first, whose
weapons were still in their sheaths, carried a long official paper with
a portentous seal dangling from it. Both were booted and spurred and
dusty from riding, and both, contrary to the custom and etiquette of the
island, kept their plumed hats on their heads.
"Sir Henry Morgan----" began the bearer of the paper.
"By your leave, gentlemen," interrupted Morgan, with an imperious wave
of his hand, "Lieutenant Hawxherst and Ensign Bradley of my guard, I
believe. You will uncover at once and apologize for having entered so
unceremoniously."
As he spoke, the Governor rose to his feet and stood by the table, his
right hand unconsciously resting upon the heavy glass flagon of rum. He
towered above the other two men as he stood there transfixing them with
his resentful glance, his brow heavy with threat and anger. But the two
soldiers made no movement toward complying with the admonition of their
sometime superior.
"D'ye hear me?" he cried, stepping forward, reddening with rage at their
apparent contumacy. "And bethink ye, sirs, had best address me, who
stand in the place of the King's Majesty, as 'Your Excellency,' or I'll
have you broke, knaves."
"We need no lessons in manners from you, Sir Henry Morgan," cried
Hawxherst, angry in turn to be so browbeaten, though yesterday he would
have taken it mildly enough. "And know by this, sir," lifting the paper,
"that you are no longer Governor of this island, and can claim respect
from no one."
"What do you mean?"
"The _Mary Rose_ frigate arrived this morning, bringing Lord Carlingford
as His Majesty's new Governor, and this order of arrest."
"Arrest? For whom?"
"For one Sir Henry Morgan."
"For what, pray?"
"Well, sir, for murder, theft, treason--the catalogue fills the paper.
You are to be despatched to England to await the King's pleasure. I am
sent by Lord Carlingford to fetch you to the jail at Port Royal."
"You seem to find it a pleasant task."
"By heaven, I do, sir!" cried the soldier fiercely. "I am a gentleman
born, of the proudest family in the Old Dominion, and have been forced
to bow and scrape and endure your insults and commands, you bloody
villain, but now----"
"'Tis no part of a soldier's duty, sir, to insult a prisoner,"
interrupted Morgan, not without a certain dignity. He was striving to
gain time to digest this surprising piece of news and thinking deeply
what was to be done in this entirely unexpected crisis.
"Curse it all, Hawxherst!" Ensign Bradley burst out, pulling at the
sleeve of his superior. "You go too far, man; this is unseemly."
Hawxherst passed his hand across his brow and by an effort somewhat
regained his self-control.
"Natheless 'tis in this paper writ that you are to go to England a
prisoner on the _Mary Rose_, to await the King's pleasure," he added,
savagely.
"His Gracious Majesty hath laid his sword upon my shoulder. I am a
knight of his English court, one who has served him well upon the seas.
His coffers have I enriched by--but let that pass. I do not believe that
King Charles, God bless him----"
"Stop! The _Mary Rose_ brings the news that King Charles II. is dead,
and there reigns in his stead His Gracious Majesty King James."
"God rest the soul of the King!" cried Morgan, lifting his hat from his
head. "He was a merry and a gallant gentleman. I know not this James.
How if I do not go with you?"
"You have ten minutes in which to decide, sir," answered Hawxherst.
"And then?"
"Then if I don't bring you forth, the men of yonder troop will come in
without further order. Eh, Bradley?"
"Quite so, Sir Henry," answered the younger man. "And every avenue of
escape is guarded. Yield you, sir; believe me, there's naught else."
"I have ten minutes then," said the old man reflectively, "ten minutes!
Hum!"
"You may have," answered the captain curtly, "if you choose to take so
long. And I warn you," he added, "that you'd best make use of that time
to bid farewell to Lady Morgan or give other order for the charge of
your affairs, for 'twill be a long time, I take it, before you are back
here again."
"Lady Morgan is dead, gentlemen, in the room above."
At this young Bradley removed his hat, an example which Hawxherst
followed a moment after. They had always felt sorry for the unfortunate
wife of the buccaneer.
"As for my affairs, they can wait," continued Morgan slowly. "The game
is not played out yet, and perchance I shall have another opportunity to
arrange them. Meanwhile, fetch glasses, Carib, from yonder buffet."
He nodded toward a huge sideboard which stood against the wall
immediately in the rear of Ensign Bradley, and at the same time shot a
swift, meaning glance at the maroon, which was not lost upon him as he
moved rapidly and noiselessly in obedience.
"Gentlemen, will you drink with me to our next merry meeting?" he
continued, turning to them.
"We're honest soldiers, honorable gentlemen, and we'll drink with no
murderer, no traitor!" cried Hawxherst promptly.
"So?" answered Morgan, his eye sparkling with baleful light, although he
remained otherwise entirely unmoved.
"And let me remind you," continued the soldier, "that your time is
passing."
"Well, keep fast the glasses, Carib, the gentlemen have no fancy for
drinking. I suppose, sirs, that I must fain yield me, but first let me
look at your order ere I surrender myself peaceably to you," said the
deposed Governor, with surprising meekness.
"Indeed, sir----"
"'Tis my right."
"Well, perchance it may be. There can be no harm in it, I think; eh,
Bradley?" queried the captain, catching for the moment his subaltern's
eye.
Then, as the latter nodded his head, the former extended the paper to
Morgan. At that instant the old buccaneer shot one desperate glance at
the maroon, who stood back of the shoulder of the officer with the drawn
sword and pistol. As Hawxherst extended the paper, Morgan, with the
quickness of an albatross, grasped his wrist with his left hand, jerked
him violently forward, and struck him a vicious blow on the temple with
the heavy glass decanter, which shivered in his hand. Hawxherst pitched
down at the Governor's feet, covered with blood and rum. So powerful had
been Morgan's blow that the brains of the man had almost been beaten
out. He lay shuddering and quivering on the floor. Quickly as Morgan
struck, however, Carib had been quicker. As the glass crashed against
the temple | 851.401994 |
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[Illustration: Yours truly Charles Carleton Coffin (signature)]
FOLLOWING THE FLAG
FROM AUGUST 1861 TO NOVEMBER 1862
WITH THE
ARMY OF THE POTOMAC
BY
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN
AUTHOR OF "MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BATTLEFIELD," "BOYS OF '76,"
"BOYS OF '61," "WINNING HIS WAY," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN SERIES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN
Following the Flag.
Four Years of Fighting.
My Days and Nights on the Battlefield.
Winning His Way.
_Price, postpaid, 50c. each, or any three books for $1.25_
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
PREFACE.
It will be many years before a complete history of the operations of
the armies of the Union can be written; but that is not a sufficient
reason why historical pictures may not now be painted from such
materials as have come to hand. This volume, therefore, is a sketch
of the operations of the Army of the Potomac from August, 1861, to
November, 1862, while commanded by General McClellan. To avoid detail,
the organization of the army is given in an Appendix. It has not been
possible, in a book of this size, to give the movements of regiments;
but the narrative has been limited to the operations of brigades and
divisions. It will be comparatively easy, however, for the reader
to ascertain the general position of any regiment in the different
battles, by consulting the Appendix in connection with the narrative.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
Introductory 9
I. Organization of the Army of the Potomac 11
II. Ball's Bluff 22
III. Battle of Dranesville, and the Winter of
1862 38
IV. Siege of Yorktown 49
V. Battle of Williamsburg 65
VI. On the Chickahominy 82
Affair at Hanover Court-House 84
VII. Fair Oaks 88
VIII. Seven Days of Fighting 108
Battle of Mechanicsville 111
Battle of Gaines's Mills 115
Movement to James River 121
Battle of Savage Station 123
Battle of Glendale 125
Battle of Malvern 131
IX. Affairs in front of Washington 138
Battle of Cedar Mountain 140
X. Battle of Groveton 147
The Retreat to Washington 157
XI. Invasion of Maryland 158
Barbara Frietchie 160
Battle of South Mountain 165
Surrender of Harper's Ferry 171
XII. Battle of Antietam 175
Hooker's Attack 187
Sumner's Attack 194
The Attack upon the Center 206
Richardson's Attack 212
General Franklin's Arrival 216
Burnside's Attack 221
XIII. After the Battle 238
XIV. The March from Harper's Ferry to
Warrenton 250
Removal of General McClellan 269
APPENDIX.
The Organization of the Army of the Potomac,
April, 1862 278
LIST OF DIAGRAMS.
PAGE
Ball's Bluff 29
Battle of Dranesville 41
Battle of Williamsburg 69
Battle of Fair Oaks 91
Battle of Mechanicsville 112
Battle of Gaines's Mills 116
Battle of Glendale 128
Battle of Malvern 134
Battle of Groveton 149
Battle-Field of Antietam 180
Sedgwick's Attack 198
French's and Richardson's Attack 208
Burnside's Second Attack 232
INTRODUCTORY.
For more than three years I have followed the flag of our country
in the East and in the West and in the South,--on the ocean, on the
land, and on the great rivers. A year ago I gave in a volume entitled
"My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field" a description of the Battle
of Bull Run, and other battles in Kentucky, Tennessee, and on the
Mississippi.
It has been my privilege to witness nearly all the great battles fought
by the Army of the Potomac,--Antietam, Fredericksburg, Gettysburg,
at the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, the North Anna, Coal Harbor and at
Petersburg. Letters have been received from those who are strangers to
me as well as from friends, expressing a desire that I should give a
connected account, not only of the operations of that army, from its
organization, but of other armies; also of the glorious achievements of
the navy in this great struggle of our country for national existence.
The present volume, therefore, will be the second of the contemplated
series.
During the late campaign in Virginia, many facts and incidents were
obtained which give an insight into the operations of the armies of the
South, not before known. Time will undoubtedly reveal other important
facts, which will be made use of in the future. It will be my endeavor
to sift from the immense amount of material already accumulated a
concise and trustworthy account, that we may know how our patriot
brothers have fought to save the country and to secure to all who may
live after them the blessings of a free government.
FOLLOWING THE FLAG.
CHAPTER I.
ORGANIZATION OF THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC.
The battle of Bull Run, or of Manassas, as the Rebels call it, which
was fought on the 21st of July, 1861, was the first great battle of the
war. It was disastrous to the Union army. But the people of the North
were not disheartened by it. Their pride was mortified, for they had
confidently expected a victory, and had not taken into consideration
the possibility of a defeat. The victory was all but won, as has been
narrated in "My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field," when the arrival
of a brigade of Rebels and the great mistake of Captain Barry, who
supposed them to be Union troops, turned the scale, and the battle was
lost to the Union army.
But the people of the North, who loved the Union, could not think of
giving up the contest,--of having the country divided, and the old flag
trailed in the dust. They felt that it would be impossible to live
peaceably side by side with those who declared themselves superior to
the laboring men of the Free States, and were their rightful masters.
They were not willing to acknowledge that the slaveholders were their
masters. They felt that there could not be friendship and amity
between themselves and a nation which had declared that slavery was
its cornerstone. Besides all this, the slaveholders wanted Maryland,
Kentucky, and Missouri in the Southern Confederacy, while the majority
of the people of those States wanted to stay in the Union. The Rebels
professed that they were willing that each State should choose for
itself, but they were insincere and treacherous in their professions.
Kentucky would not join the Confederacy; therefore they invaded the
State to compel the people to forsake the old flag.
A gentleman from Ohio accompanied a Southern lady to Columbus, on the
Mississippi, to see her safely among her friends. General Polk was
commander of the Rebel forces at that place, and they talked about the
war.
"I wish it might be settled," said the General.
"How will you settle?"
"O, all we ask is to have all that belongs to us, and to be let alone."
"What belongs to you?"
"All that has always been acknowledged as ours."
"Do you want Missouri?"
"Yes, that is ours."
"Do you want Kentucky?"
"Yes, certainly. The Ohio River has always been considered as the
boundary line."
"But Kentucky don't want you."
"We must have her."
"You want all of Virginia?"
"Of course."
"You want Maryland?"
"Most certainly."
"What will you do with Washington?"
"We don't want it. Remove it if you want to; but Maryland is ours."[1]
[Footnote 1: Ohio State Journal.]
Such was the conversation; and this feeling, that they must have
all the Slave States to form a great slaveholding confederacy, was
universal in the South.
Besides this, they held the people in the Free States in contempt. Even
the children of the South were so influenced by the system of slavery
that they thought themselves superior to the people of the Free States
who worked for a living.
I heard a girl, who was not more than ten years old, say that the
Northern people were all "old scrubs"! Not to be a scrub was to own
slaves,--to work them hard and pay them nothing,--to sell them, to
raise children for the market,--to separate mothers from their babes,
wives from their husbands,--to live solely for their own interests,
happiness, and pleasure, without regard to the natural rights of
others. This little girl, although her mother kept a boarding-house,
felt that she was too good to play with Northern children, or if she
noticed them at all, it was as a superior.
Feeling themselves the superiors of the Northern people, having been
victorious at Manassas, the people of the South became enthusiastic for
continuing the war. Thousands of volunteers joined the Rebels already
in arms. Before the summer of 1861 had passed, General Johnston had a
large army in front of Washington, which was called the Army of the
Potomac.
At the same time thousands rushed to arms in the North. They saw
clearly that there was but one course to pursue,--to fight it out,
defeat the Rebels, vindicate their honor, and save the country.
The Union army which gathered at Washington was also styled the Army
of the Potomac. Many of the soldiers who fought at Manassas were three
months' men. As their terms of service expired their places were filled
by men who enlisted for three years, if not sooner discharged.
General George B. McClellan, who with General Rosecrans had been
successfully conducting the war in Western Virginia, was called to
Washington to organize an army which, it was hoped, would defeat the
Rebels, and move on to Richmond.
The people wanted a leader. General Scott, who had fought at Niagara
and Lundy's Lane, who had captured the city of Mexico, was too old and
infirm to take the field. General McDowell, although his plan of attack
at Bull Run was approved, had failed of victory. General McClellan had
been successful in the skirmishes at Philippi and at Rich Mountain.
He was known to be a good engineer. He had been a visitor to Russia
during the Crimean war, and had written a book upon that war, which was
published by Congress. He was a native of Pennsylvania and a resident
of Ohio when the war broke out. The governors of both of those States
sent him a commission as a brigadier-general, because he had had
military experience in Mexico, and because he was known as a military
man, and because they were in great need of experienced men to command
the troops. Having all these things in his favor, he was called to
Washington and made commander of the Army of the Potomac on the 27th of
July.
He immediately submitted a plan of operations to the President for
suppressing the rebellion. He thought that if Kentucky remained loyal,
twenty thousand men moving down the Mississippi would be sufficient
to quell the rebellion in the West. Western Virginia could be held
by five or ten thousand more. He would have ten thousand protect the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and the Potomac River, five thousand
at Baltimore, twenty thousand at Washington, and three thousand at
Fortress Monroe. One grand army for active operations was needed, to
consist of two hundred and twenty-five thousand infantry, six hundred
pieces of field artillery, twenty-five thousand cavalry, and seven
thousand five hundred engineers, making a total of two hundred and
seventy-three thousand men. In his letter to the President, General
McClellan says: "I propose, with the force which I have requested, not
only to drive the enemy out of Virginia, and occupy Richmond, but to
occupy Charleston, Savannah, Montgomery, Pensacola, Mobile, and New
Orleans; in other words, to move into the heart of the enemy's country,
and crush the rebellion in its very heart."[2]
[Footnote 2: General McClellan's Report, p. 4.]
It was found a very difficult matter to obtain arms for the soldiers;
for President Buchanan's Secretary of War, Floyd, had sent most of the
arms in Northern arsenals to the South before the war commenced. But,
notwithstanding this, so earnest were the people, and so energetic the
government, that on the 1st of October, two months from the time that
General McClellan took command, there were one hundred and sixty-eight
thousand men in the Army of the Potomac, with two hundred and twenty
pieces of artillery; besides this, the government had a large army
in Kentucky, and another in Missouri. The Rebels had large armies in
those States, and were making great efforts to secure them to the
Confederacy. It was not possible to send all the troops to Washington,
as General McClellan desired.
The Rebel army was commanded by General Joseph E. Johnston. He had
about seventy thousand men, with his headquarters at Manassas. Some
of the spies which were sent out by General McClellan reported a much
larger force under Johnston, and General McClellan believed that he
had one hundred and fifty thousand men. Strong fortifications were
erected to defend Washington; General Johnston wished very much to
take the city, and the people of the South expected that he would gain
possession of it and drive out the hated Yankees. He pushed his troops
almost up to General McClellan's lines, taking possession of Munson's
Hill, which is only five miles from the Long Bridge at Washington.
The Rebels erected breastworks upon the hill, and threw shot and shells
almost to Arlington House. From the hill they could see the spires of
the city of Washington, the white dome of the capitol, and its marble
pillars. No doubt they longed to have it in their possession; but there
were thousands of men in arms and hundreds of cannon and a wide river
between them and the city.
One bright October morning I rode to Bailey's Cross-roads, which is
about a mile from Munson's Hill. Looking across a cornfield, I could
see the Rebels behind their breastworks. Their battle-flags were waving
gayly. Their bayonets gleamed in the sunshine. A group of officers had
gathered on the summit of the hill. With my field-glass, I could see
what they were doing. They examined maps, looked towards Washington,
and pointed out the position of the Union fortifications. There were
ladies present, who looked earnestly towards the city, and chatted
merrily with the officers. A few days after, I saw in a Richmond paper
that the officers were Generals Lee, Beauregard, and Johnston, and that
one of the ladies was Mrs. Lee.
General Lee was within sight of his old home; but he had become a
traitor to his country, and it was to be his no more. Never again would
he sit in the spacious parlors, or walk the verdant lawn, or look upon
the beautiful panorama of city and country, forest and field, hill and
valley, land and water,--upon the ripened wheat on the hillside or the
waving corn in the meadows,--upon the broad Potomac, gleaming in the
sunshine, or upon the white-winged ships sailing upon its bosom,--upon
the city, with its magnificent buildings, upon the marble shaft rising
to the memory of Washington, or upon the outline of the hills of
Bladensburg, faint and dim in the distance.
He joined the rebellion because he believed that a state was more than
the nation, that Virginia was greater than the Union, that she had a
right to leave it, and was justified in seceding from it. He belonged
to an old family, which, when Virginia was a colony of Great Britain,
had influence and power. He owned many slaves. He believed that the
institution of slavery was right. He left the Union to serve Virginia,
resigned his command as colonel of cavalry, which he held under the
United States. He accepted a commission from Jefferson Davis, forswore
his allegiance to his country, turned his back upon the old flag,
proved recreant in the hour of trial, and became an enemy to the nation
which had trusted and honored him.
The summer passed away and the golden months of autumn came round. The
troops were organized into brigades and divisions. They were drilled
daily. In the morning at six o'clock the drummers beat the reveille.
The soldiers sprang to their feet at the sound, and formed in company
lines to answer the roll-call. Then they had breakfast of hard-tack
and coffee. After breakfast the guards were sent out. At eight o'clock
there were company drills in marching, in handling their muskets, in
charging bayonet, and resisting an imaginary onset from the enemy. At
twelve o'clock they had dinner,--more hard-tack, pork or beef, or rice
and molasses. In the afternoon there were regimental, brigade, and
sometimes division drills,--the men carrying their knapsacks, canteens,
haversacks, and blankets,--just as if they were on the march. At
sunset each regiment had a dress parade. Then each soldier was expected
to be in his best trim. In well-disciplined regiments, all wore white
gloves when they appeared on dress parade. It was a fine sight,--the
long line of men in blue, the ranks straight and even, each soldier
doing his best. Marching proudly to the music of the band, the light
of the setting sun falling aslant upon their bright bayonets, and the
flag they loved waving above them, thrilling them with remembrances of
the glorious deeds of their fathers, who bore it aloft at Saratoga,
Trenton, and Princeton, at Queenstown and New Orleans, at Buena Vista
and Chapultepec, who beneath its endearing folds laid the foundations
of the nation and secured the rights of civil and religious liberty.
Each soldier felt that he would be an unworthy son, if traitors and
rebels were permitted to overthrow a government which had cost so
much sacrifice and blood and treasure, and which was the hope of the
oppressed throughout all the world.
In the evening there were no military duties to be performed, and the
soldiers told stories around the camp-fires, or sang songs, or had a
dance; for in each company there was usually one who could play the
violin. Many merry times they had. Some sat in their tents and read the
newspapers or whatever they could find to interest them, with a bayonet
stuck in the ground for a candle-stick. There were some who, at home,
had attended the Sabbath school. Although in camp, they did not forget
what they had left behind. The Bible was precious to them. They read
its sacred pages and treasured its holy truths. Sometimes they had a
prayer-meeting, and asked God to bless them, the friends they had left
behind, and the country for which they were ready to die, if need be,
to save it from destruction.
But at the tap of the drum at nine o'clock the laughter, the songs,
the dances, the stories, the readings, and the prayer-meetings, all
were brought to a close, the lights were put out, and silence reigned
throughout the camp, broken only by the step of the watchful sentinel.
The soldiers soon grew weary of this monotony. They had been accustomed
to an active life. It was an army different from any ever before
organized. It was composed in a great degree of thinking men. Many of
them were leading citizens in the towns where they lived. They were
well educated and were refined in their manners. They knew there was to
be hard fighting and a desperate contest, that many never would return
to their homes, but would find their graves upon the field of battle;
yet they were ready to meet the enemy, and waited impatiently for
orders to march.
There were grand reviews of troops during the fall, by which the
officers and soldiers became somewhat accustomed to moving in large
bodies. All of the troops which could be spared from the fortifications
and advanced positions were brought together at Bailey's Cross-roads,
after the Rebels evacuated Munson's Hill, to be reviewed by the
President and General McClellan. There were seventy thousand men.
It was a grand sight. Each regiment tried to outdo all others in
its appearance and its marching. They moved by companies past the
President, bands playing national airs, the drums beating, and the
flags waving. There were several hundred pieces of artillery, and
several thousand cavalrymen. The ground shook beneath the steady
marching of the great mass of men, and the tread of thousands of hoofs.
It was the finest military display ever seen in America.
It was expected that the army would soon move upon the enemy. General
McClellan, in a letter to the President, advised that the advance
should not be postponed later than the 25th of November. The time
passed rapidly. The roads were smooth and hard. The days were golden
with sunshine, and the stars shone from a cloudless sky at night; but
there were no movements during the month, except reconnaissances by
brigades and divisions.
The Rebels erected batteries on the south side of the Potomac, below
the Occoquan, and blockaded it. They had destroyed the Baltimore and
Ohio Railroad and the Chesapeake Canal, so that the Union army and
the city of Washington were dependent on the one line of railroad to
Baltimore for all its supplies. It was very desirable that the Potomac
should be opened. General Hooker, who commanded a division at Budd's
Ferry, wished very much to attack the Rebels, with the aid of the navy,
and capture the batteries, but General McClellan did not wish one
division to move till the whole army was ready. December passed, and
the year completed its round. Cold nights and blustering days came,
and the army, numbering two hundred thousand men, went into winter
quarters.
CHAPTER II.
BALL'S BLUFF.
There were but two events of importance during the long period of
inactivity in the autumn of 1861,--a disaster at Ball's Bluff and a
victory at Dranesville.
In October General Stone's division of the Army of the Potomac was at
Poolesville in Maryland. General Banks's division was at Darnestown,
between Poolesville and Washington. General McCall's division was at
a little hamlet called Lewinsville, on the turnpike leading from the
chain bridge to Leesburg, on the Virginia side. The main body of the
Rebels was at Centreville, but there was a brigade at Leesburg.
It is a beautiful and fertile country around that pleasant Virginia
town. West of the town are high hills, called the Catoctin Mountains.
If we were standing on their summits, and looking east, we should
see the town of Leesburg at our feet. It is a place of three or four
thousand inhabitants. There are several churches, a court-house, a
market-place, where, before the war, the farmers sold their wheat, and
corn, oats, and garden vegetables. Three miles east of the town we
behold the Potomac sparkling in the sunlight, its current divided by
Harrison's Island. The distance from the Virginia shore to the island
is about one hundred and eighty feet; from the island to the Maryland
shore it is six or seven hundred feet. The bank on the Virginia side
is steep, and seventy-five or eighty feet high, and is called Ball's
Bluff. A canal runs along the Maryland shore. Four miles below the
island is Edward's Ferry, and three miles east of it is Poolesville.
In October, General McClellan desired to make a movement which would
compel General Evans, commanding the Rebels at Leesburg, to leave the
place. He therefore directed General McCall to move up to Dranesville,
on the Leesburg turnpike. Such a movement would threaten to cut General
Evans off from Centreville. At the same time he sent word to General
Stone, that if he were to make a demonstration towards Leesburg it
might drive them away.
On Sunday night, at sundown, October 20th, General Stone ordered
Colonel Devens of the Massachusetts Fifteenth to send a squad of
men across the river, to see if there were any Rebels in and around
Leesburg.
Captain Philbrick, with twenty men of that regiment, crossed in three
small boats, hauled them upon the bank, went up the bluff by a winding
path, moved cautiously through the woods, also through a cornfield, and
went within a mile and a half of Leesburg, seeing no pickets, hearing
no alarm. But the men saw what they thought was an encampment. They
returned at midnight and reported to General Stone, who ordered Colonel
Devens to go over with about half of his regiment and hold the bluff.
The only means which General Stone had for crossing troops was one
flat-boat, an old ferry-boat, and three small boats.
Colonel Devens embarked his men on the boats about three o'clock in
the morning. The soldiers pushed them to the foot of the bluff, then
returned for other detachments. The men went up the path and formed in
line on the top of the bluff. By daybreak he had five companies on the
Virginia shore. He moved through the open field towards the encampment
which Captain Philbrick and his men had seen, as they thought, but
which proved to be only an opening in the woods. But just as the sun's
first rays were lighting the Catoctin hills he came upon the Rebel
pickets in the woods beyond the field. The pickets fired a few shots
and fled towards Leesburg, giving the alarm.
The town was soon in commotion. The drums beat, the Rebel troops then
rushed out of their tents and formed in line, and the people of the
town jumped from their breakfast-tables at the startling cry, "The
Yankees are coming!"
General Evans, the Rebel commander, the day before had moved to Goose
Creek to meet General McCall, if he should push beyond Dranesville. He
had the Eighth Virginia, the Thirteenth, Seventeenth, and Eighteenth
Mississippi Regiments, and a squadron of cavalry and four pieces of
artillery.
Captain Duff, commanding a detachment of the Seventeenth Mississippi,
was left at Leesburg. As soon as Colonel Devens's advance was
discovered, he formed his men in the woods and sent word to General
Evans, who hastened with his whole brigade to the spot.
General Stone placed Colonel Baker, commanding the First California
Regiment, in command of the forces upon the Virginia side of the
river. Colonel Baker was a Senator from Oregon,--a noble man, an
eloquent orator, a patriot, and as brave as he was patriotic. During
the forenoon a portion of the Twentieth Massachusetts Regiment,
commanded by Colonel Lee, was sent over.
| 851.575196 |
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are indicated by _underscores_.
STORY LESSONS
ON
CHARACTER-BUILDING (MORALS)
AND
MANNERS.
STORY LESSONS ON CHARACTER-BUILDING (MORALS) AND MANNERS
BY LOIS BATES
AUTHOR OF "KINDERGARTEN GUIDE," "NEW RECITATIONS FOR INFANTS,"
"GAMES WITHOUT MUSIC," ETC.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1900
PREFACE.
ALTHOUGH it is admitted by all teachers, in theory at least, that morals
and manners are essential subjects in the curriculum of life, how very
few give them an appointed place in the school routine. Every other
subject has its special time allotted, but these--the most important
subjects--are left to chance, or taken up, haphazard, at any time;
surely this is wrong.
Incidents often occur in the school or home life which afford fitting
opportunity for the inculcation of some special moral truth, but maybe
the teacher or mother has no suitable illustration just at hand, and the
occasion is passed over with a reproof. It is hoped that where such want
is felt this little book may supply the need.
The stories may be either told or read to the children, and are as
suitable for the home as the school. "The Fairy Temple" should be read
as an introduction to the Story Lessons, for the _teaching_ of the
latter is based on this introductory fairy tale. If used at home the
blackboard sketch may be written on a slate or slip of paper. The
children will not weary if the stories are repeated again and again
(this at least was the writer's experience), and they will be eager to
pronounce what is the teaching of the tale. In this way the lessons are
reiterated and enforced. The method is one which the writer found
exceedingly effective during long years of experience. Picture-teaching
is an ideal way of conveying truths to children, and these little
stories are intended to be pictures in which the children may see and
contrast the good with the bad, and learn to love the good. The faults
of young children are almost invariably due either to thoughtlessness or
want of knowledge, and the little ones are delighted to learn and put
into practice the lessons taught in these stories, which teaching should
be applied in the class or home as occasion arises. _E.g._, a child is
passing in front of another without any apology, the teacher says,
immediately: "Remember Minnie, you do not wish to be rude, like she was"
(Story Lesson 111). Or if a child omits to say "Thank you," he may be
reminded by asking: "Have you forgotten 'Alec and the Fairies'?" (Story
Lesson 95). The story lessons should be read to the children until they
become perfectly familiar with them, so that each may be applied in the
manner indicated.
CONTENTS.
1.--MORALS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY STORY--
1. The Fairy Temple 1
II. OBEDIENCE--
2. The Two Voices 4
3. (Why we Should Obey.) The Pilot 6
4. (Why we Should Obey.) The Dog that did not
like to be Washed 7
5. (Ready Obedience.) Robert and the Marbles 9
6. (Unready, Sulky Obedience.) Jimmy and the
Overcoat 9
III. LOYALTY--
7. Rowland and the Apple Tart 10
IV. TRUTHFULNESS--
8. (Direct Untruth.) Lucy and the Jug of Milk 12
9. (Untruth, by not Speaking.) Mabel and Fritz 13
10. (Untruth, by not Telling _All_.) A Game of
Cricket 14
11. (Untruth, by "Stretching"--Exaggeration.)
The Three Feathers 16
V. HONESTY--
12. Lulu and the Pretty Coloured Wool 17
13. (Taking Little Things.) Carl and the Lump
of Sugar 19
14. (Taking Little Things.) Lilie and the Scent 19
15. Copying 20
16. On Finding Things 22
VI. KINDNESS--
17. Squeaking Wheels 23
18. Birds and Trees 24
19. Flowers and Bees 25
20. Lulu and the Bundle 26
VII. THOUGHTFULNESS--
21. Baby Elsie and the Stool 27
22. The Thoughtful Soldier 28
VIII. HELP ONE ANOTHER--
23. The Cat and the Parrot 29
24. The Two Monkeys 30
25. The Wounded Bird 31
IX. ON BEING BRAVE--
26. (Brave in Danger.) How Leonard Saved his
Little Brother 32
27. (Brave in Little Things.) The Twins 33
28. (Brave in Suffering.) The Broken Arm 34
29. (Brave in Suffering.) The Brave Monkey 35
X. TRY, TRY AGAIN--
30. The Sparrow that would not be Beaten 35
31. The Railway Train 36
32. The Man who Found America 37
XI. PATIENCE--
33. Walter and the Spoilt Page 38
34. The Drawings Eaten by the Rats 39
XII. ON GIVING IN--
35. Playing at Shop 40
36. The Two Goats 41
XIII. ON BEING GENEROUS--
37. Lilie and the Beggar Girl 41
38. Bertie and the Porridge 42
XIV. FORGIVENESS--
39. The Two Dogs 43
XV. GOOD FOR EVIL--
40. The Blotted Copy-book 43
XVI. GENTLENESS--
41. The Horse and the Child 45
42. The Overturned Fruit Stall 46
XVII. ON BEING GRATEFUL--
43. Rose and her Birthday Present 47
44. The Boy who _was_ Grateful 47
XVIII. SELF-HELP--
45. The Crow and the Pitcher 48
XIX. CONTENT--
46. Harold and the Blind Man 49
XX. TIDINESS--
47. The Slovenly Boy 50
48. Pussy and the Knitting 51
49. The Packing of the Trunks 53
XXI. MODESTY--
50. The Violet 54
51. Modesty in Dress 55
XXII. ON GIVING PLEASURE TO OTHERS--
52. "Selfless" and "Thoughtful". A Fairy Tale 56
53. The Bunch of Roses 56
54. Edwin and the Birthday Party 57
55. Davie's Christmas Present 59
XXIII. CLEANLINESS--
56. Why we Should be Clean 61
57. Little Creatures who like to be Clean 62
58. The Boy who did not like to be Washed 63
59. The Nails and the Teeth 64
XXIV. PURE LANGUAGE--
60. Toads and Diamonds. A Fairy Tale 66
XXV. PUNCTUALITY--
61. Lewis and the School Picnic 67
XXVI. ALL WORK HONOURABLE--
62. The Chimney-sweep 69
XXVII. BAD COMPANIONS--
63. Playing with Pitch 70
64. Stealing Strawberries 71
XXVIII. ON FORGETTING--
65. Maggie's Birthday Present 73
66. The Promised Drive 74
67. The Boy who Remembered 75
XXIX. KINDNESS TO ANIMALS--
68. Lulu and the Sparrow 76
69. Why we Should be Kind to Animals 77
70. The Butterfly 78
71. The Kind-hearted Dog 78
XXX. BAD TEMPER--
72. How Paul was Cured 79
73. The Young Horse 80
XXXI. SELFISHNESS--
74. The Child on the Coach 82
75. Edna and the Cherries 82
76. The Boy who liked always to Win 83
77. The two Boxes of Chocolate 84
78. Eva 85
XXXII. CARELESSNESS--
79. The Misfortunes of Elinor 86
XXXIII. ON BEING OBSTINATE--
80. How Daisy's Holiday was Spoilt 87
XXXIV. GREEDINESS--
81. Stephen and the Buns 89
XXXV. BOASTING--
82. The Stag and his Horns 90
XXXVI. WASTEFULNESS--
83. The Little Girl who was Lost 91
XXXVII. LAZINESS--
84. The Sluggard 91
XXXVIII. ON BEING ASHAMED--
85. The Elephant that Stole the Cakes 92
XXXIX. EARS AND NO EARS--
86. Heedless Albert 94
87. Olive and Gertie 95
XL. EYES AND NO EYES--
88. The Two Brothers 97
89. Ruby and the Wall 98
XLI. LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL--
90. The Daisy 99
XLII. ON DESTROYING THINGS--
91. Beauty and Goodness 100
XLIII. ON TURNING BACK WHEN WRONG--
92. The Lost Path 101
XLIV. ONE BAD "STONE" MAY SPOIL THE "TEMPLE"--
93. Intemperance 103
2.--MANNERS.
XLV. PRELIMINARY STORY LESSON--
94. The Watch and its Springs 104
XLVI. ON SAYING "PLEASE" AND "THANK YOU"--
95. Fairy Tale of Alec and his Toys 105
XLVII. ON BEING RESPECTFUL--
96. Story Lesson 108
XLVIII. PUTTING FEET UP--
97. Alice and the Pink Frock 109
XLIX. BANGING DOORS--
98. How Maurice came Home from School 110
99. Lulu and the Glass Door 111
L. PUSHING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE--
100. The Big Boy and the Little Lady 112
LI. KEEPING TO THE RIGHT--
101. Story Lesson 113
LII. CLUMSY PEOPLE--
102. Story Lesson 114
LIII. TURNING ROUND WHEN WALKING--
103. The Girl and her Eggs 115
LIV. ON STARING--
104. Ruth and the Window 116
LV. WALKING SOFTLY--
105. Florence Nightingale 117
LVI. ANSWERING WHEN SPOKEN TO--
106. The Civil Boy 118
LVII. ON SPEAKING LOUDLY--
107. The Woman who Shouted 119
LVIII. ON SPEAKING WHEN OTHERS ARE SPEAKING--
108. Margery and the Picnic 120
LIX. LOOK AT PEOPLE WHEN SPEAKING TO THEM--
109. Fred and his Master 122
LX. ON TALKING TOO MUCH--
110. Story Lesson 122
LXI. GOING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE--
111. Minnie and the Book 124
112. The Man and his Luggage 124
LXII. WHEN TO SAY "I BEG YOUR PARDON"--
113. Story Lesson 125
114. The Lady and the Poor Boy 126
LXIII. RAISING CAP--
115. Story Lesson 126
LXIV. ON OFFERING SEAT TO LADY--
116. Story Lesson 127
LXV. ON SHAKING HANDS--
117. Reggie and the Visitors 129
LXVI. KNOCKING BEFORE ENTERING A ROOM--
118. The Boy who Forgot 130
LXVII. HANGING HATS UP, ETC.--
119. Careless Percy 130
LXVIII. HOW TO OFFER SWEETS, ETC.--
120. How Baby did it 132
LXIX. YAWNING, COUGHING AND SNEEZING--
121. Story Lesson 132
LXX. HOW A SLATE SHOULD NOT BE CLEANED--
122. Story Lesson 133
LXXI. THE POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF--
123. Story Lesson 135
LXXII. HOW TO BEHAVE AT TABLE--
124. (On Sitting Still at Table.) Phil's Disaster 136
125. (On Sitting Still at Table.) Fidgety Katie 136
126. (Thinking of Others at Table.) The Helpful
Little Girl 137
127. (Upsetting Things at Table.) Leslie and the
Christmas Dinner 138
128. Cherry Stones 138
LXXIII. ON EATING AND DRINKING--
129. Rhymes 140
130. Rhymes 141
LXXIV. FINALE--
131. How another Queen Builded 142
LIST OF SUBJECTS ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED.
1.--MORAL SUBJECTS.
PAGE
All Work Honourable 69
Ashamed, On being 92
Bad Companions 70
Boasting 90
Brave, On being 32
Carelessness 86
Cleanliness 61
Content 49
Copying 20
Destroying Things, On 100
Ears and no Ears 94
Exaggeration 16
Eyes and no Eyes 97
Fairy Temple 1
Finding Things 22
Forgetting 73
Forgiveness 43
Generous, On being 41
Gentleness 45
Giving In, On 40
Giving Pleasure to Others, On 56
Good for Evil 43
Grateful, On being 47
Greediness 89
Help one Another 29
Honesty 17
How another Queen Builded 142
Intemperance 103
Introductory Story 1
Kindness 23
Kindness to Animals 76
Laziness 91
Love of the Beautiful 99
Loyalty 10
Modesty 54
Nails, The 64
Obedience 4
Obstinate, On being 87
Patience 38
Punctuality 67
Pure Language 66
Self-Help 48
Selfishness 82
Teeth, The 65
Thoughtfulness 27
Tidiness 50
Truthfulness 12
Try, Try Again 35
Turning Back when Wrong 101
Wastefulness 91
2.--MANNERS.
Answering when Spoken To 118
Banging Doors 110
Cherry Stones (see "How to Behave at Table") 138
Clumsy People 114
Coughing 132
Eating and Drinking, On 140
Excuse Me, Please (see "Going in Front of People") 124
Going in Front of People 124
Hanging Hats Up, etc. 130
How to Behave at Table 136
"I Beg Your Pardon," When to say 125
Keeping to the Right 113
Knocking Before Entering a Room 130
Look at People when Speaking to Them 122
Manners 104
Offering Seat to Lady 127
Offer Sweets, How to 132
"Please," On Saying 105
Pocket-handkerchief, The 135
Preliminary Story Lesson 104
Pushing in Front of People 112
Putting Feet Up 109
Raising Cap 126
Respectful, On being 108
Shaking Hands, On 129
Sitting Still at Table, On 136
Sneezing 132
Speaking Loudly, On 119
Speaking when Others are Speaking, On 120
Spitting (see "How a Slate Should Not be Cleaned") 133
Staring, On 116
Talking Too Much, On 122
"Thank You," On Saying 105
Thinking of Others at Table 137
Turning Round when Walking 115
Upsetting Things at Table (see "Leslie and the
Christmas Dinner") 138
Walking Softly 117
Yawning 132
1.--MORAL SUBJECTS.
I. INTRODUCTORY STORY.
1. The Fairy Temple.
(The following story should be read to the
children =first=, as it forms a kind of groundwork
for the Story Lessons which follow.)
It was night--a glorious, moonlight night, and in the shade of the leafy
woods the Queen of the fairies was calling her little people together by
the sweet tones of a tinkling, silver bell. When they were all gathered
round, she said: "My dear children, I am going to do a great work, and I
want you all to help me". At this the fairies spread their wings and
bowed, for they were always ready to do the bidding of their Queen. They
were all dressed in lovely colours, of a gauzy substance, finer than any
silk that ever was seen, and their names were called after the colours
they wore. The Queen's robe was of purple and gold, and glittered
grandly in the moonlight.
"I have determined," said the Queen, "to build a Temple of precious
stones, and =your= work will be to bring me the material." "Rosy-wings,"
she continued, turning to a little fairy clad in delicate pink, and fair
as a rose, "you shall bring rubies." "Grass-green," to a fairy dressed
in green, "your work is to find emeralds; and Shiny-wings, you will go
to the mermaids and ask them to give you pearls."
Now there stood near the Queen six tiny, fairy sisters, whose robes were
whiter and purer than any. The sisters were all called by the same
name--"Crystal-clear," and they waited to hear what their work was to
be.
"Sisters Crystal-clear," said the Queen, "you shall all of you bring
diamonds; we shall need so many diamonds."
There was another fairy standing there, whose robe seemed to change into
many colours as it shimmered in the moonlight, just as you have seen the
sky change colour at sunset, and to her the Queen said, "Rainbow-robe,
go and find the opal".
Then there were three other fairy sisters called "Gold-wings," who were
always trying to help the other fairies, and to do good to everybody,
and the Queen told them to bring fine gold to fasten the precious stones
together.
These are not =all= the fairies who were there; some others wore blue,
some yellow, and the Queen gave them all their work. Then she rang a
tiny, silver bell, and they all spread their wings and bowed before they
flew away to do her bidding.
After many days the fairies came together to bring their precious
treasures to the Queen. How they carried them I scarcely know, but there
was a little girl, many years ago, who often paused at the window of a
jeweller's shop to gaze at a tiny, silver boy, with silver wings,
wheeling a silver wheel-barrow full of rings, and the little girl
thought that perhaps the fairies carried things in the same way. Anyhow,
they all came to the Queen bringing their burdens, and she soon set to
work on the Temple.
"The foundations must be laid with diamonds," said the Queen. "Where are
the six sisters? Ah! here they come with the lovely, shining diamonds,
which are like themselves, 'clear as crystal'. Now little Gold-wings,
bring =your= treasure," and the three little sisters brought the finest
of gold. So the work went merrily on, and the fairies danced in glee as
they saw the glittering Temple growing under the clever hands of the
Queen. She made the doors of pearls and the windows of rubies, and the
roof she said should be of opal, because it would show many colours when
the light played upon it.
At last the lovely building was finished, and after the fairies had
danced joyfully round it in a ring again and again, until they could
dance no longer, they gathered in a group round the dear Queen, and
thanked her for having made so beautiful a Temple.
"It is quite the loveliest thing in the world, I am sure," said
Rosy-wings.
"Not quite," replied the Queen, "mortals have it in their power to make
a lovelier Temple than ours."
"Who are'mortals'?" asked Shiny-wings.
"Boys and girls are mortals," said the Queen, "and grown-up people
also."
"I have never seen mortals build anything half so pretty as our Temple,"
said Grass-green; "their houses are made of stone and brick."
"Ah! Grass-green," answered the Queen, smiling, "you have never seen the
Temple I am speaking of, but it =is= better than ours, for it
lasts--lasts for ever. Wind and rain, frost and snow, will spoil our
Temple in time; but the Temple of the mortals lives on, and is never
destroyed."
"Do tell us about it, dear Queen," said all the fairies; "we will try to
understand."
"It is called by rather a long word," said the Queen, "its name is
'character'; =that= is what the mortals build, and the stones they use
are more precious than our stones. I will tell you the names of some of
them. First there is =Truth=, clear and bright like the diamonds; that
must be the foundation; no good character can be made without Truth."
Then the sisters Crystal-clear smiled at each other and said, "We
brought diamonds for truth".
"There are =Honesty=, =Obedience=, and many others," continued the
Queen, "and =Kindness=, which is like the pure gold that was brought by
Gold-wings, and makes a lovely setting for all the other stones."
The little fairies were glad to hear all this about the Temple which the
mortals build, and Gold-wings said that she would like above everything
to be able to help boys and girls to make their Temple beautiful, and
the other fairies said the same; so the Queen said they all might try to
help them, for each boy and girl =must= build a Temple, and the name of
that Temple is Character.
II. OBEDIENCE.
2. The Two Voices.
There was once a little boy who said that whenever he was going to do
anything wrong he heard two voices speaking to him. Do you know what he
meant? Perhaps this story will help you.
The boy's name was Cecil. Cecil's father had a very beautiful and rare
canary, which had been brought far over the sea as a present to him.
Cecil often helped to feed the canary and give it fresh water, and
sometimes his father would allow him to open the door of the cage, and
the bird would come out and perch on his hand, which delighted Cecil
very much, but he was not allowed to open the door of the cage unless
his father was with him.
One day, however, Cecil came to the cage alone, and while he watched the
canary, a little voice said, "Open the door and take him out; father
will never know". That was a =wrong= voice, and Cecil tried not to
listen. It would have been better if he had gone away from the cage, but
he did not; and the voice came again, "Open the door and let him out".
And another little voice said, "No, don't; your father said you must
not". But Cecil listened to the =wrong= voice; he opened the door
gently, and out flew the pretty bird. First it perched on his finger,
then it flew about the room, and then--Cecil had not noticed that the
window was open--then, before he knew, out of the window flew the
canary, and poor Cecil burst into tears. "Oh! if I had listened to the
=good= voice, the =right= voice, and not opened the door! Father will be
so angry." Then the =bad= voice came again and said, "Don't tell your
father; say you know nothing about it ". But Cecil did not listen this
time; he was too brave a boy to tell his father a lie, and he determined
to tell the truth and be punished, if necessary.
Of course his father was very sorry to lose his beautiful canary, and
more sorry still that his little son had been disobedient, but he was
glad that Cecil told him the truth.
Now do you know the two things that the =wrong= voice told Cecil to do?
It told him (1) Not to obey; (2) Not to tell the truth. I think we have
all heard those two voices, not with our ears, but =within= us. Let us
always listen to the =good= voice | 851.702033 |
2023-11-16 18:31:15.8018450 | 2,326 | 9 |
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Caybigan
BY JAMES HOPPER
NEW YORK
MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
MCMVI
_Copyright, 1906 by_
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published, September, 1906
Copyright, 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906, by The S. S. McClure Company
[Illustration: "_The subsequent walk across the plaza with the hard-won
bundle, beneath the appreciative eyes of the whole town, had been
humiliating_"]
CONTENTS
I. THE JUDGMENT OF MAN 3
II. THE MAESTRO OF BALANGILANG 27
III. HER READING 52
IV. THE STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPH OF
ISIDRO DE LOS MAESTROS 74
V. THE FAILURE 98
VI. SOME BENEVOLENT ASSIMILATION 124
VII. A JEST OF THE GODS 153
VIII. THE COMING OF THE MAESTRA 178
IX. CAYBIGAN 202
X. THE CAPTURE OF PAPA GATO 226
XI. THE MANANGETE 257
XII. THE PAST 267
XIII. THE PREROGATIVE 277
XIV. THE CONFLUENCE 289
XV. THE CALL 331
CAYBIGAN
I
THE JUDGMENT OF MAN
We were sitting around the big centre table in the sala of the "House of
Guests" in Ilo-Ilo. We were teachers from Occidental <DW64>s. It was near
Christmas; we had left our stations for the holidays--the cholera had
just swept them and the aftermath was not pleasant to contemplate--and
so we were leaning over the polished narra table, sipping a sweet, false
Spanish wine from which we drew, not a convivial spirit, but rather a
quiet, reflective gloom. All the shell shutters were drawn back; we
could see the tin-roofed city gleam and crackle with the heat, and
beyond the lithe line of coconuts, the iridescent sea, tugging the heart
with offer of coolness. But, all of us, we knew the promise to be Fake,
monumental Fake, knew the alluring depths to be hot as corruption, and
full of sharks.
Somebody in a monotonous voice was cataloguing the dead, enumerating
those of us who had been conquered by the climate, by the work, or
through their own inward flaws. He mentioned Miller with some sort of
disparaging gesture, and then Carter of Balangilang, who had been very
silent, suddenly burst into speech with singular fury.
"Who are you, to judge him?" he shouted. "Who are you, eh? Who are we,
anyway, to judge him?"
Headlong outbursts from Carter were nothing new to us, so we took no
offence. Finally someone said, "Well, he's dead," with that tone that
signifies final judgment, the last, best, most charitable thing which
can be said of the man being weighed.
But Carter did not stop there. "You didn't know him, did you?" he asked.
"You didn't know him; tell me now, _did_ you know him?" He was still
extraordinarily angry.
We did not answer. Really, we knew little of the dead man--excepting
that he was mean and small, and not worth knowing. He was mean, and he
was a coward; and to us in our uncompromising youth these were just the
unpardonable sins. Because of that we had left him alone, yes, come to
think of it, very much alone. And we knew little about him.
"Here, I'll tell you what I know," Carter began again, in a more
conciliatory tone; "I'll tell you everything I know of him." He lit a
cheroot.
"I first met him right here in Ilo-Ilo. I had crossed over for supplies;
he was fresh from Manila and wanted to get over to Bacolod to report to
the Sup. and be assigned to his station. When I saw him he was on the
muelle, surrounded by an army of bluffing cargadores. About twelve of
them had managed to get a finger upon his lone carpet-bag while it was
being carried down the gang-plank, and each and all of them wanted to
get paid for the job. He was in a horrible pickle; couldn't speak a word
of Spanish or Visayan. And the first thing he said when I had extricated
him, thanks to my vituperative knowledge of these sweet tongues, was:
'If them niggahs, seh, think Ah'm a-goin' to learn their cussed lingo,
they're mahtily mistaken, seh!'
"After that remark, coming straight from the heart, I hardly needed to
be told that he was from the South. He was from Mississippi. He was
gaunt, yellow, malarial, and slovenly. He had 'teached' for twenty
years, he said, but in spite of this there was about him something
indescribably rural, something of the sod--not the dignity, the
sturdiness of it, but rather of the pettiness, the sordidness of it. It
showed in his dirty, flapping garments, his unlaced shoes, his stubble
beard, in his indecent carelessness in expectorating the tobacco he was
ceaselessly chewing. But these, after all, were some of his minor
traits. I was soon to get an inkling of one of his major ones--his
prodigious meanness. For when I rushed about and finally found a lorcha
that was to sail for Bacolod and asked him to chip in with me on
provisions, he demurred.
"'Ah'd like to git my own, seh,' he said in that decisive drawl of his.
"'All right,' I said cheerfully, and went off and stocked up for two. My
instinct served me well. When, that evening, Miller walked up the
gang-plank, he carried only his carpet-bag, and that was flat and
hungry-looking as before. The next morning he shared my provisions
calmly and resolutely, with an air, almost, of conscious duty. Well, let
that go; before another day I was face to face with his other flaming
characteristic.
"Out of Ilo-Ilo we had contrary winds at first; all night the lorcha--an
old grandmother of a craft, full of dry-rot spots as big as woodpeckers'
nests--flapped heavily about on impotent tacks, and when the sun rose we
found ourselves on the same spot from which we had watched its setting.
Toward ten o'clock, however, the monsoon veered, and wing-and-wing the
old boat, creaking in every joint as if she had the dengue, grunted her
way over flashing combers with a speed that seemed almost indecent.
Then, just as we were getting near enough to catch the heated glitter of
the Bacolod church-dome, to see the golden thread of breach at the foot
of the waving coconuts, the wind fell, slap-bang, as suddenly as if God
had said hush--and we stuck there, motionless, upon a petrified sea.
"I didn't stamp about and foam at the mouth; I'd been in these climes
too long. As for Miller, he was from Mississippi. We picked out a
comparatively clean spot on the deck, near the bow; we lay down on our
backs and relaxed our beings into infinite patience. We had been thus
for perhaps an hour; I was looking up at a little white cloud that
seemed receding, receding into the blue immensity behind it. Suddenly a
noise like thunder roared in my ears. The little cloud gave a great leap
back into its place; the roar dwindled into the voice of Miller, in
plaintive, disturbed drawl. 'What the deuce are the niggahs doing?' he
was saying.
"And certainly the behaviour of that Visayan crew was worthy of
question. Huddled quietly at the stern, one after another they were
springing over the rail into the small boat that was dragging behind,
and even as I looked the last man disappeared with the painter in his
hand. At the same moment I became aware of a strange noise. Down in the
bowels of the lorcha a weird, gentle commotion was going on, a
multitudinous 'gluck-gluck' as of many bottles being emptied. A breath
of hot, musty air was sighing out of the hatch. Then the sea about the
poop began to rise,--to rise slowly, calmly, steadily, like milk in a
heated pot.
"'By the powers,' I shouted, 'the old tub is going down!'
"It was true. There, upon the sunlit sea, beneath the serene sky,
silently, weirdly, unprovoked, the old boat, as if weary, was sinking in
one long sigh of lassitude. And we, of course, were going with it. A few
yards away from the sternpost was the jolly-boat with the crew. I looked
at them, and in my heart I could not condemn them for their sly
departure; they were all there, arraiz, wife, children, and crew, so
heaped together that they seemed only a meaningless tangle of arms and
legs and heads; the water was half an inch from the gunwale, and the one
man at the oars, hampered, paralysed on all sides, was splashing
helplessly while the craft pivoted like a top. There was no anger in my
heart, yet I was not absolutely reconciled to the situation. I searched
the deck with my eyes, then from the jolly-boat the arraiz obligingly
yelled, 'El biroto, el biroto!'
"And I remembered the rotten little canoe lashed amidships. It didn't
take us long to get it into the water (the water by that time was very
close at hand). | 851.821885 |
2023-11-16 18:31:16.2531700 | 1,377 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
ZISKA
THE PROBLEM OF A WICKED SOUL
BY
MARIE CORELLI
Other Books by the same Author
THE SORROWS OF SATAN BARABBAS A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS THE MIGHTY ATOM,
ETC., ETC.
TO THE PRESENT LIVING RE-INCARNATION OF ARAXES
ZISKA.
THE PROBLEM OF A WICKED SOUL.
PROLOGUE.
Dark against the sky towered the Great Pyramid, and over its apex hung
the moon. Like a wreck cast ashore by some titanic storm, the Sphinx,
reposing amid the undulating waves of grayish sand surrounding it,
seemed for once to drowse. Its solemn visage that had impassively
watched ages come and go, empires rise and fall, and generations of men
live and die, appeared for the moment to have lost its usual expression
of speculative wisdom and intense disdain--its cold eyes seemed to
droop, its stern mouth almost smiled. The air was calm and sultry; and
not a human foot disturbed the silence. But towards midnight a Voice
suddenly arose as it were like a wind in the desert, crying aloud:
"Araxes! Araxes!" and wailing past, sank with a profound echo into the
deep recesses of the vast Egyptian tomb. Moonlight and the Hour wove
their own mystery; the mystery of a Shadow and a Shape that flitted out
like a thin vapor from the very portals of Death's ancient temple, and
drifting forward a few paces resolved itself into the visionary
fairness of a Woman's form--a Woman whose dark hair fell about her
heavily, like the black remnants of a long-buried corpse's wrappings; a
Woman whose eyes flashed with an unholy fire as she lifted her face to
the white moon and waved her ghostly arms upon the air. And again the
wild Voice pulsated through the stillness.
"Araxes!... Araxes! Thou art here,
--and I pursue thee! Through life into
death; through death out into life again!
I find thee and I follow! I follow!
Araxes!..."
Moonlight and the Hour wove their own mystery; and ere the pale opal
dawn flushed the sky with hues of rose and amber the Shadow had
vanished; the Voice was heard no more. Slowly the sun lifted the edge
of its golden shield above the horizon, and the great Sphinx awaking
from its apparent brief slumber, stared in expressive and eternal scorn
across the tracts of sand and tufted palm-trees towards the glittering
dome of El-Hazar--that abode of profound sanctity and learning, where
men still knelt and worshipped, praying the Unknown to deliver them
from the Unseen. And one would almost have deemed that the sculptured
Monster with the enigmatical Woman-face and Lion-form had strange
thoughts in its huge granite brain; for when the full day sprang in
glory over the desert and illumined its large features with a burning
saffron radiance, its cruel lips still smiled as though yearning to
speak and propound the terrible riddle of old time; the Problem which
killed!
CHAPTER I.
It was the full "season" in Cairo. The ubiquitous Britisher and the no
less ubiquitous American had planted their differing "society"
standards on the sandy soil watered by the Nile, and were busily
engaged in the work of reducing the city, formerly called Al Kahira or
The Victorious, to a more deplorable condition of subjection and
slavery than any old-world conqueror could ever have done. For the
heavy yoke of modern fashion has been flung on the neck of Al Kahira,
and the irresistible, tyrannic dominion of "swagger" vulgarity has laid
The Victorious low. The swarthy children of the desert might, and
possibly would, be ready and willing to go forth and fight men with
men's weapons for the freedom to live and die unmolested in their own
native land; but against the blandly-smiling, white-helmeted,
sun-spectacled, perspiring horde of Cook's "cheap trippers," what can
they do save remain inert and well-nigh speechless? For nothing like
the cheap tripper was ever seen in the world till our present
enlightened and glorious day of progress; he is a new-grafted type of
nomad, like and yet unlike a man. The Darwin theory asserts itself
proudly and prominently in bristles of truth all over him--in his
restlessness, his ape-like agility and curiosity, his shameless
inquisitiveness, his careful cleansing of himself from foreign fleas,
his general attention to minutiae, and his always voracious appetite;
and where the ape ends and the man begins is somewhat difficult to
discover. The "image of God" wherewith he, together with his fellows,
was originally supposed to be impressed in the first fresh days of
Creation, seems fairly blotted out, for there is no touch of the Divine
in his mortal composition. Nor does the second created phase-the copy
of the Divineo--namely, the Heroic,--dignify his form or ennoble his
countenance. There is nothing of the heroic in the wandering biped who
swings through the streets of Cairo in white flannels, laughing at the
staid composure of the Arabs, flicking thumb and finger at the patient
noses of the small hireable donkeys and other beasts of burden,
thrusting a warm red face of inquiry into the shadowy recesses of
odoriferous bazaars, and sauntering at evening in the Esbekiyeh
Gardens, cigar in mouth and hands in pockets, looking on the scene and
behaving in it as if the whole place were but a reflex of Earl's Court
Exhibition. History affects the cheap tripper not at all; he regards
the Pyramids as "good building" merely, and the inscrutable Sphinx
itself as a fine target for empty soda-water bottles, while perhaps his
chiefest regret is that the granite whereof the ancient monster is hewn
is too hard for him to inscribe his distinguished name | 852.27321 |
2023-11-16 18:31:16.3577140 | 2,327 | 8 |
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 truly devoted to her daughter's eternal welfare; she is of such
a native frankness that at a certain | 852.377754 |
2023-11-16 18:31:17.0593070 | 1,697 | 36 |
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)
[Transcriber's Note: Underscores are used as delimiter for _italics_]
The Girl Warriors
_A BOOK FOR GIRLS_
[Illustration]
By ADENE WILLIAMS
David C. Cook Publishing Company
ELGIN, ILL.; OR
36 WASHINGTON STREET, CHICAGO.
Copyright, 1901.
By David C. Cook Publishing Company.
The Girl Warriors.
_A BOOK FOR GIRLS._
By ADENE WILLIAMS.
CHAPTER I.
THE BURTONS.
Winnifred Burton sat all alone in the pleasant sitting-room, curled up
in an easy-chair so large that her little figure was almost lost in its
great depths. The fire in the open grate burned brightly, sending out
little tongues of flame which made dancing shadows on the walls and
ceiling, and flashed ever and anon on the bright hair and face and dress
of the little girl sitting so quiet before it.
It was a dismal day near the close of January. Snow had been falling
steadily all day, and the window-sill was already piled so high with it
that by and by it would have to be brushed away in order to close the
shutters. But Winnifred was so absorbed in the book she was reading that
she knew nothing of all this. The book was a new edition of "The Giant
Killer; or, The Battle That All Must Fight." She was just reading how
the brave but tempted Fides lay in the dreadful Pit of Despair; of
how he had fallen back, bruised and bleeding, time after time, in his
endeavors to cut and climb his way out, before he found the little cord
of love which was strong enough to draw him out with scarcely an effort
of his own.
Twilight was fast closing in around the little reader, and all the
letters on the page were beginning to dance up and down. Impatiently
shaking herself, Winnifred slipped down from her chair, gave the fire
a little poke, and settled herself on the floor in front of it, holding
the book so that she could see to read by the flickering light. But she
had scarcely begun to do so, when the door opened. She gave a little
jump, and turned quite red in the face.
But it was only her little brother Ralph, who said: "'Innie, mamma says
if 'oo have 'oor lessons done, 'ou'se to come out and set the table for
supper."
Her lessons done! Winnie glanced at the pile of books lying on the
table by the window. Yes, there they all were--her geography, history,
grammar, arithmetic. When now would she have time to learn those
lessons? And she felt that she had been dishonest, too, because her
mother would perhaps have had something else for her to do, if she had
not supposed she was studying hard. However, there was no help for it
now, and with a rueful face she left the room.
Mrs. Burton was in the kitchen, so that Winnie escaped being questioned,
but just now she was taking herself to task, for she had a very guilty
conscience, and was wondering when she was going to begin fighting her
giants. She knew only too well what one of them was, and she knew
also that if she could not find time to learn those lessons, another
punishment beside the stings of her conscience would await her on the
morrow.
But presently her father and older brother came home; little Ralph ran
to get their slippers, while they took off their wet boots; supper was
put on the table, and they all sat down to the cheerful meal.
Mr. and Mrs. Burton had few rules for their household, but they had
one which was imperative: nothing but cheerful faces and cheerful
conversation was allowed at the table. Business or household worries
were kept for private conference, and the little griefs of the children
were not allowed to be mentioned.
Winnie soon forgot her anxiety in listening to the things that her
father and brother Jack were saying, and, as the talk was about
politics, and the tariff, and the state of the market, other little
girls may not be so interested as Winnie tried to make herself believe
that she was. So this will be a good time to describe them all, as they
sit at the table.
All of their acquaintances spoke of the Burtons as a very happy family,
and this opinion was undoubtedly correct, the reason for which will
appear later.
Mr. Burton is a tall, handsome, young-looking man, with brown eyes
having a merry twinkle in them; his eyebrows and moustache are dark and
heavy, and his firm mouth and chin show character and decision.
Mrs. Burton looks as young as her husband, and Winnie is always taken by
strangers to be her younger sister, which is a source of great delight
and comfort to the girl, as she is very proud of her dainty and stylish
mother. Mrs. Burton has soft brown hair, always prettily dressed; her
eyes are a deep, soft blue, shaded by long, curling lashes, and with
straight, delicate eyebrows above. Although she does much of the
household work, she manages, in some mysterious manner, to keep her
hands soft and white. Winnie sometimes steals up behind her mother and
puts her own little brown hands beside one of the soft white ones with
a little sigh--for she would like her own to be soft and white, too--but
more often with a merry laugh.
Eighteen-year-old Jack, except that he gives promise of attaining his
father's noble inches, is much like his mother. He had been intended for
one of the professions, but all of his talents and inclinations having
pointed to business, his father finally yielded the point of having him
go through college, and, upon his graduation from high-school the year
previous, took him into his own real estate office.
Winnie has eyes and hair like her father, but, in spite of her twelve
years, is so small and slight that she looks like a child of nine or
ten.
Four-year-old Ralph is the pet and beauty of the family. His hair
curls in loose rings all over his head. His hazel eyes have such large,
dilating pupils, and such a way of shining when anything is given him,
that his young aunts and uncles, together with Winnie and Jack, are
always giving him something for the pleasure of seeing his wondering
look.
"Well, my dear," said Mr. Burton to his wife, as they rose from the
table, "anything on the carpet for to-night?"
"Yes, if you don't think the weather too bad, I'd like to call on Mrs.
Brown after Ralph is put to bed."
"Winnie, I should like you to accompany Jack in one of his new violin
studies, while we are gone; but you must not forget that half past nine
is your bed-time."
[Illustration: "Now for the new music," Jack said.--See page 6.]
Poor Winnie! She dearly liked playing Jack's accompaniments, but the
unlearned lessons rose up before her, and she said, "Oh, mamma, I can't
to-night; I haven't done my lessons!"
"Well, Winnie, this has happened three or four times within the last
week. If several study bells in school and two hours in the afternoon
are not sufficient for you to keep up with your classes, I'd rather
you'd go back a year. I want you to be educated thoroughly, but I can't
have you 'crammed,' and you're too young to do studying at night."
"Mamma, that is time enough for me to | 853.079347 |
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