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Produced by Martin Schub
THE LONG LABRADOR TRAIL
by
DILLON WALLACE
Author of "The Lure of the Labrador Wild," etc.
Illustrated
MCMXVII
TO THE
MEMORY OF MY WIFE
"A drear and desolate shore!
| 853.079413 |
2023-11-16 18:31:17.4623820 | 7,437 | 8 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
The North Pacific
_A Story of the Russo-Japanese War_
_By_
Willis Boyd Allen
Author of "Navy Blue" and "Cleared for Action"
[Illustration]
_New York_
E. P. Dutton & Company
31 West Twenty-third Street
1905
TO MY FRIEND
COMMANDER WILLIAM H. H. SOUTHERLAND, U. S. N.
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
[Illustration: "MAN OVERBOARD!"]
COPYRIGHT, 1905
BY
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
Published, September, 1905
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFACE.
As in the preparation of _Navy Blue_ and _Cleared for Action_, the
author has taken great pains to verify the main facts of the present
story, so far as they are concerned with the incidents of the great
struggle still in progress between the empires of the East and the West.
He acknowledges most gratefully the assistance received from the office
of the Secretary of the Navy, from ex-Secretary John D. Long, and from
Commander W. H. H. Southerland, now commanding the U. S. Cruiser
_Cleveland_, Commander Austin M. Knight, President of the Board on Naval
Ordnance, and Chief Engineer Edward Farmer, retired.
W. B. A.
BOSTON, June, 1905.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE TRIAL OF THE "RETVIZAN" 1
II. MAN OVERBOARD! 16
III. SEALED ORDERS 29
IV. UNCLE SAM'S PACKING 43
V. OTO'S STRANGE VISIT 53
VI. A SCRAP IN MALTA 67
VII. O-HANA-SAN'S PARTY 84
VIII. A BATCH OF LETTERS 93
IX. AT THE CZAR'S COMMAND 102
X. THE FIRST BLOW 114
XI. IN THE MIKADO'S CAPITAL 125
XII. BETWEEN TWO FIRES 137
XIII. WYNNIE MAKES A BLUNDER 146
XIV. THE ATTACK OF THE "OCTOPUS" 156
XV. UNDER THE RED CROSS 165
XVI. THE LAST TRAIN FROM PORT ARTHUR 175
XVII. DICK SCUPP'S ADVENTURE 184
XVIII. OSHIMA GOES A-FISHING 202
XIX. AMONG THE CLOUDS 218
XX. THE DOGGER BANK AFFAIR 235
XXI. THE FALL OF PORT ARTHUR 248
XXII. ON BOARD THE "KUSHIRO" 260
XXIII. TRAPPED IN MANCHURIA 274
XXIV. THE LITTLE FATHER 286
XXV. LARKIN RETIRES FROM BUSINESS 297
XXVI. "THE DESTINY OF AN EMPIRE" 308
XXVII. ORDERED HOME 319
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"MAN OVERBOARD!" _Frontispiece_ 24
"OTO CLIMBED THE RAIL LIKE A MONKEY" 64
IN STRANGE WATERS 82
PICKED UP BY THE SEARCHLIGHT 119
THE SINKING OF THE "PETROPAVLOVSK" 164
THE END OF THE TRAITOR 231
ON THE DOGGER BANK 244
THE OSAKA BABIES 253
THE NORTH PACIFIC.
CHAPTER I.
THE TRIAL OF THE "RETVIZAN."
It was a clear, cool afternoon in early September, 1901. In the country
the tawny hillsides were warmed to gold by the glow of the autumn sun,
while here and there a maple lifted its crimson torch as if the forest
were kindling where the rays were the hottest. Brown, golden, and
scarlet leaves floated slowly downward to the ground; flocks of
dark-winged birds drifted across the sky or flitted silently through the
shadows of the deep wood; the call of the harvester to his straining
team sounded across the fields for a moment--then all was still again.
But for the creak of a waggon, the distant bark of a dog, the fitful
whisper and rustle of the wind in the boughs overhead, the whirring
chatter of a squirrel, the world seemed lost in a day-dream of peace.
Only a few miles away the air was rent by a clamour of discordant
sound. Ponderous hammers beat upon plates of iron and brass; machinery
rumbled and shrieked and hissed at its work; a thousand men, labouring
as if for their lives, pulled, pushed, lifted, pounded, shouted orders,
warnings, replies above the din that beat upon the ear like a
blacksmith's blows upon an anvil. From the tall chimneys poured endless
volumes of black smoke that were reflected in the blue waters of the
river and mimicked by innumerable puffs of steam. The place was like a
volcano in the first stages of eruption. A vast upheaval seemed
imminent. Yet the countless toilers worked securely and swiftly,
fashioning that dread floating citadel of modern warfare, the
Battleship.
On this same afternoon, at the outer gate of the Cramp Shipbuilding
Works, two strangers applied for admission, presenting to the watchman a
properly accredited pass. They were young men, under the average
stature, dark-skinned, and almost notably quiet in appearance and
manner. Although their dress was that of the American gentleman, a very
slight accent in their speech, their jet-black hair, and a trifling
obliquity in their eyes, would have at once betrayed their nationality
to a careful observer. He would have known that they were of a people
famous for their shrewdness, their gentle manners, their bravery, their
quick perceptions, and their profound patience and tireless resolution
in accomplishing their ends--the "Yankees of the Orient"--the Japanese.
The watchman glanced at them carelessly, rather impressed by the
visitors' immaculate attire--both wore silk hats and black coats of
correct Broadway cut--and asked if they wanted an attendant to show them
about the works. They said, "No, thank you. We shall remain but short
time. We can find our ways"; and, bowing, passed into the yard.
Their curiosity seemed very slight, as to the buildings and machinery.
With light, quick steps they passed through one or two of the most
important shops, then turned to the river-side, and halted beside the
huge ship that was on the stocks, almost ready for launching. Here for
the first time their whole expression became alert, their eyes keen and
flashing. Nobody paid much attention to them as they passed along the
walk, scrutinising, it would seem, every individual bolt and plate.
"A couple o' <DW55>s!" remarked one workman to another, nodding over his
shoulder as he carried his end of a heavy steel bar.
At the gangway the visitors met their first obstacle. A man in undress
uniform, with a full beard and stern countenance, waved them back. "No
admittance to the deck," he said briefly.
The two Japanese bowed blandly, and spoke a few words together in soft
undertones and gutterals, as incomprehensible to a Western ear as the
language of the Ojibways. Then they bowed again, smiled and said "Thank
you, sir," and moved away. The Russian officer watched them sharply
until they disappeared around the bows of the vessel, muttering to
himself under his bushy moustache.
Once out of sight the languor and mild indifference of the strangers
vanished. They spoke swiftly, with excited, but graceful gestures. Then
one of them pointed to the snowy curve of the battleship's prow, above
their heads. There, gleaming in the sunset light, shone the word, in
gold letters,
[Cyrillic: RETVIZAN]
"RETVIZAN," murmured the other; "RETVIZAN." Adding in his own language,
"She will have her trial trip late in October, sailing from Boston.
Then--we shall see!"
"We shall see."
"_Sayonara, Retvizan!_" said the first speaker with just a trace of
mockery in his tone, as the two turned toward the gate. As they passed
through, on their way out, they bowed and smiled to the gate-keeper.
Once more they were suave, languid little gentlemen of fashion,
travelling for pleasure.
It was eight o'clock on the morning of October 21st when the last
tug-load of "distinguished visitors" scrambled up the steep ladder to
the deck of the _Retvizan_, which had lain all night in President's
Roads, Boston Harbour, waiting for her trial trip. In five minutes more
the battleship was under way, the smoke rolling from her three huge
funnels as she forged ahead slowly, on her way to the open sea.
It was an oddly composed crowd that gathered forward of the great turret
from which projected two twelve-inch guns. The crew consisted of Russian
"Jackies," in man-of-war rig; but the spectators were the invited guests
of the builders from whose control the ship had not yet passed. There
were lawyers, naval officers, engineers, and politicians, with one or
two officials of the city and State government--all bound to have a good
time, whether the _Retvizan_ should prove slow or fast. They buttoned
their overcoats up around their throats--for the day was chilly, and the
draught made by the vessel as she gathered speed was sharp--and in
little knots, here and there, joked, laughed, and sang like boys on a
lark.
One young man was constantly moving about, alert and active, interested
apparently in everything and everybody on board. Most of the Boston men
seemed to know him, and exchanged jokes with him as he passed.
"Hullo, Larkin, you here?" called out one. "Better go ashore while
there's time--you'll be sea-sick when we get outside!"
"I never yet was sick of seeing!" retorted the young man. "The
_Bulletin_ must have a good story on to-day's trip."
"Why didn't they send a reporter that knew his business?" jested
another.
"Don't _you_ say anything, Alderman, or I'll fix up an account of you
that will make you turn pale when you read it to-morrow morning," said
the jolly reporter; and off he went, followed by a chorus of laughter.
Fred Larkin was one of the most valued reporters on the Boston _Daily
Bulletin_. He had risen to his present position, from that of mere space
writer, by sheer determination, pluck, and hard work, which
characteristics, backed by fine character and a sunny good-humour, made
him a favourite with both his superiors and his comrades on the staff.
Three years before this sea-trip Fred had been sent to Cuba as war
correspondent for the _Bulletin_, had performed one or two remarkable
feats in journalism, had been captured by the Spaniards, and on the very
day when he expected to be executed in Santiago as a spy had been
exchanged and set free.
Meanwhile on this same perilous journey inland, he had met a young
Spanish girl named Isabella Cueva, who subsequently appealed to him for
protection, and whom, a few months later, he married. They now had one
bright little dark-haired boy, a year old, named Pedro.
"He's a wonderful child," Larkin would assert. "Talks Spanish like a
native, and cries in English!"
Besides the company of invited guests on the _Retvizan_, the officers of
the ship-building company, and the Russian crew, there were a number of
supernumeraries--butlers, cooks, and stewards, of various nationalities.
About a week before the ship was to sail from Philadelphia, two Japanese
boys applied for a position on board as stewards. They were dressed
neatly, after the custom of their race, but their spotless clothes were
threadbare, and as they seemed needy and brought the best of references
from Washington families, they were hired at once. It was true that they
seemed unable to speak or to understand more than a few words of
English, but their slight knowledge of the language appeared to be
sufficient for their duties, and the Japanese are known to be the
neatest, quickest, most efficient little waiters that can be procured.
Many of them, as their employers knew, were engaged in this humble
service on United States war-ships, where they gave complete
satisfaction.
As the great vessel swung out upon her course, the two boyish <DW61>s
appeared. They had come on board in Philadelphia, and were soon equipped
for their work, with white aprons and dark suits. Having with some
difficulty made the head steward understand when and for what they had
been engaged, they had entered at once upon their duties.
Nobody took much notice of the little fellows, as they glided silently
to and fro, giving deft touches to the lunch table, or assisting a stout
alderman to don his overcoat. Only once did they seem disconcerted. That
was when a Russian under-officer, with bushy beard and moustache, put
his head inside the cabin-door. One of the Japanese started so nervously
that he nearly upset a water-carafe on the table. As he adjusted it, he
spoke a few words in a low tone to his companion, and both remained with
their backs to the door, although the Russian summoned them roughly.
"Why didn't you go when he called?" demanded the head steward crossly, a
minute later, when he had himself given the officer the glass of water
he wanted.
"No speak Russian. No un'erstan'," said the little <DW61> with a meek
gesture.
"Well, you might have known what he asked for," retorted his superior.
"Look sharp now, and attend to your business. You ain't here for fun,
you!"
The steward addressed shot a quick glance at the other, but neither
said a word, as they resumed their tasks.
The _Retvizan_ moved proudly northward, throwing out a great wave on
each side of her white prow and leaving a wake of tossing foam
stretching far astern. The harbour islands were now dim in the distance
and the shore of the mainland might have been that of Patagonia, for all
the sign of human life it showed. Now, indeed, the vessel drew in, or,
rather, the coastline veered eastward as if to intercept her in her
swift course. The Magnolia shore came in sight, with its toy cottages
and hotels, as deserted as autumn birds'-nests. Norman's Woe was left
behind, backed by dark pine forests, and Gloucester, nestling in its
snug harbour, peered out at the passing monster. Almost directly in
front the lights of Thatcher's Island reared themselves, two priestly
fingers raised in blessing over the toilers of the sea.
Now the battleship began to quiver, as the increased throbbing of her
engines, the monstrous fore-waves, and the volumes of black smoke
rushing from her stacks told the excited passengers that she was
settling down to her best pace for the crucial test of speed. A
government tug was passed, and for ten miles the _Retvizan_ ploughed her
way fiercely northward, never deviating a foot to right or left,
crushing the waves into a boiling cauldron of seething foam, dashing the
spray high into the sunshine, until the second stake-boat, off Cape
Porpoise, was passed, and with a long sweep outward she turned, to
retrace the ten-mile course more swiftly than ever.
Fred Larkin pervaded, so to speak, the ship. Note-book in hand, he
interviewed the officers, chaffed the Russian Jackies, darted in and out
of the cabins, and ranged boldly through the hidden passages below. In
process of time he reached the engine-room, smearing himself with oil on
the way, from every steel rod he touched.
No sooner had he entered the room than he was pounced upon by one of the
three or four engineers, naval and civil, who were busily watching the
work of the great, pulsing heart of the vessel.
"Larkin! How are you, old fellow?" And his hands were grasped and wrung,
over and over, regardless of oil.
"Holmes! Well, I didn't guess _you_ were here! Shake again!"
It was Lieutenant-Commander Holmes, Assistant Engineer, who, with
several subordinate officers, two of them from the Academy, had been
detached by the Navy Department to watch the trip of the _Retvizan_ and
report upon it. They mingled freely with the Russian engineers, and
compared notes with them as the trial progressed.
Norman Holmes explained this to the young reporter, who was an old and
tried friend.
"Where is Rexdale stationed?"
"He's doing shore duty in Washington just now. Between you and me, Fred,
I think he'll be a lieutenant-commander before long, and may command one
of the smaller vessels on this station--a despatch-boat or something of
the kind. I only wish I could be assigned to the same ship! You know
Dave and I were chums in the Academy."
"I know. And the trifling circumstance of each marrying the other's
sister hasn't tended to produce a coldness, I suppose! But isn't that an
awfully quick promotion for Rexdale? The last I heard of him he was only
a lieutenant."
"Well, we've built so many new ships lately," said Holmes, with his eye
on the steam gauge, "that it has been hard work to man them. Two or
three classes have been graduated at the Academy two years ahead of
time, and promotions have been rapid all along the line. The man that
commanded the gunboat _Osprey_, for instance, is now on an armoured
cruiser, taking the place of an officer who has been moved up to the
battleship _Arizona_, and so on. Why, in the course of ten years or more
I may be a commander--who knows?" he added, with a laugh.
"I suppose you hear from 'Sandy' and--what did you fellows call
Tickerson?"
"'Girlie'? Oh, yes, I hear from them. Both are in the East somewhere.
Sandy's last letter was from Guam. He's a lieutenant now, and so is
Tickerson."
"Well, I mustn't stay here, bothering you. There's a queer crowd on
board--a mixed lot. Seen those little <DW61>s?"
"No. What are they here for?"
"Oh, just waiters. But it's odd to see Japanese on a Russian man-of-war,
considering that--hullo, here's one of them, now!"
Sure enough, a small, white-aproned figure came daintily picking his way
down into the jarring, clanging, oily engine-room. He seemed a bit
troubled to find two of its occupants regarding him intently, as he
stepped upon the iron floor.
"Mist' Johnson no here?" he asked innocently, gazing around him.
"Johnson? No, not that I know of," replied Holmes. "What's his
position."
"He--he from Boston," said the <DW61>, after a slight hesitation.
"Look here," broke in Larkin, in his offhand way, "what's your name,
young fellow?"
The steward looked into the reporter's frank, kindly face, then
answered, "Oto."
"Oto," repeated Fred. "That's a nice easy name to pronounce, if it _is_
Japanese. Well, Oto, how about your chum--what's his name?"
"Oshima. We from Japan."
"So I suspected," laughed Fred. "Been over long?"
The boy looked puzzled.
"When did you leave home?"
Oto shook his head. "Un'erstan' ver' leetle English," he said.
"Well, run along and find Mr. Johnson, of Boston. Norman, good-bye. I'll
look in on you again before the end of the trip. Where did Oto go?"
The little <DW61> had melted away--whether upward or downward, no one could
say, he had vanished so quickly.
Larkin shook his head and made a few cabalistic curves and dots in his
note-book, then reascended the stairs to the upper deck. Through a
winding staircase in a hollow mast he made his way to one of the
fighting-tops. Singularly enough the other Japanese waiter, Oshima, was
there before him. As Fred emerged on the circular platform, the boy
thrust a scrap of paper under the folds of his jacket and hurried down
toward the deck. Again the reporter made a note in his book, and then
gave a few moments to the magnificent view of the ship and the open sea
through which it was cleaving its way.
Directly before and below him lay the forward deck of the _Retvizan_,
cleared almost as completely as if for action. Most of the visitors had
withdrawn from the keen wind to the shelter of the cabin, where,
doubtless, the question of luncheon was already exciting interest.
Beneath the fighting-top was the bridge, where the highest officials on
the ship were watching her progress. Just beyond was the forward turret,
with its projecting guns, their muzzles peacefully closed.
The vessel now reached the first stake-boat once more, and turning,
again started over the course at half-speed, for the tedious process of
standardising the screw; that is, determining how many revolutions went
to a given rate of speed. The engineers were busy with their
calculations. Larkin joined the hungry crowd in the cabin, giving a last
look at the blue sea, the misty shore line, and the dim bulk of
Agamenticus reared against the western sky.
When the _Retvizan_ passed Cape Ann, on her homeward trip, the great
lamps on Thatcher's Island were alight, and the waves sparkled in the
glow. It was nearly nine o'clock that evening when the chains rattled
through the hawse-holes, in the lower harbour, as the battleship came to
anchor. Many had been the guesses as to her speed. Had she come up to
her builders' expectations? Had she passed the test successfully? These
were the questions that flew to and fro among the passengers, crowding
about the gangway beneath which the tug was soon rising and falling. At
the last moment the approximate result of the engineers' calculations
was given out. The ship had responded nobly to the demand upon her
mighty machinery. Splendidly built throughout, perfectly equipped for
manslaughter and for the protection of her crew, obedient to the
lightest touch of the master-hand that should guide her over the seas in
warfare or in peace, the _Retvizan_ had shown herself to be one of the
swiftest and most powerful war-ships in the world. For twenty miles, in
the open ocean, she had easily made a little over eighteen knots an
hour.
In the confusion of going on board the tug and disembarking in the
darkness, no one observed the two Japanese waiters, who must have
forgotten even to ask for their wages. Certain it is that Oto and Oshima
were among the very first to land on the Boston wharf, and to disappear
in one of the gloomy cross-streets that branch off from Atlantic Avenue.
CHAPTER II.
"MAN OVERBOARD!"
"Well, we're out of the harbour safely, Captain," said Executive Officer
Staples with a sigh of relief, as he spread out the chart of the
Massachusetts coast and glanced at the "tell-tale" compass. "No more
trouble till we get down by the Pollock Rip Shoals."
"Anybody would think you had been taking a battleship out from under the
enemy's guns," laughed Lieutenant-Commander David Rexdale. "Don't talk
about 'trouble,' Tel., while it's daylight, off a home port, in good
weather!"
The two were standing in the chart-room, just behind the bridge of the
U. S. gunboat _Osprey_, as the vessel, leaving Boston Outer Light
behind, headed slightly to the south of east. Rexdale, as his old chum
Holmes had predicted, was now in command of the _Osprey_, and was taking
her to Washington for a practice trip, on which the crew would be
drilled in various manoeuvres, including target-practice. Lieutenant
Richard Staples, his executive, had been the captain's classmate at
Annapolis. He was lanky and tall, and at the Academy had soon gained the
sobriquet of "Telegraph Pole," or "Tel.," for short; a name that had
stuck to him thus far in his naval career. He was a Californian, and,
while very quiet in his manner, was a dangerous man when aroused--as the
upper-class cadets had discovered when they undertook to "run" him.
Rexdale was from the rural districts of New Hampshire, and was known to
his classmates as "Farmer," a term which was now seldom applied to the
dignified lieutenant-commander.
The _Osprey_--to complete our introductions--was a lively little member
of Uncle Sam's navy, mounting several six-pounders and a four-inch
rifled gun, besides smaller pieces for close quarters. She had taken
part in the blockade of Santiago, and while not as modern in her
appointments as some of her bigger and younger sister-ships, had given a
good account of herself in the stirring days when Cervera's fleet was
cooped up behind the Cuban hills, and made their final hopeless dash for
freedom. Rexdale was in love with his little vessel, and knew every
spar, gun, plate, and bolt as if he had assisted in her building.
On the way down the harbour, they had passed the _Essex_ and
_Lancaster_, saluting each with a bugle-call. Besides the two officers
mentioned, it should be added that there were on board Ensigns Dobson
and Liddon, the former a good-natured little fellow, barely tall enough
to meet naval requirement as to height; the other a finely educated and
elegant young gentleman who had attended a medical college before
enlisting, and whose fund of scientific and historical knowledge was
supposed to be inexhaustible. He wore glasses, and had at once been
dubbed "Doctor," on entering the Naval Academy. These, with Paymaster
Ross, Assistant Surgeon Cutler, and Engineer Claflin, made up the
officers' mess of the _Osprey_.
It was a fair day in June, 1903. The sunlight sparkled on the summer
sea. Officers and men were in the best of spirits as the gunboat, her
red, white, and blue "commission pennant" streaming from her masthead,
sped southward past the long, ragged "toe" of the Massachusetts boot.
At noon Rexdale dined in solemn and solitary state in his after cabin.
The rest of the officers messed together in the ward-room, below decks,
and doubtless Dave would have been glad to join them; but discipline
required that the commanding officer, however familiarly he might
address an old acquaintance in private, should hold aloof at mealtimes.
He was waited upon by two small Japanese men, or boys, who had easily
obtained the situation when the vessel went into commission at the
Charlestown Navy Yard, where she had remained for some months, docked
for overhauling and thorough repairs. The two cabin stewards were gentle
and pleasant in their manners, conversant with all their duties, and
spoke English fluently. Their names were on the ship's papers as Oto and
Oshima.
"Oto," said Rexdale, when the dinner was finished, "call the orderly."
"Yes, sir."
The marine was pacing the deck outside the cabin-door. On receiving the
summons he entered and saluted stiffly.
"Orderly, ask Mr. Staples to step this way, if he has finished his
dinner."
Another salute, and the man turned on his heels and marched out.
"Mr. Staples," said the commander, as the former came in, "at four bells
we will have'man overboard' drill. We shall anchor to-night about ten
miles off Nantucket. I shall come on the bridge and con the ship myself
when we sight the Shovelful Lightship, and I shall be glad to have you
with me, passing the Shoal. The next time we go over this course I shall
let you take the ship through the passage yourself."
"Very well, sir." And the executive, being in sight of the waiters and
the orderly, as well as the surgeon, who just then passed through the
cabin, saluted formally and retired.
On deck, forward and in the waist of the ship, the men were busy at
various tasks, burnishing brass-work, making fast the lashings of the
guns, overhauling rigging and such naval apparatus as the warrant
officers knew would be needed on this short cruise. But few of the
crew--over a hundred in all--were below, although only the watch were
actually on duty.
In passing one of the seamen, who was polishing the rail, Oshima, on his
way to the galley, accidentally hit the man with his elbow.
"Clear out, will you?" said the seaman with an oath. At the same time he
gave the little <DW61> a shove that sent him reeling.
"Oh, take a fellow of your size, Sam!" cried one of the watch standing
near.
"He ran into me! I'll take him and you, too, if you say much," retorted
the first speaker morosely.
Two or three of the men paused on hearing the angry words. The little
stewards were favourites on board, although the enlisted men looked down
on their calling.
Oshima's dark eyes had flashed at the rough push and the sneering reply
of the sailor. He brushed his neat jacket where the former's hand had
touched it. Then he said quietly, "You can strike, Sam Bolles, as an ass
can kick. But you could not throw me to the deck."
"Couldn't I?" snarled Sam, dropping his handful of oily waste and
springing to his feet. "We'll see about that, you ----!" and he called
him an ugly name.
Glancing about to see that no officer was watching, Oshima crouched low,
and awaited the burly seaman's onset. Sam rushed at him with
outstretched hands and tried to seize him around the waist, to dash his
slight antagonist to the deck. Had he succeeded, Oshima's usefulness to
the United States Navy would have ended then and there. A dozen men
gathered about the pair, and more than one uttered a warning cry to the
Japanese. They need not have been alarmed, however, for the safety of
their small comrade.
Just as Sam's burly paws closed on his shoulders, Oshima's dark, thin
little hands shot out. He caught the seaman's right arm, gave a
lightning-like twist, and with a cry of pain and rage the big fellow
went down in a heap on the deck. As the men applauded wildly and swung
their caps, the <DW61> looked a moment at his fallen foe with a smile of
contempt, then turned away, for the master-at-arms, hearing the noise of
the scuffle, was approaching. Sam, however, was wild with rage.
Scrambling to his feet, he darted upon his late antagonist, caught up
the small figure in his powerful arms, and before anybody could
interfere, tossed him over the rail into the sea.
Lieut. Commander Rexdale, pacing the quarter-deck and congratulating
himself on the fine run the _Osprey_ was making, was suddenly aroused
from his professional meditations by the sound of cries from the forward
part of the ship. Annoyed by this breach of discipline, he called
sharply to one of the ensigns, who was standing near, watching a distant
steamer through his glass, "Mr. Dobson, step forward, please, and find
out what that disturbance is among the men----"
But before Dobson could reach the head of the ladder another confusion
of shouts arose, followed immediately by a rush of footsteps. At the
same time the commander felt the tremor of the screw's motion die away,
under his feet.
"Man overboard?" exclaimed Rexdale, with a vexed frown. "I gave orders
for the drill at four bells, and three bells were struck only a few
minutes ago. Where is Mr. Staples?"
The executive officer was at that moment seen hurrying aft, but the
Jackies were before him. They tumbled up the steps like mad, and flung
themselves into the starboard quarter-boat, which had been left swinging
outside from the davits for the purposes of drill. Already the man on
watch at the taffrail had cut away the lashings of a patent
life-preserver and sent it into the sea, where it floated with signals
erect, far astern. The propeller was lashing | 853.482422 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton 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:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained
as printed.
Words printed in italics are noted with underscores: _italics_.
A. B. C. of SNAP SHOOTING
By HORACE FLETCHER.
SPORTING, EXHIBITION, AND MILITARY.
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR.
SAN FRANCISCO, 1880.
PREFACE.
My object in publishing this little book is to explain a method of
teaching Snap Shooting, by using the rifle in practice, which, by its
economy, ease, quickness, and fascination, will recommend itself to
any who are desirous of becoming skillful in the use of firearms.
It is true that by this method almost any one can make himself a good
snap shot in a few weeks or months, according to the amount of
practice indulged in, and that too at very small cost.
I make no claim for it, except that having received the original idea
from Dr. Carver, I have demonstrated for myself and seen several
friends demonstrate its practicability beyond a doubt.
I submit it for what it may be worth.
HORACE FLETCHER.
SNAP SHOOTING DEFINED.
Snap shooting is the throwing of both the rear and front sights of a
gun into line between the eye and the target and pulling the trigger,
all in one motion, and is distinguished by that name from any shooting
where the aim is leisurely taken, by bringing the piece to the
shoulder, getting the sights in line, hunting the target and pulling
the trigger when the aim is most steady.
_ANOTHER DEFINITION._
In snap shooting, the eye catches the target, and the attention is
riveted on it, while the piece comes into line instinctively.
In other shooting, the attention is turned from the target to the gun
and sights, and after getting them in line, is returned to the target.
The practice of snap shooting does not interfere with aiming at
leisure, but aiming at leisure unfits one for snap shooting.
When the face is in danger, the hand comes before it instinctively to
protect it; and in the same manner when a target appears the gun
should as instinctively and quickly find its place in line between it
and the eyes.
This is necessary to the perfect _snap shot_.
[Illustration: First Position.
LOADING.
After inserting the cartridge, close the breech and swing the piece
up to the Second Position.]
[Illustration: Second Position.
READY.
The piece should be cocked only in this position.]
[Illustration: Third Position.
AIMING.
After firing, drop the piece immediately to the Fourth Position.]
[Illustration: Fourth Position.
EXTRACTING.
Extract and re-load as quickly as possible in order to be ready to
fire again.]
RULES OF SAFETY.
The following rules of safety should _never_ be disregarded:
1. On taking a firearm in your hands, see for yourself if it be
loaded or not, and _never_ take any one's word for it.
2. Keep the muzzle of a loaded gun above the level of the eye, and
hold a pistol at a corresponding angle.
3. Handle _all_ firearms as if loaded.
* * * * *
NOTE.--_The Numbers scattered through "The Outfit," and "Rules of
Practice," refer to paragraphs further on, correspondingly numbered,
which are explanatory of terms used, and give the reasons for the
suggestions offered._
_This plan relieves the pith of the book from any confusing element._
THE OUTFIT.
Three[1] persons purchase a.22[3] calibre rifle,[2] having a
shot-gun[4] stock, and buck-horn[5] or clover-leaf rear sight, a
supply of short cartridges,[6] and a Fletcher bell-ball.[7]
The place for practice should be open[8] ground, or in front of a
bulkhead,[9] at least twenty-five feet in height, and three soft pine
boards in thickness.
RULES FOR PRACTICE.
1. Each should take his turn in the positions of FIRER, TOSSER, and
SCORER.[10]
2. The TOSSER should stand ten[11] feet distant from the FIRER, with
his side[12] to him, and toss the bell-ball about fifteen[13] feet
high, and so that it will fall on soft ground,[15] two or three[14]
feet in front of where he (the Tosser) is standing.
3. The FIRER should disencumber his shoulders of anything that in
any way interferes with their free action, by removing his coat, vest
and suspenders, and stand firmly[16] on his feet, holding the rifle
with the stock below his right[17] elbow, the muzzle above the level
of the eye,[18] and his left hand clasping the barrel as far out[19]
as it can reach with ease when the rifle is brought to the shoulder in
aiming.
4. The instant[20] the ball is tossed, the rifle should be brought
to the shoulder with as quick a motion as possible, regardless of the
speed the bell seems to have.
5. When the bell has reached its greatest[21] elevation, just see it
full[22] over the line of both[23] sights and pull the trigger.[24]
6. The rifle should not be allowed to get[25] foul, but cleaned
before any burned powder | 853.483348 |
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Produced by Anne Soulard, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE NOTE BOOK OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER.
BY
THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
CONTENTS.
THREE MEMORABLE MURDERS
TRUE RELATIONS OF THE BIBLE TO MERELY HUMAN SCIENCE
LITERARY HISTORY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES
THE MARQUESS WELLESLEY
MILTON _vs._ SOUTHEY AND LANDOR
FALSIFICATION OF | 853.583669 |
2023-11-16 18:31:18.0604820 | 1,792 | 13 |
Produced by Richard J. Shiffer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this
text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant
spellings and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to
correct an obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.
Also, many occurrences of mismatched single and double quotes
remain as they were in the original.]
[Illustration: Phoebe W. Couzins.]
HISTORY
of
WOMAN SUFFRAGE.
EDITED BY
ELIZABETH CADY STANTON,
SUSAN B. ANTHONY, AND
MATILDA JOSLYN GAGE.
ILLUSTRATED WITH STEEL ENGRAVINGS.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. III.
1876-1885.
"WOMEN ARE CITIZENS OF THE UNITED STATES, ENTITLED TO ALL
THE RIGHTS, PRIVILEGES AND IMMUNITIES GUARANTEED
TO CITIZENS BY THE NATIONAL CONSTITUTION."
SUSAN B. ANTHONY,
17 MADISON ST., ROCHESTER, N. Y.
Copyright, 1886, by SUSAN B. ANTHONY.
PREFACE.
The labors of those who have edited these volumes are not only
finished as far as this work extends, but if three-score years and
ten be the usual limit of human life, all our earthly endeavors
must end in the near future. After faithfully collecting material
for several years, and making the best selections our judgment has
dictated, we are painfully conscious of many imperfections the
critical reader will perceive. But since stereotype plates will not
reflect our growing sense of perfection, the lavish praise of
friends as to the merits of these pages will have its antidote in
the defects we ourselves discover. We may however without egotism
express the belief that this volume will prove specially
interesting in having a large number of contributors from England,
France, Canada and the United States, giving personal experiences
and the progress of legislation in their respective localities.
Into younger hands we must soon resign our work; but as long as
health and vigor remain, we hope to publish a pamphlet report at
the close of each congressional term, containing whatever may be
accomplished by State and National legislation, which can be
readily bound in volumes similar to these, thus keeping a full
record of the prolonged battle until the final victory shall be
achieved. To what extent these publications may be multiplied
depends on when the day of woman's emancipation shall dawn.
For the completion of this work we are indebted to Eliza Jackson
Eddy, the worthy daughter of that noble philanthropist, Francis
Jackson. He and Charles F. Hovey are the only men who have ever
left a generous bequest to the woman suffrage movement. To Mrs.
Eddy, who bequeathed to our cause two-thirds of her large fortune,
belong all honor and praise as the first woman who has given alike
her sympathy and her wealth to this momentous and far-reaching
reform. This heralds a turn in the tide of benevolence, when,
instead of building churches and monuments to great men, and
endowing colleges for boys, women will make the education and
enfranchisement of their own sex the chief object of their lives.
The three volumes now completed we leave as a precious heritage
to coming generations; precious, because they so clearly
illustrate--in her ability to reason, her deeds of heroism and her
sublime self-sacrifice--that woman preeminently possesses the three
essential elements of sovereignty as defined by Blackstone:
"wisdom, goodness and power." This has been to us a work of love,
written without recompense and given without price to a large
circle of friends. A thousand copies have thus far been distributed
among our coadjutors in the old world and the new. Another thousand
have found an honored place in the leading libraries, colleges and
universities of Europe and America, from which we have received
numerous testimonies of their value as a standard work of reference
for those who are investigating this question. Extracts from these
pages are being translated into every living language, and, like so
many missionaries, are bearing the glad gospel of woman's
emancipation to all civilized nations.
Since the inauguration of this reform, propositions to extend the
right of suffrage to women have been submitted to the popular vote
in Kansas, Michigan, Colorado, Nebraska and Oregon, and lost by
large majorities in all; while, by a simple act of legislature,
Wyoming, Utah and Washington territories have enfranchised their
women without going through the slow process of a constitutional
amendment. In New York, the State that has led this movement, and
in which there has been a more continued agitation than in any
other, we are now pressing on the legislature the consideration
that it has the same power to extend the right of suffrage to women
that it has so often exercised in enfranchising different classes
of men.
Eminent publicists have long conceded this power to State
legislatures as well as to congress, declaring that women as
citizens of the United States have the right to vote, and that a
simple enabling act is all that is needed. The constitutionality of
such an act was never questioned until the legislative power was
invoked for the enfranchisement of women. We who have studied our
republican institutions and understand the limits of the executive,
judicial and legislative branches of the government, are aware that
the legislature, directly representing the people, is the primary
source of power, above all courts and constitutions. Research into
the early history of this country shows that in line with English
precedent, women did vote in the old colonial days and in the
original thirteen States of the Union. Hence we are fully awake to
the fact that our struggle is not for the attainment of a new
right, but for the restitution of one our fore-mothers possessed
and exercised.
All thoughtful readers must close these volumes with a deeper sense
of the superior dignity, self-reliance and independence that belong
by nature to woman, enabling her to rise above such multifarious
persecutions as she has encountered, and with persistent
self-assertion to maintain her rights. In the history of the race
there has been no struggle for liberty like this. Whenever the
interest of the ruling classes has induced them to confer new
rights on a subject class, it has been done with no effort on the
part of the latter. Neither the American slave nor the English
laborer demanded the right of suffrage. It was given in both cases
to strengthen the liberal party. The philanthropy of the few may
have entered into those reforms, but political expediency carried
both measures. Women, on the contrary, have fought their own
battles; and in their rebellion against existing conditions have
inaugurated the most fundamental revolution the world has ever
witnessed. The magnitude and multiplicity of the changes
involved make the obstacles in the way of success seem almost
insurmountable.
The narrow self-interest of all classes is opposed to the
sovereignty of woman. The rulers in the State are not willing to
share their power with a class equal if not superior to themselves,
over which they could never hope for absolute control, and whose
methods of government might in many respects differ from their own.
The annointed leaders in the Church are equally hostile to freedom
for a sex supposed for wise purposes to have been subordinated by
divine decree. The capitalist in the world of work holds the key to
the trades and professions, and undermines the power of labor
unions in their struggles for shorter hours and fairer wages, by
substituting the cheap labor of a disfranchised class, that cannot
organize its forces, thus making wife and sister rivals of husband
and brother in the industries, to the detriment of both classes. Of
the autocrat in the home, John Stuart Mill has well said: "No
ordinary man is willing to find at his own fireside an equal in the
person he calls wife." Thus society is based on this fourfold
bondage of woman | 854.080522 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
KEELY AND HIS DISCOVERIES
AERIAL NAVIGATION
BY
Mrs. BLOOMFIELD MOORE
The universe is ONE. There is no supernatural: all is related, cause
and sequence. Nothing exists but substance and its modes of motion.
Spinoza.
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., Ltd.
PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD
1893
John Stuart Mill, in order to protect science, carried
empiricism to its extreme sceptical consequences, and thereby
cut the ground from under the feet of all science.--Professor
Otto Pfleiderer, D.D.
The word of our God shall stand for ever.--Isa. xl. 8.
Imagination is wholly taken captive by the stupendous
revelation of the God-force which modern conceptions of
the Cosmos furnish. Through the whole universe beats the
one life-force, that is God, controlling every molecule
in the petal of a daisy, in the meteoric ring of Saturn,
in the remotest nebula that outskirts space, as though
that molecule were the universe. In each molecule and atom
God lives and moves and has His being, thereby sustaining
theirs.... Prophet after prophet cries, and psalmist after
psalmist sings, that so indeed he has found it; that therein
is the divine sonship of man, therein the assurance of eternal
life.--Rev. R. A. Armstrong.
The living man with his interior consciousness of self and
individuality is on two planes of nature at once, as a ship
is in two media at once, half in the water and half in the
air. To manage your ship successfully you must take cognizance
of the laws governing each of those media. To deal successfully
with your human being you must understand his physiology
no doubt, but you must equally understand his psychology,
and something of the collateral phenomena of nature in those
regions or planes to which the phenomena of the psychic man
belong.--A. P. Sinnett.
The splendid generalizations of our physicists and our
naturalists, have had for me an enthralling and entrancing
interest. I find as I look out on the world, in the light of
all this new knowledge, a pressure of God upon consciousness
everywhere; and if this physical force which is God, moves
through, sustains, communes, with each smallest physical
atom of the whole, much more must that conscious energy
which is God, move through, sustain, commune with, these
conscious atoms | 854.178618 |
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE.
CIRCUMSTANCES took me to the Holy Land without a companion, and compelled
me to visit Bethany, the Mount of Olives, and the Church of the Sepulchre
alone. I acknowledge myself to be a gregarious animal, or, perhaps,
rather one of those which nature has intended to go in pairs. At any
rate I dislike solitude, and especially travelling solitude, and was,
therefore, rather sad at heart as I sat one night at Z—’s hotel, in
Jerusalem, thinking over my proposed wanderings for the next few days.
Early on the following morning I intended to start, of course on
horseback, for the Dead Sea, the banks of Jordan, Jericho, and those
mountains of the wilderness through which it is supposed that Our Saviour
wandered for the forty days when the devil tempted him. I would then
return to the Holy City, and remaining only long enough to refresh my
horse and wipe the dust from my hands and feet, I would start again for
Jaffa, and there catch a certain Austrian steamer which would take me to
Egypt. Such was my programme, and I confess that I was but ill contented
with it, seeing that I was to be alone during the time.
I had already made all my arrangements, and though I had no reason for
any doubt as to my personal security during the trip, I did not feel
altogether satisfied with them. I intended to take a French guide, or
dragoman, who had been with me for some days, and to put myself under the
peculiar guardianship of two Bedouin Arabs, who were to accompany me as
long as I should remain east of Jerusalem. This travelling through the
desert under the protection of Bedouins was, in idea, pleasant enough;
and I must here declare that I did not at all begrudge the forty
shillings which I was told by our British consul that I must pay them for
their trouble, in accordance with the established tariff. But I did
begrudge the fact of the tariff. I would rather have fallen in with my
friendly Arabs, as it were by chance, and have rewarded their fidelity at
the end of our joint journeyings by a donation of piastres to be settled
by myself, and which, under such circumstances, would certainly have been
as agreeable to them as the stipulated sum. In the same way I dislike
having waiters put down in my bill. I find that I pay them twice over,
and thus lose money; and as they do not expect to be so treated, I never
have the advantage of their civility. The world, I fear, is becoming too
fond of tariffs.
“A tariff!” said I to the consul, feeling that the whole romance of my
expedition would be dissipated by such an arrangement. “Then I’ll go
alone; I’ll take a revolver with me.”
“You can’t | 854.2779 |
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Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
The Table of Contents is placed after the Preface.
This book contains illustrations showing some of the tricks described.
The illustrations are available in the HTML version. In this text-only
version | 854.283476 |
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Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Matthew Wheaton
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS SHOEMAKERS.
BY
WILLIAM EDWARD WINKS.
NEW YORK:
FUNK & WAGNALLS, PUBLISHERS,
10 AND 12 DEY STREET.
PREFACE.
Time out of mind _The Gentle Craft_ has been invested with an air of
romance. This honorable title, given to no other occupation but that of
shoemakers, is an indication of the high esteem in which the Craft is
held. It is by no means an easy thing to account for a sentiment of this
kind, or to trace such a title to its original source. Whether the
traditionary stories which have clustered round the lives of Saints
Anianus, Crispin and Crispianus, or Hugh and Winifred, gave rise to the
sentiment, or the sentiment itself is to be regarded as accounting for
the traditions, one cannot tell. Probably there is some truth in both
theories, for sentiment and tradition act and react on each other.
Certain it is, that among all our craftsmen none appear to enjoy a
popularity comparable with that of "the old Cobbler" or "Shoemaker."
Most men have a good word to say for him, a joke to crack about him, or
a story to tell of his ability and "learning," his skill in argument, or
his prominence and influence in political or religious affairs. Both in
ancient times and in modern, in the Old World and in the New, a rare
interest has been felt in Shoemakers, as a class, on account of their
remarkable intelligence and the large number of eminent men who have
risen from their ranks.
These facts, and especially the last--which has been the subject of
frequent remark--may be deemed sufficient justification for the
existence of such a work as this.
Another reason might be given for the issue of such a book as this just
now. A change has come over the craft of boot and shoe making. The use
of machinery has effected nothing short of a _revolution_ in the trade.
The old-fashioned Shoemaker, with his leathern apron and hands redolent
of wax, has almost disappeared from the workrooms and streets of such
towns as Northampton and Stafford in Old England, or Lynn in New
England. His place and function are now, for the most part, occupied by
the "cutter" and the "clicker," the "riveter" and the "machine-girl."
The old Cobbler, like the ancient spinster and handloom weaver, is
retiring into the shade of the boot and shoe factory. Whether or no he
will disappear entirely may be questionable; but there can be no doubt
that the Cobbler, sitting at his stall and working with awl and hammer
and last, will never again be the conspicuous figure in social life that
he was wont to be in times gone by. Before we bid him a final farewell,
and forget the traditions of his humble yet honorable craft, it may be
of some service to bring under one review the names and histories of
some of the more illustrious members of his order.
Long as is the list of these worthy "Sons of Crispin," it cannot be said
to be complete. Only a few examples are taken from Germany, France, and
the United States, where, in all probability, as many illustrious
Shoemakers might have been met with as in Great Britain itself. And even
the British muster-roll is not fully made up. With only a few
exceptions, _living men_ are not included in the list. Very gladly would
the writer have added to these exceptions so remarkable a man as Thomas
Edward, the shoemaker of Banff, one of the best self-taught naturalists
of our time, and, for the last sixteen years, an Associate of the
Linnaean Society. But for the Life of this eminent Scotchman the reader
must be referred to the interesting biography written by his friend Dr.
Smiles.
In writing the longer sketches, free and ample use has been made of
biographies already in existence. But this has not been done without the
kind consent of the owners of copyrights. To these the writer tenders
his grateful acknowledgments. To the widow of the Rev. T. W. Blanshard
he is indebted for permission to draw upon the pages of her late
husband's valuable biography of "The Wesleyan Demosthenes," _Samuel
Bradburn_; to Jacob Halls Drew, Esq., Bath, for his courtesy in allowing
a liberal use to be made of the facts given in his biography of his
father, _Samuel Drew_, "The Self-Taught Cornishman;" and to the
venerable _Thomas Cooper_, as well as to his publishers, Messrs. Hodder
& Stoughton, for their kind favor in regard to the lengthy and detailed
sketch of the author of "The Purgatory of Suicides." This sketch, the
longest in the book, is inserted by special permission of Messrs. Hodder
& Stoughton.
The minor sketches have been drawn from a variety of sources. One or two
of these require special mention. In preparing the notice of John
O'Neill, the Poet of Temperance, the writer has received kind help from
_Mr. Richard Gooch_ of Brighton, himself a poet of temperance. Messrs.
_J. & J. H. Rutherford_ of Kelso have also been good enough to place at
the writer's service--but, unfortunately, too late to be of much use--a
copy of their recently published autobiography of John Younger, the
Shoemaker of St. Boswells. In the all-too-brief section devoted to
American worthies, valuable aid has been given to the author by Henry
Phillips, Esq., jun., A.M., Ph.D., Corresponding Member of the
Antiquarian Society of Philadelphia, U.S.A.
In all probability the reader has never been introduced to so large a
company of illustrious Sons of Crispin before. It is sincerely hoped
that he will derive both pleasure and profit from their society.
WILLIAM EDWARD WINKS.
CARDIFF, 1882.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE
CHAPTER I.
Sir Cloudesley Shovel: The Cobbler's Boy who became an Admiral
CHAPTER II.
James Lackington: Shoemaker and Bookseller
CHAPTER III.
Samuel Bradburn: The Shoemaker who became President of the Wesleyan
Conference
CHAPTER IV.
William Gifford: From the Shoemaker's Stool to the Editor's Chair
CHAPTER V.
Robert Bloomfield: The Shoemaker who wrote "The Farmer's Boy"
CHAPTER VI.
Samuel Drew: The Metaphysical Shoemaker
CHAPTER VII.
William Carey: The Shoemaker who Translated the Bible into Bengali
| 854.28505 |
2023-11-16 18:31:18.3620340 | 3,541 | 25 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 43245-h.htm or 43245-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lukebarnicottoth00howiiala
LUKE BARNICOTT.
by
WILLIAM HOWITT.
And Other Stories.
Twenty-Eighth Thousand.
Cassell & Company, Limited:
London, Paris, New York & Melbourne.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE STORY OF LUKE BARNICOTT 5
THE CASTLE EAST OF THE SUN 49
THE HOLIDAYS AT BARENBURG CASTLE 67
[Illustration: After Young Luke.]
THE STORY OF LUKE BARNICOTT
BY WILLIAM HOWITT.
The village of Monnycrofts, in Derbyshire, may be said to be a
distinguished village, for though it is not a city set on a hill, it is
a village set on a hill. It may be seen far and wide with its cluster of
red brick houses, and its tall gray-stone church steeple, which has
weathered the winds of many a century. The distant traveller observes
its green upward sloping fields, well embellished by hedgerow trees, and
its clumps of trees springing up amongst its scenes, and half hiding
them, and says to himself as he trots along, "a pleasant look-out must
that hamlet have." And he is right; it has a very pleasant look-out for
miles and miles on three sides of it; the fourth is closed by the
shoulder of the hill, and the woods and plantations of old Squire
Flaggimore. On another hill some half-mile to the left of the village,
as you ascend the road to it, stands a windmill, which with its active
sails always seems to be beckoning everybody from the country round to
come up and see something wonderful. If you were to go up you would see
nothing wonderful, but you would have a fine airy prospect over the
country, and, ten to one, feel a fine breeze blowing that would do your
heart good. You would see the spacious valley of the Erwash winding
along for miles, with its fields all mapped out by its hedges and
hedgerow trees, and its scattered hamlets, with their church towers,
and here and there old woods in dark masses, and on one side the blue
hills of the Peak beckoning still more enticingly than Ives's Mill, to
go there and see something wonderful. On another side you would see
Killmarton Hall and its woods and plantations, and, here and there
amongst them, smoke arising from the engine-houses of coal mines which
abound there; for all the country round Monnycrofts and Shapely, and so
away to Elkstown, there are or have been coal and ironstone mines for
ages. Many an old coal mine still stands yawning in the midst of
plantations that have now grown up round them. Many a score of mines
have been again filled up, and the earth levelled, and a fair
cultivation is here beheld, where formerly colliers worked and caroused,
and black stacks of coals, and heaps of grey shale, and coke fires were
seen at night glimmering through the dark.
Near this mill, Ives's mill, there is another hamlet called Marlpool, as
though people could live in a pool, but it is called Marlpool, as a
kettle is said to boil when only the water boils in it, because it
stands on the edge of a great pool almost amounting to a lake, where
marl formerly was dug, and which has for years been filled with water.
The colliers living there call it the eighth wonder of the world,
because they think it wonderful that a pool should stand on the top of a
hill, though that is no wonder at all, but is seen in all quarters of
the world. But the colliers there are a simple race, that do not travel
much out of their own district, and so have the pleasure of wondering at
many things that to us, being familiar, give no pleasure. So it is that
we pay always something for our knowledge; and the widow Barnicott who
lived on this hill near Ives's mill, at the latter end of the time we
are going to talk of, used to congratulate herself when her memory
failed with age, that it was rather an advantage, because, she said,
everything that she heard was quite new again.
But at the time when my story opens, Beckey Barnicott was not a widow.
She was the wife of Luke Barnicott, the millers man, that is, Ives's
man. Luke Barnicott had been the miller's man at Ives's mill some time;
he was a strapping, strong young fellow of eight-and-twenty. Old Nathan
Abbot had the mill before Ives had it, and Luke Barnicott was Nathan
Abbot's miller. There are many tales of the strength and activity of
Luke Barnicott still going round that part of the country. Of the races
that he ran on Monnycrofts' common side, and on Taghill Delves, amongst
the gorse and broom and old gravel pits: of the feats he did at
Monnycrofts and Eastwood wakes, and at Elkstown cross-dressing, where
the old Catholic cross still stood, and was dressed in old Catholic
fashion with gilded oak leaves and flowers at the wakes: of the
wrestlings and knocking-down of the will-pegs, and carrying off all the
prizes, and of jumping in sacks, and of a still greater jumping into and
out of twelve sugar hogsheads all set in a row, and which feat Luke was
the only one of the young fellows from all the country round that could
do. Luke was, in fact, a jolly fellow when Beckey married him, and she
was very proud of him, for he was a sober fellow, with all his frolics
and feats, and Beckey said that the Marlpool might be the eighth wonder
of the world, but her Luke was the ninth, because he could take his
glass and be social-like, but never came home drunk. And, in fact, no
millers get drunk. I can remember plenty of drunken fellows of all
trades, but I don't remember a drunken miller. There is something in
their trade that keeps them to it, and out of the ale-house. The wind
and the water will be attended to, and so there is not much opportunity
to attend to the beer or the gin-shop. Besides, if a miller were apt to
get drunk, he would be apt to get drowned very soon, in the mill stream,
or knocked on the head by a sail.
There's something pleasant and sober and serious in a mill. The wheel
goes coursing round, and the pleasant water sparkles and plunges under
it, or the great sails go whirling and whirling round, and the clear air
of the hill top gives you more cheeriness than any drink; and the
clapper claps pleasantly; and the mill keeps up a pleasant swaying and
tremor, and the flour comes sliding down the hoppers into the sacks, and
all is white and dusty, and yet clean; the mill and the sacks and the
hoppers and the flour, and the miller's clothes, and his whiskers, and
his hat; and his face is meally, and ruddy through the meal, and all is
wholesome and peaceful, and has something in it that makes a man quietly
and pleasantly grave.
Luke Barnicott was now the staid and grey-haired man of sixty: he had no
actual need of the hair-powder of the mill to make him look venerable.
On Sundays, when he was washed and dressed-up to appear at church, his
head seemed still to retain the flour, though it had gone from his
clothes, and his ruddy face had no mealy vail on it. Beckey, his wife,
was grown the sober old woman, but still hale and active. She came to
church in her black gipsy hat, all her white mob cap showing under it,
in large patterned flouncing gown, in black stockings, high-heeled
shoes, and large brass buckles that had been her grandmother's. On week
days she might be seen in a more homely dress fetching water from the
spring below, or digging up the potatoes in the garden for dinner. At
other times she sat knitting in the fine weather on a seat facing to the
evening sun, but giving shade in the earlier part of the day, under a
rude porch of poles and sticks over the door, up which she trained every
year a growth of scarlet runners, whilst around and under the windows
grew the usual assortment of herbs, rue and camomile, rosemary and
pennyroyal.
The Barnicotts lived at the old Reckoning House, so called because, when
the collieries were active, just in that quarter, the men were paid
their wages there. It was a very ordinary-looking brick tenement, now
divided into two dwellings, in one of which to the west lived Luke and
Beckey, and on the east side lived Tom Smith, the stockinger or
stocking-weaver, and Peggy his wife. Tom Smith's frame kept up a pretty
constant grating and droning sound, such as you hear in many a village
of Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, and Leicestershire, and in some parts
of Normandy, and it was almost the only sound that you heard about the
Reckoning House, for neither of the families had any children, except
one boy, the young Luke Barnicott, the grandson of the old Barnicotts.
The Barnicotts' only son Patrick had been a great trouble to his
parents, the shadow-spot in their lives. He had got amongst a wild set
of young fellows of the neighbourhood, had been sharply scolded by old
Luke, and in a fit of passion had gone for a soldier. He had died in the
war in Spain, and his wife had died soon after of a fever, caught in
nursing somebody suffering under that contagious affection. They had
left their only child to the old folks, who was now a lad of about
fourteen, and as mercurial and mischievous an imp as the neighbourhood
could furnish. From the moment that he could run about he was in some
scrape or some danger. He strolled about the common, plaguing asses and
sheep and cattle that were grazing there, hunting up birds' nests and
wasps' nests, hanging over the sides of a deep pond just below the
Reckoning House, surrounded by thick trees, and more than once had gone
headlong in, and came home streaming with water like a spout on a rainy
day. Old Luke said he would go after his father if he escaped drowning
or tumbling into some pit; and poor old Beckey was just like a hen with
a duckling with this one little vagabond. Sometimes he was seen climbing
on the mill sails, sometimes on the very ridge of a house, and looking
down the chimney for swallow nests, at other times he was up in trees so
high, swinging out on a long bough after some nests, so dizzily, that it
made his poor old granny's head ache for a week after. They put him as
soon as possible to the school in Monnycrofts to keep him out of danger,
but sometimes, instead of reaching the school, he had been wiled away by
his love of rambling into some distant wood, or along some winding
brook, and looking after fish, when he should be conning his lesson. At
others, instead of returning home at night after school, he was got into
the blacksmith's shop, watching old Blowbellows at the glowing forge,
and often in danger of having his eyes burnt by the large flying sparks,
or having a kick from a horse that was being shod. Sometimes poor old
Beckey had to go to the village of a dark stormy winter's evening to
hunt up the truant with her lanthorn, and would find him after all at
one of the pits sitting by the blazing fire, in a cabin made of blocks
of coal, listening to the talk of the colliers over their ale.
When, however, young Luke Barnicott had nearly reached the age of
fourteen, and had been set to scare birds in the fields, and to drive
plough for the farmers, and gather stones from the land, and had gleaned
in the autumn, and slid on the Marlpool in the winter, he took a fancy
to become a collier. He was arrayed in a suit of coarse flannel,
consisting of wide trousers and a sort of short slop, with an old hat
with the brim cut off, and was sent down sitting on a chain at the end
of a rope into the yawning pit sixty yards deep. There he was sent to
drive a little railway train of coal waggons drawn by a pony in these
subterranean regions, from the benk or face of the coal stratum, where
the colliers were at work, to the pit's mouth; but Luke soon grew tired
of that. He did not fancy living in the dark, and away from the sun and
pleasant fields, so one day, as the master of the pits was standing on
the pit-bank, up was turned Luke Barnicott, as invalided. He was lifted
out of the chain by the colliers, and as he writhed about and seemed in
great pain, the coal-master asked where he was hurt. He replied, in his
leg. "Show me the place," said the master. Luke, with a good deal of
labour and a look of much distress, drew off a stocking and showed a leg
black enough with coal dust, but without any apparent wound. "Where is
the hurt?" asked the master. "Here," said Luke, putting his hand
tenderly on the calf. The master pressed it. Luke pretended to flinch,
but the master did not feel satisfied. "Bring some water and wash the
leg," he said, and water was soon brought in an old tin. The leg was
washed, but no bruise, no blueness were visible. "Pshaw!" said the
master, "that is nothing to make a squeak about." "Oh, it is the other
leg, I think," said Luke. "The other leg!" exclaimed the master. "What!
the fox has a wound and he does not know where! Pull off the other
stocking." The stocking was pulled off by the colliers, but no injury
was to be found! "Come, Barnicott," said the master, "so you are playing
the old soldier over us! Why, what is the meaning of it?" "To say the
truth, master," said Luke, with a sheepish look, "the fact was--I was
daunted!"
At this confession the colliers set up a shout of laughter; and the
master, with a suppressed smile, bade him begone about his business.
After this Luke was some time at a loose end; he had nothing to do, and
nobody would employ him. The story of his being "daunted" flew all round
the neighbourhood, and he was looked on as a lazy, shifty lad, that was
not to be trusted to. He strolled about the common, the asses and the
sheep, and the geese, and the young cattle grazing there had a worse
time of it than ever. The old people were in great | 854.382074 |
2023-11-16 18:31:18.4542290 | 6,555 | 15 |
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, mischeefe, or in tiranny.
NAVARRE. But he that sits and rules above the clowdes,
Doth heare and see the praiers of the just:
And will revenge the bloud of innocents,
That Guise hath slaine by treason of his heart,
And brought by murder to their timeles ends.
ADMIRALL. My Lord, but did you mark the Cardinall
The Guises brother, and the Duke Dumain:
How they did storme at these your nuptiall rites,
Because the house of Burbon now comes in,
And joynes your lineage to the crowne of France?
NAVARRE. And thats the cause that Guise so frowns at us,
And beates his braines to catch us in his trap,
Which he hath pitcht within his deadly toyle.
Come my Lords lets go to the Church and pray,
That God may still defend the right of France:
And make his Gospel flourish in this land.
Exeunt.
[Scene ii]
Enter the Duke of Guise.
GUISE. If ever Hymen lowr'd at marriage rites,
And had his alters decks with duskie lightes:
If ever sunne stainde heaven with bloudy clowdes,
And made it look with terrour on the worlde:
If ever day were turnde to ugly night,
And night made semblance of the hue of hell,
This day, this houre, this fatall night,
Shall fully shew the fury of them all.
Apothecarie.--
Enter the Pothecarie.
POTHECARIE. My Lord.
GUISE. Now shall I prove and guerdon to the ful,
The love thou bear'st unto the house of Guise:
Where are those perfumed gloves which late I sent
To be poysoned, hast thou done them? speake,
Will every savour breed a pangue of death?
POTHECARIE. See where they be my Lord, and he that smelles
but to them, dyes.
GUISE. Then thou remainest resolute.
POTHECARIE. I am my Lord, in what your grace commaundes till death.
GUISE. Thankes my good freend, I wil requite thy love.
Goe then, present them to the Queene Navarre:
For she is that huge blemish in our eye,
That makes these upstart heresies in Fraunce:
Be gone my freend, present them to her straite.
Souldyer.--
Exit Pothecaier.
Enter a Souldier.
SOULDIER. My Lord.
GUISE. Now come thou forth and play thy tragick part,
Stand in some window opening neere the street,
And when thou seest the Admirall ride by,
Discharge thy musket and perfourme his death:
And then Ile guerdon thee with store of crownes.
SOULDIER. I will my Lord.
Exit Souldier.
GUISE. Now Guise, begin those deepe ingendred thoughts
To burst abroad, those never dying flames,
Which cannot be extinguisht but by bloud.
Oft have I leveld, and at last have learnd,
That perill is the cheefest way to happines,
And resolution honors fairest aime.
What glory is there in a common good,
That hanges for every peasant to atchive?
That like I best that flyes beyond my reach.
Set me to scale the high Peramides,
And thereon set the Diadem of Fraunce,
Ile either rend it with my nayles to naught,
Or mount the top with my aspiring winges,
Although my downfall be the deepest hell.
For this, I wake, when others think I sleepe,
For this, I waite, that scorn attendance else:
For this, my quenchles thirst whereon I builde,
Hath often pleaded kindred to the King.
For this, this head, this heart, this hand and sworde,
Contrive, imagine and fully execute
Matters of importe, aimed at by many,
Yet understoode by none.
For this, hath heaven engendred me of earth,
For this, the earth sustaines my bodies weight,
And with this wait Ile counterpoise a Crowne,
Or with seditions weary all the worlde:
For this, from Spaine the stately Catholic
Sends Indian golde to coyne me French ecues:
For this have I a largesse from the Pope,
A pension and a dispensation too:
And by that priviledge to worke upon,
My policye hath framde religion.
Religion: O Diabole.
Fye, I am ashamde, how ever that I seeme,
To think a word of such a simple sound,
Of so great matter should be made the ground.
The gentle King whose pleasure uncontrolde,
Weakneth his body, and will waste his Realme,
If I repaire not what he ruinates:
Him as a childe I dayly winne with words,
So that for proofe, he barely beares the name:
I execute, and he sustaines the blame.
The Mother Queene workes wonders for my sake,
And in my love entombes the hope of Fraunce:
Rifling the bowels of her treasurie,
To supply my wants and necessitie.
Paris hath full five hundred Colledges,
As Monestaries, Priories, Abbyes and halles,
Wherein are thirtie thousand able men,
Besides a thousand sturdy student Catholicks,
And more: of my knowledge in one cloyster keep,
Five hundred fatte Franciscan Fryers and priestes.
All this and more, if more may be comprisde,
To bring the will of our desires to end.
Then Guise,
Since thou hast all the Cardes within thy hands
To shuffle or to cut, take this as surest thing:
That right or wrong, thou deal'st thy selfe a King.
I but, Navarre. Tis but a nook of France.
Sufficient yet for such a pettie King:
That with a rablement of his hereticks,
Blindes Europs eyes and troubleth our estate:
Him will we--
Pointing to his Sworde.
But first lets follow those in France.
That hinder our possession to the crowne:
As Caesar to his souldiers, so say I:
Those that hate me, will I learn to loath.
Give me a look, that when I bend the browes,
Pale death may walke in furrowes of my face:
A hand, that with a graspe may gripe the world,
An eare, to heare what my detractors say,
A royall seate, a scepter and a crowne:
That those which doe behold them may become
As men that stand and gase against the Sunne.
The plot is laide, and things shall come to passe,
Where resolution strives for victory.
Exit.
[Scene iii]
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.
POTHECARIE. Maddame, I beseech your grace to except this simple gift.
OLD QUEENE. Thanks my good freend, holde, take thou this reward.
POTHECARIE. I humbly thank your Majestie.
Exit Pothecary.
OLD QUEENE. Me thinkes the gloves have a very strong perfume,
The sent whereof doth make my head to ake.
NAVARRE. Doth not your grace know the man that gave them you?
OLD QUEENE. Not wel, but do remember such a man.
ADMIRALL. Your grace was ill advisde to take them then,
Considering of these dangerous times.
OLD QUEENE. Help sonne Navarre, I am poysoned.
QUEENE MARGARET. The heavens forbid your highnes such mishap.
NAVARRE. The late suspition of the Duke of Guise,
Might well have moved your highnes to beware
How you did meddle with such dangerous giftes.
QUEENE MARGARET. Too late it is my Lord if that be true
To blame her highnes, but I hope it be
Only some naturall passion makes her sicke.
OLD QUEENE. O no, sweet Margaret, the fatall poyson
Doth work within my heart, my brain pan breakes,
My heart doth faint, I dye.
She dyes.
NAVARRE. My Mother poysoned heere before my face:
O gracious God, what times are these?
O graunt sweet God my daies may end with hers,
That I with her may dye and live againe.
QUEENE MARGARET. Let not this heavy chaunce my dearest Lord,
(For whose effects my soule is massacred)
Infect thy gracious brest with fresh supply,
To agravate our sodaine miserie.
ADMIRALL. Come my Lords let us beare her body hence,
And see it honoured with just solemnitie.
As they are going, [enter] the Souldier [above, who] dischargeth
his musket at the Lord Admirall [and exit].
CONDY. What are you hurt my Lord high Admiral?
ADMIRALL. I my good Lord, shot through the arme.
NAVARRE. We are betraide, come my Lords, and let us goe tell
the King of this.
ADMIRALL. These are the cursed Guisians that doe seeke our death.
Oh fatall was this mariage to us all.
They beare away the [olde] Queene [of Navarre] and goe out.
[Scene iv]
Enter [Charles] the King, [Catherine] the Queene Mother, Duke of Guise,
Duke Anjou, Duke Demayne [and Cossin, Captain of the Kings Guard].
QUEENE MOTHER. My noble sonne, and princely Duke of Guise,
Now have we got the fatall stragling deere,
Within the compasse of a deadly toyle,
And as we late decreed we may perfourme.
CHARLES. Madam, it wilbe noted through the world,
An action bloudy and tirannicall:
Cheefely since under safetie of our word,
They justly challenge their protection:
Besides my heart relentes that noble men,
Onely corrupted in religion,
Ladies of honor, Knightes and Gentlemen,
Should for their conscience taste such rutheles ends.
ANJOY. Though gentle minces should pittie others paines,
Yet will the wisest note their proper greefes:
And rather seeke to scourge their enemies,
Then be themselves base subjects to the whip.
GUISE. Me thinkes my Lord, Anjoy hath well advisde
Your highnes to consider of the thing,
And rather chuse to seek your countries good,
Then pittie or releeve these upstart hereticks.
QUEENE MOTHER. I hope these reasons mayserve my princely, Sonne,
To have some care for feare of enemies.
CHARLES. Well Madam, I referre it to your Majestie,
And to my Nephew heere the Duke of Guise:
What you determine, I will ratifie.
QUEENE MOTHER. Thankes to my princely sonne, then tell me Guise,
What order wil you set downe for the Massacre?
GUISE. Thus Madame.
They that shalbe actors in this Massacre,
Shall weare white crosses on their Burgonets,
And tye white linnen scarfes about their armes.
He that wantes these, and is suspect of heresie,
Shall dye, or be he King or Emperour.
Then Ile have a peale of ordinance shot from the tower,
At which they all shall issue out and set the streetes.
And then the watchword being given, a bell shall ring,
Which when they heare, they shall begin to kill:
And never cease untill that bell shall cease,
Then breath a while.
Enter the Admirals man.
CHARLES. How now fellow, what newes?
MAN. And it please your grace the Lord high Admirall,
Riding the streetes was traiterously shot,
And most humbly intreates your Majestie
To visite him sick in his bed.
CHARLES. Messenger, tell him I will see him straite.
Exit Messenger.
What shall we doe now with the Admirall?
QUEENE MOTHER. Your Majesty had best goe visite him,
And make a shew as if all were well.
CHARLES. Content, I will goe visite the Admirall.
GUISE. And I will goe take order for his death.
Exit Guise.
Enter the Admirall in his bed.
CHARLES. How fares it with my Lord high Admiral,
Hath he been hurt with villaines in the street?
I vow and sweare as I am King of France,
To finde and to repay the man with death:
With death delay'd and torments never usde,
That durst presume for hope of any gaine,
To hurt the noble man his sovereign loves.
ADMIRALL. Ah my good Lord, these are the Guisians,
That seeke to massacre our guiltles lives.
CHARLES. Assure your selfe my good Lord Admirall,
I deepely sorrow for your trecherous wrong:
And that I am not more secure my selfe,
Then I am carefull you should be preserved.
Cossin, take twenty of our strongest guarde,
And under your direction see they keep
All trecherous violence from our noble freend,
Repaying all attempts with present death,
Upon the cursed breakers of our peace.
And so be pacient good Lord Admirall,
And every hower I will visite you.
Exeunt omnes.
[Scene v]
Enter Guise, Anjoy, Dumaine, Gonzago, Retes, Montsorrell, and
Souldiers to the massacre.
GUISE. Anjoy, Dumaine, Gonzago, Retes, sweare by
The argent crosses on your burgonets,
To kill all that you suspect of heresie.
DUMAINE. I sweare by this to be unmercifull.
ANJOY. I am disguisde and none nows who I am,
And therfore meane to murder all I meet.
GONZAGO. And so will I.
RETES. And I.
GUISE. Away then, break into the Admirals house.
GETES. I let the Admirall be first dispatcht.
GUISE. The Admirall,
Cheefe standard bearer to the Lutheranes,
Shall in the entrance of this Massacre,
Be murdered in his bed.
Gonzago conduct them hither, and then
Beset his house that not a man may live.
ANJOY. That charge is mine. Swizers keepe you the streetes,
And at ech corner shall the Kings garde stand.
GONZAGO. Come sirs follow me.
Exit Gonzago and others with him.
ANJOY. Cossin, the Captaine of the Admirals guarde,
Plac'd by my brother, will betray his Lord:
Now Guise shall catholiques flourish once againe,
The head being of, the members cannot stand.
RETES. But look my Lord, ther's some in the Admirals house.
Enter [above Gonzago and others] into the Admirals house,
and he in his bed.
ANJOY. In lucky time, come let us keep this lane,
And slay his servants that shall issue out.
GONZAGO. Where is the Admirall?
ADMIRALL. O let me pray before I dye.
GONZAGO. Then pray unto our Ladye, kisse this crosse.
Stab him.
ADMIRALL. O God forgive my sins.
GUISE. What, is he dead Gonzago?
GONZAGO. I my Lord.
GUISE. Then throw him down.
[The body is thrown down. Exeunt Gonzago and rest above.]
ANJOY. Now cosin view him well,
It may be it is some other, and he escapte.
GUISE. Cosin tis he, I know him by his look.
See where my Souldier shot him through the arm.
He mist him neer, but we have strook him now.
Ah base Shatillian and degenerate,
Cheef standard bearer to the Lutheranes,
Thus in despite of thy Religion,
The Duke of Guise stampes on thy liveles bulke.
Away with him, cut of his head and handes,
And send them for a present to the Pope:
And when this just revenge is finished,
Unto mount Faucon will we dragge his coarse:
And he that living hated so the crosse,
Shall being dead, be hangd thereon in chaines.
GUISE. Anjoy, Gonzago, Retes, if that you three,
Will be as resolute as I and Dumaine:
There shall not a Hugonet breath in France.
ANJOY. I sweare by this crosse, wee'l not be partiall,
But slay as many as we can come neer.
GUISE. Mountsorrett, go and shoote the ordinance of,
That they which have already set the street
May know their watchword, and then tole the bell,
And so lets forward to the Massacre.
MOUNTSORRELL. I will my Lord.
Exit Mountsorrell.
GUISE. And now my Lords let us closely to our busines.
ANJOY. Anjoy will follow thee.
DUMAINE. And so will Dumaine.
The ordinance being shot of, the bell tolles.
GUISE. Come then, lets away.
Exeunt.
The Guise enters againe, with all the rest, with their Swords drawne,
chasing the Protestants.
GUISE. Tue, tue, tue,
Let none escape, murder the Hugonets.
ANJOY. Kill them, kill them.
Exeunt.
Enter Loreine running, the Guise and the rest pursuing him.
GUISE. Loreine, Loreine, follow Loreine.. Sirra,
Are you a preacher of these heresies?
LOREINE. I am a preacher of the word of God,
And thou a traitor to thy soule and him.
GUISE. Dearely beloved brother, thus tis written.
He stabs him.
ANJOY. Stay my Lord, let me begin the psalme.
GUISE. Come dragge him away and throw him in a ditch.
Exeunt [omnes].
[Scene vi]
Enter Mountsorrell and knocks at Serouns doore.
SEROUNS WIFE. Who is't that knocks there?
[Within.]
MOUNTSORRELL. Mountsorrett from the Duke of Guise.
SEROUNS WIFE. Husband come down, heer's one would speak with
you from the Duke of Guise.
Enter Seroune.
SEROUNE. To speek with me from such a man as he?
MOUNTSORRELL. I, I, for this Seroune, and thou shalt ha't.
Shewing his dagger.
SEROUNE. O let me pray before I take my death.
MOUNTSORRELL. Despatch then quickly.
SEROUNE. O Christ my Saviour--
MOUNTSORRELL. Christ, villaine?
Why, darst thou presume to call on Christ,
Without the intercession of some Saint?
Sanctus Jacobus hee was my Saint, pray to him.
SEROUNE. O let me pray unto my God.
MOUNTSORRELL. Then take this with you.
Stab him [and he falls within and dies].
Exit.
[Scene vii]
Enter Ramus in his studie.
RAMUS. What fearfull cries come from the river Sene,
That fright poore Ramus sitting at his book?
I feare the Guisians have past the bridge,
And meane once more to menace me.
Enter Taleus.
TALEUS. Flye Ramus flye, if thou wilt save thy life.
RAMUS. Tell me Taleus, wherfore should I flye?
TALEUS. The Guisians are hard at thy doore,
And meane to murder us:
Harke, harke they come, Ile leap out at the window.
[Runs out from studie.]
RAMUS. Sweet Taleus stay.
Enter Gonzago and Retes.
GONZAGO. Who goes there?
RETES. Tis Taleus, Ramus bedfellow.
GONZAGO. What art thou?
TALEUS. I am as Ramus is, a Christian.
RETES. O let him goe, he is a catholick.
Exit Taleus.
Enter Ramus [out of his studie].
GONZAGO. Come Ramus, more golde, or thou shalt have the stabbe.
RAMUS. Alas I am a scholler, how should I have golde?
All that I have is but my stipend from the King,
Which is no sooner receiv'd but it is spent.
Enter the Guise and Anjoy [, Dumaine, Mountsorrell,
with soldiers].
ANJOY. Whom have you there?
RETES. Tis Ramus, the Kings professor of Logick.
GUI | 854.474269 |
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GRAPES OF WRATH
GRAPES OF
WRATH
BY
BOYD CABLE
AUTHOR OF
"BETWEEN THE LINES," "ACTION FRONT,"
AND "DOING THEIR BIT"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
_TO
ALL RANKS OF THE NEW ARMIES_
_Men of the Old Country, Men of the Overseas, and those good men
among the Neutrals who put all else aside to join up and help us to
Victory, this book is dedicated with pride and admiration by_
_THE AUTHOR_
_In the Field,
20th January, 1917_
THE AUTHOR'S ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Acknowledgments are due to the Editors of _The Cornhill Magazine_,
_Land and Water_, and _Pearson's Magazine_ for permission to reprint
such portions of this book as have appeared in their pages.
[Illustration]
BOYD CABLE--A PREFATORY NOTE
The readers of Boyd Cable's "Between the Lines," "Action Front," and
"Doing Their Bit," have very naturally had their curiosity excited
as to an author who, previously unheard of, has suddenly become the
foremost word-painter of active fighting at the present day, and the
greatest "literary discovery" of the War.
Boyd Cable is primarily a man of action; and for half of his not very
long life he has been doing things instead of writing them. At the
age of twenty he joined a corps of Scouts in the Boer War, and saw
plenty of fighting in South Africa. After the close of that war, his
life consisted largely of traveling in Great Britain and the principal
countries of Europe and the Mediterranean, his choice always leading
him from the beaten track. He also spent some time in Australia
and in New Zealand, not only in the cities, but in the outposts of
civilization, on the edge of the wilderness, both there and in the
Philippines, Java, and other islands of the Pacific.
When he travels, Mr. Cable does not merely take a steamer-berth or
a railway-ticket and write up his notes from an observation car or
a saloon deck. He looks out after a job, and puts plenty of energy
into it while he is at it; in fact, so many different things has he
done, that he says himself that it is easier to mention the things he
has not done than the ones he has. He has been an ordinary seaman,
typewriter agent, a steamer-fireman, office-manager, hobo, farmhand,
gold prospector, coach-driver, navvy, engine-driver, and many other
things. And strangely enough, though he knows so much from practical
experience, he has, until recently, never thought of writing down what
he has seen.
Before this present War, he was on the staff of a London advertising
agency. At the outbreak of hostilities, he offered his services and was
accepted in 1914, being one of the first men not in the regular army to
get a commission and be sent to the front.
It was his experience as "Forward Officer" (or observation officer
in the artillery) that gave him the material which he began to use in
"Between the Lines."
In this dangerous and responsible position, his daily life of literally
"hairbreadth" escapes afforded him experiences as thrilling as any he
has described in his books. On one occasion, for instance, when his
position had been "spotted" by enemy sharp-shooters, he got a bullet
through his cap, one through his shoulder-strap, one through the inside
of his sleeve close to his heart, and fifty-three others near enough
for him to hear them pass--all in less than an hour.
After eighteen months of this death-defying work, without even a
wound, Mr. Boyd Cable was naturally disgusted at being invalided home
on account of stomach trouble; but it was only this enforced leisure
that gave him really time to take up writing seriously. As may be
remembered, the British Government selected him officially to make the
rounds of the munition factories and write an account of what was being | 854.477758 |
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[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.
Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows
the text. No attempt has been made to correct or normalize all
of the printed spelling of French names or words. (i.e. chateau,
Saint-Beauve, etc.) (note of etext transcriber.)]
Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy
and the Border Provinces
_WORKS OF FRANCIS MILTOUN_
[Illustration]
_Rambles on the Riviera_ $2.50
_Rambles in Normandy_ 2.50
_Rambles in Brittany_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Northern France_ 2.50
_The Cathedrals of Southern France_ 2.50
_In the Land of Mosques and Minarets_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine and
the Loire Country_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Navarre and
the Basque Provinces_ 3.00
_Castles and Chateaux of Old Burgundy
and the Border Provinces_ 3.00
_Italian Highways and Byways from a
Motor Car_ 3.00
_The Automobilist Abroad_ _net_ 3.00
(_Postage Extra_)
[Illustration]
_L. C. Page and Company_
_New England Building, Boston, Mass._
[Illustration: _Chateau de Montbéliard_
(See page 194)
]
Castles and Chateaux
OF
OLD BURGUNDY
AND THE BORDER PROVINCES
BY FRANCIS MILTOUN
Author of "Castles and Chateaux of Old Touraine," "Castles and
Chateaux of Old Navarre," "Rambles in Normandy," "Italian
Highways and Byways from a Motor-Car," etc.
_With Many Illustrations
Reproduced from paintings made on the spot_
BY BLANCHE MCMANUS
[Illustration]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
1909
_Copyright, 1909_,
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, November, 1909
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE REALM OF THE BURGUNDIANS 1
II. IN THE VALLEY OF THE YONNE 19
III. AVALLON, VEZELAY, AND CHASTELLUX 36
IV. SEMUR-EN-AUXOIS, ÉPOISSES AND BOURBILLY 50
V. MONTBARD AND BUSSY-RABUTIN 62
VI. "CHASTILLON AU NOBLE DUC" 75
VII. TONNERRE, TANLAY AND ANCY-LE-FRANC 84
VIII. IN OLD BURGUNDY 101
IX. DIJON THE CITY OF THE DUKES 131
X. IN THE COTE D'OR: BEAUNE, LA ROCHEPOT
AND ÉPINAC 113
XI. MAÇON, CLUNY AND THE CHAROLLAIS 153
XII. IN THE BEAUJOLAIS AND LYONNAIS 170
XIII. THE FRANCHE COMTÉ; AUXONNE AND BESANÇON 185
XIV. ON THE SWISS BORDER: BUGEY AND BRESSE 199
XV. GRENOBLE AND VIZILLE: THE CAPITAL OF THE
DAUPHINS 218
XVI. CHAMBÉRY AND THE LAC DU BOURGET 229
XVII. IN THE SHADOW OF LA GRANDE CHARTREUSE 245
XVIII. ANNECY AND LAC LEMAN 259
XIX. THE MOUNTAIN BACKGROUND OF SAVOY 278
XX. BY THE BANKS OF THE RHÔNE 290
XXI. IN THE ALPS OF DAUPHINY 300
XXII. IN LOWER DAUPHINY 313
INDEX 325
[Illustration: List _of_ ILLUSTRATIONS]
PAGE
CHATEAU DE MONTBÉLIARD (_see page_ 194) _Frontispiece_
GEOGRAPHICAL LIMITS COVERED BY CONTENTS (Map) x
THE HEART OF OLD BURGUNDY (Map) _facing_ 2
CHATEAU DE SAINT FARGEAU _facing_ 28
TOUR GAILLARDE, AUXERRE _facing_ 32
CHATEAU DE CHASTELLUX _facing_ 38
SEMUR-EN-AUXOIS _facing_ 50
CHATEAU D'ÉPOISSES _facing_ 54
ARNAY-LE-DUC _facing_ 60
CHATEAU DE BUSSY-RABUTIN _facing_ 68
CHATEAU DES DUCS, CHÂTILLON _facing_ 76
CHATEAU DE TANLAY _facing_ 90
CHATEAU AND GARDENS OF ANCY-LE-FRANC 94
CHATEAU OF ANCY-LE-FRANC _facing_ 96
MONOGRAMS FROM THE CHAMBRE DES FLEURS 98
BURGUNDY THROUGH THE AGES (Map) 101
THE DIJONNAIS AND THE BEAUJOLAIS (Map) _facing_ 112
KEY OF VAULTING, DIJON 113
CUISINES AT DIJON 119
CHATEAU DES DUCS, DIJON _facing_ 122
CLOS VOUGEOT.--CHAMBERTIN 137
HOSPICE DE BEAUNE _facing_ 144
CHATEAU DE LA ROCHEPOT _facing_ 148
CHATEAU DE SULLY _facing_ 150
CHATEAU DE CHAUMONT-LA-GUICHE _facing_ 154
HÔTEL DE VILLE, PARAY-LE-MONAIL _facing_ 156
CHATEAU DE LAMARTINE _facing_ 166
CHATEAU DE NOBLE 169
PALAIS GRANVELLE, BESANÇON _facing_ 192
THE LION OF BELFORT 195
WOMEN OF BRESSE _facing_ 200
CHATEAU DE VOLTAIRE, FERNEY _facing_ 204
TOWER OF THE PALAIS DE JUSTICE, GRENOBLE 219
CHATEAU D'URIAGE _facing_ 224
CHATEAU DE VIZILLE _facing_ 226
PORTAL OF THE CHATEAU DE CHAMBÉRY _facing_ 230
PORTAL ST. DOMINIQUE, CHAMBÉRY 231
CHATEAU DE CHAMBÉRY | 854.676968 |
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[Illustration: LUTHER W. HOPKINS.
Taken from an old daguerreotype in 1861, before entering the army.]
FROM BULL RUN
TO APPOMATTOX
A BOY'S VIEW
BY
L.W. HOPKINS
OF GENL. J.E.B. STUART'S CAVALRY
6TH VIRGINIA REGIMENT, C.S.A.
PRESS OF
FLEET-MCGINLEY CO.
BALTIMORE
Copyright, 1908
By L.W. HOPKINS
Baltimore
PREFACE
"Life is the mirror of the king and slave,
'Tis just what you are and do.
Then give to the world the best you have,
And the best will come back to you."
I never thought that I should be guilty of writing a book. I did not,
however, do this with malice aforethought. My son is responsible for
whatever sin I may have committed in presenting this to the public. He
and I have been good friends ever since we became acquainted, and he has
always insisted upon my telling him all that I know. When he was about
three years old he discovered that I had been a soldier in Lee's army
from 1861 to 1865, and, although he is of Quaker descent and a loyal
member of the Society of Friends, and I am half Quaker, yet he loved war
stories and I loved to tell them. This accounts for the production of
the book. After I had told him these stories over and over, again and
again, when he was grown he insisted upon my starting at the beginning
and giving him the whole of my experience in the Confederate army. Then
he wanted it published. I yielded to his request, and here is the book.
This is not, however, an exact copy of the typewritten manuscript which
he has. The original manuscript is more personal. I thought the change
would make it more acceptable to the general reader.
We all believe in peace; universal peace, but when war does come, and
such a costly war as the one from which this story is taken, we ought
to get all the good out of it we can. The long marches along dusty
roads, under hot suns, the long marches through sleet and snows, the
long dreary nights without shelter, the march of the picket to and fro
on his beat, the constant drilling and training, the struggle on the
battlefields, all these are part of the material that the world has
always used in constructing a nation. While there are some things about
war that we should forget, there are many things that ought never to | 854.677993 |
2023-11-16 18:31:18.7578440 | 5,146 | 33 |
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Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
John Fiske's Writings.
=MYTHS AND MYTH-MAKERS=: Old Tales and Superstitions interpreted by
Comparative Mythology. 12mo, $2.00.
=OUTLINES OF COSMIC PHILOSOPHY.= Based on the Doctrines of Evolution,
with Criticisms on the Positive Philosophy. In two volumes, 8vo, $6.00.
=THE UNSEEN WORLD=, and other Essays. 12mo, $2.00.
=EXCURSIONS OF AN EVOLUTIONIST.= 12mo, $2.00.
=DARWINISM=, and other Essays. 12mo, $2.00.
=THE DESTINY OF MAN=, viewed in the Light of His Origin. 16mo, $1.00.
=THE IDEA OF GOD=, as affected by Modern Knowledge. A Sequel to "The
Destiny of Man." 16mo, $1.00.
[asterism] _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on
receipt of price, by the Publishers_,
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., BOSTON.
=AMERICAN POLITICAL IDEAS=, viewed from the Stand-point of Universal
History. 12mo, $1.00. HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
THE IDEA OF GOD AS AFFECTED
BY MODERN KNOWLEDGE
[Illustration; Decorative symbol]
BY JOHN FISKE
[Illustration; Decorative panel]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1886
Copyright, 1885,
BY JOHN FISKE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge_:
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
To
MY WIFE,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE SWEET SUNDAY MORNING
UNDER THE APPLE-TREE ON THE HILLSIDE,
WHEN WE TWO SAT LOOKING DOWN INTO FAIRY WOODLAND PATHS,
AND TALKED OF THE THINGS
SINCE WRITTEN IN THIS LITTLE BOOK,
I now dedicate it.
* * * * *
+Arghyrion kai chrysion ouch hyparchei
moi; ho de echo, touto soi didomi.+
PREFACE
When asked to give a second address before the Concord School of
Philosophy, I gladly accepted the invitation, as affording a proper
occasion for saying certain things which I had for some time wished to
say about theism. My address was designed to introduce the discussion
of the question whether pantheism is the legitimate outcome of modern
science. It seemed to me that the object might best be attained by
passing in review the various modifications which the idea of God
has undergone in the past, and pointing out the shape in which it is
likely to survive the rapid growth of modern knowledge, and especially
the establishment of that great doctrine of evolution which is fast
obliging us to revise our opinions upon all subjects whatsoever.
Having thus in the text outlined the idea of God most likely to be
conceived by minds trained in the doctrine of evolution, I left it for
further discussion to decide whether the term "pantheism" can properly
be applied to such a conception. While much enlightenment may be got
from carefully describing the substance of a philosophic doctrine,
very little can be gained by merely affixing to it a label; and I
could not but feel that my argument would be simply encumbered by the
introduction of any question of nomenclature involving such a vague and
uninstructive epithet as "pantheism." Such epithets are often regarded
with favour and freely used, as seeming to obviate the necessity for
that kind of labour to which most people are most averse,--the labour
of sustained and accurate thinking. People are too apt to make such
general terms do duty in place of a careful examination of facts, and
are thus sometimes led to strange conclusions. When, for example, they
have heard somebody called an "agnostic," they at once think they know
all about him; whereas they have very likely learned nothing that is
of the slightest value in characterizing his opinions or his mental
attitude. A term that can be applied at once to a Comte, a Mansel, and
a Huxley is obviously of little use in the matter of definition. But,
it may be asked, in spite of their world-wide differences, do not these
three thinkers agree in holding that nothing can be known about the
nature of God? Perhaps so,--one cannot answer even this plain question
with an unqualified yes; but, granting that they fully agree in this
assertion of ignorance, nevertheless, in their philosophic attitudes
with regard to this ignorance, in the use they severally make of the
assertion, in the way it determines their inferences about all manner
of other things, the differences are so vast that nothing but mental
confusion can come from a terminology which would content itself
by applying to all three the common epithet "agnostic." The case is
similar with such a word as "pantheism," which has been familiarly
applied to so many utterly diverse systems of thought that it is
very hard to tell just what it means. It has been equally applied to
the doctrine of "the Hindu philosophers of the orthodox Brahmanical
schools," who "hold that all finite existence is an illusion, and life
mere vexation and mistake, a blunder or sorry jest of the Absolute;"
and to the doctrine of the Stoics, who "went to the other extreme,
and held that the universe was the product of perfect reason and in
an absolute sense good." (Pollock's "Spinoza," p. 356.) In recent
times it has been commonly used as a vituperative epithet, and hurled
indiscriminately at such unpopular opinions as do not seem to call
for so heavy a missile as the more cruel term "atheism." The writer
who sets forth in plain scientific language a physical theory of the
universe is liable to be scowled at and called an atheist; but, when
the very same ideas are presented in the form of oracular apophthegm or
poetic rhapsody, the author is more gently described as "tinctured with
pantheism."
But out of the chaos of vagueness in which this unhappy word has been
immersed it is perhaps still possible to extract something like a
definite meaning. In the broadest sense there are three possible ways
in which we may contemplate the universe.
_First_, we may regard the world of phenomena as sufficient unto
itself, and deny that it needs to be referred to any underlying and
all-comprehensive unity. Nothing has an ultimate origin or destiny;
there is no dramatic tendency in the succession of events, nor any
ultimate law to which everything must be referred; there is no
reasonableness in the universe save that with which human fancy
unwarrantably endows it; the events of the world have no orderly
progression like the scenes of a well-constructed plot, but in the
manner of their coming and going they constitute simply what Chauncey
Wright so aptly called "cosmical weather;" they drift and eddy about in
an utterly blind and irrational manner, though now and then evolving,
as if by accident, temporary combinations which have to us a rational
appearance. This is Atheism, pure and unqualified. It recognizes no
Omnipresent Energy.
_Secondly_, we may hold that the world of phenomena is utterly
unintelligible unless referred to an underlying and all-comprehensive
unity. All things are manifestations of an Omnipresent Energy which
cannot be in any imaginable sense personal or anthropomorphic; out
from this eternal source of phenomena all individualities proceed, and
into it they must all ultimately return and be absorbed; the events
of the world have an orderly progression, but not toward any goal
recognizable by us; in the process of evolution there is nothing that
from any point of view can be called teleological; the beginning and
end of things--that which is Alpha and Omega--is merely an inscrutable
essence, a formless void. Such a view as this may properly be called
Pantheism. It recognizes an Omnipresent Energy, but virtually
identifies it with the totality of things.
_Thirdly_, we may hold that the world of phenomena is intelligible
only when regarded as the multiform manifestation of an Omnipresent
Energy that is in some way--albeit in a way quite above our finite
comprehension--anthropomorphic or quasi-personal. There is a
true objective reasonableness in the universe; its events have
an orderly progression, and, so far as those events are brought
sufficiently within our ken for us to generalize them exhaustively,
their progression is toward a goal that is recognizable by human
intelligence; "the process of evolution is itself the working out of
a mighty Teleology of which our finite understandings can fathom but
the scantiest rudiments" ("Cosmic Philosophy," vol. ii. p. 406); it is
indeed but imperfectly that we can describe the dramatic tendency in
the succession of events, but we can see enough to assure us of the
fundamental fact that there is such a tendency; and this tendency is
the objective aspect of that which, when regarded on its subjective
side, we call Purpose. Such a theory of things is Theism. It recognizes
an Omnipresent Energy, which is none other than the living God.
It is this theistic doctrine which I hold myself, and which in the
present essay I have sought to exhibit as the legitimate outcome
of modern scientific thought. I was glad to have such an excellent
occasion for returning to the subject as the invitation from Concord
gave me, because in a former attempt to expound the same doctrine I
do not seem to have succeeded in making myself understood. In my
"Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy," published in 1874, I endeavoured to
set forth a theory of theism identical with that which is set forth
in the present essay. But an acute and learned friend, writing under
the pseudonym of "Physicus," in his "Candid Examination of Theism"
(London, 1878), thus criticizes my theory: In it, he says, "while I am
able to discern the elements which I think may properly be regarded as
common to Theism and to Atheism, I am not able to discern any single
element that is specifically distinctive of Theism" (p. 145). The
reason for the inability of "Physicus" to discern any such specifically
distinctive element is that he misunderstands me as proposing to
divest the theistic idea of every shred of anthropomorphism, while
still calling it a theistic idea. This, he thinks, would be an utterly
illegitimate proceeding, and I quite agree with him. In similar wise my
friend Mr. Frederick Pollock, in his admirable work on Spinoza (London,
1880), observes that "Mr. Fiske's doctrine excludes the belief in a
so-called Personal God, and the particular forms of religious emotion
dependent on it" (p. 356). If the first part of this sentence stood
alone, I might pause to inquire how much latitude of meaning may be
conveyed in the expression "so-called;" is it meant that I exclude the
belief in a Personal God as it was held by Augustine and Paley, or as
it was held by Clement and Schleiermacher, or both? But the second
clause of the sentence seems to furnish the answer; it seems to imply
that I would practically do away with Theism altogether.
Such a serious misstatement of my position, made in perfect good faith
by two thinkers so conspicuous for ability and candour, shows that,
in spite of all the elaborate care with which the case was stated in
"Cosmic Philosophy," some further explanation is needed. It is true
that there are expressions in that work which, taken singly and by
themselves, might seem to imply a total rejection of theism. Such
expressions occur chiefly in the chapter entitled "Anthropomorphic
Theism," where great pains are taken to show the inadequacy of
the Paley argument from design, and to point out the insuperable
difficulties in which we are entangled by the conception of a Personal
God as it is held by the great majority of modern theologians
who have derived it from Plato and Augustine. In the succeeding
chapters, however, it is expressly argued that the total elimination
of anthropomorphism from the idea of God is impossible. There are
some who, recognizing that the ideas of Personality and Infinity are
unthinkable in combination, seek to escape the difficulty by speaking
of God as the "Infinite Power;" that is, instead of a symbol derived
from our notion of human consciousness, they employ a symbol derived
from our notion of force in general. For many philosophic purposes the
device is eminently useful; but it should not be forgotten that, while
the form of our experience of Personality does not allow us to conceive
it as infinite, it is equally true that the form of our experience
of Force does not allow us to conceive it as infinite, since we know
force only as antagonized by other force. Since, moreover, our notion
of force is purely a generalization from our subjective sensations of
effort overcoming resistance, there is scarcely less anthropomorphism
lurking in the phrase "Infinite Power" than in the phrase "Infinite
Person." Now in "Cosmic Philosophy" I argue that the presence of God
is the one all-pervading fact of life, from which there is no escape;
that while in the deepest sense the nature of Deity is unknowable by
finite Man, nevertheless the exigencies of our thinking oblige us to
symbolize that nature in some form that has a real meaning for us; and
that we cannot symbolize that nature as in any wise physical, but are
bound to symbolize it as in some way psychical. I do not here repeat
the arguments, but simply state the conclusions. The final conclusion
(vol. ii. p. 449) is that we must not say that "God is Force," since
such a phrase inevitably calls up those pantheistic notions of blind
necessity, which it is my express desire to avoid; but, always bearing
in mind the symbolic character of the words, we may say that "God is
Spirit." How my belief in the personality of God could be more strongly
expressed without entirely deserting the language of modern philosophy
and taking refuge in pure mythology, I am unable to see.
There are two points in the present essay which I hope will serve to
define more completely the kind of theism which I have tried to present
as compatible with the doctrine of evolution. One is the historic
contrast between anthropomorphic and cosmic theism regarded in their
modes of genesis, and especially as exemplified within the Christian
church in the very different methods and results of Augustine on the
one hand and Athanasius on the other. The view which I have ventured
to designate as "cosmic theism" is no invention of mine; in its most
essential features it has been entertained by some of the profoundest
thinkers of Christendom in ancient and modern times, from Clement of
Alexandria to Lessing and Goethe and Schleiermacher. The other point is
the teleological inference drawn from the argument of my first Concord
address on "The Destiny of Man, viewed in the Light of his Origin."
When that address was published, a year ago, I was surprised to find it
quite commonly regarded as indicating some radical change of attitude
on my part,--a "conversion," perhaps, from one set of opinions to
another. Inasmuch as the argument in the "Destiny of Man" was based
in every one of its parts upon arguments already published in "Cosmic
Philosophy" (1874), and in the "Unseen World" (1876), I naturally could
not understand why the later book should impress people so differently
from the earlier ones. It presently appeared, however, that none of
my friends who had studied the earlier books had detected any such
change of attitude; it was only people who knew little or nothing
about me, or else the newspapers. Whence the inference seemed obvious
that many readers of the "Destiny of Man" must have contrasted it, not
with my earlier books which they had not read, but with some vague and
distorted notion about my views which had grown up (Heaven knows how or
why!) through the medium of "the press;" and thus there might have been
produced the impression that those views had undergone a radical change.
It would be little to my credit, however, had my views of the
doctrine of evolution and its implications undergone no development
or enlargement since the publication of "Cosmic Philosophy." To carry
such a subject about in one's mind for ten years, without having
any new thoughts about it, would hardly be a proof of fitness for
philosophizing. I have for some time been aware of a shortcoming
in the earlier work, which it is the purpose of these two Concord
addresses in some measure to remedy. That shortcoming was an imperfect
appreciation of the goal toward which the process of evolution is
tending, and a consequent failure to state adequately how the doctrine
of evolution must affect our estimate of Man's place in Nature. Nothing
of fundamental importance in "Cosmic Philosophy" needed changing, but
a new chapter needed to be written, in order to show how the doctrine
of evolution, by exhibiting the development of the highest spiritual
human qualities as the goal toward which God's creative work has from
the outset been tending, replaces Man in his old position of headship
in the universe, even as in the days of Dante and Aquinas. That which
the pre-Copernican astronomy naively thought to do by placing the home
of Man in the centre of the physical universe, the Darwinian biology
profoundly accomplishes by exhibiting Man as the terminal fact in that
stupendous process of evolution whereby things have come to be what
they are. In the deepest sense it is as true as it ever was held to be,
that the world was made for Man, and that the bringing forth in him of
those qualities which we call highest and holiest is the final cause
of creation. The arguments upon which this conclusion rests, as they
are set forth in the "Destiny of Man" and epitomized in the concluding
section of the present essay, may all be found in "Cosmic Philosophy;"
but I failed to sum them up there and indicate the conclusion, almost
within reach, which I had not quite clearly seized. When, after long
hovering in the background of consciousness, it suddenly flashed
upon me two years ago, it came with such vividness as to seem like a
revelation.
This conclusion as to the implications of the doctrine of evolution
concerning Man's place in Nature supplies the element wanting in the
theistic theory set forth in "Cosmic Philosophy,"--the teleological
element. It is profoundly true that a theory of things may seem
theistic or atheistic in virtue of what it says of Man, no less than
in virtue of what it says of God. The craving for a final cause is so
deeply rooted in human nature that no doctrine of theism which fails to
satisfy it can seem other than lame and ineffective. In writing "Cosmic
Philosophy" I fully realized this when, in the midst of the argument
against Paley's form of theism, I said that "the process of evolution
is itself the working out of a mighty Teleology of which our finite
understandings can fathom but the scantiest rudiments." Nevertheless,
while the whole momentum of my thought carried me to the conviction
that it must be so, I was not yet able to indicate _how_ it is so, and
I accordingly left the subject with this brief and inadequate hint.
Could the point have been worked out then and there, I think it would
have left no doubt in the minds of "Physicus" and Mr. Pollock as to the
true character of Cosmic Theism.
But hold, cries the scientific inquirer, what in the world are you
doing? Are we again to resuscitate the phantom Teleology, which we had
supposed at last safely buried between cross-roads and pinned down with
a stake? Was not Bacon right in characterizing "final causes" as vestal
virgins, so barren has their study proved? And has not Huxley, with
yet keener sarcasm, designated them the _hetairae_ of philosophy, so
often have they led men astray? Very true. I do not wish to take back a
single word of all that I have said in my chapter on "Anthropomorphic
Theism" in condemnation of the teleological method and the peculiar
theistic doctrines upon which it rests. As a means of investigation
it is absolutely worthless. Nay, it is worse than worthless; it is
treacherous, it is debauching to the intellect. But that is no reason
why, when a distinct dramatic tendency in the events of the universe
appears as the _result_ of purely scientific investigation, we should
refuse to recognize it. It is the object of the "Destiny of Man"
to prove that there is such a dramatic tendency; and while such a
tendency cannot be regarded as indicative of purpose in the limited
anthropomorphic sense, it is still, as I said before, the objective
aspect of that which, when regarded on its subjective side, we call
Purpose. There is a reasonableness in the universe such as to indicate
that the Infinite Power of which it is the multiform manifestation is
psychical, though it is impossible to ascribe to Him any of the limited
psychical attributes which we know, or to argue from the ways of Man to
the ways of God. For, as St. Paul reminds us, "who hath known the mind
of the Lord, or who hath been his counsellor?"
It is in this sense that I accept Mr. Spencer's doctrine of the
Unknowable. How far my interpretation agrees with his own I do not
undertake to say. On such an abstruse matter it is best that one should
simply speak for one's self. But in his recent essay on "Retrogressive
Religion" he uses expressions which imply a doctrine of theism
essentially similar to that here maintained. The "infinite and eternal
Energy from which all things proceed," and which is the same power that
"in ourselves wells up under the form of consciousness," is certainly
the power which is here recognized as God. The term "Unknowable" I have
carefully refrained from using; it does not occur in the text of this
essay. It describes only one aspect of Deity, but it has been seized
upon by shallow writers of every school, treated as if fully synonymous
with Deity, and made the theme of the most dismal twaddle that the
world has been deluged with since the days of mediaeval scholasticism.
The latest instance is the wretched positivist rubbish which Mr.
Frederic Harrison has mistaken for criticism, and to | 854.777884 |
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The Freedom of Science
By
Joseph Donat, S.J., D.D.
Professor Innsbruck University
New York
Joseph F. Wagner
1914
CONTENTS
Imprimatur.
Author's Preface To The English Edition.
Translator's Note.
First Section. The Freedom of Science and its Philosophical Basis.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
Chapter II. Two Views Of The World And Their Freedom.
Chapter III. Subjectivism And Its Freedom.
Second Section. Freedom of Research and Faith.
Chapter I. Research And Faith In General.
Chapter II. The Authority Of Faith And The Free Exercise Of Research.
Chapter III. Unprepossession Of Research.
Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.
Chapter V. The Witnesses of the Incompatibility Of Science And Faith.
Third Section. The Liberal Freedom of Research.
Chapter I. Free From The Yoke Of The Supernatural.
Chapter II. The Unscientific Method.
Chapter III. The Bitter Fruit.
Fourth Section. Freedom of Teaching.
Chapter I. Freedom Of Teaching And Ethics.
Chapter II. Freedom Of Teaching And The State.
Fifth Section. Theology.
Chapter I. Theology And Science.
Chapter II. Theology And University.
Index.
Footnotes
IMPRIMATUR.
Nihil Obstat
REMIGIUS LAFORT, D.D.
_Censor_
Imprimatur
JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY
_Archbishop of New York_
NEW YORK, January 22, 1914.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JOSEPH F. WAGNER, NEW YORK
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The present work has already secured many friends in German Europe. An
invitation has now been extended for its reception among the
English-speaking countries, with the object that there, too, it may seek
readers and friends, and communicate to them its thoughts--the ideas it has
to convey and to interpret. While wishing it heartfelt success and good
fortune on its journey, the Author desires it to convey his greetings to
its new readers.
This book has issued from the throes of dissension and strife, seeing the
light at a time when, in Austria and Germany, the bitter forces of
opposition, that range themselves about the shibboleth _Freedom of
Science_, were seen engaging in a combat of fiercer intensity than ever.
Yet, notwithstanding, this Child of Strife has learned the language of
Peace only. It speaks the language of an impartial objectivity which
endeavours, in a spirit of unimpassioned, though earnest, calm, to range
itself over the burning questions of the day--over those great
_Weltanschauung_ questions, that stand in such close relation with the
compendious motto: _Freedom of Science_. Yes, _Freedom_ and _Science_
serve, in our age and on both sides of the Atlantic, as trumpet-calls, to
summon together--often indeed to pit in deadly combat--the rival forces of
opposition. They are catch-words that tend to hold at fever-pitch the
intellectual life of modern civilization--agents as they are of such mighty
and far-reaching influences. On the one hand, Science, whence the moving
and leading ideas of the time take shape and form to go forth in turn and
subject to their sway the intellect of man; on the other, Freedom--that
Freedom of sovereign emancipation, that Christian Freedom of well-ordered
self-development, which determine the actions, the strivings of the human
spirit, even as they control imperceptibly the march of Science. While the
present volume is connected with this chain of profound problems, it
becomes, of itself, a representation of the intellectual life of our day,
with its far-reaching philosophical questions, its forces of struggle and
opposition, its dangers, and deep-seated evils.
The Author has a lively recollection of an expression which he heard a few
years ago, in a conversation with an American professor, then journeying
in Europe. "Here, they talk of tolerance," he observed, "while in America
we put it into practice." The catch-word _Freedom of Science_ will not,
therefore, in _every_ quarter of the world, serve as a call to arms,
causing the opposing columns to engage in mutual conflict, as is the case
in many portions of Europe. But certain it is that everywhere alike--in the
new world of America, as well as in the old world of Europe--the human
spirit has its attention engaged with the same identical questions--those
topics of nerve-straining interest that sway and surge about this same
catch-word like so many opposing forces. Everywhere we shall have those
tense oppositions between sovereign Humanity and Christianity, between
Knowledge and Faith, between Law and Freedom; everywhere those questions
on the Rights and Obligations of Science, on Catholic Thought, and on
Catholic Doctrinal Beliefs and Duties.
May it fall to the lot of this book to be able to communicate to many a
reader, interested in such topics, words of enlightenment and
explanation--to some for the strengthening of their convictions, to others
for the correction, perhaps, of their erroneous views. At home, while
winning the sympathy of many readers, it has not failed to encounter also
antagonism. This was to be expected. The resolute championing of the
principles of the Christian view of the world, as well as many a candid
expression of views touching the intellectual impoverishment and the
ever-shifting position of unshackled Freethinking, must necessarily arouse
such antagonism. May the present volume meet on the other side of the
Atlantic with a large share of that tolerance which is put into actual
practice there, and is there not merely an empty phrase on the lips of
men! May it contribute something to the better and fuller understanding of
the saying of that great English scientist, WILLIAM THOMSON: "Do not be
afraid of being free-thinkers! If you think strongly enough, you will be
forced by science to the belief in God, which is the foundation of all
religion."
Finally, I may be allowed to express my sincere thanks to the publisher
for undertaking the work of this translation.
May it accomplish much good.
J. Donat.
UNIVERSITY INNSBRUCK,
CHRISTMAS, 1913.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
The German original is replete with references to works especially in the
German language, the author having with great care quoted title and page
whenever referring to an author. Since many of these references are of
value only to those familiar with the German, they have been abbreviated
or omitted in this English version, whenever they would seem to needlessly
encumber its pages.
Those desirous of verifying quotations will be enabled to do so in all
instances by a reference to the German original.
FIRST SECTION. THE FREEDOM OF SCIENCE AND ITS PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
CHINESE POEMS
TRANSLATED BY
CHARLES BUDD
HENRY FROWDE
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE
1912
OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
_PREFACE_
_The initiative of this little book was accidental. One day in the early
part of last summer, feeling weary of translating commercial documents,
I opened a volume of Chinese poetry that was lying on my desk and
listlessly turned over the pages. As I was doing so my eye caught sight
of the phrase, 'Red rain of peach flowers fell.' That would be
refreshing, I said to myself, on such a day as this; and then I went on
with my work again. But in the evening I returned to the book of Chinese
poetry and made a free translation of the poem in which I had seen the
metaphor quoted above. The translation seemed to me and some friends
pleasantly readable; so in leisure hours I have translated some more
poems and ballads, and these I now venture to publish in this volume,
thinking that they may interest readers in other lands, and also call
forth criticism that will be useful in preparing a larger volume which
I, or some better qualified scholar, may publish hereafter; for it
can hardly be said that the field of Chinese poetry has been widely
explored by foreign students of the Chinese language._
_Many of the translations in this book are nearly literal, excepting
adaptations to meet the exigencies of rhyme and rhythm; but some are
expanded to enable readers to understand what is implied, as well as
actually written, in the original; for, after all, the chief aim of the
translator of poetry should be to create around the mind of the reader
the sensory atmosphere in which the mind of the poet moved when he wrote
the poem. Whether I have attained a measure of success in such a very
difficult task must be decided by the readers of these translations._
_It should be borne in mind by students more or less familiar with the
Chinese language that there are many versions of the stories and legends
related in these poems, and these versions, again, have been variously
interpreted by Chinese poets. A little reflection of this kind will
often save a critic from stumbling into difficulties from which it is
not easy to extricate himself._
_A few notes are given at the end of each poem to explain historical
names, &c., but not many other notes are required as the poems explain
themselves. Indeed, the truth of the saying, 'One touch of nature makes
the whole world kin,' has been impressed on my mind deeply by this
little excursion into the field of Chinese poetry, for the thoughts and
words of such poems as the 'Journey Back,' 'A Maiden's Reverie,' 'Only a
Fragrant Spray,' 'The Lady Lo-Fu, 'Conscripts leaving for the Frontier,'
'The River by Night in Spring,' 'Reflections on the Brevity of Life,'
'The Innkeeper's Wife,' 'A Soldier's Farewell to his Wife,' &c., show us
that human nature two or three thousand years ago differed not a whit
from human nature as it is to-day._
_CHARLES BUDD._
_Tung Wen Kwan Translation Office,_
_Shanghai, March, 1912._
CONTENTS
A FEW REMARKS ON THE HISTORY AND CONSTRUCTION OF CHINESE POETRY
THE TECHNIQUE OF CHINESE POETRY
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES OF A FEW OF THE MORE EMINENT CHINESE POETS
_POEMS_
_Only a Fragrant Spray_
_The River by Night in Spring_
_The Beauty of Snow_
_A Maiden's Reverie_
_A Song of the Marches_
_The Cowherd and the Spinning-Maid_
_The Old Soldier's Return_
_On the Lake near the Western Mountains_
_The Happy Farmer_
_An Old House Unroofed by an Autumn Gale_
_The Lament of the Ladies of the Siang River_
_The Waters of the Mei-Pei_
_The Swallow's Song_
_Farewell to a Comrade_
_Beauty's Fatal Snare_
_A Reverie in a Summer-house_
_The Flower-Seller_
_The Red-Fl | 854.877538 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Tom Cosmas and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber Note
Original text lacked a Table of Contents.
Text emphasis denoted as _Italics_ and =Bold=. WHole and fractional
parts of numbers as 12-3/4.
THE
BEE-KEEPER'S MANUAL
[Illustration]
THE
BEE-KEEPER'S MANUAL,
OR
PRACTICAL HINTS
ON THE
MANAGEMENT AND COMPLETE PRESERVATION
OF
THE HONEY-BEE;
WITH
A DESCRIPTION OF THE MOST APPROVED HIVES,
AND OTHER APPURTENANCES OF THE APIARY.
BY
HENRY TAYLOR.
SIXTH EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS.
ILLUSTRATED BY NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.
LONDON:
GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCLX.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
The Bee-Keeper’s Manual. 1
The Queen or Mother Bee 4
The Common or Working Bees 11
Swarming (or Single Hiving) and Depriving Systems 21
Common Straw (or Single) Hives 27
Straw Depriving Hives 30
Hive-Covers 37
Floor or Hive-Boards 42
Hive-Stands, or Pedestals 37
Wood Box Hives 51
Wood Bar Boxes 54
Bar Glass Hives 72
Straw Bar-Hives 73
Circular Wooden Hives 75
Collateral System 78
White’s Collateral Hive 81
Nutt’s Collateral Hive 82
Nadir Hive 87
Bee Sheds and Houses 94
Position and Aspect 97
Bee Passage and Number of Hives 101
Summer Management. 106
Wax and Combs 109
Propolis 112
Honey 113
Pollen and Farina 113
Water 115
Shade 115
Moths, Wasps, Hornets, and Other Enemies 116
Super-hiving 119
Bell-glasses 120
Triplets and Nadirs 122
Autumnal Management. 124
Remove a Full Box or Super 125
Honey Harvest 128
Comb-Knives 130
Robbers 131
Autumnal Feeding 132
Feeding-troughs 133
Bee Food 137
Winter Store 138
Autumnal Unions, Fuming, and Transferring Bees 140
Driving of Bees 152
Winter Management. 157
Winter Positioning 158
Damp in Hives 161
Temperature 162
Dysentery 164
Spring Management. 166
Cleaning or Changing Floor-boards 167
Comb-pruning 167
General Directions 168
Spring Feeding 170
Enemies and Robbers 175
Super-hives 176
Temperature and Weather 177
Swarming 180
Returning of Swarms 183
After-swarms 186
Uniting of Swarms 192
Prevention of After-swarms 193
Maiden Swarms 196
General Directions on Swarming 196
Artificial Swarming 199
Dividing Bar-Hive 204
Bee-Protector 208
Remedy for the Sting of a Bee 210
Conclusion. 212
Index. 217
PREFACE
TO
THE FOURTH EDITION.
Twelve years have elapsed since the original publication of the
Bee-keeper's Manual. For the fourth time the author is called upon to
revise his little book, and he still thinks that the leading object in
offering it to public notice will best be explained in the words with
which it was first introduced. "The existence of the following pages
had its origin, some time ago, in the request of a friend, that the
author would give him a brief practical compendium of the management of
Bees, on the humane or depriving system. Similar applications came from
other quarters. The subject is one which has of late acquired increased
interest; but the hints following would perhaps never have been
prepared for the press, had not the hours of a protracted confinement
by illness required some diversity of occupation and amusement. On
reviewing his experience as an amateur bee-keeper, the author was led
to believe that the result of it, added to a concise view of such
particulars as are usually spread over a large surface in works of
this nature, and arranged according to the progressive order of the
seasons, might be useful to others, seeking like himself occasional
relaxation from weightier matters in watching over and protecting these
interesting and valuable insects. Step by step this or that defect of
construction in his Hives had been remedied, and such conveniences
added as necessity or the spirit of improvement from time to time had
suggested. These are briefly described in the following little work.
If it have the good fortune, though in a small degree, to smooth the
path (usually a rough and uncertain one) of the apiarian novice,--of
removing ignorance and prejudice, or of obviating any portion of the
difficulties with which a more general cultivation of bees has to
contend,--why may not the contribution of this mite be considered a
humble addition to the store of USEFUL KNOWLEDGE?"
In its present renewed form, the author has been induced partially to
extend his first design (originally much restricted in its scope), by
entering somewhat more at large into the subject of Bee management,
and the general details of practice. Although not professing to offer
his remarks to any particular | 854.877641 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=lOUBAAAAQAAJ
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
AT ALL LIBRARIES.
BY THE SAME TRANSLATOR.
SACRED VOWS,
By E. WERNER,
_Author of_ "_Under a Charm_," "_Success and How He Won it_," _&c_.
3 VOLS. 31s. 6d.
* * * * *
"The loves of Bruno and Lucie are simply told with that accompaniment
of mysterious sympathy in the inanimate surroundings of their
struggles, which is the highest application of true literary insight
into nature."--_Athenaeum_.
"The incidents are striking * * * * * The whole scene rises before the
reader with as much clearness as if it were represented before him on
the stage."--_Saturday Review_.
"The ability of Werner's Novels is implied in the simultaneous
publication of two translations of 'Sacred Vows.' His scenes are more
than paintings, they are sculptures, and stand out in _alto relievo_,
distinctly conceived and vigorously executed."--_The British
Quarterly_.
* * * * *
REMINGTON & Co., 5, Arundel Street, Strand, W.C.
WITHERED LEAVES.
A Novel,
BY
Rudolf von Gottschall.
FROM THE GERMAN,
By BERTHA NESS.
Translator of Werner's "Riven Bonds" and "Sacred Vows."
THREE VOLUMES.
* * * * *
AUTHORISED TRANSLATION.
* * * * *
VOL. III.
* * * * *
London:
REMINGTON AND CO.,
5, Arundel Street, Stand, W.C.
* * *
1879.
[_All Rights Reserved_.]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III.
CHAP.
I.--Primavera.
II.--In the Lion's Den.
III.--The Mistress of the Boarding School.
IV.--In the Forest of Juditenkirchen.
V.--Internal Struggles.
VI.--A Sleighing Party.
VII.--In the Land of the Lotus-Flowers.
VIII.--In the Church of San Giulio.
IX.--The Bridal Jewels.
X.--The Wedding Day.
XI.--A Legacy.
XII.--Confessions.
XIII.--To the East!
WITHERED LEAVES.
CHAPTER I.
PRIMAVERA.
_Primavera_--in the midst of winter, which sketched its frozen pictures
upon the window!
_Primavera_--and yet a midsummer of love, which had long since gathered
the blossoms of spring for its transient enjoyment!
And Blanden wooed Giulia with a passion which, possessing no history of
the past, asserting no prior right, only living in his recollections as
if it were the fairy-like charm of a dream, will conquer her love for
the bright day of the present; yes, for the endurance of a life time.
He did not strive to obtain the renewal of former affection; she had
from the very first resisted everything that could encourage such
wooing; he was resolved to win her hand, and to defy those prejudices
which could pronounce his union with a singer to be unsuitable.
But ardent as was his passion, much as her beauty, intellect, talent
and her great knowledge of the world and of life fascinated him, he was
yet by no means disposed blindly to follow his heart's inclination; he
could even not suppress a soft warning voice of suspicion, which he was
obliged to term ungrateful, because it was connected with their own
former meeting--could this admired actress always have withstood the
temptations that beset her upon her path of triumph?
Did not smiling Euphrosyne cast roses into her lap, as the goddess
stood beside victory upon her car of triumph, decking her with laurels?
How many phenomena of theatrical fame do but shine through a dim vapour
which the repute of their evil habits of life spreads around them, and
it was not Blanden's intention to guide one of these beauties, weary of
adventures, into a haven of refuge.
In the town even her enemies did not | 854.974061 |
2023-11-16 18:31:18.9589540 | 805 | 7 | Project Gutenberg Etext of Different Forms of Flowers, by Charles Darwin
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Title: The Different Forms of Flowers on Plants of the Same Species
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Produced by James McCormick
THE PAN-ANGLES
{ii}
{iii}
THE PAN-ANGLES
A CONSIDERATION OF THE FEDERATION OF THE SEVEN ENGLISH-SPEAKING
NATIONS
BY
SINCLAIR KENNEDY
_WITH A MAP_
SECOND IMPRESSION
LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.
FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY. CALCUTTA AND MADRAS
1915
_All Rights Reserved_
{iv}
{v}
TO
THE PAN-ANGLES
{vi}
PREFATORY NOTE
THE Author is indebted to the following publishers and authors
for kind permission to make quotations from copyright matter: to
Mr. Edward Arnold for _Colonial Nationalism_, by Richard Jebb;
to Mr. B. H. Blackwell for _Imperial Architects_, by A. L. Burt;
to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press for _Federations and
Unions_, by H. E. Egerton; to Messrs. Constable & Co. for
_Alexander Hamilton_, by F. S. Oliver, and _The Nation and the
Empire_, edited by Lord Milner; to the publishers of the
_Encyclopedia Britannica_; to Messrs. Macmillan & Co. for
Seeley's _Expansion of England_, and G. L. Parkin's _Imperial
Federation_; to Admiral Mahan; to Mr. John Murray for _English
Colonization and Empire_, by A. Caldecott; to Sir Isaac Pitman &
Sons Ltd. for _The Union of South Africa_, by W. B. Worsfold; to
the Executors of the late W. T. Stead for the _Last Will and
Testament of C. J. Rhodes_; to Messrs. H. Stevens, Son, & Stiles
for _Thomas Pownall_, by C. A. W. Pownall; to Messrs. Houghton,
Mifflin Company for Thayer's _John Marshall_ and Woodrow
Wilson's _Mere Literature_; to Messrs. D. C. Heath & Co. for
Woodrow Wilson's _The State_; to Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons for
_The Works of Benjamin Franklin_, edited by John Bigelow; to the
Yale University Press for _Popular Government_, by W. H. Taft;
and also to _The Times_; _The Round Table_; _The Outlook_; and
_The Springfield Weekly Republican_.
{vii}
FOREWORD
THE English-speaking, self-governing white people of the world
in 1914 number upwards of one hundred and forty-one millions.
Since December 24, 1814, there has been unbroken peace between
the two independent groups of this race--a fact that contravenes
the usual historical experiences of peoples between whom there
has been uninterrupted communication during so long an epoch.
The last few decades have seen increasingly close understandings
between both the governments and the peoples of this
civilization.
In 1900 the British navy controlled the seas--all seas. From
1910 to 1914 the British navy has controlled the North Sea
only.[vii-1] Some doubt whether this control can long be
maintained. If it is lost, the British Empire is
finished.[vii-2] The adhesion of the dependencies to their
various governments and also the voluntary cohesion of the
self-governing units would be at an end. "The disorders which
followed the fall of Rome would be insignificant compared with
those which would {viii} ensue were the British Empire to break
in pieces."[viii-1] Such a splitting up would place each
English-speaking nation in an exposed position, and would
strengthen its rivals, Germany, Japan, Russia, and China. It
would compel America to protect with arms, or to abandon to its
enemies, not only the countries to which the Monroe Doctrine has
been considered as applicable, but those lands still more
important to the future of our race, New Zealand and Australia.
If this catastrophe is to be averted, the English-speaking
peoples must regain control of the seas.
These pages are concerned with the English-speaking people of
1914. Here will be found no jingoism, if this be defined as a
desire to flaunt power for its own sake; no altruism, if this
means placing the welfare of others before one's own; and no
sentiment except that which leads to self-preservation. No
technical discussion of military or naval power is here
attempted. The purpose of these pages is to indicate some of the
common heritages of these English-speaking peoples, their need
of land and their desire for the sole privilege of taxing
themselves for their own purposes and in their own way.
Federation is here recognized as the | 855.687992 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
YALE UNIVERSITY
MRS. HEPSA ELY SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PUBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
ELECTRICITY AND MATTER. _By_ JOSEPH JOHN THOMSON,
D.SC., LL.D., PH.D., F.R.S., _Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge, Cavendish Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE INTEGRATIVE ACTION OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
_By_ CHARLES S. SHERRINGTON,
D.SC., M.D., HON. LL.D., TOR., F.R.S.,
_Holt Professor of Physiology in the University of Liverpool_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 25 cents extra._
RADIOACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS. _By_ ERNEST RUTHERFORD,
D.SC., LL.D., F.R.S., _Macdonald Professor of Physics,
McGill University_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 22 cents extra._
EXPERIMENTAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATIONS OF
THERMODYNAMICS TO CHEMISTRY.
_By_ DR. WALTHER NERNST, _Professor and Director of the
Institute of Physical Chemistry in the University of Berlin_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE PROBLEMS OF GENETICS. _By_ WILLIAM BATESON, M.A.,
F.R.S., _Director of the John Innes Horticultural Institution,
Merton Park, Surrey, England_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 25 cents extra._
STELLAR MOTIONS.
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MOTIONS DETERMINED BY MEANS OF
THE SPECTROGRAPH. _By_ WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL, SC.D., LL.D.,
_Director of the Lick Observatory, University of California_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 30 cents extra._
THEORIES OF SOLUTIONS. _By_ SVANTE AUGUST ARRHENIUS,
PH.D., SC.D., M.D., _Director of the Physico-Chemical
Department of the Nobel Institute, Stockholm, Sweden_.
_Price $2.25 net; postage 15 cents extra._
IRRITABILITY.
A PHYSIOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE GENERAL EFFECT OF
STIMULI IN LIVING SUBSTANCES.
_By_ MAX VERWORN,
_Professor at Bonn Physiological Institute_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 20 cents extra._
THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN MEDICINE.
_By_ SIR WILLIAM OSLER, BART., M.D., LL.D., SC.D.,
_Regius Professor of Medicine, Oxford University_.
_Price $3.00 net; postage 40 cents extra._
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
BY
WILLIAM BATESON, M.A., F.R.S.
DIRECTOR OF THE JOHN INNES HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTION,
HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
AND FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913
By YALE UNIVERSITY
First printed August, 1913, 1000 copies
[** Transcriber's Note:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate ITALICS
in the original text.
Hyphenation was used inconsistently by the author and has been
left as in the original text. ]
THE SILLIMAN FOUNDATION
In the year 1883 a legacy of about eighty-five thousand dollars was left
to the President and Fellows of Yale College in the city of New Haven,
to be held in trust, as a gift from her children, in memory of their
beloved and honored mother, Mrs. Hepsa Ely Silliman.
On this foundation Yale College was requested and directed to establish
an annual course of lectures designed to illustrate the presence and
providence, the wisdom and goodness of God, as manifested in the natural
and moral world. These were to be designated as the Mrs. Hepsa Ely
Silliman Memorial Lectures. It was the belief of the testator that any
orderly presentation of the facts of nature or history contributed
to the end of this foundation more effectively than any attempt to
emphasize the elements of doctrine or of creed; and he therefore
provided that lectures on dogmatic or polemical theology should be
excluded from the scope of this foundation, and that the subjects should
be selected rather from the domains of natural science and history,
giving special prominence to astronomy, chemistry, geology, and anatomy.
It was further directed that each annual course should be made the basis
of a volume to form part of a series constituting a memorial to Mrs.
Silliman. The memorial fund came into the possession of the Corporation
of Yale University in the year 1901; and the present volume constitutes
the fifth of the series of memorial lectures.
PREFACE
This book gives the substance of a series of lectures delivered in Yale
University, where I had the privilege of holding the office of Silliman
Lecturer in 1907.
The delay in publication was brought about by a variety of causes.
Inasmuch as the purpose of the lectures is to discuss some of the wider
problems of biology in the light of knowledge acquired by Mendelian
methods of analysis, it was essential that a fairly full account of
the conclusions established by them should first be undertaken and I
therefore postponed the present work till a book on Mendel's Principles
had been completed.
On attempting a more general discussion of the bearing of the phenomena
on the theory of Evolution, I found myself continually hindered by the
consciousness that such treatment is premature, and by doubt whether
it were not better that the debate should for the present stand
indefinitely adjourned. That species have come into existence by an
evolutionary process no one seriously doubts; but few who are familiar
with the facts that genetic research has revealed are now inclined to
speculate as to the manner by which the process has been accomplished.
Our knowledge of the nature and properties of living things is far too
meagre to justify any such attempts. Suggestions of course can be made:
though, however, these ideas may have a stimulating value in the lecture
room, they look weak and thin when set out in print. The work which may
one day give them a body has yet to be done.
The development of negations is always an ungrateful task apt to be
postponed for the positive business of experiment. Such work is happily
now going forward in most of the centers of scientific life. Of many
of the subjects here treated we already know more than we did in 1907.
The delay in production has made it possible to incorporate these new
contributions.
The book makes no pretence at being a treatise and the number of
illustrative cases has been kept within a moderate compass. A good many
of the examples have been chosen from American natural history, as being
appropriate to a book intended primarily for American readers. The facts
are largely given on the authority of others, and I wish to express my
gratitude for the abundant assistance received from American colleagues,
especially from the staffs of the American Museum in New York, and of
the Boston Museum of Natural History. In connexion with the particular
subjects personal acknowledgments are made.
Dr. F. M. Chapman was so good as to supervise the preparation of the
Plate of _Col | 855.786341 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
1964
By Samuel Pepys
Edited With Additions By
Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A.
LONDON
GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN
CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO.
1893
JANUARY 1663-1664
January 1st, Went to bed between 4 and 5 in the morning with my mind
in good temper of satisfaction and slept till about 8, that many people
came to speak with me. Among others one came with the best New Year's
gift that ever I had, namely from Mr. Deering, with a bill of exchange
drawn upon himself for the payment of L50 to Mr. Luellin. It being for
my use with a letter of compliment. I am not resolved what or how to do
in this business, but I conclude it is an extraordinary good new year's
gift, though I do not take the whole, or if I do then give some of it to
Luellin. By and by comes Captain Allen and his son Jowles and his wife,
who continues pretty still. They would have had me set my hand to a
certificate for his loyalty, and I know not what his ability for any
employment. But I did not think it fit, but did give them a pleasing
denial, and after sitting with me an hour they went away. Several others
came to me about business, and then being to dine at my uncle Wight's
I went to the Coffee-house, sending my wife by Will, and there staid
talking an hour with Coll. Middleton, and others, and among other things
about a very rich widow, young and handsome, of one Sir Nicholas Gold's,
a merchant, lately fallen, and of great courtiers that already look
after her: her husband not dead a week yet. She is reckoned worth
L80,000. Thence to my uncle Wight's, where Dr. of-----, among others,
dined, and his wife, a seeming proud conceited woman, I know not what to
make of her, but the Dr's. discourse did please me very well about the
disease of the stone, above all things extolling Turpentine, which he
told me how it may be taken in pills with great ease. There was brought
to table a hot pie made of a swan I sent them yesterday, given me by Mr.
Howe, but we did not eat any of it. But my wife and I rose from table,
pretending business, and went to the Duke's house, the first play I have
been at these six months, according to my last vowe, and here saw the
so much cried-up play of "Henry the Eighth;" which, though I went with
resolution to like it, is so simple a thing made up of a great many
patches, that, besides the shows and processions in it, there is nothing
in the world good or well done. Thence mightily dissatisfied back at
night to my uncle Wight's, and supped with them, but against my stomach
out of the offence the sight of my aunt's hands gives me, and ending
supper with a mighty laugh, the greatest I have had these many months,
at my uncle's being out in his grace after meat, we rose and broke up,
and my wife and I home and to bed, being sleepy since last night.
2nd. Up and to the office, and there sitting all the morning, and at
noon to the 'Change, in my going met with Luellin and told him how I had
received a letter and bill for L50 from Mr. Deering, and delivered it
to him, which he told me he would receive for me. To which I consented,
though professed not to desire it if he do not consider himself
sufficiently able by the service I have done, and that it is rather my
desire to have nothing till he be further sensible of my service. From
the 'Change I brought him home and dined with us, and after dinner I
took my wife out, for I do find that I am not able to conquer myself as
to going to plays till I come to some new vowe concerning it, and that I
am now come, that is to say, that I will not see above one in a month
at any of the publique theatres till the sum of 50s. be spent, and then
none before New Year's Day next, unless that I do become worth L1000
sooner than then, and then am free to come to some other terms, and so
leaving him in Lombard Street I took her to the King's house, and there
met Mr. Nicholson, my old colleague, and saw "The Usurper," which is
no good play, though better than what I saw yesterday. However, we rose
unsatisfied, and took coach and home, and I to the office late writing
letters, and so to supper and to bed.
3rd (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then rose and with a fire in my
chamber staid within all day, looking over and settling my accounts in
good order, by examining all my books, and the kitchen books, and I find
that though the proper profit of my last year was but L305, yet I did by
other gain make it up L444., which in every part of it was unforeseen
of me, and therefore it was a strange oversight for lack of examining my
expenses that I should spend L690 this year, but for the time to come
I have so distinctly settled all my accounts in writing and the
particulars of all my several layings out, that I do hope I shall
hereafter make a better judgment of my spendings than ever. I dined with
my wife in her chamber, she in bed, and then down again and till 11 at
night, and broke up and to bed with great content, but could not make
an end of writing over my vows as I purposed, but I am agreed in every
thing how to order myself for the year to come, which I trust in God
will be much for my good. So up to prayers and to bed. This evening Sir
W. Pen came to invite me against next Wednesday, being Twelfth day, to
his usual feast, his wedding day.
4th. Up betimes, and my wife being ready, and her mayd Besse and the
girl, I carried them by coach and set them all down in Covent Garden and
there left them, and I to my Lord Sandwich's lodgings, but he not being
up, I to the Duke's chamber, and there by and by to his closett, where
since his lady was ill, a little red bed of velvet is brought for him to
lie alone, which is a very pretty one. After doing business here, I
to my Lord's again, and there spoke with him, and he seems now almost
friends again as he used to be. Here meeting Mr. Pierce, the chyrurgeon,
he told me among other Court newes, how the Queene is very well again,
and the King lay with her on Saturday night last; and that she speaks
now very pretty English, and makes her sense out now and then with
pretty phrazes: as among others this is mightily cried up; that, meaning
to say that she did not like such a horse so well as the rest, he being
too prancing and full of tricks, she said he did make too much
vanity. Thence to the Tennis Court, after I had spent a little time in
Westminster Hall, thinking to have met with Mrs. Lane, but I could not
and am glad of it, and there saw the King play at Tennis and others: but
to see how the King's play was extolled without any cause at all, was
a loathsome sight, though sometimes, indeed, he did play very well and
deserved to be commended; but such open flattery is beastly. Afterwards
to St. James's Parke, being unwilling to go to spend money at the
ordinary, and there spent an hour or two, it being a pleasant day,
seeing people play at Pell Mell; where it pleased me mightily to hear
a gallant, lately come from France, swear at one of his companions for
suffering his man (a spruce blade) to be so saucy as to strike a ball
while his master was playing on the Mall.
[When Egerton was Bishop of Durham, he often played at bowls with
his guests on the public days. On an occasion of this sort, a
visitor happening to cross the lawn, one of the chaplains exclaimed,
"You must not shake the green, for the bishop is going to bowl."-B.]
Thence took coach at White Hall and took up my wife, who is mighty sad
to think of her father, who is going into Germany against the Turkes;
but what will become of her brother I know not. He is so idle, and out
of all capacity, I think, to earn his bread. Home and at my office till
is at night making my solemn vowes for the next year, which I trust in
the Lord I shall keep, but I fear I have a little too severely bound
myself in some things and in too many, for I fear I may forget some. But
however, I know the worst, and shall by the blessing of God observe to
perform or pay my forfeits punctually. So home and to bed with my mind
at rest.
5th. Up and to our office, where we sat all the morning, where my head
being willing to take in all business whatever, I am afraid I shall over
clogg myself with it. But however, it is my desire to do my duty and
shall the willinger bear it. At noon home and to the 'Change, where I
met with Luellin, who went off with me and parted to meet again at the
Coffeehouse, but missed. So home and found him there, and Mr. Barrow
came to speak with me, so they both dined with me alone, my wife
not being ready, and after dinner I up in my chamber with Barrow to
discourse about matters of the yard with him, and his design of leaving
the place, which I am sorry for, and will prevent if I can. He being
gone then Luellin did give me the L50 from Mr. Deering, which he do give
me for my pains in his business and what I may hereafter take for him,
though | 855.787324 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
IN THE WILDERNESS
By Robert Hichens
BOOK I--HERMES AND THE CHILD
CHAPTER I
Amedeo Dorini, the hall porter of the Hotel Cavour in Milan, stood on
the pavement before the hotel one autumn afternoon in the year 1894,
waiting for the omnibus, which had gone to the station, and which was
now due to return, bearing--Amedeo hoped--a load of generously inclined
travelers. During the years of his not unpleasant servitude Amedeo had
become a student of human nature. He had learnt to judge shrewdly and
soundly, to sum up quickly, to deliver verdicts which were not unjust.
And now, as he saw the omnibus, with its two fat brown horses, coming
slowly along by the cab rank, and turning into the Piazza that is
presided over by Cavour's statue, he prepared almost mechanically to
measure and weigh evidence, to criticize and come to a conclusion.
He glanced first at the roof of the omnibus to take stock of the luggage
pile there. There was plenty of it, and a good deal of it was leather
and reassuring. Amedeo had a horror of tin trunks--they usually gave
such small tips. Having examined the luggage he sent a searching glance
to two rows of heads which were visible inside the vehicle. The brawny
porters hurried out, the luggage chute was placed in position, the
omnibus door was opened, and the first traveler stepped forth.
A German of the most economical type, large, red and wary, with a mouth
like a buttoned-up pocket, was followed by a broad-waisted wife, with
dragged hair and a looped-up gown. Amedeo's smile tightened. A Frenchman
followed them, pale and elaborate, a "one-nighter," as Amedeo instantly
decided in his mind. Such Frenchmen are seldom extravagant in hotels.
This gentleman would want a good room for a small price, would be
extremely critical about the cooking, and have a wandering eye and a
short memory for all servants in the morning.
An elderly Englishwoman was the fourth personage to appear. She was
badly dressed in black, wore a tam-o'-shanter with a huge black-headed
pin thrust through it, clung to a bag, smiled with amiable patronage as
she emerged, and at once, without reason, began to address Amedeo and
the porters in fluent, incorrect, and too carefully pronounced Italian.
Amedeo knew her--the Tabby who haunts Swiss and Italian hotels, the
eternal Tabby drastically complete.
A gay Italian is gaiety in flight, a human lark with a song. But a
gloomy Italian is oppressive and almost terrible. Despite the training
of years Amedeo's smile flickered and died out. A ferocious expression
surged up in his dark eyes as he turned rather bruskly to scrutinize
without hope the few remaining clients. But suddenly his face cleared as
he heard a buoyant voice say in English:
"I'll get out first, Godfather, and give you a hand."
On the last word, a tall and lithe figure stepped swiftly, and with a
sort of athletic certainty, out of the omnibus, turned at once towards
it, and, with a movement eloquent of affection and almost tender
reverence, stretched forth an arm and open hand.
A spare man of middle height, elderly, with thick gray hair, and a
clean-shaven, much-lined face, wearing a large loose overcoat and soft
brown hat, took the hand as he emerged. He did not need it; Amedeo
realized that, realized also that he was glad to take it, enjoyed
receiving this kind and unnecessary help.
"And now for Beatrice!" he said.
And he gave in his turn a hand to the girl who followed him.
There were still two people in the omnibus, the elderly man's Italian
valet and an Englishman. As the latter got out, and stretched his limbs
cramped with much sitting, he saw Amedeo, with genuine smiles, escorting
the two girls and the elderly man towards the glass-roofed hall, on the
left of which was the lift. The figure of the girl who had stepped out
first was about to disappear. As the Englishman looked she vanished.
But he had time to realize that a gait, the carriage of a head and its
movement in turning, can produce on an observer a moral effect. A joyous
sanity came to him from this unknown girl and made him feel joyously
sane. It seemed to sweep over him, like a cool and fresh breeze of the
sea falling through pine woods, to lift from him some of the dust of
his journey. He resolved to give the remainder of the dust to the public
garden, told his name, Dion Leith, to the manager, learnt that the room
he had ordered was ready for him, had his luggage sent up to it, and
then made his way to the trees on the far side of the broad road which
skirts the hotel. When he was among them he took off his hat, kept it
in his hand, and, so, strolled on down the almost deserted paths. As
he walked he tasted the autumn, not with any sadness, but with an
appreciation that was almost voluptuous. He was at a time of life and
experience, when | 855.878716 |
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Produced by Brian Wilcox 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: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Blackletter
text is denoted =thus=.
THE LIFE AND REIGN OF EDWARD I.
[Illustration: EDWARD I.
After the Engraving by Vertue, from the Statue at Carnarvon Castle.]
THE LIFE AND REIGN OF EDWARD I.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“THE GREATEST OF THE PLANTAGENETS.”
Pactum Serva.
SEELEY, JACKSON, & HALLIDAY, FLEET STREET, LONDON. MDCCCLXXII.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SIMMONS & BOTTEN,
Shoe Lane, E.C.
PREFACE.
The volume entitled “The Greatest of the Plantagenets,” was correctly
described in its title‐page, as “an Historical Sketch.” Nothing more
than this was contemplated by the writer. The compilation was made
among the manuscripts of the British Museum, in the leisure mornings of
one spring and summer; and so soon as a fair copy had been taken, it
was handed to the printer. The work was regarded as little else than
a contribution towards an accurate review of what is both the most
interesting and the most neglected period of our English history.
Its reception exceeded by far the author’s anticipations. Very
naturally—it might be said, quite inevitably—many of those who
admitted the general truth of the narrative, were ready to charge the
writer with “partisanship,” and with taking a “one‐sided vie” of the
question. It is not easy to see how this could have been avoided. A
great literary authority has said, that the first requisite for a
good biography is, that the writer should be possessed with an honest
enthusiasm for his subject. And in the present case his chief object
was to protest against what he deemed to be injustice. It was his
sincere belief, that for about a century past an erroneous estimate of
this great king’s character had been commonly presented to the English
people. He endeavoured to show that this had been the case; to explain
the causes, and to lead men’s minds to what he deemed to be the truth.
Such a task could hardly be performed without giving large opportunity
to an objector to exclaim, “You write in a partisan spirit.”
When a new view of any passage in history is presented, many fair and
honourable men, while they yield to the force of evidence, cannot help
feeling some reluctance—some dislike to the sudden change of belief
which is asked of them. Such men will often be found to object to the
manner in which their old opinion has been assailed, even while they
admit that that opinion was erroneous, and can no longer be maintained.
So, in this case, even those who advanced this charge of partisanship
were generally ready to concede, that an altered view of Edward’s
character had been not only propounded, but in a great measure
established. Thus the Dean of Chichester, Dr. Hook, | 855.878799 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Iris Schimandle, Brownfox and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note: ae character replaced with ae. Accents have been
removed. The degree symbol has been replaced with ^o. The times symbol
has been replaced with lowercase x. The symbol mu/micro has been
replaced with lowercase u.
[Illustration: Some early medical entomology. Athanasius Kircher's
illustration of the Italian tarantula and the music prescribed as an
antidote for the poison of its bite. (1643).]
HANDBOOK OF MEDICAL
ENTOMOLOGY
WM. A. RILEY, PH.D.
Professor of Insect Morphology and Parasitology, Cornell University
and
O. A. JOHANNSEN, PH.D.
Professor of Biology, Cornell University
[Illustration]
ITHACA, NEW YORK
THE COMSTOCK PUBLISHING COMPANY
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY THE COMSTOCK PUBLISHING COMPANY,
ITHACA, N. Y.
Press of W. F. Humphrey
Geneva, N. Y.
PREFACE
The Handbook of Medical Entomology is the outgrowth of a course of
lectures along the lines of insect transmission and dissemination of
diseases of man given by the senior author in the Department of
Entomology of Cornell University during the past six years. More
specifically it is an illustrated revision and elaboration of his "Notes
on the Relation of Insects to Disease" published January, 1912.
Its object is to afford a general survey of the field, and primarily to
put the student of medicine and entomology in touch with the discoveries
and theories which underlie some of the most important modern work in
preventive medicine. At the same time the older phases of the
subject--the consideration of poisonous and parasitic forms--have not
been ignored.
Considering the rapid shifts in viewpoint, and the development of the
subject within recent years, the authors do not indulge in any hopes
that the present text will exactly meet the needs of every one
specializing in the field,--still less do they regard it as complete or
final. The fact that the enormous literature of isolated articles is to
be found principally in foreign periodicals and is therefore difficult
of access to many American workers, has led the authors to hope that a
summary of the important advances, in the form of a reference book may
not prove unwelcome to physicians, sanitarians and working
entomologists, and to teachers as a text supplementing lecture work in
the subject.
Lengthy as is the bibliography, it covers but a very small fraction of
the important contributions to the subject. It will serve only to put
those interested in touch with original sources and to open up the
field. Of the more general works, special acknowledgment should be made
to those of Banks, Brumpt, Castellani and Chalmers, Comstock, Hewitt,
Howard, Manson, Mense, Neveau-Lemaire, Nuttall, and Stiles.
To the many who have aided the authors in the years past, by suggestions
and by sending specimens and other materials, sincerest thanks is
tendered. This is especially due to their colleagues in the Department
of Entomology of Cornell University, and to Professor Charles W. Howard,
Dr. John Uri Lloyd, Mr. A. H. Ritchie, Dr. I. M. Unger, and Dr. Luzerne
Coville.
They wish to express indebtedness to the authors and publishers who have
so willingly given permission to use certain illustrations. Especially
is this acknowledgment due to Professor John Henry Comstock, Dr. L. O.
Howard, Dr. Graham-Smith, and Professor G. H. T. Nuttall. Professor
Comstock not only authorized the use of departmental negatives by the
late Professor M. V. Slingerland (credited as M. V. S.), but generously
put at their disposal the illustrations from the MANUAL FOR THE STUDY OF
INSECTS and from the SPIDER BOOK. Figures 5 and 111 are from Peter's
"Der Arzt und die Heilkunst in der deutschen Vergangenheit." It should
be noted that on examining the original, it is found that Gottfried's
figure relates to an event antedating the typical epidemic of dancing
mania.
WM. A. RILEY.
O. A. JOHANNSEN.
CORNELL UNIVERSITY,
January, 1915.
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS
vi line 11, for Heilkunft read Heilkunst.
18 line 2, for tarsi read tarsus.
32 line 21, and legend under fig. 23, for C. (Conorhinus) abdominalis
read Melanolestes abdominalis.
47 legend under figure for 33c read 34.
92 line 22 and 25, for sangiusugus read sanguisugus.
116 legend under fig. 83, for Graham-Smith read Manson.
136 line 10, from bottom, insert "ring" after "chitin".
137 line 3, for meditatunda read meditabunda.
145 line 7, from bottom, for Rs read R_5.
158 line 20, for have read has.
212 after the chapter heading insert "continued".
219 line 10, from bottom, for Cornohinus read Conorhinus.
266 line 1, fig. 158j refers to the female.
272 line 5, insert "palpus" before "and leg".
281 line 6, for discodial read discoidal.
281 last line, insert "from" before "the".
284 line 5, for "tubercle of" read "tubercle or".
305 lines 19, 28, 44, page 306 lines 1, 9, 22, 27, 30, page 307 line 7,
page 309 lines 8, 11, for R_{4+5} read M_{1+2}.
309 legend under fig. 168 add Bureau of Entomology.
312 line 36, for "near apex" read "of M_{1+2}".
313 running head, for Muscidae read Muscoidea.
314 line 29, for "distal section" read "distally M_{1+2}".
315 legend under fig. 172, for Pseudopyrellia read Orthellia, for
Lyperosia read Haematobia, for Umbana read urbana.
323 and 325 legends under the figures, add "After Dr. J. H. Stokes".
328 line 7 from bottom for Apiochaeta read Aphiochaeta.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION 1-5
Early suggestions regarding the transmission of disease by
insects.
The ways in which arthropods may affect the health of man.
CHAPTER II
ARTHROPODS WHICH ARE DIRECTLY POISONOUS 6-56
The Araneida, or Spiders.
The tarantulas. Bird spiders. Spiders of the genus
Latrodectus. Other venomous spiders. Summary.
The Pedipalpida, or whip-scorpions.
The Scorpionida, or true scorpions.
The Solpugida, or solpugids.
The Acarina, or mites and ticks.
The Myriapoda, or centipedes and millipedes.
The Hexapoda, or true insects.
Piercing or biting insects poisonous to man.
Hemiptera, or true bugs.
The Notonectidae or back-swimmers. Belostomidae or giant
water-bugs. Reduviidae, or assassin bugs. Other
Hemiptera reported as poisonous to man.
Diptera; the midges, mosquitoes and flies.
Stinging insects.
Apis mellifica, the honey bee. Other stinging forms.
Nettling insects.
Lepidoptera, or butterflies and moths. Relief from
poisoning by nettling larvae.
Vescicating insects and those possessing other poisons
in their blood plasma. The blister beetles. Other
cryptotoxic insects.
CHAPTER III
PARASITIC ARTHROPODS AFFECTING MAN 57-130
Acarina, or mites.
The Trombidiidae, or harvest mites.
The Ixodoidea, or ticks.
Argasidae. Ixodidae. Treatment of tick bites.
The mites.
Dermanyssidae. Tarsonemidae. Sarcoptidae, the itch mites.
Demodecidae, the follicle mites.
Hexapoda, or true insects.
Siphunculata, or sucking lice.
Hemiptera.
The bed-bug. Other bed-bugs.
Parasitic Diptera, or flies.
Psychodidae, or moth flies. Phlebotominae. Culicidae, or
mosquitoes. Simuliidae, or black-flies. Chironomidae, or
midges. Tabanidae, or horse-flies. Leptidae or
snipe-flies. Oestridae, or bot-flies. Muscidae, the
stable-fly and others.
Siphonaptera, or fleas.
The fleas affecting man, the dog, cat, and rat.
The true chiggers, or chigoes.
CHAPTER IV
ACCIDENTAL OR FACULTATIVE PARASITES 131-143
Acarina, or mites.
Myriapoda, or centipedes and millipedes.
Lepidopterous larvae.
Coleoptera, or beetles.
Dipterous larvae causing myiasis.
Piophila casei, the cheese skipper. Chrysomyia macellaria,
the screw-worm fly. Calliphorinae, the bluebottles.
Muscinae, the house or typhoid fly, and others.
Anthomyiidae, the lesser house-fly and others.
Sarcophagidae, the flesh-flies.
CHAPTER V
ARTHROPODS AS SIMPLE CARRIERS OF DISEASE 144-163
The house or typhoid fly as a carrier of disease.
Stomoxys calcitrans, the stable-fly.
Other arthropods which may serve as simple carriers of
pathogenic organisms.
CHAPTER VI
ARTHROPODS AS DIRECT INOCULATORS OF DISEASE GERMS 164-174
Some illustrations of direct inoculations of disease germs
by arthropods.
The role of fleas in the transmission of the plague.
CHAPTER VII
ARTHROPODS AS ESSENTIAL HOSTS OF PATHOGENIC ORGANISMS 175-185
Insects as intermediate hosts of tape-worms.
Arthropods as intermediate hosts of nematode worms.
Filariasis and mosquitoes.
Other nematode parasites of man and animals.
CHAPTER VIII
ARTHROPODS AS ESSENTIAL HOSTS OF PATHOGENIC PROTOZOA 186-211
Mosquitoes and malaria.
Mosquitoes and yellow fever.
CHAPTER IX
ARTHROPODS AS ESSENTIAL HOSTS OF PATHOGENIC PROTOZOA 212-229
Insects and trypanosomiases.
Fleas and lice as carriers of Trypanosoma lewisi.
Tsetse-flies and nagana.
Tsetse-flies and sleeping sickness in man.
South American trypanosomiasis.
Leishmanioses and insects.
Ticks and diseases of man and animals.
Cattle tick and Texas fever.
Ticks and Rocky Mountain Spotted fever of man.
CHAPTER X
ARTHROPODS AS ESSENTIAL HOSTS OF PATHOGENIC PROTOZOA
(CONTINUED) 230-240
Arthropods and Spirochaetoses of man and animals.
African relapsing fever of man.
European relapsing fever.
North African relapsing fever of man.
Other types of relapsing fever of man.
Spirochaetosis of fowls.
Other spirochaete diseases of animals.
Typhus fever and lice.
CHAPTER XI
SOME POSSIBLE, BUT IMPERFECTLY KNOWN CASES OF
ARTHROPOD TRANSMISSION OF DISEASE 241-256
Infantile paralysis, or acute anterior poliomyelitis.
Pellagra. Leprosy. Verruga peruviana. Cancer.
CHAPTER XII
KEYS TO THE ARTHROPODS NOXIOUS TO MAN 257-317
Crustacea.
Myriapoda, or centipedes and millipedes.
Arachnida (Orders of).
Acarina or ticks.
Hexapoda (Insecta).
Siphunculata and Hemiptera (lice and true bugs).
Diptera (mosquitoes, midges, and flies).
Siphonaptera (fleas).
APPENDIX
Hydrocyanic acid gas against household insects 318-320
Proportion of ingredients. A single room as an example.
Fumigating a large house. Precautions.
Lesions produced by the bite of the black-fly 321-326
BIBLIOGRAPHY 327-340
INDEX 341-348
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION
EARLY SUGGESTIONS REGARDING THE TRANSMISSION OF DISEASE BY INSECTS
Until very recent years insects and their allies have been considered as
of economic importance merely in so far as they are an annoyance or
direct menace to man, or his flocks and herds, or are injurious to his
crops. It is only within the past fifteen years that there has sprung
into prominence the knowledge that in another and much more insiduous
manner, they may be the enemy of mankind, that they may be among the
most important of the disseminators of disease. In this brief period,
such knowledge has completely revolutionized our methods of control of
certain diseases, and has become an important weapon in the fight for
the conservation of health.
It is nowhere truer than in the case under consideration that however
abrupt may be their coming into prominence, great movements and great
discoveries do not arise suddenly. Centuries ago there was suggested the
possibility that insects were concerned with the spread of disease, and
from time to time there have appeared keen suggestions and logical
hypotheses along this line, that lead us to marvel that the
establishment of the truths should have been so long delayed.
One of the earliest of these references is by the Italian physician,
Mercurialis, who lived from 1530 to 1607, during a period when Europe
was being ravaged by the dread "black death", or plague. Concerning its
transmission he wrote: "There can be no doubt that flies feed on the
internal secretions of the diseased and dying, then, flying away, they
deposit their excretions on the food in neighboring dwellings, and
persons who eat of it are thus infected."
It would be difficult to formulate more clearly this aspect of the facts
as we know them to-day, though it must always be borne in mind that we
are prone to interpret such statements in the light of present-day
knowledge. Mercurialis had no conception of the animate nature of
contagion, and his statement was little more than a lucky guess.
Much more worthy of consideration is the approval which was given to his
view by the German Jesuit, Athanasius Kircher in 1658. One cannot read
carefully his works without believing that long before Leeuwenhook's
discovery, Kircher had seen the larger species of bacteria. Moreover, he
attributed the production of disease to these organisms and formulated,
vaguely, to be sure, a theory of the animate nature of contagion. It has
taken two and a half centuries to accumulate the facts to prove his
hypothesis.
The theory of Mercurialis was not wholly lost sight of, for in the
medical literature of the eighteenth century there are scattered
references to flies as carriers of disease. Such a view seems even to
have been more or less popularly accepted, in some cases. Gudger (1910),
has pointed out that, as far back as 1769, Edward Bancroft, in "An Essay
on the Natural History of Guiana in South America," wrote concerning the
contagious skin-disease known as "Yaws": "It is usually believed that
this disorder is communicated by the flies who have been feasting on a
diseased object, to those persons who have sores, or scratches, which
are uncovered; and from many observations, I think this is not
im | 855.888098 |
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Produced by Aaron Cannon
THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS
by Stewart Edward White
1913
I. ON BOOKS OF ADVENTURE
Books of sporting, travel, and adventure in countries little known to
the average reader naturally fall in two classes-neither, with a very
few exceptions, of great value. One class is perhaps the logical result
of the other.
Of the first type is the book that is written to make the most of far
travels, to extract from adventure the last thrill, to impress the
awestricken reader with a full sense of the danger and hardship the
writer has undergone. Thus, if the latter takes out quite an ordinary
routine permit to go into certain districts, he makes the most of
travelling in "closed territory," implying that he has obtained an
especial privilege, and has penetrated where few have gone before him.
As a matter of fact, the permit is issued merely that the authorities
may keep track of who is where. Anybody can get one. This class of
writer tells of shooting beasts at customary ranges of four and five
hundred yards. I remember one in especial who airily and as a matter
of fact killed all his antelope at such ranges. Most men have shot
occasional beasts at a quarter mile or so, but not airily nor as
a matter of fact: rather with thanksgiving and a certain amount of
surprise. The gentleman of whom I speak mentioned getting an eland at
seven hundred and fifty yards. By chance I happened to mention this to a
native Africander.
"Yes," said he, "I remember that; I was there."
This interested me-and I said so.
"He made a long shot," said I.
"A GOOD long shot," replied the Africander.
"Did you pace the distance?"
He laughed. "No," said he, "the old chap was immensely delighted. 'Eight
hundred yards if it was an inch!' he cried."
"How far was it?"
"About three hundred and fifty. But it was a long shot, all right."
And it was! Three hundred and fifty yards is a very long shot. It is
over four city blocks-New York size. But if you talk often enough and
glibly enough of "four and five hundred yards," it does not sound like
much, does it?
The same class of writer always gets all the thrills. He speaks of
"blanched cheeks," of the "thrilling suspense," and so on down the gamut
of the shilling shocker. His stuff makes good reading; there is no
doubt of that. The spellbound public likes it, and to that extent it has
fulfilled its mission. Also, the reader believes it to the letter-why
should he not? Only there is this curious result: he carries away in
his mind the impression of unreality, of a country impossible to
be understood and gauged and savoured by the ordinary human mental
equipment. It is interesting, just as are historical novels, or the
copper-riveted heroes of modern fiction, but it has no real relation
with human life. In the last analysis the inherent untruth of the
thing forces itself on him. He believes, but he does not apprehend; he
acknowledges the fact, but he cannot grasp its human quality. The affair
is interesting, but it is more or less concocted of pasteboard for his
amusement. Thus essential truth asserts its right.
All this, you must understand, is probably not a deliberate attempt
to deceive. It is merely the recrudescence under the stimulus of a
brand-new environment of the boyish desire to be a hero. When a man
jumps back into the Pleistocene he digs up some of his ancestors'
cave-qualities. Among these is the desire for personal adornment. His
modern development of taste precludes skewers in the ears and polished
wire around the neck; so he adorns himself in qualities instead. It is
quite an engaging and diverting trait of character. The attitude of mind
it both presupposes and helps to bring about is too complicated for my
brief analysis. In itself it is no more blameworthy than the small boy's
pretence at Indians in the back yard; and no more praiseworthy than
infantile decoration with feathers.
In its results, however, we are more concerned. Probably each of us has
his mental picture that passes as a symbol rather than an idea of the
different continents. This is usually a single picture-a deep river,
with forest, hanging snaky vines, anacondas and monkeys for the east
coast of South America, for example. It is built up in youth by chance
reading and chance pictures, and does as well as a pink place on the
map to stand for a part of the world concerning which we know nothing at
all. As time goes on we extend, expand, and modify this picture | 855.888183 |
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Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
CLEVELAND PAST AND PRESENT
Its Representative Men
Comprising Biographical Sketches of Pioneer Settlers and Prominent
Citizens
With a History of the City and Historical Sketches of Its Commerce,
Manufactures, Ship Building, Railroads, Telegraphy, Schools, Churches,
Etc., Profusely Illustrated with Photographic Views and Portraits
1869
Photographically Illustrated by E. Decker
Preface.
In many ways the story of the survey and first settlement of Cleveland has
been made familiar to the public. It has been told at pioneer gatherings,
reproduced in newspapers and periodicals, enlarged upon in directory
prefaces and condensed for works of topographical reference. Within a
short time Col. Charles Whittlesey has gathered up, collected, and
arranged the abundant materials for the Early History of Cleveland in a
handsome volume bearing that title.
But Col. Whittlesy's volume closes with the war of 1812, when Cleveland
was still a pioneer settlement with but a few families. The history of the
growth of that settlement to a village, its development into a commercial
port, and then into a large and flourishing city, with a busy population
of a hundred thousand persons, remained mostly unwritten, and no part of
it existing in permanent form. The whole period is covered by the active
lives of men yet with | 855.889007 |
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Produced by Al Haines
THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "TOM CRINGLE'S LOG."
[Transcriber's note: Author is Michael Scott]
"ON LIFE'S VAST OCEAN DIVERSELY WE SAIL,
REASON THE CARD, BUT PASSION IS THE GALE."
ESSAY ON MAN
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH;
AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXXVI.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO., PAUL'S WORK.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND.
CHAP.
I. A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE
II. A VISION--THE DYING BUCANIER
III. SCENES IN HAVANNA
IV. A CRUISE IN THE MOUNTAINS--EL CAFETAL
V. THE MOSQUITO
VI. SPIRITING AWAY--WHERE IS THE BALLAHOO?
VII. THE DEVIL'S GULLY
VIII. MY UNCLE
IX. OCCIDENTAL VAGARIES
X. THE MOONBEAM
XI. THE BREAKING WAVE
XII. THE END OF THE YARN
THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.
CHAPTER I.
A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.
I must either have been weaker, or the opiate stronger than the doctor
expected, for it was near midnight before I awoke. Although still very
low and faint, I felt much refreshed and invigorated. For some time I
lay enjoying the coolness of the night air, and listening to the
chirping of the crickets, in the crevices of the lofty roof. There was
not the smallest noise besides to be heard in the house, and every
thing without was equally still. At my bedside, on the right hand,
there stood a small old-fashioned ebony table, inlaid with
mother-of-pearl, with several phials, a bottle of wine, and glasses on
it, an open book, the leaves kept down on one side by a most enticing
uncut pine-apple, and a large brown wax candle, burning dimly in its
tall massive silver candlestick. A chair of the same substance and
antique character, and richly carved, was set beside this table, over
the high perpendicular back of which hung a seaman's jacket, and a
black silk neckerchief, as if the wearer had recently been reading
beside me, and very possibly watching me. I listened--all continued
silent; and I turned, but still with great pain, towards the open
window or balcony that projected into and overhung the neighbouring
thoroughfare. The moonlight streamed through the casement, and, with a
sensation of ineffable pleasure, I gloated on the bright stars beyond,
deep set into the dark blue sky, while the cool night breeze, charged
with the odour of the pine-apple, breathed gently, and oh! how passing
sweetly, on my feverish temples!
From the pain experienced in moving, I only turned half-round, and
therefore lay in a position that prevented my seeing more than the
upper part of the large window; but I gradually slewed myself, so as to
lie more on my side. "Heaven and earth, there he is again!" My heart
fluttered and beat audibly. My breathing became impeded and irregular,
and large drops of ice-cold perspiration burst from my forehead and
face; for _there_, with his head leaning on his hand, his arm resting
on the window sill, and motionless as the timber on which he reclined,
his beautiful features upturned towards the pale cold moon, and full in
the stream of her mild effulgence, sat the apparition of young Henry De
Walden! I tried to speak, but my breath failed, and a sudden giddiness
came over me. "I am gone at last," thought I. "I know what his coming
twice betokens--Henry, I will soon be with you!"
* * * * *
I had fainted away. When I again opened my eyes, I was so dizzy and
confused, that I did not know where I was. My wound was giving me
great pain, and I turned with difficulty on my other side, towards
where the table stood. Believing that I was fast dying, and that I
should soon be " | 855.982331 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
IN THE WILDERNESS
By Robert Hichens
BOOK I--HERMES AND THE CHILD
CHAPTER I
Amedeo Dorini, the hall porter of the Hotel Cavour in Milan, stood on
the pavement before the hotel one autumn afternoon in the year 1894,
waiting for the omnibus, which had gone to the station, and which was
now due to return, bearing--Amedeo hoped--a load of generously inclined
travelers. During the years of his not unpleasant servitude Amedeo had
become a student of human nature. He had learnt to judge shrewdly and
soundly, to sum up quickly, to deliver verdicts which were not unjust.
And now, as he saw the omnibus, with its two fat brown horses, coming
slowly along by the cab rank, and turning into the Piazza that is
presided over by Cavour's statue, he prepared almost mechanically to
measure and weigh evidence, to criticize and come to a conclusion.
He glanced first at the roof of the omnibus to take stock of the luggage
pile there. There was plenty of it, and a good deal of it was leather
and reassuring. Amedeo had a horror of tin trunks--they usually gave
such small tips. Having examined the luggage he sent a searching glance
to two rows of heads which were visible inside the vehicle. The brawny
porters hurried out, the luggage chute was placed in position, the
omnibus door was opened, and the first traveler stepped forth.
A German of the most economical type, large, red and wary, with a mouth
like a buttoned-up pocket, was followed by a broad-waisted wife, with
dragged hair and a looped-up gown. Amedeo's smile tightened. A Frenchman
followed them, pale and elaborate, a "one-nighter," as Amedeo instantly
decided in his mind. Such Frenchmen are seldom extravagant in hotels.
This gentleman would want a good room for a small price, would be
extremely critical about the cooking, and have a wandering eye and a
short memory for all servants in the morning.
An elderly Englishwoman was the fourth personage to appear. She was
badly dressed in black, wore a tam-o'-shanter with a huge black-headed
pin thrust through it, clung to a bag, smiled with amiable patronage as
she emerged, and at once, without reason, began to address Amedeo and
the porters in fluent, incorrect, and too carefully pronounced Italian.
Amedeo knew her--the Tabby who haunts Swiss and Italian hotels, the
eternal Tabby drastically complete.
A gay Italian is gaiety in flight, a human lark with a song. But a
gloomy Italian is oppressive and almost terrible. Despite the training
of years Amedeo's smile flickered and died out. A ferocious expression
surged up in his dark eyes as he turned rather bruskly to scrutinize
without hope the few remaining clients. But suddenly his face cleared as
he heard a buoyant voice say in English:
"I'll get out first, Godfather, and give you a hand."
On the last word, a tall and lithe figure stepped swiftly, and with a
sort of athletic certainty, out of the omnibus, turned at once towards
it, and, with a movement eloquent of affection and almost tender
reverence, stretched forth an arm and open hand.
A spare man of middle height, elderly, with thick gray hair, and a
clean-shaven, much-lined face, wearing a large loose overcoat and soft
brown hat, took the hand as he emerged. He did not need it; Amedeo
realized that, realized also that he was glad to take it, enjoyed
receiving this kind and unnecessary help.
"And now for Beatrice!" he said.
And he gave in his turn a hand to the girl who followed him.
There were still two people in the omnibus, the elderly man's Italian
valet and an Englishman. As the latter got out, and stretched his limbs
cramped with much sitting, he saw Amedeo, with genuine smiles, escorting
the two girls and the elderly man towards the glass-roofed hall, on the
left of which was the lift. The figure of the girl who had stepped out
first was about to disappear. As the Englishman looked she vanished.
But he had time to realize that a gait, the carriage of a head and its
movement in turning, can produce on an observer a moral effect. A joyous
sanity came to him from this unknown girl and made him feel joyously
sane. It seemed to sweep over him, like a cool and fresh breeze of the
sea falling through pine woods, to lift from him some of the dust of
his journey. He resolved to give the remainder of the dust to the public
garden, told his name, Dion Leith, to the manager, learnt that the room
he had ordered was ready for him, had his luggage sent up to it, and
then made his way to the trees on the far side of the broad road which
skirts the hotel. When he was among them he took off his hat, kept it
in his hand, and, so, strolled on down the almost deserted paths. As
he walked he tasted the autumn, not with any sadness, but with an
appreciation that was almost voluptuous. He was at a time of life and
experience, when, if the body is healthy, the soul is untroubled by
care, each season of the year holds its thrill for the strongly beating
heart, its tonic gift for the mind. Falling leaves were handfuls of gold
for this man. The faint chill in the air as evening drew on turned his
thoughts to the brightness and warmth | 855.982934 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.0668460 | 2,433 | 6 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Supplemental Nights, Volume 5 by
Richard F. Burton
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Title: Supplemental Nights, Volume 5
Author: Richard F. Burton
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If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of
receiving it, | 856.086886 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.1617930 | 1,050 | 25 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*JOHN HERRING*
_A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_
BY SABINE BARING-GOULD
AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH'
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1883
[All rights reserved]
*CONTENTS*
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER
XXI. The Cub
XXII. Moonshine and Diamonds
XXIII. Paste
XXIV. The Oxenham Arms
XXV. A Levee
XXVI. The Shekel
XXVII. Cobbledick's Rheumatics
XXVIII. Caught in the Act
XXIX. A Race
XXX. Between Cup and Lip
XXXI. Joyce's Patient
XXXII. Destitute
XXXIII. Transformation
XXXIV. Herring's Stockings
XXXV. Beggary
XXXVI. Mirelle's Guests
XXXVII. A Second Summons
XXXVIII. A Virgin Martyr
XXXIX. Welltown
XL. Noel! Noel!
*JOHN HERRING.*
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*THE CUB.*
Mirelle was conscious of a change in Trecarrel towards her. She ceased
to engross his attentions, which were now directed towards Orange. She
could not recall anything she had said or done that would account for
this change. When the Captain was alone with her, he was full of
sympathy and tenderness as before, but this was only when they were
alone. Trecarrel argued with himself that it would be unfair and
ungentlemanly to throw her over abruptly. He would lower her into the
water little by little, but the souse must come eventually. Some of the
martyrs were let down inch by inch into boiling pitch, others were cast
in headlong, and the fate of the latter was the preferable, and the
judge who sentenced to it was the most humane. Mirelle suffered. For
the first time in her life her heart had been roused, and it threw out
its fibres towards Trecarrel for support. She was young, an exile,
among those who were no associates, and he was the only person to whom
she could disclose her thoughts and with whom she could converse as an
equal. He had met her with warmth and with assurances of sympathy. Of
late he had drawn back, and she had been left entirely to herself,
whilst his attention was engrossed by Orange Tramplara.
But Orange, with no small spice of vindictiveness in her nature, urged
the Captain to show civility to Mirelle. She knew the impression
Trecarrel had made on her cousin's heart, and, now that she was sure of
the Captain, she was ready to encourage him to play with and torture her
rival. Women are only cruel to their own sex, and towards them they are
remorseless.
'Do speak to Mirelle, she is so lonely. She does not get on with us.
She does not understand our ways, she is Frenchified,' said Orange, with
an amiable smile. The Captain thought this very kind of his betrothed,
and was not slow to avail himself of the permission. Nevertheless,
Mirelle perceived the insincerity of his profession. She was unaware of
the engagement. This had not been talked about, and was by her
unsuspected. Orange was well aware of the fascination exerted over
Trecarrel by Mirelle: she knew that her own position with him had been
threatened, almost lost. She was unable to forgive her cousin for her
unconscious rivalry. She did not attempt to forgive her. She sought the
surest means of punishing her. Mirelle was uneasy and unhappy. She
considered all that had passed between her and Trecarrel. He had not
professed more than fraternal affection, but his manner had implied more
than his words had expressed. She became silent and abstracted, not more
than usual towards the Trampleasures, for she had never spoken more than
was necessary to them, nor had opened to them in the least, but silent
before Trecarrel, and abstracted from her work at all times. The frank
confidence she had accorded him was withdrawn, their interchange of
ideas interrupted. She found herself now with no one to whom she could
unfold, and she suffered the more acutely for having allowed herself to
open at all. She began now to wish that | 856.181833 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.1636310 | 60 | 6 | 2) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
JOHN INGLESANT
A Romance
by
John Henry Shorthouse
[Greek: Agapetoi, nun tekna Theou esmen, kai
oupo ephanerothe | 856.183671 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.2586310 | 1,025 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN
Written by Herself
Being the Historic Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Madame de Montespan----Etching by Mercier
Hortense Mancini----Drawing in the Louvre
Madame de la Valliere----Painting by Francois
Moliere----Original Etching by Lalauze
Boileau----Etching by Lalauze
A French Courtier----Photogravure from a Painting
Madame de Maintenon----Etching by Mercier from Painting by Hule
Charles II.----Original Etching by Ben Damman
Bosseut----Etching by Lalauze
Louis XIV. Knighting a Subject----Photogravure from a Rare Print
A French Actress----Painting by Leon Comerre
Racine----Etching by Lalauze
BOOK 1.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Historians have, on the whole, dealt somewhat harshly with the
fascinating Madame de Montespan, perhaps taking their impressions from
the judgments, often narrow and malicious, of her contemporaries. To help
us to get a fairer estimate, her own "Memoirs," written by herself, and
now first given to readers in an English dress, should surely serve.
Avowedly compiled in a vague, desultory way, with no particular regard to
chronological sequence, these random recollections should interest us, in
the first place, as a piece of unconscious self-portraiture. The cynical
Court lady, whose beauty bewitched a great King, and whose ruthless
sarcasm made Duchesses quail, is here drawn for us in vivid fashion by
her own hand, and while concerned with depicting other figures she really
portrays her own. Certainly, in these Memoirs she is generally content
to keep herself in the background, while giving us a faithful picture of
the brilliant Court at which she was for long the most lustrous ornament.
It is only by stray touches, a casual remark, a chance phrase, that we,
as it were, gauge her temperament in all its wiliness, its egoism, its
love of supremacy, and its shallow worldly wisdom. Yet it could have
been no ordinary woman that held the handsome Louis so long her captive.
The fair Marquise was more than a mere leader of wit and fashion. If she
set the mode in the shape of a petticoat, or devised the sumptuous
splendours of a garden fete, her talent was not merely devoted to things
frivolous and trivial. She had the proverbial 'esprit des Mortemart'.
Armed with beauty and sarcasm, she won a leading place for herself at
Court, and held it in the teeth of all detractors.
Her beauty was for the King, her sarcasm for his courtiers. Perhaps
little of this latter quality appears in the pages bequeathed to us,
written, as they are, in a somewhat cold, formal style, and we may assume
that her much-dreaded irony resided in her tongue rather than in her pen.
Yet we are glad to possess these pages, if only as a reliable record of
Court life during the brightest period of the reign of Louis Quatorze.
As we have hinted, they are more, indeed, than this. For if we look
closer we shall perceive, as in a glass, darkly, the contour of a subtle,
even a perplexing, personality.
P. E. P.
HISTORIC COURT MEMOIRS.
MADAME DE MONTESPAN.
CHAPTER I.
The Reason for Writing These Memoirs.--Gabrielle d'Estrees.
The reign of the King who now so happily and so gloriously rules over
France will one day exercise the talent of the most skilful historians.
But these men of genius, deprived of the advantage of seeing the great
monarch whose portrait they fain would draw, will search everywhere among
the souvenirs of contemporaries and base their judgments upon our
testimony. It is this great consideration which has made me determined
to devote some of my hours of leisure to narrating, in these accurate and
truthful Memoirs, the events of which I myself am witness.
Naturally enough, the position which I fill at the great theatre of the
Court has made me the object of much false admiration, and much real
satire. Many men who owed to me their elevation or their success have
defamed me; many women have belittled my position after vain efforts to
secure the King's regard. In what I now write, scant notice will be
taken of all such ingratitude. Before my establishment at | 856.278671 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.2646590 | 824 | 40 |
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Corsetiere, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 35965-h.htm or 35965-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35965/35965-h/35965-h.htm)
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ABROAD AT HOME
by
JULIAN STREET
* * * * *
THE NEED OF CHANGE
Fifth Anniversary Edition. Illustrated by James Montgomery Flagg.
Cloth, 50 cents net. Leather, $1.00 net.
PARIS A LA CARTE
"Gastronomic promenades" in Paris. Illustrated by May Wilson
Preston. Cloth, 60 cents net.
WELCOME TO OUR CITY
Mr. Street plays host to the stranger in New York. Illustrated by
James Montgomery Flagg and Wallace Morgan. Cloth, $1.00 net.
SHIP-BORED
Who hasn't been? Illustrated by May Wilson Preston. Cloth, 50 cents
net.
ABROAD AT HOME
Cheerful ramblings and adventures in American cities
and other places. Illustrated by Wallace Morgan. Cloth, $2.50 net.
For Children
THE GOLDFISH
A Christmas story for children between six and sixty.
Illustrations and page Decorations. Cloth, 70 cents net.
* * * * *
[Illustration: The St. Francis at tea-time.--With her hotels San
Francisco is New York, but with her people she is San Francisco--which
comes near being the apotheosis of praise]
ABROAD AT HOME
American Ramblings, Observations, and Adventures of Julian Street
With Pictorial Sidelights by Wallace Morgan
[Illustration]
New York
The Century Co.
1915
Copyright, 1914, by
The Century Co.
Copyright, 1914, by
P. F. Collier & Son, Inc.
Published, November, 1914
TO MY FATHER
the companion of my first railroad journey
The Author takes this opportunity to thank the old friends, and the new
ones, who assisted him in so many ways, upon his travels. Especially, he
makes his affectionate acknowledgment to his wise and kindly companion,
the Illustrator, whose admirable drawings are far from being his only
contribution to this volume.
--J. S.
New York,
October, 1914.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
STEPPING WESTWARD
I STEPPING WESTWARD 3
II BIFURCATED BUFFALO 21
III CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS 40
IV MORE CLEVELAND CHARACTERISTICS 48
MICHIGAN MEANDERINGS
V DETROIT THE DYNAMIC 65
VI AUTOMOBILES AND ART 77
VII THE MAECENAS OF THE MOTOR 91
VIII THE CURIOUS CITY OF BATTLE CREEK 105
IX KALAMAZOO 121
X GRAND RAPIDS THE "ELECT" 127
CHICAGO
XI A MIDDLE-WESTERN MIRACLE 139
XII FIELD'S AND THE "TRIBUNE" 150
XIII THE STOCKYARDS 164
XIV THE HONORABLE HINKY DINK 173
XV AN OLYMPIAN PLAN 181
XVI LOOKING BACKWARD 187
"IN MIZZOURA"
XVII SOMNOLENT ST | 856.284699 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.4614270 | 1,039 | 6 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project (http://mormontextsproject.org/)
PICTURE: LIGHT OF THE WORLD, Hunt
WHAT JESUS
TAUGHT
Written for The Deseret Sunday School Union
by
OSBORNE J. P. WIDTSOE
Author of
"The Restoration of the Gospel," Etc.
Published by
THE DESERET SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION
SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
{4}
FOREWORD
No other teacher in the history of the world has wielded so profound an
influence upon humanity as has Jesus the Christ. Practically the whole
world has been Christianized. His doctrines have entered not only into
households but also into governments and nations. But the Christianity
that prevails generally, is the doctrine of Jesus highly merged with
the opinions of men. Indeed, the world's Christianity is often more
largely man-made than Christ-made. A perfect knowledge of Jesus cannot
be gained, however, until men learn more about what He Himself taught,
and less about what scholars have said about His doctrine.
This little book is an attempt modestly to present in popular form the
teachings of Jesus. It is intended for boys and girls of high-school
age. It is to be understood, then, that there is here no exhaustive
treatise of the teachings of Jesus; nor is there conducted a study and
investigation of profound scholarship. Such a work from the Mormon
point of view must be deferred, if desirable at all. But it is hoped
that what Jesus taught--in part at least--is here presented simply
and plainly and truly, so that anyone who reads may understand. It is
further hoped that the writing of these lessons has been "moved by
the Holy Ghost," so that those who read them may learn to love the
teachings of Jesus, and to know and to love God, and His Son, Jesus,
whom He sent to redeem the world. "Worship God: for the testimony of
Jesus is the spirit of prophecy." O. J. P. W.
Salt Lake City, December 12, 1917.
{5}
The Illustrations
Light of the World.
1. Christ and the Doctors.
2. Nazareth, Palestine.
3. Simeon Blessing the Lord.
4. Jesus and the Woman of Samaria.
5. Jesus and Nicodemus.
6. Christ Healing the Blind Man.
7. The Sower.
8. The Temptation of Christ.
9. Market Scene at Bethlehem.
10. The Forgiving Father.
11. The Consoling Christ.
12. Jesus Praying.
13. The River Jordan, Palestine.
14. "Lord, Help Me."
15. Raising the Dead.
16. The Garden of Gethsemane.
17. Baptism of Jesus.
18. None.
19. Jesus and the Fishermen.
20. Christ's Charge to Peter.
21. Christ Teaching from a Boat.
22. "Consider the Lilies."
23. Christ and the Rich Young Ruler.
24. Lazarus at the Rich Man's House.
25. The Sermon on the Mount.
26. None.
27. Jesus Blessing Little Children.
28. Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives.
29. The Good Samaritan.
30. Christ in the Home of Mary and Martha.
31. Jesus Washing Peter's Feet.
32. The Wise and the Foolish Virgins.
33. Christ Driving Out the Money-Changers.
34. Jesus Healing the Sick.
35. Christ before Pilate.
36. Touch Me Not.
37. The Good Shepherd.
38. Come Unto Me All Ye That Labor.
39. The Ascension.
40. Angel Moroni.
{6}
Table of Contents
I
His Father's Business
Testimony of Napoleon--Universal worship of Jesus--Purpose of this
book--Duties of Jesus at age of twelve--Jesus in the temple--His
Father's business--What is eternal life?--Special mission of Jesus.
II
What It Means to Know God
Abraham's determination to serve God--God Himself--God of Abraham and
of Isaac and of Jacob--First Commandment--What does it mean to know
Jesus Christ?--Necessary to understand God's plan--Divine mission of
Jesus--What we would do if we had learned to know God and Jesus--The
condition of eternal life.
III
The God of Israel
A very important question--The truth is simple and easy--Jesus's
explanation of God--The testimony of Paul--God is our Father--A real
joy to know the true God.
IV
What Jesus Said of Himself
Jesus's testimony to the woman of Samaria--The testimony of the people
of Sychar--Jesus taught always that He is the Christ--The answer
to John--The confessions at the trials of Jesus--And on the way to
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Produced by Demian Katz, Joseph Rainone and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note: This story was first serialized in the _Boys of New
York_ story paper and was later reprinted as Vol. I, No. 70 in _The New
York Detective Library_ published November 16, 1883 by Frank Tousey.
This e-text is derived from the reprinted edition.
SHADOW,
THE MYSTERIOUS DETECTIVE.
By POLICE CAPTAIN HOWARD,
Author of "Old Mystery," "Young Sleuth," "The Silver Dagger,"
"A Piece of Paper," "The Broken Button," etc., etc.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY.
CHAPTER I. A MURDER.
CHAPTER II. MAT MORRIS.
CHAPTER III. SHADOW--WHO WAS HE?
CHAPTER IV. OUT OF THE LION'S JAWS.
CHAPTER V. HELEN DILT.
CHAPTER VI. THE REMEMBERED BILLS.
CHAPTER VII. A HAPPY MOMENT.
CHAPTER VIII. A NARROW ESCAPE.
CHAPTER IX. IN THE BLACK HOLE.
CHAPTER X. FAVORING FORTUNE.
CHAPTER XI. IN THE MAD-HOUSE.
CHAPTER XII. SHADOW.
CHAPTER XIII. IN A BAD BOX.
CHAPTER XIV. DICK STANTON.
CHAPTER XV. A FIEND IN HUMAN SHAPE.
CHAPTER XVI. DISAPPOINTED AGAIN.
CHAPTER XVII. HELEN'S TORTURE.
CHAPTER XVIII. PUZZLED.
CHAPTER XIX. IN DEADLY PERIL.
CHAPTER XX. STILL SEARCHING.
CHAPTER XXI. FUN!
CHAPTER XXII. OUT OF JEOPARDY.
CHAPTER XXIII. WEAVING THE NET.
CHAPTER XXIV. "HELP IS HERE!"
CHAPTER XXV. MAN OR WOMAN?
CHAPTER XXVI. CORNERED CRIMINALS.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED.
INTRODUCTORY.
Again I have been called on to entertain my wide circle of young
friends, by relating another story of detective life. Before plunging
into my story, I have thought it best to address a few words to you
personally, and about myself.
It is held as a rule that an author should never introduce himself
into the story he is writing, and yet I find, on looking back, that in
nearly all of my recent stories I have described myself as playing a
more or less conspicuous part.
And yet I could not avoid doing so, as I can plainly see, without
having detracted somewhat of interest from the stories.
As I sit here now, prepared to commence, the question arises: "Shall I
keep myself in the background, out of sight, or shall I bring myself
in, just as I actually took part in the strange story of
"'SHADOW, THE MYSTERIOUS DETECTIVE?'"
Well, I don't know, but I think it may be just as well to introduce
myself when necessary, since when I write thus I feel that my pen is
talking to you instead of at you. And, besides, I think that to you the
story is more realistic.
Am I right?
Don't each of you feel now as if I had written you a personal letter?
And are you not satisfied that there is only one Police Captain Howard,
and he that one who now speaks to you?
I am sure of it.
And now for the story.
CHAPTER I.
A MURDER.
It was a dark and stormy night. The rain fell heavily and steadily, and
what wind there was roamed through the streets with a peculiar, moaning
sound.
It was after the midnight hour.
Not a light was to be seen in any of the houses, nor was there any
sound to be heard save that produced by the falling rain, and that
soughing of the wind--not unlike the sighs and moans of some uneasy
spirit unable to rest in the grave.
It was as disagreeable a night as I ever saw. And I could not help
shuddering as I hurried homeward through the storm, with bent head, for
I felt somewhat as if I were passing through a city of the dead.
This heavy silence--except for the noises mentioned--was very
oppressive; and, while I gave a start, I was also conscious of a sense
of relief, when I heard a human voice shouting:
"Help--help!"
I paused short.
My head having been bent, the cry coming so unexpectedly, I could not
locate its direction.
Presently it came again.
"Help, for Heaven's sake, help!"
Off I dashed to the rescue.
Crack!
Then came a wild wail.
Crack!
Then I heard a thud, as of a human being falling heavily to the
sidewalk. And as the person uttered no further cries, one of two things
must be the case--he was either insensible or dead.
I increased my pace, and presently turning a corner, saw a burly fellow
just dragging a body beneath a gas-lamp, the better to enable him to
secure the plunder on his victim's body.
The assassin had already secured most of the stricken man's valuables,
when my rapid approach alarmed him, and jumping up, he sprang along the
street at a break-neck pace.
Crack!
Crack!
I had drawn a revolver, and I sent a couple of bullets after him,
hoping to wing him, as well as to extend the alarm which his shots must
already have raised.
A policeman put in an appearance some distance down the street, but the
flying murderer took a running leap at him, tumbled him head over heels
into the gutter, and then succeeded in making his escape.
When I compared notes with the policeman, I found that neither of
us had distinctly enough seen the murderer to be able to give any
description of him whatever, save that he was a chunky-built man, and
seemed roughly dressed.
We were not surprised, on examining into the prostrate man's condition,
to find him dead.
Right in the center of his forehead was a small hole, edged with
drying, clotted blood, which mutely said:
"Here entered the fatal messenger from a death-dealing weapon."
The body was conveyed to the station-house, there to remain until it
was claimed or conveyed to the morgue.
An examination of the pockets resulted in our learning that his name
was Tom Smith. As to his residence, we could find no clew from anything
he had on his person, or by consulting the directory.
About two o'clock the next afternoon, a wild-eyed woman entered the
station-house, and, in trembling tones, asked to see the body.
I was present at the time, and my heart went out in pity to the
pale-faced woman--or perhaps I should say girl, for she certainly had
not seen her twentieth birthday.
She disappeared into the inner room where the body was lying, and a few
seconds later I heard a low and anguished cry. Then I knew that she had
recognized the poor fellow as some one who was near and dear to her.
Kindly hands drew her away from beside the body, and when I saw her
again her face was convulsed with anguish, and tears were streaming
from her eyes.
For fully half an hour she continued weeping, and not a man of us was
there who did not feel uncomfortable. We did not venture to console
her, for it seemed like sacrilege to intrude on her during the first
period of her sorrow.
Then her sobbing became less loud, and gradually she subdued the more
demonstrative expressions of grief.
She finally lifted her head, and in a hollow voice asked to hear the
story of his death.
The captain briefly outlined what was known, and she calmly listened to
the tale.
"Can I see the person who first reached him?" she asked, when the
captain had finished.
"Yes," was the reply. "Detective Howard here is the man you want."
She wished to see me alone, and I conducted her into another room.
Arrived here, she begged me minutely to relate what had happened; and,
exhibiting a singular self-control, asked for as close a description of
the assassin as I could give.
"You knew him very well?" said I, when an opportunity occurred.
"Yes."
"Perhaps he was your brother?"
"No," she said, and a faint flush flitted into her pallid face for an
instant. "No," and then her voice sank to a whisper, "he was to have
been my husband."
"Ah! And now, miss, you don't suppose that the assassin could have been
an enemy of his? Did he have any enemies, who might rob him, as a blind
to cover up their real motive?"
"Tom have an enemy? No--no--he was too good and kind for that. It was
done by some murderous wretch for the sake of plunder. Tom must have
resisted being robbed, and the ruffian killed him."
"That is my own theory. And--I do not wish to pain you, miss--but what
about the body? Has he any family or relations?"
"No, none in this world. He and I were all in all to each other," and
the eyes of the girl became moist again; but she fought back the tears,
and quite calmly said:
"I will take care of the body."
Then a troubled expression crossed her face; and, to make a long story
short, I gained her confidence, learned that she had not enough to
properly inter her lover, and loaned her the money.
With tears of gratitude in her eyes, she thanked me, and every word
came straight from her heart.
Her name was Nellie Millbank, she said, and she was utterly alone in
the world. Until several days before, she had been employed in a store,
but had then been discharged.
Tom was a clerk, but had only a small salary, as soon as which was
raised they were to have been married. He had been to see her on that
fatal night, to tell her he had obtained a day off, and was going to
take her on an excursion on the morrow.
She had been dressed and waiting for him, but he had not come.
Alarmed, for he had always kept his word, she knew not what to do, nor
what to think, until, having bought an afternoon paper, she saw an
account of the shooting.
This was her simple history.
After the inquest, the body was delivered to her, and then she faded
from my sight and knowledge for a long while. Exactly how long, the
ensuing chapters will inform you.
CHAPTER II.
MAT MORR | 856.57941 |
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THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.
_Editor of "The Expositor"_
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III._
PSALM XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown_ 8_vo, cloth, price_ $1.50 _each vol._
FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.
Colossians.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D.
St. Mark.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
Genesis.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
1 Samuel.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
2 Samuel.
By the same Author.
Hebrews.
By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.
SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.
Galatians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Pastoral Epistles.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Isaiah I.-XXXIX.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.
The Book of Revelation.
By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.
1 Corinthians.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
The Epistles of St. John.
By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.
THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.
Judges and Ruth.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Jeremiah.
By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.
Isaiah XL.-LXVI.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.
St. Matthew.
By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.
Exodus.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
St. Luke.
By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.
FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.
Ecclesiastes.
By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.
St. James and St. Jude.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Proverbs.
By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
Leviticus.
By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.
FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.
1 and 2 Thessalonians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
The Book of Job.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Ephesians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.
SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.
1 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Philippians.
By Principal RAINY, D.D.
Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Joshua.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.
The Epistles of St. Peter.
By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.
SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.
2 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Romans.
By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.
The Books of Chronicles.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
2 Corinthians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
Numbers.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.
EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.
Daniel.
By the Ven. Archdeacon F. W. FARRAR.
The Book of Jeremiah.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
Deuteronomy.
By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.
The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Ezekiel.
By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.
The Minor Prophets.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III_
PSALMS XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
CONTENTS
PAGE
PSALM XC. 3
" XCI. 14
" XCII. 26
" XCIII. 33
" XCIV. 38
" XCV. 48
" XCVI. 55
" XCVII. 60
" XCVIII. 68
" XCIX. 71
" C. 78
" CI. 81
" CII. 87
" CIII. 101
" CIV. 111
" CV. 124
" CVI. 137
" CVII. 155
" CVIII. 169
" CIX. 172
" CX. 183
" CXI. 193
" CXII. 198
" CXIII. 205
" CXIV. 210
" CXV. 214
" CXVI. 221
" CXVII. 229
" CXVIII. 231
" CXIX. 244
" CXX. 292
" CXXI. 297
" CXXII. 303
" CXXIII. 307
" CXXIV. 310
" CXXV. 313
" CXXVI. 318
" CXXVII. 323
" CXXVIII. 327
" CXXIX. 331
" CXXX. 335
" CXXXI. 341
" CXXXII. 344
" CXXXIII. 355
" CXXXIV. 359
" CXXXV. 361
" CXXXVI. 366
" CXXXVII. 370
" CXXXVIII. 376
" CXXXIX. 382
" CXL. 393
" CXLI. 398
" | 856.579602 |
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E-text prepared by Marc D'Hooghe (http://www.freeliterature.org) from page
images generously made available by HathiTrust Digital Library
(http://www.hathitrust.org/digital_library)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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http://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/001787881
THE GERMAN LIEUTENANT AND OTHER STORIES
by
AUGUST STRINDBERG
Translated by Claud Field
London
T. Werner Laurie Limited
8 Essex Street, Strand
1915
August Strindberg. Born at Stockholm, January 22, 1849;
died there, May 14, 1912. A Swedish dramatist and novelist,
a leader of modern Swedish literature. Among his plays
are "Master Olof" (1872), "Gilletshemlighet" (1880),
"Fadren" (1887), "Froken Julie" (1888), "Glaubiger"
(1889), "Till Damaskus" (1808), and a series of historical
dramas including "Gustavas Wasa," "Erik XIV.," "Gustavas
Adolphus," and "Carol XII." He wrote also "Roda rummet"
(1879), "Det nya riket" (1882), which provoked so much
criticism that the author left Sweden for a number of
years; "Svenska folket HELG OCH SOKEN" (1882), "GIFTAS"
(1884), "DIE BEICHTE EINES THOREN" (1893), "INFERNO"
(1897), written after one of his periodical attacks of
insanity; "EINSAM" (1903), an autobiographical novel; "DIE
GOTISCHEN ZIMMER" (1904), and many other volumes. He has
been called "the Shakspere of Sweden."
--_The Century Cyclopaedia of Names_.
CONTENTS
THE GERMAN LIEUTENANT
OVER-REFINEMENT
"UNWELCOME"
HIGHER AIMS
PAUL AND PETER
A FUNERAL
THE LAST SHOT
THE GERMAN LIEUTENANT
CHAPTER I
It was fourteen days after Sedan, in the middle of September, 1870. A
former clerk in the Prussian Geological Survey, later a lieutenant in
the reserve, named Von Bleichroden, sat in his shirt-sleeves before a
writing-table in the Cafe du Cercle, the best inn of the little town
Marlotte. He had thrown his military coat with its stiff collar over
the back of a chair, and there it hung limp, and collapsed like a
corpse, with its empty arms seeming to clutch at the legs of the chair
to keep itself from falling headlong. Round the body of the coat one
saw the mark of the sword-belt, and the left coat-tail was rubbed quite
smooth by the sheath. The back of the coat was as dusty as a high-road,
and the lieutenant-geologist might have studied the tertiary deposits
of the district on the edges of his much-worn trousers. When the
orderlies came into the room with their dirty boots, he could till by
the traces they left on the floor whether they had been walking over
Eocene or Pleiocene formations. He was really more a geologist than a
soldier, but for the present he was a letter-writer. He had pushed his
spectacles up to his forehead, sat with his pen at rest, and looked out
of the window.
The garden lay in all its autumn glory before him, and the branches of
the apple and pear trees bent with a load of the most splendid fruit to
the ground. Orange-red pumpkins sunned themselves close beside prickly
grey-green artichokes; fiery-red tomatoes clambered up sticks near
wool-white cauliflowers; sun-flowers as large as a plate were turning
their yellow disks towards the west, where the sun was beginning to
sink; whole companies of dahlias, white as fresh-starched linen,
purple-red like congealed blood, dirty-red like fresh-slaughtered
flesh, salmon-red, sulphur-yellow, flax-, mottled and speckled,
sang one great flower-concert. Then there was the sand-strewn path
lined by two rows of giant gilly-flowers; faintly lilac-,
dazzlingly ice-blue, and straw-yellow, they continued the perspective
to where the vineyards stood in their brownish-green array, a small
wood of thyrsus-staves with the reddened grape-clusters half hidden
under the leaves. Behind them were the whitening, unharvested stalks
of the cornfields, with the over-ripe ears of corn hanging sorrowfully
towards the ground, with wide-open husks and bractlets at every gust of
wind paying their tribute to the earth and bursting with their juices.
And far in the background were the oak-tree tops and the beechen arches
of the Forest of Fontainebleau, whose outlines melted away into the
finest denticulations, like old Brussels lace, into the extreme meshes
of which the horizontal rays of the evening sun wove gold threads. Some
bees were still visiting the splendid honey-flowers in the garden; a
robin-redbreast twittered in an apple tree; strong gusts of scent came
now and then from the gilly-flowers, as when one walks along a pavement
and the door of a scent-shop is opened.
The lieutenant sat with his pen at rest, visibly entranced by the
beautiful scene. "What a lovely land!" he thought, and his recollection
went back to the sandy plain of his home, diversified by some wretched
stunted firs which stretched their gnarled arms towards the sky as
though they implored the favour of not having to drown in the sand.
But the beautiful landscape which was framed in the window was shadowed
as regularly as clockwork by the musket of the sentry, whose bright,
shining bayonet bisected the picture, and who turned on his rounds
exactly under a pear tree heavily laden with the finest yellow-green
Napoleon pears.
The lieutenant thought for a moment of asking him to choose another
beat, but did not venture to do so; so in order to escape the flash of
the bayonet, he let his gaze wander to the left over the courtyard.
There stood the cook-house with its yellow-plastered wall, and an old
knotty vine spread out against it like the skeleton of some animal in a
museum; the vine was without leaves or clusters, and it stood there as
though crucified, nailed fast to the decaying espalier, stretching out
its long tough arms and fingers as though it wished to draw the sentry
into its ghostly embrace as he turned.
The lieutenant turned away and looked at his writing-table. There lay
the unfinished letter to his young wife whom he had married four months
previously, two months before the war broke out. Beside his field-glass
and the list of the French General Staff lay Hartmann's "Philosophy
of the Unconscious" and Schopenhauer's "Parerga and Paralipomena."
Suddenly he rose from the table and walked up and down the room. It
had been the meeting and dining-room of the artists' colony which had
now vanished. The wainscoting of the walls was adorned with little
oil-paintings recording happy hours in the beautiful hospitable country
which so generously opened its art-schools and its exhibitions to
foreigners. Here were depicted Spanish dancing-women, Roman monks,
scenes from the coasts of Normandy and Brittany, Dutch wind-mills,
Scandinavian fishing-villages and Swiss Alps. Into one corner had crept
an easel of walnut-wood, and seemed to be hiding itself in the shadow
from some threatening bayonets. A palette smeared with half-dried
colours hung there and looked like a liver hanging in a pork-shop. Some
red Spanish militia caps belonging to the painters, with the colour
half faded by exposure to the sun and rain, hung on the clothes-horse.
The lieutenant felt embarrassed, like one who has intruded into a
stranger's house, and expects the owner to come and surprise him. He
therefore abruptly ceased walking up and down and took his seat at the
table in order to continue his letter. He had finished the first pages,
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THE DIARY OF A TURK
[Illustration: PRINCES IN LANCERS' UNIFORM.]
THE DIARY OF A
TURK
BY
HALIL HALID, M.A., M.R.A.S.
CONTAINING EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1903
TO THE MEMORY OF
E. F. W. GIBB
ORIENTAL SCHOLAR, AND THE AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF OTTOMAN POETRY"
PREFACE
ALTHOUGH no Western Power has ever played a greater part in the
problems of the Ottoman Empire than Great Britain, yet in no other
country in Western Europe is Turkey more grossly misunderstood. I have
been many times asked by my English acquaintances to write a book on
Turkey from a Turkish point of view, and two ways of writing were
suggested to me: the one was to compile a detailed work, the other
to write a small and light book. To take the former advice was not
possible to me, as I found myself incapable of producing a great and
technical work. Besides, I thought that after all a small and lightly
written volume would have a larger circle of readers, and by its help I
could to some extent correct some of the mistaken ideas prevailing in
England about Turkey. Therefore I began to write this little volume in
the form of a book of travel, and I now bring it out under the title of
_The Diary of a Turk_. By this means I have been able to talk a little
on many matters connected with Turkey. Let the critic find other points
in this book on which to express his opinion, but do not let him charge
me with ignorance of the fact that the somewhat unexciting experiences
of an unknown man may be only of slight interest to the public.
In the chapter on women's affairs I have quoted a few paragraphs from
two articles which I contributed some time ago to two London weeklies,
the _Queen_ and the _Lady_, I render my thanks to the Editors of these
papers for kindly permitting me to reproduce them here.
H. H.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAG.
I. MY HOME IN ASIA MINOR 1
II. AT SCHOOL AND IN THE HAREM 23
III. THE HAREM AND WOMEN IN THE EAST 46
IV. I GO TO CONSTANTINOPLE AND PURSUE MY
STUDIES 75
V. A NEW PROFESSION AND THE QUESTION OF
CONSCRIPTION 97
VI. TURKEY'S INTERNAL DANGERS 118
VII. A NEW COSTUME AND A NEW CAREER 134
VIII. THE SUBLIME PORTE AND YILDIZ KIOSK 150
IX. THE CEREMONY OF THE SELAMLIK 164
X. THE SULTAN'S POLICY 175
XI. THE STRUGGLE WITH YOUNG-TURKEY 186
XII. ENGLAND AND THE CALIPHATE 200
XIII. A LAST VISIT TO ASIA MINOR 211
XIV. A SPY IN A BATH 225
XV. FLIGHT TO ENGLAND 238
XVI. A RETURN AND A SECOND FLIGHT 253
ILLUSTRATIONS
PRINCES IN LANCERS' UNIFORM Frontispiece
A PICKNICKING RESORT To face page 54
A VILLAGE WEDDING PROCESSION " " 70
A TURKISH CEMETERY " " 84
OFFICERS OF LANCERS " " 114
HAMIDIEH MOSQUE " " 172
AN OLD SERAGLIO " " 184
A WRESTLING MATCH IN OLDEN DAYS " " 220
THE DIARY OF A TURK
CHAPTER I.
MY HOME IN ASIA MINOR.
My Asiatic origin--My great-grandfather's religious
order--His miracles--My grandfather and Sultan Mahmud
II.--An ordeal by wine--My father's charitable
extravagance--His death--Primitive surgery in Asia
Minor--The original home of vaccination--My mother's
European ancestors--Writing a forbidden accomplishment
for women.
I was born in the ancient town of Angora, Asia Minor, famous not alone
for its silky-haired cats and goats, but also for its historical and
archæological importance, and with it my memories of early days, and
therefore the pages of my desultory journal, naturally begin. Men
of learning who have engaged in researches into the archæology and
biblical history of Asia Minor have come to the conclusion that this
town was once in the remote past the principal centre of a wandering
branch of the Celtic peoples who ultimately settled in Asia Minor.
Although, of course, it was conquered and held during later generations
by the Eastern invaders, it is even nowadays noticeable that there
is a difference, both of character and physique, between most of
the inhabitants of our province and those of other provinces, more
especially of Southern and Eastern Asia Minor. By remarking on this I
do not wish to seem to be trying to trace my origin to a European race,
though I am aware that many people in this country are unsympathetic,
and even, perhaps, prejudiced, where Orientals are concerned. My
paternal ancestors came across from Central Asia, and first settled in
Khorassan, in Persia. But as they were devout followers of the orthodox
creed of the Arabian Prophet they were subjected to the intolerant
oppression of the Persian Moslems, between whom and the orthodox
believers the history of Western Asia records many a sanguinary
feud, the result of their doctrinal antagonism. My ancestors were
compelled eventually to emigrate to Asia Minor over a hundred and
fifty years ago, and there they found a more hospitable reception. My
great-grandfather was the sheikh or head of a religious order called
_Halvati_, or, to give the name an English equivalent, "those who
worship in seclusion." The name arises from one of the strict rules
of the order, that its rites must not be displayed to the outside
public, doubtless a measure for the prevention of hypocrisy. Historical
research has traced the foundation of the order to Ali, the son-in-law
of Mohammed. Shortly after settling in Asia Minor the disciples of
the great sheikh increased to a number approaching eighty thousand,
and pilgrims came to his monastic dwelling from all the neighbouring
provinces. It was not only in Anatolia and Syria that his name was
honoured; he is mentioned with reverence in the books written in Egypt
at that time. It must not be imagined that he was a kind of _Mahdi_,
a name which is familiar in England on account of its having been
assumed by the late pretender in the Soudan. In the days gone by many
such Mahdis, or "redeemers," appeared in Western Asia and the Northern
half of Africa, disguising under this apostolic name their ambition of
attaining temporal power and worldly glory.
In spite of his having so great a number of disciples, my
great-grandfather lived, together with his immediate devotees, in
complete retirement. The Ottoman Sovereign of the time heard of him
and sent a messenger informing him that he wished to grant certain
pious endowments to his monastic institution in the little town of
Tcherkesh, which is situated half-way between Angora and the Black
Sea coast. My great-grandfather declined to receive such unnecessary
worldly assistance, and, according to one of the traditions concerning
his miraculous doings which used to be related in our family circle,
he struck his staff against the wall in the presence of the envoy of
the sovereign, and thereupon a stream of precious metal began to flow
down. He said to the envoy (who became a devoted disciple later on)
that he needed not such worldly things. There is another anecdote of
him which was told in my younger days. There was in our house a large
deerskin upon which my father used to prostrate himself during his
prayers. I often heard it said that this was the skin of the deer upon
which my great-grandfather, the holy hermit, was accustomed to ride
every Friday, the Sabbath day of our people, from his home in Asia
Minor to Mecca, in Arabia, to attend the Friday service in the sacred
sepulchre of the Prophet (on whose shrine be blessing!). Of course, I
quite believed these legends in my childhood. I can make no comment on
them now. "The responsibility of vouching for the fact lies with the
narrator," is an Arab saying often quoted by our Oriental historians
in relating extraordinary events. I must follow their example. It has,
however, always been a great grief to me that along with the deerskin
we did not inherit that useful staff.
My grandfather, whose views in his early days on the religious orders
did not coincide with those of his father, did not become a disciple
of the great hermit-sheikh, so the latter had to point out to him that
the rules of the order forbade his remaining any longer in the monastic
institution. He left the place accordingly, and joined a small caravan
which was starting off to the town of Angora, where he eventually
settled. It was a distance of four days' journey on camel-back. This
town was the centre of learning at that time, and there is there a
well-known shrine of a saint, whose name is Haji Beiram. Many thousands
of pilgrims visit his mausoleum every year. My grandfather did not know
anyone in the town, and had no means of supporting himself. He went to
the shrine, and after making a prayer at the graveside of the saint,
he became absorbed in contemplation and eventually slumbered. In his
dream he saw the saint, who asked him his name, and also whether he
could read. The answer to the second question was unsatisfactory, and
thereupon the saint gave him a lesson. On waking up my grandfather
went out and saw several students entering the adjacent _madrasseh_
or theological school. He followed them, and in the _madrasseh_ he
entered into conversation with one of the newly-made lecturers. In
these old-fashioned centres of learning the reputation of a lecturer
depends in great measure on the number of students who attend his
lectures. The lecturer took my grandfather, who was then little more
than a boy, into his class, and settled him in a room along with his
few other pupils. He studied in this _madrasseh_ very many years, and
ultimately became himself a professor of theology, philosophy, and the
temporal law of the Moslems. He made his fame largely by delivering
addresses in different mosques on the commentaries of the Koran, which
attracted large audiences. Many learned men, engaged in kindred studies
throughout Asiatic Turkey, used to apply to him for the solution of
difficult points. The representative of the sovereign in this town used
to pay him visits of respect, but he himself never in his life crossed
the threshold of a government office.
During the reign of Sultan Mahmud II., who ruled from 1808 till 1839,
there took place an imperial wedding at Constantinople to which persons
of distinction in all classes of society throughout the country were
invited. The chief physician of the Sultan (whose grandson is at
present attached as councillor to the Ottoman Embassy in London), who
had been a pupil of my grandfather's, noticed that his name was not
on the list, and strongly recommended his sovereign to invite him. A
courier set out for Asia Minor at once, and brought my grandfather to
the capital. A great banquet was given in the palace in honour of the
event to all the religious dignitaries and principal _Ulema_, that
is to say, the learned hierarchy of the realm. Mahmud II. devised a
curious plan for testing the fortitude and strength of character of
these pious people. During the banquet servants brought in bottles
filled with a red- liquid. Several guards with drawn swords
in their hands followed the attendants, and stood in the entrance.
The bewildered guests naturally did not know what to make of it, and
awaited events in anxious silence. Then, to their consternation, it
was solemnly announced that the liquid in the bottles was wine. Wine!
an abominable intoxicant, of which it is strictly forbidden to the
faithful to touch even a single drop! The pernicious fluid, which has
received from the Prophet himself the name of the "mother of evils"!
(I must explain, by the way, that Mahmud wished to remodel his empire.
After getting rid of those formidable opponents, the Janissaries, he
adopted not only some of the European methods of administration, but
also some of the Western customs and modes of life, and among other
things he ordered his officials and army to wear costumes and uniforms
made after the European style. This policy had already occasioned
disquietude and suspicion in the pious heads under turbans in Asia.)
When the wine was brought before that religiously sober assembly, an
announcement was made that "as the Sultan ruled on European soil he
wished to bring his country more into harmony with the Franks (all the
people of Western Europe are so called), and any unwillingness on the
part of his subjects would possibly hasten the decay of his empire.
It was, moreover, the desire of the sovereign that narrow-minded
superstition and the dislike of new things, even though they were
borrowed from the Franks, should disappear." The announcement was
concluded by the warning that those guests who should refuse to
drink wine would be regarded as rebellious against the will of their
sovereign. Face to face with this somewhat startling alternative,
the guests became pale of countenance and mute of tongue, for, be it
remembered, he who gave this order was a real autocrat, who had even
exterminated the awe-inspiring Janissaries. However, my grandfather
sprang up from his seat and said, "could not our sovereign find any
other virtues among the Franks worth imitating?" He pointed out,
moreover, that the law against drinking wine, the ordinance of the
faith, was given to them by an authority superior even to that of his
Majesty. He then started to go out, and while he was forcing his way
through the servants and guards, Sultan Mahmud, who was watching this
comedy literally from behind the scenes, suddenly stepped in smiling,
and, in order to dispel the fear of the white-bearded, green-turbaned
gentlemen, he said he simply meant to test the fortitude and character
of the people who were to guide his subjects in the paths of religion
and rectitude.
The Sultan later granted an audience to my grandfather, and asked him
to give lessons in the Arabic language to the imperial princes (among
whom was Abdul Mejid, who was Sultan during the Crimean campaign),
and urged him to settle in Constantinople, promising that he would
eventually make him Sheikh-ul-Islam, that is, the head of the religious
magistrates and learned hierarchy. But my grandfather prayed the
sovereign to pardon him for not accepting this honour, saying that
it was his earnest desire to pass his remaining days of life in
retirement and study. He only requested one boon--that he might be
granted the vacant headship of the madrasseh or college in which he had
studied for so many years, and with this, the enjoyment of the lands
devised to it by the Crown.
When my grandfather had returned to his own town, Sultan Mahmud, who
understood and appreciated his quiet contentment, wrote out with
his own hand a saying of the Prophet, had it illuminated, and sent
it to him as a present Roughly translated it runs as follows:--"The
Lord loveth the man of learning who is pious, contented, modest and
retiring." Subsequently, too, he granted my grandfather's request,
and, as an additional clause to the endowment, he made a provision
that these lands should be inherited as real estate by his posterity,
provided that they should, after attaining the age of twenty years,
qualify themselves by an examination before the proper authorities
on those subjects in which he was himself so well versed. The royal
firmans, with the imperial signature on them, beautifully written on
the finest vellum, are still in the possession of our family. These
lands came down to me and to my brothers, but, in spite of all
provisions to the contrary, they were confiscated during the reign
of the present Sultan, a reign which has been so conspicuous for the
suppression of the civil rights and the oppression of the person of the
individual.
We sued the Government to get our property back, and spent all our
money in different courts over lawsuits which lasted fifteen years,
but we could not have expected to succeed, for, as a Turkish poet
has written,--
When the judge is the defendant and the witnesses
are bought,
How can you look for justice from the interested court?
When my grandfather died at the age of eighty-two my own father
inherited the endowed estate; he was not so learned and able as his
father. His only brother, having entered into the Government service,
forfeited his share. My father suffered from an excess of charity,
and in helping others he expended the greater portion of the revenue
of his own estate as well as a part of my mother's private income.
His charitable extravagance became at length so inordinate that he
could not even dine without inviting every day many guests, no matter
whether their position was humble or the reverse. When he died, killed
by the murderous attack of a drunken Government official, he left us
practically nothing but the endowed lands, which he could not have
sold, and these lands, as I pointed out before, were taken over by the
Government of the present Sultan. We were relieved from want by the
fact that the bulk of my mother's property remained intact Fortunately
my father had not been able to squander it.
I was nine years old when the drunken official attacked him, and
so caused his death, which happened thus:--One evening a few women
visitors came to call on my mother. As it is our custom in the East
to keep our women strictly secluded, my father had to retire before
these veiled visitors entered. He asked me to come out with him to
spend the evening with some neighbouring friends, and there we saw the
intoxicated man. My father had a very great abhorrence of drunkenness
and drunkards, and he could not bear to be in the same room with the
man, who was violently drunk and shouting and singing. A quarrel arose
between them. The man attacked my father, and caught him by his long
white beard. My father pushed the assailant back, and in doing so
accidentally put his thumb into the drunkard's mouth, with the result
that he was badly bitten. Although Asia Minor was the cradle of some
of the ancient civilisations, it has not profited from the facilities
afforded to mankind by modern discoveries. There was no surgeon in our
town properly qualified by scientific training, and so my father's
thumb lacked proper treatment.
The only medical men were, as a rule, barbers, who added to their
proper profession that of letting blood for their customers when it was
considered necessary. Bleeding of course used to be in favour in Europe
generally, and it is still largely practised in the East. There are a
great many people in my native country who think that a periodical loss
of blood purifies the system, and have themselves bled accordingly. The
early part of the summer is a favourite time for the operation, before
the season for eating fresh fruit arrives. Blood is let either by a
lancet, or else by means of leeches which are applied to the arms and
legs. The men who were charged with my father's treatment were an old
barber and a professional blood-letter. They used all their choicest
ointments, making my father's thumb worse every day. They used to
criticise each other's skill in surgery. The professional blood-letter
told us that he was once an army surgeon, and it was his boast that
during the Crimean War he had cut off the arms and legs of dozens of
wounded soldiers. He doubtless facilitated the departure of these
unfortunates to the place whither he ultimately sent my father. In
spite of his experiences, however, he did not amputate my parent's arm,
which might have prevented the gangrene which proved fatal. My mother's
efforts to obtain the condemnation of the drunken official, as the
murderer of her husband, failed. He was only sentenced to a few months
of imprisonment, and to pay us an indemnity of about five hundred
pounds.
Perhaps I shall be pardoned for a slight digression here. I laid
some emphasis on the backward condition of the art of surgery in my
native town, but I do not mean thereby that Turkey has been altogether
behindhand in the art of medicine. In some particulars she has even led
the way. For instance, she may claim the discovery of inoculation as
a defence against smallpox, and it is worth while recalling the fact
that Lady Mary Wortley Montagu introduced the treatment into England
from Turkey many years before Jenner made his first experiment. As Lady
Mary saw it, inoculation was performed with lymph taken from human
beings, but according to the _Tarikhi Jevdet_ (vol. ii., p. 341, press
mark Turk. 9, British Museum Library), inoculation was also performed
in a manner suggestive of calf-lymph. A Turkoman of the pastoral
tribes in Asia Minor was paying a visit to Constantinople, and he saw
the children being inoculated with other children's lymph. He said
that in his own country the lymph was taken from the fingers of those
who milked the cows. The book, moreover, states that Lady Mary heard
of the Turkoman's statement, though she does not mention this in her
letter.[1]
The Circassians and some of the tribes of Caucasus are said to have
been acquainted with the uses of inoculation in olden days. They were
chiefly slave-dealers, and they had to take great care of their young
girl-captives, more especially as regarded any sort of disfigurement
which would destroy their good looks, and consequently their value.
Of the early history of the sickness little is known, but it is a
well-established fact that the symptoms were first clearly diagnosed
by the ancient Arab physician, Rhazes, whose name is well known to
Orientalists and students of medical history. His book is entitled
_Kitab-ul-Jederee Vel-Hassabeh_, the translation of which is _Treatise
of Smallpox and Measles_. This work was translated into English from a
Latin version by T. Stark early in the eighteenth century.
* * * * *
The business-like European manner of investing money is not known
among our people. Those who do not know what to do with their spare
money, and who fear it may be stolen, or kindly taken charge of by
the officials of the paternal Sultan, hide their cash by burying it
in corners of their houses or fields. But we did not hide the five
hundred pounds belonging to my mother. Someone suggested to us that we
should buy mohair goats, of which the hair, cut every spring, would
yield us an annual income. This was a little after the Russo-Turkish
War, and in the consequent depression of trade even the silky-haired,
valuable Angora goat was to be cheaply bought We purchased three
hundred of these animals. But misfortunes never come alone. In a
year's time a disease broke out among the greater part of the animals
in our province, and almost all our goats died. My mother, in her
simple faith, attributed this to kismet, and consoled herself and us
accordingly.
My mother is a woman of tact and great natural intelligence, but
owing to the backward condition of women in the East, due to their
surroundings, her intelligence has not had the benefit of culture.
She is, of course, a fatalist, and she believes all she is told by
her religious teachers, who are not very learned themselves. She is
not ignorant; on the contrary, she was in her time the most well-read
woman of our town. Indeed, so far was she in advance of the other
ladies, that they used to visit her for the purpose of hearing her
read aloud from the books of sacred legends and hymns which are their
principal literature. She cannot write at all. This perhaps requires
some explanation. Formerly girls in Turkey were not allowed to learn
the mystery of caligraphy. We have had some excellent poetesses in
days gone by, but none of them could write--they dictated their
inspirations. The common explanation given of this traditional
prohibition--for it is a custom rather than a rule--was that if girls
once learned writing they might have indulged in talismanic pastimes,
and eventually have become witches. As a matter of fact, the real
reason was quite different There was a fear, perhaps not ill-founded,
that having once learned to write they might hasten to make use of
the accomplishment by composing love-letters to young men with whom
they could not otherwise communicate, for the strict seclusion of
females cuts off all intercourse between young people of opposite
sexes almost as soon as they have ceased to be infants. This absurd,
in fact harmful, prohibition has of late, and for some time past, been
losing its force. But it was still strictly observed in my mother's
younger days, and so she was not allowed to learn to write. In spite,
however, of her incomplete education, she kept us happy, and by her
inborn tact preserved the appearance of our social standing. All
members of my mother's family have a practical business-like instinct,
a quality which is so conspicuously lacking in those Turks who have no
strain of foreign blood. I am convinced that there is some European
blood in the veins of my mother's ancestors. She belongs to a family
of soldiers who for generations were charged by the Ottoman Sultans
with the defence of the provinces and the frontiers of Bosnia and
Herzegovina In those days the Turks used to make slaves of their
captives in war, just as their enemies used to carry Turks into
permanent captivity when invading their territory. The antecedents of
the people so enslaved can be traced even now in Hungary and Austria
by their Turkish names. But the captives of the Turks, as a rule, had
to adopt Turkish names, and so the presence of European blood can only
be determined in Turkey by the personal appearance and characteristics
of the descendants of the captives. My mother's soldier-ancestors
doubtless intermarried with European captives. I before disclaimed all
pretensions or desire to pass myself off as a descendant of a European
race when I was describing the Asiatic origin of my forefathers. I am
not, nevertheless, contradicting myself here; for when the pedigree of
a person is being considered with us, it is only his ancestry on the
father's side that counts.
My mother passes a most retired life in her town and summer houses. In
town there is a market-place situated a few minutes' distance from our
house, which she has never seen in her whole life. She went, however,
to Mecca on a pilgrimage some five years ago.
CHAPTER II.
AT SCHOOL AND IN THE HAREM.
My hatred of lessons--Compulsory attendance at
school--The bastinado in schools--My own experience of
it--How schoolgirls are punished--The old-fashioned
implement for beating--"The rod is a gift from
Heaven"--I help to kidnap a bride--My mother's grief
at my behaviour--I am handed over to a stem uncle in
consequence--My uncle's wives--Etiquette in the harem--A
first cigarette--Bastinado again--I am shut out of
the harem--The practice of polygamy--Its popularity
estimated--The European system.
"PARADISE is beneath the ground over which mothers walk," said Prophet
Mohammed. This saying is to be thus construed: "If any man desires to
gain paradise, let him obey and respect his mother." This precept I
was taught to follow from my earliest childhood. But I fear I must be
destined for some place other than paradise, for when I was a boy I
frequently gave my mother much trouble and caused her great and many
anxieties, for I found my conduct free from masculine control after
my father's death, and made good, or bad, use of my opportunities. I
was a child of unthinking and reckless nature. I had an intense horror
of going to any school. At our summer residence I owned a flock of
geese, and I loved to spend my time looking after them. I was therefore
given the nickname of 'goose-herd,' which is tantamount in Turkish to
'idiot'. In our town-house I trained and reared pigeons, and I must say
I had some excuse for this, as I have never seen such beautiful birds
elsewhere. They were very small, and of a pure white hue. They would
fly to an extraordinary altitude, and would remain out of sight for
several hours. At other times they would suddenly let themselves fall,
swooping and wheeling in mid-air, and then shoot upwards once more.
Birds of this most intelligent and trainable breed have been frequently
taken to Constantinople, but they cannot live in the climate of that
town.
While I was wasting my time with dumb companions, my eldest brother and
cousins were quite able to read and write, things which to my mind
were absolutely past comprehension and belief. Unable to compel me to
attend any school, my mother at last applied to an old <DW64> servant of
my grandfather's, who was then living close to us with his white wife
and tawny children. When a boy he had been bought by my grandfather
from the slave-dealers, and as the emancipation of slaves is considered
the most pious act a Mohammedan can perform, my grandfather freed him
soon after buying him, gave him some property, and arranged a marriage
for him. This old man did not approve of my undutiful conduct towards
my mother. In accordance with a promise which he willingly made to
her, one morning he came to our house and gravely asked me to go with
him to school. I excused myself on the plea that the books and papers
previously procured for me had been eaten by rats. He said he would
buy new ones for me in the school, and I told him it was no use buying
them, because I did not understand them. Then the big black man,
showing his white teeth angrily, moved towards me, and caught me by the
ear with his rough, hard hand, and practically dragged me as far as
the school, amidst the malicious chuckling of my brother and cousins.
During lesson-times my thoughts flew after my geese and pigeons. Many
a time was I led to school most unwillingly in the same fashion, and
it took several months for the master to persuade me, by much corporal
chastisement, to take the slightest interest in my lessons.
After a year or so I had to go to a higher school, where there were
hundreds of boys, several teachers, and a headmaster of ruthless
disposition. In those days flogging was the principal punishment for
all offences of schoolboys. I have never seen or heard of any master
who carried out his duty of not sparing the rod more conscientiously,
more unbendingly, and with more self-satisfaction than that headmaster.
Personally, however, I came off more easily than most, as during the
two years of my attendance in the school I was only beaten three
times. The beating took the usual form of bastinado, and in my three
experiences I received fifty strokes on the soles of my feet, twenty
of them for my ill-behaviour, fifteen for my stupidity, and fifteen
for my incapacity to learn arithmetic. I had on several occasions
played mischievous schoolboy tricks, which would have brought upon me
many a flogging had I not been careful enough to hoodwink the watchful
eyes of the headmaster and his attendants. But on the occasion when I
received my twenty strokes, I was detected while rather irreverently
playing pranks during prayer-time. It was the custom for the headmaster
to take all the boys every afternoon to a special hall for prayer,
and to conduct the service personally. In our places of worship
people prostrate themselves by laying their foreheads on the floor,
while they repeat again and again the name of Allah; everyone should
then disengage his thoughts from all earthly things and fix them "on
heaven." The whole service does not last more than fifteen minutes,
and one prostration only lasts about a minute. One day, when the
whole congregation were prostrate, I quickly got up and collected the
fezzes of the boys who were near me, piled them in a heap, and at once
re-prostrated myself. When the service was over, it was observed that
several boys were bareheaded. The master was informed of the crime
that had been committed, for a Mussulman always prays with covered
head, and a | 856.637399 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.6182270 | 1,273 | 27 | BUREAU***
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Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: ARMY AIRPLANE GLIDING TO NORTH ISLAND OVER U. S. CRUISER
“SAN DIEGO”]
THE AVIATOR AND THE WEATHER BUREAU
by
FORD A. CARPENTER, LL.D.
Meteorologist
Illustrated with Photographs and Charts
by the Author and Others
Published by the
San Diego Chamber of Commerce
1917
Published by permission
Dated August 25, 1916
Second edition, 5,000 copies
J. Horace McFarland Company
Mt. Pleasant Press
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
Introductory Note
This is a brief but general account of the history of aviation as
it is associated with southern California, a description of the War
Department school of aviation at San Diego, a syllabus of the course
of lectures delivered there on the subject of practical meteorology as
applied to aviation, a narrative of weather-study from an airplane, and
a recital of subsequent active coöperation between the aviators and the
U. S. Weather Bureau.[A]
[A] It may be remembered that the weather service of the
United States originated with the Signal Corps of the Army
and that the Weather Bureau was created from it by Act
of Congress, June, 1891, and made a bureau of the U. S.
Department of Agriculture. As a former member of the Signal
Corps the writer enjoyed the renewal of old friendships
among the officers at the Aviation School. Col. W. A.
Glassford, Signal Corps, U. S. Army, Commandant of the War
Department Aviation School at San Diego, kindly read the
manuscript of the following pages and the writer gratefully
acknowledges his valuable suggestions.
Much of the material in the following pages was obtained by the writer
while detailed as Lecturer in Meteorology to the Signal Corps, War
Department Aviation School at San Diego, in 1915–1916, also when
detailed in the same official capacity to the U. S. Army Military
Training Encampment, Monterey, 1916; and at the summer sessions of the
University of California during 1914–1916.
LOS ANGELES, CAL.,
February, 1917.
_To_
_J. S. A._
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
The Signal Corps Aviation School at San Diego, California 7
CHAPTER II
Applied Meteorology for the Aviator 11
CHAPTER III
Weather Observations from an Airplane 16
CHAPTER IV
Investigating the Upper Air 25
List of Plates
Figure
No. Page
Army airplane gliding to North Island Over U. S. Cruiser
“San Diego” _Frontispiece_
1. Congressional Medal awarded Wright brothers 33
2. Ascent of sounding balloons at Avalon 34
3. Meteorograph which made the ascent of July 27, 1913 35
4. First flight of airplane carrying two persons 36
5. Sub-station at Mount Wilson Observatory 37
6. Type of airplane used in 1911 on North Island 38
7. Discussing a flight 39
8. Captain Culver and parachute for determining wind-direction 40
9. Lieutenant Gorrell, U. S. Infantry, as observer 41
10. Point Loma from the eastern shore of North Island 42
11. San Diego, across Spanish Bight, from U. S. Aviation School,
at twilight 43
12. Instructor Brindley and Meteorologist Carpenter in
Military Tractor No. 50 44
13. Military Tractor No. 50 45
14. “Trimming” Tractor No. 50 46
15. Military Tractor No. 50 just before leaving the ground 47
16. San Diego harbor at over two thousand feet altitude 48
17. San Diego viewed from an altitude of thirty-five hundred
feet 49
18. Military Tractor No. 50 viewed from the ground 50
19. Flying Squad’s Wind Direction Pennant Tower 51
20. The Aviation School Motor-Boat “Pronto” 52
21. U. S. Aviation Field at three thousand feet altitude 53
22. Repair Shop, U. S. Aviation School, San Diego, Cal. 54
The Aviator and the Weather Bureau
CHAPTER I
THE SIGNAL CORPS AVIATION SCHOOL AT SAN DIEGO
_History._--The year 1911 marked the beginning of the United States
aviation school at San Diego. There is no finer tribute to the
equability and general excellence of the climate of southern California
than that given in the history of a | 856.638267 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.6582380 | 998 | 6 | THUNDER-STORM***
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THE RAINBOW, AFTER THE THUNDER-STORM.
by
A LADY.
[Illustration]
London:
Printed for Francis Westley,
Stationers'-Court, Ludgate-Hill.
1823.
T. C. Hansard, Printer,
Peterboro'-court, Fleet-street, London.
THE RAINBOW, AFTER THE THUNDER-STORM.
JULIA and her mamma resided chiefly in London. Owing to indisposition
the family were a little way from home for the benefit of the air. In
consequence of that, Julia and her mamma were frequently walking out.
One summer's evening they had extended their walk to an unusual length,
when suddenly the clouds gathered, and distant thunder indicated an
approaching storm. They were a great way from any house, but hurried to
the nearest one for shelter. It was a large brick-built house, with a
court-yard, inclosed by a high wall. At the iron gate was a servant,
with a pitcher in her hand, taking some milk of a man who stood by.
Julia's mamma went up to her, and said, "Will you be so obliging as to
let us have a shelter from the storm? It appears likely to be very
severe." The servant replied, "I am very sorry, ma'am, but it is not in
my power; my master and mistress are not at home, and they have given me
orders not to admit any stranger."
There was no time to hesitate; immediately they proceeded to an
unfinished house they recollected to have seen; it was a quarter of a
mile distant. Almost breathless with fatigue, they arrived; the
wash-house door was standing open, they entered, and thought themselves
happy in having so good a shelter. "Oh," said Julia, "how cruel it was
in that young woman to refuse to let us go into the house! I would not
have done so." "Then," replied her mamma, "you would have done wrong;
however painful it must have been to her, to refuse was no more than her
duty as a faithful servant."
Every minute the lightning became more vivid, and the thunder appeared
to be bursting over their heads. "Oh, mamma," said Julia, "how awful
this is!" "Yes, it is indeed, my dear," said her mamma; "God thundereth
marvellously with his voice; great wonders doeth he, which we cannot
comprehend." "This is a storm," remarked Julia, "such as I never
remember before. Hark! how it thunders. Oh, what a dreadful flash of
lightning! Oh, the thunder! It gets worse; how shall I bear it! Hide me,
hide me, my dear mamma; let me get into some dark place." "My dear
love," said her mamma, "you surprise me to see you so alarmed; it is
what I did not expect; don't give way to fear; _I_ cannot hide you from
this storm any more than I can hide you from the presence of God; and
that you are sure I cannot do. Be composed, my love, and let each of us
say--
'Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide,
O receive my soul at last!'
Our father sits at the helm; he will guide the storm, and I shall say to
you as our Lord said to his disciples when _they_ were in a storm, and
as he says to us now in his word, "Why are ye so fearful, have ye no
faith?" Let us put our trust in _him_, and look for our protection from
_him_. How much tenderness was there in our Lord's words! He did not
blame them much for their fears, but kindly reminded them that it was
their duty to trust in God. You are not like your little brother when
_he_ | 856.678278 |
2023-11-16 18:31:20.7175050 | 7,411 | 7 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: "HE MAY GET LOST IN THE STORM."]
The Works of E. P. Roe
VOLUME FIVE
BARRIERS BURNED AWAY
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
COPYRIGHT, 1882
COPYRIGHT, 1885
COPYRIGHT, 1892
COPYRIGHT, 1900,
This Book
IS REVERENTLY DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
I shall say but few words in regard to this first child of my
imagination.
About one year ago our hearts were in deepest sympathy with our
fellow-citizens of Chicago, and it occurred to me that their losses,
sufferings, and fortitude might teach lessons after the echoes of the
appalling event had died away in the press; and that even the lurid
and destructive flames might reveal with greater vividness the need
and value of Christian faith.
I spent some days among the smouldering ruins, and then began the
following simple story, which has grown into larger proportions than
I at first intended. But comparatively a small part of the narrative
is occupied with the fire, for its scenes are beyond description, and
too strange and terrible to be dwelt upon. Therefore the thread of my
story is carried rapidly through that period of unparalleled excitement
and disaster.
Nearly all the scenes introduced are historical, and are employed to
give their terrible emphasis to that which is equally true in the
serenest and securest times.
E. P. R.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
LOVE UNKNOWN
CHAPTER II
LOVE KNOWN
CHAPTER III
LAUNCHED
CHAPTER IV
COLD WATER
CHAPTER V
A HORNET'S NEST
CHAPTER VI
"STARVE THEN!"
CHAPTER VII
A GOOD SAMARITAN
CHAPTER VIII
YAHCOB BUNK
CHAPTER IX
LAND AT LAST
CHAPTER X
THE NEW BROOM
CHAPTER XI
TOO MUCH ALIKE
CHAPTER XII
BLUE BLOOD
CHAPTER XIII
VERY COLD
CHAPTER XIV
SHE SPEAKS TO HIM
CHAPTER XV
PROMOTED
CHAPTER XVI
JUST IN TIME
CHAPTER XVII
RESCUED
CHAPTER XVIII
MISS LUDOLPH MAKES A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XIX
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HIM?
CHAPTER XX
IS HE A GENTLEMAN?
CHAPTER XXI
CHRISTINE'S IDEA OF CHRISTIANS
CHAPTER XXII
EQUAL TO AN EMERGENCY
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REVELATION
CHAPTER XXIV
NIGHT THOUGHTS
CHAPTER XXV
DARKNESS
CHAPTER XXVI
MISS LUDOLPH COMMITS A THEFT
CHAPTER XXVII
A MISERABLE TRIUMPH
CHAPTER XXVIII
LIFE WITHOUT LOVE
CHAPTER XXIX
DENNIS'S LOVE PUT TO PRACTICAL USE
CHAPTER XXX
THE TWO HEIGHTS
CHAPTER XXXI
BEGUILED
CHAPTER XXXII
BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE TWO PICTURES
CHAPTER XXXIV
REGRET
CHAPTER XXXV
REMORSE
CHAPTER XXXVI
AN APPARITION
CHAPTER XXXVII
IF HE KNEW!
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE GATES OPEN
CHAPTER XXXIX
SUSIE WlNTHROP APPEARS AGAIN
CHAPTER XL
SUGGESTIVE PICTURES AND A PRIZE
CHAPTER XLI
FIRE! FIRE!
CHAPTER XLII
BARON LUDOLPH LEARNS THE TRUTH
CHAPTER XLIII
"CHRISTINE, AWAKE! FOR YOUR LIFE!"
CHAPTER XLIV
ON THE BEACH
CHAPTER XLV
"PRAYER IS MIGHTY." CHRISTINE A CHRISTIAN
CHAPTER XLVI
CHRISTINE'S GRAVE
CHAPTER XLVII
SUSIE WINTHROP
CHAPTER XLVIII
DR. ARTEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
CHAPTER XLIX
BILL CRONK'S TOAST
CHAPTER L
EVERY BARRIER BURNED AWAY
CHAPTER I
LOVE UNKNOWN
From its long sweep over the unbroken prairie a heavier blast than
usual shook the slight frame house. The windows rattled in the
casements, as if shivering in their dumb way in the December storm.
So open and defective was the dwelling in its construction, that eddying
currents of cold air found admittance at various points--in some
instances carrying with them particles of the fine, sharp, hail-like
snow that the gale was driving before it in blinding fury.
Seated at one of the windows, peering out into the gathering gloom of
the swiftly coming night, was a pale, faded woman with lustrous dark
eyes. An anxious light shone from them, as she tried in vain to catch
a glimpse of the darkening road that ran at a distance of about fifty
yards from the house. As the furious blast shook the frail tenement,
and circled round her in chilly currents from many a crack and crevice,
she gave a short, hacking cough, and drew a thin shawl closer about
her slight frame.
The unwonted violence of the wind had its effect upon another occupant
of the room. From a bed in the corner near the stove came a feeble,
hollow voice--"Wife!"
In a moment the woman was bending over the bed, and in a voice full
of patient tenderness answered, "Well, dear?"
"Has he come?"
"Not yet; but he MUST be here soon."
The word MUST was emphasized in such a way as to mean doubt rather
than certainty, as if trying to assure her own mind of a matter about
which painful misgivings could not be banished. The quick ear of the
sick man caught the tone, and in a querulous voice he said, "Oh! if
he should not get here in time, it would be the last bitter drop in
my cup, now full and running over."
"Dear husband, if human strength and love can accomplish it, he will
be here soon. But the storm is indeed frightful, and were the case
less urgent, I could almost wish he would not try to make his way
through it. But then we know what Dennis is; he never stops to consider
difficulties, but pushes right on; and if--if he doesn't--if it is
possible, he will be here before very long."
In spite of herself, the mother's heart showed its anxiety, and, too
late for remedy, she saw the effect upon her husband. He raised himself
in bed with sudden and unwonted strength. His eyes grew wild and almost
fierce, and in a sharp, hurried voice, he said: "You don't think there
is danger? There is no fear of his getting lost? If I thought that I
would curse God and die."
"Oh, Dennis, my husband, God forbid that you should speak thus! How can
you feel so toward our Best Friend?"
"What kind of a friend has He been to me, pray? Has not my life been
one long series of misfortunes? Have I not been disappointed in all
my hopes? I once believed in God and tried to serve Him. But if, as
I have been taught, all this evil and misfortune was ordered and made
my inevitable lot by Him, He has not been my friend, but my enemy.
He's been against me, not for me."
In the winter twilight the man's emaciated, unshorn face had the
ghostly, ashen hue of death. From cavernous sockets his eyes gleamed
with a terribly vindictive light, akin to insanity, and, in a harsh,
high voice, as unnatural as his appearance and words, he continued:
"Remember what I have gone through! what I have suffered! how often
the cup of success that I was raising to my lips has been dashed to the
ground!"
"But, Dennis, think a moment."
"Ah! haven't I thought till my heart is gall and my brain bursting?
Haven't I, while lying here, hopelessly dying, gone over my life again
and again? Haven't I lived over every disappointment, and taken every
step downward a thousand times? Remember the pleasant, plentiful home
I took you from, under the great elms in Connecticut. Your father did
not approve of your marrying a poor school-teacher. But you know that
then I had every prospect of getting the village academy, but with my
luck another got ahead of me. Then I determined to study law. What
hopes I had! I already grasped political honors that seemed within my
reach, for you know I was a ready speaker. If my friends could only
have seen that I was peculiarly fitted for public life and advanced
me sufficient means, I would have returned it tenfold. But no; I was
forced into other things for which I had no great aptness or knowledge,
and years of struggling poverty and repeated disappointment followed.
At last your father died and gave us enough to buy a cheap farm out
here. But why go over our experience in the West? My plan of making
sugar from the sorghum, which promised so brilliantly, has ended in
the most wretched failure of all. And now money has gone, health has
gone, and soon my miserable life will be over. Our boy must come back
from college, and you and the two little ones--what will you do?" and
the man covered his head with the blanket and wept aloud. His poor
wife, borne down by the torrent of his sorrow, was on her knees at his
bedside, with her face buried in her hands, weeping also.
But suddenly he started up. His sobs ceased. His tears ceased to flow,
while his eyes grew hard and fierce, and his hands clenched.
"But he was coming," he said. "He may get lost in the storm this bitter
winter night."
He grasped his wife roughly by the arm. She was astonished at his
sudden strength, and raised a tearful, startled face to his. It was
well she could not see its terrible expression in the dusk; but she
shuddered as he hissed in her ear, "If this should happen--if my
miserable death is the cause of his death--if my accursed destiny
involves him, your staff and hope, in so horrible a fate, what have
I to do but curse God and die?"
It seemed to the poor woman that her heart would burst with the agony
of that moment. As the storm had increased, a terrible dread had chilled
her very soul. Every louder blast than usual had caused her an internal
shiver, while for her husband's sake she had controlled herself
outwardly. Like a shipwrecked man who is clinging to a rock, that he
fears the tide will submerge, she had watched the snow rise from one
rail to another along the fence. When darkness set in it was half-way
up to the top rail, and she knew it was _drifting_. The thought of her
ruddy, active, joyous-hearted boy, whose affection and hopefulness had
been the broad track of sunlight on her hard path--the thought of his
lying white and still beneath one of these great banks, just where she
could never know till spring rains and suns revealed to an indifferent
stranger his sleeping-place--now nearly overwhelmed her also, and even
her faith wavered on the brink of the dark gulf of despair into which
her husband was sinking. Left to herself, she might have sunk for a
time, though her sincere belief in God's goodness and love would have
triumphed. But her womanly, unselfish nature, her long habit of
sustaining and comforting her husband, came to her aid. Breathing a
quick prayer to Heaven, which was scarcely more than a gasp and a glance
upward, she asked, hardly knowing what she said, "And what if he is
_not_ lost? What if God restores him safe and well?"
She shuddered after she had thus spoken, for she saw that her husband's
belief in the hostility of God had reached almost the point of insanity.
If this test failed, would he not, in spite of all she could say or do,
curse God and die, as he had said? But she had been guided in her
words more than she knew. He that careth for the fall of the sparrow
had not forgotten His children in their sore extremity.
The man in answer to her question relaxed his hold upon her arm, and
with a long breath fell back on his pillow.
"Ah!" said he, "if I could only see him again safe and well, if I could
only leave you with him as your protector and support, I believe I
could forgive all the past and be reconciled even to my hard lot."
"God gives you opportunity so to do, my father, for here I am safe and
sound."
The soft snow had muffled the son's footsteps, and his approach had
been unnoted. Entering at the back door, and passing through the
kitchen, he had surprised his parents in the painful scene above
described. As he saw his mother's form in dim outline kneeling at the
bed, her face buried in its covering--as he heard his father's
significant words--the quick-witted youth realized the situation. While
he loved his father dearly, and honored him for his many good traits,
he was also conscious of his faults, especially this most serious one
now threatening such fatal consequences--that of charging to God the
failures and disappointments resulting from defects in his own
character. It seemed as if a merciful Providence was about to use this
awful dread of accident to the son--a calamity that rose far above and
overshadowed all the past--as the means of winning back the alienated
heart of this weak and erring man.
The effect of the sudden presence in the sick-room was most marked.
The poor mother, who had shown such self-control and patient endurance
before, now gave way utterly, and clung for a few moments to her son's
neck with hysterical energy, then in strong reaction fainted away. The
strain upon her worn and overtaxed system had been too severe.
At first the sick man could only look through the dusk at the outline
of his son with a bewildered stare, his mind too weak to comprehend
the truth. But soon he too was sobbing for joy.
But when his wife suddenly became a lifeless weight in his son's arms,
who in wild alarm cried, "Mother, what is the matter? Speak to me! Oh!
I have killed her by my rash entrance," the sick man's manner changed,
and his eyes again became dry and hard, and even in the darkness had
a strange glitter.
"Is your mother dead?" he asked, in a low, hoarse voice.
"Oh, mother, speak to me!" cried the son, forgetting for a time his
father.
For a moment there was death-like silence. Then the young man groped
for an old settle in the corner of the room, laid his mother tenderly
upon it, and sprang for a light, but as he passed his father's bed the
same strong grasp fell upon his arm that his mother had shuddered under
a little before, and the question was this time hissed in his ear, "Is
your mother dead?" For a moment he had no power to answer, and his
father continued: "What a fool I was to expect God to show mercy or
kindness to me or mine while I was above ground! You are only brought
home to suffer more than death in seeing your mother die. May that God
that has followed me all my life, not with blessings--"
"Hush, father!" cried his son, in loud, commanding tones. "Hush, I
entreat," and in his desperation he actually put his hand over his
father's mouth.
The poor woman must have been dead, indeed, had she long remained deaf
to the voice of her beloved son, and his loud tones partially revived
her. In a faint voice she called, "Dennis!"
With hands suddenly relaxed, and hearts almost stilled in their beating,
father and son listened for a second. Again, a little louder, through
that dark and silent room, was heard the faint call, "Dennis!"
Springing to her side, her son exclaimed, "Oh, mother, I am here; don't
leave us; in mercy don't leave us."
"It was I she called," said his father.
With unnatural strength he had tottered across the room, and taking
his wife's hand, cried, "Oh, Ethel, don't die! don't fill my already
full cup to overflowing with bitterness!"
Their familiar voices were the best of remedies. After a moment she
sat up, and passing her hand across her brow as if to clear away
confusion of mind, said: "Don't be alarmed; it's only a faint turn.
I don't wonder though that you are frightened, for I never was so
before."
Poor woman, amid all the emergencies of her hard lot, she had never
in the past given way so far.
Then, becoming aware of her husband's position, she exclaimed: "Why,
Dennis, my husband, out of your bed? You will catch your death."
"Ah, wife, that matters little if you and Dennis live."
"But it matters much to me," cried she, springing up.
By this time her son had struck a light, and each was able to look on
the other's face. The unnatural strength, the result of excitement, was
fast leaving the sick man. The light revealed him helplessly leaning
on the couch where his wife had lain. His face was ashen in color, and
he was gasping for breath. Tenderly they carried him back to his bed,
and he was too weak now to do more than quietly lie upon it and gaze
at them. After replenishing the fire, and looking at the little ones
that were sleeping in the outer room, they shaded the lamp, and sat
down at his bedside, while the mother asked her son many eager questions
as to his escape. He told them how he had struggled through the snow
till almost exhausted, when he had been overtaken by a farmer with a
strong team, and thus enabled to make the journey in safety.
As the sick man looked and listened, his face grew softer and more
quiet in its expression.
Then the young man, remembering, said: "I bought the medicines you
wrote for, mother, at Bankville. This, the druggist said, would produce
quiet and sleep, and surely father needs it after the excitement of
the evening."
The opiate was given, and soon the regular, quiet breathing of the
patient showed that it had taken effect. A plain but plentiful supper,
which the anxious mother had prepared hours before, was placed upon the
kitchen table, and the young man did ample justice to it; for, the
moment the cravings of his heart were satisfied in meeting his kindred
after absence, he became conscious of the keenest hunger. Toiling
through the snow for hours in the face of the December storm had taxed
his system to the utmost, and now he felt the need of food and rest.
After supper he honestly meant to watch at his father's bedside, while
his mother slept; but he had scarcely seated himself on the old settle,
when sleep, like an armed man, overpowered him, and in spite of all
his efforts he was soon bound in the dreamless slumber of healthful
youth. But with eyes so wide and lustrous that it seemed as if sleep
could never close them again, the wife and mother, pale and silent,
watched between her loved ones. The troubled expression was gone, for
the ranks of her little band had closed up, and all were about her in
one more brief rest in the forward and uncertain march of life. She
seemed looking intently at something far off--something better discerned
by the spiritual than by the natural eye. Disappointments had been
bitter, poverty hard and grinding, but she had learned to escape into
a large world that was fast becoming real to her strong imagination.
While her husband was indulging in chimerical visions of boundless
prosperity here on earth which he would bring to pass by some lucky
stroke of fortune or invention, she also was picturing to herself
grander things which God would realize to her _beyond_ time and
earth. When alone, in moments of rest from incessant toil, she would
take down the great family Bible, and with her finger on some
description of the "new heavens and new earth," as the connecting link
between the promise and her strong realization of it, she would look
away with that intent gaze. The new world, purged from sin and sorrow,
would rise before her with more than Edenlike loveliness. Her spirit
would revel in its shadowy walks and sunny glades, and as the crowning
joy she would meet her Lord and Saviour in some secluded place, and
sit listening at His feet like Mary of old. Thus, in the strong illusion
of her imagination, Christ's words seemed addressed directly to her,
while she looked up into His face with rapt attention. Instead of
_reading_ her Lord's familiar sayings, she seemed to _listen_ to them as
did the early disciples. After a little time she would close the Bible
and go back to her hard practical life, awed yet strengthened, and with
a hopeful expression, like that which must have rested on the disciples'
faces on coming down from the Mount of Transfiguration.
CHAPTER II
LOVE KNOWN
Hour after hour passed. The storm was dying away, and at times, through
broken rifts in the clouds, stars would gleam out. Instead of the
continued roar and rush, the wind blew in gusts at longer intervals,
and nature seemed like a passionate child that had cried itself to
sleep. The fitful blasts were the involuntary sobs that heave the
breast, till at last quiet and peace take the place of stormy anger.
It seemed as if the silent watcher never could withdraw her gaze from
the beautiful world of her vision. Never had it seemed so near and
real before, and she was unconscious of the lapse of time. Suddenly
she heard her name called--"Ethel!"
If the voice had come from the imaginary world present to her fancy,
it could not have startled her more for a moment. Then she realized
that it was her husband who spoke. He had called her name in his sleep,
and yet it seemed a call of God. At once it flashed through her mind
that in dreaming of a glorious and happy future she was forgetting him
and his need.
She turned the light upon his face. Never had he looked so pale and
wan, and she realized that he might be near his end. In an agony of
self-reproach and yearning tenderness she kneeled at his bedside and
prayed as she never had prayed before. Could he go home? Could he be
received, feeling toward his Father as he did? He had talked of
forgiving, when he stood so sorely in need of Christ's forgiveness;
and she had been forgetting that need, when every moment might involve
her husband's salvation. Out of his sleep he had called her to his
help. Perhaps God had used his unconscious lips to summon her. With
a faith naturally strong, but greatly increased by the vision of the
night, she went, as it were, directly into the presence of her Lord,
and entreated in behalf of her husband.
As she thus knelt at the bedside, with her face buried in the covering,
she felt a hand placed softly on her head, and again her husband's
voice called, "Ethel!"
She looked up and saw that he was awake now, his eyes fixed on her
with an expression of softness and tenderness that she had not seen
for many a long day. The old restless, anxious light had gone.
"What were you doing, Ethel?" he asked. "Praying that you might see
that God loved you--that you might be reconciled to Him."
Two great tears gathered in the man's eyes. His lips quivered a moment,
then he said, brokenly, "Surely God must love me, or He would never
have given me--a wife--who would watch and pray for me--the long
winter night."
"Oh, Dennis, forgive me; I cannot deceive you; for a time I forgot
you, I forgot everything, and just wandered through Paradise alone.
But in your sleep you called me to your help, and now it seems as if
I could not be happy even there without you. I pray you, in Christ's
stead, be reconciled to God," she pleaded, falling into the familiar
language of Scripture, as she often did under strong emotion. Then,
in low, thrilling words, she portrayed to him the "new earth" of her
vision, wherein "God shall wipe away all tears, and there shall be no
more death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more
pain." She showed him that all might still be well--that eternity was
long enough to make up for the ills of our brief troubled life here.
But his mind seemed preoccupied. These future joys did not take that
hold upon him that she earnestly desired. His eyes seemed to grow dim
in tender, tearful wistfulness, rather than become inspired with
immortal hopes. At last he spoke:
"Ethel, it seemed as if I heard some one calling me. I woke up--and
there you--were praying--for me. I heard my name--I heard God's
name--and I knew that you were interceding for me. It seemed to break
my hard heart right up like the fountains of the great deep to see you
there--praying for me--in the cold, cold room." (The room was not
cold; it was not the winter's chill that he was feeling, but a chill
that comes over the heart even in the tropical summer.) "Then, as you
prayed, a great light seemed to shine into my soul. I saw that I had
been charging God unjustly with all my failures and misfortunes, when
I had to thank myself for them. Like a wilful child, I had been acting
as if God had but to carry out my wild schemes. I remembered all my
unreasonable murmurings and anger; I remembered the dreadful words I
was on the point of uttering tonight, and for a moment it seemed as
if the pit would open and swallow me up."
He paused for breath, and then went on:
"But as my despairing eyes glanced restlessly around, they fell upon
the face of my son, noble and beautiful even in sleep, and I remembered
how God had brought him safely back. Then your low, pleading tone fixed
my attention again. It seemed to me that God's love must be better and
stronger than human love, and yet you had loved me through all my folly
and weakness; so perhaps had He. Then I felt that such a prayer as you
were offering could not remain unheard, you seemed to pray so earnestly.
I felt that I ought to pray myself, and I commenced calling out in my
heart, 'God be merciful to me--a sinner.' Then while I prayed, I
seemed to see my Saviour's face right above your bowed head. Oh, how
reproachfully He looked at me! and yet His expression was full of love,
too. It was just such a look, I think, that He fixed on Peter when he
denied Him. Then it seemed that I fell down at His feet and wept
bitterly, and as I did so the look of reproach passed away, and only
an expression of love and forgiveness remained. A sudden peace came
into my soul which I cannot describe; a rush of tears into my eyes;
and when I had wiped them away, I saw only your bowed form
praying--praying on for me. And, Ethel dear, my patient, much-enduring
wife, I believe God has answered your prayer. I feel that I am a new
man."
"God be praised!" exclaimed his wife, with streaming eyes. Then in a
sudden rush of tenderness she clasped her husband to her heart, her
strong love seeming like the echo of God's love, the earnest here on
earth of that above, where all barriers shall pass away.
The sound of their voices toward the last had awakened their son, and
he now stood beside them with wet eyes and heaving breast.
When the wife rose from her embrace, she saw that her husband was very
weak. For a few moments he gasped for breath. Then, getting a little
easier, he looked up and saw his son, and exclaimed: "Thank God--my
boy--thank God--you are here. Ah, my son--I have learned much--since
we spoke together last. I have seen that--I have much more--need of
forgiveness than--to forgive. Thanks to your--mother's prayers--I
believe--I feel sure that I am forgiven."
"More thanks to God's love, Dennis," said his wife. "God wanted to
forgive you all the time more than we wanted Him to. Thank God, who
is rich in mercy, for His great love wherewith He loved us. He is
longsuffering to usward, not willing that any should perish."
"Those are sweet words, wife, and I have found them true."
For a little time they sat with clasped hands, their hearts too full
to speak. Faint streaks along the eastern horizon showed that the dawn
was near. The sick man gave a slight shiver, and passed his hands
across his eyes as if to clear away a mist, and then said, feebly:
"Dennis, my son--won't you turn up the lamp a little--and fix the fire?
The room seems getting so cold--and dark."
The wife looked at her son in quick alarm. The stove was red-hot, and
the lamp, no longer shaded, stood openly on the table.
The son saw that he must take the lead in the last sad scene, for in
the presence of death the heart of the loving, constant woman clung
to her husband as never before. Throwing herself on her knees by his
side, she cried with loud, choking sobs, "Oh, Dennis--husband--I
fear--you are leaving me!"
"Is this death?" he asked of his son, in an awed tone.
"I fear it is, father," said the young man, gently.
After a moment his father said, composedly: "I think you are right.
I feel that--my end is near, Ethel--darling--for my sake--try to be
calm--during the last few moments I am with you."
A few stifled sobs and the room was still.
"I have but little time to--put my house--in order--and if I had
months--I could not do it. Dennis, I leave you--little else--than
debts--embarrassments, and the record of many failures. You must
do--the best you can. I am not able to advise you. Only never love this
world as I have. It will disappoint you. And, _whatever happens,
never lose faith in the goodness of God_. This has been my bane.
It has poisoned my life here, and, had it not been for this dear wife,
it would have been my destruction here-after. For long years--only her
patient love--has stood between me and a miserable end. Next to God--I
commit her and your little sisters to your care. Be true to this most
sacred trust.
"Ethel, dear, my more than wife--my good angel--what shall I say to
you?" and the man's lip quivered, and for a time he could say no more.
But the unwonted composure had come into his wife's manner. The eyes
were gaining that intent look which was their expression when picturing
to herself scenes in the life beyond.
"Oh, Dennis, we seem just on the confines of a glorious world--it is
so near, so real--it seems as if but a step would take us all into it.
Oh! if you could but see its beauties, its glories--if you could hear
the music, you would not fear to enter. It seems as if we were there
together now."
"Oh, Ethel, come back, come back," cried her husband, piteously. "I
am not worthy of all that. I have no heart for glory now. I can see
only my Saviour's face looking--at me--with love and forgiveness.
That is heaven enough for me--and when you come--my cup will be more
than full. And now--farewell--for a little while."
For a few moments they clung to each other. Then the little girls were
brought, and their father pressed his cold lips to their warm, fresh
young faces. They wondered at a scene they could not understand, and
were tearful because of the tears of others.
He was now going very fast. Suddenly he turned to his son and said,
"Dennis, repeat to me that verse, 'This is a faithful saying--'"
With a voice hoarse and broken by emotion, his son complied: "This is
a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus
came into the world to save sinners."
"Of whom I am chief," said his father, emphatically. "And yet"--his face
lighting up with a wan smile, like a sudden ray of light falling
on a clouded landscape before the sun sinks below the horizon--"and
yet forgiven."
By and by he again whispered, "Forgiven!" Then his eyes closed, and
all was still. They thought he was gone. But as they stood over him
in awed, breathless silence, his lips again moved. | 856.737545 |
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SONNETS
AND SONGS
BY
HELEN HAY WHITNEY
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMV
Copyright, 1905, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published August, 1905.
TO
P. W.
_Contents_
SONNETS
PAGE
Ave atque Vale 3
"Chaque baiser vaut un roman" 4
As a Pale Child 5
Flower of the Clove 6
Too Late 7
The Supreme Sacrifice 8
Malua 9
Love's Legacy 10
How we would Live! 11
In Extremis 12
The Forgiveness 13
With Music 14
Alpha and Omega 15
Flowers of Ice 16
Love and Death 17
The Message 18
Tempest and Calm 19
After Rain 20
Not through this Door 21
Pot-Pourri 22
Eadem Semper 23
To a Woman 24
Aspiration--I 25
Aspiration--II 26
The Gypsy Blood 27
Not Dead but Sleeping 28
The Last Gift 29
Amor Mysticus 30
The Pattern of the Earth 31
Disguised 32
SONGS
On the White Road 35
The Wanderer 36
False 37
A Song of the Oregon Trail 38
The Apple-Tree 39
Silver and Rose 40
To-Morrow 41
The Greater Joy 42
The Rose-Colored Camelia-Tree 43
Good-Bye Sorrow 44
In Harbor 45
Rosa Mundi 46
The Ribbon 47
The Aster 48
Heart and Hand 49
The Golden Fruit 50
To a Moth 52
Winter Song 53
Youth 54
Persephone 55
Etoiles d'Enfer 57
Enough of Singing 58
Truth 59
The Philosopher 60
Prayers 61
A South-Sea Lover Scorned 62
In May 64
For Your Sake 65
Lyric Love 67
Be Still 68
Butterfly Words 69
Music 70
The Ghost 72
Fight! 74
In Tonga 75
This was the Song 76
To E. D. 78
The Dance 79
Vanquished 80
Tranquillity 81
SONNETS
I
_Ave atque Vale_
As a blown leaf across the face of Time
Your name falls emptily upon my heart.
In this new symmetry you have no part,
No lot in my fair life. The stars still chime
Autumn and Spring in ceaseless pantomime.
I play with Beauty, which is kin to Art,
Forgetting Nature. Nor do pulses start
To hear your soul remembered in a rhyme.
You may not vex me any more. The stark
Terror of life has passed, and all the stress.
Winds had their will of me, and now caress,
Blown from bland groves I know. Time dreams, and I,
As on a mirror, see the days go by
In nonchalant procession to the dark.
II
"_Chaque baiser vaut un roman._"
I, living love and laughter, have forgot
The way the heart has uttered melody.
As sobbing, plaintive cadence of the sea
A poet's soul should rest, remembering not
The inland paths of green, the flowers, the spot
Where fairies ring. In hermit ecstasy
Music is born, and gay or wofully
Lovers of Poesy share her lonely lot.
For you and me, Beloved, crowned with Spring,
Catching Love's flowers from off the lap of Time,
What are the songs my voice has scorned to sing?
Ghostly they hover round my heart-wise lips;
Into a kiss I fold my rose of Rhyme,
Laid like a martyr on your finger-tips.
III
_As a Pale Child_
As a pale child, hemmed in by windy rain,
Patiently turns to touch his well-known toys,
Playing as children play who make no noise,
Yet happy in a way; then sighs again,
To watch the world across the storm-dim pane,
And sees with wistful eyes glad girls and boys
Who romp beneath the rain's unlicensed joys,
And feels wild longings sweep his gentle brain.
So I, contented with my flowers for stars,
Stroll in my fair, walled garden happily,
Knowing no gladder game till, shrill and sweet,
I hear life's cry ring down the silent street,
And press my face against the sunlit bars
To watch the joyous spirits who are free.
IV
_Flower of the Clove_
Ah, Love, have pity!--I am but a child;
I ask but light and laughter, and the tears
Darken the sunlight of my fairest years.
By love made desolate, by love beguiled,
I waste the Spring. Love's harvest wains are piled
With poppies and gold grain--I glean but fears
Of empty hands, grim hunger, and the jeers
Of happy wives whose loves are reconciled.
But mine! Ah, mine is like a tattered leaf
Upon a turbid stream. I have no pride,
No life, but love, which is a bitter grief.
As a lost star I wander down your sky.
Give me your heart. Open it wide--so wide!
I must have love and laughter, or I die.
V
_Too Late_
Upon your stone the wine of my desire
Is spilled. Your poppy lips have grown too pale
From fasting. Your white hands will not avail
The cold eyes of your heart to light the fire.
I did not think my prayers could ever tire.
Now, like doomed ships, they flutter without sail.
Lost in a calm which held no rock, no gale--
Now, when your chilly smile bids me aspire!
So, without history, my soul is slain--
Woman of barren love; the wine was red--
Beautiful for your spending. Not again
Will the bud blossom where the frost has sped.
Timid, you dared not hark when angels sang.
All, all is lost, without one saving pang.
VI
_The Supreme Sacrifice_
Better than life, better than sea and morn,
And all the sun-stained fragments of the day--
Ah! more than breeze, than purple clouds that stray
Across dim twilights--I, the tempest-torn,
Fighting the stars for glory, who must scorn
Heart-drops bespread along love's cruel way
Like scattered petals on the breast of May--
Better than life I love you, I forlorn.
Better than death--the sleeping and the peace
When warm within the breast of brooding Earth
My weary heart should give its woes release,
The pitiful dark remembering not my loss,
The calm, wise years restoring joy for dearth--
Better than death, my love, my burning cross.
VII
_Malua_
Out of the purple treasuries of night
Came the dark wind of evening silver-starred--
Stirred on his | 856.777783 |
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SKOOKUM CHUCK
FABLES
BITS OF HISTORY,
THROUGH THE MICROSCOPE
(Some of which appeared in the Ashcroft Journal)
BY
SKOOKUM CHUCK
Author of "Songs of a Sick Tum Tum,"
and some others
Copyright, Canada, 1915, by R.D. Cumming
Preface
It is more difficult to sell a good book by a new author than it is to
sell a poor one by a popular author, because the good book by the new
author must make its way against great odds. It must assert itself
personally, and succeed by its own efforts. The book by the popular
author flies without wings, as it were. The one by the well-known author
has a valuable asset in its creator; the one by the new author has no
asset but its own merits.
I am not contending by the above that this is a good book; far from it.
Some books, however, having very little literary recommendation, may be
interesting in other ways.
There are several things instrumental in making for the success of a
book: first, the fame of the author; second, the originality of the
theme or style; third, the extent of the advertising scheme, and fourth,
the proximity of the subject matter to the heart and home of the reader;
and this last is the reason for the "Skookum Chuck Fables."
If the following stories are not literature, they are spiced with
familiar local sounds and sights, and they come very close to every
family fireside in British Columbia. For this reason I hope to see a
copy in every home in the province.
THE AUTHOR.
Contents
SKOOKUM CHUCK FABLES: PAGE
OF THE ROLLING STONE 9
OF CULTUS JOHNNY 17
OF THE BOOBY MAN 24
OF HARD TIMES HANCE 35
OF THE TOO SURE MAN 55
OF THE UNLOVED MAN 60
OF THE CHIEF WHO WAS BIGGER THAN HE LOOKED 66
OF SIMPLE SIMON UP TO DATE 72
OF THE HIGH CLASS ESKIMO 79
OF THE SWEET YOUNG THINGS 89
OF THE TWO LADIES IN CONTRAST 97
OF THE RUSE THAT FAILED 100
OF THE REAL SANTA CLAUS 107
OF THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW 113
OF SICAMOUS 118
OF THE UBIQUITOUS CAT 122
BITS OF HISTORY:
OF THE FOOLHARDY EXPEDITION 127
OF THE LAWS OF LYCURGUS 133
OF JOAN OF ARC 138
OF VOICES LONG DEAD 144
OF THE WHITE WOMAN WHO BECAME AN INDIAN SQUAW 151
THROUGH THE MICROSCOPE 157
Of the Rolling Stone
Once upon a time in a small village in Bruce County, Province of
Ontario, Dominion of Canada, there lived a man who was destined to
establish a precedent. He was to prove to the world that a rolling stone
is capable at times of gathering as much moss as a stationary one, and
how it is possible for the rock with St. Vitus dance to become more
coated than the one that is confined to perpetual isolation. Like most
iconoclasts he was of humble birth, and had no foundation upon which to
rest the cornerstone of his castle, which was becoming too heavy for his
brain to support much longer.
His strong suit was his itinerate susceptibility; but his main anchorage
was his better five-fifths. One of his most monotonous arguments was to
the effect that the strenuousness of life could only be equalled by the
monotony of it, and that it was a pity we had to do so much in this
world to get so little out of it.
"Why should a man be anchored to one spot of the geographical
distribution like a barnacle to a ship during the whole of his mortal
belligerency?" he one day asked his wife. "We hear nothing, see nothing,
become nothing, and our system becomes fossilized, antediluvian. Why not
see everything, know everything? Life is hardly worth while, but since
we are here we may as well feed from the choicest fruits, and try for
the first prizes."
Now, his wife was one of those happy, contented, sweet,
make-the-best-of-it-cheerily persons who never complained even under the
most trying circumstances. It is much to the detriment of society that
the variety is not more numerous, but we are not here to criticise the
laws that govern the human nature of the ladies. This lady was as far
remote from her husband in temperament as Venus is from Neptune. He was
darkness, she was daylight; and the patience with which she tolerated
him in his dark moods was beautiful though tragic. It was plain that she
loved him, for what else in a woman could overlook such darkness in a
man?
"You see," he would say, "it is like this. Here I am slaving away for
about seventy-five dollars per month, year in and year out. All I get is
my food and clothing--and yours, of course, which is as much necessary,
but is more or less of a white man's burden. No sooner do I get a dollar
in my hand than it has to be passed along to the butcher, baker, grocer,
dressmaker, milliner. Are our efforts worth while when we have no
immediate prospects of improvement? And then the monotony of the game:
eat, sleep, work; eat, sleep, work. And the environs are as monotonous
as the occupations. I think man was made for something more, although a
very small percentage are ever so fortunate as to get it. Now, I can
make a mere living by roaming about from place to place as well as I can
by sitting down glued to this spot that I hate, and then I will have
the chance of falling into something that is a great deal better, and
have an opportunity to see something, hear something, learn something.
Here I am dying by inches, unwept, unhonoured and unsung."
To be "blue" was his normal condition. His sky was always cloudy, and
with this was mingled a disposition of weariness which turned him with
disgust from all familiar objects. With him "familiarity bred contempt."
One day when his psychological temperament was somewhat below normal the
pent up thunder in him exploded and the lightning was terrible:
"Here I am rooted to one spot," he said, "fossilized, stagnant, wasting
away, dead to the whole world except this one little acre. And what is
there here? Streets, buildings, trees, fences, hills, water. Nothing out
of the ordinary; and so familiar, they have become hateful. Why,
everything in the environment breeds weariness, monotony, a painfully
disgusting sameness. The same things morning, noon and night, year after
year. Why, the very names of the people here give me nervous
prostration. Just think--Cummings, Huston, Sanson, Austin, Ward, McAbee,
Hobson, Bailey, Smith, Black, Brown, White--Bah! the sound of them is
like rumors of a plague. I want to flee from them. I want to hear new
names ringing in my ears. And I hate the faces no less than I do the
names. I would rather live on a prairie where you expect nothing; and
get it--anything so long as it is new."
Now, that which is hereditary with the flesh cannot be a crime. The
victim is more to be pitied in his ancestral misfortune, and the monkey
from which our hero sprang must have been somewhat cosmopolitan.
Of course his wife had heard such outbreaks of insanity from him before,
so she only laughed, thinking to humor him back to earth again with her
love and smiles.
"Conditions are not so bad in Bruce county as you paint them," she said,
"and if you do not go about sniffing the air you will not find so many
obnoxious perfumes. Why, I _love_ the locality; and I like the people.
And I like you, and my home; and I am perfectly satisfied with
everything. Things might be a great deal worse. You should have no
complaint to make. You have a steady situation, a good master, a
beautiful home, plenty to eat--and then you have me," she exclaimed, as
though her presence should atone for all else in the world that he did
not have. And perhaps a treasure of this kind should have been a
valuable asset, and an antidote against all mere mundane cares.
"Look out through the parlor door," she continued. "Could anything be
more beautiful? The sun is just setting. The lake is asleep. See the
reflection of the trees beneath its surface. How peaceful, how restful!
My mind is just like the lake--perfectly at ease. Why do you not control
your storm and calm down like the lake? Look at the tall shadows of the
contented firs reaching away out across its bosom. How like a dream."
"Bah! Don't mention lake to me. I hate the sight of it. I have seen it
too long. It is too familiar. It is an eyesore to me. I am weary of it
all. I want a rest. Here comes Brown now. Let me hide in the cellar. It
would be hypocrisy to remain here and smile welcome to him when I hate
the sight of his physiognomy and detest the sound of his name. No, he
has gone by. He does not intend to call. Thank heaven. Five minutes of
his society would be equal to ten years in purgatory. New sights, new
scenes, new voices, new faces; all these are recreation to a mentally
weary constitution."
"I would consider it a crime to leave this beauty spot," said his wife,
"and it is a sin against heaven to decry it."
"Then I am a sinner and a criminal," said the hereditary crank, "because
I hate it and am going to leave. I will take fifty dollars and go, and
if I do not return with fifty thousand I will eat myself. I have said
all there is to say. Those dull, uninteresting faces give me the
nighthorse. I am going to-morrow. Of course you remain, because it is
more expensive to travel double than single," he snorted, "and I have
not the plunks."
He embarked into the big world a few days later with his wife's warm
kiss burning his lips--faithful even in his unfaithfulness. She was
cheerful for some time, thinking that he would return, but the magnetism
which attracted him to the woman whom he had picked from among the
swarming millions was of very inferior voltage.
He wandered about Canada and the United States for about two years. He
had many ups and downs. On the average he made enough to induce his soul
to remain in his body in anticipation of something better. To do him
justice he remitted all odd coin to his wife in Bruce county, and he
wrote saying he was perfectly happy in his new life. He awoke one
morning and found himself in the "Best" Hotel, Ashcroft, British
Columbia, Dominion of Canada, and the first thing he saw was the
sand-hill. He thought Ashcroft was the most desolate looking spot he had
ever seen. It looked like a town that had been located in a hurry and
had been planted by mistake on the wrong site.
He fell in with a Bruce county fellow there who was running a general
store, and they became very friendly. He secured employment from this
friend, who proved to be a philanthropist.
"I have a proposition to make to you," the friend said one day.
"What is it?" asked the iconoclast.
"Buy me out," said the philanthropist. "I have all the money I can
carry. When the rainy day comes I will be well in out of the drip, and
my tombstone will be 'next best' in the cemetery."
"But I have no bank balance," said the aspirant eagerly. "I have no
debentures of any kind; I have not even pin money."
"Bonds are unnecessary," said the friend. "Besides, when I sell you this
stock and building you will have an asset in the property. I will sell
outright, take a mortgage for the balance, which you will disburse at
the rate of five hundred dollars per year. You can do it and make money
at the same time. You will kill two birds with half a stone. Why, in
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THE
WAR OF WOMEN.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
1903.
THE WAR OF WOMEN.
THE VICOMTESSE DE CAMBES.
I.
Two days later they came in sight of Bordeaux, and it became necessary
to decide at once how they should enter the city. The dukes, with their
army, were no more than ten leagues away, so that they were at liberty
to choose between a peaceable and a forcible entry. The important
question to be decided was whether it was better to have immediate
possession of Bordeaux at all hazards, or to comply with the wishes
of the Parliament. Madame la Princesse summoned her council of war,
which consisted of Madame de Tourville, Claire, Lenet, and her maids of
honor. Madame de Tourville knew her arch antagonist so well that she
had persistently opposed his admission to the council, upon the ground
that the war was a war of women, in which men were to be used only to
do the fighting. But Madame la Princesse declared that as Lenet was
saddled upon her by her husband, she could not exclude him from the
deliberative chamber, where, after all, his presence would amount to
nothing, as it was agreed beforehand that he might talk all he chose,
but that they would not listen to him.
Madame de Tourville's precautions were by no means uncalled-for; she
had employed the two days that had just passed in bringing Madame la
Princesse around to the bellicose ideas which she was only too anxious
to adopt, and she feared that Lenet would destroy the whole structure
that she had erected with such infinite pains.
When the council was assembled, Madame de Tourville set forth her plan.
She proposed that the dukes should come up secretly with their army,
that they should procure, by force or by persuasion, a goodly number of
boats, and go down the river into Bordeaux, shouting: "Vive Condé! Down
with Mazarin!"
In this way Madame la Princesse's entry would assume the proportions
of a veritable triumph, and Madame de Tourville, by a détour, would
accomplish her famous project of taking forcible possession of
Bordeaux, and thus inspiring the queen with a wholesome terror of an
army whose opening move resulted so brilliantly.
Lenet nodded approval of everything, interrupting Madame de Tourville
with admiring exclamations. When she had completed the exposition of
her plan, he said:--
"Magnificent, madame! be good enough now to sum up your conclusions."
"That I can do very easily, in two words," said the good woman,
triumphantly, warming up at the sound of her own voice. "Amid the
hail-storm of bullets, the clanging of bells, and the cries, whether of
rage or affection, of the people, a handful of weak women will be seen,
intrepidly fulfilling their noble mission; a child in its mother's arms
will appeal to the Parliament for protection. This touching spectacle
cannot fail to move the most savage hearts. Thus we shall conquer,
partly by force, partly by the justice of our cause; and that, I think,
is Madame la Princesse's object."
The summing up aroused even more enthusiasm than the original speech.
Madame la Princesse applauded; Claire, whose desire to be sent with
a flag of truce to Île Saint-Georges became more and more earnest,
applauded; the captain of the guards, whose business it was to thirst
for battle, applauded; and Lenet did more than applaud; he took Madame
de Tourville's hand, and pressed it with no less respect than emotion.
"Madame," he cried, "even if I had not known how great is your
prudence, and how thoroughly you are acquainted, both by intuition
and study, with the great civil and military question which engages
our attention, I should assuredly be convinced of it now, and should
prostrate myself before the most useful adviser that her Highness could
hope to find."
"Is she not?" said the princess; "isn't it a fine scheme, Lenet? I
agree with her entirely. Come, Vialas, give Monsieur le Duc d'Enghien
the little sword I had made for him, and his helmet and coat of mail."
"Yes! do so, Vialas. But a single word first, by your leave, madame,"
said Lenet; while Madame de Tourville, who was all swollen up with
pride, began to lose confidence, in view of her vivid remembrance of
the subtle arguments with which Lenet was accustomed to combat her
plans.
"Well," said the princess, "what is it now?"
"Nothing, madame, nothing at all; for no plan could be proposed more in
harmony with the character of an august princess like yourself, and it
could only emanate from your household."
These words caused Madame de Tourville to puff out anew, and brought
back the smile to the lips of Madame la Princesse, who was beginning to
frown.
"But, madame," pursued Lenet, watching the effect of this terrible
_but_ upon the face of his sworn foe, "while I adopt, I will not say
simply without repugnance, but with enthusiasm, this plan, which seems
to me the only available one, I will venture to propose a slight
modification."
Madame de Tourville stiffened up, and prepared for defence. Madame la
Princesse's smile disappeared.
Lenet bowed and made a motion with his hand as if asking permission to
continue.
"My heart is filled with a joy I cannot express," he said, "in
anticipation of the clanging of the bells, and the joyous acclamations
of the people. But I haven't the confidence I would like to have in the
hail-storm of bullets to which Madame has referred."
Madame de Tourville assumed a martial air. Lenet bowed even lower than
before, and continued, lowering his voice a half-tone:--
"Assuredly it would be a grand spectacle to see a woman and her child
walking calmly along in the midst of a tempest which would terrify
most men. But I should fear that one of those same bullets, following
a blind impulse, as brutal, unintelligent things are wont to do,
might give Monsieur de Mazarin the advantage over us, and spoil our
plan, which is so magnificent in other respects. I am of the opinion,
expressed so eloquently by Madame de Tourville, that the young prince
and his august mother should open up the way to the Parliament-house
for us,--but by petition, not by arms. I think, in short, that it will
be much better to move in that way the most savage hearts, than to
conquer by other means the most valiant. I think that the former of
these methods presents infinitely more chances of success, and that the
object of Madame la Princesse is, before all else, to gain admission
to Bordeaux. Now, I say that nothing is less sure than our success in
gaining admission to Bordeaux, if we take the chances of a battle."
"You see," said Madame de Tourville, sourly, "that monsieur proposes,
as usual, to demolish my plan, bit by bit, and quietly substitute a
plan of his own therefor."
"I!" cried Lenet, while the princess reassured Madame de Tourville with
a smile and a glance,--"I, the most enthusiastic of your admirers! no,
a thousand times no! But I say that an officer in his Majesty's service
named Dalvimar has arrived in the city from Blaye, whose mission is to
arouse the officials and the people against her Highness. And I say
that if Monsieur de Mazarin can put an end to the war at a single blow
he will do it; that is why I fear Madame de Tourville's hail-storm of
bullets, the more intelligent ones even more perhaps than the brutal,
unreasoning ones."
This last argument seemed to make Madame la Princesse reflect.
"You always know everything, Monsieur Lenet," retorted Madame de
Tourville, in a voice trembling with wrath.
"A good hot action would be a fine thing, however," said the captain of
the guards, drawing himself up and marking time with his foot as if he
were on the parade ground; he was an old soldier, whose sole reliance
was upon force, and who would have shone in action.
Lenet trod upon his foot, looking at him the while with a most amiable
smile.
"Yes, captain," said he; "but do you not think also that Monsieur le
Duc d'Enghien is necessary to our cause, and that with him dead or a
prisoner we are deprived of the real generalissimo of our armies?"
The captain of the guards, who knew that to bestow this pompous title
of generalissimo upon a prince of seven years made himself, in reality,
the commander-in-chief of the army, realized what a fool he had made of
himself, and warmly supported Lenet's opinion.
Meanwhile Madame de Tourville had gone to the princess's side and was
talking with her in an undertone. Lenet saw that the battle was not
yet won; indeed, the next moment her Highness turned to him and said,
testily:--
"It is very strange that you should be so bent upon demolishing what
was so well constructed."
"Your Highness is in error," said Lenet. "I have never been persistent
in offering such advice as I have had the honor to give you, and, if I
demolish, it is with the intention of rebuilding. If, notwithstanding
the arguments I have had the honor to submit to you, your Highness
still desires to seek death with your son, you are at liberty to do so,
and we will face death at your side; that is a very simple thing to
do, and the first footman in your retinue, or the meanest scoundrel in
the city will do as much. But if we wish to succeed, despite Mazarin,
despite the queen, despite the Parliament, despite Mademoiselle Nanon
de Lartigues, despite all the disadvantages inseparable from the feeble
state to which we are reduced, this, in my opinion, is what we must do."
"Monsieur," cried Madame de Tourville, impetuously, catching Lenet's
last sentence on the rebound, "there is no such thing as weakness,
where we have on the one hand the name of Condé, and on the other two
thousand of the men of Rocroy, Nordlingen, and Lens; and if we are weak
under such circumstances, why, we are lost in any event, and no plan of
yours, however magnificent it may be, will save us."
"I have read, madame," rejoined Lenet, calmly, enjoying in anticipation
the effect of what he was about to say upon the princess, who was
listening attentively in spite of herself,--"I have read that, in the
reign of Tiberius, the widow of one of the most illustrious Romans, the
noble-hearted Agrippina, who had been bereft of her husband Germanicus
by persecution, a princess who could at will arouse to frenzy a whole
army devoted to the memory of their dead general, preferred to enter
Brundisium alone, to traverse Puglia and Campania clad in mourning,
holding a child by each hand, pale-cheeked, eyes red with tears and
bent upon the ground, while the children sobbed and gazed imploringly
around; whereat all who saw--and from Brundisium to Rome there were
above two million people--burst into tears, broke forth in threats and
imprecations, and her cause was won, not at Rome alone, but before all
Italy; not only in the judgment of her contemporaries, but in that of
posterity; for she met with no shadow of resistance to her tears and
lamentations, while lances would have been met with pikes, and swords
with swords. To my mind there is a very strong resemblance between her
Highness and Agrippina, between Monsieur le Prince and Germanicus,
between Piso, the persecuting minister and poisoner, and Monsieur de
Mazarin. With this strong resemblance between the personages concerned,
the situation being almost identical, I ask that the same line of
conduct be adopted; for, in my opinion, it is impossible that what
succeeded so perfectly at one time could fail at another."
An approving smile played about Madame la Princesse's lips, and assured
Lenet that his discourse had turned the tide of battle in his favor.
Madame de Tourville took refuge in a corner of the room, veiling
herself like an antique statue. Madame de Cambes, | 856.838354 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Footnotes are placed at the end of chapter.
Italics are represented thus _italic_, and superscripts thus ^.
The periods of the satellites of Uranus have been added to the table as
specified in a subsequent note.
The layout of several tables has been modified to maintain clarity
within wdth restrictions.
[Illustration:
LONDON STEREOSCOPIC CO. PHOTOMEZZOTYPE.
STANMORE OBSERVATORY.
INSIDE VIEW.]
TELESCOPIC WORK
FOR
STARLIGHT EVENINGS.
BY
WILLIAM F. DENNING, F.R.A.S.
(FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF THE LIVERPOOL ASTRONOMICAL SOCIETY).
“To ask or search I blame thee not, for heaven
Is as the book of God before thee set,
Wherein to read his wondrous works.”
MILTON.
LONDON:
TAYLOR AND FRANCIS, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
1891.
[_All rights reserved._]
[Illustration: ALERE FLAMMAM.]
PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND FRANCIS,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.
PREFACE.
It having been suggested by some kind friends that a series of articles
on “Telescopes and Telescopic Work,” which I wrote for the ‘Journal of
the Liverpool Astronomical Society’ in 1887-8, should be reprinted, I
have undertaken the revision and rearrangement of the papers alluded
to. Certain other contributions on “Large and Small Telescopes,”
“Planetary Observations,” and kindred subjects, which I furnished to
‘The Observatory’ and other scientific serials from time to time, have
also been included, and the material so much altered and extended that
it may be regarded as virtually new matter. The work has outgrown my
original intention, but it proved so engrossing that it was found
difficult to ensure greater brevity.
The combination of different papers has possibly had the effect of
rendering the book more popular in some parts than in others. This
is not altogether unintentional, for the aim has been to make the
work intelligible to general readers, while also containing facts
and figures useful to amateur astronomers. It is merely intended as a
contribution to popular astronomy, and asserts no rivalry with existing
works, many of which are essentially different in plan. If any excuse
were, however, needed for the issue of this volume it might be found
in the rapid progress of astronomy, which requires that new or revised
works should be published at short intervals in order to represent
existing knowledge.
The methods explained are approximate, and technical points have
been avoided with the view to engage the interest of beginners who
may find it the stepping-stone to more advanced works and to more
precise methods. The object will be realized if observers derive any
encouragement from its descriptions or value from its references,
and the author sincerely hopes that not a few of his readers will
experience the same degree of pleasure in observation as he has done
during many years.
No matter how humble the observer, or how paltry the telescope,
astronomy is capable of furnishing an endless store of delight to its
adherents. Its influences are elevating, and many of its features
possess the charms of novelty as well as mystery. Whoever contemplates
the heavens with the right spirit reaps both pleasure and profit, and
many amateurs find a welcome relaxation to the cares of business in
the companionship of their telescopes on “starlight evenings.”
The title chosen is not, perhaps, a comprehensive one, but it covers
most of the ground, and no apology need be offered for dealing with one
or two important objects not strictly within its scope.
For many of the illustrations I must express my indebtedness to the
Editors of the ‘Observatory’ to the Council of the R.A.S., to the
proprietors of ‘Nature,’ to Messrs. Browning, Calver, Cooke & Sons,
Elger, Gore, Horne Thornthwaite and Wood, Klein, and other friends.
The markings on Venus and Jupiter as represented on pages 150 and 180
have come out much darker than was intended, but these illustrations
may have some value as showing the position and form of the features
delineated. It is difficult to reproduce delicate planetary markings
in precisely the same characters as they are displayed in a good
telescope. The apparent orbits of the satellites of the planets,
delineated in figs. 41, 44, &c., are liable to changes depending on
their variable position relatively to the Earth, and the diagrams are
merely intended to give a good idea of these satellite systems.
W. F. D.
Bishopston, Bristol,
1891.
Plates I. and II. are views of the Observatory and Instruments recently
erected by Mr. Klein at Stanmore, Middlesex, lat. 51° 36′ 57″ N.,
long. 0° 18′ 22″ W. The height above sea-level is 262 feet. The
telescope is a 20-inch reflector by Calver, of 92 inches focus; the
tube is, however, 152 inches long so as to cut off all extraneous
rays. It is mounted equatoreally, and is provided with a finder of
6 inches aperture—one of Tulley’s famous instruments a century ago.
The large telescope is fixed on a pillar of masonry 37 feet high, and
weighing 115 tons. Mr. Klein proposes to devote the resources of his
establishment to astronomical photography, and it has been provided
with all the best appliances for this purpose. The observatory is
connected by telephone with Mr. Klein’s private residence, and the
timepieces and recording instruments are all electrically connected
with a centre of observation in his study.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page
THE TELESCOPE, ITS INTENTION AND THE DEVELOPMENT | 856.878574 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Christine Aldridge and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_;
" in bold are surrounded by =equals=.
" in bold Gothic font are surrounded by ==double equals==.
2. Illustrations falling within the middle of a paragraph have | 856.878632 |
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Produced by Duncan Harrod
FELIX O'DAY
By F. Hopkinson Smith
Chapter I
Broadway on dry nights, or rather that part known as the Great White
Way, is a crowded thoroughfare, dominated by lofty buildings, the
sky-line studded with constellations of signs pencilled in fire.
Broadway on wet, rain-drenched nights is the fairy concourse of the
Wonder City of the World, its asphalt splashed with liquid jewels afloat
in molten gold.
Across this flood of frenzied brilliance surge hurrying mobs, dodging
the ceaseless traffic, trampling underfoot the wealth of the Indies,
striding through pools of quicksilver, leaping gutters filled to the
brim with melted rubies--horse, car, and man so many black silhouettes
against a tremulous sea of light.
Along this blinding whirl blaze the playhouses, their wide
portals aflame with crackling globes, toward which swarm bevies of
pleasure-seeking moths, their eyes dazzled by the glare. Some with heads
and throats bare dart from costly broughams, the mountings of their
sleek, rain-varnished horses glittering in the flash of the electric
lamps. Others spring from out street cabs. Many come by twos and threes,
their skirts held high. Still others form a line, its head lost in
a small side door. These are in drab and brown, with worsted shawls
tightly drawn across thin shoulders. Here, too, wedged in between shabby
men, the collars of their coats muffling their chins, their backs to the
grim policeman, stand keen-eyed newsboys and ragged street urchins, the
price of a gallery seat in their tightly closed fists.
Soon the swash and flow of light flooding the street and sidewalks
shines the clearer. Fewer dots and lumps of man, cab, and cart now cross
its surface. The crowd has begun to thin out. The doors of the theatres
are deserted; some flaunt signs of "Standing Room Only." The cars still
follow their routes, lunging and pausing like huge beetles; but much of
the wheel traffic has melted, with only here and there a cab or truck
between which gold-splashed umbrellas pick a hazardous way.
With the breaking of the silent dawn, shadowed in a lonely archway or
on an abandoned doorstep the wet, bedraggled body of a hapless moth is
sometimes found, her iridescent wings flattened in the mud. Then for a
brief moment a cry of protest, or scorn, or pity goes up. The passers-by
raise their hands in anger, draw their skirts aside in horror, or kneel
in tenderness. It is the same the world over, and New York is no better
and, for that matter, no worse.
On one of these rain-drenched nights, some ten years or more ago, when
the streets were flooded with jewels, and the sky-line aflame, a man in
a slouch hat, a wet mackintosh clinging to his broad shoulders, stood
close to the entrance of one of the principal playhouses along this
Great White Way. He had kept his place since the doors were opened, his
hat-brim, pulled over his brow, his keen eye searching every face that
passed. To all appearances he was but an idle looker-on, attracted by
the beauty of the women, and yet during all that time he had not moved,
nor had he been in the way, nor had he been observed even by the door
man, the flap of the awning casting its shadow about him. Only once had
he strained forward, gazing intently, then again relaxed, settling into
his old position.
Not until the last couple had hurried by, breathless at being late, did
he refasten the top button of his mackintosh, move clear of the nook
which had sheltered him, and step out into the open.
For an instant he glanced about him, seemed to hesitate, as does a bit
of driftwood blocked in the current; then, with a sudden straightening
of his shoulders, he wheeled and threaded his way down-town.
At Herald Square, he mounted with an aimless air a flight of low steps,
peered though the windows, and listened to the crunch of the presses
chewing the cud of the day's news. When others crowded close he stepped
back to the sidewalk, raising his hat once in apology to an elderly dame
who, with head down, had brushed him with her umbrella.
By the time he reached 30th Street his steps had become slower. Again
he hesitated, and again with an aimless air turned to the left, the rain
still pelting his broad shoulders, his hat pulled closer to protect his
face. No lights or color pursued him here. The fronts of the houses were
shrouded in gloom; only a hall lantern now and then and the flare of
the lamps at the crossings, he alone and buffeting the storm--all others
behind closed doors. When Fourth Avenue was reached he lifted his head
for the first time. A lighted window had attracted his attention--a
wide, corner window filled with battered furniture, ill-assorted china,
and dented brass--one of those popular morgues that house the remains of
decayed respectability.
Pausing automatically, he glanced carelessly at the contents, and was
about to resume his way when he caught sight of a small card propped
against a broken pitcher. "Choice Articles Bought and Sold--Advances
Made."
Suddenly he stopped. Something seemed to interest him. To make sure that
he had read the card aright, he bent closer. Evidently satisfied by his
scrutiny, he drew himself erect and moved toward the shop door as if
to enter. Through the glass he saw a man in shirt-sleeves, packing. The
sight of the man brought another change of mind, for he stepped back
and raised his head to a big sign over the front. His face now came into
view, with its well-modelled nose and square chin--the features of a
gentleman of both refinement and intelligence. A man of forty--perhaps
of forty-five--clean-shaven, a touch of gray about his temples, his eyes
shadowed by heavy brows from beneath which now and then came a flash
as brief and brilliant as an electric spark. He might have been a civil
engineer, or some scientist, or yet an officer on half pay.
"Otto Kling, 445 Fourth Avenue," he repeated to himself, to make sure of
the name and location. Then, with the quick movement of a man suddenly
imbued with new purpose, he wheeled, leaped the overflowed gutter, and
walked rapidly until he reached 13th Street. Half-way down the block
he entered the shabby doorway of an old-fashioned house, mounted to the
third floor, stepped into a small, poorly furnished bedroom lighted by a
single gas-jet, and closed the door behind him. Lifting his wet hat
from his well-rounded head, with its smoothly brushed, closely trimmed
hair--a head that would have looked well in bronze--he raised the edge
of the bedclothes and from underneath the narrow cot dragged out a flat,
sole-leather trunk of English make. This he unlocked with a key fastened
to a steel chain, took out the tray, felt about among the contents, and
drew out a morocco-covered dressing-case, of good size and of evident
value, bearing on its top a silver plate inscribed with a monogram and
crest. The trunk was then relocked and shoved under the bed.
At this moment a knock startled him.
"Come in," he called, covering the case with a corner of the cotton
quilt.
A bareheaded, coarse-featured woman with a black shawl about her
shoulders stood in the doorway. "I've come for my money," she burst out,
too angry for preliminaries. "I'm gittin' tired of bein' put off. You're
two weeks behind."
"Only two weeks? I was afraid it was worse, my dear madame," he answered
calmly, a faint smile curling his thin lips. "You have a | 856.879622 |
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PIANO MASTERY
Talks with Master Pianists and Teachers
and
an Account of a Von Buelow Class, Hints on Interpretation, by Two
American Teachers (Dr. William Mason and William H. Sherwood) and a
Summary by the Author
by
HARRIETTE BROWER
Author of _The Art of the Pianist_
With Sixteen Portraits
Frederick A. Stokes Company
The Musical Observer Company
1915
[Illustration: Photo Copyright By Marran IGNACE JAN PADEREWSKI]
CONTENTS
PRELUDE
IGNACE JAN PADEREWSKI
ERNEST SCHELLING.....The Hand of a Pianist
ERNESTO CONSOLO.....Making the Piano a Musical Instrument
SIGISMOND STOJOWSKI.....Mind in Piano Study.
RUDOLPH GANZ.....Conserving Energy in Piano Practise
TINA LERNER.....An Audience the Best Teacher
ETHEL LEGINSKA.....Relaxation the Keynote of Modern Piano Playing
BERTHA FIERING TAPPER.....Mastering Piano Problems
CARL M. ROEDER.....Problems of Piano Teachers
KATHARINE GOODSON.....An Artist at Home
MARK HAMBOURG.....Form, Technic, and Expression
TOBIAS MATTHAY.....Watching the Artist Teacher at Work
HAROLD BAUER.....The Question of Piano Tone
RAOUL PUGNO.....Training the Child
THUEL BURNHAM.....The "Melody" and "Coloratura" Hand
EDWIN HUGHES.....Some Essentials of Piano Playing
FERRUCCIO BUSONI.....An Artist at Home
ADELE AUS DER OHE.....Another Artist at Home
ELEANOR SPENCER.....More Light on Leschetizky's Ideas
ARTHUR HOCHMAN.....How the Pianist Can Color Tone with Action and
Emotion
TERESA CARRENO.....Early Technical Training
WILHELM BACHAUS.....Technical Problems Discussed
ALEXANDER LAMBERT.....American and European Teachers
FANNIE BLOOMFIELD ZEISLER.....The Scope of Piano Technic
AGNES MORGAN.....Simplicity in Piano Teaching
EUGENE HEFFLEY.....Modern Tendencies
GERMAINE SCHNITZER.....Modern Methods in Piano Study
OSSIP GABRILOWITSCH.....Characteristic Touch on the Piano
HANS VON BUeLOW.....Teacher and Interpreter
WILLIAM H. SHERWOOD AND DR. WILLIAM MASON.....Hints on Interpretation
POSTLUDE.....Vital Points in Piano Playing
ILLUSTRATIONS
Ignace Jan Paderewski
Sigismond Stojowski
Rudolph Ganz
Katharine Goodson
Mark Hambourg
Tobias Matthay
Harold Bauer
Raoul Pugno
Ferruccio Busoni
Eleanor Spencer
Teresa Carreno
Wilhelm Bachaus
Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler
Ossip Gabrilowitsch
Hans von Buelow
Dr. William Mason
PRELUDE
TO AMERICAN PIANO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS
The following "Talks" were obtained at the suggestion of the Editor of
_Musical America_, and have all, with one or two exceptions, appeared in
that paper. They were secured with the hope and intention of benefiting
the American teacher and student.
Requests have come from all over the country, asking that the interviews
be issued in book form. In this event it was the author's intention to
ask each artist to enlarge and add to his own talk. This, however, has
been practicable only in certain cases; in others the articles remain
very nearly as they at first appeared.
The summer of 1913 in Europe proved to be a veritable musical
pilgrimage, the milestones of which were the homes of the famous
artists, who generously gave of their time and were willing to discuss
their methods of playing and teaching.
The securing of the interviews has given the author satisfaction and
delight. She wishes to share both with the fellow workers of her own
land.
The Talks are arranged in the order in which they were secured.
PIANO MASTERY
PIANO MASTERY
I
IGNACE JAN PADEREWSKI
One of the most consummate masters of the piano at the present time is
Ignace Jan Paderewski. Those who were privileged to hear him during his
first season in this country will never forget the experience. The
Polish artist conquered the new world as he had conquered the old; his
name became a household word, known from coast to coast; he traveled
over our land, a Prince of Tones, everywhere welcomed and honored. Each
succeeding visit deepened the admiration in which his wonderful art was
held.
The question has often been raised as to the reason of Paderewski's
remarkable hold on an audience; wherein lay his power over the musical
and unmusical alike. Whenever he played there was always the same
intense hush over the listeners, the same absorbed attention, the same
spell. The superficial attributed these largely to his appearance and
manner; the more thoughtful looked deeper. Here was a player who was a
thoroughly trained master in technic and interpretation; one who knew
his Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Schumann and Liszt. These things of
themselves would not hold an audience spellbound, for there were other
artists equally well equipped. In a final analysis it was doubtless
Paderewski's wonderful _piano tone_, so full of variety and color, so
vital with numberless gradations of light and shade, that charmed and
enthralled his listeners. It mattered to no one--save the critics--that
he frequently repeated the same works. What if we heard the Chromatic
Fantaisie a score of times? In his hands It became a veritable Soliloquy
on Life and Destiny, which each repetition invested with new meaning and
beauty. What player has ever surpassed his poetic conception of
Schumann's _Papillons_, or the Chopin Nocturnes, which he made veritable
dream poems of love and ecstasy. What listener has ever forgotten the
tremendous power and titanic effect of the Liszt Rhapsodies, especially
No. 2? When Paderewski first came to us, in the flush of his young
manhood, he taught us what a noble instrument the piano really is in the
hands of a consummate master. He showed us that he could make the piano
speak with the delicacy and power of a Rubinstein, but with more
technical correctness; he proved that he could pierce our very soul with
the intensity of his emotion, the poignant, heart-searching quality of
his tones, the poetry and beauty of his interpretation.
Paderewski is known as composer and pianist, only rarely does he find
time to give instruction on his instrument. Mme. Antoinette Szumowska,
the Polish pianist and lecturer was at one time termed his "only pupil."
Mr. Sigismond Stojowski, the Polish composer, pianist and teacher has
also studied with him. Both can testify as to his value as an
instructor.
Mme. Szumowska says:
"Paderewski lays great stress on legato playing, and desires everything
to be studied slowly, with deep touch and with full, clear tone. For
developing strength he uses an exercise for which the hand is pressed
against the keyboard while the wrist remains very low and motionless and
each finger presses on a key, bringing, or drawing out as much tone as
possible.
"Paderewski advises studying scales and arpeggios with accents, for
instance, accenting every third note, thus enabling each finger in turn
to make the accent impulse: this will secure evenness of touch. Double
passages, such as double thirds and sixths, should be divided and each
half practised separately, with legato touch. Octaves should be
practised with loose wrists and staccato touch. As a preparatory study
practise with thumb alone. The thumb must always be kept curved, with
joints well rounded out; it should touch the keys with its tip, so as to
keep it on a level with the other fingers. Paderewski is very particular
about this point.
"It is difficult to speak of Paderewski's manner of teaching expression,
for here the ideas differ with each composer and with every composition.
As to tonal color, he requires all possible variety in tone production.
He likes strong contrasts, which are brought out, not only by variety of
touch but by skilful use of the pedals.
"My lessons with Paderewski were somewhat irregular. We worked together
whenever he came to Paris. Sometimes I did not see him for several
months, and then he would be in Paris for a number of weeks; at such
seasons we worked together very often. Frequently these lessons, which
were given in my cousin's house, began very late in the evening--around
ten o'clock--and lasted till midnight, or even till one in the morning.
"Paderewski the teacher is as remarkable as Paderewski the pianist. He
is very painstaking; his remarks are clear and incisive: he often
illustrates by playing the passage in question, or the whole
composition. He takes infinite trouble to work out each detail and bring
it to perfection. He is very patient and sweet tempered, though he can
occasionally be a little sarcastic. He often grows very enthusiastic
over his teaching, and quite forgets the lapse of time. In general,
however, he does not care to teach, and naturally has little time for
it."
* * * * *
Mr. Stojowski, when questioned in regard to his work with the Polish
pianist, said:
"Paderewski is a very remarkable teacher. There are teachers who attempt
to instruct pupils about what they do not understand, or cannot do
themselves: there are others who are able to do the thing, but are not
able to explain how they do it. Paderewski can both do it and explain
how it is done. He knows perfectly what effects he wishes to produce,
how they are to be produced, the causes which underlie and bring them
about; he can explain and demonstrate these to the pupil with the
greatest exactness and detail.
"As you justly remark the quality of tone and the variety of tonal
gradations are special qualities of Paderewski's playing. These must be
acquired by aid of the ear, which tests and judges each shade and
quality of tone. He counsels the student to listen to each tone he
produces, for quality and variety.
CLEARNESS A MUST PRINCIPLE
"The player, as he sits at the piano, his mind and heart filled with the
beauty of the music his fingers are striving to produce, vainly imagines
he is making the necessary effects. Paderewski will say to him: 'No
doubt you feel the beauty of this composition, but I hear none of the
effects you fancy you are making; you must deliver everything much more
clearly: distinctness of utterance is of prime importance.'' Then he
shows how clearness and distinctness may be acquired. The fingers must
be rendered firm, with no giving in at the nail joint. A technical
exercise which he gives, and which I also use in my teaching, trains the
fingers in up and down movements, while the wrist is held very low and
pressed against the keyboard. At first simple five-finger forms are
used; when the hand has become accustomed to this tonic, some of the
Czerny Op. 740 can be played, with the hand in this position. Great care
should be taken when using this principle, or lameness will result. A
low seat at the piano is a necessity for this practise; sitting low is
an aid to weight playing: we all know how low Paderewski himself sits at
the instrument.
"You ask what technical material is employed. Czerny, Op. 740; not
necessarily the entire opus; three books are considered sufficient. Also
Clementi's _Gradus_. Of course scales must be carefully studied, with
various accents, rhythms and tonal dynamics; arpeggios also. Many
arpeggio forms of value may be culled from compositions.
"There are, as we all know, certain fundamental principles that underlie
all correct piano study, though various masters may employ different
ways and means to exemplify these fundamentals. Paderewski studied with
Leschetizky and inculcates the principles taught by that master, with
this difference, that he adapts his instruction to the physique and
mentality of the student; whereas the Vorbereiters of Leschetizky
prepare all pupils along the same lines, making them go through a
similar routine, which may not in every instance be necessary.
FINGERING
"One point Paderewski is very particular about, and that is fingering.
He often carefully marks the fingering for a whole piece; once this is
decided upon it must be kept to. He believes in employing a fingering
which is most comfortable to the hand, as well as one which, in the long
run, will render the passage most effective. He is most sensitive to the
choice of fingering the player makes, and believes that each finger can
produce a different quality of tone. Once, when I was playing a
Nocturne, he called to me from the other end of the room: 'Why do you
always play that note with the fourth finger? I can _hear_ you do it;
the effect is bad,' He has a keen power of observation; he notices
little details which pass unheeded by most people; nothing escapes him.
This power, directed to music, makes him the most careful and
painstaking of teachers. At the same time, in the matter of fingering,
he endeavors to choose the one which can be most easily accomplished by
the player. The Von Buelow editions, while very erudite, are apt to be
laborious and pedantic; they show the German tendency to
over-elaboration, which, when carried too far becomes a positive fault.
CORRECT MOTION
"Another principle Paderewski considers very important is that of
appropriate motion. He believes in the elimination of every unnecessary
movement, yet he wishes the whole body free and supple. Motions should
be as carefully studied as other technical points. It is true he often
makes large movements of arm, but they are all thought out and have a
dramatic significance. He may lift the finger off a vehement staccato
note by quick up-arm motion, in a flash of vigorous enthusiasm; but the
next instant his hand is in quiet position for the following phrase.
STUDYING EFFECTS
"The intent listening I spoke of just now must be of vital assistance to
the player in his search for tonal variety and effect. Tone production
naturally varies according to the space which is to be filled. Greater
effort must be put forth in a large hall, to make the tone carry over
the footlights, to render the touch clear, the accents decisive and
contrasts pronounced. In order to become accustomed to these
conditions, the studio piano can be kept closed, and touch must
necessarily be made stronger to produce the desired power.
INTERPRETATION
"A great artist's performance of a noble work ought to sound like a
spontaneous improvisation; the greater the artist the more completely
will this result be attained. In order to arrive at this result,
however, the composition must be dissected in minutest detail.
Inspiration comes with the first conception of the interpretation of the
piece. Afterward all details are painstakingly worked out, until the
ideal blossoms into the perfectly executed performance. Paderewski
endeavors uniformly to render a piece in the manner and spirit in which
he has conceived it. He relates that after one of his recitals, a lady
said to him:
"'Why, Mr. Paderewski, you did not play this piece the same as you did
when I heard you before,'
"'I assure you I intended to,' was the reply.
"'Oh, it isn't necessary to play it always the same way; you are not a
machine,' said the lady.
"This reply aroused his artist-nature.
"'It is just because I am an artist that I ought at all times to play
in the same way. I have thought out the conception of that piece, and am
in duty bound to express my ideal as nearly as possible each time I
perform it.'
"Paderewski instructs, as he does everything else, with magnificent
generosity. He takes no account of time. I would come to him for a
stipulated half-hour, but the lesson would continue indefinitely, until
we were both forced to stop from sheer exhaustion. I have studied with
him at various times. One summer especially stands out in my memory,
when I had a lesson almost every day."
Speaking of the rarely beautiful character of Paderewski's piano
compositions, Mr. Stojowski said:
"I feel that the ignorance of this music among piano teachers and
students is a crying shame. What modern piano sonata have we to-day, to
compare with his? I know of none. And the songs--are they not wonderful!
I love the man and his music so much that I am doing what lies in my
power to make these compositions better known. There is need of pioneer
work in this matter, and I am glad to do some of it."
II
ERNEST SCHELLING
THE HAND OF A PIANIST
As I sat in the luxurious salon of the apartments near the Park, where
Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Schelling were spending the winter, sounds of
vigorous piano practise floated out to me from a distant chamber. It was
unusual music, and seemed to harmonize with the somewhat Oriental
atmosphere and coloring of the music-room, with its heavily beamed
ceiling of old silver, its paintings and tapestries.
The playing ceased and soon the artist appeared, greeting the visitor
with genial friendliness of manner. He was accompanied by the "lord of
the manor," a beautiful white bull terrier, with coat as white as snow.
This important personage at once curled himself up in the most
comfortable arm-chair, a quiet, profound observer of all that passed. In
the midst of some preliminary chat, the charming hostess entered and
poured tea for us.
The talk soon turned upon the subject in which I was deeply
interested--the technical training of a pianist.
"Technic is such an individual matter," began Mr. Schelling; "for it
depends on so many personal things: the physique, the mentality, the
amount of nervous energy one has, the hand and wrist. Perhaps the
poorest kind of hand for the piano is the long narrow one, with long
fingers. Far better to have a short, broad one with short fingers. Josef
Hofmann has a wonderful hand for the piano; rather small, yes, but so
thick and muscular. The wrist, too, is a most important factor. Some
pianists have what I call a 'natural wrist,' that is they have a natural
control of it; it is no trouble for them to play octaves, for instance.
Mme. Carreno has that kind of wrist; she never had difficulty with
octaves, they are perfect, Hofmann also has a marvelous wrist. I am
sorry to say I have not that kind of wrist, and therefore have been much
handicapped on that account. For I have had to work tremendously to
develop not only the wrist but the whole technic. You see I was a wonder
child, and played a great deal as a small boy. Then from fifteen to
twenty I did not practise anything like what I ought to have done. That
is the period when the bones grow, muscles develop--everything grows.
Another thing against me is the length of my fingers. When the fingers
are longer than the width of the hand across the knuckle joint, it is
not an advantage but a detriment. The extra length of finger is only so
much dead weight that the hand has to lift. This is another disadvantage
I have had to work against. Yes, as you say, it is a rather remarkable
hand in regard to size and suppleness. But I hardly agree that it is
like Liszt's; more like Chopin's, judging from the casts I have seen of
his hand.
"As for technical routine, of course I play scales a good deal and in
various ways. When I 'go into training,' I find the best means to attain
velocity is to work with the metronome. One can't jump at once into the
necessary agility, and the metronome is a great help in bringing one up
to the right pitch. You see by the firmness of these muscles at the back
and thumb side of my hand, that I am in good trim now; but one soon
loses this if one lets up on the routine.
"Then I practise trills of all kinds, and octaves. Yes, I agree that
octaves are a most necessary and important factor in the player's
technical equipment."
Going to the piano and illustrating as he talked, Mr. Schelling
continued:
"Merely flopping the hand up and down, as many do, is of little use--it
does not lead to strength or velocity. As you see, I hold the hand
arched and very firm, and the firmness is in the fingers as well; the
hand makes up and down movements with loose wrist; the result is a full,
bright, crisp tone. One can play these octaves slowly, using weight, or
faster with crisp, staccato touch. I play diatonic or chromatic octave
scales, with four repetitions or more, on each note--using fourth finger
for black keys.
"I sit low at the piano, as I get better results in this way; though it
is somewhat more difficult to obtain them. I confess it is easier to sit
high and bear down on the hands. Yes, I thoroughly approve of 'weight
touch,' and it is the touch I generally use. Sometimes it is a certain
pressure on the key after it is played, using arm weight.
"Ah, you are right. The young teacher or player, in listening to the
artist, and noticing he does not lift his fingers to any extent, and
that he always plays with weight, hastily concludes these are the
principles with which he must begin to study or teach the piano. It is
a mistake to begin in that way. Very exact finger movements must be
learned in the beginning. As I said before, technic is such an
individual matter, that after the first period of foundational training,
one who has the desire to become an artist, must work out things for
himself. There should be no straight-laced methods. Only a few general
rules can be laid down, such as will fit most cases. The player who
would rise to any distinction must work out his own salvation.
"In regard to memorizing piano music, it may be said this can be
accomplished in three ways: namely, with the eye, with the ear, and with
the hand. For example: I take the piece and read it through with the
eye, just as I would read a book. I get familiar with the notes in this
way, and see how they look in print. I learn to know them so well that I
have a mental photograph of them, and if necessary could recall any
special measure or phrase so exactly that I could write it. All this
time my mental ear has been hearing those notes, and is familiar with
them. Then the third stage arrives; I must put all this on the keyboard,
my fingers must have their training; impressions must pass from the mind
to the fingers; then all is complete."
III
ERNESTO CONSOLO
MAKING THE PIANO A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT
In a long conversation with Ernesto Consolo, the eminent pianist and
instructor, many points of vital importance to the player and teacher
were touched upon. Among other things Mr. Consolo said:
"It is absolutely necessary that the piano teacher should take his
profession very seriously. In my opinion there is most excellent
instruction to be secured right here in America, with such teachers as
are willing to take their work seriously. The time is not far away, I
think, when America will enjoy a very prominent position in the matter
of musical instruction, and perhaps lead the world in musical
advantages. The time is not here just yet, but it is surely coming. You
are still young in this country, though you are wonderfully progressive.
"If I have spoken of the serious aims of many teachers of piano, I
cannot say as much for the students: they are often superficial and want
to go too quickly; they are apt to be in a hurry and want to make a
show, without being willing to spend the necessary years on preparation.
No art can be hurried. Students of painting, sculpture, architecture or
music must all learn the technique of their art; they must all learn to
go deep into the mysteries and master technic as the means to the end,
and no one requires exhaustive preparation more than the executive
musician. The person who would fence, box or play baseball must know the
technic of these things; how much more must the pianist be master of the
technique of his instrument if he would bring out the best results.
"At the very bottom and heart of this subject of mastery lies
Concentration: without that, little of value can be accomplished.
Students think if they sit at the piano and 'practise' a certain number
of hours daily, it is sufficient. A small portion of that time, if used
with intense concentration, will accomplish more. One player will take
hours to learn a page or a passage which another will master in a
fraction of the time. What is the difference? It may be said one has
greater intelligence than the other. The greater the intelligence, the
stronger the power of concentration.
"If a pupil comes to me whose powers of concentration have not been
awakened or developed, I sometimes give him music to read over very
slowly, so slowly that every note, phrase and finger mark can be
distinctly seen. Not being used to thinking intently, mistakes occur, in
one hand or the other, showing that the mind was not sufficiently
concentrated. It is the mind every time that wins. Without using our
mental powers to their fullest extent we fail of the best that is in us.
"In regard to technical equipment and routine, I do different work with
each pupil, for each pupil is different. No two people have the same
hands, physique or mentality; so why should they all be poured into the
same mold? One student, for example, has splendid wrists and not very
good fingers. Why should I give him the same amount of wrist practise
that I give his brother who has feeble wrists; it would only be a waste
of time. Again, a pupil with limited ideas of tonal quality and dynamics
is advised to study tone at the piano in some simple melody of Schubert
or Chopin, trying to realize a beautiful tone--playing it in various
ways until such a quality Is secured. The piano is a responsive
instrument and gives back what you put into it. If you attack it with a
hard touch, it will respond with a harsh tone. It rests with you whether
the piano shall be a musical instrument or not.
"A student who comes to me with a very poor touch must of course go back
to first principles and work up. Such an one must learn correct
movements and conditions of hands, arms and fingers; and these can be
acquired at a table. Along with these, however, I would always give some
simple music to play, so that the tonal and musical sense shall not be
neglected.
"Of course I advise comprehensive scale practise; scales in all keys and
in various rhythms and touches. There is an almost endless variety of
ways to play scales. Those in double thirds and sixths I use later,
after the others are under control. Arpeggios are also included in this
scale practise.
"I have said that Concentration is the keynote of piano mastery. Another
principle which goes hand in hand with it is Relaxation. Unless this
condition is present in arms, wrist and shoulders, the tone will be hard
and the whole performance constrained and unmusical. There is no need
of having tired muscles or those that feel strained or painful. If this
condition arises it is proof that there is stiffness, that relaxation
has not taken place. I can sit at the piano and play _forte_ for three
hours at a time and not feel the least fatigue in hands and arms.
Furthermore, the playing of one who is relaxed, who knows how to use his
anatomy, will not injure the piano. We must remember the piano is a
thing of joints; the action is so delicately adjusted that it moves with
absolute freedom and ease. The player but adds another joint, which
should equal in ease and adjustment the ones already there. On the other
hand a person with stiff joints and rigid muscles, thumping ragtime on a
good piano, can ruin it in a week; whereas under the fingers of a player
who understands the laws of relaxation, it would last for many years.
"This principle of relaxation is exemplified in the athlete, baseball
player, and others. They have poise and easy adjustment in every part of
the body: they never seem to fall into strained or stiff attitudes, nor
make angular or stiff movements. Arms, shoulders, wrists and fingers are
all relaxed and easy. The pianist needs to study these principles as
well as the athlete, I believe in physical exercises to a certain
extent. Light-weight dumb-bells can be used; it is surprising how light
a weight is sufficient to accomplish the result. But it must be one
movement at a time, exercising one muscle at a time, and not various
muscles at once.
"For memorizing piano music I can say I have no method whatever. When I
know the piece technically or mechanically, I know it by heart. I really
do not know when the memorizing takes place. The music is before me on
the piano; I forget to turn the pages, and thus find I know the piece.
In playing with orchestra I know the parts of all instruments, unless it
be just a simple chord accompaniment; it would not interest me to play
with orchestra and not know the music in this way. On one occasion I was
engaged to play the Sgambatti concerto, which I had not played for some
time. I tried it over on the piano and found I could not remember it. My
first idea was to get out the score and go over it; the second was to
try and recall the piece from memory. I tried the latter method, with
the result that in about three hours and a half I had the whole concerto
back in mind. I played the work ten days later without having once
consulted the score. This goes to prove that memory must be absolute and
not merely mechanical.
"Students think they cannot memorize, when it would be quite easy if
they would apply themselves in the right way. I ask them to look
intently at a small portion, two measures, or even one, and afterward to
play it without looking at the notes. Of course, as you say, this can be
done away from the piano; the notes can even be recited; but there are
other signs and marks to be considered and remembered, so when one can
be at the piano I consider it better.
"Piano playing is such an individual and complex thing. I do not require
nor expect my pupils to play as I do, nor interpret as I interpret, for
then I would only see just so many replicas of myself, and their
individuality would be lost. I often hear them play a composition in a
different way and with a different spirit from the one I find in it. But
I don't say to them, 'That is wrong; you must play it as I do,' No, I
let them play it as they see and feel it, so long as there is no sin
against artistic taste.
"I trust these few points will be helpful to both player and teacher.
The latter needs all the encouragement we artists can give, for in most
cases he is doing a good work.
"Volumes might be added to these hurried remarks, but for that my time
is too limited."
IV
SIGISMOND STOJOWSKI
MIND IN PIANO STUDY
Mr. Sigismond Stojowski, the eminent Polish pianist and composer, was
found one morning in his New York studio, at work with a gifted pupil.
He was willing to relax a little, however, and have a chat on such
themes as might prove helpful to both teacher and student.
"You ask me to say something on the most salient points in piano
technic; perhaps we should say, the points that are most important to
each individual; for no two students are exactly alike, nor do any two
see things in precisely the same light. This is really a psychological
matter. I believe the subject of psychology is a very necessary study
for both teacher and student. We all need to know more about mental
processes than we do. I am often asked | 856.978375 |
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EXAMINATION
OF
EDWARDS ON THE WILL.
AN EXAMINATION
OF
PRESIDENT EDWARDS' INQUIRY
INTO THE
FREEDOM OF THE WILL.
BY
ALBERT TAYLOR BLEDSOE.
"Man, as the minister and interpreter of nature, does and understands as
much as his observations on the order of nature, either with regard to
things or the mind, permit him, and neither knows more, nor is capable
of more."--_Novum Organum_.
PHILADELPHIA:
H. HOOKER, 16 SOUTH SEVENTH STREET.
1845.
ENTERED, according to act of Congress, in the year 1845, by H. HOOKER,
in the clerk's office of the District Court for the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
King & Baird, Printers, 9 George St.
TO
THE REV. WILLIAM SPARROW, D. D.
AS A TOKEN
OF ADMIRATION FOR HIS GENIUS,
AND
AFFECTIONATE REGARD FOR HIS VIRTUES,
This little Volume
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
BY THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS
SECTION I.
OF THE POINT IN CONTROVERSY
SECTION II.
OF EDWARDS' USE OF THE TERM CAUSE
SECTION III.
THE INQUIRY INVOLVED IN A VICIOUS CIRCLE
SECTION IV.
VOLITION NOT AN EFFECT
SECTION V.
OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF REGARDING VOLITION AS AN EFFECT
SECTION VI.
OF THE MAXIM THAT EVERY EFFECT MUST HAVE A CAUSE
SECTION VII.
OF THE APPLICATION OF THE MAXIM THAT EVERY EFFECT MUST HAVE A CAUSE
SECTION VIII.
OF THE RELATION BETWEEN THE FEELINGS AND THE WILL
SECTION IX.
OF THE LIBERTY OF INDIFFERENCE
SECTION X.
OF ACTION AND PASSION
SECTION XI.
OF THE ARGUMENT FROM THE FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD
SECTION XII.
OF EDWARDS' USE OF THE TERM NECESSITY
SECTION XIII.
OF NATURAL AND MORAL NECESSITY
SECTION XIV.
OF EDWARDS' IDEA OF LIBERTY
SECTION XV.
OF EDWARDS' IDEA OF VIRTUE
SECTION XVI.
OF THE SELF-DETERMINING POWER
SECTION XVII.
OF THE DEFINITION OF A FREE-AGENT
SECTION XVIII.
OF THE TESTIMONY OF CONSCIOUSNESS
INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
I ENTERED upon an examination of the "Inquiry" of President Edwards, not
with a view to find any fallacy therein, but simply with a desire to
ascertain the truth for myself. If I have come to the conclusion, that
the whole scheme of moral necessity which Edwards has laboured to
establish, is founded in error and delusion; this has not been because I
came to the examination of his work with any preconceived opinion. In
coming to this conclusion I have disputed every inch of the ground with
myself, as firmly and as resolutely as I could have done with an
adversary. The result has been, that the views which I now entertain, in
regard to the philosophy of the will, are widely different from those
usually held by the opponents of moral necessity, as well as from those
which are maintained by its advocates.
The formation of these views, whether they be correct or not, has been
no light task. Long have I struggled under the stupendous difficulties
of the subject. Long has darkness, a deep and perplexing darkness,
seemed to rest upon it. Faint glimmerings of light have alternately
appeared and disappeared. Some of these have returned at intervals,
while others have vanished for ever. Some have returned, and become less
wavering, and led on the mind to other regions of mingled obscurity and
light. Gladly and joyfully have I followed. By patient thought, and
sustained attention, these faint glimmerings have, in more instances
than one, been made to open out into what has appeared to be the clear
and steady light of truth. If these are not mere fond illusions, the
true intellectual system of the world is far different from that which
has been constructed by the logic of President Edwards.
If his system be false, why, it may be asked, has the Inquiry so often
appeared to be unanswerable? Why has it been supposed, even by some of
the advocates of free agency, that logic is in favour of his system,
while consciousness only is in favour of ours? One reason of this
opinion is, that it has been taken for granted, that either the scheme
of President Edwards or that of his opponents must be true; and hence,
his system has appeared to stand upon immoveable ground, in so far logic
is concerned, only because he has, with such irresistible power and
skill, demolished and trampled into ruins that of his adversaries.
Reason has been supposed to be on his side, because he has so clearly
shown that it is not on the side of his opponents. But the scheme of the
motive-determining power, does not necessarily arise out of the ruins of
the self-determining power; it is only to the imagination that it
appears to do so. Because the one system is false, it does not follow
that the other is true.
There is another and still more powerful reason for the idea in
question. The advocates of free agency have granted too much. The great
foundation principles of the scheme of moral necessity have been
incautiously admitted by its adversaries. These principles have appeared
so obvious at first view, that their correctness has not been doubted;
and hence they have been assumed by the one side and conceded by the
other. Yet, if I am not greatly mistaken, they have been derived, not
from the true oracles of nature, but from what Bacon quaintly calls the
"idols of the tribe." If this be the case, as I think it will hereafter
appear to be; then in order to secure a complete triumph over the scheme
of moral necessity, even on the arena of logic, we must not only know
_how to reason_, but also _how to doubt_.
I fully concur with the younger Edwards, that "Clarke, Johnson, Price,
and Reid have granted too much;" and while I try to show this, I shall
also endeavour to show that President Edwards has assumed too much, not
for the good of the cause in which he is engaged, but for the attainment
of truth.
If his system had not been founded upon certain natural illusions, by
which the true secrets of nature are concealed from our view, it could
never have been the boast of its admirers, "that a reluctant world has
been constrained to bow in homage to its truth." If we would try the
strength of this system then, we must bend a searching and scrutinizing
eye upon the premises and assumptions upon which it is based; we must
put aside every preconceived notion, even the most plausible and
commonly received opinions, and lay our minds open to the steady and
unbiased contemplation of nature, just as it has been created by the
Almighty Architect; we must view the intellectual system of the world,
not as it is seen through our hasty and careless conceptions, but as it
is revealed to us in the light of consciousness and severe meditation.
This will be no light task, I am aware; but whosoever would seek the
truth on such a subject, must not expect to find it by light and
trifling efforts; he must go after it in all the loving energy of his
soul. Let this course be pursued, honestly and perseveringly pursued,
and I am persuaded, that a system of truth will be revealed to the mind,
to which it will not be constrained to render "a reluctant homage," but
which, by harmonizing the deductions of logic with the dictates of
nature, will secure to itself the most pleasing and delightful homage of
which the human mind is susceptible.
Those false conceptions which are common to the human mind, those "idols
of the tribe," of which Bacon speaks, have been, as it is well known,
the sources of some of the | 856.97853 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from scans of public domain works at the
University of Michigan's Making of America collection.)
APIS MELLIFICA;
OR,
THE POISON OF THE HONEY-BEE,
Considered as a Therapeutic Agent.
BY C. W. WOLF, M.D.,
Ex-District Physician in Berlin.
PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED AND FOR SALE BY
WILLIAM RADDE, 635 ARCH STREET.
1858.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Inconsistent hyphenation has been standardised, whilst variant and
archaic spellings remain as printed. The oe ligature is represented
by [oe].
PREFACE.
Every physician who has spent years of an active life in prescribing for
large numbers of patients, is morally bound to publish his experience to
the world, provided he is satisfied, in his interior conscience, that
such a publication might be useful to the general interests of humanity.
In offering the following essay to my readers, I simply desire to fulfil
an obligation recognised as valid by the inner sense. This essay
contains every thing that an experience of forty years in the
conscientious and philanthropic exercise of my profession has sanctioned
and confirmed as truth. Nor have I adopted a single fact, suggested by
my own observation, as correct, without contrasting it with the most
approved records of medicine. To every true friend of man, and more
particularly to every physician who considers the business of healing
disease as the highest office of medical art, I offer this essay for
further trial and examination. May the statements expressed in it either
be confirmed or else corrected and improved by those who excel in more
thorough knowledge and ability.
THE AUTHOR.
_Berlin, Oct., 1857._
APIS MELLIFICA.
"The bee helps to heal all thy internal and external maladies, and
is the best little friend whom man possesses in this world."--More
in Cotton's _Book of the Bee_, p. 138.
Since Hahnemann's successful attempt to develop the medicinal nature of
Aconite, no other discovery has been made in the domain of practical
medicine, as comprehensive and universally useful as the discovery of
the medicinal virtues of the poison of the bee. It is of the utmost
importance to the interests of humanity to become as intimately
acquainted with the efficacy of this poison as possible. It is the
object of these papers to contribute my mite to this work.
As soon as Dr. Hering had published the provings of the bee poison, in
his "American Provings," I at once submitted them to the test of
experience in an extensive practice. I prepared the drug which I used
for this purpose, by pouring half an ounce of alcohol on five living
bees, and shaking them during the space of eight days, three times
a-day, with one hundred vigorous strokes of the arm. From this
preparation, which I used as the mother-tincture, I obtained
attenuations up to the thirties centesimal scale. So far, the effects
which I have obtained with this preparation, have been uniformly
satisfactory. It has seemed to me that the lower potencies lose in power
as they are kept for a longer period; hence, I consider it safer to
prepare them fresh every year. As a general rule, I have found either
the third or the thirtieth potency, sufficient.
Day after day I have obtained more satisfactory results, and now I look
upon Apis mellifica as the greatest polychrest, next to Aconite, which
we possess.
The introduction of this poison to the medical profession, will be
looked upon as the most brilliant merit of one of the most deserving
apostles of hom[oe]opathy, and will secure immortality to the honored
name of Constantine Hering. The following statements will show how far
this faith of a grateful heart is founded upon facts:
_Apis mellifica is the most satisfactory remedy for acute hydrocephalus
of children._
The more acute and dangerous the attack, the more readily will it yield
to the action of Apis. Sudden convulsions, followed by general fever,
loss of consciousness, delirium, sopor while the child is lying in bed,
interrupted more or less by sudden cries; boring of the head into the
pillow, with copious sweat about the head, having the odor of musk;
inability to hold the head erect; squinting of one or both eyes;
dilatation of the pupils; gritting of the teeth; protrusion of the
tongue; desire to vomit; nausea, retching and vomiting; collapse of the
abdominal walls; scanty urine, which is sometimes milky; costiveness;
trembling of the limbs; occasional twitching of the limbs on one side of
the body, and apparent paralysis of those of the other side; painful
turning inwards of the big toes, extorting cries from the patient;
accelerated pulse, which soon becomes slower, irregular, intermittent
and rather hard; these symptoms inform us that life is in danger, the
more so the more numerous they are grouped together.
In comparing with these symptoms the following symptoms from Hering's
American Provings, Part I., 3d Num., p. 294: "40, 41, muttering during
sleep; muttering and delirium during sleep; 83, 84, he had lost all
consciousness of the things around him; he sank into a state of
insensibility; 140, 144, sense of weight and fulness in the fore part of
the head; heaviness and fulness in the vertex; dull pain in the occiput,
aggravated by shaking the head; pressure, fulness and heaviness in the
occiput; 170, her whole brain feels tired, as if gone to sleep;
tingling; she experiences the same sensation in both arms, especially in
the left, and from the left knee down to the foot; 175, 176, sensation
as if the head were too large; swelling of the head; 391, when biting
the teeth together, swallowing; after gaping or at other times, a sort
of gritting the teeth; only a single, involuntary jerk frequently
repeated; 501, nausea and vomiting; 506, nausea, as if one would vomit,
with fainting; 512, vomiting of the ingesta; 619, retention of stool;
640, retention of urine; 665, scanty and dark-colored urine; 980, 984,
985, trembling, convulsions, starting during sleep as if in affright;
1020, sudden weakness, compelling him to lie down; he lost all
recollection; 1032, great desire for sleep, he felt extremely drowsy."
If we compare these effects of Apis to the above-mentioned symptoms of
hydrocephalus, we shall find the hom[oe]opathicity of Apis to this
disease more than superficially indicated. If we consider, moreover,
that the known effects of Apis show that it possesses the power of
exciting inflammatory irritation and [oe]dematous swellings, we are
justified, by our law of similarity, in expecting curative results from
the use of Apis in all such diseases.
The experiments which I have instituted for the last four years, have
convinced me of the correctness of this observation. Whenever I had an
opportunity of giving Apis at the commencement of the diseases, it would
produce within twelve to twenty-four hours quiet sleep; general
perspiration, affording relief; the feverish and nervous symptoms,
together with the delirium, would disappear from hour to hour, and on
waking, the little patient's consciousness was lucid, the appetite good
and recovery fully established. This is a triumph of art which inspires
us with admiration for our science. Less surprising, but equally
certain, is the relief, if Apis is given after the disease has lasted
for some time. In such a case, the medicine first excites a combat
between the morbific force and the conservative reaction. The greater
the hostile force, the longer the struggle between momentary improvement
and aggravation of the symptoms; it may sometimes continue for one, two,
or three days. It is not until now, that a progressive and permanent
improvement sets in. The desire to vomit is gone; the twitching,
trembling, and the struggle, generally diminish from hour to hour;
consciousness returns; the squinting and the dilatation of the pupils
abate; gritting of the teeth and protrusion of the tongue cease; the
position and movements of the head and limbs become more natural; the
pulse becomes more regular; its slowness yields to a more normal
frequency; the feverish heat terminates in sweat which affords great
relief, and the retention of stool and urine is succeeded by a more
copious action of both the bowels and bladder. The natural appetite
returns; the reproductive process is restored; sleep is quiet and
refreshing, and recovery is perfectly established in an incredibly short
period. A cure of this kind generally requires five, seven, eleven, and
fourteen days. This result is so favorable, that those who have not
witnessed it, or who are too ignorant and egotistical to investigate the
facts, may reject it as incredible.
Such brilliant results are obtained by means of a single drop of Apis,
third attenuation. I mix a drop with seven tablespoonfuls of water, and
give a dessert-spoonful every hour, or every two or three hours; the
more acute the attack, the more frequently the dose is repeated; this
method generally suffices to effect a cure more or less rapidly. As long
as the improvement progresses satisfactorily, all we have to do is to
let the medicine act without interfering. If the improvement is
arrested, or the patient gets worse, which sometimes happens in the more
intense grades of this malady, the best course is to give a globule of
Apis 30, and to watch the result for some twenty-four hours. After the
lapse of this period the improvement will either have resumed its
course, or else it will continue unsatisfactory. In the latter case we
should give another dose of the above-mentioned solution of Apis 3. Not
unfrequently I have met with patients upon whom Apis acts too
powerfully, causing pains in the bowels, interminable diarrh[oe]a, of a
dysenteric character, extreme prostration and a sense of fainting. In
such cases the tumultuous action of Apis is mitigated, and the continued
use of this drug, rendered possible by giving Apis in alternation with
Aconite in water, every hour or two hours.
Except such cases, I have never been obliged to resort to other
accessory means.
_Apis is no less efficacious against the higher grades of ophthalmia._
It is particularly rheumatic, catarrhal, erysipelatous, and [oe]dematous
ophthalmia, which is most rapidly, easily, and safely cured by Apis, no
matter what part of the eye may be the seat of the disease.
The symptoms 188-307 distinctly point to the curative virtues of Apis in
ophthalmia: "Sensitiveness to light, with headache, redness of the eyes;
he keeps his eyes closed, light is intolerable, the eyes are painful and
feel sore and irritated if he uses them; weakness of sight, with feeling
of fullness in the eyes; twitching of the left eyeball; feeling of
heaviness in the eyelids and eyes; aching, sore-pressing, tensive,
shooting, boring, stinging, burning pains in and around the eyes, and
above the eyes in the forehead; redness of the eyes and lids; secretion
of mucus and agglutination of the lids; the lids are swollen, dark-red,
everted; the conjunctiva is reddened, full of dark blood-vessels which
gradually lose themselves in the cornea; the cornea is obscured, smoky,
showing a few little ulcers here and there; profuse lachrymation;
stinging itching in the left eye, in the lids and around the eye;
sensation of a quantity of mucus in the left eye; sensation of a foreign
little body in the eye; soreness of the canthi; styes; [oe]dema of the
lids; erysipelatous inflammation of the lids."
I have found the correctness of these observations uniformly confirmed
by the most satisfactory cures of such affections. I use the medicine in
the same manner as for acute hydrocephalus. In some cases I found the
eye so sensitive to the action of Apis, that an exceedingly violent
aggravation of the inflammatory symptoms ensued, which might have proved
dangerous to the preservation of such a delicate organ as the eye.
Inasmuch as it is impossible to determine beforehand the degree of
sensitiveness, I obviate all danger by exhibiting Apis in alternation
with Aconite in the manner indicated for hydrocephalus. By means of this
alternate exhibition of two drugs, we not only prevent every aggravating
primary effect, but we at the same time act in accordance with the
important law, that, in order to secure the effective and undisturbed
repetition of a drug, we have first to interrupt its action by some
appropriate intermediate remedy. All repetitions should cease as soon as
a general improvement sets in; if the medicine is continued beyond the
point where the organism is saturated with the drug, it acts as a
hostile agent, not as a curative remedy. This important point is known
by the fact, that the improvement which had already commenced, seems to
remain stationary; the patient experiences a distressing urging to
stool, a burning diarrh[oe]a sets in, and a disproportionate feeling of
malaise develops itself. Under these circumstances, a globule of Apis 30
will quiet the patient, and the action of the drug will achieve the cure
without any further difficulty, and without much loss of time, unless
psora, sycosis, syphilis, or vaccine-virus prevail in the organism, or
sulphur, iodine or mercury had been previously given in large doses. In
the presence of such complications Apis will prove ineffectual until
they have been removed by some specific antidote. After having made a
most careful diagnosis, a single dose of the highest potency of the
specific remedy be given, and be allowed to act as long as a trace of
improvement is still perceptible. As soon as the improvement ceases, or
an aggravation of the symptoms sets in, Apis is in its place and will
act most satisfactorily. We then give Apis 3 in water, as mentioned
above, with the most satisfactory success.
_Apis is the most appropriate remedy for inflammation of the tongue,
mouth, and throat._
The following symptoms may be looked upon as striking curative
indications: 378-380, 383, 384, 399, 400, 405, 406, 409, 410, 413, 419,
436, 437, 439, 443, 444, 449, 455, 458, 459, 463, 470, 471: "Burning of
the lips; the upper lip is swollen to such a degree that the inside
seems turned outside; swelling of the lips and tongue; swelling of the
upper lip, it becomes hot and red, almost brown; dark streaks along the
vermilion border, particularly on the upper lip, rough, cracked, peeling
off; violent pains spreading through the gums, the gums bleed readily;
the tongue feels as if burnt; tongue and palate are sore; raw feeling,
burning, blisters along the margin of the tongue, very painful,
stinging; at the tip of the tongue a row of small vesicles which cause a
pain as if sore and raw; dry tongue; the inner cheeks look red and
fiery, with painful sensitiveness; inflammation of the tongue;
inflammation and swelling of the palate; burning, stinging sensation in
the mouth and throat; pressure in the fauces as of a foreign body;
ptyalism; copious accumulation of a soapy mucus in the mouth and throat;
dryness and heat in the throat; inability to swallow a drop, with
swelling of the tongue; sensation of gnawing and contraction in the
throat, increasing after four hours so as to render deglutition
difficult; sensation of fulness, constriction and suffocation in the
throat; deglutition painful and impeded, stinging pains during
deglutition; swelling and redness of the tonsils, impeding deglutition;
angina faucium; chilliness followed by heat; violent pain in the
temples; redness and swelling of the tonsils; uvula and fauces, painful
and impeded deglutition, and stinging pains when attempting to
swallow."
The more frequently we make use of Apis in the treatment of these very
common forms of angina, and of the inflammation of the salivary glands,
which are so closely connected with the other parts of the throat, the
more we become convinced by the most striking success, that this drug is
by far the speediest, safest and easiest remedy which we possess for the
treatment of these exceedingly common and yet so very distressing
affections. Not only in common affections of this sort, but also in the
most acute and dangerous forms of angina faucium, will Apis be found
efficient; even where these affections are hereditary, or have become
habitual, and generally terminate in suppuration, Apis will still afford
help. In these affections likewise Apis acts most promptly and
efficiently, if given in alternation with Aconite, both remedies in the
third dilution, a few drops dissolved in twelve tablespoonfuls of water,
in alternate hourly doses. After taking a few doses, the patient begins
to feel relieved, enjoys a quiet sleep, and the resolution of the
inflammation takes place, accompanied by the breaking out of a general
perspiration. If there should be a natural tendency to suppuration, this
treatment will hasten it from hour to hour, and after the pus is
discharged, a cure will soon be accomplished. In the most inveterate
cases, which had been previously treated in a different manner, the same
curative process takes place gradually; first one outbreak of the
disease is hushed; next, if another portion of the throat becomes
inflamed, this inflammation is controlled, and this proceeding is
continued with an increasingly rapid success and a continued abatement
of all sufferings, until, finally, a perfect recovery is obtained, even
under these disadvantageous circumstances.
Apis is not sufficient to prevent the recurrence of such inflammatory
attacks; this object has to be accomplished by means of the appropriate
antidotal specific.
_Apis becomes an exceedingly useful remedy in consequence of the
specific power which it possesses over the whole internal mucous
membrane and its appendages._
It is particularly the mucous membrane of the alimentary canal | 857.037563 |
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THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
BY
WILLIAM B. YEATS
AND
LADY GREGORY
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1908
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1908,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
New edition. Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1908.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
About seven years ago I began to dictate the first of these Plays to
Lady Gregory. My eyesight had become so bad that I feared I could
henceforth write nothing with my own hands but verses, which, as
Theophile Gautier has said, can be written with a burnt match. Our
Irish Dramatic movement was just passing out of the hands of English
Actors, hired because we knew of no Irish ones, and our little troop of
Irish amateurs--as they were at the time--could not have too many
Plays, for they would come to nothing without continued playing.
Besides, it was exciting to discover, after the unpopularity of blank
verse, what one could do with three Plays written in prose and founded
on three public interests deliberately chosen,--religion, humour,
patriotism. I planned in those days to establish a dramatic movement
upon the popular passions, as the ritual of religion is established in
the emotions that surround birth and death and marriage, and it was
only the coming of the unclassifiable, uncontrollable, capricious,
uncompromising genius of J. M. Synge that altered the direction of the
movement and made it individual, critical, and combative. If his had
not, some other stone would have blocked up the old way, for the public
mind of Ireland, stupefied by prolonged intolerant organisation, can
take but brief pleasure in the caprice that is in all art, whatever its
subject, and, more commonly, can but hate unaccustomed personal
reverie.
I had dreamed the subject of "Cathleen ni Houlihan," but found when I
looked for words that I could not create peasant dialogue that would go
nearer to peasant life than the dialogue in "The Land of Heart's
Desire" or "The Countess Cathleen." Every artistic form has its own
ancestry, and the more elaborate it is, the more is the writer
constrained to symbolise rather than to represent life, until perhaps
his ladies of fashion are shepherds and shepherdesses, as when Colin
Clout came home again. I could not get away, no matter how closely I
watched the country life, from images and dreams which had all too
royal blood, for they were descended like the thought of every poet
from all the conquering dreams of Europe, and I wished to make that
high life mix into some rough contemporary life without ceasing to be
itself, as so many old books and Plays have mixed it and so few modern,
and to do this I added another knowledge to my own. Lady Gregory had
written no Plays, but had, I discovered, a greater knowledge of the
country mind and country speech than anybody I had ever met with, and
nothing but a burden of knowledge could keep "Cathleen ni Houlihan"
from the clouds. I needed less help for the "Hour-Glass," for the
speech there is far from reality, and so the Play is almost wholly
mine. When, however, I brought to her the general scheme for the "Pot
of Broth," a little farce which seems rather imitative to-day, though
it plays well enough, and of the first version of "The Unicorn," "Where
there is Nothing," a five-act Play written in a fortnight to save it
from a plagiarist, and tried to dictate them, her share grew more and
more considerable. She would not allow me to put her name to these
Plays, though I have always tried to explain her share in them, but has
signed "The Unicorn from the Stars," which but for a good deal of the
general plan and a single character and bits of another is wholly hers.
I feel indeed that my best share in it is that idea, which I have been
capable of expressing completely in criticism alone, of bringing
together the rough life of the road and the frenzy that the poets have
found in their ancient cellar,--a prophecy, as it were, of the time
when it will be once again possible for a Dickens and a Shelley to be
born in the one body.
The chief person of the earlier Play was very dominating, and I have
grown to look upon this as a fault, though it increases the dramatic
effect in a superficial way. We cannot sympathise with the man who sets
his anger at once lightly and confidently to overthrow the order of the
world, for such a man will seem to us alike insane and arrogant. But
our hearts can go with him, as I think, if he speak with some humility,
so far as his daily self carry him, out of a cloudy light of vision;
for whether he understand or not, it may be that voices of angels and
archangels have spoken in the cloud, and whatever wildness come upon
his life, feet of theirs may well have trod the clusters. But a man so
plunged in trance is of necessity somewhat still and silent, though it
be perhaps the silence and the stillness of a lamp; and the movement of
the Play as a whole, if we are to have time to hear him, must be
without hurry or violence.
NOTES
I cannot give the full cast of "Cathleen ni Houlihan," which was first
played at St. Teresa's Hall, Dublin, on April 3, 1902, for I have been
searching the cupboard of the Abbey Theatre, where we keep old
Play-bills, and can find no record of it, nor did the newspapers of the
time mention more than the principals. Mr. W. G. Fay played the old
countryman, and Miss Quinn his wife, while Miss Maude Gonne was
Cathleen ni Houlihan, and very magnificently she played. The Play has
been constantly revived, and has, I imagine, been played more often
than any other, except perhaps Lady Gregory's "Spreading the News," at
the Abbey Theatre, Dublin.
The "Hour-Glass" was first played at the Molesworth Hall, Dublin, on
March 14, 1903, with the following cast:--
The Wise Man J. W. Digges
Bridget, his wife Maire T. Quinn
Her children Eithne and Padragan ni Shiubhlaigh
{ P. I. Kelly
Her pupils { Seumas O'Sullivan
{ P. Colum
{ P. MacShiubhlaigh
The Angel Maire ni Shiubhlaigh
The Fool F. J. Fay
The Play has been revived many times since then as a part of the
repertoire at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin.
"The Unicorn from the Stars" was first played at the Abbey Theatre on
November 23, 1907, with the following cast:--
Father John Ernest Vaughan
Thomas Hearne Arthur Sinclair
Andrew Hearne J. A. O'Rourke
Martin Hearne F. J. Fay
Johnny Bacach W. G. Fay
Paudeen J. M. Kerrigan
Biddy Lally Maire O'Neill
Nanny Bridget O'Dempsey
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS 1
By Lady Gregory and W. B. Yeats.
CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN 135
By W. B. Yeats.
THE HOUR-GLASS 169
By W. B. Yeats.
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
CHARACTERS
FATHER JOHN
THOMAS HEARNE _a coach builder._
ANDREW HEARNE _his brother._
MARTIN. HEARNE _his nephew._
JOHNNY BACACH }
PAUDEEN }
BIDDY LALLY } _beggars._
NANNY }
ACT I
SCENE: _Interior of a coach builder's workshop. Parts of a gilded
coach, among them an ornament representing the lion and the unicorn._
THOMAS _working at a wheel._ FATHER JOHN _coming from door of inner
room._
FATHER JOHN. I have prayed over Martin. I have prayed a long time, but
there is no move in him yet.
THOMAS. You are giving yourself too much trouble, Father. It's as good
for you to leave him alone till the doctor's bottle will come. If there
is any cure at all for what is on him, it is likely the doctor will
have it.
FATHER JOHN. I think it is not doctor's medicine will help him in this
case.
THOMAS. It will, it will. The doctor has his business learned well. If
Andrew had gone to him the time I bade him, and had not turned again to
bring yourself to the house, it is likely Martin would be walking at
this time. I am loth to trouble you, Father, when the business is not
of your own sort. Any doctor at all should be able, and well able, to
cure the falling sickness.
FATHER JOHN. It is not any common sickness that is on him now.
THOMAS. I thought at the first it was gone asleep he was. But when
shaking him and roaring at him failed to rouse him, I knew well it was
the falling sickness. Believe me, the doctor will reach it with his
drugs.
FATHER JOHN. Nothing but prayer can reach a soul that is so far beyond
the world as his soul is at this moment.
THOMAS. You are not saying that the life is gone out of him!
FATHER JOHN. No, no, his life is in no danger. But where he himself,
the spirit, the soul, is gone, I cannot say. It has gone beyond our
imaginings. He is fallen into a trance.
THOMAS. He used to be queer as a child, going asleep in the fields and
coming back with talk of white horses he saw, and bright people like
angels or whatever they were. But I mended that. I taught him to
recognise stones beyond angels with a few strokes of a rod. I would
never give in to visions or to trances.
FATHER JOHN. We who hold the faith have no right to speak against
trance or vision. St. Teresa had them, St. Benedict, St. Anthony, St.
Columcille. St. Catherine of Sienna often lay a long time as if | 857.039552 |
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Transcriber's Notes: No corrections of typographical or other errors
have been made to this text. Words in italics in the original are
surrounded by _underscores_. Words in bold in the original are
surrounded by =equal signs=. On pages 6 and 7 of the original, a note
was typed vertically in the margin. These notes have been | 857.084061 |
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THE IMAGINARY INVALID.
(LE MALADE IMAGINAIRE.)
by
MOLIERE,
Translated into English Prose.
With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.
by
CHARLES HERON WALL.
This is the last comedy written by Moliere. He was very ill, nearly
dying, at the time he wrote it. It was first acted at the Palais Royal
Theatre, on February 10, 1673.
Moliere acted the part of Argan.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
ARGAN, _an imaginary invalid_.
BELINE, _second wife to_ ARGAN.
ANGELIQUE, _daughter to_ ARGAN, _in love with_ CLEANTE.
LOUISON, ARGAN'S _young daughter, sister to_ ANGELIQUE.
BERALDE, _brother to_ ARGAN.
CLEANTE, _lover to_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. DIAFOIRUS, _a physician_.
THOMAS DIAFOIRUS, _his son, in love with_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. PURGON, _physician to_ ARGAN.
MR. FLEURANT, _an apothecary_.
MR. DE BONNEFOI, _a notary_.
TOINETTE, _maid-servant to_ ARGAN.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--ARGAN (_sitting at a table, adding up his apothecary's
bill with counters_).
ARG. Three and two make five, and five make ten, and ten make twenty.
"Item, on the 24th, a small, insinuative clyster, preparative and
gentle, to soften, moisten, and refresh the bowels of Mr. Argan." What
I like about Mr. Fleurant, my apothecary, is that his bills are always
civil. "The bowels of Mr. Argan." All the same, Mr. Fleurant, it is
not enough to be civil, you must also be reasonable, and not plunder
sick people. Thirty sous for a clyster! I have already told you, with
all due respect to you, that elsewhere you have only charged me twenty
sous; and twenty sous, in the language of apothecaries, means only ten
sous. Here they are, these ten sous. "Item, on the said day, a good
detergent clyster, compounded of double catholicon rhubarb, honey of
roses, and other ingredients, according to the prescription, to scour,
work, and clear out the bowels of Mr. Argan, thirty sons." With your
leave, ten sous. "Item, on the said day, in the evening, a julep,
hepatic, soporiferous, and somniferous, intended to promote the sleep
of Mr. Argan, thirty-five sous." I do not complain of that, for it
made me sleep very well. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen sous six
deniers. "Item, on the 25 | 857.085962 |
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TALES OF NORTHUMBRIA
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
BORDERLAND STUDIES
THE MARK O' THE DEIL
THE WHITE-FACED PRIEST
TALES OF
NORTHUMBRIA
BY
HOWARD PEASE
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.
LONDON
1899
TO
EARL GREY
EVER KEENLY INTERESTED IN WHATEVER
CONCERNS HIS NATIVE COUNTY
THESE SKETCHES OF NORTHUMBRIAN CHARACTER
ARE DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
PAGE
NORTHUMBERLAND 1
'A LONG MAIN' 7
THE SQUIRE'S LAST RIDE 29
[`A] L'OUTRANCE 41
'T'OWD SQUIRE' 59
AN 'AMMYTOOR' DETECTIVE 79
'IN MEMORIOV'M' 109
'THE HECKLER' UPON WOMENFOLK 121
THE 'CALEB JAY' 133
GEORDIE ARMSTRONG 'THE JESU-YTE' 147
'GEORDIE RIDE-THE-STANG' 165
YANKEE BILL AND QUAKER JOHN 187
THE PROT['E]G['E] 209
THE SPANISH DOUBLOON 243
The tales that go to make up this small volume have already appeared
in print: the first part of the Introduction, 'A Long Main,' 'In
Memoriov'm,' in the _National Observer_; 'The Prot['e]g['e],' in the
_Queen_; 'Quaker John and Yankee Bill,' 'T'Owd Squire,' 'An Ammytoor
Detective,' in the _Newcastle Courant_; '[`A] l'Outrance,' in the
_Newcastle Weekly Chronicle_; and the remaining six in the _Newcastle
Daily Leader_. I desire to tender my thanks herewith to the various
editors concerned.
TALES OF NORTHUMBRIA
NORTHUMBERLAND
It is generally admitted that your Northumbrian pre-eminently
possesses the quality which the pious but worldly Scotchman was used
to pray for, namely, 'a guid conceit o' hissel'.'
It is the more unfortunate, therefore, that of late years a
considerable landslip should have taken place in the ground whereon
his reputation rested.
The local poet no longer hymns the 'Champions o' Tyneside,' for
Chambers and Renforth and other heroes have long since departed,
leaving 'no issue.'
Advancing civilization, again, has, it is to be feared, made havoc of
the proud insularity of the Northumbrian squirearchy. No longer are
they content, like the Osbaldistones of yore, to devote themselves to
cellar and stable, to stay at home, contemptuous of London and its
politics, of travel and of new ideas. 'Markham's Farriery' and the
'Guide to Heraldry' have lost their pristine charm, and the
Northumbrian is, as a consequence, foregoing his ancient
characteristics merely to become provincial.
'Geordie Pitman' alone makes a stand against all modern innovation.
Firm in his pele tower of ancient superiority, he is still convinced
of the superiority of all things Northumbrian.
'Champions' may have died out elsewhere, and patriotism be decayed in
the higher social ranks, but in the pit-village there still lingers an
admirable quantity of the old self-love.
In each separate village you may find some half-dozen self-styled
'champions' who will match themselves against 'any man in the world'
for [GBP]10 or [GBP]15 a side at their own particular hobby or pastime.
Defeat has little effect upon a 'champion': like Antaeus, he picks
himself up the stronger for a fall, and having advertised himself in
the papers as 'not being satisfied' with his beating, challenges
another attempt forthwith.
* * * * *
Now this self-satisfaction--though somewhat decayed of late--is
probably one of the oldest strains in the Northumbrian character,
having been developed, doubtless, in the first instance, under stress
of constant raid and foray, and but little affected thereafter--owing
to the remoteness of the county both from the universities and from
London--by the higher standards of softer and more civilized centres.
After this, the next most predominant trait is a love of sport, for
which the climate, together with the physical conformation of the
county, may be held responsible; for the open aspect of the plain, the
crown of bare western hills, the wind-swept moorland and the sea,
suggest a life of hard endurance and fatigue, the strenuous toil of
the hunter, the keen excitements of the chase.
Still, as of old, the wide and spreading grasslands try horse and
rider with a tempting challenge, as of one who cries, 'Come, who will
tire first?' The music of the hounds sweeps down the brae:
'Yoi--yoi--yoi!' quivers the cry from the streaming pack. Onward the
rider gallops, the plover perchance rising at his horse's heels, the
long note of the curlew sounding in his ears, the breath of the west
wind racing in his nostrils; he may see on this side the purple bar of
Cheviot, on the other the blue, flat line of the sea, and
therewith--if ever in his life--may taste of the primeval joy of
living--of the joy of the early hunter who lived with his horse as
with a comrade, drew from the sea the'sacred fish,' from the moorland
the 'winged fowl,' and knew not discontent.
The beauty of the southern counties is not to be met with here.
The south is the well-dowered matron, the north a bare-headed
gipsy-lass, freckled with sun and wind, who 'fends' for her living
with strategies of hand and head.
Still, in the northern blood, the heritage of the 'raid' and the
'foray' abides, and still, as of old, are the children of the
Borderland nursed by the keen wind of the moorland and the sea. 'Hard
and heather-bred' ran the ancient North-Tyne slogan; 'hard and
heather-bred--yet--yet--yet.'
'A LONG MAIN'
'So you're a county family?' I echoed, and, though it may have been
impolite, I could not forbear a smile, for never had I seen County
Family so well disguised before.
'Ay,' replied Geordie Crozier, 'I is,' and forthwith proceeded to
search in the pocket of his pit-knickerbockers for his 'cutty.' He had
just come up to 'bank' from the 'fore-shift,' and was leaning on a
waggon on the pit-heap, about to have a smoke before going home for a
'wesh,' dinner, and bed. 'The last ov us,' he continued, having lit
his pipe, 'that had Crozier Hall was grandfeythor--Jake Crozier, of
Crozier Hall, was his name an' address, an'--an'--I's his relics.'
I glanced at the'relics' afresh--six foot two if he was an inch, and | 857.140131 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: "_He found himself in a large room flooded with light_."
Page 192.]
[Illustration: Pre-title page]
*MY STRANGE RESCUE*
AND OTHER STORIES
*of Sport and Adventure in Canada*
BY
J. MACDONALD OXLEY
_Author of "In the Wilds of the West Coast," "Diamond Rock,"
"Up Among the Ice-Floes"
&c. &c._
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1903
*PREFATORY NOTE.*
The Author begs to express his acknowledgments to the publishers of _Our
Youth_, _Youth's Companion_, _Harper's Young People_, _Golden Days_, and
other periodicals, in whose pages many of these stories and sketches
were first published.
J. M. O.
*CONTENTS.*
MY VERY STRANGE RESCUE
A BLESSING IN STERN DISGUISE
IN PERIL AT BLACK RUN
TOUCH AND GO
THE CAVE IN THE CLIFF
TOBOGGANING
A MIC-MAC CINDERELLA
BLUE-NOSE FISHER FOLK
LOST ON THE LIMITS
A STRANGE HELPER
FORTY MILES OF MAELSTROM
THE CANADIAN CHILDREN OF THE COLD
FACE TO FACE WITH AN "INDIAN DEVIL"
IN THE NICK OF TIME
SNOW-SHOEING
THE SWIMMING MATCH AT THE ARM
HAROLD'S LASTING IMPRESSION
HOW WILBERFORCE BRENNAN VISITED WHITE BEAR CASTLE
OUTSIDE THE BOOM
FOUND AFTER MANY DAYS
MRS. GRUNDY'S GOBBLERS
ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE SNOW-RIDGE
THROUGH THE TRACKLESS FOREST
WRECKS AND WRECKERS OF ANTICOSTI
A LUMBER CAMP
LACROSSE
A PILLOW-SLIP FULL OF APPLES
LOST ON LAKE ST. LOUIS
ICE-SKATING IN CANADA
THE WILD DOGS OF ATHABASCA
BIRDS AND BEASTS ON SABLE ISLAND
THE BORE OF MINAS BASIN
THE GAME OF RINK HOCKEY
ON THE EDGE OF THE RAPIDS
THEO'S TOBOGGANING TRIUMPH
[Illustration: Chapter I headpiece]
*MY VERY STRANGE RESCUE.*
A shout of laughter rang through the kitchen and went echoing up the
great chimney when, much more in fun than in earnest, I hinted that if
they could not manage to kill the bear themselves I would have to do it
for them.
Now it was no new thing for me to be laughed at. My big brothers were
only too fond of that amusement, and I had got pretty well used to it;
but this time I detected a particularly derisive tone in their hilarity,
which touched me to the quick, and springing to my feet, with eyes
flashing and cheeks burning, I burst out hotly,--
"I don't care how much you laugh. As sure as I'm standing here, I'll
put a bullet in that bear before this time to-morrow night!"
At this they only laughed the louder, and filled the room with sarcastic
shouts of,--
"Hurrah for the Bantam!"--"I'll bet on the bear"--"What will you take
for his skin, Bantam?" until father silenced them with one of his
reproving looks, and drew me to him, saying soothingly,--
"Don't mind the boys, Walter; and don't let your temper betray you into
making rash vows that you cannot keep."
I sat down in the sulks, and soon after skipped off to bed; but it was a
long time before I got to sleep, for my brain was in a whirl, and my
blood coursing through my veins like fire.
I was the youngest in a | 857.141071 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature
Letters from The Raven
BEING THE CORRESPONDENCE OF
Lafcadio Hearn with
Henry Watkin
WITH INTRODUCTION AND
CRITICAL COMMENT BY THE EDITOR
MILTON BRONNER
NEW YORK
Brentano's
1907
To
My Sweethearts Three
Marian, May
and
Motherkin
Contents
INTRODUCTION
LETTERS FROM THE RAVEN
LETTERS TO A LADY
LETTERS OF OZIAS MIDWINTER
Introduction
It is felt that no apology is necessary for offering to the interested
public, even though it be a limited one, the letters and extracts from
letters which appear in this little volume. In a day when the letters
of Aubrey Beardsley--who was a draughtsman rather than a writer--are
gravely offered to possible readers by a great publishing house, it is
surely allowable to present for the first time epistles of a really
great author. No excuse was offered for printing such things as:
"Thank you so much. It was very good of you to call." If this tells us
anything concerning the unfortunate young master of white and black,
I am unable to discern it. I feel quite sure that no one can make the
same objection to the correspondence herewith given. It tells us many
things concerning Hearn's life and moods and aspirations that otherwise
would have been unknown to us. He wrote to Mr. Henry Watkin as to his
dearest friend. In his letters, we get what we do not find elsewhere.
We have here facts without which his future biographer would be at a
loss.
If there be any repetitions in the sections which follow, the
indulgence of the reader is craved. Such as they are, they were
written at widely separated intervals in the hope that material might
be finally gathered for a "Life and Letters of Hearn." This hope has so
far been frustrated, but it is felt that much is here offered that will
lead to a better understanding and appreciation of this famous writer.
The endeavor of the editor has been so far as possible to let Hearn
tell his own story, giving only enough comment to make clear what Hearn
himself had to say.
In writing of their beloved R. L. S., enthusiasts tell us Stevenson is
endeared to mankind not only because of his writings, but also because
of his dauntless cheerfulness in the face of incurable disease. Hearn,
in another field, was equally charming in his work and, in the face of
another danger, equally dauntless. From the first he was confronted
by the possible fate of the sightless. At best he had but a pearly
vision of the world. The mere labor of writing was a physical task
with him, demanding hours for the composition of a single letter. Yet
he accomplished almost two score volumes, none of which is carelessly
written. Seeing as through a ghostly vapor, in his books he revelled
in color as few writers of our day have been able to do. How he
managed to see, or rather to comprehend, all the things he so vividly
described, was one of his secrets.
The best work of his life was commenced at the age of forty, when he
arrived in Japan. He had many qualifications for his chosen field.
During the long, lazy two years in Martinique he had literally soaked
his mind, as it were, with Oriental philosophy. When he came to Japan
he was weary of wandering, and the courtesy, gentleness and kindliness
of the natives soon convinced him that they were the best people in the
world among whom to live. A small man physically, he felt at home in a
nation of small men. It pleased his shy, sensitive nature to think that
he was often mistaken for a Japanese.
To his studies and his work he brought a prodigious curiosity, a
perfect sympathy, and an admirable style. He had an eye that observed
everything in this delightful Nippon, from the manner in which the
women threaded their needles to the effect of Shinto and Buddhism
upon the national character, religion, art, and literature. Japanese
folk-lore, Japanese street songs and sayings, the home life of the
people,--everything appealed to him, and the farther removed from
modern days and from Christianity, the stronger the appeal.
Zangwill has acutely said, in speaking of Loti's famous story of Japan,
"Instead of looking for the soul of a people, Pierre Loti was simply
looking for a woman."
Hearn did not fail to tell us of many women, but his most particular
search was for just that soul of a people which Loti ignored; and in
the hunt for that soul, he became more and more impressed by that
Buddhism which enabled him the better to comprehend the people. His
whole religious life had been a wandering away from the Christianity
to which he was born and a finding of a faith compounded of Buddhism
modified by paganism, and a leaven of the scientific beliefs of
agnostics such as Spencer and Huxley, whom he never wearied of reading
and quoting. In all his writings this tendency is displayed. In one of
the letters we see him an avowed agnostic, or perhaps "pantheist" would
be the better word. In his little-known story of 1889, published in
_Lippincott's,_ with the Buddhist title of "Karma," there is a curious
tribute to a fair, pure woman. It shows the hold the theory of heredity
and evolution and the belief in reincarnation already had upon him:
"In her beauty is the resurrection of the fairest past;--in her youth,
the perfection of the present;--in her girl dreams, the promise of
the To-Be.... A million lives have been consumed that hers should be
made admirable; countless minds have planned and toiled and agonized
that thought might reach a higher and purer power in her delicate
brain;--countless hearts have been burned out by suffering that hers
might pulse for joy;--innumerable eyes have lost their light that hers
might be filled with witchery;--innumerable lips have prayed that hers
might be kissed." On his first day in the Orient he visited a temple
and made an offering, recording the following conversation, which gives
an admirable insight into his religious beliefs:[1]
"'Are you a Christian?'
"And I answered truthfully,'No.'
"'Are you a Buddhist?'
"'Not exactly.'
"'Why do you make offerings if you do not believe in Buddha?'
"'I revere the beauty of his teaching, and the faith of those who follow
it.'"
From this by degrees he reached to a pure Buddhism, tempered, however,
by a strange, romantic half belief, half love for the old pagan gods,
feeling himself at heart a pagan, too:
"For these quaint Gods of Roads and Gods of Earth are really living
still, though so worn and mossed and feebly worshipped. In this brief
moment, at least, I am really in the Elder World,--perhaps just at that
epoch of it when the primal faith is growing a little old-fashioned,
crumbling slowly before the corrosive influence of a new philosophy;
and I know myself | 857.175326 |
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Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of corrections
is found at the end of the text. Inconsistencies in spelling and
hyphenation have been maintained. A list of inconsistently spelled
and hyphenated words is found at the end of the text.
Oe ligatures have been expanded.
MEMOIR
OF AN
EVENTFUL EXPEDITION
IN
CENTRAL AMERICA;
RESULTING IN THE DISCOVERY OF THE IDOLATROUS CITY OF
IXIMAYA,
In an unexplored region; and the possession of two
REMARKABLE AZTEC CHILDREN,
Descendants and Specimens of the Sacerdotal Caste, (now
nearly extinct,) of the Ancient Aztec Founders of the
Ruined Temples of that Country,
DESCRIBED BY
JOHN L. STEVENS, ESQ.,
AND OTHER TRAVELLERS.
Translated from the Spanish of
PEDRO VELASQUEZ,
of SAN SALVADOR.
NEW YORK:
E. F. Applegate, Printer, 111 Nassau Street.
1850.
PROFILE ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM
CENTRAL AMERICAN RUINS,
OF
ANCIENT RACES STILL EXISTING
IN IXIMAYA.
[Illustration]
The above three figures, sketched from engravings in "Stevens's Central
America," will be found, on personal comparison, to bear a remarkable
and convincing resemblance, both in the general features and the
position of the head, to the two living Aztec children, now exhibiting
in the United States, of the ancient sacerdotal caste of _Kaanas_, or
Pagan Mimes, of which a few individuals remain in the newly discovered
city of Iximaya. See, the following _Memoir_, page 31.
[Illustration]
These two figures, sketched from the same work, are said, by Senor
Velasquez, in the unpublished portion of his narrative, to be
"irresistible likenesses" of the equally exclusive but somewhat more
numerous priestly caste of _Mahaboons_, still existing in that city,
and to which belonged Vaalpeor, an official guardian of those children,
as mentioned in this memoir. Velasquez states that the likeness of
Vaalpeor to the right hand figure in the frontispiece of Stevens' second
volume, which is here also the one on the right hand, was as exact, in
outline, as if the latter had been a daguerreotype miniature.
While writing his "Narrative" after his return to San Salvador, in the
spring of the present year, (1850,) Senor Velasquez was favored, by an
American gentleman of that city, with a copy of "Layard's Nineveh," and
was forcibly struck with the close characteristic resemblance of the
faces in many of its engravings to those of the inhabitants in general,
as a peculiar family of mankind, both of Iximaya and its surrounding
region. The following are sketches, (somewhat imperfect,) of two of the
male faces to which he refers:
[Illustration]
And the following profile, from the same work, is pronounced by
Velasquez to be equally characteristic of the female faces of that
region, making due allowance for the superb head dresses of tropical
plumage, with which he describes the latter as being adorned, instead of
the male galea, or close cap, retained in the engraving.
[Illustration]
These illustrations, slight as they are, are deemed interesting, because
the Iximayans assert their descent from a very ancient Assyrian colony
nearly co-temporary with Nineveh itself--a claim which receives strong
confirmation, not only from the hieroglyphics and monuments of Iximaya,
but from the engravings in Stevens' volumes of several remarkable
objects, (the inverted winged globe especially,) at Palenque--once a
kindred colony.
It should have been stated in the following Memoir, that Senor
Velasquez, on his return to San Salvador, caused the two Kaana children
to be baptized into the Catholic Church, by the Bishop of the Diocese,
under the names of Maximo and Bartola Velasquez.
MEMOIR
OF A RECENT
EVENTFUL EXPEDITION
IN
CENTRAL AMERICA.
In the second volume of his travels in Central America--than which no
work ever published in this country, has created and maintained a higher
degree of interest, both at home and abroad--Mr. Stevens speaks with
enthusiasm of the conversations he had held with an intelligent and
hospitable Padre, or Catholic priest, of Santa Cruz del Quiche, formerly
of the village of Chajul; and of the exciting information he had
received from him, concerning immense and marvellous antiquities in the
surrounding country, which, to the present hour, remain entirely unknown
to the world. The Padre told him of vast ruins, in a deserted and
desolate region, but four leagues from Vera Paz, more extensive than
Quiche itself; and of another ruined city, on the other side of the
great traversing range of the Cordilleras, of which no account has been
given. But the most stimulating story of all, was the existence of a
_living_ city, far on the other side of the great sierra, large and
populous, occupied by Indians of the same character, and in precisely
the same state, as those of the country in general, before the discovery
of the continent and the desolating conquests of its invaders.
The Padre averred that, in younger days, he had climbed to the topmost
ridge of the sierra, a height of 10 or 12,000 feet, and from its naked
summit, looking over an immense plain, extending to Yucatan and the Gulf
of Mexico, had seen, with his own eyes, in the remote distance, "a large
city, spread over a great space, with turrets white and glittering in
the sun." His account of the prevalent Indian report concerning it was,
that no white man had ever reached that city; that the inhabitants, who
speak the Maya language, are aware that a race of white strangers has
conquered the whole country around them, and have hence murdered every
white man that has since attempted to penetrate their territory. He
added that they have no coin or other circulating medium; no horses,
mules, or other domestic animals, except fowls, "and keep the cocks
under ground to prevent their crowing being heard." This report of their
slender resources for animal food, and of their perpetual apprehension
of discovery, as indicated in this inadequate and childish expedient to
prevent it, is, in most respects, contradicted by that of the
adventurous expedition about to be described, and which, having passed
the walls of their city, obtained better information of their internal
economy and condition than could have been acquired by any Indians at
all likely to hold communication with places so very remote from the
territory as Quiche or Chajul.
The effects of these extraordinary averments and recitals of the Padre,
upon the mind of Mr. Stevens, together with the deliberate conclusions
which he finally drew from them, is best expressed in his own language.
"The interest awakened in us, was the most thrilling I ever
experienced. One look at that city, was worth ten years of an every
day life. If he is right, a place is left where Indians and a city
exist, as Cortez and Alvarado found them; there are living men who
can solve the mystery that hangs over the ruined cities of America;
who can, perhaps, go to Copan and read the inscriptions on its
monuments. No subject more exciting and attractive presents itself
to any mind, and the deep impression in my mind, will never be
eff | 857.176365 |
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Produced by Stan Goodman, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
STORIES FROM THE ITALIAN POETS:
WITH
LIVES OF THE WRITERS.
BY LEIGH HUNT.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
MDCCCXLVI.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
BOIARDO.
CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA
THE DEATH OF AGRICAN
THE SARACEN FRIENDS
Part the Second
SEEING AND BELIEVING
ARIOSTO.
CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS
THE ADVENTURES OF ANGELICA Part
I. Angelica and her Suitors
II. Angelica and Medoro
III. The Jealousy of Orlando
ASTOLFO'S JOURNEY TO THE MOON
ARIODANTE AND GINEVRA
SUSPICION
ISABELLA
TASSO.
CRITICAL NOTICE OF HIS LIFE AND GENIUS
OLINDO AND SOPHRONIA
TANCRED AND CLORINDA
RINALDO AND ARMIDA;
WITH THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED FOREST:
Part I. Armida in the Christian Camp
II. Armida's Hate and Love
III. The Terrors of the Enchanted Forest
IV. The Loves of Rinaldo and Armida
V. The Disenchantment of the Forest, and the Taking of
Jerusalem, &c.
APPENDIX.
I. The Death of Agrican
II. Angelica and Medoro Translation
III. The Jealousy of Orlando
IV. The Death of Clorinda
V. Tancred in the Enchanted Forest
BOIARDO:
Critical Notice of his Life and Genius.
Critical Notice
OF BOIARDO'S LIFE AND GENIUS.[1]
While Pulci in Florence was elevating romance out of the street-ballads,
and laying the foundation of the chivalrous epic, a poet appeared in
Lombardy (whether inspired by his example is uncertain) who was destined
to carry it to a graver though still cheerful height, and prepare the way
for the crowning glories of Ariosto. In some respects he even excelled
Ariosto: in all, with the exception of style, shewed himself a genuine
though immature master.
Little is known of his life, but that little is very pleasant. It
exhibits him in the rare light of a poet who was at once rich, romantic,
an Arcadian and a man of the world, a feudal lord and an indulgent
philosopher, a courtier equally beloved by prince and people.
Matteo Maria Boiardo, Count of Scandiano, Lord of Arceto, Casalgrande,
&c., Governor of Reggio, and Captain of the citadel of Modena (it is
pleasant to repeat such titles when so adorned), is understood to have
been born about the year 1434, at Scandiano, a castle at the foot of the
Apennines, not far from Reggio, and famous for its vines.
He was of an ancient family, once lords of Rubiera, and son of Giovanni,
second count of Scandiano, and Lucia, a lady of a branch of the Strozzi
family in Florence, and sister and aunt of Tito and Erole Strozzi,
celebrated Latin poets. His parents appear to have been wise people, for
they gave him an education that fitted him equally for public and private
life. He was even taught, or acquired, more Greek than was common to the
men of letters of that age. His whole life seems, accordingly, to have
been divided, with equal success, between his duties as a servant of the
dukes of Modena, both military and civil, and the prosecution of his
beloved art of poetry,--a combination of pursuits which have been idly
supposed incompatible. Milton's poetry did not hinder him from being
secretary to Cromwell, and an active partisan. Even the sequestered
Spenser was a statesman; and poets and writers of fiction abound in
the political histories of all the great nations of Europe. When a
man possesses a thorough insight into any one intellectual department
(except, perhaps, in certain corners of science), it only sharpens his
powers of perception for the others, if he chooses to apply them.
In the year 1469, Boiardo was one of the noblemen who went to meet the
Emperor Frederick the Third on his way to Ferrara, when Duke Borso of
Modena entertained him in that city. Two years afterwards, Borso, who had
been only Marquis of Ferrara, received its ducal title from the Pope; and
on going to Rome to be invested with his new honours, the name of our
poet is again found among the adorners of his state. A few days after his
return home this prince died; and Boiardo, favoured as he had been by
him, appears to have succeeded to a double portion of regard in the
friendship of the new duke, Ercole, who was more of his own age.
During all this period, from his youth to his prime, our author varied
his occupations with Italian and Latin poetry; some of it addressed to a
lady of the name of Antonia Caprara, and some to another, whose name is
thought to have been Rosa; but whether these ladies died, or his love was
diverted elsewhere, he took to wife, in the year 1472, Taddea Gonzaga, of
the noble house of that name, daughter of the Count of Novellara. In the
course of the same year he is supposed to have begun his great poem. A
popular court-favourite, in the prime of life, marrying and commencing
a great poem nearly at one and the same time, presents an image of
prosperity singularly delightful. By this lady Boiardo had two sons and
four daughters. The younger son, Francesco Maria, died in his childhood;
but the elder, Camillo, succeeded to his father's title, and left an heir
to it,--the last, I believe, of the name. The reception given to the
poet's bride, when he took her to Scandiano, is said to have been very
splendid.
In the ensuing year the duke his master took a wife himself. She was
Eleonora, daughter of the King of Naples; and the newly-married poet was
among the noblemen who were sent to escort her to Ferrara. For several
years afterwards, his time was probably filled up with the composition
of the _Orlando Innamorato_, and the entertainments given by a splendid
court. He was appointed Governor of Reggio, probably in 1478. At the
expiration of two or three years he was made Captain of the citadel of
Modena; and in 1482 a war broke out, with the Venetians, in which he took
part, for it interrupted the progress of his poem. In 1484 he returned
to it; but ten years afterwards was again and finally interrupted by the
unprincipled descent of the French on Italy under Charles the Eighth; and
in the December following he died. The _Orlando Innamorato_ was thus left
unfinished. Eight years before his decease the author published what he
had written of it up to that time, but the first complete edition was
posthumous. The poet was writing when the French came: he breaks off with
an anxious and bitter notice of the interruption, though still unable to
deny himself a last word on the episode which he was relating, and a hope
that he should conclude it another time.
"Mentre che io canto, o Dio redentore,
Vedo l'Italia tutta a fiamma e foco,
Per questi Galli, che con gran valore
Vengon, per disertar non so che loco:
Pero vi lascio in questo vano amore
Di Fiordespina ardente poco a poco
Un' altra volta, se mi fia concesso,
Racconterovvi il tutto per espresso."
But while I sing, mine eyes, great God! behold
A flaming fire light all the Italian sky,
Brought by these French, who, with their myriads bold,
Come to lay waste, I know not where or why.
Therefore, at present, I must leave untold
How love misled poor Fiordespina's eye.[2]
Another time, Fate willing, I shall tell,
From first to last, how every thing befell.
Besides the _Orlando Innamorato_, Boiardo wrote a variety of prose works,
a comedy in verse on the subject of Timon, lyrics of great elegance, with
a vein of natural feeling running through them, and Latin poetry of a
like sort, not, indeed, as classical in its style as that of Politian and
the other subsequent revivers of the ancient manner, but perhaps not
the less interesting on that account; for it is difficult to conceive
a thorough copyist in style expressing his own thorough feelings. Mr.
Panizzi, if I am not mistaken, promised the world a collection of the
miscellaneous poems of Boiardo; but we have not yet had the pleasure
of seeing them. In his life of the poet, however, he has given several
specimens, both Latin and Italian, which are extremely agreeable. The
Latin poems consist of ten eclogues and a few epigrams; but the epigrams,
this critic tells us, are neither good nor on a fitting subject, being
satirical sallies against Nicolo of Este, who had attempted to seize on
Ferrara, and been beheaded. Boiardo was not of a nature qualified to
indulge in bitterness. A man of his chivalrous disposition probably
misgave himself while he was writing these epigrams. Perhaps he suffered
them to escape his pen out of friendship for the reigning branch of the
family. But it must be confessed, that some of the best-natured men have
too often lost sight of their higher feelings during the pleasure and
pride of composition.
With respect to the comedy of _Timon_, if the whole of it is written as
well as the concluding address of the misanthrope (which Mr. Panizzi has
extracted into his pages), it must be very pleasant. Timon conceals a
treasure in a tomb, and thinks he has baffled some knaves who had a
design upon it. He therefore takes leave of his audience with the
following benedictions
"Pur ho scacciate queste due formiche,
Che raspavano l' oro alla mia buca,
Or vadan pur, che Dio le malediche.
Cotal fortuna a casa li conduca,
Che lor fiacchi le gambe al primo passo,
E nel secondo l'osso della nuca.
Voi altri, che ascoltate giuso al basso,
Chiedete, se volete alcuna cosa,
Prima ch' io parta, perche mo vi lasso.
Benche abbia l'alma irata e disdegnosa,
Da ingiusti oltraggi combattuta e vinta,
A voi gia non l'avro tanto ritrosa.
In me non e pietade al tutto estinta
Faccia di voi la prova chi gli pare,
Sino alla corda, the mi trovo cinta;
Gli prestero, volendosi impiccare."
So! I've got rid of these two creeping things,
That fain would have scratched up my buried gold.
They're gone; and may the curse of God go with them!
May they reach home dust in good time enough
To break their legs at the first step in doors,
And necks i' the second!--And now then, as to you,
Good audience,--groundlings,--folks who love low places,
You too perhaps would fain get something of me,
Ere I take leave.--Well;--angered though I be,
Scornful and torn with rage at being ground
Into the dust with wrong, I'm not so lost
To all concern and charity for others
As not to be still kind enough to part
With something near to me-something that's wound
About my very self. Here, sirs; mark this;--
_[Untying the cord round his waist_.
Let any that would put me to the test,
Take it with all my heart, and hang themselves.
The comedy of _Timon_, which was chiefly taken from Lucian, and one,
if not more, of Boiardo's prose translations from other ancients, were
written at the request of Duke Ercole, who was a great lover of dramatic
versions of this kind, and built a theatre for their exhibition at an
enormous expense. These prose translations consist of Apuleius's
_Golden Ass_, Herodotus (the Duke's order), the _Golden Ass_ of Lucian,
Xenophon's _Cyropaedia_ (not printed), Emilius Probus (also not printed,
and supposed to be Cornelius Nepos), and Riccobaldo's credulous _Historia
Universalis_, with additions. It seems not improbable, that he also
translated Homer and Diodorus; and Doni the bookmaker asserts, that he
wrote a work called the _Testamento dell' Anima_ (the Soul's Testament)
but Mr. Panizzi calls Doni "a barefaced impostor;" and says, that as
the work is mentioned by nobody else, we may be "certain that it never
existed," and that the title was "a forgery of the impudent priest."
Nothing else of Boiardo's writing is known to exist, but a collection
of official letters in the archives of Modena, which, according to
Tiraboschi, are of no great importance. It is difficult to suppose,
however, that they would not be worth looking at. The author of the
_Orlando Innamorato_ could hardly write, even upon the driest matters
of government, with the aridity of a common clerk. Some little lurking
well-head of character or circumstance, interesting to readers of a later
age, would probably break through the barren ground. Perhaps the letters
went counter to some of the good Jesuit's theology.
Boiardo's prose translations from the authors of antiquity are so scarce,
that Mr. Panizzi himself, a learned and miscellaneous reader, says he
never saw them. I am willing to get the only advantage in my power
over an Italian critic, by saying that I have had some of them in my
hands,--brought there by the pleasant chances of the bookstalls; but I
can give no account of them. A modern critic, quoted by this gentleman
(Gamba, _Testi di Lingua_), calls the version of Apuleius "rude and
curious;"[3] but adds, that it contains "expressions full of liveliness
and propriety." By "rude" is probably meant obsolete, and comparatively
unlearned. Correctness of interpretation and classical nicety of style
(as Mr. Panizzi observes) were the growths of a later age.
Nothing is told us by his biographers of the person of Boiardo: and it is
not safe to determine a man's _physique_ from his writings, unless
perhaps with respect to the greater or less amount of his animal spirits;
for the able-bodied may write effeminately, and the feeblest supply the
defect of corporal stamina with spiritual. Portraits, however, seem to be
extant. Mazzuchelli discovered that a medal had been struck in the
poet's honour; and in the castle of Scandiano (though "the halls where
knights and ladies listened to the adventures of the Paladin are now
turned into granaries," and Orlando himself has nearly disappeared
from the outside, where he was painted in huge dimensions as
if "entrusted with the wardenship") there was a likeness of Boiardo
executed by Niccolo dell' Abate, together with the principal events of
the _Orlando Innamorato_ and the _AEneid_.But part of these
paintings (Mr. Panizzi tells us) were destroyed, and part removed from
the castle to Modena" to save them from certain loss;" and he does not
add whether the portrait was among the latter.
From anecdotes, however, and from the poet's writings, we gather the
nature of the man; and this appears to have been very amiable. There is
an aristocratic tone in his poem, when speaking of the sort of people of
whom the mass of soldiers is wont to consist; and Foscolo says, that the
Count of Scandiano writes like a feudal lord. But common soldiers are not
apt to be the _elite_ of mankind; neither do we know with how goodnatured
a smile the mention of them may have been accompanied. People often give
a tone to what they read, more belonging to their own minds than the
author's. All the accounts left us of Boiardo, hostile as well as
friendly, prove him to have been an indulgent and popular man. According
to one, he was fond of making personal inquiries among its inhabitants
into the history of his native place; and he requited them so generously
for their information, that it was customary with them to say, when they
wished good fortune to one another, "Heaven send Boiardo to your house!"
There is said to have been a tradition at Scandiano, that having tried in
vain one day, as he was riding out, to discover a name for one of his
heroes, expressive of his lofty character, and the word _Rodamonte_
coming into his head, he galloped back with a pleasant ostentation to his
castle, crying it out aloud, and ordering the bells of the place to be
rung in its holiour; to the astonishment of the good people, who took
"Rodamonte" for some newly-discovered saint. His friend Paganelli of
Modena, who wrote a Latin poem on the _Empire of Cupid_, extolled
the Governor of Reggio for ranking among the deity's most generous
vassals,--one who, in spite of his office of magistrate, looked with
an indulgent eye on errors to which himself was liable, and who was
accustomed to prefer the study of love-verses to that of the law. The
learned lawyer, his countryman Panciroli, probably in resentment, as
Panizzi says, of this preference, accused him of an excess of benignity,
and of being fitter for writing poems than punishing ill deeds; and in
truth, as the same critic observes, "he must have been considered crazy
by the whole tribe of lawyers of that age," if it be true that he
anticipated the opinion of Beccaria, in thinking that no crime ought to
be punished with death.
The great work of this interesting and accomplished person, the _Orlando
Innamorato_, is an epic romance, founded on the love of the great Paladin
for the peerless beauty Angelica, whose name has enamoured the ears of
posterity. The poem introduces us to the pleasantest paths in that track
of reading in which Milton has told us that his "young feet delighted to
wander." Nor did he forsake it in his age.
"Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp,
When Agrican with all his northern powers
Besieged Albracca, as romances tell,
The city of Gallaphrone, from whence to win
The fairest of her sex, Angelica."
_Paradise Regained._
The _Orlando Innamorato_ may be divided into three principal
portions:-the search for Angelica by Orlando and her other lovers; the
siege of her father's city Albracca by the Tartars; and that of Paris
and Charlemagne by the Moors. These, however, are all more or less
intermingled, and with the greatest art; and there are numerous episodes
of a like intertexture. The fairies and fairy-gardens of British romance,
and the fabulous glories of the house of Este, now proclaimed for the
first time, were added by the author to the enchantments of Pulci,
together with a pervading elegance; and had the poem been completed, we
were to have heard again of the traitor Gan of Maganza, for the purpose
of exalting the imaginary founder of that house, Ruggero.
This resuscitation of the Helen of antiquity, under a more seducing form,
was an invention of Boiardo's; so was the subjection of Charles's hero
Orlando to the passion of love; so, besides the heroine and her name,
was that of other interesting characters with beautiful names, which
afterwards figured in Ariosto. This inventive faculty is indeed so
conspicuous in every part of the work, on small as well as great
occasions, in fairy-adventures and those of flesh and blood, that
although the author appears to have had both his loves and his fairies
suggested to him by our romances of Arthur and the Round Table, it
constitutes, next to the pervading elegance above mentioned, his chief
claim to our admiration. Another of his merits is a certain tender
gallantry, or rather an honest admixture of animal passion with
spiritual, also the precursor of the like ingenuous emotions in Ariosto;
and he furthermore set his follower the example, not only of good
breeding, but of a constant heroical cheerfulness, looking with faith on
nature. Pulci has a constant cheerfulness, but not with so much grace and
dignity. Foscolo has remarked, that Boiardo's characters even surpass
those of Ariosto in truth and variety, and that his Angelica more engages
our feelings;[4] to which I will venture to add, that if his style is
less strong and complete, it never gives us a sense of elaboration. I
should take Boiardo to have been the healthier man, though of a less
determined will than Ariosto, and perhaps, on the whole, less robust.
You find in Boiardo almost which Ariosto perfected,--chivalry, battles,
combats, loves and graces, passions, enchantments, classical and romantic
fable, eulogy, satire, mirth, pathos, philosophy. It is like the first
sketch of a great picture, not the worse in some respects for being a
sketch; free and light, though not so grandly. It is the morning
before the sun is up, and when the dew is on the grass. Take the stories
which are translated in the present volume, and you might fancy them all
written by Ariosto, with a difference; the _Death of Agrican_ perhaps
with minuter touches of nature, but certainly not with greater simplicity
and earnestness. In the _Saracen Friends_ there is just Ariosto's balance
of passion and levity; and in the story which I have entitled _Seeing and
Believing_, his exhibition of triumphant cunning. During the lives of
Pulci and Boiardo, the fierce passions and severe ethics of Dante had
been gradually giving way to a gentler | 857.177389 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.1689590 | 4,434 | 10 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
A COMPILATION OF THE MESSAGES AND PAPERS OF THE PRESIDENTS
BY JAMES D. RICHARDSON
A REPRESENTATIVE FROM THE STATE OF TENNESSEE
VOLUME I
1897
Prefatory Note
In compliance with the authorization of the Joint Committee on Printing,
I have undertaken this compilation.
The messages of the several Presidents of the United States--annual,
veto, and special--are among the most interesting, instructive, and
valuable contributions to the public literature of our Republic. They
discuss from the loftiest standpoint nearly all the great questions of
national policy and many subjects of minor interest which have engaged
the attention of the people from the beginning of our history, and
so constitute important and often vital links in their progressive
development. The proclamations, also, contain matter and sentiment no
less elevating, interesting, and important. They inspire to the highest
and most exalted degree the patriotic fervor and love of country in the
hearts of the people.
It is believed that legislators and other public men, students of our
national history, and many others will hail with satisfaction the
compilation and publication of these messages and proclamations in
such compact form as will render them easily accessible and of ready
reference. The work can not fail to be exceedingly convenient and useful
to all who have occasion to consult these documents. The Government has
never heretofore authorized a like publication.
In executing the commission with which I have been charged I have sought
to bring together in the several volumes of the series all Presidential
proclamations, addresses, messages, and communications to Congress
excepting those nominating persons to office and those which simply
transmit treaties, and reports of heads of Departments which contain
no recommendation from the Executive. The utmost effort has been made
to render the compilation accurate and exhaustive.
Although not required by the terms of the resolution authorizing the
compilation, it has been deemed wise and wholly consistent with its
purpose to incorporate in the first volume authentic copies of the
Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the
Constitution of the United States, together with steel engravings of
the Capitol, the Executive Mansion, and of the historical painting the
"Signing of the Declaration of Independence." Steel portraits of the
Presidents will be inserted each in its appropriate place.
The compilation has not been brought even to its present stage without
much labor and close application, and the end is far from view; but if
it shall prove satisfactory to Congress and the country, I will feel
compensated for my time and effort.
JAMES D. RICHARDSON.
WASHINGTON, D.C.,
_February 22, 1896_.
Declaration of Independence
July 4, 1776
Declaration of Independence
NOTE.--The words "Declaration of Independence" do not appear on
the original.
IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776.
The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people
to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another,
and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal
station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them,
a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should
declare the causes which impel them to the separation.--We hold these
truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are
endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among
these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure
these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just
powers from the consent of the governed,--That whenever any Form of
Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the
People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government,
laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in
such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety
and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long
established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and
accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed
to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by
abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train
of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a
design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is
their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for
their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these
Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter
their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of
Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all
having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over
these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid
world.--He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and
necessary for the public good.--He has forbidden his Governors to pass
Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their
operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he
has utterly neglected to attend to them.--He has refused to pass other
Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those
people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature,
a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.--He has
called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable,
and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole
purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.--He has
dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly
firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.--He has refused for
a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected;
whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned
to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the
mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and
convulsions within.--He has endeavoured to prevent the population of
these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization
of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations
hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.--He
has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to
Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.--He has made Judges dependent
on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and
payment of their salaries.--He has erected a multitude of New Offices,
and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out
their substance.--He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing
Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.--He has affected to
render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.--He
has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our
constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their
Acts of pretended Legislation:--For quartering large bodies of armed
troops among us:--For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment
for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these
States:--For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:--For
imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:--For depriving us in many
cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:--For transporting us beyond
Seas to be tried for pretended offences:--For abolishing the free System
of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an
Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render
it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same
absolute rule into these Colonies:--For taking away our Charters,
abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms
of our Governments:--For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring
themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases
whatsoever.--He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of
his Protection and waging War against us.--He has plundered our seas,
ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the Lives of our
people.--He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign
Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny,
already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely
paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head
of a civilized nation.--He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken
Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become
the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by
their Hands.--He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has
endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless
Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished
destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions. In every stage of these
Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our
repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince,
whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant,
is unfit to be the ruler of a free people. Nor have We been wanting
in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time
to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable
jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our
emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice
and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common
kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt
our connections and correspondence They too have been deaf to the voice
of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the
necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold
the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.--
We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of
America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme
Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name,
and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish
and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be
Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all
Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection
between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally
dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power
to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and
to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right
do.--And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on
the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other
our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.
JOHN HANCOCK
JOSIAH BARTLETT
W'M WHIPPLE
SAM'L. ADAMS
JOHN ADAMS
ROB'T. TREAT PAINE
ELBRIDGE GERRY
STEP. HOPKINS
WILLIAM ELLERY
ROGER SHERMAN
SAM'EL HUNTINGTON
W'M WILLIAMS
OLIVER WOLCOTT
MATTHEW THORNTON
W'M FLOYD
PHIL. LIVINGSTON
FRAN'S LEWIS
LEWIS MORRIS
RICH'D STOCKTON
JN'O. WITHERSPOON
FRA'S. HOPKINSON
JOHN HART
ABRA CLARK
ROB'T. MORRIS
BENJAMIN RUSH
BENJ'A. FRANKLIN
JOHN MORTON
GEO CLYMER
JA'S. SMITH.
GEO. TAYLOR
JAMES WILSON
GEO. ROSS
CAESAR RODNEY
GEO READ
THO M'KEAN
SAMUEL CHASE
W'M. PACA
THO'S. STONE
CHARLES CARROLL of Carrollton
GEORGE WYTHE
RICHARD HENRY LEE.
TH. JEFFERSON
BENJ'A. HARRISON
THO'S. NELSON jr.
FRANCIS LIGHTFOOT LEE
CARTER BRAXTON
W'M. HOOPER
JOSEPH HEWES.
JOHN PENN
EDWARD RUTLEDGE.
THO'S. HEYWARD Jun'r.
THOMAS LYNCH Jun'r.
ARTHUR MIDDLETON
BUTTON GWINNETT
LYMAN HALL
GEO WALTON.
* * * * *
Articles of Confederation
Articles of Confederation
NOTE.--The original is indorsed: Act of Confederation of The
United States of America.
To all to whom these Presents shall come, we the undersigned
Delegates of the States affixed to our Names send greeting. Whereas the
Delegates of the United States of America in Congress assembled did on
the fifteenth day of November in the Year of our Lord One Thousand Seven
Hundred and Seventy seven, and in the Second Year of the Independence of
America agree to certain articles of Confederation and perpetual Union
between the States of Newhampshire, Massachusetts-bay, Rhodeisland and
Providence Plantations, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North-Carolina, South-Carolina and Georgia
in the Words following, viz. "Articles of Confederation and perpetual
Union between the states of Newhampshire, Massachusetts-bay, Rhodeisland
and Providence Plantations, Connecticut, New-York, New-Jersey,
Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North-Carolina,
South-Carolina and Georgia."
Article I. The Stile of this confederacy shall be "The United States of
America."
Article II. Each state retains its sovereignty, freedom an independence,
and every Power, Jurisdiction and right, which is not by this
confederation expressly delegated to the United States, in Congress
assembled.
Article III. The said states hereby severally enter into a firm league
of friendship with each other, for their common defence, the security
of their Liberties, and their mutual and general welfare, binding
themselves to assist each other, against all force offered to, or
attacks made upon them, or any of them, on account of religion,
sovereignty, trade, or any other pretence whatsoever.
Article IV. The better to secure and perpetuate mutual friendship and
intercourse among the people of the different states in this union,
the free inhabitants of each of these states, paupers, vagabonds and
fugitives from Justice excepted, shall be entitled to all privileges
and immunities of free citizens in the several states; and the people
of each state shall have free ingress and regress to and from any other
state, and shall enjoy therein all the privileges of trade and commerce,
subject to the same duties, impositions and restrictions as the
inhabitants thereof respectively, provided that such restriction shall
not extend so far as to prevent the removal of property imported into
any state, to any other state of which the Owner is an inhabitant;
provided also that no imposition, duties or restriction shall be laid
by any state, on the property of the united states, or either of them.
If any Person guilty of, or charged with treason, felony, or other high
misdemeanor in any state, shall flee from Justice, and be found in any
of the united states, he shall upon demand of the Governor or executive
power, of the state from which he fled, be delivered up and removed to
the state having jurisdiction of his offence.
Full faith and credit shall be given in each of these states to the
records, acts and judicial proceedings of the courts and magistrates
of every other state.
Article V. For the more convenient management of the general interests
of the united states, delegates shall be annually appointed in such
manner as the legislature of each state shall direct, to meet in
Congress on the first Monday in November, in every year, with a power
reserved to each state, to recal its delegates, or any of them, at
any time within the year, and to send others in their stead, for the
remainder of the Year.
No state shall be represented in Congress by less than two, nor by more
than seven Members; and no person shall be capable of being a delegate
for more than three years in any term of six years; nor shall any
person, being a delegate, be capable of holding any office under the
united states, for which he, or another for his benefit receives any
salary, fees or emolument of any kind.
Each state shall maintain its own delegates in a meeting of the states,
and while they act as members of the committee of the states.
In determining questions in the united states, in Congress assembled,
each state shall have one vote.
Freedom of speech and debate in Congress shall not be impeached or
questioned in any Court, or place out of Congress, and the members
of congress shall be protected in their persons from arrests and
imprisonments, during the time of their going to and from, and
attendance on congress, except for treason, felony, or breach of
the peace.
Article VI. No state without the Consent of the united states in
congress assembled, shall send any embassy to, or receive any embassy
from, or enter into any conferrence, agreement, alliance or treaty with
any King prince or state; nor shall any person holding any office of
profit or trust under the united states, or any of them, accept of any
present, emolument, office or title of any kind whatever from any king,
prince or foreign state; nor shall the united states in congress
assembled, or any of them, grant any title of nobility.
No two or more states shall enter into any treaty, confederation or
alliance whatever between them, without the consent of the united states
in congress assembled, specifying accurately the purposes for which the
same is to be entered into, and how long it shall continue.
No state shall lay any imposts or duties, which may interfere with any
stipulations in treaties, entered into by the united states in congress
assembled, with any king, prince or state, in pursuance of any treaties
already proposed by congress, to the courts of France and Spain.
No vessels of war shall be kept up in time of peace by any state, except
such number only, as shall be deemed necessary by the united states in
congress assembled, for the defence of such state, or its trade; nor
shall any body of forces be kept up by any state, in time of peace,
except such number only, as in the judgment of the united states, in
congress assembled, shall be deemed requisite to garrison the forts
necessary for the defence of such state; but every state shall always
keep up a well regulated and disciplined militia, sufficiently armed
and accoutred, and shall provide and constantly have ready for use,
in public stores, a due number of field pieces and tents, and a proper
quantity of arms, ammunition and camp equipage.
No state shall engage in any war without the consent of the united
states in congress assembled, unless such state be actually invaded
by enemies, or shall have received certain advice of a resolution
being formed by some nation of Indians to invade such state, and the
danger is so imminent as not to admit of a delay, till the united
states in congress assembled can be consulted: nor shall any state grant
commissions to any ships or vessels of war, nor letters of marque or
reprisal, except it be after a declaration of war by the united states
in congress assembled, and then only against the kingdom or state and
the subjects thereof, against which war has been so declared, and under
such regulations as shall be established by the united states in
congress assembled, unless such state be infested by pirates, in which
case vessels of war may be fitted | 857.188999 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.2189250 | 7,436 | 7 |
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THE SWOOP!
or
How Clarence Saved England
_A Tale of the Great Invasion_
by P. G. Wodehouse
1909
PREFACE
It may be thought by some that in the pages which follow I have painted
in too lurid colours the horrors of a foreign invasion of England.
Realism in art, it may be argued, can be carried too far. I prefer to
think that the majority of my readers will acquit me of a desire to be
unduly sensational. It is necessary that England should be roused to a
sense of her peril, and only by setting down without flinching the
probable results of an invasion can this be done. This story, I may
mention, has been written and published purely from a feeling of
patriotism and duty. Mr. Alston Rivers' sensitive soul will be jarred
to its foundations if it is a financial success. So will mine. But in a
time of national danger we feel that the risk must be taken. After all,
at the worst, it is a small sacrifice to make for our country.
P. G. WODEHOUSE.
_The Bomb-Proof Shelter,_ _London, W._
Part One
Chapter 1
AN ENGLISH BOY'S HOME
_August the First, 19--_
Clarence Chugwater looked around him with a frown, and gritted his
teeth.
"England--my England!" he moaned.
Clarence was a sturdy lad of some fourteen summers. He was neatly, but
not gaudily, dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a handkerchief, a
flannel shirt, a bunch of ribbons, a haversack, football shorts, brown
boots, a whistle, and a hockey-stick. He was, in fact, one of General
Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts.
Scan him closely. Do not dismiss him with a passing glance; for you are
looking at the Boy of Destiny, at Clarence MacAndrew Chugwater, who
saved England.
To-day those features are familiar to all. Everyone has seen the
Chugwater Column in Aldwych, the equestrian statue in Chugwater Road
(formerly Piccadilly), and the picture-postcards in the stationers'
windows. That bulging forehead, distended with useful information; that
massive chin; those eyes, gleaming behind their spectacles; that
_tout ensemble_; that _je ne sais quoi_.
In a word, Clarence!
He could do everything that the Boy Scout must learn to do. He could
low like a bull. He could gurgle like a wood-pigeon. He could imitate
the cry of the turnip in order to deceive rabbits. He could smile and
whistle simultaneously in accordance with Rule 8 (and only those who
have tried this know how difficult it is). He could spoor, fell trees,
tell the character from the boot-sole, and fling the squaler. He did
all these things well, but what he was really best at was flinging the
squaler.
* * * * *
Clarence, on this sultry August afternoon, was tensely occupied
tracking the family cat across the dining-room carpet by its
foot-prints. Glancing up for a moment, he caught sight of the other
members of the family.
"England, my England!" he moaned.
It was indeed a sight to extract tears of blood from any Boy Scout. The
table had been moved back against the wall, and in the cleared space
Mr. Chugwater, whose duty it was to have set an example to his
children, was playing diabolo. Beside him, engrossed in cup-and-ball,
was his wife. Reggie Chugwater, the eldest son, the heir, the hope of
the house, was reading the cricket news in an early edition of the
evening paper. Horace, his brother, was playing pop-in-taw with his
sister Grace and Grace's _fiance_, Ralph Peabody. Alice, the other
Miss Chugwater, was mending a Badminton racquet.
Not a single member of that family was practising with the rifle, or
drilling, or learning to make bandages.
Clarence groaned.
"If you can't play without snorting like that, my boy," said Mr.
Chugwater, a little irritably, "you must find some other game. You made
me jump just as I was going to beat my record."
"Talking of records," said Reggie, "Fry's on his way to his eighth
successive century. If he goes on like this, Lancashire will win the
championship."
"I thought he was playing for Somerset," said Horace.
"That was a fortnight ago. You ought to keep up to date in an important
subject like cricket."
Once more Clarence snorted bitterly.
"I'm sure you ought not to be down on the floor, Clarence," said Mr.
Chugwater anxiously. "It is so draughty, and you have evidently got a
nasty cold. _Must_ you lie on the floor?"
"I am spooring," said Clarence with simple dignity.
"But I'm sure you can spoor better sitting on a chair with a nice
book."
"_I_ think the kid's sickening for something," put in Horace
critically. "He's deuced roopy. What's up, Clarry?"
"I was thinking," said Clarence, "of my country--of England."
"What's the matter with England?"
"_She's_ all right," murmured Ralph Peabody.
"My fallen country!" sighed Clarence, a not unmanly tear bedewing the
glasses of his spectacles. "My fallen, stricken country!"
"That kid," said Reggie, laying down his paper, "is talking right
through his hat. My dear old son, are you aware that England has never
been so strong all round as she is now? Do you _ever_ read the
papers? Don't you know that we've got the Ashes and the Golf
Championship, and the Wibbley-wob Championship, and the Spiropole,
Spillikins, Puff-Feather, and Animal Grab Championships? Has it come to
your notice that our croquet pair beat America last Thursday by eight
hoops? Did you happen to hear that we won the Hop-skip-and-jump at the
last Olympic Games? You've been out in the woods, old sport."
Clarence's heart was too full for words. He rose in silence, and
quitted the room.
"Got the pip or something!" said Reggie. "Rum kid! I say, Hirst's
bowling well! Five for twenty-three so far!"
Clarence wandered moodily out of the house. The Chugwaters lived in a
desirable villa residence, which Mr. Chugwater had built in Essex. It
was a typical Englishman's Home. Its name was Nasturtium Villa.
As Clarence walked down the road, the excited voice of a newspaper-boy
came to him. Presently the boy turned the corner, shouting, "Ker-lapse
of Surrey! Sensational bowling at the Oval!"
He stopped on seeing Clarence.
"Paper, General?"
Clarence shook his head. Then he uttered a startled exclamation, for
his eye had fallen on the poster.
It ran as follows:--
SURREY
DOING
BADLY
GERMAN ARMY LANDS IN ENGLAND
Chapter 2
THE INVADERS
Clarence flung the boy a halfpenny, tore a paper from his grasp, and
scanned it eagerly. There was nothing to interest him in the body of
the journal, but he found what he was looking for in the stop-press
space. "Stop press news," said the paper. "Fry not out, 104. Surrey 147
for 8. A German army landed in Essex this afternoon. Loamshire
Handicap: Spring Chicken, 1; Salome, 2; Yip-i-addy, 3. Seven ran."
Essex! Then at any moment the foe might be at their doors; more, inside
their doors. With a passionate cry, Clarence tore back to the house.
He entered the dining-room with the speed of a highly-trained Marathon
winner, just in time once more to prevent Mr. Chugwater lowering his
record.
"The Germans!" shouted Clarence. "We are invaded!"
This time Mr. Chugwater was really annoyed.
"If I have told you once about your detestable habit of shouting in the
house, Clarence, I have told you a hundred times. If you cannot be a
Boy Scout quietly, you must stop being one altogether. I had got up to
six that time."
"But, father----"
"Silence! You will go to bed this minute; and I shall consider the
question whether you are to have any supper. It will depend largely on
your behaviour between now and then. Go!"
"But, father----"
Clarence dropped the paper, shaken with emotion. Mr. Chugwater's
sternness deepened visibly.
"Clarence! Must I speak again?"
He stooped and removed his right slipper.
Clarence withdrew.
Reggie picked up the paper.
"That kid," he announced judicially, "is off his nut! Hullo! I told you
so! Fry not out, 104. Good old Charles!"
"I say," exclaimed Horace, who sat nearest the window, "there are two
rummy-looking chaps coming to the front door, wearing a sort of fancy
dress!"
"It must be the Germans," said Reggie. "The paper says they landed here
this afternoon. I expect----"
A thunderous knock rang through the house. The family looked at one
another. Voices were heard in the hall, and next moment the door opened
and the servant announced "Mr. Prinsotto and Mr. Aydycong."
"Or, rather," said the first of the two newcomers, a tall, bearded,
soldierly man, in perfect English, "Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig and
Captain the Graf von Poppenheim, his aide-de-camp."
"Just so--just so!" said Mr. Chugwater, affably. "Sit down, won't you?"
The visitors seated themselves. There was an awkward silence.
"Warm day!" said Mr. Chugwater.
"Very!" said the Prince, a little constrainedly.
"Perhaps a cup of tea? Have you come far?"
"Well--er--pretty far. That is to say, a certain distance. In fact,
from Germany."
"I spent my summer holiday last year at Dresden. Capital place!"
"Just so. The fact is, Mr.--er--"
"Chugwater. By the way--my wife, Mrs. Chugwater."
The prince bowed. So did his aide-de-camp.
"The fact is, Mr. Jugwater," resumed the prince, "we are not here on a
holiday."
"Quite so, quite so. Business before pleasure."
The prince pulled at his moustache. So did his aide-de-camp, who seemed
to be a man of but little initiative and conversational resource.
"We are invaders."
"Not at all, not at all," protested Mr. Chugwater.
"I must warn you that you will resist at your peril. You wear no
uniform--"
"Wouldn't dream of such a thing. Except at the lodge, of course."
"You will be sorely tempted, no doubt. Do not think that I do not
appreciate your feelings. This is an Englishman's Home."
Mr. Chugwater tapped him confidentially on the knee.
"And an uncommonly snug little place, too," he said. "Now, if you will
forgive me for talking business, you, I gather, propose making some
stay in this country."
The prince laughed shortly. So did his aide-de-camp. "Exactly,"
continued Mr. Chugwater, "exactly. Then you will want some
_pied-a-terre_, if you follow me. I shall be delighted to let you
this house on remarkably easy terms for as long as you please. Just
come along into my study for a moment. We can talk it over quietly
there. You see, dealing direct with me, you would escape the
middleman's charges, and--"
Gently but firmly he edged the prince out of the room and down the
passage.
The aide-de-camp continued to sit staring woodenly at the carpet.
Reggie closed quietly in on him.
"Excuse me," he said; "talking shop and all that. But I'm an agent for
the Come One Come All Accident and Life Assurance Office. You have
heard of it probably? We can offer you really exceptional terms. You
must not miss a chance of this sort. Now here's a prospectus--"
Horace sidled forward.
"I don't know if you happen to be a cyclist, Captain--er--Graf; but if
you'd like a practically new motorbike, only been used since last
November, I can let you--"
There was a swish of skirts as Grace and Alice advanced on the visitor.
"I'm sure," said Grace winningly, "that you're fond of the theatre,
Captain Poppenheim. We are getting up a performance of 'Ici on parle
Francais,' in aid of the fund for Supplying Square Meals to Old-Age
Pensioners. Such a deserving object, you know. Now, how many tickets
will you take?"
"You can sell them to your friends, you know," added Mrs. Chugwater.
The aide-de-camp gulped convulsively.
* * * * *
Ten minutes later two penniless men groped their way, dazed, to the
garden gate.
"At last," said Prince Otto brokenly, for it was he, "at last I begin
to realise the horrors of an invasion--for the invaders."
And together the two men staggered on.
Chapter 3
ENGLAND'S PERIL
When the papers arrived next morning, it was seen that the situation
was even worse than had at first been suspected. Not only had the
Germans effected a landing in Essex, but, in addition, no fewer than
eight other hostile armies had, by some remarkable coincidence, hit on
that identical moment for launching their long-prepared blow.
England was not merely beneath the heel of the invader. It was beneath
the heels of nine invaders.
There was barely standing-room.
Full details were given in the Press. It seemed that while Germany was
landing in Essex, a strong force of Russians, under the Grand Duke
Vodkakoff, had occupied Yarmouth. Simultaneously the Mad Mullah had
captured Portsmouth; while the Swiss navy had bombarded Lyme Regis, and
landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines. At
precisely the same moment China, at last awakened, had swooped down
upon that picturesque little Welsh watering-place, Lllgxtplll, and,
despite desperate resistance on the part of an excursion of Evanses and
Joneses from Cardiff, had obtained a secure foothold. While these
things were happening in Wales, the army of Monaco had descended on
Auchtermuchty, on the Firth of Clyde. Within two minutes of this
disaster, by Greenwich time, a boisterous band of Young Turks had
seized Scarborough. And, at Brighton and Margate respectively, small
but determined armies, the one of Moroccan brigands, under Raisuli, the
other of dark-skinned warriors from the distant isle of Bollygolla, had
made good their footing.
This was a very serious state of things.
Correspondents of the _Daily Mail_ at the various points of attack
had wired such particulars as they were able. The preliminary parley at
Lllgxtplll between Prince Ping Pong Pang, the Chinese general, and
Llewellyn Evans, the leader of the Cardiff excursionists, seems to have
been impressive to a degree. The former had spoken throughout in pure
Chinese, the latter replying in rich Welsh, and the general effect,
wired the correspondent, was almost painfully exhilarating.
So sudden had been the attacks that in very few instances was there any
real resistance. The nearest approach to it appears to have been seen
at Margate.
At the time of the arrival of the black warriors which, like the other
onslaughts, took place between one and two o'clock on the afternoon of
August Bank Holiday, the sands were covered with happy revellers. When
the war canoes approached the beach, the excursionists seem to have
mistaken their occupants at first for a troupe of <DW65> minstrels on
an unusually magnificent scale; and it was freely noised abroad in the
crowd that they were being presented by Charles Frohmann, who was
endeavouring to revive the ancient glories of the Christy Minstrels.
Too soon, however, it was perceived that these were no harmless Moore
and Burgesses. Suspicion was aroused by the absence of banjoes and
tambourines; and when the foremost of the <DW64>s dexterously scalped a
small boy, suspicion became certainty.
In this crisis the trippers of Margate behaved well. The Mounted
Infantry, on donkeys, headed by Uncle Bones, did much execution. The
Ladies' Tormentor Brigade harassed the enemy's flank, and a
hastily-formed band of sharp-shooters, armed with three-shies-a-penny
balls and milky cocos, undoubtedly troubled the advance guard
considerably. But superior force told. After half an hour's fighting
the excursionists fled, leaving the beach to the foe.
At Auchtermuchty and Portsmouth no obstacle, apparently, was offered to
the invaders. At Brighton the enemy were permitted to land unharmed.
Scarborough, taken utterly aback by the boyish vigour of the Young
Turks, was an easy prey; and at Yarmouth, though the Grand Duke
received a nasty slap in the face from a dexterously-thrown bloater,
the resistance appears to have been equally futile.
By tea-time on August the First, nine strongly-equipped forces were
firmly established on British soil.
Chapter 4
WHAT ENGLAND THOUGHT OF IT
Such a state of affairs, disturbing enough in itself, was rendered
still more disquieting by the fact that, except for the Boy Scouts,
England's military strength at this time was practically nil.
The abolition of the regular army had been the first step. Several
causes had contributed to this. In the first place, the Socialists had
condemned the army system as unsocial. Privates, they pointed out, were
forbidden to hob-nob with colonels, though the difference in their
positions was due to a mere accident of birth. They demanded that every
man in the army should be a general. Comrade Quelch, in an eloquent
speech at Newington Butts, had pointed, amidst enthusiasm, to the
republics of South America, where the system worked admirably.
Scotland, too, disapproved of the army, because it was professional.
Mr. Smith wrote several trenchant letters to Mr. C. J. B. Marriott on
the subject.
So the army was abolished, and the land defence of the country
entrusted entirely to the Territorials, the Legion of Frontiersmen, and
the Boy Scouts.
But first the Territorials dropped out. The strain of being referred to
on the music-hall stage as Teddy-boys was too much for them.
Then the Frontiersmen were disbanded. They had promised well at the
start, but they had never been themselves since La Milo had been
attacked by the Manchester Watch Committee. It had taken all the heart
out of them.
So that in the end England's defenders were narrowed down to the
Boy Scouts, of whom Clarence Chugwater was the pride, and a large
civilian population, prepared, at any moment, to turn out for their
country's sake and wave flags. A certain section of these, too, could
sing patriotic songs.
* * * * *
It was inevitable, in the height of the Silly Season, that such a topic
as the simultaneous invasion of Great Britain by nine foreign powers
should be seized upon by the press. Countless letters poured into the
offices of the London daily papers every morning. Space forbids more
than the gist of a few of these.
Miss Charlesworth wrote:--"In this crisis I see no alternative. I shall
disappear."
Mr. Horatio Bottomley, in _John Bull_, said that there was some
very dirty and underhand work going on, and that the secret history of
the invasion would be published shortly. He himself, however, preferred
any invader, even the King of Bollygolla, to some K.C.'s he could name,
though he was fond of dear old Muir. He wanted to know why Inspector
Drew had retired.
The _Daily Express_, in a thoughtful leader, said that Free Trade
evidently meant invaders for all.
Mr. Herbert Gladstone, writing to the _Times_, pointed out that he
had let so many undesirable aliens into the country that he did not see
that a few more made much difference.
Mr. George R. Sims made eighteen puns on the names of the invading
generals in the course of one number of "Mustard and Cress."
Mr. H. G. Pelissier urged the public to look on the bright side. There
was a sun still shining in the sky. Besides, who knew that some foreign
marksman might not pot the censor?
Mr. Robert FitzSimmons offered to take on any of the invading generals,
or all of them, and if he didn't beat them it would only be because the
referee had a wife and seven small children and had asked him as a
personal favour to let himself be knocked out. He had lost several
fights that way.
The directors of the Crystal Palace wrote a circular letter to the
shareholders, pointing out that there was a good time coming. With this
addition to the public, the Palace stood a sporting chance of once more
finding itself full.
Judge Willis asked: "What is an invasion?"
Signor Scotti cabled anxiously from America (prepaid): "Stands Scotland
where it did?"
Mr. Lewis Waller wrote heroically: "How many of them are there? I am
usually good for about half a dozen. Are they assassins? I can tackle
any number of assassins."
Mr. Seymour Hicks said he hoped they would not hurt George Edwardes.
Mr. George Edwardes said that if they injured Seymour Hicks in any way
he would never smile again.
A writer in _Answers_ pointed out that, if all the invaders in the
country were piled in a heap, they would reach some of the way to the
moon.
Far-seeing men took a gloomy view of the situation. They laid stress on
the fact that this counter-attraction was bound to hit first-class
cricket hard. For some years gates had shown a tendency to fall off,
owing to the growing popularity of golf, tennis, and other games. The
desire to see the invaders as they marched through the country must
draw away thousands who otherwise would have paid their sixpences at
the turnstiles. It was suggested that representations should be made to
the invading generals with a view to inducing them to make a small
charge to sightseers.
In sporting circles the chief interest centered on the race to London.
The papers showed the positions of the various armies each morning in
their Runners and Betting columns; six to four on the Germans was
freely offered, but found no takers.
Considerable interest was displayed in the probable behaviour of the
nine armies when they met. The situation was a curious outcome of the
modern custom of striking a deadly blow before actually declaring war.
Until the moment when the enemy were at her doors, England had imagined
that she was on terms of the most satisfactory friendship with her
neighbours. The foe had taken full advantage of this, and also of the
fact that, owing to a fit of absent-mindedness on the part of the
Government, England had no ships afloat which were not entirely
obsolete. Interviewed on the subject by representatives of the daily
papers, the Government handsomely admitted that it was perhaps in
some ways a silly thing to have done; but, they urged, you could not
think of everything. Besides, they were on the point of laying down a
_Dreadnought_, which would be ready in a very few years. Meanwhile,
the best thing the public could do was to sleep quietly in their beds.
It was Fisher's tip; and Fisher was a smart man.
And all the while the Invaders' Marathon continued.
Who would be the first to reach London?
Chapter 5
THE GERMANS REACH LONDON
The Germans had got off smartly from the mark and were fully justifying
the long odds laid upon them. That master-strategist, Prince Otto of
Saxe-Pfennig, realising that if he wished to reach the Metropolis
quickly he must not go by train, had resolved almost at once to walk.
Though hampered considerably by crowds of rustics who gathered, gaping,
at every point in the line of march, he had made good progress. The
German troops had strict orders to reply to no questions, with the
result that little time was lost in idle chatter, and in a couple of
days it was seen that the army of the Fatherland was bound, barring
accidents, to win comfortably.
The progress of the other forces was slower. The Chinese especially
had undergone great privations, having lost their way near
Llanfairpwlgwnngogogoch, and having been unable to understand the
voluble directions given to them by the various shepherds they
encountered. It was not for nearly a week that they contrived to reach
Chester, where, catching a cheap excursion, they arrived in the
metropolis, hungry and footsore, four days after the last of their
rivals had taken up their station.
The German advance halted on the wooded heights of Tottenham. Here a
camp was pitched and trenches dug.
The march had shown how terrible invasion must of necessity be. With no
wish to be ruthless, the troops of Prince Otto had done grievous
damage. Cricket-pitches had been trampled down, and in many cases even
golf-greens dented by the iron heel of the invader, who rarely, if
ever, replaced the divot. Everywhere they had left ruin and misery in
their train.
With the other armies it was the same story. Through
carefully-preserved woods they had marched, frightening the birds and
driving keepers into fits of nervous prostration. Fishing, owing to
their tramping carelessly through the streams, was at a standstill.
Croquet had been given up in despair.
Near Epping the Russians shot a fox....
* * * * *
The situation which faced Prince Otto was a delicate one. All his early
training and education had implanted in him the fixed idea that, if he
ever invaded England, he would do it either alone or with the
sympathetic co-operation of allies. He had never faced the problem of
what he should do if there were rivals in the field. Competition is
wholesome, but only within bounds. He could not very well ask the other
nations to withdraw. Nor did he feel inclined to withdraw himself.
"It all comes of this dashed Swoop of the Vulture business," he
grumbled, as he paced before his tent, ever and anon pausing to sweep
the city below him with his glasses. "I should like to find the fellow
who started the idea! Making me look a fool! Still, it's just as bad
for the others, thank goodness! Well, Poppenheim?"
Captain von Poppenheim approached and saluted.
"Please, sir, the men say, 'May they bombard London?'"
"Bombard London!"
"Yes, sir; it's always done."
Prince Otto pulled thoughtfully at his moustache.
"Bombard London! It seems--and yet--ah, well, they have few pleasures."
He stood awhile in meditation. So did Captain von Poppenheim. He kicked
a pebble. So did Captain von Poppenheim--only a smaller pebble.
Discipline is very strict in the German army.
"Poppenheim."
"Sir?"
"Any signs of our--er--competitors?"
"Yes, sir; the Russians are coming up on the left flank, sir. They'll
be here in a few hours. Raisuli has been arrested at Purley for
stealing chickens. The army of Bollygolla is about ten miles out. No
news of the field yet, sir."
The Prince brooded. Then he spoke, unbosoming himself more freely than
was his wont in conversation with his staff.
"Between you and me, Pop," he cried impulsively, "I'm dashed sorry we
ever started this dashed silly invading business. We thought ourselves
dashed smart, working in the dark, and giving no sign till the great
pounce, and all that sort of dashed nonsense. Seems to me we've simply
dashed well landed ourselves in the dashed soup."
Captain von Poppenheim saluted in sympathetic silence. He and the
prince had been old chums at college. A life-long friendship existed
between them. He would have liked to have expressed adhesion verbally
to his superior officer's remarks. The words "I don't think" trembled
on his tongue. But the iron discipline of the German Army gagged him.
He saluted again and clicked his heels.
The Prince recovered himself with a strong effort.
"You say the Russians will be here shortly?" he said.
"In a few hours, sir."
"And the men really wish to bombard London?"
"It would be a treat to them, sir."
"Well, well, I suppose if we don't do it, somebody else will. And we
got here first."
"Yes, sir."
"Then--"
An orderly hurried up and saluted.
"Telegram, sir."
Absently the Prince opened it. Then his eyes lit up.
"Gotterdammerung!" he said. "I never thought of that. 'Smash up London
and provide work for unemployed mending it.--GRAYSON,'" he read.
"Poppenheim."
"Sir?"
"Let the bombardment commence."
"Yes, sir."
"And let it continue till the Russians arrive. Then it must stop, or
there will be complications."
Captain von Poppenheim saluted, and withdrew.
Chapter 6
THE BOMBARDMENT OF LONDON
Thus was London bombarded. Fortunately it was August, and there was
nobody in town.
Otherwise there might have been loss of life.
Chapter 7
A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS
The Russians, led by General Vodkakoff, arrived at Hampstead half an
hour after the bombardment had ceased, and the rest of the invaders,
including Raisuli, who had got off on an _alibi_, dropped in at
intervals during the week. By the evening of Saturday, the sixth of
August, even the Chinese had limped to the metropolis. And the question
now was, What was going to happen? England displayed a polite
indifference to the problem. We are essentially a nation of
sight-seers. To us the excitement of staring at the invaders was
enough. Into the complex international problems to which the situation
gave rise it did not occur to us to examine. When you consider that a
crowd of five hundred Londoners will assemble in the space of two
minutes, abandoning entirely all its other business, to watch a
cab-horse that has fallen in the street, it is not surprising that the
spectacle of nine separate and distinct armies in the metropolis left
no room in the British mind for other reflections.
The attraction was beginning to draw people back to London now. They
found that the German shells had had one excellent result, they had
demolished nearly all the London statues. And what might have
conceivably seemed a draw-back, the fact that they had blown great
holes in the wood-paving, passed unnoticed amidst the more extensive
operations of the London County Council.
Taking it for all in all, the German gunners had simply been
beautifying London. The Albert Hall, struck by a merciful shell, had
come down with a run, and was now a heap of picturesque ruins;
Whitefield's Tabernacle was a charred mass; and the burning of the
Royal Academy proved a great comfort to all. At a mass meeting in
Trafalgar Square a hearty vote of thanks was passed, with acclamation,
to Prince Otto.
But if Londoners rejoiced, the invaders were very far from doing so.
The complicated state of foreign politics made it imperative that there
should be no friction between the Powers. Yet here a great number of
them were in perhaps as embarrassing a position as ever diplomatists
were called upon to unravel. When nine dogs are assembled round one
bone, it is rarely on the bone alone that teeth-marks are found at the
close of the proceedings.
Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig set himself resolutely to grapple with the
problem. His chance of grappling successfully with it was not improved
by the stream of telegrams which arrived daily from his Imperial
Master, demanding to know whether he had yet subjugated the country,
and if not, why not. He had replied guardedly, stating the difficulties
which lay in his way, and had received the following: "At once mailed
fist display. On Get or out Get.--WILHELM."
It was then that the distracted prince saw that steps must be taken at
once.
Carefully-worded letters were despatched by District Messenger boys to
the other generals. Towards nightfall the replies began to come in,
and, having read them, the Prince saw that this business could never be
settled without a personal interview. Many of the replies were
absolutely incoherent.
Raisuli, apologising for delay on the ground that he had been away in
the Isle of Dogs cracking a crib, wrote suggesting that the Germans and
Moroccans should combine with a | 857.238965 |
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Transcribed from the 1894 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
ROBERT F. MURRAY
(AUTHOR OF THE SCARLET GOWN)
HIS POEMS: WITH MEMOIR
BY
ANDREW LANG
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16TH STREET
1894
Edinburgh: T. AND A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
THE VOLUME
IS DEDICATED TO
J. M. D. MEIKLEJOHN, ESQ.
MOST INDULGENT OF MASTERS
AND KINDEST OF
FRIENDS
R. F. MURRAY--1863-1893
Much is written about success and failure in the career of literature,
about the reasons which enable one man to reach the front, and another to
earn his livelihood, while a third, in appearance as likely as either of
them, fails and, perhaps, faints by the way. Mr. R. F. Murray, the
author of _The Scarlet Gown_, was among those who do not attain success,
in spite of qualities which seem destined to ensure it, and who fall out
of the ranks. To him, indeed, success and the rewards of this world,
money, and praise, did by no means seem things to be snatched at. To him
success meant earning by his pen the very modest sum which sufficed for
his wants, and the leisure necessary for serious essays in poetry. Fate
denied him even this, in spite of his charming natural endowment of
humour, of tenderness, of delight in good letters, and in nature. He
died young; he was one of those whose talent matures slowly, and he died
before he came into the full possession of his intellectual kingdom. He
had the ambition to excel, [Greek text], as the Homeric motto of his
University runs, and he was on the way to excellence when his health
broke down. He lingered for two years and passed away.
It is a familiar story, the story of lettered youth; of an ambition, or
rather of an ideal; of poverty; of struggles in the 'dusty and stony
ways'; of intellectual task-work; of a true love consoling the last
months of weakness and pain. The tale is not repeated here because it is
novel, nor even because in its hero we have to regret an 'inheritor of
unfulfilled renown.' It is not the genius so much as the character of
this St. Andrews student which has won the sympathy of his biographer,
and may win, he hopes, the sympathy of others. In Mr. Murray I feel that
I have lost that rare thing, a friend; a friend whom the chances of life
threw in my way, and withdrew again ere we had time and opportunity for
perfect recognition. Those who read his Letters and Remains may also
feel this emotion of sympathy and regret.
He was young in years, and younger in heart, a lover of youth; and youth,
if it could learn and could be warned, might win a lesson from his life.
Many of us have trod in his path, and, by some kindness of fate, have
found from it a sunnier exit into longer days and more fortunate
conditions. Others have followed this well-beaten road to the same early
and quiet end as his.
The life and the letters of Murray remind one strongly of Thomas
Davidson's, as published in that admirable and touching biography, _A
Scottish Probationer_. It was my own chance to be almost in touch with
both these gentle, tuneful, and kindly humorists. Davidson was a
Borderer, born on the skirts of'stormy Ruberslaw,' in the country of
James Thomson, of Leyden, of the old Ballad minstrels. The son of a
Scottish peasant line of the old sort, honourable, refined, devout, he
was educated in Edinburgh for the ministry of the United Presbyterian
Church. Some beautiful verses of his appeared in the _St. Andrews
University Magazine_ about 1863, at the time when I first'saw myself in
print' in the same periodical. Davidson's poem delighted me: another of
his, 'Ariadne in Naxos,' appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_ about the
same time. Mr. Thackeray, who was then editor, no doubt remembered Pen's
prize poem on the same subject. I did not succeed in learning anything
about the author, did not know that he lived within a drive of my own
home. When next I heard of him, it was in his biography. As a
'Probationer,' or unplaced minister, he, somehow, was not successful. A
humorist, a poet, a delightful companion, he never became 'a placed
minister.' It was the old story of an imprudence, a journey made in damp
clothes, of consumption, of the end of his earthly life and love. His
letters to his betrothed, his poems, his career, constantly remind one of
Murray's, who must often have joined in singing Davidson's song, so
popular with St. Andrews students, _The Banks of the Yang-tse-kiang_.
Love of the Border, love of Murray's 'dear St. Andrews Bay,' love of
letters, make one akin to both of these friends who were lost before
their friendship was won. Why did not Murray succeed to the measure of
his most modest desire? If we examine the records of literary success,
we find it won, in the highest fields, by what, for want of a better
word, we call genius; in the lower paths, by an energy which can take
pleasure in all and every exercise of pen and ink, and can communicate
its pleasure to others. Now for Murray one does not venture, in face of
his still not wholly developed talent, and of his checked career, to
claim genius. He was not a Keats, a Burns, a Shelley: he was not, if one
may choose modern examples, a Kipling or a Stevenson. On the other hand,
his was a high ideal; he believed, with Andre Chenier, that he had
'something there,' something worthy of reverence and of careful training
within him. Consequently, as we shall see, the drudgery of the pressman
was excessively repulsive to him. He could take no delight in making the
best of it. We learn that Mr. Kipling's early tales were written as part
of hard daily journalistic work in India; written in torrid newspaper
offices, to fill columns. Yet they were written with the delight of the
artist, and are masterpieces in their _genre_. Murray could not make the
best of ordinary pen-work in this manner. Again, he was incapable of
'transactions,' of compromises; most honourably incapable of earning his
bread by agreeing, or seeming to agree with opinions which were not his.
He could not endure (here I think he was wrong) to have his pieces of
light and mirthful verse touched in any way by an editor. Even where no
opinions were concerned, even where an editor has (to my mind) a perfect
right to alter anonymous contributions, Murray declined to be edited. I
ventured to remonstrate with him, to say _non est tanti_, but I spoke too
late, or spoke in vain. He carried independence too far, or carried it
into the wrong field, for a piece of humorous verse, say in _Punch_, is
not an original masterpiece and immaculate work of art, but more or less
of a joint-stock product between the editor, the author, and the public.
Macaulay, and Carlyle, and Sir Walter Scott suffered editors gladly or
with indifference, and who are we that we should complain? This extreme
sensitiveness would always have stood in Murray's way.
Once more, Murray's interest in letters was much more energetic than his
zeal in the ordinary industry of a student. As a general rule, men of
original literary bent are not exemplary students at college. 'The
common curricoolum,' as the Scottish laird called academic studies
generally, rather repels them. Macaulay took no honours at Cambridge;
mathematics defied him. Scott was 'the Greek dunce,' at Edinburgh.
Thackeray, Shelley, Gibbon, did not cover themselves with college
laurels; they read what pleased them, they did not read 'for the
schools.' In short, this behaviour at college is the rule among men who
are to be distinguished in literature, not the exception. The honours
attained at Oxford by Mr. Swinburne, whose Greek verses are no less
poetical than his English poetry, were inconspicuous. At St. Andrews,
Murray read only 'for human pleasure,' like Scott, Thackeray, Shelley,
and the rest, at Edinburgh, Oxford, and Cambridge. In this matter, I
think, he made an error, and one which affected his whole career. He was
not a man of private fortune, like some of those whom we have mentioned.
He had not a business ready for him to step into. He had to force his
own way in life, had to make himself'self-supporting.' This was all the
more essential to a man of his honourable independence of character, a
man who not only would not ask a favour, but who actually shrunk back
from such chances as were offered to him, if these chances seemed to be
connected with the least discernible shadow of an obligation. At St.
Andrews, had he chosen to work hard in certain branches of study, he
might probably have gained an exhibition, gone to Oxford or elsewhere,
and, by winning a fellowship, secured the leisure which was necessary for
the development of his powers. I confess to believing in strenuous work
at the classics, as offering, apart from all material reward, the best
and most solid basis, especially where there is no exuberant original
genius, for the career of a man of letters. The mental discipline is
invaluable, the training in accuracy is invaluable, and invaluable is the
life led in the society of the greatest minds, the noblest poets, the
most faultless artists of the world. To descend to ordinary truths,
scholarship is, at lowest, an honourable _gagne-pain_. But Murray, like
the majority of students endowed with literary originality, did not share
these rather old-fashioned ideas. The clever Scottish student is apt to
work only too hard, and, perhaps, is frequently in danger of exhausting
his powers before they are mature, and of injuring his health before it
is confirmed. His ambitions, to lookers-on, may seem narrow and school-
boyish, as if he were merely emulous, and eager for a high place in his
'class,' as lectures are called in Scotland. This was Murray's own view,
and he certainly avoided the dangers of academic over-work. He read
abundantly, but, as Fitzgerald says, he read 'for human pleasure.' He
never was a Greek scholar, he disliked Philosophy, as presented to him in
class-work; the gods had made him poetical, not metaphysical.
There was one other cause of his lack of even such slender commercial
success in letters as was really necessary to a man who liked 'plain
living and high thinking.' He fell early in love with a city, with a
place--he lost his heart to St. Andrews. Here, at all events, his critic
can sympathise with him. His 'dear St. Andrews Bay,' beautiful alike in
winter mists and in the crystal days of still winter sunshine; the quiet
brown streets brightened by the scarlet gowns; the long limitless sands;
the dark blue distant hills, and far-off snowy peaks of the Grampians;
the majestic melancholy towers, monuments of old religion overthrown; the
deep dusky porch of the college chapel, with Kennedy's arms in wrought
iron on the oaken door; the solid houses with their crow steps and
gables, all the forlorn memories of civil and religious feud, of
inhabitants saintly, royal, heroic, endeared St. Andrews to Murray. He
could not say, like our other poet to Oxford, 'Farewell, dear city of
youth and dream!' His whole nature needed the air, 'like wine.' He
found, as he remarks, 'health and happiness in the German Ocean,'
swimming out beyond the 'lake' where the witches were dipped; walking to
the grey little coast-towns, with their wealth of historic documents,
their ancient kirks and graves; dreaming in the vernal woods of Mount
Melville or Strathtyrum; rambling (without a fishing-rod) in the charmed
'dens' of the Kenley burn, a place like Tempe in miniature: these things
were Murray's usual enjoyments, and they became his indispensable needs.
His peculiarly shy and, as it were, silvan nature, made it physically
impossible for him to live in crowded streets and push his way through
throngs of indifferent men. He could not live even in Edinburgh; he made
the effort, and his health, at no time strong, seems never to have
recovered from the effects of a few months spent under a roof in a large
town. He hurried back to St. Andrews: her fascination was too powerful.
Hence it is that, dying with his work scarcely begun, he will always be
best remembered as the poet of _The Scarlet Gown_, the Calverley or J. K.
S. of Kilrymont; endowed with their humour, their skill in parody, their
love of youth, but (if I am not prejudiced) with more than the tenderness
and natural magic of these regretted writers. Not to be able to endure
crowds and towns, (a matter of physical health and constitution, as well
as of temperament) was, of course, fatal to an ordinary success in
journalism. On the other hand, Murray's name is inseparably connected
with the life of youth in the little old college, in the University of
the Admirable Crichton and Claverhouse, of the great Montrose and of
Ferguson,--the harmless Villon of Scotland,--the University of almost all
the famous Covenanters, and of all the valiant poet-Cavaliers. Murray
has sung of the life and pleasures of its students, of examinations and
_Gaudeamuses_--supper parties--he has sung of the sands, the links, the
sea, the towers, and his name and fame are for ever blended with the air
of his city of youth and dream. It is not a wide name or a great fame,
but it is what he would have desired, and we trust that it may be long-
lived and enduring. We are not to wax elegiac, and adopt a tearful tone
over one so gallant and so uncomplaining. He failed, but he was
undefeated.
In the following sketch of Murray's life and work use is made of his
letters, chiefly of letters to his mother. They always illustrate his
own ideas and attempts; frequently they throw the light of an impartial
and critical mind on the distinguished people whom Murray observed from
without. It is worth remarking that among many remarks on persons, I
have found not one of a censorious, cynical, envious, or unfriendly
nature. Youth is often captious and keenly critical; partly because
youth generally has an ideal, partly, perhaps chiefly, from mere
intellectual high spirits and sense of the incongruous; occasionally the
motive is jealousy or spite. Murray's sense of fun was keen, his ideal
was lofty; of envy, of an injured sense of being neglected, he does not
show one trace. To make fun of their masters and pastors, tutors,
professors, is the general and not necessarily unkind tendency of pupils.
Murray rarely mentions any of the professors in St. Andrews except in
terms of praise, which is often enthusiastic. Now, as he was by no means
a prize student, or pattern young man for a story-book, this generosity
is a high proof of an admirable nature. If he chances to speak to his
mother about a bore, and he did not suffer bores gladly, he not only does
not name the person, but gives no hint by which he might be identified.
He had much to embitter him, for he had a keen consciousness of 'the
something within him,' of the powers which never found full expression;
and he saw others advancing and prospering while he seemed to be standing
still, or losing ground in all ways. But no word of bitterness ever
escapes him in the correspondence which I have seen. In one case he has
to speak of a disagreeable and disappointing interview with a man from
whom he had been led to expect sympathy and encouragement. He told me
about this affair in conversation; 'There were tears in my eyes as I
turned from the house,' he said, and he was not effusive. In a letter to
Mrs. Murray he describes this unlucky interview,--a discouragement caused
by a manner which was strange to Murray, rather than by real
unkindness,--and he describes it with a delicacy, with a reserve, with a
toleration, beyond all praise. These are traits of a character which was
greater and more rare than his literary talent: a character quite
developed, while his talent was only beginning to unfold itself, and to
justify his belief in his powers.
Robert Murray was the eldest child of John and Emmeline Murray: the
father a Scot, the mother of American birth. He was born at Roxbury, in
Massachusetts, on December 26th, 1863. It may be fancy, but, in his shy
reserve, his almost _farouche_ independence, one seems to recognise the
Scot; while in his cast of literary talent, in his natural 'culture,' we
observe the son of a refined American lady. To his mother he could
always write about the books which were interesting him, with full
reliance on her sympathy, though indeed, he does not often say very much
about literature.
Till 1869 he lived in various parts of New England, his father being a
Unitarian minister. 'He was a remarkably cheerful and affectionate
child, and seldom seemed to find anything to trouble him.' In 1869 his
father carried him to England, Mrs. Murray and a child remaining in
America. For more than a year the boy lived with kinsfolk near Kelso,
the beautiful old town on the Tweed where Scott passed some of his
childish days. In 1871 the family were reunited at York, where he was
fond of attending the services in the Cathedral. Mr. Murray then took
charge of the small Unitarian chapel of Blackfriars, at Canterbury. Thus
Murray's early youth was passed in the mingled influences of Unitarianism
at home, and of Cathedral services at York, and in the church where
Becket suffered martyrdom. A not unnatural result was a somewhat
eclectic and unconstrained religion. He thought but little of the
differences of creed, believing that all good men held, in essentials,
much the same faith. His view of essentials was generous, as he
admitted. He occasionally spoke of himself as'sceptical,' that is, in
contrast with those whose faith was more definite, more dogmatic, more
securely based on 'articles.' To illustrate Murray's religious attitude,
at least as it was in 1887, one may quote from a letter of that year
(April 17).
'There was a University sermon, and I thought I would go and hear it.
So I donned my old cap and gown and felt quite proud of them. The
preacher was Bishop Wordsworth. He goes in for the union of the
Presbyterian and Episcopalian Churches, and is glad to preach in a
Presbyterian Church, as he did this morning. How the aforesaid Union
is to be brought about, I'm sure I don't know, for I am pretty certain
that the Episcopalians won't give up their bishops, and the
Presbyterians won't have them on any account. However, that's neither
here nor there--at least it does not affect the fact that Wordsworth
is a first-rate man, and a fine preacher. I dare say you know he is a
nephew or grand-nephew of the Poet. He is a most venerable old man,
and worth looking at, merely for his exterior. He is so feeble with
age that he can with difficulty climb the three short steps that lead
into the pulpit; but, once in the pulpit, it is another thing. There
is no feebleness when he begins to preach. He is one of the last
voices of the old orthodox school, and I wish there were hundreds like
him. If ever a man believed in his message, Wordsworth does. And
though I cannot follow him in his veneration for the Thirty-nine
Articles, the way in which he does makes me half wish I could....
It was full of wisdom and the beauty of holiness, which even I, poor
sceptic and outcast, could recognise and appreciate. After all, he
didn't get it from the Articles, but from his own human heart, which,
he told us, was deceitful and desperately wicked.
'Confound it, how stupid we all are! Episcopalians, Presbyterians,
Unitarians, Agnostics; the whole lot of us. We all believe the same
things, to a great extent; but we must keep wrangling about the data
from which we infer these beliefs... I believe a great deal that he
does, but I certainly don't act up to my belief as he does to his.'
The belief 'up to' which Murray lived was, if it may be judged by its
fruits, that of a Christian man. But, in this age, we do find the most
exemplary Christian conduct in some who have discarded dogma and resigned
hope. Probably Murray would not the less have regarded these persons as
Christians. If we must make a choice, it is better to have love and
charity without belief, than belief of the most intense kind, accompanied
by such love and charity as John Knox bore to all who differed from him
about a mass or a chasuble, a priest or a presbyter. This letter,
illustrative of the effect of cathedral services on a young Unitarian, is
taken out of its proper chronological place.
From Canterbury Mr. Murray went to Ilminster in Somerset. Here Robert
attended the Grammar School; in 1879 he went to the Grammar School of
Crewkerne. In 1881 he entered at the University of St. Andrews, with a
scholarship won as an external student of Manchester New College. This
he resigned not long after, as he had abandoned the idea of becoming a
Unitarian minister.
No longer a schoolboy, he was now a _Bejant_ (_bec jaune_?), to use the
old Scotch term for 'freshman.' He liked the picturesque word, and
opposed the introduction of 'freshman.' Indeed he liked all things old,
and, as a senior man, was a supporter of ancient customs and of _esprit
de corps_ in college. He fell in love for life with that old and grey
enchantress, the city of St. Margaret, of Cardinal Beaton, of Knox and
Andrew Melville, of Archbishop Sharp, and Samuel Rutherford. The nature
of life and education in a Scottish university is now, probably, better
understood in England than it used to be. Of the Scottish universities,
St. Andrews varies least, though it varies much, from Oxford and
Cambridge. Unlike the others, Aberdeen, Glasgow, and Edinburgh, the
United College of St. Leonard and St. Salvator is not lost in a large
town. The College and the Divinity Hall of St. Mary's are a survival
from the Middle Ages. The University itself arose from a voluntary
association of the learned in 1410. Privileges were conferred on this
association by Bishop Wardlaw in 1411. It was intended as a bulwark
against Lollard ideas. In 1413 the Antipope Benedict XIII., to whom
Scotland then adhered, granted six bulls of confirmation to the new
University. Not till 1430 did Bishop Wardlaw give a building in South
Street, the Paedagogium. St. Salvator's College was founded by Bishop
Kennedy (1440-1466): it was confirmed by Pius II. in 1458. Kennedy
endowed his foundation richly with plate (a silver mace is still extant)
and with gorgeous furniture and cloth of gold. St. Leonard's was founded
by Prior Hepburn in 1512. Of St. Salvator's the ancient chapel still
remains, and is in use. St. Leonard's was merged with St. Salvator's in
the last century: its chapel is now roofless, some of the old buildings
remain, much modernised, but on the south side fronting the gardens they
are still picturesque. Both Colleges were, originally, places of
residence for the students, as at Oxford and Cambridge, and the
discipline, especially at St. Leonard's, was rather monastic. The
Reformation caused violent changes; all through these troubled ages the
new doctrines, and then the violent Presbyterian pretensions to clerical
influence in politics, and the Covenant and the Restoration and
Revolution, kept busy the dwellers in what should have been 'quiet
collegiate cloisters.' St. Leonard's was more extreme, on Knox's side,
than St. Salvator's, but was also more devoted to King James in 1715.
From St. Andrews Simon Lovat went to lead his abominable old father's
clan, on the Prince Regent's side, in 1745. Golf and archery, since the
Reformation at least, were the chief recreations of the students, and the
archery medals bear all the noblest names of the North, including those
of Argyll and the great Marquis of Montrose. Early in the present
century the old ruinous college buildings of St. Salvator's ceased to be
habitable, except by a ghost! There is another spectre of a noisy sort
in St. Leonard's. The new buildings are mere sets of class-rooms, the
students live where they please, generally in lodgings, which they
modestly call _bunks_. There is a hall for dinners in common; it is part
of the buildings of the Union, a new hall added to an ancient house.
It was thus to a university with ancient associations, with a _religio
loci_, and with more united and harmonious student-life than is customary
in Scotland, that Murray came in 1881. How clearly his biographer
remembers coming to the same place, twenty years earlier! how vivid is
his memory of quaint streets, grey towers, and the North Sea breaking in
heavy rollers on the little pier!
Though, like a descendant of Archbishop Sharp, and a winner of the
archery medal, I boast myself _Sancti Leonardi alumnus addictissimus_, I
am unable to give a description, at first hand, of student life in St.
Andrews. In my time, a small set of'men' lived together in what was
then St. Leonard's Hall. The buildings that remain on the site of Prior
Hepburn's foundation, or some of them, were turned into a hall, where we
lived together, not scattered in _bunks_. The existence was mainly like
that of pupils of a private tutor; seven-eighths of private tutor to one-
eighth of a college in the English universities. We attended the
lectures in the University, we distinguished ourselves no more than
Murray would have approved of, and many of us have remained united by
friendship through half a lifetime.
It was a pleasant existence, and the perfume of buds and flowers in the
old gardens, hard by those where John Knox sat and talked with James
Melville and our other predecessors at St. Leonard's, is fragrant in our
memories. It was pleasant, but St. Leonard's Hall has ceased to be, and
the life there was not the life of the free and hardy bunk-dwellers.
Whoso pined for such dissipated pleasures as the chill and dark streets
of St. Andrews offer to the gay and rousing blade, was not encouraged. We
were very strictly 'gated,' though the whole society once got out of
window, and, by way of protest, made a moonlight march into the country.
We attended 'gaudeamuses' and _solatia_--University suppers--but little;
indeed, he who writes does not remember any such diversions of boys who
beat the floor, and break the glass. To plant the standard of cricket in
the remoter gardens of our country, in a region devastated by golf, was
our ambition, and here we had no assistance at all from the University.
It was chiefly at lecture, at football on the links, and in the debating
societies that we met our fellow-students; like the celebrated starling,
'we could not get out,' except to permitted dinners and evening parties.
Consequently one could only sketch student life with a | 857.28669 |
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Produced by Amy E. Zelmer
WILLIAM HARVEY AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE CIRCULATION OF THE BLOOD
By Thomas H. Huxley
[1]
I DESIRE this evening to give you some account of the life and labours
of a very noble Englishman--William Harvey.
William Harvey was born in the year 1578, and as he lived until the year
1657, he very nearly attained the age of 80. He was the son of a small
landowner in Kent, who was sufficiently wealthy to send this, his eldest
son, to the University of Cambridge; while he embarked the others in
mercantile pursuits, in which they all, as time passed on, attained
riches.
William Harvey, after pursuing his education at Cambridge, and taking
his degree there, thought it was advisable--and justly thought so, in
the then state of University education--to proceed to Italy, which
at that time was one of the great centres of intellectual activity in
Europe, as all friends of freedom hope it will become again, sooner or
later. In those days the University of Padua had a great renown;
and Harvey went there and studied under a man who was then very
famous--Fabricius of Aquapendente. On his return to England, Harvey
became a member of the College of Physicians in London, and entered into
practice; and, I suppose, as an indispensable step thereto, proceeded
to marry. He very soon became one of the most eminent members of the
profession in London; and, about the year 1616, he was elected by the
College of Physicians their Professor of Anatomy. It was while Harvey
held this office that he made public that great discovery of the
circulation of the blood and the movements of the heart, the nature of
which I shall endeavour by-and-by to explain to you at length. Shortly
afterwards, Charles the First having succeeded to the throne in 1625,
Harvey became one of the king's physicians; and it is much to the credit
of the unfortunate monarch--who, whatever his faults may have been,
was one of the few English monarchs who have shown a taste for art and
science--that Harvey became his attached and devoted friend as well
as servant; and that the king, on the other hand, did all he could to
advance Harvey's investigations. But, as you know, evil times came on;
and Harvey, after the fortunes of his royal master were broken,
being then a man of somewhat advanced years--over 60 years of age, in
fact--retired to the society of his brothers in and near London, and
among them pursued his studies until the day of his death. Harvey's
career is a life which offers no salient points of interest to the
biographer. It was a life devoted to study and investigation; and it
was a life the devotion of which was amply rewarded, as I shall have
occasion to point out to you, by its results.
Harvey, by the diversity, the variety, and the thoroughness of his
investigations, was enabled to give an entirely new direction to at
least two branches--and two of the most important branches--of what
now-a-days we call Biological Science. On the one hand, he founded
all our modern physiology by the discovery of the exact nature of the
motions of the heart, and of the course in which the blood is propelled
through the body; and, on the other, he laid the foundation of that
study of development which has been so much advanced of late years, and
which constitutes one of the great pillars of the doctrine of evolution.
This doctrine, I need hardly tell you, is now tending to revolutionise
our conceptions of the origin of living things, exactly in the same
way as Harvey's discovery of the circulation in the seventeeth century
revolutionised the conceptions which men had previously entertained with
regard to physiological processes.
It would, I regret, be quite impossible for me to attempt, in the course
of the time I can presume to hold you here, to unfold the history of
more than one of these great investigations of Harvey. I call them
"great investigations," as distinguished from "large publications." I
have in my hand a little book, which those of you who are at a great
distance may have some difficulty in seeing, and which I value very
much. It is, I am afraid, sadly thumbed and scratched with annotations
by a very humble successor and follower of Harvey. This little book is
the edition of 1651 of the 'Exercitationes de Generatione'; and if you
were to add another little book, printed in the same small type, and
about one-seventh of the thickness, you would have the sum total of the
printed matter which Harvey contributed to our literature. And yet
in that sum total was contained, I may say, the materials of two
revolutions in as many of the main branches of biological science. If
Harvey's published labours can be condensed into so small a compass, you
must recollect that it is not because he did not do a great deal more.
We know very well that he did accumulate a very considerable number of
observations on the most varied topics of medicine, surgery, and natural
history. But, as I mentioned to you just now, Harvey, for a time, took
the royal side in the domestic quarrel of the Great Rebellion, as it
is called; and the Parliament, not unnaturally resenting that action of
his, sent soldiers to seize his papers. And while I imagine they found
nothing treasonable among those papers, yet, in the process of rummaging
through them, they destroyed all the materials which Harvey had spent a
laborious life in accumulating; and hence it is that the man's work and
labours are represented by so little in apparent bulk.
What I chiefly propose to do to-night is to lay before you an account of
the nature of the discovery which Harvey made, and which is termed the
Discovery of the Circulation of the Blood. And I desire also, with
some particularity, to draw your attention to the methods by which that
discovery was achieved; for, in both these respects, I think, there will
be much matter for profitable reflection.
Let me point out to you, in the first place, with respect to this
important matter of the movements of the heart and the course of the
blood in the body, that there is a certain amount of knowledge
which must have been obtained without men taking the trouble to seek
it--knowledge which must have been taken in, in the course of time,
by everybody who followed the trade of a butcher, and still more so by
those people who, in ancient times, professed to divine the course of
future events from the entrails of animals. It is quite obvious to
all, from ordinary accidents, that the bodies of all the higher animals
contain a hot red fluid--the blood. Everybody can see upon the surface
of some part of the skin, underneath that skin, pulsating tubes, which
we know as the arteries. Everybody can see under the surface of the skin
more delicate and softer looking tubes, which do not pulsate, which are
of a bluish colour, and are termed the veins. And every person who has
seen a recently killed animal opened knows that these two kinds of tubes
to which I have just referred, are connected with an apparatus which
is placed in the chest, which apparatus, in recently killed animals,
is still pulsating. And you know that in yourselves you can feel the
pulsation of this organ, the heart, between the fifth and sixth ribs. I
take it that this much of anatomy and physiology has been known from the
oldest times, not only as a matter of curiosity, but because one of the
great objects of men, from their earliest recorded existence, has been
to kill one another, and it was a matter of considerable importance to
know which was the best place for hitting an enemy. I can refer you to
very ancient records for most precise and clear information that one of
the best places is to smite him between the fifth and sixth ribs. Now
that is a very good piece of regional anatomy, for that is the place
where the heart strikes in its pulsations, and the use of smiting there
is that you go straight to the heart. Well, all that must have been
known from time immemorial--at least for 4,000 or 5,000 years before the
commencement of our era--because we know that for as great a period as
that the Egyptians, at any rate, whatever may have been the case with
other people, were in the enjoyment of a highly developed civilisation.
But of what knowledge they may have possessed beyond this we know
nothing; and in tracing back the springs of the origin of everything
that we call "modern science" (which is not merely knowing, but knowing
systematically, and with the intention and endeavour to find out
the causal connection of things)--I say that when we trace back the
different lines of all the modern sciences we come at length to one
epoch and to one country--the epoch being about the fourth and fifth
centuries before Christ, and the country being ancient Greece. It is
there that we find the commencement and the root of every branch of
physical science and of scientific method. If we go back to that time
we have in the works attributed to Aristotle, who flourished between 300
and 400 years before Christ, a sort of encyclopaedia of the scientific
knowledge of that day--and a very marvellous collection of, in many
respects, accurate and precise knowledge it is. But, so far as regards
this particular topic, Aristotle, it must be confessed, has not got very
far beyond common knowledge. He knows a little about the structure of
the heart. I do not think that his knowledge is so inaccurate as many
people fancy, but it does not amount to much. A very few years after his
time, however, there was a Greek philosopher, Erasistratus, who lived
about three hundred years before Christ, and who must have pursued
anatomy with much care, for he made the important discovery that there
are membranous flaps, which are now called "valves," at the origins
of the great vessels; and that there are certain other valves in the
interior of the heart itself.
Fig. 1.--The apparatus of the circulation, as at present known. The
capillary vessels, which connect the arteries and veins, are omitted, on
account of their small size. The shading of the "venous system" is given
to all the vessels which contain venous blood; that of the "arterial
system" to all the vessels which contain arterial blood.
I have here (Fig. 1) a purposely rough, but, so far as it goes,
accurate, diagram of the structure of the heart and the course of the
blood. The heart is supposed to be divided into two portions. It would
be possible, by very careful dissection, to split the heart down the
middle of a partition, or so-called'septum', which exists in it, and to
divide it into the two portions which you see here represented; in which
case we should have a left heart and a right heart, quite distinct from
one another. You will observe that there is a portion of each heart
which is what is called the ventricle. Now the ancients applied the term
'heart' simply and solely to the ventricles. They did not count the rest
of the heart--what we now speak of as the 'auricles'--as any part of the
heart at all; but when they spoke of the heart they meant the left and
the right ventricles; and they described those great vessels, which we
now call the 'pulmonary veins' and the'vena cava', as opening directly
into the heart itself.
What Erasistratus made out was that, at the roots of the aorta and
the pulmonary artery (Fig. 1) there were valves, which opened in the
direction indicated by the arrows; and, on the other hand, that at the
junction of what he called the veins with the heart there were other
valves, which also opened again in the direction indicated by the
arrows. This was a very capital discovery, because it proved that if
the heart was full of fluid, and if there were any means of causing that
fluid in the ventricles to move, then the fluid could move only in
one direction; for you will observe that, as soon as the fluid is
compressed, the two valves between the ventricles and the veins will be
shut, and the fluid will be obliged to move into the arteries; and,
if it tries to get back from them into the heart, it is prevented from
doing so by the valves at the origin of the arteries, which we now
call the semilunar valves (half-moon shaped valves); so that it is
impossible, if the fluid move at all, that it should move in any other
way than from the great veins into the arteries. Now that was a very
remarkable and striking discovery.
But it is not given to any man to be altogether right (that is a
reflection which it is very desirable for every man who has had the good
luck to be nearly right once, always to bear in mind); and Erasistratus,
while he made this capital and important discovery, made a very capital
and important error in another direction, although it was a very natural
error. If, in any animal which is recently killed, you open one of those
pulsating trunks which I referred to a short time ago, you will find, as
a general rule, that it either contains no blood at all or next to none;
but that, on the contrary, it is full of air. Very naturally, therefore,
Erasistratus came to the conclusion that this was the normal and natural
state of the arteries, and that they contained air. We are apt to think
this a very gross blunder; but, to anybody who is acquainted with
the facts of the case, it is, at first sight, an exceedingly natural
conclusion. Not only so, but Erasistratus might have very justly
imagined that he had seen his way to the meaning of the connection of
the left side of the heart with the lungs; for we find that what we now
call the pulmonary vein is connected with the lungs, and branches out in
them (Fig. 1). Finding that the greater part of this system of vessels
was filled with air after death, this ancient thinker very shrewdly
concluded that its real business was to receive air from the lungs, and
to distribute that air all through the body, so as to get rid of the
grosser humours and purify the blood. That was a very natural and very
obvious suggestion, and a highly ingenious one, though it happened to be
a great error. You will observe that the only way of correcting it was
to experiment upon living animals, for there is no other way in which
this point could be settled.
Fig.2,--The Course of the Blood according to Galen (A.D. 170).
And hence we are indebted, for the correction of the error of
Erasistratus, to one of the greatest experimenters of ancient or modern
times, Claudius Galenus, who lived in the second century after Christ. I
say it was to this man more than any one else, because he knew that the
only way of solving physiological problems was to examine into the facts
in the living animal. And because Galen was a skilful anatomist, and
a skilful experimenter, he was able to show in what particulars
Erasistratus had erred, and to build up a system of thought upon this
subject which was not improved upon for fully 1,300 years. I have
endeavoured, in Fig. 2, to make clear to you exactly what it was he
tried to establish. You will observe that this diagram is practically
the same as that given in Fig. 1, only simplified. The same facts may
be looked upon by different people from different points of view. Galen
looked upon these facts from a very different point of view from that
which we ourselves occupy; but, so far as the facts are concerned, they
were the same for him as for us. Well then, the first thing that Galen
did was to make out experimentally that, during life, the arteries are
not full of air, but that they are full of blood. And he describes a
great variety of experiments which he made upon living animals with the
view of proving this point, which he did prove effectually and for all
time; and that you will observe was the only way of settling the matter.
Furthermore, he demonstrated that the cavities of the left side of the
heart--what we now call the left auricle and the left ventricle--are,
like the arteries, full of blood during life, and that that blood was of
the scarlet kind--arterialised, or as he called it "pneumatised," blood.
It was known before, that the pulmonary artery, the right ventricle,
and the veins, contain the darker kind of blood, which was thence called
venous. Having proved that the whole of the left side of the heart,
during life, is full of scarlet arterial blood, Galen's next point
was to inquire into the mode of communication between the arteries
and veins. It was known before his time that both arteries and veins
branched out. Galen maintained, though he could not prove the fact, that
the ultimate branches of the arteries and veins communicated together
somehow or other, by what he called 'anastomoses', and that these
'anastomoses' existed not only in the body in general but also in the
lungs. In the next place, Galen maintained that all the veins of
the body arise from the liver; that they draw the blood thence and
distribute it over the body. People laugh at that notion now-a-days; but
if anybody will look at the facts he will see that it is a very probable
supposition. There is a great vein (hepatic vein--Fig. 1) which rises
out of the liver, and that vein goes straight into the'vena cava' (Fig.
1) which passes to the heart, being there joined by the other veins
of the body. The liver itself is fed by a very large vein (portal
vein--Fig. 1), which comes from the alimentary canal. The way the
ancients looked at this matter was, that the food, after being received
into the alimentary canal, was then taken up by the branches of this
great vein, which are called the'vena portae', just as the roots of a
plant suck up nourishment from the soil in which it lives; that then it
was carried to the liver, there to be what was called "concocted," which
was their phrase for its conversion into substances more fitted for
nutrition than previously existed in it. They then supposed that the
next thing to be done was to distribute this fluid through the body; and
Galen like his predecessors, imagined that the "concocted" blood, having
entered the great'vena cava', was distributed by its ramifications all
over the body. So that, in his view (Fig. 2), the course of the blood
was from the intestine to the liver, and from the liver into the great
'vena cava', including what we now call the right auricle of the heart,
whence it was distributed by the branches of the veins. But the whole of
the blood was not thus disposed of. Part of the blood, it was supposed,
went through what we now call the pulmonary arteries (Fig. 1), and,
branching out there, gave exit to certain "fuliginous" products, and
at the same time took in from the air a something which Galen calls the
'pneuma'. He does not know anything about what we call oxygen; but it
is astonishing how very easy it would be to turn his language into the
equivalent of modern chemical theory. The old philosopher had so just
a suspicion of the real state of affairs that you could make use of his
language in many cases, if you substituted the word "oxygen," which we
now-a-days use, for the word 'pneuma'. Then he imagined that the blood,
further concocted or altered by contact with the 'pneuma', passed to
a certain extent to the left side of the heart. So that Galen believed
that there was such a thing as what is now called the pulmonary
circulation. He believed, as much as we do, that the blood passed
through the right side of the heart, through the artery which goes to
the lungs, through the lungs themselves, and back by what we call the
pulmonary veins to the left side of the heart. But he thought it was
only a very small portion of the blood which passes to the right side of
the heart in this way; the rest of the blood, he thought, passed through
the partition which separates the two ventricles of the heart. He
describes a number of small pits, which really exist there, as holes,
and he supposed that the greater part of the blood passed through these
holes from the right to the left ventricle (Fig 2).
It is of great importance you should clearly understand these teachings
of Galen, because, as I said just now, they sum up all that anybody knew
until the revival of learning; and they come to this--that the blood
having passed from the stomach and intestines through the liver, and
having entered the great veins, was by them distributed to every part of
the body; that part of the blood, thus distributed, entered the arterial
system by the 'anastomoses', as Galen called them, in the lungs; that
a very small portion of it entered the arteries by the 'anastomoses' in
the body generally; but that the greater part of it passed through the
septum of the heart, and so entered the left side and mingled with the
pneumatised blood, which had been subjected to the air in the lungs,
and was then distributed by the arteries, and eventually mixed with the
currents of blood, coming the other way, through the veins.
Yet one other point about the views of Galen. He thought that both the
contractions and dilatations of the heart--what we call the'systole'
or contraction of the heart, and the 'diastole' or dilatation--Galen
thought that these were both active movements; that the heart actively
dilated, so that it had a sort of sucking power upon the fluids which
had access to it. And again, with respect to the movements of the pulse,
which anybody can feel at the wrist and elsewhere, Galen was of opinion
that the walls of the arteries partook of that which he supposed to be
the nature of the walls of the heart, and that they had the power of
alternately actively contracting and actively dilating, so that he is
careful to say that the nature of the pulse is comparable, not to the
movement of a bag, which we fill by blowing into it, and which we empty
by drawing the air out of it, but to the action of a bellows, which is
actively dilated and actively compressed.
Fig 3.--The course of the blood from the right to the left side of the
heart (Realdus Columbus, 1559).
After Galen's time came the collapse of the Roman Empire, the extinction
of physical knowledge, and the repression of every kind of scientific
inquiry, by its powerful and consistent enemy, the Church; and that
state of things lasted until the latter part of the Middle Ages saw the
revival of learning. That revival of learning, so far as anatomy
and physiology are concerned, is due to the renewed influence of
the philosophers of ancient Greece, and indeed, of Galen. Arabic
commentators had translated Galen, and portions of his works had got
into the language of the learned in the Middle Ages, in that way;
but, by the study of the classical languages, the original text became
accessible to the men who were then endeavouring to learn for themselves
something about the facts of nature. It was a century or more before
these men, finding themselves in the presence of a master--finding that
all their lives were occupied in attempting to ascertain for themselves
that which was familiar to him--I say it took the best part of a hundred
years before they could fairly see that their business was not to follow
him, but to follow his example--namely, to look into the facts of nature
for themselves, and to carry on, in his spirit, the work he had begun.
That was first done by Vesalius, one of the greatest anatomists who ever
lived; but his work does not specially bear upon the question we are
now concerned with. So far as regards the motions of the heart and the
course of the blood, the first man in the Middle Ages, and indeed the
only man who did anything which was of real importance, was one Realdus
Columbus, who was professor at Padua in the year 1559, and published a
great anatomical treatise. What Realdus Columbus did was this; once
more resorting to the method of Galen, turning to the living animal,
experimenting, he came upon new facts, and one of these new facts was
that there was not merely a subordinate communication between the blood
of the right side of the heart and that of the left side of the heart,
through the lungs, but that there was a constant steady current of
blood, setting through the pulmonary artery on the right side, through
the lungs, and back by the pulmonary veins to the left side of the heart
(Fig.3). Such was the capital discovery and demonstration of Realdus
Columbus. He is the man who discovered what is loosely called the
'pulmonary circulation'; and it really is quite absurd, in the face of
the fact, that twenty years afterwards we find Ambrose Pare, the great
French surgeon, ascribing this discovery to him as a matter of common
notoriety, to find that attempts are made to give the credit of it to
other people. So far as I know, this discovery of the course of the
blood through the lungs, which is called the pulmonary circulation, is
the one step in real advance that was made between the time of Galen
and the time of Harvey. And I would beg you to note that the word
"circulation" is improperly employed when it is applied to the course of
the blood through the lungs. The blood from the right side of the
heart, in getting to the left side of the heart, only performs a
half-circle--it does not perform a whole circle--it does not return
to the place from whence it started; and hence the discovery of the
so-called "pulmonary circulation" has nothing whatever to do with that
greater discovery which I shall point out to you by-and-by was made
by Harvey, and which is alone really entitled to the name of the
circulation of the blood.
If anybody wants to understand what Harvey's great desert really was,
I would suggest to him that he devote himself to a course of reading,
which I cannot promise shall be very entertaining, but which, in this
respect at any rate, will be highly instructive--namely, the works of
the anatomists of the latter part of the 16th century and the beginning
of the 17th century. If anybody will take the trouble to do that which
I have thought it my business to do, he will find that the doctrines
respecting the action of the heart and the motion of the blood which
were taught in every university in Europe, whether in Padua or in Paris,
were essentially those put forward by Galen, 'plus' the discovery of the
pulmonary course of the blood which had been made by Realdus Columbus.
In every chair of anatomy and physiology (which studies were not then
separated) in Europe, it was taught that the blood brought to the liver
by the portal vein, and carried out of the liver to the'vena cava'
by the hepatic vein, is distributed from the right side of the heart,
through the other veins, to all parts of the body; that the blood of the
| 857.287469 |
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THE
STORY OF SIENA
AND
SAN GIMIGNANO
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration: _Madonna with Saints._
_by Neroccio di Bartolommeo Landi._]
THE
STORY OF SIENA
AND
SAN GIMIGNANO
BY
EDMUND G. GARDNER
ILLUSTRATED BY
HELEN M. JAMES
AND MANY REPRODUCTIONS
FROM THE WORKS OF
PAINTERS AND SCULPTORS
[Illustration]
1902
LONDON: J. M. DENT & CO.
ALDINE HOUSE, W.C.
To
THE MEMORY
OF
HELEN M. JAMES
PREFACE
This present volume is intended to provide a popular history of the
great Republic of Siena, in such a form that it can also serve as a
guide-book to that most fascinating of Tuscan cities and its
neighbourhood. San Gimignano has been included, because no visitor to
Siena leaves the "fair town called of the Fair Towers" unvisited; I have
made special reference to it in the title of the book, to lay stress
upon the point that, although for administrative purposes San Gimignano
is included in the province (and in the _circondario_) of Siena, its
history is practically distinct from that of Siena and is more
intimately connected with the story of Florence.
The appended list of books and authorities, needless to say, is not a
complete bibliography, nor even a catalogue of those quoted in the
course of this work. It only represents some of those that my readers
will find most useful and helpful, or that will supply further
information upon many topics which the limits of this series of
Mediaeval Towns have compelled me to treat somewhat cursorily and
scantily.
The lamented death of Miss Helen M. James deprived us of her assistance
in the illustration of the last three chapters, more especially of the
two dealing with San Gimignano. Her work has been at the service of
this series from the beginning; but it is, perhaps, especially those who
have had the privilege of knowing her, and who have had the opportunity
of appreciating her character and her personality, that will realise the
greatness of this loss. My friend and publisher, Mr. J. M. Dent,
associates himself with me in dedicating this volume to her memory.
E. G. G.
_October 1902._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
_The Republic of Siena_ 1
CHAPTER II
_Saint Catherine of Siena_ 43
CHAPTER III
_The People and the Petrucci_ 67
CHAPTER IV
_The Sculptors and Painters of Siena_ 99
CHAPTER V
_The Campo of Siena and the Palace of the
Commune_ 126
CHAPTER VI
_The Duomo and the Baptistery_ 149
CHAPTER VII
_In the Footsteps of Saint Catherine_ 184
CHAPTER VIII
_The Last Days of the Republic_ 210
CHAPTER IX
_Through the City of the Virgin_ 246
CHAPTER X
_Some Famous Convents and Monasteries_ 298
CHAPTER XI
_San Gimignano_ 324
CHAPTER XII
_In the Town of the Beautiful Towers_ 344
_The Family of Pope Pius the Second_ 297
_Bibliographical Appendix_ 366
_General Index_ 373
ILLUSTRATIONS
* _The Madonna with Saints_ (_Neroccio di Bartolommeo
Landi_). _Photogravure_ Frontispiece
PAGE
_Siena from behind San Domenico_ 3
_La Castel Vecchio, the oldest part of Siena_ 8
*_On the Battlefield of Montaperti_ _facing_ 17
_A street in Siena_ 24
_La Croce del Travaglio_ 35
_La Lupa_ 42
*_St Catherine of Siena_ (_Andrea di Vanni_) _facing_ 47
*_Letter from St Catherine to Stefano Maconi_ _facing_ 56
_St Catherine's Lamp_ 65
_The Mangia Tower_ 69
+ _The Elevation of Enea Silvio Piccolomini to the
Papacy as Pius II._ (_Pinturicchio_) _facing_ 73
_Via Fontebranda_ 77
_The Porta Romana_ 95
+ _The Pulpit of the Duomo_ (_Niccolo Pisano and
his Pupils_). _Photogravure_ _facing_ 100
+ _The Font of San Giovanni of Siena_ (_Giacomo
della Quercia_) _facing_ 104
* _The Madonna and Child_ (_detail from Duccio's
Altarpiece_). _Photogravure_ _facing_ 112
_Bastion outside the Porta Pispini, erected by
Baldassare Peruzzi_ 116
_Via Giovanni Dupre_ 121
_The Palazzo Pubblico_ 133
_The Market-Place_ 146
_The Duomo_ 151
_Interior of the Duomo_ 163
+ _The Canonisation of Saint Catherine, from
Pinturicchio's fresco._ _Photogravure_ _facing_ 174
+ _The Crucifixion, by Duccio di Buoninsegna.
Photogravure_ _facing_ 178
_Steps beside the Baptistery_ 180
_Fontebranda_ 189
_House of St Catherine_ 193
_Via della Galluzza_ 199
+ _The Ecstasy of St Catherine. Detail from
Bazzi's fresco. Photogravure_ _facing_ 204
_A suburban Chapel_ 212
_Banner-holder in the Piazza Postierla_ 217
_An old fanale in the Piazza San Giusto_ 223
_Via dei Termini_ 229
_Porta Ovile_ 237
_Remains of a Mural Tower_ 244
_Palazzo Saracini_ 249
_The Tower of Sant' Ansano_ 255
_Pozzo della Diana_ 259
_Via delle Sperandie_ 263
_Via della Fonte_ 267
_Fonte San Maurizio_ 279
_Piazza and Palazzo Tolomei_ 287
_At the older circuit of the walls_ 296
_Fountain outside Posta Ovile_ 299
+ _Coronation of Virgin_ (_Andrea della Robbia_) _facing_ 304
*_A Miracle of St Benedict_ (_Bazzi_) _facing_ 314
*_Maurus and Placidus_ (_Bazzi_) _facing_ 320
*_San Gimignano_ _facing_ 325
+ _Apparition of St Gregory._ (_Domenico Ghirlandaio_) _facing_ 330
*_In the Town of the Fair Towers_ _facing_ 340
+ _The Funeral of Santa Fina_ (_Domenico Ghirlandaio_) _facing_ 349
+ _Heads of Choristers_ (_Domenico Ghirlandaio_) _facing_ 352
+ _St Augustine at School._ (_Benozzo Gozzoli_) _facing_ 358
_Map of Siena_ _facing_ 372
* _These illustrations are reproduced, with permission, from photographs
by Messrs Alinari of Florence._
+ _These illustrations are reproduced, with permission, from photographs
by Messrs Lombardi of Siena._
_We are indebted to Signor Enrico Torrini of Siena for permission
to make use of his map._
_The remaining illustrations are all from drawings by Helen M.
James._
The Story of Siena
and
San Gimignano
CHAPTER I
_The Republic of Siena_
Siena remains the most perfectly mediaeval of all the larger cities of
Tuscany. Its narrow streets, its spacious Gothic palaces and churches,
the three hills upon which it rises enthroned, with the curiously
picturesque valleys between them, are still inclosed in frowning walls
of the fourteenth century. The Renaissance came to it late, gave it its
enduring epithet of "soft Siena," and blended harmoniously, almost
imperceptibly, with its mediaeval spirit.
According to the more picturesque of the traditions respecting its
origin, Siena was founded by Senius, the son of Remus, who brought with
him the image of the _Lupa_, the she-wolf suckling the twins, which
still remains the city's badge. When he offered sacrifice to his gods, a
dense black smoke arose from the altar of Apollo and a pure white smoke
from that of Diana--in commemoration of which was made the _balzana_,
the black and white shield of the Commune that we still see upon
Siena's gates and public buildings. There are two other shields
associated with it: a blue shield with the word _Libertas_ in gold
letters; a red shield with a white lion rampant. According to other
traditions, scarcely more historical, the first was granted to Siena by
Charlemagne, the second (the arms of the People) by the Emperor Otto.
Siena was a place of very small importance during the dark ages. As in
the case of its neighbour and rival, Florence, its epoch of greatness
begins with the earlier decades of the twelfth century, in the confused
period that followed the death of the Countess Matilda of Tuscany.
Throughout the greater part of the twelfth century and at the beginning
of the thirteenth, the Republic of Siena was nominally ruled by Consuls,
who up to the middle of the twelfth century shared their authority with
the Bishop. They were men of noble rank, usually three or sometimes six
in number, elected by the people in the parliament that met either
before the then Romanesque Duomo or in the Piazza di San Cristofano, to
hold office for one year. At first the nobles were the greater power in
the State; some at least were the descendants of the foreign invaders,
the counts and barons of the Frankish and German Emperors, and the
result of their prepotency was naturally combined with the territorial
rivalry with Florence to make Siena throw in its lot with the
Ghibellines, when the great struggle between Papacy and Empire, between
republican ideals and feudal traditions, divided Italy. Gradually five
noble families came to stand out pre-eminently as the _schiatte
maggiori_, with special privileges from the Republic and a predominating
influence in the State, names that we shall meet with again and again in
Siena's story; the Piccolomini, the Tolomei, the Malavolti, the
Salimbeni and the Saracini. The Salimbeni were
[Illustration: SIENA FROM BEHIND S. DOMENICO]
the richest and exercised considerable territorial sway in the contado;
the Piccolomini claimed to be of pure Latin descent, and were
undoubtedly of more democratic tendencies. These nobles were divided
against themselves; there was bitter feud between the Salimbeni and the
Tolomei, between the Malavolti and the Piccolomini. And presently the
people took advantage of this to rise and claim their share in the
administration of the city, and in the reformation of 1147 they obtained
a third part of the government.
Gradually the Republic of Siena extended its sway over the neighbouring
townlets and over the castelle of the contado, whose feudal lords were
forced to reside in the city for some months in the year, to fight for
the Commune in war. In spite of internal factions and dissensions, the
city increased in wealth and prosperity; its commerce was largely
extended; fugitives from Milan, flying from the Teutonic arms of
Frederick Barbarossa, introduced the Art of Wool; Sienese gentlemen, led
by Filippo Malavolti--a noble whom we dimly discern as a great figure in
those far-off republican days--sailed to Syria in Pisan galleys and
shared in the capture of Acre. Notwithstanding its traditional support
of the imperial cause, it was in this century that Siena gave to the
Church the "great Pope of the Lombard League"--Orlando Bandinelli, who
during his long pontificate as Alexander III. (from 1159 to 1181) knew
how to uphold the rights of Italy no less than the claims of the Papacy
against the mightiest of the Kaisers. And, indeed, the Ghibellinism of
the Sienese was always of a patriotic Italian type. In 1186 they closed
their gates in the face of Barbarossa, believing that he meant to
deprive them of their contado, and hurled back his son Henry discomfited
from the Porta Camollia. At the close of the century, Siena began to
have a Podesta as chief magistrate, like the other cities of Tuscany,
who was probably at the outset an imperial nominee, and the consular
government appears to have ceased by about 1212; while the people became
associated into Arts or Guilds, somewhat resembling the more famous
Florentine associations, whose representatives sat in the councils of
the Republic and had their voice in the affairs of State.[1] Already the
glorious Duomo, though needless to say not in its present form, had been
consecrated by Pope Alexander, and the Dogana stood on the site of the
present Palazzo Comunale, a sign of increasing commercial prosperity. A
great part of the public authority was now in the hands of the
Camarlingo and the four Provveditori di Biccherna, the officials who
presided over the finances of the Republic. Though for a few years we
still find the names of consuls, the Podesta was from 1199 onwards the
chief officer of the State; we find in 1200 and in 1201 that Filippo
Malavolti held this office, but after 1211 it was invariably assigned to
a foreigner. In 1208 the oldest of the Sienese palaces, the Palazzo
Tolomei, was built; although burned by the people on at least two
occasions, it still retains not a little of its early mediaeval aspect.
Throughout the greater part of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,
Siena--usually more or less allied with Pisa, Pistoia and the Conti
Guidi--was engaged in a series of wars with Florence, an intermittent
struggle alternating with hollow, insincere treaties of peace. This was
due to the antagonistic ideals of Guelf and Ghibelline, to the growing
commercial rivalry between the two republics, each especially striving
to get into the hands of its own merchants and noble bankers all the
increasingly lucrative affairs of the Roman Curia, and, perhaps, more
immediately to the fact that each was striving to extend its contado at
the expense of the other. Poggibonsi, Colle di Val d'Elsa, Montalcino
and Montepulciano--in which right was probably with Siena and might with
Florence--were perpetual sources of contention, and the Sienese suffered
severe defeats time after time. "Do not forget through eternity those
that deny thee, that withdraw themselves from the homage they owe thee,
that plot against thee and that bring shame to thee." So runs the black
book of the Commune, the _Memoriale delle Offese_, in which these things
were recorded. "Be mindful of Montepulciano, that, though it be of thy
contado, most proudly endeavours to withdraw itself therefrom."[2]
Grosseto was the first place of importance that, in 1224, fell
permanently into the hands of the Sienese, a town previously swayed by
the Counts Aldobrandeschi of Santa Fiora, those most potent nobles of
the Sienese contado whose pride and whose imperialistic tendencies are
recorded by Dante.
Within the city the factions raged furiously. The power of the nobles or
_gentiluomini_ was waning, even in Ghibelline Siena. It was laid to
their charge that the wars with Florence had taken so unfavourable a
turn, that the Florentines were ravaging the contado, had hurled donkeys
into Siena with their catapults, and on one occasion had even penetrated
into the city itself. By what appears to have been a comparatively
peaceful revolution in 1233, the people obtained an increased share in
the government; a supreme magistracy of Twenty-four was created, elected
annually by the General
[Illustration: In Castel Vecchio, the oldest part of Siena]
Council, eight from each _terzo_ of the city, half from each order.[3]
But their rule became irksome to the more conservative section of the
nobles, who formed a rival party and strove to oust the _popolani_ from
power. In 1240 it came to blood, to adopt the Dantesque phrase. The
opponents of the new regime, headed by the Podesta, Manfredi da
Sassuolo, rose in arms; the people, led by a certain Aldobrandino di
Guido Cacciaconti, who is described as one of the "grandi del popolo di
Siena," and who was of an old feudal family, rallied round the
Twenty-four. The battle began in three places in the city. There was
fighting up and down the narrow streets; there was flaming of torches
and clashing of weapons round the palaces and towers. The Palazzo
Tolomei and the Palazzo Malavolti were burned, and after much
devastation and bloodshed, when many had fallen on either side, the
Twenty-four got the upper-hand, drove out a certain number of the
nobles, and appointed Aldobrandino Podesta. He was a strong and prudent
man, who put down disorder with a firm hand, and reconciled many of the
leaders of either party. In the comparative tranquillity that followed,
the streets and squares of Siena were paved for the first time. But the
struggle with Florence proved disastrous. The Sienese were forced to
make a disadvantageous peace, and, in 1255, there was an alliance
concluded between the rival republics, in the epoch of Guelf
predominance that followed the deaths of Frederick II. and King Conrad.
It was in this brief breathing space, of external peace and internal
tranquillity, that a knight of Siena, Messer Folcacchiero de'
Folcacchieri, wrote what was once thought to be the earliest extant
example of a regular canzone, describing his own hapless plight through
love: _Tutto lo mondo vive senza guerra_: "All the world is living
without war, yet I can find no peace." The constitution at this time
shows the usual bewildering number of separate councils that we find in
mediaeval Italian republics. The four Provveditori di Biccherna with
their Camarlingo still administered the revenues of the State, the
executive was in the hands of the Podesta and Captain. Laws were
discussed and approved in the General Council of the Campana, composed
of "three hundred good Catholics, not excommunicated nor suspected of
heresy." There was nominally a Parliament, which the Podesta and Captain
could not summon without the consent of two-thirds of the Council of the
Campana, and without previously explaining what they intended to
propose. But "the Twenty-four were the informing soul of the
constitution, and once a month they met in secret council without the
Podesta and Captain."[4]
But it was not for long that the Lion shook hands with the Wolf, as we
see them at a later epoch on the pavement of the Duomo. Florence was now
the predominant power in Tuscany, fiercely democratic and strenuously
Guelf; while Pisa and Siena alone clung to the discredited cause of the
Ghibellines, the latter thirsting to recover Montalcino which had been
lost in the last war. Away in the south, Frederick's heroic son, King
Manfred, was upholding the claims of the imperial house of Suabia, and
Siena looked to him. A band of exiled Florentines came to Siena in 1258,
led by that tremendous Ghibelline noble whom Dante was afterwards to see
rising from his fiery tomb as though he held all Hell in scorn, the man
whom the triumph of the Guelfs would torture more than all the torments
of his burning bed: Farinata degli Uberti. In spite of the express terms
of the treaty, Siena turned a deaf ear to the remonstrance of her
nominal ally, and refused to expel the fugitives. War being now
inevitable, ambassadors were sent to Manfred to obtain his aid. The
price of the royal assistance was that the Sienese should swear fidelity
and obedience to him. This was done, and in May 1259, from Lucera, the
King received the Commune under his protection. To a second embassy,
praying him to take the imperial crown and to send a captain with an
army into Tuscany, Manfred answered that he loved Siena above all the
cities of Italy, and that he would shortly send to those parts such a
captain of his own blood and so great a force of armed men with him
"that he shall make the rough ways smooth, and rule that province in
peace."[5] And in December the Count Giordano d'Anglano, the King's
near kinsman, appeared in Siena, with a small force of Germans. He at
once took the field in the Maremma, where Grosseto and Montemassi had
rebelled from Siena, and forced the former town to surrender in
February. Hearing that the Florentines were making huge preparations,
and were sending supplies to Montepulciano and Montalcino, another
embassy was sent to Manfred in March, headed by the most influential
citizen of Siena, Provenzano Salvani.
No sooner had spring come than the Florentine army, headed by their
Podesta, Jacopino Rangoni of Modena, entered the territory of the
republic and advanced upon Siena by way of Colle and Montereggioni,
forcing the Sienese to raise the siege of Montemassi, and to withdraw
all their troops for the defence of the city. On the morning of May
18th, there was a smart engagement at Santa Petronilla outside the Porta
Camollia. A small force of Germans and Sienese made a vigorous sortie,
in which the Germans bore the brunt of the fighting, lost the greater
part of their number killed, and the royal banner fell into the hands of
the Florentines, who retired to their encampment, having suffered
severely in killed and wounded. They broke up their camp and retreated
on the 20th, almost simultaneously with the return of Provenzano and his
colleagues to Siena followed by a strong force of German and Italian
mercenaries from the King.[6] The war was at once renewed with activity,
Provenzano Salvani being the leading spirit throughout. Montemassi was
taken and Montalcino rigorously blockaded.
The critical condition of Montalcino combined with Ghibelline intrigues
to bring the Florentines again into the field. Farinata and his fellow
exiles gave the _anziani_, who then ruled in Florence, to understand
that Siena was thirsting for a change of government, for the overthrow
of the Twenty-four, and the banishment of Provenzano, "who was the
greatest _popolano_ of Siena," and that the nobles were prepared to sell
the city to the Florentines. In spite of the strenuous opposition of
Tegghiaio Aldobrandino and the Conte Guidoguerra, the Florentines
decided instantly to resume hostilities--nominally to relieve
Montalcino, in reality to destroy Siena. They called the people to arms
to follow the standards of their companies, summoned aid from Lucca and
Bologna and all the Guelf cities of their league. At the beginning of
September the army of Florence with the Carroccio or battle car of the
Republic, over which floated the red and white standard of the Commune,
entered the Sienese contado, where it was joined by the men of Perugia
and Orvieto. Without counting these, there were at least 3000 horsemen
and more than 30,000 infantry; but there were traitors in the army, in
secret understanding with the enemy. From their camp beyond the Arbia,
the captain and commissaries of the Florentines sent ambassadors to the
Sienese, to demand their instant and absolute submission. "Straightway
throw down your walls," they began, "in order that we may enter your
city at whatever place likes us best."
Forthwith the Twenty-four of Siena summoned the council to meet in the
church of San Cristofano. There was some wavering at first. The worthy
burghers knew nothing of the secret dealings of the Florentine exiles
(to which, probably, Provenzano alone was privy), but had heard much of
the might and fierceness of the invading forces, and several of the
council urged a compromise. At once Provenzano Salvani sprang to his
feet and bade them summon the Count Giordano. The Count came and, with
the sixteen German constables, his seneschal and an interpreter, stood
before the council. There was no thought of surrender then; the Germans
shouted with delight at the prospect of double pay and speedy fighting,
and Salimbene Salimbeni at once hurried to his palace and returned with
the money, driving through the piazza in a cart covered with scarlet and
decked with olive. Through his mouth the Twenty-four gave their reply to
the Florentine herald: "Go back to your captain and the commissaries,
and tell them that we shall answer them by word of mouth on the field."
The whole city was arming; before the church, the piazza of the Tolomei
and all the streets leading to it were packed with a wildly expectant
and ever increasing crowd. While away in the Duomo the Bishop assembled
the clergy and religious, with bare feet moving in solemn procession to
implore the divine aid against "the impious appetites of the
Florentines," the Twenty-four had elected Buonaguida Lucari _sindaco_
with full powers--practically Dictator.
"Men of Siena," cried Buonaguida from the steps of San Cristofano, "ye
all know how we have recommended ourselves to the protection of King
Manfred; let us now surrender ourselves, our goods and persons, our city
and our contado with all our rights, to the Queen of Eternal Life, to
our Lady and Mother, the Virgin Mary. Follow me now, all of you, with
purity of faith and freedom of will, to make this offering."
Bareheaded and barefooted, clad like a beggar with a halter round his
neck, the Dictator solemnly carried the keys of the city to the Duomo,
followed by the people, barefooted too, and crying continually,
_misericordia, misericordia_. There all the clergy met them, and at the
foot of the choir the Bishop and Dictator solemnly embraced, in pledge
of the complete union of Church and State, while hereditary foes fell
into each other's arms. Then after silent prayer, prostrate before the
altar, the Dictator in an impassioned harangue formally made over the
city and contado of Siena to the Mother of Heaven, while the Bishop
mounted the pulpit and solemnly exhorted the people to mutual
forgiveness and to approach the sacraments. The next day there was a
long procession through the streets, the keys were blessed and given
over to the keeping of the Gonfalonieri (the elected heads of the three
terzi). All night the churches had been thronged by crowds approaching
the confessionals, by enemies seeking reconciliation with each other,
and at daybreak the Twenty-four sent three heralds with the banners of
each terzo to call the people to arms in the name of God and of the
Virgin Mary.
It was Friday, September 3rd. The whole army consisted of a little more
than 20,000 men. There were 800 Germans and other royal horsemen with
the imperial banner, under Count Giordano and the Count of Arras; 400
more horsemen, partly Germans and partly noble Sienese, under the Count
Aldobrandino degli Aldobrandeschi of Santa Fiora and Niccolo de'
Bigozzi, seneschal of the Commune. The Florentine and other Ghibelline
exiles, under the Count Guido Novello and Farinata, were partly with
Giordano, partly with Count Aldobrandino. There were 19,000 citizen
infantry from the three terzi of the city and the contado, under the
Podesta, Francesco Troghisio, and their three Gonfalonieri, with the
Carroccio of the Republic over which floated a white standard "that gave
right good comfort, for it seemed the mantle of the Virgin Mary." A
number of priests, some of them armed, accompanied the army; the rest
with the Bishop, old men and women, spent the day fasting, going in
procession from church to church throughout the city reciting litanies
and the like. They marched out of the Porta Pispini and occupied the
hill of Monteropoli beyond which, in the plain of the Cortine between
the Biena and the Malena (little streams that join the Arbia), and on
the opposite hill of Monteselvoli, lay the Guelf army--its leaders
confidently expecting a revolution in Siena in their favour and the
speedy surrender of one of the gates of the city. All during the night
the Sienese harassed the Florentine camp, and on Saturday morning,
September 4th, the battle began.
The Count of Arras, with some 400 horse and foot, advancing along the
Biena, moved round Monteselvoli to fall upon the Florentine left flank;
while the rest of the army left their hill, crossed the Arbia and
approached the enemies' position--the Florentines in the valley
hastening up their own side of Monteselvoli to join the main body. The
German heavy cavalry commenced the assault, dashing like dragons into
the ranks of the men of Prato, Arezzo and Lucca, horse and men falling
in heaps before their terrible lances. The Count Giordano led his
_tedeschi_ straight for the centre of the Guelfic army, where the
"martinella" rang continuously over the Carroccio of Florence, round
which the flower of the burgher army stood. The Count Aldobrandino with
his cavalry and the eager Sienese followed up the German onslaught; but
the resistance was long and stubborn. At last Bocca degli Abati, the
traitor in the troop of Florentine nobles, _hostis e cive factus_ as
Leonardo Bruni puts it, struck Jacopo Pazzi with his sword on the arm
that upheld one of the standards of the Republic; a portion of the
cavalry went over to the enemy; the rest, seeing themselves betrayed,
took to flight. | 857.379546 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.3634030 | 1,510 | 6 |
E-text prepared by Wayne Hammond and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
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Internet Archive. See
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE PHILADELPHIA HOUSEWIFE,
Or,
Family Receipt Book.
by
AUNT MARY.
[Illustration]
Philadelphia:
J. B. Lippincott & Co.
1855.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1855,
By J. P. Lippincott & Co.,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court, in and for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE.
As the health of a family depends more upon the quality of their
food than upon any other cause whatever, it is a public benefaction
to give good advice upon this subject. That this advice may be most
widely beneficial, it should have reference to the material and the
preparation of food; and in both these respects, regard should be had
to economy. The rich, who are able to provide the most choice and
expensive articles of diet, frequently fail in having them prepared
for the table in an agreeable and healthful manner; and the poor, and
even those in moderate circumstances, are not only not generally well
informed as to healthful and nutritious articles of food, which may be
purchased at moderate expense, but when procured, they more generally
err in the healthful preparation of them, mistaking high seasoning and
rich mixtures for delicious and wholesome food. It is to aid the family
in procuring and preparing their food according to their means, and
with a view to elegance, taste, and health, that the authoress of this
book has been induced to publish these receipts and the accompanying
advice and reflections. She does this at the solicitation of many heads
of families, and with the confidence of knowledge founded on long
personal experience. This is the only source of reliable knowledge on
the subject of procuring and preparing healthful food, in good taste,
and with elegance and economy.
But proper materials may be obtained for food, and the cook may
understand how to prepare them; yet she will fail if she does not have
the kitchen furnished with proper articles for culinary purposes. Each
of these articles should be kept in its proper place, and scrupulously
clean, while every thing should be done with exactness, and at the
proper time.
The authoress has the greatest confidence that the circulation of this
book will promote elegance and comfort in wealthy families, and economy
and health in families of moderate means.
THE
FAMILY RECEIPT BOOK.
TO PREPARE AND TO SELECT BEEF, MUTTON, LAMB, VEAL, AND BACON.
White meats, such as veal, mutton, and lamb, should be washed as
quickly as possible, or the juices of the meat will be extracted by
the water. Fresh beef should never be washed, but well scraped with a
clean knife twice over; any soiled parts which cannot be scraped must
be cut off. If the bones are soiled, saw off the part with the meat
saw. Salted meat should be well washed in three or four waters, and
soaked at least fifteen minutes in cold water, before putting it down
to boil. The pot should be filled with cold water, and boil slowly till
done, according to the size of the meat, or allow a quarter of an hour
for every pound of the meat; quick boiling will make the meat hard and
insipid. Be careful that it does not stop boiling, or the meat will be
injured; remove the scum frequently. People are not generally aware of
the injurious effects from eating the flesh of diseased animals. It
has been my practice to choose beef from the whiteness of the fat, and
always object to it if a dark shade of yellow; let the fat be clear
and thick, and the beef smooth and close; if otherwise, it is old. The
flesh of a young ox should be a good red, and have a smooth and open
grain, and feel tender. Pork may be judged by the thinness of the skin,
and by pinching the lean; if young, it will break. When clammy, it is
not fit for use. Fresh pork will be always cool and smooth. The fat of
mutton should be white and firm, and the lean a good colour. If the
vein in the neck of lamb has a greenish cast, it is stale: it should be
of a bluish hue.
BACON.--The lean should be of a good colour, and tender, and firm on
the bone, the fat should be firm and of a red tinge, and the rind thin.
Try a ham by putting a sharp knife in under the bone. If the smell
is agreeable, the ham is good; if otherwise, and the knife soiled,
reject it. Veal,--The whitest is the most juicy, having been made so
by frequent bleeding: the flesh of a bull calf is firmest, but of a
darker colour. Old and diseased meat will shrink very much in cooking.
Hams and tongues, if they are old and hard, should be put to soak in
warm water the night before they are boiled. A large ham will take from
four to six hours to boil, and a tongue will take nearly as long. They
should be kept constantly boiling, and well skimmed: put them down in
plenty of cold water. Fish should always be boiled in hot water with a
little salt in it: let them boil slowly.
Wild fowls do not require as much cooking as tame. They should be done
before a brisk fire, and be constantly basted. Wild ducks will cook
sufficiently in a quarter of an hour; pheasants in twenty minutes. A
large turkey will take from two hours and a half to three hours. Hen
turkeys are the best for boiling. The time will depend on the size: if
a large one, it will take two hours and a half, and should be boiled
in a cloth. All meats when roasting should be put some distance from
the fire, and brought gradually nearer; the more they are turned and
basted, the more juicy they will be. Vegetables should be freshly
gathered; they are much sweeter and more healthy, if cooked as soon as
taken out of the ground. When potatoes are to be fried, throw them in
water with plenty of ice in it after slicing. This will make them crisp.
BEEF SOUP, THIN.
Wash and scrape well a shin of beef, put it down early in the morning
in plenty of cold water, with a piece of veal, and a small piece | 857.383443 |
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Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text | 857.384943 |
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YOU KNOW ME AL
RING W. LARDNER
YOU KNOW ME
AL
_A Busher's Letters_
BY
RING W. LARDNER
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME 9
II THE BUSHER COMES BACK 45
III THE BUSHER'S HONEYMOON 83
IV A NEW BUSHER BREAKS IN 122
V THE BUSHER'S KID 166
VI THE BUSHER BEATS IT HENCE 208
YOU KNOW ME AL
YOU KNOW ME AL
CHAPTER I
A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME
_Terre Haute, Indiana, September 6._
FRIEND AL: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I
been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to
me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of
knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says
Jack I've sold you to the Chicago Americans.
I didn't have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five
minutes I was just dum and couldn't say a word.
He says We aren't getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to
that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League
on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here
and there won't be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and
Walsh or no one else won't have nothing on you.
So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the
treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here
and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was
appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can't
help but be proud of my first year's record in professional baseball
and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.
Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never
was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not
to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?
I will just give them what I got and if they don't like it they can
send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.
I didn't know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me
that Jack Doyle the White Sox scout was down here looking at me when
Grand Rapids was here. I beat them twice in that serious. You know
Grand Rapids never had a chance with me when I was right. I shut them
out in the first game and they got one run in the second on account of
Flynn misjuging that fly ball. Anyway Doyle liked my work and he wired
Comiskey to buy me. Comiskey come back with an offer and they excepted
it. I don't know how much they got but anyway I am sold to the big
league and believe me Al I will make good.
Well Al I will be home in a few days and we will have some of the good
old times. Regards to all the boys and tell them I am still their pal
and not all swelled up over this big league business.
Your pal, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 14._
Old Pal: Well Al I have not got much to tell you. As you know Comiskey
wrote me that if I was up in Chi this month to drop in and see him. So
I got here Thursday morning and went to his office in the afternoon.
His office is out to the ball park and believe me its some park and
some office.
I went in and asked for Comiskey and a young fellow says He is not here
now but can I do anything for you? I told him who I am and says I had
an engagement to see Comiskey. He says The boss is out of town hunting
and did I have to see him personally?
I says I wanted to see about signing a contract. He told me I could
sign as well with him as Comiskey and he took me into another office.
He says What salary did you think you ought to get? and I says I
wouldn't think of playing ball in the big league for less than three
thousand dollars per annum. He laughed and says You don't want much.
You better stick round town till the boss comes back. So here I am and
it is costing me a dollar a day to stay at the hotel on Cottage Grove
Avenue and that don't include my meals.
I generally eat at some of the cafes round the hotel but I had supper
downtown last night and it cost me fifty-five cents. If Comiskey don't
come back soon I won't have no more money left.
Speaking of money I won't sign no contract unless I get the salary you
and I talked of, three thousand dollars. You know what I was getting in
Terre Haute, a hundred and fifty a month, and I know it's going to cost
me a lot more to live here. I made inquiries round here and find I can
get board and room for eight dollars a week but I will be out of town
half the time and will have to pay for my room when I am away or look
up a new one when I come back. Then I will have to buy cloths to wear
on the road in places like New York. When Comiskey comes back I will
name him three thousand dollars as my lowest figure and I guess he
will come through when he sees I am in ernest. I heard that Walsh was
getting twice as much as that.
The papers says Comiskey will be back here sometime to-morrow. He
has been hunting with the president of the league so he ought to
feel pretty good. But I don't care how he feels. I am going to get a
contract for three thousand and if he don't want to give it to me he
can do the other thing. You know me Al.
Yours truly, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 16._
DEAR FRIEND AL: Well I will be home in a couple of days now but I
wanted to write you and let you know how I come out with Comiskey. I
signed my contract yesterday afternoon. He is a great old fellow Al
and no wonder everybody likes him. He says Young man will you have
a drink? But I was to smart and wouldn't take nothing. He says You
was with Terre Haute? I says Yes I was. He says Doyle tells me you
were pretty wild. I says Oh no I got good control. He says Well do
you want to sign? I says Yes if I get my figure. He asks What is | 857.385857 |
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By Homer Greene
A LINCOLN CONSCRIPT. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.
COAL AND THE COAL MINES. In Riverside Library for Young People.
Illustrated. 16mo, 75 cents.
HOUGHTON MIFF | 857.386062 |
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THE
HISTORY
OF THE
DEVIL,
AS WELL
ANCIENT as MODERN:
IN TWO PARTS.
PART I.
Containing a State of the _Devil_'s Circumstances, and the various
Turns of his Affairs; from his Expulsion out of Heaven, to the
| 857.387131 |
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Transcribed from the 1896 “Lizzie Leigh and Other Tales” Macmillan and
Co. edition by David Price, email [email protected]. Proofed by Audrey
Emmitt and Eugenia Corbo.
THE POOR CLARE
CHAPTER I.
DECEMBER 12th, 1747.—My life has been strangely bound up with
extraordinary incidents, some of which occurred before I had any
connection with the principal actors in them, or indeed, before I even
knew of their existence. I suppose, most old men are, like me, more
given to looking back upon their own career with a kind of fond interest
and affectionate remembrance, than to watching the events—though these
may have far more interest for the multitude—immediately passing before
their eyes. If this should be the case with the generality of old
people, how much more so with me!... If I am to enter upon that
strange story connected with poor Lucy, I must begin a long way back. I
myself only came to the knowledge of her family history after I knew her;
but, to make the tale clear to any one else, I must arrange events in the
order in which they occurred—not that in which I became acquainted with
them.
There is a great old hall in the north-east of Lancashire, in a part they
called the Trough of Bolland, adjoining that other district named Craven.
Starkey Manor-house is rather like a number of rooms clustered round a
gray, massive, old keep than a regularly-built hall. Indeed, I suppose
that the house only consisted of a great tower in the centre, in the days
when the Scots made their raids terrible as far south as this; and that
after the Stuarts came in, and there was a little more security of
property in those parts, the Starkeys of that time added the lower
building, which runs, two stories high, all round the base of the keep.
There has been a grand garden laid out in my days, on the southern <DW72>
near the house; but when I first knew the place, the kitchen-garden at
the farm was the only piece of cultivated ground belonging to it. The
deer used to come within sight of the drawing-room windows, and might
have browsed quite close up to the house if they had not been too wild
and shy. Starkey Manor-house itself stood on a projection or peninsula
of high land, jutting out from the abrupt hills that form the sides of
the Trough of Bolland. These hills were rocky and bleak enough towards
their summit; lower down they were clothed with tangled copsewood and
green depths of fern, out of which a gray giant of an ancient forest-tree
would tower here and there, throwing up its ghastly white branches, as if
in imprecation | 857.478383 |
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LONDON FILMS
BY W. D. HOWELLS
[Illustration: HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT]
CONTENTS
I. METEOROLOGICAL EMOTIONS
II. CIVIC AND SOCIAL COMPARISONS, MOSTLY ODIOUS
III. SHOWS AND SIDE-SHOWS OF STATE
IV. THE DUN YEAR'S BRILLIANT FLOWER
V. THE SIGHTS AND SOUNDS OF THE STREETS
VI. SOME MISGIVINGS AS TO THE AMERICAN INVASION
VII. IN THE GALLERY OF THE COMMONS
VIII. THE MEANS OF SOJOURN
IX. CERTAIN TRAITS OF THE LONDON SPRINGTIME
X. | 857.478592 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: Sample page]
[Transcriber's note: the above sample page is for right-hand
(odd-numbered) pages. For left-hand (even-numbered) pages, use a mirror
image of the sample page.]
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
_*The Queen Who Flew*_
*A Fairy Tale*
By
*FORD HUEFFER*
AUTHOR OF "THE BROWN OWL"
"SHIFTING OF THE FIRE," ETC.
_With a Frontispiece by_
SIR E. BURNE JONES
AND
_Border Design by_
C. R. B. BARRETT
LONDON
BLISS, SANDS & FOSTER
CRAVEN STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1894
TO
A PRINCESS OF THE OLD TIME
BEFORE US
THIS TALE
IS DUE AND DEDICATED.
_Over the leas the Princess came,_
_On the sward of the cliffs that breast the sea,_
_With her cheeks aglow and her hair aflame,_
_That snared the eyes and blinded them,_
_And now is but a memory._
_Over the leas, the wind-tossed dream,_
_Over the leas above the sea,_
_Passed and went to reign supreme._
_--No need of a crown or diadem_
_In the kingdom of misty Memory._
*THE QUEEN WHO FLEW.*
Once upon a time a Queen sat in her garden. She was quite a young, young
Queen; but that was a long while ago, so she would be older now. But,
for all she was Queen over a great and powerful country, she led a very
quiet life, and sat a great deal alone in her garden watching the roses
grow, and talking to a bat that hung, head downwards, with its wings
folded, for all the world like an umbrella, beneath the shade of a rose
tree overhanging her favourite marble seat. She did not know much about
the bat, not even that it could fly, for her servants and nurses would
never allow her to be out at dusk, and the bat was a great deal too
weak-eyed to fly about in the broad daylight.
But, one summer day, it happened that there was a revolution in the
land, and the Queen's servants, not knowing who was likely to get the
upper hand, left the Queen all alone, and went to look at the fight that
was raging.
But you must understand that in those days a revolution was a thing very
different from what it would be to-day.
Instead of trying to get rid of the Queen altogether, the great nobles
of the kingdom merely fought violently with each other for possession of
the Queen's person. Then they would proclaim themselves Regents of the
kingdom and would issue bills of attainder against all their rivals,
saying they were traitors against the Queen's Government.
In fact, a revolution in those days was like what is called a change of
Ministry now | 857.481033 |
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THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
SAMUEL RICHARDSON,
_CLARISSA:_
Preface, Hints of Prefaces,
and Postscript.
_Introduction_
BY
R. F. BRISSENDEN.
PUBLICATION NUMBER 103
WILLIAM ANDREWS CLARK MEMORIAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES
1964
GENERAL EDITORS
Richard C. Boys, _University of Michigan_
Earl R. Miner, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Maximillian E. Novak, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Lawrence Clark Powell, _Wm. Andrews Clark Memorial Library_
ADVISORY EDITORS
John Butt, _University of Edinburgh_
James L. Clifford, _Columbia University_
Ralph Cohen, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Vinton A. Dearing, _University of California, Los Angeles_
Arthur Friedman, _University of Chicago_
Louis A. Landa, _Princeton University_
Samuel H. Monk, _University of Minnesota_
Everett T. Moore, _University of California, Los Angeles_
James Sutherland, _University College, London_
H. T. Swedenberg, Jr., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
Edna C. Davis, _Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
The seven volumes of the first edition of _Clarissa_ were published in
three instalments during the twelve months from December 1747 to
December 1748. Richardson wrote a Preface for Volume I and a Postscript
for Volume VII, and William Warburton supplied an additional Preface for
Volume III (or IV).[1] A second edition, consisting merely of a reprint
of Volumes I-IV was brought out in 1749. In 1751 a third edition of
eight volumes in duodecimo and a fourth edition of seven volumes in
octavo were published simultaneously.
For the third and fourth editions the author revised the text of the
novel, rewrote his own Preface and Postscript, substantially expanding
the latter, and dropped the Preface written by Warburton. The additions
to the Postscript, like the letters and passages'restored' to the novel
itself, are distinguished in the new editions by points in the margin.
The revised Preface and Postscript, which in the following pages are
reproduced from the fourth edition, constitute the most extensive and
fully elaborated statement of a theory of fiction ever published by
Richardson. The Preface and concluding Note to _Sir Charles Grandison_
are, by comparison, brief and restricted in their application; while the
introductory material in _Pamela_ is, so far as critical theory is
concerned, slight and incoherent.
The _Hints of Prefaces for Clarissa_, a transcript of which is also
included in this publication, is an equally important and in some ways
an even more interesting document. It appears to have been put together
by Richardson while he was revising the Preface and Postscript to the
first edition. Certain sections of it are preliminary drafts of some of
the new material incorporated in the revised Postscript. Large portions
of _Hints of Prefaces_, however, were not used then and have never
previously appeared in print. Among these are two critical assessments
of the novel by Philip Skelton and Joseph Spence; and a number of
observations--some merely jottings--by Richardson himself on the
structure of the novel and the virtues of the epistolary style. The
statements of Skelton and Spence are unusual amongst contemporary
discussions of _Clarissa_ for their brevity, lucidity, and sustained
critical relevance. Richardson's own comments, though disorganized and
fragmentary, show that he was attempting to develop a theory of the
epistolary novel as essentially dramatic, psychologically realistic, and
inherently superior to 'the dry Narrative',[2] particularly as
exemplified in the novels of Henry Fielding.
It is impossible to determine how much of _Hints of Prefaces_ or of the
published Preface and Postscript is Richardson's own work. All were to
some extent the result of collaborative effort, and Richardson did not
always distinguish clearly between what he had written and what had been
supplied by other people.[3] The concluding paragraph of the Postscript,
for example | 857.482114 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
SONGS YSAME
Dainty Volumes of Poetry
[Illustration: decoration]
Price, per volume, $1.25
[Illustration: decoration]
GOLDEN TREASURY OF AMERICAN SONGS AND LYRICS.
Edited by F. L. KNOWLES.
CAP AND GOWN. First Series.
Edited by J. L. HARRISON.
CAP AND GOWN. Second Series.
Edited by F. L. KNOWLES.
SONGS YSAME.
By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON and ALBION FELLOWS BACON.
OUT OF THE HEART.
Edited by J. W. CHADWICK.
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY, Publishers
(INCORPORATED)
196 Summer Street, Boston
[Illustration: _Motherhood_]
SONGS YSAME
BY ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON AND ALBION FELLOWS BACON
[Illustration]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
MDCCCXCVII
_Copyright, 1897_,
BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
Colonial Press:
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
TO
Our Mother
MARY ERSKINE FELLOWS
CONTENTS.
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
PAGE
[A]AT A TENEMENT WINDOW 53
[A]AT EARLY CANDLE-LIGHTING 18
BANDITTI 65
[B]"BOB WHITE" 25
ECHOES FROM ERIN 47
ELINOR 114
[B]FELIPA, WIFE OF COLUMBUS 60
INTERLUDE 79
IN THIS CRADLE-LIFE OF OURS 74
MY CAROL 71
OCTOBER 88
ON A FLY-LEAF OF "AFTERWHILES" 118
ON A FLY-LEAF OF "FLUTE AND VIOLIN" 115
PRELUDE (NOW I CAN SING, ETC.) xiii
RETROSPECTION 45
SPENDTHRIFT 67
THE FICKLE HEART 64
THE LEGEND OF THE <DW29>s 102
[A]THROUGH AN AMBER PANE 50
TRAILING ARBUTUS 100
'TWIXT CREEK AND BAY 62
VOICES OF THE OLD, OLD DAYS 39
ALBION FELLOWS BACON.
A MADRIGAL 98
[C]A MOOD 101
A RESOLVE 123
A SONG 55
AN ALPINE VALLEY 49
AN OLD-TIME PEDAGOGUE 31
AT LAST 125
AT TWILIGHT 90
CHIARO-OSCURO 120
ECLIPSE 57
ELIZABETH 113
GRANDFATHER 27
HER TITLE-DEEDS 34
HERE AND THERE 75
IN THE DARK 58
INSPIRATION 116
LEFT OUT 95
LOST 69
MAY-TIME 84
MARRIED 108
MOTHERHOOD 109
"OH, DREARY DAY" 83
ON A FLY-LEAF OF IRVING 117
OPHELIA 111
"OUR FATHER" 97
PRELUDE (WE CANNOT SING, ETC.) xiii
REQUIEM 112
SILENT KEYS 41
SPRING'S COPHETUA 86
STRANDED 124
SUFFICIENCY 110
THE LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES 17
THE MILKY WAY 76
THE OLD BELL 106
THE OLD CHURCH 29
THE POTTER'S FIELD 93
THE PROPHET 91
THE ROBBER 70
THE SEA 107
THE SILENT BROTHERHOOD 66
THE TIME O' DAY 99
THE TOWER OF BABEL 104
WINTER BEAUTY 87
WHEN YOUTH IS GONE 63
WHEN SHE COMES HOME 122
FOOTNOTES:
[A] By permission of _Youth's Companion_.
[B] By permission of _Harper's Weekly_.
[C] By permission of _Frank Leslie_.
PRELUDE.
_WE cannot sing of life, whose years are brief,
Nor sad heart-stories tell, who know no grief,
Nor write of shipwrecks on the seas of Fate,
Whose ship from out the harbor sailed but late.
But we may sing of fair and sunny days,
Of Love that walks in peace through quiet ways;
And unto him who turns the page to see
Our simple story, haply it may be
As when in some mild day in early spring,
One through the budding woods goes wandering;
And finds, where late the snow has blown across,
Beneath the leaves, a violet in the moss._
_1887._ _A. F. B._
_NOW I can sing of life, whose days are brief,
For I have walked close hand in hand with grief.
And I may tell of shipwrecked hopes, since mine
Sank just outside the happy harbor line.
But still my song is of those sunny days
When Love was with me in | 857.484235 |
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LUDVIG HOLBERG
THE FOUNDER OF NORWEGIAN LITERATURE
AND AN OXFORD STUDENT
BY
S. C. HAMMER, M.A.
OXFORD
B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET
MCMXX
_Price Two Shillings net_
LUDVIG HOLBERG
THE FOUNDER OF NORWEGIAN LITERATURE
AND AN OXFORD STUDENT
BY
S. C. HAMMER, M.A.
OXFORD
B.H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET
MCMXX
[Illustration: LUDVIG HOLBERG]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The following lecture was delivered on May 23rd, 1919, at Magdalen
College, Oxford, by invitation of the President, Sir Herbert Warren, and
in the presence, among others, of the Norwegian Minister in London, Mr.
Benjamin Vogt.
In revising the manuscript I have thought it necessary to enlarge it on
a few points where I had to condense the lecture in order to keep it
within the confines of an hour. I have also added a few supplementary
footnotes and a brief reference to the bulky Holberg literature which
may perhaps prove of interest to Holberg students in England.
In paying my respectful thanks to the President of Magdalen College and
the distinguished audience for their kind reception I beg to sum up my
feelings in the words of Holberg himself: _Multis sane nominibus
devinctum Oxoniensibus me fateor teneri_.
S. C. H.
CHRISTIANIA, NORWAY.
_December, 1919._
LUDVIG HOLBERG
MR. PRESIDENT,
YOUR EXCELLENCY,
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,
I.
I propose to speak to you about my countryman, Ludvig Holberg, the most
famous Norwegian student whose name was ever entered on the records of
this University. If this had not been the case, I should hardly have
ventured to ascend this platform, for I feel that here, if anywhere, it
must be an indispensable condition that the subject should match the
place. For just as Oxford is not primarily an institution of education,
but through its traditions, its companionships, its achievements, the
very embodiment of British genius, British chivalry and British
aspirations, so Ludvig Holberg is, indeed, no author in the ordinary
sense of the word. He is the founder of modern Norwegian and Danish
literature, the greatest playwright, the first critical historian, the
most human and most broad-minded moralist and philosopher of two
nations; a man whose constant work was one of educating; who
revolutionised the conception of life in two kingdoms and paved the way
for the intellectual and political liberty of the future. For all this,
as I am going to show you, he is, next to his genius, highly indebted to
England and, above all, to Oxford. To this place he made his way when he
quitted Norway 213 years ago, imbued with a deep and early sympathy for
England; from this place he went to Copenhagen, the joint capital at
that time of Denmark and Norway, enriched by assets of the highest
importance to his life-work. I, therefore, want to thank you for the
opportunity you have given me to pay a joint tribute to Oxford and
Holberg.
Ludvig Holberg--_Ludovicus Holbergius_, _Norvegus_, as he signed his
name in the Admission Index of the _Bodleian Library_--was born at
Bergen, the present capital of Western Norway, on December 3rd, 1684.
His father, who was a well-known officer in the Norwegian army, died
when Lewis was an infant; his mother, when he was 10 years old. Lewis
who was the youngest of twelve brothers and sisters, six of whom
attained their majority, therefore very early became acquainted with the
sterner aspects of life and grew up a lonely boy, deprived of the tender
care of a parental home. It was at that time the custom in Norway to
give pay to sons of officers and to initiate them at an early age in
military tactics, the salaries they got being used to defray the
expenses of their education. These petty officers were called corporals,
and Lewis was now promptly appointed corporal in the "Upland Regiment,"
far away from his native town, in one of the midland districts.
This was a rather curious beginning for a man so decidedly
anti-militarist as Holberg was throughout his life. In his
autobiography, published in Latin in 1727,[1] he makes fun of the
episode, describing his transformation from a petty officer into a
professor of philosophy as "a sort of Ovidian metamorphosis which might
expose me to the risk of being sent back from my professorial chair to
the camp, if the authorities were disposed to question my
qualifications."
Notwithstanding this, his appointment as petty officer was to become of
importance to him. As soon as he got his commission he left Bergen for
the midland counties--a remarkable journey at that time, by sea and
land, through a great part of West and Mid Norway--until he finally
arrived at the Fron Vicarage, one of the finest places in the valley of
Gudbrandsdalen and at present one of our most popular tourist districts.
The vicar of Fron, who was his relation on his mother's side, soon
discovered his remarkable abilities, his passion for literature, in
which he had already made some trifling attempts, and last but not
least, his gift for languages.
The two years which Holberg subsequently spent at Fron have, until a
quite recent date, been practically unnoticed by Holberg students, but
it is easy to see that they form an interesting link in the chain of
events connected with his life. His schooldays at Fron were not pleasant
to him, for the assistant master, who had to take care of the boys, was
rather inferior as a teacher. His Latin was bad, his views narrow and
pedantic, his chief instrument of instruction the birch, of which he
made assiduous application. Holberg, who rather early reacted
instinctively and strongly to all strokes of spontaneousness, very soon
conceived a deep dislike and contempt for these pedagogic methods, and
his power of reflection made its combinations and conclusions. Latin and
pedantry became to a certain extent synonymous notions to him, and it
was to be one of his pleasures as a writer to record and hand over to
derision the whole system of travestied learning which was one of the
characteristic features of his age.
This was the negative aspect of his sojourn at the Fron Vicarage. Its
positive aspect was the time he spent in the library of the vicarage,
where, among a number of Greek and Latin classics, he also found several
modern foreign books, including some Bibles in English and French, an
English and a French dictionary, a French grammar, and an English
reader, with colloquial sentences--rather a curious collection of books
for a Norwegian inland county towards the end of the seventeenth
century. These books, as far as we know, were the first specimens of
English and French literature which he ever saw, but he was fascinated
by them. They were to him messages from the great marvellous world
hundreds of miles beyond the mountains by which he was surrounded. Do
you wonder that he was longing and dreaming, silent and solitary as he
was by disposition?
But he was not dreaming only. Being a quick observer of things
surrounding him, we may infer that he was deeply impressed by the
customs and manners of the peasants among whom he lived, their cool,
unobtrusive way of behaving themselves, their sound | 857.485089 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: LOWERED THE CAN CAUTIOUSLY BY A STRING]
NORTHERN DIAMONDS
BY
FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
_With Illustrations_
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1914 AND 1915, BY PERRY MASON COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published September 1917_
NOTE
This book has appeared in the _Youth's Companion_ in the form of a
serial and sequel, and my thanks are due to the proprietors of that
periodical for permission to reprint.
FRANK LILLIE POLLOCK
ILLUSTRATIONS
LOWERED THE CAN CAUTIOUSLY BY A STRING...... _Frontispiece_
THE OTHER BOYS HAD BEEN BUSY
"THAT IS OUR CABIN. LET US COME IN, I SAY"
DRAGGED HIM UP, PROTESTING, AND RUBBED SNOW ON HIS EARS
FLUNG THE SACK INTO THE MAN'S LAP
_From drawings by Harry C. Edwards_
NORTHERN DIAMONDS
CHAPTER I
It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when some one knocked at the door
of Fred Osborne's room. He was not in the least expecting any caller
at that hour, and had paid no attention when he had heard the doorbell
of the boarding-house ring downstairs, and the sound of feet ascending
the steps. He hastened to open the door, however, and in the dim
hallway he recognized the dark, handsome face of Maurice Stark, and
behind it the tall, raw-boned form of Peter Macgregor.
Both of them uttered an exclamation of satisfaction at seeing him.
They were both in fur caps and overcoats, for it was a sharp Canadian
December night, and at the first glance Fred observed that their faces
wore an expression of excitement.
"Come in, boys!" he said. "I wasn't going to bed. Here, take your
coats off. What's up? You look as if something was the matter."
"Is Horace in town?" demanded Peter.
Fred shook his head. Horace was his elder brother, a mining engineer
mostly employed in the North Country.
"He's still somewhere in the North Woods. I haven't heard from him
since October, but I'm expecting him to turn up almost any day now.
Why, what's the matter?"
"The matter? Something pretty big," returned Maurice.
Maurice Stark was Fred's most intimate friend in Toronto University,
from which he had himself graduated the summer before. He knew
Macgregor less well, for the big Scotch-Canadian was in the medical
school. His home place was somewhere far up in the North Woods, but he
had a great intercollegiate reputation as a long-distance runner. It
was, in fact, chiefly in a sporting way that Fred had come to know him,
for Fred held an amateur skating championship, and was even then
training for the ice tournament to be held in Toronto in a few weeks.
"It's something big!" Maurice repeated. "I wish Horace were here,
but--could you get a holiday from your office for a week or ten days?"
"I've got it already," said Fred. "I reserved my holidays last summer,
and things aren't busy in a real estate office at this time of year. I
guess I could get two weeks if I wanted it. I'm spending most of my
time now training for the five and ten miles."
"Could you skate a hundred and fifty miles in two days?" demanded
Macgregor.
"I might if I had to--if it was a case of life and death."
"That's just what it is--a case of life and death, and possibly a
fortune into the bargain!" cried Maurice. "You see--but Mac has the
whole story."
The Scottish medical student went to the window, raised the blind and
peered out at the wintry sky.
"No sign of snow yet," he said in a tone of satisfaction.
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Fred, who was burning with
curiosity by this time. "What's going on, anyway? Hurry up."
"Spoil the skating," said Macgregor briefly. "Well," he went on after
a moment, "this is how | 857.535057 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF SPAIN
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF ENGLAND. By GEORGE GILBERT. With 60
reproductions from water-colours by W.W. COLLINS, R.I. Demy 8vo,
16s. net.
CATHEDRAL CITIES OF FRANCE. By HERBERT and HESTER MARSHALL. With 60
reproductions from water-colours by HERBERT MARSHALL, R.W.S. Demy
8vo, 16s. net. Also large paper edition, £2 2s. net.
_BOOKS ILLUSTRATED BY JOSEPH PENNELL_
ITALIAN HOURS. By HENRY JAMES. With 32 plates in colour and
numerous illustrations in black and white by JOSEPH PENNELL. Large
crown 4to. Price 20s. net.
A LITTLE TOUR IN FRANCE. By HENRY JAMES. With 94 illustrations by
JOSEPH PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
ENGLISH HOURS. By HENRY JAMES. With 94 illustrations by JOSEPH
PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
ITALIAN JOURNEYS. By W.D. HOWELLS. With 103 illustrations by JOSEPH
PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
CASTILIAN DAYS. By the Hon. JOHN HAY. With 111 illustrations by
JOSEPH PENNELL. Pott 4to. Price 10s. net.
London: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
21 Bedford Street, W.C.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: BURGOS. THE CATHEDRAL]
CATHEDRAL CITIES
OF SPAIN
WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED
BY
W. W. COLLINS, R.I.
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1909
_All rights reserved_
_Copyright, London, 1909, by William Heinemann and
Washington, U.S.A., by Dodd, Mead & Co_
PREFACE
Spain, the country of contrasts, of races differing from one another in
habits, customs, and language, has one great thing that welds it into a
homogeneous nation, and this is its Religion. Wherever one's footsteps
wander, be it in the progressive provinces of the north, the mediævalism
of the Great Plain, or in that still eastern portion of the south,
Andalusia, this one thing is ever omnipresent and stamps itself on the
memory as the great living force throughout the Peninsula.
In her Cathedrals and Churches, her ruined Monasteries and Convents,
there is more than abundant evidence of the vitality of her Faith; and
we can see how, after the expulsion of the Moor, the wealth of the
nation poured into the coffers of the Church and there centralised the
life of the nation.
In the mountain fastnesses of Asturias the churches of Santa Maria de
Naranco and San Miguel de Lino, dating from the ninth century and
contemporary with San Pablo and Santa Cristina, in Barcelona, are the
earliest Christian buildings in Spain. As the Moor was pushed further
south, a new style followed his retreating steps; and the Romanesque,
introduced from over the Pyrenees, became the adopted form of
architecture in the more or less settled parts of the country. Creeping
south through Leon, where San Isidoro is well worth mention, we find the
finest examples of the period in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, at
Segovia, Avila, and the grand Catedral Vieja of Salamanca.
Spain sought help from France to expel the Moor, and it is but natural
that the more advanced nation should leave her mark somewhere and in
some way in the country she pacifically invaded. Before the spread of
this influence became general, we find at least one great monument of
native genius rise up at Tarragona. The Transition Cathedral there can
lay claim to be entirely Spanish. It is the epitome and outcome of a
yearning for the display of Spain's own talent, and is one of the most
interesting and beautiful in the whole country.
Toledo, Leon, and Burgos are the three Cathedrals known as the "French"
Cathedrals of Spain. They are Gothic and the first named is the finest
of all. Spanish Gothic is best exemplified in the Cathedral of
Barcelona. For late-Gothic, we must go to the huge structures of
Salamanca, Segovia, and the Cathedral at Seville which almost overwhelms
in the grandeur of its scale.
After the close of the fifteenth century Italian or Renaissance
influence began to be felt, and the decoration of the Plateresque style
became the vogue. San Marcos at Leon, the University of Salamanca, and
the Casa de Ayuntamiento at Seville are among the best examples of this.
The influence of Churriguera, who evolved the Churrigueresque style, is
to be met with in almost every Cathedral in the country. He it is who
was responsible for those great gilded altars with their enormous
twisted pillars so familiar to travellers in Spain; and which, though no
doubt a tribute to the glory of God, one feels are more a vulgar display
of wealth than a tasteful or artistic addition to her architecture. The
finest of the Renaissance Cathedrals is that of Granada, and the most
obtrusive piece of Churrigueresque is the Cartuja in the same city.
Taking the Cathedrals as a whole the two most unfamiliar and notable
features are the Coros or Choirs, and the Retablos. These
latter--gorgeous backings to the High Altar, generally ill-lit, with a
superabundance of carving sometimes and gilded, sometimes of
plain stone--are of Low-country or Flemish origin. The former, with one
exception at Oviedo, are placed in the nave west of the crossing, and
enclose, as a rule, two or more bays in this direction. Every Cathedral
is a museum of art, and these two features are the most worth study.
NOTE.--_Since the revolution in Catalonia of July-August 1909, the
King has decreed that no one can secure exemption from military
service by the payment of a sum of money._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CADIZ 1
SEVILLE 7
CORDOVA 23
GRANADA 31
MALAGA 57
VALENCIA 65
TORTOSA 77
TARRAGONA 83
BARCELONA 91
GERONA 101
TOLEDO 107
SALAMANCA 121
AVILA 137
SEGOVIA 145
SARAGOSSA 159
SANTIAGO 174
TUY 183
ORENSE 187
ASTORGA 193
ZAMORA 199
LEON 205
OVIEDO 217
VALLADOLID 225
BURGOS 233
INDEX 249
ILLUSTRATIONS
| 857.574312 |
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E-text prepared by Emmy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org); music transcribed by Linda Cantoni
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations
and audio files with music.
See 52354-h.htm or 52354-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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https://archive.org/details/storyofourflagco00weav
[Illustration]
THE STORY OF OUR FLAG,
Colonial And National, with Historical Sketch
of the Quakeress Betsy Ross
by
ADDIE GUTHRIE WEAVER.
Colored Illustrations of the Flags and Washington’s Coat of Arms
by the Author
Published by
A. G. Weaver,
Chicago.
Entered according to Act of Congress,
in the year 1898,
By Addie Guthrie Weaver,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress,
at Washington, D. C.
Preface.
For some years the Author has been interested in the history of our
First Flag and its fair maker, Betsy Ross, and fortunately, through a
family relationship with one of the descendants, became familiar with
much of the family history.
It seemed that so beautiful and estimable a lady, and one who played so
important a part in those stirring events of our early history should
be better known and appreciated by her sisters of to-day.
Fitting, it seems, that while man in defending our Flag has
accomplished his greatest achievements, and won undying fame, woman
first fashioned into “a thing of beauty” the symbol of that patriotic
devotion.
To Mr. George Canby of Philadelphia, and Mrs. Sophia Campion Guthrie
of Washington, D. C., grandson and great granddaughter, respectively,
of Betsy Ross, the author is indebted for family history that has
inspired this work, and to them and other descendants, this book is
affectionately dedicated by
THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration:
Sketched by Helen Hayes.
_Flag House of Betsey Ross. 239 Arch St._ Philadelphia.]
The Story of Our Flag.
COLONIAL AND NATIONAL.
The history of our flag from its inception, in fact, the inception
itself, has been a source of much argument and great diversity of
opinion. Many theories and mystifications have gone forth, mingled
with a few facts, giving just enough color of truth to make them seem
plausible. It is for the purpose of clearing away the veil of doubt
that hangs around the origin of the Stars and Stripes that this book
has been written.
The Continental Congress in 1775 was very much disturbed over the
embarrassing situation of the colonies, and after Washington was
appointed Commander-in-Chief of the Army, it showed its independence by
appointing a committee composed of Benjamin Franklin, Benjamin Harrison
and Mr. Lynch to create a colonial flag that would be national in its
tendency. They finally decided on one with thirteen bars, alternate
red and white, the “King’s Colors” with the crosses of St. Andrew and
St. George in a field of blue. The cross of St. Andrew then, as now,
was of white, while the cross of St. George was of red. The colonies
still acknowledged the sovereignty of England—as this flag attested—but
united against her tyranny. This was known as the “flag of our
union”—that is, the union of the colonies, and was not created until
after the committee had been to the camp at Cambridge and consulted
with Washington. It was probably made either at the camp at Cambridge
or in Boston, as it was unfurled by Washington under the Charter Oak on
January 2, 1776. It received thirteen cheers and a salute of thirteen
guns.
It is not known whether Samuel Adams, the “Father of Liberty,”
was consulted in regard to this flag, but it is a well known fact
that he was looking forward, even then, to the independence of the
colonies, while Washington, Franklin and the others still looked for
justice,—tardy though it might be,—from England.
Two days later, on the 4th of January, 1776, Washington received the
King’s speech, and as it happened to come so near to the time of the
adoption of the new flag, with the English crosses of St. Andrew and
St. George, many of the regulars thought it meant submission, and the
English seemed for the time to so understand it; but our army showed
great indignation over the King’s speech to parliament, and burned all
of the copies.
In a letter of General Washington to Joseph Reed, written January 4, he
says: “We are at length favored with the sight of his majesty’s most
gracious speech, breathing sentiments of tenderness and compassion for
his deluded American subjects. The speech I send you (a volume of them
were sent out by the Boston gentry) was farcical enough and gave great
joy to them without knowing or intending it, for on that day (the 2nd)
which gave being to our new army, but before the proclamation came to
hand, we hoisted the Union flag, in compliment to the United Colonies,
but behold it was received at Boston as a token of the deep impression
the speech had made upon us and as a signal of submission. By this time
I presume they begin to think it strange that we have not made a formal
surrender of our lines.”
[Illustration]
At this time the number and kinds of flags that were in use on land
and sea, were only limited to the ingenuity of the state and military
officials. This was very embarrassing. On May 20, 1776, Washington
was requested to appear before Congress on important secret military
business. Major-General Putnam, according to Washington’s letters, was
left in command at New York during his absence. It was in the latter
part of May, 1776, that Washington, accompanied by Colonel George
Ross, a member of his staff, and by the Honorable Robert Morris,
the great financier of the revolution, called upon Mrs. Betsy Ross,
a niece of Colonel Ross. She was a young and beautiful widow, only
twenty-four years of age, and known to be expert at needle work. They
called to engage her services in preparing our first starry flag. She
lived in a little house in Arch street, Philadelphia, which stands
to-day unchanged, with the exception of one large window, which has
been placed in the front. It was here, in this house, that Washington
unfolded a paper on which had been rudely sketched a plan of a flag of
thirteen stripes, with a blue field dotted with thirteen stars. They
talked over the plan of this flag in detail, and Mrs. Ross noticed that
the stars which were sketched were six-pointed, and suggested that they
should have five points. Washington admitted that she was correct, but
he preferred a star that would not be an exact copy of that on his coat
of arms, and he also thought that a six-pointed star would be easier to
cut. Mrs. Ross liked the five-pointed star, and to show that they were
easily cut she deftly folded a piece of paper and with one clip of her
scissors unfolded a perfect star with five points. (See illustration
showing the way Betsy Ross folded the paper giving the five-pointed
star which has ever since graced our country’s banner. A, first fold of
a square piece of paper; B, second; C, third, and D, fourth fold. The
dotted line AA is the clip of the scissors.)
There is no record that Congress took any action on the national
colors at this session,—but this first flag was made by Betsy Ross
at this time, and in this way, and we find in Washington’s letter of
May 28, 1776, to General Putnam at New York, positive instructions
“to the several colonels to hurry to get their colors done.” In the
orderly | 857.575325 |
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https://archive.org/details/davidblaize00bens
DAVID BLAIZE
by
E. F. BENSON
Author of “The Oakleyites,” “Arundel,”
“Dodo,” “Dodo the Second,” etc.
[Illustration]
New York
George H. Doran Company
Copyright, 1916,
By George H. Doran Company
Printed in the United States of America
DAVID BLAIZE
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
DAVID BLAIZE
CHAPTER I
There was a new class-room in course of construction for the first form
at Helmsworth Preparatory School, and the ten senior boys, whose united
ages amounted to some hundred and thirty years, were taken for the time
being in the school museum. This was a big boarded room, covered with
corrugated iron and built out somewhat separate from the other class
rooms at the corner of the cricket-field. The arrangement had many
advantages from the point of view of the boys, for the room was full of
agreeably distracting and interesting objects, and Cicero almost ceased
to be tedious, even when he wrote about friendship, if, when you were
construing, you could meditate on the skeleton of a kangaroo which stood
immediately in front of you, and refresh yourself with the sight of the
stuffed seal on whose nose the short-sighted Ferrers Major had balanced
his spectacles before Mr. Dutton came in. Or, again, it was agreeable to
speculate on the number of buns a mammoth might be able to put
simultaneously into his mouth, seeing that a huge yellowish object that
stood on the top of one of the cases was just one of his teeth....
Of course it depended on how many teeth a mammoth had, but the number of
a boy’s teeth might be some guide, and David, in the throes of grinding
out the weekly letter to his father, passed his tongue round his own
teeth, trying to count them by the sensory quality of it. But, losing
count, he put an inky forefinger into his mouth instead. There seemed to
be fourteen in his lower jaw and thirteen and a half in the upper, for
half of a front tooth had been missing ever since, a few weeks ago, he
had fallen out of a tree on to his face, and the most industrious
scrutiny of that fatal spot had never resulted in his finding it. In any
case, then, he had twenty-seven and a half teeth, and it was reasonable
to suppose that a mammoth, therefore, unless he had fallen out of a tree
(if there were such in the glacial age) had at least twenty-eight. That
huge yellow lump of a thing, then, as big as David’s whole head, was
only one twenty-eighth of his chewing apparatus. Why, an entire bun
could stick to it and be unobserved. A mammoth could have twenty-eight
buns in his mouth and really remain unaware of the fact. Fancy having a
bun on every tooth and not knowing! How much ought a mammoth’s
pocket-money to be if you had to provide on this scale? And when would
its mouth be really full? And how... David was growing a little
sleepy.
“Blaize!” said Mr. Dutton’s voice.
David sucked his finger.
“Yes, sir!” he said.
“Have you finished your letter home?”
“No, sir,” said David, with engaging candour.
“Then I would suggest that you ceased trying to clean your finger and
get on with it.”
“Rather, sir!” said David.
The boys’ desks, transferred from their old class-room, stood in a
three-sided square in the centre of the museum, while Mr. Dutton’s
table, with his desk on it, was in the window. The door of the museum
was open, so too was the window by the master’s seat, for the hour was
between four and five of the afternoon and the afternoon that of a
sweltering July Sunday. Mr. Dutton himself was a tall and ineffective
young man, entirely undistinguished for either physical or mental
powers, who had taken a somewhat moderate degree at Cambridge, and had
played lacrosse. By virtue of the mediocrity of his attainments, his
scholastic career had not risen to the heights of a public school, and
he had been obliged to be content with a mastership at this preparatory
establishment. He bullied in a rather feeble manner the boys under his
charge, and drew in his horns if they showed signs of not being afraid
of him. But in these cases he took it out of them by sending in the
gloomiest reports of their conduct and progress at the end of term, to
the fierce and tremendous clergyman who was the head of the place. The
Head inspired universal terror both among his assistant masters and his
pupils, but he inspired also a whole-hearted admiration. He did not take
more than half a dozen classes during the week, but he was liable to
descend on any form without a moment’s notice like a bolt from the blue.
He used the cane with remarkable energy, and preached lamb-like sermons
in the school chapel on Sunday. The boys, who were experienced augurs on
such subjects, knew all about this, and dreaded a notably lamb-like
sermon as presaging trouble on Monday. In fact, Mr. Acland had his
notions about discipline, and completely lived up to them in his
conduct.
* * * * *
Having told Blaize to get on with his home-letter, Mr. Dutton resumed
his employment, which was not what it seemed. On his desk, it is true,
was a large Prayer-book, for he had been hearing the boys their
Catechism, in the matter of which Blaize had proved himself wonderfully
ignorant, and had been condemned to write out his duty towards his
neighbour (who had very agreeably attempted to prompt him) three times,
and show it up before morning school on Monday. There was a Bible there
also, out of which, when the Sunday letters home were finished, Mr.
Dutton would read a chapter about the second missionary journey of St.
Paul, and then ask questions. But while these letters were being written
Mr. Dutton was not Sabbatically employed, for nestling between his books
was a yellow-backed volume of stories by Guy de Maupassant.... Mr.
Dutton found him most entertaining: he skated on such very thin ice, and
never quite went through.
Mr. Dutton turned the page.... Yes, how clever not to go through, for
there was certainly mud underneath. He gave a faint chuckle of interest,
and dexterously turned the chuckle into a cough. At that sound a small
sigh of relief, a sense of relaxation went round the class, for it was
clear that old Dutton (Dubs was his more general nomenclature) was deep
in his yellow book. When that consummation, so devoutly wished, was
arrived at, any diversion of a moderately quiet nature might be indulged
in.
Crabtree began: he was a boy of goat-like face, and had been known as
Nanny, till the somewhat voluminous appearance of his new pair of
trousers had caused him to be rechristened Bags. He had finished his
letter to his mother with remarkable speed, and had, by writing small,
conveyed quite sufficient information to her on a half-sheet. There was
thus the other half-sheet, noiselessly torn off, to be framed into
munitions of aerial warfare. He folded it neatly into the form of a
dart, he inked the point of it by dipping it into the china receptacle
at the top of his desk, and launched it with unerring aim, enfilading
the cross-bench where David sat. It hit him just exactly where the other
half of his missing tooth should have been, for his lip was drawn back
and his tongue slightly protruded in the agonies of composing a suitable
letter to his father. The soft wet point struck it full, and spattered
ink over his lip.
“Oh, damn,” said David very softly.
Then he paused, stricken to stone, and quite ready to deny that he had
spoken at all. His eyes apprehensively sought Mr. Dutton, and he saw
that he had not heard, being deep in the misfortunes that happened to
Mademoiselle Fifi.
“I’ll lick you afterwards, Bags,” he said gently.
“Better lick yourself now,” whispered Bags.
A faint giggle at Bags’s repartee went round the class, like the sound
of a breaking ripple. This penetrated into Mr. Dutton’s consciousness,
and, shifting his attitude a little without looking up, he leaned his
forehead on his open hand, so that he could observe the boys through the
chinks of his fingers. David, of course, was far too old a hand to be
caught by this paltry subterfuge, for “playing chinks” was a manœuvre of
the enemy which had got quite stale through repetition, and he therefore
gently laid down on the sloping top of his locker the dart which he had
just dipped again in his inkpot to throw back at Bags, and with an
industrious air turned to his letter again.
The twenty minutes allotted on Sunday afternoon school for writing home
to parents was already more than half spent, but the date which he had
copied off his neighbour and “My dear Papa” was as far as the first fine
careless rapture of composition had carried him. It was really difficult
to know what to say to his dear papa, for all the events of the past
week were completely thrown into shadow by the one sunlit fact that he
had got his school-colours for cricket, and had made twenty-four runs in
the last match. But, as he knew perfectly well, his father cared as
little for cricket as he did for football; indeed, David ironically
doubted if he knew the difference between them, and that deplorable fact
restricted the zone of interests common to them. And really the only
| 857.5792 |
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Produced by David Widger
A CHILHOWEE LILY
By Charles Egbert Craddock
1911
Tall, delicate, and stately, with all the finished symmetry and
distinction that might appertain to a cultivated plant, yet sharing
that fragility of texture and peculiar suggestion of evanescence
characteristic of the unheeded weed as it flowers, the Chilhowee lily
caught his eye. Albeit long familiar, the bloom was now invested with a
special significance and the sight of it brought him to a sudden pause.
The cluster grew in a niche on the rocky verge of a precipice beetling
over the windings of the rugged primitive road on the <DW72> of the
ridge. The great pure white bloom, trumpet-shaped and crowned with its
flaring and many-cleft paracorolla, distinct against the densely blue
sky, seemed the more ethereal because of the delicacy of its stalk, so
erect, so inflexibly upright. About it the rocks were at intervals green
with moss, and showed here and there heavy ocherous water stain. The
luxuriant ferns and pendant vines in the densely umbrageous tangle of
verdure served to heighten by contrast the keen whiteness of the flower
and the isolation of its situation.
Ozias Crann sighed with perplexity as he looked, and then his eye
wandered down the great hosky <DW72> of the wooded mountain where in
marshy spots, here and there, a sudden white flare in the shadows
betokened the Chilhowee lily, flowering in myraids, holding out lures
bewildering in their multitude.
"They air bloomin' bodaciously all over the mounting," he remarked
rancorously, as he leaned heavily on a pickaxe; "but we uns hed better
try it ter-night ennyhows."
It was late in August; a moon of exceeding lustre was in the sky, while
still the sun was going down. All the western clouds were aflare with
gorgeous reflections; the long reaches of the Great Smoky range had
grown densely purple; and those dim Cumberland heights that, viewed from
this precipice of Chilhowee, were wont to show so softly blue in the
distance, had now a variant amethystine hue, hard and translucent of
effect as the jewel itself.
The face of one of his companions expressed an adverse doubt, as he,
too, gazed at the illuminated wilderness, all solitary, silent, remote.
"'Pears like ter me it mought be powerful public," Pete Swolford
objected. He had a tall, heavy, lumpish, frame, a lackluster eye, a
broad, dimpled, babyish face incongruously decorated with a tuft of
dark beard at the chin. The suit of brown jeans which he wore bore token
variously of the storms it had weathered, and his coarse cowhide boots
were drawn over the trousers to the knee. His attention was now and
again diverted from the conversation by the necessity of aiding a young
bear, which he led by a chain, to repel the unwelcome demonstrations of
two hounds belonging to one of his interlocutors. Snuffling and nosing
about in an affectation of curiosity the dogs could not forbear growling
outright, as their muzzles approached their shrinking hereditary enemy,
while the cub nestled close to his master and whimpered like a child.
"Jes' so, jes' so, Honey. I'll make 'em cl'ar out!" Swofford replied to
the animal's appeal with ready sympathy. Then, "I wish ter Gawd, Eufe,
ye'd call yer dogs off," he added in a sort of aside to the youngest
of the three mountaineers, who stood among the already reddening sumac
fringing the road, beside his horse, athwart which lay a buck all gray
and antlered, his recently cut throat still dripping blood. The party
had been here long enough for it to collect in a tiny pool in a crevice
in the rocky road, and the hounds constrained to cease their harassments
of the bear now began to eagerly lap it up. The rifle with which Eufe
Kinnicutt had killed the deer was still in his hands and he leaned upon
it; | 857.584342 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.7162840 | 7,436 | 9 |
Produced by Linda M. Everhart, Blairstown, Missouri
DEADFALLS AND SNARES
[Frontispiece: A GOOD DEADFALL.]
DEADFALLS AND SNARES
A Book of Instruction for Trappers
About These and Other
Home-Made Traps
Edited by
A. R. HARDING
Published by
A. R. HARDING, Publisher
106 Walnut Street
St. Louis, Mo.
Copyright 1907
By A. R. HARDING
CONTENTS.
I. Building Deadfalls
II. Bear and <DW53> Deadfall
III. Otter Deadfall
IV. Marten Deadfall
V. Stone Deadfall
VI. The Bear Pen
VII. Portable Traps
VIII. Some Triggers
IX. Trip Triggers
X. How to Set
XI. When to Build
XII. Where to Build
XIII. The Proper Bait
XIV. Traps Knocked Off
XV. Spring Pole Snare
XVI. Trail Set Snare
XVII. Bait Set Snare
XVIII. The Box Trap
XIX. The Coop Trap
XX. The Pit Trap
XXI. Number of Traps
XXII. When to Trap
XXIII. Season's Catch
XXIV. General Information
XXV. Skinning and Stretching
XXVI. Handling and Grading
XXVII. From Animal to Market
XXVIII. Steel Traps
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
A Good Deadfall
The Pole Deadfall
Small Animal Fall
The Pinch Head
Board or Pole Trap
Bait Set Deadfall
Trail Set Deadfall
Bear or <DW53> Deadfall
Otter Deadfall
Marten Deadfall
Marten Trap Triggers
Another Marten Deadfall
High Built Marten Deadfall
Tree Deadfall
More Marten Trap Triggers
Flat Stone Trap
Stone Deadfall Triggers
The Invitation--Skunk
Killed Without Scenting
Right and Wrong Way
Bear Pen Trap
Bear Entering Pen
Den Set Deadfall
Portable Wooden Trap
The Block Trap
The Nox-Em-All Deadfall
Illinois Trapper's Triggers
Trip Triggers
Animal Entering Trip Deadfall
Trip Trigger Fall
Canadian Trip Fall
The Turn Trigger
Two Piece Trigger Trap
String and Trigger Trap
Trail or Den Trap
Spring Pole and Snare
Small Game Snare
Wire or Twine Snare
Snare Loop
Path Set Snare
Trip Pan or Plate
Double Trail Set
Trail Set Snares
Path Snare
Rat Runway Snare
Underground Rat Runway
Runway and Cubby Set
Log Set Snare
Cow Path Snare
Lifting Pole Snare
Bait Set Snare
The Box Trap
The Coop Trap
The Pit Trap
A Good Catcher
Single and Three Board Stretcher
Some Stretching Patterns
Dakota Trappers Method
Holder for Skinning
Wire <DW53> Method
Wire and Twig <DW53> Method
Size of Stretching Boards
Pole Stretchers
Fleshing Board
Stretching Frame
Skin on Stretcher
Hoop Stretcher
Small Steel Traps
No. 81 or Web Jaw Trap
No. 91 or Double Jaw Trap
Mink and Fox Traps
Otter and Beaver Traps
Otter Traps with Teeth
Otter Trap without Teeth
Offset Jaw Beaver Trap
Clutch Detachable Trap
Newhouse Wolf Trap
Small Bear Trap
Small Bear Trap with Offset Jaw
Black Bear Trap
Regular Bear Trap with Offset Jaws
Grizzly Bear Trap
Bear Chain Clevis
Steel Trap Setting Clamp
[Illustration: A. R. HARDING.]
INTRODUCTION.
Scattered from the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico and from the
Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean are thousands of trappers who use
deadfalls, snares and other home-made traps, but within this vast
territory there are many thousand who know little or nothing of them.
The best and most successful trappers are those of extended
experience. Building deadfalls and constructing snares, as told on
the following pages, will be of value to trappers located where
material--saplings, poles, boards, rocks, etc.--is to be had for
constructing. The many traps described cannot all be used to
advantage in any section, but some of them can.
More than sixty illustrations are used to enable the beginner to
better understand the constructing and workings of home-made traps.
The illustrations are mainly furnished by the "old timers."
Chapters on Skinning and Stretching, Handling and Grading are added
for the correct handling of skins and furs adds largely to their
commercial value.
A. R. Harding.
DEADFALLS AND SNARES
CHAPTER I.
BUILDING DEADFALLS.
During the centuries that trapping has been carried on, not only in
America, but thruout the entire world, various kinds of traps and
snares have been in use and taken by all classes of trappers and in
all sections the home-made traps are of great numbers. The number of
furs caught each year is large.
The above was said by a trapper some years ago who has spent upwards
of forty years in the forests and is well acquainted with traps,
trappers and fur-bearing animals. Whether the statement is true or
not, matters but little, altho one thing is certain and that is that
many of the men who have spent years in trapping and have been
successful use the deadfalls and snares as well as steel traps.
Another trapper says: In my opinion trapping is an art and any
trapper that is not able to make and set a deadfall, when occasion
demands, does not belong to the profession. I will give a few of the
many reasons why dead falls are good.
1. There is no weight to carry.
2. Many of the best trappers use them.
3. It requires no capital to set a line of deadfalls.
4. There is no loss of traps by trap thieves, but the fur is in as
much danger.
5. Deadfalls do not mangle animals or injure their fur.
6. It is a humane way of killing animals.
7. There is no loss by animals twisting off a foot or leg and getting
away.
8. Animals are killed outright, having no chance to warn others of
their kind by their cries from being caught.
9. Trappers always have the necessary outfit (axe and knife) with
them to make and set a deadfall that will kill the largest animals.
10. The largest deadfalls can be made to spring easy and catch small
game if required.
11. Deadfalls will kill skunk without leaving any scent.
12. Deadfalls are cheap and trappers should be familiar with them.
It is a safe proposition, however, that not one-half of the trappers
of today can build a deadfall properly or know how to make snares,
and many of them have not so much as seen one.
First a little pen about a foot square is built of stones, chunks, or
by driving stakes close together, leaving one side open. The stakes
should be cut about thirty inches long and driven into the ground
some fourteen inches, leaving sixteen or thereabout above the ground.
Of course if the earth is very solid, stakes need not be so long, but
should be so driven that only about sixteen inches remain above
ground. A sapling say four inches in diameter and four feet long is
laid across the end that is open. A sapling that is four, five or six
inches in diameter, owing to what you are trapping for, and about
twelve feet long, is now cut for the "fall." Stakes are set so that
this pole or fall will play over the short pole on the ground. These
stakes should be driven in pairs; two about eighteen inches from the
end; two about fourteen farther back. (See illustration.)
[Illustration: THE POLE DEADFALL.]
The small end of the pole should be split and a small but stout stake
driven firmly thru it so there will be no danger of the pole turning
and "going off" of its own accord. The trap is set by placing the
prop (which is only seven inches in length and half an inch thru)
between the top log and the short one on the ground, to which is
attached the long trigger, which is only a stick about the size of
the prop, but about twice as long, the baited end of which extends
back into the little pen.
The bait may consist of a piece of chicken, rabbit or any tough bit
of meat so long as it is fresh and the bloodier the better. An animal
on scenting the bait will reach into the trap--the top of the pen
having been carefully covered over--between the logs. When the animal
seizes the bait the long trigger is pulled off of the upright prop
and down comes the fall, killing the animal by its weight. Skunk,
<DW53>, opossum, mink and in fact nearly all kinds of animals are
easily caught in this trap. The fox is an exception, as it is rather
hard to catch them in deadfalls.
The more care that you take to build the pen tight and strong, the
less liable is some animal to tear it down and get bait from the
outside; also if you will cover the pen with leaves, grass, sticks,
etc., animals will not be so shy of the trap. The triggers are very
simple, the long one being placed on top of the upright, or short
one. The long triggers should have a short prong left or a nail
driven in it to prevent the game from getting the bait off too easy.
If you find it hard to get saplings the right size for a fall, and
are too light, they can be weighted with a pole laid on the "fall."
[Illustration: SMALL ANIMAL FALL.]
I will try and give directions and drawing of deadfalls which I have
used to some extent for years, writes a Maine trapper, and can say
that most all animals can be captured in them as shown in
illustration. You will see the deadfall is constructed of stakes and
rocks and is made as follows: Select a place where there is game; you
need an axe, some nails, also strong string, a pole four inches or
more in diameter. Notice the cut No. 1 being the drop pole which
should be about six to seven feet long. No. 2 is the trip stick, No.
3 is string tied to pole and trip stick, No. 4 is the stakes for
holding up the weight, No. 5 is the small stakes driven around in the
shape of letter U, should be one foot wide and two feet long. No. 6
is the rocks, No. 7 is the bait.
Now this is a great trap for taking skunk and is soon built where
there are small saplings and rocks. This trap is also used for mink
and <DW53>.
* * *
The trapper's success depends entirely upon his skill and no one can
expect the best returns unless his work is skillfully done. Do not
Attempt to make that deadfall unless you are certain that you can
make it right and do not leave it till you are certain that it could
not be any better made. I have seen deadfalls so poorly made and
improperly set that they would make angels weep, neither were they
located where game was apt to travel. The deadfall if made right and
located where game frequents is quite successful.
Another thing, boys, think out every little plan before you attempt
it. If so and so sets his traps one way, see if you can't improve on
his plan and make it a little better. Do not rush blindly into any
new scheme, But look at it on all sides and make yourself well
acquainted with the merits and drawbacks of it. Make good use of your
brains, for the animal instinct is its only protection and it is only
by making good use of your reasoning powers that you can fool him.
Experience may cost money sometimes and loss of patience and temper,
but in my estimation it is the trapper's best capital. An old
trapper who has a couple of traps and lots of experience will catch
more fur than the greenhorn with a complete outfit. Knowledge is
power in trapping as in all other trades.
This is the old reliable "pinch-head." The picture does not show the
cover, so I will describe it. Get some short pieces of board or short
poles and lay them on the stones in the back part of the pen and on
the raised stick in front. Lay them close together so the animal
cannot crawl in at the top. Then get some heavy stones and lay them
on the cover to weight down and throw some dead weeds and grass over
the pen and triggers and your trap is complete. When the animal tries
to enter and sets off the trap by pressing against the long trigger
in front, he brings the weighted pole down in the middle of his back,
which soon stops his earthly career.
[Illustration: THE PINCH HEAD.]
This deadfall can also be used at runways without bait. No pen or
bait is required. The game will be caught coming from either
direction. The trap is "thrown" by the trigger or pushing against it
when passing thru. During snowstorms the trap requires considerable
attention to keep in perfect working order, but at other times is
always in order when placed at runways where it is used without bait.
The trap can also be used at dens without bait with success. If used
with bait it should be placed a few feet from the den or near any
place frequented by the animal or animals you expect to catch.
Of course we all admit the steel trap is more convenient and
up-to-date, says a New Hampshire trapper. You can make your sets
faster and can change the steel trap from place to place; of course,
the deadfall you cannot. But all this does not signify the deadfall
is no good; they are good and when mink trapping the deadfall is
good. To the trapper who traps in the same locality every year, when
his deadfalls are once built it is only a few minutes' work to put
them in shape, then he has got a trap for the season.
I enclose a diagram of a deadfall (called here Log Trap) which, when
properly made and baited, there is no such a mink catcher in the trap
line yet been devised. This trap requires about an hour to make and
for tools a camp hatchet and a good strong jackknife, also a piece of
strong string, which all trappers carry.
This trap should be about fifteen inches wide with a pen built with
sticks or pieces of boards driven in the ground. (See diagram.) The
jaws of this trap consist of two pieces of board three inches wide
and about three and a half feet long, resting edgeways one on the
other, held firmly by four posts driven in the ground. The top board
or drop should move easily up and down before weights are put on. The
treddle should be set three inches inside level with the top of
bottom board. This is a round stick about three-fourths inch thru,
resting against two pegs driven in the ground. (See diagram.) The
lever should be the same in size. Now put your stout string around
top board. Then set, pass lever thru the string over the cross piece
and latch it in front of the treddle. Then put on weights and adjust
to spring, heavy or light as desired. This trap should be set around
old dams or log jams by the brook, baited with fish, muskrat, rabbit
or chicken.
[Illustration: BOARD OR POLE TRAP.]
I herewith enclose a drawing of a deadfall that I use for everything
up to bear, writes a Rocky Mountain trapper, I hate to acknowledge
that I have used it to get "lope" meat with, because I sometimes
believe in firing as few shots as I can in some parts of the
Mountains.
[Illustration: BAIT SET DEADFALL.]
Drawing No. 1 shows it used for bait; a snare can be used on it at
the same time by putting the drop or weight where it isn't liable to
fall on the animal. Put the weight on the other side of tree or make
it fall with the animal to one side. In this case a pole must be
strictly used. A good sized rock is all right for small animals. The
closer spikes 1 and 2 are together and the longer the tugger end on
bottom, the easier it will pull off.
Fig. 1.--Spike driven in tree one-half inch deeper than spike No. 2
(Fig. No. 2) to allow for notch.
3--Bait on end of trigger.
4--Heavy rock or log.
5--Wire, fine soft steel.
6--Trigger with notch cut in it.
7--Notch cut in trigger Fig G. Spike No. 2 must have head cut off and
pounded flat on end.
In setting it across a trail a peg must be driven in the ground. In
this peg the spikes are driven instead of tree as in drawing No. 1.
The end of brush stick in between peg and trigger end and when an
animal comes either way it will knock the brush and it knocks out the
trigger. Good, soft steel wire should be used In setting this
deadfall along river bank a stout stick can be driven in bank and
hang out over water. This stick will take the place of a limb on
tree. One end of a pole held in a slanting position by weighing one
end down with a rock will do the same as limb on tree. If a tree is
handy and no limb, lean a stout pole up against the tree and cut
notches in it for wire to work on.
[Illustration: TRAIL SET DEADFALL.]
1--Trail.
2--Log.
3--Trigger same as for bait on top deadfall drawing.
4--Stake driven in ground with spikes driven in it same as above in
tree.
5--Spikes same as above.
6--Wire.
7--Tree.
8--Brush put in trail with one end between trigger and peg to knock
off trigger when touched.
This deadfall has never failed me and when trapping in parts of the
country where lynx, coyote or wolverine are liable to eat marten in
traps, use a snare and it will hang 'em high and out of reach. Snare
to be fastened to trigger.
Of course a little pen has to be built when setting this deadfall
with bait. In setting in trail it beats any deadfall I have ever used
for such animals as have a nature to follow a trail. A fine wire can
also be tied to the trigger and stretched across trail instead of a
brush and tied on the opposite side of trail. I like it, as the
weight can be put high enough from the ground to kill an elk when it
drops.
CHAPTER II.
BEAR AND <DW53> DEADFALL.
I will explain how to make the best bear deadfall, also the best one
for <DW53> that ever was made, writes an old and successful deadfall
trapper. First get a pole six or eight feet long for bed piece, get
another sixteen or eighteen feet long and lay it on top of bed piece.
Now drive two stakes, one on each side of bed piece and pole and near
one end of bed piece. About 18 or 20 inches from first two stakes
drive two more stakes, one on each side of bed piece and fall pole.
Now drive two more stakes directly in front of your two back stakes
and about two inches in front.
Next cut a stick long enough to come just to the outside of last two
stakes driven. Then whittle the ends off square so it will work easy
between the treadle stakes and the two inside stakes that your fall
works in; next raise your fall pole about three feet high. Get a
stick about one inch thru, cut it so that it will be long enough to
rest against your treadle and that short stick is your treadle when
it is raised above the bed a piece, cut the end off slanting so it
will fit against the treadle good.
[Illustration: BEAR OR <DW53> DEADFALL.]
Slant the other end so the fall pole will fit good. Now five or six
inches from the top of the slanted stick cut a notch in your slanted
stick. Go to the back side, lift your pole up, set the post on the
bed piece. Place the top of the slanted stick against the fall pole.
Then place the pole off post in the notch in slant stick. Press back
on bottom of slanted stick and place your treadle against the stick.
Your trap is set. Make V shape on inside of treadle by driving stakes
in the ground, cedar or pine, and hedge it in tight all around. If
such there is not, make it as tight as you can. Cover the top tight,
the cubby should be 3 feet long, 3 feet high and wide as your treadle
stakes.
Stake the bait near the back end of cubby. Be sure the treadle is
just above the bed piece. Take the pole off the cubby to set the trap
as you have set it from this side. You can set it heavy or light by
regulating the treadle. I sometimes drive spikes in the bed piece and
file them off sharp as it will hold better. You can weight the fall
poles as much as you like after it is set. Don't you see, boys, that
the old fellow comes along and to go in he surely will step on the
treadle. Bang, it was lowered and you have got him.
This is the best <DW53> deadfall I ever saw. The fall pole for <DW53>
should be about 14 inches high when set. Set it under trees or along
brooks where you can see <DW53> signs. Bait with frogs, crabs or fish,
a piece of muskrat or duck for <DW53>. Build it much the same as for
bear, only much smaller. You will find this a successful trap.
* * *
I will describe a deadfall for bear which I use, and which works the
best of any I have tried, says a Montana trapper. I have two small
trees about 30 inches apart, cut a pole 10 feet long for a bed piece
and place in front of trees then cut a notch in each tree about 27
inches above the bed piece, and nail a good, strong piece across from
one tree to the other in the notches. Cut a long pole five or six
inches through for the deadfall, place the large end on top of bed
log, letting end stick by the tree far enough to place on poles for
weights.
Then cut two stakes and drive on outside of both poles, and fasten
top of stakes to the trees one foot above the cross piece. Then on
the inside, 30 inches from the trees, drive two more solid stakes
about 2 feet apart and nail a piece across them 6 inches lower than
the cross piece between the trees. Then cut a lever about three feet
long and flatten one end, and a bait stick about two feet long. Cut
two notches 6 inches apart, one square on the top and the other on
the bottom, and both close to the top end of bait stick.
Fasten bait on the other end and then raise up the deadfall, place
the lever stick across the stick nailed between the two trees,
letting the end run six inches under the deadfall. Take the bait
stick and hook lower notch on the piece nailed on the two stakes and
place end of lever in the top notch, then cut weights and place on
each side until you think you have enough to hold any bear. Then put
on as many more and it will be about right. Stand up old chunks
around the sides and back and lots of green brush on the outside. Get
it so he can't see the bait.
It doesn't require a very solid pen. I drive about three short stakes
in front and leave them one foot high, so when he pulls back they
will come against him, and the set is complete. You can weight it
with a ton of poles and still it will spring easy. The closer
together the two notches the easier it will spring.
This trap can be built lighter and is good for <DW53>. In fact, will
catch other fur bearers, but is not especially recommended for small
animals, such as ermine and mink.
CHAPTER III.
OTTER DEADFALLS.
At the present day when steel traps are so cheap and abundant it may
sound very primitive and an uncertain way of trapping these animals
for one to advocate the use of the deadfall, especially as every
hunter knows the animal is much more at home in the water than on
land. But on land they go and it was by deadfalls the way-back
Indians killed a many that were in their packs at the end of the
hunting season.
Of course these wooden traps were not set at haphazard thru the brush
as marten traps, but were set up at the otter slide places, and where
they crossed points in river bends, or it might be where a narrow
strip of land connected two lakes. These places were known from one
generation to another and the old traps were freshened up spring and
fall by some member of the family hunting those grounds.
These special deadfalls were called otter traps, but really when once
set were open for most any animal of a medium size passing that path.
The writer has known beaver, lynx, fox and in one instance a cub bear
to be caught in one of these deadfalls. There was a simplicity and
usefulness about these traps that commended them to the trapper and
even now in this rush century some hunters might use them with
advantage.
When once set, they remain so until some animal comes along and is
caught. I say "caught" because if properly erected they rarely miss.
They require no bait and therefore are never out of order by the
depredations of mice, squirrels or moose birds. I knew a man who
caught two otters together. This may sound fishy, but when once a
present generation trapper sees one of these traps set he will
readily believe this apparently impossible result is quite likely to
happen.
The trap is made thus: Cut four forked young birch about five feet
long, pointing the lower ends and leaving the forks uppermost. Plant
two of these firmly in the ground at each side of the otter path,
three inches apart between them and about twenty inches across the
path. These must be driven very hard in the ground and a throat piece
put in level between the uprights across the path from side to side.
As a choker and to support the weight of logs to kill the otter, cut
a pole (tamarac preferable) long enough to pass three feet each side
of your picket or uprights, see that this falls easy and clear.
[Illustration: OTTER DEADFALL.]
Now cut two short poles for the forks to lay in from side to side of
the path, being in the same direction as the choker. At the middle of
one of these short poles tie a good stout cord or rope (the Indians
used split young roots), making a loop of same long enough to lay
over the pole in front and down to the height the choke pole is going
to be. When set, next comes the trigger which must be of hard wood
and about a foot long, round at one end and flat at the other. A
groove is hacked out all around the stick at the round end. This is
to tie the cord to.
The choke stick is now brought up to say twenty inches from the
ground and rested on top of the trigger. A stick about an inch in
diameter is placed outside the pickets and the flat end of the
trigger is laid in against this. The tied stick to be about eight
inches from the ground. The tying at the end of the trigger being at
one side will create a kind of leverage sufficiently strong to press
hard against the tied stick. Care must be taken, however, to have
this pressure strong enough but not too strong for the animal to set
off.
Now load each end of the choke stick with small laps of wood to
insure holding whatever may catch. A little loose moss or grass is
placed fluffy under tread stick when set to insure the otter going
over and not under. When he clambers over the tread stick his weight
depresses it, the trigger flies up, letting the loaded bar fall on
his body, which holds him till death.
While my description of the making of a deadfall for otters is plain
enough to me, yet the novice may not succeed in constructing one the
first time. Still if he is a trapper he will very soon perceive where
any mistake may be and correct it. I have used both steel traps and
deadfalls and altho I do not wish to start a controversy yet I must
say that a deadfall well set is a good trap. For marten on a stump
they are never covered unless with snow, nor is the marten when
caught destroyed by mice.
Of course, to set a deadfall for otter it must be done in the fall
before the ground is frozen. Once made, however, it can be set up
either spring or fall and will, with a little repairs, last for
years. I am aware the tendency of the age is to progress and not to
use obsolete methods, still even some old things have their
advantages. Good points are not to be sneered at and one of these I
maintain for spring and fall trapping in a district where otter move
about from lake to lake or river to river is the old time Indian
deadfall.
CHAPTER IV.
MARTEN DEADFALL.
Having seen a good many descriptions of deadfalls in the H-T-T
lately, writes a Colorado trapper, I thought I would try to show the
kind that is used around here for marten. It is easily made, and can
always be kept above the snow.
First, cut a pole (z) five or six inches through and twelve feet
long, lay it in the crotch of a tree five feet from the ground. Then
cut two sticks two inches through and fifteen inches long, cut a
notch in each three inches from the top and have the notch in one
slant downwards (B), the other upwards (A). The sticks should be
nailed on each side of the pole (z), the top of which should be
flattened a little. Have the notches about six inches above the top
of the pole.
Cut another stick 10 inches long (F), cut the top off square and nail
it six inches farther down the pole on the same side as (B), have the
top five inches above the top of pole (Z). Now cut two more sticks
two and one-half feet long (C-D), cut a notch in each two inches from
the top and nail a stick (E) across them in the notches, so they will
be about seven inches apart. Set a straddle of the pole (Z); they
should be two inches farther down the pole than (F). Then cut another
pole (X) ten feet long, lay it under (Z), lift up one end of it and
nail the stick C and D to each side of it. See that when the sticks
C, D and E are lifted up they will fall clear and easily.
[Illustration: MARTEN DEADFALL.]
Now cut a bait stick (G) one-half inch through and seven inches long,
sharpened at one end. Cut another stick (H) an inch through and
fifteen inches long, flatten a little on one side. To set the trap
lift up C, D, E and X, and put the end of H under E and rest it on
the top of F, hold down the other end while you put the bait stick
(G) in the notches A and B, then let the end of H come up on the
outside of B against the end of G. Put the bait on the other end of
G; when the end is pulled out of the notch the trap will spring and
spring easily if made properly. Lay a block of wood at the back end
and some small sticks on top, so the animal will have to crawl under
E to get the bait. Muskrat makes the best bait for marten.
* * *
When you find a tall straight spruce or something that is pretty
straight (not a balsam) cut it about a foot over your head, says a
Northwestern trapper, or as high as you can. When you have cut it,
split the stump down the center two feet. Be careful doing this, for
you are striking a dangerous blow as I have good cause to know and
remember. Trim out the tree clean and taper off the butt end to make
it enter into split. Drive down into split about fourteen inches. Cut
a crotch into ground or snow solid.
Now cut the mate of this piece already in, split and put into split
and into crotch on top of other. Have the piece heavy enough to hold
wolverine. See cuts for the rest. Cover bait as shown in cut. I do
not make my trip sticks the same as others, but I am afraid that I
cannot explain it to you. See cuts for this also. Use your own
judgment. Of course you will sometimes find it is | 857.736324 |
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Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text.
(note of etext transcriber.)
MEMOIRS
OF THE
EMPRESS CATHERINE II.
WRITTEN BY HERSELF.
WITH A PREFACE BY A. HERZEN.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
346 & 348 BROADWAY.
M.DCCC.LIX.
PREFACE.
Some hours after the death of the Empress Catherine, her son, the
Emperor Paul, ordered Count Rostoptchine to put the seals upon her
papers. He was himself present at the arrangement of these papers. Among
them was found the celebrated letter of Alexis Orloff,[1] in which, in a
cynical tone and with a drunken hand, he announced to the Empress the
assassination of her husband Peter III. There was also a manuscript,
written entirely by the hand of Catherine herself, and enclosed in a
sealed envelope, bearing this inscription:--"_To his Imperial Highness,
the Cesarewitch and Grand Duke Paul, my beloved son._" Under this
envelope was the manuscript of the Memoirs which we now publish.
The manuscript terminates abruptly towards the close of the year 1759.
It is said that there were with it some detached notes, which would have
served as materials for its continuation. Some persons affirm that Paul
threw these into the fire; but nothing certain is known upon this point.
Paul kept his mother's manuscript a great secret, and never entrusted
it to any one but the friend of his childhood Prince Alexander
Kourakine. The Prince took a copy of it. Some twenty years after the
death of Paul, Alexander Tourgeneff and Prince Michael Worontzoff
obtained copies from the transcript of Kourakine. The Emperor Nicholas
having heard of this, gave orders to the Secret Police to seize all the
copies. Amongst them was one written at Odessa, by the hand of the
celebrated poet Pouschkine. A complete stop was now put to the further
circulation of the Memoirs.
The Emperor Nicholas had the original brought to him by the Count D.
Bloudoff, read it, sealed it with the great seal of state, and ordered
it to be kept in the imperial archives, among the most secret documents.
To these details, which I extract from a notice communicated to me, I
ought to add that the first person who spoke to me on the subject was
Constantine Arsenieff, the preceptor of the present Emperor. He told me,
in 1840, that he had obtained permission to read many secret documents
relative to the events which followed the death of Peter I, up to the
reign of Alexander I. Among these documents, he was authorized to read
the Memoirs of Catherine II. (At that time he was teaching the Modern
History of Russia to the Grand Duke, the heir presumptive.)
During the Crimean war, the archives were transferred to Moscow. In the
month of March, 1855, the present Emperor had the manuscript brought to
him to read. Since that period one or two copies have again circulated
at Moscow and St. Petersburg. It is from one of these that we now
publish the Memoirs. As to their authenticity, there is not the least
room for doubt. Besides, it is only necessary to read two or three pages
of the text to be quite satisfied on the point.
We have abstained from all corrections of the style, in every case in
which it was not evident that the copy presented some fault of
transcription.
Passing to the Memoirs themselves, what do we find?
The early years of Catherine II--of that woman-Emperor, who occupied for
more than a quarter of a century all contemporary minds, from Voltaire
and Frederic II to the Khan of the Crimea and the Chiefs of the
Kirghis--_her young days described by herself!_... What is there for
the Editor to add to this?
In reading these pages, we behold her entering on the scene, we see her
forming herself to that which she afterwards became. A frolicsome girl
of fourteen, her head dressed "_a la Moise_," fair, playful, betrothed
of a little idiot, the Grand Duke, she has already caught the disease of
the Winter Palace--the thirst of dominion. One day, while "perched" with
the Grand Duke upon a window-sill, and joking with him, she saw Count
Lestocq enter: "Pack up your things," he said, "you are off for
Germany." The young idiot seemed but little affected by the threatened
separation. "It was pretty nearly a matter of indifference to me also,"
says the little German girl; "_but the Crown of Russia was not so_,"
adds the Grand Duchess.
Here we have, in the bud, the Catherine of 1762!
To dream of the crown, however, was quite natural in the atmosphere of
that court; natural not only for the betrothed of the Heir Presumptive,
but for every one. The groom Biren, the singer Rasoumowsky, the Prince
Dolgorouky, the plebeian Menchikoff, the oligarch Volynski--every one
was anxious for a shred of the imperial mantle. The crown of Russia,
after Peter I, was a _res nullius_.
Peter I, a terrorist and reformer, before all things, had no respect for
legitimacy. His absolutism sought to reach even beyond the tomb. He gave
himself the right of appointing his successor, and instead of appointing
him, he contented himself with ordering the assassination of his own
son.
After the death of Peter, the nobles assembled for deliberation.
Menchikoff put a stop to all discussion, and proclaimed as empress his
old mistress, the widow of a brave Swedish dragoon, slain upon the field
of battle, the widow of Peter also, to whom Menchikoff had resigned her
"through devotion" to his master.
The reign of Catherine I was short. After her the crown passed from head
to head as chance directed: from the once Livonian tavern-keeper, to a
street-boy (Peter II); from this street-boy who died of small-pox, to
the Duchess of Courland (Anne); from the Duchess of Courland to a
Princess of Mecklenburg (wife of a Prince of Brunswick), who reigned in
the name of an infant in the cradle (Ivan); from this boy, born _too
late_ to reign, the crown passed to the head of a woman born _too
soon_--Elizabeth. She it is who represents legitimacy.
Tradition broken, the people and the state completely separated by the
reforms of Peter I, _coups d'etat_ and palace revolutions were the order
of the day; nothing was fixed. The inhabitants of St. Petersburg, when
retiring at night, knew not under whose government they should awake in
the morning; they consequently took but little interest in changes | 857.736973 |
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* * * Mentor extraordinaire, and so much more * * *
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FRONTISPIECE
[Illustration: _It cried as if it was in pain._
_vide page 8_]
JULIA
AND
THE PET-LAMB;
OR,
GOOD TEMPER AND COMPASSION
_REWARDED_.
------------------
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR DARTON, HARVEY, AND DARTON,
_No. 55, Gracechurch-Street_.
-------
1813.
Printed by Darton, Harvey, and Co.
Gracechurch-Street, London.
JULIA
_AND_
_THE PET-LAMB_.
“NOW, mamma, I have finished my work: is it well done?” said little
Julia, as she showed the pocket-handkerchief she had just hemmed to her
mother. Her mother replied, “Yes, my love, very well done: fold it
neatly up, put it into my work-bag, and then go to play.”
JULIA. May I go into the garden? The sun is in the west, but he is not
set. Look, mamma, how beautiful the sky is! The clouds are like gold!
And see | 857.83435 |
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Produced by Eve Sobol. HTML version by Al Haines.
MAJOR BARBARA
BERNARD SHAW
ACT I
It is after dinner on a January night, in the library in
Lady Britomart Undershaft's house in Wilton Crescent. A large and
comfortable settee is in the middle of the room, upholstered in
dark leather. A person sitting on it [it is vacant at present]
would have, on his right, Lady Britomart's writing table, with
the lady herself busy at it; a smaller writing table behind him
on his left; the door behind him on Lady Britomart's side; and a
window with a window seat directly on his left. Near the window
is an armchair.
Lady Britomart is a woman of fifty or thereabouts, well dressed
and yet careless of her dress, well bred and quite reckless of
her breeding, well mannered and yet appallingly outspoken and
indifferent to the opinion of her interlocutory, amiable and yet
peremptory, arbitrary, and high-tempered to the last bearable
degree, and withal a very typical managing matron of the upper
class, treated as a naughty child until she grew into a scolding
mother, and finally settling down with plenty of practical
ability and worldly experience, limited in the oddest way with
domestic and class limitations, conceiving the universe exactly
as if it were a large house in Wilton Crescent, though handling
her corner of it very effectively on that assumption, and being
quite enlightened and liberal as to the books in the library, the
pictures on the walls, the music in the portfolios, and the
articles in the papers.
Her son, Stephen, comes in. He is a gravely correct young man
under 25, taking himself very seriously, but still in some awe of
his mother, from childish habit and bachelor shyness rather than
from any weakness of character.
STEPHEN. What's the matter?
LADY BRITOMART. Presently, Stephen.
Stephen submissively walks to the settee and sits down. He takes
up The Speaker.
LADY BRITOMART. Don't begin to read, Stephen. I shall require all
your attention.
STEPHEN. It was only while I was waiting--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't make excuses, Stephen. [He puts down The
Speaker]. Now! [She finishes her writing; rises; and comes to the
settee]. I have not kept you waiting very long, I think.
STEPHEN. Not at all, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. Bring me my cushion. [He takes the cushion from
the chair at the desk and arranges it for her as she sits down on
the settee]. Sit down. [He sits down and fingers his tie
nervously]. Don't fiddle with your tie, Stephen: there is nothing
the matter with it.
STEPHEN. I beg your pardon. [He fiddles with his watch chain
instead].
LADY BRITOMART. Now are you attending to me, Stephen?
STEPHEN. Of course, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. No: it's not of course. I want something much
more than your everyday matter-of-course attention. I am going to
speak to you very seriously, Stephen. I wish you would let that
chain alone.
STEPHEN [hastily relinquishing the chain] Have I done anything to
annoy you, mother? If so, it was quite unintentional.
LADY BRITOMART [astonished] Nonsense! [With some remorse] My poor
boy, did you think I was angry with you?
STEPHEN. What is it, then, mother? You are making me very uneasy.
LADY BRITOMART [squaring herself at him rather aggressively]
Stephen: may I ask how soon you intend to realize that you are a
grown-up man, and that I am only a woman?
STEPHEN [amazed] Only a--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't repeat my words, please: It is a most
aggravating habit. You must learn to face life seriously,
Stephen. I really cannot bear the whole burden of our family
affairs any longer. You must advise me: you must assume the
responsibility.
STEPHEN. I!
LADY BRITOMART. Yes, you, of course. You were 24 last June.
You've been at Harrow and Cambridge. You've been to India and
Japan. You must know a lot of things now; unless you have wasted
your time most scandalously. Well, advise me.
STEPHEN [much perplexed] You know I have never interfered in the
household--
LADY BRITOMART. No: I should think not. I don't want you to order
the dinner.
STEPHEN. I mean in our family affairs.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, you must interfere now; for they are
getting quite beyond me.
STEPHEN [troubled] I have thought sometimes that perhaps I ought;
but really, mother, I know so little about them; and what I do
know is so painful--it is so impossible to mention some things to
you--[he stops, ashamed].
LADY BRITOMART. I suppose you mean your father.
STEPHEN [almost inaudibly] Yes.
LADY BRITOMART. My dear: we can't go on all our lives not
mentioning him. Of course you were quite right not to open the
subject until I asked you to; but you are old enough now to be
taken into my confidence, and to help me to deal with him about
the girls.
STEPHEN. But the girls are all right. They are engaged.
LADY BRITOMART [complacently] Yes: I have made a very good match
for Sarah. Charles Lomax will be a millionaire at 35. But that is
ten years ahead; and in the meantime his trustees cannot under
the terms of his father's will allow him more than 800 pounds a
year.
STEPHEN. But the will says also that if he increases his income
by his own exertions, they may double the increase.
LADY BR | 857.836313 |
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by tilde characters is in bold face (~bold~).
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
An underscore followed by a letter enclosed in curly braces
indicates that the enclosed letter is a subscript. (Example:
C_{b} indicates that the "b" is a subscript).
READINGS IN MONEY AND BANKING
* * * * *
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. DALLAS
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO. LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA. LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * *
READINGS IN MONEY AND BANKING
Selected And Adapted
by
CHESTER ARTHUR PHILLIPS
Assistant Professor of Economics in Dartmouth College
and Assistant Professor of Banking in the Amos
Tuck School of Administration and Finance
New York
The Macmillan Company
1921
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
Copyright 1916
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1916.
Ferris Printing Company
New York City
PREFACE
Designed mainly for class room use in connection with one of the
introductory manuals on the subject of Money and Banking or of Money and
Currency, this volume, _in itself_, lays no claim to completeness. Where
its use is contemplated the problems of emphasis and proportion are,
accordingly, to be solved by the selection of one or another of the
available texts, or by the choice of supplementary lecture topics and
materials. The contents of the introductory manuals are so divergent in
character as to render possible combinations of text and readings that
will include, it is hoped, matter of such range and variety as may be
desired.
Fullness of treatment has been attempted, however, in the chapters
dealing with the important recent developments in the "mechanism of
exchange," and my aim has been throughout to select and, in many
instances, to adapt with a view to meeting the wants of those who are
interested chiefly in the modern phases of the subject.
For valuable suggestions in the preparation of the volume I am greatly
indebted to Professors F. H. Dixon and G. R. Wicker and Mr. J. M.
Shortliffe of Dartmouth, Professor Hastings Lyon of Columbia, Professor
E. E. Day of Harvard, and to my former teacher, Professor F. R.
Fairchild of Yale. I desire also to mention my great obligation to
authors and publishers who alike have generously permitted the
reproduction of copyrighted material.
CHESTER ARTHUR PHILLIPS.
Dartmouth College,
Hanover, N. H., July, 1916.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE ORIGIN AND FUNCTIONS OF MONEY 1
II THE EARLY HISTORY OF MONEY 10
III QUALITIES OF THE MATERIAL OF MONEY 18
IV LEGAL TENDER 26
V THE GREENBACK ISSUES 33
VI INTERNATIONAL BIMETALLISM 71
VII THE SILVER QUESTION IN THE UNITED STATES 82
VIII INDEX NUMBERS 115
IX BANKING OPERATIONS AND ACCOUNTS 121
X THE USE OF CREDIT INSTRUMENTS IN PAYMENTS
IN THE UNITED STATES 150
XI A SYMPOSIUM ON THE RELATION BETWEEN MONEY
AND GENERAL PRICES 159
XII THE GOLD EXCHANGE STANDARD 213
XIII A PLAN FOR A COMPENSATED DOLLAR 229
XIV MONETARY SYSTEMS OF FOREIGN COUNTRIES 246
XV THE NATURE AND FUNCTIONS OF TRUST COMPANIES 256
XVI SAVINGS BANKS 270
XVII DOMESTIC EXCHANGE 290
XVIII FOREIGN EXCHANGE 305
XIX CLEARING HOUSES 355
XX STATE BANKS AND TRUST COMPANIES SINCE THE PASSAGE
OF THE NATIONAL BANK ACT 381
XXI THE CANADIAN BANKING SYSTEM 406
XXII THE ENGLISH BANKING SYSTEM 435
XXIII THE SCOTCH BANKS 474
XXIV THE FRENCH BANKING SYSTEM 488
XXV THE GERMAN BANKING SYSTEM 526
XXVI BANKING IN SOUTH AMERICA 559
XXVII AGRICULTURAL CREDIT IN THE UNITED STATES 575
XXVIII THE CONCENTRATION OF CONTROL OF MONEY AND CREDIT 606
XXIX CRISES 627
XXX THE WEAKNESSES OF OUR BANKING SYSTEM PRIOR TO
THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM 672
XXXI THE FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM 723
XXXII THE EUROPEAN WAR IN RELATION TO MONEY,
BANKING AND FINANCE 797
APPENDICES 830
READINGS IN MONEY AND BANKING
CHAPTER I
THE ORIGIN AND FUNCTIONS OF MONEY
[1]In order to understand the manifold functions of a Circulating
Medium, there is no better way than to consider what are the principal
inconveniences which we should experience if we had not such a medium.
The first and most obvious would be the want of a common measure for
values of different sorts. If a tailor had only coats, and wanted to buy
bread or a horse, it would be very troublesome to ascertain how much
bread he ought to obtain for a coat, or how many coats he should give
for a horse. The calculation must be recommenced on different data,
every time he bartered his coats for a different kind of article; and
there could be no current price, or regular quotations of value. Whereas
now each thing has a current price in money, and he gets over all
difficulties by reckoning his coat at L4 or L5, and a four-pound loaf at
6_d._ or 7_d_. As it is much easier to compare different lengths by
expressing them in a common language of feet and inches, so it is much
easier to compare values by means of a common language of pounds,
shillings, and pence. In no other way can values be arranged one above
another in a scale: in no other can a person conveniently calculate the
sum of his possessions; and it is easier to ascertain and remember the
relations of many things to one thing, than their innumerable cross
relations with one another. This advantage of having a common language
in which values may be expressed, is, even by itself, so important, that
some such mode of expressing and computing them would probably be used
even if a pound or a shilling did not express any real thing, but a mere
unit of calculation. It is said that there are African tribes in which
this somewhat artificial contrivance actually prevails. They calculate
the value of things in a sort of money of account, called macutes. They
say, one thing is worth ten macutes, another fifteen, another twenty.
There is no real thing called a macute: it is a conventional unit, for
the more convenient comparison of things with one another.
This advantage, however, forms but an inconsiderable part of the
economical benefits derived from the use of money. The inconveniences of
barter are so great, that without some more commodious means of
effecting exchanges, the division of employments could hardly have been
carried to any considerable extent. A tailor, who had nothing but coats,
might starve before he could find any person having bread to sell who
wanted a coat: besides, he would not want as much bread at a time as
would be worth a coat, and the coat could not be divided. Every person,
therefore, would at all times hasten to dispose of his commodity in
exchange for anything which, though it might not be fitted to his own
immediate wants, was in great and general demand, and easily divisible,
so that he might be sure of being able to purchase with it, whatever was
offered for sale. The primary necessaries of life possess these
properties in a high degree. Bread is extremely divisible, and an object
of universal desire. Still, this is not the sort of thing required: for,
of food, unless in expectation of a scarcity, no one wishes to possess
more at once than is wanted for immediate consumption; so that a person
is never sure of finding an immediate purchaser for articles of food;
and unless soon disposed of, most of them perish. The thing which people
would select to keep by them for making purchases, must be one which,
besides being divisible, and generally desired, does not deteriorate by
keeping. This reduces the choice to a small number of articles.
By a tacit concurrence, almost all nations, at a very early period,
fixed upon certain metals, and especially gold and silver, to serve this
purpose. No other substances unite the necessary qualities in so great a
degree, with so many subordinate advantages. Next to food and clothing,
and in some climates even before clothing, the strongest inclination in
a rude state of society is for personal ornament, and for the kind of
distinction which is obtained by rarity or costliness in such ornaments.
After the immediate necessities of life were satisfied, every one was
eager to accumulate as great a store as possible of things at once
costly and ornamental; which were chiefly gold, silver, and jewels.
These were the things which it most pleased every one to possess, and
which there was most certainty of finding others willing to receive in
exchange for any kind of produce. They were among the most imperishable
of all substances. They were also portable, and containing great value
in small bulk, were easily hid; a consideration of much importance in an
age of insecurity. Jewels are inferior to gold and silver in the quality
of divisibility; and are of very various qualities, not to be accurately
discriminated without great trouble. Gold and silver are eminently
divisible, and when pure, always of the same quality; and their purity
may be ascertained and certified by a public authority.
Accordingly, though furs have been employed as money in some countries,
cattle in others, in Chinese Tartary cubes of tea closely pressed
together, the shells called cowries on the coast of Western Africa, and
in Abyssinia at this day blocks of rock salt; though even of metals, the
less costly have sometimes been chosen, as iron in Lacedaemon from
ascetic policy, copper in the early Roman republic from the poverty of
the people; gold and silver have been generally preferred by nations
which were able to obtain them, either by industry, commerce, or
conquest. To the qualities which originally recommended them, another
came to be added, the importance of which only unfolded itself by
degrees. Of all commodities, they are among the least influenced by any
of the causes which produce fluctuations of value. They fluctuate less
than almost any other things in their cost of production. And from their
durability, the total quantity in existence is at all times so great in
proportion to the annual supply, that the effect on value even of a
change in the cost of production is not sudden: a very long time being
required to diminish materially the quantity in existence, and even to
increase it very greatly not being a rapid process. Gold and silver,
therefore, are more fit than any other commodity to be the subject of
engagements for receiving or paying a given quantity at some distant
period. If the engagement were made in corn, a failure of crops might
increase the burthen of the payment in one year to fourfold what was
intended, or an exuberant harvest sink it in another to one-fourth. If
stipulated in cloth, some manufacturing invention might permanently
reduce the payment to a tenth of its original value. Such things have
occurred even in the case of payments stipulated in gold and silver; but
the great fall of their value after the discovery of America, is, as
yet, the only authenticated instance; and in this case the change was
extremely gradual, being spread over a period of many years.
When gold and silver had become virtually a medium of exchange, by
becoming the things for which people generally sold, and with which they
generally bought, whatever they had to sell or to buy; the contrivance
of coining obviously suggested itself. By this process the metal was
divided into convenient portions, of any degree of smallness, and
bearing a recognized proportion to one another; and the trouble was
saved of weighing and assaying at every change of possessors, an
inconvenience which on the occasion of small purchases would soon have
become insupportable. Governments found it their interest to take the
operation into their own hands, and to interdict all coining by private
persons; indeed, their guarantee was often the only one which would have
been relied on, a reliance however which very often it ill deserved;
profligate governments having until a very modern period seldom
scrupled, for the sake of robbing their creditors, to confer on all
other debtors a licence to rob theirs, by the shallow and impudent
artifice of lowering the standard; that least covert of all modes of
knavery, which consists in calling a shilling a pound, that a debt of a
hundred pounds may be cancelled by the payment of a hundred shillings.
It would have been as simple a plan, and would have answered the purpose
as well, to have enacted that "a hundred" should always be interpreted
to mean five, which would have effected the same reduction in all
pecuniary contracts, and would not have been at all more shameless. Such
strokes of policy have not wholly ceased to be recommended, but they
have ceased to be practised; except occasionally through the medium of
paper money, in which case the character of the transaction, from the
greater obscurity of the subject, is a little less barefaced.
Money, when its use has grown habitual, is the medium through which the
incomes of the different members of the community are distributed to
them, and the measure by which they estimate their possessions. As it is
always by means of money that people provide for their different
necessities, there grows up in their minds a powerful association
leading them to regard money as wealth in a more peculiar sense than any
other article; and even those who pass their lives in the production of
the most useful objects, acquire the habit of regarding those objects as
chiefly important by their capacity of being exchanged for money. A
person who parts with money to obtain commodities, unless he intends to
sell them, appears to the imagination to be making a worse bargain than
a person who parts with commodities to get money; the one seems to be
spending his means, the other adding to them. Illusions which, though
now in some measure dispelled, were long powerful enough to overmaster
the mind of every politician, both speculative and practical, in Europe.
It must be evident, however, that the mere introduction of a particular
mode of exchanging things for one another, by first exchanging a thing
for money, and then exchanging the money for something else, makes no
difference in the essential character of transactions. It is not with
money that things are really purchased. Nobody's income (except that of
the gold or silver miner) is derived from the precious metals. The
pounds or shillings which a person receives weekly or yearly, are not
what constitutes his income; they are a sort of tickets or orders which
he can present for payment at any shop he pleases, and which entitle him
to receive a certain value of any commodity that he makes choice of. The
farmer pays his laborers and his landlord in these tickets, as the most
convenient plan for himself and them; but their real income is their
share of his corn, cattle, and hay, and it makes no essential difference
whether he distributes it to them directly or sells it for them and
gives them the price; but as they would have to sell it for money if he
did not, and he is a seller at any rate, it best suits the purposes of
all, that he should sell their share along with his own, and leave the
laborers more leisure for work and the landlord for being idle. The
capitalists, except those who are producers of the precious metals,
derive no part of their income from those metals, since they only get
them by buying them with their own produce: while all other persons have
their incomes paid to them by the capitalists, or by those who have
received payment from the capitalists, and as the capitalists have
nothing, from the first, except their produce, it is that and nothing
else which supplies all incomes furnished by them. There cannot, in
short, be intrinsically a more insignificant thing, in the economy of
society, than money; except in the character of a contrivance for
sparing time and labor. It is a machine for doing quickly and
commodiously, what would be done, though less quickly and commodiously,
without it: and like many other kinds of machinery, it only exerts a
distinct and independent influence of its own when it gets out of order.
The introduction of money does not interfere with the operation of any
of the Laws of Value.... The reasons which make the temporary or market
value of things depend on the demand and supply, and their average and
permanent values upon their cost of production, are as applicable to a
money system as to a system of barter. Things which by barter would
exchange for one another, will, if sold for money, sell for an equal
amount of it, and so will exchange for one another still, though the
process of exchanging them will consist of two operations instead of
only one. The relations of commodities to one another remain unaltered
by money: the only new relation introduced, is their relation to money
itself; how much or how little money they will exchange for; in other
words, how the Exchange Value of money itself is determined. And this is
not a question of any difficulty, when the illusion is dispelled, which
caused money to be looked upon as a peculiar thing, not governed by the
same laws as other things. Money is a commodity, and its value is
determined like that of other commodities, temporarily by demand and
supply, permanently and on the average by cost of production.
In the foregoing,[2] attention has been directed mainly to the two
functions of money known (1) as the Standard or Common Denominator of
Value, and (2) as the Medium of Exchange. Concerning transactions begun
and ended on the spot nothing more need be said; but the fact of
contracts over a period of time introduces an important element--the
time element. Whenever a contract is made covering a period of time,
within which serious changes in the economic world may take place, then
difficulties may arise as to what is a just standard of payments.
Various articles might serve equally well as a standard for exchanges
performed on the spot, but it is not so when any one article is chosen
as a standard for deferred payments. Without much regard to theory, the
world has in fact used the same standard for transactions whether
settled on the spot, or whether extending over a period of time.
In order to work with perfection as a standard for deferred payments,
the article chosen as that standard should place both debtors and
creditors in exactly the same absolute, and the same relative, position
to each other at the end of a contract that they occupied at its
beginning; this implies that the chosen article should maintain the same
exchange value in relation to goods, rents, and the wages of labour at
the end as at the beginning of the contract, and it implies that the
borrower and lender should preserve the same relative position as
regards their fellow producers and consumers at the later as at the
earlier point of time, and that they have not changed this relation, one
at the loss of the other. This makes demands which any article that can
be suggested as a standard cannot satisfy. And yet it is a practical
necessity of society that some one article should in fact be selected as
the standard. The business world has thus been forced to find some
commodity which--while admittedly never capable of perfection--provides
more nearly than anything else all the essentials of a desirable
standard.
The causes which may bring about changes in the relations between goods
and labor, on the one side, and the standard, on the other, are
various. We may, for instance, compare wheat with the existing gold
standard. The quantity of gold for which the wheat will exchange is its
price. As wheat falls in value relatively to gold, it exchanges for less
gold, that is, its price falls; or, _vice versa_, gold exchanges for
more wheat, and relatively to wheat gold has risen. As one goes up, the
other term in the ratio necessarily goes down; just as certainly as a
rise in one end of a plank balanced on a log necessitates a fall in the
other end of the plank. Therefore, changes in prices can be caused by
forces affecting either the gold side or the wheat side of the ratio; by
forces affecting either the money standard or the goods compared with
that standard. Consequences of importance follow from this explanation.
First suppose that commodities and labor remain unchanged in their
production and reward, respectively; then, anything affecting the supply
of and demand for gold will affect in general the value of gold in
comparison with goods and labor. Or, second, if we suppose an
equilibrium between the demand for and supply of gold, then, prices and
wages can be affected also by anything affecting the cost of obtaining
goods or labor. It is one-sided to look for changes in prices solely
from causes touching gold, or one term of the price ratio. If, however,
it should be desired that prices should remain stationary, then this can
be brought about only by finding for the standard an article that would
automatically move in extent, and in the proper compensating direction,
so as to meet any changes in value arising not only from causes
affecting itself, but also from causes affecting labor and the vast
number of goods that may be quoted in price. No commodity ever existed
which could thus move in value.
During long periods of time--within which gains in mechanical skill and
invention, revolutions in political and social habits, changes in taste
or fashion, settlement of new countries, opening of new markets, may
take place--great alterations in the value of the standard may occur
wholly from natural causes affecting the commodity side of the price
ratio. And yet, in default of a perfect standard, persons who borrow and
lend create debts and obligations expressed in terms of that article
which has been adopted as the standard by the concurring habits of the
commercial community of which they form a part. It should be understood,
whenever men enter into obligations reaching over a period of time, that
a necessary part of the risks involved in this undertaking is the
possibility of an alteration in the exchange values of goods, on the one
hand, and in the standard metal on the other, due to industrial changes
and natural causes. This is one of the risks which belong to individual
enterprise, differing in no way from other possibilities of gain and
loss. For instance, prices rose, as indicated by an index number of 100
in 1860 to an index number of 216 in 1865. Therefore, in the United
States, in this period of rising prices the creditor lost and the debtor
gained. On the other hand, from 1865 to 1878, prices fell from 216 to
101, and in this period of falling prices the creditor gained and the
debtor lost. It is to be observed, however, that these figures refer to
actual quotations of prices during the fluctuations of our paper money.
But it is evident in such movements as these, that parties to a
time-contract must take their own chances of changes; and indeed it is
much more wholesome that they should do so.
It should be kept well in mind that it is not a proper function of
government to step in and save men from the ordinary risks of trade and
industry. It goes without saying that if changes in the value of the
standard due to natural causes take place during the continuance of a
contract, it is not the business of government to indemnify either party
to the contract. This is a matter on which every individual who enters
into time obligations must bear his own responsibility.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] John Stuart Mill, _Principles of Political Economy_, Vol. II, pp.
17-23.
[2] Adapted from _The Report of the Commission of the Indianapolis
Convention_, pp. 92, 93, 103, 104. The University of Chicago Press,
1898.
CHAPTER II
THE EARLY HISTORY OF MONEY
[3]Living in civilized communities, and accustomed to the use of coined
metallic money, we learn to identify money with gold and silver; hence
spring hurtful and insidious fallacies. It is always useful, therefore,
to be reminded of the truth, so well stated by Turgot, that every kind
of merchandise has the two properties of measuring value and
transferring value. It is entirely a question of degree what commodities
will in any given state of society form the most convenient currency,
and this truth will be best impressed upon us by a brief consideration
of the very numerous things which have at one time or other been
employed as money. Though there are many numismatists and many political
economists, the natural history of money is almost a virgin subject,
upon which I should like to dilate; but the narrow limits of my space
forbid me from attempting more than a brief sketch of the many
interesting facts which may be collected.
CURRENCY IN THE HUNTING STATE
Perhaps the most rudimentary state of industry is that in which
subsistence is gained by hunting wild animals. The proceeds of the chase
would, in such a state, be the property of most generally recognized
value. The meat of the animals captured would, indeed, be too perishable
in nature to be hoarded or often exchanged; but it is otherwise with the
skins, which, being preserved and valued for clothing, became one of the
earliest materials of currency. Accordingly, there is abundant evidence
that furs or skins were employed as money in many ancient nations. They
serve this purpose to the present day in some parts of the world.
In the book of Job (ii, 4) we read, "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man
hath will he give for his life"; a statement clearly implying that skins
were taken as the representative of value among the ancient Oriental
nations. Etymological research shows that the same may be said of the
northern nations from the earliest times. In the Esthonian language the
word _raha_ generally signifies money, but its equivalent in the kindred
Lappish tongue has not yet altogether lost the original meaning of skin
or fur. Leather money is said to have circulated in Russia as late as
the reign of Peter the Great, and it is worthy of notice, that classical
writers have recorded traditions to the effect that the earliest
currency used at Rome, Lacedaemon, and Carthage, was formed of leather.
We need not go back, however, to such early times to study the use of
rude currencies. In the traffic of the Hudson's Bay Company with the
North American Indians, furs, in spite of their differences of quality
and size, long formed the medium of exchange. It is very instructive,
and corroborative of the previous evidence to find that even after the
use of coin had become common among the Indians the skin was still
commonly used as the money of account. Thus Whymper says, "a gun,
nominally worth about forty shillings, bought twenty'skins.' This term
is the old one employed by the company. One skin (beaver) is supposed to
be worth two shillings, and it represents two marten, and so on. You
heard a great deal about'skins' at Fort Yukon, as the workmen were also
charged for clothing, etc., in this way."
CURRENCY IN THE PASTORAL STATE
In the next higher stage of civilization, the pastoral state, sheep and
cattle naturally form the most valuable and negotiable kind of property.
They are easily transferable, convey themselves about, and can be kept
for many years, so that they readily perform some of the functions of
money.
We have abundance of evidence, traditional, written, and etymological,
to show this. In the Homeric poems oxen are distinctly and repeatedly
mentioned as the commodity in terms of which other objects are valued.
The arms of Diomed are stated to be worth nine oxen, and are compared
with those of Glaucos, worth one hundred. The tripod, the first prize
for wrestlers in the 23rd Iliad, was valued at twelve oxen, and a woman
captive, skilled in industry, at four. It is peculiarly interesting to
find oxen thus used as the common measure of value, because from other
passages it is probable, as already mentioned, that the precious metals,
though as yet uncoined, were used as a store of value, and occasionally
as a medium of exchange. The several functions of money were thus
clearly performed by different commodities at this early period.
In several languages the name for money is identical with that of some
kind of cattle or domesticated animal. It is generally allowed that
_pecunia_, the Latin word for money, is derived from _pecus_, cattle.
From the Agamemnon of Aeschylus we learn that the figure of an ox was the
sign first impressed upon coins, and the same is said to have been the
case with the earliest issues of the Roman _As_. Numismatic researches
fail to bear out these traditions, which were probably invented to
explain the connection between the name of the coin and the animal. A
corresponding connection between these notions may be detected in much
more modern languages. Our common expression for the payment of a sum of
money is _fee_, which is nothing but the Anglo-Saxon _feoh_, meaning
alike money and cattle, a word cognate with the German _vieh_, which
still bears only the original meaning of cattle.
In the ancient German codes of law, fines and penalties are actually
defined in terms of live-stock. In the Zend Avesta, as Professor
Theodores... informs me, the scale of rewards to be paid to physicians
is carefully stated, and in every case the fee consists in some sort of
cattle. The fifth and sixth lectures in Sir H. S. Maine's most
interesting work on _The Early History of Institutions_, which has just
been published, are full of curious information showing the importance
of live-stock in a primitive state of society. Being counted by the
head, the kine was called capitale, whence the economical term capital,
the law term chattel, and our common name cattle.
In countries where slaves form one of the most common and valuable
possessions, it is quite natural that they should serve as the medium
of exchange like cattle. Pausanias mentions their use in this way, and
in Central Africa and some other places where slavery still flourishes,
they are the medium of exchange along with cattle and ivory tusks.
According to Earl's account of New Guinea, there is in that island a
large traffic in slaves, and a slave forms the unit of value. Even in
England slaves are believed to have been exchanged at one time in the
manner of money.
ARTICLES OF ORNAMENT AS CURRENCY
A passion for personal adornment is one of the most primitive and
powerful instincts of the human race, and as articles used for such
purposes would be durable, universally esteemed, and easily
transferable, it is natural that they should be circulated as money. The
_wampumpeag_ of the North American Indians is a case in point, as it
certainly served as jewellery. It consisted of beads made of the ends of
black and white shells, rubbed down and polished, and then strung into
belts or necklaces, which were valued according to their length, and
also according to their color and luster, a foot of black _peag_ being
worth two feet of white _peag_. It was so well established as currency
among the natives that the Court of Massachusetts ordered in 1649, that
it should be received in the payment of debts among settlers to the
amount of forty shillings. It is curious to learn, too, that just as
European misers hoard up gold and silver coins, the richer Indian chiefs
secrete piles of wampum beads, having no better means of investing their
superfluous wealth.
Exactly analogous to this North American currency, is that of the cowry
shells, which, under one name or another--_chamgos_, _zimbis_, _bouges_,
_porcelanes_, etc.--have long been used in the East Indies as small
money. In British India, Siam, | 857.843674 |
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Produced by David Starner, Marlo Dianne, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
CERTAIN NOBLE PLAYS OF JAPAN:
From The Manuscripts Of Ernest Fenollosa,
Chosen And Finished
By Ezra Pound
With An Introduction By William Butler Yeats
INTRODUCTION
I
In the series of books I edit for my sister I confine myself to those
that have I believe some special value to Ireland, now or in the future.
I have asked Mr. Pound for these beautiful plays because I think they
will help me to explain a certain possibility of the Irish dramatic
movement. I am writing these words with my imagination stirred by a visit
to the studio of Mr. Dulac, the distinguished illustrator of the Arabian
Nights. I saw there the mask and head-dress to be worn in a play of mine
by the player who will speak the part of Cuchulain, and who wearing
this noble half-Greek half-Asiatic face will appear perhaps like an image
seen in revery by some Orphic worshipper. I hope to have attained the
distance from life which can make credible strange events, elaborate
words. I have written a little play that can be played in a room for so
little money that forty or fifty readers of poetry can pay the price.
There will be no scenery, for three musicians, whose seeming sun-burned
faces will I hope suggest that they have wandered from village to village
in some country of our dreams, can describe place and weather, and at
moments action, and accompany it all by drum and gong or flute and
dulcimer. Instead of the players working themselves into a violence of
passion indecorous in our sitting-room, the music, the beauty of form and
voice all come to climax in pantomimic dance.
In fact with the help of these plays 'translated by Ernest Fenollosa and
finished by Ezra Pound' I have invented a form of drama, distinguished,
indirect and symbolic, and having no need of mob or press to pay its
way--an aristocratic form. When this play and its performance run as
smoothly as my skill can make them, I shall hope to write another of the
same sort and so complete a dramatic celebration of the life of Cuchulain
planned long ago. Then having given enough performances for I hope the
pleasure of personal friends and a few score people of good taste, I
shall record all discoveries of method and turn to something else. It is
an advantage of this noble form that it need absorb no one's life, that
its few properties can be packed up in a box, or hung upon the walls
where they will be fine ornaments.
II
And yet this simplification is not mere economy. For nearly three
centuries invention has been making the human voice and the movements of
the body seem always less expressive. I have long been puzzled why
passages, that are moving when read out or spoken during rehearsal, seem
muffled or dulled during performance. I have simplified scenery, having
'The Hour Glass' for instance played now before green curtains, now among
those admirable ivory- screens invented by Gordon Craig. With
every simplification the voice has recovered something of its importance
and yet when verse has approached in temper to let us say 'Kubla Khan,'
or 'The Ode to the West Wind,' the most typical modern verse, I have
still felt as if the sound came to me from behind a veil. The
stage-opening, the powerful light and shade, the number of feet between
myself and the players have destroyed intimacy. I have found myself
thinking of players who needed perhaps but to unroll a mat in some
Eastern garden. Nor have I felt this only when I listened to
speech, but even more when I have watched the movement of a player or
heard singing in a play. I love all the arts that can still remind me of
their origin among the common people, and my ears are only comfortable
when the singer sings as if mere speech had taken fire, when he appears
to have passed into song almost imperceptibly. I am bored and wretched,
a limitation I greatly regret, when he seems no longer a human being but
an invention of science. To explain him to myself I say that he has
become a wind instrument and sings no longer like active men, sailor or
camel driver, because he has had to compete with an orchestra, where the
loudest instrument has always survived. The human voice can only become
louder by becoming less articulate, by discovering some new musical sort
of roar or scream. As poetry can do neither, the voice must be freed
from this competition and find itself among little instruments, only
heard at their best perhaps when we are close about them. It should be
again possible for a few poets to write as all did once, not for the
printed page but to be sung. But movement also has grown less expressive,
more declamatory, less intimate. When I called the other day upon a
friend I found myself among some dozen people who were watching a group
of Spanish boys and girls, professional dancers, dancing some national
dance in the midst of a drawing-room. Doubtless their training had been
long, laborious and wearisome; but now one could not be deceived, their
movement was full of joy. They were among friends, and it all seemed
but the play of children; how powerful it seemed, how passionate, while
an even more miraculous art, separated from us by the footlights,
appeared in the comparison laborious and professional. It is well to
be close enough to an artist to feel for him a personal liking, close
enough perhaps to feel that our liking is returned.
My play is made possible by a Japanese dancer whom I have seen dance in a
studio and in a drawing-room and on a very small stage lit by an
excellent stage-light. In the studio and in the drawing-room alone where
the lighting was the light we are most accustomed to, did I see him as
the tragic image that has stirred my imagination. There where no
studied lighting, no stage-picture made an artificial world, he was able,
as he rose from the floor, where he had been sitting crossed-legged or as
he threw out an arm, to recede from us into some more powerful life.
Because that separation was achieved by human means alone, he receded,
but to inhabit as it were the deeps of the mind. One realised anew,
at every separating strangeness, that the measure of all arts' greatness
can be but in their intimacy.
III
All imaginative art keeps at a distance and this distance once chosen
must be firmly held against a pushing world. Verse, ritual, music and
dance in association with action require that gesture, costume, facial
expression, stage arrangement must help in keeping the door. Our
unimaginative arts are content to set a piece of the world as we know it
in a place by itself, to put their photographs as it were in a plush or a
plain frame, but the arts which interest me, while seeming to separate
from the world and us a group of figures, images, symbols, enable us to
pass for a few moments into a deep of the mind that had hitherto been too
subtle for our habitation. As a deep of the mind can only be approached
through what is most human, most delicate, we should distrust bodily
distance, mechanism and loud noise.
It may be well if we go to school in Asia, for the distance from life in
European art has come from little but difficulty with material. In
half-Asiatic Greece, Kallimachos could still return to a stylistic management
of the falling folds of drapery, after the naturalistic drapery of
Phidias, and in Egypt the same age that saw the village Head-man carved
in wood for burial in some tomb with so complete a naturalism saw, set up
in public places, statues full of an august formality that implies
traditional measurements, a philosophic defence. The spiritual painting
of the 14th century passed on into Tintoretto and that of Velasquez into
modern painting with no sense of loss to weigh against the gain, while
the painting of Japan, not having our European Moon to churn the wits,
has understood that no styles that ever delighted noble imaginations have
lost their importance, and chooses the style according to the subject.
In literature also we have had the illusion of change and progress, the
art of Shakespeare passing into that of Dryden, and so into the prose
drama, by what has seemed when studied in its details unbroken progress.
Had we been Greeks, and so but half-European, an honourable mob would
have martyred though in vain the first man who set up a painted scene, or
who complained that soliloquies were unnatural, instead of repeating with
a sigh, 'we cannot return to the arts of childhood however beautiful.'
Only our lyric poetry has kept its Asiatic habit and renewed itself at
its own youth, putting off perpetually what has been called its progress
in a series of violent revolutions.
Therefore it is natural that I go to Asia for a stage-convention, for
more formal faces, for a chorus that has no part in the action and
perhaps for those movements of the body copied from the marionette shows
of the 14th century. A mask will enable me to substitute for the face of
some common-place player, or for that face repainted to suit his own
vulgar fancy, the fine invention of a sculptor, and to bring the audience
close enough to the play to hear every inflection of the voice. A mask
never seems but a dirty face, and no matter how close you go is still a
work of art; nor shall we lose by staying the movement of the features,
for deep feeling is expressed by a movement of the whole body. In
poetical painting & in sculpture the face seems the nobler for lacking
curiosity, alert attention, all that we sum up under the famous word of
the realists 'vitality.' It is even possible that being is only possessed
completely by the dead, and that it is some knowledge of this that
makes us gaze with so much emotion upon the face of the Sphinx or Buddha.
Who can forget the face of Chaliapine as the Mogul King in Prince Igor,
when a mask covering its upper portion made him seem like a Phoenix at
the end of its thousand wise years, awaiting in condescension the burning
nest and what did it not gain from that immobility in dignity and in
power?
IV
Realism is created for the common people and was always their peculiar
delight, and it is the delight to-day of all those whose minds educated
alone by school-masters and newspapers are without the memory of beauty
and emotional subtlety. The occasional humorous realism that so much
heightened the emotional effect of Elizabethan Tragedy, Cleopatra's old
man with an asp let us say, carrying the tragic crisis by its contrast
above the tide-mark of Corneille's courtly theatre, | 857.844687 |
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Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JEAN FRANCOIS PAUL de GONDI,
CARDINAL DE RETZ
Written by Himself
Being Historic Court Memoirs of the Great Events
during the Minority of Louis XIV.
and the Administration of Cardinal Mazarin.
BOOK II.
MADAME:--I lay it down as a maxim, that men who enter the service of the
State should make it their chief study to set out in the world with some
notable act which may strike the imagination of the people, and cause
themselves to be discussed. Thus I preached first upon All Saints' Day,
before an audience which could not but be numerous in a populous city,
where it is a wonder to see the Archbishop in the pulpit. I began now to
think seriously upon my future conduct. I found the archbishopric sunk
both in its temporals and spirituals by the sordidness, negligence, and
incapacity of my uncle. I foresaw infinite obstacles to its
reestablishment, but perceived that the greatest and most insuperable
difficulty lay in myself. I considered that the strictest morals are
necessarily required in a bishop. I felt myself the more obliged to be
strictly circumspect as my uncle had been very disorderly and scandalous.
I knew likewise that my own corrupt inclinations would bear down all
before them, and that all the considerations drawn from honour and
conscience would prove very weak defences. At last I came to a
resolution to go on in my sins, and that designedly, which without doubt
is the more sinful in the eyes of God, but with regard to the world is
certainly the best policy, because he that acts thus always takes care
beforehand to cover part of his failings, and thereby to avoid the
jumbling together of sin and devotion, than which nothing can be more
dangerous and ridiculous in a clergyman. This was my disposition, which
was not the most pious in the world nor yet the wickedest, for I was
fully determined to discharge all the duties of my profession faithfully,
and exert my utmost to save other souls, though I took no care of my own.
The Archbishop, who was the weakest of mortals, was, nevertheless, by a
common fatality attending such men, the most vainglorious; he yielded
precedence to every petty officer of the Crown, and yet in his own house
would not give the right-hand to any person of quality that came to him
about business. My behaviour was the reverse of his in almost
everything; I gave the right-hand to all strangers in my own house, and
attended them even to their coach, for which I was commended by some for
my civility and by others for my humility. I avoided appearing in public
assemblies among people of quality till I had established a reputation.
When I thought I had done so, I took the opportunity of the sealing of a
marriage contract to dispute my rank with M. de Guise. I had carefully
studied the laws of my diocese and got others to do it for me, and my
right was indisputable in my own province. The precedence was adjudged
in my favour by a decree of the Council, and I found, by the great number
of gentlemen who then appeared for me, that to condescend to men of low
degree is the surest way to equal those of the highest.
I dined almost every day with Cardinal Mazarin, who liked me the better
because I refused to engage myself in the cabal called "The Importants,"
though many of the members were my dearest friends. M. de Beaufort, a
man of very mean parts, was so much out of temper because the Queen had
put her confidence in Cardinal Mazarin, that, though her Majesty offered
him favours with profusion, he would accept none, and affected to give
himself the airs of an angry lover. He held aloof from the Duc
d'Orleans, insulted the late Prince, and, in order to support himself
against the Queen-regent, the chief minister, and all the Princes of the
blood, formed a cabal of men who all died mad, and whom I never took for
conjurers from the first time I knew them. Such were Beaupre,
Fontrailles, Fiesque, Montresor, who had the austerity of Cato, but not
his sagacity, and M. de Bethune, who obliged M. de Beaufort to make me
great overtures, which I received very respectfully, but entered into
none. I told Montresor that I was indebted to the Queen for the
coadjutorship of Paris, and that that was enough to keep me from entering
into any engagement that might be disagreeable to her Majesty. Montresor
said I was not obliged for it to the Queen, it having been ordered before
by the late King, and given me at a crisis when she was not in a
condition to refuse it. I replied, "Permit me, monsieur, to forget
everything that may diminish my gratitude, and to remember that only
which may increase it." These words were afterwards repeated to Cardinal
Mazarin, who was so pleased with me that he repeated them to the Queen.
The families of Orleans and Conde, being united by interest, made a jest
of that surly look from which Beaufort's cabal were termed "The
Importants," and at the same time artfully made use of the grand
appearance which Beaufort (like those who carry more sail than ballast)
never failed to assume upon the most trifling occasions. His counsels
were unseasonable, his meetings to no purpose, and even his hunting
matches became mysterious. In short, Beaufort was arrested at the Louvre
by a captain of the Queen's Guards, and carried on the 2d of September,
1643, to Vincennes. The cabal of "The Importants" was put to flight and
dispersed, and it was reported over all the kingdom that they had made an
attempt against the Cardinal's life, which I do not believe, because I
never saw anything in confirmation of it, though many of the domestics of
the family of Vendome were a long time in prison upon this account.
The Marquis de Nangis, who was enraged both against the Queen and
Cardinal, for reasons which I shall tell you afterwards, was strongly
tempted to come into this cabal a few days before Beaufort was arrested,
but I dissuaded him by telling him that fashion is powerful in all the
affairs of life, but more remarkably so as to a man's being in favour or
disgrace at Court. There are certain junctures when disgrace, like fire,
purifies all the bad qualities, and sets a lustre on all the good ones,
and also there are times when it does not become an honest man to be out
of favour at Court. I applied this to the gentlemen of the aforesaid
cabal.
I must confess, to the praise of Cardinal de Richelieu, that he had
formed two vast designs worthy of a Caesar or an Alexander: that of
suppressing the Protestants had been projected before by Cardinal de
Retz, my uncle; but that of attacking the formidable house of Austria was
never thought of by any before the Cardinal. He completed the first
design, and had made great progress in the latter.
That the King's death made no alteration in affairs was owing to the
bravery of the Prince de Conde and the famous battle of Rocroi, in 1643,
which contributed both to the peace and glory of the kingdom, and covered
the cradle of the present King with laurels. Louis XIV.'s father, who
neither loved nor esteemed his Queen, provided him a Council, upon his
death-bed, for limiting the authority of the Regency, and named the
Cardinal Mazarin, M. Seguier, M. Bouthillier, and M. de Chavigni; but
being all Richelieu's creatures, they were so hated by the public that
when the King was dead they were hissed at by all the footmen at Saint
Germain, and if De Beaufort had had a grain of sense, or if De Beauvais
had not been a disgraceful bishop, or if my father had but entered into
the administration, these collateral Regents would have been undoubtedly
expelled with ignominy, and the memory of Cardinal de Richelieu been
branded by the Parliament with shouts of joy.
The Queen was adored much more for her troubles than for her merit. Her
admirers had never seen her but under persecution; and in persons of her
rank, suffering is one of the greatest virtues. People were apt to fancy
that she was patient to a degree of indolence. In a word, they expected
wonders from her; and Bautru used to say she had already worked a miracle
because the most devout had forgotten her coquetry. The Duc d'Orleans,
who made a show as if he would have disputed the Regency with the Queen,
was contented to be Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom. The Prince de
Conde was declared President of the Council, and the Parliament confirmed
the Regency to the Queen without limitation. The exiles were called
home, prisoners set at liberty, and criminals pardoned. They who had
been turned out were replaced in their respective employments, and
nothing that was asked was refused. The happiness of private families
seemed to be fully secured in the prosperity of the State. The perfect
union of the royal family settled the peace within doors; and the battle
of Rocroi was such a blow to the Spanish infantry that they could not
recover in an age. They saw at the foot of the throne, where the fierce
and terrible Richelieu used to thunder rather than govern, a mild and
gentle successor,--[Cardinal Julius Mazarin, Minister of State, who died
at Vincennes in 1661.]--who was perfectly complacent and extremely
troubled that his dignity of Cardinal did not permit him to be as humble
to all men as he desired; and who, when he went abroad, had no other
attendants than two footmen behind his coach. Had not I, then, reason
for saying that it did not become an honest man to be on bad terms with
the Court at that time of day?
You will wonder, no doubt, that nobody was then aware of the consequence
of imprisoning M. de Beaufort, when the prison doors were set open to all
others. This bold stroke--at a time when the Government was so mild that
its authority was hardly felt--had a very great effect. Though nothing
was more easy, as you have seen, yet it looked grand; and all acts of
this nature are very successful because they are attended with dignity
without any odium. That which generally draws an unaccountable odium
upon even the most necessary actions of statesmen, is that, in order to
compass them, they are commonly obliged to struggle with very great
difficulties, which, when they are surmounted, are certain to render them
objects both of envy and hatred. When a considerable occasion offers,
where there is no victory to be gained because there is no difficulty to
encounter, which is very rare, it gives a lustre to the authority of
ministers which is pure, innocent, and without a shadow, and not only
establishes it, but casts upon their administration the merit of actions
which they have no hand in, as well as those of which they have.
When the world saw that the Cardinal had apprehended the man who had
lately brought the King back to Paris with inconceivable pride, men's
imaginations were seized with an astonishing veneration. People thought
themselves much obliged to the Minister that some were not sent to the
Bastille every week; and the sweetness of his temper was sure to be
commended whenever he had not an opportunity of doing them harm. It must
be owned that he had the art of improving his good luck to the best
advantage. He made use of all the outward appearances necessary to
create a belief that he had been forced to take violent measures, and
that the counsels of the Duc d'Orleans and the Prince de Conde had
determined the Queen to reject his advice; the day following he seemed to
be more moderate, civil, and frank than before; he gave free access to
all; audiences were easily had, it was no more to dine with him than with
a private gentleman. He had none of that grand air so common to the
meaner cardinals. In short, though he was at the head of everybody, yet
he managed as if he were only their companion. That which astonishes me
most is that the princes and grandees of the kingdom, who, one might
expect, would be more quick-sighted than the common people, were the most
blinded.
The Duc d'Orleans and the Prince de Conde--the latter attached to the
Court by his covetous temper--thought themselves above being | 857.941032 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.9219340 | 404 | 23 |
Produced by David Edwards, JoAnn Greenwood, 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:
Transliterations of Greek script are surrounded by ~tildes~.
^ indicates superscript of the letter that follows.
_Underscores_ indicate italicized text.
This volume included the entire text of the Dogmatic Decree on
Catholic Faith with its English translation. The Decree was not
in the original contents list, but appeared--out of normal
pagination--after the New Publications section at the end
of the June 1870 issue.
Remaining notes are at the end of the text.
* * * * *
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
A
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
VOL. XI.
APRIL, 1870, TO SEPTEMBER, 1870.
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
9 Warren Street.
1870.
S. W. GREEN,
PRINTER,
16 and 18 Jacob St., N. Y.
CONTENTS.
Adam of Andreini, The, 602.
Brigand's God-child, The, 52.
Bridemaid's Story, A, 232.
Books, Old, 260.
Brittany; its People and its Poems, 390.
Boys, Reformatories for, 696.
Blanchard, Claude, Journal and Campaign of, 787.
Council of the Vatican, The First OEcumenical, 115, 270, 412, 546,
701, 838.
Church and State, 145.
| 857.941974 |
2023-11-16 18:31:21.9221490 | 7,436 | 6 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 36370-h.htm or 36370-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36370/36370-h/36370-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36370/36370-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/bishopboogerman00harrrich
THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN
Being the Story of a Little Truly-Girl, Who Grew Up; Her Mysterious
Companion; Her Crabbed Old Uncle; the Whish-Whish Woods; a Very Civil
Engineer, and Mr. Billy Sanders the Sage of Shady Dale
by
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
Drawings by Charlotte Harding
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1909
All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation
into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian
Copyright, 1907, by Sunny South Publishing Co.
Copyright, 1909, by Doubleday, Page & Company
Published, January, 1909
[Illustration: "They paused--then she pointed to the darkest corner"]
ILLUSTRATIONS
"They paused--then she pointed to the darkest corner"
"It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken and
biscuits"
"The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually
embarrassed"
"Old Jonas would listen by her bedside to convince himself that she was
really breathing"
"They began to creep forward, making as little noise as possible"
"'You are pouting,' she said, 'or you'd never be sitting in this room
where nobody ever comes'"
"'That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're spang new'"
"Mr. Sanders went from the courthouse with a sweeping stride"
THE BISHOP AND THE BOOGERMAN
PART I
The old Pig went to wander,
The other went far to roam
And, at last, when night was falling,
And a little Pig was calling
Never a one came home.
--_Rhunewalt's Ballads of Life_.
Adelaide and I have come to the conclusion that if you can't believe
anything at all, not even the things that are as plain as the nose on
your face--if you can't enjoy what is put here to be enjoyed--if you are
going to turn up your nose at everything we tell you, and deny things
that we know to be truly-ann-true, just because we haven't given you the
cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign--then it's your own fault if we
don't reply when you try to give the wipple-wappling call. And more than
that, if you know so much that you don't know anything, or less than
anything, you will have to go somewhere else to be amused and
entertained; you will have to find other play-fellows. You might
persuade us to play with you if you had something nicer than peppermint
candy, and sweeter than taffy, and then Adelaide would show you things
that you never so much as dreamed of before, and tell you things you
never heard of.
Adelaide! Doesn't the very sound of the name make you feel a little bit
better than you were feeling awhile ago? Doesn't it remind you of the
softest blue eyes in the world, and of long curly hair, spun from summer
sunbeams that were left over from last season's growing? If all these
things don't flash in your mind, like magic pictures on a white
background, then you had better turn your head away, and not bother
about the things I am saying. And another thing: Don't imagine that I am
writing of the Right-Now time, for, one day when Adelaide and I were
playing in the garden, we found Eighteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-Eight hiding
under a honeysuckle vine, where it had gone to die. Adelaide picked the
poor thing up and put it in the warm place in her apron that she keeps
for all the weaklings; and now when we want to remember a great many
things, both good and bad, we go back to the poor thing we found under
the honeysuckle vine.
It was a very good thing that old Jonas Whipple, of Shady Dale, had a
sister who married and went to Atlanta, because Adelaide was in Atlanta,
and nowhere else; it was the only place where she could have been found.
Old Jonas's sister had been in Atlanta not longer than a year, if that
long, when, one day, she found Adelaide, and appeared to be very fond of
her. At that time, Adelaide had hardly been aroused from her dreams. She
may have opened her eyes sometimes, but she seemed sleepy; and when she
snored, as the majority of people will, when they are not put to bed
right, everybody said she was crying. It was so ridiculous that she
sometimes smiled in her sleep. But the most mysterious thing about it,
was that old Jonas's sister knew she was named Adelaide almost as soon
as she found her. Now, how did old Jonas's sister know that? Adelaide
and I have often tried to figure it out when we were playing in the
garden, but no matter how many figures we made in the sand, there was
always something or other in the top row that stood for No-Time, and we
didn't know how to add that up.
One day, Adelaide's father, who had been ailing a long time, became so
ill that a great many people came to the house in carriages and took him
away so that he might get well again. Adelaide hardly had time to forget
that her father had gone away, before her mother went to bed one night,
and, after staying there a long time, was carried away by the people who
had been so kind to her, only this time there were a great many more
women in the house, and some of them went about acting as though they
had been taking snuff. And there was a very nice old gentleman, with a
smooth face, and a big ring on one of his fat fingers. As well as
Adelaide could remember, this was the Peskerwhalian Bishop, and he was
just as kind as he could be. He had a pink complexion just like a woman.
He took Adelaide in his arms, and told her all about Heaven, and
everything like that, and then he felt about in his pockets and found
some candy drops.
Adelaide knew very well that the people who came to the house were very
much concerned about her. They talked in whispers when she was in
hearing, but she knew by their sad faces that they were troubled about
something, and she wished that they would get over it, and laugh and
talk as they used to do. When she went on the street, the little girls
she met turned and looked at her curiously, and though they were very
friendly indeed, they had the inquisitive look that older people have
such a dread of. At first she thought her nose must be smutty, or her
bonnet on crooked, or her frock torn; but when it turned out that
everything about her was according to the prevailing fashions of
cleanliness and correctness, she was quite content to be the observed of
all observers in her neighbourhood.
And then, one day (can it ever be forgotten by anybody who was living at
that time?), a lovely man, looking so much like the Bishop that Adelaide
named him so, came after her and said that she was to go to Shady Dale,
and live with her Uncle Jonas. This was Mr. Sanders--Billy Sanders, of
Shady Dale. "I ain't sorry for you one bit," Mr. Sanders declared--I was
there when he said it--"bekaze the first time I saw you, you made a face
at me."
"How did I look, and what else did I say?" Adelaide asked.
"You looked this way," replied Mr. Sanders, puckering up his
countenance, "an' you said 'W-a-a-a!'"
"Then what did you say?" inquired Adelaide.
"Why, I shuck my fist at you an' said I never saw anybody look so much
like your Uncle Jonas." Adelaide took all this very seriously, as she
did most things.
It turned out that she was to go to her Uncle Jonas, and that Mr.
Sanders had come after her; and then, my goodness gracious! she was so
full of anticipation and joy that she was frightened for herself. The
kind ladies who had had charge of her told her not to be frightened, and
to be very good, but she just rolled her big blue eyes, and had long,
long thoughts about things of which she never breathed a word. She
started at last, and went with Mr. Sanders on the choo-choo train, and
such a time as the two had buying tickets to Malvern, and laughing at
the people they saw, and getting their baggage checked, and getting on
the train, and watching the station slide back away from them so they
could get a good start--such a time has hardly been repeated for anybody
from that day to this.
A man caught a cinder in his eye, and ran with such speed to the
water-cooler that he turned the whole thing over; and it came down with
such a crash that everybody was frightened except Mr. Sanders and
Adelaide. Women screamed, babies squalled, and all the time the cinder
man was saying things under his breath, and some of them sounded to
Adelaide like the words that her good friend, the Peskerwhalian Bishop,
used in his sermon, only they were not so fierce and emphatic. The child
glanced around, and remarked with a satisfied smile: "It didn't scare
Cally-Lou." "I reckon not," Mr. Sanders remarked, although he had no
idea what Adelaide meant.
Well, they reached Malvern in due time, and there, right at the station,
was the stage-coach, which was driven by John Bell. Mr. Sanders
introduced Adelaide to the driver, who took off his hat and bowed very
gravely, and after that it was only a few minutes before they were on
their way to Shady Dale. If the choo-choo train had been fine, the
stage-coach was finer; it was like getting in a swing and staying there
a long time. There were a few passengers in the coach, and they all
appeared to be very sleepy. When they nodded, as the most of them did,
they fell about somewhat promiscuously--though Adelaide didn't think of
that word--and made it somewhat uncomfortable for the child, who was
wide awake and alert. But when they came to the place where the horses
were watered, John Bell leaned from his seat, and saw at a glance what
Adelaide's trouble was. In a jiffy he had her up on the swaying seat
beside him. It would have been a frightful position for most children,
but Adelaide thought it was the grandest thing in the world. She was
seated almost directly above the two wheel horses, and not very far from
the leaders. She could see their muscles rise and fall as they whirled
the coach along; she could see the flecks of foam made by the harness,
and--well, it was just glorious! She had what Mr. Sanders called the
Christmas feeling--the feeling that is ever ready to become awe or
delight--and the swing of the stage-coach kept her alternating between
the two.
It was wonderful, too, how one man could manage four great big horses,
how he could guide them by merely touching one of the reins with the end
of a finger; and then, when John Bell gave his long whip wide play,
sending it through the air with a swish, and bringing it down as gently
as a breath of wind on the back of the horse he desired to warn,
Adelaide could have screamed with delight. There was a half-way house
where the horses were changed, and when the coach stopped for that
purpose, most of the passengers went into a near-by inn for their
dinner. One or two of them, however, had brought a lunch along. One of
them offered Adelaide a share, saying: "Won't you have some of my
dinner, Sissy?" Her mother had called her many fond names, but nothing
like that. John Bell glanced at her, and the expression on the little
face opened his eyes. "No, I thank you," he replied, "she'll go snucks
wi' me." She snuggled up to John Bell--"Did you hear him?" she asked;
"he called me Sissy." "I heard him," said John Bell; "I heard every
word, and just how he said it."
The lunch-basket that John Bell found under the seat was a wonder to
see. It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken
and biscuits with yellow butter on the inside of each. "Now," said John
Bell, "there ain't enough vittles here for one, much less six." "Six!"
cried Adelaide. "Yes'm; you and yourself, Mr. Sanders and his self, and
me and myself." "Ef you're countin' me in," remarked Mr. Sanders, "jest
add three more figgers to the multiplication table." "And then," said
Adelaide very solemnly, "there's Cally-Lou and herself. Cally-Lou's
herself is just big enough to be counted," she went on, "but Cally-Lou
is bigger than I am. She's sitting right here by me; you could see her
if you could turn your head quick enough. She dodges when she thinks
anybody is going to look at her, because she is neither black nor white;
she's a brown girl with straight black hair that wavies when you brush
it."
[Illustration: "It seemed to Adelaide that it held a whole bushel of
fried chicken and biscuits"]
"Why, of course," said John Bell; "I'd know her anywhere. I was afraid,
once or twice, that I'd put out her eye with my whip-lash."
"Oh, did you really see Cally-Lou?" cried Adelaide, with an ecstatic
smile.
"Didn't you hear what he said about the vittles?" remarked Mr. Sanders.
"Do you think he'd 'a' said that ef he'd 'a' seed only us three? I'll
say this much for John Bell before I eat all his chicken an'
biscuits--he's nuther stingy ner greedy. Now, then," he went on, "jest
shet you eyes, an' grab, bekaze the one that grabs the quickest will git
that big hind leg there. My goodness! I can shet my eyes an' see it!"
Whereupon Mr. Sanders and John Bell closed their eyes, and reached into
the basket, and one drew a back and a biscuit, and the other grabbed a
neck and a biscuit. "We dassent shet our eyes any more," remarked Mr.
Sanders, "bekaze if we do, Cally-Lou will git all the chicken!"
Talk about picnics or barbecues, or parties where you have to wear your
best clothes, or receptions where you have tea-cakes and ice-cream! Why,
this banquet on top of the stage-coach, where no strange person could
look over your shoulder, and no one tell you not to eat with your
fingers, and not to tuck your napkin under your chin, like--like I don't
know what--why, it was just simply a true fairy story, not one of the
make-believe kind--the kind that grows out of the weariness of
invention.
The feast was over much too soon, though all had had much more than was
good for them. John Bell covered the treasure basket with a towel, and
stowed it away in the big hollow place under the seat; then he beckoned
to a <DW64> who was helping with the horses. "Run down to the spring and
fetch us some water, and be certain to get it out of the north side of
the spring, where it is cold and sweet." The <DW64> did this in a jiffy,
and such water Adelaide had never before tasted. There was a whole
bucketful, too. When they had all drunk their fill, Adelaide looked at
Mr. Sanders and John Bell with a frown. "What can we do for you now,
ma'am?" Mr. Sanders asked.
"Why, I want you to turn your heads away. Cally-Lou says she is nearly
famished for water, and she won't drink when any one is looking."
All this being done, everybody was ready to go. Mr. Sanders got in the
stage, declaring that he must have his own warm place, John Bell took
the reins that were handed to him by the hostlers, gave a harmless swish
with his long whip, and away they went to Shady Dale. It was all so
strange, and so pleasant that Adelaide could have wished the journey to
continue indefinitely. But after a while, the houses they passed became
larger and more numerous, and then the stage-coach made its appearance
on the public square that was one of the features of Shady Dale. It
rolled and swung toward the old tavern, and just when Adelaide thought
that John Bell was going to drive right into the house for her benefit,
he gave a little twist to his wrist, and the leaders swung around. Even
then it seemed that they would assuredly run headlong into the big
mulberry tree, and trample to death the man who was leaning against it
in a chair; but just as the leader was about to plant his forefeet in
the man's bosom, John Bell sent another signal down the tightly held
reins, and the leaders swung around until the child could look right
into their tired faces. And, oh, the thrill of it! Adelaide felt that
she could just hug John Bell, but the man who had made such a narrow
escape from the horses' feet had an entirely different view of the
matter.
"You shorely must be tryin' to show off," he growled to John Bell; "an'
what for, I'd like to know? The next time you kill me, I'll have the law
on you!"
"Quite so," remarked John Bell, with a grin that showed his white teeth.
"But I want you to know that I've got company; let folks that ain't got
company look out for themselves! Have you seen Mr. Jonas Whipple around
here?"
"You don't want to run over old Jonas, do you?" replied the man. "All
I've got to say is, jest try it! Old Jonas is a lot tougher than what I
am."
"I'd run over him in a minnit if it would give my company any pleasure,"
said John Bell. "I've got a package for him that come all the way from
Atlanta, an' I reckon the best thing to do is to take it right straight
to his house. It's wropped in cloth, an' he's got to give me a receipt
for it!"
"Oh, I know!" cried Adelaide, pouting a little; "you are talking about
me!"
"Drive on!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, who was sitting on the inside of the
stage-coach. "I'll have my ride out ef I have to set in here ontell
to-morrer."
"Quite so!" exclaimed John Bell, and with that, he signalled the
leaders, all the other passengers having got out by this time, and in
less than no time the coach was whirling in the direction of old Jonas
Whipple's house.
I'd like to show you how the neighbours came to their doors and stared;
I can't describe it on paper, but if you were sitting where you could
see my motions and gestures you'd laugh until you cried. The way the
horses swept down that long red hill, leading from the tavern to old
Jonas's, was assuredly a sight to see; and not only the neighbours saw
it. Old Jonas saw it, and Lucindy saw it, too. Lucindy tried hard to be
two persons that day; she'd look at old Jonas and frown, and then she'd
look at the stage-coach and smile all over her face. She was mad on one
side and glad on the other--mad because old Jonas wasn't as excited as
she was, and glad because the child was coming. But old Jonas had a very
good reason for his lack of excitement; he had such a cold that he could
hardly talk for coughing, and such a bad cough that he could hardly
cough for wheezing. And before he would come to the door, he wrapped his
neck in a piece of red flannel. He tried to smile when he saw Adelaide
waving her flower-like hand, and the smile came near strangling him. But
Lucindy, the cook, was more than equal to the emergency; she whipped off
her big apron and waved it up and down at arm's length, which was quite
as hearty a welcome as any one would wish to have. I am sure that no one
else ever received such a welcome at old Jonas's door. Up swept the
stage, around it swung, and then, "All out for Whipple's Cross-roads!"
Mr. Sanders had his head out of the window, and saw Adelaide lift her
lovely face and kiss John Bell. It must have been a great strain on John
Bell to stoop so low, for when he straightened himself he was very red
in the face.
"That," said Mr. Sanders, who was a close observer, "is the first time
anybody has kissed John Bell since he was a baby. That's what makes him
sweat so!"
"Much you know about such things," exclaimed John Bell, mopping his face
with a red bandana. Nobody knows to this day how Lucindy managed to take
the trunk from the boot of the stage, and place it in the veranda in
time to run back and seize Adelaide and pull her through the window of
the coach before any one could open the door. But such was the feat she
performed in her excitement. Mr. Sanders appeared to be so surprised
that he could do nothing but pucker up his face, pretending he was
crying, and yell out: "Lucindy's took Miss Adelaide, an' now who's gwine
to take me out'n this stage. Ef you don't come an' git me, Jonas, I'll
be took off by John Bell, an' you won't never see me no more!" Old Jonas
looked at Mr. Sanders as if he were in a dream, and had not heard
aright. Observing this, Mr. Sanders kept up the pretence, and he cried
so loudly, and to such purpose, that the neighbours on each side of the
street came running to their front doors to see what the trouble was.
And then old Jonas became furiously angry. "Take him away, John Bell!"
he commanded; "I hold you responsible! Confound you! why don't you drive
on." With that he went into the house.
Mr. Sanders cared not a whit for old Jonas's irritation, and so he
alighted from the coach and followed the rest into the house. He was
just in time to hear Adelaide begin her course of instruction to old
Jonas.
"Nunky-Punky," said she, very solemn, "why didn't you wait for
Mr.----oh, I know who he is, he's the Peskerwhalian Bishop!--why didn't
you wait for the Bishop?"
"Much he looks like a bishop!" replied old Jonas, when he could control
his cough. "Did you ever hear a bishop boo-hooing and carrying on in
that way?"
The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually
embarrassed. He rubbed his hand over a sharp chin that needed a razor
very badly, and really forgot that he was angry with Mr. Sanders. Then
something quite shocking occurred to Adelaide's nimble mind.
[Illustration: "The child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was
actually embarrassed"]
"Oh, Nunky-Punky!" she cried, "you didn't kiss me when I comed, and
everybody said you would, cause I asked 'em particular."
"Honey," said Mr. Sanders, "le' me stand in Nunky-Punky's shoes while
the kissin' is gwine on, bekaze he ain't shaved in two days, and his
whiskers'll scratch your face."
But Adelaide ran to old Jonas, and held out her little arms to be lifted
up. Jonas hesitated; he looked at Lucindy, then at Mr. Sanders, and
finally allowed his glance to fall on the sweetly solemn face of the
child. He tried to say something, to make some excuse, but he could
think of none. He was not only dreadfully embarrassed, he was actually
ashamed. Not in forty years had any one ever asked to kiss him and,
whether you count it backward or forward, forty years is a long time.
Mr. Sanders tried to pilot him through the deep water--so to speak--in
which he found himself. "Sit down, Jonas, and take Miss Adelaide on your
knee, an' let the thing be done right. Kinder shet your eyes an' pucker
your mouth, and she'll do the rest."
"Sanders," said old Jonas, bristling up again, "if you really want to
hurt my feelings just say so. You have no real delicacy about you. How
do you know some one hasn't told the little girl that it is her duty to
pretend to want to kiss her uncle, whether she wants to or not? Tell me
that!" Old Jonas's eyes glistened under his overhanging brows, and if
"looks" could kill a man, Mr. Sanders would have fallen down dead.
Adelaide dropped her arms, and stood close to old Jonas's knee, looking
quite forlorn. "Well, come on, Cally-Lou, Uncle Jonas has a very bad
cold and a headache, and we mustn't bother him."
"No, no, no!" cried old Jonas, screwing up his face until it looked like
the seed-ball of a sweet-gum tree. "There are some things a man has to
do whether he's used to them or not. Come here and kiss me if you really
want to." Adelaide turned, tossing her head as if she were growner than
a grown woman, and went toward old Jonas with the queerest little smile
ever seen. Her feelings had been dreadfully hurt, but not a quiver of
mouth or eyelid disclosed the fact, and only Cally-Lou knew it. Old
Jonas sat down in his favourite chair, and took the child on his knee.
If he had to be a martyr, he would go through the performance as
gracefully as he could. Adelaide made great preparations. She felt of
his chin with one hand, while she threw the other around his neck. She
seemed to know instinctively that old Jonas was rather timid when it
came to kissing people, and she went to his rescue. "Now, I'm not going
to kiss him until all you people turn your heads away. No, that won't
do! You've got to turn clean around, and look the other way!" She waited
until she had been obeyed, and then, as nimbly as a humming-bird kisses
a flower, she kissed the grim old man, and slid from his knee.
"Ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "All
eyes open! I'm gwine to peep!"
Adelaide laughed joyously, and when Mr. Sanders turned around she was
standing in the middle of the floor.
"You're It!" he said to Jonas. Then the smile disappeared from his face.
"Lucindy," he said, "do you reckon Mr. Whipple would buss me ef I was to
ast him?" The question was a little too much for Lucindy, and she
disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, bent double with laughter.
"Sanders, why do you make a joke out of everything? Did you ever reflect
that there is somewhere a limit to some things?"
"I certainly do, Jonas, an' you come mighty nigh reachin' it wi' me
awhile ago. Ef you hadn't 'a' let that child kiss you when she wanted
to, I'd 'a' went out'n yon' door an' I'd 'a' never darkened it
ag'in--not in this world."
"Well, your common sense should tell you, Sanders, that people ain't
made alike. What you are keen to do I have no appetite for, and what I'm
fond of, you have no relish for. That's plain enough, I reckon."
"Ef that's a conundrum, Jonas, I thank my Maker that the answer is
plain, yes!"
Old Jonas looked hard at Mr. Sanders as though he wanted to say
something. He stuck out his chin, and looked toward the ceiling; then he
looked at the floor, and began to rub his hands briskly together. Then
his thought came out: "Sanders," he said, almost hospitably, "suppose
you stay to supper to-night; or, if you can't stay until supper's ready,
suppose you come back to supper? How will that suit you? I----"
"Well, I'll tell you the truth, Jonas: ef you think you need me for to
pertect you from that child, you're mighty much mistaken. I don't
believe that Miss Adelaide would harm a ha'r on your head, few as you've
got."
"Nonsense, Sanders! you twist every mortal thing around in your mind,
and you are never happy until you set your best friends up as a target
for your folly. Answer my question: will you take supper with--with us?"
Mr. Sanders regarded old Jonas with real interest. His mild but fearless
blue eyes studied the other's face as if they would read there the
solution to some mystery. "Yes, Jonas; I'll not stay to supper, but I'll
come back in time for supper. But don't publish it; ef the public know'd
anything about it, they might think I was tryin' for to wheedle you out
of a loan, an' then what'd happen? Why, all my creditors would come
swarmin' aroun' me like gnats aroun' a sleepin' dog. I could jest as
well stay right here tell supper time, but I'm oblidze for to git out
an' walk about a little, an' git the amazement out'n my system. Off an'
on, Jonas, I've been a-knowin' you mighty nigh thirty year, an' this is
the fust time you've ast me to take a meal in your house. I feel as
funny as a flushed pa'tridge!"
Jonas stalked out of the room pretending to be very angry, but he began
to chuckle as soon as his back was turned. "Sanders is out of his
sphere," he said to himself. "More than half the time he should have a
big tent over his head and be rigged up like a clown." Mr. Sanders
watched the door through which old Jonas had gone, as if he expected him
to come back. Then he called out to him: "Jonas! be shore to have
somethin' for supper that me an' that child can eat!"
Old Jonas heard the voice of Mr. Sanders, but he paid no attention to
its purport. He went on into the kitchen where Adelaide and Lucindy were
having a conversation. He tried to smile at the child, but he realised
that his face was not made for smiles. It may have been different in the
days of his boyhood, and probably was, but since he had devoted himself
to the heartless problems that beset a man who is money-mad, the facial
muscles that smiling brings into play had become so set in other
directions, and had been so frequently used for other purposes, that
they made but a poor success of a smile. Realising this, he turned to
Lucindy, with a business-like air. "Lucindy, Mr. Sanders is coming to
supper; I reckon he knows how you can cook, for he jumped at the
invitation. And then there's the little girl; we must have something
nice and sweet for her," he went on.
"No, Mr. Jonas!" Lucindy exclaimed; "nothin' sweet fer dis chile; des a
little bread an' milk, er maybe a little hot-water tea."
"Well, you know about that," remarked Jonas, with a sigh; "we shall have
to get a nurse for the child, I reckon."
Lucindy drew a deep breath. "A nuss fer dat chile! Whar she gwineter
stay at? Not in dis kitchen! not in dis house! not on dis lot! No, suh!
Ef she do, she'll hafter be here by herse'f. I'll drive her off, an' den
you'll go out dar on de porch an' call her back; an' wid dat, I'll say
good bye an' far'-you-well! Yes, la! I kin stan' dis chile, here, an' I
kin 'ten' ter what little ten'in' ter she'll need--but a new <DW65> on
de place! an' a triflin' gal at dat! No suh, no suh! you'll hafter
scuzen me dis time, an' de nex' time, too."
Old | 857.942189 |
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Produced by D.R. Thompson
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II. OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
BOOK XX.--FRIEDRICH IS NOT TO BE OVERWHELMED: THE SEVEN-YEARS WAR
GRADUALLY ENDS--25th April, 1760-15th February, 1763.
Chapter I.--FIFTH CAMPAIGN OPENS.
There were yet, to the world's surprise and regret, Three Campaigns
of this War; but the Campaign 1760, which we are now upon, was what
produced or rendered possible the other two;--was the crisis of them,
and is now the only one that can require much narrative from us here.
Ill-luck, which, Friedrich complains, had followed him like his shadow,
in a strange and fateful manner, from the day of Kunersdorf and earlier,
does not yet cease its sad company; but, on the contrary, for long
months to come, is more constant than ever, baffling every effort of
his own, and from the distance sending him news of mere disaster and
discomfiture. It is in this Campaign, though not till far on in it,
that the long lane does prove to have a turning, and the Fortune of War
recovers its old impartial form. After which, things visibly languish:
and the hope of ruining such a Friedrich becomes problematic, the effort
to do it slackens also; the very will abating, on the Austrian part,
year by year, as of course the strength of their resources is still
more steadily doing. To the last, Friedrich, the weaker in material
resources, needs all his talent,--all his luck too. But, as the
strength, on both sides, is fast abating,--hard to say on which side
faster (Friedrich's talent being always a FIXED quantity, while all
else is fluctuating and vanishing),--what remains of the once terrible
Affair, through Campaigns Sixth and Seventh, is like a race between
spent horses, little to be said of it in comparison. Campaign 1760
is the last of any outward eminence or greatness of event. Let us
diligently follow that, and be compendious with the remainder.
Friedrich was always famed for his Marches; but, this Year, they
exceeded all calculation and example; and are still the admiration of
military men. Can there by no method be some distant notion afforded
of them to the general reader? They were the one resource Friedrich had
left, against such overwhelming superiority in numbers; and they came
out like surprises in a theatre,--unpleasantly surprising to Daun.
Done with such dexterity, rapidity and inexhaustible contrivance and
ingenuity, as overset the schemes of his enemies again and again, and
made his one army equivalent in effect to their three.
Evening of April 25th, Friedrich rose from his Freyberg cantonments;
moved back, that is, northward, a good march; then encamped himself
between Elbe and the Hill-Country; with freer prospect and more
elbow-room for work coming. His left is on Meissen and the Elbe; his
right at a Village called the Katzenhauser, an uncommonly strong camp,
of which one often hears afterwards; his centre camp is at Schlettau,
which also is strong, though not to such a degree. This line extends
from Meissen southward about 10 miles, commanding the Reich-ward Passes
of the Metal Mountains, and is defensive of Leipzig, Torgau and the
Towns thereabouts. [Tempelhof, iv. 16 et seq.] Katzenhauser is but a
mile or two from Krogis--that unfortunate Village where Finck got his
Maxen Order: "ER WEISS,--You know I can't stand having difficulties
raised; manage to do it!"
Friedrich's task, this Year, is to defend Saxony; Prince Henri having
undertaken the Russians,--Prince Henri and Fouquet, the Russians and
Silesia. Clearly on very uphill terms, both of them: so that Friedrich
finds he will have a great many things to assist in, besides defending
Saxony. He lies here expectant till the middle of June, above seven
weeks; Daun also, for the last two weeks, having taken the field in a
sort. In a sort;--but comes no nearer; merely posting himself astride of
the Elbe, half in Dresden, half on the opposite or northern bank of the
River, with Lacy thrown out ahead in good force on that vacant side; and
so waiting the course of other people's enterprises.
Well to eastward and rearward of Daun, where we have seen Loudon about
to be very busy, Prince Henri and Fouquet have spun themselves out into
a long chain of posts, in length 300 miles or more, "from Landshut,
along the Bober, along the Queiss and Oder, through the Neumark,
abutting on Stettin and Colberg, to the Baltic Sea." [Tempelhof, iv.
21-24.] On that side, in aid of Loudon or otherwise, Daun can attempt
nothing; still less on the Katzenhauser-Schlettau side can he dream of
an attempt: only towards Brandenburg and Berlin--the Country on that
side, 50 or 60 miles of it, to eastward of Meissen, being vacant of
troops--is Daun's road open, were he enterprising, as Friedrich hopes
he is not. For some two weeks, Friedrich--not ready otherwise, it being
difficult to cross the River, if Lacy with his 30,000 should think of
interference--had to leave the cunctatory Feldmarschall this chance or
unlikely possibility. At the end of the second week ("June 14th," as we
shall mark by and by), the chance was withdrawn.
Daun and his Lacy are but one, and that by no means the most harassing,
of the many cares and anxieties which Friedrich has upon him in those
Seven Weeks, while waiting at Schlettau, reading the omens. Never
hitherto was the augury of any Campaign more indecipherable to him, or
so continually fluctuating with wild hopes, which proved visionary, and
with huge practical fears, of what he knew to be the real likelihood.
"Peace coming?" It is strange how long Friedrich clings to that fond
hope: "My Edelsheim is in the Bastille, or packed home in disgrace:
but will not the English and Choiseul make Peace? It is Choiseul's one
rational course; bankrupt as he is, and reduced to spoons and kettles.
In which case, what a beautiful effect might Duke Ferdinand produce,
if he marched to Eger, say to Eger, with his 50,000 Germans (Britannic
Majesty and Pitt so gracious), and twitched Daun by the skirt, whirling
Daun home to Bohemia in a hurry!" Then the Turks; the Danes,--"Might not
the Danes send us a trifle of Fleet to Colberg (since the English
never will), and keep our Russians at bay?"--"At lowest these hopes are
consolatory," says he once, suspecting them all (as, no doubt, he often
enough does), "and give us courage to look calmly for the opening of
this Campaign, the very idea of which has made me shudder!" ["To Prince
Henri:" in _Schoning,_ ii. 246 (3d April, 1760): ib. 263 (of the DANISH
outlook); &c. &c.]
Meanwhile, by the end of May, the Russians are come across the
Weichsel again, lie in four camps on the hither side; start about June
1st;--Henri waiting for them, in Sagan Country his head-quarter; and on
both hands of that, Fouquet and he spread out, since the middle of May,
in their long thin Chain of Posts, from Landshut to Colberg again, like
a thin wall of 300 miles. To Friedrich the Russian movements are, and
have been, full of enigma: "Going upon Colberg? Going upon Glogau; upon
Breslau?" That is a heavy-footed certainty, audibly tramping forward on
us, amid these fond visions of the air! Certain too, and visible to a
duller eye than Friedrich's; Loudon in Silesia is meditating mischief.
"The inevitable Russians, the inevitable Loudon; and nothing but
Fouquet and Henri on guard there, with their long thin chain of posts,
infinitely too thin to do any execution!" thinks the King. To whom their
modes of operating are but little satisfactory, as seen at Schlettau
from the distance. "Condense yourself," urges he always on Henri; "go
forward on the Russians; attack sharply this Corps, that Corps, while
they are still separate and on march!" Henri did condense himself, "took
post between Sagan and Sprottau; post at Frankfurt,"--poor Frankfurt, is
it to have a Kunersdorf or Zorndorf every year, then? No; the cautious
Henri never could see his way into these adventures; and did not attack
any Corps of the Russians. Took post at Landsberg ultimately,--the
Russians, as usual, having Posen as place-of-arms,--and vigilantly
watched the Russians, without coming to strokes at all. A spectacle
growing gradually intolerable to the King, though he tries to veil his
feelings.
Neither was Fouquet's plan of procedure well seen by Friedrich in the
distance. Ever since that of Regiment Manteuffel, which was a bit of
disappointment, Loudon has been quietly industrious on a bigger scale.
Privately he cherishes the hope, being a swift vehement enterprising
kind of man, to oust Fouquet; and perhaps to have Glatz Fortress taken,
before his Russians come! In the very end of May, Loudon, privately
aiming for Glatz, breaks in upon Silesia again,--a long way to eastward
of Fouquet, and as if regardless of Glatz. Upon which, Fouquet, in dread
for Schweidnitz and perhaps Breslau itself, hastened down into the Plain
Country, to manoeuvre upon Loudon; but found no Loudon moving that way;
and, in a day or two, learned that Landshut, so weakly guarded, had been
picked up by a big corps of Austrians; and in another day or two, that
Loud | 857.989544 |
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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. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
Princeton Stories
By
Jesse Lynch Williams
_FOURTH EDITION_
Charles Scribner's Sons
New York 1895
_Copyright, 1895, by
Charles Scribner's Sons_
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
To '92
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WINNING OF THE CANE, 1
THE MADNESS OF POLER STACY, 37
THE HAZING OF VALLIANT, 67
HERO WORSHIP, 89
THE RESPONSIBILITY OF LAWRENCE, 105
FIXING THAT FRESHMAN, 139
THE SCRUB QUARTER-BACK, 177
WHEN GIRLS COME TO PRINCETON, 193
THE LITTLE TUTOR, 209
COLLEGE MEN, 241
THE MAN THAT LED THE CLASS, 277
_Acknowledgements are due Messrs. Harper & Brothers for permission
to republish "The Scrub Quarter-Back" and "When Girls Come to
Princeton."_
THE WINNING OF THE CANE
The modern Cane Spree is held in broad daylight on University Field.
It is a vastly different affair from the Spree we used to watch with
chattering teeth at midnight, kneeling on the wet grass in front of
Witherspoon, with a full moon watching over West College and Mat.
Goldie and two assistants waiting by the lamp-post to join in the
fierce rush which followed each bout.
Nowadays it is one of the regular events of the Annual Fall Handicap
Games, and is advertised in large special feature letters on the
posters hanging in the shop windows and on the bulletin elm. It is a
perfectly proper and legitimate proceeding, and is watched like any
other field event from the bleachers and Grand Stand, with girls there
to catch their breath and say "Oh!" The class that wins is glad. They
cheer awhile and then watch the final heat of the 2.20.
In our day you could seldom see much of anything, and there was
nothing proper about it. But it was one of the things a fellow lived
for, like Thanksgiving games and Spring Term. To win a cane for one's
class was an honor of a lifetime, like playing on the 'Varsity, or
winning the Lynde debate. Men are still pointed out when back at
Commencement as the light or middle weight spreers of their class, and
a member of the faculty is famous for having "described a parabola
with his opponent." This trick and a book called "Basal Concepts in
Philosophy" bear his name, though it is maintained by some that he is
more proud of the book.
This is to be a story of "How we used to do when we were in college."
It would not do to revive the ancient cane spree. Things have changed
since then. We are a university now. We mustn't behave like a college
any longer. Besides, it was bad for the football men and training
hours. But all the same, those old times were fun while they lasted.
Weren't they?
* * * * *
High up over Clio Hall hung a moon, which a night or two before had
been full. Over there, on the balconies of Witherspoon, blue and red
and green lights were flaring. On the grass-plot in front was a huge
black circle. This was made up of the College of New Jersey.
Their hats were off, and the red and the green and the blue mingled
with the moonlight and glared upon the bare heads and the white of
the faces with an effect as ghastly as it sounds.
The elms over toward Reunion and West cast long ugly-looking shadows.
Beyond these everything seemed far away and dark and silent. Yet only
a few hours before this same spot had served the innocent purpose of
batting up flies and kicking footballs for points, with fellows
shouting in loud, careless voices, "Aw! Come off! That was over the
line!"
The circle was not yet perfectly formed. The crowd shivered and
fidgeted, and borrowed lights of one another. Those behind called
"Down in front!" And everyone wished it would begin. Some fellows kept
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Transcribed from the 1894 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
ROBERT F. MURRAY
(AUTHOR OF THE SCARLET GOWN)
HIS POEMS: WITH MEMOIR
BY
ANDREW LANG
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16TH STREET
1894
Edinburgh: T. AND A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty
THE VOLUME
IS DEDICATED TO
J. M. D. MEIKLEJOHN, ESQ.
MOST INDULGENT OF MASTERS
AND KINDEST OF
FRIENDS
R. F. MURRAY--1863-1893
Much is written about success and failure in the career of literature,
about the reasons which enable one man to reach the front, and another to
earn his livelihood, while a third, in appearance as likely as either of
them, fails and, perhaps, faints by the way. Mr. R. F. Murray, the
author of _The Scarlet Gown_, was among those who do not attain success,
in spite of qualities which seem destined to ensure it, and who fall out
of the ranks. To him, indeed, success and the rewards of this world,
money, and praise, did by no means seem things to be snatched at. To him
success meant earning by his pen the very modest sum which sufficed for
his wants, and the leisure necessary for serious essays in poetry. Fate
denied him even this, in spite of his charming natural endowment of
humour, of tenderness, of delight in good letters, and in nature. He
died young; he was one of those whose talent matures slowly, and he died
before he came into the full possession of his intellectual kingdom. He
had the ambition to excel, [Greek text], as the Homeric motto of his
University runs, and he was on the way to excellence when his health
broke down. He lingered for two years and passed away.
It is a familiar story, the story of lettered youth; of an ambition, or
rather of an ideal; of poverty; of struggles in the 'dusty and stony
ways'; of intellectual task-work; of a true love consoling the last
months of weakness and pain. The tale is not repeated here because it is
novel, nor even because in its hero we have to regret an 'inheritor of
unfulfilled renown.' It is not the genius so much as the character of
this St. Andrews student which has won the sympathy of his biographer,
and may win, he hopes, the sympathy of others. In Mr. Murray I feel that
I have lost that rare thing, a friend; a friend whom the chances of life
threw in my way, and withdrew again ere we had time and opportunity for
perfect recognition. Those who read his Letters and Remains may also
feel this emotion of sympathy and regret.
He was young in years, and younger in heart, a lover of youth; and youth,
if it could learn and could be warned, might win a lesson from his life.
Many of us have trod in his path, and, by some kindness of fate, have
found from it a sunnier exit into longer days and more fortunate
conditions. Others have followed this well-beaten road to the same early
and quiet end as his.
The life and the letters of Murray remind one strongly of Thomas
Davidson's, as published in that admirable and touching biography, _A
Scottish Probationer_. It was my own chance to be almost in touch with
both these gentle, tuneful, and kindly humorists. Davidson was a
Borderer, born on the skirts of'stormy Ruberslaw,' in the country of
James Thomson, of Leyden, of the old Ballad minstrels. The son of a
Scottish peasant line of the old sort, honourable, refined, devout, he
was educated in Edinburgh for the ministry of the United Presbyterian
Church. Some beautiful verses of his appeared in the _St. Andrews
University Magazine_ about 1863, at the time when I first'saw myself in
print' in the same periodical. Davidson's poem delighted me: another of
his, 'Ariadne in Naxos,' appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_ about the
same time. Mr. Thackeray, who was then editor, no doubt remembered Pen's
prize poem on the same subject. I did not succeed in learning anything
about the author, did not know that he lived within a drive of my own
home. When next I heard of him, it was in his biography. As a
'Probationer,' or unplaced minister, he, somehow, was not successful. A
humorist, a poet, a delightful companion, he never became 'a placed
minister.' It was the old story of an imprudence, a journey made in damp
clothes, of consumption, of the end of his earthly life and love. His
letters to his betrothed, his poems, his career, constantly remind one of
Murray's, who must often have joined in singing Davidson's song, so
popular with St. Andrews students, _The Banks of the Yang-tse-kiang_.
Love of the Border, love of Murray's 'dear St. Andrews Bay,' love of
letters, make one akin to both of these friends who were lost before
their friendship was won. Why did not Murray succeed to the measure of
his most modest desire? If we examine the records of literary success,
we find it won, in the highest fields, by what, for want of a better
word, we call genius; in the lower paths, by an energy which can take
pleasure in all and every exercise of pen and ink, and can communicate
its pleasure to others. Now for Murray one does not venture, in face of
his still not wholly developed talent, and of his checked career, to
claim genius. He was not a Keats, a Burns, a Shelley: he was not, if one
may choose modern examples, a Kipling or a Stevenson. On the other hand,
his was a high ideal; he believed, with Andre Chenier, that he had
'something there,' something worthy of reverence and of careful training
within him. Consequently, as we shall see, the drudgery of the pressman
was excessively repulsive to him. He could take no delight in making the
best of it. We learn that Mr. Kipling's early tales were written as part
of hard daily journalistic work in India; written in torrid newspaper
offices, to fill columns. Yet they were written with the delight of the
artist, and are masterpieces in their _genre_. Murray could not make the
best of ordinary pen-work in this manner. Again, he was incapable of
'transactions,' of compromises; most honourably incapable of earning his
bread by agreeing, or seeming to agree with opinions which were not his.
He could not endure (here I think he was wrong) to have his pieces of
light and mirthful verse touched in any way by an editor. Even where no
opinions were concerned, even where an editor has (to my mind) a perfect
right to alter anonymous contributions, Murray declined to be edited. I
ventured to remonstrate with him, to say _non est tanti_, but I spoke too
late, or spoke in vain. He carried independence too far, or carried it
into the wrong field, for a piece of humorous verse, say in _Punch_, is
not an original masterpiece and immaculate work of art, but more or less
of a joint-stock product between the editor, the author, and the public.
Macaulay, and Carlyle, and Sir Walter Scott suffered editors gladly or
with indifference, and who are we that we should complain? This extreme
sensitiveness would always have stood in Murray's way.
Once more, Murray's interest in letters was much more energetic than his
zeal in the ordinary industry of a student. As a general rule, men of
original literary bent are not exemplary students at college. 'The
common curricoolum,' as the Scottish laird called academic studies
generally, rather repels them. Macaulay took no honours at Cambridge;
mathematics defied him. Scott was 'the Greek dunce,' at Edinburgh.
Thackeray, Shelley, Gibbon, did not cover themselves with college
laurels; they read what pleased them, they did not read 'for the
schools.' In short, this behaviour at college is the rule among men who
are to be distinguished in literature, not the exception. The honours
attained at Oxford by Mr. Swinburne, whose Greek verses are no less
poetical than his English poetry, were inconspicuous. At St. Andrews,
Murray read only 'for human pleasure,' like Scott, Thackeray, Shelley,
and the rest, at Edinburgh, Oxford, and Cambridge. In this matter, I
think, he made an error, and one which affected his whole career. He was
not a man of private fortune, like some of those whom we have mentioned.
He had not a business ready for him to step into. He had to force his
own way in life, had to make himself'self-supporting.' This was all the
more essential to a man of his honourable independence of character, a
man who not only would not ask a favour, but who actually shrunk back
from such chances as were offered to him, if these chances seemed to be
connected with the least discernible shadow of an obligation. At St.
Andrews, had he chosen to work hard in certain branches of study, he
might probably have gained an exhibition, gone to Oxford or elsewhere,
and, by winning a fellowship, secured the leisure which was necessary for
the development of his powers. I confess to believing in strenuous work
at the classics, as offering, apart from all material reward, the best
and most solid basis, especially where there is no exuberant original
genius, for the career of a man of letters. The mental discipline is
invaluable, the training in accuracy is invaluable, and invaluable is the
life led in the society of the greatest minds, the noblest poets, the
most faultless artists of the world. To descend to ordinary truths,
scholarship is, at lowest, an honourable _gagne-pain_. But Murray, like
the majority of students endowed with literary originality, did not share
these rather old-fashioned ideas. The clever Scottish student is apt to
work only too hard, and, perhaps, is frequently in danger of exhausting
his powers before they are mature, and of injuring his health before it
is confirmed. His ambitions, to lookers-on, may seem narrow and school-
boyish, as if he were merely emulous, and eager for a high place in his
'class,' as lectures are called in Scotland. This was Murray's own view,
and he certainly avoided the dangers of academic over-work. He read
abundantly, but, as Fitzgerald says, he read 'for human pleasure.' He
never was a Greek scholar, he disliked Philosophy, as presented to him in
class-work; the gods had made him poetical, not metaphysical.
There was one other cause of his lack of even such slender commercial
success in letters as was really necessary to a man who liked 'plain
living and high thinking.' He fell early in love with a city, with a
place--he lost his heart to St. Andrews. Here, at all events, his critic
can sympathise with him. His 'dear St. Andrews Bay,' beautiful alike in
winter mists and in the crystal days of still winter sunshine; the quiet
brown streets brightened by the scarlet gowns; the long limitless sands;
the dark blue distant hills, and far-off snowy peaks of the Grampians;
the majestic melancholy towers, monuments of old religion overthrown; the
deep dusky porch of the college chapel, with Kennedy's arms in wrought
iron on the oaken door; the solid houses with their crow steps and
gables, all the forlorn memories of civil and religious feud, of
inhabitants saintly, royal, heroic, endeared St. Andrews to Murray. He
could not say, like our other poet to Oxford, 'Farewell, dear city of
youth and dream!' His whole nature needed the air, 'like wine.' He
found, as he remarks, 'health and happiness in the German Ocean,'
swimming out beyond the 'lake' where the witches were dipped; walking to
the grey little coast-towns, with their wealth of historic documents,
their ancient kirks and graves; dreaming in the vernal woods of Mount
Melville or Strathtyrum; rambling (without a fishing-rod) in the charmed
'dens' of the Kenley burn, a place like Tempe in miniature: these things
were Murray's usual enjoyments, and they became his indispensable needs.
His peculiarly shy and, as it were, silvan nature, made it physically
impossible for him to live in crowded streets and push his way through
throngs of indifferent men. He could not live even in Edinburgh; he made
the effort, and his health, at no time strong, seems never to have
recovered from the effects of a few months spent under a roof in a large
town. He hurried back to St. Andrews: her fascination was too powerful.
Hence it is that, dying with his work scarcely begun, he will always be
best remembered as the poet of _The Scarlet Gown_, the Calverley or J. K.
S. of Kilrymont; endowed with their humour, their skill in parody, their
love of youth, but (if I am not prejudiced) with more than the tenderness
and natural magic of these regretted writers. Not to be able to endure
crowds and towns, (a matter of physical health and constitution, as well
as of temperament) was, of course, fatal to an ordinary success in
journalism. On the other hand, Murray's name is inseparably connected
with the life of youth in the little old college, in the University of
the Admirable Crichton and Claverhouse, of the great Montrose and of
Ferguson,--the harmless Villon of Scotland,--the University of almost all
the famous Covenanters, and of all the valiant poet-Cavaliers. Murray
has sung of the life and pleasures of its students, of examinations and
_Gaudeamuses_--supper parties--he has sung of the sands, the links, the
sea, the towers, and his name and fame are for ever blended with the air
of his city of youth and dream. It is not a wide name or a great fame,
but it is what he would have desired, and we trust that it may be long-
lived and enduring. We are not to wax elegiac, and adopt a tearful tone
over one so gallant and so uncomplaining. He failed, but he was
undefeated.
In the following sketch of Murray's life and work use is made of his
letters, chiefly of letters to his mother. They always illustrate his
own ideas and attempts; frequently they throw the light of an impartial
and critical mind on the distinguished people whom Murray observed from
without. It is worth remarking that among many remarks on persons, I
have found not one of a censorious, cynical, envious, or unfriendly
nature. Youth is often captious and keenly critical; partly because
youth generally has an ideal, partly, perhaps chiefly, from mere
intellectual high spirits and sense of the incongruous; occasionally the
motive is jealousy or spite. Murray's sense of fun was keen, his ideal
was lofty; of envy, of an injured sense of being neglected, he does not
show one trace. To make fun of their masters and pastors, tutors,
professors, is the general and not necessarily unkind tendency of pupils.
Murray rarely mentions any of the professors in St. Andrews except in
terms of praise, which is often enthusiastic. Now, as he was by no means
a prize student, or pattern young man for a story-book, this generosity
is a high proof of an admirable nature. If he chances to speak to his
mother about a bore, and he did not suffer bores gladly, he not only does
not name the person, but gives no hint by which he might be identified.
He had much to embitter him, for he had a keen consciousness of 'the
something within him,' of the powers which never found full expression;
and he saw others advancing and prospering while he seemed to be standing
still, or losing ground in all ways. But no word of bitterness ever
escapes him in the correspondence which I have seen. In one case he has
to speak of a disagreeable and disappointing interview with a man from
whom he had been led to expect sympathy and encouragement. He told me
about this affair in conversation; 'There were tears in my eyes as I
turned from the house,' he said, and he was not effusive. In a letter to
Mrs. Murray he describes this unlucky interview,--a discouragement caused
by a manner which was strange to Murray, rather than by real
unkindness,--and he describes it with a delicacy, with a reserve, with a
toleration, beyond all praise. These are traits of a character which was
greater and more rare than his literary talent: a character quite
developed, while his talent was only beginning to unfold itself, and to
justify his belief in his powers.
Robert Murray was the eldest child of John and Emmeline Murray: the
father a Scot, the mother of American birth. He was born at Roxbury, in
Massachusetts, on December 26th, 1863. It may be fancy, but, in his shy
reserve, his almost _farouche_ independence, one seems to recognise the
Scot; while in his cast of literary talent, in his natural 'culture,' we
observe the son of a refined American lady. To his mother he could
always write about the books which were interesting him, with full
reliance on her sympathy, though indeed, he does not often say very much
about literature.
Till 1869 he lived in various parts of New England, his father being a
Unitarian minister. 'He was a remarkably cheerful and affectionate
child, and seldom seemed to find anything to trouble him.' In 1869 his
father carried him to England, Mrs. Murray and a child remaining in
America. For more than a year the boy lived with kinsfolk near Kelso,
the beautiful old town on the Tweed where Scott passed some of his
childish days. In 1871 the family were reunited at York, where he was
fond of attending the services in the Cathedral. Mr. Murray then took
charge of the small Unitarian chapel of Blackfriars, at Canterbury. Thus
Murray's early youth was passed in the mingled influences of Unitarianism
at home, and of Cathedral services at York, and in the church where
Becket suffered martyrdom. A not unnatural result was a somewhat
eclectic and unconstrained religion. He thought but little of the
differences of creed, believing that all good men held, in essentials,
much the same faith. His view of essentials was generous, as he
admitted. He occasionally spoke of himself as'sceptical,' that is, in
contrast with those whose faith was more definite, more dogmatic, more
securely based on 'articles.' To illustrate Murray's religious attitude,
at least as it was in 1887, one may quote from a letter of that year
(April 17).
'There was a University sermon, and I thought I would go and hear it.
So I donned my old cap and gown and felt quite proud of them. The
preacher was Bishop Wordsworth. He goes in for the union of the
Presbyterian and Episcopalian Churches, and is glad to preach in a
Presbyterian Church, as he did this morning. How the aforesaid Union
is to be brought about, I'm sure I don't know, for I am pretty certain
that the Episcopalians won't give up their bishops, and the
Presbyterians won't have them on any account. However, that's neither
here nor there--at least it does not affect the fact that Wordsworth
is a first-rate man, and a fine preacher. I dare say you know he is a
nephew or grand-nephew of the Poet. He is a most venerable old man,
and worth looking at, merely for his exterior. He is so feeble with
age that he can with difficulty climb the three short steps that lead
into the pulpit; but, once in the pulpit, it is another thing. There
is no feebleness when he begins to preach. He is one of the last
voices of the old orthodox school, and I wish there were hundreds like
him. If ever a man believed in his message, Wordsworth does. And
though I cannot follow him in his veneration for the Thirty-nine
Articles, the way in which he does makes me half wish I could....
It was full of wisdom and the beauty of holiness, which even I, poor
sceptic and outcast, could recognise and appreciate. After all, he
didn't get it from the Articles, but from his own human heart, which,
he told us, was deceitful and desperately wicked.
'Confound it, how stupid we all are! Episcopalians, Presbyterians,
Unitarians, Agnostics; the whole lot of us. We all believe the same
things, to a great extent; but we must keep wrangling about the data
from which we infer these beliefs... I believe a great deal that he
does, but I certainly don't act up to my belief as he does to his.'
The belief 'up to' which Murray lived was, if it may be judged by its
fruits, that of a Christian man. But, in this age, we do find the most
exemplary Christian conduct in some who have discarded dogma and resigned
hope. Probably Murray would not the less have regarded these persons as
Christians. If we must make a choice, it is better to have love and
charity without belief, than belief of the most intense kind, accompanied
by such love and charity as John Knox bore to all who differed from him
about a mass or a chasuble, a priest or a presbyter. This letter,
illustrative of the effect of cathedral services on a young Unitarian, is
taken out of its proper chronological place.
From Canterbury Mr. Murray went to Ilminster in Somerset. Here Robert
attended the Grammar School; in 1879 he went to the Grammar School of
Crewkerne. In 1881 | 857.992672 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.0620920 | 2,968 | 9 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
REFLECTIONS; OR SENTENCES AND MORAL MAXIMS
By Francois Duc De La Rochefoucauld, Prince de Marsillac
Translated from the Editions of 1678 and 1827 with introduction, notes,
and some account of the author and his times.
By J. W. Willis Bund, M.A. LL.B and J. Hain Friswell
Simpson Low, Son, and Marston, 188, Fleet Street.
1871.
{TRANSCRIBERS NOTES: spelling variants are preserved (e.g. labour
instead of labor, criticise instead of criticize, etc.); the
translators' comments are in square brackets [...] as they are in the
text; footnotes are indicated by * and appear immediately following the
passage containing the note (in the text they appear at the bottom of
the page); and, finally, corrections and addenda are in curly brackets
{...}.}
ROCHEFOUCAULD
"As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew From Nature--I believe them true. They
argue no corrupted mind In him; the fault is in mankind."--Swift.
"Les Maximes de la Rochefoucauld sont des proverbs des gens
d'esprit."--Montesquieu.
"Maxims are the condensed good sense of nations."--Sir J. Mackintosh.
"Translators should not work alone; for good Et Propria Verba do not
always occur to one mind."--Luther's Table Talk, iii.
CONTENTS
Preface (translator's)
Introduction (translator's)
Reflections and Moral Maxims
First Supplement
Second Supplement
Third Supplement
Reflections on Various Subjects
Index
Preface.
{Translators'}
Some apology must be made for an attempt "to translate the
untranslatable." Notwithstanding there are no less than eight English
translations of La Rochefoucauld, hardly any are readable, none are free
from faults, and all fail more or less to convey the author's meaning.
Though so often translated, there is not a complete English edition
of the Maxims and Reflections. All the translations are confined
exclusively to the Maxims, none include the Reflections. This may be
accounted for, from the fact that most of the translations are taken
from the old editions of the Maxims, in which the Reflections do
not appear. Until M. Suard devoted his attention to the text of
Rochefoucauld, the various editions were but reprints of the preceding
ones, without any regard to the alterations made by the author in the
later editions published during his life-time. So much was this the
case, that Maxims which had been rejected by Rochefoucauld in his last
edition, were still retained in the body of the work. To give but one
example, the celebrated Maxim as to the misfortunes of our friends, was
omitted in the last edition of the book, published in Rochefoucauld's
life-time, yet in every English edition this Maxim appears in the body
of the work.
M. Aime Martin in 1827 published an edition of the Maxims and
Reflections which has ever since been the standard text of Rochefoucauld
in France. The Maxims are printed from the edition of 1678, the last
published during the author's life, and the last which received his
corrections. To this edition were added two Supplements; the first
containing the Maxims which had appeared in the editions of 1665, 1666,
and 1675, and which were afterwards omitted; the second, some additional
Maxims found among various of the author's manuscripts in the Royal
Library at Paris. And a Series of Reflections which had been previously
published in a work called "Receuil de pieces d'histoire et de
litterature." Paris, 1731. They were first published with the Maxims in
an edition by Gabriel Brotier.
In an edition of Rochefoucauld entitled "Reflexions, ou Sentences et
Maximes Morales, augmentees de plus deux cent nouvelles Maximes et
Maximes et Pensees diverses suivant les copies Imprimees a Paris, chez
Claude Barbin, et Matre Cramoisy 1692,"* some fifty Maxims were added,
ascribed by the editor to Rochefoucauld, and as his family allowed them
to be published under his name, it seems probable they were genuine.
These fifty form the third supplement to this book.
*In all the French editions this book is spoken of as
published in 1693. The only copy I have seen is in the
Cambridge University Library, 47, 16, 81, and is called
"Reflexions Morales."
The apology for the present edition of Rochefoucauld must therefore be
twofold: firstly, that it is an attempt to give the public a complete
English edition of Rochefoucauld's works as a moralist. The body of the
work comprises the Maxims as the author finally left them, the first
supplement, those published in former editions, and rejected by the
author in the later; the second, the unpublished Maxims taken from the
author's correspondence and manuscripts, and the third, the Maxims first
published in 1692. While the Reflections, in which the thoughts in the
Maxims are extended and elaborated, now appear in English for the first
time. And secondly, that it is an attempt (to quote the preface of the
edition of 1749) "to do the Duc de la Rochefoucauld the justice to make
him speak English."
Introduction
{Translators'}
The description of the "ancien regime" in France, "a despotism tempered
by epigrams," like most epigrammatic sentences, contains some truth,
with much fiction. The society of the last half of the seventeenth, and
the whole of the eighteenth centuries, was doubtless greatly influenced
by the precise and terse mode in which the popular writers of that date
expressed their thoughts. To a people naturally inclined to think that
every possible view, every conceivable argument, upon a question is
included in a short aphorism, a shrug, and the word "voila," truths
expressed in condensed sentences must always have a peculiar charm. It
is, perhaps, from this love of epigram, that we find so many eminent
French writers of maxims. Pascal, De Retz, La Rochefoucauld, La Bruyere,
Montesquieu, and Vauvenargues, each contributed to the rich stock of
French epigrams. No other country can show such a list of brilliant
writers--in England certainly we cannot. Our most celebrated, Lord
Bacon, has, by his other works, so surpassed his maxims, that their fame
is, to a great measure, obscured. The only Englishman who could have
rivalled La Rochefoucauld or La Bruyere was the Earl of Chesterfield,
and he only could have done so from his very intimate connexion
with France; but unfortunately his brilliant genius was spent in the
impossible task of trying to refine a boorish young Briton, in "cutting
blocks with a razor."
Of all the French epigrammatic writers La Rochefoucauld is at once the
most widely known, and the most distinguished. Voltaire, whose opinion
on the century of Louis XIV. is entitled to the greatest weight, says,
"One of the works that most largely contributed to form the taste of
the nation, and to diffuse a spirit of justice and precision, is the
collection of maxims, by Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld."
This Francois, the second Duc de la Rochefoucauld, Prince de Marsillac,
the author of the maxims, was one of the most illustrious members of the
most illustrious families among the French noblesse. Descended from the
ancient Dukes of Guienne, the founder of the Family Fulk or Foucauld, a
younger branch of the House of Lusignan, was at the commencement of
the eleventh century the Seigneur of a small town, La Roche, in the
Angounois. Our chief knowledge of this feudal lord is drawn from
the monkish chronicles. As the benefactor of the various abbeys and
monasteries in his province, he is naturally spoken of by them in terms
of eulogy, and in the charter of one of the abbeys of Angouleme he is
called, "vir nobilissimus Fulcaldus." His territorial power enabled him
to adopt what was then, as is still in Scotland, a common custom, to
prefix the name of his estate to his surname, and thus to create and
transmit to his descendants the illustrious surname of La Rochefoucauld.
From that time until that great crisis in the history of the French
aristocracy, the Revolution of 1789, the family of La Rochefoucauld have
been, "if not first, in the very first line" of that most illustrious
body. One Seigneur served under Philip Augustus against Richard Coeur de
Lion, and was made prisoner at the battle of Gisors. The eighth
Seigneur Guy performed a great tilt at Bordeaux, attended (according
to Froissart) to the Lists by some two hundred of his kindred and
relations. The sixteenth Seigneur Francais was chamberlain to Charles
VIII. and Louis XII., and stood at the font as sponsor, giving his name
to that last light of French chivalry, Francis I. In 1515 he was created
a baron, and was afterwards advanced to a count, on account of his great
service to Francis and his predecessors.
The second count pushed the family fortune still further by obtaining
a patent as the Prince de Marsillac. His widow, Anne de Polignac,
entertained Charles V. at the family chateau at Verteuil, in so princely
a manner that on leaving Charles observed, "He had never entered a
house so redolent of high virtue, uprightness, and lordliness as that
mansion."
The third count, after serving with distinction under the Duke of
Guise against the Spaniards, was made prisoner at St. Quintin, and only
regained his liberty to fall a victim to the "bloody infamy" of St.
Bartholomew. His son, the fourth count, saved with difficulty from that
massacre, after serving with distinction in the religious wars, was
taken prisoner in a skirmish at St. Yriex la Perche, and murdered by the
Leaguers in cold blood.
The fifth count, one of the ministers of Louis XIII., after fighting
against the English and Buckingham at the Ile de Re, was created a duke.
His son Francis, the second duke, by his writings has made the family
name a household word.
The third duke fought in many of the earlier campaigns of Louis XIV. at
Torcy, Lille, Cambray, and was dangerously wounded at the passage of
the Rhine. From his bravery he rose to high favour at Court, and was
appointed Master of the Horse (Grand Veneur) and Lord Chamberlain. His
son, the fourth duke, commanded the regiment of Navarre, and took part
in storming the village of Neerwinden on the day when William III. was
defeated at Landen. He was afterwards created Duc de la Rochequyon and
Marquis de Liancourt.
The fifth duke, banished from Court by Louis XV., became the friend of
the philosopher Voltaire.
The sixth duke, the friend of Condorcet, was the last of the long line
of noble lords who bore that distinguished name. In those terrible days
of September, 1792, when the French people were proclaiming universal
humanity, the duke was seized as an aristocrat by the mob at Gisors and
put to death behind his own carriage, in which sat his mother and
his wife, at the very place where, some six centuries previously, his
ancestor had been taken prisoner in a fair fight. A modern writer has
spoken of this murder "as an admirable reprisal upon the grandson
for the writings and conduct of the grandfather." But M. Sainte Beuve
observes as to this, he can see nothing admirable in the death of the
duke, and if it proves anything, it is only that the grandfather was not
so wrong in his judgment of men as is usually supposed.
Francis, the author, was born on the 15th December 1615. M. Sainte Beuve
divides his life into four periods, first, from his birth till he was
thirty-five, when he became mixed up in the war of the Fronde; the
second period, during the progress of that war; the third, the twelve
years that followed, while he recovered from his wounds, and wrote his
maxims during his retirement from society; and the last from that time
till his death.
In the same way that Herodotus calls each book of his history by
the name of one of the muses, so each of these four periods of La
Rochefoucauld's life may be associated with the name of a woman who was
for the time his ruling passion. These four ladies are the Duchesse de
Chevreuse, the Duchesse de Longueville, Madame de Sable, and Madame de
La Fayette.
La Rochefoucauld's early education was neglected; | 858.082132 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.1596130 | 1,177 | 19 |
Produced by David Edwards, 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)
YOU KNOW ME AL
RING W. LARDNER
YOU KNOW ME
AL
_A Busher's Letters_
BY
RING W. LARDNER
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME 9
II THE BUSHER COMES BACK 45
III THE BUSHER'S HONEYMOON 83
IV A NEW BUSHER BREAKS IN 122
V THE BUSHER'S KID 166
VI THE BUSHER BEATS IT HENCE 208
YOU KNOW ME AL
YOU KNOW ME AL
CHAPTER I
A BUSHER'S LETTERS HOME
_Terre Haute, Indiana, September 6._
FRIEND AL: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I
been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to
me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of
knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says
Jack I've sold you to the Chicago Americans.
I didn't have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five
minutes I was just dum and couldn't say a word.
He says We aren't getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to
that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League
on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here
and there won't be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and
Walsh or no one else won't have nothing on you.
So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the
treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here
and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was
appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can't
help but be proud of my first year's record in professional baseball
and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.
Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never
was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not
to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?
I will just give them what I got and if they don't like it they can
send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.
I didn't know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me
that Jack Doyle the White Sox scout was down here looking at me when
Grand Rapids was here. I beat them twice in that serious. You know
Grand Rapids never had a chance with me when I was right. I shut them
out in the first game and they got one run in the second on account of
Flynn misjuging that fly ball. Anyway Doyle liked my work and he wired
Comiskey to buy me. Comiskey come back with an offer and they excepted
it. I don't know how much they got but anyway I am sold to the big
league and believe me Al I will make good.
Well Al I will be home in a few days and we will have some of the good
old times. Regards to all the boys and tell them I am still their pal
and not all swelled up over this big league business.
Your pal, JACK.
_Chicago, Illinois, December 14._
Old Pal: Well Al I have not got much to tell you. As you know Comiskey
wrote me that if I was up in Chi this month to drop in and see him. So
I got here Thursday morning and went to his office in the afternoon.
His office is out to the ball park and believe me its some park and
some office.
I went in and asked for Comiskey and a young fellow says He is not here
now but can I do anything for you? I told him who I am and says I had
an engagement to see Comiskey. He says The boss is out of town hunting
and did I have to see him personally?
I says I wanted to see about signing a contract. He told me I could
sign as well with him as Comiskey and he took me into another office.
He says What salary did you think you ought to get? and I says I
wouldn't think of playing ball in the big league for less than three
thousand dollars per annum. He laughed and says You don't want much.
You better stick round town till the boss comes back. So here I am and
it is costing me a dollar a day to stay at the hotel on Cottage Grove
Avenue and that don't include my meals.
I generally eat at some of the cafes round the hotel but I had supper
downtown last night and it cost me fifty-five cents. If Comiskey don't
come back soon I won't have no more money left.
Speaking of money I won't sign no | 858.179653 |
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Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)
SUCH THINGS ARE;
A Play, in Five Acts.
As Performed at the
Theatre Royal, Covent Garden.
by
MRS. INCHBALD.
Second Edition.
London:
Printed for G. G. J. and J. ROBINSON, Pater-noster Row.
MDCCLXXXVIII.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The travels of an Englishman throughout Europe, and even in some parts
of Asia, to soften the sorrows of the Prisoner, excited in the mind of
the Author the subject of the following pages, which, formed into a
dramatic story, have produced from the Theatre a profit far exceeding
the usual pecuniary advantages arising from a successful Comedy.
The uncertainty in what part of the East the hero of the present
piece was (at the time it was written) dispensing his benevolence,
caused the Writer, after many researches and objections, to fix the
scene on the island of Sumatra, where the English settlement, the
system of government, and every description of the manners of the
people, reconcile the incidents of the Play to the strictest degree
of probability.
PROLOGUE,
Written by THOMAS VAUGHAN, Esq.
Spoken by Mr. HOLMAN.
How say you, critic Gods[1], and you below[2];
Are you all friends?--or here--and there--a foe?
Come to protect your _literary_ trade,
Which Mrs. _Scribble_ dares _again_ invade--
But know you not--_in all_ the fair ones do,
'Tis not to please themselves alone--but you.
Then who so churlish, or so cynic grown,
Would wish to change a _simper_ for a _frown_?
Or who so jealous of their own _dear_ quill,
Would point the paragraph her fame to kill?
Yet such there are, in this all-scribbling town, }
And men of letters too--of some renown, }
Who sicken at all merit but their own. }
But sure 'twere more for Wit's--for Honour's sake,
To make the Drama's _race_--_the give and take_.
[_Looking round the house._
My hint I see's approv'd--so pray begin it,
And praise us--_roundly_ for the _good things_ in it,
Nor let severity our faults expose,
When godlike Homer's self was known to doze.
But of the piece--Methinks I hear you hint,
Some dozen lines or more should give the tint--
"Tell how _Sir John_ with _Lady Betty_'s maid
Is caught intriguing at a masquerade;
Which Lady Betty, in a jealous fit,
Resents by flirting with _Sir Ben_--the cit.
Whose _three_-feet spouse, to modish follies bent,
Mistakes a _six_-feet Valet--for a Gent.
Whilst Miss, repugnant to her Guardian's plan,
Elopes in Breeches with her fav'rite man."
Such are the _hints_ we read in _Roscius'_ days,
By way of Prologue ushered in _their_ plays.
But _we_, like Ministers and cautious spies,
In _secret measures_ think--the merit lies.
Yet shall the Muse thus far unveil the plot--
This play was _tragi-comically_ got,
Those sympathetic sorrows to impart
Which harmonize the feelings of the heart;
And may at least this humble merit boast,
A structure founded on fair _Fancy_'s coast.
With you it rests that judgement to proclaim,
Which _in the world_ must raise or sink it's fame.
Yet ere her judges sign their last report,
'Tis you [_to the boxes_] must recommend her to the Court;
Whose smiles, like _Cynthia_, in a winter's night,
Will cheer our wand'rer with a gleam of light.
1. Galleries.
2. Pit.
ACT I.
SCENE, _The Island of Sumatra, in East India_.
CHARACTERS.
MEN.
_Sultan_, Mr. Farren,
_Lord Flint_, Mr. Davies,
_Sir Luke Tremor_, Mr. Quick,
_Mr. Twineall_, Mr. Lewis,
_Mr. Haswell_, Mr. Pope,
_Elvirus_, Mr. Holman,
_Mr. Meanright_, Mr. Macready,
_Zedan_, Mr. Fearon,
_First Keeper_, Mr. Thompson,
_Second Keeper_, Mr. Cubitt,
_First Prisoner_, Mr. Helme,
_Second Prisoner_, Mr. Gardener.
_Guard_, Mr. Blurton,
_Messenger_, Mr. Ledger.
WOMEN.
_Lady Tremor_, Mrs. Mattocks,
_Aurelia_, Miss Wilkinson,
_Female Prisoner_, Mrs. Pope.
_Time of Representation, Twelve Hours._
SUCH THINGS ARE.
A PLAY.
IN FIVE ACTS.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _A Parlour at Sir_ Luke Tremor'_s_.
_Enter Sir_ Luke, _followed by Lady_ Tremor.
_Sir Luke._ I tell you, Madam, you are two and thirty.
_Lady Tremor._ I tell you, Sir, you are mistaken.
_Sir Luke._ Why, did not you come over from England exactly sixteen
years ago?
_Lady._ Not so long.
_Sir Luke._ Have not we been married the tenth of next April sixteen
years?
_Lady._ Not so long.--
_Sir Luke._ Did you not come over the year of the great Eclipse?
answer me that.
_Lady._ I don't remember it.
_Sir Luke._ But I do--and shall remember it as long as I live--the
first time I saw you, was in the garden of the Dutch Envoy; you were
looking through a glass at the sun--I immediately began to make love
to you, and the whole affair was settled while the eclipse
lasted--just one hour, eleven minutes, and three seconds.
_Lady._ But what is all this to my age?
_Sir Luke._ Because I know you were at that time near seventeen--and
without one qualification except your youth--and not being a Mullatto.
_Lady._ Sir Luke, Sir Luke, this is not to be borne--
_Sir Luke._ Oh! yes--I forgot--you had two letters of recommendation,
from two great families in England.
_Lady._ Letters of recommendation!
_Sir Luke._ Yes; your character----that, you know, is all the fortune
we poor Englishmen, situated in India, expect with a wife who crosses
the sea at the hazard of her life, to make us happy.
_Lady._ And what but our characters would you have us bring? Do you
suppose any lady ever came to India, who brought along with her,
friends, or fortune?
_Sir Luke._ No, my dear--and what is worse--she seldom leaves them
behind, either.
_Lady._ No matter, Sir Luke--but if I delivered to you a good
character----
_Sir Luke._ Yes, my dear you did--and if you were to ask me for it
again, I can't say I could give it you.
_Lady._ How uncivil! how unlike are your manners to the manners of my
Lord Flint.
_Sir Luke._ Ay--you are never so happy as when you have an opportunity
of expressing your admiration of him--a disagreeable, nay, a very
dangerous man--one is never sure of one's self in his presence--he
carries every thing he hears to the ministers of our suspicious
Sultan--and I feel my head shake whenever I am in his company.
_Lady._ How different does his Lordship appear to me--to me he is all
_politesse_.
_Sir Luke._ _Politesse!_ how shou'd you understand what is real
_politesse_? You know your education was very much confined.--
_Lady._ And if it _was_ confined----I beg, Sir Luke, you will one
time or other cease these reflections--you know they are what I can't
bear! [_walks about in a passion._] pray, does not his Lordship
continually assure me, I might be taken for a Countess, were it not
for a certain little groveling toss I have caught with my head--and
a certain little confined hitch in my walk? both which I learnt of
_you_--learnt by looking so much at _you_.--
_Sir Luke._ And now if you don't take care, by looking so much at his
Lordship, you may catch some of his defects.
_Lady._ I know of very few he has.
_Sir Luke._ I know of many--besides those he assumes.--
_Lady._ Assumes!!----
_Sir Luke._ Yes; do you suppose he is as forgetful as he pretends to
be? no, no--but because he is a favourite with the Sultan, and all
our great men at court, he thinks it genteel or convenient to have
no memory--and yet I'll answer for it, he has one of the best in the
universe.
_Lady._ I don't believe your charge.
_Sir Luke._ Why, though he forgets his appointments with his
tradesmen, did you ever hear of his forgetting to go to court when a
place was to be disposed of? Did he ever make a blunder, and send a
bribe to a man out of power? Did he ever forget to kneel before the
Prince of this Island--or to look in his highness's presence like the
statue of Patient-resignation in humble expectation?--
_Lady._ Dear, Sir Luke----
_Sir Luke._ Sent from his own country in his very infancy, and brought
up in the different courts of petty, arbitrary Princes here in Asia;
he is the slave of every great man, and the tyrant of every poor
one.----
_Lady._ "Petty Princes!"--'tis well his highness our Sultan does not
hear you.
_Sir Luke._ 'Tis well he does not--don't you repeat what I say--but
you know how all this fine country is harrassed and laid waste by a
set of Princes, Sultans, as they style themselves, and I know not
what--who are for ever calling out to each other "that's mine," and
"that's mine;"--and "you have no business here"--and "you have no
business there"--and "I have business every where;" [_Strutting_]
then "give _me_ this,"--and "give _me_ that;" and "take this, and
take that." [_makes signs of fighting._]
_Lady._ A very elegant description truly.
_Sir Luke._ Why, you know 'tis all matter of fact--and Lord Flint,
brought up from his youth amongst these people, has not one _trait_ of
an Englishman about him--he has imbibed all this country's cruelty,
and I dare say wou'd mind no more seeing me hung up by my thumbs--or
made to dance upon a red-hot gridiron----
_Lady._ That is one of the tortures I never heard of!--O! I shou'd
like to see that of all things!
_Sir Luke._ Yes--by keeping this man's company, you'll soon be as
cruel as he is--he will teach you every vice--a consequential--grave
--dull--and yet with that degree of levity, that dares to pay his
addresses to a woman, even before her husband's face.
_Lady._ Did not you say, this minute, his Lordship had not a _trait_
of his own country about him?--
_Sir Luke._ Well, well--as you say, that last _is_ a _trait_ of his
own country.
_Enter_ Servant _and_ Lord Flint.
_Serv._ Lord Flint.--[_Exit_ Servant.
_Lady._ My Lord, I am extremely glad to see you--we were just
mentioning your name.--
_Lord._ Were you, indeed, Madam? You do me great honour.
_Sir Luke._ No, my Lord--no great honour.
_Lord._ Pardon me, Sir Luke.
_Sir Luke._ But, I assure you, my Lord, what I said, did _myself_ a
great deal of honour.
_Lady._ Yes, my Lord, and I'll acquaint your Lordship what it was.
[_going up to him._
_Sir Luke._ [_Pulling her aside_] Why, you wou'd not inform against me
sure! Do you know what would be the consequence? My head must answer
it. [_frightened._]
_Lord._ Nay, Sir Luke, I insist upon knowing.
_Sir Luke._ [_To her_] Hush--hush----no, my Lord, pray excuse
me--your Lordship perhaps may think what I said did not come from my
heart; and I assure you, upon my honour, it did.
_Lady._ O, yes--that I am sure it did.
_Lord._ I am extremely obliged to you. [_bowing._
_Sir Luke._ O, no, my Lord, not at all--not at all.--[_aside to
her._] I'll be extremely obliged to _you_, if you will hold your
tongue--Pray, my Lord, are you engaged out to dinner to-day? for her
Ladyship and I dine out.
_Lady._ Yes, my Lord, and we should be happy to find your Lordship of
the party.
_Lord._ "Engaged out to dinner"?--egad very likely--very likely--but
if I am--I have positively forgotten where.
_Lady._ We are going to----
_Lord._ No--I think (now you put me in mind of it) I think I have
company to dine with me--I am either going out to dinner, or have
company to dine with me; but I really can't tell which--however, my
people know----but I can't call to mind.--
_Sir Luke._ Perhaps your Lordship _has_ dined; can you recollect that?
_Lord._ No, no--I have not dined----what's o'clock?
_Lady._ Perhaps, my Lord, you have not breakfasted.
_Lord._ O, yes, I've breakfasted--I think so--but upon my word these
things are very hard to remember.
_Sir Luke._ They are indeed, my Lord--and I wish all my family wou'd
entirely forget them.
_Lord._ What did your Ladyship say was o'clock?
_Lady._ Exactly twelve, my Lord.
_Lord._ Bless me! I ought to have been some where else then--an
absolute engagement.--I have broke my word--a positive appointment.
_Lady._ Shall I send a servant?
_Lord._ No, no, no, no--by no means--it can't be helped now--and they
know my unfortunate failing--besides, I'll beg their pardon, and I
trust that will be ample satisfaction.
_Lady._ You are very good, my Lord, not to leave us.
_Lord._ I cou'd not think of leaving you so soon, Madam--the happiness
I enjoy here is _such_--
_Sir Luke._ And very likely were your Lordship to go away now, you
might never recollect to come again.
_Enter_ Servant.
_Serv._ A Gentleman, Sir, just come from on board an English vessel,
says, he has letters to present to you.
_Sir Luke._ Shew him in--[_Exit_ Servant.] _He_ has brought his
character too, I suppose--and left it _behind_, too, I suppose.
_Enter Mr._ Twineall, _in a fashionable undress_.
_Twi._ Sir Luke, I have the honour of presenting to | 858.179784 |
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Archive.
NOOKS AND CORNERS
OF OLD PARIS
[Illustration: THE RUE DU CHAUME IN 1866 (TO-DAY, THE RUE DES ARCHIVES)
SOUBISE MANSION--CLISSON TOWER
_Drawing by A. Maignan_]
NOOKS & CORNERS
OF OLD PARIS
_by_
GEORGES CAIN
CURATOR OF THE CARNAVALET MUSEUM AND OF THE HISTORIC COLLECTIONS
OF THE CITY OF PARIS
_With a Preface by_
VICTORIEN SARDOU
WITH OVER A HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
E. GRANT RICHARDS
1907
_The Translation has been made by_
FREDERICK LAWTON, M.A.
DEDICATED
TO
A. G. LENOTRE
IN TOKEN OF MOST SINCERE
AFFECTION
G. C.
_December_ 1905.
LIST OF ENGRAVINGS
1. The Rue du Chaume in 1866 (to-day, the Rue des
Archives) _Frontispiece_
2. The Place de la Bastille and the Elephant xvii
3. Demolition of the Rue Sainte-Hyacinthe-Saint-Michel,
opposite to the Rue Soufflot xxiii
4. The Town Hall in 1838 xxvii
5. The Pont-Neuf about 1850 xxxi
6. The Louvre about 1785 xxxv
7. The Courtyard of the Carrousel and the Museums about 1848 xxxix
8. The Garden of the Palais Royal in 1791 xliii
9. The Place de la Concorde xlvii
10. Patrol Road leading from the Barrier of the Etoile in 1854
(to-day the Avenue de Wagram) liii
11. The Carnavalet Museum lix
12. The Pont-Royal, the Tuileries, and the Louvre (eighteenth
century) lxiii
13. View of the Pont-Neuf, taken from an oval window in the
Colonnade of the Louvre 67
14. Workshops and Foundations of the City Barracks in 1864-1865 71
15. View of Notre-Dame 75
16. The "Petit-Pont" 79
17. The Old Prefecture of Police (formerly Jerusalem Street) 81
18. The Sainte-Chapelle in 1875 83
19. Opening up of the space in front of the Palais de Justice 85
20. The Cour des Filles in the Conciergerie 89
21. The Triumph of Marat 93
22. The Dauphine Square in 1780 97
23. The Pont Marie in 1886 103
24. The Isle of Saint-Louis 107
25. The College of Louis-le-Grand 111
26. The Inner Courtyard of the Ecole Polytechnique 113
27. The Rue Clovis in 1867 115
28. The Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Genevieve in 1866 119
29. The Pantheon, in building 121
30. Procession in front of Sainte-Genevieve 123
31. The Apotheosis of Jean-Jacques Rousseau 127
32. The Luxembourg, about 1790 131
33. Fraternal Suppers in the Sections of Paris 135
34. Fete given at the Luxembourg on the 20th of Frimaire,
Anno VII. 139
35. The Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine in 1866 (house where Marat
was assassinated) 143
36. The Gallery of the Odeon (Rue Rotrou) 146
37. The Rohan Courtyard in 1901 147
38. The Rohan Courtyard in 1901 (second view) 151
39. The Rue Visconti 155
40. Alfred de Musset at 23 years of age 157
41. The Facade of the Institute 160
42. View from the Louvre Quay 161
43. Paris from the Pointe de la Cite 165
44. The Rue des Pretres-Saint-Severin in 1866 169
45. The Passage des Patriarches 173
46. The Rue Mouffetard 176
47. The Rue Galande 177
48. The Place Maubert 179
49. The Old Amphitheatre of Surgery at the corner of the
Colbert Mansion 181
50. The Church of Saint-Nicolas-du-Chardonneret and the Rue
Saint-Victor 183
51. The Rue Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre 186
52. The Jardin des Plantes--The Cedar of Lebanon and the
Labyrinth 187
53. The Jardin des Plantes in the eighteenth century 191
54. The Jardin des Plantes--Cuvier's House 195
55. The Rue de Bievre 199
56. The Bievre Tanneries 203
57. The Bievre about 1900--The Valence Mill-race 207
58. The Constantine Bridge and Stockade 211
59. The Pont-Royal in 1800 213
60. The Lesdiguieres Mansion 215
61. Commemorative Ball on the Ruins of the Bastille 217
62. The Sens Mansion about 1835 221
63. The Provost Hugues Aubryot's Mansion--Charlemagne's
Courtyard and Passage in 1867 227
64. The Place Royale about 1651 (now the Vosges Square) 231
65. The Rue Grenier-sur-l'Eau in 1866 235
66. The Saint-Paul Port 237
67. The Barbett Mansion 238
68. The Rue de Venise 243
69. The Rue du Renard-Saint-Merry 247
70. The Rue des Prouvaires and the Rue Saint-Eustache about 1850 250
71. The Central Market foot-pavement, near the Church of
Saint-Eustache, in 1867 252
72. The Central Market in 1828 254
73. The Central Market in 1822 255
74. Moliere's House in the Rue de la Tonnellerie 257
75. The Tower of Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie about 1848 259
76. Alexander's Grand Cafe Royal on the Temple Boulevard 263
77. Fanchon, the Hurdy-Gurdy player 267
78. View of the Ambigu-Comique on the Temple Boulevard 271
79. The Funambules Theatre on the Temple Boulevard 273
80. The Ambigu Theatre and Boulevard about 1830 277
81. The Porte Saint-Martin 281
82. The Rue Saint-Martin in 1866--The Green-Wood Tower 284
83. The Rue de Clery 285
84. The Poissonniere Boulevard in 1834 289
85. The Gymnase Theatre 292
86. The Variety Theatre about 1810 293
87. The Boulevards, the Hotel de Salm, and Windmills of
Montmartre 297
88. The Rue de la Barre at Montmartre 299
89. A Street in Montmartre 301
90. The Rue des Rosiers 303
91. The Place de la Concorde in 1829 305
92. Ingenuous Benevolence 307
93. The Place de la Concorde (second view) 309
94. The Entrance to the Tuileries, over the Swing Bridge, in 1788 311
95. Corner Pavilion of the Louis XV. Square about 1850 313
96. View in the Tuileries Gardens in 1808 315
97. The Rue Greuze in 1855 318
98. The Madrid Chateau 319
99. The Bagatelle Pavilion 322
100. A Performance at the Hippodrome under the Second Empire 323
101. The Arc de Triomphe about 1850 325
[Illustration: Drawn by Saffrey]
PREFACE
_Grandson and son of two rare and justly-renowned artists, P. J. Mene
and Auguste Cain, my excellent friend, Georges Cain, has abundantly
shown that he is the worthy inheritor of their talent. To-day, he wishes
to prove that he knows how "to handle the pen as well as the pencil" as
our Ancients used to say, and that the Carnavalet Museum has in him, not
only the active and enthusiastic Curator that we constantly see at his
task, but also the most enlightened guide possible in matters of
Parisian lore; and so he has written this bewitching book which conjures
up before me the Paris of my childhood and youth--the Paris of times
gone by, which, in the course of centuries, has undergone many
transformations, but not one so rapid and so complete as that which I
have witnessed. The change, indeed, is such that, in certain quarters, I
have difficulty in recognising, in the city of Napoleon III., that of
Louis-Philippe. The latter would have been uninhabitable now, owing to
the requirements of modern life, but it answered to the needs and
customs of its time. People put up then with difficulties and defects
that were | 858.1839 |
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available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: Girl of the Harem.]
CONSTANTINOPLE.
BY
EDMONDO DE AMICIS,
AUTHOR OF “HOLLAND,” “SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS,” ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTEENTH ITALIAN EDITION BY
MARIA HORNOR LANSDALE.
ILLUSTRATED.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
TURKISH WOMEN 7
Y | 858.187773 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*IN BEAVER COVE*
AND ELSEWHERE
BY
MATT CRIM
New York
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO.
1892
Copyright, 1892,
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO.
(_All rights reserved._)
PRESS OF
JENKINS & McCOWAN,
NEW YORK.
TO
Father and Mother.
*CONTENTS.*
In Beaver Cove
S'phiry Ann
An "Onfortunit Creetur"
Bet Crow
Silury
'Zeki'l
Was It an Exceptional Case?
An Old-Time Love Story
How the Quarrel Ended
The Crucial Test
The Story of a Lilac Gown
*IN BEAVER COVE and ELSEWHERE.*
*IN BEAVER COVE.*
They were having a dance over in Beaver Cove, at the Woods'. All the
young people of the settlement were there, and many from adjoining
settlements. The main room of the cabin had been almost cleared of its
meager furniture, and the pine-plank floor creaked under the tread of
shuffling feet, while dust and lamp-smoke made the atmosphere thick and
close.
But little did the dancers care for that. Bill Eldridge sat by the
hearth, playing his fiddle with tireless energy, while a boy added the
thumping of two straws to the much-tried fiddle-strings. A party of shy
girls huddled in a corner of the room, and the bashful boys hung about
the door, and talked loudly.
"Hey, there! git yer partners!" Bill cried to them tauntingly from time
to time.
Armindy Hudgins and Elisha Cole were pre-eminently the leaders in the
party. They danced together again and again; they sat on the bench in
the dooryard; they walked to the spring for a fresh draught of water.
Armindy was the coquette of the settlement. In beauty, in spirit, and
in daring, no other girl in Beaver Cove could compare with her. She
could plow all day and dance half the night without losing her peachy
bloom, and it was generally admitted that she could take her choice of
the marriageable young men of the settlement. But she laughed at all of
them by turns, until her lovers dwindled down to two--Elisha Cole and
Ephraim Hurd. They were both desperately in earnest, and their rivalry
had almost broken their lifelong friendship. She favored first one and
then the other, but to-night she showed such decided preference for Cole
that Hurd felt hatred filling his heart. He did not dance at all, but
hung about the door, or walked moodily up and down the yard, savage with
jealousy. Armindy cast many mocking glances at him, but seemed to feel
no pity for his suffering.
In the middle of the evening, while they were yet fresh, she and Elisha
danced the "hoe-down." All the others crowded back against the walls,
leaving the middle of the room clear, and she and | 858.188591 |
Subsets and Splits
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