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Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration:
ONLY AUTHENTIC PORTRAIT OF
WILHELM HEINRICH SEBASTIAN VON TROOMP
(FROM THE OIL PAINTING).
]
BARON TRUMP’S
MARVELLOUS
UNDERGROUND
JOURNEY
BY
INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD
AUTHOR OF “TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES OF LITTLE BARON TRUMP AND HIS
WONDERFUL DOG
BULGER” “WONDERFUL DEEDS AND DOINGS OF LITTLE GIANT BOAB AND HIS
TALKING RAVEN TABIB” “EXTRAORDINARY EXPERIENCES OF LITTLE
CAPTAIN DOPPELKOP ON THE SHORES OF BUBBLELAND” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES HOWARD JOHNSON
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
10 MILK STREET
1893
COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD
_All Rights Reserved_
MARVELLOUS UNDERGROUND JOURNEY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILHELM HEINRICH
SEBASTIAN VON TROOMP, COMMONLY
CALLED LITTLE BARON TRUMP
As doubting Thomases seem to take particular pleasure in popping up on
all occasions, Jack-in-the-Box-like, it may be well to head them off in
this particular instance by proving that Baron Trump was a real baron,
and not a mere baron of the mind. The family was originally French
Huguenot—De la Trompe—which, upon the revocation of the Edict of Nantes
in 1685, took refuge in Holland, where its head assumed the name of Van
der Troomp, just as many other of the French Protestants rendered their
names into Dutch. Some years later, upon the invitation of the Elector
of Brandenburg, Niklas Van der Troomp became a subject of that prince,
and purchased a large estate in the province of Pomerania, again
changing his name, this time to Von Troomp.
The “Little Baron,” so called from his diminutive stature, was born some
time in the latter part of the seventeenth century. He was the last of
his race in the direct line, although cousins of his are to-day
well-known Pomeranian gentry. He began his travels at an incredibly
early age, and filled his castle with such strange objects picked up
here and there in the far away corners of the world, that the
simple-minded peasantry came to look upon him as half bigwig and half
magician—hence the growth of the many myths and fanciful stories
concerning this indefatigable globe-trotter. The date of his death
cannot be fixed with any certainty; but this much may be said: Among the
portraits of Pomeranian notables hanging in the Rathhaus at Stettin,
there is one picturing a man of low stature, and with a head much too
large for his body. He is dressed in some outlandish costume, and holds
in his left hand a grotesque image in ivory, most elaborately carved.
The broad face is full of intelligence, and the large gray eyes are
lighted up with a good-natured but quizzical look that invariably
attracts attention. The man’s right hand rests upon the back of a dog
sitting on a table and looking straight out with an air of dignity that
shows that he knew he was sitting for his portrait.
If a visitor asks the guide who this man is, he always gets for answer:—
“Oh, that’s the Little Baron!”
But little Baron who, that’s the question?
Why may it not be the famous Wilhelm Heinrich Sebastian von | 858.28326 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.2642850 | 184 | 9 |
Produced by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
This e-text comes in two forms: Unicode (UTF-8) and Latin-1. Use the
one that works best on your text reader.
--If “œ” displays as a single character, and apostrophes and
quotation marks are “curly” or angled, you have the UTF-8 version
(better). If any part of this paragraph displays as garbage, try
changing your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding”.
If that doesn’t work, proceed to:
--In the Latin-1 version, “œ” is two letters, but French words like
“étude” have | 858.284325 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.2649010 | 1,041 | 13 |
Produced by Laura McDonald (http://www.girlebooks.com) and
Marc D'Hooghe (http:www.freeliterature.org)
THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN"
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1904
[Illustration: map of Ruegen]
CONTENTS
THE FIRST DAY--From Miltzow to Lauterbach
THE SECOND DAY--Lauterbach and Vilm
THE THIRD DAY--From Lauterbach to Goehren
THE FOURTH DAY--From Goehren to Thiessow
THE FOURTH DAY (continued)--At Thiessow
THE FIFTH DAY--From Thiessow to Sellin
THE FIFTH DAY (continued)--From Sellin to Binz
THE SIXTH DAY--The Jagdschloss
THE SIXTH DAY (continued)--The Granitz Woods, Schwarze See, and Kiekoewer
THE SEVENTH DAY--From Binz to Stubbenkammer
THE SEVENTH DAY (continued)--At Stubbenkammer
THE EIGHTH DAY--From Stubbenkammer to Glowe
THE NINTH DAY--From Glowe to Wiek
THE TENTH DAY--From Wiek to Hiddensee
THE ELEVENTH DAY--From Wiek Home
THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
THE FIRST DAY
FROM MILTZOW TO LAUTERBACH
Every one who has been to school and still remembers what he was taught
there, knows that Ruegen is the biggest island Germany possesses, and
that it lies in the Baltic Sea off the coast of Pomerania.
Round this island I wished to walk this summer, but no one would walk
with me. It is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the
life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on
anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a
thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside. If you
drive you are bound by a variety of considerations, eight of the most
important being the horses' legs. If you bicycle--but who that loves to
get close to nature would bicycle? And as for motors, the object of a
journey like mine was not the getting to a place but the going there.
Successively did I invite the most likely of my women friends, numbering
at least a dozen, to walk with me. They one and all replied that it
would make them tired and that it would be dull; and when I tried to
remove the first objection by telling them how excellent it would be for
the German nation, especially those portions of it that are still to
come, if its women walked round Ruegen more often, they stared and
smiled; and when I tried to remove the second by explaining that by our
own spirits are we deified, they stared and smiled more than ever.
Walking, then, was out of the question, for I could not walk alone. The
grim monster Conventionality whose iron claws are for ever on my
shoulder, for ever pulling me back from the harmless and the wholesome,
put a stop to that even if I had not been afraid of tramps, which I was.
So I drove, and it was round Ruegen that I drove because one hot
afternoon when I was idling in the library, not reading but fingering
the books, taking out first one and then another, dipping into them,
deciding which I would read next, I came across Marianne North's
_Recollections of a Happy Life_, and hit upon the page where she begins
to talk of Ruegen. Immediately interested--for is not Ruegen nearer to me
than any other island?--I became absorbed in her description of the
bathing near a place called Putbus, of the deliciousness of it in a
sandy cove where the water was always calm, and of how you floated about
on its crystal surface, and beautiful jelly-fish, stars of purest
colours, floated with you. I threw down the book to ransack the shelves
for a guide to Ruegen. On the first page of the first one I found was
this remarkable paragraph:--
'Hearest thou the name Ruegen, so doth a wondrous spell come over thee.
Before thine eyes it rises as a dream of far-away, beauteous fairylands.
Images and figures of long ago beckon thee across to the marvellous
places where in grey prehistoric times they dwelt, and on which they
have left the shadow of their presence. And in thee stirs a mighty
desire to wander over | 858.284941 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.2651830 | 5,735 | 7 |
Produced by Dianne Bean. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE MOUNTAINS
BY
STEWART EDWARD WHITE
AUTHOR OF
"THE BLAZED TRAIL," "SILENT PLACES," "THE FOREST," ETC.
PREFACE
The author has followed a true sequence of events practically in all
particulars save in respect to the character of the Tenderfoot. He is
in one sense fictitious; in another sense real. He is real in that he
is the apotheosis of many tenderfeet, and that everything he does in
this narrative he has done at one time or another in the author's
experience. He is fictitious in the sense that he is in no way to be
identified with the third member of our party in the actual trip.
CONTENTS
I. THE RIDGE TRAIL
II. ON EQUIPMENT
III. ON HORSES
IV. HOW TO GO ABOUT IT
V. THE COAST RANGES
VI. THE INFERNO
VII. THE FOOT-HILLS
VIII. THE PINES
IX. THE TRAIL
X. ON SEEING DEER
XI. ON TENDERFEET
XII. THE CANON
XIII. TROUT, BUCKSKIN, AND PROSPECTORS
XIV. ON CAMP COOKERY
XV. ON THE WIND AT NIGHT
XVI. THE VALLEY
XVII. THE MAIN CREST
XVIII. THE GIANT FOREST
XIX. ON COWBOYS
XX. THE GOLDEN TROUT
XXI. ON GOING OUT
XXII. THE LURE OF THE TRAIL
THE MOUNTAINS
I
THE RIDGE TRAIL
Six trails lead to the main ridge. They are all good trails, so that
even the casual tourist in the little Spanish-American town on the
seacoast need have nothing to fear from the ascent. In some spots they
contract to an arm's length of space, outside of which limit they drop
sheer away; elsewhere they stand up on end, zigzag in lacets each more
hair-raising than the last, or fill to demoralization with loose
boulders and shale. A fall on the part of your horse would mean a more
than serious accident; but Western horses do not fall. The major
premise stands: even the casual tourist has no real reason for fear,
however scared he may become.
Our favorite route to the main ridge was by a way called the Cold
Spring Trail. We used to enjoy taking visitors up it, mainly because
you come on the top suddenly, without warning. Then we collected
remarks. Everybody, even the most stolid, said something.
You rode three miles on the flat, two in the leafy and gradually
ascending creek-bed of a canon, a half hour of laboring steepness in
the overarching mountain lilac and laurel. There you came to a great
rock gateway which seemed the top of the world. At the gateway was a
Bad Place where the ponies planted warily their little hoofs, and the
visitor played "eyes front," and besought that his mount should not
stumble.
Beyond the gateway a lush level canon into which you plunged as into a
bath; then again the laboring trail, up and always up toward the blue
California sky, out of the lilacs, and laurels, and redwood chaparral
into the manzanita, the Spanish bayonet, the creamy yucca, and the fine
angular shale of the upper regions. Beyond the apparent summit you
found always other summits yet to be climbed. And all at once, like
thrusting your shoulders out of a hatchway, you looked over the top.
Then came the remarks. Some swore softly; some uttered appreciative
ejaculation; some shouted aloud; some gasped; one man uttered three
times the word "Oh,"--once breathlessly, Oh! once in awakening
appreciation, OH! once in wild enthusiasm, OH! Then invariably they
fell silent and looked.
For the ridge, ascending from seaward in a gradual coquetry of
foot-hills, broad low ranges, cross-systems, canons, little flats, and
gentle ravines, inland dropped off almost sheer to the river below.
And from under your very feet rose, range after range, tier after tier,
rank after rank, in increasing crescendo of wonderful tinted mountains
to the main crest of the Coast Ranges, the blue distance, the
mightiness of California's western systems. The eye followed them up
and up, and farther and farther, with the accumulating emotion of a
wild rush on a toboggan. There came a point where the fact grew to be
almost too big for the appreciation, just as beyond a certain point
speed seems to become unbearable. It left you breathless,
wonder-stricken, awed. You could do nothing but look, and look, and
look again, tongue-tied by the impossibility of doing justice to what
you felt. And in the far distance, finally, your soul, grown big in a
moment, came to rest on the great precipices and pines of the greatest
mountains of all, close under the sky.
In a little, after the change had come to you, a change definite and
enduring, which left your inner processes forever different from what
they had been, you turned sharp to the west and rode five miles along
the knife-edge Ridge Trail to where Rattlesnake Canon led you down and
back to your accustomed environment.
To the left as you rode you saw, far on the horizon, rising to the
height of your eye, the mountains of the channel islands. Then the
deep sapphire of the Pacific, fringed with the soft, unchanging white
of the surf and the yellow of the shore. Then the town like a little
map, and the lush greens of the wide meadows, the fruit-groves, the
lesser ranges--all vivid, fertile, brilliant, and pulsating with
vitality. You filled your senses with it, steeped them in the beauty of
it. And at once, by a mere turn of the eyes, from the almost crude
insistence of the bright primary color of life, you faced the tenuous
azures of distance, the delicate mauves and amethysts, the lilacs and
saffrons of the arid country.
This was the wonder we never tired of seeing for ourselves, of showing
to others. And often, academically, perhaps a little wistfully, as one
talks of something to be dreamed of but never enjoyed, we spoke of how
fine it would be to ride down into that land of mystery and
enchantment, to penetrate one after another the canons dimly outlined
in the shadows cast by the westering sun, to cross the mountains lying
outspread in easy grasp of the eye, to gain the distant blue Ridge, and
see with our own eyes what lay beyond.
For to its other attractions the prospect added that of impossibility,
of unattainableness. These rides of ours were day rides. We had to
get home by nightfall. Our horses had to be fed, ourselves to be
housed. We had not time to continue on down the other side whither the
trail led. At the very and literal brink of achievement we were forced
to turn back.
Gradually the idea possessed us. We promised ourselves that some day
we would explore. In our after-dinner smokes we spoke of it.
Occasionally, from some hunter or forest-ranger, we gained little items
of information, we learned the fascination of musical names--Mono
Canon, Patrera Don Victor, Lloma Paloma, Patrera Madulce, Cuyamas,
became familiar to us as syllables. We desired mightily to body them
forth to ourselves as facts. The extent of our mental vision expanded.
We heard of other mountains far beyond these farthest--mountains whose
almost unexplored vastnesses contained great forests, mighty valleys,
strong water-courses, beautiful hanging-meadows, deep canons of
granite, eternal snows,--mountains so extended, so wonderful, that
their secrets offered whole summers of solitary exploration. We came
to feel their marvel, we came to respect the inferno of the Desert that
hemmed them in. Shortly we graduated from the indefiniteness of
railroad maps to the intricacies of geological survey charts. The
fever was on us. We must go.
A dozen of us desired. Three of us went; and of the manner of our
going, and what you must know who would do likewise, I shall try here
to tell.
II
ON EQUIPMENT
If you would travel far in the great mountains where the trails are few
and bad, you will need a certain unique experience and skill. Before
you dare venture forth without a guide, you must be able to do a number
of things, and to do them well.
First and foremost of all, you must be possessed of that strange sixth
sense best described as the sense of direction. By it you always know
about where you are. It is to some degree a memory for back-tracks and
landmarks, but to a greater extent an instinct for the lay of the
country, for relative bearings, by which you are able to make your way
across-lots back to your starting-place. It is not an uncommon
faculty, yet some lack it utterly. If you are one of the latter class,
do not venture, for you will get lost as sure as shooting, and being
lost in the mountains is no joke.
Some men possess it; others do not. The distinction seems to be almost
arbitrary. It can be largely developed, but only in those with whom
original endowment of the faculty makes development possible. No matter
how long a direction-blind man frequents the wilderness, he is never
sure of himself. Nor is the lack any reflection on the intelligence. I
once traveled in the Black Hills with a young fellow who himself
frankly confessed that after much experiment he had come to the
conclusion he could not "find himself." He asked me to keep near him,
and this I did as well as I could; but even then, three times during
the course of ten days he lost himself completely in the tumultuous
upheavals and canons of that badly mixed region. Another, an old
grouse-hunter, walked twice in a circle within the confines of a thick
swamp about two miles square. On the other hand, many exhibit almost
marvelous skill in striking a bee-line for their objective point, and
can always tell you, even after an engrossing and wandering hunt,
exactly where camp lies. And I know nothing more discouraging than to
look up after a long hard day to find your landmarks changed in
appearance, your choice widened to at least five diverging and similar
canons, your pockets empty of food, and the chill mountain twilight
descending.
Analogous to this is the ability to follow a dim trail. A trail in the
mountains often means merely a way through, a route picked out by some
prospector, and followed since at long intervals by chance travelers.
It may, moreover, mean the only way through. Missing it will bring you
to ever-narrowing ledges, until at last you end at a precipice, and
there is no room to turn your horses around for the return. Some of
the great box canons thousands of feet deep are practicable by but one
passage,--and that steep and ingenious in its utilization of ledges,
crevices, little ravines, and "hog's-backs"; and when the only
indications to follow consist of the dim vestiges left by your last
predecessor, perhaps years before, the affair becomes one of
considerable skill and experience. You must be able to pick out
scratches made by shod hoofs on the granite, depressions almost filled
in by the subsequent fall of decayed vegetation, excoriations on fallen
trees. You must have the sense to know AT ONCE when you have overrun
these indications, and the patience to turn back immediately to your
last certainty, there to pick up the next clue, even if it should take
you the rest of the day. In short, it is absolutely necessary that you
be at least a persistent tracker.
Parenthetically; having found the trail, be charitable. Blaze it, if
there are trees; otherwise "monument" it by piling rocks on top of one
another. Thus will those who come after bless your unknown shade.
Third, you must know horses. I do not mean that you should be a
horse-show man, with a knowledge of points and pedigrees. But you must
learn exactly what they can and cannot do in the matters of carrying
weights, making distance, enduring without deterioration hard climbs in
high altitudes; what they can or cannot get over in the way of bad
places. This last is not always a matter of appearance merely. Some
bits of trail, seeming impassable to anything but a goat, a Western
horse will negotiate easily; while others, not particularly terrifying
in appearance, offer complications of abrupt turn or a single bit of
unstable, leg-breaking footing which renders them exceedingly
dangerous. You must, moreover, be able to manage your animals to the
best advantage in such bad places. Of course you must in the beginning
have been wise as to the selection of the horses.
Fourth, you must know good horse-feed when you see it. Your animals
are depending entirely on the country; for of course you are carrying
no dry feed for them. Their pasturage will present itself under a
variety of aspects, all of which you must recognize with certainty.
Some of the greenest, lushest, most satisfying-looking meadows grow
nothing but water-grasses of large bulk but small nutrition; while
apparently barren tracts often conceal small but strong growths of
great value. You must differentiate these.
Fifth, you must possess the ability to pare a hoof, fit a shoe cold,
nail it in place. A bare hoof does not last long on the granite, and
you are far from the nearest blacksmith. Directly in line with this,
you must have the trick of picking up and holding a hoof without being
kicked, and you must be able to throw and tie without injuring him any
horse that declines to be shod in any other way.
Last, you must of course be able to pack a horse well, and must know
four or five of the most essential pack-"hitches."
With this personal equipment you ought to be able to get through the
country. It comprises the absolutely essential.
But further, for the sake of the highest efficiency, you should add, as
finish to your mountaineer's education, certain other items. A
knowledge of the habits of deer and the ability to catch trout with
fair certainty are almost a necessity when far from the base of
supplies. Occasionally the trail goes to pieces entirely: there you
must know something of the handling of an axe and pick. Learn how to
swim a horse. You will have to take lessons in camp-fire cookery.
Otherwise employ a guide. Of course your lungs, heart, and legs must
be in good condition.
As to outfit, certain especial conditions will differentiate your needs
from those of forest and canoe travel.
You will in the changing altitudes be exposed to greater variations in
temperature. At morning you may travel in the hot arid foot-hills; at
noon you will be in the cool shades of the big pines; towards evening
you may wallow through snowdrifts; and at dark you may camp where
morning will show you icicles hanging from the brinks of little
waterfalls. Behind your saddle you will want to carry a sweater, or
better still a buckskin waistcoat. Your arms are never cold anyway,
and the pockets of such a waistcoat, made many and deep, are handy
receptacles for smokables, matches, cartridges, and the like. For the
night-time, when the cold creeps down from the high peaks, you should
provide yourself with a suit of very heavy underwear and an extra
sweater or a buckskin shirt. The latter is lighter, softer, and more
impervious to the wind than the sweater. Here again I wish to place
myself on record as opposed to a coat. It is a useless ornament,
assumed but rarely, and then only as substitute for a handier garment.
Inasmuch as you will be a great deal called on to handle abrading and
sometimes frozen ropes, you will want a pair of heavy buckskin
gauntlets. An extra pair of stout high-laced boots with small
Hungarian hob-nails will come handy. It is marvelous how quickly
leather wears out in the downhill friction of granite and shale. I
once found the heels of a new pair of shoes almost ground away by a
single giant-strides descent of a steep shale-covered
thirteen-thousand-foot mountain. Having no others I patched them with
hair-covered rawhide and a bit of horseshoe. It sufficed, but was a
long and disagreeable job which an extra pair would have obviated.
Balsam is practically unknown in the high hills, and the rocks are
especially hard. Therefore you will take, in addition to your gray
army-blanket, a thick quilt or comforter to save your bones. This,
with your saddle-blankets and pads as foundation, should give you
ease--if you are tough. Otherwise take a second quilt.
A tarpaulin of heavy canvas 17 x 6 feet goes under you, and can be, if
necessary, drawn up to cover your head. We never used a tent. Since
you do not have to pack your outfit on your own back, you can, if you
choose, include a small pillow. Your other personal belongings are
those you would carry into the Forest. I have elsewhere described what
they should be.
Now as to the equipment for your horses.
The most important point for yourself is your riding-saddle. The
cowboy or military style and seat are the only practicable ones.
Perhaps of these two the cowboy saddle is the better, for the simple
reason that often in roping or leading a refractory horse, the horn is
a great help. For steep-trail work the double cinch is preferable to
the single, as it need not be pulled so tight to hold the saddle in
place.
Your riding-bridle you will make of an ordinary halter by riveting two
snaps to the lower part of the head-piece just above the corners of the
horse's mouth. These are snapped into the rings of the bit. At night
you unsnap the bit, remove it and the reins, and leave the halter part
on the horse. Each animal, riding and packing, has furthermore a short
lead-rope attached always to his halter-ring.
Of pack-saddles the ordinary sawbuck tree is by all odds the best,
provided it fits. It rarely does. If you can adjust the wood
accurately to the anatomy of the individual horse, so that the side
pieces bear evenly and smoothly without gouging the withers or chafing
the back, you are possessed of the handiest machine made for the
purpose. Should individual fitting prove impracticable, get an old LOW
California riding-tree and have a blacksmith bolt an upright spike on
the cantle. You can hang the loops of the kyacks or alforjas--the
sacks slung on either side the horse--from the pommel and this iron
spike. Whatever the saddle chosen, it should be supplied with
breast-straps, breeching, and two good cinches.
The kyacks or alforjas just mentioned are made either of heavy canvas,
or of rawhide shaped square and dried over boxes. After drying, the
boxes are removed, leaving the stiff rawhide like small trunks open at
the top. I prefer the canvas, for the reason that they can be folded
and packed for railroad transportation. If a stiffer receptacle is
wanted for miscellaneous loose small articles, you can insert a
soap-box inside the canvas. It cannot be denied that the rawhide will
stand rougher usage.
Probably the point now of greatest importance is that of
saddle-padding. A sore back is the easiest thing in the world to
induce,--three hours' chafing will turn the trick,--and once it is done
you are in trouble for a month. No precautions or pains are too great
to take in assuring your pack-animals against this. On a pinch you
will give up cheerfully part of your bedding to the cause. However,
two good-quality woolen blankets properly and smoothly folded, a pad
made of two ordinary collar-pads sewed parallel by means of canvas
strips in such a manner as to lie along both sides of the backbone, a
well-fitted saddle, and care in packing will nearly always suffice. I
have gone months without having to doctor a single abrasion.
You will furthermore want a pack-cinch and a pack-rope for each horse.
The former are of canvas or webbing provided with a ring at one end and
a big bolted wooden hook at the other. The latter should be half-inch
lines of good quality. Thirty-three feet is enough for packing only;
but we usually bought them forty feet long, so they could be used also
as picket-ropes. Do not fail to include several extra. They are
always fraying out, getting broken, being cut to free a fallen horse,
or becoming lost.
Besides the picket-ropes, you will also provide for each horse a pair
of strong hobbles. Take them to a harness-maker and have him sew
inside each ankle-band a broad strip of soft wash-leather twice the
width of the band. This will save much chafing. Some advocate
sheepskin with the wool on, but this I have found tends to soak up
water or to freeze hard. At least two loud cow-bells with neck-straps
are handy to assist you in locating whither the bunch may have strayed
during the night. They should be hung on the loose horses most
inclined to wander.
Accidents are common in the hills. The repair-kit is normally rather
comprehensive. Buy a number of extra latigos, or cinch-straps.
Include many copper rivets of all sizes--they are the best quick-repair
known for almost everything, from putting together a smashed
pack-saddle to cobbling a worn-out boot. Your horseshoeing outfit
should be complete with paring-knife, rasp, nail-set, clippers, hammer,
nails, and shoes. The latter will be the malleable soft iron,
low-calked "Goodenough," which can be fitted cold. Purchase a dozen
front shoes and a dozen and a half hind shoes. The latter wear out
faster on the trail. A box or so of hob-nails for your own boots, a
waxed end and awl, a whetstone, a file, and a piece of buckskin for
strings and patches complete the list.
Thus equipped, with your grub supply, your cooking-utensils, your
personal effects, your rifle and your fishing-tackle, you should be
able to go anywhere that man and horses can go, entirely self-reliant,
independent of the towns.
III
ON HORSES
I really believe that you will find more variation of individual and
interesting character in a given number of Western horses than in an
equal number of the average men one meets on the street. Their whole
education, from the time they run loose on the range until the time
when, branded, corralled, broken, and saddled, they pick their way
under guidance over a bad piece of trail, tends to develop their
self-reliance. They learn to think for themselves.
To begin with two misconceptions, merely by way of clearing the ground:
the Western horse is generally designated as a "bronco." The term is
considered synonymous of horse or pony. This is not so. A horse is
"bronco" when he is ugly or mean or vicious or unbroken. So is a cow
"bronco" in the same condition, or a mule, or a burro. Again, from
certain Western illustrators and from a few samples, our notion of the
cow-pony has become that of a lean, rangy, wiry, thin-necked, scrawny
beast. Such may be found. But the average good cow-pony is apt to be
an exceedingly handsome animal, clean-built, graceful. This is
natural, when you stop to think of it, for he is descended direct from
Moorish and Arabian stock.
Certain characteristics he possesses beyond the capabilities of the
ordinary horse. The most marvelous to me of these is his
sure-footedness. Let me give you a few examples.
I once was engaged with a crew of cowboys in rounding up mustangs in
southern Arizona. We would ride slowly in through the hills until we
caught sight of the herds. Then it was a case of running them down and
heading them off, of turning the herd, milling it, of rushing it while
confused across country and into the big corrals. The surface of the
ground was composed of angular volcanic rocks about the size of your
two fists, between which the bunch-grass sprouted. An Eastern rider
would ride his horse very gingerly and at a walk, and then thank his
lucky stars if he escaped stumbles. The cowboys turned their mounts
through at a dead run. It was beautiful to see the ponies go, lifting
their feet well up and over, | 858.285223 |
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[Illustration: frontispiece]
FROM THE
EASY CHAIR
BY
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS
SECOND SERIES
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HARPER AND BROTHERS
MDCCCXCIV
Copyright, 1893, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
Copyright, 1894, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE NEW YEAR 1
THE PUBLIC SCOLD 10
NATIONAL NOMINATING CONVENTION 16
BRYANT'S COUNTRY 23
_The Game of Newport_ 31
THE LECTURE LYCEUM 39
TWEED 47
COMMENCEMENT 60
THE STREETS OF NEW YORK 69
THE MORALITY OF DANCING 76
THE HOG FAMILY 81
THE ENLIGHTENED OBSERVER 88
RALPH WALDO EMERSON 94
HENRY WARD BEECHER 110
THE GOLDEN AGE 119
SPRING PICTURES 126
PROPER AND IMPROPER 130
BELINDA AND THE VULGAR 137
DECAYED GENTILITY 142
THE PHARISEE 149
LADY MAVOURNEEN ON HER TRAVELS 155
GENERAL SHERMAN 162
THE AMERICAN GIRL 166
ANNUS MIRABILIS 174
STATUES IN CENTRAL PARK 186
THE GRAND TOUR 193
"EASY DOES IT, GUVNER" 203
SISTE, VIATOR 208
CHRISTENDOM _vs._ CHRISTIANITY 216
FRANCIS GEORGE SHAW 222
THE NEW YEAR.
IN Germany on _Sylvesterabend_--the eve of Saint Sylvester, the last
night of the year--you shall wake and hear a chorus of voices singing
hymns, like the English waits at Christmas or the Italian _pifferari_.
In the deep silence, and to one awakening, the music has a penetrating
and indefinable pathos, the pathos that Richter remarked in all music,
and which our own Parsons has hinted delicately--
"Strange was the music that over me stole,
For 'twas born of old sadness that lives in my
soul."
There is something of the same feeling in the melody of college songs
heard at a little distance on awakening in the night before
Commencement. The songs are familiar, but they have an appealing
melancholy unknown before. Their dying cadences murmur like a muffled
peal heralding the visionary procession that is passing out of the
enchanted realm of youth forever. So the voices of Sylvester's Eve chant
the requiem of the year that is dead. So much more of life, of
opportunity, of achievement, passed; so much nearer age, decline, the
mystery of the end. The music swells in rich and lingering strains. It
is a moment of exaltation, of purification. The chords are dying; the
hymn is ending; it ends. The voices are stilled. It is the benediction
of Saint Sylvester:
"She died and left to me...
The memory of what has been,
And nevermore will be."
But this is the midnight refrain--The King is dead! With the earliest
ray of daylight the exulting strain begins--Live the King! The bells are
ringing; the children are shouting; there are gifts and greetings, good
wishes and gladness. "Happy New Year! happy New Year!" It is the day of
hope and a fresh beginning. Old debts shall be forgiven; old feuds
forgotten; old friendships revived. To-day shall be better than
yesterday. The good vows shall be kept. A blessing shall be wrung from
the fleet angel Opportunity. There shall be more patience, more courage,
more faith; the | 858.285333 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs or quotations in
which they are referenced.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Only the
most egregious of these have been | 858.286653 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Portions of this text are written in an archaic
manner in which macrons over single or double letters stand in place
for an abbreviation. This has been represented in the text version
by enclosing the letter in square brackets and preceeding the letter
(or letters) with a tilde character. There are also copious single
and multiple superscripted abbreviations represented in the text version
by enclosing the superscripted characters with curly braces, preceded
by a caret.]
Series XXVI Nos. 1-2-3
JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY STUDIES
IN
Historical and Political Science
Under the Direction of the Departments
of History, Political Economy, and
Political Science
* * * * *
BRITISH COMMITTEES, COMMISSIONS, AND COUNCILS OF TRADE AND PLANTATIONS,
1622-1675
BY CHARLES M. ANDREWS
Professor of History
BALTIMORE
THE JOHNS HOPKINS PRESS
PUBLISHED MONTHLY
January, February, March, 1908
Copyright 1908 by
THE JOHNS HOPKINS PRESS
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
CONTROL OF TRADE AND PLANTATIONS UNDER JAMES I AND CHARLES I.
Before 1622, Privy Council the sole authority 10
Commission of Trade, 1622-1623 11
Commission of Trade, 1625-1626 12
Privy Council Committee of Trade, 1630-1640 13
Temporary Plantation Commissions, 1630-1633 14
Laud Commission for Plantations, 1634-1641 14
Subcommittees for Plantations, 1632-1639 17
Privy Council in control, 1640-1642 21
Parliamentary Commission for Plantations, 1643-1648 21
CHAPTER II.
CONTROL OF TRADE AND PLANTATIONS DURING THE INTERREGNUM.
The Council of Trade, 1650-1653 24
Plantation Affairs controlled by the Council of State, 1649-1651 30
Standing Committee of the Council for Plantations,
1651-April, 1653 33
Plantation Affairs controlled by the Council of State,
April-Dec., 1653 35
Trade controlled by Council of State and Parliamentary Committees,
Dec., 1653-June, 1655 36
Importance of the years 1654-1655 36
The great Trade Committee, 1655-1657 38
Parliamentary Committees of Trade, 1656-1658 43
Plantation Affairs controlled by Protector's Council and Council
of the State, 1653-1660 43
Special Council Committees for Plantations, 1653-1659 44
Council Committee for Jamaica and Foreign Plantations, 1655-1660 44
Select Committee for Jamaica, known later as Committee
for America, 1655-1660 45
Inadequacy of Control during the Interregnum 47
CHAPTER III.
THE PROPOSALS OF THE MERCHANTS: NOELL AND POVEY.
Career of Martin Noell 49
Career of Thomas Povey 51
Enterprises of the Merchants, 1657-1659 53
Proposals of Noell and Povey 55
"Overtures" of 1654 55
"Queries" of 1656 58
Additional Proposals, 1656, 1657 58
CHAPTER IV.
COMMITTEES AND COUNCILS UNDER THE RESTORATION.
Plantation Committee of Privy Council, June 4, 1660 61
Work of Privy Council Committee 63
Appointment of Select Councils of Trade and Plantations, 1660 64
Membership of these Councils 67
Comparison of Povey's "Overtures" with the Instructions for
Council for Foreign Plantations 68
Comparison of Povey's "First Draft" with Instructions for
Council of Trade 71
Work of Council for Foreign Plantations, 1660-1665 74
Control of Plantation Affairs, 1665-1670 79
Work of Council of Trade, 1660-1664 80
Parliamentary Committee of Trade, 1664 85
Commission for English-Scottish Trade, 1667-1668 86
Reorganization of Committees of the Privy Council, 1668 87
Work of Privy Council Committee for Foreign Plantations, 1668-1670 90
New Select Council of Trade, 1668-1672 91
CHAPTER V.
THE PLANTATION COUNCILS OF 1670 AND 1672.
Influence of Ashley and Locke 96
Revival of Council for Foreign Plantations, 1670-1672 97
Membership 97
Commission and Instructions 99
Meetings and Work 101
Select Council of Trade and Foreign Plantations, 1672-1674 106
Membership 106
Commission and Instructions 107
Meetings and Work 109
Causes of the Revocation of the Commission of Select Council, 1674 111
Later History of Plantation Control, 1675-1782 112
APPENDICES.
I. Instructions, Board of Trade, 1650 115
II. Instructions, Council for Foreign Plantations, 1670-1672 117
Additional Instructions for the Same 124
III. Draft of Instructions, Council of Trade and Foreign
Plantations, 1672-1674 127
IV. Heads of Business; Councils of 1670 and 1672 133
BRITISH COMMITTEES, COMMISSIONS, AND COUNCILS OF TRADE AND PLANTATIONS,
1622-1675.
CHAPTER I.
Control of Trade and Plantations Under James I and Charles I.
In considering the subject which forms the chief topic of this paper, we
are not primarily concerned with the question of settlement, intimately
related though it be to the larger problem of colonial control. We are
interested rather in the early history of the various commissions,
councils, committees, and boards appointed at one time or another in the
middle of the seventeenth century for the supervision and management of
trade, domestic, foreign, and colonial, and for the general oversight of
the colonies whose increase was furthered, particularly after 1650, in
largest part for commercial purposes. The coupling of the terms "trade"
and "foreign plantations" was due to the prevailing economic theory
which viewed the colonies not so much as markets for British exports
or as territories for the receipt of a surplus British population--for
Great Britain had at that time no surplus population and manufactured
but few commodities for export--but rather as sources of such raw
materials as could not be produced at home, and of such tropical
products as could not be obtained otherwise than from the East and West
Indies. The two interests were not, however, finally consolidated in
the hands of a single board until 1672, after which date they were not
separated until the final abolition of the old Board of Trade in 1782.
It is, therefore, to the period before 1675 that we shall chiefly direct
our attention, in the hope of throwing some light upon a phase of
British colonial control that has hitherto remained somewhat obscure.
Familiar as are many of the facts connected with the early history of
Great Britain's management of trade and the colonies, it is nevertheless
true that no attempt has been made to trace in detail the various
experiments undertaken by the authorities in England in the interest
of trade and the plantations during the years before 1675. Many of
the details are, and will always remain, unknown, nevertheless it is
possible to make some additions to our knowledge of a subject which
is more or less intimately related to our early colonial history.
At the beginning of colonization the control of all matters relating
to trade and the plantations lay in the hands of the king and his
council, forming the executive branch of the government. Parliament
had not yet begun to legislate for the colonies, and in matters
of trade and commerce the parliaments of James I accomplished much
less than had those of Elizabeth. "In the time of James I," says Dr.
Prothero, "it was more essential to assert constitutional principles
and to maintain parliamentary rights than to pass new laws or to create
new institutions." Thus the Privy Council became the controlling factor
in all matters that concerned the colonies and it acted in the main
without reference or delegation to others, since the practice of
appointing advisory boards or deliberative committees, though not
unknown, was at first employed only as an occasional expedient. The
councils of James I were called upon to deal with a wide variety of
colonial business--letters, petitions, complaints and reports from
private individuals, such as merchants, captains of ships voyaging
to the colonies, seamen, prisoners, and the like, from officials
in England, merchant companies, church organizations, and colonial
governments, notably the governor and council and assembly of Virginia.
To all these communications the Council replied either by issuing orders
which were always mandatory, or by sending letters which often contained
information and advice as well as instructions. It dealt with the
Virginia Company in London and sent letters, both before and after the
dissolution of the company, to the governor and council in Virginia,
and in all these letters trade played an important part. For example,
the order of October 24, 1621, which forbade the colony to export
tobacco and other commodities to foreign countries, declared that such
a privilege as an open trade on the part of the colony was desirable
"neither in policy nor for the honor of the state (that being but a
colony derived from hence)," and that it could not be suffered "for that
it may be a loss unto his Majesty in his customs, if not the hazarding
of the trade which in future times is well hoped may be of much profit,
use, and importance to the Commonalty."[1] Similarly the Council issued
a license to Lord Baltimore to export provisions for the relief of his
colony at Avalon,[2] ordered that the _Ark_ and the _Dove_, containing
Calvert and the settlers of Maryland, be held back at Tilbury until the
oaths of allegiance had been taken,[3] and instructed the governor and
company of Virginia to give friendly assistance to Baltimore's
undertaking.[4]
Of the employment of committees or special commissions to inquire
into questions either commercial or colonial there is no evidence
before the year 1622. A few months after the dissolution of the third
Stuart parliament, James I issued a proclamation for the encouragement
of trade, and directed a special commission not composed of privy
councillors to inquire into the decay of the clothing trade and to
report to the Privy Council such remedial measures as seemed best
adapted to increase the wealth and prosperity of the realm.[5] At the
same time he caused a commission to be issued to the Lord Keeper, the
Lord Treasurer, the Lord President of the Council and others "to collect
and cause a true survey to be taken in writing of the names, qualities,
professions, and places of habitation of such strangers as do reside
within the realm of England and use any retailing trade or handicraft
trade and do reform the abuses therein according to the statutes now in
force."[6] The commissioners of trade duly met, during the years 1622
and 1623, summoned persons to appear before them, and reported to the
Council. Their report was afterward presented to the King sitting with
the Council at Wansted, "was allowed and approved of, and commandment
was given to enter it in the Register of Counsell causes and to remain
as an act of Counsell by order of the Lord President."[7] There is
evidence also to show that the commission issued orders on its own
account, for in June, 1623, the Mayor and Aldermen of the city of London
wrote two letters to the commission expressing their approval of its
orders and sending petitions presented to them by citizens of London.[8]
On April 15, 1625, less than three weeks after the death of James I,
a warrant was issued by his successor for a commission of trade, the
duties of which were of broader and more general character than were
those of the previous body.[9] The first record of its meeting is dated
January 18, 1626, but it is probable that then the commission had been
for some time in existence, though the exact date when its commission
was issued is not known. The text of both commission and instructions
are among the Domestic Papers.[10] The board was to advance the
exportations of home manufactures and to repress the "ungainful
importation of foreign commodities." Looked upon as a subcommittee of
the Privy Council, but having none of the privy councillors among its
members, it was required to sit every week and to consider all questions
that might be referred to it for examination and report. The fact that a
complaint against the patent of Sir Ferdinando Gorges was referred to it
shows that it was qualified to deal not only with questions of trade but
also with plantation affairs.[11] At about the same time a committee of
the Council was appointed to take into consideration a special question
of trade and to make report to the Council. Neither of these bodies
appears to have had more than a temporary existence, although the
commission sat for some time and accomplished no inconsiderable amount
of work.
The first Privy Council committee of trade that had any claim to
permanency was that appointed in March, 1630, consisting at first of
thirteen members, the Lord Keeper, the Lord Treasurer, the Lord
President, the Lord Privy Seal, Earl Marshall, the Lord Steward, Earl
of Dorset, Earl of Holland, Earl of Carlisle, Lord Dorchester, the
Vice-Chamberlain, Sir Henry Cottington and Mr. Secretary Coke. This
committee was to meet on Friday mornings. The same committee, with the
omission of one member, was appointed the next year to meet on Tuesdays
in the afternoon. In 1634 the membership was reduced to nine, but in
1636, 1638 and 1639, by the addition of the Lord Treasurer, the number
was raised to ten, as follows: the Lord President, the Lord Treasurer,
the Lord Keeper, the Lord Privy Seal, Earl Marshall, Earl of Dorset,
Lord Cottington, Mr. Comptroller, Mr. Secretary Coke and Mr. Secretary
Windebank. The meetings were again held on Fridays, though on special
occasions the committee was warned to meet on other days by order of the
Council, and on one occasion at least assembled at Hampton Court.[12]
To this committee were referred all matters of trade which came to the
attention of the Council during the ten years, from 1630 to 1640. Notes
of its meetings between 1631 and 1637 were kept by Secretaries Coke and
Windebank and show the extent and variety of its activities. Except for
the garbling of tobacco it does not appear to have concerned itself
with plantation affairs.[13] As the King was generally present at its
meetings, it possessed executive as well as advisory powers, not only
making reports to the Council, but also drafting regulations and issuing
orders on its own account. Occasionally it appointed special committees
to examine into certain trade difficulties, and on September 21, 1638,
and again on February 3, 1639, we find notice of a separate board of
commissioners for trade constituted under the great seal to inquire into
the decay of the clothing industry. This board sat for two years and
made an elaborate report to the Privy Council on June 9, 1640.[14]
Though committees for trade, ordnance, foreign affairs, and Ireland
had a more or less continuous existence during the period after 1630,
no similar committee for plantations was created during this decade.
Temporary commissions and committees of the Council had been, however,
frequently appointed. In 1623 and 1624 several sets of commissioners for
Virginia were named "to inquire into the true state of Virginia and the
Somers Islands plantations," "to resolve upon the well settling of the
colony of Virginia," "and to advise on a fit patent for the Virginia
Company." In 1631 a commission of twenty-three persons, of whom four
constituted a quorum, was created, partly from within and partly from
without the Privy Council, "to advise upon some course for establishing
the advancement of the plantations of Virginia."[15] Similar commissions
were appointed to meet special exigencies in the careers of other
plantations, Somers Islands, Caribbee Islands, etc. In 1632, we meet
with a committee forming the first committee of the Council appointed
for the plantations, quite distinct in functions and membership
from the committee for trade and somewhat broader in scope than the
commissions mentioned above. The circumstances of its appointment were
these: In the year 1632 complaints began to come in to the Privy Council
regarding the conduct of the colony of Massachusetts Bay. Thomas Morton
and Philip Ratcliffe had been banished from that colony and sent back
to England. Sir Christopher Gardiner, also, after a period of troubled
relations with the authorities there, had taken ship for England. These
men, acting in conjunction with Gorges and Mason, whose claims had
already been before the Council, presented petitions embodying their
grievances. On December 19, 1632, the Council listened to the reading
of these petitions and to the presentation of a "relation" drawn up by
Gardiner. After long debate "upon the whole carriage of the plantation
of that country," it appointed a committee of twelve members, called the
Committee on the New England Plantations, with the Archbishop of York at
its head, "to examine how the patents for the said plantations have been
granted." This committee had power to call "to their assistance such
other persons as they shall think fit," "to examine the truth of the
aforesaid information or any other information as shall be presented to
them and shall make report thereof to this board and of the true state
of the said plantations." The committee deliberated on the "New England
Case," summoned many of the "principal adventurers in that plantation"
before it, listened to the complainants, and reported favorably to the
colony. The essential features of its report were embodied in an order
in council, dated January 19, 1633.[16] This committee, still called the
Committee for New England, was reappointed in December, 1633, with a
slight change of membership, Laud, who had been made primate the August
before, taking the place of the Archbishop of York as chairman. But this
committee was soon overshadowed by the greater commission to come.[17]
The first separate commission, though, in reality, a committee of the
Privy Council, appointed to concern itself with all the plantations,
was created by Charles I, April 28, 1634. It was officially styled
the Commission for Foreign Plantations; one petitioner called it
"the Lords Commissioners for Plantations in General," and another
"the learned Commissioners appointed by the King to examine and rectify
all complaints from the plantations." It is probable that the term
"Committee of Foreign Plantations" was occasionally applied to it,
as there is nothing to show that the committee of 1633 remained in
existence after April, 1634.[18] Recommissioned, April 10, 1636, it
continued to sit as an active body certainly as late as August, 1641,
and possibly longer,[19] though there is no formal record of its
discontinuance. Its original membership was as follows: William Laud,
Archbishop of Canterbury; Richard Neile, Archbishop of York; Sir Thomas
Coventry, the Lord Keeper; Earl of Portland, the Lord Treasurer, Earl
of Manchester, the Lord Privy Seal, Earl of Arundel, the Earl Marshall,
Earl of Dorset, Lord Cottington, Sir Thomas Edmondes, the Master
Treasurer, Sir Henry Vane, the Master Comptroller, and the secretaries,
Coke and Windebank. Later the Earl of Sterling was added.[20] Five
constituted a quorum. The powers granted to the commission were
extensive and almost royal in character: to make laws and orders for the
government of the English colonies in foreign parts; to impose penalties
and imprisonment for offenses in ecclesiastical matters; to remove
governors and require an account of their government; to appoint judges
and magistrates, and to establish courts, both civil and ecclesiastical;
to hear and determine all manner of complaints from the colonies;
to have power over all charters and patents, and to revoke those
surreptitiously or unduly obtained. Such powers clearly show that the
commission was designed as an instrument for enforcing the royal will
in the colonies, and furnishes no precedent for the later councils and
boards of trade and foreign plantations. Called into being probably
because of the continued emigration of Puritans to New England, the
complaints against the Massachusetts charter, and the growth of
Independency in that colony, it was in origin a coercive, not an
inquisitory, body, in the same class with the courts of Star Chamber and
High Commission, and the Councils of Wales and the North. Unlike these
bodies, it proved practically impotent, and there is nothing to show
that it took any active part in the attempt to repeal the Massachusetts
charter or in any important particular exercised the powers granted
to it. It did not remove or appoint a governor, establish a court, or
grant or revoke a charter. It received petitions either directly or
from the Privy Council and made recommendations, but it never attempted
to establish uniformity in New England or to bring the New England
colonies more directly under the authority of the Crown. Whether it was
the failure of the attempt to vacate the Massachusetts charter, or the
poverty of the King, or the approach of civil war that prevented the
enforcement of the royal policy, we cannot say, but the fact remains
that the Laud commission played a comparatively inconspicuous part
during the seven years of its existence and has gained a prominence in
the history of our subject out of all proportion to its importance.
More directly connected with the commercial and colonial interests of
the realm were the subcommittees which the Privy Council used during
these years and earlier as advisory and inquisitory bodies. In addition
to committees of its own, the Privy Council called on various outside
persons known to be familiar with the circumstances of a particular
case or experts in the general subject involved, and entrusted to
them the consideration of important matters that had been called to its
attention. As we have already seen, such a subcommittee on trade had
been appointed in 1625, and after 1630 we meet with many references to
individuals or groups of experts. The attorney general was called upon
to examine complaints regarding New England and Maryland in 1632 and
1635; the Chancellor of London was requested to examine the parties in
a controversy over a living in St. Christopher in 1637; many commercial
questions were referred to special bodies of merchants or others holding
official positions. In 1631 a complaint regarding interlopers in Canada
was referred to a committee of three, Sir William Becher, clerk of the
Council; Serj. (Wm.) Berkeley, afterward governor of Virginia, and
Edward Nicholas, afterward clerk of the Council, and a new committee
in which Sir William Alexander and Robert Charlton took the place of
Becher and Nicholas was appointed in 1632.[21] Berkeley, Alexander,
and Charlton were known as the Commissioners for the Gulf and River of
Canada and parts adjacent, and were all directly interested in Canadian
trade.[22] These committees received references from the Council,
summoned witnesses and examined them, and made reports to the Council.
Similarly, the dispute between Vassall and Kingswell was referred on
March 10, 1635, to Edward Nicholas and Sir Abraham Dawes for examination
and report, and because it was an intricate matter, consumed
considerable time and required a second report.[23] Again a case
regarding the Virginia tobacco trade was referred to the body known
as the "Commissioners of Tobacco to the Lords of the Privy Council,"
appointed as early as 1634 and itself a subcommittee having to do with
tobacco licenses, customs, and trade. The members were Lord Goring,
Sir Abraham Dawes, John Jacob, and Edmund Peisley. The first specific
references to "subcommittees," _eo nomine_, are of date May 23, May 25,
and June 27, 1638. The last named reference mentions the receipt by the
Privy Council of a "certificate" or report from Sir John Wolstenholme
and Sir Abraham Dawes "unto whom their lordships had formerly referred
the hearing and examining of complaints by John Michael in the Laconia
case."[24] As the earlier reference of May 23 had to do with the estate
of Sir Thomas Gates and that of May 25 to a Virginia matter, it is
evident that this particular subcommittee had been appointed some time
before May 23, 1638, and that the only thing new about it was the
term "subcommittee" as applied to such a body. This conjecture seems
reasonable when we note that Wolstenholme and Dawes had already served
on the commission for Virginia and were thoroughly conversant with
plantation affairs, while Dawes was also a member of the tobacco
commission and had served on the committee in the Kingswell-Vassall
case. An examination of later "subcommittees" shows that many of the
same men continued to be utilized by the Council in their capacity as
experts. Lord Goring, John Jacob, Sir Abraham Dawes, with Sir William
Becher and Edward Nicholas, clerks of the Council, and Edward Sandys,
brother of Sir Edwin Sandys, and a councillor of Virginia under Governor
Wyatt, formed the subcommittee to whom, on July 15, was referred the
complaint of Samuel Mathews against Governor Harvey. When the same
matter was referred again to a subcommittee on October 24, Sir Dudley
Carleton, formerly one of the commissioners for Virginia, and Thomas
Meautys, clerk of the Council, were substituted for Dawes and
Nicholas.[25] These committees were instructed "to call the parties
before them, to examine the matter, and find out the truth, and then
to make certificate to their lordships of the true state of things and
their opinion thereof."[26] Similar references continued to be made
during the year 1639, on January 4, February 22, March 8,[27] June 12,
16, July 17, 26, 28, August 28, and the evidence seems to show that the
committee, though frequently changing its membership, was considered
a body sitting regularly and continuously. The certificate of July 9,
1638, in answer to the reference of June 16, was signed by Sir William
Becher, Thomas Meautys, Sir Francis Wyatt, and Abraham Williams; that
of July 23 by Becher, Dawes, Jacob, and Williams. After August 28 we
hear no more of the subcommittee. Whether this is due to a failure of
the Register to enter further references and certificates or to the
actual cessation of its labors, we cannot say. The committee was always
appointed by the Council, and always reported to that body. Frequently
its certificates are entered at length in the Register.[28] The petition
upon which it acted was sometimes sent directly to itself, frequently
to the Privy Council, which referred it to the subcommittee, and but
rarely to the Commissioners for Foreign Plantations.[29] The committee
was limited in its scope to no one colony. It reported on matters in
England, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Somers Islands, and Virginia.
It dealt with secular business and ecclesiastical questions, and on one
occasion at least was required to examine and approve the instructions
issued to a colonial governor.[30] It does not appear ever to have acted
except by order of the Privy Council, and was never in any sense of
the word a subcommittee of the Commissioners of Foreign Plantations,
although in reporting to the Council it was reporting to those who
composed that commission.[31]
From 1640 to 1642 plantation business was managed by the Privy Council
with the aid of occasional committees of its own appointed to consider
special questions. The term "subcommittee," as we have seen, does not
appear to have been used after 1639,[32] but commissions authorizing
experts to make inquiry and report are referred to, and committees
of the Council took into consideration questions of trade and the
plantations. During the year from July 5, 1642, to June, 1643, no
measures relating to the colonies appear to have been taken, for
civil war was in full swing. In 1643, Parliament assumed to itself
the functions of King and Council and became the executive head of the
kingdom. Among the earliest acts was the appointment of a parliamentary
commission of eighteen members, November 24, 1643, authorized to control
plantation affairs. At its head was Robert Rich | 858.378848 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.3606480 | 1,847 | 70 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Sir Walter Scott]
THE COUNTRY OF
SIR WALTER SCOTT
BY
CHARLES S. OLCOTT
_Author of George Eliot: Scenes and People of Her Novels_
ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
BY THE AUTHOR
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY CHARLES S. OLCOTT
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1913
TO
MY WIFE
THE COMPANION OF MY TRAVELS
TO WHOSE SYMPATHETIC COOPERATION I AM
INDEBTED FOR MUCH OF THE MATERIAL
THIS BOOK
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
CONTENTS
Introduction
I. The 'Making' of Sir Walter
II. The Lay of the Last Minstrel
III. Marmion
IV. The Lady of the Lake
V. Rokeby
VI. The Bridal of Triermain
VII. The Lord of the Isles
VIII. Waverley
IX. Guy Mannering
X. The Antiquary
XI. The Black Dwarf
XII. Old Mortality
XIII. Rob Roy
XIV. The Heart of Midlothian
XV. The Bride of Lammermoor
XVI. A Legend of Montrose
XVII. Ivanhoe
XVIII. The Monastery
XIX. The Abbot
XX. Kenilworth
XXI. The Pirate
XXII. The Fortunes of Nigel
XXIII. Peveril of the Peak
XXIV. Quentin Durward
XXV. St. Ronan's Well
XXVI. Redgauntlet
XXVII. Tales of the Crusaders
XXVIII. Woodstock
XXIX. The Fair Maid of Perth
XXX. The Chronicles of the Canongate and Other Tales
The Highland Widow
The Two Drovers
The Surgeon's Daughter
Anne of Geierstein
Count Robert of Paris
Castle Dangerous
XXXXI. A Successful Life
Index
ILLUSTRATIONS
Portrait of Sir Walter Scott...... Frontispiece
Photogravure from an engraving by William Walker of a painting
by Sir Henry Raeburn, R.A., 1822.
Smailholm
Kelso Abbey
The Popping Stone
Lasswade Cottage
Map Of Scotland
Showing localities of Scott's writings
St. Mary's Loch
Branksome Hall
Melrose Abbey
Ashestiel
Entrance to Norham Castle
Llndisfarne Abbey
Tantallon Castle
Loch Achray
Cambusmore
Glenfinglas
Stirling Castle
Brackenbury Tower, Barnard Castle
The Valley of the Tees
From Barnard Castle
The Valley of St. John
Showing Triermain Castle Rock
Turnberry Castle, Coast of Ayrshire
Grandtully Castle
Doune Castle
From the Teith
Ullswater
Waverley's retreat after the defeat of the Chevalier
Caerlaverock Castle
Edinburgh from the Castle
Auchmuthie
The Black Dwarf's Cottage
Craignethan Castle (Tillietudlem)
Crichope Linn
Chillingham Castle
Loch Lomond from Inversnaid
St. Anthony's Chapel
Crichton Castle
Loch Lubnaig
Map of England
Showing Localities of Scott's writings
Castle of Ashby de la Zouch
The Buck-Gate
Entrance to the Duke of Portland's estate, Sherwood Forest
The Avenue of Limes, Sherwood Forest
Interior of Fountains Abbey
Coningsburgh Castle
Cathcart Castle
Leicester's Buildings, Kenilworth
Cæsar's Tower, Kenilworth
Entrance to Warwick Castle
Mervyn's Tower, Kenilworth
Lerwick, Shetland
A Crofter's Cottage, Orkney
Sumburgh Head, Shetland
Scalloway, Shetland
The Standing Stones of Stennis
Stromness, Orkney
Map of London
Showing localities of Scott's writings
The Pack-Horse Bridge, Haddon Hall
The Saxon Tower, Isle of Man
The Tweed and Eildon Hills
Scott's Tomb, Dryburgh
Hoddam Castle
Powis Castle, Wales
Godstow Priory
Burial-place of 'The Fair Rosamond'
Loch Tay
House of the Fair Maid of Perth
Abbotsford
Scott Monument, Edinburgh
{xiii}
INTRODUCTION
On the first day of May, 1911, we began our exploration of the 'Scott
Country.' I say we, because I was accompanied by the companion of a
much longer journey, of which that year was the twenty-fifth milestone.
Whether from reasons of sentiment resulting from the near approach of
our silver anniversary, or because of more prosaic geographical
considerations, we began at the place where Walter Scott discovered
that he would be likely to see more of the beauty of life if he were
equipped with two pairs of eyes rather than one. This was at the
village of Gilsland, in the north of England, where the poet first met
the companion who was to share the joys and sorrows of the best years
of his life. A pony and dogcart took us clattering up to the top of
the hill, where, leaving our conveyance, we started down the glen to
the banks of the river Irthing. Here the camera promptly responded to
the call of a beautiful view and the first exposure was made:--a gently
flowing stream of shallow water, scarcely covering the rocky bed of the
river; a pleasant path along the bank, well shaded from the sun; and a
slender little waterfall in the distance;--the same scene which so
often met the eyes of Walter Scott and his future bride as they
strolled along the stream in their 'courting' days.
This was the beginning of a tour which eventually led into nearly every
county of Scotland, as far north as the Shetland Islands, and through a
large part of England {xiv} and Wales. We went wherever we thought we
might find a beautiful or an interesting picture, connected in some way
with the life of Sir Walter, or mentioned by him in some novel or poem.
Knowing that he had derived his inspiration from an intimate knowledge
of the country, we sought to follow his footsteps so far as possible.
Months of preparation had been devoted to the work before leaving home.
Every novel and poem had to be read, besides many books of reference,
including, of course, Lockhart's _Life_, for it would not have been
safe to trust to the recollections of earlier reading. Notes were made
of the places to be sought, and two large maps were prepared on which I
marked circles with a red pencil around all points which I thought
ought to be visited, until my maps began to look as though they were
suffering from a severe attack of measles. Then the route was laid out
by 'centres.' The first was Carlisle, then Dumfries, Melrose,
Edinburgh, Berwick, Glasgow, Stirling, Callander, the Trossachs, Oban,
and so on until the entire country had been covered. From each
'centre' as a convenient point of departure we explored the country in
many directions, visiting so far as possible every scene of the novels
and poems that could be identified.
It was surprising to find so many of these scenes exactly as Sir Walter
had described them. The mountains and valleys, the rivers, lakes, and
waterfalls, the wild ruggedness of the seaside cliffs, the quaint
little old-fashioned villages, the ruined castles and abbeys, all
brought back memories of the romances which he had so charmingly set
amidst these scenes. It was like actually living the Waverley Novels
to see them. And in seeing {xv} them, we came to know, on intimate
terms, Sir Walter himself; to feel the genial influence of his presence
as if he were a fellow traveller, and to love him as his companions | 858.380688 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.3643110 | 945 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Future of the <DW52> Race in
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2023-11-16 18:31:22.3680600 | 2,968 | 9 |
Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger
RODERICK HUDSON
by Henry James
CONTENTS
I. Rowland
II. Roderick
III. Rome
IV. Experience
V. Christina
VI. Frascati
VII. St. Cecilia's
VIII. Provocation
IX. Mary Garland
X. The Cavaliere
XI. Mrs. Hudson
XII. The Princess Casamassima
XIII. Switzerland
CHAPTER I. Rowland
Mallet had made his arrangements to sail for Europe on the first
of September, and having in the interval a fortnight to spare, he
determined to spend it with his cousin Cecilia, the widow of a nephew of
his father. He was urged by the reflection that an affectionate farewell
might help to exonerate him from the charge of neglect frequently
preferred by this lady. It was not that the young man disliked her; on
the contrary, he regarded her with a tender admiration, and he had not
forgotten how, when his cousin had brought her home on her marriage, he
had seemed to feel the upward sweep of the empty bough from which the
golden fruit had been plucked, and had then and there accepted the
prospect of bachelorhood. The truth was, that, as it will be part of
the entertainment of this narrative to exhibit, Rowland Mallet had an
uncomfortably sensitive conscience, and that, in spite of the seeming
paradox, his visits to Cecilia were rare because she and her misfortunes
were often uppermost in it. Her misfortunes were three in number: first,
she had lost her husband; second, she had lost her money (or the
greater part of it); and third, she lived at Northampton, Massachusetts.
Mallet's compassion was really wasted, because Cecilia was a very clever
woman, and a most skillful counter-plotter to adversity. She had made
herself a charming home, her economies were not obtrusive, and there
was always a cheerful flutter in the folds of her crape. It was the
consciousness of all this that puzzled Mallet whenever he felt tempted
to put in his oar. He had money and he had time, but he never could
decide just how to place these gifts gracefully at Cecilia's service.
He no longer felt like marrying her: in these eight years that fancy had
died a natural death. And yet her extreme cleverness seemed somehow to
make charity difficult and patronage impossible. He would rather chop
off his hand than offer her a check, a piece of useful furniture, or
a black silk dress; and yet there was some sadness in seeing such a
bright, proud woman living in such a small, dull way. Cecilia had,
moreover, a turn for sarcasm, and her smile, which was her pretty
feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a lurking
scratch in it. Rowland remembered that, for him, she was all smiles, and
suspected, awkwardly, that he ministered not a little to her sense of
the irony of things. And in truth, with his means, his leisure, and his
opportunities, what had he done? He had an unaffected suspicion of
his uselessness. Cecilia, meanwhile, cut out her own dresses, and was
personally giving her little girl the education of a princess.
This time, however, he presented himself bravely enough; for in the way
of activity it was something definite, at least, to be going to Europe
and to be meaning to spend the winter in Rome. Cecilia met him in the
early dusk at the gate of her little garden, amid a studied combination
of floral perfumes. A rosy widow of twenty-eight, half cousin, half
hostess, doing the honors of an odorous cottage on a midsummer evening,
was a phenomenon to which the young man's imagination was able to do
ample justice. Cecilia was always gracious, but this evening she was
almost joyous. She was in a happy mood, and Mallet imagined there was
a private reason for it--a reason quite distinct from her pleasure in
receiving her honored kinsman. The next day he flattered himself he was
on the way to discover it.
For the present, after tea, as they sat on the rose-framed porch, while
Rowland held his younger cousin between his knees, and she, enjoying
her situation, listened timorously for the stroke of bedtime, Cecilia
insisted on talking more about her visitor than about herself.
"What is it you mean to do in Europe?" she asked, lightly, giving a
turn to the frill of her sleeve--just such a turn as seemed to Mallet to
bring out all the latent difficulties of the question.
"Why, very much what I do here," he answered. "No great harm."
"Is it true," Cecilia asked, "that here you do no great harm? Is not a
man like you doing harm when he is not doing positive good?"
"Your compliment is ambiguous," said Rowland.
"No," answered the widow, "you know what I think of you. You have a
particular aptitude for beneficence. You have it in the first place in
your character. You are a benevolent person. Ask Bessie if you don't
hold her more gently and comfortably than any of her other admirers."
"He holds me more comfortably than Mr. Hudson," Bessie declared,
roundly.
Rowland, not knowing Mr. Hudson, could but half appreciate the eulogy,
and Cecilia went on to develop her idea. "Your circumstances, in
the second place, suggest the idea of social usefulness. You are
intelligent, you are well-informed, and your charity, if one may call it
charity, would be discriminating. You are rich and unoccupied, so that
it might be abundant. Therefore, I say, you are a person to do something
on a large scale. Bestir yourself, dear Rowland, or we may be taught to
think that virtue herself is setting a bad example."
"Heaven forbid," cried Rowland, "that I should set the examples of
virtue! I am quite willing to follow them, however, and if I don't
do something on the grand scale, it is that my genius is altogether
imitative, and that I have not recently encountered any very striking
models of grandeur. Pray, what shall I do? Found an orphan asylum, or
build a dormitory for Harvard College? I am not rich enough to do either
in an ideally handsome way, and I confess that, yet awhile, I feel
too young to strike my grand coup. I am holding myself ready for
inspiration. I am waiting till something takes my fancy irresistibly. If
inspiration comes at forty, it will be a hundred pities to have tied up
my money-bag at thirty."
"Well, I give you till forty," said Cecilia. "It's only a word to
the wise, a notification that you are expected not to run your course
without having done something handsome for your fellow-men."
Nine o'clock sounded, and Bessie, with each stroke, courted a closer
embrace. But a single winged word from her mother overleaped her
successive intrenchments. She turned and kissed her cousin, and
deposited an irrepressible tear on his moustache. Then she went and
said her prayers to her mother: it was evident she was being admirably
brought up. Rowland, with the permission of his hostess, lighted a cigar
and puffed it awhile in silence. Cecilia's interest in his career seemed
very agreeable. That Mallet was without vanity I by no means intend to
affirm; but there had been times when, seeing him accept, hardly less
deferentially, advice even more peremptory than the widow's, you
might have asked yourself what had become of his vanity. Now, in the
sweet-smelling starlight, he felt gently wooed to egotism. There was a
project connected with his going abroad which it was on his tongue's end
to communicate. It had no relation to hospitals or dormitories, and yet
it would have sounded very generous. But it was not because it would
have sounded generous that poor Mallet at last puffed it away in
the fumes of his cigar. Useful though it might be, it expressed most
imperfectly the young man's own personal conception of usefulness. He
was extremely fond of all the arts, and he had an almost passionate
enjoyment of pictures. He had seen many, and he judged them sagaciously.
It had occurred to him some time before that it would be the work of a
good citizen to go abroad and with all expedition and secrecy purchase
certain valuable specimens of the Dutch and Italian schools as to which
he had received private proposals, and then present his treasures out of
hand to an American city, not unknown to aesthetic fame, in which at
that time there prevailed a good deal of fruitless aspiration toward an
art-museum. He had seen himself in imagination, more than once, in
some mouldy old saloon of a Florentine palace, turning toward the deep
embrasure of the window some scarcely-faded Ghirlandaio or Botticelli,
while a host in reduced circumstances pointed out the lovely drawing
of a hand. But he imparted none of these visions to Cecilia, and he
suddenly swept them away with the declaration that he was of course an
idle, useless creature, and that he would probably be even more so in
Europe than at home. "The only thing is," he said, "that there I shall
seem to be doing something. I shall be better entertained, and shall be
therefore, I suppose, in a better humor with life. You may say that that
is just the humor a useless man should keep out of. He should cultivate
discontentment. I did a good many things when I was in Europe before,
but I did not spend a winter in Rome. Every one assures me that this is
a peculiar refinement of bliss; most people talk about Rome in the same
way. It is evidently only a sort of idealized form of loafing: a passive
life in Rome, thanks to the number and the quality of one's impressions,
takes on a very respectable likeness to activity. It is still
lotus-eating, only you sit down at table, and the lotuses are served up
on rococo china. It's all very well, but I have a distinct prevision of
this--that if Roman life doesn't do something substantial to make you
happier, it increases tenfold your liability to moral misery. It seems
to me a rash thing for a sensitive soul deliberately to cultivate its
sensibilities by rambling too often among the ruins of the Palatine, or
riding too often in the shadow of the aqueducts. In such recreations the
chords of feeling grow tense, and after-life, to spare your intellectual
nerves, must play upon them with a touch as dainty as the tread of
Mignon when she danced her egg-dance."
"I should have said, my dear Rowland," said Cecilia, with a laugh, "that
your nerves were tough, that your eggs were hard!"
"That being stupid, you mean, I might be happy? Upon my word I am not.
I am clever enough to want more than I've got. I am tired of myself, my
own thoughts, my own affairs, my own eternal company. True happiness,
we are told, consists in getting out of one's self; but the point is not
only to get out--you must stay out; and to stay out you must have some
absorbing errand. Unfortunately, I've got no errand, and nobody will
trust me with one. I want to care for something, or for some one. And I
want to care with a certain ardor; even, if you can believe it, with
a certain passion. I can't just now feel ardent and passionate about a
hospital or a dormitory. Do you know I sometimes think that I'm a man
of genius, half finished? The genius has been left out, the faculty of
expression is wanting; but the need for expression remains, and I spend
my days groping for the latch of a closed door."
"What an immense number of words," said Cecilia after a pause, "to say
you want to fall in love! I've no doubt you have as good a genius for
that as any one, if you would only trust it."
"Of course I've thought of that, and I assure you I hold myself ready.
But, evidently, I'm not inflammable. Is there in Northampton some
perfect epitome of the graces?"
"Of the graces?" said Cecilia, raising her eyebrows and suppressing too
distinct a consciousness of being herself a rosy embodiment of several.
"The household virtues are better represented. There are some excellent
girls, and there are two or three very pretty ones. I will have them
here, one by one, to tea, if you like."
"I should particularly like it; especially as I should give you a chance
to see, by the profundity of my attention, that if I am not happy, it's
not for want of taking pains."
Cecilia was silent a moment; and then, "On the whole," she resumed, "I
don't think there are any worth asking. There are none so very pretty,
none so very pleasing."
"Are you very sure?" asked the young man, rising and throwing away | 858.3881 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.3689900 | 885 | 6 |
Produced by Christopher Wright, Carlo Traverso and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _CONGRESS OF FRANCE._]
A <DW52> MAN
ROUND THE WORLD.
BY A QUADROON.
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
1858.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
DAVID F. DORR,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court, for the Northern
District of Ohio.
TO MY SLAVE MOTHER.
Mother! wherever thou art, whether in Heaven or a lesser world; or
whether around the freedom Base of a Bunker Hill, or only at the
lowest savannah of American Slavery, thou art the same to me, and I
dedicate this token of my knowledge to thee mother, Oh, my own
mother!
YOUR DAVID.
INDEX.
PAGE.
DEBUT IN A FOREIGN LAND, 13
LONDON, 19
THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK, 22
I AM GOING TO PARIS, 25
FIRST DAY IN PARIS, 29
FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS, 33
I MUST ROVE AWAY FROM PARIS, 43
SPICY TOWNS OF GERMANY, 49
DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH, 57
COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH, 61
ON! ON! TO WATERLOO, 71
THE BIAS OF MY TOUR, 77
COUP D'ETAT OF NAPOLEON III, 81
THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE AND WHO KNOWS THEM, 87
ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH, 97
NAPLES AND ITS CRAFT, 102
ST. JANUARIUS AND HIS BLOOD, 108
CONSTANTINOPLE, 114
THE DOGS PROVOKE ME, AND THE WOMEN ARE VEILED, 121
A <DW52> MAN FROM TENNESSEE SHAKING HANDS WITH THE
SULTAN, AND MEN PUTTING WOMEN IN THE BATH AND
TAKING THEM OUT, 125
GOING TO ATHENS WITH A PRIMA DONNA, 130
ATHENS A SEPULCHRE, 134
BEAUTIFUL VENICE, 143
VERONA AND BOLOGNA, 149
FRIENZA DE BELLA CITA, 153
BACK TO PARIS, 159
EGYPT AND THE NILE, 163
EGYPTIAN KINGS OF OLDEN TIME, 167
TRAVELING ON THE NILE 800 MILES, 171
THEBES AND BACK TO CAIRO, 175
CAMELS--THROUGH THE DESERT, 179
JERUSALEM, JERICHO AND DAMASCUS, 183
CONCLUSION, 189
PREFACE.
The Author of this book, though a quadroon, is pleased to announce
himself the "<DW52> man around the world." Not because he may look
at a <DW52> man's position as an honorable one at this age of the
world, he is too smart for that, but because he has the satisfaction
of looking with his own eyes and reason at the ruins of the ancestors
of which he is the posterity. If the ruins of the Author's ancestors
were not a living language of their scientific majesty, this book
could receive no such appellation with pride. Luxor, Carnack, the
Memnonian and the Pyramids make us exclaim, "What monuments of pride
can surpass these? what genius must have reflected on their
found | 858.38903 |
2023-11-16 18:31:22.4574890 | 1,000 | 64 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Bryan Ness, Jane Robins and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
_THE CONTEMPORARY SCIENCE SERIES._
EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.
APPARITIONS
AND THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE.
APPARITIONS
AND
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE:
_AN EXAMINATION OF THE EVIDENCE
FOR TELEPATHY_.
BY
FRANK PODMORE, M.A.
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS._
LONDON:
WALTER SCOTT, LTD.,
24 WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1894.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
Position of the subject--Founding of the Society for
Psychical Research--Definition of telepathy--General
difficulties of the inquiry--Special sources of
error--Fraud--Hyperæsthesia--Muscle-reading--Thought-forms and
number-habit.
CHAPTER II.
EXPERIMENTAL TRANSFERENCE OF SIMPLE SENSATIONS
IN THE NORMAL STATE 18
Transference of Tastes--Of pain, by Mr. M. Guthrie and
others--Of sounds--Of ideas not definitely classed, by Professor
Richet, the American Society for Psychical Research, Dr.
Ochorowicz--Transference of visual images, by Dr. Blair Thaw, Mr.
Guthrie, Professor Oliver Lodge, Herr Max Dessoir, Herr Schmoll,
Dr. von Schrenck-Notzing, and others.
CHAPTER III.
EXPERIMENTAL TRANSFERENCE OF SIMPLE SENSATIONS
WITH HYPNOTISED PERCIPIENTS 58
Transference of tastes, by Dr. Azam--Of pain, by Edmund Gurney--Of
visual images, by Dr. Liébeault, Professor and Mrs. Henry Sidgwick,
Dr. Gibotteau, Dr. Blair Thaw.
CHAPTER IV.
EXPERIMENTAL PRODUCTION OF MOVEMENTS AND
OTHER EFFECTS 82
Inhibition of action by silent willing, by Edmund Gurney, Professor
Barrett, and others--Origination of action by silent willing, by
Dr. Blair Thaw, M. J. H. P., and others--Planchette-writing, by
Rev. P. H. Newnham, Mr. R. H. Buttemer--Table-tilting, by the
Author, by Professor Richet--Production of local anæsthesia, by
Edmund Gurney, Mrs. H. Sidgwick.
CHAPTER V.
EXPERIMENTAL PRODUCTION OF TELEPATHIC EFFECTS
AT A DISTANCE 105
Induction of sleep, by Dr. Gibert and Professor Janet, Professor
Richet, Dr. Dufay--Of hysteria and other effects, by Dr.
Tolosa-Latour, M. J. H. P.--Transference of ideas of sound, by Miss
X., M. J. Ch. Roux--Of visual images, by Miss Campbell, M. Léon
Hennique, Mr. Kirk, Dr. Gibotteau.
CHAPTER VI.
GENERAL CRITICISM OF THE EVIDENCE FOR SPONTANEOUS
THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE 143
On chance coincidence--Misrepresentation--Errors of
observation--Errors of inference--Errors of narration--Errors of
memory--"Pseudo-presentiment"--Precautions against error--"Where
are the letters?"--The spontaneous cases as a true natural group.
CHAPTER VII.
TRANSFERENCE OF IDEAS AND EMOTIONS 161
Transference of pain, Mr. Arthur Severn--Of smell, Miss X.--Of
ideas, Miss X., Mrs. Barber--Of visual images, Mr. Haynes,
Professor Richet, Dr. Dupré--Of emotion, Mr. F. H. Krebs, Dr. N.,
Miss Y.--Of motor impulses, Archdeacon Bruce, Professor Venturi.
CHAPTER VIII.
COINCIDENT DREAMS 185
Discussion of the evidence for telepathy derivable from
dreams--Chance-coincidence--Simultaneous dreams, the Misses
Bidder--Transference of sensation in dreams, Professor Royce, Mrs.
Harrison--Dreams conveying news of death, etc., Mr. J. T., Mr.
R | 858.477529 |
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ELSKET, AND OTHER STORIES
BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE.
ELSKET AND OTHER STORIES. 12mo, $1.00
NEWFOUND RIVER. 12mo, 1.00
IN OLE VIRGINIA. 12mo, 1.25
THE SAME. Cameo Edition. With an etching
by W. L. Sheppard. 16mo, 1.25
AMONG THE CAMPS. Young People's
Stories of the War. Illustrated. Sq. 8vo, 1.50
TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES. Illustrated.
Square 8vo, 1.50
"BEFO' DE WAR." Echoes of <DW64> Dialect.
By A. C. Gordon and Thomas
Nelson Page. 12mo, 1.00
ELSKET
_AND OTHER STORIES_
BY
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1893
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
TO HER MEMORY
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ELSKET 1
"GEORGE WASHINGTON'S" LAST DUEL 52
P'LASKI'S TUNAMENT 118
"RUN TO SEED" 147
"A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE" 180
ELSKET.
"The knife hangs loose in the sheath."
--OLD NORSK PROVERB.
I spent a month of the summer of 188- in Norway--"Old Norway"--and a
friend of mine, Dr. John Robson, who is as great a fisherman as he is
a physician, and knows that I love a stream where the trout and I can
meet each other alone, and have it out face to face, uninterrupted
by any interlopers, did me a favor to which I was indebted for the
experience related below. He had been to Norway two years before, and
he let me into the secret of an unexplored region between the Nord
Fiord and the Romsdal. I cannot give the name of the place, because
even now it has not been fully explored, and he bound me by a solemn
promise that I would not divulge it to a single soul, actually going to
the length of insisting on my adding a formal oath to my affirmation.
This I consented to because I knew that my friend was a humorous man,
and also because otherwise he positively refused to inform me where
the streams were about which he had been telling such fabulous fish
stories. "No," he said, "some of those ---- cattle who think they
own the earth and have a right to fool women at will and know how to
fish, will be poking in there, worrying Olaf and Elsket, and ruining
the fishing, and I'll be ---- if I tell you unless you make oath." My
friend is a swearing man, though he says he swears for emphasis, not
blasphemy, and on this occasion he swore with extreme solemnity. I saw
that he was in earnest, so made affidavit and was rewarded.
"Now," he said, after inquiring about my climbing capacity in a way
which piqued me, and giving me the routes with a particularity which
somewhat mystified me, "Now I will write a letter to Olaf of the
Mountain and to Elsket. I once was enabled to do them a slight service,
and they will receive you. It will take him two or three weeks to get
it, so you may have to wait a little. You must wait at L---- until Olaf
comes down to take you over the mountain. You may be there when he
gets the letter, or you may have to wait for a couple of weeks, as he
does not come over the mountain often. However, you can amuse yourself
around L----; only you must always be on hand every night in case Olaf
comes."
Although this appeared natural enough to the doctor, it sounded rather
curious to me, and it seemed yet more so when he added, "By the way,
one piece of advice: don't talk about England to Elsket, and don't ask
any questions."
"Who is Elsket?" I asked.
"A daughter of the Vikings, poor thing," he said.
My curiosity was aroused, but I could get nothing further out of him,
and | 858.480988 |
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THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XIV.--No. 2
BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36, BROMFIELD STREET.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
JOHN L. SHOREY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
BOSTON:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, & CO.
[Illustration: CONTENTS.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE.
Clear the Coast 161
A Letter to Santa Claus 165
The Boy and the Nuts 166
Eddy's Thanksgiving 167
Benny's Arithmetic Lesson 170
Grandpa's Boots 171
What Jessie Cortrell did 173
The Balloon 178
The Starling and the Sparrows 181
The Sprained Ankle 187
IN VERSE.
PAGE.
Who is it? 164
The Acorns 175
Grandmother's Birthday 176
What the Cat said to the Monkey 180
The Tea-Party 185
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "CLEAR THE COAST."]
"CLEAR THE COAST!"
"[Illustration: C]LEAR the coast! clear the coast!" cried Albert and
Frank, as they came down hill swiftly on Frank's new sled.
"Look out for that woman!" cried little Harry, who was standing at the
top of the hill.
A poor German woman was crossing the road. She had a large basket full
of bundles, which she carried on her head. In her right hand she had an
umbrella and a tin pail, and on her arm another basket. Truly, seeing
that the roads were slippery, she had more than her share of burdens.
She tried to get out of the way; but Frank's new sled was such a swift
runner, that it came near striking her, and caused her to nearly lose
her balance, putting her at the same time into a great fright.
"You bad boys, you almost threw me down!" she exclaimed, when she
recovered from the start they had given her, and looked around to see if
she had dropped any of her bundles.
But down the hill they rushed on their sled, Frank losing his hat in
their descent, but little caring for that in his delight. The two boys,
after reaching the foot of the hill, turned, and began to drag their
sled up again.
"That woman," said Frank, "called us bad boys. Let us tell her that we
are not bad boys. We did not mean to run her down."
"Here comes Harry, running. What has he got to say?" asked Albert.
"I tell you what, boys," said Harry, "you'll be taken up if you run
people down in that way."
"Why didn't she clear the coast when I told her to?" said Albert.
"Why didn't you steer your sled out of the way?" returned Harry.
"I didn't hit her, did I?" said Albert.
"No; but you were trying to see how near you could come without hitting
her," replied Harry. "It's too bad to treat a poor old woman so!"
"So it was," said Frank. "What shall we do about it?"
"That's for Albert to say," exclaimed Harry.
"Well," replied Albert, "the right thing will be to offer to drag her
bundles for her on the sled."
"That's it!" said the other two boys.
By this time they had reached the place where the poor woman was moving
slowly along under her heavy burdens. She seemed very tired, and sighed
often as she picked her way timidly over the frozen snow.
"We are sorry we frightened you," said Albert. "We did not mean to do
any harm. Put your baskets on this sled, and we will drag them for you
as far as you want to go."
"Well, you are little gentlemen, after all," said the woman, "and I'm
sorry I was so vexed with you."
"You had cause," said Frank: "we were to blame."
Then she put her two baskets and the tin pail on the sled; and the three
boys escorted her to her home, where she thanked them heartily for the
way in which they had made amends for Albert's bad steering.
UNCLE CHARLES.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
WHO IS IT?
SURELY a step on the carpet I hear,
Some quiet mouse that is creeping so near.
Two little feet mount the rung of my chair:
True as I live, there is somebody there!
Ten lily fingers are over my eyes,
Trying to take me by sudden surprise;
Then a voice, calling in merriest glee,
"Who is it? Tell me, and you may go free."
"Who is it? Leave me a moment to guess.
Some one who loves me?" The voice answers, "Yes."
"Some one who's fairer to me than the flowers,
Brighter to me than the sunshiny hours?
Darling, whose white little hands make me blind
Unto all things that are dark and unkind;
Sunshine and blossoms, and diamond and pearl,--
Papa's own dear little, sweet little girl!"
GEORGE COOPER.
[Illustration]
A LETTER TO SANTA CLAUS.
THE little boy who got his aunt to write this letter for him wishes to
have it appear in "The Nursery," so that Santa Claus may be sure to read
it. When it is _printed_, the little boy says he can read it himself.
Here is the letter:--
DEAR MR. SANTA CLAUS,--Please, sir, could you
not bring me a team of goats next Christmas? I
do want them so much! Other little boys no
bigger than I am have a pair of goats to play
with.
When I ask my mother to get me a pair, she says
she will see, but thinks I shall have to wait a
little while. Now, dear Mr. Santa Claus, I do
not feel as if I _could_ wait.
Besides, ma's "little while" seems like a great
while to me, and when I get older I shall have
to go to school; but now I could play almost
all the time with my little goats, if I had
them. Oh, dear! I wish I had them now! I can
hardly wait till Christmas.
I will be very kind to them, and give them
plenty to eat, and a good warm bed at night.
Brother Charley says he will get me a wagon, if
you, good Mr. Santa Claus, will give me the
goats.
Folks say, that, although you are an old man,
you love little children; especially little
boys with black eyes, and who obey their
mother. Well, my eyes are very black; and I
love my mother dearly, and try to obey her.
My name is Francis Lincoln Noble: I live at
214, South 8th Street, Williamsburgh, L.I. The
house is quite high; but, dear Mr. Santa Claus,
I think your nimble deer can climb to the top
of it.
You can put the little goats right down through
the chimney in ma's room. I will take away the
fireboard, so they can come out at the
fireplace. Oh, how happy I shall be when I wake
in the morning, and see them! I shall say,
"Merry Christmas!" to everybody; and everybody
will say, "Merry Christmas!" to me.
But dear, good Mr. Santa Claus, if you cannot
get to the top of the house to put them down
the chimney, please to bring them up the
front-steps, and tie them to the door-knob; and
then blow your whistle, and I will run right
down to the door; and, dear Mr. Santa Claus,
could you not stop long enough for me to say,
"Thank you!" for my mother says all good boys
say, "Thank you | 858.4818 |
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ANTHROPOLOGICAL PAPERS
OF THE
American Museum of Natural
History.
Vol. I, Part II.
SOME PROTECTIVE DESIGNS OF THE DAKOTA.
BY
CLARK WISSLER.
NEW YORK:
Published by Order of the Trustees.
February, 1907.
American Museum of Natural History.
PUBLICATIONS IN ANTHROPOLOGY.
The results of research conducted by the Anthropological staff of the
Museum, unless otherwise provided for, are published in a series of
octavo volumes of about 350 pages each, issued in parts at irregular
int | 858.574282 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
LIVES
OF
POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS.
BY
SARAH K. BOLTON.
"_There is properly no History, only Biography._"
--EMERSON.
_Human portraits, faithfully drawn, are of all pictures the
welcomest on human walls._
--CARLYLE.
_FORTY-FIRST THOUSAND._
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright,_
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
1885.
Norwood Press:
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
TO
MY ONLY SISTER,
Mrs. Halsey D. Miller,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF
MANY HAPPY HOURS.
PREFACE.
These characters have been chosen from various countries and from varied
professions, that the youth who read this book may see that poverty is
no barrier to success. It usually develops ambition, and nerves people
to action. Life at best has much of struggle, and we need to be cheered
and stimulated by the careers of those who have overcome obstacles.
If Lincoln and Garfield, both farmer-boys, could come to the Presidency,
then there is a chance for other farmer-boys. If Ezra Cornell, a
mechanic, could become the president of great telegraph companies, and
leave millions to a university, then other mechanics can come to fame.
If Sir Titus Salt, working and sorting wool in a factory at nineteen,
could build one of the model towns of the world for his thousands of
workingmen, then there is encouragement and inspiration for other
toilers in factories. These lives show that without WORK and WILL no
great things are achieved.
I have selected several characters because they were the centres of
important historical epochs. With Garibaldi is necessarily told the
story of Italian unity; with Garrison and Greeley, the fall of slavery;
and with Lincoln and Sheridan, the battles of our Civil War.
S. K. B.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
GEORGE PEABODY Merchant 1
BAYARD TAYLOR Traveller 13
Captain JAMES B. EADS Civil Engineer 26
JAMES WATT Inventor 33
Sir JOSIAH MASON Manufacturer 46
BERNARD PALISSY Potter 54
BERTEL THORWALDSEN Sculptor 65
WOLFGANG MOZART Composer 72
SAMUEL JOHNSON Author 83 | 858.583478 |
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HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
Volume X.
BOOK X. -- AT REINSBERG. - 1736-1740.
Chapter I. -- MANSION OF REINSBERG.
On the Crown-Prince's Marriage, three years ago, when the AMT or
Government-District RUPPIN, with its incomings, was assigned to him for
revenue, we heard withal of a residence getting ready. Hint had fallen
from the Prince, that Reinsberg, an old Country-seat, standing with
its Domain round it in that little Territory of Ruppin, and probably
purchasable as was understood, might be pleasant, were it once his
and well put in repair. Which hint the kind paternal Majesty instantly
proceeded to act upon. He straightway gave orders for the purchase of
Reinsberg; concluded said purchase, on fair terms, after some months'
bargaining; [23d October, 1733, order given,--16th March, 1734, purchase
completed (Preuss, i. 75).]--and set his best Architect, one Kemeter,
to work, in concert with the Crown-Prince, to new-build and enlarge
the decayed Schloss of Reinsberg into such a Mansion as the young Royal
Highness and his Wife would like.
Kemeter has been busy, all this while; a solid, elegant, yet frugal
builder: and now the main body of the Mansion is complete, or nearly so,
the wings and adjuncts going steadily forward; Mansion so far ready that
the Royal Highnesses can take up their abode in it. Which they do, this
Autumn, 1736; and fairly commence Joint Housekeeping, in a permanent
manner. Hitherto it has been intermittent only: hitherto the
Crown-Princess has resided in their Berlin Mansion, or in her own
Country-house at Schonhausen; Husband not habitually with her, except
when on leave of absence from Ruppin, in Carnival time or for shorter
periods. At Ruppin his life has been rather that of a bachelor, or
husband abroad on business; up to this time. But now at Reinsberg they
do kindle the sacred hearth together; "6th August, 1736," the date of
that important event. They have got their Court about them, dames and
cavaliers more than we expected; they have arranged the furnitures of
their existence here on fit scale, and set up their Lares and Penates
on a thrifty footing. Majesty and Queen come out on a visit to them next
month; [4th September, 1736 (Ib.).]--raising the sacred hearth into its
first considerable blaze, and crowning the operation in a human manner.
And so there has a new epoch arisen for the Crown-Prince and his
Consort. A new, and much-improved one. It lasted into the fourth year;
rather improving all the way: and only Kingship, which, if a higher
sphere, was a far less pleasant one, put an end to it. Friedrich's
happiest time was this at Reinsberg; the little Four Years of Hope,
Composure, realizable Idealism: an actual snatch of something like the
Idyllic, appointed him in a life-pilgrimage consisting otherwise of
realisms oftenest contradictory enough, and sometimes of very grim
complexion. He is master of his work, he is adjusted to the practical
conditions set him; conditions once complied with, daily work done,
he lives to the Muses, to the spiritual improvements, to the social
enjoyments; and has, though not without flaws of ill-weather,--from
the Tobacco-Parliament perhaps rather less than formerly, and from
the Finance-quarter perhaps rather more,--a sunny time. His innocent
insipidity of a Wife, too, appears to have been happy. She had the
charm of youth, of good looks; a wholesome perfect loyalty of character
withal; and did not "take to pouting," as was once apprehended of
her, but pleasantly gave and received of what was going. This poor
Crown-Princess, afterwards Queen, has been heard, in her old age,
reverting, in a touching transient way, to the glad days she had at
Reinsberg. Complaint openly was never heard from her, in any kind of
days; but these doubtless were the best of her life.
Reinsberg, we said, is in the AMT Ruppin; naturally under the
Crown-Prince's government at present: the little Town or Village of
Reinsberg stands about, ten miles north of the Town Ruppin;--not quite
a third-part as big as Ruppin is in our time, and much more pleasantly
situated. The country about is of comfortable, not unpicturesque
character; to be distinguished almost as beautiful, in that region
of sand and moor. Lakes abound in it; tilled fields; heights called
"hills;" and wood of fair growth,--one reads of "beech-avenues" of "high
linden-avenues:"--a country rather of the ornamented sort, before the
Prince with his improvements settled there. Many lakes and lakelets in
it, as usual hereabouts; the loitering waters straggle, all over that
region, into meshes of lakes. Reinsberg itself, Village and Schloss,
stands on the edge of a pleasant Lake, last of a mesh of such: the
SUMMARY, or outfall, of which, already here a good strong brook or
stream, is called the RHEIN, Rhyn or Rein; and gives name to the little
place. We heard of the Rein at Ruppin: it is there counted as a kind of
river; still more, twenty miles farther down, where it falls into the
Havel, on its way to the Elbe. The waters, I think, are drab-,
not peat-brown: and here, at the source, or outfall from that mesh
of lakes, where Reinsberg is, the country seems to be about the
best;--sufficient, in picturesqueness | 858.584483 |
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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 do it, sir,” said the consul, in a dry and somewhat angry
tone. “You have no more right to ride through that country without
paying the regular price for protection, than you have to stop in Z—’s
hotel without settling the bill.”
I could not contest the point, so I ordered my Bedouins for the appointed
day, exactly as I would send for a ticket-porter at home, and determined
to make the best of it. The wild unlimited sands, the desolation of the
Dead Sea, the rushing waters of Jordan, the outlines of the mountains of
Moab;—those things the consular tariff could not alter, nor deprive them
of the glories of their association.
I had submitted, and the arrangements had been made. Joseph, my
dragoman, was to come to me with the horses and an Arab groom at five in
the morning, and we were to encounter our Bedouins outside the gate of
St. Stephen, down the hill, where the road turns, close to the tomb of
the Virgin.
I was sitting alone in the public room at the hotel, filling my flask
with brandy,—for matters of primary importance I never leave to servant,
dragoman, or guide,—when the waiter entered, and said that a gentleman
wished to speak with me. The gentleman had not sent in his card or name;
but any gentleman was welcome to me in my solitude, and I requested that
the gentleman might enter. In appearance the gentleman certainly was a
gentleman, for I thought that I had never before seen a young man whose
looks were more in his favour, or whose face and gait and outward bearing
seemed to betoken better breeding. He might be some twenty or twenty-one
years of age, was slight and well made, with very black hair, which he
wore rather long, very dark long bright eyes, a straight nose, and teeth
that were perfectly white. He was dressed throughout in grey tweed
clothing, having coat, waistcoat, and trousers of the same; and in his
hand he carried a very broad-brimmed straw hat.
“Mr. Jones, I believe,” he said, as he bowed to me. Jones is a good
travelling name, and, if the reader will allow me, I will call myself
Jones on the present occasion.
“Yes,” I said, pausing with the brandy-bottle in one hand, and the flask
in the other. “That’s my name; I’m Jones. Can I do anything for you,
sir?”
“Why, yes, you can,” said he. “My name is Smith,—John Smith.”
“Pray sit down, Mr. Smith,” I said, pointing to a chair. “Will you do
anything in this way?” and I proposed to hand the bottle to him. “As far
as I can judge from a short stay, you won’t find much like that in
Jerusalem.”
He declined the Cognac, however, and immediately began his story. “I
hear, Mr. Jones,” said he, “that you are going to Moab to-morrow.”
“Well,” I replied, “I don’t know whether I shall cross the water. It’s
not very easy, I take it, at all times; but I shall certainly get as far
as Jordan. Can I do anything for you in those parts?”
And then he explained to me what was the object of his visit. He was
quite alone in Jerusalem, as I was myself; and was staying at H—’s hotel.
He had heard that I was starting for the Dead Sea, and had called to ask
if I objected to his joining me. He had found himself, he said, very
lonely; and as he had heard that I also was alone, he had ventured to
call and make his proposition. He seemed to be very bashful, and half
ashamed of what he was doing; and when he had done speaking he declared
himself conscious that he was intruding, and expressed a hope that I
would not hesitate to say so if his suggestion were from any cause
disagreeable to me.
As a rule I am rather shy of chance travelling English friends. It has
so frequently happened to me that I have had to blush for the
acquaintances whom I have selected, that I seldom indulge in any close
intimacies of this kind. But, nevertheless, I was taken with John Smith,
in spite of his name. There was so much about him that was pleasant,
both to the eye and to the understanding! One meets constantly with men
from contact with whom one revolts without knowing the cause of such
dislike. The cut of their beard is displeasing, or the mode in which
they walk or speak. But, on the other hand, there are men who are
attractive, and I must confess that I was attracted by John Smith at
first sight. I hesitated, however, for a minute; for there are sundry
things of which it behoves a traveller to think before he can join a
companion for such a journey as that which I was about to make. Could
the young man rise early, and remain in the saddle for ten hours
together? Could he live upon hard-boiled eggs and brandy-and-water?
Could he take his chance of a tent under which to sleep, and make himself
happy with the bare fact of being in the desert? He saw my hesitation,
and attributed it to a cause which was not present in my mind at the
moment, though the subject was one of the greatest importance when
strangers consent to join themselves together for a time, and agree to
become no strangers on the spur of the moment.
“Of course I will take half the expense,” said he, absolutely blushing as
he mentioned the matter.
“As to that there will be very little. You have your own horse, of
course?”
“Oh, yes.”
“My dragoman and groom-boy will do for both. But you’ll have to pay
forty shillings to the Arabs! There’s no getting over that. The consul
won’t even look after your dead body, if you get murdered, without going
through that ceremony.”
Mr. Smith immediately produced his purse, which he tendered to me. “If
you will manage it all,” said he, “it will make it so much the easier,
and I shall be infinitely obliged to you.” This of course I declined to
do. I had no business with his purse, and explained to him that if we
went together we could settle that on our return to Jerusalem. “But
could he go through really hard work?” I asked. He answered me with an
assurance that he would and could do anything in that way that it was
possible for man to perform. As for eating and drinking he cared nothing
about it, and would undertake to be astir at any hour of the morning that
might be named. As for sleeping accommodation, he did not care if he
kept his clothes on for a week together. He looked slight and weak; but
he spoke so well, and that without boasting, that I ultimately agreed to
his proposal, and in a few minutes he took his leave of me, promising to
be at Z—’s door with his horse at five o’clock on the following morning.
“I wish you’d allow me to leave my purse with you,” he said again.
“I cannot think of it. There is no possible occasion for it,” I said
again. “If there is anything to pay, I’ll ask you for it when the
journey is over. That forty shillings you must fork out. It’s a law of
the Medes and Persians.”
“I’d better give it you at once,” he said again, offering me money. But
I would not have it. It would be quite time enough for that when the
Arabs were leaving us.
“Because,” he added, “strangers, I know, are sometimes suspicious about
money; and I would not, for worlds, have you think that I would put you
to expense.” I assured him that I did not think so, and then the subject
was dropped.
He was, at any rate, up to his time, for when I came down on the
following morning I found him in the narrow street, the first on
horseback. Joseph, the Frenchman, was strapping on to a rough pony our
belongings, and was staring at Mr. Smith. My new friend, unfortunately,
could not speak a word of French, and therefore I had to explain to the
dragoman how it had come to pass that our party was to be enlarged.
“But the Bedouins will expect full pay for both,” said he, alarmed. Men
in that class, and especially Orientals, always think that every
arrangement of life, let it be made in what way it will, is made with the
intention of saving some expense, or cheating somebody out of some money.
They do not understand that men can have any other object, and are ever
on their guard lest the saving should be made at their cost, or lest they
should be the victims of the fraud.
“All right,” said I.
“I shall be responsible, Monsieur,” said the dragoman, piteously.
“It shall be all right,” said I, again. “If that does not satisfy you,
you may remain behind.”
“If Monsieur says it is all right, of course it is so;” and then he
completed his strapping. We took blankets with us, of which I had to
borrow two out of the hotel for my friend Smith, a small hamper of
provisions, a sack containing forage for the horses, and a large empty
jar, so that we might supply ourselves with water when leaving the
neighbourhood of wells for any considerable time.
“I ought to have brought these things for myself,” said Smith, quite
unhappy at finding that he had thrown on me the necessity of catering for
him. But I laughed at him, saying that it was nothing; he should do as
much for me another time. I am prepared | 858.67447 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
referenced.
The position of each full-page illustration has been changed to fall
upon a paragraph break.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
[Illustration: _Leo. Deutsch._]
SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIBERIA
SOME EXPERIENCES OF A
RUSSIAN REVOLUTIONIST
FIRST EDITION _October, 1903_
Reprinted _December, 1903_
Reprinted _February, 1904_
SIXTEEN YEARS IN SIBERIA
SOME EXPERIENCES OF A
RUSSIAN REVOLUTIONIST
BY LEO DEUTSCH
TRANSLATED BY HELEN CHISHOLM
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
THIRD IMPRESSION
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1904
_Printed in Great Britain_
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
The author of the following narrative is a leader in the Russian
revolutionary movement. The German transliteration of his name is given
here as being the form he himself uses in Western Europe; but he is
called “Deuc” in the English version of Stepniak’s _Underground Russia_,
which was translated from the Italian, retaining the Italian
transliteration of names. A more exact rendering of the Russian would be
Deitch, the “ei” pronounced somewhat as in the English word “rein.”
George Kennan’s valuable work, _Siberia and the Exile System_, the fruit
of investigations carried on under circumstances of much difficulty and
even danger, has made its many English and American readers acquainted
with the true conditions of life among Russian political prisoners and
exiles. The story given in the present volume of the painful and tragic
events that took place in the political prisons at Kara after Mr. Kennan
had left the Russian Empire was written to him by, among others, a
friend resident in Kara at the time, whose letter he published in his
book. In it are also to be found additional particulars concerning the
earlier or later history of many persons whose names occur in the
following pages; and it thus throws an interesting light on Mr.
Deutsch’s story, which is told so quietly, with such an absence of
sensationalism, that it is sometimes necessary to read between the lines
in order to grasp fully the terrible realities of the situation.
It may, perhaps, be useful to readers unfamiliar with the history of the
Russian revolutionary movement if I give here a rough sketch of its
development, and of its position at the present time.
From the first consolidation of the Empire under the Tsars in the latter
half of the sixteenth century, Russian despotism has consistently
regarded with apprehension and disfavour all manifestation of
independent thought among its subjects. There has never been a time when
those bold enough to indulge in it, even in what English people would
consider a very mild form, were not liable to persecution, and this
traditional attitude of repression and coercion had the inevitable
result. Even early in the eighteenth century secret societies had come
into being, but these were mostly of the various religious sects or of
the Freemasons. When they began to assume a political character they
were at first confined entirely to the upper classes, and took the form
of revolts organised among the military, the last and most important
being that of the Decabrists (or Decembrists), who attempted to
overthrow the monarchy on the occasion of Nicholas I.’s accession in
1825.
Liberal views were to a certain extent fostered by Alexander I.
(1801-1825), who at one time openly talked of granting a Constitution.
Russians who visited Western Europe, officers in the Napoleonic
campaigns, and others, had “brought France into Russia,” had made the
French language fashionable, and thus had opened a way for the
importation of new philosophical, scientific, and political literature,
eagerly appreciated by the developing acuteness of the Russian mind.
Literary influence, even the purely romantic, has throughout ranged
itself on the side of liberty, Pushkin heading the poets and Gogol the
novelists. Indeed, one may safely say that up to the present day nearly
every Russian author of any note has been implicated—some to a greater,
some to a less degree--in the revolutionary movement, and has suffered
for the cause.
Alexander I. in his later years, and his successor Nicholas I., fell
back on a reactionary policy. Even Freemasonry was prohibited, mere
literary societies of the early forties were considered seditious, and
their members were punished with imprisonment and death. There now
sprang up political secret societies, whose dream was of a federal
republic, or at least of a constitutional monarchy.
The accession of Alexander II. in 1855 strengthened the hopes of the
reformers. The study of political and social questions became the
fashion; while professors, students, and the “intellectuals” of the
upper and middle classes warmly engaged in the “underground” movement.
With this period are associated such names as those of Herzen, Bakounin,
and Tchernishevsky, whose writings were the inspiration of the party,
and even influenced for a time the Tsar himself. But the emancipation of
the serfs, on February 19th, 1861, bitterly disappointed those who had
hoped great things of the new monarch, and who saw from the way in which
this and other liberal measures were emasculated by officials, to whom
the drafting of them was entrusted by the Tsar, how futile it was to
expect any effective reform as a grace from an autocrat. The reform
movement, now definitely socialistic, speedily took on a revolutionary
character, and culminated in the active sympathy and support given to
the Polish revolt of 1863.
Alexander II. resorted to the old coercive methods; all attempts to
voice the aspirations and needs of the people, or even the academic
discussion of political questions, were met with the savage punishments
of martial law, imprisonment, exile, death. In face of a new enactment,
which had professed to give fair trial to all accused persons, special
courts were set up to try political offenders; and the practice of
banishment by “administrative methods” (_i.e._ without any trial at all)
was instituted.
A time of enforced quiet followed, when the leaders of the movement were
either dead, imprisoned, or had fled into voluntary exile abroad; but it
served as a time of self-education and study for the younger generation,
at home or in foreign Universities, and in the early seventies the
revival came. Our author here takes up the story with his account of the
Propagandist movement, which was peaceful, except in so far as it aimed
at stirring up the peasants to demand reform; for, in the absence of any
constitutional methods for expressing their desires, this could only be
effected by organised uprisings. He describes how this movement
developed into terrorism under the system of “white terror” exercised by
the Government, and how, after the assassination of Alexander II., the
strong hand of despotism succeeded in checking, until a few years ago,
the passionate struggle for liberty.
A new monarch and a new century have altered little the essential
features of the situation, so far as relations between government and
governed are concerned. Every day we have examples of the time-honoured
policy, in the dragooning of Russia proper; the attempted Russification
of Finland; and the deliberate fostering by the Government of
anti-Semitism, with the covert design of counteracting the revolutionary
activity of Jewish Socialists, discrediting their labour movement in the
eyes of the Russian proletariat, and also distracting the latter from
organisation on their own account.
But a significant change is at work to-day among the people. The
peasants and working-classes in town and country, formerly the despair | 858.680212 |
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by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE
FRANCO-GERMAN WAR
OF
1870--71
BY
FIELD-MARSHAL
COUNT HELMUTH VON MOLTKE
TRANSLATION REVISED BY
ARCHIBALD FORBES
_WITH A MAP, NOTES, AND ORDERS OF BATTLE_
LONDON
JAMES R. OSGOOD, McILVAINE & CO.
45, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1893
[_All rights reserved_]
NOTE.
The translation has been thoroughly revised for the sense as well as in
regard to technical military terms and expressions. To the name of every
German general officer mentioned in the text has been affixed, within
brackets, his specific command, a liberty which the reader will perhaps
not resent, since the interpolation is intended to facilitate his
clearer understanding of a narrative condensed by the author with
extreme severity.
In further aid of elucidation there has been occasionally inserted, also
within brackets, a date, a figure, or a word.
A few footnotes will be found, which may perhaps be excused as not
wholly irrelevant. In the Appendix have been inserted the "Orders of
Battle" of both sides, as in the first period of the war.
A. F.
PREFACE.
Field-Marshal von Moltke began this history of the War of 1870--1 in the
spring of the year 1887, and during his residence at Creisau he worked
at it for about three hours every morning. On his return to Berlin in
the autumn of that year, the work was not quite finished, but he
completed it by January, 1888, at Berlin, | 858.773464 |
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 30. SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF MONEA, COUNTY OF FERMANAGH.]
The Castle of Monea or Castletown-Monea--properly _Magh an fhiaidh_, i.e.
the plain of the deer--is situated in the parish of Devinish, county
of Fermanagh, and about five miles north-west of Enniskillen. Like the
Castle of Tully, in the same county, of which we gave a view in a recent
number, this castle affords a good example of the class of castellated
residences erected on the great plantation of Ulster by the British and
Scottish undertakers, in obedience to the fourth article concerning the
English and Scottish undertakers, who “are to plant their portions with
English and inland-Scottish tenants,” which was imposed upon them by
“the orders and conditions to be observed by the undertakers upon the
distribution and plantation of the escheated lands in Ulster,” in 1608.
By this article it was provided that “every undertaker of the _greatest
proportion_ of two thousand acres shall, within two years after the date
of his letters patent, build thereupon a castle, with a strong court or
bawn about it; and every undertaker of the second or _middle proportion_
of fifteen hundred acres shall within the same time build a stone or
brick house thereupon, with a strong court or bawn about it. And every
undertaker of the _least proportion_ of one thousand acres shall within
the same time make thereupon a strong court or bawn at least; and all the
said undertakers shall cause their tenants to build houses for themselves
and their families, near the principal castle, house, or bawn, for their
mutual defence or strength,” &c.
Such was the origin of most of the castles and villages now existing in
the six escheated counties of Ulster--historical memorials of a vast
political movement--and among the rest this of Monea, which was the
castle of the _middle proportion_ of Dirrinefogher, of which Sir Robert
Hamilton was the first patentee.
From Pynnar’s Survey of Ulster, made in 1618-19, it appears that this
proportion had at that time passed into the possession of Malcolm
Hamilton (who was afterwards archbishop of Cashel), by whom the castle
was erected, though the bawn, as prescribed by the conditions, was not
added till some years later. He says,
“Upon this proportion there is a strong castle of lime and
stone, being fifty-four feet long and twenty feet broad, but
hath no bawn unto it, nor any other defence for the succouring
or relieving of his tenants.”
From an inquisition taken at Monea in 1630, we find, however, that this
want was soon after supplied, and that the castle, which was fifty feet
in height, was surrounded by a wall nine feet in height and three hundred
in circuit.
The Malcolm Hamilton noticed by Pynnar as possessor of “the middle
proportion of Dirrinefogher,” subsequently held the rectory of Devenish,
which he retained _in commendam_ with his archbishopric till his death
in 1629. The proportion of Dirrinefogher, however, with its castle,
was escheated to the crown in 1630; and shortly after, the old chapel
of Monea was converted into a parish church, the original church being
inconveniently situated on an island of Lough Erne.
Monea Castle served as a chief place of refuge to the English and
Scottish settlers of the vicinity during the rebellion of 1641, and,
like the Castle of Tully, it has its tales of horror recorded in story;
but we shall not uselessly drag them to light. The village of Monea is
an inconsiderable one, but there are several gentlemen’s seats in its
neighbourhood, and the scenery around it is of great richness and beauty.
P.
ON THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS BY MEANS OF CHARMS, INCANTATIONS, OR DRUGS.
FIRST ARTICLE.
ON SERPENT-CHARMING, AS PRACTISED BY THE JUGGLERS OF ASIA.
Many of my readers will doubtless recollect that in a paper on “Animal
Taming,” which appeared some weeks back in the pages of this Journal, I
alluded slightly to the _charming_ of animals, or _taming_ them by spells
or drugs. It is now my purpose to enter more fully upon this subject,
and present my readers with a brief notice of what I have been able to
glean respecting it, as well from the published accounts of remarkable
travellers, as from oral descriptions received from personal friends
of my own, who had opportunities of being eye witnesses to many of the
practices to which I refer.
The most remarkable, and also the most ancient description of
animal-charming with which we are acquainted, is that which consists in
calling the venomous serpents from their holes, quelling their fury, and
allaying their irritation, by means of certain charms, amongst which
music stands forth in the most prominent position, though, whether it
really is worthy of the first place as an actual agent, or is only thus
put forward to cover that on which the true secret depends, is by no
means perfectly clear.
Even in scripture we find the practice of serpent-charming noticed,
and by no means as a novelty; in the 58th Psalm we are told that the
wicked are like the “deaf adder that stoppeth her ear, which hearkeneth
not unto the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely!” And in
the book of Jeremiah, chap. viii, the disobedient people are thus
threatened--“Behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which
will not be _charmed_.” These are two very remarkable passages, and I
think we may, without going too far, set down as snake-charmers the
Egyptian magi who contended against Moses and Aaron before the court of
the proud and vacillating Pharaoh, striving to imitate by their juggling
tricks the wondrous miracles which Moses wrought by the immediate aid
of God himself. The feat of changing their sticks into serpents, for
instance, is one of every-day performance in India, which a friend of
mine has assured me he many times saw himself, and which has not been
satisfactorily explained by any one.
The serpent has long been an object of extreme veneration to the natives
of Hindostan, and has indeed, from the very earliest ages, been selected
by many nations as an object of worship; why, I cannot explain, unless
it originated in a superstitious perversion of the elevation of the
brazen serpent in the wilderness by Moses. In India the serpent is not,
however, altogether regarded as a deity--merely as a _demon_ or genius:
and the office usually supposed to be peculiar to these creatures is that
of _guardians_. This is perhaps one of the most widely spread notions
respecting the serpent that we are acquainted with. Herodotus mentions
the sacred serpents which guarded the citadel of Athens, and which he
states to have been fed monthly with cakes of honey; and adds, that
these serpents being sacred, were harmless, and would not hurt men. A
dragon was said to have guarded the golden fleece (or, as some think, a
_scaly serpent_), and protected the gardens of the Hesperides--a singular
coincidence, as it is of _gardens_ principally that the Indians conceive
the serpent to be the guardian.
Medea _charmed_ the dragon by the melody of her voice. Herodotus
mentions snakes being soothed by harmony; and Virgil, in the Æneid, says
(translated by Dryden),
“His wand and holy words the viper’s rage
And venom’d wound of serpents could assuage.”
Even our own island, although serpents do not exist in it--a blessing
for which, if we are to put faith in legendary lore, we have to thank St
Patrick--has numberless legends and tales of crocks of treasure at the
bottom of deep, deep lakes, or in dark and gloomy caves, in inaccessible
and rocky mountains, guarded by a fierce and wakeful snake, a sleepless
serpent, whose eyes are never closed, and who never for a second abated
of his watchful care of the treasure-crock, of which he had originally
been appointed guardian;[1] and, further, we are told how the daring and
inventive genius of the son of Erin has often found out a mode of putting
a “_comether_” on the “big sarpint, the villain,” and haply closing his
eyes in slumber, while he succeeded in possessing himself of the hoard
which by his cunning and bravery he had so fairly won; in other words,
_charming_ the snake and possessing himself of the spoil.
Having thus glanced at the antiquity and wide spread of serpent-charming,
I shall proceed to lay before you a short description of the mode in
which the spell is cast over the animals by the modern jugglers of Arabia
and India.
Of all the Indian serpents, next to the Cobra Minelle, the Cobra Capella,
or hooded snake (_Coluber Naja_), called in India the “Naig,” and also
“spectacle snake,” is the most venomous. It derives its names of _hooded_
and _spectacle_ snake from a fold of skin resembling a hood near the
head, which it possesses a power of enlarging or contracting at pleasure;
and in the centre of this hood are seen, when it is distended, black and
white markings, bearing no distant or fanciful likeness to a pair of
spectacles. The mode of charming, or, at all events, all that is to be
seen or understood by the spectators, consists in the juggler playing
upon a flute or fife near the hole which a snake has been seen to enter,
or which his employers have otherwise reason to suppose the reptile
inhabits. The serpent will presently put forth his head, a portion of his
body will shortly follow, and in a few minutes he will creep forth from
his retreat, and, approaching the musician, rear himself on his tail,
and by moving his head and neck up and down or from side to side, keep
tolerably accurate time to the tune with which his ears are ravished.
After having played for a short period, and apparently soothed the
reptile into a state of dreamy unconsciousness of all that is passing,
save only the harmony which delights him, the juggler will gradually
bring himself within grasp of the snake, and by a sudden snatch seize
him by the tail, and hold him out at arms’ length. On the cessation of
the music, and on finding himself thus roughly assailed, the reptile
becomes fearfully enraged, and exerts all his energies to turn upwards,
and bite the arm of his aggressor. His efforts are however fruitless;
while held in that position, he is utterly incapable of doing any injury;
and is, after having been held thus for a few minutes before the gaze
of the admiring crowd, dropped into a basket ready to receive him, and
laid aside until the juggler has leisure and privacy to complete the
subjugation which his wonder-working melody had begun.
When charmed serpents are exhibited dancing to the sound of music, the
spectators should not crowd too closely around the seat of the juggler,
for, no matter how well trained they may be, there is great danger
attending the cessation of the sweet sounds; and if from any cause the
flute or fife suddenly stops or is checked, it not unfrequently happens
that the snake will spring upon some one of the company, and bite him.
I think that it will not be amiss if I quote the description of Indian
snake-charming, furnished by a gentleman in the Honourable Company’s
civil service at Madras, to the writer, who vouches for its veracity:--
“One morning,” says he, “as I sat at breakfast, I heard a loud noise and
shouting among my palankeen bearers. On inquiry I learned that they had
seen a large hooded snake (or Cobra Capella), and were trying to kill
it. I immediately went out, and saw the snake climbing up a very high
green mound, whence it escaped into a hole in an old wall of an ancient
fortification. The men were armed with their sticks, which they always
carry in their hands, and had attempted in vain to kill the reptile,
which had eluded their pursuit, and in his hole he had coiled himself
up secure, while we could see his bright eyes shining. I had often
desired to ascertain the truth of the report as to the effect of music
upon snakes: I therefore inquired for a snake catcher. I was told there
was no person of the kind in the village, but, after a little inquiry I
heard there was one in a village distant three miles. I accordingly sent
for him, keeping a strict watch over the snake, which never attempted
to escape whilst we his enemies were in sight. About an hour elapsed,
when my messenger returned, bringing the snake catcher. This man wore no
covering on his head, nor any on his person, excepting a small piece of
cloth round his loins: he had in his hands two baskets, one containing
tame snakes, one empty: these and his musical pipe were the only things
he had with him. I made the snake catcher leave his two baskets on the
ground at some distance, while he ascended the mound with his pipe alone.
He began to play: at the sound of the music the snake came gradually and
slowly out of his hole. When he was entirely within reach, the snake
catcher seized him dexterously by the tail, and held him thus at arms’
length, whilst the enraged snake darted his head in all directions, but
in vain: thus suspended, he has not the power to round himself so as to
seize hold of his tormentor. He exhausted himself in vain exertions, when
the snake catcher descended the bank, dropped him into the empty basket,
and closed the lid: he then began to play, and after a short time raised
the lid of the basket, when the snake darted about wildly, and attempted
to escape; the lid was shut down again quickly, the music always playing.
This was repeated two or three times; and in a very short interval, the
lid being raised, the snake sat on his tail, opened his hood, and danced
quite as quietly as the tame snakes in the other basket, nor did he again
attempt to escape. This, having witnessed it with my own eyes, I can
assert as a fact.”
I particularly request the attention of my readers to the foregoing
account, as, from the circumstance of its having been furnished by an
eye-witness, and a man whose public station and known character were
sufficient to command belief in his veracity, it will prove serviceable
to me by and bye, when I shall endeavour to disprove the ridiculous
assertions of Abbé Dubois[2] and others, who hold that serpent-charming
is a mere imposition, and assert, certainly without a shade of warranty
for so doing, that the serpents are in these cases always previously
tamed, and deprived of their poison bags and fangs, when they are let
loose in certain situations for the purpose of being artfully caught
again, and represented as _wild_ snakes, subdued by the charms of their
pipe. I shall, however, say no more at present of Dubois, Denon, or
others who are sceptical on this subject, but shall leave the refutation
of their fanciful opinions to another opportunity--my present purpose
being the establishment of _facts_, ere I venture to advance a theory.
I shall therefore conclude my present paper, and in my next, besides
adducing many other important facts relative to serpent-charming, shall
endeavour to throw some light upon the real mode by which it is effected.
H. D. R.
[1] See numerous legends of the “Peiste.”
[2] Description of the People of India, p. 469.
GRUMBLING.
If it be no part of the English constitution, it is certainly part of
the constitution of Englishmen to grumble. They cannot help it, even if
they tried; not that they ever do try, quite the reverse, but they could
not help grumbling if they tried ever so much. A true-born Englishman is
born grumbling. He grumbles at the light, because it dazzles his eyes,
and he grumbles at the darkness, because it takes away the light. He
grumbles when he is hungry, because he wants to eat; he grumbles when he
is full, because he can eat no more. He grumbles at the winter, because
it is cold; he grumbles at the summer, because it is hot; and he grumbles
at spring and autumn, because they are neither hot nor cold. He grumbles
at the past, because it is gone; he grumbles at the future, because it
is not come; and he grumbles at the present, because it is neither the
past nor the future. He grumbles at law, because it restrains him; and
he grumbles at liberty, because it does not restrain others. He grumbles
at all the elements--fire, water, earth, and air. He grumbles at fire,
because it is so dear; at water, because it is so foul; at the earth, in
all its combinations of mud, dust, bricks, and sand; and at the air, in
all its conditions of hot or cold, wet or dry. All the world seems as if
it were made for nothing else than to plague Englishmen, and set them
a-grumbling. The Englishman must grumble at nature for its rudeness, and
at art for its innovation; at what is old, because he is tired of it; and
at what is new, because he is not used to it. He grumbles at everything
that is to be grumbled at; and when there is nothing to grumble at, he
grumbles at that. Grumbling cleaves to him in all the departments of
life; when he is well, he grumbles at the cook; and when he is ill, he
grumbles at the doctor and nurse. He grumbles in his amusements, and he
grumbles in his devotion; at the theatres he grumbles at the players,
and at church he grumbles at the parson. He cannot for the life of him
enjoy a day’s pleasure without grumbling. He grumbles at his enemies, and
he grumbles at his friends. He grumbles at all the animal creation, at
horses when he rides on them, at dogs when he shoots with them, at birds
when he misses them, at pigs when they squeak, at asses when they bray,
at geese when they cackle, and at peacocks when they scream. He is always
on the look-out for something to grumble at; he reads the newspapers,
that he may grumble at public affairs; his eyes are always open to look
for abominations; he is always pricking up his ears to detect discords,
and snuffing up the air to find stinks. Can you insult an Englishman
more than by telling him he has nothing to grumble at? Can you by any
possibility inflict a greater injury upon him than by convincing him he
has no occasion to grumble? Break his head, and he will forget it; pick
his pocket, and he will forgive it, but deprive him of his privilege of
grumbling, you more than kill him--you expatriate him. But the beauty of
it is, you cannot inflict this injury on him; you cannot by all the logic
ever invented, or by all the arguments that ever were uttered, convince
an Englishman that he has nothing to grumble at; for if you were to do
so, he would grumble at you so long as he lived for disturbing his old
associations. Grumbling is a pleasure which we all enjoy more or less,
but none, or but few, enjoy it in all the perfection and completeness of
which it is capable. If we were to take a little more pains, we should
find, that having no occasion to grumble, we should have cause to grumble
at everything. But we grow insensible to a great many annoyances, and
accustomed to a great many evils, and think nothing of them. What a
tremendous noise there is in the city, of carts, coaches, drays, waggons,
barrel-organs, fish-women, and all manner of abominations, of which
they in the city take scarcely any notice at all! How badly are all
matters in government and administration conducted! What very bad bread
do the bakers make! What very bad meat do the butchers kill! In a word,
what is there in the whole compass of existence that is good? What is
there in human character that is as it should be? Are we not justified
in grumbling at everything that is in heaven above, or in the earth
beneath, or in the waters under the earth? In fact, gentle reader, is the
world formed or governed half so well as you or I could form or govern
it?--_From a newspaper._
VULGARITY.
The very essence of vulgarity, after all, consists merely in one
error--in taking manners, actions, words, opinions, on trust from
others, without examining one’s own feelings, or weighing the merits of
the case. It is coarseness or shallowness of taste, arising from want
of individual refinement, together with the confidence and presumption
inspired by example and numbers. It may be defined to be a prostitution
of the mind or body to ape the more or less obvious defects of others,
because by so doing we shall secure the suffrages of those we associate
with. To affect a gesture, an opinion, a phrase, because it is the rage
with a large number of persons, or to hold it in abhorrence because
another set of persons very little, if at all, better informed, cry
it down to distinguish themselves from the former, is in either case
equal vulgarity and absurdity. A thing is not vulgar merely because it
is common. It is common to breathe, to see, to feel, to live. Nothing
is vulgar that is natural, spontaneous, unavoidable. Grossness is not
vulgarity, ignorance is not vulgarity, awkwardness is not vulgarity;
but all these become vulgar when they are affected and shown off on the
authority of others, or to fall in with the fashion or the company we
keep. Caliban is coarse enough, but surely he is not vulgar. We might as
well spurn the clod under our feet, and call it vulgar. Cobbett is coarse
enough, but he is not vulgar. He does not belong to the herd. Nothing
real, nothing original, can be vulgar; but I should think an imitator of
Cobbett a vulgar man. Simplicity is not vulgarity; but the looking to
imitation or affectation of any sort for distinction is. A Cockney is a
vulgar character, whose imagination cannot wander beyond the suburbs of
the metropolis. An aristocrat, also, who is always thinking of the High
Street, Edinburgh, is vulgar. We want a name for this last character. An
opinion is often vulgar that is stewed in the rank breath of the rabble;
but it is not a bit purer or more refined for having passed through the
well-cleansed teeth of a whole court. The inherent vulgarity lies in the
having no other feeling on any subject than the crude, blind, headlong,
gregarious notion acquired by sympathy with the mixed multitude, or with
a fastidious minority, who are just as insensible to the real truth,
and as indifferent to every thing but their own frivolous pretensions.
The upper are not wiser than the lower orders, because they resolve to
differ from them. The fashionable have the advantage of the unfashionable
in nothing but the fashion. The true vulgar are the persons who have
a horrible dread of daring to differ from their clique--the herd of
pretenders to what they do not feel, and to do what is not natural to
them, whether in high or low life. To belong to any class, to move in
any rank or sphere of life, is not a very exclusive distinction or test
of refinement. Refinement will in all classes be the exception, not the
rule; and the | 858.780183 |
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BOOKS LATELY PUBLISHED BY
ADAM BLACK, EDINBURGH, AND LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, & GREEN LONDON.
A SYSTEM of UNIVERSAL GEOGRAPHY, by M. MALTE-BRUN, Editor of the "Annales
des Voyages," &c. Parts I. to XII. price 7s. 6d. each. To be completed in
Fourteen Parts.
The Publishers are extremely happy to be able to state, that,
notwithstanding the lamented death of M. Malte-Brun, the remainder of this
great work, comprising the description of WESTERN EUROPE, will be
completed in a style every way worthy of what has been already executed.
The papers and collections of M. Malte-Brun have been placed in the hands
of M. Valcknaer, with whose numerous and valuable contributions to
geographical science the scientific portion of the public have been long
and familiarly acquainted. M. Balbi, the celebrated author of the _Essai
Statistique sur le Royaume de Portugal_, has undertaken to superintend and
complete that portion of the work which relates to Italy, Spain, and
Portugal. There can, therefore, be no doubt, that the high and established
character of the Original Work will be maintained to its close; and the
British Public may be assured, that no efforts will be spared to render
the Translation, now in course of publication, not only equal, but even
superior, to the original. The account of the British Empire will be
carefully revised, and, if necessary, re-written by gentlemen who are
extremely well versed in statistical inquiries. The reports and papers
printed by order of the House of Commons will be referred to for every
fact of importance; and the Publishers believe that they may venture to
say, that the account which will be given in this work of the
Agriculture, Manufactures, and Commerce of Great Britain, will be
decidedly superior to any that has hitherto appeared.
The account of the | 858.873183 |
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CHRISTINE
By AMELIA E. BARR
Christine
Joan
Profit and Loss
Three Score and Ten
The Measure of a Man
The Winning of Lucia
Playing with Fire
All the Days of My Life
D. APPLETON & COMPANY
Publishers New York
[Illustration: When she came to the top of the cliff, she turned and
gazed again at the sea. Page 6]
CHRISTINE
A FIFE FISHER GIRL
BY
AMELIA E. BARR
AUTHOR OF "JOAN", "PROFIT AND LOSS", " | 858.881014 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.1672470 | 2,101 | 10 |
Produced by David Reed and David Widger
LETTERS OF PLINY
By Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus
Translated by William Melmoth
Revised by F. C. T. Bosanquet
GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS, usually known as Pliny the Younger,
was born at Como in 62 A. D. He was only eight years old when his father
Caecilius died, and he was adopted by his uncle, the elder Pliny, author
of the Natural History. He was carefully educated, studying rhetoric
under Quintilian and other famous teachers, and he became the most
eloquent pleader of his time. In this and in much else he imitated
Cicero, who had by this time come to be the recognized master of Latin
style. While still young he served as military tribune in Syria, but he
does not seem to have taken zealously to a soldier's life. On his return
he entered politics under the Emperor Domitian; and in the year 100 A.
D. was appointed consul by Trajan and admitted to confidential
intercourse with that emperor. Later while he was governor of Bithynia,
he was in the habit of submitting every point of policy to his master,
and the correspondence between Trajan and him, which forms the last part
of the present selection, is of a high degree of interest, both on
account of the subjects discussed and for the light thrown on the
characters of the two men. He is supposed to have died about 113 A. D.
Pliny's speeches are now lost, with the exception of one, a panegyric on
Trajan delivered in thanksgiving for the consulate. This, though diffuse
and somewhat too complimentary for modern taste, became a model for this
kind of composition. The others were mostly of two classes, forensic and
political, many of the latter being, like Cicero's speech against
Verres, impeachments of provincial governors for cruelty and extortion
toward their subjects. In these, as in his public activities in general,
he appears as a man of public spirit and integrity; and in his relations
with his native town he was a thoughtful and munificent benefactor.
The letters, on which to-day his fame mainly rests, were largely written
with a view to publication, and were arranged by Pliny himself. They
thus lack the spontaneity of Cicero's impulsive utterances, but to most
modern readers who are not special students of Roman history they are
even more interesting. They deal with a great variety of subjects: the
description of a Roman villa; the charms of country life; the reluctance
of people to attend author's readings and to listen when they were
present; a dinner party; legacy-hunting in ancient Rome; the acquisition
of a piece of statuary; his love for his young wife; ghost stories;
floating islands, a tame dolphin, and other marvels. But by far the best
known are those describing the great eruption of Vesuvius in which his
uncle perished, a martyr to scientific curiosity, and the letter to
Trajan on his attempts to suppress Christianity in Bithynia, with
Trajan's reply approving his policy. Taken altogether, these letters
give an absorbingly vivid picture of the days of the early empire, and
of the interests of a cultivated Roman gentleman of wealth.
Occasionally, as in the last letters referred to, they deal with
important historical events; but their chief value is in bringing before
us, in somewhat the same manner as "The Spectator" pictures the England
of the age of Anne, the life of a time which is not so unlike our own as
its distance in years might indicate. And in this time by no means the
least interesting figure is that of the letter-writer himself, with his
vanity and self-importance, his sensibility and generous affection, his
pedantry and his loyalty.
CONTENTS
LETTERS GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS
I -- To SEPTITTUS
II -- To ARRIANUS
III -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
IV -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
V -- To POMPEIUS SATURNINUS
VI -- To ATRIUS CLEMENS
VII -- To FABIUS JUSTUS
VIII -- To CALESTRIUS TIRO
IX -- To SOCIUS SENECIO
X -- To JUNSUS MAURICUS
XI -- To SEPTITIUS CLARUS
XII -- To SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS
XIII -- To ROMANUS FIRMUS
XIV -- TO CORNELIUS TACITUS
XV -- To PATERNUS
XVI -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS [27]
XVII -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
XVIII -- To NEPOS
XIX -- To AVITUS
XX -- To MACRINUS
XXI -- To PAISCUS
XXII -- To MAIMUS
XXIII -- To GALLUS
XXIV -- To CEREALIS
XXV -- To CALVISIUS
XXVI -- To CALVISIUS
XXVII -- To BAEBIUS MACER
XXVIII -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
XXIX -- To CANINIUS RUFUS
XXX -- To SPURINNA AND COTTIA[53]
XXXI -- To JULIUS GENITOR
XXXII -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS
XXXIII -- To ACILIUS
XXXIV -- To NEPOS
XXXV -- To SEVERUS
XXXVI -- To CALVISIUS RUFUS
XXXVII -- To CORNELIUS PRISCUS
XXXVIII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
XXXIX -- To ATTIUS CLEMENS
XL -- To CATIUS LEPIDUS
XLI -- To MATURUS ARRIANUS
XLII -- To STATIUS SABINUS
XLIII -- To CORNELIUS MINICIANUS
XLV -- To ASINIUS
XLVI -- To HISPULLA
XLVII -- To ROMATIUS FIASIUS
XLVIII -- To LICINIUS SURA
XLIX -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
L -- To TITIUS ARISTO
LI -- To NONIUS MAXIMUS
LII -- To DOMITIUS APOLLINARIS
LIII -- To CALVISIUS
LIV -- To MARCELLINUS
LV -- To SPURINNA
LVI -- To PAULINUS
LVII -- To RUFUS
LVIII -- To ARRIANUS
LIX -- To CALPURNIA[88]
LX -- To CALPURNIA
LXI -- To PRISCUS
LXII -- To ALBINUS
LXIII -- To MAXIMUS
LXIV -- To ROMANUS
LXV -- To TACITUS
LXVI -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
LX VII -- To MACER
LXVIII -- To SERVIANUS
LXIX -- To SEVERUS
LXX -- To FABATUS
LXXI -- To CORNELIANUS
LXXII -- To MAXIMUS
LXXIII -- To RESTITUTUS
LXXIV -- To CALPURNIA[111]
LXXV -- To MACRINUS
LXXVI -- To TUSCUS
LXX VII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
LXXVIII -- To CORELLIA
LXXIX -- To CELER
LXXX -- To PRISCUS
LXXXI -- To GEMINIUS
LXXXII -- To MAXIMUS
LXXXIII -- To SURA
LXXXIV -- To SEPTITIUS
LXXXV -- To TACITUS
LXXX VI -- To SEPTITIUS
LXXXVII -- To CALVISIUS
LXXX VIII -- To ROMANUS
LXXXIX -- To ARISTO
XC -- To PATERNUS
XCI -- To MACRINUS
XCII -- To RUFINUS
XCIII -- To GALLUS
XCIV -- To ARRIANUS
XCV -- To MAXIMUS
XCVI -- To PAULINUS
XCVII -- To CALVISIUS
XCVIII -- To ROMANUS
XCIX -- To GEMINUS
C -- To JUNIOR
CI -- To QUADRATUS
CII -- To GENITOR
CIII -- To SABINIANUS
CIV -- To MAXIMUS
CV -- To SABINIANUS
CVI -- To LUPERCUS
CVII -- To CANINIUS
CVIII -- To Fuscus
CIX -- To PAULINUS
CX -- To FUSCUS
FOOTNOTES TO THE LETTERS OF PLINY]
CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
I -- TO THE EMPEROR TRAJAN[1001]
II -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
III -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
IV -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
V -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
VI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
VII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
VIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
X -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN
XII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY
XIII -- To THE EMP | 859.187287 |
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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLXXIII. NOVEMBER, 1846. VOL. LX.
CONTENTS.
MARLBOROUGH'S DISPATCHES. 1710-1711, 517
MOHAN LAL IN AFGHANISTAN, 539
ON THE OPERATION OF THE ENGLISH POOR-LAWS, 555
PRUSSIAN MILITARY MEMOIRS, 572
ADVICE TO AN INTENDING SERIALIST, 590
A NEW SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY, 606
HONOUR TO THE PLOUGH, 613
LUIGIA DE' MEDICI, 614
THINGS IN GENERAL, 625
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET; AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW,
LONDON.
_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCLXXIII. NOVEMBER, 1846. VOL. LX.
MARLBOROUGH'S DISPATCHES.
1710-1711.
Louis XIV. was one of the most remarkable sovereigns who ever sat upon
the throne of France. Yet there is none of whose character, even at this
comparatively remote period, it is more difficult to form a just
estimate. Beyond measure eulogised by the poets, orators, and annalists
of his own age, who lived on his bounty, or were flattered by his
address, he has been proportionally vilified by the historians, both
foreign and national, of subsequent times. The Roman Catholic writers,
with some truth, represent him as the champion of their faith, the
sovereign who extirpated the demon of heresy in his dominions, and
restored to the church in undivided unity the realm of France. The
Protestant authors, with not less reason, regard him as the deadliest
enemy of their religion, and the cruellest foe of those who had embraced
it; as a faithless tyrant, who scrupled not, at the bidding of bigoted
priests, to violate the national faith plighted by the Edict of Nantes,
and persecute, with unrelenting severity, the unhappy people who, from
conscientious motives, had broken off from the Church of Rome. One set
of writers paint him as a magnanimous monarch, whose mind, set on great
things, and swayed by lofty desires, foreshadowed those vast designs
which Napoleon, armed with the forces of the Revolution, afterwards for
a brief space realised. Another set dwell on the foibles or the vices of
his private character--depict him as alternately swayed by priests, or
influenced by women; selfish in his desires, relentless in his hatred;
and sacrificing the peace of Europe, and endangering the independence of
France, for the gratification of personal vanity, or from the thirst of
unbounded ambition.
It is the fate of all men who have made a great and durable impression
on human affairs, and powerfully affected the interests, or thwarted the
opinion of large bodies of men, to be represented in these opposite
colours to future times. The party, whether in church or state, which
they have elevated, the nation whose power or glory they have augmented,
praise, as much as those whom they have oppressed and injured, whether
at home or abroad, strive to vilify their memory. But in the case of
Louis XIV., this general propensity has been greatly increased by the
opposite, and, at first sight, inconsistent features of his character.
There is almost equal truth in the magniloquent eulogies of his
admirers, as in the impassioned invectives of his enemies. He was not
less great and magnanimous than he is represented by the elegant
flattery of Racine or Corneille, nor less cruel and hard-hearted than he
is painted by the austere justice of Sismondi or D'Aubigne. Like many
other men, but more than most, he was made up of lofty and elevated, and
selfish and frivolous qualities. He could alternately boast, with truth,
that there were no longer any Pyrenees, and rival his youngest
courtiers in frivolous and often heartless gallantry. In his younger
years he was equally assiduous in his application to business, and
engrossed with personal vanity. When he ascended the throne, his first
words were: "I intend that every paper, from a diplomatic dispatch to a
private petition, shall be submitted to me;" and his vast powers of
application enabled him to compass the task. Yet, at the same time, he
deserted his queen for Madame la Valliere, and soon after broke La
Valliere's heart by his desertion of her for Madame de Montespan. In
mature life, his ambition to extend the bounds and enhance the glory of
France, was equalled by his desire to win the admiration or gain the
favour of the fair sex. In his later days, he alternately engaged in
devout austerities with Madame de Maintenon, and, with mournful
resolution, asserted the independence of France against Europe in arms.
Never was evinced a more striking exemplification of the saying, so well
known among men of the world, that no one is a hero to his
valet-de-chambre; nor a more remarkable confirmation of the truth, so
often proclaimed by divines, that characters of imperfect goodness
constitute the great majority of mankind.
That he was a great man, as well as a successful sovereign, is
decisively demonstrated by the mighty changes which he effected in his
own realm, as well as in the neighbouring states of Europe. When he
ascended the throne, France, though it contained the elements of
greatness, had never yet become great. It had been alternately wasted by
the ravages of the English, and torn by the fury of the religious wars.
The insurrection of the Fronde had shortly before involved the capital
in all the horrors of civil conflict;--barricades had been erected in
its streets; alternate victory and defeat had by turns elevated and
depressed the rival faction. Turenne and Conde had displayed their
consummate talents in miniature warfare within sight of Notre-Dame.
Never had the monarchy been depressed to a greater pitch of weakness
than during the reign of Louis XIII. and the minority of Louis XIV. But
from the time the latter sovereign ascended the throne, order seemed to
arise out of chaos. The ascendancy of a great mind made itself felt in
every department. Civil war ceased; the rival faction disappeared; even
the bitterness of religious hatred seemed for a time to be stilled by
the influence of patriotic feeling. The energies of France, drawn forth
during the agonies of civil conflict, were turned to public objects and
the career of national aggrandisement--as those of England had been
after the conclusion of the Great Rebellion, by the firm hand and
magnanimous mind of Cromwell. From a pitiable state of anarchy, France
at once appeared on the theatre of Europe, great, powerful, and united.
It is no common capacity which can thus seize the helm and right the
ship when it is reeling most violently, and the fury of contending
elements has all but torn it in pieces. It is the highest proof of
political capacity to discern the bent of the public mind, when most
violently exerted, and, by falling in with the prevailing desire of the
majority, convert the desolating vehemence of social conflict into the
steady passion for national advancement. Napoleon did this with the
political aspirations of the eighteenth, Louis XIV. with the religious
fervour of the seventeenth century.
It was because his character and turn of mind coincided with the
national desires at the moment of his ascending the throne, that this
great monarch was enabled to achieve this marvellous transformation. If
Napoleon was the incarnation of the Revolution, with not less truth it
may be said that Louis XIV. was the incarnation of the monarchy. The
feudal spirit, modified but not destroyed by the changes of time,
appeared to be concentrated, with its highest lustre, in his person. He
was still the head of the Franks--the lustre of the historic families
yet surrounded his throne; but he was the head of the Franks only--that
is, of a hundred thousand conquering warriors. Twenty million of
conquered Gauls were neither regarded nor considered in his
administration, except in so far as they augmented the national
strength, or added to the national resources. But this distinction was
then neither perceived nor regarded. Worn out with civil dissension,
torn to pieces by religious passions, the fervent minds and restless
ambition of the French longed for a _national_ field for exertion--an
arena in which social dissensions might be forgotten. Louis XIV. gave
them this field: he opened this arena. He ascended the throne at the
time when this desire had become so strong and general, as in a manner
to concentrate the national will. His character, equally in all its
parts, was adapted to the general want. He took the lead alike in the
greatness and the foibles of his subjects. Were they ambitious? so was
he:--were they desirous of renown? so was he:--were they set on national
aggrandisement? so was he:--were they desirous of protection to
industry? so was he:--were they prone to gallantry? so was he. His
figure and countenance tall and majestic; his manner stately and
commanding; his conversation dignified, but enlightened; his spirit
ardent, but patriotic--qualified him to take the lead and preserve his
ascendancy among a proud body of ancient nobles, whom the disasters of
preceding reigns, and the astute policy of Cardinal Richelieu, had
driven into the antechambers of Paris, but who preserved in their ideas
and habits the pride and recollections of the conquerors who followed
the banners of Clovis. And the great body of the people, proud of their
sovereign, proud of his victories, proud of his magnificence, proud of
his fame, proud of his national spirit, proud of the literary glory
which environed his throne, in secret proud of his gallantries, joyfully
followed their nobles in the brilliant career which his ambition opened,
and submitted with as much docility to his government as they ranged
themselves round the banners of their respective chiefs on the day of
battle.
It was the peculiarity of the government of Louis XIV., arising from
this fortuitous, but to him fortunate combination of circumstances, that
it united the distinctions of rank, family attachments, and ancient
ideas of feudal times, with the vigour and efficiency of monarchical
government, and the lustre and brilliancy of literary glory. Such a
combination could not, in the nature of things, last long; it must soon
work out its own destruction. In truth, it was sensibly weakened during
the course of the latter part of the half century that he sat upon the
throne. But while it endured, it produced a most formidable union; it
engendered an extraordinary and hitherto unprecedented phalanx of
talent. The feudal ideas still lingering in the hearts of the nation,
produced subordination; the national spirit, excited by the genius of
the sovereign, induced unanimity; the development of talent, elicited by
his discernment, conferred power; the literary celebrity, encouraged by
his munificence, diffused fame. The peculiar character of Louis, in
which great talent was united with great pride, and unbounded ambition
with heroic magnanimity, qualified him to turn to the best account this
singular combination of circumstances, and to unite in France, for a
brief period, the lofty aspirations and dignified manners of chivalry,
with the energy of rising talent and the lustre of literary renown.
Louis XIV. was essentially monarchical. That was the secret of his
success; it was because he first gave the powers of _unity_ to the
monarchy, that he rendered France so brilliant and powerful. All his
changes, and they were many, from the dress of soldiers to the
instructions to ambassadors, breathed the same spirit. He first
introduced a _uniform_ in the army. Before his time, the soldiers merely
wore a banderole over their steel breast-plates and ordinary dresses.
That was a great and symptomatic improvement; it at once induced an
_esprit de corps_ and a sense of responsibility. He first made the
troops march with a measured step, and caused large bodies of men to
move with the precision of a single company. The artillery and engineer
service, under his auspices, made astonishing progress. His discerning
eye selected the genius of Vauban, which invented, as it were, the
modern system of fortification, and wellnigh brought it to its greatest
elevation--and raised to the highest command that of Turenne, which
carried the military art to the most consummate perfection. Skilfully
turning the | 859.188347 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Jewish Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, $1.00
LIST OF TITLES
By COL. F. A. POSTNIKOV, ISAAC TAYLOR HEADLAND, EDWARD C. BUTLER, AND
OTHERS
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Austrian Cousin=
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
=Our Little Boer Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
=Our Little Bulgarian Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin of the Maritime Provinces=
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
=Our Little Cossack Cousin=
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Czecho-Slovac Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
=Our Little English Cousin=
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little Finnish Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
=Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin=
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
=Our Little Quebec Cousin=
=Our Little Roumanian Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
=Our Little Servian Cousin=
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: ESTHER.]
Our Little
Jewish Cousin
By
Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
The Page Company
_PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1904_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published September, 1904
Fourth Impression, June, 1908
Fifth Impression, March, 1910
Sixth Impression, February, 1912
Seventh Impression, April, 1914
Eighth Impression, April, 1917
Ninth Impression, July, 1921
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
Preface
IN whatever direction you may travel,--north, south, east, or west,--you
will doubtless meet some of your little black-eyed Jewish cousins. They
live among us here in America. They also dwell in the countries far away
across the wide ocean.
Why are they so scattered, you may ask. Is there no country which is
really theirs, and which is ruled over by some one they have chosen? Is
there not some place where they can gather together happily whenever
they please? The answer is always no.
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FIVE LITTLE STARRS SERIES
_ILLUSTRATED_
Price per volume 35 cents
FIVE LITTLE STARRS
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A CANAL-BOAT
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A RANCH
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN AN ISLAND CABIN
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN THE CANADIAN FOREST
(In Preparation)
FIVE LITTLE STARRS ON A MOTOR TOUR
[Illustration: Mike Sat Down on a Log to Watch Over the Children.]
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN THE CANADIAN FOREST
BY
LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
AUTHOR OF THE "BLUE BIRD SERIES"
[Illustration]
New York
THE PLATT & NOURSE CO.
Copyright, 1915, by
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A LUMBER CAMP IN PROSPECT 7
II A LUMBER CAMP IN WINTER 30
III THE INDIAN TRAPPER 53
IV THE ENGINEER'S ASSISTANTS 76
V JUMPIN' JANE'S ANTICS 100
VI OUTDOOR FUN IN A LUMBER CAMP 126
VII CHRISTMAS AT THE LUMBER CAMP 147
VIII MIKE'S BEAR TRAP 170
IX FATHER BEAR VISITS THE CAMP 190
X AFLOAT ON THE RIVER RAFT 212
FIVE LITTLE STARRS IN A CANADIAN FOREST
CHAPTER I
A LUMBER CAMP IN PROSPECT
"DADDUM, are we'most there?" asked Dorothy Starr, impatiently, as the
uncomfortable local train creaked over its uneven tracks through dense
forests in Western Ontario.
"Almost, Dot--have a little more patience and soon you will be able to
exercise those active little legs," returned Mr. Starr, as he consulted
his watch.
"Guess we'll all be glad to exercise after this awful smoky, crampy
ride," grumbled Donald, Dot's twin brother.
"Our winter in the lumber camp will have to be mighty fine to make us
forget this outlandish trip ever since we left Grand Forks," declared
Meredith Starr, the oldest boy.
"We have one consolation, Mete, and that is, we don't have to travel
home in the Spring by the same route," laughed his sister Lavinia.
"Well, children, you all have had some remark to make about the
discomforts of this car and the dreadful condition of the tracks, but it
is far better than riding in a springless lumber wagon for the same
distance," commented Mrs. Starr, shifting the baby's sleepy head from
her shoulder to her knees.
"We'd never have come if Daddum knew we had to travel _that_ way!"
exclaimed Don.
"No, but Daddum had to travel that way, and on horseback, years ago,
before this track was laid," replied Mrs. Starr.
"Did you, Daddum? Oh, do tell us about it!" cried the restless children,
as they crowded into the seat beside their father.
"It isn't an exciting tale, but it is very appropriate at this time,"
replied Mr. Starr, smiling at the eager faces. "I was a very young man
then. I didn't find out until I returned to New York after that trip
what a prize your mother was."
"Oh, how does Mumzie know about the trip, then?" asked Dot.
"Because I have often told her how that trip decided for me my future
business life," replied Mr. Starr.
"Dot, please don't interrupt Daddum with silly questions again," said
Lavinia to her little sister.
"When I got off the train at Grand Forks, on that trip, I expected to
meet an old friend at the station, but he was not there. I stopped at
the best hotel in the town, which would have been about sixth-rate
anywhere else, and the next morning my friend Dean came in. He had had
to ride about forty miles out of his way on account of a flooded river
and that was why he was not on time to meet me.
"Well, after he had made a few purchases in town he was ready to start
back. I had a good horse waiting for me at the hotel shed, and soon we
were on the return trip.
"The further north we went the more beautiful and wilder the scenery
became until I thought we would be lost in the dense primeval forests.
How Dean managed to find his way I could not make out, but he seemed to
know every stump, every mound, and every blaze on the trees along the
trail.
"We stopped at noon to rest the horses and have a bite to eat. While we
lay under the trees smoking our pipes and waiting for the horses to
finish their oats, an old hunter passed by.
"We invited him to join us but he was anxious to meet an Indian trapper
some miles further on, so we were compelled to decline Dean's
invitation.
"After finishing our pipes, we started on the last half of our journey.
"We hadn't gone more than four miles before we saw in the trail the deep
cut of a wagon-track that struck in from a side-trail that led to an
eastern lumber-town.
"'Huh! Must be pretty heavy pulling for the horses,' said Dean, knowing
that it would take a heavy load to make the wheels sink down so far in
the soft soil.
"'Were they here yesterday, when you came by?' I asked.
"'No, and I should say the outfit wasn't very far ahead, either,'
replied Dean.
"And so it was. In a short time we caught up with a kind of
'prairie-schooner' wagon, and found that a pioneer with his family had
dared the wilderness of the Canadian forest to wrest a living from the
earth.
"Dean rode alongside for a time, giving the man some valuable points
about the country, and advising him as to the best trails. The man
thanked us profusely as we rode on.
"While Dean talked with the man I rode by the side of the wagon and
spoke with the wife who was a very sweet woman of about thirty. She held
a child about two years old in her lap while a boy of five slept upon a
bundle of clothing on the rough wagon-floor.
"Now, this family had come from a town eighty miles east of the trail
where we met them, and they were bound for a distant, fertile valley
about a hundred miles further to the west where they intended to stop
and look about for a permanent home. The woman and children were stiff
and sore from the jolts of the springless wagon as it bumped over huge
rocks, or suddenly slid into wide ruts made by washouts. But they never
complained about aching bones, for they knew the father couldn't help
them, and they were trying to keep up his spirits.
"Dean and I continued along the trail until we came to the flooded
region that made him miss my coming the day before. The river seemed
higher than ever, Dean said, and we had to try the roundabout way again.
We traveled along the banks for at least thirty miles, but not a spot
could be found where we could ford, or even swim our horses.
"Finally, we pulled rein to discuss the problem, when Dean saw a thin
wreath of smoke rising among the trees near at hand. As no forester ever
permits the sight of smoke to go uninvestigated for fear of forest
fires, he jumped off of his horse and rushed into the woods. After a
short time he returned with our friend the hunter and an Indian.
"'The men say we can't get over to-day--we'll have to wait about until
the water recedes somewhat,' Dean explained.
"'Can't we cross where you did last night?' I asked.
"'Not to-day--the water has risen much higher since then and it would be
taking too much of a chance to risk it. We'll stay here until it is
safe,' said Dean, as he led his horse into the woods toward the
Indian's temporary camp.
"I followed the three men and wondered how the Indian ever got the name | 859.479552 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
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https://archive.org/details/billybounce00dens
[Illustration: _"Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy,
excitedly_.--Page 47. Frontispiece.]
BILLY BOUNCE
by
W. W. DENSLOW and DUDLEY A. BRAGDON
Pictures by Denslow
G. W. Dillingham Co.
Publishers New York
Copyright 1906 by W. W. Denslow
All rights reserved.
Issued September, 1906.
To
"Pete" and "Ponsie"
List of Chapters.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED
VILLAIN 9
II. A JUMP TO SHAMVILLE 22
III. BILLY IS CAPTURED BY TOMATO 34
IV. ADVENTURES IN EGGS-AGGERATION 47
V. PEASE PORRIDGE HOT 63
VI. BLIND MAN'S BUFF 77
VII. THE WISHING BOTTLE 88
VIII. GAMMON AND SPINACH 97
IX. IN SILLY LAND 110
X. SEA URCHIN AND NE'ER DO EEL 124
XI. IN DERBY TOWN 138
XII. O'FUDGE 152
XIII. BILLY PLAYS A TRICK ON BOREA 167
XIV. KING CALCIUM AND STERRY OPTICAN 181
XV. BILLY MEETS GLUCOSE 195
XVI. IN SPOOKVILLE 210
XVII. IN THE VOLCANO OF VOCIFEROUS 221
XVIII. THE ELUSIVE BRIDGE 236
XIX. IN THE DARK, NEVER WAS 247
XX. THE WINDOW OF FEAR 257
XXI. IN THE QUEEN BEE PALACE 267
Full Page Illustrations
"_Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy, excitedly_.
--Page 47....Frontispiece.
PAGE
"I _can't tell you where Bogie Man lives, it's against the rules_." 14
_"Now," said Mr. Gas, "be careful not to sit on the ceiling."_ 17
"_Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato sauce._" 39
_Billy never wanted for plenty to eat._ 64
_"He-he-ho-ho, oh! what a joke," cried the Scally Wags._ 82
_"That's my black cat-o-nine tails," said the old woman._ 90
_The Night Mare and the Dream Food Sprites._ 101
_"Get off, you're sinking us," cried Billy._ 134
_He saw flying to meet him several shaggy bears._ 141
_"Talking about me, were you?" said Boreas, arriving in a swirl of
snow._ 172
_"Me feyther," cried she, in a tragic voice, "the light, the
light."_ 187
"_Come up to the house and spend an unpleasant evening._" 217
_Billy shot a blast of hot air from his pump full in Bumbus's face._ 263
"_Allow me to present Bogie Man._" 271
Preface
OUR PURPOSE.--Fun for the "children between the ages of one and one
hundred."
AND INCIDENTALLY--the elimination of deceit and gore in the telling:
two elements that enter, we think, too vitally into the construction of
most fairy tales.
AS TO THE MORAL.--That is not obtrusive. But if we can suggest to the
children that fear alone can harm them through life's journey; and to
silly nurses and thoughtless parents that the serious use of ghost
stories, Bogie Men and Bugbears of all kinds for the sheer purpose of
frightening or making a child mind is positively wicked; we will admit
that the tale has a moral.
CHAPTER I.
DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED VILLAIN.
Nickel Plate, the polished Villain, sat in his office in the North
South corner of the first straight turning to the left of the Castle in
Plotville.
"Gadzooks," exclaimed he with a heavy frown, "likewise Pish Tush!
Methinks I grow rusty--it is indeed a sad world when a real villain
is reduced to chewing his moustache and biting his lips instead of
feasting on the fat of the land."
So saying he rose from his chair, smote himself | 859.483638 |
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[ Transcriber's Notes:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including any non-standard spelling.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
]
WHERE LOVE IS
THERE GOD IS ALSO
BY
LYOF N. TOLSTOI
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
BY
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
NEW YORK
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1887,
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.
WHERE LOVE IS THERE GOD IS ALSO
In the city lived the shoemaker, Martuin Avdyeitch. He lived in a
basement, in a little room with one window. The window looked out on the
street. Through the window he used to watch the people passing by;
although only their feet could be seen, yet by the boots, Martuin
Avdyeitch recognized the people. Martuin Avdyeitch had lived long in one
place, and had many acquaintances. Few pairs of boots in his district
had not been in his hands once and again. Some he would half-sole, some
he would patch, some he would stitch around, and occasionally he would
also put on new uppers. And through the window he often recognized his
work.
Avdyeitch had plenty to do, because he was a faithful workman, used good
material, did not make exorbitant charges, and kept his word. If it was
possible for him to finish an order by a certain time, he would accept
it; otherwise, he would not deceive you,--he would tell you so
beforehand. And all knew Avdyeitch, and he was never out of work.
Avdyeitch had always been a good man; but as he grew old, he began to
think more about his soul, and get nearer to God. Martuin's wife had
died when he was still living with his master. His wife left him a boy
three years old. None of their other children had lived. All the eldest
had died in childhood. Martuin at first intended to send his little son
to his sister in the village, but afterward he felt sorry for him; he
thought to himself:--
"It will be hard for my Kapitoshka to live in a strange family. I shall
keep him with me."
And Avdyeitch left his master, and went into lodgings with his little
son. But God gave Avdyeitch no luck with his children. As Kapitoshka
grew older, he began to help his father, and would have been a delight
to him, but a sickness fell on him, he went to bed, suffered a week, and
died. Martuin buried his son, and fell into despair. So deep was this
despair that he began to complain of God. Martuin fell into such a
melancholy state, that more than once he prayed to God for death, and
reproached God because He had not taken him who was an old man, instead
of his beloved only son. Avdyeitch also ceased to go to church.
And once a little old man from the same district came from Troitsa(1) to
see Avdyeitch; for seven years he had been wandering about. Avdyeitch
talked with him, and began to complain about his sorrows.
(1) Trinity, a famous monastery, pilgrimage to which is reckoned a
virtue. Avdyeitch calls this _zemlyak-starichok_, _Bozhi chelovyek_,
God's man.--Ed.
"I have no desire to live any longer," he said, "I only wish I was dead.
That is all I pray God for. I am a man without anything to hope for
now."
And the little old man said to him:--
"You don't talk right, Martuin, we must not judge God's doings. The
world moves, not by our skill, but by God's will. God decreed for your
son to die,--for you--to live. So it is for the best. And you are in
despair, because you wish to live for your own happiness."
"But what shall one live for?" asked Martuin.
And the little old man said:--
"We must live for God, Martuin. He gives you life, and for His sake you
must live. When you begin to live for Him, you will not grieve over
anything, and all will seem easy to you."
Martuin kept silent for a moment, and then said, "But how can one live
for God?"
And the little old man said:--
"Christ has taught us how to live for God. You know how to read? Buy a
Testament, and read it; there you will learn how to live for God.
Everything is explained there."
And these words kindled a fire in Avdyeitch's heart. And he went that
very same day, bought a New Testament in large print, and began to read.
At first Avdyeitch intended to read only on holidays; but as he began to
read, it so cheered his soul that he used to read every day. At times he
would become so absorbed in reading, that all the kerosene in the lamp
would burn out, and still he could not tear himself away. And so
Avdyeitch used to read every evening.
And the more he read, the clearer he understood what God wanted of him,
and how one should live for God; and his heart kept growing easier and
easier. Formerly, when he lay down to sleep, he used to sigh and groan,
and always thought of his Kapitoshka; and now his only exclamation
was:--
"Glory to Thee! glory to Thee, Lord! Thy will be done."
And from that time Avdyeitch's whole life was changed. In other days he,
too, used to drop into a public-house(2) as a holiday amusement, to
drink a cup of tea; and he was not averse to a little brandy, either. He
would take a drink with some acquaintance, and leave the saloon, not
int | 859.484444 |
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[Illustration: THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE APE
(See page 153)]
Æsop’s Fables
A Version for
Young Readers
_By_
J. H. Stickney
Illustrated by
Charles Livingston Bull
Ginn and Company
Boston—New York—Chicago—London
Atlanta—Dallas—Columbus—San Francisco
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY GINN AND COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
321.11
THE Athenæum Press
GINN AND COMPANY·PROPRIETORS·BOSTON·U.S.A.
PREFACE
THE good fortune which has attended the earlier edition of this book
is a proof that there is less occasion now than formerly to plead the
cause of fables for use in elementary schools. And yet their value
is still too little recognized. The homely wisdom, which the fables
represent so aptly, was a more common possession of intelligent people
of a generation or two ago than it is at the present time. It had
then a better chance of being passed on by natural tradition than
is now the case among the less homogeneous parentage of our school
children. And there has never been a greater need than now for the
kind of seed-sowing for character that is afforded by this means. As
in the troubled times in Greece in Æsop’s day, twenty-five centuries
ago, moral teaching to be salutary must be largely shorn of didactic
implications and veiled with wit and satire. This insures its most
vital working wherever its teaching is pertinent. To be whipped,
warned, shamed, or encouraged, and so corrected, over the heads of
animals as they are represented in the expression of their native
traits, is the least offensive way that can fall to a person’s lot.
Among several hundred episodes, knowledge of which is acquired in
childhood as a part of an educational routine, most conservative
estimates would allow for large, substantial results in practical wit
and wisdom, to be reaped as later life calls for them.
It is well recognized by scholars, and should be taught to children,
that not all the fables attributed to Æsop are of so early a date.
Imitations of his genius all along the centuries have masqueraded under
his name. Facts about him appear in the Introduction.
No occasion has been found to change in this edition the style of
presentation so highly approved in the original one; but, as a
considerable number of the stories, especially in the earlier pages
of the book, are amplified somewhat in language form to accommodate
them to the needs of children unfamiliar with the animals portrayed,
it has been thought wise to present these in the briefer form in which
they are generally known to adult readers. These are to be found in
an Appendix to the present volume. The ingenious teacher will find
numerous ways in which this duplication of stories may be turned to
account. Comparison of the two forms will suggest many exercises to
be performed by the pupils themselves, in which the longer forms of
the fables may be built up from the shorter forms, and vice versa. The
teacher who is interested in dramatic work will find also that many of
the fables will make excellent material for dramatic presentation in
the classroom.
THE EDITOR
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Wolf and the Lamb 3
The Fox and the Lion 5
The Dog and his Shadow 6
The Crab and his Mother 8
The Fox and the Grapes 9
The Wolf and the Crane 11
The Ants and the Grasshoppers 13
The Frogs who asked for a King 15
The Donkey in the Lion’s Skin 19
The Mice in Council 20
The Kid and the Wolf 23
The Hawk and the Nightingale 24
The Crow and the | 859.485889 |
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DAISY MILLER: A STUDY
IN TWO PARTS
The text is that of the first American appearance in book form, 1879.
PART I
At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly
comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment
of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will
remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake--a lake that
it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an
unbroken array of establishments of this order, of every category, from
the "grand hotel" of the newest fashion, with a chalk-white front, a
hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little
Swiss pension of an elder day, with its name inscribed in German-looking
lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the
angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous,
even classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart neighbors
by an air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month
of June, American travelers are extremely numerous; it may be said,
indeed, that Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics
of an American watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a
vision, an echo, of Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither
and thither of "stylish" young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces,
a rattle of dance music in the morning hours, a sound of high-pitched
voices at all times. You receive an impression of these things at the
excellent inn of the "Trois Couronnes" and are transported in fancy to
the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at the "Trois Couronnes," it
must be added, there are other features that are much at variance with
these suggestions: neat German waiters, who look like secretaries of
legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden; little Polish boys
walking about held by the hand, with their governors; a view of the
sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers of the Castle
of Chillon.
I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were
uppermost in the mind of a young American, who, two or three years ago,
sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather
idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a
beautiful summer morning, and in whatever fashion the young American
looked at things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come
from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to see his aunt, who
was staying at the hotel--Geneva having been for a long time his place
of residence. But his aunt had a headache--his aunt had almost always a
headache--and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that
he was at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years
of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at
Geneva "studying." When his enemies spoke of him, they said--but,
after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and
universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain
persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so
much time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who
lived there--a foreign lady--a person older than himself. Very few
Americans--indeed, I think none--had ever seen this lady, about whom
there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment
for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there
as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college there--circumstances
which had led to his forming a great many youthful friendships. Many of
these he had kept, and they were a source of great satisfaction to him.
After knocking at his aunt's door and learning that she was indisposed,
he had taken a walk about the town, and then he had come in to his
breakfast. He had now finished his breakfast; but he was drinking a
small cup of coffee, which had been served to him on a little table in
the garden by one of the waiters who looked like an attache. At last
he finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy came
walking along the path--an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who was
diminutive for his years, had an aged expression of countenance, a pale
complexion, and sharp little features. He was dressed in knickerbockers,
with red stockings, which displayed his poor little spindle-shanks;
he also wore a brilliant red cravat. He carried in his hand a long
alpenstock, the sharp point of which he thrust into everything that
he approached--the flowerbeds, the garden benches, the trains of the
ladies' dresses. In front of Winterbourne he paused, looking at him with
a pair of bright, penetrating little eyes.
"Will you give me a lump of sugar?" he asked in a sharp, hard little
voice--a voice immature and yet, somehow, not young.
Winterbourne glanced at the small table near him, on which his coffee
service rested, and saw that several morsels of sugar remained. "Yes,
you may take one," he answered; "but I don't think sugar is good for
little boys."
This little boy stepped forward and carefully selected three of
the coveted fragments, two of which he buried in the pocket of his
knickerbockers, depositing the other as promptly in another place. He
poked his alpenstock, lance-fashion, into Winterbourne's bench and tried
to crack the lump of sugar with his teeth.
"Oh, blazes; it's har-r-d!" he exclaimed, pronouncing the adjective in a
peculiar manner.
Winterbourne had immediately perceived that he might have the honor
of claiming him as a fellow countryman. "Take care you don't hurt your
teeth," he said, paternally.
"I haven't got any teeth to hurt. They have all come out. I have only
got seven teeth. My mother counted them last night, and one came out
right afterward. She said she'd slap me if any more came out. I can't
help it. It's this old Europe. It's the climate that makes them come
out. In America they didn't come out. It's these hotels."
Winterbourne was much amused. "If you eat three lumps of sugar, your
mother will certainly slap you," he said.
"She's got to give me some candy, then," rejoined his young
interlocutor. "I can't get any candy here--any American candy. American
candy's the best candy."
"And are American little boys the best little boys?" asked Winterbourne.
"I don't know. I'm an American boy," said the child.
"I see you are one of the best!" laughed Winterbourne.
"Are you an American man?" pursued this vivacious infant. And then,
on Winterbourne's affirmative reply--"American men are the best," he
declared.
His companion thanked him for the compliment, and the child, who had
now got astride of his alpenstock, stood looking about him, while he
attacked a second lump of sugar. Winterbourne wondered if he himself
had been like this in his infancy, for he had been brought to Europe at
about this age.
"Here comes my sister!" cried the child in a moment. "She's an American
girl."
Winterbourne looked along | 859.486578 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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[Illustration: _Insultare solopet gressus glomerare superbos._]
A
NEW SYSTEM
OF
HORSEMANSHIP:
From the French of
Monsieur Bourgelat.
BY
RICHARD BERENGER, Esq;
_Content, if hence th' Unlearn'd their Wants may view,
The Learn'd reflect on what before they knew._
Pope's Essay on Crit.
_LONDON_:
Printed by Henry Woodfall,
For Paul Vaillant in the _Strand_, facing _Southampton-Street_.
M.DCC.LIV.
THE TRANSLATOR's PREFACE.
_IT is not my Design, in the Task I undertake of giving some
Account of this Work, as well as of the Art which is the Subject of
it, to trace its Origin back into past Times, or to wander in search
of it in the Darkness and Confusion of remote Antiquity. Let it
suffice to say, that though its Beginning, as well as that of other
Arts, was imperfect, yet its Use, and the Entertainment it affords,
have been known and tasted in all Ages. But however distinguish'd it
may be by the Notice of the Great, who have at all Times deign'd to
profess and practise it; it is yet less entitled to our Regard for
these Distinctions, than for the real Advantages we derive from it.
Riding consists of two Parts, the_ useful _and the_ ornamental. _That
the latter of these may be dispensed with, is most readily granted;
but that it behoves every one who puts himself upon a Horse to have
some Knowledge of the first, is most evident.--For who would trust to
the Mercy of an Animal that may prove wild and ungovernable, who knows
himself to be incapable of controuling him, and of acting for his own
Safety? Who would venture alone into a Vessel, that can neither row,
nor manage a Sail, but must trust entirely to the Winds and Tide?
Yet is this the Case with the Generality of Mankind, who are carried
upon the Back of a Horse, and think they_ ride. _The_ Utility _of
this Art consists then in knowing how to guide and direct your Horse
as you please, and in reducing him to Obedience, so as to make him
execute readily what you require of him. Thus far it is to be wish'd
every Person who is conversant with Horses, would endeavour to attain.
The_ ornamental _Part, I have already said, is not so requisite
to be known: It can only be called an Accomplishment, and placed
among the superfluous but refin'd Pleasures of Life. In what Esteem
and Honour however it has constantly been held, abundantly appears
from the Schools and Academies every where erected for teaching its
Elements, as well as from the Number of Books, ancient and modern,
given to the World by eminent and accomplished Persons who have
studied and practis'd it. Among these our illustrious Countryman_,
William Cavendish, _Duke of_ Newcastle, _has the highest Claim to
our Praise and Acknowledgments. It would be needless to describe his
Excellencies; his Character, as a Horseman, is universally known, and
universally admir'd. The Truth and Soundness of his Principles, and
the Extensiveness of his Knowledge, have opened to us an easier, a
shorter, and more certain Way to Perfection in the Art, than was known
before. His Precepts have accordingly been adopted by all succeeding
Professors, and his Writings consider'd as the Oracle of Horsemanship,
notwithstanding a Want of Method and Exactness, which has been objected
to them. To remedy these Imperfections, is the Design of the present
Undertaking, and the Labours of a judicious and experienced Foreigner,
must consummate in the Knowledge of the Art he professes. He has
presented us with a new System of Horsemanship, extracted from the
Rules of that great Master. The Method and Conciseness with which he
has digested the Whole, have made the Copy much less than the Original,
but it is a small well-polished Gem. To speak truth, he has made
the Subject so much his own by the Refinement of his Remarks, the
Justness of his Reasoning, and the Light he has diffused through it,
that it must have the Merit of an Original; at least the Reader will
be divided to whom he shall render most Thanks, whether to him who has
given the Food, or to him who has prepar'd and set it before us with so
much Elegance and Order. This at least is our Author's Praise.----The
Translator has endeavoured to do him as much Justice, in the following
Sheets, as he has done his great Original; sensible of the Danger of
so difficult an Enterprize, but prompted to it in hopes of making
his Merit more known. He translated the Work, that the Treasures it
contains may be gathered by those who are so unfortunate as to want
this Assistance to obtain them. He has been as faithful to his Author,
as the Languages will allow, judging that to be the surest way of doing
him Justice. In some Places however he has used (as all Translators
must) a discretionary Power. Every Art has technical terms, or Words
of its own; these he has preserved in the Translation, the_ English
_affording none adequate to them. He has given no Notes or Comments,
imagining the Original can, and hoping the Translation will, want
none. Of this however his Readers will be the best Judges; he will say
no more of himself, but that he has endeavoured to make the Work as
perfect as he could; and for this Reason will be very ready to own any
Faults that may be pointed out; for, though desirous of Approbation, he
is not vain enough to think, there may not be room for Censure._
TABLE of CHAPTERS.
I. _Of the Horseman's Seat_ page 1
II. _Of the Hand, and its Effects_ 10
III. _Of Disobedience in Horses, and the Means to correct it_ 19
IV. _Of the Trot_ 33
V. _Of the Stop_ 43
VI. _Of teaching a Horse to go backward_ 50
VII. _Of the uniting or putting a Horse together_ 54
VIII. _Of the Pillars_ 60
IX. _Of Aids and Corrections_ 64
X. _Of the Passage_ 75
XI. _Of working with the Head and Croupe to the Wall_ 79
XII. _Of Changes of the Hand, large and narrow, and of Voltes
and Demi-voltes_ 82
XIII. _Of the Aids of the Body_ 92
XIV. _Of the Gallop_ 98
XV. _Of Passades_ 107
XVI. _Of Pesades_ 111
XVII. _Of the Mezair_ 115
XVIII. _Of Curvets_ 117
XIX. _Of Croupades and Balotades_ 129
XX. _Of Caprioles_ 132
XXI. _Of the Step and Leap_ 142
TO
SIDNEY MEDOWS, Esq;
The Following SHEETS,
Eminently due to Him from their Subject,
And not Less so
From the AUTHOR's sincere Regard
TO
His Person and Character,
Are Inscrib'd,
By his Faithful and Obedient Servant,
RICHARD BERENGER.
ERRATA.
Page 36. _for_ Remingue _read_ Ramingue. p. 38. _dele_ and. p. 66.
_for_ in _read_ it. p. 79. _for_ Care _read_ Ease. p. 80. _for_ acting
_read_ aiding. p. 85. _dele_ so. p. 116. _for_ Lines _read_ Times.
A
NEW SYSTEM
OF
HORSEMANSHIP.
CHAP. I.
_Of the Horseman's Seat._
THE Principles and Rules which have hitherto been given for the
Horseman's Seat, are various, and even opposite, according as they have
been adopted by different Masters, and taught in different Countries;
almost each Master, in particular, and every Nation, having certain
Rules and Notions of their own. Let us see, however, if Art can
discover nothing to us that is certain and invariably true.
THE _Italians_, the _Spaniards_, the _French_, and, in a word, every
Country, where Riding is in repute, adopt each a Posture which is
peculiar to themselves; the Foundation of their general Notions, is, if
I may so say, the same, but yet each Country has prescribed Rules for
the Placing of the Man in the Saddle.
THIS Contrariety of Opinions, which have their Origin more in
Prejudice, than in Truth and Reality, has given rise to many vain
Reasonings and Speculations, each System having its Followers; and,
as if Truth was not always the same and unchangeable, but at liberty
to assume various, and even opposite Appearances; sometimes one
Opinion prevailed, sometimes another dazzled; insomuch, that those who
understand nothing of the Subject, but yet are desirous of informing
themselves, by searching it to the Bottom, have hitherto been lost in
Doubt and Perplexity.
THERE is nevertheless a sure and infallible Method, by the Assistance
of which it would be very easy to overturn all these Systems: But not
to enter into a needless Detail, of the extravagant Notions which the
Seat alone has given rise to, let us trace it from Principles by so
much the more solid, as their Authority will be supported by the most
convincing and self-evident Reasons.
IN order to succeed in an Art where the Mechanism of the Body is
absolutely necessary, and where each Part of the Body has proper
Functions, which are peculiar to it, it is most certain, that all and
every Part of the Body should be in a natural Posture; were they in
an imperfect Situation, they would want that Ease and Freedom which
is inseparable from Grace; and as every Motion which is constrained,
being false in itself, is incapable of Justness; it is clear that the
Part so constrained and forced would throw the whole into Disorder,
because each Part belonging to, and depending upon the whole Body, and
the Body partaking of the Constraint of its Parts, can never feel that
fix'd Point, that just Counterpoise and Equilibre in which alone a fine
and just Execution consists.
IT is not therefore sufficient in giving Directions for the Seat, to
keep altogether to trivial and common Rules which may be followed or
left at pleasure; we ought to weigh and examine them with Skill and
Judgment, in order to know how to apply them properly and suitably
as the Shape and Figure of the Person to whom we undertake to give a
Seat will allow; for many Motions and Attitudes that appear easy and
natural in one Man, in another are awkward and ungraceful; whence all
those Faults and Difficulties which in many Persons have been thought
insuperable; whereas a little more Knowledge, a closer Attention, and a
more serious Examination into the Principles of the Art, would convert
in the same Subject an awkward and displeasing Appearance, into an
easy, natural, and graceful Figure, capable of drawing the Eyes even of
Judges themselves.
INDEED the Objects, to which a Master, anxious for the Advancement
of his Pupil, should attend, are infinite. To little Purpose will
it be to keep the strictest Eye upon all the Parts and Limbs of his
Pupil's Body; in vain will he endeavour to remedy all the Defects and
Faults which are found in the Posture of almost every Scholar in the
Beginning; unless he is intimately acquainted with, and apprized of,
the close Dependance and Connection that there is between the Motions
of each Part of the Body, and all the Rest; a Correspondence caused
by the reciprocal Action of the Muscles which govern and direct them;
unless therefore he is Master of this Secret, and has this Clue to the
Labyrinth, he will never attain the End he proposes, particularly in
his first Lessons, upon which the Success of the rest always depends.
THESE Principles being established, let us reason in consequence of
them; we shall display them with great Force and Clearness.
THE Body of a Man is divided into three Parts, two of which are
moveable, the other immoveable.
THE First of the two moveable Parts is the Trunk or Body, down to the
Waist; the Second is from the Knees to the Feet; so that the remaining
immoveable Part is that between the Waist and the Knees.
THE Parts then which ought to be without Motion, are | 859.488535 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
A LETTER
TO
GROVER CLEVELAND,
ON
HIS FALSE INAUGURAL ADDRESS, THE USURPATIONS AND
CRIMES OF LAWMAKERS AND JUDGES, AND THE
CONSEQUENT POVERTY, IGNORANCE, AND
SERVITUDE OF THE PEOPLE.
BY
LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
BENJ. R. TUCKER, PUBLISHER.
1886.
The author reserves his copyright in this letter.
First pamphlet edition published in July, 1886.[1]
[1] Under a somewhat different title, to wit, "_A Letter to
Grover Cleveland, on his False, Absurd, If-contradictory, and
Ridiculous Inaugural Address_," this letter was first published,
in instalments, "LIBERTY" (a paper published in Boston); the
instalments commencing June 20, 1885, and continuing to May 22,
1886: notice being given, in each paper, of the reservation of
copyright.
A LETTER TO GROVER CLEVELAND.
SECTION I.
_To Grover Cleveland_:
SIR,--Your inaugural address is probably as honest, sensible, and
consistent a one as that of any president within the last fifty years,
or, perhaps, as any since the foundation of the government. If,
therefore, it is false, absurd, self-contradictory, and ridiculous, it
is not (as I think) because you are personally less honest, sensible, or
consistent than your predecessors, but because the government
itself--according to your own description of it, and according to the
practical administration of it for nearly a hundred years--is an utterly
and palpably false, absurd, and criminal one. Such praises as you bestow
upon it are, therefore, necessarily false, absurd, and ridiculous.
Thus you describe it as "a government pledged to do equal and exact
justice to all men."
Did you stop to think what that means? Evidently you did not; for
nearly, or quite, all the rest of your address is in direct
contradiction to it.
Let me then remind you that justice is an immutable, natural principle;
and not anything that can be made, unmade, or altered by any human
power.
It is also a subject of science, and is to be learned, like mathematics,
or any other science. It does not derive its authority from the
commands, will, pleasure, or discretion of any possible combination of
men, whether calling themselves a government, or by any other name.
It is also, at all times, and in all places, the supreme law. And being
everywhere and always the supreme law, it is necessarily everywhere and
always the only law.
Lawmakers, as they call themselves, can add nothing to it, nor take
anything from it. Therefore all their laws, as they call them,--that is,
all the laws of their own making,--have no color of authority or
obligation. It is a falsehood to call them laws; for there is nothing in
them that either creates men's duties or rights, or enlightens them as
to their duties or rights. There is consequently nothing binding or
obligatory about them. And nobody is bound to take the least notice of
them, unless it be to trample them under foot, as usurpations. If they
command men to do justice, they add nothing to men's obligation to do
it, or to any man's right to enforce it. They are therefore mere idle
wind, such as would be commands to consider the day as day, and the
night as night. If they command or license any man to do injustice, they
are criminal on their face. If they command any man to do anything which
justice does not require him to do | 859.583286 |
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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLIX. SEPTEMBER, 1845. VOL. LVIII.
CONTENTS.
ENGLISH LANDSCAPE--CONSTABLE, 257
MAHMOOD THE GHAZNAVIDE. By B. SIMMONS, 266
MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN. PART XIX., 272
WATERTON'S SECOND SERIES OF ESSAYS, 289
WARREN'S LAW STUDIES, 300
MARGARET OF VALOIS, 312
THE BARON VON STEIN, 328
THE HISTORICAL ROMANCE, 341
A FEW WORDS FOR BETTINA, 357
NORTH'S SPECIMENS OF THE BRITISH CRITICS. NO. VIII.--SUPPLEMENT
TO MAC-FLECNOE AND THE DUNCIAD, 366
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;
AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCLIX. SEPTEMBER, 1845. Vol. LVIII.
ENGLISH LANDSCAPE--CONSTABLE.[1]
The appearance of the second edition of Leslie's _Life of Constable_
invites attention to this truly English and original artist. We have read
this volume with much interest. It is a graceful homage paid by a great
living painter to the memory of one who is no more: a kindly, and, as we
believe, an honest testimony to the moral and professional worth of one
whose works stand out with a striking and distinct character in the
English school of landscape-painting, and which, we are confident, will
retain the place which they have slowly gained in public estimation, as
long as a feeling of pictorial truth, in its more elevated sense, and as
distinct from a mere literal imitation of details, shall continue to
endure. Mr Leslie has accomplished his task with skill as well as good
sense; for, keeping the labours of the editor entirely in the background,
he has made Constable his own biographer--the work consisting almost
entirely of extracts from his notes, journals, and correspondence, linked
together by the slenderest thread of narrative. Story indeed, it may be
said, there was none to tell; for, among the proverbially uneventful lives
of artists, that of Constable was perhaps the least eventful. His
birth--his adoption of painting as a profession (for he was originally
destined _pulverem collegisse_ in the drier duties of a miller)--his
marriage, after a long attachment, on which parents had looked frowningly,
but which the lovers, by patient endurance and confidence in each other,
brought to a successful issue--his death, just when he had begun to feel
that the truth and originality of his style were becoming better
appreciated both abroad and at home; these, with the hopes, and fears, and
anxieties for a rising family, which diversify the married life with
alternate joys and sorrows, form, in truth, the only incidents in his
history. The incidents of a painter's life, in fact, are the foundation of
his character, the gradual development to his own mind of the principles
of his art; and with Constable's thoughts and opinions, his habits of
study, the growth of his style--if that term can be applied to the manner
of one whose great anxiety it was to have no distinguishable _style_
whatever--with his manly, frank, affectionate, and somewhat hasty
disposition, with his strong self-reliance, and, as we may sometimes
think, his overweening self-esteem--his strength of mind and his
weaknesses--this volume makes us familiarly acquainted.
Constable was born in 1776, at East Bergholt in Sussex. His father was in
comfortable circumstances, as may be gathered from the fact, that the
artist (one of six children) ultimately inherited L | 859.587154 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.5672300 | 131 | 15 |
ROUND THE RED LAMP
BEING FACTS AND FANCIES OF MEDICAL LIFE
By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
THE PREFACE.
[Being an extract from a long and animated correspondence with a friend
in America.]
I quite recognise the force of your objection that an invalid or a
woman in weak health would get no good from stories which attempt to
treat some features of medical life with a certain amount of realism.
If you deal with this life at all, however, and if you are anxious to
make your doctors something more than marionettes, it is quite
essential that you should | 859.58727 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.6159340 | 985 | 9 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v2
#64 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
#5 in our series by Alphonse Daudet
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2023-11-16 18:31:23.6168950 | 1,042 | 13 |
Produced by Walter Debeuf
Pecheur d'Islande
Pierre Loti
De l'Academie Francaise
A Madame Adam
(Juliette Lamber)
Hommage d'affection filiale,
Pierre Loti
Première partie
Chapitre I
Ils étaient cinq, aux carrures terribles, accoudés à boire, dans une
sorte de logis sombre qui sentait la saumure et la mer. Le gîte, trop
bas pour leurs tailles, s'effilait par un bout, comme l'intérieur d'une
grande mouette vidée; il oscillait faiblement, en rendant une plainte
monotone, avec une lenteur de sommeil.
Dehors, ce devait être la mer et la nuit, mais on n'en savait trop rien:
une seule ouverture coupée dans le plafond était fermée par un couvercle
en bois, et c'était une vieille lampe suspendue qui les éclairait en
vacillant.
Il y avait du feu dans un fourneau; leurs vêtements mouillés séchaient,
en répandant de la vapeur qui se mêlait aux fumées de leurs pipes de
terre.
Leur table massive occupait toute leur demeure; elle en prenait très
exactement la forme, et il restait juste de quoi se couler autour pour
s'asseoir sur des caissons étroits scellés au murailles de chêne. De
grosses poutres passaient au-dessus d'eux, presque à toucher leurs
têtes; et, derrière leurs dos, des couchettes qui semblaient creusées
dans l'épaisseur de la charpente s'ouvraient comme les niches d'un
caveau pour mettre les morts. Toutes ces boiseries étaient grossières et
frustes, imprégnées d'humidité et de sel; usées, polies par les
frottements de leurs mains.
Ils avaient bu, dans leurs écuelles, du vin et du cidre, qui étaient
franches et braves. Maintenant ils restaient attablés et devisaient, en
breton, sur des questions de femmes et de mariages.
Contre un panneau du fond, une sainte Vierge en faïence était fixée sur
une planchette, à une place d'honneur. Elle était un peu ancienne, la
patronne de ces marins, et peinte avec un art encore naïf. Mais les
personnages en faïence se conservent beaucoup plus longtemps que les
vrais hommes; aussi sa robe rouge et bleue faisait encore l'effet d'une
petite chose très fraîche au milieu de tous les gris sombres de cette
pauvre maison de bois. Elle avait dû écouter plus d'une ardente prière,
à des heures d'angoisses; on avait cloué à ses pieds deux bouquets de
fleurs artificielles et un chapelet.
Ces cinq hommes étaient vêtus pareillement, un épais tricot de laine
bleue serrant le torse et s'enfonçant dans la ceinture du pantalon; sur
la tête, l'espèce de casque en toile goudronnée qu'on appelle suroît (du
nom de ce vent de sud-ouest qui dans notre hémisphère amène les pluies).
Ils étaient d'âges divers. Le capitaine pouvait avoir quarante ans;
trois autres, de vingt-cinq à trente. Le dernier, qu'ils appelaient
Sylvestre ou Lurlu, n'en avait que dix-sept. Il était déjà un homme,
pour la taille et la force; une barbe noire, très fine et très frisée,
couvrait ses joues; seulement il avait gardé ses yeux d'enfant, d'un
gris bleu, qui étaient extrêmement doux et tout naïfs.
Très près les uns des autres, faute d'espace, ils paraissaient éprouver
un vrai bien-être, ainsi tapis dans leur gîte obscur.
... Dehors, ce devait être la mer et la nuit, l'infinie désolation des
eaux noires et profondes. Une montre de cuivre, accrochée au mur,
marquait onze heures, onze heures du soir sans doute; et, contre le
plafond de bois, on entendait le bruit de la pluie | 859.636935 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.8189690 | 349 | 15 |
Produced by Thierry Alberto, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE COMING OF THE KING
By JOSEPH HOCKING
_Author of "All Men are Liars" "The Scarlet Woman" "A Flame of Fire"
etc., etc._
ILLUSTRATIONS BY GRENVILLE MANTON
LONDON:
WARD LOCK & CO. LIMITED
1904
[Illustration: "'My name is Roland Rashcliffe, your Majesty.'" (_Page
130._)]
CONTENTS
I THE COMING OF KATHARINE HARCOMB 7
II THE SECRET OF THE BLACK BOX 17
III THE KING'S MARRIAGE CONTRACT 28
IV THE HAPPENING AT THE INN 39
V A MIDNIGHT MEETING 49
VI THE OLD HOUSE AT PYCROFT 59
VII THE MYSTERY OF PYCROFT 69
VIII HOW I ENTERED PYCROFT 79
IX FATHER SOLOMON AT BAY 89
X THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON 99
XI THE SNARE OF THE FOWLER 110
XII THE COMING OF THE KING 121
XIII AN ADVENTURE ON THE CANTERBURY ROAD 133
XIV HOW I SAW A MAN WHO BECAME FAMOUS! | 859.839009 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.8201960 | 4,232 | 33 |
Produced by David Schwan. HTML version by Al Haines.
California
Romantic and Resourceful
A plea for the Collection Preservation and Diffusion of Information
Relating to Pacific Coast History
By
John F. Davis
The Californian loves his state because his state loves him. He returns
her love with a fierce affection that to men who do not know California
is always a surprise.--David Starr Jordan in "California and the
Californians."
As we transmit our institutions, so we shall transmit our blood and our
names to future ages and populations. What altitudes shall throng these
shores, what cities shall gem the borders of the sea! Here all peoples
and all tongues shall meet. Here shall be a more perfect civilization, a
more thorough intellectual development, a firmer faith, a more reverent
worship. Perhaps, as we look back to the struggle of an earlier age, and
mark the steps of our ancestors in the career we have traced, some
thoughtful man of letters in ages yet to come may bring light the
history of this shore or of this day. I am sure, Ludlow citizens, that
whoever shall hereafter read it will perceive that our pride and joy are
dimmed by no stain of selfishness. Our pride is for humanity; our joy is
for the world; and amid all the wonders of past achievement and all the
splendors of present success, we turn with swelling hearts to gaze into
the boundless future, with the earnest conviction that will develop a
universal brotherhood of man.
--E. D. Baker, Atlantic Cable Address.
To
Charles Stetson Wheeler
An Able Advocate
A Good Citizen, A Devoted Husband and Father
A Loyal Friend
This Little Book is
Affectionately Dedicated
Preface
This plea is an arrow shot into the air. It is the result of an address
which I made at Colton Hall, in Monterey, upon the celebration of
Admission Day, 1908, and another which I made at a luncheon meeting of
the Commonwealth Club, at the Palace Hotel, San Francisco, on April 12,
1913. These addresses have been amplified and revised, and certain
statistics contained in them have been brought down to the end of 1913.
In this form they go forth to a larger audience, in the earnest hope
that they may meet a kind reception, and somewhere find a generous
friend.
The subject of Pacific Coast history is one of surpassing interest to
Californians. Some fine additions to our store of knowledge have been
made of late years, notably the treatise of Zoeth S. Eldredge on "The
Beginnings of San Francisco," published by the author, in San Francisco,
in 1912; the treatise of Irving Berdine Richman on "California under
Spain and Mexico, 1535-1847," published by the Houghton Mifflin Company,
of Boston and New York, in 1911; the warm appreciation of E. D. Baker,
by Elijah R. Kennedy, entitled "The Contest for California in 1861,"
published by the Houghton Mifflin Company, in Boston and New York, in
1912; the monumental work on "Missions and Missionaries of California,"
by Fr. Zephyrin Engelhardt, published by the James H. Barry Company, of
San Francisco, 1908-1913, and the "Guide to Materials for the History of
the United States in the Principal Archives of Mexico," by Herbert E.
Bolton, Ph. D., Professor of American History in the University of
California, the publication of which by the Carnegie Institution of
Washington, at Washington, D. C., in 1913, is an event of epochal
historical importance. All of these works and the recent activities in
Spain of Charles E. Chapman, the Traveling Fellow of the University of
California, the publications of the Academy of Pacific Coast History, at
Berkeley, edited by F. J. Teggart, and the forthcoming publication at
San Francisco of "A Bibliography of California and the Pacific West," by
Robert Ernest Cowan, only emphasize the importance of original research
work in Pacific Coast history, and the necessity for prompt action to
preserve the remaining sources of its romantic and inspiring story.
John F. Davis.
San Francisco, July 1, 1914.
Table of Contents
California Romantic and Resourceful
The Love-Story of Concha Argueello
Concepcion Argueello (Bret Harte)
List of Illustrations
Discovery of San Francisco Bay by Portola
Carmel Mission
Sutter's Mill at Coloma
Old Colton Hall and Jail, Monterey
Commodore Sloat's General Order
Comandante's Residence, San Francisco
Baptismal Record of Concepcion Argueello
California Romantic and Resourceful
One of the most important acts of the Grand Parlor of the Native Sons of
the Golden West which met at Lake Tahoe in 1910 was the appropriation of
approximately fifteen hundred dollars for the creation of a traveling
fellowship in Pacific Coast history at the State University. In
pursuance of the resolution adopted, a committee of five was appointed
by the head of the order to confer with the authorities of the
university in the matter of this fellowship. The university authorities
were duly notified, both of the appropriation for the creation of the
fellowship and of the appointment of the committee, and the plan was put
into practical operation. In 1911 this action was reaffirmed, and a
resident fellowship was also created, making an appropriation of three
thousand dollars, which has been repeated each year since. Henry Morse
Stephens, Sather Professor of History, and Herbert E. Bolton, Professor
of American History, and their able assistants in the history department
of the university have hailed with delight this public-spirited movement
on the part of that organization.
The object and design of these fellowships is to aid in the collection,
preservation and publication of information and material relating to the
history of the Pacific Coast. Archives at Queretaro and Mexico City, in
Mexico, at Seville, Simancas and Madrid, in Spain, and in Paris, London
and St. Petersburg are veritable treasure mines of information
concerning our early Pacific Coast history, and the correspondence of
many an old family and the living memory of many an individual pioneer
can still furnish priceless records of a later period. Professor
Stephens has elaborated a practical scheme for making available all
these sources of historical information through the providence of these
fellowships, as far as they reach.
The perpetuation of these traditions, the preservation of this history,
is of the highest importance. Five years ago, at Monterey, upon the
celebration of the anniversary of Admission Day, I took occasion to urge
this view, and I have not ceased to urge it ever since. If we take any
pride in our State, if the tendrils of affection sink into the soil
where our fathers wrought, and where we ourselves abide and shall leave
sons and daughters after us, if we know and feel any appreciation of
local color, or take any interest in the drama of life that is being
enacted on these Western shores, then the preservation of every shred of
it is of vital importance to us--at least as Californians.
The early history of this coast came as an offshoot of a civilization
whose antiquity was already respectable. "A hundred years before John
Smith saw the spot on which was planted Jamestown," says Hubert H.
Bancroft, "thousands from Spain had crossed the high seas, achieving
mighty conquests, seizing large portions of the two Americas and placing
under tribute their peoples."
The past of California possesses a wealth of romantic interest, a
variety of contrast, a novelty of resourcefulness and an intrinsic
importance that enthralls the imagination. I shall not attempt to speak
of the hardship and high endeavor of the splendid band of navigators,
beginning with Cabrillo in 1542, who discovered, explored and reported
on its bays, outlets, rivers and coast line; whose exploits were as
heroic as anything accomplished by the Norsemen in Iceland, or the
circumnavigators of the Cape of Good Hope. I do not desire to picture
the decades of the pastoral life of the hacienda and its broad acres,
that culminated in "the splendid idle forties." I do not intend to
recall the miniature struggles of Church and State, the many political
controversies of the Mexican regime, or the play of plot and counterplot
that made up so much of its history "before the Gringo came." I shall not
try to tell the story of the discovery of gold and its world-thrilling
incidents, nor of the hardships and courage of the emigrant trail, nor
of the importance of the mission of the Pathfinder, and the excitement
of the conquest, each in itself an experience that full to the brim.
Let me rather call attention to three incidents of our history, ignoring
all the rest, to enforce the point of its uniqueness, its variety, its
novelty, its importance, as entitling it to its proper proportionate
place in the history of the nation.
And first of all, the story of the missions. The story of the missions
is the history of the beginning of the colonization of California. The
Spanish Government was desirous of providing its ships, on the return
trip from Manila, with good harbors of supply and repairs, and was also
desirous of promoting a settlement of the north as a safeguard against
possible Russian aggression. The Franciscans, upon the expulsion of the
Jesuits in 1767, had taken charge of the missions, and, in their zeal
for the conversion of the Indians, seconded the plans of the government.
"The official purpose here, as in older mission undertakings," says Dr.
Josiah Royce, "was a union of physical and spiritual conquest, soldiers
under a military governor co-operating to this end with missionaries and
mission establishments. The natives were to be overcome by arms in so
far as they might resist the conquerors, were to be attracted to the
missions by peaceable measures in so far as might prove possible, were
to be instructed in the faith, and were to be kept for the present under
the paternal rule of the clergy, until such time as they might be ready
for a free life as Christian subjects. Meanwhile, Spanish colonists were
to be brought to the new land as circumstances might determine, and, to
these, allotments of land were to be made. No grants of lands, in a
legal sense, were made or promised to the mission establishments, whose
position was to be merely that of spiritual institutions, intrusted with
the education of neophytes, and with the care of the property that
should be given or hereafter produced for the purpose. On the other
hand, if the government tended to regard the missions as purely
subsidiary to its purpose, the outgoing missionaries to this strange
land were so much the more certain to be quite uncorrupted by worldly
ambitions, by a hope of acquiring wealth, or by any intention to found a
powerful ecclesiastical government in the new colony. They went to save
souls, and their motive was as single as it was worthy of reverence. In
the sequel, the more successful missions of Upper California became, for
a time, very wealthy; but this was only by virtue of the gifts of nature
and of the devoted labors of the padres."
Such a scheme of human effort is so unique, and so in contradiction to
much that obtains today, that it seems like a narrative from another
world. Fortunately, the annals of these missions, which ultimately
extended from San Diego to beyond Sonoma--stepping-stones of
civilization on this coast--are complete, and their simple
disinterestedness and directness sound like a tale from Arcady. They
were signally successful because those who conducted them were true to
the trustee-ship of their lives. They cannot be held responsible if they
were unable in a single generation to eradicate in the Indian the
ingrained heredity of shiftlessness of all the generations that had gone
before. It is a source of high satisfaction that there was on the part
of the padres no record of overreaching the simple native, no failure to
respect what rights they claimed, no carnage and bloodshed, that have so
often attended expeditions sent nominally for civilization, but really
for conquest. Here, at least, was one record of missionary endeavor that
came to full fruition and flower, and knew no fear or despair, until it
attracted the attention of the ruthless rapacity and greed of the
Mexican governmental authority crouching behind the project of
secularization. The enforced withdrawal of the paternal hand before the
Indian had learned to stand and walk alone, coupled in some sections
with the dread scourge of pestilential epidemic, wrought dispersion,
decimation and destruction. If, however, the teeming acres are now
otherwise tilled, and if the herds of cattle have passed away and the
communal life is gone forever, the record of what was accomplished in
those pastoral days has linked the name of California with a new and
imperishable architecture, and has immortalized the name of Junipero
Serra[1]. The pathetic ruin at Carmel is a shattered monument above a
grave that will become a world's shrine of pilgrimage in honor of one of
humanity's heroes. The patient soul that here laid down its burden will
not be forgotten. The memory of the brave heart that was here consumed
with love for mankind will live through the ages. And, in a sense, the
work of these missions is not dead--their very ruins still preach the
lesson of service and of sacrifice. As the fishermen off the coast of
Brittany tell the legend that at the evening hour, as their boats pass
over the vanished Atlantis, they can still hear the sounds of its
activity at the bottom of the sea, so every Californian, as he turns the
pages of the early history of his State, feels at times that he can hear
the echo of the Angelus bells of the missions, and amid the din of the
money-madness of these latter days, can find a response in "the better
angels of his nature."
In swift contrast to this idyllic scene, which is shared with us by few
other sections of this country, stands the history of a period where for
nearly two years this State was without authority of American civil law,
and where, in practice, the only authority was such as sprang from the
instinct of self-preservation. No more interesting phase of history in
America can be presented than that which arose in California immediately
after the discovery of gold, with reference to titles upon the public
domain. James W. Marshall made the discovery of gold in the race of a
small mill at Coloma, in the latter part of January, 1848. Thereupon
took place an incident of history which demonstrated that Jason and his
companions were not the only Argonauts who ever made a voyage to unknown
shores in search of a golden fleece. The first news of the discovery
almost depopulated the towns and ranches of California, and even
affected the discipline of the small army of occupation. The first
winter brought thousands of Oregonians, Mexicans and Chilenos. The
extraordinary reports that reached the East were at first disbelieved,
but when the private letters of army officers and men in authority were
published, an indescribable gold fever took possession of the nation
east of the Alleghanies. All the energetic and daring, all the
physically sound of all ages, seemed bent on reaching the new El Dorado.
"The old Gothic instinct of invasion seemed to survive and thrill in the
fiber of our people," and the camps and gulches and mines of California
witnessed a social and political phenomenon unique in the history of the
world--the spirit and romance of which have been immortalized in the
pages of Bret Harte.
Before 1850 the population of California had risen from 15,000, as it
was in 1847[2], to 100,000, and the average weekly increase for six
weeks thereafter was 50,000. The novelty of this situation produced in
many minds the most marvelous development. "Every glance westward was
met by a new ray of intelligence; every drawn breath of western air
brought inspiration; every step taken was over an unknown field; every
experiment, every thought, every aspiration and act were original and
individual."
At the time of Marshall's discovery, the United States was still at war
with Mexico, its sovereignty over the soil of California not being
recognized by the latter. The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was not signed
until February 2d, and the ratified copies thereof not exchanged at
Queretaro till May 30, 1848. On the 12th of February, 1848, ten days
after the signing of the treaty of peace and about three weeks after the
discovery of gold at Coloma, Colonel Mason did the pioneers a signal
service by issuing, as Governor, the proclamation concerning the mines,
which at the time was taken as a finality and certainty as to the status
of mining titles in their international aspect. "From and after this
date," the proclamation read, "the Mexican laws and customs now
prevailing in California relative to the denouncement of mines are
hereby abolished." Although, as the law was fourteen years afterwards
expounded by the United States Supreme Court, the act was unnecessary as
a precautionary measure[3] still the practical result of the timeliness
of the proclamation was to prevent attempts to found private titles to
the new discovery of gold on any customs or laws of Mexico.
Meantime, California was governed by military authority,--was treated
as if it were merely a military outpost, away out somewhere west of the
"Great American Desert." Except an act to provide for the deliveries and
taking of mails at certain points on the coast, and a resolution
authorizing the furnishing of arms and ammunition to certain immigrants,
no Federal act was passed with reference to California in any relation;
in no act of Congress was California even mentioned after its
annexation, until the act of March 3, 1849, extending the revenue laws
of the United States "over the territory and waters of Upper California,
and to create certain collection districts therein." This act of March
3, 1849, not only did not extend the general laws of the United States
over California, but did not even create a local tribunal for its
enforcement, providing that the District Court of Louisiana and the
Supreme Court of Oregon should be courts of original jurisdiction to
take cognizance of all violations of its provisions. Not even the act of
September 9, 1850, admitting California into the Union, extended the
general laws of the United States over the State by express provision.
Not until the act of September 26, 1850, establishing a District Court
in the State, was it enacted by Congress "that all the laws of the
United States which are not locally inapplicable shall have the same
force and effect within the said State of California as elsewhere in the
United States[4]."
Though no general Federal laws were extended by Congress over the later
acquisitions from Mexico for more than two years after the end of the
war, the paramount title to the public lands had vested in the Federal
Government by virtue of the provisions | 859.840236 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.8209790 | 751 | 20 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Rasputin the Rascal Monk
Disclosing the Secret Scandal of the Betrayal of Russia by the mock-monk
Grichka and the consequent ruin of the Romanoffs. With official
documents revealed and recorded for the first time..
By William Le Queux
Published by Hurst & Blackett, Limited, Paternoster House, London EC.
Rasputin the Rascal Monk, by William Le Queux.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
RASPUTIN THE RASCAL MONK, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.
PREFACE.
WHY THIS BOOK IS WRITTEN.
In the following pages I have attempted to take the reader behind the
veil of the Imperial Russian Court, and to disclose certain facts which,
in this twentieth century, may appear almost incredible.
As one who knows Russia, who has traversed the Empire from Virballen to
the Pacific coast, and who has met personally both the ex-Emperor and
his consort, as well as many of the persons herein mentioned, I confess
that I myself have often been astounded when examining the mass of
documents which this dirty Siberian peasant--the convicted horse-stealer
who rose to be the secret adviser of Nicholas II--had happily secreted
in the safe in his cellar in the Gorokhovaya, in Petrograd, so that the
real truth of his traitorous dealings with the Kaiser might be
chronicled in history.
I had hoped to be able to reproduce many of the cipher telegrams and
letters in facsimile, but the present shortage of paper has precluded
this, and it could only be done if this book were issued in expensive
form.
To me, it seems best that the British public should have access to it in
a cheap and popular form, and hence I have abandoned the idea of
facsimiles.
I here publish the story of the mock-monk's amazing career as a further
contribution to the literature upon Germany's spy system and propaganda
so cleverly established as an insidious adjunct to her military attack
upon the civilisation of our times.
The conversations herein recorded have been disclosed by patriotic
Russians, the truth has been winnowed out of masses of mere hearsay, and
the cipher telegrams and letters I have copied from the de-coded
originals placed at my disposal by certain Russians, Allies of ours, who
desire, for the present, to remain anonymous.
William Le Queux.
Devonshire Club, London, S.W.
November, 1917.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE CULT OF THE "SISTER-DISCIPLES."
The war has revealed many strange personalities in Europe, but surely
none so sinister or so remarkable as that of the mock-monk Gregory
Novikh--the middle-aged, uncleanly charlatan, now happily dead, whom
Russia knew as Rasputin.
As one whose duty it was before the war to travel extensively backwards
and forwards across the face of Europe, in order to make explorations
into the underworld of the politics of those who might be our friends--
or enemies as Fate might decide--I heard much of the drunken, dissolute
scoundrel from Siberia who, beneath the cloak of religion and
asceticism, was attracting a host of silly, neurotic women because he
had invented a variation of the many new religions known through all the
ages from the days of Rameses the Great.
On one occasion, three years before the world-crisis, I found myself | 859.841019 |
2023-11-16 18:31:23.8210460 | 1,943 | 24 |
Produced by Verity White, PM for Bureau of American
Ethnology and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Bibliotheque nationale
de France (BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr)
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION----BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.
ANIMAL CARVINGS
FROM
MOUNDS OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY.
BY
HENRY W. HENSHAW.
CONTENTS.
Introductory 123
Manatee 125
Toucan 135
Paroquet 139
Knowledge of tropical animals by Mound-Builders 142
Other errors of identification 144
Skill in sculpture of the Mound-Builders 148
Generalization not designed 149
Probable totemic origin 150
Animal mounds 152
The "Elephant" mound 152
The "Alligator" mound 158
Human sculptures 160
Indian and mound-builders' art compared 164
General conclusions 166
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Fig. 4.--Otter from Squier and Davis 128
5.--Otter from Squier and Davis 128
6.--Otter from Rau. Manatee from Stevens 129
7.--Manatee from Stevens 129
8.--Lamantin or Sea-Cow from Squier and Davis 130
9.--Lamantin or Sea-Cow from Squier 130
10.--Manatee (_Manatus Americanus_, Cuv.) 132
11.--Manatee (_Manatus Americanus_, Cuv.) 132
12.--Cincinnati Tablet--back. From Squier and Davis 133
13.--Cincinnati Tablet--back. From Short 134
14.--Toucan from Squier and Davis 135
15.--Toucan from Squier and Davis 135
16.--Toucan from Squier and Davis 136
17.--Toucan as figured by Stevens 137
18.--Keel-billed Toucan of Southern Mexico 139
19.--Paroquet from Squier and Davis 140
20.--Owl from Squier and Davis 144
21.--Grouse from Squier and Davis 144
22.--Turkey-buzzard from Squier and Davis 145
23.--Cherry-bird 145
24.--Woodpecker 146
25.--Eagle from Squier and Davis 146
26.--Rattlesnake from Squier and Davis 147
27.--Big Elephant Mound in Grant County, Wisconsin 153
28.--Elephant Pipe. Iowa 155
29.--Elephant Pipe. Iowa 156
30.--The Alligator Mound near Granville, Ohio 159
31.--Carvings of heads 162
32.--Carvings of heads 162
33.--Carvings of heads 162
34.--Carving of head 163
35.--Carving of head 163
ANIMAL CARVINGS FROM MOUNDS OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY.
BY H. W. HENSHAW.
INTRODUCTORY.
The considerable degree of decorative and artistic skill attained by the
so-called Mound-Builders, as evidenced by many of the relics that have
been exhumed from the mounds, has not failed to arrest the attention of
archaeologists. Among them, indeed, are found not a few who assert for
the people conveniently designated as above a degree of artistic skill
very far superior to that attained by the present race of Indians as
they have been known to history. In fact, this very skill in artistic
design, asserted for the Mound-Builders, as indicated by the sculptures
they have left, forms an important link in the chain of argument upon
which is based the theory of their difference from and superiority to
the North American Indian.
Eminent as is much of the authority which thus contends for an artistic
ability on the part of the Mound-Builders far in advance of the
attainments of the present Indian in the same line, the question is one
admitting of argument; and if some of the best products of artistic
handicraft of the present Indians be compared with objects of a similar
nature taken from the mounds, it is more than doubtful if the artistic
inferiority of the latter-day Indian can be substantiated. Deferring,
however, for the present, any comparison between the artistic ability of
the Mound-Builder and the modern Indian, attention may be turned to a
class of objects from the mounds, notable, indeed, for the skill with
which they are wrought, but to be considered first in another way and
for another purpose than mere artistic comparison.
As the term Mound-Builders will recur many times throughout this paper,
and as the phrase has been objected to by some archaeologists on account
of its indefiniteness, it may be well to state that it is employed here
with its commonly accepted signification, viz: as applied to the people
who formerly lived throughout the Mississippi Valley and raised the
mounds of that region. It should also be clearly understood that by its
use the writer is not to be considered as committing himself in any way
to the theory that the Mound-Builders were of a different race from the
North American Indian.
Among the more interesting objects left by the Mound-Builders, pipes
occupy a prominent place. This is partly due to their number, pipes
being among the more common articles unearthed by the labors of
explorers, but more to the fact that in the construction of their pipes
this people exhibited their greatest skill in the way of sculpture. In
the minds of those who hold that the Mound-Builders were the ancestors
of the present Indians, or, at least, that they were not necessarily of
a different race, the superiority of their pipe sculpture over their
other works of art excites no surprise, since, however prominent a place
the pipe may have held in the affections of the Mound-Builders, it is
certain that it has been an object of no less esteem and reverence among
the Indians of history. Certainly no one institution, for so it may be
called, was more firmly fixed by long usage among the North American
Indians, or more characteristic of them, than the pipe, with all its
varied uses and significance.
Perhaps the most characteristic artistic feature displayed in the pipe
sculpture of the Mound-Builders, as has been well pointed out by Wilson,
in his Prehistoric Man, is the tendency exhibited toward the imitation
of natural objects, especially birds and animals, a remark, it may be
said in passing, which applies with almost equal truth to the art
productions generally of the present Indians throughout the length and
breadth of North America. As some of these sculptured animals from the
mounds have excited much interest in the minds of archaeologists, and
have been made the basis of much speculation, their examination and
proper identification becomes a matter of considerable importance. It
will therefore be the main purpose of the present paper to examine
critically the evidence offered in behalf of the identification of the
more important of them. If it shall prove, as is believed to be the
case, that serious mistakes of identification have been made, attention
will be called to these and the manner pointed out in which certain
theories have naturally enough resulted from the premises thus
erroneously established.
It may be premised that the writer undertook the examination of the
carvings with no theories of his own to propose in place of those
hitherto advanced. In fact, their critical examination may almost be
said to have been the result of accident. Having made the birds of the
United States his study for several years, the writer glanced over the
bird carvings in the most cursory manner, being curious to see what
species were represented. The inaccurate identification of some of these
by the authors of "The Ancient Monuments of the Mississippi Valley" led
to the examination of the series as a whole, and subsequently to the
discussion they had received at the hands of various authors. The
carvings are, therefore, here considered rather from the stand-point of
the naturalist than the archaeologist. Believing that the question first
in importance concerns their actual resemblances, substantially the same
kind of critical study is applied to them which they would receive were
they from the hands of a modern zoological artist. Such a course has
ob | 859.841086 |
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[Illustration: SENTINEL GATE AT PALACE. _Frontispiece_]
FIFTEEN YEARS
_AMONG_
THE TOP-KNOTS
_OR_
_LIFE IN KOREA_
_By_
L. H. UNDERWOOD, M.D.
_With Introduction
by_
FRANK F. ELLINWOOD, D.D., LL.D.
SECOND EDITION
REVISED AND ENLARGED
[Illustration]
YOUNG PEOPLE’S MISSIONARY MOVEMENT
OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1904,
BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
* * * * *
Copyright, 1908,
BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
THIS LITTLE VOLUME
IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED TO
MY HUSBAND
IN MEMORY OF
FIFTEEN HAPPIEST YEARS
INTRODUCTION
It may be said at once, that Mrs. Underwood’s narrative of her
experience of “Fifteen Years Among the Top-Knots” constitutes a book of
no ordinary interest. There is no danger that any reader having even
a moderate sympathy with the work of missions in the far East will be
disappointed in the perusal. The writer does not undertake to give a
comprehensive account of missions in Korea, or even of the one mission
which she represents, but only of the things which she has seen and
experienced.
There is something naive and attractive in the way in which she
takes her readers into her confidence while she tells her story, as
trustfully as if she were only writing to a few relatives and friends.
Necessarily she deals very largely with her own work, and that of
her husband, as of that she is best qualified to speak. Everywhere,
however, there are generous and appreciative references to the heroic
labors of associate missionaries. Nor does she confine these tributes
to members of her own mission. Some of her highest encomiums are given
to members of other missions, who have laboured and died for the Gospel
and the cause of humanity in Korea.
Mrs. Underwood, then Miss Lillias Horton, of Chicago, went to Korea as
a medical missionary in 1888. As a Secretary of the Presbyterian Board,
accustomed to visit our candidates before appointment, I found her a
bright young girl of slight and graceful figure in one of the Chicago
hospitals, where she was adding to her medical knowledge some practical
experience as a trained nurse. There was nothing of the consciousness
of martyrdom in her appearance, but quite the reverse, as with cheerful
countenance and manner she glided about in her white uniform among the
ward patients. It was evident that she was looking forward with high
satisfaction to the work to which she had consecrated her life.
The story of her arrival at Chemulpo, of her first impressions of
Korea, is best told in her own words. The first arrival of a missionary
on the field is always a trying experience. The squalid appearance of
the low native huts, whose huddled groupings Mrs. Underwood compares
to low-lying beds of mushrooms, poorly clad and dull-eyed fishermen
and other peasantry, contrasting so strongly with the brighter scenes
of one’s home land, are enough to fill any but the bravest with
discouragement and despair. But our narrator passed this trying ordeal
by reflecting that she was not a tourist in pursuit of entertainment,
but an ambassador of Christ, sent to heal the bodies and enlighten the
souls of the lowly and the suffering.
As a young unmarried woman and quite alone, she found a welcoming home
with Dr. and Mrs. Heron, and began at once a twofold work of mastering
the language, and of professional service at the hospital. Not long
after her arrival she was called to pay a visit to the queen, who
wished to secure her services as her physician. The relation soon grew
into a mutual friendship, and Mrs. Underwood from that time till the
assassination of the unfortunate queen was her frequent visitor, and in
many respects her personal admirer. She does not hesitate to express
her appreciation of the queen, as a woman of kind-hearted and generous
impulses, high intellectual capacity, and no ordinary diplomatic
ability. Of stronger mind and higher moral character than her royal
husband, she was his wise counsellor and the chief bulwark of his
precarious power.
Though Mrs. Underwood’s book is of the nature of a narrative, yet its
smoothly running current is laden with all kinds of general information
respecting the character and customs of the people, the condition
of the country, the native beliefs and superstitions, the social
degradation, the poverty and widespread ignorance of the masses. The
account of missionary work is given naturally, its pros and cons set
forth without special laudation on the one hand, or critical misgiving
on the other. It is simply presented, and left to speak for itself,
and it can scarcely fail to carry to all minds a conviction of the
genuineness and marked success of the great work which our missionaries
in Korea are conducting.
Mrs. Underwood’s marriage to Rev. H. G. Underwood, who had already been
four years in the country, is related with simplicity and good sense,
and the remarkable bridal tour, though given more at length, is really
a story not of honeymoon experiences, but rather of arduous and heroic
missionary itineration. It was contrary to the advice and against the
strong remonstrances of their associates and their friends in the U.
S. legation that the young couple set out in the early spring of 1889
for a pioneering tour through Northern Korea.
Fortunately for the whole work of our Protestant missions, the most
favorable impression had been made upon the Korean Court and upon
the people by the striking and most valuable service which had been
rendered by Dr. H. N. Allen, our first medical missionary, and now U.
S. Minister in Korea. He had healed the wounds of some distinguished
Koreans, who had been nearly killed in a midnight conflict between the
Chinese and Japanese garrisons at Seoul.
Although there were strong prohibitory decrees against the admission
of foreigners in the interior, Mr. and Mrs. Underwood ventured to
presume upon the connivance of the officials at their proposed journey
to the far north. Traveling as missionaries and without disguise, it
was a plucky undertaking for the young bride, since, so far as known,
she was the first foreign woman who had made such a tour. The journey
was a protracted one and involved all kinds of hardship and privation.
Nothing worthy of a name of inn was to be found, but only some larger
huts in which travelers were packed away amid every variety of filth
and vermin.
The curiosity of the people to see a foreign woman was such that the
mob everywhere scrupled not to punch holes through the paper windows
and doors to get a peep. After having been borne all day in a chair,
not over roads, but through tortuous bridle paths, over rocks and
through sloughs, it was found well-nigh impossible to rest at night.
All sorts of noises early and late added to their discomfort. As to
food, the difficulty of subsisting on such fare as the people could
furnish may be well imagined. They were not wholly free from the fear
of wild animals, for some districts through which they passed were
infested by tigers and leopards. But their greatest danger was that of
falling into the hands of roaming bands of robbers. Mrs. Underwood’s
account of one experience of this kind will be read with thrilling
interest.
Fortunately, Mr. Underwood had already made one or two shorter tours
through the country alone, and had baptized a few converts here and
there. The passports also which he carried with him secured the favor
of some of the district magistrates, so that the two were not exposed
wholly to hostile influences.
It is impossible in few words to do justice to the story related in
this interesting book, which was prepared by Mrs. Underwood at the
request of the American Tract Society, or do anything more than commend
in general terms its various presentations. One of these relating to
the experiences of a severe cholera season, during which missionaries,
not only medical but also clerical, remained faithfully at their posts,
unmindful of the personal risks and of the heat, filth and discomfort
of an unsanitary city in the most sickly months, in order to do all in
their power to save the lives and mitigate the sufferings of the poor
and despairing people. The account is given with great simplicity,
and without ostentatious claims of heroism, and may be regarded as a
true representation of the faithful service often rendered by our
missionaries in times of trial and great suffering.
Mrs. Underwood’s book will be read with peculiar interest at this
time, when all attention is turned to the far East and especially to
Korea, which seems likely to be the battleground in the war between
Russia and Japan. The position of the poor Koreans, government and
people, is calculated to elicit the sympathy of all Christians and all
philanthropists. Every one wonders what will be the outcome for poor
Korea. It is indeed a time for earnest prayer that the God of nations
will overrule all current events for the best good of this beleaguered
people and for the advancement of Christ’s Kingdom.
F. F. ELLINWOOD.
NEW YORK, Feb. 20, 1904.
PREFACE
The chapters which are here given to the public are simply reminiscent,
a brief story of a few years of the writer’s life in one of the most
unique and interesting of all the Eastern countries, among a people who
are singularly winning and lovable.
I beg that in reading these pages it may be remembered that this book
makes no pretense whatever to being a text or reference book on Korea,
or in any respect a history of Korean missions. The writer has simply
strung together a few events which have fallen under her own personal
observation during the last fifteen years. If more frequent reference
is made to the work carried on by my husband and myself than to others,
it is simply because it is only with regard to that which has been
woven into the web of my own experience that I can speak with exactness
and | 859.841236 |
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Transcriber's Note
Led by the belief that the spelling and punctuation of each
entry is based directly on the original title pages no
intentional 'corrections' have been made to the content. The
text in this e-book is as close to the original printed text
as pgdp proofing and postprocessing could get it. In some
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bibliographic fields instead of punctuation. These have been
retained to the best of our ability and are represented as
non-breaking spaces.
A CATALOGUE OF
Books in English
later than 1700, forming
a portion of the Library
of Robert Hoe New
York 1905
EX
LIBRIS
ROBERT
HOE
VOLUME II
CATALOGUE
VOLUME II
ONE HUNDRED COPIES ONLY, INCLUDING
THREE UPON IMPERIAL
JAPANESE VELLUM--PRINTED BY
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE
A Catalogue of Books
| 859.991319 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 44347-h.htm or 44347-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44347/44347-h/44347-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44347/44347-h.zip)
[Illustration]
MASTER REYNARD
The History of a Fox
From Animal Autobiographies by J. C. Tregarthen
Revised by
JANE FIELDING
New York
A. L. Chatterton Co.
Copyright, 1913
A. L. Chatterton Co.
MASTER REYNARD
The earth where I was born was far down the face of a steep cliff
and opened on a sloping shelf of turf, from the edge of which the
undercliff fell sheer to the sea. The entrance we used most was
slightly above the level of the springy s | 860.037695 |
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by Linda Cantoni.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XIV.--No. 3
BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36, BROMFIELD STREET.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
JOHN L. SHOREY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
BOSTON:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RAND, AVERY, & CO.
[Illustration: CONTENTS.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE.
The Queer Things that happened to Nelly 65
The Six Ducks 69
The Bunch of Grapes 71
A True Story about a Dog 73
Pitcher-Plants and Monkey-Pots 76
Under the Cherry-Tree 77
Rambles in the Woods 80
What I Saw at the Seashore 82
Blossom and I 85
How Norman became an Artist 87
A Boot-Race under Difficulties 89
Pictures for Walter 90
The Fisherman's Children 92
IN VERSE.
PAGE.
Rose's Song 68
A Little Tease 75
Sleeping in the Sunshine 78
Young Lazy-Bones (_with music_) 96
[Illustration: THE QUEER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO NELLY.]
THE QUEER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO NELLY.
[Illustration: N]ELLY BURTON had been weeding in the garden nearly all
the summer forenoon; and she was quite tired out. "Oh, if I could only
be dressed up in fine clothes, and not have to work!" thought she.
No sooner had the thought passed through her mind, than, as she looked
down on the closely-mown grass by the edge of the pond, she saw the
queerest sight that child ever beheld.
A carriage, the body of which was made of the half of a large
walnut-shell, brightly gilt, was moving along, dragged by six beetles
with backs glistening with all the colors of the rainbow.
Seated in the carriage, and carrying a wand, was a young lady not larger
than a child's little finger, but so beautiful that no humming-bird
could equal her in beauty. She had the bluest of blue eyes, and yellow
crinkled hair that shone like gold.
She stopped her team of beetles, and, standing upright, said to Nelly,
"Listen to me. My name is Pitpat; and I am a fairy. I see how tired you
are with work. Your father, though a good man, is a blacksmith; and
there is often a smirch on his face when he stoops to kiss you. Your
mother wears calico dresses, and doesn't fix her hair with false braids
and waterfalls. Would you not like to be the daughter of a king and
queen, and live in a palace?"
"Oh, yes, you beautiful Pitpat! I would like that ever so much!"
exclaimed Nelly. "Then I should be a princess, and have nothing to do
but amuse myself all day."
"Take the end of my wand, and touch your eyes with it," said the little
fairy.
Nelly obeyed; and in a moment, before she could wink, she found herself
in a beautiful room, with mirrors reaching from the ceiling to the
floor. By these she saw that she was no longer clad in an old dingy
dress, nor were her feet bare; but she had on a beautiful skirt of
light-blue velvet, and a bodice of the most costly lace, trimmed with
ribbons; while diamonds were in her hair, and a pair of gold slippers on
her feet.
Servants were in attendance on her, one of whom said, "May it please
your Highness, his Majesty, your royal father, is coming." Nelly's heart
fluttered. The door opened, and, preceded by two or three lackeys, a
pompous old gentleman entered, clad in rich robes, a golden crown on his
head, and no smirch on his face.
But, dear me, instead of catching her up in his arms, and calling her
his own precious little Nelly, his Majesty simply gave her his hand to
kiss, and passed on.
The queen followed in his steps. Her hair was done up in a tower of
top-knots and waterfalls; and there was drapery enough on the back of
her dress to astonish an upholsterer. Instead of calling Nelly "her
darling," as Nelly's first mother used to do, the queen merely said, as
she swept by, "Where are your manners, child?" for you must know that
poor Nelly had forgotten to courtesy.
Nelly put her face in her hands, and began to cry. "Oh, you cruel
Pitpat!" said she, "why did you tempt me? Oh! give me back my own dear
mother in her calico dress, my own dear father with the smirch on his
face, my doll Angelica, my black-and-white kitten Dainty, and my own
dear, dear home beside the lovely pond where the air is so sweet and the
bushes are so green."
"Take the end of my wand again, and touch your eyes with it," said the
voice of Pitpat. And there on the carpet, in her little gilded carriage,
stood the fairy once more with her wand held out. Nelly seized it
eagerly, and touched her eyes.
"Why, Dainty, what are you about?" said Nelly, as she felt the kitten's
head against her arm; and then, opening her eyes, she started to find
herself in the old wood-shed, seated with her back against the door,
Angelica in her lap, and the soft breeze from the pond fanning her cheek
and bosom. She looked at her feet. Ah! the golden slippers had
disappeared. "Dear me! I must have been dreaming," said Nelly.
IDA FAY.
ROSE'S SONG.
So it's hush-a-by, baby,
Hush-a-by now,
Mamma's gone to buy something good;
And she will not forget
Her own darling pet,
But will buy her a bonny blue hood:
Yes, she'll buy her a bonny blue hood.
Oh! she will not forget
Her own baby pet,
But will buy her a bonny blue hood.
Then it's crow away, baby,
Crow away, sweet,
Papa he is coming to-night;
And he'll bring home a kiss,
Like _this_ and like _this_,
For his sweet little Minnie so bright,
For his dear little Minnie so bright.
Oh! he's many a kiss,
Like _this_ and like _this_,
For his sweet little Minnie to-night.
GEO. BENNETT.
[Illustration]
THE SIX DUCKS.
IN the pond near Emily's house six tame ducks used to have a fine time
swimming about, except in winter, when the pond was frozen. Emily had a
name for each one of them. They used to run to her when she called; for
they knew she loved them all, and would treat them well.
Among these six happy ducks there was a white one that was at one time
of his life a wild duck. Emily named him _Albus_; for _albus_ is Latin
for _white_. I will tell you how Albus happened to become tamed.
He was once on his way to the South with a large flock of his wild
companions, when, as they were alighting near a creek, Albus was shot in
the wing by Dick Barker, a sportsman who was out gunning. Dick ran with
his dog Spot to pick up the poor wounded bird; but Albus was not so much
hurt that he could not fly a little.
He flew and flew till he came to Emily's little garden; and then he fell
at her feet, faint, but not dead, as if pleading for protection. Emily
took him up in her arms, though she soiled her apron with blood in so
doing. Dick and Spot came up; and Dick said roughly, "Give me up that
duck."
"The duck has flown to my feet for protection; and I would be shot
myself before I would betray him and give him up," said Emily. "I shall
keep him, and heal his wounds."
Mr. Dick Barker scolded wildly; but it was of no use. He had to go off
duckless. As for Albus, he soon grew well under Emily's tender care; but
his wing was not as strong as it used to be: so he concluded he would
become a tame bird, and not try to fly off again with his wild
companions. He had a happy home, a kind mistress, and pleasant duck
acquaintances. So, like a good sensible waddler, he was content.
EMILY CARTER.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BUNCH OF GRAPES.
"I AM thinking what I shall do with this beautiful bunch of grapes,"
said Reka Lane as she sat on the bench near the arbor. Her real name was
Rebecca; but they called her, for shortness, Reka.
"I know what I should do with it," said little Matilda, who had been
wading in the brook, and was without shoes and stockings. "I should
divide it among the present company."
"Good for Matty!" exclaimed brother Henry. "The best use you can put
grapes to is to eat them before they spoil. Come, Reka, divide, divide."
"I am not sure that I shall do that," said Reka.
"Look at that queer dog!" said Matty. "He has crept under the shawl on
the ground, and looks like a head with no body to it."
"That shawl was left there the other day by old Mrs. Merton," said Reka.
"The dog is her son's terrier; and his name is Beauty."
"He is any thing but a beauty," said Matty. "I think him the ugliest dog
I ever saw."
"I suppose they call him Beauty to make up for the bad word he gets from
every one as being ugly," said Reka. "He is a good dog, nevertheless;
and he knows that shawl belongs to his mistress.--Don't you, Beauty?"
Here Beauty tore out from under the shawl, and began barking in a very
intelligent manner.
"Now I will tell you what we will do," said Reka. "Put on your shoes and
stockings, Matty, and we will all go and call on Mrs. Merton, who is
ill; and we'll take back her shawl, and give her this beautiful bunch of
grapes."
"Bow, wow, wow!" cried Beauty, jumping up, and trying to lick Reka's
face.
When the children left Mrs. Merton's, after they had presented the
grapes, Henry Lane made this remark, "I'll tell you what it is, girls,
to see that old lady so pleased by our attention gave me more pleasure
than a big feast on grapes, ice-creams, and sponge-cake, with lemonade
thrown in."
DORA BURNSIDE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A TRUE STORY ABOUT A DOG.
I AM a middle-aged gentleman who is blessed with only one child, a
little girl now nearly six years old. Her name is Fanny; and her cousin
Gracie, who is about the same age, lives with us.
Both of these little girls are very fond of having me tell them stories;
and I have often told them about a dog I once had. They liked this story
so much, that they made me promise I would send it to "The Nursery," so
that a great many little girls and boys might hear it also. This is the
story:--
When I was a little boy, not more than eight
years old, my mother consented to my having a
dog which a friend offered to give me. He was a
little pup then, not more than five weeks old.
I fed him on milk for a while, and he grew very
fast. I named him Caesar.
When he got to be six months old, he became
very mischievous. Things were constantly being
missed from the house. Handkerchiefs, slippers,
shoes, towels, aprons, and napkins disappeared;
and no one could tell what became of them. One
day Caesar was seen going into the garden with a
slipper in his mouth; and I followed him to a
far-off corner where stood a large
currant-bush.
I looked under the bush, and saw Caesar digging
a hole, into which he put the slipper, and then
covered it up with earth. Upon digging under
this bush, I found all the things that had been
missed.
A neighbor's dog, called "Dr. Wiseman," was
Caesar's particular friend. One day we heard a
loud scratching at the front-door; and, when we
opened it, in walked Caesar and Dr. Wiseman.
Caesar took the Doctor by the ear, and led him
up to each of the family, just as if he were
introducing him, and then led him into the
garden, and treated him to a bone.
Although Caesar did many naughty things, we all
loved him; for he was quite affectionate as
well as intelligent: but our neighbors
complained of him because he chased their
chickens, bit their pigs, and scared their
horses. A farmer who came to our house one day
with a load of potatoes took a great fancy to
him. He wanted him for a watch-dog on his farm,
which was only four miles from our house.
As he promised to treat him kindly, my mother
thought it was best to let him have the dog;
and I finally consented, although I believe I
cried a good deal about it.
So Caesar was put into the farmer's wagon, much
against his will; and off he went into the
country. About three months afterwards, when
there was a foot of snow on the ground, there
came a great scratching at the front-door of
our house, early in the morning, before I was
up; and, when the servant opened the door, in
bounded Caesar with a rope around his neck, and
a large chunk of wood fastened to the other end
of it.
He ran by the servant, and up the stairs, with
the piece of wood going bump, bump, all the
way, dashed into my room, jumped right up on my
bed, and began licking my face.
I was very glad to see my dog again. He staid
with us several days; and, when the farmer came
for him, he lay down on the floor, closed his
eyes, and pretended to be dead; but the farmer
took him back to the farm in his wagon.
About a year and a half after that, when I came
home for a vacation, we all went up to the
farm, hoping to see Caesar; but we never saw him
again. The farmer had shot him, because he
killed the chickens, and chased the sheep, and
would not mind any thing that was said to him.
Thus you see, children, that Caesar came to a
bad end, although he had every advantage of
good society in his early youth.
LANSINGBURGH, N.Y.
C. R. W.
[Illustration]
A LITTLE TEASE.
I KNOW a little fellow
Who is such a wilful tease,
That, when he's not in mischief,
He is never at his ease:
He dearly loves to frolic,
And to play untimely jokes
Upon his little sister,
And upon the older folks.
He rings the bell for Sarah,
And then slyly runs away;
And tries to make a fool of her
A dozen times a day:
He hides away in corners,
To spring suddenly in sight;
And laughs, oh! very heartily,
To see her jump with fright.
When kitty's lying quiet,
And curled up warm and snug,
This little fellow always feels
Like giving her a hug;
And kitty from his fond embrace
Would surely never flinch,
Did she not know the little tease
Would give her many a pinch.
But this provoking fellow
Has a very curious way
Of feeling rather hurt at tricks
That other people play,--
Just like some older jokers,
Who laugh at fun they make,
But never can enjoy the fun
Of jokes they have to take.
JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
PITCHER-PLANTS AND MONKEY-POTS.
[Illustration]
PITCHER-PLANTS are so called, because, at the end of the leaves, the
midrib which runs through them is formed into a cup shape; and in some
it looks very like a pitcher or water-jug You will understand this
better if you look at the drawing.
There are various kinds of pitcher-plants. Some are shorter and broader
than others; but they are all green like true leaves, and hold water as
securely as a jug or glass. They grow in Borneo and Sumatra, hot islands
in the East. The one shown in the drawing grows in Ceylon.
Some grow in America; but they are altogether different from those in
Borneo and Ceylon. One beautiful little pitcher-plant grows in
Australia: but this is also very different from all the rest; for the
pitchers, instead of being at the end of the leaves, are clustered round
the bottom of the plant, close to the ground.
All these pitcher-plants, though very beautiful to look at, are very
cruel enemies to insects: for the pitchers nearly always have water in
them; and flies and small insects are constantly falling into them, and
getting drowned.
Monkey-pots are hard, woody fruits; some as large and round as a
cannon-ball, and some shaped | 860.038711 |
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TRAILS THROUGH
WESTERN WOODS
[Illustration: LAKE ANGUS McDONALD]
TRAILS THROUGH
WESTERN WOODS
By
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS
_Illustrations from Photographs
by the Author_
NEW YORK & SEATTLE
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
THE ALICE HARRIMAN COMPANY
_Published, July 1, 1910_
THE PREMIER PRESS
NEW YORK
_DEDICATION_
_To the West that is passing; to the days
that are no more and to the brave,
free life of the Wilderness that
lives only in the memory of
those who mourn its loss_
PREFACE
The writing of this book has been primarily a labour of love, undertaken
in the hope that through the harmonious mingling of Indian tradition and
descriptions of the region--too little known--where the lessening tribes
still dwell, there may be a fuller understanding both of the Indians and
of the poetical West.
A wealth of folk-lore will pass with the passing of the Flathead
Reservation, therefore it is well to stop and listen before the light
is quite vanished from the hill-tops, while still the streams sing the
songs of old and the trees murmur regretfully of things lost forever and
a time that will come no more. We of the workaday world are too prone
to believe that our own country is lacking in myth and tradition, in
hero-tale and romance; yet here in our midst is a legended region where
every landmark is a symbol in the great, natural record book of a folk
whose day is done and whose song is but an echo.
It would not be fitting to close these few introductory words without
grateful acknowledgment to those who have aided me toward the
accomplishment of my purpose. Indeed, every page brings a pleasant
recollection of a friendly spirit and a helping hand. Mr. Duncan
McDonald, son of Angus, and Mr. Henri Matt, my Indian friends, have
told me by word of mouth, many of the myths and chronicles set forth
in the following chapters. Mr. Edward Morgan, the faithful and just
agent at the Flathead Reservation, has given me priceless information
which I could never have obtained save through his kindly interest. He
secured for me the legend of the Flint, the last tale told by Charlot
and rendered into English by Michel Rivais, the blind interpreter who
has served in that capacity for thirty years. Chief Charlot died after
this book was finished and he lies in the land of his exile, out of the
home of his fathers where he had hoped to rest. From Mr. Morgan also I
received the account of Charlot's meeting with Joseph at the LoLo Pass,
the facts of which were given him by the little white boy since grown
to manhood, Mr. David Whaley, who rode with Charlot and his band to the
hostile camp.
The late Charles Aubrey, pioneer and plainsman, furnished me valuable
data concerning the buffalo.
Madame Leonie De Mers and her hospitable relatives, the De Mers of
Arlee, were instrumental in winning for me the confidence of the Selish
people.
Mrs. L. Mabel Hight, the artist, who has caught the spirit of the
mountains with her brush, has added to this book by making the peaks
live again in their colours.
In conclusion I would express my everlasting gratitude to Mr. Thomas
H. Scott, of Lake McDonald, soldier, mountain-lover and woodsman, who,
with unfailing courage and patience, has guided me safely over many and
difficult trails.
For the benefit of students I must add that the authorities I have
followed in my historical references are: Long's (James') "_Expedition
to the Rocky Mountains, 1819-20_," Maximilian's "_Travels in North
America_," Father De Smet's "_Oregon Missions_," Major Ronan's "_History
of the Flathead Indians_," Bradbury's "_Travels_," Father L. B.
Palladino's "_Indian and White in the Northwest_," and the _Reports_ of
the Bureau of Ethnology.
HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS.
_Butte, Montana,
April 5, 1910._
CONTENTS
I. The Gentle Selish 15
II. Enchanted Waters 77
III. Lake Angus McDonald 89
IV. Some Indian Missions of the Northwest 97
V. The People of the Leaves 155
VI. The Passing Buffalo 169
VII. Lake McDonald and Its Trails 229
VIII. Above the Clouds 245
IX. The Little St. Mary's 271
X. The Track of the Avalanche 281
XI. Indian Summer 297
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Lake Angus McDonald _Frontispiece_
Facing Page
Joe La Mousse 50
Abraham Isaac and Michel Kaiser 66
Lake McDonald from McDonald Creek 90
Francois 154
Glacier Camp 234
Gem Lake 266
On the Trail to Mt. Lincoln 290
_THE GENTLE SELISH_
TRAILS THROUGH WESTERN WOODS
CHAPTER I
THE GENTLE SELISH
I
When Lewis and Clark took their way through the Western wilderness
in 1805, they came upon a fair valley, watered by pleasant streams,
bounded by snowy mountain crests, and starred, in the Springtime, by a
strangely beautiful flower with silvery-rose fringed petals called the
Bitter Root, whence the valley took its name. In the mild enclosure of
this land lived a gentle folk differing as much from the hostile people
around them as the place of their nativity differed from the stern,
mountainous country of long winters and lofty altitudes surrounding it.
These early adventurers, confusing this tribe with the nations dwelling
about the mouth of the Columbia River, spoke of them as the Flatheads.
It is one of those curious historical anomalies that the Chinooks who
flattened the heads of their children, should never have been designated
as Flatheads, while the Selish, among whom the practice was unknown,
have borne the undeserved title until their own proper and euphonious
name is unused and all but forgotten.
The Selish proper, living in the Bitter Root Valley, were one branch of
a group composed of several nations collectively known as the Selish
family. These kindred tribes were the Selish, or Flatheads, the Pend
d'Oreilles, the Coeur d'Alenes, the Colvilles, the Spokanes and the
Pisquouse. The Nez Perces of the Clearwater were also counted as tribal
kin through inter-marriage.
Lewis and Clark were received with great kindness and much wonder by
the Selish. There was current among them a story of a hunting party that
came back after a long absence East of the Rocky Mountains, bearing
strange tidings of a pale-faced race whom they had met,--probably the
adventurous Sieur de La Verendrye and his cavaliers who set out from
Montreal to find a highway to the Pacific Sea. But it was only a memory
with a few, a curious legend to the many, and these men of white skin
and blue eyes came to them as a revelation.
The traders who followed in the footsteps of the first trail-blazers
found the natives at their pursuits of hunting, roving over the
Bitter Root Valley and into the contested region east of the Main
Range of the Rocky Mountains, where both they, and their enemies, the
Blackfeet, claimed hereditary right to hunt the buffalo. They were at
all times friendly to the white men who came among them, and these
visitors described them as simple, straight-forward people, the women
distinguished for their virtue, and the men for their bravery in the
battle and the chase. They were cleanly in their habits and honorable
in their dealings with each other. If a man lost his horse, his bow or
other valuable, the one who found it delivered it to the Chief, or Great
Father, and he caused it to be hung in a place where it might be seen by
all. Then when the owner came seeking his goods, the Chief restored it
to him. They were also charitable. If a man were hungry no one said him
nay and he was welcome even at the board of the head men to share the
best of their fare. This spirit of kindliness they extended to all save
their foes and the prisoners taken in war whom they tortured after the
manner of more hostile tribes. In appearance they were "comparatively
very fair and their complexions a shade lighter than the palest new
copper after being freshly rubbed." They were well formed, lithe and
tall, a characteristic that still prevails with the pure bloods, as does
something of the detail of their ancient dress. They preserve the custom
of handing down by word of mouth, from generation to generation, their
myths, traditions and history. Some of these chronicles celebrate events
which are estimated to have happened two hundred years or more ago.
Of the origin of the Selish nothing is known save the legend of their
coming out of the mountains; and perhaps we are none the poorer, for no
bald historical record of dates and migrations could be as suggestively
charming as this story of the people, themselves, by their own
fancy and reflecting their inner life. Indeed, a nation's history and
tradition bear much the same relation to each other as the conventional
public existence of a man compared with that intangible part of him
which we call imagination, but which is in reality the sum-total of his
mental inheritance: the hidden treasure of his spiritual wealth. Let us
look then, through the medium of the Indian's poetic imagery, into a
past rose-hued with the sunrise of the new day.
Coyote, the hero of this legend, figures in many of the myths of the
Selish; but they do not profess to know if he were a great brave bearing
that name or if he were the animal itself, living in the legendary age
when beasts and birds spoke the tongue of man. Likely he was a dual
personality such as the white buffalo of numerous fables, who was at
will a beautiful maiden or one among the vast herds of the plains.
Possibly there was, indeed, such a mighty warrior in ages gone by about
whose glorified memory has gathered the half-chimerical hero-tales which
are the first step toward the ancestor-worship of primitive peoples.
In all of the myths given here in which his name is mentioned, except
that one of Coyote and the Flint, we shall consider him as an Ideal
embodying the Indians' highest conception of valor and achievement.
Long, long ago the Jocko was inhabited by a man-eating monster who lured
the tribes from the hills into his domain and then sucked their blood.
Coyote determined to deliver the people, so he challenged the monster
to a mortal combat. The monster accepted the challenge, and Coyote went
into the mountains and got the poison spider from the rocks and bade him
sting his enemy, but even the venom of the spider could not penetrate
the monster's hide.
Coyote took counsel of the Fox, his friend, and prepared himself for the
fray. He got a stout leather thong and bound it around his body, then
tied it fast to a huge pine tree. The monster appeared with dripping
fangs and gaping jaws, approached Coyote, who retreated farther and
farther away, until the thong stretched taut and the pine curved like
a bow. Suddenly, the tree, strained to its utmost limit, sprang back,
felling the monster with a mortal stroke. Coyote was triumphant and the
Woodpecker of the forest cut the pine and sharpened its trunk to a point
which Coyote drove through the dead monster's breast, impaling it to the
earth. Thus, the Jocko was rid of the man-eater, and the Selish, fearing
him no more, came down from the hills into the valley where they lived
in plenty and content.
The following story of Coyote and the Flint is of exceptional interest
because it is from the lips of the dying Charlot--Charlot the unbending,
the silent Chieftain. No word of English ever profaned his tongue, so
this myth, told in the impressive Selish language, was translated word
for word by Michel Rivais, the blind interpreter at the Flathead Agency,
who has served faithfully and well for a period of thirty years.
"In the old times the animals had tribes just like the Indians. The
Coyote had his tipi. He was hungry and had nothing to eat. He had bark
to shoot his arrow with and the arrow did not go through the deer. He
was that way a long time when he heard there was Flint coming on the
road that gave a piece of flint to the Fox and he could shoot a deer and
kill it, but the Coyote did not know that and used the bark. They did
not give the Coyote anything. They only gave some to the Fox. Next day
the Fox put a piece of meat on the end of a stick and took it to the
fire. The Fox had the piece of meat cooking there and the Coyote was
looking at the meat and when it was cooked the Coyote jumped and got the
piece of meat and took a bite and in it was the flint, and he bit the
flint and asked why they did not tell him how to kill a deer with flint.
"'Why didn't you tell me?' the Coyote asked his friend, the Fox. 'When
did the Flint go by here?'
"The Fox said three days it went by here.
"The Coyote took his blanket and his things and started after the Flint
and kept on his track all day and evening and said, 'Here is where the
Flint camped,' and he stayed there all night himself, and next day he
travelled to where the Flint camped, and he said, 'Here is where the
Flint camped last night,' and he stayed there, and the next day he went
farther and found where the Flint camped and he said, 'The Flint started
from here this morning.' He followed the track next morning and went not
very far, and he saw the Flint going on the road, and he went 'way out
that way and went ahead of the Flint and stayed there for the Flint to
come. When the Flint met him there the Coyote told him:
"'Come here. Now, I want to have a fight with you to-day.'
"And the Flint said:
"'Come on. We will fight.'
"The Flint went to him and the Coyote took the thing he had in his hand
and struck him three or four times and the Flint broke all to pieces and
the Coyote had his blanket there and put the pieces in the blanket and
after they were through fighting and he had the pieces of flint in his
blanket he packed the flint on his back and went to all the tribes and
gave them some flint and said:
"'Here is some flint for you to kill deer and things with.'
"And he went to another tribe and did the same thing and to other tribes
and did the same until he came to Flint Creek and then from that time
they used the flint to put in their arrows and kill deer and elk.
"That is the story of the Flint."
* * * * *
Coyote was the chosen one to whom the Great Spirit revealed the disaster
which reduced the Selish from goodly multitudes of warriors to a handful
of wretched, plague-stricken invalids. Old women are still fond of
relating the story which they received from their mothers and their
mothers' mothers even to the third and fourth generation.
Coyote laid down to rest and dreamed that the Voice of the Great Spirit
sounded in his ears, saying that unless the daughter of the Chief became
his bride a scourge would fall upon the people. When morning broke he
sought out the Chief and told him of the words of the Voice, but the
Chief, who was a haughty man, would not heed Coyote and coldly denied
him the hand of his daughter in marriage.
Coyote returned to his lodge and soon there resounded through the
forests the piercing cry of one in distress. Coyote rushed forth and
beheld a man covered with sores across the river. This man related to
Coyote how he was the last survivor of a war party that had come upon
a village once occupied by the enemy whom they sought, but as they
approached they saw no smoke arising from the tipis and no sign of life.
They came forward very cautiously, but all was silent and deserted. From
lodge to lodge they passed, and finally they came upon an old woman,
pitted and scabbed, lying alone and dying. With her last breath she told
them of a scourge which had fallen upon the village, consuming brave and
child alike, until she, of all the lodges, was left to mourn the rest.
Then one by one the war party which had ridden so gallantly to conquest
and glory, felt an awful heat as of fire run through their veins.
Burning and distraught they leaped into the cold waters of a river and
died.
Such was the story of the man whom Coyote met in the woods. He alone
remained, disfigured, diseased, doomed. So Coyote brought him into the
village and quenched his thirst that he might pass more easily to the
Happy Hunting Ground. But as the Great Spirit had revealed to Coyote
while he slept, the scourge fell upon the people and laid them low,
scarcely enough grief-stricken survivors remaining to weep for their
lost dead.
* * * * *
Besides this legendary narrative of the visitation of smallpox there
are other authenticated instances of the plague wreaking its vengeance
upon the Selish and depleting their villages to desolation. In this wise
the tribe was thinned again and again and as early as 1813, Mr. Cox
of the Northwest Fur Company, told in his "Adventures" that once the
Selish were more powerful by far in number than in the day of his coming
amongst them.
There was also another cause for the nation's decline quite as
destructive as the plague;--the unequal hostility continuing generation
after generation, without capitulation or truce, with the Blackfeet.
The country of the Selish abounded in game but it was a part of the
tribal code of honour to hunt the buffalo in the fields where their
ancestors had hunted. All of the deadly animosity between the two
peoples, all of the bloodshed of their cruel wars, was for no other
purpose than to maintain the right to seek the beloved herds in the
favoured fields which they believed their forefathers had won. The
jealousy with which this privilege of the chase was guarded and
preserved even to the death explains many national peculiarities, forms,
indeed, the keynote to their life of freedom on the plains.
It is possible that the Selish would have been annihilated had not the
establishment of new trading-posts enabled them to get fire-arms which
the Blackfeet had long possessed. This means of defence gave them fresh
strength and thereafter the odds against them were not as great.
The annals of the tribe, so full of tragedy and joy, of fact and
fancy, of folk-lore and wood-lore, contain many stories of war glory
reminiscent of the days of struggle. Even now there stands, near
Ravalli in the Jocko, a rock resembling a man, called by the Indians
the Stone Sentinel, which touchingly attests the fidelity and bravery
of a nameless hero. The story is that one of the runners who had gone
in advance of a war-party after the Indian custom, was surprised while
keeping watch and killed by the Blackfeet. The body remained erect and
was turned to stone, a monument of devotion to duty so strong that not
even death could break his everlasting vigil.
Notwithstanding their love of glory on the war-path and hunting-field,
they were a peaceable people. The most beautiful of their traditions
are based upon religious themes out of which grew a poetical symbolism,
half devotional, half fantastic. And even to-day, in spite of their
profession of Christianity, there lives in the heart of the Indian the
old paganism, not unlike that of the Greeks, which spiritualizes every
object of the woods and waters.
They thought that in the Beginning the good Spirit came up out of the
East and the Evil Spirit out of the West, and then began the struggle,
typified by light and darkness, which has gone on ever since. From this
central idea they have drawn the rainbow Spirit-fancy which arches their
dream-sky from horizon to horizon. They consider some trees and rocks
sacred; again they hold a lake or stream in superstitious dread and shun
it as a habitation of the evil one.
Thus, a cave in the neighbouring hills where rattlesnakes sleep in
Winter, they avoided in the past, not on account of the common snakes,
but because within the damp, dark recesses of that subterranean den, the
King of Snakes, a huge, horned reptile dwelt, appearing occasionally in
all his venomous, scaled beauty, striking terror wherever he was seen.
A clear spring bubbled near the cave but not even the cold purity of
the water could tempt the Indians to that accursed vicinity until by
some revelation they learned that the King Snake had migrated to other
fastnesses. He is still seen, so they say, gliding stealthily amongst
deserted wastes, his crest reared evily, and death in his poison tail.
In contrast to this cave of darkness is the spiritual legend of the
Sacred Pine. Upon those same gentle hills of the Jocko it grows, lifting
its lessening cone of green toward heaven. It has been there past the
memory of the great-grand-fathers of the present generation and from
time immemorial it has been held sacred by the Selish tribe. High upon
its venerable branches hangs the horn of a Bighorn Sheep, fixed there so
firmly by an unknown hand, before even the tradition of the Selish had
shaped its ghostly form out of the mists of the past, that the blizzard
has not been strong enough to wrench it from its place, nor the frost
to gnaw it away. No one knows whence the ram's horn came nor what it
signifies, but the tree is considered holy and the Indians believe that
it possesses supernatural powers. Hence, offerings are made to it of
moccasins, beads, weasel skins, and such little treasures of wearing
apparel or handiwork as they most esteem, and at certain seasons,
beneath the cool, sweet shadow of its generous boughs the devoted
worshippers, going back through the little superficialities of recent
civilization to the magnetic pole of their own true blood and beliefs,
assemble to dance with religious fervor around its base upon the green.
The missionary fathers discourage such idolatrous practices; but the
poor children of the woods play truant, nevertheless, and wander back
through the cycle of the centuries to do honour to the old, sweet object
of their devotion in the primitive, pagan way. And surely the Great
Spirit who watches over white and red man impartially, can scarcely be
jealous of this tribute of love to a tree,--the instinctive, race-old
festival of a woodland tribe.
There is another pine near Ravalli revered because it recalls the days
of the chase. It stands upon the face of a mountain somewhat apart from
its brethren of the forest, and there the Bighorn Sheep used to take
refuge when pursued. If driven to bay, the leader, followed by his band,
leaped to death from this eminence. It is known as the Pine of the
Bighorn Sheep.
Thus, it will be seen there lives among the Selish a symbolism, making
objects which they love chapters in the great unwritten book, wherein
is celebrated the heroic past. He who has the key to that volume of
tribe-lore, may learn lessons of valour and achievement, of patience and
sacrifice. And colouring the whole story, making beautiful its least
phase, is the sentiment of the people, even as the haze is the poetry
of the hills.
II
As heroic or disastrous events are celebrated in verbal chronicles
it follows that the home of the Selish is storied ground. Before the
pressure of civilization, encroaching in ever-narrowing circles upon
the hunting-ground of the Indians, cramping and crowding them within
a smaller space, driving them inch by inch to the confinement which
is their death, the Selish wandered at will over a stretch of country
beautiful alike in the reality of its landscape and in the richness
of myth and legend which hang over every peak and transfigure every
lake and stream. To know this country and the people it has sheltered
through past centuries one must first glean something of that ephemeral
story-charm which records in crag, in mist, in singing stream and
spreading tree the dreams made almost real by the thousands of souls
who have treasured them, and given them, lip to lip, from old to young,
since the forests were first green upon the hills.
The land of the Selish extended eastward to that portion of the Main
Range of the Rocky Mountains known to them as _Sin-yal-min_, or the
"Mountains of the Surrounded," from the fact that once a hunting party
surrounded and killed a herd of elk by a stream upon those heights;
another time a war-party surrounded and slew a company of Blackfeet
within the woods upon the mountain side. Though this range marked the
eastern boundary of their territory, they hunted buffalo, as we have
seen, still east of its mighty peaks,--a region made bloody by battles
between the Selish and the Blackfeet tribes. Westward, they wandered
over the fertile valley of Sin-yal-min, where they, in common with the
Pend d'Oreilles, Kootanais and Nez Perces enjoyed its fruits and fields
of grain. This valley is bounded to the north by the great Flathead
Lake, a body of water vast in its sweep, winding through narrow channels
among wooded shores ever unfolding new and unexposed vistas as one
traverses it. On a calm summer day, when the sun's rays are softened
by gossamer veils of haze, the water, the mountain-peaks and sky are
faintly traced in shades of grey and faded rose as in mother-of-pearl.
And on such days as this, at rare intervals, a strange phenomenon
occurs,--_the reflection of a reflection_. Looking over the rail of a
steamer within the semi-circular curve of the swell at its stern, one
may see, first the reflection of the shore line, the mountains and trees
appearing upside down, then a second shore line perfectly wrought in
the mirroring waters right side up, pine-crest touching pine-crest,
peak poised against peak. This lake was the Selish's conception of
the greatest of waters, for their wandering never took them to the
Atlantic or Pacific Seas, and in such small craft as they used to
travel over the forty miles of water among serpentining shores, the
distance must have seemed immense. Many islands rise from the lake,
the largest of them, Wild Horse Island, is timbered and mountainous,
and so big as to appear like an arm of the main land. This Wild Horse
Island, where in olden days bands of wild horses were found, possesses
a peculiar interest. Upon its steep cliffs are hieroglyphics traced
in pigments unknown to-day, telling the forgotten story of a lost
race. The same strange figures appear upon the sheer escarpments of
the mainland shore. These rock-walls are moss-grown and by the
lichen, chrome yellow, burnt orange, russet-brown and varying shades
of bronze-green like Autumn leaves, and upon them broods a shadow as
darkly impenetrable as the mystery which they hold. Still, it is easy to
distinguish upon the heroic tablets of stone, crude figures of horses
and some incomprehensible marks. These writings have been variously
interpreted or guessed at. Some declare them to be ancient war signals
of the Selish, others suggest that they were records of hunting parties
left behind for the guidance and information of the tribe; but they,
themselves, deny all knowledge of them, saying that to them as to us,
the pictured rocks are a wonder and a riddle, the silent evidence of
foot-falls so remote that not even an echo has come down to us through
the centuries.
Such are the valley of Sin-yal-min and the Lake of the Flathead where
the Selish hunted. But their real home, the seat of their fathers,
was the Bitter Root Valley, where one branch of the tribe, headed by
Charlot, the son of Victor, lived until the recent exodus. Therefore,
the Bitter Root Valley was particularly dear to the hearts of these
Indians. It was there the bond between the kindred tribes, the Nez
Perces and the Selish, was broken; there the pioneer Fathers came to
build the first Mission and plant the first Cross among these docile
children of the wood. It was there they clung together like frightened
sheep until they were driven forth to seek new homes in the Valley of
the Jocko, which was to be merely a station in their enforced retreat.
Eastward and southward from the Bitter Root, the Jocko and the range
of Sin-yal-min in the contested country, is a canyon called the Hell
Gate, because within its narrow limits, the Blackfeet wreaked vengeance
upon their less warlike foes. Flowing through the canyon is a river,
_In-mis-sou-let-ka_, corrupted into Missoula, which bears one of the
most beautiful of the Selish legends.
* * * * *
Coyote was taking his way through a pass in the mountains during the
ancient days, when there came to him, out of the closed lip of silence,
the echo of a sound. He stopped to listen, in doubt if it were the
singing of waters or human voices that he heard, and as he listened the
echo grew into a reality and the strains of wondrous, weirdly sweet
music greeted his ear. He followed the illusive melody, attracted as by
magic, and at last he saw upon the flower-sown green a circle of young
women, dancing around and around, hand clasped in hand, forming a chain
and singing as they danced. They beckoned to Coyote and called unto him,
saying:
"Thou art beautiful, O Warrior! and strong as is the sun. Come dance
with us and we will sing to thee."
Coyote, like one who walks in his sleep, obeyed them and joined the
enchanted circle. Then he perceived that as they danced and sang they
drew him closer and closer to a great river that lashed itself into a
blind, white fury of foam upon the rocks. Coyote became afraid like a
woman. He noted with dread the water-weed in the maidens' hair and the
evil beauty of their eyes. He strove to break away but he was powerless
to resist them and he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer the roaring
torrent, until at last the waters closed over him in whirlpools and he
knew no more.
* * * * *
The Fox, who was wise and crafty, passed along the shore and there he
found, among the water-weeds and grasses the lifeless body of Coyote
which had been cast up by the waters, even as they had engulfed him.
The Fox was grieved for he loved Coyote, so he bent over the corpse and
brought it back to life. Coyote opened his eyes and saw his friend, but
the chill of the water was in his blood and he was numb. Then above the
roar of the river, echoed the magical measure of a weird-sweet song
and through a green glade came the dancers who had lured Coyote to his
death. He rose at the sound of the bewitching melody and strained
forward to listen.
"It was they who led me to the river," he cried.
"Aye, truly. They are the water Sirens and thou must destroy them,"
replied the Fox.
At those words Coyote's heart became inflamed with ire; he grew strong
with purpose and crept forward, noiseless as a snake, unobserved by the
water-maidens.
They were dancing like a flock of white butterflies upon a stretch of
grass yellowed and seared by the heat of the sun. Swiftly and silently
Coyote set fire to the grass, imprisoning them in a ring of flame. They
saw the wall of fire leap up around them and their singing was changed
to cries. They turned hither and thither and sought to fly to the water
but the way was barred by the hot red-gold embrace of the fire.
When the flames had passed, Coyote went to the spot where the Sirens
had danced, and there upon the blackened ground he found a heap of
great, white shells. He took these, the remains of the water-maidens,
and cast them into the river, saying as he did so:
"I call thee _ | 860.039492 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.0595480 | 4,056 | 32 |
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_Among the Trees Again_
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[Illustration:
Among the Trees Again
By Evaleen Stein
The Bowen-Merrill Company
Indianapolis
]
COPYRIGHT 1902
THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY
OCTOBER
-----------------------
_To the memory of my beloved brother
Orth Harper Stein_
-----------------------
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 3
APRIL CONTRADICTIONS 21
APRIL MORNING 8
AS TO THE SUMMER AIR THE ROSE 34
AT NIGHT 50
BETWEEN SEASONS 40
BINDWEED 46
BY THE KANKAKEE 64
CACTUS LAND, THE 67
CASCADE RAVINE, THE 71
DREAM ECHOES 20
EARLY NOVEMBER 79
FISHER FOLK, THE 66
FOREBODING 74
GOLDEN WEDDING, THE 78
HOME FIELDS, THE 52
IDEALS 30
IMPATIENT 58
IN LATE SEPTEMBER 75
IN SUMMER DEEPS 54
IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL 16
IN THE MOONLIGHT 45
JANUARY THAW 84
JUNE 42
LAST SURVIVOR FROM THE LIFE BOAT, THE 69
LITTLE LOVE SONG, A 41
LITTLE SISTER, THE 88
MONTEZUMA 38
MORNING ON THE MOUNTAINS 85
MY LITTLE MASTER 12
NORTHMEN’S SONG OF THE POLE, THE 14
ON HEARING THE BALLAD “ALLEN PERCY” 11
ON THE PRAIRIE 62
OVER THE SIERRA 61
PERFECT FRIENDSHIP, THE 83
PLEA, A 22
RAIN ON THE RIVER 59
REDBIRD, THE 6
SEA-DREAMS 28
SEA-GARDENS OF SANTA CATALINA, THE 89
SONG 55
SONG OF THOUGHT, A 44
SUMMER SHOWER, THE 49
SUNNY NOON 77
SYMPATHY 53
TO THE “WINGED VICTORY OF SAMOTHRACE” 31
THRUSH, THE 36
WHEREFORE WINGS? 81
WINTRY TINTS 82
WISHING-SPRING, THE 7
WOOD FANCY, A 35
_Among the Trees Again_
_I saw a meadow-land, one day;
The grass stood green and high,
But naught appealed in any way
To stay the passer-by._
_Till suddenly the sunlight strayed
Those leafy tangles through,
And touched to fire, on every blade
A golden network grew!_
_A million airy cobwebs gleamed
So silken-soft and bright,
That all the level lowland seemed
A tracery of light._
_And as I watched the webs, I thought
The field of life along,
As slight as these, so I have wrought
With slender threads of song._
_They bind the grass, and blossoms, too,
The bee and butterfly,
And some go faintly wavering through
The tender azure sky._
_Yet still I wait that golden glow
Whose fine transmuting art
Must smite my web of song, and so
Reveal it to the heart._
_Ah therefore, thou, I pray thee, touch
These frail threads I have spun,
With grace of sympathy, for such
Might light them like the sun!_
_AMONG THE TREES AGAIN_
Aye, throb, my heart! is it not sweet to be,
To breathe, to bide, by growing things once more!
We did not guess before
How close our life was locked in greenery.
Hark! how the sparrows in the apple tree
Are chattering, chirping, till their tiny throats
Are fairly brimmed and quivering through and through
With rollick notes!
Good morrow, little birds!
Good morrow! morrow!—O, I would I knew
Some light-winged language, kindred singing words
Wherein to say
This day, this day, at last this happy day
I come to be a neighbor unto you!
Too long, too long, we heard strange footsteps pass,
Harsh, strident echoes stricken out of stone;
But never softened by green, growing grass,
Or mellowed to faint, earthy undertone.
And then, O heart,
Did we not ofttimes feel ourselves apart,
Alone,
Wrought to vague discord by some touch unknown?
Did we not weary with a nameless grief,
In dreaming of tall clover, daisy sown,
Or music blown
From the wind-harping of some little leaf?
It was not that within the city’s core
There dwelt no sympathies, nor interests keen,
No human ties to temper its fatigues.
—’Twas only that we needed something more;
Some note rang wrong;
A foolish fancy, may be, but still strong,
That life sang sweeter snatched between the green
Close-lapping verdure of a fret of twigs.
Where all the ground was paven out of sight,
And only from a far-off strip of sky
My mother Nature strove to speak to me,
I could not harken to her voice aright;
I knew not why,
But ever to mine ears some whispering tree
Seemed of the inmost golden soul of her,
The best interpreter.
And so what wonder, Life, that you and I,
Shut out from such glad confidence, should miss
And grieve for this.
—But all this yearning we’ll forget; for now
Within my window,
So,
By finger-tips,
I’ll draw into mine arms this dancing bough,
And stroke its silky buds across my lips.
O generous-natured, friendly, neighbor tree!
Weave gentle blessings in the shade and shine;
And granting gracious patience to my plea,
Some simple lesson of your lore make mine,
Make mine, I pray!
O, be a kindly teacher unto me,
And I’ll pour out such worshipful heart-wine,
Not any bird that sings to you all day,
Or nestles to low, leafy lullaby,
Shall hold you in such dear observance, nay,
Nor love you half so tenderly as I.
_THE REDBIRD_
Swept lightly by the south wind
The elm leaves softly stirred,
And in their pale green clusters
There straightway bloomed a bird!
His glossy feathers glistened
With dyes as richly red
As any tulip flaming
From out the garden bed.
But ah, unlike the tulips,
In joyous strain, ere long,
This redbird flower unfolded
A heart of golden song!
_THE WISHING-SPRING_
I knelt beside the fairy spring,
Among the tasseled weeds;
Far off, with dreamy murmuring,
The wind piped through the reeds.
Once, twice, the brimming cup I raised
With trembling finger-tips,
And in its limpid crystal gazed,
Nor laid it to my lips.
Ah me! the eager heart-desires,
So thronging swift they came,
My spirit surged like wind-swept fires,
I knew not which to name.
—Then all at once, I quickly quaffed
The shining drops; but lo,
The wish with that enchanted draught
No man must ever know!
_APRIL MORNING_
I lean upon the bridge’s rail,
In idle joy, and gazing down,
So watch the frothy bubbles sail,
And bits of tangled grasses trail
Along the current’s tawny brown.
The river flows at full to-day;
And though within the tide it pours
There grow no mocking sycamores,
Nor any crystal hints betray
The spicewood thickets, nor the pale
Soft willow wands of pearly gray,
Whose interwoven mazes veil
The fretted banks, yet here and there,
Adown some swirling eddy, where
A delving sunbeam shines,
What mines
Of gleaming, streaming, liquid gold
The waters hold!
And so, by rapid currents rolled
In billowy swells that break and chime
In riotous tumult uncontrolled,
The March flood plashes past the pier;
But through its sweeping tones, I hear
The sweet, receding murmurs rhyme
The burden of the April time;
And throbbing like a glad refrain,
Now far, now full, now far again,
The freshened breeze
Blows gaily, bringing pure and clear
The fitful, tinkling cadences.
But listen! faint, from out the sheer
Deep borders of the morning sky,
Slips down the distance-softened cry
Of shy wild geese that northward fly;
It vibrates nearer, and more near,
—And see!
There! wheeling into sight,
Far as the vision may descry.
A level-winged advancing “V,”
They keep their swift, unswerving flight.
North, north, beyond that scudding fleece
Of tiny clouds, like wilder geese,
That join their ranks, and journey, too,
On,—on,—into the farthest blue.
Then, from the boundless space above,
I drop my dazzled eyes to view
The soft field-grass and meadow-rue,
The restful, brown earth, that I love.
A trick of blinding sun, maybe,
That halo on the hills may prove—
And yet, they are so dear to me,
The golden glory that they wear
Is like none other anywhere,
And, in my heart, I hold it true.
Though, surely, what least loving eye
Could wander up the river there,
And see aught otherwise than I?
Or could deny
That yonder little glimpse is fair?
The slender point of jutting land
Where, faintly burgeoning anew
With rounds of downy buds, there stand
A score of water-willow trees
In clustered tufts, and twinkling through,
Across the stream, beside of these,
A line of shining yellow light;
And half in sight,
And hidden half, upon the right,
By wild red-sumac shrubberies,
A windmill, rising tall and white,
Slow turning in the breeze.
And then beyond—but how express,
What word in any tongue conveys
The depth of dreamy tenderness
That laps, and wraps, and overlays
The far blue hills,
And spills and fills
The valleys with pale purple haze?
O, what sweet syllables confess
The glad heart-happiness that plays
Through all my pulses as I gaze,
And drink the beauty, past all praise—
The old, immortal blessedness
Of April days!
_ON HEARING THE BALLAD “ALLEN PERCY”_
A plaintive song, so strangely sweet and old,
That all my soul within itself would fold
And gently keep so quaint a melody,
That like a bird’s its notes of liquid gold
Might oft repeat their sweetness unto me.
A tale of joyless splendor long ago,
Of wedded lady and of loveless woe,
How she to soothe her sick heart’s misery
Cradled in vines her little child, and so
Sang of dear love beneath a greenwood tree.
And through it all there runs such saddest plaint,
As sweet as lutes, now murmurous, now faint,
Till, like the far-heard sighing of the sea,
It sweeps in gathering passion past restraint,
Then breaks, and croons in mournful minor key.
Ah, well-a-day! I listen breathless till
I half believe that sorrowing singer still
Dreams on divinely by the whispering tree;
For in your voice all tenderest heart-strings thrill,
And all the woodland’s marvelous minstrelsy!
_MY LITTLE MASTER_
O little poet, winging through
The sheer, clear blue,
Is it the sky you’re singing to?
Or is it that afar you see
Some leafy, laden apple-tree,
And half concealed and half confessed,
A nest?
Ah, truly now, I would I knew
The happy secret of your glee,
That joy wherewith you birds are blest,
Red-breast!
So airy and so light of wing,
You soar and sing,
I pray, could you not softly fling,
My merry minstrel, down to me
Some echo of that melody
That spills from out your tiny bill?
Some trill
Of all those liquid tones that ring
So full of purest poetry,
That rhyme, and chime, and thrill, until
They fill
These vibrant seas of azure air,
Whose blue tides bear
Their witching sweetness everywhere?
O little master, heed to me!
And ah, so true, so tenderly,
I’ll learn to sing how lovely grows
This rose,
Till, by and by, dear heart, I’ll dare
To touch some bolder note, maybe,
Some chord whence deeper music flows;
Who knows?
_THE NORTHMEN’S SONG OF THE POLE_
The roar of the seas where the freezing clouds lower,
The shriek of the storm-wind, the turbulent tide,
The conquering currents, all vaunt of their power,
And taunt with the centuries’ secret they hide.
Of towering icebergs and glittering floes,
The sun of the midnight in luminous rings,
Of hopes held at bay by beleaguering snows,
Of man in his weakness the fierce ocean sings.
Bright over the sky the aurora is red,
And crimson as life-blood the snowflakes below;
Swift updarting streamers of fire overspread
All heaven and earth with a roseate glow.
Hark! Hark! to the rumble, the thunderous roar
Of the ancient ice-mountains that shatter and rend
And crash with the tide dashing up on the shore,
In turmoil titanic and toil without end.
O, woe to the ship that the pitiless clutch
Of those crushing ice-demons drags down to her doom!
The path to the pole is o’er-scattered with such,
And deep sleep the heroes the tempests entomb.
Beneath the wan moon of the long arctic night
The frost-smitten sea stretches boundless and lone;
The Shores of the Dead Men loom spectral and white,
In Helheim, the death-goddess waits for her own.
But ho, to her hatred! the soul of the brave
He bears not who dares not her fury defy!
And ho, to her giants of wind and of wave!
We crave but to meet and defeat them, or die!
Farewell, and farewell!—the anchor rope strains,
Loose cable and canvas, and hasten we forth!
The fire of desire quivers hot in our veins,
We must sail with the gale, to the north! to the north!
Must speed with the blast to its ultimate goal,
The path of its pinions must follow and find
The lure of the ages, the boreal pole,
And the measureless halls of the house of the wind!
_IN THE MISSION GARDEN, SAN GABRIEL_
O golden day, wherein at last,
Long leagues and wintry overpast,
I stand beneath a sky as blue
As April violets drenched in dew,
And live within a dream come true!
From rosy-berried pepper-trees
The winds blow spicy fragrances;
The palms sway softly to and fro,
And down below,
Between the glossy leaves of these,
The sparkling, yellow sunbeams steep
The mission garden, where the bees
Are hoarding deep
Of heliotrope that hangs the wall
As for some princely festival,
While white and tall
Bright lilies bloom in grace untold,
And those rare roses, passing all
In splendor, called “The Cloth of Gold!”
O heart, my heart, throb high and fast
With rapture! for how couldst thou know
Amid the far-off frost and snow
Where all the skies are overcast
And shrill and chill the north-winds blow,
How couldst thou know
December heavens anywhere
Could show such rare
Such tender and divinest guise,
That earth and air
Could weave such strange, resistless spell
As this that folds us flower-wise
At sweet San Gabriel!
San Gabriel! the holy words
Fall soft as music on the ear;
I think they are as sweet to hear
As any song of summer birds;
And harkening them, the while in clear,
Pure, quivering notes,
The ancient bells | 860.079588 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.0606570 | 897 | 12 |
Produced by Emmy, Tor Martin Kristiansen and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE.RUBAIYAT OF.A.BACHELOR
[Illustration]
[Illustration: PROMISED TO PAY A WOMAN'S BILLS FOR LIFE.]
THE.RUBAIYAT OF.A.BACHELOR
[Illustration]
BY HELEN ROWLAND
DECORATIONS.... BY.... HAROLD.... SPEAKMAN
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1915 BY
DODGE PUBLISHING COMPANY
TO
MY HUSBAND
WILLIAM HILL-BRERETON
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
WAKE! For the Spring has scattered into flight
The Vows of Lent, and bids the heart be light.
Bring on the Roast, and take the Fish away!
The Season calls--and Woman's eyes are bright!
BEFORE the phantom of Pale Winter died,
Methought the Voice of Spring within me cried,
"When Hymen's rose-decked altars glow within,
Why nods the laggard _Bachelor_ outside?"
AND, at the Signal, I who stood before
In idle musing, shouted, "Say no more!
You know how little while we have to Love--
And Love's light Hand is knocking at the door!"
NOW, the New Moon reviving old desires,
The gallant Youth to Sentiment aspires;
And ere he saunters forth on conquest bent,
Himself, like unto Solomon, attires.
[Illustration: HIS WINTER GARMENTS HUNG--WHERE, NO ONE KNOWS!]
HOW blithely through the smiling throng he goes,
His Winter garments hung--where, no one knows!
A Symphony in radiant scarfs and hose,
Wrought t'inspire a maiden's "Ah's!" and "Oh's!"
INTO a new Flirtation, why not knowing,
Nor whence, his heart with madness overflowing;
Then out of it--and thence, without a pause,
Into _another_, willy-nilly blowing.
WHAT if the conscience feel, perchance, a sting?
No danger waits him--save the _Wedding Ring_.
A Kiss is not the sin that yesterday
It was--for that was _Lent_, and this is _Spring_!
SOME simple ones may sigh for wealth or fame,
And some, for the sweet Domestic Life, and tame;
But ah! give me a supper, a cigar,
A charming Woman--and the old Love-Game!
SOME blue points on the half-shell, in a row,
Some iced champagne, a melting bird--and Thou
Beside me flirting, 'neath a picture hat--
Oh, single life were Paradise enow!
A COZY-CORNER tete-a-tete--what bliss!
A murmured word, a sigh, a stolen kiss--
Ah, tell me, does the Promised Paradise
Hold anything one-half so sweet as this?
AND yet, since I am made of common clay,
One charm I'd add to this divine array;
Lord make me _careful_, and whate'er betide,
Without proposing, let me slip away!
FOR, some I've known, the bravest and the best,
Who laughed at Love, as but an idle jest,
Have, one by one, walked straight into the Net,
Helpless, before the _Cozy Corner_ test!
THUS, oft, beside some damsel fond and fair,
I've sat, thrilled by the perfume of her hair,
And madly longed to murmur, lip-to-lip,
"Beloved, marry me!"--but did not dare!
FOR some I've wooed, when I felt blithe and gay,
Have looked _so different_, when we met next day,
That I have simply stopped to say, " | 860.080697 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.0607340 | 6,185 | 15 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Stephanie Eason,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
TYPOGRAPHIC TECHNICAL SERIES FOR APPRENTICES--PART VIII--NO. 49
BOOKS BEFORE
TYPOGRAPHY
A PRIMER _of_ INFORMATION ABOUT THE
INVENTION OF THE ALPHABET AND
THE HISTORY OF BOOK-MAKING
UP TO THE INVENTION OF
MOVABLE TYPES
BY
FREDERICK W. HAMILTON, LL.D.
EDUCATIONAL DIRECTOR
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED BY THE COMMITTEE ON EDUCATION
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918
UNITED TYPOTHETAE OF AMERICA
CHICAGO, ILL.
PREFACE
An attempt has been made in this book to trace briefly the story of the
book from the earliest attempts made by mankind to convey a message by
marks on some substance down to the invention of movable types. The
development of writing is rapidly traced from the earliest known
pictures and sign marks to the present day. The discussion covers the
subjects of writing materials and how they were made; the evolution of
the book; the conditions of manufacture, distribution, and preservation
of books before printing, and the conditions out of which sprang the
invention of typographic printing.
It is believed that a comprehensive knowledge of the main facts in this
long story will be of great value to the young printer, and it is hoped
that he may be interested to continue the study in some of the many very
excellent books which are available. A short list of a few of the best
and most accessible authorities in English will be found on page 44. It
has not been thought worth while to refer to books in other languages.
The story of the efforts of men to convey their thoughts to the absent
is one of absorbing interest and leads into many pleasant byways of
knowledge. While we are studying the processes and materials of a trade
by which we hope to gain a livelihood it is well to know something about
the men of the past whose accomplishments we inherit. To know something
about the men of another time who made this time possible, what they
did, what manner of men they were, how they lived, and what they created
for us, is the task of this and the following volumes in Part VIII of
this series.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I THE ORIGIN OF THE ALPHABET 1
CHAPTER II WRITING MATERIALS 9
CHAPTER III THE EVOLUTION OF THE BOOK 15
CHAPTER IV MAKING THE MANUSCRIPTS 20
CHAPTER V ANCIENT AND MEDIAEVAL LIBRARIES 27
CHAPTER VI THE DAWN OF A NEW ERA 37
BOOKS BEFORE TYPOGRAPHY
CHAPTER I
_The Origin of the Alphabet_
The story of printing really begins with the earliest dawn of
civilization. As soon as men developed a language, even of the simplest
sort, they felt the necessity of a means of communication with those who
were not present. This would be needed for the identification of
property, the making of records, the sending of orders or information,
the making of appointments, and many other purposes which would be
developed by the needs of even the most rudimentary civilization. We
accordingly find evidences of devices to accomplish these ends
associated with the earliest human remains. While the cave man was
disputing food and shelter with the cave bear, the sabre-tooth tiger,
and the mammoth in those places which are now the seats of the most
advanced civilizations, he scratched or painted outline sketches of the
animals he fought, and perhaps worshipped, on the wall of a cave or on
the flat surface of a spreading antler or a piece of bone.
[Illustration: The oldest known attempt to carve a picture. It dates
from the cave period and was found at Dordogne, France.]
One of the greatest single steps in civilization was the advance from
the use of rough stone implements and weapons to the use of chipped and
finished stones for the same purpose, commonly referred to as the
transition from the paleolithic to the neolithic age. Just how long ago
that was no one knows and only geologists can guess. Among remains
dating from this period of transition found in the little village of Mas
d'Azil in France, there have been discovered a number of painted
pebbles. Whether these were game counters, ownership tags, records, or
what not, no one can guess. Whether the marks on them were purely
mnemonic signs, numerals, or verbal signs of some sort, no one knows.
That they were in some way, however, the ancestors of modern printed
matter is unquestionable.
[Illustration: Pebbles from Mas d'Azil.]
Among the earliest methods of communicating ideas to the absent,
pictures hold the largest place. Other methods were knots, ordinarily
known by the name _quipus_ which they bear among the ancient Peruvians.
The number and arrangements of the knots and the color of the cords made
possible a considerable range of expression. Closely associated with
these were tallies, or notched sticks, and wampum, or strings of colored
shells or beads arranged in various designs. Here perhaps may also be
classed the so-called Ogham inscriptions, made by arrangements of short
lines in groups about a long central line. The short lines may be either
perpendicular to the central line or at an angle to it. They may be
above it, below it, or across it, thus providing a wide range of
combinations with a corresponding variety of expression. These primitive
methods survive in the rosary, the sailor's log line with its knots or
the knotted handkerchief which serves as a simple memorandum. They may
run all the way from purely mnemonic signs to a fairly well developed
alphabet.
More important in its development, however, was the picture. Primitive
men all over the world very soon learned to make pictures, very crude
and simple to be sure, but indicating fairly well what they stand for.
These pictures may be so arranged and conventionalized as to convey a
good deal of information. The position of a human figure may indicate
hunger, sleep, hostility, friendship, or a considerable number of other
things. A representation of a boat with a number of circles representing
the sun or moon above it may indicate a certain number of days' travel
in a certain direction, and so on indefinitely. This method of writing
was highly developed among the North American Indians, who did not,
however, get beyond it.
[Illustration: Indian picture writing. The biography of a chief.]
The next step forward is the attempt to represent abstract ideas by
means of pictures. The picture then ceases to represent an object and
represents an idea. This is called an ideogram. While it has certain
very obvious limitations, it has one advantage over more developed
systems. The ideogram does not represent a word; it represents an idea.
Consequently it may be intelligible to people who, in spoken language,
represent the idea by very different words. For example, there are
several cases where a common set of ideograms appears to have been used
as a means of communication between people whose spoken language was
mutually unintelligible. The Chinese sign for "words" made
thus [Illustration: [Chinese character]] is a typical ideogram. It
represents a mouth with vapor rising from it.
The next step forward is the development of the ideogram into the
phonogram, or sound sign. When this step is taken, the ideogram, besides
representing an idea in a general way, represents a sound, usually the
name of the object represented by the ideogram or by one of its
components. A succession of these phonograms then represents a series of
sounds, or syllables, and we have a real, though somewhat primitive and
cumbrous, written language. Concurrently with this process the original
picture has become conventionalized and abbreviated. In this shape it is
hardly recognizable as a picture at all and appears to be a mere
arbitrary sign.
[Illustration: Comparative ideographs.]
After a time men discovered that all the sounds of the human voice were
really decomposable into a very few and that all human speech,
consisting as it does of combinations of these sounds, could be
represented by combinations of simple phonograms each of which should
represent neither an idea nor a syllable but one of the primary sounds.
The phonograms were then greatly reduced in number, simplified in form,
and became what we know to-day as letters.
This process appears to have gone on independently in many parts of the
world. In many places it never got to the point of an alphabet, and this
arrest of development is not inconsistent with a high degree of
civilization. The Chinese and Japanese script, for example, are to this
day combinations of ideograms and phonograms.
Three of the great peoples of antiquity carried this process nearly or
quite to a conclusion, although the method followed and the results
reached were quite different in the three cases. The three
civilizations, of the Egyptians in the Nile Valley, the
Assyrio-Babylonians in the valley of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers,
and the Cretans, centering in Crete but spreading extensively through
the Mediterranean Basin, developed three great varieties of script. All
started with pictures. The Egyptians continued to use the pictures in
their formal inscriptions down to the Persian conquest in the 6th
century B.C. This picture writing or hieroglyphic was well developed
and in the phonogram stage about 5000 B.C. The formal picture writing
of the hieroglyphic was admirably suited to formal inscriptions either
carved in stone or painted on a variety of substances. It was not
suited, however, to the more rapid work of the recorder, the
correspondent, or the literary man. The scribes, or writers, therefore
developed a highly abbreviated and conventionalized form of hieroglyphic
which could be easily written with a reed pen on papyrus, a writing
material to be described presently. The first specimens of papyrus,
containing the earliest known specimens of this kind of writing, called
hieratic, date from about 3550 B.C. Even the hieratic was too formal
and cumbersome for the common people and was further abbreviated and
conventionalized into an alphabet known as the demotic which was in
common use among the Egyptians from about 1900 B.C. to 400 A.D.
[Illustration: Names in hieroglyphic text of three of the most famous
Pharaohs, Cheops, Thothmes III and Rameses II.]
Among the Assyrio-Babylonians the use of an entirely different kind of
writing material caused the development of a very different type of
script. The lands inherited by these people were clay lands and they
made enormous use of clay and its products for building materials,
utensils, and also writing material. The early inhabitants of this
region very soon found that a permanent record could be made by marking
a lump of soft clay with a sharp stick and then drying it in the sun or
baking it in an oven. Naturally the picture very soon degenerated into a
series of marks made by holding the stick, or pointed implement, nearly
parallel to the clay and then thrusting it into the surface. The
resultant mark was like the following: [Illustration: cuneiform] This
script is called "cuneiform," from two Latin words meaning "wedge
shaped," from the obvious resemblance of the marks to wedges. The number
and arrangement of these marks developed successively into phonograms,
ideograms, and letters. The language, which was very complicated in its
written form, retained all three to the last.
[Illustration: First line of a cuneiform inscription commemorating
victory of Shalmaneser over Hazael, King of Syria.]
The Cretan civilization has been unknown to us save through a few
uncertain references in Greek literature until within about twenty
years. Within that time many excavations have been made, many objects
recovered, and much progress made in the reconstruction of this ancient
civilization. The written language has been at least partially
recovered, although we are not sure that we have all the signs and we do
not know how to read any of them. These signs were of two sorts,
described as hieroglyphic and linear. The hieroglyphic signs are either
ideograms or phonograms. Whether the linear signs are a true alphabet or
a syllabary (each sign representing a complete syllable) we do not know.
These linear signs have close relations on one hand to the signs used in
the island of Cyprus, which we know to have been a syllabary, and on the
other to the signs used by the Phoenicians, which we know to have been
an alphabet.
There seems to be no question that the final step of discarding all
signs excepting the few representing the primary sounds of human speech,
and thus developing an alphabet pure and simple without concurrent use
of phonograms and ideograms, was made by the Phoenicians. The
Phoenicians were a trading people of Semitic origin (akin to the Jews
and other allied races) whose principal seats were at the eastern end of
the Mediterranean. Various theories have been put forth as to the origin
of their alphabet. It is clear that they did not originate it absolutely
but developed it from previously existing material. Attempts have been
made to connect it with the Assyrian cuneiform, and for many years it
was commonly believed to have been derived from the hieratic form of the
Egyptian. The evidence of later discoveries, together with the
difficulty of reconciling either of these theories with all the known
facts, points strongly to the conclusion that the principal source of
the Phoenician alphabet was the Cretan script, probably modified by
other elements derived from commercial intercourse with the Egyptians
and the Assyrians. From the Phoenician came the Greek alphabet. From
the Greek came the Roman, and from the Roman, with very little change,
came our own familiar alphabet. But that is not all. The Phoenician,
through various lines of descent, is the common mother of all the
alphabets in use to-day including those as different from our own and
from each other as the Hebrew, the Arabic, and the scripts of India. It
will be noted that there are now four great families of alphabets. They
are the Aramean which have the Hebrew as their common ancestor; the
Ethiopic which now exists in but one individual; the Indian which now
exists in three groups related respectively to the Burmese, Thibetan,
and Tamil; and the Hellenic, deriving from the Greek. The relations of
these groups are well worth study as indicating ancient lines of
conquest, immigration, and literary influence. The lines of descent are
shown in the table on the following page.
[Illustration: Inscription in the Cretan linear character from a vase.]
GENEALOGY OF THE ALPHABET
{ { Hebrew.
{ { Syriac.
{ { Mongolian.
{ ARAMEAN. { Arabic.
{ { Pehlevi.
{ { Armenian.
{ { Georgian.
{
{ { ETHIOPIC. Amharic.
{ {
{ { { Burmese.
{ { { Siamese.
{ { { PALI. { Javanese.
{ { { { Singalese.
{ { { { Corean.
{ { {
{ { { { Tibetan.
{ { { { Kashmiri.
PHOENICIAN. { SABAEAN. { INDIAN. { NAGARI. { Gujarati.
{ { { { Marathi.
{ { { { Bengali.
{ { { { Malayan.
{ { {
{ { { { Tamil.
{ { { DRAVIDIAN. { Telugu.
{ { Canarese.
{
{ { Greek.
{ HELLENIC. { Latin.
{ { Russian.
{ { Coptic.
This table, based on the studies of Canon Isaac Taylor, is taken from
Clodd's "Story of the Alphabet."
CHAPTER II
_Writing Materials_
As already indicated, the writing materials in use in different places
and at different times have varied greatly. Obviously anything capable
of receiving an impression or bearing a mark of any kind may be used as
material for receiving records or bearing communications.
The surface of a stone, a bone, or a shell, a flat piece of wood, bark
or leaf of a tree, a plate of metal, the facet of a gem, any one of a
thousand things can be used and has been used for this purpose. The
Egyptians and Greeks were in the habit of using the fragments of broken
pottery for their less important records. The materials which have been
most used, however, have been the Assyrian clay tablet, which has been
already described, papyrus, vellum, and paper.
Papyrus was made from a reed which grew abundantly in the Nile Valley
and less abundantly in some other places. It is now nearly extinct but
it grows in small quantities in Sicily, where papyrus is still made for
sale to tourists but not in commercial quantities. The reed was called
by the Greeks "_bublos_," or "_biblos_," from which the Greeks got the
word _biblion_, a book, and we get the words bible, bibliography, etc.
Papyrus was made by cutting the stalk of the reed lengthwise into very
thin strips. These strips were laid side by side on a board until the
desired width was obtained. Another layer of shorter strips was then
laid across the long ones entirely covering them. This mat, or "net" as
it was technically called, was then soaked in the water of the Nile.
Whether there was any particular virtue in the Nile water, which is
always more or less charged with mud, or the desired result was obtained
simply by the action of water on the reed itself, is not clear. After
the soaking was completed, the "net" was dried in the sun, hammered to
expel air and water, polished by rubbing with some hard smooth
substance, and probably sized, although it is possible that all the
sizing necessary was provided by the sap of the reed itself. The sheets
were then trimmed even and joined by the edges into a long strip,
usually of about twenty sheets. This was rolled on a stick and was then
ready for sale as writing material. The quality of the papyrus varied
according to the part of the reed from which the strips were cut, and it
was the commercial custom to put sheets of varying quality into the same
strip or roll. The best sheets were put on the end which would come on
the outside of the roll, grading down to the worst at the other end.
This was done for two reasons: first, in order that the best material
should come where it would receive the most wear, and secondly in order
that in case the roll was not entirely used the waste part should be of
inferior quality. Papyrus continued to be used as the general writing
material of the civilized world until about the time of Christ, and held
its place for certain purposes until the 11th century, at which period
we find it still used for Papal Bulls and other important documents. It
was revived in Egypt by the Copts, as the people of Egypt were then
called, in the 7th century and was used by them extensively until the
middle of the 13th.
[Illustration: Parchment-roll, or volumen. (Our word volume comes from
volumen.)]
From very early ages, leather was more or less used as writing material,
but in the 2nd century B.C., owing, it is said, to the scarcity and high
price of papyrus, Eumenes II, King of Pergamus, a city of Asia Minor,
invented or caused to be invented, a writing material made of dressed
skins. These skins were not tanned but were dressed by another method
which left them flexible but gave them a smooth hard surface which could
be easily written on. This material was called, from the name of the
city, _pergamena_, from which we get our "parchment." This term is now
practically reserved for sheepskins which are harder than other skins
used for the purpose. Parchment was long used for legal documents and is
still used for college diplomas and other similar purposes. The general
term, however, for this type of writing material, which was made from a
variety of skins, is vellum. Vellum, of course, came in sheets, and
while a single sheet might be rolled as diplomas are to this day rolled
for delivery, it was ordinarily used in the sheet form and played an
important part in the development of the book.
In the manufacture of vellum the skins of a variety of the smaller
animals were used. For example, the famous Alexandrian codex, one of the
oldest known copies of the Bible, is written on antelope skin. The skin
was first carefully cleaned and the hair removed by soaking in a
solution of lye. It was then thoroughly scraped with a knife to remove
all fatty or soft parts. It was then rubbed down with pumice stone.
Finally it was polished with agate.
Paper is said to have been invented by the Chinese at an unknown but
very early date. It was introduced to Europe by the Arabs about the 10th
century A.D. It was made of linen or rags and did not vary greatly from
the rag paper of to-day. As the process of manufacture is fully
described in the book on paper (No. 13) of this series, description is
not necessary here. Paper was not much used in Europe until the
invention of printing. Being much less substantial than vellum it did
not commend itself for the making of manuscript books. Paper was,
however, immediately found to be much better suited to printing than any
other material, and with the advent of the printed book it very quickly
drove other writing materials out of common use. Owing to its having
some resemblance to papyrus it was given the old name, the word paper
being derived from papyrus.
Late in the 19th century a new writing material made of wood or other
flexible fibre treated with chemicals and loaded with clay was invented,
to which we also give the name paper. This new material has almost
entirely driven the old rag paper out of the field and is now the paper
of commerce. Much of this material is far inferior to rag paper. The
inferior qualities of it, at any rate, lack durability even when not
exposed to wear. It is good enough for the great number of uses where
permanence is not required. It should only be used for books of
permanent value, especially for records and historical material, when
there can be no doubt of the care used in the manufacture and the
quality of the fibre employed. A 15th-century book on rag paper is as
good to-day as the day it was printed. Most of the paper now in use
possesses no such lasting qualities.
In addition to these three leading materials, much use has been made of
tablets (Latin _tabella_). The commonest form of tablet was a thin board
with one or both sides slightly cut away in such a way as to leave a
narrow rim all around. The shallow depression inside this rim was then
filled with wax sufficiently stiff to hold its position in ordinary
temperatures but sufficiently soft to be easily marked with a sharp
instrument called a stylus. The writing could be easily erased by
rubbing with a hard smooth object, perhaps a ball at the reverse end of
the stylus, and the wax was then ready for another impression. Sometimes
these tablets were made of wood covered with paint or a composition from
which the writing could be easily washed off. This was the prototype of
the schoolboy's slate of to-day and was used for the same purpose. While
tablets were ordinarily used for writing of a purely temporary nature,
they were occasionally used for permanent records and especially for
correspondence. Two or more tablets could be put together with the
wooden sides out, bound, and sealed. In this way the writing was secure
from observation or interference and the tablets were less liable to
injury than papyrus or vellum. Tablets were used at a very early period
and continued to be used, especially for correspondence, all through the
middle ages and into the 16th century. Sometimes a considerable number
of them would be fastened with thongs by one edge so as to form a
continuous document which was one of the precursors of the modern book.
The British Museum has a document of this sort consisting of nine leaves
about 7 x 9 inches. The writing on it is in shorthand, which is by no
means a modern contrivance. This particular document is of Greek origin
and dates from about the 3d century A.D.
The ancient Egyptians, Chinese, and other peoples of remote antiquity
used inks made of charcoal or soot mixed with gum, glue, or varnish.
Similar compositions were used to a late date. The Romans made extensive
use of sepia, the coloring substance obtained from the cuttlefish.
Irongall inks, inks that consist of an iron salt and tannin, were
invented by an 11th century monk named Theophilus. Of course these inks
were mixed with coloring matter, and other paints and pigments were used
in the preparation of manuscripts. The earlier printing inks were made
of lampblack and linseed oil. The subject of printing inks is fully
discussed in No. 12 of this series of text-books. The ink was ordinarily
applied by means of reeds which were either beaten out at the end into
fine brushes so that the characters were painted rather than written,
or sharpened and split at the end like a modern pen. Later the quill of
the goose or some other large bird, cut to a point and split, largely
took the place of the reed and continued to be the writer's tool for
centuries. In later years they have been displaced by the modern pen of
steel or gold. It is interesting to note that bronze pens imitating
quills were used by the Romans and some specimens are still preserved.
[Illustration: Mediaeval scribe at work, showing bookcase and writing
materials.]
The mediaeval scribe, or copyist, had in addition to his quill, ink, and
vellum, a pair of compasses to prick off the spacing of his lines, a
ruler and a sharpened instrument or pencil with which to draw the lines
upon which he was to write, a penknife for mending his pens, an erasing
knife for corrections, and pumice and agate, or other smooth substance,
for smoothing the scratched surface. The accompanying illustration shows
the mediaeval scribe and his outfit in an extremely interesting manner.
In the background appears the bookcase with its doors open showing the
manner in which books were then kept, laid on their sides and not
standing on their ends. The writer is busily at work upon his manuscript
and scattered around him are the tools of his trade. The inkstand is on
the table before him, the knife on one of the library shelves, the
compasses, a ruler, a ruling pencil, a rubber for smoothing down the
vellum, an open pen case, and other implements are all clearly shown.
CHAPTER III
_The Evolution of the Book_
As already indicated, ancient books were written on rolls of papyrus.
The technical name of such a roll of papyrus was _volumen_ from which we
get our word volume. With the increasing use of vellum as writing
material came the book as we know it, | 860.080774 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[Illustration: THE ADOPTED CHILD.
_It was now Anna's turn to support her father. page 139_]
THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER,
A TALE FOR
YOUNG PERSONS.
BY MISS SANDHAM,
_Author of "The Twin Sisters," "William Selwyn," and many
other Approved Works._
"You took me up a tender flower."
_SECOND EDITION._
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS AND SON,
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
1822.
LONDON
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.
PREFACE.
The following tale is intended to shew what people ought to be, rather
than what they are; as there are few, possessing Mrs. Meridith's
fortune, who have an inclination to dispose of it in the manner she is
represented to have done. Indeed, the characters here introduced are too
near perfection to be met with in real life, yet the Author hopes that
her young readers will receive instruction, as well as amusement, in
perusing it.
Some of the incidents may have been before introduced in works of the
same kind; though she is not aware of plagiarism, or borrowing from
other authors, and as she has endeavoured to pourtray those smaller
delineations of character which often escape a general observer, she
hopes many of the ideas will be found to be new; and that the present
work will not lesson the favour which her former publications has so
abundantly met with; and which she holds in grateful estimation.
THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
"You took me up a tender flower."
Mrs. Meridith was the heiress of two considerable estates, one of which
was in Sussex, on which she was born, and where, at the commencement
of this history, she came to reside: her earliest and happiest days of
childhood had been spent in the village adjoining, where she was nursed
by a respectable farmer's wife, having had the misfortune to lose her
mother, who died in bringing her into the world. Various sorrows,
and the loss of an affectionate husband very early in life, made Mrs.
Meridith prefer the quiet scenes of the country to the glitter of
dissipation, or the more uniform amusements of a provincial town; and
on entering Rosewood, the name of her estate, she hoped to lose the
remembrance of her distresses, which had hitherto heavily oppressed her,
in endeavouring to alleviate those of her tenants and the neighbouring
poor. Her father, Mr. Woodville, was a great fox-hunter, and on the
death of his wife, which he did not feel so keenly as might be expected
from the amiable character she possessed, earnestly entreated Mrs.
Campbell, who was the wife of his favourite tenant, to take charge of
the helpless infant. He could have wished she had been a boy, as she
was his only child; "yet," said he, "she must be taken care of, though
a female, and I will not injure the fortune to which she will be
entitled; and by and by, when she is old enough, I shall be glad to see
her at the head of my table;" but while she was a baby, he thought if
he entrusted her to a careful nurse, such as he was sure Mrs. Campbell
would be, it was all that could be required of him. Nor was he desirous
of having her in his own house, but perfectly satisfied that she should
be removed to the farm, where he could see her as often as he wished.
He frequently called on his return from the chace, and repeated his
thanks to Mrs. Campbell for her kind attention to his child, earnestly
requesting her not to want any thing which his house afforded; but Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell were above want, and possessed every comfort which
their moderate wishes required, so that, except the allotted stipend
which Mr. Woodville engaged to pay, she sought no other recompence, and
seldom went to Rosewood, but when its owner was confined by accident or
illness, and wished his daughter to be brought to him.
She continued with the farmer and his wife till nearly six years old,
regarding them as parents, and loving them equally with her father,
who, as she advanced in childhood, grew more attached to her, and,
pleased with her winning ways, he never came to the farm without some
new toy, or sweetmeat, or sugar-plums, the servants at home being
ordered to have something nice always in readiness for him to take to
their young mistress. These repeated presents insured him a welcome
from his daughter, nor did he suspect that he was buying that love
which she freely bestowed on her mammy Campbell, for so she styled her
affectionate nurse. The little girl who was her foster sister always
shared in these favours, and another part was put by for the boys till
their return from school, and whom she looked upon as her brothers.
It was the eldest of these boys who now occupied the farm on which Mrs.
Meridith had spent her infant days; his father and mother were both
dead, and he had taken a long lease of it just before that lady came
into possession of the estate. Mr. Woodville had been dead some years,
but Mrs. Meridith had not visited Rosewood since that event, nor after
her marriage till now, being deprived of her husband, with whom she
had lived on her other estate in Lincolnshire, she turned her thoughts
to Rosewood, where she hoped to forget her grief, and if any of the
companions of her childhood were living, she could by adding to their
comforts, increase her own. Here she found not the farmer Campbell she
had formerly called her father, but his son, whom she once loved as a
brother; her good old nurse had died a few years before, and her foster
sister also, but the latter had left a child, which the present Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell brought up as their own. There were but two houses
of any size in the village of Downash, except the parsonage, which was
occasionally occupied by the vicar, a single man, who lost the pleasure
he might have found in assisting those whom he professed to take the
care of, in drinking and visiting the neighbouring towns, as often as
his situation would allow: the others were occupied by farmer Campbell
and farmer Ward, who divided the arable land of Mrs. Meridith's estate
between them, and the cottages of their labourers formed what was called
the street. No sooner was Mrs. Meridith settled at Rosewood, than she
felt the ties of affection renewed which had bound her to it in infancy,
and she felt the truth of the following observation--
"Meanwhile returning to our native hearth,
"How keen the pleasure that our grief repays,
"When drinking every gale from kindred earth,
"As redolent of youth's refreshing days,
"Fancy the wonders of her art displays,
"And o'er each object we in absence mourn'd,
"Shedding the richness of her fairy rays;
"Bids e'en the little hedge-row that we scorn'd,
"Rise in a mellow light, by some new tint adorn'd."
_Local Attachment._
and she determined to seek for happiness once more within its precincts.
"Often as I have been disappointed in the search," said she, "and
severely as I have felt its loss, let me at least endeavour to use those
blessings yet left me for the good of others: and is wealth alone the
only blessing left me?" continued she, as she walked pensively up and
down the avenue which led to her house. "Alas! I have now no relations
whom I can share it with, no one whom I can call an intimate friend!
My fortune would make many profess to be such, but I have proved the
fallacy of such friendship, and know on what ground they are formed. I
will seek the Campbells: if they are like their parents, they will not
be parasites, for they were content with little, and thought the bread
they ate the sweeter for being procured by their own industry." With
these sentiments she called at the farm, within a few weeks after her
arrival at Rosewood, and found Mr. and Mrs. Campbell sensible of her
condescension, though not servilely so. They were both well informed,
and paid her the respect which was due to her as the owner of their
farm; nor were they ashamed to acknowledge her their superior, not only
from her possessing more money, but from the difference the distinctions
of society had made between them. She found the farmer sitting with two
children on his knee, and his wife with an infant on hers, in the very
place where the late Mrs. Campbell used to sit, and to whom she had
often ran with the sweet things her father brought her while a child
under her care. The shelves, the chairs, and oaken tables were the same
as when she lived there, except that several books were added to the
simple library her foster parents possessed. On entering the room quite
unexpectedly, she was not at first recollected as the lady they had seen
at church the Sunday before; her face was particularly expressive, but
it was marked with melancholy; and her voice faltered as she apologized
for her abruptness; nor could she refrain from tears on observing the
extreme likeness of the farmer to his good old mother, whose features
she perfectly recollected. "It is Mrs. Meridith!" said he, on seeing her
advance farther into their large stone kitchen; and setting the children
on their feet, who were lost in astonishment at the appearance of a
stranger, he jumped up and hastened to offer her a chair. Mrs. Campbell
also rose, and remarking the agitation of her countenance, imagined that
something had alarmed her, and she had fled to their house for shelter.
"Will you take any thing, Ma'am?" said she, "I am sure you are very
much frightened."
"No, no | 860.139919 |
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THE IRIS.
[Illustration: PRESENTED To
C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.]
[Illustration:
C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.
LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.]
[Illustration: The IRIS
Souvenir
C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.]
THE IRIS:
An Illuminated Souvenir,
FOR
MDCCCLII.
EDITED BY
JOHN S. HART, LL. D.
PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.
SUCCESSORS TO GRIGG, ELLIOT & CO.
1852.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,
BY LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
C. SHERMAN, PRINTER.
PREFACE.
Captain Eastman, of the United States Topographical Corps, having
been stationed for nine years on our northwestern frontier, among the
Indian tribes, at and around Fort Snelling, made a series of drawings
of some of the most striking and remarkable objects connected with the
Indian traditions. His accomplished lady, who was with him seven years
of this time, collected the traditions themselves, and wove them into
tales and poems that let us into the very heart of Indian life. The
whole of this valuable and original collection has been secured for the
Iris, and gives to the volume for 1852 its distinguishing feature. To
make the illustrations conform more to the character of the subjects,
they have all been printed in colours, in the style now so deservedly
popular. Last year the publishers gave only four of these gorgeous
illuminated pages. The present volume contains no less than twelve, all
from original designs, and all printed in ten different colours. The
happy blending of the colours in these pictures, the disposition of the
light and shade, and the skill with which they are printed, give them
the appearance of paintings rather than of prints. Such a collection
of gems of art in one volume, could not be made without a heavy
expense. But the publishers were desirous of making the Iris, as to the
splendour of its appearance, not unworthy of the celestial visitant
from which it has been named, and of the very marked favour with which
its predecessor of the last season was received.
The literary matter, like that of the former volume, is entirely
original, and with the exception of the beautiful poem by Miss Bremer,
entirely American, both as to subjects and authorship. Though there are
various shades of thought and feeling in these effusions of genius,
each subject being according to the mental constitution of the
writer, yet, as in the divine bow of promise, all colours are blended
and harmonized in the one aim to place before the beholder a new token
of hope and gladness.
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS
C. Schuessele del. Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.]
CONTENTS.
SUBJECT. AUTHOR. PAGE
PROEM. SARAH ROBERTS. 19
THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN. THE EDITOR. 21
DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS. FREDRIKA BREMER. 26
WE-HAR-KA, OR THE RIVAL CLANS. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 29
THE LAUGHING WATERS. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 69
O-KO-PEE, A HUNTER OF THE SIOUX. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 72
CHEQUERED CLOUD, THE AGED SIOUX WOMAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 80
FIRE-FACE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 84
DEATH-SONG OF AN INDIAN PRISONER. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 91
THE FALSE ALARM. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 95
INDIAN COURTSHIP. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 101
THE SACRIFICE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 104
AN INDIAN LULLABY. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 113
SOUNDING WIND, THE CHIPPEWAY BRAVE. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 117
AN INDIAN BALLAD. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 124
OLD JOHN, THE MEDICINE-MAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 127
A REMONSTRANCE. ELIZA L. SPROAT. 136
A FINE ART DISREGARDED. ELIZABETH WETHERELL. 139
MISSION CHURCH OF SAN JOSÉ. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 151
HAWKING. EDITH MAY. 155
HILLSIDE COTTAGE. MRS. JULIA C. R. DORR. 156
SUNSET ON THE DELAWARE. J. I. PEASE. 177
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. S. A. H. 178
CASTLE-BUILDING. JAMES T. MITCHELL. 180
THE LOVER'S LEAP, OR WENONA'S ROCK. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 185
THE INDIAN MOTHER. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 191
THE WOOD SPIRITS AND THE MAIDEN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 194
ALICE HILL. MRS. M. E. W. ALEXANDER. 196
DR. VANDORSEN AND THE YOUNG WIDOW. ANN E. PORTER. 206
A CENOTAPH. A BALLAD OF NATHAN HALE. ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH. 225
THE DREAMER. MARY E. HEWITT. 244
WHITE MOON AND FIERY MAN. MRS. MARY EASTMAN. 245
THE RAIN-DROP. MISS E. W. BARNES. 276
A PLEA FOR A CHOICE PICTURE. MISS L. S. HALL. 279
LOST AND WON. CAROLINE EUSTIS. 281
THE MISTRUSTED GUIDE. A WESTERN MISSIONARY. 283
A NIGHT IN NAZARETH. MARY YOUNG. 290
TEARS. CHARLES D. GARDETTE, M.D. 293
INCONSTANCY. E. M. 295
CROSSING THE TIDE. MISS PHŒBE CAREY. 297
THE IRIS.
PROEM.
BY SARAH ROBERTS.
They have christened me Iris; and why? oh, why?
Because, like the rainbow so bright,
I bring my own welcome, and tell my own tale,
And am hailed by all hearts with delight:
And this, this is why
I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.
The rainbow, it cometh'mid sunlight and tears,--
The tears it soon chaseth away;
I banish all sighs for the year that is passed,
And the future in sunlight array:
And this, this is why
I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.
The rainbow, it telleth of promise and love,
Of hope, with its gay, golden wing;
It whispers of peacefulness, purity, heaven,--
Of these lofty themes do I sing:
And this, this is why
I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.
The rainbow is painted in colours most fair,
By the hand of the Father of love;
So the genius and talent my pages bespeak,
Are inspired by the Great Mind above:
And this, this is why
I am named for the beautiful bow in the sky.
THE LANDING OF WILLIAM PENN.
BY THE EDITOR.
(See the Frontispiece.)
The first landing of William Penn at Newcastle, in 1682, is one
of those striking historical events that are peculiarly suited
for pictorial illustration. The late Mr. Duponceau, in one of his
discourses, first suggested the idea of making it the subject of an
historical painting. This idea is seized with avidity by Mr. Dixon, the
most recent biographer of the great Quaker, and the circumstances of
the landing are given accordingly, with much minuteness. The artist who
designed the picture that forms the frontispiece to the present volume
has had this description in view. I cannot do better, therefore, than
to quote the words of Mr. Dixon as the best possible commentary upon
the picture.
"On the 27th of October, nine weeks after the departure from Deal, the
_Welcome_ moored off Newcastle, in the territories lately ceded by the
Duke of York, and William Penn first set foot in the New World.[1] His
landing made a general holiday in the town; young and old, Welsh,
Dutch, English, Swedes, and Germans, crowded down to the landing-place,
each eager to catch a glimpse of the great man who had come amongst
them, less as their lord and governor than as their friend. In the
centre of the foreground, only distinguished from the few companions
of his voyage who have yet landed, by the nobleness of his mien, and a
light blue silken sash tied round his waist, stands William Penn; erect
in stature, every motion indicating courtly grace, his countenance
lighted up with hope and honest pride,--in every limb and feature
the expression of a serene and manly beauty.[2] The young officer
before him, dressed in the gay costume of the English service, is his
lieutenant, Markham, come to welcome his relative to the new land, and
to give an account of his own stewardship. On the right stand the chief
settlers of the district, arrayed in their national costumes, the light
hair and quick eye of the Swede finding a good foil in the stolid look
of the heavy Dutchman, who doffs his cap, but doubts whether he shall
take the pipe out of his mouth even to say welcome to the new governor.
A little apart, as if studying with the intense eagerness of Indian
skill the physiognomy of the ruler who has come with his children to
occupy their hunting-grounds, stands the wise and noble leader of the
Red Men, Taminent, and a party of the Lenni Lenapé in their picturesque
paints and costume. Behind the central figure are grouped the principal
companions of his voyage; and on the dancing waters of the Delaware
rides the stately ship, while between her and the shore a multitude of
light canoes dart to and fro, bringing the passengers and merchandise
to land. Part of the background shows an irregular line of streets and
houses, the latter with the pointed roofs and fantastic gables which
still delight the artist's eye in the streets of Leyden or Rotterdam;
and further on the view is lost in one of those grand old pine and
cedar forests which belong essentially to an American scene."
I take much pleasure in quoting also, in this connexion, another scene
of somewhat similar character, though greatly misrepresented in the
ordinary pictures of it heretofore given. Penn's personal appearance
has been even more misapprehended than his character. He was, indeed,
one of the most handsome men of his age, and at the time of his first
coming to America he was in the very prime of life. West makes him an
ugly, fat old fellow, in a costume half a century out of date. So says
Mr. Dixon. The passage referred to, and about to be quoted, is from a
description of the celebrated Treaty with the Indians at Shackamaxon.
"This conference has become one of the most striking scenes in history.
Artists have painted, poets have sung, philosophers have applauded
it; but it is nevertheless clear, that in words and colours it has
been equally and generally misrepresented, because painters, poets,
and historians have chosen to draw on their own imaginations for the
features of a scene, every marking line of which they might have
recovered from authentic sources.
"The great outlines of nature are easily obtained. There, the dense
masses of cedar, pine, and chestnut, stretching far away into the
interior of the land; here, the noble river rolling its waters down
to the Atlantic Ocean; along its surface rose the purple smoke of the
settlers' homestead; on the opposite shores lay the fertile and settled
country of New Jersey. Here stood the gigantic elm which was to become
immortal from that day forward,--and there lay the verdant council
chamber formed by nature on the surface of the soil. In the centre
stood William Penn, in costume undistinguished from the surrounding
group, save by the silken sash. His costume was simple, but not
pedantic or ungainly: an outer coat, reaching to the knees, and covered
with buttons, a vest of other materials, but equally ample, trousers
extremely full, slashed at the sides, and tied with strings or ribbons,
a profusion of shirt sleeves and ruffles, with a hat of the cavalier
shape (wanting only the feather), from beneath the brim of which
escaped the curls of a new peruke, were the chief and not ungraceful
ingredients.[3] At his right hand stood Colonel Markham, who had met
the Indians in council more than once on that identical spot, and was
regarded by them as a firm and faithful friend; on his left Pearson,
the intrepid companion of his voyage; and near his person, but a little
backward, a band of his most attached adherents. When the Indians
approached in their old forest costume, their bright feathers sparkling
in the sun, and their bodies painted in the most gorgeous manner, the
governor received them with the easy dignity of one accustomed to mix
with European courts. As soon as the reception was over, the sachems
retired to a short distance, and after a brief consultation among
themselves, Taminent, the chief sachem or king, a man whose virtues
are still remembered by the sons of the forest, advanced again a few
paces, and put upon his own head a chaplet, into which was twisted a
small horn: this chaplet was his symbol of power; and in the customs of
the Lenni Lenapé, whenever the chief placed it upon his brows the spot
became at once sacred, and the person of every one present inviolable.
The venerable Indian king then seated himself on the ground, with the
older sachems on his right and left, the middle-aged warriors ranged
themselves in the form of a crescent or half-moon round them, and the
younger men formed a third and outer semicircle. All being seated in
this striking and picturesque order, the old monarch announced to the
governor that the natives were prepared to hear and consider his words.
Penn then rose to address them, his countenance beaming with all the
pride of manhood. He was at this time thirty-eight years old; light and
graceful in form; the handsomest, best-looking, most lively gentleman
she had ever seen, wrote a lady who was an eyewitness of the ceremony."
[Footnote 1: "Watson, 16; Day, 299. The landing of Penn in America
is commemorated on the 24th of October, that being the date given by
Clarkson; but the diligent antiquary, Mr. J. F. Watson, has found in
the records of Newcastle the original entry of his arrival."]
[Footnote 2: "The portrait by West is utterly spurious and unlike.
Granville Penn, MSS."]
[Footnote 3: "Penn. Hist. Soc. Mem., iii. part ii. 76."]
DIFFERENT IMPRESSIONS.
BY FREDRIKA BREMER.
I was in company
With men and women,
And heard small talk
Of little things,
Of poor pursuits
And narrow views
Of narrow minds.
I rushed out
To breathe more freely,
To look on nature.
The evening star
Rose grave and bright,
The western sky
Was warm with light,
And the young moon
Shone softly down
Among the shadows
Of the town,
Where whispering trees
And fragrant flowers
Stood hushed in silent,
Balmy bowers.
All was romance,
All loveliness,
Wrapped in a trance
Of mystic bliss.
I looked on
In bitterness,
And sighed and asked,
Why the great Lord
Made so rich beauty
For such a race
Of little men?
I was in company
With men and women,
Heard noble talk
Of noble things,
Of noble doings,
And manly suffering
And man's heart beating
For all mankind.
The evening star
Seemed now less bright,
The western sky
Of paler light,
All nature's beauty
And romance,
So lovely
To gaze upon,
Retired at once,
A shadow but to that of man!
[Illustration:
C. Schuessele del. Drawn by Cap^{t.} S. Eastman.
Chromolith of P. S. Duval Ph.
WE-HAR-KA.]
WE-HAR-KA,
OR, THE RIVAL CLANS.
BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN.
The Indian settlement, the opening scene of our story, presented a
different appearance from what we call an Indian village at the present
day. The lodges were far more numerous, and the Indians were not
drooping about, without energy, and apparently without occupation. The
long line of hills did not echo the revels of the drunkard, nor were
the faces of the people marked with anxiety and care. The untaught and
untamed dispositions of the red men were as yet unaffected by the evil
influences of the degenerate white man.
The Sioux[4] were in their summer-houses, and the village stretched
along the bank of the river for a quarter of a mile. It reached back,
too, to the foot of a high hill, and some of the lodges were shaded by
the overhanging branches of the elm and maple. Above the homes of the
living might be seen the burial-place of the dead; for, on the summit
of the hill the enveloped forms of the departed were receiving the last
red beams of the retiring sun, whose rising and repose were now for
ever unnoticed by them.
The long, warm day was closing in, and the Indians were enjoying
themselves in the cool breezes that were stirring the waves of the
river and the wild flowers that swept over its banks. They were
collected in groups in every direction, but the largest party might be
found surrounding a mat, on which was seated the old war-chief of the
band, who had long dragged a tedious existence, a care to others and
a burden to himself. The mat was placed near the wigwam, so that the
sides of the wigwam supported the back of the aged and infirm warrior.
His hair was cut straight over his forehead, but behind it hung in long
locks over his neck.
Warm as was the season, the buffalo robe was wrapped around him, the
fur side next to him, while on the outside, in Indian hieroglyphics,
might be read many an event of his life. Around the edge of the robe
was a row of hands painted in different colours, representing the
number of enemies he had killed in battle. In the centre of the robe
were drawn the sun and morning star, objects of worship among the
Sioux, and placed on the robe as a remedy for a severe sickness which
once prostrated his vital powers, but was conquered by the efficacious
charm contained in the representation. Ornaments of different kinds
adorned his person; but his limbs were shrunken to the bone with age,
and the time had long since come to him when even the grasshopper was
a burden.
The features of the Sioux were still expressive, though the eyes
were closed and the lips thin and compressed; he was encircled with
a dignity, which, in all ages and climes, attaches itself to an
honourable old age.
Close by his side, and contrasting strongly with the war-chief, was one
of his nearest relations. She was his granddaughter, the orphan girl of
his favourite son. She was at once his companion, attendant, and idol.
They were never separated, that old man and young girl; for a long time
he had been fed by her hands, and now he never saw the light of the sun
he worshipped except when she raised and held open the eyelids which
weakness had closed over his eyes. She had just assisted his tottering
steps, and seated him on the mat, where he might enjoy the pleasant
evening-time and the society of those who delighted in the strange
stories his memory called up, or who were willing to receive the advice
which the aged are ever privileged to pour into the hearts of the young.
The evening meal of the warrior had been a light one, for We-har-ka
still held in her small and beautiful hand a bark dish, which contained
venison cut up in small pieces, occasionally pressing him to eat again.
It was evident there was something unusual agitating his thoughts, for
he impatiently put aside the hand that fed him, and taking his pipe,
the handle of which was elaborately adorned, he held it to have it
lighted, then dreamily and quietly placed it in his mouth.
He had long been an object of reverence to his people; though
superseded as a warrior and a leader, yet his influence was still
acknowledged in the band which he had so long controlled. He had kept
this alive in a great measure by the oft-repeated stories of his
achievements, and above all, by the many personal encounters he had
had, not only with his enemies, but with the gods, the objects of their
devotion and fear.
The pipe was soon laid aside, and his low and murmuring words could not
be understood by the group, that, attracted by the unusual excitement
that showed itself in the war-chief's manner, had pressed near him.
After a short communing with himself he placed his hand upon the head
of the girl, who was watching every change in his expressive face. "My
daughter," he said, "you will not be alone--the Eagle Eye will not
again see the form of his warrior son: he would have charged him to
care for his sister, even as the small birds watch and guard around the
home of the forest god.
"The children of the Great Spirit must submit to his will. My heart
would laugh could I again see the tall form of my grandson. I would see
once more the fleetness of his step and the strength of his arm; but
it is not to be. Before he shall return, crying, 'It is for my father,
the scalp of his enemy,' I shall be roaming over the hunting-grounds of
the Great Spirit. Do not weep, my daughter; you will be happy in your
husband's wigwam, and you will tell your children how the Eagle Eye
loved you, even till his feet started on the warrior's journey.
"Your brother will return," he continued, "and it is for him that I lay
aside the pipe, which I shall never smoke again; the drum that I have
used since I have been a medicine-man, I wish laid near my side when I
shall be dead, and wrapped in the buffalo robe which will cover me.
"You, my braves, shall know whence I obtained this drum. It has often
brought back life to the dying man, and its sound has secured us
success in battle. I have often told you that I had seen the God of the
Great Deep in my dreams, and from him I obtained power to strike terror
to the hearts of my enemies. Who has shouted the death-cry oftener
than I? Look at the feathers[5] of honour in my head! What enemy ever
heard the name of Eagle Eye without trembling? But I, terrible as I
have been to my enemies, must grow weak like a woman, and die like a
child. The waters of the rivers rush on; you may hear them and trace
their way, but soon they join the waves of the great deep, and we see
them no more--so I am about to join the company in the house of the
Great Spirit, and when your children say, 'Where is Eagle Eye?' you may
answer, 'The Great Spirit has called him, we cannot go where he is.'
"It was from Unk-ta-he, the god of the great deep, that I received that
drum. Before I was born of woman I lived in the dark waters. Unk-ta-he
rose up with his terrible eyes, and took me to his home. I lived with
him and the other gods of the sea. I cannot to you all repeat the
lessons of wisdom he has taught me; it is a part of the great medicine
words that women should never hear.
"There, in the home of the god of the sea, I saw many wonders--the
large doors through which the water gods passed when they visited the
earth, the giant trees lying in the water higher than our mountains.
They had lightning too, the weapons of the thunder birds;[6] when the
winds arose, and the sea waved, then did Unk-ta-he hurl the streaked
fire to the earth through the waters.
"The god of the great deep gave me this drum, and I wish it buried with
me; he told me when I struck the drum my will should be obeyed, and it
has been so.
"When my son returns, tell him to let his name be terrible like his
grandfather's. Tell him that my arm was like a child's because of the
winters I had seen, but that he must revenge his brother's death; then
will he be like the brave men who have gone before him, and his deeds
will be remembered as long as the Dacotas hate their enemies. The
shadows grow deeper on the hills, and the long night will soon rest
upon the head of the war-chief. I am old, yet my death-song shall call
back the spirits of the dead. Where are the Chippeways, my enemies? See
their red scalps scorching in the sun! I am a great warrior; tell me,
where is the enemy who fears me not!"
While the voice of the old man now rose with the excitement that was
influencing, now fell with the exhaustion, which brought big drops of
perspiration on his face, the Indians were collecting in a crowd around
him.
It was, indeed, a glorious evening for the war-chief to die. The
horizon was a mass of crimson clouds, their gorgeous tints were
reflected on the river; the rocky bluffs rose up like castle walls
around the village, while on the opposite shore the deer were parting
the foliage with their graceful heads and drinking from the low banks.
We-har-ka wiped the forehead and brow of her grandfather. There was
something of more than ordinary interest about the appearance of this
young person: her features were regularly formed, their expression
mild; her figure light and yielding as a young tree; her hair was
neatly parted and gathered in small braids over her neck; her dress
well calculated to display the grace of her figure; a heavy necklace of
wampum[7] covered her throat and neck, and on her bosom was suspended
the holy cross!
Her complexion was lighter than usual for an Indian girl, owing to the
confinement occasioned by the charge of her infirm relative; a subdued
melancholy pervaded her features, and even the tone of her voice.
There was a pause, for the warrior slept a few moments, and again
his voice was heard. Death was making him mindful of the glorious
achievements of his life. Again he was brandishing his tomahawk
in circles round the head of his fallen foe; again he taunted his
prisoner, whose life he had spared that he might enjoy his sufferings
under the torment; again, with a voice as strong as in early manhood,
he shouted the death-cry--it was his own, for not another sound, not
even a sigh escaped him.
* * * * *
Gently they moved him into the wigwam. We-har-ka stood by his head.
There was no loud wailing, for he had outlived almost all who were
bound to him by near ties.
Those who stood around heaped their most cherished possessions on his
feet: the knife, the pipe, and the robe were freely and affectionately
offered to the dead.
We-har-ka gazed earnestly upon him: large tears fell on her bosom and
on the old man's brow. Some one drew near and respectfully covered his
venerable face: the drum was placed, as he requested, at his side.
One of the men said, "Eagle Eye takes proud steps as he travels towards
the land of souls. His heart has long been where warriors chase the
buffalo on the prairies of the Great Spirit." We-har-ka drew from her
belt her knife, and cut long, deep gashes on her round arms; then, not
heeding the wounds,[8] she severed the braids of her glossy hair, and
cutting them off with the knife, red with her own blood, she threw them
at her feet.
How did the holy cross find its way to the wilds of a new country?
A savage, yet powerful nation, idolaters at heart and in practice,
bending to the sun, the forests, and the sea--how was it that the sign
of the disciple of Jesus lay glittering on the bosom of one of the
women of this heathen race?
Did the Christian hymn of praise ever rise with the soft and silvery
vapours of morning to the heavens? Had the low and earnest Christian's
prayer ever sounded among the bluffs that towered and the islands that
slept? Never, and yet the emblem of their faith was there.
But, to what region did not the Jesuit penetrate? Hardly were the
resources of our country discovered, before they were upon its shores.
They were there, with their promises and penances, their soft words and
their Latin prayers, with purposes not to be subdued in accomplishing
the mission for which they were sent. Was it a mission of faith, or
of gain? Was it to extend the hopes and triumphs of the cross, or to
aggrandize a Society always overflowing with means and with power?
Witness the result.
Yet they poured like rain into the rich and beautiful country of
Acadie.[9] See them passing through forests where the dark trees bent
to and fro "like giants possessing fearful secrets," enduring hunger,
privation, and fatigue. See them again in their frail barks bounding
over the angry waters of Huron, riding upon its mountain waves, and
often cast upon its inhospitable rocks.
Follow them as they tread the paths where the moccasin-step alone had
ever been heard, regardless of danger and of death, planting the cross
even in the midst of a Dacota village. Could this be for aught save the
love of the Saviour? Those who know the history of the Society founded
by Loyola, best can tell.
Among the ranks of the Jesuit were found the Christian and the martyr,
as, among the priesthood of Rome, in her darkest days, were here and
there those whose robes have, no doubt, been washed in the blood of the
Lamb.
Those hearts that were really touched with the truth divine, drew
nearer to the path of duty by the solemn spectacle of man, standing on
the earth, gay and beautiful as if light had just been created, yet not
even knowing of the existence of his great Creator.
Not far from the wigwam of the dead chief, Father Blanc knelt before
the altar which he had erected. He wore the black robe of his order,
and as he knelt, the strange words he uttered sounded stranger still
here. On the altar were the crucifix and many of the usual ornaments
carried by the wandering Romish priests.
Flowers too were strewn on the altar, flowers large and beautiful, such
as he had never seen even in _la belle France_. He chaunted the vespers
alone, and had but just risen from his devotions when the dying cry of
the war-chief rung through the village.
The priest walked slowly to the scene of death. Why was he not
there before with the cross and the holy oil? Ah! the war-chief
was no subject for the Jesuit faith--he had worshipped too long
Wakinyan-Unk-ta-he to listen | 860.139951 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.1590040 | 2,410 | 16 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v2
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| 860.179044 |
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POPULAR JUVENILE BOOKS.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
_RAGGED DICK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. RAGGED DICK; OR, STREET LIFE IN NEW YORK.
II. FAME AND FORTUNE; OR, THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD
HUNTER.
III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.
IV. ROUGH AND READY; OR, LIFE AMONG THE NEW YORK
NEWSBOYS.
V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY. (In April, 1870.)
VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; OR, THE FORTUNES OF ROUGH AND
READY. (In December, 1870.)
_Price, $1.25 per volume._
_CAMPAIGN SERIES._
_Complete in Three Vols._
I. FRANK'S CAMPAIGN.
II. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.
_Price, $1.25 per volume._
_LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. LUCK AND PLUCK; OR, JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
_Price, $1.50 per volume._
[Illustration]
[Illustration: LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES.
BY HORATIO ALGER JR.
LUCK and PLUCK.]
LUCK AND PLUCK;
OR,
JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FAME AND FORTUNE," "MARK, THE MATCH
BOY," "ROUGH AND READY," "CAMPAIGN SERIES," ETC.
LORING, Publisher,
819 WASHINGTON STREET,
BOSTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
A. K. LORING,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
122 Washington Street.
To
MY YOUNG FRIENDS,
ISAAC AND GEORGE,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"Luck and Pluck" appeared as a serial story in the juvenile department
of Ballou's Magazine for the year 1869, and is therefore already
familiar to a very large constituency of young readers. It is now
presented in book form, as the first of a series of six volumes,
designed to illustrate the truth that a manly spirit is better than
the gifts of fortune. Early trial and struggle, as the history of the
majority of our successful men abundantly attests, tend to strengthen
and invigorate the character.
The author trusts that John Oakley, his young hero, will find many
friends, and that his career will not only be followed with interest,
but teach a lesson of patient fortitude and resolute endeavor, and a
determination to conquer fortune, and compel its smiles. He has no
fear that any boy-reader will be induced to imitate Ben Brayton, whose
selfishness and meanness are likely to meet a fitting recompense.
NEW YORK, NOV. 8, 1869.
LUCK AND PLUCK;
OR,
JOHN OAKLEY'S INHERITANCE.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCING TWO BOYS AND A HORSE.
"What are you going to do with that horse, Ben Brayton?"
"None of your business!"
"As the horse happens to belong to me, I should think it was
considerable of my business."
"Suppose you prove that it belongs to you," said Ben, coolly.
"There is no need of proving it. You know it as well as I do."
"At any rate, it doesn't belong to you now," said Ben Brayton.
"I should like to know why not?"
"Because it belongs to me."
"Who gave it to you?"
"My mother."
"It wasn't hers to give."
"You'll find that the whole property belongs to her. Your father left
her everything, and she has given the horse to me. Just stand aside
there; I'm going to ride."
John Oakley's face flushed with anger, and his eyes flashed. He was
a boy of fifteen, not tall, but stout and well-proportioned, and
stronger than most boys of his age and size, his strength having
been developed by rowing on the river, and playing ball, in both of
which he was proficient. Ben Brayton was a year and a half older,
and half a head taller; but he was of a slender figure, and, having
no taste for vigorous out-of-door amusements, he was not a match in
strength for the younger boy. They were not related by blood, but
both belonged to the same family, Ben Brayton's mother having three
years since married Squire Oakley, with whom she had lived for a year
previous as house-keeper. A week since the squire had died, and when,
after the funeral, the will had been read, it was a matter of general
astonishment that John, the testator's only son, was left entirely
unprovided for, while the entire property was left to Mrs. Oakley.
John, who was of course present at the reading of the will, was
considerably disturbed at his disinheritance; not because he cared for
the money so much as because it seemed as if his father had slighted
him. Not a word, however, had passed between him and his father's widow
on the subject, and things had gone on pretty much as usual, until
the day on which our story commences. John had just returned from the
village academy, where he was at the head of a class preparing for
college, when he saw Ben Brayton, the son of Mrs. Oakley by a former
marriage preparing to ride out on a horse which for a year past had
been understood to be his exclusive property. Indignant at this, he
commenced the conversation recorded at the beginning of this chapter.
"Stand aside there, John Oakley, or I'll ride over you!"
"Will you, though?" said John, seizing the horse by the bridle. "That's
easier said than done."
Ben Brayton struck the horse sharply, hoping that John would be
frightened and let go; but our hero clung to the bridle, and the horse
began to back.
"Let go, I tell you!" exclaimed Ben.
"I won't!" said John, sturdily.
The horse continued to back, until Ben, who was a coward at heart,
becoming alarmed, slid off from his back.
"That's right," said John, coolly. "Another time you'd better not
meddle with my horse."
"I'll meddle with you, and teach you better manners!" exclaimed Ben, a
red spot glowing in each of his pale cheeks.
As he spoke, he struck John smartly over the shoulders with the small
riding-whip he carried.
John was not quarrelsome. I am glad to bear this testimony to his
character, for I have a very poor opinion of quarrelsome boys; but he
had a spirit of his own, and was not disposed to submit tamely to a
blow. He turned upon Ben instantly, and, snatching the whip from his
hand, struck him two blows in return for the one he had received.
"I generally pay my debts with interest, Ben Brayton," he said, coolly.
"You ought to have thought of that before you struck me."
A look of fierce vindictiveness swept over the olive face of his
adversary as he advanced for another contest.
"Stand back there!" exclaimed John, flourishing the whip in a
threatening manner. "I've paid you up, and I don't want to strike you
again."
"I'll make you smart for your impudence!" fumed Ben, trying to get
near enough to seize the whip from his hands.
"I didn't strike first," said John, "and I shan't strike again, unless
I am obliged to in self-defence."
"Give me that whip!" screamed Ben, livid with passion.
"You can't have it."
"I'll tell my mother."
"Go and do it if you like," said John, a little contemptuously.
"Let go that horse."
"It's my own, and I mean to keep it."
"It is not yours. My mother gave it to me."
"It wasn't hers to give."
John still retained his hold of the saddle, and kept Ben at bay
with one hand. He watched his opportunity until Ben had retreated
sufficiently far to make it practicable, then, placing his foot in the
stirrup, lightly vaulted upon the horse, and, touching him with the
whip, he dashed out of the yard. Ben sprang forward to stop him; but he
was too late.
"Get off that horse!" he screamed.
"I will when I've had my ride," said John, turning back in his saddle.
"Now, Prince, do your best."
This last remark was of course addressed to the horse, who galloped up
the street, John sitting on his back, with easy grace, as firmly as if
rooted to the saddle; for John was an admirable horseman, having been
in the habit of riding ever since he was ten years old.
Ben Brayton looked after him with a face distorted with rage and envy.
He would have given a great deal to ride as well as John; but he was
but an indifferent horseman, being deficient in courage, and sitting
awkwardly in the saddle. He shook his fist after John's retreating
form, muttering between his teeth, "You shall pay for this impudence,
John Oakley, and that before you are twenty-four hours older! I'll see
whether my mother will allow me to be insulted in this way!"
Sure of obtaining sympathy from his mother, he turned his steps towards
the house, which he entered.
"Where's my mother?" he inquired of the servant.
"She's upstairs in her own room, Mr. Benjamin," was the answer.
Ben hurried upstairs, and opened the door at the head of the staircase.
It was a spacious chamber, covered with a rich carpet, and handsomely
furnished. At the time of his mother's marriage to Squire Oakley, she
had induced him to discard the old furniture, and refurnish it to suit
her taste. There were some who thought that what had been good enough
for the first Mrs. Oakley, who was an elegant and refined lady, ought
to have been good enough for one, who, until her second marriage, had
been a house-keeper. But, by some means,--certainly not her beauty, for
she was by no means handsome,--she had acquired an ascendency over the
squire, and he went to considerable expense to gratify her whim.
Mrs. Oakley sat at the window, engaged in needlework. She was tall and
thin, with a sallow complexion, and pale, colorless lips. Her eyes were
gray and cold. There was a strong personal resemblance between Ben and
herself, and there was reason to think that he was like her in his
character and disposition as well as in outward appearance. She was
dressed in black, for the husband who had just died.
"Why have you not gone out to ride, Ben?" she asked, as her son entered
the room.
"Because that young brute prevented me."
"Whom do you mean?" asked his mother.
"I mean John Oakley, of course."
"How could he prevent you?"
"He came up just as I was going to start, and told me to get off the
horse,--that it was his."
"And you were coward enough to do it?" said his mother, scornfully.
"No. I told him it was not his any longer; that you had given it to me."
"What did he say then?"
"That you had no business to give it away, as it was his."
"Did he say that?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, her gray eyes flashing angrily.
"Yes, he did."
"Why didn't you ride off without minding him?"
"Because he took the horse by the bridle, and made him contrary; I
didn't want to be thrown, so I jumped off."
"Did you have the whip in your hand?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you lay it over his back? That might have taught him
better manners."
"So I did."
"You did right," said his mother, with satisfaction; for she had never
liked her husband's son. His frank, brave, generous nature differed too
much from her own to lead to any affection between them. She felt that
he outshone her own son, and far exceeded him in personal gifts and
popularity with the young people of the neighborhood, and it made her
angry with him. Besides, she had a suspicion that Ben was deficient in
courage, and it pleased her to think that he had on this occasion acted
manfully.
"Then I don't see why you didn't jump on the horse again and ride
away," she continued.
"Because," said Ben, reluctantly, "John got the whip away from me."
"Did he strike you with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, quickly.
"Yes," said Ben, vindictively. "He struck me twice, the ruffian! But
I'll be even with him yet!"
"You shall be even with him," said Mrs. Oakley, pressing her thin lips
firmly together. "But I'm ashamed of you for standing still and bearing
the insult like a whipped dog."
"I tried to get at him," said Ben; "but he kept flourishing the whip,
so that I couldn't get a chance."
"Where is he now?"
"He's gone to ride."
"Gone to ride! You let him do it?"
"I couldn't help it; he was too quick for me. He jumped on the horse
before I knew what he was going to do, and dashed out of the yard at
full speed."
"He is an impertinent young rebel!" said Mrs. Oakley, angrily. "I am
ashamed of you for letting him get the advantage of you; but I am very
angry with him. So he said that I had no business to give you the
horse, did he?"
"Yes; he has no more respect for you than for a servant," said Ben,
artfully, knowing well that nothing would be so likely to make his
mother angry as this. Having once been in a subordinate position,
she was naturally suspicious, and apprehensive that she would not be
treated with a proper amount of respect by those around her. It was
Ben's object to incense his mother against John, feeling that in this
way he would best promote his own selfish ends.
"So he has no respect for me?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, angrily.
"None at all," said Ben, decisively. "He says you have no right here,
nor I either."
This last statement was an utter fabrication, as Ben well knew; for
John, though he had never liked his father's second wife, had always
treated her with the outward respect which propriety required. He was
not an impudent nor a disrespectful boy; but he had a proper spirit,
and did not choose to be bullied by Ben, whom he would have liked if
he had possessed any attractive qualities. It had never entered his
mind to grudge him the equal advantages which Squire Oakley, for his
mother's sake, had bestowed upon her son. He knew that his father was
a man of property, and that there was enough for both. When, however,
Ben manifested a disposition to encroach upon his rights, John felt
that the time for forbearance had ceased, and he gave him distinctly to
understand that there was a limit beyond which he must not pass. Very
soon after Ben first entered the family John gave him a thrashing,--in
self-defence, however,--of which he complained to his mother. Though
very angry, she feared to diminish her influence with his father
by moving much in the matter, and therefore contented herself by
cautioning Ben to avoid him as much as possible.
"Some time or other he shall be punished," she said; "but at present it
is most prudent for us to keep quiet and bide our time."
Now, however, Mrs. Oakley felt that the power was in her own hands.
She had no further necessity for veiling her real nature, or
refraining from gratifying her resentment. The object for which she
had schemed--her husband's property--was hers, and John Oakley was
dependent upon her for everything. If she treated him ungenerously, it
would create unfavorable comments in the neighborhood; but for this
she did not care. The property was hers by her husband's will, and
no amount of censure would deprive her of it. She would now be able
to enrich Ben at John's expense, and she meant to do it. Henceforth
Ben would be elevated to the position of heir, and John must take a
subordinate position as a younger son, or, perhaps, to speak still more
accurately, as a poor relation with a scanty claim upon her bounty.
"I'll break that boy's proud spirit," she said to herself. "He has
been able to triumph over Ben; but he will find that I am rather more
difficult to deal with."
There was an expression of resolution upon her face, and a vicious
snapping of the eyes, which boded ill to our hero. Mrs. Oakley
undoubtedly had the power to make him uncomfortable, and she meant to
do it, unless he would submit meekly to her sway. That this was not
very likely may be judged from what we have already seen of him.
Mrs. Oakley's first act was to bestow on Ben the horse, Prince, which
had been given to John a year before by his father. John had been
accustomed to take a daily ride on Prince, whom he had come to love.
The spirited horse returned his young master's attachment, and it
was hard to tell which enjoyed most the daily gallop, the horse or
his rider. To deprive John of Prince was to do him a grievous wrong,
since it was, of all his possessions, the one which he most enjoyed.
It was the more unjustifiable, since, at the time Prince had been
bought for John, Squire Oakley, in a spirit of impartial justice, had
offered to buy a horse for Ben also; but Ben, who had long desired to
own a gold watch and chain, intimated this desire to his mother, and
offered to relinquish the promised horse if the watch and chain might
be given him. Squire Oakley had no objection to the substitution, and
accordingly the same day that Prince was placed in the stable, subject
to John's control, a valuable gold watch and chain, costing precisely
the same amount, was placed in Ben's hands. Ben was delighted with his
new present, and put on many airs in consequence. Now, however, he
coveted the horse as well as the watch, and his mother had told him he
might have it. But it seemed evident that John would not give up the
horse without a struggle. Ben, however, had enlisted his mother as his
ally, and felt pretty confident of ultimate victory.
CHAPTER II.
JOHN RECEIVES SOME PROFESSIONAL ADVICE.
John Oakley had triumphed in his encounter with Ben Brayton, and rode
off like a victor. Nevertheless he could not help feeling a little
doubtful and anxious about the future. There was no doubt that Ben
would complain to his mother, and as it was by her express permission
that he had taken the horse, John felt apprehensive that there would
be trouble between himself and his stepmother. I have already said,
that, though a manly boy, he was not quarrelsome. He preferred to live
on good terms with all, not excepting Ben and his mother, although he
had no reason to like either of them. But he did not mean to be imposed
upon, or to have his just rights encroached upon, if he could help it.
What should he do if Ben persevered in his claim and his mother
supported him in it? He could not decide. He felt that he must be
guided by circumstances. He could not help remembering how four years
before Mrs. Brayton (for that was her name then) answered his father's
advertisement for a house-keeper; how, when he hesitated in his choice,
she plead her poverty, and her urgent need of immediate employment; and
how, influenced principally by this consideration, he took her in place
of another to whom he had been more favorably inclined. How she should
have obtained sufficient influence over his father's mind to induce
him to make her his wife after the lapse of a year, John could not
understand. He felt instinctively that she was artful and designing,
but his own frank, open nature could hardly be expected to fathom hers.
He remembered again, how, immediately after the marriage, Ben was sent
for, and was at once advanced to a position in the household equal to
his own. Ben was at first disposed to be polite, and even subservient
to himself, but gradually, emboldened by his mother's encouragement,
became more independent, and even at times defiant. It was not,
however, until now that he had actually begun to encroach upon John's
rights, and assume airs of superiority. He had been feeling his way,
and waited until it would be safe to show out his real nature.
John had never liked Ben,--nor had anybody else except his mother
felt any attachment for him,--but he had not failed to treat him with
perfect politeness and courtesy. Though he had plenty of intimations
from the servants and others that it was unjust to him that so much
expense should be lavished upon Ben, he was of too generous a nature to
feel disturbed by it, or to grudge him his share of his father's bounty.
"There's enough for both of us," he always said, to those who tried to
stir up his jealousy.
"But suppose your father should divide his property between you? How
would you like to see Ben Brayton sharing the estate?"
"If my father chooses to leave his property in that way, I shan't
complain," said John. "Fortunately there is enough for us both, and
half will be enough to provide for me."
But John had never anticipated such a contingency as Ben and his mother
claiming the whole property, and, frank and unsuspicious as he was, he
felt that his father would never have left him so entirely dependent
upon his stepmother unless improper means had been used to influence
his decision. There was a particular reason which he had for thinking
thus. It was this: Three days before his father died, he was told by
the servant, on entering the house, that the sick man wished to see
him. Of course he went up instantly to the chamber where, pale and
wasted, Squire Oakley lay stretched out on the bed.
He was stricken by a disease which affected his speech, and prevented
him from articulating anything except in a whisper. He beckoned John to
the bedside, and signed for him to place his ear close to his mouth.
John did so. His father made a great effort to speak, but all that John
could make out was, "My will."
"Your will, father?" he repeated.
The sick man nodded, and tried to speak further. John thought he could
distinguish the word "drawer," but was not certain. He was about to
inquire further, when his stepmother entered the room, and looked at
him suspiciously.
"Why have you come here to disturb your sick father?" she asked, coldly.
"I did not come here to disturb him," said John. "I came because he
wished to speak to me."
"Has he spoken to you?" she asked, hastily.
"He tried to, but did not succeed."
"You should not allow him to make the effort. It can only do him harm.
The doctor says he must be kept very quiet. You had better leave the
room. He is safest in my care."
John did leave the room, and though he saw his father afterwards,
it was always in his stepmother's presence, and he had no farther
opportunity of communicating with him.
He could not help thinking of this as he rode along, and wondering what
it was that his father wished to say. He knew that it must be something
of importance, from the evident anxiety which the dying man manifested
to speak to him. But whatever it was must remain unknown. His father's
lips were hushed in death, and with such a stepmother John felt himself
worse than alone in the world. But he had a religious nature, and had
been well trained in the Sunday school, and the thought came to him
that whatever trials might be in store for him he had at least one
Friend, higher than any earthly friend, to whom he might look for help
and protection. Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside
into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called.
"Hallo, John!"
Looking up, he saw Sam Selwyn, son of Lawyer Selwyn, and a classmate of
his at the academy.
"Is that you, Sam?" he said, halting his horse.
"That is my impression," said Sam, "but I began to think it wasn't just
now, when my best friend seemed to have forgotten me."
"I was thinking," said John, "and didn't notice."
"Where are you bound?"
"Nowhere in particular. I only came out for a ride."
"You're a lucky fellow, John."
"You forget, Sam, the loss I have just met with;" and John pointed to
his black clothes.
"Excuse me, John, you know I sympathize with you in that. But I'm very
fond of riding, and never get any chance. You have a horse of your own."
"Just at present."
"Just at present! You're not going to lose him, are you?"
"Sam, I am expecting a little difficulty, and I shall feel better if I
advise with some friend about it. You are my best friend in school, and
I don't know but in the world, and I've a great mind to tell you."
"I'll give you the best advice in my power, John, and won't charge
anything for it either, which is more than my father would. You know
he's a lawyer, and has to be mercenary. Not that I ought to blame him,
for that's the way he finds us all in bread and butter."
"I'll turn Prince up that lane and tie him, and then we'll lie down
under a tree, and have a good talk."
John did as proposed. Prince began to browse, apparently well contented
with the arrangement, and the two boys stretched themselves out lazily
beneath a wide-spreading chestnut-tree, which screened them from the
sun.
"Now fire away," said Sam, "and I'll concentrate all my intellect upon
your case gratis."
"I told you that Prince was mine for the present," commenced John. "I
don't know as I can say even that. This afternoon when I got home I
found Ben Brayton just about to mount him."
"I hope you gave him a piece of your mind."
"I ordered him off," said John, quietly, "when he informed me that the
horse was his now,--that his mother had given it to him."
"What did you say?"
"That it was not hers to give. I seized the horse by the bridle,
till he became alarmed and slid off. He then came at me with his
riding-whip, and struck me."
"I didn't think he had pluck enough for that. I hope you gave him as
good as he sent."
"I pulled the whip away from him, and gave him two blows in return.
Then watching my opportunity I sprang upon the horse, and here I am."
"And that is the whole story?"
"Yes."
"And you want my advice?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll give it. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, stick
to that horse, and defy Ben Brayton to do his worst."
"It seems to me I've heard part of that speech before," said John,
smiling. "As to the advice, I'll follow it if I can. I'm not afraid of
anything Ben Brayton can do; but suppose his mother takes his part?"
"Do you think she will?"
"I am afraid she will."
"Then defy her too," said Sam, hastily.
"I don't know about that," said John. "I am only a boy of fifteen, and
she is my father's widow. If she chooses to take the horse away, I
don't know that I can do anything."
"Ben Brayton is a mean rascal. Didn't he get a gold watch at the same
time that you got the horse?"
"Yes; he might have had a horse too, but he preferred the watch and
chain. They cost as much as Prince."
"And now he wants the horse too?"
"So it seems."
"That's what I call hoggish. I only wish Ben Brayton would come to
school, and sit next to me."
"What for?" asked John, a little surprised at this remark.
"Wouldn't I stick pins into him, that's all. I'd make him yell like--a
locomotive," said Sam, the simile being suggested by the sound of the
in-coming train.
John laughed.
"That's an old trick of yours," he said, "I remember you served me so
once. And yet you profess to be my friend."
"I didn't stick it in very far," said Sam, apologetically; "it didn't
hurt much, did it?"
"Didn't it though?"
"Well, I didn't mean to have it. Maybe I miscalculated the distance."
"It's all right, if you don't try it again. And now about the advice."
"I wouldn't be imposed upon," said Sam. "Between you and me I don't
think much of your stepmother."
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* * * * *
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 105, December 16, 1893.
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
* * * * *
SEASONABLE SONNET.
(_By a Vegetarian._)
Yes, Christmas overtakes us yet once more.
The Cattle Show has vanished in the mists
Of time and Islington, but re-exists
In piecemeal splendour at the store.
Here, nightly, big boys blue are to the fore
With knives and choppers in their greasy fists;
And now, methinks, the wight who never lists
Yet hears the brass band on the proud first floor.
High over all rings "What d'ye buy, buy, buy?"
The meat is decked with gay rosette and bow,
While gas-jets beckon all the world and wife.
A cheerful scene? A ghastly one, say I,
Where mutilated corpses hang arow,
And in the midst of death we are in life.
* * * * *
AS THEY LIKED IT.--We read of the recent success at Palmer's Theatre,
New York, of _As You Like It_, with all the parts played by women.
Of course, everybody knows that this was a complete reversal of the
practice of the stage in SHAKSPEARE'S own day, when the buskin was
on the other leg, so to speak; but we are not told if the passage
"Doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat" was
transposed to "Petticoat ought to show itself courageous to doublet
and hose."
* * * * *
THIS SETTLED IT.--"He may be irritable," observed Mrs. R., "but
remember the old saying that 'Irritation is the sincerest form of
flattery.'"
* * * * *
[Illustration: ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK.
_Critic._ "HOW'S THE _BOOK_ GOING, OLD MAN?"
_Author._ "OH--ALL RIGHT, I FANCY. THE PRESS HAS NOTICED IT ALREADY.
YESTERDAY'S _ROSELEAVES_ HAILS ME AS THE COMING _THACKERAY_!"
_Critic._ "AH, _I_ WROTE THAT!"
_Author._ "DID YOU REALLY? HOW CAN I THANK YOU? ON THE OTHER HAND,
THIS WEEK'S _KNACKER_ SAYS THAT I'VE BEEN FORTUNATELY ARRESTED BY
MADNESS ON THE ROAD TO IDIOTCY!"
_Critic._ "AH, I WROTE THAT TOO!"]
* * * * *
A PLEA FOR PLEADINGS.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Last week I begged for a chance for the Briefless,
and the only reply has been, that by a few strokes of the pen the
Judges have ruined and undone the Junior Bar. On a day which will be
known henceforth in the Temple as Bad Friday, we read the new Rules,
by which in future it will be possible to have an action--_without
pleadings!_ Statement of Claim, Defence, Reply, Rejoinder--all
disappear into a beggarly "Summons for Directions," that can be drawn
by a solicitor's office-boy. Of course, amongst the silks, the change
will, no doubt, be popular. These learned gentlemen can with a light
heart and a heavy pocket welcome the change, which will get rid of the
pleadings which it is merely a nuisance to read. But what is to become
of us whose business it is to draw them?
It may possibly be said that this new arrangement will save the
pockets of the clients, but what have the Judges to do with that? Does
anyone imagine litigation to be anything more than a pastime, at which
those who play ought to be content to pay? In a hard winter, when the
wolf is consistently at our door, to take the bread out of our mouths
in this way, is a proceeding which (_pace_ Mr. GLADSTONE) takes the
cake. I am sure Mr. GOSCHEN will welcome such an expression. In any
case I appeal, Sir, through you, from the Judges to an enlightened
paying public.
Yours faithfully,
L. ERNED COUNSEL.
102, _Temple Gardens, E.C.,_
_Dec. 6._
* * * * *
CAUSE AND EFFECT.--A razor and a _tabula rasa_.
* * * * *
JOHN TYNDALL.
BORN AUG. 21, 1820.
DIED DEC. 4, 1893.
HONEST JOHN TYNDALL, then, has played his part!
Scientist brain, and patriotic heart
Both still in the last sleep, that sadly came,
Without reproach to love, or loss to fame.
Rest, Son of Science, certain of your meed!
Of bitter moan for you there is small need;
But England bows in silent sympathy
With her whose love, chance-wounded, all may see
Steadfast in suffering undeserved as sore.
_Punch_ speaks for all true hearts the kingdom o'er
When mingling tribute to JOHN TYNDALL'S life
With hushed compassion for his bowed but blameless wife
* * * * *
A FEMININE TRIUMPH.--SHEE, Q.C., appointed Judge of the Court of
Record at Salford. Naturally SHEE likes being courted. Pity it wasn't
in Wales, as then they would Welshly-and-grammatically speak of
"appearing before SHEE" as "appearing before _Her_." This is clearly
an example of the "_SHEE who must be obeyed_."
* * * * *
Murch Praised!
["Mr. JEROME MURCH, seven times Mayor of Bath, &c., and for
thirty years chairman of, &c., has just published a volume,
entitled _Bath | 860.187931 |
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E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Brian Coe, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/historyofwarinaf02kayeuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48083
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50342
Transcriber’s note:
A carat character is used to denote superscription.
Multiple superscripted characters are enclosed by
square brackets (example: ^[me]).
HISTORY OF THE WAR IN AFGHANISTAN.
by
JOHN WILLIAM KAYE, F.R.S.
Third Edition.
In Three Volumes.
VOL. II.
London:
Wm. H. Allen & Co., 13, Waterloo Place,
Publishers to the India Office.
1874.
London.
Printed By W. Clowes And Sons, Stamford Street
And Charing Cross.
CONTENTS.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
[August-December, 1839.]
PAGE
Dawn of the Restoration—Difficulties of our Position—Proposed
Withdrawal of the Army—Arrival of Colonel Wade—His
Operations—Lord on the Hindoo-Koosh—Evils of our
Policy—Defective Agency—Moollah Shikore—Our Political
Agents—Operations in the Khybur Pass—The Fall of Khelat 1
CHAPTER II.
[January-September, 1840.]
The Great Game in Central Asia—The Russian Expedition to
Khiva—Apprehensions of Burnes—Colonel Stoddart—Affairs on the
Hindoo-Koosh—Failure of the Russian Expedition—Conduct of the
Sikhs—Herat and Yar Mahomed—Mission of Abbott and
Shakespear—Disturbances in the Ghilzye Country—Fall of
Khelat—Arthur Conolly 32
CHAPTER III.
[June-November, 1840.]
The last Struggles of Dost Mahomed—The British in the
Hindoo-Koosh—The Ameer’s Family—Occupation of Bajgah—Disaster
of Kamurd—Escape of Dost Mahomed—Feverish State of
Caubul—Dennie’s Brigade—Defeat of the Ameer—Sale in the
Kohistan—The Battle of Purwandurrah—Surrender of Dost
Mahomed 73
CHAPTER IV.
[November, 1840-September, 1841.]
Yar Mahomed and the Douranees—Season of Peace—Position of the
Douranees—The Zemindawer Outbreak—Conduct of Yar
Mahomed—Departure of Major Todd—Risings of the Douranees and
Ghilzyes—Engagements with Aktur Khan and the Gooroo—Dispersion
of the Insurgents 99
CHAPTER V.
[September-October, 1841.]
Aspect of Affairs at Caubul—The King—The Envoy—Burnes
—Elphinstone—The English at Caubul—Expenses of the
War—Retrenchment of the Subsidies—Risings of the
Ghilzyes—Sale’s Brigade—Gatherings in the Kohistan—Sale’s
Arrival at Gundamuck—The 1st of November 135
BOOK V.
[1841-1842.]
CHAPTER I.
[November, 1841.]
The Outbreak at Caubul—Approaching Departure of the
Envoy—Immediate Causes of the Rebellion—Death of Sir Alexander
Burnes—His Character—Spread of the Insurrection—Indecision
of the British Authorities 163
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RAMBLES BEYOND RAILWAYS.
[Illustration: LAMORNA COVE.]
RAMBLES BEYOND RAILWAYS;
OR,
Notes in Cornwall taken A-Foot.
BY WILKIE COLLINS,
AUTHOR OF
"ANTONINA," "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," ETC.
[Illustration: The Land's End, Cornwall.]
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY: NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1861.
DEDICATED TO
THE COMPANION OF MY WALK THROUGH CORNWALL,
HENRY C. BRANDLING.
PREFACE
TO
THE PRESENT EDITION.
I visited Cornwall, for the first time, in the summer and autumn of
1850; and in the winter of the same year, I wrote this book.
At that time, the title attached to these pages was strictly descriptive
of the state of the county, when my companion and I walked through it.
But when, little more than a year afterwards, a second edition of this
volume was called for, the all-conquering railway had invaded Cornwall
in the interval, and had practically contradicted me on my own
title-page.
To rechristen my work was out of the question--I should simply have
destroyed its individuality. Ladies may, and do, often change their
names for the better; but books enjoy no such privilege. In this
embarrassing position, I ended by treating the ill-timed intrusion of
the railway into my literary affairs, as a certain Abbe (who was also an
author,) once treated the overthrow of the Swedish Constitution, in the
reign of Gustavus the Third. Having written a profound work, to prove
that the Constitution, as at that time settled, was secure from all
political accidents, the Abbe was surprised in his study, one day, by
the appearance of a gentleman, who disturbed him over the correction of
his last proof-sheet. "Sir!" said the gentleman; "I have looked in to
inform you that the Constitution has just been overthrown." To which the
Abbe replied:--"Sir! they may overthrow the Constitution, but they can't
overthrow MY BOOK"--and he quietly went on with his work.
On precisely similar principles, I quietly went on with MY
TITLE-PAGE.
So much for the name of the book. For the book itself, as published in
its present form, I have a last word to say, before these prefatory
lines come to an end.
Cornwall no longer offers the same comparatively untrodden road to the
literary traveller which it presented when I went there. Many writers
have made the journey successfully, since my time. Mr. Walter White, in
his "Londoner's Walk to the Land's End," has followed me, and rivalled
me, on my own ground. Mr. Murray has published "The Handbook to Cornwall
and Devon"--and detached essays on Cornish subjects, too numerous to
reckon up, have appeared in various periodical forms. Under this change
of circumstances, it is not the least of the debts which I owe to the
encouraging kindness of my readers, that they have not forgotten
"Rambles Beyond Railways," and that the continued demand for the book is
such as to justify the appearance of the present edition. I have, as I
believe, to thank the unambitious purpose with which I originally
wrote, for thus keeping me in remembrance. All that my book attempts is
frankly to record a series of personal impressions; and, as a necessary
consequence--though my title is obsolete, and my pedestrian adventures
are old-fashioned--I have a character of my own still left, which
readers can recognise; and the homely travelling narrative which I
brought from Cornwall, eleven years since, is not laid on the shelf yet.
I have spared no pains to make these pages worthy of the approval of new
readers. The book has been carefully revised throughout; and certain
hastily-written passages, which my better experience condemns as
unsuited to the main design, have been removed altogether. Two of the
lithographic illustrations, (now no longer in existence) with which my
friend and fellow-traveller, Mr. Brandling, adorned the previous
editions, have been copied on wood, as accurately as circumstances would
permit; and a "Postscript" has been added, which now appears in
connexion with the original narrative, for the first time.
The little supplementary sketch thus presented, describes a cruise to
the Scilly Islands, (taken five years after the period of my visit to
Cornwall), and completes the round of my travelling experiences in the
far West of England. These newly-added pages are written, I am afraid,
in a tone of somewhat boisterous gaiety--which I have not, however, had
the heart to subdue, because it is after all the genuine offspring of
the "harum-scarum" high spirits of the time. The "Cruise of the Tomtit"
was, from first to last, a practical burlesque; and the good-natured
reader will, I hope, not think the worse of me, if I beg him to stand on
no ceremony and to laugh his way through it as heartily as he can.
HARLEY STREET, LONDON,
_March, 1861_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION 1
II. A CORNISH FISHING TOWN 5
III. HOLY WELLS AND DRUID RELICS 23
IV. CORNISH PEOPLE 55
V. LOO-POOL 86
VI. THE LIZARD 97
VII. THE PILCHARD FISHERY 120
VIII. THE LAND'S END 139
IX. BOTALLACK MINE 155
X. THE MODERN DRAMA IN CORNWALL 180
XI. THE ANCIENT DRAMA IN CORNWALL 197
XII. THE NUNS OF MAWGAN 216
XIII. LEGENDS OF THE NORTHERN COAST 231
POSTSCRIPT.
THE CRUISE OF THE TOMTIT TO THE SCILLY ISLANDS 253
RAMBLES BEYOND RAILWAYS.
I.
A LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.
DEAR READER,
When any friend of yours or mine, in whose fortunes we take an interest,
is about to start on his travels, we smooth his way for him as well as
we can, by giving him a letter of introduction to such connexions of
ours as he may find on his line of route. We bespeak their favourable
consideration for him by setting forth his good qualities in the best
light possible; and then leave him to make his own way by his own
merit--satisfied that we have done enough in procuring him a welcome
under our friend's roof, and giving him at the outset a claim to our
friend's estimation.
Will you allow me, reader (if our previous acquaintance authorizes me
to take such a liberty), to follow the custom to which I have just
adverted; and to introduce to your notice this Book, as a friend of mine
setting forth on his travels, in whose well-being I feel a very lively
interest. He is neither so bulky nor so distinguished a person as some
of the predecessors of his race, who may have sought your attention in
years gone by, under the name of "Quarto," and in magnificent clothing
of Morocco and Gold. All that I can say for his outside is, that I have
made it as neat as I can--having had him properly thumped into wearing
his present coat of decent cloth, by the most competent book-tailor I
could find. As for his intrinsic claims to your kindness, he has only
two that I shall venture to advocate. In the first place he is able to
tell you something about a part of your own country which is still too
rarely visited and too little known. He will speak to you of one of the
remotest and most interesting corners of our old English soil. He will
tell you of the grand and varied scenery; the mighty Druid relics; the
quaint legends; the deep, dark mines; the venerable remains of early
Christianity; and the pleasant primitive population of the county of
CORNWALL. You will inquire, can we believe him in all that he
says? This brings me at once to his second qualification--he invariably
speaks the truth. If he describes scenery to you, it is scenery that he
saw and noted on the spot; and if he adds some little sketches of
character, I answer for him, on my own responsibility, that they are
sketches drawn from the life.
Have I said enough about my friend to interest you in his fortunes, when
you meet him wandering hither and thither over the great domain of the
Republic of Letters--or, must I plead more warmly in his behalf? I can
only urge on you that he does not present himself as fit for the top
seats at the library table,--as aspiring to the company of those above
him,--of classical, statistical, political, philosophical, historical,
or antiquarian high dignitaries of his class, of whom he is at best but
the poor relation. Treat him not, as you treat such illustrious guests
as these! Toss him about anywhere, from hand to hand, as good-naturedly
as you can; stuff him into your pocket when you get into the railway;
take him to bed with you, and poke him under the pillow; present him to
the rising generation, to try if he can amuse _them_; give him to the
young ladies, who are always predisposed to the kind side, and may make
something of him; introduce him to "my young masters" when they are
idling away a dull morning over their cigars. Nay, advance him if you
will, to the notice of the elders themselves; but take care to ascertain
first that they are people who only travel to gratify a hearty
admiration of the wonderful works of Nature, and to learn to love their
neighbour better by seeking him at his own home--regarding it, at the
same time, as a peculiar privilege, to derive their satisfaction and
gain their improvement from experiences on English ground. Take care of
this; and who knows into what high society you may not be able to
introduce the bearer of the present letter! In spite of his habit of
rambling from subject to subject in his talk, much as he rambled from
place to place in his travels, he may actually find himself, one day,
basking on Folio Classics beneath the genial approval of a Doctor of
Divinity, or trembling among Statutes and Reports under the learned
scrutiny of a Sergeant at Law!
W. C.
HARLEY STREET, LONDON,
_March, 1861._
II.
A CORNISH FISHING TOWN.
The time is ten o'clock at night--the scene, a bank by the roadside,
crested with young fir-trees, and affording a temporary place of repose
to two travellers, who are enjoying the cool night air, picturesquely
extended flat on their backs--or rather, on their knapsacks, which now
form part and parcel of their backs. These two travellers are, the
writer of this book, and an artist friend who is the companion of his
rambles. They have long desired to explore Cornwall together, on foot;
and the object of their aspirations has been at last accomplished, in
the summer-time of the year eighteen hundred and fifty.
In their present position, the travellers are (to speak geographically)
bounded towards the east by a long road winding down the side of a rocky
hill; towards the west, by the broad half-dry channel of a tidal river;
towards the north, by trees, hills, and upland valleys; and towards the
south, by an old bridge and some houses near it, with lights in their
windows faintly reflected in shallow water. In plainer words, the
southern boundary of the prospect around them represents a place called
Looe--a fishing-town on the south coast of Cornwall, which is their
destination for the night.
They had, by this time, accomplished their initiation into the process
of walking under a knapsack, with the most complete and encouraging
success. You, who in these days of vehement bustle, business, and
competition, can still find time to travel for pleasure alone--you, who
have yet to become emancipated from the thraldom of railways, carriages,
and saddle-horses--patronize, I exhort you, that first and
oldest-established of all conveyances, your own legs! Think on your
tender partings nipped in the bud by the railway bell; think of crabbed
cross-roads, and broken carriage-springs; think of luggage confided to
extortionate porters, of horses casting shoes and catching colds, of
cramped legs and numbed feet, of vain longings to get down for a moment
here, and to delay for a pleasant half hour there--think of all these
manifold hardships of riding at your ease; and the next time you leave
home, strap your luggage on your shoulders, take your stick in your
hand, set forth delivered from a perfect paraphernalia of incumbrances,
to go where you will, how you will--the free citizen of the whole
travelling world! Thus independent, what may you not accomplish?--what
pleasure is there that you cannot enjoy? Are you an artist?--you can
stop to sketch every point of view that strikes your eye. Are you a
philanthropist?--you can go into every cottage and talk to every human
being you pass. Are you a botanist, or geologist?--you may pick up
leaves and chip rocks wherever you please, the live-long day. Are you a
valetudinarian?--you may physic yourself by Nature's own simple
prescription, walking in fresh air. Are you dilatory and
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RANK AND TALENT;
A NOVEL.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "TRUCKLEBOROUGH-HALL."
When once he's made a Lord,
Who'll be so saucy as to think he can
Be impotent in wisdom?
COOK.
Why, Sir, 'tis neither satire nor moral, but the mere passage
of an history; yet there are a sort of discontented creatures,
that bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest
the doings of any man to their base malicious appliment.
MARSTON.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1829.
RANK AND TALENT.
CHAPTER I.
"Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this!"
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A Broader
Mission for
Liberal Education...
_Baccalaureate Address,
Delivered in
Agricultural College Chapel,
Sunday, June 9, 1901._
_By_....
J. H. WORST, LL. D.
_President._
A Broader Mission for Liberal
Education.
Baccalaureate Address, Delivered in Agricultural
College Chapel, Sunday, June 9, 1901.
BY J. H. WORST, LL. D.
AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE P. O.,
North Dakota.
[Illustration: J H Worst]
A BROADER MISSION FOR LIBERAL EDUCATION.
BACCALAUREATE ADDRESS, DELIVERED IN AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE CHAPEL, SUNDAY,
JUNE 9, 1901.
BY J. H. WORST, LL. D., PRESIDENT.
In America we recognize no aristocracy except that of genius or of
character. Our countrymen are all citizens. Our government was founded
upon the principle that "all men are created free and equal" and though
intellectual endowments differ widely in individuals, yet special
privileges are accorded to no one as a birthright. Therefore the college
graduate, as well as any other aspirant, must carve his way to fame and
fortune by energy and perseverance, or lose his opportunity in the
tremendous activities going on about him. His only advantage is superior
training which must nevertheless be pitted against practical minds in
strenuous rivalry for every desirable thing he would accomplish. The
mere fact of education is considered no badge of merit. Education
represents power, but until it manifests itself in action, it is merely
static, not dynamic, potential, not actual. It conveys to its recipient
no self-acting machinery which, without lubricant or engineer will reel
off success or impress mankind, as a matter of course.
The question is no longer asked by practical men "what does a man know"
but "what can he do?" Knowing and doing have thus become so intimately
associated by common consent as to be inseparable; for knowing without
doing is indolence and doing without knowing is waste of energy. The
former is sinful, the latter wasteful. For many years progressive
educators have been striving against the culture-alone theory and
advocating the education of the whole man--hand as well as head, body as
well as mind. As a result the ancient educational structure is pretty
well broken down, and the erstwhile curriculum has become a
reminiscence. Many wealthy parents still educate their children for the
larger pleasure which they believe education of the old type will afford
them in life, but parents generally have come to look upon life as a
period of intense activity rather than a brief round of pleasure, and
hence provide an education for their children that will fit them for the
every day demands that duty or necessity may make upon them. Since it is
a matter of common observation that wealth is easily dissipated,
especially when inherited, farseeing parents prefer an education for
their children that is adapted to some useful end rather than the
education that is largely ornamental or fashionable.
The vicissitudes of life are many. Fortune is fickle and but few young
people can hope to command perpetual leisure even should their bad
judgment make such a thing desirable. There can never be real
independence of thought and action apart from one's conscious ability to
cope with others on equal terms in any human emergency. The young man
who rejoices in the provident hoardings of his ancestors which exempt
him from strenuous exertion on his own part has but a small mission in
life. Work is the normal condition of man. The stern necessity that
compels him to labor, to think and to plan, lifts him into the
pleasurable atmosphere of usefulness and imparts zeal and ambition to
his energies. There can be no "excellence without great labor", and
"hard work is only another name for genius."
A young man cannot begin life with a richer heritage than good health,
good habits and a liberal education--an education that imparts culture
to his mind and power to his body. If he should never have occasion to
use his hands in some useful vocation, the training they have received
will never prove burdensome. On the other hand, the fact of being in
possession of reserve powers will prove a source of pleasure. It will
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THE TRIALS
OF
A COUNTRY PARSON
BY
AUGUSTUS JESSOPP, D.D.
AUTHOR OF
“ONE GENERATION OF A NORFOLK HOUSE,” “HISTORY OF THE DIOCESE OF
NORWICH,” &c., &c.
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
MDCCCXC
[Illustration]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARCADY:
FOR BETTER FOR WORSE.
_Fourth Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d._
“A volume which is, to our minds, one of the most delightful ever
published in English.”--_Spectator._
The COMING of the FRIARS,
AND OTHER MEDIÆVAL SKETCHES.
_Fourth Edition. Cloth, 7s. 6d._
“The book is one to be read and enjoyed from its title-page to its
finish.”--_Morning Post._
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.
_Preface._
_In a volume which I published three years ago[1] I attempted to give a
faithful picture of the habits and ways of thinking, the superstitions,
prejudices and grounds for discontent, the grievances and the trials,
of the country folk among whom my lot was cast and among whom it was my
duty and my privilege to live as a country clergyman. I was surprised,
and not a little pained, to hear from many who read my book that the
impression produced upon them was exactly the reverse of that which
I had desired to convey. On returning to a country village after
long residence in a large town, I found things greatly changed, of
course; but I found that, though the country folk had not shared in
the general progress which had been going on in the condition of the
urban population, they still retained some of their sturdy virtues,
still had some love for their homes, still clung to some of their old
prejudices which reflected their attachment to their birthplace, and
that if they were inclined to surrender themselves to the leadership
of blatant demagogues, and to dwell upon some real or imagined wrongs
coarsely exaggerated by itinerant agitators with their living to get
by speechifying, it was not because there was no cause for discontent.
The rustics were right when they followed their instincts and these
told them that their lot might be easily--so very easily--made much
happier than it is, if philanthropists would only give themselves a
fair chance, set themselves patiently to study facts before committing
themselves to crude theories, try to make themselves really conversant
with the conditions which they vaguely desire to ameliorate, go to work
in the right way and learn to take things by the right handles._
_The circumstances under which I commenced residence in my country
parish were, unhappily, not conducive to my forming a favourable
judgment of my people. I was at starting brought face to face with the
worst side of their characters. They were and had for long been in
bad hands; they had surrendered themselves to the guidance of those
who had gone very far towards demoralizing them. I could not be blind
to the faults--the vices if you will--which were only too apparent.
I could not but grieve at the altered_ tone _which was observable in
their language and their manners, since the days when I had been a
country curate twenty years before. But while I lamented the noticeable
deterioration and the fact that the rustics were less cordial, less
courteous, less generous, less loving, and, therefore, less happy
than they had been, I gradually got to see that the surface may be
ruffled and yet the inner nature beneath that surface may have some
depths unaffected by the turmoil. The charity which hopeth all things
suggested that it was the time to work and wait. It was not long before
I learnt to feel something more than mere interest in my people. I
learnt to love them. I learnt_--
_To see a good in evil, and a hope
In ill success; to sympathize, be proud
Of their half-reasons, faint aspirings, dim
Struggles for truth, their poorest fallacies,
Their prejudice, and fears, and cares, and doubts,
Which all touch upon nobleness, despite
Their error, all tend upwardly though weak,
Like plants in mines which never see the sun,
But dream of him, and guess where he may be,
And do their best to climb and get at him._
_I was shocked when friendly critics told me I had drawn a melancholy
picture, and that to live in such a community, and with surroundings
such as I had described, must be depressing, almost degrading, for any
man of culture and refinement._
_The essays which follow in this volume were written as a kind
of protest against any such view of the case. I think the two
volumes--this and my former one--should in fairness be read each as the
complement of the other. In “Arcady” I have drawn, as best I could, the
picture of the life of the rustics around me. In this volume I have
sketched the life of a country parson trying to do his best to elevate
those among whom he has been called to exercise his ministry._
_I hold that any clergyman in a country parish who aims_ exclusively
_at being a Religious Teacher will miss his aim. He must be more, or
he will fail to be that. He must be a social power in his parish,
and he ought to try, at any rate, to be an intellectual force also.
It is because I am strongly convinced of this that I have brought so
much into prominence the daily intercourse which I have enjoyed with
my people on the footing of a mere friendly neighbour. I cannot think
that I have any right at all to lift the veil from those private
communings with penitents who are agonized by ghastly memories, with
poor weaklings torturing themselves with religious difficulties, or at
the bedside of the sick and dying. These seem to me to be most sacred
confidences which we are bound to conceal from others as if they had
been entrusted to us under a sacramental obligation of impenetrable
silence. We all have our share of miserable experiences of this kind.
We have no right to talk of them; they never can become common property
without some one alive or dead being betrayed. In the single instance
in which I may seem to have departed from this principle, it was the
expressed wish of the poor woman whose sad story I told that others
should learn the circumstances of the case which I made public._
_It may be thought, perhaps, that my surroundings have something
peculiar in them. But, No! they are of the ordinary type. For two
centuries or so East Anglia was indeed greatly cut off from union and
sympathy with the rest of England, and was a kingdom apart. The result
has been that there are certain characteristics which distinguish
the Norfolk character, and some of them are not pleasing. These are
survivals, and they present some difficulties to him who is not an East
Anglian born, when he is first brought face to face with them. But in
the main we are all pretty much alike, and let a man be placed where
he may, he will be sure to find something new in the situation, and
almost as sure to make some mistakes at starting. I do not believe that
a man of average ability, who is really in earnest in his desire to do
the best he can for his people, and who throws himself heartily into
his work, will find one place worse than another. Let him resolve to
find his joy in the performance of his duty according to his light,
and the joy will come. So far from repining at my own lot, I have
found it--I do find it--a very happy one; and if I have dwelt on the
country parson’s trials, I have done so in no petty and querulous
spirit as if I had anything to complain of which others had not--this I
should disdain to do--but rather as protesting that they press upon my
brethren equally as upon myself, and that, such as they are, some must
be, some need not be, some ought not to be._
_As for the worries and annoyances, the “trials” which are inseparable
from our position, it is the part of a wise man to make the best of
them, and to put as good a face upon them as he can. But with regard to
such matters as ought not to be and need not be, it behoves us all to
look about us to discover if possible some remedy for the remediable,
to find out the root and source of any evil which is a real evil, to
lift up our voices against an abuse which has grown or is growing
to be intolerable, and by no means to acquiesce in the continuance
of that which is obviously working to the serious prejudice of the
community. While every other class is crying out for Reform and getting
it by simply raising the cry, it is a reproach upon us clergy--and I
fear we deserve the reproach--that we are a great deal too ready to
submit to the continuance of scandals and abuses rather than face the
risks which_ any _change is likely to bring upon our order. In no
other profession is a man more certain to be regarded as a dangerous
character, wanting in loyalty and wanting in humility, who is even
suspected of a desire to improve upon the arrangements which have
existed since time was young, or of advocating measures which would
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RODERICK HUDSON
by Henry James
CONTENTS
I. Rowland
II. Roderick
III. Rome
IV. Experience
V. Christina
VI. Frascati
VII. St. Cecilia's
VIII. Provocation
IX. Mary Garland
X. The Cavaliere
XI. Mrs. Hudson
XII. The Princess Casamassima
XIII. Switzerland
CHAPTER I. Rowland
Mallet had made his arrangements to sail for Europe on the first
of September, and having in the interval a fortnight to spare, he
determined to spend it with his cousin Cecilia, the widow of a nephew of
his father. He was urged by the reflection that an affectionate farewell
might help to exonerate him from the charge of neglect frequently
preferred by this lady. It was not that the young man disliked her; on
the contrary, he regarded her with a tender admiration, and he had not
forgotten how, when his cousin had brought her home on her marriage, he
had seemed to feel the upward sweep of the empty bough from which the
golden fruit had been plucked, and had then and there accepted the
prospect of bachelorhood. The truth was, that, as it will be part of
the entertainment of this narrative to exhibit, Rowland Mallet had an
uncomfortably sensitive conscience, and that, in spite of the seeming
paradox, his visits to Cecilia were rare because she and her misfortunes
were often uppermost in it. Her misfortunes were three in number: first,
she had lost her husband; second, she had lost her money (or the
greater part of it); and third, she lived at Northampton, Massachusetts.
Mallet's compassion was really wasted, because Cecilia was a very clever
woman, and a most skillful counter-plotter to adversity. She had made
herself a charming home, her economies were not obtrusive, and there
was always a cheerful flutter in the folds of her crape. It was the
consciousness of all this that puzzled Mallet whenever he felt tempted
to put in his oar. He had money and he had time, but he never could
decide just how to place these gifts gracefully at Cecilia's service.
He no longer felt like marrying her: in these eight years that fancy had
died a natural death. And yet her extreme cleverness seemed somehow to
make charity difficult and patronage impossible. He would rather chop
off his hand than offer her a check, a piece of useful furniture, or
a black silk dress; and yet there was some sadness in seeing such a
bright, proud woman living in such a small, dull way. Cecilia had,
moreover, a turn for sarcasm, and her smile, which was her pretty
feature, was never so pretty as when her sprightly phrase had a lurking
scratch in it. Rowland remembered that, for him, she was all smiles, and
suspected, awkwardly, that he ministered not a little to her sense of
the irony of things. And in truth, with his means, his leisure, and his
opportunities, what had he done? He had an unaffected suspicion of
his uselessness. Cecilia, meanwhile, cut out her own dresses, and was
personally giving her little girl the education of a princess.
This time, however, he presented himself bravely enough; for in the way
of activity it was something definite, at least, to be going to Europe
and to be meaning to spend the winter in Rome. Cecilia met him in the
early dusk at the gate of her little garden, amid a studied combination
of floral perfumes. A rosy widow of twenty-eight, half cousin, half
hostess, doing the honors of an odorous cottage on a midsummer evening,
was a phenomenon to which the young man's imagination was able to do
ample justice. Cecilia was always gracious, but this evening she was
almost joyous. She was in a happy mood, and Mallet imagined there was
a private reason for it--a reason quite distinct from her pleasure in
receiving her honored kinsman. The next day he flattered himself he was
on the way to discover it.
For the present, after tea, as they sat on the rose-framed porch, while
Rowland held his younger cousin between his knees, and she, enjoying
her situation, listened timorously for the stroke of bedtime, Cecilia
insisted on talking more about her visitor than about herself.
"What is it you mean to do in Europe?" she asked, lightly, giving a
turn to the frill of her sleeve--just such a turn as seemed to Mallet to
bring out all the latent difficulties of the question.
"Why, very much what I | 860.287074 |
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THE TREASURE
KATHLEEN NORRIS
CHAPTER I
Lizzie, who happened to be the Salisbury's one servant at the time, was
wasteful. It was almost her only fault, in Mrs. Salisbury's eyes, for
such trifles as her habit of becoming excited and "saucy," in moments
of domestic stress, or to ask boldly for other holidays than her
alternate Sunday and Thursday afternoons, or to resent at all times the
intrusion of any person, even her mistress, into her immaculate
kitchen, might have been overlooked. Mrs. Salisbury had been keeping
house in a suburban town for twenty years; she was not considered an
exacting mistress. She was perfectly willing to forgive Lizzie what was
said in the hurried hours before the company dinner or impromptu lunch,
and to let Lizzie slip out for a walk with her sister in the evening,
and to keep out of the kitchen herself as much as was possible. So much
might be conceded to a girl who was honest and clean, industrious,
respectable, and a fair cook.
But the wastefulness was a serious matter. Mrs. Salisbury was a careful
and an experienced manager; she resented waste; indeed, she could not
afford to tolerate it. She liked to go into the kitchen herself every
morning, to eye the contents of icebox and pantry, and decide upon
needed stores. Enough butter, enough cold meat for dinner, enough milk
for a nourishing soup, eggs and salad for luncheon--what about potatoes?
Lizzie deliberately frustrated this house-wifely ambition. She flounced
and muttered when other hands than her own were laid upon her icebox.
She turned on rushing faucets, rattled dishes in her pan. Yet Mrs.
Salisbury felt that she must personally superintend these matters,
because Lizzie was so wasteful. The girl had not been three months in
the Salisbury family before all bills for supplies soared alarmingly.
This was all wrong. Mrs. Salisbury fretted over it a few weeks, then
confided her concern to her husband. But Kane Salisbury would not
listen to the details. He scowled at the introduction of the topic,
glanced restlessly at his paper, murmured that Lizzie might be "fired";
and, when Mrs. Salisbury had resolutely bottled up her seething
discontent inside of herself, she sometimes heard him murmuring,
"Bad--bad--management" as he sat chewing his pipe-stem on the dark
porch or beside the fire.
Alexandra, the eighteen-year-old daughter of the house, was equally
incurious and unreasonable about domestic details.
"But, honestly, Mother, you know you're afraid of Lizzie, and she knows
it," Alexandra would declare gaily; "I can't tell you how I'd manage
her, because she's not my servant, but I know I would do something!"
Beauty and intelligence gave Alexandra, even at eighteen, a certain
serene poise and self-reliance that lifted her above the old-fashioned
topics of "trouble with girls," and housekeeping, and marketing.
Alexandra touched these subjects under the titles of "budgets,"
"domestic science," and "efficiency." Neither she nor her mother
recognized the old, homely subjects under their new names, and so the
daughter felt a lack of interest, and the mother a lack of sympathy,
that kept them from understanding each other. Alexandra, ready to meet
and conquer all the troubles of a badly managed world, felt that one
small home did not present a very terrible problem. Poor Mrs. Salisbury
only knew that it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a general
servant at all in a family of five, and that her husband's salary, of
something a little less than four thousand dollars a year, did not at
all seem the princely sum that they would have thought it when they
were married on twenty dollars a week.
From the younger members of the family, Fred, who was fifteen, and
Stanford, three years younger, she expected, and got, no sympathy. The
three young Salisburys found money interesting only when they needed it
for new gowns, or matinee tickets, or tennis rackets, or some kindred
purchase. They needed it desperately, asked for it, got it, spent it,
and gave it no further thought. It meant nothing to them that Lizzie
was wasteful. It was only to their mother that the girl's slipshod ways
were becoming an absolute trial.
Lizzie, very neat and respectful, would interfere with Mrs. Salisbury's
plan of a visit to the kitchen by appearing to ask for instructions
before breakfast was fairly over. When the man of the house had gone,
and before the children appeared, Lizzie would inquire:
"Just yourselves for dinner, Mrs. Salisbury?"
"Just ourselves. Let--me--see--" Mrs. Salisbury would lay down her
newspaper, stir her cooling coffee. The memory of last night's
vegetables would rise before her; there must be baked onions left, and
some of the corn.
"There was some lamb left, wasn't there?" she might ask.
Amazement on Lizzie's part.
"That wasn't such an awful big leg, Mrs. Salisbury. And the boys had
Perry White in, you know. There's just a little plateful left. I gave
Sam the bones."
Mrs. Salisbury could imagine the plateful: small, neat, cold.
"Sometimes I think that if you left the joint on the platter, Lizzie,
there are scrapings, you know--" she might suggest.
"I scraped it," Lizzie would answer briefly, conclusively.
"Well, that for lunch, then, for Miss Sandy and me," Mrs. Salisbury
would decide hastily. "I'll order something fresh for dinner. Were
there any vegetables left?"
"There were a few potatoes, enough for lunch," Lizzie would admit
guardedly.
"I'll order vegetables, too, then!" And Mrs. Salisbury would sigh.
Every housekeeper knows that there is no economy in ordering afresh for
every meal.
"And we need butter--"
"Butter again! Those two pounds gone?"
"There's a little piece left, not enough, though. And I'm on my last
cake of soap, and we need crackers, and vanilla, and sugar, unless
you're not going to have a dessert, and salad oil--"
"Just get me a pencil, will you?" This was as usual. Mrs. Salisbury
would pencil a long list, would bite her lips thoughtfully, and sigh as
she read it over.
"Asparagus to-night, then. And, Lizzie, don't serve so much melted
butter with it as you did last time; there must have been a cupful of
melted butter. And, another time, save what little scraps of vegetables
there are left; they help out so at lunch--"
"There wasn't a saucerful of onions left last night," Lizzie would
assert, "and two cobs of corn, after I'd had my dinner. You couldn't do
much with those. And, as for butter on the asparagus"--Lizzie was very
respectful, but her tone would rise aggrievedly--"it was every bit
eaten, Mrs. Salisbury!"
"Yes, I know. But we mustn't let these young vandals eat us out of
house and home, you know," the mistress would say, feeling as if she
were doing something contemptibly small. And, worsted, she would return
to her paper. "But I don't care, we cannot afford it!" Mrs. Salisbury
would say to herself, when Lizzie had gone, and very thoughtfully she
would write out a check payable to "cash." "I used to use up little
odds and ends so deliciously, years ago!" she sometimes reflected
disconsolately. "And Kane always says we never live as well now as we
did then! He always praised my dinners."
Nowadays Mr. Salisbury was not so well satisfied. Lizzie rang the
changes upon roasted and fried meats, boiled and creamed vegetables,
baked puddings and canned fruits contentedly enough. She made cup cake
and sponge cake, sponge cake and cup cake all the year round. Nothing
was ever changed, no unexpected flavor ever surprised the palates of
the Salisbury family. May brought strawberry shortcake, December
cottage puddings, cold beef always made a stew; creamed codfish was
never served without baked potatoes. The Salisbury table was a
duplicate of some millions of other tables, scattered the length and
breadth of the land.
"And still the bills go up!" fretted Mrs. Salisbury.
"Well, why don't you fire her, Sally?" her husband asked, as he had
asked of almost every maid they had ever had--of lazy Annies, and
untidy Selmas, and ignorant Katies. And, as always, Mrs. Salisbury
answered patiently:
"Oh, Kane, what's the use? It simply means my going to Miss Crosby's
again, and facing that awful row of them, and beginning that I have
three grown children, and no other help--"
"Mother, have you ever had a perfect maid?" Sandy had asked earnestly
years before. Her mother spent a moment in reflection, arresting the
hand with which she was polishing silver. Alexandra was only sixteen
then, and mother and daughter were bridging a gap when there was no
maid at all in the Salisbury kitchen.
"Well, there was Libby," the mother answered at length, "the <DW52>
girl I had when you were born. She really was perfect, in a way. She
was a clean <DW54>, and such a cook! Daddy talks still of her fried
chicken and blueberry pies! And she loved company, too. But, you see,
Grandma Salisbury was with us then, and she paid a little girl to look
after you, so Libby had really nothing but the kitchen and dining-room
to care for. Afterward, just before Fred came, she got lazy and ugly,
and I had to let her go. Canadian Annie was a wonderful girl, too,"
pursued Mrs. Salisbury, "but we only had her two months. Then she got a
place where there were no children, and left on two days' notice. And
when I think of the others!--the Hungarian girl who boiled two pairs of
Fred's little brown socks and darkened the entire wash, sheets and
napkins and all! And the <DW52> girl who drank, and the girl who gave
us boiled rice for dessert whenever I forgot to tell her anything else!
And then Dad and I never will forget the woman who put pudding sauce on
his mutton--dear me, dear me!" And Mrs. Salisbury laughed out at the
memory. "Between her not knowing one thing, and not understanding a
word we said, she was pretty trying all around!" she presently added.
"And, of course, the instant you have them really trained they leave;
and that's the end of that! One left me the day Stan was born, and
another--and she was a nice girl, too--simply departed when you three
were all down with scarlet fever, and left her bed unmade, and the tea
cup and saucer from her breakfast on the end of the kitchen table!
Luckily we had a wonderful nurse, and she simply took hold and saved
the day."
"Isn't it a wonder that there isn't a training school for house
servants?" Sandy had inquired, youthful interest in her eye.
"There's no such thing," her mother assured her positively, "as getting
one who knows her business! And why? Why, because all the smart girls
prefer to go into factories, and slave away for three or four dollars a
week, instead of coming into good homes! Do Pearsall and Thompson ever
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THE
CALVINISTIC DOCTRINE
OF
PREDESTINATION
EXAMINED AND REFUTED:
BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF
A SERIES OF DISCOURSES
Delivered in St. George's M. E. Church, Philadelphia,
BY
FRANCIS HODGSON, D. D.
PHILADELPHIA:
HIGGINS AND PERKINPINE.
No. 40 NORTH FOURTH STREET,
1855.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by
FRANCIS HODGSON,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United
States in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PHILADELPHIA:
T. R. AND P. G. COLLINS, PRINTERS.
PHILADELPHIA, July 13, 1854.
Rev. FRANCIS HODGSON, D. D.
DEAR SIR: We, whose names are hereunto annexed, having heard your
recent series of discourses upon the "Divine Decrees," and
believing that their publication at this time would be of great
service to the cause of truth, earnestly desire that such
measures may be taken as will secure their publication at an
early period. We therefore respectfully solicit your concurrence,
and that you would do whatever may be necessary on your part to
further our object:--
JAMES B. LONGACRE, P. D. MYERS,
GARRET VANZANT, R. MCCAMBRIDGE,
JOHN J. HARE, THOMAS W. PRICE,
DANIEL BREWSTER, CHAS. MCNICHOL,
WM. G. ECKHARDT, THOS. M. ADAMS,
CHAS. COYLE, FRANCIS A. FARROW,
BENJAMIN HERITAGE, THOS. HARE,
J. O. CAMPBELL, SAMUEL HUDSON,
JAMES HARRIS, JOSEPH THOMPSON,
WM. GOODHART, DAVID DAILEY,
R. O. SIMONS, JNO. R. MORRISON,
AMOS HORNING, JAMES HUEY,
ENOS S. KERN, JOHN FRY,
JNO. P. WALKER, E. A. SMITH,
JOHN STREET, JAMES D. SIMKINS,
J. W. BUTCHER, S. W. STOCKTON,
JACOB HENDRICK, FOSTER PRITCHETT.
DEAR BRETHREN:--
The motives which induced me to preach the discourses on the
"Divine Decrees" are equally decisive in favor of their
publication, as you propose. I have taken the liberty to
rearrange some parts of them for the benefit of the reader.
Yours,
FRANCIS HODGSON.
To Brothers LONGACRE,
MYERS, and others.
PREDESTINATION.
DISCOURSE I.
"In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being
predestinated according to the purpose of him who worketh all
things after the counsel of his own will."--EPH. i. 11.
IT would very naturally be expected of a preacher, selecting this
passage as the foundation of his discourse, that he would have
something to say upon the subject of predestination. It is my
purpose to make this the theme of the occasion; and this purpose
has governed me in the selection of the text. The subject is one
of great practical importance. It relates to the Divine
government--its leading principles and the great facts of its
administration. Some suppose that the Methodists deny the
doctrine of Divine predestination, that the word itself is an
offence to them, and that they are greatly perplexed and annoyed
by those portions of Scripture by which the doctrine is
proclaimed. This is a mistaken view. We have no objection to the
word; we firmly believe the doctrine; and all the Scriptures, by
which it is stated or implied, are very precious to us.
There is a certain theory of predestination, the Calvinistic
theory, which we consider unscriptural and dangerous. There is
another, the Arminian theory, which we deem Scriptural and of
very salutary influence. My plan is, _first_, to refute the false
theory; and, _secondly_, to present the true one, and give it its
proper application.
My discourse or discourses upon this subject may be more or less
unacceptable to some on account of their controversial aspect.
This disadvantage cannot always be avoided. Controversy is not
always agreeable, yet it is often necessary. Error must be
opposed, and truth defended. What I have to say, is designed
chiefly for the benefit of the younger portion of the congregation.
I feel that there devolves upon me not a little responsibility in
reference to this class of my hearers. Many of them, I am happy to
learn, are eagerly searching for truth, and they have a right to
expect that the pulpit will aid their inquiries, and throw light
upon their path.
The theory of predestination to which we object affirms that God
has purposed, decreed, predetermined, foreordained, predestinated,
whatsoever comes to pass, and that, in some way or other, he, by
his providence, brings to pass whatever occurs.
The advocates of this doctrine complain loudly that they are
misunderstood and misrepresented. The Rev. Samuel Miller, D. D.,
late of Princeton College, N. J., in a tract on _Presbyterian
Doctrine_, published by the Presbyterian Board of Publication,
complains thus: "It may be safely said that no theological system
was ever more _grossly misrepresented_, or more _foully_ and
_unjustly vilified_ than this." "The gross misrepresentations
with which it has been assailed, the _disingenuous_ attempts to
fasten upon it consequences which its advocates disavow and
abhor; and the _unsparing calumny_ which is continually heaped
upon it and its friends, have _scarcely been equalled_ in any
other case in the entire annals of theological controversy." "The
opponents of this system are wont to give the most _shocking_ and
_unjust_ pictures of it. Whether this is done from _ignorance_ or
_dishonesty_ it would be painful, as well as vain, at present, to
inquire." "The truth is, it would be difficult to find a writer
or speaker, who has distinguished himself by opposing Calvinism,
who has fairly represented the system, or who really appeared to
understand it. They are forever fighting against a _caricature_.
Some of the most grave and venerable writers in our country, who
have appeared in the Arminian ranks, are undoubtedly in this
predicament: whether this has arisen from the want of knowledge
or the want of candor, the effect is the same, and the conduct is
worthy of severe censure." "Let any one carefully and dispassionately
read over the _Confession of Faith_ of the Presbyterian Church, and
he will soon perceive that the professed representations of it,
which are _daily_ proclaimed from the _pulpit_ and the _press_,
are _wretched slanders_, for which no apology can be found but in
the ignorance of their authors."
He places himself in very honorable contrast with those whom he
thus severely condemns: "The writer of these pages," says he, "is
fully persuaded that Arminian principles, when traced out to
their natural and unavoidable consequences, lead to an invasion
of the essential attributes of God, and, of course, to blank and
cheerless atheism. Yet, in making a statement of the Arminian
system, as actually held by its advocates, he should consider
himself inexcusable if he departed a hair's-breadth from the
delineation made by its friends." (pp. 26, 27, 28.)
This writer reiterates these charges, with interesting
variations, in his introduction to a book on the Synod of Dort,
published by the same establishment. "They," says he, "are ever
fighting against an imaginary monster of their own creation. They
picture to themselves the consequences which they suppose
unavoidably flow from the real principles of Calvinists, and
then, most unjustly, represent these consequences as a part of
the system itself, as held by its advocates." Again: "How many an
eloquent page of anti-Calvinistic declamation would be instantly
seen by every reader to be either calumny or nonsense, if it had
been preceded by an honest statement of what the system, as held
by Calvinists, really is." (_Synod of Dort_, p. 64.)
The Rev. Dr. Beecher says, in his work on _Skepticism_: "I have
_never heard a correct_ statement of the Calvinistic system from
an opponent;" and, after specifying some alleged instances of
misrepresentation, he adds: "It is needless to say that
falsehoods _more absolute_ and _entire_ were never stereotyped in
the foundry of the father of lies, or with greater industry
worked off for gratuitous distribution from age to age."
The Rev. Dr. Musgrave, in what he calls a _Brief Exposition and
Vindication of the Doctrine of the Divine Decrees, as taught in
the Assembly's Larger Catechism_, another of the publications of
the Presbyterian Board, charges the opponents of Calvinism in
general, and the Methodists in particular, with not only
_violently contesting_, but also with _shockingly caricaturing_,
and _shamefully misrepresenting_ and _vilifying_ Calvinism--with
"systematic and wide-spread defamation"--with "wholesale
traduction of moral character, involving the Christian reputation
of some three or four thousand accredited ministers of the
gospel." His charity suggests an apology for much of our
"misrepresentation of their doctrinal system" on the ground of
our "intellectual weakness and want of education;" but, for our
"dishonorable attempts to impair the influence" of Calvinistic
ministers, and "injure their churches," he "can conceive of no
apology."
The Rev. A. G. Fairchild, D. D., in a series of discourses
entitled _The Great Supper_, likewise published by the Presbyterian
Board of Publication, complains in these terms: "Sectarian partisans
are interested in misleading the public in regard to our real
sentiments, and hence their assertions should be received with
caution. Those who would understand our system of doctrines, must
listen, not to the misrepresentations of its enemies, but to the
explanations of its friends." (p. 40.) Again: "As these men cannot
wield the civil power against us, they will do what they can to
punish us for holding doctrines which they cannot overthrow by fair
and manly argument. God only knows the extent to which we might
have to suffer for our religion, were it not for the protection of
the laws! For, if men will publish the most wilful and deliberate
untruths against us, as they certainly do, for no other offence
than an honest difference of religious belief, what would they not
do if their power were equal to their wickedness?" (p. 73.)
This writer expresses his sense of the "wickedness of those who
oppose Calvinism" in still stronger terms: "If, then, the
doctrines of grace [Calvinism] are plainly taught in the
Scriptures, if they accord with the experience of Christians, and
enter largely into their prayers, then it must be exceedingly
sinful to oppose and misrepresent them. Those who do this will
eventually be found _fighting against God_. We have recently
heard of persons praying publicly against the election of grace,
and we wonder that their tongues did not cleave to the roof of
their mouth in giving utterance to the horrid imprecation." (p.
178.) Ah! These Methodists are very wicked!
The Rev. L. A. Lowry, author of a recent work, entitled _Search
for Truth_, published by the same high authority, discourses as
follows:--
"When I see a man trying to distort the proper meaning of words,
and, presenting a garbled statement of the views of an opponent,
I take it as conclusive evidence that he has a bad cause; more
when he is constantly at it, and manifests in all that he does a
feeling of uneasiness and hostility towards those who oppose him.
During my brief sojourn in the Cumberland Church, I was called
upon to witness many such exhibitions, that, in the outset of my
ministerial labors, made anything but a favorable impression on
my mind. I found there, in common with all others who hold to
Arminian sentiments, the most uncompromising and _malignant_
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Transcribed from the November 1914 Chas. J. Thynne edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
ROME, TURKEY
AND
JERUSALEM.
BY THE REV. E. HOARE,
SOMETIME VICAR OF TRINITY, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
AND HONORARY CANON OF CANTERBURY.
* * * * *
_NEW EDITION_.
(_Fourth Impression_.)
* * * * *
EDITED BY THE
REV. J. H. TOWNSEND, D.D.,
LATE VICAR OF ST. MARK’S, TUNBRIDGE WELLS, AUTHOR OF
“EDWARD HOARE, M.A., A RECORD OF HIS LIFE.” &c., &c.
* * * * *
* * * * *
LONDON:
CHAS. J. THYNNE,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.
_November_, _1914_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
ROME:—
THE OUTLINE 1
THE CONSUMPTION 18
TURKEY:—
THE EUPHRATES 36
THE FROGS 54
THE ADVENT 69
JERUSALEM 89
* * * * *
NEW EDITION.
First Impression December, 1912.
Second,, April, 1913.
Third,, June, 1913.
Fourth „ November, 1914.
FOREWORD TO FOURTH IMPRESSION.
Those of us who have been watching political events from the prophetical
standpoint, have seen during the last thirty years the steady drying up
of that overflowing river which once flooded Europe. Turkey’s fate we
knew to be certain, but there were fluctuations so we had to be patient.
Two years ago when writing the Foreword and notes to the first reprint of
this little book, I drew attention to the “amazing collapse” of Turkey’s
power “during the last few months.” Half a year later it seemed as if
only a thread of littoral would be left to Turkey in Europe; then came a
certain apparent return of vigour as when the ebbing tide sends back a
wave that seems to claim once more part of the dominion it had lost; just
in the same way Turkey regained some of the territory wrested from it
during the Balkan War, and we who were watching wondered for how long
this would be.
One year and a half has passed and now it really seems as if the clock
had struck. Only a few days ago the daily papers told the world that
Turkey, deluded, or bribed, or both, had thrown in her lot with Germany.
In a leading article dated Nov. 2, “The Times” summed up the matter
thus—“Whatever may be the immediate consequences of Turkish intervention,
there is a general consensus of opinion throughout the world that it
means the end of Turkey.” Bible students grasped the situation at once
recognizing the immense significance of the event, and on the same day at
the C.M.S. Anniversary at Exeter I pointed out the overwhelming
importance of this intelligence, in connection with Missionary work, the
future of the Jewish Nation and our Lord’s Return. I have heard from
Jerusalem of the keen excitement of the Jews there, and of the hope often
expressed that England would take action on their behalf. The secular
press in many quarters is already suggesting that the Allies at the
conclusion of the War might well establish the Jews in Palestine as a
buffer-state; this is exactly what some of us have for many years pointed
out, from the study of prophecy, as a likely solution of the near Eastern
question. Perhaps, it may be so—God’s promises unfold very quickly when
the time for their appearance is ripe. Our business is to watch and
pray, giving the Lord no rest till He establish and until He make
Jerusalem a praise on the earth, and above all constantly sending forth
the cry of His waiting Church—“even so, come Lord Jesus.”
J. H. T.
_November 20th_, _1914_.
FORWARD
It is now thirty-six years since these remarkable sermons were preached
by the late Canon Hoare. Published at the time, they had a very large
circulation and passed through several editions. An earnest desire
having been manifested for their re-issue with the addition of some
footnotes bringing them up to date, I have consented to undertake that
simple office. With happy memories of work under the beloved Vicar long
ago (1877–81) there is, to me, something indescribable in being permitted
once more in this unexpected way to unite with one who now within the
Veil walks not by faith but by sight and who instead of knowing but in
part now _knows_ even as also he is known.
It is a great tribute to the sagacity of the preacher, his deep knowledge
of Scripture, and his keen prophetic instincts, that these sermons need
no alteration, and only the necessary additions demanded by the history
of passing years.
The advance has been all along the exact lines which he as a diligent
student of the prophetic Scriptures was able to lay down. “The wise
shall understand” (Daniel xii. 10) is a promise which we see here
strikingly fulfilled.
Could the venerable preacher have seen the extraordinary developments
that have taken place in Jerusalem and the Holy Land during the last few
years, or the amazing collapse of the Mohammedan power which Europe has
witnessed in the past few months, how his heart would have rejoiced at
the fulfilment of Scriptural predictions, and how earnestly would he have
proclaimed afresh His Master’s Words—“When ye shall see these things,
know that He is nigh, even at the doors.”
_December_, 1912.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE.
It is a source of pleasure to the Editor, the Publisher, and all those
interested in the re-issue of this book, to know that a further edition
is so soon called for, and to receive so many testimonies to its
usefulness as a Guide to the Prophecies of Holy Writ.
_April_, _1913_.
ROME.
I.
THE OUTLINE.
It is impossible to imagine anything more delightful than the prospect of
the promised return of our most blessed Saviour. How do the father and
the mother feel when they welcome their long-absent son from India? How
will many an English wife feel when she welcomes her husband from the
Arctic Expedition? And how must the Church of God feel when, after her
long night of toil and difficulty, she stands face to face before Him
whom her soul loveth, and enters into the full enjoyment of the promise,
‘So shall we ever be with the Lord?’ There will be no tears then, for
there will be no sorrow; no death then, for there will be no more curse;
no sin then, for we shall see Him as He is, and shall be like Him. Then
will be the time of resurrection, when all the firstborn of God shall
awake to a life without decay and without corruption; and then the time
of reunion, when the whole company of God’s elect shall stand together
before the Lord, never again to shed a tear over each other’s grave; and
then will be the time when those who have loved and longed after Him, as
they have journeyed on alone in their pilgrimage, will find themselves on
the right hand of His throne, and hear His delightful words, ‘Come, ye
blessed children of my Father: inherit the kingdom prepared for you from
the foundation of the world!’
No wonder then that the people of God are waiting with anxious hearts for
the Advent; and no wonder that many are ready to say, ‘Lord, how long?’
and to ask, What hope is there of His quick return? Have we, or have we
not, any reason to look out for it soon? To this inquiry I would
endeavour to draw your attention this morning; and in doing so, I do not
intend to examine into what are usually called ‘the signs of the times,’
but to study the great prophetic sketch of the world’s history as given
to us by the prophet Daniel. This may be termed the backbone of
prophecy, and almost all the great prophecies of Holy Scripture fit into
it at some point or other; so that, if we wish to understand them, we
must begin by studying it. I fear I may not interest those who aim
simply to have their hearts warmed by the ministry. But they must
remember that the real study of God’s Word requires work, and that work,
though it lays the best possible foundation for feeling, does not at the
time excite it. To-day, then, we are to work, and I hope the Lord may so
bless His Word, that through work we may be led to feel.
Our business, then, is to endeavour to discover whether the great
prophetic sketch of history, given through the prophet Daniel, encourages
the blessed hope that the coming of the Lord may be near. Daniel gives a
prophecy of the history of political power from his own day till the time
when ‘the Ancient of Days shall sit,’ and describes a succession of
events which must take place in the interval. It is clear that our
business is to ascertain how many of these events have taken place, or,
in other words, how far we have advanced in the series.
In the study of our subject we have the advantage of looking at two sides
of the picture, for it has pleased God to give us the same series as seen
in two different aspects. In the second and seventh chapters you will
find predictions of the same events under different figures. In the
second chapter the prophecy is given as a vision to a proud, idolatrous
monarch. So the different kingdoms about to arise appear to him as the
several parts of a mighty image, with himself as the head of gold. It
was given in just such a shape as should coincide with his idolatry and
his pride. Whereas, in the seventh chapter, the vision is given to one
of God’s people, and he sees in all this glory nothing better than a
series of wild beasts coming up one after another to devour. How
different is the estimate of the world from that of God! The world
regards Babylon as the head of gold, the summit of glory and greatness,
while God looks on it as a savage beast, to be dreaded by His saints!
The same difference of character may be observed in the visions of the
coming of the Lord. To the great king it appeared as a triumphant
kingdom, to the captive prophet as a manifestation of the Son of man.
The one saw a kingdom, the other a person; the one, the overthrow of
power, the other, the advent of the Lord of Glory.
But now let us look at the series. In both prophecies there is a
description of four kingdoms which should in succession be supreme in
political power, and which should fill up an interval between Daniel and
the Advent.
1. There is the head of gold in Nebuchadnezzar’s image, the same as the
lion in the vision of Daniel. The most precious of metals corresponding
to the king of beasts.
2. There is next the breast and arms of silver, corresponding to the
bear of Daniel.
3. After that the belly and thighs of brass, representing the same
nation as the leopard of the prophet.
4. And following them is the last kingdom of the four, represented to
Nebuchadnezzar as the ‘legs of iron, and the feet, part of iron and part
of clay,’ and to Daniel as a beast, ‘dreadful and terrible, and strong
exceedingly.’
It is interesting to observe how the same iron character is attributed to
this last power in both visions. In the one we read of it, chap. ii. 40,
‘The fourth kingdom shall be strong as iron: forasmuch as iron breaketh
in pieces and subdueth all things; and as iron that breaketh all things,
shall it break in pieces and bruise.’ And in the other, chap. vii. 7, it
is said to be ‘strong exceedingly, and it had great iron teeth: it
devoured and brake in pieces, and stamped the residue with the feet of
it.’
Such is the series of kingdoms that were to hold the chief political
power of the world, and fill up the whole interval between the date of
the prophecy and the advent of the Lord. Now the remarkable, and I
believe I may say the indisputable, fact, is that, according to the
prophecy, all these four kingdoms have arisen. They have followed each
other exactly as it was predicted. Babylon was the head of gold, or the
lion. The Medes and Persians were the breast of silver, or the bear.
Greece, always called ‘the brazen armed,’ in classic poetry, was the
belly and the thighs of brass, or the leopard. And then the mighty power
of Rome, far exceeding all the others in its terrible strength, with the
legs of iron in the royal image, and the teeth of iron in the prophetic
beast. Thus far there is an agreement almost unanimous among the
students of prophetic Scripture; and the conclusion certainly is, that we
have already been a long time under the last of the four successive
empires of the world. So far then as those four empires are concerned,
we are encouraged to entertain the strong hope that, as we have reached
the last kingdom in the succession, we may begin hopefully to look out
for the end. We have passed the last station on the | 860.360611 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
AN
ARCHITECT'S NOTE-BOOK
IN
SPAIN
_PRINCIPALLY ILLUSTRATING THE_
DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE OF THAT COUNTRY.
BY
M. DIGBY WYATT, M.A.
SLADE PROFESSOR OF FINE ART IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE, &C.
WITH ONE HUNDRED OF THE AUTHOR'S SKETCHES,
REPRODUCED BY THE AUTOTYPE MECHANICAL PROCESS.
LONDON:
AUTOTYPE FINE ART COMPANY (LIMITED),
_36, RATHBONE PLACE._
TO
OWEN JONES, ESQ.
KNIGHT OF THE ORDERS OF SAINTS MAURICE AND LAZARUS OF ITALY, AND OF
LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM, MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SAINT FERDINAND OF
SPAIN, &C., &C., &C.
_My dear Owen,
_The last book I wrote I dedicated to my brother by blood; the
present I dedicate to you--my brother in Art. Let it be a record of
the value I set upon all you have taught me, and upon your true
friendship._
_Ever yours,_
M. DIGBY WYATT.
37, Tavistock Place, W.C.
October, 1872.
PREFACE.
Before quitting England for a first visit to Spain in the Autumn of
1869, I made up my mind both to see and draw as much of the
Architectural remains of that country as the time and means at my
disposal would permit; and further determined so to draw as to admit of
the publication of my sketches and portions of my notes on the objects
represented, in the precise form in which they might be made. I was
influenced in that determination by the consciousness that almost from
day to day the glorious past was being trampled out in Spain; and that
whatever issue, prosperous or otherwise, the fortunes of that much
distracted country might take in the future, the minor monuments of Art
at least which adorned its soil, would rapidly disappear. Their
disappearance would result naturally from what is called "progress" if
Spain should revive; while their perishing through neglect and wilful
damage, or peculation, would inevitably follow, if the ever smouldering
embers of domestic revolution should burst afresh into flame. Such has
been the invariable action of those fires which in all history have
melted away the most refined evidences of man's intelligence, leaving
behind only scanty, and often all but shapeless, relics of the richest
and ripest genius.
It is difficult to realise the rapidity with which, almost under one's
eyes, the Spain of history and romance "is casting its skin." Travelling
even with so recent and so excellent a handbook as O'Shea's of 1869, I
noted the following wanton acts of Vandalism and destruction, committed
upon monuments of the greatest archaeological and artistic interest since
he wrote. At Seville, the Church of San Miguel, one of the oldest and
finest in the city, was senselessly demolished by the populace as a sort
of auto-da-fe, and by way of commemoration of the revolution of
September, 1867. In exactly the same way the fine Byzantine churches of
San Juan at Lerida, and of San Miguel at Barcelona, have been "improved
off the face of the earth." Church plate, Custodias and Virils of the
D'Arfes, Becerrias, and other Art workmen, have vanished from the
treasuries of all the great ecclesiastical structures; whether sold,
melted down, or only hidden, "quien sabe?" The beautiful Moorish
decorations of the Alcazar at Segovia had been all but entirely
destroyed by fire, attributed to the careless cigar-lighting of the
Cadets to whom the structure had been abandoned. The finest old mansion
in Barcelona, the Casa de Gralla, probably the masterpiece of Damian
Forment, and dating from the commencement of the fourteenth century, has
been pulled down by the Duke of Medina Celi to form a new street. The
beautiful wooden ceiling of the Casa del Infantado at Guadalaxara, the
finest of its kind in Spain, in the absence of its owner, who I was told
lives in Russia, is coming down in large pieces, and once fallen, I
scarcely think it will be in the power of living workmen to make it good
again. The exquisite Moorish Palace of the Generalife at Granada, second
only to the Alhambra and the Alcazar at Seville, is never visited by its
proprietor, and is now one mass of white-wash, a victim of the zeal for
cleanliness of a Sanitary "Administrador." In short to visit a Spanish
city now, by the light shed upon its ancient glories by the industrious
Ponz, is simply to have forced upon one's attention the most striking
evidence of the "vanity of human things," and man's inherent tendency to
destroy.
One of the most painful sensations the lover of the Art of the Past
cannot but experience in Spain, is the feeling of its dissonance from,
and irreconcileability with, the wants and economical necessities of
to-day. The truth is that at the present moment, amongst the many
difficult problems which surround and beset the ruling powers, one of
the most puzzling is to find fitting uses for the many vast structures
which have fallen into the hands of the Government. Churches in number
and size out of all proportion to the wants of the population,
monasteries entirely without monks, convents with scarcely any nuns,
Jesuit seminaries without Jesuits, exchanges without merchants, colleges
without students, tribunals of the Holy Inquisition with, thank God! no
Inquisitors, and palaces without princes, are really "drugs in the
market;" too beautiful to destroy, too costly to properly maintain, and
for the original purposes for which they were planned and constructed at
incredible outlay they stand now almost useless. For the most part, the
grand architectural monuments of the country are now like Dickens'
"used-up giants" kept only "to wait upon the dwarfs." Among a few
instances of such, may be noticed the magnificent foundation of the
noblest Spanish ecclesiastic, Ximenez. His College at Alcala de Henares
(see etext transcriber note) is turned into a young ladies'
boarding-school; the splendid Convent of the Knights of Santiago at
Leon, the masterpiece of Juan de Badajoz, dedicated to Saint Mark, and
one of the finest buildings in Spain, is now in charge of a solitary
policeman and his wife, awaiting its possible conversion into an
agricultural college; the grand Palace of the Dukes of Alva at Seville
is let out in numerous small tenements and enriched with unlimited
whitewash; the Colegiata of San Gregorio at Valladolid, another of the
magnificent foundations of Cardinal Ximenez, and the old cathedral at
Lerida, the richest Byzantine monument in Spain, are now both
barracks;--the vast exchanges of Seville and Saragossa are tenantless
and generally shut up; the beautiful "Casa de los Abades" at Seville is
converted into a boy's school and lodging-house for numerous poor
tenants, the Casa del Infante at Saragossa, containing the most richly
sculptured Renaissance Patio in Spain, is chiefly occupied as a l | 860.376461 |
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VOL. XXXIII. NO. 5.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
MAY, 1879.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
PARAGRAPHS 129
THE LAND—ITS WEALTH AND ITS WANT 130
WAR OR MISSIONS 132
THE <DW64> HEGIRA 133
WOMAN’S WORK FOR WOMAN—CONGREGATIONALISM IN THE SOUTH 135
ITEMS FROM THE FIELD 137
GENERAL NOTES 138
THE FREEDMEN.
TOUR INTO THE SOUTHWEST: Rev. J. E. Roy, D. D. 140
GEORGIA, ATLANTA—Lady Missionary Needed 143
ALABAMA, MONTGOMERY—Tenantry, Promising Field, &c.: Rev.
F. Bascom, D. D. 143
ALABAMA, MOBILE—Emerson Institute: Rev. D. L. Hickok 145
MARION—Revival of Education; Rev. Geo. E. Hill 146
LOUISIANA—Straight University: Prof. J. K. Cole 147
TEXAS—CORPUS CHRISTI—Revival 148
TENNESSEE—Yellow Fever Fund 149
AFRICA.
NATIVE PREACHERS—ADVANCE CALLED, &c. 150
THE CHINESE.
SOME POINTS ON THE CHINESE QUESTION: Rev. W. C. Pond 151
RECEIPTS 153
CONSTITUTION 157
WORK, STATISTICS, WANTS &c. 158
* * * * *
NEW YORK.
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association,
56 READE STREET, N. Y.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT.
HON. E. S. Tobey, Boston.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Hon. F. D. PARISH, Ohio.
Hon. E. D. HOLTON, Wis.
Hon. WILLIAM CLAFLIN, Mass.
Rev. STEPHEN THURSTON, D. D., Me.
Rev. SAMUEL HARRIS, D. D., Ct.
WM. C. CHAPIN, Esq., R. I.
Rev. W. T. EUSTIS, D. D., Mass.
Hon. A. C. BARSTOW, R. I.
Rev. THATCHER THAYER, D. D., R. I.
Rev. RAY PALMER, D. D., N. Y.
Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D. D., Ill.
Hon. W. W. PATTON, D. D., D. C.
Hon. SEYMOUR STRAIGHT, La.
HORACE HALLOCK, Esq., Mich.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D. D., N. H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, Ct.
DOUGLAS PUTNAM, Esq., Ohio.
Hon. THADDEUS FAIRBANKS, Vt.
SAMUEL D. PORTER, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. M. M. G. DANA, D. D., Minn.
Rev. H. W. BEECHER, N. Y.
Gen. O. O. HOWARD, Oregon.
Rev. G. F. MAGOUN, D. D., Iowa.
Col. C. G. HAMMOND, Ill.
EDWARD SPAULDING, M. D., N. H.
DAVID RIPLEY, Esq., N. J.
Rev. WM. M. BARBOUR, D. D., Ct.
Rev. W. L. GAGE, Ct.
A. S. HATCH, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. J. H. FAIRCHILD, D. D., Ohio
Rev. H. A. STIMSON, Minn.
Rev. J. W. STRONG D. D., Minn.
Rev. GEORGE THACHER, Ll. D., Iowa.
Rev. A. L. STONE, D. D., California.
Rev. G. H. ATKINSON, D. D., Oregon.
Rev. J. E. RANKIN, D. D., D. C.
Rev. A. L. CHAPIN, D. D., Wis.
S. D. SMITH, Esq., Mass.
PETER SMITH, Esq., Mass.
Dea. JOHN C. WHITIN, Mass.
Rev. WM. PATTON, D. D., Ct.
Hon. J. B. GRINNELL, Iowa.
Rev. WM. T. CARR, Ct.
Rev. HORACE WINSLOW, Ct.
Sir PETER COATS, Scotland.
Rev. HENRY ALLON, D. D., London, Eng.
WM. E. WHITING, Esq., N. Y.
J. M. PINKERTON, Esq., Mass.
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D. D., Ct.
DANIEL HAND, Esq., Ct.
A. L. WILLISTON, Esq., Mass.
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D. D., N. Y.
FREDERICK BILLINGS, Esq., Vt.
JOSEPH CARPENTER, Esq., R. I.
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY.
REV. M. E. Strieby, D. D., _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
DISTRICT SECRETARIES.
REV. C. L. WOODWORTH, _Boston_.
REV. G. D. PIKE, _New York_.
REV. JAS. POWELL, _Chicago_.
EDGAR KETCHUM. ESQ., _Treasurer, N. Y._
H. W. HUBBARD, ESQ., _Assistant Treasurer, N. Y._
REV. M. E. STRIEBY, _Recording Secretary_.
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.
ALONZO S. BALL,
A. S. BARNES,
EDWARD BEECHER,
GEO. M. BOYNTON,
WM. B. BROWN,
CLINTON B. FISK,
ADDISON P. FOSTER,
E. A. GRAVES,
S. B. HALLIDAY,
SAM’L HOLMES,
S. S. JOCELYN,
ANDREW LUSTER,
CHAS. L. MEAD,
JOHN H. WASHBURN,
G. B. WILLCOX.
COMMUNICATIONS
relating to the business of the Association may be addressed to
either of the Secretaries above; letters for the Editor of the
“American Missionary” to Rev. Geo. M. Boynton, at the New York
Office.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
should be sent to H. W. Hubbard, Ass’t Treasurer, No. 56 Reade
Street, New York, or when more convenient, to either of the Branch
Offices, 21 Congregational House, Boston, Mass., or 112 West
Washington Street, Chicago, Ill.
A payment of thirty dollars at one time constitutes a Life Member.
Correspondents are specially requested to place at the head of each
letter the name of their Post Office, and the County and State in
which it is located.
* * * * *
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
VOL. XXXIII. MAY, 1879. No. 5.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association.
* * * * *
We wish to remind our readers that the offer of Mr. Arthington,
as it has come under our consideration by the report of the
Foreign Committee, and as it has been put before them by its
publication in the MISSIONARY for April, is still commended to
their consideration, and open to acceptance or declinature, as they
may decide. We are well aware that such great things are not to be
lightly or suddenly decided. It is a subject which demands careful
weighing, and all the light which may be gained from earthly
as well as from heavenly sources. The first offer was not made
suddenly or unadvisedly. Dr. O. H. White, of the Freedmen’s Aid
Society of England, writes us that he conversed with Mr. Arthington
about it more than a year ago, who said then, “_I will think of it,
and you pray earnestly that Robert Arthington may be led to a right
decision._” We can say nothing better now. Do you, friends, think
about it, and we will pray earnestly that you may be led to a right
decision.
* * * * *
We have just received from the estate of the late Charles Avery, of
Pittsburgh, Pa., $12,000 as an endowment, the interest to be used
in the work of African evangelization. As the money has just come
to hand as we are going to press, there has been no opportunity for
action on the part of the Executive Committee as to its specific
appropriation. It may be deemed advisable to use it in furtherance
of the mission proposed to us by Mr. Arthington, of Leeds, England.
In behalf of Africa and her descendants on two continents, we
cannot forbear another tribute to the memory of Mr. Avery, and to
his executors who have so faithfully carried out his benevolent
wishes.
* * * * *
Rev. W. H. Willcox, of Reading, Mass., and his brother, Rev. G.
B. Willcox, D.D., of Stamford, Conn., have returned from a tour
among our institutions of the South, in which they have been
accompanied by District Secretary Pike. It is with no small degree
of pleasure that we record their great satisfaction in what they
saw and their hearty approval of the work, and the proof they have
given of their sincerity in it. It is well known that Mr. Willcox
has been acting in behalf of Mrs. Daniel P. Stone, of Malden,
Mass., in the distribution of a large fund among the educational
institutions of our land. As a result of his observation of the
work done at Atlanta and Fisk Universities, he has appropriated
one hundred thousand dollars to be divided equally between these
two institutions. This affords aid, which is greatly needed, for
the enlargement of the work at these most important places. It
will go into buildings and other permanent equipment. We devoutly
wish that men and women who have money to give would go and do
likewise,—visit our institutions for the education of the Freedmen,
see the work which is being done, and the work which needs to
be done, and then act in the light they have gained from actual
observation.
* * * * *
Rev. B. C. Church, of Goliad, Texas, who has been long and
faithfully occupied in our service, needs a _buggy_, not for
pleasure-driving, we assure our readers, but that he may be able
to visit not only his immediate field, but the new station at
Flatonia, as often as may be needed for the supervision of that
new and promising work. He says “the running part will do, and a
second-hand one at that.” Surely that is a modest request. Is there
not some one of our readers who has such a vehicle to spare for the
Lord’s work, _top and all_?
* * * * *
Two months ago, among our _Items from the Field_ was a plea,
condensed into less than two lines, for an organ for the church at
Orangeburg, S. C. A few days after, Mr. S. T. Gordon generously
offered to give us the needed instrument, and it is now helping
“the service of song in the house of the Lord” in that place.
The pastor writes: “We have received that invaluable gift, the
cabinet organ donated by Mr. S. T. Gordon in aid of the day and
Sunday-school and church work in this field. For this goodness
the children, the congregation and ourselves unite in sending
Mr. Gordon and the A. M. A. ten thousand grateful thanks. And we
beseech the Lord to abundantly reward this labor of love. It will
afford us very great aid indeed.” It is encouraging to receive such
prompt responses to wants thus simply made known. We are emboldened
to call attention to a similar petition for an organ, in the letter
from Corpus Christi, Texas. What other generous and prompt friend
will be moved to answer, “_Here it is?_”
* * * * *
THE LAND—ITS WEALTH AND ITS WANT.
Among the explorers of the eastern part of Equatorial Africa no
other has given us so full descriptions of the land, its wants and
woes, and its brilliant possibilities, as Sir Samuel Baker. And he,
too, in his “Ismailia,” traverses largely the territory suggested
for our occupation by Mr. Arthington. The following paragraphs are
from his description of the natural scenery, and of the beauty and
fertility of the land on the east side of the Nile above and below
Fatiko. Is this not a pleasing picture of a portion of our proposed
field?
“I reveled in this lovely country. The fine park-like trees were
clumped in dark-green masses here and there. The tall dolape-palms
(Borassus Ethiopicus) were scattered about the plain, sometimes
singly, at others growing in considerable numbers. High and bold
rocks, near and distant mountains, the richest plain imaginable in
the foreground, with the clear Un-y-Amé flowing now in a shallow
stream between its lofty banks, and the grand old Nile upon our
right, all combined to form a landscape that produced a paradise.
The air was delightful. There was an elasticity of spirit, the
result of a pure atmosphere, that made one feel happy in spite of
many anxieties. My legs felt like steel as we strode along before
the horses, with rifle on shoulder, into the magnificent valley,
in which the mountains we had descended seemed to have taken
root. The country was full of game. Antelopes in great numbers,
and in some variety, started from their repose in this beautiful
wilderness, and having for a few moments regarded the strange
sights of horses, and soldiers in scarlet uniform, they first
trotted and then cantered far away. The graceful leucotis stood in
herds upon the river’s bank, and was the last to retreat. * * * * *
Magnificent trees (acacias), whose thick, dark foliage drooped near
the ground, were grouped in clumps, springing from the crevices
between huge blocks of granite. Brooks of the purest water rippled
over the time-worn channels, cut through granite plateaux, and as
we halted to drink at the tempting stream, the water tasted as cold
as though from a European spring. The entire country on our left
was a | 860.376468 |
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Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
PRACTICAL ARTS FOR LITTLE GIRLS
A Series Uniform with this Volume
_Each book, illustrated, 75 cents net_
COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS
SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
WORK AND PLAY FOR LITTLE GIRLS
HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
[Illustration: PUZZLE PICTURE,--FIND THE LITTLE GIRL]
GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS
BY
OLIVE HYDE FOSTER
AUTHOR OF
"COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
"SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
"HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1917
Copyright, 1916 by
HOUSE AND GARDEN
Copyright, 1916, by
HOUSEWIVES MAGAZINE
Copyright, 1917, by
ST. NICHOLAS
The Century Co.
Copyright, 1917, by
COUNTRYSIDE MAGAZINE
The Independent Co.
Copyright, 1917, by
OLIVE HYDE FOSTER
_DEDICATED TO
Junior and Allan,
Two of the dearest children that ever showed
love for the soil._
Preface
Children take naturally to gardening, and few occupations count so much
for their development,--mental, moral and physical.
Where children's garden clubs and community gardens have been tried, the
little folks have shown an aptitude surprising to their elders, and
under exactly the same natural, climatic conditions, the children have
often obtained astonishingly greater results. Moreover, in the poor
districts many a family table, previously unattractive and lacking in
nourishment, has been made attractive as well as nutritious, with their
fresh green vegetables and flowers.
Ideas of industry and thrift, too, are at the same time inculcated
without words, and habits formed that affect their character for life. A
well-known New York City Public School superintendent once said to me
that she had a flower bed every year in the children's gardens, where a
troublesome boy could always be controlled by giving to him the honor of
its care and keeping.
The love of nature, whether inborn or acquired, is one of the greatest
sources of pleasure, and any scientific knowledge connected with it of
inestimable satisfaction. Carlyle's lament was, "Would that some one had
taught me in childhood the names of the stars and the grasses."
It is with the hope of helping both mothers and children that this
little book has been most lovingly prepared.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I FIRST STEPS TOWARD A GARDEN 1
II PLANNING AND PLANTING THE FLOWER BEDS 9
III FLOWERS THAT MUST BE RENEWED EVERY YEAR (ANNUALS) 19
IV FLOWERS THAT LIVE THROUGH TWO YEARS 30
V FLOWERS THAT COME UP EVERY YEAR BY THEMSELVES (PERENNIALS) 37
VI FLOWERS THAT SPRING FROM A STOREHOUSE (BULBS AND TUBERS) 48
VII THAT QUEEN--THE ROSE 58
VIII VINES, TENDER AND HARDY 71
IX SHRUBS WE LOVE TO SEE 78
X VEGETABLE GROWING FOR THE HOME TABLE 82
XI YOUR GARDEN'S FRIENDS AND FOES 94
XII A MORNING-GLORY PLAYHOUSE 102
XIII THE WORK OF A CHILDREN | 860.380608 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Blue Jackets; or, The Log of the Teaser, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
Another very exciting nautical novel by this author, who is a master of
suspense. HMS Teaser, a clipper-gunboat, is patrolling the China Seas
on the lookout for pirates. At the time of the story she has proceeded
up the Nyho river, and is at anchor off the city of Nyho. The teller
of the story is one of three young midshipmen, Nathaniel Herrick. A
most important character is Ching, the Chinese interpreter, who would
love to be much more important than he is. The boys and Ching find
themselves in various situations which look pretty terrifying at the
time, but the author manages to slip them out of these situations just
in the nick of time. One particularly well-drawn scene is where the
boys beg Ching to take them to a Chinese theatre, and he decides upon
something that he thinks will really interest them. Unfortunately it is
a public beheading of some pirates whom the Teaser has brought to
justice, but the boys do not enjoy the scene. They realise that if they
tried to walk out they would most probably be beheaded themselves, so
they have to sit tight.
It's a full-length novel with a great deal of suspense, so there's
plenty to enjoy here.
NH
________________________________________________________________________
BLUE JACKETS; OR, THE LOG OF THE TEASER, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
WE JOLLY SAILOR BOYS.
"Come along, boys; look sharp! Here's old Dishy coming."
"Hang old Dishipline; he's always coming when he isn't wanted. Tumble
over."
We three lads, midshipmen on board HM clipper gunboat the _Teaser_, did
"tumble over"--in other words, made our way down into the boat
alongside--but not so quickly that the first lieutenant, Mr Reardon,
who, from his slightly Hibernian pronunciation of the word discipline
and constant references thereto had earned for himself among us the
sobriquet of "Dishy," did catch sight of us, come to the gangway and
look down just as Double B had given the order to shove off, and was
settling the strap of the large telescope he carried over his shoulder.
I ought to tell you our names, though, in order of seniority; and it
will make matters more easy in this log if I add our second handles or
nicknames, for it was a habit among us that if a fellow could by any
possibility be furnished with an alias, that furnishing took place.
For instance, Bruce Barkins always went by the name of "Double B," when,
in allusion to the Bark in his family name, he was not called the
"Little Tanner," or "Tanner" alone; Harry Smith, being a swarthy,
dark-haired fellow, was "Blacksmith;" and I, Nathaniel Herrick, was
dubbed the first day "Poet"--I, who had never made a line in my life--
and later on, as I was rather diminutive, the "Gnat."
One can't start fair upon any voyage without preparations, so I must put
in another word or two to tell you that there were two logs kept on
board the good ship _Teaser_--one by the chief officer, and in which the
captain often put down his opinion. This is not that, but my own
private log; and I'm afraid that if the skipper or Lieutenant Reardon
had ever seen it he would have had a few words of a sort to say to me--
words which I would rather not have heard.
It was a gloriously fine morning. We had been dodging about the coast
on and off for a month on the look-out for piratical junks and lorchas,
had found none, and were now lying at anchor in the mouth of the Nyho
river, opposite the busy city of that name. Lastly, we three had leave
to go ashore for the day, and were just off when the first lieutenant
came and stood in the gangway, just as I have said, and the Tanner had
told the coxswain to shove off.
"Stop!" cried our tyrant loudly; and the oars which were being dropped
into the pea-soupy water were tossed up again and held in a row.
"Oh my!" groaned Barkins.
"Eh?" cried the first lieutenant sharply. "What say?" and he looked
hard at me.
"I didn't speak, sir."
"Oh, I thought you did. Well, young gentlemen, you are going ashore for
the day. Not by my wish, I can assure you."
"No, sir," said Smith, and he received a furious look.
"Was that meant for impertinence, sir?"
"I beg pardon, sir; no, sir."
"Oh, I'm very glad it was not. I was saying it was not by my wish that
you are going ashore, for I think you would be all better employed in
your cabin studying navigation."
"Haven't had a holiday for months, sir," said Barkins, in a tone of
remonstrance.
"Well, sir, what of that? Neither have I. Do you suppose that the
discipline of Her Majesty's ships is to be kept up by officers thinking
of nothing else but holidays? Now, listen to me--As you are going--
recollect that you are officers and gentlemen, and that it is your duty
to bear yourselves so as to secure respect from the Chinese inhabitants
of the town."
"Yes, sir," we said in chorus.
"You will be very careful not to get into any scrapes."
"Of course, sir."
"And you will bear in mind that you are only barbarians--"
"And foreign devils, sir."
"Thank you, Mr Smith," said the lieutenant sarcastically. "You need
not take the words out of my mouth. I was going to say foreign
devils--"
"I beg pardon, sir."
"--In the eyes of these self-satisfied, almond-eyed Celestials. They
would only be too glad of an excuse to mob you or to declare that you
had insulted them, so be careful."
"Certainly, sir."
"Perhaps you had better not visit their temples."
Smith kicked me | 860.38165 |
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Conservative and Unionist Women's
Franchise Association.
The Progress of the
Women's Suffrage Movement
by
Mrs. Henry Sidgwick
Presidential Address to the Cambridge Branch of
the C. & U. W. F. A. at the Annual Meeting on
May 23rd, 1913.
CAMBRIDGE
BOWES & BOWES
1913
+PRICE TWOPENCE NET.+
THE PROGRESS OF THE WOMEN'S SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT.
_An address to the Cambridge Branch of the Conservative and
Unionist Women's Suffrage Association at their Annual Meeting on
May 23, 1913. By Mrs. Henry Sidgwick._
It seems to me sometimes that we do not cheer ourselves as much as we
might by thinking of the immense strides our movement has made in the
last fifty years; so I propose to say a few words about it this
afternoon, although there is not of course anything very new to say. For
we need cheering because, notwithstanding the general progress of our
cause, we are just now suffering from a serious set-back due to the
action of the militant societies. They are clearly and visibly setting
people against us. And it appears that not only in this country are they
raising up enemies against us, but that _our_ militants are hindering
the movement in other countries.
Moreover, what is much worse than injury to the special cause which our
society exists to promote, the militants are injuring our country and
the cause of civilization and progress. The very existence and
usefulness of society depends on the maintenance of law and order. The
protection of the weak, the possibility of development in well being
generally, all that society stands for, depends on its members being law
abiding--on their respecting law and life and property. And here we have
women, while urging that their admission to a formal share in the
government of the country would be for its advantage, at the same time
teaching by the most powerful method they can use,--namely,
example--doctrines subversive of all social order; teaching that persons
who cannot get the majority to agree with their view of what is
advisable in the interest of the whole should injure and annoy the
community in every way they conveniently can--proceeding even to
incendiarism, and apparently threatening manslaughter.
It is heartbreaking that such things should be done in a good
cause--and it is especially hard for women to bear because it hurts
their pride in their own sex. They have to see not only their country
injured, and the cause of women's suffrage, in whose name these things
are done, retarded, but they have to see the reputation of their sex for
good sense and sober judgment draggled in the mud.
This is the most serious--indeed, I think the only serious set-back our
movement has had. It has on the whole been sufficiently wisely conducted
to secure almost uniformly steady progress from its small beginnings to
its present great proportions.
In all--or almost all--big social movements ultimate success depends on
the gradual conversion to benevolence of a large neutral majority. The
movement in its beginning--and this was eminently true of our
movement--is championed by a small body of pioneers. They make converts,
and when they begin to be taken seriously a body of active opponents is
probably stirred up, but so long as the active opposition is not too
strong it does little harm--it may even do good by helping to interest
people in the question. But for a long time the great mass of people
remain neutral. Either they have never heard of the movement, or they do
not think it serious and only laugh at it, or they think the question
unimportant and do not much mind which way it is decided, or they think
immediate decision is not called for, and that they may as well wait and
see. In fact, for one reason or another they do not | 860.385892 |
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The Boy Scouts
On the Trail
OR
Scouting through the Big Game Country
By HERBERT CARTER
Author of "The Boy Scouts' First Camp Fire," "The Boy Scouts
in the Blue Ridge," "The Boy Scouts on the Trail,"
"The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods,"
"The Boy Scouts In the Rockies"
Copyright, 1913
By A. L. Burt Company
"Did you get him, Thad?" shouted the boys. "Come over here, all of you!"
said Thad. Page 83
--_The Boy Scouts on the Trail._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. What Took the Scouts up into Maine. 3
II. The Troubles of Bumpus. 11
III. A Strange Discovery. 20
IV. The Ignorance of Step Hen. 31
V. The Tell-tale Tracks. 40
VI. A Sheriff's Posse. 51
VII. The Birch Bark Challenge. 60
VIII. Out for Big Game. 69
IX. "GOOD Shot! Great Little Gun!" 77
X. The Old Trapper's Cabin. 85
XI. On the Wings of the Night Wind. 96
XII. A Face in the Window. 106
XIII. The Marked Shoe Again. 115
XIV. Figuring It Out. 123
XV. The Luck That Came to Bumpus. 131
XVI. A Little Knowledge, Well Earned. 148
XVII. The Coming of the Hairy Honey Thief. 156
XVIII. A Mighty Nimrod. 164
XIX. The "Whine" of a Bullet. 173
XX. A Wonderful Find. 181
XXI. The Dummy Packet. 190
XXII. The Night Alarm. 198
XXIII. A Flank Movement. 206
XXIV. What Woodcraft Does. 215
XXV. Surprising Charlie. 223
XXVI. The Sheriff Gets His Shock, Too. 231
XXVII. Down the River--Conclusion. 240
THE BOY SCOUTS
ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER I.
WHAT TOOK THE SCOUTS UP INTO MAINE.
"There never was such great luck as this, fellows!"
"You're right there, Step Hen; and never will be again, that's sure!"
"Let's see; first, there was that silly old epidemic breaking out in our
town, and forcing the directors to put up the bars in the school till
after the Christmas holidays; that was a great and glorious snap for the
Silver Fox Patrol of the Cranford Troop of Boy Scouts, wasn't it?"
"But that was only a beginning, Giraffe; there were better things still
headed our way."
"Sure there were, Davy. As luck would have it, just at that same time
Thad Brewster's guardian found that it was mighty necessary he get word
to a gentleman by the name of James W. Carson. He wired up to Maine, you
remember, only to learn that Mr. Carson, who was a great hunter, had
started into the big game country after moose, with a couple of guides,
and wouldn't be back until late in the winter."
"Everything just worked for us, seemed like," remarked the boy called
Davy. "Thad suggested that he be sent up to follow this party, and
deliver the message, and his guardian fell in with the idea right away,
didn't he, Thad?"
"I think he was only too willing, boys; because he knew we wanted to get
up in Maine the worst kind; ever since our comrade, Allan Hollister here,
began to tell us such splendid stories of the fun to be had in the pine
woods of his home state. But go on, Step Hen, finish the story while
you're about it."
"Why, of course, when Thad, he found he could go, that gave him an idea;
and sure enough, the whole of the patrol got the fever. Bob Quail had to
give it up, because he had too much on hand to leave home just then; and
Smithy had the hard luck to get a touch of the plague that had dropped in
on Cranford for a visit; but didn't the rest of us hit it up, though?"
"I should say we did, as sure as my name's Davy Jones!"
"Well, the upshot of the whole matter was that one fine day six of us
left Cranford, bound for Maine, with all our camp stuff along; and here
we are at last, in the country of big game, canoes, guides, tents, and
everything along we need for a month of good times, or more if we want
it."
"But don't forget, Step Hen, that the one main object of the trip is to
find Mr. James W. Carson," interrupted the boy named Thad; who seemed to
be looked up to as the leader of the scout patrol, which office he really
filled.
"Sure," replied Step Hen, who was stretched out comfortably by a blazing
fire. "But we've got heaps of time for hunting besides, and trying out a
lot of things we've been learning as scouts. It was fine for our rich
chum, Bob Quail, to insist on handing in a big lump of coin to add to the
funds contributed by our folks. That put us on easy | 860.387922 |
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MONEY.
"Gold is a wonderful clearer of the understanding; it dissipates
every doubt and scruple in an instant, accommodates itself to the
meanest capacities, silences the loud and clamorous and brings
over the most obstinate and inflexible. Philip of Macedon refuted
by it all the wisdom of Athens, confounded their statesmen, struck
their orators dumb, and at length argued them out of their
liberties."
--ADDISON.
SPEECH
OF
HON. JOHN P. JONES,
OF NEVADA,
ON THE FREE COINAGE OF SILVER;
IN THE
UNITED STATES SENATE,
MAY 12 AND 13, 1890.
WASHINGTON.
1890.
SPEECH
OF
HON. JOHN P. JONES,
OF NEVADA.
On the bill (S. 2350) authorizing the issue of Treasury notes on
deposits of silver bullion.
Mr. JONES, of Nevada, said:
Mr. PRESIDENT: The question now about to be discussed by this body is in
my judgment the most important that has attracted the attention of
Congress or the country since the formation of the Constitution. It
affects every interest, great and small, from the slightest concern of
the individual to the largest and most comprehensive interest of the
nation.
The measure under consideration was reported by me from the Committee on
Finance. It is hardly necessary for me to say, however, that it does not
fully reflect my individual views regarding the relation which silver
should bear to the monetary circulation of the country or of the world.
I am, at all times and in all places, a firm and unwavering advocate of
the free and unlimited coinage of silver, not merely for the reason that
silver is as ancient and honorable a money metal as gold, and equally
well adapted for the money use, but for the further reason that, looking
at the annual yield from the mines, the entire supply that can come to
the mints will at no time be more than is needed to maintain at a steady
level the prices of commodities among a constantly increasing
population.
In view, however, of the great divergency of views prevailing on the
subject, the length of time which it was believed might be consumed in
the endeavor to secure that full and rightful measure of legislation to
which the people are entitled, and the possibility that this session of
Congress might terminate without affording the country some measure of
substantial relief, I was willing, rather than have the country longer
subjected to the baleful and benumbing influences set in motion by the
demonetization act of 1873, to join with other members of the Finance
Committee in reporting the bill now under consideration.
Under the circumstances I wish at the outset of the discussion to say
that I hold myself free to vote for any amendment that may be offered
that may tend to make the bill a more perfect measure of relief, and
that may be more in consonance with my individual views.
THE CONDITION OF THE COUNTRY.
The condition of this country to-day, Mr. President, is well calculated
to awaken the interest and arouse the attention of thinking men. It can
be safely asserted that no period of the world's history can exhibit a
people at once so numerous and homogeneous, living under one form of
government, speaking a common language, enjoying the same degree of
personal and political liberty, and sharing, in so equal a degree, the
same civilization as the population of the United States. Eminently
practical and ingenious, of indomitable will, untiring energy, and
unfailing hope; favored by nature with a domain of imperial expanse,
with soil and climate of unequaled variety and beneficence, with every
natural condition that can conduce to individual prosperity and national
glory, it might well be expected that among such a people industry,
agriculture, commerce, art, and science would reach an extent and
perfection of development surpassing anything ever known in the history
of mankind.
In some respects this expectation would appear to have been well
founded. For several years past our farmers have produced an annual
average of 400,000,000 bushels of wheat. Our oat crop for 1888 was
700,000,000 bushels, our corn crop 2,000,000,000 bushels, our cotton
crop 7,000,000 bales. In that year our coal mines yielded 170,000,000
tons of coal, our furnaces produced 6,500,000 tons of pig iron and
3,000,000 tons of steel. Our gold and silver mines add more than
$100,000,000 a year to the world's stock of the precious metals. We
print 16,000 newspapers and periodicals, have in operation 154,000 miles
of railroad and 250,000 miles of telegraph. The value of our
manufactured products at the date of the last census was $5,400,000,000.
Our farm lands at the same time were estimated at $10,000,000,000, our
cattle at $2,000,000,000, our railroads at $6,000,000,000, our houses at
$14,000,000,000. It is not too much to say that there has been an
increase of fully 50 per cent. in those values since the taking of the
census of 1880. Our national wealth to-day is reasonably estimated at
over $60,000,000,000.
Figures and facts such as these in the history of a young nation bespeak
the presence not merely of great natural opportunities, but of a people
marvelously apt and forceful. From such results should be anticipated
the highest attainable prosperity and happiness. Our population is
alert, aspiring, and buoyant, not given to needless repining or aimless
endeavor, but, with fixity of purpose, presses ever eagerly on,
utilizing every conception of the brain to supplement and multiply the
possibilities of the hand, and at every turn subordinating the subtle
forces of nature to the best and wisest purposes of man. No equal number
of persons on the globe better deserve success, or are better adapted
for its enjoyment.
But instead of finding, as we should find, happiness and contentment
broadcast throughout our great domain, there are heard from all
directions, even in this Republic, resounding cries of distress and
dissatisfaction. Every trade and occupation exhibits symptoms of
uneasiness and distrust. The farmer, the artisan, the merchant,--all
share in the general complaint that times are hard, that business is
"dull." The farmer is in debt, and is not realizing, on the products of
his labor, the wherewithal to meet either his deferred or his current
obligations; the artisan, when at work, finds himself compelled to share
his earnings with some relative or friend who is out of employment; the
merchant who buys his goods on time finds little profit in sales, and
difficulty in making his payments.
WHAT IS THE DIFFICULTY?
What can it be, Mr. President, that has thus brought to naught all the
careful estimates and painstaking computations, not of thousands, nor of
hundreds of thousands, but of millions, of keen, shrewd, and far-seeing
men? Our people take an intelligent interest in their business; they
look ahead; they endeavor, as far as possible, to estimate correctly
their assets and liabilities, so that on the day of reckoning they may
be found ready. Why this universal failure of all classes to compute
correctly in advance their situation on the coming pay-day? What potent
and sinister drug has been secretly introduced into the veins of
commerce that has caused the blood to flow so sluggishly--that has
narcotized the commercial and industrial world?
All have been looking for the cause, and many think they have discovered
it. With some it is "over-production," with others either a "high
tariff" or a "tariff not sufficiently high." Some think it due to trusts
and combinations, others to improved methods of production, or because
the crops are overabundant or not abundant enough. Some ascribe the
difficulty to speculation; others, to "strikes." All sorts of
insufficient and contradictory causes are assigned for the same general
and universal complaint. However inadequate in themselves, they serve to
emphasize the universal recognition of a difficulty whose cause without
close inquiry is likely to elude detection. But the evil is of such
magnitude, it is so widespread and pervasive, that, without a knowledge
of its cause, all effort at mitigation of its effects can but add to the
confusion and intensify the difficulty.
It behooves us, therefore, as we value the prosperity and happiness of
our people, to set ourselves diligently to the inquiry: What is the
cause of the unrest and discontent now universally prevailing?
ONE SYMPTOM COMMON TO ALL INDUSTRIES.
In surveying the question broadly, to discover whether there is anything
that affects the situation in common from the standpoint of varying
occupations, we find one, and only one, uniform and unfailing
characteristic; the prices of all commodities and of all property,
except in money centers, have fallen, and continue falling. Such a
phenomenon as a constant and progressive fall in the general range of
prices has always exercised so baleful an influence on the prosperity of
mankind that it never fails to arrest attention.
History gives evidence of no more prolific source of human misery than a
persistent and long continued fall in the general range of prices. But,
although exercising so pernicious an influence, it is not itself a
cause, but an effect.
When a fall of prices is found operating, not on one article or class of
articles alone, but on the products of all industries; when found to be
not confined to any one climate, country, or race of people, but to
diffuse itself over the civilized world; when it is found not to be a
characteristic of any one year, but to go on progressively for a series
of years, it becomes manifest that it does not and can not arise from
local, temporary or subordinate causes, but must have its genesis and
development in some principle of universal application.
WHAT PRODUCES A GENERAL FALL OF PRICES?
What, then, is it that produces a general decline of prices in any
country? It is produced by a shrinkage in the volume of money relatively
to population and business, which has never yet failed to cause an
increase in the value of the money unit, and a consequent decrease in
the price of the commodities for which such unit is exchanged. If the
volume of money in circulation be made to bear a direct and steady ratio
to population and business, prices will be maintained at a steady level,
and, what is of supreme importance, money will be kept of unchanging
value. With an advancing civilization, in which a large volume of
business is conducted on a basis of credit extending over long periods,
it is of the uttermost importance that money, which is the measure of
all equities, should be kept unchanging in value through time.
EFFECT OF A REDUCTION IN THE MONEY-VOLUME.
A reduction in the volume of money relatively to population and
business, or, (to state the proposition in another form) a volume which
remains stationary while population and business are increasing, has the
effect of increasing the value of each unit of money, by increasing its
purchasing power.
It is only within a comparatively recent period that an increasing value
in the money unit could produce such widespread disturbance of industry
as it produces to-day. In the rude periods of society commerce was by
barter; and even for thousands of years after the introduction of money,
credit, where known at all, was extremely limited. Under such
circumstances changes in the volume and in the value of money, while
operating to the disadvantage of society as a whole, could not instantly
or seriously affect any one individual. An increase of 25 per cent. in
one year in the value of the money unit--a change which now, by reason
of existing contracts or debts, would entail universal bankruptcy and
ruin--would not be seriously felt by a community in which no such
contracts or debts existed, in which payments were immediate or at short
intervals, and each individual parted with his money almost as soon as
he received it.
Such proportion of the annual increase in the value of the money unit as
could attach to any one month, week, or day would be wholly
insignificant, and as most transactions were closed on the spot, no
appreciable loss could accrue to any individual. Such loss as did accrue
was shared in and averaged among the whole community, making it the
veriest trifle upon any individual. But how is it in our day?
THAT EFFECT INTENSIFIED AS CIVILIZATION ADVANCES.
The inventions of the past one hundred years have established a new
order of the ages. The revolution of industry and commerce, effected by
the adaptation of steam and other forces of nature to the uses of man,
have given to civilization an impetus exceeding anything known in the
former experience of mankind. Under the operation of the new system, the
rapidity and intensity with which, within that period, civilization has
developed, is due in great part to an economic feature unknown to
ancient civilization and practically unknown even to civilized society
until the present century. That feature is the time-contract, by which
alone leading minds are enabled to project in advance enterprises of
magnitude and moment. It is only through intelligent and far-seeing
plans and projections that in a complex and minutely classified system
of industry great bodies of men can be kept in uninterrupted employment.
We have 22,000,000 workmen in this country. In order that they may be
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Tales and Trails
of Wakarusa
By
A. M. HARVEY
of the Topeka Bar
Crane & Company, Printers
Topeka, Kansas
1917
Copyright 1917
By Crane and Company
A Forethought and a Dedication
"A Paradoxical philosopher, carrying to the uttermost length that
aphorism of Montesquieu's, 'Happy the people whose annals are
tiresome,' has said; 'Happy the people whose annals are vacant.' In
which saying, mad as it looks, may there not still be found some
grain of reason? For truly, as it has been written, 'Silence is
divine,' and of Heaven; so in all earthly things, too, there is a
silence which is better than any speech. Consider it well, the Event,
the thing which can be spoken of and recorded; is it not in all cases
some disruption, some solution of continuity? Were it even a glad
Event, it involves change, involves loss (of active force); and so
far, either in the past or in the present, is an irregularity, a
disease. Stillest perseverance were our blessedness--not dislocation
and alteration--could they be avoided.
"The oak grows silently in the forest a thousand years; only in the
thousandth year, when the woodman arrives with his ax, is there heard
an echoing through the solitudes; and the oak announces itself when,
with far-sounding crash, it falls. How silent, too, was the planting
of the acorn, scattered from the lap of some wandering wind! Nay,
when our oak flowered, or put on its leaves (its glad Events), what
shout of proclamation could there be? Hardly from the most observant
a word of recognition. These things befell not, they were slowly
done; not in an hour, but through the flight of days: what was to be
said of it? This hour seemed altogether as the last was, as the next
would be.
"It is thus everywhere that foolish Rumor babbles not of what
was done, but of what was misdone or undone; and foolish History
(ever, more or less, the written epitomized synopsis of Rumor)
knows so little that were not as well unknown. Attila Invasions,
Walter-the-Penniless Crusades, Sicilian Vespers, Thirty-Years' Wars:
mere sin and misery; not work, but hindrance of work! For the Earth
all this while was yearly green and yellow with her kind harvests;
the hand of the craftsman, the mind of the thinker, rested not; and
so, after all and in spite of all, we have this so glorious high-domed
blossoming World; concerning which poor History may well ask with
wonder, Whence it came? She knows so little of it, knows so much of
what obstructed it, what would have rendered it impossible. Such,
nevertheless, by necessity or foolish choice, is her rule and
practice; whereby that paradox, 'Happy the people whose annals are
vacant,' is not without its true side."--Carlyle.
This book of tales and trails of people whose annals are vacant,
because they were peaceful and happy, is dedicated to the
nineteen-year-old soldier boys of 1917 and to their comrades; and
especially to that nineteen-year-old soldier, Randal Cone Harvey,
whose image and whose service is with us by day and by night. May
their service help bring to a war-cursed world such peace that the
annals of all men will be stories of love, companionship and
association one with another.
A. M. Harvey.
Contents
Title
Forethought and Dedication
The Trail of the Sac and Fox
The Stone Bridge
The Newcomers
An Old-Timer
Mother Newcomer
John MacDonald
Jake Self
The Yankee and His Hog--and Other Troubles
The Trail That Never Was Traveled
The Conversion of Cartmill
A Fourth of July Speech
The Phantom Fisherman, and Other Ghosts
An Indian Christmas
The Trail of the Sac and Fox
It was during the '40's that the Sac and Fox Indians started on their
long journey to take up their home in the land provided for them in
Kansas, being a portion of the present counties of Lyon, Osage, and
Franklin. In the year 1846 a large number of them had camped in the
Kansas River Valley near the present site of Topeka, and because of
their friendship with the Shawnees they were permitted to remain
there for some time before moving on. Many of them formed attachments
and friendships among the Shawnees and Pottawatomies, and remained
with them. After the main body of the Sac and Fox moved on to their
own lands, their associations with the Shawnees and other friendly
Indians were such that there was much travel back and forth.
The trails leading south from the Kansas River Valley all fell into
the "Oregon" or "California" road, and along that the Indians
traveled to the trading village of Carthage, a few miles northeast of
the present village of Berryton. From there, several trails set off
toward the Sac and Fox lands. One of the principal trails wound over
the hills and down through a long ravine to the Wakarusa Valley, and
across that river at the ford where the great stone bridge now
stands, due south of Berryton; and from there it wound around the
hill through the woods and again over the plains. Afterwards a public
road was laid out upon this trail, called, in the Shawnee County
records, the "Sac and Fox Road," but usually spoken of as the "Ottawa
State Road."
Just south of the Wakarusa crossing and a few hundred yards around
the brow of the hill, there lies a parcel of level ground, which was
an ideal place for camping. It is now occupied by the public road,
and church and school-house grounds. This was a famous camping place
for the Sac and Fox and all other Indians who used the trail. If you
step up to the stone fence just east of the schoolhouse, looking over
you will notice a deep ditch washed out down the creek bank, on the
side of which a large oak tree stands, with many of its roots
exposed. This ditch marks the path first used by the Indians as they
went back and forth from the camping ground to the spring of sweet,
beautiful water that flows from out the rocks at the foot of the
hill.
Modern history of this portion of the valley begins with this camping
place. It was not only a resting place, but a place where
consultations and conferences were held, and where the eloquent ones
told of the glory of Black Hawk, the wisdom of Keokuk, | 860.476533 |
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Library, Agnes Scott College.
JURGEN
_A Comedy of Justice_
By
JAMES BRANCH CABELL
1922
_"Of JURGEN eke they maken mencioun,
That of an old wyf gat his youthe agoon,
And gat himselfe a shirte as bright as fyre
Wherein to jape, yet gat not his desire
In any countrie ne condicioun."_
TO
BURTON RASCOE
Before each tarradiddle,
Uncowed by sciolists,
Robuster persons twiddle
Tremendously big fists.
"Our gods are good," they tell us;
"Nor will our gods defer
Remission of rude fellows'
Ability to err."
So this, your JURGEN, travels
Content to compromise
Ordainments none unravels
Explicitly... and sighs.
* * * * *
"Others, with better moderation, do either entertain the vulgar
history of Jurgen as a fabulous addition unto the true and authentic
story of St. Iurgenius of Poictesme, or else we conceive the literal
acception to be a misconstruction of the symbolical expression:
apprehending a veritable history, in an emblem or piece of Christian
poesy. And this emblematical construction hath been received by men
not forward to extenuate the acts of saints."
--PHILIP BORSDALE.
"A forced construction is very idle. If readers of _The High
History of Jurgen_ do not meddle with the allegory, the allegory
will not meddle with them. Without minding it at all, the whole is
as plain as a pikestaff. It might as well be pretended that we
cannot see Poussin's pictures without first being told the allegory,
as that the allegory aids us in understanding _Jurgen_."
--E. NOEL CODMAN.
"Too urbane to advocate delusion, too hale for the bitterness of
irony, this fable of Jurgen is, as the world itself, a book wherein
each man will find what his nature enables him to see; which gives
us back each his own image; and which teaches us each the lesson
that each of us desires to learn."
--JOHN FREDERICK LEWISTAM.
* * * * *
_CONTENTS_
A FOREWORD: WHICH ASSERTS NOTHING
I WHY JURGEN DID THE MANLY THING
II ASSUMPTION OF A NOTED GARMENT
III THE GARDEN BETWEEN DAWN AND SUNRISE
IV THE DOROTHY WHO DID NOT UNDERSTAND
V REQUIREMENTS OF BREAD AND BUTTER
VI SHOWING THAT SEREDA IS FEMININE
VII OF COMPROMISES ON A WEDNESDAY
VIII OLD TOYS AND A NEW SHADOW
IX THE ORTHODOX RESCUE OF GUENEVERE
X PITIFUL DISGUISES OF THRAGNAR
XI APPEARANCE OF THE DUKE OF LOGREUS
XII EXCURSUS OF YOLANDE'S UNDOING
XIII PHILOSOPHY OF GOGYRVAN GAWR
XIV PRELIMINARY TACTICS OF DUKE JURGEN
XV OF COMPROMISES IN GLATHION
XVI DIVERS IMBROGLIOS OF KING SMOIT
XVII ABOUT A COCK THAT CROWED TOO SOON
XVIII WHY MERLIN TALKED IN TWILIGHT
XIX THE BROWN MAN WITH QUEER FEET
XX EFFICACY OF PRAYER
XXI HOW ANAITIS VOYAGED
XXII AS TO A VEIL THEY BROKE
XXIII SHORTCOMINGS OF PRINCE JURGEN
XXIV OF COMPROMISES IN COCAIGNE
XXV CANTRAPS OF THE MASTER PHILOLOGIST
XXVI IN TIME'S HOUR-GLASS
XXVII VEXATIOUS ESTATE OF QUEEN HELEN
XXVIII OF COMPROMISES IN LEUKE
XXIX CONCERNING HORVENDILE'S NONSENSE
XXX ECONOMICS OF KING JURGEN
XXXI THE FALL OF PSEUDOPOLIS
XXXII SUNDRY DEVICES OF THE PHILISTINES
XXXIII FAREWELL TO CHLORIS
XXXIV HOW EMPEROR JURGEN FARED INFERNALLY
XXXV WHAT GRANDFATHER SATAN REPORTED
XXXVI WHY COTH WAS CONTRADICTED | 860.479139 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
The American Missionary
JANUARY, 1896
Vol. L
No. 1
CONTENTS
EDITORIAL.
THE NEW YEAR, 1
PAMPHLETS AND SPEECHES, 2
JUBILEE BELL BANK, 3
MEETING WOMAN'S BUREAU--CLIPPINGS, 3
THE CHINESE.
ENDEAVOR TESTIMONIES, 4
IN MEMORIAM.
PROF. GEO. L. WHITE, 6
MISS ADA M. SPRAGUE, 7
MRS. N. D. MERRIMAN--MISS LILLIAN BEYER, 8
BUREAU OF WOMAN'S WORK.
ANNUAL MEETING--REPORT OF SECRETARY, 9
ADDRESS OF MRS. SYDNEY STRONG, 13
ADDRESS OF MISS ANNETTE P. BRICKETT, 15
EXTRACTS FROM ADDRESS, MISS H. S. LOVELAND, 18
ADDRESS OF MRS. HARRIS, 20
EXTRACTS FROM ADDRESS OF MRS. WOODBURY, 21
WOMAN'S STATE ORGANIZATIONS 23
RECEIPTS, 25
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION,
Bible House, Ninth St. and Fourth Ave., New York.
Price, 50 Cents a Year in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as second-class mail
matter.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association.
PRESIDENT, MERRILL E. GATES, LL.D., MASS.
_Vice-Presidents._
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D.D., Ill.
Rev. ALEX. MCKENZIE, D.D., Mass.
Rev. HENRY HOPKINS, D.D., Mo.
Rev. HENRY A. STIMSON, D.D., N. Y.
Rev. WASHINGTON GLADDEN, D.D., Ohio.
_Honorary Secretary and Editor._
REV. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Corresponding Secretaries._
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D.D., Rev. F. P. WOODBURY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
Rev. C. J. RYDER, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Recording Secretary._
Rev. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Treasurer._
H. W. HUBBARD, Esq., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Auditors._
GEORGE S. HICKOK.
JAMES H. OLIPHANT.
_Executive Committee._
CHARLES L. MEAD, Chairman.
CHARLES A. HULL, Secretary.
_For Three Years._
SAMUEL HOLMES,
SAMUEL S. MARPLES,
CHARLES L. MEAD,
WILLIAM H. STRONG,
ELIJAH HORR.
_For Two Years._
WILLIAM HAYES WARD,
JAMES W. COOPER,
LUCIEN C. WARNER,
JOSEPH H. TWICHELL,
CHARLES P. PEIRCE.
_For One Year._
CHARLES A. HULL,
ADDISON P. FOSTER,
ALBERT J. LYMAN,
NEHEMIAH BOYNTON,
A. J. F. BEHRENDS.
_District Secretaries._
Rev. GEO. H. GUTTERSON, _21 Cong'l House, Boston, Mass._
Rev. JOS. E. ROY, D.D., _153 La Salle Street, Chicago, Ill._
_Secretary of Woman's Bureau._
Miss D. E. EMERSON, _Bible House, N. Y._
COMMUNICATIONS
Relating to the work of the Association may be addressed to the
Corresponding Secretaries; letters for "THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY," to
the Editor, at the New York Office; letters relating to the finances,
to the Treasurer; letters relating to woman's work, to the Secretary
of the Woman's Bureau.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
In drafts, checks, registered letters, or post-office orders, may be
sent to H. W. Hubbard, Treasurer, Bible House, New York; or, when more
convenient, to either of the Branch Offices, 21 Congregational House,
Boston, Mass., or 153 La Salle Street, Chicago, Ill. A payment of
thirty dollars constitutes a Life Member.
NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS.--The date on the "address label" indicates the
time to which the subscription is paid. Changes are made in date on
label to the 10th of each month. If payment of subscription be made
afterward the change on the label will appear a month later. Please
send early notice of change in post-office address, giving the former
address and the new address, in order that our periodicals and
occasional papers may be correctly mailed.
FORM OF A BEQUEST.
"I GIVE AND BEQUEATH the sum of ---- dollars to the 'American
Missionary Association,' incorporated by act of the Legislature of the
State of New York." The will should be attested by three witnesses.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY
VOL. L. JANUARY, 1896. No. 1.
* * * * *
1846. THE NEW YEAR. 1896.
Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-six brings in the Jubilee Year of the
American Missionary Association. What marked changes have taken place
between 1846 and 1896, even in the range of events with which the
Association is connected! Then the great gold discoveries in
California had not been made; then little was done by the Church or
the Government for the Indian; then the Southern mountaineers were
hunting and fishing, innocent of schools and railroads; then slavery
dominated the land, oppressing the slave and aiming to crush free
thought and speech in the North.
Now how changed! As to slavery, for example. The war and emancipation
have written a new page on our national history. But emancipation only
battered down the prison doors and sent forth the millions of
ignorant, helpless and vicious people--a menace to the Republic and a
reproach to the Church, if left in their degraded condition, but
presenting a most hopeful field for humane and Christian effort. The
facts made an appeal for immediate and effective work and the American
Missionary Association sprang into the task. Hundreds of refined and
Christian women lent their aid and toiled in the | 860.486547 |
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The Works of E.P. Roe
VOLUME SEVENTEEN
SUCCESS WITH SMALL FRUITS
ILLUSTRATED
1881
I Dedicate this Book
TO
MR. CHARLES DOWNING
A Neighbor, Friend, and Horticulturist
FROM WHOM I SHALL ESTEEM IT A PRIVILEGE TO LEARN IN COMING YEARS AS I
HAVE IN THE PAST
PREFACE
A book should be judged somewhat in view of what it attempts. One of
the chief objects of this little volume is to lure men and women back
to their original calling, that of gardening. I am decidedly under the
impression that Eve helped Adam, especially as the sun declined. I am
sure that they had small fruits for breakfast, dinner and supper, and
would not be at all surprised if they ate some between meals. Even we
poor mortals who have sinned more than once, and must give our minds to
the effort not to appear unnatural in many hideous styles of dress, can
fare as well. The Adams and Eves of every generation can have an Eden
if they wish. Indeed, I know of many instances in which Eve creates a
beautiful and fruitful garden without any help from Adam.
The theologians show that we have inherited much evil from our first
parents, but, in the general disposition to have a garden, can we not
recognize a redeeming ancestral trait? I would like to contribute my
little share toward increasing this tendency, believing that as
humanity goes back to its first occupation it may also acquire some of
the primal gardener's characteristics before he listened to temptation
and ceased to be even a gentleman. When he brutally blamed the woman,
it was time he was turned out of Eden. All the best things of the
garden suggest refinement and courtesy. Nature might have contented
herself with producing seeds only, but she accompanies the prosaic
action with fragrant flowers and delicious fruit. It would be well to
remember this in the ordinary courtesies of life.
Moreover, since the fruit-garden and farm do not develop in a
straightforward, matter-of-fact way, why should I write about them
after the formal and terse fashion of a manual or scientific treatise?
The most productive varieties of fruit blossom and have some foliage
which may not be very beautiful, any more than the departures from
practical prose in this book are interesting; but, as a leafless plant
or bush, laden with fruit, would appear gaunt and naked, so, to the
writer, a book about them without any attempt at foliage and flowers
would seem unnatural. The modern chronicler has transformed history
into a fascinating story. Even science is now taught through the charms
of fiction. Shall this department of knowledge, so generally useful, be
left only to technical prose? Why should we not have a class of books
as practical as the gardens, fields, and crops, concerning which they
are written, and at the same time having much of the light, shade,
color, and life of the out-of-door world? I merely claim that I have
made an attempt in the right direction, but, like an unskillful artist,
may have so confused my lights, shades, and mixed my colors so badly,
that my pictures resemble a strawberry-bed in which the weeds have the
better of the fruit.
Liberal outlines of this work appeared in "Scribner's Magazine," but
the larger scope afforded by the book has enabled me to treat many
subjects for which there was no space in the magazine, and also to give
my views more fully concerning topics only touched upon in the serial.
As the fruits described are being improved, so in the future other and
more skillful horticulturists will develop the literature relating to
them into its true proportions.
I am greatly indebted to the instruction received at various times from
those venerable fathers and authorities on all questions relating to
Eden-like pursuits--Mr. Chas. Downing of Newburg, and Hon. Marshall P.
Wilder of Boston, Mr. J. J. Thomas, Dr. Geo. Thurber; to such valuable
works as those of A. S. Fuller, A. J. Downing, P. Barry, J. M. Merrick,
Jr.; and some English authors; to the live horticultural journals in
the East, West, and South; and, last but not least, to many plain,
practical fruit-growers who are as well informed and sensible as they
are modest in expressing their opinions.
CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON, NEW YORK.
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION
On page 315 of this volume will be found the following words: "To
attempt to describe all the strawberries that have been named would be
a task almost as interminable as useless. This whole question of
varieties presents a different phase every four or five years.
Therefore I treat the subject in my final chapter in order that I may
give revision, as often as there shall be occasion for it, without
disturbing the body of the book. A few years since certain varieties
were making almost as great a sensation as the Sharpless. They are now
regarded as little better than weeds in most localities." Now that my
publishers ask me to attempt this work of revision, I find that I
shrink from it, for reasons natural and cogent to my mind. Possibly the
reader may see them in the same light. The principles of cultivation,
treatment of soils, fertilizing, etc., remain much the same; My words
relating to these topics were penned when knowledge--the result of many
years of practical experience--was fresh in memory. Subsequent
observation has confirmed the views I then held, and, what is of far
more weight in my estimation, they have been endorsed by the best and
most thoroughly informed horticulturists in the land. I wrote what I
then thought was true; I now read what has been declared true by
highest authorities. I have more confidence in their judgment than in
my own, and, having been so fortunate as to gain their approval, I fear
to meddle with a record which, in a sense, has become theirs as well as
mine. Therefore I have decided to leave the body of the book untouched.
When I read the lists of varieties I found many that have become
obsolete, many that were never worthy of a name. Should I revise these
lists, as I fully expected to do, from time to time? At present I have
concluded that I will not, for the following reasons:
When, between six and seven years ago, I wrote the descriptions of the
various kinds of fruit then in vogue, I naturally and inevitably
reflected the small-fruit world as it then existed. The picture may
have been imperfect and distorted, but I gave it as I saw it. With all
its faults I would like to keep that picture for future reference. The
time may come when none of the varieties then so highly praised and
valued will be found in our fields or gardens. For that very reason I
should like to look back to some fixed and objective point which would
enable me to estimate the mutations which had occurred. Originators of
new varieties are apt to speak too confidently and exultantly of their
novelties; purchasers are prone to expect too much of them. Both might
obtain useful lessons by turning to a record of equally lauded
novelties of other days. Therefore I would like to leave that sketch of
varieties as seen in 1880 unaltered. To change the figure, the record
may become a landmark, enabling us to estimate future progress more
accurately. Should the book still meet with the favor which has been
accorded to it in the past, there can be frequent revisions of the
supplemental lists which are now given. Although no longer engaged in
the business of raising and selling plants, I have not lost my interest
in the plants themselves. I hope to obtain much of my recreation in
testing the new varieties offered from year to year. In engaging in
such pursuits even the most cynical cannot suspect any other purpose
than that of observing impartially the behavior of the varieties on
trial.
I will maintain my grasp on the button-hole of the reader only long
enough to state once more a pet theory--one which I hope for leisure to
test at some future time. Far be it from me to decry the disposition to
raise new seedling varieties; by this course substantial progress has
been and will be made. But there is another method of advance which may
promise even better results.
In many of the catalogues of to-day we find many of the fine old
varieties spoken of as enfeebled and fallen from their first estate.
This is why they decline in popular favor and pass into oblivion.
Little wonder that these varieties have become enfeebled, when we
remember how ninety-nine hundredths of the plants are propagated. I
will briefly apply my theory to one of the oldest kinds still in
existence--Wilson's Albany. If I should set out a bed of Wilson's this
spring, I would eventually discover a plant that surpassed the others
in vigor and productiveness--one that to a greater degree than the
others exhibited the true characteristics of the variety. I should then
clear away all the other plants near it and let this one plant
propagate itself, until there were enough runners for another bed. From
this a second selection of the best and most characteristic plants
would be made and treated in like manner. It appears to me reasonable
and in accordance with nature that, by this careful and continued
selection, an old variety could be brought to a point of excellence far
surpassing its pristine condition, and that the higher and better
strain would become fixed and uniform, unless it was again treated with
the neglect which formerly caused the deterioration. By this method of
selection and careful propagation the primal vigor shown by the
varieties which justly become popular may be but the starting-point on
a career of well-doing that can scarcely be limited. Is it asked, "Why
is not this done by plant-growers?" You, my dear reader, may be one of
the reasons. You may be ready to expend even a dollar a plant for some
untested and possibly valueless novelty, and yet be unwilling to give a
dollar a hundred for the best standard variety in existence. If I had
Wilsons propagated as I have described, and asked ten dollars a
thousand for them, nine out of ten would write back that they could buy
the variety for two dollars per thousand. So they could; and they,
could also buy horses at ten dollars each, and no one could deny that
they were horses. One of the chief incentives of nurserymen to send out
novelties is that they may have some plants for sale on which they can
make a profit. When the people are educated up to the point of paying
for quality in plants and trees as they are in respect to livestock,
there will be careful and capable men ready to supply the demand.
Beginning on page 349, the reader will find supplemental bits of
varieties which have appeared to me worthy of mention at the present
time. I may have erred in my selection of the newer candidates for
favor, and have given some unwarranted impressions in regard to them.
Let the reader remember the opinion of a veteran fruit-grower. "No
true, accurate knowledge of a variety can be had," he said, "until it
has been at least ten years in general cultivation."
I will now take my leave, in the hope that when I have something
further to say, I shall not be unwelcome.
E. P. R.
CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON, N. Y.
_January 16,1886._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. PRELIMINARY PARLEY
II. THE FRUIT GARDEN
III. SMALL FRUIT FARMING AND ITS PROFITS
IV. STRAWBERRIES: THE FIVE SPECIES AND THEIR HISTORY
V. IDEAL STRAWBERRIES VERSUS THOSE OF THE FIELD AND MARKET
VI. CHOICE OF SOIL AND LOCATION
VII. PREPARING AND ENRICHING THE SOIL
VIII. PREPARATION OF SOIL BY DRAINAGE
IX. THE PREPARATION OF SOILS COMPARATIVELY UNFAVORABLE--CLAY, SAND, ETC
X. COMMERCIAL AND SPECIAL FERTILIZERS
XI. OBTAINING PLANTS AND IMPROVING OUR STOCK
XII. WHEN SHALL WE PLANT?
XIII. WHAT SHALL WE PLANT? VARIETIES, THEIR CHARACTER AND ADAPTATION TO
SOILS
XIV. SETTING OUT PLANTS
XV. CULTIVATION
XVI. A SOUTHERN STRAWBERRY FARM, AND METHODS OF CULTURE IN THE SOUTH
XVII. FORCING STRAWBERRIES UNDER GLASS
XVIII. ORIGINATING NEW VARIETIES--HYBRIDIZATION
XIX. RASPBERRIES--SPECIES, HISTORY, PROPAGATION, ETC
XX. RASPBERRIES--PRUNING--STAKING--MULCHING--WINTER PROTECTION, ETC
XXI. RASPBERRIES--VARIETIES OF THE FOREIGN AND NATIVE SPECIES
XXII. RUBUS OCCIDENTALS--BLACK-CAP AND PURPLE-CANE RASPBERRIES
XXIII. THE RASPBERRIES OF THE FUTURE
XXIV. BLACKBERRIES--VARIETIES, CULTIVATION, ETC.
XXV. CURRANTS--CHOICE OF SOIL, CULTIVATION, PRUNING, ETC.
XXVI. CURRANTS, CONTINUED--PROPAGATION, VARIETIES
XXVII. GOOSEBERRIES
XXVIII. DISEASES AND INSECT ENEMIES OF SMALL FRUITS
XXIX. PICKING AND MARKETING
XXX. IRRIGATION
XXXI. SUGGESTIVE EXPERIENCES FROM WIDELY SEPARATED LOCALITIES
XXXII. A FEW RULES AND MAXIMS
XXXIII. VARIETIES OF STRAWBERRIES
XXXIV. VARIETIES OF OTHER SMALL FRUITS
XXXV. CLOSING WORDS
APPENDIX
INDEX
CHAPTER I
PRELIMINARY PARLEY
In the ages that were somewhat shadowed, to say the least, when Nature
indulged her own wild moods in man and the world he trampled on rather
than cultivated, there was a class who in their dreams and futile
efforts became the unconscious prophets of our own time--the
Alchemists. For centuries they believed they could transmute base
metals into gold and silver. Modern knowledge enables us to work
changes more beneficial than the alchemist ever dreamed of; and it
shall be my aim to make one of these secrets as open as the sunlight in
the fields and gardens wherein the beautiful mutations occur. To turn
iron into gold would be a prosaic, barren process that might result in
trouble to all concerned, but to transform heavy black earth and
insipid rain-water into edible rubies, with celestial perfume and
ambrosial flavor, is indeed an art that appeals to the entire race, and
enlists that imperious nether organ which has never lost its power over
heart or brain. As long, therefore, as humanity's mouth waters at the
thought of morsels more delicious even than "sin under the tongue," I
am sure of an audience when I discourse of strawberries and their
kindred fruits. If apples led to the loss of Paradise, the reader will
find described hereafter a list of fruits that will enable him to
reconstruct a bit of Eden, even if the "Fall and all our woe" have left
him possessed of merely a city yard. But land in the country, breezy
hillsides, moist, sheltered valleys, sunny plains--what opportunities
for the divinest form of alchemy are here afforded to hundreds of
thousands!
Many think of the soil only in connection with the sad words of the
burial service--"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes." Let us, while we may,
gain more cheerful associations with our kindred dust. For a time it
can be earth to strawberry blossoms, ashes to bright red berries, and
their color will get into our cheeks and their rich subacid juices into
our insipid lives, constituting a mental, moral, and physical
alterative that will so change us that we shall believe in evolution
and imagine ourselves fit for a higher state of existence. One may
delve in the earth so long as to lose all dread at the thought of
sleeping in it at last; and the luscious fruits and bright-hued flowers
that come out of it, in a way no one can find out, may teach our own
resurrection more effectually than do the learned theologians.
We naturally feel that some good saints in the flesh, even though they
are "pillars of the church," need more than a "sea-change" before they
can become proper citizens of "Jerusalem the Golden;" but having
compared a raspberry bush, bending gracefully under its delicious
burden, with the insignificant seed from which it grew, we are ready to
believe in all possibilities of good. Thus we may gather more than
berries from our fruit-gardens. Nature hangs thoughts and suggestions
on every spray, and blackberry bushes give many an impressive scratch
to teach us that good and evil are very near together in this world,
and that we must be careful, while seeking the one, to avoid the other.
In every field of life those who seek the fruit too rashly are almost
sure to have a thorny experience, and to learn that prickings are
provided for those who have no consciences.
He who sees in the world around him only what strikes the eye lives in
a poor, half-furnished house; he who obtains from his garden only what
he can eat gathers but a meagre crop. If I find something besides
berries on my vines, I shall pick it if so inclined. The scientific
treatise, or precise manual, may break up the well-rooted friendship of
plants, and compel them to take leave of each other, after the
arbitrary fashion of methodical minds, but I must talk about them very
much as nature has taught me, since, in respect to out-of-door life, my
education was acquired almost wholly in the old-fashioned way at the
venerable "dame's school." Nay more, I claim that I have warrant to
gather from my horticultural texts more than can be sent to the dining
table or commission merchant. Such a matter-of-fact plant as the
currant makes some attempt to embroider its humble life with ornament,
and in April the bees will prove to you that honey may be gathered even
from a gooseberry bush. Indeed, gooseberries are like some ladies that
we all know. In their young and blossoming days they are sweet and
pink-hued, and then they grow acid, pale, and hard; but in the ripening
experience of later life they become sweet again and tender. Before
they drop from their places the bees come back for honey, and find it.
In brief, I propose to take the reader on a quiet and extended ramble
among the small fruits. It is much the same as if I said, "Let us go
a-strawberrying together," and we talked as we went over hill and
through dale in a style somewhat in harmony with our wanderings. Very
many, no doubt, will glance at these introductory words, and decline to
go with me, correctly feeling that they can find better company. Other
busy, practical souls will prefer a more compact, straightforward
treatise, that is like a lesson in a class-room, rather than a stroll
in the fields, or a tour among the fruit farms, and while sorry to lose
their company, I have no occasion to find fault.
I assure those, however, who, after this preliminary parley, decide to
go further, that I will do my best to make our excursion pleasant, and
to cause as little weariness as is possible, if we are to return with
full baskets. I shall not follow the example of some thrifty people who
invite one to go "a-berrying," but lead away from fruitful nooks,
proposing to visit them alone by stealth. All the secrets I know shall
become open ones. I shall conduct the reader to all the "good places,"
and name the good things I have discovered in half a lifetime of
research. I would, therefore, modestly hint to the practical reader--to
whom "time is money," who has an eye to the fruit only, and with whom
the question of outlay and return is ever uppermost--that he may, after
all, find it to his advantage to go with us. While we stop to gather a
flower, listen to a brook or bird, or go out of our way occasionally to
get a view, he can jog on, meeting us at every point where we "mean
business." These points shall occur so often that he will not lose as
much time as he imagines, and I think he will find my business talks
business-like--quite as practical as he desires.
To come down to the plainest of plain prose, I am not a theorist on
these subjects, nor do I dabble in small fruits as a rich and fanciful
amateur, to whom it is a matter of indifference whether his
strawberries cost five cents or a dollar a quart. As a farmer, milk
must be less expensive than champagne. I could not afford a fruit farm
at all if it did not more than pay its way, and in order to win the
confidence of the "solid men," who want no "gush" or side sentiment,
even though nature suggests some warrant for it, I will give a bit of
personal experience. Five years since, I bought a farm of twenty-three
acres that for several years had been rented, depleted, and suffered
to run wild. Thickets of brushwood extended from the fences well into
the fields, and in a notable instance across the entire place. One
portion was so stony that it could not be plowed; another so wet and
sour that even grass would not grow upon it; a third portion was not
only swampy, but liable to be overwhelmed with stones and gravel twice
a year by the sudden rising of a mountain stream. There was no fruit on
the place except apples and a very few pears and grapes. Nearly all of
the land, as I found it, was too impoverished to produce a decent crop
of strawberries. The location of the place, moreover, made it very
expensive--it cost $19,000; and yet during the third year of occupancy
the income from this place approached very nearly to the outlay, and in
1878, during which my most expensive improvements were made, in the way
of draining, taking out stones, etc., the income paid for these
improvements, for current expenses, and gave a surplus of over $1,800.
In 1879, the net income was considerably larger. In order that these
statements may not mislead any one, I will add that in my judgment only
the combined business of plants and fruit would warrant such expenses
as I have incurred. My farm is almost in the midst of a village, and
the buildings upon it greatly increased its cost. Those who propose to
raise and sell fruit only should not burden themselves with high-priced
land. Farms, even on the Hudson, can be bought at quite moderate prices
at a mile or more away from centres, and yet within easy reach of
landings and railroad depots.
Mr. Charles Downing, whose opinions on all horticultural questions are
so justly valued, remarked to me that no other fruit was so affected by
varying soils and climates as the strawberry. I have come to the
conclusion that soil, locality, and climate make such vast differences
that unless these variations are carefully studied and indicated, books
will mislead more people than they help. A man may write a treatise
admirably adapted to his own farm; but if one living a thousand, a
hundred, or even one mile away, followed the same method, he might
almost utterly fail. While certain general and foundation principles
apply to the cultivation of each genus of fruit, important
modifications and, in some instances, almost radical changes of method
must be made in view of the varied conditions in which it is grown.
It is even more important to know what varieties are best adapted to
different localities and soils. While no experienced and candid
authority will speak confidently and precisely on this point, much very
useful information and suggestion may be given by one who, instead of
theorizing, observes, questions, and records facts as they are. The
most profitable strawberry of the far South will produce scarcely any
fruit in the North, although the plant grows well; and some of our best
raspberries cannot even exist in a hot climate or upon very light
soils. In the preparation of this book it has been my aim to study
these conditions, that I might give advice useful in Florida and
Canada, New York and California, as well as at Cornwall. I have
maintained an extensive correspondence with practical fruit growers in
all sections, and have read with care contributions to the
horticultural press from widely separated localities. Not content with
this, I have visited in person the great fruit-growing centres of New
Jersey, Norfolk and Richmond, Va.; Charleston, S. C.; Augusta and
Savannah, Ga,; and several points in Florida. Thus, from actual
observation and full, free conversation, I have familiarized myself
with both the Northern and Southern aspects of this industry, while my
correspondence from the far West, Southwest, and California will, I
hope, enable me to aid the novice in those regions also.
I know in advance that my book will contain many and varied faults, but
I intend that it shall be an expression of honest opinion. I do not
like "foxy grapes" nor foxy words about them.
CHAPTER II
THE FRUIT GARDEN
_Raison d'etre_
Small fruits, to people who live in the country, are like
heaven--objects of universal desire and very general neglect. Indeed,
in a land so peculiarly adapted to their cultivation, it is difficult
to account for this neglect if you admit the premise that Americans are
civilized and intellectual. It is the trait of a savage and inferior
race to devour with immense gusto a delicious morsel, and then trust
to luck for another. People who would turn away from a dish of
"Monarch" strawberries, with their plump pink cheeks powdered with
sugar, or from a plate of melting raspberries and cream, would be
regarded as so eccentric as to suggest an asylum; but the number of
professedly intelligent and moral folk who ignore the simple means of
enjoying the ambrosial viands daily, for weeks together, is so large as
to shake one's confidence in human nature. A well-maintained fruit
garden is a comparatively rare adjunct of even stylish and pretentious
homes. In June, of all months, in sultry July and August, there arises
from innumerable country breakfast tables the pungent odor of a meat
into which the devils went but out of which there is no proof they ever
came. From the garden under the windows might have been gathered fruits
whose aroma would have tempted spirits of the air. The cabbage-patch
may be seen afar, but too often the strawberry-bed even if it exists is
hidden by weeds, and the later small fruits struggle for bare life in
some neglected corner. Indeed, an excursion into certain parts of Hew
England might suggest that many of its thrifty citizens would not have
been content in Eden until they had put its best land into onions and
tobacco. Through the superb scenery of Vermont there flows a river
whose name, one might think, would secure an unfailing tide from the
eyes of the inhabitants. The Alpine strawberry grows wild in all that
region, but the puritan smacked his lips over another gift of nature
and named the romantic stream in its honor. To account for certain
tastes or tendencies, mankind must certainly have fallen a little way,
or, if Mr. Darwin's | 860.486645 |
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COLOUR IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN
[Illustration: _WHITE LILIES._]
_THE "COUNTRY LIFE"
LIBRARY_
COLOUR IN THE
FLOWER GARDEN
BY
GERTRUDE JEKYLL
[Illustration: A bunch of flowers.]
PUBLISHED BY
"COUNTRY LIFE," LTD. GEORGE NEWNES, LTD.
20, TAVISTOCK STREET 7-12, SOUTHAMPTON ST.
COVENT GARDEN, W.C. COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1908
INTRODUCTION
To plant and maintain a flower-border, _with a good scheme for colour_,
is by no means the easy thing that is commonly supposed.
I believe that the only way in which it can be made successful is to
devote certain borders to certain times of year; each border or garden
region to be bright for from one to three months.
Nothing seems to me more unsatisfactory than the border that in spring
shows a few patches of flowering bulbs in ground otherwise looking
empty, or with tufts of herbaceous plants just coming through. Then
the bulbs die down, and their place is wanted for something that comes
later. Either the ground will then show bare patches, or the place of
the bulbs will be forgotten and they will be cruelly stabbed by fork or
trowel when it is wished to put something in the apparently empty space.
For many years I have been working at these problems in my own garden,
and having come to certain conclusions, can venture to put them forth
with some confidence. I may mention that from the nature of the ground,
in its original state partly wooded and partly bare field, and from
its having been brought into cultivation and some sort of shape before
it was known where the house now upon it would exactly stand, the
garden has less general unity of design than I should have wished. The
position and general form of its various portions were accepted mainly
according to their natural conditions, so that the garden ground,
though but of small extent, falls into different regions, with a
general, but not altogether definite, cohesion.
I am strongly of opinion that the possession of a quantity of plants,
however good the plants may be themselves and however ample their
number, does not make a garden; it only makes a _collection_. Having
got the plants, the great thing is to use them with careful selection
and definite intention. Merely having them, or having them planted
unassorted in garden spaces, is only like having a box of paints
from the best colourman, or, to go one step further, it is like
having portions of these paints set out upon a palette. This does not
constitute a picture; and it seems to me that the duty we owe to our
gardens and to our own bettering in our gardens is so to use the plants
that they shall form beautiful pictures; and that, while delighting
our eyes, they should be always training those eyes to a more exalted
criticism; to a state of mind and artistic conscience that will not
tolerate bad or careless combination or any sort of misuse of plants,
but in which it becomes a point of honour to be always striving for the
best.
It is just in the way it is done that lies the whole difference between
commonplace gardening and gardening that may rightly claim to rank as a
fine art. Given the same space of ground and the same material, they
may either be fashioned into a dream of beauty, a place of perfect
rest and refreshment of mind and body--a series of soul-satisfying
pictures--a treasure of well-set jewels; or they may be so misused that
everything is jarring and displeasing. To learn how to perceive the
difference and how to do right is to apprehend gardening as a fine art.
In practice it is to place every plant or group of plants with such
thoughtful care and definite intention that they shall form a part of a
harmonious whole, and that successive portions, or in some cases even
single details, shall show a series of pictures. It is so to regulate
the trees and undergrowth of the wood that their lines and masses come
into beautiful form and harmonious proportion; it is to be always
watching, noting and doing, and putting oneself meanwhile into closest
acquaintance and sympathy with the growing things.
In this spirit, the garden and woodland, such as they are, have been
formed. There have been many failures, but, every now and then, I am
encouraged and rewarded by a certain measure of success. Yet, as the
critical faculty becomes keener, so does the standard of aim rise
higher; and, year by year, the desired point seems always to elude
attainment.
But, as I may perhaps have taken more trouble in working out certain
problems, and given more thought to methods of arranging growing
flowers, especially in ways of colour-combination, than amateurs in
general, I have thought that it may be helpful to some of them to
describe as well as I can by word, and to show by plan and picture,
what I have tried to do, and to point out where I have succeeded and
where I have failed.
I must ask my kind readers not to take it amiss if I mention here that
I cannot undertake to show it them on the spot. I am a solitary worker;
I am growing old and tired, and suffer from very bad and painful sight.
My garden is my workshop, my private study and place of rest. For the
sake of health and reasonable enjoyment of life it is necessary to
keep it quite private, and to refuse the many applications of those
who offer it visits. My oldest friends can now only be admitted. So I
ask my readers to spare me the painful task of writing long letters
of excuse and explanation; a task that has come upon me almost daily
of late years in the summer months, that has sorely tried my weak and
painful eyes, and has added much to the difficulty of getting through
an already over-large correspondence.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
CHAPTER I
A MARCH STUDY AND THE BORDER OF EARLY BULBS 1
CHAPTER II
THE WOOD 8
CHAPTER III
THE SPRING GARDEN 21
CHAPTER IV
BETWEEN SPRING AND SUMMER 32
CHAPTER V
THE JUNE GARDEN 39
CHAPTER VI
THE MAIN HARDY FLOWER BORDER 49
CHAPTER VII
THE FLOWER BORDER IN JULY 58
CHAPTER VIII
THE FLOWER BORDER IN AUGUST 65
CHAPTER IX
THE FLOWER BORDERS IN SEPTEMBER 78
CHAPTER X
WOOD AND SHRUBBERY EDGES 83
CHAPTER XI
GARDENS OF SPECIAL COLOURING 89
CHAPTER XII
CLIMBING PLANTS 106
CHAPTER XIII
GROUPING OF PLANTS IN POTS 112
CHAPTER XIV
SOME GARDEN PICTURES 121
CHAPTER XV
A BEAUTIFUL FRUIT GARDEN 127
CHAPTER XVI
PLANTING FOR WINTER COLOUR 133
CHAPTER XVII
FORM IN PLANTING 138
INDEX 143
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
WHITE LILIES _Frontispiece_
IRIS STYLOSA _To face page_ 4
MAGNOLIA CONSPICUA " " 5
MAGNOLIA STELLATA " " 6
FERNS IN THE BULB BORDER " " 7
THE BANK OF EARLY BULBS " " 7
DAFFODILS BY A WOODLAND PATH " " 10
WILD PRIMROSES IN THIN WOODLAND " " 11
THE WIDE WOOD PATH " " 12
CISTUS LAURIFOLIUS " " 13
A WOOD PATH AMONG CHESTNUTS " " | 860.487643 |
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THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BY HENRY C. ROWLAND
--------------
To Windward
THIRD EDITION
“Crisp and strong, full of breeziness and virile humanity.”—Brooklyn
Eagle.
“A capital story told with a spirit and go that are irresistible. A
strong and dramatic novel. Shows literary genius.”—Newark Advertiser.
--------------
The Wanderers
THIRD EDITION
“A little breathless toward the end, the reader enjoys every moment
spent with Brian Kinard, the roving son of an Irish earl.”—Chicago
Record-Herald.
“Full of complications and surprises which hold the reader’s attention
to the end. An unusually good story of actual life at sea.”—Boston
Transcript.
--------------
Each with frontispiece in colors, by
Ch. Weber-Ditzler.
12mo. Cloth. $1.50
--------------
A. S. BARNES & COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: “I see that you go in for heads a bit yourself,” said
Lynch.––Page 99]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Mountain
of Fears
By
Henry C. Rowland
Author of “The Wanderers”, “To Windward”
and “Sea Scamps”.
Illustrated
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
New York
A. S. Barnes & Co.
1905
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
A. S. BARNES & CO.
Published October, 1905
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
DOCTOR LEYDEN
WHOSE ILLUMINATING PERSONALITY
AND STRANGE EXPERIENCES I HAVE
VENTURED TO INTERPRET IN THE
HOPE THAT WHEN HE RETURNS FROM
HIS QUEST IN THE “FORBIDDEN LAND”
HE WILL PARDON MY PRESUMPTION.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
-------
THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS 1
OIL AND WATER 46
THE SHEARS OF ATROPOS 80
ROSENTHAL THE JEW 118
TWO SAVAGES 158
TWO GENTLEMEN 199
THE BAMBOULA 245
INTO THE DARK 270
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
“DOCTOR,” said my shipmate, Dr. Leyden, “have you ever made any especial
study of nervous diseases—_central_ nervous diseases—morbid conditions
resulting from a derangement of the central cells?”
I told him that I had done only such work in this branch as a general
practice would require, but that I had observed some few cases of
especial interest during a military surgical service in the East, and
proceeded to cite one or two instances of mental vagaries resulting from
gunshot wounds in the head.
Leyden leaned both elbows on the taffrail and listened restlessly. Our
little ship swashed through the short sling of the Spanish Main, the
Pole star gleaming ahead, the Southern Cross blazing astern, and all
about the white, flashing crests of the phosphorescent sea. Usually
Leyden was a good listener, but this night he seemed impatient, restive,
to such an extent that I finally paused, annoyed, for nothing is so
irritating as lack of attention to a solicited reply.
“Ach! but those cases are in the line of the ordinary!” he exclaimed.
“Pardon me,” I replied, “but the last case I have given was distinctly
_out_ of the ordinary.”
“I am awkward, Doctor,” said Leyden, apologetically. “I mean that the
relations of cause and effect follow the usual course—the histological
changes in the cell produced impaired function of the organ and these
primary changes were the result of trauma. But have you ever had
occasion to observe the reverse of this condition—the action of the
organ on the center—like a nightmare, where one has the liver poisoning
the central cells——”
I interrupted in my turn. Leyden was no doubt a skilled naturalist, a
close observer and a man of deep power of thought and analysis, but he
was not a physician, had never made a regular study of physiological
chemistry, and was, therefore, scarcely in a position to argue with a
person who had.
“Such cases are not infrequent,” I answered. “The ancient Greeks
understood that much, as we see from their terms. ‘Hypochondria’; under
the ribs—the liver probably poisoning the brain, if you like; then there
is the condition of hysteria often accompanying a movable kidney; the
action of certain drugs on special centers——”
“Such as _cannabis indica_?” interrupted Leyden, “which affects the
sense of elapsed time and makes the subject happy—or—what is that
principle, Doctor, which produces xanthopsia, or yellow vision, and
makes one sluggish and depressed?”
“Xanthopsia is an early symptom of _santonin_ poisoning,” I answered.
“The alkaloid is obtained from the unexpanded flower-heads of the——”
“Artemisia maritima—yes—I know the plant—but the active principle might
occur elsewhere?”
“Possibly——”
“It is wonderful,” mused Leyden, in the self-communicative tone that was
often difficult to follow—“the microscopic filament that makes or
unmakes a man; the minute neurons which carry such a potent impulse—like
the flash crossing a continent on a tiny wire to send two great nations
to war. The wire is short-circuited, the nation disgraced; the neuron
short-circuited, the individual disgraced. Such a thing once happened to
me, Doctor.
“This was in Papua, an awesome country which holds in its dark recesses
many of the things one wants—and most of those which one does not. I had
gone there with two other white men to look for gold. It is a marvelous
country, Doctor; I do not think there is any other like it; such a
country as was pictured in the old imaginative school of painting; a
valley, through which winds a mist river flowing intangibly from a
mirage through a canyon bridged by a rainbow; travelers’ palms,
tree-ferns, lianas, dream-trees heavy with strange fruits and brilliant
blossoms, in the distance mystic mountains rising as they recede, green
yet forbidding, the homes of genii; their summits fantastic—the whole a
beautiful, impossible, frightfully fascinating fairyland. This was that
place where we went to look for gold.
“My two companions were failures—most gold-seekers are. I was not old
enough to be a failure myself. No matter what the faults of these
others, one did not deny their virtues. One was a Hollander, Vinckers,
an engineer, a brilliant man, but one ready to step over the edge of
heaven in sheer restlessness and a desire to see what was held by the
abyss; the other was a Scotchman, disagreeable, morose, taciturn, harsh
of speech and visage. Both held hearts of steel; they were the most
quietly courageous men that I have ever known. I ask you to remember
this, Doctor, in consideration of what came later. Their courage had
been tried and proved in many desperate situations.... Ach!”—Leyden
began to mutter again, shaping his thoughts with his tongue until I
could with difficulty catch this thought—“the filament—the neuron—cut
the sympathetic nerve in the neck of a horse and the animal begins to
sweat upon the affected side; puncture the floor of the fourth ventricle
of a dog—diabetes.” He raised his voice. “There is a little center of
thermogenesis, is there not, Doctor, the irritation of which will raise
the temperature——
“We wandered through this shadow-land, this illusory place of promise
whose inhabitants were ofttimes starving. Cannibals?—yes; many white men
have been that through acute starvation; chronic only tends to confirm
the vice. They were a strange, shy, kindly people—to us, who understood
such. The ‘Barbary Coast’ in San Francisco, the parks in Melbourne, or
the water-front in Hong Kong, are all more dangerous than Papua. We
wandered through these people, accompanied by kindness, a whole tribe
sometimes bearing our burdens until they reached a district dangerous to
them, but where we made new friends. We wandered through this dreamland
unmolested, walked with its fantastic peoples, black and brown and
piebald; strayed in and out to the click-click-click of our little
hammers, meeting dangers, it is true—the dangers which might confront a
child walking blindfolded through a botanical garden filled with perils
to its ignorance—and we tap-tap-tapped with our little hammers—right up
to the <DW72>s of the _Malang-o-mor_—the ‘Mountain of Fears’—and we
tap-tap-tapped on its <DW72>s of quartz and basalt, little thinking that
we knocked at the door of an evil spirit.”
The bluff bows of our little ship smashed the short seas into a flat
track of phosphoresence, and against the pale background I saw a tremor
of some sort shake Leyden’s square shoulders, and it seemed to me that
his voice was slightly breathless.
“‘The Mountain of Fears,’ so our Papuans called it, and threw down their
burdens at the edge of the stream and refused point-blank to stir
another step; more than that, they implored us to go no farther
ourselves, and a girl given to MacFarlane by a chief threw her arms
around the knees of the rough old Gael and wailed like a stricken soul.
An odd thing, that, Doctor, this cannibal girl given to the Scotchman a
month before by this chief, to whom MacFarlane had given a harmonica on
which he had first rendered ‘The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond’ in
a manner which should, by right, have got him speared. The girl had
fancied him, slaved for him, followed him everywhere like a dog, and had
ended by _softening_ him—to such an extent that he ceased to curse and
his manner was less harsh—the elevating effect of a cannibal upon a
Covenanter!—another inversion in this hallucinating country where the
only actuality seemed the rapping of our little hammers.
“This girl, as I say, implored MacFarlane not to go on; for Vinckers and
me she did not care; none of the women had much fancied us, while
MacFarlane’s lack of comeliness was almost bizarre; they were
_obedient_, of course—but that was about all.
“MacFarlane leered up at the great forbidding mountain as it thrust
against the dome of the sky its summit of snowy quartz, a-glisten in the
bright sunlight thirteen thousand feet above the level of the sea.
“‘A cauld <DW72> yon—too cauld for a lass in naething but a kiltie. Ye’d
best bide here ’til I come.’ He spoke to her in the vernacular, with
which we were all three familiar, and told her to await his return.
“It was hot in that valley—a stewpan, withering, stifling with the
equatorial reek which wilts one to the bone; the nights stunk of fever.
It was the southeast <DW72> of the mountain which presented to us; and as
we gazed up toward it from the little nest of trees where we had made
our camp, the late sun blazed against its worn flank, and suddenly the
broad, barren belt between the forest and the formation of quartz above
the timber belt seemed to burst into flame and shone and sparkled and
glittered as if flecked with scales of gold.
“‘An omen!’ cried Vinckers. ‘The Mountain of Hope—not the Mountain of
Fears! Something tells me that we shall find gold there—veins of it,
knuckles of it—perhaps the bones of the mountain are solid gold; why
not, in such a country as this?’
“The sun dropped behind the high hills to the westward, swiftly, as it
does on the equator, and even more swiftly the gray shadow ran from the
foot to the summit of the great mountain. It was as if one saw the color
fade in the face of a dying man, and it seemed to me that a cold draught
struck down from the heights.
“‘The Mountain of Fears,’ said I—‘the Mountain of Fears,’ and as I
stared at the monster on whose bristling hide we planned to crawl,
parasites, searching for a spot to lodge our stings, the first shadow of
foreboding swept over my spirits, just as the swift shadow had risen to
throw its cold, blue light across the snowy quartz-field.
“In the valley we found the first signs of plenty; there were fruit and
game and a sort of wild yam in abundance; and here we decided to rest
for several days on the edge of the stream, for MacFarlane had a
suppurating heel where he had trod upon a thorn, and Vinckers was
suffering from a great nettle-rash upon his body. All three of us were
hungry and our blood ran too thin to encounter the cold nights higher up
the <DW72>.
“We camped in a grove of trees which looked like the _papaya_ and bore a
fruit unlike any I have ever seen. It was shaped like an _avocado_, had
a pulp like wax, or bone-marrow, which was greasy to the touch, oily,
and held a faint flavor of sandal-wood. At first we tried it with
caution, for our native friends would not eat anything which grew in the
shadow of the _Malang-o-mor_; neither would they sleep in the narrow
valley, but retired each evening to the edge of the forest on the
farther <DW72>.
“We rested and we slept, and we ate of the fruit, which I called
_myela_, because I did not think that it had ever been described, and I
called it so from its resemblance to marrow; also, we drank of the
stream, which was a deep ruby, spring-cooled and fragrant, but of which
none of the Papuans would drink excepting the girl, Tomba, given to
MacFarlane by the chief. She ate and drank and shuddered and watched her
lord narrowly, as if waiting for the curse to fall and wishful to avert
it.
“In the early morning we hunted the game or clicked with our little
hammers on the crumbling quartz through which the river gnawed its way.
There was gold in the country, gold in the stream; one could pan enough
dust in a light day’s work to pay highly for the labor. But we wanted
more than dust—we wanted the pure metal which none doubted we should
find on the virgin breast of the mountain, and our fancy saw us winding
back to the sea with our native tribe deep-laden with the wealth of
buccaneers—winding out through defiles of mountain and forest, heavy
with the plunder of the dread _Malang-o-mor_.
“Odd, Doctor; gold and dreams and sweat and death—how they all mixed
together to strike the average which maintains the trim of the world——”
Leyden’s voice had sunk to muttering again, and he shivered, despite the
humid warmth of the night.
“Daytimes we dwelt in Paradise and at night lay down to sleep, having
first drunk of the stream, which we christened ‘Lethe,’ because on its
banks we forgot the hardship and hunger of our long journey to the
valley. A Lethe it must have been, because each morning, when the late
sun looked over the shoulder of the mountain and whipped up the blanket
of mist stretched like a tent from the <DW72> to the hills beyond, we
forgot the miasmas of the night and the fetid fever smells and spores
that spawned through the hours of hot darkness, and all of the while we
ate more of the fat, oily fruit and less of other and more wholesome
things, for this fruit of itself appeared to satisfy all needs, and we
looked at each other and laughed at the physical changes of the few
days, for we were growing fat and flabby as paretics. We slept a great
deal, too, days as well as nights, and the sleep was at first of that
delicious kind which one enjoys in the moments between waking and
rising—a conscious sleep, in which one feels the myriad renovative
changes of tissue, when each little cell seems to stretch and tingle and
feed against the waste of the coming day. Feed they did, for the flesh
came back, full and soft, to our gaunt frames, and we looked at one
another and laughed fat, gurgling laughs, and lay and smoked with our
heads in the laps of the girls, and the tapping of our little hammers
was heard but seldom on the flinty foot of the Mountain of Fears.
“The tribe had camped, as I have said, across the valley on the edge of
the forest, but each day they came to see us, and we laughed at their
surprise when they saw that all was well. We held them with beads and
baubles and food and friendliness—chiefly the latter, for natives, like
dogs, love to place allegiance with the higher mentality. One was
puzzled that physical need had not run counter to superstition, for
despite the plenty of the valley we found no trace of other inhabitants.
“Perhaps, we had been three weeks in the valley, when one night I awoke
dripping with perspiration and with a sense of nameless ill. ‘A
nightmare,’ thought I, ‘of which the color is lost and only the
depression remains.’ It held me broad awake—and then for the first time
I fully realized the nauseous reek of the fever-fog. One smelled odors
which seemed to emanate from the entrails of the earth. You know,
Doctor, the nauseous, charnel stench of rotting insects and vegetation,
with the fetid breath of the flower that issues from the mouth of a
great, carnivorous plant? You have seen these trap-like flowers, if one
may call them such, which grow in the botanical gardens of Demerara?
_Br’r’r’rgh!_ And as I lay, hot and cold and clammy, with a heavy weight
upon my chest, and thought of how we had lain and breathed that thin
effluvium, the vehicle for myriad infusoria and plasmodiæ, this
hypochondriac fear became reasonable, and I marveled that we were still
alive.
“Vinckers and MacFarlane slept heavily, torpidly, and their breathing
was the stertorous gasping of drunkards. We lay in hammocks of plaited
grass under a shelter of thatch; the girl’s hammock was beside
MacFarlane; and as I lay there, broad awake and still depressed, my
lungs half drowned in the dense humor of the valley and my ears ringing
from the clamorous insect mob without, I heard a stifled, whimpering
cry—the moan of a little child who has been whipped for inheriting
nerves. It struck a chill—there was a great deal that was chill in that
place of hot fears, cold passions, joyless content and light-hearted
sloth—a place where one’s skin crept clammily while the bones were
burning.
“‘Who is that?’ I asked, quite loudly, for I did not care if the others
awoke.
“There came in answer the whimper of one too frightened to speak. Did
you ever, as a child, Doctor, waken with the nightmare, afraid to cry
out, afraid to move, tortured by the whimpers wrung out in reasonless
terror? It was that kind of a sound.
“‘What is it?’ I asked.
“‘It is Tomba.’
“‘What is the matter with you?’ said I.
“‘I am afraid.’
“‘And what are you afraid of?’
“She found her voice then and began to tell me, but there my limited
knowledge of the dialect failed, for I had no such linguistic scope as
to-day, when one dialect more or less is simply a matter of ear and
comparison. There was something in her speech of devils and death, and
she kept repeating this and I do not know what besides—and then, as I
was trying to reassure her as one might a child or a horse, less through
the reason than the senses, the soothing of primitive sounds, a
startling thing occurred. MacFarlane, whose breathing had become more
labored, like that of a man rapidly climbing the ladder of consciousness
from deep oblivion, gasped once or twice and awoke with a scream.
Vinckers, roused with the echo ringing in his ears, awoke with a muffled
shout—a strangled, bleating shout such as might come from a slaughtered
animal. MacFarlane, but half awake, screamed again. At this Tomba’s
breathless terror found outlet in a shriek that swept out under the low
mist, struck the mountain-side and quavered away in countless
reverberations.
“Vinckers shouted again and leaped from his hammock.
“‘Be still, you fool!’ I cried, roughly.
“‘Wha—wha—wha——’ quavered MacFarlane.
“‘What’s the matter with you?’ I cried, impatiently. ‘Are you a couple
of girls just out of a convent?’
“‘What _is_ the matter?’ asked Vinckers, thickly. Tomba was sobbing
hysterically.
“‘MacFarlane wakes up with a nightmare!’ said I, ‘and sets you howling
like a maniac.’ My own fright made me irritable.
“‘Odd,’ muttered Vinckers; ‘odd—I had a nightmare, too.’
“‘Ye hag-ridden fule,’ snarled MacFarlane, ‘bawlin’ and yammerin’ like a
bull! I had no nightmare mysel’!’ He rolled heavily in his hammock.
‘Fetch me a drink o’ water, lass—water!’ he added, in the vernacular.
“Vinckers sat up in his hammock, let his feet hang over the side and,
dropping his head between his heavy shoulders, stared down the valley.
There was a moon somewhere behind the mist; this mist, diaphanous,
vague, of any depth, yet lifted well above our heads, shone, not white,
or colorless, as a vapor should, but a golden yellow; everything seemed
golden, was becoming more golden daily the longer we stayed in that
place of mockeries, and the reason of this was based on something more
solid than a sentiment. What was the name of that drug, Doctor, which
when ingested gives the yellow tinge to the vision? Santonica?—yes,
perhaps that was it; perhaps its alkaloids were contained in that fatty
fruit; perhaps it was only that the moon was one of those ripe,
luscious, golden moons one sees on the equator. At any rate, the light
came not pale and ghastly, as it should have been, but a luscious golden
yellow; and that made it the more unearthly, as it illumined and gave a
golden color to these dream objects—the fan-palms, the vague rock-heaps,
the vistas between which should have been ethereal, but, because of this
succulent, sickly yellow light, were too material; and the aroma, which
should have been dank, no doubt, but elusive, was a physical stench.
Ach! a witch-fire would have burned in that place like a fat pine torch;
one would have scorched one’s hands near a _feu-follet_; there was a
ponderosity to this place of ghosts. Can you conceive a _fat_ ghost,
Doctor—a fat, _unclean_ ghost, who has clanked around, dragging his ball
and chain until the sweat pours down his fat face—a malodorous sweat—a
sweat that physically offends while it frightens? Once in my youth, in
Leipsic, I went into the anatomical laboratory, and there was on the
table a fat subject—a woman—and she still wore some gold-washed rings
and had some baubles in her ears of too mean value to appeal to the
cupidity of whoever had fetched her there. _Br’r’r’rgh!_ She was
pathetic, of course, but I was not old enough to feel that then. I can
never forget how much more awful she was to me than were the thin,
meager, attenuated subjects who were consistent with the place. It was
such a ripe, rotten ghastliness as this that was held in that valley
which glimmered away at the foot of the Mountain of Fears.”
Leyden paused, quivering, shuddering. One did not need to see him
silhouetted against the phosphorescence to see that he shuddered; he was
in a tremor, and the light from the _rook kamer_ striking his strong,
keen, nervous face showed that it was damp, wet, viscid with a moisture
other than the humor of the Gulf Stream. He was living the thing over
again with all of his high-strung, Teuton nervousness; and suddenly it
struck me that it was hardly decent to let him go on—that it was my duty
to interrupt him, just as it has been my duty at times to interrupt the
unpleasant indulgences of other morbid impulses. But, on the other hand,
speech is the safety valve of the mind; also, it is just to sit
passively and watch for the symptom which states the case.
“Vinckers observed this thing,” continued Leyden. “Vinckers was an
unimaginative man, and consequently the impression on him was as it
would have been upon a dry plate, or the tracings of a seismograph, or
any other machine which records automatically without contributing
anything of its own. Vinckers was rather low in the animal scale—by low
I mean primitive; as a man he was a splendid specimen, but he was animal
enough to get rather more from his instincts than from his
reasoning—like most women. He watched this thing, this yellow light
coming through the mist and touching with its sickly yellow tinge all of
the fantastic objects in the picture that belonged to the imaginative
school of painting. He looked quite steadily at the dream-trees, too
symmetrical to be real; the fantastic rock shapes, too fancifully
grotesque to be the work of nature; he observed the yellow light upon
the sluggish stream, which flowed like molasses, and looked rather like
it, too; the fringe of the forest—in fact, all of the component parts of
the picture just as some morbid painting genius would have placed
them—and Vinckers growled like a dog who sees something moving about the
camp-fire invisible to his master.”
Leyden turned to me insistently, claiming my corroboration of all this
that he had worked out through hypertrophied recollection. “Is it not
true, Doctor, that logic supplants instinct; that as soon as we learned
how to tell by deduction where the person we sought had gone we were no
longer able to lay our noses to the ground and decide the matter?” He
began to maunder again—his auto-philosophy which was so hard to follow.
“There are plenty of plants in nature which would poison the animals of
the section if instinct did not prompt them to avoid these; a man will
often eat of something and subsequently wonder at the cause of his
derangement; the animal will know and avoid this thing. At that time I
was conscious of a morbid physical condition, but was unable to trace
its source. Vinckers, lacking imagination, knew at once. ‘Heaven,’ I
heard him mutter, ‘was there ever such a mockery! We come to look for
gold and we land in—quarantine!’ It struck me as a new idea and I almost
laughed. Gold and death, sickness and disease! How appropriate that they
should be unichromatic! But it was Vinckers’ next words which struck me.
‘It is that accursed corpse-wax!’ he muttered, ‘that greasy stuff that
we have been growing fat on!’ _Ugh!_ You see, Doctor, he was able to
link physically cause and effect.
“MacFarlane began to mutter. Tomba brought him some water and he drank
thirstily, swallowing with the audible gulps of a horse.
“‘I’m feverish,’ he said, panting from the long draught, ‘verra nervous
and feverish. ’Tis a feverish place, this.’
“‘It’s rotten with fever!’ growled Vinckers, who, like myself, spoke
English better than the Scotchman. ‘It stinks of fever—smell it! We were
fools to stay here so long.’
“‘We are a pack of lotus-eaters,’ said I. ‘You are right, Vinckers; it
is this accursed stuff we have been eating—this adiposcere! We will get
out of here to-morrow.’
“‘Do you feel as if your inside was filled with lead, Leyden?’ asked
Vinckers.
“‘It is worse than that,’ said I—‘molten lead.’
“You see, Doctor, we had been living on this rich, fatty stuff, which
certainly contained a great deal of oil and I do not know what else
besides—narcotics, no doubt. You know the richness of an _avocado_? They
will tell you in some places that this fruit produces biliousness, but I
have never heard that it had a soporific effect, as undoubtedly had the
_myela_ fruit. Then we had taken no exercise.
“I think that night was hotter than most; we could not sleep, so up we
got and smoked and discussed our plans for the future—at least, we
started to discuss them, but even as we argued a lethargy came over us,
and one by one we fell asleep, though dreading to do so and striving to
keep awake through fear of another nightmare. An odd condition, Doctor,
this drowsy fearsomeness; no doubt like a patient narcotized before an
operation; dread fighting a drug until the latter triumphs and the
patient whimpers off into fear-filled somnolence.
“The sun came to suck away the fever-mist and with it much of our dread.
We laughed at the fears of the night and awaited the coming of the
Papuans, but awaited in vain. I think, Doctor, that Tomba’s scream had
floated across the valley, telephonic beneath the mist to reach the
listeners in the hills. At any rate, no human thing came near us that
day. Later, when the shadows began to lengthen again, we wandered out,
Vinckers and I, prospecting towards the native camp—I with a rifle,
watchful for game, Vinckers humming to himself an old Dutch tune,
careless in the full force of the sunlight, wandering behind me and
clicking on the rocks with his little hammer.
“I was strangely lacking in breath as I climbed the hillside; as for
Vinckers, he halted at the end of a hundred steps and would go up no
further. Back at our camp MacFarlane lay smoking, with his head in the
lap of the girl. I alone toiled up the <DW72>, soft in heart and fibre,
the sweat pouring from me in streams, sodden, with the spring gone out
of my ankles and everything about me of a strange, sickly yellow hue
which darkened as my breath came faster.
“I found the Papuans departed, so back I went, blubbering with
breathlessness, muttering, fatigued, depressed, sluggish with sleep.
Vinckers I found with his back against a rock, sleeping heavily. As I
bent to rouse him my eyes fell upon a specimen which lay between his
knees, and I saw that the little hammer had cleft it open to lay bare a
thick band of virgin gold. Vinckers had tapped at the door of Fortune
and she had opened, and Vinckers had looked within and—fallen asleep!
Had the goddess ever a more loutish lover? He was sweating, too, in his
sleep, and I saw where the sweat had left a yellow stain upon his
neckerchief, and as the late sun struck him it seemed to me that his
skin also was of a chromish tint. You know the flabby pallor of the
clay-eater? It was like that, fat and flabby, but yellow rather than
pale.
“Back we went to the camp, where MacFarlane still lay and smoked or
slept with his ugly, shaggy head in the lap of Tomba.
“‘Gold!’ I said, ‘the mountain is full of it. It lies about loose here
on the hillside, think of what it must be yonder where the mountain
springs have done our hydraulic mining and washing in the same
formation | 860.544294 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.5253070 | 2,481 | 7 |
Produced by Eric Eldred
ON THE EVE
A Novel
By Ivan Turgenev
Translated from the Russian By Constance Garnett
[With an introduction by Edward Garnett]
London: William Heinemann 1895
INTRODUCTION
This exquisite novel, first published in 1859, like so many great works
of art, holds depths of meaning which at first sight lie veiled under
the simplicity and harmony of the technique. To the English reader _On
the Eve_ is a charmingly drawn picture of a quiet Russian household,
with a delicate analysis of a young girl's soul; but to Russians it is
also a deep and penetrating diagnosis of the destinies of the Russia of
the fifties.
Elena, the Russian girl, is the central figure of the novel. In
comparing her with Turgenev's other women, the reader will remark that
he is allowed to come into closer spiritual contact with her than even
with Lisa. The successful portraits of women drawn by men in fiction are
generally figures for the imagination to play on; however much that is
told to one about them, the secret springs of their character are left
a little obscure, but when Elena stands before us we know all the
innermost secrets of her character. Her strength of will, her serious,
courageous, proud soul, her capacity for passion, all the play of her
delicate idealistic nature troubled by the contradictions, aspirations,
and unhappiness that the dawn of love brings to her, all this is
conveyed to us by the simplest and the most consummate art. The diary
(chapter xvi.) that Elena keeps is in itself a masterly revelation of
a young girl's heart; it has never been equalled by any other novelist.
How exquisitely Turgenev reveals his characters may be seen by an
examination of the parts Shubin the artist, and Bersenyev the student,
play towards Elena. Both young men are in love with her, and the
description of their after relations as friends, and the feelings of
Elena towards them, and her own self-communings are interwoven with
unfaltering skill. All the most complex and baffling shades of the
mental life, which in the hands of many latter-day novelists build up
characters far too thin and too unconvincing, in the hands of Turgenev
are used with deftness and certainty to bring to light that great
kingdom which is always lying hidden beneath the surface, beneath
the common-place of daily life. In the difficult art of literary
perspective, in the effective grouping of contrasts in character and
the criss-cross of the influence of the different individuals, lies the
secret of Turgenev's supremacy. As an example the reader may note how he
is made to judge Elena through six pairs of eyes. Her father's contempt
for his daughter, her mother's affectionate bewilderment, Shubin's
petulant criticism, Bersenyev's half hearted enthralment, Insarov's
recognition, and Zoya's indifference, being the facets for converging
light on Elena's sincerity and depth of soul. Again one may note
Turgenev's method for rehabilitating Shubin in our eyes; Shubin is
simply made to criticise Stahov; the thing is done in a few seemingly
careless lines, but these lines lay bare Shubin's strength and weakness,
the fluidity of his nature. The reader who does not see the art which
underlies almost every line of _On the Eve_ is merely paying the highest
tribute to that art; as often the clear waters of a pool conceal its
surprising depth. Taking Shubin's character as an example of creative
skill, we cannot call to mind any instance in the range of European
fiction where the typical artist mind, on its lighter sides, has been
analysed with such delicacy and truth as here by Turgenev. Hawthorne and
others have treated it, but the colour seems to fade from their artist
characters when a comparison is made between them and Shubin. And yet
Turgenev's is but a sketch of an artist, compared with, let us say, the
admirable figure of Roderick Hudson. The irresponsibility, alertness,
the whimsicality and mobility of Shubin combine to charm and irritate
the reader in the exact proportion that such a character affects him in
actual life; there is not the least touch of exaggeration, and all the
values are kept to a marvel. Looking at the minor characters, perhaps
one may say that the husband, Stahov, will be the most suggestive, and
not the least familiar character, to English households. His essentially
masculine meanness, his self-complacency, his unconscious indifference
to the opinion of others, his absurdity as '_un pere de famille_' is
balanced by the foolish affection and jealousy which his wife, Anna
Vassilyevna, cannot help feeling towards him. The perfect balance and
duality of Turgenev's outlook is here shown by the equal cleverness with
which he seizes on and quietly derides the typical masculine and typical
feminine attitude in such a married life as the two Stahovs'.
Turning to the figure of the Bulgarian hero, it is interesting to find
from the _Souvenirs sur Tourguenev_ (published in 1887) that Turgenev's
only distinct failure of importance in character drawing, Insarov, was
not taken from life, but was the legacy of a friend Karateieff, who
implored Turgenev to work out an unfinished conception. Insarov is a
figure of wood. He is so cleverly constructed, and the central idea
behind him is so strong, that his wooden joints move naturally, and the
spectator has only the instinct, not the certainty, of being cheated.
The idea he incarnates, that of a man whose soul is aflame with
patriotism, is finely suggested, but an idea, even a great one, does
not make an individuality. And in fact Insarov is not a man, he is an
automaton. To compare Shubin's utterances with his is to perceive that
there is no spontaneity, no inevitability in Insarov. He is a patriotic
clock wound up to go for the occasion, and in truth he is very useful.
Only on his deathbed, when the unexpected happens, and the machinery
runs down, do we feel moved. Then, he appears more striking dead than
alive--a rather damning testimony to the power Turgenev credits him
with. This artistic failure of Turgenev's is, as he no doubt recognised,
curiously lessened by the fact that young girls of Elena's lofty
idealistic type are particularly impressed by certain stiff types of
men of action and great will-power, whose capacity for moving straight
towards a certain goal by no means implies corresponding brain-power.
The insight of a Shubin and the moral worth of a Bersenyev are not so
valuable to the Elenas of this world, whose ardent desire to be made
good use of, and to seek some great end, is best developed by strength
of aim in the men they love.
And now to see what the novel before us means to the Russian mind, we
must turn to the infinitely suggestive background. Turgenev's genius was
of the same force in politics as in art; it was that of seeing aright.
He saw his country as it was, with clearer eyes than any man before
or since. If Tolstoi is a purer native expression of Russia's force,
Turgenev is the personification of Russian aspiration working with the
instruments of wide cosmopolitan culture. As a critic of his countrymen
nothing escaped Turgenev's eye, as a politician he foretold nearly all
that actually came to pass in his life, and as a consummate artist,
led first and foremost by his love for his art, his novels are undying
historical pictures. It is not that there is anything allegorical in
his novels--allegory is at the furthest pole from his method: it is
that whenever he created an important figure in fiction, that figure is
necessarily a revelation of the secrets of the fatherland, the soil, the
race. Turgenev, in short, was a psychologist not merely of men, but of
nations; and so the chief figure of _On the Eve_, Elena, foreshadows
and stands for the rise of young Russia in the sixties. Elena is young
Russia, and to whom does she turn in her prayer for strength? Not to
Bersenyev, the philosopher, the dreamer; not to Shubin, the man carried
outside himself by every passing distraction; but to the strong man,
Insarov. And here the irony of Insarov being made a foreigner, a
Bulgarian, is significant of Turgenev's distrust of his country's
weakness. The hidden meaning of the novel is a cry to the coming men
to unite their strength against the foe without and the foe within the
gates; it is an appeal to them not only to hasten the death of the
old regime of Nicolas I, but an appeal to them to conquer their
sluggishness, their weakness, and their apathy. It is a cry for Men.
Turgenev sought in vain in life for a type of man to satisfy Russia, and
ended by taking no living model for his hero, but the hearsay Insarov, a
foreigner. Russia has not yet produced men of this type. But the artist
does not despair of the future. Here we come upon one of the most
striking figures of Turgenev--that of Uvar Ivanovitch. He symbolises the
ever-predominant type of Russian, the sleepy, slothful Slav of to-day,
yesterday, and to-morrow. He is the Slav whose inherent force Europe is
as ignorant of as he is himself. Though he speaks only twenty sentences
in the book he is a creation of Tolstoian force. His very words are
dark and of practically no significance. There lies the irony of the
portrait. The last words of the novel, the most biting surely that
Turgenev ever wrote, contain the whole essence of _On the Eve_. On the
Eve of What? one asks. Time has given contradictory answers to the men
of all parties. The Elenas of to-day need not turn their eyes abroad
to find their counterpart in spirit; so far at least the pessimists are
refuted: but the note of death that Turgenev strikes in his marvellous
chapter on Venice has still for young Russia an ominous echo--so many
generations have arisen eager, only to be flung aside helpless, that one
asks, what of the generation that fronts Autocracy to-day?
'Do you remember I asked you, "Will there ever be men among us?" and
you answered, "there will be. O primaeval force!" And now from here in
"my poetic distance", I will ask you again, "What do you say, Uvar
Ivanovitch, will there be?"'
'Uvar Ivanovitch flourished his fingers, and fixed his enigmatical stare
into the far distance.'
This creation of an universal national type, out of the flesh and blood
| 860.545347 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.5589810 | 674 | 7 | ORIGEN AGAINST CELSUS***
Transcribed from the 1812 J. Smith edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
HULSEAN ESSAY
_For_ 1811.
* * * * *
A
DISSERTATION
ON THE
BOOKS _of_ ORIGEN _against_ CELSUS,
WITH A VIEW
TO ILLUSTRATE THE ARGUMENT
AND
POINT OUT THE EVIDENCE THEY AFFORD
TO THE
TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY.
* * * * *
_Published in pursuance of the Will of the Rev._ J. HULSE, _as having
gained the_ ANNUAL PRIZE, _instituted by him in the University of
Cambridge_.
* * * * *
BY
FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM,
OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE.
* * * * *
“Quippe in his (_nimirum Origenis contra Celsum libris_) communem
Christianorum doctrinam, adversus instructissimum Religionis nostræ
hostem propugnat: hi summo Auctoris studio maxima eruditione,
elucubrati fuere.” _Bull._ _Def._ _Fid._ _Nic._ Cap. ix. Sec. 2.
* * * * *
CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED _by_ J. SMITH, PRINTER _to the_ UNIVERSITY;
_AND SOLD BY DEIGHTON_, _CAMBRIDGE_; _AND RIVINGTONS_, _AND_
_HATCHARD_, _LONDON_.
* * * * *
1812.
* * * * *
TO THE
_Very Rev. the_ DEAN _of_ CARLISLE,
PROFESSOR OF MATHEMATICS,
THE PRESIDENT,
AND
_To the Reverend and Learned_
THE FELLOWS
_OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE_,
THIS ESSAY
IS DEDICATED
AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE BY
THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Introduction 1
CHAP. I.
History and Writings of the Jews 5
CHAP. II.
The Scriptures 12
CHAP. III.
History of Christ 19
CHAP. IV.
Miracles 24
CHAP. V.
Character of the early Christians 33
CHAP. VI.
Doctrines of the early Christians 39
CHAP. VII.
Conclusion 49
INTRODUCTION.
THE Book of Celsus, {1a} entitled “The True Discourse,” {1b} is supposed
to have been written during the fifth persecution, {1c} in the reign of
Marcus Antoninus, and in the one hundred and seventieth year of the
Christian era. Of his history nothing is | 860.579021 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.5590260 | 431 | 29 | Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
#1 in our series by Muhlbach
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| 860.579066 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.5639380 | 3,493 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger
DRIVEN FROM HOME
OR
CARL CRAWFORD'S EXPERIENCE
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Author of "Erie Train Boy," "Young Acrobat," "Only an Irish Boy," "Bound
to Rise," "The Young Outlaw," "Hector's Inheritance," etc.
DRIVEN FROM HOME.
CHAPTER I
DRIVEN FROM HOME.
A boy of sixteen, with a small gripsack in his hand, trudged along the
country road. He was of good height for his age, strongly built, and had
a frank, attractive face. He was naturally of a cheerful temperament,
but at present his face was grave, and not without a shade of anxiety.
This can hardly be a matter of surprise when we consider that he was
thrown upon his own resources, and that his available capital consisted
of thirty-seven cents in money, in addition to a good education and a
rather unusual amount of physical strength. These last two items
were certainly valuable, but they cannot always be exchanged for the
necessaries and comforts of life.
For some time his steps had been lagging, and from time to time he had
to wipe the moisture from his brow with a fine linen handkerchief, which
latter seemed hardly compatible with his almost destitute condition.
I hasten to introduce my hero, for such he is to be, as Carl Crawford,
son of Dr. Paul Crawford, of Edgewood Center. Why he had set out to
conquer fortune single-handed will soon appear.
A few rods ahead Carl's attention was drawn to a wide-spreading oak
tree, with a carpet of verdure under its sturdy boughs.
"I will rest here for a little while," he said to himself, and suiting
the action to the word, threw down his gripsack and flung himself on the
turf.
"This is refreshing," he murmured, as, lying upon his back, he looked up
through the leafy rifts to the sky above. "I don't know when I have ever
been so tired. It's no joke walking a dozen miles under a hot sun, with
a heavy gripsack in your hand. It's a good introduction to a life of
labor, which I have reason to believe is before me. I wonder how I am
coming out--at the big or the little end of the horn?"
He paused, and his face grew grave, for he understood well that for him
life had become a serious matter. In his absorption he did not observe
the rapid approach of a boy somewhat younger than himself, mounted on a
bicycle.
The boy stopped short in surprise, and leaped from his iron steed.
"Why, Carl Crawford, is this you? Where in the world are you going with
that gripsack?"
Carl looked up quickly.
"Going to seek my fortune," he answered, soberly.
"Well, I hope you'll find it. Don't chaff, though, but tell the honest
truth."
"I have told you the truth, Gilbert."
With a puzzled look, Gilbert, first leaning his bicycle against the
tree, seated himself on the ground by Carl's side.
"Has your father lost his property?" he asked, abruptly.
"No."
"Has he disinherited you?"
"Not exactly."
"Have you left home for good?"
"I have left home--I hope for good."
"Have you quarreled with the governor?"
"I hardly know what to say to that. There is a difference between us."
"He doesn't seem like a Roman father--one who rules his family with a
rod of iron."
"No; he is quite the reverse. He hasn't backbone enough."
"So it seemed to me when I saw him at the exhibition of the academy. You
ought to be able to get along with a father like that, Carl."
"So I could but for one thing."
"What is that?"
"I have a stepmother!" said Carl, with a significant glance at his
companion.
"So have I, but she is the soul of kindness, and makes our home the
dearest place in the world."
"Are there such stepmothers? I shouldn't have judged so from my own
experience."
"I think I love her as much as if she were my own mother."
"You are lucky," said Carl, sighing.
"Tell me about yours."
"She was married to my father five years ago. Up to the time of her
marriage I thought her amiable and sweet-tempered. But soon after the
wedding she threw off the mask, and made it clear that she disliked
me. One reason is that she has a son of her own about my age, a mean,
sneaking fellow, who is the apple of her eye. She has been jealous of
me, and tried to supplant me in the affection of my father, wishing
Peter to be the favored son."
"How has she succeeded?"
"I don't think my father feels any love for Peter, but through my
stepmother's influence he generally fares better than I do."
"Why wasn't he sent to school with you?"
"Because he is lazy and doesn't like study. Besides, his mother prefers
to have him at home. During my absence she worked upon my father,
by telling all sorts of malicious stories about me, till he became
estranged from me, and little by little Peter has usurped my place as
the favorite."
"Why didn't you deny the stories?" asked Gilbert.
"I did, but no credit was given to my denials. My stepmother was
continually poisoning my father's mind against me."
"Did you give her cause? Did you behave disrespectfully to her?"
"No," answered Carl, warmly. "I was prepared to give her a warm welcome,
and treat her as a friend, but my advances were so coldly received that
my heart was chilled."
"Poor Carl! How long has this been so?"
"From the beginning--ever since Mrs. Crawford came into the house."
"What are your relations with your step-brother--what's his name?"
"Peter Cook. I despise the boy, for he is mean, and tyrannical where he
dares to be."
"I don't think it would be safe for him to bully you, Carl."
"He tried it, and got a good thrashing. You can imagine what followed.
He ran, crying to his mother, and his version of the story was believed.
I was confined to my room for a week, and forced to live on bread and
water."
"I shouldn't think your father was a man to inflict such a punishment."
"It wasn't he--it was my stepmother. She insisted upon it, and he
yielded. I heard afterwards from one of the servants that he wanted me
released at the end of twenty-four hours, but she would not consent."
"How long ago was this?"
"It happened when I was twelve."
"Was it ever repeated?"
"Yes, a month later; but the punishment lasted only for two days."
"And you submitted to it?"
"I had to, but as soon as I was released I gave Peter such a flogging,
with the promise to repeat it, if I was ever punished in that manner
again, that the boy himself was panic-stricken, and objected to my being
imprisoned again."
"He must be a charming fellow!"
"You would think so if you should see him. He has small, insignificant
features, a turn-up nose, and an ugly scowl that appears whenever he is
out of humor."
"And yet your father likes him?"
"I don't think he does, though Peter, by his mother's orders, pays
all sorts of small attentions--bringing him his slippers, running on
errands, and so on, not because he likes it, but because he wants to
supplant me, as he has succeeded in doing."
"You have finally broken away, then?"
"Yes; I couldn't stand it any longer. Home had become intolerable."
"Pardon the question, but hasn't your father got considerable property?"
"I have every reason to think so."
"Won't your leaving home give your step-mother and Peter the inside
track, and lead, perhaps, to your disinheritance?"
"I suppose so," answered Carl, wearily; "but no matter what happens, I
can't bear to stay at home any longer."
"You're badly fixed--that's a fact!" said Gilbert, in a tone of
sympathy. "What are your plans?"
"I don't know. I haven't had time to think."
CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.
Gilbert wrinkled up his forehead and set about trying to form some plans
for Carl.
"It will be hard for you to support yourself," he said, after a pause;
"that is, without help."
"There is no one to help me. I expect no help."
"I thought your father might be induced to give you an allowance, so
that with what you can earn, you may get along comfortably."
"I think father would be willing to do this, but my stepmother would
prevent him."
"Then she has a great deal of influence over him?"
"Yes, she can twist him round her little finger."
"I can't understand it."
"You see, father is an invalid, and is very nervous. If he were in
perfect health he would have more force of character and firmness. He is
under the impression that he has heart disease, and it makes him timid
and vacillating."
"Still he ought to do something for you."
"I suppose he ought. Still, Gilbert, I think I can earn my living."
"What can you do?"
"Well, I have a fair education. I could be an entry clerk, or a salesman
in some store, or, if the worst came to the worst, I could work on a
farm. I believe farmers give boys who work for them their board and
clothes."
"I don't think the clothes would suit you."
"I am pretty well supplied with clothing."
Gilbert looked significantly at the gripsack.
"Do you carry it all in there?" he asked, doubtfully.
Carl laughed.
"Well, no," he answered. "I have a trunkful of clothes at home, though."
"Why didn't you bring them with you?"
"I would if I were an elephant. Being only a boy, I would find it
burdensome carrying a trunk with me. The gripsack is all I can very well
manage."
"I tell you what," said Gilbert. "Come round to our house and stay
overnight. We live only a mile from here, you know. The folks will be
glad to see you, and while you are there I will go to your house, see
the governor, and arrange for an allowance for you that will make you
comparatively independent."
"Thank you, Gilbert; but I don't feel like asking favors from those who
have ill-treated me."
"Nor would I--of strangers; but Dr. Crawford is your father. It isn't
right that Peter, your stepbrother, should be supported in ease and
luxury, while you, the real son, should be subjected to privation and
want."
"I don't know but you are right," admitted Carl, slowly.
"Of course I am right. Now, will you make me your minister
plenipotentiary, armed with full powers?"
"Yes, I believe I will."
"That's right. That shows you are a boy of sense. Now, as you are
subject to my directions, just get on that bicycle and I will carry your
gripsack, and we will seek Vance Villa, as we call it when we want to be
high-toned, by the most direct route."
"No, no, Gilbert; I will carry my own gripsack. I won't burden you with
it," said Carl, rising from his recumbent position.
"Look here, Carl, how far have you walked with it this morning?"
"About twelve miles."
"Then, of course, you're tired, and require rest. Just jump on that
bicycle, and I'll take the gripsack. If you have carried it twelve
miles, I can surely carry it one."
"You are very kind, Gilbert."
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"But it is imposing up on your good nature."
But Gilbert had turned his head in a backward direction, and nodded in a
satisfied way as he saw a light, open buggy rapidly approaching.
"There's my sister in that carriage," he said. "She comes in good
time. I will put you and your gripsack in with her, and I'll take to my
bicycle again."
"Your sister may not like such an arrangement."
"Won't she though! She's very fond of beaux, and she will receive you
very graciously."
"You make me feel bashful, Gilbert."
"You won't be long. Julia will chat away to you as if she'd known you
for fifty years."
"I was very young fifty years ago," said Carl, smiling.
"Hi, there, Jule!" called Gilbert, waving his hand.
Julia Vance stopped the horse, and looked inquiringly and rather
admiringly at Carl, who was a boy of fine appearance.
"Let me introduce you to my friend and schoolmate, Carl Crawford."
Carl took off his hat politely.
"I am very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Crawford," said Julia,
demurely; "I have often heard Gilbert speak of you."
"I hope he said nothing bad about me, Miss Vance."
"You may be sure he didn't. If he should now--I wouldn't believe him."
"You've made a favorable impression, Carl," said Gilbert, smiling.
"I am naturally prejudiced against boys--having such a brother," said
Julia; "but it is not fair to judge all boys by him."
"That is outrageous injustice!" said Gilbert; "but then, sisters seldom
appreciate their brothers."
"Some other fellows' sisters may," said Carl.
"They do, they do!"
"Did you ever see such a vain, conceited boy, Mr. Crawford?"
"Of course you know him better than I do."
"Come, Carl; it's too bad for you, too, to join against me. However,
I will forget and forgive. Jule, my friend, Carl, has accepted my
invitation to make us a visit."
"I am very glad, I am sure," said Julia, sincerely.
"And I want you to take him in, bag and baggage, and convey him to our
palace, while I speed thither on my wheel."
"To be sure I will, and with great pleasure."
"Can't you get out and assist him into the carriage, Jule?"
"Thank you," said Carl; "but though I am somewhat old and quite infirm,
I think I can get in without troubling your sister. Are you sure, Miss
Vance, you won't be incommoded by my gripsack?"
"Not at all."
"Then I will accept your kind offer."
In a trice Carl was seated next to Julia, with his valise at his feet.
"Won't you drive, Mr. Crawford?" said the young lady.
"Don't let me take the reins from you."
"I don't think it looks well for a lady to drive when a gentleman is
sitting beside her."
Carl was glad to take the reins, for he liked driving.
"Now for a race!" said Gilbert, who was mounted on his bicycle.
"All right!" replied Carl. "Look out for us!"
They started, and the two kept neck and neck till they entered the
driveway leading up to a handsome country mansion.
Carl followed them into the house, and was cordially received by Mr.
and Mrs. Vance, who were very kind and hospitable, and were favorably
impressed by the gentlemanly appearance of their son's friend.
Half an hour later dinner was announced, and Carl, having removed the
stains of travel in his schoolmate's room, descended to the dining-room,
and, it must be confessed, did ample justice to the bounteous repast
spread before him.
In the afternoon Julia, Gilbert and he played tennis, and had a trial at
archery. The hours glided away very rapidly, and six o'clock came before
they were aware.
"Gilbert," said Carl, as they were preparing for tea, "you have a
charming home."
"You have a nice house, too, Carl."
"True; but it isn't a home--to me. There is no love there."
"That makes a great difference."
"If I had a father | 860.583978 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.6627690 | 2,410 | 20 |
Produced by David Widger
PLAYS IN THE FOURTH SERIES
A BIT O' LOVE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
MICHAEL STRANGWAY
BEATRICE STRANGWAY
MRS. BRADMERE
JIM BERE
JACK CREMER
MRS. BURLACOMBE
BURLACOMBE
TRUSTAFORD
JARLAND
CLYST
FREMAN
GODLEIGH
SOL POTTER
MORSE, AND OTHERS
IVY BURLACOMBE
CONNIE TRUSTAFORD
GLADYS FREMAN
MERCY JARLAND
TIBBY JARLAND
BOBBIE JARLAND
SCENE: A VILLAGE OF THE WEST
The Action passes on Ascension Day.
ACT I. STRANGWAY'S rooms at BURLACOMBE'S. Morning.
ACT II. Evening
SCENE I. The Village Inn.
SCENE II. The same.
SCENE III. Outside the church.
ACT III. Evening
SCENE I. STRANGWAY'S rooms.
SCENE II. BURLACOMBE'S barn.
A BIT O' LOVE
ACT I
It is Ascension Day in a village of the West. In the low
panelled hall-sittingroom of the BURLACOMBE'S farmhouse on the
village green, MICHAEL STRANGWAY, a clerical collar round his
throat and a dark Norfolk jacket on his back, is playing the
flute before a very large framed photograph of a woman, which is
the only picture on the walls. His age is about thirty-five his
figure thin and very upright and his clean-shorn face thin,
upright, narrow, with long and rather pointed ears; his dark
hair is brushed in a coxcomb off his forehead. A faint smile
hovers about his lips that Nature has made rather full and he
has made thin, as though keeping a hard secret; but his bright
grey eyes, dark round the rim, look out and upwards almost as if
he were being crucified. There is something about the whole of
him that makes him seen not quite present. A gentle creature,
burnt within.
A low broad window above a window-seat forms the background to
his figure; and through its lattice panes are seen the outer
gate and yew-trees of a churchyard and the porch of a church,
bathed in May sunlight. The front door at right angles to the
window-seat, leads to the village green, and a door on the left
into the house.
It is the third movement of Veracini's violin sonata that
STRANGWAY plays. His back is turned to the door into the house,
and he does not hear when it is opened, and IVY BURLACOMBE, the
farmer's daughter, a girl of fourteen, small and quiet as a
mouse, comes in, a prayer-book in one hand, and in the other a
gloss of water, with wild orchis and a bit of deep pink
hawthorn. She sits down on the window-seat, and having opened
her book, sniffs at the flowers. Coming to the end of the
movement STRANGWAY stops, and looking up at the face on the
wall, heaves a long sigh.
IVY. [From the seat] I picked these for yu, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. [Turning with a start] Ah! Ivy. Thank you. [He puts
his flute down on a chair against the far wall] Where are the
others?
As he speaks, GLADYS FREMAN, a dark gipsyish girl, and CONNIE
TRUSTAFORD, a fair, stolid, blue-eyed Saxon, both about sixteen,
come in through the front door, behind which they have evidently
been listening. They too have prayer-books in their hands.
They sidle past Ivy, and also sit down under the window.
GLADYS. Mercy's comin', Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. Good morning, Gladys; good morning, Connie.
He turns to a book-case on a table against the far wall, and
taking out a book, finds his place in it. While he stands thus
with his back to the girls, MERCY JARLAND comes in from the
green. She also is about sixteen, with fair hair and china-blue
eyes. She glides in quickly, hiding something behind her, and
sits down on the seat next the door. And at once there is a
whispering.
STRANGWAY. [Turning to them] Good morning, Mercy.
MERCY. Good morning, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. Now, yesterday I was telling you what our Lord's coming
meant to the world. I want you to understand that before He came
there wasn't really love, as we know it. I don't mean to say that
there weren't many good people; but there wasn't love for the sake of
loving. D'you think you understand what I mean?
MERCY fidgets. GLADYS'S eyes are following a fly.
IVY. Yes, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. It isn't enough to love people because they're good to
you, or because in some way or other you're going to get something by
it. We have to love because we love loving. That's the great thing
--without that we're nothing but Pagans.
GLADYS. Please, what is Pagans?
STRANGWAY. That's what the first Christians called the people who
lived in the villages and were not yet Christians, Gladys.
MERCY. We live in a village, but we're Christians.
STRANGWAY. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian?
MERCY kicks afoot, sideways against her neighbour, frowns over
her china-blare eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes
on, makes a quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her.
STRANGWAY. Ivy?
IVY. 'Tis a man--whu--whu----
STRANGWAY. Yes?--Connie?
CONNIE. [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight
cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a man what goes to church.
GLADYS. He 'as to be baptised--and confirmed; and--and--buried.
IVY. 'Tis a man whu--whu's gude and----
GLADYS. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his horses, an' he don't
hit back.
MERCY. [Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To STRANGWAY] 'Tis a man
like us.
IVY. I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, 'cause I asked her
once, before she went away.
STRANGWAY. [Startled] Yes?
IVY. She said it was a man whu forgave everything.
STRANGWAY. Ah!
The note of a cuckoo comes travelling. The girls are gazing at
STRANGWAY, who seems to have gone of into a dream. They begin
to fidget and whisper.
CONNIE. Please, Mr. Strangway, father says if yu hit a man and he
don't hit yu back, he's no gude at all.
MERCY. When Tommy Morse wouldn't fight, us pinched him--he did
squeal! [She giggles] Made me laugh!
STRANGWAY. Did I ever tell you about St. Francis of Assisi?
IVY. [Clasping her hands] No.
STRANGWAY. Well, he was the best Christian, I think, that ever
lived--simply full of love and joy.
IVY. I expect he's dead.
STRANGWAY. About seven hundred years, Ivy.
IVY. [Softly] Oh!
STRANGWAY. Everything to him was brother or sister--the sun and the
moon, and all that was poor and weak and sad, and animals and birds,
so that they even used to follow him about.
MERCY. I know! He had crumbs in his pocket.
STRANGWAY. No; he had love in his eyes.
IVY. 'Tis like about Orpheus, that yu told us.
STRANGWAY. Ah! But St. Francis was a Christian, and Orpheus was a
Pagan.
IVY. Oh!
STRANGWAY. Orpheus drew everything after him with music; St.
Francis by love.
IVY. Perhaps it was the same, really.
STRANGWAY. [looking at his flute] Perhaps it was, Ivy.
GLADYS. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yu?
IVY. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear music; they du.
[She holds up the glass of flowers.]
STRANGWAY. [Touching one of the orchis] What's the name of this
one?
[The girls cluster; save MERCY, who is taking a stealthy
interest in what she has behind her.]
CONNIE. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway.
GLADYS. 'Tis awful common down by the streams. We've got one medder
where 'tis so thick almost as the goldie cups.
STRANGWAY. Odd! I've never noticed it.
IVY. Please, Mr. Strangway, yu don't notice when yu're walkin'; yu
go along like this.
[She holds up her face as one looking at the sky.]
STRANGWAY. Bad as that, Ivy?
IVY. Mrs. Strangway often used to pick it last spring.
STRANGWAY. Did she? Did she?
[He has gone off again into a kind of dream.]
MERCY. I like being confirmed.
STRANGWAY. Ah! Yes. Now----What's that behind you, Mercy?
MERCY. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger than a
mouse-trap, containing a skylark] My skylark.
STRANGWAY. What!
MERCY. It can fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. Bobbie caught
it.
STRANGWAY. | 860.682809 |
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MARTINE'S
HAND-BOOK OF ETIQUETTE,
AND
GUIDE TO TRUE POLITENESS.
A COMPLETE MANUAL FOR THOSE WHO DESIRE TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES OF GOOD
BREEDING, THE CUSTOMS OF GOOD SOCIETY, AND TO AVOID INCORRECT AND
VULGAR HABITS,
CONTAINING
_Clear and Comprehensive Directions for Correct Manners, Dress, and
Conversation_;
_Instructions for Good Behavior at Dinner Parties, and the Table, with
Hints on the Art of Carving and Taking Wine at Table_;
_Together with the Etiquette of the Ball and Assembly Room, Evening
Parties_;
_Deportment in the Street and when Travelling_;
_And the Usages to be Observed when Visiting or Receiving Calls_.
TO WHICH IS ADDED
THE ETIQUETTE OF COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, DOMESTIC DUTIES, AND FIFTY-SIX
RULES TO BE OBSERVED IN GENERAL SOCIETY.
BY ARTHUR MARTINE.
NEW YORK:
DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
DICK & FITZGERALD,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
CONTENTS.
General Observations 5
The Art of Conversation 8
General Rules for Conversation 24
On Dress 48
Introductions 57
Letters of Introduction 61
Dinner Parties 63
Habits at Table 67
Wine at Table 74
Carving 82
Etiquette of the Ball and Assembly Room 93
Evening Parties 104
Visiting 113
Street Etiquette 127
Traveling 133
Marriage 136
Domestic Etiquette and Duties 144
On General Society 154
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.
Politeness has been defined as an "artificial good-nature;" but it would
be better said that _good-nature is natural politeness_. It inspires us
with an unremitting attention, both to please others and to avoid giving
them offence. Its code is a ceremonial, agreed upon and established
among mankind, to give each other external testimonies of friendship or
respect. _Politeness_ and _etiquette_ form a sort of supplement to the
law, which enables society to protect itself against offences which the
_law_ cannot touch. For instance, the law cannot punish a man for
habitually staring at people in an insolent and annoying manner, but
_etiquette_ can banish such an offender from the circles of good
society, and fix upon him the brand of vulgarity. _Etiquette_ consists
in certain forms, ceremonies, and rules which the _principle of
politeness_ establishes and enforces for the regulation of the manners
of men and women in their intercourse with each other.
Many unthinking persons consider the observance of etiquette to be
nonsensical and unfriendly, as consisting of unmeaning forms, practiced
only by the _silly_ and the idle; an opinion which arises from their not
having reflected on the _reasons_ that have led to the establishment of
certain rules indispensable to the well-being of society, and without
which, indeed, it would inevitably fall to pieces, and be destroyed.
The true aim of politeness, is to make those with whom you associate as
well satisfied with themselves as possible. It does not, by any means,
encourage an impudent self-importance in them, but it does whatever it
can to accommodate their feelings and wishes in social intercourse.
Politeness is a sort of social benevolence, which avoids wounding the
pride, or shocking the prejudices of those around you.
The principle of politeness is the same among all nations, but the
ceremonials which etiquette imposes differ according to the taste and
habits of various countries. For instance, many of the minor rules of
etiquette at Paris differ from those at London; and at New York they may
differ from both Paris and London. But still the polite of every country
have about the same manners.
Of the manners and deportment of both ladies and gentlemen, we would
remark that a proper consideration for the welfare and comfort of others
will generally lead to a greater propriety of demeanor than any rules
which the most rigid master | 860.683621 |
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ANCIENT PLANTS
[Illustration: Photo. of the specimen in Manchester Museum.
THE STUMP OF A _LEPIDODENDRON_ FROM THE COAL MEASURES]
ANCIENT PLANTS
BEING A SIMPLE ACCOUNT OF THE
PAST VEGETATION OF THE EARTH
AND OF THE RECENT IMPORTANT
DISCOVERIES MADE IN THIS REALM
OF NATURE STUDY
BY
MARIE C. STOPES, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.L.S.
Lecturer in Fossil Botany, Manchester University
Author of "The Study of Plant Life for Young People"
LONDON
BLACKIE & SON, Limited, 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
1910
Preface
The number and the importance of the discoveries which have been made in
the course of the last five or six years in the realm of Fossil Botany
have largely altered the aspect of the subject and greatly widened its
horizon. Until comparatively recent times the rather narrow outlook and
the technical difficulties of the study made it one which could only be
appreciated by specialists. This has been gradually changed, owing to the
detailed anatomical work which it was found possible to do on the
carboniferous plants, and which proved to be of great botanical
importance. About ten years ago textbooks in English were written, and
the subject was included in the work of the honours students of Botany at
the Universities. To-day the important bearing of the results of this
branch of Science on several others, as well as its intrinsic value, is
so much greater, that anyone who is at all acquainted with general
science, and more particularly with Botany and Geology, must find much to
interest him in it.
There is no book in the English language which places this really
attractive subject before the non-specialist, and to do so is the aim of
the present volume. The two excellent English books which we possess,
viz. Seward's _Fossil Plants_ (of which the first volume only has
appeared, and that ten years ago) and Scott's _Studies in Fossil Botany_,
are ideal for advanced University students. But they are written for
students who are supposed to have a previous knowledge of technical
botany, and prove very hard or impossible reading for those who are
merely acquainted with Science in a general way, or for less advanced
students.
The inclusion of fossil types in the South Kensington syllabus for Botany
indicates the increasing importance attached to palaeobotany, and as vital
facts about several of those types are not to be found in a simply
written book, the students preparing for the examination must find some
difficulty in getting their information. Furthermore, Scott's book, the
only up-to-date one, does not give a complete survey of the subject, but
just selects the more important families to describe in detail.
Hence the present book was attempted for the double purpose of presenting
the most interesting discoveries and general conclusions of recent years,
and bringing together the subject as a whole.
The mass of information which has been collected about fossil plants is
now enormous, and the greatest difficulty in writing this little book has
been the necessity of eliminating much that is of great interest. The
author awaits with fear and trembling the criticisms of specialists, who
will probably find that many things considered by them as particularly
interesting or essential have been left out. It is hoped that they will
bear in mind the scope and aim of the book. I try to present only the
structure raised on the foundation of the accumulated details of
specialists' work, and not to demonstrate brick by brick the exposed
foundation.
Though the book is not written specially for them, it is probable that
University students may find it useful as a general survey of the whole
subject, for there is much in it that can only be learned otherwise by
reference to innumerable original monographs.
In writing this book all possible sources of information have been
consulted, and though Scott's _Studies_[1] naturally formed the
foundation of some of the chapters on Pteridophytes, the authorities for
all the general part and the recent discoveries are the numerous memoirs
published by many different learned societies here and abroad.
As these pages are primarily for the use of those who have no very
technical preliminary training, the simplest language possible which is
consistent with a concise style has always been adopted. The necessary
technical terms are either explained in the context or in the glossary at
the end of the book. The list of the more important authorities makes no
pretence of including all the references that might be consulted with
advantage, but merely indicates the more important volumes and papers
which anyone should read who wishes to follow up the subject.
All the illustrations are made for the book itself, and I am much obliged
to Mr. D. M. S. Watson, B.Sc., for the microphotos of plant anatomy which
adorn its pages. The figures and diagram are my own work.
This book is dedicated to college students, to the senior pupils of good
schools where the subject is beginning to find a place in the higher
courses of Botany, but especially to all those who take an interest in
plant evolution because it forms a thread in the web of life whose design
they wish to trace.
M. C. STOPES.
_December, 1909._
Contents
Chap. Page
I. Introductory 1
II. Various Kinds of Fossil Plants 6
III. Coal, the most Important of Plant Remains 22
IV. The Seven Ages of Plant Life 33
V. Stages in Plant Evolution 43
VI. Minute Structure of Fossil Plants--
Likenesses to Living Ones 53
VII. " " Differences from Living Ones 69
VIII. Past Histories of Plant Families--
(i) Flowering Plants 79
IX. " " (ii) Higher Gymnosperms 86
X. " " (iii) Bennettitales 102
XI. " " (iv) The Cycads 109
XII. " " (v) Pteridosperms 114
XIII. " " (vi) The Ferns 124
XIV. " " (vii) The Lycopods 133
XV. " " (viii) The Horsetails 145
XVI. " " (ix) Sphenophyllales 153
XVII. " " (x) The Lower Plants 161
XVIII. Fossil Plants as Records of Ancient Countries 168
XIX. Conclusion 174
APPENDIX
I. List of Requirements for a Collecting Expedition 183
II. Treatment of Specimens 184
III. Literature 186
Glossary 188
Footnotes 193
Index 193
ANCIENT PLANTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The lore of the plants which have successively clothed this ancient earth
during the thousands of centuries before men appeared is generally
ignored or tossed on one side with a contemptuous comment on the dullness
and "dryness" of fossil botany.
It is true that all that remains of the once luxuriant vegetation are
fragments preserved in stone, fragments which often show little of beauty
or value to the untrained eye; | 860.685658 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
CANADIAN DRUGGIST.
VOL. I. TORONTO AND STRATHROY, AUGUST, 1889. NO. 2.
THE CANADIAN DRUGGIST,
5 Jordan Street, Toronto, Ont.
And Strathroy, Ont.
WILLIAM J. DYAS, Editor and Publisher.
Subscription, $1 per Year, in Advance.
Advertising Rates on Application.
The Canadian Druggist is issued on the 15th of each month, and all
matter for insertion should reach us by the 5th of the month.
All cheques or drafts, and matter intended for the editor, to be
addressed to Box 438, Strathroy, Ont.
New advertisements or changes to be addressed
CANADIAN DRUGGIST, 5 JORDAN STREET, TORONTO.
FIRST RESULTS.
In our first issue we spoke confidently of the future prospects of this
journal, as to its filling a want in Pharmaceutical journalism in
Canada, of a certain recognition by druggists as THE organ of the
profession and of encouraging words from Pharmaceutical friends. We are
glad to say that we have not been mistaken in our expectations. From the
Provinces of Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island,
Manitoba and British Columbia we have already received congratulatory
letters as well as subscriptions, one and all virtually agreeing in the
verdict, “Just what we needed.” Appended are extracts from a few of the
letters received:
“Allow me to congratulate you on its make up, which I consider good.”
“Congratulate you on your first number and do not doubt your success.”
“Very complete and well calculated to find favour with every Canadian
chemist.”
“Congratulate you on the make up and contents of the CANADIAN DRUGGIST,
and wish you success in your enterprise.”
“Was pleased with the first issue of your journal and found a number of
items that would be of interest and use to the druggists of this
Province; trust that you may have the success that your enterprise most
assuredly entitles you to.”
“Find the CANADIAN DRUGGIST the most interesting paper for druggists in
the Dominion. I wish you success.”
One of our advertisers says that within two weeks after the publication
of the first number, he had business enquiries from two druggists in
Prince Edward Island and one in British Columbia, the extreme easterly
and westerly Provinces of our Dominion, mentioning the advertisement
which appeared in the CANADIAN DRUGGIST leading to the transaction of
business with them.
INSURANCE OF DRUG STOCKS.
By mutual consent of all fire insurance companies (and when will they
not agree to increase their own profits by raising rates), the rate on
ordinary drug stock is higher than ordinary merchandise rates, claiming
the greater risk on the former class. That this is not the case is shown
time and again from statistics which clearly prove that although drug
stock may and does include goods which are of a particularly inflammable
nature, yet the precautions taken, the description of containers in
which these goods are kept and the usually small proportion of them in a
retail store has reduced the number of fires originating in such
premises to a very small percentage of the total fire losses.
In Philadelphia a “Druggists’ Mutual Fire Insurance Company” has been
formed, and has issued a large number of policies. Would it not be well
for the druggists of Canada to consider the question either of concerted
action on their part to compel the insurance companies to give us more
reasonable rates, or failing in this to establish a company on somewhat
the same lines as the Philadelphia company? We append some extracts from
the Druggists’ Circular, showing the feeling which exists in the United
States in this matter:
At the annual meeting of the Ohio Pharmaceutical Association, held in
1888, a committee was appointed to investigate the subject of mutual
fire insurance. This committee has recently made public the results of
its work from which it appears that the druggists of that State pay
pretty dearly for their insurance. It is estimated by the committee,
from all that they can learn, that druggists by protecting themselves on
the mutual plan can save from one-half to three-quarters of the money
now expended for premiums.
There has long been an exceedingly strong suspicion in the minds of
druggists everywhere that the rates usually charged them for insurance
against fire were extravagant. When protesting against these charges
they have been confronted with pictures of the terribly dangerous
character of their stocks--how their stores were magazines of highly
inflammable substances, which by the breaking of a bottle, might in a
moment be involved in destruction.
To show that a pharmacy is in fact a rather safe place, so far as fire
is concerned, we may quote from the report above referred to that in
Cleveland the loss to retail druggists from that cause during a period
of eighteen years amounted to only $5,500; and in Cincinnati the loss in
eight years was but $3,000.
PHARMACISTS’ AIDS.
There can be no doubt of the fact, that two of the most rapidly
increasing demands upon the ability of the pharmacist of to-day,
are analytical chemistry and microscopy. The former includes that
class of demands that so frequently apply to the druggist for
analysis of some special compound or even more often for an
analysis of urine. These are not limited to the “ignorant (?)
laity,” but are decidedly common requests from physicians
themselves. It has only been a few years since these subjects
became so important in the diagnosis of disease, and therefore only
the decidedly studious or recent graduate appreciates or
investigates the utility of their possibilities. Referring
especially to the matter of urine analysis, for every druggist
should be posted on analytical chemistry, we know that very few of
our best pharmacists have made any special study of this specialty
and the following is an ordinary result. The doctor, often for lack
of time, quite as often for lack of information, applies to the
pharmacist for an analysis of urine--presuming, the pharmacist
cannot do it, naturally enough the doctor goes elsewhere, but does
he ever return for any more such work? Does he ever refer anyone
else to that store for it? | 860.686866 |
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See 48634-h.htm or 48634-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
[~ao] as in Serr[~ao] depicts a single tilde extending
over both letters ("a" and "o").
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
[Illustration: MAGELLAN VISITING THE KING OF SEBU]
PIONEERS IN AUSTRALASIA
by
SIR HARRY JOHNSTON
G.C.M.G., K.C.B.
With Eight Illustrations by Alec Ball
Blackie and Son Limited
London Glasgow Bombay
Printed and bound in Great Britain
PREFACE
I have been asked to write a series of works which should deal
with "real adventures", in parts of the world either wild and
uncontrolled by any civilized government, or at any rate regions
full of dangers, of wonderful discoveries; in which the daring
and heroism of white men (and sometimes of white women) stood out
clearly against backgrounds of unfamiliar landscapes, peopled with
strange nations, savage tribes, dangerous beasts, or wonderful
birds. These books would again and again illustrate the first coming
of the white race into regions inhabited by people of a different
type, with brown, black, or yellow skins; how the European was
received, and how he treated these races of the soil which gradually
came under his rule owing to his superior knowledge, weapons,
wealth, or powers of persuasion. The books were to tell the plain
truth, even if here and there they showed the white man to have
behaved badly, or if they revealed the fact that the American
Indian, the <DW64>, the Malay, the black Australian was sometimes
cruel and treacherous.
A request thus framed was almost equivalent to asking me to write
stories of those pioneers who founded the British Empire; in any
case, the volumes of this series do relate the adventures of those
who created the greater part of the British Dominions beyond the
Seas, by their perilous explorations of unknown lands and waters.
In many instances the travellers were all unconscious of their
destinies, of the results which would arise from their actions. In
some cases they would have bitterly railed at Fate had they known
that the result of their splendid efforts was to be the enlargement
of an empire under the British flag. Perhaps if they could know by
now that we are striving under that flag to be just and generous to
all types of men, and not to use our empire solely for the benefit
of English-speaking men and women, the French who founded the
Canadian nation, the Germans and Dutch who helped to create British
Africa, Malaysia, and Australia, the Spaniards who preceded us in
the West Indies and in New Guinea, and the Portuguese in West,
Central, and East Africa, in Newfoundland, Ceylon, and Malaysia,
might--if they have any consciousness or care for things in this
world--be not so sorry after all that we are reaping where they
sowed.
It is (as you will see) impossible to tell the tale of these early
days in the British Dominions beyond the Seas, without describing
here and there the adventures of men of enterprise and daring who
were not of our own nationality. The majority, nevertheless, were
of British stock; that is to say, they were English, Welsh, Scots,
Irish, perhaps here and there a Channel Islander and a Manxman; or
Nova Scotians, Canadians, and New Englanders. The bulk of them were
good fellows, a few were saints, a few were ruffians with redeeming
features. Sometimes they were common men who blundered into | 860.68883 |
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MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL SERIES
By PAULINE LESTER
Cloth Bound, Cover Designs in Colors
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SOPHOMORE.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR.
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Poising herself on the bank, she cut the water in a
clean, sharp dive. Page 234. Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman]
* * * * * *
MARJORIE DEAN
HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN
by
PAULINE LESTER
Author of
"Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Junior"
"Marjorie Dean, High School Senior"
A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York
Copyright, 1917 by A. L. Burt Company
MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN
CHAPTER I
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
"What am I going to do without you, Marjorie?" Mary Raymond's blue eyes
looked suspiciously misty as she solemnly regarded her chum.
"What am I going to do without _you_, you mean," corrected Marjorie
Dean, with a wistful smile. "Please, please don't let's talk of it. I
simply can't bear it."
"One, two--only two more weeks now," sighed Mary. "You'll surely write
to me, Marjorie?"
"Of course, silly girl," returned Marjorie, patting her friend's arm
affectionately. "I'll write at least once a week."
Marjorie Dean's merry face looked unusually sober as she walked down the
corridor beside Mary and into the locker room of the Franklin High
School. The two | 860.742345 |
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Produced by Steffen Haugk
[Illustration: CAPTAIN THOMAS SAVERY, The inventor of the steam engine - see frontispiece.gif]
THE
MINER'S FRIEND;
OR,
~An Engine~
TO
RAISE WATER BY FIRE,
DESCRIBED.
AND OF THE | 860.779043 |
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[Illustration: THE WOUNDED PIONEER.]
HEROES AND HUNTERS OF THE WEST:
COMPRISING SKETCHES AND ADVENTURES
OF
BOONE, KENTON, BRADY, LOGAN, WHETZEL,
FLEEHART, HUGHES, JOHNSTON, &c.
PHILADELPHIA:
H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS.
1860.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853,
BY H. C. PECK & THEO. BLISS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District
of Pennsylvania.
CONTENTS.
Daniel Boone. 11
Simon Kenton. 19
George Rogers Clarke. 24
Benjamin Logan. 32
Samuel Brady. 38
Lewis Whetzel. 45
Caffree, M'Clure, and Davis. 58
Charles Johnston. 66
Joseph Logston. 74
Jesse Hughes. 81
Siege of Fort Henry. 87
Simon Girty. 103
Joshua Fleehart. 118
Indian Fight on the Little Muskingum. 129
Escape of Return J. Meigs. 137
Estill's Defeat. 144
A Pioneer Mother. 154
The Squatter's Wife and Daughter. 167
Captain William Hubbell. 173
Murder of Cornstalk and his Son. 185
The Massacre of Chicago. 189
The Two Friends. 211
Desertion of a young White Man, from a party of Indians. 219
Morgan's Triumph. 229
Massacre of Wyoming. 233
Heroic Women of the West. 243
Indian Strategem Foiled. 250
Blackbird. 265
A Desperate Adventure. 268
Adventure of Two Scouts. 276
A Young Hero of the West. 299
PREFACE.
To the lovers of thrilling adventure, the title of this work would alone
be its strongest recommendation. The exploits of the Heroes of the West,
need but a simple narration to give them an irresistible charm. They
display the bolder and rougher features of human nature in their noblest
light, softened and directed by virtues that have appeared in the really
heroic deeds of every age, and form pages in the history of this country
destined to be read and admired when much that is now deemed more
important is forgotten.
It is true, that, with the lights of this age, we regard many of the deeds
of our western pioneer as aggressive, barbarous, and unworthy of civilized
men. But there is no truly noble heart that will not swell in admiration
of the devotion and disinterestedness of Benjamin Logan, the self-reliant
energy of Boone and Whetzel, and the steady firmness and consummate
military skill of George Rogers Clarke. The people of this country need
records of the lives of such men, and we have attempted to present these
in an attractive form.
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF BOONE.]
HEROES OF THE WEST.
DANIEL BOONE.
In all notices of border life, the name of Daniel Boone appears first--as
the hero and the father of the west. In him were united those qualities
which make the accomplished frontiersman--daring, activity, and
circumspection, while he was fitted beyond most of his contemporary
borderers to lead and command.
Daniel Boone was born either in Virginia or Pennsylvania, and at an early
age settled in North Carolina, upon the banks of the Yadkin. In 1767,
James Findley, the first white man who ever visited Kentucky, returned to
the settlements of North Carolina, and gave such a glowing account of that
wilderness, that Boone determined to venture into it, on a hunting
expedition. Accordingly, in 1769, accompanied by Findley and four others,
he commenced his journey. Kentucky was found to be all that the first
adventurer had represented, and the hunters had fine sport. The country
was uninhabited, but, during certain seasons, parties of the northern and
southern Indians visited it upon hunting expeditions. These parties
frequently engaged in fierce conflicts, and hence the beautiful region was
known as the "dark and bloody ground."
[Illustration: BATTLE OF BLUE LICKS.]
On the 22d of December, 1769, Boone and one of his companions, named John
Stuart, left their encampment on the Red river, and boldly followed a
buffalo path far into the forest. While roving carelessly from canebrake
to canebrake, they were suddenly alarmed by the appearance of a party of
Indians, who, springing from their place of concealment, rushed upon them
with a swiftness which rendered escape impossible. The hunters were
seized, disarmed, and made prisoners. Under these terrible circumstances,
Boone's presence of mind was admirable. He saw that there was no chance of
immediate escape; but he encouraged his companion and constrained himself
to follow the Indians in all their movements, with so constrained an air,
that their vigilance began to relax.
[Illustration: DANIEL BOONE.]
On the seventh evening of the captivity of the hunter, the party encamped
in a thick cane-break, and having built a large fire lay down to rest.
About midnight, Boone, who had not closed his eyes, ascertained from the
deep breathing of all around him, that the whole party, including Stuart,
was in a deep sleep. Gently extricating himself from the savages who lay
around him, he awoke Stuart, informed him of his determination to escape,
and exhorted him to follow without noise. Stuart obeyed with quickness and
silence. Rapidly moving through the forest, guided by the light of the
stars and the barks of the trees, the hunters reached their former camp
the next day, but found it plundered and deserted, with nothing remaining
to show the fate of their companions. Soon afterwards, Stuart was shot and
scalped, and Boone and his brother who had come into the wilderness from
North Carolina, were left alone in the forest. Nay, for several months,
Daniel had not a single companion, for his brother returned to North
Carolina for ammunition. The hardy hunter was exposed to the greatest
dangers, but he contrived to escape them all. In 1771, Boone and his
brother returned to North Carolina, and Daniel, having sold what property
he could not take with him, determined to take his family to Kentucky, and
make a settlement. He was joined by others at "Powel's Valley," and
commenced the journey, at the head of a considerable party of pioneers.
Being attacked by the Indians, the adventurers were compelled to return,
and it was not until 1774, that the indomitable Boone succeeded in
conveying his family to the banks of the Kentucky, and founding
Boonesborough. In the meantime, James Harrod had settled at the station
called Harrodsburgh. Other stations were founded by Bryant and
Logan--daring pioneers; but Boonesborough was the chief object of Indian
hostility, and was exposed to almost incessant attack, from its foundation
until after the bloody battle of Blue Licks. During this time, Daniel
Boone was regarded as the chief support and counsellor of the settlers,
and in all emergencies, his wisdom and valor was of the greatest service.
He met with many adventures, and made some hair-breadth escapes, but
survived all his perils and hardships and lived to a green old age,
enjoying the respect and confidence of a large and happy community, which
his indomitable spirit had been chiefly instrumental in founding. He never
lost his love of the woods and the chase, and within a few weeks of his
death might have been seen, rifle in hand, eager in the pursuit of game.
[Illustration: SIMON KENTON.]
[Illustration: LOGAN.]
SIMON KENTON.
Simon Kenton was born in Fauquier county, Virginia, on the 15th of May,
1755. His parents were poor, and until the age of sixteen his days seem to
have been passed in the laborious drudgery of a farm. When he was about
sixteen, an unfortunate occurrence threw him upon his own resources. A
robust young farmer, named Leitchman, and he were rival suitors for the
hand of a young coquette, and she being unable to decide between them,
they took the matter into their own hands and fought a regular pitched
battle at a solitary spot in the forest. After a severe struggle, Kenton
triumphed, and left his antagonist upon the ground, apparently in the
agonies of death. Without returning for a suit of clothing, the young
conqueror fled westward, assumed the name of Butler, joined a party of
daring hunters, and visited Kentucky, (1773.) In the wilderness he became
an accomplished and successful hunter and spy, but suffered many
hardships.
In 1774, the Indian war, occasioned by the murder of the family of the
chief, Logan, broke out, and Kenton entered the service of the Virginians
as a spy, in which capacity he acted throughout the campaign, ending with
the battle of Point Pleasant. He then explored the country on both sides
of the Ohio, and hunted in company with a few other, in various parts of
Kentucky. When Boonesborough was attacked by a large body of Indians,
Simon took an active part in the defence, and in several of Boone's
expeditions, our hero served as a spy, winning a high reputation.
In the latter part of 1777, Kenton, having crossed the Ohio, on a
horse-catching expedition, was overtaken and made captive by the Indians.
Then commenced a series of tortures to which the annals of Indian warfare,
so deeply tinged with horrors, afford few parallels. Having kicked and
cuffed him, the savages tied him to a pole, in a very painful position,
where they kept him till the next morning, then tied him on a wild colt
and drove it swiftly through the woods to Chilicothe. Here he was tortured
in various ways. The savages then carried him to Pickaway, where it was
intended to burn him at the stake, but from this awful death, he was saved
through the influence of the renegade, Simon Girty, who had been his early
friend. Still, Kenton was carried about from village to village, and
tortured many times. At length, he was taken to Detroit, an English post,
where he was well-treated; and he recovered from his numerous wounds. In
the summer of 1778, he succeeded in effecting his escape, and, after a
long march, reached Kentucky.
[Illustration: SIMON GIRTY.]
Kenton was engaged in all the Indian expeditions up to Wayne's decisive
campaign, in 1794, and was very serviceable as a spy. Few borderers had
passed through so many hardships, and won so bright a reputation. He lived
to a very old age, and saw the country, in which he had fought and
suffered, formed into the busy and populous state of Ohio. In his latter
days, he was very poor, and, but for the kindness of some distinguished
friends, would have wanted for the necessaries of life.
GEORGE ROGERS CLARKE.
In natural genius for military command, few men of the west have equalled
George Rogers Clarke. The conception and execution of the famous
expedition against Kaskaskia and Vincennes displayed many of those
qualities for which the best generals of the world have been eulogized,
and would have done honor to a Clive.
Clarke was born in Albermarle county, Virginia, in September, 1753. Like
Washington, he engaged, at an early age, in the business of land
surveying, and was fond of several branches of mathematics. On the
breaking out of Dunmore's war, Clarke took command of a company, and
fought bravely at the battle of Point Pleasant, being engaged in the only
active operation of the right wing of the Virginians against the Indians.
Peace was concluded soon after, by Lord Dunmore, and Clarke, whose gallant
bearing had been noticed, was offered a commission in the royal service.
But this he refused, as he apprehended that his native country would soon
be at war with Great Britain.
[Illustration: GEORGE ROGERS CLARKE.]
Early in 1775, Clarke visited Kentucky as the favorite scene of adventure,
and penetrated to Harrodsburgh. His talents were immediately appreciated
by the Kentuckians, and he was placed in command of all the irregular
troops in that wild region. In 1776, the young commander exerted himself
with extraordinary ability to secure a political organization and the
means of defence to Kentucky, and was so successful as to win the title of
the founder of the commonwealth.[A]
In partisan service against the Indians, Clarke was active and efficient;
but his bold and comprehensive mind looked to checking savage inroads at
their sources. He saw at a glance, that the red men were stimulated to
outrages by the British garrisons of Detroit, Vincennes and Kaskaskia, and
was satisfied that to put an end to them, those posts must be captured.
Having sent two spies to reconnoitre Kaskaskia and Vincennes, and gained
considerable intelligence of the situation of the enemy, the enterprising
commander sought aid from the government of Virginia to enable him to
carry out his designs. After some delay, money, supplies, and a few
companies of troops were obtained. Clarke then proceeded to Corn Island,
opposite the present city of Louisville. Here the objects of the
expedition were disclosed. Some of the men murmured, and others attempted
to desert; but the energy of Colonel Clarke secured obedience and even
enthusiasm.
The little band soon commenced its march through a wild and difficult
country, and on the 4th of July, 1778, reached a spot within a few miles
of the town of Kaskaskia. Clarke made his | 860.837988 |
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THE MOVING
FINGER
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE LOST AMBASSADOR," "THE ILLUSTRIOUS
PRINCE," "JEANNE OF THE MARSHES," ETC.
_With Illustrations by_
J. V. McFALL
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1911
_Copyright, 1910, 1911_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
Published, May, 1911.
_Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A._
[Illustration: "Sit still," he whispered. "Don't say anything. There
is someone coming." FRONTISPIECE. _See p._ 166]
"The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PROLOGUE--THE DREAMER 1
I. A LETTER PROVES USEFUL 11
II. OLD ACQUAINTANCES 17
III. "WHO IS MR. SATON?" 23
IV. A QUESTION OF OBLIGATION 32
V. A MORNING WALK 46
VI. PAULINE MARRABEL 54
VII. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 61
VIII. AN INSTANCE OF OCCULTISM 67
IX. A SENTIMENTAL TALK 74
X. THE SCENE CHANGES 80
XI. A BUSY EVENING 86
XII. A CALL ON LADY MARRABEL 97
XIII. LADY MARY'S DILEMMA 105
XIV. PETTY WORRIES 114
XV. ROCHESTER IS INDIGNANT 124
XVI. PLAIN SPEAKING 133
XVII. THE GREAT NAUDHEIM 141
XVIII. ROCHESTER'S ULTIMATUM 150
XIX. TROUBLE BREWING 158
XX. FIRST BLOOD 165
XXI. AFRAID! 172
XXII. SATON REASSERTS HIMSELF 178
XXIII. AN UNPLEASANT ENCOUNTER 186
XXIV. LOIS IS OBEDIENT 194
XXV. A LAST WARNING 202
XXVI. THE DUCHESS'S DINNER PARTY 209
XXVII. THE ANSWER TO A RIDDLE 215
XXVIII. SPOKEN FROM THE HEART 224
XXIX. THE COURAGE OF DESPERATION 232
XXX. A SURPRISING REQUEST 239
XXXI. BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY 248
XXXII. AT THE EDGE OF THE PRECIPICE 255
XXXIII. "YOU DO NOT BELIEVE IN ME!" 261
XXXIV. A WOMAN'S TONGUE 269
XXXV. ON LOIS' BIRTHDAY 278
XXXVI. THE CHARLATAN UNMASKED 284
EPILOGUE--THE MAN 294
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Sit still," he whispered. "Don't say anything.
There is someone coming" _Frontispiece_
He came to a standstill by the side of the boy _Page_ 2
"Some water quick, and brandy," Rochester
cried " 73
She swayed for a moment, and fell over on
her side " 222
THE MOVING FINGER
PROLOGUE
THE DREAMER
The boy sat with his back to a rock, his knees drawn up and clasped
within fingers nervously interlocked. His eyes were fixed upon the
great stretch of landscape below, shadowy now, and indistinct, like a
rolling plain of patchwork woven by mysterious fingers. Gray mists
were floating over the meadows and low-lying lands. Away in the
distance they marked the circuitous course of the river, which only an
hour ago had shone like a belt of silver in the light of the setting
sun. Twilight had fallen with unexpected swiftness. Here and there a
light flashed from the isolated farmhouses. On the darkening horizon,
a warm glow was reflected in the clouds from the distant town.
The boy, when he had settled down to his vigil, had been alone. From
over the brow of the hill, however, had come a few minutes ago a man,
dressed in loose shooting clothes, and with a gun under his arm. He
came to a standstill by the side of the boy, and stood there watching
him for several moments, with a certain faintly amused curiosity
shining out of his somewhat supercilious gray eyes. The newcomer was
obviously a person of breeding and culture--the sort of person who
assumes without question the title of "Gentleman." The boy wore
ready-made clothes and hobnailed boots. They remained within a few
feet of one another for several moments, without speech.
"My young friend," the newcomer said at last, "you will be late for
your tea, or whatever name is given to your evening meal. Did you not
hear the bell? It rang nearly half-an-hour ago."
The boy moved his head slightly, but made no attempt to rise.
"It does not matter. I am not hungry."
The newcomer leaned his gun against the rock, and drawing a pipe from
the pocket of his shooting-coat, commenced leisurely to fill it. Every
now and then he glanced at the boy, who seemed once more to have
become unconscious of his presence. He struck a match and lit the
tobacco, stooping down for a moment to escape the slight evening
breeze. Then he threw the match away, and lounged against the
lichen-covered fragment of stone.
"I wonder," he remarked, "why, when you have the whole day in which to
come and look at this magnificent view, you should choose to come just
at the hour when it has practically been swallowed up."
The boy lifted his head for the first time. His face was a little
long, his features irregular but not displeasing, his deep-set eyes
seemed unnaturally bright. His cheeks were sunken, his forehead
unusually prominent. The whole effect of his personality was a little
curious. If he had no claims to be considered good-looking, his face
was at least a striking one.
[Illustration: He came to a standstill by the side of the boy.]
"I come at this hour," he said slowly, "because the view does not
attract me so much at any other time. It is only when the twilight
falls that one can see--properly."
The newcomer took his pipe from his mouth.
"You must have marvelous eyesight, my young friend," he remarked. "To
me everything seems blurred and uncertain."
"You don't understand!" said the boy impatiently. "I do not come here
to see the things that anyone can see at any hour of the day. There is
nothing satisfying in that. I come here to look down and see the
things which do not really exist. It is easy enough when one is
alone," he added, a little pointedly.
The newcomer laughed softly--there was more banter than humor in his
mirth.
"So my company displeases you," he remarked. "Do you know that I have
the right to tell you to get up, and never to pass through that gate
again?"
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
"One place is as good as another," he said.
The man smoked in silence for several moments. Then he withdrew the
pipe from his teeth and sighed gently.
"These are indeed democratic days," he said. "You do not know, my
young friend, that I am Henry Prestgate Rochester, Esquire, if you
please, High Sheriff of this county, Magistrate and Member of
Parliament, owner, by the bye, of that rock against which you are
leaning, and of most of that country below, which you can or cannot
see."
"Really!" the boy answered slowly. "My name is Bertrand Saton, and I
am staying at the Convalescent Home down there, a luxury which is
costing me exactly eight shillings a week."
"So I concluded," his companion remarked. "May I ask what your
occupation is, when in health?"
"It's of no consequence," the boy answered, a little impatiently.
"Perhaps I haven't one at all. Whatever it is, as you may imagine, it
has not brought me any great success. If you wish me to go----"
"Not at all," Rochester interrupted, with a little protesting gesture.
"I do not wish to remain here on sufferance," the boy continued. "I
understood that we were allowed to spend our time upon the hills
here."
"That is quite true, I believe," Rochester admitted. "My bailiff sees
to those things, and if it amuses you to sit here all night, you are
perfectly welcome."
"I shall probably do so."
Rochester watched him curiously for a few seconds.
"Look here," he said, "I will make a bargain with you. You shall have
the free run of all my lands for as long as you like, and in return
you shall just answer me one question."
The boy turned his head slightly.
"The question?" he asked.
"You shall tell me the things which you see down there," Rochester
declared, holding his hand straight out in front of him, pointing
downward toward the half-hidden panorama.
The boy shook his head.
"For other people they would not count," he said. "They are for myself
only. What I see would be invisible to you."
"A matter of eyesight?" Rochester asked, with raised eyebrows.
"Of imagination," the boy answered. "There is no necessity for you to
look outside your own immediate surroundings to see beautiful things,
unless you choose deliberately to make your life an ugly thing. With
us it is different--with us who work for a living, who dwell in the
cities, and who have no power to push back the wheels of life. If we
are presumptuous enough to wish to take into our lives anything of the
beautiful, anything to help us fight our daily battle against the
commonplace, we have to create it for ourselves. That is why I am here
just now, and why I was regretting, when I heard your footstep, that
one finds it so hard to be alone."
"So I am to be ordered off?" Rochester remarked, smiling.
The boy did not answer. The man did not move. The minutes went by, and
the silence remained unbroken. Below, the twilight seemed to be
passing into night with unusual rapidity. It was a shapeless world
now, a world of black and gray. More lights flashed out every few
seconds.
It was the boy who broke the silence at last. He seemed, in some
awkward way, to be trying to atone for his former unsociability.
"This is my last night at the Convalescent Home," he said, a little
abruptly. "I am cured. To-morrow I am going back to my work in
Mechester. For many days I shall see nothing except actual things. I
shall know nothing of life except its dreary and material side. That
is why I came here with the twilight. That is why I am going to sit
here till the night comes--perhaps, even, I shall wait until the dawn.
I want one last long rest. I want to carry away with me some absolute
impression of life as I would have it. Down there," he added, moving
his head slowly, "down there I can see the things I want--the things
which, if I could, I would take into my life. I am going to look at
them, and think of them, and long for them, until they seem real. I am
going to create a concrete memory, and take it away with me."
Rochester looked more than a little puzzled. The boy's speech seemed
in no way in keeping with his attire, and the fact of his presence in
a charitable home.
"Might one inquire once more," he asked, "what your occupation in
Mechester is?"
"It is of no consequence," the boy answered shortly. "It is an
occupation that does not count. It does not make for anything in life.
One must do something to earn one's daily bread."
"You find my questioning rather a nuisance, I am afraid," Rochester
remarked, politely.
"I will not deny it," the boy answered. "I will admit that I wish to
be alone. I am hoping that very soon you will be going."
"On the contrary," Rochester replied, smiling, "I am much too
interested in your amiable conversation. You see," he added, knocking
the ashes from his pipe, and leaning carelessly back against the rock,
"I live in a world, every member of which is more or less satisfied. I
will be frank with you, and I will admit that I find satisfaction in
either man or woman a most reprehensible state. I find a certain
relief, therefore, in talking to a person who wants something he
hasn't got, or who wants to be something that he isn't."
"Then you can find all the satisfaction you want in talking to me,"
the boy declared, gloomily. "I am at the opposite pole of life, you
see, to those friends of yours. I want everything I haven't got. I am
content with nothing that I have."
"For instance?" Rochester asked, suggestively.
"I want freedom from the life of a slave," the boy said. "I want
money, the money that gives power. I want the right to shape my own
life in my own way, and to my own ends, instead of being forced to
remain a miserable, ineffective part of a useless scheme of
existence."
"Your desires are perfectly reasonable," Rochester remarked, calmly.
"Imagine, if you please--you seem to have plenty of imaginative
force--that I am a fairy godfather. I may not look the part, but at
least I can live up to it. I will provide the key for your escape. I
will set you down in the world you are thirsting to enter. You shall
take your place with the others, and run your race."
The boy suddenly abandoned his huddled-up position, and rose to his
feet. Against the background of empty air, and in the gathering
darkness, he seemed thinner than ever, and smaller.
"I am going," he said shortly. "It may seem amusing to you to make fun
of me. I will not stay----"
"Don't be a fool!" Rochester interrupted. "Haven't you heard that I am
more than half a madman? I am going to justify my character for
eccentricity. You see my house down there--Beauleys, they call it? At
twelve o'clock to-morrow, if you come to me, I will give you a sum of
money sufficient to keep you for several years. I do not specify the
amount at this moment, I shall think it over before you come."
The boy had no words. He simply stared at his chance companion in
blank astonishment.
"My offer seems to surprise you," Rochester remarked, pleasantly.
"It need not. You can go and tell the whole world of it, if you like,
although, as a reputation for sanity is quite a valuable asset,
nowadays, I should suggest that you keep your mouth closed. Still,
if you do speak of it, no one will be in the least surprised.
My friends--I haven't many--call me the most eccentric man in
Christendom. My enemies wonder how it is that I keep out of the
asylum. Personally, I consider myself a perfectly reasonable mortal. I
have whims, and I am not afraid to indulge them. I give you this money
on one--or perhaps we had better say two conditions. The first is that
you make a _bona fide_ use of it. When I say that, I mean that you
leave immediately your present employment, whatever it may be, and go
out into the world with the steadfast purpose of finding for yourself
the things which you saw a few minutes ago down in the valley there.
You may not find them, but still I pledge you to the search. The
second condition is that some day or other you find your way back into
this part of the country, and tell me how my experiment has fared."
The boy realized with a little gasp.
"Am I to thank you?" he asked.
"It would be usual but foolish," Rochester answered. "I need no
thanks, I deserve none. I yield to a whim, nothing else. I do this
thing for my own pleasure. The sum of money which I propose to put
into your hands will probably represent to me what a five-shilling
piece might to you. This may sound vulgar, but it is true. I think
that I need not warn you never to come to me for more. You need not
look so horrified. I am quite sure that you would not do that. And
there is one thing further."
"Yes?" the boy asked. "Another condition?"
Rochester shook his head.
"No!" he said. "It is not a condition. It is just a little advice. The
way through life hasn't been made clear for everyone. You may find
yourself brought up in the thorny paths. Take my advice. Don't be
content with anything less than success. If you fail, strip off your
clothes, and swim out to sea on a sunny day, swim out until your
strength fails and you must sink. It is the pleasantest form of
oblivion I know of. Don't live on. You are only a nuisance to
yourself, and a bad influence to the rest of the world. Succeed, or
make your little bow, my young friend. It is the best advice I can
give you. Remember that the men who have failed, and who live on, are
creatures of the gutter."
"You are right!" the boy muttered. "I have read that somewhere, and it
comes home to me. Failure is the one unforgivable sin. If I have to
commit every other crime in the decalogue, I will at least avoid that
one!"
Rochester shouldered his gun, and prepared to stroll off.
"At twelve o'clock to-morrow, then," he said. "I wouldn't hurry away
now, if I were you. Sit down in your old place, and see if there isn't
a thread of gold down there in the valley."
The boy obeyed almost mechanically. His heart was beating fast. His
back was pressed against the cold rock. The fingers of both hands were
nervously buried in the soft turf. Once more his eyes were riveted
upon this land of shifting shadows. The whole panorama of life seemed
suddenly unveiled before his eyes. More real, more brilliant now were
the things upon which he looked. The thread of gold was indeed there!
CHAPTER I
A | 860.839915 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.9146260 | 900 | 23 | EXCLUSIVENESS OF THE GOSPEL***
Transcribed from the [1865] William Hunt and Company edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE
BREADTH, FREENESS,
AND
Yet Exclusiveness of the Gospel.
* * * * *
BY THE
REV. EDWARD HOARE, M.A.,
_Incumbent of Trinity Church_, _Tunbridge Wells_.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
LONDON:
WILLIAM HUNT AND COMPANY,
23, HOLLES STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
IPSWICH: WILLIAM HUNT.
THE BREADTH, FREENESS, AND YET EXCLUSIVENESS OF THE GOSPEL.
JOHN III. 16.
THE subject has, I presume, been chosen for our discussion, in order to
meet the aspersions of those who claim for their own system the merit of
breadth, comprehensiveness, and large-heartedness, while they speak of
our Gospel as the narrow-minded theology of a body of men whose
contracted intellects are so cramped and stunted that they are unable to
take in the broad views of the nineteenth century. Such persons consider
themselves broad, and us narrow; and their teaching to be characterized
by largeness, ours by narrowness; theirs by generosity, ours by bigotry;
theirs by comprehensive philanthropy, ours by an exclusive interest in a
small section of the human family.
Now there is something very noble in broad, large, and comprehensive
views of the dealings and character of God, and something, on the other
hand, exceedingly repulsive in any disposition to contract God’s message,
or to half close the door which God has opened wide for the world. And,
more than that, there is something so grand in the magnificence of
creation, that we cannot be surprised if our judgment naturally decides
in favour of that which claims to be the broader view of the religious
government of God. We fully acknowledge therefore the attractiveness and
persuasiveness of breadth, and are fully prepared to admit that the broad
has much more to commend it than the narrow, and that the probability of
truth lies on the side of the broadest, the widest, the freest message.
But, while freely admitting that the broadest statement of the Gospel is
most probably the truest, we have yet to decide the question, which
statement is really the broadest, and on which side is the narrowness to
be found? and if this question be fairly considered, it may possibly turn
out that that which calls itself the broad is really the narrow, and that
which some men call narrow is possessed of a breadth, and length, and
depth, and height, that can only be measured by the infinity of God. It
is well therefore to consider whether the Gospel, as revealed in
Scripture, is really broad or really narrow,—applying the tests of
breadth and fulness to the message of salvation as proclaimed in the
Gospel of the grace of God.
* * * * *
I. _Its breadth_.
Is there in all language, a wider, broader, fuller, and more
comprehensive statement, than is found in the words of our blessed
Redeemer,—“God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting
life”? It describes a Divine and eternal love, originating a salvation
unmerited, unlooked for, and as far above all human thoughts as heaven is
above the earth. It declares the object of it to be the world, the whole
world, and nothing short of the world; for it is just as unreasonable to
maintain that the world in this verse means the elect, as it would be to
maintain that “the elect of God,” in Col. iii., means the world. It
proclaims the most magnificent possible offer as the result of it. God
forbid that we should ever cramp, fetter, or limit it! It is | 860.934666 |
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MYTHS AND DREAMS
MYTHS AND DREAMS
BY EDWARD CLODD
AUTHOR OF
'THE CHILDHOOD OF THE WORLD,'
'THE STORY OF CREATION,' ETC.
_SECOND EDITION, REVISED_
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1891
TO RICHARD A. PROCTOR, B.A.,
AUTHOR OF 'THE SUN,' 'OTHER WORLDS,' ETC., EDITOR OF 'KNOWLEDGE.'
MY DEAR PROCTOR--The best gifts of life are its friendships, and to you,
with whom friendship has ripened into fellowship, and under whose
editorial wing some of the chapters of this book had temporary shelter, I
inscribe them in their enlarged and independent form.
Yours sincerely,
EDWARD CLODD.
PREFACE.
The object of this book is to present in compendious form the evidence
which myths and dreams supply as to primitive man's interpretation of his
own nature and of the external world, and more especially to indicate how
such evidence carries within itself the history of the origin and growth
of beliefs in the supernatural.
The examples are selected chiefly from barbaric races, as furnishing the
nearest correspondences to the working of the mind in what may be called
its "eocene" stage, but examples are also cited from civilised races, as
witnessing to that continuity of ideas which is obscured by familiarity or
ignored by prejudice.
Had more illustrations been drawn from sources alike prolific, the
evidence would have been swollen to undue dimensions without increasing
its significance; as it is, repetition has been found needful here and
there, under the difficulty of entirely detaching the arguments advanced
in the two parts of this work.
Man's development, physical and psychical, has been fully treated by Mr.
Herbert Spencer, Dr. Tylor, and other authorities, to whom students of the
subject are permanent debtors, but that subject is so many-sided, so
far-reaching, whether in retrospect or prospect, that its subdivision is
of advantage so long as we do not permit our sense of inter-relation to be
dulled thereby.
My own line of argument will be found to run for the most part parallel
with that of the above-named writers; there are divergences along the
route, but we reach a common terminus.
The footnotes indicate the principal works which have been consulted in
preparing this book, but I desire to express my special thanks to Mr.
Andrew Lang for his kindness in reading the proofs, and for suggestions
which, in the main, I have been glad to adopt.
E. C.
ROSEMONT, TUFNELL PARK,
LONDON, _March 1885_.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
MYTH: ITS BIRTH AND GROWTH.
SECTION PAGE
I. ITS PRIMITIVE MEANING 3
II. CONFUSION OF EARLY THOUGHT BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE
NOT LIVING 12
III. PERSONIFICATION OF THE POWERS OF NATURE 19
(_a._) The Sun and Moon 19
(_b._) The Stars 29
(_c._) The Earth and Sky 34
(_d._) Storm and Lightning, etc. 41
(_e._) Light and Darkness 48
(_f._) The Devil 53
IV. THE SOLAR THEORY OF MYTH 61
V. BELIEF IN METAMORPHOSIS INTO ANIMALS 81
VI. TOTEMISM: BELIEF IN DESCENT FROM ANIMAL OR PLANT 99
VII. SURVIVAL OF MYTH IN HISTORY 114
VIII. MYTH AMONG THE HEBREWS 131
IX. CONCLUSION 137
PART II.
DREAMS: THEIR PLACE IN THE GROWTH OF BELIEFS IN THE SUPERNATURAL.
SECTION PAGE
I. DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SAVAGE AND CIVILISED MAN 143
II. LIMITATIONS OF BARBARIC LANGUAGE 148
III. BARBARIC CONFUSION BETWEEN NAMES AND THINGS 154
IV. BARBARIC BELIEF IN VIRTUE IN INANIMATE THINGS 160
V. BARBARIC BELIEF IN THE REALITY OF DREAMS 168
VI. BARBARIC THEORY OF DISEASE 174
VII. BARBARIC THEORY OF A SECOND SELF OR SOUL 182
VIII. BARBARIC PHILOSOPHY IN "PUNCHKIN" AND ALLIED STORIES 188
IX. BARBARIC AND CIVILISED NOTIONS OF THE SOUL'S NATURE 198
X. BARBARIC BELIEF IN SOULS IN BRUTES AND PLANTS AND
LIFELESS THINGS 207
XI. BARBARIC AND CIVILISED NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL'S DWELLING
PLACE 215
XII. CONCLUSIONS FROM THE FOREGOING 222
XIII. DREAMS AS OMENS AND MEDIA OF COMMUNICATION BETWEEN GODS
AND MEN 236
INDEX 245
I.
MYTH: ITS BIRTH AND GROWTH.
"Unchecked by external truth, the mind of man has a fatal facility for
ensnaring, entrapping, and entangling itself. But, happily, happily for
the human race, some fragment of physical speculation has been built into
every false system. Here is the weak point. Its inevitable destruction
leaves a breach in the whole fabric, and through that breach the armies of
truth march in."
Sir H. S. MAINE.
MYTH: ITS BIRTH AND GROWTH.
Sec. I.
ITS PRIMITIVE MEANING.
It is barely thirty years ago since the world was startled by the
publication of Buckle's _History of Civilisation_, with its theory that
human actions are the effect of causes as fixed and regular as those which
operate in the universe; climate, soil, food, and scenery being the chief
conditions determining progress.
That book was a _tour de force_, not a lasting contribution to the
question of man's mental development. The publication of Darwin's
epoch-making _Origin of Species_[1] showed wherein it fell short; how the
importance of the above-named causes was exaggerated and the existence of
equally potent causes overlooked. Buckle probably had not read Herbert
Spencer's _Social Statics_, and he knew nothing of the profound revolution
in silent preparation in the quiet of Darwin's home; otherwise, his book
must have been rewritten. This would have averted the oblivion from which
not even its charm of style can rescue it. Its brilliant but defective
theories are obscured in the fuller light of that doctrine of descent with
modifications by which we learn that external circumstances do not alone
account for the widely divergent types of men, so that a superior race, in
supplanting an inferior one, will change the face and destiny of a
country, "making the solitary place to be glad, and the desert to rejoice
and blossom as the rose." Darwin has given us the clue to those subtle and
still obscure causes which bring about, stage by stage, the unseen
adaptations to requirements varying a type and securing its survival, and
which have resulted in the evolution of the manifold species of living
things. The notion of a constant relation between man and his surroundings
is therefore untenable.
But incomplete as is Buckle's theory, and all-embracing as is Darwin's, so
far as organic life is concerned, the larger issue is raised by both, and
for most men whose judgment is worth anything it is settled. Either man is
a part of nature or he is not. If he is not, there is an end of the
matter, since the materials lie beyond human grasp, and cannot be examined
and placed in order for comparative study. Let Christian, Brahman,
Bushman, and South Sea Islander each hold fast his "form of sound words"
about man's origin. One is as good as another where all are irrational and
beyond proof. But if he is, then the inquiry concerning him may not stop
at the anatomy of his body and the assignment of his place in the
succession of life on the globe. His relation, materially, to the
simplest, shapeless specks of living matter; structurally, to the highest
and more complex organisms, is demonstrated; the natural history of him is
clear. This, however, is physical, and for us the larger question is
psychical. The theory of evolution must embrace the genesis and
development of mind, and therefore of ideas, beliefs, and speculations
about things seen and unseen.
In the correction of our old definitions a wider meaning must be given to
the word _myth_ than that commonly found in the dictionaries. Opening any
of these at random we find myth explained as fable, as something
designedly fictitious, whether for amusement only, or to point a moral.
The larger meaning which it holds to-day includes much more than this--to
wit, the whole area of intellectual products which lie beyond the historic
horizon and overlap it, effacing on nearer view the lines of separation.
For the myth, as fable only, has no place for the crude fancies and
grotesque imaginings of barbarous races of the present day, and of races
at low levels of culture in the remote past. And so long as it was looked
upon as the vagrant of fancy, with no serious meaning at the heart of it,
and as corresponding to no yearning of man after the truth of things,
sober treatment of it was impossible. But now that myth, with its prolific
offspring, legend and tradition, is seen to be a necessary travailing
through which the mind of man passed in its slow progress towards
certitude, the study and comparison of its manifold, yet, at the centre,
allied forms, and of the conditions out of which they arose, takes rank
among the serious inquiries of our time.
Not that the inquiry is a new one. The limits of this book forbid detailed
references to the successive stages of that inquiry--in other words, to
the pre-Christian, patristic, and pseudo-scientific theories of myth which
remained unchallenged, or varied only in non-essential features, till the
rise of comparative mythology. But apology for such omission here is the
less needful, since the list of ancient and modern vagaries would have the
monotony of a catalogue. However unlike on the surface, they are
fundamentally the same, being the products of non-critical ages, and one
and all vitiated by assumptions concerning gods and men which are to us as
"old wives' fables."
In short, between these empirical theories and the scientific method of
inquiry into the meaning of myth there can be no relation. Because, for
the assigning of its due place in the order of man's mental and spiritual
development to myth, there is needed that knowledge concerning his origin,
concerning the conditions out of which he has emerged, and concerning the
mythologies of lower races and their survival in unsuspected forms in the
higher races, which was not only beyond reach, but also beyond conception,
until this century.
Except, therefore, as curiosities of literature, we may dismiss the
Lempriere of our school-days, and with him "Causabon"-Bryant and his
symbolism of the ark and traces of the Flood in everything. Their keys,
Arkite and Ophite, fit no lock, and with them we must, in all respect be
it added, dismiss Mr. Gladstone, with his visions of the Messiah in
Apollo, and of the Logos in Athene.
The main design of this book is to show that in what is for convenience
called _myth_ lie the germs of philosophy, theology, and science, the
beginnings of all knowledge that man has attained or ever will attain, and
therefore that in myth we have his serious endeavour to interpret the
meaning of his surroundings and of his own actions and feelings. In its
unbroken sequence we have the explanation of his most cherished and now,
for the most part, discredited beliefs, the persistence of which makes it
essential and instructive not to deal with the primitive myth apart from
its later and more complex phases. Myth was the product of man's emotion
and imagination, acted upon by his surroundings, and it carries the traces
of its origin in its more developed forms, as the ancestral history of the
higher organisms is embodied in their embryos. Man wondered before he
reasoned. Awe and fear are quick to express themselves in rudimentary
worship; hence the myth was at the outset a theology, and the gradations
from personifying to deifying are too faint to be traced. Thus blended,
the one as inevitable outcome of the other, they cannot well be treated
separately, as if the myth were earth-born and the theology heaven-sent.
And to treat them as one is to invade no province of religion, which is
quite other than speculation about gods. The awe and reverence which the
fathomless mystery of the universe awakens, which steal within us unbidden
as the morning light, and unbroken on the prism of analysis; the
conviction, deepening as we peer, that there is a Power beyond humanity,
and upon which humanity depends; the feeling that life is in harmony with
the Divine order when it moves in disinterested service of our kind--these
theology can neither create nor destroy, neither verify nor disprove. They
can be bound within no formula that man or church has invented, but
undefined
"Are yet the fountain life of all our day,
Are yet a master light of all our seeing."
At what epoch in man's history we are to place the development of the
myth-making faculty must remain undetermined. It is of course coincident
with the dawn of thought. We cannot credit the nameless savage of the
Ancient Stone Age with it. If he had brains and leisure enough to make
guesses about things, he has left us no witness of the fact. His relics,
and those of his successors to a period which is but as yesterday in the
history of our kind, are material only; and not until we possess the
symbols of his thought, whether in language or rude picture, do we get an
inkling of the meaning which the universe had for him, in the details of
his pitiless daily life, in the shapes and motions of surrounding
objects, and in the majesty of the heavens above him. Even then the
thought is more or less crystallised, and if we would watch it in the
fluent form we must have a keen eye for the like process going on among
savages yet untouched by the Time-spirit, although higher in the scale
than the Papuans and hill tribes of the Vindhya. Although we cannot so far
lull our faculty of thought as to realise the mental vacuity of the
savage, we may, from survivals nowadays, lead up to reasonable guesses of
savage ways of looking at things in bygone ages, and the more so when we
can detect relics of these among the ignorant and superstitious of modern
times.
What meaning, then, had man's surroundings to him, when eye and ear could
be diverted from prior claims of the body, and he could repose from
watching for his prey, and from listening to the approach of wild beast or
enemy? He had the advantage, from greater demand for their exercise, in
keener senses of sight, hearing, smell, and touch, than we enjoy; nor did
he fail to take in facts in plenty. But there was this vital defect and
difference, that in his brains every fact was pigeon-holed, charged with
its own narrow meaning only, as in small minds among ourselves we find
place given to inane peddling details, and no advance made to general and
wide conception of things. In sharpest contrast to the poet's utterance:
"Nothing in this world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle,"
every fact is unrelated to every other fact, and therefore interpreted
wrongly.
Man, in his first outlook upon nature, was altogether ignorant of the
character of the forces by which he was environed; ignorant of that
unvarying relation between effect and cause which it needed the experience
of ages and the generalisations therefrom to apprehend, and to express as
"laws of nature." He had not even the intellectual resource of later times
in inventing miracle to explain where the necessary relation between
events seemed broken or absent.
His first attitude was that of wonder, mingled with fear--fear as
instinctive as the dread of the brute for him. The sole measure of things
was himself, consequently everything that moved or that had power of
movement did so because it was alive. A personal life and will was
attributed to sun, moon, clouds, river, waterfall, ocean, and tree, and
the varying phenomena of the sky at dawn or noonday, at gray eve or
black-clouded night, were the manifestation of the controlling life that
dwelt in all. In a thousand different forms this conception was expressed.
The thunder was the roar of a mighty beast; the lightning a serpent
darting at its prey, an angry eye flashing, the storm demon's outshot
forked tongue; the rainbow a thirsty monster; the waterspout a long-tailed
dragon. This was not a pretty or powerful conceit, not imagery, but an
explanation. The men who thus spoke of these phenomena meant precisely
what they said. What does the savage know about heat, light, sound,
electricity, and the other modes of motion through which the
Proteus-force beyond our ken is manifest? How many persons who have
enjoyed a "liberal" education can give correct answers, if asked off-hand,
explaining how glaciers are born of the sunshine, and why two sounds,
travelling in opposite directions at equal velocities, interfere and cause
silence? The percentage of young men, hailing from schools of renown, who
give the most ludicrous replies when asked the cause of day and night, and
the distance of the earth from the sun, is by no means small.
Whilst the primary causes determining the production of myths are uniform,
the secondary causes, due in the main to different physical surroundings,
vary, bringing about unlikeness in subject and detail. Nevertheless, in
grouping the several classes of myths, those are obviously to be placed
prominently which embrace explanations of the origin of things, from sun
and star to man and insect, involving ideas about the powers to whom all
things are attributed. But in this book no exhaustive treatment is
possible, only some indication of the general lines along which the
myth-making faculty has advanced, and for this purpose a few illustrations
of barbaric mental confusion between the living and the not living are
chosen at the outset. They will, moreover, prepare us for the large
element of the irrational present in barbaric myth, and supply a key to
the survival of this in the mythologies of civilised races.
Sec. II.
CONFUSION OF EARLY THOUGHT BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE NOT LIVING.
In selecting from the literature of savage mythology the material
overburdens us by its richness. Much of it is old, and, like refuse-heaps
in our mining districts once cast aside as rubbish but now made to yield
products of value, has, after long neglect, been found to contain elements
of worth, which patience and insight have extracted from its travellers'
tales and quaint speculations. That for which it was most prized in the
days of our fathers is now of small account; that within it which they
passed by we secure as of lasting worth. Much of that literature is,
however, new, for the impetus which has in our time been given to the
rescue and preservation of archaic forms has reached this, and a host of
accomplished collectors have secured rich specimens of relics which, in
the lands of their discovery, have still the authority of the past,
unimpaired by the critical exposure of the present.
The subject itself is, moreover, so wide reaching, bringing the ancient
and the modern into hitherto unsuspected relation, showing how in customs
and beliefs, to us unmeaning and irrational, there lurk the degraded
representations of old philosophies, and in what seems to us burlesque,
the survivals of man's most serious thought.
One feels this difficulty of choice and this temptation to digress in
treating of the confusion inherent in the savage mind between things
living and not living, arising from superficial analogies and its
attribution of life and power to lifeless things. The North American
Indians prefer a hook that has caught a big fish to the handful of hooks
that have never been tried, and they never lay two nets together lest they
should be jealous of each other. The Bushmen thought that the traveller
Chapman's big waggon was the mother of his smaller ones; and the natives
of Tahiti sowed in the ground some iron nails given them by Captain Cook,
expecting to obtain young ones. When that ill-fated discoverer's ship was
sighted by the New Zealanders they thought it was a whale with wings. The
king of the Coussa Kaffirs having broken off a piece of the anchor of a
stranded ship soon afterwards died, upon which all the Kaffirs made a
point of saluting the anchor very respectfully whenever they went near it,
regarding it as a vindictive being. But perhaps one of the most striking
and amusing illustrations is that quoted by Sir John Lubbock from the
_Smithsonian Reports_ concerning an Indian who had been sent by a
missionary to a colleague with four loaves of bread, accompanied by a
letter stating their number. The Indian ate some of the bread, and his
theft was, of course, found out. He was sent on a second errand with a
similar batch of bread and a letter, and repeated the theft, but took the
precaution to hide the letter under a stone while he was eating the
loaves, so that it might not see him! As the individual is a type of the
race, so in the child's nature we find analogy of the mental attitude of
the savage ready to hand. To the child everything is alive. With what
timidity and wonder he first touches a watch, with its moving hands and
clicking works; with what genuine anger he beats the door against which he
has knocked his head, whips the rocking-horse that has thrown him, then
kisses and strokes it the next moment in token of forgiveness and
affection.
"As children of weak age
Lend life to the dumb stones
Whereon to vent their rage,
And bend their little fists, and rate
the senseless ground."[2]
Even among civilised adults, as Mr. Grote remarks, "the force of momentary
passion will often suffice to supersede the acquired habit, and an
intelligent man may be impelled in a moment of agonising pain to kick or
beat the lifeless object from which he has suffered." The mental condition
which causes the wild native of Brazil to bite the stone he stumbled over
may, as Dr. Tylor has pointed out in his invaluable _Primitive Culture_,
be traced along the course of history not merely in impulsive habit, but
in formally enacted law. If among barbarous peoples we find, for example,
the relatives of a man killed by a fall from a tree taking their revenge
by cutting the tree down and scattering it in chips, we find a continuity
of idea in the action of the court of justice held at the Prytaneum in
Athens to try any inanimate object, such as an axe, or a piece of wood or
stone, which has caused the death of any one without proved human agency,
and which, if condemned, was cast in solemn form beyond the border. "The
spirit of this remarkable procedure reappears in the old English law,
repealed only in the present reign, whereby not only a beast that kills a
man, but a cart-wheel that runs over him, or a tree that falls on him and
kills him, is deodand or given to God, _i.e._ forfeited and sold for the
poor." Among ancient legal proceedings at Laon we read of animals
condemned to the gallows for the crime of murder, and of swarms of
caterpillars which infected certain districts being admonished by the
Courts of Troyes in 1516 to take themselves off within a given number of
days, on pain of being declared accursed and excommunicated.[3]
Barbaric confusion in the existence of transferable qualities in things,
as when the New Zealander swallows his dead enemy's eye that he may see
farther, or gives his child pebbles to make it stony and pitiless of
heart; and as when the Abipone eats tiger's flesh to increase his courage,
has its survival in the old wives' notion that the eye-bright flower,
which resembles the eye, is good for diseases of that organ, in the
mediaeval remedy for curing a sword wound by nursing the weapon that caused
it, and in the old adage, "Take a hair of the dog that bit you." As
illustrating this, Dr. Dennys[4] tells a story of a missionary in China
whose big dog would now and again slightly bite children as he passed
through the villages. In such a case the mother would run after him and
beg for a hair from the dog's tail, which would be put to the part bitten,
or when the missionary would say jocosely, "Oh! take a hair from the dog
yourself," the woman would decline, and ask him to spit in her hand, which
itself witnesses to the widespread belief in the mystical properties of
saliva.[5] Among ourselves this survives, degraded enough, in the cabmen's
and boatmen's habit of spitting on the fare paid them. _Treacle_ (Greek
_theriake_, from _therion_, a name given to the viper) witnesses to the
old-world superstition that viper's flesh is an antidote to the viper's
bite. Philips, in his _World of Words_, defines treacle as a "physical
compound made of vipers and other ingredients," and this medicament was a
favourite against all poisons. The word then became applied to any
confection or sweet syrup, and finally and solely to the syrup of
molasses.
The practice of burning or hanging in effigy, by which a crowd expresses
its feelings towards an unpopular person, is a relic of the old belief in
a real and sympathetic connection between a man and his image; a belief
extant among the unlettered in by-places of civilised countries. When we
hear of North American tribes making images of their foes, whose lives
they expect to shorten by piercing those images with their arrows, we
remember that these barbarous folk have their representatives among us in
the Devonshire peasant, who hangs in his chimney a pig's heart stuck all
over with thorn-prickles, so that the heart of his enemy may likewise be
pierced. The custom among the Dyaks of Borneo of making a wax figure of
the foe, so that his body may waste away as the wax is melted, will remind
the admirers of Dante Rossetti how he finds in a kindred mediaeval
superstition the subject of his poem "Sister Helen," while they who prefer
the authority of sober prose may turn to that storehouse of the curious,
Brand's _Popular Antiquities_. Brand quotes from King James, who, in his
_Daemonology_, book ii. chap. 5, tells us that "the devil teacheth how to
make pictures of wax or clay, that by roasting thereof the persons that
they bear the name of may be continually melted or dried away by continual
sickness;" and also cites Andrews, the author of a _Continuation of
Henry's Great Britain_, who, speaking of the death of Ferdinand, Earl of
Derby, by poison, in the reign of Elizabeth, says, "The credulity of the
age attributed his death to witchcraft. The disease was odd, and operated
as a perpetual emetic; and a waxen image, with hair like that of the
unfortunate earl, found in his chamber, reduced every suspicion to
certainty." A century and half before this the Duchess of Gloucester did
penance for conspiring with certain necromancers against the life of Henry
VI. by melting a waxen image of him, while, as hinging the centuries
together, "only recently a _corp cre_, or clay image, stuck full of birds'
claws, bones, pins, and similar objects, was found in one of the
Inverness-shire rivers. It was a fetish which, as it dissolved away by the
action of the stream, was supposed to involve the 'wearing away' of the
person it was intended to represent."[6] The passage from practices born
of such beliefs to the use of charms as protectives against the
evil-disposed and those in league with the devil, and as cures for divers
diseases, is obvious. Upon this it is not needful to dwell; the
superstitious man is on the same plane as the savage, but, save in rare
instances, without such excuse for remaining, as Bishop Hall puts it, with
"old wives and starres as his counsellors, charms as his physicians, and a
little hallowed wax as his antidote for all evils."
But we have travelled in brief space a long way from our picture of man,
weaving out of streams and breezes and the sunshine his crude philosophy
of personal life and will controlling all, to the peasant of to-day, his
intellectual lineal descendant, with his belief in signs and wonders, his
forecast of fate and future by omens, by dreams, and by such pregnant
occurrences as the spilling of salt, the howling of dogs, and changes of
the moon; in short, by the great mass of superstitions which yet more or
less influence the intelligent, terrorise the ignorant, and delight the
student of human development.
Sec. III.
PERSONIFICATION OF THE POWERS OF NATURE.
(_a._) _The Sun and Moon._
A good deal hinges upon the evidences in savage myth-making of the
personification of the powers of nature. Obviously, the richest and most
suggestive material would be supplied by the striking phenomena of the
heavens, chiefly in sunrise and sunset, in moon, star, star-group and
meteor, cloud and storm, and, next in importance, by the strange and
terrible among phenomena on earth, whether in the restless waters, the
unquiet trees, the grotesquely-shaped rocks, and the fear inspired in man
by creatures more powerful than himself. Through the whole range of the
lower culture, sun, moon, and constellations are spoken of as living
creatures, often as ancestors, heroes, and benefactors who have departed
to the country above, to heaven, the _heaved_, up-lifted land. The Tongans
of the South Pacific say that two ancestors quarrelled respecting the
parentage of the first-born of the woman Papa, each claiming the child as
his own. No King Solomon appears to have been concerned in the dispute,
although at last the infant was cut in two. Vatea, the husband of Papa,
took the upper part as his share, and forthwith squeezed it into a ball
and tossed it into the heavens, where it became the sun. Tonga-iti
sullenly allowed the lower half to remain a day or two on the ground,
but, seeing the brightness of Vatea's half, he compressed his share into a
ball and tossed it into the dark sky, during the absence of the sun in the
nether world. Thus originated the moon, whose paleness is owing to the
blood having all drained out of Tonga-iti's half as it lay upon the
ground. Mr. Gill, from whose valuable collection of southern myth this is
quoted, says that it seems to have its origin in the allegory of an
alternating embrace of the fair Earth by Day and Night. But despite the
explanations, more or less strained, which some schools of comparative
mythologists find for every myth, the savage is not a conscious weaver of
allegories, or an embryo Cabalist, and we shall find ourselves more in
accord with the laws of his intellectual growth if, instead of delving for
recondite and subtle meanings in his simple-sounding explanations of
things, we take the meaning to be that which lies on the surface. More on
this, however, anon. Among the Red races one tribe thought that sun, moon,
and stars were men and women who went into the sea every night and swam
out by the east. The Bushmen say that the sun was once a man who shed
light from his body, but only for a short distance, until some children
threw him into the sky while he slept, and thus he shines upon the wide
earth. The Australians say that all was darkness around them till one of
their many ancestors, who still shine from the stars, shedding good and
evil, threw, in pity for them, an emu's egg into space, when it became the
sun. Among the Manacicas of Brazil, the sun was their culture-hero,
virgin-born, and their jugglers, who claimed power to fly through the air,
said that his luminous figure, as that of a man, could be seen by them,
although too dazzling for common mortals.
The sun has been stayed in his course in other places than Gibeon,
although by mechanical means of which Joshua appears to have been
independent. | 860.938333 |
2023-11-16 18:31:24.9200010 | 7,408 | 46 |
Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive.)
Life and Death
_And Other Legends and Stories_
THE WORKS OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL POLISH BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.
_The Zagloba Romances_
WITH FIRE AND SWORD. 1 vol.
THE DELUGE. 2 vols.
PAN MICHAEL. 1 vol.
QUO VADIS. 1 vol.
THE KNIGHTS OF THE CROSS. 2 vols.
CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 1 vol.
HANIA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.
SIELANKA, AND OTHER STORIES. 1 vol.
IN VAIN. 1 vol.
LIFE AND DEATH AND OTHER LEGENDS AND STORIES. 1 vol.
WITHOUT DOGMA. (Translated by Iza Young.) 1 vol.
[Illustration: HOUSE PRESENTED TO HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ BY THE POLES
Mr. Sienkiewicz and Mr. Curtin in the foreground]
Life and Death
_And Other Legends and Stories_
By Henryk Sienkiewicz
Author of "With Fire and Sword," "The Deluge,"
"Pan Michael," "Quo Vadis," "Knights
of the Cross," etc.
_Translated from the Original Polish by_
Jeremiah Curtin
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1904
_Copyright, 1897, 1899, 1900, 1904_,
BY JEREMIAH CURTIN.
_All rights reserved_
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
PREFACE
_"Is He the Dearest One?" was produced under the following circumstances:
About fourteen years ago there was a famine, or at least hunger, in
Silesia. Though that land is a German possession at present, it was once a
part of the Polish Commonwealth, and there are many un-Germanized Poles in
it yet._
_The mother in this sketch is Poland. Yasko, the most unfortunate of her
sons, is Silesia. Poor, ill-fated, he neglects his own language, forgets
his mother; but she does not forget him, as was shown on the occasion of
that hunger in Silesia. The Poles of Russian Poland collected one million
marks and sent them to Yasko._
_The ship "Purple" represents Poland and its career, and is a very brief
summary of the essence and meaning of Polish history. Like some of the
author's most beautiful short productions, it was written for a benevolent
object, all the money obtained for it being devoted to that object._
_All persons who have read "Charcoal Sketches," in Sienkiewicz's "Hania,"
will be interested to learn the origin of that striking production. It was
written mainly and finished in Los Angeles, Cal., as Sienkiewicz told me
in Switzerland six years ago, but it was begun at Anaheim Landing, as is
described in the sketch printed in this volume, "The Cranes." Besides
being begun at Anaheim Landing, the whole plan of "Charcoal Sketches" was
worked out there. "The Cranes" appeared in Lvov, or Lemburg, a few years
ago, in a paper which was published for one day only, and was made up of
contributions from Polish authors who gave these contributions for a
benevolent purpose. The Hindu legend, "Life and Death," to be read by
Sienkiewicz at Warsaw in January, is his latest work._
_JEREMIAH CURTIN._
_Torbole, Lago di Garda, Austria,
December 18, 1903._
CONTENTS
_Page_
LIFE AND DEATH: A HINDU LEGEND 3
IS HE THE DEAREST ONE? 21
A LEGEND OF THE SEA 29
THE CRANES 41
THE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS 55
LIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_
LIFE AND DEATH _A HINDU LEGEND_
I
LIFE AND DEATH
There were two regions lying side by side, as it were two immense plains,
with a clear river flowing between them.
At one point the banks of this river sloped gently to a shallow ford in
the shape of a pond with transparent, calm water.
Beneath the azure surface of this ford could be seen its golden bed, from
which grew stems of lotus; on those stems bloomed white and rose-
flowers above the mirror of water. Rainbow-hued insects and butterflies
circled around the flowers and among the palms of the shore, while higher
up in the sunny air birds gave out sounds like those of silver bells. This
pond was the passage from one region to the other.
The first region was called the Plain of Life, the second the Plain of
Death.
The supreme and all mighty Brahma had created both plains, and had
commanded the good Vishnu to rule in the Region of Life, while the wise
Siva was lord in the Region of Death.
"Do what ye understand to be best," said Brahma to the two rulers.
Hence in the region belonging to Vishnu life moved with all its activity.
The sun rose and set; day followed night, and night followed day; the sea
rose and fell; in the sky appeared clouds big with rain; the earth was
soon covered with forests, and crowded with beasts, birds, and people.
So that all living creatures might increase greatly and multiply, the
kindly god created Love, which he made to be Happiness also.
After this Brahma summoned Vishnu and said to him:
"Thou canst produce nothing better on earth, and since heaven is created
already by me, do thou rest and let those whom thou callest people weave
the thread of life for themselves unassisted."
Vishnu obeyed this command, and henceforward men ordered their own lives.
From their good thoughts came joy, from their evil ones, sorrow; and they
saw soon with wonder that life was not an unbroken rejoicing, but that
with the life thread which Brahma had mentioned they wove out two webs as
it were with two faces,--on one of these was a smile; there were tears in
the eyes of the other.
They went then to the throne of Vishnu and made complaint to him:
"O Lord! life is grievous through sorrow."
"Let Love give you happiness," said Vishnu in answer.
At these words they went away quieted, for Love indeed scattered their
sorrows, which, in view of the happiness given, seemed so insignificant as
to be undeserving of notice.
But Love is also the mighty mother of life, hence, though the region which
Vishnu ruled was enormous, it was soon insufficient for the myriads of
people; soon there was not fruit enough upon trees there, nor berries
enough upon bushes, nor honey enough from cliff bees.
Thereupon all the men who were wisest fell to cutting down forests for the
clearing of land, for the sowing of seed, for the winning of harvests.
Thus Labor appeared among people. Soon all had to turn to it, and labor
became not merely the basis of life, but life itself very nearly.
But from Labor came Toil, and Toil produced Weariness.
Great throngs of people appeared before Vishnu a second time.
"O Lord!" exclaimed they, stretching their hands to him, "toil has
weakened our bodies, weariness spreads through our bones, we are yearning
for rest, but Life drives us always to labor."
To this Vishnu answered:
"The great and all mighty Brahma has not allowed me to shape Life any
further, but I am free to make that which will cause it to halt, and rest
will come then to you."
And Vishnu made Sleep.
Men received this new gift with rejoicing, and very soon saw in it one of
the greatest boons given by the deity thus far. In sleep vanished care and
vexation, during sleep strength returned to the weary; sleep, like a
cherishing mother, wiped away tears of sorrow and surrounded the heads of
the slumbering with oblivion.
So people glorified sleep, and repeated:
"Be blessed, for thou art far better than life in our waking hours."
And they had one regret only, that it did not continue forever. After
sleep came awakening, and after awakening came labor with fresh toil and
weariness.
This thought began soon to torture all men so sorely, that for the third
time they stood before Vishnu.
"O Lord," said they, "thou hast given us a boon which, though great and
unspeakably precious, is incomplete as it now appears. Wilt thou grant us
that sleep be eternal?"
Vishnu wrinkled his brows then in anger at this their insistence, and
answered:
"I cannot give what ye ask of me, but go to the neighboring ford, and
beyond ye will find that for which ye are seeking."
The people heard the god's voice and went on in legions immediately. They
went to the ford, and, halting there, gazed at the shore lying opposite.
Beyond the clear, calm, and flower-bedecked surface stretched the Plain of
Death, or the Kingdom of Siva.
The sun never rose and never set in that region; there was no day and no
night there, but the whole plain was of a lily-, absolute
clearness. No shadow fell in that region, for clearness inhered there so
thoroughly that it seemed the real essence of Siva's dominions.
The region was not empty. As far as the eye could reach were seen heights
and valleys where beautiful trees stood in groups; on those trees rose
climbing plants, while ivy and grapevines were hanging from the cliff
sides.
But the cliffs and the tree trunks and the slender plant stems were almost
transparent, as if formed out of light grown material. The leaves of the
ivy had in them a delicate roseate light as of dawn. And all was in
marvellous rest, such as none on the Plain of Life had experienced; all
was as if sunk in serene meditation, as if dreaming and resting in
continuous slumber, unthreatened by waking.
In the clear air not the slightest breeze was discovered, not a flower was
seen moving, not a leaf showed a quiver.
The people who had come to the shore with loud conversation and clamor
grew silent at sight of those lily-, motionless spaces, and
whispered:
"What quiet! How everything rests there in clearness!"
"Oh, yes, there is rest and unbroken repose in that region."
So some, namely, those who were weariest, said after a silence:
"Let us find the sleep which is surely unbroken."
And they entered the water. The rainbow-hued surface opened straightway
before them, as if wishing to lighten the passage. Those who remained on
the shore began now to call after them, but no man turned his head, and
all hurried forward with willingness and lightly, attracted more and more
by the charm of that wonderful region.
The throng which gazed from the shore of Life at them noted this also:
that as they moved forward their bodies grew gradually less heavy,
becoming transparent and purer, more radiant, and as it were blending with
that absolute clearness which filled the whole Plain of Death, Siva's
kingdom.
And when they had passed and disposed themselves amid flowers and at trees
or the bases of cliffs, to repose there, their eyes were closed, but their
faces had on them not only an expression of ineffable peace, but also of
happiness such as Love itself on the Plain of Life had never given.
Seeing this, those who had halted behind said one to another:
"The region belonging to Siva is sweeter and better."
And they began to pass to that shore in increasing numbers. There went in
solemn procession old men, and men in ripe years, and husbands and wives,
and mothers who led little children, and maidens, and youths, and then
thousands and millions of people pushed on toward that Calm Passage, till
at last the Plain of Life was depopulated almost entirely.
Then Vishnu, whose task it was to keep life from extinction, was
frightened because of the advice which he had given in his anger, and not
knowing what to do else hastened quickly to Brahma.
"Save Life, O Creator!" said he. "Behold, thou hast made the inheritance
of Death now so beautiful, so serene, and so blissful that all men are
leaving my kingdom."
"Have none remained with thee there?" inquired Brahma.
"Only one youth and one maiden, who are in love beyond measure; they
renounce endless bliss rather than close their eyes and gaze on each other
no longer."
"What dost thou wish, then?"
"Make the region of Death less delightful, less happy; if not, even those
two when their springtime of love shall be ended will leave me and follow
the others."
Brahma thought for a moment and answered:
"No! Oh no! I will not decrease beauty and happiness in the region of
Death, but I will do something for Life in its own realm. Henceforward
people will not pass to the other shore willingly, they must be forced to
it."
When he had said this he made a thick veil out of darkness which no one
could see through, and next he created two terrible beings, one of these
he named Fear and the other one Pain. He commanded them then to hang that
black veil at the Passage.
Thereafter Vishnu's kingdom was as crowded with life as it had been, for
though the region of Death was as calm, as serene, and as blissful as
ever, people dreaded the Passage.
[Illustration: SMALL CHAPEL ON THE SIENKIEWICZ ESTATE]
IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?
II
IS HE THE DEAREST ONE?
In the distance a dark strip of pine wood was visible. In front of the
wood was a meadow, and amid fields of grain stood a cottage covered with a
straw roof and with moss. Birch trees hung their tresses above it. On a
fir tree stood a stork on its nest, and in a cherry garden were dark
beehives.
Through an open gate a wanderer walked into the yard and said to the
mistress of the cottage, who was standing on its threshold:
"Peace to this quiet house, to those trees, to the grain, to the whole
place, and to thee, mother!"
The woman greeted him kindly, and added:
"I will bring bread and milk to thee, wayfarer; but sit down the while and
rest, for it is clear that thou art coming back from a long journey."
"I have wandered like that stork, and like a swallow; I come from afar, I
bring news from thy children."
Her whole soul rushed to the eyes of that mother, and she asked the
wayfarer straightway:
"Dost thou know of my Yasko?"
"Dost thou love that son most that thou askest first about him? Well, one
son of thine is in forests, he works with his axe, he spreads his net in
lakes; another herds horses in the steppe, he sings plaintive songs and
looks at the stars; the third son climbs mountains, passes over naked
rocks and high pastures, spends the night with sheep and shouts at the
eagles. All bend down before thy knees and send thee greeting."
"But Yasko?" asked the mother with an anxious face.
"I keep sad news for the last. Life is going ill with Yasko: the field
does not give its fruit to him, poverty and hunger torment the man, his
days and months pass in suffering. Amid strangers and misery he has even
forgotten thy language; forget him, since he has no thought for thee."
When he had finished, the woman took the man's hand, led him to her pantry
in the cottage, and, seizing a loaf from the shelf, she said:
"Give this bread, O wayfarer, to Yasko!"
Then she untied a small kerchief, took a bright silver coin from it, and
with trembling voice added:
"I am not rich, but this too is for Yasko."
"Woman!" said the wayfarer now with astonishment, "thou hast many sons,
but thou sendest gifts to only one of them. Dost thou love him more than
the others? Is he the dearest one?"
She raised her great sad eyes, filled with tears, and answered:
"My blessing is for them all, but my gifts are to Yasko, for I am a
mother, and he is my poorest son."
A LEGEND OF THE SEA
III
A LEGEND OF THE SEA
There was a ship named "The Purple," so strong and so great that she
feared neither winds nor waves, even when they were raging most terribly.
"The Purple" swept on, with every sail set, she rose upon each swelling
wave and crushed with her conquering prow hidden rocks on which other
ships foundered. She moved ever forward with sails which were gleaming in
sunlight, and moved with such swiftness that foam roared at her sides and
stretched out behind in a broad, endless road-streak.
"That is a glorious craft," cried out crews on all other ships; "a man
might think that she sails just to punish the ocean."
From time to time they called out to the crew of "The Purple":
"Hei, men, to what port are ye sailing?"
"To that port to which wind blows," said the men on "The Purple."
"Have a care, there are rocks ahead! There are whirlpools!"
In reply to this warning came back a song as loud as the wind was:
"Let us sail on, let us sail ever joyously."
Men on "The Purple" were gladsome. The crew, confiding in the strength of
their ship and the size of it, jeered at all perils. On other ships stern
discipline ruled, but on "The Purple" each man did what seemed good to
him.
Life on that ship was one ceaseless holiday. The storms which she had
passed, the rocks which she had crushed, increased the crew's confidence.
"There are no reefs, there are no winds to wreck this ship," roared the
sailors. "Let a hurricane shiver the ocean, 'The Purple' will always sail
forward."
And "The Purple" sailed; she was proud, she was splendid.
Whole years passed--she was to all seeming invincible, she helped other
ships and took in on her deck drowning passengers.
Blind faith increased every day in the breasts of the crew on "The
Purple." They grew slothful in good fortune and forgot their own art, they
forgot how to navigate. "Our 'Purple' will sail herself," said they. "Why
toil, why watch the ship, why pull at rudder, masts, sails, and ropes? Why
live by hard work and the sweat of our brows, when our ship is divine,
indestructible? Let us sail on, let us sail joyously."
And they sailed for a very long period. At last, after years, the crew
became utterly effeminate, they forgot every duty, and no man of them
knew that that ship was decaying. Bitter water had weakened the spars, the
strong rigging had loosened, waves without number had shattered the
gunwales, dry rot was at work in the mainmast, the sails had grown weak
through exposure.
The voice of sound sense was heard now despite every madness:
"Be careful!" cried some of the sailors.
"Never mind! We will sail with the current," cried out the majority. But
once such a storm came that to that hour its like had not been on the
water. The wind whirled ocean and clouds into one hellish chaos. Pillars
of water rose up and flew then with roars at "The Purple"; they were
raging and bellowing dreadfully. They fell on the ship, they drove her
down to the bottom, they hurled her up to the clouds, then cast her down
again. The weak rigging snapped, and now a quick cry of despair was heard
on the deck of that vessel.
"'The Purple' is sinking!"
"The Purple" was really sinking, while the crew, unaccustomed to work and
to navigate, knew not how to save her.
But when the first moment of terror had passed, rage boiled up in their
hearts, for those mariners still loved that ship of theirs.
All sprang up speedily, some rushed to fire cannon-balls at the winds and
foaming water, others seized what each man could find near him and flogged
that sea which was drowning "The Purple."
Great was that fight of despair against the elements. But the waves had
more strength than the mariners. The guns filled with water and then they
were silent. Gigantic whirls seized struggling sailors and swept them out
into watery chaos.
The crew decreased every minute, but they struggled on yet. Covered with
water, half-blinded, concealed by a mountain of foam, they fought till
they dropped in the battle.
Strength left them, but after brief rest they sprang again to the
struggle.
At last their hands fell. They felt that death was approaching. Dull
despair seized them. Those sailors looked at one another as if demented.
Now those same voices which had warned previously of danger were raised
again, and more powerfully, so powerfully this time that the roar of the
waves could not drown them.
Those voices said:
"O blind men! How can ye cannonade wind, or flog waves? Mend your vessel!
Go to the hold. Work there. The ship 'Purple' is afloat yet."
At these words those mariners, half-dead already, recovered, all rushed to
the hold and began then to work in it. And they worked from morning till
night in the sweat of their brows and with effort, seeking thus to
retrieve their past sloth and their blindness.
THE CRANES
IV
THE CRANES
Homesickness (nostalgia) tortures mainly people who for various reasons
are utterly unable to return to their own country, but even those for whom
return is merely a question of will power feel its attacks sometimes. The
cause may be anything: a sunrise or a sunset which calls to mind a dawn or
an evening at home, some note of a foreign song in which the rhythm of
one's own country is heard, some group of trees which call to mind
remotely the native village--anything suffices!
At such moments an immense, irresistible sadness seizes hold on the heart,
and immediately a feeling comes to a man that he is, as it were, a leaf
torn away from a distant but beloved tree. And in such moments the man is
forced to return, or, if he has imagination, he is driven to create.
Once--a good many years back--I was sojourning on the shore of the Pacific
Ocean in a place called Anaheim Landing. My society was made up of some
sailor fishermen, Norwegians for the greater part, and a German, who gave
food to those fishermen and lodged them. Their days were passed on the
water; every evening they amused themselves with poker, a game at cards
which years ago was common in all the dramshops of America, long before
fashionable ladies in Europe began to play it. I was quite alone, and my
time passed in wandering with a gun over the open plain or along the shore
of the Pacific. I visited the sandbanks which a small river made as with a
broad mouth it entered the ocean; I waded in the shallow waters of this
river, noted its unknown fishes, its shells, and looked at the great
sea-lions which sunned themselves on a number of rocks at the river mouth.
Opposite was a small sandy island swarming with mews, pelicans, and
albatrosses; a real and populous bird commonwealth, filled with cries and
uproar.
At times, when the day was calm, and when amid silence the surface of the
water took on a tinge almost violet, changing into gold, I sat in a boat
and rowed toward the little island, on which pelicans, unused to the sight
of man, looked at me less with fear than astonishment, as if wishing to
ask, "What sort of seal is this that we have not seen till to-day?"
Frequently I looked from that bank at sunsets which were simply
marvellous; they changed the whole horizon into one sea, gleaming with
gold, fire, and opal, which, passing into a brilliant purple, faded
gradually until the moon shone on the amethyst background of the heavens,
and the wonderful semi-tropical night had embraced the earth and the sky.
The empty land, the endlessness of the ocean, and the excess of light
disposed me somewhat toward mysticism. I became pantheistic, and had the
feeling that everything surrounding me formed a certain single great soul
which appears as the ocean, the sky, the plain, or diminishes into such
small living existences as birds, fish, shells, or broom on the ocean
shore. At times I thought also that those sand-hills and empty banks might
be inhabited by invisible beings like the ancient Greek fauns, nymphs, or
naiads. A man does not believe in such things when he turns to his own
reason; but involuntarily he admits that they are possible when he lives
only with Nature and in perfect seclusion. Life changes then, as it were,
into a drowsiness in which visions are more powerful than thought. As for
me, I was conscious only of that boundless calm which surrounded me, and I
felt that it was pleasant to be in it. At times I thought of future
"letters about my journey"; at times, too, I, as a young man, thought also
of "her," the unknown whom I should meet and love some time. In that
relaxation of thought, and on that empty, clear ocean shore, amid those
uncompleted ideas, undescribed desires, in that half dream, in
semi-consciousness, I was happier than ever in life before. But on a
certain evening I sat long on the little island and returned to the shore
after nightfall. The flowing tide brought me in--I scarcely had need to
lift an oar then. In other regions the flow of the tide is tempestuous,
but in that land of eternal good weather waves touch the sand shore with
gentleness; the ocean does not strike land with an outburst. Such silence
surrounded me that a quarter of a mile from the shore line I could have
heard the conversation of men. But that shore was unoccupied. I heard only
the squeak of the oars on my boat and the low plash of water moved by
them.
Just then, from above, certain piercing cries reached me. I raised my
head, but on the dark background of the sky I could discern nothing. When
the cries were heard a second time, directly above, I recognized in them
the voices of cranes.
Evidently a whole flock of cranes was flying somewhere above my head
toward the island of Santa Catalina. But I remembered that I had heard
cries like those more than once, when as a boy I journeyed from school for
vacation--and straightway a mighty homesickness seized hold of me. I
returned to the little room which I had hired in the cabin of the German,
but could not sleep. Pictures of my country passed then before my mind:
now a pine forest, now broad fields with pear trees on the boundaries,
now pleasant cottages, now village churches, now white mansions surrounded
by dense orchards. I yearned for such scenes all that night.
[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE HOUSE FROM THE POND ON THE SIENKIEWICZ
ESTATE]
I went out next morning, as usual, to the sand-banks. I felt that the
ocean and the sky, and the sand mounds on the shore, and the plains, and
the cliffs on which seals were basking in the sunlight, were things to me
absolutely foreign, things with which I had nothing in common, as they had
nothing in common with me.
Only yesterday I had wandered about in that neighborhood and had judged
that my pulse was beating in answer to the pulse of that immense
universe; to-day I put to myself this question: What have I to do here;
why do I not go back to my birthplace? The feeling of harmony and
sweetness in life had vanished, leaving nothing behind it. Time, which
before had seemed so quiet and soothing, which was measured by the ebb and
flow of the ocean, now seemed unendurably tedious. I began to think of my
own land, of that which had remained in it, and that which had changed
with time's passage.
America and my journey ceased altogether to interest me, and immediately
there swarmed in my head a throng of visions ever denser and denser,
composed wholly of memories. I could not tear myself free from them,
though they brought no delight to me. On the contrary, there was in those
memories much sadness, and even suffering, which rose from comparing our
sleepy and helpless country life with the bustling activity of America.
But the more our life seemed to me helpless and sleepy, the more it
mastered my soul, the dearer it grew to me, and the more I longed for it.
During succeeding days the visions grew still more definite, and at last
imagination began to develop, to arrange, to bring clearness and order
into one artistic plan. I began to create my own world.
A week later, on a certain night when the Norwegians went out on the
ocean, I sat down in my little room and from under my pen flowed the
following words: "In Barania Glova, in the chancellery of the village
mayor, it was as calm as in time of sowing poppy seed."
And thus, because cranes flew over the shore of the Pacific, I composed
"Charcoal Sketches."
THE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS
V
THE JUDGMENT OF PETER AND PAUL ON OLYMPUS
A POEM IN PROSE
It was a night of spring, calm, silvery, and fragrant with dewy jasmine.
The full moon was sailing above Olympus, and on the glittering, snowy
summit of the mountain it shone with a clear, pensive, greenish light.
Farther down in the Vale of Tempe was a dark thicket of thorn-bushes,
shaken by the songs of nightingales--by entreaties, by complaints, by
calls, by allurements, by languor, by sighs. These sounds flowed like the
music of flutes, filling the night; they fell like a pouring rain, and
rushed on like rivers. At moments they ceased; then such silence followed
that one might almost hear the snow thawing on the heights under the warm
breath of May. It was an ambrosial night.
On that night came Peter and Paul, and sat on the highest grassmound of
the <DW72> to pass judgment on the gods of antiquity. The heads of the
Apostles were encircled by halos, which illuminated their gray hair, stern
brows, and severe eyes. Below, in the deep shade of beeches, stood the
assembly of gods, abandoned and in dread, awaiting their sentence.
Peter motioned with his hand, and at the sign Zeus stepped forth first
from the assembly and approached the Apostles. The Cloud-Compeller was
still mighty, and as huge as if cut out of marble by Phidias, but weakened
and gloomy. His old eagle dragged along at his feet with broken wing, and
the blue thunderbolt, grown reddish in places from rust, and partly
quenched, seemed to be slipping from the stiffening right hand of the
former father of gods and men. But when he stood before the Apostles the
feeling of ancient supremacy filled his broad breast. He raised his head
haughtily, and fixed on the face of the aged fisherman of Galilee his
proud and glittering eyes, which were as angry and as terrible as
lightnings.
Olympus, accustomed to tremble before its ruler, shook to its foundations.
The beeches quivered with fear, the song of the nightingales ceased, and
the moon sailing above the snows grew as white as the linen web of
Arachne. The eagle screamed through his crooked beak for the last time,
and the lightning, as if animated by its ancient force, flashed and began
to roar terribly at the feet of its master; it reared, hissed, snapped,
and raised its three-cornered, flaming forehead, like a serpent ready to
stab with poisonous fang. But Peter pressed the fiery bolts with his foot
and crushed them to the earth. Turning then to the Cloud-Compeller, he
pronounced this sentence: "Thou art cursed and condemned through all
eternity." At once Zeus was extinguished. Growing pale in the twinkle of
an eye, he whispered, with blackening lips, "[Greek: Anagke]"
("Necessity"), and vanished through the earth.
Poseidon of the dark curls next stood before the Apostles, with night in
his eyes, and in his hand the blunted trident. To him then spoke Peter:
"It is not thou who wilt rouse the billows. It is not thou who | 860.940041 |
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Transcriber’s Note
In this text version of “Argot and Slang”:
words in italics are marked with _underscores_,
words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE.
In the body of the dictionary, the words being defined, originally
printed in bold, are shown in UPPER CASE, and the authors of
quotations, originally printed in small capitals, are marked with
equals signs and shown in =UPPER CASE=.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the poem or extract in which
they occur.
Variant spelling and use of accents, inconsistent hyphenation and
capitalization are retained, as are English words spelt in the French
manner. There are many words with irregular placing of the apostrophe
in possessive plurals (e.g. womens', Fishermens') these have not been
changed.
The changes that have been made are listed at the end of the book.
[Illustration: ARGOT AND SLANG]
ARGOT AND SLANG
A NEW
FRENCH AND ENGLISH DICTIONARY
OF THE
CANT WORDS, QUAINT EXPRESSIONS, SLANG
TERMS AND FLASH PHRASES
USED IN THE HIGH AND LOW LIFE OF OLD
AND NEW PARIS
BY
ALBERT BARRÈRE
OFFICIER DE L’INSTRUCTION PUBLIQUE
_NEW AND REVISED EDITION_
LONDON
WHITTAKER AND CO., WHITE HART STREET
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1889
PREFACE.
The publication of a dictionary of French cant and slang demands some
explanation from the author. During a long course of philological
studies, extending over many years, I have been in the habit of putting
on record, for my own edification, a large number of those cant and
slang terms and quaint expressions of which the English and French
tongues furnish an abundant harvest. Whatever of this nature I heard
from the lips of persons to whom they are familiar, or gleaned from the
perusal of modern works and newspapers, I carefully noted down, until
my note-book had assumed such dimensions that the idea of completing
a collection already considerable was suggested. It was pointed out
to me, as an inducement to venture on so arduous an undertaking, that
it must prove, from its very nature, not only an object of curiosity
and interest to the lover of philological studies and the public at
large, but also one of utility to the English reader of modern French
works of fiction. The fact is not to be ignored that the chief works
of the so-called Naturalistic School do certainly find their way to
this country, where they command a large number of readers. These
productions of modern French fiction dwell with complaisance on
the vices of society, dissect them patiently, often with power and
talent, and too often exaggerate them. It is not within my province
to pass a judgment upon their analytical study of all that is gross
in human nature. But, from a philological point of view, the men and
women whom they place as actors on the stage of their human comedy
are interesting, whatever they may be in other respects. Some of them
belong to the very dregs of society, possessing a language of their
own, forcible, picturesque, and graphic. This language sometimes
embodies in a single word a whole train of philosophical ideas, and
is dashed with a grim humour, with a species of wit which not often
misses the mark. Moreover, these labourers, roughs, street arabs,
thieves, and worse than thieves--these Coupeaus, Bec-Salés, Mes-Bottes,
Lantiers--are not the sole possessors of a vernacular which, to a
certain extent, is the exponent of their idiosyncrasies. Slang has
invaded all classes of society, and is often used for want of terms
sufficiently strong or pointed to convey the speaker’s real feelings.
It seems to be resorted to in order to make up for the shortcomings
of a well-balanced and polished tongue, which will not lend itself
to exaggeration and violence of utterance. Journalists, artists,
politicians, men of fashion, soldiers, even women talk _argot_,
sometimes unawares, and these as well as the lower classes are depicted
in the Naturalistic novel. Now, although the study of French is daily
acquiring more and more importance in England, the professors of that
language do not as a rule initiate | 860.940272 |
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
THE ANGLO-FRENCH ENTENTE IN THE XVII CENTURY
BY CHARLES BASTIDE
[Illustration: ON THE ROAD TO CALAIS]
THE ANGLO-FRENCH ENTENTE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
BY CHARLES BASTIDE
Even as a hawke flieth not hie with one wing, even so a
man reacheth not to excellency with one tongue.
ASCHAM.
LONDON JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY
TORONTO BELL & COCKBURN MCMXIV
_Printed by_ MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED, _Edinburgh_
INTRODUCTION
Of late there have appeared on the literary relations of England and France
some excellent books, foremost of which may be mentioned, besides the now
classical works of M. Jusserand, Dr. A. H. Upham's _French Influence in
English Literature_ and Sir Sidney Lee's _French Renaissance in England_.
The drift of the main argument set forth in those several volumes may be
pointed out in a few words. Up to the death of Louis XIV., France gave more
than she received; but, in the eighteenth century, England paid back her
debt in full. France, intended by her geographical position to be the
medium through which Mediterranean civilisation spread northwards,
continued by her contributions to the English Renaissance and the influence
of her literary models on the Restoration writers, a work that historians
trace back to Caesar's landing in Britain, Ethelbert's conversion to
Christianity, and the triumph of the Normans at Hastings. But ere long the
native genius of the people asserted itself. Thanks to a series of lucky
revolutions, England reached political maturity before the other Western
nations, and, in her turn, she taught them toleration and self-government.
The French were among the first to copy English broad-mindedness in
philosophy and politics; to admire Locke and Newton; and to practise
parliamentary government.
To books that lead up to conclusions so general may succeed monographs on
minor points hitherto partly, if not altogether, overlooked. In the
following essays will be found some information on the life that Frenchmen
led in England in the seventeenth century and at the same time answers to a
few not wholly uninteresting queries. For instance: was it easy to journey
from Paris to London, and what men cared to run the risk? Did the French
learn and, when they settled in England, did they endeavour to write,
English correctly? Though the two nations were often at war, many
Englishmen admired France and a few Frenchmen appreciated certain aspects
of English life; how was contemporary opinion affected by these men? Though
England taught France rationalism in the eighteenth century, must it be
conceded that rationalism sprang into existence in England? when English
divines proved overbold and English royalists disrespectful, they might
allege for an excuse that Frenchmen had set the bad example. Hence the
importance of noticing the impression made by the Huguenots on English
thought.
Since nothing gives a stronger illusion of real life than the grouping of
actual facts, extracts and quotations are abundant. They do not only
concern governors and generals, Cromwell and Charles II., but men of the
people, an Aldersgate wig-maker, a Covent Garden tailor, a private tutor
like Coste, and poor Themiseul, bohemian and Grub Street hack.
The danger of the method lies in possible confusion, resulting from the
crowding together of details. But the anecdotes, letters, extracts from old
forgotten pamphlets, help to build up a conviction in which the one purpose
of the book should be sought.
The history of the relations of France and England in the past is the
record of the painful endeavours of two nations to come to an
understanding. Though replete with tragical episodes brought about by the
ambition of kings, and the prejudices and passive acquiescence of subjects,
the narrative yields food for helpful reflections. In spite of mutual
jealousy and hatred, the two nations are irresistibly drawn together,
because, having reached the same degree of civilisation, they have need of
each other; whereas the causes that keep them apart are accidental, being
royal policy, temporary commercial rivalry, some estrangement too often
ending in war through the selfishness of party leaders; yet the chances of
agreement seem to grow more numerous as the years roll by; and the
unavoidable happy conclusion makes the narrative of past disunion less
melancholy.
The fantastic dream of one generation may come true for the next succeeding
ones. Did Louis XIV. and William III. think that while their armies were
endeavouring to destroy each other in Flanders, and their fleets on the
Channel, some second-rate men of letters, a few divines who wrote
indifferent grammar, a handful of merchants and skilled workmen were paving
the way for peace more surely than diplomatists? The work of those
cosmopolites was quite instinctive: they helped their several nations to
exchange ideas as insects carry anther dust from one flower to another.
Voltaire was probably the first deliberately to use the example of a
foreign nation as an argument in the controversy which he carried on
against tradition and authority, and, in that respect, he proved superior
to his more obscure predecessors.
It is a pleasure to acknowledge the help I have received while collecting
material. My thanks are due above all to M. Mortreuil of the Bibliotheque
Nationale, to whose unfailing kindness I owe much; and to M. Weiss, the
courteous and learned librarian of the Bibliotheque de la Societe pour
l'histoire du protestantisme francais. Nor shall I omit the authorities of
the Bodleian Library and the British Museum. I desire also to express my
thanks to Mr. W. M. Fullerton, Dr. F. A. Hedgcock, Mr. Frederic Cobb, MM.
Lambin and Cherel.
I must add that the chapters on the political influence of the Huguenots,
that appeared some years ago in the _Journal of Comparative Literature_, of
New York, have been rewritten.
To the readers of _Anglais et Francais du dix-septieme Siecle_ an
explanation is owing. If the original title is retained only in the
headlines, it is because, on the eve of publication, a book appeared
bearing almost the same title. They will, it is hoped, hail in the
short-lived Anglo-French _entente_ of Charles II.'s time, the forerunner of
the present "cordial understanding."
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
I. FROM PARIS TO LONDON UNDER THE MERRY MONARCH 1
II. DID FRENCHMEN LEARN ENGLISH IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY? 19
III. SPECIMENS OF ENGLISH WRITTEN BY FRENCHMEN 39
IV. GALLOMANIA IN ENGLAND (1600-1685) 62
V. HUGUENOT THOUGHT IN ENGLAND (FIRST PART) 77
VI. HUGUENOT THOUGHT IN ENGLAND (SECOND PART) 114
VII. SHAKESPEARE AND CHRISTOPHE MONGOYE 142
VIII. FRENCH GAZETTES IN LONDON (1650-1700) 149
IX. A QUARREL IN SOHO (1682) 167
X. THE COURTSHIP OF PIERRE COSTE, AND OTHER LETTERS | 861.035325 |
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Transcribed from the [1860?] T. Goode edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
THE
GIPSY
FORTUNE
TELLER
[Picture: Picture of Gipsy woman telling fortune]
CONTAINING
JUDGMENT FOR THE 29 DAYS OF THE MOON,
THE SIGNIFICATION OF MOLES,
AND
THE ART OF TELLING FORT | 861.035391 |
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Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, MWS, ellinora and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber Note:
Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected.
Italic text is represented by underscores surrounding the _italic
text_.
Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS.
A small decoration on the title page is represented by [Decoration].
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THIS
MISERY _of_ BOOTS
BY
H. G. WELLS
_Author of “Socialism and the Family,” “In the
Days of the Comet,” “A Modern
Utopia,” etc._
[Decoration]
BOSTON
THE BALL PUBLISHING CO.
1908
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THIS MISERY OF
BOOTS
CHAPTER I
THE WORLD AS BOOTS AND SUPERSTRUCTURE
“It does not do,” said a friend of mine, “to think about boots.” For my
own part, I have always been particularly inclined to look at boots, and
think about them. I have an odd idea that most general questions can be
expressed in terms of foot-wear—which is perhaps why cobblers are often
such philosophical men. Accident it may be, gave me this persuasion. A
very considerable part of my childhood was spent in an underground
kitchen; the window opened upon a bricked-in space, surmounted by a
grating before my father’s shop window. So that, when I looked out of
the window, instead of seeing—as children of a higher upbringing would
do—the heads and bodies of people, I saw their under side. I got
acquainted indeed with all sorts of social types as boots simply,
indeed, as the soles of boots; and only subsequently, and with care,
have I fitted heads, bodies, and legs to these pediments.
There would come boots and shoes (no doubt holding people) to stare at
the shop, finicking, neat little women’s boots, good sorts and bad
sorts, fresh and new, worn crooked in the tread, patched or needing
patching; men’s boots, clumsy and fine, rubber shoes, tennis shoes,
goloshes. Brown shoes I never beheld—it was before that time; but I have
seen pattens. Boots used to come and commune at the window, duets that
marked their emotional development by a restlessness or a kick.... But
anyhow, that explains my preoccupation with boots.
But my friend did not think it _did_, to think about boots.
My friend was a realistic novelist, and a man from whom hope had
departed. I cannot tell you how hope had gone out of his life; some
subtle disease of the soul had robbed him at last of any enterprise, or
belief in coming things; and he was trying to live the few declining
years that lay before him in a sort of bookish comfort, among
surroundings that seemed peaceful and beautiful, by not thinking of
things that were painful and cruel. And we met a tramp who limped along
the lane.
“Chafed heel,” I said, when we had parted from him again; “and on these
pebbly byways no man goes barefooted.” My friend winced; and a little
silence came between us. We were both recalling things; and then for a
time, when we began to talk again, until he would have no more of it, we
rehearsed the miseries of boots.
We agreed that to a very great majority of people in this country boots
are constantly a source of distress, giving pain and discomfort, causing
trouble, causing anxiety. We tried to present the thing in a concrete
form to our own minds by hazardous statistical inventions. “At the
present moment,” said I, “one person in ten in these islands is in
discomfort through boots.”
My friend thought it was nearer one in five.
“In the life of a poor man or a poor man’s wife, and still more in the
lives of their children, this misery of the boot occurs and recurs—every
year so many days.”
We made a sort of classification of these troubles.
There is the TROUBLE OF THE NEW BOOT.
(i) They are made of some bad, unventilated material; and “draw the
feet,” as people say.
(ii) They do not fit exactly. Most people have to buy ready-made boots;
they cannot afford others, and, in | 861.040307 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Superscript letters are preceded by ^.
OE ligatures have been expanded.
The Geologists' Association.
ON
THE RED CHALK OF ENGLAND.
BY
THE REV. THOS. WILTSHIRE, M.A. F.G.S.
PRESIDENT OF THE GEOLOGISTS' ASSOCIATION.
A PAPER READ AT
THE GENERAL MEETING,
4TH APRIL, 1859.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THE ASSOCIATION,
AND
PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE OF "THE GEOLOGIST," 154, STRAND.
1859.
LIST OF PLATES.
PLATE I.
Fig.
1. Inoceramus Coquandianus, from Speeton.
2. Fragment of Inoceramus, striated by glacial action, Muswell Hill.
3. Nautilus simplex, Hunstanton.
4. Inoceramus Crispii, Hunstanton.
5. I. tenuis, Hunstanton.
PLATE II.
1. Spongia paradoxica, Hunstanton.
2. Siphonia pyriformis, Hunstanton.
3. Cardiaster suborbicularis, Hunstanton.
4. Ostrea frons, Muswell Hill.
5. O. vesicularis, Hunstanton.
6. Exogyra haliotoidea, Hunstanton.
7. Cytherella ovata, Speeton.
8. Cristellaria rotulata, Speeton.
9. Trochocyathus (?) ----, Hunstanton.
PLATE III.
1, 1_a._ Vermicularia elongata. Upper and under surface of two
different specimens, Speeton.
2. Vermicularia umbonata, Hunstanton.
3. Serpula irregularis, Hunstanton.
4. S. antiquata, Hunstanton.
5. Bourgueticrinus rugosus, Hunstanton.
6. Diadema tumidum, Hunstanton.
7. Cidaris Gaultina (?), Hunstanton.
PLATE IV.
1. Terebratula biplicata, 1_a._ mag. surface, Hunstanton.
2. T. semiglobosa, 2_a._ mag. surface, Speeton.
3. Kingena lima, 3_a._ mag. surface, Hunstanton.
4. Terebratula capillata, 4_a._ mag. surface, Hunstanton.
5. Belemnites attenuatus, Hunstanton.
6. B. Listeri, Speeton.
7. B. ultimus, Speeton.
8. B. minimus, Speeton.
ON THE RED CHALK OF ENGLAND
A Paper read 4th April, by Rev. THOMAS WILTSHIRE, M.A., F.G.S.,
Etc., President.
Persons in general take as the type or representative of chalk the
material which mechanics employ for tracing out rough lines and figures.
It is a substance of a bright white colour, somewhat yielding to the
touch, and capable of being very easily abraded or rubbed down.
But the geologist gives a much wider interpretation to the term, not
limiting it by these few characteristics; and, accordingly, he includes
under the same title many strata which would hardly be so grouped
together by the uninitiated.
For instance, there is at the base of the upper portion of the
cretaceous system a certain hard, often pebbly, and highly coloured
band, which, notwithstanding its great departure from the popular type,
is nevertheless styled in geological language the "Red Chalk." This
stratum, the subject of the present paper, nowhere forms a mass of
any great thickness or extent; perhaps if thirty feet be taken as its
maximum of thickness, four feet as its minimum, and one hundred miles
as its utmost extent in length, the truth will be arrived at. It may be
said, also, to be peculiar to England, for the _Scaglia_, or Red Chalk
of the Italians, has little in common with that of our country. The two
differ widely in appearance, in situation, and in fossils.
The first view of the seam in the north is to be obtained about six
miles north-west of Flamborough Head, in Yorkshire, near the village
of Speeton, where its structure, dip, and general appearance can be
remarkably well studied.
Speeton is a small village, a place of no great note in the
business-world, yet of much fame amongst the lovers of geology, inasmuch
as in its neighbourhood there are several interesting formations, to one
of which--the Speeton clay--it gives a name.
In these days of rapid travelling, the village has the great convenience
of a railway-station, from whence the cliffs below can be reached
without the slightest difficulty.
[Illustration: Lign. 1.--Map of Part of Yorkshire, Lincolnshire, and
Norfolk, showing the Outcrop and Range of the Red Chalk.]
As I wish to conduct the members of the Association to the Red Chalk _in
situ_, let us suppose that, starting from some locality near the Hull
and Scarborough Railway, we have taken tickets for Speeton station, and
have in due time arrived at that latter place. On alighting from the
train we must direct our steps to the houses in front, and then inquire
the way to the sea-shore, above which we shall be standing at some
considerable height--say four hundred feet. We shall be told to walk
by the church, to turn to the right along a little lane, and then to
look for an obscure path which passes across the fields. We shall soon
afterwards, being on high ground, be able, by the light of nature, to
find a way down to the sands below.
Whilst descending, let us survey the scene that lies before us. It is a
grand one, rendered picturesque by the broken ground, the solitude, and
the sounding of the waves. Right ahead, there is the open Bay of Filey;
on the left hand, the town of Filey and its Brig; not a ship, as one
might imagine, but a huge mass of rocks of the coralline oolite, jutting
out to sea at right angles from the shore, like a pier formed by human
hands, and crowned on the land-side by strangely cut pinnacles of pink
and rugged drift. On the right hand there are the high and perpendicular
white chalk cliffs of the Flamborough range. As we pass down we shall
meet with a gulley or bed of a small stream, in all probability quite
dry, by following the winding course of which we shall reach the shore.
This gulley passes over an escarpment of diluvial matter (the whole
place being in confusion through the effects of small landslips),
and traverses the Red Chalk itself, the first trace of which will be
rendered visible by means of rolled fragments, which the force of the
stream has at different times detached.
It will be only here and there that we shall find the Red Chalk _in
situ_, because sometimes vegetation, sometimes diluvium, sometimes
fallen masses, entirely conceal its real position. However, there will
be plenty of rounded pieces at the feet. Some of these had better be
examined on the spot, in order that we may gain a clear perception of
the appearance of the bed, should we meet with it again. These pieces
are found to be hard and rough to the touch, and of a bright red tinge,
though occasionally marked with streaks of white. Most likely on some
of their sides a fossil or two will be seen peeping out; a blow from a
hammer will divulge still more. So plentiful are the rolled fragments,
that a few hours' work will satisfy the conscience, and fill the pockets
of the traveller.
If I might be permitted to give advice to any member of our Association
who should hereafter visit the place, it would be this--that it would
be well for him to carry away moderate sized boulders entire, rather
than to break them on the spot. The fossils will best be developed at
leisure. The material is so hard, and the fossils so brittle (especially
the belemnites and serpulae), that imperfect specimens only will result
from the quick and rough treatment of the hammer. The "find" will not
produce any very great variety, only numbers; terebratulae, serpulae, and
belemnites will be all that will be obtained.
Having now procured specimens, we had better walk southward along the
shore; after a short time will be seen a fine perpendicular section of
this particular stratum; we shall notice it is bounded on the one side
by the White Chalk, to which it is parallel; on the other by the Speeton
clay, which is not conformable to it, that is, not parallel.
The thickness of the bed of the Red Chalk is at this place, as I said
just now, about thirty feet. First of all, taking it in descending
order, that is to say, having reached its limit at the White Chalk, and
retracing our steps in the direction of Filey, we notice about twelve
feet of red matter containing serpulae, and we note that the upper
portion of this division is much filled with greyish nodules, showing
that the change from the White Chalk to the Red is gradual. Next comes
a bed of about seven feet thick, of darkish White Chalk; and finally,
another bed of about twelve feet thick, of bright Red Chalk, containing
belemnites and terebratulae. The whole is followed by the Speeton clay,
of which a short and accurate account will be found in No. 13 of THE
GEOLOGIST magazine. The line of division between these two being
well marked by runs of water, which are caused by the percolation
through the chalk being stopped by the impervious clay.
The Speeton clay is singular in some of its characteristics. At its
upper portion, in contact with the Red Chalk, it contains fossils
belonging to the Neocomian or Greensand era, whilst at the lower part
there are the representatives of the Kimmeridge clay. And thus it would
appear to be one of those peculiar formations which have resulted from
a number of beds thinning out, and becoming absorbed into each other.
Three of the well-marked fossils of the Speeton clay may be adduced:
_Belemnites jaculum_; a small crustacean, _Astacus ornatus_; and a large
hamite, called _Hamites Beanii_.
To the south of the Red Chalk at Speeton, and adjoining it, occurs,
as I lately mentioned, the White Chalk. The fossils in this part are
not numerous; an inoceramus, a terebratula, and rarely an ammonite,
are found. But the White Chalk higher up, that is, farther south,
below Flamborough Head, near Bridlington Quay, is very fossiliferous,
containing corals, echini, a bed of marsupites, as well as that very
remarkable and extensive collection of marine forms, the silicified
sponges, thousands of which can be seen at low water scattered up and
down, and imbedded in the scars, or rocks. This chalk, however, has its
drawbacks, for being very hard--indeed, so much so as to ring under the
strokes of a hammer--specimens cannot be obtained without much trouble.
I must make an exception with regard to the sponges. They are composed
of silex; hence, long soaking in very dilute hydrochloric acid will do
more and better work after the fossils have been brought home, than
fifty chisels. The calcareous matter is slowly dissolved away, and then
forms come into view as delicate and lovely as any that can be noted in
the modern sponge tribe. Most of the common kinds of the Flamborough
sponges will be found figured and named in Professor Phillips' Geology
of Yorkshire; the rarer in the Magazine of Natural History for 1839.
Let us now return to the village of Speeton, and endeavour to follow the
winding course of the Red Chalk to its visible termination, some hundred
miles to the south-east, in the county of Norfolk.
By a reference to the map (page | 861.041387 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.0223760 | 2,386 | 6 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of the Memoir of John Lothrop Motley, v3
by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
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Title: Memoir of John Lothrop Motley, v3
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Release Date: December, 2003 [Etext #4727]
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JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY.
A MEMOIR
By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Volume III.
XXII.
1874. AEt. 60.
"LIFE OF JOHN OF BARNEVELD."--CRITICISMS.--GROEN VAN PRINSTERER.
The full title of Mr. Motley's next and last work is "The Life and Death
of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland; with a View of the Primary
Causes and Movements of the Thirty Years' War."
In point of fact this work is a history rather than a biography. It is
an interlude, a pause between the acts which were to fill out the
complete plan of the "Eighty Years' Tragedy," and of which the last act,
the Thirty Years' War, remains unwritten. The "Life of Barneveld" was
received as a fitting and worthy continuation of the series of
intellectual labor in which he was engaged. I will quote but two general
expressions of approval from the two best known British critical reviews.
In connection with his previous works, it forms, says "The London
Quarterly," "a fine and continuous story, of which the writer and the
nation celebrated by him have equal reason to be proud; a narrative which
will remain a prominent ornament of American genius, while it has
permanently enriched English literature on this as well as on the other
side of the Atlantic."
"The Edinburgh Review" speaks no less warmly: "We can hardly give too
much appreciation to that subtile alchemy of the brain which has enabled
him to produce out of dull, crabbed, and often illegible state papers,
the vivid, graphic, and sparkling narrative which he has given to the
world."
In a literary point of view, M. Groen van Prinsterer, whose elaborate
work has been already referred to, speaks of it as perhaps the most
classical of Motley's productions, but it is upon this work that the
force of his own and other Dutch criticisms has been chiefly expended.
The key to this biographical history or historical biography may be found
in a few sentences from its opening chapter.
"There have been few men at any period whose lives have been more
closely identical than his [Barneveld's] with a national history.
There have been few great men in any history whose names have become
less familiar to the world, and lived less in the mouths of
posterity. Yet there can be no doubt that if William the Silent was
the founder of the independence of the United Provinces, Barneveld
was the founder of the Commonwealth itself. . . .
"Had that country of which he was so long the first citizen
maintained until our own day the same proportional position among
the empires of Christendom as it held in the seventeenth century,
the name of John of Barneveld would have perhaps been as familiar to
all men as it is at this moment to nearly every inhabitant of the
Netherlands. Even now political passion is almost as ready to flame
forth, either in ardent affection or enthusiastic hatred, as if two
centuries and a half had not elapsed since his death. His name is
so typical of a party, a polity, and a faith, so indelibly
associated with a great historical cataclysm, as to render it
difficult even for the grave, the conscientious, the learned, the
patriotic, of his own compatriots to speak of him with absolute
impartiality.
"A foreigner who loves and admires all that is great and noble in
the history of that famous republic, and can have no hereditary bias
as to its ecclesiastical or political theories, may at least attempt
the task with comparative coldness, although conscious of inability
to do thorough justice to a most complex subject."
With all Mr. Motley's efforts to be impartial, to which even his sternest
critics bear witness, he could not help becoming a partisan of the cause
which for him was that of religious liberty and progress, as against the
accepted formula of an old ecclesiastical organization. For the quarrel
which came near being a civil war, which convulsed the state, and cost
Barneveld his head, had its origin in a difference on certain points, and
more especially on a single point, of religious doctrine.
As a great river may be traced back until its fountainhead is found in a
thread of water streaming from a cleft in the rocks, so a great national
movement may sometimes be followed until its starting-point is found in
the cell of a monk or the studies of a pair of wrangling professors.
The religious quarrel of the Dutchmen in the seventeenth century reminds
us in some points of the strife between two parties in our own New
England, sometimes arraying the "church" on one side against the
"parish," or the general body of worshippers, on the other. The
portraits of Gomarus, the great orthodox champion, and Arminius, the head
and front of the "liberal theology" of his day, as given in the little
old quarto of Meursius, recall two ministerial types of countenance
familiar to those who remember the earlier years of our century.
Under the name of "Remonstrants" and "Contra-Remonstrants,"--Arminians
and old-fashioned Calvinists, as we should say,--the adherents of the two
Leyden professors disputed the right to the possession of the churches,
and the claim to be considered as representing the national religion. Of
the seven United Provinces, two, Holland and Utrecht, were prevailingly
Arminian, and the other five Calvinistic. Barneveld, who, under the
title of Advocate, represented the province of Holland, the most
important of them all, claimed for each province a right to determine its
own state religion. Maurice the Stadholder, son of William the Silent,
the military chief of the republic, claimed the right for the States-
General. 'Cujus regio ejus religio' was then the accepted public
doctrine of Protestant nations. Thus the provincial and the general
governments were brought into conflict by their creeds, and the question
whether the republic was a confederation or a nation, the same question
which has been practically raised, and for the time at least settled, in
our own republic, was in some way to be decided. After various
disturbances and acts of violence by both parties, Maurice, representing
the States-General, pronounced for the Calvinists or Contra-Remonstrants,
and took possession of one of the great churches, as an assertion of his
authority. Barneveld, representing the Arminian or Remonstrant
provinces, levied a body of mercenary soldiers in several of the cities.
These were disbanded by Maurice, and afterwards by an act of the States-
General. Barneveld was apprehended, imprisoned, and executed, after an
examination which was in no proper sense a trial. Grotius, who was on
the Arminian side and involved in the inculpated proceedings, was also
arrested and imprisoned. His escape, by a stratagem successfully
repeated by a slave in our own times, may challenge comparison for its
romantic interest with any chapter of fiction. How his wife packed him
into the chest supposed to contain the folios of the great oriental
scholar Erpenius, how the soldiers wondered at its weight and questioned
whether it did not hold an Arminian, how the servant-maid, Elsje van
Houwening, quick-witted as Morgiana of the "Forty Thieves," parried their
questions and convoyed her master safely to the friendly place of
refuge,--all this must be read in the vivid narrative of the author.
The questions involved were political, local, personal, and above all
religious. Here is the picture which Motley draws of the religious
quarrel as it divided the people:--
"In burghers' mansions, peasants' cottages, mechanics' back-parlors;
| 861.042416 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.0239950 | 2,591 | 7 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?"]
[Illustration: title page art]
A MAID
OF
MANY
MOODS
_By_ VIRNA SHEARD
Toronto, THE COPP, CLARK
COMPANY, Ltd. MCMII
Copyright, 1902, By James Pott & Co.
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
_First Impression, September, 1902_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Debora! What is it? What hath come to thee?"... _Frontispiece_
"Thou'lt light no more"
She followed the tragedy intensely
"I liked thee as a girl, Deb; but I love thee as a lad"
"It breaks my heart to see thee here, Nick"
Darby went lightly from one London topic to another
CHAPTER I
[Illustration: Chapter I headpiece]
I
It was Christmas Eve, and all the small diamond window panes of One
Tree Inn, the half-way house upon the road from Stratford to Shottery,
were aglitter with light from the great fire in the front room
chimney-place and from the many candles Mistress Debora had set in
their brass candlesticks and started a-burning herself. The place,
usually so dark and quiet at this time of night, seemed to have gone
off in a whirligig of gaiety to celebrate the Noel-tide.
In vain had old Marjorie, the housekeeper, scolded. In vain had Master
Thornbury, who was of a thrifty and saving nature, followed his
daughter about and expostulated. She only laughed and waved the
lighted end of the long spill around his broad red face and bright
flowered jerkin.
"Nay, Dad!" she had cried, teasing him thus, "I'll help thee save thy
pennies to-morrow, but to-night I'm of another mind, and will have such
a lighting up in One Tree Inn the rustics will come running from
Coventry to see if it be really ablaze. There'll not be a candle in
any room whatever without its own little feather of fire, not a dip in
the kitchen left dark! So just save thy breath to blow them out later."
"Come, mend thy saucy speech, thou'lt light no more, I tell thee,"
blustered the old fellow, trying to reach the spill which the girl held
high above her head. "Give over thy foolishness; thou'lt light no
more!"
[Illustration: "Thou'lt light no more"]
"Ay, but I will, then," said she wilfully, "an' 'tis but just to
welcome Darby, Dad dear. Nay, then," waving the light and laughing,
"don't thou dare catch it. An' I touch thy fringe o' pretty hair,
dad--thy only ornament, remember--'twould be a fearsome calamity! I'
faith! it must be most time for the coach, an' the clusters in the long
room not yet lit. Hinder me no more, but go enjoy thyself with old
Saddler and John Sevenoakes. I warrant the posset is o'erdone, though
I cautioned thee not to leave it."
"Thou art a wench to break a man's heart," said Thornbury, backing away
and shaking a finger at the pretty figure winding fiery ribbons and
criss-crosses with her bright-tipped wand. "Thou art a provoking
wench, who doth need locking up and feeding on bread and water. Marry,
there'll be naught for thee on Christmas, and thou canst whistle for
the ruff and silver buckles I meant to have given thee. Aye, an' for
the shoes with red heels." Then with dignity, "I'll snuff out some o'
the candles soon as I go below."
"An' thou do, dad, I'll make thee a day o' trouble on the morrow!" she
called after him. And well he knew she would. Therefore, it was with
a disturbed mind that he entered the sitting-room and went towards the
hearth to stir the simmering contents of the copper pot on the crane.
John Sevenoakes and old Ned Saddler, his nearest neighbours and
friends, sat one each side of the fire in their deep rush-bottomed
chairs, as they sat at least five nights out of the week, come what
weather would. Sevenoakes held a small child, whose yellow, curly head
nodded with sleep. The hot wine bubbled up as the inn-keeper stirred
it and the little spiced apples, brown with cloves, bobbed madly on top.
"It hath a savoury smell, Thornbury," remarked Saddler. "Methinks 'tis
most ready to be lifted."
"'Twill not be lifted till Deb hears the coach," answered Sevenoakes.
"'Twas so she timed it. 'On it goes at nine,' quoth she, 'an' off it
comes at ten, Cousin John. Just when Darby will be jumping from the
coach an' running in. Oh! I can't wait for the hour to come!' she
says."
"She's a headstrong, contrary wench as ever heaven sent a man," put in
Thornbury, straightening himself. "'Twere trouble saved an' I'd broken
her in long ago."
"'Twas she broke thee in long ago," said Saddler, rubbing his knotty
hands. "She hath led thee by the ear since she was three years old.
An' I had married now, an' had such a lass, I'd a brought her up
different, I warrant. Zounds! 'tis a show to see. She coaxes thee,
she bullies thee, she comes it over thee with cajolery and
blandishments an' leads thee a pretty dance."
"Thou art an old fool," returned Thornbury, mopping his face, which was
sorely scorched, "What should thou know of the bringing up of wenches?
Thou--a crabbed bachelor o' three score an' odd. Thou hast no way with
children;--i' truth I've heard Will Shakespeare say the tartness of
that face o' thine would sour ripe grapes."
Sevenoakes trotted the baby gently up and down, a look of troubled
apprehension disturbing his usually placid features. His was ever the
office of peace-maker between these two ancient cronies, and he knew to
a nicety the moment when it was wisest to try and adjust matters.
"'Tis well I mind the night this baby came," he began retrospectively,
looking up as the door opened and a tall young fellow entered, stamping
the snow off his long boots. "Marry, Nick! thou dost bring a lot o'
cold in with thee," he ended briskly, shifting his chair. "Any news o'
the coach?"
"None that I've heard," replied the man, going to the hearth and
turning his broad back to the fire. "'Tis a still night, still and
frosty, but no sound of the horn or wheels reached me though I stood
a-listening at the cross-roads. Then I turned down here an' saw how
grandly thou had'st lit the house up to welcome Darby. My faith! I'll
be glad to see him, for 'tis an age since he was home, Master
Thornbury, an' he comes now in high feather. Not every lad hath wit
and good looks enough to turn the head o' London after him. The stage
is a great place for bringing a man out. Egad! I'm half minded to try
it myself."
"I doubt not thou wilt, Nick, sooner or later; thou art a
jack-o'-all-trades," answered Thornbury, in surly tones.
Nicholas Berwick laughed and shrugged his well-set shoulders, as he
bent over and touched the child sleeping sweetly in old Sevenoakes'
arms.
"What was't I heard thee saying o' the baby as I came in; he is not
ailing, surely?"
"Not he!" answered Sevenoakes, stroking the moist yellow curls. "He's
lusty as a year-old robin, an' as chirpy when he's awake; but he's in
the land o' nod now, though his will was good to wait up for Darby like
the rest of us."
"He's a rarely beautiful little lad," said Berwick. "I've asked Deb
about him often, but she will tell me naught."
"I warrant she will na," piped up old Ned Saddler, in his reedy voice.
"I warrant she will na; 'tis no tale for a young maid's repeating.
Beshrew me! but the coach be late," he wound up irrelevantly.
"How came the child here?" persisted the young fellow, knocking back a
red log with his foot. "An' it be such a tale as you hint, Saddler, I
doubt not it's hard to keep it from slipping off thy tongue."
"'Tis a tale that slips off some tongue whenever this time o' year
comes," answered Thornbury. "I desire no more Christmas Eves like that
one four years back--please God! We were around the hearth as it might
be now, and a grand yule log we had burning, I mind me; the room was
trimmed gay an' fine with holly an' mistletoe as 'tis to-night.
Saddler was there, Sevenoakes just where he be now, an' Deb sitting
a-dreaming on the black oak settle yonder, the way she often sits, her
chin on her hand--you mind, Nick!"
"Ay!" said the man, smiling.
"She wore her hair down then," went on Thornbury, "an' a sight it were
to see."
"'Twere red as fox-fire," interrupted Saddler, aggrieved that the
tale-telling had been taken from him. "When thou start'st off on Deb,
Thornbury, thou know'st not where to bring up."
"An' Deb was sitting yonder on the oak settle," continued the innkeeper
calmly.
"An' she had not lit the house up scandalously that year as 'tis
now--for Darby was home," put in Saddler again.
"Ay! Darby was home--an' thou away, Nick--but the lad was worriting to
try his luck on the stage in London, an' all on account o' a play
little Judith Shakespeare lent him. I mind me 'twas rightly named,
'The Pleasant History o' the Taming o' a Shrew,' for most of it he read
aloud to us. Ay, Darby was home, an' we were sitting here as it might
be now, when the door burst open an' in come my lad carrying a bit of a
baby muffled top an' toe in a shepherd's plaid. 'Twas crying pitiful
and hoarse, as it had been long in the night wind."
"'Quick, Dad!' called Darby, 'Quick,' handing the bundle to Deb, 'there
be a woman perished of cold not thirty yards from the house.'
"I tramped out after him saying naught. 'Twas a bitter night an' the
road rang like metal under our feet. The country was silver-white with
snow, an' the sky was sown thick with stars. Darby'd hastened on ahead
an' lifted the w | 861.044035 |
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