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Produced by Gerard Arthus, Charlene Taylor, Jana Srna and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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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
intoxicated, exactly, yet in a happy frame of mind, and inclined to talk
nonsense, and shout, and use abusive language at a person. Now he left
off that sort of thing. His life became quiet and joyful. In the morning
he would sit down to work, finish his allotted task, then take the
little lamp from the hook, put it on the table, get his book from the
shelf, open it, and sit down to read. And the more he read, the more he
understood, and the brighter and happier it grew in his heart.
(2) _Traktir._
Once it happened that Martuin read till late into the night. He was
reading the Gospel of Luke. He was reading over the sixth chapter; and
he was reading the verses:--
"_And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other;
and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also.
Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy
goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do
ye also to them likewise._"
He read farther also those verses, where God speaks:
"_And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?
Whosoever cometh to me, and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will
shew you to whom he is like: he is like a man which built an house, and
digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood
arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake
it; for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth, and doeth not,
is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth;
against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell;
and the ruin of that house was great._"
Avdyeitch read these words, and joy filled his soul. He took off his
spectacles, put them down on the book, leaned his elbows on the table,
and became lost in thought. And he began to measure his life by these
words. And he thought to himself:--
"Is my house built on the rock, or on the sand? 'Tis well if on the
rock. It is so easy when you are alone by yourself; it seems as if you
had done everything as God commands; but when you forget yourself, you
sin again. Yet I shall still struggle on. It is very good. Help me,
Lord!"
Thus ran his thoughts; he wanted to go to bed, but he felt loath to tear
himself away from the book. And he began to read farther in the seventh
chapter. He read about the centurion, he read about the widow's son, he
read about the answer given to John's disciples, and finally he came to
that place where the rich Pharisee desired the Lord to sit at meat with
him; and he read how the woman that was a sinner anointed His feet, and
washed them with her tears, and how He forgave her. He reached the
forty-fourth verse, and began to read:--
"_And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this
woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet:
but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of
her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came
in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not
anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment._"
He finished reading these verses, and thought to himself:--
"_Thou gavest me no water for my feet, thou gavest me no kiss. My head
with oil thou didst not anoint._"
And again Avdyeitch took off his spectacles, put them down on the book,
and again he became lost in thought.
"It seems that Pharisee must have been such a man as I am. I, too,
apparently have thought only of myself,--how I might have my tea, be
warm and comfortable, but never to think about my guest. He thought
about himself, but there was not the least care taken of the guest. And
who was his guest? The Lord Himself. If He had come to me, should I have
done the same way?"
Avdyeitch rested his head upon both his arms, and did not notice that he
fell asleep.
"Martuin!" suddenly seemed to sound in his ears.
Martuin started from his sleep:--
"Who is here?"
He turned around, glanced toward the door--no one.
Again he fell into a doze. Suddenly, he plainly heard:--
"Martuin! Ah, Martuin! look to-morrow on the street. I am coming."
Martuin awoke, rose from the chair, began to rub his eyes. He himself
could not tell whether he heard those words in his dream, or in reality.
He turned down his lamp, and went to bed.
At daybreak next morning, Avdyeitch rose, made his prayer to God,
lighted the stove, put on the shchi(3) and the kasha,(4) put the water
in the samovar, put on his apron, and sat down by the window to work.
(3) Cabbage-soup.
(4) Gruel.
And while he was working, he kept thinking about all that had happened
the day before. It seemed to him at one moment that it was a dream, and
now he had really heard a voice.
"Well," he said to himself, "such things have been."
Martuin was sitting by the window, and looking out more than he was
working. When anyone passed by in boots which he did not know, he would
bend down, look out of the window, in order to see, not only the feet,
but also the face.
The dvornik(5) passed by in new felt boots,(6) the water-carrier passed
by; then there came up to the window an old soldier of Nicholas's time,
in an old pair of laced felt boots, with a shovel in his hands.
Avdyeitch recognized him by his felt boots. The old man's name was
Stepanuitch; and a neighboring merchant, out of charity, gave him a home
with him. He was required to assist the dvornik. Stepanuitch began to
shovel away the snow from in front of Avdyeitch's window. Avdyeitch
glanced at him, and took up his work again.
(5) House-porter.
(6) _Valenki._
"Pshaw! I must be getting crazy in my old age," said Avdyeitch, and
laughed at himself. "Stepanuitch is clearing away the snow, and I
imagine that Christ is coming to see me. I was entirely out of my mind,
old dotard that I am!"
Avdyeitch sewed about a dozen stitches, and then felt impelled to look
through the window again. He looked out again through the window, and
saw that Stepanuitch had leaned his shovel against the wall, and was
warming himself, and resting. He was an old, broken-down man; evidently
he had not strength enough even to shovel the snow. Avdyeitch said to
himself:--
"I will give him some tea; by the way, the samovar has only just gone
out." Avdyeitch laid down his awl, rose from his seat, put the samovar
on the table, poured out the tea, and tapped with his finger at the
glass. Stepanuitch turned around, and came to the window. Avdyeitch
beckoned to him, and went to open the door.
"Come in, warm yourself a little," he said. "You must be cold."
"May Christ reward you for this! my bones ache," said Stepanuitch.
Stepanuitch came in, and shook off the snow, tried to wipe his feet, so
as not to soil the floor, but staggered.
"Don't trouble to wipe your feet. I will clean it up myself; we are used
to such things. Come in and sit down," said Avdyeitch. "Here, drink a
cup of tea."
And Avdyeitch lifted two glasses, and handed one to his guest; while he
himself poured his tea into a saucer, and began to blow it.
Stepanuitch finished drinking his glass of tea, turned the glass upside
down,(7) put the half-eaten lump of sugar on it, and began to express
his thanks. But it was evident he wanted some more.
(7) To signify he was satisfied; a custom among the Russians.--Ed.
"Have some more," said Avdyeitch, filling both his own glass and his
guest's. Avdyeitch drank his tea, but from time to time glanced out into
the street.
"Are you expecting anyone?" asked his guest.
"Am I expecting anyone? I am ashamed even to tell whom I expect. I am,
and I am not, expecting someone; but one word has kindled a fire in my
heart. Whether it is a dream, or something else, I do not know. Don't
you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel about Christ the
Batyushka; how He suffered, how He walked on the earth. I suppose you
have heard about it?"
"Indeed I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in darkness, we
can't read."
"Well, now, I was reading about that very thing,--how He walked on the
earth; I read, you know, how He came to the Pharisee, and the Pharisee
did not treat Him hospitably. Well, and so, my brother, I was reading
yesterday, about this very thing, and was thinking to myself how he did
not receive Christ, the Batyushka, with honor. Suppose, for example, He
should come to me, or anyone else, I said to myself, I should not even
know how to receive Him. And he gave Him no reception at all. Well!
while I was thus thinking, I fell asleep, brother, and I heard someone
call me by name. I got up; the voice, just as if someone whispered,
said, 'Be on the watch; I shall come to-morrow.' And this happened
twice. Well! would you believe it, it got into my head? I scolded
myself--and yet I am expecting Him, the Batyushka."
Stepanuitch shook his head, and said nothing; he finished drinking his
glass of tea, and put it on the side; but Avdyeitch picked up the glass
again, and filled it once more.
"Drink some more for your good health. You see, I have an idea that,
when the Batyushka went about on this earth, He disdained no one, and
had more to do with the simple people. He always went to see the simple
people. He picked out His disciples more from among folk like such
sinners as we are, from the working class. Said He, whoever exalts
himself, shall be humbled, and he who is humbled shall become exalted.
Said He, you call me Lord, and, said He, I wash your feet. Whoever
wishes, said He, to be the first, the same shall be a servant to all.
Because, said He, blessed are the poor, the humble, the kind, the
generous."
And Stepanuitch forgot about his tea; he was an old man, and easily
moved to tears. He was listening, and the tears rolled down his face.
"Come, now, have some more tea," said Avdyeitch; but Stepanuitch made
the sign of the cross, thanked him, turned down his glass, and arose.
"Thanks to you," he says, "Martuin Avdyeitch, for treating me kindly,
and satisfying me, soul and body."
"You are welcome; come in again; always glad to see a friend," said
Avdyeitch.
Stepanuitch departed; and Martuin poured out the rest of the tea, drank
it up, put away the dishes, and sat down again by the window to work, to
stitch on a patch. He kept stitching away, and at the same time looking
through the window. He was expecting Christ, and was all the while
thinking of Him and His deeds, and his head was filled with the
different speeches of Christ.
Two soldiers passed by: one wore boots furnished by the crown, and the
other one, boots that he had made; then the master(8) of the next house
passed by in shining galoshes; then a baker with a basket passed by. All
passed by; and now there came also by the window a woman in woolen
stockings and rustic bashmaks on her feet. She passed by the window, and
stood still near the window-case.
(8) _Khozyain._
Avdyeitch looked up at her from the window, and saw it was a stranger, a
woman poorly clad, and with a child; she was standing by the wall with
her back to the wind, trying to wrap up the child, and she had nothing
to wrap it up in. The woman was dressed in shabby summer clothes; and
from behind the frame, Avdyeitch could hear the child crying, and the
woman trying to pacify it; but she was not able to pacify it.
Avdyeitch got up, went to the door, ascended the steps, and cried:--
"My good woman. Hey! my good woman!"(9)
(9) _Umnitsa aumnitsa!_ literally, clever one.
The woman heard him and turned around.
"Why are you standing in the cold with the child? Come into my room,
where it is warm; you can manage it better. Here, this way!"
The woman was astonished. She saw an old, old man in an apron, with
spectacles on his nose, calling her to him. She followed him. They
descended the steps and entered the room; the old man led the woman to
his bed.
"There," says he, "sit down, my good woman, nearer to the stove; you can
get warm, and nurse the little one."
"I have no milk for him. I myself have not eaten anything since
morning," said the woman; but, nevertheless, she took the baby to her
breast.
Avdyeitch shook his head, went to the table, brought out the bread and a
dish, opened the oven door, poured into the dish some cabbage soup, took
out the pot with the gruel, but it was not cooked as yet; so he filled
the dish with shchi only, and put it on the table. He got the bread,
took the towel down from the hook, and spread it upon the table.
"Sit down," he says, "and eat, my good woman; and I will mind the little
one. You see, I once had children of my own; I know how to handle them."
The woman crossed herself, sat down at the table, and began to eat;
while Avdyeitch took a seat on the bed near the infant. Avdyeitch kept
smacking and smacking to it with his lips; but it was a poor kind of
smacking, for he had no teeth. The little one kept on crying. And it
occured to Avdyeitch to threaten the little one with his finger; he
waved, waved his finger right before the child's mouth, and hastily
withdrew it. He did not put it to its mouth, because his finger was
black, and soiled with wax. And the little one looked at his finger, and
became quiet; then it began to smile, and Avdyeitch also was glad. While
the woman was eating, she told who she was, and whither she was going.
Said she:--
"I am a soldier's wife. It is now seven months since they sent my
husband away off, and no tidings. I lived out as cook; the baby was
born; no one cared to keep me with a child. This is the third month that
I have been struggling along without a place. I ate up all I had. I
wanted to engage as a wet-nurse--no one would take me--I am too thin,
they say. I have just been to the | 861.044213 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.1202620 | 910 | 16 |
Produced by Paul Haxo from page images graciously made
available by the Internet Archive and the University of
California.
SINGLE LIFE;
A COMEDY,
In Three Acts,
BY
JOHN BALDWIN BUCKSTONE, ESQ.,
(MEMBER OF THE DRAMATIC AUTHORS' SOCIETY,)
AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, HAY-MARKET.
CORRECTLY PRINTED FROM THE PROMPTER'S COPY, WITH THE
CAST OF CHARACTERS, COSTUME, SCENIC ARRANGEMENT,
SIDES OF ENTRANCE AND EXIT, AND RELATIVE
POSITIONS OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
SPLENDIDLY ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ETCHING,
BY PIERCE EGAN, THE YOUNGER, FROM A DRAWING TAKEN
DURING THE REPRESENTATION.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND.
"NASSAU STEAM PRESS,"
W. S. JOHNSON, 6, NASSAU STREET, SOHO.
Dramatis Personae and Costume.
_First produced, Tuesday, July 23rd, 1839._
BACHELORS.
MR. JOHN NIGGLE _(A fluctuating bachelor.)_ }
Light drab coat, white waistcoat, nankeen } MR. WEBSTER.
pantaloons, white stockings, shoes, white wig }
tied in a tail, white hat }
MR. DAVID DAMPER _(A woman-hating bachelor.)_ }
Brown coat with black horn buttons, old }
fashioned dark figured silk waistcoat, black } MR. STRICKLAND.
pantaloons, hessian boots, iron-grey wig, }
broad-brimmed hat }
MR. PETER PINKEY _(A bashful bachelor.)_ }
Lavender coloured coat, white waistcoat, }
white trowsers, pink socks, pumps, pink silk } MR. BUCKSTONE.
neckerchief, pink gloves, pink watch ribbon, }
low crowned hat and cane, flaxen fashionably }
dressed wig }
MR. NARCISSUS BOSS _(A self-loving }
bachelor.)_ Fashionable chocolate-coloured }
Newmarket coat with roses in the buttonhole, }
elegantly flowered waistcoat, light drab } MR. W. LACY.
French trowsers with boots, light blue cravat }
exquisitely tied, frilled shirt, hat, and }
wristbands a la D'Orsay, and the hair dressed }
in the first style of elegance }
MR. CHARLES CHESTER _(A mysterious }
bachelor.)_ Dark frock coat, silk waistcoat, } MR. HEMMING.
light trowsers, French gaiters and shoes, }
round hat }
SPINSTERS.
MISS CAROLINE COY _(A vilified spinster.)_ }
Grey silk dress, laced shawl and white } MRS. W. CLIFFORD.
ribbons, white satin bonnet, flowers, long }
yellow gloves, white reticule }
MISS MARIA MACAW _(A man-hating spinster.)_ }
Green silk open dress, white petticoat, }
figured satin large apron, lace handkerchief, } MRS. GLOVER.
close lace cap and white ribbons, fan, and }
black rimmed spectacles }
MISS KITTY SKYLARK _(A singing spinster.)_ }
White muslin pelisse over blue, chip hat and } MRS. FITZWILLIAM.
flowers. _(2nd dress.)_ Pink satin and blond }
flounces }
MISS SARAH SNARE _(An insinuating }
spinster.)_, _1st dress._ White muslin }
petticoat, black velvet spencer, pink satin } MRS. DANSON.
high-crowned bonnet and green feathers. _(2nd }
dress.)_ Green satin and pink ribbons, black }
wig dressed in high French bows }
MISS JESSY MEADOWS _(A romantic spinster.)_ }
White muslin dress mittens. _(2nd dress in | 861.140302 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.1212880 | 1,968 | 10 |
Produced by Tony Browne, Geetu Melwani, Greg Weeks, L.
Lynn Smith and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
pg-i
SYMBOLIC LOGIC
By Lewis Carroll
pg-ii
pg-iii
pg-iv
A Syllogism worked out.
That story of yours, about your once meeting the sea-serpent, always
sets me off yawning;
I never yawn, unless when I'm listening to something totally devoid of
interest.
The Premisses, separately.
.---------------. .---------------.
|( ) | ( )| | | |
| .---|---. | | .---|---. |
| | (#) | | | | |( )| |
|---|---|---|---| |---|---|---|---|
| | | | | | | |( )| |
| .---|---. | | .---|---. |
| | | | | |
.---------------. .---------------.
The Premisses, combined.
.---------------.
|( ) | ( )|
| .---|---. |
| |(#)|( )| |
|---|---|---|---|
| | |( )| |
| .---|---. |
| | |
.---------------.
The Conclusion.
.-------.
|(#)|( )|
|---|---|
| | |
.-------.
That story of yours, about your once meeting the sea-serpent, is totally
devoid of interest.
pg-v
SYMBOLIC LOGIC
_PART I_
ELEMENTARY
BY
LEWIS CARROLL
SECOND THOUSAND
FOURTH EDITION
_PRICE TWO SHILLINGS_
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1897
_All rights reserved_
pg-vi
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY
pg-vii
ADVERTISEMENT.
An envelope, containing two blank Diagrams (Biliteral and Triliteral)
and 9 counters (4 Red and 5 Grey), may be had, from Messrs. Macmillan,
for 3_d._, by post 4_d._
* * * * *
I shall be grateful to any Reader of this book who will point out any
mistakes or misprints he may happen to notice in it, or any passage
which he thinks is not clearly expressed.
* * * * *
I have a quantity of MS. in hand for Parts II and III, and hope to be
able----should life, and health, and opportunity, be granted to me, to
publish them in the course of the next few years. Their contents will be
as follows:--
_PART II. ADVANCED._
Further investigations in the subjects of Part I. Propositions of other
forms (such as "Not-all x are y"). Triliteral and Multiliteral
Propositions (such as "All abc are de"). Hypotheticals. Dilemmas. &c.
&c.
_Part III. TRANSCENDENTAL._
Analysis of a Proposition into its Elements. Numerical and Geometrical
Problems. The Theory of Inference. The Construction of Problems. And
many other _Curiosa Logica_.
pg-viii
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
The chief alterations, since the First Edition, have been made in the
Chapter on 'Classification' (pp. 2, 3) and the Book on 'Propositions'
(pp. 10 to 19). The chief additions have been the questions on words and
phrases, added to the Examination-Papers at p. 94, and the Notes
inserted at pp. 164, 194.
In Book I, Chapter II, I have adopted a new definition of
'Classification', which enables me to regard the whole Universe as a
'Class,' and thus to dispense with the very awkward phrase 'a Set of
Things.'
In the Chapter on 'Propositions of Existence' I have adopted a new
'normal form,' in which the Class, whose existence is affirmed or
denied, is regarded as the _Predicate_, instead of the _Subject_, of the
Proposition, thus evading a very subtle difficulty which besets the
other form. These subtle difficulties seem to lie at the root of every
Tree of Knowledge, and they are _far_ more hopeless to grapple with than
any that occur in its higher branches. For example, the difficulties of
the Forty-Seventh Proposition of Euclid are mere child's play compared
with the mental torture endured in the effort to think out the essential
nature of a straight Line. And, in the present work, the difficulties of
the "5 Liars" Problem, at p. 192, are "trifles, light as air," compared
with the bewildering question "What is a Thing?"
In the Chapter on 'Propositions of Relation' I have inserted a new
Section, containing the proof that a Proposition, beginning with "All,"
is a _Double_ Proposition (a fact that is quite independent of the
arbitrary rule, laid down in the next Section, that such a Proposition
is to be understood as implying the actual _existence_ of its Subject).
This proof was given, in the earlier editions, incidentally, in the
course of the discussion of the Biliteral Diagram: but its _proper_
place, in this treatise, is where I have now introduced it.
pg-ix
In the Sorites-Examples, I have made a good many verbal alterations, in
order to evade a difficulty, which I fear will have perplexed some of
the Readers of the first three Editions. Some of the Premisses were so
worded that their Terms were not Specieses of the Univ. named in the
Dictionary, but of a larger Class, of which the Univ. was only a
portion. In all such cases, it was intended that the Reader should
perceive that what was asserted of the larger Class was thereby asserted
of the Univ., and should ignore, as superfluous, all that it asserted of
its _other_ portion. Thus, in Ex. 15, the Univ. was stated to be "ducks
in this village," and the third Premiss was "Mrs. Bond has no gray
ducks," i.e. "No gray ducks are ducks belonging to Mrs. Bond." Here the
Terms are _not_ Specieses of the Univ., but of the larger Class "ducks,"
of which the Univ. is only a portion: and it was intended that the
Reader should perceive that what is here asserted of "ducks" is thereby
asserted of "ducks in this village." and should treat this Premiss as if
it were "Mrs. Bond has no gray ducks in this village," and should
ignore, as superfluous, what it asserts as to the _other_ portion of the
Class "ducks," viz. "Mrs. Bond has no gray ducks _out of_ this village".
In the Appendix I have given a new version of the Problem of the "Five
Liars." My object, in doing so, is to escape the subtle and mysterious
difficulties which beset all attempts at regarding a Proposition as
being its own Subject, or a Set of Propositions as being Subjects for
one another. It is certainly, a most bewildering and unsatisfactory
theory: one cannot help feeling that there is a great lack of
_substance_ in all this shadowy host----that, as the procession of
phantoms glides before us, there is not _one_ that we can pounce upon,
and say "_Here_ is a Proposition that _must_ be either true or
false!"----that it is but a Barmecide Feast, to which we have been
bidden----and that its prototype is to be found in that mythical island,
whose inhabitants "earned a precarious living by taking in each others'
washing"! By simply translating "telling 2 Truths" into "taking _both_
of 2 condiments (salt and mustard)," "telling 2 Lies" into "taking
_neither_ of them" and "telling a Truth and a Lie (order not specified)"
into "taking only _one_ condiment (it is not specified _which_)," I have
escaped all those metaphysical puzzles, and have produced a Problem
which, when translated into a Set of symbolized Premisses, furnishes the
very same _Data_ as were furnished by the Problem of the "Five Liars."
pg-x
The coined words, introduced in previous editions, such as "Eliminands"
and "Retinends", perhaps hardly need | 861.141328 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Paul Mitchell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Transcriber's Note. In the section SAND WHEEL--PLATE 21, third
paragraph, the word "on" was added as the most likely word to correct
a typographical omission and "drawn" changed to "draw". Otherwise only a
very few minor typographical errors have been corrected.
[Illustration: TESTING THE KITE-STRING SAILBOAT]
MANUAL TRAINING TOYS
_for_ THE BOY'S WORKSHOP
_By_ HARRIS W. MOORE
SUPERVISOR OF MANUAL TRAINING
WATERTOWN, MASSACHUSETTS
[Illustration]
THE MANUAL ARTS PRESS
PEORIA, ILLINOIS
DEDICATED
TO THE BOY WHO LIKES
TO TINKER 'ROUND
Copyright, 1912
HARRIS W. MOORE
CONTENTS.
Frontispiece Testing the Kite-string Sailboat
Introduction-- PAGE.
Bench, Marking Tools 7
Saws 8
Planes, Bits, Nails 9
Screws, Glue 10
Sandpaper, Dowels, Drills, Sharpening 11
Holding Work 12
Directions for Planing 13
Dart 16
Spool Dart 18
Dart for Whip-Bow 19
Buzzer 20
Flying Top (Plate 3) 22
Flying Top (Plate 4) 24
Top 26
Tom-Tom Drum 28
Pop-gun 30
Whistle 32
Arrow 33
Bow 34
Sword 36
Magic Box 38
Pencil-Box 41
Telephone 42
Happy Jack Windmill 44
Gloucester "Happy Jack" Windmill 46
Paddling Indian Windmill 48
Kite 50
Tailless Kite 53
Box Kite 54
Kite-String Sailboat 56
The Hygroscope or Weather Cottage 59
Electrophorus 62
Waterwheel 64
Water Motor 67
Sand Wheel 70
Running Wheel 73
Rattle 76
Cart 78
Cannon 81
Automobile 84
Bow Pistol 86
Elastic Gun 88
Rattle-Bang Gun 92
Boat 95
Pile-Driver 98
Windmill 100
Kite-String Reel 103
String Machine 106
Windmill Force-Pump 108
INTRODUCTION.
The wise man learns from the experience of others. That is the reason
for this introduction--to tell the boy who wants to make the toys
described in this book some of the "tricks of the trade." It is
supposed, however, that he has had some instruction in the use of tools.
This book is written after long experience in teaching boys, and because
of that experience, the author desires to urge upon his younger readers
two bits of advice: First, study the drawing carefully,--every line has
a meaning; second, printed directions become clearer by actually taking
the tool in hand and beginning to do the work described.
BENCH.
If he buys the vise-screw, an ambitious boy can make a bench that will
answer his needs, provided, also, that he can fasten it to floor or
wall. It should be rigid. A beginner will find a hard wood board,
10"x2"x1/4", fastened to the forward end of the bench, a more convenient
stop than the ordinary bench-dog. If he has a nicely finished bench, he
should learn to work without injuring the bench. A _cutting board_
should always be at hand to chisel and pound upon and to save the
bench-top from all ill use. The _bench-hook_ should have one side for
sawing and one for planing, the former having a block shorter than the
width of the board so that the teeth of the saw, when they come thru the
work, will strike the bench-hook rather than the bench-top.
MARKING TOOLS.
To measure accurately, hold the _ruler_ on its edge so that the
divisions on the scale come close to the thing measured. Let the pencil
or knife point make a dash on the thing measured which would exactly
continue the division line on the ruler. If it can be avoided, never use
the end of the ruler; learn to measure from some figure on the ruler.
The spur of the _gage_ should be filed like a knife point. It seldom
stands at zero of the scale, hence, when setting the gage for accurate
work, measure from the block to the spur with a ruler. The gage is a
rather difficult tool for a boy to use but it will pay to master it. It
may be used wherever square edges are to be made, but chamfers and
bevels should be marked with a pencil.
In laying out work, the beam (the thick part) of the _trysquare_ should
always be kept on either the working-face or the working-edge. (See page
13, Directions for Planing.) Let the blade rest flat on any surface.
Hold the trysquare snugly to the work with the fingers and thumb acting
much like a bird's claw.
For accurate work (e. g. joints), lines should be drawn (scored) with
the sharp point of a small _knife_ blade, held nearly straight up from
the edge of the trysquare blade.
Circles are located by two lines crossing at the center.
SAWS.
The teeth of a _rip-saw_ are like so many little chisels set in a row;
they pare the wood away. The teeth of a _crosscut-saw_ are like knife
points, they score two lines, and the wood breaks off between them.
Large sawing should be done on a saw-horse so that the worker is over
his work. If it is necessary to hold work in the vise to rip it, hold it
slanting, so that the handle of the saw leads the line, as it naturally
does when the work is on a saw-horse.
The _back-saw_, tho a crosscut-saw, may be used in any direction of the
grain.
Any saw should be in motion when it touches the wood it is to cut. To
guide it to the right place, a workman lets his thumb touch the saw just
above the teeth, the hand resting firmly on the wood. A little notch,
cut in the edge right to the line where the saw is to cut, will help a
beginner to start accurately. Saws are rapid tools, and it pays to go
slowly enough with them to do accurate work. Plan the work so as to make
as few cuts as possible.
_Turning-saws_ are best used so that the cutting is done on the pull
stroke, keeping the two hands near together. When one handle is turned,
the other must be turned equally.
PLANES.
Generally being in a hurry to get work done, boys are apt to take big
shavings with a plane. This results in rough work. Fine shavings are
better. If the plane is allowed to rest level on the work, it will find
the high places without continual adjusting. The first two inches of a
stroke are the hardest to plane; to plane these, press harder on the
forward end of the plane. Start the plane level. Usually it is best to
keep the plane straight, or nearly so, in the direction of the push.
The _block-plane_ is properly used to plane the end of wood. (See page
12 on Holding Work.) On other small surfaces, however, it is often more
convenient than a large plane.
BITS.
_Auger-bits_ are numbered by the number of sixteenths in the diameter of
the hole they bore, e. g. No. 4 bores a 4/16" hole. _Gimlet-bits_ are
numbered by thirty-seconds.
Whenever boring with an auger-bit, stop as soon as the spur pricks thru
the other side, turn the work over, start the spur in the little hole it
made, and finish boring. It will always split the wood, if the bit is
allowed to go way thru. It is difficult to bore a hole straight thru a
piece of wood, because to tell whether the bit is held straight when
starting the hole, one must look at it from two directions. If someone
else can stand a quarter circle away from the worker and watch the bit,
that is the best help; otherwise, the worker himself must hold the brace
steady while he walks around a quarter circle and judges whether the bit
is straight. Care should be taken to hold the work level in the vise.
NAILS.
The words, "nail," "brad," and "nailing" are used somewhat
interchangeably in this book; "nailing" may mean driving a brad. Brads
have smaller, thicker heads, nails have larger, flat | 861.179004 |
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Produced by Fritz Ohrenschall, Emmanuel Ackerman 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)
THE SECRETS OF THE SELF
(ASRÁR-I KHUDÍ)
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MADRAS
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE
SECRETS OF THE SELF
(ASRÁR-I KHUDÍ)
A PHILOSOPHICAL POEM
BY
SHEIKH MUHAMMAD IQBAL
OF LAHORE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL PERSIAN
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY
REYNOLD A. NICHOLSON, LITT.D., LL.D.
LECTURER ON PERSIAN IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1920
COPYRIGHT
CONTENTS
PAGE
Contents v
Introduction vii
Prologue 1
I. Showing that the system of the universe
originates in the Self, and that the continuation
of the life of all individuals
depends on strengthening the Self 16
II. Showing that the life of the Self comes
from forming desires and bringing them
to birth 23
III. Showing that the Self is strengthened by
Love 28
IV. Showing that the Self is weakened by asking 38
V. Showing that when the Self is strengthened
by Love it gains dominion over the outward
and inward forces of the universe 43
VI. A tale of which the moral is that negation
of the Self is a doctrine invented by the
subject races of mankind in order that by
this means they may sap and weaken the
character of their rulers 48
VII. To the effect that Plato, whose thought
has deeply influenced the mysticism and
literature of Islam, followed the sheep’s
doctrine, and that we must be on our
guard against his theories 56
VIII. Concerning the true nature of poetry and
the reform of Islamic literature 60
IX. Showing that the education of the Self has
three stages: Obedience, Self-control,
and Divine Vicegerency 72
X. Setting forth the inner meanings of the
names of Ali 85
XI. Story of a young man of Merv who came
to the saint Ali Hujwírí--God have
mercy on him!--and complained that he
was oppressed by his enemies 95
XII. Story of the bird that was faint with thirst 100
XIII. Story of the diamond and the coal 104
XIV. Story of the Sheikh and the Brahmin,
followed by a conversation between
Ganges and Himalaya to the effect that
the continuation of social life depends
on firm attachment to the characteristic
traditions of the community 108
XV. Showing that the purpose of the Moslem’s
life is to exalt the Word of Allah, and
that the _Jihád_ (war against unbelievers),
if it be prompted by land-hunger, is unlawful
in the religion of Islam 116
XVI. Precepts written for the Moslems of India
by Mír Naját Nakshband, who is generally
known as Bábá Sahrá´í 122
XVII. Time is a sword 134
XVIII. An invocation 141
Transcriber’s Note
INTRODUCTION
The _Asrár-i Khudí_ was first published at Lahore in 1915. I read it
soon afterwards and thought so highly of it that I wrote to Iqbal,
whom I had the pleasure of meeting at Cambridge some fifteen years
ago, asking leave to prepare an English translation. My proposal was
cordially accepted, but in the meantime I found other work to do,
which caused the translation to be laid aside until last year. Before
submitting it to the reader, a few remarks are necessary concerning the
poem and its author.[1]
Iqbal is an Indian Moslem. During his stay in the West he studied
modern philosophy, in which subject he holds degrees from the
Universities of Cambridge and Munich. His dissertation on the
development of metaphysics in Persia--an illuminating sketch--appeared
as a book in 1908. Since then he has developed a philosophy of his
own, on which I am able to give some extremely interesting notes
communicated by himself. Of this, however, the _Asrár-i Khudí_ gives
no systematic account, though it puts his ideas in a popular and
attractive form. While the Hindu philosophers, in explaining the
doctrine of the unity of being, addressed themselves to the head,
Iqbal, like the Persian poets who teach the same doctrine, takes a
more dangerous course and aims at the heart. He is no mean poet, and
his verse can rouse or persuade even if his logic fail to convince.
His message is not for the Mohammedans of India alone, but for Moslems
everywhere: accordingly he writes in Persian instead of Hindustani--a
happy choice, for amongst educated Moslems there are many familiar
with Persian literature, while the Persian language is singularly well
adapted to express philosophical ideas in a style at once elevated and
charming.
Iqbal comes forward as an apostle, if not to his own age, then to
posterity--
“I have no need of the ear of To-day,
I am the voice of the poet of To-morrow”--
and after Persian fashion he invokes the Saki to fill his cup with wine
and pour moonbeams into the dark night of his thought,
“That I may lead home the wanderer,
And imbue the idle looker-on with restless impatience,
And advance hotly on a new quest,
And become known as the champion of a new spirit.”
Let us begin at the end. What is the far-off goal on which his eyes are
fixed? The answer to that question will discover his true character,
and we shall be less likely to stumble on the way if we see whither we
are going. Iqbal has drunk deep of European literature, his philosophy
owes much to Nietzsche and Bergson, and his poetry often reminds us of
Shelley; yet he thinks and feels as a Moslem, and just for this reason
his influence may be great. He is a religious enthusiast, inspired by
the vision of a New Mecca, a world-wide, theocratic, Utopian state
in which all Moslems, no longer divided by the barriers of race and
country, shall be one. He will have nothing to do with nationalism
and imperialism. These, he says, “rob us of Paradise”: they make us
strangers to each other, destroy feelings of brotherhood, and sow the
bitter seed of war. He dreams of a world ruled by religion, not by
politics, and condemns Machiavelli, that “worshipper of false gods,”
who has blinded so many. It must be observed that when he speaks of
religion he always means Islam. Non-Moslems are simply unbelievers,
and (in theory, at any rate) the _Jihád_ is justifiable, provided that
it is waged “for God’s sake alone.” A free and independent Moslem
fraternity, having the Ka´ba as its centre and knit together by love
of Allah and devotion to the Prophet--such is Iqbal’s ideal. In the
_Asrár-i Khudí_ and the _Rumúz-i Békhudí_ he preaches it with a burning
sincerity which we cannot but admire, and at the same time points out
how it may be attained. The former poem deals with the life of the
individual Moslem, the latter with the life of the Islamic community.
The cry “Back to the Koran! Back to Mohammed!” has been heard before,
and the responses have hitherto been somewhat discouraging. But on
this occasion it is allied with the revolutionary force of Western
philosophy, which Iqbal hopes and believes will vitalise the movement
and ensure its triumph. He sees that Hindu intellectualism and Islamic
pantheism have destroyed the capacity for action, based on scientific
observation and interpretation of phenomena, which distinguishes the
Western peoples “and especially the English.” Now, this capacity
depends ultimately on the conviction that _khudí_ (selfhood,
individuality, personality) is real and is not merely an illusion of
the mind. Iqbal, therefore, throws himself with all his might against
idealistic philosophers and pseudo-mystical poets, the authors, in his
opinion, of the decay prevailing in Islam, and argues that only by
self-affirmation, self-expression, and self-development can the Moslems
once more become strong and free. He appeals from the alluring raptures
of Hafiz to the moral fervour of Jalálu´ddín Rúmí, from an Islam sunk
in Platonic contemplation to the fresh and vigorous monotheism which
inspired Mohammed and brought Islam into existence.[2] Here, perhaps,
I should guard against a possible misunderstanding. Iqbal’s philosophy
is religious, but he does not treat philosophy as the handmaid
of religion. Holding that the full development of the individual
presupposes a society, he finds the ideal society in what he considers
to be the Prophet’s conception of Islam. Every Moslem, in striving to
make himself a more perfect individual, is helping to establish the
Islamic kingdom of God upon earth.[3]
The _Asrár-i Khudí_ is composed in the metre and modelled on the
style of the famous _Masnaví_. In the prologue Iqbal relates how
Jalálu´ddín Rúmí, who is to him almost what Virgil was to Dante,
appeared in a vision and bade him arise and sing. Much as he dislikes
the type of Súfism exhibited by Hafiz, he pays homage to the pure
and profound genius of Jalálu´ddín, though he rejects the doctrine
of self-abandonment taught by the great Persian mystic and does not
accompany him in his pantheistic flights.
To European readers the _Asrár-i Khudí_ presents certain obscurities
which no translation can entirely remove. These lie partly in the
form and would not be felt, as a rule, by any one conversant with
Persian poetry. Often, however, the ideas themselves, being associated
with peculiarly Oriental ways of thinking, are hard for our minds
to follow. I am not sure that I have always grasped the meaning or
rendered it correctly; but I hope that such errors are few, thanks to
the assistance so kindly given me by my friend Muhammad Shafi, now
Professor of Arabic at Lahore, with whom I read the poem and discussed
many points of difficulty. Other questions of a more fundamental
character have been solved for me by the author himself. At my request
he drew up a statement of his philosophical views on the problems
touched and suggested in the book. I will give it in his own words as
nearly as possible, it is not, of course, a complete statement, and was
written, as he says, “in a great hurry,” but apart from its power and
originality it elucidates the poetical argument far better than any
explanation that could have been offered by me.
“1. THE PHILOSOPHICAL BASIS OF THE _ASRÁR-I KHUDÍ_
“‘That experience should take place in finite centres and should wear
the form of finite this-ness is in the end inexplicable.’ These are the
words of Prof. Bradley. But starting with these inexplicable centres
of experience, he ends in a unity which he calls Absolute and in which
the finite centres lose their finiteness and distinctness. According to
him, therefore, the finite centre is only an appearance. The test of
reality, in his opinion, is all-inclusiveness; and since all finiteness
is ‘infected with relativity,’ it follows that the latter is a mere
illusion. To my mind, this inexplicable finite centre of experience is
the fundamental fact of the universe. All life is individual; there is
no such thing as universal life. God himself is an individual: He is
the most unique individual.[4] The universe, as Dr. McTaggart says, is
an association of individuals; but we must add that the orderliness
and adjustment which we find in this association is not eternally
achieved and complete in itself. It is the result of instinctive or
conscious effort. We are gradually travelling from chaos to cosmos and
are helpers in this achievement. Nor are the members of the association
fixed; new members are ever coming to birth to co-operate in the great
task. Thus the universe is not a completed act: it is still in the
course of formation. There can be no complete truth about the universe,
for the universe has not yet become ‘whole.’ The process of creation
is still going on, and man too takes his share in it, inasmuch as he
helps to bring order into at least a portion of the chaos. The Koran
indicates the possibility of other creators than God.[5]
“Obviously, this view of man and the universe is opposed to that of
the English Neo-Hegelians as well as to all forms of pantheistic
Súfism which regard absorption in a universal life or soul as the
final aim and salvation of man.[6] The moral and religious ideal of
man is not self-negation but self-affirmation, and he attains to this
ideal by becoming more and more individual, more and more unique. The
Prophet said, ‘_Takhallaqú bi-akhláq Allah_,’ ‘Create in yourselves
the attributes of God.’ Thus man becomes unique by becoming more
and more like the most unique Individual. What then is life? It is
individual: its highest form, so far, is the Ego (_Khudí_) in which the
individual becomes a self-contained exclusive centre. Physically as
well as spiritually man is a self-contained centre, but he is not yet
a complete individual. The greater his distance from God, the less his
individuality. He who comes nearest to God is the completest person.
Not that he is finally absorbed in God. On the contrary, he absorbs
God into himself.[7] The true person not only absorbs the world of
matter; by mastering it he absorbs God Himself into his Ego. Life is a
forward assimilative movement. It removes all obstructions in its march
by assimilating them. Its essence is the continual creation of desires
and ideals, and for the purpose of its preservation and expansion it
has invented or developed out of itself certain instruments, _e.g._
senses, intellect, etc., which help it to assimilate obstructions.[8]
The greatest obstacle in the way of life is matter, Nature; yet Nature
is not evil, since it enables the inner powers of life to unfold
themselves.
“The Ego attains to freedom by the removal of all obstructions in
its way. It is partly free, partly determined,[9] and reaches fuller
freedom by approaching the Individual who is most free--God. In one
word, life is an endeavour for freedom.
“2. THE EGO AND CONTINUATION OF PERSONALITY
“In man the centre of life becomes an Ego or Person. Personality is a
state of tension and can continue only if that state is maintained.
If the state of tension is not maintained, relaxation will ensue.
Since personality, or the state of tension, is the most valuable
achievement of man, he should see that he does not revert to a state of
relaxation. That which tends to maintain the state of tension tends to
make us immortal. Thus the idea of personality gives us a standard of
value: it settles the problem of good and evil. That which fortifies
personality is good, that which weakens it is bad. Art,[10] religion,
and ethics[11] must be judged from the standpoint of personality. My
criticism of Plato[12] is directed against those philosophical systems
which hold up death rather than life as their ideal--systems which
ignore the greatest obstruction to life, namely, matter, and teach us
to run away from it instead of absorbing it.
“As in connexion with the question of the freedom of the Ego we have to
face the problem of matter, similarly in connexion with its immortality
we have to face the problem of time.[13] Bergson has taught us that
time is not an infinite line (in the spatial sense of the word ‘line’)
through which we must pass whether we wish it or not. This idea of
time is adulterated. Pure time has no length. Personal immortality is
an aspiration: you can have it if you make an effort to achieve it.
It depends on our adopting in this life modes of thought and activity
which tend to maintain the state of tension. Buddhism, Persian Súfism,
and allied forms of ethics will not serve our purpose. But they are
not wholly useless, because after periods of great activity we need
opiates, narcotics, for some time. These forms of thought and action
are like nights in the days of life. Thus, if our activity is directed
towards the maintenance of a state of tension, the shock of death
is not likely to affect it. After death there may be an interval of
relaxation, as the Koran speaks of a _barzakh_, or intermediate state,
which lasts until the Day of Resurrection.[14] Only those Egos will
survive this state of relaxation who have taken good care during the
present life. Although life abhors repetition in its evolution, yet on
Bergson’s principles the resurrection of the body too, as Wildon Carr
says, is quite possible. By breaking up time into moments we spatialise
it and then find difficulty in getting over it. The true nature of
time is reached when we look into our deeper self.[15] Real time is
life itself, which can preserve itself by maintaining that particular
state of tension (personality) which it has so far achieved. We are
subject to time so long as we look upon time as something spatial.
Spatialised time is a fetter which life has forged for itself in order
to assimilate the present environment. In reality we are timeless, and
it is possible to realise our timelessness even in this life. This
revelation, however, can be momentary only.
“3. THE EDUCATION OF THE EGO
“The Ego is fortified by love (_’ishq_).[16] This word is used in a
very wide sense and means the desire to assimilate, to absorb. Its
highest form is the creation of values and ideals and the endeavour to
realise them. Love individualises the lover as well as the beloved.
The effort to realise the most unique individuality individualises the
seeker and implies the individuality of the sought, for nothing else
would satisfy the nature of the seeker. As love fortifies the Ego,
asking (_su´ál_) weakens it.[17] All that is achieved without personal
effort comes under _su´ál_. The son of a rich man who inherits his
father’s wealth is an ‘asker’ (beggar); so is every one who thinks
the thoughts of others. Thus, in order to fortify the Ego we should
cultivate love, _i.e._ the power of assimilative action, and avoid all
forms of ‘asking,’ _i.e._ inaction. The lesson of assimilative action
is given by the life of the Prophet, at least to a Mohammedan.
“In another part of the poem[18] I have hinted at the general
principles of Moslem ethics and have tried to reveal their meaning in
connexion with the idea of personality. The Ego in its movement towards
uniqueness has to pass through three stages:
(_a_) Obedience to the Law.
(_b_) Self-control, which is the highest form of self-consciousness
or Ego-hood.[19]
(_c_) Divine vicegerency.[20]
“This (divine vicegerency, _niyábat-i iláhí_) is the third and last
stage of human development on earth. The _ná´ib_ (vicegerent) is
the vicegerent of God on earth. He is the completest Ego, the goal
of humanity,[21] the acme of life both in mind and body; in him the
discord of our mental life becomes a harmony. The highest power is
united in him with the highest knowledge. In his life, thought and
action, instinct and reason, become one. He is the last fruit of the
tree of humanity, and all the trials of a painful evolution are
justified because he is to come at the end. He is the real ruler
of mankind; his kingdom is the kingdom of God on earth. Out of the
richness of his nature he lavishes the wealth of life on others, and
brings them nearer and nearer to himself. The more we advance in
evolution, the nearer we get to him. In approaching him we are raising
ourselves in the scale of life. The development of humanity both in
mind and body is a condition precedent to his birth. For the present
he is a mere ideal; but the evolution of humanity is tending towards
the production of an ideal race of more or less unique individuals who
will become his fitting parents. Thus the Kingdom of God on earth means
the democracy of more or less unique individuals, presided over by the
most unique individual possible on this earth. Nietzsche had a glimpse
of this ideal race, but his atheism and aristocratic prejudices marred
his whole conception.”[22]
Every one, I suppose, will acknowledge that the substance of the
_Asrár-i Khudí_ is striking enough to command attention. In the poem,
naturally, this philosophy presents itself under a different aspect.
Its audacity of thought and phrase is less apparent, its logical
brilliancy dissolves in the glow of feeling and imagination, and it
wins the heart before taking possession of the mind. The artistic
quality of the poem is remarkable when we consider that its language
is not the author’s own. I have done my best to preserve as much of
this as a literal prose translation would allow. Many passages of
the original are poetry of the kind that, once read, is not easily
forgotten, _e.g._ the description of the Ideal Man as a deliverer for
whom the world is waiting, and the noble invocation which brings the
book to an end. Like Jalálu´ddín Rúmí, Iqbal is fond of introducing
fables and apologues to relieve the argument and illustrate his meaning
with more force and point than would be possible otherwise.
On its first appearance the _Asrár-i Khudí_ took by storm the younger
generation of Indian Moslems. “Iqbal,” wrote one of them, “has come
amongst us as a Messiah and has stirred the dead with life.” It remains
to be seen in what direction the awakened ones will march. Will they
be satisfied with a glorious but distant vision of the City of God, or
will they adapt the new doctrine to other ends than those which its
author has in view? Notwithstanding that he explicitly denounces the
idea of nationalism, his admirers are already protesting that he does
not mean what he says.
How far the influence of his work may ultimately go I will not attempt
to prophesy. It has been said of him that “he is a man of his age and
a man in advance of his age; he is also a man in disagreement with
his age.” We cannot regard his ideas as typical of any section of his
co-religionists. They involve a radical change in the Moslem mind, and
their real importance is not to be measured by the fact that such a
change is unlikely to occur within a calculable time.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The present translation follows the text of the second edition.
[2] His criticism of Hafiz called forth angry protests from Súfí
circles in which Hafiz is venerated as a master-hierophant. Iqbal made
no recantation, but since the passage had served its purpose and was
offensive to many, he cancelled it in the second edition of the poem.
It is omitted in my translation.
[3] The principles of Islam, regarded as the ideal society, are set
forth in the author’s second poem, the _Rumúz-i Békhudí_ or “Mysteries
of Selflessness.” He explains the title by pointing out that the
individual who loses himself in the community reflects both the past
and the future as in a mirror, so that he transcends mortality and
enters into the life of Islam, which is infinite and everlasting. Among
the topics discussed are the origin of society, the divine guidance of
man through the prophets, the formation of collective life-centres, and
the value of History as a factor in maintaining the sense of personal
identity in a people.
[4] This view was held by the orthodox Imám Ahmad ibn Hanbal in its
extreme (anthropomorphic) form.
[5] Kor. ch. 23, v. 14: “Blessed is God, the best of those who create.”
[6] Cf. his note on “Islam and Mysticism” (_The New Era_, 1916, p. 250).
[7] Here Iqbal adds: “Mauláná Rúmí has very beautifully expressed this
idea. The Prophet, when a little boy, was once lost in the desert. His
nurse Halíma was almost beside herself with grief, but while roaming
the desert in search of the boy she heard a voice saying:
‘Do not grieve, he will not be lost to thee;
Nay, the whole world will be lost in him.’
The true individual cannot be lost in the world; it is the world that
is lost in him. I go a step further and say, prefixing a new half-verse
to a hemistich of Rúmí (Transl. l. 1325):
In his will that which God wills becomes lost:
‘How shall a man believe this saying?’”
[8] Transl. l. 289 foll.
[9] According to the Tradition, “The true Faith is between
predestination and freewill.”
[10] Transl. l. 673 foll. In a note on “Our Prophet’s criticism of
contemporary Arabian poetry” (_The New Era_, 1916, p. 251) Iqbal
writes: “The ultimate end of all human activity is Life--glorious,
powerful, exuberant. All human art must be subordinated to this final
purpose, and the value of everything must be determined in reference to
its life-yielding capacity. The highest art is that which awakens our
dormant will-force and nerves us to face the trials of life manfully.
All that brings drowsiness and makes us shut our eyes to Reality
around, on the mastery of which alone Life depends, is a message of
decay and death. There should be no opium-eating in Art. The dogma of
Art for the sake of Art is a clever invention of decadence to cheat us
out of life and power.”
[11] _Ibid._ l. 537 foll.
[12] _Ibid._ l. 631 foll.
[13] _Ibid._ l. 1531 foll.
[14] Kor. ch. 23, v. 102.
[15] Transl. l. 1549 foll.
[16] _Ibid._ l. 323 foll.
[17] _Ibid._ l. 435 foll.
[18] _Ibid._ l. 815 foll.
[19] _Ibid._ l. 849 foll.
[20] _Ibid._ l. 893 foll.
[21] Man already possesses the germ of vicegerency, as God says in the
Koran (ch. 2, v. 28): “Lo, I will appoint a _khalifa_ (vicegerent) on
the earth.” Cf. Transl. l. 434.
[22] Writing of “Muslim Democracy” in _The New Era_, 1916, p. 251,
Iqbal says: “The Democracy of Europe--overshadowed by socialistic
agitation and anarchical fear--originated mainly in the economic
regeneration of European societies. Nietzsche, however, abhors this
‘rule of the herd’ and, hopeless of the plebeian, he bases all higher
culture on the cultivation and growth of an Aristocracy of Supermen.
But is the plebeian so absolutely hopeless? The Democracy of Islam
did not grow out of the extension of economic opportunity; it is a
spiritual principle based on the assumption that every human being is a
centre of latent power, the possibilities of which can be developed by
cultivating a certain type of character. Out of the plebeian material
Islam has formed men of the noblest type of life and power. Is not,
then, the Democracy of early Islam an experimental refutation of the
ideas of Nietzsche?”
PROLOGUE
When the world-illuming sun rushed upon Night like a brigand,
My weeping bedewed the face of the rose.
My tears washed away sleep from the eye of the narcissus,
My passion wakened the grass and made it grow.
The Gardener taught me to sing with power, 5
He sowed a verse and reaped a sword.
In the soil he planted only the seed of my tears
And wove my lament with the garden, as warp and woof.
Tho’ I am but a mote, the radiant sun is mine:
Within my bosom are a hundred dawns. 10
My dust is brighter than Jamshíd’s cup,[23]
It knows things that are yet unborn in the world.
My thought hunted down and slung from the saddle a deer
That has not yet leaped forth from the covert of
non-existence.
Fair is my garden ere yet the leaves are green: 15
Full-blown roses are hidden in the skirt of my garment.
I struck dumb the musicians where they were gathered
together,
I smote the heartstrings of all that heard me,
Because the lute of my genius hath a rare melody:
Even to comrades my song is strange. 20
I am born in the world as a new sun,
I have not learned the ways and fashions of the sky:
Not yet have the stars fled before my splendour,
Not yet is my quicksilver astir;
Untouched is the sea by my dancing rays, 25
Untouched are the mountains by my crimson hue.
The eye of existence is not familiar with me;
I rise trembling, afraid to show myself.
From the East my dawn arrived and routed Night,
A fresh dew settled on the rose of the world. 30
I am waiting for the votaries that rise at dawn:
Oh, happy they who shall worship my fire!
I have no need of the ear of To-day,
I am the voice of the poet of To-morrow.
My own age does not understand my deep meanings, 35
My Joseph is not for this market.
I despair of my old companions,
My Sinai burns for sake of the Moses who is coming.
Their sea is silent, like dew,
But my dew is storm-ridden, like the ocean. 40
My song is of another world than theirs:
This bell calls other travellers to take the road.
How many a poet after his death
Opened our eyes when his own were closed,
And journeyed forth again from nothingness 45
When roses blossomed o’er the earth of his grave!
Albeit caravans have passed through this desert,
They passed, as a camel steps, with little sound.
But I am a lover: loud crying is my faith:
The clamour of Judgement Day is one of my minions. 50
My song exceeds the range of the chord,
Yet I do not fear that my lute will break.
‘Twere better for the waterdrop not to know my torrent,
Whose fury should rather madden the sea.
No river will contain my Omán:[24] 55
My flood requires whole seas to hold it.
Unless the bud expand into a bed of roses,
It is unworthy of my spring-cloud’s bounty.
Lightnings slumber within my soul,
I sweep over mountain and plain. 60
Wrestle with my sea, if thou art a plain;
Receive my lightning, if thou art a Sinai.
The Fountain of Life hath been given me to drink,
I have been made an adept of the mystery of Life.
The speck of dust was vitalised by my burning song: 65
It unfolded wings and became a firefly.
No one hath told the secret which I will tell
Or threaded a pearl of thought like mine.
Come, if thou would’st know the secret of everlasting life!
Come, if thou would’st win both earth and heaven! 70
The old Guru of the Sky | 861.238667 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.2188780 | 3,632 | 11 | ST. MALACHY OF ARMAGH***
E-text prepared by Stacy Brown, Anna Tuinman, Bethanne M. Simms, Ted
Garvin, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Transcriber's Note:
In the genealogical tree in Additional Note B, and a few other
locations in the text, dagger symbols have been replaced with +.
A character following a caret sign (^) is superscripted.
Translations of Christian Literature. Series V
Lives of the Celtic Saints
S^T BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX'S
LIFE OF S^T MALACHY OF ARMAGH
by
H. J. LAWLOR, D.D., LITT.D.
Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge.
The Macmillan Company.
London
New York
1920
Printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, Brunswick St.,
Stamford St., S.E. 1, and Bungay, Suffolk.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PRINCIPAL AUTHORITIES REFERRED TO vii
NAMES OF IRISH PERSONS AND PLACES x
INTRODUCTION xii
LIFE OF ST. MALACHY 1
LETTERS OF ST. BERNARD 131
SERMONS OF ST. BERNARD ON THE PASSING OF
MALACHY 141
ADDITIONAL NOTES:--
A.--ST. BERNARD'S DESCRIPTION OF THE STATE
OF THE IRISH CHURCH 161
B.--THE HEREDITARY SUCCESSION OF THE COARBS
OF PATRICK 164
C.--MALACHY'S CONTEST WITH NIALL 167
APPENDIX 171
INDEX 172
PRINCIPAL AUTHORITIES REFERRED TO
A. T.C.D. MS. F. 4, 6, containing the _Vita S. Malachiae_ and a portion
of _Sermo_ ii. imbedded therein. Cent. xiii.; copied from a much earlier
exemplar.
AA.SS. _Acta Sanctorum._
A.F.M. _Annals of the Kingdom of Ireland by the Four Masters_, ed. J.
O'Donovan, 1851.
A.I. Annals of Inisfallen, in O'Conor, _Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores_,
1814-1826, vol. ii.
A.L.C. _Annals of Loch Ce_, ed. W. M. Hennessy (R.S.), 1871.
A.T. _Annals of Tigernach_ (so called: see J. MacNeill in _Eriu_, vii.
30), ed. W. Stokes, in _Revue Celtique_, xvi.-xviii.
A.U. _Annals of Ulster, otherwise Annals of Senat_, ed. W. M. Hennessy
and B. MacCarthy, 1887-1901.
Adamnan. The Life of St. Columba, written by Adamnan, ed. W. Reeves
(Irish Archaeological and Celtic Society), 1857.
Archdall. M. Archdall, _Monasticon Hibernicum_, 1786: the earlier part
ed. by P. F. Moran, 1873.
C.M.A. _Chartularies of St. Mary's Abbey, Dublin_, ed. J. T. Gilbert
(R.S.), 1884.
_Cant._ S. Bernardi Sermones in Cantica, in _P.L._ clxxxiii. 779 ff.
(1879): English Translation by S. J. Eales, _The Life and Works of St.
Bernard_, vol. iv., 1896.
Colgan, _A.S.H._ J. Colgan, _Acta Sanctorum Hiberniae_, Lovanii, 1645,
tom. i.
D.A.I. The Dublin Annals of Inisfallen, Royal Irish Academy MS. 23, F.
9.
_De Cons._ S. Bernardi _De Consideratione Libri V._, in _P.L._ clxxxii.
727 ff. (1879): English Translation by G. Lewis, 1908.
_De Dil._ S. Bernardi _De Diligendo Deo_ in _P.L._ clxxxii. 973 ff.
(1879). English Translations by M. C. and C. Patmore, second ed., 1884,
and E. G. Gardner, 1916.
Dugdale. W. Dugdale, _Monasticon Anglicanum_, ed. J. Caley, H. Ellis and
B. Bandinel, 1817-30.
Eadmer. Eadmeri _Historia Novorum in Anglia_, ed. M. Rule (R.S.), 1884.
_Ep._ S. Bernardi Epistolae in _P.L._ clxxxii. 67 ff. (1879): English
Translation in S. J. Eales, _The Life and Works of St. Bernard_, vols.
i.-iii. (1889-1896).
Giraldus, _Expug._; _Gest._; _Top._ _Giraldi Cambrensis Opera_, ed. J.
S. Brewer, J. F. Dimock and G. F. Warner (R.S.), 1861-1901. _Expugnatio
Hibernica_, vol. v. p. 207 ff.; _De Rebus a se Gestis_, vol. i. p. 1
ff.; _Topographia Hibernica_, vol. v. p. 1 ff.
Gorman. _The Martyrology of Gorman_, ed. W. Stokes (Henry Bradshaw
Society), 1895.
Gougaud. L. Gougaud, _Les Chretientes Celtiques_, 1911.
Gwynn. The Book of Armagh, ed. J. Gwynn, 1913.
J.R.S.A.I. _Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland_:
references to volumes according to the consecutive numbering.
Jaffe. _Regesta Pontificum Romanorum_, ed. P. Jaffe, 1851.
John of Hexham. _Historia Johannis Prioris Hagustaldensis Ecclesiae_, in
_Symeonis Monachi Dunelmensis Opera Omnia_, ed. T. Arnold (R.S.), ii.
(1885), 284 ff.
K. Codex Kilkenniensis; Marsh's Library, Dublin, MS. Z. 1.5, containing
the _Vita S. Malachiae_. Cent. xv.
Keating. G. Keating, _History of Ireland_, ed. D. Comyn and P. S.
Dinneen (Irish Texts Society), 1902-1914.
L.A.J. _County Louth Archaeological Journal._
L.B. Leabhar Breac, Royal Irish Academy MS. (Facsimile ed. 1876.)
Lanigan. J. Lanigan, _An Ecclesiastical History of Ireland... to the
Beginning of the Thirteenth Century_, 1829.
M.G.H. _Monumenta Germaniae Historica._
Mansi. _Sacrorum Conciliorum nova et amplissima Collectio_, ed. J. D.
Mansi, 1759-1798.
O.C.C. _The Book of Obits and Martyrology of the Cathedral Church of the
Holy Trinity, commonly called Christ Church, Dublin_, ed. J. C.
Crosthwaite and J. H. Todd (Irish Archaeological Society), 1844.
Oengus. _The Martyrology of Oengus the Culdee_, ed. W. Stokes (Henry
Bradshaw Society), 1905.
O'Hanlon. J. O'Hanlon, _The Life of Saint Malachy O'Morgair_, 1859.
O'Hanlon, _Saints_. J. O'Hanlon, _Lives of the Irish Saints_, vols.
i.-ix., 1875-1901.
P.L. _Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Series Latina_, ed. J. P. Migne.
Petrie. G. Petrie, _The Ecclesiastical Architecture of Ireland...
comprising an Essay on the Origin and Uses of the Round Towers of
Ireland_, 1845.
Plummer. _Vitae Sanctorum Hiberniae_, ed. C. Plummer, 1910.
Plummer, _Bede_. _Venerabilis Baedae Opera Historica_, ed. C. Plummer,
1896.
R.I.A. _Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy_, Archaeology, Linguistic
and Literature. References to volumes according to the consecutive
numbering.
R.I.A. _Trans._ _Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy._
R.Q.H. _Revue des Questions Historiques._
R.T.A. _Register of the Abbey of St. Thomas, Dublin_, ed. J. T. Gilbert
(R.S.), 1889.
Reeves. W. Reeves, _Ecclesiastical Antiquities of Down, Connor and
Dromore_, 1847.
Reeves, _Churches_. W. Reeves, _Ancient Churches of Armagh_, 1860.
Richard of Hexham. _Historia Ricardi prioris Haugustaldensis_, in
_Chronicles of Stephen_, etc., ed. Howlett (R.S.), iii. (1886), 137 ff.
Theiner. A. Theiner, _Vetera Monumenta Hibernorum et Scotorum,
1216-1547_, Romae, 1864.
Todd. J. H. Todd, _St. Patrick Apostle of Ireland_, 1864.
_Trias._ J. Colgan, _Triadis Thaumaturgae seu divorum Patricii, Columbae
et Brigidae Acta_, Lovanii, 1647 (vol. ii. of his _Acta Sanctorum
Hiberniae_).
_Trip._ W. Stokes, _The Tripartite Life of Patrick with other Documents
relating to that Saint_, ed. W. Stokes (R.S.), 1887.
Tundale. _Visio Tnugdali lateinisch und altdeutsch_, ed. A. Wagner,
1882.
Ussher. J. Ussher, _Veterum Epistolarum Hibernicarum Sylloge_, in Works,
ed. C. R. Elrington, 1847-1864, vol. iv., pp. 383 ff.
V.P. _S. Bernardi Vita Prima_, in _P.L._ clxxxv., 225 ff.
Vacandard. _Vie de Saint Bernard Abbe de Clairvaux_ par l'Abbe E.
Vacandard, 4e edition, 1910.
NAMES OF IRISH PERSONS AND PLACES
Form used in this Form used by
volume. St. Bernard. Irish Form.
Antrim Oenthreb Oentreb
Armagh Ardmacha Ard Macha
Bangor Benchor Bennchor
Cashel Caselensis Caisel
Catholicus Catholicus Catlac
Cellach Celsus Cellach
Christian Christianus Gilla Crist
Coleraine Culratim Cul Rathin
Columbanus Columbanus Columban
Comgall Congellus Comgall
Connor Connereth Coindire
Conor Conchobar
Cork Corcagia Corcach
Dermot Diarmicius Diarmait
Derry Daire
Desmond Mumonia australis Desmuma
Donnell Domnall
Donough {Donnchad
{Donngus
Down Dunum Dun da Lethglas
Edan Edanus Aedh
Faughart Fochart Fochart
Gelasius Gelasius Gilla meic Liag
Gilbert Gillebertus Gilla espuig
Imar Imaru Imar
Inispatrick Inis Patraic
Iveragh Ibracensis Ui Rathach
Leinster Laginia Laigin
Limerick Luimneach
Lismore Lesmore Lis Mor
Lugadh Luanus {Lugaid
{Molua
MacCarthy Mac (meic) Carthaig
Maelisa } Malchus Mael Isa
Malchus }
Malachy Malachias Mael Maedoc
Moriarty Ua Muirchertaig
Munster Mumonia Muma
Murrough Murchadh
Murtough Mauricius Muirchertach
Nehemiah Nehemias Gilla na Naem
Niall Nigellus Niall
O'Boyle Ua Baigill
O'Brien Ua Briain
O'Carroll Ua Cerbaill
O'Conor Ua Conchobair
O'Hagan Ua hAedacain
O'Hanratty Ua hIndrechtaig
O'Hanley Ua hAingli
O'Kelly Ua Cellaig
O'Loughlin Ua Lochlainn
Oriel Oirgialla
O'Rorke Ua Ruarc
Patrick Patricius Patraic
Rory Ruaidhri
Saul {Saballum } Sabal Phatraic
{Saballinum}
Shalvey Ua Selbaig
Teague Tadhg
Thomond Tuathmuma
Turlough Toirdelbach
Ulaid Ulydia Ulaid
Usnagh Uisnech
Waterford Port Lairge
INTRODUCTION
The main purpose of this Introduction is to give an account of a
movement which changed the whole face of the Irish Church, and to the
advancement of which St. Malachy devoted his life. In default of a
better word we may call the movement a Reformation, though it might
perhaps be more accurately described as an ecclesiastical revolution.
Without some knowledge of its aims and progress it is impossible to
assign to Malachy his true place in the history of his native country.
That such a movement actually took place in the twelfth century is
beyond doubt. From about the year 1200 on it is certain that the
organization of the Church of Ireland was similar to that of the other
Churches of western Christendom. The country was divided into dioceses;
and each diocese had a bishop as its ruler, and a Cathedral Church in
which the bishop's stool was placed. The Cathedral Church, moreover, had
a chapter of clergy, regular or secular, who performed important
functions in the diocese. But up to the end of the eleventh century all
these things were unknown among the Irish. The constitution of the
Church was then of an entirely different type, one that had no exact
parallel elsewhere. The passage from the older to the newer organization
must have taken place in the twelfth century. During that century,
therefore, there was a Reformation in the Irish Church, however little
we may know of its causes or its process. But this Reformation was no
mere re-modelling of the hierarchy. It can be shown that it imposed on
the members of the Church a new standard of sexual morality; if we
believe contemporary writers, it restored to their proper place such
rites as Confession, Confirmation and Matrimony; it substituted for the
offices of divine service previously in use those of the Roman Church;
it introduced the custom of paying tithes; it established in Ireland the
monastic orders of Latin Christendom[1]; and it may have produced
changes in other directions.[2] But I propose to confine myself to the
change in the constitution of the Church, which was its most striking
feature. The subject, even thus narrowed, will give us more than can be
satisfactorily treated in a few pages.
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VOL. XXXV. NO. 8.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
AUGUST, 1881.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
PARAGRAPH—The Mendi Mission 225
ILLUSTRATION—Mission Home, Mendi Mission 228
DEATH OF REV. KELLY M. KEMP 230
AFRICAN NOTES 230
FREEDMEN FOR AFRICA: Rev. Lewis Grout 232
ADDRESS AT NASHVILLE: Sec’y Strieby 233
BENEFACTIONS 236
CHINESE AND INDIAN NOTES 237
THE FREEDMEN.
ANNIVERSARY REPORTS—Continued.
Ga.: Atlanta University 238
Ala.: Talladega College 240
Texas: Tillotson Institute, Austin 242
S.C.: Avery Institute, Charleston 242
Ga.: Lewis High School, Macon 243
THE CHINESE.
ANNIVERSARY AT STOCKTON 245
WOMAN’S HOME MISS. ASSOC’N.
TWENTY MINUTES A-DAY WORKING SOCIETY 247
CHILDREN’S PAGE.
GRACIE’S MISTAKE: Mrs. Harriet A. Cheever 248
RECEIPTS 250
LIST OF OFFICERS 254
CONSTITUTION 255
AIM, STATISTICS, WANTS, ETC. 256
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N.Y. as second-class matter.
[Illustration: MAP OF PROTESTANT MISSION STATIONS IN AFRICA.]
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
VOL. XXXV. AUGUST, 1881. NO. 8.
* * * * *
_American Missionary Association._
* * * * *
We publish on the opposite page a map of Africa, upon which is
represented, by crosses, the location of the different Protestant
mission stations of that continent. The Mendi Mission on the West
Coast, and the proposed Arthington Mission in the Nile Basin, are
specially indicated by dotted lines. We give, also, elsewhere a cut
of the Mission Home at Good Hope Station, Mendi Mission.
* * * * *
THE MENDI MISSION.
SUGGESTIONS, WITH EXTRACTS FROM JOURNAL.
REV. H. M. LADD.
Much of the mission work in Africa, at least upon the West Coast,
has a basis in industrial work of some kind. Many causes have
conspired to hinder this branch of civilizing work at the Mendi
Mission. Without stopping to specify what these may have been,
no one can doubt that the chief reason why the saw-mill at Avery
has failed to be a source of income to the Association, is the
difficulty of transporting the lumber to market. This mill, with
a circular and an upright saw, with a good head of water during
the larger part of the year, and with timber near at hand, is the
only mill of the kind on the West Coast. There is a good demand for
such lumber as the mill can produce, but the chief market is 120
miles distant. No one in Africa, however much he might want lumber,
would be guilty of going 120 miles for it, nor even 120 rods, if
he could help it. In former times the lumber was taken to the
market in a large boat, propelled by oar and sail; but the climate
and the worms have claimed that boat as their own. Here is a most
potent agency, an attractive centre for goods. The mill might be
producing thousands of feet of lumber a day, and yet if there were
no way to carry this lumber to the point where it could be sold,
its production would only become a burden. What is needed to insure
the best success of the mill, and of all the industrial departments
connected with it, is an easy and quick means of transportation.
This would not only make the mill a really civilizing institution
and a paying piece of property, but if a small steamer or tug-boat
were thus in use, it would more than pay its own way in the
regular trips it would make, and by the incidental services it
could render to other mission stations where similar industrial
work is carried on. There are promises enough to insure the
successful running of such a steamer. It should be adapted to
towing a lumber boat of large capacity to and from Freetown, and
should also be adapted to carrying passengers up and down the
rivers. It would accomplish more work in a given time than any
other project yet proposed on this coast, would dispense with the
small army of boatmen and fleet of boats now maintained, and would
be the solution of the question in regard to the mill. But why keep
up this mill? Why have an industrial department? Simply because the
spiritual interests of the mission are involved in it and demand
it. There must be a physical basis for any successful work upon
the minds and hearts of the people in this part of Africa. This
has been demonstrated in other missions than our own. The people
need a place to tie to, and something to draw them to that place
in order to receive any lasting good. They need to learn habits of
industry along with the Gospel. They need to be lifted out of their
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 100.
June 6, 1891.
VOCES POPULI.
BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW.
SCENE--_A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in
progress, and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with
set of slides complete--to last one hour" is about to be
exhibited._
[Illustration]
_The Vicar's Daughter_ (_suddenly recognising the New Curate, who is
blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays_). Oh, Mr. TOOTLER, you've
just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only
manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked
lots of people, and no one will volunteer. _Would_ you mind just
explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery
tale--_Valentine and Orson_--I chose that, because it's less
hackneyed, and has such an excellent _moral_, you know. I'm sure
you'll do it so _beautifully_!
_Mr. Tootler_ (_a shy man_). I--I'd do it with pleasure, I'm
sure--only I really don't know anything about _Valentine and Orson_!
_The V's D._ Oh, what _does_ that matter? I can tell you the outline
in two minutes. (_She tells him._) But it's got to last an hour, so
you must spin it out as much as ever you can.
[Illustration: The Young Heckler.]
_Mr. Tootler_ (_to himself_). Ought I to neglect such a golden
opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (_Aloud._) I
will--er--do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as
they seem to be getting--er--rather unruly at the further end of the
room. (_He clears his throat._) Children, you must be very quiet and
attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to
show you some scenes illustrative of the--er--beautiful old story
of _Valentine and Orson_, which I doubt not | 861.241152 |
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Transcribed from the 1902 (10th edition) by David Price, email
[email protected]. Many thanks to Local Studies, Bradford Central
Library, for allowing their copy of the pamphlet to be transcribed.
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
TENTH EDITION.
[Picture: Decorative divider]
Th' HISTORY o'
HAWORTH RAILWAY
FRA' TH'
BEGINNIN' TO TH' END,
WI' AN ACKAANT O' TH'
OPPNIN' SERRIMONY.
--o--
Bi Bill o'th' Hoylus End.
[Picture: Decorative image of a cow]
On hearing this, the Haworth foalk
Began to think it wor no joak,
An' wisht' at greedy kaa ma' choak,
'At swallowed th' plan o'th railway.
PRICE ONE PENNY.
* * * * *
KEIGHLEY:
BILLOWS & CO., PRINTERS & BOOKBINDERS, 16, HIGH ST.
1902
Telephone No. 224
PREFACE TO THE TENTH EDITION.
The Author of this well-known, amusing, and celebrated pamphlet was born
on the 22nd March, 1836, at a place midway between Keighley and Haworth,
called Hoylus End in a simple cottage near the Whins Delf, at the
terminus of the quaint old hamlet known as Hermit Hole, in the Parish of
Bingley. He began early in life to write songs and uncouth rhymes, and
even as a boy He wrote satires so caustic that they are remembered even
to the present day.
However, the Haworth Railway cropped up, and this found him ample food
for his pen; and as this is the Tenth Edition of the work it is clear
that it is still in popular favour.
Th' History o' Haworth Railway,
FRA' TH' BEGINNING TO TH' END.
[Picture: Decorative divider]
CHAPTER I.
Before I commence mi short history o' Haworth Railway, it might be as
weel to say a word or two abaat Haworth itseln. It's a city at's little
nawn, if onny, in th' history o' Ingland, tho thare's no daat but it's as
oud as Methuslam, if net ouder, yet wi' being built so far aat o' th'
latitude o' civilised nashuns, nobody's scarcely nawn owt abaat it wal
lately. Th' faanders of it is sed to be people fra th' Eastern
countries, for they tuk fearful after em in Haworth i'th line
o'soothsayers, magishuns, an' istralegers; but whether they cum fra th'
East or th' West, thay luk oud fasun'd enuff. Nah th' city is situated
in a vary romantic part o' Yorkshur, an' within two or three miles o'th
boundary mark for th' next county. Sum foak sez it wur th' last place
'at wur made, but it's a mistak, for it looks oud fashun'd enuff to be
th' first 'at wur made. Gurt travellers sez it resembles th' cities o'
Rome an' Edinburgh, for thare's a deal a up-hills afore yo can get tut
top on't; but i' landing yo'd be struck wi wonder an' amazement--wat wi
th' tall biggens, monnements, dooms, hampitheaters, and so on, for
instance Church, or rather th' Cathedrall, is a famous biggen, an' stands
majestekely o'th top o' th' hill. It hez been sed at it wur Olever
Cramwell that wur struck wi' th' appearance o'th' Church an th' city,
alltagether, wal he a mack a consented to have it th' hed-quarters for
th' army an' navy.
Th' faander o'th' Church is sed to be one Wang be Wang, one o'th' Empros
o' China as com ower in a balloon an browt wi' him all his relations but
his grandmuther. Th' natives at that toime wur a mack a wild; but i'
mixing up wi' th' balloonites thay soin becum civilized and bigd th'
Church at's studden fra that toime to nah, wi'th' exepshun o' one end,
destroyed at sum toime, sum sez it wur be war. Some sez West End an th'
Saath End wur destroyed, but its a mack a settled on by th' wiseuns it
wur witchcraft; but be it as it may, Haworth an th' foak a' together is
as toff as paps, an hez stud aat weel, an no daht but it wod a flerished
before Lundun, Parris, or Jerusalem, for centries back, if they hed a
Railway, but after nearly all Grate Britten an' France had been furnished
wi' a railway, th' people i' Haworth began to feel uneazy an' felt
inclined no longer to wauk several miles to get to a stashun if they wur
baan off like. An' besides, they thout it were high time to begin an'
mak sum progress i' th' world, like their naburs i' th' valley. So they
ajetated fer a line daan th' valley as far as Keighla, an' after abaat a
hundred meettings they gat an Akt past for it i' Parliament. So at last
a Cummittee wur formed, an' they met one neet o' purpose ta decide wen it
wod be th' moast convenient for 'em ta dig th' first sod ta commemorate
an' start th' gurt event. An' a bonny rumpus thur wur, yo' mind, for yo'
ma' think ha it wur conducted when thay wur threapin' wi' one another
like a lot a oud wimen at a parish pump, wen it sud be. One sed it mud
tak place at rush-buren, another sed next muck-spreadin' toime, a third
sed it mud be dug et gert wind day it memmery o' oud Jack K--- Well,
noan et proposishuns wud do fur the lot, and there wur such opposishun
wal it omust hung on a thre'ad whether th' railway went on or net, wal at
last an oud farmer, one o'th' committee men, wi' a voice as hoarse as a
farm yard dog, bawls aat, "I propoase Pancake Tuesday." So after a
little more noise it wur propoased an' seconded et Grand Trunk Railway
between th' respective taans of Keighla an' Haworth sud be commemorated
wi' diggin' th' furst sod 'o Pancake Tuesday i'th' year o' our Lord 1864;
an' bi th' show o' hands i'th' usual way it wur carried bi one, and that
wur Ginger Jabus, an' th' tother cud a liked to a bowt him ower, but
Jabus wornt to be bowt that time, for he hed his heart an' sowl i'th'
muvment, an he went abaat singing--
Come all ye lads o' high renown
'At wishes well your native town,
Rowl up an' put your money down
And let us hev a Railway.
Wi' Keighla foak we are behind,
An's hed to wauk agin wur mind;
But soin th' crookt-legg'd ens thay will find
We'll keep em wi' a Railway.
Well, hasumever, public notice wur made nawn, bi th' bellman crying it
all ower th' tawn, which he did to such a pitch wal he'd summat to do to
keep his hat fra flying off, but he managed to do it at last to a nicety,
for th' news spread like sparks aat of a bakehouse chimla; an' wen th'
day come they flockt in fra all parts, sum o'th crookt-legg'd ens fra
Keighla com, Lockertown and th' Owertown foak com, and oud bachelors fra
Stanbury and all parts at continent o' Haworth; foak craaded in on all
sides, even th' oud men an' wimen fra Wicken Crag an' th' Flappeters, an'
strappin' foak they are yo mind, sum as fat as pigs, wi' heeads as red as
carrits, an' nimble as a india-rubber bouncer taw; an' wat wur th' best
on't it happened to be a fine day; or if it hed been made accordin' to
orders it cudent a been finer. Shops wur all closed, an' everybody, oud
an' young hed a haliday aat o'th' doors, for they were all flade o'
missin' th' Grand Proceshun, which formed itseln at th' top o' Wuthren,
when it wur messured it turned aat to be two miles six inches long--it
moved as follows:--
ORDER O'TH' PROCESHUN.
Th' Spring heead Band wi' thair hat bruads turned up so as they mud se
thair way clear,
Lord o'th' Manor i' full uniform a fut back bearin' th' Coat of Arms for
Haworth a gert wild cratur wi' two tails on, one o' th' authur end.
Th' Members o'th' Corporashun one abreast, singin' "a nuttin' we will go,
brave boys."
Big Drums an' Triangles.
A Mahogany Wheelbarro' an' a silver spade on a cart trail'd bi six
donkeys, an' garded bi ten lazy policemen _all sober_.
A pair o' crakt bag-pipes.
Th' Contractor in a sedan carried bi two waggoners i' white smocks.
All th' young maidens fra fowerteen to thirty-nine, six abreast drest i'
sky blue, an' singin' throo combs.
Twenty oud wimen nittin' stockings.
Twenty navvies i' thair shirt sleeves wheelin' barrows wi work tools in.
Taan skavengers wi' shouldered besums decorated wi' ribbons.
Bellman an' Pinder arm i'arm drest i' full uniform, an' th' latter na an
then bawlin' aat waats baan to tak place.
All scholars in th' female line lakin' at duck under water kit, an' th'
males lakin' a frog-loup, an jumpin' o' one another's backs.
Taan chimla sweeps mounted o' donkeys wi' thair face white.
All th' furiners fra th' continent o' Haworth, and crookt legg'd en fra
Keighla followed up.
Bulk o'th' inhabitants waukin' one abreast, wi' hats off an' singin' as
follows:--
Gather fra Stanbury lads wi' yor carrot heds,
Come daan fra Lockertaan lads bi | 861.243748 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.3143440 | 5,040 | 53 |
Produced by Free Elf, Verity White and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Separation and Service
OR
THOUGHTS ON
NUMBERS VI, VII.
BY
J. HUDSON TAYLOR.
London
MORGAN & SCOTT, 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
CHINA INLAND MISSION, NEWINGTON GREEN, N.
PRINTED BY
WOODFALL AND KINDER, LONG ACRE
LONDON
CONTENTS.
Separation and Service.
PAGE
Introductory 7
PART I.
SEPARATION TO GOD: Numbers vi, 1-21.
Institution of the Order of Nazarites 11
Implicit Obedience 13
Entire Consecration 16
Holiness to the LORD 19
Unwitting Defilement 22
The Heinousness of Sin 23
Cleansing only through Sacrifice 25
Acceptance only in CHRIST 27
The Presentation of the Nazarites 33
The Law of the Offerings 35
The Burnt-Offering 39
The Sin and Peace-Offerings 41
PART II.
THE BLESSING OF GOD: Numbers vi, 22-27.
Why Found Here? 44
The Real Meaning of Blessing 49
The Three-fold Benediction 52
The Blessing of the FATHER 53
The Second Person of the Trinity 60
The Blessing of the SON and BRIDEGROOM 63
The LORD, the SPIRIT 70
The Blessing of the HOLY SPIRIT 73
Sealing with the Name of GOD 80
PART III.
PRINCELY SERVICE: Numbers vii.
The Constraint of Love 89
GOD'S Delight in Love-gifts 90
Free-will Offerings 93
Gladsome Acceptance 96
According to his Service 101
The Dedicatory Offerings 107
The Display of the Gifts 109
The Person of the Offerer 113
The Importance of the Altar 117
Separation and Service.
Numbers vi, vii.
INTRODUCTORY.
For many years these chapters had no special interest to me; but I have
never ceased to be thankful that I was early led to read the Word of GOD
in regular course: it was through this habit that these chapters first
became specially precious to me. I was travelling on a missionary tour
in the province of CHEH-KIANG, and had to pass the night in a very
wicked town. All the inns were dreadful places; and the people seemed to
have their consciences seared, and their hearts sealed against the
Truth. My own heart was oppressed, and could find no relief; and I awoke
the next morning much cast down, and feeling spiritually hungry and
thirsty indeed.
On opening my Bible at the seventh chapter of Numbers, I felt as though
I could not then read that long chapter of repetitions; that I _must_
turn to some chapter that would feed my soul. And yet I was not happy in
leaving my regular portion; so after a little conflict I resolved to
read it, praying to GOD to bless me, even through Numb. vii. I fear
there was not much faith in the prayer; but oh! how abundantly it was
answered, and what a feast GOD gave me! He revealed to me His own great
heart of love, and gave me the key to understand this and the previous
chapter as never before. May GOD make our meditations upon them as
helpful to others as they were then and have ever since continued to be
to myself.
Much is revealed in these chapters in germ which is more fully brought
out in the New Testament. Under the Old Covenant many blessings were
enjoyed in measure and for a season, which in this dispensation are ours
in their fulness and permanence. For instance, the atoning sacrifices of
the seventh month had to be repeated every year; but CHRIST, in offering
Himself once for all, perfected for ever them that are sanctified. The
Psalmist needed to pray, "Take not Thy HOLY SPIRIT from me;" but CHRIST
has given us the COMFORTER to abide with us for ever. In like manner the
Israelite might vow the vow of a Nazarite and separate himself unto GOD
for a season; but it is the privilege of the Christian believer to know
himself as always separated to GOD. Many other lessons, which are
hidden from careless and superficial readers, are suggested by these
chapters, which the HOLY SPIRIT will reveal to prayerful students of His
most precious and most perfect Book.
The portions we have selected consist of first a short chapter, and then
a very long one, which at first sight appears to have no special
connection with it. But on more careful reflection we shall see that the
order of the subjects referred to shows that there is really a natural
and close connection between them. We shall find that Separation to GOD
is followed by Blessing from GOD; and that those who receive large
blessing from Him, in turn render to Him acceptable Service: service in
which GOD takes delight, and which He places in everlasting
remembrance.
PART I.
Separation to GOD.
NUMB. VI. 1-21.
THE INSTITUTION OF THE ORDER OF NAZARITES.
The first twenty-one verses of Numb. vi. give us an account of the
institution and ordinances of the order of Nazarites. And let us note at
the outset that this institution, like every other good and perfect
gift, came from above; that GOD Himself gave this privilege--unasked--to
His people; thereby showing His desire that "whosoever will" of His
people may be brought into closest relationship to Himself.
It was very gracious of GOD to _permit_ His people to become Nazarites.
Israel might have been "a kingdom of priests;" but through their own sin
they had nationally forfeited this privilege, and a special family had
been set apart to the priesthood. GOD, however, still opened the way for
individuals who wished to draw near to Him to do so, and for any period
which their own hearts might dictate.
But it is important to notice that though the vow might only be one of
temporary consecration, yet it involved while it lasted an
ABSOLUTE ACCEPTANCE
of the will of GOD, even in regard to matters which might appear trivial
and unimportant. So, in the present day, GOD is willing to give to His
people fulness of blessing, but it must be on His own lines. Though we
are not our own, it is, alas! possible to live as though we were;
devotion to GOD is still a voluntary thing; hence the differences of
attainment among Christians. While salvation is a free gift, the
"winning CHRIST" can only be through unreserved consecration and
unquestioning obedience. Nor is this a hardship, but the highest
privilege.
Let us now look into the law of the Nazarite.
IMPLICIT OBEDIENCE: verses 3, 4.
_"He shall separate himself from wine and strong drink, and shall
drink no vinegar of wine, or vinegar of strong drink, neither shall
he drink any liquor of grapes, nor eat moist grapes, or dried. All
the days of his separation shall he eat nothing that is made of the
vine tree, from the kernels even to the husk."_
The first thing that we note is, that as the obedience of Adam was
tested in the Garden by the prohibition of one tree--a tree pleasant to
look upon, and good for food--so was the obedience of the Nazarite
tested. He was not forbidden to eat poison berries, nor was he merely
required to abstain from the wine and strong drink which might easily
become a snare; fresh grapes and dried raisins were equally prohibited.
It was not that the thing was harmful in itself, but that the doing the
will of GOD, in a matter of seeming indifference, was essential to his
acceptance.
Not less true is this of the Christian Nazarite. Whether he eat or
drink, or whatsoever he do, the will of GOD and not self-indulgence must
be his one aim. Christians often get into perplexity about worldly
allurements by asking, Where is the sin of this, or the danger of that?
There _may_ be danger that the questioner cannot see: Satan's baits
often skilfully conceal a sharp hook; but supposing that the thing be
harmless, it does not follow that it would be pleasing to GOD, or
spiritually helpful.
The fruit of the vine is a type of earth-born pleasures; those who would
enjoy Nazarite nearness to GOD must count His love "better than wine."
To win CHRIST, the Apostle Paul gladly suffered the loss of all things,
and counted them as dross and dung for the excellency of the knowledge
of CHRIST JESUS his LORD. The things he gave up were not bad things, but
good--things that in themselves were gain to him; and CHRIST Himself for
our redemption emptied Himself, and came to seek not His own, but the
will of Him that sent Him.
The highest service demands the greatest sacrifice, but it secures the
fullest blessing and the greatest fruitfulness. CHRIST _could not remain
in His FATHER'S bosom and redeem the world; missionaries cannot win the
heathen and enjoy their home surroundings; nor can they be adequately
sustained without the loving sacrifices of many friends and donors. You,
dear reader, know the MASTER'S choice; what is YOURS? is it to do His
will even if it mean to leave all for Him, to give all to Him?_
ENTIRE CONSECRATION: verse 5.
_"All the days of the vow of his separation there shall no razor come
upon his head: until the days be fulfilled, in the which he separateth
himself unto the LORD, he shall be holy, and shall let the locks of
the hair of his head grow."_
We have already seen that GOD tested the obedience of the Nazarite in
the matter of food: pleasing GOD was rather to be chosen than the most
tempting cluster of grapes. But in the foregoing words we find that his
obedience is further tested, and this in a way which to many might prove
a more severe trial. GOD claims the right of determining the personal
appearance of His servant, and directs that separated ones should be
manifestly such. To many minds there is the greatest shrinking from
appearing peculiar; but GOD would often have His people unmistakably
peculiar. We sometimes hear the argument, "all the world" thinks this,
or does that, given as a reason for our doing likewise; but that is an
argument that should have no weight with the Christian, who is commanded
_not_ to be conformed to the world. While we are not to seek to be
peculiar for its own sake, we are not to hesitate to be so when duty to
GOD renders it necessary, or when the privilege of self-denial for the
benefit of others calls for it.
Further, this command again reminded the Nazarite that he was not his
own, but was utterly the LORD'S; that GOD claimed the very hair of his
head. He was not at liberty to cut or trim it as he saw fit, nor to wear
it as long or as short as might be agreeable to himself. So absolute was
GOD'S claim upon him, that not merely while his vow lasted was that hair
to be recognised as GOD'S possession, but when his vow was fulfilled the
whole of it was to be shaved off, and was to be burnt upon the altar.
Like the burnt-offering, it was to be recognised as for GOD'S use alone,
whether or not any utilitarian purpose were accomplished by the
sacrifice.
So now, in the present dispensation, we are told "the very hairs of
your head are all numbered"--so minute is GOD'S care for His people, so
watchful is He over all that affects them. It is beautiful to see the
fond love of a young mother as she passes her fingers through the silken
locks of her darling child--her treasure and her delight; _but she never
counts those hairs_. He only, who is the source of mother-love, does
that! And shall not _we_, who are not our own, but bought with a price,
_gladly_ render to Him _all_ we are and have--every member of our body,
every fibre of our being, every faculty of our mind, all our will-power,
and all our love?
HOLINESS TO THE LORD: verses 6-8.
_"All the days that he separateth himself unto the LORD he shall
come at no dead body. He shall not make himself unclean for his
father, or for his mother, for his brother, or for his sister,
when they die; because the consecration of his GOD is upon his
head. All the days of his separation he is holy unto the LORD."_
Here we have a most solemn and important prohibition--to refrain from
all uncleanness caused by contact with death. Death is the wages of sin:
the consecrated one was alike to keep aloof from sin and from its
consequences.
No requirement of GOD'S Word is more clear than the command to honour
and obey our earthly parents; but even for his father or mother a
Nazarite might not _defile_ himself: "he that loveth father or mother
more than ME, is not worthy of ME."
But let no young Christian think lightly of the requirements of parents,
when these do _not_ conflict with GOD'S written Word. Young Christians
are sometimes distressed because their desire to preach the Gospel to
the heathen has been opposed by parents: such should be encouraged to
_thank_ GOD for the obstacle; and to seek by prayer its removal. When
they have learnt to move man through GOD at home, they will be the
better prepared to do the same thing in the mission-field. Where there
is fitness for the work, the way will probably be made plain after a
time of patient waiting.
These verses teach us that mere contact with death is defiling: how vain
then is the imagination of the unconverted that by dead works--the best
efforts of those who are themselves dead in trespasses and sins--they
can render themselves acceptable to GOD! The good works of the unsaved
may indeed benefit their fellow-creatures; but until life in CHRIST has
been received, they cannot please GOD.
UNWITTING DEFILEMENT: verses 9-12.
_"If any man die very suddenly by him, and he hath defiled the head
of his consecration; then he shall shave his head in the day of his
cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it. And on the eighth
day he shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons, to the
priest, to the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: and the
priest shall offer the one for a sin-offering, and the other for a
burnt-offering, and make an atonement for him, for that he sinned
by the dead, and shall hallow his head that same day. And he shall
consecrate unto the LORD the days of his separation, and shall
bring a lamb of the first year for a trespass-offering: but the
days that were before shall be lost, because his separation was
defiled."_
A most important truth is here taught--that even unwitting contact with
death might bring sin upon the Nazarite. Sometimes we are tempted to
excuse ourselves, and to forget the absolute sinfulness of sin, apart
altogether from the question of premeditation, or even of consciousness,
_at the time_, on our part. The one who became defiled, _was defiled_,
whether intentionally or not; GOD'S requirement was absolute, and where
not fulfilled the vow was broken; the sin-offering had to be offered,
and the service recommenced.
THE HEINOUSNESS OF SIN.
The teaching here, and that of offerings for sins of ignorance, is much
needed in this day, when there is a dangerous tendency in some quarters
to regard sin as misfortune, and not as guilt. The awful _character_ of
sin is shown to mankind by its _consequences_. Man's heart is so
darkened by the Fall, and by personal sinfulness, that otherwise he
would regard sin as a very small matter. But when we think of all the
pain that men and women have endured since the Creation, of all the
miseries of which this world has been witness, of all the sufferings of
the animal creation, and of the eternal as well as temporal consequences
of sin, we must see that that which has brought such a harvest of misery
into the world is far more awful than sin-blinded men have thought it to
be.
The highest evidence, however, of the terrible character of sin is to be
found at the Cross; that it needed such a sacrifice--the sacrifice of
the SON of GOD--to bring in atonement and everlasting salvation, is
surely the most convincing proof of its heinous character.
Death was brought into the world by sin; and, like all the other
consequences of sin, it is loathsome and defiling. Man seeks to adorn
death; the pageantry of the funeral, the attractiveness of the cemetery,
all show this. The Egyptian sought in vain to make the mortal body
incorruptible by embalming it. But we have to bury our dead out of our
sight, and the believer is taught to look forward to the resurrection.
CLEANSING ONLY THROUGH SACRIFICE.
Let us not lose sight of the fact that the accidental death of any one
near the Nazarite--that the thoughtless putting forth of the hand
even--might violate his vow of consecration as truly, if not as
guiltily, as an act of deliberate transgression; in either case all the
previous time was lost, and the period of consecration had to be
recommenced after his cleansing. And that cleansing could only be
brought about through sacrifice; the sin-offering must _die_; the
burnt-offering must _die_; without shedding of blood there could be no
remission. So serious was the effect of transgression--and yet, thank
GOD, it was not irremediable.
The bearing of this on the life of consecration to GOD in the present
day is important. Nearness to GOD calls for tenderness of conscience,
thoughtfulness in service, and implicit obedience. If we become
conscious of the slightest failure, even through inadvertence, let us
not excuse it, but at once humble ourselves before GOD, and confess it,
seeking forgiveness and cleansing on the ground of the accepted
sacrifice of CHRIST. GOD'S Word is, "If we confess our sins, He is
faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and _to cleanse us_ from all
unrighteousness." This cleansing must be accepted by faith, and a walk
"in the light" be at once resumed. And shall we not reverently ask and
trust the HOLY SPIRIT to guard and keep us from inadvertence, and to
bring to our remembrance those things which we may be in danger of
forgetting?
ACCEPTANCE ONLY IN CHRIST: verses 13-15.
_"And this is the law of the Nazarite, when the days of his
separation are fulfilled: he shall be brought unto the door of the
tabernacle of the congregation; And he shall offer his offering
unto the LORD, one he-lamb of the first year without blemish for
a burnt-offering, and one ewe-lamb of the first year without
blemish for a sin-offering, and one ram without blemish for
peace-offerings, and a basket of unleavened bread, cakes of fine
flour mingled with oil, and wafers of unleavened bread anointed
with oil, and their meat-offering, and their drink-offerings."_
Having seen the character of the vow of the Nazarite, and of the
ordinances to be observed should the vow be violated, the case of a
Nazarite who has duly fulfilled his vow is next dealt with. He has
carried out all GOD'S requirements, and his conscience is void of
offence: before GOD and man he is blameless. May he not now congratulate
himself, and claim some measure of merit, seeing he has rendered to GOD
an acceptable service, and among men has borne a consistent testimony?
The offerings to be made on the conclusion of his vow give an impressive
answer to this question, and bring out the important difference between
being _blameless_ and being _sinless_. Having fulfilled the ordinances
he was blameless; but the necessity alike for sin-offering, for
burnt-offering, and for peace offering, remind us of the sin of our holy
things; and that not our worst, but our best, is only acceptable to GOD
through the atonement of our LORD JESUS CHRIST.
While, however, the best services of the believer can neither give full
satisfaction to his own enlightened conscience, nor be acceptable to GOD
save through JESUS CHRIST, it is very blessed to know how fully all his
needs are met in CHRIST, and how truly he is accepted in Him, and
enabled to give very real joy to GOD our FATHER, which issues in the
bestowal of His richest blessings. Very imperfect--sometimes worse than
useless, is the attempt of a little child to please and serve its
parent; but where the parent sees an effort to do his will, and to give
him pleasure, is not the service gladly accepted, and the parent's
heart greatly rejoiced? Thus it is our privilege to be Nazarites, only
and always Nazarites, and through CHRIST JESUS to give joy and
satisfaction by our imperfect service to our heavenly FATHER. The
following anonymous lines, taken from a leaflet,[A] beautifully
illustrate this thought:--
I was sitting alone in the twilight,
With spirit troubled and vexed,
With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy,
And faith that was sadly perplexed.
Some homely work I was doing
For the child of my love and care;
Some stitches half-wearily setting
In the endless need of repair.
But my thoughts were about "the building,"
The work some day to be tried;
And that only the gold and the silver,
And the precious stones should abide;
And, remembering my own poor efforts,
The wretched work I had done,
And, even when trying most truly,
The meagre success | 861.334384 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.3144120 | 4,046 | 6 |
Produced by sp1nd, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
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=Cox.=--RECOLLECTIONS OF OXFORD. | 861.334452 |
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CHIPS FROM A GERMAN WORKSHOP
BY
F. MAX MUeLLER, M. A.,
FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE FRENCH INSTITUTE, ETC.
VOLUME V.
MISCELLANEOUS LATER ESSAYS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1881.
CONTENTS
I. On Freedom
II. On The Philosophy Of Mythology.
III. On False Analogies In Comparative Theology.
IV. On Spelling.
V. On Sanskrit Texts Discovered In Japan.
Index.
Footnotes
I.
ON FREEDOM.
Presidential Address Delivered Before The Birmingham Midland Institute,
October 20, 1879.
Not more than twenty years have passed since John Stuart Mill sent forth
his plea for Liberty.(1)
If there is one among the leaders of thought in England who, by the
elevation of his character and the calm composure of his mind, deserved
the so often misplaced title of Serene Highness, it was, I think, John
Stuart Mill.
But in his Essay "On Liberty," Mill for once becomes passionate. In
presenting his Bill of Rights, in stepping forward as the champion of
individual liberty, he seems to be possessed by a new spirit. He speaks
like a martyr, or the defender of martyrs. The individual human soul, with
its unfathomable endowments, and its capacity of growing to something
undreamt of in our philosophy, becomes in his eyes a sacred thing, and
every encroachment on its world-wide domain is treated as sacrilege.
Society, the arch-enemy of the rights of individuality, is represented
like an evil spirit, whom it behooves every true man to resist with might
and main, and whose demands, as they cannot be altogether ignored, must be
reduced at all hazards to the lowest level.
I doubt whether any of the principles for which Mill pleaded so warmly and
strenuously in his Essay "On Liberty" would at the present day be
challenged or resisted, even by the most illiberal of philosophers, or the
most conservative of politicians. Mill's demands sound very humble to
_our_ ears. They amount to no more than this, "that the individual is not
accountable to society for his actions so far as they concern the
interests of no person but himself, and that he may be subjected to social
or legal punishments for such actions only as are prejudicial to the
interests of others."
Is there any one here present who doubts the justice of that principle, or
who would wish to reduce the freedom of the individual to a smaller
measure? Whatever social tyranny may have existed twenty years ago, when
it wrung that fiery protest from the lips of John Stuart Mill, can we
imagine a state of society, not totally Utopian, in which the individual
man need be less ashamed of his social fetters, in which he could more
freely utter all his honest convictions, more boldly propound all his
theories, more fearlessly agitate for their speedy realization; in which,
in fact, each man can be so entirely himself as the society of England,
such as it now is, such as generations of hard-thinking and hard-working
Englishmen have made it, and left it as the most sacred inheritance to
their sons and daughters?
Look through the whole of history, not excepting the brightest days of
republican freedom at Athens and Rome, and you will not find one single
period in which the measure of liberty accorded to each individual was
larger than it is at present, at least in England. And if you wish to
realize the full blessings of the time in which we live, compare Mill's
plea for Liberty with another written not much more than two hundred years
ago, and by a thinker not inferior either in power or boldness to Mill
himself. According to Hobbes, the only freedom which an individual in his
ideal state has a right to claim is what he calls "freedom of thought,"
and that freedom of thought consists in our being able to think what we
like--so long as we keep it to ourselves. Surely, such freedom of thought
existed even in the days of the Inquisition, and we should never call
thought free, if it had to be kept a prisoner in solitary and silent
confinement. By freedom of thought we mean freedom of speech, freedom of
the press, freedom of action, whether individual or associated, and of
that freedom the present generation, as compared with all former
generations, the English nation, as compared with all other nations,
enjoys, there can be no doubt, a good measure, pressed down, and shaken
together, and sometimes running over.
It may be said that some dogmas still remain in politics, in religion, and
in morality; but those who defend them claim no longer any infallibility,
and those who attack them, however small their minority, need fear no
violence, nay, may reckon on an impartial and even sympathetic hearing, as
soon as people discover in their pleadings the true ring of honest
conviction and the warmth inspired by an unselfish love of truth.
It has seemed strange, therefore, to many readers of Mill, particularly on
the Continent, that this plea for liberty, this demand for freedom for
every individual to be what he is, and to develop all the germs of his
nature, should have come from what is known as the freest of all
countries, England. We might well understand such a cry of indignation if
it had reached us from Russia; but why should English philosophers, of all
others, have to protest against the tyranny of society? It is true,
nevertheless, that in countries governed despotically, the individual,
unless he is obnoxious to the Government, enjoys far greater freedom, or
rather license, than in a country like England, which governs itself.
Russian society, for instance, is extremely indulgent. It tolerates in its
rulers and statesmen a haughty defiance of the simplest rules of social
propriety, and it seems amused rather than astonished or indignant at the
vagaries, the frenzies, and outrages of those who in brilliant
drawing-rooms or lecture-rooms preach the doctrines of what is called
Nihilism or Individualism,(2)--viz., "that society must be regenerated by a
struggle for existence and the survival of the strongest, processes which
Nature has sanctioned, and which have proved successful among wild
animals." If there is danger in these doctrines the Government is expected
to see to it. It may place watchmen at the doors of every house and at the
corner of every street, but it must not count on the better classes coming
forward to enrol themselves as special constables, or even on the
cooeperation of public opinion which in England would annihilate that kind
of Nihilism with one glance of scorn and pity.
In a self-governed country like England, the resistance which society, if
it likes, can oppose to the individual in the assertion of his rights, is
far more compact and powerful than in Russia, or even in Germany. Even
where it does not employ the arm of the law, society knows how to use that
quieter, but more crushing pressure, that calm, Gorgon-like look which
only the bravest and stoutest hearts know how to resist.
It is against that indirect repression which a well-organized society
exercises, both through its male and female representatives, that Mill's
demand for liberty seems directed. He does not stand up for unlimited
individualism; on the contrary, he would have been the most strenuous
defender of that balance of power between the weak and the strong on which
all social life depends. But he resents those smaller penalties which
society will always inflict on those who disturb its dignified peace and
comfort:--avoidance, exclusion, a cold look, a stinging remark. Had Mill
any right to complain of these social penalties? Would it not rather
amount to an interference with individual liberty to deprive any
individual or any number of individuals of those weapons of self-defence?
Those who themselves think and speak freely, have hardly a right to
complain, if others claim the same privilege. Mill himself called the
Conservative party the stupid party _par excellence_, and he took great
pains to explain that it was so not by accident, but by necessity. Need he
wonder if those whom he whipped and scourged used their own whips and
scourges against so merciless a critic?
Freethinkers--and I use that name as a title of honor for all who, like
Mill, claim for every individual the fullest freedom in thought, word, or
deed, compatible with the freedom of others--are apt to make one mistake.
Conscious of their own honest intentions, they cannot bear to be misjudged
or slighted. They expect society to submit to their often very painful
operations as a patient submits to the knife of the surgeon. This is not
in human nature. The enemy of abuses is always abused by his enemies.
Society will never yield one inch without resistance, and few reformers
live long enough to receive the thanks of those whom they have reformed.
Mill's unsolicited election to Parliament was a triumph not often shared
by social reformers; it was as exceptional as Bright's admission to a seat
in the Cabinet, or Stanley's appointment as Dean of Westminster. Such
anomalies will happen in a country fortunately so full of anomalies as
England; but, as a rule, a political reformer must not be angry if he
passes through life without the title of Right Honorable; nor should a
man, if he will always speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth, be disappointed if he dies a martyr rather than a Bishop.
But even granting that in Mill's time there existed some traces of social
tyranny, where are they now? Look at the newspapers and the journals. Is
there any theory too wild, any reform too violent, to be openly defended?
Look at the drawing-rooms or the meetings of learned societies. Are not
the most eccentric talkers the spoiled children of the fashionable world?
When young lords begin to discuss the propriety of limiting the rights of
inheritance, and young tutors are not afraid to propose curtailing the
long vacation, surely we need not complain of the intolerance of English
society.
Whenever I state these facts to my German and French and Italian friends,
who from reading Mill's Essay "On Liberty" have derived the impression
that, however large an amount of political liberty England may enjoy, it
enjoys but little of intellectual freedom, they are generally willing to
be converted so far as London, or other great cities are concerned. But
look at your Universities, they say, the nurseries of English thought!
Compare their mediaeval spirit, their monastic institutions, their
scholastic philosophy, with the freshness and freedom of the Continental
Universities! Strong as these prejudices about Oxford and Cambridge have
long been, they have become still more intense since Professor Helmholtz,
in an inaugural address which he delivered at his installation as Rector
of the University of Berlin, lent to them the authority of his great name.
"The tutors," he says,(3) "in the English Universities cannot deviate by a
hair's-breadth from the dogmatic system of the English Church, without
exposing themselves to the censure of their Archbishops and losing their
pupils." In German Universities, on the contrary, we are told that the
extreme conclusions of materialistic metaphysics, the boldest speculations
within the sphere of Darwin's theory of evolution, may be propounded
without let or hindrance, quite as much as the highest apotheosis of Papal
infallibility.
Here the facts on which Professor Helmholtz relies are entirely wrong, and
the writings of some of our most eminent tutors | 861.383707 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.3686570 | 1,061 | 13 |
Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
THE WILL TO DOUBT
AN ESSAY IN PHILOSOPHY FOR THE
GENERAL THINKER
BY
ALFRED H. LLOYD
Truth hath neither visible form nor body; it is without habitation or name;
like the Son of Man it hath not where to lay its head.
LONDON
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., Lim.
25 HIGH STREET, BLOOMSBURY, W.C.
1907
PREFACE.
The chapters that follow comprise what might be called an introduction
to philosophy, but such a description of them would probably be
misleading, for they are addressed quite as much to the general reader,
or rather to the general thinker, as to the prospective student of
technical philosophy. They are the attempt of a University teacher of
philosophy to meet what is a real emergency of the day, namely, the
doubt that is appearing in so many departments of life, that is
affecting so many people, and that is fraught with so many dangers, and
in attempting this they would also at least help to bridge the chasm
between academic sophistication and practical life, self-consciousness
and positive activity. With peculiar truth at the present time the
University can justify itself only by serving real life, and it can
serve real life, not merely by bringing its pure science down to, or up
to, the health and the industrial pursuits of the people, but also by
explaining, which is even to say by applying, as science is "applied,"
or by animating the general scepticism of the time.
That this scepticism is often charged to the peculiar training of the
University hardly needs to be said, but except for its making such an
undertaking as the present essay only the more appropriate the charge
itself is strangely humorous. One might also accuse the University of
making atoms and germs, or, by its magic theories, of generating
electricity or disease. Scepticism is a world-wide, life-wide fact; even
like heat or electricity, it is a natural force or agent--unless
forsooth one must exclude all the attitudes of mind from what in the
fullest and deepest sense is natural; scepticism, in short, is a real
phase of whatever is real, and its explanation is an academic
responsibility. Its explanation, however, like the explanation of
everything real or natural, can be complete only when, as already
suggested here, its application and animation have been achieved, or
when it has been shown to be properly and effectively an object of will.
So, just as we have the various applied sciences, in this essay there is
offered an applied philosophy of doubt, a philosophy that would show
doubt to have a real part in effective action, and that with the showing
would make both the doubting and the acting so much the more effective.
But it may be said that effective acting depends, not on doubt, but
rather on belief, on confidence or "credit." This will prove to be true,
excepting in what it denies. To be commonplace, to write down here and
now what is at once the truism and the paradox of this book, a vital,
practical belief must always live by doubting. Was it Schopenhauer who
declared that man walks only by saving himself at every step from a
fall? The meaning of this book is much the same, although no pessimism
is either intended or necessarily implied in such a declaration. Doubt
is no mere negative of belief; rather it is a very vital part of belief,
it has a place in the believer's experience and volition; the doubters
in society, be they trained at the University or not, and those
practical creatures in society who have kept the faith, who believe and
who do, are naturally and deeply in sympathy. And this essay seeks to
deepen their natural sympathy.
Here, then, is my simple thesis. Doubt is essential to real belief.
Perhaps this means that all vital problems are bound in a real life to
be perennial, and certainly it cannot mean that in its support I may be
expected by my readers to give a solution of every special problem that
might be raised, an answer to every question about knowledge or
morality, about religion or politics or industry, that might be asked.
Problems and questions, of course the natural children, not of doubt,
but of doubt and belief, may be as worthy and as practical as solutions.
Some of them may be even better put than answered. But be this as it
may, the present essay must be taken for what it is, not for something
else. It is, then, for reasons not less practical than theoretical, an
attempt to face and, so far as may be, to solve the very general problem
of doubt itself, or say simply--if this be simple--the problem of
whatever in general is problematic; | 861.388697 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.4562760 | 276 | 174 | THE PRAYER BOOK***
Transcribed from the 1865 Hatchard & Co. edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
BAPTISM
AS TAUGHT IN
The Bible and the Prayer Book.
* * * * *
BY
EDWARD HOARE, M.A.,
INCUMBENT OF TRINITY CHURCH, TUNBRIDGE WELLS.
* * * * *
“_Sanctify the Lord God in your hearts_; _and be ready always to give
an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is
in you_, _with meekness and fear_; _having a good conscience_.”—1
Peter iii. 15, 16.
* * * * *
* * * * *
SIXTH EDITION.
* * * * *
* * * * *
LONDON: HATCHARD & CO., 187, PICCADILLY, W.
Booksellers to H.R.H. the Princess of Wales.
1865.
* * * * *
BAPTISM
AS TAUGHT IN
THE BIBLE AND THE PRAYER BOOK.
BY
EDWARD HOARE, M.A.,
INC | 861.476316 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.4598830 | 6,599 | 81 |
Produced by David Edwards, Donalies and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Italic markup is enclosed within _underscores_.
Bold markup is enclosed within =equal signs=.
Additional notes appear at the end of the file.
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE.
THE
AMATEUR
DRAMA.
GENTLEMEN
OF THE JURY
BOSTON:
GEO. M. BAKER & CO.,
149 Washington Street.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873 by GEORGE M.
BAKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
SPENCER’S UNIVERSAL STAGE.
_A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public
or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the
necessary Stage Business._
_PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. No Plays exchanged._
1. =Lost in London.= A Drama in Three Acts. 6 Male, 4 Female
characters.
2. =Nicholas Flam.= A Comedy in Two Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Male, 3
Female characters.
3. =The Welsh Girl.= A Comedy in One Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 Male, 2
Female characters.
4. =John Wopps.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 Male, 2 Female
characters.
5. =The Turkish Bath.= A Farce in One Act. By Montague Williams and
F. C. Burnand. 6 Male, 1 Female character.
6. =The Two Puddifoots.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 Male, 3
Female characters.
7. =Old Honesty.= A Comic Drama in Two Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 Male, 2
Female characters.
8. =Two Gentlemen in a Fix.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 Male
characters.
9. =Smashington Goit.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 Male, 3
Female characters.
10. =Two Heads Better than One.= A Farce in One Act. By Lenox Horne. 4
Male, 1 Female character.
11. =John Dobbs.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 5 Male, 2 Female
characters.
12. =The Daughter of the Regiment.= A Drama in Two Acts. By Edward
Fitzball. 6 Male, 2 Female characters.
13. =Aunt Charlotte’s Maid.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
Male, 3 Female characters.
14. =Brother Bill and Me.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 Male,
3 Female characters.
15. =Done on Both Sides.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 Male,
2 Female characters.
16. =Dunducketty’s Picnic.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 6
Male, 3 Female characters.
17. =I’ve written to Browne.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
Male, 3 Female characters.
18. =Lending a Hand.= A Farce in One Act. By G. A. A’Becket. 3 Male, 2
Female characters.
19. =My Precious Betsy.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 Male, 4
Female characters.
20. =My Turn Next.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male, 3
Female characters.
21. =Nine Points of the Law.= A Comedy in One Act. By Tom Taylor. 4
Male, 3 Female characters.
22. =The Phantom Breakfast.= A Farce in One Act. By Charles Selby. 3
Male, 2 Female characters.
23. =Dandelions Dodges.= A Farce in One Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 Male,
2 Female characters.
24. =A Slice of Luck.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 Male, 2
Female characters.
25. =Always Intended.= A Comedy in One Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 Male, 3
Female characters.
26. =A Bull in a China Shop.= A Comedy in Two Acts. By Charles
Matthews. 6 Male, 4 Female characters.
27. =Another Glass.= A Drama in One Act. By Thomas Morton. 6 Male, 3
Female characters.
28. =Bowled Out.= A Farce in One Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 Male, 3 Female
characters.
29. =Cousin Tom.= A Commedietta in One Act. By George Roberts. 3 Male,
2 Female characters.
30. =Sarah’s Young Man.= A Farce in One Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 Male, 3
Female characters.
31. =Hit Him, He has No Friends.= A Farce in One Act. By E. Yates and
N. H. Harrington. 7 Male, 3 Female characters.
32. =The Christening.= A Farce in One Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 Male,
6 Female characters.
33. =A Race for a Widow.= A Farce in One Act. By Thomas J. Williams. 5
Male, 4 Female characters.
34. =Your Life’s in Danger.= A Farce in One Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
Male, 3 Female characters.
35. =True unto Death.= A Drama in Two Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6
Male, 2 Female characters.
GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY.
A Farce.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“Sylvia’s Soldier,”
“Once on a Time,” “Down by the Sea,” “The Last Loaf,”
“Bread on the Waters,” “Stand by the Flag,” “The Tempter,” “A Drop too
Much,” “We’re all Teetotalers,” “A Little more Cider,” “Thirty Minutes
for Refreshments,” “Wanted, a Male Cook,” “A Sea of Troubles,”
“Freedom of the Press,” “A Close Shave,” “The Great
Elixir,” “The Man with the Demijohn,” “Humors of
the Strike,” “New Brooms sweep Clean,” “My
Uncle the Captain,” “The Greatest Plague
in Life,” “No Cure, no Pay,” “The
Grecian Bend,” “War of the
Roses,” “Lightheart’s
Pilgrimage,”
“The
Sculptor’s
Triumph,” “Too
Late for the Train,”
“Snow-Bound,” “The Peddler
of Very Nice,” “Bonbons,”
“Capuletta,” “An Original Idea,” “My
Brother’s Keeper,” “Among the Breakers,”
“The Boston Dip,” “The Duchess of Dublin,” “A
Tender Attachment,” “Gentlemen of the Jury,” “A Public
Benefactor,” “The Thief of Time,” “The Hypochondriac,” “The
Runaways,” “Coals of Fire,” “The Red Chignon,” “Using the Weed,”
“A Love of a Bonnet,” “A Precious Pickle,” “The Revolt
of the Bees,” “The Seven Ages,”
&c., &c., &c.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER & CO.,
149 WASHINGTON STREET.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873 by
GEORGE M. BAKER,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
_Rand, Avery, & Frye, Printers, Boston._
GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY.
A FARCE.
FOR MALE CHARACTERS ONLY.
CHARACTERS.
PELEG PRECISE, Foreman. JOB TIMOROUS, JACOB DOUBTFUL, ABEL STRONGFIST,
JARVIS JOLLY, SOLOMON SNOWBALL, DENNIS O’ROURKE, NATHAN SHORT, ENOS
PAUNCH, BRAZEN BLOWER, PETER PUNSTER, SIMEON SLOW, Jurors.
SCENE.——_A Jury Room. Table_, C., _with paper, pens, ink, &c. Twelve
chairs around stage._
_Enter from_ R. _all the characters, in the order in which their names
are written, single file, across Stage, and face Audience. Door at_
R. _is slammed and locked_.
_Timorous._ Good gracious! we’re locked in! (_Rushes across stage to_
R.) Here, officer! officer!
_Slow_ (_at extreme_ R., _catching_ TIMOROUS _by arm, and swinging him
round_). Stop that. It’s all right, you know.
_Timorous._ No, I don’t. I’m afraid of fire——
_Punster_ (_swinging him round to next man_). _What er_ that?
_Timorous._ And subject to fits——
_Blower_ (_ditto_). You’re no _fit_ juror.
_Timorous._ I must have air——
_Paunch_ (_ditto_). Where _air_ you, now?
_Timorous._ Or smother——
_Short_ (_ditto_). Take him to his mother.
_Timorous._ What do you call this treatment?
_O’Rourke_ (_ditto_). The movement cure, bedad.
_Timorous._ It’s outrageous——
_Snowball_ (_ditto_). Da’s a fac’, da’s a fac’, honey.
_Timorous._ Diabolical——
_Jolly_ (_ditto_). Ha, ha! now you go ag’in.
_Timorous._ Infamous!
_Strongfist_ (_ditto_). Move on, stupid.
_Timorous._ I won’t stand it.
_Doubtful_ (_pushes him into chair_). Then sit down.
_Precise_ (_at table_). Gentlemen, be seated. (_All sit._) Before we
discuss the case with which we have been intrusted, perhaps we had
better take a vote.
_Short._ My idea exactly.
_O’Rourke._ Begorra, let’s take something cowld.
_Precise._ We have been instructed to bring a verdict, “Guilty or not
guilty.” Please write your verdict. Here are slips of paper. (_Passes
them round. All write, some on the table, some on chairs_; SNOWBALL
_writes his against the wall_.)
_O’Rourke_ (_approaches_ SNOWBALL). Whist! I say, d’ye write Guilty wid
a G or a J?
_Snowball._ Ob course not. Write him wid a pencil——so.
_O’Rourke._ O, be jabbers! It’s yerself’s a heathen——you ignoramus.
_Precise._ Now, gentlemen, if you are ready. (_Collects votes, spreads
them on table, and assorts._)
_Timorous._ I want a glass of water——I’m faint.
_Strongfist._ Shut up. Don’t disturb the meeting.
_O’Rourke._ Bedad, it’s a glass eye ye’ll be wantin’ if yer do.
_Punster._ His eye waters at the thought.
_Precise._ Gentlemen, the vote stands, six “Guilty,” six “Not guilty.”
_Jolly._ Hallo, a clean cut!
_Short._ Six mules in the crowd, certain.
_O’Rourke._ A majority on both sides, d’ye mind.
_Snowball._ Major who? Major who? Dar ain’t no sogers here, hey, I ax
you?
_Precise._ Well, gentlemen, there’s work before us; and, that we may
know each other, I propose that those who voted “guilty” take seats on
the right, those who voted “not guilty,” on the left.
_Short._ Good. I’m for the right.
_Jolly._ I feel decidedly _guilty_.
_Slow._ And so do I.
_Strongfist._ Right face. March!
_O’Rourke._ Begorra, captain, I’ll train in that company. (_They all
pass to_ R. _as they speak_. DOUBTFUL, TIMOROUS, SNOWBALL, PAUNCH,
PUNSTER, _and_ BLOWER _pass to_ L.)
_Punster._ Though on the left, we’re in the right.
_Paunch._ Well, look here, I’m getting hungry. Ain’t we going to have
our dinner?
_Blower._ You’re always thinking of eating.
_Snowball._ By golly, da’s a fac’. Dat ar Mr. Punch hab an appetite
like an earthquake.
_Paunch._ Bah! what do you know about it? Well, wake me up when you’re
through. (_Tips his chair back against wall, throws his handkerchief
over his face, and falls asleep._)
_Snowball._ Dar, de old man gwine for Morphine.
_Precise._ My vote was “Guilty,” and of course I belong with the party
on the right.
_O’Rourke._ Thrue for yez, honey; and ye’ll find it the party that’s
always right, jist.
_Snowball._ Hold yer hush, hold yer hush!
_O’Rourke._ Vat’s that, ye heathen? I’d jist like to pound that thick
pate till I had yer spachless——so I would. Begorra, ye’d cry Guilty
then.
_Timorous._ O, come, let’s have peace.
_O’Rourke._ Pace, is it? Ye’ve had a pace of my mind, onyhow.
_Precise._ No quarrelling, gentlemen. The quicker we decide this
case the better. The government has charged one Peter Popgun with an
attempt to defraud the revenue of the manufacturer’s tax on gunpowder.
Its secret agents, suspecting said Popgun, made a descent upon his
establishment, which is a country store, seized certain articles, such
as saltpetre, sulphur, and charcoal, which they found in a certain
little back shop, said articles being, in their opinion, used by said
Popgun in the manufacture of gunpowder. The said Popgun denies the
manufacture of gunpowder, and sets up a defence that the said articles
are used by him in concocting a certain patent medicine, known as the
“Medical Dead Shot.” Evidence has been produced on both sides. We
have been charged to bring in a verdict on the evidence alone. I am
quite convinced, by the testimony, that said Popgun did manufacture
gunpowder, and evade the tax. Still, I should like to hear a free
expression of opinion.
_All_ (_jumping up_). Mr. Foreman.
_Precise._ Stop, stop. One at a time.
_All._ Yes, yes; one at a time, Mr. Foreman.
_Precise._ Stop, stop, I say. We can never settle it in this way.
_Strongfist._ Of course we can’t. Let us six fight the other six. That
will settle it.
_O’Rourke._ True for yez. A fray fight. I’m wid yer. (_About to remove
his coat._)
_Precise._ Silence. There can be no fighting here. You all want to
speak. I will call upon each juror, giving both sides equal advantages
of time and opportunity. Is not that fair?
_All._ Certainly. Of course. Go on. Go on.
_Precise._ Very well. I will first call upon Mr. Timorous.
_Timorous_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury. (_Very
low._) I rise——I may say——yes, I rise——
_O’Rourke._ Louder.
_Strongfist._ Speak up like a man.
_Timorous._ I said——I rise——to say, if I may say——I rise to say——
_O’Rourke._ O, be jabbers, you’re all out to say.
(_The party on the_ L., _with the exception of_ PAUNCH, _rise
indignantly_.) Mr. Foreman, Mr. Foreman!
_Precise_ (_pounds on table_). Silence! Order, gentlemen, order.
_Blower._ Mr. Foreman, this attempt of the party on the right to
intimidate the party on the left is unjust.
_Punster._ Far from being righteous or courteous.
_Snowball._ Am we jurors, or am we not jurors? I ax you?
_Precise._ The interruption shall not occur again. Go on, Mr. Timorous.
_Timorous._ If you please, Mr. Foreman, I only rose to say——that, if I
might be allowed to say it——that——I’ve got nothing to say.
_Party on right._ Shame! Humbug! Put him out!
_Precise._ Order, gentlemen.——Have you no reason to give for your vote
of “Not guilty”?
_Timorous._ O, yes; lots. I voted “Guilty,” no, “Not guilty,”
because——well, because——Popgun don’t look like a man who would concoct
such a sanguinary mixture as powder. He hasn’t the air of a ruffian.
His thoughts don’t run in that explosive channel. I’m something of a
physiognomist.
_Snowball._ Mahogany! What’s dat?
_Timorous._ A physiognomist. I judge by the face——
_Party on right._ O, humbug!
_Blower._ Mr. Foreman, I protest. This attempt to stifle the voice of
Justice is a high-handed crime.
_Snowball._ Yes, sar; it’s bigamy, kleptomania, arson.
_Precise._ Order, gentlemen.——Go on, Mr. Timorous.
_Timorous._ But then I haven’t any particular opinion in the matter;
and if you want me to change——
_Blower._ Silence, traitor!
_Snowball._ Shut up yer tater trap.
_Punster._ Suppose you sit, for a change. (_Pulls him down to seat._)
_Timorous._ Anything to oblige.
_Precise._ Mr. Jolly.
_Jolly_ (_rising_). My turn, hey? Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the
jury,——
To make or not to make, that is the question.
Whether ’tis better to let Popgun suffer
The law’s full penalty for mixing powder,
Or to take arms against this awful tax,
And by our verdict free him.
Gentlemen, Popgun is a dangerous man. I am for his annihilation. He
is a second Guy Fawkes. Behind his shop are concealed those explosive
materials destined to spread havoc and destruction in an innocent
neighborhood. We might spare him if the possible destruction of a
thousand or two of his immediate neighbors was the only consequence
to be feared. But he’s a sneak; he dodges the tax. That we must not
suffer. The medicine story won’t do; the dose is too heavy; it won’t
stay on the stomach. That gun recoils upon Popgun, who is too heavily
charged by the evidence to be discharged by this jury. (_Sits._)
_Precise._ Order, gentlemen. Mr. Doubtful.
_Snowball._ No, sar, no, sar. I move we lay him onto de table, _sinner
die_.
_O’Rourke._ Die, is it, ye black sinner? Howld yer pate, or you’ll die
jist.
_Doubtful_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury, there’s
one p’int in this evidence I want cleared up.
_O’Rourke._ Is it a pint of whiskey, I donno?
_All._ Order, order.
_O’Rourke._ That’s what I’d like to do, and drink it, too.
_Doubtful._ If that air Popgun made gunpowder, why didn’t somebody see
him do it? Cause a man’s got saltpetre in his house, and sulphur and
charcoal, it doesn’t foller that he’s going to make gunpowder. I’ve got
charcoal in my house——kindle the fire with it; sulphur to bleach with;
saltpetre for curing purposes. But nobody ever said I made gunpowder.
It’s rediculous. Popgun’s got eggs in his store. Why don’t you say he
hatched _them_? (_Sits._)
_Snowball._ Da’s a fac’, da’s a fac’. Second de motion.
_All._ Order, order.
_Precise._ Mr. Strongfist.
_Strongfist._ Well, you’re a pretty set of sneaks over there, you are.
_All._ Order, order.
_Strongfist._ O, I know what I’m about. I’d like to get in among you.
I believe in justice. I believe in any man’s having his say in this
world; but I don’t believe in arguing about a matter that’s as plain as
the nose on your face. The man made gunpowder, and sold it, didn’t pay
the tax, and you fellows over there know it. You’re a set of obstinate
fools; and it’s the duty of all loyal citizens to stand by the
government and punish traitors. The government’s been insulted by this
contemptible Popgun, and you fellows on the left uphold him. Our duty
is clear, to bring you to your senses. (_Takes off coat._) So, come on.
(_Squares off._)
_O’Rourke._ I’m wid yez. Fag a ballah! Erin come unim.
_All._ Order, order.
_Precise._ Gentlemen, peace, I pray. Mr. Strongfist, your argument is
very weak.
_Strongfist._ Is it? Well, my fist is strong; let me try that.
_Precise._ No, sir; you will please be seated. Mr. Paunch.
_Snowball_ (_shaking him_). Here, Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch.
_Paunch._ Hey? O, yes. Mr. Foreman, I’ve got precious little to say.
I’m hungry; I’ve had nothing to eat since morning. I was invited out
to dinner at five o’clock with Alderman Cross. Fine leg of venison and
native tomatoes, sliced, stewed, and broiled. The alderman is a capital
eater, weighs three hundred and fifty, and has the best hogs——
_Precise._ Won’t you confine yourself to the question, Mr. Paunch?
_Paunch._ O, yes. Hogshead of Madeira you ever tasted. It’s capital.
Then his cheeses! Good gracious! they’re mighty——
_Precise._ Mr. Paunch, Mr. Paunch!
_Paunch._ They’re mighty fine. What did you say, sir?
_Precise._ Will you give your reasons for voting “Not guilty”?
_Paunch._ Certainly. Stop. Did I vote “Not guilty”? I don’t remember.
It don’t make any difference. Settle it as you please, only remember I
must dine with Alderman Cross at five. (_Sits and goes to sleep again._)
_Snowball._ Question, question! We’ll all dine with Cross, hey! I ax
you.
_Precise._ Mr. Slow, you next.
_Slow._ Hey? Yes. Well, I don’t know. Popgun did make gunpowder, I
guess, cause he had a little shop. (_Pauses._)
_Precise._ Well, go on, Mr. Slow.
_Slow._ Yes. Well, he had a little shop, Popgun had, and he made
somethin’ in that shop; and if he didn’t make gunpowder, he made
somethin’ in that little shop that he didn’t pay no tax onto. And so
he’s guilty er somethin’ or other in that little shop. So long’s he’s
caught, what’s the odds, as long as you’re happy. (_Sits._)
_Snowball._ Doubted, doubted.
_All._ Order.
_Precise._ Mr. Blower.
_Blower_ (_rises, flourishes his handkerchief, blows his nose,
strikes an attitude_). M-r-r-r-r. Foreman, and gent_ee_lmen of the
jury, it is with spontaneous emotion that I rise to address you. You,
genteelmen, with me, have looked upon a touching scene to-day. We have
seen an enlightened citizen of this great republic, which, like the
light of yonder firmament, attracts the attention of the whole world.
We have seen him dragged from the bosom of his family and placed at
the bar, at the bar, gentlemen, there to answer to grave and serious
charges. It is evident that in the mysterious depths of that little
back shop something has been concocted. The government says “Powder;”
the defendant says “Shot.” Powder and shot! “Powder” _or_ “shot,”
in this case. One possesses the power to blow the human frame into
infinitesimal particles; the other cures all ills that flesh is heir
to. Can we pause and deliberate? Look at that man, dragged from the
bosom of his family; his wife and children——
_Jolly._ Beg your pardon, Blower. Popgun is single.
_Blower._ Hey? Dragged from the paternal mansion. Hear the cry of
the agonized and aged mother of the prisoner, as she stands upon the
doorstep and screams, “My child! Bring back my little Popgun!”
_Jolly._ Wrong again, Blower. He’s neither father nor mother.
_Blower._ Hey! Poor orphan! without a friend in the world! Can we turn
our backs upon him? No. Let us be merciful. Let us indorse his patent
medicine, and carry from this room a verdict of Not guilty. Then shall
the tears of the orphan be squelched in gratitude, and the blessings of
future generations of Popguns follow us.
_O’Rourke._ Begorra, that’s a teching appeal.
_Precise._ Now, Mr. O’Rourke, your turn.
_O’Rourke_ (_rising_). I ax yer pardon, judge, Mr. Foreman, and
gintlemen all. Wid the blood of forty ginerations of O’Rourkes a
seethin’ with patriotic emotion in me bosom, d’ye mind; with faylings
of gratitude for the fray gifts of life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness, guaranteed by this moighty republic, which, as I look back
into the future, is iver prisint in all its glory, d’ye mind. Could
I be so base as to dash myself foreninst those illigant laws that
crush the wake and guard the strong? By the grane sod of ould Ireland,
niver! If that thaif of the wurld, Popgun, has transgressed the law,
let him swing. And what for would he be mixing saltpatre and——and——and
brimstone, and——and charcoal, if not to blow up somebody. Medicine, is
it? It’s my opinion that we’d better bring in a verdict of Guilty, and
hang him, wid a recommendation to mercy, provided forty doses of his
Medical Dead Shot bring him to life afther he’s been dead and buried
siven days. Thim’s my verdict, judge. (_Sits._)
_Jolly._ That’s a reviving verdict.
_Precise._ Mr. Punster.
_Punster_ (_rising_). Mr. Foreman, and gentlemen of the jury, the
party popularly known in this suit as Popgun is a small affair, but I
do not wonder that he kicks against this attempt of the government to
charge him with powder he never made. How would you like it yourselves,
gentlemen? Imagine yourselves Popguns, and happy in the disposing of
butter, cheese, and——and hairpins to a needy community. Upon a luckless
occasion, you sell ten cents’ worth of powder to a red-headed urchin
on the eve of our glorious independence. The awful crime is repeated;
and, by the power of government, you innocent Popguns are incarcerated
on a grave charge. You hear nothing but powder; you are loaded with
reproaches and powder; it is rammed down your throats, until, like
Popgun, you burst with indignation. Have we not heard from the lips
of competent witnesses the amazing power of his Dead Shot? An old
man had suffered forty years with influenza; the Dead Shot stopped
it forever. An old lady, bent double with the rheumatism, was made
straight by its power. A young mother, whose tender infant had wailed
night after night, was loud in its praises. Gentlemen, this suit comes
from the malice and jealousy of an envious rival. Gentlemen, this is a
conspiracy. Let us clear Popgun of the charges under which he labors | 861.479923 |
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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OVERLAND TALES
by
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD.
[Illustration]
San Francisco:
A. L. Bancroft & Co.
1877.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
Josephine Clifford,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
[Illustration: J. FAGAN & SON, STEREOTYPERS, PHILAD'A.]
COLLINS, PRINTER.
Dedicated
TO MY KINDEST
AND
_MOST CONSTANT READER_,
MOTHER.
PREFACE.
In the book I now lay before the reader, I have collected a series of
stories and sketches of journeyings through California, Arizona, and New
Mexico. There is little of fiction, even in the stories; and the
sketches, I flatter myself, are true to life--as I saw it, at the time I
visited the places.
A number of these stories first appeared in the OVERLAND MONTHLY, but
some of them are new, and have never been published. I bespeak for them
all the attentive perusal and undivided interest of the kind reader.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
_LA GRACIOSA_, 13
_JUANITA_, 53
_HETTY'S HEROISM_, 68
_A WOMAN'S TREACHERY_, 87
_THE GENTLEMAN FROM SISKIYOU_, 101
_SOMETHING ABOUT MY PETS_, 119
_POKER-JIM_, 137
_THE TRAGEDY AT MOHAWK STATION_, 153
_LONE LINDEN_, 161
_MANUELA_, 188
_THE ROMANCE OF GILA BEND_, 204
_A LADY IN CAMP_, 219
_THE GOLDEN LAMB_, 237
_IT OCCURRED AT TUCSON_, 260
_A BIT OF "EARLY CALIFORNIA"_, 274
_HER NAME WAS SYLVIA_, 282
_CROSSING THE ARIZONA DESERTS_, 296
_DOWN AMONG THE DEAD LETTERS_, 310
_MARCHING WITH A COMMAND_, 321
_TO TEXAS, AND BY THE WAY_, 354
_MY FIRST EXPERIENCE IN NEW MEXICO_, 367
OVERLAND TALES.
_LA GRACIOSA._
It was a stolid Indian face, at the first casual glance, but lighting up
wonderfully with intelligence and a genial smile, when the little dark
man, with the Spanish bearing, was spoken to. Particularly when
addressed by one of the fairer sex, did a certain native grace of
demeanor, an air of chivalrous gallantry, distinguish him from the more
cold-blooded, though, perhaps, more fluent-spoken, Saxon people
surrounding him.
Among the many different eyes fixed upon him now and again, in the
crowded railroad-car, was one pair, of dark luminous gray, that dwelt
there longer, and returned oftener, than its owner chose to have the man
of the olive skin know. Still, he must have felt the magnetism of those
eyes; for, conversing with this, disputing with that, and greeting the
third man, he advanced, slowly but surely, to where a female figure,
shrouded in sombre black, sat close by the open window. There was
something touching in the young face that looked from out the heavy
widow's veil, which covered her small hat, and almost completely
enveloped the slender form. The face was transparently pale, the
faintest flush of pink tinging the cheeks when any emotion swayed the
breast; the lips were full, fresh, and cherry-red in color, and the
hair, dark-brown and wavy, was brushed lightly back from the temples.
The breeze at the open window was quite fresh, for the train in its
flight was nearing the spot where the chill air from the ocean draws
through the Salinos Valley. Vainly the slender fingers tried to move the
obstinate spring that held aloft the upper part of the window. The color
crept faintly into the lady's cheeks, for suddenly a hand, hardly larger
than her's, though looking brown beside it, gently displaced her fingers
and lowered the window without the least trouble. The lady's gloves had
dropped; her handkerchief had fluttered to the floor; a small basket was
displaced; all these things were remedied and attended to by the
Spaniard, who had surely well-earned the thanks she graciously bestowed.
"Excuse me," he said, with unmistakable Spanish pronunciation; "but you
do not live in our Valley--do you?"
"This is my first visit," she replied; "but I shall probably live here
for the future."
"Ah! that makes me so happy," he said, earnestly, laying his hand on his
heart.
The lady looked at him in silent astonishment. "Perhaps that is the way
of the Spanish people," she said to herself. "At any rate, he has very
fine eyes, and--it may be tedious living in Salinos."
Half an hour's conversation brought out the fact that a married sister's
house was to be the home of the lady for a while; that the sister did
not know of her coming just to-day, and that her ankle was so badly
sprained that walking was very painful to her.
From the other side it was shown that his home was in the neighborhood
of the town ("one of those wealthy Spanish rancheros," she thought);
that he was slightly acquainted with her brother-in-law; that he was a
widower, and that his two sons would be at the depot to receive him.
These sons would bring with them, probably, a light spring-wagon from
the ranch, but could easily be sent back for the comfortable carriage,
if the lady would allow him the pleasure of seeing her safely under her
sister's roof. She said she would accept a seat in the spring-wagon, and
Senor Don Pedro Lopez withdrew, with a deep bow, to look after his
luggage.
"Poor lady!" he explained to a group of his inquiring friends, "poor
lady! She is deep in mourning, and she has much sorrow in her heart."
And he left them quickly, to assist his _protege_ with her wraps. Then
the train came to a halt, and Don Pedro's new acquaintance, leaning on
his arm, approached the light vehicle, at either side of which stood the
two sons, bending courteously, in acknowledgment of the lady's greeting.
When Don Pedro himself was about to mount to the seat beside her, she
waved him back, with a charmingly impetuous motion of the hand. "I am
safe enough with your sons," she laughed, pleasantly. "Do you stop at my
brother-in-law's office, pray, and tell him I have come."
Sister Anna was well pleased to greet the new arrival--"without an
attachment." Her sister Nora's "unhappy marriage" had been a source of
constant trouble and worry to her; and here she came at last--alone.
Brother-in-law Ben soon joined them, and Nora's first evening passed
without her growing seriously lonesome or depressed. Sister Anna, to be
sure, dreaded the following days. Her sister's unhappy marriage, she
confided to her nearest neighbor, had so tried the poor girl's nerves,
that she should not wonder if she sank into a profound melancholy. She
did all she could to make the days pass pleasantly; but what can you do
in a small town when you have neither carriage nor horses?
Fortunately, Don Pedro came to the rescue. He owned many fine
horses and a number of vehicles--from an airy, open buggy to a
comfortably-cushioned carriage. He made his appearance a day or two
after Nora's arrival, mounted on a prancing black steed, to whose every
step jingled and clashed the heavy silver-mounted trappings, which the
older Spaniards are fond of decking out their horses with. He came
only, like a well-bred man, to inquire after the sprained ankle; but
before he left he had made an engagement to call the very next morning,
with his easiest carriage, to take both ladies out to drive.
And he appeared, punctual to the minute, sitting stiffly in the
barouche-built carriage, on the front seat beside the driver, who, to
Nora's unpractised eye, seemed a full Indian, though hardly darker than
his master. True, the | 861.483447 |
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Produced by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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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 | 861.577405 |
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Produced by Simon Gardner, Sankar Viswanathan, Adrian
Mastronardi, The Philatelic Digital Library Project at
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GAMBIA
BY
FRED J. MELVILLE,
PRESIDENT OF THE JUNIOR
PHILATELIC SOCIETY.
MDCCCCIX--PUBLISHED--BY--THE
MELVILLE--STAMP--BOOKS,
47,--STRAND,--LONDON,--W.C.
* * * * *
[page 7]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
In collecting the stamps of Gambia one cannot too strongly emphasise
the necessity for guarding the stamps of the "Cameo" series against
deterioration by the pressure of the leaves in an ordinary unprotected
album. In their pristine state with clear and bold embossing these
stamps are of exceptional grace and beauty. Sunk mounts or other
similar contrivances, and a liberal use of tissue paper, should be
utilised by the collector who desires to retain his specimens in their
original state. A neat strip of card affixed to each side of the page
in an ordinary album will have the effect of keeping the pages above
from flattening out the embossing, but tissue paper should be used as
an additional safeguard.
We have to express thanks to Mr. Douglas Ellis, Vice-President of the
Junior Philatelic Society, for his notes on the postmarks--of which
he has made a special study--and also for the loan of his entire
collection of the stamps of Gambia for reference and illustration;
to Mr. H. H. Harland for a similar courtesy in the loan of his
collection; to Mr. W. H. Peckitt for the loan of stamps for
illustration; to Mr. D. B. Armstrong for interesting notes on
the postal affairs of the Colony; and to Mr. S. R. Turner for his
diagrams.
To the first two gentlemen we are also indebted for their kindness in
undertaking the revision of the proofs of this handbook.
[page 8]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE, 7
CHAPTER I.
THE COLONY AND ITS POSTS, 11
CHAPTER II.
CAMEO ISSUE OF 1869, 16
CHAPTER III.
ISSUE OF 1874, 20
CHAPTER IV.
ISSUE OF 1880, 25
CHAPTER V.
ISSUE OF 1886-87, 37
CHAPTER VI.
QUEEN'S HEAD SERIES, 1898, 45
CHAPTER VII.
KING'S HEAD SERIES, 1902-1906, 50
CHAPTER VIII.
PROVISIONAL ISSUE, 1906, 53
CHAPTER IX.
BIBLIOGRAPHY, 56
CHAPTER X.
CHECK LIST, 58
APPENDIX.
NOTES ON THE POSTMARKS, by Douglas Ellis, 66
[page 11]
GAMBIA.
CHAPTER I.
The Colony and Its Posts.
The British West African possession known as the Colony and
Protectorate of the Gambia occupies a narrow strip of territory
(averaging 12 miles in width) on both sides of the Gambia river.
The territory comprises the settlement of St. Mary, where the
capital--Bathurst--is situated, British Cambo, Albreda, M'Carthy's
Island and the Ceded Mile, a protectorate over a narrow band of land
extending from Cape St. Mary for over 250 miles along both banks of
the river.
The Gambia river was discovered by a Portuguese navigator in 1447;
under a charter of Queen Elizabeth a company was formed to trade with
the Gambia in 1588. In the reign of James II. a fort was erected by
British traders at the mouth of the river (1686), and for many years
their only traffic was in slaves. The territory became recognised as a
British possession under the Treaty of Versailles, and on the enforced
liquidation of the chartered company it [page 12] was incorporated
with the Crown as one of the West African settlements. Until 1843,
when it was granted separate government, it was administered by the
Governor of Sierra Leone. In 1868 it was again annexed to Sierra
Leone, and not until twenty years later was it created a separate
Crown Colony with a Governor and responsible government of its own. At
present the staple trade of the Colony is ground nuts, but efforts are
being made to induce the natives to take up other products.
Postally there is little to record prior to 1866, which is the date
ascribed by Mr. F. Bisset Archer, Treasurer and Postmaster-General,
to an alteration in the scale of postage, the half ounce weight for
letters being introduced. The rate to Great Britain was, we believe,
from that date 6d. per half ounce.
Mr. Archer also gives this year (1866) as the date when the first
postage stamps of the Colony were issued. This date was for a time
accepted in the stamp catalogues, but it is now generally believed to
be an error, the earliest records in the stamp journals of the period
shewing the date to be 1869.
The postal notices we have been able to trace are of but little
interest, the following being all that bear on matters of interest to
collectors:--
POST OFFICE NOTICE.
_Reduction of Postage, &c._
On and from the 1st April, 1892, the Postage to all parts of the World
on Letters, Newspapers, Books, etc., will be as follows:--
For Letters, 2 1/2d. per 1/2 oz.
For Postcards, 1d. each.
For Reply Postcards, 2d. each.
[page 13]
For Newspapers, books, printed papers, commercial papers,
patterns and samples, 1/2d. per 2 oz., with the Postal
Union proviso of a minimum payment of 2 1/2d. for a packet of
commercial papers, and of 1d. for a packet of patterns or
samples.
Fee for registration of any of the above named articles, 2d.
Fee for the acknowledgment of the delivery of a registered
article, 2 1/2d.
By His Excellency's Command,
(Signed) J. H. FINDEN,
_Postmaster._
Post Office, Bathurst, Gambia,
_3rd March, 1892._
POST OFFICE.
Ordinance No. 6 of 1897.
_March 11th, 1897._
1. This Ordinance may be cited as the Post Office Ordinance, 1897,
Inland Postal Regulations.
13. From and after the commencement of this Ordinance, postal packets
may be sent by post between such places in the Colony of the Gambia
and the Protected Territories adjacent thereto as may be from time to
time notified by the Administrator.
14. The Administrator-in-Council may from time to time make in
relation to the inland post hereby established such regulations as he
may think fit--
For prescribing and regulating the places, times, and modes of
posting and delivery.
For fixing the rates of postage to be payable on inland
letters and postal packets.
For prescribing payment of postage and regulating the mode
thereof.
For regulating the affixing of postage stamps.
For prescribing and regulating the payment again of postage in
case of redirection.
For regulating the dimensions and maximum weight of packet.
[page 14]
For prohibiting or restricting the printing or writing of
marks or communications or words.
For prohibiting enclosures.
For restricting the sending or conveyance of inland letters.
and such other regulations as the Administrator shall from time to
time consider desirable for the more efficient working of such Inland
Post.
And may affix a penalty not exceeding ten pounds, to be recovered
summarily before the Chief Magistrate, or two Justices of the Peace,
or, in default of payment, imprisonment not exceeding two weeks for a
contravention of any such regulation.
15. Any revenue derived from the Inland Post herein established shall
be paid into the Colonial Treasury at such times and in such a manner
as the Administrator shall direct, and shall be applied to the general
purposes of the Colony.
Insurance of and Compensation for loss and damage to Parcels.
11. Subject to the provisions of this Ordinance, if any article of
pecuniary value enclosed in, or forming part of, a parcel be lost
or damaged whilst in the course of transmission through the post, it
shall be lawful for the Administrator to cause to be paid out of the
public revenues of the Colony to any person or persons who may, in
the opinion of the Postmaster, establish a reasonable claim to
compensation (having regard to the nature of the article, the care
with which it was packed, and other circumstances), the following
rates of compensation--
(a) In respect of an uninsured parcel, such sum, not exceeding
twenty shillings, as he may think just.
(b) In respect of an insured parcel the following scale shall
apply--
To secure compensation up to L12 there shall be payable a fee of 5d
" " " L24 " " " 7 1/2d
" " " L36 " " " 10d
" " " L48 " " " 1/0 1/2d
" " " L50 " " " 1/3
We gather from the official handbook edited by Mr. Archer that a
Government steamer maintains weekly [page 15] communication between
the Capital, Bathurst, and M'Carthy's Island both for passengers and
mails. There is no house-to-house delivery of mails at either place.
Gambia joined the Universal Postal Union on January 1st, 1879; the
Imperial Penny Postage rate was adopted from December 25th, 1898; and
the unit of weight for colonial and foreign letter postage was raised
from half an ounce to one ounce on October 1st, 1907. The Cash on
Delivery system was introduced on October 15th, 1908.
The following table gives an outline of the postal business, the large
fluctuations | 861.578444 |
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Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by Veronika Redfern.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXX.--No. 1.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Hide and Seek 193
Flowers for Mamma 195
Outwitted 197
Zip <DW53> 199
The Fuss in the Poultry-Yard 201
Our Charley 206
Drawing-Lesson 209
More about "Parley-voo" 210
The old Pump 214
Winter on Lake Constance 215
Swan-upping 216
The Man in the Moon 219
The Boy and the Cat 220
IN VERSE.
Hammock Song 196
Rosie and the Pigs 198
What's up 203
Minding Mother 204
Peet-Weet 207
Baby's Ride 212
Baby-Brother 222
Under Green Leaves (_with music_) 224
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HIDE AND SEEK.
VOL. XXX.--NO. 1.]
HIDE-AND-SEEK.
WHERE is Charley? Where can the boy have gone? Just now he was here by
my side. Now he is out of my sight. I will call him. 'Charley, Charley,
my boy! where are you?'
"No answer. Hark! I hear a noise up in that tree. Can that be Charley?
Oh, no! It is a bird. 'Little bird, have you seen a small boy with curly
hair? Tell me where to look for him.'
"The bird will not tell me. I must ask the squirrel. 'Squirrel, have you
seen a boy with rosy cheeks?' Away goes the squirrel into a hole without
saying a word.
"Ah! there goes a butterfly. I will ask him. 'Butterfly, have you seen a
boy, with black eyes, rosy cheeks, and curly hair?' The butterfly lights
on a bush. Now he flies again. Now he is off without making any reply.
"Dear me! what shall I do? Is my little boy lost in the woods? Must I go
home without him? Oh, how can I live without my boy!"
Out pops a laughing face from the bushes.
"Here I am, mamma!" says Charley. "Don't cry. Here I am close by you."
"Why, so you are. Come out here, you little rogue, and tell me where you
have been all this time."
"I have been right behind this tree, and I heard every word you said,"
says Charley.
"What a joke that was! Why, Charley, you must have kept still for as
much as three minutes. I never knew you to do that before."
IDA FAY.
[Illustration]
FLOWERS FOR MAMMA.
OUR readers will remember a picture of this same little girl as she was
taking her doll to ride. While Dolly was taking her nap, Grace ran into
the garden again. She flitted about among the flowers, as busy as a bee,
for a few minutes. Then she came running into the house. The picture
shows what she brought back to her mamma.
JANE OLIVER.
[Illustration]
HAMMOCK SONG.
HEIGH-HO, to and fro!
How the merry breezes blow!
Blue skies, blue eyes,
Baby, bees, and butterflies,
Daisies growing everywhere,
Breath of roses in the air!
Dollie Dimple, swing away,
Baby darling, at your play.
MARY D. BRINE.
OUTWITTED.
ONE fine summer day a very hungry fox sallied out in search of his
dinner. After a while his eye rested on a young rooster, which he
thought would make a very good meal: so he lay down under a wall and hid
himself in the high grass, intending to wait until the rooster got near
enough, and then to spring on him, and carry him off.
Suddenly, however, the rooster saw him and flew, in a great fright, to
the top of the wall.
The fox could not get him there, and he knew it: so he came out from his
hiding-place, and addressed the rooster thus: "Dear me!" he cried, "how
handsomely you are dressed! I came to invite your magnificence to a
grand christening feast. The duck and the goose have promised to come,
and the turkey, though slightly ill, will try to come also.
[Illustration]
"You see that only those of rank are bidden to this feast, and we beg
you to adorn it with your splendid talent for music. We are to have the
most delicate little cock-chafers served up on toast, a delicious salad
of earthworms, in fact all manner of good things. Will you not return
then with me to my house?"
"Oh ho!" said the rooster, "how kind you are! What fine stories you
tell! Still I think it safest to decline your kind invitation. I am
sorry not to go to that splendid feast; but I cannot leave my wife, for
she is sitting on seven new eggs. Good-by! I hope you will relish those
earthworms. Don't come too near me, or I will crow for the dogs.
Good-by!"
LEONORA, from the German.
[Illustration]
ROSIE AND THE PIGS.
ROSIE was breakfasting out on the grass
When two pigs, on a walking tour, happened to pass.
One pig, with rude manners, came boldly in front,
And first gave a stare, and then gave a grunt,
As much as to say, "What is that you have got?
Just give us a taste, my dear, out of your pot!"
T.
[Illustration]
ZIP <DW53>.
DID you ever see a raccoon? I am going to tell you about one that was
sent from the South as a present to a lady whose name was Isabella. He
was called Zip <DW53>, and a very wise <DW53> he was.
Zip had a long, low body, covered with stiff yellowish hair. His nose
was pointed, and his eyes were bright as buttons. His paws were regular
little hands, and he used them just like hands.
He was very tame. He would climb up on Isabella's chair, and scramble to
her shoulder. Then he would comb her hair with his fingers, pick at her
ear-rings, and feel of her collar and pin and buttons.
Isabella's mother was quite ill, but sometimes was able to sit in her
chair and eat her dinner from a tray on her lap. She liked to have Zip
in her room; but, if left alone with her, Zip would jump up in the
chair behind her, and try to crowd her off. He would reach around, too,
under her arm, and steal things from her tray.
Once the cook in the kitchen heard a brisk rattling of tin pans in the
pantry. She opened the door, and there, on a shelf, was Zip. There were
two pans standing side by side. One had Indian-meal in it, and the other
nice sweet milk. In front of the pans stood Zippy.
He had scooped the meal from one pan into the milk in the other pan, and
was stirring up a pudding with all his might. He looked over his
shoulder when he heard the cook coming up behind him, and worked away
all the faster, as if to get the pudding done before he was snatched up,
and put out of the pantry.
Zip was very neat and clean. He loved to have a bowl of water and piece
of soap set down for his own use. He would take the soap in his hands,
dip it into the water, and rub it between his palms; then he would reach
all around his body, and wash himself. It was very funny to see him
reach way around, and wash his back.
One day, Isabella, not feeling well, was lying on her bed. Zippy was
playing around her in his usual way. Pretty soon he ran under the bed,
and was busy a long while reaching up, and pulling and picking at the
slats over his head. By and by he crawled out; and what do you think he
had between his teeth? A pretty little red coral ear-ring that Isabella
had lost several weeks before. Zip's bright eyes had spied it as he was
playing around under the bed. So you see Zip <DW53> did some good that
time.
When Zip grew older, he became so cross and snappish, that he had to be
chained up in the woodshed in front of his little house. On the door of
his house was printed in red letters, "Zip <DW53>: he bites."
HELEN MARR.
[Illustration]
THE FUSS IN THE POULTRY-YARD.
THERE is no sign of a fuss to be seen in the picture. Little Ellen is
feeding a quiet old hen, and two or three younger ones are slowly coming
up to see what is going on. All is calm and serene.
But if we could look round a corner, and take a view of the other side
of the barnyard, we should see something quite exciting.
The trouble was made by three hens of foreign breed. They felt so proud
because they had big tufts on their heads, that they looked down on the
native barn-yard fowls. One old white hen they never cease to pick upon.
Now, the old white hen, although plain, was very smart. If there was a
good fat worm to be found anywhere, she was sure to scratch it up. This
was what caused the fuss.
Old Whitey scratched up a worm. Three tufted hens at once tried to take
it away from her. There was a chase all around the barnyard. Old Whitey,
with the worm in her mouth, kept the lead.
Out she dashed through an opening in the fence. Down she went, down the
hill back of the barn. The three tufted hens, like three highwaymen,
were close upon her.
Well, what was the end of it? They didn't get the worm; I can tell you
that. But there was a fight, and I can't say that poor Whitey got off
without being badly pecked.
UNCLE CHARLES.
[Illustration]
WHAT'S UP?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
WHY does Miss Prim;
So stylish and slim,
Hold up her head so high?
What does she see?
A bird in the tree?
Or is it a star in the sky?
And here is young Jane
In bonnet so plain:
And why is she looking up too?
Do they seek at high noon
For the man in the moon?
Now, really, I wish that I knew?
V. W.
[Illustration]
MINDING MOTHER.
"OROOK, orook, orook!"
It is the half-grown turkeys | 861.583389 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.5659770 | 7,265 | 11 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Golden Face
A Tale of the Wild West
By Bertram Mitford
Published by Trischler and Company, London.
This edition dated 1892.
Golden Face, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
GOLDEN FACE, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
PREFACE.
An impression prevails in this country that for many years past the Red
men of the American Continent have represented a subdued and generally
deteriorated race. No idea can be more erroneous. Debased, to a
certain extent, they may have become, thanks to drink and other
"blessings" of civilisation; but that the warrior-spirit, imbuing at any
rate the more powerful tribes, is crushed, or that a semi-civilising
process has availed to render them other than formidable and dangerous
foes, let the stirring annals of Western frontier colonisation for the
last half-century in general, and the Sioux rising of barely a year ago
in particular, speak for themselves.
This work is a story--not a history. Where matters historical have been
handled at all the Author has striven to touch them as lightly as
possible, emphatically recognising that when differences arise between a
civilised Power and barbarous races dwelling within or beyond its
borders, there is invariably much to be said on both sides.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE WINTER CABIN.
"Snakes! if that ain't the war-whoop, why then old Smokestack Bill never
had to keep a bright lookout after his hair."
Both inmates of the log cabin exchanged a meaning glance. Other
movement made they none, save that each man extended an arm and reached
down his Winchester rifle, which lay all ready to his hand on the heap
of skins against which they were leaning. Within, the firelight glowed
luridly on the burnished barrels of the weapons, hardly penetrating the
gloomy corners of the hut. Without, the wild shrieking of the wind and
the swish and sough of pine branches furiously tossing to the eddying
gusts.
"Surely not," was the reply, after a moment of attentive listening.
"None of the reds would be abroad on such a night as this, let alone a
war-party. Why they are no fonder of the cold than we, and to-night we
are in for something tall in the way of blizzards."
"Well, it's a sight far down that I heard it," went on the scout,
shaking his head. "Whatever the night is up here, it may be as mild as
milk-punch down on the plain. There's scalping going forward
somewhere--mind me."
"If so, it's far enough away. I must own to having heard nothing at
all."
For all answer the scout rose to his feet, placed a rough screen of
antelope hide in front of the fire, and, cautiously opening the door,
peered forth into the night. A whirl of keen, biting wind, fraught with
particles of frozen snow which stung the face like quail-shot, swept
round the hut, filling it with smoke from the smouldering pine-logs;
then both men stepped outside, closing the door behind them.
No, assuredly no man, red or white, would willingly be abroad that
night. The icy blast, to which exposure--benighted on the open plain--
meant, to the inexperienced, certain death, was increasing in violence,
and even in the sheltered spot where the two men stood it was hardly
bearable for many minutes at a time. The night, though tempestuous, was
not blackly dark, and now and again as the snow-scud scattered wildly
before the wind, the mountain side opposite would stand unveiled; each
tall crag towering up, a threatening fantastic shape, its rocky front
dark against the driven whiteness of its base. And mingling with the
roaring of the great pines and the occasional thunder of masses of snow
dislodged from their boughs would be borne to the listeners' ears, in
eerie chorus, the weird dismal howling of wolves. It was a scene of
indescribable wildness and desolation, that upon which these two looked
forth from their winter cabin in the lonely heart of the Black Hills.
But, beyond the gruesome cry of ravening beasts and the shriek of the
gale, there came no sound, nothing to tell of the presence or movements
of man more savage, more merciless than they.
"Snakes! but I can't be out of it!" muttered the scout, as once more
within their warm and cosy shanty they secured the door behind them.
"Smokestack Bill ain't the boy to be out of it over a matter of an
Indian yelp. And he can tell a Sioux yelp from a Cheyenne yelp, and a
Kiowa yelp from a Rapaho yelp, with a store-full of Government
corn-sacks over his head, and the whole lot from a blasted wolfs yelp,
he can. And at any distance, too."
"I think you _are_ out of it, Bill, all the same;" answered his
companion. "If only that, on the face of things, no consideration of
scalps or plunder, or even she-captives, would tempt the reds to face
this little blow to-night."
"Well, well! I don't say you're wrong, Vipan. You've served your
Plainscraft to some purpose, you have. But if what I heard wasn't the
war-whoop somewhere--I don't care how far--why then I shall begin to
believe in what the Sioux say about these here mountains."
"What do they say?"
"Why, they say these mountains are chock full of ghosts--spirits of
their chiefs and warriors who have been scalped after death, and are
kept snoopin' around here because they can't get into the Happy
Hunting-Grounds. However, we're all right here, and 'live or dead, the
Sioux buck 'd have to reckon with a couple of Winchester rifles, who
tried to make us otherwise."
He who had been addressed as Vipan laughed good-humouredly, as he tossed
an armful of fat pine knots among the glowing logs, whence arose a blaze
that lit up the hut as though for some festivity. And its glare affords
us an admirable opportunity for a closer inspection of these two. The
scout was a specimen of the best type of Western man. His rugged,
weather-tanned face was far from unhandsome--frankness, self-reliance,
staunchness to his friends, intrepidity toward foes, might all be read
there. His thick russet beard was becoming shot with grey, but though
considerably on the wrong side of fifty, an observer would have credited
him with ten years to the good, for his broad, muscular frame was as
upright and elastic as if he were twenty-five. His companion, who might
have been fifteen years his junior, was about as fine a type of
Anglo-Saxon manhood as could be met with in many a day's journey. Of
tall, almost herculean, stature, he was without a suspicion of
clumsiness; quick, active, straight as a dart. His features, regular as
those of a Greek-sculpture, were not, however, of a confidence-inspiring
nature, for their expression was cold and reticent, and the lower half
of his face was hidden in a magnificent golden beard, sweeping to his
belt. The dress of both men was the regulation tunic and leggings of
dressed deerskin, of Indian manufacture, and profusely ornamented with
beadwork and fringes; that of Vipan being adorned with scalp-locks in
addition.
These two were bound together by the closest friendship, but there was
this difference between them. Whereas everyone knew Smokestack Bill,
whether as friend or foe, from Monterey to the British line, who he was
and all about him, not a soul knew exactly who Rupert Vipan was, nor did
Rupert Vipan himself, by word or hint, evince the smallest disposition
to enlighten them. That he was an Englishman was clear, his nationality
he could not conceal. Not that he ever tried to, but on the other hand,
he made no sort of attempt at airing it.
This winter cabin was a substantial log affair, run up by the two men
with some degree of trouble and with an eye to comfort. Built in a
hollow on the mountain face, it hung perched as an eyrie over a ravine
some thousands of feet in depth, in such wise that its occupants could
command every approach, and descry the advent of strangers, friendly or
equivocal, long before the latter could reach them. Behind rose the
jagged, almost precipitous mountain in a serrated ridge, and
inaccessible from the other side; so that upon the whole the position
was about as safe as any position could be in that insecure region,
where every man took his rifle to bed with him, and slept with one eye
open even then. The cabin was reared almost against the great trunk of
a stately pine, whose spreading boughs contributed in no slight degree
to its shelter. Not many yards distant stood another log-hut, similar
in design and dimensions; this had been the habitation of a French
Canadian and his two Sioux squaws, but now stood deserted by its former
owners.
Vipan flung himself on a soft thick bearskin, took a glowing stick from
the fire, and pressed it against the bowl of a long Indian pipe.
"By Jove, Bill," he said, blowing out a great cloud. "If this isn't the
true philosophy of life it's first cousin to it. A tight, snug shanty,
the wind roaring like a legion of devils outside, a blazing fire,
abundance of rations and tobacco, any amount of good furs, and--no
bother in the world. Nothing to worry our soul-cases about until it
becomes time to go in and trade our pelts, which, thank Heaven, won't be
for two or three months."
"That's so," was the answer. "But--don't you feel it kinder dull like?
A chap like you, who's knocked about the world. Seems to me a few
months of a log cabin located away in the mountains, Can't make it out
at all." And the scout broke off with a puzzled shake of the head.
"Look here, you unbelieving Jew," said the other, with a laugh. "Even
now you can't get rid of the notion that I've left my country for my
country's good. Take my word for it, you're wrong. There isn't a
corner of the habitable globe I couldn't tumble up in every bit as
safely as here."
"I know that, old pard. Not that I'd care the tail of a yaller dog if
it was t'other way about. We've hunted, and trapped, and `stood off'
the reds, quite years enough to know each other. And now I take it,
when we've lit upon a barrelful of this gold stuff, you'll be cantering
off to Europe again by the first steamboat."
"No, I think not. Except--" and a curious look came into Vipan's face.
"Well, I don't know. I've an old score to pay off. I want to be even
with a certain person or two."
"You do? Well now don't you undertake anything foolish. You know
better than I do that in your country you've got to wait until your
throat's already cut before drawing upon a man, and even then like
enough you'll be hung if you recover. Say, now, couldn't you get the
party or parties out here, and have a fair and square stand up? You'd
make undertaker's goods of 'em right enough, never fear."
"No, no, my friend. That sort of reptile doesn't face you in any such
simple fashion. It strikes you through the lawyers--those beneficent
products of our Christian civilisation," replied the other, with a
bitter laugh. "However, time enough to talk about that when we get to
our prospecting again."
"If we ever do get to it again. Custer's expedition in the fall of last
year didn't go through here for fun, nor yet to look after the Sioux,
though that was given as the colour of it. Why, they were prospectin'
all the time, and not for nothin' neither. No, `Uncle Sam' wants to
have all the plums himself, and, likely enough, the hills'll be full of
cavalrymen soon as the snow melts. Then I reckon we shall have to git."
"Well, the reds'll be hoist with their own petard. It's the old fable
again. They call in `Uncle Sam' to clear out the miners, and `Uncle
Sam' hustles them out as well. But we may not have to clear, after all,
for it's my belief that the moment the grass begins to sprout the whole
Sioux nation will go upon the war-path."
"Then we'd have to git all the slicker."
"Not necessarily," replied Vipan, coolly. "I've a notion we could stop
here more snugly than ever."
"Not unless we helped 'em," said the scout, decidedly. "And that's not
to be done."
"I don't know that. Speaking for myself, I get on very well with the
reds. They've got their faults, but then so have other people. Wait, I
know what you're going to say--they're cruel and treacherous devils, and
so forth. Well, cruelty is in their nature, and, by the way, is not
unknown in civilisation. As for treachery, it strikes me, old chum,
that we've got to keep about as brisk a look-out for a shot in the back
in any of our Western townships as we have for our scalps in an Indian
village."
The scout nodded assent; puffing away vigorously at his pipe as he
stared into the glowing embers.
"For instance," went on the other, "when that chap `grazed' me in the
street at Denver while I wasn't looking, and would have put his next
ball clean through me if you hadn't dropped him in his tracks so
neatly--that was a nice example for a white man and a Christian to set,
say, to our friends Mountain Cat, or Three Bears, or Hole-in-a-Tree,
down yonder, wasn't it? But to come to the point--which is this:
Supposing some fellow had rushed us while we were prospecting that place
down on the Big Cheyenne in the summer and invited us to clear, I guess
we should briskly have let him see a brace of muzzles. Eh?"
"Guess we should."
"Well, then, it amounts to the same thing here. We are bound to strike
a good vein or two in the summer--in fact, we have as good as struck it.
All right. After all the risk and trouble we've stood to find it,
Uncle Sam lopes in and serves us with a notice to quit. It isn't in
reason that we should stand that."
"Well, you see, Vipan, we've no sort of title here. This is an Indian
reservation, and Uncle Sam's bound by treaty to keep white men out.
There are others here besides us, and I reckon in the summer the
Hills'll be a bit crowded up with them. So we shall just have to chance
it with the rest, and if we're moved, light out somewhere else."
"Well, I don't know that _I_ shall. It's no part of good sense to chuck
away the wealth lying at our very feet." And the speaker's splendid
face wore a strangely reckless and excited look. "The scheme is for the
Government to chouse the Indians out of this section of country by hook
or by crook--then mining concessions will be granted to the wire-pullers
and their friends. And we shall see a series of miscellaneous frauds
blossoming into millionaires on the strength of _our_ discoveries."
"And are you so keen on this gold, Vipan? Ah I reckon you're hankering
after Europe again, but I judge you'll be no happier when you get
there."
The scout's tone was quiet, regretful, almost upbraiding. The other's
philosophy was to end in this, then?
"It isn't exactly that," was the answer, moodily, and after a pause.
"But I don't see the force of being `done.' I never did see it; perhaps
that's why I'm out here now. However, the Sioux won't stand any more
`treaties.' They'll fight for certain. Red Cloud isn't the man to
forget the ignominious thrashing he gave Uncle Sam in '66 and '67, and,
by God, if it comes to ousting us I'll be shot if I won't cut in on his
side."
"I reckon that blunder won't be repeated. If the cavalrymen had been
properly armed; armed as they are now, with Spencer's and Henry's
instead of with the sickest old muzzle-loading fire-sticks and a round
and a half of ammunition per man, Red Cloud would have been soundly
whipped at Fort Phil Kearney'stead of t'other way about."
"Possibly. As things are, however, he carried his point. And there's
Sitting Bull, for instance; he's been holding the Powder River country
these years. Why don't they interfere with him? No, you may depend
upon it, a war with the whole Sioux nation backed by the Indian
Department, won't suit the Govermental book. `Uncle Sam' will cave in--
all the other prospectors will be cleared out of the Hills, except--
except ourselves."
"Why except ourselves?" said the scout, quietly, though he was not a
little astonished and dismayed at his friend and comrade's
hardly-suppressed excitement.
"We stand well with the chiefs. Look here, old man: I'd wager my scalp
against a pipe of Richmond plug--if I wasn't as bald as a billiard ball,
that is--that I make myself so necessary to them that they'll be only
too glad to let us `mine' as long as we choose to stay here. Just
think--the stuff is all there and only waiting to be picked up--just
think if we were to go in on the quiet, loaded up with solid nuggets and
dust instead of a few wretched pelts. Why, man, we are made for life.
The reds could put us in the way of becoming millionaires, merely in
exchange for our advice--not necessarily our rifles, mind." And the
speaker's eyes flashed excitedly over the idea.
CHAPTER TWO.
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR.
No idea is more repellent to the mind of a genuine Western man than that
of siding with Indians against his own colour. Contested almost step by
step, the opening up of the vast continent supplies one long record of
hideous atrocities committed by the savage, regardless of age, sex, or
good faith; and stern, and not invariably discriminate, reprisals on the
part of the dwellers on the frontier. It follows, therefore, that the
race-hatred existing between the white man and his treacherous and
crafty red neighbour will hardly bear exaggeration. Thus it is not
surprising that Smokestack Bill should receive his reckless companion's
daredevil scheme with concern and dismay. Indeed, had any other man
mooted such an idea, the honest scout's concern would have found vent in
words of indignant horror.
There was silence in the hut for a few minutes. Both men, lounging back
on their comfortable furs, were busy with their respective reflections.
Now and again a fiercer gust than usual would shake the whole structure,
and as the doleful howling of the wolves sounded very near the door, the
horses in the other compartment--which was used as a stable--would snort
uneasily and paw the ground.
"You don't know Indians even yet, Vipan," said Smokestack Bill at
length, speaking gravely, "else you'd never undertake to help them, even
by advice, in butchering and outraging helpless women, let alone the
men, though they can better look after themselves. No, you don't know
the red devils, take my word for it."
"I had a notion I did," was the hard reply. "As for that `helpless
woman' ticket, I won't vote on it, Bill, old man. There's no such thing
as a `helpless' woman; at least, I never met with such an article, and I
used to be reckoned a tolerably good judge of that breed of cattle,
too--"
His words were cut short. The dog uttered a savage growl, then sprang
towards the door, barking. Each man coolly reached for his rifle, but
that was all.
"I knew I wasn't out of it," muttered the scout, more to himself than to
his hearer. "Smokestack Bill knew the war-whoop when he heard it. He
ain't no `tenderfoot,' he ain't."
Swish--Whirr! The fierce blast shrieked around the lonely cabin. Its
inmates having partially quieted the dog, were listening intently.
Nothing could they hear beyond the booming of the tempest, which,
unheeded in their conversation, had burst upon them with redoubled
force.
"Only a grizzly that he hears," said Vipan, in a low tone. "No red
would be out to-night."
Scarcely had he spoken than the loud, long-drawn howl of a wolf sounded
forth, so near as to seem at their very door. Then the hoof-strokes of
an unshod horse, and a light tap against the strong framework.
"It's all straight. I thought I knew the yelp," said the scout. Then
he unhesitatingly slid back the strong iron bolts which secured the
door, and admitted a single Indian.
The new comer was a tall, martial-looking young warrior, who, as he slid
down the snow-besprinkled and gaudy- blanket which had
enshrouded his head, stood before them in the ordinary Indian dress.
The collar of his tunic was of bears' claws, and among the scalp-locks
which fringed his leggings were several of silky fair hair. But for
three thin lines of crimson crossing his face, and a vertical one from
forehead to throat, he wore no paint, and from his scalp-lock dangled
three long eagle-feathers stained black, their ends being gathered into
tufts dyed a bright vermilion. For arms he carried a short bow, highly
ornamented, and a quiver of wolfskin, the latter adorned with the
grinning jaws of its original owner, and in his belt a revolver and
bowie knife. This warlike personage advanced to Smokestack Bill, and
shook him by the hand effusively. Then, turning to Vipan, he broke into
a broad grin and ejaculated--
"Hello, George!"
He thus unceremoniously addressed made no reply, but a cold,
contemptuous look came into his eyes. Then he quietly said:--
"Do the Ogallalla dance the Sun-Dance [Note 1] in winter?"
"Ha!" said the Indian, emphatically, grasping at once the other's
meaning.
"When I was lost in the Ogallalla villages, all the _warriors_ knew me,"
went on Vipan, scathingly. "There may have been _boys_ who have become
warriors since."
"Ha!"
The Indian was not a little astonished. This white man spoke the
Dahcotah language fluently. He was also not a little angry, and his
eyes flashed.
"You are not of the race of those around us," he said, "not of the race
of The Beaver," turning to the scout. "Your great chief is George."
"Don't get mad, Vipan," said Smokestack Bill, hastening to explain. "He
only means that you're an Englishman. It'll take generations to get out
of these fellers' heads that Englishmen are still ruled by King George."
Vipan laughed drily. He had given this cheeky young buck an appropriate
setting down. Whether or no it was taken in good part was a matter of
indifference to him.
Meanwhile, the scout, having put on a fresh brew of steaming coffee,
threw down a fur in front of the fire, and the warrior, taking the pipe
which had been prepared for him, sat in silence, puffing out the
fragrant smoke in great volumes.
This done, he drew his knife, and proceeded to fall to on some deer ribs
provided by his entertainers. The latter, meanwhile, smoked tranquilly
on, putting no question, and evincing no curiosity as to the object of
his visit. At length, his appetite appeased, the warrior wiped his
knife on the sole of his mocassin, returned it to its sheath, and
throwing himself back luxuriously, ejaculated--
"Good!"
To the two white men, the visit of one or more of their red brethren was
a frequent occurrence; an incident of no moment whatever. They were
accustomed to visits from Indians, but somehow both felt that the
arrival of this young warrior had a purpose underlying it.
The pipe having been ceremonially lighted and passed round the circle,
the guest was the first to break the silence.
"It is long since War Wolf has looked upon the face of The Beaver"
(Smokestack Bill's Indian name), "or listened to the wise words which
fall from his lips. As soon as War Wolf heard that The Beaver had built
his winter lodge here, he leaped on his pony and wasted not a moment to
come and smoke with his white brothers."
Vipan, listening, could have spluttered with sardonic laughter. Though
he had never seen him before, he knew the speaker by name--knew him to
be, moreover, one of the most unscrupulous and reckless young
desperadoes of the tribe, whose hatred of the whites was only equalled
by their detestation of him. But he moved not a muscle.
"It is long, indeed," answered the scout. "War Wolf must have journeyed
far not to know, or not to have heard of Golden Face," and he turned
slightly to his friend as if effecting an introduction.
By this _sobriquet_ the latter was known among the different clans of
the Dahcotah or Sioux, obviously bestowed upon him by reason of his
magnificent golden beard.
"The name of Golden Face is not strange, for it is not seldom on the
lips of the chiefs of our nation," continued the savage with a graceful
inclination towards Vipan. "The hearts of the Mehneaska [Americans] are
not good towards us, but our hearts are always good towards Golden Face
and his friend The Beaver. To visit them, War Wolf has journeyed far."
"Do the Ogallalla [a sub-division or clan of the Sioux nation] send out
war-parties in winter time?" asked the scout, innocently. But the
question, harmless and apparently devoid of point as it was, conveyed to
his hearer its full meaning. The eyes of the savage flashed, and his
whole countenance seemed to light up with pride.
"Why should I tell lies?" he said. "Yes, I have been upon the war-path,
but not here. Yonder," with a superb sweep of his hand in a westerly
direction. "Yonder, far away, I have struck the enemies of my race, who
come stealing up with false words and many rifles, to possess the land--
our land--the land of the Dahcotah. Why should I tell lies? Am I not a
warrior? But my tongue is straight; and my heart is good towards Golden
Face and his friend The Beaver."
Vipan, an attentive observer of every word, every detail, noted two
things: one, the boldness of this young warrior in thus avowing,
contrary to the caution of his race, that he had actually just returned
from one of those merciless forays which the frontier people at that
period had every reason to fear and dread; the other, that having twice,
so to say, bracketted their names, the Indian had in each instance
mentioned his own first. In his then frame of mind the circumstance
struck him as significant.
After a good deal more of this kind of talk, safeguarded by the adroit
fencing and beating around the bush with which the savage of whatever
race approaches a communication of consequence, it transpired that War
Wolf was the bearer of a message from the chiefs of his nation. There
had been war between them and the whites; now, however, they wished for
peace. Red Cloud and some others were desirous of proceeding to
Washington in order to effect some friendly arrangement with the Great
Father. There were many white men in their country, but their ways were
not straight. The chiefs distrusted them. But Golden Face and The
Beaver were their brothers. Had they not lived in amity in their midst
all the winter? Their hearts were good towards them, and they would
fain smoke the pipe once more with their white brothers before leaving
home. To that end, therefore, they invited Golden Face and The Beaver
to visit them at their village without delay, in fact, to return in
company with War Wolf, the bearer of the message.
To this Bill replied, after some moments of solemn silence only broken
by the puff-puff of the pipes, that he and his friend desired nothing
better. It would give them infinite pleasure to pay a visit to their
red brethren, and to the great chiefs of the Dahcotah nation especially.
But it was mid-winter. The weather was uncertain. Before undertaking
a journey which would entail so long an absence from home, he and his
friend must sleep upon the proposal and consult together. In the
morning War Wolf should have his answer. Either they would return with
him in person, or provide him with a suitable message to carry back to
the chiefs.
In social matters, still less in diplomatic, Indians are never in a
hurry. Had the two white men agreed there and then upon what their
course should be, they would have suffered in War Wolfs estimation. The
answer was precisely what he had expected.
"It is well," he said. "The wisdom of The Beaver will not be
overclouded in the morning, nor will the desire of Golden Face to meet
his friends be in any way lessened."
While this talk was progressing, Vipan's eye had lighted upon an object
which set him thinking. It was a small object--a very small object, so
minute indeed that nine persons out of ten would never have noticed it
at all. But it was an object of ominous moment, for it was nothing less
than a spot of fresh blood; and it had fallen on the warrior's leggings,
just below the fringe of his tunic. Putting two and two together, it
could mean nothing more nor less than a concealed scalp.
"Bill was right," he thought. "Bill was right, and I was an ass. He
did hear the war-whoop right enough. I wonder what unlucky devil lost
in the storm this buck could have overhauled and struck down?"
The discovery rendered him wary, not that a childlike ingenuousness was
ever among Vipan's faults. But he resolved to keep his weather eye
open, and if he must sleep, to do so with that reliable orbit ever
brought to bear upon their pleasant-speaking guest.
Soon profound silence reigned within the log cabin, broken only by the
subdued, regular breathing of the sleepers, or the occasional stir of
the glowing embers. The tempest had lulled, but, as hour followed hour,
the voices of the weird waste were borne upon the night in varied and
startling cadence; the howling of wolves, the cat-like scream of the
panther among the overhanging crags, the responsive hooting of owls
beneath the thick blackness of the great pine forests, and once, the
fierce snorting grow | 861.586017 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.5671820 | 4,926 | 10 | LOVERS ***
Produced by Katherine Ward, 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/American Libraries.
THE BOOK OF THE DUKE OF TRUE LOVERS
NOW FIRST TRANSLATED FROM THE MIDDLE FRENCH OF CHRISTINE DE
PISAN WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ALICE KEMP-WELCH. THE BALLADS
RENDERED INTO THE ORIGINAL METRES BY LAURENCE BINYON & ERIC R.
D. MACLAGAN
THE MEDIEVAL LIBRARY UNDER
THE GENERAL EDITORSHIP OF
SIR ISRAEL GOLLANCZ, Litt. D., F.B.A.
[Illustration: _The Book Of The Duke Of True Lovers Now First Translated
From the Middle French of Christine de Pisan, by Alice Kemp-Welch.
Chatto and Windus. London MCMVIII._]
The title on the reverse of this page, engraved upon the wood,
was designed by Miss _Blanche C. Hunter_, and embodies the only
authentic portrait of _Christine De Pisan_, engaged in writing,
from the MS. now in the Bibliotheque Royale, Brussels.
[Illustration: _Ci commence le liure du duc des vrays amans._]
NEW YORK
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
AMERICAN BRANCH
_All Rights reserved_
Printed in England at _The Ballantyne Press_
Spottiswoode, Ballantyne & Co. Ltd.
_Colchester, London & Eton_
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
The only two known MSS., both early fifteenth century French, of the
love-story here rendered into English prose, are the one in the
Bibliotheque Nationale (836), and that in the British Museum (Harley,
4431).
The MS. in the Bibliotheque Nationale forms one of the treasures of the
famous collection of MSS. made by Jean, Duc de Berry, the Mecaenas of
illuminated MSS. At his death it passed into the possession of his
daughter Marie, who, by marriage, had become Duchesse de Bourbon. When,
in the reign of Francois I., the Connetable de Bourbon, to whom it had
descended, was disgraced, the king seized his books and MSS., and
carried them off to Fontainebleau, well pleased to add by any means,
righteous or unrighteous, to the treasures of the royal library. Here
this MS. and others remained until the reign of Charles IX., when they
were removed to Paris, and placed in the Bibliotheque du Roi, now the
world-famous Bibliotheque Nationale.
The MS. in the British Museum has also had an interesting and chequered
career. It was originally presented by Christine de Pisan to Isabelle of
Bavaria, the queen of Charles VI. of France, whose books and MSS. were,
in 1425, acquired by John, Duke of Bedford, Regent of France. It is more
than probable that this MS. was amongst these and was brought to
England, for the various signatures on the enclosing parchment would
certainly seem to indicate that this was the case. Late in the fifteenth
century the MS. was sold to one of the most celebrated bibliophiles of
the day, Louis of Bruges. After this, there is a blank in its history,
until, in the seventeenth century, we find it once more in England, in
the possession of Henry, Duke of Newcastle, whose grand-daughter married
Edward Harley, Earl of Oxford, the founder of the splendid collection of
MSS. and books purchased in 1754 for the British Museum, and now known
as the Harleian Collection.
The writer of the story, Christine de Pisan, was one of the world's many
famous women, and one who, by her life and work, created an ideal for
womankind--that of sweetness and strength. Born in Venice in 1363, she
was, when five years of age, taken by her mother to Paris, to join her
father, Thomas de Pisan, who had been summoned thither by the king,
Charles V., to serve as his astrologer, in which service he remained
until the king's death. The Court of Charles V. was, in spite of the
constant warfare that troubled his kingdom, at once most cultured and
refined, and it was in such surroundings that Christine was brought up.
At the age of fifteen she was married to the king's notary and
secretary, Etienne de Castel, a gentleman of Picardy, who, however, died
some ten years later, leaving her with three children to provide for.
Like many another, she turned to letters as both a material and a mental
support. She wrote not only purely lyrical poetry, of extraordinary
variety and abundance considering that the subject is almost invariably
the joys and sorrows of love, sometimes, as she tells us, expressing her
own sentiments, sometimes those of others at whose request she wrote,
but she also wrote sacred and scientific poems, and moral and political
prose works, and a kind of romantic fiction, of which the story of The
Duke of True Lovers is an example, although it is quite possible, and
indeed probable, that it has some historic basis.
Christine begins her story by saying that it had been confided to her by
a young prince who did not wish his name to be divulged, and who desired
only to be known as The Duke of True Lovers. It has been suggested, with
much likelihood, that this is the love story of Jean, Duc de Bourbon,
and Marie, Duchesse de Berry, who has already been alluded to as the
daughter of the famous Jean, Duc de Berry, and the inheritor of his MSS.
This Marie had been married, when quite a child, to Louis III. de
Chatillon, Comte de Dunois, and afterwards to Philippe d'Artois, Comte
d'Eu, Constable of France, whose wife she was at the time when the
incidents which have been woven into this story are supposed to have
taken place. Philippe d'Artois only survived the marriage three or four
years, and after three years of widowhood, the already much-married
Marie wedded (1400) our hero, Jean, Duc de Bourbon.
The principal facts which seem to afford strong evidence in favour of
connecting this love story with the two princely houses of Bourbon and
Berry are (1) that the MS. originally formed part of the library of the
Duc de Berry, and subsequently passed on marriage to that of the Duc de
Bourbon; (2) that although Christine's MSS. generally were so copied and
multiplied during her lifetime that they number even now at least two
hundred, there is only one other copy--the one already referred to as
being in the British Museum--known of this particular MS., this alone
seeming to indicate that its contents were regarded as of a private
family nature; and (3) that to add to the mystery, and to ensure
secrecy, there is no definite ending to the romance. The story merely
tells us that the ducal lover, harassed by mischief-makers, and unable
to bear the pain of a separation in his own country which her position
and his own gallantry alike demanded, departs with the army for an
expedition in Spain. For ten years the lovers meet from time to time
during the intervals between journeying and war, and further solace each
other with short love-poems, expressive of pensive longing, and with
these the story ends vaguely. But if we accept the story as being
founded on real life, history supplies a more definite ending. As
already stated, soon after the death of Marie's second husband,
Philippe, the lovers are married, and spend a few happy years in their
castle at Moulins, the chief town of the Duke's domains, surrounded by
and enjoying rare works of art and literature, their happiness only
marred by the unsettled state of France, and by consequent calls on the
Duke to fight for his country. It was on one of such occasions--the
memorable and decisive battle of Agincourt (1415)--that the Duke was
made prisoner, and taken to London, where he died in captivity, and
Marie, his Duchess, was left to mourn, and this time in real sorrow.
Thus ends the story, which Christine has told with her wonderful gift as
painter-poet. Besides making the lovers, and that noxious growth of
civilisation, the inevitable scandal-monger, intensely living through
her womanly sympathy and psychological insight, and introducing, in the
form of a letter, a most comprehensive and remarkable treatise on
feminine morality, the dangers of illicit love, and the satisfaction of
simple wifely duty, she takes us in imagination to a royal castle of the
fifteenth century. There we seem to live the daily life of its courtly
circle, and, through the vivid description of the sumptuous pageant, to
take part in the three days' tournament, and in the merry revels which
bring each day to a close. As we read, we realise the extraordinary
power of this woman, who seems in description to use the exact and
detailed brush of a Meissonier, whilst in her outlook on life she
possesses the broader and freer touch of a Puvis de Chavannes. Truly is
it a master-mind indeed which can see life largely, and see it well!
Much might be written about the interesting and talented Christine, but
we must bid her farewell now and here. Still she must ever be held in
remembrance for her untiring championship of two things very near to her
heart--a patriotic love for the land of her adoption, and an ardent
devotion to the cause of womankind. She had the happiness before her
death, which occurred about 1430 in the Convent of Poissy, near Paris,
to which she had retired, of seeing France aroused to patriotism, and
that, too, by a woman--Joan of Arc.
THE BOOK OF THE DUKE OF TRUE LOVERS
Here begins the Book of The Duke of True Lovers
Although I might have no desire or intent at the present time to
discourse of love, since all my mind is occupied with other matter the
which is more pleasing to me, I am willing, for the sake of others, now
to commence a wondrous story, for to this I am besought by one who,
instead of making request, has the right to give command to one even
more worthy than I. And this is a lord whom it behoves one duly to obey,
and who of his grace has desired me to make known the trouble which,
whether he has been wise, or whether he has been foolish, he has, during
many winters and summers, long been in by reason of love to the which
his heart is still in bondage. But he would not that I should make known
his name. It contents him who tells this story for their sake, to be
called the Duke of True Lovers. And it is his pleasure that I recount,
even as he has told them unto me, the grievous distresses, the joys, and
the strange adventures, through the which, during many bygone years, he
has passed. And he would that to this rehearsal I should at the same
time add other matter, the which I grant him, for I know him to be of
such disposition, and of such good sense, that his humility will take in
good part the imperfection of my little poem, and, with his consent, I
will relate on his behalf the facts even as he has set them forth.
THE DUKE OF TRUE LOVERS
I was a mere lad when I first experienced a great desire to become a
lover. And for that I heard it maintained that a lover is courteous
above other folk, and better esteemed amongst men, I desired to be one.
To this end I resorted thither where I might choose a lady whom I might
serve, but ne'ertheless I was longwhile without one, for, on my soul, I
had not the understanding to make choice, and although I had enough of
leisure, I ne'ertheless understood not how to discover the way to this.
And because of my desire, I frequented much fair company of dames and
maidens, and saw many very fair damsels, but youth still kept possession
of me, so that in nowise did I know how to determine whom to choose.
Thus I was longwhile happy, content with this gay and pleasing life. But
when the time dured too long for me, in this manner did I make sore
plaint to love:--
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord,
And Venus, thou, Love's Lady and Goddess,
Since in love only is set my happiness,
Vouchsafe to turn my heart soon thitherward.
Vouchsafe, that I be with right courage stored,
Soon to bring unto me my heart's mistress,
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord.
And may I choose, if thou the grace accord,
One that shall pardon me the simpleness
Of youth, and honour on my days impress;
Out of a great desire have I implored,
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord.
And because of the desire which I had in view, oft did I discourse thus
until that true love heard me, and gratified my longing. And I will
rehearse unto you in what manner love first took possession of my heart
and made it captive, and never after set it free.
[Illustration: _"On a day for my diversion... we mounted on to our
horses"_]
On a day, for my diversion, with one of my kinsfolk and four others of
my gentlemen, we mounted on to our horses. A longing for the chase took
possession of me, and, to ensure success, I caused the huntsmen to take
greyhounds and ferrets. Then, without ado, we entered on a path the
which I had ofttimes followed, but not far had we gone when a wide
beaten track led us whither I knew there were many rabbits. And near by,
I assure you, there was a strong and very goodly castle, but its name I
will not make known.
At that time there was come to this place a Princess who was held of
every one as so good and beautiful, and of so great worth, that she was
had in honour of all. In nowise did we know that she was there, since we
came thither by chance. Here and there, without the castle, her
attendants amused themselves, some singing, some casting the weight, and
others, afoot, exercising with the bar. And as they remained there, we
turned our steps toward them. Then they all turned them toward us, and
when they perceived us, and recognised who we were, the chief amongst
them at once rose up. And when they had saluted us, they tarried not,
but, as it seemed to me, by twos and by threes repaired them to their
mistress. And methinks they did not hide from her that we were come
there, for as soon as we were come quite nigh unto the castle, we saw a
goodly company of ladies coming forth to meet us. And these gave us
welcome with gracious bearing.
And we straightway turned toward them, and saluted them on bended knee.
And there was amongst them both a lady and a maiden who were kinsfolk of
her who was mistress of them all. And without giving affront, and
without rebuke, I kissed the maiden with fair tresses, as well as the
lady. And my cousin and I escorted the maiden, who was high-born, and
the noble lady, and in suchwise entered the castle.
And the Lady, of whom every one spake well, had already come forth from
out her chamber, and stood there with noble mien, neither proudly, nor
haughtily, but in such manner as befitted her noble estate and royal
person. And as soon as we saw her, we duly saluted her, and, in a little
space, she came forward, and took me with ungloved hand, and kissed me,
and said, "I knew not of your coming, fair cousin. You are right
welcome, but what brings you here now?"
Then said my cousin, "Certes, my Lady, we set out for amusement, and
knew not that you were here. Chance brought us hither, but praised be
God who has so favoured us that we have found at your hands so warm a
welcome."
And the good and gracious lady laughed at this, and made answer, "Then
let us go amuse ourselves."
So we descended down into a green meadow, and then, accompanying us, she
went to a very fair place, and drew me to her right side to sit down
beside her. And without more ado, large cushions of gold and of silk
were brought to her, under the shade of a willow, where, beneath the
trees, the waters of a spring ran fair and clear along a straight
channel fashioned and cut with skill through the green and tender
herbage.
And no longer did she remain standing, but she seated herself with me
beside her, and then the others withdrew them to a distance from us, and
sat them down, here and there, beside the stream. Then she began to
question me, for I confess that I knew not at that time how to converse
with her or with others, for I was still somewhat young.
And she began her discourse by making enquiry of me concerning a journey
from the which I was newly come, and, in especial, of the demeanour and
the appearance of the ladies, and, further, in what manner the Court,
the which the King and Queen held, was ordered. And I made her answer
according to my knowledge. And I remember me that we discoursed together
there of many things.
[Illustration: _"And now it is time that I tell how the grievous malady
began... for love's sake."_]
And now it is time that I tell of how the grievous malady began the
which has made me to suffer right cruelly for love's sake. Truly it is a
marvel to understand how it came to pass that love of her whom I had
ofttimes seen, but whom I had never before thought on, took possession
of my heart. It is like unto one who passes over the sea, exploring many
lands to discover that which he might find close at hand, but the which
he perceives not until another makes it known unto him. Thus in truth
did it befall me, for, by reason of my want of understanding, in nowise
did I perceive the grace of my precious lady until love put me in the
way, and I had but desired to see such an one in order to yield my heart
to her. For long had I seen her oft, but, until that day, no thought had
I given to her. Thus I had ready to my hand that which I went elsewhere
to seek. But, in order to allay my passion, love at length willed to
release my heart from this strife. And now, when this perfect one, who
has caused me sore trouble, spake to me, her speech and her gentle and
gracious bearing pleased me more than ever aforetime, and made me wholly
dumb. Intently did I observe her, and right well did I contemplate her
beauty, since she seemed to me to be more distinguished, and to have
much more of grace and sweetness, than I had ever before observed.
Then love, the playful archer, who saw my silent demeanour, and that I
was inclined unto love, took the arrow with the which it is his wont to
surprise lovers, and bent his bow, and drew it silently. But I heeded it
not. The arrow of a tender glance, the which is so pleasing and so
powerful, pierced me to the heart. Then was I sore bewildered. Verily
did I think myself to be lost when I felt the loving blow, but my heart
yielded itself to the amorous wound. In nowise was the wound mortal, for
it came to pass that the sting pierced me again and again.
Then her gentle, laughing eyes, all fraught with loving fetters, so
stirred my heart, that I knew not how to make answer unto her. Truly
must she have thought my look and my manner to be foolish, since I moved
neither hand nor foot, and I so ofttimes changed colour at her glance,
that it might have been thought that my heart trembled with fear. How
shall I set the matter forth briefly? If I longed to be made captive,
then in this I failed not.
Thus ended the life of my early youth. How to live otherwise, true love
now taught me. In this manner was I made captive from that hour.
Longwhiles did I remain there, and I discoursed in a simple manner, like
unto a child, and, without ceasing, I kindled the burning fire-brand in
my heart. When I gazed on her beauty, I was caught as is the moth in the
candle, or the bird in the lime, and no heed did I take of it.
And when I had tarried in this place nigh unto the third of a summer's
day, my cousin no longer remained in meditation, but said to me, "Take
your leave now, for, on my soul, methinks you have detained my Lady too
long here, and it is the time to sup."
Then the noble and courteous one, who is called fair and good, besought
me much to sup with her, but I excused me. For but a short while longer
did I linger there, and then I arose, and would have taken my leave, but
it behoved us first to take wine, and so we drank. And when we had
drunken and eaten, I besought her that of her grace it might please her
that I should escort her to her dwelling, but the fair one consented
not. So, without tarrying, I took leave of her and of them all.
Then love, the more to pierce my tender heart, caused me of a sudden to
receive a loving glance from her, the which came to me like a tender
greeting as I left the place, for, whiles I was departing, | 861.587222 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.5684240 | 302 | 40 |
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Chris Jordan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the original more than 250 illustrations.
See 43574-h.htm or 43574-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43574/43574-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/carpentrywoodwor00fost
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[sqrt] represents the square root symbol.
CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK
* * * * * *
THE CHILDREN'S LIBRARY OF WORK AND PLAY
CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK
By Edwin W. Foster
ELECTRICITY AND ITS EVERYDAY USES
By John F. Woodhull, Ph.D.
GARDENING AND FARMING
By Ellen Eddy Shaw
HOME DECORATION
By Charles Franklin Warner, Sc.D.
HOUSEKEEPING
By Elizabeth Hale Gilman | 861.588464 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.5685390 | 1,695 | 20 |
Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
BY FAR EUPHRATES
A TALE
BY
D. ALCOCK
_Author of "The Spanish Brothers" "Crushed, yet Conquering"
"Dr. Adrian" etc_
London
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27 PATERNOSTER ROW
MDCCCXCVII
BUTLER & TANNER,
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.
"Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire;... and
the form of the fourth is like the Son of God."
PREFACE
Many a tale of blood and tears has come to us of late from far
Euphrates, and from the regions round about. It is not so much the aim
of the following pages to tell these over again as to show the light
that, even there, shines through the darkness. "I do set My bow in the
cloud" is true of the densest, most awful cloud of human misery. As in
the early ages of Christianity, "what little child, what tender woman"
was there
"Who did not clasp the cross with a light laugh,
Or wrap the burning robe round, thanking God"?
As in later times, of no less fervent faith, "men took each other's
hands and walked into the fire, and women sang a song of triumph while
the gravedigger was shovelling the earth over their living faces," so
now, in our own days, there still walks in the furnace, with His
faithful servants, "One like unto the Son of God."
Every instance of faith or heroism given in these pages is not only true
in itself, but typical of a hundred others. The tale is told, however
feebly and inadequately, to strengthen our own faith and quicken our own
love. It is told also to stir our own hearts to help and save the
remnant that is left. The past is past, and we cannot change it now; but
we CAN still save from death, or from fates worse than death, the
children of Christian parents, who are helpless and desolate orphans
because their parents _were_ Christians, and true to the Faith they
professed and the Name they loved.
D. ALCOCK.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
THE DARK RIVER 1
CHAPTER II
FATHER AND SON 9
CHAPTER III
FIRST IMPRESSIONS 17
CHAPTER IV
A NEW LIFE 26
CHAPTER V
BARON MUGGURDITCH THOMASSIAN 44
CHAPTER VI
ROSES AND BATH TOWELS 59
CHAPTER VII
GATHERING STORMS 66
CHAPTER VIII
A PROPOSAL 73
CHAPTER IX
PEACE AND STRIFE 91
CHAPTER X
AN ARMENIAN WEDDING 113
CHAPTER XI
AN ADVENTUROUS RIDE 125
CHAPTER XII
THE USE OF A REVOLVER 143
CHAPTER XIII
WHAT PASTOR STEPANIAN THOUGHT 155
CHAPTER XIV
A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ 173
CHAPTER XV
DARK HOURS 194
CHAPTER XVI
"THE DARK RIVER TURNS TO LIGHT" 214
CHAPTER XVII
A GREAT CRIME 229
CHAPTER XVIII
EVIL TIDINGS 241
CHAPTER XIX
A GREAT CRIME CONSUMMATED 256
CHAPTER XX
BY ABRAHAM'S POOL, AND ELSEWHERE 271
CHAPTER XXI
"GOD-SATISFIED AND EARTH-UNDONE" 287
CHAPTER XXII
GIVEN BACK FROM THE DEAD 301
CHAPTER XXIII
BETROTHAL 315
CHAPTER XXIV
UNDER THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 323
CHAPTER XXV
AT HOME 341
CHAPTER XXVI
A SERMON 351
APPENDIX 367
Chapter I
THE DARK RIVER
"A thousand streams of lovelier flow
Bathed his own native land."
The Eastern sun was near its setting. Everywhere beneath its beams
stretched out a vast, dreary campaign--pale yellowish brown--with low
rolling hills, bare of vegetation. There was scarcely anything upon
which the eye of man could rest with interest or satisfaction, except
one little clump of plane trees, beside which a party of travellers had
spread their tents. They had spent the day in repose, for they intended
to spend the night in travelling; since, although summer was past and
autumn had come, the heat was still great.
The tent in the centre of the little encampment was occupied by an
Englishman and his son, to whom all the rest were but guides, or
servants, or guards. The Syrians, the Arabs, and the Turkish zaptiehs
who filled these offices were resting from their labours, having
tethered their horses under the trees.
It was about time for them to be stirring now, to attend to the animals,
to make the coffee, and to do other needful things in preparation for
the journey. But they were used to wait for a signal from their master
for the time being--Mr. Grayson, or Grayson Effendi, as they generally
called him. Pending this, they saw no reason to shorten their repose,
though a few of them sat up, yawned, and began to take out their tobacco
pouches, and to employ themselves in making cigarettes.
Presently, from the Effendi's own tent, a slight boyish form emerged,
and trod softly through the rest. "Hohannes Effendi"--so the Turks and
Arabs called him, as a kind of working equivalent for "Master John"--was
a bright, fair-faced, blue-eyed English lad in his sixteenth year. He
was dressed in a well-worn suit of white drill, and his head protected
by a kind of helmet, with flaps to cover the cheeks and neck, since the
glare reflected from the ground was almost as trying as the scorching
heat above.
Once beyond the encampment, he quickened his pace, and, fast and
straight as an arrow flies, dashed on over the little hills due
eastwards. For there, the Arabs had told him, "a bow shot off," "two
stones' throw," "the length a man might ride while he said his 'La
ilaha ill Allah!'"--ran the great river. Waking some two hours before
from the profound sleep of boyhood, he had not been able to close his
eyes again for the longing that came over him to look upon it. For this
was "that ancient river," last of the mystic Four that watered the
flowers of Eden, witness of ruined civilizations, survivor of dead
empires, the old historic Euphrates. Not that all this was present to
the mind of young John Grayson; but he had caught from his father, whose
constant companion he was, a reflected interest in "places where things
happened," which was transfigured by the glamour of a young imagination.
On and on he went, for the wide, featureless, monotonous landscape
deceived his eye, and the river was really much farther than he thought.
He got amongst tall reeds, which sometimes hindered his view, though
often he could see over them well enough--if there had been anything to
see, except more reeds, mixed with a little rank grass--more low hills,
and over all a cloudless, purple sky. | 861.588579 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.6145390 | 7,436 | 60 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Memoirs of Napoleon--1805, v8
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MEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, VOLUME 8.
By LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE
His Private Secretary
Edited by R. W. Phipps
Colonel, Late Royal Artillery
1891
CONTENTS:
CHAPTER XXVII. to CHAPTER XXXIV. 1804-1805
CHAPTER XXVII.
1804.
Clavier and Hemart--Singular Proposal of Corvisart-M. Desmaisons--
Project of influencing the judges--Visit to the Tuileries--Rapp in
attendance--Long conversation with the Emperor--His opinion on the
trial of Moreau--English assassins and Mr. Fox--Complaints against
the English Government--Bonaparte and Lacuee--Affectionate
behaviour--Arrest of Pichegru--Method employed by the First Consul
to discover his presence in Paris--Character of Moreau--Measures of
Bonaparte regarding him--Lauriston sent to the Temple--Silence
respecting the Duc d'Enghien--Napoleon's opinion of Moreau and
Georges--Admiration of Georges--Offers of employment and dismissal--
Recital of former vexations--Audience of the Empress--Melancholy
forebodings--What Bonaparte said concerning himself--Marks of
kindness.
The judges composing the Tribunal which condemned Moreau were not all
like Thuriot and Hemart. History has recorded an honourable contrast to
the general meanness of the period in the reply given by M. Clavier, when
urged by Hemart to vote for the condemnation of Moreau. "Ah, Monsieur,
if we condemn him, how shall we be able to acquit ourselves?" I have,
besides, the best reason for asserting that the judges were tampered
with, from, a circumstance which occurred to myself.
Bonaparte knew that I was intimately connected with M. Desmaisons, one of
the members of the Tribunal, and brother in-law to Corvisart; he also
knew that Desmaisons was inclined to believe in Moreau's innocence, and
favourable to his acquittal. During the progress of the trial Corvisart
arrived at my house one morning at a very early hour, in a state of such
evident embarrassment that, before he had time to utter a word, I said to
him, "What is the matter? Have you heard any bad news?"
"No," replied Corvisart, "but I came by the Emperor's order. He wishes
you to see my brother-in-law. 'He is,' said he to me, 'the senior judge,
and a man of considerable eminence; his opinion will carry with it great
weight, and I know that he is favourable to Moreau; he is in the wrong.
Visit Bourrienne, said the Emperor, and concert with him respecting the
best method of convincing Desmaisons of his error, for I repeat he is
wrong, he is deceived.' This is the mission with which I am entrusted."
"How," said I, with thorough astonishment, "how came you to be employed
in this affair? Could you believe for one moment that I would tamper
with a magistrate in order to induce him to exercise an unjust rigour?"
"No, rest assured," replied Corvisart, "I merely visited you this morning
in obedience to the order of the Emperor; but I knew beforehand in what
manner you would regard the proposition with which I was charged. I knew
your opinions and your character too well to entertain the smallest doubt
in this respect, and I was convinced that I ran no risk in becoming the
bearer of a commission which would be attended with no effect. Besides,
had I refused to obey the Emperor, it would have proved prejudicial to
your interest, and confirmed him in the opinion that you were favourable
to the acquittal of Moreau. For myself," added Corvisart, "it is
needless to affirm that I have no intention of attempting to influence
the opinion of my brother-in-law; and if I had, you know him sufficiently
well to be convinced in what light he would regard such a proceeding."
Such were the object and result of Corvisart's visit, and I am thence led
to believe that similar attempts must have been made to influence other
members of the Tribunal.
--["The judges had been pressed and acted on in a thousand ways by
the hangerson of the Palace and especially by Real, the natural
intermediary between justice and the Government. Ambition,
servility, fear, every motive capable of influencing them, had been
used: even their humane scruples were employed" (Lanfrey tome iii.
p. 193, who goes on to say that the judges were urged to sentence
Moreau to death in order that the Emperor might fully pardon him).]
But however this may be, prudence led me to discontinue visiting
M. Desmaisons, with whom I was in habits of the strictest friendship.
About this period I paid a visit which occupies an important place in my
recollections. On the 14th of June 1804, four days after the
condemnation of Georges and his accomplices, I received a summons to
attend the Emperor at St. Cloud. It was Thursday, and as I thought on
the great events and tragic scenes about to be acted, I was rather uneasy
respecting his intentions.
But I was fortunate enough to find my friend Rapp in waiting, who said to
me as I entered, "Be not alarmed; he is in the best of humours at
present, and wishes to have some conversation. with you."
Rapp then announced me to the Emperor, and I was immediately admitted to
his presence. After pinching my ear and asking his usual questions, such
as, "What does the world say? How are your children? What are you
about? etc.," he said to me, "By the by, have you attended the
proceedings against Moreau?"--" Yes, Sire, I have not been absent during
one of the sittings."--" Well, Bourrienne, are you of the opinion that
Moreau is innocent?"--"Yes, Sire; at least I am certain that nothing has
come out in the course of the trial tending to criminate him; I am even
surprised how he came to be implicated in this conspiracy, since nothing
has appeared against him which has the most remote connexion with the
affair."--" I know your opinion on this subject; Duroc related to me the
conversation you held with him at the Tuileries; experience has shown
that you were correct; but how could I act otherwise? You know that
Bouvet de Lozier hanged himself in prison, and was only saved by
accident. Real hurried to the Temple in order to interrogate him, and in
his first confessions he criminated Moreau, affirming that he had held
repeated conferences with Pichegru. Real immediately reported to me this
fact, and proposed that Moreau should be arrested, since the rumours
against him seemed to be well founded; he had previously made the same
proposition. I at first refused my sanction to this measure; but after
the charge made against him by Bouvet de Lozier, how could I act
otherwise than I did? Could I suffer such open conspiracies against the
Government? Could I doubt the truth of Bouvet de Lozier's declaration,
under the circumstances in which it was made? Could I foresee that he
would deny his first declaration when brought before the Court? There
was a chain of circumstances which human sagacity could not penetrate,
and I consented to the arrest of Moreau when it was proved that he was in
league with Pichegru. Has not England sent assassins?"--"Sire," said I,
"permit me to call to your recollection the conversation you had in my
presence with Mr. Fox, after which you said to me, 'Bourrienne, I am very
happy at having heard from the mouth of a man of honour that the British
Government is incapable of seeking my life; I always wish to esteem my
enemies."--"Bah! you are a fool! Parbleu! I did not say that the
English Minister sent over an assassin, and that he said to him, 'Here is
gold and a poniard; go and kill the First Consul.' No, I did not believe
that; but it cannot be denied that all those foreign conspirators against
my Government were serving England, and receiving pay from that power.
Have I agents in London to disturb the Government of Great Britain?
I have waged with it honourable warfare; I have not attempted to awaken a
remembrance of the Stuarts amongst their old partisans. Is not Wright,
who landed Georges and his accomplices at Dieppe, a captain in the
British navy? But rest assured that, with the exception of a few
babblers, whom I can easily silence, the hearts of the French people are
with me; everywhere public opinion has been declared in my favour, so
that I have nothing to apprehend from giving the greatest publicity to
these plots, and bringing the accused to a solemn trial. The greater
number of those gentlemen wished me to bring the prisoners before a
military commission, that summary judgment might be obtained; but I
refused my consent to this measure. It might have been said that I
dreaded public opinion; and I fear it not. People may talk as much as
they please, well and good, I am not obliged to hear them; but I do not
like those who are attached to my person to blame what I have done."
As I could not wholly conceal an involuntary emotion, in which the
Emperor saw something more than mere surprise, he paused, took me by the
ear, and, smiling in the most affectionate manner, said, "I had no
reference to you in what I said, but I have to complain of Lacuee. Could
you believe that during the trial he went about clamouring in behalf of
Moreau? He, my aide de camp--a man who owes everything to me! As for
you, I have said that you acted very well in this affair."--" I know not,
Sire, what has either been done or said by Lacuee,--whom I have not seen
for a long time; what I said to Duroc is what history teaches in every
page."--"By the by," resumed the Emperor, after a short silence, "do you
know that it was I myself who discovered that Pichegru was in Paris.
Everyone said to me, Pichegru is in Paris; Fouche, Real, harped on the
same string, but could give me no proof of their assertion. 'What a fool
you are,' said I to Real, when in an instant you may ascertain the fact.
Pichegru has a brother, an aged ecclesiastic, who resides in Paris; let
his dwelling be searched, and should he be absent, it will warrant a
suspicion that Pichegru is here; if, on the contrary, his brother should
be at home, let him be arrested: he is a simple-minded man, and in the
first moments of agitation will betray the truth. Everything happened as
I had foreseen, for no sooner was he arrested than, without waiting to be
questioned, he inquired if it was a crime to have received his brother
into his house. Thus every doubt was removed, and a miscreant in the
house in which Pichegru lodged betrayed him to the police. What horrid
degradation to betray a friend for the sake of gold."
Then reverting to Moreau, the Emperor talked a great deal respecting that
general. "Moreau," he said, "possesses many good qualities; his bravery
is undoubted; but he has more courage than energy; he is indolent and
effeminate. When with the army he lived like a pasha; he smoked, was
almost constantly in bed, and gave himself up to the pleasures of the
table. His dispositions are naturally good; but he is too indolent for
study; he does not read, and since he has been tied to his wife's
apronstrings is fit for nothing. He sees only with the eyes of his wife
and her mother, who have had a hand in all these late plots; and then,
Bourrienne, is it not very strange that it was by my advice that he
entered into this union? I was told that Mademoiselle Hulot was a
creole, and I believed that he would find in her a second Josephine; how
greatly was I mistaken! It is these women who have estranged us from
each other, and I regret that he should have acted so unworthily. You
must remember my observing to you more than two years ago that Moreau
would one day run his head against the gate of the Tuileries; that he has
done so was no fault of mine, for you know how much I did to secure his
attachment. You cannot have forgotten the reception I gave him at
Malmaison. On the 18th Brumaire I conferred on him the charge of the
Luxembourg, and in that situation he fully justified my, choice. But
since that period he has behaved towards me with the utmost ingratitude
--entered into all the silly cabala against me, blamed all my measures,
and turned into ridicule the Legion of Honour. Have not some of the
intriguers put it into his head that I regard him with jealousy? You
must be aware of that. You must also know as well as I how anxious the
members of the Directory were to exalt the reputation of Moreau. Alarmed
at my success in Italy, they wished to have in the armies a general to
serve as a counterpoise to my renown. I have ascended the throne and he
is the inmate of a prison! You are aware of the incessant clamouring
raised against me by the whole family, at which I confess I was very much
displeased; coming from those whom I had treated so well! Had he
attached himself to me, I would doubtless have conferred on him the title
of First Marshal of the Empire; but what could I do? He constantly
depreciated my campaigns and my government. From discontent to revolt
there is frequently only one step, especially when a man of a weak
character becomes the tool of popular clubs; and therefore when I was
first informed that Moreau was implicated in the conspiracy of Georges I
believed him to be guilty, but hesitated to issue an order for his arrest
till I had taken the opinion of my Council. The members having
assembled, I ordered the different documents to be laid before them, with
an injunction to examine them with the utmost care, since they related to
an affair of importance, and I urged them candidly to inform me whether,
in their opinion, any of the charges against Moreau were sufficiently
strong to endanger his life. The fools! their reply was in the
affirmative; I believe they were even unanimous! Then I had no
alternative but to suffer the proceedings to take their course. It is
unnecessary to affirm to you, Bourrienne, that Moreau never should have
perished on a scaffold! Most assuredly I would have pardoned him; but
with the sentence of death hanging over his head he could no longer have
proved dangerous; and his name would have ceased to be a rallying-point
for disaffected Republicans or imbecile Royalists. Had the Council
expressed any doubts respecting his guilt I would have intimated to him
that the suspicions against him were so strong as to render any further
connection between us impossible; and that the best course he could
pursue would be to leave France for three years, under the pretext of
visiting some of the places rendered celebrated during the late wars; but
that if he preferred a diplomatic mission I would make a suitable
provision for his expenses; and the great innovator, Time, might effect
great changes during the period of his absence. But my foolish Council
affirmed to me that his guilt, as a principal, being evident, it was
absolutely necessary to bring him to trial; and now his sentence is only
that of a pickpocket. What think you I ought to do? Detain him? He
might still prove a rallying-point. No. Let him sell his property and
quit? Can I confine him in the Temple? It is full enough without him.
Still, if this had been the only great error they had led me to commit--"
"Sire, how greatly you have been deceived."
"Oh yes, I have been so; but I cannot see everything with my own eyes."
At this part of our conversation, of which I have suppressed my own share
as much as possible, I conceived that the last words of Bonaparte alluded
to the death of the Duc d'Enghien; and I fancied he was about to mention
that event but he again spoke of Moreau.
"He is very much mistaken," resumed the Emperor, "if he conceives I bore
any ill-will towards him. After his arrest I sent Lauriston to the
Temple, whom I chose because he was of an amiable and conciliating
disposition; I charged him to tell Moreau to confess he had only seen
Pichegru, and I would cause the proceedings against him to be suspended.
Instead of receiving this act of generosity as he ought to have done, he
replied to it with great haughtiness, so much was he elated that Pichegru
had not been arrested; he afterwards, however, lowered his tone. He wrote
to me a letter of excuse | 861.634579 |
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MAYDAY WITH THE MUSES.
BY
ROBERT BLOOMFIELD
Author of the Farmer's Boy, Rural Tales, &c.
LONDON:
Printed for the Author: and for Baldwin Chadock, and Joy
1822
LONDON:
Printed by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars.
PREFACE.
I am of opinion that Prefaces are very useless things in cases like the
present, where the Author must talk of himself, with little amusement to
his readers. I have hesitated whether I should say any thing or nothing;
but as it is the fashion to say something, I suppose I must comply. I am
well aware that many readers will exclaim--"It is not the common practice
of English baronets to remit half a year's rent to their tenants for
poetry, or for any thing else." This may be very true; but I have found a
character in the Rambler, No. 82, who made a very different bargain, and
who says, "And as Alfred received the tribute of the Welsh in wolves'
heads, I allowed my tenants to pay their rents in butterflies, till I had
exhausted the papilionaceous tribe. I then directed them to the pursuit of
other animals, and obtained, by this easy method, most of the grubs and
insects which land, air, or water can supply.........I have, from my own
ground, the longest blade of grass upon record, and once accepted, as a
half year's rent for a field of wheat, an ear, containing more grains than
had been seen before upon a single stem."
I hope my old Sir Ambrose stands in no need of defence from me or from any
one; a man has a right to do what he likes with his own estate. The
characters I have introduced as candidates may not come off so easily; a
cluster of poets is not likely to be found in one village, and the
following lines, written by my good friend T. Park. Esq. of Hampstead, are
not only true, but beautifully true, and I cannot omit them.
WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF THANET,
August, 1790.
The bard, who paints from rural plains,
Must oft himself the void supply
Of damsels pure and artless swains,
Of innocence and industry:
For sad experience shows the heart
Of human beings much the same;
Or polish'd by insidious art,
Or rude as from the clod it came.
And he who roams the village round,
Or strays amid the harvest sere,
Will hear, as now, too many a sound
Quiet would never wish to hear.
The wrangling rustics' loud abuse,
The coarse, unfeeling, witless jest,
The threat obscene, the oath profuse,
And all that cultured minds detest.
Hence let those Sylvan poets glean,
Who picture life without a flaw;
Nature may form a perfect scene,
But Fancy must the figures draw.
The word "fancy" connects itself with my very childhood, fifty years back.
The fancy of those who wrote the songs which I was obliged to hear in
infancy was a very inanimate and sleepy fancy. I could enumerate a dozen
songs at least which all described sleeping shepherds and shepherdesses,
and, in one instance, where they both went to sleep: this is not fair
certainly; it is not even "watch and watch."
"As Damon and Phillis were keeping of sheep,
Being free from all care they retired to sleep," &c.
I must say, that if I understand any thing at all about keeping sheep,
this is not the way to go to work with them. But such characters and such
writings were fashionable, and fashion will beat common sense at any time.
With all the beauty and spirit of Cunningham's "Kate of Aberdeen," and
some others, I never found any thing to strike my mind so forcibly as the
last stanza of Dibdin's "Sailor's Journal"--
"At length, 'twas in the month of May,
Our crew, it being lovely weather,
At three A.M. discovered day
And England's chalky cliffs together!
At seven, up channel how we bore,
Whilst hopes and fears rush'd o'er each fancy!
At twelve, I gaily jump'd on shore,
And to my throbbing heart press'd Nancy."
This, to my feelings, is a balm at all times; it is spirit, animation, and
imagery, all at once.
I will plead no excuses for any thing which the reader may find in this
little volume, but merely state, that I once met with a lady in London,
who, though otherwise of strong mind and good information, would maintain
that "it is impossible for a blind man to fall in love." I always thought
her wrong, and the present tale of "Alfred and Jennet" is written to
elucidate my side of the question.
I have been reported to be dead; but I can assure the reader that this,
like many other reports, is not true. I have written these tales in
anxiety, and in a wretched state of health; and if these formidable foes
have not incapacitated me, but left me free to meet the public eye with
any degree of credit, that degree of credit I am sure I shall gain.
I am, with remembrance of what is past,
Most respectfully,
ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.
_Shefford, Bedfordshire,_
_April 10th_, 1822.
MAY-DAY WITH THE MUSES.
THE INVITATION
O for the strength to paint my joy once more!
That joy I feel when Winter's reign is o'er;
When the dark despot lifts his hoary brow,
And seeks his polar-realm's eternal snow.
Though black November's fogs oppress my brain,
Shake every nerve, and struggling fancy chain;
Though time creeps o'er me with his palsied hand,
And frost-like bids the stream of passion stand,
And through his dry teeth sends a shivering blast,
And points to more than fifty winters past,
Why should I droop with heartless, aimless eye?
Friends start around, and all my phantoms fly,
And Hope, upsoaring with expanded wing,
Unfolds a scroll, inscribed "Remember Spring."
Stay, sweet enchantress, charmer of my days,
And glance thy rainbow colours o'er my lays;
Be to poor Giles what thou hast ever been,
His heart's warm solace and his sovereign queen;
Dance with his rustics when the laugh runs high,
Live in the lover's heart, the maiden's eye;
Still be propitious when his feet shall stray
Beneath the bursting hawthorn-buds of May;
Warm every thought, and brighten every hour,
And let him feel thy presence and thy power.
SIR AMBROSE HIGHAM, in his eightieth year,
With memory unimpair'd, and conscience clear,
His English heart untrammell'd, and full blown
His senatorial honours and renown,
Now, basking in his plenitude of fame,
Resolved, in concert with his noble dame,
To drive to town no more--no more by night
To meet in crowded courts a blaze of light,
In streets a roaring mob with flags unfurl'd,
And all the senseless discord of the world,--
But calmly wait the hour of his decay,
The broad bright sunset of his glorious day;
And where he first drew breath at last to fall,
Beneath the towering shades of Oakly Hall[A].
[Footnote A: The seat of Sir Ambrose is situated in the author's
imagination only; the reader must build Oakly Hall where he pleases.]
Quick spread the news through hamlet, field, and farm,
The labourer wiped his brow and staid his arm;
'Twas news to him of more importance far
Than change of empires or the yells of war;
It breathed a hope which nothing could destroy,
Poor widows rose, and clapp'd their hands for joy,
Glad voices rang at every cottage door,
"Good old Sir Ambrose goes to town no more."
Well might the village bells the triumph sound,
Well might the voice of gladness ring around;
Where sickness raged, or want allied to shame,
Sure as the sun his well-timed succour came;
Food for the starving child, and warmth and wine
For age that totter'd in its last decline.
From him they shared the embers' social glow;
_He_ fed the flame that glanced along the snow,
When winter drove his storms across the sky,
And pierced the bones of shrinking poverty.
Sir Ambrose loved the Muses, and would pay
Due honours even to the ploughman's lay;
Would cheer the feebler bard, and with the strong
Soar to the noblest energies of song;
Catch the rib-shaking laugh, or from his eye
Dash silently the tear of sympathy.
Happy old man!--with feelings such as these
The seasons all can charm, and trifles please;
And hence a sudden thought, a new-born whim,
Would shake his cup of pleasure to the brim,
Turn scoffs and doubts and obstacles aside,
And instant action follow like a tide.
Time past, he had on his paternal ground
With pride the latent sparks of genius found
In many a local ballad, many a tale,
As wild and brief as cowslips in the dale,
Though unrecorded as the gleams of light
That vanish in the quietness of night
"Why not," he cried, as from his couch he rose,
"To cheer my age, and sweeten my repose,
"Why not be just and generous in time,
"And bid my tenants pay their rents in rhyme?
"For one half year they shall.--A feast shall bring
"A crowd of merry faces in the spring;--
"Here, pens, boy, pens; I'll weigh the case no more,
"But write the summons:--go, go, shut the door.
"'All ye on Oakly manor dwelling,
'Farming, labouring, buying, selling,
'Neighbours! banish gloomy looks,
'My grey old steward shuts his books.
'Let not a thought of winter's rent
'Destroy one evening's merriment;
'I ask not gold, but tribute found
'Abundant on Parnassian ground.
'Choose, ye who boast the gift, your themes
'Of joy or pathos, tales or dreams,
'Choose each a theme;--but, harkye, bring
'No stupid ghost, no vulgar thing;
'Fairies, indeed, may wind their way,
'And sparkle through the brightest lay:
'I love their pranks, their favourite green,
'And, could the little sprites be seen,
'Were I a king, I'd sport with them,
'And dance beneath my diadem.
'But surely fancy need not brood
'O'er midnight darkness, crimes, and blood,
'In magic cave or monk's retreat,
'Whilst the bright world is at her feet;
'Whilst to her boundless range is given,
'By night, by day, the lights of heaven,
'And all they shine upon; whilst Love
'Still reigns the monarch of the grove,
'And real life before her lies
'In all its thousand, thousand dies.
'Then bring me nature, bring me sense,
'And joy shall be your recompense:
'On Old May-day I hope to see
'All happy:--leave the rest to me.
'A general feast shall cheer us all
'Upon the lawn that fronts the hall,
'With tents for shelter, laurel boughs
'And wreaths of every flower that blows.
'The months are wending fast away;
'Farewell,--remember Old May-day.'"
Surprise, and mirth, and gratitude, and jeers,
The clown's broad wonder, th' enthusiast's tears,
Fresh gleams of comfort on the brow of care,
The sectary's cold shrug, the miser's stare,
Were all excited, for the tidings flew
As quick as scandal the whole country through.
"Rent paid by rhymes at Oakly may be great,
"But rhymes for taxes would appal the state,"
Exclaim'd th' exciseman,--"and then tithes, alas!
"Why there, again, 'twill never come to pass."--
Thus all still ventured, as the whim inclined,
Remarks | 861.643669 |
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[Illustration: THE GREAT STATUE OF BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA]
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS FROM JAPAN
BY
JOHN LA FARGE
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1897
Copyright, 1890, 1891, 1893, 1897,
By THE CENTURY CO.
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
TO HENRY ADAMS, ESQ.
_My Dear Adams:_ Without you I should not have seen the place, without
you I should not have seen the things of which these notes are
impressions. If anything worth repeating has been said by me in these
letters, it has probably come from you, or has been suggested by being
with you--perhaps even in the way of contradiction. And you may be
amused by the lighter talk of the artist that merely describes
appearances, or covers them with a tissue of dreams. And you alone will
know how much has been withheld that might have been indiscreetly said.
If only we had found Nirvana--but he was right who warned us that we
were late in this season of the world.
J. L. F.
[Illustration: WHICH IN ENGLISH MEANS:]
AND YOU TOO, OKAKURA SAN: I wish to put your name before these notes,
written at the time when I first met you, because the memories of your
talks are connected with my liking of your country and of its story, and
because for a time you were Japan to me. I hope, too, that some thoughts
of yours will be detected in what I write, as a stream runs through
grass--hidden, perhaps, but always there. We are separated by many
things besides distance, but you know that the blossoms scattered by the
waters of the torrent shall meet at its end.
CONTENTS
PAGE
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS FROM JAPAN 1
FROM TOKIO TO NIKKO 29
THE SHRINES OF IYEYAS[)U] AND IYEMITS[)U]
IN THE HOLY MOUNTAIN OF NIKKO 52
IYEMITS[)U] 85
TAO: THE WAY 99
JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE 119
BRIC-A-BRAC 128
SKETCHING 159
NIRVANA 175
SKETCHING.--THE FLUTES OF IYEYAS[)U] 185
SKETCHING.--THE PAGODA IN RAIN 193
FROM NIKKO TO KAMAKURA 195
NIKKO TO YOKOHAMA 202
YOKOHAMA--KAMAKURA 216
KIOTO 230
A JAPANESE DAY.--FROM KIOTO TO GIFU 253
FROM KAMBARA TO MIYANOSHITA--A LETTER FROM
A KAGO 265
POSTSCRIPT 280
APPENDIX 281
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE GREAT STATUE OF BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA. FRONTISPIECE.
THE KURUMA 5
CASTLE, AND MOAT WITH LOTUS 9
AT THE WELL 11
ANCIENT 15
N[=O] DANCER WITH MASK, REPRESENTING THE SAKE IMP 19
MODERN 23
THE LAKE IN UYENO PARK 28
A TORII 32
OUR RUNNER 36
IN THE GREAT AVENUE OF CRYPTOMERIA 39
NIKKO-SAN 43
THE WATERFALL IN OUR GARDEN 47
PORTRAIT-STATUE OF IYEYAS[)U] IN CEREMONIAL DRESS 53
AVENUE TO TEMPLE OF IYEYAS[)U] 55
SKETCH OF STATUE OF IYEYAS[)U] TOKUGAWA 57
STABLE OF SACRED HORSES 61
SACRED FONT 65
YOUNG PRIEST 68
DETAILS OF BASES OF CLOISTER WALLS, INNER COURT 71
DETAIL OF CLOISTER WALLS, INNER COURT 75
LINTEL, BRACKET CAPITAL 77
INSIDE THE "CAT GATE"--GATE TO THE TOMB 79
TOMB OF IYEYAS[)U], TOKUGAWA 83
LOOKING DOWN ON THE WATER-TANK, OR
SACRED FONT, FROM THE SECOND GATE 87
A PRIEST AT IYEMITS[)U] 88
IN THE THIRD GATE OF THE TEMPLE OF IYEMITS[)U],
LOOKING TOWARD THE FOURTH 91
A PRIEST AT IYEMITS[)U] 93
KUWANON, BY OKIO 94
ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF IYEMITS[)U] 96
PAINTING BY CHIN-NAN-PIN 135
SIGNATURE OF HOKUSAI 149
INSCRIPTION ON OLD LACQUER 152
INSCRIPTION FROM HO-RIU-JI 155
BED OF THE DAYAGAWA, NIKKO 161
MOUNTAINS IN FOG BEFORE OUR HOUSE 165
PORTRAIT OF A PRIEST 169
OLD PAGODA NEAR THE PRIESTS' HOUSES 171
STATUE OF OYA JIZO 177
PEASANT GIRLS AND MOUNTAIN HORSES OF NIKKO 181
OUR LANDLORD THE BUDDHIST PRIEST 187
KIOTO IN FOG--MORNING 231
PEASANT WOMAN--THRESHER 239
A PILGRIM 247
FUSI-YAMA FROM KAMBARA BEACH 257
FISHING WITH CORMORANTS 261
PEASANT CARRYING FODDER, AND BULL CARRYING LOAD 267
A RUNNER IN THE RAIN 275
AN ARTIST'S LETTERS
FROM JAPAN
YOKOHAMA, July 3, 1886.
Arrived yesterday. On the cover of the letter which I mailed from our
steamer I had but time to write: "We are coming in; it is like the
picture books. Anything that I can add will only be a filling in of
detail."
We were in the great bay when I came up on deck in the early morning.
The sea was smooth like the brilliant blank paper of the prints; a vast
surface of water reflecting the light of the sky as if it were thicker
air. Far-off streaks of blue light, like finest washes of the brush,
determined distances. Beyond, in a white haze, the square white sails
spotted the white horizon and floated above it.
The slackened beat of the engine made a great noise in the quiet
waters. Distant high hills of foggy green marked the new land; nearer
us, junks of the shapes you know, in violet transparency of shadow, and
five or six war-ships and steamers, red and black, or white, looking
barbarous and out of place, but still as if they were part of us; and
spread all around us a fleet of small boats, manned by rowers standing
in robes flapping about them, or tucked in above their waists. There
were so many that the crowd looked blue and white--the color of their
dresses repeating the sky in prose. Still, the larger part were mostly
naked, and their legs and arms and backs made a great novelty to our
eyes, accustomed to nothing but our ship, and the enormous space, empty
of life, which had surrounded us for days. The muscles of the boatmen
stood out sharply on their small frames. They had almost all--at least
those who were young--fine wrists and delicate hands, and a handsome
setting of the neck. The foot looked broad, with toes very square. They
were excitedly waiting to help in the coaling and unloading, and soon we
saw them begin to work, carrying great loads with much good-humored
chattering. Around us played the smallest boats with rowers standing up
and sculling. Then the market-boat came rushing to us, its standing
rowers bending and rising, their thighs rounding and insteps sharpening,
what small garments they had fluttering like scarfs, so that our fair
missionaries turned their backs to the sight.
[Illustration]
Two boys struggling at the great sculls in one of the small boats were
called by us out of the crowd, and carried us off to look at the
outgoing steamer, which takes our mail, and which added its own
confusion and its attendant crowd of boats to all the animation on the
water. Delicious and curious moment, this first sense of being free from
the big prison of the ship; of the pleasure of directing one's own
course; of not understanding a word of what one hears, and yet of
getting at a meaning through every sense; of being close to the top of
the waves on which we dance, instead of looking down upon them from the
tall ship's sides; of seeing the small limbs of the boys burning yellow
in the sun, and noticing how they recall the dolls of their own country
in the | 861.64469 |
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by The Internet Archive)
TRAVELLING SKETCHES.
BY
ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
[REPRINTED FROM THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE."]
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1866.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE FAMILY THAT GOES ABROAD BECAUSE IT'S THE
THING TO DO 1
THE MAN WHO TRAVELS ALONE 15
THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE TOURIST 29
THE UNITED ENGLISHMEN WHO TRAVEL FOR FUN 43
THE ART TOURIST 57
THE TOURIST IN SEARCH OF KNOWLEDGE 71
THE ALPINE CLUB MAN 84
TOURISTS WHO DON'T LIKE THEIR TRAVELS 98
TRAVELLING SKETCHES.
THE FAMILY THAT GOES ABROAD BECAUSE IT'S THE THING TO DO.
That men and women should leave their homes at the end of summer and go
somewhere,--though it be only to Margate,--has become a thing so fixed
that incomes the most limited are made to stretch themselves to fit the
rule, and habits the most domestic allow themselves to be interrupted
and set at naught. That we gain much in health there can be no doubt.
Our ancestors, with their wives and children, could do without their
autumn tour; but our ancestors did not work so hard as we work. And we
gain much also in general knowledge, though such knowledge is for the
most part superficial, and our mode of acquiring it too often absurd.
But the English world is the better for the practice. "Home-staying
youths have ever homely wits," and we may fairly suppose that our
youths are less homely in this particular after they have been a day
or two in Paris, and a week or two in Switzerland, and up and down the
Rhine, than they would have been had they remained in their London
lodgings through that month of September,--so weary to those who are
still unable to fly away during that most rural of months.
Upon the whole we are proud of our travelling; but yet we must own
that, as a nation of travellers, we have much to learn; and it always
seems that the travelling English family which goes abroad because it's
the thing to do, with no clearly defined object as to the pleasure to
be obtained or the delights to be expected,--with hardly a defined
idea of the place to be visited, has, as a class, more to learn than
any other class of tourists.
In such family arrangements daughters of course predominate. Sons can
travel alone or with their own friends. This arrangement they generally
prefer, and for it they are always able to give substantial reasons,
in which their mammas may, or may not, put implicit confidence.
Daughters can travel alone too occasionally, as I hope to be able to
show by-and-by in a sketch of that much abused but invaluable English
lady, the Unprotected Female Tourist. But such feminine independence
is an exception to the rule, and daughters are generally willing to
submit themselves to that paternal and maternal guidance from which
the adult male tourist so stoutly revolts. Paterfamilias of course is
there, paying the bills, strapping up the cloaks, scolding the waiters,
obeying, but not placidly obeying, the female behests to which he is
subject, and too frequently fretting uncomfortably beneath the burden
of the day, the heat and the dust, the | 861.679408 |
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+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|Obvious typographical errors have been corrected |
+-------------------------------------------------+
Vol. I. JUNE, 1906 No. 4
MOTHER EARTH
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
Mrs. Grundy VIROQUA DANIELS 1
A Greeting ALEXANDER BERKMAN 3
Henrik Ibsen M. B. 6
Observations and Comments 8
A Letter EMMA GOLDMAN 13
Libertarian Instruction EMILE JANVION 14
The Antichrist FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 15
Brain Work and Manual Work PETER KROPOTKIN 21
Motherhood and Marriage HENRIETTE FUERTH 30
Object Lesson for Advocates of Governmental
Control ARTHUR G. EVERETT, N--M. 33
The Genius of War JOHN FRANCIS VALTER 36
Dignity Speaks 36
Paternalistic Government (CONTINUATION)
THEODORE SCHROEDER 38
Aim and Tactics of the Trade-Union Movement
MAX BAGINSKI 44
Refined Cruelty ANNA MERCY 50
"The Jungle" VERITAS 53
The Game is Up SADAKICHI HARTMANN 57
10c. A COPY $1 A YEAR
MOTHER EARTH
Monthly Magazine Devoted to Social Science and Literature
Published Every 15th of the Month
EMMA GOLDMAN, Publisher, P. O. Box 217, Madison Square Station,
New York, N. Y.
Entered as second-class matter April 9, 1906, at the post office
at New York, N. Y., under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879.
Vol. I JUNE, 1906 No. 4
MRS. GRUNDY.
By VIROQUA DANIELS.
_Her will is law. She holds despotic sway.
Her wont has been to show the narrow way
Wherein must tread the world, the bright, the brave,
From infancy to dotard's gloomy grave._
_"Obey! Obey!" with sternness she commands
The high, the low, in great or little lands.
She folds us all within her ample gown.
A forward act is met with angry frown._
_The lisping babes are taught her local speech;
Her gait to walk; her blessings to beseech.
They laugh or cry, as Mistress says they may,--
In everything the little tots obey._
_The youth know naught save Mrs. Grundy's whims.
They play her games. They sing her holy hymns.
They question not; accept both truth and fiction,_
_(The_ OLD _is right, within her jurisdiction!)._
_Maid, matron, man unto her meekly bow.
She with contempt or ridicule may cow.
They dare not speak, or dress, or love, or hate,
At variance with the program on her slate._
_Her subtle smile, e'en men to thinkers grown,
Are loath to lose; before its charm they're prone.
With great ado, they publicly conform--
Vain, cowards, vain; revolt_ MUST _raise a storm!_
_The "indiscreet," when hidden from her sight,
Attempt to live as they consider "right."
Lo! Walls have ears! The loyal everywhere
The searchlight turn, and loudly shout, "Beware!"_
_In tyranny the Mistress is supreme.
"Obedience," that is her endless theme.
Al countries o'er, in city, town and glen,
Her aid is sought by bosses over men._
_Of Greed, her brain is cunningly devised.
From Ignorance, her bulky body's sized.
When at her ease, she acts as judge and jury.
But she's the Mob when 'roused to fighting fury._
_Dame Grundy is, by far, the fiercest foe
To ev'ry kind of progress, that we know.
So Freedom is, to her, a poison thing.
Who heralds it, he must her death knell ring | 861.679563 |
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Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading team
PRINCE HAGEN
By Upton Sinclair
CHARACTERS (In order of appearance)
Gerald Isman: a poet.
Mimi: a Nibelung.
Alberich: King of the Nibelungs.
Prince Hagen: his grandson.
Mrs. Isman.
Hicks: a butler.
Mrs. Bagley-Willis: mistress of Society.
John Isman: a railroad magnate.
Estelle Isman: his daughter.
Plimpton: the coal baron.
Rutherford: lord of steel.
De Wiggleston Riggs: cotillon leader.
Lord Alderdyce: seeing America.
Calkins: Prince Hagen's secretary.
Nibelungs: members of Society.
ACT I
SCENE I. Gerald Isman's tent in Quebec.
SCENE 2. The Hall of State in Nibelheim.
ACT II
Library in the Isman home on Fifth Avenue: two years later.
ACT III
Conservatory of Prince Hagen's palace on Fifth Avenue. The wind-up
of the opening ball: four months later.
ACT IV
Living room in the Isman camp in Quebec: three months later.
ACT I
SCENE I
[Shows a primeval forest, with great trees, thickets in background,
and moss and ferns underfoot. A set in the foreground. To the left is a
tent, about ten feet square, with a fly. The front and sides are rolled
up, showing a rubber blanket spread, with bedding upon it; a rough
stand, with books and some canned goods, a rifle, a fishing-rod, etc.
Toward centre is a trench with the remains of a fire smoldering in it,
and a frying pan and some soiled dishes beside it. There is a log, used
as a seat, and near it are several books, a bound volume of music lying
open, and a violin case with violin. To the right is a rocky wall, with
a cleft suggesting a grotto.]
[At rise: GERALD pottering about his fire, which is burning badly,
mainly because he is giving most of his attention to a bound volume
of music which he has open. He is a young man of twenty-two, with wavy
auburn hair; wears old corduroy trousers and a grey flannel shirt,
open at the throat. He stirs the fire, then takes violin and plays the
Nibelung theme with gusto.]
GERALD. A plague on that fire! I think I'll make my supper on prunes and
crackers to-night!
[Plays again.]
MIMI. [Enters left, disguised as a pack-peddler; a little wizened up
man, with long, unkempt grey hair and beard, and a heavy bundle on his
back.] Good evening, sir!
GERALD. [Starts.] Hello!
MIMI. Good evening!
GERALD. Why... who are you?
MIMI. Can you tell me how I find the road, sir?
GERALD. Where do you want to go?
MIMI. To the railroad.
GERALD. Oh, I see! You got lost?
MIMI. Yes, sir.
GERALD. [Points.] You should have turned to the right down where the
roads cross.
MIMI. Oh. That's it!
[Puts down burden and sighs.]
GERALD. Are you expecting to get to the railroad to-night?
MIMI. Yes, sir.
GERALD. Humph! You'll find it hard going. Better rest. [Looks him over,
curiously.] What are you--a peddler?
MIMI. I sell things. Nice things, sir. You buy?
[Starts to open pack.]
GERALD. No. I don't want anything.
MIMI. [Gazing about.] You live here all alone?
GERALD. Yes... all alone.
MIMI. [Looking of left.] Who lives in the big house?
GERALD. That's my father's camp.
MIMI. Humph! Nobody in there?
GERALD. The family hasn't come up yet.
MIMI. Why don't you live there?
GERALD. I'm camping out--I prefer the tent.
MIMI. Humph! Who's your father?
GERALD. John Isman's his name.
MIMI. Rich man, hey?
GERALD. Why... yes. Fairly so.
MIMI. I see people here last year | 861.683382 |
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Produced by Henry Flower 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:
_Nitts_
_one day Old_
_3 days_
_1 week_
_2 weeks_
_3 weeks_
_4 weeks_
_5 weeks_
_6 weeks_
_7 weeks_
_8 weeks_
_9 weeks_
_10 weeks_
_full grown Europeans_
_full grown American_
_G. VanderGucht sculp._
]
A
TREATISE
OF
BUGGS:
SHEWING
When and How they were first brought into _England_. How they are
brought into and infect Houses.
Their Nature, several Foods, Times and Manner of Spawning and
Propagating in this Climate.
Their great INCREASE accounted for, by Proof of the Numbers each Pair
produce in a Season.
REASONS given why all Attempts hitherto made for their Destruction
have proved ineffectual.
VULGAR ERRORS concerning them refuted.
That from _September_ to _March_ is the best Season for their total
Destruction, demonstrated by Reason, and proved by Facts.
Concluding with
DIRECTIONS for such as have them not already, how to avoid them; and
for those that have them, how to destroy them.
By _JOHN SOUTHALL_,
Maker of the Nonpareil Liquor for destroying _Buggs_ and _Nits_,
living at the _Green Posts_ in the _Green Walk_ near _Faulcon-stairs,
Southwark_.
The SECOND EDITION.
_LONDON_: Printed for J. ROBERTS, near the _Oxford-Arms_
in _Warwick-Lane_. M.DCC.XXX.
(Price One Shilling.)
[Illustration]
TO
Sir HANS SLOANE, Bart.
First Physician in Ordinary to His MAJESTY; President of the ROYAL
SOCIETY, and also of the College of Physicians.
_SIR_,
Your ready Condescension to peruse the following Treatise, and to see
the Experiments of my Liquor, both in regard to its bringing out,
and destroying Buggs; as also that of its no ways staining Furniture;
was to me the happy Presage of your Favour, and Approbation of my
Performances.
The Satisfaction of having this Treatise and Experiments approv’d by
You, the Best of Judges, was to me the greatest Honour I could wish
for; but the additional one, confer’d by your introducing me to the
_Royal Society_, and there having not only their unanimous Approbation,
but yours and their Thanks for my Discoveries and Intent of publishing
them, was beyond my Hopes, and a Pleasure so great, as to be past
expressing; in regard that it dissipates all my Fears for its Success,
and makes me justly hope it will meet with a candid Reception from, and
be of general Benefit to the Publick.
As to your Goodness, I must ascribe the happy Prospect of its proving
so, Gratitude obliges me in this manner to acknowledge it; and to be,
_Sir_,
_Your Much-Obliged_,
_And Most Obedient Servant_,
JOHN SOUTHALL.
[Illustration]
THE
PREFACE.
_Being diffident of my own Performance, and desirous it should stand or
fall by the Opinion of the Best of Judges, was the Motive that induced
me to make my Application to that very Learned, truly Judicious and
commendably Curious Person to whom it’s dedicated: At the same time
determining, that if he approv’d of it, I would publish it; and if
he disapprov’d, that I would burn it. But it happily meeting his
Approbation, it now makes its Appearance in Print: Tho’ I must in
Justice to him acknowledge, it could not have so done so soon, nor
with such Embellishments, had he not only forwarded the Impression,
but directed and order’d the Copper-plate. As it has not only his
Approbation, but also, by his introducing it, the unanimous Concurrent
Approbation of (those great Encouragers of things useful) the Royal
Society; I hope it will not fail of meeting a kind Reception from the
Inhabitants in and about this Metropolis; by whom, as such a Treatise,
&c. was | 861.683434 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
HEROINES OF CRUSADES.
HEROINES
OF THE
CRUSADES
_Adela Countess of Blo | 861.68542 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
CHILDREN OF WILD AUSTRALIA
[Illustration: BOY SPEARING FISH]
CHILDREN OF WILD AUSTRALIA
BY
HERBERT PITTS
AUTHOR OF
"THE AUSTRALIAN ABORIGINAL AND THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH"
[Illustration: Decoration]
WITH EIGHT COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER
PRINTED BY
TURNBULL AND SPEARS,
EDINBURGH
TO
DEAR LITTLE MARY
THIS LITTLE BOOK
ABOUT
THE LITTLE BLACK BOYS AND GIRLS
OF A FAR-OFF LAND
IS DEDICATED BY
HER FATHER
MY DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS,
All the time I have been writing this little book I have been wishing I
could gather you all around me and take you with me to some of the
places in faraway Australia where I myself have seen the little black
children at their play. You would understand so much better all I have
tried to say.
It is a bright sunny land where those children live, but in many ways a
far less pleasant land to live in than our own. The country often grows
very parched and bare, the grass dies, the rivers begin to dry up, and
the poor little children of the wilderness have great difficulty in
getting food. Then perhaps a great storm comes and a great quantity of
rain falls. The rivers fill up and the grass begins to grow again, but
myriads of flies follow and they get into the children's eyes and
perhaps blind some of them, and the mosquitoes come and bite them and
give them fevers sometimes.
Yet though much of the land is wilderness--bare, sandy plains--beautiful
flowers bloom there after the rains. Lovely hibiscus, the giant scarlet
pea, and thousands of delicate white and yellow everlastings are there
for the eyes to feast upon, but the loveliest flowers of all are
frequently the love and tenderness and unselfishness which bloom in the
children's hearts.
I have left Australia now and settled down again in the old homeland,
but the memories of the eight years I spent among the dear little
children out there are still very delightful ones, and they, more than
anything I have read, have helped me to write this little book for you.
Your Sincere friend,
HERBERT PITTS
DOUGLAS, I.O.M., 1914
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTORY LETTER 7
I. INTRODUCTORY 11
II. PICCANINNIES 17
III. "GREAT-GREAT-GREATEST-GRANDFATHER" 23
IV. BLACKFELLOWS' "HOMES" 26
V. EDUCATION 31
VI. WEAPONS, ETC., WHICH CHILDREN LEARN TO
MAKE AND USE 35
VII. HOW FOOD IS CAUGHT AND COOKED 40
VIII. CORROBBOREES, OR NATIVE DANCES 44
IX. MAGIC AND SORCERY 47
X. SOME STRANGE WAYS OF DISPOSING OF THE DEAD 56
XI. SOME STORIES WHICH ARE TOLD TO CHILDREN 60
XII. MORE STORIES TOLD TO CHILDREN 65
XIII. RELIGION 68
XIV. YARRABAH 72
XV. TRUBANAMAN CREEK 79
| 861.686281 |
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Produced by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon,
Shawn Wheeler, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
THE COURT OF THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE
BY
IMBERT DE SAINT-AMAND
TRANSLATED BY THOMAS SERGEANT PERRY
ILLUSTRATED
1900
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. THE BEGINNING OF THE EMPIRE
II. THE JOURNEY TO THE BANKS OF THE RHINE
III. THE POPE'S ARRIVAL AT FONTAINEBLEAU
IV. THE PREPARATIONS FOR THE CORONATION
V. THE CORONATION
VI. THE DISTRIBUTION OF FLAGS
VII. THE FESTIVITIES
VIII. THE ETIQUETTE OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE
IX. THE HOUSEHOLD OF THE EMPRESS
X. NAPOLEON'S GALLANTRIES
XI. THE POPE AT THE TUILERIES
XII. THE JOURNEY IN ITALY
XIII. THE CORONATION AT MILAN
XIV. THE FESTIVITIES AT GENOA
XV. DURING THE CAMPAIGN OF AUSTERLITZ
XVI. THE MARRIAGE OF PRINCE EUGENE
XVII. PARIS IN THE BEGINNING OF 1806
XVIII. THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCE OF BADEN
XIX. THE NEW QUEEN OF HOLLAND
XX. THE EMPRESS AT MAYENCE
XXI. THE RETURN OF THE EMPRESS TO PARIS
XXII. THE DEATH OF THE YOUNG NAPOLEON
XXIII. THE END OF THE WAR
XXIV. THE EMPEROR'S RETURN
XXV. THE COURT AT FONTAINEBLEAU
XXVI. THE END OF THE YEAR 1807
I.
THE BEGINNING OF THE EMPIRE.
"Two-thirds of my life is passed, why should I so distress myself about
what remains? The most brilliant fortune does not deserve all the trouble
I take, the pettiness I detect in myself, or the humiliations and shame I
endure; thirty years will destroy those giants of power which can be seen
only by raising the head; we shall disappear, I who am so petty, and those
whom I regard so eagerly, from whom I expected all my greatness. The most
desirable of all blessings is repose, seclusion, a little spot we can call
our own." When La Bruyere expressed himself so bitterly, when he spoke of
the court "which satisfies no one," but "prevents one from being satisfied
anywhere else," of the court, "that country where the joys are visible but
false, and the sorrows hidden, but real," he had before him the brilliant
Palace of Versailles, the unrivalled glory of the Sun King, a monarchy
which thought itself immovable and eternal. What would he say in this
century when dynasties fail like autumn leaves, and it takes much less
than thirty years to destroy the giants of power; when the exile of to-day
repeats to the exile of the morrow the motto of the churchyard: _Hodie
mihi, eras tibi?_ What would this Christian philosopher say at a time when
royal and imperial palaces have been like caravansaries through which
sovereigns have passed like travellers, when their brief resting-places
have been consumed by the blaze of petroleum and are now but a heap of
ashes?
The study of any court is sure to teach wisdom and indifference to human
glories. In our France of the nineteenth century, fickle as it has been,
inconstant, fertile in revolutions, recantations, and changes of every
sort, this lesson is more impressive than it has been at any period of our
history. Never has Providence shown more clearly the nothingness of this
world's grandeur and magnificence. Never has the saying of Ecclesiastes
been more exactly verified: "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity!" We have
before us the task of describing one of the most sumptuous courts that has
ever existed, and of reviewing splendors all the more brilliant for their
brevity. To this court of Napoleon and Josephine, to this majestic court,
resplendent with glory, wealth, and fame, may well be applied Corneille's
lines:--
"All your happiness
Subject to instability
In a moment falls to the ground,
And as it has the brilliancy of glass
It also has its fragility."
We shall evoke the memory of the dead to revive this vanished court, and
we shall consult, one after another, the persons who were eye-witnesses of
these short-lived wonders. A prefect of the palace, M. de Bausset, wrote:
"When I recall the memorable times of which I have just given a faint
idea, I feel, after so many years, as if I had been taking part in the
gorgeous scenes of the _Arabian Tales_ or of the _Thousand and One
Nights_. The magic picture of all those splendors and glories has
disappeared, and with it all the prestige of ambition and power." One of
the ladies of the palace of the Empress Josephine, Madame de Remusat, has
expressed the same thought: "I seem to be recalling a dream, but a dream
resembling an Oriental tale, when I describe the lavish luxury of that
period, the disputes for precedence, the claims of rank, the demands of
every one." Yes, in all that there was something dreamlike, and the actors
in that fairy spectacle which is called the Empire, that great show piece,
with its scenery, now brilliant, now terrible, but ever changing, must
have been even more astonished than the spectators. Aix-la-Chapelle and
the court of Charlemagne, the castle of Fontainebleau and the Pope, Notre
Dame and the coronation, the Champ de Mars and the distribution of eagles,
the Cathedral of Milan and the Iron Crown, Genoa the superb and its naval
festival, Austerlitz and the three emperors,--what a setting! what
accessories! what personages! The peal of organs, the intoning of priests,
the applause of the multitude and of the soldiers, the groans of the
dying, the trumpet call, the roll of the drum, ball music, military bands,
the cannon's roar, were the joyful and mournful harmonies heard while the
play went on. What we shall study amid this tumult and agitation is one
woman. We have already studied her as the Viscountess of Beauharnais, as
Citizeness Bonaparte, and as the wife of the First Consul. We shall now
study her in her new part, that of Empress.
Let us go back to May 18, 1804, to the Palace of Saint Cloud. The Emperor
had just been proclaimed by the Senate before the _plebiscite_ which was
to ratify the new state of things. The curtain has risen, the play begins,
and no drama is fuller of contrasts, of incidents, of movement. The
leading actor, Napoleon, was already as familiar with his part as if he
had played it since his childhood. Josephine is also at home in hers. As a
woman of the world, she had learned, by practice in the drawing-room, to
win even greater victories. For a fashionable beauty there is no great
difference between an armchair and a throne. The minor actors are not so
accustomed to their new position. Nothing is more amusing than the
embarrassment of the courtiers when they have to answer the Emperor's
questions. They begin with a blunder; then, in correcting themselves, they
fall into still worse confusion; ten times a minute was repeated, Sire,
General, Your Majesty, Citizen, First Consul. Constant, the Emperor's
valet de chambre, has given us a description of this 18th of May, 1804, a
day devoted to receptions, presentations, interviews, and congratulations:
"Every one," he says, "was filled with joy in the Palace of Saint Cloud;
every one imagined that he had risen a step, like General Bonaparte, who,
from First Consul, had become a monarch. Men were embracing and
complimenting one another; confiding their share of hopes and plans for
the future; there was no official so humble that he was not fired with
ambition." In a word, the ante-chamber, barring the difference of persons,
presented an exact imitation of what was going on in the drawing-room. It
seemed like a first performance which had long been eagerly expected,
arousing the same eager excitement among the players and the public. The
day which had started bright grew dark; for a long time there were
threatenings of a thunder-storm; but none looked on this as an evil omen.
All were inclined to cheery views. The courtiers displayed their zeal with
all the ardor, the passion, the _furia francese_, which is a national
characteristic, and appears on the battle-field as well as in the ante-
chamber. The French fight and flatter with equal enthusiasm.
Amid all these manifestations of devotion and delight, the members of the
Imperial family alone, who should have been the most satisfied, and
certainly the most astonished by their greatness, wore an anxious, almost
a grieved look. They alone appeared discontented with their master. Their
pride knew no bounds; their irritability was extreme. Nothing seemed good
enough, for them. In the way of honors privileges, and when we recall
their father's modest at Ajaccio, it is hard to keep from smiling at the
vanity of these new Princes of the blood. Of Napoleon's four brothers, two
were absent and on bad terms with him: Lucien, on account of his marriage
with Madame Jouberton; Jerome, on account of his marriage with Miss
Paterson. His mother, Madame Letitia Bonaparte, an able woman, who
combined great courage with uncommon good sense, had not lost her head
over the wonderful good fortune of the modern Caesar. Having a
presentiment that all this could not last, she economized from motives of
prudence, not of avarice. While the courtiers were celebrating the
Emperor's new triumphs, she lingered in Rome with her son Lucien, whom she
had followed in his voluntary exile, having pronounced in his favor in his
quarrel with Napoleon. As for Joseph and Louis, who, with their wives, had
been raised to the dignity of Grand Elector and Constable, respectively,
one might think that they were overburdened with wealth and honors, and
would be perfectly satisfied. But not at all! They were indignant that
they were not personally mentioned, in the _ple | 861.687173 |
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THE WAY OF INITIATION
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
INITIATION AND ITS RESULTS
a sequel to the
"WAY OF INITIATION"
By
RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
Translated from the German by Clifford Bax
CONTENTS
A FOREWORD
I. THE ASTRAL CENTERS (CHAKRAS)
II. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE ETHERIC BODY
III. DREAM LIFE
IV. THE THREE STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
V. THE DISSOCIATION OF HUMAN PERSONALITY DURING INITIATION
VI. THE FIRST GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
VII. THE SECOND GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
SELECTED LIST OF OCCULT WORKS
In same clear print and rich binding as this book
PRICE $1.00 PREPAID
THE WAY OF INITIATION
OR
HOW TO ATTAIN KNOWLEDGE OF THE HIGHER WORLDS
BY RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
FROM THE GERMAN
BY
~MAX GYSI~
WITH SOME BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES OF THE AUTHOR BY
~EDOUARD SCHURE~
FIRST AMERICANIZED EDITION
MACOY PUBLISHING AND MASONIC SUPPLY CO.
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
Copyright 1910
BY
MACOY PUBLISHING
| 861.688294 |
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Produced by David Widger
SKETCHES NEW AND OLD
by Mark Twain
Part 3.
DISGRACEFUL PERSECUTION OF A BOY
In San Francisco, the other day, "A well-dressed boy, on his way to
Sunday-school, was arrested and thrown into the city prison for stoning
Chinamen."
What a commentary is this upon human justice! What sad prominence it
gives to our human disposition to tyrannize over the weak! San Francisco
has little right to take credit to herself for her treatment of this poor
boy. What had the child's education been? How should he suppose it was
wrong to stone a Chinaman? Before we side against him, along with
outraged San Francisco, let us give him a chance--let us hear the
testimony for the defense.
He was a "well-dressed" boy, and a Sunday-school scholar, and therefore
the chances are that his parents were intelligent, well-to-do people,
with just enough natural villainy in their composition to make them yearn
after the daily papers, and enjoy them; and so this boy had opportunities
to learn all through the week how to do right, as well as on Sunday.
It was in this way that he found out that the great commonwealth of
California imposes an unlawful mining-tax upon John the foreigner, and
allows Patrick the foreigner to dig gold for nothing--probably because
the degraded Mongol is at no expense for whisky, and the refined Celt
cannot exist without it.
It was in this way that he found out that a respectable number of the
tax-gatherers--it would be unkind to say all of them--collect the tax
twice, instead of once; and that, inasmuch as they do it solely to
discourage Chinese immigration into the mines, it is a thing that is much
applauded, and likewise regarded as being singularly facetious.
It was in this way that he found out that when a white man robs a
sluice-box (by the term white man is meant Spaniards, Mexicans,
Portuguese, Irish, Hondurans, Peruvians, Chileans, etc., etc.), they make
him leave the camp; and when a Chinaman does that thing, they hang him.
It was in this way that he found out that in many districts of the vast
Pacific coast, so strong is the wild, free love of justice in the hearts
of the people, that whenever any secret and mysterious crime is
committed, they say, "Let justice be done, though the heavens fall," and
go straightway and swing a Chinaman.
It was in this way that he found out that by studying one half of each
day's "local items," it would appear that the police of San Francisco
were either asleep or dead, and by studying the other half it would seem
that the reporters were gone mad with admiration of the energy, the
virtue, the high effectiveness, and the dare-devil intrepidity of that
very police-making exultant mention of how "the Argus-eyed officer
So-and-so" captured a wretched knave of a Chinaman who was stealing
chickens, and brought him gloriously to the city prison; and how "the
gallant officer Such-and-such-a-one" quietly kept an eye on the movements
of an "unsuspecting, almond-eyed son of Confucius" (your reporter is
nothing if not facetious), following him around with that far-off look.
of vacancy and unconsciousness always so finely affected by that
inscrutable being, the forty-dollar policeman, during a waking interval,
and captured him at last in the very act of placing his hands in a
suspicious manner upon a paper of tacks, left by the owner in an exposed
situation; and how one officer performed this prodigious thing, and
another officer that, and another the other--and pretty much every one of
these performances having for a dazzling central incident a Chinaman
guilty of a shilling's worth of crime, an unfortunate, whose misdemeanor
must be hurrahed into something enormous in order to keep the public from
noticing how many really important rascals went uncaptured in the mean
time, and how overrated those glorified policemen actually are.
It was in this way that the boy found out that the legislature, being
aware that the Constitution has made America, an asylum for the poor and
the oppressed of all nations, and that, therefore, the poor and oppressed
who fly to our shelter must not be charged a disabling admission fee,
made a law that every Chinaman, upon landing, must be vaccinated upon the
wharf, and pay to the state's appointed officer ten dollars for the
service, when there are plenty of doctors in San Francisco who would be
glad enough to do it for him for fifty cents.
It was in this way that the boy found out that a Chinaman had no rights
that any man was bound to respect; that he had no sorrows that any man
was bound to pity; that neither his life nor his liberty was worth the
purchase of a penny when a white man needed a scapegoat; that nobody
loved Chinamen, nobody befriended them, nobody spared them suffering when
it was convenient to inflict it; everybody, individuals, communities, the
majesty of the state itself, joined in hating, abusing, and persecuting
these humble strangers.
And, therefore, what could have been more natural than for this
sunny-hearted-boy, tripping along to Sunday-school, with his mind teeming
with freshly learned incentives to high and virtuous action, to say to
himself:
"Ah, there goes a Chinaman! God will not love me if I do not stone him."
And for this he was arrested and put in the city jail.
Everything conspired to teach him that it was a high and holy thing to
stone a Chinaman, and yet he no sooner attempts to do his duty than he is
punished for it--he, poor chap, who has been aware all his life that one
of the principal recreations of the police, out toward the Gold Refinery,
is to look on with tranquil enjoyment while the butchers of Brannan
Street set their dogs on unoffending Chinamen, and make them flee for
their lives.
--[I have many such memories in my mind, but am thinking just at present
of one particular one, where the Brannan Street butchers set their dogs
on a Chinaman who was quietly passing with a basket of clothes on his
head; and while the dogs mutilated his flesh, a butcher increased the
hilarity of the occasion by knocking some of the Chinaman's teeth down
his throat with half a brick. This incident sticks in my memory with a
more malevolent tenacity, perhaps, on account of the fact that I was in
the employ of a San Francisco journal at the time, and was not allowed to
publish it because it might offend some of the peculiar element that
subscribed for the paper.]
Keeping in mind the tuition in the humanities which the entire "Pacific
coast" gives its youth, there is a very sublimity of incongruity in the
virtuous flourish with which the good city fathers of San Francisco
proclaim (as they have lately done) that "The police are positively
ordered to arrest all boys, of every description and wherever found, who
engage in assaulting Chinamen."
Still, let us be truly glad they have made the order, notwithstanding its
inconsistency; and let us rest perfectly confident the police are glad,
too. Because there is no personal peril in arresting boys, provided they
be of the small kind, and the reporters will have to laud their
performances just as loyally as ever, or go without items.
The new form for local items in San Francisco will now be: "The
ever-vigilant and efficient officer So-and-so succeeded, yesterday
afternoon, in arresting Master Tommy Jones, after a determined
resistance," etc., etc., followed by the customary statistics and final
hurrah, with its unconscious sarcasm: "We are happy in being able to
state that this is the forty-seventh boy arrested by this gallant officer
since the new ordinance went into effect. The most extraordinary
activity prevails in the police department. Nothing like it has been
seen since we can remember."
THE JUDGE'S "SPIRITED WOMAN"
"I was sitting here," said the judge, "in this old pulpit, holding court,
and we were trying a big, wicked-looking Spanish desperado for killing
the husband of a bright, pretty Mexican woman. It was a lazy summer day,
and an awfully long one, and the witnesses were tedious. None of us took
any interest in the trial except that nervous, uneasy devil of a Mexican
woman because you know how they love and how they hate, and this one had
loved her husband with all her might, and now she had boiled it all down
into hate, and stood here spitting it at that Spaniard with her eyes;
and I tell you she would stir me up, too, with a little of her summer
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[Illustration: The Figure Springs into the Air--See page 129.]
[Illustration: THE BOYS OWN BOOKSHELF]
OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST
A Story of Struggle and Adventure
BY
GORDON STABLES, C.M., M.D., R.N.
AUTHOR OF 'THE CRUISE OF THE SNOWBIRD,' 'WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE,'
ETC., ETC.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard and 164 Piccadilly
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
London and Bungay.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Highland Feud. 11
II. Our Boyhood's Life. 23
III. A Terrible Ride. 30
IV. The Ring and the Book. 44
V. A New Home in the West. 54
VI. The Promised Land at Last. 64
VII. On Shore at Rio. 77
VIII. Moncrieff Relates His Experiences. 86
IX. Shopping and Shooting. 96
X. A Journey That Seems Like a Dream. 106
XI. The Tragedy at the Fonda. 115
XII. Attack by Pampa Indians. 125
XIII. The Flight and the Chase. 134
XIV. Life on an Argentine Estancia. 146
XV. We Build our House and Lay Out Gardens. 155
XVI. Summer in the Silver West. 165
XVII. The Earthquake. 175
XVIII. Our Hunting Expedition. 185
XIX. In the Wilderness. 197
XX. The Mountain Crusoe. 209
XXI. Wild Adventures on Prairie and Pampas. 221
XXII. Adventure With a Tiger. 231
XXIII. A Ride for Life. 244
XXIV. The Attack on the Estancia. 255
XXV. The Last Assault. 266
XXV Farewell to the Silver West. 279
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The Figure Springs into the Air Frontispiece
Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand 10
Ray lay Stark and Stiff 18
'Look! He is Over!' 33
He pointed his Gun at me 41
'I'll teach ye!' 74
Fairly Noosed 99
'Ye can Claw the Pat' 138
Comical in the Extreme 195
Tries to steady himself to catch the Lasso 203
Interview with the Orang-outang 214
On the same Limb of the Tree 236
The Indians advanced with a Wild Shout 268
[Illustration: Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand]
OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST
CHAPTER I.
THE HIGHLAND FEUD.
Why should I, Murdoch M'Crimman of Coila, be condemned for a period of
indefinite length to the drudgery of the desk's dull wood? That is the
question I have just been asking myself. Am I emulous of the honour and
glory that, they say, float halo-like round the brow of the author? Have I
the desire to awake and find myself famous? The fame, alas! that authors
chase is but too often an _ignis fatuus_. No; honour like theirs I crave
not, such toil is not incumbent on me. Genius in a garret! To some the
words may sound romantic enough, but--ah me!--the position seems a sad
one. Genius munching bread and cheese in a lonely attic, with nothing
betwixt the said genius and the sky and the cats but rafters and tiles! I
shudder to think of it. If my will were omnipotent, Genius should never
shiver beneath the tiles, never languish in an attic. Genius should be
clothed in purple and fine linen, Genius should---- 'Yes, aunt, come in;
I'm not very busy yet.'
My aunt sails into my beautiful room in the eastern tower of Castle
Coila.
'I was afraid,' she says, almost solemnly, 'I might be disturbing your
meditations. Do I find you really at work?'
'I've hardly arrived at that point yet, dear aunt. Indeed, if the truth
will not displease you, I greatly fear serious concentration is not very
much in my line. But as you desire me to write our strange story, and as
mother also thinks the duty devolves on me, behold me seated at my table
in this charming turret chamber, which owes its all of comfort to your
most excellent taste, auntie mine.'
As I speak I look around me. The evening sunshine is streaming into my
room, which occupies the whole of one story of the tower. Glance where I
please, nothing is here that fails to delight the eye. The carpet beneath
my feet is soft as moss, the tall mullioned windows are bedraped with the
richest curtains. Pictures and mirrors hang here and there, and seem part
and parcel of the place. So does that dark lofty oak bookcase, the great
harp in the west corner, the violin that leans against it, the
_jardiniere_, the works of art, the arms from every land--the shields, the
claymores, the spears and helmets, everything is in keeping. This is my
garret. If I want to meditate, I have but to draw aside a curtain in
yonder nook, and lo! a little baize-covered door slides aside and admits
me to one of the tower-turrets, a tiny room in which fairies might live,
with a window on each side giving glimpses of landscape--and landscape
unsurpassed for beauty in all broad Scotland.
But it was by the main doorway of my chamber that auntie entered, drawing
aside the curtains and pausing a moment till she should receive my
cheering invitation. And this door leads on to the roof, and this roof
itself is a sight to see. Loftily domed over with glass, it is at once a
conservatory, a vinery, and tropical aviary. Room here for trees even, for
miniature palms, while birds of the rarest plumage flit silently from
bough to bough among the oranges, or lisp out the sweet lilts that have
descended to them from sires that sang in foreign lands. Yonder a
fountain plays and casts its spray over the most lovely feathery ferns.
The roof is very spacious, and the conservatory occupies the greater part
of it, leaving room outside, however, for a delightful promenade. After
sunset lamps are often lit here, and the place then looks even
more lovely than before. All this, I need hardly say, was my aunt's
doing.
I wave my hand, and the lady sinks half languidly into a fauteuil.
'And so,' I say, laughingly, 'you have come to visit Genius in his
garret.'
My aunt smiles too, but I can see it is only out of politeness.
I throw down my pen; I leave my chair and seat myself on the bearskin
beside the ample fireplace and begin toying with Orla, my deerhound.
'Aunt, play and sing a little; it will inspire me.'
She needs no second bidding. She bends over the great harp and lightly
touches a few chords.
'What shall I play or sing?'
'Play and sing as you feel, aunt.'
'I feel thus,' my aunt says, and her fingers fly over the strings,
bringing forth music so inspiriting and wild that as I listen, entranced,
some words of Ossian come rushing into my memory:
'The moon rose in the East. Fingal returned in the gleam of his arms. The
joy of his youth was great, their souls settled as a sea from a storm.
Ullin raised the song of gladness. The hills of Inistore rejoiced. The
flame of the oak arose, and the tales of heroes were told.'
Aunt is not young, but she looks very noble now--looks the very
incarnation of the music that fills the room. In it I can hear the
battle-cry of heroes, the wild slogan of clan after clan rushing to the
fight, the clang of claymore on shield, the shout of victory, the wail for
the dead. There are tears in my eyes as the music ceases, and my aunt
turns once more towards me.
'Aunt, your music has made me ashamed of myself. Before you came I
recoiled from the task you had set before me; I longed to be out and away,
marching over the moors gun in hand and dogs ahead. Now I--I--yes, aunt,
this music inspires me.'
Aunt rises as I speak, and together we leave the turret chamber, and,
passing through the great conservatory, we reach the promenade. We lean on
the battlement, long since dismantled, and gaze beneath us. Close to the
castle walls below is a well-kept lawn trending downwards with slight
incline to meet the loch which laps over its borders. This loch, or lake,
stretches for miles and miles on every side, bounded here and there by
bare, black, beetling cliffs, and in other places
'O'erhung by wild woods thickening green,
a very cloudland of foliage. The easternmost horizon of this lake is a
chain of rugged mountains, one glance at which would tell you the season
was autumn, for they are crimsoned over with blooming heather. The season
is autumn, and the time is sunset; the shadow of the great tower falls
darkling far over the loch, and already crimson streaks of cloud are
ranged along the hill-tops. So silent and still is it that we can hear the
bleating of sheep a good mile off, and the throb of the oars of a boat far
away on the water, although the boat itself is but a little dark speck.
There is another dark speck, high, high above the crimson clouds. It comes
nearer and nearer; it gets bigger and bigger; and presently a huge eagle
floats over the castle, making homeward to his eyrie in the cliffs of Ben
Coila.
The air gets cooler as the shadows fall; I draw the shawl closer round my
aunt's shoulders. She lifts a hand as if to deprecate the attention.
'Listen, Murdoch,' she says. 'Listen, Murdoch M'Crimman.'
She seldom calls me by my name complete.
'I may leave you now, may I not?'
'I know what you mean, aunt,' I reply. 'Yes; to the best of my ability I
will write our strange story.'
'Who else would but you, Murdoch M'Crimman, chief of the house of Crimman,
chief of the clan?'
I bow my head in silent sorrow.
'Yes, aunt; I know. Poor father is gone, and I _am_ chief.'
She touches my hand lightly--it is her way of taking farewell. Next moment
I am alone. Orla thrusts his great muzzle into my hand; I pat his head,
then go back with him to my turret chamber, and once more take up my pen.
* * * * *
A blood feud! Has the reader ever heard of such a thing? Happily it is
unknown in our day. A blood feud--a quarrel 'twixt kith and kin, a feud
oftentimes bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, handed down from
generation to generation, getting more bitter in each; a feud that not
even death itself seems enough to obliterate; an enmity never to be
forgotten while hills raise high their heads to meet the clouds.
Such a feud is surely cruel. It is more, it is sinful--it is madness. Yet
just such a feud had existed for far more than a hundred years between our
family of M'Crimman and the Raes of Strathtoul.
There is but little pleasure in referring back to such a family quarrel,
but to do so is necessary. Vast indeed is the fire that a small spark may
sometimes kindle. Two small dead branches rubbing together as the wind
blows may fire a forest, and cause a conflagration that shall sweep from
end to end of a continent.
It was a hundred years ago, and forty years to that; the head of the house
of Stuart--Prince Charles Edward, whom his enemies called the
Pretender--had not yet set foot on Scottish shore, though there were
rumours almost daily that he had indeed come at last. The Raes were
cousins of the M'Crimmans; the Raes were head of the clan M'Rae, and their
country lay to the south of our estates. It was an ill-fated day for both
clans when one morning a stalwart Highlander, flying from glen to glen
with the fiery cross waving aloft, brought a missive to the chief of
Coila. The Raes had been summoned to meet their prince; the M'Crimman had
been _solicited_. In two hours' time the straths were all astir with
preparations for the march. No boy or man who could carry arms, 'twixt the
ages of sixteen and sixty, but buckled his claymore to his side and made
ready to leave. Listen to the wild shout of the men, the shrill notes of
bagpipes, the wailing of weeping women and children! Oh, it was a stirring
time; my Scotch blood leaps in all my veins as I think of it even now.
Right on our side; might on our side! We meant to do or die!
'Rise! rise! lowland and highland men!
Bald sire to beardless son, each come and early.
Rise! rise! mainland and island men,
Belt on your claymores and fight for Prince Charlie.
Down from the mountain steep--
Up from the valley deep--
Out from the clachan, the bothy and shieling;
Bugle and battle-drum,
Bid chief and vassal come,
Loudly our bagpipes the pibroch are pealing.'
M'Crimman of Coila that evening met the Raes hastening towards the lake.
'Ah, kinsman,' cried M'Crimman, 'this is indeed a glorious day! I have
been summoned by letter from the royal hands of our bold young prince
himself.'
'And I, chief of the Raes, have been summoned by cross. A letter was none
too good for Coila. Strathtoul must be content to follow the pibroch and
drum.'
'It was an oversight. My brother must neither fret nor fume. If our prince
but asked me, I'd fight in the ranks for him, and carry musket or pike or
pistol.'
[Illustration: Ray lay Stark and Stiff]
'It's good being you, with your letter and all that. Kinsman though you
be, I'd have you know, and I'd have our prince understand, that the Raes
and Crimmans are one and the same family, and equal where they stand or
fall.'
'Of that,' said the proud Coila, drawing himself up and lowering his
brows, 'our prince is the best judge.'
'These are pretty airs to give yourself, M'Crimman! One would think your
claymore drank blood every morning!'
'Brother,' said M'Crimman, 'do not let us quarrel. I have orders to see
your people on the march. They are to come with us. I must do my duty.'
'Never!' shouted Rae. 'Never shall my clan obey your commands!'
'You refuse to fight for Charlie?'
'Under your banner--yes!'
'Then draw, dog! Were you ten times more closely related to me, you should
eat your words or drown them in your blood!'
Half an hour afterwards the M'Crimmans were on the march southwards, their
bold young chief at their head, banners streaming and pibroch ringing!
but, alas! their kinsman Rae lay stark and stiff on the bare hillside.
There and then was established the feud that lasted so long and so
bitterly. Surrounded by her vassals and retainers, loud in their wailing
for their departed chief, the widowed wife had thrown herself on the body
of her husband in a paroxysm of wild, uncontrollable grief.
But nought could restore life and animation to that lowly form. The dead
chief lay on his back, with face up-turned to the sky's blue, which his
eyes seemed to pierce. His bonnet had fallen off, his long yellow hair
floated on the grass, his hand yet grasped the great claymore, but his
tartans were dyed with blood.
Then a brother of the Rae approached and led the weeping woman gently
away. Almost immediately the warriors gathered and knelt around the
corpse and swore the terrible feud--swore eternal enmity to the house of
Coila--'to fight the clan wherever found, to wrestle, to rackle and rive
with them, and never to make peace
'While there's leaf on the forest
Or foam on the river.'
We all know the story of Prince Charlie's expedition, and how, after
victories innumerable, all was lost to his cause through disunions in his
own camps; how his sun went down on the red field of Culloden Moor; how
true and steadfast, even after defeat, the peasant Highlanders were to
their chief; and how the glens and straths were devastated by fire and
sword; and how the streams ran red with the innocent blood of old men and
children, spilled by the brutal soldiery of the ruthless duke.
The M'Crimmans lost their estates. The Raes had never fought for Charlie.
Their glen was spared, but the hopes of M'Rae--the young chief--were
blighted, for after years of exile the M'Crimman was pardoned, and fires
were once more lit in the halls of Castle Coila.
Long years went by, many of the Raes went abroad to fight in foreign lands
wherever good swords were needed and lusty arms to wield them withal; but
those who remained in or near Strathtoul still kept up the feud with as
great fierceness as though it had been sworn but yesterday.
Towards the beginning of the present century, however, a strange thing
happened. A young officer of French dragoons came to reside for a time in
Glen Coila. His name was Le Roi. Though of Scotch extraction, he had never
been before to our country. Now hospitality is part and parcel of the
religion of Scotland; it is not surprising, therefore, that | 861.738999 |
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[Illustration: _Frontispiece_: THE MINERS' HALL, DURHAM]
A HISTORY OF THE
DURHAM MINERS' ASSOCIATION
1870-1904
BY
ALDERMAN JOHN WILSON, J.P.
_Corresponding Secretary to the Association, Chairman of Durham
County Council, and Member of Parliament for
Mid-Durham Division_
"A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;
The language plain, and incidents well link'd;
Tell not as new what everybody knows,
And, new or old, still hasten to a close."
COWPER.
Durham
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY
J. H. VEITCH & SONS, 24 AND 25 NORTH ROAD
1907
_PRICE THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE_
To
MY COLLEAGUES THE MINERS OF DURHAM
this outline of their associated history is respectfully dedicated by
one who knows the hardships and dangers of their lives, who
understands their character and esteems it, who has been with them in
their struggles for freedom, equality, and a better life, whose
greatest pride is that from early youth he has been (and still is)
one of them, whose highest honour is that he is trusted by them to
take part in the varied and important duties of their association,
and whose hope is, that avenues of greater good may by their united
and individual efforts be opened out to them.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFATORY EXPLANATION xi
THE PREPARATION 1
LAYING THE FOUNDATION 11
REARING THE BUILDING 16
THE LEADERS 37
OPPOSITION TO THE BUILDING 41
HISTORY 46
AFTER WORDS 336
CHANGES 337
IN MEMORIAM 346
AU REVOIR 350
APPENDIX I 355
" II 356
" III 358
INDEX 361
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
MINERS' HALL, DURHAM _Frontispiece_
N. WILKINSON _facing page_ 25
T. RAMSEY " 40
J. H. VEITCH " 43
THE FIRST DEPUTATION " 47
W. CRAWFORD, M.P. " 99
W. GOLIGHTLY " 105
J. FORMAN " 123
W. H. PATTERSON " 160
ALDERMAN J. WILSON, M.P. " 182
J. JOHNSON, M.P. " 217
T. H. CANN " 276
ALDERMAN W. HOUSE " 293
ALDERMAN S. GALBRAITH " 305
H. F. HEATH " 337
PREFATORY EXPLANATION
It is necessary that I should set forth the reason why this attempt
has been made to place on record, in a compact form, the rise and
progress of our Association, with the changes which have taken place
in our position. The inception lies in a letter received from one of
our lodges, and addressed to the Executive Committee:
"Seeing that matters of a definite nature relating to the history of
the Trade Union movement in the county of Durham, in its social,
political, and industrial aspects, are difficult to obtain, we would
suggest to our Executive that it would be opportune at this juncture
to ask Mr Wilson, on behalf of the Association, to write a short,
concise history of the movement in the county, giving the social and
industrial changes that have followed its progress, and that the
Executive issue the same free or at cost price to lodges for
distribution amongst the members."
This was considered by the Committee. It met with their approval so
far as the history was concerned, but they, with very generous
feelings, remembered the many things I have on hand. They felt
confident that such a work would be appreciated by our members, but
they were loath to impose more work upon me. Their desire that I
should prepare such a work was expressed in such a kind and
considerate manner--not as a Committee dictating business to its
Secretary--that I could not have refrained from taking the task, even
if it had been irksome; but the request was in harmony with my own
desire, and therefore, if the labour had been more arduous, it would
still have been one of pure love and pleasure.
Yet, although it is pleasant, it is well to recognise a difficulty
which meets us at the start. It arises from the fact that at the
commencement of our Association no records were kept, or, if kept,
have been lost. The first Minutes that can be found commence with
1874, and even the Minutes for the years 1874-1875 are not all in
existence, and some which are, have been mutilated by portions of
them, and circulars, being cut out. In the period referred to we were
in the same position as other similar bodies or nations. At the rise
of these there is always the vague and uncertain period where
tradition plays the part of accurate historical record. In the
struggle for a position there is no time for systematic book-keeping,
or, if books are kept, there is no care in preserving them. This is
borne out fully in our inception and our early existence, and
therefore for facts in relation to our commencement and the first few
years of our existence as a Trades Union body we must depend upon
outside sources wherever such are available. In this some little
assistance will come from "Fynes' History," which, of course, cannot
supply much, as it deals with matters largely anterior to our
commencement. If we turn to the files of newspapers we by diligent and
close search can gather from published reports of meetings and
proceedings of that time useful information. There is another source
of information--viz. the books of the employers.
In respect to this matter I cannot too strongly express my thanks to
the proprietors and editor of _The Durham Chronicle_ for the kind and
ready manner in which they placed at my disposal the whole of the
files of their paper, commencing with 1869, and allowed me to have
them for use in our office. They have very largely helped me to fill
in the hiatus up to 1876. My thanks and yours are due to the employers
and Mr Guthrie for the free access they gave me to their books at any
time and in the fullest manner. They have not only allowed me
facilities for examination, but Mr Guthrie has assisted me in my
search, and has copied out portions which I deemed necessary for our
purpose.
The difficulty has therefore been lessened, and the work lightened by
the help mentioned, but if this had not been so the work would still
have been commenced, as the object lies near my heart, for two
reasons--first, because to me there is no dearer or more attractive
institution in the whole country than our Association. I will not say
it is superior to all others, but I will assert it has none, or not
many equals. From very small beginnings, from very unlikely
conditions, and in the face of bitter and opposing circumstances and
forces, there has been reared not merely a strong Trades Union as
strong as any extant, but one as beneficial as it is strong. The
second reason is the usefulness of the record. If, as Pope says, the
"proper study of mankind is man," then, if on a slightly lower plane,
it must be an important matter for a man to know the history of the
class to which he belongs and of any institution of which he is a
member.
It is useful, too, in showing our young men the condition we have come
from, the toil and anxiety those who were the initiators had to face,
and the large amount of unremunerative labour they had to perform. Our
present position has been bought with a price, the amount of which is
unknown to this generation, many of whom are like the prodigal, who
inheriting a fortune and knowing nothing of the hardships involved in
the accumulation, squanders with indifference that which has cost
bitter years and much hardship.
Let me conclude this preface by saying I offer no plea for inability.
That is too well known, by myself at least. If he is a wise man who
knows his own limits and failings, then I am a very wise man. But one
other thing I know as well: I have a full knowledge of your
toleration, and that you are ready to give full credit for good
intentions. The history shall be the best that I can do, keeping in
view all the circumstances. I remember that we do not want a mere
comment upon our history; that I could make from my experience, but it
might not be accepted as reliable, and therefore what we must aim at
(even if it be tedious) is a matter-of-fact statement, because that is
all we desire.
I fear the history will not be very concise; but that, like all other
words, is relative. If it is not as short as some would desire, it
shall not be verbose. We will waste no words nor use any useless
verbal padding; we will "nothing extenuate nor write down aught in
malice." Each general event shall have its place and mention.
This note may be added, that at the commencement of the Association it
was embracive of all sections of labour in and about the mines. Before
we had been long in existence there was a desire for the formation of
separate organisations, as it was felt that there were certain
peculiarities connected with the other occupations which the miners
could not technically deal with. The first to leave were the
enginemen, then followed the mechanics, | 861.782213 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.7634040 | 832 | 14 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
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THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
DR. MAURUS JOKAI'S
MORE FAMOUS WORKS
(Authorised Translations).
LIBRARY EDITION.
6/- each.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Lion of Janina; or, The Last Days of the Janissaries.
An Hungarian Nabob.
Dr. Dumany's Wife.
The Nameless Castle.
The Poor Plutocrats.
Debts of Honour.
Halil the Pedlar.
The Day of Wrath.
Eyes Like the Sea.
'Midst the Wild Carpathians.
The Slaves of the Padishah.
Tales from Jokai.
NEW POPULAR EDITION.
2/6 Net each.
The Yellow Rose.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Day of Wrath.
LONDON: JARROLD & SONS.
[Illustration: portrait of Mor Jokai]
THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
BY MAURUS JOKAI
[Illustration: SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE.]
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.
[All Rights Reserved.]
PREFACE
TO JOKAI'S "RAB RABY," IN ENGLISH,
By Dr. Emil Reich.
In "Rab Raby," the famous Hungarian novelist gives us, in a manner quite
his own, a picture of the "old regime" in Hungary in the times of
Emperor Joseph II., 1780-1790. The novel, as to its plot and principal
persons, is based on facts, and the then manners and institutions of
Hungary are faithfully reflected in the various scenes from private,
judicial, and political life as it developed under the erroneous policy
of Joseph II.
Briefly speaking, "Rab Raby" is the story of one of those frightful
miscarriages of justice which at all times cropped up under the
influence of political motives. In our own time we have seen the Dreyfus
case, another instance of appalling injustice set in motion for
political reasons. "Rab Raby" is thus very likely to give the English
reader a wrong idea of the backward and savage character of Hungarian
civilisation towards the end of the eighteenth century, unless he
carefully considers the peculiar circumstances of the case. I think I
can do the novel no better service than setting it in its right
historic frame, which Jokai, writing as he did for Hungarians, did not
feel induced to dwell upon.
The Hungarians, alone of all Continental nations, have a political
Constitution of their own, the origin of which goes back to an age prior
to Magna Charta in England. Outside Hungary, it is generally believed
that Hungary is a mere annex of "Austria"; and the average Englishman in
particular is much surprised to hear that "Austria" is considerably
smaller than Hungary. In fact, "Austria" is merely a conventional
phrase. There is no Austria, in technical language. What is
conventionally called Austria has in reality a much longer name by which
alone it is technically recognised to exist. This name is, "The
countries represented in the _Reichsrath_." On the other hand, there is,
conventionally and technically, a Hungary, which has no "home-rule"
whatever from Austria, any more than Australia has "home-rule" from
England. In fact, Hungary is the equal partner of Austria; and no
Austrian official whatever can officially perform the slightest function
in Hungary. The person whom the people of "Austria" | 861.783444 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.7660720 | 342 | 15 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
Transcriber’s Note: The original copy of this book wasn’t very well
proofread, if at all. A large number of printing errors have been
corrected, including transposed full lines of text. In one place (noted
below) at least one line was omitted completely: it wasn’t possible to
source another edition to check what the missing words might have been.
The spelling and hyphenation of Egyptian names are often inconsistent.
[Illustration: CLEOPATRA.]
PREDECESSORS
OF CLEOPATRA
BY
LEIGH NORTH
_5 Drawings by G. A. Davis_
[Illustration]
BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO.
AT
835 BROADWAY, N. Y.
1906
Copyrighted, 1906.
BY
BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO.,
_All Rights Reserved._
TO MY HUSBAND
INTRODUCTION.
In attempting even a brief and imperfect outline of the history of
Egyptian queens the author has undertaken no easy task and craves
indulgence for its modest fulfillment. The aim has been merely to put the
little that is known in a readable and popular form, to gather from many
sources the fragments that remain, partly historic, partly legendary, of
a dead past. To present—however imperfectly—sketches | 861.786112 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.7669420 | 66 | 17 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Ralph and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Punctuation and possible typographical errors have been changed.
Archaic, variable | 861.786982 |
2023-11-16 18:31:25.7671060 | 1,778 | 51 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Steven desJardins, and Distributed
Proofreaders
Bullets & Billets
By Bruce Bairnsfather
1916
TO MY OLD PALS,
"BILL," "BERT," AND "ALF,"
WHO HAVE SAT IN THE MUD WITH ME
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Landing at Havre--Tortoni's--Follow the tram lines--Orders
for the Front.
CHAPTER II
Tortuous travelling--Clippers and tablets--Dumped at a
siding--I join my Battalion.
CHAPTER III
Those Plugstreet trenches--Mud and rain--Flooded out--A
hopeless dawn.
CHAPTER IV
More mud--Rain and bullets--A bit of cake--"Wind up"--Night
rounds.
CHAPTER V
My man Friday--"Chuck us the biscuits"--Relieved--Billets.
CHAPTER VI
The Transport Farm--Fleeced by the Flemish--Riding--Nearing
Christmas.
CHAPTER VII
A projected attack---Digging a sap--An 'ell of a night--The
attack--Puncturing Prussians.
CHAPTER VIII
Christmas Eve--A lull in hate--Briton cum Boche.
CHAPTER IX
Souvenirs--A ride to Nieppe--Tea at H.Q.--Trenches once more.
CHAPTER X
My partial escape from the mud--The deserted village--My
"cottage."
CHAPTER XI
Stocktaking--Fortifying--Nebulous Fragments.
CHAPTER XII
A brain wave--Making a "funk hole"--Plugstreet Wood--Sniping.
CHAPTER XIII
Robinson Crusoe--That turbulent table.
CHAPTER XIV
The Amphibians--Fed-up, but determined--The gun parapet.
CHAPTER XV
Arrival of the "Johnsons"--"Where did that one go?"--The
First Fragment dispatched--The exodus--Where?
CHAPTER XVI
New trenches--The night inspection--Letter from the
_Bystander_.
CHAPTER XVII
Wulverghem--The Douve--Corduroy boards--Back at our farm.
CHAPTER XVIII
The painter and decorator--Fragments forming--Night on the
mud prairie.
CHAPTER XIX
Visions of leave--Dick Turpin--Leave!
CHAPTER XX
That Leave train--My old pal--London and home--The call of
the wild.
CHAPTER XXI
Back from leave--That "blinkin' moon"--Johnson 'oles--Tommy
and "frightfulness"--Exploring expedition.
CHAPTER XXII
A daylight stalk--The disused trench--"Did they see me?"--A
good sniping position.
CHAPTER XXIII
Our moated farm--Wulverghem--The Cure's house--A shattered
Church--More "heavies"--A farm on fire.
CHAPTER XXIV
That ration fatigue--Sketches in request--Bailleul--Baths and
lunatics--How to conduct a war.
CHAPTER XXV
Getting stale--Longing for change--We leave the Douve--On the
march--Spotted fever--Ten days' rest.
CHAPTER XXVI
A pleasant change--Suzette, Berthe and Marthe--"La jeune
fille farouche"--Andre.
CHAPTER XXVII
Getting fit--Caricaturing the Cure--"Dirty work ahead"--A
projected attack--Unlooked-for orders.
CHAPTER XXVIII
We march for Ypres--Halt at Locre--A bleak camp and meagre
fare--Signs of battle--First view of Ypres.
CHAPTER XXIX
Getting nearer--A lugubrious party--Still nearer--Blazing
Ypres--Orders for attack.
CHAPTER XXX
Rain and mud--A trying march--In the thick of it--A wounded
officer--Heavy shelling--I get my "quietus!"
CHAPTER XXXI
Slowly recovering--Field hospital--Ambulance train--Back in
England.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Bruce Bairnsfather: a photograph
The Birth of "Fragments": Scribbles on the farmhouse walls
That Astronomical Annoyance, the Star Shell
"Plugstreet Wood"
A Hopeless Dawn
The usual line in Billeting Farms
"Chuck us the biscuits, Bill. The fire wants mendin'"
"Shut that blinkin' door. There's a 'ell of a draught in 'ere"
A Memory of Christmas, 1914
The Sentry
A Messines Memory: "'Ow about shiftin' a bit further down the road, Fred?"
"Old soldiers never die"
Photograph of the Author. St. Yvon, Christmas Day, 1914
Off "in" again
"Poor old Maggie! She seems to be 'avin' it dreadful wet at 'ome!"
The Tin-opener
"They're devils to snipe, ain't they, Bill?"
Old Bill
FOREWORD
_Down South, in the Valley of the Somme, far
from the spots recorded in this book, I began
to write this story._
_In billets it was. I strolled across the old
farmyard and into the wood beyond. Sitting
by a gurgling little stream, I began, with the
aid of a notebook and a pencil, to record the
joys and sorrows of my first six months in
France._
_I do not claim any unique quality for these
experiences. Many thousands have had the
same. I have merely, by request, made a
record of my times out there, in the way that
they appeared to me_.
BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER.
CHAPTER I
LANDING AT HAVRE--TORTONI'S--FOLLOW
THE TRAM LINES--ORDERS FOR THE FRONT
[Illustration: G]
Gliding up the Seine, on a transport crammed to the lid with troops, in
the still, cold hours of a November morning, was my debut into the war.
It was about 6 a.m. when our boat silently slipped along past the great
wooden sheds, posts and complications of Havre Harbour. I had spent most
of the twelve-hour trip down somewhere in the depths of the ship,
dealing out rations to the hundred men that I had brought with me from
Plymouth. This sounds a comparatively simple process, but not a bit of
it. To begin with, the ship was filled with troops to bursting point,
and the mere matter of proceeding from one deck to another was about as
difficult as trying to get round to see a friend at the other side of
the ground at a Crystal Palace Cup final.
I stood in a queue of Gordons, Seaforths, Worcesters, etc., slowly
moving up one, until, finally arriving at the companion (nearly said
staircase), I tobogganed down into the hold, and spent what was left of
the night dealing out those rations. Having finished at last, I came to
the surface again, and now, as the transport glided along through the
dirty waters of the river, and as I gazed at the motley collection of
Frenchmen on the various wharves, and saw a variety of soldiery, and a
host of other warlike "props," I felt acutely that now I was _in_ the
war at last--the real thing! For some time I had been rehearsing in
England; but that was over now, and here I was--in the common or garden
vernacular--"in the soup."
At last we were alongside, and in due course I had collected that
hundred men of mine, and found that the number was still a hundred,
after which I landed with the rest, received instructions and a guide,
then started off for the Base Camps.
[Illustration: "Rations"]
These Camps were about three miles out of Havre, and thither the whole
contents of the ship marched in one long column, accompanied on either
side by a crowd of ragged little boys shouting for souvenirs and
biscuits. I and my hundred men were near the rear of the procession, and
in about | 861.787146 |
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS
CONTENTS
American Tract Society, The
Ann Potter's Lesson
Asirvadam the Brahmin
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, The
Autocrat's Landlady, A Visit to the
Autocrat, The, gives a Breakfast to the Public
Birds of the Garden and Orchard, The
Birds of the Pasture and Forest, The
Bulls and Bears
Bundle of Irish Pennants, A
Catacombs of Rome, The
Catacombs of Rome, Note to the
Chesuncook
Colin Clout and the Faery Queen
Crawford and Sculpture
Daphnaides,
Denslow Palace, The
Dot and Line Alphabet, The
Eloquence
Evening with the Telegraph-Wires, An
Farming Life in New England
Faustus, Doctor, The German Popular Legend of
Gaucho, The
Great Event of the Century, The
Her Grace, the Drummer's Daughter
Hour before Dawn, The
Ideal Tendency, The
Illinois in Spring-time
Jefferson, Thomas
Kinloch Estate, The
Language of the Sea, The
Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm von
Letter-Writing
Loo Loo
Mademoiselle's Campaigns
Metempsychosis
Minister's Wooing, The
Miss Wimple's Hoop
New World, The, and the New Man
Obituary
Old Well, The
Our Talks with Uncle John
Perilous Bivouac, A
Physical Courage
Pintal
Pocket-Celebration of the Fourth, The
President's Prophecy of Peace, The
Prisoner of War, A
Punch
Railway-Engineering in the United States
Rambles in Aquidneck
Romance of a Glove, The
Salons de Paris, Les
Sample of Consistency, A
Singing-Birds and their Songs, The
Songs of the Sea
Subjective of it, The
Suggestions
Three of Us
Water-Lilies
What are we going to make?
Whirligig of Time, The
Youth
POETRY
All's Well
Beatrice
Birth-Mark, The
"Bringing our Sheaves with us"
Cantatrice, La
Cup, The
Dead House, The
Discoverer of the North Cape, The
Evening Melody, An
Fifty and Fifteen
House that was just like its Neighbors, The
Jolly Mariner, The
Keats, the Poet
Last Look, The
Marais du Cygne, Le
My Children
Myrtle Flowers
Nature and the Philosopher
November
November.--April
Shipwreck
Skater, The
Spirits in Prison
Swan-Song of Parson Avery, The
Telegraph, The
To -----
Trustee's Lament, The
Waldeinsamkeit
"Washing of the Feet," The, on Holy Thursday, in St. Peter's
What a Wretched Woman said to me
Work and Rest
LITERARY NOTICES.
American Cyclopedia, The New
Annual Obituary Notices, by N. Crosby
Aquarium, The, by P. H. Gosse
Belle Brittan on a Tour
Bigelow, Jacob, Brief Expositions of Rational Medicine by
Black's Atlas of North America
Chapman's American Drawing-Book
Church and Congregation, The, by C. A. Bartel
Crosby's Annual Obituary, for 1857
Curiosities of Literature, by Disraeli
Cyclopedia of Drawing, The, by W. E. Worthen
Cyclopaedia, The New American
Dana's Household Book of Poetry
Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature
Drawing-Book, The American, by J.G. Chapman
Drawing, The Cyclopedia of
Ewbank, Thomas, Thoughts on Matter and Force by
Exiles of Florida, The, by J. E. Giddings
Fitch, John, Westcott's Life of
Giddings, Joshua R., The Exiles of Florida by
Goadby, Henry, A Text-Book of Animal and Vegetable Physiology by
Gray's Botanical Series
Household Book of Poetry, by C. A. Dana
Inductive Sciences, History of the, by Whewell
Journey due North, A, by G. A. Sala
Kingsley, Charles, Sir Walter Raleigh and his Time, with other Papers by
Library of Old Authors
Life beneath the Waters
New Priest in Conception Bay, The
Pascal, Etudes sur, par M. Victor Cousin
Pellico, Silvio, Lettres de
Physiology, Animal and Vegetable, by Henry Goadby
Poe's Poetical Works
Raleigh, Sir Walter, and his Time, with other Papers, by C. Kingsley
Rational Medicine, Brief Expositions of, by Jacob Bigelow
Robertson, Rev. F. W., Sermons by
Sea-Shore, Common Objects of the, by J. G. Wood
Stephenson, George, Smiles's Life of
Summer Time in the Country
Thoughts on Matter and Force, by Thomas Ewbank
Vocabularies, A Volume of, by T. Wright
Webster, John, Dramatic Works of
Whewell's History of the Inductive Sciences
Wright, Thomas, A Volume of Vocabularies by
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
VOL. II.--JUNE, 1858.--NO. VIII.
CHESUNCOOK.
At 5 P.M., September 13th, 185-, I left Boston in the steamer for
Bangor by the outside course. It was a warm and still night,--warmer,
probably, on the water than on the land,--and the sea was as smooth
as a small lake in summer, merely rippled. The passengers went
singing on the deck, as in a parlor, till ten o'clock. We passed a
vessel on her beam-ends on a rock just outside the islands, and some
of us thought that she was the "rapt ship" which ran
"on her side so low
That she drank water, and her keel ploughed air,"
not considering that there was no wind, and that she was under bare
poles. Now we have left the islands behind and are off Nahant. We
behold those features which the discoverers saw, apparently unchanged.
Now we see the Cape Ann lights, and now pass near a small
village-like fleet of mackerel fishers at anchor, probably off
Gloucester. They salute us with a shout from their low decks; but I
understand their "Good evening", to mean, "Don't run against me, Sir."
From the wonders of the deep we go below to get deeper sleep. And
then the absurdity of being waked up in the night by a man who wants
the job of blacking your boots! It is more inevitable than
seasickness, and may have something to do with it. It is like the
ducking you get on crossing the line the first time. I trusted that
these old customs were abolished. They might with the same propriety
insist on blacking your face. I heard of one man who complained that
somebody had stolen his boots in the night; and when he found them,
he wanted to know what they had done to them,--they had spoiled them,--
he never put that stuff on them; and the boot-black narrowly escaped
paying damages.
Anxious to get out of the whale's belly, I rose early, and joined
some old salts, who were smoking by a dim light on a sheltered part
of the deck. We were just getting into the river. They knew all
about it, of course. I was proud to find that I had stood the voyage
so well, and was not in the least digested. We brushed up and
watched the first signs of dawn through an open port; but the day
seemed to hang fire. We inquired the time; none of my companions had
a chronometer. At length an African prince rushed by, observing,
"Twelve o'clock, gentlemen!" and blew out the light. It was moon-rise.
So I slunk down into the monster's bowels again.
The first land we make is Manheigan Island, before dawn, and next St.
George's Islands, seeing two or three lights. Whitehead, with its
bare rocks and funereal bell, is interesting. Next I remember that
the Camden Hills attracted my eyes, and afterward the hills about
Frankfort. We reached Bangor about noon.
When I arrived, my companion that was to be had gone up river, and
engaged an Indian, Joe Aitteon, a son of the Governor, to go with us
to Chesuncook Lake. Joe had conducted two white men a-moose-hunting
in the same direction the year before. He arrived by cars at Bangor
that evening, with his canoe and a companion, Sabattis Solomon, who
was going to leave Bangor the following Monday with Joe's father, by
way of the Penobscot, and join Joe in moose-hunting at Chesuncook,
when we had done with him. They took supper at my friend's house and
lodged in his barn, saying that they should fare worse than that in
the woods. They only made Watch bark a little, when they came to the
door in the night for water, for he does not like Indians.
The next morning Joe and his canoe were put on board the stage for
Moosehead Lake, sixty and odd miles distant, an hour before we
started in an open wagon. We carried hard bread, pork, smoked beef,
tea, sugar, etc., seemingly enough for a regiment; the sight of
which brought together reminded me by what ignoble means we had
maintained our ground hitherto. We went by the Avenue Road, which is
quite straight and very good, north-westward toward Moosehead Lake,
through more than a dozen flourishing towns, with almost every one
its academy,--not one of which, however, | 861.787203 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
[Illustration: _"We will go home--to my home--just like this,
together."_
FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 311._]
The Mountain Girl
By PAYNE ERSKINE
Author of "When the Gates Lift Up Their Heads."
[Illustration]
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. DUNCAN GLEASON
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1911, 1912, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. In which David Thryng arrives at Carew's Crossing 1
II. In which David Thryng experiences the Hospitality of
the Mountain People 10
III. In which Aunt Sally takes her Departure and meets Frale 25
IV. David spends his First Day at his Cabin, and Frale makes
his Confession 35
V. In which Cassandra goes to David with her Trouble, and
gives Frale her Promise 47
VI. In which David aids Frale to make his Escape 59
VII. In which Frale goes down to Farington in his own Way 68
VIII. In which David Thryng makes a Discovery 76
IX. In which David accompanies Cassandra on an Errand of Mercy 86
X. In which Cassandra and David visit the Home of Decatur
Irwin 94
XI. In which Spring comes to the Mountains, and Cassandra
tells David of her Father 103
XII. In which Cassandra hears the Voices, and David leases
a Farm 111
XIII. In which David discovers Cassandra's Trouble 120
XIV. In which David visits the Bishop, and Frale sees his Enemy 131
XV. In which Jerry Carew gives David his Views on Future
Punishment, and Little Hoyle pays him a Visit and is
made Happy 144
XVI. In which Frale returns and listens to the Complaints of
Decatur Irwin's Wife 152
XVII. In which David Thryng meets an Enemy 164
XVIII. In which David Thryng Awakes 172
XIX. In which David sends Hoke Belew on a Commission, and
Cassandra makes a Confession 180
XX. In which the Bishop and his Wife pass an Eventful Day at
the Fall Place 189
XXI. In which the Summer Passes 198
XXII. In which David takes little Hoyle to Canada 207
XXIII. In which Doctor Hoyle speaks his Mind 212
XXIV. In which David Thryng has News from England 218
XXV. In which David Thryng visits his Mother 224
XXVI. In which David Thryng adjusts his Life to New Conditions 234
XXVII. In which the Old Doctor and Little Hoyle come back to
the Mountains 244
XXVIII. In which Frale returns to the Mountains 253
XXIX. In which Cassandra visits David Thryng's Ancestors 265
XXX. In which Cassandra goes to Queensderry and takes a Drive
in a Pony Carriage 276
XXXI. In which David and his Mother do not Agree 288
XXXII. In which Cassandra brings the Heir of Daneshead Castle
back to her Hilltop, and the Shadow Lifts 300
THE MOUNTAIN GIRL
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH DAVID THRYNG ARRIVES AT CAREW'S CROSSING
The snow had ceased falling. No wind stirred among the trees that
covered the hillsides, and every shrub, every leaf and twig, still bore
its feathery, white load. Slowly the train labored upward, with two
engines to take it the steepest part of the climb from the valley below.
David Thryng gazed out into the quiet, white wilderness and was glad. He
hoped Carew's Crossing was not beyond all this, where the ragged edge of
civilization, out of which the toiling train had so lately lifted them,
would begin again.
He glanced from time to time at the young woman near the door who sat as
the bishop had left her, one slight hand grasping the handle of her
basket, and with an expression on her face as placid and fraught with
mystery as the scene without. The train began to crawl more heavily,
and, looking down, Thryng saw that they were crossing a trestle over a
deep gorge before skirting the mountain on the other side. Suddenly it
occurred to him that he might be carried beyond his station. He stopped
the smiling young brakeman who was passing with his flag.
"Let me know when we come to Carew's Crossing, will you?"
"Next stop, suh. Are you foh there, suh?"
"Yes. How soon?"
"Half an houh mo', suh. I'll be back d'rectly and help you off, suh.
It's a flag station. We don't stop there in winter 'thout we're called
to, suh. Hotel's closed now."
"Hotel? Is there a hotel?" Thryng's voice betokened dismay.
"Yes, suh. It's a right gay little place in summah, suh." He passed on,
and Thryng gathered his scattered effects. Ill and weary, he was glad
to find his long journey so nearly at an end.
On either side of the track, as far as eye could see, was a
snow-whitened wilderness, seemingly untouched by the hand of man, and he
felt as if he had been carried back two hundred years. The only hint
that these fastnesses had been invaded by human beings was an occasional
rough, deeply red wagon road, winding off among the hills.
The long trestle crossed, the engines labored slowly upward for a time,
then, turning a sharp curve, began to descend, tearing along the narrow
track with a speed that caused the coaches to rock and sway; and thus
they reached Carew's Crossing, dropping down to it like a rushing
torrent.
Immediately Thryng found himself deposited in the melting snow some
distance from the station platform, and at the same instant, above the
noise of the retreating train, he heard a cry: "Oh, suh, help him, help
him! It's poor little Hoyle!" The girl whom he had watched, and about
whom he had been wondering, flashed by him and caught at the bridle of a
fractious colt, that was rearing and plunging near the corner of the
station.
"Poor little Hoyle! Help him, suh, help him!" she cried, clinging
desperately, while the frantic animal swung her off her feet, close to
the flying heels of the kicking mule at his side.
Under the heavy vehicle to which the ill-assorted animals were attached,
a child lay unconscious, and David sprang forward, his weakness
forgotten in the demand for action. In an instant he had drawn the
little chap from his perilous position and, seizing the mule, succeeded
in backing him to his place. The cause of its fright having by this time
disappeared, the colt became tractable and stood quivering and snorting,
as David took the bridle from the girl's hand.
"I'll quiet them now," he said, and she ran to the boy, who had
recovered sufficiently to sit up and gaze in a dazed way about him. As
she bent over him, murmuring soothing words, he threw his arms around
her neck and burst into wild sobbing.
"There, honey, there! No one is hurt. You are not, are you, honey son?"
"I couldn't keep a holt of 'em," he sobbed.
"You shouldn't have done it, honey. You should have let me get home as
best I could." Her face was one which could express much, passive as it
had been before. "Where was Frale?"
"He took the othah ho'se and lit out. They was aftah him. They--"
"S-sh. There, hush! You can stand now; try, Hoyle. You are a man now."
The little fellow rose, and, perceiving Thryng for the first time,
stepped shyly behind his sister. David noticed that he had a deformity
which caused him to carry his head twisted stiffly to one side, and also
that he had great, beautiful brown eyes, so like those of a hunted fawn
as he turned them upon the stranger with wide appeal, that he seemed a
veritable creature of the wilderness by which they were surrounded.
Then the girl stepped forward and thanked him with voice and eyes; but
he scarcely understood the words she said, as her tones trailed
lingeringly over the vowels, and almost eliminated the "r," so lightly
was it touched, while her accent fell utterly strange upon his English
ear. She looked to the harness with practised eye, and then laid her
hand beside Thryng's, on the bridle. It was a strong, shapely hand and
wrist.
"I can manage now," she said. "Hoyle, get my basket foh me."
But Thryng suggested that she climb in and take the reins first,
although the animals stood quietly enough now; the mule looked even
dejected, with hanging head and forward-drooping ears.
The girl spoke gently to | 861.83624 |
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TRUE STORIES OF GREAT AMERICANS
WILLIAM PENN
[Illustration: Logo]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO. DALLAS
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: Wm Penn]
WILLIAM PENN
BY
RUPERT S. HOLLAND
AUTHOR OF
"HISTORIC BOYHOODS," "THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN SPUR," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1915
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1915,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1915.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
WILLIAM PENN GOES TO COLLEGE 1
CHAPTER II
THE EARLY QUAKERS 9
CHAPTER III
WILLIAM PENN TRAVELS 18
CHAPTER IV
THE YOUNG QUAKER COURTIER 25
CHAPTER V
PENN HELPS HIS FRIENDS 36
CHAPTER VI
PENN BECOMES A MAN OF WEALTH 44
CHAPTER VII
PENN IN POLITICS 55
CHAPTER VIII
FIRST VISIT TO PENNSYLVANIA 68
CHAPTER IX
WHAT PENN FOUND IN AMERICA 86
CHAPTER X
TROUBLOUS DAYS IN ENGLAND 94
CHAPTER XI
PENN IN DISFAVOR 109
CHAPTER XII
PENN GOES TO AMERICA AGAIN 122
CHAPTER XIII
AT COURT AND IN PRISON 139
CHAPTER XIV
PENN'S WORK COMPLETED 151
CHAPTER XV
PENNSYLVANIA UNDER PENN'S DESCENDANTS 158
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF WILLIAM PENN _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
ADMIRAL SIR WILLIAM PENN 28
PENN'S CREST _in text_ 43
PENN'S SEAL _in text_ 67
THE LETITIA HOUSE _in text_ 74
THE TREATY TREE 76
PENN'S WAMPUM BELT _in text_ 84
PENN'S BIBLE AND BOOK-PLATE 100
THE SLATE-ROOF HOUSE _in text_ 127
PENN'S DESK _in text_ 130
TABLET TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM PENN 156
FOUR OF WILLIAM PENN'S GRANDCHILDREN 162
WILLIAM PENN
CHAPTER I
WILLIAM PENN GOES TO COLLEGE
The middle of the seventeenth century was a very exciting time in
England. The Cavaliers of King Charles the First were fighting the
Roundheads of Oliver Cromwell, and the whole country was divided into
King's men and Parliament's men. On the side of Cromwell and the
Parliament was Admiral William Penn, who had in 1646 been given command
of a squadron of fighting ships with the title of Vice Admiral of
Ireland, and who had proved to be an expert navigator and sea-fighter.
He had married Margaret Jasper, the daughter of an English merchant who
lived in Rotterdam, and when he went to sea, he left his wife and
children in the pretty little English village of Wanstead, in the county
of Essex.
The Admiral's son William was born on October 14, 1644, when four great
battles of the English Civil War had already been fought: Edge Hill,
Newbury, Nantwich, and Marston Moor. The Roundheads were winning the
victories, and these Puritan soldiers, fired with religious zeal, and
taking such striking names as "Praise God Barebones" and "Sergeant Hew
Agag in Pieces before the Lord," were battering down castles and
cathedrals, smashing stained-glass windows and pipe organs, and showing
their hatred of nobles and of churchmen in every way they could think
of. The wife of Admiral Penn, however, lived quietly in her country
home, and by the time William was five years old the Cavaliers had lost
the battle of Naseby, had surrendered Bridgewater and Bristol, and King
Charles the First had been beheaded. A new England, a Puritan England,
had taken the place of the old England, but the boy was too young to
understand the difference. He knew that his father was now fighting the
Dutch, but he was chiefly interested in the games he played with his
schoolmates at Wanstead and with the boys from the neighboring village
of Chigwell.
Now Admiral Penn had fought on the side of the Roundheads because the
English navy had sided with the Parliament, while the English army had
largely sided with the king, and not from any real love of Oliver
Cromwell and the Puritans. He was indeed a Royalist at heart, and had
very little patience with the new religious ideas that were becoming so
popular in England. The people in Wanstead, however, were mostly
Puritans, and young William, boy though he was, heard so much about
their religion that he became a little Puritan like his playmates. Some
of the fathers and mothers boasted that they had seen "visions," and
soon the children were repeating what their parents said. Strange
experiences of that kind were in the air, and so little William Penn,
when he was only eleven, claimed that he had himself met with such an
adventure, and seen a "vision" too.
The news of this story of William's would have annoyed his father, but
the Admiral was too much concerned at the time with his own difficulties
to give much heed to his son. Admiral Penn had sent word secretly to the
exiled son of Charles I. that he would enter his service against Oliver
Cromwell, and the latter heard of it, and when the Admiral returned to
England, Cromwell had him clapped into the Tower of London to keep him
out of mischief. Mrs. Penn and her children went up to London and lodged
in a little court near the Tower, where they might at least be near the
Admiral. Presently the Admiral, stripped of his commission, was
released, and left London for a country place in Ireland that Cromwell
had given him for his earlier services. There he stayed until the
Royalists got the better of the Roundheads, and Charles II. was placed
on the English throne. Then Admiral Penn hurried to welcome the new
king, was made a knight for his loyalty, and began to bask in the full
sunshine of royal favor. He was now a great figure at court, was a man
of wealth, and a close friend and adviser to the king's brother, James,
Duke of York, Lord High Admiral of England. Being so thoroughly a
Royalist and Church of England man himself, it never occurred to him
that his son William was already more than half a Puritan.
The Admiral sent his son to the aristocratic Christ Church College at
Oxford when William was sixteen, and entered him as a gentleman
commoner, which gave him a higher social standing than most of the
students. The father meant his son to be a courtier and man of fashion,
and wanted him to make friends among the young aristocrats of Oxford.
But Oxford University, like the rest of England, had felt the Puritan
influence during the days when Cromwell was Lord Protector, and although
the Cavaliers did everything they could to restore the revelries and
sports of the good old times of Charles the First, some of the soberer
notions of the Puritans still stuck to the place.
The Puritans were fond of long sermons and much psalm-singing, and shook
their heads at all games and light entertainments. The Royalists stopped
as much psalm-singing as they could, while they themselves got up Morris
dances and May-day games and all kinds of masques and revels. Sometimes
they went too far in their desire to oppose the Puritans, and indulged
in all sorts of dissipations. Young William Penn, and many other boys at
college, thought the Royalists were too dissolute, and leaned toward the
Puritan standards; but he was the son of a knight and a courtier, as
well as being naturally fond of sports and gayety, and so he did not
dress so soberly nor attend so many sermons as some of his college
friends. When the king's brother, Henry, Duke of Gloucester, died of
smallpox, Oxford University issued a volume of verses, called
"Threnodia," on the duke's death, and young William Penn sent in some
Latin lines for the volume. In some matters he was a strong king's man,
but in others he was more fond of the stricter Puritan notions. Withal
he was a fairly good student, a popular young fellow, and something of
an athlete. He might very well have graduated and followed his father to
the king's court at London had not a new and strange religious party
caught his wide-awake attention while he was at college.
When William Penn went to Oxford, some people in England were beginning
to be called Quakers, or, as they preferred to be known, Friends. They
were almost as much opposed to the Puritans as they were to the
Royalists, who belonged to the Church of England. They were a religious
sect, and more. They refused to pay the tithes or taxes for the support
of the Established Church, they refused to take an oath in the law
courts, they would wear their hats in court and in the presence of
important persons. They called every one by his first name, and would
not use any title, even that of Mister; "thee" and "thou" took the place
of "you," although those pronouns had customarily only been used to
servants. Nothing gave so much offense to a Royalist as to have a Quaker
say "thee" or "thou" to him. They preached in taverns and in highways,
and walked the streets uttering prophecies of doom in a loud singsong
voice. Either because of this trembling mode of speech, or because their
leader, George Fox, had bade the magistrates tremble at the word of the
Lord, they were called Quakers.
It seemed to both the Churchmen and the Puritans that these Quakers
were breaking away from all forms of religion; they did not believe in
baptism nor in the communion service; they would not listen to clergymen
or hired preachers, and often they sat silent in their meetings, only
speaking when one of them felt inspired to address them. Quietness was
their watchword, and so they condemned all sports and games, theaters,
dancing, card playing; they disapproved of soldiers and of fighting;
they kept out of politics, and they dressed as soberly as possible.
Their leader, George Fox, was a strange person, very brave but very
excitable, and he managed to rouse discussion wherever he went. Again
and again he was put in jail; he was stoned and abused and laughed at;
but such was his power that more and more people came to follow him, and
admired and reverenced and loved him.
It may seem strange that the Quakers should have appealed so strongly to
a youth like William Penn, who was a gentleman commoner at the most
aristocratic college in England, a good-looking, popular, sport-loving
fellow, surrounded by the sons of noblemen and courtiers. The answer
must be that he was by nature serious-minded and very much interested in
questions of religion. More than that, he had in him a strong streak of
heroism which made it easy for him to throw his whole soul into a cause
that appealed to him. Whatever Penn was he was never lukewarm, but
ardent and fiery and always tremendously in earnest.
He left Oxford after about two years, and there is a story that he was
expelled because he and some friends refused to obey a college rule
about the wearing of gowns and tore off the surplices that were worn by
the Church of England students. He had heard the Quaker preacher Thomas
Loe, and although he had not actually joined the Society of Friends he
was already largely of a mind to. From college he went to his father's
house in London, and then Admiral Sir William Penn found that his son
was not at all the worldly-minded youth he had hoped, but a young man of
quite a different sort. He did not care for the life of a cavalier or
court gallant, but wanted to go to strange religious meetings. The
Admiral begged and entreated, threatened and stormed, used arguments and
even blows, and finally in a fit of rage drove his son from his house.
But Lady Penn pleaded for her son, and the Admiral at length allowed
William to return to his home.
CHAPTER II
THE EARLY QUAKERS
To understand the history of William Penn we must have a clear idea of
the Quaker faith in the time of Charles II. All through the Middle Ages
the Christian Church, which was the Roman Catholic Church, had built up
a network of beliefs that people took for granted, so that men never
used their minds where religion was concerned, but were, to all intents
and purposes, merely children, believing whatever the priests told them
to believe. For centuries England, as well as all of Western Europe, had
taken its creed directly from the Pope and his clergy, no more doubting
the truth of what was told them than a child doubts the truth of the
multiplication-table. But at length certain men of unusual independence
of mind, men such as Martin Luther and John Calvin, became restless
under the arbitrary teachings of the Pope and dared to question whether
the priests were always right, no matter what they said. These men, and
others like them, took part in what was known as the Reformation, an
era in which men began to do a little thinking for themselves. The
revival of the classical learning of Greece and Rome and the invention
of the printing-press helped this new freedom of thought greatly. The
first books to come from the printing-presses were copies of the Bible,
which had formerly been beyond the reach of all but the priests, and as
men soon translated the Scriptures from Latin into English and French
and German and other languages, the people gradually became able to read
the Old and New Testaments for themselves. The Bible was no longer a
sealed book, from which the clergy gave the ordinary man and woman as
much or as little as they thought good. It was free to all, and new
teachers began to explain its meaning according to their own ideas.
It took a long time, however, for men to break away from the implicit
obedience they had given for centuries to the Church of Rome. The most
daring reformers only rid themselves of one or two dogmas at a time.
Wycliffe, the first great leader of the Reformation in England, only
denied a part of the truth of the Mass, and kept almost all the rest of
the Catholic belief. Huss, who followed him, only dared to doubt the
truth of certain of the miracles, though he did declare that he
believed in religious liberty. Martin Luther himself devoted most of
his eloquence to attacking the sale of indulgences, which had been
carried to great excess. Later he grew so bold as to oppose the
authority of the Pope, but he still held to the larger part of the creed
of the early Church.
In England Henry the Eighth had broken with the Pope chiefly because the
latter had refused to grant him a divorce from Catherine of Aragon and
not because of any great difference in religious views. This break,
however, gave the reformers an official position in England, and led to
the establishment of the Church of England, which was called a
Protestant Church to distinguish it from the Catholic. Henry's daughter,
Mary, was a Catholic, and her reign saw a bitter struggle in England
between Catholics and the new reform Protestants. Mary's sister,
Elizabeth, favored the Protestants, and with her reign the new Church
actually came into its own, and the teachings of the Reformation began
to bear fruit.
Very gradually, then, men came to think more and more freely for
themselves. The Church of England discarded some of the beliefs of the
Roman Catholic Church, but held to a great many of them, and once it
became well fixed as the Established Church of England it also became
conservative, and insisted that people should obey its teachings, just
as the Catholic Church had done. But the idea of the right of every one
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SINTRAM AND HIS COMPANIONS
By Friedrich de la Motte Fouque
with foreword by Charlotte M. Yonge
Introduction
Four tales are, it is said, intended by the Author to be appropriate to
the Four Seasons: the stern, grave "Sintram", to winter; the tearful,
smiling, fresh "Undine", to Spring; the torrid deserts of the "Two
Captains", to summer; and the sunset gold of "Aslauga's Knight", to
autumn. Of these two are before us.
The author of these tales, as well as of many more, was Friedrich, Baron
de la Motte Fouque, one of the foremost of the minstrels or tale-tellers
of the realm of spiritual chivalry--the realm whither Arthur's knights
departed when they "took the Sancgreal's holy quest,"--whence Spenser's
Red Cross knight and his fellows came forth on their adventures, and in
which the Knight of la Mancha believed, and endeavoured to exist.
La Motte Fouque derived his name and his title from the French Huguenot
ancestry, who had fled on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. His
Christian name was taken from his godfather, Frederick the Great,
of whom his father was a faithful friend, without compromising his
religious principles and practice. Friedrich was born at Brandenburg on
February 12, 1777, was educated by good parents at home, served in the
Prussian army through disaster and success, took an enthusiastic part
in the rising of his country against Napoleon, inditing as many
battle-songs as Korner. When victory was achieved, he dedicated his
sword in the church of Neunhausen where his estate lay. He lived there,
with his beloved wife and his imagination, till his death in 1843.
And all the time life was to him a poet's dream. He lived in a continual
glamour of spiritual romance, bathing everything, from the old deities
of the Valhalla down to the champions of German liberation, in an ideal
glow of purity and nobleness, earnestly Christian throughout, even in
his dealings with Northern mythology, for he saw Christ unconsciously
shown in Baldur, and Satan in Loki.
Thus he lived, felt, and believed what he wrote, and though his dramas
and poems do not rise above fair mediocrity, and the great number of his
prose stories are injured by a certain monotony, the charm of them is
in their elevation of sentiment and the earnest faith pervading all. His
knights might be Sir Galahad--
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure."
Evil comes to them as something to be conquered, generally as a form of
magic enchantment, and his "wondrous fair maidens" are worthy of them.
Yet there is adventure enough to afford much pleasure, and often we have
a touch of true genius, which has given actual ideas to the world, and
precious ones.
This genius is especially traceable in his two masterpieces, Sintram and
Undine. Sintram was inspired by Albert Durer's engraving of the "Knight
of Death," of which we give a presentation. It was sent to Fouque by his
friend Edward Hitzig, with a request that he would compose a ballad
on it. The date of the engraving is 1513, and we quote the description
given by the late Rev. R. St. John Tyrwhitt, showing how differently it
may be read.
"Some say it is the end of the strong wicked man, just overtaken by
Death and Sin, whom he has served on earth. It is said that the tuft on
the lance indicates his murderous character, being of such unusual size.
You know the use of that appendage was to prevent blood running down
from the spearhead to the hands. They also think that the object under
the horse's off hind foot is a snare, into which the old oppressor is
to fall instantly. The expression of the faces may be taken either way:
both good men and bad may have hard, regular features; and both good men
and bad would set their teeth grimly on seeing Death, with the sands of
their life nearly run out. Some say they think the expression of Death
gentle, or only admonitory (as the author of "Sintram"); and I have to
thank the authoress of the "Heir of Redclyffe" for showing me a fine
impression of the plate, where Death certainly had a not ungentle
countenance--snakes and all. I think the shouldered lance, and quiet,
firm seat on horseback, with gentle bearing on the curb-bit, indicate
grave resolution in the rider, and that a robber knight would have his
lance in rest; then there is the leafy crown on the horse's head; and
the horse and dog move on so quietly, that I am inclined to hope the
best for the Ritter."
Musing on the mysterious engraving, Fouque saw in it the life-long
companions of man, Death and Sin, whom he must defy in order to reach
salvation; and out of that contemplation rose his wonderful romance,
not exactly an allegory, where every circumstance can be fitted with an
appropriate meaning, but with the sense of the struggle of life, with
external temptation and hereditary inclination pervading all, while
Grace and Prayer aid the effort. Folko and Gabrielle are revived from
the Magic Ring, that Folko may by example and influence enhance all
higher resolutions; while Gabrielle, in all unconscious innocence,
awakes the passions, and thus makes the conquest the harder.
It is within the bounds of possibility that the similarities of
folk-lore may have brought to Fouque's knowledge the outline of the
story which Scott tells us was the germ of "Guy Mannering"; where a boy,
whose horoscope had been drawn by an astrologer, as likely to encounter
peculiar trials at certain intervals, actually had, in his twenty-first
year, a sort of visible encounter with the Tempter, and came off
conqueror by his strong faith in the Bible. Sir Walter, between
reverence and realism, only took the earlier part of the story, but
Fouque gives us the positive struggle, and carries us along with the
final victory and subsequent peace. His tale has had a remarkable power
over the readers. We cannot but mention two remarkable instances at
either end of the scale. Cardinal Newman, in his younger days, was
so much overcome by it that he hurried out into the garden to read it
alone, and returned with traces of emotion in his face. And when Charles
Lowder read it to his East End boys, their whole minds seemed engrossed
by it, and they even called certain spots after the places mentioned.
Imagine the Rocks of the Moon in Ratcliff Highway!
May we mention that Miss Christabel Coleridge's "Waynflete" brings
something of the spirit and idea of "Sintram" into modern life?
"Undine" is a story of much lighter fancy, and full of a peculiar grace,
though with a depth of melancholy that endears it. No doubt it
was founded on the universal idea in folk-lore of the nixies or
water-spirits, one of whom, in Norwegian legend, was seen weeping
bitterly because of the want of a soul. Sometimes the nymph is a wicked
siren like the Lorelei; but in many of these tales she weds an earthly
lover, and deserts him after a time, sometimes on finding her diving
cap, or her seal-skin garment, which restores her to her ocean kindred,
sometimes on his intruding on her while she is under a periodical
transformation, as with the fairy Melusine, more rarely if he becomes
unfaithful.
There is a remarkable Cornish tale of a nymph or mermaiden, who thus
vanished, leaving a daughter who loved to linger on the beach rather
than sport with other children. By and by she had a lover, but no sooner
did he show tokens of inconstancy, than the mother came up from the sea
and put him to death, when the daughter pined away and died. Her name
was Selina, which gives the tale a modern aspect, and makes us wonder
if the old tradition can have been modified by some report of Undine's
story.
There was an idea set forth by the Rosicrucians of spirits abiding in
the elements, and as Undine represented the water influences, Fouque's
wife, the Baroness Caroline, wrote a fairly pretty story on the sylphs
of fire. But Undine's freakish playfulness and mischief as an elemental
being, and her sweet patience when her soul is won, are quite
original, and indeed we cannot help sharing, or at least understanding,
Huldbrand's beginning to shrink from the unearthly creature to something
of his own flesh and blood. He is altogether unworthy, and though in
this tale there is far less of spiritual meaning than in Sintram, we
cannot but see that Fouque's thought was that the grosser human nature
is unable to appreciate what is absolutely pure and unearthly.
C. M. YONGE.
CHAPTER 1
In the high castle of Drontheim many knights sat assembled to hold
council for the weal of the realm; and joyously they caroused together
till midnight around the huge stone table in the vaulted hall. A rising
storm drove the snow wildly against the rattling windows; all the oak
doors groaned, the massive locks shook, the castle-clock slowly
and heavily struck the hour of one. Then a boy, pale as death, with
disordered hair and closed eyes, rushed into the hall, uttering a wild
scream of terror. He stopped beside the richly carved seat of the mighty
Biorn, clung to the glittering knight with both his hands, and shrieked
in a piercing voice, "Knight and father! father and knight! Death and
another are closely pursuing me!"
An awful stillness lay like ice on the whole assembly, save that the boy
screamed ever the fearful words. But one of | 861.88364 |
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CRITICAL
MISCELLANIES
BY
JOHN MORLEY
VOL. III.
Essay 7: W.R. Greg: A Sketch
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1904
* * * * *
W. R. GREG: A SKETCH.
Characteristics 213
Born at Manchester in 1809 215
Mathew Henry Greg 217
Goes to the Edinburgh University in the winter of 1826-1827 220
Sir William Hamilton 221
Mother died, 1828 224
The Apprentice House 225
De Tocqueville 229
Goes abroad 231
_Genius of the Nineteenth Century_ 232
Starts in business on his own account at Bury, 1833 235
Marries the daughter of Dr. Henry in 1835 236
Moves to the Lakes 238
Sir George Cornewall Lewis 244
Offered a place on the Board of Customs, 1856 244
Letter to James Spedding, May 24, 1856 245
Marries again in 1874 the daughter of Mr. James Wilson 246
Death of his brother-in-law, Walter Bagehot (1877) 247
Letter to Lady Derby 247
Died November 1881 248
_Enigmas of Life_, 1875 252
Letter to Lord Grey, May 28, 1874 255
Conclusion 256
* * * * *
W. R. GREG: A SKETCH.
It is perhaps a little hard to undertake to write about the personality
of a thinker whose ideas one does not share, and whose reading of the
events and tendencies of our time was in most respects directly opposite
to one's own. But literature is neutral ground. Character is more than
opinion. Here we may forget the loud cries and sounding strokes, the
watchwords and the tactics of the tented field, and fraternise with the
adversary of the eve and the morrow in friendly curiosity and liberal
recognition. It fell to the present writer at one time to have one or
two bouts of public controversy with Mr. Greg. In these dialectics Mr.
Greg was never vehement and never pressed, but he was inclined to
be--or, at least, was felt by an opponent to be--dry, mordant, and
almost harsh. These disagreeable prepossessions were instantly
dissipated, as so often happens, by personal acquaintance. He had not
only the courtesy of the good type of the man of the world, but an air
of moral suavity, when one came near enough to him, that was infinitely
attractive and engaging. He was urbane, essentially modest, and readily
interested in ideas and subjects other than his own. There was in his
manner and address something of what the French call _liant_. When the
chances of residence made me his neighbour, an evening in his
drawing-room, or half an hour's talk in casual meetings in afternoon
walks on Wimbledon Common, was always a particularly agreeable incident.
Some men and women have the quality of atmosphere. The egotism of the
natural man is surrounded by an elastic medium. Mr. Greg was one of
these personalities with an atmosphere elastic, stimulating, elevating,
and yet composing. We do wrong to narrow our interests to those only of
our contemporaries who figure with great lustre and _eclat_ in the
world. Some of the quiet characters away from the centre of great
affairs are as well worth our attention as those who in high-heeled
cothurnus stalk across the foreground.
Mr. Greg, it is not necessary to say, has a serious reputation in the
literature of our time. In politics he was one of the best literary
representatives of the fastidious or pedantocratic school of government.
In economics he spoke the last word, and fell, sword in hand, in the
last trench, of the party of capitalist supremacy and industrial
tutelage. In the group of profound speculative questions that have come
up for popular discussion since the great yawning rents and fissures
have been made in the hypotheses of theology by the hypotheses of
science, he set a deep mark on many minds. 'We are in the sick foggy
dawn of a new era,' says one distinguished writer of our day, 'and no
one saw more clearly than W. R. Greg what the day that would follow was
likely to be.' To this I must humbly venture to demur; for there is no
true vision of the fortunes of human society without Hope, and without
Faith in the beneficent powers and processes of the Unseen Time. That
and no other is the mood in which our sight is most likely to pierce the
obscuring mists from which the new era begins to emerge. When we have
said so much as this, it remains as true as before that Mr. Greg's
faculty of disinterested speculation, his feeling for the problems of
life, and his distinction of character, all make it worth while to put
something about him on record, and to attempt to describe him as he was,
apart from the opaque influences of passing controversy and of
discussions that are rapidly losing their point.
Mr. Greg was born at Manchester in 1809. The family stock was Irish by
residence and settlement, though Scotch in origin. The family name was
half jocosely and half seriously believed to be the middle syllable of
the famous clan of Macgregor. William Rathbone Greg's grandfather was a
man of good position in the neighbourhood of Belfast, who sent two of
his sons to push their fortunes in England. The younger of the two was
adopted by an uncle, who carried on the business of a merchant at
Manchester. He had no children of his own. The boy was sent to Harrow,
where Dr. Samuel Parr was then an assistant master. When the post of
head master became vacant, Parr, though only five-and-twenty, entered
into a very vehement contest for the prize. He failed, and in a fit of
spleen set up an establishment of his own at Stanmore. Many persons, as
De Quincey tells us, of station and influence both lent him money and
gave him a sort of countenance equally useful to his interests by
placing their sons under his care. Among those who accompanied him from
Harrow was Samuel Greg. The lad was meant by his uncle to be a
clergyman, but this project he stoutly resisted. Instead of reading for
orders he travelled abroad, acquired foreign languages, and found out
something about the commercial affairs of the continent of Europe. His
uncle died in 1783, and the nephew took up the business. It was the date
of the American Peace. Samuel Greg was carried forward on the | 861.939837 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.
No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the spelling
of non-English words. Archaic spelllings (i.e. divers, ecstacy,
graneries, asthetic, etc.) have been retained. (note of etext
transcriber.)]
[Illustration: MONT ST. MICHAEL.]
NASBY IN EXILE:
OR,
SIX MONTHS OF TRAVEL
IN
England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany,
Switzerland and Belgium,
WITH MANY THINGS NOT OF TRAVEL.
BY
DAVID R. LOCKE,
(Petroleum V. Nasby.)
PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED.
TOLEDO AND BOSTON:
LOCKE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
1882.
COPYRIGHT,
1882,
BY DAVID R. LOCKE.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
BLADE PRINTING AND PAPER CO.,
_Printers and Binders_,
TOLEDO, O.
PREFACE.
On the afternoon of May 14, 1881, the good ship "City of Richmond,"
steamed out of New York harbor with a varied assortment of passengers on
board, all intent upon seeing Europe. Among these was the writer of the
pages that follow.
Six of the passengers having contracted a sort of liking for each other,
made a tour of six months together, that is, together most of the time.
This book is the record of their experiences, as they appeared
originally in the columns of the TOLEDO BLADE.
It is not issued in compliance with any demand for it. I have no
recollection that any one of the one hundred thousand regular
subscribers to the TOLEDO BLADE ever asked that the letters that
appeared from week to week in its columns should be gathered into book
form. The volume is a purely mercantile speculation, which may or may
not be successful. The publishers held that the matter was of sufficient
value to go between covers, and believing that they were good judges of
such things, I edited the letters, and here they are.
The ground we went over has been gone over by other writers a thousand
times. We went where other tourists have gone, and what we saw others
have seen. The only difference between this book and the thousands of
others that have been printed describing the same scenes, is purely the
difference in the eyes of the writers who saw them. I saw the countries
I visited with a pair of American eyes, and judged of men and things
from a purely American stand-point.
I have not attempted to describe scenery, and buildings, and things of
that nature, at all. That has been done by men and women more capable of
such work than I am. Every library in America is full of books of that
nature. But I was interested in the men and women of the countries I
passed through, I was interested in their ways of living, their
industries and their customs and habits, and I tried faithfully to put
upon paper what I saw, as well as the observations and comments of the
party that traveled and observed with me.
I have a hope that the readers of these pages will lay the book down in
quite as good condition, mentally and physically, as when they took it
up, and that some information as to European life will result from its
perusal. As I make no promises at the beginning I shall have no
apologies to make at the ending.
It is only justice to say that much of the descriptive matter is the
work of Mr. ROBINSON LOCKE, who was with me every minute of the time,
and the intelligent reader will be perfectly safe in ascribing the best
of its pages to his pen.
I can only hope that this work, as a book, will meet with the same
measure of favor that the material did as newspaper sketches.
D. R. L.
_Toledo, Ohio, June 29, 1882._
ILLUSTRATIONS.
No. PAGE
1. FRONTISPIECE.
2. The Departure 18
3. "Shuffle Board" 22
4. The Betting Young Man from Chicago 24
5. "Dear, Sea-sickness is only a Feminine Weakness," 27
6. Lemuel Tibbitts, from Oshkosh, Writes a Letter 29
7. Every Sin I Had Committed Came Before Me 33
8. Off for London 35
9. Public Buildings, London 36
10. The Indian Policy 39
11. The Emetic Policy 39
12. A London Street Scene 45
13. A London Steak 50
14. "And is the Them Shanghais?" 53
15. Sol. Carpenter and the Race 60
16. Leaving for the Derby 62
17. By the Roadside 64
18. English <DW64> Minstrelsy 66
19. The Roadside Repast 67
20. The Betting Ring 73
21. "D----n the Swindling Scoundrel" 74
22. Egyptian Room, British Museum 76
23. A Bold Briton Trying the American Custom 79
24. A London Gin Drinking Woman 80
25. The Poor Man is Sick 81
26. "That <DW65> is Mine" 82
27. St. Thomas Hospital 92
28. Interior of a Variety Hall 95
29. The Magic Purse 98
30. The Man who was Music Proof 100
31. Madame Tussaud 102
32. Wax Figures of Americans 103
33. "Digging Corpses is all Wrong" 105
34. Improved Process of Burke and Hare 106
35. Isle of Wight 107
36. The London Lawyer 110
37. The Old English Way of Procuring a Loan 118
38. "Beware of Fraudulent Imitations" 120
39. The Old Temple Bar 122
40. The Sidewalk Shoe Store 125
41. "Sheap Clodink" 127
42. "Dake Dot Ring" 133
43. A Lane in Camberwell 135
44. The Tower of London 136
45. The Jewel Tower 140
46. Sir Magnus' Men 142
47. Horse Armory 144
48. St. John's Chapel 145
49. St. Thomas' Tower 146
50. General View of the Tower 147
51. The Bloody Tower 148
52. Drowning of Clarence in a Butt of Wine 149
53. The Byward Tower from the East 150
54. The Beauchamp Tower 151
55. The Overworked Headsman 152
56. The Persuasive Rack 153
57. The Byward Tower from the West 154
58. The Middle Tower 155
59. The Beef Eater 156
60. The Flint Tower 157
61. The Traitor's Gate 158
62. What Shall We Do with Sir Thomas? 159
63. The Easiest Way 160
64. The Suits Come Home 163
65. The Candle Episode 168
66. The Little Bill 169
67. Getting Ready to Leave a Hotel 169
68. The Last Straw 170
69. The Cabman Tipped 170
70. The Universal Demand 171
71. The Lord Mayor's Show 173
72. A Second Hand Debauch 175
73. The Anniversary Ceremonies 178
74. In the Harbor 179
75. Isle of Wight 182
76. The Unfinished Entries in the Diary 184
77. Westminster Abbey 186
78. Exterior of the Abbey 187
79. Entrance to the Abbey 188
80. The Poet's Corner 191
81. Henry VII.'s Chapel 193
82. Chapel of Edward 197
83. Effigy Room 200
84. The Abbey in Queen Anne's Time 201
85. "If She Ever Miscalculates She's Gone," 204
86. The Death of the Trainer 206
87. The Gorgeous Funeral Procession 207
88. Monument to the Trainer 208
89. The Side Show Zulu 210
90. The Lost Finger 212
91. On the Thames 218
92. Sandwiches at New Haven 222
93. Off Dieppe--Four A. M. 224
94. "Have You Tobacco or Spirits?" 225
95. Fisher Folk--Dieppe 227
96. Fisher Women--Dieppe 228
97. Fisher Boy and Child 229
98. The Boys of Rouen 232
99. Rouen 233
100. The Professor Stood Before it 234
101. Cathedral of Notre Dame 235
102. House of Joan d'Arc 235
103. Harbor of Rouen 236
104. St. Ouen--Rouen 238
105. The Showman in Paris 240
106. Bloss' Great Moral Spectacle 241
107. Tower of St. Pierre 242
108. Old Houses--Rouen 242
109. The Professor's Spectacles 245
110. Old Paris 246
111. Liberty, Fraternity, Equality 247
112. New Paris 248
113. The Louvre 250
114. A Boulevard Cafe 252
115. A Costume by Worth 253
116. A Magazine on the Boulevard 254
117. Mr. Thompson's Art Purchases 256
118. The American Party Outside a Cafe 259
119. The Avenue de L'Opera 261
120. Cafe Concerts 262
121. The Faro Bankeress 266
122. French Soldiers 267
123. Parisian Bread Carriers 269
124. Queer--to Frenchmen 271
125. The Porte St. Martin 272
126. A Very Polite Frenchman 275
127. "Merci, Monsieur!" 277
128. Paris Underground 279
129. Interior of the Paris Bourse 280
130. The Arc du Carrousel 282
131. "How Long Must I Endure This?" 285 | 861.93996 |
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[Illustration: Fannie Hurst]
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
BY
FANNIE HURST
AUTHOR OF
_Just Around the Corner_
"_Oh, the melody in the simplest heart_"
BOOKS BY FANNIE HURST
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
JUST AROUND THE CORNER
Every Soul Hath Its Song
1912, 1916
TO
J.S.D.
CONTENTS
SEA GULLIBLES
ROLLING STOCK
HOCHENHEIMER OF CINCINNATI
IN MEMORIAM
THE NTH COMMANDMENT
T.B.
SUMMER RESOURCES
SOB SISTER
THE NAME AND THE GAME
EVERY SOUL HATH ITS SONG
SEA GULLIBLES
In this age of prose, when men's hearts turn point-blank from blank
verse to the business of chaining two worlds by cable and of daring to
fly with birds; when scholars, ever busy with the dead, are suffering
crick in the neck from looking backward to the good old days when
Romance wore a tin helmet on his head or lace in his sleeves--in such
an age Simon Binswanger first beheld the high-flung torch of Goddess
Liberty from the fore of the steerage deck of a wooden ship, his small
body huddled in the sag of calico skirt between his mother's knees, and
the sky-line and clothes-lines of the lower East Side dawning upon his
uncomprehending eyes.
Some decades later, and with an endurance stroke that far outclassed
classic Leander's, Simon Binswanger had swum the great Hellespont
that surged between the Lower East Side and the Upper West Side, and,
trolling his family after, landed them in one of those stucco-fronted,
elevator-service apartment-houses where home life is lived on the layer,
and the sins of the extension sole and the self-playing piano are
visited upon the neighbor below. Landed them four stories high and dry
in a strictly modern apartment of three dark, square bedrooms, a square
dining-room ventilated by an airshaft, and a square pocket of a kitchen
that looked out upon a zigzag of fire-escape. And last a square
front-room-de-resistance, with a bay of four windows overlooking a
distant segment of Hudson River, an imitation stucco mantelpiece, a
crystal chandelier, and an air of complete detachment from its curtailed
rear.
But even among the false creations of exterior architects and interior
decorators, home can find a way. Despite the square dining-room with
the stag-and-tree wall-paper design above the plate-rack and a gilded
radiator that hissed loudest at mealtime, when Simon Binswanger and his
family relaxed round their after-dinner table, the invisible cricket on
the visible hearth fell to whirring.
With the oldest gesture of the shod age Mrs. Binswanger dived into her
work-basket, withdrew with a sock, inserted her five fingers into the
foot, and fell to scanning it this way and that with a furrow between
her eyes.
"Ray, go in and tell your sister she should come out of her room and
stop that crying nonsense. I tell you it's easier we should all go to
Europe, even if we have to swim across, than every evening we should
have spoilt for us."
Ray Binswanger rose out of her shoulders, her eyes dazed with print,
then collapsed again to the pages of her book.
"Let her cry, mamma."
"It's not so nice, Ray, you should treat your sister like that."
"Can I help it, mamma, that all of a sudden she gets Europe on the
brain? You never heard me even holler for Arverne, much less Europe, as
long as the boats were running for Brighton, did you, mom?"
"She thinks, Ray, in Europe it's a finer education for you both. She
ain't all wrong the way she hates you should run to Brighton with them
little snips."
"Just the same you never heard me nag for trips. The going's too good at
home. Did you, pop, ever hear me nag?"
"Ja, it's a lot your papa worries about what's what! Look at him there
behind his paper, like it was a law he had to read every word! Ray, go
get me my glasses under the clock and call in your sister. Them novels
will keep. Mind me when I talk, Ray!"
Miss Ray Binswanger rose reluctantly, placing the book face downward on
the blue-and-white table coverlet. It was as if seventeen Indian summers
had laid their golden blush upon her. Imperceptibly, too, the lanky,
prankish years were folding back like petals, revealing the first bloom
of her, a suddenly cleared complexion and eyes that had newly learned to
drop upon occasion.
"Honest, mamma, do you think it would hurt Izzy to make a move once in a
while? He was the one made her cry, anyway, guying her about spaghetti
on the brain."
"Sure I did. Wasn't she running down my profesh? She's got to go to
Europe for the summer, because the traveling salesmen she meets at home
ain't good enough for her. Well, of all the nerve!"
"Just look at him, mamma, stretched out on the sofa there like he was a
king!"
Full flung and from a tufted leather couch Isadore Binswanger turned on
his pillow, flashing his dark eyes and white teeth full upon her.
"Go chase yourself, Blackey!"
"Blackey! Let me just tell you, Mr. Smarty, that alongside of you I'm so
blond I'm dizzy."
"Come and give your big brother a French kiss, Blackey."
"Like fun I will!"
"Do what I say or I'll--"
Mrs. Binswanger rapped her darning-ball with a thimbled finger.
"Izzy, stop teasing your sister."
"You just ask me to press your white-flannel pants for you the next time
you want to play Palm Beach with yourself, and see if I do it or not.
You just ask me!"
He made a great feint of lunging after her, and she dodged behind her
mother's rocking-chair, tilting it sharply.
"Children!"
"Mamma, don't you let him touch me!"
"You--you little imp, you!"
"Children!"
"I tell you, ma, that kid's getting too fresh."
"You spoil her, Izzy, more as any one."
"It's those yellow novels, and that gang of drugstore snips you let her
run with will be her ruination. If she was my kid I bet I'd have kept
her in school another year."
"You shut up, Izzy Binswanger, and mind your own business. You never
even went as long as me."
"With a boy it's different."
"You better lay pretty low, Izzy Binswanger, or I can tell a few tales.
I guess I didn't see you the night after you got in from your last trip,
in your white-flannel pants I pressed, dancing on the Brighton boat with
that peroxide queen alrighty."
This time his face darkened with the blood of anger.
"You little imp, I'll--"
"Children! Stop it, do you hear! Ray, go right this minute and call
Miriam and bring me my glasses. Izzy, do you think it's so nice that a
grown man should tease his little sister?"
"I'll be glad when he goes out on his Western trip next week."
"Skidoo, you little imp!"
She tossed her head in high-spirited distemper and flounced through the
doorway. He rose from his mound of pillows, jerking his daring waistcoat
into place | 861.94123 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
ROGER THE BOLD
_A TALE OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO_
BY LT.-COLONEL F. S. BRERETON
Author of "The Dragon of Pekin" "Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout" &c.
_ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L. WOOD_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
[Illustration: "HE LEAPED UPON THE TOP OF THE BARRICADE"]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE IMAGE OF THE SUN 9
II. OFF TO THE TERRA FIRMA 24
III. ROGER THE LIEUTENANT 41
IV. THE ISLAND OF CUBA 61
V. A VALUABLE CAPTURE 80
VI. A STRANGER COMES ABOARD 102
VII. THE HAND OF THE TRAITOR 121
VIII. A CITY BY THE WATER 139
IX. LED TO THE SACRIFICE 160
X. ROGER AT BAY 179
XI. NEWS OF FERNANDO CORTES 199
XII. THE SPANIARDS LAY AN AMBUSH 218
XIII. A SENTENCE OF DEATH 237
XIV. ROGER IS TRUE TO HIS COMRADES 257
XV. BACK TO MEXICO 274
XVI. THE FIRST ENCOUNTER 294
XVII. A FLEET OF BRIGANTINES 313
XVIII. THE DEFENCE OF THE CAUSEWAYS 330
XIX. ALVAREZ PROBES THE SECRET 347
XX. A RACE FOR THE OCEAN 367
ILLUSTRATIONS
Facing Page
HE LEAPED UPON THE TOP OF THE BARRICADE _Frontispiece_
THE GOLDEN DISK 18
ROGER SENT HIM ROLLING INTO THE UNDERWOOD 88
THE BLADE FELL TRUE ON THE SOLDIER'S HEAD, DROPPING
HIM LIKE A STONE 232
THE REMAINDER WERE QUICKLY IN FULL FLIGHT 288
THE SPANIARD WAS STAGGERED 368
Map of Part of Mexico _in page_ 146
Map showing Mexico City and Surroundings _in page_ 169
ROGER THE BOLD
CHAPTER I
The Image of the Sun
"Hi! Hi! Hi! Your attention, if it please you. Gentles and people, I
pray you lend your assistance to one who is in need of help, but who
seeks not for alms. But little is asked of you, and that can be done in
the space of a minute or more. 'Tis but to decipher a letter attached to
this plaque. 'Tis written in some foreign tongue--in Spanish, I should
venture. A silver groat is offered to the one who will translate."
The speaker, a short, large-nosed man of middle age, had taken his stand
upon an upturned barrel, for otherwise he would have been hidden amongst
the people who thronged that part of the city of London, and would have
found it impossible to attract their attention. But as it was, his head
and shoulders reared themselves above the crowd, and he stood there the
observed of all observers. He was dressed in a manner which suggested a
calling partly attached to the sea and partly to do with the profession
of arms, and if there had been any doubt in the minds of those who
watched him, and listened to his harangue, his language, which was
plentifully mingled with coarse nautical expressions of that day, and
his weather-beaten and rugged features, would have assured them at once
that he at least looked to ships and to the sea for his living. Peter
Tamworth was indeed a sailor, every inch of him, but he had been
schooled to other things, and had learned to use arms at times and in
places where failure to protect himself would have led to dire
consequences.
He was a merry fellow, too, for he laughed and joked with the crowd, his
eyes rolling in a peculiar manner all his own. His nose was large, huge
in fact, and of a colour which seemed to betoken a fondness for carousal
when opportunity occurred. A stubbly beard grew at his chin, while the
upper lip was clean shaven, or had been on the previous Sunday, it being
Peter's custom to indulge in a visit to the barber on that day if it
happened that he was in port. A pair of massive shoulders, into which
the neck seemed to be far sunk, completed an appearance, so far as it
could be seen, which seemed to denote a stout fellow, fond of the good
things to be found in this world, and not lacking in courage and
determination when the time for blows arrived. A little later, when he
leaped from the barrel and appeared in the open, it was seen that a
ragged pair of hose covered massive legs, which were unusually bowed,
and should have belonged to a horseman rather than to one who followed
the calling of the sea.
"Come, my masters," he called out again, holding the plaque above his
head, and drumming upon it with the handle of his dagger till it rang
clearly and sweetly like a silver gong. "Here is the Image of the Sun,
and in gold! Yes, gentles and people, I commend this plaque to your
careful attention. 'Tis solid gold--the gold of the Indies, the gold
with which our Spanish cousins get rich and fatten."
The words were sufficient to call the crowd hovering in that
neighbourhood more closely about him. They came running from the
entrance to London Bridge, where many had been lolling, enjoying the
sunshine, and watching the loading of the ships which lay on the mud
below. They came, too, from the city, along old Watling Street, or from
Lombard Street, from beneath the shadow of St. Paul's, then a fine
building which dominated the city of London. For no fire had then
occurred to destroy it, and no monument stood at the opening of the
bridge to tell future Londoners of the danger that had once threatened
their capital. Indeed, though the streets about were narrow, there were
wide spaces here and there, and trees and green fields were very close
at hand. Country people could be seen in the markets not far away, while
the pavements supported a mixture of peaceful folk, of men at arms, or
friars in their robes, and of seamen from the adjacent river. A <DW64>
could occasionally be seen, for Portugal had imported many to her shores
years before, and some had drifted to England, or were employed on the
ships. Whoever they were, whatever their calling, the tale of gold from
the Indies brought them running to the spot where stood Peter Tamworth.
"Gold from the Spanish possessions across the sea," said one city
merchant to his friend as they listened. "They say that Ferdinand of
Spain rolls in riches, that his chairs are of gold, and that his
clothing is heavy with pearls and other jewels. And this fellow, this
rascal, tells us that he has some of the spoil. 'Tis not so easily
gathered. These Spaniards jealously guard their discovery, for, were it
otherwise, there are many who would take ship and try their own fortune
at discovery."
"Many in high places, too," responded his friend, a wizened little man,
who seemed to take the mention of so much gold as a personal affront.
"Riches, indeed, have these Spaniards, and it would be right and proper
if they could be divided."
"Between ourselves, friend, no doubt," laughed the other. "That is a
course to which I give the warmest approval. And 'tis said that even the
king's majesty would stoop to a portion, for his coffers are reported
low."
"And he bears but little love for Ferdinand and Spain. 'Tis
whispered"--he took his comrade by the sleeve and pulled him closer, so
as to speak into his ear--"'tis whispered, and with some truth, by all
accounts, that his Majesty would fain divorce his queen from Aragon, and
take Anne Boleyn in her place. No doubt, if he would do that, he would
also agree to a division of the Indies. But listen to the rascal. He
pretends that the plaque is gold. Way there for his worship, the most
worthy governor of the honourable company of spectacle-makers."
The pompous little fellow prodded those in front, and urged them to one
side, his comrade, a big, genial-looking man, following with a polite
bow, and muttered thanks as the people gave way; for the London
companies were then at the summit of their power, and a governor was a
personage to be reckoned with.
"Gold, I say! Solid gold of more than eighteen carats!" shouted Peter,
unabashed by the presence of such a crowd. "An image of the sun,
beautifully engraved, as all may see who care to approach, and bearing a
plan, as it seems to me, on the reverse. There, gentles and his worship
the governor, come closer and look. Here are roads carved upon the face
of the plaque, roads and houses, and a space all round, no doubt meant
for open country."
"Or the sea, my fine fellow," said the governor, whose prominent
position in London had given him easy passage to the very foot of the
barrel. "Look for yourself. Here are rocks, and, as I live, | 861.94141 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
No. 29
SEPT. 11, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
MAKE UP
OR PLAYING
A NEW ROLE
_BY
THE AUTHOR
OF
"MOTOR MATT"_
_Street & Smith
Publishers
New York_
[Illustration: _"Maskee!" cried the astounded Hindoo as Motor Matt
leaped at him_]
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Copyright, 1909, by_
STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
=No. 29.= NEW YORK, September 11, 1909. =Price Five Cents.=
MOTOR MATT'S MAKE-UP;
OR,
PLAYING A NEW RÔLE.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HIGH JINKS IN THE SIDE SHOW.
CHAPTER II. THE "BARKER" SHOWS HIS TEETH.
CHAPTER III. THE MAN FROM WASHINGTON.
CHAPTER IV. A CLUE IN HINDOOSTANEE.
CHAPTER V. SOMETHING WRONG.
CHAPTER VI. A BLUNDER IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PILE OF SOOT.
CHAPTER IX. MATT MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
CHAPTER X. RESCUE!
CHAPTER XI. BILL WILY REPENTS.
CHAPTER XII. MATT LAYS HIS PLANS.
CHAPTER XIII. MOTOR CAR AND AEROPLANE.
CHAPTER XIV. THE OAK OPENING.
CHAPTER XV. AEROPLANE WINS!
CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.
A BRAVE DEED.
A LOCOMOTIVE HERO.
GEESE DROWN A SQUIRREL.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Carl Pretzel=, an old chum who flags Motor Matt and more trouble
than he can manage, at about the same time. In the rôle of detective,
he makes many blunders, wise and otherwise, finding success only to
wonder how he did it.
=Ping=, the Chinese boy.
=Ben Ali=, the Hindoo hypnotist and elephant trainer, who executes a
master-stroke in the matter of his niece, Margaret Manners, and finds
that a letter in Hindoostanee can sometimes prove a boomerang.
=Dhondaram and Aurung Zeeb=, two Hindoos who have appeared before as
confederates of the crafty Ben Ali, and who now show themselves for
the last time in their villainous part, and vanish--one into prison
and the other into parts unknown.
=Margaret Manners=, the niece of the rascally Ben Ali and a ward of
the British nation temporarily. In her particular case, justice is
slow in righting a grievous wrong--and would have been slower but for
Motor Matt and his aëroplane.
=Reginald Pierce Twomley=, who represents the British ambassador,
wears a monocle, and who, in a passage at arms with Dhondaram, proves
himself a man in McGlory's eyes and a near-pard.
=Boss Burton=, manager and proprietor of the "Big Consolidated," who,
in his usual manner, forms hasty conclusions, discovers his errors,
and shows no sign of repentance.
=The Bearded Lady, the Armless Wonder, the Elastic Skin Man, the Zulu
chief and the Ossified Man=, all freaks in the side-show tent, who
appear briefly but brilliantly in the light of a Roman candle.
CHAPTER I.
HIGH JINKS IN THE SIDE SHOW.
"Hello, dere, Viskers!" grinned Carl Pretzel, reaching up to grab the
hairy paw of the Zulu chief.
"Howdy, Dutch!" answered the chief, with a nasal twang that suggested
New England. "By Jocks, I ain't seen yeou in quite a spell. How's
tricks, huh?"
"Dricks iss fine, I bed you. Say, sheef, dis iss mein leedle shink
bard, Ping Pong. He iss der pest efer--oxcept me. Shake hants, Ping,
mit a Zulu sheef vat vas porn near Pangor, Maine."
"Tickled tew death," said the chief effusively, taking the yellow palm
of a small Chinaman who pushed himself closer to the platform.
The scene was the side-show tent of the "Big Consolidated," Boss
Burton's "Tented Aggregation of the World's Marvels." The show had
raised its "tops" at Reid's Lake, near the city of Grand Rapids. A high
wind had prevented Motor Matt from giving his outdoor exhibition of
aëroplane flying, and the disappointed crowds were besieging the side
show, eager to beguile the time until the doors for the big show were
open.
With the exception of Carl and Ping, no outsiders had yet entered the
side-show tent. Carl, having once played the banjo for the Zulu chief
while he was dancing on broken glass in his bare feet, was a privileged
character. He had walked into the tent without so much as a "by your
leave," and he had escorted Ping without any adverse comment by the man
on the door.
The freaks and wonders of the side show were all on their platforms and
ready to be viewed. The Ossified Man had been dusted off for the last
time, the Bearded Lady had just arranged her beard most becomingly, the
Elastic Skin Man was giving a few warming-up snaps to his rubberoid
epidermis, the Educated Pig was being put through a preliminary stunt
by the gentlemanly exhibitor, and the Armless Wonder was sticking a
copy of the Stars and Stripes in the base of a wooden pyramid--using
his toes.
The Armless Wonder occupied the same platform as the Zulu chief. His
specialty was to stand on his head on the wooden pyramid, hold a Roman
candle with one foot, light it with the other, and shoot vari-
balls through a hole in the tent roof. In front of the Wonder,
neatly piled on the little stage, were half a dozen long paper tubes
containing the fire balls.
"How you was, Dutch?" inquired the Wonder, doubling up in his chair and
drawing a bandanna handkerchief over his perspiring face with his foot.
"_Ganz goot_," laughed Carl, carelessly picking up one of the Roman
candles. "I vill make you acguainted, oof you blease, mit mein leedle
shink bard."
"Shake!" cried the Wonder heartily, offering his right foot. "It does
me proud to meet up with a friend of Pretzel's."
"Allee same happy days," remarked Ping, releasing the foot and backing
away.
"Yeou tew kids aire chums, huh?" put in the Zulu chief, leaning down to
arrange the row of photographs in front of him.
"Surest t'ing vat you know," answered Carl.
"Dutchy boy heap fine," declared Ping. "We both one-piecee pards."
"That's the talk!" exclaimed the Armless Wonder. "Too much weather for
the flyin' machine to-day, huh? Motor Matt was afeared to go up, I
reckon, Dutch?"
"Afraidt?" protested Carl. "Modor Matt vasn't afraidt oof anyt'ing.
He couldn't haf shtaid ofer der show grounds, und dot's der reason he
dit'nt go oop. Der vind vould haf plowed him galley-vest, und den some."
"I see. These here aëroplanes are hard things to handle, and----Holy
smoke! Drop it! Put it out!"
Carl, as has already been stated, had picked up one of the Roman
candles. While talking with the Armless Wonder, he leaned back against
a tent pole and clasped his hands--the candle in one of them--behind
him.
Ping had stepped back. The Roman candle, held fuse end outward, looked
most inviting. Digging a match out of his kimono, Ping scratched it on
the pole and applied the flame unseen to the fuse.
While the Armless Wonder was talking, Carl heard a long-drawn-out hiss,
a smell of smoke came to his nostrils, and a Niagara of sparks floated
around him. Naturally he was startled, and it flashed over him that
something was wrong with the Roman candle. Bringing the candle around
in front of him for examination, he had it leveled at the Wonder the
very instant the first fire ball was due. The ball was not behind
schedule. Rushing from the end of the tube, it caught the Wonder in the
breast, and he turned a back somersault off the platform.
Bewildered by the mysterious cause of the situation, Carl swerved the
candle in order to get a look through the smoke and sparks at the place
where the Wonder had been seated.
A roar came from the Zulu chief. A ball of flaming red had slapped
against his shoulder, and he jumped for the next platform on the right.
Landing on the edge, his weight overturned the structure. There was a
scream from the Bearded Lady and a whoop from the Elastic Skin Man, and
the next moment they landed in a tangled heap on top of the Zulu chief.
"Put it out!" the Armless Wonder continued to yell.
"Point it up or down!" bellowed the gentlemanly trainer of the Educated
Pig.
"Ged some vater!" howled Carl, running back and forth and waving the
candle; "ged a pucket oof vater und I vill drown der t'ing in it!"
The Dutch boy didn't know what to do. If he dropped the candle he
might get hit with some of the balls himself, and if he turned it
straight upward he might set fire to the top of the tent. While he was
running up and down, trying frantically to think of some way out of the
trouble, of course the fire stick was continuing to unload.
Whizz--slap!
A wad of yellow fire hit the Pig, which squealed and bolted. The
gentlemanly attendant tried to head off the Porcine Marvel, but it ran
between his outspread feet and knocked him off the stand. A rain of
lettered blocks followed.
The frantic Pig bunted into Ping, tripped him, and hurled him against
Carl. Both boys went down, and Carl rolled over and over, discharging
red, white, and blue balls as he revolved.
Up to that moment the Ossified Man had escaped. But now his turn had
come. He was said to have been turning to stone for thirty years, and
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THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
By REX BEACH
Author of "THE SILVER HORDE" "THE SPOILERS" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.
Illustrated
TO
MY WIFE
CONTENTS
I. VICTORY
II. THE TRAIL DIVIDES
III. A GAP
IV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES
V. A REMEDY IS PROPOSED
VI. IN WHICH KIRK ANTHONY IS GREATLY SURPRISED
VII. THE REWARD OF MERIT
VIII. EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND
IX. SPANISH LAW
X. A CHANGE OF PLAN
XI. THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. CORTLANDT
XII. A NIGHT AT TABOGA
XIII. CHIQUITA
XIV. THE PATH THAT LED NOWHERE
XV. ALIAS JEFFERSON LOCKE
XVI. "8838"
XVII. GARAVEL THE BANKER
XVIII. THE SIEGE OF MARIA TORRES
XIX. "LA TOSCA"
XX. AN AWAKENING
XXI. THE REST OF THE FAMILY
XXII. A CHALLENGE AND A CONFESSION
XXIII. A PLOT AND A SACRIFICE
XXIV. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION
XXV. CHECKMATE!
XXVI. THE CRASH
XXVII. A QUESTION
XXVIII. THE ANSWER
XXIX. A LAST APPEAL
XXX. DARWIN K ANTHONY
THE NE'ER-DO-WELL
I
VICTORY
It was a crisp November night. The artificial brilliance of Broadway
was rivalled by a glorious moonlit sky. The first autumn frost was in
the air, and on the side-streets long rows of taxicabs were standing,
their motors blanketed, their chauffeurs threshing their arms to rout
the cold. A few well-bundled cabbies, perched upon old-style hansoms,
were barking at the stream of hurrying pedestrians. Against a
background of lesser lights myriad points of electric signs flashed
into everchanging shapes, winking like huge, distorted eyes; fanciful
designs of liquid fire ran up and down the walls or blazed forth in
lurid colors. From the city's canons came an incessant clanging roar,
as if a great river of brass and steel were grinding its way toward the
sea.
Crowds began to issue from the theatres, and the lines of waiting
vehicles broke up, filling the streets with the whir of machinery and
the clatter of hoofs. A horde of shrill-voiced urchins pierced the
confusion, waving their papers and screaming the football scores at the
tops of their lusty lungs, while above it all rose the hoarse tones of
carriage callers, the commands of traffic officers, and the din of
street-car gongs.
In the lobby of one of the playhouses a woman paused to adjust her
wraps, and, hearing the cries of the newsboys, petulantly exclaimed:
"I'm absolutely sick of football. That performance during the third act
was enough to disgust one."
Her escort smiled. "Oh, you take it too seriously," he said. "Those
boys don't mean anything. That was merely Youth--irrepressible Youth,
on a tear. You wouldn't spoil the fun?"
"It may have been Youth," returned his companion, "but it sounded more
like the end of the world. It was a little too much!"
A bevy of shop-girls came bustling forth from a gallery exit.
"Rah! rah! rah!" they mimicked, whereupon the cry was answered by a
hundred throats as the doors belched forth the football players and
their friends. Out they came, tumbling, pushing, jostling; greeting
scowls and smiles with grins of insolent good-humor. In their hands
were decorated walking-sticks and flags, ragged and tattered as if from
long use in a heavy gale. Dignified old gentlemen dived among them in
pursuit of top-hats; hysterical matrons hustled daughters into
carriages and slammed the doors.
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" shrilled the newsboys. "Full account of the big game!"
A youth with a ridiculous little hat and heliotrope socks dashed into
the street, where, facing the crowd, he led a battle song of his
university. Policemen set their shoulders to the mob, but, though they
met with no open resistance, they might as well have tried to dislodge
a thicket of saplings. To-night football was king.
Out through the crowd came a score of deep-chested young men moving
together as if to resist an attack, whereupon a mighty roar went up.
The cheer-leader increased his antics, and the barking yell changed to
a measured chant, to the time of which the army marched down the street
until the twenty athletes dodged in through the revolving doors of a
cafe, leaving Broadway rocking with the tumult.
All the city was football-mad, it seemed, for no sooner had the
new-comers entered the restaurant than the diners rose to wave napkins
or to cheer. Men stepped upon chairs and craned for a better sight of
them; women raised their voices in eager questioning. A gentleman in
evening dress pointed out the leader of the squad to his companions,
explaining:
"That is Anthony--the big chap. He's Darwin K. Anthony's son. You've
heard about the Anthony bill at Albany?"
"Yes, and I saw this fellow play football four years ago. Say! That was
a game."
"He's a worthless sort of chap, isn't he?" remarked one of the women,
when the squad had disappeared up the stairs.
"Just a rich man's son, that's all. But he certainly could play
football."
"Didn't I read that he had been sent to jail recently?"
"No doubt. He was given thirty days."
"What! in PRISON?" questioned another, in a shocked voice.
"Only for speeding. It was his third offence, and his father let him
take his medicine."
"How cruel!"
"Old man Anthony doesn't care for this sort of thing. He's right, too.
All this young fellow is good for is to spend money."
Up in the banquet-hall, however, it was evident that Kirk Anthony was
more highly esteemed by his mates than by the public at large. He was
their hero, in fact, and in a way he deserved it. For three years
before his graduation he had been the heart and sinew of the university
team, and for the four years following he had coached them, preferring
the life of an athletic trainer to the career his father had offered
him. And he had done his chosen work well.
Only three weeks prior to the hard gruel of the great game the eleven
had received a blow that had left its supporters dazed and despairing.
There had been a scandal, of which the public had heard little and the
students scarcely more, resulting in the expulsion of the five best
players of the team. The crisis might have daunted the most resourceful
of men, yet Anthony had proved equal to it. For twenty-one days he had
labored like a real general, spending his nights alone with diagrams
and little dummies on a miniature gridiron, his days in careful
coaching. He had taken a huge, ungainly Nova Scotian lad named Ringold
for centre; he had placed a square-jawed, tow-headed boy from Duluth in
the line; he had selected a high-strung, unseasoned chap, who for two
years had been eating his heart out on the side-lines, and made him
into a quarter-back.
Then he had driven them all with the cruelty of a Cossack captain; and
when at last the dusk of this November day had settled, new football
history had been made. The world had seen a strange team snatch victory
from defeat, and not one of all | 861.981102 |
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Produced by Neville Allen,Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MAY 3, 1890.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.
[Illustration]
No. X.--TOMMY AND HIS SISTER JANE.
Once more we draw upon our favourite source of inspiration--the poems of
the Misses TAYLOR. The dramatist | 862.07891 |
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Produced by Ruth Hart
[Note: I have made the following spelling changes: qualites which
strike to qualities which strike, revelled in to reveled in, proteges to
proteges, voluptuous femininty to voluptuous femininity, tyrrannise
to tyrannise, Montagus to Montagues, Zarathrustra to Zarathustra,
antiChrist to anti-Christ, Car nous voulous to Car nous voulons,
Gelent votre chair to Gelent votre chair, slips in in to slips in,
irrresponsible a temperament to irresponsible a temperament,
common occurences to common occurrences, philanthrophy to
philanthropy, demogorgon to Demogorgon, somethings which palls
upon us to something which palls upon us, never encounted to never
encountered, Arimathaea to Arimathea, the the contemptuous libels
to the contemptuous libels, lapsed soul to lapsed soul, philsophical
motto to philosophical motto, sybilline to sibylline, pseudo-latin to
pseudo-Latin, and ninteenth century to nineteenth century.]
SUSPENDED JUDGMENTS
ESSAYS ON BOOKS AND SENSATIONS
JOHN COWPER POWYS
1916
G. ARNOLD SHAW
NEW YORK
Copyright, 1916, by G. Arnold Shaw
Copyright in Great Britain and the Colonies
DEDICATED
TO MY DEAR FRIEND
BERNARD PRICE O'NEILL
CONTENTS
The Art of Discrimination 3
Montaigne 17
Pascal 47
Voltaire 63
Rousseau 83
Balzac 107
Victor Hugo 133
Guy de Maupassant 149
Anatole France 171
Paul Verlaine 197
Remy de Gourmont 225
William Blake 257
Byron 279
Emily Bronte 313
Joseph Conrad 337
Henry James 367
Oscar Wilde 401
Suspended Judgment 425
THE ART OF DISCRIMINATION
The world divides itself into people who can discriminate and
people who cannot discriminate. This is the ultimate test of
sensitiveness; and sensitiveness alone separates us and unites us.
We all create, or have created for us by the fatality of our
temperament, a unique and individual universe. It is only by
bringing into light the most secret and subtle elements of this
self-contained system of things that we can find out where our lonely
orbits touch.
Like all primordial aspects of life the situation is double-edged and
contradictory.
The further we emphasise and drag forth, out of their reluctant
twilight, the lurking attractions and antipathies of our destiny, the
nearer, at once, and the more obscure, we find ourselves growing, to
those about us.
And the wisdom of the difficult game we are called upon to play,
lies in just this very antinomy,--in just this very contradiction--that
to make ourselves better understood we have to emphasise our
differences, and to touch the universe of our friend we have to travel
away from him, on a curve of free sky.
The cultivation of what in us is lonely and unique creates of
necessity a perpetual series of shocks and jars. The unruffled nerves
of the lower animals become enviable, and we fall into moods of
malicious reaction and vindictive recoil. And yet,--for Nature makes
use even of what is named evil to pursue her cherished ends--the
very betrayal of our outraged feelings produces no unpleasant effect
upon the minds of others. They know us better so, and the sense of
power in them is delicately gratified by the spectacle of our
weakness; even as ours is by the spectacle of theirs.
The art of discrimination is the art of letting oneself go, more and
more wilfully; letting oneself go along the lines of one's unique
predilections; letting oneself go with the resolute push of the
inquisitive intellect; the intellect whose role it is to register--with
just all the preciseness it may--every one of the little discoveries we
make on the long road.
The difference between interesting and uninteresting critics of life,
is just the difference between those who have refused to let
themselves be thus carried away, on the stream of their fatality, and
those who have not refused. That is why in all the really arresting
writers and artists there is something equivocal and disturbing when
we come to know them.
Genius itself, in the last analysis, is not so much the possession of
unusual vision--some of the most powerful geniuses have a vision
quite mediocre and blunt--as the possession of a certain demonic
driving-force, which pushes them on to be themselves, in all the
fatal narrowness and obstinacy, it may be, of their personal
temperament.
The art of discrimination is precisely what such characters are born
with; hence the almost savage manner in which they resent the
beckonings of alien appeals; appeals which would draw them out of
their pre-ordained track.
One can see in the passionate preference displayed by men of real
power for the society of simple and even truculent persons over that
of those who are urbanely plastic and versatile, how true this is.
Between their own creative wilfulness and the more static obstinacy
of these former, there is an instinctive bond; whereas the tolerant
and colourless cleverness of the latter disconcerts and puzzles them.
This is why--led by a profound instinct--the wisest men of genius
select for their female companions the most surprising types, and
submit to the most wretched tyranny. Their craving for the sure
ground of unequivocal naturalness helps them to put up with what
else were quite intolerable.
For it is the typical modern person, of normal culture and playful
expansiveness, who is the mortal enemy of the art of discrimination.
Such a person's shallow cleverness and conventional good-temper is
more withering to the soul of the artist than the blindest bigotry
which has the recklessness of genuine passion behind it.
Not to like or to dislike people and things, but to tolerate and
patronise a thousand passionate universes, is to put yourself out of
the pale of all discrimination. To discriminate is to refine upon one's
passions by the process of bringing them into intelligent
consciousness. The head alone cannot discriminate; no! not with all
the technical knowledge in the world; for the head cannot love nor
hate, it can only observe and register.
Nor can the nerves alone discriminate; for they can only cry aloud
with a blind cry. In the management of this art, what we need is the
nerves and the head together, playing up to one another; and,
between them, carrying further--always a little further--the silent
advance, along the road of experience, of the insatiable soul.
It is indeed only in this way that one comes to recognise what is,
surely, of the essence of all criticism; the fact, namely, that the
artists we care most for are doing just the thing we are doing
ourselves--doing it in their own way and with their own inviolable
secret, but limited, just as we are, by the basic limitations of all flesh.
The art of discrimination is, after all, only the art of appreciation,
applied negatively as well as positively; applied to the flinging away
from us and the reducing to non-existence for us, of all those forms
and modes of being, for which, in the original determination of our
taste, we were not, so to speak, born.
And this is precisely what, in a yet more rigorous manner, the artists
whose original and subtle paths we trace, effected for themselves in
their own explorations.
What is remarkable about this cult of criticism is the way in which it
lands us back | 862.139188 |
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E-text prepared by Bebra Knutson and revised by David Edwards and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net). The original
illustrations were generously made available by Internet Archive
(https://archive.org).
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 5312-h.htm or 5312-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5312/5312-h/5312-h.htm)
or
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MOTHER GOOSE IN PROSE
[Illustration: "There was a little man and he had a little gun"]
[Illustration]
MOTHER GOOSE IN PROSE
by
L. FRANK BAUM
Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish
New York
MCMI
Contents
Introduction 9
Sing a Song o' Sixpence 19
The Story of Little Boy Blue 31
The Cat and the Fiddle 45
The Black Sheep 55
Old King Cole 65
Mistress Mary 75
The Wond'rous Wise Man 89
What Jack Horner Did 99
The Man in the Moon 109
The Jolly Miller 119
The Little Man and His Little Gun 131
Hickory, Dickory, Dock 141
Little Bo-Peep 151
The Story of Tommy Tucker 163
Pussy-cat Mew 175
How the Beggars Came to Town 183
Tom, the Piper's Son 199
Humpty Dumpty 207
The Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 221
Little Miss Muffet 233
Three Wise Men of Gotham 245
Little Bun Rabbit 257
Illustrations
"There was a little man and he had a little gun" _Frontispiece_
Little Boy Blue 36
The Black Sheep 58
Old King Cole 68
The Wond'rous Wise Man 92
Jack Horner 102
The Man in the Moon 112
Little Bo-Peep 156
Tommy Tucker 166
Tom, the Piper's Son 200
Humpty Dumpty 212
Three Wise Men of Gotham 248
Introduction.
NONE of us, whether children or adults, needs an introduction to Mother
Goose. Those things which are earliest impressed upon our minds cling
to them the most tenaciously. The snatches sung in the nursery are
never forgotten, nor are they ever recalled without bringing back with
them myriads of slumbering feelings and half-forgotten images.
We hear the sweet, low voice of the mother, singing soft lullabies
to her darling, and see the kindly, wrinkled face of the grandmother
as she croons the old ditties to quiet our restless spirits. One
generation is linked to another by the everlasting spirit of song; the
ballads of the nursery follow us from childhood to old age, and they
are readily brought from memory's recesses at any time to amuse our
children or our grandchildren.
The collection of jingles we know and love as the "Melodies of Mother
Goose" are evidently drawn from a variety of sources. While they are,
taken altogether, a happy union of rhyme, wit, pathos, satire and
sentiment, the research after the author of each individual verse
would indeed be hopeless. It would be folly to suppose them all the
composition of uneducated old nurses, for many of them contain much
reflection, wit and melody. It is said that Shelley wrote "Pussy-Cat
Mew," and Dean Swift "Little Bo-Peep," and these assertions are as
difficult to disprove as to prove. Some of the older verses, however,
are doubtless offshoots from ancient Folk Lore songs, and have
descended to us through many centuries.
The connection of Mother Goose with the rhymes which bear her name is
difficult to determine, and, in fact, three countries claim her for
their own: France, England and America.
About the year 1650 there appeared in circulation in London a small
book, named "Rhymes of the Nursery; or Lulla-Byes for Children," which
contained many of the identical pieces that have been handed down to
us; but the name of Mother Goose was evidently not then known. In this
edition were the rhymes of "Little Jack Horner," "Old King Cole,"
"Mistress Mary," "Sing a Song o' Sixpence," and "Little Boy Blue."
In 1697 Charles Perrault published in France a book of children's tales
entitled "Contes de ma Mere Oye," and this is really the first time we
find authentic record of the use of the name of Mother Goose, although
Perrault's tales differ materially from those we now know under this
title. They comprised "The Sleeping Beauty," "The Fairy," "Little Red
Riding-Hood," "Blue Beard," "Puss in Boots," "Riquet with the Tuft,"
"Cinderella," and "Little Thumb;" eight stories in all. On the cover
of the book was depicted an old lady holding in her hand a distaff and
surrounded by a group of children listening eagerly. Mr. Andrew Lang
has edited a beautiful English edition of this work (Oxford, 1888).
America bases her claim to Mother Goose upon the following statement,
made by the late John Fleet Eliot, a descendant of Thomas Fleet, the
printer:
At the beginning of the eighteenth century there lived in Boston a
lady named Eliza Goose (written also Vergoose and Vertigoose) who
belonged to a wealthy family. Her eldest daughter, Elizabeth Goose
(or Vertigoose), was married by Rev. Cotton Mather in 1715 to an
enterprising and industrious printer named Thomas Fleet, and in
due time gave birth to a son. Like most mothers-in-law in our day,
the importance of Mrs. Goose increased with the appearance of her
grandchild, and poor Mr. Fleet, half distracted with her endless
nursery ditties, finding all other means fail, tried what ridicule
could effect, and actually printed a book under the title "Songs of the
Nursery; or, Mother Goose's Melodies for Children." On the title page
was the picture of a goose with a very long neck and a mouth wide open,
and below this, "Printed by T. Fleet, at his Printing House in Pudding
Lane, 1719. Price, two coppers."
Mr. Wm. A. Wheeler, the editor of Hurd & Houghton's elaborate edition
of Mother Goose, (1870), reiterated this assertion, and a writer in
the Boston Transcript of June 17, 1864, says: "Fleet's book was partly
a reprint of an English collection of songs, (Barclay's), and the new
title was doubtless a compliment by the printer to his mother-in-law
Goose for her contributions. She was the mother of sixteen children and
a typical 'Old Woman who lived in a Shoe.'"
We may take it to be true that Fleet's wife was of the Vergoose family,
and that the name was often contracted to Goose. But the rest of the
story is unsupported by any evidence whatever. In fact, all that Mr.
Eliot knew of it was the statement of the late Edward A. Crowninshield,
of Boston, that he had seen Fleet's edition in the library of the
American Antiquarian Society. Repeated researches at Worcester having
failed to bring to light this supposed copy, and no record of it | 862.141214 |
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Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Veronika Redfern and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
MABEL.
A NOVEL,
BY EMMA WARBURTON.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
1854.
TO
MISS EMMA TYLNEY LONG,
THIS WORK
IS INSCRIBED
AS A SLIGHT BUT SINCERE EXPRESSION
OF GRATEFUL ESTEEM.
MABEL.
CHAPTER I.
Oh, timely, happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise,
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new.
New every morning is the love,
Our waking and uprising prove,
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
KEEBLE.
One morning, early in the month of August, a few years since, the sun
rose lazily and luxuriously over the hills that bounded the little
village of Aston, which lay in one of the prettiest valleys of
Gloucestershire. The golden beams of that glorious luminary falling
first upon the ivy-covered tower of the little church, seemed, to the
eye of fancy, to linger with pleasure round the sacred edifice, as if
glad to recognize the altar of Him, who, from the beginning, had fixed
his daily course through the bright circle of the heavens, then pouring
a flood of brilliancy on the simple rectory, danced over the hills, and
played with the many windows of the old Manor House, which, situated at
a short distance from the church, formed one of the most striking
objects of the village.
Only here and there a thick volume of smoke rose from the cottages
scattered over the valley, while the only living object visible was a
young man, who thus early walked down the steep and winding path, which
led from the rectory, and strolled leisurely forward, as if attracted by
the beauties of the early morning. The slow pace with which he moved
seemed to betoken either indolence or fatigue, while his dress, which
was of the latest fashion, slightly contrasted with the ancient-looking
simplicity of the place.
Captain Clair, for such was his name, had quitted his regiment, then in
India, and returned to England, with the hope of recruiting his health,
which had been considerably impaired by his residence abroad.
On the preceding evening, he had arrived at the rectory, upon a visit to
his uncle, who wished him to try the bracing air of Gloucestershire as a
change from town, where he had been lingering for some little time since
his return to England.
In person, the young officer was slight and well made, with a becoming
military air; his countenance light and fresh, spite of Indian
suns, and, on the whole, prepossessing, though not untinged by certain
worldly characters, as if he had entered perhaps too thoughtlessly on a
world of sin and temptation.
There is, however, something still and holy in the early morning, when
the sin and folly of nature has slept, or seemed to sleep, and life
again awakes with fresh energy to labor. The dew from heaven has not
fallen upon the herb alone, it seems to rest upon the spirit of man
which rises full of renewed strength to that toil before which it sank
heavily at eve; and as Captain Clair felt the breeze rising with its
dewy incense to heaven, his mind seemed to receive fresh impetus, and
his thoughts a higher tone. Languidly as he pursued his way, his eye
drank in the beauties of a new country, with all the fervour of a
poetical imagination.
On the right and left of the village, as he entered it, were high hills,
covered with brushwood, a few cottages, with their simple gardens, lay
in the hollow, and the church, standing nearly alone, was built a
little above these, having the hill on the left immediately behind it.
There was great beauty in that simple church, with that thickly covered
hill above, and nothing near to disturb its solemnity.
Further on, the hills opened, and gave a view of the whole country
beyond, presenting a scene of loveliness very common in our fertile
island. A small but beautiful river wound through the valley, carrying
life and fertility along its banks. Wide spreading oaks and tall
beeches, with the graceful birch and chestnut trees bending their lower
branches nearly to the green turf beneath, enclosed the grounds of the
Manor House, which, built on a gentle ascent, looked down on the
peaceful valley below.
The house, itself, was a fine old building, well suited to the habits of
a country gentleman, though not so large as the gardens and plantation
surrounding it, might have admitted. These had been gradually acquired
by each successive owner of the mansion, who took pleasure in adding to
the family estate by purchasing all property immediately adjoining, but
had wisely refrained from patching and spoiling the house itself.
Captain Clair was determined to admire every thing; he had got up
unusually early, and that in itself was a meritorious action, which put
him in perfect good humour with himself. It was a very pleasant morning,
too, numbers of insects, he had scarcely ever seen or thought of since
he was a boy, attracted his attention, and flew out from the dewy
hedges, over which the white lily, or bindweed, hung in careless grace.
The butterfly awoke, and sported in the sunshine--and the bee went forth
to the busy labors of the day, humming the song of cheerful industry.
All combined to bring back long forgotten days of innocent childhood and
boyish mirth; the pulse which an Indian clime had weakened, beat
quicker, and his spirits revived before the influence of happy memories
and the healthy breezes of the Cotswold. Then, as the morning advanced,
he lingered to watch the movements of the villagers, and to muse upon
the characters of the inmates of the different cottages as he passed
them, and to observe that those who dwelt in the neatest were those who
stirred the first. The labourers had gone to their work, and now the
windows and doors were opened, and children came forth to play.
As he returned again to reach the rectory in time for its early
breakfast, he perceived one dwelling much superior in character to those
around it, with its antique gable front ornamented with carefully
arranged trelliswork, over which creepers twined in flowery luxuriance,
and the simple lawn sloping down towards the road, from which a low,
sunk fence divided it. Here, careless of observation, a young child had
seated herself--her straw hat upon the turf beside | 862.142411 |
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[Decoration]
THE VOIAGE AND TRAVAYLE OF SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE, KNIGHT.
[Decoration]
THE VOIAGE AND TRAVAYLE
OF
SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE
KNIGHT
WHICH TREATETH OF THE WAY TOWARD HIERUSALEM
AND OF MARVAYLES OF INDE WITH OTHER
ILANDS AND COUNTREYS
_EDITED, ANNOTATED, AND ILLUSTRATED IN FACSIMILE_
BY
JOHN ASHTON
_Author of "Chap Books of the 18th Century," "Social
Life in the Reign of Queen Anne," "English Caricature and
Satire on Napoleon I.," &c._
[Illustration: Logo]
LONDON
PICKERING & CHATTO
66, HAYMARKET
1887
CHISWICK PRESS:--C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT,
CHANCERY LANE.
[Decoration]
PREFACE.
I HAVE edited, and illustrated "The Voiage and Travayle of Syr John
Maundeville, Knight," for two reasons. First, that a popular edition
has not been published for many years--so much so, that many otherwise
well educated people hardly know his name; or, if they do, have never
read his book of Marvels. Secondly, a good edition has not yet been
published. Putting aside the chap-books of the eighteenth century,
which could only cram a small portion of his book into their little
duodecimos, the only English versions of this century are the reprint
by Halliwell, in 1839, of the _reprint_ in 1725-1727, of the early
fifteenth century MS. (Cotton, Tit. c. 16), which he again reprinted
in 1866,[1] the edition in "Bohn's Classical Library" ("Early Travels
in Palestine"), 1848; and "The English Explorers," which forms part
of Nimmo's "National Library," 1875. There was also a small edition
published in Cassell's "National Library" in 1886 in modern English.
Halliwell's reprint of the Cotton MS. is open to objection, because
the language of the MS. is specially rude, and can only be understood
by professed antiquaries, no footnotes explanatory of the text being
given, only a glossary at the end of the book. Also, Mr. Halli | 862.142558 |
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THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were born after I had withdrawn from the Presbyterian
church, and they have therefore not been baptised. But you are, all
three of you, now sufficiently advanced in years, and in training, to
be interested in, and I trust also, to be benefited by, the story of my
religious evolution. I am going to put the story in writing that you may
have it with you when I am gone, to remind you of the aims and interests
for which I lived, as well as to acquaint you with the most earnest and
intimate period in my career as a teacher of men. If you should ever
become parents yourselves, and your children should feel inclined to
lend their support to dogma, I hope you will prevail upon them, first to
read the story of their grand-father, who fought his way out of the camp
of orthodoxy by grappling with each dogma, hand to hand and breast to
breast.
I have no fear that you yourselves will ever be drawn into the meshes of
orthodoxy, which cost me my youth and the best years of my life to break
through, or that you will permit motives of self-interest to estrange
you from the Cause of Rationalism with which my life has been so closely
identified. My assurance of your loyalty to freedom of thought in
religion is not based, nor do I desire it to be based, on considerations
of respect or affection which you may entertain for me as your father,
but on your ability and willingness to verify a proposition before
assenting to it. Do not believe me because I am your parent, but believe
what you have yourselves, by conscientious and earnest endeavor, found
to be worthy of belief. It will never be said of you, that you have
inherited your opinions from me, or borrowed them from your neighbors,
if you can give a reason for the faith that is in you.
I wish you also to know that during those years of storm and stress,
when everything seemed so discouraging, and when my resignation from
the church had left us exposed to many privations,--without money and
without help, your mother's sympathy with me in my combat with the
church--a lone man, and a mere youth, battling with the most powerfully
intrenched institution in all the world, was more than my daily bread
to me during the pain and travail of my second birth. My spirits, often
depressed from sheer weariness, were nursed to new life and ardor by her
patience and sympathy.
One word more: Nothing will give your parents greater satisfaction than
to see in you, increasing with the increase of years, a love for those
ideals which instead of dragging the world backward, or arresting its
progress, urge man's search to nobler issues. Co-operate with the
light. Be on the side of the dawn. It is not enough to profess
Rationalism--make it your religion. Devotedly,
M. M. Mangasarian.
CHAPTER I. In the Cradle of Christianity
I was a Christian because I was born one. My parents were Christians for
the same reason. It had never occurred to me, any more than it had to
my parents, to ask for any other reason for professing the Christian
religion. Never in the least did I entertain even the most remote
suspicion that being born in a religion was not enough, either to make
the religion true, or to justify my adherence to it.
My parents were members of the Congregational church, and when I was
only a few weeks old, they brought me, as I have often been told by
those who witnessed the ceremony, to the Rev. Mr. Richardson, to be
baptized and presented to the Lord. It was the vow of my mother, if she
ever had a son, to dedicate him to the service of God. As I advanced in
years, the one thought constantly instilled into my mind was that I did
not belong to myself but to God. Every attempt was made to wean me from
the world, and to suppress in me those hopes and ambitions which might
lead me to choose some other career than that of the ministry.
This constant surveillance over me, and the artificial sanctity
associated with the life of one set apart for God, was injurious to me
in many ways. Among other things it robbed me of my childhood. Instead
of playing, I began very early to pray. God, Christ, Bible, and the
dogmas of the faith monopolized my attention, and left me neither the
leisure nor the desire for the things that make childhood joyous. At the
age of eight years I was invited to lead the congregation in prayer, in
church, and could recite many parts of the New Testament by heart. One
of my favorite pastimes was "to play church." I would arrange the chairs
as I had seen them arranged at church, then mounting on one of the
chairs, I would improvise a sermon and follow it with an unctuous
prayer. All this pleased my mother very much, and led her to believe
that God had condescended to accept her offering.
My dear mother is still living, and is still a devout member of the
Congregational church. I have not concealed my Rationalism from her,
nor have I tried to make light of the change which has separated us
radically in the matter of religion. Needless to say that my withdrawal
from the Christian ministry, and the Christian religion, was a painful
disappointment to her. But like all loving mothers, she hopes and prays
that I may return to the faith she still holds, and in which I was
baptized. It is only natural that she should do so. At her age of life,
beliefs have become so crystallized that they can not yield to new
impressions. When my mother had convictions I was but a child, and
therefore I was like clay in her hands, but now that I can think for
myself my mother is too advanced in years for me to try to influence
her. She was more successful with me than I shall ever be with her.
That my mother had a great influence upon me, all my early life attests.
As soon as I was old enough I was sent to college with a view of
preparing myself for the ministry. Having finished college I went to the
Princeton Theological Seminary, where I received instruction from such
eminent theologians as Drs. A. A. Hodge, William H. Green, and Prof.
Francis L. Patton. At the age of twenty-three, I became pastor of the
Spring Garden Presbyterian church of Philadelphia.
It was the reading of Emerson and Theodore Parker which gave me my first
glimpse of things beyond the creed I was educated in. I was at this time
obstinately orthodox, and, hence, to free my mind from the Calvinistic
teaching which I had imbibed with my mother's milk, was a most painful
operation. Again and again, during the period of doubt, I returned to
the bosom of my early faith, just as the legendary dove, scared by the
waste of waters, returned to the ark. To dislodge the shot fired into
a wall is not nearly so difficult an operation as to tear one's self
forever from the early beliefs which cling closer to the soul than the
skin does to the bones.
While it was the reading of a new set of books which first opened my
eyes, these would have left no impression upon my mind had not certain
events in my own life, which I was unable to reconcile with the belief
in a "Heavenly Father", created in me a predisposition to inquire into
the foundations of my Faith.
An event, which happened when I was only a boy, gave me many anxious
thoughts about the truth of the beliefs my dear mother had so eloquently
instilled into me. The one thought I was imbued with from my youth was
that "the tender mercies of God are over all his children," I believed
myself to be a child of God, and counted confidently upon his special
providence. But when the opportunity came for providence to show his
interest in me, I was forsaken, and had to look elsewhere for help. My
first disappointment was a severe shock. I got over it at the time, but
when I came to read Rationalistic books, the full meaning of that early
experience, which I will now briefly relate, dawned upon me, and helped
to make my mind good soil for the new ideas.
In 1877 I was traveling in Asia Minor, going from the Euphrates to the
Bosphorus, accompanied by the driver of my horses, one of which I rode,
the other carrying my luggage. We had not proceeded very far when we
were overtaken by a young traveler on foot, who, for reasons of safety,
begged to join our little party. He was a Mohammedan, while my driver
and I professed the Christian religion.
For three days we traveled together, going at a rapid pace in order to
o | 862.144209 |
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THOMAS CARLYLE
* * * * *
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready_:--
THOMAS CARLYLE. By Hector C. Macpherson.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By Oliphant Smeaton.
HUGH MILLER. By W. Keith Leask.
JOHN KNOX. By A. Taylor Innes.
ROBERT BURNS. By Gabriel Setoun.
THE BALLADISTS. By John Geddie.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor Herkless.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By Eve Blantyre Simpson.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. Garden Blaikie.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. Keith Leask.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By Oliphant Smeaton.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. Omond.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir George Douglas.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By John Wellwood.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor Saintsbury.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By Louis A. Barbe.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. Grosart.
JAMES THOMSON. By William Bayne.
MUNGO PARK. By T. Banks Maclachlan.
DAVID HUME. By Professor Calderwood.
* * * * *
THOMAS CARLYLE
by
HECTOR C MACPHERSON
Famous Scots Series
Published by Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
Edinburgh and London
The designs and ornaments of this volume are by Mr Joseph Brown, and the
printing from the press of Messrs Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh.
Second Edition completing Seventh Thousand.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Of the writing of books on Carlyle there is no end. Why, then, it may
pertinently be asked, add another stone to the Carlylean cairn? The
reply is obvious. In a series dealing with famous Scotsmen, Carlyle has
a rightful claim to a niche in the temple of Fame. While prominence has
been given in the book to the Scottish side of Carlyle's life, the fact
has not been lost sight of that Carlyle owed much to Germany; indeed, if
we could imagine the spirit of a German philosopher inhabiting the body
of a Covenanter of dyspeptic and sceptical tendencies, a good idea would
be had of Thomas Carlyle. Needless to say, I have been largely indebted
to the biography by Mr Froude, and to Carlyle's _Reminiscences_. After
all has been said, the fact remains that Froude's portrait, though
truthful in the main, is somewhat deficient in light and
shade--qualities which the student will find admirably supplied in
Professor Masson's charming little book, "Carlyle Personally, and in his
Writings." To the Professor I am under deep obligation for the interest
he has shown in the book. In the course of his perusal of the proofs,
Professor Masson made valuable corrections and suggestions, which
deserve more than a formal acknowledgment. To Mr Haldane, M.P., my
thanks are also due for his suggestive criticism of the chapter on
German thought, upon which he is an acknowledged authority.
I have also to express my deep obligations to Mr John Morley, who, in
the midst of pressing engagements, kindly found time to read the proof
sheets. In a private note Mr Morley has been good enough to express his
general sympathy and concurrence with my estimate of Carlyle.
_EDINBURGH, October 1897._
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE 9
CHAPTER II
CRAIGENPUTTOCK--LITERARY EFFORTS 29
CHAPTER III
CARLYLE'S MENTAL DEVELOPMENT 42
CHAPTER IV
LIFE IN LONDON 65
CHAPTER V
HOLIDAY JOURNEYINGS--LITERARY WORK 79
CHAPTER VI
RECTORIAL ADDRESS--DEATH OF MRS CARLYLE 112
CHAPTER VII
LAST YEARS AND DEATH OF CARLYLE 129
CHAPTER VIII
CARLYLE AS A SOCIAL AND POLITICAL THINKER 138
CHAPTER IX
CARLYLE AS AN INSPIRATIONAL FORCE 152
THOMAS CARLYLE
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE
'A great man,' says Hegel, 'condemns the world to the task of explaining
him.' Emphatically does the remark apply to Thomas Carlyle. When he
began to leave his impress in literature, he was treated as a confusing
and inexplicable element. Opinion oscillated between the view of James
Mill, that Carlyle was an insane rhapsodist, and that of Jeffrey, that
he was afflicted with a chronic craze for singularity. Jeffrey's verdict
sums up pretty effectively the attitude of the critics of the time to
the new writer:--'I suppose that you will treat me as something worse
than an ass, when I say that I am firmly persuaded the great source of
your extravagance, and all that makes your writings intolerable to many
and ridiculous to not a few, is not so much any real peculiarity of
opinion, as an unlucky ambition to appear more original than you are.'
The blunder made by Jeffrey in regard both to Carlyle and Wordsworth
emphasises the truth which critics seem reluctant to bear in mind, that,
before the great man can be explained, he must be appreciated.
Emphatically true of Carlyle it is that he creates the standard by which
he is judged. Carlyle resembles those products of the natural world
which biologists call'sports'--products which, springing up in a
spontaneous and apparently erratic way, for a time defy classification.
The time is appropriate for an attempt to classify the great thinker,
whose birth took place one hundred years ago.
Towards the close of the last century a stone-mason, named James
Carlyle, started business on his own account in the village of
Ecclefechan, Dumfriesshire. He was an excellent tradesman, and frugal
withal; and in the year 1791 he married a distant kinswoman of his own,
Janet Carlyle, who died after giving birth to a son. In the beginning of
1795 he married one Margaret Aitken, a worthy, intelligent woman; and on
the 4th of December following a son was born, whom they called Thomas,
after his paternal grandfather. This child was destined to be the most
original writer of his time.
Little Thomas was early taught to read by his mother, and at the age of
five he learnt to 'count' from his father. He was then sent to the
village school; and in his seventh year he was reported to be 'complete'
in English. As the schoolmaster was weak in the classics, Tom was
taught the rudiments of Latin by the burgher minister, of which strict
sect James Carlyle was a zealous member. One summer morning, in 1806,
his father took him to Annan Academy. 'It was a bright morning,' he
wrote long years thereafter, 'and to me full of moment, of fluttering
boundless Hopes, saddened by parting with Mother, with Home, and which
afterwards were cruelly disappointed.' At that 'doleful and hateful
Academy,' to use his own words, Thomas Carlyle spent three years,
learning to read French and Latin, and the Greek alphabet, as well as
acquiring a smattering of geometry and algebra.
It was in the Academy that he got his first glimpse of Edward
Irving--probably in April or May 1808--who had called to pay his
respects to his old teacher, Mr Hope. Thomas's impression of him | 862.145033 |
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PRIVATEERS AND PRIVATEERING
[Illustration: THE "INVENTION," FRENCH PRIVATEER]
PRIVATEERS
AND PRIVATEERING
By
COMMANDER E.P. STATHAM, R.N.
AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF THE 'BRITANNIA,'" AND JOINT
AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSE OF HOWARD"
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
London: HUTCHINSON & CO.
Paternoster Row 1910
| 862.178781 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A FLOWER WEDDING
DESCRIBED·BY
TWO WALLFLOWERS
DECORATED·BY
WALTER·CRANE
CASSELL·&·COMPANY·1905
[Illustration]
A·FLOWER·WEDDING
Yes, flower bells rang right merry that day,
When there was a marriage of flowers, they say.
[Illustration]
Young LAD’S LOVE had courted Miss Meadow·Sweet,
And the two soon agreed at the Altar to meet.
[Illustration]
A LILY white robe was worn by the Bride,
And SWEET WILLIAM, the Groom, drest in red, at her side.
[Illustration]
Miss VIOLET, PRIMROSE, and gay MARYGOLD,
With their LADIES’ FINGERS her train did uphold.
[Illustration]
In LADYSMOCKS, Bridesmaids, FORGET·ME·NOT blue,
With their sashes all tied in LOVE·KNOT·TRUE.
[Illustration]
The Bride’s Mother follows with loving EYEBRIGHT,
All in WINTER GREEN and fine FURZE bedight.
[Illustration]
Whilst her father looked young, though with OLD·MAN’S·BEARD.
[Illustration]
(Was a DANDE·LION in youth I have heard.)
[Illustration]
The troth was plighted for woe or for weal,
And the lines attested by SOLOMON’S SEAL:
[Illustration]
The BACHELOR’S BUTTON was cast aside,
[Illustration]
And the throng that witnessed was LONDON’S PRIDE:
[Illustration]
There was GOOD KING HENRY, a tall JONQUIL,
[Illustration]
Like NARCISSUS himself by the waters still;
[Illustration]
There were LORDS & LADIES to grace the dance,
[Illustration]
And ROSE MARY, and—
[Illustration]
ROSE·LA·FRANCE:
[Illustration]
With his GOLDEN ROD
[Illustration]
the SWEET SULTAN came;
[Illustration]
Lastly, CREEPING JENNY, an elderly dame
[Illustration]
To order the feast—there was LING, and HARTSTONGUE,
[Illustration]
And GOOSEFOOT with SAGE, the HOUSE·LEEK among
[Illustration]
Very SWEET PEAS, & GOOD CHERRY PIE,
Such a feast as an Alderman could not deny!
[Illustration]
In lovely KING·CUPS there was CHAMOMILE TEA
[Illustration]
And the fortune in gifts was a wonder to see!
A new PENNY-ROYAL, A fine GOLDEN FEATHER;
[Illustration]
A pair of HORSE-CHESTNUTS,
[Illustration]
a JACOB’S LADDER,
[Illustration]
VENUS’S·LOOKING·GLASS,
[Illustration]
a fine ARROW-HEAD
Discovered long since in the river’s bed;
[Illustration]
Garments of FLAX,
[Illustration]
and a LADY’S CUSHION;
[Illustration]
HOSE·IN·HOSE, LADY’S SLIPPERS to put on,
[Illustration]
BUTTERCUPS gold, and a PITCHER-PLANT
Nay, everything that a house could want.
[Illustration]
In VENUS’S-FLY-TRAP the pair drove away,
[Illustration]
“SPEEDWELL, and be happy,” their friends gaily say;
[Illustration]
But alack! what a hubb | 862.18388 |
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Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
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available by the Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
REPRESENTATIVE CANADIANS
[Illustration: RT. HON. SIR R. L. BORDEN. P.C., K.C.M.G., K.C., LL.D.,
Ottawa]
NATIONAL BIOGRAPHICAL SERIES III
A CYCLOPÆDIA
_of_
CANADIAN BIOGRAPHY
Brief Biographies of Persons Distinguished in the Professional, Military
and Political Life, and the Commerce and Industry of
Canada, in the Twentieth Century.
_Edited by_
HECTOR CHARLESWORTH
TORONTO
THE HUNTER-ROSE COMPANY, LIMITED
1919
PREFACE
It is now thirty-three years since the first volume of biographies
bearing the title “Representative Canadians” was issued by the present
firm of publishers. In 1886 the scope of the work was unique, so far as
this country was concerned, for previous volumes of the kind had
confined themselves to the careers of Canadians who have won fame in
either a political or military capacity. The aim of the editors of the
first volume of “Representative Canadians” was to give recognition of
the emergence of Canada from a colonial to something like a national
status by recording something of the achievements of those who had
contributed to the intellectual, industrial and commercial growth of the
country, as well as of its political leaders. The purpose remained the
same in the second volume published in 1888, and is once more the
impulse of the present book.
The vast majority of those whose careers were recorded in 1886 have
passed away; and the same is true of those who figured in the second
volume of the series. Consequently, the earlier issues of
“Representative Canadians” grow every day more precious, for, in many
cases, they contain the sole records of men who initiated great
enterprises or furthered important movements which have left a lasting
mark on the history of Canada. We cannot but think that the reader who,
thirty or forty years hence, may chance to scan the pages of the present
volume will gather a very vivid picture of Canada as it was in one of
the crucial periods of the world’s affairs—a picture in which the
characters of those Canadians who lived and “carried on” through the
years of the greatest war in all history may be discerned in the records
of their lives. There is hardly a page in this book into which the war
does not enter directly or indirectly in some form or other, by way of
allusions to services rendered, bereavements endured, or honours gained
on the field of battle. In that sense the 1919 volume must remain
unique, and a mine of useful information for students in future
generations.
Generally speaking, in comparing the biographies of the Canadians of
to-day with those of 1886 and 1888, the reader gains a sense of this
country’s continuous expansion. The present century has witnessed a
marvellous development in the Canadian West, so that in these pages we
find numerous records showing not merely the commercial, but the
intellectual, progress of the Provinces West of the Great Lakes—stories
of brilliant careers built up by men who were mere children in the East
when the first volume was published. The reader will also note in the
biographies of business men which abound in these pages, the
ever-increasing scale on which Canadian commerce and enterprise
everywhere is conducted, so that what seemed large in 1886 is relatively
small to-day. Though some of the men whose names figure in the index are
of less importance than others, all play their part in our complex and
vigorous social life, and the story of their progress and fortunes
cannot be really tedious to any sympathetic student of humanity.
TORONTO, 1919.
INDEX
Adamson, Alan Joseph, 124
Adamson, John Evans, 121
Aikenhead, Thomas E., 47
Aikins, Lieut.-Col. Sir James Albert Manning, 81
Allan, John, 98
Ames, Sir Herbert B., 4
Ami, Henry M., 142
Amyot, Lieut.-Col. John A., 299
Anderson, Alexander James, 126
Anderson, Frederic William, 75
Anderson, Prof. George R., 144
Anderson, James T. M., 65
Antliff, Rev. James Cooper, 52
Arkell, Thomas Reginald, 180
Armstrong, Samuel, 174
Arnold, William McCullough, 114
Arrell, Harrison, 52
Arsenault, Hon. Aubin E., 215
Ashby, Joseph Seraphin Aime, 127
Ashton, Major-General Ernest, 270
Askwith, John E., 106
Asselin, Major Olivar, 144
Bâby, Wolstan Alexander Dixie, 229
Bachand, Leonide Charles, 69
Bailey, Charles Frederick, 218
Baillie, Sir Frank, 110
Bain, John, 66
Ball, Emerson Ewart, 61
Ball, Robert James, 64
Ballantyne, James, 145
Barnard, Sir Frank Stillman, 223
Barnard, Hon. George Henry, 126
Barrow, Hon. Edward Dodsley, 205
Barry, Walter H., 124
Baskerville, William Joseph, 148
Bates, Joseph Lever, 165
Bates, Thomas Nathaniel, 272
Beach, Mahlon F., 49
Beaumont, Ernest Joseph, 56
Bégin, Louis Nazaire, 17
Beith, Hon. Robert, 40
Bellemare, Adelard, 125
Bell, Clarence A. H., 274
Bell, Hon. George Alexander, 230
Bell, John Howatt, 74
Bell, John Percival, 257
Belcourt, Hon. Napoleon Antoine, 61
<DW12>, Prosper, 31
Bennett, Richard Bedford, 255
Berthiaume, Arthur, 147
Best, John, 43
Bethune, Rev. Charles James Stewart, 76
Birkett, Thomas, 125
Black, Henry, 133
Blair, Lieutenant James K., 273
Blondin, Hon. Pierre Edouard, 212
Bole, David W., 221
Borden, Rt. Hon. Sir Robert Laird, 1
Boudreau, L. N. H. Rodolphe, 180
Bowell, Sir Mackenzie, 44
Bowes, James Leslie Llewellyn, 69
Bowie, Lieut.-Colonel Henry William, 251
Bowman, Charles Martin, 275
Boyd, Leslie Hale, 98
Boyer, Major Gustave, 90
Boyer, Louis, 40
Braden, Norman Short, 250
Braithwaite, Edward Ernest, 73
Breadner, Robert Walker, 132
Breithaupt, John C., 228
Breithaupt, Louis J., 43
Brennan, John Charles, 131
Briggs, William, 68
Bristow, Michael George, 73
Brock, Lieut.-Colonel Henry, 70
Brock, William Rees, 71
Brodeur, Hon. Louis Philippe, 220
Bronson, Hon. Erskine Henry, 65
Bronson, Henry Franklin, 34
Brossoit, Numa Edouard, 274
Buchanan, William A., 171
Buckles, Daniel, 119
Bulman, William John, 131
Burgoyne, William Bartlett, 186
Burpee, Lawrence Johnston, 39
Bulyea George Hedley Vicars, 143
Butler, Lieut.-Colonel Thomas Page, 282
Butterworth, John George Bissett, 256
Byrne, Daniel J., 129
Callahan, John, 190
Camaraire, Alfred Frederick, 115
Cameron, Lieut.-Colonel Sir Douglas, 16
Campbell, Colin, 103
Campbell, Donald Grant, 151
Campbell, William Brough, 234
Cane, James Gilbert, 111
Carew, John, 22
Carson, Hugh, 145
Cartwright, Lieut.-Colonel Robert, 168
Casgrain, Philippe Baby, | 862.187294 |
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[Illustration: THE YACHT WAS BEARING DOWN UPON THEM.]
THE
YOUNG OARSMEN OF LAKEVIEW.
BY
_CAPT. RALPH BONEHILL._
_Author of_
“_Rival Bicyclists_,” “_Leo, the Circus Boy_,” _Etc._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
W. L. ALLISON CO.,
PUBLISHERS.
COPYRIGHT, 1897.
BY
W. L. ALLISON CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. Jerry, Harry and Blumpo 5
II. Mrs. Fleming’s Runaway Horse 12
III. Jerry’s Bravery 18
IV. Saving the Sloop 24
V. Harry is Rescued 30
VI. The Single Shell Race 37
VII. Who Won the Shell Race 43
VIII. A Prisoner of the Enemy 48
IX. Tar and Feathers 55
X. What Towser Did 61
XI. Off for Hermit Island 67
XII. An Attack in the Dark 73
XIII. Jerry’s Shot 78
XIV. The Hermit of the Island 83
XV. The Hermit’s Secret 89
XVI. An Exciting Chase 94
XVII. Harry’s New Yacht 99
XVIII. The Robbery of the Rockpoint Hotel 108
XIX. The Red Valise 113
XX. The Mishap to the Yacht 118
XXI. Words and Blows 125
XXII. Another Boat Race 132
XXIII. Jerry Starts on a Journey 140
XXIV. The Work of a Real Hero 146
XXV. A Fruitless Search 153
XXVI. Alexander Slocum is Astonished 160
XXVII. Jerry’s Clever Escape 165
XXVIII. Something About a Tramp 171
XXIX. Mr. Wakefield Smith Again 178
XXX. An Unlooked for Adventure 182
XXXI. Nellie Ardell’s Troubles 187
XXXII. A Crazy Man’s Doings 193
XXXIII. The Little Nobody 200
XXXIV. Alexander Slocum Shows His Hand 208
XXXV. A Strange Disappearance 215
XXXVI. Jerry Hears an Astonishing
Statement 222
XXXVII. A Joyous Meeting 229
XXXVIII. Alexander Slocum is Brought to Book 237
XXXIX. Harry to the Rescue 244
XL. A Struggle in the Dark 252
XLI. A Last Race—Good-bye to the Rival
Oarsmen 262
CHAPTER I.
JERRY, HARRY, AND BLUMPO.
“I’ll race you.”
“Done! Are you ready?”
“I am.”
“Then off we go.”
Quicker than it can be related, four oars fell into the water and four
sturdy arms bent to the task of sending two beautiful single-shell craft
skimming over the smooth surface of the lake.
It was a spirited scene, and attracted not a little attention, for both
of the contestants were well known.
“Go it, Jerry! You can beat him if you try!”
“Don’t let him get ahead, Harry. Keep closer to the shore!”
“How far is the race to be?”
“Up to the big pine tree | 862.18816 |
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A GRANDMOTHER'S RECOLLECTIONS.
BY ELLA RODMAN.
1851.
A GRANDMOTHER'S RECOLLECTIONS.
CHAPTER I.
The best bed-chamber, with its hangings of crimson moreen, was opened
and aired--a performance which always caused my eight little brothers
and sisters to place themselves in convenient positions for being
stumbled over, to the great annoyance of industrious damsels, who, armed
with broom and duster, endeavored to render their reign as arbitrary as
it was short. For some time past, the nursery-maids had invariably
silenced refractory children with "Fie, Miss Matilda! Your grandmother
will make you behave yourself--_she_ won't allow such doings, I'll be
bound!" or "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Master Clarence? What will
your grandmother say to that!" The nursery was in a state of uproar on
the day of my venerable relative's arrival; for the children almost
expected to see, in their grandmother, an ogress, both in features and
disposition.
My mother was the eldest of two children, and my grandmother, from the
period of my infancy, had resided in England with her youngest daughter;
and we were now all employed in wondering what sort of a person our
relative might be. Mamma informed us that the old lady was extremely
dignified, and exacted respect and attention from all around; she also
hinted, at the same time, that it would be well for me to lay aside a
little of my self-sufficiency, and accommodate myself to the humors of
my grandmother. This to me!--to _me_, whose temper was so inflammable
that the least inadvertent touch was sufficient to set it in a blaze--it
was too much! So, like a well-disposed young lady, I very properly
resolved that _mine_ should not be the arm to support the venerable Mrs.
Arlington in her daily walks; that should the children playfully
ornament the cushion of her easy-chair with pins, _I_ would not turn
informant; and should a conspiracy be on foot to burn the old lady's
best wig, I entertained serious thoughts of helping along myself.
In the meantime, like all selfish persons, I considered what demeanor I
should assume | 862.237078 |
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Is The Bible Worth Reading
And Other Essays
By
Lemuel K. Washburn
New York
The Truth Seeker Company
1911
CONTENTS
Dedication
Is The Bible Worth Reading
Sacrifice
The Drama Of Life
Nature In June
The Infinite Purpose
Freethought Commands
A Rainbow Religion
A Cruel God
What Is Jesus
Deeds Better Than Professions
Give Us The Truth
The American Sunday
Lord And Master
Are Christians Intelligent Or Honest
The Danger Of The Ballot
Who Carried The Cross
Modern Disciples Of Jesus
A Poor Excuse
Profession And Practice
Where Is Truth
What Does It Prove
Human Responsibility
Abolish Dirt
Religion And Morality
Jesus As A Model
Singing Lies
A Walk Through A Cemetery
Peace With God
Saving The Soul
The Search For Something To Worship
Where Are They
Some Questions For Christians To Answer
The Image Of God
Religion And Science
The Bible And The Child
When To Help The World
The Judgment Of God
Christianity And Freethought
The Brotherhood And Freedom Of Man
Whatever Is Is Right
The Object Of Life
Man
The Dogma Of The Divine Man
The Rich Man's Gospel
Speak Well Of One Another
Disgraceful Partnerships
Science And Theology
Unequal Remuneration
The Old And The New
Guard The Ear
The Character Of God
Not Important
Oaths
Dead Words
Confession Of Sin
Death's Philanthropy
Our Attitude Towards Nature
Reverence For Motherhood
The God Of The Bible
The Measure Of Suffering
Nature
Creeds
Don't Try To Stop The Sun Shining
Follow Me
Can We Never Get Along Without Servants?
A Heavenly Father
Worship Not Needed
Was Jesus A Good Man
How To Help Mankind
On The Cross
Equal Moral Standards
Authority
A Clean Sabbath
Human Integrity
Is It True
Keep The Children At Home
Teacher And Preacher
Fear Of Doubts
Bible-Backing
Beggars
Habits
Can Poverty Be Abolished
The Roman Catholic God
Human Cruelty
Infidelity
Atheism
Christian Happiness
What God Knows
The Meaning Of The Word God
What Has Jesus Done For The World
The Agnostic's Position
Orthodoxy
Ideas Of Jesus
The Silence Of Jesus
Does The Church Save
Save The Republic
A Woman's Religion
The Sacrifice Of Jesus
Fashionable Hypocrisy
The Saturday Half-Holiday
The Motive For Preaching
The Christian's God
Indifference To Religion
Sunday Schools
Going To Church
Who Is The Greatest Living Man
[Illustration.]
Lemuel K. Washburn
DEDICATION
The writer of this book dedicates it to all men and women of common
honesty and common sense.
IS THE BIBLE WORTH READING
That depends. If a man is going to get his living by standing in a
Christian pulpit, I should be obliged to answer, Yes! But if he is going
to follow any other calling, or work at any trade, I should have to
answer, No! There is absolutely no information in the Bible that man can
make any use of as he goes through life. The Bible is not a book of
knowledge. It does not give instruction in any of the sciences. It
furnishes no help to labor. It is useless as a political guide. There is
nothing in it that gives the mechanic any hint, or affords the farmer any
enlightenment in his occupation.
If man wishes to learn about the earth or the heavens; about life or the
animal kingdom, he has no need to study the Bible. If he is desirous of
reading the best poetry or the most entertaining literature he will not
find it in the Bible. If he wants to read to store his mind with facts,
the Bible is the last book for him to open, for never yet was a volume
written that contained fewer facts than this book. If he is anxious to get
some information that will help him earn an honest living he does not want
to spend his time reading Genesis, Exodus, Numbers, Kings, Psalms, or the
Gospels. If he wants to read just for the fun of reading to kill time, or
to see how much nonsensical writing there is in one book, let him read the
Bible.
I have not said that there are not wise sayings in the Bible, or a few
dramatic incidents, but there are just as wise sayings, and wiser ones,
too, out of the book, and there are dramas of human life that surpass in
interest anything contained in the Old or New Testament.
No person can make a decent excuse for reading the Bible more than once.
To do such a thing would be a foolish waste of time. But our stoutest
objection to reading this book is, not that it contains nothing
particularly good, but _that it contains so much that is positively bad_.
To read this book is to get false ideas, absurd ideas, bad ideas. The
injury to the human mind that reads the Bible as a reliable book is beyond
repair. I do not think that this book should be read by children, by any
human being less than twenty years of age, and it would be better for
mankind if not a man or woman read a line of it until he or she was fifty
years old.
What I want to say is this, that there is nothing in the Bible that is of
the least consequence to the people of the twentieth century. English
literature is richer a thousand fold than this so-called sacred volume. We
have books of more information and of more inspiration than the Bible. As
the relic of a barbarous and superstitious people, it should have a place
in our libraries, but it is not a work of any value to this age. I pity
men who stand in pulpits and call this book the word of God. I wish they
had brains enough to earn their living without having to repeat this
foolish falsehood. The day will come when this book will be estimated for
what it a worth, and when that day comes, the Bible will no longer be
called the word of God, but the work of ignorant, superstitious men.
-------------------------------------
The cross everywhere is a dagger in the heart of liberty.
-------------------------------------
A miracle is not an explanation of what we cannot comprehend.
-------------------------------------
The statue of liberty that will endure on this continent is not the one
made of granite or bronze, but the one made of love of freedom.
-------------------------------------
Take away every achievement of the world and leave man freedom, and the
earth would again bloom with every glory of attainment; but take away
liberty and everything useful and beautiful would vanish.
SACRIFICE
The sacrifice of Jesus, so much boasted by the Christian church, is
nothing compared to the sacrifice of a mother for her family. It is not to
be spoken of in the same light. A mother's sacrifice is constant:
momentary, hourly, daily, life-long. It never ceases. It is a veritable
providence; a watchful care; a real giving of one life for another, or for
several others; a gift of love so pure and holy, so single and complete,
that it is an offering in spirit and in substance.
This is to me the highest, purest, holiest act of humanity. All others,
when weighed with this unselfish consecration to duty, seem small and
insignificant. There is, in a mother's life, no counting of cost, no
calculation of reward. It is enough that a duty is to be done; that a
service is to be rendered; that a sacrifice is called for. The true mother
gives herself to the offices of love without hope, expectation, or wish of
recompense. A mother's love for her children cannot be determined by any
earthly measure, by any material standard. It outshines all glory, and is
the last gleam of light in the human heart. A mother's love walks in a
thousand Gethsemanes, endures a thousand Calvaries, and has a thousand
agonies that the dying of Jesus upon a cross cannot symbolize. This
maternal sacrifice is | 862.23711 |
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Produced by Al Haines
MY SWORD'S MY FORTUNE
A STORY OF OLD FRANCE
BY
HERBERT HAYENS
LONDON AND GLASGOW
COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS
1904
Contents.
Chapter
I. I Go to Paris
II. La Boule d'Or
III. I Enter the Astrologer's House
IV. I Meet the Cardinal
V. The Reception at the Luxembourg
VI. Was I Mistaken?
VII. The Cardinal takes an Evening Walk
VIII. The Plot is Discovered
IX. I Meet with an Exciting Adventure
X. Pillot to the Rescue
XI. A Scheme that Went Amiss
XII. I have a Narrow Escape
XIII. I again Encounter Maubranne
XIV. I Fall into a Trap
XV. Under Watch and Ward
XVI. I become a Prisoner of the Bastille
XVII. Free!
XVIII. The Fight on the Staircase
XIX. I Lose all Trace of Henri
XX. News at Last
XXI. The Death of Henri
XXII. The Mob Rises
XXIII. The Ladies Leave Paris
XXIV. Captain Courcy Outwitted
XXV. I Miss a Grand Opportunity
XXVI. "Vive le Roi!"
XXVII. The King Visits Raoul
XXVIII. "Remember the Porte St. Antoine"
XXIX. Mazarin Triumphant
Illustrations
"The air was filled with the clatter of steel."
"The nobleman caught and fixed him."
"Keep this in remembrance of this day."
[Transcriber's notes:
Gaps in the source book's page numbering indicate that four
illustrations were missing. Physical damage seems to indicate that the
frontispiece may also have been missing. Since there was no list of
illustrations in the book, it is not known what their captions were.
Short transcriber's notes indicate the locations of the missing
illustrations.]
CHAPTER I.
I Go to Paris.
"Let the boy go to Paris," exclaimed our guest, Roland Belloc. "I
warrant he'll find a path that will lead him to fortune."
"He is young," said my father doubtfully.
"He will be killed," cried my mother, while I stood upright against the
wall and looked at Roland gratefully.
It was in 1650, in | 862.243352 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.2611250 | 342 | 12 | Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
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The
Merry-go-round
By W. Somerset Maugham
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND
The | 862.284232 |
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--T. LEMAN HARE
BERNARDINO LUINI
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
_In Preparation_
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
J. F. MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
AND OTHERS.
[Illustration: PLATE I.--MADONNA AND CHILD. Frontispiece
(In the Wallace Collection)
This is another admirably painted study of the artist's favourite
subject. The attitude of the child is most | 862.285241 |
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IN MEMORABILIA MORTIS
BY FRANCIS SHERMAN
[Illustration: Decoration]
M DCCC XCVI
"BUT YE--SHALL I BEHOLD YOU WHEN LEAVES FALL,
IN SOME SAD EVENING OP THE AUTUMN-TIDE?"
IN MEMORABILIA MORTIS
I
I marked the slow withdrawal of the year,
Out on the hills the scarlet maples shone--
The glad, first herald of triumphant dawn.
A robin's song fell through the silence--clear
As long ago it rang when June was here.
Then, suddenly, a few grey clouds were drawn
Across the sky; and all the song was gone,
And all the gold was quick to disappear,
That day the sun seemed loth to come again;
And all day long the low wind spoke of rain,
Far off, beyond the hills; and moaned, like one
Wounded, among the pines: as though the Earth,
Knowing some giant grief had come to birth,
Had wearied of the Summer and the Sun.
II
I watched the slow oncoming of the Fall.
Slowly the leaves fell from the elms, and lay
Along the roadside; and the wind's strange way
Was their way, when they heard the wind's far call.
The crimson vines that clung along the wall
Grew thin as snow that lives on into May;
Grey dawn, grey noon,--all things and hours were grey,
When quietly the darkness covered all.
And while no sunset flamed across the west,
And no great moon rose where the hills were low,
The day passed out as if it had not been:
And so it seemed the year sank to its rest,
Remembering naught, desiring naught,--as though
Early in Spring its young leaves were not green.
III
A little while before the Fall was done
A day came when the frail year paused and said:
"Behold! a little while and I am dead;
Wilt thou not choose, of all the old dreams, one?"
Then dwelt I in a garden, where the sun
Shone always, and the roses all were red;
Far off, the great sea slept, and overhead,
Among the robins, matins had begun.
And I knew not at all it was a dream
Only, and that the year was near its close;
Garden and sunshine, robin-song and rose,
The half-heard murmur and the distant gleam
Of all the unvext sea, a little space
Were as a mist above the Autumn's face.
IV
And in this garden sloping to the sea
I dwelt (it seemed) to watch a pageant pass,--
Great Kings, their armour strong with iron and brass,
Young Queens, with yellow hair bound wonderfully.
For love's sake, and because of love's decree,
Most went, I knew; and so the flowers and grass
Knew my steps also: yet I wept Alas,
Deeming the garden surely lost to me.
But as the days went over, and still our feet
Trod the warm, even | 862.286392 |
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CAMPAIGNING IN
CUBA
BY
GEORGE KENNAN
AUTHOR OF "SIBERIA AND THE EXILE SYSTEM"
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1899
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. STARTING FOR THE FIELD 1
II. UNDER THE RED CROSS 10
III. ON THE EDGE OF WAR 23
IV. WAR CORRESPONDENTS AND DESPATCH-BOATS 35
V. OFF FOR SANTIAGO 44
VI. THE CUBAN COAST 53
VII. THE FIGHT AT GUANTANAMO 65
VIII. THE LANDING AND ADVANCE OF THE ARMY 76
IX. A WALK TO THE FRONT 88
X. SIBONEY ON THE EVE OF BATTLE 104
XI. THE BATTLES OF CANEY AND SAN JUAN 116
XII. THE FIELD-HOSPITAL 130
XIII. SIBONEY DURING THE ARMISTICE 150
XIV. ENTERING SANTIAGO HARBOR 164
XV. THE CAPTURED CITY 171
XVI. THE FEEDING OF THE HUNGRY 182
XVII. MORRO CASTLE 192
XVIII. FEVER IN THE ARMY 213
XIX. THE SANTIAGO CAMPAIGN 222
XX. THE SANTIAGO CAMPAIGN (_Continued_) 237
XXI. THE SANTIAGO CAMPAIGN (_Concluded_) 256
CAMPAIGNING IN CUBA
CHAPTER I
STARTING FOR THE FIELD
War broke out between the United States and Spain on April 21, 1898. A
week or ten days later I was asked by the editors of the "Outlook" of
New York to go to Cuba with Miss Clara Barton, on the Red Cross steamer
_State of Texas_, and report the war and the work of the Red Cross for
that periodical. After a hasty conference with the editorial and
business staffs of the paper I was to represent, I accepted the
proposition, and on May 5 left Washington for Key West, where the _State
of Texas_ was awaiting orders from the Navy Department. The army of
invasion, under command of General Shafter, was then assembling at
Tampa, and it was expected that a hostile movement to some point on the
Cuban coast would be made before the end of the month.
I reached Tampa on the evening of Friday, May 6. The Pullman cars of the
Florida express, at that time, ran through the city of Tampa and across
the river into the spacious grounds of the beautiful Tampa Bay Hotel,
which, after closing for the regular winter season, had been compelled
to reopen its doors--partly to accommodate the large number of officers
and war correspondents who had assembled there with their wives and
friends, and partly to serve as headquarters for the army of Cuban
invasion.
It was a warm, clear Southern night when we arrived, and the scene
presented by the hotel and its environment, as we stepped out of the
train, was one of unexpected brilliancy and beauty. A nearly full moon
was just rising over the trees on the eastern side of the hotel park,
touching with silver the drifts of white blossoms on dark masses of
oleander-trees in the foreground, and flooding with soft yellow light
the domes, Moorish arches, and long facade of the whole immense
building. Two regimental bands were playing waltzes and patriotic airs
under a long row of incandescent lights on the broad veranda;
fine-looking, sunbrowned men, in all the varied uniforms of army and
navy, were gathered in groups here and there, smoking, talking, or
listening to the music; the rotunda was crowded with officers, war
correspondents, and gaily attired ladies, and the impression made upon a
newcomer, as he alighted from the train, was that of a brilliant
military ball at a fashionable seaside summer resort. Of the serious and
tragic side of war there was hardly a suggestion.
On the morning after our arrival I took a carriage and drove around the
city and out to the camp, which was situated about a mile and a half
from the hotel on the other side of the river. In the city itself I was
unpleasantly disappointed. The showy architecture, beautiful grounds,
semi-tropical foliage, and brilliant flowers of the Tampa Bay Hotel
raise expectations which the town across the river does not fulfil. It
is a huddled collection of generally insignificant buildings standing in
an arid desert of sand, and to me it suggested the city of
Semipalatinsk--a wretched, verdure-less town in southern Siberia,
colloquially known to Russian army officers as "the Devil's Sand-box."
Thriving and prosperous Tampa may be, but attractive or pleasing it
certainly is not.
As soon as I got away, however, from the hotel and into the streets of
the town, I saw at almost every step suggestions of the serious and
practical side, if not the tragic side, of war. Long trains of four-mule
wagons loaded with provisions, camp equipage, and lumber moved slowly
through the soft, deep sand of the unpaved streets in the direction of
the encampment; the sidewalks were thronged with picturesquely dressed
Cuban volunteers from the town, sailors from the troop-ships, soldiers
from the camp, and war correspondents from everywhere; mounted orderlies
went tearing back and forth with despatches to or from the army
headquarters in the Tampa Bay Hotel; Cuban and American flags were
displayed in front of every restaurant, hotel, and Cuban cigar-shop, and
floated from the roofs or windows of many private houses; and now and
then I met, coming out of a drug-store, an army surgeon or hospital
steward whose left arm bore the red cross of the Geneva Convention.
The army that was destined to begin the invasion of Cuba consisted, at
that time, of ten or twelve thousand men, all regulars, and included an
adequate force of cavalry and ten fine batteries of field-artillery. It
was encamped in an extensive forest of large but scattered pine-trees,
about a mile from the town, and seemed already to have made itself very
much at home in its new environment.
The first thing that struck me in going through the camp was its
businesslike aspect. It did not suggest a big picnic, nor an encampment
of militia for annual summer drill. It was manifestly a camp of
veterans; and although its dirty, weather-beaten tents were pitched here
and there without any attempt at regularity of arrangement, and its camp
equipage, cooking-utensils, and weapons were piled or stacked between
the tents in a somewhat disorderly fashion, as if thrown about at
random, I could see that the irregularity and disorder were only
apparent, and were really the irregularity and disorder of knowledge and
experience gained by long and varied service in the field. I did not
need the inscriptions--"Fort Reno" and "Fort Sill"--on the army wagons
to assure me that these were veteran troops from the Plains, to whom
campaigning was not a new thing.
As we drove up to the camp, smoke was rising lazily into the warm summer
air from a dozen fires in different parts of the grounds; company cooks
were putting the knives, forks, and dishes that they had just washed
into improvised cup-boards made by nailing boxes and tomato-crates
against the trees; officers in fatigue-uniform were sitting in
camp-chairs, here and there, reading the latest New York papers; and
thousands of soldiers, both inside and outside the sentry-lines, were
standing in groups discussing the naval fight off Manila, lounging and
smoking on the ground in the shade of the army wagons, playing hand-ball
to pass away the time, or swarming around a big board shanty, just
outside the lines, which called itself "NOAH'S ARK" and announced in big
letters its readiness to dispense cooling drinks to all comers at a
reasonable price.
The troops in all branches of the army at Tampa impressed me very
favorably. The soldiers were generally stalwart, sunburnt,
resolute-looking men, twenty-five to thirty-five years of age, who
seemed to be in perfect physical condition, and who looked as if they
had already seen hard service and were ready and anxious for more. In
field-artillery the force was particularly strong, and our officers in
Tampa based their confident expectation of victory largely upon the
anticipated work of the ten batteries of fine, modern field-guns which
General Shafter then intended to take with him. Owing to lack of
transportation facilities, however, or for some other reason to me
unknown, six of these batteries were left in Tampa when the army sailed
for Santiago, and the need of them was severely felt, a few weeks later,
at Caney and San Juan.
Upon my return from the camp I called upon General Shafter, presented my
letter of introduction from the President, and said I wished to consult
him briefly with regard to the future work of the American National Red
Cross. He received me cordially, said that our organization would soon
have a great and important work to do in Cuba in caring for the
destitute and starving reconcentrados, and that he would gladly afford
us all possible facilities and protection. The Red Cross corps of the
army medical department, he said, would be fully competent to take care
of all the sick and wounded soldiers in the field; but there would be
ample room for our supplementary work in relieving the distress of the
starving Cuban peasants, who would undoubtedly seek refuge within our
lines as soon as we should establish ourselves on the island. He
deprecated and disapproved of any attempt on the part of the Red Cross
to land supplies for the reconcentrados under a flag of truce in advance
of the army of invasion and without its protection. "The Spanish
authorities," he said, "under stress of starvation, would simply seize
your stores and use them for the maintenance of their own army. The best
thing for you to do is to go in with us and under our protection, and
relieve the distress of the reconcentrados as fast as we uncover it." I
said that I thought this was Miss Barton's intention, and that we had
fourteen hundred tons of food-stuffs and medical supplies on the steamer
_State of Texas_ at Key West, and were ready to move at an hour's
notice. With an understanding that Miss Barton should be notified as
soon as the army of invasion embarked, I bade the general good-by and
returned to the hotel.
In an interview that I had on the following day with Colonel Babcock,
General Shafter's adjutant-general, I was informed, confidentially, that
the army was destined for "eastern Cuba." Small parties, Colonel Babcock
said, would be landed at various points on the coast east and west of
Havana, for the purpose of communicating with the insurgents and
supplying them with arms and ammunition | 862.339486 |
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Uniform with British Orations
AMERICAN ORATIONS, to illustrate American Political
History, edited, with introductions, by ALEXANDER
JOHNSTON, Professor of Jurisprudence and Political
Economy in the College of New Jersey. 3 vols., 16 mo,
$3.75.
PROSE MASTERPIECES FROM MODERN ESSAYISTS, comprising
single specimen essays from IRVING, LEIGH HUNT, LAMB,
DE QUINCEY, LANDOR, SYDNEY SMITH, THACKERAY, EMERSON,
ARNOLD, MORLEY, HELPS, KINGSLEY, RUSKIN, LOWELL,
CARLYLE, MACAULAY, FROUDE, FREEMAN, GLADSTONE,
NEWMAN, LESLIE STEPHEN. 3 vols., 16 mo, bevelled
boards, $3.75 and $4.50.
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, NEW YORK AND LONDON
REPRESENTATIVE
BRITISH ORATIONS
WITH
INTRODUCTIONS AND EXPLANATORY NOTES
BY
CHARLES KENDALL ADAMS.
_Videtisne quantum munus sit oratoris historia?_
—CICERO, _DeOratore_, ii, 15
✩✩✩
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1884
COPYRIGHT
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
1884.
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
New York
CONTENTS.
PAGE
GEORGE CANNING 1
GEORGE CANNING 13
ON THE POLICY OF GRANTING AID TO PORTUGAL WHEN INVADED
BY SPAIN; HOUSE OF COMMONS, DECEMBER 12, 1826.
LORD MACAULAY 50
LORD MACAULAY 62
ON THE REFORM BILL OF 1832; HOUSE OF COMMONS, MARCH
2, 1831.
RICHARD COBDEN 95
RICHARD COBDEN 109
ON THE EFFECTS OF PROTECTION ON THE AGRICULTURAL INTERESTS
OF THE COUNTRY; HOUSE OF COMMONS, MARCH 13, 1845.
JOHN BRIGHT 155
JOHN BRIGHT 159
ON THE FOREIGN POLICY OF ENGLAND; DELIVERED AT A BANQUET
GIVEN IN HONOR OF MR. BRIGHT, AT BIRMINGHAM,
OCTOBER 29, 1858.
LORD BEACONSFIELD 204
LORD BEACONSFIELD 216
ON THE PRINCIPLES OF THE CONSERVATIVE PARTY; DELIVERED
AT MANCHESTER, APRIL 3, 1872.
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 277
WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 287
ON DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN AFFAIRS; DELIVERED AT WEST
CALDER, NOVEMBER 27, 1879.
GEORGE CANNING.
The subject of this sketch was born in London in 1770. When he was only
one year old, the death of his father threw the responsibility of his
training and education upon his mother. Dependent upon her own energies
for the support of herself and her child, she at first established
a small school in London, and a little later fitted herself for the
stage, where she achieved considerable success.
As soon as George entered school, he began to show remarkable
proficiency in the study of Latin and Greek, as well as in English
literature. Mr. Stapleton, his biographer, tells us that when still
a child, young Canning was incidentally called upon to recite some
verses, when he began with one of the poems of Gray, and did not stop
or falter till he repeated the contents of the entire volume. At the
age of fifteen he went to Eton, where he was at once recognized as a
boy of surpassing abilities and attainments. In the following year
some of his school-fellows joined him in starting a weekly paper,
called the _Microcosm_, to which he acted the part of editor and
chief contributor. The brilliancy and wit of the paper were such as
to attract even the attention of the leading reviews. He also paid
great attention to the art of extemporaneous speaking. A society had
been established in the school in which all the forms and methods of
the House of Commons were rigidly observed. The Speaker, the Cabinet,
and the Opposition played their mimic parts with all the energy and
interest so many of the members afterward displayed in Parliament
itself. George became “Captain” of the school, and, when in 1788 he
went up to Oxford, he carried with him a reputation for accuracy and
maturity of scholarship which at once drew the eyes of the whole
university upon him. Even in his first year he entered the list of
competitors for the Chancellor’s Prize offered for the best Latin
poem, and was successful over all the upper classmen. Throughout his
course his attention was absorbed with the study of literature and the
practice of writing and speaking.
He left the University at the age of twenty-two, and at once began the
study of law. His great reputation, however, had already attracted the
attention of Pitt, who now invited him to take a seat in the House of
Commons from one of the Government boroughs. With this request Canning
complied; and, accordingly, he became a member of the House in 1793 in
the twenty-fourth year of his age.
His maiden speech, delivered some two months after he entered the
House, was brilliant, but was generally thought to be somewhat lacking
in the qualities of solidity and good judgment. His tastes were so
eminently rhetorical in their nature, that, for some years to come, he
was inclined to excess of ornamentation. Joined to this peculiarity
was an irresistible inclination to indulge in wit and badinage at
the expense of his fellow-members. This tendency was so predominant
that for a long time it was said that he never made what he called a
successful speech without making an enemy for life.
In 1797, in connection with a few friends, Canning projected the
journal known as the _Anti-Jacobin Review_. Its object was to
counteract those peculiar doctrines of the French Revolution which
its contributors thought dangerous. Many of Canning’s articles were
satires, and were so admirable in their way as to be worthy of a place
among the most noted extravaganzas of English literature. The “Knife
Grinder,” and the drama entitled “The Rovers,” are perhaps the most
successful. “The Rovers” was written to ridicule the German drama then
prevailing, and it was regarded as of so much consequence that Niebuhr
in one of his gravest works has devoted nearly a page to a refutation
of it.[A] A good impression of Canning’s peculiar wit will be conveyed
by “Rogers’ Song,” taken from “The Rovers.” Mr. Hayward[B] informs us
that Canning had written the first five stanzas of the song, when Pitt,
coming into his room and accidentally seeing it, was so amused that he
took up a pen and added the fifth stanza on the spot. The following is
the song entire:—
[A] “Geschichte des Zeitalters der Revolution,” ii., 242.
[B] “Biographical Essays,” i., 211.
I.
“When’er with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I’m rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen,
—niversity of Gottingen.
II.
“Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue,
Which once my love sat knotting in!
Alas! Matilda then was true,
At least I thought so at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen,
—niversity of Gottingen.
III.
“Barbs! Barbs! alas! how swift you flew,
Her neat post-wagon trotting in;
Ye bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languished at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
IV.
“This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in
My years are many—they were few
When first I entered at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
V.
“There first for thee my passion grew,
Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen!
Thou wast the daughter of my tu—
—tor, law professor at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
VI.
“Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu,
That kings and priests are plotting in:
Here doomed to starve on water-gru—
el, never shall I see the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.”
Unfortunately for his influence, Canning could not limit his wit
or his pasquinades to the Germans and French. The _Anti-Jacobin_
contained many ludicrous satires on the personal peculiarities of
men like Erskine, Mackintosh, and Coleridge. Some of these made
bitter complaints that the Government should lend its influence to
and should reward the authors of these atrocious calumnies. There is
evidence that the publication was discontinued at the suggestion of
the Prime-Minister in consequence of these complaints, and it is very
probable that Canning’s advancement was retarded by his utter lack of
self-restraint.
On the accession of the Duke of Portland, in 1807, Canning became
Secretary of Foreign Affairs, an office which he held for two years,
till he had a quarrel with Lord Castlereagh, which resulted in a duel,
and not only drove them both out of office, but overthrew the Portland
Ministry. During the next seven years he was out of power, though he
was regular in his parliamentary duties, and it was to him especially
that Lord Wellington was indebted for the firm and even enthusiastic
support of England during his military career.
Canning always regarded himself as the political disciple of Pitt.
To his constituents at Liverpool he said: “In the grave of Mr. Pitt
my political allegiance lies buried.” He owned no other master,
and all his energies were devoted to carrying out Pitt’s policy
of foreign affairs. The part of England in the protection of the
smaller nationalities against the larger ones,—that policy which has
preserved Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Portugal, and Turkey,—was
but a continuance of the policy of Pitt, though it took definite form
under the influence of Canning, and is quite as often associated with
his name. The doctrine was strongly put forward on three important
occasions. The first was in his speech urging England to join her
fortunes with those of Spain in driving Bonaparte from the Peninsula.
This, as Mr. Seeley, in his “Life of Stein” has shown, was the
turning point in Napoleon’s career, and it is the peculiar glory of
Canning that England was brought into the alliance by his influence.
With pardonable exultation he once said: “If there is any part of
my political conduct in which I _glory_, it is that in the face of
every difficulty, discouragement, and prophecy of failure, _mine_
was the hand that committed England to an alliance with Spain.” The
second occasion was when, in 1822, he was a second time Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and when France was collecting troops to overthrow
constitutional government in Spain, and urging the other foreign
powers, assembled at Verona, to unite in the same purpose, he
despatched Wellington to Verona with so energetic a protest that even
France was dissuaded from the course she had intended to pursue. Again,
in 1826, Canning took a similar course in giving aid to Portugal when
invaded by Spain. His continental policy might be said to consist of
two parts: England should insist that the small governments should not
be disturbed by the larger, and that each nation should be allowed to
regulate its own internal affairs.
On the death of Lord Liverpool, in 1827, Canning became Prime-Minister.
The great question then before the country was the political
emancipation of the Roman Catholics. The Test Act, adopted in the reign
of Charles II., had excluded Catholics from political rights—from seats
in Parliament and from the privilege of voting—and the act was still
in force. With the agitation that was now endeavoring to secure the
emancipation of the Catholics from political disabilities, Canning was
in hearty sympathy. When he was called into supreme power, therefore,
the inference was natural that Catholic emancipation was to be carried
through. Wellington, Peel, and nearly all the Tories in the ministry
threw up their places. Their purpose was to compel Canning to resign;
for knowing his views on the question of emancipation, they were
unwilling to hold office under him. Unfortunately, while the struggle
involved in their resignation was going on, Canning’s health suddenly
gave way, and sinking rapidly, he expired on the 8th of August,
1827, in the fifty-eighth year of his age. It is a singular and an
interesting fact that the very men who, in 1827, refused to follow
Canning in the work of emancipation, were driven two years later by
public opinion to put themselves at the head of the movement.
By many excellent judges Canning is regarded as one of the foremost of
English orators. Brougham speaks of him in terms of almost the highest
praise, and so judicious a critic as Sir James Mackintosh says that
“Mr. Canning seems to have been the best model among our orators of the
adorned style. In some qualities,” he continues, “Mr. Canning surpassed
Mr. Pitt. His diction was more various—sometimes more simple—more
idiomatical, even in its more elevated parts. It sparkled with imagery,
and was brightened by illustration, in both of which Mr. Pitt, for so
great an orator, was defective. Had he been a dry and meagre speaker,
Mr. Canning would have been universally allowed to have been one of the
greatest masters of argument; but his hearers were so dazzled by the
splendor of his diction that they did not perceive the acuteness and
the occasional excessive refinement of his reasoning; a consequence
which, as it shows the injurious effects of a seductive fault, can with
the less justness be overlooked in the estimate of his understanding.”
GEORGE CANNING.
ON THE POLICY OF GRANTING AID TO PORTUGAL WHEN INVADED BY SPAIN; HOUSE
OF COMMONS, DECEMBER 12, 1826.
When Mr. Canning was Minister of Foreign Affairs in 1826, a body of
Absolutists attempted to destroy the existing Portuguese Government,
which had been founded on the basis of a liberal constitution, and
had been acknowledged by England, France, Austria, and Russia.
This government was obnoxious to Ferdinand, King of Spain; and,
accordingly, supported by the sympathy of Austria and Russia, as well
as by the active assistance of Spain, the Portuguese Absolutists
organized a military expedition on Spanish soil for the overthrow
of the Portuguese Government. Portugal asked for the protection of
England. Five thousand troops were instantly ordered to Lisbon. This
action was in strict accordance with what is sometimes known as “Mr.
Canning’s Foreign Policy,”—that of allowing every nation to manage
its own internal affairs, and of allowing no interference with the
smaller nations by the larger.
The following speech in explanation of his reasons for prompt action
is the masterpiece of his eloquence.
MR. SPEAKER:
In proposing to the House of Commons to acknowledge, by an humble and
dutiful address, his Majesty’s most gracious message, and to reply
to it in terms which will be, in effect, an echo of the sentiments
and a fulfilment of the anticipations of that message, I feel that,
however confident I may be in the justice, and however clear as to the
policy of the measures therein announced, it becomes me, as a British
minister, recommending to Parliament any step which may approximate
this country even to the hazard of a war, while I explain the grounds
of that proposal, to accompany my explanation with expressions of
regret.
I can assure the House, that there is not within its walls any set
of men more deeply convinced than his Majesty’s ministers—nor any
individual more intimately persuaded than he who has now the honor
of addressing you—of the vital importance of the continuance of
peace to this country and to the world. So strongly am I impressed
with this opinion—and for reasons of which I will put the House more
fully in possession before I sit down—that I declare there is no
question of doubtful or controverted policy—no opportunity of present
national advantage—no precaution against remote difficulty—which I
would not gladly compromise, pass over, or adjourn, rather than call
on Parliament to sanction, at this moment, any measure which had a
tendency to involve the country in war. But, at the same time, sir, I
feel that which has been felt, in the best times of English history,
by the best statesmen of this country, and by the Parliaments by whom
those statesmen were supported—I feel that there are two causes, and
but two causes, which can not be either compromised, passed over, or
adjourned. These causes are: adherence to the national faith, and
regard for the national honor.
Sir, if I did not consider both these causes as involved in the
proposition which I have this day to make to you, I should not address
the House, as I now do, in the full and entire confidence that the
gracious communication of his Majesty will be met by the House with the
concurrence of which his Majesty has declared his expectation.
In order to bring the matter which I have to submit to you, under the
cognizance of the House, in the shortest and clearest manner, I beg
leave to state it, in the first instance, divested of any collateral
considerations. It is a case of law and of fact: of national law on the
one hand, and of notorious fact on the other; such as it must be, in
my opinion as impossible for Parliament, as it was for the government,
to regard in any but one light, or to come to any but one conclusion
upon it.
Among the alliances by which, at different periods of our history,
this country has been connected with the other nations of Europe,
none is so ancient in origin, and so precise in obligation—none has
continued so long, and been observed so faithfully—of none is the
memory so intimately interwoven with the most brilliant records of our
triumphs, as that by which Great Britain is connected with Portugal.
It dates back to distant centuries; it has survived an endless variety
of fortunes. Anterior in existence to the accession of the House of
Braganza to the throne of Portugal—it derived, however, fresh vigor
from that event; and never from that epoch to the present hour, has
the independent monarchy of Portugal ceased to be nurtured by the
friendship of Great Britain. This alliance has never been seriously
interrupted; but it has been renewed by repeated sanctions. It has been
maintained under difficulties by which the fidelity of other alliances
was shaken, and has been vindicated in fields of blood and of glory.
That the alliance with Portugal has been always unqualifiedly
advantageous to this country—that it has not been sometimes
inconvenient and sometimes burdensome—I am not bound nor prepared
to maintain. But no British statesman, so far as I know, has ever
suggested the expediency of shaking it off; and it is assuredly not at
a moment of need that honor and what I may be allowed to call national
sympathy would permit us to weigh, with an over-scrupulous exactness,
the amount of difficulties and dangers attendant upon its faithful and
steadfast observance. What feelings of national honor would forbid, is
forbidden alike by the plain dictates of national faith.
It is not at distant periods of history, and in by-gone ages only,
that the traces of the union between Great Britain and Portugal are
to be found. In the last compact of modern Europe, the compact which
forms the basis of its present international law—I mean the treaty
of Vienna of 1815,—this country, with its eyes open to the possible
inconveniences of the connection, but with a memory awake to its past
benefits, solemnly renewed the previously existing obligations of
alliance and amity with Portugal. I will take leave to read to the
House the third article of the treaty concluded at Vienna, in 1815,
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[Illustration: SHE SAT OBEDIENTLY STILL]
SWEET P’S
By
JULIE M. LIPPMANN
Author of “Miss Wildfire,” “Dorothy Day,” etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH
PHILADELPHIA
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMII
COPYRIGHT 1902 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Published August 5, 1902
_TO MY LITTLE FRIEND
NATALIE WILSON_
Contents
CHAP. PAGE
I MISS CISSY’S PLAN 7
II “CASH ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FIVE” 21
III “THE BEST OF ALL THE GAME” 36
IV “SWEET P’S” 51
V POLLY’S PLUCK 66
VI SISTER’S PARTY 79
VII IN THE COUNTRY 94
VIII PRISCILLA’S VICTORY 114
IX WHAT HAPPENED TO PRISCILLA 129
X THE TELEGRAM 146
XI WHAT HAPPENED TO POLLY 161
XII HOME AGAIN 176
_Sweet P’s_
CHAPTER I
MISS CISSY’S PLAN
“There now! You’re done!” exclaimed Hannah, the nurse, giving Priscilla
an approving pat and looking her over carefully from head to heels to
see that nothing was amiss. “Now you’ll please to sit in this chair,
like a little lady, and not stir, else you’ll rumple your pretty frock
and then your mamma will be displeased, for she will want you to look
just right before all the company down-stairs. Your grandpapa and
grandmamma, and uncles and aunts, and Cousin Cicely--all the line folks
who have come to take dinner with you and bring you lovely birthday
presents. So up you go!”
Priscilla suffered herself to be lifted into the big armchair without
a word and then sat obediently still, watching Hannah, as she bustled
about the nursery “tidying up” as she called it.
Priscilla was a very quiet little girl, with great, solemn brown eyes,
a small, sober mouth and a quantity of soft, bright hair that had to be
brushed so often it made her eyes water just to think of it.
This was her eighth birthday. Now, when strangers asked her, as they
always did, “how old she was” she could reply “Going on nine,” but she
would still be compelled to give the same old answer to their next
familiar question of, “And have you any brothers and sisters?” for
Priscilla was an only child.
She sometimes wondered what they meant when they shook their heads
and murmured, “Such a pity! Poor little thing!” for when Theresa, the
parlor-maid, whom, by the way, Priscilla did not like very much, came
up to the nursery and saw all her wonderful toys and the new frocks and
hats and coats that were continually being sent home to her, she always
said sharply and with a curl of the lip: “My! But isn’t she a lucky
child! It must be grand to be such a rich little thing!” For how can
one be “a pity” and “lucky” at the same time? and “a poor little thing”
and a “rich little thing” at once?
Priscilla did not like to enquire of her mamma or Hannah about it, for
she had once been very sick with a pain in her head, and the doctors
had come, and she was in bed for a long time, and after that she had
been told not to ask questions. And whenever she sat, as she loved
to do, very quietly on the nursery couch, trying to puzzle things out
for herself, Hannah would come and bid her “stop her studyin’” and go
and play with her dolls, explaining that “little girls never would
grow big and strong and beautiful like their Cousin Cicely if they
sat still all the time and bothered their brains about things they
couldn’t understand.” So it was not as hard for Priscilla as it might
have been for some other little girls to “sit still like a lady” in
the big armchair, and she was just beginning to have “a nice time with
her mind” when there was a knock upon the door and James the butler,
announced in his grand, deep voice, “Dinner is served. And your mamma
says as ’ow she wishes you to come down, miss.”
She waited for Hannah to lift her to the floor, bade her good-bye very
politely and then tripped daintily down the long halls and softly
carpeted staircases to the dining-room, where there was a great stir
and murmur of voices and what seemed to Priscilla a vast crowd of
people. She knew them all well, of course; grandpapa and grandmamma;
Uncle Arthur Hamilton, who was the husband of Aunt Laura; Uncle Robert
and Aunt Louise Duer; dear Cousin Cissy, and her papa and mamma. They
were all very old and familiar friends, but when they were collected
together they seemed strange and “different” and frightened her very
much. Her heart always beat exceedingly fast as she moved about from
one to the other saying, “Yes, aunt” and “No, uncle,” so many times in
succession. When she entered the room now the hum of voices suddenly
stopped and then, the next instant, broke out afresh and louder than
ever.
“Dear child! Why, I do believe she’s grown!”
“Bless her heart, so she has!”
“But she doesn’t grow stout.”
“Nor rosy.”
“Come, my pet, and kiss grandpapa!”
“What a big girl grandmamma has got! Eight years old! Just fancy!”
“Do let me have her for a moment. I must have a kiss this second.”
Priscilla heaved a deep sigh under the lace of her frock at which, to
her embarrassment, all the company laughed and dear Cousin Cicely said:
“She’s bored to death with all our attention and I don’t wonder. It is
a nuisance to have to kiss so many people. There, Priscilla darling,
you shall sit right here, next to Cousin Cissy, and no one shall bother
you any more.”
Dinner down here in the big dining-room was always a very slow
and tiresome affair in Priscilla’s estimation. She liked her own
nursery-dinner best, which she ate in the middle of the day, with
Hannah sitting by to see that the baked potatoes were well done
and the beef rare enough. This “down-stairs-dinner” to-night was no
less long and wearisome than usual, but at last it was done and then
Priscilla was carried in state to the drawing-room upon the shoulder
of tall Uncle Arthur Hamilton, and at the head of a long procession of
laughing and chattering relations who, she knew, would stand around
in a great, embarrassing circle and watch her as she examined the
beautiful birthday gifts they had brought her.
And behold! There was a large table in the middle of the room, and
it was covered with a white cloth and piled high with wonderful
things. Dolls that walked and dolls that talked; books and games and
music-boxes. A doll’s kitchen and a doll’s carriage; a little piano
with “really-truly” white and black ivory keys, and all sorts and sizes
of fine silk, and velvet boxes containing gold chains and rings and
pins, with pretty glittering stones.
Uncle Arthur lifted Priscilla from his shoulder and set her down
upon the floor before the table, where she stood in silence, looking
wistfully at her new treasures, but not quite knowing what to do about
them.
“See this splendid dolly, Priscilla! She can say ever so many French
words. Don’t you want to hear her?”
“Listen to this lovely music-box, Priscilla! What pretty tunes it can
play!”
“Don’t you want me to hang this beautiful chain around your neck,
Priscilla? It will look so pretty on your white dress.”
Priscilla gazed from one thing to another, as they were thrust before
her and tried to be polite, as Hannah had told her to be, but she
felt dizzy and bewildered and could only stand still, clasping and
unclasping her hands in front of her.
“Why, I don’t believe she cares for them at all,” said Aunt Louise in a
surprised and disappointed tone.
“Embarrassment of riches, perhaps,” suggested Uncle Robert, her husband.
“Here, Prisc | 862.381086 |
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[Illustration: LET GO OF THAT HORSE!--PAGE 144. Y. A.]
* * * * *
YOUNG AUCTIONEERS;
OR,
THE POLISHING OF A ROLLING STONE.
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER,
Author of "Bound to be an Electrician," "Shorthand Tom,"
"Fighting for his Own," etc., etc.
W. L. ALLISON COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
* * * * *
Popular Books for Boys and Girls.
Working Upward Series,
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
THE YOUNG AUCTIONEERS, or The Polishing of a Rolling Stone.
BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRICIAN, or Franklin Bell's Success.
SHORTHAND TOM THE REPORTER, or The Exploits of a Smart Boy.
FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN, or The Fortunes of a Young Artist.
Price, $1.00 per Volume, postpaid.
Bright and Bold Series,
By ARTHUR M. WINFIELD.
POOR BUT PLUCKY, or The Mystery of a Flood.
SCHOOL DAYS OF FRED HARLEY, or Rivals for All Honors.
BY PLUCK, NOT LUCK, or Dan Granbury's Struggle to Rise.
THE MISSING TIN BOX, or Hal Carson's Remarkable City Adventures.
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
Young Sportsman's Series,
By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
THE RIVAL BICYCLISTS, or Fun and Adventures on the Wheel.
YOUNG OARSMEN OF LAKEVIEW, or The Mystery of Hermit Island.
LEO THE CIRCUS BOY, or Life Under the Great White Canvas.
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
Young Hunters Series,
By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
GUN AND SLED, or The Young Hunters of Snow-Top Island.
YOUNG HUNTERS IN PORTO RICO, or The Search for a Lost Treasure.
(Another volume in preparation.)
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
W. L. ALLISON CO.,
105 Chambers Street, New York.
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY W. L. ALLISON CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. Matt Attends a Sale 5
II. A Lively Discussion 12
III. Something of the Past 19
IV. An Interesting Proposition 26
V. Matt Is Discharged 33
VI. A Business Partnership 40
VII. Getting Ready to Start 47
VIII. An Unexpected Set-Back 53
IX. The Result of a Fire 60
X. On | 862.382445 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.3674730 | 1,262 | 7 | CLEARANCES***
E-text prepared by Henry Flower and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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https://archive.org/details/historyofhighlan00mackrich
THE HISTORY OF THE HIGHLAND CLEARANCES
by
ALEXANDER MACKENZIE, F.S.A., Scot.
With a New Introduction by Ian Macpherson, M.P.
“Truth is stranger than fiction.”
P. J. O’Callaghan,
132-134 West Nile Street, Glasgow.
First Edition 1883.
Second Edition, altered and revised 1914.
CONTENTS.
EDITOR’S PREFACE, 7
INTRODUCTION, 9
SUTHERLAND--
Alexander Mackenzie on the Clearances, 19
The Rev. Donald Sage on the Sutherland Clearances, 32
General Stewart of Garth on the Sutherland Clearances, 41
Hugh Miller on the Sutherland Clearances, 52
Mr. James Loch on Sutherland Improvements, 69
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe on the Sutherland Clearances, 78
Reply to Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe by Donald Macleod, 88
TRIAL OF PATRICK SELLAR, 115
ROSS-SHIRE--
Glencalvie, 128
The Eviction of the Rosses, 134
Kintail, 143
Coigeach, 144
Strathconon, 144
The Black Isle, 146
The Island of Lewis, 147
Mr. Alexander Mackenzie on the Leckmelm Evictions, 149
Lochcarron, 161
The 78th Highlanders, 167
The Rev. Dr. John Kennedy on the Ross-shire Clearances, 169
INVERNESS-SHIRE--
Glengarry, 170
Strathglass, 187
Guisachan, 193
Glenelg, 194
Glendesseray and Locharkaig, 196
THE HEBRIDES--
North Uist, 198
Boreraig and Suisinish, Isle of Skye, 202
A Contrast, 212
South Uist and Barra, 213
The Island of Rum, 222
ARGYLLSHIRE--
The Island of Mull, 228
Ardnamurchan, 232
Morven, 235
Glenorchy, 237
BUTESHIRE--
Arran, 240
PERTHSHIRE--
Rannoch, 242
Breadalbane, 245
NOTABLE DICTA--
The Rev. Dr. Maclachlan, 247
A Highland Sheriff, 253
The Wizard of the North, 254
A Continental Historian, 254
Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace, 255
A French Economist, 259
Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, 263
Hardships Endured by First Emigrants, 264
An Evicting Agent, 271
An Octogenarian Gael, 274
STATISTICAL STATEMENT--
Showing the Population in 1831, 1841, 1851, 1881, and
1911, of all Parishes in whole or in part in the Counties
of Perth, Argyll, Inverness, Ross and
Cromarty, Caithness, and Sutherland, 278-282
APPENDICES, 283
EDITOR’S PREFACE
TO SECOND EDITION.
Mackenzie’s _History of the Highland Clearances_, with its thrilling
and almost incredible narratives of oppression and eviction, has
been for a long time out of print. In view of the current movement,
described by Mr. Asquith as an “organised campaign against the present
system of land tenure,” it has occurred to the holder of the copyright,
Mr. Eneas Mackay, publisher, Stirling, that, at the present juncture,
a re-issue might be expediently prepared. He recognised that the story
of the great upheaval which, early in the nineteenth century, took
place among the Highland crofters would be of undoubted interest and
utility to those who follow the efforts now put forth to settle the
land question in Scotland. At his request I readily undertook the task
of re-editing.
The circumstances, or points of view, having changed in no slight
measure since the first appearance of the work, I decided to subject
it to a pretty thorough revision--to excise a large mass of irrelevant
matter and to introduce several fresh articles. Donald Macleod’s
“Gloomy Memories” are omitted out of considerations for space,
and because it is proposed to reprint them shortly in a separate
form. There is included, for the first time, a vindication of the
Sutherland Clearances by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of “Uncle
Tom’s Cabin,” and another by Mr. James Loch, principal factor on the
Sutherland Estates during the time the removals were carried out.
There are also given graphic and realistic word pictures of these
evictions by the Rev. Donald Sage. The general arrangement of the
book has been altered to the extent of grouping together the accounts | 862.387513 |
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A MASTER OF DECEPTION
[Illustration: "'You see, uncle--this one; as it were, death reduced
to its lowest possible denomination'" (_see page_ 99).]
A MASTER
OF DECEPTION
By
Richard Marsh
Author of "Twin Sisters," "The Lovely Mrs. Blake,"
"The Interrupted Kiss," etc., etc.
With a Frontispiece by
DUDLEY TENNANT
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
1913
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
1. The Inclining of a Twig.
2. His Uncle And His Cousin.
3. Rodney Elmore the First.
4. The Three Girls and the Three Telegrams.
5. Stella.
6. Gladys.
7. Mary.
8. By The 9.10: The First Part of the Journey.
9. The Second.
10. In the Carriage--Alone.
11. The Stranger.
12. Marking Time.
13. Spreading His Wings.
14. Business First, Pleasure Afterwards.
15. Mabel Joyce.
16. Thomas Austin, Senior.
17. The Acting Head of the Firm.
18. The Perfect Lover.
19. The Few Words at the End of the Evening.
20. The First Line of an Old Song.
21. The Dead Man's Letter.
22. Philip Walter Augustus Parker.
23. Necessary Credentials.
24. Lovers Parting.
25. Stella's Betrothal Feast.
26. Good Night.
27. The Gentleman's Departure and the Lady's Explanation.
28. A Conspiracy of Silence.
A MASTER OF DECEPTION
CHAPTER I
THE INCLINING OF A TWIG
When Rodney Elmore was eleven years old, placards appeared on the
walls announcing that a circus was coming to Uffham. Rodney asked his
mother if he might go to it. Mrs. Elmore, for what appeared to her to
be sufficient reasons, said "No." Three days before the circus was to
come he went with his mother to Mrs. Bray's house, a little way out of
Uffham, to tea. The two ladies having feminine mysteries to discuss,
he was told to go into the garden to play. As he went he passed a
little room, the door of which was open. Peeping in, as curious
children will, something on a corner of the mantelpiece caught his
eye. Going closer to see what it was, he discovered that there were
two half-crowns, one on the top of the other. The desire to go to the
circus, which had never left him, gathered sudden force. Here were the
means of going. Whipping the two coins into the pocket of his
knickerbockers, he ran from the room and into the garden.
During the remainder of the afternoon the half-crowns were a burden to
him. Not because he was weighed down by a sense of guilt; but because
he feared that their absence would be discovered; that they would be
taken from him; that he would be left poor indeed. He kept down at the
far end of the garden, considering if it would not be wiser to conceal
them in some spot from which he would be able to retrieve them at the
proper time. But Mrs. Bray's was at, what to him was, a great distance
from his own home; he might not be able to get there again before the
eventful day. When the maid came to fetch him in the coins were still
in his pocket; they were still there when he left the house with his
mother.
On the eventful day his mother had to go to London. Before she went
she told Rodney that she had given the servant money to take him to
the circus. This was rather a blow to the boy, since he found himself
possessed of money which, for its intended purpose, was useless. He
had hidden the half-crowns up the chimney in his bedroom. Aware that
it might not be easy to explain how he came to be the owner of so much
cash, there they remained for quite a time. So far as he knew, nothing
was said by Mrs. Bray about the money which had gone; certainly no
suspicion attached to him.
Later he went to a public school. During the third term he went with
the school bicycle club for a spin. The master in charge had a spill.
As he fell some coins dropped out of his pocket. Rodney, who was the
only one behind him, saw a yellow coin roll into a rut at the side of
the road. Alighting, he pressed his foot on it, so that it was covered
with earth. Then, calling to the others, who, unconscious of what had
happened, were pedalling away in front, he gave first aid to the
injured. The master had fallen heavily on his side. He had sprained
something which made it difficult for him to move. A vehicle was
fetched, which bore him back to school, recovery having first been
made of the coins which had been dropped. It was only later he
discovered that a sovereign was missing. The following day a
search-party went out to look for it, of which Rodney Elmore was a
member. They found nothing. As they were starting back Rodney
perceived that his saddle had worked loose. He stayed behind to
tighten it. When he spurted after the others the sovereign was in his
pocket. Mr. Griffiths was reputed to be poor. It was Elmore who
suggested that a subscription should be started to reimburse him for
his loss. When Mr. Griffiths heard of the suggestion--while he
laughingly declined to avail himself of the boy's generosity--he took
Elmore's hand in a friendly grip. Then he asked the lad if he would
oblige him by going on an errand to the village. While he was on the
errand Rodney changed the sovereign, which he would have found it
difficult to do in the school.
At the end of the summer term in his last year Elmore was invited by a
schoolboy friend named Austin to spend part of the holidays with him
in a wherry on the Broads. Mrs. Elmore told him that she would pay his
fare and give him, besides, a small specified sum which she said would
be sufficient for necessary expenses. Her ideas on that latter point
were not those of her son. Rodney's notions on such subjects were
always liberal. Good at books and games, he was one of the most
popular boys in the school. Among other things, he was captain of
cricket. At the last match of the season he played even unusually
well, carrying his bat through the innings with nearly two hundred
runs to his credit, having given one of the finest displays of hard
hitting and good placing the school had ever seen. He was the hero of
the day; owing to his efforts his side had won. Flushed with victory,
with the plaudits of his admirers still ringing in his ears, he
strolled along a corridor, cricket-bag in hand. He passed a room, the
door of which was open. A room with an open door was apt to have a
fatal fascination for Rodney Elmore; if opportunity offered, he could
seldom refrain from peeping in. He peeped in then. On a table was a
canvas bag, tied with a string. He recognised it as the bag which
contained the tuck-shop takings. Since the tuck-shop had had a busy
day, the probability was that the bag held quite a considerable sum.
He had been wondering where the money was coming from to enable him to
cut a becoming figure during his visit to Austin. Stepping quickly
into the room, he emptied the canvas bag into his cricket-bag; then,
going out again as quickly as he had entered, he continued his
progress.
He was on his way to one of the masters, named Rumsey, who edited the
school magazine, his object being to hand him a corrected proof of
certain matter which was to appear in the forthcoming issue. He took
the proof out of his cricket-bag, which he opened in the master's
presence. Having stayed to have a chat, he returned with Mr. Rumsey
along the corridor. As they went they saw one of the school pages come
hurriedly out of the room in which, as Rodney was aware, there was an
empty canvas bag. Mr. Rumsey commented on the speed at which the youth
was travelling.
"Isn't that young Wheeler? He seems in a hurry. I wish he would always
move as fast."
"Perhaps he's tearing off on an errand for Mr. Taylor."
As he said this Rodney carelessly swung his cricket-bag, being well
aware that the coins within were so mixed up with his sweater, pads,
gloves, and other accessories that they were not likely to make their
presence audible. At the end of the corridor they encountered Mr.
Taylor himself. Mark Taylor was fourth form master and manager of the
tuck-shop. Nodding, he went quickly on. Mr. Rumsey was going one way,
Rodney the other. They lingered at the corner to exchange a few
parting words. Suddenly Mr. Taylor's voice came towards them down the
corridor.
"Rumsey! Elmore! Who's been in my room?"
"Been in your room?" echoed Mr. Rumsey. "How should I know?" Then
added, as if it were the result of a second thought: "We just saw
Wheeler come out."
"Wheeler?" In his turn, Mr. Taylor played the part of echo. "He just
came rushing past me; I wondered what his haste meant. You saw him
come out of my room? Then---- But he can't have done a thing like
that!"
"Like what? Anything wrong?"
"There seems to be something very much wrong. Do you mind coming
here?"
Retracing their steps, Mr. Rumsey and Elmore joined the agitated Mr.
Taylor in his room. He made clear to them the cause of his agitation.
"You see this bag? It contained to-day's tuck-shop takings--more than
ten pounds. I left it, with the money tied up in it, on the table here
while I went to Perrin to fetch a memorandum I'd forgotten. Now that
I've returned, I find the bag lying on my table empty and the money
apparently gone. That's what's wrong, and the question is, who has
been in my room since I left it?"
"As I told you, Elmore and I just saw Wheeler making his exit rather
as if he were pressed for time."
"And I myself just met him scurrying along, and wondered what the
haste was about; he's not, as a general rule, the fastest of the
pages. The boy has a bad record; there was that story about Burge
minor and his journey money, and there have been other tales. If he
was in my room----"
"Perhaps he was sent on an errand to you."
"I doubt it, from the way he was running when I met him. And, so far
from stopping when he saw me, if anything, he went faster than ever.
It looks very much as if----"
He stopped, leaving the sentence ominously unfinished.
"Master Wheeler may be a young rip, but surely he wouldn't do a thing
like that."
This was Rodney, who notoriously never spoke ill of anyone. Mr. Taylor
touched on his well-known propensity.
"That's all very well, Elmore; but you'd try to find an excuse for a
man who snatched the coat off your back. This is a very serious
matter; ten pounds are ten pounds. The best thing is for you to bring
Wheeler here, and we'll have it out with him at once."
Rodney started off to fetch the page. It was some little time before
he returned. When he did he was without his cricket-bag, and gripped
the obviously unwilling page tightly by the shoulder. That the lad's
mind was very far from being at ease Mr. Taylor's questions quickly
made plain.
"Wheeler, Mr. Rumsey and Mr. Elmore just saw you coming out of my
room. What were you doing here?"
Wheeler, looking everywhere but at his questioner, hesitated; then
stammered out a lame reply.
"I--I was looking for you, sir."
"For me? What did you want with me? Why did you not say you wanted me
when you met me just now?"
Wheeler could not explain; he was tongue-tied. Mr. Taylor went on:
"When I went I left this bag on the table full of money. As you were
the only person who entered the room during my absence, I want you to
tell me how the bag came to be empty when I returned?"
"The bag was empty when I came in here," blurted out Wheeler. "I
particularly noticed."
To that tale he stuck--that the bag was empty when he entered the
room. His was a lame story. It seemed clear that he had gone into
the room with intentions which were not all that they might have
been--possibly meaning to pilfer from the bag, which he knew was
there. The discovery that the bag was empty had come upon him with a
shock; he had fled. As was not altogether unnatural, his story was not
believed. The two masters accused him point-blank of having emptied
the bag himself. A formal charge of theft would have been made against
him had it not been for his tender years, also partly because of the
resultant scandal, perhaps still more because not a farthing of the
money was ever traced to his possession, or, indeed, to anyone else's.
What had become of it was never made clear. Wheeler, however, was
dismissed from his employment with a stain upon his character which he
would find it hard to erase.
Rodney Elmore had an excellent time upon the Broads, towards which the
tuck-shop takings, in a measure, contributed. The Austins, who were
well-to-do people, had a first-rate wherry; on it was a lively party.
There were two girls--Stella Austin, Tom Austin's sister, and a friend
of hers, Mary Carmichael. Elmore, who was nearly nineteen, had already
had more than one passage with persons of the opposite sex. He had a
curious facility in gaining the good graces of feminine creatures of
all kinds and all ages. When he went he left Stella Austin under the
impression that he cared for her very much indeed; while, although
conscious that Tom Austin, believing himself to be in love with Mary
Carmichael, regarded her as his own property, he was aware that the
young lady liked him--Rodney Elmore--in a sense of which his friend
had not the vaguest notion. Altogether his visit to the Austins was an
entire success; he had won for himself a niche in everyone's esteem
before they parted.
When he was twenty Rodney Elmore entered an uncle's office in St.
Paul's Churchyard. Soon after he was twenty-one his mother died. On
her deathbed she showed an anxiety for his future which, under other
circumstances, he would have found almost amusing.
"Rodney," she implored him, "my son, my dear, dear boy, promise me
that you will keep honest; that, under no pressure of circumstances,
you will stray one hair's breadth from the path of honesty."
This, in substance, though in varying forms, was the petition which
she made to him again and again, in tones which, as the days, and even
the hours, went by, grew fainter and fainter. He did his best to give
her the assurance she required, smilingly at first, more seriously
when he perceived how much she was in earnest.
"Mother, darling," he told her, "I promise that I'll keep as straight
as a man can keep. I'll never do anything for which you could be
ashamed of me. Have you ever been ashamed of me?"
"No, dear, never. You've always been the best, cleverest, truest, most
affectionate son a woman could have. Never once have you given me a
moment's anxiety. God keep you as you have always been--above all, God
keep you honest."
"Mother," he said in earnest tones, which had nearly sunk to a
whisper, "God helping me, and He will help me, I swear to you that I
will never do a dishonest thing, never! Nor a thing that is in the
region of dishonesty. Don't you believe me, darling?"
"Of course, dear, I believe you--I do! I do!"
It was with some such words on her lips that she died; yet, even as
she uttered them, he had a feeling that there was a look in her eyes
which suggested both fear and doubt. In the midst of his heart-broken
grief the fact that there should have been such a look struck him as
good.
CHAPTER II
HIS UNCLE AND HIS COUSIN
Mrs. Elmore's income died with her. She had sunk her money in an
annuity because, as she had explained to Rodney, that enabled her to
give him a much better education than she could have done had they
been constrained to live on the interest produced by her slender
capital. But her son was not left penniless. She had bought him an
annuity, to commence when he was twenty-one, of thirty shillings a
week, to be paid weekly, and had tied it up in such a way that he
could neither forestall it nor use it as a security on which to borrow
money. As clerk to his uncle he received one hundred pounds a year.
Feeling that he could no longer reside in Uffham, he sold the house,
which was his mother's freehold, and its contents, the sale producing
quite a comfortable sum. So, on the whole, he was not so badly off as
some young men.
On the contra side he had expensive tastes, practically in every
direction. Among other things, he had a partiality for feminine
society, mostly of the reputable sort; but a young man is apt to find
the society of even a nice girl an expensive luxury. For instance,
Mary Carmichael had a voice. Her fond parents, who lived in the
country, suffered her to live in town while she was taking singing
lessons. Tom Austin, although still an undergraduate at Oxford, made
no secret of his feelings for the maiden, a fact which did not prevent
Mary going out now and then with Rodney Elmore to dinner at a
restaurant, and, afterwards, to a theatre, as, nowadays, young men and
maidens do. On these occasions Rodney paid, and where the evening's
entertainment of a modern maiden is concerned a five-pound note does
not go far. Then, although Miss Carmichael might not have been aware
of it, there were others. Among them Stella Austin, who had reasons of
her own for believing that Mr. Elmore would give the world to make her
his wife, being only kept from avowing his feelings by the fact that
he was, to all intents and purposes, a pauper. Since she was the
possessor of three or four hundred a year of her own, with the
prospect of much more, she tried more than once to hint that, since
she would not mind setting up housekeeping on quite a small income,
there was no reason why they should wait an indefinite period, till
Rodney was a millionaire. But Rodney's delicacy was superfine. While
he commended her attitude with an ardour which made the blood grow hot
in her veins, he explained that he was one of those men who would not
ask a girl to marry him unless he was in a position to keep her in the
style a husband should, adding that that time was not so distant as
some people might think. In another twelve months he hoped--well, he
hoped! As at such moments she was apt to be very close to him, Stella
hoped too.
The young gentleman was living at the rate of at least five or six
hundred a year on an income of a hundred and eighty. He did not bother
himself by keeping books, but he quite realised that his expenditure
bore no relation to his actual income. Of course, he owed money; but
he did not like owing money. It was against his principles. He never
borrowed if he could help it, and he objected to being at the mercy of
a tradesman. He preferred to get the money somehow, and pay; and,
somehow, he got it. Very curious methods that "somehow" sometimes
covered. He was fond of cards; liked to play for all sorts of stakes;
and, on the whole, he won. His skill in one so young was singular;
sometimes, when opportunity offered, it was shown in directions at
which one prefers only to hint. His favourite games were bridge,
piquet, poker, and baccarat, four games at which a skilful player can
do strange things, especially when playing with unsuspicious young men
who have looked upon the wine when it was red.
Rodney's dexterity with his fingers was almost uncanny. He could do
wonderful card tricks, though he never did them in public, but only
for his own private amusement. When reading "Oliver Twist," he had
been tickled by the scene in which Fagin teaches his youthful pupils
how to pick a pocket. He had made experiments of his own in the same
direction upon parties who were not in the least aware of the
experiments he was making. His success amused him hugely, while the
subjects of his experiments never had the dimmest notion as to how or
where their valuables had gone.
In very many ways Rodney Elmore obtained sufficient money to enable
him to keep his credit at a surprisingly high standard. Everyone spoke
well of him; he was a general favourite. Nor was it strange; he looked
a likeable fellow--indeed, ninety-nine people out of a hundred liked
him at first sight. Over six feet in height, slightly built, he did
not look so strong as he | 862.387605 |
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Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Charles Franks,
Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College
By JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1914
[Illustration: The Door Was Cautiously Opened to Mrs. Elwood.]
CONTENTS
I. Overton Claims Her Own
II. The Unforseen
III. Mrs. Elwood to the Rescue
IV. The Belated Freshman
V. The Anarchist Chooses Her Roommate
VI. Elfreda Makes a Rash Promise
VII. Girls and Their Ideals
VIII. The Invitation
IX. Anticipation
X. An Offended Freshman
XI. The Finger of Suspicion
XII. The Summons
XIII. Grace Holds Court
XIV. Grace Makes a Resolution
XV. The Quality of Mercy
XVI. A Disgruntled Reformer
XVII. Making Other Girls Happy
XVIII. Mrs. Gray's Christmas Children
XIX. Arline's Plan
XX. A Welcome Guest
XXI. A Gift to Semper Fidelis
XXII. Campus Confidences
XXIII. A Fault Confessed
XXIV. Conclusion
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Door Was Cautiously Opened to Mrs. Elwood.
"It Is My Theme."
Each Girl Carried an Unwieldy Bundle.
The Two Boxes Contained Elfreda's New Suit and Hat.
Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College
CHAPTER I
OVERTON CLAIMS HER OWN
"Oh, there goes Grace Harlowe! Grace! Grace! Wait a minute!" A
curly-haired little girl hastily deposited her suit case, golf bag, two
magazines and a box of candy on the nearest bench and ran toward a
quartette of girls who had just left the train that stood puffing
noisily in front of the station at Overton.
The tall, gray-eyed young woman in blue turned at the call, and, running
back, met the other half way. "Why, Arline!" she exclaimed. "I didn't
see you when I got off the train." The two girls exchanged affectionate
greetings; then Arline was passed on to Miriam Nesbit, Anne Pierson and
J. Elfreda Briggs, who, with Grace Harlowe, had come back to Overton
College to begin their second year's course of study.
Those who have followed the fortunes of Grace Harlowe and her friends
through their four years of high school life are familiar with what
happened during "Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year at High School,"
the story of her freshman year. "Grace Harlowe's Sophomore Year at
High School" gave a faithful account of the doings of Grace and her
three friends, Nora O'Malley, Anne Pierson and Jessica Bright, during
their sophomore days. "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at High
School" and "Grace Harlowe's Senior Year at High School"
told of her third and fourth years in Oakdale High School and of how
completely Grace lived up to the high standard of honor she had set for
herself.
After their graduation from high school the four devoted chums spent a
summer in Europe; then came the inevitable separation. Nora and Jessica
had elected to go to an eastern conservatory of music, while Anne and
Grace had chosen Overton College. Miriam Nesbit, a member of the Phi
Sigma Tau, had also decided for Overton, and what befell the three
friends as Overton College freshmen has been narrated in "Grace
Harlowe's First Year at Overton College."
Now September had rolled around again and the station platform of the
town of Overton was dotted with groups of students laden with suit
cases, golf bags and the paraphernalia belonging peculiarly to the
college girl. Overton College was about to claim its own. The joyous
greetings called out by happy voices testified to the fact that the next
best thing to leaving college to go home was leaving home to come back
to college.
"Where is Ruth?" was Grace's first question as she surveyed Arline with
smiling, affectionate eyes.
"She'll be here directly," answered Arline. "She is looking after the
trunks. She is the most indefatigable little laborer I ever saw. From
the time we began to get ready to come back to Overton she refused
positively to allow me to lift my finger. She is always hunting
something to do. She says she has acquired the work habit so strongly
that she can't break herself of it, and I believe her," finished Arline
with a sigh of resignation. "Here she comes now."
An instant later the demure young woman seen approaching was surrounded
by laughing girls.
"Stop working and speak to your little friends," laughed Miriam Nesbit.
"We've just heard bad reports of you."
"I know what you've heard!" exclaimed Ruth, her plain little face alight
with happiness. "Arline has been grumbling. You haven't any idea what a
fault-finding person she is. She lectures me all the time."
"For working," added Arline. "Ruth will have work enough and to spare
this year. Can you blame me for trying to make her take life easy for a
few days?"
"Blame you?" repeated Elfreda. "I would have lectured her night and day,
and tied her up to keep her from work, if necessary."
"Now you see just how much sympathy these worthy sophomores have for
you," declared Arline.
"Do you know whether 19-- is all here yet?" asked Anne.
"I don't know a single thing more about it than do you girls," returned
Arline. "Suppose we go directly to our houses, and then meet at Vinton's
for dinner to-night. I don't yearn for a Morton House dinner. The meals
there won't be strictly up to the mark for another week yet. When the
house is full again, the standard of Morton House cooking will rise in a
day, but until then--let us thank our stars for Vinton's. Are you going
to take the automobile bus? We shall save time."
"We might as well ride," replied Grace, looking inquiringly at her
friends. "My luggage is heavy and the sooner I arrive at Wayne Hall the
better pleased I shall be."
"Are you to have the same rooms as last year?" asked Ruth Denton.
"I suppose so, unless something unforeseen has happened."
"Will there be any vacancies at your house this year?" inquired Arline.
"Four, I believe," replied Anne Pierson. "Were you thinking of changing?
We'd be glad to have you with us."
"I'd love to come, but Morton House is like home to me. Mrs. Kane calls
me the Morton House Mascot, and declares her house would go to rack and
ruin without me. She only says that in fun, of course."
"I think you'd make an ideal mascot for the sophomore basketball team
this year," laughed Grace. "Will you accept the honor?"
"With both hands," declared Arline. "Now, we had better start, or we'll
never get back to Vinton's. Ruth, you have my permission to walk with
Anne as far as your corner. It's five o'clock now. Shall we agree to
meet at Vinton's at half-past six? That will give us an hour and a half
to get the soot off our faces, and if the expressman should experience a
change of heart and deliver our trunks we might possibly appear in fresh
gowns. The possibility is very remote, however. I know, because I had to
wait four days for mine last year. It was sent to the wrong house, and
traveled gaily about the campus, stopping for a brief season at three
different houses before it landed on Morton House steps. I hung out of
the window for a whole morning watching for it. Then, when it did come,
I fairly had to fly downstairs and out on the front porch to claim it,
or they would have hustled it off again."
"That's why I appointed myself chief trunk tender," said Ruth slyly.
"That trunk story is not new to me. This time your trunk will be waiting
on the front porch for you, Arline."
"If it is, then I'll forgive you your other sins," retorted Arline.
"That is, if you promise to come and room with me. Isn't she provoking,
girls? I have a whole room to myself and she won't come. Father wishes
her to be with me, too."
"I'd love to be with Arline," returned Ruth bravely, "but I can't afford
it, and I can't accept help from any one. I must work out my own problem
in my own way. You understand, don't you?" She looked appealingly from
one to the other of her friends, who nodded sympathetically.
"She's a courageous Ruth, isn't she?" smiled Arline, patting Ruth on the
shoulder.
At Ruth's corner they said good-bye to her. Then hailing a bus the five
girls climbed into it.
"So far we haven't seen any of our old friends," remarked Grace as they
drove along Maple Avenue. "I suppose they haven't arrived yet. We are
here early this year."
"I'd rather be early than late," rejoined Miriam. "Last year we were
late. Don't you remember? There were dozens of girls at the station when
we arrived. Arline and Ruth are the first real friends we have seen so
far. Where are Mabel Ashe and Frances Marlton, Emma Dean and Gertrude
Wells, not to mention Virginia Gaines?"
"If I'm not mistaken," said Elfreda slowly, her brows drawing together
in an ominous frown, "there are two people just ahead of us whom we have
reason to remember."
Almost at the moment of her declaration the girls had espied two young
women loitering along the walk ahead of them whose very backs were too
familiar to be mistaken.
"It's Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton, isn't it?" asked Anne.
Grace nodded. They were now too close to the young women for further
speech. A moment more and the bus containing the five girls had passed
the loitering pair. Neither side had made the slightest sign of
recognition. A sudden silence fell upon the little company in the bus.
"It is too bad to begin one's sophomore year by cutting two Over | 862.434205 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.4150480 | 7,435 | 11 |
Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
CAPTAIN BAYLEY'S HEIR
A TALE OF THE GOLD FIELDS OF CALIFORNIA.
BY G. A. HENTY
CAPTAIN BAYLEY'S HEIR.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN BAYLEY HEARS STARTLING NEWS.]
CAPTAIN BAYLEY'S HEIR:
A TALE OF THE GOLD FIELDS OF CALIFORNIA.
BY
G. A. HENTY,
Author of "With Clive in India;" "Facing Death;" "For Name and Fame;"
"True to the Old Flag;" "A Final Beckoning;" &c.
_WITH TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY H. M. PAGET._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
SCRIBNER AND WELFORD
743 & 745 BROADWAY.
CONTENTS.
Chap. Page
I. WESTMINSTER! WESTMINSTER! 9
II. A COLD SWIM, 25
III. A <DW36> BOY, 42
IV. AN ADOPTED CHILD, 58
V. A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION, 75
VI. AT NEW ORLEANS, 92
VII. ON THE MISSISSIPPI, 107
VIII. STARTING FOR THE WEST, 127
IX. ON THE PLAINS, 154
X. A BUFFALO STORY, 173
XI. HOW DICK LOST HIS SCALP, 186
XII. THE ATTACK ON THE CARAVAN, 206
XIII. AT THE GOLD-FIELDS, 223
XIV. CAPTAIN BAYLEY, 238
XV. THE MISSING HEIR, 253
XVI. JOHN HOLL, DUST CONTRACTOR, 268
XVII. THE LONELY DIGGERS, 285
XVIII. A DREAM VERIFIED, 306
XIX. STRIKING IT RICH, 324
XX. A MESSAGE FROM ABROAD, 341
XXI. HAPPY MEETINGS, 360
XXII. CLEARED AT LAST, 374
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
CAPTAIN BAYLEY HEARS STARTLING NEWS, _Frontis._ 262
THE RESCUE FROM THE SERPENTINE, 32
THE BREAK-UP OF THE CHARTIST MEETING, 72
FRANK'S VISIT TO MR. HIRAM LITTLE'S OFFICE, 101
A FLOOD ON THE MISSISSIPPI, 125
A DEER-HUNT ON THE PRAIRIE, 162
THE ESCAPE OF THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER, 195
DICK AND FRANK ELUDE THE INDIANS, 227
THE SICK FRIEND IN THE MINING CAMP, 296
GOLD-WASHING--A GOOD DAY'S WORK, 329
THE ATTACK ON THE GOLD ESCORT, 338
MEETING OF CAPTAIN BAYLEY AND MR. ADAMS, 352
[Illustration]
CAPTAIN BAYLEY'S HEIR.
CHAPTER I.
WESTMINSTER! WESTMINSTER!
A <DW36> boy was sitting in a box on four low wheels, in a little room
in a small street in Westminster; his age was some fifteen or sixteen
years; his face was clear-cut and intelligent, and was altogether free
from the expression either of discontent or of shrinking sadness so
often seen in the face of those afflicted. Had he been sitting on a
chair at a table, indeed, he would have been remarked as a handsome and
well-grown young fellow; his shoulders were broad, his arms powerful,
and his head erect. He had not been born a <DW36>, but had been
disabled for life, when a tiny child, by a cart passing over his legs
above the knees. He was talking to a lad a year or so younger than
himself, while a strong, hearty-looking woman, somewhat past middle age,
stood at a wash-tub.
"What is all that noise about?" the <DW36> exclaimed, as an uproar was
heard in the street at some little distance from the house.
"Drink, as usual, I suppose," the woman said.
The younger lad ran to the door.
"No, mother; it's them scholars a-coming back from cricket. Ain't there
a fight jist!"
The <DW36> wheeled his box to the door, and then taking a pair of
crutches which rested in hooks at its side when not wanted, swung
himself from the box, and propped himself in the doorway so as to
command a view down the street.
It was indeed a serious fight. A party of Westminster boys, on their way
back from their cricket-ground in St. Vincent's Square, had been
attacked by the "skies." The quarrel was an old standing one, but had
broken out afresh from a thrashing which one of the older lads had
administered on the previous day to a young chimney-sweep about his own
age, who had taken possession of the cricket-ball when it had been
knocked into the roadway, and had, with much strong language, refused to
throw it back when requested.
The friends of the sweep determined to retaliate upon the following day,
and gathered so threateningly round the gate that, instead of the boys
coming home in twos and threes, as was their wont, when playtime
expired, they returned in a body. They were some forty in number, and
varied in age from the little fags of the Under School, ten or twelve
years old, to brawny muscular young fellows of seventeen or eighteen,
senior Queen's Scholars, or Sixth Form town boys. The Queen's Scholars
were in their caps and gowns, the town boys were in ordinary attire, a
few only having flannel cricketing trousers.
On first leaving the field they were assailed only by volleys of abuse;
but as they made their way down the street their assailants grew bolder,
and from words proceeded to blows, and soon a desperate fight was
raging. In point of numbers the "skies" were vastly superior, and many
of them were grown men; but the knowledge of boxing which almost every
Westminster boy in those days possessed, and the activity and quickness
of hitting of the boys, went far to equalise the odds.
Pride in their school, too, would have rendered it impossible for any to
show the white feather on such an occasion as this, and with the younger
boys as far as possible in their centre, the seniors faced their
opponents manfully. Even the lads of but thirteen and fourteen years old
were not idle. Taking from the fags the bats which several of the latter
were carrying, they joined in the conflict, not striking at their
opponents' heads, but occasionally aiding their seniors, when attacked
by three or four at once, by swinging blows on their assailant's shins.
Man after man among the crowd had gone down before the blows straight
from the shoulder of the boys, and many had retired from the contest
with faces which would for many days bear marks of the fight; but their
places were speedily filled up, and the numbers of the assailants grew
stronger every minute.
"How well they fight!" the <DW36> exclaimed. "Splendid! isn't it,
mother? But there are too many against them. Run, Evan, quick, down to
Dean's Yard; you are sure to find some of them playing at racquets in
the Little Yard, tell them that the boys coming home from cricket have
been attacked, and that unless help comes they will be terribly knocked
about."
Evan dashed off at full speed. Dean's Yard was but a few minutes' run
distant. He dashed through the little archway into the yard, down the
side, and then in at another archway into Little Dean's Yard, where some
elder boys were playing at racquets. A fag was picking up the balls, and
two or three others were standing at the top of the steps of the two
boarding-houses.
"If you please, sir," Evan said, running up to one of the
racquet-players, "there is just a row going on; they are all pitching
into the scholars on their way back from Vincent Square, and if you
don't send help they will get it nicely, though they are all fighting
like bricks."
"Here, all of you," the lad he addressed shouted to the others; "our
fellows are attacked by the'skies' on their way back from fields. Run
up College, James; the fellows from the water have come back." Then he
turned to the boys on the steps, "Bring all the fellows out quick; the
'skies' are attacking us on the way back from the fields. Don't let them
wait a moment."
It was lucky that the boys who had been on the water in the two eights,
the six, and the fours, had returned, or at that hour there would have
been few in the boarding-houses or up College. Ere a minute had elapsed
these, with a few others who had been kept off field and water from
indisposition, or other causes, came pouring out at the summons--a body
some thirty strong, of whom fully half were big boys. They dashed out of
the gate in a body, and made their way to the scene of the conflict.
They were but just in time; the compact group of the boys had been
broken up, and every one now was fighting for himself.
They had made but little progress towards the school since Evan had
started, and the fight was now raging opposite his house. The <DW36>
was almost crying with excitement and at his own inability to join in
the fight going on. His sympathies were wholly with "the boys," towards
whose side he was attached by the disparity of their numbers compared to
those of their opponents, and by the coolness and resolution with which
they fought.
"Just look at those two, mother--those two fighting back to back. Isn't
it grand! There! there is another one down; that is the fifth I have
counted. Don't they fight cool and steady? and they almost look smiling,
though the odds against them are ten to one. O mother, if I could but go
to help them!"
Mrs. Holl herself was not without sharing his excitement. Several times
she made sorties from her doorstep, and seized more than one hulking
fellow in the act of pummelling a youngster half his size, and shook him
with a vigour which showed that constant exercise at the wash-tub had
strengthened her arms.
"Yer ought to be ashamed of yerselves, yer ought; a whole crowd of yer
pitching into a handful o' boys."
But her remonstrances were unheeded in the din,--which, however, was
raised entirely by the assailants, the boys fighting silently, save when
an occasional shout of "Hurrah, Westminster!" was raised. Presently Evan
dashed through the crowd up to the door.
"Are they coming, Evan?" the <DW36> asked eagerly.
"Yes, 'Arry; they will be 'ere in a jiffy."
A half-minute later, and with shouts of "Westminster! Westminster!" the
reinforcement came tearing up the street.
Their arrival in an instant changed the face of things. The "skies" for
a moment or two resisted; but the muscles of the eight--hardened by the
training which had lately given them victory over Eton in their annual
race--stood them in good stead, and the hard hitting of the "water" soon
beat back the lately triumphant assailants of "cricket." The united band
took the offensive, and in two or three minutes the "skies" were in full
flight.
"We were just in time, Norris," one of the new-comers said to the tall
lad in cricketing flannels whose straight hitting had particularly
attracted the admiration of Harry Holl.
"Only just," the other said, smiling; "it was a hot thing, and a pretty
sight we shall look up School to-morrow. I shall have two thundering
black eyes, and my mouth won't look pretty for a fortnight; and, by the
look of them, most of the others have fared worse. It's the biggest
fight we have had for years. But I don't think the'skies' will
interfere with us again for some time, for every mark we've got they've
got ten. Won't there be a row in School to-morrow when Litter sees that
half the Sixth can't see out of their eyes."
Not for many years had the lessons at Westminster been so badly prepared
as they were upon the following morning--indeed, with the exception of
the half and home-boarders, few of whom had shared in the fight, not a
single boy, from the Under School to the Sixth, had done an exercise or
prepared a lesson. Study indeed had been out of the question, for all
were too excited and too busy talking over the details of the battle to
be able to give the slightest attention to their work.
Many were the tales of feats of individual prowess; but all who had
taken part agreed that none had so distinguished themselves as Frank
Norris, a Sixth Form town boy, and captain of the eight--who, for a
wonder had for once been up at fields--and Fred Barkley, a senior in
the Sixth. But, grievous and general as was the breakdown in lessons
next day, no impositions were set; the boarding-house masters, Richards
and Sargent, had of course heard all about it at tea-time, as had Johns,
who did not himself keep a boarding-house, but resided at Carr's, the
boarding-house down by the great gate.
These, therefore, were prepared for the state of things, and contented
themselves by ordering the forms under their charge to set to work with
their dictionaries and write out the lessons they should have prepared.
The Sixth did not get off so easily. Dr. Litter, in his lofty solitude
as head-master, had heard nothing of what had passed; nor was it until
the Sixth took their places in the library and began to construe that
his attention was called to the fact that something unusual had
happened. But the sudden hesitation and blundering of the first "put
on," and the inability of those next to him to correct him, were too
marked to be passed over, and he raised his gold-rimmed eye-glasses to
his eyes and looked round.
Dr. Litter was a man standing some six feet two in height, stately in
manner, somewhat sarcastic in speech,--a very prodigy in classical
learning, and joint author of the great treatise _On the Uses of the
Greek Particle_. Searchingly he looked from face to face round the
library.
"I cannot," he said, with a curl of his upper lip, and the cold and
somewhat nasal tone which set every nerve in a boy's body twitching when
he heard it raised in reproof, "I really cannot congratulate you on your
appearance. I thought that the Sixth Form of Westminster was composed of
gentlemen, but it seems to me now as if it consisted of a number of
singularly disreputable-looking prize-fighters. What does all this
mean, Williams?" he asked, addressing the captain; "your face appears to
have met with better usage than some of the others."
"It means, sir," Williams said, "that as the party from fields were
coming back yesterday evening, they were attacked by the'skies,'--I
mean by the roughs--and got terribly knocked about. When the news came
to us I was up College, and the fellows had just come back from the
water, so of course we all sallied out to rescue them."
"Did it not occur to you, Williams, that there is a body called the
police, whose duty it is to interfere in disgraceful uproars of this
sort?"
"If we had waited for the police, sir," Williams said, "half the School
would not have been fit to take their places in form again before the
end of the term."
"It does not appear to me," Dr. Litter said, "that a great many of them
are fit to take their places at present. I can scarcely see Norris's
eyes; and I suppose that boy is Barkley, as he sits in the place that he
usually occupies, otherwise, I should not have recognised him; and
Smart, Robertson, and Barker and Barret are nearly as bad. I suppose you
feel satisfied with yourselves, boys, and consider that this sort of
thing is creditable to you; to my mind it is simply disgraceful. There!
I don't want to hear any more at present; I suppose the whole School is
in the same state. Those of you who can see had better go back to School
and prepare your Demosthenes; those who cannot had best go back to their
boarding-houses, or up College, and let the doctor be sent for to see if
anything can be done for you."
The doctor had indeed already been sent for, for some seven or eight of
the younger boys had been so seriously knocked about and kicked that
they were unable to leave their beds. For the rest a doctor could do
nothing. Fights were not uncommon at Westminster in those days, but the
number of orders for beef-steaks which the nearest butcher had received
on the previous evening had fairly astonished him. Indeed, had it not
been for the prompt application of these to their faces, very few of the
party from the fields would have been able to find their way up School
unless they had been led by their comrades.
At Westminster there was an hour's school before breakfast, and when
nine o'clock struck, and the boys poured out, Dr. Litter and his
under-masters held council together.
"This is a disgraceful business!" Dr. Litter said, looking, as was his
wont, at some distant object far over the heads of the others.
There was a general murmur of assent.
"The boys do not seem to have been much to blame," Mr. Richards
suggested in the cheerful tone habitual to him. "From what I can hear it
seems to have been a planned thing; the people gathered round the gates
before they left the fields and attacked them without any provocation."
"There must have been some provocation somewhere, Mr. Richards, if not
yesterday, then the day before, or the day before that," Dr. Litter
said, twirling his eye-glass by the ribbon. "A whole host of people do
not gather to assault forty or fifty boys without provocation. This sort
of thing must not occur again. I do not see that I can punish one boy
without punishing the whole School; but, at any rate, for the next week
fields must be stopped. I shall write to the Commissioner of Police,
asking that when they again go to Vincent Square some policemen may be
put on duty, not of course to accompany them, but to interfere at once
if they see any signs of a repetition of this business. I shall request
that, should there be any fighting, those not belonging to the School
who commit an assault may be taken before a magistrate; my own boys I
can punish myself. Are any of the boys seriously injured, do you think?"
"I hope not, sir," Mr. Richards said; "there are three or four in my
house, and there are ten at Mr. Sargent's, and two at Carr's, who have
gone on the sick list. I sent for the doctor, and he may have seen them
by this time; they all seemed to have been knocked down and kicked."
"There are four of the juniors at College in the infirmary," Mr. Wire,
who was in special charge of the Queen's Scholars, put in. "I had not
heard about it last night, and was in ignorance of what had taken place
until the list of those who had gone into the infirmary was put into my
hands, and then I heard from Williams what had taken place."
"It is very unpleasant," Dr. Litter said, in a weary tone of voice--as
if boys were a problem far more difficult to be mastered than any that
the Greek authors afforded him--"that one cannot trust boys to keep out
of mischief for an hour. Of course with small boys this sort of thing is
to be expected; but that young fellows like Williams and the other
seniors, and the Sixth town boys, who are on the eve of going up to the
Universities, should so far forget themselves is very surprising."
"But even at the University, Doctor Litter," Mr. Richards said, with a
passing thought of his own experience, "town and gown rows take place."
"All the worse," Dr. Litter replied, "all the worse. Of course there are
wild young men at the Universities." Dr. Litter himself, it is scarcely
necessary to say, had never been wild, the study of the Greek particles
had absorbed all his thoughts. "Why," he continued, "young men should
condescend to take part in disgraceful affrays of this kind passes my
understanding. Mr. Wire, you will inform Williams that for the rest of
the week no boy is to go to fields."
So saying, he strode off in the direction of his own door, next to the
archway, for the conversation had taken place at the foot of the steps
leading into School from Little Dean's Yard. There was some grumbling
when the head-master's decision was known; but it was, nevertheless,
felt that it was a wise one, and that it was better to allow the
feelings to calm down before again going through Westminster between
Dean's Yard and the field, for not even the most daring would have cared
for a repetition of the struggle.
Several inquiries were made as to the lad who had brought the news of
the fight, and so enabled the reinforcements to arrive in time; and had
he been discovered a handsome subscription would have been got up to
reward his timely service, but no one knew anything about him.
The following week, when cricket was resumed, no molestation was
offered. The better part of the working-classes who inhabited the
neighbourhood were indeed strongly in favour of the "boys," and liked to
see their bright young faces as they passed home from their cricket;
the pluck too with which they had fought was highly appreciated, and so
strong a feeling was expressed against the attack made upon them, that
the rough element deemed it better to abstain from further interruption,
especially as there were three or four extra police put upon the beat at
the hours when the "boys" went to and from Vincent Square.
It was, however, some time before the "great fight" ceased to be a
subject of conversation among the boys. At five minutes to ten on the
morning when Dr. Litter had put a stop to fields, two of the younger
boys--who were as usual, just before school-time, standing in the
archway leading into Little Dean's Yard to warn the School of the
issuing out of the head-master--were talking of the fight of the evening
before; both had been present, having been fagging out at cricket for
their masters.
"I wonder which would lick, Norris or Barkley. What a splendid fight it
would be!"
"You will never see that, Fairlie, for they are cousins and great
friends. It would be a big fight, and I expect it would be a draw. I
know who I should shout for."
"Oh, of course, we should all be for Norris, he is such a jolly fellow;
there is no one in the School I would so readily fag for. Instead of
saying, 'Here, you fellow, come and pick up balls,' or, 'Take my bat up
to fields,' he says, 'I say, young Fairlie, I wish you would come and
pick up balls for a bit, and in a quarter of an hour you can call some
other Under School boy to take your place,' just as if it were a favour,
instead of his having the right to put one on if he pleased. I should
like to be his fag: and he never allows any bullying up at Richards'. I
wish we had him at Sargent's."
"Yes, and Barkley is quite a different sort of fellow. I don't know that
he is a bully, but somehow he seems to have a disagreeable way with him,
a cold, nasty, hard sort of way; he walks along as if he never noticed
the existence of an Under School boy, while Norris always has a pleasant
nod for a fellow."
"Here's Litter."
At this moment a door in the wall under the archway opened, and the
head-master appeared. As he came out the five or six small boys standing
round raised a tremendous shout of "Litter's coming." A shout so loud
that it was heard not only in College and the boarding-houses in Little
Dean's Yard, but at Carr's across by the archway, and even at
Sutcliffe's shop outside the Yard, where some of the boys were
purchasing sweets for consumption in school. A fag at the door of each
of the boarding-houses took up the cry, and the boys at once came
pouring out.
The Doctor, as if unconscious of the din raised round him, walked slowly
along half-way to the door of the School; here he was joined by the
other masters, and they stood chatting in a group for about two minutes,
giving ample time for the boys to go up School, though those from
Carr's, having much further to go, had to run for it, and not
unfrequently had to rush past the masters as the latter mounted the wide
stone steps leading up to the School.
The School was a great hall, which gave one the idea that it was almost
coeval with the abbey to which it was attached, although it was not
built until some hundreds of years later. The walls were massive, and of
great height, and were covered from top to bottom with the painted names
of old boys, some of which had been there, as was shown by the dates
under them, close upon a hundred years. The roof was supported on great
beams, and both in its proportions and style the School was a copy in
small of the great hall of Westminster.
At the furthermost end from the door was a semicircular alcove, known as
the "Shell," which gave its name to the form sitting there. On both
sides ran rows of benches and narrow desks, three deep, raised one above
the other. On the left hand on entering was the Under School, and,
standing on the floor in front of it, was the arm-chair of Mr. Wire.
Next came the monitor's desk, at which the captain and two monitors sat.
In an open drawer in front of the table were laid the rods, which were
not unfrequently called into requisition. Extending up to the end were
the seats of the Sixth. The "Upper Shell" occupied the alcove; the
"Under Shell" were next to them, on the further benches on the
right-hand side. Mr. Richards presided over the "Shell." Mr. Sargent
took the Upper and Under Fifth, who came next to them, and "Johnny," as
Mr. Johns was called, looked after the two Fourths, who occupied benches
on the right hand of the door.
By the time the masters entered the School all the boys were in their
places. The doors were at once shut, then the masters knelt on one knee
in a line, one behind the other, in order of seniority, and the Junior
Queen's Scholar whose turn it was knelt in front of them, and in a loud
tone read the Lord's Prayer in Latin. Then the masters proceeded to
their places, and school began, the names of all who came in late being
taken down to be punished with impositions.
So large and lofty was the hall, that the voices were lost in its
space, and the forms were able to work without disturbing each other any
more than if they had been in separate rooms. The Sixth only were heard
apart, retiring into the library with the Doctor. His seat, when in
school, was at a table in the centre of the hall, near the upper end.
Thus Westminster differed widely from the great modern schools, with
their separate class-rooms and lecture-rooms. Discipline was not very
strict. When a master was hearing one of the forms under him the other
was supposed to be preparing its next lessons, but a buzz of quiet talk
went on steadily. Occasionally, once or twice a week perhaps, a boy
would be seen to go up from one of the lower forms with a note in his
hand to the head-master; then there was an instant pause in the talking.
Dr. Litter would rise from his seat, and a monitor at once brought him a
rod. These instruments of punishment were about three feet six inches
long; they were formed of birch twigs, very tightly bound together, and
about the thickness of the handle of a bat; beyond this handle some ten
or twelve twigs extended for about eighteen inches. The Doctor seldom
made any remark beyond giving the order, "Hold out your hand."
The unfortunate to be punished held out his arm at a level with his
shoulder, back uppermost. Raising his arm so that the rod fell almost
straight behind his back, Dr. Litter would bring it down, stroke after
stroke, with a passionless and mechanical air, but with a sweeping force
which did its work thoroughly. Four cuts was the normal number, but if
it was the third time a boy had been sent up during the term he would
get six. But four sufficed to swell the back of the hand, and cover it
with narrow weals and bruises. It was of course a point of honour that
no sound should be uttered during punishment. When it was over the
Doctor would throw the broken rod scornfully upon the ground and return
to his seat. The Junior then carried it away and placed a fresh one upon
the desk.
The rods were treated with a sort of reverence, for no Junior Queen's
Scholar ever went up or down school for any purpose without first going
over to the monitor's table and lightly touching the rod as he passed.
Such was school at Westminster forty years since, and it has but little
changed to the present day.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
A COLD SWIM.
IT is winter. Christmas is close at hand, and promises to be a bitterly
cold one. The ice has formed smooth and black across the Serpentine, and
a number of people are walking along by its banks, looking forward to
some grand skating if the frost does but hold two days longer. The sky
is blue, and the sun shining brightly; the wind is fresh and keen; it is
just the day when people well-clad, well-fed, and in strong health, feel
their blood dancing more freely than usual through their veins, and
experience an unusual exhilaration of spirits. Merry laughter often
rises from the groups on the bank, and the air rings with the sharp
sound made by pieces of ice sent skimming by mischievous boys over the
glassy surface, to the disgust of skaters, who foresee future falls as
the result of these fragments should a slight thaw freeze them to the
surface.
Among those walking by the edge of the ice were Frank Norris and Fred
Barkley; with them was a bright-faced girl of some fourteen years old.
Alice Hardy was cousin to both the young fellows, and was a ward of
their uncle, Captain Bayley, an old and very wealthy retired officer of
the East India Company's Service. His fortune had not been acquired in
India, but had descended to him from his father, of whom he had been the
youngest son. His elder brothers had died off one by one, all unmarried
or childless, and soon after he obtained his commission he was recalled
home to take his place as the next heir to his father's estates; then he
had married.
Soon after he succeeded to the property his wife died, leaving him a
little girl, who was called Ella after her. Captain Bayley was hot and
passionate. His daughter grew up fiery and proud. Her father was
passionately fond of her; but just when she reached the age of twenty,
and had taken her place as one of the leading belles of Worcestershire,
she disappeared suddenly from the circle of her acquaintances. What had
happened no one ever knew. That there had been some terrible quarrel was
certain. It was understood that Captain Bayley wished no questions to be
asked. Her disappearance was a nine days' wonder in Worcestershire. Some
said she had turned Roman Catholic and gone into a convent; others that
she must have eloped, although with whom no one could guess. But at last
the subject died out, until two years later Captain Bayley and his
household appeared in mourning, and it was briefly announced that his
daughter was dead.
Captain Bayley went about as before, peppery, kind-hearted, perhaps a
little harder and more cynical than before, but a very popular personage
in Worcestershire. Those who knew him best thought him the most altered,
and said that although he appeared to bear the blow lightly he felt
deeply at heart the death of his daughter. His nearest heirs now were
his two nephews, Frank Norris and Barkley, sons of his married sisters.
Alice Hardy bore no relation to him. For some years speculation had
been rife as to which of his two nephews he would select as his heir.
Two years before this story begins | 862.435088 |
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Internet Archive)
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES:
THE STEADFAST PRINCE;
AND OTHER POEMS.
BY
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.
LONDON:
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET.
MDCCCXLII.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES.
PAGE
ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.—A LEGEND
FROM THE TALMUD 3
CHIDHER’S WELL 11
THE BANISHED KINGS 14
THE BALLADS OF HAROUN AL RASCHID:
I.—THE SPILT PEARLS 20
II.—THE BARMECIDES 24
III.—THE FESTIVAL 35
THE EASTERN NARCISSUS 41
THE SEASONS:
I.—WINTER 43
II.—SPRING 46
III.—SUMMER 49
IV.—AUTUMN 52
MOSES AND JETHRO 55
PROVERBS, TURKISH AND PERSIAN 60
“THE GOOD THAT ONE MAN FLINGS ASIDE” 64
LOVE 67
THE FALCON 69
LIFE THROUGH DEATH:
I.—“A PAGAN KING TORMENTED FIERCELY ALL” 71
II.—“A DEW-DROP FALLING ON THE WILD SEA
WAVE” 73
III.—“THE SEED MUST DIE, BEFORE THE CORN
APPEARS” 74
THE WORLD 75
THE MONK AND SINNER 78
“WHAT, THOU ASKEST, IS THE HEAVEN, AND THE
ROUND EARTH AND THE SEA” 81
THE SUPPLIANT 84
THE PANTHEIST; OR, THE ORIGIN OF EVIL 87
GHAZEL 90
THE RIGHTEOUS OF THE WORLD 91
MAXIMS 94
THE FALCON’S REWARD 96
THE CONVERSION OF ABRAHAM 101
SONNET 103
THE DEAD DOG 104
“FAIR VESSEL HAST THOU SEEN WITH HONEY FILLED” 106
FRAGMENTS:
I.—THE CERTAINTY OF FAITH 108
II.—MAN’S TWOFOLD NATURE 109
III.—SCIENCE AND LOVE 110
IV.—“THE BUSINESS OF THE WORLD IS CHILD’S
PLAY MERE” 111
V.—“SAGE, THAT WOULD’ST MAKER OF THINE OWN
GOD BE” 112
VI.—“MAN, THE CAGED BIRD THAT OWNED AN
HIGHER NEST” 113
NOTES TO THE POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES 115
THE STEADFAST PRINCE:
PART I. 125
PART II. 152
ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS 173
ST. CHRYSOSTOM 184
THE OIL OF MERCY 185
THE TREE OF LIFE.—FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT 192
THE TREE OF LIFE.—FROM AN OLD LATIN POEM 195
PARADISE.—FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT 199
THE LOREY LEY.—FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE 203
“OH THOU OF DARK FOREBODINGS DREAR” 205
THE PRODIGAL 206
THE CORREGAN.—A BALLAD OF BRITTANY 208
SONNET 214
SONNET 215
SONNET 216
THE ETRURIAN KING 217
THE FAMINE 219
THE PRIZE OF SONG 231
NOTES 235
ERRATA.
Page 39, line 9, for _one_ read _our_.
— 191, — 11, dele comma.
— 215, — 2, for _light_ read _slight_.
POEMS
FROM
EASTERN SOURCES.
NOTE.
The following Poems bear somewhat a vague title, because
such only would describe the nature of Poems which have been
derived in very different degrees from the sources thus indicated.
Some are mere translations; others have been modelled anew,
and only such portions used of the originals as were adapted to
my purpose: of others it is only the imagery and thought which
are Eastern, and these have been put together in new combinations;
while of others it is the story, and nothing more, which has been
borrowed, it may be from some prose source. On this subject,
however, more information will be given in the Notes.
ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.
A Legend from the Talmud.
Fierce was the glare of Cashmere’s middle day,
When Alexander for Hydaspes bent,
Through trackless wilds urged his impetuous way
Yet in that vast and sandy continent
A little vale he found, so calm, so sweet,
He there awhile to tarry was content.
A crystal stream was murmuring at his feet,
Whereof the Monarch, when his meal was done,
Took a long draught, to slake his fever heat.
Again he drank, and yet again, as one
Who would have drained that river crystalline
Of all its waves, and left it dry anon:
For in his veins, ofttimes a-fire with wine,
And in his bosom, throne of sleepless pride,
The while he drank, went circling peace divine.
It seemed as though all evil passions died
Within him, slaked was every fire accurst;
So that in rapturous joy aloud he cried:
“Oh! might I find where these pure waters first
Shoot sparkling from their living fountain-head,
Oh! there to quench my spirit’s inmost thirst.
“Sure, if we followed where these waters led,
We should at last some fairer region gain
Than yet has quaked beneath our iron tread,—
“Some land that should in very truth contain
Whate’er we dream of beautiful and bright,
And idly dreaming of, pursue in vain;
“That land must stoop beneath our conquering might.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.
“Oh faithful in a thousand labours known,
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise—and make that land our own.”
—Through realms of darkness, wildernesses vast,
All populous with sights and sounds of | 862.480807 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "THEY SAW MASSES OF ROCKS, BOULDERS, AND STONES, DART ROUND
THE CORNER."]
THE ASCENT
OF
THE MATTERHORN
BY
EDWARD WHYMPER
[Illustration: Vignette]
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
Toil and pleasure, in their natures opposite, are yet linked
together in a kind of necessary connection.--LIVY.
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1880
_All rights are reserved_
PREFACE.
In the year 1860, shortly before leaving England for a long continental
tour, the late Mr. William Longman requested me to make for him some
sketches of the great Alpine peaks. At this time I had only a literary
acquaintance with mountaineering, and had even not seen--much less set foot
upon--a mountain. Amongst the peaks which were upon my list was Mont
Pelvoux, in Dauphine. The sketches that were required of it were to
celebrate the triumph of some Englishmen who intended to make its ascent.
They came--they saw--but they did not conquer. By a mere chance I fell in
with a very agreeable Frenchman who accompanied this party, and was
pressed by him to return to the assault. In 1861 we did so, with my friend
Macdonald--and we conquered. This was the origin of my scrambles amongst
the Alps.
The ascent of Mont Pelvoux (including the disagreeables) was a very
delightful scramble. The mountain air did _not_ act as an emetic; the sky
did _not_ look black, instead of blue; nor did I feel tempted to throw
myself over precipices. I hastened to enlarge my experience, and went to
the Matterhorn. I was urged towards Mont Pelvoux by those mysterious
impulses which cause men to peer into the unknown. Not only was this
mountain reputed to be the highest in France, and on that account was
worthy of attention, but it was the dominating point of a most picturesque
district of the greatest interest, which, to this day, remains almost
unexplored! The Matterhorn attracted me simply by its grandeur. It was
considered to be the most thoroughly inaccessible of all mountains, even
by those who ought to have known better. Stimulated to make fresh
exertions by one repulse after another, I returned, year after year, as I
had opportunity, more and more determined to find a way up it, or to
_prove_ it to be really inaccessible.
The chief part of this volume is occupied by the history of these attacks
on the Matterhorn, and the other excursions that are described have all
some connection, more or less remote, with that mountain or with Mont
Pelvoux. All are new excursions (that is, excursions made for the first
time), unless the contrary is pointed out. Some have been passed over very
briefly, and entire ascents or descents have been disposed of in a single
line. Generally speaking, the salient points alone have been dwelt upon,
and the rest has been left to the imagination. This treatment has spared
the reader from much useless repetition.
In endeavouring to make the book of some use to those who may wish to go
mountain-scrambling, whether in the Alps or elsewhere, prominence has been
given to our mistakes and failures; and to some it may seem that our
practice must have been bad if the principles which are laid down are
sound, or that the principles must be unsound if the practice was good.
The principles which are brought under the notice of the reader are,
however, deduced from long experience, which experience had not been
gained at the time that the blunders were perpetrated; and, if it had been
acquired at an earlier date, there would have been fewer failures to
record.
My scrambles amongst the Alps were a sort of apprenticeship in the art of
mountaineering, and they were, for the most part, carried out in the
company of men who were masters of their craft. In any art the learner,
who wishes to do good work, does well to associate himself with master
workmen, and I attribute much of the success which is recorded in this
volume to my having been frequently under the guidance of the best
mountaineers of the time. The hints and observations which are dispersed
throughout the volume are not the result of personal experience only, they
have been frequently derived from professional mountaineers, who have
studied the art from their youth upwards.
Without being unduly discursive in the narrative, it has not been possible
to include in the text all the observations which are desirable for the
general reader, and a certain amount of elementary knowledge has been
pre-supposed, which perhaps some do not possess; and the opportunity is
now taken of making a few remarks which may serve to elucidate those which
follow.
When a man who is not a born mountaineer gets upon the side of a mountain,
he speedily finds out that walking is an art; and very soon wishes that he
could be a quadruped or a centipede, or anything except a biped; but, as
there is a difficulty in satisfying these very natural desires, he
ultimately procures an alpenstock and turns himself into a tripod. This
simple implement is invaluable to the mountaineer, and when he is parted
from it involuntarily (and who has not been?) he is inclined to say, just
as one may remark of other friends, "You were only a stick--a poor
stick--but you were a true friend, and I should like to be in your company
again."
[Illustration: Point of Alpenstock]
Respecting the size of the alpenstock, let it be remarked that it may be
nearly useless if it be too long or too short. It should always be shorter
than the person who carries it, but it may be any length you like between
three-fifths of your height and your extreme altitude. It should be made
of ash, of the very best quality; and should support your weight upon its
centre when it is suspended at its two ends. Unless shod with an iron
point it can scarcely be termed an al | 862.481024 |
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THE LIFE OF
THOMAS, LORD COCHRANE,
TENTH EARL OF DUNDONALD, G.C.B., ADMIRAL OF THE RED,
REAR-ADMIRAL OF THE FLEET, ETC., ETC.,
COMPLETING "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SEAMAN."
BY
THOMAS, ELEVENTH EARL OF DUNDONALD,
AND
H. R. FOX BOURNE,
AUTHOR OF "ENGLISH SEAMEN UNDER THE TUDORS," ETC. ETC.
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1869.
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
PAGE
CHAPTER XVII.
[1827.]
Lord Cochrane's Arrival in Greece.--His Account of Hydra and
Poros.--The Congratulations offered to him.--Visits from Tombazes,
Mavrocordatos, and Miaoulis.--Letters from the National Assembly and
other Public Bodies and Leading Men.--The Divisions in Greece.--The
French or Moreot, and English or Phanariot Factions.--Lord Cochrane's
Relations with them.--The Visit of Kolokotrones and other Deputies
from the National Assembly.--Lord Cochrane's Efforts to procure
Unanimity.--Sir Richard Church.--Lord Cochrane's Commission as First
Admiral.--The National Assembly at Troezene.--The Election of
Capodistrias as President--Lord Cochrane's Oath-taking.--His Advice to
the National Assembly and Proclamation to the Greeks 1
CHAPTER XVIII.
[1827.]
The Siege of Athens--The Defenders of the Acropolis.--The Efforts of
Gordon and Karaiskakes.--Lord Cochrane's Plan for Cutting off the
Turkish Supplies.--The Arguments by which he was induced to proceed
instead to the Phalerum.--His Arrival there.--His other Arrangements
for Serving Greece.--His First Meeting with Karaiskakes.--The
Condition of the Greek Camp.--Lord Cochrane's Position.--His Efforts
to give Immediate Relief to the Acropolis, and the Obstacles raised by
the Greeks.--Karaiskakes's Delays, and General Church's
Difficulties.--The Convent of Saint Spiridion.--The Battle of
Phalerum.--The Capture of Saint Spiridion.--The Massacre of the Turks,
and its Consequences.--Lord Cochrane's renewed Efforts to Save the
Acropolis.--The Death of Karaiskakes.--The March to the
Acropolis.--Its Failure through the Perversity of the Greeks.--The
Battle of Athens.--The Fall of the Acropolis 31
CHAPTER XIX.
[1827.]
Lord Cochrane's Return to Poros.--His Attempts to Organise an
Efficient Greek Navy.--The Want of Funds and the Apathy of the
Greeks.--His Letter to the Psarians, and his Visits to Hydra and
Spetzas.--His Cruise Round the Morea.--His First Engagement with the
Turks.--The Disorganization of his Greek Sailors.--His Capture of a
Vessel bearing the British Flag, laden with Greek Prisoners.--Seizure
of Part of Reshid Pasha's Harem.--Ibrahim Pasha's Narrow Escape.--Lord
Cochrane's Further Difficulties.--His Expedition to Alexandria.--Its
Failure through the Cowardice of his Seamen.--His two Letters to the
Pasha of Egypt.--His Return to Poros.--Further Efforts to Improve the
Navy.--His Visit to Syra.--The Troubles of the Greek Government.--Lord
Cochrane's Visit to Navarino.--His Defeat of a Turkish Squadron 77
CHAPTER XX.
[1827.]
The Action of Great Britain and Russia on Behalf of Hellenic
Independence.--The Degradation of Greece.--Lord Cochrane's Renewed
Efforts to Organise a Fleet.--Prince Paul Buonaparte, and his
Death.--An Attempt to Assassinate Lord Cochrane.--His Intended
Expedition to Western Greece.--Its Prevention by Sir Edward
Codrington.--Lord Cochrane's Return to the Archipelago.--The
Interference of Great Britain, France, and Russia.--The Causes of the
Battle of Navarino.--The Battle 114
CHAPTER XXI.
[1827-1828.]
The First Consequences of the Interference of the Allied Powers and
the Battle of Navarino.--Lord Cochrane's intended Share in Fabvier's
Expedition to Chios.--Its Abandonment.--His Cruise among the Islands
and about Navarino.--His Efforts to Repress Piracy.--His Return to the
Archipelago.--The Misconduct of the Government.--Lord Cochrane's
Complaints.--His Letters to the Representatives of the Allied Powers,
acquitting Himself of Complicity in Greek Piracy.--His Further
Complaints to the Government.--His Resolution to Visit England.--His
Letter to Count Capodistrias Explaining and Justifying that
Resolution.--His Departure from Greece, and Arrival at
Portsmouth.--His Letter to M. Eynard 134
CHAPTER XXII.
[1828-1829.]
Lord Cochrane's Occupations on Behalf of Greece in London and
Paris.--His Second Letter to Capodistrias.--His Defence of Himself
with Reference to his Visit to Western Europe.--His Return to
Greece.--Capodistrias's Presidency and the Progress of Greece.--Lord
Cochrane's Reception by the Government.--The Settlement of his
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CANADA
WEST
160 ACRE
FARMS in
WESTERN
CANADA
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THE
GENTLEMAN AND LADY'S
BOOK OF POLITENESS
AND
PROPRIETY OF DEPORTMENT,
DEDICATED TO THE
YOUTH OF BOTH SEXES.
BY Mme. CELNART.
TRANSLATED FROM THE SIXTH PARIS EDITION,
ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.
BOSTON.
ALLEN AND TICKNOR,
AND
CARTER, HENDEE & CO
1833.
Entered according to Act of Congress, the year 1833, by Allen and
Ticknor, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
BOSTON: Kane and Co. 127 Washington Street.
PREFACE.
The present work has had an extensive circulation in France, the country
which we are accustomed to consider as the genial soil of politeness;
and the publishers have thought it would be rendering a useful service
on this side of the Atlantic to issue a translation of it.
Some foreign visitors in our country, whose own manners have not always
given them a right to be censors of others, have very freely told us
what we ought _not_ to do; and it will be useful to know from
respectable authority, what is done in polished society in Europe, and,
of course, what we _ought to do_, in order to avoid all just censure.
This object, we are confident, will be more effectually accomplished by
the study of the principles and rules contained in the present volume,
than by any other of the kind.
By persons who are deemed competent judges in such a case, this little
work has been pronounced to be one of the most useful and practical
works extant upon the numerous and delicate topics which are discussed
in it. We are aware, that a man can no more acquire the ease and
elegance of a finished gentleman, by any manual of this kind, than in
the fine arts he could become a skilful painter or sculptor by studying
books alone, without practice. It is, however, equally true, that the
_principles_ of Politeness may be studied, as well as the principles of
the arts. At the same time, intercourse with polite society, in other
words, _practice_, as in the case of the arts, must do the rest.
The reader will find in this volume some rules founded on customs and
usages peculiar to France and other countries, where the Roman Catholic
religion is established. But it was thought better to retain them in the
work, than to mutilate it, by making such material alterations as would
have been occasioned by expunging every thing of that description. In
our liberal and tolerant country, these peculiarities will give offence
to none; while to many, their novelty, at least, will be interesting.
The Translator.
_Boston, May 6, 1833._
CONTENTS.
PART I.
Page.
Introduction.
Of Propriety of Deportment, and its Advantages xiii
CHAPTER I.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Relation to Religious Duties 1
Sect. 1. Of respectful Deportment at Church ibid.
2. Of religious Propriety in our Intercourse with
the World 6
CHAPTER II.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Relation to Domestic Duties 9
CHAPTER III.
Of Propriety of Conduct in Conjugal and Domestic Relations 12
CHAPTER IV.
Of Propriety as regards one's self 19
Sect. 1. Of the Toilet ibid.
2. Of Reputation 27
CHAPTER V.
Of Propriety in regard to one's Business or Profession 32
Sect. 1. Politeness of Shopkeepers and Customers ibid.
2. Politeness between Persons in Office and the Public 38
3. Politeness of Lawyers and their Clients 39
4. Politeness of Physicians and their Patients 40
5. Politeness of Artists and Authors, and the deference
due to them 42
6. Politeness of Military Men 46
7. Politeness of Ecclesiastics and Females of Religious
Orders; and the deference due to them 48
PART II.
OF PROPRIETY OF DEPORTMENT | 862.484933 |
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PSYCHOLOGY
AND PARENTHOOD
BY
H. ADDINGTON BRUCE
Author of “The Riddle of Personality,” “Scientific
Mental Healing,” etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
1919
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
TO
MY SISTER
ROBERTA BRUCE PEMBERTON
PREFACE
The chief aim of this informal “handbook for parents” is to review and
unify, in non-technical language, the findings of modern psychology
which bear especially on the laws of mental and moral growth. The
time has come when it is not only desirable but necessary to attempt
something of this sort; for in the course of their labours the
educational, medical, and social psychologists have accumulated a
mass of data revealing unsuspected defects, and hinting at marvellous
possibilities, in the upbringing of the young.
On the one hand, they have shown that not enough heed has been paid to
the hampering influences of an unfavourable environment and physical
maladjustment; and, on the other hand, they have made it clear that, by
instituting certain reforms, it is entirely feasible to develop mental
and moral vigour in the mass of mankind to an astonishing degree. My
own belief, indeed, for reasons set forth in subsequent pages, is that
the discoveries of the modern psychologists justify the assertion that,
through proper training in childhood, it is possible to create a race
of men and women far superior morally to the generalty of the world’s
inhabitants to-day, and manifesting intellectual powers of a far higher
order than the generalty now display.
Whether this belief will ever be vindicated—whether, for the matter
of that, the discoveries of recent psychological research will
prove of any real value—depends, of course, on the extent to which
practical application is made by those having charge of the young, and
particularly by parents. For the fact most surely established by the
scientific investigators is that it is in the first years of life, and
in the influences of the home, that the forces are set in motion which
count for most in the making or marring of the individual’s character
and career. Parental responsibility is consequently much greater than
most parents suppose; but so is parental opportunity. This book
accordingly is addressed primarily to parents in the hope that it may
be of some assistance to them in avoiding the pitfalls, and developing
the possibilities, of that most important of all human activities—the
training of the next generation.
Portions of the book have already appeared in various periodicals—_The
Century Magazine_, _The Outlook_, _McClure’s Magazine_, etc.—and to the
editors of these publications I owe a word of grateful acknowledgment.
I am also under obligations to numerous medical and psychological
friends for valuable information. But most of all, as always, I am
indebted to my wife, whose critical reading of the manuscript has
resulted in many helpful suggestions.
H. ADDINGTON BRUCE.
Cambridge, Massachusetts,
_February_, 1915.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE vii
I THE IMPORTANCE OF THE ENVIRONMENT 3
II SUGGESTION IN EDUCATION 39
III THE SECRET OF GENIUS 71
IV INTENSIVE CHILD CULTURE 113
V THE PROBLEM OF LAZINESS 161
VI A CHAPTER ON LAUGHTER 193
VII HYSTERIA IN CHILDHOOD 221
VIII THE MENACE OF FEAR 249
IX A FEW CLOSING WORDS 283
I
THE IMPORTANCE OF THE ENVIRONMENT
Many years ago, according to a story which remains vividly in my memory
by reason of its grim suggestiveness, two small boys were one day
sauntering along a country road. The sight of an orchard, resplendent
in its autumn glory of red and green and gold, tempted them with
irresistible appeal, as it has tempted thousands of other boys before
and since. Over the rail-fence they scrambled, up a well-laden tree
they climbed, and soon were merrily at work filling their pockets.
But now from a near-by cottage came the man who owned the orchard,
and his coming was the signal for a hasty descent. One of the boys
made good his escape; the other, less quick-footed, was dragged, a
loudly-protesting captive, to the home of the local magistrate.
“More apple-stealing!” this stern functionary exclaimed. “Something
must be done to stop it. Let us make an example of this bad boy.” To
prison forthwith he consigned the luckless youth.
His companion, thankful for his happier fate, returned to his home, his
school, and his books. From school he went to college, and afterward
took up the study of law, beginning his professional career with a
reputation for great intellectual ability and strength of character. In
course of time he was made a judge.
As judge he was called on to preside at the trial of a man accused of
murder. The evidence of guilt was conclusive, conviction speedy. It
became his duty to don the black cap and pronounce sentence of death.
But before he did this, he was struck with something familiar in the
prisoner’s sodden, passion-marked features, made inquiry concerning his
early history, and, to his mingled horror and amazement, learned that
the wretched man was none other than the happy, buoyant lad who had
first felt the heavy hand of the law on account of the orchard-robbing
episode in which the judge, now about to doom him to the scaffold, had
gone scot-free.
Than this strange chapter in human experience I can at the moment
recall nothing that more strikingly suggests and illustrates the
dominant theory in modern scientific thought regarding the offender
against society. The implication that the contrasting careers of the
two boys were largely determined by circumstances over which they had
no control, and that it was the brutalising jail experience of the one
and the more fortunate upbringing of the other that chiefly accounted
for their diverse fates, unquestionably represents the views held by
the great majority of present-day students of delinquency and crime. To
be sure, there are not a few who would raise the question, “Might not
the boy who was caught in the orchard have ‘gone wrong’ in any event,
because of inborn defects?” These are the enthusiasts conspicuous
to-day as leaders of the so-called eugenics movement looking to the
improvement of mankind on stock-breeding principles—by sterilisation
of the “unfit,” stricter marriage laws, etc. Nor can it be denied that
they have on their side a formidable array of facts which would seem to
demonstrate the unescapable fatality of a bad heredity. On the other
hand it is equally certain that there is a steadily growing body of
evidence giving ever greater support to the opposite view—to the view,
namely, that after all the influence of heredity is of quite secondary
importance to that of environment in the marring or making of a human
life.
Even the facts emphasised by the eugenists themselves sometimes
tend, on close examination, to bear out the belief that it is in the
surroundings and training of a child rather than in his heredity that
the sources of his ultimate goodness or badness are mainly to be found.
The history of the notorious Juke family, featured by almost every
modern advocate of the “fatal heredity” theory, is a case in point.
The first Jukes of whom anything is known were five sisters of obscure
parentage who lived in Ulster County, New York, in the second half
of the eighteenth century. At least four of the five took early to a
life of vice, and eventually all married and had children. Many years
afterward a visitor to an Ulster County jail noticed that among its
inmates, awaiting trial on various charges, were six members of one
family, including two boys accused of assault with intent to kill.
Inquiry showed that the six were directly descended from the oldest
Juke girl, and that more than half of their male blood-relatives in the
county were likewise in some degree criminal.
Impressed by these facts the jail visitor, Mr. R. L. Dugdale,
determined to make a genealogical research into the life histories
of as many of the descendants of the five Juke sisters as could be
traced. Altogether it was found possible to obtain pretty complete
data concerning seven hundred and nine of these, with the following
astonishing results:
Of the entire seven hundred and nine, not twenty had been skilled
workers, and ten of these had learned their trade in prison; only
twenty-two had been persons of property, and of this number eight
had lost the little they acquired; sixty-four had been in the county
alms-house; one hundred and forty-two had received outdoor relief; one
hundred and twenty-eight had been prostitutes, and eighteen keepers of
houses of ill-fame; finally, seventy-six were reported as criminals,
with one hundred and fifteen more or less serious crimes to their
discredit. All this in seven generations of a single family.
Surely one might well be tempted to find here “the most striking proof
of the heredity of crime,” as Cesare Lombroso did not hesitate to
pronounce this sad history of the Jukes. But there is something to be
added.
Following the publication of Mr. Dugdale’s book, “The Jukes,”
giving the family record, there came under the care of a charitable
organisation an eighth-generation descendant of the oldest Juke sister,
a foundling baby boy, cast upon the tender mercies of the world with
all the burden of “innate depravity” transmitted from his vicious
ancestors. Instead of taking it for granted that he would inevitably
come to an evil end, the charity-workers decided to give him the
benefit of a refined environment and good family care. Accordingly a
home was found for him with a kind-hearted widow, whose own sons had
grown to a worthy manhood, and from her for ten years he received the
loving and intelligent training which is the birthright of every child.
At the end of that time he had developed into a fine, manly boy, with,
however, a somewhat superabundant fund of animal spirits and a tendency
to unruliness. It was evident that, owing to her advanced age, his
foster-mother could not give him the stricter discipline he now seemed
to need, and arrangements were made for his adoption by a farmer and
his wife living in a Western State. By them he was again treated with
the utmost affection, coupled with more firmness than he had hitherto
known. Little by little his unruliness disappeared; he became eager to
excel both at school and in the work of the farm, and soon became known
as one of the best boys of the neighbourhood. The older he grew the
more evidence he gave of possessing a strong moral foundation on which
to build his future career. When last heard from by the charitable
organisation to which he owed so much, he had struck out for himself,
an alert, vigorous, forceful young man, of sterling character, and full
of the self-confidence which wins success.
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[Illustration]
[Illustration]
OLD
FASHIONED
FLOWERS
AND OTHER
OUT-OF-DOOR
STUDIES
BY
MAURICE
MAETERLINCK
TRANSLATED BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA
DE MATTOS
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & CO.
1905
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY THE OUTLOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY THE CENTURY CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1905
COMPOSITION AND ELECTROTYPE PLATES BY
D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON
CONTENTS
OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS 3
NEWS OF SPRING 43
FIELD FLOWERS 65
CHRYSANTHEMUMS 85
ILLUSTRATIONS
“I HAVE SEEN THEM... IN THE GARDEN OF AN OLD SAGE” _Frontispiece_
“THE HOLLYHOCK... FLAUNTS HER COCKADES” _Facing page_ 20
“A CLUSTER OF CYPRESSES, WITH ITS PURE OUTLINE” 50
“THAT SORT OF CRY AND CREST OF LIGHT AND JOY” 70
“HERE IS THE SAD COLUMBINE” 74
THE CHRYSANTHEMUMS 92
OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS [Illustration] _OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS_
This morning, when I went to look at my flowers, surrounded by their
white fence, which protects them against the good cattle grazing in the
field beyond, I saw again in my mind all that blossoms in the woods, the
fields, the gardens, the orangeries and the green-houses, and I thought
of all that we owe to the world of marvels which the bees visit.
Can we conceive what humanity would be if it did not know the flowers?
If these did not exist, if they had all been hidden from our gaze, as
are probably a thousand no less fairy sights that are all around us, but
invisible to our eyes, would our character, our faculties, our sense of
the beautiful, our aptitude for happiness, be quite the same? We should,
it is true, in nature have other splendid manifestations of luxury,
exuberance and grace; other dazzling efforts of the superfluous forces:
the sun, the stars, the varied lights of the moon, the azure and the
ocean, the dawns and twilights, the mountain, the plain, the forest and
the rivers, the light and the trees, and lastly, nearer to us, birds,
precious stones and woman. These are the ornaments of our planet. Yet
but for the last three, which belong to the same smile of nature, how
grave, austere, almost sad, would be the education of our eye without
the softness which the flowers give! Suppose for a moment that our globe
knew them not: a great region, the most enchanted in the joys of our
psychology, would be destroyed, or rather would not be discovered. All
of a delightful sense would sleep for ever at the bottom of our harder
and more desert hearts and in our imagination stripped of worshipful
images. The infinite world of colours and shades would have been but
incompletely revealed to us by a few rents in the sky. The miraculous
harmonies of light at play, ceaselessly inventing new gaieties,
revelling in itself, would be unknown to us; for the flowers first broke
up the prism and made the most subtle portion of our sight. And the
magic garden of perfumes--who would have opened its gate to us? A few
grasses, a few gums, a few fruits, the breath of the dawn, the smell of
the night and the sea, would have told us that beyond our eyes and ears
there existed a shut paradise where the air which we breathe changes
into delights for which we could have found no name. Consider also all
that the voice of human happiness would lack! One of the blessed heights
of our soul would be almost dumb, if the flowers had not, since
centuries, fed with their beauty the language which we speak and the
thoughts that endeavour to crystallize the most precious hours of life.
The whole vocabulary, all the impressions of love, are impregnate with
their breath, nourished with their smile. When we love, all the flowers
that we have seen and smelt seem to hasten within us to people with
their known charms the consciousness of a sentiment whose happiness, but
for them, would have no more form than the horizons of the sea or sky.
They have accumulated within us, since our childhood, and even before
it, in the soul of our fathers, an immense treasure, the nearest to our
joys, upon which we draw each time that we wish to make more real the
clement minutes of our life. They have created and spread in our world
of sentiment the fragrant atmosphere in which love delights.
II
That is why I love above all the simplest, the commonest, the oldest and
the most antiquated; those which have a long human past behind them, a
large array of kind and consoling actions; those which have lived with
us for hundreds of years and which form part of ourselves, since they
reflect something of their grace and their joy of life in the soul of
our ancestors.
But where do they hide themselves? They are becoming rarer than those
which we call rare flowers to-day. Their life is secret and precarious.
It seems as though we were on the point of losing them, and perhaps
there are some which, discouraged at last, have lately disappeared, of
which the seeds have died under the ruins, which will no more know the
dew of the gardens and which we shall find only in very old books, amid
the bright grass of the Illuminators or along the yellow flower-beds of
the Primitives.
They are driven from the borders and the proud baskets by arrogant
strangers from Peru, the Cape of Good Hope, China, Japan. They have two
pitiless enemies in particular. The first of these is the encumbering
and prolific Begonia Tuberosa, that swarms in the beds like a tribe of
turbulent fighting-cocks, with innumerous combs. It is pretty, but
insolent and a little artificial; and, whatever the silence and
meditation of the hour, under the sun and under the moon, in the
intoxication of the day and the solemn peace of the night, it sounds its
clarion cry and celebrates its victory, monotonous, shrill and
scentless. The other is the Double Geranium, not quite so indiscreet,
but indefatigable also and extraordinarily courageous. It would appear
desirable were it less lavished. These two,--with the help of a few more
cunning strangers and of the plants with leaves that close up
those turgid mosaics which at present debase the beautiful lines of most
of our lawns,--these two have gradually ousted their native sisters from
the spots which these had so long brightened with their familiar
smiles. They no longer have the right to receive the guest with artless
little cries of welcome at the gilded gates of the mansion. They are
forbidden to prattle near the steps, to twitter in the marble vases, to
hum their tune beside the lakes, to lisp their dialect along the
borders. A few of them have been relegated to the kitchen-garden, in the
neglected and, for that matter, delightful corner occupied by the
medicinal or merely aromatic plants, the Sage, the Tarragon, the Fennel
and the Thyme,--old servants, too, dismissed and nourished through a
sort of pity or mechanical tradition. Others have taken refuge by the
stables, near the low door of the kitchen or the cellar, where they
crowd humbly like importunate beggars, hiding their bright dresses among
the weeds and holding their frightened perfumes as best they may, so as
not to attract attention.
But, even there, the Pelargonium, red with indignation, and the Begonia,
crimson with rage, came to surprise and hustle the unoffending little
band; and they fled to the farms, the cemeteries, the little gardens of
the rectories, the old maid’s houses and the country convents. And now
hardly anywhere, save in the oblivion of the oldest villages, around
tottering dwellings, far from the railways and the nursery-gardener’s
overbearing hot-houses, do we find them again with their natural smile;
not wearing a driven, panting and hunted look, but peaceful, calm,
restful, plentiful, careless and at home. And, even as in former times,
in the coaching-days, from the top of the stone wall that surrounds the
house, through the rails of the white fence, or from the sill of the
windows enlivened by a caged bird, on the motionless road where none
passes, save the eternal forces of life, they see spring come and
autumn, the rain and the sun, the butterflies and the bees, the silence
and the night followed by the light of the moon.
III
Brave old flowers! Wall-flowers, Gillyflowers, Stocks! For, even as the
field-flowers, from which a trifle, a ray of beauty, a drop of perfume,
divides them, they have charming names, the softest in the language; and
each of them, like tiny, artless ex-votos, or like medals bestowed by
the gratitude of men, proudly bears three or four. You Stocks, who sing
among the ruined walls and cover with light the grieving stones; you
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MY LORD DUKE
BY E. W. HORNUNG
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY 1
II. "HAPPY JACK" 16
III. A CHANCE LOST 31
IV. NOT IN THE PROGRAMME 44
V. WITH THE ELECT 63
VI. A NEW LEAF 77
VII. THE DUKE'S PROGRESS 90
VIII. THE OLD ADAM 105
IX. AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 122
X. "DEAD NUTS" 137
XI. THE NIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH 151
XII. THE WRONG MAN 163
XIII. THE INTERREGNUM 180
XIV. JACK AND HIS MASTER 189
XV. END OF THE INTERREGNUM 199
XVI. "LOVE THE GIFT" 215
XVII. AN ANTI-TOXINE 223
XVIII. HECKLING A MINISTER 233
XIX. THE CAT AND THE MOUSE 244
XX. "LOVE THE DEBT" 257
XXI. THE BAR SINISTER 266
XXII. DE MORTUIS 282
MY LORD DUKE
CHAPTER I
THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY
The Home Secretary leant his golf-clubs against a chair. His was the
longest face of all.
"I am only sorry it should have come now," said Claude apologetically.
"Just as we were starting for the links! Our first day, too!" muttered
the Home Secretary.
"_I_ think of Claude," remarked his wife. "I can never tell you, Claude,
how much I feel for you! We shall miss you dreadfully, of course; but we
couldn't expect to enjoy ourselves after this; and I think, in the
circumstances, that you are quite right to go up to town at once."
"Why?" cried the Home Secretary warmly. "What good can he do in the
Easter holidays? Everybody will be away; he'd much better come with me
and fill his lungs with fresh air."
"I can never tell you how much I feel for you," repeated Lady Caroline
to Claude Lafont.
"Nor I," said Olivia. "It's too horrible! I don't believe it. To think
of their finding him after all! I don't believe they _have_ found him.
You've made some mistake, Claude. You've forgotten your code; the cable
really means that they've _not_ found him, and are giving up the
search!"
Claude Lafont shook his head.
"There may be something in what Olivia says," remarked the Home
Secretary. "The mistake may have been made at the other end. It would
bear talking over on the links."
Claude shook his head again.
"We have no reason to suppose there has been a mistake at all, Mr.
Sellwood. Cripps is not the kind of man to make mistakes; and I can
swear to my code. The word means, 'Duke found--I sail with him at
once.'"
"An Australian Duke!" exclaimed Olivia.
"A blackamoor, no doubt," said Lady Caroline with conviction.
"Your kinsman, in any case," said Claude Lafont, laughing; "and my
cousin; and the head of the family from this day forth."
"It was madness!" cried Lady Caroline softly. "Simple madness--but then
all you poets _are_ mad! Excuse me, Claude, but you remind me of the
Lafont blood in my own veins--you make it boil. I feel as if I never
could forgive you! To turn up your nose at one of the oldest titles in
the three kingdoms; to think twice about a purely hypothetical heir at
the antipodes; and actually to send out your solicitor to hunt him up!
If that was not Quixotic lunacy, I should like to know what is?"
The Right Honourable George Sellwood took a new golf-ball from his
pocket, and bowed his white head mournfully as he stripped off the
tissue paper.
"My dear Lady Caroline, _noblesse oblige_--and a man must do his obvious
duty," he heard Claude saying, in his slightly pedantic fashion.
"Besides, I should have cut a very sorry figure had I jumped at the
throne, as it were, and sat there until I was turned out. One knew there
_had_ been an heir in Australia; the only thing was to find out if he
was still alive; and Cripps has done so. I'm bound to say I had given
him up. Cripps has written quite hopelessly of late. He must have found
the scent and followed it up during the last six weeks; but in another
six he will be here to tell us all about it--and we shall see the Duke.
Meanwhile, pray don't waste your sympathies upon _me_. To be perfectly
frank, this is in many ways a relief to me--I am only sorry it has come
now. You know my tastes; but I have hitherto found it expedient to make
a little secret of my opinions. Now, however, there can be no harm in my
saying that they are not entirely in harmony with the hereditary
principle. You hold up your hands, dear Lady Caroline, but I assure you
that my seat in the Upper Chamber would have been a seat of
conscientious thorns. In fact I have been in a difficulty, ever since my
grandfather's death, which I am very thankful to have removed. On the
other hand, I love my--may I say my art? And luckily I have enough to
cultivate the muse on, at all events, the best of oatmeal; so I am not
to be pitied. A good quatrain, Olivia, is more to me than coronets; and
the society of my literary friends is dearer to my heart than that of
all the peers in Christendom."
Claude was a poet; when he forgot this fact he was also an excellent
fellow. His affectations ended with his talk. In appearance he was
distinctly desirable. He had long, clean limbs, a handsome, shaven,
mild-eyed face, and dark hair as short as another's. He would have made
an admirable Duke.
Mr. Sellwood looked up a little sharply from his dazzling new golf-ball.
"Why go to town at all?" said he.
"Well, the truth is, I have been in a false position all these months,"
replied Claude, forgetting his poetry and becoming natural at once. "I
want to get out of it without a day's unnecessary delay. This thing must
be made public."
The statesman considered.
"I suppose it must," said he, judicially.
"Undoubtedly," said Lady Caroline, looking from Olivia to Claude. "The
sooner the better."
"Not at all," said the Home Secretary. "It has kept nearly a year.
Surely it can keep another week? Look here, my good fellow. I come down
here expressly to play golf with you, and you want to bunker me in the
very house! I take it for the week for nothing else, and you want to
desert me the very first morning. You shan't do either, so that's all
about it."
"You're a perfect tyrant!" cried Lady Caroline. "I'm ashamed of you,
George; and I hope Claude will do exactly as he likes. _I_ shall be
sorry enough to lose him, goodness knows!"
"So shall I," said Olivia simply.
Lady Caroline shuddered.
"Look at the day!" cried Mr. Sellwood, jumping up with his pink face
glowing beneath his virile silver hair. "Look at the sea! Look at the
sand! Look at the sea-breeze lifting the very carpet under our feet! Was
there ever such a day for golf?"
Claude wavered visibly.
"Come on," said Mr. Sellwood, catching up his clubs. "I'm awfully sorry
for you, my boy. But come on!"
"You will have to give in, Claude," said Olivia, who loved her father.
Lady Caroline shrugged her shoulders.
"Of course," said she, "I hope he will; still I don't think our own
selfish considerations should detain him against his better judgment."
"I am eager to see Cripps's partners," said Claude vacillating. "They
may know more about it."
"And solicitors are such trying people," remarked Lady Caroline
sympathetically; "one always does want to see them personally, to know
what they really mean."
"That's what I feel," said Claude.
"But what on earth has he to consult them about?" demanded the Home
Secretary. "Everything will keep--except the golf. Besides, my dear
fellow, you are perfectly safe in the hands of Maitland, Hollis, Cripps
and Company. A fine steady firm, and yet pushing too. I recollect they
were the first solicitors in London--"
"Were!" said his wife significantly.
"To supply us with typewritten briefs, my love. Now there is little
else. In such hands, my dear Claude, your interests are quite
undramatically safe."
"Still," said Claude, "it's an important matter; and I am, after all,
for the moment, the head of--"
"I'll tell you what you are," cried the politician, with a burst of that
hot brutality which had formerly made him the wholesome terror of the
Junior Bar; "you're a confounded minor Cockney poet! If you want to go
back to your putrid midnight oil, go back to it; if you want to get out
of the golf, get out of it! I'm off. I shouldn't like to be rude to you,
Claude, my boy, and I may be if I remain. No doubt I shall be able to
pick up somebody down at the links."
Claude struck his flag.
A minute later, Olivia, from the broad bay window, watched the lank,
handsome poet and the sturdy, white-haired statesman hurrying along the
Marina arm-in-arm; both in knickerbockers and Norfolk jackets; and each
carrying a quiverful of golf-clubs in his outer hand.
The girl was lost in thought.
"Olivia," said a voice behind her, "your father behaved like a brute!"
"I didn't think so; it was all in good part. And it will do him so much
good!"
"Do whom?"
"Poor Claude! Of course he is dreadfully cut up."
"Then why did he pretend to be pleased?"
"That was his pluck. He took it splendidly. I never admired him so
much!"
Lady Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again without a
word. Her daughter's slight figure was silhouetted against the middle
window of the bow; the sun put a golden crown upon the fair young head;
yet the head was bent, and the girl's whole attitude one of pity and of
thought. Lady Caroline Sellwood rose quietly, and left the room.
That species of low cunning, which was one of her Ladyship's traits, had
placed her for the moment in a rather neat dilemma. Claude Lafont had
cast poet's eyes at Olivia for months and years; and for weeks and
months Olivia's mother had wished there were less poetry and more
passion in the composition of that aristocrat. He would not say what
nobody else, not even Lady Caroline, could say for him. He was content
to dangle and admire; he had called Olivia his "faery queen," with his
lips and with his pen, in private and in print; but he had betrayed no
immediate desire to call her his wife. Lady Caroline had recommended him
to marry, and he had denounced marriage as "the death of romance." Quite
sure in her own mind that she was dealing with none other than the Duke
of St. Osmund's, it was her Ladyship who had planned the present small
party (which her distinguished husband would call a "foursome") for the
Easter Recess. Flatly disbelieving in the existence of the alleged
Australian heir, she had seen the merit of engaging Olivia to Claude
before the latter assumed his title in the eyes of the world. That the
title was his to assume, when he liked, had been the opinion of all the
Lafonts, save Claude himself, from the very first; and, when it suited
her, Lady Caroline Sellwood was very well pleased to consider herself a
Lafont. In point of fact, her mother had borne that illustrious name
before her marriage with the impecunious Earl Clennell of Ballycawley;
and Lady Caroline was herself a great-granddaughter of the sixth Duke of
St. Osmund's.
The sixth Duke (who exerted himself to make the second half of the last
century rather wickeder than the first) had two sons, of whom her
present Ladyship's grandfather was the younger. The elder became the
seventh Duke, and begot the eighth (and most respectable) Duke of St.
Osmund's--the aged peer lately deceased. The eighth Duke, again, had but
two sons, who both predeceased him. These two sons were, respectively,
Claude's father and the unmentionable Marquis of Maske. The Marquis was
a man after the heart of his worst ancestor, a fascinating blackguard,
neither more nor less. At twenty-four he had raised the temperature of
his native air to a degree incompatible with his own safety; and had
fled the country never to return. Word of his death was received from
Australia in the year 1866. He had died horribly, from thirst in the
wilderness, and yet a proper compassion was impossible even after that.
For the news was accompanied by a letter from the dead man's
hand--scrawled at his last gasp, and pinned with his knife to the tree
under which the body was found--yet composed in a vein of revolting
cynicism, and containing further news of the most embarrassing
description. The Marquis was leaving behind him--somewhere in
Australia--at the moment he really could not say where--a small
Viscount Dillamore to inherit ultimately the title and estates. He gave
no dates, but said his wife was dead. To the best of his belief,
however, the lad was alive; and might be known by the French eagle of
the Lafonts, which the father had himself tattooed upon his little
chest.
This was all the clue which had been left to Claude, to follow on a bad
man's bare word, or to ignore at his own discretion. For reasons best
known to himself, the old Duke had taken no steps to discover the little
Marquis. Unluckily, however, his late Grace had not been entirely
himself for many years before his death; and those reasons had never
transpired. Claude, on the other hand, was a man of fastidious
temperament, a person of infinite scruples, with a morbid horror of the
incorrect. He would spend half the morning deciding between a semicolon
and a full stop; and he was consistently conscientious in matters of
real moment, as, for example, in that of his marriage. He had been
asking himself, for quite a twelve-month, whether he really loved
Olivia; he had no intention of asking _her_ until he was quite convinced
on the point. To such a man there was but one course possible on the old
Duke's death. And Claude had taken it with the worst results.
"He has no sympathy for _me_," said Lady Caroline bitterly, as she went
upstairs. "He has cut his own throat, and there's an end of it; except
that if he thinks he's going to marry any daughter of mine, after this,
he is very much mistaken."
It was extremely mortifying all the same; to have prepared the ground so
carefully, to have arranged every preliminary for a match which had now
to be abandoned altogether; and worse still, to have turned away half
the eligible young men in town for the sake of a Duke who was not a Duke
at all. Lady Caroline Sellwood had three daughters. The eldest had made
a good, solid, military marriage, and enjoyed in India a social position
that was not unworthy of her. The second daughter had not done quite so
well; still, her husband, the Rev. Francis Freke, was a divine whose
birth was better than his attainments, so that there was every chance of
seeing his little legs in gaiters before either foot was in his grave.
But Olivia was her youngest ("my ewe lamb," Lady Caroline used to call
her, although no other kind had graced her fold), and in her mother's
opinion she was fitted for a better fate than that which had befallen
either of her sisters. Olivia was the prettiest of the three. Her little
fair head, "sunning over with curls," as Claude never tired of saying,
was made by nature with a self-evident view to strawberry-leaves and
twinkling tiaras. And Lady Caroline meant it to wear them yet.
She had done her best to encourage Claude in his inclination to run up
to town at once. The situation at the seaside had become charged with
danger. Not only did it appear to Lady Caroline that the poet was at
last satisfied with the state of his own affections, but she had reason
to fear that Claude Lafont would have a better chance with Olivia than
would the Duke of St. Osmund's. The child was peculiar. She had read too
much, and there was a suspiciously sentimental strain in her. Her acute
mother did not imagine her "vulgarly in love" (as she called it) with
the aesthetic Claude; but she had heard him tell the girl that "pity from
her" was "more dear than that from another"; and it was precisely this
pity which Lady Caroline now dreaded as fervently as she would have
welcomed it the day before. Her stupid husband had outwitted her in the
matter of Claude's departure. Lady Caroline was hardly at the top of the
stairs before she had made up the masterly mind which she considered at
least a match for her stupid husband's. He would not allow her to get
rid of Claude? Very well; nothing simpler. She would get rid of Olivia
instead.
The means suggested itself almost as quickly as the end.
Lady Caroline took a little walk to the post-office, and said she had
been on the pier. In a couple of hours a telegram arrived from Mrs.
Freke, begging Olivia to go to her at once. Lady Caroline was apparently
overwhelmed with surprise. But she despatched her ewe lamb by the next
train.
"Olivia, I won both rounds!" called out the Home Secretary, when he
strutted in towards evening, pink and beaming. Claude also looked the
better and the brighter for his day; but Lady Caroline took the
brightness out of him in an instant; and the Home Secretary beamed no
more that night.
"It is no use your calling Olivia," said her Ladyship calmly; "by this
time she must be a hundred miles away. You needn't look so startled,
George. You know the state to which poor Francis reduces himself by the
end of Lent, and you know that dear Mary's baby is not thriving as it
ought. I shouldn't wonder if he makes _it_ fast, too! At all events
Mary telegraphed for Olivia this morning, and I let her go. Now it's no
use being angry with any of us! With a young baby and a half-starved
husband it was a very natural request. There's the telegram on the
mantelpiece for you to see for yourself what she says."
CHAPTER II
"HAPPY JACK"
A dilettante in letters, a laggard in love, and a pedant in much of his
speech, Claude Lafont was nevertheless possessed of certain graces of
the heart and head which entitled him at all events to the kindly
consideration of his friends. He had enthusiasm and some soul; he had an
open hand and an essentially simple mind. These were the merits of the
man. They were less evident than his foibles, which, indeed, continually
obscured them. He would have been the better for one really bad fault:
but nature had not salted him with a single vice.
Unpopular at Eton, he had found his feet perhaps a little too firmly at
Oxford. There his hair had grown long and his views outrageous. Had the
old Duke of St. Osmund's been in his right mind at the time, he would
certainly have quitted it at the report of some of his grandson's
contributions to the university debates. Claude, however, had the
courage of his most extravagant opinions, and even at Oxford he was a
man whom it was possible to respect. The era of Toynbee Hall and a
gentlemanly, kid-gloved Socialism came a little later; there were other
and intermediate phases, into which it is unnecessary to enter. Claude
came through them all with two things, at least, as good as new: his
ready enthusiasm and his excellent heart.
Whether he really did view the new twist in his life with the
satisfaction which he professed is an open and immaterial question; all
that is certain or important is the fact that he did not permit himself
to repine. He was never in better spirits than in the six weeks'
interval between the receipt of Mr. Cripps's cable and that gentleman's
arrival with the new Duke. Claude divided the time between the proofs of
his new volume of poems and conscientious preparations for the proper
reception of his noble cousin. He had the mansion in Belgrave Square,
which had fallen of late years into disuse, elaborately done up,
repapered, and fitted throughout with new hangings and the electric
light. He felt it his duty to hand over the house in a cleanly and
habitable state; and he was accustomed to work his duty rather hard. He
ran down to Maske Towers, the principal family seat, repeatedly, and had
certain renovations carried out as far as possible under his own eye. In
every direction he did more than he need have done. And so the time
passed very busily, quite happily, and with an interest that was kept
green to the last by the utter absence of any shred of information
concerning the ninth Duke of St. Osmund's.
Claude had even no idea as to whether he was a married man. So he
legislated for a wife and family. And his worst visions were of a
hulking, genial, sheep-farming Duke, with a tribe of very terrible
little Lords and Ladies, duly frightened of their gigantic father, but
paying not the slightest attention to the anaemic Duchess who all day
scolded them through her freckled nose.
Mr. Cripps's letters continued to arrive by each week's mail; but they
were still written with a shake of the head and a growing deprecation of
the wild-goose chase in which the lawyer now believed himself to be
unworthily engaged. Towards the end of May, however, the letters
stopped. The last one was written on the eve of an expedition up the
country, on a mere off-chance, to find out more about one John
Dillamore, whom Mr. Cripps had heard of as a resident of the Riverina.
Claude Lafont knew well what had come of that off-chance. It had turned
the tide of his life. But no letter came from the Riverina; the next
communication was a telegram from Brindisi, saying they had left the
ship and were travelling overland; and the next after that, another
telegram stating the hour at which they hoped to land at Dover.
Claude Lafont had just time enough to put on his hat, to stop the hansom
for an instant at the house in Belgrave Square, and to catch the 12.0
from Victoria.
It was a lovely day in early June. There was neither a cloud in the sky
nor the white crest of a wave out at sea; the one was as serenely blue
as the other; and the _Calais-Douvre_ rode in with a high-bred calm and
dignity all in key with the occasion. Claude boarded her before he had
any right, with a sudden dereliction of his characteristic caution. And
there was old Cripps, sunburnt and grim, with a soft felt hat on his
head, and a strange spasmodic twitching at the corners of the mouth.
"Here you are!" cried Claude, gripping hands. "Well, where is he?"
The lawyer's lips went in and out, and a rough-looking bystander
chuckled audibly.
"One thing quickly," whispered Claude: "is he a married man?"
"No, he isn't."
The bystander laughed outright. Claude favoured him with a haughty
glance.
"His servant, I presume?"
"No," said Cripps hoarsely. "I must introduce you. The Duke of St.
Osmund's--your kinsman, Mr. Claude Lafont."
Claude felt the painful pressure of a horny fist, and gasped.
"Proud to meet you, mister," said the Duke.
"So delighted to meet and welcome _you_, Duke," said Claude faintly.
"I'm afraid I'm a bit of a larrikin," continued the Duke. "You'd have
done as well to leave me where I was--but now I'm here you've got to
call me Jack."
"You knew, of course, what would happen sooner or later?" said Claude,
with a sickly smile.
"Not me. My colonial oath, I did _not_! Never dreamt of it till I seen
_him_"--with a jerk of his wideawake towards Mr. Cripps. It was a very
different felt hat from that gentleman's; the crown rose like a
sugar-loaf, nine inches from the head; the brim was nearly as many
inches wide; and where the felt touched the temples it was stained
through and through with ancient perspiration.
"And I can't sight it now!" added his Grace.
"Nevertheless it's true," said Mr. Cripps.
Claude was taking in the matted beard, the peeled nose, and the round
shoulders of the ninth Duke. He was a bushman from top to toe.
"What luggage have you?" exclaimed Claude, with a sudden effort. "We
must get it ashore."
"This is all," said the Duke, with a grin.
It lay on the deck at their feet: a long cylinder whose outer case was
an old blue blanket, very neatly rolled and strapped; an Australian
saddle, with enormous knee-pads, black with age; and an extraordinary
cage like a rabbit-hutch. The cage was full of cats. The Duke insisted
on carrying it ashore himself.
"This _is_ the man?" whispered Claude, jealously, to Mr. Cripps.
"The man himself; there's an eagle on his chest as large as life."
"But it might be a coincidence----"
"It might be, but it isn't," replied Cripps shortly. "He's the Duke all
right; the papers I shall show you are quite conclusive. I own he
doesn't look the part. He's not tractable. He would come as he is. I
heaved one old hat overboard; but he had a worse in his swag. However,
no one on board knew who he was. I took care of that."
"God bless you, Cripps!" said Claude Lafont.
He had reserved a first-class carriage. The Duke took up half of it with
his cat-cage, which he stoutly declined to trust out of his sight. There
were still a few minutes before the train would start. Claude and Cripps
exchanged sympathetic glances.
"I think we ought to drink the Duke's health," said Claude, who for once
felt the need of a stimulant himself.
"I think so too," said Mr. Cripps.
"Then make 'em lock the door," stipulated his Grace. "I wouldn't risk my
cats being shook, not for drinks as long as your leg!"
A grinning guard came forward with his key. The Duke "mistered" him, and
mentioned where his cats came from as he got out.
"Very kind of you to shout for me," he continued as they filed into the
refreshment room; "but why the blazes don't you call me Jack? Happy
Jack's my name, that's what they used to call me up the bush. I'm not
going to stop being Jack, or happy either, 'cause I'm a Dook; if I did
I'd jolly soon sling it. Now, my dear, what are you givin' us? Why don't
you let me help myself, like they do up the bush? English fashion, is
it? And you call that drop a nobbler, do you, in the old country? Well,
well, here's fun!"
The Duke's custodians were not sorry to get him back beside his cats.
They were really glad when the train started. The Duke was in high
spirits. The whisky had loosened his tongue.
"Like cats, old man?" he inquired of Claude. "Then I hope you'll make
friends with mine. They were my only mates, year in, year out, up at the
hut. I wasn't going to leave 'em there when they'd stood by me so long;
not likely; so here they are. See that black 'un in the corner? I call
her Black Maria, and that's her kitten. She went and had a large family
at sea, but this poor little beggar's the only one what lived to tell
the tale. That great big Tom, he's the father. I don't think much of
Tom, but it would have been a shame to leave him behind. No, sir, my
favourite's the little tortoise-shell with the game leg. He got cotched
in a rabbit trap last shearing-time; he's the most adventurous little
cat that ever was, so I call him Livingstone. I've known him explore
five miles from the hut, when there wasn't a drop of water or a blade of
feed in the paddicks, and yet come back as fat as butter. A little
caution, I tell you! Out you come, Livingstone!"
Claude thought he had never seen a more ill-favoured animal. To call it
tortoise-shell was to misuse the word. It was simply yellow; it ran on
three legs; and its nose had been recently scarified by an enemy's
claws.
"No, I'm full up of Tom," pursued the Duke, fondling his pet. "Look what
he done on board to Livingstone's nose! I nearly slung him over the
side. Poor little puss, then, poor little puss! You may well purr, old
toucher; there's a live Lord scratching your head."
"Meaning me?" said Claude genially; there was a kindness in the rugged
face, as it bent over the little yellow horror, that appealed to the
poet.
"Meaning you, of course."
"But I'm not one."
"You're not? What a darned shame! Why, you ought to be a Dook. You'd
make a better one than me!"
The family solicitor was half-hidden behind that morning's _Times_; as
Jack spoke, he hid himself entirely. Claude, for his part, saw nothing
to laugh at. The Duke's face was earnest. The Duke's eyes were dark and
kind. Like Claude himself, he had the long Lafont nose, though sun and
wind had peeled it red; and a pair of shaggy brown eyebrows gave
strength at all events to the hairy face. Claude was thinking that
half-an-hour at Truefitt's, a pot of vaseline, and the best attentions
of his own tailors in Maddox Street would make a new man of Happy Jack.
Not that his suit was on a par with his abominable wideawake. He could
not have worn these clothes in the bush. They were obviously his best;
and, as obviously, ready-made.
Happy Jack was meantime apostrophising his pet.
"Ah! but you was with me when that there gentleman found me, wasn't you,
Livingstone? You should tell the other gentleman about that. We never
thought we was a Dook, did we? We thought ourselves a blooming ordinary
common man. My colonial oath, and so we are! But you recollect that last
bu'st of ours, Livingstone? I mean the time we went to knock down the
thirty-one pound cheque what never got knocked down properly at all. We
had a rare thirst on us----"
Mr. Cripps in his corner smacked down the _Times_ on his knees.
"Look there!" he cried. "Did ever you see such grass as that, Jack?
You've nothing like it in New South Wales. I declare it does my old
heart good to see an honest green field again!"
Jack looked out for an instant only.
"Ten sheep to the acre," said he. "Wonderful, isn't it, Livingstone? And
you an' me used to ten acres to the sheep! But we were talking about
that last little spree; you want your Uncle Claude | 862.541281 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.5253630 | 2,487 | 6 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
RURAL RIDES
BY WILLIAM COBBETT
T. Nelson & Sons
CONTENTS.
Rural Ride from London, through Newbury, to Burghclere,
Hurstbourn Tarrant, Marlborough, and Cirencester, to
Gloucester 5
Rural Ride from Gloucester, to Bollitree in Herefordshire,
Ross, Hereford, Abingdon, Oxford, Cheltenham, Burghclere,
Whitchurch, Uphurstbourn, and thence to Kensington 21
Rural Ride from Kensington to Dartford, Rochester,
Chatham, and Faversham 40
Norfolk and Suffolk Journal 45
Rural Ride from Kensington to Battle, through Bromley,
Sevenoaks, and Tunbridge 54
Rural Ride through Croydon, Godstone, East Grinstead,
and Uckfield, to Lewes, and Brighton; returning by
Cuckfield, Worth, and Red-hill 61
Rural Ride from London, through Ware and Royston, to
Huntingdon 73
Rural Ride from Kensington to St. Albans, through Edgware,
Stanmore, and Watford, returning by Redbourn, Hempstead,
and Chesham 78
Rural Ride from Kensington to Uphusband; including a Rustic
Harangue at Winchester, at a Dinner with the Farmers 85
Rural Ride through Hampshire, Berkshire, Surrey, and Sussex 107
Rural Ride from Kensington to Worth, in Sussex 148
Rural Ride from the (London) Wen across Surrey, across the
West of Sussex, and into the South-East of Hampshire 150
Rural Ride through the South-East of Hampshire, back
through the South-West of Surrey, along the Weald of
Surrey, and then over the Surrey Hills down to the Wen 171
Rural Ride through the North-East part of Sussex, and all
across Kent, from the Weald of Sussex, to Dover 200
Rural Ride from Dover, through the Isle of Thanet, by
Canterbury and Faversham, across to Maidstone, up to
Tonbridge, through the Weald of Kent and over the Hills
by Westerham and Hays, to the Wen 221
Rural Ride from Kensington, across Surrey, and along that
county 245
Rural Ride from Chilworth, in Surrey, to Winchester 256
Rural Ride from Winchester to Burghclere 269
Rural Ride from Burghclere to Petersfield 287
Rural Ride from Petersfield to Kensington 296
Rural Ride down the Valley of the Avon in Wiltshire 327
Rural Ride from Salisbury to Warminster, from Warminster
to Frome, from Frome to Devizes, and from Devizes to
Highworth 348
Rural Ride from Highworth to Cricklade, and thence to
Malmsbury 368
Rural Ride from Malmsbury, in Wiltshire, through
Gloucestershire, Herefordshire, and Worcestershire 386
Rural Ride from Ryall, in Worcestershire, to Burghclere,
in Hampshire 405
Rural Ride from Burghclere, to Lyndhurst, in the New Forest 426
Rural Ride from Lyndhurst to Beaulieu Abbey; thence to
Southampton, and Weston; thence to Botley, Allington, West
End, near Hambledon; and thence to Petersfield, Thursley,
and Godalming 449
Rural Ride from Weston, near Southampton, to Kensington 462
Rural Ride to Tring, in Hertfordshire 485
Northern Tour 494
Eastern Tour 498
Midland Tour 535
Tour in the West 550
Progress in the North 551
RURAL RIDES, ETC.
JOURNAL: FROM LONDON, THROUGH NEWBURY, TO BERGHCLERE, HURSTBOURN
TARRANT, MARLBOROUGH, AND CIRENCESTER, TO GLOUCESTER.
_Berghclere, near Newbury, Hants, October 30, 1821, Tuesday (Evening)._
Fog that you might cut with a knife all the way from London to Newbury.
This fog does not _wet_ things. It is rather a _smoke_ than a fog. There
are no two things in _this world_; and, were it not for fear of
_Six-Acts_ (the "wholesome restraint" of which I continually feel) I
might be tempted to carry my comparison further; but, certainly, there
are no two things in _this world_ so dissimilar as an English and a Long
Island autumn.--These fogs are certainly the _white clouds_ that we
sometimes see aloft. I was once upon the Hampshire Hills, going from
Soberton Down to Petersfield, where the hills are high and steep, not
very wide at their base, very irregular in their form and direction, and
have, of course, deep and narrow valleys winding about between them. In
one place that I had to pass, two of these valleys were cut asunder by a
piece of hill that went across them and formed a sort of bridge from one
long hill to another. A little before I came to this sort of bridge I
saw a smoke flying across it; and, not knowing the way by experience, I
said to the person who was with me, "there is the turnpike road (which
we were expecting to come to); for, don't you see the dust?" The day was
very fine, the sun clear, and the weather dry. When we came to the pass,
however, we found ourselves, not in dust, but in a fog. After getting
over the pass, we looked down into the valleys, and there we saw the fog
going along the valleys to the North, in detached parcels, that is to
say, in clouds, and, as they came to the pass, they rose, went over it,
then descended again, keeping constantly along just above the ground.
And, to-day, the fog came by _spells_. It was sometimes thinner than at
other times; and these changes were very sudden too. So that I am
convinced that these fogs are _dry clouds_, such as those that I saw on
the Hampshire Downs. Those did not _wet_ me at all; nor do these fogs
wet any thing; and I do not think that they are by any means injurious
to health.--It is the fogs that rise out of swamps, and other places,
full of putrid vegetable matter, that kill people. These are the fogs
that sweep off the new settlers in the American Woods. I remember a
valley in Pennsylvania, in a part called _Wysihicken_. In looking from a
hill, over this valley, early in the morning, in November, it presented
one of the most beautiful sights that my eyes ever beheld. It was a sea
bordered with beautifully formed trees of endless variety of colours. As
the hills formed the outsides of the sea, some of the trees showed only
their tops; and, every now-and-then, a lofty tree growing in the sea
itself raised its head above the apparent waters. Except the setting-sun
sending his horizontal beams through all the variety of reds and yellows
of the branches of the trees in Long Island, and giving, at the same
time, a sort of silver cast to the verdure beneath them, I have never
seen anything so beautiful as the foggy valley of the Wysihicken. But I
was told that it was very fatal to the people; and that whole families
were frequently swept off by the "_fall-fever_."--Thus the _smell_ has a
great deal to do with health. There can be no doubt that Butchers and
their wives fatten upon the smell of meat. And this accounts for the
precept of my grandmother, who used to tell me to _bite my bread and
smell to my cheese_; talk, much more wise than that of certain _old
grannies_, who go about England crying up "the _blessings_" of
paper-money, taxes, and national debts.
The fog prevented me from seeing much of the fields as I came along
yesterday; but the fields of Swedish Turnips that I did see were good;
pretty good; though not clean and neat like those in Norfolk. The
farmers here, as every where else, complain most bitterly; but they hang
on, like sailors to the masts or hull of a wreck. They read, you will
observe, nothing but the country newspapers; they, of course, know
nothing of the _cause_ of their "bad times." They hope "the times will
mend." If they quit business, they must sell their stock; and, having
thought this worth so much money, they cannot endure the thought of
selling for a third of the sum. Thus they hang on; thus the landlords
will first turn the farmers' pockets inside out; and then their turn
comes. To finish the present farmers will not take long. There has been
stout fight going on all this morning (it is now 9 o'clock) between the
_sun_ and the _fog_. I have backed the former, and he appears to have
gained the day; for he is now shining most delightfully.
Came through a place called "a park" belonging to a Mr. MONTAGUE, who is
now _abroad_; for the purpose, I suppose, of generously assisting to
compensate the French people for what they lost by the entrance of the
Holy Alliance Armies into their country. Of all the ridiculous things I
ever saw in my life this place is the most ridiculous. The house looks
like a sort of church, in somewhat of a gothic style of building, with
_crosses_ on the tops of different parts of the pile. There is a sort of
swamp, at the foot of a wood, at no great distance from the front of the
house. This swamp has been dug out in the middle to show the water to
the eye; so that there is a sort of river, or chain of diminutive lakes,
going down a little valley, about 500 yards long, the water proceeding
from the _soak_ of the higher ground on both sides. By the sides of
these lakes there are little flower gardens, laid out in the Dutch
manner; that is to say, cut out into all manner of superficial
geometrical figures. Here is the _grand en petit_, or mock magnificence,
more complete than I ever beheld it before. Here is a _fountain_, the
basin of which is not four feet over, and the water spout not exceeding
the pour from a tea-pot. Here is a _bridge_ over a _river_ of which a
child four years old would clear the banks at a jump. I could not have
trusted myself on the bridge for fear of the consequences to Mr.
MONTAGUE; | 862.545403 |
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THE BOY MECHANIC
BOOK 2
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THE
BOY MECHANIC
BOOK 2
1000 THINGS FOR BOYS TO DO
HOW TO CONSTRUCT
DEVICES FOR WINTER SPORTS, MOTION-PICTURE CAMERA, INDOOR
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APPLIANCES, KITES AND GLIDERS,
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WITH 995 ILLUSTRATIONS
COPYRIGHTED, 1915, BY H. H. WINDSOR
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WOMAN
VOLUME X
WOMEN OF AMERICA
BY
JOHN ROUSE LARUS
[Illustration 1: HUEMAC II. MEETS XOCHITL.
After the painting by L. Obregon.
Huemac II. began to reign in Mexico about 995, in what is called the
Toltec period. Xochitl, accompanied by her father, a nobleman, went to
the court of Huemac, carrying with her as an offering to the king a
beverage which she had invented. The king tasted the wine, and desired
to have more. Later, Xochitl returned to the court, and Huemac, who
already was fascinated with the girl, caused her to be retained, and
sent a message to her father that he had placed her in the care of his
court ladies and would complete her education. Shortly afterward his
queen died, and Huemac immediately made Xochitl his queen.]
Woman
In all ages and in all countries
VOLUME X
WOMEN OF AMERICA
BY
JOHN ROUSE LARUS
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, PUBLISHERS
INTRODUCTION
The present volume completes the story of woman as told in the series of
which it forms part. The history of nations is, in its ultimate
analysis, largely that of woman. Therefore this series in its wide
inclusiveness forms a more than ordinarily interesting history. The
present study of the women of America is innocent of theorizing or
philosophy and from the nature of the subject the narrative takes the
reader into paths generally unfamiliar in historic studies.
Of the North American aboriginal woman the knowledge possessed admits of
but broad generalities as to her status and condition. The author of
this volume has, however, happily extracted from the available sources
what is informing as to the position of the woman so that a better
conception of her will be the part of his readers. It will be seen that
she has not always been the neglected and unconsidered creature that the
popular mind has accepted. Instead, she has held among many tribes a
higher place of power than man, and that by custom and in fact she was
held in high consideration. The condition of the aboriginal woman before
the advent of the white race was not that to which she fell as the
consequence of that advent. In the present work notable instances in
support of this view will be found. In considering the moral status and
the customs of the aborigines it should be borne in mind that morality
is standardized by nations or peoples for themselves, and the morality
of individuals must be measured by its relation to convention to this
respect. In this connection the author concludes that the morality of
the Indian woman is of at least average excellence. That contact with
the white man arrested--or as the author maintains "degraded"--the
progress of civilization, slow as that progress may have been among the
aborigines, cannot be doubted, nor that there was "a reversion to a more
barbarous type than had before been prevalent."
As we consider the principles of government among the North American
tribes we find that the matriarchal system prevailed. The Salic Law,
whether in its general or its restricted meaning, was little favored
among them. If in the history of these people a Queen Esther stands
forth as a cruel monster, did not proud Rome produce a Messalina? Or
need we go beyond the records of a later date of the people of one of
the most cultured nations of Europe? And yet Esther was among the foes,
the despoilers of her people, while Messalina found her victims among
her own people. It may not be amiss to recall the incident of Frances
Slocum as an evidence that the life of woman among the Indians was not
necessarily distasteful. Altogether, the author of this volume writes
sympathetically of the vanishing Amerinds,--which in no way lessens the
value of his study,--and furnishes many little known or hardly
remembered anecdotes of their women, while his succinct descriptions of
their polity and of the lot and place of woman among them is both highly
entertaining and instructive.
The women of Mexico and South America furnish scanty material for the
study of woman. Nevertheless, from the records of the Aztec civilization
the author has abstracted the salient features of the life of their
women. It will be seen that the Aztec woman enjoyed a higher status than
was attained by the woman of any other native American race. Her legal
rights were carefully protected; the marriage tie was severely
safeguarded; the education of girls was committed to the care of
priestesses; and in social functions woman was the equal of man.
Domestic life presented a very pleasing aspect and even slaves--slavery
was generally confined to those taken in war--enjoyed greater privileges
than among any other people. The period of the conquest furnishes a
Marina to exemplify the fidelity and devotion of which the native woman
was capable. That of the Spanish occupation offers little of interest
concerning the womanhood of Mexico, and not until the republic had
acquired a distinct nationality, in fact as well as in name, do we find
a Mexican type. This period the author regards as the best, but soon the
adoption of European and North American fashions and customs destroyed
the characteristic Mexican type. This resultant he claims is further
deteriorated by the later "veneer" or hybrid culture borrowed from the
same sources. The leading characteristics of the native civilization of
South America are traced and the salient features of the life and status
of its women are presented. Among the Incas equality with men and a
condition for woman as favorable as among the Aztecs is shown to have
prevailed.
An interesting account is given of the culture of the Araucanians, the
desperate warriors who resisted the Spanish invaders long after the rest
of the tribes of Chile had submitted to the conquerors. The status of
the women of this tribe, and of the peculiar marriage customs is
especially interesting; so is the account of the women of the Gauchos
whose preeminent claim to notice in a history of woman is that they are
"the most unmoral women on the face of the earth." There is also a brief
but none the less informing account of the women of the greatest of
South American countries, Brazil, which better than any other southern
republic exhibits the advance made in the position and influence of
woman in national progress and well-being.
The record of individual women in this section is scanty; but the
general outline of the growth of feminine influence in recent times is
noted. Woman in politics, in revolutionary movements, and, still more
notably, woman in the social and educational progress that is now making
the best history of South America the author discriminatingly presents
to the reader, with individual mention of foremost leaders of thought.
Of the American woman proper, the author follows the steps from
settlement days when the principles were to be tested which moved the
Pilgrims to self-exile. Her influence and her initiative, illustrated by
characteristic story and narrative of environment, are presented with
precision and clearness so that the reader can grasp the subtle power
exercised by woman during the formative period. Similarly are the women
of the great colony to the South considered, and the points of
divergence and their causes and results noted as compared with the
northern colony.
The typical American woman is remarkable among women not merely as a
type, but also because she is the evolution of only a few generations.
She is without a traditional culture, but, as the author asserts, she
inherited the cultures of all the nations. Beginning with the basic
culture of the mother country she has grafted thereon the native
branches which have sprung from her environment and has absorbed such
mental and temperamental characteristics of introduced nationalities as
have best suited her conditions, and from all together she has created
the American type of womanhood, whose particular characteristic is to
_do_.
In the women of these two mother settlements are found the "foundations
and matrices of American femininity." So the causes and growth of the
American type of womanhood are shown in its evolutionary processes
therein along lines mainly parallel until the need of resistance to the
mother country brings about a near approach to a national type. The
spread of woman's influence to the constantly extending frontier and the
new settlements is broadly but clearly sketched and the potency of the
foreign settlers considered.
A very interesting part of the volume traces the development of society
at the capital, the growth of an aristocracy, the unification of type
that followed the establishment of the republic and marked the early
growth of the nation. Still more interesting is the history of the
dissolution of the courtly influence at Washington when the great strife
reft the national womanhood and twin hatred ruled where unity was so
lately waxing in strength. The author's presentation of this period is
lucid and convincing, while fearlessly just to the woman of both
sections. His emphasis of the causal misunderstanding as regards the
women cannot fail to be appreciated, though it places upon our womanhood
a heavy responsibility for the sorrows which befell the nation and
struck down the South exhausted and almost destroyed.
A chapter on the Women of Canada affords chief interest for the account
of the _habitantes_, the only distinct Canadian type of womanhood,
though the author recognizes the advanced position occupied by the woman
of British North America.
Of the recent developments of the American woman's activities, the
sphere of which is ever enlarging, the author admirably projects on his
page all the salient movements. Many phases of activity are of course
tentative and their permanency and value are yet undetermined, while
others mark the appreciation of the obligations associated with wealth
or the need of diversion attending the enjoyment of leisure; all,
however, are characteristic of the unresting energy of the American
woman. If this characteristic is responsible for some illogical and
occasionally harmful manifestations, the fact remains that the sum of
the results is vastly preponderant for the good of the nation and the
advancement, morally, intellectually, and physically of humanity.
The author is to be congratulated for his boldness in undertaking to set
forth the broad picture of woman's part in the movements of the last
quarter of a century. The task is perplexing, almost terrifying to mere
man; conditions are in a state of flux or, more properly speaking,
bubbling activity, but a wise discrimination has been shown in the
present case. Much of the American woman's history that is unfamiliar
will be found in this volume, which is sympathetic throughout, and
expresses admiration for the noble and the good in all the stages of
that subtle evolution which we now recognize as the American woman.
JOHN A. BURGAN.
_Hammonton, New Jersey_.
CHAPTER I
THE ABORIGINAL WOMAN
THE attempt to crystallize within the space of a single chapter even the
most salient facts concerning the aboriginal woman of America is one
foredoomed to failure. It is true that even in the present advanced
state of ethnology there is comparatively little knowledge of the
conditions which have obtained, and even of those which do obtain, among
the red people of our continent; we can indeed see and record the outer
results, but the inner causes are still in great measure hidden from us.
The American Indian is a peculiar people in the strictest sense of the
words; and is not to be judged by the standards that we apply to those
races with whose history we are more familiar, nor is he to be measured
by their heights or depths. In many ways he is | 862.584058 |
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Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is marked _thus_. The original
accentuation, spelling and hyphenation has been retained. See further
Transcriber's Notes which follow the Index.
THE PROVINCES OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
FROM CAESAR TO DIOCLETIAN
[Illustration: Printer's Mark]
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA · MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE PROVINCES
OF THE
ROMAN EMPIRE
FROM CAESAR TO DIOCLETIAN
BY
THEODOR MOMMSEN
TRANSLATED
WITH THE AUTHOR’S SANCTION AND ADDITIONS
BY
WILLIAM P. DICKSON, D.D., LL.D.
PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW
VOL. II
_WITH TWO MAPS BY PROFESSOR KIEPERT_
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1909
_First Edition 1886_
_Reprinted with corrections 1909_
CONTENTS
BOOK EIGHTH
_THE PROVINCES AND PEOPLE, FROM CAESAR TO DIOCLETIAN_
PAGE
CHAPTER IX.
THE EUPHRATES FRONTIER AND THE PARTHIANS 1
CHAPTER X.
SYRIA AND THE LAND OF THE NABATAEANS 116
CHAPTER XI.
JUDAEA AND THE JEWS 160
CHAPTER XII.
EGYPT 232
CHAPTER XIII.
THE AFRICAN PROVINCES 303
APPENDIX 347
MAPS I. to II.
INDEX 355
CHAPTER IX.
THE EUPHRATES FRONTIER AND THE PARTHIANS.
[Sidenote: The empire of Iran.]
The only great state with which the Roman empire bordered was the
empire of Iran,[1] based upon that nationality which was best known
in antiquity, as it is in the present day, under the name of the
Persians, consolidated politically by the old Persian royal family of
the Achaemenids and its first great-king Cyrus, united religiously by
the faith of Ahura Mazda and of Mithra. No one of the ancient peoples
of culture solved the problem of national union equally early and with
equal completeness. The Iranian tribes reached on the south as far
as the Indian Ocean, on the north as far as the Caspian Sea; on the
north-east the steppes of inland Asia formed the constant battle-ground
between the settled Persians and the nomadic tribes of Turan. On the
east mighty mountains formed a boundary separating them from the
Indians. In western Asia three great nations early encountered one
another, each pushing forward on its own account: the Hellenes, who
from Europe grasped at the coast of Asia Minor, the Aramaic peoples,
who from Arabia and Syria advanced in a northern and north-eastern
direction and substantially filled the valley of the Euphrates, and
lastly, the races of Iran, not merely inhabiting the country as far
as the Tigris, but even penetrating to Armenia and Cappadocia, while
primitive inhabitants of other types in these far-extending regions
succumbed under these leading powers and disappeared. In the epoch
of the Achaemenids, the culminating point of the glory of Iran, the
Iranian rule went far beyond this wide domain proper to the stock on
all sides, but especially towards the west. Apart from the times, when
Turan gained the upper hand over Iran and the Seljuks and Mongols ruled
over the Persians, foreign rule, strictly so called, has only been
established over the flower of the Iranian stocks twice, by Alexander
the Great and his immediate successors and by the Arabian Abbasids,
and on both occasions only for a comparatively short time; the
eastern regions--in the former case the Parthians, in the latter the
inhabitants of the ancient Bactria--not merely threw off again the yoke
of the foreigner, but dislodged him also from the cognate west.
[Sidenote: The rule of the Parthians.]
When the Romans in the last age of the republic came into immediate
contact with Iran as a consequence of the occupation of Syria, they
found in existence the Persian empire regenerated by the Parthians. We
have formerly had to make mention of this state on several occasions;
this is the place to gather together the little that can be ascertained
regarding the peculiar character of the empire, which so often
exercised a decisive influence on the destinies of the neighbouring
state. Certainly to most questions, which the historical inquirer
has here to put, tradition has no answer. The Occidentals give but
occasional notices, which may in their isolation easily mislead us,
concerning the internal condition of their Parthian neighbours and
foes; and, if the Orientals in general have hardly understood how to
fix and to preserve historical tradition, this holds doubly true of
the period of the Arsacids, seeing that it was by the later Iranians
regarded, together with the preceding foreign rule of the Seleucids, as
an unwarranted usurpation between the periods of the old and the new
Persian rule--the Achaemenids and the Sassanids; this period of five
hundred years is, so to speak, eliminated by way of correction[2] from
the history of Iran, and is as if nonexistent.
[Sidenote: The Parthians Scythian.]
The standpoint, thus occupied by the court-historiographers of the
Sassanid dynasty, is more the legitimist-dynastic one of the Persian
nobility than that of Iranian nationality. No doubt the authors of the
first imperial epoch describe the language of the Parthians, whose home
corresponds nearly to the modern Chorasan, as intermediate between
the Median and the Scythian, that is, as an impure Iranian dialect;
accordingly they were regarded as immigrants from the land of the
Scythians, and in this sense their name is interpreted as “fugitive
people,” while the founder of the dynasty, Arsaces, is declared by
some indeed to have been a Bactrian, but by others a Scythian from the
Maeotis. The fact that their princes did not take up their residence
in Seleucia on the Tigris, but pitched their winter quarters in the
immediate neighbourhood at Ctesiphon, is traced to their wish not
to quarter Scythian troops in the rich mercantile city. Much in the
manners and arrangements of the Parthians is alien from Iranian habits,
and reminds us of the customs of nomadic life; they transact business
and eat on horseback, and the free man never goes on foot. It cannot
well be doubted that the Parthians, whose name alone of all the tribes
of this region is not named in the sacred books of the Persians, stand
aloof from Iran proper, in which the Achaemenids and the Magians are at
home. The antagonism of this Iran to the ruling family springing from
an uncivilised and half foreign district, and to its immediate
followers--this antagonism, which the Roman authors not unwillingly
took over from their Persian neighbours--certainly subsisted and
fermented throughout the whole rule of the Arsacids, till it at length
brought about their fall. But the rule of the Arsacids may not on that
account be conceived as a foreign rule. No privileges were conceded
to the Parthian stock and to the Parthian province. It is true that
the Parthian town Hecatompylos is named as residence of the Arsacids;
but they chiefly sojourned in summer at Ecbatana (Hamadan), or else
at Rhagae like the Achaemenids, in winter, as already stated, in the
camp-town of Ctesiphon, or else in Babylon on the extreme western
border of the empire. The hereditary burial-place continued in the
Parthian town Nisaea; but subsequently Arbela in Assyria served for
that purpose more frequently. The poor and remote native province of
the Parthians was in no way suited for the luxurious court-life, and
the important relations to the West, especially of the later Arsacids.
The chief country continued even now to be Media, just as under the
Achaemenids. Although the Arsacids might be of Scythian descent, not so
much depended on what they were as on what they desired to be; and they
regarded and professed themselves throughout as the successors of Cyrus
and of Darius. As the seven Persian family-princes had set aside the
false Achaemenid, and had restored the legitimate rule by the elevation
of Darius, so needs must other seven have overthrown the Macedonian
foreign yoke and placed king Arsaces on the throne. With this patriotic
fiction must further be connected the circumstance that a Bactrian
nativity instead of a Scythian was assigned to the first Arsaces. The
dress and the etiquette at the court of the Arsacids were those of the
Persian court; after king Mithradates I. had extended his rule to the
Indus and Tigris, the dynasty exchanged the simple title of king for
that of king of kings which the Achaemenids had borne, and the pointed
Scythian cap for the high tiara adorned with pearls; on the coins the
king carries the bow like Darius. The aristocracy, too, that came into
the land with the Arsacids and doubtless became in many ways mixed with
the old indigenous one, adopted Persian manners and dress, mostly also
Persian names; of the Parthian army which fought with Crassus it is
said that the soldiers still wore their hair rough after the Scythian
fashion, but the general appeared after the Median manner with the hair
parted in the middle and with painted face.
[Sidenote: The regal office.]
The political organisation, as it was established by the first
Mithradates, was accordingly in substance that of the Achaemenids. The
family of the founder of the dynasty is invested with all the lustre
and with all the consecration of ancestral and divinely-ordained rule;
his name is transferred _de jure_ to each of his successors and divine
honour is assigned to him; his successors are therefore called sons of
God,[3] and besides brothers of the sun-god and the moon-goddess, like
the Shah of Persia still at the present day; to shed the blood of a
member of the royal family even by mere accident is a sacrilege--all
of them regulations, which with few abatements recur among the Roman
Caesars, and are perhaps borrowed in part from those of the older
great-monarchy.
[Sidenote: Megistanes.]
Although the royal dignity was thus firmly attached to the family,
there yet subsisted a certain choice as to the king. As the new ruler
had to belong as well to the college of the “kinsmen of the royal
house” as to the council of priests, in order to be able to ascend the
throne, an act must have taken place, whereby, it may be presumed,
these same colleges themselves acknowledged the new ruler.[4] By the
“kinsmen” are doubtless to be understood not merely the Arsacids
themselves, but the “seven houses” of the Achaemenid organisation,
princely families, to which according to that arrangement equality
of rank and free access to the great-king belonged, and which must
have had similar privileges under the Arsacids.[5] These families
were at the same time holders of hereditary crown offices,[6] _e.g._
the Surên--the name is like the name Arsaces, a designation at once
of person and of office--the second family after the royal house, as
crown-masters, placed on each occasion the tiara on the head of the
new Arsaces. But as the Arsacids themselves belonged to the Parthian
province, so the Surên were at home in Sacastane (Seistân) and perhaps
Sacae, thus Scythians; the Carên likewise descended from western Media,
while the highest aristocracy under the Achaemenids was purely Persian.
[Sidenote: Satraps.]
The administration lay in the hands of the under-kings or satraps;
according to the Roman geographers of Vespasian’s time the state of the
Parthians consisted of eighteen “kingdoms.” Some of these satrapies
were appanages of a second son of the ruling house; in particular the
two north-western provinces, the Atropatenian Media (Aderbijan) and
Armenia, so far as it was in the power of the Parthians, appear to
have been entrusted for administration to the prince standing next
to the ruler for the time.[7] We may add that prominent among the
satraps were the king of the province of Elymais or of Susa, to whom
was conceded a specially powerful and exceptional position, and next
to him the king of Persis, the ancestral land of the Achaemenids.
The form of administration, if not exclusive, yet preponderant and
conditioning the title, was in the Parthian empire--otherwise than in
the case of the Caesars--that of vassal-kingdom, so that the satraps
entered by hereditary right, but were subject to confirmation by the
great-king.[8] To all appearance this continued downwards, so that
smaller dynasts and family chiefs stood in the same relation to the
under-kings as the latter occupied to the great-king.[9] Thus the
office of great-king among the Parthians was limited to the utmost
in favour of the high aristocracy by the accompanying subdivision of
the hereditary administration of the land. With this it is quite in
keeping, that the mass of the population consisted of persons half or
wholly non-free,[10] and emancipation was not allowable. In the army
which fought against Antonius there are said to have been only 400 free
among 50,000. The chief among the vassals of Orodes, who as his general
defeated Crassus, marched to the field with a harem of 200 wives and
a baggage train of 1000 sumpter-camels; he himself furnished to the
army 10,000 horsemen from his clients and slaves. The Parthians never
had a standing army, but at all times the waging of war here was left
to depend on the general levy of the vassal-princes and of the vassals
subordinate to these, as well as of the great mass of the non-free over
whom these bore sway.
[Sidenote: The Greek towns of the Parthian empire.]
Certainly the urban element was not quite wanting in the political
organisation of the Parthian empire. It is true that the larger
townships, which arose out of the distinctive development of the
East, were not urban commonwealths, as indeed even the Parthian royal
residence, Ctesiphon, is named in contrast to the neighbouring Greek
foundation of Seleucia a village; they had no presidents of their
own and no common council, and the administration lay here, as in
the country districts, exclusively with the royal officials. But
a portion--comparatively small, it is true--of the foundations of
the Greek rulers had come under Parthian rule. In the provinces of
Mesopotamia and Babylonia by nationality Aramaean the Greek town-system
had gained a firm footing under Alexander and his successors.
Mesopotamia was covered with Greek commonwealths; and in Babylonia,
the successor of the ancient Babylon, the precursor of Bagdad, and
for a time the residence of the Greek kings of Asia--Seleucia on the
Tigris--had by its favourable commercial position and its manufactures
risen to be the first mercantile city beyond the Roman bounds, with
more, it is alleged, than half a million of inhabitants. Its free
Hellenic organisation, on which beyond doubt its prosperity above all
depended, was not touched even by the Parthian rulers in their own
interest, and the city preserved not merely its town council of 300
elected members, but also the Greek language and Greek habits amidst
the non-Greek East. It is true that the Hellenes in these towns formed
only the dominant element; alongside of them lived numerous Syrians,
and, as a third constituent, there were associated with these the not
much less numerous Jews, so that the population of these Greek towns
of the Parthian empire, just like that of Alexandria, was composed of
three separate nationalities standing side by side. Between these, just
as in Alexandria, conflicts not seldom occurred, as _e.g._ at the time
of the reign of Gaius under the eyes of the Parthian government the
three nations came to blows, and ultimately the Jews were driven out of
the larger towns.
In so far the Parthian empire was the genuine counterpart to the Roman.
As in the one the Oriental viceroyship is an exceptional occurrence,
so in the other is the Greek city; the general Oriental aristocratic
character of the Parthian government is as little injuriously affected
by the Greek mercantile towns on the west coast as is the civic
organisation of the Roman state by the vassal kingdoms of Cappadocia
and Armenia. While in the state of the Caesars the Romano-Greek urban
commonwealth spreads more and more, and gradually becomes the general
form of administration, the foundation of towns--the true mark of
Helleno-Roman civilisation, which embraces the Greek mercantile cities
and the military colonies of Rome as well as the grand settlements
of Alexander and the Alexandrids--suddenly breaks off with the
emergence of the Parthian government in the East, and even the existing
Greek cities of the Parthian empire wane in the further course of
development. There, as here, the rule more and more prevails over the
exceptions.
[Sidenote: Religion.]
The religion of Iran with its worship--approximating to monotheism--of
the “highest of the gods, who has made heaven and earth and men
and for these everything good,” with its absence of images and its
spirituality, with its stern morality and truthfulness, with its
influence upon practical activity and energetic conduct of life,
laid hold of the minds of its confessors in quite another and deeper
way than the religions of the West ever could; and, while neither
Zeus nor Jupiter maintained their ground in presence of a developed
civilisation, the faith among the Parsees remained ever young till it
succumbed to another gospel--that of the confessors of Mohammed--or
at any rate retreated before it to India. It is not our task to set
forth how the old Mazda-faith, which the Achaemenids professed, and
the origin of which falls in prehistoric time, was related to that
which the sacred books of the Persians having their origin probably
under the later Achaemenids--the Avestâ--announce as the doctrine
of the wise Zarathustra; for the epoch, when the West is placed in
contact with the East, only the later form of religion comes under
consideration. Perhaps the Avestâ took first shape in the east of Iran,
in Bactria, but it spread thence to Media and from there it exercised
its influence on the West. But the national religion and the national
state were bound up with one another in Iran more closely than even
among the Celts. It has already been noticed that the legitimate
kingship in Iran was at the same time a religious institution, that
the supreme ruler of the land was conceived as specially called to the
government by the supreme deity of the land, and even in some measure
divine. On the coins of a national type there appears regularly the
great fire-altar, and hovering over it the winged god Ahura Mazda,
alongside of him in lesser size, and in an attitude of prayer, the
king, and over-against the king the imperial banner. In keeping with
this, the ascendency of the nobility in the Parthian empire goes hand
in hand with the privileged position of the clergy. The priests of
this religion, the Magians, appear already in the documents of the
Achaemenids and in the narratives of Herodotus, and have, probably
with right, always been regarded by the Occidentals as a national
Persian institution. The priesthood was hereditary, and at least in
Media, presumably also in other provinces, the collective body of the
priests was accounted, somewhat like the Levites in the later Israel,
as a separate portion of the people. Even under the rule of the Greeks
the old religion of the state and the national priesthood maintained
their place. When the first Seleucus wished to found the new capital
of his empire, the already mentioned Seleucia, he caused the Magians
to fix day and hour for it, and it was only after those Persians, not
very willingly, had cast the desired horoscope, that the king and his
army, in accordance with their indication, accomplished the solemn
laying of the foundation-stone of the new Greek city. Thus by his side
stood the priests of Ahura Mazda as counsellors, and they, not those
of the Hellenic Olympus, were interrogated in public affairs, so far
as these concerned divine things. As a matter of course this was all
the more the case with the Arsacids. We have already observed that in
the election of king, along with the council of the nobility, that of
the priests took part. King Tiridates of Armenia, of the house of the
Arsacids, came to Rome attended by a train of Magians, and travelled
and took food according to their directions, even in company with
the emperor Nero, who gladly allowed the foreign wise men to preach
their doctrine and to conjure spirits for him. From this certainly
it does not follow that the priestly order as such exercised an
essentially determining influence on the management of the state; but
the Mazda-faith was by no means re-established only by the Sassanids;
on the contrary, amidst all change of dynasties, and amidst all its own
development, the religion of the land of Iran remained in its outline
the same.
[Sidenote: Language.]
The language of the land in the Parthian empire was the native language
of Iran. There is no trace pointing to any foreign language having
ever been in public use under the Arsacids. On the contrary, it is the
Iranian land-dialect of Babylonia and the writing peculiar to this--as
both were developed before, and in, the Arsacid period under the
influence of the language and writing of the Aramaean neighbours--which
are covered by the appellation Pahlavi, _i.e._ Parthava, and thereby
designated as those of the empire of the Parthians. Even Greek did not
become an official language there. None of the rulers bear even as
a second name a Greek one; and, had the Arsacids made this language
their own, we should not have failed to find Greek inscriptions in
their empire. Certainly their coins show down to the time of Claudius
exclusively,[11] and predominantly even later, Greek legends, as they
show also no trace of the religion of the land, and in standard attach
themselves to the local coinage of the Roman east provinces, while
they retain the division of the year as well as the reckoning by years
just as these had been regulated under the Seleucids. But this must
rather be taken as meaning that the great-kings themselves did not
coin at all,[12] and these coins, which in fact served essentially for
intercourse with the western neighbours, were struck by the Greek towns
of the empire in the name of the sovereign. The designation of the king
on these coins as “friend of Greeks” (φιλέλλην), which already meets us
early,[13] and is constant from the time of Mithradates I., _i.e._ from
the extension of the state as far as the Tigris, has a meaning only if
it is the Parthian Greek city that is speaking on these coins. It may
be conjectured that a secondary position was conceded in public use to
the Greek language in the Parthian empire alongside of the Persian,
similar to that which it possessed in the Roman state by the side of
Latin. The gradual disappearance of Hellenism under the Parthian rule
may be clearly followed on these urban coins, as well in the emergence
of the native language alongside and instead of the Greek, as in the
debasement of language which becomes more and more prominent.[14]
[Sidenote: Extent of the Parthian empire.]
As to extent the kingdom of the Arsacids was far inferior, not merely
to the great state of the Achaemenids, but also to that of their
immediate predecessors, the state of the Seleucids. Of its original
territory they possessed only the larger eastern half; after the battle
with the Parthians, in which king Antiochus Sidetes, a contemporary of
the Gracchi, fell, the Syrian kings did not again seriously attempt to
assert their rule beyond the Euphrates; but the country on this side of
the Euphrates remained with the Occidentals.
[Sidenote: Arabia.]
Both coasts of the Persian Gulf, even the Arabian, were in possession
of the Parthians, and the navigation was thus completely in their
power; the rest of the Arabian peninsula did not obey either the
Parthians or the Romans ruling over Egypt.
[Sidenote: The region of the Indus.]
To describe the struggle of the nations for the possession of the Indus
valley, and of the regions bordering on it, to the west and east, so
far as the wholly fragmentary tradition allows of a description at all,
is not the task of our survey; but the main lines of this struggle,
which constantly goes by the side of that waged for the Euphrates
valley, may the less be omitted in this connection, as our tradition
does not allow us to follow out in detail the circumstances of Iran to
the east in their influence on western relations, and it hence appears
necessary at least to realise for ourselves its outlines. Soon after
the death of Alexander the Great, the boundary between Iran and India
was drawn by the agreement of his marshal and coheir Seleucus with
Chandragupta, or in Greek Sandracottos, the founder of the empire of
the Indians. According to this the latter ruled not merely over the
Ganges-valley in all its extent and the whole north-west of India, but
in the region of the Indus, at least over a part of the upland valley
of what is now Cabul, further over Arachosia or Afghanistan, presumably
also over the waste and arid Gedrosia, the modern Beloochistan, as well
as over the delta and mouths of the Indus; the documents hewn in stone,
by which Chandragupta’s grandson, the orthodox Buddha-worshipper Asoka,
inculcated the general moral law on his subjects, have been found, as
in all this widely extended domain, so particularly in the region of
Peshawur.[15] The Hindoo Koosh, the Parapanisus of the ancients, and
its continuation to the east and west, thus separated with their mighty
chain--pierced only by few passes--Iran and India. But this agreement
did not long subsist.
[Sidenote: Bactro-Indian empire.]
In the earlier period of the Diadochi the Greek rulers of the kingdom
of Bactra, which took a mighty impulse on its breaking off from the
Seleucid state, crossed the frontier-mountains, brought a considerable
part of the Indus valley into their power, and perhaps established
themselves still farther inland in Hindostan, so that the centre of
gravity of this empire was shifted from western Iran to eastern India,
and Hellenism gave way to an Indian type. The kings of this empire were
called Indian, and bore subsequently non-Greek names; on the coins the
native Indian language and writing appear by the side, and instead, of
the Greek, just as in the Partho-Persian coinage the Pahlavi comes up
alongside of the Greek.
[Sidenote: Indo-Scythians.]
Then one nation more entered into the arena; the Scythians, or, as
they were called in Iran and India, the Sacae, broke off from their
ancestral settlements on the Jaxartes and crossed the mountains
southward. The Bactrian province came at least in great part into their
power, and at some time in the last century of the Roman republic
they must have established themselves in the modern Afghanistan and
Beloochistan. On that account in the early imperial period the coast
on both sides of the mouth of the Indus about Minnagara is called
Scythian, and in the interior the district of the Drangae lying to
the west of Candahar bears subsequently the name “land of the Sacae,”
Sacastane, the modern Seistân. This immigration of the Scythians into | 862.584503 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
A MERE CHANCE.
A NOVEL.
BY ADA CAMBRIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "IN TWO YEARS TIME," &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1882.
_Right of Translation Reserved._
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAPTER | 862.63513 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE TOWER OF LONDON
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration: THE WHITE TOWER (KEEP), WITH THE LANTHORN TOWER IN THE
FOREGROUND, FROM THE TOWER BRIDGE]
THE
TOWER OF LONDON
PAINTED BY
JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I.
DESCRIBED BY
ARTHUR POYSER
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY A. & C.
BLACK · LONDON · MCMVIII
TO
MY FATHER
Thomas Cooper Poyser
THIS BOOK IS
DEDICATED
Full in the midst a mighty pile arose,
Where iron-grated gates their strength oppose
To each invading step, and, strong and steep,
The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep.
Slow round the fortress rolled the sluggish stream,
And high in middle air the warder’s turrets gleam.
_Anonymous._
PREFACE
The history of the Tower of London is so closely bound up with the
history of England, from the Norman Conquest onwards, that it is very
difficult to write a record of the one without appearing to have
attempted to write a record of the other. A full history of the Tower
may read like an attenuated history of England. When the problem has to
be solved within the compass of a single chapter the difficulties are
very considerably increased. Then again, if a detailed account of Tower
annals has been given in a preliminary chapter, there is nothing of any
interest left to say when describing a visit to the several buildings
within the Tower walls. If the dramatic scene in the Council Chamber of
the White Tower, which ended in Lord Hastings being sent, with scant
ceremony, to the block on the Green below by Richard III., be described
in its proper place in the Historical Sketch (Chapter II.) it cannot
again be spoken of in detail when the visit is paid (Chapter III.) to
the room in which the event took place. Yet it is beyond doubt that a
visitor to the Tower would rather be reminded of that tragic Council
meeting when in the Council Chamber itself, than come upon it in the
course of the sketch of Tower history, which he would probably have read
at home beforehand and forgotten in detail. Still, those who read this
book and have no opportunity of visiting the Tower expect that the
characters in the moving drama of its history shall have some semblance
of life as they walk across the stage. Such a reader demands more than
mere names and dates, or he will skip an historical chapter as being
intolerably dull. It is no consolation to him to be told that if he will
take patience and walk through and round the Tower, in imagination, by
keeping his temper and kindly reading Chapters III. and IV., he will
discover that much of the human interest omitted in the “history” will
be found by the wayside in the “walks.”
In former and larger books on the Tower it will be seen that either the
purely historical record under the headings of successive Kings and
Queens dwarfs to insignificance the account of the buildings themselves,
or the description of the several towers and buildings which constitute
the fortress-prison occupies the bulk of the volume, to the exclusion of
any adequate historical record giving names and dates in chronological
order. But like most difficulties, I think this one can be solved by a
judicious compromise; the chapters must be tuned to “equal temperament.”
I have endeavoured to keep the balance of the several sections as even
as possible; and an historic candidate for the honour of the headsman’s
axe, who has been given immortality in the pages of English history by
reason of the manner in which he was put to death, passed over in one
chapter will have some justice done to his memory in another.
I have attempted no pictorial description of the Tower as a whole or in
its several parts. I dared not carry the theory I have just propounded
into the realms of word-painting. Mr. Fulleylove has relieved me of that
duty. He has brought the Tower buildings, as they stand to-day, before
the eyes of all who turn these pages. This he has done with the brush
infinitely better than I could do it with the pen.
Though the pages at my disposal are so few in number, I have had the
temerity to attempt a description of much that is of interest outside
Tower walls. I trust that this boldness may not prove, after all, to be
a misplaced virtue. My wish has been to persuade those who come to visit
the Tower that there is a great deal to be seen in its immediate
vicinity that the majority of visitors have hitherto neglected, either
for want of time or want of guidance. A noble and historic building like
the Tower resembles a venerable tree whose roots have spread into the
soil in all directions, during the uncounted years of its existence, far
beyond the position of its stem.
I tender grateful thanks to Lieutenant-General Sir George Bryan Milman,
K.C.B., Major of the Tower, for much kindness, both to Mr. Fulleylove
and myself; and I can hardly express my indebtedness to the Rev. W. K.
Fleming, who has so ungrudgingly given of his time to the task of
correcting the proof-sheets.
ARTHUR POYSER.
TRINITY SQUARE,
TOWER HILL, E.C.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER II
HISTORICAL SKETCH 21
CHAPTER III
A WALK THROUGH THE TOWER 87
CHAPTER IV
A WALK ROUND THE TOWER 134
CHAPTER V
TOWER HILL 158
CHAPTER VI
ALLHALLOWS BARKING BY THE TOWER 169
INDEX 215
When our gallant Norman foes
Made our merry land their own,
And the Saxons from the Conqueror were flying,
At his bidding it arose,
In its panoply of stone,
A sentinel unliving and undying.
Insensible, I trow,
As a sentinel should be,
Though a queen to save her head should come a-suing;
There’s a legend on its brow
That is eloquent to me,
And it tells of duty done and duty doing.
“The screw may twist and the rack may turn,
And men may bleed and men may burn,
On London town and all its hoard
It keeps its solemn watch and ward!”
Within its wall of rock
The flower of the brave
Have perished with a constancy unshaken.
From the dungeon to the block,
From the scaffold to the grave,
Is a journey many gallant hearts have taken.
And the wicked flames may hiss
Round the heroes who have fought
For conscience and for home in all its beauty,
But the grim old fortalice
Takes little heed of aught
That comes not in the measure of its duty.
“The screw may twist and the rack may turn,
And men may bleed and men may burn,
On London town and all its hoard
It keeps its solemn watch and ward!”
SIR WILLIAM GILBERT.
LIST | 862.635152 |
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MR. GLADSTONE AND GENESIS
ESSAY #5 FROM "SCIENCE AND HEBREW TRADITION"
By Thomas Henry Huxley
In controversy, as in courtship, the good old rule to be off with the
old before one is on with the new, greatly commends itself to my sense
of expediency. And, therefore, it appears to me desirable that I should
preface such observations as I may have to offer upon the cloud of
arguments (the relevancy of which to the issue which I had ventured to
raise is not always obvious) put forth by Mr. Gladstone in the January
number of this review, [1] by an endeavour to make clear to such of
our readers as have not had the advantage of a forensic education the
present net result of the discussion.
I am quite aware that, in undertaking this task, I run all the risks
to which the man who presumes to deal judicially with his own cause is
liable. But it is exactly because I do not shun that risk, but, rather,
earnestly desire to be judged by him who cometh after me, provided that
he has the knowledge and impartiality appropriate to a judge, that I
adopt my present course.
In the article on "The Dawn of Creation and Worship," it will be
remembered that Mr. Gladstone unreservedly commits himself to three
propositions. The first is that, according to the writer of the
Pentateuch, the "water-population," the "air-population," and the
"land-population" of the globe were created successively, in the order
named. In the second place, Mr. Gladstone authoritatively asserts that
this (as part of his "fourfold order") has been "so affirmed in our time
by natural science, that it may be taken as a demonstrated conclusion
and established fact." In the third place, Mr. Gladstone argues that the
fact of this coincidence of the pentateuchal story with the results
of modern investigation makes it "impossible to avoid the conclusion,
first, that either this writer was gifted with faculties passing all
human experience, or else his knowledge was divine." And having settled
to his own satisfaction that the first "branch of the alternative is
truly nominal and unreal," Mr. Gladstone continues, "So stands the plea
for a revelation of truth from God, a plea only to be met by questioning
its possibility" (p. 697).
I am a simple-minded person, wholly devoid of subtlety of intellect, so
that I willingly admit that there may be depths of alternative meaning
in these propositions out of all soundings attainable by my poor
plummet. Still there are a good many people who suffer under a like
intellectual limitation; and, for once in my life, I feel that I have
the chance of attaining that position of a representative of average
opinion which appears to be the modern ideal of a leader of men, when
I make free confession that, after turning the matter over in my mind,
with all the aid derived from a careful consideration of Mr. Gladstone's
reply, I cannot get away from my original conviction that, if Mr.
Gladstone's second proposition can be shown to be not merely inaccurate,
but directly contradictory of facts known to every one who is acquainted
with the elements of natural science, the third proposition collapses of
itself.
And it was this conviction which led me to enter upon the present
discussion. I fancied that if my respected clients, the people of
average opinion and capacity, could once be got distinctly to conceive
that Mr. Gladstone's views as to the proper method of dealing with grave
and difficult scientific and religious problems had permitted him to
base a solemn "plea for a revelation of truth from God" upon an error as
to a matter of fact, from which the intelligent perusal of a manual of
palaeontology would have saved him, I need not trouble myself to
occupy their time and attention [167] with further comments upon his
contribution to apologetic literature. It is for others to judge whether
I have efficiently carried out my project or not. It certainly does not
count for much that I should be unable to find any flaw in my own case,
but I think it counts for a good deal that Mr. Gladstone appears to have
been equally unable to do so. He does, indeed, make a great parade of
authorities, and I have the greatest respect for those authorities whom
Mr. Gladstone mentions. If he will get them to sign a joint memorial to
the effect that our present palaeontological evidence proves that birds
appeared before the "land-population" of terrestrial reptiles, I shall
think it my duty to reconsider my position--but not till then.
It will be observed that I have cautiously used the word "appears" in
referring to what seems to me to be absence of any real answer to my
criticisms in Mr. Gladstone's reply. For I must honestly confess that,
notwithstanding long and painful strivings after clear insight, I am
still uncertain whether Mr. Gladstone's "Defence" means that the
great "plea for a revelation from God" is to be left to perish in the
dialectic desert; or whether it is to be withdrawn under the protection
of such skirmishers as are available for covering retreat.
In particular, the remarkable disquisition which covers pages 11 to
14 of Mr. Gladstone's last contribution has greatly exercised my mind.
Socrates is reported to have said of the works of Heraclitus that he who
attempted to comprehend them should be a "Delian swimmer," but that, for
his part, what he could understand was so good that he was disposed
to believe in the excellence of that which he found unintelligible. In
endeavouring to make myself master of Mr. Gladstone's meaning in these
pages, I have often been overcome by a feeling analogous to that
of Socrates, but not quite the same. That which I do understand has
appeared to me so very much the reverse of good, that I have sometimes
permitted myself to doubt the value of that which I do not understand.
In this part of Mr. Gladstone's reply, in fact, I find nothing of which
the bearing upon my arguments is clear to me, except that which relates
to the question whether reptiles, so far as they are represented by
tortoises and the great majority of lizards and snakes, which are land
animals, are creeping things in the sense of the pentateuchal writer or
not.
I have every respect for the singer of the Song of the Three Children
(whoever he may have been); I desire to cast no shadow of doubt upon,
but, on the contrary, marvel at, the exactness of Mr. Gladstone's
information as to the considerations which "affected the method of
the Mosaic writer"; nor do I venture to doubt that the inconvenient
intrusion of these contemptible reptiles--"a family fallen from
greatness" (p. 14), a miserable decayed aristocracy reduced to mere
"skulkers about the earth" (_ibid._)--in consequence, apparently,
of difficulties about the occupation of land arising out of the
earth-hunger of their former serfs, the mammals--into an apologetic
argument, which otherwise would run quite smoothly, is in every way to
be deprecated. Still, the wretched creatures stand there, importunately
demanding notice; and, however different may be the practice in that
contentious atmosphere with which Mr. Gladstone expresses and laments
his familiarity, in the atmosphere of science it really is of no avail
whatever to shut one's eyes to facts, or to try to bury them out of
sight under a tumulus of rhetoric. That is my experience of the "Elysian
regions of Science," wherein it is a pleasure to me to think that a man
of Mr. Gladstone's intimate knowledge of English life, during the last
quarter of a century, believes my philosophic existence to have been
rounded off in unbroken equanimity.
However reprehensible, and indeed contemptible, terrestrial reptiles may
be, the only question which appears to me to be relevant to my
argument is whether these creatures are or are not comprised under the
denomination of "everything that creepeth upon the ground."
Mr. Gladstone speaks of the author of the first chapter of Genesis as
"the Mosaic writer"; I suppose, therefore, that he will admit that it
is equally proper to speak of the author of Leviticus as the "Mosaic
writer." Whether such a phrase would be used by any one who had an
adequate conception of the assured results of modern Biblical criticism
is another matter; but, at any rate, it cannot be denied that Leviticus
has as much claim to Mosaic authorship as Genesis. Therefore, if one
wants to know the sense of a phrase used in Genesis, it will be well
to see what Leviticus has to say on the matter. Hence, I commend
the following extract from the eleventh chapter of Leviticus to Mr.
Gladstone's serious attention:--
And these are they which are unclean unto you among the creeping
things that creep upon the earth: the weasel, and the mouse, and
the great lizard after its kind, and the gecko, and the land
crocodile, and the sand-lizard, and the chameleon. These are
they which are unclean to you among all that creep (v. 29-3l).
The merest Sunday-school exegesis therefore suffices to prove that when
the "Mosaic writer" in Genesis i. 24 speaks of "creeping things," he
means to include lizards among them.
This being so, it is agreed, on all hands, that terrestrial lizards,
and other reptiles allied to lizards, occur in the Permian strata. It
is further agreed that the Triassic strata were deposited | 862.641154 |
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FANNY CAMPBELL, THE FEMALE PIRATE CAPTAIN
A Tale Of The Revolution
By Maturin Murray Ballou
1844
NEW YORK:
E. D LONG & CO., BOOKSELLER
PREFACE.
All books should have a preface, for the writer is sure to have
something to communicate to the reader concerning the plot of the story
or some subject relating to it which he cannot do in the tale. It is a
sort of confidential communication between the author and reader,
whom he takes by the buttonhole for a single moment, and endeavors to
prepossess favorably towards his story. We are one of those who place
great confidence in first impressions, and therefore design that the
reader should at least commence our tale unprejudiced. He will see at
a glance that our publisher has passed his judgment in commendation, by
the superb manner in which he has issued the work, and the great expense
incurred.
We have a few words to say concerning the subject matter of the tale. It
is a very romantic one, but no more so than many others, the incidents
of which occurred during the stirring times of the Revolution, and
which have since received the sanction of history. We have been at some
considerable expense in ferreting out the events of our tale, which have
been cheerfully met by our liberal publisher.
FANNY CAMPBELL.
CHAPTER I.
_LYNN IN OLDEN TIMES. HIGH ROCK. THE FISHING HAMLET. THE STIRRING EVENTS
THAT PRECEDED THE REVOLUTION. SOME OF OUR CHARACTERS. WILLIAM LOVELL.
FANNY CAMPBELL. THE HEROINE. CAPTAIN RALPH BURNET OF THE ROYAL NAVY. A
LOVER’S JEALOUSY._
|The town of Lynn, Massachusetts, situated up the Atlantic sea board,
at a distance of some ten miles from the metropolis of New England, has
been the locale of many an incident of a most romantic character. Indeed
its history abounds with matter more akin to romance than fact. There
are here the Pirate’s Cave, Lover’s Leap, the Robber’s Dungeon, all
within a pistol shot of each other. The story of its early Indian
history is also of a most interesting character, and altogether the
place is one destined to be immortal from these causes alone.
In that part of the town known as ‘Wood End,’ there is an immense pile
of stone rising perpendicularly on the side of a hill, fronting the
ocean, known far and near by the name of High Rock. This granite mass
is very peculiarly formed; the front rising abruptly nearly an hundred
feet, while the back is deeply imbedded in the rising ground and the
summit forms a plain level with the height of the hill and the adjoining
plain in the rear. This spot has long been celebrated for the extended
and beautiful prospect it affords. From its top which overlooks
rock-bound Nahant in a Southerly direction, may be had a noble view of
the Atlantic, and a breadth of coast nearly thirty miles in width. There
is no spot upon our shores where the sea plays a wilder or more solemn
dirge than on the rocky peninsula of Nahant; the long connecting beach
is here a scene of angry commotion from the constant and heavy swells of
the broad ocean.
At a distance of about ten miles in the South-West lies Boston. The
eye always rests upon the dense smoke that enshrouds it first, piercing
which, loom up the spires of its numerous churches, and towering above
them all, the noble State House is distinctly seen. Turn still more to
the West and you overlook the principal portion of the manufacturing
town of Lynn, with its picturesque collection of white cottages and
factories, appearing of miniature dimensions. Turn again towards the
North West and a few miles beyond the town of Lynn, lies the thriving
little village of Saugus. A full Northern view is one of woody beauty,
being a field of forest tops of almost boundless extent. In the
North-East through the opening hills and trees, a glimpse is had of the
water in Salem harbor, while the city itself is hid from view, reminding
one of the distant view of the Adriatic from the lofty Appenines, which
rise from the very gates of the lovely city of Florence.
This is a slight glance at the extended prospect to be enjoyed by a
visit to High Rock, at the present day, saying nothing of the pretty
quiet little fishing village of Swampscot, and the panorama of sailing
craft that always ornament the sea view.
Near the base of the rock there resided until a few years since the
celebrated fortune-teller, known by the name of ‘Moll Pitcher,’ a
soubriquet given her by the town’s people, her rightful name never
having been ascertained. She lived to a remarkable old age, and to the
day of her death the visitor who ‘crossed her palm with broad pieces,’
was sure to receive in return, some truthful or fictitious legend of
the neighborhood. There are many among us to this day who remember with
pleasure their visits to the strange old fortune-teller of Lynn, at the
base of High Rock.
We have been thus particular in the description of this spot as it is
the birth-place of two persons who will bear an important part in the
tale we are about to relate, and partly, because we love this spot where
we have whiled away many an hour of our boyish days. The peculiarities
of one’s birth-place have much influence upon formation of the character
and disposition. The associations that hang about us in childhood, have
double weight upon our tender and susceptible minds at that time, to
those of after days, when the character is more formed and matured, and
the mind has become more stern and inflexible. It behoves us then to
speak thus particularly of the birth-place and the associations of those
who are to enact the principal characters in the drama which we relate.
There lived at the very base of High Rock about seventy years ago, a
few families of the real puritanic stock, forming a little community of
themselves. The occupation of the male portion of the hamlet was that
of fishermen, while the time of the females was occupied in drying and
preserving the fish and such other domestic labor as fell to their lot.
The neighborhood, resembled in every particular, save that it was far
less extensive, the present town of Swampscot, which is situated but
about three or four miles from the very spot we are now describing, and
whose inhabitants, a hardy and industrious people, are absolutely to
this day ‘fishermen all.’
The date to which we refer was just at the commencement of the principal
causes of difference between the colonies and the mother country; the
time when shrewd and thoughtful men foretold the coming struggle between
England and her North American dependances. Already had the opposition
of the colonies to the odious Stamp Act, and more particularly the
people of Massachusetts Bay, as Boston and the neighboring province was
named, become so spirited and universal that the British Parliament had
only the alternative to compel submission or repeal the act, which
was at length reluctantly done. Yet the continued acts of arbitrary
oppression enforced by parliament upon the people, such as the passing
of laws that those of the colonists charged with capital crimes, should
be sent to England to be tried by a jury of strangers, and like odious
and unconstitutional enactments had driven the people to despair, and
prepared them by degrees for the after startling events that caused all
Europe to wonder and England herself to tremble!
The State Street massacre, the celebrated tea scene, in which the
indignant inhabitants of Boston | 862.643359 |
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Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & Marc D'Hooghe
at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by the Internet Archive.)
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME VII
By
VOLTAIRE
EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION
THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H.G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
FORT | 862.673309 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.6617760 | 125 | 14 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Charlie Howard, Rachael
Schultz and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Superscripts are prefixed
with a ^caret. Symbols in the text are noted by [Symbol: ]. Blanks in
the text are | 862.681816 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.7181940 | 571 | 8 |
Produced by Dartmouth College
THE SCARLET LETTER
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
EDITOR'S NOTE
Nathaniel Hawthorne was already a man of forty-six, and a tale
writer of some twenty-four years' standing, when "The Scarlet
Letter" appeared. He was born at Salem, Mass., on July 4th, 1804,
son of a sea-captain. He led there a shy and rather sombre life;
of few artistic encouragements, yet not wholly uncongenial, his
moody, intensely meditative temperament being considered. Its
colours and shadows are marvelously reflected in his "Twice-Told
Tales" and other short stories, the product of his first literary
period. Even his college days at Bowdoin did not quite break
through his acquired and inherited reserve; but beneath it all,
his faculty of divining men and women was exercised with almost
uncanny prescience and subtlety. "The Scarlet Letter," which
explains as much of this unique imaginative art, as is to be
gathered from reading his highest single achievement, yet needs
to be ranged with his other writings, early and late, to have its
last effect. In the year that saw it published, he began "The
House of the Seven Gables," a later romance or prose-tragedy of
the Puritan-American community as he had himself known it--
defrauded of art and the joy of life, "starving for symbols" as
Emerson has it. Nathaniel Hawthorne died at Plymouth, New
Hampshire, on May 18th, 1864.
The following is the table of his romances,
stories, and other works:
Fanshawe, published anonymously, 1826; Twice-Told Tales, 1st
Series, 1837; 2nd Series, 1842; Grandfather's Chair, a history
for youth, 1845: Famous Old People (Grandfather's Chair), 1841
Liberty Tree: with the last words of Grandfather's Chair, 1842;
Biographical Stories for Children, 1842; Mosses from an Old
Manse, 1846; The Scarlet Letter, 1850; The House of the Seven
Gables, 1851: True Stories from History and Biography (the whole
History of Grandfather's Chair), 1851 A Wonder Book for Girls and
Boys, 1851; The Snow Image and other Tales, 1851: The Blithedale
Romance, 1852; Life of Franklin Pierce, 1852; Tanglewood Tales
(2nd | 862.738234 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.7208450 | 1,622 | 9 |
Produced by David Widger
LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
BY MARK TWAIN
Part 5.
Chapter 21 A Section in My Biography
IN due course I got my license. I was a pilot now, full fledged. I
dropped into casual employments; no misfortunes resulting, intermittent
work gave place to steady and protracted engagements. Time drifted
smoothly and prosperously on, and I supposed--and hoped--that I was
going to follow the river the rest of my days, and die at the wheel when
my mission was ended. But by and by the war came, commerce was
suspended, my occupation was gone.
I had to seek another livelihood. So I became a silver miner in Nevada;
next, a newspaper reporter; next, a gold miner, in California; next, a
reporter in San Francisco; next, a special correspondent in the Sandwich
Islands; next, a roving correspondent in Europe and the East; next, an
instructional torch-bearer on the lecture platform; and, finally, I
became a scribbler of books, and an immovable fixture among the other
rocks of New England.
In so few words have I disposed of the twenty-one slow-drifting years
that have come and gone since I last looked from the windows of a pilot-
house.
Let us resume, now.
Chapter 22 I Return to My Muttons
AFTER twenty-one years' absence, I felt a very strong desire to see the
river again, and the steamboats, and such of the boys as might be left;
so I resolved to go out there. I enlisted a poet for company, and a
stenographer to 'take him down,' and started westward about the middle
of April.
As I proposed to make notes, with a view to printing, I took some
thought as to methods of procedure. I reflected that if I were
recognized, on the river, I should not be as free to go and come, talk,
inquire, and spy around, as I should be if unknown; I remembered that it
was the custom of steamboatmen in the old times to load up the confiding
stranger with the most picturesque and admirable lies, and put the
sophisticated friend off with dull and ineffectual facts: so I
concluded, that, from a business point of view, it would be an advantage
to disguise our party with fictitious names. The idea was certainly
good, but it bred infinite bother; for although Smith, Jones, and
Johnson are easy names to remember when there is no occasion to remember
them, it is next to impossible to recollect them when they are wanted.
How do criminals manage to keep a brand-new ALIAS in mind? This is a
great mystery. I was innocent; and yet was seldom able to lay my hand
on my new name when it was needed; and it seemed to me that if I had had
a crime on my conscience to further confuse me, I could never have kept
the name by me at all.
We left per Pennsylvania Railroad, at 8 A.M. April 18.
'EVENING. Speaking of dress. Grace and picturesqueness drop gradually
out of it as one travels away from New York.'
I find that among my notes. It makes no difference which direction you
take, the fact remains the same. Whether you move north, south, east, or
west, no matter: you can get up in the morning and guess how far you
have come, by noting what degree of grace and picturesqueness is by that
time lacking in the costumes of the new passengers,--I do not mean of
the women alone, but of both sexes. It may be that CARRIAGE is at the
bottom of this thing; and I think it is; for there are plenty of ladies
and gentlemen in the provincial cities whose garments are all made by
the best tailors and dressmakers of New York; yet this has no
perceptible effect upon the grand fact: the educated eye never mistakes
those people for New-Yorkers. No, there is a godless grace, and snap,
and style about a born and bred New-Yorker which mere clothing cannot
effect.
'APRIL 19. This morning, struck into the region of full goatees--
sometimes accompanied by a mustache, but only occasionally.'
It was odd to come upon this thick crop of an obsolete and uncomely
fashion; it was like running suddenly across a forgotten acquaintance
whom you had supposed dead for a generation. The goatee extends over a
wide extent of country; and is accompanied by an iron-clad belief in
Adam and the biblical history of creation, which has not suffered from
the assaults of the scientists.
'AFTERNOON. At the railway stations the loafers carry BOTH hands in
their breeches pockets; it was observable, heretofore, that one hand was
sometimes out of doors,--here, never. This is an important fact in
geography.'
If the loafers determined the character of a country, it would be still
more important, of course.
'Heretofore, all along, the station-loafer has been often observed to
scratch one shin with the other foot; here, these remains of activity
are wanting. This has an ominous look.'
By and by, we entered the tobacco-chewing region. Fifty years ago, the
tobacco-chewing region covered the Union. It is greatly restricted now.
Next, boots began to appear. Not in strong force, however. Later--away
down the Mississippi--they became the rule. They disappeared from other
sections of the Union with the mud; no doubt they will disappear from
the river villages, also, when proper pavements come in.
We reached St. Louis at ten o'clock at night. At the counter of the
hotel I tendered a hurriedly-invented fictitious name, with a miserable
attempt at careless ease. The clerk paused, and inspected me in the
compassionate way in which one inspects a respectable person who is
found in doubtful circumstances; then he said--
'It's all right; I know what sort of a room you want. Used to clerk at
the St. James, in New York.'
An unpromising beginning for a fraudulent career. We started to the
supper room, and met two other men whom I had known elsewhere. How odd
and unfair it is: wicked impostors go around lecturing under my NOM DE
GUERRE and nobody suspects them; but when an honest man attempts an
imposture, he is exposed at once.
One thing seemed plain: we must start down the river the next day, if
people who could not be deceived were going to crop up at this rate: an
unpalatable disappointment, for we had hoped to have a week in St.
Louis. The Southern was a good hotel, and we could have had a
comfortable time there. It is large, and well conducted, and its
decorations do not make one cry, as do those of the vast Palmer House,
in Chicago. True, the billiard-tables were of the Old Silurian Period,
and the cues and balls of the Post-Pliocene; but there was refreshment
in this, not discomfort; for there is rest and healing in the
contemplation of antiquities.
The most notable absence observable in the billiard-room, was the
absence of the river man. If he was there he had taken in his sign, he
| 862.740885 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.7587750 | 903 | 416 | 6)***
E-text prepared by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/pastonlettersad02gairuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43348
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41024
Volume IV: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41081
Volume V: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42239
Volume VI, Part 1 (Letters, Chronological Table): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42240
Volume VI, Part 2 (Index): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42494
Transcriber's note:
The Gairdner edition of the Paston Letters was printed in six
volumes. Each volume is a separate e-text; Volume VI is further
divided into two e-texts, Letters and Index. Volume I, the
General Introduction, will be released after all other volumes,
matching the original publication order.
Except for footnotes and sidenotes, all brackets are in the
original, as are parenthetical question marks and (_sic_)
notations. Series of dots representing damaged text are as in
the printed original.
The year was shown in a sidenote at the top of each page; this
has been merged with the sidenote at the beginning of each
Letter or Abstract.
A carat character is used to denote superscription. The
character(s) following the carat is superscripted (example:
xxviii^me). Braces { } are used only when the superscripted
text is immediately followed by non-superscripted letters
or period (full stop). Errata and other transcriber's notes
are shown in [[double brackets]]. The notation "corrected by
editor" refers to the Errata printed in Volume VI. "(o)" is
used to represent the male ordinal.
Footnotes have their original numbering, with added page
number to make them usable with the full Index. They are
grouped at the end of each Letter or Abstract.
Typographical errors are listed at the end of each Letter,
after the footnotes. In the primary text, errors were only
corrected if they are clearly editorial, such as missing
italics, or mechanical, such as u-for-n misprints. Italic "d"
misprinted as "a" was a recurring problem. The word "invisible"
means that there is an appropriately sized blank space, but the
letter or punctuation mark itself is missing. The spelling
"Jhon" is not an error. Gresham and Tresham are different
people.
Note that the printed book used z to represent original small
letter yogh. This has not been changed for the e-text.
This edition, published by arrangement with Messrs. ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LIMITED, is strictly limited to 650 copies for Great
Britain and America, of which only 600 sets are for sale, and are
numbered 1 to 600.
No. 44.
[[The number 44 is handwritten.]]
* * * * *
* * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
* * * *
* * * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
New Complete Library Edition
Edited with Notes and an Introduction
By
JAMES GAIRDNER
of the Public Record Office
_VOLUME II_
London
Chatto & Windus
[Decoration]
Exeter
James G. Commin
1904
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, | 862.778815 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.7625310 | 2,559 | 23 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
NARCISSA
OR
THE ROAD TO ROME
IN VERONA
BY
LAURA E. RICHARDS
AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY,"
"QUEEN HILDEGARDE," ETC.
ELEVENTH THOUSAND
BOSTON
ESTES & LAURIAT
1894
_Copyright, 1892_,
BY THE TWO TALES PUBLISHING CO.
_Copyright, 1894_,
BY LAURA E. RICHARDS.
_Copyright, 1894_,
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT.
_All Rights Reserved._
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
NARCISSA 3
I. DREAMING 3
II. WAKING 21
IN VERONA 43
NARCISSA.
NARCISSA.
THE ROAD TO ROME.
Part I.
DREAMING.
Narcissa was sitting in the doorway, feeding the young turkeys. It was
the back door of the old gray house,--no one would have thought of
sitting in the front doorway,--and there were crooked flagstones
leading up to it, cracked and seamed, with grass growing in the
cracks. Close by the door-post, against which the girl was leaning,
stood a great bush of tansy, with waving feathery leaves and yellow
blossoms, like small gold buttons. Narcissa was very fond of this
tansy-bush, and liked to pluck a leaf and crush it in her hands, to
bring out the keen, wholesome smell. She had one in her hand now, and
was wondering if ever any one had a dress of green velvet,
tansy-color, with gold buttons. The minister's wife once had a bow of
green velvet on her black straw bonnet, and Narcissa had loved to look
at it, and to wish it were somewhere else, with things that belonged
to it. She often thought of splendid clothes, though she had never
seen anything finer than the black silk of the minister's wife, and
that always made her think of a newly-blacked stove. When she was
younger, she had made a romance about every scrap of silk or satin in
the crazy-quilt that Aunt Pinker's daughter, the milliner, had sent
her one Christmas. The gown she had had out of that yellow satin--it
did her good to think about it even now!--and there was a scrap of
pale pink silk which came--was it really nothing but fancy?--from a
long, trailing robe, trimmed with filmy lace (the lace in the
story-papers was always filmy), in which she had passed many happy,
dreamy hours.
It never occurred to Narcissa that she needed no fine clothes to set
off her beauty; in truth, she never dreamed that she had any beauty.
Color meant so much to her, that she had always accepted the general
verdict that she was "pindlin'-lookin'," and joined sincerely in the
chorus of praise which always greeted the rosy cheeks and
solid-looking yellow hair of Delilah Parshley, who lived at the next
house below the old gray one.
Yet it was true that Narcissa had no need of finery; and it was a
pretty picture she made, sitting in the doorway, leaning against the
door-post. Her hair was nearly black, with no gloss or sparkle, only a
soft, dusky cloudiness. It curled in little rings about her broad,
low forehead, and round her soft, pale cheeks. Her eyes were dusky,
too, but more gray than brown, and the only vivid color was in the
scarlet line of her lips. There was nothing unhealthy in her clear
pallor, no hint of sallowness, but a soft, white glow. The nostrils of
her little straight nose were cut high, which gave them a look of
being always slightly dilated; this caused the neighbors to say that
Narcissa White was proud, though dear knew what she had to be proud
of. As for her dress, it was of blue jean, a good deal faded, but all
the better for that; and her white apron, though coarse, was spotless
and carefully starched.
The turkeys seemed to approve of her appearance, for they gathered
eagerly round her, trying to get their beaks into the dish she held,
gobbling and fluttering, and making a great commotion. Narcissa was
fond of the turkeys, and had names for all her favorites. The finest
young gobbler was called Black Diamond, and he was apt to take unfair
advantage of his mistress's partiality, and to get more than his
share. So noisy they all were, that Narcissa did not hear the sound of
approaching footsteps, nor know that some one had spoken to her twice
in vain, and was now standing in silent amusement, watching the
struggle for food.
It was a young man who had come so lightly up the steps of the old
house that no sound had been heard. He had gone first to the front
door, but his knock had brought no answer, and catching the flutter
of Narcissa's apron he had come round to the back porch and was
standing within three feet of the girl and her clamorous brood.
A very young man, hardly more than a boy, yet with a steady, manly
look in his blue eyes, which contradicted the boyish curves of cheek
and chin. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and he carried in one
hand a small satchel, such as travelling agents affect. His eyes were
bright and quick, and glanced about with keen interest, taking in
every outline of the house, but coming always back to the girl who sat
in the doorway, and who was unlike any girl he had seen before. The
house was dim and gaunt, with a look of great age. One did not often,
in this part of the country, see such tall doors, such quaint
chimneys, such irregular outlines of roof and gable. The green-painted
front door, with its brass knocker, and its huge, old-world hinges,
seemed to him a great curiosity; so did the high stone steps, whose
forlorn dignity suffered perpetual insult from the malapert weeds and
grasses that laughed and nodded through the cracks and seams.
And in the dim, sunken doorway sat this girl, herself all soft and
shadowy, with a twilight look in her eyes and in her dusky hair. The
turkeys were the only part of it all that seemed to belong to the sort
of life about here, the hard, bustling life of New England
farm-people, such as he had seen at the other houses along the way.
If it were not for the turkeys, he felt that he should hardly find
courage to speak, for fear it might all melt away into the gathering
twilight,--house, maiden, and all,--and leave nothing but the tall
elms that waved their spectral arms over the sunken roofs.
As it was, however,--as the turkeys were making such a racket that the
girl would never become aware of his presence unless he asserted
himself in some way,--he stepped boldly forward and lifted his hat,
for he had been taught good manners, if he was a tree-agent.
"Excuse me, lady," he said. "Is this the road to Rome?"
Narcissa started violently, and came out of her dream. She had
actually been dressed in the green velvet, and was fastening the last
gold button, ready to step into the chariot that was waiting for
her,--she loved the word chariot, though the pictures in the Bible
made her feel uncertain about the manner of riding in one,--and to
drive along the road, the road to Rome. How strange that at this very
moment some one should ask about the road!
She raised her eyes, still shining with the dream-light, and looked
attentively at the stranger.
"Yes, sir," she answered. "This is the road,--the road to Rome. But
it's a long way from here," she added, rousing herself, and rising
from her seat. "Shoo! go away, now;" and she waved a signal of
dismissal with her apron which the turkeys understood, and at sight of
which they withdrew, not without angry cluckings and gobblings
directed at the disturber of their evening meal.
"Won't you set down and rest a spell? It's ben real hot to-day, though
it's some cooler now."
"It has so!" assented the young man, taking off his hat again to wipe
his brow, and dropping his satchel on the doorstep.
"I should be pleased to set a few minutes, if I'm not intruding. And
do you suppose I could have a drink of water, if it wouldn't be too
much trouble?"
Narcissa went away without a word, and brought back the water,
ice-cold and clear as crystal, in a queer brown mug with a twisted
handle, and an inscription in white letters.
"I'm sorry I haven't got a glass," she said. "But the water is good."
The young man drank deeply, and then looked curiously at the mug. "I'd
rather have this than a glass," he said. "It's quite a curiosity,
ain't it? 'Be Merry!' Well, that's a good sentiment, I'm sure. Thank
you, lady. I'm ever so much obliged."
"You no need to," responded Narcissa, civilly.
"I--I don't suppose you want any trees or plants to set out, do you?"
said the stranger. "I am travelling for a house near Portland, and
I've got some first-rate things,--real chances, I call 'em."
"I--guess not," said Narcissa, with an apprehensive glance over her
shoulder. "I only keep house for the man here,--he's my father's
uncle,--and he don't buy such things. I wish"--she sighed, and looked
longingly at the black satchel. "I suppose you've got roses, have you,
and all kinds of flowers?"
"I should think so!" replied the youth, proudly. "Our house is the
greatest one in the State for roses. Let me show you some pictures."
He opened the satchel and took out a black order-book filled with
brilliant pictures.
"Oh!" cried Narcissa, "I--I guess I'd better not look at 'em. I don't
believe he'd like it. Not but what I'm just as much obliged to you,"
she added, hastily.
But the stranger had already opened the book.
"Just look here, lady," he said. "Why, it can't do no manner of hurt
for you to look at them. Just see here! Here's the Jacqueminot rose,
the finest in the world, some folks think. Why, we've got beds and
beds of it. Splendid grower, and sweet--well there! I can't give you
any idea of it. Cornelia Cook! that's a great rose nowadays. And
here's a white blush, that looks for all the world like--"
Here he stopped suddenly; for it was Narcissa's cheek that the rose
was like, he thought, and it came to him suddenly that he | 862.782571 |
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