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Produced by Marius Masi, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
THE ART OF ILLUSTRATION.
[Illustration: "THE TRUMPETER." (SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A.)
(_Drawn in pen and ink, from his picture in the Royal Academy, 1883._)
[Size of drawing, 5-1/2 by 4-3/4 in. Photo-zinc process.]]
The Art of Illustration.
BY
HENRY BLACKBURN,
_Editor of "Academy Notes," Cantor Lecturer on Illustration, &c._
WITH
NINETY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS.
SECOND EDITION.
LONDON:
W. H. ALLEN & CO., LIMITED,
13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.
1896.
PRINTED BY
WYMAN AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON, W.C.
DEDICATED TO
SIR JOHN GILBERT, R.A.,
ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL PIONEERS
OF BOOK AND NEWSPAPER ILLUSTRATION.
[Illustration: (PEN-AND-INK DRAWING FROM HIS PICTURE, BY MR. CHARLES
COLLINS, 1892.)
[Photo-zinc process.]]
PREFACE.
The object of this book is to explain the modern systems of Book and
Newspaper Illustration, and especially the methods of drawing for what
is commonly called "process," on which so many artists are now engaged.
There is almost a revolution in illustration at the present time, and
both old and young--teachers and scholars--are in want of a handbook for
reference when turning to the new methods. The illustrator of to-day is
called upon suddenly to take the place of the wood engraver in
interpreting tone into line, and requires practical information which
this book is intended to supply.
The most important branch of illustration treated of is _line drawing_,
as it is practically out of reach of competition by the photographer,
and is, moreover, the kind of drawing most easily reproduced and printed
at the type press; but wash drawing, drawing upon grained papers, and
the modern appliances for reproduction, are all treated of.
The best instructors in drawing for process are, after all, the
_painters of pictures_ who know so well how to express themselves in
black and white, and to whom I owe many obligations. There is a wide
distinction between their treatment of "illustration" and the so-called
"pen-and-ink" artist.
The "genius" who strikes out a wonderful path of his own, whose
scratches and splashes appear in so many books and newspapers, is of the
"butterfly" order of being--a creation, so to speak, of the processes,
and is not to be emulated or imitated. There is no reason but custom
why, in drawing for process, a man's coat should be made to look like
straw, or the background (if there be a background) have the appearance
of fireworks. No ability on the part of the illustrator will make these
things tolerable in the near future. There is a reaction already, and
signs of a better and more sober treatment of illustration, which only
requires a _better understanding of the requirements and limitations of
the processes_, to make it equal to some of the best work of the past.
The modern illustrator has much to learn--more than he imagines--in
drawing for the processes. A study of examples by masters of line
drawing--such as Holbein, Menzell, Fortuny or Sandys--or of the best
work of the etchers, will not tell the student of to-day exactly what he
requires to know; for they are nearly all misleading as to the
principles upon which modern process work is based.
In painting we learn everything from the past--everything that it is
best to know. In engraving also, we learn from the past the best way to
interpret colour into line, but in drawing for the processes there is
practically no "past" to refer to; at the same time the advance of the
photographer into the domain of illustration renders it of vital
importance to artists to put forth their best work in black and white,
and it throws great responsibility upon art teachers to give a good
groundwork of education to the illustrator of the future. In all this,
education--_general education_--will take a wider part.
The ILLUSTRATIONS have been selected to show the possibilities of
"process" work in educated, capable hands, rather than any _tours de
force_ in drawing, or exploits of genius. They are all of modern work,
and are printed on the same sheets as the letterpress.
_All the Illustrations in this book have been reproduced by mechanical
processes, excepting nine_ (marked on the list), which are engraved on
wood.
Acknowledgments are due to the Council of the Society of Arts for
permission to reprint a portion of the Cantor Lectures on "Illustration"
from their Journal; to the Editors of the _National Review_ and the
_Nineteenth Century_, for permission to reprint several pages from
articles in those reviews; to the Editors and Publishers who have lent
illustrations; and above all, to the artists whose works adorn these
pages.
H. B.
123, VICTORIA STREET, WESTMINSTER.
_May, 1894._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.--INTRODUCTORY 1
CHAPTER II.--ELEMENTARY ILLUSTRATION 15
Diagrams--Daily Illustrated Newspapers--Pictorial _v._ Verbal
Description.
CHAPTER III.--ARTISTIC ILLUSTRATIONS 40
Education of the Illustrator--Line Drawing for
Process--Sketching from Life--Examples of Line Drawing.
CHAPTER IV.--THE PROCESSES 102
"Photo zinco"--Gelatine Process--Grained Papers--Mechanical
Dots--"Half-tone" Process--Wash Drawing--Illustrations from
Photographs--_Sketch_, _Graphic_, &c.--Daniel Vierge.
CHAPTER V.--WOOD ENGRAVING 182
CHAPTER VI.--THE DECORATIVE PAGE 197
CHAPTER VII.--AUTHOR, ILLUSTRATOR, & PUBLISHER 211
STUDENTS' DRAWINGS 223
APPENDIX 233
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The copyright of all pictures sketched in this book is strictly
reserved._]
PAGE
"The Trumpeter." Sir John Gilbert, R.A. (_Process_) vi
Swans. Charles Collins " ix
"Ashes of Roses." G. H. Boughton, A.R.A. " 5
"Badminton in the Studio." R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A. " 6
"A Son of Pan." William Padgett " 11
"Home by the Ferry." Edward Stott " 12
Man in Chain Armour. Lancelot Speed " 14
"Greeting." The Hon. Mrs. Boyle " 15
Diagrams (5) " 19-32
View above Blankenburg (_Wood_) 38
The Curvature of the World's Surface " 39
"Tiresome Dog." E. K. Johnson (_Process_) 43
"Frustrated." Walter Hunt " 44
"On the Riviera." Ellen Montalba " 46
"Landscape with Trees." M. R. Corbet " 47
"An Odd Volume." H. S. Marks, R.A. " 49
"A Select Committee." H. S. Marks, R.A. " 50
"The Rose Queen." G. D. Leslie, R.A. " 52
"Finding of the Infant St. George." C. M. Gere " 56
"A Ploughboy." G. Clausen " 59, 61
"Blowing Bubbles." C. E. Wilson " 65
"Cathedral, from Ox Body Lane." H. Railton " 69
"By Unfrequented Ways." W. H. Gore " 70, 71
"Adversity." Fred. Hall " 73, 75
"A Willowy Stream." Maud Naftel " 76
"Twins." Stanley Berkeley " 79
"The Dark Island." Alfred East " 80
"A Portrait." T. C. Gotch " 83
Sir John Tenniel. Edwin Ward " 87
The Rt. Hon. John Morley. Edwin Ward " 90
"Nothing venture, nothing have." E. P. Sanguinetti " 92, 93
"On the Terrace." E. A. Rowe " 94
"For the Squire." Sir John Millais, Bart., | 862.786014 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
FOXGLOVE MANOR
A Novel
By Robert W. Buchanan
In Three Volumes, Vol. I.
London
Chatto And Windos, Piccadilly
1884
FOXGLOVE MANOR.
CHAPTER XIV. BAPTISTO STAYS AT HOME.
|As Haldane sat in his study, the evening previous to the morning
fixed for his journey to London, Baptisto entered quickly and stood
before the desk at which his master was busily writing.
“Can I speak to you, senor?” Haldane looked and nodded.
“What is it, Baptisto?”
“You have arranged that I shall go with you to-morrow, but I have had
during the last few days an attack of my old vertigo. Can you possibly
dispense with my attendance, senor?” Haldane stared in surprise at the
Spaniards face, which was inscrutable as usual.
“Do you mean to say you wish to remain at home?”
“Certainly, senor.”
“Why? because you are ill? On the contrary, you look in excellent
health. No; it is impossible. I cannot get along without you.”
And Haldane returned to his papers as if the matter was ended.
Baptisto, however, did not budge, but remained in the same position,
with his dark eyes fixed upon his master.
“Do me this favour, senor. I am really indisposed, and must beg to
remain.”
Haldane laughed, for an idea suddenly occurred to him which seemed to
explain the mystery of his servant’s request.
“My good Baptisto, I think I understand the cause of your complaint,
and I am sure a little travel will do you good. It is that dark-eyed
widow of the lodge-keeper who attaches you so much to the Manor. The
warm blood of Spain still burns in your veins, and, despite your sad
experience of women, you are still impressionable. Eh? am I right?”
Baptisto quickly shook his head, with the least suspicion of a smile
upon his swarthy face.
“I am not impressionable, senor, and I do not admire your English
women; but I wish to remain all the same.”
“Nonsense!”
“Nonsense! In serious lament, senor, I beseech you to allow me to
remain.”
But Haldane was not to be persuaded at what he conceived to be a mere
whim of his servant. He still believed that Baptisto had fallen a
captive to the charms of Mrs. Feme, a little plump, dark-eyed woman,
with a large family. He had frequently of late seen the Spaniard
hanging about the lodge--on one occasion nursing and dandling the
youngest child--and he had smiled to himself, thinking that the poor
fellow’s misanthropy, or rather his misogynism, was in a fair way of
coming to an end.
Finding his master indisposed to take his request seriously, Baptisto
retired; and presently Haldane strolled into the drawing-room, where
he found his wife.
“Have you heard of the last freak of Baptisto? He actually wants to
remain at ease, instead of accompanying me in my journey.”
Ellen looked up from some embroidery, in which she was busily engaged.
“On no account!” she exclaimed. “If you don’t take him with you, I.
shall not stay in the place.”
“Dear me! said the philosopher. Surely you are not afraid of poor
Baptisto!”
“Not afraid of him exactly, but he makes me shiver. He comes and goes
like a ghost, and when you least expect him, he is at your elbow.
Then, of course, I cannot help remembering he has committed a murder!”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Haldane, laughing and throwing himself
into a chair. “My dear Ellen, you don’t believe the whole truth of
that affair. True, he surprised that Spanish wife of his with her
gallant, whom he stabbed; but I have it | 862.78801 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.8198930 | 2,317 | 19 |
Produced by Hugh C. MacDougall. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE LUMLEY AUTOGRAPH
by
Susan Fenimore Cooper
{by Susan Fenimore Cooper (1813-1894), daughter of James Fenimore
Cooper. "The Lumley Autograph" was published in Graham's Magazine,
Volume 38 (January-June 1851), pp. 31-36, 97-101. The author is
identified only in the table of contents for Volume 38, p. iii, where
she is described as "the Author of 'Rural Hours'".
{Transcribed by Hugh C. MacDougall, Secretary, James Fenimore Cooper
Society; [email protected]. Notes by the transcriber, including
identification of historical characters and translations of foreign
expressions, follow the paragraphs to which they refer, and are
enclosed in {curly brackets}. The spelling of the original has been
reproduced as printed, with unusual spellings identified by {sic}.
Because of the limitations of the the Gutenberg format, italics and
accents (used by the author for some foreign words, and in a few
quotations) have been ignored. A few missing periods and quotation
marks have been silently inserted.
{A brief introduction to "The Lumley Autograph.":
{"The Lumley Autograph" was inspired, as Susan's introductory note
states, by the constant stream of letters received by her father,
asking in often importunate terms for his autograph or for pages from
his manuscripts, and even requesting that he supply autographs of other
famous men who might have written to him. He generally complied with
these requests courteously and to the best of his ability; after his
death in 1851, Susan continued to do so, as well as selling fragments
of his manuscripts to raise money for charity during the Civil War.
{"The Lumley Autograph" is of interest today primarily because it is a
good story. Its broad satire about the autograph collecting mania of
the mid-nineteenth century is deftly combined with the more serious
irony of a poet's frantic appeal for help becoming an expensive
plaything of the rich, while the poet himself has died of want. Susan
Fenimore Cooper's typically understated expression of this irony
renders it all the more poignant, and the unspoken message of "The
Lumley Autograph" is as relevant today as it was in 1851.
{Though "The Lumley Autograph" was published in 1851, it was written as
early as 1845, when Susan's father first unsuccessfully offered it to
Graham's Magazine, asking "at least $25" for it. [See James Fenimore
Cooper to Mrs. Cooper, Nov. 30, 1845, in James F. Beard, ed., "The
Letters and Journals of James Fenimore Cooper" (Harvard University
Press, 1960-68), Vol. V, pp. 102-102]. Three years later he offered it
to his London publisher, also without success [James Fenimore Cooper to
Richard Bentley, Nov. 15, 1848, Vol. V, p. 390; and Richard Bentley to
James Fenimore Cooper, July 24, 1849, Vol. VI, p. 53.] What Graham's
Magazine finally paid, in 1851, is not known.}
THE LUMLEY AUTOGRAPH.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "RURAL HOURS," ETC.
[Not long since an American author received an application from a
German correspondent for "a few Autographs"--the number of names
applied for amounting to more than a hundred, and covering several
sheets of foolscap. A few years since an Englishman of literary note
sent his Album to a distinguished poet in Paris for his contribution,
when the volume was actually stolen from a room where every other
article was left untouched; showing that Autographs were more valuable
in the eyes of the thief than any other property. Amused with the
recollection of these facts, and others of the same kind, some idle
hours were given by the writer to the following view of this mania of
the day.]
The month of November of the year sixteen hundred and -- was cheerless
and dark, as November has never failed to be within the foggy, smoky
bounds of the great city of London. It was one of the worst days of the
season; what light there was seemed an emanation from the dull earth,
the heavens would scarce have owned it, veiled as they were, by an
opaque canopy of fog which weighed heavily upon the breathing multitude
below. Gloom penetrated every where; no barriers so strong, no good
influences so potent, as wholly to ward off the spell thrown over that
mighty town by the spirits of chill and damp; they clung to the silken
draperies of luxury, they were felt within the busy circle of industry,
they crept about the family hearth, but abroad in the public ways, and
in the wretched haunts of misery, they held undisputed sway.
Among the throng which choked the passage of Temple-Bar toward evening,
an individual, shabbily clad, was dragging his steps wearily along, his
pallid countenance bearing an expression of misery beyond the more
common cares of his fellow-passengers. Turning from the great
thoroughfare he passed into a narrow lane, and reaching the door of a
mean dwelling he entered, ascended a dirty stairway four stories high,
and stood in his garret lodging. If that garret was bare, cold, and
dark, it was only like others, in which many a man before and since has
pined away years of neglect and penury, at the very moment when his
genius was cheering, enriching, enlightening his country and his race.
That the individual whose steps we have followed was indeed a man of
genius, could not be doubted by one who had met the glance of that
deep, clear, piercing eye, clouded though it was at that moment by
misery of body and mind that amounted to the extreme of anguish. The
garret of the stranger contained no food, no fuel, no light; its
occupant was suffering from cold, hunger, and wretchedness. Throwing
himself on a broken chair, he clenched his fingers over the manuscript,
held within a pale and emaciated hand.
"Shall I die of hunger--or shall I make one more effort?" he exclaimed,
in a voice in which bitterness gave a momentary power to debility.
"I will write once more to my patron--possibly--" without waiting to
finish the sentence, he groped about in the dull twilight for ink and
paper; resting the sheet on a book, he wrote in a hand barely legible:
"Nov. 20th 16--,
"MY LORD--I have no light, and cannot see to write--no fire and my
fingers are stiff with cold--I have not tasted food for eight and forty
hours, and I am faint. Three times, my lord, I have been at your door
to day, but could not obtain admittance. This note may yet reach you in
time to save a fellow-creature from starvation. I have not a farthing
left, nor credit for a ha'penny--small debts press upon me, and the
publishers refused my last poem. Unless relieved within a few hours I
must perish.
"Your lordship's most humble,
"Most obedient, most grateful servant,
-------- --------"
This letter, scarcely legible from the agitation and misery which
enfeebled the hand that wrote it, was folded, and directed, and again
the writer left his garret lodging on the errand of beggary; he
descended the narrow stairway, slowly dragged his steps through the
lane, and sought the dwelling of his patron.
Whether he obtained admittance, or was again turned from the door;
whether his necessities were relieved, or the letter was idly thrown
aside unopened, we cannot say. Once more mingled with the crowd, we
lose sight of him. It is not the man, but the letter which engages our
attention to-day. There is still much doubt and uncertainty connected
with the subsequent fate of the poor poet, but the note written at that
painful moment has had a brilliant career, a history eventful
throughout. If the reader is partial to details of misery, and poverty,
any volume of general literary biography will furnish him with an
abundant supply, for such has too often proved the lot of those who
have built up the noble edifice of British Literature: like the band of
laborers on the Egyptian pyramid, theirs was too often a mess of leeks,
while milk, and honey, and oil, were the portion of those for whom they
toiled, those in whose honor, and for whose advantage the monument was
raised. Patrons, whether single individuals or nations, have too often
proved but indifferent friends, careless and forgetful of those whom
they proudly pretend to foster. But leaving the poor poet, with his
sorrows, to the regular biographer, we choose rather the lighter task
of relating the history of the letter itself; a man's works are often
preferred before himself, and it is believed that in this, the day of
autographs, no further apology will be needed for the course taken on
the present occasion. We hold ourselves, indeed, entitled to the
especial gratitude of collectors for the following sketch of a document
maintaining so high a rank in their estimation.
And justly might the Lumley Letter claim a full share of literary
homage. Boasting a distinguished signature, it possessed the first
essential of a superior autograph; for, although a rose under any other
name may smell as sweet, yet it is clear that with regard to every
thing coming from the pen, whether folio or billet doux, imaginative
poem, or matter-of-fact note of hand, there is a vast deal in this
important item, which is often the very life and stamina of the whole
production. Then again, the subject of extreme want is one of general
interest, while the allusion to the unpublished poem must always prove
an especial attraction to the curious. Such were the intrinsic merits
of the document, in addition to which, sober Time lent his aid to
enhance its value, and capricious Fortune added a peculiar charm of
mystery, which few papers of the kind could claim to the same extent.
The appearance also of this interesting paper was always admitted to be
entirely worthy of its fame. The hand-writing fully carried out the
idea of extreme debility and agitation corresponding with its nature,
| 862.839933 |
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The Marvelous
Land of Oz
Being an account of the
further adventures of the
Scarecrow
and Tin Woodman
and also the strange
experiences of the highly
magnified Woggle-Bug, Jack Pumpkinhead,
the Animated Saw-Horse
and the Gump;
the story being
A Sequel to The Wizard of Oz
By
L. Frank Baum
Author of Father Goose-His Book; The Wizard of Oz; The Magical Monarch
of Mo; The Enchanted Isle of Yew; The Life and Adventures of
Santa Claus; Dot and Tot of Merryland etc. etc.
PICTURED BY
John R. Neil
BOOKS OF WONDER
WILLIAM MORROW & COMPANY, INC.
NEW YORK
Copyright 1904
by
L. Frank Baum
All rights reserved
Published, July, 1904
Author's Note
After the publication of "The Wonderful Wizard of OZ" I began to receive
letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading the story and
asking me to "write something more" about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.
At first I considered these little letters, frank and earnest though they
were, in the light of pretty compliments; but the letters continued to come
during succeeding months, and even years.
Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me and
prefer her request,--and she is a "Dorothy," by the way--that when a
thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking for
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman I would write the book, Either little
Dorothy was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or the success of
the stage production of "The Wizard of OZ" made new friends for the story,
For the thousand letters reached their destination long since--and many
more followed them.
And now, although pleading guilty to long delay, I have kept my promise in
this book.
L. FRANK BAUM.
Chicago, June, 1904
To those excellent
good fellows
and
comedians
David C.
Montgomery
and
Frank A. Stone
whose clever
personations of
the
Tin Woodman
and the
Scarecrow
have delighted
thousands of
children
throughout the land,
this book is
gratefully dedicated
by
THE AUTHOR
LIST OF CHAPTERS
PAGE
Tip Manufactures Pumpkinhead 7
The Marvelous Powder of Life 15
The Flight of the Fugitives 29
Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic 39
The Awakening of the Saw-horse 47
Jack Pumpkinhead's Ride to the Emerald City 59
His Majesty the Scarecrow 71
Gen. Jinjur's Army of Revolt 83
The Scarecrow Plans an escape 97
The Journey to the Tin Woodman 109
A Nickel-Plated Emperor 121
Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E. 135
A Highly Magnified History 147
Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft 159
The Prisoners of the Queen 169
The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think 181
The Astonishing Flight of the Gump 191
In the Jackdaw's Nest 201
Dr. Nikidik's Famous Wishing Pills 219
The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good 231
The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose 247
The Transformation of Old Mombi 257
Princess Ozma of Oz 265
The Riches of Content 279
7 Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead
In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz,
lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old
Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was
expected to say such a long word when "Tip" would do just as well.
This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when
quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation,
I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin people had reason
to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and therefore hesitated to
associate with her.
Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of
the Land of Oz
8 Line-Art Drawing
had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip's guardian,
however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to
be more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.
Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil
her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking | 862.840124 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.8634090 | 887 | 9 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg.
The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898
Explorations by early navigators, descriptions of the islands and
their peoples, their history and records of the catholic missions,
as related in contemporaneous books and manuscripts, showing the
political, economic, commercial and religious conditions of those
islands from their earliest relations with European nations to the
close of the nineteenth century,
Volume XLVIII, 1751-1765
Edited and annotated by Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson
with historical introduction and additional notes by Edward Gaylord
Bourne.
The Arthur H. Clark Company
Cleveland, Ohio
MCMVII
CONTENTS OF VOLUME XLVIII
Preface 13
Documents of 1751-1762:
Usurpation of Indian lands by friars. Fernando VI;
San Lorenzo, November 7, 1751 27
Moro raids repulsed by Visayans. [Unsigned];
Manila, [1755] 37
Augustinian parishes and missions, 1760. Pedro Velasco,
O.S.A.; Tondo, April 16, 1760 52
Later Augustinian and Dominican missions. Antonio
Mozo, O.S.A.; Madrid, 1763. Bernardo Ustáriz, O.P.;
Manila, 1745 59
Events in Filipinas, 1739-1762. [Compiled from Martinez
de Zúñiga and other writers.] 137
Memorial of 1765. Francisco Leandro de Viana; Manila,
February 10, 1765 197
Bibliographical Data 339
ILLUSTRATIONS
Map of the Philippine Islands; photographic facsimile from
original map in Murillo Velarde's Historia de la provincia
de Philipinas (Manila, 1749); from copy in possession of
Edward E. Ayer, Chicago Frontispiece
Map of Leyte, from original MS. of P. Pagteel, in
collection of Charts by Alexander Dalrymple ([London],
1788), ii, p. 76; photographic facsimile from copy in
Library of Congress 39
Plan of the new Alcaicería of San Fernando, 1756;
photographic facsimile from original manuscript in
Archivo general de Indias, Sevilla 181
View of Spanish city and fort of Gammalamma, Terrenate;
photographic facsimile from Recueil des voiages Comp.
Indes orientales (Amsterdam, 1725); iii, p. 348; from
copy in library of Wisconsin Historical Society 213
Plan of the citadel of Santiago at Manila; photographic
facsimile from original manuscript in Archivo general de
Indias, Sevilla 219
Map of Mindanao, 1757; by Nicolás Norton Nicols;
photographic facsimile from original manuscript in Archivo
general de Indias, Sevilla 281
PREFACE
The contents of the present volume (dated 1751-65) include accounts
of the missionary efforts of the Augustinian and Dominican orders, and
events in Filipinas from 1739 to the beginning of the English invasion;
and the survey of the condition and needs of the islands which is
presented in the memorial by the royal fiscal Viana. A valuable
feature in the missionary reports is the ethnological information
furnished therein regarding the savage tribes of Central Luzón;
and the self-sacrifice and devotion of the missionaries themselves
appear in striking contrast with the unscrupulous greed displayed,
as one of the short documents shows, in the management of the friar
estates near Manila. The times are troublous for the colony: several
insurrections occur among the natives, the Acap | 862.883449 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.8642000 | 1,237 | 10 |
Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Steve
Schulze and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
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| residing in the country, that, for their convenience, he has |
| made arrangements by which, on receipt of the price of |
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| ANY STANDARD BOOK PUBLISHED, |
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| the same will be forwarded, postage paid. |
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| Parties desiring Catalouges of any of our Publishing Houses |
| can have the same forwarded by inclosing two stamps. |
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| THE FIVE NUMBERS FOR APRIL, |
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| Who are now prepared to receive Orders. |
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| STEEL PENS. |
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| These pens are or a finer quality, more durable, and cheaper |
| than any other Pen in the market. Special attention is |
| called to the following grades, as being better suited for |
| business purposes than any Pen manufactured. The |
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| "505," "22," and the "Anti-Corrosive," |
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| We recommend for bank and office use. |
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+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: Vol. I. No. 8.
PUNCHINELLO
SATURDAY, MAY 21, 1870.
PUBLISHED BY THE
PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,
83 NASSAU STREET, NEW-YORK.]
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| |
| _CONANT'S PATENT BINDERS for "Punchinello," to preserve the |
| paper for binding, will be sent, post-paid, on receipt of |
| One Dollar, by "Punchinello Publishing Company," 83 Nassau |
| Street, New-York City._ |
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| PUNCHINELLO. |
| |
| MAY 21, 1870. |
| |
| APPLICATIONS FOR ADVERTISING IN |
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+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Notice to Ladies. |
| |
| DIBBLE, |
| |
| Of 854 Broadway, |
| |
| Has just received a large assortment |
| of all the latest styles of |
| |
| Chignons, Chatelaines, etc., |
| |
| FROM PARIS, |
| |
| Comprising the following beautiful varieties: |
| La Coquette, La Plenitude, Le Bouquet, |
| La Sirene, L'Imperatrice etc. |
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| At prices varying from $2 upward. |
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| Brigadier-General |
| |
| THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER: |
| |
| His Political and Military Career; |
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| WITH SELECTIONS FROM |
| HIS SPEECHES AND WRITINGS. |
| BY |
| Capt. W. F. LYONS. |
| |
| It will be printed on fine toned paper, from new type, |
| with an excellent Portrait. |
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| One vol., Cloth, extra beveled.... $2 00 |
| One vol., Cloth, extra richly gilt.. 2 50 |
| One vol | 862.88424 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.8662790 | 1,263 | 26 |
Transcribed from the 1896 Smith, Elder and Co. "Lizzie Leigh and Other
Tales" edition by David Price, email [email protected]. Proofed by
Jennifer Lee, Alev Akman and Andy Wallace.
THE HALF-BROTHERS
by Elizabeth Gaskell
My mother was twice married. She never spoke of her first husband, and
it is only from other people that I have learnt what little I know about
him. I believe she was scarcely seventeen when she was married to him:
and he was barely one-and-twenty. He rented a small farm up in
Cumberland, somewhere towards the sea-coast; but he was perhaps too young
and inexperienced to have the charge of land and cattle: anyhow, his
affairs did not prosper, and he fell into ill health, and died of
consumption before they had been three years man and wife, leaving my
mother a young widow of twenty, with a little child only just able to
walk, and the farm on her hands for four years more by the lease, with
half the stock on it dead, or sold off one by one to pay the more
pressing debts, and with no money to purchase more, or even to buy the
provisions needed for the small consumption of every day. There was
another child coming, too; and sad and sorry, I believe, she was to think
of it. A dreary winter she must have had in her lonesome dwelling, with
never another near it for miles around; her sister came to bear her
company, and they two planned and plotted how to make every penny they
could raise go as far as possible. I can't tell you how it happened that
my little sister, whom I never saw, came to sicken and die; but, as if my
poor mother's cup was not full enough, only a fortnight before Gregory
was born the little girl took ill of scarlet fever, and in a week she lay
dead. My mother was, I believe, just stunned with this last blow. My
aunt has told me that she did not cry; aunt Fanny would have been
thankful if she had; but she sat holding the poor wee lassie's hand and
looking in her pretty, pale, dead face, without so much as shedding a
tear. And it was all the same, when they had to take her away to be
buried. She just kissed the child, and sat her down in the window-seat
to watch the little black train of people (neighbours--my aunt, and one
far-off cousin, who were all the friends they could muster) go winding
away amongst the snow, which had fallen thinly over the country the night
before. When my aunt came back from the funeral, she found my mother in
the same place, and as dry-eyed as ever. So she continued until after
Gregory was born; and, somehow, his coming seemed to loosen the tears,
and she cried day and night, till my aunt and the other watcher looked at
each other in dismay, and would fain have stopped her if they had but
known how. But she bade them let her alone, and not be over-anxious, for
every drop she shed eased her brain, which had been in a terrible state
before for want of the power to cry. She seemed after that to think of
nothing but her new little baby; she had hardly appeared to remember
either her husband or her little daughter that lay dead in Brigham
churchyard--at least so aunt Fanny said, but she was a great talker, and
my mother was very silent by nature, and I think aunt Fanny may have been
mistaken in believing that my mother never thought of her husband and
child just because she never spoke about them. Aunt Fanny was older than
my mother, and had a way of treating her like a child; but, for all that,
she was a kind, warm-hearted creature, who thought more of her sister's
welfare than she did of her own and it was on her bit of money that they
principally lived, and on what the two could earn by working for the
great Glasgow sewing-merchants. But by-and-by my mother's eye-sight
began to fail. It was not that she was exactly blind, for she could see
well enough to guide herself about the house, and to do a good deal of
domestic work; but she could no longer do fine sewing and earn money. It
must have been with the heavy crying she had had in her day, for she was
but a young creature at this time, and as pretty a young woman, I have
heard people say, as any on the country side. She took it sadly to heart
that she could no longer gain anything towards the keep of herself and
her child. My aunt Fanny would fain have persuaded her that she had
enough to do in managing their cottage and minding Gregory; but my mother
knew that they were pinched, and that aunt Fanny herself had not as much
to eat, even of the commonest kind of food, as she could have done with;
and as for Gregory, he was not a strong lad, and needed, not more
food--for he always had enough, whoever went short--but better
nourishment, and more flesh-meat. One day--it was aunt Fanny who told me
all this about my poor mother, long after her death--as the sisters were
sitting together, aunt Fanny working, and my mother hushing Gregory to
sleep, William Preston, who was afterwards my father, came in. He was
reckoned an old bachelor; I suppose he was long past forty, and he was
one of the wealthiest farmers thereabouts, and had known | 862.886319 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Steve Flynn, Virginia Paque,
Peter Klumper, Tonya Allen, Thierry Alberto and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: "_THE FAIR AND SOMETIMES UNCERTAIN DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE
OF MILBREY_." (See page 182.)]
THE SPENDERS
A TALE OF THE THIRD GENERATION
BY
HARRY LEON WILSON
_Illustrated by_ O'NEILL LATHAM
1902
To L. L. J.
FOREWORD
The wanderers of earth turned to her--outcast of the older lands--
With a promise and hope in their pleading, and she reached them pitying
hands;
And she cried to the Old-World cities that drowse by the Eastern main:
"Send me your weary, house-worn broods and I'll send you Men again!
Lo, here in my wind-swept reaches, by my marshalled peaks of snow,
Is room for a larger reaping than your o'ertilled fields can grow.
Seed of the Main Seed springing to stature and strength in my sun,
Free with a limitless freedom no battles of men have won,"
For men, like the grain of the corn fields, grow small in the huddled
crowd,
And weak for the breath of spaces where a soul may speak aloud;
For hills, like stairways to heaven, shaming the level track,
And sick with the clang of pavements and the marts of the trafficking
pack.
Greatness is born of greatness, and breadth of a breadth profound;
The old Antaean fable of strength renewed from the ground
Was a human truth for the ages; since the hour of the Edenbirth
That man among men was strongest who stood with his feet on the earth!
SHARLOT MABRIDTH HALL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. The Second Generation Is Removed
II. How the First Generation Once Righted Itself
III. Billy Brue Finds His Man
IV. The West Against the East
V. Over the Hills
VI. A Meeting and a Clashing
VII. The Rapid-fire Lorgnon Is Spiked
VIII. Up Skiplap Canyon
IX. Three Letters, Private and Confidential
X. The Price of Averting a Scandal
XI. How Uncle Peter Bines Once Cut Loose
XII. Plans for the Journey East
XIII. The Argonauts Return to the Rising Sun
XIV. Mr. Higbee Communicates Some Valuable Information
XV. Some Light With a Few Side-lights
XVI. With the Barbaric Hosts
XVII. The Patricians Entertain
XVIII. The Course of True Love at a House Party
XIX. An Afternoon Stroll and an Evening Catastrophe
XX. Doctor Von Herslich Expounds the Hightower Hotel and Certain Allied
Phenomena
XXI. The Diversions of a Young Multi-millionaire
XXII. The Distressing Adventure of Mrs. Bines
XXIII. The Summer Campaign Is Planned
XXIV. The Sight of a New Beauty, and Some Advice from Higbee
XXV. Horace Milbrey Upholds the Dignity of His House
XXVI. A Hot Day in New York, with News of an Interesting Marriage
XXVII. A Sensational Turn in the Milbrey Fortunes
XXVIII. Uncle Peter Bines Comes to Town With His Man
XXIX. Uncle Peter Bines Threatens to Raise Something
XXX. Uncle Peter Inspires His Grandson to Worthy Ambitions
XXXI. Concerning Consolidated Copper and Peter Bines as Matchmakers
XXXII. Devotion to Business and a Chance Meeting
XXXIII. The Amateur Napoleon of Wall Street
XXXIV. How the Chinook Came to Wall Street
XXXV. The News Broken, Whereupon an Engagement is Broken
XXXVI. The God in the Machine
XXXVII. The Departure of Uncle Peter--And Some German Philosophy
XXXVIII. Some Phenomena Peculiar to Spring
XXXIX. An Unusual Plan of Action Is Matured
XL. Some Rude Behaviour, of Which Only a Western Man Could Be Guilty
XLI. The New Argonauts
ILLUSTRATIONS
"The fair and sometimes uncertain daughter of the house of Milbrey"
"'Well, Billy Brue,--what's doin'?'"
"The spell was broken"
"'Why, you'd be Lady Casselthorpe, with dukes and counts takin' off
their crowns to you'"
"'Remember that saying of your pa's, "it takes all kinds of fools to
make a world"'"
"'Say it that way--" Miss Milbrey is engaged with Mr. Bines, and can't
see you"'"
THE SPENDERS
CHAPTER I.
The Second Generation is Removed
When Daniel J. Bines died of apoplexy in his private car at Kaslo
Junction no one knew just where to reach either his old father or his
young son with the news of his death. Somewhere up the eastern <DW72> of
the Sierras the old man would be leading, as he had long chosen to lead
each summer, the lonely life of a prospector. The young man, two years
out of Harvard, and but recently back from an extended European tour,
was at some point on the North Atlantic coast, beginning the season's
pursuit of happiness as he listed.
Only in a land so young that almost the present dwellers therein have
made it might we find individualities which so decisively failed to
blend. So little congruous was the family of Bines in root, branch, and
blossom, that it might, indeed, be taken to picture an epic of Western
life as the romancer would tell it. First of the line stands the figure
of Peter Bines, the pioneer, contemporary with the stirring days of
Fremont, of Kit Carson, of Harney, and Bridger; the fearless strivers
toward an ever-receding West, fascinating for its untried dangers as
for its fabled wealth,--the sturdy, grave men who fought and toiled and
hoped, and realised in varying measure, but who led in sober truth a
life such as the colours of no taleteller shall ever be high enough to
reproduce.
Next came Daniel J. Bines, a type of the builder and organiser who
followed the trail blazed by the earlier pioneer; the genius who,
finding the magic realm opened, forthwith became its exploiter to its
vast renown and his own large profit, coining its wealth of minerals,
lumber, cattle, and grain, and adventurously building the railroads
that must always be had to drain a new land of savagery.
Nor would there be wanting a third--a figure of this present day,
containing, in potency at least, the stanch qualities of his two rugged
forbears,--the venturesome spirit that set his restless grandsire to
roving westward, the power to group and coordinate, to "think three
moves ahead" which had made his father a man of affairs; and, further,
he had something modern of his own that neither of the others
possessed, and yet which came as the just fruit of the parent vine: a
disposition perhaps a bit less strenuous, turning back to the risen
rather than forward to the setting sun; a tendency to rest a little
from the toil and tumult; to cultivate some graces subtler than those
of adventure and commercialism; to make the most of what had been done
rather than strain to the doing of needless more; to live, in short,
like a philosopher and a gentleman who has more golden dollars a year
than either philosophers or gentlemen are wont to enjoy.
And now the central figure had gone suddenly at the age of fifty-two,
after the way of certain men who are quick, ardent, and generous in
their living. From his luxurious private car, lying on the side-track
at the dreary little station, Toler, private secretary to the
millionaire, had telegraphed to the headquarters of one important
railway company the death of its president, and to various mining,
milling, and lumbering companies the death of their president,
vice-president, or managing director as the case might be. For the
widow and only daughter word of the calamity had gone to a mountain
resort not far from the family home at Montana City.
There promised to be delay in reaching the other two. The son would
early read the news, Toler decided, unless perchance he were off at
sea, since the death of a figure like Bines would be told by every
daily newspaper in the country. He telegraphed, however, to the young
man's New York apartments and to a Newport address, on the chance of
finding him.
Locating old Peter Bines at this season of the year was a feat never
lightly to be undertaken, nor for any trivial end. It being now the
10th of June, it could be known with certainty only that in one of four
States he was prowling through some wooded canyon, toiling over a windy
pass, or scaling a mountain sheerly, in his ancient and best loved
sport of prospecting. Knowing his habits, the rashest guesser would not
have attempted to say more definitely where the old man might be.
The most promising plan Toler could devise was to wire the
superintendent of the "One Girl" Mine at Skiplap. The elder Bines, he
knew, had passed through Skiplap about June 1st, and had left, perhaps,
some inkling of his proposed route; if it chanced, indeed, that he had
taken the trouble to propose one.
Pangburn, the mine superintendent, on receipt of the news, despatched
five men on the search in as many different directions. The old man was
now seventy-four, and Pangburn had noted when last they met that he | 862.937091 |
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TALES,
TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE
OF
BORDER
AND
REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.
BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
118 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1864,
by BEADLE AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of
the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
PREFACE.
In this volume we offer the reader a combination of two of the most
fascinating qualities which a book can possess. It is almost strictly
historical, and yet as marvelous as the most romantic fiction. The
sketches and incidents here gathered are all authenticated; yet many of
them, in their wonderful interest and pathos, exceed the bounds of
fancy. They belong to two classes: those which are connected with the
Revolution, and those which chronicle the peculiar events of our
Frontier History. While they will absorb the attention of the most
intelligent reader, they are charmingly adapted to attract young people,
who will be both instructed and delighted. Boys will find examples
worthy of emulation, and will learn to appreciate those traits of
character which made the glory and the progress of our young republic;
while girls may gain dignity of mind by contemplating the devotion,
courage and endurance of the women of those days.
An insight will be afforded into the customs of the Indians, and into
the manner of life of the early settlers, whose dangers and
difficulties, privations and calamities, are almost incredible. Many of
the most thrilling events in our national history are herein related,
along with the fearless adventures of our brave pioneers, and the perils
and catastrophes which befell the families of those whose protectors
were absent on the field of battle, or whose cabins failed to find
sufficient defense in the rifles of their owners.
The reader will linger over these pages, thrilled by the consciousness
that the scenes so vividly brought before him are real—a living, abiding
part of our existence as a people. The "storied Rhine" and "classic
Italy" are laid and overlaid thickly with traditions which give a vague
interest to soil, ruin, mountain and sky. We, also, have our
traditions—different in kind, but of wild and marvelous interest—and the
day shall come when the banks of the fair Ohio, the blue Muskingum, the
picturesque Allegany, the noble Mississippi, shall be trodden by
reverent feet, while the thoughts of the traveler speed back to the days
of the lurking red-man and the bold ranger. It is no mean duty of the
chronicler to treasure up the threads of a thousand little facts, and
weave them into a web which shall perpetuate them for the future.
The publishers believe that this volume will not only be a favorite in
the hands of men, young and old, but will have its appropriate place by
the fireside.
CONTENTS.
Abduction of General Wadsworth, 236
Anecdotes of an early settler of Kentucky, 61
Anecdotes of juvenile heroism, 202
Anecdotes of Washington, 111
A remarkable hunting excursion, 133
Big Joe Logston's struggle with an Indian, 69
Boquet's expedition into Indian territory, 277
Brady's leap, 363
Brant and the boy, 32
Brave deeds of Logan, 245
British atrocities during the Revolution, 340
Captain Hubbell's adventure on the Ohio, 123
Captain John Sevier, 313
Captivity of Jonathan Alder, 270
Close quarters with a rattlesnake, 141
Colonel Horry, of Marion's brigade, 143
Davy Crockett's adventure with a cougar, 56
Deborah Sampson, the maiden warrior, 82
Dick Moxon's fight with the deer, 137
Downing's remarkable escape from an Indian, 120
Elerson's twenty-five mile race, 160
Ethan Allen, a prisoner of war, 229
Execution of Colonel Isaac Hayne, 335
Female characters of the Revolution, 175
General Dale's adventure, 310
Harrison's invasion of Canada and death of Tecumseh, 219
Heroic death of Cornstalk, sachem of the Shawnees, 252
Horrible atrocities by savages, 264
Horrible cruelties by British troops, 297
Horsewhipping a tyrant, 223
Interesting anecdotes of Mrs. Fisher's courage, 352
John Minter's bear fight, 53
Joseph Bettys' bloody career, 291
Major Robert Rogers' adventure, 303
Marvelous escape of Weatherford, 309
Miss Sherrill's flight to the fort, 314
Molly Pitcher at Monmouth, 172
Moody, the refugee, 286
Morgan's prayer, 100
Mrs. Austin and the bear, 48
Mrs. Slocumb at Moore's Creek, 347
Murphy saving the fort, 18
Nathan Hale's arrest and execution, 341
Proctor's massacre at River Basin, 212
Sargeant Jasper's adventures in the British camp, 153
Sargeant Jasper and the young Creole girl, 88
Simon Girty's attack on Bryant Station, 317
Simon Kenton and his Indian torture-ride, 5
Spirited adventures of a young married couple, 350
Tecumseh saving the prisoners, 309
The Baroness de Reidesel, 183
The chieftain's appeal, 325
The Grand Tower massacre, 76
The implacable governor, 332
The Johnson boys killing their captors, 116
The leap for life, 300
The little sentinel, 197
The mother's trial, 242
The women defending the wagon, 261
Thrilling anecdotes of women of the Revolution, 93
William Kennan's flight from thirty Indians, 165
ILLUSTRATIONS.
SIMON KENTON'S TORTURE-RIDE, 2
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT, 25
BRANT AND YOUNG M'KOWN, 33
MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR, 49
JOE LOGSTON'S ENCOUNTER WITH AN INDIAN, 66
DEBORAH, THE MAIDEN WARRIOR, 89
GENERAL MORGAN'S PRAYER, 105
JOHNSON BOYS KILLING THEIR CAPTORS, 121
SWEATLAND'S HUNTING ADVENTURE, 130
COLONEL HORRY'S EXPLOITS, 145
ELERSON'S TWENTY-FIVE MILE RACE, 161
MOLLY PITCHER AT MONMOUTH, 177
THE LITTLE SENTINEL, 194
TECUMSEH SAVING THE PRISONERS, 217
HORSEWHIPPING A TYRANT, 233
THE MOTHER'S TRIAL, 249
WOMEN DEFENDING THE WAGON, 258
CAPTIVITY OF JONATHAN ALDER, 273
MOODY, THE REFUGEE, 289
THE LEAP FOR LIFE, 305
THE CHIEFTAIN'S APPEAL, 322
THE IMPLACABLE GOVERNOR, 337
MRS. SLOCUMB AT MOORE'S CREEK, 353
BRADY'S LEAP, 361
[Illustration:
Simon Kenton's Torture-Ride—_Page_ 9.
]
TALES,
TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE
OF
BORDER AND REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.
SIMON KENTON.
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT.
BRANT AND THE BOY.
MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR.
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
NEW YORK: 118 WILLIAM STREET.
LONDON: 44 PATERNOSTER ROW.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
SIMON KENTON,
AND HIS
INDIAN TORTURE-RIDE.
Foremost among the wild and terrific scenes which arise before our
startled eyes when we turn the pages of border warfare, is the ride of
Simon Kenton—not that the cruelty of its devisers was so atrocious, nor
the final results so dreadful, as in many other instances; but the
novelty, the unique savageness of the affair, strikes upon the
imagination, as if it were one of those thrilling stories related of
ages and people which never were, instead of an event that actually
occurred to one of our own countrymen in one of our own territories.
In the early light of morning breaking through the trees which surround
them, a group of Indians are preparing to resume their march, after a
night of repose. They have with them a solitary prisoner. Corraled about
them are numbers of horses, the recovery of which has been the object of
the expedition. Before these are released and the day's march resumed,
the prisoner must be disposed of. While his captors are deciding this
important matter, we will discover who he is and what has brought him
into his present state.
About the first of September, 1778, Simon Kenton—the friend and younger
coadjutor of Boone, who had been with the latter for some time at
Boonesborough Station, employed in protecting the surrounding country,
and engaging in occasional skirmishes with the Indians—becoming tired of
a temporary inactivity which his habits of life rendered insupportable,
determined to have another adventure with the Indians. For this purpose
he associated with Alex. Montgomery and George Clark, to go on an
expedition for stealing horses from the Shawnees.
The three brave scouts reached old Chilicothe without meeting with any
thing exciting. There they fell in with a drove of Indian horses,
feeding on the rich prairie, and securing seven of the drove, started on
their return. Reaching the Ohio, they found the river lashed into fury
by a hurricane, and the horses refused to cross. Here was an
unlooked-for dilemma. It was evening; they felt sure of being pursued;
no time was to be lost. As the only resource, they rode | 862.937181 |
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PERFUMES
AND THEIR PREPARATION.
CONTAINING
COMPLETE DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING HANDKERCHIEF PERFUMES,
SMELLING-SALTS, SACHETS, FUMIGATING PASTILS; PREPARATIONS
FOR THE CARE OF THE SKIN, THE MOUTH,
THE HAIR; COSMETICS, HAIR DYES, AND
OTHER TOILET ARTICLES.
WITH A
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF AROMATIC SUBSTANCES; THEIR
NATURE, TESTS OF PURITY, AND WHOLESALE
MANUFACTURE.
BY
GEORGE WILLIAM ASKINSON, DR. CHEM.,
MANUFACTURER OF PERFUMERY.
TRANSLATED FROM THE THIRD GERMAN EDITION BY
ISIDOR FURST.
(WITH CORRECTIONS AND ADDITIONS BY SEVERAL EXPERTS.)
Illustrated with 32 Engravings.
NEW YORK:
N. W. HENLEY & CO.,
150 NASSAU ST.
LONDON:
E. & F. N. SPON,
125, STRAND.
1892.
COPYRIGHTED, 1892,
BY
NORMAN W. HENLEY & CO.
PREFACE.
The great progress which the art of perfumery has made during recent
times is due to several causes, the chief one of which is fully
realized only by the manufacturer on a large scale, who stands, as
it were, behind the scenes and has access to facts and information
concerning the materials he uses, which are not so easily accessible
to the dilettante in perfumery, or remain altogether unknown to the
latter. This important factor is the advance in our knowledge of the
physical and chemical properties of the several substances used in
perfumery, whereby we can better discriminate between the genuine
and the spurious, the choicest and the inferior, thus insuring, at
the very start, a satisfactory result, instead of being compelled to
resort to wasteful experimentation and empiricism. A better knowledge
has also been gained of the sources of the commercial varieties of
many of the crude products, and a better insight into the conditions
affecting their qualities or properties. A more exhaustive study of
the proximate principles of many of the essential oils has thrown
an entirely new light upon this heretofore obscure class of bodies,
placing into our hands new products of definite chemical composition,
unvarying in physical properties, and many of them valuable additions
to the perfumer’s stock of ingredients. Synthetic chemistry has also
added to the list of materials required by the perfumer, and is surely
going to add many more to it hereafter. Though some of these, like
the new artificial musk, are not yet in a condition to enter into
serious competition with the natural products, yet it is merely a
question of time when the latter need no longer be depended upon. The
increasing demands for the staple articles used by the perfumer have
also caused a large increase in the cultivation of many important
plants in various parts of the world, and have led to the establishment
of new plantations, in some cases to such an extent that the commercial
relations have been entirely revolutionized, new territories producing
larger crops and a finer product than the old home of the plant. The
exploration of hitherto unknown or imperfectly known countries has
also largely added to the perfumer’s art, and is likely to continue to
do this for a long time to come, since it is now well known that vast
districts, more particularly in tropical Africa, are inhabited by a
flora abounding in new odoriferous plants.
In spite of all this expansion of the perfumer’s stock of trade,
however, which results in the periodical introduction of new compounds,
there is a very large number of popular odorous mixtures which remain
in steady demand, having taken such firm root among civilized nations
that they are not likely to be displaced. It is more particularly with
a view to afford information regarding these latter that a work like
the present is desirable and necessary. A treatise on perfumery is
expected to place into the hands of the purchaser reasonably reliable
processes for preparing the most generally approved simple or compound
perfumes, as well as accurate information concerning the origin and
properties of the various ingredients, together with practical hints
regarding the determination of their genuineness and purity.
It is a frequent complaint of those who make preparations after
formulas published in works like the present, that they do not
succeed in obtaining fully satisfactory products. Another complaint
of purchasers of such works is this: that they fail to find formulas
yielding preparations identical in every respect with certain
celebrated perfumes which have made the reputation and fortune of
certain firms. Regarding the first complaint, we would say that
the failure lies generally with the complainant himself, through
carelessness in the selection of the materials or disregard of
the given directions. Concerning the second complaint, a moment’s
reflection must convince any one that formulas which are the result
of the study and experimentation of years, and the products of which
are the main stock of trade of certain firms, are carefully guarded,
and not likely to be communicated to others. Moreover, in many cases
even a publication of the component parts would not be of much avail,
for the manufacturer on the large scale has facilities for blending
and seasoning his products which the maker on a small scale does not
possess, and it is this part of the art particularly upon which the
quality of the products depends.
In preparing the present treatise for the American public many changes
were found necessary in the original text, in order to make the
information given more correct or definite, and so bring the work more
abreast of the present time. In addition to various improvements and
additions made in the working formulas comprising the second portion of
the work, the description of the natural products used as ingredients,
upon the quality and selection of which the success of the perfumer
mostly depends, has been carefully revised, and so far as the objects
of this work required, completed by Dr. Charles Rice, Associate Editor
of _American Druggist_, etc., in consultation with several experts in
the art of perfumery.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
The History of Perfumery 1
CHAPTER II.
About Aromatic Substances in General 6
CHAPTER III.
Odors from the Vegetable Kingdom 13
CHAPTER IV.
The Aromatic Vegetable Substances Employed in Perfumery 20
CHAPTER V.
The Animal Substances Used in Perfumery 57
CHAPTER VI.
The Chemical Products Used in Perfumery 63
A. Chemicals Used for the Extraction of Aromatic Substances 64
B. Chemical Products Used for the Preparation of Perfumes 68
C. The Colors Used in Perfumery 87
CHAPTER VII.
The Extraction of Odors 87
CHAPTER VIII.
The Special Characteristics of Aromatic Substances 118
CHAPTER IX.
The Adulteration of Essential Oils and their Recognition 139
CHAPTER X.
The Essences or Extracts Employed in Perfumery 146
CHAPTER XI.
Directions for Making the Most Important Essences and Extracts 150
CHAPTER XII.
The Division of Perfumery 166
CHAPTER XIII.
The Manufacture of Handkerchief Perfumes, Bouquets, or Aromatic
Waters 167
CHAPTER XIV.
Formulas for Handkerchief Perfumes 169
CHAPTER XV.
Ammoniacal and Acid Perfumes 199
CHAPTER XVI.
Dry Perfumes 207
CHAPTER XVII.
Formulas for Dry Perfumes (Sachets) 209
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Perfumes Used for Fumigation 214
CHAPTER XIX.
Hygienic and Cosmetic Perfumery 225
CHAPTER XX.
Preparations for the Care of the Skin 227
CHAPTER XXI.
Formulas for the Preparation of Emulsions, Meals, Pastes,
Vegetable Milk, and Cold-Creams 230
CHAPTER XXII.
The Preparations Used for the Care of the Hair
(Pomades and Hair Oils) 245
CHAPTER XXIII.
Formulas for the Manufacture of Pomades and Hair Oils 247
CHAPTER XXIV.
Preparations for the Care of the Mouth 257
CHAPTER XXV.
Cosmetic Perfumery 269
CHAPTER XXVI.
Skin Cosmetics and Face Lotions 270
CHAPTER XXVII.
Hair Cosmetics 280
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Hair Dyes and Depilatories 285
CHAPTER XXIX.
Wax Pomades, Bandolines, and Brillantines 294
CHAPTER XXX.
The Colors Used in Perfumery 297
CHAPTER XXXI.
The Utensils Used in the Toilet 301
PERFUMES AND THEIR PREPARATION.
CHAPTER I.
THE HISTORY OF PERFUMERY.
The gratification of his senses is peculiar to man, and it is to this
trait that we are indebted for all the arts. The activities which
aimed at the gratification of the eye and ear developed into the
creative arts and music, and in like manner human endeavor directed
toward the stimulation of the sense of smell has in our time assumed
the proportions both of an art and a science; for it was nothing but
the advancement of chemistry that made it possible to fix all the
pleasant odors offered by nature and to create new perfumes by the
artistic combination of these scents. The preparation of perfumes is a
very ancient art that is met with among all peoples possessed of any
degree of civilization. It is particularly the ancient nations of the
Orient which had in truth become masters in the manufacture of numerous
perfumes.
The first perfume was the fragrant flower; it has continued to be so
to the present day: the sprig of dried lavender flowers which we lay
in the clothes-press was probably used for the same purpose by the
contemporaries of Aristotle. In the Orient, which we may look upon as | 862.937384 |
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Transcribed from the 1894 Longmans, Green and Co. edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: Ban and Arrière ban frontispiece]
Ban and Arrière Ban
A RALLY OF FUGITIVE RHYMES
BY ANDREW LANG
* * * * *
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16TH STREET
1894
* * * * *
[_All rights reserved_]
* * * * *
Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
* * * * *
TO
ELEANOR CHARLOTTE SELLAR
‘_Ban and Arrière Ban_!’ _a host_
_Broken_, _beaten_, _all unled_,
_They return as doth a ghost_
_From the dead_.
_Sad or glad my rallied rhymes_,
_Sought our dusty papers through_,
_For the sake of other times_
_Come to you_.
_Times and places new we know_,
_Faces fresh and seasons strange_
_But the friends of long ago_
_Do not change_.
MANY of the verses in this collection have appeared in Magazines: ‘How
they held the Bass’ was in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’; the ‘Ballad of the
Philanthropist’ in ‘Punch’; ‘Calais Sands’ in ‘The Magazine of Art’
(Messrs. Cassell and Co.); and others are recaptured from ‘Longman’s
Magazine,’ ‘Scribner’s,’ ‘The Illustrated London News,’ ‘The English
Illustrated Magazine,’ ‘Wit and Wisdom’ (lines from Omar Khayyam), ‘The
St. James’s Gazette,’ and possibly other serials. Some pieces are from
commendatory verses for books, as for Mr. Jacobs’s ‘Æsop’; some are from
Mr. Rider Haggard’s ‘World’s Desire,’ and ‘Cleopatra,’ two are from
Kirk’s ‘Secret Commonwealth’ (Nutt, 1893), and ‘Neiges d’Antan,’ are from
the author’s ‘Ballads and Lyrics of Old France,’ now long out of print.
CONTENTS
PAGE
A Scot to Jeanne d’Arc 1
How they held the Bass for King James—1691–1693 4
Three portraits of Prince Charles 11
From Omar Khayyam 14
Æsop 16
Les Roses de Sâdi 18
The Haunted Tower 19
Boat-song 22
Lost Love 24
The Promise of Helen 26
The Restoration of Romance 27
Central American Antiquities 30
On Calais Sands 32
Ballade of Yule 34
Poscimur 36
On his Dead Sea-Mew 38
From Meleager 39
On the Garland Sent to Rhodocleia 40
A Galloway Garland 41
Celia’s Eyes 43
Britannia 44
Gallia 45
The Fairy Minister 46
To Robert Louis Stevenson 48
For Mark Twain’s Jubilee 50
POEMS WRITTEN UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF WORDSWORTH
Mist 55
Lines 56
Lines 58
Ode to Golf 60
Freshman’s Term 62
A Toast 64
Death in June 66
To Correspondents 68
Ballade of Difficult Rhymes 70
Ballant o’ Ballantrae 72
Song by the Sub-Conscious Self 74
The Haunted Homes of England 75
The Disappointment 77
To the Gentle Reader 80
The Sonnet 84
The Tournay of the Heroes 85
Ballad of the Philanthropist 91
NEIGES D’ANTAN
In Ercildoune 97
For a Rose’s Sake 100
The Brigand’s Grave 102
The New-Liveried Year 104
More Strong than Death 105
Silentia Lunae 107
His Lady’s Tomb 108
The Poet’s Apology 109
Notes 115
ERRATUM
READER, a blot hath escaped the watchfulness of the setter forth: if thou
wilt thou mayst amend it. The sonnet on the forty-fourth page, against
all right Italianate laws, hath but thirteen lines withal: add another to
thy liking, if thou art a Maker; or, if thou art none, even be content
with what is set before thee. If it be scant measure, be sure it is
choicely good.
A SCOT TO JEANNE D’ARC
DARK Lily without blame,
Not upon us the shame,
Whose sires were to the Auld Alliance true,
They, by the Maiden’s side,
Victorious fought and died,
One stood by thee that fiery torment through,
Till the White Dove from thy pure lips had passed,
And thou wert with thine own St. Catherine at the last.
Once only didst thou see
In artist’s imagery,
Thine own face painted, and that precious thing
Was in an Archer’s hand
From the leal Northern land.
Alas, what price would not thy people bring
To win that portrait of the ruinous
Gulf of devouring years that hide the Maid from us!
Born of a lowly line,
Noteless as once was thine,
One of that name I would were kin to me,
Who, in the Scottish Guard
Won this for his reward,
To fight for France, and memory of thee:
Not upon us, dark Lily without blame,
Not on the North may fall the shadow of that shame.
On France and England both
The shame of broken troth,
Of coward hate and treason black must be;
If England slew thee, France
Sent not one word, one lance,
One coin to rescue or to ransom thee.
And still thy Church unto the Maid denies
The halo and the palms, the Beatific prize.
But yet thy people calls
Within the rescued walls
Of Orleans; and makes its prayer to thee;
What though the Church have chidden
These orisons forbidden,
Yet art thou with this earth’s immortal Three,
With him in Athens that of hemlock died,
And with thy Master dear whom the world crucified.
HOW THEY HELD THE BASS FOR KING JAMES—1691–1693
Time of Narrating—1743
YE hae heard Whigs crack o’ the Saints in the Bass, my faith, a
gruesome tale;
How the Remnant paid at a tippeny rate, for a quart o’ ha’penny ale!
But I’ll tell ye anither tale o’ the Bass, that’ll hearten ye up to
hear,
Sae I pledge ye to Middleton first in a glass, and a health to the
Young Chevalier!
The Bass stands frae North Berwick Law a league or less to sea,
About its feet the breakers beat, abune the sea-maws flee,
There’s castle stark and dungeon dark, wherein the godly lay,
That made their rant for the Covenant through mon | 862.938544 |
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THE BOYS OF BELLWOOD SCHOOL
OR
FRANK JORDAN'S TRIUMPH
BY FRANK V. WEBSTER
AUTHOR OF "TOM THE TELEPHONE BOY",
"COMRADES OF THE SADDLE", "THE NEWSBOY PARTNERS", ETC.
CONTENTS
I FRANK JORDAN'S HOME
II THE TINKER BOY
III THE DIAMOND BRACELET
IV GILL MACE
V THE RUINED HOUSE
VI AN ASTONISHING CLUE
VII THE CONFIDENCE MAN
VIII NIPPED IN THE BUD
IX A BOY GUARDIAN
X AN OBSTINATE REBEL
XI TURNING THE TABLES
XII A STRANGE HAPPENING
XIII SOME MYSTERY
XIV THE ROW ON THE CAMPUS
XV DARK HOURS
XVI THE FOOT RACE
XVII THE TRAMP AGAIN
XVIII A DOLEFUL "UNCLE"
XIX A CLEAR CASE
XX FRANK A PRISONER
XXI A QUEER EXPERIENCE
XXII A STARTLING MESSAGE
XXIII UNDER ARREST
XXIV CLEANING UP
XXV CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
FRANK JORDAN'S HOME
"Where did you get that stickpin, Frank?"
"Bought it at Mace's jewelry store."
"You are getting extravagant."
"I hardly think so, aunt, and I don't believe you would think so, either,
if you knew all the circumstances."
"Circumstances do not alter cases when a boy is a spendthrift."
"I won't argue with you, aunt. You have your ideas and I have mine. Of
course, I bought the stickpin, but it was with money I had earned."
The aunt sniffed in a vague way. The boy left the house, looking irritated
and unhappy.
Frank Jordan lived in the little town of Tipton with his aunt, Miss Tabitha
Brown. His father was an invalid, and at the present time was in the South,
seeking to recuperate his failing health, and Mrs. Jordan was with him as
his nurse. They had left Frank in charge of the aunt, who was a miserly,
fault-finding person, and for nearly a month the lad had not enjoyed life
very greatly.
There were two thoughts that filled Frank's mind most of the time. The
first was that he would give about all he had to leave his aunt's house.
The other was a wish that his father would write to him soon, telling him,
as he had promised to do, that he had decided that his son could leave
Tipton and go to boarding-school.
What with the constant nagging of his sour-visaged relative, the worry over
his sick father, and the suspense as to his own future movements, Frank did
not have a very happy time of it. He felt a good deal like a boy shut up in
a prison. His aunt used her authority severely. She kept him away from
company, and allowed none of his friends to visit the house. From morning
until night she pestered him and nagged at him, "all for his own good," she
said, until life at the Jordan home, roomy and comfortable as it was,
became a burden to the lad.
"It's too bad!" burst forth Frank as he crossed the garden, climbed a
fence, and made toward the river through a little woods that was a favorite
haunt of his. Reaching a fallen tree he drew from its side a splendid
fishing-pole with all the attachments that a lover of the rod and line
might envy. His eye grew brighter as he glanced fondly along the supple
staff with its neat joints of metal, but he continued his complaint: "When
she isn't scolding, she is lecturing me. I suppose if she ever hears of my
fishing outfit here, she'll be at me for a week about my awful
extravagance. Oh, dear!"
Frank had a good deal over which to grumble. His aunt certainly was a
"tyro." She was making his life very gloomy with her stern, unloving ways.
Frank had promised his parents, when they went away, that he would be
obedient in all respects to his aunt. He was a boy of his word, and he felt
that he had done exceedingly well so far, hard as the task had been. His
aunt was very unreasonable in some things, however, and he had been at the
point of rebellion several times.
"You'd think I was some kind of a beggar, to hear her talk," he grumbled to
himself. "Father sends plenty of pocket money, but the way Aunt Tib doles
it out to me makes a fellow sick. As to the stickpin--heigh ho! I won't
think about it at all. I've lots to be thankful for. I only care that
father gets well and strong again. As to myself, he's sure to decide soon
what school I will be sent away to. That means no Aunt Tib. I shall be
happy. Hello! What's wrong now?"
From the direction of the river there had come two boyish screams in quick
and alarming succession. Frank recognized a signal of pain and distress. He
started on a run and reached the edge of the stream in a few moments. He
leaned beyond a bush where the bank shelved down a little distance along
the shore. His eyes lit upon quite an animated scene.
A strange-looking, boxed-in wagon, with an old white horse attached, stood
stationary about forty rods distant. Just this side of it was a ragged,
trampish-looking man. He had just picked up a piece of flat rock, and as he
hurled it Frank discovered that he had aimed at a tree directly across the
narrow stream, but had missed it.
"Why, there's a boy in that tree," said Frank. "That big bully must have
hit him before I came, and that was the boy's cry I heard. The
good-for-nothing loafer!"
Frank rounded the brush in an impetuous and indignant way. He was about to
challenge the man, when the latter shouted something at the boy across the
stream, and Frank stopped to listen.
"Are you going to come down out of that tree?" the man demanded in a
bellowing tone.
There was no reply, and the man repeated the challenge. The boy addressed
continued silent. Frank could see him crouching in a crotch, his face pale
and distressed.
"See here," roared his persecutor, getting furious and shaking his fist at
his victim, "I'm after you, Ned Foreman, and I'm going to get you! Why, you
vagabond, you--you ungrateful young runaway! Here I'm your only solitary
living relative in the whole world, and you sit up in that tree with a big
stone ready to smash me if I come near you."
"Yes, and I will--I will, for a fact!" cried the lad, roused up. "You try
it, and see. Relative? You're no kin of mine, Tim Brady. I'd be ashamed to
own you."
"I hain't?" howled the man. "Who married your step-sister? Who gave you a
home when you was a helpless kid, I'd like to know?"
"Huh, a healthy home!" retorted the boy. "It wasn't your home; it was my
sister's, and you robbed her of it and squandered the money, and broke her
heart, and she died, and you ought to be hung for it!" and the speaker
choked down a sob. "Now you come across me and try to rob me."
"Say," roared Tim Brady, gritting his teeth and looking dreadfully cruel
and hateful, "if I hang twice over I'll get you. Better give me some of
your money."
"It isn't mine to give."
"Better give me some of it, all the same," continued the man, "or I'll take
the whole of it. I'm desperate, Ned Foreman. I'm in a fix where I've got to
get away from these diggings, and I've got to have money to go. Are you
going to be reasonable and come down out of that tree?"
"No, I ain't."
"Then I'm coming after you. See that?" and the man held up a heavy stick
and brandished it. Then he sat down on a rock and started to remove his
shoes, with the idea of wading across the stream.
Frank felt that it was time for him to do something. He was not a bit
afraid of a coward, but he realized that he and the boy in the tree
together were no match for the big, vicious fellow just beyond him. The boy
in the tree looked honest and decent; the man after him looked just what he
was--a tramp and perhaps worse. Frank thought of hurrying toward the
village for help. Then a sudden idea came to his mind, and he acted upon
it.
The man who was preparing to go after the boy who would not come to him,
sat directly under a big bush. Right over his head among the branches Frank
noticed a double hornets' nest. He knew all about hornets and their ways,
as did he of all the interesting things in the woods. Frank drew his
fishing-pole around and upward, until its willowy end rested against the
straw-like strands by which the hornets' nest was attached to the limb.
Very gently he got a hold on the connecting strands of the double nest and
detached it from the limb. Then he lowered it, carefully poising it with a
swaying motion over the head of the stooping figure of the man.
"Now!" said Frank breathlessly.
Already the disturbed hornets were coming out of the cells in the nest,
angrily fluttering about to learn what the matter was. Frank gave the
fishing-pole a swing. He slammed its end and the hornets' nest right down
on the head of the tramp.
Instantly a swarming myriad of the little insects made the air black about
the man. The fellow gave a spring and a yell of pain. Then, his hands
wildly beating the air, he darted down the river shore like a shot.
CHAPTER II
THE TINKER BOY
"You had better hurry over here quick, if you want to get away from that
man," said Frank, coming out from cover.
"Yes, I will," responded the boy up in the tree.
He threw to the ground a flat stone he had been resting in the crotch of
the tree, his only weapon of defense, dropped nimbly down after it, and
started for the water.
"Hold on," directed Frank; "there's a crossing plank a little way farther
down the stream."
"I'm wet, anyway," explained the boy, dashing into the water, and he came
up to Frank, dripping to the waist.
"Don't be scared," said Frank, as his companion looked in a worried way in
the direction the tramp had taken. "That fellow will be too busy with those
hornets for some time to come, I'm thinking, to mind us."
"Oh, I hope so," said the lad with a shudder. "He's a terrible man. I must
get away from here at once."
As he spoke the boy ran to where the wagon stood and climbed upon its front
seat. As Frank, keeping up with his pace, neared the vehicle, he noticed
across its box top the words: _"Saws, knives, scissors and tools
sharpened scientifically."_
"I wish you would stay with me until I get to town," remarked the boy,
seizing the lines with many a timid look back of him.
"Oh, you want to get to town, do you?" observed Frank. "All right, I'll be
glad to show you the road."
The boy started up the horse with a sharp snap of the lines. The animal was
old and lazy, however, and could not go beyond a very slow trot.
"Turn at that point in the rise," directed Frank, pointing ahead a little
distance, "and it will be a shorter cut to town."
"Yes, yes. I want to get away from here," said Ned Foreman anxiously. "Oh,
there he is again!"
Frank followed the glance of his frightened companion to observe the tramp
in among the brush. He was slapping his face and body as if he had not yet
gotten rid of all the hornets, but he was certainly headed in the direction
of the wagon.
"Your horse won't go fast enough to keep ahead of that fellow," remarked
Frank. "Don't tremble so. He shan't bother you again if I can help it. Keep
on driving."
Frank leaped to the road. Keeping up a running pace with the wagon, he
stooped twice to pick up two pieces of wood of cudgel shape and size, and
then regained his seat.
"Now, then," he said, "drive on as fast as you can. It's less than a
quarter of a mile to houses. If that man overtakes us you must help me beat
him off. If we can't make it together, I'll pester him and keep him back
while you run ahead for help."
"I'd hate to leave you--he's a cruel man," said the lad, "but I've got
quite an amount of money, and it doesn't belong to me."
"Aha!" exclaimed Frank suddenly. "There's no need of our doing anything.
I'll settle that tramp now."
From the cut in the road ahead they were making for, a light gig had just
come into view. On its seat was a single passenger, with a silver badge on
the breast of his coat and wearing a gold-braided cap.
"It's Mr. Houston, the town marshal," explained Frank, and his companion
uttered a great sigh of relief. "Stop till he passes us. Oh, Mr. Houston,"
called out Frank to the approaching rig, "there's a man over yonder
annoying this boy and trying to rob him."
"Is, eh?" cried the officer. "Whoa!" and he arose in the seat to get a good
view of the spot toward which Frank pointed. "I reckon he's seen me, for
he's making back his trail licketty-switch."
"Keep your eye on him so he won't follow us, will you, Mr. Houston?"
pressed Frank.
"I'll do just that," assented the marshal pleasantly. "I'm after these
tramps. There's a gang of them been hanging around Tipton the last day or
two, begging, and stealing what they could get their hands on, and I'm
bound to rout them out."
"There's your chance, then," said Frank, "for, from what this boy tells me,
that fellow yonder is as bad as they make them."
The officer drove on slowly, keeping an eye out for the tramp. Frank's
companion urged up his laggard horse. His face had cleared, and he acted
pleased and relieved as they got within the limits of the town.
"Any place in particular you're bound for?" inquired Frank.
"Yes."
"Where is that?"
"I'm due at the town square."
"Then keep right on this road," said Frank, and within five minutes they
arrived and halted on the shady side of a little park surrounded by the
principal stores.
"I expect some one will be here to see me soon," said the lad. "I don't
know how to thank you for all you've done for me. If that man had got hold
of me he would have robbed me of every cent I had. I've been trying to keep
away from him, fearing he might be looking for me and come across me
accidentally. Now I'm safe."
"Won't he hang around and try it again when you leave town?" questioned
Frank.
"But I'm not going to leave town," explained Ned Foreman, "that is, not on
this wagon. I've been working for a man who runs half a dozen of these
scissors grinders over the country. At Tipton here another employe will
relieve me. I give him what I have taken in the last week, and he pays me
my wages out of it. I'm going to give up this job now."
"Don't you like it, then?" asked the interested Frank.
"Well enough--yes, it isn't unpleasant; but I've an ambition to get an
education, and have been working to that end," said Ned in a serious way
that won Frank's respect. "I want to go to school. I have saved up a little
money, and I shall start in right away."
"That's good," said Frank. "I'm only hoping to get away to school myself
soon. Say, what kind of a traveling caravan is this, anyway?"
"I'll show you," said Ned promptly, and as both got to the ground he
touched a bolt and the back of the wagon came down, forming steps. Reaching
in he moved a bracket, and a section of the side of the wagon slid back,
letting light into the vehicle. Frank noticed a sort of a bench, a lathe,
and some small pieces of machinery.
Ned Foreman got up the steps and touched something. There was a click and a
spark of light. He pulled a wheel around and then there was a
chug-chug-chug.
"Now, what's that?" asked the curious Frank.
"It's a little gasoline motor," explained Ned. "Step in and see what a
famous tinkering shop on wheels we've got."
"Why, this is just grand!" declared Frank, as he glanced around the
interior of the wagon in an admiring way.
"Yes, it's clean, attractive and made up to date," said Ned. "The man who
owns these outfits is working up some good routes. If you have anything to
sharpen, now, I'll show you the kind of work we do."
Frank whipped out his pocket knife in a jiffy. Ned touched a lever near the
motor, and things went whirring. There was a busy hum that made the place
delightful to Frank. He was astonished and pleased to observe how deftly
his companion handled the knife, putting it through a dozen operations,
from grinding to stropping and polishing. Then he adjusted a little drill
to a handle and said:
"I'll put your name on the handle, if you like."
"All right," assented Frank with satisfaction. "It's Frank Jordan."
"There you are," said Ned a minute later, handing the knife back to Frank.
"You'll find a blade there that will cut a hair."
"Yes, that's | 862.941439 |
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JUST PUBLISHED.
LAURENT DE LARA'S
SHAKSPERIAN PROVERBS, FROM HIS PLAYS.
Quarto Imperial, price 1s. 6d. Plain; 3s. Partly.
1. ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE.
2. RICH GIFTS WAX POOR.
3. SUSPICION ALWAYS HAUNTS.
4. FAST BIND, FAST FIND.
5. SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY.
6. THERE IS NO VICE SO SIMPLE.
7. VIRTUE ITSELF TURNS VICE.
8. COME WHAT, COME MAY, TIME.
9. O IT IS EXCELLENT TO HAVE A GIANT'S STRENGTH.
10. THERE'S A DIVINITY THAT SHAPES OUR ENDS.
11. ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN.
12. LIFE'S BUT A WALKING SHADOW.
3. SHAKSPERE "IN MEMORIAM," with Vignette Portrait.
2_s._ and 3_s._ 6_d._
4. THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. "Be thou faithful," &c. With Photograph,
2_s._ plain; 3_s._ 6_d._ partly.
CROSSES.
1. NO CROSS, NO CROWN, &C. Imperial 4to, 14½ by 10½,
1_s._ 6_d._ plain; 3_s._ partly.
2. TAKE UP THY CROSS AND FOLLOW ME. 18 by 7½,
1_s._ 6_d._ plain; 3_s._ partly.
ILLUMINATED WORKS
PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. LONGMAN, GREEN & CO.
The Parables of Our Lord.
A Selection of the most striking Parables from the four
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Being a Selection from the Miracles of our Saviour, richly
illuminated with appropriate borders of original design
on every page, and 6 illuminated miniatures by HENRY NOEL
HUMPHREYS. In a carved binding of appropriate design, 21_s._
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A Selection of the most striking Aphorisms and Moral Precepts
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appropriate design by HENRY NOEL HUMPHREYS, founded on the
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from the Holy Scriptures. Enriched with borders. The
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ELEMENTARY INSTRUCTION
IN
The Art of Illuminating and Missal
Painting on Vellum,
A GUIDE TO MODERN ILLUMINATORS.
_With Illustrations in Outline as Copies for the Student._
BY D. LAURENT DE LARA,
(_Illuminating Artist to the Queen.)_
Seventh Edition,
WITH CONSIDERABLE ENLARGEMENTS AND ADDITIONS.
"Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros."
LONDON:
LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS, AND GREEN,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
_Price Three Shillings._
_The Author reserves the right of translation to himself._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. WERTHEIMER AND CO.,
CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS.
DEDICATED BY KIND PERMISSION TO THE LADY HARRIET ASHLY.
MADAM,
Irrespective of the honor your Ladyship confers on me, by allowing
the privilege of associating your name with this edition, a nobler
motive which actuated your generous sanction, viz., "the high
interest you feel in the revival of an obsolete but noble art," and
of which you are at once its zealous Patroness, and its more than
accomplished votary, are claims on my gratitude, which words scarcely
can express, even in the hackneyed terms the humble sometimes venture
to address to rank!--Appreciating, therefore, deeply the distinction
you thus confer on one of your fellow-labourers in art,
Allow me,
MADAM,
To remain with profound respect,
Your Ladyship's devoted
and obliged servant,
D. LAURENT DE LARA.
3, Torrington Square, October, 1863.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
PREFACE 7
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 9
INTRODUCTION 11
On Illumination 17
General Rules 25
On Colours:--Ultramarine Blue--Vermilion--Emerald
Green--Cobalt Blue--Purple--Orange Chrome--Chrome
Yellow--Carmine, plain and burnt--Hooker's
Green--Burnt Sienna--Lamp Black--Middle
Tints--Enamel White--Platina and Silver--Green
or Yellow Gold--The Agate 30
On the Arrangement of Colours 47
On Composition 52
On Preparing the Vellum 59
On Tracing and Transferring 61
On Raised Gold Ornamentations 64
Conclusion 67
On Outlines 78
List of Colours 82
Plates 83
Appendix 83
PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH EDITION.
Two years sufficed to exhaust the sixth edition (the first shilling
one) of my "Elementary Instruction on Illuminating," in opposition,
too, of a rival author; who was, however, more fortunate--for he was
enabled to _illuminate_ the world, with seven consecutive editions
in as many months, and left the world for two years after in as much
darkness as ever.--Far from envying him this inordinate success,
I rest secure on my laurels, humble though they be.--Ten years
were needed to bring forth my seventh edition, and here it is--as
unpretending as ever--but fully understood, and understandable--no
new theories erudite in print and bad in practice--no old ones,
filched from musty manuscripts, alike impracticable as complicated,
and displayed with learning and research, to bolster up repute and
attach importance to very questionable utility; wholly unimportant to
those who seek information. I address the _few_ and the few only,
who will take practical hints, from a practical man, clothed in the
plainest English. I do not trade on other men's brains, but endeavour
to live by my own. Those who encourage the empiric in art must buy
experience, and be contented with their shillings worth.(?) I have
added only some additional matter on colours and composition, as
applied to illumination, which I hope the public may find useful--in
other respects the seventh edition is like its predecessors--a
claimant to public favour.
D. L.
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION.
The steady revival of the "Art of Illuminating" during the last
few years, and the rapid progress it has made amongst the educated
classes, even since the fifth edition of this work was published
in 1859 (all the copies of which are now sold), has induced me to
re-publish it, under the present less expensive form, in order to
keep pace with the many publications which, under the names of
"Manuals," "Primers," "Treatises," "Guides," and "Instruction Books,"
have lately been forced on the public notice, each pretending to
give the desired information to the followers of this beautiful art,
with more or less display of talent; but all tending towards the
cultivation of a highly interesting pursuit, and proving that the
nineteenth century may in future history be distinguished as having
produ | 862.942324 |
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THE BOY VOLUNTEERS SERIES
By KENNETH WARD
_12mo. Cloth. Fully Illustrated 50c per Volume_
THE NEWEST BOYS' BOOKS ON THE EUROPEAN WAR, RELATING THE ADVENTURES
OF TWO AMERICAN BOYS AND THEIR EXPERIENCES IN BATTLE AND ON AIR SCOUT
DUTY. ALL PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH AUTHENTIC DRAWINGS.
=The Boy Volunteers on the Belgian Front=
Describes the adventures of two American boys who were in Europe when
the great war commenced. Their enlistment with Belgian troops and their
remarkable experiences are based upon actual occurrences and the book is
replete with line drawings of fighting machines, air planes and maps of
places where the most important battles took place and of other matters
of interest.
=The Boy Volunteers with the French Airmen=
This book relates the further adventures of the young Americans in
France, where they viewed the fighting from above the firing lines. From
this book the reader gains considerable knowledge of the different types
of air planes and battle planes used by the warring nations, as all
descriptions are illustrated with unusually clear line drawings.
=The Boy | 862.977414 |
2023-11-16 18:31:26.9604050 | 2,512 | 6 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE INVADED COUNTRY]
* * * * *
THE GERMAN TERROR IN BELGIUM
_An Historical Record_
BY
ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE
LATE FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE,
OXFORD
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
MCMXVII
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
The subject of this book is the treatment of the civil population in
the countries overrun by the German Armies during the first three
months of the European War. The form of it is a connected narrative,
based on the published documents[1] and reproducing them by direct
quotation or (for the sake of brevity) by reference.
With the documents now published on both sides it is at last
possible to present a clear narrative of what actually happened. The
co-ordination of this mass of evidence, which has gradually accumulated
since the first days of invasion, is the principal purpose for which
the book has been written. The evidence consists of first-hand
statements--some delivered on oath before a court, others taken down
from the witnesses without oath by competent legal examiners, others
written and published on the witnesses’ own initiative as books or
pamphlets. Most of them originally appeared in print in a controversial
setting, as proofs or disproofs of disputed fact, or as justifications
or condemnations of fact that was admitted. In the present work,
however, this argumentative aspect of them has been avoided as far
as possible. For it has either been treated exhaustively in official
publications--the case of Louvain, for instance, in the German White
Book and the Belgian Reply to it--or will not be capable of such
treatment till after the conclusion of the War. The ultimate inquiry
and verdict, if it is to have finality, must proceed either from a
mixed commission of representatives of all the States concerned,
or from a neutral commission like that appointed by the Carnegie
Foundation to inquire into the atrocities committed during the Balkan
War. But the German Government has repeatedly refused proposals,
made both unofficially and officially, that it should allow such
an investigation to be conducted in the territory at present under
German military occupation,[2] and the final critical assessment will
therefore necessarily be postponed till the German Armies have retired
again within their own frontiers.
Meanwhile, an ordered and documented narrative of the attested facts
seems the best preparation for that judicial appraisement for which
the time is not yet ripe. The facts have been drawn from statements
made by witnesses on opposite sides with different intentions and
beliefs, but as far as possible they have been disengaged from this
subjective setting and have been set out, without comment, to speak
for themselves. It has been impossible, however, to confine the
exposition to pure narration at every point, for in the original
evidence the facts observed and the inferred explanation of them
are seldom distinguished, and when the same observed fact is made a
ground for diametrically opposite inferences by different witnesses,
the difficulty becomes acute. A German soldier, say, in Louvain on
the night of August 25th, 1914, hears the sound of machine-gun firing
apparently coming from a certain spot in the town, and infers that at
this spot Belgian civilians are using a machine gun against German
troops; a Belgian inhabitant hears the same sound, and infers that
German troops are firing on civilians. In such cases the narrative
must be interpreted by a judgment as to which of the inferences is
the truth, and this judgment involves discussion. What is remarkable,
however, is the rarity of these contradictions. Usually the different
testimonies fit together into a presentation of fact which is not open
to argument.
The narrative has been arranged so as to follow separately the tracks
of the different German Armies or groups of Armies which traversed
different sectors of French and Belgian territory. Within each sector
the chronological order has been followed, which is generally identical
with the geographical order in which the places affected lie along the
route of march. The present volume describes the invasion of Belgium up
to the sack of Louvain.
ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE.
_March, 1917._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A schedule of the more important documents will be found in the
“List of Abbreviations” pp. xi-xiii.
[2] Belgian Reply pp. vii. and 97-8.
CONTENTS
FRONTISPIECE _The Invaded Country (Map)_
PAGE
PREFACE v
TABLE OF CONTENTS ix
LIST OF MAPS ix
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS x
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS xi
CHAPTER I.: THE TRACK OF THE ARMIES 15
CHAPTER II.: FROM THE FRONTIER TO LIÉGE 23
(i) ON THE VISÉ ROAD 23
(ii) ON THE BARCHON ROAD 27
(iii) ON THE FLÉRON ROAD 31
(iv) ON THE VERVIERS ROAD 37
(v) ON THE MALMÉDY ROAD 38
(vi) BETWEEN THE VESDRE AND THE OURTHE 42
(vii) ACROSS THE MEUSE 44
(viii) THE CITY OF LIÉGE 46
CHAPTER III.: FROM LIÉGE TO MALINES 52
(i) THROUGH LIMBURG TO AERSCHOT 52
(ii) AERSCHOT 57
(iii) THE AERSCHOT DISTRICT 74
(iv) THE RETREAT FROM MALINES 77
(v) LOUVAIN 89
MAPS
THE INVADED COUNTRY _Frontispiece_
THE TRACK OF THE ARMIES: FROM THE
FRONTIER TO MALINES[3] _End of Volume_
LOUVAIN, FROM THE GERMAN WHITE BOOK _End of Volume_
FOOTNOTE:
[3] _This map shows practically all the roads and places referred to in
the text._
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
1. MOULAND _To face page_ 16
2. BATTICE 17
3. LIÉGE FORTS: A DESTROYED CUPOLA 32
4. ANS: AN INTERIOR 33
5. ANS: THE CHURCH 48
6. LIÉGE: A FARM HOUSE 49
7. LIÉGE UNDER GERMAN OCCUPATION 52
8. LIÉGE UNDER THE GERMANS: RUINS AND PLACARDS 53
9. LIÉGE IN RUINS 60
10. “WE LIVE LIKE GOD IN BELGIUM” 61
11. HAELEN 64
12. AERSCHOT 65
13. BRUSSELS: A BOOKING-OFFICE 80
14. MALINES AFTER BOMBARDMENT 81
15. MALINES: RUINS 84
16. MALINES: RUINS 85
17. MALINES: CARDINAL MERCIER’S STATE-ROOM AS A RED
CROSS HOSPITAL 92
18. MALINES: THE CARDINAL’S THRONE-ROOM 93
19. CAPELLE-AU-BOIS 96
20. CAPELLE-AU-BOIS 97
21. CAPELLE-AU-BOIS: THE CHURCH 112
22. LOUVAIN: NEAR THE CHURCH OF ST. PIERRE 113
23. LOUVAIN: THE CHURCH OF ST. PIERRE 116
24. LOUVAIN: THE CHURCH OF ST. PIERRE ACROSS THE RUINS 117
25. LOUVAIN: THE CHURCH OF ST. PIERRE--INTERIOR 124
26. LOUVAIN: STATION SQUARE 125
ABBREVIATIONS
ALPHABET, LETTERS OF THE:--
CAPITALS Appendices to the German White Book entitled: “_The
Violation of International Law in the Conduct of the Belgian
People’s-War_” (dated Berlin, 10th May, 1915); Arabic numerals
after the capital letter refer to the depositions contained in
each Appendix.
LOWER CASE Sections of the “_Appendix to the Report of the
Committee on Alleged German Outrages, Appointed by His Britannic
Majesty’s Government and Presided Over by the Right Hon. Viscount
Bryce, O.M._” (Cd. 7895); Arabic numerals after the lower case
letter refer to the depositions contained in each Section.
ANN(EX) Annexes (numbered 1 to 9) to the _Reports of the Belgian
Commission (vide infra)_.
BELG. _Reports (numbered i to xxii) of the Official Commission of the
Belgian Government on the Violation of the Rights of Nations and
of the Laws and Customs of War._ (English translation, published,
on behalf of the Belgian Legation, by H.M. Stationery Office, two
volumes.)
BLAND “_Germany’s Violations of the Laws of War, 1914-5_”; compiled
under the Auspices of the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and
translated into English with an Introduction by J. O. P. Bland.
(London: Heinemann. 1915.)
BRYCE _Appendix to the Report of the Committee on Alleged German
Outrages appointed by His Britannic Majesty’s Government._
CHAMBRY “_The Truth about Louvain_,” by Réné Chambry. (Hodder and
Stoughton. 1915.)
DAVIGNON “_Belgium and Germany_,” Texts and Documents, preceded by a
Foreword by Henri Davignon. (Thomas Nelson and Sons.)
“EYE-WITNESS” “_An Eye-Witness at Louvain_” (London: Eyre and
Spottiswoode. 1914.)
“GERMANS” “_The Germans at Louvain_,” by a volunteer worker in the
_Hôpital St.-Thomas_. (Hodder and Stoughton. 1916.)
GRONDIJS “_The Germans in Belgium: Experiences of a Neutral | 862.980445 |
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THE PURPLE LAND
Being the Narrative of One Richard Lamb's Adventures in The Banda
Oriental, in South America, as Told By Himself
By W. H. Hudson
ILLUSTRATED BY
Keith Henderson
[Illustration: RICHARD]
Second Edition, 1904
NEW YORK
PREFACE
This work was first issued in 1885, by Messrs. Sampson Low, in two slim
volumes, with the longer, and to most persons, enigmatical title of _The
Purple Land That England Lost_. A purple land may be found in almost
any region of the globe, and 'tis of our gains, not our losses, we keep
count. A few notices of the book appeared in the papers, one or two of
the more serious literary journals reviewing it (not favourably) under
the heading of "Travels and Geography"; but the reading public cared
not to buy, and it very shortly fell into oblivion. There it might have
remained for a further period of nineteen years, or for ever, since the
sleep of a book is apt to be of the unawakening kind, had not certain
men of letters, who found it on a forgotten heap and liked it in spite
of its faults, or because of them, concerned themselves to revive it.
We are often told that an author never wholly loses his affection for a
first book, and the feeling has been likened (more than once) to that of
a parent towards a first-born. I have not said it, but in consenting to
this reprint I considered that a writer's early or unregarded work is
apt to be raked up when he is not standing by to make remarks. He may
be absent on a journey from which he is not expected to return. It
accordingly seemed better that I should myself supervise a new edition,
since this would enable me to remove a few of the numerous spots and
pimples which decorate the ingenious countenance of the work before
handing it on to posterity.
Besides many small verbal corrections and changes, the deletion of
some paragraphs and the insertion of a few new ones, I have omitted
one entire chapter containing the Story of a Piebald Horse, recently
reprinted in another book entitled _El Ombu_. I have also dropped the
tedious introduction to the former edition, | 862.980587 |
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Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE HUNCHBACK.
THE LOVE-CHASE.
BY
JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1887.
INTRODUCTION
James Sheridan Knowles was born at Cork in 1784, and died at Torquay in
December, 1862, at the age of 78. His father was a teacher of elocution,
who compiled a dictionary, and who was related to the Sheridans. He
moved to London when his son was eight years old, and there became
acquainted with William Hazlitt and Charles Lamb. The son, after his
school education, obtained a commission in the army, but gave up
everything for the stage, and made his first appearance at the Crow
Street Theatre, in Dublin. He did not become a great actor, and when he
took to writing plays he did not prove himself a great poet, but his
skill in contriving situations through which a good actor can make his
powers tell upon the public, won the heart of the great actor of his day,
and as Macready's own poet he rose to fame.
Before Macready had discovered him, Sheridan Knowles lived partly by
teaching elocution at Belfast and Glasgow, partly by practice of
elocution as an actor. In 1815 he produced at the Belfast Theatre his
first play, _Caius Gracchus_. His next play, _Virginius_ was produced at
Glasgow with great success. Macready, who had, at the age of seventeen,
begun his career as an actor at his father's theatre in Birmingham, had,
on Monday, October 5th, 1819, at the age of twenty-six, taken the
Londoners by storm in the character of Richard III Covent Garden reopened
its closed treasury. It was promptly followed by a success in
_Coriolanus_, and Macready's place was made. He was at once offered
fifty pounds a night for appearing on one evening a week at Brighton. It
was just after that turn in Macready's fortunes that a friend at Glasgow
recommended to him the part of Virginius in Sheridan Knowles's play
lately produced there. He agreed unwillingly to look at it, and says
that in April, 1820, the parcel containing the MS. came as he was going
out. He hesitated, then sat down to read it that he might get a
wearisome job over. As he read, he says, "The freshness and simplicity
of the dialogue fixed my attention; I read on and on, and was soon
absorbed in the interest of the story and the passion of its scenes, till
at its close I found myself in such a state of excitement that for a time
I was undecided what step to take. Impulse was in the ascendant, and
snatching up my pen I hurriedly wrote, as my agitated feelings prompted,
a letter to the author, to me then a perfect stranger." Bryan Procter
(Barry Cornwall) read the play next day with Macready, and confirmed him
in his admiration of it.
Macready at once got it accepted at the theatre, where nothing was spent
on scenery, but there was a good cast, and the enthusiasm of Macready as
stage manager for the occasion half affronted some of his seniors. On
the 17th of May, 1820, about a month after it came into Macready's hands,
_Virginius_ was produced at Covent Garden, where, says the actor in his
"Reminiscences," "the curtain fell amidst the most deafening applause of
a highly-excited auditory." Sheridan Knowles's fame, therefore, was
made, like that of his friend Macready, and the friendship between author
and actor continued. Sheridan Knowles had a kindly simplicity of
character, and the two qualities for which an actor most prizes a
dramatist, skill in providing opportunities for acting that will tell,
and readiness to make any changes that the actor asks for. The
postscript to his first letter to Macready was, "Make any alterations you
like in any part of the play, and I shall be obliged to you." When he
brought to the great actor his play of _William Tell_--_Caius Gracchus_
had been produced in November, 1823--there were passages of writing in it
that stopped the course of action, and, says Macready, "Knowles had less
of the tenacity of authorship than most writers," so that there was no
difficulty about alterations, Macready having in a very high degree the
tenacity of actorship. And so, in 1825, _Tell_ became another of
Macready's best successes.
Sheridan Knowles continued to write for the stage until 1845, when he was
drawn wholly from the theatre by a religious enthusiasm that caused him,
in 1851, to essay the breaking of a lance with Cardinal Wiseman on the
subject of Transubstantiation. Sir Robert Peel gave ease to his latter
days by a pension of 200 pounds a year from the Civil List, which he had
honourably earned by a career as dramatist, in which he sought to appeal
only to the higher sense of literature, and to draw enjoyment from the
purest source. Of his plays time two comedies {1} here given are all
that have kept their place upon the stage. As one of the most earnest
dramatic writers of the present century he is entitled to a little corner
in our memory. Worse work of the past has lasted longer than the plays
of Sheridan Knowles are likely to last through the future.
H. M.
THE HUNCHBACK.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
(AS ORIGINALLY PERFORMED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1832.)
_Julia_ Miss F. KEMBLE.
_Helen_ Miss TAYLOR.
_Master Walter_ Mr. J. S. KNOWLES.
_Sir Thomas Clifford_ Mr. C. KEMBLE.
_Lord Tinsel_ Mr. WRENCH.
_Master Wilford_ Mr. J. MASON.
_Modus_ Mr. ABBOTT.
_Master Heartwell_ Mr. EVANS.
_Gaylove_ Mr. HENRY.
_Fathom_ Mr. MEADOWS.
_Thomas_ Mr. BARNES.
_Stephen_ Mr. PAYNE.
_Williams_ Mr. IRWIN.
_Simpson_ Mr. BRADY.
_Waiter_ Mr. HEATH.
_Holdwell_ Mr. <DW12>.
_Servants_ Mr. J. COOPER.
Mr. LOLLETT.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--A Tavern.
On one side SIR THOMAS CLIFFORD, at a table, with wine before him; on the
other, MASTER WILFORD, GAYLOVE, HOLDWELL, and SIMPSON, likewise taking
wine.
_Wilf_. Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to mine host of
the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear the beverage is good!
It is as palatable poison as you will purchase within a mile round
Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen; make free. You know I am a man of
expectations; and hold my money as light as the purse in which I carry
it.
_Gay_. We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has been chased as
yet.
_Wilf_. But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure! Wherefore a
large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill, I pray you, else let us
drink out of thimbles! This will never do for the friends of the nearest
of kin to the wealthiest peer in Britain.
_Gay_. We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of advancement
which has so unexpectedly opened to you.
_Wilf_. Unexpectedly indeed! But yesterday arrived the news that the
Earl's only son and heir had died; and to-day has the Earl himself been
seized with a mortal illness. His dissolution is looked for hourly; and
I, his cousin in only the third degree, known to him but to be unnoticed
by him--a decayed gentleman's son--glad of the title and revenues of a
scrivener's clerk--am the undoubted successor to his estates and coronet.
_Gay_. Have you been sent for?
_Wilf_. No; but I have certified to his agent, Master Walter, the
Hunchback, my existence, and peculiar propinquity; and momentarily expect
him here.
_Gay_. Lives there anyone that may dispute your claim--I mean
vexatiously?
_Wilf_. Not a man, Master Gaylove. I am the sole remaining branch of
the family tree.
_Gay_. Doubtless you look for much happiness from this change of
fortune?
_Wilf_. A world! Three things have I an especial passion for. The
finest hound, the finest horse, and the finest wife in the kingdom,
Master Gaylove!
Gay. The finest wife?
_Wilf_. Yes, sir; I marry. Once the earldom comes into my line, I shall
take measures to perpetuate its remaining there. I marry, sir! I do not
say that I shall love. My heart has changed mistresses too often to
settle down in one servitude now, sir. But fill, I pray you, friends.
This, if I mistake not, is the day whence I shall date my new fortunes;
and, for that reason, hither have I invited you, that, having been so
long my boon companions, you shall be the first to congratulate me.
[Enter Waiter]
_Waiter_. You are wanted, Master Wilford.
_Wilf_. By whom?
_Waiter_. One Master Walter.
_Wilf_. His lordship's agent! News, sirs! Show him in!
[Waiter goes out]
My heart's a prophet, sirs--The Earl is dead.
[Enter MASTER WALTER]
Well, Master Walter. How accost you me?
_Wal_. As your impatience shows me you would have me.
My Lord, the Earl of Rochdale!
_Gay_. Give you joy!
_Hold_. All happiness, my lord!
_Simp_. Long life and health unto your lordship!
_Gay_. Come!
We'll drink to his lordship's health! 'Tis two o'clock,
We'll e'en carouse till midnight! Health, my lord!
_Hold_. My lord, much joy to you!
_Simp_. All good to your lordship!
_Wal_. Give something to the dead!
_Gay_. Give what?
_Wal_. Respect!
He has made the living! First to him that's gone,
Say "Peace!"--and then with decency to revels!
_Gay_. What means the knave by revels?
_Wal_. Knave?
_Gay_. Ay, knave!
_Wal_. Go to! Thou'rt flushed with wine!
_Gay_. Thou sayest false!
Though didst thou need a proof thou speakest true,
I'd give thee one. Thou seest but one lord here,
And I see two!
_Wal_. Reflect'st thou on my shape?
Thou art a villain!
_Gay_. [Starting up.] Ha!
_Wal_. A coward, too!
Draw!
[Drawing his sword.]
_Gay_. Only mark him! how he struts about!
How laughs his straight sword at his noble back.
_Wal_. Does it? It cuffs thee for a liar then!
[Strikes GAYLOVE with his sword.]
_Gay_. A blow!
_Wal_. Another, lest you doubt the first!
_Gay_. His blood on his own head! I'm for you, sir!
[Draws.]
_Clif_. Hold, sir! This quarrel's mine!
[Coming forward and drawing.]
_Wal_. No man shall fight for me, sir!
_Clif_. By your leave,
Your patience, pray! My lord, for so I learn
Behoves me to accost you--for your own sake
Draw off your friend!
_Wal_. Not till we have a bout, sir!
_Clif_. My lord, your happy fortune ill you greet!
Ill greet it those who love you--greeting thus
The herald of it!
_Wal_. Sir, what's that to you?
Let go my sleeve!
_Clif_. My lord, if blood be shed
On the fair dawn of your prosperity,
Look not to see the brightness of its day.
'Twill be o'ercast throughout!
_Gay_. My lord, I'm struck!
_Clif_. You gave the first blow, and the hardest one!
Look, sir; if swords you needs must measure, I'm
Your mate, not he!
_Wal_. I'm mate for any man!
_Clif_. Draw off your friend, my lord, for your own sake!
_Wilf_. Come, Gaylove! let's have another room.
_Gay_. With all my heart, since 'tis your lordship's will.
_Wilf_. That's right! Put up! Come, friends!
[WILFORD and Friends go out.]
_Wal_. I'll follow him!
Why do you hold me? 'Tis not courteous of you!
Think'st thou I fear them? Fear! I rate them but
As dust! dross! offals! Let me at them!--Nay,
Call you this kind? then kindness know I not;
Nor do I thank you for't! Let go, I say!
_Clif_. Nay, Master Walter, they're not worth your wrath.
_Wal_. How know you me for Master Walter? By
My hunchback, eh!--my stilts of legs and arms,
The fashion more of ape's than man's? Aha!
So you have heard them, too--their savage gibes
As I pass on,--"There goes my lord!" aha!
God made me, sir, as well as them and you.
'Sdeath! I demand of you, unhand me, sir!
_Clif_. There, sir, you're free to follow them! Go forth,
And I'll go too: so on your wilfulness
Shall fall whate'er of evil may ensue.
Is't fit you waste your choler on a burr?
The nothings of the town; whose sport it is
To break their villain jests on worthy men,
The graver still the fitter! Fie for shame!
Regard what such would say? So would not I,
No more than heed a cur.
_Wal_. You're right, sir; right,
For twenty crowns! So there's my rapier up!
You've done me a good turn against my will;
Which, like a wayward child, whose pet is off,
That made him restive under wholesome check,
I now right humbly own, and thank you for.
_Clif_. No thanks, good Master Walter, owe you me!
I'm glad to know you, sir.
_Wal_. I pray you, now,
How did you learn my name? Guessed I not right?
Was't not my comely hunch that taught it you?
_Clif_. I own it.
_Wal_. Right, I know it; you tell truth. I like you for't.
_Clif_. But when I heard it said
That Master Walter was a worthy man,
Whose word would pass on 'change soon as his bond;
A liberal man--for schemes of public good
That sets down tens, where others units write;
A charitable man--the good he does,
That's told of, not the half; I never more
Could see the hunch on Master Walter's back!
_Wal_. You would not flatter a poor citizen?
_Clif_. Indeed, I flatter not!
_Wal_. I like your face--
A frank and honest one! Your frame's well knit,
Proportioned, shaped!
_Clif_. Good sir!
_Wal_. Your name is Clifford--
Sir Thomas Clifford. Humph! You're not the heir
Direct to the fair baronetcy? He
That was, was drowned abroad. Am I not right?
Your cousin, was't not?--so succeeded you
To rank and wealth, your birth ne'er promised you.
_Clif_. I see you know my history.
_Wal_. I do.
You're lucky who conjoin the benefits
Of penury and abundance; for I know
Your father was a man of slender means.
You do not blush, I see. That's right! Why should you?
What merit to be dropped on fortune's hill?
The honour is to | 862.983741 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
The Blue Rose Fairy Book
Maurice Baring
[Illustration: THE HOOFS OF HIS STEED LEFT BEHIND THEM A TRAIL OF
TWINKLING ANEMONES]
THE BLUE ROSE
FAIRY BOOK
BY
MAURICE BARING
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1911
DEDICATED
TO
_MARY and AUBREY_
NOTE
One of these stories, "The Glass Mender," appeared first in _The
English Review_, and six of the shorter stories in _The Morning
Post_. I wish to thank the editors and proprietors concerned for
their kindness in letting me republish them. The rest of the
stories are new.
M. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE GLASS MENDER 1
THE BLUE ROSE 31
THE STORY OF VOX ANGELICA AND LIEBLICH GEDACHT 45
THE VAGABOND 97
THE MINSTREL 137
THE HUNCHBACK, THE POOL, AND THE MAGIC RING 151
THE SILVER MOUNTAIN 165
THE RING 179
THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER 193
THE CUNNING APPRENTICE 219
ORESTES AND THE DRAGON 233
THE WISE PRINCESS 247
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
And as he galloped through the wood, the hoofs
of his steed left behind them a trail of
twinkling anemones _Frontispiece_
One evening he was playing his one-stringed
instrument outside a dark wall _To face p._ 41
As he said this he climbed on to the manuals
and disappeared into the heart of the organ " 95
And there stood before the throng a wonderful
shining figure with wings " 133
And turning round she saw an old woman, bent
and worn, who was muttering a supplication " 139
The sun was shining on the sea and a fresh
breeze was blowing " 160
And towards the evening he emerged from the
forest and saw the hill before him shining
in the sunset " 176
Her mother, when she was walking in the
garden of the palace, found a silver horseshoe
lying on one of the paths | 862.98397 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 109.
SEPTEMBER 21, 1895.
[Illustration: IN THE VESTRY.
_Strange Minister_ (_to Elder_). "DO YOU COME UP TO THE PULPIT FOR
THE COLLECTION?"
_Elder._ "NA, NA. WE'RE NO PARTICKLER TO A BAWBEE _HERE!_"]
* * * * *
THE END OF GEORGIE'S AND JACKY'S HOLIDAYS.
(_A Second Extract from the Note-Book of Mr. Barlow the Younger._)
Now that the summer vacation is drawing rapidly to a close, it may
be as well to record the end of the holidays of my two interesting
charges, GEORGIE and JACKY. Some little time since
I wrote the story of one of their exploits. The two lads do not
live a very eventful life even in their hours of recreation. During
the mid-annual recess I usually choose some delightful spot for our
temporary home, combining the joint charms of change of scene and
increased economy. The fashionable watering-place of Drainville-on-Sea
has a suburb in which apartments may be obtained at a very reasonable
figure. The reason for this lowness of price is no doubt to be traced
to the fact that many of the residences are in the habitation of the
superfluous live stock of a very prosperous pork merchant, having
his house of business in the neighbourhood. However, in spite of our
distance from Drainville-on-Sea, my lads have been fairly contented
with their lot. They have been able to fish, to climb trees, and to
take long walks.
[Illustration]
"Revered Sir," said, on one occasion, GEORGIE, who is
generally accepted as the spendthrift of my brace of students, "it
would give great pleasure to JACKY if you were kindly to give
me a shilling with which to purchase Japanese caramel cannon-balls. I
have reasons for believing that his medical attendant, Dr. COFFYN
BLOCKHEAD, considers that this delicious sweetstuff, or, I should
say, pleasing physic, would be of much benefit to him."
"Why is the lad ill?" I asked, with an anxiety tempered with
incredulity.
"No, revered Sir," promptly replied GEORGIE; "and I fancy
that Dr. COFFYN BLOCKHEAD regards the composition, which may
be obtained at a penny the ounce, or two ounces for three halfpence,
rather as a preventative than a curative. Were JACKY to
have a shilling's-worth, he would not only possess enough to ward
off the shaft of the destroyer himself, but would be able to give
me a sufficient quantity to parry the insidious dart of disease;
and that you might be satisfied that the money was expended in the
life-protecting compound in question, _I_ would willingly undertake to
make the purchase."
Here JACKY protested that he was quite old and conscientious
enough to be trusted with the cash himself.
"Not that I have any doubt of my respected comrade's probity," he
quickly added; "but in matters of business one cannot be too careful."
"My dear pupils," said I, "nothing would give me greater pleasure than
to accede to your request, had I the means at hand. I fancy, in spite
of the opinion of Dr. COFFYN BLOCKHEAD--a physician whose name
I now hear for the first time--that I should have to consider the cost
of Japanese caramel cannon-balls as an incident properly chargeable to
pocket-money. Unfortunately you both exhausted that fund a fortnight
since, by causing me to defray the expenses of a donkey ride, which
mounted up in the aggregate to no less an amount than one shilling and
eightpence halfpenny."
"But surely, revered Sir," suggested GEORGIE, who has a bent
for mathematics; "as our parents allow us half-a-sovereign a week each
for the purposes of recreation, the sum you mention, although not
inconsiderable, would scarcely have----"
"Stop!" I cried, with some show of severity; "you really must not argue
with me. I do not give you all your ten shillings a week, as I am
reserving a portion of them to form the nucleus of an old-age pension
to which you will become entitled on reaching eighty. The scheme is not
without complications, so I reserve its description in detail until you
are both old enough to understand it. Enough to say that I must repeat
the present advance of a shilling is impossible."
After this rebuff the lads were silent, and I regret to say not
altogether contented. However, they soon, with the elasticity of
youth, regained their spirits, and were as merry and as happy as
ever. They absented themselves from my society more frequently than
before, and when I saw them, seemed to be unusually prosperous, or to
use an expressive colloquialism, "flush of money." GEORGIE
continually appeared in gigantic collars that could have only been
acquired at considerable expense, and JACKY as often carried
a new walking-stick with a fairly costly handle. On one occasion they
came home with a gift for me. It was a mug with a rough sketch of a
mule or some less noble animal on the side balancing the handle, and
was labelled "A Present from Drainville-on-Sea." I was gratified, but
my satisfaction savoured of curiosity.
During the absence of my pupils I frequently visited the neighbouring
watering-place. Amongst the many distractions of the sands was one
"entertainment" which caused me considerable embarrassment. Two
"mysterious minstrels" disguised in wideawakes, blue spectacles, and
comforters occasionally made what is known as a "dead set" at me. These
vocalists (who were small, but noisy), did a roaring trade amongst the
excursionists. They seemed to have a long _repertoire_ of songs. They
vocally narrated the adventures of a young person from the country,
who seemingly, with a view to enjoying the restorative effects of
sea-bathing, appeared with "her hair hanging down her back," and the
vagaries of a body of revellers who preferred to parade the streets
"nine in a row," instead of in couples or singly, when they were in a
condition subsequently recognised by the presiding magistrate with a
fine of five shillings. These ditties were not altogether unamusing,
and I might have enjoyed them had they not been supplemented by a song
dealing personally with myself. This last effort was mere doggerel,
but it was so insulting that I was forced to give the vocalists into
custody. I explained that the | 862.984818 |
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Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
JESS
By H. Rider Haggard
First Published 1887.
TO MY WIFE
JESS
CHAPTER I
JOHN HAS AN ADVENTURE
The day had been very hot even for the Transvaal, where the days still
know how to be hot in the autumn, although the neck of the summer is
broken--especially when the thunderstorms hold off for a week or two, as
they do occasionally. Even the succulent blue lilies--a variety of the
agapanthus which is so familiar to us in English greenhouses--hung their
long trumpet-shaped flowers and looked oppressed and miserable, beneath
the burning breath of the hot wind which had been blowing for hours like
the draught from a volcano. The grass, too, near the wide roadway
that stretched in a feeble and indeterminate fashion across the veldt,
forking, branching, and reuniting like the veins on a lady's arm, was
completely coated over with a thick layer of red dust. But the hot wind
was going down now, as it always does towards sunset. Indeed, all that
remained of it were a few strictly local and miniature whirlwinds,
which would suddenly spring up on the road itself, and twist and twirl
fiercely round, raising a mighty column of dust fifty feet or more into
the air, where it hung long after the wind had passed, and then slowly
dissolved as its particles floated to the earth.
Advancing along the road, in the immediate track of one of these
desultory and inexplicable whirlwinds, was a man on horseback. The man
looked limp and dirty, and the horse limper and dirtier. The hot wind
had "taken all the bones out of them," as the <DW5>s say, which was
not very much to be wondered at, seeing that they had been journeying
through it for the last four hours without off-saddling. Suddenly the
whirlwind, which had been travelling along smartly, halted, and the
dust, after revolving a few times in the air like a dying top, slowly
began to disperse in the accustomed fashion. The man on the horse halted
also, and contemplated it in an absent kind of way.
"It's just like a man's life," he said aloud to his horse, "coming from
nobody knows where, nobody knows why, and making a little column of dust
on the world's highway, then passing away, leaving the dust to fall to
the ground again, to be trodden under foot and forgotten."
The speaker, a stout, well set-up, rather ugly man, apparently on the
wrong side of thirty, with pleasant blue eyes and a reddish peaked
beard, laughed a little at his own sententious reflection, and then gave
his jaded horse a tap with the _sjambock_ in his hand.
"Come on, Blesbok," he said, "or we shall never get to old Croft's place
to-night. By Jove! I believe that must be the turn," and he pointed with
his whip to a little rutty track that branched from the Wakkerstroom
main road and stretched away towards a curious isolated hill with a
large flat top, which rose out of the rolling plain some four miles to
the right. "The old Boer said the second turn," he went on still talking
to himself, "but perhaps he lied. I am told that some of them think it
is a good joke to send an Englishman a few miles wrong. Let's see, they
told me the place was under the lee of a table-topped hill, about half
an hour's ride from the main road, and that is a table-topped hill, so I
think I will try it. Come on, Blesbok," and he put the tired nag into
a sort of "tripple," or ambling canter much affected by South African
horses.
"Life is a queer thing," reflected Captain John Niel to himself as he
cantered along slowly. "Now here am I, at the age of thirty-four, about
to begin the world again as assistant to an old Transvaal farmer. It is
a pretty end to all one's ambitions, and to fourteen years' work in the
army; but it is what it has come to, my boy, so you had better make the
best of it."
Just then his cogitations were interrupted, for on the farther side of
a gentle <DW72> suddenly there appeared an extraordinary sight. Over the
crest of the rise of land, now some four or five hundred yards away, a
pony with a lady on its back galloped wildly, and after it, with wings
spread and outstretched neck, a huge cock ostrich was speeding in
pursuit, covering twelve or fifteen feet at every stride of its long
legs. The pony was still twenty yards ahead of the bird, and travelling
towards John rapidly, but strive as it would it could not distance the
swiftest thing on all the earth. Five seconds passed--the great bird was
close alongside now--Ah! and John Niel turned sick and shut his eyes as
he rode, for he saw the ostrich's thick leg fly high into the air and
then sweep down like a leaded bludgeon!
_Thud!_ It had missed the lady and struck her horse upon the spine, just
behind the saddle, for the moment completely paralysing it so that it
fell all of a heap on to the veldt. In a moment the girl on its back was
up and running towards him, and after her came the ostrich. Up went the
great leg again, but before it could come crashing across her shoulders
she had flung herself face downwards on the grass. In an instant the
huge bird was on the top of her, kicking at her, rolling over her, and
crushing the very life out of her. It was at this juncture that John
Niel arrived upon the scene. The moment the ostrich saw him it gave up
its attacks upon the lady on the ground and began to waltz towards him
with the pompous sort of step that these birds sometimes assume before
they give battle. Now Captain Niel was unaccustomed to the pleasant ways
of ostriches, and so was his horse, which showed a strong inclination to
bolt; as, indeed, under other circumstances, his rider would have been
glad to do himself. But he could not abandon beauty in distress, so,
finding it impossible to control his horse, he slipped off it, and with
the _sjambock_ or hide-whip in his hand valiantly faced the enemy. For
a moment or two the great bird stood still, blinking its lustrous round
eyes at him and gently swaying its graceful neck to and fro.
Then all of a sudden it spread out its wings and came for him like
a thunderbolt. John sprang to one side, and was aware of a rustle of
rushing feathers, and of a vision of a thick leg striking downwards
past his head. Fortunately it missed him, and the ostrich sped on like
a flash. Before he could turn, however, it was back and had landed
the full weight of one of its awful forward kicks on the broad of his
shoulders, and away he went head-over-heels like a shot rabbit. In a
second he was on his legs again, shaken indeed, but not much the worse,
and perfectly mad with fury and pain. At him came the ostrich, and at
the ostrich went he, catching it a blow across the slim neck with his
_sjambock_ that staggered it for a moment. Profiting by the check, he
seized the bird by the wing and held on like grim death with both hands.
Now they began to gyrate, slowly at first, then quicker, and yet more
quick, till at last it seemed to Captain John Niel that time and space
and the solid earth were nothing but a revolving vision fixed somewhere
in the watches of the night. Above him, like a stationary pivot, towered
the tall graceful neck, beneath him spun the top-like legs, and in front
of him was a soft black and white mass of feathers.
Thud, and a cloud of stars! He was on his back, and the ostrich, which
did not seem to be affected by giddiness, was on _him_, punishing him
dreadfully. Luckily an ostrich cannot kick a man very hard when he is
flat on the ground. If he could, there would have been an end of John
Niel, and his story need never have been written.
Half a minute or so passed, during which the bird worked his sweet will
upon his prostrate enemy, and at the end of it the man began to feel
very much as though his earthly career was closed. Just as things were
growing faint and dim to him, however, he suddenly saw a pair of white
arms clasp themselves round the ostrich's legs from behind, and heard a
voice cry:
"Break his neck while I hold his legs, or he will kill you."
This roused him from his torpor, and he staggered to his feet. Meanwhile
the ostrich and the young lady had come to the ground, and were rolling
about together in a confused heap, over which the elegant neck and open
hissing mouth wavered to and fro like a cobra about to strike. With a
rush John seized the neck in both his hands, and, putting out all his
strength (for he was a strong man), he twisted it till it broke with a
snap, and after a few wild and convulsive bounds and struggles the great
bird lay dead.
Then he sank down dazed and exhausted, and surveyed the scene. The
ostrich was perfectly quiet, and would never kick again, and the lady
too was quiet. He wondered vaguely if the brute had killed her--he was
as yet too weak to go and see--and then fell to gazing at her face. Her
head was pillowed on the body of the dead bird, and its feathery plumes
made it a fitting resting-place. Slowly it dawned on him that the face
was very beautiful, although it looked so pale just now. Low broad brow,
crowned with soft yellow hair, the chin very round and white, the mouth
sweet though rather large. The eyes he could not see, because they
were closed, for the lady had fainted. For the rest, she was quite
young--about twenty, tall and finely formed. Presently he felt a little
better, and, creeping towards her (for he was sadly knocked about), took
her hand and began to chafe it between his own. It was a well-formed
hand, but brown, and showed signs of doing plenty of hard work. Soon she
opened her eyes, and he noted with satisfaction that they were very good
eyes, blue in colour. Then she sat up and laughed a little.
"Well, I am silly," she said; "I believe I fainted."
"It is not much to be wondered at," said John Niel politely, and lifting
his hand to take off his hat, only to find that it had gone in the fray.
"I hope you are not very much hurt by the bird."
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "But I am glad that you killed the
_skellum_ (vicious beast). He got out of the ostrich camp three days
ago, and has been lost ever since. He killed a boy last year, and I told
uncle he ought to shoot him then, but he would not, because he was such
a beauty."
"Might I ask," said John Niel, "are you Miss Croft?"
"Yes, I am--one of them. There are two of us, you know; and I can guess
who you are--you are Captain Niel, whom uncle is expecting to help him
with the farm and the ostriches."
"If all of them are like that," he said, pointing to the dead bird, "I
don't think that I shall take kindly to ostrich farming."
She laughed, showing a charming line of teeth. "Oh no," she said,
"he was the only bad one--but, Captain Niel, I think you will find it
fearfully dull. There are nothing but Boers about here, you know. No
English people live nearer than Wakkerstroom."
"You overlook yourself," he said, bowing; for really this daughter of
the wilderness had a very charming air about her.
"Oh," she answered, "I am only a girl, you know, and besides, I am
not clever. Jess, now--that's my sister--Jess has been at school at
Capetown, and she _is_ clever. I was at Cape Town, too, though I didn't
learn much there. But, Captain Niel, both the horses have bolted; mine
has gone home, and I expect yours has followed, and I should like to
know how we are going to get up to Mooifontein--beautiful fountain,
that's what we call our place, you know. Can you walk?"
"I don't know," he answered doubtfully; "I'll try. That bird has knocked
me about a good deal," and accordingly he staggered on to his legs, only
to collapse with an exclamation of pain. His ankle was sprained, and
he was so stiff and bruised that he could hardly stir. "How far is the
house?" he asked.
"Only about a mile--just there; we shall see it from the crest of the
rise. Look, I'm all right. It was silly to faint, but he kicked all the
breath out of me," and she got up and danced a little on the grass to
show him. "My word, though, I am sore! You must take my arm, that's all;
that is if you don't mind?"
"Oh dear no, indeed, I don't mind," he said laughing; and so they
started, arm affectionately linked in arm.
CHAPTER II
HOW THE SISTERS CAME TO MOOIFONTEIN
"Captain Niel," said Bessie Croft--for she was named Bessie--when they
had painfully limped one hundred yards or so, "will you think me rude if
I ask you a question?"
"Not at all."
"What has induced you to come and bury yourself in this place?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I don't think that you will like it. I don't think," she added
slowly, "that it is a fit place for an English gentleman and an army
officer like you. You will find the Boer ways horrid, and then there
will only be my old uncle and us two for you to associate with."
John Niel laughed. "English gentlemen are not so particular nowadays, I
can assure you, Miss Croft, especially when they have to earn a living.
Take my case, for instance, for I may as well tell you exactly how I
stand. I have been in the army fourteen years, and I am now thirty-four.
Well, I have been able to live there because I had an old aunt who
allowed me 120 pounds a year. Six months ago she died, leaving me the
little property she possessed, for most of her income came from an
annuity. After paying expenses, duty, &c., it amounts to 1,115 pounds.
Now, the interest on this is about fifty pounds a year, and I can't live
in the army on that. Just after my aunt's death I came to Durban with
my regiment from Mauritius, and now they are ordered home. Well, I liked
the country, and I knew that I could not afford to live in England, so I
got a year's leave of absence, and made up my mind to have a look round
to see if I could not take to farming. Then a gentleman in Durban told
me of your uncle, and said that he wanted to dispose of a third interest
in his place for a thousand pounds, as he was getting too old to manage
it himself. So I entered into correspondence with him, and agreed to
come up for a few months to see how I liked it; and accordingly here I
am, just in time to save you from being knocked to bits by an ostrich."
"Yes, indeed," she answered, laughing; "you've had a warm welcome at any
rate. Well, I hope you _will_ like it."
Just as he finished his story they reached the top of the rise over
which the ostrich had pursued Bessie Croft, and saw a <DW5> coming
towards them, leading the pony with one hand and Captain Niel's horse
with the other. About twenty yards behind the horses a lady was walking.
"Ah," said Bessie, "they've caught the horses, and here is Jess come to
see what is the matter."
By this time the lady in question was quite close, so that John was able
to gather a first impression of her. She was small and rather thin, with
quantities of curling brown hair; not by any means a lovely woman,
as her sister undoubtedly was, but possessing two very remarkable
characteristics--a complexion of extraordinary and uniform pallor, and a
pair of the most beautiful dark eyes he had ever looked on. Altogether,
though her size was almost insignificant, she was a striking-looking
person, with a face few men would easily forget. Before he had time to
observe any more the two parties had met.
"What on earth is the matter, Bessie?" Jess said, with a quick glance
at her sister's companion, and speaking in a low full voice, with just
a slight South African accent, that is taking enough in a pretty woman.
Thereon Bessie broke out with a history of their adventure, appealing to
Captain Niel for confirmation at intervals.
Meanwhile Jess Croft stood quite still and silent, and it struck John
that her face was the most singularly impassive one he had ever seen. It
never changed, even when her sister told her how the ostrich rolled on
her and nearly killed her, or how they finally subdued the foe. "Dear
me," he thought to herself, "what a very strange woman! She can't have
much heart." But just as he thought it the girl looked up, and then he
saw where the expression lay. It was in those remarkable eyes. Immovable
as was her face, the dark eyes were alight with life and a suppressed
excitement that made them shine gloriously. The contrast between the
shining eyes and the impassive face beneath them struck him as so
extraordinary as to be almost uncanny. As a matter of fact, it was
doubtless both unusual and remarkable.
"You have had a wonderful escape, but I am sorry for the bird," she said
at last.
"Why?" asked John.
"Because we were great friends. I was the only person who could manage
him."
"Yes," put in Bessie, "the savage brute would follow her about like a
dog. It was just the oddest thing I ever saw. But come on; we must be
getting home, it's growing dark. Mouti"--which, being interpreted, means
Medicine--she added, addressing the <DW5> in Zulu--"help Captain Niel
on to his horse. Be careful that the saddle does not twist round; the
girths may be loose."
Thus adjured, John, with the help of the Zulu, clambered into his
saddle, an example that the lady quickly followed, and they set off once
more through the gathering darkness. Presently he became aware that they
were passing up a drive bordered by tall blue gums, and next minute the
barking of a large dog, which he afterwards knew by the name of Stomp,
and the sudden appearance of lighted windows told him that they had
reached the house. At the door--or rather, opposite to it, for there
was a verandah in front--they halted and got off their horses. As they
dismounted there came a shout of welcome from the house, and presently
in the doorway, showing out clearly against the light, appeared a
striking and, in its way, a most pleasant figure. He--for it was a
man--was very tall, or, rather, he had been very tall. Now he was much
bent with age and rheumatism. His long white hair hung low upon his
neck, and fell back from a prominent brow. The top of the head was
quite bald, like the tonsure of a priest, and shone and glistened in the
lamplight, and round this oasis the thin white locks fell down. The
face was shrivelled like the surface of a well-kept apple, and, like
an apple, rosy red. The features were aquiline and strongly marked; the
eyebrows still black and very bushy, and beneath them shone a pair
of grey eyes, keen and bright as those of a hawk. But for all its
sharpness, there was nothing unpleasant or fierce about the face; on
the contrary, it was pervaded by a remarkable air of good-nature and
pleasant shrewdness. For the rest, the man was dressed in rough tweed
clothes, tall riding-boots, and held a broad-brimmed Boer hunting hat in
his hand. Such, as John Niel first saw him, was the outer person of old | 863.040523 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.0641570 | 1,053 | 20 |
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Images of the original pages are available through
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[Illustration: EFFECT of HEAT.
Frontispiece.]
CURIOSITIES OF HEAT.
by
REV. LYMAN B. TEFFT.
Philadelphia:
The Bible and Publication Society,
530 Arch Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
The Bible and Publication Society,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Westcott & Thomson,
Stereotypers, Philada.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
MR. WILTON'S BIBLE CLASS 7
CHAPTER II.
NEW THOUGHTS FOR THE SCHOLARS 26
CHAPTER III.
A DIFFICULT QUESTION 58
CHAPTER IV.
HEAT A GIFT OF GOD 83
CHAPTER V.
CONVEYANCE AND VARIETIES OF HEAT 100
CHAPTER VI.
MANAGEMENT AND SOURCES OF HEAT 120
CHAPTER VII.
PRESERVATION AND DISTRIBUTION OF HEAT 152
CHAPTER VIII.
MODIFICATION OF TEMPERATURE 176
CHAPTER IX.
THE MINISTRY OF SUFFERING 190
CHAPTER X.
TRANSPORTATION OF HEAT 213
CHAPTER XI.
AN EFFECTIVE SERMON 233
CHAPTER XII.
TRANSFER OF HEAT IN SPACE 254
CHAPTER XIII.
OCEAN CURRENTS AND ICEBERGS 272
CHAPTER XIV.
COMBUSTION.--COAL-BEDS 292
CHAPTER XV.
ECONOMY OF HEAT 305
CHAPTER XVI.
A DAY OF JOY AND GLADNESS 320
CURIOSITIES OF HEAT.
CHAPTER I.
MR. WILTON'S BIBLE CLASS.
"The book of Nature is my Bible. I agree with old Cicero: I count Nature
the best guide, and follow her as if she were a god, and wish for no
other."
These were the words of Mr. Hume, an infidel, spoken in the village store.
It was Monday evening. By some strange freak, or led by a divine impulse,
he had determined, the previous Sunday afternoon, to go to church and hear
what the minister had to say. So the Christian people were all surprised
to see Mr. Hume walk into their assembly--a thing which had not been seen
before in a twelvemonth. Mr. Hume did not shun the church from a dislike
of the minister. He believed Mr. Wilton to be a good man, and he knew him
to be kind and earnest, well instructed in every kind of knowledge and
mighty in the Scriptures. He kept aloof because he hated the Bible. He had
been instructed in the Scriptures when a boy, and many Bible truths still
clung to his memory which he would have been glad to banish. He could not
forget those stirring words which have come down to us from the Lord
Jesus, and from prophets and apostles, and they sorely troubled his
conscience. He counted the Bible an enemy, and determined that he would
not believe it.
At that time there was an increasing religious interest in the church. Mr.
Wilton had seen many an eye grow tearful as he unfolded the love of Christ
and urged upon his hearers the claims of the exalted Redeemer. He found an
increasing readiness to listen when he talked with the young people of his
congregation. The prayer-meetings were filling up, and becoming more
interesting and solemn. The impenitent dropped in to these meetings more
frequently than was their wont. Mr. Wilton himself felt the power of
Christ coming upon him and girding him as if for some great spiritual
conflict. His heart was filled with an unspeakable yearning to see
sinners converted and Christ glorified. He seemed to himself to work
without fatigue. His sermons came to him as if by inspiration of the Holy
Spirit. He felt a new sense of his call from God to preach the gospel to
men, and spoke as an ambassador of Christ, praying men tenderly,
persuadingly, to be reconciled to God, yet as one that has | 863.084197 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Note.
A list of the changes made can be found at the end of the book.
Formatting and special characters are indicated as follows:
_italic_
_{subscript}
^{superscript}
[=i] i with macron
[)i] i with inverted breve
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
_PLAYER, POET, AND PLAYMAKER_
[Illustration]
[Illustration: W. Heydemann, Sc.
EDWARD ALLEYN.]
A CHRONICLE HISTORY
OF THE
LIFE AND WORK
OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
_PLAYER, POET, AND PLAYMAKER_
BY
FREDERICK GARD FLEAY
With Two Etched Illustrations.
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1886
[_All rights reserved_]
Dedication.
TO
THE SHAKESPEARE OF OUR DAYS,
_ROBERT BROWNING_,
A PERMITTED TRIBUTE
FROM
HIS EVER-DEVOTED LIEGEMAN,
FREDERICK GARD FLEAY.
To him, whose craft, so subtly terse,
(While lesser minds, for music's sake,
From single thoughts whole cantos make),
Includes a poem in a verse;--
To him, whose penetrative art,
With spheric knowledge only his,
Dissects by keen analysis
The wiliest secrets of the heart;--
To him, who rounds us perfect wholes,
Where wisdom, wit, and love combine;
Chief praise be this:--he wrote no line
That could cause pain in childlike souls.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
SECTION I.
THE PUBLIC CAREER OF SHAKESPEARE 7
SECTION II.
THE PERSONAL CONNECTIONS OF SHAKESPEARE WITH OTHER POETS 73
SECTION III.
ANNALS ON WHICH THE PRECEDING SECTIONS ARE FOUNDED 83
SECTION IV.
THE CHRONOLOGICAL SUCCESSION OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 175
SECTION V.
ON THE MARLOWE GROUP OF PLAYS 255
SECTION VI.
ON THE PLAYS BY OTHER AUTHORS ACTED BY SHAKESPEARE'S COMPANY 284
SECTION VII.
EARLY ENGLISH PLAYS IN GERMANY 307
APPENDIX 319
TABLES 324
I. QUARTO EDITIONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS 324
II. QUARTO EDITIONS OF OTHER PLAYS PERFORMED BY SHAKESPEARE'S COMPANY
326
III. NUMBER OF PERFORMANCES AT COURT, 1584-1616 327
IV. ENTRIES OF PLAYS IN THE STATIONERS' REGISTERS, 1584-1640 328
V. TRANSFERS OF COPYRIGHT IN PLAYS, 1584-1640 350
SUPPLEMENTARY TABLE OF MOSELEY'S ENTRIES IN 1653 AND 1660, AND
WARBURTON'S LIST 358
INDEX 361
NOTE ON ETCHINGS 364
[Illustration: W. Heydemann, Sc.
SHAKESPEARE'S FONT.]
INTRODUCTION.
IT is due to the reader of a new work on a subject already so often
handled as the Life of Shakespeare to tell him at the outset what he
may expect to find therein, and to state the reasons for which I have
thought it worth while to devote nearly ten years to its production.
Previous investigators have with industrious minuteness already
ascertained for us every detail that can reasonably be expected of
Shakespeare's private life. With laborious research they have raked
together the records of petty debts, of parish assessments, of
scandalous traditions, of idle gossip; and they have shown beyond
doubt that Shakespeare was born at Stratford-on-Avon, was married, had
three children, left his home, made money as an actor and play-maker
in London, returned to his native town, invested his savings there,
and died. I do not think that when stript of verbiage, and what the
slang of the day calls padding, much more than this can be claimed
as the result of the voluminous writings on this side of his career.
For one I am thankful that things are so; I have little sympathy with
the modern inquisitiveness that peeps over the garden wall to see in
what array the great man smokes his pipe, and chronicles the shape and
colour of his head-covering. But on the public side of Shakespeare's
career little has been adequately ascertained; and with this we are
deeply concerned. Not for a mere personal interest, but in its bearings
on the history of English literature, we ought to ascertain so far as
is possible what companies of actors Shakespeare belonged to, at what
theatres they acted, in | 863.085695 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.0670130 | 1,264 | 9 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
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Transcriber’s Note:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
For more transcriber’s notes, please go to the end of this e-book.
THE
BLOOD COVENANT
A PRIMITIVE RITE
AND ITS BEARINGS ON SCRIPTURE
BY
H. CLAY TRUMBULL D.D.
Author of “Kadesh Barnea.”
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1885
COPYRIGHT, 1885
BY H. CLAY TRUMBULL
GRANT & FAIRES
PHILADELPHIA
PREFACE.
It was while engaged in the preparation of a book--still unfinished--on
the Sway of Friendship in the World’s Forces, that I came upon facts
concerning the primitive rite of covenanting by the inter-transfusion
of blood, which induced me to turn aside from my other studies, in
order to pursue investigations in this direction.
Having an engagement to deliver a series of lectures before the Summer
School of Hebrew, under Professor W. R. Harper, of Chicago, at the
buildings of the Episcopal Divinity School, in Philadelphia, I decided
to make this rite and its linkings the theme of that series; and I
delivered three lectures, accordingly, June 16-18, 1885.
The interest manifested in the subject by those who heard the Lectures,
as well as the importance of the theme itself, has seemed sufficient
to warrant its presentation to a larger public. In this publishing,
the form of the original Lectures has, for convenience sake, been
adhered to; although some considerable additions to the text, in the
way of illustrative facts, have been made, since the delivery of the
Lectures; while other similar material is given in an Appendix.
From the very freshness of the subject itself, there was added
difficulty in gathering the material for its illustration and
exposition. So far as I could learn, no one had gone over the ground
before me, in this particular line of research; hence the various items
essential to a fair statement of the case must be searched for through
many diverse volumes of travel and of history and of archæological
compilation, with only here and there an incidental disclosure in
return. Yet, each new discovery opened the way for other discoveries
beyond; and even after the Lectures, in their present form, were
already in type, I gained many fresh facts, which I wish had been
earlier available to me. Indeed, I may say that no portion of the
volume is of more importance than the Appendix; where are added facts
and reasonings bearing directly on well-nigh every main point of the
original Lectures.
There is cause for just surprise that the chief facts of this entire
subject have been so generally overlooked, in all the theological
discussions, and in all the physio-sociological researches, of
the earlier and the later times. Yet this only furnishes another
illustration of the inevitably cramping influence of a pre-conceived
fixed theory,--to which all the ascertained facts must be
conformed,--in any attempt at thorough and impartial scientific
investigation. It would seem to be because of such cramping, that no
one of the modern students of myth and folk-lore, of primitive ideas
and customs, and of man’s origin and history, has brought into their
true prominence, if indeed he has even noticed them in passing, the
universally dominating primitive convictions: that the blood is the
life; that the heart, as the blood-fountain, is the very soul of every
personality; that blood-transfer is soul-transfer; that blood-sharing,
human, or divine-human, secures an inter-union of natures; and that
a union of the human nature with the divine is the highest ultimate
attainment reached out after by the most primitive, as well as by the
most enlightened, mind of humanity.
Certainly, the collation of facts comprised in this volume grew out
of no pre-conceived theory on the part of its author. Whatever theory
shows itself in their present arrangement, is simply that which the
facts themselves have seemed to enforce and establish, in their
consecutive disclosure.
I should have been glad to take much more time for the study of
this theme, and for the re-arranging of its material, before its
presentation to the public; but, with the pressure of other work upon
me, the choice was between hurrying it out in its present shape, and
postponing it indefinitely. All things considered, I chose the former
alternative.
In the prosecution of my investigations, I acknowledge kindly aid
from Professor Dr. Georg Ebers, Principal Sir William Muir, Dr. Yung
Wing, Dean E. T. Bartlett, Professors Doctors John P. Peters and J. G.
Lansing, the Rev. Dr. M. H. Bixby, Drs. D. G. Brinton and Charles W.
Dulles, the Rev. Messrs. R. M. Luther and Chester Holcombe, and Mr. E.
A. Barber; in addition to constant and valuable assistance from Mr.
John T. Napier, to whom I am particularly indebted for the philological
comparisons in the Oriental field, including the Egyptian, the Arabic,
and the Hebrew.
At the best, my work in this volume is only tentative and suggestive.
Its chief value is likely to be in its stimulating of others to fuller
and more satisfactory research in the field here brought to notice.
Sufficient, however, is certainly shown, to indicate that the realm of
true | 863.087053 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.0690900 | 877 | 12 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
_The Social Problems Series_
EDITED BY
OLIPHANT SMEATON, M.A., F.S.A.
THE CHILDREN
_The Social Problems Series_
THE CHILDREN
SOME EDUCATIONAL PROBLEMS
BY
ALEXANDER DARROCH, M.A.
PROFESSOR OF EDUCATION IN THE UNIVERSITY OF EDINBURGH
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
16 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
AND EDINBURGH
1907
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION--THE PRESENT UNREST IN EDUCATION 1
II. THE MEANING AND PROCESS OF EDUCATION 13
III. THE END OF EDUCATION 22
IV. THE RELATION OF THE STATE TO EDUCATION--THE PROVISION
OF EDUCATION 31
V. THE RELATION OF THE STATE TO EDUCATION--THE COST OF
EDUCATION 46
VI. THE RELATION OF THE STATE TO EDUCATION--THE MEDICAL
EXAMINATION OF SCHOOL CHILDREN AND THE MEDICAL
INSPECTION OF SCHOOLS 54
VII. THE RELATION OF THE STATE TO EDUCATION--THE FEEDING OF
SCHOOL CHILDREN 66
VIII. THE ORGANISATION OF THE MEANS OF EDUCATION 77
IX. THE AIM OF PHYSICAL EDUCATION 85
X. THE AIM OF THE INFANT SCHOOL 98
XI. THE AIM OF THE PRIMARY SCHOOL 107
XII. THE AIM OF THE SECONDARY SCHOOL 118
XIII. THE AIM OF THE UNIVERSITY 126
XIV. CONCLUSION--THE PRESENT PROBLEMS IN EDUCATION 131
THE CHILDREN
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION--THE PRESENT UNREST IN EDUCATION
The problems as to the end or ends at which our educational agencies
should aim in the training and instruction of the children of the
nation, and of the right methods of attaining these ends once they have
been definitely and clearly recognised, are at the present day receiving
greater and greater attention not only from professed educationalists,
but also from statesmen and the public generally. For, in spite of all
that has been done during the past thirty years to increase the
facilities for education and to improve the means of instruction, there
is a deep-seated and widely spread feeling that, somehow or other,
matters educationally are not well with us, as a nation, and that in
this particular line of social development other countries have pushed
forward, whilst we have been content to lag behind in the educational
rear.
The faults in our present educational structure are many, and in some
cases obvious to all. In the first place, it is said, and with much
truth, that there is no systematic coherence between the different parts
of our educational machinery, and no thorough-going correlation between
the various aims which the separate parts of the system are intended to
realise. As Mr. De Montmorency has recently pointed out, we have always
had a national group of educational facilities, more or less efficient,
but we have never had, nor do we yet possess, a national system of
education so differentiated in its aims and so correlated as to its
parts as to form "an organic part of the life of the nation."[1] An
educational system should subserve and foster the life of the whole: it
should be so organised as to maintain a sufficient and efficient supply
of all the services which a nation requires at the hands of its adult
members. For it is only in so far as the educational system of any
country fulfils this end that it can be "organic," and can be entitled
to the claim of being called a national system.
This lack of coherence between the different parts of our educational
system and | 863.08913 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.1189260 | 1,508 | 11 |
Produced by Gutenberg@BYU and Philip MacCabe
The Wentworth Letter by Joseph Smith, Jun.
as published in the Times and Seasons Vol. 3 No. 9, 1 March 1842
available in the United States Library Of Congress
BX8605.1.T48 Vol. 3 pp 706-710
CHURCH HISTORY
At the request of Mr. John Wentworth, Editor, and Proprietor of
the "Chicago Democrat," I have written the following sketch of the
rise, progress, persecution, and faith of the Latter-Day Saints,
of which I have the honor, under God, of being the founder. Mr.
Wentworth says, that he wishes to furnish Mr. Bastow, a friend of
his, who is writing the history of New Hampshire, with this
document. As Mr. Bastow has taken the proper steps to obtain
correct information, all that I shall ask at his hands is that he
publish the account entire, ungarnished, and without
misrepresentation.
I was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor co., Vermont, on the
23d of December, A.D. 1805. When ten years old my parents removed
to Palmyra, New York, where we resided about four years, and from
thence we removed to the town of Manchester.
My father was a farmer and taught me the art of husbandry. When
about fourteen years of age I began to reflect upon the importance
of being prepared for a future state, and upon enquiring [of] the
plan of salvation I found that there was a great clash in
religious sentiment; if I went to one society they referred me to
one plan, and another to another, each one pointing to his own
particular creed as the summum bonum of perfection: considering
that all could not be right, and that God could not be the author
of so much confusion I determined to investigate the subject more
fully, believing that if God had a church it would not be split up
into factions, and that if he taught one society to worship one
way, and administer in one set of ordinances, He would not teach
another, principles which were diametrically opposed. Believing
the word of God I had confidence in the declaration of James; "If
any man lack wisdom let him ask of God who giveth to all men
liberally and upbraideth not and it shall be given him," I retired
to a secret place in a grove and began to call upon the Lord,
while fervently engaged in supplication my mind was taken away
from the objects with which I was surrounded, and I was enwrapped
in a heavenly vision and saw two glorious personages who exactly
resembled each other in features and likeness, surrounded with a
brilliant light which eclipsed the sun at noon-day. They told me
that all religious denominations were believing in incorrect
doctrines and that none of them was acknowledged of God as His
Church and kingdom. And I was expressly commanded to "go not after
them," at the same time receiving a promise that the fullness of
the gospel should at some future time be made known unto me.
On the evening of the 21st of September, A.D. 1823, while I was
praying unto God, and endeavoring to exercise faith in the
precious promises of scripture on a sudden a light like that of
day, only of a far purer and more glorious appearance, and
brightness burst into the room, indeed the first sight was as
though the house was filled with consuming fire; the appearance
produced a shock that affected the whole body; in a moment a
personage stood before me surrounded with a glory yet greater than
that with which I was already surrounded. This messenger
proclaimed himself to be an angel of God sent to bring the joyful
tidings, that the covenant which God made with ancient Israel was
at hand to be fulfilled, that the preparatory work for the second
coming of the Messiah was speedily to commence; that the time was
at hand for the gospel, in all its fulness to be preached in power,
unto all nations that a people might be prepared for the millennial
reign.
I was informed that I was chosen to be an instrument in the
hands of God to bring about some of His purposes in this glorious
dispensation.
I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of
this country [America], and shown who they were, and from whence
they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization,
laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the
blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people was
made known unto me: I was also told where there was deposited some
plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the
ancient prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel
appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same
things. After having received many visits from the angels of God
unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should
transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22d of September,
A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my
hands.
These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance
of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long and
not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings,
in Egyptian characters and bound together in a volume, as the leaves
of a book with three rings running through the whole. The volume was
something near six inches in thickness, a part of which was sealed.
The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully
engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its
construction and much skill in the art of engraving. With the
records was found a curious instrument which the ancients called
"Urim and Thummim," which consisted of two transparent stones set in
the rim of a bow fastened to a breastplate.
Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim I translated the
record by the gift, and power of God.
In this important and interesting book the history of ancient
America is unfolded, from its first settlement by a colony that came
from the Tower of Babel, at the confusion of languages to the
beginning of the fifth century of the Christian era. We are informed
by these records that America in ancient times has been inhabited by
two distinct races of people. The first were called Jaredites and
came directly from the Tower of Babel. The second race came directly
from the city of Jerusalem, about six hundred years before Christ.
They were principally Israelites, of the descendants of Joseph. The
Jaredites were destroyed about the time that the Israelites came
from Jerusalem, who succeeded them in the inheritance of the
country. The principal nation of the second race fell in battle
towards the close of the fourth century. The remnant are the Indians
that now inhabit this country. This book | 863.138966 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.1198100 | 2,750 | 19 |
Produced by David Edwards, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
THE PRINCESS AND JOE POTTER
[Illustration: JOE FINDING THE PRINCESS.
(_See page 22._)]
THE PRINCESS AND JOE POTTER
BY
JAMES OTIS
AUTHOR OF
"JENNY WREN'S BOARDING-HOUSE," "TEDDY AND CARROTS," ETC.
Illustrated by
VIOLET OAKLEY
[Illustration]
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1898_
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT
Colonial Press:
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A RUINED MERCHANT 11
II. THE PRINCESS 26
III. AN ADVERTISEMENT 41
IV. JOE'S FLIGHT 60
V. IN THE CITY 73
VI. DAN, THE DETECTIVE 86
VII. AUNT DORCAS 98
VIII. A HUNGRY DETECTIVE 115
IX. A FUGITIVE 127
X. THE JOURNEY 141
XI. A BRIBE 157
XII. A STRUGGLE IN THE NIGHT 171
XIII. A CONFESSION 188
XIV. A RAY OF LIGHT 201
XV. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL 219
XVI. THE REWARD 234
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
JOE FINDING THE PRINCESS _Frontispiece_
"HE BEGAN TO FEED THE LITTLE MAID" 51
"DAN POINTED TO AN ADVERTISEMENT" 57
"'MAY WE COME IN AN' STAY A LITTLE WHILE?'" 81
"JOE POINTED TO A TINY COTTAGE" 101
"SHE HAD A PLATE HEAPED HIGH WITH COOKIES" 108
"'WELL, BLESS THE BOY, HE DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO PLANT POTATOES!'" 143
"THE PRINCESS SUFFERED AUNT DORCAS TO KISS HER" 167
"A DARK FORM LEAPED THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW" 185
JOE AND DAN DISAGREE 207
"COME ON QUICK, PLUMS! DAN'S SET THE BARN A-FIRE!'" 215
"JOE, BELIEVING HIMSELF ALONE, BEGAN TO SOB AS IF HIS HEART
WERE BREAKING" 225
"THEN AUNT DORCAS AND HER FAMILY WERE READY FOR THE RIDE" 241
"'MCGOWAN'S RESTAURANT AIN'T IN IT ALONGSIDE OF WHAT
WE STRUCK UP AT THE PRINCESS'S HOUSE'" 245
TAILPIECE 249
THE PRINCESS AND JOE POTTER.
CHAPTER I.
A RUINED MERCHANT.
"Hello, Joe Potter! What you doin' up in this part of the town?"
The boy thus addressed halted suddenly, looked around with what was very
like an expression of fear on his face, and then, recognising the
speaker, replied, in a tone of relief:
"Oh, it's you, is it, Plums?"
"Of course it's me. Who else did you think it was? Say, what you doin'
'round here? Who's tendin' for you now?"
"Nobody."
"It don't seem as though this was the time of day when you could afford
to shut up shop."
"But that's what I have done."
"Got some 'portant business up here at the _de_pot, eh?"
Joe shook his head mournfully, stepped back a few paces that he might
lean against the building, and looked about him with a languid air,
much as if there was no longer anything pleasing for him in life.
Plums, or to give him his full name, George H. Plummer, gazed at his
friend in mild surprise.
Any other boy of Joe Potter's acquaintance would have been astonished at
the great change which had come over him; but Plums was not given to
excesses of any kind, save in the way of eating. That which would have
excited an ordinary lad only served to arouse Plums in a mild degree,
and perhaps it was this natural apathy which served to give Master
Plummer such an accumulation of flesh. He was what might be called a
very fat boy, and was never known to move with sufficient energy to
reduce his weight.
Sim Jepson stated that Plums sold newspapers in the vicinity of the
Grand Central Station because he lived only a couple of blocks away, and
therefore had sufficient time to walk to his place of business during
the forenoon.
"How he ever earns enough to pay for fillin' hisself up is more'n I can
make out," Master Jepson had said, with an air of perplexity. "By the
time he's sold ten papers, he's ate the profits off of twenty, an' acts
like he was hungrier than when he begun."
As Plums waited for, rather than solicited, customers, he gazed in an
indolent fashion at the dejected-looking friend, who might have served,
as he stood leaning against the building on this particular June day, as
a statue of misery.
Joe Potter was as thin as his friend was stout, and, ordinarily, as
active as Plums was indolent. His listless bearing now served to arouse
Master Plummer's curiosity as nothing else could have done.
"Business been good down your way?" he finally asked.
"It's mighty bad. I got stuck on a bunch of bananas, and lost thirty-two
cents last week. Then oranges went down till you couldn't hardly see
'em, an' I bought a box when they was worth two dollars. It seems like
as if every _I_talian in the city, what ain't blackin' boots, has
started a fruit-stand, an' it's jest knocked the eye out of business."
"I shouldn't think you could afford to lay 'round up here if it is as
bad as all that."
"It don't make any difference where I am now, 'cause I've busted; Plums,
I've busted. Failed up yesterday, an' have got jest sixteen cents to my
name."
"Busted!" Master Plummer exclaimed. "Why, you told me you had more'n
seven dollars when you started that fruit-stand down on West Street."
"Seven dollars an' eighty-three cents was the figger, Plums, an' here's
what's left of it."
Joe took from his pocket a handful of pennies, counting them slowly to
assure himself he had made no mistake in the sum total.
Master Plummer was so overwhelmed by the sad tidings, that two intending
purchasers passed him by after waiting several seconds to be served, and
Joe reminded him of his inattention to business by saying, sharply:
"Look here, Plums, you mustn't shut down on business jest 'cause I've
busted. Why don't you sell papers when you get the chance?"
"I didn't see anybody what wanted one. I'm jest knocked silly, Joe,
about your hard luck. How did it happen?"
"That's what I can't seem to make out. I kept on sellin' stuff, an' of
course had to buy more; but every night the money was smaller an'
smaller, till I didn't have much of any left."
"I felt kind of 'fraid you was swellin' too big, Joe. When a feller
agrees to give five dollars a month rent, an' hires a clerk for a dollar
a week, same's you did, he's takin' a pretty good contract on his
shoulders. Did you pay Sim Jepson his wages all right?"
"Yes, I kept square with him, and I guess that's where most of my money
went. Sim owns the stand now."
"He owns it? Why, he was your clerk."
"Don't you s'pose I know that? But he was gettin' a dollar a week clean
money, an' it counted up in time. If things had been the other way, most
likely I'd own the place to-day."
Master Plummer was silent for an instant, and then a smile as of
satisfaction overspread his fat face.
"I'll tell you how to do it, Joe: hire out to Sim, an' after a spell
you'll get the stand back ag'in."
"That won't work; I tried it. You see, when it come yesterday, I owed
him a dollar for wages, an' thirty cents I'd borrowed. There wasn't
more'n ninety cents' worth of stuff in the stand, an' Sim said he'd got
to be paid right sharp. Of course I couldn't raise money when I'd jest
the same's failed, an' told him so. He offered to square things if I'd
give him the business; an' what else could I do? I left there without a
cent to my name; but earned a quarter last night, an' here's what's left
of it."
The ruined merchant mournfully jingled the coins in his hand, while he
gazed dreamily at the railway structure overhead, and Master Plummer
regarded him sympathetically.
"What you goin' to do now?" the fat boy asked, after a long pause.
"That's jest what I don't know, Plums. If I had the money, I reckon I'd
take up shinin' for a spell, even if the _I_talians are knockin' the
life out of business."
"Why don't you sell papers, same's you used to?"
"Well, you see when I went into the fruit-stand I sold out my rights
'round the City Hall, to Dan Fernald, an' it wouldn't be the square
thing for me to jump in down there ag'in."
"There's plenty of chances up-town."
"I don't know about that. S'posen I started right here, then I'd be
rubbin' against you; an' it's pretty much the same everywhere. I tell
you, Plums, there's too many folks in this city. I ain't so certain but
I shall go for a sailor; they say there's money in that business."
"S'posen there was barrels in it, how could you get any out?" and in his
astonishment that Joe should have considered such a plan even for a
moment, Master Plummer very nearly grew excited. "You ain't big enough
to shin up the masts, an' take in sails, an' all that sort of work,
same's sailors have to do."
"I'd grow to it, of course. I don't expect I could go down to the docks
an' get a chance right off as a first-class hand on masts an' sails; but
I shouldn't go on a vessel, you know, Plums. I'm countin' on a
steamboat, where there ain't any shinnin' round to be done. Them fellers
that run on the Sound steamers have snaps, that's what they have. You
know my stand was on West Street, where I saw them all, and the money
they spend! It don't seem like as if half a dollar was any account to
'em."
"But what could you do on a steamboat?"
"I don't know yet; but I'll snoop 'round before the summer's over, an'
find out. Where you livin' now?"
"Well, say, Joe, you can talk 'bout steamboat snaps; but this house of
mine lays over 'em all. I s'pose I've got about the swellest layout in
this city, an' don't have to give up a cent for it, either. First off
McDaniels counted on chargin' me rent, an' after I'd been there a couple
of days he said it didn't seem right to take money, 'cause the place
wasn't fit for a dog. I'll tell you what it is, if McDaniels keeps his
dogs in any better shanty than that, they must be livin' on the fat of
the land."
"Who's McDaniels?"
"He's the blacksmith what owns the shanty where I live. You see, it was
like this: I allers sold him a paper every afternoon, an' when it
| 863.13985 |
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THE OLD INNS OF OLD ENGLAND
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Portsmouth Road, and its Tributaries: To-day and in Days of Old.
The Dover Road: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike.
The Bath Road: History, Fashion, and Frivolity on an Old Highway.
The Exeter Road: The Story of the West of England Highway.
The Great North Road: The Old Mail Road to Scotland. Two Vols.
The Norwich Road: An East Anglian Highway.
The Holyhead Road: The Mail-Coach Road to Dublin. Two Vols.
The Cambridge, Ely, and King's Lynn Road: The Great Fenland Highway.
The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford, and Cromer Road: Sport and History on an
East Anglian Turnpike.
The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven Road: The Ready Way to South
Wales. Two Vols.
The Brighton Road: Speed, Sport, and History on the Classic Highway.
The Hastings Road and the "Happy Springs of Tunbridge."
Cycle Rides Round London.
A Practical Handbook of Drawing for Modern Methods of Reproduction.
Stage-Coach and Mail in Days of Yore. Two Vols.
The Ingoldsby Country: Literary Landmarks of "The Ingoldsby Legends."
The Hardy Country: Literary Landmarks of the Wessex Novels.
The Dorset Coast.
The South Devon Coast. [_In the Press._
[Illustration: A MUG OF CIDER: THE "WHITE HART" INN, CASTLE COMBE. _Photo
by Graystone Bird._]
THE OLD INNS OF OLD ENGLAND
_A PICTURESQUE ACCOUNT OF THE
ANCIENT AND STORIED HOSTELRIES
OF OUR OWN COUNTRY_
VOL. II
BY CHARLES G. HARPER
[Illustration]
_Illustrated chiefly by the Author, and from Prints
and Photographs_
LONDON:
CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED
1906
_All rights reserved_
PRINTED AND BOUND BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A POSY OF OLD INNS 1
II. THE OLD INNS OF CHESHIRE 58
III. INNS RETIRED FROM BUSINESS 79
IV. INNS WITH RELICS AND CURIOSITIES 109
V. TAVERN RHYMES AND INSCRIPTIONS 130
VI. THE HIGHEST INNS IN ENGLAND 144
VII. GALLOWS SIGNS 150
VIII. SIGNS PAINTED BY ARTISTS 161
IX. QUEER SIGNS IN QUAINT PLACES 184
X. RURAL INNS 210
XI. THE EVOLUTION OF A COUNTRY INN 235
XII. INGLE-NOOKS 240
XIII. INNKEEPERS' EPITAPHS 245
XIV. INNS WITH ODD PRIVILEGES 255
XV. INNS IN LITERATURE 261
XVI. VISITORS' BOOKS 291
[Illustration: LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]
SEPARATE PLATES
A MUG OF CIDER: THE "WHITE HART" INN, CASTLE COMBE.
(_Photo by Graystone Bird_) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE CROMWELL ROOM, "LYGON ARMS" 8
THE DINING-ROOM AT "THE FEATHERS," LUDLOW 22
COURTYARD OF THE "MAID'S HEAD," NORWICH, SHOWING THE JACOBEAN
BAR 42
THE "BELL," BARNBY MOOR: MEET OF LORD GALWAY'S HOUNDS 56
THE "FOUR SWANS," WALTHAM CROSS 152
SIGN OF THE "PACK HORSE AND TALBOT," TURNHAM GREEN 194
THE "RUNNING FOOTMAN," HAY HILL 194
INTERIOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" 196
"UNCLE TOM'S CABIN," BLUEPITTS, NEAR ROCHDALE 196
THE "TALBOT," RIPLEY. (_Photo by R. W. Thomas_) 212
THE "ANCHOR," RIPLEY, IN THE DAYS OF THE DIBBLES AND THE
CYCLING BOOM. (_Photo by R. W. Thomas_) 214
THE "SWAN," SANDLEFORD 216
THE "SWAN," NEAR NEWBURY 216
THE INGLE-NOOK, "WHITE HORSE" INN, SHERE 240
INGLE-NOOK AT THE "SWAN," HASLEMERE 242
THE INGLE-NOOK, "CROWN" INN, CHIDDINGFOLD 244
INGLE-NOOK, "LYGON ARMS," BROADWAY 246
THE "VINE TAVERN," MILE END ROAD 258
YARD OF THE "WHITE HORSE," MAIDEN NEWTON 288
THE "WHITE HORSE," MAIDEN NEWTON 288
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
Vignette, Toby Fillpot _Title-page_
PAGE
List of Illustrations, The "Malt-shovel," | 863.184659 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.2221860 | 2,493 | 51 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Sue Fleming and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
FRONTISPIECE.
[Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and
supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his
scymetar to cut off her head.]
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
Embellished with neat Engravings.
[Illustration]
COOPERSTOWN:
Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney.
1828
_The Alphabet._
A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z
_A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z_
_a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z_
fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0
. , ; : ? ! ' () [] * [dagger] [double dagger] Sec. || ¶
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
A long time ago, and at a considerable distance from any town, there
lived a gentleman, who was not only in possession of great riches, but
of the largest estates in that part of the country. Although he had some
very elegant neat mansions on his estates, he generally resided in a
magnificent castle, beautifully situated on a rising ground, surrounded
with groves of the finest evergreens, and other choice trees and shrubs.
The inside of this fine castle was even more beautiful than the outside;
for the rooms were all hung with the richest damask, curiously
ornamented; the chairs and sofas were covered with the finest velvet,
fringed with gold; and his table-dishes and plates were either of silver
or gold, finished in the most elegant style. His carriages and horses
might have served a king, and perhaps were finer than any monarch's of
the present day. The gentleman's appearance, however, did not altogether
correspond to his wealth; for, to a fierce disagreeable countenance, was
added an ugly blue beard, which made him an object of fear and disgust
in the neighbourhood, where he usually went by the name of Blue Beard.
There resided, at some considerable distance from Blue Beard's castle,
an old lady and her two daughters, who were people of some rank, but by
no means wealthy. The two young ladies were very pretty, and the fame of
their beauty having reached Blue Beard, he determined to ask one of them
in marriage. Having ordered a carriage, he called at their house, where
he saw the two young ladies, and was very politely received by their
mother, with whom he begged a few moments conversation.
[Illustration]
After the two young ladies left the room, he began by describing his
immense riches, and then told her the purport of his visit, begging she
would use her interest in his favour. They were both so lovely, he said,
that he would be happy to get either of them for his wife, and would
therefore leave it to their own choice to determine upon the subject,
and immediately took his leave.
When the proposals of Blue Beard were mentioned to the young ladies
by their mother, both Miss Anne and her sister Fatima protested, that
they would never marry an ugly man, and particularly one with such a
frightful blue beard; because, although he possessed immense riches,
it was reported in the country, that he had married several beautiful
ladies, and nobody could tell what had become of them.
Their mother said, that the gentleman was agreeable in his conversation
and manners; that the ugliness of his face, and the blue beard, were
defects which they would soon be reconciled to from habit: that his
immense riches would procure them every luxury their heart could desire;
and he was so civil, that she was certain the scandalous reports about
his wives must be entirely without foundation.
The two young ladies were as civil as they possibly could be, in order
to conceal the disgust they felt at Blue Beard, and, to soften their
refusal, replied to this effect,--That, at present, they had no desire
to change their situation; but if they had, the one sister could never
think of depriving the other of so good a match, and that they did not
wish to be separated.
Blue Beard having called next day, the old lady told him what her
daughters had said; on which he sighed deeply, and pretended to be
very much disappointed; but as he had the mother on his side, he still
continued his visits to the family. Blue Beard, knowing the attractions
that fine houses, fine furniture, and fine entertainments, have on the
minds of ladies in general, invited the mother, her two daughters, and
two or three other ladies who were then on a visit to them, to spend a
day or two with him at his castle.
[Illustration]
Blue Beard's invitation was accepted, and having spent a considerable
time in arranging their wardrobe, and in adorning their persons, they
all set out for the splendid mansion of Blue Beard.
On coming near the castle, although they had heard a great deal of the
taste and expense that had been employed in decorating it, they were
struck with the beauty of the trees that overshadowed the walks through
which they passed, and with the fragrancy of the flowers which perfumed
the air. When they reached the castle, Blue Beard, attended by a number
of his servants in splendid dresses, received them with the most polite
courtesy, and conducted them to a magnificent drawing-room.
An elegant repast was ready in the dining-room, to which they adjourned.
Here they were again astonished by the grandeur of the apartment and the
elegance of the entertainment, and they felt so happy, that the evening
passed away before they were aware.
Next day, after they had finished breakfast, the ladies proceeded to
examine the pictures and furniture of the rooms that were open, and were
truly astonished at the magnificence that every where met their view.
[Illustration]
The time rolled pleasantly away amidst a succession of the most
agreeable amusements, consisting of hunting, music, dancing, and
banquets, where the richest wines, and most tempting delicacies, in most
luxurious profusion, presented themselves in every direction.
The party felt so agreeable amidst these scenes of festivity, that they
continued at the castle several days, during which the cunning Blue
Beard, by every obsequious service, tried to gain the favour of his fair
guests. Personal attentions, even although paid us by an ugly creature,
seldom fail to make a favourable impression; it was therefore no wonder
that Fatima, the youngest of the two sisters, began to think Blue Beard
a very polite, pleasant, and civil gentleman; and that the beard, which
she and her sister had been so much afraid of, was not so very blue.
A short time after her return home, Fatima, who was delighted with
the attention which had been paid her at the castle, told her mother
that she did not now feel any objections to accept of Blue Beard as a
husband. The old lady immediately communicated to him the change in her
daughter's sentiments.
Blue Beard, who lost no time in paying the family a visit, was in a few
days privately married to the young lady and soon after the ceremony,
Fatima, accompanied by her sister, returned to the castle the wife of
Blue Beard.
[Illustration]
On arriving there, they were received at the entrance by all his
retinue, attired in splendid dresses, and Blue Beard, after saluting his
bride, led the way to an elegant entertainment, where, every thing that
could add to to their comfort being prepared, they spent the evening in
the most agreeable manner.
The next day, and every succeeding day, Blue Beard always varied the
amusements, and a month had passed away imperceptibly, when he told his
wife that he was obliged to leave her for a few weeks, as he had some
affairs to transact in a distant part of the country, which required his
personal attendance.
"But," said he, "my dear Fatima, you may enjoy yourself in my absence in
any way that will add to your happiness, and you can invite your friends
to make the time pass more agreeably, for you are sole mistress in this
castle. Here are the keys of the two large wardrobes; this is the key of
the great box that contains the best plate, which we use for company;
this of my strong box, where I keep my money; and this belongs to the
casket, in which are all my jewels. Here also is a master-key to all
the rooms in the house; but this small key belongs to the blue closet
at the end of the long gallery on the ground floor. I give you leave,"
he continued, "to open, or do what you like with all the rest of the
castle except this closet: now, my dear, remember you must not enter
it, nor even put the key into the lock. If you do not obey me in this,
expect the most dreadful of punishments."
[Illustration]
She promised him implicit obedience to his orders, and then accompanied
him to the gate, where Blue Beard, after saluting her in a tender
manner, stepped into the coach, and drove away.
When Blue Beard was gone, Fatima sent a kind invitation to her friends
to come immediately to the castle, and ordered a grand entertainment
to be prepared for their reception. She also sent a messenger to her
two brothers, both officers in the army, who were quartered about forty
miles distant, requesting they would obtain leave of absence, and spend
a few days with her. So eager were her friends to see the apartments and
the riches of Blue Beard's castle, of which they had heard so much, that
in less than two hours after receiving notice, the whole company were
assembled, with the exception of her brothers, who were not expected
till the following day.
As her guests had arrived long before the time appointed them for the
entertainment. Fatima took them thro' every apartment in the castle,
and displayed all the wealth she had | 863.242226 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.2233780 | 2,316 | 28 |
Produced by Robin Katsuya-Corbet
BEOWULF
By Anonymous
Translated by Gummere
BEOWULF
PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: {0a} far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled....
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, {0b}
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!
I
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.
Then, one after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that -- was --'s queen,
the Heathoscylfing's helpmate dear.
To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades. It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,
a master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and the lives of his men.
Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot {1a} he named it
whose message had might in many a land.
Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame. {1b} Nor far was that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and hatred that woke again. {1c}
With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer. He sang who knew {1d}
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever {1e} mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his feud, {1f} and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
II
WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.
Found within it the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,
thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.
Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.
They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, --
the hall-thane's {2b} hate. Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so.
Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, -- refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact of peace, or compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.
But the evil one ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.
Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince {2d} approach his throne,
-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.
Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing terror to try their hand.
Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words {2e}
that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people. Their practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change
awaits he ever. But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord,
and friendship find in the Father's arms!
III
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.
He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they wh | 863.243418 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.3566130 | 7,418 | 6 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
HIRAM THE YOUNG FARMER
By Burbank L. Todd
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE CALL OF SPRING
CHAPTER II. AT MRS. ATTERSON'S
CHAPTER III. A DREARY DAY
CHAPTER IV. THE LOST CARD
CHAPTER V. THE COMMOTION AT MOTHER ATTERSON'S
CHAPTER VI. THIS DIDN'T GET BY HIRAM
CHAPTER VII. HOW HIRAM LEFT TOWN
CHAPTER VIII. THE LURE OF GREEN FIELDS
CHAPTER IX. THE BARGAIN IS MADE
CHAPTER X. THE SOUND OF BEATING HOOFS
CHAPTER XI. A GIRL RIDES INTO THE TALE
CHAPTER XII. SOMETHING ABOUT A PASTURE FENCE
CHAPTER XIII. THE UPROOTING
CHAPTER XIV. GETTING IN THE EARLY CROPS
CHAPTER XV. TROUBLE BREWS
CHAPTER XV. ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON
CHAPTER XVII. MR. PEPPER APPEARS
CHAPTER XVIII. A HEAVY CLOUD
CHAPTER XIX. THE REASON WHY
CHAPTER XX. AN ENEMY IN THE DARK
CHAPTER XXI. THE WELCOME TEMPEST
CHAPTER XXII. FIRST FRUITS
CHAPTER XXIII. TOMATOES AND TROUBLE
CHAPTER XXIV. "CORN THAT'S CORN"
CHAPTER XXV. THE BARBECUE
CHAPTER XXVI. SISTER'S TURKEYS
CHAPTER XXVII. RUN TO EARTH
CHAPTER XXVIII. HARVEST
CHAPTER XXIX. LETTIE BRONSON'S CORN HUSKING
CHAPTER XXX. ONE SNOWY MIDNIGHT
CHAPTER XXXI. "MR. DAMOCLES'S SWORD"
CHAPTER XXXII. THE CLOUD IS LIFTED
CHAPTER XXXIII. "CELERY MAD"
CHAPTER XXXIV. CLEANING UP A PROFIT
CHAPTER XXXV. LOOKING AHEAD
CHAPTER I. THE CALL OF SPRING
"Well, after all, the country isn't such a bad place as some city folk
think."
The young fellow who said this stood upon the highest point of the Ridge
Road, where the land sloped abruptly to the valley in which lay the
small municipality of Crawberry on the one hand, while on the other open
fields and patches of woodland, in a huge green-and-brown checkerboard
pattern, fell more easily to the bank of the distant river.
Dotted here and there about the farming country lying before the youth
as he looked westward were cottages, or the more important-looking
homesteads on the larger farms; and in the distance a white church spire
behind the trees marked the tiny settlement of Blaine's Smithy.
A Sabbath calm lay over the fields and woods. It was mid-afternoon of
an early February Sunday--the time of the mid-winter thaw, that false
prophet of the real springtime.
Although not a furrow had been turned as yet in the fields, and the snow
lay deep in some fence corners and beneath the hedges, there was, after
all, a smell of fresh earth--a clean, live smell--that Hiram Strong had
missed all week down in Crawberry.
"I'm glad I came up here," he muttered, drawing in great breaths of
the clean air. "Just to look at the open fields, without any brick and
mortar around, makes a fellow feel fine!"
He stretched his arms above his head and, standing alone there on the
upland, felt bigger and better than he had in weeks.
For Hiram Strong was a country boy, born and bred, and the town stifled
him. Besides, he had begun to see that his two years in Crawberry had
been wasted.
"As a hustler after fortune in the city I am not a howling success,"
mused Hiram. "Somehow, I'm cramped down yonder," and he glanced back
at the squalid brick houses below him, the smoky roofs, and the ugly
factory chimneys.
"And I declare," he pursued, reflectively, "I don't believe I can stand
Old Dan Dwight much longer. Dan, Junior, is bad enough--when he is
around the store; but the boss would drive a fellow to death."
He shook his head, now turning from the pleasanter prospect of the
farming land and staring down into the town.
"Maybe I'm not a success because I don't stick to one thing. I've had
six jobs in less'n two years. That's a bad record for a boy, I believe.
But there hasn't any of them suited me, nor have I suited them.
"And Dwight's Emporium beats 'em all!" finished Hiram, shaking his head.
He turned his back upon the town once more, as though to wipe his
failure out of his memory. Before him sloped a field of wheat and
clover.
It had kept as green under the snow as though winter was an unknown
season. Every cloverleaf sparkled and the leaves of wheat bristled like
tiny spears.
Spring was on the way. He could hear the call of it!
Two years before Hiram had left the farm. He had no immediate relatives
after his father died. The latter had been a tenant-farmer only, and
when his tools and stock and the few household chattels had been sold
to pay the debts that had accumulated during his last illness, there was
very little money left for Hiram.
There was nobody to say him nay when he packed his bag and started for
Crawberry, which was the metropolis of his part of the country. He had
set out boldly, believing that he could get ahead faster, and become
master of his own fortune more quickly in town than in the locality
where he was born.
He was a rugged, well-set-up youth of seventeen, not over-tall, but
sturdy and able to do a man's work. Indeed, he had long done a man's
work before he left the farm.
Hiram's hands were calloused, he shuffled a bit when walked, and his
shoulders were just a little bowed from holding the plow handles since
he had been big enough to bridle his father's old mare.
Yes, the work on the farm had been hard--especially for a growing boy.
Many farm boys work under better conditions than Hiram had.
Nevertheless, after a two years' trial of what the city has in store for
most country boys who cut loose from their old environment, Hiram Strong
felt to-day as though he must get back to the land.
"There's nothing for me in town. Clerking in Dwight's Emporium will
never get me anywhere," he thought, turning finally away from the open
country and starting down the steep hill.
"Why, there are college boys working on our street cars here--waiting
for some better job to turn up. What chance does a fellow stand who's
only got a country school education?
"And there isn't any clean fun for a fellow in Crawberry--fun that
doesn't cost money. And goodness knows I can't make more than enough to
pay Mrs. Atterson, and for my laundry, and buy a new suit of overalls
and a pair of shoes occasionally.
"No, sir!" concluded Hiram. "There's nothing in it. Not for a fellow
like me, at any rate. I'd better be back on the farm--and I wish I was
there now."
He had been to church that morning; but after the late dinner at his
boarding house had set out on this lonely walk. Now he had nothing to
look forward to as he returned but the stuffy parlor of Mrs. Atterson's
boarding house, the cold supper in the dining-room, which was attended
in a desultory fashion by such of the boarders as were at home, and then
a long, dull evening in his room, or bed after attending the evening
service at the church around the corner.
Hiram even shrank from meeting the same faces at the boarding house
table, hearing the same stale jokes or caustic remarks about Mrs.
Atterson's food from Fred Crackit and the young men boarders of his
class, or the grumbling of Mr. Peebles, the dyspeptic invalid, or the
inane monologue of Old Lem Camp.
And Mrs. Atterson herself--good soul though she was--had gotten on Hiram
Strong's nerves, too. With her heat-blistered face, near-sighted eyes
peering through beclouded spectacles, and her gown buttoned up hurriedly
and with a gap here and there where a button was missing, she was the
typically frowsy, hurried, nagged-to-death boarding house mistress.
And as for "Sister," Mrs. Atterson's little slavey and
maid-of-all-work----
"Well, Sister's the limit!" smiled Hiram, as he turned into the street,
with its rows of ugly brick houses on either hand. "I believe Fred
Crackit has got it right. Mrs. Atterson keeps Sister instead of a
cat--so there'll be something to kick."
The half-grown girl--narrow-chested, round shouldered, and sallow--had
been taken by Mrs. Atterson from some charity institution. "Sister," as
the boarders all called her, for lack of any other cognomen, would have
her yellow hair in four attenuated pigtails hanging down her back, and
she would shuffle about the dining-room in a pair of Mrs. Atterson's old
shoes----
"By Jove! there she is now," exclaimed the startled youth.
At the corner of the street several "slices" of the brick block had
been torn away and the lot cleared for the erection of some business
building. Running across this open space with wild shrieks and spilling
the milk from the big pitcher she carried--milk for the boarders' tea,
Hi knew--came Mrs. Atterson's maid.
Behind her, and driving her like a horse by the ever present "pigtails,"
bounded a boy of about her own age--a laughing, yelling imp of a boy
whom Hiram knew very well.
"That Dan Dwight is the meanest little scamp at this end of the town!"
he said to himself.
The noise the two made attracted only the idle curiosity of a few
people. It was a locality where, even on Sundays, there was more or less
noise.
Sister begged and screamed. She feared she would spill the milk and told
Dan, Junior, so. But he only drove her the harder, yelling to her to
"Get up!" and yanking as hard as he could on the braids.
"Here! that's enough of that!" called Hiram, stepping quickly toward the
two.
For Sister had stopped exhausted, and in tears.
"Be off with you!" commanded Hiram. "You've plagued the girl enough."
"Mind your business, Hi-ram-Lo-ram!" returned Dan, Junior, grabbing at
Sister's hair again.
Hiram caught the younger boy by the shoulder and whirled him around.
"You run along to Mrs. Atterson, Sister," he said, quietly. "No, you
don't!" he added, gripping Dan, Junior, more firmly. "You'll stop right
here."
"Lemme be, Hi Strong!" bawled the other, when he found he could not
easily jerk away. "It'll be the worse for you if you don't."
"Just you wait until the girl is home," returned Hiram, laughing. It was
an easy matter for him to hold the writhing Dan, Junior.
"I'll fix you for this!" squalled the boy. "Wait till I tell my father."
"You wouldn't dare tell your father the truth," laughed Hi.
"I'll fix you," repeated Dan, Junior, and suddenly aimed a vicious kick
at his captor.
Had the kick landed where Dan, Junior, intended--under Hi's kneecap--the
latter certainly would have been "fixed." But the country youth was too
agile for him.
He jumped aside, dragged Dan, Junior, suddenly toward him, and then gave
him a backward thrust which sent the lighter boy spinning.
Now, it had rained the day before and in a hollow beside the path was
a puddle several inches deep. Dan, Junior, lost his balance, staggered
back, tripped over his own clumsy heels, and splashed full length into
it.
"Oh, oh!" he bawled, managing to get well soaked before he scrambled
out. "I'll tell my father on you, Hi Strong. You'll catch it for this!"
"You'd better run home before you catch cold," said Hiram, who could not
help laughing at the young rascal's plight. "And let girls alone another
time."
To himself he said: "Well, the goodness knows I couldn't be much more
in bad odor with Mr. Dwight than I am already. But this escapade of his
precious son ought to about 'fix' me, as Dan, Junior, says.
"Whether I want to, or not, I reckon I will be looking for another job
in a very few days."
CHAPTER II. AT MRS. ATTERSON'S
When you came into "Mother" Atterson's front hall (the young men
boarders gave her that appellation in irony) the ghosts of many ancient
boiled dinners met you with--if you were sensitive and unused to the
odors of cheap boarding houses--a certain shock.
He was starting up the stairs, on which the ragged carpet threatened to
send less agile persons than Mrs. Atterson's boarders headlong to
the bottom at every downward trip, when the clang of the gong in the
dining-room announced the usual cold spread which the landlady thought
due to her household on the first day of the week.
Hiram hesitated, decided that he would skip the meal, and started up
again. But just then Fred Crackit lounged out of the parlor, with Mr.
Peebles following him. Dyspeptic as he was, Mr. Peebles never missed a
meal himself, and Crackit said:
"Come on, Hi-Low-Jack! Aren't you coming down to the usual feast of
reason and flow of soul?"
Crackit thought he was a natural humorist, and he had to keep up his
reputation at all times and seasons. He was rather a dissipated-looking
man of thirty years or so, given to gay waistcoats and wonderfully knit
ties. A brilliant as large as a hazel-nut--and which, in some lights,
really sparkled like a diamond--adorned the tie he wore this evening.
"I don't believe I want any supper," responded Hiram, pleasantly.
"What's the matter? Got some inside information as to what Mother
Atterson has laid out for us? You're pretty thick with the old girl,
Hi."
"That's not a nice way to speak of her, Mr. Crackit," said Hi, in a low
voice.
The other boarders--those who were in the house-straggled into the
basement dining-room one after the other, and took their places at the
long table, each in his customary manner.
That dining-room at Mother Atterson's never could have been a cheerful
place. It was long, and low-ceiled, and the paper on the walls was
a dingy red, so old that the figure on it had retired into the
background--been absorbed by it, so to speak.
The two long, dusty, windows looked upon an area, and were grilled half
way up by wrought-iron screens which, too, helped to shut out the light
of day.
The long table was covered by a red figured table cloth. The "castors"
at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest--Hiram was sure--to be
found in all the city of Crawberry. The crockery was of the coarsest
kind. The knives and forks were antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse
as huck towels.
But Mrs. Atterson's food--considering the cost of provisions and the
charge she made for her table--was very good. Only it had become a habit
for certain of the boarders, led by the jester, Crackit, to criticise
the viands.
Sometimes they succeeded in making Mrs. Atterson angry; and sometimes,
Hiram knew, she wept, alone in the dining-room, after the harumscarum,
thoughtless crowd had gone.
Old Lem Camp--nobody save Hiram thought to put "Mr." before the old
gentleman's name--sidled in and sat down beside the country boy, as
usual. He was a queer, colorless sort of person--a man who never looked
into the face of another if he could help it. He would look all around
Hiram when he spoke to him--at his shoulder, his shirtfront, his hands,
even at his feet if they were visible, but never at his face.
And at the table he kept up a continual monologue. It was difficult
sometimes for Hiram to know when he was being addressed, and when poor
Mr. Camp was merely talking to himself.
"Let's see--where has Sister put my napkin--Oh! here it is--You've been
for a walk, have you, young man?--No, that's not my napkin; I didn't
spill any gravy at dinner--Nice day out, but raw--Goodness me! can't I
have a knife and fork?--Where's my knife and fork?--Sister certainly has
forgotten my knife and fork.--Oh! Here they are--Yes, a very nice day
indeed for this time of year."
And so on. It was quite immaterial to Mr. Camp whether he got an answer
to his remarks to Hiram, or not. He went on muttering to himself, all
through the meal, sometimes commenting upon what the others said at the
table--and that quite shrewdly, Hiram noticed; but the other boarders
considered him a little cracked.
Sister smiled sheepishly at Hiram as she passed the tea. She drowned
his tea with milk and put in no less than four spoonfuls of sugar. But
although the fluid was utterly spoiled for Hiram's taste he drank it
with fortitude, knowing that the girl's generosity was the child of her
gratitude; for both sugar and milk were articles very scantily supplied
at Mother Atterson's table.
The mistress herself did not appear. Now that he was down here in the
dining-room, Hiram lingered. He hated the thought of going up to his
lonely and narrow quarters at the top of the house.
The other boarders trailed out of the room and up stairs, one after
another, Old Lem Camp being the last to go. Sister brought in a dish of
hot toast between two plates and set it at the upper end of the table.
Then Mrs. Atterson appeared.
Hiram knew at once that something had gone wrong with the boarding
house mistress. She had been crying, and when a woman of the age of Mrs.
Atterson indulges in tears, her personal appearance is never improved.
"Oh, that you, Hi?" she drawled, with a snuffle. "Did you get enough to
eat?"
"Yes, Mrs. Atterson," returned the youth, starting to get up. "I have
had plenty."
"I'm glad you did," said the lady. "And you're easy'side of most of
'em, Hiram. You're a real good boy."
"I reckon I get all I pay for, Mrs. Atterson," said her youngest
boarder.
"Well, there ain't many of 'em would say that. And they was awful
provokin' this noon. That roast of veal was just as good meat as I could
find in market; and I don't know what any sensible party would want
better than that prune pie.
"Well! I hope I won't have to keep a boarding house all my life. It's a
thankless task. An' it ties a body down so.
"Here's my uncle--my poor mother's only brother and about the only
relative I've got in the world--here's Uncle Jeptha down with the grip,
or suthin', and goodness knows if he'll ever get over it. And I can't
leave to go and see him die peaceable."
"Does he live far from here?" asked Hiram, politely, although he had no
particular reason for being interested in Uncle Jeptha.
"He lives on a farm out Scoville way. He's lived there most all his
life. He used to make a right good living off'n that farm, too; but it's
run down some now.
"The last time I was out there, two years ago, he was just keepin' along
and that's all. And now I expect he's dying, without a chick or child
of his own by him," and she burst out crying again, the tears sprinkling
the square of toast into which she continued to bite.
Of course, it was ridiculous. A middle-aged woman weeping and eating
toast and drinking strong boiled tea is not a romantic picture. But as
Hiram climbed to his room he wished with all his heart that he could
help Mrs. Atterson.
He wasn't the only person in the world who seemed to have got into
a wrong environment--lots of people didn't fit right into their
circumstances in life.
"We're square pegs in round holes--that's what we are," mused Hiram.
"That's what I am. I wish I was out of it. I wish I was back on the
farm."
CHAPTER III. A DREARY DAY
Daniel Dwight's Emporium, the general store was called, and it was in a
very populous part of the town of Crawberry. Old Daniel was a driver, he
seldom had clerks enough to handle his trade properly, and nobody could
suit him. As general helper and junior clerk, Hiram Strong had remained
with the concern longer than any other boy Daniel had hired in years.
When the early Monday morning rush was over, and there was moment's
breathing space, Hiram went to the door to re-arrange the trays of
vegetables which were his particular care. Hiram had a knack of making
a bank of the most plebeian vegetable and salads look like the
display-window of a florist.
Now the youth looked out upon a typical city street, the dwellings
on either side being four and five story tenement houses, occupied by
artisans and mechanics.
A few quarreling children paddled sticks, or sailed chip boats, in the
gutters.
"Come on, now! Get a move on you, Hi!" sounded the raucous voice of
Daniel Dwight the elder, behind him in the store.
Hiram went at his task with neither interest nor energy.
All about him the houses and the street were grimy and depressing. It
had been a gray and murky morning; but overhead a patch of sky was as
blue as June. He suddenly saw a flock of pigeons wheeling above the
tunnel of the street, and the boy's heart leaped at the sight.
He longed for freedom. He wished he could fly, up, up, up above the
housetops and the streets, like those feathered fowl.
He knew he was stagnating here in this dingy store; the deadly sameness
of his life chafed him sorely.
"I'd take another job if I could find one," he muttered, stirring up the
bunches of yellowing radish leaves and trying to make them look fresh.
"And Old Daniel is likely to give me a chance to hunt a job pretty
sudden--the way he talks. But if Dan, Junior, told him what happened
yesterday, I wonder the old gentleman hasn't been after me with a sharp
stick."
From somewhere--out of the far-distant open country where it had been
breathing all night the quivering pines, and brown swamps, and the
white and gray checkered fields that would soon be upturned by the
plowshares--a vagrant wind wandered into the city street.
The lingering, but faint perfume wafted here from God's open world to
die in this man-made town inspired in the youth thoughts and desires
that had been struggling within him for expression for days past.
"I know what I want," said Hiram Strong, aloud. "I want to get back to
the land!"
The progress of the day was not inducive to a hopeful outlook for
Hiram. When closing time came he was heartily sick of the business of
storekeeping, if he never had been before.
And when he dragged himself home to the boarding house, he found the
atmosphere there as dreary as the street itself. The boarders were
grumpy and Mrs. Atterson was in a tearful state again.
Hiram could not stay in his room. It was a narrow, cold place at the end
of the back hall at the top of the house. There was a little, painted
bureau in it, one leg of which had been replaced by a brick, and the
little glass was so blue and blurred that he never could see in it
whether his tie was straight or not.
There was a chair, a shelf for books, and a narrow folding bed. When the
bed was dropped down for his occupancy at night, he could not get the
door open. Had there ever been a fire at Atterson's at night, Hiram's
best chance for escape would have been by the window.
So this evening, to kill the miserable stretch of time until sleep
should come to him, the boy went out and walked the streets.
Two things had saved Hiram Strong from getting into bad company on these
evening rambles. One was the small amount of money he earned, and the
other was the naturally clean nature of the boy. The cheap amusements
which lured on either hand did not attract him.
But the dangers are there in every city, and they lurk for every boy in
a like position.
The main thoroughfare in this part of the town where Hiram boarded
was brightly lighted, gaudy electric signs attracting notice to cheap
picture shows, catch-penny arcades, cheap jewelry stores, and the ever
present saloons and pool rooms.
It looked bright, and warm, and lively in many of these places; but the
country-bred boy was cautious.
Now and then a raucous-voiced automobile shot along the street; the
electric cars made their usual clangor, and there was still some
ordinary traffic of the day dribbling away into the side streets, for it
was early in the evening.
Hiram was about to turn into one of these side streets on his way back
to Mrs. Atterson's. Turning the corner was a handsome span of horses
attached to a comfortable but mud-bespattered carriage. It was plainly
from the country.
The light at the corner of the street shone brightly into the carriage.
Hiram saw a well-built man in a gray greatcoat and slouch hat, holding
the reins over the backs of the spirited horses.
Beside him sat a girl. She could have been no more than twelve or
fourteen--not so old as Sister, by a year or two. But how different she
was from the starved-looking, boarding house slavey!
She was framed in furs--rich, gray and black furs that muffled her
from top to toe, only leaving her brilliant, dark little face with its
perfect features shining like a jewel in its setting.
She was talking laughingly to the big man beside her, and he was looking
down at her. Perhaps this was why he did not see what lay just ahead--or
perhaps the glare of the street light blinded him, as it must have the
horses, as the equipage turned into the darker side street.
But Hiram saw their peril. He sprang into the street with a cry of
warning. And he was lucky enough to seize the nigh horse by the bridle
and pull both the high-steppers around.
There was an excavation--an opening for a water-main--in this street.
The workmen had either neglected to leave a red lantern, or malicious
boys had stolen it.
Another moment and the horses would have been in this excavation and
even now the carriage swayed. One forward wheel went over the edge of
the hole, and for the minute it was doubtful whether Hiram had saved the
occupants of the carriage by his quick action, or had accelerated the
catastrophe.
CHAPTER IV. THE LOST CARD
Had Hiram Strong not been a muscular youth for his age, and sturdy
withal, the excited horses would have broken away from him and the
carriage would certainly have gone into the ditch.
But he had a grip on the bridle reins now that could not be broken,
although the horses plunged and struck fire from the stones of the
street with their shoes. He dragged them forward, the carriage pitched
and rolled for a moment, and then stood upright again, squarely on its
four wheels.
"All right, lad! I've got 'em!" exclaimed the gentleman in the carriage.
He had a hearty, husky sort of voice--a voice that came from deep down
in his chest and was more than a little hoarse. But there was no quiver
of excitement in it. Indeed, he who had been in peril was much less
disturbed by the incident than was Hiram himself.
Nor had the girl screamed, or otherwise voiced her terror. Now Hiram
heard her say, as he stepped back from the plunging horses:
"That is a good boy, Daddy. Speak to him again."
The man in gray laughed. He was now holding in the frightened team with
one firm hand while he fumbled in the pocket of his big coat with the
other.
"He certainly has got some muscle, that lad," announced the gentleman.
"Here, son, where can I find you when I'm in town again?"
"I work at Dwight's Emporium," replied Hiram, rather diffidently.
"All right. Thanks. Here's my card. You're the kind of a boy I like.
I'll surely look you up."
He held out the bit of pasteboard to Hiram; but as the youth stepped
nearer to reach it, the impatient horses sprang forward and the carriage
rolled swiftly by him.
The card flipped from the man's fingers. Hiram grabbed for it, but
missed the card. It fluttered into the excavation in the street and the
shadow hid it completely from the boy's gaze.
Had there been a lantern nearby, as there should have been, Hiram would
have taken it to search for the lost card. For he felt suddenly as
though Opportunity had brushed past him.
The man in the carriage evidently lived out of town. He might be a
prosperous farmer. And, being a farmer, he might be able to give Hiram
just the sort of job he was looking for.
The card, of course, would have put Hiram in touch with the man. And he
seemed like a hearty, good-natured individual.
"And the girl--his daughter--was as pretty as a picture," thought Hiram,
as he turned wearily toward the boarding house. "Well! I don't know that
I'll ever see either of them again; but if I could learn that man's name
and address I'd certainly look him up."
So much did this thought disturb him that he was up an hour earlier than
usual the next morning and hurried to work by the way of the excavation
in the street where the incident had occurred.
But he could not find the card, although he got down into the ditch to
search for it. The loose sand, perhaps, rattling down from the sides of
the excavation during the night, had buried the bit of pasteboard, and
Hiram went on to Dwight's Emporium more disheartened than ever.
The work there went worse that morning. Old Daniel Dwight drove the
young fellow from one task to another. The other clerks got a minute's
time to themselves now and then; but the proprietor of the store seemed
to have his keen eyes on Hiram continually.
There was always a slow-up in the work about ten o'clock, and Hiram had
a request to make. He asked Old Daniel for an hour off.
"An hour off--with all this work to do? What do you mean, boy?" roared
the proprietor. "What do you want an hour for?"
"I've got an errand," replied Hiram, quietly.
"Well, what is it?" snarled the old man, curiously.
"Why--it's a private matter. I can't tell you," returned the youth,
coolly.
"No good, I'll be bound--no good. I don't see why I should let you off
an hour----"
"I work many an hour overtime for you, Mr. Dwight," put in Hiram.
"Yes, yes; that's all right. That's the agreement. You knew you'd have
to when you came to work at the Emporium. Stick to your contract, boy."
"Then why don't you stick to yours?" demanded the youth, boldly.
"Eh! Eh! What do you mean by that?" cried Mr. Dwight, glaring at Hiram
through his spectacles.
"I mean that when I came to work for you seven months ago, you promised
that, if I suited after six months, you would raise my wages. And you
haven't done so," said the young fellow, firmly.
For a moment the proprietor of the Emporium was dumb. It was true. He
had promised just that. He had got the boy cheaper by so doing. But
never before had he hired a boy who stayed as long as six months, so he
had never had to raise his wages.
"Well, well!"
He stammered for a moment; then a shrewd thought came to his mind.
He actually smiled. When Mr. Dwight smiled it was worse than when he
didn't.
"I told you that if you suited me I'd raise your pay, did I?" he
snarled. "Well, you don't suit me. You never have suited me. Therefore,
you get no raise, young man."
Hiram was not astonished; he was only indignant. Another boy might | 863.376653 |
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* * * * *
BOYS AND GIRLS BOOKSHELF
_A Practical Plan of Character Building_
COMPLETE IN SEVENTEEN VOLUMES
I Fun and Thought for Little Folk
II Folk-Lore, Fables, and Fairy Tales
III Famous Tales and Nature Stories
IV Things to Make and Things to Do
V True Stories from Every Land
VI Famous Songs and Picture Stories
VII Nature and Outdoor Life, Part I
VIII Nature and Outdoor Life, Part II
IX Earth, Sea, and Sky
X Games and Handicraft
XI Wonders of Invention
XII Marvels of Industry
XIII Every Land and its Story
XIV Famous Men and Women
XV Bookland--Story and Verse, Part I
XVI Bookland--Story and Verse, Part II
XVII Graded and Classified Index
THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY
INCORPORATED
_New York_
[Illustration: THE SUNSET FAIRIES
FROM A DRAWING BY FLORENCE MARY ANDERSON]
BOYS AND GIRLS
BOOKSHELF
_A Practical Plan of Character Building_
Little Folks' Section
[Illustration: INSTRUCTIVE PLAY... VOCATIONAL GUIDANCE
The Four Fold Life
MENTAL PHYSICAL SOCIAL MORAL]
Prepared Under the Supervision of
THE EDITORIAL BOARD _of the_ UNIVERSITY SOCIETY
Volume II
FOLK-LORE, FABLES, AND FAIRY TALES
THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY
INCORPORATED
_New York_
Copyright, 1920, By
THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY INC.
Copyright, 1912, 1915, By
THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY INC.
_Manufactured in the U. S. A._
INTRODUCTION
This volume is devoted to a choice collection of the standard and
new fairy-tales, wonder stories, and fables. They speak so truly and
convincingly for themselves that we wish to use this introductory page
only to emphasize their value to young children. There are still those
who find no room in their own reading, and would give none in the
reading of the young, except for facts. They confuse facts and truth,
and forget that there is a world of truth that is larger than the mere
facts of life, being compact of imagination and vision and ideals. Dr.
Hamilton Wright Mabie convinced us of this in his cogent words.
"America," he said, "has at present greater facility in producing
'smart' men than in producing able men; the alert, quick-witted
money-maker abounds, but the men who live with ideas, who care for the
principles of things, and who make life rich in resource and interest,
are comparatively few. America needs poetry more than it needs
industrial training, though the two ought never to be separated. The
time to awaken the imagination, which is the creative faculty, is early
childhood, and the most accessible material for this education is the
literature which the race created in its childhood."
The value of the fairy-tale and the wonder-tale is that they tell about
the magic of living. Like the old woman in Mother Goose, they "brush
the cobwebs out of the sky." They enrich, not cheapen, life. Plenty of
things do cheapen life for children. Most movies do. Sunday comic
supplements do. Ragtime songs do. Mere gossip does. But fairy stories
enhance life.
They are called "folk-tales," that is, tales of the common folk. They
were largely the dreams of the poor. They consist of fancies that have
illumined the hard facts of life. They find animals, trees, flowers,
and the stars friendly. They speak of victory. In them the child is
master even of dragons. He can live like a prince, in disguise, or,
if he be uncomely, he may hope to win Beauty after he is free of his
masquerade.
Wonder-stories help make good children as well as happy children.
In these stories witches, wolves, and evil persons are defeated or
exposed. Fairy godmothers are ministers of justice. The side that the
child wishes to triumph always does triumph, and so goodness always is
made to seem worth-while.
Almost every fairy-tale contains a test of character or shrewdness or
courage. Sharp distinctions are made, that require a child of parts to
discern.
And the heroes of these nursery tales are much more convincing than
precepts or golden texts, for they impress upon the child not merely
what he ought to do, but what nobly has been done. And the small
hero-worshiper will follow where his admirations lead.
Fables do much the same, and by imagining that the animals have arrived
at human speech and wisdom, they help the child to think shrewdly and
in a friendly way, as if in comradeship with his pets and with our
brothers and sisters, the beasts of the field and forest.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
#THE OLD FAIRY TALES#
THE ROAD TO FAIRY LAND 2
By Cecil Cavendish
THE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS GOLDENLOCKS 3
PRINCE HYACINTH AND THE DEAR LITTLE PRINCESS 7
By Madame Leprince De Beaumont
CINDERELLA 10
By Charles Perrault
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 13
Adapted from the Brothers Grimm
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 15
PRINCE DARLING 20
RUMPELSTILTSKIN 26
Adapted from the Grimm Brothers
RAPUNZELL, OR THE FAIR MAID WITH GOLDEN HAIR 28
By the Brothers Grimm
SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED 30
By | 863.380878 |
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by the BibliothA"que nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Words that were printed in italics are marked with _ _.
Printing and spelling errors have been corrected. A list of these
corrections can be found at the end of the document. Inconsistencies in
spelling, hyphenation and between the List of Illustrations and the
actual titles of Plates have not been corrected.
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION----BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.
ART IN SHELL
OF THE
ANCIENT AMERICANS.
BY
WILLIAM H. HOLMES.
CONTENTS.
Page.
Introductory 185
Implements and utensils 189
Unworked shells 189
Vessels 192
Spoons 198
Knives 201
Celts 203
Scrapers 205
Agricultural implements 207
Fishing appliances 207
Weapons 210
Tweezers 211
Ornaments 213
Pins 213
Beads 219
Perforated shells 219
Discoidal beads 221
Massive beads 223
Tubular beads 226
Runtees 228
Beads as ornaments 230
Beads as currency 234
Mnemonic use of beads 240
Pendants 255
Perforated plates 264
Engraved gorgets 267
The cross 268
The scalloped disk 273
The bird 280
The spider 286
The serpent 289
The human face 293
The human figure 297
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
PLATE XXI.--Natural shells as vessels 192
XXII.--Vessels artificially shaped 194
XXIII.--Vessel with engraved surface 196
XXIV.--Spoons 200
XXV.--Celts 204
XXVI.--Cutting and scraping implements 206
XXVII.--Weapons, agricultural implements, etc. 208
XXVIII.--Fishing appliances 210
XXIX.--Manufacture of pins and beads 214
XXX.--Pins, Atlantic coast forms 216
XXXI.--Pins, Pacific coast forms 218
XXXII.--Beads, perforated shells 220
XXXIII.--Beads, discoidal in form 222
XXXIV.--Beads, massive in form 224
XXXV.--Beads, tubular in form 226
XXXVI.--Beads, "Runtees" 228
XXXVII.--The wampum belt in treaties 240
XXXVIII.--Wampum belts 242
XXXIX.--Wampum belts 244
XL.--Wampum belt 246
XLI.--Wampum belt 248
XLII.--Wampum belt 250
XLIII.--The Penn belt 252
XLIV.--Strings of wampum 254
XLV.--Ancient pendant ornaments 256
XLVI.--Plain pendants, Atlantic coast forms 258
XLVII.--Plain pendants, Pacific coast forms 260
XLVIII.--Plain pendants, Pacific coast forms 262
XLIX.--Plain pendants, Pacific coast forms 264
L.--Perforated plates 266
LI.--Engraved gorgets, the cross 268
LII.--Engraved gorgets, the cross 270
LIII.--Engraved gorgets, the cross 272
LIV.--Engraved gorgets, scalloped disks 274
LV.--Engraved gorgets, scalloped disks 276
LVI.--Engraved gorgets, scalloped disks 278
LVII.--Scalloped disks, etc. 280
LVIII.--Engraved gorgets, the bird, etc. 282
LIX.--Engraved gorgets, the bird, etc. 284
LX.--Engraved gorgets, the bird 286
LXI.--Engraved gorgets, the spider 288
LXII.--Engraved gorgets, the rattlesnake 290
LXIII.--Engraved gorgets, the rattlesnake 290
LXIV.--Engraved gorgets, the rattlesnake 292
LXV.--Engraved gorgets, the rattlesnake 292
LXVI.--The serpent 292
LXVII.--Engraved gorgets, the human face 294
LXVIII.--Engraved gorgets, the human face 294
LXIX.--Engraved gorgets, the human face 296
LXX.--Engraved gorgets, the human face 296
LXXI.--Engraved gorgets, the human figure 298
LXXII.--Engraved gorgets, the human figure 298
LXXIII.--Engraved gorgets, the human figure 300
LXXIV.--Engraved gorgets, the human figure 300
LXXV.--Engraved gorgets, the human figure 302
LXXVI.--The human figure 302
LXXVII.--Sculptured frogs 304
ART IN SHELL OF THE ANCIENT AMERICANS.
BY WILLIAM H. HOLMES.
INTRODUCTORY.
The student will find scattered throughout a wide range of archaeologic
literature frequent but casual mention of works of art in shell.
Individual uses of shell have been dwelt upon at considerable length by
a few authors, but up to this time no one has undertaken the task of
bringing together in one view the works of primitive man in this
material.
Works of ancient peoples in stone, clay, and bronze, in all countries,
have been pretty thoroughly studied, described, and illustrated.
Stone would seem to have the widest range, as it is employed with almost
equal readiness in all the arts.
Clay is widely used and takes a foremost place in works of utility and
taste.
Metals are too intractable to be readily employed by primitive peoples,
and until a high grade of culture is attained are but little used.
Animal substances of compact character, such as bone, horn, ivory, and
shell, are also restricted in their use, and the more destructible
substances, both animal and vegetable, however extensively employed,
have comparatively little archaeologic importance.
All materials, however, are made subservient to man and in one way or
another become the agents of culture; under the magic influence of his
genius they are moulded into new forms which remain after his
disappearance as the only records of his existence.
Each material, in the form of convenient natural objects, is applied to
such uses as it is by nature best fitted, and when artificial
modifications are finally made, they follow the suggestions of nature,
improvements being carried forward in lines harmonious with the
initiatory steps of nature.
Had the materials placed at the disposal of primitive peoples been as
uniform as are their wants and capacities, there would have been but
little variation in the art products of the world; but the utilization
of a particular material in the natural state gives a strong bias to
artificial products, and its forms and functions impress themselves upon
art products in other materials. Thus unusual resources engender unique
arts and unique cultures. Such a result, I apprehend, has in a measure
been achieved in North America.
In a broad region at one time occupied by the mound-building tribes we
observe a peculiar and an original effort--an art distinctive in the
material employed, in the forms developed, and to some extent in the
ideas represented. It is an age of shell, a sort of supplement to the
age of stone.
It is not my intention here to attempt at extended discussion of the
bearings of this art upon the various interesting questions of
anthropologic science, but rather to present certain of its phases in
the concrete, to study the embodiment of the art of the | 863.385565 |
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THE EVOLUTION OF STATES
AN INTRODUCTION TO ENGLISH POLITICS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ESSAYS TOWARDS A CRITICAL METHOD.
NEW ESSAYS T | 863.385771 |
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Libraries.)
THE MAIL PAY ON THE
BURLINGTON RAILROAD
Statements of Car Space and all Facilities Furnished
for the Government Mails and for Express and
Passengers in all Passenger Trains on
the Chicago, Burlington and
Quincy Railroad
Prepared in accordance with requests of the Post-Office Dept.
THE MAIL PAY
ON THE
Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Railroad
The present system under which the Government employs railroads to
carry the mails was established in 1873, thirty-seven years ago. Under
this system, the Post Office Department designates between what named
towns upon each railroad in the country a so-called "mail route" shall
be established. Congress prescribes a scale of rates for payment per
mile of such mail route per year, based upon the average weight of
mails transported over the route daily, "with due frequency and
speed," and under "regulations" promulgated from time to time by the
Post Office Department. To this is added a certain allowance for the
haulage and use of post office cars built and run exclusively for the
mails, based upon their length. The annual rate of expenditure to all
railroads for mail service on all routes in operation June 30, 1909,
was $44,885,395.29 for weight of mail, and for post office cars
$4,721,044.87, the "car pay," so-called, being nine and five-tenths
per cent of the total pay. The payment by weight is, therefore, the
real basis of the compensation to railroads. The rate itself, however,
varies upon different mail routes to a degree that is neither
scientific nor entirely reasonable. The rate per ton or per hundred
pounds upon a route carrying a small weight is twenty times greater
than is paid over a route carrying the heaviest weight. The Government
thus appropriates to its own advantage an extreme application of the
wholesale principle and demands a low rate for large shipments, which
principle it denounces as unjust discrimination if practiced in favor
of private shippers by wholesale. The effect of the application of
this principle has been to greatly reduce the average mail rate year
by year as the business increases. This constant rate reduction was
described by Hon. Wm. H. Moody (now Mr. Justice Moody of the United
States Supreme Court) in his separate report as a member of the
Wolcott Commission in the following language:
"The existing law prescribing railway mail pay automatically
lowers the rate on any given route as the volume of traffic
increases. Mr. Adams shows that by the normal effect of this law
the rate per ton mile is $1.17, when the average daily weight of
mail is 200 pounds, and, decreasing with the increase of volume,
it becomes 6.073 cents when the average daily weight is 300,000
pounds."
NOTE.--Since 1907 the railroads have been paid at much reduced rates.
On the heavy routes the pay is now 5.54 cents per ton per mile.
Post Office Department officials have announced, as their conclusion
from the results of the special weighing in 1907, that the average
length of haul of all mail is 620 miles.
The bulk of the mail is now carried on the heavy routes at 5.54 cents
per ton per mile, or $34.34 per ton for the average haul, that is, for
one and seven-tenths cents per pound.
The railroads, therefore, receive less than one and three-fourths
cents per pound for carrying the greater part of the mails.
* * * * *
But the rate reduction for wholesale quantities has not had the effect
of reducing the actual remuneration of the railroads for carrying the
mails to nearly so great an extent as the increasing requirements for
excessive space for distributing mails en route. This feature was
likewise discussed by Judge Moody in his report in the following
language:
"The rule of transportation invoked is based upon the assumption
that the increase of traffic permits the introduction of
increased economy, notably, the economy which results in so
loading cars that the ratio of dead weight to paying freight is
decreased. Yet this economy is precisely what our method of
transporting mail denies to the railroads. Instead of permitting
the mail cars, whether apartment or full postal cars, to be
loaded to their full capacity, the Government demands that the
cars shall be lightly loaded so that there may be ample space
for the sorting and distribution of mail en route. In other
words, instead of a freight car, a traveling post office."
An illustration of the extent to which the reductions have been
carried, as shown upon one railroad system, is set forth in the letter
of January 21, 1909, addressed to the Committee on Post Offices and
Post Roads of the House of Representatives by Mr. Ralph Peters,
President of the Long Island Railroad, who states that the actual cost
to his company of carrying the United States mail for the year was
$122,169, while the total compensation for that service paid by the
Government was $41,196. Mr. Peters says:
"The Long Island Company received from the Government for mail
service performed in expensive passenger trains one-half the
rate received by it per car mile for average class freight in
slow-moving freight trains."
The Long Island Company notified the Government that it would decline
to carry the mails by the present expensive methods, unless Congress
makes some provision for a more adequate compensation. A notification
of similar import has been given by The New York, New Haven & Hartford
Railroad Company, the principal carrier in New England. Their position
in this matter will undoubtedly be taken by other roads, because the
same condition of inadequate compensation prevails upon hundreds of
small railroads and mail routes, especially in the Southern and
Western States.
Notwithstanding these facts, a powerful interest, which commands the
public ear and derives great profit from the one-cent-per-pound rate
of postage, has, in order to divert public attention from itself, for
years industriously and systematically circulated false statistics and
false statements among the people regarding the railroad mail pay, and
is now circulating them.
The extent to which the public is being deceived regarding the
railroad mail pay is disclosed daily. In a recent hearing before the
Senate Committee on Post offices and Post-Roads, Senator Carter of
Montana said:
"We are all getting letters on this subject. I received the
other day a letter from a very intelligent lady in Montana
claiming that the Government is paying to the Northern Pacific
Railway on that branch line for carrying the mail $97,000 per
year. On inquiring at the Post Office Department, I find that
the total compensation of the Northern Pacific Company for mail
service on that line is $3,070 per year."
This state of things was a sufficient reason for the Post Office
Department to institute the present series of inquiries tending to
show the space in passenger trains upon the railroads demanded and
used by the Government for the mails in comparison with the space
devoted to express and passenger service, and the relative rates of
compensation in each class of service and the extent to which the
roads are receiving for carrying the mails the cost to them of
performing the service. In order to give these facts fair
consideration, it is not necessary to admit that "space" is, or is
not, a better and more workable basis for determining what is
reasonable mail pay than "weight," nor to admit that the companies are
only entitled to be paid by the Government for the service rendered to
it the bare cost of rendering that service, that is, to receive back
the train operating cost. Questions of speed and facilities furnished,
and the preference character of the traffic and the exceptional value
of the service, and other elements, must be considered as well as
space and cost, but that is no reason why the relative proportion of
space used and the relation of compensation to cost should not be
ascertained and given due weight, in the consideration of the
important question of what is adequate mail pay to the railroads.
The following pages are based upon answers to the interrogatories of
the Post Office Department and contain a statement of the mail service
performed by the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad Company, a
system extending westward from Chicago into eleven different States
and embracing approximately ten thousand miles of main and branch
lines.
The two principal tables of interrogatories were sent out under date
of September 28, 1909, by the Post Office Department as the basis for
this investigation.
These tables indicate the minute and thorough manner which the
Department employed in making this inquiry.
Some questions having arisen regarding the meaning and scope of the
word "authorized" in connection with the returns of space occupied and
used for the mails in Post Office cars and apartment cars, and in
certain other features, the Department, under date October 23, 1909,
issued an important supplementary letter of instructions.
Pursuant to these interrogatories, instructions and requests the
Burlington Company has filed with the Department the exact and
detailed statements, train by train and car by car, of the mail
service upon each of the one hundred and two mail routes on its
system, large and small, for the month of November, 1909, which were
thus called for. These answers state the facts and state them in the
manner prescribed wherever possible. Every inch of space on passenger
trains and cars which in these tables is shown to be occupied or used
for mail or express or for passengers is set down from actual
measurements made, car by car, and not upon any "estimate" or
"consist" basis.
In the appendix will be found four tables prepared under the direction
and supervision of Mr. DeWitt which contain the results of this
investigation into the mail service upon the Burlington, as disclosed
in these statements.
Exhibit A is a statement of the car facilities or space used in every
car in service on the road during the month of November for mail, and
for express or occupied by passengers based upon replies to questions
prescribed in Form 2601.
Exhibit B is a statement of the station facilities, furnished for the
mail, prepared on Form 2602.
Exhibit C is a statement of Revenues and Expenses and of train and car
mileage, prepared on Form 2603.
Exhibit D is a statement of the number, and cost, and present value of
Post Office cars and Apartment cars, prepared on Form 2605.
THE INTEGRITY OF THE RETURNS.
In November, 1909, all the service rendered in all passenger trains
and cars of the Burlington system, reduced to a common basis of car
foot miles (that is, each foot of linear space that was carried one
mile), amounted to 529,936,590 car foot miles, divided as follows:
In Passenger
Service. Mails. Express.
428,164,920 62,246,130 39,525,540
(80.8%) (11.75%) (7.45%)
The original circular of the Post Office Department contained certain
"notes," to the effect that in reporting the length of postal cars and
apartment cars, and the space therein used for mails, the railroad
companies should only report the length or space "authorized" by the
officials of the Department; also that in reporting space used in cars
for what is known as the "Closed Pouch Service," the railroads should
make an arbitrary allowance of six linear inches across the car for
the first 200 pounds or less of average daily weight of pouch mail and
three linear inches for each additional 100 pounds.
These directions were modified by the subsequent circular letter of
the Department, dated October 23, 1909.
This letter, among other things, directs the company to take credit
for "surplus" space in post office cars and apartment cars, if
actually used for the storage of mails.
The practical difficulties attending the measurement and proper
allotment of the space used for the mails in postal and other cars run
on a passenger train will be better understood when it is known that
such space is or may be described in at least eight different ways,
and is actually used on the Burlington road as follows, namely:
1. Space in post office cars specially "authorized" (43.03%).
2. Space in apartment cars specifically "ordered" (20.69%).
3. Space ordered in post office cars operated in lieu of apartment
cars (4.3%).
4. Additional space actually used for storage of mails when the
railroad company operates larger post office or apartment cars than
the authorization calls for (1.5%).
5. Space in storage cars actually used for mails (12.87%).
6. Space in baggage cars used for closed pouch mails (4.06%).
7. The return deadhead movement of space ordered and required in one
direction only (8.35%).
(Ninety-five per cent of all the "space" shown in these returns for
the Burlington, as used for the mails, comes within the foregoing
seven classes, as properly authorized space about which no question
can arise.)
8. "Surplus" space; that is, space furnished to the Government in post
office and apartment cars in excess of actual requirements (5.2%).
This five per cent is the only portion of the space claimed as used
for mails regarding which any question can be raised, affecting the
integrity of these returns.
What is the correct view as to this five per cent?
It is manifestly against the interest of the railroad company to
furnish space for mails that is not required, and it will never
furnish such space if it can be avoided. But the "requirements" of the
Post Office Department are not fixed and certain quantities, by any
means. It is entirely impracticable for any railroad company to keep
on hand at all times a supply of cars of all lengths in order to meet
exactly the requirements of the Department officials.
These statistics have been called for by the Post Office Department to
enable it to make accurate comparisons between the space used and the
facilities furnished on passenger trains for the three classes of
service performed, that is, for express companies, for the Government
in mail carriage, and for passengers. The point of the whole inquiry
is this:
Does the Government contribute to the cost of the passenger train
service upon the railroads of the country its fair share, that is, in
proportion to the space and facilities it demands and requires the
companies to furnish for the mails?
In making the comparison all the car space in all passenger trains
must be measured and tabulated and has been measured and tabulated in
the tables here submitted.
A passenger car may have seats to accommodate eighty persons; the
average load it carries may be fifteen persons. But in making up these
returns of "space," all the empty space in that car is credited as
passenger space. That car may likewise be loaded only one way and
returned "dead head," but these returns have credited such return
movement as passenger space.
The same is true of the express service in these returns. All space in
all baggage and express cars set aside for the express company's use
is, in these tables of statistics, credited to express, whether in
fact loaded or "surplus," or "dead head" space.
How is a comparison possible, unless the space credited to the mails
is recorded in the same way? As stated above, only five per cent of
the whole space is involved in the question of "surplus" space, and if
that five per cent should be entirely thrown out, the percentage
results would not be materially changed.
RESULTS UPON THE BURLINGTON ROAD.
The Government cannot justly ask a railroad company to carry the mails
without profit.
The passenger business on the Burlington road is conducted without
profit if it is charged with the expenses assignable to passenger
traffic, and a proper proportion of the expenses not thus specifically
assignable, and a fair share of the taxes and the charges for capital
in the form of interest on bonds and dividends on stock. The profit in
the business comes from the freight.
This fact gives force to the present inquiry of the Post Office
Department to determine whether the Government, in proportion to the
service and facilities it requires from the roads on passenger trains,
is contributing a fair proportion of the passenger train earnings. If
the passenger train business, as a whole, is carried on at a loss, the
Government ought, in fairness, to stand at least its share of the
loss.
The earnings of the Burlington Company from all passenger train
service in November were $2,242,099.
The following table shows the earnings from passengers, from mail and
express, and the space used in passenger trains by the three classes
of traffic and the proportion of earnings contributed for facilities
so used:
_Earnings._ _Car Foot Miles._
Passengers $1,859,839 (82.95%) 428,164,920 (80.80%)
Express 187,825 ( 8.38%) 39,525,540 ( 7.45%)
Mails 194,435 ( 8.67%) 62,246,130 (11.75%)
---------- -----------
Total $2,242,099 529,936,590
This table shows that for each one thousand feet of space used in
passenger trains the three classes of passenger traffic contributed in
earnings as follows:
Passengers $4.34 139.1%
Express $4.75 152.2%
Mails $3.12 100%
In proportion to the space occupied and facilities used on passenger
trains, the Burlington road receives from passengers 39 per cent more
than the Government pays for mail transportation, and from the Adams
Express Company 52 per cent more; that is, the express business pays
the railroad company better than the Government pays for carrying the
mails by 52 per cent.
If the Government had paid to the railroad company as much as the
express company for each foot of space required and used on passenger
trains, it would, for November, have paid $101,233 more than it did
pay, or an increase in annual mail pay of more than a million dollars.
* * * * *
It may be of interest to note that the returns for the Pennsylvania
System just being filed show the following:
_Earnings._ _Car Foot Miles._
Passengers 79.8% 76.2%
Express 12.6% 13.7%
Mails 7.6% 10.1%
For each 1,000 feet of passenger train space used on the Pennsylvania
the traffic contributed in earnings as follows:
Passengers $4.45 139%
Express 3.91 122%
Mails 3.20 100%
On the Pennsylvania the passenger business is worth to that company 39
per cent more than the Government mail business, and the express
business is worth 22 per cent more than the mails, indicating that
express rates are relatively higher in the West than the East, but
that neither in the East nor in the West is it a paying business to
carry the mails at present rates.
IS THE GOVERNMENT PAYING THE RAILROADS FOR CARRYING THE MAILS THE COST
OF DOING THE WORK?
No. The Government paid the C. B. & Q. for carrying the mails in
November $194,435, or at the rate of $2,333,220 annually.
The total operating expenses of the road for that month were
$5,452,830.
The items of passenger train operating expense strictly assignable
were as follows:
Transportation Expense $454,208
Fuel passenger engines $132,709
Salaries passenger engineers 100,511
Salaries passenger trainmen 87,557
Train supplies, etc. 55,664
Injuries to persons 19,904
Station employees 17,160
Joint yards and terminals 15,610
Miscellaneous 25,093
--------
Maintenance of Equipment $107,626
Repairs, passenger cars $67,650
Depreciation, passenger cars 39,639
Miscellaneous 337
-------
Traffic Expense $48,971
Advertising $17,249
Outside agencies 16,673
Superintendence 10,272
Miscellaneous 4,777
-------
Maintenance of Way, etc. $12,970
Buildings and grounds $7,053
Joint tracks, etc. 4,440
Miscellaneous 1,477
------
General Expense $13,580
Salaries, clerks, etc. $8,994
Insurance 2,478
Legal expense 1,153
Miscellaneous 955
------ --------
Total $637,355
Proportion operating expense not assignable $1,278,016
----------
Total $1,915,371
A large part of the operating expenses of every railroad, such as
maintenance of roadway, station expense, general office expense and
the like, are common to both the freight and passenger service, and it
seems impossible to assign all of them specifically. The Post Office
Department, in the circular under which the roads are reporting,
recognizes this condition and calls for the "proportion" of the
expense "not directly assignable and the basis of such apportionment."
The apportionment of non-assignable expense on the Burlington has been
made on the basis of train mileage.
In the month of November the mileage of passenger trains was
forty-five and four-tenths per cent of the total train mileage, and
the foregoing sum ($1,278,016) of non-assignable expense is forty-five
and four-tenths per cent of the operating expenses for that month,
common to both kinds of traffic, and therefore incapable of specific
assignment to either.
These two classes of passenger expense (assignable and non-assignable)
aggregate $1,915,371 monthly, or at the rate of $22,984,452 per year,
and 11.75 per cent of this sum, or $2,700,675, is the annual operating
cost to the Burlington Company of transporting the Government mails.
Cost of carrying the mails $2,700,675
Earnings from carrying the mails 2,333,220
----------
Loss $367,455
These figures show that, in proportion to the service rendered, the
Government paid to that company $367,455 less than the actual cost of
doing the work, not including anything for taxes, nor for interest
paid by the company upon its funded debt, which was necessary to be
paid, in order to preserve the property, to say nothing of a return
upon the capital represented by the capital stock.
The correct mail's proportion of taxes and interest for the year is
$634,713, which added to the $367,455 loss above operating expenses,
shows a loss of $1,002,168:
Loss, operating expenses over revenue $367,455
11.75% of taxes and interest 634,713
----------
Annual loss on mails $1,002,168
This takes no account of the annual value at two cents per mile of the
transportation of inspectors and postal employees, other than clerks
in charge of the mails ($74,352), nor of clerks in charge of the mails
($746,340).
These two items of service rendered to the Government by the C. B. &
Q. road are of the admitted value of $820,692 annually.
The railroad company has the same duty and legal responsibility
towards these clerks as towards passengers.
* * * * *
Is there another fair way of testing this question?
In a letter dated March 2, 1910, from Hon. Frank H. Hitchcock,
Postmaster-General, to Hon. John W. Weeks, Chairman of the Post Office
Committee of the House, printed in full herewith, he states it is
estimated that the average annual cost to the railroads of operating a
post office car for the Government is $19,710, including $2,049 for
lighting, heating, repairs, etc., and that the total average pay
received for the car and its contents including post office car pay,
is $16,638 per annum, showing a loss in this branch of the service of
$3,073 per car. There are 1,111 full postal cars in actual service in
the country, and the loss thereon, therefore, aggregates $3,414,103,
to say nothing of the 231 postal cars in reserve.
But that is the smaller part of the loss. There were 3,116 apartment
cars in actual use in 1909, averaging twenty feet in length, and the
cost of operating each of these, according to Mr. Hitchcock's figures,
would be one-third of $19,710, or $6,570.
The average haul of apartment cars is 48 miles, and the average load
in a twenty-foot apartment car is officially stated as 607 pounds,
making the rate per mile on routes carrying an average daily weight of
only 607 pounds, $68.40 per annum, and the average earnings,
therefore, $3,283 per year, an average loss of $3,287 per car and an
actual loss per year from operating the 3,116 apartment cars of
$10,642,292, to say nothing of the 639 apartment cars in reserve.
The C. B. & Q. has 76 full post office cars and 104 apartment cars,
and applying to them the foregoing figures given in Mr. Hitchcock's
letter, the loss from operating them in 1909 was $575,396, adding to
which $634,713, the mail's proportion of taxes and interest, that
must be included in estimating "cost," in which the Government's
business should share, the estimated loss on the business was
$1,210,109, compared with $1,002,168, arrived at by charging the
Government business with 11.75 per cent of the passenger expense, that
being its proportion of the space used in passenger trains.
The Government should be willing to pay fairly for what it exacts from
the railroads, and it exacts from the C. B. & Q. 11.75 per cent of its
passenger train facilities. If it had paid 11.75 per cent of the
passenger train expenses of the road in 1909, it would have paid
approximately a million dollars more than it did pay.
The Government which demands from the railroads that they build and
transport daily over their roads for its benefit 5,100 traveling post
offices as full postal cars and apartment cars should be willing to
pay what the Postmaster-General estimates to be the actual cost of
operating those cars, and a fair proportion of the taxes and interest.
If it had paid such cost in 1909, it would have paid to the C. B. & Q.
approximately a million dollars more than it did pay.
RESULTS ON VARIOUS MAIL ROUTES.
The foregoing are statements of results on the Burlington System as a
whole, showing earnings and expenses and facilities furnished to the
Government mail service.
It may be of interest, and throw light on the situation, to show
results for November upon several separate mail routes in the system,
ranging from small routes carrying 200 pounds of mail daily, up,
through routes carrying weights, respectively, of 1,300, and 8,000,
and 20,000 pounds daily, to the heaviest route carrying 192,000
pounds, covering the fast | 863.473787 |
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[Illustration: H. J. Clayton]
CLAYTON'S
Quaker Cook-Book,
BEING A
PRACTICAL TREATISE ON THE CULINARY ART
ADAPTED TO THE TASTES AND WANTS
OF ALL CLASSES.
With plain and easily understood directions for the preparation of
every variety of food in the most attractive forms. Comprising the
result of a life-long experience in catering to a host of highly
cultivated tastes.
--BY--
[Illustration: H. J. Clayton]
San Francisco:
WOMEN'S CO-OPERATIVE PRINTING OFFICE.
1883.
Copyrighted according to Act of Congress, A. D. 1883, by H. J. Clayton.
PREFACE.
One of the sacred writers of the olden time is reported to have said:
"Of the making of many books, there is no end." This remark will, to a
great extent, apply to the number of works published upon the all
important subject of Cookery. The oft-repeated saying, attributed to old
sailors, that the Lord sends victuals, and the opposite party, the
cooks, is familiar to all.
Notwithstanding the great number and variety of so-called cookbooks
extant, the author of this treatise on the culinary art, thoroughly
impressed with the belief that there is ample room for one more of a
thoroughly practical and every day life, common sense character--in
every way adapted to the wants of the community at large, and looking
especially to the preparation of healthful, palatable, appetizing and
nourishing food, both plain and elaborately compounded--and in the
preparation of which the very best, and, at the same time, the most
economical material is made use of, has ventured to present this new
candidate for the public approval. The preparation of this work embodies
the result of more than thirty years personal and practical experience.
The author taking nothing for granted, has thoroughly tested the value
and entire correctness of every direction he has given in these pages.
While carefully catering to the varied tastes of the mass, everything of
an unhealthful, deleterious, or even doubtful character, has been
carefully excluded; and all directions are given in the plainest style,
so as to be readily understood, and fully comprehended by all classes of
citizens.
The writer having been born and brought up on a farm, and being in his
younger days of a delicate constitution, instead of joining in the
rugged work of the field, remained at home to aid and assist his mother
in the culinary labors of the household. It was in this home-school--in
its way one of the best in the world, that he acquired not only a
practical knowledge of what he desires to fully impart to others, but a
taste for the preparation, in its most attractive forms, of every
variety of palatable and health-giving food. It was his early training
in this homely school that induced him to make this highly important
matter an all-absorbing theme and the subject of his entire life study.
His governing rule in this department has ever been the injunction laid
down by the chief of the Apostles: "Try all things; prove all things;
and hold fast that which is good."
INTRODUCTORY.
A Brief History of the Culinary Art, and its Principal Methods.
Cooking is defined to be the art of dressing, compounding and preparing
food by the aid of heat. Ancient writers upon the subject are of opinion
that the practice of this art followed immediately after the discovery
of fire, and that it was at first an imitation of the natural processes
of mastication and digestion. In proof of the antiquity of this art,
mention is made of it in many places in sacred writ. Among these is
notably the memoirs of the Children of Israel while journeying in the
wilderness, and their hankering after the "flesh-pots of Egypt."
Among the most enlightened people of ancient times,--cooking, if not
regarded as one of the fine arts, certainly stood in the foremost rank
among the useful. It was a highly honored vocation, and many of the most
eminent and illustrious characters of Greece and Rome did not disdain to
practice it. Among the distinguished amateurs of the art, in these
modern times, may be mentioned Alexander Dumas, who plumed himself more
upon his ability to cook famous dishes than upon his world-wide
celebrity as the author of the most popular novels of his day.
In the state in which man finds most of the substances used for food
they are difficult of digestion. By the application of heat some of
these are rendered more palatable and more easily digested, and,
consequently, that assimilation so necessary to the sustenance of life,
and the repair of the constant waste attendant upon the economy of the
human system. The application of heat to animal and vegetable
substances, for the attainment of this end, constitutes the basis of the
science of cookery.
Broiling, which was most probably the mode first resorted to in the
early practice of this art, being one of the most common of its various
operations, is quite simple and efficacious. It is especially adapted to
the wants of invalids, and persons of delicate appetites. Its effect is
to coagulate, in the quickest manner, upon the surface the albumen of
the meat, effectually sealing up its pores, and thus retaining the rich
juices and delicate flavor that would otherwise escape and be lost.
Roasting comes next in order, and for this two conditions are
essentially requisite--a good, brisk fire, and constant basting. As in
the case of broiling, care should be taken at the commencement to
coagulate the albumen on the surface as speedily as possible. Next to
broiling and stewing, this is the most economical mode of cooking meats
of all kinds.
Baking meat is in very many respects objectionable--and should never be
resorted to when other modes of cooking are available, as it reverses
the order of good, wholesome cookery, in beginning with a slow and
finishing with a high temperature. Meats cooked in this manner have
never the delicate flavor of the roast, nor are they so easily digested.
Boiling is one of the easiest and simplest methods of cooking, but in
its practice certain conditions must be carefully observed. The fire
must be attended to, so as to properly regulate the heat. The utensils
used for this purpose, which should be large enough to contain
sufficient water to completely cover the meat, should be scrupulously
clean, and provided with a close-fitting cover. All scum should be
removed as fast as it rises, which will be facilitated by frequent
additions of small quantities of cold water. Difference of opinion
exists among cooks as to the propriety of putting meats in cold water,
and gradually raising to the boiling point, or plunging into water
already boiling. My own experience, unless in the preparation | 863.473794 |
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THE CONDITION AND TENDENCIES
OF
Technical Education in Germany
BY
ARTHUR HENRY CHAMBERLAIN
Professor of Education and Principal of the Normal School
of Manual Training, Art, and Domestic Economy,
Throop Polytechnic Institute, Pasadena, California:
Author of "Educative Hand-Work Manuals"
and "A Bibliography of Manual Arts"
[Illustration]
SYRACUSE, N. Y.
C. W. BARDEEN, PUBLISHER
1908
Copyright, 1908, by C. W. BARDEEN
INTRODUCTION
The question of the technical phases of education is, with any nation, a
vital one. Perhaps this is true of Germany as it is of no other European
country. This may be mainly due to one of several causes. First, as to
the length of time technical education has had a place in the German
schools. In some form or another, and in a greater or lesser degree,
such instruction has been in vogue for many years, and has in no small
measure become part and parcel of the educational fabric of the nation.
Again, throughout the various German States, the work is rather widely
differentiated, this owing in part to the fact that the varying lines of
industry in adjacent localities even, give color and bent to the
technical education of any particular locality. An extensive field is
thus comprehended under the term "technical education". Then, too,
Germany as a nation must needs better her condition in order that she
may prove self-sustaining. The country is not a wealthy one, and if in
trade, in manufacture, and in commerce, she is to compete, and that
successfully, with the world powers, strength must be gained along such
lines as those opening through technical education.
The hope is entertained that the following pages may prove of value, not
alone to the student of technical education as it exists in Germany, but
particularly to those who are endeavoring to institute and develop
industrial and technical training in this country. The possibility along
these lines is exceedingly great and the interest and attention of
thinking people is focused here. They look to this form of education as
a partial solution of some of the most obstinate problems now
confronting us.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
CONTENTS vii
PUBLISHER'S NOTE viii
SECTION I. Classification of Schools 5
SECTION II. Continuation Schools (Fortbildungsschulen) 16
SECTION III. Trade Schools (Fachschulen) 41
| 863.476271 |
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A PRINCESS OF THULE.
BY
WILLIAM BLACK,
AUTHOR OF
“A DAUGHTER OF HETH,” “MADCAP VIOLET,” “STRANGE
ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON,” ETC.
NEW YORK:
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY,
14 & 16 VESEY STREET.
A PRINCESS OF THULE.
By WILLIAM BLACK.
CHAPTER I.
“LOCHABER NO MORE.”
On a small headland of the distant island of Lewis, an old man stood
looking out on a desolate waste of rain-beaten sea. It was a wild and
wet day. From out of the lowering Southwest fierce gusts of wind | 863.542793 |
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THE LONDON and COUNTRY BREWER
By Anonymous
1736
Containing an Account,
I. Of the Nature of the Barley-Corn, and of the proper Soils and
Manures for the Improvement thereof.
II. Of making good Malts.
III. To know good from bad Malts.
IV. Of the Use of the Pale, Amber, and Brown Malts.
V. Of the Nature of several Waters, and their Use in Brewing.
VI. Of Grinding Malts.
VII. Of Brewing in general.
VIII. Of the _London_ Method of Brewing Stout, But-Beer, Pale and Brown
Ales.
IX. Of the Country or Private Way of Brewing.
X. Of the Nature and Use of the Hop.
XI. Of Boiling Malt liquors, and to Brew a Quantity of Drink in a little
Room, and with a few Tubs.
XII. Of Foxing or Tainting of Malt Liquors; their Prevention and Cure.
XIII. Of Fermenting and Working of Beers and Ales, and the unwholesome
Practice of Beating in the Yeast, detected.
XIV. Of several artificial Lees for feeding, fining, preserving, and
relishing Malt Liquors.
XV. Of several pernicious Ingredients put into Malt Liquors to encrease
their Strength.
XVI. Of the Cellar or Repository for keeping Beers and Ales.
XVII. Of Sweetening and Cleaning Casks.
XVIII. Of Bunging Casks and Carrying them to some Distance.
XIX. Of the Age and Strength of Malt Liquors.
XX. Of the Profit and Pleasure of Private Brewing and the Charge of
Buying Malt Liquors.
To which is added,
XXI. A Philosophical Account of Brewing Strong _October_ Beer.
By an Ingenious Hand.
By a Person formerly concerned in a Common Brewhouse at _London_, but for
twenty Years past has resided in the Country.
The SECOND EDITION, Corrected.
LONDON
Printed for Messeurs Fox, at the _Half-Moon and Seven Stars_, in
_Westminster-Hall_. M.DCC.XXXVI.
[Price Two Shillings.]
THE PREFACE.
The many Inhabitants of Cities and Towns, as well as Travellers, that have
for a long time suffered great Prejudices from unwholsome and unpleasant
Beers and Ales, by the badness of Malts, underboiling the Worts, mixing
injurious Ingredients, the unskilfulness of the Brewer, and the great
Expense that Families have been at in buying them clogg'd with a heavy
Excise, has moved me to undertake the writing of this Treatise on Brewing,
Wherein I have endeavour'd to set in sight the many advantages of Body
and Purse that may arise from a due Knowledge and Management in Brewing
Malt Liquors, which are of the greatest Importance, as they are in a
considerable degree our Nourishment and the common Diluters of our Food;
so that on their goodness depends very much the Health and Longevity of
the Body.
This bad Economy in Brewing has brought on such a Disrepute, and made our
Malt Liquors in general so odious, that many have been constrain'd, either
to be at an Expence for better Drinks than their Pockets could afford, or
take up with a Toast and Water to avoid the too justly apprehended ill
Consequences of Drinking such Ales and Beers.
Wherefore I have given an Account of Brewing Beers and Ales after several
Methods; and also several curious Receipts for feeding, fining and
preserving Malt Liquors, that are most of them wholsomer than the Malt
itself, and so cheap that none can object against the Charge, which I
thought was the ready way to supplant the use of those unwholsome
Ingredients that have been made too free with by some ill principled
People meerly for their own Profit, tho' at the Expence of the Drinker's
Health.
_I hope I have adjusted that long wanted Method of giving a due Standard
both to the Hop and Wort, which never was yet (as I know of) rightly
ascertain'd in Print before, tho' the want of it I am perswaded has been
partly the occasion of the scarcity of good Drinks, as is at this time
very evident in most Places | 863.578911 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.5601540 | 622 | 16 |
Produced by Lionel G. Sear
THE LAST GALLEY
IMPRESSIONS AND TALES
By Arthur Conan Doyle
PREFACE
I have written "Impressions and Tales" upon the title-page of this
volume, because I have included within the same cover two styles of work
which present an essential difference.
The second half of the collection consists of eight stories, which
explain themselves.
The first half is made up of a series of pictures of the past which
maybe regarded as trial flights towards a larger ideal which I have
long had in my mind. It has seemed to me that there is a region
between actual story and actual history which has never been adequately
exploited. I could imagine, for example, a work dealing with some great
historical epoch, and finding its interest not in the happenings to
particular individuals, their adventures and their loves, but in the
fascination of the actual facts of history themselves. These facts might
be with the glamour which the writer of fiction can give, and
fictitious characters and conversations might illustrate them; but none
the less the actual drama of history and not the drama of invention
should claim the attention of the reader. I have been tempted sometimes
to try the effect upon a larger scale; but meanwhile these short
sketches, portraying various crises in the story of the human race, are
to be judged as experiments in that direction.
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
WINDLESHAM, CROWBOROUGH, April, 1911.
CONTENTS
PART I
THE LAST GALLEY
THE CONTEST THROUGH THE VEIL
AN ICONOCLAST
GIANT MAXIMIN
THE COMING OF THE HUNS
THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS
THE FIRST CARGO
THE HOME-COMING
THE RED STAR
PART II
THE SILVER MIRROR
THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY
THE MARRIAGE OF THE BRIGADIER
THE LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE
OUT OF THE RUNNING
"DE PROFUNDIS"
THE GREAT BROWN-PERICORD MOTOR
THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP
PART I. THE LAST GALLEY
"Mutato nomine, de te, Britannia, fabula narratur."
It was a spring morning, one hundred and forty-six years before the
coming of Christ. The North African Coast, with its broad hem of golden
sand, its green belt of feathery palm trees, and its background of
barren, red-scarped hills, shimmered like a dream country in the opal
light. Save for a narrow edge of snow-white surf, the Mediterranean lay
blue and serene as far as the eye could reach. In all its vast expanse
there was no break but for a single galley, which was slowly making its
way from the | 863.580194 |
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Produced by D Alexander, Stephanie Eason, Juliet Sutherland and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Testimony of the Sonnets
as to the Authorship
of the Shakespearean
Plays and Poems
By Jesse Johnson
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1899
Copyright, 1899
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
DEDICATED TO
ALBERT E. LAMB
PARTNER AND FRIEND FOR TWENTY YEARS
OF THE ROYAL LINE OF LOYAL GENTLEMEN
CONTENTS
Introductory
Scope and effect of the discussion 1-5
Chapter I
The Sonnets contain a message from their author; they
portray his real emotions, and are to be read and
interpreted literally 7-18
Chapter II
They indicate that the friend or patron of the poet was a
young man, and of about the age of Shakespeare;
and that their author was past middle life, and considerably
older than Shakespeare 19-48
Chapter III
Direct statements showing that the Sonnets were not
written by their accredited author--were not written
by Shakespeare 49-58
Chapter IV
The known facts of Shakespeare's history reveal a character
entirely inconsistent with, and radically different
from, the revelations of the Sonnets as to the character
of their author 59-72
Chapter V
The general scope and effect of the Sonnets inconsistent
with the theory that they were written by Shakespeare 73-96
Chapter VI
The results of the discussion summarized 97-99
INTRODUCTORY
The Shakespearean Sonnets are not a single or connected work like an
ordinary play or poem. Their composition apparently extended over a
considerable time, which may be fairly estimated as not less than four
years. Read literally they seem to portray thoughts, modes or
experiences fairly assignable to such a period. Though variable and
sometimes light and airy in their movement, the greater portion appear
to reveal deep and intense emotion, the welling and tumultous floods
of the inner life of their great author. And their difficulty or
mystery is, that they indicate circumstances, surroundings,
experiences and regrets that we almost instinctively apprehend could
not have been those of William Shakespeare at the time they were
written, when he must have been in the strength of early manhood, in
the warmth and glow of recent and extraordinary advancement and
success.
It is this difficulty that apparently has caused many to believe that
their literal meaning cannot be accepted, and that we must give to
them, or to many of them, a secondary meaning, founded on affectations
or conceits relating to different topics or persons, or that at least
we should not allow that in them the poet is speaking of himself.
Others, like Grant White, simply allow and state the difficulty and
leave it without any suggestion of solution.
Before conceding, however, that the splendid poetry contained in the
Sonnets must be sundered or broken, or the apparent reality of its
message doubted or denied, or that its message is mysterious or
inexplicable--we should carefully inquire whether there is not some
view or theory which will avoid the difficulties which have so baffled
inquiry.
I believe that there is such a view or theory, and that view is--that
the Sonnets were not written by Shakespeare, but were written to him
as the patron or friend of the poet; that while Shakespeare may have
been the author of some plays produced in his name at the theatre
where he acted, or while he may have had a part in conceiving or
framing the greater plays so produced, there was another, a great
poet, whose dreamy and transforming genius wrought in and for them
that which is imperishable, and so wrought although he was to have no
part in their fame and perhaps but a small financial recompense; and
that it is the loves, griefs, fears, forebodings and sorrows of the
student and recluse, thus circumstanced and confined, that the Sonnets
portray.
Considering that the Sonnets were so written, there is no need of any
other than a literal and natural reading or interpretation. Commencing
in expressions of gratulation and implied flattery, as they proceed,
they appear to have been written as the incidents, fears and griefs
which they indicate from time to time came; and it may well be that
they were written not for publication, but as vents or expressions of
a surcharged heart. With such a view of the situation of the poet and
of his patron, we may not only understand much that otherwise is
inexplicable | 863.581075 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.5613110 | 5,177 | 11 |
Produced by Donal O'Danachair and David Widger
THE GOLDEN ASSE
by Lucius Apuleius "Africanus"
Translated by William Adlington
First published 1566 This version as reprinted from the edition of
1639. The original spelling, capitalisation and punctuation have been
retained.
Dedication
To the Right Honourable and Mighty Lord, THOMAS EARLE OF SUSSEX,
Viscount Fitzwalter, Lord of Egremont and of Burnell, Knight of the most
noble Order of the Garter, Iustice of the forrests and Chases from
Trent Southward; Captain of the Gentleman Pensioners of the House of the
QUEENE our Soveraigne Lady.
After that I had taken upon me (right Honourable) in manner of that
unlearned and foolish Poet, Cherillus, who rashly and unadvisedly
wrought a big volume in verses, of the valiant prowesse of Alexander the
Great, to translate this present booke, contayning the Metamorphosis of
Lucius Apuleius; being mooved thereunto by the right pleasant pastime
and delectable matter therein; I eftsoones consulted with myself, to
whom I might best offer so pleasant and worthy a work, devised by
the author, it being now barbarously and simply framed in our English
tongue. And after long deliberation had, your honourable lordship came
to my remembrance, a man much more worthy, than to whom so homely and
rude a translation should be presented. But when I again remembred the
jesting and sportfull matter of the booke, unfit to be offered to any
man of gravity and wisdome, I was wholly determined to make no Epistle
Dedicatory at all; till as now of late perswaded thereunto by my
friends, I have boldly enterprised to offer the same to your Lordship,
who as I trust wil accept the same, than if it did entreat of some
serious and lofty matter, light and merry, yet the effect thereof
tendeth to a good and vertuous moral, as in the following Epistle to the
reader may be declared. For so have all writers in times past employed
their travell and labours, that their posterity might receive some
fruitfull profit by the same. And therfore the poets feined not their
fables in vain, considering that children in time of their first
studies, are very much allured thereby to proceed to more grave and
deepe studies and disciplines, whereas their mindes would quickly loath
the wise and prudent workes of learned men, wherein in such unripe
years they take no spark of delectation at all. And not only that profit
ariseth to children by such feined fables, but also the vertues of
men are covertly thereby commended, and their vices discommended and
abhorred. For by the fable of Actaeon, where it is feigned that he saw
Diana washing her selfe in a well, hee was immediately turned into an
Hart, and so was slain of his own Dogs; may bee meant, That when a
man casteth his eyes on the vain and soone fading beauty of the world,
consenting thereto in his minde, hee seemeth to bee turned into a brute
beast, and so to be slain by the inordinate desire of his owne affects.
By Tantalus that stands in the midst of the floud Eridan, having before
him a tree laden with pleasant apples, he being neverthelesse always
thirsty and hungry, betokeneth the insatiable desires of covetous
persons. The fables of Atreus, Thiestes, Tereus and Progne signifieth
the wicked and abhominable facts wrought and attempted by mortall men.
The fall of Icarus is an example to proud and arrogant persons, that
weeneth to climb up to the heavens. By Mydas, who obtained of Bacchus,
that all things which he touched might be gold, is carped the foul
sin of avarice. By Phaeton, that unskilfully took in hand to rule the
chariot of the Sunne, are represented those persons which attempt things
passing their power and capacity. By Castor and Pollux, turned into a
signe in heaven called Gemini, is signified, that vertuous and godly
persons shall be rewarded after life with perpetuall blisse. And in this
feined jest of Lucius Apuleius is comprehended a figure of mans life,
ministring most sweet and delectable matter, to such as shall be
desirous to reade the same. The which if your honourable lordship shall
accept ant take in good part, I shall not onely thinke my small travell
and labour well employed, but also receive a further comfort to attempt
some more serious matter, which may be more acceptable to your Lordship:
desiring the same to excuse my rash and bold enterprise at this time, as
I nothing doubt of your Lordships goodnesse. To whome I beseech Almighty
God to impart long life, with encrease of much honour.
From Vniversity Colledge in Oxenforde, the xviij. of September, 1566.
Your Honours most bounden,
WIL. ADLINGTON.
The Life of Lucius Apuleius Briefly Described
LUCIUS APULEIUS African, an excellent follower of Plato his sect, born
in Madaura, a Countrey sometime inhabited by the Romans, and under the
jurisdiction of Syphax, scituate and lying on the borders of Numidia and
Getulia, whereby he calleth himself half a Numidian and half a Getulian:
and Sidonius named him the Platonian Madaurence: his father called
Theseus had passed all offices of dignity in his countrey with much
honour. His mother named Salvia was of such excellent vertue, that
she passed all the Dames of her time, borne of an ancient house, and
descended from the philosopher Plutarch, and Sextus his nephew. His
wife called Prudentila was endowed with as much vertue and riches as
any woman might be. Hee himselfe was of an high and comely stature,
gray eyed, his haire yellow, and a beautiful personage. He flourished
in Carthage in the time of Iolianus Avitus and Cl. Maximus Proconsuls,
where he spent his youth in learning the liberall sciences, and much
profited under his masters there, whereby not without cause hee calleth
himself the Nource of Carthage, and the celestial Muse and venerable
mistresse of Africke. Soone after, at Athens (where in times past the
well of all doctrine flourished) he tasted many of the cups of the
muses, he learned the Poetry, Geometry, Musicke, Logicke, and the
universall knowledge of Philosophy, and studied not in vaine the nine
Muses, that is to say, the nine noble and royal disciplines.
Immediately after he went to Rome, and studied there the Latine tongue,
with such labour and continuall study, that he achieved to great
eloquence, and was known and approved to be excellently learned, whereby
he might worthily be called Polyhistor, that is to say, one that knoweth
much or many things.
And being thus no lesse endued with eloquence, than with singular
learning, he wrote many books for them that should come after: whereof
part by negligence of times be now intercepted and part now extant, doe
sufficiently declare, with how much wisdome and doctrine hee flourished,
and with how much vertue hee excelled amongst the rude and barbarous
people. The like was Anacharsis amongst the most luskish Scythes. But
amongst the Bookes of Lucius Apuleius, which are perished and prevented,
howbeit greatly desired as now adayes, one was intituled Banquetting
questions, another entreating of the nature of fish, another of the
generation of beasts, another containing his Epigrams, another called
'Hermagoras': but such as are now extant are the foure books named
'Floridorum', wherein is contained a flourishing stile, and a savory
kind of learning, which delighteth, holdeth, and rejoiceth the reader
marvellously; wherein you shall find a great variety of things, as
leaping one from another: One excellent and copious Oration, containing
all the grace and vertue of the art Oratory, where he cleareth himself
of the crime of art Magick, which was slanderously objected against him
by his Adversaries, wherein is contained such force of eloquence and
doctrine, as he seemeth to passe and excell himselfe. There is another
booke of the god of the spirit of Socrates, whereof St. Augustine maketh
mention in his booke of the definition of spirits, and description
of men. Two other books of the opinion of Plato, wherein is briefly
contained that which before was largely expressed. One booke of
Cosmography, comprising many things of Aristotles Meteors. The Dialogue
of Trismegistus, translated by him out of Greeke into Latine, so fine,
that it rather seemeth with more eloquence turned into Latine, than it
was before written in Greeke. But principally these eleven Bookes of
the 'Golden Asse', are enriched with such pleasant matter, with such
excellency and variety of flourishing tales, that nothing may be more
sweet and delectable, whereby worthily they may be intituled The Bookes
of the 'Golden Asse', for the passing stile and matter therein. For what
can be more acceptable than this Asse of Gold indeed. Howbeit there be
many who would rather intitule it 'Metamorphosis', that is to say, a
transfiguration or transformation, by reason of the argument and matter
within.
The Preface of the Author To His Sonne, Faustinus
And unto the Readers of this Book
THAT I to thee some joyous jests
may show in gentle gloze,
And frankly feed thy bended eares
with passing pleasant prose:
So that thou daine in seemly sort
this wanton booke to view,
That is set out and garnisht fine,
with written phrases new.
I will declare how one by hap
his humane figure lost,
And how in brutish formed shape,
his loathed life he tost.
And how he was in course of time
from such a state unfold,
Who eftsoone turn'd to pristine shape
his lot unlucky told.
What and who he was attend a while, and you shall understand that it was
even I, the writer of mine own Metamorphosie and strange alteration of
figure. Hymettus, Athens, Isthmia, Ephire Tenaros, and Sparta, being
fat and fertile soiles (as I pray you give credit to the bookes of more
everlasting fame) be places where myne antient progeny and linage did
sometime flourish: there I say, in Athens, when I was yong, I went first
to schoole. Soone after (as a stranger) I arrived at Rome, whereas by
great industry, and without instruction of any schoolmaster, I attained
to the full perfection of the Latine tongue. Behold, I first crave and
beg your pardon, lest I should happen to displease or offend any of you
by the rude and rusticke utterance of this strange and forrein language.
And verily this new alteration of speech doth correspond to the
enterprised matter whereof I purpose to entreat, I will set forth unto
you a pleasant Grecian feast. Whereunto gentle Reader if thou wilt give
attendant eare, it will minister unto thee such delectable matter as
thou shalt be contented withall.
THE FIRST BOOKE
THE FIRST CHAPTER
How Apuleius riding in Thessaly, fortuned to fall into company with two
strangers, that reasoned together of the mighty power of Witches.
As I fortuned to take my voyage into Thessaly, about certaine affaires
which I had to doe ( for there myne auncestry by my mothers side
inhabiteth, descended of the line of that most excellent person
Plutarch, and of Sextus the Philosopher his Nephew, which is to us
a great honour) and after that by much travell and great paine I had
passed over the high mountaines and slipperie vallies, and had ridden
through the cloggy fallowed fields; perceiving that my horse did wax
somewhat slow, and to the intent likewise that I might repose and
strengthen my self (being weary with riding) I lighted off my horse,
and wiping the sweat from every part of his body, I unbrideled him,
and walked him softly in my hand, to the end he might pisse, and ease
himself of his weariness and travell: and while he went grazing freshly
in the field (casting his head sometimes aside, as a token of rejoycing
and gladnesse) I perceived a little before me two companions riding, and
so I overtaking them made a third. And while I listened to heare their
communication, the one of them laughed and mocked his fellow, saying,
Leave off I pray thee and speak no more, for I cannot abide to heare
thee tell such absurd and incredible lies; which when I heard, I desired
to heare some newes, and said, I pray you masters make me partaker
of your talk, that am not so curious as desirous to know all your
communication: so shall we shorten our journey, and easily passe this
high hill before us, by merry and pleasant talke.
But he that laughed before at his fellow, said againe, Verily this tale
is as true, as if a man would say that by sorcery and inchantment the
floods might be inforced to run against their course, the seas to be
immovable, the aire to lacke the blowing of windes, the Sunne to be
restrained from his naturall race, the Moone to purge his skimme upon
herbes and trees to serve for sorceries: the starres to be pulled from
heaven, the day to be darkened and the dark night to continue still.
Then I being more desirous to heare his talke than his companions, sayd,
I pray you, that began to tell your tale even now, leave not off so, but
tell the residue. And turning to the other I sayd, You perhappes that
are of an obstinate minde and grosse eares, mocke and contemme those
things which are reported for truth, know you not that it is accounted
untrue by the depraved opinion of men, which either is rarely seene,
seldome heard, or passeth the capacitie of mans reason, which if it be
more narrowly scanned, you shall not onely finde it evident and plaine,
but also very easy to be brought to passe.
THE SECOND CHAPTER
How Apuleius told to the strangers, what he saw a jugler do in Athens.
The other night being at supper with a sort of hungry fellowes, while
I did greedily put a great morsel of meate in my mouth, that was fried
with the flower of cheese and barley, it cleaved so fast in the passage
of my throat and stopped my winde in such sort that I was well nigh
choked. And yet at Athens before the porch there called Peale, I saw
with these eyes a jugler that swallowed up a two hand sword, with a very
keene edge, and by and by for a little money that we who looked on gave
him, hee devoured a chasing speare with the point downeward. And after
that hee had conveyed the whole speare within the closure of his body,
and brought it out againe behind, there appeared on the top thereof
(which caused us all to marvell) a faire boy pleasant and nimble,
winding and turning himself in such sort, that you would suppose he had
neither bone nor gristle, and verily thinke that he were the naturall
Serpent, creeping and sliding on the knotted staffe, which the god of
Medicine is feigned to beare. But turning me to him that began his tale,
I pray you (quoth I) follow your purpose, and I alone will give credit
unto you, and for your paynes will pay your charges at the next Inne we
come unto. To whom he answered Certes sir I thank you for your gentle
offer, and at your request I wil proceed in my tale, but first I will
sweare unto you by the light of this Sunne that shineth here, that
those things shall be true, least when you come to the next city called
Thessaly, you should doubt any thing of that which is rife in the
mouthes of every person, and done before the face of all men. And that I
may first make relation to you, what and who I am, and whither I go, and
for what purpose, know you that I am of Egin, travelling these countries
about from Thessaly to Etolia, and from Etolia to Boetia, to provide for
honey, cheese, and other victuals to sell againe: and understanding that
at Hippata (which is the principall city of all Thessaly), is accustomed
to be soulde new cheeses of exceeding good taste and relish, I fortuned
on a day to go thither, to make my market there: but as it often
happeneth, I came in an evill houre; for one Lupus a purveyor had bought
and ingrossed up all the day before, and so I was deceived.
Wherefore towards night being very weary, I went to the Baines to
refresh my selfe, and behold, I fortuned to espy my companion Socrates
sitting upon the ground, covered with a torn and course mantle; who was
so meigre and of so sallow and miserable a countenance, that I scantly
knew him: for fortune had brought him into such estate and calamity,
that he verily seemed as a common begger that standeth in the streets to
crave the benevolence of the passers by. Towards whom (howbeit he was my
singular friend and familiar acquaintance, yet half in despaire) I drew
nigh and said, Alas my Socrates, what meaneth this? how faireth it with
thee? What crime hast thou committed? verily there is great lamentation
and weeping for thee at home: Thy children are in ward by decree of
the Provinciall Judge: Thy wife (having ended her mourning time in
lamentable wise, with face and visage blubbered with teares, in such
sort that she hath well nigh wept out both her eyes) is constrained by
her parents to put out of remembrance the unfortunate losse and lacke of
thee at home, and against her will to take a new husband. And dost thou
live here as a ghost or hogge, to our great shame and ignominy?
Then he answered he to me and said, O my friend Aristomenus, now
perceive I well that you are ignorant of the whirling changes, the
unstable forces, and slippery inconstancy of Fortune: and therewithall
he covered his face (even then blushing for very shame) with his rugged
mantle insomuch that from his navel downwards he appeared all naked.
But I not willing to see him any longer in such great miserie and
calamitie, took him by the hand and lifted him up from the ground: who
having his face covered in such sort, Let Fortune (quoth he) triumph yet
more, let her have her sway, and finish that which shee hath begun.
And therewithall I put off one of my garments and covered him, and
immediately I brought him to the Baine, and caused him to be anointed,
wiped, and the filthy scurfe of his body to be rubbed away; which done,
though I were very weary my selfe, yet I led the poore miser to my Inne,
where he reposed his body upon a bed, and then I brought him meat and
drinke, and so wee talked together: for there we might be merry and
laugh at our pleasure, and so we were, untill such time as he (fetching
a pittifull sigh from the bottom of his heart, and beating his face in
miserable sort), began to say.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
How Socrates in his returne from Macedony to Larissa was spoyled and
robbed, and how he fell acquainted with one Meroe a Witch.
Alas poore miser that I am, that for the onely desire to see a game of
triall of weapons, am fallen into these miseries and wretched snares
of misfortune. For in my returne from Macedonie, wheras I sould all
my wares, and played the Merchant by the space of ten months, a little
before that I came to Larissa, I turned out of the way, to view the
scituation of the countrey there, and behold in the bottom of a deep
valley I was suddenly environed with a company of theeves, who robbed
and spoiled me of such things as I had, and yet would hardly suffer
me to escape. But I beeing in such extremity, in the end was happily
delivered from their hands, and so I fortuned to come to the house of an
old woman that sold wine, called Meroe, who had her tongue sufficiently
instructed to flattery: unto whom I opened the causes of my long
peregrination and careful travell, and of myne unlucky adventure: and
after that I had declared to her such things as then presently came to
my remembrance, shee gently entertained mee and made mee good cheere;
and by and by being pricked with carnall desire, shee brought me to her
own bed chamber; whereas I poore miser the very first night of our
lying together did purchase to my selfe this miserable face, and for
her lodging I gave to her such apparel as the theeves left to cover me
withall.
The I understanding the cause of his miserable estate, sayd unto him, In
faith thou art worthy to sustaine the most extreame misery and calamity,
which hast defiled and maculated thyne owne body, forsaken thy wife
traitorously, and dishonoured thy children, parents, and friends, for
the love of a vile harlot and old strumpet. When Socrates heard mee
raile against Meroe in such sort, he held up his finger to mee, and as
halfe abashed sayd, Peace peace I pray you, and looking about lest any
body should heare, I pray you (quoth he) I pray you take heed what you
say against so venerable a woman as shee is, lest by your intemperate
tongue you catch some harm. Then with resemblance of admiration, What
(quoth I) is she so excellent a person as you name her to be? I pray you | 863.581351 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.5665710 | 700 | 8 |
THE SONG OF HIAWATHA
Henry W. Longfellow
CONTENTS
Introductory Note
Introduction
I. The Peace-Pipe
II. The Four Winds
III. Hiawatha's Childhood
IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis
V. Hiawatha's Fasting
VI. Hiawatha's Friends
VII. Hiawatha's Sailing
VIII. Hiawatha's Fishing
IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
X. Hiawatha's Wooing
XI. Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast
XII. The Son of the Evening Star
XIII. Blessing the Corn-Fields
XIV. Picture-Writing
XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation
XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVIII. The Death of Kwasind
XIX. The Ghosts
XX. The Famine
XXI. The White Man's Foot
XXII. Hiawatha's Departure
Vocabulary
Introductory Note
The Song of Hiawatha is based on the legends and stories of
many North American Indian tribes, but especially those of the
Ojibway Indians of northern Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.
They were collected by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, the reknowned
historian, pioneer explorer, and geologist. He was superintendent
of Indian affairs for Michigan from 1836 to 1841.
Schoolcraft married Jane, O-bah-bahm-wawa-ge-zhe-go-qua (The
Woman of the Sound Which the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky),
Johnston. Jane was a daughter of John Johnston, an early Irish
fur trader, and O-shau-gus-coday-way-qua (The Woman of the Green
Prairie), who was a daughter of Waub-o-jeeg (The White Fisher),
who was Chief of the Ojibway tribe at La Pointe, Wisconsin.
Jane and her mother are credited with having researched,
authenticated, and compiled much of the material Schoolcraft
included in his Algic Researches (1839) and a revision published
in 1856 as The Myth of Hiawatha. It was this latter revision
that Longfellow used as the basis for The Song of Hiawatha.
Longfellow began Hiawatha on June 25, 1854, he completed it
on March 29, 1855, and it was published November 10, 1855. As
soon as the poem was published its popularity was assured.
However, it also was severely criticized as a plagiary of the
Finnish epic poem Kalevala. Longfellow made no secret of the
fact that he had used the meter of the Kalevala; but as for the
legends, he openly gave credit to Schoolcraft in his notes to the
poem.
I would add a personal note here. My father's roots include
Ojibway Indians: his mother, Margaret Caroline Davenport, was a
daughter of Susan des | 863.586611 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.6142270 | 3,689 | 27 |
Produced by Jim Weiler
The Rover Boys In Business
or
The Search for the Missing Bonds
by Arthur M. Winfield, 1915
(Edward Stratemeyer)
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Boys: This book is a complete story in itself, but forms the
nineteenth volume in a line issued under the general title of "The
Rover Boys Series for Young Americans."
As I have mentioned in several other volumes, this series was started
a number of years ago with the publication of "The Rover Boys at
School," "On the Ocean," and "In the Jungle." I am happy to say the
books were so well liked that they were followed, year after year, by
the publication of "The Rover Boys Out West," "On the Great Lakes,"
"In Camp," "On Land and Sea," "On the River," "On the Plains," "In
Southern Waters," "On the Farm," "On Treasure Isle," "At College,"
"Down East," "In the Air," "In New York," and finally "In Alaska,"
where we last met the lads.
During all these adventures the Rover boys have been growing older.
Dick is now married and conducting his father's business in New York
City and elsewhere. 'The fun-loving Tom and his sturdy younger
brother, Sam, are at Brill College. The particulars are given of a
great baseball game; and then Tom and Sam return home, to be startled
by a most unusual message from Dick, calling them to New York
immediately. Some bonds of great value have mysteriously disappeared,
and unless these are recovered the Rover fortune may be seriously
impaired. What the boys did under these circumstances, I will leave
the pages which follow to disclose.
Once more thanking my host of young readers for the interest they have
taken in my books, I remain,
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
Arthur M. Winfield.
CHAPTER I
AT THE RIVER
"Sam!"
No answer.
"I say, Sam, can't you listen for just a moment?"
"Oh, Tom, please don't bother me now!" and Sam Rover, with a look of
worry on his face, glanced up for a moment from his writing-table.
"I've got to finish this theme before to-morrow morning."
"Oh, I know! But listen!" And Tom Rover's face showed his earnestness.
"Last night it was full moonlight, and to-night it is going to be
equally clear. Why can't we get out the auto and pay a visit to Hope?
You know we promised the girls that we would be up some afternoon or
evening this week."
"Sounds good, Tom, but even if we went after, supper, could we get
there in time? You know all visitors have to leave before nine
o'clock."
"We can get there if we start as soon as we finish eating. Can't you
finish the theme after we get back? Maybe I can help you."
"Help me? On this theme!" Sam grinned broadly. "Tom, you don't know
what you are talking about. Do you know what this theme is on?"
"No, but I can help you if I have to."
"This is on 'The Theory Concerning the Evolution of----'"
"That's enough, Sam; don't give me any of it now. Time enough for that
when we have to get at it. There goes the supper bell. Now, downstairs
with you! and let us get through as soon as possible and be on our
way."
"All right, just as you say!" and gathering up a number of sheets of
paper, Sam thrust them in the drawer of the writing-table.
"By the way, it's queer we didn't get any letter to-day from Dick,"
the youngest Rover observed.
At the mention of their brother's name, Tom's face clouded a little.
"It is queer, Sam, and I must say I don't like it. I think this is a
case where no news is bad news. I think if everything was going along
all right in New York, Dick would surely let us know. I am afraid he
is having a good deal of trouble in straightening out Dad's business."
"Just the way I look at it," responded Sam, as the brothers prepared
to leave the room.
"One thing is sure, Pelter, Japson & Company certainly did all they
could to mix matters up, and I doubt very much if they gave Dad all
that was coming to him."
"I believe I made a mistake in coming back to college," pursued Tom,
as the two boys walked out into the corridor, where they met several
other students on the way to the dining hall. "I think I ought to have
given up college and gone to New York City to help Dick straighten out
that business tangle. Now that Dad is sick again, the whole
responsibility rests on Dick's shoulders, and he ought not to be made
to bear it alone."
"Well, if you feel that way, Tom, why don't you break away and go? I
think, perhaps, it would be not only a good thing for Dick, but it
would, also, be a good thing for you," and, for the moment, Sam looked
very seriously at his brother.
Tom reddened a bit, and then put his forefinger to his forehead. "You
mean it would help me here?" And then, as Sam nodded, he added: "Oh,
don't you worry. I am all right now, my head doesn't bother me a bit.
But I do wish I could get just one good chance at Pelter for the crack
that rascal gave me on the head with the footstool."
"It certainly was a shame to let him off, Tom, but you know how father
felt about it. He was too sick to be worried by a trial at law and all
that."
"Yes, I know, but just the same, some day I am going to square
accounts with Mr. Jesse Pelter," and Tom shook his head determinedly.
Passing down the broad stairway of Brill College, the two Rover boys
made their way to the dining hall. Here the majority of the students
were rapidly assembling for the evening meal, and the lads found
themselves among a host of friends.
"Hello, Songbird! How are you this evening?" cried Tom, as he
addressed a tall, scholarly-looking individual who wore his hair
rather long. "Have you been writing any poetry to-day?"
"Well,--er--not exactly, Tom," muttered John Powell, otherwise known
as Songbird because of his numerous efforts to compose what he called
poetry. "But I have been thinking up a few rhymes."
"When are you going to get out that book of poetry?"
"What book is that, Tom?"
"Why, as if you didn't know! Didn't you tell me that you were going to
get up a volume of 'Original International Poems for the Grave and
Gay;' five hundred pages, fully illustrated; and bound in full
leather, with title in gold, and..."
"Tom, Tom, now please stop your fooling!" pleaded Songbird, his face
flushing. "Just because I write a poem now and then doesn't say that
I am going to publish a book."
"No, but I'm sure you will some day, and you'll make a fortune out of
it--or fifteen dollars, anyway."
"The same old Tom!" cried a merry voice, and another student clapped
the fun-loving Rover on the shoulder. "I do believe you would rather
joke than eat!"
"Not on your life, Spud! and I'll prove it to you right now!" and
linking his arm through that of Will Jackson, otherwise "Spud," Tom
led the way to one of the tables, with Sam and several of the other
students following.
"What is on the docket for to-night?" asked Songbird, as he fell to
eating.
"Tom and I are going to take a little run in the auto to Hope,"
answered Sam.
"Oh, I see!" Songbird Powell shut one eye knowingly. "Going up there
to see the teachers, I suppose!"
"Sure, that is what they always do!" came from Spud, with a wink.
"Sour grapes, Spud!" laughed Sam. "You would go there yourself if you
had half a chance."
"Yes, and Songbird would want to go along, too, if we were bound for
the Sanderson cottage," put in Tom. "You see, in Songbird's eyes,
Minnie Sanderson is just the nicest girl----"
"Now stop it, Tom, can't you!" pleaded poor Songbird, growing
decidedly red in the face. "Miss Sanderson is only a friend of mine,
and you know it."
Just at that moment the students at the table were interrupted by the
approach of a tall, dudish-looking individual, who wore a
reddish-brown suit, cut in the most up-to-date fashion, and who
sported patent-leather shoes, and a white carnation in his buttonhole.
The newcomer took a vacant chair, sitting down with a flourish.
"I've had a most delightful ramble, don't you know," he lisped,
looking around at the others. "I have been through the sylvan woods
and by the babbling brook, and have----"
"Great Caesar's tombstone!" exclaimed Tom, looking at the newcomer
critically. "Why, my dearly beloved William Philander, you don't mean
to say that you have been delving through the shadowy nooks, and
playing with the babbling brook, in that outfit?"
"Oh, dear, no, Tom!" responded William Philander Tubbs. "I had another
suit on, the one with the green stripe, don't you know,--the one I
had made last September--or maybe it was in October, I can't really
remember. But you must know the suit, don't you?"
"Sure! I remember the suit. The green-striped one with the faded-out
blue dots and the red diamond check in the corner. Isn't that the same
suit you took down to the pawnbroker's last Wednesday night at fifteen
minutes past seven and asked him to loan you two dollars and a half on
it, and the pawnbroker wanted to know if the suit was your own?"
"My dear Tom!" and William Philander looked aghast. "You know well
enough I never took that suit to a pawnbroker."
"Well, maybe it was some other suit. Possibly the black one with the
blue stripes, or maybe it was the blue one with the black stripes.
Really, my dearest Philander, it is immaterial to me what suit it
was." And Tom looked coldly indifferent as he buttered another slice
of bread.
"But I tell you, I never went to any pawn-broker!" pleaded the dudish
student. "I would not be seen in any such horrid place!"
"Oh, pawnbrokers are not so bad," came from Spud Jackson, as he helped
himself to more potatoes. "I knew of one fellow down in New Haven who
used to loan thousands of dollars to the students at Yale. He was
considered a public benefactor. When he died they closed up the
college for three days and gave him a funeral over two miles long. And
after that, the students raised a fund of sixteen thousand dollars
with which to erect a monument to his memory. Now, that is absolutely
true, and if you don't believe it you can come to my room and I will
show you some dried rose leaves which came from one of the wreathes
used at the obsequies." And a general laugh went up over this
extravagant statement.
"The same old Spud!" cried Sam, as he gave the story-teller of the
college a nudge in the ribs. "Spud, you are about as bad as Tom."
"Chust vat I tinks," came from Max Spangler, a German-American student
who was still struggling with the difficulties of the language. "Only
I tinks bod of dem vas worser dan de udder." And at this rather mixed
statement another laugh went up.
"I wish you fellows would stop your nonsense and talk baseball," came
from Bob Grimes, another student. "Do you realize that if we expect to
do anything this spring, we have got to get busy?"
"Well, Bob," returned Sam, "I don't see how that is going to interest
me particularly. I don't expect to be on any nine this year."
"I know, Sam, but Tom, here, has promised to play if he can possibly
get the time."
"And so I will play," said Tom. "That is, provided I remain at Brill."
"What, do you mean to say you are going to leave!" cried several
students.
"We can't do without you, Tom," added Songbird.
"Of course we can't," came from Bob Grimes. "We need Tom the worst way
this year."
"Well, I'll talk that over with you fellows some other time. To-night
we are in a hurry." And thus speaking, Tom tapped his brother on the
shoulder, and both left the dining-room.
As my old readers know, the Rover boys possessed a very fine
automobile. This was kept in one of the new garages on the place,
which was presided over by Abner Filbury, the son of the old man who
had worked for years around the dormitories.
"Is she all ready, Ab?" questioned Tom, as the young man came forward
to greet them.
"Yes, sir, I filled her up with gas and oil, and she's in apple-pie
order."
"Why, Tom!" broke in Sam, in surprise. "You must have given this order
before supper."
"I did," and Tom grinned at his younger brother. "I took it for
granted that you would make the trip." And thus speaking, Tom leaped
into the driver's seat of the new touring car. Then Sam took his place
beside his brother, and in a moment more the car was gliding out of
the garage, and down the curving, gravel path leading to the highway
running from Ashton past Brill College to Hope Seminary.
As Tom had predicted, it was a clear night, with the full moon just
showing over the distant hills. Swinging into the highway, Tom
increased the speed and was soon running at twenty-five to thirty
miles an hour.
"Don't run too fast," cautioned Sam. "Remember this road has several
dangerous curves in it, and remember, too, a good many of the
countrymen around here don't carry lights when they drive."
"Oh, I'll be careful," returned Tom, lightly. "But about the lights, I
think some of the countrymen ought to be fined for driving in the
darkness as they do. I think----"
"Hark! what sort of a noise is that?" interrupted the younger Rover.
Both boys strained their ears. A shrill honk of a horn had been
followed by a heavy rumble, and now, around a curve of the road, shot
the beams from a single headlight perched on a heavy auto-truck. This
huge truck was coming along at great speed, and it passed the Rovers
with a loud roar, and a scattering of dust and small stones in all
directions.
"Great Scott!" gasped Sam, after he had recovered from his amazement.
"Did you ever see such an auto-truck as that, and running at such
speed?"
"Certainly some truck," was Tom's comment. "That must have weighed
four or five tons. I wonder if it came over the Paxton River bridge?"
"If it did, it must have given the bridge an awful shaking up. That
bridge isn't any too strong. It shakes fearfully every time we go over
it. Better run slow, Tom, when we get there."
"I will." And then Tom put on speed once more and the automobile
forged ahead as before.
A short run up-hill brought them to the point where the road ran down
to the Paxton River. In the bright moonlight the boys could see the
stream flowing like a sheet of silver down between the bushes and
trees. A minute more, and they came in sight of the bridge.
"Stop!" said Sam. "I may be mistaken, but that bridge looks shifted to
me."
"So it does," returned Tom, and brought the automobile to a
standstill. Both boys leaped out and walked forward.
To inspect the bridge in the bright moonlight was easy, and in less
than a minute the boys made a startling discovery, which was to the
effect that the opposite end of the structure had been thrown from its
supports and was in danger of falling at any instant.
"This is mighty bad," was Sam's comment. "Why, Tom, this is positively
dangerous. If anybody should come along here----"
"Hark!" Tom put up his hand, and both boys listened. From the top of
the hill they had left but a moment before, came the sounds of an
approaching automobile. An instant later the rays of the headlights
shot into view, almost blinding them.
"We must stop them!" came | 863.634267 |
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Produced by David Reed
THE PETERKIN PAPERS
By Lucretia P. Hale
Mrs. Peterkin Puts Salt into Her Coffee.
Dedicated
To Meggie (The Daughter of The Lady From Philadelphia)
To Whom These Stories Were First Told
Preface to The Second Edition of The Peterkin Papers
THE first of these stories was accepted by Mr. Howard M. Ticknor for
the "Young Folks." They were afterwards continued in numbers of the "St.
Nicholas."
A second edition is now printed, containing a new paper, which has never
before been published, "The Peterkins at the Farm."
It may be remembered that the Peterkins originally hesitated about
publishing their Family Papers, and were decided by referring the matter
to the lady from Philadelphia. A little uncertain of whether she might
happen to be at Philadelphia, they determined to write and ask her.
Solomon John suggested a postal-card. Everybody reads a postal, and
everybody would read it as it came along, and see its importance, and
help it on. If the lady from Philadelphia were away, her family and all
her servants would read it, and send it after her, for answer.
Elizabeth Eliza thought the postal a bright idea. It would not take so
long to write as a letter, and would not be so expensive. But could they
get the whole subject on a postal?
Mr. Peterkin believed there could be no difficulty, there was but one
question:--
Shall the adventures of the Peterkin family be published?
This was decided upon, and there was room for each of the family to
sign, the little boys contenting themselves with rough sketches of their
india-rubber boots.
Mr. Peterkin, Agamemnon, and Solomon John took the postal-card to the
post-office early one morning, and by the afternoon of that very day,
and all the next day, and for many days, came streaming in answers on
postals and on letters. Their card had been addressed to the lady from
Philadelphia, with the number of her street. But it must have been read
by their neighbors in their own town post-office before leaving; it must
have been read along its way: for by each mail came piles of postals and
letters from town after town, in answer to the question, and all in the
same tone: "Yes, yes; publish the adventures of the Peterkin family."
"Publish them, of course."
And in time came the answer of the lady from Philadelphia:--"Yes, of
course; publish them."
This is why they were published.
THE LADY WHO PUT SALT IN HER COFFEE.
THIS was Mrs. Peterkin. It was a mistake. She had poured out a delicious
cup of coffee, and, just as she was helping herself to cream, she found
she had put in salt instead of sugar! It tasted bad. What should she do?
Of course she couldn't drink the coffee; so she called in the family,
for she was sitting at a late breakfast all alone. The family came in;
they all tasted, and looked, and wondered what should be done, and all
sat down to think.
At last Agamemnon, who had been to college, said, "Why don't we go over
and ask the advice of the chemist?" (For the chemist lived over the
way, and was a very wise man.) Mrs. Peterkin said, "Yes," and Mr.
Peterkin said, "Very well," and all the children said they would go too.
So the little boys put on their india-rubber boots, and over they went.
Now the chemist was just trying to find out something which should turn
everything it touched into gold; and he had a large glass bottle into
which he put all kinds of gold and silver, and many other valuable
things, and melted them all up over the fire, till he had almost found
what he wanted. He could turn things into almost gold. But just now he
had used up all the gold that he had round the house, and gold was
high. He had used up his wife's gold thimble and his great-grandfather's
gold-bowed spectacles; and he had melted up the gold head of his
great-great-grandfather's cane; and, just as the Peterkin family came
in, he was down on his knees before his wife, asking her to let him have
her wedding-ring to melt up with an the rest, because this time he knew
he should succeed, and should be able to turn everything into gold; and
then she could have a new wedding-ring of diamonds, all set in emeralds
and rubies and topazes, and all the furniture could be turned into the
finest of gold.
Now his wife was just consenting when the Peterkin family burst in.
You can imagine how mad the chemist was! He came near throwing his
crucible--that was the name of his melting-pot--at their heads. But he
didn't. He listened as calmly as he could to the story of how Mrs.
Peterkin had put salt in her coffee.
At first he said he couldn't do anything about it; but when Agamemnon
said they would pay in gold if he would only go, he packed up his
bottles in a leather case, and went back with them all.
First he looked at the coffee, and then stirred it. Then he put in a
little chlorate of potassium, and the family tried it all round; but it
tasted no better. Then he stirred in a little bichlorate of magnesia.
But Mrs. Peterkin didn't like that. Then he added some tartaric acid
and some hypersulphate of lime. But no; it was no better. "I have it!"
exclaimed the chemist,--"a little ammonia is just the thing!" No, it
wasn't the thing at all.
Then he tried, each in turn, some oxalic, cyanic, acetic, phosphoric,
chloric, hyperchloric, sulphuric, boracic, silicic, nitric, formic,
nitrous nitric, and carbonic acids. Mrs. Peterkin tasted each, and said
the flavor was pleasant, but not precisely that of coffee. So then he
tried a little calcium, aluminum, barium, and strontium, a little clear
bitumen, and a half of a third of a sixteenth of a grain of arsenic.
This gave rather a pretty color; but still Mrs.
Peterkin ungratefully said it tasted of anything but coffee. The chemist
was not discouraged. He put in a little belladonna and atropine, some
granulated hydrogen, some potash, and a very little antimony, finishing
off with a little pure carbon. But still Mrs. Peterkin was not
satisfied.
The chemist said that all he had done ought to have taken out the
salt. The theory remained the same, although the experiment had failed.
Perhaps a little starch would have some effect. If not, that was all
the time he could give. He should like to be paid, and go. They were all
much obliged to him, and willing to give him $1.37 1/2 in gold. Gold
was now 2.69 3/4, so Mr. Peterkin found in the newspaper. This gave
Agamemnon a pretty little sum. He sat himself down to do it. But there
was the coffee! All sat and thought awhile, till Elizabeth Eliza said,
"Why don't we go to the herb-woman?" Elizabeth Eliza was the only
daughter. She was named after her two aunts,--Elizabeth, from the sister
of her father; Eliza, from her mother's sister. Now, the herb-woman was
an old woman who came round to sell herbs, and knew a great deal. They
all shouted with joy at the idea of asking her, and Solomon John and
the younger children agreed to go and find her too. The herb-woman
lived down at the very end of the street; so the boys put on their
india-rubber boots again, and they set off. It was a long walk through
the village, but they came at last to the herb-woman's house, at the
foot of a high hill. They went through her little garden. Here she had
marigolds and hollyhocks, and old maids and tall sunflowers, and all
kinds of sweet-smelling herbs, so that the air was full of tansy-tea
and elder-blow. Over the porch grew a hop-vine, and a brandy-cherry
tree shaded the door, and a luxuriant cranberry-vine flung its delicious
fruit across the window. They went into a small parlor, which smelt very
spicy. All around hung little bags full of catnip, and peppermint, and
all kinds of herbs; and dried stalks hung from the ceiling; and on the
shelves were jars of rhubarb, senna, manna, and the like.
But there was no little old woman. She had gone up into the woods to
get some more wild herbs, so they all thought they would follow
her,--Elizabeth Eliza, Solomon John, and the little boys. They had to
climb up over high rocks, and in among huckleberry-bushes and black
berry-vines. But the little boys had their india-rubber boots. At last
they discovered the little old woman. They knew her by her hat. It was
steeple-crowned, without any vane. They saw her digging with her trowel
round a sassafras bush. They told her their story,---how their mother had
put salt in her coffee, and how the chemist had made it worse instead
of better, and how their mother couldn't drink it, and wouldn't she
come and see what she could do? And she said she would, and took up her
little old apron, with pockets all round, all filled with everlasting
and pennyroyal, and went back to her house.
There she stopped, and stuffed her huge pockets with some of all the
kinds of herbs. She took some tansy and peppermint, and caraway-seed
and dill, spearmint and cloves, pennyroyal and sweet marjoram, basil and
rosemary, wild thyme and some of the other time,---such as you have in
clocks,--sappermint and oppermint, catnip, valerian, and hop; indeed,
there isn't a kind of herb you can think of that the little old woman
didn't have done up in her little paper bags, | 863.642183 |
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Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez & Marc D'Hooghe
at Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,
also linking to free sources for education worldwide...
MOOC's, educational materials,...) Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.
THE
WAR OF WOMEN.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
1903.
THE WAR OF WOMEN.
THE VICOMTESSE DE CAMBES.
I.
Two days later they came in sight of Bordeaux, and it became necessary
to decide at once how they should enter the city. The dukes, with their
army, were no more than ten leagues away, so that they were at liberty
to choose between a peaceable and a forcible entry. The important
question to be decided was whether it was better to have immediate
possession of Bordeaux at all hazards, or to comply with the wishes
of the Parliament. Madame la Princesse summoned her council of war,
which consisted of Madame de Tourville, Claire, Lenet, and her maids of
honor. Madame de Tourville knew her arch antagonist so well that she
had persistently opposed his admission to the council, upon the ground
that the war was a war of women, in which men were to be used only to
do the fighting. But Madame la Princesse declared that as Lenet was
saddled upon her by her husband, she could not exclude him from the
deliberative chamber, where, after all, his presence would amount to
nothing, as it was agreed beforehand that he might talk all he chose,
but that they would not listen to him.
Madame de Tourville's precautions were by no means uncalled-for; she
had employed the two days that had just passed in bringing Madame la
Princesse around to the bellicose ideas which she was only too anxious
to adopt, and she feared that Lenet would destroy the whole structure
that she had erected with such infinite pains.
When the council was assembled, Madame de Tourville set forth her plan.
She proposed that the dukes should come up secretly with their army,
that they should procure, by force or by persuasion, a goodly number of
boats, and go down the river into Bordeaux, shouting: "Vive Condé! Down
with Mazarin!"
In this way Madame la Princesse's entry would assume the proportions
| 863.643042 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
THE
SPREAD EAGLE
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
GOUVERNEUR MORRIS
AUTHOR OF "THE FOOTPRINT, AND OTHER STORIES," ETC.
1910
_TO ELSIE, PATSIE, AND KATE_
_I had thought to sit in the ruler's chair,
But three pretty girls are sitting there--
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate.
I had thought to lord it with eyes of gray,
I had thought to be master, and have_ my _way;
But six blue eyes vote_: nay, nay, nay!
_Elsie, Patsie, and Kate.
Of Petticoats three I am sore afraid,
(Though Kate's is more like a candle-shade),
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate.
And I must confess (with shame) to you
That time there was when Petticoats two
Were enough to govern me through and through,
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate.
Oh Patsie, third of a bullying crew,
And Elsie, and Kate, be it known to you--
To Elsie, Patsie, and Kate,
That Elsie_ alone _was strong enough
To smother a motion, or call a bluff,
Or any small pitiful atom thereof--
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate.
So, though I've renounced that ruler's part
To which I was born (as is writ in my heart),
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate,
Though I do what I'm told (yes, you_ know _I do)
And am made to write stories (and sell them, too).
Still--I wish to God I had more like you,
Elsie, Patsie, and Kate_.
BAR HARBOR, _August_, 1910.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Certain persons have told me (for nothing) that "White Muscats of
Alexandria" resembles a tale in the Arabian Nights. And so it does.
Most damningly. And this is printed in the hope of saving other
persons postage.
CONTENTS
_The Spread Eagle
Targets
The Boot
The Despoiler
One More Martyr
"Ma'am?"
Mr. Holiday
White Muscats of Alexandria
Without a Lawyer
The "Monitor" and the "Merrimac"
The McTavish
The Parrot
On the Spot; or, The Idler's House-Party_
THE SPREAD EAGLE
In his extreme youth the adulation of all with whom he came in contact
was not a cross to Fitzhugh Williams. It was the fear of expatriation
that darkened his soul. From the age of five to the age of fourteen he
was dragged about Europe by the hair of his head. I use his own
subsequent expression. His father wanted him to be a good American; his
mother wanted him to be a polite American, And to be polite, in her
mind, was to be at home in French and German, to speak English (or
American) with the accent of no particular locality, to know famous
pictures when you saw them, and, if little, to be bosom friends with
little dukes and duchesses and counts of the Empire, to play in the
gravel gardens of St. Germain, to know French history, and to have for
exercise the mild English variations of American games--cricket instead
of base-ball; instead of football, Rugby, or, in winter, lugeing above
Montreux. To luge upon a sled you sit like a timid, sheltered girl, and
hold the ropes in your hand as if you were playing horse, and descend
inclines; whereas, as Fitzhugh Williams well knew, in America rich boys
and poor take their hills head first, lying upon the democratic turn.
It wasn't always Switzerland in winter. Now and again it was Nice or
Cannes. And there you were taught by a canny Scot to hit a golf ball
cunningly from a pinch of sand. But you blushed with shame the while,
for in America at that time golf had not yet become a manly game, the
maker young of men as good as dead, the talk of cabinets But there was
lawn tennis also, which you might play without losing caste "at home,"
Fitzhugh Williams never used that term but with the one meaning. He
would say, for instance, to the little Duchess of Popinjay--or one just
as good--having kissed her to make up for having pushed her into her
ancestral pond, "Now I am going to the house," meaning Perth House, that
Mrs. Williams had taken for the season. But if he had said, "Now I am
going home," the little Duchess would have known that he was going to
sail away in a great ship to a strange, topsy-turvy land known in her
set as "the States," a kind of deep well from which people hoist gold in
buckets, surrounded by Indians. Home did not mean even his father's
house. Let Fitzhugh Williams but catch sight of the long, white shore of
Long Island, or the Brooklyn Bridge, or the amazing Liberty, and the
word fluttered up from his heart even if he spoke it not. Ay, let him
but see the Fire Island light-ship alone upon the deep, and up leaped
the word, or the sensation, which was the same thing.
One Fourth of July they were in Paris (you go to Paris for tea-gowns to
wear grouse-shooting in Scotland), and when his valet, scraping and
bowing, informed Fitzhugh Williams, aged nine, that it was time to get
up, and tub, and go forth in a white sailor suit, and be of the world
worldly, Fitzhugh declined. A greater personage was summoned--Aloys,
"the maid of madame," a ravishing creature--to whom you and I, good
Americans though we are, could have refused nothing. But Fitzhugh would
not come out of his feather-bed. And when madame herself came, looking
like a princess even at that early hour, he only pulled the bedclothes a
little higher with an air of finality.
"Are you sick, Fitzhugh?"
"No, mamma."
"Why won't you get up?"
His mother at least was entitled to an explanation.
"I won't get up," said he, "because I'm an American."
"But, my dear, it's the glorious Fourth. All good Americans are up."
"All good Americans," said Fitzhugh, "are at home letting off
fire-crackers."
"Still," said his mother, "I think I'd get up if I were you. It's lovely
out. Not hot."
"I won't get up," said Fitzhugh, "because it's the Fourth, because I'm
an American, and because I have nothing but English clothes to put on."
His mother, who was the best sort in the world, though obstinate about
bringing-up, and much the pretti | 863.680497 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.6615060 | 2,983 | 20 |
Produced by David Widger
THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY MR. FROUDE'S "PROGRESS"
By Charles Dudley Warner
To revisit this earth, some ages after their departure from it, is a
common wish among men. We frequently hear men say that they would give so
many months or years of their lives in exchange for a less number on the
globe one or two or three centuries from now. Merely to see the world
from some remote sphere, like the distant spectator of a play which
passes in dumb show, would not suffice. They would like to be of the
world again, and enter into its feelings, passions, hopes; to feel the
sweep of its current, and so to comprehend what it has become.
I suppose that we all who are thoroughly interested in this world have
this desire. There are some select souls who sit apart in calm endurance,
waiting to be translated out of a world they are almost tired of
patronizing, to whom the whole thing seems, doubtless, like a cheap
performance. They sit on the fence of criticism, and cannot for the life
of them see what the vulgar crowd make such a toil and sweat about. The
prizes are the same dreary, old, fading bay wreaths. As for the soldiers
marching past, their uniforms are torn, their hats are shocking, their
shoes are dusty, they do not appear (to a man sitting on the fence) to
march with any kind of spirit, their flags are old and tattered, the
drums they beat are barbarous; and, besides, it is not probable that they
are going anywhere; they will merely come round again, the same people,
like the marching chorus in the "Beggar's Opera." Such critics, of
course, would not care to see the vulgar show over again; it is enough
for them to put on record their protest against it in the weekly
"Judgment Days" which they edit, and by-and-by withdraw out of their
private boxes, with pity for a world in the creation of which they were
not consulted.
The desire to revisit this earth is, I think, based upon a belief,
well-nigh universal, that the world is to make some progress, and that it
will be more interesting in the future than it is now. I believe that the
human mind, whenever it is developed enough to comprehend its own action,
rests, and has always rested, in this expectation. I do not know any
period of time in which the civilized mind has not had expectation of
something better for the race in the future. This expectation is
sometimes stronger than it is at others; and, again, there are always
those who say that the Golden Age is behind them. It is always behind or
before us; the poor present alone has no friends; the present, in the
minds of many, is only the car that is carrying us away from an age of
virtue and of happiness, or that is perhaps bearing us on to a time of
ease and comfort and security.
Perhaps it is worth while, in view of certain recent discussions, and
especially of some free criticisms of this country, to consider whether
there is any intention of progress in this world, and whether that
intention is discoverable in the age in which we live.
If it is an old question, it is not a settled one; the practical
disbelief in any such progress is widely entertained. Not long ago Mr.
James Anthony Froude published an essay on Progress, in which he examined
some of the evidences upon which we rely to prove that we live in an "era
of progress." It is a melancholy essay, for its tone is that of profound
skepticism as to certain influences and means of progress upon which we
in this country most rely. With the illustrative arguments of Mr.
Froude's essay I do not purpose specially to meddle; I recall it to the
attention of the reader as a representative type of skepticism regarding
progress which is somewhat common among intellectual men, and is not
confined to England. It is not exactly an acceptance of Rousseau's notion
that civilization is a mistake, and that it would be better for us all to
return to a state of nature--though in John Ruskin's case it nearly
amounts to this; but it is a hostility in its last analysis to what we
understand by the education of the people, and to the government of the
people by themselves. If Mr. Froude's essay is anything but an exhibition
of the scholarly weapons of criticism, it is the expression of a profound
disbelief in the intellectual education of the masses of the people. Mr.
Ruskin goes further. He makes his open proclamation against any
emancipation from hand-toil. Steam is the devil himself let loose from
the pit, and all labor-saving machinery is his own invention. Mr. Ruskin
is the bull that stands upon the track and threatens with annihilation
the on-coming locomotive; and I think that any spectator who sees his
menacing attitude and hears his roaring cannot but have fears for the
locomotive.
There are two sorts of infidelity concerning humanity, and I do not know
which is the more withering in its effects. One is that which regards
this world as only a waste and a desert, across the sands of which we are
merely fugitives, fleeing from the wrath to come. The other is that doubt
of any divine intention in development, in history, which we call
progress from age to age.
In the eyes of this latter infidelity history is not a procession or a
progression, but only a series of disconnected pictures, each little era
rounded with its own growth, fruitage, and decay, a series of incidents
or experiments, without even the string of a far-reaching purpose to
connect them. There is no intention of progress in it all. The race is
barbarous, and then it changes to civilized; in the one case the strong
rob the weak by brute force; in the other the crafty rob the unwary by
finesse. The latter is a more agreeable state of things; but it comes to
about the same. The robber used to knock us down and take away our
sheepskins; he now administers chloroform and relieves us of our watches.
It is a gentlemanly proceeding, and scientific, and we call it
civilization. Meantime human nature remains the same, and the whole thing
is a weary round that has no advance in it.
If this is true the succession of men and of races is no better than a
vegetable succession; and Mr. Froude is quite right in doubting if
education of the brain will do the English agricultural laborer any good;
and Mr. Ruskin ought to be aided in his crusade against machinery, which
turns the world upside down. The best that can be done with a man is the
best that can be done with a plant-set him out in some favorable
locality, or leave him where he happened to strike root, and there let
him grow and mature in measure and quiet--especially quiet--as he may in
God's sun and rain. If he happens to be a cabbage, in Heaven's name don't
try to make a rose of him, and do not disturb the vegetable maturing of
his head by grafting ideas upon his stock.
The most serious difficulty in the way of those who maintain that there
is an intention of progress in this world from century to century, from
age to age--a discernible growth, a universal development--is the fact
that all nations do not make progress at the same time or in the same
ratio; that nations reach a certain development, and then fall away and
even retrograde; that while one may be advancing into high civilization,
another is lapsing into deeper barbarism, and that nations appear to have
a limit of growth. If there were a law of progress, an intention of it in
all the world, ought not all peoples and tribes to advance pari passu, or
at least ought there not to be discernible a general movement, historical
and contemporary? There is no such general movement which can be
computed, the law of which can be discovered--therefore it does not
exist. In a kind of despair, we are apt to run over in our minds empires
and pre-eminent civilizations that have existed, and then to doubt
whether life in this world is intended to be anything more than a series
of experiments. There is the German nation of our day, the most
aggressive in various fields of intellectual activity, a Hercules of
scholarship, the most thoroughly trained and powerful--though its
civilization marches to the noise of the hateful and barbarous drum. In
what points is it better than the Greek nation of the age of its
superlative artists, philosophers, poets--the age of the most joyous,
elastic human souls in the most perfect human bodies?
Again, it is perhaps a fanciful notion that the Atlantis of Plato was the
northern part of the South American continent, projecting out towards
Africa, and that the Antilles are the peaks and headlands of its sunken
bulk. But there are evidences enough that the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico and the Caribbean Sea were within historic periods the seat of a
very considerable civilization--the seat of cities, of commerce, of
trade, of palaces and pleasure--gardens--faint images, perhaps, of the
luxurious civilization of Baia! and Pozzuoli and Capri in the most
profligate period of the Roman empire. It is not more difficult to
believe that there was a great material development here than to believe
it of the African shore of the Mediterranean. Not to multiply instances
that will occur to all, we see as many retrograde as advance movements,
and we see, also, that while one spot of the earth at one time seems to
be the chosen theatre of progress, other portions of the globe are
absolutely dead and without the least leaven of advancing life, and we
cannot understand how this can be if there is any such thing as an
all-pervading and animating intention or law of progress. And then we are
reminded that the individual human mind long ago attained its height of
power and capacity. It is enough to recall the names of Moses, Buddha,
Confucius, Socrates, Paul, Homer, David.
No doubt it has seemed to other periods and other nations, as it now does
to the present civilized races, that they were the chosen times and
peoples of an extraordinary and limitless development. It must have
seemed so to the Jews who overran Palestine and set their shining cities
on all the hills of heathendom. It must have seemed so to the Babylonish
conquerors who swept over Palestine in turn, on their way to greater
conquests in Egypt. It must have seemed so to Greece when the Acropolis
was to the outlying world what the imperial calla is to the marsh in
which it lifts its superb flower. It must have seemed so to Rome when its
solid roads of stone ran to all parts of a tributary world--the highways
of the legions, her ministers, and of the wealth that poured into her
treasury. It must have seemed so to followers of Mahomet, when the
crescent knew no pause in its march up the Arabian peninsula to the
Bosporus, to India, along the Mediterranean shores to Spain, where in the
eighth century it flowered into a culture, a learning, a refinement in
art and manners, to which the Christian world of that day was a stranger.
It must have seemed so in the awakening of the sixteenth century, when
Europe, Spain leading, began that great movement of discovery and
aggrandizement which has, in the end, been profitable only to a portion
of the adventurers. And what shall we say of a nation as old, if not
older than any of these we have mentioned, slowly building up meantime a
civilization and perfecting a system of government and a social economy
which should outlast them all, and remain to our day almost the sole
monument of permanence and stability in a shifting world?
How many times has the face of Europe been changed--and parts of Africa,
and Asia Minor too, for that matter--by conquests and crusades, and the
rise and fall of civilizations as well as dynasties? while China has
endured, almost undisturbed, under a system of law, administration,
morality, as old as the Pyramids probably--existed a coherent nation,
highly developed in certain essentials, meeting and mastering, so far as
we can see, the great problem of an over-populated territory, living in a
good degree of peace and social order, of respect for age and law, and
making a continuous history, the mere record of which is printed in a
thousand bulky volumes. Yet we speak of the Chinese empire as an instance
of arrested growth, for which there is no salvation, except it shall
catch the spirit of progress abroad in the world. What is this progress,
and where does it come from?
Think for a moment of this significant situation. For thousands of years,
empires, systems of society, systems of civilization--Egyptian, Jewish,
Greek, Roman, Moslem, Feudal--have flourished and fallen, grown to a
certain height and passed away; great organized fabrics have gone down,
and, if there has been any progress, it has been as often defeated as
renewed. And here is an empire, apart from this scene of alternate
success and disaster, which has existed in a certain continuity and
stability, and yet, now that it is uncovered and stands face to face with
the rest of the world, it finds that it has little to teach us, and
almost everything to learn from us | 863.681546 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.6622150 | 7,435 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?pg=PA381&id=12YTAAAAYAAJ#v=onepage&q&f=false
2. Diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Footnotes are at the end of the book.
BLACK FOREST
VILLAGE STORIES
BY
BERTHOLD AUERBACH
TRANSLATED BY
CHARLES GOEPP
AUTHOR'S EDITION
_Illustrated with Facsimiles of the original
German Woodcuts._
NEW YORK
LEYPOLDT & HOLT
1869
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
LEYPOLDT & HOLT,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
BLACK FOREST
VILLAGE STORIES.
THE GAWK
I see you now, my fine fellow, as large as life, with your yellow hair
cropped very short, except in the neck, where a long tail remains as if
you had cut yourself after the pattern of a plough-horse. You are
staring straight at me with your broad visage, your great blue goggle
eyes, and your mouth which is never shut. Do you remember the morning
we met in the hollow where the new houses stand now, when you cut me a
willow-twig to make a whistle of? We little thought then that I should
come to pipe the world a song about you when we should be thousands of
miles apart. I remember your costume perfectly, which is not very
surprising, as there is nothing to keep in mind but a shirt, red
suspenders, and a pair of linen pantaloons dyed black to guard against
all contingencies. On Sunday you were more stylish: then you wore a fur
cap with a gold tassel, a blue roundabout with broad buttons, a scarlet
waistcoat, yellow shorts, white stockings, and buckled shoes, like any
other villager; and, besides, you very frequently had a fresh pink
behind your ear. But you were never at ease in all this glory; and I
like you rather better in your plainer garb, myself.
But now, friend gawk, go about your business; there's a good fellow. It
makes me nervous to tell your story to your face. You need not be
alarmed: I shall say nothing ill of you, though I do speak in the third
person.
The gawk not only had a real name, but a whole pedigree of them; in the
village he ought to have been called Bart's Bast's[1] boy, and he had
been christened Aloys. To please him, we shall stick to this last
designation. He will be glad of it, because, except his mother Maria
and a few of us children, hardly any one used it; all had the impudence
to say "Gawk." On this account he always preferred our society, even
after he was seventeen years old. In out-of-the-way places he would
play leap-frog with us, or let us chase him over the fields; and when
the gawk--I should say, when Aloys--was with us, we were secure against
the attacks of the children at the lime-pit; for the rising generation
of the village was torn by incessant feuds between two hostile parties.
Yet the boys of Aloys' own age were already beginning to feel their
social position. They congregated every evening, like the grown men,
and marched through the village whistling and singing, or stood at the
tavern-door of the Eagle, by the great wood-yard, and passed jokes with
the girls who went by. But the surest test of a big boy was the
tobacco-pipe. There they would stand with their speckled bone-pipe
bowls, of Ulm manufacture, tipped with silver, and hung with little
silver chains. They generally had them in their mouths unlit; but
occasionally one or the other would beg a live coal from the baker's
maid, and then they smoked with the most joyful faces they knew how to
put on, while their stomachs moaned within them.
Aloys had begun the practice too, but only in secret. One evening he
mustered up courage to mingle with his fellows, with the point of his
pipe peeping forth from his breast-pocket. One of the boys pulled the
pipe out of his pocket with a yell; Aloys tried to seize it, but it
passed from hand to hand with shouts of laughter, and the more
impatiently he demanded it the less it was forthcoming, until it
disappeared altogether, and every one professed to know nothing of what
had become of it. Aloys began to whimper, which made them laugh still
more; so at last he snatched the cap of the first robber from his head,
and ran with it into the house of Jacob the blacksmith. Then the
capless one brought the pipe, which had been hidden in the wood-yard.
Jacob Bomiller the blacksmith's house was what is called Aloys'
"go-out." He was always there when not at home, and never at home after
his work was done. Aunt Applon, (Apollonia,) Jacob's wife, was his
cousin; and; besides his own mother and us children, she and her eldest
daughter Mary Ann always called him by his right name. In the morning
he would get up early, and, after having fed and watered his two cows
and his heifer, he always went to Jacob's house and knocked at the door
until Mary Ann opened it. With a simple "Good-morning," he passed
through the stable into the barn. The cattle knew his step, and always
welcomed him with a complacent growl and a turn of the head: he never
stopped to return the compliment, but went into the barn and filled the
cribs of the two oxen and the two cows. He was on particularly good
terms with the roan cow. He had raised her from a calf; and, when he
stood by her and watched her at her morning meal, she often licked his
hands, to the improvement of his toilet. Then he would open the door of
the stable and restore its neatness and good order, often chatting
cosily to the dumb beasts as he made them turn to the right or left.
Not a dunghill in the village was so broad and smooth and with such
clean edges as the one which Aloys built before the house of Jacob the
blacksmith; for a fine dunghill is the greatest ornament to a
villager's door-front in the Black Forest. The next thing he did was to
wash and curry the oxen and cows until you might have seen your face in
their sleek hides. This done, he ran to the pump before the house and
filled the trough with water: the cattle, unchained, ran out to drink;
while he spread fresh straw in their stalls. Thus, by the time that
Mary Ann came to the stable to milk the cows, she found every thing
neat and clean. Often, when a cow was "skittish," and kicked, Aloys
stood by her and laid his hand on her back while Mary Ann milked; but
generally he found something else to do. And when Mary Ann said,
"Aloys, you are a good boy," he never looked up at her, but plied the
stable-broom so vehemently that it threatened to sweep the boulder-stones
out of the floor. In the barn he cut the feed needed for the day; and,
after all the work required in the lower story of the building--which,
in the Black Forest, as is well known, contains what in America is
consigned to the barn and outhouses--was finished, he mounted up-stairs
into the kitchen, carried water, split the kindling-wood, and at last
found his way into the room. Mary Ann brought the soup-bowl, set it on
the table, folded her hands, and, everybody having done the same, spoke
a prayer. All now seated themselves with a "God's blessing." The bowl
was the only dish upon the table, into which every one dipped his spoon,
Aloys often stealing a mouthful from the place where Mary Ann's spoon
usually entered. The deep silence of a solemn rite prevailed at the
table: very rarely was a word spoken. After the meal and another prayer,
Aloys trudged home.
Thus things went on till Aloys reached his nineteenth year, when, on
New-Year's day, Mary Ann made him a present of a shirt, the hemp of
which she had broken herself, and had spun, bleached, and sewed it. He
was overjoyed, and only regretted that it would not do to walk the
street in shirt-sleeves: though it was bitter cold, he would not have
cared for that in the least; but people would have laughed at him, and
Aloys was daily getting more and more sensitive to people's laughter.
[Illustration: The old squire's new hand.]
The main cause of this was the old squire's[2] new hand who had come
into the village last harvest. He was a tall, handsome fellow, with a
bold, dare-devil face appropriately set off with a reddish mustache.
George (for such was his name) was a cavalry soldier, and almost always
wore the cap belonging to his uniform. When he walked up the village of
a Sunday, straight as an arrow, turning out his toes and rattling his
spurs, every thing about him said, as plainly as words could speak, "I
know all the girls are in love with me;" and when he rode his horses
down to Jacob's pump to water them, poor Aloys' heart was ready to
burst as he saw Mary Ann look out of the window. He wished that there
were no such things as milk and butter in the world, so that he too
might be a horse-farmer.
Inexperienced as Aloys was, he knew all about the three classes or
"standings" into which the peasants of the Black Forest are divided.
The cow-farmers are the lowest in the scale: their draught-cattle, in
addition to their labor, must yield them milk and calves. Then come the
ox-farmers, whose beasts, after having served their time, may be
fattened and killed. The horse-farmers are still more fortunate: their
beasts of draught yield neither milk nor meat, and yet eat the best
food and bring the highest prices.
Whether Aloys took the trouble to compare this arrangement with the
four castes of Egypt, or the three estates of feudalism, is doubtful.
On this New-Year's day, George derived a great advantage from his
horses. After morning service, he took the squire's daughter and her
playmate Mary Ann sleighing to Impfingen; and, though the heart of poor
Aloys trembled within him, he could not refuse George's request to help
him hitch the horses and try them in the sleigh. He drove about the
village, quite forgetting the poor figure he cut beside the showy
soldier. When the girls were seated, Aloys led the horses a little way,
running beside them until they were fairly started, and then let them
go. George drove down the street, cracking his whip; the horses jingled
their bells; half the commune looked out of their windows; and poor
Aloys stared after them long after they were out of sight; and then
went sadly home, cursing the snow which brought the water to his eyes.
The village seemed to have died out when Mary Ann was not to be in it
for a whole day.
All this winter Aloys was often much cast down. At his mother's house
the girls frequently assembled to hold their spinning-frolics,--a
custom much resembling our quiltings. They always prefer to hold these
gatherings at the house of a comrade recently married or of a
good-natured widow; elder married men are rather in the way. So the
girls often came to Mother Maria, and the boys dropped in later,
without waiting to be invited. Hitherto Aloys had never troubled
himself about them so long as they left him undisturbed: he had sat in
a corner doing nothing. But now he often said to himself, "Aloys, this
is too bad: you are nineteen years old now, and must begin to put
yourself forward." And then again he would say, "I wish the devil would
carry that George away piecemeal!" George was the object of his
ill-humor, for he had soon obtained a perfect control over the minds of
all the boys, and made them dance to his whistle. He could whistle and
sing and warble and tell stories like a wizard. He taught the boys and
girls all sorts of new songs. The first time he sang the verse,--
"Do thy cheeks with gladness tingle
Where the snows and scarlet mingle?"--
Aloys suddenly rose: he seemed taller than usual; he clenched his fists
and gnashed his teeth with secret joy. He seemed to draw Mary Ann
toward him with his looks, and to see her for the first time as she
truly was; for, just as the song ran, so she looked.
The girls sat around in a ring, each having her distaff with the gilt
top before her, to which the hemp was fastened with a ribbon;
they moistened the thread with their lips, and twirled the spindle,
which tumbled merrily on the floor. Aloys was always glad to put "a
little moistening," in the shape of some pears or apples, on the table,
and never failed to put the plate near Mary Ann, so that she might help
herself freely.
Early in the winter Aloys took his first courageous step in right of
his adolescence. Mary Ann had received a fine new distaff set with
pewter. The first time she brought it into the spinning-room and sat
down to her work, Aloys came forward, took hold of it, and repeated the
old rhyme:--
"Good lassie, give me leave,
Let me shake your luck out of this sleeve;
Great goodhap and little goodhap
Into my lassie's lap.
Lassie, why are you so rude?
Your distaff is only of wood;
If it had silver or gold on't,
I'd have made a better rhyme on't."
His voice trembled a little, but he got through without stammering.
Mary Ann first cast her eyes down with shame and fear lest he should
"balk;" but now she looked at him with beaming eyes. According to
custom, she dropped the spindle and the whirl,[3] which Aloys picked
up, and exacted for the spindle the promise of a dumpling, and for the
whirl that of a doughnut. But the best came last. Aloys released the
distaff and received as ransom a hearty kiss. He smacked so loud that
it sounded all over the room, and the other boys envied him sorely. He
sat down quietly in a corner, rubbed his hands, and was contented with
himself and with the world. And so he might have remained to the end of
time, if that marplot of a George had not interfered again.
Mary Ann was the first voice in the church-choir. One evening George
asked her to sing the song of the "Dark-Brown Maid." She began without
much hesitation, and George fell in with the second voice so finely and
sonorously that all the others who had joined in also lapsed into
silence one by one, and contented themselves with listening to the two
who sang so well. Mary Ann, finding herself unsupported by her
companions, found her voice trembling a little, and nudged her
companions to go on singing; but, as they would not, she took courage,
and sang with much spirit, while George seemed to uphold her as with
strong arms. They sang:--
"Oh, to-morrow I must leave you,
My beloved dark-brown maid:
Out at the upper gate we travel,
My beloved dark-brown maid.
"When I march in foreign countries,
Think of me, my dearest one;
With the sparkling glass before you,
Often think how I adore you;
Drink a health to him that's gone.
"Now I load my brace of pistols,
And I fire and blaze away,
For my dark-brown lassie's pleasure;
For she chose me for her treasure,
And she sent the rest away.
"In the blue sky two stars are shining:
Brighter than the moon they glow;
This looks on the dark-brown maiden,
And that looks where I must go.
"I've bought a ribbon for my sabre,
And a nosegay for my hat,
And a kerchief in my keeping,
To restrain my eyes from weeping:
From my love I must depart.
"Now I spur my horse's mettle,
Now I rein him in and wait:
So good-bye, dear dark-brown maiden;
I must ride out at the gate."
When each of the girls had filled four or five spindles, the table was
pushed into a corner, to clear a space of three or four paces in length
and breadth, on which they took turns in dancing, those who sat singing
the music. When George brought out Mary Ann, he sang his own song,
dancing to it like a spindle: indeed, he did not need much more space
than a spindle, for he used to say that no one was a good waltzer who
could not turn around quickly and safely on a plate. When he stopped at
last,--with a whirl which made the skirts of Mary Ann's wadded dress
rise high above her feet,--she suddenly left him alone, as if afraid of
him, and ran into a corner, where Aloys sat moodily watching the sport.
Taking his hand, she said,--
"Come, Aloys, you must dance."
"Let me alone: you know I can't dance. You only want to make game of
me."
"You g----" said Mary Ann: she would have said, "you gawk," but
suddenly checked herself on seeing that he was more ready to cry than
to laugh. So she said, gently, "No, indeed, I don't want to make game
of you. Come; if you can't dance you must learn it: there is none I
like to dance with better than you."
They tried to waltz; but Aloys threw his feet about as if he had wooden
shoes on them, so that the others could not sing for laughing.
"I will teach you when nobody is by, Aloys," said Mary Ann, soothingly.
The girls now lighted their lanterns and went home. Aloys insisted on
going with them: he would not for all the world have let Mary Ann go
home without him when George was of the company.
In the still, snowy night, the raillery and laughter of the party were
heard from end to end of the village. Mary Ann alone was silent, and
evidently kept out of George's way.
When the boys had left all the girls at their homes, George said to
Aloys, "Gawk, you ought to have stayed with Mary Ann to-night."
"You're a rascal," said Aloys, quickly, and ran away. The others
laughed. George went home alone, warbling so loud and clear that he
must have gladdened the hearts of all who were not sick or asleep.
Next morning, as Mary Ann was milking the cows, Aloys said to her, "Do
you see, I should just like to poison that George; and if you are a
good girl you must wish him dead ten times over."
Mary Ann agreed with him, but tried to convince him that he should
endeavor to become just as smart and ready as George was. A bright idea
suddenly struck Aloys. He laughed aloud, threw aside the stiff old
broom and took a more limber one, saying, "Yes: look sharp and you'll
see something." After much reluctance, he yielded to Mary Ann's
solicitations to be "good friends" with George: he could not refuse her
any thing.
It was for this reason alone that Aloys had helped George to get the
sleigh out, and that the snow made his eyes run over as he watched the
party till they disappeared.
In the twilight Aloys drove his cows to water at Jacob's well. A knot
of boys had collected there, including George and his old friend, a
Jew, commonly called "Long Hartz's Jake." Mary Ann was looking out of
the window. Aloys was imitating George's walk: he carried himself as
straight as if he had swallowed a ramrod, and kept his arms hanging
down his sides, as if they had been made of wood.
"Gawk," said Jake, "what will you allow me if I get Mary Ann to marry
you?"
"A good smack on your chops," said Aloys, and drove his cows away. Mary
Ann closed the sash, while the boys set up a shout of laughter, in
which George's voice was heard above all the others.
Aloys wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, so great was
the exertion which the expression of his displeasure had cost him. He
sat for hours on the feed-box of his stable, maturing the plans he had
been meditating.
Aloys had entered his twentieth year, and it was time for him to pass
the inspection of the recruiting-officers. On the day on which he, with
the others of his age, was to present himself at Horb, the county town,
he came to Mary Ann's house in his Sunday gear, to ask if she wished
him to get any thing for her in town. As he went away, Mary Ann
followed him into the hall, and, turning aside a little, she drew a bit
of blue paper from her breast, which, on being unwrapped, was found to
contain a creutzer.[4] "Take it," said she: "there are three crosses on
it. When the shooting stars come at night, there's always a silver bowl
on the ground, and out of those bowls they make this kind of creutzers:
if you have one of them in your pocket you are sure to be in luck. Take
it, and you will draw a high number."[5]
Aloys took the creutzer; but in crossing the bridge which leads over
the Necker he put his hand in his pocket, shut his eyes, and threw the
creutzer into the river. "I won't draw a high number: I want to be a
soldier and cut George out," he muttered, between his teeth. His hand
was clenched, and he drew himself up like a king.
At the Angel Hotel the squire waited for the recruits of his parish;
and when they had all assembled he went with them to the office. The
squire was equally stupid and pretentious. He had been a corporal
formerly, and plumed himself on his "commission:" he loved to treat all
farmers, old and young, as recruits. On the way he said to Aloys,
"Gawk, you will be sure to draw the highest number; and even if you
should draw No. 1 you need not be afraid, for they never can want you
for a soldier."
"Who knows?" said Aloys, saucily. "I may live to be a corporal yet, as
well as any one: I can read and write as well as another, and the old
corporals haven't swallowed all the wisdom in the world, either."
The squire looked daggers at him.
When Aloys walked up to the wheel, his manner was bold almost to
provocation. Several papers met his fingers as he thrust his hand in.
He closed his eyes, as if determined not to see what he should draw,
and brought out a ticket. He handed it to the clerk, trembling with
fear of its being a high number. But, when "Number 17" was called, he
shouted so lustily that they had to call him to order.
The boys now bought themselves artificial flowers tied with red
ribbons, and, after another hearty drink, betook themselves homeward.
Aloys sang and shouted louder than all the others.
At the stile at the upper end of the village the mothers and many
of the sweethearts of the boys were waiting: Mary Ann was among them
also. Aloys, a little fuddled,--rather by the noise than by the
wine,--walked, not quite steadily, arm-in-arm with the others. This
familiarity had not occurred before; but on the present occasion they
were all brothers. When Aloys' mother saw No. 17 on his cap, she cried,
again and again, "O Lord a' mercy! Lord a' mercy!" Mary Ann took Aloys
aside, and asked, "What has become of my creutzer?" "I have lost it,"
said Aloys; and the falsehood smote him, half unconscious as he was.
The boys now walked down the village, singing, and the mothers and
sweethearts of those who had probably been "drawn" followed them,
weeping, and wiping their eyes with their aprons.
The "visitation," which was to decide every thing, was still six weeks
off. His mother took a large lump of butter and a basket full of eggs,
and went to the doctor's. The butter was found to spread very well,
notwithstanding the cold weather, and elicited the assurance that Aloys
would not be made a recruit of; "for," said the conscientious
physician, "Aloys is incapable of military service, at any rate: he
cannot see well at a distance, and that is what makes him so awkward
sometimes."
Aloys gave himself no trouble about all these matters: he was quite
altered, and swaggered and whistled whenever he went out.
On the day of the visitation, the boys went to town a little more
soberly and quietly than when the lots were drawn.
When Aloys was called into the visitation-room and ordered to undress,
he said, saucily, "Spy me out all you can: you will find nothing wrong
about me. I have no blemish: I can be a soldier." His measure being
taken and found to be full, he was entered on the list without delay:
the doctor forgot the short-sightedness, the butter, and the eggs, in
his astonishment at the boldness of Aloys.
But, when the irrevocable step was fairly taken, Aloys experienced such
a sense of alarm that he could have cried. Still, when his mother met
him on the stone steps of the office, weeping bitterly, his pride
returned; and he said, "Mother, this is not right: you must not cry. I
shall be back in a year, and Xavier can keep things in order very well
while I am gone."
On being assured of their enlistment as soldiers, the boys began to
drink, sing, and royster more than ever, to make up for the time they
supposed themselves to have lost before.
When Aloys came home, Mary Ann, with tears in her eyes, gave him a
bunch of rosemary with red ribbons in it, and sewed it to his cap.
Aloys took out his pipe, smoked all the way up the village, and made a
night of it with his comrades.
One hard day more was to be passed,--the day when the recruits had to
set out for Stuttgart. Aloys went to Jacob's house early, and found
Mary Ann in the stable, where she now had to do all the hard work
without his assistance. Aloys said, "Mary Ann, shake hands." She did
so; and then he added "Promise me you won't get married till I come
back."
"No, indeed, I won't," said she; and then he replied, "There, that's all:
but stop! give me a kiss for good-bye." She kissed him; and the cows and
oxen looked on in astonishment, as if they knew what was going on.
Aloys patted each of the cows and oxen on the back, and took leave of
them: they mumbled something indistinctly between their teeth.
George had hitched his horses to the wagon, to give the recruits a lift
of a few miles. They passed through the village, singing; the baker's
son, Conrad, who blew the clarionet, sat on the wagon with them and
accompanied; the horses walked. On all sides the recruits were stopped
by their friends, who came to shake hands or to share a parting cup.
Mary Ann was looking out of her window, and nodded, smiling.
When they were fairly out of the village, Aloys suddenly stopped
singing. He looked around him with moistened eyes. Here, on the heath
called the "High Scrub," Mary Ann had bleached the linen of the shirt
he wore: every thread of it now seemed to scorch him. He bade a sad
farewell to every tree and every field. Over near the old heath-turf
was his best field: he had turned the soil so often that he knew every
clod in it. In the adjoining patch he had reaped barley with Mary Ann
that very summer. Farther down, in the Hen's Scratch, was his
clover-piece, which he had sown and was now denied the pleasure of
watching while it grew. Thus he looked around him. As they passed the
stile he was mute. In crossing the bridge he looked down into the
stream: would he have dropped the marked creutzer into it now?
In the town the singing and shouting was resumed; but not till the
Bildechingen Hill was passed did Aloys breathe freely. His beloved
Nordstetten lay before him, apparently so near that his voice could
have been heard there. He saw the yellow house of George the
blacksmith, and knew that Mary Ann lived in the next house but one. He
swung his cap and began to sing again.
At Herrenberg George left the recruits to pursue their way on foot. At
parting he inquired of Aloys whether he had any message for Mary Ann.
Aloys reddened. George was the very last person he should have chosen
for a messenger; and yet a kind message would have escaped his lips if
he had not checked himself. Involuntarily he blurted out, "You needn't
talk to her at all: she can't bear the sight of you, anyhow."
George laughed and drove away.
An important adventure befell the recruits on the road. At the entrance
of the Boeblingen Forest, which is five miles long, they impressed a
wood-cutter with his team, and compelled him to carry them. Aloys was
the ringleader: he had heard George talk so much of soldiers' pranks
that he could not let an occasion slip of playing one. But when they
had passed through the wood he was also the first to open his leathern
pouch and reimburse the involuntary stage-proprietor.
At the Tuebingen gate of Stuttgart a corporal stood waiting to receive
them. Several soldiers from Nordstetten had come out to meet their
comrades; and Aloys clenched his teeth as every one of them greeted him
with, "Gawk, how are you?" There was an end of all shouting and singing
now: like dumb sheep the recruits were led into the barracks. Aloys
first expressed a wish to go into the cavalry, as he desired to emulate
George; but, on being told that in that case he would have to go home
again, as the cavalry-training would not begin till fall, he changed
his mind. "I won't go home again until I am a different sort of a
fellow," he said to himself; "and then, if any one undertakes to call
me gawk, I'll gawk him."
So he was enrolled in the fifth infantry regiment, and soon astonished
all by his intelligence and rapid progress. One misfortune befel him
here also; he received a gypsy for his bedfellow. This gypsy had
a peculiar aversion to soap and water. Aloys was ordered by the
drill-sergeant to take him to the pump every morning and wash him
thoroughly. This was sport at first; but it soon became very irksome:
he would rather have washed the tails of six oxen than the face of the
one gypsy.
Another member of the company was a broken-down painter. He scented the
spending-money with which Aloys' mother had fitted him out, and soon
undertook to paint him in full uniform, with musket and side-arms, and
with the flag behind him. This made up the whole resemblance: the face
was a face, and nothing more. Under it stood, however, in fine Roman
characters, "Aloys Schorer, Soldier in the Fifth Regiment of Infantry."
Aloys had the picture framed under glass and sent it to his mother. In
the accompanying letter he wrote,--
"DEAR MOTHER:--Please hang up the picture in the front room, and let
Mary Ann see it: hang it over the table, but not too near the dovecote;
and, if Mary Ann would like to have the picture, make her a present of
it. And my comrade who painted it says you ought to send me a little
lump of butter and a few yards of hemp-linen for my corporal's wife: we
always call her Corporolla. My comrade also teaches me to dance; and
to-morrow I am going to dance at Haeslach. You needn | 863.682255 |
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Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Footnotes are at the end of Chapters.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
INTRODUCTION TO THE
SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF
EDUCATION
BY
CHARLES HUBBARD JUDD
PROFESSOR OF EDUCATION AND DIRECTOR OF THE SCHOOL
OF EDUCATION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON · NEW YORK · CHICAGO · LONDON
ATLANTA · DALLAS · COLUMBUS · SAN FRANCISCO
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY CHARLES HUBBARD JUDD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
219.9
The Athenæum Press
GINN AND COMPANY · PROPRIETORS ·
BOSTON · U.S.A.
PREFACE
This book is the result of eight years of experimentation. In 1909
the Department of Education of The University of Chicago abandoned
the practice of requiring courses in the History of Education and
Psychology as introductory courses for students preparing to become
teachers. For these courses it substituted one in Introduction to
Education and one in Methods of Teaching. This move was due to the
conviction that students need to be introduced to the problems of the
school in a direct, concrete way, and that the first courses should
constantly keep in mind the lack of perspective which characterizes the
teacher-in-training.
In the years that have elapsed since 1909 the conviction has gained
almost universal acceptance in normal schools and colleges of education
that the History of Education is not a suitable introductory course.
Psychology has grown in the direction of a scientific discussion of
methodology, and the demand for a general introductory discussion of
educational problems from a scientific point of view has often been
expressed by teachers in normal schools and colleges. In this period
the writer has had frequent opportunity to try out various methods of
presenting such an introductory course. The results of this experience
are presented in this volume, which is designed as a textbook for
students in normal schools and colleges in the first stages of their
professional study.
The teacher who uses this book can expand the course to double the
length here outlined by introducing schoolroom observation and
supplementary reading. The questions and references offered at the
end of each chapter and the references in the footnotes are intended
to facilitate such further work. A set of questions is given in the
Appendix as a guide to classroom observation.
The obligations which the author has incurred in the preparation of the
book are numerous. Almost every member of the Department of Education
of The University of Chicago has at some time or other given the
course to a division of students, and all have contributed suggestions
and criticisms with regard to the organization of material. Special
obligations should be noted in this connection to Professors J. F.
Bobbitt, S. C. Parker, F. N. Freeman, H. O. Rugg, and W. S. Gray. To
Professor E. H. Cameron the author is under obligation for suggestions
made after reading the manuscript. To the authors and publishers whose
works have been drawn upon for extensive and numerous quotations,
special thanks are due for courteous permission to use their material.
Finally, it is to the students who have from year to year passed
through this course that the largest obligation should be acknowledged
because of the suggestions which their reactions have given to the
writer.
C. H. J.
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I. EXTENDING THE PUPIL’S VIEW OF
THE SCHOOL 1
The pupil’s view limited. Conservatism in the community as a natural
consequence. Demand for a broad scientific study. Beginnings of the
science of education. Effectiveness of studies of retardation. A study
of high-school courses. An experimental analysis of a fundamental
subject. A study of the relation of education to general social life.
The scientific study of educational problems. Exercises and readings.
CHAPTER II. SCHOOLS OF OTHER COUNTRIES
AND OF OTHER TIMES 14
The comparative and historical methods. The American textbook method
of teaching. Independence of thought based on reading. European
schools caste schools, American schools truly public. Influence
of European schools on the educational system of this country.
Report of the visiting committee of Taunton in 1801. Adoption of
the German model. Results of the adoption of the German example.
The reorganization of American schools. Origin of the high | 863.685161 |
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ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
DEBATES OF CONGRESS,
FROM 1789 TO 1856.
FROM GALES AND SEATON'S ANNALS OF CONGRESS; FROM THEIR
REGISTER OF DEBATES; AND FROM THE OFFICIAL
REPORTED DEBATES, BY JOHN C. RIVES.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF THE THIRTY YEARS' VIEW.
VOL. IV.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 346 & 348 BROADWAY.
1860.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.
TENTH CONGRESS.--SECOND SESSION.
BEGUN AT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, NOVEMBER 7, 1808.
PROCEEDINGS IN THE SENATE.
MONDAY, November 7, 1808.
Conformably to the act, passed the last session, entitled "An act to
alter the time for the next meeting of Congress," the second session of
the tenth Congress commenced this day; and the Senate assembled at the
city of Washington.
PRESENT:
GEORGE CLINTON, Vice President of the United States and
President of the Senate.
NICHOLAS GILMAN and NAHUM PARKER, from New Hampshire.
TIMOTHY PICKERING, from Massachusetts.
JAMES HILLHOUSE and CHAUNCEY GOODRICH, from Connecticut.
BENJAMIN HOWLAND and ELISHA MATHEWSON, from Rhode Island.
STEPHEN R. BRADLEY and JONATHAN ROBINSON, from Vermont.
SAMUEL L. MITCHILL and JOHN SMITH, from New York.
JOHN CONDIT and AARON KITCHEL, from New Jersey.
SAMUEL MACLAY, from Pennsylvania.
SAMUEL WHITE, from Delaware.
WILLIAM B. GILES, from Virginia.
JAMES TURNER, from North Carolina.
THOMAS SUMTER and JOHN GAILLARD, from South Carolina.
WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD, from Georgia.
BUCKNER THRUSTON and JOHN POPE, from Kentucky.
DANIEL SMITH, from Tennessee.
EDWARD TIFFIN, from Ohio.
JAMES LLOYD, jun., appointed a Senator by the Legislature of the State
of Massachusetts, to supply the place of John Quincy Adams, resigned,
took his seat in the Senate, and produced his credentials, which were
read, and the oath prescribed by law was administered to him.
_Ordered_, That the Secretary acquaint the House of Representatives
that a quorum of the Senate is assembled and ready to proceed to
business; and that Messrs. BRADLEY and POPE be a committee on the part
of the Senate, together with such committee as may be appointed by the
House of Representatives on their part, to wait on the President of
the United States and notify him that a quorum of the two Houses is
assembled.
A message from the House of Representatives informed the Senate that
a quorum of the House is assembled and ready to proceed to business;
and that the House had appointed a committee on their part, jointly
with the committee appointed on the part of the Senate, to wait on the
President of the United States and notify him that a quorum of the two
Houses is assembled.
_Resolved_, That JAMES MATHERS, Sergeant-at-Arms and Doorkeeper to
the Senate, be, and he is hereby, authorized to employ one assistant
and two horses, for the purpose of performing such services as are
usually required by the Doorkeeper to the Senate; and that the sum
of twenty-eight dollars be allowed him weekly for that purpose, to
commence with, and remain during the session, and for twenty days after.
On motion, by Mr. BRADLEY,
_Resolved_, That two Chaplains, of different denominations, be
appointed to Congress during the present session, one by each House,
who shall interchange weekly.
Mr. BRADLEY reported, from the joint committee, that they had waited on
the President of the United States, agreeably to order, and that the
President of the United States informed the committee that he would
make a communication to the two Houses at 12 o'clock to-morrow.
TUESDAY, November 8.
SAMUEL SMITH and PHILIP REED, from the State of Maryland, attended.
The following Message was received from the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED
STATES:
_To the Senate and House of
Representatives of the United States_:
It would have been a source, fellow-citizens, of much
gratification, if our last communications from Europe had
enabled me to inform you that the belligerent nations, whose
disregard of neutral rights has been so destructive to our
commerce, had become awakened to the duty and true policy of
revoking their unrighteous edicts. That no means might be
omitted to produce this salutary effect, I lost no time in
availing myself of the act authorizing a suspension, in whole,
or in part, of the several embargo laws. Our Ministers at
London and Paris were instructed to explain to the respective
Governments there, our disposition to exercise the authority in
such manner as would withdraw the pretext on which aggressions
were originally founded, and open the way for a renewal of that
commercial intercourse which it was alleged, on all sides,
had been reluctantly obstructed. As each of those Governments
had pledged its readiness to concur in renouncing a measure
which reached its adversary through the incontestable rights
of neutrals only, and as the measure had been assumed by
each as a retaliation for an asserted acquiescence in the
aggressions of the other, it was reasonably expected that
the occasion would have been seized by both for evincing the
sincerity of their professions, and for restoring to the
commerce of the United States its legitimate freedom. The
instructions of our Ministers, with respect to the different
belligerents, were necessarily modified with a reference to
their different circumstances, and to the condition annexed by
law to the Executive power of suspension requiring a degree | 863.687121 |
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A BOOK OF
THE CEVENNES
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
MEHALAH
THE TRAGEDY OF THE CÆSARS
THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN FRANCE
STRANGE SURVIVALS
SONGS OF THE WEST
A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG
OLD COUNTRY LIFE
AN OLD ENGLISH HOME
YORKSHIRE ODDITIES
HISTORIC ODDITIES
OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES
THE VICAR OF MORWENSTOW
FREAKS OF FANATICISM
A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
A BOOK OF BRITTANY
A BOOK OF DARTMOOR
A BOOK OF THE WEST
I. DEVON
II. CORNWALL
A BOOK OF NORTH WALES
A BOOK OF SOUTH WALES
A BOOK OF THE RHINE
A BOOK OF THE RIVIERA
A BOOK OF THE PYRENEES
[Illustration: THE TAMARGUE FROM LA SOUCHE]
A BOOK OF
THE CEVENNES
BY S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
"ILLE TERRARUM MIHI PRÆTER OMNES
ANGULUS RIDET, UBI NON HYMETTO
MELLA DECEDUNT, VIRIDIQUE CERTAT
BACCA VENAFRO;
VER UBI LONGUM, TEPIDASQUE PRÆBET
JUPITER BRUMAS."
_Hor._ Od. ii. 6.
[Illustration]
WITH FORTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
EIGHT OF WHICH ARE IN COLOUR, AND A MAP
London
John Long
Norris Street, Haymarket
[_All rights reserved_]
_First Published in 1907_
Illustrations reproduced by the Hentschel-Colourtype Process
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE CRESCENT 1
II. LE VELAY 15
III. LE PUY 34
IV. ROUND ABOUT LE PUY 60
V. L'AUBERGE DE PEYRABEILLE 84
VI. LES BOUTIÈRES 103
VII. THE VOLCANOES OF THE VIVARAIS 114
VIII. THE CANON OF THE ARDÈCHE 137
IX. THE WOOD OF PAÏOLIVE 153
X. THE RAVINE OF THE ALLIER 161
XI. THE CAMISARDS 177
XII. ALAIS 203
XIII. GANGES 221
XIV. LE VIGAN 237
XV. L'AIGOUAL 248
XVI. THE LAND OF FERDINAND FABRE 262
XVII. THE HÉRAULT 282
INDEX 305
ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
THE TAMARGUE FROM LA SOUCHE _Frontispiece_
From a photograph by Artige frères.
LACEMAKER, LE PUIS 25
LACEMAKERS 102
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
CASTLE OF VENTADOUR 128
From a photograph by Bigot-Croze.
PEASANTS OF THE CAUSSES 176
THE GOAT'S LEAP, LE VIGAN 241
PEASANT GIRLS OF THE CAUSSES 248
DOLMEN OF GRANDMONT 293
From a photograph by L. Froment.
IN MONOTONE
THE CYCLOPSES AT MOURÈZE 2
From a photograph by L. Froment.
LE SUC DE SARA 14
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
LA VOUTE-SUR-LOIRE 23
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
CASCADE DES ESTREYS 23
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
LA BÉATE 27
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
CEVENOL PEASANT 29
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
CATHEDRAL, WEST FRONT, LE PUY 34
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
PORCH, CATHEDRAL, LE PUY 40
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
L'AIGUILHE 42
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
BASALT, ESPALY 61
From a photograph by Vazelle.
LA ROCHE LAMBERT 64
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
MÉZENC 69
From a photograph by Artige frères.
GERBIER DE JONC 72
From a photograph by Artige frères.
THE TAVERN OF PEYRABEILLE 84
From a photograph by Margerite-Brémont.
MAYRES 97
From a photograph by Artige frères.
THE VIVARAIS CHAIN 114
From a photograph by Artige frères.
THE VOLANE VALLEY 121
From a photograph by Artige frères.
LE FAUTEUIL DU DIABLE 123
From a photograph by Artige frères.
FALL AT ANTRAIGUES 125
From a photograph by Bigot-Croze.
IN THE ARDÈCHE 129
From a photograph by Artige frères.
CRATER OF LA GRAVENNE 130
From a photograph by Bigot-Croze.
FALLS OF RUY PIC 132
From a photograph by Artige frères.
GORGES OF THE ARDÈCHE 137
From a photograph by Artige frères.
PONT DE L'ARC 144
From a photograph by Artige frères.
"THE CATHEDRAL" 147
From a photograph by Artige frères.
PAÏOLIVE 155
From a photograph by Artige frères.
CASTLE OF GANGES 225
From a photograph by J. Bernard.
BRAMABIAU 253
From a photograph by C. Bernheim.
CHEESEMAKERS, ROQUEFORT 275
From a photograph by E. Carrère.
S. GUILHEM-LE-DÉSERT 283
From a photograph by L. Froment.
IN THE CIRQUE, MOURÈZE 284
From a photograph by L. Froment.
GROUP AT MOURÈZE 287
From a photograph by L. Froment.
THE SENTINEL AT MOURÈZE 288
From a photograph by L. Froment.
ON THE HÉRAULT 296
From a photograph by L. Froment.
S. GUILHEM-LE-DÉSERT 298
From a photograph by L. Froment.
MILLS ON THE HÉRAULT 298
From a photograph by L. Froment.
IN THE TEXT
PAGE
SKETCH MAP OF THE CÉVENNES 4
PREFACE
The Cévennes are a mountain fringe to the uplifted plateau of
Central France, and are less visited by English tourists than any
other mountainous district in la belle France. They have been most
unjustly neglected. The scenery is singularly varied. The historical
associations are rich, but mainly tragic.
This is not a guide-book, but an introduction to the country, to be
supplemented by guide-books. The area is so extensive, that I have had
to exercise restraint and limit myself to a few of the most salient
features and most profitable centres whence excursions may be made.
The Cévennes should be visited from March to June, afterwards the heat
is too great for travelling to be comfortable. For inns, consult the
annual volume of the French Touring Club; Baedeker and Joanne cannot
always be relied on, as proprietors change, either for the better or
for the worse. I have been landed in unsatisfactory quarters by relying
on one or other of these guide-books, owing to the above-mentioned
reason.
The "Touring-Club de France," Avenue de la Grande Armée 65, Paris,
is doing excellent work in refusing to recommend a hotel unless the
sanitary arrangements be up-to-date.
THE CEVENNES
CHAPTER I
THE CRESCENT
The great central plateau—The true Cévennes—The character of
the range—The watershed—The Garrigues—The Boutières—Mézenc—The
Coiron—The mountains of the Vivarais—The Ardèche—Volcanoes—The
Camisard country—Larzac—The Hérault—The Espinouse—The Montagne
Noire—Neglect of the Cévennes—Their great interest.
The great central plateau of France that serves as the watershed
between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and severs France
proper—the old medieval France—from Languedoc, is due to a mighty
upheaval of granite, carrying with it aloft on its back beds of schist,
Jura limestone, chalk, coal, and red sandstone. The granite has not
everywhere reached the surface, it has not in all parts shaken off the
burden that lay on it. The superincumbent beds do not lie in position
one above another, like ranges of books on shelves. Many of them over a
large tract have been carried away by denudation through the action of
water.
The plateau under consideration stretches over an area of 3,000 square
miles. It dies down towards the north-west, but reaches its highest
elevation in the east and in the south. This great upland district
had to be crossed before the peoples dwelling north and south of it
could be fused into one. The plateau extends through the old provinces
of Marche and Limousin, Auvergne, Forez, the Velay, the Vivarais,
Rouergue, and the Gévaudan. But it was disturbed, broken up, and
overlaid by volcanic eruptions at a comparatively recent date, pouring
forth floods of lava and clouds of ash in Auvergne, le Velay, and le
Vivarais. In its upheaval, moreover, the granite turned up, snapped,
and exposed the superposed beds, and left them as bristling ridges to
the east and south. It is this fringe that constitutes the Cévennes.
These describe a half-moon, with its convexity towards the basin of the
Rhône. Locally, indeed, the name | 863.778444 |
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RUGGLES of RED GAP
By Harry Leon Wilson
1915
{Illustration: "I TAKE IT YOU FAILED TO WIN THE HUNDRED POUNDS, SIR?"}
{Dedication}
TO HELEN COOKE WILSON
CHAPTER ONE
At 6:30 in our Paris apartment I had finished the Honourable George,
performing those final touches that make the difference between a man
well turned out and a man merely dressed. In the main I was not
dissatisfied. His dress waistcoats, it is true, no longer permit the
inhalation of anything like a full breath, and his collars clasp too
closely. (I have always held that a collar may provide quite ample
room for the throat without sacrifice of smartness if the depth be at
least two and one quarter inches.) And it is no secret to either the
Honourable George or our intimates that I have never approved his
fashion of beard, a reddish, enveloping, brushlike affair never nicely
enough trimmed. I prefer, indeed, no beard at all, but he stubbornly
refuses to shave, possessing a difficult chin. Still, I repeat, he was
not nearly impossible as he now left my hands.
"Dining with the Americans," he remarked, as I conveyed the hat,
gloves, and stick to him in their proper order.
"Yes, sir," I replied. "And might I suggest, sir, that your choice be
a grilled undercut or something simple, bearing in mind the undoubted
effects of shell-fish upon one's complexion?" The hard truth is that
after even a very little lobster the Honourable George has a way of
coming out in spots. A single oyster patty, too, will often spot him
quite all over.
"What cheek! Decide that for myself," he retorted with a lame effort
at dignity which he was unable to sustain. His eyes fell from mine.
"Besides, I'm almost quite certain that the last time it was the
melon. Wretched things, melons!"
Then, as if to divert me, he rather fussily refused the correct
evening stick I had chosen for him and seized a knobby bit of
thornwood suitable only for moor and upland work, and brazenly quite
discarded the gloves.
"Feel a silly fool wearing gloves when there's no reason!" he
exclaimed pettishly.
"Quite so, sir," I replied, freezing instantly.
"Now, don't play the juggins," he retorted. "Let me be comfortable.
And I don't mind telling you I stand to win a hundred quid this very
evening."
"I dare say," I replied. The sum was more than needed, but I had cause
to be thus cynical.
"From the American Johnny with the eyebrows," he went on with a quite
pathetic enthusiasm. "We're to play their American game of
poker--drawing poker as they call it. I've watched them play for near
a fortnight. It's beastly simple. One has only to know when to bluff."
"A hundred pounds, yes, sir. And if one loses----"
He flashed me a look so deucedly queer that it fair chilled me.
"I fancy you'll be even more interested than I if I lose," he remarked
in tones of a curious evenness that were somehow rather deadly. The
words seemed pregnant with meaning, but before I could weigh them I
heard him noisily descending the stairs. It was only then I recalled
having noticed that he had not changed to his varnished boots, having
still on his feet the doggish and battered pair he most favoured. It
was a trick of his to evade me with them. I did for them each day all
that human boot-cream could do, but they were things no sensitive
gentleman would endure with evening dress. I was glad to reflect that
doubtless only Americans would observe them.
So began the final hours of a 14th of July in Paris that must ever be
memorable. My own birthday, it is also chosen by the French as one on
which to celebrate with carnival some one of those regrettable events
in their own distressing past.
To begin with, the day was marked first of all by the breezing in of
his lordship the Earl of Brinstead, brother of the Honourable George,
on his way to England from the Engadine. More peppery than usual had
his lordship been, his grayish side-whiskers in angry upheaval and his
inflamed words exploding quite all over the place, so that the
Honourable George and I had both perceived it to be no time for
admitting our recent financial reverse at the gaming tables of Ostend.
On the contrary, we had gamely affirmed the last quarter's allowance
to be practically untouched--a desperate stand, indeed! But there was
that in his lordship's manner to urge us to it, though even so he
appeared to be not more than half deceived.
"No good greening me!" he exploded to both of us. "Tell in a
flash--gambling, or a woman--typing-girl, milliner, dancing person,
what, what! Guilty faces, both of you. Know you too well. My word,
what, what!"
Again we stoutly protested while his lordship on the hearthrug rocked
in his boots and glared. The Honourable George gamely rattled some
loose coin of the baser sort in his pockets and tried in return for a
glare of innocence foully aspersed. I dare say he fell short of it.
His histrionic gifts are but meagre.
"Fools, quite fools, both of you!" exploded his lordship anew. "And,
make it worse, no longer young fools. Young and a fool, people make
excuses. Say, 'Fool? Yes, but so young!' But old and a fool--not a
word to say, what, what! Silly rot at forty." He clutched his
side-whiskers with frenzied hands. He seemed to comb them to a more
bristling rage.
"Dare say you'll both come croppers. Not surprise me. Silly old
George, course, course! Hoped better of Ruggles, though. Ruggles
different from old George. Got a brain. But can't use it. Have old
George wed to a charwoman presently. Hope she'll be a worker. Need to
be--support you both, what, what!"
I mean to say, he was coming it pretty thick, since he could not have
forgotten that each time I had warned him so he could hasten to save
his brother from distressing mesalliances. I refer to the affair with
the typing-girl and to the later entanglement with a Brixton milliner
encountered informally under the portico of a theatre in Charing Cross
Road. But he was in no mood to concede that I had thus far shown a
scrupulous care in these emergencies. Peppery he was, indeed. He
gathered hat and stick, glaring indignantly at each of them and then
at us.
"Greened me fair, haven't you, about money? Quite so, quite so! Not
hear from you then till next quarter. No telegraphing--no begging
letters. Shouldn't a bit know what to make of them. Plenty you got to
last. Say so yourselves." He laughed villainously here. "Morning,"
said he, and was out.
"Old Nevil been annoyed by something," said the Honourable George
after a long silence. "Know the old boy too well. Always tell when
he's been annoyed. Rather wish he hadn't been."
So we had come to the night of this memorable day, and to the
Honourable George's departure on his mysterious words about the
hundred pounds.
Left alone, I began to meditate profoundly. It was the closing of a
day I had seen dawn with the keenest misgiving, having had reason to
believe it might be fraught with significance if not disaster to
myself. The year before a gypsy at Epsom had solemnly warned me that a
great change would come into my life on or before my fortieth
birthday. To this I might have paid less heed but for its disquieting
confirmation on a later day at a psychic parlour in Edgware Road.
Proceeding there in company with my eldest brother-in-law, a
plate-layer and surfaceman on the Northern (he being uncertain about
the Derby winner for that year), I was told by the person for a trifle
of two shillings that I was soon to cross water and to meet many
strange adventures. True, later events proved her to have been
psychically unsound as to the Derby winner (so that my brother-in-law,
who was out two pounds ten, thereby threatened to have an action
against her); yet her reference to myself had confirmed the words of
the gypsy; so it will be plain why I had been anxious the whole of
this birthday.
For one thing, I had gone on the streets as little as possible, though
I should naturally have done that, for the behaviour of the French on
this bank holiday of theirs is repugnant in the extreme to the sane
English point of view--I mean their frivolous public dancing and
marked conversational levity. Indeed, in their soberest moments, they
have too little of British weight. Their best-dressed men are
apparently turned out not by menservants but by modistes. I will not
say their women are without a gift for wearing gowns, and their chefs
have unquestionably got at the inner meaning of food, but as a people
at large they would never do with us. Even their language is not based
on reason. I have had occasion, for example, to acquire their word for
bread, which is "pain." As if that were not wild enough, they
mispronounce it atrociously. Yet for years these people have been
separated from us only by a narrow strip of water!
By keeping close to our rooms, then, I had thought to evade what of
evil might have been in store for me on this day. Another evening I
might have ventured abroad to a cinema palace, but this was no time
for daring, and I took a further precaution of locking our doors.
Then, indeed, I had no misgiving save that inspired by the last words
of the Honourable George. In the event of his losing the game of poker
I was to be even more concerned than he. Yet how could evil come to
me, even should the American do him in the eye rather frightfully? In
truth, I had not the faintest belief that the Honourable George would
win the game. He fancies himself a card-player, though why he should,
God knows. At bridge with him every hand is a no-trumper. I need not
say more. Also it occurred to me that the American would be a person
not accustomed to losing. There was that about him.
More than once I had deplored this rather Bohemian taste of the
Honourable George which led him to associate with Americans as readily
as with persons of his own class; and especially had I regretted his
intimacy with the family in question. Several times I had observed
them, on the occasion of bearing messages from the Honourable
George--usually his acceptance of an invitation to dine. Too obviously
they were rather a handful. I mean to say, they were people who could
perhaps matter in their own wilds, but they would never do with us.
Their leader, with whom the Honourable George had consented to game
this evening, was a tall, careless-spoken person, with a narrow, dark
face marked with heavy black brows that were rather tremendous in
their effect when he did not smile. Almost at my first meeting him I
divined something of the public man in his bearing, a suggestion,
perhaps, of the confirmed orator, a notion in which I was somehow
further set by the gesture with which he swept back his carelessly
falling forelock. I was not surprised, then, to hear him referred to
as the "Senator." In some unexplained manner, the Honourable George,
who is never as reserved in public as I could wish him to be, had
chummed up with this person at one of the race-tracks, and had
thereafter been almost quite too pally with him and with the very
curious other members of his family--the name being Floud.
The wife might still be called youngish, a bit florid in type,
plumpish, with yellow hair, though to this a stain had been applied,
leaving it in deficient consonance with her eyebrows; these shading
grayish eyes that crackled with determination. Rather on the large
side she was, forcible of speech and manner, yet curiously eager, I
had at once detected, for the exactly correct thing in dress and
deportment.
The remaining member of the family was a male cousin of the so-called
Senator, his senior evidently by half a score of years, since I took
him to have reached the late fifties. "Cousin Egbert" he was called,
and it was at once apparent to me that he had been most direly
subjugated by the woman whom he addressed with great respect as "Mrs.
Effie." Rather a seamed and drooping chap he was, with mild,
whitish-blue eyes like a porcelain doll's, a mournfully drooped gray
moustache, and a grayish jumble of hair. I early remarked his hunted
look in the presence of the woman. Timid and soft-stepping he was
beyond measure.
Such were the impressions I had been able to glean of these altogether
queer people during the fortnight since the Honourable George had so
lawlessly taken them up. Lodged they were in an hotel among the most
expensive situated near what would have been our Trafalgar Square, and
I later recalled that I had been most interestedly studied by the
so-called "Mrs. Effie" on each of the few occasions I appeared there.
I mean to say, she would not be above putting to me intimate questions
concerning my term of service with the Honourable George Augustus
Vane-Basingwell, the precise nature of the duties I performed for him,
and even the exact sum of my honourarium. On the last occasion she had
remarked--and too well I recall a strange glitter in her competent
eyes--"You are just the man needed by poor Cousin Egbert there--you
could make something of him. Look at the way he's tied that cravat
after all I've said to him."
The person referred to here shivered noticeably, stroked his chin in a
manner enabling him to conceal the cravat, and affected nervously to
be taken with a sight in the street below. In some embarrassment I
withdrew, conscious of a cold, speculative scrutiny bent upon me by
the woman.
If I have seemed tedious in my recital of the known facts concerning
these extraordinary North American natives, it will, I am sure, be
forgiven me in the light of those tragic developments about to ensue.
Meantime, let me be pictured as reposing in fancied security from all
evil predictions while I awaited the return of the Honourable George.
I was only too certain he would come suffering from an acute acid
dyspepsia, for I had seen lobster in his shifty eyes as he left me;
but beyond this I apprehended nothing poignant, and I gave myself up
to meditating profoundly upon our situation.
Frankly, it was not good. I had done my best to cheer the Honourable
George, but since our brief sojourn at Ostend, and despite the almost
continuous hospitality of the Americans, he had been having, to put it
bluntly, an awful hump. At Ostend, despite my remonstrance, he had
staked and lost the major portion of his quarter's allowance in
testing a system at the wheel which had been warranted by the person
who sold it to him in London to break any bank in a day's play. He had
meant to pause but briefly at Ostend, for little more than a test of
the system, then proceed to Monte Carlo, where his proposed terrific
winnings would occasion less alarm to the managers. Yet at Ostend the
system developed such grave faults in the first hour of play that we
were forced to lay up in Paris to economize.
For myself I had entertained doubts of the system from the moment of
its purchase, for it seemed awfully certain to me that the vendor
would have used it himself instead of parting with it for a couple of
quid, he being in plain need of fresh linen and smarter boots, to say
nothing of the quite impossible lounge-suit he wore the night we met
him in a cab shelter near Covent Garden. But the Honourable George had
not listened to me. He insisted the chap had made it all enormously
clear; that those mathematical Johnnies never valued money for its own
sake, and that we should presently be as right as two sparrows in a
crate.
Fearfully annoyed I was at the denouement. For now we were in Paris,
rather meanly lodged in a dingy hotel on a narrow street leading from
what with us might have been Piccadilly Circus. Our rooms were rather
a good height with a carved cornice and plaster enrichments, but the
furnishings were musty and the general air depressing, notwithstanding
the effect of a few good mantel ornaments which I have long made it a
rule to carry with me.
Then had come the meeting with the Americans. Glad I was to reflect
that this had occurred in Paris instead of London. That sort of thing
gets about so. Even from Paris I was not a little fearful that news of
his mixing with this raffish set might get to the ears of his
lordship either at the town house or at Chaynes-Wotten. True, his
lordship is not over-liberal with his brother, but that is small
reason for affronting the pride of a family that attained its earldom
in the fourteenth century. Indeed the family had become important
quite long before this time, the first Vane-Basingwell having been
beheaded by no less a personage than William the Conqueror, as I
learned in one of the many hours I have been privileged to browse in
the Chaynes-Wotten library.
It need hardly be said that in my long term of service with the
Honourable George, beginning almost from the time my mother nursed
him, I have endeavoured to keep him up to his class, combating a
certain laxness that has hampered him. And most stubborn he is, and
wilful. At games he is almost quite a duffer. I once got him to play
outside left on a hockey eleven and he excited much comment, some of
which was of a favourable nature, but he cares little for hunting or
shooting and, though it is scarce a matter to be gossiped of, he
loathes cricket. Perhaps I have disclosed enough concerning him.
Although the Vane-Basingwells have quite almost always married the
right people, the Honourable George was beyond question born queer.
Again, in the matter of marriage, he was difficult. His lordship,
having married early into a family of poor lifes, was now long a
widower, and meaning to remain so he had been especially concerned
that the Honourable George should contract a proper alliance. Hence
our constant worry lest he prove too susceptible out of his class.
More than once had he shamefully funked his fences. There was the
distressing instance of the Honourable Agatha Cradleigh. Quite all
that could be desired of family and dower she was, thirty-two years
old, a bit faded though still eager, with the rather immensely high
forehead and long, thin, slightly curved Cradleigh nose.
The Honourable George at his lordship's peppery urging had at last
consented to a betrothal, and our troubles for a time promised to be
over, but it came to precisely nothing. I gathered it might have been
because she wore beads on her gown and was interested in uplift work,
or | 863.780977 |
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Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
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THRICE ARMED
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Winston of the Prairie," "Delilah of the
Snows," "By Right of Purchase," "Lorimer
of the Northwest," etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1908, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| 863.78104 |
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Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
BY
CLARENCE L. CULLEN
AUTHOR OF
"Tales OF THE EX-TANKS."
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1898-1899-1900, By_
THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION.
_Copyright, 1900, By_
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY.
----
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
THIS WIRETAPPER WAS COLOR-BLIND.
"WHOOPING" A RACE-HORSE UNDER THE WIRE.
JUST LIKE FINDING MONEY.
THIS SON OF FONSO WAS OF | 863.78133 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Odessa Paige Turner, TIA and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE.
"THE END OF THE WAR."
A GRAPHIC RECORD.
One minute before the hour.
All guns firing.
Nov. 11, 1918. 11 A.M.
One minute after the hour.
All guns silent.
This is the last record by sound ranging of artillery activity
on the American front near the River Moselle. It is the
reproduction of a piece of recording tape as it issued
from an American sound-ranging apparatus when the hour of
11 o'clock on the morning of November 11, 1918, brought
the general order to cease firing, and the great war came
to an end. Six seconds of sound recording are shown. The
broken character of the records on the left indicates great
artillery activity; the lack of irregularities on the right
indicates almost complete cessation of firing, two breaks
in the second line probably being due to the exuberance
of a doughboy firing his pistol twice close to one of the
recording microphones on the front in celebration of the
dawn of peace. The two minutes on either side of the exact
armistice hour have been cut from the strip to emphasize
the contrast. Sound ranging was an important means of
locating the positions and calibers of enemy guns. A
description of these wonderful devices, which were a secret
with America and the Allies, is given in Book III, chapter
4.]
America's Munitions
1917-1918
REPORT
OF
BENEDICT CROWELL
THE ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF WAR
DIRECTOR OF MUNITIONS
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
1919
WASHINGTON, D. C., _December 24, 1918_.
DEAR MR. CROWELL: American munitions production, which for some time
has been in your charge, played an important part in the early decision
of the war, yet the very immensity and complexity of the problem has
made it difficult for this accomplishment to be adequately understood
by the public or in fact by any except those who have had occasion to
give the matter special study. As the whole people have been called
upon to make sacrifices for the war, all the people should be given an
opportunity to know what has been done in their behalf in munitions
production, and I therefore ask that you have prepared a historical
statement of munitions production, so brief that all may have time to
read it, so nontechnical that all may be able readily to understand it,
and so authoritative that all may rely upon its accuracy.
Cordially yours,
NEWTON D. BAKER,
_Secretary of War_.
Hon. BENEDICT CROWELL,
_The Assistant Secretary of War_.
WASHINGTON, D. C., _May 10, 1919_.
DEAR MR. SECRETARY: Responding to your request, I transmit herewith
a brief, nontechnical, authoritative history of munitions production
during the recent war. The several chapters have been prepared in the
first instance by the officers who have been directly responsible for
production, and have been assembled and edited, under my direction, by
Hon. Robert J. Bulkley, assisted by Capt. Robert Forrest Wilson and
Capt. Benjamin E. Ling. Capt. Wilson has undertaken responsibility for
the literary style of the report, and has rewritten the greater part of
it, consulting at length with the officers who supplied the original
material, and with officers of the statistics branch of the General
Staff, in order to insure accuracy.
Maj. Gen. C. C. Williams, Chief of Ordnance; Brig. Gen. W. S. Peirce,
Acting Chief of Ordnance; Maj. Gen. C. T. Menoher, Chief of Air
Service; Maj. Gen. W. M. Black, Chief of Engineers; Maj. Gen. W. L.
Sibert, Chief of Chemical Warfare Service; Maj. Gen. H. L. Rogers,
Quartermaster General; Mr. R. J. Thorne, Acting Quartermaster General;
Maj. Gen. G. O. Squier, Chief Signal Officer; Brig. Gen. Charles B.
Drake, Chief of Motor Transport Corps; and Maj. Gen. W. M. Ireland, the
Surgeon General, have cooperated in the preparation of the material
transmitted herewith.
Special acknowledgment for the preparation and correction of the
several chapters is due to the following officers:
The ordnance problem, Col. James L. Walsh.
Gun production, Col. William P. Barba.
Mobile field artillery, Col. J. B. Rose.
Railway artillery, Col. G. M. Barnes and Maj. E. D. Campbell.
Explosives, propellants, and artillery ammunition, Col. C. T. Harris
and Maj. J. Herbert Hunter.
Sights and fire-control apparatus, Col. H. K. Rutherford and Maj. Fred
E. Wright.
Motorized artillery, Col. L. B. Moody and Lieut. Col. H. W. Alden.
Tanks, Lieut. Col. H. W. Alden.
Machine guns, Col. Earl McFarland and Lieut. Col. Herbert O'Leary.
Service rifles, Maj. Lewis P. Johnson and Maj. Parker Dodge.
Pistols and revolvers, Lieut. Col. J. C. Beatty and Maj. Parker Dodge.
Small arms ammunition, Lie | 863.782247 |
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Produced by KD Weeks, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Bold and italic characters, which appear only in the advertisements, are
delimited with the ‘_’ and ‘=’ characters respectively, as ‘_italic_’ and
‘=bold=.’
The few minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected.
Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details
regarding the handling of these issues.
POPULAR JUVENILE BOOKS,
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
----------
_RAGGED DICK SERIES._
_Complete in Six Volumes._
I. RAGGED DICK; or, Street Life in New York.
II. FAME AND FORTUNE; or, The Progress of Richard
Hunter.
III. MARK, THE MATCH BOY.
IV. ROUGH AND READY; or, Life Among New York Newsboys.
V. BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY; or, Among the Wharves.
VI. RUFUS AND ROSE; or, The Fortunes of Rough and
Ready.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
----------
_CAMPAIGN SERIES._
_Complete in Three Volumes._
I. FRANK’S CAMPAIGN.
II. PAUL PRESCOTT’S CHARGE.
III. CHARLIE CODMAN’S CRUISE.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
----------
_LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. LUCK AND PLUCK; or, John Oakley’s Inheritance.
II. SINK OR SWIM; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve.
III. STRONG AND STEADY; or, Paddle your own Canoe. (In
October, 1871.)
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
=_Price, $1.50 per volume._=
----------
_TATTERED TOM SERIES._
_To be completed in Six Volumes._
I. TATTERED TOM; or, The story of a Street Arab.
II. PAUL, THE PEDDLER; or, The Adventures of a Young
Street Merchant. (In November, 1871.)
OTHERS IN PREPARATION.
=_Price, $1.25 per volume._=
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM SERIES.
BY
HORATIO ALGER JR.
[Illustration]
TATTERED TOM.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM;
OR,
THE STORY OF A STREET ARAB.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF “RAGGED DICK SERIES,” “LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES,”
“CAMPAIGN SERIES.”
----------
LORING, Publisher,
COR. BROMFIELD AND WASHINGTON STREETS,
BOSTON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
A. K. LORING,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Rockwell & Churchill, Printers and Stereotypers,
122 Washington Street, Boston.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=To=
=AMOS AND O. AUGUSTA CHENEY,=
=This Volume=
IS DEDICATED
BY THEIR AFFECTIONATE BROTHER.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
----------
When, three years since, the author published “Ragged Dick,” he was far
from anticipating the flattering welcome it would receive, or the degree
of interest which would be excited by his pictures of street life in New
York. The six volumes which comprised his original design are completed,
but the subject is not exhausted. There are yet other phases of street
life to be described, and other classes of street Arabs, whose fortunes
deserve to be chronicled.
“Tattered Tom” is therefore presented to the public as the initial
volume of a new series of six stories, which may be regarded as a
continuation of the “Ragged Dick Series.” Some surprise may be felt at
the discovery that Tom is a girl; but I beg to assure my readers that
she is not one of the conventional kind. Though not without her good
points, she will be found to differ very widely in tastes and manners
from the young ladies of twelve usually to be met in society. I venture
to hope that she will become a favorite in spite of her numerous faults,
and that no less interest will be felt in her fortunes than in those of
the heroes of earlier volumes.
NEW YORK, April, 1871.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TATTERED TOM;
OR,
THE ADVENTURES OF A STREET ARAB.
-------
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCES TATTERED TOM.
Mr. Frederic Pelham, a young gentleman very daintily dressed, with
exquisitely fitting kids and highly polished boots, stood at the corner
of Broadway and Chambers Streets, surveying with some dismay the dirty
crossing, and speculating as to his chances of getting over without
marring the polish of his boots.
He started at length, and had taken two steps, when a dirty hand was
thrust out, and he was saluted by the request, “Gi’ me a penny, sir?”
“Out of my way, you bundle of rags!” he answered.
“You’re another!” was the prompt reply.
Frederic Pelham stared at the creature who had dared to imply that he—a
leader of fashion—was a bundle of rags.
The street-sweeper was apparently about twelve years of age. It was not
quite easy to determine whether it was a boy or girl. The head was
surmounted by a boy’s cap, the hair was cut short, it wore a boy’s
jacket, but underneath was a girl’s dress. Jacket and dress were both in
a state of extreme raggedness. The child’s face was very dark and, as
might be expected, dirty; but it was redeemed by a pair of brilliant
black eyes, which were fixed upon the young exquisite in an expression
half-humorous, half-defiant, as the owner promptly retorted, “You’re
another!”
“Clear out, you little nuisance!” said the dandy, stopping short from
necessity, for the little sweep had planted herself directly in his
path; and to step out on either side would have soiled his boots
irretrievably.
“Gi’ me a penny, then?”
“I’ll hand you to the police, you little wretch!”
“I aint done nothin’. Gi’ me a penny?”
Mr. Pelham, provoked, raised his cane threateningly.
But Tom (for, in spite of her being a girl, this was the name by which
she was universally known; indeed she scarcely knew any other) was wary.
She dodged the blow, and by an adroit sweep of her broom managed to
scatter some mud on Mr. Pelham’s boots.
“You little brat, you’ve muddied my boots!” he exclaimed, with vexation.
“Then why did you go for to strike me?” said Tom, defiantly.
He did not stop to answer, but hurried across the street. His pace was
accelerated by an approaching vehicle, and the instinct of
self-preservation, more powerful than even the dictates of fashion,
compelled him to make a détour through the mud, greatly to the injury of
his no longer immaculate boots. But there was a remedy for the disaster
on the other side.
“Shine your boots, sir?” asked a boot-black, who had stationed himself
at the other side of the crossing.
Frederic Pelham looked at his boots. Their glory had departed. Their
virgin gloss had been dimmed by plebeian mud. He grudged the
boot-black’s fee, for he was thoroughly mean, though he had plenty of
money at his command. But it was impossible to walk up Broadway in such
boots. Suppose he should meet any of his fashionable friends, especially
if ladies, his fashionable reputation would be endangered.
“Go ahead, boy!” he said. “Do your best.”
“All right, sir.”
“It’s the second time I’ve had my boots blacked this morning. If it
hadn’t been for that dirty sweep I should have got across safely.”
The boy laughed—to himself. He knew Tom well enough, and he had been an
interested spectator of her encounter with his present customer, having
an eye to business. But he didn’t think it prudent to make known his
thoughts.
The boots were at length polished, and Mr. Pelham saw with satisfaction
that no signs of the street mire remained.
“How much do you want, boy?” he asked.
“Ten cents.”
“I thought five cents was the price.”
“Can’t afford to work on no such terms.”
Mr. Pelham might have disputed the fee, but he saw an acquaintance
approaching, and did not care to be caught chaffering with a boot-black.
He therefore reluctantly drew out a dime, and handed it to the boy, who
at once deposited it in the pocket of a ragged vest.
He stood on the sidewalk on the lookout for another customer, when Tom
marched across the street, broom in hand.
“I say, Joe, how much did he give you?”
“Ten cents.”
“How much yer goin’ to give me?”
“Nothin’!”
“You wouldn’t have got him if I hadn’t muddied his boots.”
“Did you do it a-purpose?”
Tom nodded.
“What for?”
“He called me names. That’s one reason. Besides, I wanted to give you a
job.”
Joe seemed struck by this view, and, being alive to his own interest,
did not disregard the application.
“Here’s a penny,” he said.
“Gi’ me two.”
He hesitated a moment, then diving once more into his pocket, brought up
another penny, which Tom transferred with satisfaction to the pocket of
her dress.
“Shall I do it ag’in?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Joe. “I say, Tom, you’re a smart un.”
“I’d ought to be. Granny makes me smart whenever she gets a chance.”
Tom returned to the other end of the crossing, and began to sweep
diligently. Her labors did not extend far from the curbstone, as the
stream of vehicles now rapidly passing would have made it dangerous.
However, it was all one to Tom where she swept. The cleanness of the
crossing was to her a matter of comparative indifference. Indeed,
considering her own disregard of neatness, it could hardly have been
expected that she should feel very solicitous on that point. Like some
of her elders who were engaged in municipal labors, she regarded
street-sweeping as a “job,” out of which she was to make money, and her
interest began and ended with the money she earned.
There were not so many to cross Broadway at this point as lower down,
and only a few of these seemed impressed by a sense of the pecuniary
value of Tom’s services.
“Gi’ me a penny, sir,” she said to a stout gentleman.
He tossed a coin into the mud.
Tom darted upon it, and fished it up, wiping her fingers afterwards upon
her dress.
“Aint you afraid of soiling your dress?” asked the philanthropist,
smiling.
“What’s the odds?” said Tom, coolly.
“You’re a philosopher,” said the stout gentleman.
“Don’t you go to callin’ me names!” said Tom; “’cause if you do I’ll
muddy up your boots.”
“So you don’t want to be called a philosopher?” said the gentleman.
“No, I don’t,” said Tom, eying him suspiciously.
“Then I must make amends.”
He took a dime from his pocket, and handed it to the astonished Tom.
“Is this for me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Tom’s eyes glistened; for ten cents was a nugget when compared with her
usual penny receipts. She stood in a brown study till her patron was
half across the street, then, seized with a sudden idea, she darted
after him, and tugged at his coat-tail.
“What’s wanted?” he asked, turning round in some surprise.
“I say,” said Tom, “you may call me that name ag’in for five cents
more.”
The ludicrous character of the proposal struck him, and he laughed with
amusement.
“Well,” he said, “that’s a good offer. What’s your name?”
“Tom.”
“Which are you,—a boy or a girl?”
“I’m a girl, but I wish I was a boy.”
“What for?”
“’Cause boys are stronger than girls, and can fight better.”
“Do you ever fight?”
“Sometimes.”
“Whom do you fight with?”
“Sometimes I fight with the boys, and sometimes with granny.”
“What makes you fight with your granny?”
“She gets drunk and fires things at my head; then I pitch into her.”
The cool, matter-of-fact manner in which Tom spoke seemed to amuse her
questioner.
“I was right,” he said; “you’re a philosopher,—a practical philosopher.”
“That’s more’n you said before,” said Tom; “I want ten cents for that.”
The ten cents were produced. Tom pocketed them in a business-like
manner, and went back to her employment. She wondered, slightly, whether
a philosopher was something very bad; but, as there was no means of
determining, sensibly dismissed the inquiry, and kept on with | 863.78255 |
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Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Woman in church]
THE REVOLUTION IN
TANNER’S LANE
BY
MARK RUTHERFORD
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
HODDER & STOUGHTON’S
SEVENPENNY LIBRARY
* * * * *
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE WORLD OUTSIDE 9
II. OUTSIDE PIKE STREET 24
III. THE THEATRE 33
IV. A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE 41
V. THE HORIZON WIDENS 46
VI. TEA À LA MODE 58
VII. JEPHTHAH 66
VIII. UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE 75
IX. A STRAIN ON THE CABLE 83
X. DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES 97
XI. POLITICS AND PAULINE 107
XII. ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT 115
XIII. TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS 120
XIV. THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY: THE SIXTH FORM 134
THEREOF
XV. END OF THE BEGINNING 148
XVI. COWFOLD 155
XVII. WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY SLEEP? YET A 168
LITTLE SLEEP
XVIII. A RELIGIOUS PICNIC 175
XIX. “THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO LEAVEN” 182
XX. THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD’S EXPOSITION OF 188
ROMANS VIII. 7
XXI. THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT | 863.782593 |
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Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall "Christmas Stories" edition by
David Price, email [email protected]
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS
CHAPTER I--HOW MRS. LIRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS
Whoever would begin to be worried with letting Lodgings that wasn't a
lone woman with a living to get is a thing inconceivable to me, my dear;
excuse the familiarity, but it comes natural to me in my own little room,
when wishing to open my mind to those that I can trust, and I should be
truly thankful if they were all mankind, but such is not so, for have but
a Furnished bill in the window and your watch on the mantelpiece, and
farewell to it if you turn your back for but a second, however
gentlemanly the manners; nor is being of your own sex any safeguard, as I
have reason, in the form of sugar-tongs to know, for that lady (and a
fine woman she was) got me to run for a glass of water, on the plea of
going to be confined, which certainly turned out true, but it was in the
Station-house.
Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street, Strand--situated midway between the
City and St. James's, and within five minutes' walk of the principal
places of public amusement--is my address. I have rented this house many
years, as the parish rate-books will testify; and I could wish my
landlord was as alive to the fact as I am myself; but no, bless you, not
a half a pound of paint to save his life, nor so much, my dear, as a tile
upon the roof, though on your bended knees.
My dear, you never have found Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand
advertised in Bradshaw's _Railway Guide_, and with the blessing of Heaven
you never will or shall so find it. Some there are who do not think it
lowering themselves to make their names that cheap, and even going the
lengths of a portrait of the house not like it with a blot in every
window and a coach and four at the door, but what will suit Wozenham's
lower down on the other side of the way will not suit me, Miss Wozenham
having her opinions and me having mine, though when it comes to
systematic underbidding capable of being proved on oath in a court of
justice and taking the form of "If Mrs. Lirriper names eighteen shillings
a week, I name fifteen and six," it then comes to a settlement between
yourself and your conscience, supposing for the sake of argument your
name to be Wozenham, which I am well aware it is not or my opinion of you
would be greatly lowered, and as to airy bedrooms and a night-porter in
constant attendance the less said the better, the bedrooms being stuffy
and the porter stuff.
It is forty years ago since me and my poor Lirriper got married at St.
Clement's Danes, where I now have a sitting in a very pleasant pew with
genteel company and my own hassock, and being partial to evening service
not too crowded. My poor Lirriper was a handsome figure of a man, with a
beaming eye and a voice as mellow as a musical instrument made of honey
and steel, but he had ever been a free liver being in the commercial
travelling line and travelling what he called a limekiln road--"a dry
road, Emma my dear," my poor Lirriper says to me, "where I have to lay
the dust with one drink or another all day long and half the night, and
it wears me Emma"--and this led to his running through a good deal and
might have run through the turnpike too when that dreadful horse that
never would stand still for a single instant set off, but for its being
night and the gate shut and consequently took his wheel, my poor Lirriper
and the gig smashed to atoms and never spoke afterwards. He was a
handsome figure of a man, and a man with a jovial heart and a sweet
temper; but if they had come up then they never could have given you the
mellowness of his voice, and indeed I consider photographs wanting in
mellowness as a general rule and making you look like a new-ploughed
field.
My poor Lirriper being behindhand with the world and being buried at
Hatfield church in Hertfordshire, not that it was his native place but
that he had a liking for the Salisbury Arms where we went upon our
wedding-day and passed as happy a fortnight as ever happy was, I went
round to the creditors and I says "Gentlemen I am acquainted with the
fact that I am not answerable for my late husband's debts but I wish to
pay them for I am his lawful wife and his good name is dear to me. I am
going into the Lodgings gentlemen as a business and if I prosper every
farthing that my late husband owed shall be paid for the sake of the love
I bore him, by this right hand." It took a long time to do but it was
done, and the silver cream-jug which is between ourselves and the bed and
the mattress in my room up-stairs (or it would have found legs so sure as
ever the Furnished bill was up) being presented by the gentlemen engraved
"To Mrs. Lirriper a mark of grateful respect for her honourable conduct"
gave me a turn which was too much for my feelings, till Mr. Betley which
at that time had the parlours and loved his joke says "Cheer up Mrs.
Lirriper, you should feel as if it was only your christening and they
were your godfathers and godmothers which did promise for you." And it
brought me round, and I don't mind confessing to you my dear that I then
put a sandwich and a drop of sherry in a little basket and went down to
Hatfield church-yard outside the coach and kissed my hand and laid it
with a kind of proud and swelling love on my husband's grave, though
bless you it had taken me so long to clear his name that my wedding-ring
was worn quite fine and smooth when I laid it on the green green waving
grass.
I am an old woman now and my good looks are gone but that's me my dear
over the plate-warmer and considered like in the times when you used to
pay two guineas on ivory and took your chance pretty much how you came
out, which made you very careful how you left it about afterwards because
people were turned so red and uncomfortable by mostly guessing it was
somebody else quite different, and there was once a certain person that
had put his money in a hop business that came in one morning to pay his
rent and his respects being the second floor that would have taken it
down from its hook and put it in his breast-pocket--you understand my
dear--for the L | 863.78265 |
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Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines
THE SNOW-IMAGE
AND
OTHER TWICE-TOLD TALES
LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY
By
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Daffydowndilly was so called because in his nature he resembled a flower,
and loved to do only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took no
delight in labor of any kind. But, while Daffydowndilly was yet a little
boy, his mother sent him away from his pleasant home, and put him under
the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by the name of Mr. Toil.
Those who knew him best affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a very worthy
character; and that he had done more good, both to children and grown
people, than anybody else in the world. Certainly he had lived long
enough to do a great deal of good; for, if all stories be true, he had
dwelt upon earth ever since Adam was driven from the garden of Eden.
Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly countenance, especially for
such little boys or big men as were inclined to be idle; his voice, too,
was harsh; and all his ways and customs seemed very disagreeable to our
friend Daffydowndilly. The whole day long, this terrible old
schoolmaster sat at his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked about
the school-room with a certain awful birch rod in his hand. Now came a
rap over the shoulders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now he
punished a whole class who were behindhand with their lessons; and, in
short, unless a lad chose to attend quietly and constantly to his book,
he had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the school-room of Mr.
Toil.
"This will never do for me," thought Daffydowndilly.
Now, the whole of Daffydowndilly's life had hitherto been passed with his
dear mother, who had a much sweeter face than old Mr. Toil, and who had
always been very indulgent to her little boy. No wonder, therefore, that
poor Daffydowndilly found it a woful change, to be sent away from the
good lady's side, and put under the care of this ugly-visaged
schoolmaster, who never gave him any apples or cakes, and seemed to think
that little boys were created only to get lessons.
"I can't bear it any longer," said Daffydowndilly to himself, when he had
been at school about a week. "I'll run away, and try to find my dear
mother; and, at any rate, I shall never find anybody half so disagreeable
as this old Mr. Toil!"
So, the very next morning, off started poor Daffydowndilly, and began his
rambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for his
breakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay his expenses. But he had
gone only a short distance, when he overtook a man of grave and sedate
appearance, who was trudging at a moderate pace along the road.
"Good morning, my fine lad," said the stranger; and his voice seemed hard
and severe, but yet had a sort of kindness in it; "whence do you come so
early, and whither are you going?"
Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of very ingenuous disposition, and had
never been known to tell a lie in all his life. Nor did he tell one now.
He hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run away
from school, on account of his great dislike to Mr. Toil; and that he
was resolved to find some place in the world where he should never see or
hear of the old schoolmaster again.
"O, very well, my little friend!" answered the stranger. "Then we will
go together; for I, likewise, have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil,
and should be glad to find some place where he was never heard of."
Our friend Daffydowndilly would have been better pleased with a companion
of his own age, with whom he might have gathered flowers along the
roadside, or have chased butterflies, or have done many other things to
make the journey pleasant. But he had wisdom enough to understand that
he should get along through the world much easier by having a man of
experience to show him the way. So he accepted the stranger's proposal,
and they walked on very sociably together.
They had not gone far, when the road passed by a field where some
haymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass, and spreading it out
in the sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted with the sweet smell of
the new-mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to make
hay in the sunshine, under the blue sky, and with the birds singing
sweetly in the neighboring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in a
dismal school-room, learning lessons all day long, and continually
scolded by old Mr. Toil. But, in the midst of these thoughts, while he
was stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back and caught hold
of his companion's hand.
"Quick, quick!" cried he. "Let us run away, or he will catch us!"
"Who will catch us?" asked the stranger.
"Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffydowndilly. "Don't you
see him amongst the haymakers?"
And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to be the owner
of the field, and the employer of the men at work there. He had stripped
off his coat and waistcoat, and was busily at work in his shirt-sleeves.
The drops of sweat stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not a
moment's rest, and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay while the
sun shone. Now, strange to say, the figure and features of this old
farmer were precisely the same as those of old Mr. Toil, who, at that
very moment, must have been just entering his school-room.
"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil the
schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and people say
he is the most disagreeable man of the two. However, he won't trouble
you, unless you become a laborer on the farm."
Little Daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but was very
glad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer, who
bore such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two travellers had
gone but little farther, when they came to a spot where some carpenters
were erecting a house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop a
moment; for it was a very pretty sight to see how neatly the carpenters
| 863.782657 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF CHARLES DARWIN
From The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin
By Charles Darwin
Edited by his Son Francis Darwin
[My father's autobiographical recollections, given in the present
chapter, were written for his children,--and written without any
thought that they would ever be published. To many this may seem an
impossibility; but those who knew my father will understand how it was
not only possible, but natural. The autobiography bears the heading,
'Recollections of the Development of my Mind and Character,' and end
with the following note:--"Aug. 3, 1876. This sketch of my life was
begun about May 28th at Hopedene (Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood's house in
Surrey.), and since then I have written for nearly an hour on most
afternoons." It will easily be understood that, in a narrative of a
personal and intimate kind written for his wife and children, passages
should occur which must here be omitted; and I have not thought it
necessary to indicate where such omissions are made. It has been found
necessary to make a few corrections of obvious verbal slips, but the
number of such alterations has been kept down to the minimum.--F.D.]
A German Editor having written to me for an account of the development
of my mind and character with some sketch of my autobiography, I have
thought that the attempt would amuse me, and might possibly interest
my children or their children. I know that it would have interested me
greatly to have read even so short and dull a sketch of the mind of my
grandfather, written by himself, and what he thought and did, and how he
worked. I have attempted to write the following account of myself, as if
I were a dead man in another world looking back at my own life. Nor have
I found this difficult, for life is nearly over with me. I have taken no
pains about my style of writing.
I was born at Shrewsbury on February 12th, 1809, and my earliest
recollection goes back only to when I was a few months over four years
old, when we went to near Abergele for sea-bathing, and I recollect some
events and places there with some little distinctness.
My mother died in July 1817, when I was a little over eight years old,
and it is odd that I can remember hardly anything about her except
her death-bed, her black velvet gown, and her curiously constructed
work-table. In the spring of this same year I was sent to a day-school
in Shrewsbury, where I stayed a year. I have been told that I was much
slower in learning than my younger sister Catherine, and I believe that
I was in many ways a naughty boy.
By the time I went to this day-school (Kept by Rev. G. Case, minister of
the Unitarian Chapel in the High Street. Mrs. Darwin was a Unitarian
and attended Mr. Case's chapel, and my father as a little boy went there
with his elder sisters. But both he and his brother were christened and
intended to belong to the Church of England; and after his early boyhood
he seems usually to have gone to church and not to Mr. Case's. It
appears ("St. James' Gazette", Dec. 15, 1883) that a mural tablet has
been erected to his memory in the chapel, which is now known as the
'Free Christian Church.') my taste for natural history, and more
especially for collecting, was well developed. I tried to make out
the names of plants (Rev. W.A. Leighton, who was a schoolfellow of my
father's at Mr. Case's school, remembers his bringing a flower to school
and saying that his mother had taught him how by looking at the inside
of the blossom the name of the plant could be discovered. Mr. Leighton
goes on, "This greatly roused my attention and curiosity, and I enquired
of him repeatedly how this could be done?"--but his lesson was naturally
enough not transmissible.--F.D.), and collected all sorts of things,
shells, seals, franks, coins, and minerals. The passion for collecting
which leads a man to be a systematic naturalist, a virtuoso, or a miser,
was very strong in me, and was clearly innate, as none of my sisters or
brother ever had this taste.
One little event during this year has fixed itself very firmly in my
mind, and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having been
afterwards sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that
apparently I was interested at this early age in the variability of
plants! I told another little boy (I believe it was Leighton, who
afterwards became a well-known lichenologist and botanist), that I could
produce variously polyanthuses and primroses by watering them
with certain fluids, which was of course a monstrous fable, and
had never been tried by me. I may here also confess that as a little boy
I was much given to inventing deliberate falsehoods, and this was always
done for the sake of causing excitement. For instance, I once gathered
much valuable fruit from my father's trees and hid it in the shrubbery,
and then ran in breathless haste to spread the news that I had
discovered a hoard of stolen fruit.
I must have been a very simple little fellow when I first went to the
school. A boy of the name of Garnett took me into a cake shop one day,
and bought some cakes for which he did not pay, as the shopman trusted
him. When we came out I asked him why he did not pay for them, and he
instantly answered, "Why, do you not know that my uncle left a great
sum of money to the town on condition that every tradesman should give
whatever was wanted without payment to any one who wore his old hat and
moved [it] in a particular manner?" and he then showed me how it was
moved. He then went into another shop where he was trusted, and asked
for some small article, moving his hat in the proper manner, and of
course obtained it without payment. When we came out he said, "Now if
you like to go by yourself into that cake-shop (how well I remember its
exact position) I will lend you my hat, and you can get whatever you
like if you move the hat on your head properly." I gladly accepted the
generous offer, and went in and asked for some cakes, moved the old hat
and was walking out of the shop, when the shopman made a rush at me, so
I dropped the cakes and ran for dear life, and was astonished by being
greeted with shouts of laughter by my false friend Garnett.
I can say in my own favour that I was as a boy humane, but I owed this
entirely to the instruction and example of my sisters. I doubt indeed
whether humanity is a natural or innate quality. I was very fond of
collecting eggs, but I never took more than a single egg out of a bird's
nest, except on one single occasion, when I took all, not for their
value, but from a sort of bravado.
I had a strong taste for angling, and would sit for any number of hours
on the bank of a river or pond watching the float; when at Maer (The
house of his uncle, Josiah Wedgwood.) I was told that I could kill the
worms with salt and water, and from that day I never spitted a living
worm, though at the expense probably of some loss of success.
Once as a very little boy whilst at the day school, or before that time,
I acted cruelly, for I beat a puppy, I believe, simply from enjoying
the sense of power; but the beating could not have been severe, for
the puppy did not howl, of which I feel sure, as the spot was near
the house. This act lay heavily on my conscience, as is shown by my
remembering the exact spot where the crime was committed. It probably
| 863.783326 |
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BILL NYE AND BOOMERANG;
Or, The Tale Of A Meek-Eyed Mule, And Some Other Literary Gems
By Bill Nye
Chicago, New York And San Francisco:
Bedford, Clarke & Co.
1883=
```"And now, kind friends, what I have wrote
```I hope you will pass o'er,
```And not criticise as some has done,
```Hitherto, herebefore."
`````Sweet Singer of Michigan.
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
MY MULE BOOMERANG,
|Whose bright smile haunts me still, and whose low, mellow notes are
ever sounding in my ears, to whom I owe all that I am as a great man,
and whose presence has inspired me ever and anon throughout the years
that are gone.
THIS VOLUME,
this coronet of sparkling literary gems as it were, this wreath of
fragrant forget-me-nots and meek-eyed johnny-jump-ups, with all its
wealth of rare tropical blossoms and high-priced exotics, is cheerfully
and even hilariously dedicated
By the Author.
THE APOLOGY.
{In my Boudoir,
{Nov. 17,1880.
Belford, Clarke & Co.:
Gentlemen:--In reply to your favor of the 22d ult., I herewith transmit
the material necessary for a medium size volume of my chaste and unique
writings.
The matter has been arranged rather hurriedly, and no doubt in
classifying this rectangular mass of soul, I have selected some little
epics and ethereal flights of fancy which are not as good as others that
I have left out, but my only excuse is this: the literary world has been
compelled to yield up first one well known historical or scientific
work and then another, careful investigation having shown that they were
unreliable. This left suffering humanity almost destitute of a reliable
work to which it could turn in its hour of great need.
So I have been compelled to hurry more than I wanted to.
It affords me great pleasure, however, to know what a feeling of blessed
rest and childlike confidence and assurance-and some more things of that
nature-will follow the publication of this work.
Print the book in large coarse type, so that the old people can get a
chance at it. It will reconcile them to death, perhaps.
Then sell it at a moderate price. It is really priceless in value, but
put it within the reach of all, and then turn it loose without a word of
warning. The Author.
Laramie City, Wyoming.
OSTROPHE TO AN ORPHAN MULE.
```Oh! lonely, gentle, unobtrusive mule!
```Thou standest idly 'gainst the azure sky,`
``And sweetly, sadly singeth like a hired man.=
`````Who taught thee thus to warble`
``In the noontide heat and wrestle with`
``Thy ceep, corroding grief and joyless woe?`
``Who taught thy simple heart
```Its pent-up, wildly-warring waste`
``Of wanton woe to carol forth upon`
````The silent air?=
```I chide thee not, because thy`
``Song is fraught with grief-embittered`
``Monotone and joyless minor chords`
``Of wild, imported melody, for thou`
``Art restless, woe begirt and`
``Compassed round about with gloom,
`````Thou timid, trusting, orphan mule!
`````Few joys indeed, are thine,`
``Thou thrice-bestricken, madly`
``Mournful, melancholy mule.
```And he alone who strews
```Thy pathway with his cold remains
```Can give thee recompense
`````Of lemoncholy woe.=
```He who hath sought to steer`
``Thy limber, yielding tail`
``Ferninst thy crupper-band
```Hath given thee joy, and he alone.
```'Tip true, he may have shot`
``Athwart the Zodiac, and, looking`
``O'er the outer walls upon
`````The New Jerusalem,
```Have uttered vain regrets.=
```Thou reckest not, O orphan mule,
```For it hath given thee joy, and`
``Bound about thy bursting heart,
```And held thy tottering reason`
````To its throne.=
```Sing on, O mule, and warble`
``In the twilight gray,
```Unchidden by the heartless throng.
```Sing of thy parents on thy father's side.`
``Yearn for the days now past and gone:
```For he who pens these halting,
```Limping lines to thee
```Doth bid thee yearn, and yearn, and yearn.
A MINERS' MEETING--MY MINE--A MIRAGE ON E PLAINS.
Camp on the New Jerusalem Mine, May 28, 1880.
|I write this letter in great haste, as I have just returned from the
new carbonate discoveries, and haven't any surplus time left.
While I was there a driving snow storm raged on the mountains, and
slowly melting made the yellow ochre into tough plastic clay which
adhered to my boots to such an extent that before I knew it my
delicately arched feet were as large as a bale of hay with about the
same symmetrical outlines.
A miners' meeting was held there Wednesday evening, and a district to
be called Mill Creek District, was formed, being fifteen miles each way.
The Nellis cabin or ranch is situated in the center of the district.
I presided over the meeting to give it an air of terror and gloom. It
was very impressive. There was hardly a dry eye in the house as I was
led to the chair by two old miners. I seated myself behind the flour
barrel, and pounding on the head of the barrel with a pick handle, I
called the august assemblage to order.
Snuffing the candle with my fingers in a graceful and pleasing
style, and wiping the black off on my pants, I said: "Gentlemen of the
Convention: In your selection of a chairman I detect at once your mental
acumen and intelligent foresight. While you feel confident that, in the
rose- future, prosperity is in store for you, you still remember
that now you look to capital for the immediate development of your
district.
"I am free to state that, although I have been but a few hours in your
locality, I am highly gratified with your appearance, and I cheerfully
assure you that the coffers which I command are at your disposal. In me
you behold a capitalist who proposes to develop the country, regardless
of expense.
"I also recognize your good sense in selecting an old miner and mineral
expert to preside over your meeting. Although it may require something
of a mental strain for your chairman to detect the difference between
porphyry and perdition, yet in the actual practical workings of a mining
camp he feels that he is equal to any emergency.
"After the band plays something soothing and the chaplain has drawn up
a short petition to the throne of grace, I shall be glad to know the
pleasure of the meeting."
Round after round of applause greeted this little gem of oratory. A
small boy gathered up the bouquets and filed them with the secretary,
when the meeting proceeded with its work. Most of the delegates came
instructed, and therefore the business was soon transacted.
I located a claim called the Boomerang. I named it after my favorite
mule. I call my mule Boomerang because he has such an eccentric orbit
and no one can tell just when he will clash with some other heavenly
body.
He has a sigh like the long drawn breath of a fog-horn. He likes to come
to my tent in the morning about daylight and sigh in my ear before I
am awake. He is a highly amusing little cuss, and it tickles him a good
deal to pour about 13 1/2 gallons of his melody into my car while I am
dreaming, sweetly dreaming. He enjoys my look of pleasant surprise when
I wake up.
He would cheerfully pour more than 13 1/2 gallons of sigh into my
ear, but that is all my ear will hold. There is nothing small about
Boomerang. He is generous to a fault and lavishes his low, sad,
tremulous wail on every one who has time to listen to it.
Those who have never been wakened from a sweet, sweet dream by the
low sad wail of a narrow-gauge mule, so close to the ear that the warm
breath of the songster can be felt on the cheek, do not know what it is
to be loved by a patient, faithful, dumb animal.
The first time he rendered this voluntary for my benefit, I rose in my
wrath and some other clothes, and went out and shot him. I discharged
every chamber of my revolver into his carcass, and went back to bed to
wait till it got lighter. In a couple of hours I arose and went out to
bury Boomerang. The remains were off about twenty yards eating bunch
grass. In the gloom and uncertainty of night, I had shot six shots into
an old windlass near a deserted shaft.
Boomerang and I get along first-rate together. When I am lonesome I
shoot at him, and when he is lonesome he comes up and lays his head
across my shoulder, and looks at me with great soulful eyes and sings to
me.
On our way in from the mines we saw one of those beautiful sights so
common in this high altitude and clear atmosphere. It was a mirage.
In the party were a lawyer, a United States official, a banker and
myself. The other three members of the quartet, aside from myself are
very modest men and do not wish to have their names mentioned. They were
very particular about it and I have respected their wishes. Whatever
Messrs. Blake, Snow or Ivinson ask me to do I will always do cheerfully.
But we were speaking about the mirage. Across to the northeast our
attention was at first attracted by a rank of gray towers growing taller
and taller till their heads were lifted into the sky above, while at
their feet there soon appeared a glassy lake in which was reflected the
outlines of the massive gray walls above. It was a beautiful sight. The
picture was as still and lovely to look upon as a school ma'am. We all
went into raptures. It looked like some beautiful scene in Palestine. At
least Snow said so, and he has read a book about Palestine, and ought to
know.
There was a silence in the air which seemed to indicate the deserted
sepulchre of other days, and the grim ruins towering above the depths of
clear waters on whose surface was mirrored the visage of the rocks and
towers on their banks, all spoke of repose and decay and the silent,
stately tread of relentless years.
By and by, from out the grey background of the picture, there stole the
wild, tremulous, heart-broken wail of a mule.
It seemed to jar upon the surroundings and clash harshly against our
sensitive natures. Some one of the party swore a little. Then another
one came to the front, and took the job off his hands. We all joined, in
a gentlemanly kind of way, in condemning the mule for his lack of tact,
to say the least.
All at once the line of magnificent ruins shortened and became reduced
in height. They changed their positions and moved off to the left,
and our dream had melted into the matter of fact scene of twenty-two
immigrant wagons drawn by rat-tail mules and driven by long-haired
Mormons, with the dirt and bacon rinds of prehistoric times adhering to
them everywhere.
What a vale of tears this is anyway!
We are only marching toward the tomb, after all. We should learn a
valuable lesson from this and never tell a lie.
THE TRUE STORY OF DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
CHAPTER I.
|The romantic story of Damon and Pythias, which has been celebrated
in verse and song, for over two thousand years, is supposed to have
originated during the reign of Dionysius I., or Dionysius the Elder as
he was also called, who resigned about 350 years B.C. He must have been
called "The Elder," more for a joke than anything else, as he was by
inclination a Unitarian, although he was never a member of any church
whatever, and was in fact the wickedest man in all Syracuse.
Dionysius arose to the throne from the ranks, and used to call himself
a self-made man. He was tyrannical, severe and selfish, as all self-made
men are. Self-made men are very prone to usurp the prerogative of
the Almighty and overwork themselves. They are not satisfied with the
position of division superintendent of creation, but they want to be
most worthy high grand muck-a-muck of the entire ranch, or their lives
are gloomy fizzles.
Dionysius was indeed so odious and so overbearing toward his subjects
that he lived in constant fear of assassination at their hands. This
fear robbed him of his rest and rendered life a dreary waste to the
tyrannical king. He lived in constant dread that each previous moment
would be followed by the succeeding one. He would eat a hearty supper
and retire to rest, but the night would be cursed with horrid dreams
of the Scythians and White River Utes peeling off his epidermis
and throwing him into a boiling cauldron with red pepper and other
counter-irritants, while they danced the Highland fling around this
royal barbecue.
Even his own wife and children were forbidden to enter his presence for
fear that they would put "barn arsenic" in the blanc-mange, or "Cosgrove
arsenic" in the pancakes, or Paris green in the pie.
During his reign he had constructed an immense subteroranean cavernous
arrangement called the Ear of Dionysius, because it resembled in shape
and general telephonic power, the human ear. It was the largest ear on
record. One day a workman expressed the desire to erect a similar ear of
tin or galvanized iron on old Di. himself. Some one "blowed on him," and
the next morning his head was thumping about in the waste paper basket
at the General Office. When one of the king's subjects, who thought he
was solid with the administration, would say: "Beyond the possibility
of a doubt, your Most Serene Highness is the kind and loving guardian of
his people, and the idol of his subjects," His Royal Tallness would say,
"What ye givin' us? Do you wish to play the Most Sublime Overseer of the
Universe and General Ticket Agent Plenipotentiary for a Chinaman?
"Ha!!! You cannot fill up the King of Syracuse with taffy." Then he would
order the chief executioner to run the man through the royal sausage
grinder, and throw him into the Mediterranean. In this way the sausage
grinder was kept running night and day, and the chief engineer who run
the machine made double time every month.
CHAPTER II.
|I will now bring in Damon and Pythias.
Damon and Pythias were named after a popular secret organization because
they were so solid on each other. They thought more of one another than
anybody. They borrowed chewing tobacco, and were always sociable and
pleasant. They slept together, and unitedly "stood off" the landlady
from month to month in the most cheerful and harmonious manner. If
Pythias snored in the night like the blast of a fog horn, Damon did not
get mad and kick him in the stomach as some would. He gently but firmly
took him by the nose and lifted him up and down to the merry rythm of
"The Babies in Our Block."
They loved one another in season and out of season. Their affection was
like the soft bloom on the nose of a Wyoming legislator. It never grew
pale or wilted. It was always there. If Damon were at the bat, Pythias
was on deck. If Damon went to a church fair and invited starvation,
Pythias would go, too, and vote on the handsomest baby till the First
National Bank of Syracuse would refuse to honor his checks.
But one day Damon got too much budge and told the venerable and colossal
old royal <DW15> of Syracuse what he thought of him. Then Dionysius told
the chief engineer of the sausage grinder to turn on steam and prepare
for business. But Damon thought of Pythias, and how Pythias hadn't so
much to live for as he had, and he made a compromise by offering to put
Pythias in soak while the only genuine Damon went to see his girl, who
lived at Albany. Three days were given him to get around and redeem
Pythias, and if he failed his friend would go to protest.
CHAPTER III.
|We will now suppose three days to have elapsed since the preceding
chapter. A large | 863.783442 |
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by The Internet Archive)
THE YOUNG SURVEYOR;
OR,
JACK ON THE PRAIRIES.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF "JACK HAZARD AND HIS FORTUNES," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
1875.
Copyright, 1875.
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
[Illustration: HOW THE BOYS WENT TO THE RIVER FOR WATER.]
CONTENTS.
I. "NOTHING BUT A BOY"
II. OLD WIGGETT'S SECTION CORNER
III. THE HOMEWARD TRACK
IV. A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED
V. THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER
VI. "LORD BETTERSON'S"
VII. JACK AT THE "CASTLE"
VIII. HOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY
IX. VINNIE'S ADVENTURE
X. JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO
XI. JACK'S NEW HOME
XII. VINNIE'S FUTURE HOME
XIII. WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN
XIV. SNOWFOOT'S NEW OWNER
XV. GOING FOR A WITNESS
XVI. PEAKSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD
XVII. VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING
XVIII. VINNIE'S NEW BROOM
XIX. LINK'S WOOD-PILE
XX. MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED
XXI. PEAKSLOW SHOWS HIS HAND
XXII. THE WOODLAND SPRING
XXIII. JACK'S "BIT OF ENGINEERING"
XXIV. PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK
XXV. THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE
XXVI. VICTORY
XXVII. VINNIE IN THE LION'S DEN
XXVIII. AN "EXTRAORDINARY" GIRL
XXIX. ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED
XXX. JACK'S PRISONER
XXXI. RADCLIFF
XXXII. AN IMPORTANT EVENT
XXXIII. MRS. WIGGETT'S "NOON-MARK"
XXXIV. THE STRANGE CLOUD
XXXV. PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE.--CECIE
XXXVI. "ON THE WAR TRAIL"
XXXVII. THE MYSTERY OF A PAIR OF BREECHES
XXXVIII. THE MORNING AFTER
XXXIX. FOLLOWING UP THE MYSTERY
XL. PEAKSLOW'S HOUSE-RAISING
XLI. CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
SETTING THE STAKES
JACK AND THE STRANGE YOUTH
UP-HILL WORK
"LORD BETTERSON"
TOO OBLIGING BY HALF
LINK DOESN'T CARE TO BE KISSED
SHOT ON THE WING
THE AMIABLE MR. PEAKSLOW
VINNIE'S STRATAGEM
LINK'S WOOD-PILE
HOW THE BOYS WENT TO THE RIVER FOR WATER
TESTING THE LEVEL
OLD WIGGETT
"STOP, OR I'LL SHOOT!"
RETURNING IN TRIUMPH
THE END OF THE CHASE
JACK AND HIS JOLLY PRISONER
THE TORNADO COMING
PEAKSLOW REAPPEARS
FOLLOWING THE WAR TRAIL UNDER DIFFICULTIES
THE WATER QUESTION SETTLED
THE YOUNG SURVEYOR.
CHAPTER I.
"NOTHING BUT A BOY."
[Illustration]
A young fellow in a light buggy, with a big black dog sitting composedly
beside him, enjoying the ride, drove up, one summer afternoon, to the
door of a log-house, in one of the early settlements of Northern
Illinois.
A woman with lank features, in a soiled gown trailing its rags about her
bare feet, came and stood in the doorway and stared at him.
"Does Mr. Wiggett live here?" he inquired.
"Wal, I reckon," said the woman, "'f he ain't dead or skedaddled of a
suddent."
"Is he at home?"
"Wal, I reckon."
"Can I see him?"
"I dunno noth'n' to hender. Yer, Sal! run up in the burnt lot and fetch
your pap. Tell him a stranger. You've druv a good piece," the woman
added, glancing at the buggy-wheels and the horse's white feet, stained
with black prairie soil.
"I've driven over from North Mills," replied the young fellow, regarding
her pleasantly, with bright, honest features, from under the shade of
his hat-brim.
"I 'lowed as much. Alight and come into the house. Old man'll be yer in
a minute."
He declined the invitation to enter; but, to rest his limbs, leaped down
from the buggy. Thereupon the dog rose from his seat on the
wagon-bottom, jumped down after him, and shook himself.
"All creation!" said the woman, "what a pup that ar is! Yer, you young
uns! Put back into the house, and hide under the bed, or he'll eat ye up
like ye was so much cl'ar soap-grease!"
At that moment the dog stretched his great mouth open, with a formidable
yawn. Panic seized the "young uns," and they scampered; their bare legs
and exceedingly scanty attire (only three shirts and a half to four
little barbarians) seeming to offer the dog unusual facilities, had he
chosen to regard them as soap-grease and to regale himself on that sort
of diet. But he was too well-bred and good-natured an animal to think of
snapping up a little Wiggett | 863.784589 |
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[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 3. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, November 18, 1879. Copyright, 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE TOURNAMENT.-- | 863.785168 |
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Produced by KD Weeks, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. The location
of images are given here as [Illustration: caption], and merely
[Illustration description], where no caption was given. Those for full
pages, as well as several full page tables, have been moved to the
nearest paragraph break.
Minor errors, reasonably attributable to the printer, have been
corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for
details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered during
its preparation.
[Illustration: _John Philip Quinn_]
FOOLS OF FORTUNE
OR
GAMBLING AND GAMBLERS,
COMPREHENDING
A HISTORY OF THE VICE IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES, AND IN BOTH
HEMISPHERES; AN EXPOSITION OF ITS ALARMING PREVALENCE AND
DESTRUCTIVE EFFECTS; WITH AN UNRESERVED AND EXHAUSTIVE
DISCLOSURE OF SUCH FRAUDS, TRICKS AND DEVICES
AS ARE PRACTICED BY “PROFESSIONAL”
GAMBLERS, “CONFIDENCE MEN”
AND “BUNKO STEERERS.”
BY
JOHN PHILIP QUINN,
WHO MODESTLY, YET WITH SINCERITY, TENDERS TO THE WORLD WHAT
HE HOPES MAY EXTENUATE HIS TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF GAMING
AND SYSTEMATIC DECEPTION OF HIS FELLOW-MEN.
---------------------
WITH INTRODUCTIONS BY HON. CHARLES P. JOHNSON, EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI,
AND REV. JOHN SNYDER, D. D., OF ST. LOUIS, AND CHAPTERS CONTRIBUTED
BY REVS. PROFESSOR DAVID SWING AND
ROBERT MCINTYRE, OF CHICAGO.
CHICAGO:
G. L. HOWE & CO.
1890.
COPYRIGHTED, 1890,
BY JOHN P. QUINN,
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
W. B. CONKEY, ELECTROTYPED BY
BOOK MANUFACTURER, G. M. D. LIBBY,
CHICAGO. CHICAGO.
TO
HON. CHARLES P. JOHNSON,
EX-GOVERNOR OF MISSOURI, AND AUTHOR OF THE ANTI-GAMBLING
LAWS OF THAT STATE;
THE CITIZEN,
WHO RECOGNIZES, AS A BOUNDEN DUTY, LOYALTY TO THE INTERESTS OF
SOCIETY AND THE STATE;
THE STATESMAN,
WHOSE EXPOSITION OF THE EVILS OF GAMBLING RESULTED IN
A LAW WHICH BRANDS THAT VICE AS A FELONY AND
ITS “PROFESSOR” AS A CRIMINAL.
THE LAWYER,
WHOSE FAME IS GROUNDED EQUALLY IN ABILITY AND
INTEGRITY, ARE THESE PAGES RESPECTFULLY
INSCRIBED BY
THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration: WHICH WAY?]
PREFACE.
Of all the vices which have enslaved mankind, none can reckon among its
victims so many as gambling. Not even the baneful habit of drink has
blighted so many lives or desolated so many homes. Its fascination is
insidious and terrible, and its power is all the more to be dreaded in
that it appeals to a latent instinct in nearly every human breast. In
view of these considerations it appears strange that English literature
contains no authentic work specially devoted to this subject; while
there exists literally no exposition of its allurements and its dangers
written from the standpoint of one on the inside.
It is to fill this vacant place in literature that the author offers
this volume to the public. For a quarter of a century he has witnessed
and practiced every variety of gambling known to the professional. From
the shores of the Atlantic to the canons of Colorado, from the frozen
lake of the North, drained by the mighty Mississippi, to the sunken
bayous that skirt its delta, he has journeyed to and fro, plying his
nefarious calling. At times realizing the success of his schemes, at
times a penniless wanderer, he has tasted all the joys of a gambler’s
career and drained to the dregs the wormwood which lurks at the bottom
of the cup of illusive, hollow happiness. No art of the fair gamester is
unknown to him, nor is there any device of the sharper with which he is
unacquainted. With shame and remorse he confesses his fault, and it is
in the hope of measurably atoning for his wrong doing, that the present
volume has been prepared.
On the general question of the evil of gaming, there is no difference of
opinion among reflecting men. The problem is, how to check the alarming
increase of the vice? The pulpit fulminates denunciations of its
sinfulness; the press points out its folly; and the legislators affix
penalties to its practice. Yet gambling houses multiply and flourish,
and the yawning jaws of the “tiger” are daily closing upon fresh
victims. The clergy are powerless to restrain young men from tasting for
themselves the fascination of the green cloth; the public prints serve
but to whet and stimulate curiosity; and the professional gamblers
openly set at defiance laws which have long since become dead letters
upon the statute books.
Where, then, is the remedy? In the opinion of the author, it is ready at
hand. Gaming-hells cannot prosper without new victims; show men that
success is impossible in an unequal contest between inexperience on the
one hand and skill and chicanery on the other, and the ranks of the
victims will soon be thinned through the lack of new recruits.
Curiosity has ever been peculiarly a characteristic of youth since the
day when the arch tempter wrought the downfall of the race through an
appeal to the desire for “knowledge of good and evil.” Young men are
anxious to investigate, to discover, to “find out for themselves.” Give
them a certain knowledge that loss is the inevitable consequence of
entering upon any designated path, and they will hesitate long before
entering upon that path. Satisfy their curiosity as to what is concealed
behind a closed door, and the chief temptation to open that door will be
removed.
Herein consists what the author cannot but believe will make these pages
a powerful agency for good. In them are faithfully portrayed the
vicissitudes of a gambler’s wretched life, while at the same time they
present a full and true disclosure of all the dishonest artifices
employed by professionals to delude and victimize their dupes. It is not
only a thirst for excitement that leads men to gamble, another powerful
incentive is the hope of winning. Convince any man, young or old, that
instead of having a chance of winning he is confronted with a certainty
of loss, and he will place no wager. This is the conviction which must
be brought home to the intelligence and reason of every thoughtful man
who carefully reads the exposition of dishonesty which this book
contains.
No graver responsibility can be conceived than that which rests upon the
shoulders of the parent to whom is intrusted the training of a young
man. Upon the manner in which is fulfilled this sacred trust, depends
not only the economic and moral value of the future citizen, but also
the welfare, for time and eternity, of a priceless human soul. The
gaming resort opens wide its doors, the entrance to which means ruin, of
both body and soul. Of what vital importance is it, therefore; that
around the youth of the Republic every safeguard should be thrown, and
that they should be shielded from temptation by exposing its fatuous
character. “Forewarned is forearmed.”
The volume is not only a recital of personal experience and an
embodiment of the lessons to be derived therefrom. It also presents a
history of gambling from remote antiquity, and a description of the vice
as practiced in every clime. The latter portion of the work is the
result of careful and painstaking research among the best sources of
information available, and is believed to be at once authentic and
complete. It has also been the aim of the author to add to the interest
of Part II by imparting to it, as far as practicable, a local coloring
through incorporating a succinct view of the vice of gaming, as
conducted at the chief American centres of civilization and commerce.
Rev. Professor David Swing, of Chicago, the eminent thinker, has
contributed an interesting chapter on the nature and effects of gaming,
and Rev. Robert McIntyre, of the same city, who has held spell-bound so
many audiences throughout the land, has added one in which he eloquently
and forcibly portrays the moral aspects of this soul-destroying vice.
The author desires to return heartfelt thanks to those who have aided
him in his self-imposed task. He acknowledges his indebtedness for the
words of encouragement which he has received from the many eminent
clergymen and educators who have endorsed his work.
_John Philip Quinn_
CHICAGO, 1890.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
DEDICATION. 5
PREFACE. 7-9
INDEX. 19-25
INTRODUCTION:—BY CHARLES P. JOHNSON. 26-28
” BY REV. JOHN SNYDER, D. D. 29-30
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF | 863.834592 |
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Produced by Janet Kegg and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The PALACE of DARKENED WINDOWS
By
MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY
AUTHOR OF "THE FAVOR OF KINGS"
ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND FREDERICK
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1914
[Frontispiece illustration: "'It is no use,' he repeated.
'There is no way out for you.'" (Chapter IV)]
TO
MY HUSBAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE EAVESDROPPER
II. THE CAPTAIN CALLS
III. AT THE PALACE
IV. A SORRY QUEST
V. WITHIN THE WALLS
VI. A GIRL IN THE BAZAARS
VII. BILLY HAS HIS DOUBTS
VIII. THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR
IX. A DESPERATE GAME
X. A MAID AND A MESSAGE
XI. OVER THE GARDEN WALL
XII. THE GIRL FROM THE HAREM
XIII. TAKING CHANCES
XIV. IN THE ROSE ROOM
XV. ON THE TRAIL
XVI. THE HIDDEN GIRL
XVII. AT BAY
XVIII. DESERT MAGIC
XIX. THE PURSUIT
XX. A FRIEND IN NEED
XXI. CROSS PURPOSES
XXII. UPON THE PYLON
XXIII. THE BETTER MAN
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'It is no use,' he repeated. 'There is no way out for you'"
_Frontispiece_
"'I do not want to stay here'"
"He found himself staring down into the bright dark eyes of a girl
he had never seen"
"Billy went to the mouth, peering watchfully out"
THE PALACE OF DARKENED WINDOWS
CHAPTER I
THE EAVESDROPPER
A one-eyed man with a stuffed crocodile upon his head paused before
the steps of Cairo's gayest hotel and his expectant gaze ranged
hopefully over the thronged verandas. It was afternoon tea time; the
band was playing and the crowd was at its thickest and brightest.
The little tables were surrounded by travelers of all nations, some
in tourist tweeds and hats with the inevitable green veils; others,
| 863.836381 |
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Produced by Keith G Richardson
A TRANSLATION
OF THE
NEW TESTAMENT
FROM THE
ORIGINAL GREEK.
HUMBLY ATTEMPTED
WITH A VIEW TO ASSIST
THE UNLEARNED
WITH CLEARER AND MORE EXPLICIT VIEWS OF THE
_MIND OF THE SPIRIT_
IN THE
SCRIPTURES OF TRUTH.
BY T. HAWEIS, L.L. B.
RECTOR OF ALL-SAINTS, ALDWINCKLE, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE; AND CHAPLAIN TO THE
LATE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON.
London:
PRINTED FOR T. CHAPMAN,
NO. 151, FLEET-STREET.
1795.
PREFACE.
APPEARING before the Public as a translator of the Oracles of God, it
would ill become me to deprecate the severity of criticism, when I most
cordially desire the intelligent and learned of my brethren to point
out my mistakes for correction, and, in love and in the spirit of
meekness, to smite me friendly. Should, however, the shafts of
malignity, and the weapons not of our warfare, be employed against this
humble, yet well-meant, attempt to make the Scriptures better
understood, I shall endeavour to pluck the honey-comb from the lion's
carcase, and be thankful for real information, in whatever mode it may
be communicated.
Respecting highly, as I do, the translation of our Reformers, whose
language has dignity, and whose soundness in the faith I hope, living
and dying, to maintain, it must be acknowledged--that there are in our
present version, obscurities which may be avoided--words become in the
lapse of ages obsolete--expressions feeble and inexact--for which
others more accurate and energetic may be substituted--and in some
passages the sense embarrassed, and probably mistaken. To make
therefore the Scriptures as intelligible as I can to men of common
capacity, who are destitute of the knowledge of the Original, and
sometimes perhaps to suggest a sense not unworthy the adoption of the
judicious scholar, I have endeavoured to render every passage with the
most literal exactness--to use the most forcible and clear expressions
corresponding with the Original--not to omit a particle--preserving the
participles--and following, as much as the genius of our tongue will
permit, the exact order of the Greek words, persuaded that, thus
placed, the sense often receives clearness and energy.
To transfuse the spirit of the Original into a Translation must be
admitted to be very difficult in any language, peculiarly so where the
matters treated of are so weighty, and the words so significant, and
where holy men of God are speaking as they were moved by the Holy
Ghost, without whose continual light and teaching I humbly conceive no
man ever did or can understand and receive the things which are of the
Spirit of God, so as to know them as he ought to know.
As the words of the Spirit contain one precise meaning, and to
communicate his mind is the intention of Revelation, it must be our
endeavour not to leave them equivocal, but to fix a clear and
determinate idea to each, in exact conformity to the Original, that the
true sense may be understood, which can be but one.
That I have endeavoured to obtain this knowledge it is no presumption
to affirm. During forty years and upwards this blessed book of God hath
been continually in my hands--never a day hath passed in which it hath
not been matter of my meditation; I may venture to say I have read it
over more than an hundred times, and many of the passages much oftener.
I have consulted the works of the most godly and ingenious of the dead,
and often conversed with some of the ablest and most experienced
ministers of Christ among the living. I have at two different times of
my life translated and transcribed the whole of the New Testament, and
considered every word, and phrase, and passage, with attention: indeed
the leading object and employment of my whole life hath been to
discover and communicate to mankind the truth as it is in Jesus; and
every day have I bowed my knees to the Divine Interpreter, who giveth
wisdom and understanding to the simple, that he would lighten my
darkness, and shine into my heart, to give the light of the knowledge
of the glory of God, as it is manifested in the face of Jesus Christ.
I recommend to my readers to tread in the same path, looking up to the
Fountain of wisdom and knowledge. I am not ashamed to own my
conviction, that an unlearned person thus seriously attentive to the
Scriptures, and crying to God for the spirit of wisdom and revelation
in the knowledge of Him, will be led into all saving truth; and gain
greater and clearer discoveries of the mind of the Spirit in the
Scriptures than any mere natural man, however ingenious and learned. A
word, a phrase, an allusion, may indeed exercise critical acumen, and
afford a display for erudition; but the scope and tendency of the
Sacred Oracles, the doctrines therein revealed, the principles
inculcated, and the practice enjoined, never were, and never will be
truly known, but by those who are taught of God.
As the division of the Scripture into verses interrupts the subject,
and often embarrasses the sense, I have preferred paragraphs, placing
the verses of the old Version in the margin, for the sake of reference
and comparison; and though I have admitted the same division of
chapters, in a few instances they might be more judiciously arranged:
Matt. ii. 1. belongs to the former chapter, as also Acts, viii. 1.
Coloss. iv. 1.
I have only now to commend this labour of love to the divine
benediction. The Translation itself, and the necessary attentive
consideration of every passage, hath not, I trust, been without
instruction to myself, and some sweet savour of the truth: so far I
have already my reward. It will be highly enhanced if God my Saviour
deigns to make this service acceptable and profitable to his people,
and the means of communicating clearer and more explicit views of his
revealed will to the poor and unlearned of the flock. To them I have
long dedicated my life and my labours, believing that of such is the
kingdom of heaven.
Every attempt to make the Scriptures more read, and better understood,
must be acknowledged laudable. Should the present effort fail to answer
this end, it may yet provoke men of more wisdom and spiritual gifts, to
produce a translation more exact, and suited to general edification.
Then I shall be content to be forgotten.
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MATTHEW.
CHAP. I.
THE book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of
Abraham.
(2)Abraham begat Isaac, and Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob begat Judas
and his brethren, (3)and Judas begat Phares, and Zara of Thamar, and
Phares begat Esrom, and Esrom begat Aram; (4)and Aram begat Amminadab,
and Amminadab begat Naasson, and Naasson begat Salmon, (5)and Salmon
begat Boaz of Rachab, and Boaz begat Obed of Ruth, and Obed begat
Jesse, (6)and Jesse begat David the king, and David the king begat
Solomon of her | 863.839004 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger and PG
Distributed Proofreaders from images generously made
available by the Canadian Institute for Historical
Microreproductions
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY
by Ernest Seton-Thompson
With 75 Drawings (not available in this file)
Author of: The Trail of the Sandhill Stag Wild Animals I Have
Known Art Anatomy of Animals Mammals of Manitoba Birds of Manitoba
1899
This Book is dedicated to the memory of the days spent at the
Palette Ranch on the Graybull, where from hunter, miner, personal
experience, and the host himself, I gathered many chapters of the
History of Wahb.
[Illustration: ] In this Book the designs for title-page, cover, and
general makeup, were done by Mrs. Grace Gallatin Seton-Thompson.
[Illustration: ] List of Full-Page Drawings
They all Rushed Under it like a Lot of Little Pigs
Like Children Playing 'Hands'
He Stayed in the Tree till near Morning
A Savage Bobcat... Warned Him to go Back
Wahb Yelled and Jerked Back
He Struck one Fearful, Crushing Blow
Ain't He an Awful Size, Though?
Wahb Smashed His Skull
Causing the Pool to Overflow
He Deliberately Stood up on the Pine Root
The Roachback Fled into the Woods
He Paused a Moment at the Gate
PART I
THE CUBHOOD OF WAHB
[Illustration:]
I.
He was born over a score of years ago, away up in the wildest part of
the wild West, on the head of the Little Piney, above where the Palette
Ranch is now.
His Mother was just an ordinary Silvertip, living the quiet life that
all Bears prefer, minding her own business and doing her duty by her
family, asking no favors of any one excepting to let her alone. It was
July before she took her remarkable family down the Little Piney to the
Graybull, and showed them what strawberries were, and where to find
them.
Notwithstanding their Mother's deep conviction, the cubs were not
remarkably big or bright; yet they were a remarkable family, for there
were four of them, and it is not often a Grizzly Mother can boast of
more than two.
[Illustration]
The woolly-coated little creatures were having a fine time, and reveled
in the lovely mountain summer and the abundance of good things. Their
Mother turned over each log and flat stone they came to, and the moment
it was lifted they all rushed under it like a lot of little pigs to lick
up the ants and grubs there hidden.
It never once occurred to them that Mammy's strength might fail
sometime, and let the great rock drop just as they got under it; nor
would any one have thought so that might have chanced to see that huge
arm and that shoulder sliding about under the great yellow robe she
wore. No, no; that arm could never fail. The little ones were quite
right. So they hustled and tumbled one another at each fresh log in
their haste to be first, and squealed little squeals, and growled little
growls, as if each was a pig, a pup, and a kitten all rolled into one.
They were well acquainted with the common little brown ants that harbor
under logs in the uplands, but now they came for the first time on one
of the hills of the great, fat, luscious Wood-ant, and they all crowded
around to lick up those that ran out. But they soon found that they were
licking up more cactus-prickles and sand than ants, till their Mother
said in Grizzly, "Let me show you how."
She knocked off the top of the hill, then laid her great paw flat on it
for a few moments, and as the angry ants swarmed on to it she licked
them up with one lick, and got a good rich mouthful to crunch, without a
grain of sand or a cactus-stinger in it. The cubs soon learned. Each
put up both his little brown paws, | 863.839914 |
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The Types of English Literature
EDITED BY
WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON
TRAGEDY
BY
ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE
TRAGEDY
BY ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
AUTHOR OF "THE INFLUENCE OF BEAUMONT
AND FLETCHER ON SHAKSPERE"
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
COPYRIGHT 1908 BY ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE
THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM
_Published May 1908_
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
Transcriber's Note: Underscores indicate italics and tildes (~) indicate
bold in this text.
PREFACE
This book attempts to trace the course of English tragedy from its
beginnings to the middle of the nineteenth century, and to indicate the
part which it has played in the history both of the theatre and of
literature. All tragedies of the sixteenth century are noticed, because of
their historical interest and their close relationship to Shakespeare, but
after 1600 only representative plays have been considered. The aim of this
series has been kept in view, and the discussion, whether of individual
plays or of dramatic conditions, has been determined by their importance in
the study of a literary type. Tragedy in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries has attracted very little critical attention, and in those fields
the book is something of a pioneer. The Elizabethan drama, on the contrary,
has been the subject of a vast amount of antiquarian, biographical, and
literary research, without which such a treatment as I have attempted would
be almost impossible. In order, however, to keep the main purpose in view,
it has been necessary to omit nearly all notice of the processes of
research or the debates of criticism, and to give only what seem to me the
results. To indicate at every point my reliance on my own investigations or
my indebtedness to the researches of others would, indeed, necessitate
doubling the size of the book. Its readers will not require an apology for
its brevity, but I regret that I can offer only this inadequate
acknowledgment of the great assistance I have received not merely from the
studies mentioned in the Bibliographical Notes, but also from many others
that have directly or indirectly contributed to my discussion.
I am indebted to Dr. Ernest Bernbaum, who very kindly read chapters viii
and ix, and made a number of suggestions. I have also the pleasure of
expressing my great obligations to Professors Brander Matthews, Jefferson
B. Fletcher, and William A. Neilson, who have read both the manuscript and
the proof-sheets and given me the generous benefit of their most helpful
criticism.
A. H. T.
NEW YORK, March, 1908.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. DEFINITIONS 1
CHAPTER II. THE MEDIEVAL AND THE CLASSICAL INFLUENCES 21
CHAPTER III. THE BEGINNINGS OF TRAGEDY 48
CHAPTER IV. MARLOWE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES 77
CHAPTER V. SHAKESPEARE AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES 136
CHAPTER VI. SHAKESPEARE 181
CHAPTER VII. THE LATER ELIZABETHANS 196
CHAPTER VIII. THE RESTORATION 243
CHAPTER IX. THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 281
CHAPTER X. THE ROMANTIC MOVEMENT 326
CHAPTER XI. CONCLUSION 366
INDEX 379
TRAGEDY
CHAPTER I
DEFINITIONS
There is little difficulty in selecting the plays that should be included
in a history of English tragedy. Since the middle of the sixteenth century
there have always been plays commonly received as tragedies, and others so
closely resembling these that they require consideration in any
comprehensive study. How far these plays present the common characteristics
of a type, how far they constitute a clearly defined form of the drama, and
how far they may be connected from one period to another in a continuous
development--are questions better answered at the book's end than at its
beginning. Some questions of the definition of tragedy, however, may well
be preliminary to a study of its history. The very term "English tragedy"
involves two precarious abstractions. It separates tragedy from the drama
of which it is a part, and it separates English tragedies from those of
other languages to which they are related in character and origin. In
attempting a definition, we may question the reality of these abstract
separations by which our later discussions are to be conveniently limited;
for a definition can be attained only through the distinction of tragedy
from other forms of the drama, and through a consideration of the varying
conceptions of tragedy in different periods and nations.
We may begin very empirically with an element common to all tragedies and
roughly distinguishing them from other forms of drama; noticed, indeed, in
all theoretical definitions, though its importance is often blurred and it
receives only scant attention from Aristotle. He refers to the third part
of the plot as "the tragic incident, a destructive or painful action, such
as death on the stage, bodily agony, wounds, and the like." If his meaning
of "a destructive or painful action" is extended to include mental as well
as physical suffering, we have a definition of an indispensable element in
tragedy and a conspicuous distinction from comedy.
This definition has had ample recognition in practice and in popular
opinion, as in the sixteenth-century idea of a tragedy as a play involving
deaths, and in the present common conception of tragedy as requiring an
unhappy ending. These uncritical opinions, however, introduce amendments
that are not quite corollaries. The happy ending has never been completely
excluded. Aristotle, while pronouncing in favor of the unhappy ending as
best suited to producing tragic effect, recognized the possibility and
popularity of a conclusion that limited punishment to the vicious. In
modern times the salvation of the virtuous in tragedy has had warm
defenders, including Racine and Dr. Johnson; and the essentiality of either
an unhappy ending or of deaths has been generally denied. Evidently either
is a natural but not inevitable accompaniment of suffering and disaster. A
tragedy may permit of relief or even recovery for the good, or it may
minimize the external and physical elements of suffering; but its action
must be largely unhappy though its end is not, and destructive even if it
does not lead to deaths.
Our working definition, however, does not attempt to indicate the qualities
necessary to excellence in tragedy or to particularize in respect to the
treatment of the action. It offers no distinction, where recent critics
have been careful to make one, between tragedy and what we to-day call
melodrama.[1] The relation between the two is similar to that between
comedy and farce. Melodrama is more sensational, less serious; it attains
its effects by spectacles, machines, externals, while tragedy deals with
character and motive; it reaches its conclusions through accidents and
surprises, while tragedy seeks to show the cause of every effect. But the
distinction is general and relative rather than specific and absolute. The
use of witches to foretell actions and characters would of itself be a
melodramatic device, and so it is in Middleton's "Witch," but not in
"Macbeth." Congreve's "Mourning Bride" is a melodrama, judged by our
standards at present, but for many years it was considered one of the great
tragedies in the language. A stage presentation, in fact, almost
presupposes external, spectacular, and sensational effects, which must
vary according to the theatrical conditions and the taste of the day, as
well as in response to the artistic purpose and treatment. The distinction
between melodrama and tragedy, in short, is hardly more than between bad
tragedy and good, or between a lower and a higher type. So far as a
separation of the two has been made, it has been the result of centuries of
experience. It cannot readily be fixed by rule or definition; it requires
historical treatment.
Our definition, again, affords a rough rather than an exact separation from
comedy. The two species cannot, indeed, be absolutely distinguished. In the
theatre to-day there are many plays which one hesitates to classify as
either tragedy or comedy. And there have always been, even in the Greek
theatre, classes of plays recognized as neither the one nor the other.
Again, a play presenting various persons and incidents is necessarily
complex in material and emotional effect, and may mingle suffering and ruin
with happiness and success, so that whether its main effect is tragic or
comic may depend on its point of view or its general tone. The divisions of
tragedy and comedy are neither mutually exclusive, nor are they together
inclusive of all drama. Theoretically, there is perhaps ground for doubting
whether other divisions might not be established more essential and more
comprehensive. Comedy in particular comprises plays differing so widely in
every respect that almost no common characteristics can be found. Yet
tragedy and comedy have long been, and still are, accepted as the main
divisions of the drama. The very names of the other forms, "tragicomedy,"
"_Schauspiel_" "emotional drama," "social drama," "_drame_," or merely
"play," by their lack of distinctiveness, testify to the significance of
the division of dramatic action and effects into the two classes, tragic
and comic. From merely a theoretical point of view, indeed, we may
recognize that a dramatic action, through its brevity and its stage
presentation, if for no other reasons, has a suitability for these effects
not possessed by other forms of literature. But the importance and
definition of the two forms, and especially that of tragedy, depend less on
theory than on historical origins and development.
If we attempt to fortify our working definition so that it may more
effectively separate tragedy on the one hand from melodrama and on the
other from comedy and the more or less neutral species, we are driven to
consider the numerous and shifting conceptions that have marked the
progress of the classical tradition in modern Europe. Although some
approach to the tragic may have been manifest from the beginnings of the
drama in the mimetic ceremonies of primitive culture, our present
distinction between tragedy and comedy traces back to Athens, where tragedy
as a form of literature had its first great development and where it
received its first critical definition. Nothing closely corresponding to
the two forms, as there developed and defined, is to be found in the dramas
of China, India, or medieval Europe. Tragedy is an inheritance from Greece
and Rome, not received by Western Europe until the Renaissance. There was,
to be sure, much that was tragical in the widespread religious drama of the
Middle Ages; and there were a number of plays that in content and effect
might claim a place with later tragedies; but it was not until the revival
of the classics that the revelation of a highly developed form of drama led
to the creation of a distinct species called tragedy, in the vernacular
literatures of Spain, Italy, France, and England.
The classical tradition in the beginning was affected by the mistaken
theories of medieval encyclopedists and by humanistic misinterpretations of
the classics. In every nation it came into conflict with the traditions of
the medieval drama, and underwent great modifications; in England an
amalgamation of the two traditions resulting in a tragedy widely different
from either. During four centuries the changing theatrical conditions, the
changing social conditions, the diversity of national peculiarities, have
resulted in ideas of tragedy at variance with one another and with the
classics. Shakespeare's conception of tragedy was very different from
Aristotle's, and very different from Brunetiere's or Ibsen's. Indeed, the
conceptions formed by various of Shakespeare's contemporaries, Sidney,
Marlowe, Jonson, Chapman, and Fletcher, so far as we can determine, have
pronounced differences though they have common resemblances. It would
require a larger book than the present one to consider adequately the
differences and agreements merely of critical theory and dogma in modern
Europe. Yet the literary tradition, in spite of all these changes and
variations, has remained continuous. Whether fixed in the form of rules, or
discernible only in the general resemblances of current practices, or
represented by the great models of Sophocles, Shakespeare, or Racine, it
has influenced every playwright. He has striven to write more or less in
accord with some critical theory, in imitation of some author, or in
conformity to some fashion; or he has written in opposition to theory,
example, or fashion.
It is the purpose of this book to trace the course of this tradition in the
English drama, to appraise the inheritance of each age from the preceding
ages, its borrowings from other national inheritances, and the profit and
loss due to its own invention or industry. All that may be attempted here
by way of preliminary definition is a glance at the main European course of
the classical tradition to see what have been from time to time considered
the essentials of tragedy and to ask how far there has been any agreement
in regard to these essentials.
The basis for much of modern theorizing has been Aristotle's tentative yet
searching analysis of Athenian tragedy. Many of the peculiarities of
Athenian tragedy--its structure without acts but with a chorus, its
limitation of three actors on the stage at once, its narrow range of
mythological subjects--are evidently not essential to securing tragic
effect. Even the unities, whether as observed in the Greek theatre or as
defined by French and Italian critics, may, after generations of debate, be
safely relegated as nonessential. Omitting, then, what no one would now
insist upon as requisite, we may derive from the "Poetics" something like
the following:--
Tragedy is a form of drama exciting the emotions of pity and fear. Its
action should be single and complete, presenting a reversal of fortune,
involving persons renowned and of superior attainments, and it should be
written in poetry embellished with every kind of artistic expression.
Much more than this has been derived from Aristotle by modern theorists,
but this much of the classical conception has generally survived in modern
tragedy. If the meaning of "a single and complete action" be stretched a
little, this definition includes the plays of Shakespeare as well as those
of Racine, and nearly all tragedies from the Renaissance to the present.
In one important respect, however, this definition falls short of
describing Greek tragedy, and is still more inadequate for modern.
Aristotle emphasized the action above the characterization, and devoted
much attention to the requirements of the plot. He did not, moreover,
recognize the importance of the element of conflict, whether between man
and circumstance, or between men, or within the mind of man. The Greek
tragedies themselves had not failed to exhibit such conflicts; the medieval
drama, notably in the moralities, emphasized moral conflict; and
Renaissance tragedy, wherever it showed any independence, particularly in
England and Shakespeare, took for its theme the conflict of human will with
other forces. The importance of this modification of the Aristotelian view
received only slow critical recognition. But it was everywhere exemplified
in practice, in French classical drama as well as in Shakespeare, in plays
imitating the Greeks as well as in plays revolting from their models. After
a time this modification of the classical tradition came to have a distinct
place in literary theory. Hegel gave it philosophical elaboration, and, in
the romantic movement, when dramatists in different languages turned to
Shakespeare for a model, they naturally assumed what may be called the
Shakespearean definition. This important amendment to the tragic tradition
may be briefly stated:--
The action of a tragedy should represent a conflict of wills, or of will
with circumstance, or will with itself, and should therefore be based on
the characters of the persons involved. A typical tragedy is concerned with
a great personality engaged in a struggle that ends disastrously.
In the Aristotelian tradition thus amended by the Shakespearean or modern
conception we have a definition of tragedy that, in spite of differences of
theorists and variations in practice, is extraordinarily comprehensive.
This will appear if we consider briefly the separate elements of the
definition. First: Though the range of emotions has been greatly widened in
modern tragedy in comparison with classical, and though the importance
given to love and the admission of comedy and even farce have complicated
emotional effect in a way that Sophocles could hardly have conceived, yet
"pity and fear" still serve as well as any other terms to describe the
emotional appeal peculiar to tragedy. The word [Greek: phobos], however,
hardly indicates the emotions of admiration, awe, hate, horror, terror,
despair, and dismay, which belong to tragedy, and modern tragedy has
appealed more largely than classical to pity and sympathy. Second: The
reversal of fortune has been usually found in tragedy, though in the sense
of a fall of the mighty, long the favorite theme, it cannot be regarded as
the essential kernel of a tragic action. Third: Though the action of modern
tragedies has usually been less simple than that of the Greeks, and though
double plots and many complications have been common, yet, after the
Elizabethans and the Romanticists, the tendency to-day seems to be toward a
return to the simplicity that Aristotle had in mind. Only in rare
instances, as in "The Doll's House," has a dramatist ventured to leave the
action in a state that might be called incomplete. Fourth: Though themes
have changed and widened in range, still the great majority have been
confined to extraordinary events and illustrious persons. Renaissance and
pseudo-classical theorists interpreted Aristotle to limit the persons of
tragedy to princes or men of the highest rank; and tragedy, even in
England, long adhered to this superficial restriction. But already in the
sixteenth century there were authors who wrote tragedies of ordinary men
and contemporary events; and realism has broken away from the literary
tradition in every generation since. Fifth: Tragedy has generally been
reserved for poetry, and often for poetry of the most embellished kind; but
here again realism has resorted to a bare style, and, particularly in the
last century, to prose.
On examination, then, the particulars of the classical tradition have shown
extraordinary powers of survival, but not one of | 863.840733 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.8237620 | 7,436 | 405 | IV (OF 8)***
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THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
History of the European War from Official Sources
Complete Historical Records of Events to Date,
Illustrated with Drawings, Maps, and Photographs
Prefaced by
What the War Means to America
Major General Leonard Wood, U.S.A.
Naval Lessons of the War
Rear Admiral Austin M. Knight, U.S.N.
The World's War
Frederick Palmer
Theatres of the War's Campaigns
Frank H. Simonds
The War Correspondent
Arthur Ruhl
Edited by
Francis J. Reynolds
Former Reference Librarian of Congress
Allen L. Churchill
Associate Editor, The New International Encyclopedia
Francis Trevelyan Miller
Editor in Chieft, Photographic History of the Civil War
P. F. Collier & Son Company
New York
[Illustration: _Kaiser Wilhelm II, German Emperor, inspecting
Austro-Hungarian troops on the East Galician front, New Year's Day,
1916. At the Kaiser's left is General Count von Bothmer_]
THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
Champagne. Artois. Grodno
Fall of Nish. Caucasus
Mesopotamia. Development
of Air Strategy. United
States and the War
VOLUME IV
P. F. Collier & Son. New York
Copyright 1916
By P. F. Collier & Son
CONTENTS
PART I.--WAR IN SYRIA AND EGYPT
CHAPTER Page
I. Renewed Turkish Attempts 9
PART II.--WAR IN THE AIR
II. Raids of the Airmen 16
III. Zeppelins Attack London--Battles in the Air 29
IV. Venice Attacked--Other Raids 34
PART III.--THE WESTERN FRONT
V. Summary of First Year's Operations 39
VI. Fighting in Artois and the Vosges 46
VII. Political Crisis in France--Aeroplane Warfare--Fierce
Combats in the Vosges--Preparations for Allied
Offense 52
VIII. The Great Champagne Offensive 61
IX. The British Front in Artois 81
X. The Battle of Loos 90
XI. The Cavell Case--Accident to King George 98
XII. Operations in Champagne And Artois--Preparations for
Winter Campaign 104
XIII. Events in the Winter Campaign 117
XIV. The Battle of Verdun--The German Attack 131
PART IV.--THE WAR AT SEA
XV. Naval Situation at the Beginning of the Second
Year--Submarine Exploits 143
XVI. The Sinking of the Arabic--British Submarine Successes 150
XVII. Cruise of the Moewe--Loss of British Battleships 156
XVIII. Continuation of War on Merchant Shipping--Italian
and Russian Naval Movements--Sinking of La
Provence 165
PART V.--THE WAR ON THE EASTERN FRONT
XIX. Summary of First Year's Operations 174
XX. The Fall of the Niemen and Nareff Fortresses 178
XXI. The Conquest of Grodno and Vilna 185
XXII. The Capture of Brest-Litovsk 193
XXIII. The Struggle in East Galicia and Volhynia and the
Capture of Pinsk 200
XXIV. In the Pripet Marshes 209
XXV. Fighting on the Dvina and in the Dvina-Vilna Sector 212
XXVI. Winter Battles on the Styr and Strypa Rivers 223
XXVII. On the Tracks of the Russian Retreat 229
XXVIII. Sidelights on the Russian Retreat and German
Advance 240
XXIX. Winter on the Eastern Front 250
PART VI.--THE BALKANS
XXX. Battle Clouds Gather Again 255
XXXI. The Invasion Begins 263
XXXII. Bulgaria Enters the War 269
XXXIII. The Teutonic Invasion Rolls on 273
XXXIV. The Fall of Nish--Defense of Babuna Pass 282
XXXV. Bulgarian Advance--Serbian Resistance 290
XXXVI. End of German Operations--Flight of Serb People--Greece 300
XXXVII. Allies Withdraw into Greece--Attitude of Greek
Government 308
XXXVIII. Bulgarian Attacks--Allies Concentrate at Saloniki 316
XXXIX. Italian Movements in Albania--Conquest of Montenegro 327
XL. Conditions in Serbia, Greece, and Rumania 339
PART VII.--THE DARDANELLES AND RUSSO-TURKISH CAMPAIGN
XLI. Conditions in Gallipoli--Attack at Suvla Bay 344
PART VIII.--AGGRESSIVE TURKISH CAMPAIGN AT DARDANELLES
XLII. Sari Bair--Partial Withdrawal of Allies 353
XLIII. Aggressive Turkish Movements--Opinion in England--Change
in Command 357
XLIV. Abandonment of Dardanelles--Armenian Atrocities 369
XLV. Campaign in Caucasus--Fall of Erzerum 380
PART IX.--ITALY IN THE WAR
XLVI. Review OF Preceding Operations--Italian Movements 393
XLVII. Italy's Relations to the Other Warring Nations 399
XLVIII. Problems of Strategy 404
XLIX. Move Against Germany 410
L. Renewed Attacks--Italy's Situation At the Beginning
of March, 1916 413
PART X.--CAMPAIGN IN MESOPOTAMIA
LI. Operations Against Bagdad and Around the Tigris 419
LII. Advance Toward Bagdad--Battle of Kut-el-Amara 426
LIII. Battle of Ctesiphon 437
LIV. Stand at Kut-el-Amara--Attempts at Relief 444
PART XI.--THE WAR IN THE AIR
LV. Development of the Strategy and Tactics of Air
Fighting 454
LVI. Zeppelin Raids--Attacks on German Arms Factories--German
Over-Sea Raids 459
LVII. Attacks on London--Bombardment of Italian Ports--Aeroplane
as Commerce Destroyer 466
LVIII. Air Fighting on all Fronts--Losses 473
PART XII.--THE UNITED STATES AND THE BELLIGERENTS
LIX. Sinking of the Arabic--Another Crisis--Germany's
Defense and Concessions 480
LX. Issue with Austria-Hungary Over the Ancona--Surrender
to American Demands 490
LXI. The Lusitania Deadlock--Agreement Blocked by Armed
Merchantmen Issue--Crisis in Congress 496
LXII. Developments of Pro-German Propaganda--Munitions
Crusade Defended--New Aspects of American Policy 505
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Kaiser Wilhelm Inspecting His Troops _Frontispiece_
Opposite Page
Zigzag Trenches in the Champagne 62
German Infantry Storming a Hill 94
General Joffre and General Petain 142
Austrian Infantry in Russia 238
Constructing a Bridge Over the Danube 270
British Hydroplane on Guard at Saloniki 318
Aeroplane Guns on Turntable 462
Firing a Torpedo from the Deck of a Destroyer 494
LIST OF MAPS
Page
Middle Europe--The German Vision of an Empire from the Baltic
to the Persian Gulf (_Colored Map_) _Front Insert_
Champagne District, The 63
Battle in Champagne, September, 1915, Detail Map of 69
Artois Region, September, 1915, The French Gains in 86
Battle at Loos, The 95
Verdun, The Forts at 134
Verdun, Fighting at, up to March 1, 1916 141
Verdun (_Colored Map_) _Opposite_ 142
Kiel Canal 167
Russia, The Battle Front in, January 1, 1916 228
Balkan (Serbian) Operations, General Map of 262
German-Austro-Bulgar Campaign Against Serbia, The Beginning
of the 268
Retreat of Serbians 304
Saloniki, The Allies at 324
Montenegro, The Austrian Campaign in 335
Dardanelles, Operations at the 368
Turkish Empire, The 381
Turkey in Armenia, The Russian Advance on 390
Bagdad Railroad, The 420
Russian Advance Through Persia, The 438
Mesopotamia, The British Campaign in 451
PART I--WAR IN SYRIA AND EGYPT
CHAPTER I
RENEWED TURKISH ATTEMPTS
The leaders of the Turkish troops had been hard at work arousing the
fanaticism of the Turkish soldiery against the British foe before the
next day's battle began. It is due these noisy "Holy Warriors" that
sentries of the Fifth Egyptian Field Battery were warned of the near
presence of the enemy.
The Indian troops now took the offensive, supported by the warships
and mountain and field artillery. The Serapeum garrison, consisting of
Ninety-second Punjabis and Rajputs, now cleared its front of the enemy
who had been stopped three-quarters of a mile away. A counterattack
made by the Sixty-second Punjabis of the Tussum garrison drove the
Turks back. Two battalions of the Turkish Twenty-eighth Regiment now
joined the fight, but the British artillery threw them into disorder,
and by 3 p. m. of February 3, 1915, the Moslems were in retreat,
leaving behind them a rear guard of a few hundred men hidden in the
gaps among the brush along the eastern bank.
The warships on Lake Timsah had been in action since morning, and the
sand hills near Ismailia were at first crowded by civilians and
soldiers eager to witness the fight, until the Turkish guns to the
east and southeast of the Ferry post drove them in cover.
About 11 a. m. an old unprotected Indian Marine transport, H. M. S.
_Hardinge_, was struck by two 6-inch shells. One carried away the
funnel and the other burst inboard doing much damage. Two of the crew
were killed and nine wounded. George Carew, the pilot, lost a leg, but
continued on duty and helped to bring the injured vessel into
Ismailia. The French coast guard battleship _Requin_ came now under
the Turkish fire, but her 10.8-inch guns soon silenced the enemy's
batteries.
The morning of February 3, 1915, the Turks advanced on the Ismailia
Ferry, then held by Sikhs, Punjabi Rifles, a battery of Indian
mountain artillery and Australian engineers, digging shelter pits as
they moved forward, covered by two field batteries. Their advance was
stopped by the British guns when they had come within 1,000 yards of
the outpost line. During the afternoon the Turks kept up some
desultory firing that was ineffective; they also engaged in some
reconnoitering of British positions during the dark night that
followed, but when morning broke they had all disappeared.
Meanwhile, at El Kantara the struggle had reached much the same
conclusion. The Indian troops had repelled an advance from the south,
in which two Turkish regiments, the Eightieth and Eighty-first of the
Twenty-seventh Division, were engaged. H.M.S. _Swiftsure_, which had
taken the place of the disabled _Hardinge_, aided by Indian and
Territorial artillery, did effective work in covering the British
positions. The nature of the ground here was so marshy that in places
the Turks sank to their waists in muddy ooze, and foredoomed their
attack to failure. Again it was demonstrated that they are poor
strategists and fail to make careful observations of the terrain
before advancing to attack. At El Ferdan, where some Turks made a
demonstration with a battery about this time, there were no losses,
though the gunboat _Clio_ was hit several times. At El Kantara, where
a part of General Cox's brigade of Gurkhas, Sikhs, and Punjabis were
engaged, there were thirty casualties.
Between Tussum and Serapeum there was some sniping during the late
afternoon of February 3 from the east bank of the canal, during which
a British sailor was killed on H.M.S. _Swiftsure_. The desultory
firing continued during the night and through the early morning of
February 4. A deplorable incident occurred this day in which a brave
British officer and several of his men were the victims of Turkish
treachery. Several hundred Turks had been discovered by half a
battalion of Ninety-second Punjabis sent out from Serapeum. In the
encounter that followed, some of the Turks held up their hands as a
sign of surrender, while others continued to fire. Captain Cochran of
the Ninety-second company, who was advancing with his men to take the
surrender, was killed. A few of his soldiers also fell, and some
others were wounded. The British took a prompt and complete revenge
for the loss of these men. After being reenforced by Indian troops
they overpowered the enemy in a hand-to-hand struggle, in which a
Turkish officer was killed by a British officer in a sword combat. The
Turks had lost in this brisk engagement about 120 killed and wounded,
and 6 officers and 25 men were captured with 3 Maxim guns.
The Turkish attempts at Suez on February 2, 1915, were insignificant,
and did not cost the British the loss of a single man. By nightfall,
just as their compatriots had done along other parts of the canal, the
Turks fled in the direction of Nakhl, Djebel, Habeite, and Katia. On
the afternoon of the 4th, when the fighting between Serapeum and
Tussum was concluded, Indian cavalry and various patrols captured some
men and war materials. At Ismailia preparations were under way to
pursue the retreating Turks across the canal. This plan, for some
reason, was subsequently abandoned.
During these various fights along the canal, the British had lost 115
killed and wounded, a small number considering the character of the
ground and the very numerous attacks and skirmishes. Nine hundred
Turks were buried or found drowned in the canal, 650 were taken
prisoners, while it is estimated that between 1,500 and 2,000 must
have been wounded. The brunt of the struggle fell on the Indian
troops, who, in general, fought with great bravery. There were some
Australian and Egyptian troops engaged who proved themselves valuable
auxiliaries.
In these engagements along the canal the Syrian Moslems displayed even
greater bravery than the Turks, who were not lacking in intrepidity,
though they showed poor judgment. They had much to learn in the way of
taking cover, and would often blindly advance over difficult ground
that placed them at a disadvantage.
Djemal Pasha had evidently counted on an Egyptian rising, and perhaps
a mutiny of the Indian Moslem troops, but he showed that he entirely
misjudged their sentiments, as they displayed great bitterness toward
the Turks during the fighting, and attacked them in a thoroughly
vindictive spirit. If Djemal had not counted on help from these
quarters he would probably not have attempted to break through the
British positions covering a ninety-mile front with such a small
force. It was estimated that he had about 25,000 men, but not more
than half of these were brought into action at any given point where
they might have achieved some success. The Turks had burned up some
war material and left a few deserters behind them, but they had
retreated in good order, and the British commanders had reason to
believe that they should soon be heard from again, and that a main
attack was contemplated.
On February 6, 1915, British aeroplane observers discovered that the
Turks in front of the Tussum-Deversoir section had gathered at Djebel,
Habeite, and were strongly reenforced. It appeared that Djemal was now
preparing to attack in force. The British were quite ready for them,
having been reenforced on February 3 and 4 by the Seventh and Eighth
Australian battalions, a squadron of the Duke of Lancaster's Own
Yeomanry, and the Herts, and Second County of London Yeomanry. But the
British hopes of a decisive engagement were blighted by the general
retirement of the Turkish army with their reenforcements.
They crossed the desert successfully, thanks to the organizing skill
of Kress von Kressenstein and Roshan Bey, and set off for the Turkish
base at Beersheba, spreading the news along the road that they had won
a victory and would soon return to Egypt and achieve another, this by
way of keeping the Syrians reassured that success was on the Moslem
side.
In January, 1915, the commander of Turkish troops at Fort Nakhl,
hearing that the Government quarantine station at Tor was undefended,
sent a body of men under two German officers to occupy the place. The
raiders found on their arrival at Tor that about 200 Egyptian soldiers
were in occupation and waited there until they received
reenforcements, which brought their force up to 400 men. For the time
they occupied a small village about five miles north of Tor,
occasionally firing a shot at long range and sending arrogant messages
to the Egyptians. On February 11 a detachment of Ghurkas embarked
secretly from Suez, and advancing over the hills in the rear of the
Turks, surprised their position on the following morning. In the
encounter that followed the Turks were annihilated. Sixty lay dead on
the field, and over a hundred, including a Turkish officer, were made
prisoners. On the British side one Ghurka was killed and another
wounded. It was a disappointment that the German officers and a few
men had left the camp some days before for Abu Zenaima on the coast,
where there was a British-owned manganese mine, which the raiders
damaged as best they could, and then stealing some camels, departed
for the fort at Nakhl.
The failure of the Turks to win any success at that canal, and their
subsequent retreat, had a discouraging influence on the Bedouin
levies, who had joined Djemal Pasha and Hilmi Bey, and they now chose
the first opportunity to vanish with the new rifles that had been
given to them.
For a month the Turks did nothing but keep the British troops occupied
by petty raids and feint attacks, which were worrisome, but better
than utter stagnation.
On March 22, 1915, a Turkish column with guns and cavalry appeared
near the canal near El Kubri, and their advance guard of about 400
encountered a patrol of nine men under Havildar Subha Singh of the
Fifty-sixth Punjab Rifles. The Havildar retired fighting courageously,
holding the enemy back until he had got his men to safety, with a loss
of two killed and three wounded. The Havildar, who was badly wounded
himself, received the Indian Order of Merit and was promoted to
Jemadar. He had inflicted on the enemy a loss of twelve men and
fifteen wounded.
On March 23, 1915, General Sir G. J. Younghusband set out to attack
the Turks who had been under the command of Colonel van Trommer, but
owing to delays they had had time to retreat toward Nakhl. In the
pursuit that followed, their rear guard lost about forty men and some
were taken prisoners. There were about a dozen British casualties.
On April 29, 1915, a raiding party with Maxims attacked a detachment
of Bikanir Camel Corps and Egyptian sappers near Bir Mahadet, which
resulted in the wounding of a British officer, and five killed and
three wounded among the Egyptians and Bikaniris. A punitive expedition
sent out to attack the raiders marched through the night to Bir
Mahadet only to find that the Turks had fled. The British aeroplane
soon after "spotted" the enemy near a well six miles north. The
Patiala cavalry, who were leading, came up with the Turkish rear guard
in the afternoon and charged. The Turks stampeded, except for a small
group of Turkish soldiers led by a plucky Albanian officer, who held
their ground and attacked from the flank the advancing British
officers and Patiala cavalry. Two British officers and a native
officer were killed or badly wounded in the subsequent charge. The
Albanian, who had displayed such courage, proved to be a son of Djemal
Pasha. He fell with seven lance thrusts, none of which however proved
fatal, while all his men were killed or captured. The British had four
or five times as many men as the escaping enemy, but they did not
pursue.
In June, 1915, Colonel von Laufer and a mixed force attempted a feeble
raid on the canal near El Kantara, but were driven off with some loss
by the Yeomanry, who had done effective work in keeping the enemy away
from the British lines. A mine having been found near the canal about
this time, the Porte informed the neutral powers that the canal must
be closed to navigation owing to the arbitrary conduct of the British
in Egypt. But the Turks were not in a position to carry out their
threats, owing to the vigorous attack on the Dardanelles. Troops were
hurried from Syria to Constantinople, and by June 6 less than 25,000
Turkish troops remained in central and southern Syria and the Sinai
Peninsula. At Nakhl and El Arish there were left about 7,000 veteran
desert fighters, but the British air scouts kept a watchful eye on the
desert roads, and used bombs with such effect that the Turks were
kept in a constant state of apprehension by their attacks.
At Sharkieh, the eastern province of the Delta, there had been some
uneasiness when the Turks made their unsuccessful strikes at the
canal, but the population gave no trouble. At Alexandria and Cairo
some few fanatics and ignorant people of the lower classes displayed
some opposition to the Government. The sultan was fired on April 8,
1915, by a degenerate, Mohammed Khalil, a haberdasher of Masoura, the
bullet missing the victim by only a few inches. Khalil was tried by
court-martial and executed April 24. The attempt on Sultan Hussein's
life had the effect of making him friends from among the disaffected
in the higher classes who found it wise policy to express their horror
of the attempted crime, and to proclaim their allegiance to the
Government. On April 9 the sultan received a popular ovation while on
his way to the mosque.
As a base for the allied Mediterranean expeditionary force, and as a
training ground for Australian, Indian, and British troops, Egypt in
1915 was of the utmost military importance to the British Empire. From
the great camps around Cairo and the canal, forces could be dispatched
for service in Europe, Mesopotamia, and at the Dardanelles, while
fresh contingents of soldiers were constantly arriving to take their
places.
On July 5, 1915, a body of Turks and Arabs from Yemen in southwest
Arabia made a threatening demonstration against Aden, the "Gibraltar
of the East," on the Strait of Perim at the entrance to the Red Sea.
They were equipped with some field guns and light artillery, and
crossing the Aden hinterland near Lahej, forced the British to retire
on Aden.
On July 29, 1915, Sheikh Othman, which had been abandoned by the
British on their retreat on the 5th, was again occupied by them, and
the Turks and Arabs were expelled. The British troops drove the enemy
for five miles across the country, causing some casualties, when the
Turks and their allies scattered and disappeared.
PART II--WAR IN THE AIR
CHAPTER II
RAIDS OF THE AIRMEN
The war in the air developed into a reign of terror during the second
half of the first year of the world catastrophe. While the armies on
the land were locked in terrific conflict, and the navies were
sweeping the seas, the huge ships of the air were hovering over cities
with a desperate resolve to win on all sides. By degrees the pilots of
the various nations learned to work in squadrons. The tactics of the
air began to be developed and opposing aerial fleets maneuvered much
as did the warships. Long raids by fifty or more machines were
reported, tons of bombs being released upon cities hundreds of miles
from the battle line.
The German ambition to shell London was realized, and the east coast
of England grew accustomed to raids. The spirit of the British never
faltered. Perhaps it was best typified in the admonition of a Yarmouth
minister following a disastrous Zeppelin visit, who said: "It is our
privilege, we who live on the east coast, to be on the firing line,
and we should steel ourselves to face the position with brave hearts."
Casualties grew in all quarters. French cities were the greatest
sufferers, although French airmen performed prodigies of valor in
defending the capital and in attacks upon German defensive positions.
But the stealthy Zeppelin took heavy toll on many occasions. It was
shown that there was no really adequate defense against sudden attack
from the air. Constant watchfulness and patrolling machines might be
eluded at night and death rained upon the sleeping city beneath.
The spring of 1915 found the air service of every army primed for a
dash. The cold months were spent in repairing, reorganizing and
extending aerial squadrons. Everything awaited the advent of good
weather conditions.
During February, 1915, the hand of tragedy fell upon the German air
service. Two Zeppelins and another large aircraft were wrecked within
a couple of days.
In a storm over the North Sea on February 16, 1915, a Zeppelin fought
heroically. Contrary air currents compelled the Zeppelin commander to
maneuver over a wide zone in an effort to reach land. Caught in the
gale the big dirigible was at the mercy of the elements. Snow, sleet,
and fog enveloped it and added to its peril. The craft caught in the
February storm, fought a losing battle for twenty-four hours and
finally made a landing on Fanoe Island, in Danish territory. The
officers and men were interned, several of whom were suffering from
exposure in an acute form and nearly all of them with frostbitten
hands and feet.
Another Zeppelin was lost in this same February storm. It is presumed
that the two started on a raiding trip against England and were caught
in the storm before reaching their destination. Details of the second
Zeppelin's fate never have been told. It fell into the sea, where
parts of the wreckage were found by Dutch fishermen. All on board lost
their lives. The third airship wrecked that month was of another type
than the Zeppelin. It foundered off the west coast of Jutland and four
of its crew were killed. The others escaped, but the airship was a
total loss.
This trio of accidents shocked the German official world to its depths
and had a chilling effect upon the aerial branch of its military
organization for some weeks. The Zeppelins remained at home until the
return of better weather. England, for a time, was practically freed
from the new menace.
It was not accident alone, nor an adverse fortune, which caused the
loss of the three airships. The position of the British Isles, on the
edge of the Atlantic, enabled British weather forecasters to tell with
almost unfailing exactness when a storm was to be expected. The French
also had an excellent service in this direction. Realizing that bad
weather was the worst foe of the Zeppelin, aside from its own inherent
clumsiness, the two governments agreed to suppress publication of
weather reports, thereby keeping from the Germans information of a
vital character. The German Government maintained a skilled weather
department, but the geographical location of the country is such that
its forecasters could not foretell with the same accuracy the
conditions on the Atlantic. The shrewd step of the French and British
therefore resulted in the destruction of three dirigibles in a single
month, a much higher average than all the efforts of land guns and
aviators had been able to achieve.
February, 1915, was a bleak, drear month. Aviators of all the armies
made daily scouting trips, but wasted little time in attacking each
other. Few raids of importance took place on any of the fronts. But
British airmen descended upon German positions in Belgium on several
occasions. Zeebrugge, Ostend, and Blankenberghe received their
attention in a half dozen visits between February 5 and 20.
On February 16, 1915, a large fleet of aeroplanes, mostly British,
swept along the Flanders coast, attacking defensive positions wherever
sighted. At the same time, French airmen shelled the aeroplane center
at Ghistelles, preventing the Germans from sending a squadron against
the other flotilla.
Paris, Dunkirk, and Calais glimpsed an occasional enemy aeroplane, but
they were bent on watching troop movements and only a few stray bombs
were dropped. The inactivity of the armies, burrowed in their winter
quarters, was reflected in the air.
It was announced by the French Foreign Office that from the beginning
of hostilities up to February 1, 1915, French aircraft had made 10,000
reconnaissances, covering a total of more than 1,250,000 miles. This
represented 18,000 hours spent in the air.
Antwerp, which had surrendered to the Germans, was visited by British
flyers on March 7, 1915. They bombarded the submarine plant at
Hoboken, a suburb. The plant at this point had been quickly developed
by the conquerors and the harbor served as a refuge for many undersea
boats. Numerous attacks on ships off the Dutch mainland persuaded the
British authorities that a blow at Hoboken would be a telling stroke
against German submarines, and so the event proved. Several craft were
sunk or badly damaged. Bombs set fire to the submarine works and much
havoc was wrought among the material stored there. A number of
employees were injured. The Antwerp populace cheered the airmen on
their trip across the city and back to the British lines, for which a
fine was imposed upon the city.
During March, 1915, there was some activity in the East, where
Zeppelins shelled Warsaw in Poland, killing fifty persons and causing
many fires. One of the raiders was brought down on March 18, and her
crew captured. The Russian service suffered losses, Berlin announcing
the capture of six aeroplanes in a single week. One of these was of
the Sikorsky type, a giant battle plane carrying a half dozen men.
Shortly after one o'clock on the morning of March 21, 1915, two
Zeppelins appeared above Paris. Four of the raiders started from the
German lines originally, but two were forced to turn back. They were
first seen above Compiegne, north of which the German lines came
nearest to Paris. The news was flashed ahead. The French airmen rose
to meet them. Two of the Zeppelins eluded the patrol. Their coming was
expected and when they approached the city searchlights picked them up | 863.843802 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.8249970 | 2,135 | 11 |
Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 8.
XXVII. RETRIBUTION
XXVIII. LIGHT
CHAPTER XXVII
RETRIBUTION
I
The Bishop's House was a comfortable, double dwelling of a smooth,
bright red brick and large, plate-glass windows, situated in a plot
at the western end of Waverley Place. It had been bought by the Diocese
in the nineties, and was representative of that transitional period in
American architecture when the mansard roof had been repudiated, when
as yet no definite types had emerged to take its place. The house had
pointed gables, and a tiny and utterly useless porch that served only to
darken the front door, made of heavy pieces of wood fantastically curved.
It was precisely ten o'clock in the morning when Hodder rang the bell and
was shown into the ample study which he had entered on other and less
vital occasions. He found difficulty in realizing that this pleasant
room, lined with well-worn books and overlooking a back lawn where the
clothes of the episcopal family hung in the yellow autumn sun, was to be
his judgment seat, whence he might be committed to trial for heresy.
And this was the twentieth century! The full force of the preposterous
fact smote him, and a consciousness of the distance he himself had
travelled since the comparatively recent days of his own orthodoxy.
And suddenly he was full again of a resentful impatience, not only that
he should be called away from his labours, his cares, the strangers who
were craving his help, to answer charges of such an absurd triviality,
but that the performance of the great task to which he had set his hand,
with God's help, should depend upon it. Would his enemies be permitted
to drive him out thus easily?
The old bishop came in, walking by the aid of a cane. He smiled at
Hodder, who greeted him respectfully, and bidding him sit down, took a
chair himself behind his writing table, from whence he gazed awhile
earnestly and contemplatively at the rugged features and strong shoulders
of the rector of St. John's. The effect of the look was that of a visual
effort to harmonize the man with the deed he had done, the stir he had
created in the city and the diocese; to readjust impressions.
A hint of humour crept into the bishop's blue eyes, which were watery,
yet strong, with heavy creases in the corners. He indicated by a little
gesture three bundles of envelopes, bound by rubber bands, on the corner
of his blotter.
"Hodder," he said, "see what a lot of trouble you have made for me in my
old age! All those are about you."
The rector's expression could not have been deemed stern, but it had met
the bishop's look unflinchingly. Now it relaxed into a responding smile,
which was not without seriousness.
"I am sorry, sir," Hodder answered, "to have caused you any worry--or
inconvenience."
"Perhaps," said the bishop, "I have had too much smooth sailing for a
servant of Christ. Indeed, I have come to that conclusion."
Hodder did not reply. He was moved, even more by the bishop's manner
and voice than his words. And the opening to their conversation was
unexpected. The old man put on his spectacles, and drew from the top
of one of the bundles a letter.
"This is from one of your vestrymen, Mr. Gordon Atterbury," he said, and
proceeded to read it, slowly. When he had finished he laid it down.
"Is that, according to your recollection, Mr. Hodder, a fairly accurate
summary of the sermon you gave when you resumed the pulpit at the end of
the summer?"
"Yes, sir," answered the rector, "it is surprisingly accurate, with the
exception of two or three inferences which I shall explain at the proper
moment."
"Mr. Atterbury is to be congratulated on his memory," the bishop observed
a little dryly. "And he has saved me the trouble of reading more. Now
what are the inferences to which you object?"
Hodder stated them. "The most serious one," he added, "is that which he
draws from my attitude on the virgin birth. Mr. Atterbury insists, like
others who cling to that dogma, that I have become what he vaguely calls
an Unitarian. He seems incapable of grasping my meaning, that the only
true God the age knows, the world has ever known, is the God in Christ,
is the Spirit in Christ, and is there not by any material proof, but
because we recognize it spiritually. And that doctrine and dogma,
ancient speculations as to how, definitely, that spirit came to be in
Christ, are fruitless and mischievous to-day. Mr. Atterbury and others
seem actually to resent my identification of our Lord's Spirit with the
social conscience as well as the individual conscience of our time."
The bishop nodded.
"Hodder," he demanded abruptly, leaning forward over his desk, "how did
this thing happen?"
"You mean, sir--"
There was, in the bishop's voice, a note almost pathetic. "Oh, I do not
mean to ask you anything you may deem too personal. And God forbid, as
I look at you, as I have known you, that I should doubt your sincerity.
I am not your inquisitor, but your bishop and your friend, and I am
asking for your confidence. Six months ago you were, apparently, one of
the most orthodox rectors in the diocese. I recognize that you are not
an impulsive, sensational man, and I am all the more anxious to learn
from your own lips something of the influences, of the processes which
have changed you, which have been strong enough to impel you to risk the
position you have achieved."
By this unlooked-for appeal Hodder was not only disarmed, but smitten
with self-reproach at the thought of his former misjudgment and
underestimation of the man in whose presence he sat. And it came over
him, not only the extent to which, formerly, he had regarded the bishop
as too tolerant and easygoing, but the fact that he had arrived here
today prepared to find in his superior anything but the attitude he was
showing. Considering the bishop's age, Hodder had been ready for a lack
of understanding of the step he had taken, even for querulous reproaches
and rebuke.
He had, therefore, to pull himself together, to adjust himself to the
unexpected greatness of soul with which he was being received before he
began to sketch the misgivings he had felt from the early days of his
rectorship of St. John's; the helplessness and failure which by degrees
had come over him. He related how it had become apparent to him that by
far the greater part of his rich and fashionable congregation were
Christians only in name, who kept their religion in a small and
impervious compartment where it did not interfere with their lives.
He pictured the yearning and perplexity of those who had come to him for
help, who could not accept the old explanations, and had gone away empty;
and he had not been able to make Christians of the poor who attended the
parish house. Finally, trusting in the bishop's discretion, he spoke of
the revelations he had unearthed in Dalton Street, and how these had
completely destroyed his confidence in the Christianity he had preached,
and how he had put his old faith to the test of unprejudiced modern
criticism, philosophy, and science...
The bishop listened intently, his head bent, his eyes on he rector.
"And you have come out--convinced?" he asked tremulously. "Yes, yes,
I see you have. It is enough."
He relapsed into thought, his wrinkled hand lying idly on the table.
"I need not tell you, my friend," he resumed at length, "that a great
deal of pressure has been brought to bear upon me in this matter, more
than I have ever before experienced. You have mortally offended, among
others, the most powerful layman in the diocese, Mr. Parr, who complains
that you have presumed to take him to task concerning his private
affairs."
"I told him," answered Holder, "that so long as he continued to live the
life he leads, I could not accept his contributions to St. John's."
"I am an old man," said the bishop, "and whatever usefulness I have had
is almost finished. But if I were young to-day, I should pray God for
the courage and insight you have shown, and I am thankful to have lived
long enough to have known you. It has, at least, been given one to
realize that times have changed, that we are on the verge of a mighty
future. I will be frank to say that ten years ago, if this had happened,
I should have recommended you for trial. Now I can only wish you
Godspeed. I, too, can see the light, my friend. I can see, I think, though
dimly, the beginnings of a blending of all sects, of all religions in the
increasing vision of the truth revealed in Jesus Christ, stripped, as you
say, of dogma, of fruitless attempts at rational explanation. In Japan
and China, in India and Persia, as well as in Christian countries, it is
coming, coming by some working of the Spirit the mystery of which is
beyond us. And nations and men who even yet know nothing of the Gospels
are showing a willingness to adopt what is Christ's, and the God of
Christ."
Holder | 863.845037 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.8598600 | 7,422 | 21 |
Produced by Jon Ingram, Juliet Sutherland and Distributed Proofreaders
THE MAN SHAKESPEARE
AND
HIS TRAGIC LIFE STORY
By Frank Harris
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY FRIEND, ERNEST BECKETT (NOW LORD GRIMTHORPE),
A MAN OF MOST EXCELLENT DIFFERENCES, WHO UNITES TO A GENIUS FOR
PRACTICAL THINGS A PASSIONATE SYMPATHY FOR ALL HIGH ENDEAVOUR IN
LITERATURE AND ART
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
BOOK I
SHAKESPEARE PAINTED BY HIMSELF
CHAPTER
I. Hamlet: Romeo-Jaques
II. Hamlet-Macbeth
III. Duke Vincentio-Posthumus
IV. Shakespeare's Men of Action: the Bastard,
Arthur, and King Richard II
V. Shakespeare's Men of Action (_continued_): Hotspur,
Prince Henry, and Henry V
VI. Shakespeare's Men of Action (_concluded_): King
Henry VI. and Richard III
VII. Shakespeare as Lyric Poet: "Twelfth Night"
VIII. Shakespeare's Humour: "Falstaff"
BOOK II
I. Shakespeare's early attempts to portray himself
and his wife: Biron, Adriana, Valentine
II. Shakespeare as Antonio the Merchant
III. Shakespeare's Love-story: the Sonnets: Part I
IV. Shakespeare's Love-story: the Sonnets: Part II
V. Shakespeare's Love-story: the Sonnets: Part III
VI. The First-fruit of the Tree of Knowledge: Brutus
VII. Dramas of Revenge and Jealousy: Hamlet
VIII. Dramas of Revenge and Jealousy: Othello
IX. Dramas of Lust: Part I: Troilus and Cressida
X. Dramas of Lust: Part II: Antony and Cleopatra
XI. The drama of Madness: Lear
XII. The Drama of Despair: Timon of Athens
XIII. The Latest Works: All Copies: "Winter's Tale"; "Cymbeline"; "The
Tempest"
XIV. Shakespeare's Life: Part I
XV. Shakespeare's Life: Part II
INDEX
INTRODUCTION
This book has grown out of a series of articles contributed to "The
Saturday Review" some ten or twelve years ago. As they appeared they
were talked of and criticized in the usual way; a minority of readers
thought "the stuff" interesting; many held that my view of Shakespeare
was purely arbitrary; others said I had used a concordance to such
purpose that out of the mass of words I had managed, by virtue of some
unknown formula, to re-create the character of the man.
The truth is much simpler: I read Shakespeare's plays in boyhood,
chiefly for the stories; every few years later I was fain to re-read
them; for as I grew I always found new beauties in them which I had
formerly missed, and again and again I was lured back by tantalizing
hints and suggestions of a certain unity underlying the diversity of
characters. These suggestions gradually became more definite till at
length, out of the myriad voices in the plays, I began to hear more and
more insistent the accents of one voice, and out of the crowd of faces,
began to distinguish more and more clearly the features of the writer;
for all the world like some lovelorn girl, who, gazing with her soul in
her eyes, finds in the witch's cauldron the face of the beloved.
I have tried in this book to trace the way I followed, step by step; for
I found it effective to rough in the chief features of the man first,
and afterwards, taking the plays in succession, to show how Shakespeare
painted himself at full-length not once, but twenty times, at as many
different periods of his life. This is one reason why he is more
interesting to us than the greatest men of the past, than Dante even, or
Homer; for Dante and Homer worked only at their best in the flower of
manhood. Shakespeare, on the other hand, has painted himself for us in
his green youth with hardly any knowledge of life or art, and then in
his eventful maturity, with growing experience and new powers, in
masterpiece after masterpiece; and at length in his decline with
weakened grasp and fading colours, so that in him we can study the
growth and fruiting and decay of the finest spirit that has yet been
born among men. This tragedy of tragedies, in which "Lear" is only one
scene--this rise to intensest life and widest vision and fall through
abysms of despair and madness to exhaustion and death--can be followed
experience by experience, from Stratford to London and its thirty years
of passionate living, and then from London to village Stratford again,
and the eternal shrouding silence.
As soon as this astonishing drama discovered itself to me in its tragic
completeness I jumped to the conclusion that it must have been set forth
long ago in detail by Shakespeare's commentators, and so, for the first
time, I turned to their works. I do not wish to rail at my forerunners
as Carlyle railed at the historians of Cromwell, or I should talk, as he
talked, about "libraries of inanities...conceited dilettantism and
pedantry...prurient stupidity," and so forth. The fact is, I found all
this, and worse; I waded through tons of talk to no result. Without a
single exception the commentators have all missed the man and the story;
they have turned the poet into a tradesman, and the unimaginable tragedy
of his life into the commonplace record of a successful tradesman's
career. Even to explain this astounding misadventure of the host of
critics is a little difficult. The mistake, of course, arose from the
fact that his contemporaries told very little about Shakespeare; they
left his appearance and even the incidents of his life rather vague.
Being without a guide, and having no clear idea of Shakespeare's
character, the critics created him in their own image, and, whenever
they were in doubt, idealized him according to the national type.
Still, there was at least one exception. Some Frenchman, I think it is
Joubert, says that no great man is born into the world without another
man being born about the same time, who understands and can interpret
him, and Shakespeare was of necessity singularly fortunate in his
interpreter. Ben Jonson was big enough to see him fairly, and to give
excellent-true testimony concerning him. Jonson's view of Shakespeare is
astonishingly accurate and trustworthy so far as it goes; even his
attitude of superiority to Shakespeare is fraught with meaning. Two
hundred years later, the rising tide of international criticism produced
two men, Goethe and Coleridge, who also saw Shakespeare, if only by
glimpses, or rather by divination of kindred genius, recognizing certain
indubitable traits. Goethe's criticism of "Hamlet" has been vastly
over-praised; but now and then he used words about Shakespeare which, in
due course, we shall see were illuminating words, the words of one who
guessed something of the truth. Coleridge, too, with his curious,
complex endowment of philosopher and poet, resembled Shakespeare, saw
him, therefore, by flashes, and might have written greatly about him;
but, alas, Coleridge, a Puritan born, was brought up in epicene
hypocrisies, and determined to see Shakespeare--that child of the
Renascence--as a Puritan, too, and consequently mis-saw him far oftener
than he saw him; misjudged him hideously, and had no inkling of his
tragic history.
There is a famous passage in Coleridge's "Essays on Shakespeare" which
illustrates what I mean. It begins: "In Shakespeare all the elements of
womanhood are holy"; and goes on to eulogize the instinct of chastity
which all his women possess, and this in spite of Doll Tearsheet,
Tamora, Cressida, Goneril, Regan, Cleopatra, the Dark Lady of the
Sonnets, and many other frail and fascinating figures. Yet whatever
gleam of light has fallen on Shakespeare since Coleridge's day has come
chiefly from that dark lantern which he now and then flashed upon the
master.
In one solitary respect, our latter-day criticism has been successful;
it has established with very considerable accuracy the chronology of the
plays, and so the life-story of the poet is set forth in due order for
those to read who can.
This then is what I found--a host of commentators who saw men as trees
walking, and mistook plain facts, and among them one authentic witness,
Jonson, and two interesting though not trustworthy witnesses, Goethe and
Coleridge--and nothing more in three centuries. The mere fact may well
give us pause, pointing as it does to a truth which is still
insufficiently understood. It is the puzzle of criticism, at once the
despair and wonder of readers, that the greatest men of letters usually
pass through life without being remarked or understood by their
contemporaries. The men of Elizabeth's time were more interested in
Jonson than in Shakespeare, and have told us much more about the younger
than the greater master; just as Spaniards of the same age were more
interested in Lope de Vega than in Cervantes, and have left a better
picture of the second-rate playwright than of the world-poet. Attempting
to solve this problem Emerson coolly assumed that the men of the
Elizabethan age were so great that Shakespeare himself walked about
among them unnoticed as a giant among giants. This reading of the riddle
is purely transcendental. We know that Shakespeare's worst plays were
far oftener acted than his best; that "Titus Andronicus" by popular
favour was more esteemed than "Hamlet." The majority of contemporary
poets and critics regarded Shakespeare rather as a singer of "sugred"
verses than as a dramatist. The truth is that Shakespeare passed through
life unnoticed because he was so much greater than his contemporaries
that they could not see him at all in his true proportions. It was
Jonson, the nearest to him in greatness, who alone saw him at all fairly
and appreciated his astonishing genius.
Nothing illustrates more perfectly the unconscious wisdom of the English
race than the old saying that "a man must be judged by his peers." One's
peers, in fact, are the only persons capable of judging one, and the
truth seems to be that three centuries have only produced three men at
all capable of judging Shakespeare. The jury is still being collected.
But from the quality of the first three, and of their praise, it is
already plain that his place will be among the highest. From various
indications, too, it looks as if the time for judging him had come:
"Hamlet" is perhaps his most characteristic creation, and Hamlet, in his
intellectual unrest, morbid brooding, cynical self-analysis and dislike
of bloodshed, is much more typical of the nineteenth or twentieth
century than of the sixteenth. Evidently the time for classifying the
creator of Hamlet is at hand.
And this work of description and classification should be done as a
scientist would do it: for criticism itself has at length bent to the
Time-spirit and become scientific. And just as in science, analysis for
the moment has yielded pride of place to synthesis, so the critical
movement in literature has in our time become creative. The chemist, who
resolves any substance into its elements, is not satisfied till by
synthesis he can re-create the substance out of its elements: this is
the final proof that his knowledge is complete. And so we care little or
nothing to-day for critical analyses or appreciations which are not
creative presentments of the person. "Paint him for us," we say, "in his
habit as he lived, and we will take it that you know something about
him."
One of the chief attempts at creative criticism in English literature,
or, perhaps it would be fairer to say, the only memorable attempt, is
Carlyle's Cromwell. He has managed to build up the man for us quite
credibly out of Cromwell's letters and speeches, showing us the
underlying sincerity and passionate resolution of the great Puritan once
for all. But unfortunately Carlyle was too romantic an artist, too
persuaded in his hero-worship to discover for us Cromwell's faults and
failings. In his book we find nothing of the fanatic who ordered the
Irish massacres, nothing of the neuropath who lived in hourly dread of
assassination. Carlyle has painted his subject all in lights, so to
speak; the shadows are not even indicated, and yet he ought to have
known that in proportion to the brilliancy of the light the shadows must
of necessity be dark. It is not for me to point out that this romantic
painting of great men, like all other make-believes and hypocrisies, has
its drawbacks and shortcomings: it is enough that it has had its day and
produced its pictures of giant-heroes and their worshippers for those
who love such childish toys.
The wonderful age in which we live--this twentieth century with its
X-rays that enable us to see through the skin and flesh of men, and to
study the working of their organs and muscles and nerves--has brought a
new spirit into the world, a spirit of fidelity to fact, and with it a
new and higher ideal of life and of art, which must of necessity change
and transform all the conditions of existence, and in time modify the
almost immutable nature of man. For this new spirit, this love of the
fact and of truth, this passion for reality will do away with the
foolish fears and futile hopes which have fretted the childhood of our
race, and will slowly but surely establish on broad foundations the
Kingdom of Man upon Earth. For that is the meaning and purpose of the
change which is now coming over the world. The faiths and convictions of
twenty centuries are passing away and the forms and institutions of a
hundred generations of men are dissolving before us like the baseless
fabric of a dream. A new morality is already shaping itself in the
spirit; a morality based not on guess-work and on fancies; but on
ascertained laws of moral health; a scientific morality belonging not to
statics, like the morality of the Jews, but to dynamics, and so fitting
the nature of each individual person. Even now conscience with its
prohibitions is fading out of life, evolving into a more profound
consciousness of ourselves and others, with multiplied incitements to
wise giving. The old religious asceticism with its hatred of the body is
dead; the servile acceptance of conditions of life and even of natural
laws is seen to be vicious; it is of the nobility of man to be insatiate
in desire and to rebel against limiting conditions; it is the property
of his intelligence to constrain even the laws of nature to the
attainment of his ideal.
Already we are proud of being students, investigators, servants of
truth, and we leave the great names of demi-gods and heroes a little
contemptuously to the men of bygone times. As student-artists we are no
longer content with the outward presentment and form of men: we want to
discover the protean vanities, greeds and aspirations of men, and to lay
bare, as with a scalpel, the hidden motives and springs of action. We
dream of an art that shall take into account the natural daily decay and
up-building of cell-life; the wars that go on in the blood; the fevers
of the brain; the creeping paralysis of nerve-exhaustion; above all, we
must be able even now from a few bare facts, to re-create a man and make
him live and love again for the reader, just as the biologist from a few
scattered bones can reconstruct some prehistoric bird or fish or mammal.
And we student-artists have no desire to paint our subject as better or
nobler or smaller or meaner than he was in reality; we study his
limitations as we study his gifts, his virtues with as keen an interest
as his vices; for it is in some excess of desire, or in some
extravagance of mentality, that we look for the secret of his
achievement, just as we begin to wonder when we see hands constantly
outstretched in pious supplication, whether a foot is not thrust out
behind in some secret shame, for the biped, man, must keep a balance.
I intend first of all to prove from Shakespeare's works that he has
painted himself twenty times from youth till age at full length: I shall
consider and compare these portraits till the outlines of his character
are clear and certain; afterwards I shall show how his little vanities
and shames idealized the picture, and so present him as he really was,
with his imperial intellect and small snobberies; his giant vices and
paltry self-deceptions; his sweet gentleness and long martyrdom. I
cannot but think that his portrait will thus gain more in truth than it
can lose in ideal beauty. Or let me come nearer to my purpose by means
of a simile. Talking with Sir David Gill one evening on shipboard about
the fixed stars, he pointed one out which is so distant that we cannot
measure how far it is away from us and can form no idea of its
magnitude. "But surely," I exclaimed, "the great modern telescopes must
bring the star nearer and magnify it?" "No," he replied, "no; the best
instruments make the star clearer to us, but certainly not larger." This
is what I wish to do in regard to Shakespeare; make him clearer to men,
even if I do not make him larger.
And if I were asked why I do this, why I take the trouble to re-create a
man now three centuries dead, it is first of all, of course, because he
is worth it--the most complex and passionate personality in the world,
whether of life or letters--because, too, there are certain lessons
which the English will learn from Shakespeare more quickly and easily
than from any living man, and a little because I want to get rid of
Shakespeare by assimilating all that was fine in him, while giving all
that was common and vicious in him as spoil to oblivion. He is like the
Old-Man-of-the-Sea on the shoulders of our youth; he has become an
obsession to the critic, a weapon to the pedant, a nuisance to the man
of genius. True, he has painted great pictures in a superb, romantic
fashion; he is the Titian of dramatic art: but is there to be no
Rembrandt, no Balzac, no greater Tolstoi in English letters? I want to
liberate Englishmen so far as I can from the tyranny of Shakespeare's
greatness. For the new time is upon us, with its new knowledge and new
claims, and we English are all too willing to live in the past, and so
lose our inherited place as leader of the nations.
The French have profited by their glorious Revolution: they trusted
reason and have had their reward; no such leap forward has ever been
made as France made in that one decade, and the effects are still
potent. In the last hundred years the language of Moliere has grown
fourfold; the slang of the studios and the gutter and the laboratory, of
the engineering school and the dissecting table, has been ransacked for
special terms to enrich and strengthen the language in order that it may
deal easily with the new thoughts. French is now a superb instrument,
while English is positively poorer than it was in the time of
Shakespeare, thanks to the prudery of our illiterate middle class.
Divorced from reality, with its activities all fettered in baby-linen,
our literature has atrophied and dwindled into a babble of nursery
rhymes, tragedies of Little Marys, tales of Babes in a Wood. The example
of Shakespeare may yet teach us the value of free speech; he could say
what he liked as he liked: he was not afraid of the naked truth and the
naked word, and through his greatness a Low Dutch dialect has become the
chiefest instrument of civilization, the world-speech of humanity at
large.
FRANK HARRIS.
LONDON, 1909.
BOOK I. SHAKESPEARE PAINTED BY HIMSELF
CHAPTER I. HAMLET: ROMEO--JAQUES
"As I passed by... I found an altar with this inscription, TO THE
UNKNOWN GOD. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto
you." This work of Paul--the discovery and proclaiming of an unknown
god--is in every age the main function of the critic.
An unknown god this Shakespeare of ours, whom all are agreed it would be
well to know, if in any way possible. As to the possibility, however,
the authorities are at loggerheads. Hallam, "the judicious," declared
that it was impossible to learn anything certain about "the man,
Shakespeare." Wordsworth, on the other hand (without a nickname to show
a close connection with the common), held that Shakespeare unlocked his
heart with the sonnets for key. Browning jeered at this belief, to be in
turn contradicted by Swinburne. Matthew Arnold gave us in a sonnet "the
best opinion of his time":
"Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art still,
Out-topping knowledge."
But alas! the best opinion of one generation is in these matters often
flat unreason to the next, and it may be that in this instance neither
the opinion of Hallam nor Browning nor Arnold will be allowed to count.
As it is the object of a general to win battles so it is the life-work
of the artist to show himself to us, and the completeness with which he
reveals his own individuality is perhaps the best measure of his genius.
One does this like Montaigne, simply, garrulously, telling us his height
and make, his tastes and distastes, his loves and fears and habits, till
gradually the seeming-artless talk brings the man before us, a
sun-warmed fruit of humanity, with uncouth rind of stiff manners and
sweet kindly juices, not perfect in any way, shrivelled on this side by
early frost-bite, and on that softened to corruption through too much
heat, marred here by the bitter-black cicatrice of an ancient injury and
there fortune-spotted, but on the whole healthy, grateful, of a most
pleasant ripeness. Another, like Shakespeare, with passionate
conflicting sympathies and curious impartial intellect cannot discover
himself so simply; needs, like the diamond, many facets to show all the
light in him, and so proceeds to cut them one after the other as
Falstaff or Hamlet, to the dazzling of the purblind.
Yet Shakespeare's purpose is surely the same as Montaigne's, to reveal
himself to us, and it would be hasty to decide that his skill is
inferior. For while Montaigne had nothing but prose at his command, and
not too rich a prose, as he himself complains, Shakespeare in magic of
expression has had no equal in recorded time, and he used the lyric as
well as the dramatic form, poetry as well as prose, to give his soul
utterance.
We are doing Shakespeare wrong by trying to believe that he hides
himself behind his work; the suspicion is as unworthy as the old
suspicion dissipated by Carlyle that Cromwell was an ambitious
hypocrite. Sincerity is the birthmark of genius, and we can be sure that
Shakespeare has depicted himself for us with singular fidelity; we can
see him in his works, if we will take the trouble, "in his habit as he
lived."
We are doing ourselves wrong, too, by pretending that Shakespeare
"out-tops knowledge." He did not fill the world even in his own time:
there was room beside him in the days of Elizabeth for Marlowe and
Spenser, Ben Jonson and Bacon, and since then the spiritual outlook,
like the material outlook, has widened to infinity. There is space in
life now for a dozen ideals undreamed-of in the sixteenth century. Let
us have done with this pretence of doglike humility; we, too, are men,
and there is on earth no higher title, and in the universe nothing
beyond our comprehending. It will be well for us to know Shakespeare and
all his high qualities and do him reverence; it will be well for us,
too, to see his limitations and his faults, for after all it is the
human frailties in a man that call forth our sympathy and endear him to
us, and without love there is no virtue in worship, no attraction in
example.
The doubt as to the personality of Shakespeare, and the subsequent
confusion and contradictions are in the main, I think, due to Coleridge.
He was the first modern critic to have glimpses of the real Shakespeare,
and the vision lent his words a singular authority. But Coleridge was a
hero-worshipper by nature and carried reverence to lyric heights. He
used all his powers to persuade men that Shakespeare was [Greek:
_myrionous anaer_]--"the myriad-minded man"; a sort of demi-god who
was every one and no one, a Proteus without individuality of his own.
The theory has held the field for nearly a century, probably because it
flatters our national vanity; for in itself it is fantastically absurd
and leads to most ridiculous conclusions. For instance, when Coleridge
had to deal with the fact that Shakespeare never drew a miser, instead
of accepting the omission as characteristic, for it is confirmed by Ben
Jonson's testimony that he was "of an open and free nature," Coleridge
proceeded to argue that avarice is not a permanent passion in humanity,
and that Shakespeare probably for that reason chose to leave it
undescribed. This is an example of the ecstasy of hero-worship; it is
begging the question to assume that whatever Shakespeare did was
perfect; humanity cannot be penned up even in Shakespeare's brain. Like
every other man of genius Shakespeare must have shown himself in his
qualities and defects, in his preferences and prejudices; "a fallible
being," as stout old Dr. Johnson knew, "will fail somewhere."
Even had Shakespeare tried to hide himself in his work, he could not
have succeeded. Now that the print of a man's hand or foot or ear is
enough to distinguish him from all other men, it is impossible to
believe that the mask of his mind, the very imprint, form and pressure
of his soul should be less distinctive. Just as Monsieur Bertillon's
whorl-pictures of a thumb afford overwhelming proofs of a man's
identity, so it is possible from Shakespeare's writings to establish
beyond doubt the main features of his character and the chief incidents
of his life. The time for random assertion about Shakespeare and
unlimited eulogy of him has passed away for ever: the object of this
inquiry is to show him as he lived and loved and suffered, and the
proofs of this and of that trait shall be so heaped up as to stifle
doubt and reach absolute conviction. For not only is the circumstantial
evidence overwhelming and conclusive, but we have also the testimony of
eye-witnesses with which to confirm it, and one of these witnesses, Ben
Jonson, is of rare credibility and singularly well equipped.
Let us begin, then, by treating Shakespeare as we would treat any other
writer, and ask simply how a dramatic author is most apt to reveal
himself. A great dramatist may not paint himself for us at any time in
his career with all his faults and vices; but when he goes deepest into
human nature, we may be sure that self-knowledge is his guide; as Hamlet
said, "To know a man well, were to know himself" (oneself), so far
justifying the paradox that dramatic writing is merely a form of
autobiography. We may take then as a guide this first criterion that, in
his masterpiece of psychology, the dramatist will reveal most of his own
nature.
If a dozen lovers of Shakespeare were asked to name the most profound
and most complex character in all his dramas it is probable that every
one without hesitation would answer Hamlet. The current of cultivated
opinion has long set in this direction. With the intuition of a kindred
genius, Goethe was the first to put Hamlet on a pedestal: "the
incomparable," he called him, and devoted pages to an analysis of the
character. Coleridge followed with the confession whose truth we
shall see later: "I have a smack of Hamlet myself, if I may say so." But
even if it be admitted that Hamlet is the most complex and profound of
Shakespeare's creations, and therefore probably the character in which
Shakespeare revealed most of himself, the question of degree still
remains to be determined. Is it possible to show certainly that even the
broad outlines of Hamlet's character are those of the master-poet?
There are various ways in which this might be proved. For instance, if
one could show that whenever Shakespeare fell out of a character he was
drawing, he unconsciously dropped into the Hamlet vein, one's suspicion
as to the identity of Hamlet and the poet would be enormously
strengthened. There is another piece of evidence still more convincing.
Suppose that Shakespeare in painting another character did nothing but
paint Hamlet over again trait by trait--virtue by virtue, fault by
fault--our assurance would be almost complete; for a dramatist only
makes this mistake when he is speaking unconsciously in his proper
person. But if both these kinds of proof were forthcoming, and not once
but a dozen times, then surely our conviction as to the essential
identity of Hamlet and Shakespeare would amount to practical certitude.
Of course it would be foolish, even in this event, to pretend that
Hamlet exhausts Shakespeare; art does little more than embroider the
fringe of the garment of life, and the most complex character in drama
or even in fiction is simple indeed when compared with even the simplest
of living men or women. Shakespeare included in himself Falstaff and
Cleopatra, beside the author of the sonnets, and knowledge drawn from
all these must be used to fill out and perhaps to modify the outlines
given in Hamlet before one can feel sure that the portrait is a
re-presentment of reality. But when this study is completed, it will be
seen that with many necessary limitations, Hamlet is indeed a revelation
of some of the most characteristic traits of Shakespeare.
To come to the point quickly, I will take Hamlet's character as analyzed
by Coleridge and Professor Dowden.
Coleridge says: "Hamlet's character is the prevalence of the abstracting
and generalizing habit over the practical. He does not want courage,
skill, will or opportunity; but every incident sets him thinking: and it
is curious, and at the same time strictly natural, that Hamlet, who all
the play seems reason itself, should be impelled at last by mere
accident to effect his object." Again he says: "in Hamlet we see a
great, an almost enormous intellectual activity and a proportionate
aversion to real action consequent upon it."
Professor Dowden's analysis is more careful but hardly as complete. He
calls Hamlet "the meditative son" of a strong-willed father, and adds,
"he has slipped on into years of full manhood still a haunter of the
university, a student of philosophies, an amateur in art, a ponderer on
the things of life and death who has never formed a resolution or
executed a deed. This long course of thinking apart from action has
destroyed Hamlet's very capacity for belief.... In presence of the
spirit he is himself 'a spirit,' and believes in the immortality of the
soul. When left to his private thoughts he wavers uncertainly to and
fro; death is a sleep; a sleep, it may be, troubled with dreams.... He
is incapable of certitude.... After his fashion (that of one who
relieves himself by speech rather than by deeds) he unpacks his heart in
words."
Now what other personage is there in Shakespeare who shows these traits
or some of them? He should be bookish and irresolute, a lover of thought
and not of action, of melancholy temper too, and prone to unpack his
heart with words. Almost every one who has followed the argument thus
far will be inclined to think of Romeo. Hazlitt declared that "Romeo is
Hamlet in love. There is the same rich exuberance of passion and
sentiment in the one, that there is of thought and sentiment in the
other. Both are absent and self-involved; both live out of themselves in
a world of imagination." Much of this is true and affords a noteworthy
example of Hazlitt's occasional insight into character, yet for reasons
that will appear later it is not possible to insist, as Hazlitt does,
upon the identity of Romeo and Hamlet. The most that can be said is that
Romeo is a younger brother of Hamlet, whose character is much less
mature and less complex than that of the student-prince. Moreover, the
characterization in Romeo--the mere drawing and painting--is very
inferior to that put to use in Hamlet. Romeo is half hidden from us in
the rose-mist of passion, and after he is banished from | 863.8799 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.8617540 | 622 | 35 |
Produced by Tor Martin Kristiansen, Matthew Wheaton, Michael
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "The hunt became a mad break-neck scramble across the
rocky plain." [PAGE 143]]
WHITE OTTER
BY
ELMER RUSSELL GREGOR
AUTHOR OF "CAMPING ON WESTERN TRAILS," "THE RED ARROW," ETC.
FRONTISPIECE BY
D. C. HUTCHISON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK LONDON
1924
By ELMER R. GREGOR
JIM MASON, BACKWOODSMAN
JIM MASON, SCOUT
_Western Indian Series...._
WHITE OTTER
THE WAR TRAIL
THREE SIOUX SCOUTS
_Eastern Indian Series_
SPOTTED DEER
RUNNING FOX
THE WHITE WOLF
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. RIDERS OF THE NIGHT 1
II. THE WAR PARTY 14
III. TRAILING THE ENEMY 31
IV. A PERILOUS ADVENTURE 50
V. A SURPRISE 66
VI. A FIGHT IN THE DARK 85
VII. THE MINNECONJOUX CAMP 97
VIII. VISITORS FROM THE NORTH 114
IX. THE GREAT BUFFALO DRIVE 137
X. AN ADVENTURE AMONG THE PEAKS 156
XI. A CALL TO WAR 177
XII. A NIGHT OF UNCERTAINTY 189
XIII. RACING TO THE RESCUE 212
XIV. THE PLIGHT OF THE OGALALAS 222
XV. WHITE OTTER'S BOLD RESOLVE 241
XVI. A BAFFLING TRAIL 253
XVII. A PEEP INTO THE PAWNEE CAMP 267
XVIII. A DARING ATTEMPT 278
XIX. A SPLENDID VICTORY 292
XX. THE CROWN OF EAGLE PLUMES 305
WHITE OTTER
CHAPTER I
RIDERS OF THE NIGHT
It was the time of the new-grass moon. The long cold winter had finally
passed, and the season of abundance was at hand. The Sioux gave thanks
to the Great Mystery with song and dance. They knew that vast herds of
buffal | 863.881794 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.8658410 | 1,267 | 17 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
REMEDIA A MORIS;
or,
THE REMEDY OF LOVE.
By Ovid
Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes, by Henry T. Riley
1885
REMEDIA A MORIS; or, THE REMEDY OF LOVE.
|The God of Love had read the title and the name of this treatise,
when he said, "War, I see, war is being meditated against me." Forbear,
Cupid, to accuse thy Poet of such a crime; me, who so oft have borne
thy standards with thee for my leader. I am no son of Tydeus, wounded by
whom, [1201] thy mother returned into the yielding air with the steeds of
Mars. Other youths full oft grow cool; I have ever loved; and shouldst
thou inquire what I am doing even now, I am still in love. Besides,
I have taught by what arts thou mayst be won; and that which is now a
system, was an impulse before. Neither thee do I betray, sweet Boy, nor
yet my own arts; nor has my more recent Muse unravelled her former work.
If any one loves an object which he delights to love, enraptured, in his
happiness, let him rejoice, and let him sail with prospering gales. But
if any one impatiently endures the sway of some cruel fair, that he
may not be undone, let him experience relief from my skill. Why has
one person, tying up his neck [1202] by the tightened halter, hung, a
sad burden, from the lofty beam? Why, with the hard iron, has another
pierced his own entrails? Lover of peace, thou dost bear the blame
of their deaths. He, who, unless he desists, is about to perish by a
wretched passion, let him desist; and then thou wilt prove the cause of
death to none. Besides, thou art a boy; and it becomes thee not to do
aught but play. Play on; a sportive sway befits thy years. Far thou
mayst use thy arrows, when drawn from the quiver for warfare; but thy
weapons are free from deadly blood.
Let thy stepfather Mars wage war both with the sword and the sharp
lance; and let him go, as victor, blood-stained with plenteous
slaughter. Do thou cherish thy mother's arts, which, in safety, we
pursue; and by the fault of which no parent he comes bereft. Do thou
cause the portals to be burst open in the broils of the night; and
let many a chaplet cover the decorated doors. Cause the youths and the
bashful damsels to meet in secret; and by any contrivance they can, let
them deceive their watchful husbands. And at one moment, let the
lover utter blandishments, at another, rebukes, against the obdurate
door-posts; and, shut out, let him sing some doleful ditty. Contented
with these tears, thou wilt be without the imputation of any death. Thy
torch is not deserving to be applied to the consuming pile.
These words said I. Beauteous Love waved his resplendent wings, and
said to me, "Complete the work that thou dost design." Come, then, ye
deceived youths, for my precepts; ye whom your passion has deceived in
every way. By him, through whom you have learned how to love, learn
how to be cured; for you, the same hand shall cause the wound and the
remedy. The earth nourishes wholesome plants, and the same produces
injurious ones; and full oft is the nettle the neighbour of the rose.
That lance which once made a wound in the enemy, the son of Hercules,
afforded a remedy [1203] for that wound. But whatever is addressed to the
men, believe, ye fair, to be said to you as well; to both sides am I
giving arms. If of these any are not suited to your use, still by
their example they may afford much instruction. My useful purpose is to
extinguish the raging flames, and not to have the mind the slave of its
own imperfections. Phyllis would have survived, if she had employed me
as her teacher; and along that road, by which nine times she went,[1204] she would have gone oftener still. And Dido, dying, would not have
beheld from the summit of her tower the Dardanian ships giving their
sails to the wind.
Grief, too, would not have armed Medea, the mother against her own
offspring; she who took vengeance on her husband, by the shedding of
their united blood. Through my skill, Tereus, although Philomela did
captivate him, would not, through his crimes, have been deserving to
become a bird. [1204]
Give me Pasiphaë for a pupil, at once she shall lay aside her passion
for the bull; give me Phædra, the shocking passion of Phædra shall
depart. Bring Paris back to us; Menelaus shall possess his Helen, and
Pergamus shall not fall, conquered by Grecian hands. If impious Scylla
had read my treatise, the purple lock, Nisus, would have remained
upon thy head. With me for your guide, ye men, repress your pernicious
anxieties; and onward let the bark proceed with the companions, me the
pilot. At the time when you were learning how to love, Naso was to be
studied; now, too, will the same Naso have to be studied by you. An
universal assertor [1206] of liberty | 863.885881 |
2023-11-16 18:31:27.9147390 | 4,107 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by Google Books
THE GOLDEN FLOOD
By Edwin Lefevre
Illustrated By W. R. Leigh
New York
McClure, Phillips & Co.
1905
TO
DANIEL GRAY REID
PART ONE: THE FLOOD
The president looked up from the underwriters’ plan of the latest
“Industrial” consolidation capital stock, $100,000,000; assets, for
publication, $100,000,000 which the syndicate’s lawyers had pronounced
perfectly legal. Judiciously advertised, the stock probably would be
oversubscribed. The profits ought to be enormous. He was one of the
underwriters.
“What is it?” he asked. He did not frown, but his voice was as though
hung with icicles. The assistant cashier, an imaginative man in the
wrong place, shivered.
“This gentleman,” he said, giving a card to the president, “wishes to
make a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars.”
The president looked at the card. He read on it:
_MR. GEORGE KITCHELL GRINELL_
“Who sent him to us?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir. He said he had a letter of introduction to you,”
answered the assistant cashier, disclaiming all responsibility in the
matter.
The president read the card a second time. The name was unfamiliar.
“Grinnell?” he muttered. “Grinnell? Never heard of him.” Perhaps he felt
it was poor policy to show ignorance on any matter whatever. When he
spoke again, it was in a voice overflowing with a dignity that was a
subtle rebuke to all assistant cashiers:
“I will see him.”
He busied himself once more with the typewritten documents before him,
lost in its alluring possibilities, until he became conscious of a
presence near him. He still waited, purposely, before looking up. He was
a very busy man, and all the world must know it. At length he raised his
head majestically, and turned--an animated fragment of a glacier--until
his eyes rested on the stranger’s.
“Good-morning, sir,” he said politely.
“Good-morning, Mr. Dawson,” said the stranger. He was a young man,
conceivably under thirty, of medium height, square of shoulders,
clean-shaven, and clear-skinned. He had brown hair and brown eyes.
His dress hinted at careful habits rather than at fashionable tailors.
Gold-rimmed spectacles gave him a studious air, which disappeared
whenever he spoke. As if at the sound of his own voice, his eyes took on
a look of alert self-confidence which interested the bank president.
Mr. Dawson was deeply prejudiced against the look of extreme astuteness,
blended with the desire to create a favourable impression, so familiar
to him as the president of the richest bank in Wall Street.
“You are Mr.----” The president looked at the stranger’s card as though
he had left it unread until he had finished far more important business.
It really was unnecessary; but it had become a habit, which he lost only
when speaking to his equals or his superiors in wealth.
“Grinnell,” prompted the stranger, very calmly. He was so unimpressed by
the president that the president was impressed by him.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Williams tells me you wish to become one of our
depositors?”
“Yes, sir. I have here,” taking a slip of paper from his pocket-book,
“an Assay Office check on the Sub-Treasury. It is for a trifle over a
hundred thousand dollars.”
Even the greatest bank in Wall Street must have a kindly feeling toward
depositors of a hundred thousand dollars. Mr. Dawson permitted himself
to smile graciously.
“I am sure we shall be glad to have your account, Mr. Grinnell,” he
said. “You are in business in----” The slight arching of his eyebrows,
rather than the inflection of his voice, made his words a delicate
interrogation. He was a small, slender man, greyhaired and
grey-moustached, with an air of polite aloofness from trivialities. His
manners were what you might expect of a man whose grandfather had been
Minister to France, and had never forgotten it; nor had his children.
His self-possession was so great that it was not noticeable.
“I am not in any business, Mr. Dawson, unless,” said the young man
with a smile that deprived his voice of any semblance of pertness or of
premeditated discourtesy, “it is the business of depositing $103,648.67
with the Metropolitan National Bank. My friend, Professor Willetts, of
Columbia, gave me a letter of introduction. Here it is. I may say,
Mr. Dawson, that I haven’t the slightest intention of disturbing this
account, as far as I know now, for an indefinite period.” The president
read the letter. It was from the professor of metallurgy at Columbia,
who was an old acquaintance of Dawson’s. It merely said that George K.
Grinnell was one of his old students, a graduate of the School of
Mines, who had asked him to suggest a safe bank of deposit. This the
Metropolitan certainly was. He had asked his young friend to attach his
own signature at the bottom, since Grinnell had no other bank accounts,
and no other way of having his signature verified. Mr. Grinnell had said
he wished his money to be absolutely safe, and Professor Willetts took
great pleasure in sending him to Mr. Dawson.
Mr. Dawson bowed his head--an acquiescence meant to be encouraging.
To the young man the necessity for such encouragement was not clear.
Possibly it showed in his eyes, for Mr. Dawson said very politely, in
an almost courtly way he had at times to show some people that an
aristocrat could do business aristocratically:
“It is not usual for us to accept accounts from strangers. We do not
really know.” very gently, “that you are the man to whom this letter was
given, nor that your signature is that of Mr. George K. Grinnell.”
The young man laughed pleasantly. “I see your position, Mr. Dawson, but,
really, I am not important enough to be impersonated by anybody. As for
my being George K. Grinnell, I’ve laboured under that impression for
twenty-nine years. I’ll have Professor Willetts in person introduce me,
if you wish. I have some letters----” He made a motion toward his breast
pocket, but Mr. Dawson held up a hand in polite dissent; he was above
suspicions. “And as for my signature, if you will send a clerk with me
to the Assay Office, next door they will doubtless verify it to your
satisfaction; I can just as easily bring legal tender notes, I suppose.
In any case, as I have no intention of touching this money for some time
to come, I suppose the bank will be safe from----”
“Oh,” interrupted Dawson, with a sort of subdued cordiality, “as I told
you before, while we do not usually take accounts from people of whom we
know nothing in a business way, we will make an exception in your case.”
That the young man might not think the bank’s eagerness for deposits
made its officers unbusinesslike, the president added, with a
politely explanatory smile: “Professor Willetts’s letter is sufficient
introduction. As you say you are not in business--”
He paused and looked at the young man for confirmation.
“No, sir; I happen to have this money, and I desire a safe place to
keep it in. I may bring a little more. It depends upon certain family
matters. But that is for the future to decide. In the meantime, I should
like to leave this money here, untouched.”
“Very well, sir.” The president pushed a button on his desk.
A bright-looking, neatly dressed office-boy appeared, his face
exaggeratedly attentive.
“Ask Mr. Williams to come in, please.” The office-boy turned on his
heels as by a military command, and hastened away. It was the bank’s
training; the president’s admirers said it showed his genius for
organization down to the smallest detail. Presently the assistant
cashier entered.
“Mr. Williams, Mr. Grinnell will be one of our most valued depositors.
We must show him that we appreciate his confidence in us. Kindly attend
to the necessary details.” Mr. Dawson paused. Perhaps his hesitancy
was meant as an invitation to Mr. George Kitchell Grinnell to vouchsafe
further information of a personal nature. But Mr. Grinnell said, with a
smile: “Many thanks, Mr. Dawson,” and Mr. Dawson smiled back, politely.
As the men turned to go, he took up the underwriting plan and forgot
all about the incident. It was a Thursday. It might as well have been a
Monday or a Tuesday; but it was not.
Mr. Williams called up Professor Willetts on the telephone, who said he
had given a letter of introduction to George K. Grinnell. He described
Grinnell’s appearance, and added that Grinnell had been one of his
students, and was quite well up on metallurgy, but was not, so far as
the professor knew, engaged in active business. He thought Grinnell had
some private means. The Assay Office people had identified Grinnell and
his signature. It was not much information, but it was enough.
On the following Thursday, after the close of the business day, Mr.
Dawson, reading over some routine memoranda submitted by the cashier,
found his gaze arrested by a line that told of the deposit of $151,008
by “George K. Grinnell.” He sent for the cashier.
“What about this $151,000 deposit by George K. Grinnell?” he asked.
“He deposited an Assay Office check, the same as he did last week.”
The president frowned. He was puzzled.
“If he should happen to make any further deposits of this character,
tell the receiving teller to say I should like to see him, please.”
“Very well, sir.”
The president turned to his desk again, and promptly forgot the
incident--forgot it for exactly one week. On the following Thursday,
shortly before noon, Williams, the assistant cashier--a short, stout
man, with an oleaginous smile--approached his feared chief.
“Excuse me, Mr. Dawson,”--the assistant cashier’s habitual attitude
before the president was one uninterrupted apology for existing at
all--“Mr. Grinnell is here.”
“Grinnell? Grinnell?” mused the president, frowning.
“He has just deposited $250,000--an Assay Office check, the same as last
Thursday. You said if he should----”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Mr. Dawson sharply. “Tell him to be kind enough
to come in.” He muttered to himself: “That makes half a million in
gold in a fortnight. H’m!” When Mr. Dawson h’mmed to himself it meant
business--usually, woe to the vanquished!
He rose to greet the h’m-compelling depositor.
“How do you do, Mr. Grinnell?” He smiled with a cordiality that was more
than mere affability and extended his hand. The president’s grasp was
firm. Wall Street said that his soul had been in cold storage some
thirty thousand centuries before it came down to earth to animate
the body of Richard Dawson. But Mr. Dawson, just as there are men who
endeavour to seem honest by habitually looking you straight in the eyes,
believed that strong pressure must indicate genuine friendliness in a
hand clasp.
Mr. Grinnell smiled. There was not the faintest trace of hostility in
the young man’s smile; but it was not a fatuous smile, nevertheless.
“The cashier said you----”
“Yes; I told him to ask you to be good enough to see me. I hope I am not
inconveniencing you?”
“Not at all. But I fancy you are very busy.”
The president smiled in self-defence.
“Mr. Grinnell,” he said, with a sort of quizzical joviality, “you have
been a source of some--I’ll own up”--with the amused smile of men when
they confess to an essentially feminine sin--“curiosity. I tell you
frankly that I’d very much like to know more about you--what you are
doing, what you have done, what you intend to do. In the past fifteen
days you have deposited with us a half-million in gold.” He again
smiled; this time interrogatively.
“Mr. Dawson,” the young man answered, very seriously, though not in the
slightest degree rebukingly, “really I can add nothing to what I told
you when I first had the pleasure of seeing you. As I said then, I have
not the slightest intention of disturbing the account, not to the extent
of one cent, so far as I can see now. Indeed, you may safely assume that
this money will remain untouched for an indefinite period. I’d rather
keep the money here than in a safe-deposit vault. Still,” with a smile
for the first time, “if you think I’d better transfer my account to the
Eastern National, or the Marshall National, to save you further----”
“Oh, my dear Mr. Grinnell!” in a tone that conveyed to a nicety his
shock at being misunderstood, “I merely wished to learn more about you
from a natural business curiosity. We certainly are satisfied if you
are.”
“Well,” Grinnell said, smiling again, “I am twenty-nine years old,
single, an orphan, a graduate of the School of Mines. I live with my
sister at 193 West 38th Street, and I believe in a republican form of
government under a Democratic administration.”
“My dear Mr. Grinnell,” said the president, with a look of regret to
hide his annoyance, “pray do not imagine for an instant that I had any
desire to pry into your personal affairs. You know, we like to take an
interest in our depositors, just as we wish our depositors to take
an interest in us. Your bank president should be your business father
confessor. The time may come when we may be of use to you. I shall be
glad to give you my best advice, should you ever care for it. And, Mr.
Grinnell,” with a smile, paternal to the last eighth, “I am a month
or two older than you. I have had some experience in many lines of
business,” excepting that of Mr. George K. Grinnell, who did not accept
the subtle invitation to confide. Then, with a final smile, putting his
hand on the young man’s shoulder: “As for your account, Mr. Grinnell,
may it continue to grow! We can stand it if you can.”
“I am glad to hear that; very glad indeed, I may take you at your word.
Being young, I am, of course, very wise, Mr. Dawson. But I have hopes
of getting over it. When my account becomes really respectable, I,
doubtless, shall be more than glad to avail myself of your advice. I
shall value it highly.”
“It is yours at any time, Mr. Grinnell,” said the president, shaking
hands. He did not show any surprise at the intimation of greater
deposits in the future. It was as well that he did not. On Thursday of
the following week, Mr. George K. Grinnell deposited an Assay Office
check for $500,000 lacking a few cents. It made a million of gold
bullion which the young man had sold to the United States Assay Office,
and of which he had deposited the proceeds in the Metropolitan National
Bank. The president did not forget the incident when the cashier sent in
a memorandum, but promptly summoned the official.
“Mr. Grinnell has become quite a depositor, I see,” he said.
“Every Thursday he comes with an Assay Office--”
“Yes, I know. It seems to be a habit with, him. If he should come in
next Thursday, or at any time, let me know at once. Don’t ask him to
come into my office, but let me know he is here, at once. Has he drawn
any checks on us?”
“No, sir; not one.”
“If he does, let me see it.”
“It is--er--rather curious,” ventured the cashier.
“Not at all,” said Mr. Dawson curtly. The cashier left him without
another word.
The advent of the strange depositor was curiously awaited by the tellers
to whom the cashier had spoken. The cashier himself offered to bet his
assistant that Grinnell would not deposit more than $500,000. The fat
assistant decided to lose a five-dollar hat to his superior, and then to
ask that same superior for an increase in salary. He bet that Grinnell
would deposit a million.
“You see,” he said, with a look of intense astuteness, that his device
of intentionally losing the bet might not be too obvious, “he deposited
first a hundred thousand, then a hundred and fifty; then two-fifty; then
he doubled and deposited five hundred thousand. I think he will double
again and deposit a million.”
“Millions don’t grow on bushes. I’ll take the bet,” remarked the cashier
stingingly. His subordinate covered a chuckle of success by a woeful
smile of self-depreciation. But his exultation over the increase in
salary to follow the artistic loss of a five-dollar hat did not endure
long. Grover, one of the receiving tellers, on Thursday hastily sent him
word that Mr. Grinnell had deposited $1,000,000, and was being delayed
at the teller’s window on a pretext of attending to some clerical
detail. The assistant cashier straightway walked into the president’s
room.
“Mr. Grinnell is outside, sir. He has just deposited one million.”
“Very well, Mr. Williams.”
The president walked out of his private office, through the corridor,
into the main office of the bank. On one side there was a long, marble
counter, surmounted by a bronze railing, having windows barred like
those of a jail, behind which were imprisoned the tellers and the
clerks; on the other, the plain walls, with the long panels of polished
marble, and the high, little upright desks over the steam radiators at
which the customers made out the deposit slips or signed checks. It
was not unlike a church, this temple of Mammon, known in Wall Street
as “Fort Dawson.” It had a look of | 863.934779 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
THE AFFECTING CASE OF THE UNFORTUNATE _THOMAS DANIELS_.
_LONDON_
_Thomas Daniels_, the person named in the Pamphlet hereunto annexed,
Intitled, "_The Affecting Case of the unfortunate Thomas Daniels_ &c."
maketh Oath and saith that the said Pamphlet (containing twenty-four
pages) is a just and faithful Narrative of his Case; and that the same
is published at his particular desire of having the Public truly
informed of the whole and every circumstance of his case, with a view to
the removing all unfavourable prejudices against him.
_THOMAS DANIELLS._
Sworn this 23d of _November_,
1761, before me
_W. ALEXANDER._
THE AFFECTING CASE OF THE UNFORTUNATE _THOMAS DANIELS_, WHO WAS
Tried at the SESSIONS held at the OLD BAILEY, _September_, 1761,
FOR THE Supposed MURDER of his WIFE;
By casting her out of a CHAMBER WINDOW:
And for which he was sentenced to die, but received his MAJESTY'S
most GRACIOUS and FREE PARDON.
IN WHICH IS CONTAINED,
A circumstantial Account of the Behaviour of that unhappy Woman,
from her Husband's first Acquaintance with her, to the Day of her Death.
Drawn up and authenticated by the said DANIELS himself;
And faithfully prepared for the PRESS, by
An IMPARTIAL HAND.
LONDON:
Printed for E. CABE, in _Ave-Mary-Lane_.
MDCCLXI.
THE AFFECTING CASE OF THE UNFORTUNATE _THOMAS DANIELS_.
The calamitous circumstance of having been condemned to death by the
laws of his country, for the most hateful of all crimes; and his most
extraordinary deliverance from an ignominious fate, and being restored
to liberty unconditionally and free! will naturally render the case of
_Thomas Daniels_ a subject of eager curiosity and warm debate. That
persons in the superior stations of life should sometimes find means to
evade the punishments incurred by infringing the laws of their country,
and by disturbing the order of society, does not greatly excite our
wonder; an experience of the manners and customs of the world, occasions
our hearing such instances as things of course; we make a natural
reflection or two on the occasions, and think no more of them. But when
a person in one of the lowest classes of mankind, by a fatal accident,
appears before a court of justice with apparent evidences of guilt,
sufficient to influence a jury of his impartial countrymen to sentence
him to the most severe penalty the law can inflict; when this man,
meerly from the advantage of a good character in the narrow circle of
his acquaintance, and from a re-examination into the probability of the
fact, for which he was condemned, shall have the inferences drawn from
the depositions on his trial, totally invalidated, so that the sentence
passed on him is freely remitted! it is _such a sanction_ of his
innocence, that it would be cruel and unjust, in particulars, afterward
to retain any suspicions injurious to him.
It ought to be principally attended to in this affair, that his Majesty,
whose regal virtues are so generally known and acknowledged, cannot
appear in a more amiable view, than in the attention with which he is
said to have endeavoured to discover the merits of the intercession made
for this poor convict. An instance which, as it may be deemed too
trivial to engage any particular share of princely consideration, yet is
certainly one of the truly parental duties of a Monarch, and will endear
him in the hearts of many of his useful subjects, who are beneath caring
for the retention of _Guadalupe_ or _Canada_. And it is doing justice to
the poor fellow, to own, that he seems to retain a grateful, if not a
politely expressed, sensibility of the great obligation he owes to the
royal parent of this his second period of existence.
But as an imputation of so base a nature, confirmed by a court of
justice, would naturally prejudice female minds universally against him,
too strongly for any after testimony in his favour easily to efface; and
as Mr. _Daniels_ is not yet old enough to relinquish all thoughts of
matrimony, and seems to possess too happy a share of vivacity to be
totally depressed by his past misfortunes, however severe they have
been; it is probable he may be hardy enough yet to venture on a second
trial of that state, can he find any good girl candid enough _to venture
on him_: but however this may be, from many important considerations the
poor man is willing to give the world all the satisfaction in his power,
relating to the unhappy woman who was lately his wife, and on whose
account he has gone through so much trouble and anxiety from his first
connexion with her: and it is charitably hoped, that, as he has so
solemnly authenticated the particulars of it, the same degree of
credibility will be allowed _him_, which would be granted to any other
person of fair character and good estimation.
The following particulars concerning this unfortunate couple, were
penned by _Thomas Daniels_ himself, since his enlargement; and are
faithfully exhibited with no other alterations than what were absolutely
necessary, with regard to spelling, style, and disposition, to render
the narrative in some measure clear and fit for perusal. This dressing
was not intended to give any undue colouring to facts, but simply to
supply the deficiencies of the writer; whose laborious situation in life
has denied him those literary advantages indispensable to the writing
his story with tolerable propriety.
Thus much being premised, it is time to let the principal offer his
plea, as candidate for the favourable opinion of his readers.
"It was in the year 1757 that I first became acquainted with _Sarah
Carridine_, by living in the same neighbourhood. She was a very pretty
girl; and I had a great affection for her, as I imagined her to be a
good industrious person. I made my friends acquainted with my regard for
her, but they were entirely against my having her, because of her living
in a public-house: but I was obstinate, and told them I loved her and
would marry her at all adventures, as I believed she would make a good
wife: upon this they said I might have another far preferable to her,
but that if I was resolved not to listen to their advice, they would
have nothing more to say to me, and I should never come near them more.
Finding therefore it was in vain to hope for my father's consent in this
affair, I consulted with her what to do, and at her desire I agreed that
she should take a lodging for us both, and her mother took one
accordingly. I then left my former lodging and lived with her; but as I
still worked with my father as before, he soon found that I had changed
my lodging, and upon what account. This discovery made him very angry,
and we had a quarrel about it, which made me resolve not to work with
him any more. This laid me under a necessity of seeking for business
elsewhere; and in my walks for this purpose, I met with some
acquaintance, who told me they had entered on board the _Britannia | 863.942753 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, L. Barber, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
AFFAIRS OF STATE
Being an Account of Certain Surprising Adventures Which
Befell an American Family in the Land of Windmills
BY
BURTON E. STEVENSON
AUTHOR OF "THE MARATHON MYSTERY," "THE HOLLADAY CASE," ETC.
With Illustrations by F. VAUX WILSON
1906
TO G. H. T.:
OLD FRIEND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE WILES OF WOMANKIND
II. THE ROLE OF GOOD ANGEL
III. DISTINGUISHED ARRIVALS AT WEET-SUR-MER
IV. AN ADVENTURE AND A RESCUE
V. TELLIER TAKES A HAND
VI. THE PATH GROWS CROOKED
VII. AN APPEAL FOR AID
VIII. PRIDE HAS A FALL
IX. PELLETAN'S SKELETON
X. AN INTRODUCTION AND A PROMENADE
XI. THE PRINCE GAINS AN ALLY
XII. EVENTS OF THE NIGHT
XIII. THE SECOND PROMENADE
XIV. A BEARDING OF THE LION
XV. "BE BOLD, BE BOLD"
XVI. A PRINCE AND HIS IDEALS
XVII. THE DUCHESS TO THE RESCUE
XVIII. MAN'S PERFIDY
XIX. AN AMERICAN OPINION OF EUROPEAN MORALS
XX. THE DOWAGER'S BOMBSHELL
XXI. PARDON
ILLUSTRATIONS
"EEF MONSIEUR PLEASE"
"IT WAS MY GREAT GOOD FORTUNE," SAID THE STRANGER, BOWING, "TO BE OF
SERVICE TO A COMPATRIOT"
"OH!" SHE CRIED, WITH A LITTLE START, "THERE HE IS NOW, ALMOST NEAR
ENOUGH TO HEAR!"
"WHAT IS IT?" SHE DEMANDED. "DON'T YOU SEE WE ARE ALL WAITING?"
AFFAIRS OF STATE
CHAPTER I
The Wiles of Womankind
Archibald Rushford, tall, lean, the embodiment of energy, stood at the
window, hands in pockets, and stared disgustedly out at the dreary vista
of sand-dunes and bathing-machines, closed in the distance by a stretch
of gray sea mounting toward a horizon scarcely discernible through the
| 863.943368 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: The great ledger-book--which I now saw turned to an
engine of our salvation. Chapter XIV]
IDONIA:
A ROMANCE OF OLD LONDON
BY
ARTHUR F. WALLIS
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES E. BROCK
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1914
_Copyright, 1913_,
By LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The irregular pile of buildings known as Petty Wales, of which
considerable mention is made in this book, formerly stood at the
northeast corner of Thames Street. The chronicler, Stow, writes of
"some large buildings of stone, the ruins whereof do yet remain, but
the first builders and owners of them are worn out of memory. Some are
of opinion... that this great stone building was sometime the lodging
appointed for the princes of Wales when they repaired to this city, and
that therefore the street, in that part, is called Petty Wales;" and he
further adds: "The merchants of Burdeaux were licensed to build at the
Vintry, strongly with stone, as may yet be seen, and seemeth old though
oft repaired; much more cause have these buildings in Petty Wales...
to seem old, which, for many years, to wit, since the galleys left
their course of landing there, hath fallen to ruin." It appears to
have been let out for many uses, some disreputable; and a certain
Mother Mampudding (of whom one would like to know more) kept a part of
the house for victualling.
CONTENTS
I. IN WHICH I LEARN FOR THE FIRST TIME THAT I HAVE AN UNCLE
II. IN WHICH PTOLEMY PHILPOT COMMENCES HIS STUDY OF THE LATIN
TONGUE
III. HOW A BROTHER, HAVING OFFENDED, WAS FORGIVEN
IV. IN WHICH I SAY FAREWELL THRICE
V. PRINCIPALLY TELLS HOW SIR MATTHEW JUKE WAS CAST AWAY UPON THE
HEBRIDES
VI. HOW THE OLD SCHOLAR AND I CAME TO LONDON
VII. IN WHICH I CONCEIVE A DISLIKE OF AN EARL'S SERVANT AND AN
AFFECTION FOR A MAN OF LAW
VIII. A CHAPTER OF CHEATS
IX. TELLS HOW I CHANGED MY LODGING AND LOST MY MARE
X. HOW I SAW AN ENEMY AT THE WINDOW
XI. IS SUFFICIENT IN THAT IT TELLS OF IDONIA
XII. HOW MR. JORDAN COULD NOT RUN COUNTER TO THE COURSE OF NATURE
XIII. PETTY WALES
XIV. HOW IDONIA TAUGHT ME AND A CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD HOW TO KEEP
BOOKS
XV. IN WHICH I BEGIN TO EARN MY LIVING
XVI. THE SIEGE OF PETTY WALES
XVII. HOW I FOUND AN OLD FRIEND IN A STRANGE PLACE, AND HOW PTOLEMY
RENEWED HIS STUDY OF THE LATIN TONGUE
XVIII. IN WHICH I RECEIVE A COMMISSION AND SUFFER A CHECK
XIX. IN WHICH I COME TO GRIPS WITH MR. MALPAS
XX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CHINESE JAR
XXI. THE "FAIR HAVEN" OF WAPPING
XXII. HOW MY UNCLE BOTOLPH LOST HIS LUCK
XXIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE _SARACEN'S HEAD_
XXIV. THE TEMPLE BENEATH THE WATERS
XXV. IN WHICH THE SHIPS OF WAR GO BY AND THE TALE ENDS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
THE GREAT LEDGER-BOOK--WHICH I NOW SAW
TURNED TO AN ENGINE OF OUR SALVATION... _Frontispiece_
THE ARGUMENT BETWEEN MR. SKEGS AND PTOLEMY
MR. JORDAN REGARDED ME VERY MOURNFULLY
"YOU CANNOT BE IGNORANT THAT THIS AFFAIR IS
LIKE TO END BADLY FOR YOU, MR. DENIS"
IDONIA
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH I LEARN FOR THE FIRST TIME THAT I HAVE AN UNCLE
The first remembrance I hold of my father is of a dark-suited tall man
of an unchanging gravity on all occasions. He had, moreover, a manner
of saying "Ay, ay," which I early came to regard as the prologue to
some definite prohibition; as when I asked him (I being then but a
scrubbed boy) for his great sword, to give it to a crippled soldier at
our gate, who had lost his proper weapon in the foreign wars--
"Ay, ay," said my father, nodding his grey head, "so he lost his good
sword, and you would make good the loss with mine. Ay, 'twas a
generous thought of yours, Denis, surely."
I was for reaching it down forthwith, where it hung by the wall in its
red velvet scabbard, delighted at the pleasure I was to do my bedesman.
"Go to your chamber, boy," said my father in a voice smaller than
ordinary.
"But, sir, the sword!" I cried.
"Ay, the sword," he replied, nodding as before. "But, go warn Simon
Powell that he look to his poultry-lofts. And learn wisdom, Denis, for
you have some need of it, in my judgment."
The same temperate behaviour he ever showed; granting little, and that
never to prayers, but sometimes upon good reasoning. He seemed to have
put by anger as having no occasion for the use of it, anger being
neither buckler nor broadsword, he would say, but Tom Fool's motley.
This calmness of his, I say, it was I first remember, and it was this
too that put a distance between us; so that I grew from boyhood to nigh
manhood, that is until my eighteenth year, without any clear
understanding of what lay concealed behind his mask of quiet. That he
had a passion for books I soon discovered, and the discovery confirmed
me in the foolish timidity with which I regarded him. For hours
together would he sit in the little high room beyond the hall, his
beard buried in his ruff, while the men awaited his orders to go about
the harvesting, and would read continuously in his great folios: the
Lives of Plutarch, or Plato, or the Stoick Emperor, or other such
works, until the day was gone and all labour lost. I have known our
overseer to swear horrid great oaths when he learned that Master Cleeve
had received a new parcel of books by the carrier, crying out that no
estate would sustain the burden of so much learning so ill applied.
Our house stood within a steep combe close under the Brendon hills, and
not far from the Channel, by which ships pass to Bristol, and
outward-bound to the open sea. Many a time have I stood on a rise of
ground between the Abbey, whence it is said we take our name of Cleeve,
and the hamlet on the cliff above the seashore, gazing out upon the
brave show of ships with all sails set, the mariners hauling at the
ropes or leaning over the sides of their vessels; and wondered what
rich cargo it was they carried from outlandish ports, until a kind of
pity grew in me for my father in his little room with his rumpled ruff
and his Logick and Physick and Ethick, and his carrier's cart at the
door with Ethick and Physick and Logick over again.
At such times Simon Powell was often my companion, a lad of a strange
wild spirit, lately come out of Wales across the Channel, and one I
loved for the tales he had to tell of the admirable things that
happened long since in his country, and indeed, he said, lately too. I
cannot call to mind the names of the host of princes that filled his
histories, save Arthur's only; but of their doings, and how they talked
familiarly with beasts and birds, and how they exchanged their proper
shapes at will, and how one of them bade his companions cut off his
head and bear it with them to the White Mount in London; which journey
of theirs continued during fourscore years; of all these marvels I have
still the memory, and of Simon Powell's manner of telling them, which
was very earnest, making one earnest who listened to him.
For ordinary teaching, that is, in Latin and divinity and arithmetick,
I was sent to one Mr. Jordan, who lived across the combe, in a sort of
hollow half way up the moor beyond, in a little house of but four
rooms, of which two were filled with books, and his bed stood in one of
them. The other two rooms I believe he never entered, which were the
kitchen and the bedchamber. For having dragged his bed, many years
before, into the room where he kept the most of his books, he found it
convenient, as he said, to observe this order ever afterwards; and
being an incredibly idle man, though a great and learned scholar, he
would lie in bed the best part of a summer's day and pluck out book
after book from their shelves, reading them half aloud, and only
interrupting his lecture for extraordinary purposes. My father paid
him handsomely for my tuition, though I learned less from him than I
might have done from a far less learned man. He was very old, and the
common talk was that he had been a clerk in the old Abbey before the
King's Commission closed it. It was therefore strange that he taught
me so little divinity as he did, unless it were that the reading of
many pagan books had somewhat clouded his mind in this particular. For
I am persuaded that for once he spoke of the Christian faith he spoke a
hundred times of Minerva and Apollo, and the whole rout of Atheistical
Deities which we rightly hold in abhorrence.
My chief occupation, when I was not at school with Mr. Jordan nor on
the hills with Simon, was to go about our estates, which, although they
were not very large, were fair, and on the whole well ordered. Our
steward, for all his distaste of my father's sedentary habit, had a
reverence for him, and said he was a good master, though he would never
be a wealthy one.
"His worship's brother now," he once said, "who is, I think, one of the
great merchants of London, would make this valley as rich and
prosperous as any the Devon shipmasters have met with beyond the
Western Sea."
I asked him who was my uncle of whom he spoke, and of whom I heard for
the first time.
"'Tis Master Botolph Cleeve," he said. "But his worship does not see
him this many a year, nor offer him entertainment since they drew upon
each other in the great hall."
"Here, in this house!" I cried, for this was all news to me, and
unsuspected.
"In this house it was, indeed, Master Denis," replied the steward,
"while you were a poor babe not yet two year old. But there be some
things best forgotten," he added quickly, and began to walk towards
where the men were felling an alder tree by the combe-brook.
"Nay, Peter Sprot," I cried out, detaining him, "tell me all now, for
things cannot be forgotten, save they have first been spoken of."
He laughed a little at this boyish argument, but would not consent at
that time. Indeed, it was near a year afterwards, and when I had
gained some authority about the estate, that he at length did as I
demanded.
It was a sweet spring morning (I remember) with a heaven full of big
white clouds come up from the westward over Dunkery on a high wind that
bent the saplings and set the branches in the great woods stirring. We
had gone up the moor, behind Mr. Jordan's house, with the shepherd, to
recover a strayed sheep, which, about an hour before noon, the shepherd
chanced to espy a long way off, dead, and a mob of ravens over her,
buffeted about by the gale. The shepherd immediately ran to the place,
where he beat off the ravens and afterwards took up the carcase on his
shoulders and went down the combe, leaving us twain together.
"It is not often that he loses any beast," said the steward. "'Tis a
careful man among the flocks, though among the wenches, not so."
I know not why, but this character of the shepherd put me again in mind
of my uncle Botolph, upon whom I had not thought for a great while.
"Tell me, Peter Sprot," I said, "how it was my father and my uncle came
to fighting."
"Nay, they came not so far as to fight," cried the steward, with a
start.
"But they drew upon each other," said I.
He sat silent for a little, tugging at his rough hair, as was his wont
when he meditated deeply.
After awhile, "You never knew your lady mother," he said, in a deep
voice, "so that my tale must lack for that which should be chief of it.
For to all who knew her, the things which befell seemed a part of her
beauty, or rather to issue from it naturally, though, indeed, they were
very terrible. Mr. Denis, it is the stream which runs by the old
course bursts the bridges in time of winter, and down the common ways
that trouble ever comes."
"But what trouble was in this," I asked, in the pause he | 863.982266 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
WORKS ISSUED BY
The Hakluyt Society.
DIARY
OF
RICHARD COCKS.
FIRST SERIES. NO. LXVI-MDCCCLXXXIII
DIARY
OF
RICHARD COCKS
CAPE-MERCHANT IN THE ENGLISH FACTORY IN JAPAN
1615-1622
_WITH CORRESPONDENCE_
EDITED BY
EDWARD MAUNDE THOMPSON
VOL. I
BURT FRANKLIN, PUBLISHER
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
Published by
BURT FRANKLIN
514 West 113th Street
New York 25, N. Y.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY
REPRINTED BY PERMISSION
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
COUNCIL
OF
THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY.
COLONEL H. YULE, C.B., PRESIDENT.
ADMIRAL C. R. DRINKWATER BETHUNE, C.B. } VICE-PRESIDENTS.
MAJOR-GENERAL SIR HENRY RAWLINSON, K.C.B. }
W. A. TYSSEN AMHERST, ESQ., M.P.
REV. DR. G. P. BADGER, D.C.L.
J. BARROW, ESQ., F.R.S.
WALTER DE GRAY BIRCH, ESQ., F.S.A.
CAPTAIN LINDESAY BRINE, R.N.
E. H. BUNBURY, ESQ.
THE EARL OF DUCIE, F.R.S.
CAPTAIN HANKEY, R.N.
LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR J. HENRY LEFROY, C.B., K.C.M.G.
R. H. MAJOR, ESQ., F.S.A.
REAR-ADMIRAL MAYNE, C.B.
E. DELMAR MORGAN, ESQ.
ADMIRAL SIR ERASMUS OMMANNEY, C.B., F.R.S.
LORD ARTHUR RUSSELL, M.P.
THE LORD STANLEY, OF ALDERLEY.
B. F. STEVENS, ESQ.
EDWARD THOMAS, ESQ., F.R.S.
LIEUT.-GEN. SIR HENRY THUILLIER, C.S.I., F.R.S.
T. WISE, ESQ., M.D.
CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, ESQ., C.B., F.R.S., HONORARY SECRETARY.
PREFACE.
The history of the English trading settlement in Japan in the first
quarter of the seventeenth century is the history of a failure; and the
causes of the failure are not far to seek. Choosing for their depôt
an insignificant island in the extreme west of the kingdom, without
even good anchorage to recommend it, and at a far distance from the
capital cities of Miako and Yedo, with the Dutch for their neighbours
and, as it proved, their rivals, the English may be said to have
courted disaster. It is true that Firando was a ready port for shipping
coming from Europe; its ruler was friendly; and it lay in a convenient
position from whence to open the much-desired trade with China. And
the policy of making common cause with the Protestant Hollanders
against the Spaniards and Portuguese, who had first secured a footing
in Japan and were powerful in the neighbouring town of Nagasaki, would
have been a sound one, had the latter remained supreme. But, when the
English landed, the Dutch had already obtained privileges and had
established their trade in the country; and what ought to have been
foreseen inevitably came to pass. The Dutch were not allies; they were
rivals, who undersold the English in the market and in the end star | 863.982345 |
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Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, David Garcia, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
[Illustration: MADISON CAWEIN]
Under the Stars and Stripes.
High on the world did our fathers of old,
Under the stars and stripes,
Blazon the name that we now must uphold,
Under the stars and stripes.
Vast in the past they have builded an arch
Over which Freedom has lighted her torch.
Follow it! Follow it! Come, let us march
Under the stars and stripes!
We in whose bodies the blood of them runs,
Under the stars and stripes,
We will acquit us as sons of their sons,
Under the stars and stripes.
Ever for justice, our heel upon wrong,
We in the light of our vengeance thrice strong!
Rally together! Come tramping along
Under the stars and stripes!
Out of our strength and a nation's great need,
Under the stars and stripes,
Heroes again as of old we shall breed,
Under the stars and stripes.
Broad to the winds be our banner unfurled!
Straight in Spain's face let defiance be hurled!
God on our side, we will battle the world
Under the stars and stripes!
MADISON CAWEIN.
From "_Poems of American Patriotism_,"
selected by _R. L. Paget_.
* * * * *
SHAPES
and
SHADOWS
POEMS by _Madison Cawein_
NEW YORK: _R. H. Russell_
MDCCCXCVIII
_Copyright, 1898, by R. H. Russell_
* * * * *
To
HARRISON S. MORRIS
* * * * *
A Table of Contents
_The Evanescent Beautiful_ 1
_August_ 2
_The Higher Brotherhood_ 4
_Gramarye_ 5
_Dreams_ 7
_The Old House_ 8
_The Rock_ 10
_Rain_ 12
_Standing-Stone Creek_ 13
_The Moonmen_ 15
_The Old Man Dreams_ | 864.001486 |
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Produced by Pat Castevans and David Widger
THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT
By George Meredith
AN ARABIAN ENTERTAINMENT
1898/1909
CONTENTS:
THE THWACKINGS
THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE BEAUTIFUL
THE BETROTHAL
PUNISHMENT OF SHAHPESH, THE PERSIAN, ON KHIPIL, THE BUILDER
THE GENIE KARAZ
THE WELL OF PARAVID
THE HORSE GARRAVEEN
THE TALKING HAWK
GOORELKA OF OOLB
THE LILY OF THE ENCHANTED SEA
STORY OF NOORNA BIN NOORKA, THE GENIE KARAZ, AND THE PRINCESS OF OOLB
THE WILES OF RABESQURAT
THE PALACE OF AKLIS
THE SONS OF AKLIS
THE SWORD OF AKLIS
KOOROOKH
THE VEILED FIGURE
THE BOSOM OF NOORNA
THE REVIVAL
THE PLOT
THE DISH OF POMEGRANATE GRAIN
THE BURNING OF THE IDENTICAL
THE FLASHES OF THE BLADE
CONCLUSION
THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT
BOOK I.
THE THWACKINGS
THE STORY OF BHANAVAR THE BEAUTIFUL
THE THWACKINGS
It was ordained that Shibli Bagarag, nephew to the renowned Baba
Mustapha, chief barber to the Court of Persia, should shave Shagpat, the
son of Shimpoor, the son of Shoolpi, the son of Shullum; and they had
been clothiers for generations, even to the time of Shagpat, the
illustrious.
Now, the story of Shibli Bagarag, and of the ball he followed, and of the
subterranean kingdom he came to, and of the enchanted palace he entered,
and of the sleeping king he shaved, and of the two princesses he
released, and of the Afrite held in subjection by the arts of one and
bottled by her, is it not known as 'twere written on the finger-nails of
men and traced in their corner-robes? As the poet says:
Ripe with oft telling and old is the tale,
But 'tis of the sort | 864.034142 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.0593140 | 625 | 53 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evan Harrington by George Meredith, v1
#33 in our series by George Meredith
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Title: Evan Harrington, v1
Author: George Meredith
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4427]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
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Language: English
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The Project Gutenberg Etext of Evan Harrington by George Meredith, v1
********This file should be named 4427.txt or 4427.zip*********
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etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
Those of you who want to download | 864.079354 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.0615290 | 1,385 | 32 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: Frederick A. Cook]
_Press Edition_
MY ATTAINMENT
OF THE POLE
_Being the Record of the Expedition that First Reached the Boreal
Center, 1907-1909. With the Final Summary of the Polar Controversy_
_By_
DR. FREDERICK A. COOK
THIRD PRINTING, 60TH THOUSAND
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
MCMXIII
By Special arrangements this edition is marketed by
The Polar Publishing Co., 601 Steinway Hall, Chicago
COPYRIGHT 1913
BY
DR. FREDERICK A. COOK
_OTHER BOOKS BY DR. COOK_
Through the First Antarctic Night
A Narrative of the Belgian South Polar Expedition.
To the Top of the Continent
Exploration in Sub-Arctic Alaska--The First Ascent of Mt. McKinley
My Attainment of the Pole
Edition de Luxe
Each of above series will be sent post paid for $5.00. All to one
address for $14.00.
Address: THE POLAR PUBLISHING CO.
601 Steinway Hall, Chicago
_To the Pathfinders_
To the Indian who invented pemmican and snowshoes;
To the Eskimo who gave the art of sled traveling;
To this twin family of wild folk who have no flag
Goes the first credit.
To the forgotten trail makers whose book of experience has been a
guide;
To the fallen victors whose bleached bones mark steps in the ascent
of the ladder of latitudes;
To these, the pathfinders--past, present and future--I inscribe the
first page.
In the ultimate success there is glory enough
To go to the graves of the dead and to the heads of the living.
THE PRESENT STATUS OF THE POLAR CONTROVERSY
DR. COOK IS VINDICATED. HIS DISCOVERY OF THE NORTH POLE IS ENDORSED BY
THE EXPLORERS OF ALL THE WORLD.
In placing Dr. Cook on the Chautauqua platform as a lecturer, we have
been compelled to study the statements issued for and against the rival
polar claims with special reference to the facts bearing upon the
present status of the Polar Controversy.
Though the question has been argued during four years, we find that it
is almost the unanimous opinion of arctic explorers today, that Dr. Cook
reached the North Pole on April 21, 1909.
With officer Peary's first announcement he chose to force a press
campaign to deny Dr. Cook's success and to proclaim himself as the sole
Polar Victor. Peary aimed to be retired as a Rear-Admiral on a pension
of $6,000 per year. This ambition was granted; but the American Congress
rejected his claim for priority by eliminating from the pension bill the
words "Discovery of the Pole." The European geographical societies,
forced under diplomatic pressure to honor Peary, have also refused him
the title of "Discoverer." By a final verdict of the American government
and of the highest European authorities, Peary is therefore denied the
assumption of being the discoverer of the Pole, though his claim as a
re-discoverer is allowed. The evasive inscriptions on the Peary medals
prove this statement.
Following the acute excitement of the first announcement, it seemed to
be desirable to bring the question to a focus by submitting to some
authoritative body for decision. Such an institution, however, did not
exist. Previously, explorers had been rated by the slow process of
historic digestion and assimilation of the facts offered, but it was
thought that an academic examination would meet the demands. Officer
Peary first submitted his case to a commission appointed by the National
Geographical Society of Washington, D. C. This jury promptly said that
in their "opinion" Peary reached the Pole on April 6, 1909; but a year
later in congress the same men unwillingly admitted that in the Peary
proofs there was no positive proof.
Dr. Cook's data was sent to a commission appointed by the University of
Copenhagen. The Danes reported that the material presented was
incomplete and did not constitute positive proof. This verdict, however,
did not carry the interpretation that the Pole had not been reached. The
Danes have never said, as they have been quoted by the press, that Dr.
Cook did not reach the Pole; quite to the contrary, the University of
Copenhagen conferred the degree of Ph. D. and the Royal Danish
Geographical Society gave a gold medal, both in recognition of the
merits of the Polar effort.
This early examination was based mostly upon the nautical calculations
for position, and both verdicts when analyzed gave the version that in
such observations there was no positive proof. The Washington jury
ventured an opinion. The Danes refused to give an opinion, but showed
their belief in Dr. Cook's success by conferring honorary degrees.
It is the unfair interpretation of the respective verdicts by the
newspapers which has precipitated the turbulent air of distrust which
previously rested over the entire Polar achievement. All this, however,
has now been cleared by the final word of fifty of the foremost Polar
explorers and scientific experts.
In so far as they were able to judge from all the data presented in the
final books of both claimants the following experts have given it as
their opinion that Dr. Cook reached the Pole, and that officer Peary's
similar report coming later is supplementary proof of the first victory:
General A. W. Greely, U. S. A., commander of the Lady Franklin Bay
Expedition, who spent four years in the region under discussion.
Rear Admiral W. S. Schley, U. S. N., commander of the Greely Relief
Expedition.
Capt. Otto Sverdrup, discoverer of the land over which Dr. Cook's route
was forced.
Capt. J. E. Bernier, commanding the Canadian Arctic Expeditions.
Prof. G. Frederick Wright, | 864.081569 |
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Produced by Olaf Voss, Don Kretz, Juliet Sutherland, Charles
Franks and the Distributed Proofreaders Team
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 401
NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 8, 1883
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVI, No. 401.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. CHEMISTRY.--On the Different Modifications of Silver Bromide
and Silver Chloride.
Analysis of New Zealand Coal.
On the Determination of Manganese in Steel, Cast Iron,
Ferro-manganese, etc.
Manganese and its Uses.
Ozokerite or Earth-wax. By WILLIAM L. LAY. A valuable
and instructive paper read before the New York Academy of
Sciences.--Showing the nature, sources, and applications of this
remarkable product.
On the Constitution of the Natural Fats.
II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Improved Spring wheel
Traction Engine.--With two engravings.
An Improved Iron Frame Gang Saw Mill.--With one large
engraving.
The Heat Regenerative System of Firing Gas Retorts.--Siemens'
principle.--As operated at the Glasgow Corporation Works.--With
two engravings.
A New Gas Heated Baker's Oven.
III. TECHNOLOGY.--How to Produce Permanent Photographic Pictures
on Terra Cotta, Glass, etc.--With recipes and full directions.
How to Make Paper Photo Negatives.--Full directions.
Some of the Uses of Common Alum.
An Improved Cloth Stretching Machine.--With an engraving.
Purification of Woolen Fabrics by Hydrochloric Acid Gas.
Apparatus for Preventing the Loss of Carbonic Acid in Racking
Beer.--With an engraving.
IV. ELECTRICITY.--Application of Electricity to the Bleaching of
Vetable Textile Materials.--With figure of apparatus.
Table Showing the Relative Dimensions, Lengths, Electrical
Resistances, and Weights of Pure Copper Wires.
V. ASTRONOMY.--The Solar Eclipse of 1883.--An interesting abstract
from a report of C. S. HASTINGS (Johns Hopkins University), of
the American Astronomical Exhibition to the Caroline Islands.
VI. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.--Recent Experiments Affecting the
Received Theory of Music.--An interesting paper descriptive of
certain experiments by President Morton, of Stevens Institute.
The Motions of Camphor upon Water.--With an engraving.
VII. ARCHITECTURE.--Suggestions in Village Architecture.--
Semidetached villas.--Bloomfield crescent.--With an engraving.
Specimens of Old Knocking Devices for Doors.--Several figures.
VIII. ARCHAEOLOGY.--A Buried City of the Exodus.--Being an account
of the recent excavations and discoveries of Pithom
Succoth, in Egypt.--With an engraving.
The Moabite Manuscripts.
IX. AGRICULTURE. HORTICULTURE, ETC.--The Queen Victoria
Century Plant.--With an engraving.
Charred Clover.
A New Weathercock.--With one figure.
X. MISCELLANEOUS.--New Monumental Statue and Landing Place
in Honor of Christopher Columbus at Barcelona, Spain.--With an
engraving.
Scenery on the Utah Line of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway.
Captain Matthew Webb.--Biographical sketch.--With portrait.
The Dwellings of the Poor In Paris.
Shipment of Ostriches from Cape Town, South Africa.--With one
page of engravings.
* * * * *
MONUMENT TO CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN.
The cultivated and patriotic city of Barcelona is about to erect
a magnificent monument in honor of Columbus, the personage most
distinguished in the historic annals of all nations and all epochs.
The City of Earls does not forget that here the discoverer of America
disembarked on the 3d of April, 1493, to present to the Catholic
monarchs the evidences of the happy termination of his enterprise. In
honoring Columbus they honor and exalt the sons of Catalonia, who also
took part in the discovery and civilization of the New World, among whom
may be named the Treasurer Santangel, Captain Margarit, Friar Benardo
Boyl, first patriarch of the Indies, and the twelve missionaries of
Monserrat, who accompanied the illustrious admiral on his second voyage.
In September, 1881, a national competition was opened by the central
executive committee for the monument, and by the unanimous voice of
the committee the premium plans of the architect, Don Cayetano
Buigas Monraba, were adopted. From these plans, which we find in _La
Ilustracion Espanola_, we give an engraving. Richness, grandeur, and
expression, worthily combined, are the characteristics of these plans.
The landing structure is divided into three parts, a central and two
laterals, each of which extends forward, after the manner of a cutwater,
in the form of the bow of a vessel of the fifteenth century, bringing to
mind the two caravels, the Pinta and Nina; two great lights occupy the
advance points on each side; a rich balustrade and four statues of
celebrated persons complete the magnificent frontage. A noble monument,
surmounted by a statue of the discoverer, is seen on the esplanade.
[Illustration: MONUMENTAL LANDING AND STATUE TO COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA,
SPAIN.]
* * * * *
The commission appointed in France to consider the phylloxera has not
awarded to anybody the prize of three hundred thousand francs that was
offered to the discoverer of a trustworthy remedy or preventive for the
fatal grape disease. There were not less than 182 competitors for the
prize; but none had made a discovery that filled the bill. It is said,
however, that a Strasbourg physician has found in naphthaline an
absolutely trustworthy remedy. This liquid is poured upon the ground
about the root of the vine, and it is said that it kills the parasites
without hurting the grape.
* * * * *
SCENERY ON THE UTAH LINE OF THE | 864.082693 |
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Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 20. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1840. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: MALAHIDE CASTLE, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]
An ancient baronial castle, in good preservation and still inhabited by
the lineal descendant of its original founder, is a rare object to find
in Ireland; and the causes which have led to this circumstance are too
obvious to require an explanation. In Malahide Castle we have, however,
a highly interesting example of this kind; for though in its present
state it owes much of its imposing effect to modern restorations and
improvements, it still retains a considerable portion of very ancient
date, and most probably even some parts of the original castle erected
in the reign of King Henry II. Considered in this way, Malahide Castle
is without a rival in interest, not only in our metropolitan county, but
also perhaps within the boundary of the old English pale.
The Castle of Malahide is placed on a gently elevated situation on
a limestone rock near the village or town from which it derives its
name, and of which, with its picturesque bay, it commands a beautiful
prospect. In its general form it is quadrangular and nearly approaching
to a square, flanked on its south or principal front by circular towers,
with a fine “Gothic” entrance porch in the centre. Its proportions are
of considerable grandeur, and its picturesqueness is greatly heightened
by the masses of luxuriant ivy which mantle its walls. For much of its
present architectural magnificence it is however indebted to its present
proprietor, and his father, the late Colonel Talbot. The structure, as
it appeared in the commencement of the last century, was of contracted
dimensions, and had wholly lost its original castellated character,
though its ancient moat still remained. This moat is however now filled
up, and its sloping surface is converted into a green-sward, and planted
with Italian cypresses and other evergreens.
Interesting, however, as this ancient mansion is in its exterior
appearance, it is perhaps still more so in its interior features. Its
spacious hall, roofed with timber-work of oak, is of considerable
antiquity; but its attraction is eclipsed by another apartment of
equal age and vastly superior beauty, with which indeed in its way
there is nothing, as far as we know, to be compared in Ireland. This | 864.140077 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.1208990 | 3,004 | 32 | Project Gutenberg Etext of
The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication Volume 1
#14 in our series by Charles Darwin
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Title: The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication
Volume I
Author: Charles Darwin
Release Date: October, 2001 [Etext #2871]
Edition: 10
The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Variation of Animals and
Plants under Domestication Volume I by Charles Darwin
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PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
BY
ROSE LUCIA
Formerly Principal of the Primary School
Montpelier, Vermont
_Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in
Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."_
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO
BOSTON ATLANTA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
ROSE LUCIA.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.
E. P. 21
To
C. M. G.
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MAP]
CONTENTS
PETER AND POLLY
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
"HOW THE LEAVES COME DOWN"
THE BONFIRE
THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER
THE FIRST ICE
THE THREE GUESSES
THE FIRST SNOWSTORM
THE STAR SNOWFLAKE
HOW PETER HELPED GRANDMOTHER
THE SNOW MAN
PETER'S DREAM
CUTTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE
THE GIVE-AWAY BOX
CHRISTMAS MORNING
THE SNOW HOUSE
THE FALL OF THE IGLOO
PULLING PETER'S TOOTH
DRIVING WITH FATHER
THE STAG
POLLY'S BIRD PARTY
THE NEW SLED
BROWNIE
DISH-PAN SLEDS
CAT AND COPY-CAT
POLLY'S SNOWSHOES
THE WOODS IN WINTER
THE WINTER PICNIC
THE SEWING LESSON
FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
AROUND THE OPEN FIRE
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
PETER AND POLLY
Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than
Peter.
They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the
city. It is in the country.
There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields
around it.
In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.
The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun
playing in the snow.
Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies."
But he knows what they are.
His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.
Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can
sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than
summer."
"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things
must happen first.
"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they
will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for
nuts.
"All these things will happen before winter comes."
"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick
stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must
knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."
"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."
"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It
will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."
"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And
when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will
take his picture."
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has
not yet begun his work.
Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen
great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.
One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.
Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."
"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling
something to the bird he tags."
"What is he telling?" asked Peter.
"I think he is saying, 'Brother bird, don't you know that winter is
coming? Soon the snow will be here. What shall we do then?
"'We cannot get food. We shall freeze. Come, let us fly away to the
South. It is warm there.'"
"What does brother bird say?" asked Peter.
"I think brother bird says, 'It is a long way to the South. It will | 864.174881 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Emmy and the Online Distributed
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
POLLY
IN UNIFORM STYLE
MARSE CHAN. A Tale of Old Virginia. Illustrated by W.
T. Smedley.
MEH LADY. A Story of the War. Illustrated by C. S.
Reinhart.
POLLY. A Christmas Recollection. Illustrated by A.
Castaigne.
UNC' EDINBURG. A Plantation Echo. Illustrated by B.
West Clinedinst.
_Each, small quarto, $1.00_
[Illustration: "_The young man found it necessary to lean over and
throw a steadying arm around her._"]
POLLY [Illustration]
A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION
BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE
ILLUSTRATED BY A. CASTAIGNE
[Illustration]
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK, 1897 [Illustration]
Copyright, 1894, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"_The young man found it necessary to lean over and throw
a steadying arm around her._" Frontispiece.
_Vignette heading._ Page 1.
"_Drinkwater Torm fell sprawling on the floor._" Page 10.
"_'I will!' he said, throwing up his head._" Page 22.
"_There he was standing on the bridge just before her._" Page 30.
"_He made Torm, Charity, and a half-dozen younger
house-servants dress him._" Page 38.
[Illustration]
IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The
Colonel had been pretending not to notice it, but when Drinkwater
Torm[A] knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to
pick them up lurched over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he
yelled at him. Torm pulled himself together, and began an explanation,
in which the point was that he had not "teched a drap in Gord knows how
long," but the Colonel cut him short.
"Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond!" he roared.
Torm was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much
dignity as his unsteady condition would admit, marched very statelily
from the room, and passing out through the dining-room, where he
stopped to abstract only one more drink from the long, heavy, cut-glass
decanter on the sideboard, meandered to his house in the back-yard,
where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always
did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the
golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive-trees,
when he fell asleep.
The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the meanderer was
Drinkwater Torm. The Colonel gave him the name, "because," he said, "if
he were to drink water once he would die."
As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely:
"Damme, Polly, I will! I'll sell him to-morrow morning; and if I can't
sell him I'll give him away."
Polly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously.
"No; I tell you, I'll sell him.--'Misery in his back!' the mischief!
he's a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing <DW65>! and I have sworn to
sell him a thousand--yes, ten thousand times; and now I'll have to do
it to keep my word."
This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a day--every time
Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very frequently for many
years before Polly was born, he was not outside of the limit. Polly,
however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew
he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced
watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could
have run without the mainspring. From tying his shoes and getting his
shaving-water to making his juleps and lighting his candles, which was
all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him. (I think he
used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own
him; if so, he failed in his purpose--Torm did own him.) Torm knew it
as well as he, or better; and while Charity, for private and wifely
reasons, occasionally held the threat over him when his expoundings
passed even her endurance, she knew it also.
Thus, Polly was the only one it deceived or frightened. It always
deceived her, and she never rested until she had obtained Torm's
reprieve "for just one more time." So on this occasion, before she got
down from the Colonel's knees, she had given him in bargain "just one
more squeeze," and received in return Torm's conditional pardon, "only
till next time."
Everybody in the county knew the Colonel, and everybody knew Drinkwater
Torm, and everybody who had been to the Colonel's for several years
past (and that was nearly everybody in the county, for the Colonel
kept open house) knew Polly. She had been placed in her chair by the
Colonel's side at the club dinner on her first birthday after her
arrival, and had been afterward placed on the table and allowed to
crawl around among and in the dishes to entertain the gentlemen, which
she did to the applause of every one, and of herself most of all;
and from that time she had exercised in her kingdom the functions of
both Vashti and Esther, and whatever Polly ordered was done. If the
old inlaid piano in the parlor had been robbed of strings, it was all
right, for Polly had taken them. Bob had cut them out for her, without
a word of protest from anyone but Charity. The Colonel would have given
her his heartstrings if Polly had required them.
She had owned him body and soul from the second he first laid eyes on
her, when, on the instant he entered the room, she had stretched out
her little chubby hands to him, and on his taking her had, after a few
infantile caresses, curled up and, with her finger in her mouth, gone
to sleep in his arms like a little white kitten.
Bob used to wonder in a vague, boyish way where the child got her
beauty, for the Colonel weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, and
was as ugly as a red head and thirty or forty years of Torm's
mint-juleps piled on a somewhat reckless college career could make
him; but one day, when the Colonel was away from home, Charity showed
him a daguerreotype of a lady, which she got out of the top drawer
of the Colonel's big secretary with the brass lions on it, and it
looked exactly like Polly. It had the same great big dark eyes and
the same soft white look, though Polly was stouter; for she was a
great tomboy, and used to run wild over the place with Bob, climbing
cherry-trees, fishing in the creek, and looking as blooming as a
rose, with her hair all tangled over her pretty head, until she grew
quite large, and the Colonel got her a tutor. He thought of sending
her to a boarding-school, but the night he broached the subject he
raised such a storm, and Polly was in such a tempest of tears, that
he gave up the matter at once. It was well he did so, for Polly and
Charity cried all night and Torm was so overcome that even next
morning he could not bring the Colonel his shaving-water, and he
had to shave with cold water for the first time in twenty years. He
therefore employed a tutor. Most people said the child ought to have
had a governess, and one or two single ladies of forgotten age in
the neighborhood delicately hinted that they would gladly teach her;
but the Colonel swore that he would have no women around him, and he
would be eternally condemned if any should interfere with Polly; so he
engaged Mr. Cranmer, and invited Bob to come over and go to school to
him also, which he did; for his mother, who had up to that time taught
him herself, was very poor, and was unable to send him to school, her
husband, who was the Colonel's fourth cousin, having died largely
indebted, and all of his property, except a small farm adjoining the
Colonel's, and a few <DW64>s, having gone into the General Court.
Bob had always been a great favorite with the Colonel, and ever since
he was a small boy he had been used to coming over and staying with him.
He could gaff a chicken as well as Drinkwater Torm, which was a great
accomplishment in the Colonel's eyes; for he had the best game-chickens
in the county, and used to fight them, too, matching them against
those of one or two of his neighbors who were similarly inclined, until
Polly grew up and made him stop. He could tame a colt quicker than
anybody on the plantation. Moreover he could shoot more partridges in
a day than the Colonel, and could beat him shooting with a pistol as
well, though the Colonel laid the fault of the former on his being so
fat, and that of the latter on his spectacles. They used to practice
with the Colonel's old pistols that hung in their holsters over the
tester of his bed, and about which Drinkwater used to tell so many
lies; for although they were kept loaded, and their brass-mounted butts
peeping out of their leathern covers used to look ferocious enough to
give some apparent ground for Torm's story of how "he and the Colonel
had shot Judge Cabell spang through the heart," the Colonel always said
that Cabell behaved very handsomely, and that the matter was arranged
on the field without a shot. Even at that time some people said that
Bob's mother was trying to catch the Colonel, and that if the Colonel
did not look out she would yet be the mistress of his big plantation | 864.234517 |
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from the Google Print project.)
The New Poetry Series
PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.
SOME IMAGIST POETS.
JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by LAFCADIO HEARN.
AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. GRACE HAZARD CONKLING.
THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. EMILE VERHAEREN.
INTERFLOW. GEOFFREY C. FABER.
STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. PAUL SHIVELL.
IDOLS. WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG.
TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. CONRAD AIKEN.
ROADS. GRACE FALLOW NORTON.
GOBLINS AND PAGODAS. JOHN GOULD FLETCHER.
SOME IMAGIST POETS. _1916._
A SONG OF THE GUNS. GILBERT FRANKAU.
MOTHERS AND MEN. HAROLD T. PULSIFER.
SOME IMAGIST POETS, _1916_
SOME IMAGIST POETS
_1916_
AN ANNUAL ANTHOLOGY
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published May 1916_
THIRD IMPRESSION
PREFACE
In bringing the second volume of _Some Imagist Poets_ before the
public, the authors wish to express their gratitude for the interest
which the 1915 volume aroused. The discussion of it was widespread,
and even those critics out of sympathy with Imagist tenets accorded
it much space. In the Preface to that book, we endeavoured to present
those tenets in a succinct form. But the very brevity we employed has
lead to a great deal of misunderstanding. We have decided, therefore,
to explain the laws which govern us a little more fully. A few people
may understand, and the rest can merely misunderstand again, a result
to which we are quite accustomed.
In the first place "Imagism" does not mean merely the presentation of
pictures. "Imagism" refers to the manner of presentation, not to the
subject. It means a clear presentation of whatever the author wishes
to convey. Now he may wish to convey a mood of indecision, in which
case the poem should be indecisive; he may wish to bring before his
reader the constantly shifting and changing lights over a landscape,
or the varying attitudes of mind of a person under strong emotion,
then his poem must shift and change to present this clearly. The
"exact" word does not mean the word which exactly describes the
object in itself, it means the "exact" word which brings the effect
of that object before the reader as it presented itself to the poet's
mind at the time of writing the poem. Imagists deal but little with
similes, although much of their poetry is metaphorical. The reason
for this is that while acknowledging the figure to be an integral
part of all poetry, they feel that the constant imposing of one
figure upon another in the same poem blurs the central effect.
The great French critic, Remy de Gourmont, wrote last Summer in _La
France_ that the Imagists were the descendants of the French
_Symbolistes_. In the Preface to his _Livre des Masques_, M. de
Gourmont has thus described _Symbolisme_: "Individualism in
literature, liberty of art, abandonment of existing forms.... The
sole excuse which a man can have for writing is to write down
himself, to unveil for others the sort of world which mirrors itself
in his individual glass.... He should create his own aesthetics--and
we should admit as many aesthetics as there are original minds, and
judge them for what they are and not what they are not." In this
sense the Imagists are descendants of the _Symbolistes_; they are
Individualists.
The only reason that Imagism has seemed so anarchaic and strange to
English and American reviewers is that their minds do not easily and
quickly suggest the steps by which modern art has arrived at its
present position. Its immediate prototype cannot be found in English
or American literature, we must turn to Europe for it. With Debussy
and Stravinsky in music, and Gauguin and Matisse in painting, it
should have been evident to every one that art was entering upon an
era of change. But music and painting are universal languages, so we
have become accustomed to new idioms in them, while we still find it
hard to recognize a changed idiom in literature.
The crux of the situation is just here. It is in the idiom employed.
Imagism asks to be judged by different standards from those employed
in Nineteenth-Century art. It is small wonder that Imagist poetry
should be incomprehensible to men whose sole touchstone for art is
the literature of one country for a period of four centuries. And it
is an illuminating fact that among poets and men conversant with many
poetic idioms, Imagism is rarely misconceived. They may not agree
with us, but they do not misunderstand us.
This must not be misconstrued into the desire to belittle our
forerunners. On the contrary, the Imagists have the greatest
admiration for the past, and humility towards it. But they have been
caught in the throes of a new birth. The exterior world is changing,
and with it men's feelings, and every age must express its feelings
in its own individual way. No art is any more "egoistic" than
another; all art is an attempt to express the feelings of the artist,
whether it be couched in narrative form or employ a more personal
expression.
It is not what Imagists write about which makes them hard of
comprehension; it is the way they write it. All nations have laws of
prosody, which undergo changes from time to time. The laws of English
metrical prosody are well known to every one concerned with the
subject. But that is only one form of prosody. Other nations have had
different ones: Anglo-Saxon poetry was founded upon alliteration,
Greek and Roman was built upon quantity, the Oriental was formed out
of repetition, and the Japanese Hokku got its effects by an exact and
never-to-be-added-to series of single syllables. So it is evident
that poetry can be written in many modes. That the Imagists base much
of their poetry upon cadence and not upon metre makes them neither
good nor bad. And no one realizes more than they that no theories nor
rules make poetry. They claim for their work only that it is sincere.
It is this very fact of "cadence" which has misled so many reviewers,
until some have been betrayed into saying that the Imagists discard
rhythm, when rhythm is the most important quality in their technique.
The definition of _vers libre_ is--a verse-form based upon cadence.
Now cadence in music is one thing, cadence in poetry quite another,
since we are not dealing with tone but with rhythm. It is the sense
of perfect balance of flow and rhythm. Not only must the syllables so
fall as to increase and continue the movement, but the whole poem
must be as rounded and recurring as the circular swing of a balanced
pendulum. It can be fast or slow, it may even jerk, but this perfect
swing it must have, even its jerks must follow the central movement.
To illustrate: Suppose a person were given the task of walking, or
running, round a large circle, with two minutes given to do it in.
Two minutes which he would just consume if he walked round the circle
quietly. But in order to make the task easier for him, or harder, as
the case might be, he was required to complete each half of the
circle in exactly a minute. No other restrictions were placed upon
him. He might dawdle in the beginning, and run madly to reach the
half-circle mark on time, and then complete his task by walking
steadily round the second half to goal. Or he might leap, and run,
and skip, and linger in all sorts of ways, making up for slow going
by fast, and for extra haste by pauses, and varying these movements
on either lap of the circle as the humour seized him, only so that he
were just one minute in traversing the first half-circle, and just
one minute in traversing the second. Another illustration which may
be employed is that of a Japanese wood-carving where a toad in one
corner is balanced by a spray of blown flowers in the opposite upper
one. The flowers are not the same shape as the toad, neither are they
the same size, but the balance is preserved.
The unit in _vers libre_ is not the foot, the number of the
syllables, the quantity, or the line. The unit is the strophe, which
may be the whole poem, or may be only a part. Each strophe is a
complete circle: in fact, the meaning of the Greek word "strophe" is
simply that part of the poem which was recited while the chorus were
making a turn round the altar set up in the centre of the theatre.
The simile of the circle is more than a simile, therefore; it is a
fact. Of course the circle need not always be the same size, nor need
the times allowed to negotiate it be always the same. There is room
here for an infinite number of variations. Also, circles can be added
to circles, movement upon movement, to the poem, provided each
movement completes itself, and ramifies naturally into the next. But
one thing must be borne in mind: a cadenced poem is written to be
read aloud, in this way only will its rhythm be felt. Poetry is a
spoken and not a written art.
The _vers libristes_ are often accused of declaring that they have
discovered a new thing. Where such an idea started, it is impossible
to say, certainly none of the better _vers libristes_ was ever guilty
of so ridiculous a statement. The name _vers libre_ is new, the
thing, most emphatically, is not. Not new in English poetry, at any
rate. You will find something very much like it in Dryden's
_Threnodia Augustalis_; a great deal of Milton's _Samson Agonistes_
is written in it; and Matthew Arnold's _Philomela_ is a shining
example of it. Practically all of Henley's _London Voluntaries_ are
written in it, and (so potent are names) until it was christened
_vers libre_, no one thought of objecting to it. But the oldest
reference to _vers libre_ is to be found in Chaucer's _House of
Fame_, where the Eagle addresses the Poet in these words:
And nevertheless hast set thy wyt
Although that in thy heed full lyte is
To make bookes, songes, or dytees
In rhyme or elles in cadence.
Commentators have wasted reams of paper in an endeavour to determine
what Chaucer meant by this. But is it not possible that he meant a
verse based upon rhythm, but which did not follow the strict metrical
prosody of his usual practice?
One of the charges frequently brought against the Imagists is that
they write, not poetry, but "shredded prose." This misconception
springs from the almost complete ignorance of the public in regard to
the laws of cadenced verse. But, in fact, what is prose and what is
poetry? Is it merely a matter of typographical arrangement? Must
everything which is printed in equal lines, with rhymes at the ends,
be called poetry, and everything which is printed in a block be
called prose? Aristotle, who certainly knew more about this subject
than any one else, declares in his _Rhetoric_ that prose is
rhythmical without being metrical (that is to say, without insistence
on any single rhythm), and then goes on to state the feet that are
employed in prose, making, incidentally, the remark that the iambic
prevailed in ordinary conversation. The fact is, that there is no
hard and fast dividing line between prose and poetry. As a French
poet of distinction, Paul Fort, has said: "Prose and poetry are but
one instrument, graduated." It is not a question of typography; it is
not even a question of rules and forms. Poetry is the vision in a
man's soul which he translates as best he can with the means at his
disposal.
We are young, we are experimentalists, but we ask to be judged by our
own standards, not by those which have governed other men at other
times.
CONTENTS
RICHARD ALDINGTON
Eros and Psyche 3
After Two Years 6
1915 7
Whitechapel 8
Sunsets 10
People 11
Reflections: I and II 12
H. D.
Sea Gods 17
The Shrine 21
Temple--The Cliff 26
Mid-day 30
JOHN GOULD FLETCHER
Arizona 35
The Unquiet Street 42
In the Theatre 43
Ships in the Harbour 44
The Empty House 45
The Skaters 48
F. S. FLINT
Easter 51
Ogre 54
Cones 56
Gloom 57
Terror 60
Chalfont Saint Giles 61
War-Time 63
D. H. LAWRENCE
Erinnyes 67
Perfidy 70
At the Window 72
In Trouble and Shame 73
Brooding Grief 74
AMY LOWELL
Patterns 77
Spring Day 82
Stravinsky's Three Pieces, "Grotesques," for String Quartet 87
BIBLIOGRAPHY 93
The authors wish to express their gratitude to the editors of _The
Egoist_ and _Poetry and Drama_, London; _The Poetry Journal_, Boston;
_The Little Review_ and _Poetry_, Chicago, for permission to reprint
certain of these poems which originally appeared in their columns. To
_Poetry_ belongs the credit of having introduced Imagism to the
world: it seems fitting, therefore, that the authors should record
their thanks in this place for the constant interest and
encouragement shown them by its editor, Miss Harriet Monroe.
RICHARD ALDINGTON
EROS AND PSYCHE
In an old dull yard | 864.239752 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.2234470 | 1,800 | 10 | LITERATURE***
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See 28097-h.htm or 28097-h.zip:
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ENGLISH: COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE
by
W. F. WEBSTER
Principal of the East High School
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Houghton Mifflin Company
Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 85 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 378-388 Wabash Avenue
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Copyright, 1900 and 1902, by W. F. Webster
All Rights Reserved
PREFACE
In July, 1898, I presented at the National Educational Association,
convened in Washington, a Course of Study in English. At Los Angeles,
in 1899, the Association indorsed the principles[1] of this course,
and made it the basis of the Course in English for High Schools. At
the request of friends, I have prepared this short text-book,
outlining the method of carrying forward the course, and emphasizing
the principles necessary for the intelligent communication of ideas.
It has not been the purpose to write a rhetoric. The many fine
distinctions and divisions, the rarefied examples of very beautiful
forms of language which a young pupil cannot possibly reproduce, or
even appreciate, have been omitted. To teach the methods of simple,
direct, and accurate expression has been the purpose; and this is all
that can be expected of a high school course in English.
The teaching of composition differs from the teaching of Latin or
mathematics in this point: whereas pupils can be compelled to solve a
definite number of problems or to read a given number of lines, it is
not possible to compel expression of the full thought. The full
thought is made of an intellectual and an emotional element. Whatever
is intellectual may be compelled by dint of sheer purpose; whatever is
emotional must spring undriven by outside authority, and uncompelled
by inside determination. A boy saws a cord of wood because he has been
commanded by his father; but he cannot laugh or cry because directed
to do so by the same authority. There must be the conditions which
call forth smiles or tears. So there must be the conditions which call
forth the full expression of thought, both what is intellectual and
what is emotional. This means that the subject shall be one of which
the writer knows something, and in which he is interested; that the
demands in the composition shall not be made a discouragement; and
that the teacher shall be competent and enthusiastic, inspiring in
each pupil a desire to say truly and adequately the best he thinks and
feels.
These conditions cannot be realized while working with dead fragments
of language; but they are realized while constructing living wholes of
composition. It is not two decades ago when the pupil in drawing was
compelled to make straight lines until he made them all crooked. The
pupil in manual training began by drawing intersecting lines on two
sides of a board; then he drove nails into the intersections on one
side, hoping that they would hit the corresponding points on the
other. Now no single line or exercise is an end in itself; it
contributes to some whole. Under the old method the pupil did not care
or try to draw a straight line, or to drive a nail straight; but now,
in order that he may realize the idea that lies in his mind, he does
care and he does try: so lines are drawn better and nails are driven
straighter than before. In all training that combines intellect and
hand, the principle has been recognized that the best work is done
when the pupil's interest has been enlisted by making each exercise
contribute directly to the construction of some whole. Only in the
range of the spiritual are we twenty years behind time, trying to get
the best construction by compulsion. It is quite time that we
recognized that the best work in composition can be done, not while
the pupil is correcting errors in the use of language which he never
dreamed of, nor while he is writing ten similes or ten periodic
sentences, but when both intellect and feeling combine and work
together to produce some whole. Then into the construction of this
whole the pupil will throw all his strength, using the most apt
comparisons, choosing the best words, framing adequate sentences, in
order that the outward form may worthily present to others what to
himself has appeared worthy of expression.
There are some persons who say that other languages are taught by the
word and sentence method; then why not English? These persons overlook
the fact that we are leaving that method as rapidly as possible, and
adopting a more rational method which at once uses a language to
communicate thought. And they overlook another fact of even greater
importance: the pupil entering the high school is by no means a
beginner in English. He has been using the language ten or twelve
years, and has a fluency of expression in English which he cannot
attain in German throughout a high school and college course. The
conditions under which a pupil begins the study of German in a high
school and the study of English composition are entirely dissimilar;
and a conclusion based upon a fancied analogy is worthless.
It is preferable, then, to practice the construction of wholes rather
than the making of exercises; and it is best at the beginning to study
the different kinds of wholes, one at a time, rather than all
together. No one would attempt to teach elimination by addition and
subtraction, by comparison and by substitution, all together; nor
would an instructor take up heat, light, and electricity together. In
algebra, or physics, certain great principles underlie the whole
subject; and these appear and reappear as the study progresses through
its allied parts. Still the best results are obtained by taking up
these several divisions of the whole one after another. And in English
the most certain and definite results are secured by studying the
forms of discourse separately, learning the method of applying to each
the great principles that underlie all composition.
If the forms of discourse are to be studied one after another, which
shall be taken up first? In general, all composition may be separated
into two divisions: composition which deals with things, including
narration and description; and composition which deals with ideas,
comprising exposition and argument. It needs no argument to justify
the position that an essay which deals with things seen and heard is
easier for a beginner to construct than an essay which deals with
ideas invisible and unheard. Whether narration or description should
precede appears yet to be undetermined; for many text-books treat one
first, and perhaps as many the other. I have thought it wiser to begin
with the short story, because it is easier to gain free, spontaneous
expression with narration than with description. To write a whole page
of description is a task for a master, and very few attempt it; but
for the uninitiated amateur about three sentences of description mark
the limit of his ability to see and describe. To get started, to gain
confidence in one's ability to say something, to acquire freedom and
spontaneity of expression,--this is the first step in the practice of
composition. Afterward, when the pupil has discovered that he really
has something to say,--enough indeed to cover three or four pages of
his tablet paper,--then it may be time to begin the study of
description, and to acquire more careful and accurate forms of
expression. Spontaneity should be acquired first,--crude and unformed
it may be, but spontaneity first; and this spontaneity is best gained
while studying narration.
There can be but little question about the order of the other forms.
Description, still dealing with the concrete, offers an admirable
opportunity for shaping and forming the spontaneous expression gained
in narration. Following description, in order of difficulty, come
exposition and argument.
I should be quite misunderstood | 864.243487 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.2234880 | 615 | 16 |
Produced by Al Haines
THE
BRAIN OF AN ARMY
A POPULAR ACCOUNT
OF THE
GERMAN GENERAL STAFF
BY
SPENSER WILKINSON
NEW EDITION
WITH LETTERS FROM
COUNT MOLTKE AND LORD ROBERTS
WESTMINSTER
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
& CO 1895
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
_THE COMMAND OF THE SEA_
_THE BRAIN OF A NAVY_
_THE GREAT ALTERNATIVE_
_and in conjunction with_
SIR CHARLES W. DILKE, BART.
_IMPERIAL DEFENCE_
[Transcriber's note: the errata items below have been applied to this
text.]
ERRATA.
page 9, line 6 for _have_ read _has_
page 10, line 21, for _occasion_ read _occasions_
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
Six years ago a Royal Commission, under the presidency of Lord
Hartington, was known to be inquiring into the administration of the
national defence. There was much talk in the newspapers about the
Prussian staff, and many were the advocates of its imitation in this
country. Very few of those who took part in the discussions seemed to
know what the Prussian staff was, and I thought it might be useful to
the Royal Commission and to the public to have a true account of that
institution, written in plain English, so that any one could understand
it. The essay was published on the 11th of February, 1890, the day on
which the Report of Lord Hartington's Commission was signed.
The essential feature of the Prussian staff system consists in the
classification of duties out of which it has arisen. Every general in
the field requires a number of assistants, collectively forming his
staff, to relieve him of matters of detail, to act as his confidential
secretaries, and to represent him at places where he cannot be himself.
The duties of command are so multifarious that some consistent
distribution of functions among the officers of a large staff is
indispensable. In Prussia this distribution is based on a thoroughly
rational and practical principle. The general's work is subdivided
into classes, according as it is concerned with administration and
discipline or with the direction of the operations against the enemy.
All that belongs to administration and discipline is put upon one side
of a dividing line, and upon the other side all that directly affects
the preparation for or the management of the fighting--in technical
language, all that falls within the domain of strategy and tactics.
The officers entrusted with the personal assistance of the general in
this latter group of duties are in Prussia called his "general staff."
They are specially trained in the art of conducting | 864.243528 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.2235740 | 4,771 | 11 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Golden Bowl, Volume II, by Henry James
#43 in our series by Henry James
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THE GOLDEN BOWL, VOLUME II
BOOK SECOND: THE PRINCESS
PART FOURTH
XXV
It was not till many days had passed that the Princess began to
accept the idea of having done, a little, something she was not
always doing, or indeed that of having listened to any inward
voice that spoke in a new tone. Yet these instinctive
postponements of reflection were the fruit, positively, of
recognitions and perceptions already active; of the sense, above
all, that she had made, at a particular hour, made by the mere
touch of her hand, a difference in the situation so long present
to her as practically unattackable. This situation had been
occupying, for months and months, the very centre of the garden
of her life, but it had reared itself there like some strange,
tall tower of ivory, or perhaps rather some wonderful, beautiful,
but outlandish pagoda, a structure plated with hard, bright
porcelain, and figured and adorned, at the overhanging
eaves, with silver bells that tinkled, ever so charmingly, when
stirred by chance airs. She had walked round and round it--that
was what she felt; she had carried on her existence in the space
left her for circulation, a space that sometimes seemed ample and
sometimes narrow: looking up, all the while, at the fair
structure that spread itself so amply and rose so high, but never
quite making out, as yet, where she might have entered had she
wished. She had not wished till now--such was the odd case; and
what was doubtless equally odd, besides, was that, though her
raised eyes seemed to distinguish places that must serve, from
within, and especially far aloft, as apertures and outlooks, no
door appeared to give access from her convenient garden level.
The great decorated surface had remained consistently
impenetrable and inscrutable. At present, however, to her
considering mind, it was as if she had ceased merely to circle
and to scan the elevation, ceased so vaguely, so quite helplessly
to stare and wonder: she had caught herself distinctly in the act
of pausing, then in that of lingering, and finally in that of
stepping unprecedentedly near. The thing might have been, by the
distance at which it kept her, a Mahometan mosque, with which no
base heretic could take a liberty; there so hung about it the
vision of one's putting off one's shoes to enter, and even,
verily, of one's paying with one's life if found there as an
interloper. She had not, certainly, arrived at the conception of
paying with her life for anything she might do; but it was
nevertheless quite as if she had sounded with a tap or two one of
the rare porcelain plates. She had knocked, in short--though she
could scarce have said whether for admission or for what; she had
applied her hand to a cool smooth spot and had waited to see what
would happen. Something had happened; it was as if a sound, at
her touch, after a little, had come back to her from within; a
sound sufficiently suggesting that her approach had been noted.
If this image, however, may represent our young woman's
consciousness of a recent change in her life--a change now but a
few days old--it must at the same time be observed that she both
sought and found in renewed circulation, as I have called it, a
measure of relief from the idea of having perhaps to answer for
what she had done. The pagoda in her blooming garden figured the
arrangement--how otherwise was it to be named?--by which, so
strikingly, she had been able to marry without breaking, as she
liked to put it, with the past. She had surrendered herself to
her husband without the shadow of a reserve or a condition, and
yet she had not, all the while, given up her father--the least
little inch. She had compassed the high city of seeing the two
men beautifully take to each other, and nothing in her marriage
had marked it as more happy than this fact of its having
practically given the elder, the lonelier, a new friend. What had
moreover all the while enriched the whole aspect of success was
that the latter's marriage had been no more meassurably paid for
than her own. His having taken the same great step in the same
free way had not in the least involved the relegation of his
daughter. That it was remarkable they should have been able at
once so to separate and so to keep together had never for a
moment, from however far back, been equivocal to her; that it was
remarkable had in fact quite counted, at first and always, and
for each of them equally, as part of their inspiration and their
support. There were plenty of singular things they were NOT
enamoured of--flights of brilliancy, of audacity, of originality,
that, speaking at least for the dear man and herself, were not at
all in their line; but they liked to think they had given their
life this unusual extension and this liberal form, which many
families, many couples, and still more many pairs of couples,
would not have found workable. That last truth had been
distinctly brought home to them by the bright testimony, the
quite explicit envy, of most of their friends, who had remarked
to them again and again that they must, on all the showing, to
keep on such terms, be people of the highest amiability--equally
including in the praise, of course, Amerigo and Charlotte. It had
given them pleasure--as how should it not?--to find themselves
shed such a glamour; it had certainly, that is, given pleasure to
her father and herself, both of them distinguishably of a nature
so slow to presume that they would scarce have been sure of their
triumph without this pretty reflection of it. So it was that
their felicity had fructified; so it was that the ivory tower,
visible and admirable doubtless, from any point of the social
field, had risen stage by stage. Maggie's actual reluctance to
ask herself with proportionate sharpness why she had ceased to
take comfort in the sight of it represented accordingly a lapse
from that ideal consistency on which her moral comfort almost at
any time depended. To remain consistent she had always been
capable of cutting down more | 864.243614 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.2538920 | 143 | 11 |
Produced by Charles Franks, Charles Aldarondo, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THOMAS WINGFOLD, CURATE.
By George MacDonald, LL.D.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOLUME I.
THOMAS WINGFOLD, CURATE.
CHAPTER I.
HELEN LINGARD.
A swift, gray November wind had taken every chimney of the house for
an organ-pipe, and was roaring in them all at once, quelling the more
distant and varied noises of the woods, which moaned and surged like a
sea. Helen Lingard had not been out all day. The morning, indeed, had
been fine | 864.273932 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.3148850 | 4,022 | 12 | Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
#1 in our series by Muhlbach
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Title: Mohammed Ali and His House
Author: Louise Muhlbach
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MOHAMMED ALI AND HIS HOUSE
An Historical Romance
by L. MUHLBACH
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY CHAPMAN COLEMAN
CONTENTS
BOOK I YEARS OF YOUTH.
CHAPTER
I. The Sea
II. Mother and Son
III. Boyish Dreams
IV. Premonition of Death
V. The Story-teller
VI. The Mamelukes
VII. Dreams of the Future
VIII. The Friends
IX. A Soul in the Agonies of Death
X. Cousrouf Pacha
XI. The Revolt
BOOK II PARADISE AND HELL.
CHAPTER
I. The Flower of Praousta
II. Masa
III. The First Day of Creation
IV. Masa's Jewelry
V. The Deliverance
VI. The Flight
VII. The Messenger
VIII. Vanished
IX. Where is she?
X. The Departure
XI. The Triple Oath
XII. The Paradise under the Earth
BOOK III THE MAMELUKES.
CHAPTER
I. Revenge
II. All Things pass away
III. The Bim Bashi
IV. The Embarkation
V. The Camp at Aboukir
VI. The Massacre
VII. Restitution
VIII. The Viceroy of Egypt
IX. Sitta Nefysseh
X. L'Elfi Bey
XI. The Council of War
XII. The Abduction
BOOK IV THE VICEROY.
CHAPTER
I. Butheita
II. In the Desert
III. The Agreement
IV. The Revolt
V. A Strong Heart
VI. Persecution
VII. Money! Pay!
VIII. The Insurrection
IX. Vengeance at Last
X. The Return to Cairo
XI. Mohammed Ali and Bardissi
XII. Against the Mamelukes
XIII. Love unto Death
XIV. Courschid Pacha
XV. The Tent
XVI. Retribution
XVII. Conclusion
BOOK I
YEARS OF YOUTH
CHAPTER 1
THE SEA.
Beautiful is the sea when it lies at rest in its sublimity, its
murmuring waves gently rippling upon the beach, the sky above
reflected with a soft light upon its dark bosom.
Beautiful is the sea when it bears upon its surface the stately
ships, as though they | 864.334925 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.3184180 | 2,317 | 7 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. Music
by Linda Cantoni.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXI.--No. 2.
BOSTON:
JOHN L. SHOREY, No. 36 BROMFIELD STREET,
1877.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by
JOHN L. SHOREY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
FRANKLIN PRESS: RAND, AVERY, AND COMPANY, 117 FRANKLIN STREET, BOSTON.
[Illustration: Contents]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
"Christmas Presents made here" 33
My Dog Jack 37
Bertie's Steamer 40
A Story about Squirrels 41
What a Little Boy in England says 42
First Lesson in Astronomy 46
Papa's Birthday Present 47
Drawing-Lesson 49
The Rescue 50
The Young Sheep-Owner 52
Emma's Choice 55
Help one another 57
Billy and the Pig 61
Jocko, the Raven 62
IN VERSE.
The Petition of the Sparrows 35
Ensign Johnny 39
The Froggies' Party 45
The Faithless Friend 59
Chipperee Chip (_with music_) 64
[Illustration: "CHRISTMAS PRESENTS MADE HERE."
VOL. XXI.--NO. 2.]
"CHRISTMAS PRESENTS MADE HERE."
[Illustration: A]BOUT a year ago, Edwin had a Christmas present of a
jig-saw. If Santa Claus brought it, then Santa Claus did a good thing
for himself; for last Christmas his pack was loaded down with presents
of Edwin's manufacture.
Nice little brackets to set up against the wall, nice little bedsteads,
book-shelves, toy-houses, frames for pictures, card-baskets,--these are
but a few of the great variety of things that Edwin makes with his
jig-saw.
Many little articles he gives away, for he is a generous boy: but he
wants books, and his mother cannot always afford to buy him the books he
wants; for she has two children, besides himself, to provide for.
So one day when Mr. Topliff, who keeps a great toy-shop, said to Edwin,
"I'll pay you well for as many of these toy-houses as you can make,"
Edwin replied, "I'll go to work just as soon as I have finished this
bracket; for a little money is just what I want."
Edwin had by practice learned to use his saw with great skill, and he
took pains always to do his work well. Gradually he learned to do the
finer sort of cabinet-work; and then he puzzled his wits to invent new
varieties of toys, and other things often sought for as Christmas
presents.
Mr. Topliff said, "You can earn a living by this kind of work, if you
choose, Edwin." But no! Edwin had made up his mind to go to college; and
so he replied, "If I can pay my college expenses by working at odd
hours, Mr. Topliff, I mean to do it--and I think I can."
"So do I," said Mr. Topliff. "You've got the knack. Well, my lad, don't
forget the firm of Topliff & Co. Bring us all your pretty things."
UNCLE CHARLES.
[Illustration]
THE PETITION OF THE SPARROWS.
NOW girls and boys of Chester Square,
Pray give us of your meals a share.
Just have the kindness to remember
That this is chilly, bleak December;
That snow has covered long the ground
Till really nothing's to be found:
So throw us out a crumb or two,
And, as you would be done by, do.
In those snug little cottages
That you have placed among the trees,
We all were hatched, and so, you see,
Are members of the family.
Hunger and frost are hard to bear:
So, girls and boys of Chester Square,
Just throw us out a crumb or two,
And, as you would be done by, do.
We know bad things of us are told:
They call us English upstarts bold;
Say we drive off the snow-birds dear,
And fight the Yankee sparrows here;
That we make havoc in the spring
With all the sweet-pea's blossoming:
Still throw us out a crumb or two,
And, as you would be done by, do.
We're not as bad as they declare,
O girls and boys of Chester Square!
Be sure some little good we do,
Even though we pilfer buds a few.
Don't grudge them, since your trees we clear
Of vermin that would cost you dear:
So throw us out a crumb or two,
And, as you would be done by, do.
Dear girls and boys of Chester Square,
We, too, partake the Father's care;
And to your kindly hearts he sends
The impulse that our race befriends:
We know that you, while Winter reigns,
For our relief will take some pains;
Will throw us out a crumb or two,
And, as you would be done by, do.
EMILY CARTER.
[Illustration]
MY DOG JACK.
I WANT to tell the readers of "The Nursery" about my dog. My mamma
bought him for me when he was very young. He is a Newfoundland dog, and
is very large. He is black, with a white face and neck. His name is
Jack.
Jack is very useful in keeping tramps out of our orchard, and is also
very kind and playful. I do not like to play with him; for he is so
rough, that he sometimes tumbles me over, and hurts me: but I have a
good time with him in other ways.
He draws me about in a little cart into which I harness him. He minds a
pull on the reins, and will go just as I wish him to. But he will insist
on chasing pigs whenever he sees them. He does not like pigs.
One day, when I was harnessing him, he spied a pig, and away he ran
after it--cart and all. He broke one wheel of the cart, and came back
panting and wagging his tail, as if he had done something good; but I
scolded him well.
Jack will sit on his hind-legs, and catch bits of bread or cake in his
mouth when I throw them to him. One summer, we went to the seashore, and
took him with us. He is a splendid swimmer; and when we took a stick,
and threw it into the water, he would plunge through the waves, and
bring it back in his mouth.
Sometimes an old fisherman took me out sailing, and as there was not
room in the boat for Jack, the good old dog would lie on the wharf and
wait patiently till I came back. When he saw the boat coming in, he
would jump up and bark in great delight; and one day he leaped into the
water, and swam out to meet us.
Once my cousin and I were sitting in a cleft in the rocks, gathering
shells and pebbles, when a great black creature jumped right over our
heads. We were much frightened, but soon found that it was only our good
friend Jack. He had seen us from the top of the rock, and had jumped
down full fifteen feet to get to us.
PAUL EATON.
[Illustration]
ENSIGN JOHNNY.
THIS is Ensign Johnny:
See him armed for fight!
Mice are in the garret;
Forth he goes to smite.
Ready for the battle,
He is not afraid;
For the cat, as captain,
Will be by to aid.
Now, good-by, my Johnny!
Soldiers must be brave:
While puss does the fighting,
You the flag can wave.
Do not, like a coward,
From the field retreat:
Forward, Ensign Johnny,
And the mice defeat!
IDA FAY.
BERTIE'S STEAMER.
BERTIE has taken much pleasure in hearing me read about the different
ways in which the little "Nursery" people amuse themselves. He is very
anxious that they should, in return, know about the steamboat which his
uncle brought him from the Centennial,--a _real_ little steamboat.
It is nearly a foot long, made of brass, with a "truly" boiler, as
Bertie says, and a little alcohol lamp to convert the water in the
boiler into steam.
The older folks were as much interested in its trial trip as Bertie. The
biggest tub was brought up, and half filled with water. The little
boiler was also filled, and the lamp lighted; and we all waited
patiently for the steam to start the little wheel. A stick was put
across the tub, and a string fastened from its centre to the end of the
steamer, to keep it from running against the side of the tub. The rudder
was turned to guide the boat in a circle, and soon the steamer started.
But it did not run easily. Could it be that it would prove a failure?
Bertie's face began to put on a disappointed look.
"Can't Uncle Nelson fix it?" said he. "Uncle Nelson can do most any
thing."
So Uncle Nelson took the delicate machinery apart, and found some
particles of dirt, which prevented the piston from working smoothly.
Then he cleaned and oiled it, put it together again, and once more it
started. This time it was a complete success. How Bertie clapped his
hands, as the steam hissed, and the boat went round and round, as if it
were alive!
It was half an hour before the water in the little boiler gave out.
BERTIE'S MAMMA.
A STORY ABOUT SQUIRRELS.
[Illustration]
FREDDIE is a bright little boy six years old. He goes with his papa and
mamma every summer to | 864.338458 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.3192090 | 887 | 10 |
Produced by Sharon Partridge and Martin Ward. HTML version
by Al Haines.
Persuasion
by
Jane Austen
(1818)
Chapter 1
Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,
for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there
he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed
one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by
contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any
unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally
into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations
of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he
could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This
was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:
"ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.
"Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,
daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county of
Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born
June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5,
1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."
Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from the printer's
hands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information of
himself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--
"Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles Musgrove,
Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset," and by inserting most
accurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.
Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectable
family, in the usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;
how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,
representing a borough in three successive parliaments, exertions of
loyalty, and dignity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II, with
all the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether two
handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with the arms and
motto:--"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county of Somerset," and
Sir Walter's handwriting again in this finale:--
"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of the
second Sir Walter."
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character;
vanity of person and of situation. He had been remarkably handsome in
his youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man. Few women
could think more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could
the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he held
in society. He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to
the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united
these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and
devotion.
His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; since
to them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to any
thing deserved by his own. Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman,
sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot, had never
required indulgence afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, or
concealed his failings, and promoted his real respectability for
seventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the world
herself, had found enough in her duties, her friends, and her children,
to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference to her
when she was called on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldest
sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy for a mother | 864.339249 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.4222420 | 887 | 16 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
In many cases, Bancroft uses both “u” and “v” to spell an
author’s name. Examples include:
Villagutierre and Villagvtierre
Mondo Nuovo and Mondo Nvovo
Villagutierre and Villagvtierre
Aluarado and Alvarado
Gvat. and Guat.
Cogolludo and Cogollvdo
Vetancurt and Vetancvrt.
Other archaic letter substitutions include "b" for "v" and "i" for
"y" and vice versa. These have been left as printed.
Possible printers errors include:
Esquemelin and Exquemelin are both used, possibly for the same
person.
Castile and Castille are both used, possibly for the same
place.
Fray Zambano and Zambrano are both used, possibly for the
same person.
On page 16, Mama Ocollo should possibly be Mama Ocllo or Occlo.
On page 237, "In 1519 he ordered the council of the Indies to
draw" (date possibly incorrect).
On page 424, mines of Chuluteca should possibly be mines of
Choluteca.
In footnote I-17, "vamrasen en tieren" is a possible printer's
error.
There is possibly text missing from the quote in footnote I-31.
In footnote X-45, Ariat should possibly be Arias.
In footnote X-45, Malapalte should possibly be Malaparte.
In footnote XI-11, "Ia Gottierez" is a possible printer's error.
In footnote XI-11, "ten zy binnen vier dagen" is a possible
printer's error.
The references in footnote XVII-12 and footnote XVII-20 to
Volume ii. of this series should possibly refer to Volume i.
In footnote XVII-35, "mirá que todo lo bueno que bacare" is a
possible printer's error.
The reference to "this volume" in footnote XVIII-31, is
ambiguous. A map of Guatemala can be found in the current
volume.
In footnote XXVI-24, "en gaossir" should possibly be
"engrossir."
In footnote XXVII-6, Casttell should possibly be Castell.
In footnote XXVII-15, Governor Mercedo should possibly be
Governor Mercado.
The sentence "no hicesters enterar la suma que el cinsutacto,
y corneríco de Lima so obligo a suplir por imaginaria, á lo
epetwo del registro que salió de aquella ciudad" in footnote
XXVII-22 was corrected to "no hicesteis enterar la suma que
el Consulado, y comercio de Lima se obligo a suplir por
ynmaxinaria, a lo efectibo del rexistro que salio de aquella
ciudad."
In footnote XXXVII-46, Moninbo should possibly be Monimbo (Nicaragua).
Italics in the footnote citations were inconsistently applied
by the typesetter.
Accents and other diacritics are inconsistently used.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
This volume contains references to the previous six volumes
of this work.
They can be found at:
Volume 1: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41070/41070-h/41070-h.htm
Volume 2: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42808/42808-h/42808-h.htm
| 864.442282 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.6144280 | 854 | 60 |
Produced by Wanda Lee, Laura Natal Rodriguez & Marc D'Hooghe
at Free Literature (online soon in an extended version,
also linking to free sources for education worldwide...
MOOC's, educational materials,...) Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.
THE
WAR OF WOMEN.
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
1903.
THE WAR OF WOMEN.
THE VICOMTESSE DE CAMBES.
I.
Two days later they came in sight of Bordeaux, and it became necessary
to decide at once how they should enter the city. The dukes, with their
army, were no more than ten leagues away, so that they were at liberty
to choose between a peaceable and a forcible entry. The important
question to be decided was whether it was better to have immediate
possession of Bordeaux at all hazards, or to comply with the wishes
of the Parliament. Madame la Princesse summoned her council of war,
which consisted of Madame de Tourville, Claire, Lenet, and her maids of
honor. Madame de Tourville knew her arch antagonist so well that she
had persistently opposed his admission to the council, upon the ground
that the war was a war of women, in which men were to be used only to
do the fighting. But Madame la Princesse declared that as Lenet was
saddled upon her by her husband, she could not exclude him from the
deliberative chamber, where, after all, his presence would amount to
nothing, as it was agreed beforehand that he might talk all he chose,
but that they would not listen to him.
Madame de Tourville's precautions were by no means uncalled-for; she
had employed the two days that had just passed in bringing Madame la
Princesse around to the bellicose ideas which she was only too anxious
to adopt, and she feared that Lenet would destroy the whole structure
that she had erected with such infinite pains.
When the council was assembled, Madame de Tourville set forth her plan.
She proposed that the dukes should come up secretly with their army,
that they should procure, by force or by persuasion, a goodly number of
boats, and go down the river into Bordeaux, shouting: "Vive Condé! Down
with Mazarin!"
In this way Madame la Princesse's entry would assume the proportions
of a veritable triumph, and Madame de Tourville, by a détour, would
accomplish her famous project of taking forcible possession of
Bordeaux, and thus inspiring the queen with a wholesome terror of an
army whose opening move resulted so brilliantly.
Lenet nodded approval of everything, interrupting Madame de Tourville
with admiring exclamations. When she had completed the exposition of
her plan, he said:--
"Magnificent, madame! be good enough now to sum up your conclusions."
"That I can do very easily, in two words," said the good woman,
triumphantly, warming up at the sound of her own voice. "Amid the
hail-storm of bullets, the clanging of bells, and the cries, whether of
rage or affection, of the people, a handful of weak women will be seen,
intrepidly fulfilling their noble mission; a child in its mother's arms
will appeal to the Parliament for protection. This touching spectacle
cannot fail to move the most savage hearts. Thus we shall conquer,
partly by force, partly by the justice of our cause; and that, I think,
is Madame la Princesse's object."
The summing up aroused even more enthusiasm than the original speech.
Madame la Princesse applauded; Claire, whose desire to be sent with
a flag of truce to Île Saint-Georges became more and more earnest,
applauded; the captain of the guards, whose business it was to thirst
for battle, applauded; and | 864.634468 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.6145420 | 1,867 | 20 |
Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
POACHERS AND POACHING
"Knowledge never learned in schools."
[Illustration: LURCHERS.]
POACHERS AND POACHING
By
JOHN WATSON, F.L.S.
AUTHOR OF
"NATURE AND WOODCRAFT," "SYLVAN FOLK," "BRITISH SPORTING FISHES,"
EDITOR OF "THE CONFESSIONS OF A POACHER."
With a Frontispiece
LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL
LIMITED
1891
[_All Rights reserved_]
WESTMINSTER:
PRINTED BY NICHOLS AND SONS,
25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
Transcriber's Note: Minor spelling and typographical errors have
been corrected without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and
inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
NOTE.
These chapters originally appeared as articles in _Macmillan's
Magazine_, the _Cornhill Magazine_, the _National Review_, the
_Gentleman's Magazine_, the _St. James's Gazette_ and the _Pall Mall
Gazette_; and I have to thank the Editors and Proprietors of these
periodicals for permission to reprint them. The chapter entitled
"Water Poachers" is reprinted by permission from the _Nineteenth
Century_.
As to the facts in the volume, they are mainly taken at first hand
from nature.
J. W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--I 1
CHAPTER II.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--II 17
CHAPTER III.
BADGERS AND OTTERS 33
CHAPTER IV.
COURIERS OF THE AIR 44
CHAPTER V.
THE SNOW-WALKERS 86
CHAPTER VI.
WHEN DARKNESS HAS FALLEN 94
CHAPTER VII.
BRITISH BIRDS, THEIR NESTS AND EGGS 118
CHAPTER VIII.
MINOR BRITISH GAME BIRDS 143
CHAPTER IX.
WATER POACHERS 162
CHAPTER X.
WILD DUCKS AND DUCK DECOYING 195
CHAPTER XI.
FIELD AND COVERT POACHERS 223
CHAPTER XII.
HOMELY TRAGEDY 245
CHAPTER XIII.
WORKERS IN WOODCRAFT 266
CHAPTER XIV.
SKETCHES FROM NATURE 287
POACHERS AND POACHING.
CHAPTER I.
POACHERS AND POACHING.--I.
The poacher is a product of sleepy village life, and usually "mouches"
on the outskirts of country towns. His cottage is roughly adorned in
fur and feather, and abuts on the fields. There is a fitness in this,
and an appropriateness in the two gaunt lurchers stretched before the
door. These turn day into night on the sunny roadside in summer, and
before the cottage fire in winter. Like the poacher, they are active
and silent when the village community is asleep.
Our Bohemian has poached time out of mind. His family have been
poachers for generations. The county justices, the magistrates' clerk,
the county constable, and the gaol books all testify to the same fact.
The poacher's lads have grown up under their father's tuition, and
follow in his footsteps. Even now they are inveterate poachers, and
have a special instinct for capturing field-mice and squirrels. They
take moles in their runs, and preserve their skins. When a number of
these are collected they are sold to the labourers' wives, who make
them into vests. In wheat-time the farmers employ the lads to keep down
sparrows and finches. Numbers of larks are taken in nooses, and in
spring lapwings' eggs yield quite a rich harvest from the uplands and
ploughed fields. A shilling so earned is to the young poacher riches
indeed; money so acquired is looked upon differently from that earned
by steady-going labour on the field or farm. In their season he gathers
cresses and blackberries, the embrowned nuts constituting an autumn in
themselves. Snipe and woodcock, which come to the marshy meadows in
severe weather, are taken in "gins" and "springes." Traps are laid for
wild ducks in the runners when the still mountain tarns are frozen
over. When our poacher's lads attain to sixteen they become in turn the
owner of an old flintlock, an heirloom, which has been in the family
for generations. Then larger game can be got at. Wood-pigeons are
waited for in the larches, and shot as they come to roost. Large
numbers of plover are bagged from time to time, both green and grey.
These feed in the water meadows through autumn and winter, and are
always plentiful. In spring the rare dotterels were sometimes shot as
they stayed on their way to the hills; or a gaunt heron was brought
down as it flew heavily from a ditch. To the now disused mill-dam ducks
came on wintry evening--teal, mallard, and pochards. The lad lay coiled
up behind a willow root, and waited during the night. Soon the
whistling of wings was heard, and dark forms appeared against the
skyline. The old duck-gun was out, a sharp report tore the darkness,
and a brace of teal floated down stream and washed on to the mill
island. In this way half-a-dozen ducks would be bagged, and dead or
dying were left where they fell, and retrieved next morning. Sometimes
big game was obtained in the shape of a brace of wild geese, the least
wary of a flock; but these only came in the severest weather.
At night the poacher's dogs embody all his senses. An old black bitch
is his favourite; for years she has served him faithfully--in the whole
of that time never having once given mouth. Like all good lurchers, she
is bred between the greyhound and sheepdog. The produce of this cross
have the speed of the one, and the "nose" and intelligence of the
other. Such dogs never bark, and, being rough coated, are able to stand
the exposure of cold nights. They take long to train, but when
perfected are invaluable to the poacher. Upon them almost wholly
depends success.
Poaching is one of the fine arts, and the most successful poacher is
always a specialist. He selects one kind of game, and his whole
knowledge of woodcraft is directed against it. In autumn and winter the
"Otter" knows the whereabouts of every hare in the parish; not only the
field in which it is but the very clump of rushes in which is its
"form." As puss goes away from the prickly gorse bush, or flies down
the turnip "rigg," he notes her every twist and double, and takes in
the minutest details. He is also careful to examine the "smoots" and
gates through which she passes, and these spots he always approaches
laterally. He leaves no scent of hand nor print of foot, and does not
disturb rough herbage. Late afternoon brings him home, and upon the
clean sanded floor his wires and nets are spread. There is a peg to
sharpen and a broken mesh to mend. Every now and then he looks out upon
the darkening night, always directing his glance upward. His dogs whine
impatiently to be gone. In an hour, with bulky pockets, he starts,
striking across the land and away from the high-road. The dogs prick
out their ears upon the track, but stick doggedly to his heels. After a
while the darkness blots out even the forms of surrounding objects, and
the poacher moves more cautiously. A couple of snares are set in holes
in an old thorn fence not more than a yard apart. These are delicately
manipulated, and from previous knowledge the poacher knows that the
hare will take one of them. The black dog is sent over, the younger
fawn bitch staying with her master. The former slinks slowly down the
field, sticking closely to the cover of a fence running at right angles
to the one in which the wires are set. The poacher has arranged that
the wind shall | 864.634582 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.6183670 | 996 | 8 |
E-text prepared by R. W. Jones <[email protected]>
Transcriber's note: This file was proofed, using a text-to-speech reader,
against the hard copy 2nd. edition published in 1819.
No attempt has been made to change the text of any of
the quoted verse to reflect later editors' amendments.
_Italics_ are indicated thus. The footnotes are
serially numbered from the first to the last Lecture,
unlike in the original.
LECTURES ON THE ENGLISH POETS
Delivered at the Surrey Institution
by
WILLIAM HAZLITT
CONTENTS.
LECTURE I.
INTRODUCTORY.--ON POETRY IN GENERAL.
LECTURE II.
ON CHAUCER AND SPENSER.
LECTURE III.
ON SHAKSPEARE AND MILTON.
LECTURE IV.
ON DRYDEN AND POPE.
LECTURE V.
ON THOMSON AND COWPER.
LECTURE VI.
ON SWIFT, YOUNG, GRAY, COLLINS &c.
LECTURE VII.
ON BURNS, AND THE OLD ENGLISH BALLADS.
LECTURE VIII.
ON THE LIVING POETS.
LECTURE I.--INTRODUCTORY
ON POETRY IN GENERAL.
The best general notion which I can give of poetry is, that it is the
natural impression of any object or event, by its vividness exciting an
involuntary movement of imagination and passion, and producing, by
sympathy, a certain modulation of the voice, or sounds, expressing it.
In treating of poetry, I shall speak first of the subject-matter of
it, next of the forms of expression to which it gives birth, and
afterwards of its connection with harmony of sound.
Poetry is the language of the imagination and the passions. It
relates to whatever gives immediate pleasure or pain to the human mind.
It comes home to the bosoms and businesses of men; for nothing but what
so comes home to them in the most general and intelligible shape, can be
a subject for poetry. Poetry is the universal language which the heart
holds with nature and itself. He who has a contempt for poetry, cannot
have much respect for himself, or for any thing else. It is not a mere
frivolous accomplishment, (as some persons have been led to imagine) the
trifling amusement of a few idle readers or leisure hours--it has been
the study and delight of mankind in all ages. Many people suppose that
poetry is something to be found only in books, contained in lines of ten
syllables, with like endings: but wherever there is a sense of beauty,
or power, or harmony, as in the motion of a wave of the sea, in the
growth of a flower that "spreads its sweet leaves to the air, and
dedicates its beauty to the sun,"--_there_ is poetry, in its birth. If
history is a grave study, poetry may be said to be a graver: its
materials lie deeper, and are spread wider. History treats, for the most
part, of the cumbrous and unwieldly masses of things, the empty cases in
which the affairs of the world are packed, under the heads of intrigue
or war, in different states, and from century to century: but there is
no thought or feeling that can have entered into the mind of man, which
he would be eager to communicate to others, or which they would listen
to with delight, that is not a fit subject for poetry. It is not a
branch of authorship: it is "the stuff of which our life is made." The
rest is "mere oblivion," a dead letter: for all that is worth
remembering in life, is the poetry of it. Fear is poetry, hope is
poetry, love is poetry, hatred is poetry; contempt, jealousy, remorse,
admiration, wonder, pity, despair, or madness, are all poetry. Poetry is
that fine particle within us, that expands, rarefies, refines, raises
our whole being: without it "man's life is poor as beast's." Man is a
poetical animal: and those of us who do not study the principles of
poetry, act upon them all our lives, like Moliere's _Bourgeois
Gentilhomme_, who had always spoken prose without knowing it. The child
is a poet in fact, when he first plays at hide | 864.638407 |
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