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POLLY
OF LADY GAY COTTAGE
BY
EMMA C. DOWD
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY EMMA C. DOWD
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: HAROLD WESTWOOD!]
TO
MY CRITIC, COUNSELOR
AND COMRADE
CONTENTS
I. THE ROSEWOOD BOX 1
II. LEONORA'S WONDERFUL NEWS | 864.639206 |
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In Freedom's Cause
G. A. Henty
CONTENTS
I Glen Cairn
II Leaving Home
III Sir William Wallace
IV The Capture of Lanark
V A Treacherous Plot
VI The Barns of Ayr
VII The Cave in the Pentlands
VIII The Council at Stirling
IX The Battle of Stirling Bridge
X The Battle of Falkirk
XI Robert The Bruce
XII The Battle of Methven
XIII The Castle of Dunstaffnage
XIV Colonsay
XV A Mission to Ireland
XVI An Irish Rising
XVII The King's Blood Hound
XVIII The Hound Restored
XIX The Convent of St. Kenneth
XX The Heiress of the Kerrs
XXI The Siege of Aberfilly
XXII A Prisoner
XXIII The Escape from Berwick
XXIV The Progress of the War
XXV The Capture of a Stronghold
XXVI Edinburgh
XXVII Bannockburn
PREFACE.
MY DEAR LADS,
There are few figures in history who have individually exercised
so great an influence upon events as William Wallace and Robert
Bruce. It was to the extraordinary personal courage, indomitable
perseverance, and immense energy of these two men that Scotland
owed her freedom from English domination. So surprising were the
traditions of these feats performed by these heroes that it was at
one time the fashion to treat them as belonging as purely to legend
as the feats of St. George or King Arthur. Careful investigation,
however, has shown that so far from this being the case, almost
every deed reported to have been performed by them is verified by
contemporary historians. Sir William Wallace had the especial bad
fortune of having come down to us principally by the writings of
his bitter enemies, and even modern historians, who should have
taken a fairer view of his life, repeated the cry of the old English
writers that he was a bloodthirsty robber. Mr. W. Burns, however,
in his masterly and exhaustive work, The Scottish War of Independence,
has torn these calumnies to shreds, and has displayed Wallace as
he was, a high minded and noble patriot. While consulting other
writers, especially those who wrote at the time of or but shortly
after the events they record, I have for the most part followed
Burns in all the historical portions of the narrative. Throughout
the story, therefore, wherein it at all relates to Wallace, Bruce,
and the other historical characters, the circumstances and events
can be relied upon as strictly accurate, save only in the earlier
events of the career of Wallace, of which the details that have
come down to us are somewhat conflicting, although the main features
are now settled past question.
Yours sincerely,
G.A. HENTY.
Chapter I
Glen Cairn
The village of Glen Cairn was situated in a valley in the broken
country lying to the west of the Pentland Hills, some fifteen miles
north of the town of Lanark, and the country around it was wild
and picturesque. The villagers for the most part knew little of
the world beyond their own valley, although a few had occasionally
paid visits to Glasgow, which lay as far to the west as Lanark was
distant to the south. On a spur jutting out from the side of the
hill stood Glen Cairn Castle, whose master the villagers had for
generations regarded as their lord.
The glory of the little fortalice had now departed. Sir William
Forbes had been killed on his own hearthstone, and the castle had
been sacked in a raid by the Kerrs, whose hold lay to the southwest,
and who had long been at feud with the Forbeses. The royal power
was feeble, and the Kerrs had many friends, and were accordingly
granted the lands they had seized; only it was specified that Dame
Forbes, the widow of Sir William, should be allowed to reside in
the fortalice free from all let or hindrance, so long as she meddled
not, nor sought to stir up enmity among the late vassals of her
lord against their new masters.
The castle, although a small one, was strongly situated. The spur
of the hill ran some 200 yards into the valley, rising sharply
some 30 or 40 feet above it. The little river which meandered down
the valley swept completely round the foot of the spur, forming a
natural moat to it, and had in some time past been dammed back, so
that, whereas in other parts it ran brightly over a pebbly bottom,
here it was deep and still. The fortalice itself stood at the
extremity of the spur, and a strong wall with a fortified gateway
extended across the other end of the neck, touching the water on
both sides. From the gateway extended two walls inclosing a road
straight to the gateway of the hold itself, and between these walls
and the water every level foot of ground was cultivated; this garden
was now the sole remains of the lands of the Forbeses.
It was a narrow patrimony for Archie, the only son of Dame Forbes,
and his lady mother had hard work to keep up a respectable state,
and to make ends meet. Sandy Grahame, who had fought under her
husband's banner and was now her sole retainer, made the most of the
garden patches. Here he grew vegetables on the best bits of ground
and oats on the remainder; these, crushed between flat stones,
furnished a coarse bread. From the stream an abundance of fish could
always be obtained, and the traps and nets therefore furnished a
meal when all else failed. In the stream, too, swam a score and more
of ducks, while as many chickens walked about the castle yard, or
scratched for insects among the vegetables. A dozen goats browsed
on the hillside, for this was common ground to the village, and
Dame Forbes had not therefore to ask for leave from her enemies,
the Kerrs. The goats furnished milk and cheese, which was deftly
made by Elspie, Sandy's wife, who did all the work indoors, as her
husband did without. Meat they seldom touched. Occasionally the
resources of the hold were eked out by the present of a little
hill sheep, or a joint of prime meat, from one or other of her old
vassals, for these, in spite of the mastership of the Kerrs, still
at heart regarded Dame Mary Forbes as their lawful mistress, and
her son Archie as their future chief. Dame Mary Forbes was careful
in no way to encourage this feeling, for she feared above all things
to draw the attention of the Kerrs to her son. She was sure that
did Sir John Kerr entertain but a suspicion that trouble might ever
come from the rivalry of this boy, he would not hesitate a moment
in encompassing his death; for Sir John was a rough and violent
man who was known to hesitate at nothing which might lead to his
aggrandizement. Therefore she seldom moved beyond the outer wall
of the hold, except to go down to visit the sick in the village.
She herself had been a Seaton, and had been educated at the nunnery
of Dunfermline, and she now taught Archie to read and write,
accomplishments by no means common even among the better class in
those days. Archie loved not books; but as it pleased his mother,
and time often hung heavy on his hands, he did not mind devoting
two or three hours a day to the tasks she set him. At other times
he fished in the stream, wandered over the hills, and brought in
the herbs from which Dame Forbes distilled the potions which she
distributed to the villagers when sick.
Often he joined the lads of the village in their games. They
all regarded him as their leader; but his mother had pressed upon
him over and over again that on no account was he to assume any
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BULFINCH'S MYTHOLOGY
THE AGE OF FABLE
THE AGE OF CHIVALRY
LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE
BY THOMAS BULFINCH
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME
[Editor's Note: The etext contains only LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE]
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE
No new edition of Bulfinch's classic work can be considered complete
without some notice of the American scholar to whose wide erudition and
painstaking care it stands as a perpetual monument. "The Age of Fable"
has come to be ranked with older books like "Pilgrim's Progress,"
"Gulliver's Travels," "The Arabian Nights," "Robinson Crusoe," and five
or six other productions of world-wide renown as a work with which
every one must claim some acquaintance before his education can be
called really complete. Many readers of the present edition will
probably recall coming in contact with the work as children, and, it
may be added, will no doubt discover from a fresh perusal the source of
numerous bits of knowledge that have remained stored in their minds
since those early years. Yet to the majority of this great circle of
readers and students the name Bulfinch in itself has no significance.
Thomas Bulfinch was a native of Boston, Mass., where he was born in
1796. His boyhood was spent in that city, and he prepared for college
in the Boston schools. He finished his scholastic training at Harvard
College, and after taking his degree was for a period a teacher in his
home city. For a long time later in life he was employed as an
accountant in the Boston Merchants' Bank. His leisure time he used for
further pursuit of the classical studies which he had begun at Harvard,
and his chief pleasure in life lay in writing out the results of his
reading, in simple, condensed form for young or busy readers. The plan
he followed in this work, to give it the greatest possible usefulness,
is set forth in the Author's Preface.
"Age of Fable," First Edition, 1855; "The Age of Chivalry," 1858; "The
Boy Inventor," 1860; "Legends of Charlemagne, or Romance of the Middle
Ages," 1863; "Poetry of the Age of Fable," 1863; "Oregon and Eldorado,
or Romance of the Rivers," 1860.
In this complete edition of his mythological and legendary lore "The
Age of Fable," "The Age of Chivalry," and "Legends of Charlemagne" are
included. Scrupulous care has been taken to follow the original text of
Bulfinch, but attention should be called to some additional sections
which have been inserted to add to the rounded completeness of the
work, and which the publishers believe would meet with the sanction of
the author himself, as in no way intruding upon his original plan but
simply carrying it out in more complete detail. The section on Northern
Mythology has been enlarged by a retelling of the epic of the
"Nibelungen Lied," together with a summary of Wagner's version of the
legend in his series of music-dramas. Under the head of "Hero Myths of
the British Race" have been included outlines of the stories of
Beowulf, Cuchulain, Hereward the Wake, and Robin Hood. Of the verse
extracts which occur throughout the text, thirty or more have been
added from literature which has appeared since Bulfinch's time,
extracts that he would have been likely to quote had he personally
supervised the new edition.
Finally, the index has been thoroughly overhauled and, indeed, remade.
All the proper names in the work have been entered, with references to
the pages where they occur, and a concise explanation or definition of
each has been given. Thus what was a mere list of names in the original
has been enlarged into a small classical and mythological dictionary,
which it is hoped will prove valuable for reference purposes not
necessarily connected with "The Age of Fable."
Acknowledgments are due the writings of Dr. Oliver Huckel for
information on the point of Wagner's rendering of the Nibelungen
legend, and M. I. Ebbutt's authoritative volume on "Hero Myths and
Legends of the British Race," from which much of the information
concerning the British heroes has been obtained.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
If no other knowledge deserves to be called useful but that which helps
to enlarge our possessions or to raise our station in society, then
Mythology has no claim to the appellation. But if that which tends to
make us happier and better can be called useful, then we claim that
epithet for our subject. For Mythology is the handmaid of literature;
and literature is one of the best allies of virtue and promoters of
happiness.
Without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of our
own language cannot be understood and appreciated. When Byron calls
Rome "the Niobe of nations," or says of Venice, "She looks a Sea-Cybele
fresh from ocean," he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our
subject, illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could
furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology. Milton
abounds in similar allusions. The short poem "Comus" contains more than
thirty such, and the ode "On the Morning of the Nativity" half as many.
Through "Paradise Lost" they are scattered profusely. This is one
reason why we often hear persons by no means illiterate say that they
cannot enjoy Milton. But were these persons to add to their more solid
acquirements the easy learning of this little volume, much of the
poetry of Milton which has appeared to them "harsh and crabbed" would
be found "musical as is Apollo's lute." Our citations, taken from more
than twenty-five poets, from Spenser to Longfellow, will show how
general has been the practice of borrowing illustrations from mythology.
The prose writers also avail themselves of the same source of elegant
and suggestive illustration. One can hardly take up a number of the
"Edinburgh" or "Quarterly Review" without meeting with instances. In
Macaulay's article on Milton there are twenty such.
But how is mythology to be taught to one who does not learn it through
the medium of the languages of Greece and Rome? To devote study to a
species of learning which relates wholly to false marvels and obsolete
faiths is not to be expected of the general reader in a practical age
like this. The time even of the young is claimed by so many sciences of
facts and things that little can be spared for set treatises on a
science of mere fancy.
But may not the requisite knowledge of the subject be acquired by
reading the ancient poets in translations? We reply, the field is too
extensive for a preparatory course; and these very translations require
some previous knowledge of the subject to make them intelligible. Let
any one who doubts it read the first page of the "Aeneid," and see what
he can make of "the hatred of Juno," the "decree of the Parcae," the
"judgment of Paris," and the "honors of Ganymede," without this
knowledge.
Shall we be told that answers to such queries may be found in notes, or
by a reference to the Classical Dictionary? We reply, the interruption
of one's reading by either process is so annoying that most readers
prefer to let an allusion pass unapprehended rather than submit to it.
Moreover, such sources give us only the dry facts without any of the
charm of the original narrative; and what is a poetical myth when
stripped of its poetry? The story of Ceyx and Halcyone, which fills a
chapter in our book, occupies but eight lines in the best (Smith's)
Classical Dictionary; and so of others.
Our work is an attempt to solve this problem, by telling the stories of
mythology in such a manner as to make them a source of amusement. We
have endeavored to tell them correctly, according to the ancient
authorities, so that when the reader finds them referred to he may not
be at a loss to recognize the reference. Thus we hope to teach
mythology not as a study, but as a relaxation from study; to give our
work the charm of a story-book, yet by means of it to impart a
knowledge of an important branch of education. The index at the end
will adapt it to the purposes of reference, and make it a Classical
Dictionary for the parlor.
Most of the classical legends in "Stories of Gods and Heroes" are
derived from Ovid and Virgil. They are not literally translated, for,
in the author's opinion, poetry translated into literal prose is very
unattractive reading. Neither are they in verse, as well for other
reasons as from a conviction that to translate faithfully under all the
embarrassments of rhyme and measure is impossible. The attempt has been
made to tell the stories in prose, preserving so much of the poetry as
resides in the thoughts and is separable from the language itself, and
omitting those amplifications which are not suited to the altered form.
The Northern mythological stories are copied with some abridgment from
Mallet's "Northern Antiquities." These chapters, with those on Oriental
and Egyptian mythology, seemed necessary to complete the subject,
though it is believed these topics have not usually been presented in
the same volume with the classical fables.
The poetical citations so freely introduced are expected to answer
several valuable purposes. They will tend to fix in memory the leading
fact of each story, they will help to the attainment of a correct
pronunciation of the proper names, and they will enrich the memory with
many gems of poetry, some of them such as are most frequently quoted or
alluded to in reading and conversation.
Having chosen mythology as connected with literature for our province,
we have endeavored to omit nothing which the reader of elegant
literature is likely to find occasion for. Such stories and parts of
stories as are offensive to pure taste and good morals are not given.
But such stories are not often referred to, and if they occasionally
should be, the English reader need feel no mortification in confessing
his ignorance of them.
Our work is not for the learned, nor for the theologian, nor for the
philosopher, but for the reader of English literature, of either sex,
who wishes to comprehend the allusions so frequently made by public
speakers, lecturers, essayists, and poets, and those which occur in
polite conversation.
In the "Stories of Gods and Heroes" the compiler has endeavored to
impart the pleasures of classical learning to the English reader, by
presenting the stories of Pagan mythology in a form adapted to modern
taste. In "King Arthur and His Knights" and "The Mabinogeon" the
attempt has been made to treat in the same way the stories of the
second "age of fable," the age which witnessed the dawn of the several
states of Modern Europe.
It is believed that this presentation of a literature which held
unrivalled sway over the imaginations of our ancestors, for many
centuries, will not be without benefit to the reader, in addition to
the amusement it may afford. The tales, though not to be trusted for
their facts, are worthy of all credit as pictures of manners; and it is
beginning to be held that the manners and modes of thinking of an age
are a more important part of its history than the conflicts of its
peoples, generally leading to no result. Besides this, the literature
of romance is a treasure-house of poetical material, to which modern
poets frequently resort. The Italian poets, Dante and Ariosto, the
English, Spenser, Scott, and Tennyson, and our own Longfellow and
Lowell, are examples of this.
These legends are so connected with each other, so consistently adapted
to a group of characters strongly individualized in Arthur, Launcelot,
and their compeers, and so lighted up by the fires of imagination and
invention, that they seem as well adapted to the poet's purpose as the
legends of the Greek and Roman mythology. And if every well-educated
young person is expected to know the story of the Golden Fleece, why is
the quest of the Sangreal less worthy of his acquaintance? Or if an
allusion to the shield of Achilles ought not to pass unapprehended, why
should one to Excalibar, the famous sword of Arthur?--
"Of Arthur, who, to upper light restored,
With that terrific sword,
Which yet he brandishes for future war,
Shall lift his country's fame above the polar star."
[Footnote: Wordsworth]
It is an additional recommendation of our subject, that it tends to
cherish in our minds the idea of the source from which we sprung. We
are entitled to our full share in the glories and recollections of the
land of our forefathers, down to the time of colonization thence. The
associations which spring from this source must be fruitful of good
influences; among which not the least valuable is the increased
enjoyment which such associations afford to the American traveller when
he visits England | 864.741756 |
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MEMOIRS
CORRESPONDENCE AND MANUSCRIPTS
OF
GENERAL LAFAYETTE
By Lafayette
Published By His Family.
Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1837,
by William A. Duer,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
Respectfully to collect and scrupulously to arrange the manuscripts of
which an irreparable misfortune has rendered them depositaries, have
been for the Family of General Lafayette the accomplishment of a sacred
duty.
To publish those manuscripts without any commentary, and place them,
unaltered, in the hands of the friends of Liberty, is a pious and solemn
homage which his children now offer with confidence to his memory.
GEORGE WASHINGTON LAFAYETTE.
ADVERTISEMENT
OF THE AMERICAN EDITOR.
It was the desire of the late General Lafayette, that this edition of
his Memoirs and Correspondence should be considered as a legacy of the
American people. His representatives have accordingly pursued a course
which they conceived the best adapted to give effect to his wishes, by
furnishing a separate edition for this country, without any reservation
for their own advantage, beyond the transfer of the copyright as an
indemnity for the expense and risk of publication.
In this edition are inserted some letters which will not appear in the
editions published in Paris and London. They contain details relating to
the American Revolution, and render the present edition more complete,
or, at least, more interesting to Americans. Although written during
the first residence of General Lafayette in America--when he was little
accustomed to write in the English language--the letters in question are
given exactly as they came from his pen--and as well as the others in
the collection written by him in that language are distinguished from
those translated from the French by having the word "Original" prefixed
to them.
It was intended that these letters should have been arranged among those
in the body of the work; in the order of their respective dates; but as
the latter have been stereotyped before the former had been transmitted
to the American editor, this design was rendered impracticable. They
have therefore from necessity been added in a supplemental form with the
marginal notes which seemed requisite for their explanation.
Columbia College, N. Y., July, 1837.
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
Notice by the Editors
FIRST VOYAGE AND FIRST CAMPAIGN IN AMERICA--1777, 1778.
Memoirs written by myself, until the year 1780
FRAGMENTS EXTRACTED FROM VARIOUS MANUSCRIPTS
A.--Departure for America in 1777
B.--First Interview between General Washington
and General Lafayette
C.--On the Military commands during the Winter of 1778
D.--Retreat of Barren Hill
E.--Arrival of the French Fleet
F.--Dissensions between the French Fleet
and the American Army
CORRESPONDENCE--1777, 1778:
To the Duke d'Ayen. London, March 9, 1777
To Madame de Lafayette. On board the Victory, May 30
To Madame de Lafayette. Charlestown, June 19
To Madame de Lafayette. Petersburg, July 17
To Madame de Lafayette.--July 23
To Madame de Lafayette. Philadelphia, Sept. 12
To Madame de Lafayette.--Oct. 1
To M. de Vergennes, Minister of Foreign affairs.
Whitemarsh Camp, Oct. 24
To Madame de Lafayette. Whitemarsh Camp, Oct. 29, and Nov. 6
To General Washington. Haddonfeld, Nov. 26
To the Duke d'Ayen. Camp Gulph, Pennsylvania, Dec. 16
To General Washington. Camp, Dec. 30
To General Washington. Head Quarters, Dec. 31
To General Washington. Valley Forge, Dec. 31
To Madame de Lafayette. Camp, near Valley Forge, Jan. 6, 1778
To General Washington
To Madame de Lafayette. York. Feb 3
To General Washington. Hermingtown, Feb. 9
To General Washington. Albany, Feb. 19
To General Washington.--Feb. 23
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Head Quarters, March 10
To Baron de Steuben. Albany, March 12
Fragment of a Letter to the President of Congress.
Albany, March 20
To General Washington. Albany, March 25
To Madame de Lafayette. Valley Forge Camp,
in Pennsylvania, April 14
To Madame de Lafayette. Germantown, April 28
To General Washington. Valley Forge Camp, May 19
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Camp, May 17
To the Marquis de Lafayette. (Instructions.)
To Madame de Lafayette. Valley Forge Camp, June 16
To the Marquis de Lafayette. (Instructions.)
To General Washington. Ice Town, June 26
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Cranberry, June 26
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
White Plains, July 22
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Head Quarters, White Plains, July 27
To General Washington. Providence, Aug. 6
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
White Plains, Aug. 10
To General Washington. Camp before Newport, Aug. 25
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
White Plains, Sept.
From General Washington to Major-General Sullivan.
Head Quarters, White Plains, Sept. 1
From General Washington to Major-General Greene.
Head Quarters, White Plains, Sept. 1
To General Washington. Tyverton, Sept. I
To General Washington. Camp, near Bristol, Sept. 7
To the Duke d'Ayen. Bristol, near Rhode Island, Sept. 11
To Madame de Lafayette. Bristol, near Rhode Island, Sept. 13
President Laurens to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Philadelphia, Sept. 13
Marquis de Lafayette to President Laurens. Camp, Sept. 23
To General Washington. Warren, Sept. 24
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Fredericksburg, Sept. 25
To General Washington. Camp near Warren, Sept. 24
To General Washington. Boston, Sept. 28
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Fishkill, Oct. 4
Marquis de Lafayette to President Laurens.
Philadelphia, Oct. 13
President Laurens to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Philadelphia, Oct. 24
To General Washington. Philadelphia, Oct. 24
Lord Carlisle to M. de Lafayette Marquis de Lafayette
To President Laurens. Philadelphia, Oct. 26
Fragment of a Letter from the French Minister, M. Gerard,
to Count de Vergennes.--October
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Philadelphia, Dec. 29
From General Washington to General Franklin,
American Minister in France. Philadelphia, Dec. 28
To General Washington. Boston, January 5, 1779
To General Washington. On board the Alliance,
off Boston, January 11, 1779
SECOND VOYAGE TO AMERICA, AND CAMPAIGNS OF 1780, 1781.
HISTORICAL MEMOIRS OF 1779, 1780, and 1781.
CORRESPONDENCE--1779-1781
To Count de Vergennes. Paris, February 24, 1779
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Camp at Middlebrook, March 8
To M. de Vergennes, Paris, April 1, and April 26
To the President of Congress. St. Jean de Angeli,
near Rochefort, June 12
To General Washington. St. Jean de Angeli,
near Rochefort harbor, June 12
To the Count de Vergennes. Havre, July 30
To M. de Vergennes. Paris, August--
Dr. Franklin to the Marquis de Lafayette. Fassy, August 24
To Dr. Franklin. Havre, August 29
Page From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
West Point, December 30
To General Washington. Havre, October 7
To M. de Vergennes. Versailles, Feb. 22, 1780
To his Excellency General Washington.
At the entrance of Boston harbor, April 27
To M. de Vergennes. Waterburg, on the Boston road,
from the Camp, May 6
From General Washington. Morris Town, May--
To the Count de Rochambeau. Philadelphia, May 19
To General Washington. Camp at Preakness, July 4
To MM. le Comte de Rochambeau and le Chevalier de Ternay.
Camp before Dobb's Ferry, August 9
From Count de Rochambeau to M. de Lafayette. Newport, August 12
To MM. de Rochambeau and de Ternay. Camp, August 18
To M. de Rochambeau. Camp, August 18
From M. de Rochambeau. Newport, August 27
To the Chevalier de la Luzerne. Robinson House,
opposite West Point, Sept. 26
To Madame de Tesse. Camp, on the right side of North River,
near the Island of New York, October 4
To General Washington. Light Camp, October 30
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
Head Quarters, October 30
To General Washington. Light Camp, November 13
To General Washington, Paramus, November 28
To his Excellency General Washington. Philadelphia, Dec. 5
From General Washington to the Marquis de Lafayette.
New Windsor, December 14
To M. de Vergennes. New Windsor, on the North River,
January 30, 1781
To Madame de Lafayette. New Windsor, on the North River,
February 2
To General Washington. Elk, March 8
| 864.741922 |
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by Anne Celnick, Linda Cantoni, and the DP Music Team and
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Libraries.)
Transcriber's note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the
original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors
have been corrected.
LETTERS
OF
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY
FROM
ITALY AND SWITZERLAND.
TRANSLATED BY LADY WALLACE.
WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE
BY JULIE DE MARGUERITTES.
[Illustration: logo]
BOSTON:
OLIVER DITSON & CO., 277 WASHINGTON STREET.
NEW YORK: C. H. DITSON & CO.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy was born at Hamburg, on the third of
February, 1809. The name to which he was destined to add such
lustre, was already high in the annals of fame. Moses Mendelssohn,
his grandfather, a great Jewish philosopher, one of the most
remarkable men of his time, was the author of profound Metaphysical
works, written both in German and Hebrew. To this great power of
intellect, Moses Mendelssohn added a purity and dignity of
character worthy of the old stoics. The epigraph on the bust of
this ancestor of the composer, shows the esteem in which he was
held by his contemporaries:
"Faithful to the religion of his fathers, as wise as Socrates, like
Socrates teaching the immortality of the soul, and like Socrates
leaving a name that is immortal."
One of Moses Mendelssohn's daughters married Frederick Schlegel,
and swerving from the religion in which both had been brought up,
both became Roman Catholics.
Joseph Mendelssohn, the eldest son of this great old man, was also
distinguished for his literary taste, and has left two excellent
works of very different characters, one on Dante, the other on the
system of a paper currency.
In conjunction with his brother, Abraham, he founded the
banking-house of Mendelssohn & Company at Berlin, still flourishing
under the management of the sons of the original founders, the
brothers and cousins of Felix, the subject of this memoir.
George Mendelssohn the son of Joseph, was also a distinguished
political writer and Professor in the University at Bonn.
With such an array of intellectual ancestry, the Mendelssohn of our
day came into the world at Hamburg, on the third of February,1809.
He was named Felix, and a more appropriate name could not have been
found for him, for in character, circumstance and endowment, he was
supremely happy. Goethe, speaking of him, said "the boy was born on
a lucky day." His first piece of good fortune, was in having not
only an excellent virtuous woman for his mother, but a woman who,
besides these qualities, possessed extraordinary intellect and had
received an education that fitted her to be the mother of children
endowed as hers were. She professed the Lutheran creed, in which
her children were brought up. Being of a distinguished commercial
family and an heiress, her husband added her name of Bartholdy to
his own. Mme. Mendelssohn Bartholdy's other children were, Fanny
her first-born, whose life is entirely interwoven with that of her
brother Felix, and Paul and Rebecca, born some years later.
When yet a boy, Felix removed with his parents to Berlin, probably
at the time of the formation of the banking house. The Prussian
capital has often claimed the honor of being his birthplace, but
that distinction really belongs to Hamburg.
His extraordinary musical talent was not long in developing itself.
His sister Fanny, his "soul's friend" and constant companion,
almost as richly endowed as himself, aroused his emulation, and
they studied music together first as an art, and then as a science,
to be the foundation of future works of inspiration and genius.
Zelter, severe and classic, profoundly scientific, inexorable for
all that was not true science, became the teacher of these two
gifted children in composition and in counterpoint. For piano-forte
playing, Berger was the professor, though some years later
Moscheles added the benefit of his counsels, and Felix was fond of
calling himself the pupil of Moscheles, with whom in after life he
contracted a close friendship. Zelter was exceedingly proud of his
pupil, soon discovering that instead of an industrious and
intelligent child, one of the greatest musical geniuses ever known
was dawning on the world. When he was but fifteen, Zelter took the
young musician to Weimar, and secured for him the acquaintance and
good will of Goethe, which as long as Goethe lived, seemed to be
the necessary consecration of all talent in Germany. By this time
not only was he an admirable performer on the piano, possessed of
a talent for improvisation and a memory so wonderful, that not only
could he play almost all Bach, Haendel, Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven
by heart, but he could also without hesitation accompany a whole
opera from memory, provided he had but seen the score once. The
overture to Midsummer Night's Dream, so popular now in every
country, was composed before he was seventeen, and was played for
the first time as a duet on the piano by his sister Fanny and
himself on the 19th November, 1826. This is indeed the inspiration
of youth with its brilliancy, its buoyancy, its triumphant joy,
full of the poetry of a young heart, full of the imagination of a
mind untainted by the world. It was not till some years after, that
Mendelssohn completed the music to Shakspeare's great play. In
1827, Felix left the University of Berlin with great honors. He was
a profound classical scholar, and has left as a specimen of his
knowledge, a correct, graceful and elegant translation of Terence's
comedy of Andria, a work greatly approved of by Goethe. He excelled
in gymnastics, was an elegant rider, and like Lord Byron, a bold
and accomplished swimmer. The year he left the University, he went
to England, where Henrietta Sonntag was in the height of her fame.
He played in several concerts where she sang, as well as with
Moscheles, his old friend and teacher, now established in London.
On his return to Germany in 1830, he visited Goethe at Weimar, and
there planned his journey to Italy, a country which all men of
genius yearn after, as the promised land of inspiration. When in
Rome, Felix Mendelssohn began the grand Cantata of the Walpurgis
Night, to Goethe's words, at which he worked for some years. On his
return from his travels, Mendelssohn, who had now all the assurance
and self-possession of an artist, was appointed chapel-master at
Duesseldorf, a position which gave him the direction of the grand
musical festivals held at that time in this city and in
Aix-la-Chapelle. It was during his residence in Duesseldorf, that he
composed his oratorio of St. Paul, and also, the first set of his
"Songs without Words" for the piano, where the music, by its varied
expression and its intensity, alone told the story of the poet.
These compositions were a novelty for piano-forte players, and
inaugurated a new style, full of interest, gradually setting aside
the variations and sonatas which had become so meaningless and
tedious. The oratorio of St. Paul was not given until 1836, when it
was produced at Duesseldorf, under his own special superintendence.
Mendelssohn composed very rapidly, but he was cautious in giving
his works to the public, until they thoroughly satisfied his
judgment, the most critical to which they could be submitted.
In the latter part of 1836, having gone to Frankfort, to direct a
concert of the Ceciliaverein, he became acquainted with Cecilia
Jeanrenaud, a beautiful and accomplished girl, the second daughter
of a clergyman of the Reformed Church, and in the spring of 1837
she became his wife. The marriage had been delayed some months by
Mendelssohn's ill health; he had begun to feel the first symptoms
of the nervous disease, affecting the brain, from which he was
destined henceforth to suffer, and of which, finally, he was fated
to die.
After his marriage he undertook the direction of the Leipzig
Concerts. All over Germany, Mendelssohn was in requisition; his
immense genius as a composer, his great skill as a conductor, his
gentle, fascinating manners, gave him extraordinary popularity. It
was England, however, after all, who appreciated him most. Sacred
music seems to appeal especially to the English taste. Haydn,
Haendel, Beethoven have all found more patronage and appreciation in
England than in their own country. So it was with Mendelssohn; the
greatest musical triumph ever achieved, was the performance of the
oratorio of Elijah, given at Birmingham, the work on which
Mendelssohn's fame will rest. He was nine years in composing this
oratorio; and notwithstanding the most flattering ovation,
Mendelssohn's serene temperament was not moved to vanity or
conceit. In the very moment of his success, he sat down modestly to
correct many things that had not satisfied him. The trio for three
female voices (without accompaniment) one of the most beautiful
pieces in the oratorio, was added by the composer after the public
had declared itself satisfied with the work as it originally stood.
Elijah was produced in 1847, but Mendelssohn had been several times
to England before this, playing at the ancient and Philharmonic
concerts; at that time, the resort of the elite in London.
It was during one of these visits in 1842, that Prince Albert, who
as a German and a musician, had sought his acquaintance, introduced
him to Queen Victoria. The visit was entirely devoid of formality,
for without any previous announcement, the Prince conducted
Mendelssohn from his private apartments, to the Queen's study,
where they found her surrounded by papers, and just terminating her
morning's work. The Queen receiving him most graciously, apologized
to the composer for the untidiness of the room, beginning herself
to put it in order and laughingly accepting his assistance. After
some agreeable conversation Mendelssohn sat down to the piano and
played whatever the Queen asked of him. When at length he rose,
Prince Albert asked the Queen to sing, and gracefully choosing one
of Mendelssohn's own compositions, she complied with the request.
Mendelssohn of course applauded, but the Queen laughingly told him,
that she had been too frightened to sing well. "Ask Lablache,"
(Lablache was her singing master) added the Queen, "he will tell
you that I can sing better than I have done to-day." Prince Albert
and the Queen were ever warm patrons and friends of Mendelssohn.
During all this time so brilliantly filled up, Mendelssohn's health
was continually and gradually declining. His nervous susceptibility
was such that he was often obliged to abstain from playing for
weeks together, his gentle and affectionate wife watching him and
keeping him as much as possible from composition. This was a very
difficult task, for Mendelssohn was a great worker. Even when
travelling, he would take out pen and ink from his pocket and
compose at one corner of the table, whilst the dinner was getting
ready.
Little was Mendelssohn prepared, either mentally or physically at
this time, to bear the one great sorrow that overwhelmed this happy
life, on which the sun of prosperity had ever shone. His sister
Fanny, to whom many of his letters were written, and who had been
the companion of his studies, possessing the same tastes and a
great deal of the same genius; his sister Fanny, who was the
nearest and dearest affection of his life, was suddenly taken from
him. She had married and was living in Frankfort, where she was the
ornament of society, in this enlightened and art-loving city, when
in the midst of a rehearsal of Faust, a symphony of her own
composition, she was struck with apoplexy and fell back dead in her
chair. There is no doubt that this shock considerably increased the
disease from which Mendelssohn was suffering, and though he used to
rally and even appear resigned, this sorrow, until the day of his
death, lay heavy at his heart. Again he tried to find health and
peace in travel; he went to Switzerland with his wife, who strove
to keep him from all occupation and labor, but he would gently urge
her to let him work. "The time is not far off, when I shall rest; I
must make the most of the time given me." "I know not how short a
time it may be," would he say to her. On his return from
Switzerland and Baden-Baden, he went to Berlin; and once more all
that remained of this tenderly attached family, were united for a
short time. At length he returned to his home in Leipzig, serene as
ever, but worn to a shadow by the acute and continued pains in the
head for which he could obtain no relief. On the 9th of October, he
went to the house of a friend, one of the artists of the Leipzig
concerts, and entreated her to sing for him a song he had that
night composed. By a strange coincidence, this song began with
these words, "Vanished has the light of day." It was Mendelssohn's
last composition, the last music he heard on earth, for whilst the
lady was singing it, he was seized with vertigo and was carried
insensible back to his house. He recovered, however, comparatively
from this attack, but a second stroke of apoplexy placed his life
in extreme peril, and a third, on the 3rd of November, made him
utterly unconscious. Towards nine o'clock on the evening of the
4th, (1847,) he breathed his last, going to his everlasting rest as
easily and as calmly as a tired child sinks to sleep. He was in the
thirty-ninth year of his age.
Mendelssohn's death was looked upon, throughout Germany, as a
public calamity. The funeral ceremonies at Leipzig were of a most
imposing character, and all the way from Leipzig to Berlin, where
the corpse was taken, to be buried in the family vault, the most
touching honors greeted it. Nearly all the crowned heads of Europe
wrote letters of condolence to his widow.
Mendelssohn as a musician is profoundly original. In his oratorios
"Paul" and "Elijah" he has swerved from the conventional religious
style; eschewing all fugues, his oratorios are full of power, and
contain great dramatic effects--at once grand and solemn. His other
music is remarkable for the sweetness of its melodies--its earnest
simplicity. His instrumentality is scientific without being
pedantic or heavy, and utterly devoid of antiquated formalism;
though pathetic often, there is always a vigor and life in all his
inspirations; the low mournful wail that runs through all Chopin's
works, arising from a morbid condition of health and heart, is
never felt in Mendelssohn. There is none of the bitterness, the
long suffering that artists' lives entail and that artists infuse
into their works, for Mendelssohn was a happy man from first to
last.
Mendelssohn the happy, "the boy born on a lucky day," has left a
life-record that amid the gloomy heart-rending and often degrading
histories of artists, shines with a chaste and holy life. Nature,
the world and circumstance had done every thing for him. To the
great and all-sufficient gift of his musical genius he added many
others,--he had the eye of a painter, the heart of a poet, his
intellect was of the highest order; he was tall, handsome,
graceful, his social position one of the finest in Berlin, rich,
and surrounded by the tenderest family affections. With all these
advantages, with all the success that | 864.835717 |
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State of the Union Addresses of John Quincy Adams
The addresses are separated by three asterisks: ***
Dates of addresses by John Quincy Adams in this eBook:
December 6, 1825
December 5, 1826
December 4, 1827
December 2, 1828
***
State of the Union Address
John Quincy Adams
December 6, 1825
Fellow Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives:
In taking a general survey of the concerns of our beloved country, with
reference to subjects interesting to the common welfare, the first
sentiment which impresses itself upon the mind is of gratitude to the
Omnipotent Disposer of All Good for the continuance of the signal
blessings of His providence, and especially for that health which to an
unusual extent has prevailed within our borders, and for that abundance
which in the vicissitudes of the seasons has been scattered with
profusion over our land. Nor ought we less to ascribe to Him the glory
that we are permitted to enjoy the bounties of His hand in peace and
tranquillity--in peace with all the other nations of the earth, in
tranquillity among our selves. There has, indeed, rarely been a period
in the history of civilized man in which the general condition of the
Christian nations has been marked so extensively by peace and
prosperity.
Europe, with a few partial and unhappy exceptions, has enjoyed ten
years of peace, during which all her Governments, what ever the theory
of their constitutions may have been, are successively taught to feel
that the end of their institution is the happiness of the people, and
that the exercise of power among men can be justified only by the
blessings it confers upon those over whom it is extended.
During the same period our intercourse with all those nations has been
pacific and friendly; it so continues. Since the close of your last
session no material variation has occurred in our relations with any
one of them. In the commercial and navigation system of Great Britain
important changes of municipal regulation have recently been sanctioned
by acts of Parliament, the effect of which upon the interests of other
nations, and particularly upon ours, has not yet been fully developed.
In the recent renewal of the diplomatic missions on both sides between
the two Governments assurances have been given and received of the
continuance and increase of the mutual confidence and cordiality by
which the adjustment of many points of difference had already been
effected, and which affords the surest pledge for the ultimate
satisfactory adjustment of those which still remain open or may
hereafter arise.
The policy of the United States in their commercial intercourse with
other nations has always been of the most liberal character. In the
mutual exchange of their respective productions they have abstained
altogether from prohibitions; they have interdicted themselves the
power of laying taxes upon exports, and when ever they have favored
their own shipping by special preferences or exclusive privileges in
their own ports it has been only with a view to countervail similar
favors and exclusions granted by the nations with whom we have been
engaged in traffic to their own people or shipping, and to the
disadvantage of ours. Immediately after the close of the last war a
proposal was fairly made by the act of Congress of March 3rd, 1815, to
all the maritime nations to lay aside the system of retaliating
restrictions and exclusions, and to place the shipping of both parties
to the common trade on a footing of equality in respect to the duties
of tonnage and impost. This offer was partially and successively
accepted by Great Britain, Sweden, the Netherlands, the Hanseatic
cities, Prussia, Sardinia, the Duke of Oldenburg, and Russia. It was
also adopted, under certain modifications, in our late commercial
convention with France, and by the act of Congress of January 1st,
1824, it has received a new confirmation with all the nations who had
acceded to it, and has been offered again to all those who are or may
here after be willing to abide in reciprocity by it. But all these
regulations, whether established by treaty or by municipal enactments,
are still subject to one important restriction.
The removal of discriminating duties of tonnage and of impost is
limited to articles of the growth, produce, or manufacture of the
country to which the vessel belongs or to such articles as are most
usually first shipped from her ports. It will deserve the serious
consideration of Congress whether even this remnant of restriction may
not be safely abandoned, and whether the general tender of equal
competition made in the act of January 8th, 1824, maynot be extended to
include all articles of merchandise not prohibited, of what country so
ever they may be the produce or manufacture. Propositions of this
effect have already been made to us by more than one European
Government, and it is probable that if once established by legislation
or compact with any distinguished maritime state it would recommend
itself by the experience of its advantages to the general accession of
all.
The convention of commerce and navigation between the United States and
France, concluded on June 24th, 1822, was, in the understanding and
intent of both parties, as appears | 864.836427 |
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The Little Maid of Israel.
BY
Emma Howard Wight.
SECOND EDITION
ST. LOUIS, MO., 1910
PUBLISHED BY B. HERDER
17 SOUTH BROADWAY
FREIBURG (BADEN) LONDON, W. C.
GERMANY 68, GREAT RUSSELL ST.
Copyright, 1900, by Jos. Gummersbach.
-- BECKTOLD --
PRINTING AND BOOK MFG. CO.
ST. LOUIS, MO.
THE LITTLE MAID OF ISRAEL.
BY EMMA HOWARD WIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
In the Land of Israel, not a great distance from the city of Samaria,
dwelt Ezra with his wife, Sarah, and their two children, Isaac and
Leah. The sun was sinking behind the hills as Ezra and Sarah sat before
the door of their humble dwelling resting after the labors of the day.
On a couch in the doorway reclined a youth with a pale, sickly face and
emaciated limbs. Isaac, the eldest-born of Ezra and Sarah, had been
a <DW36> from birth. His eyes, dull and languid from constant pain,
tired and sad, were fixed eagerly upon the wide white road stretching
away in the distance until it was lost among the hills.
At length, with an impatient sigh, he turned his pale, wan face towards
his mother and said:
"See, mother, the sun has nearly set; why tarryeth Leah so long? 'Twas
but sunrise when she did set out for Samaria, surely she should have
returned ere this."
"Thou dost forget, my son, that thy sister had much to do in Samaria,"
replied Sarah, soothingly. "First to dispose of the fruits and then to
purchase necessities for our household; also the ass of our neighbor
being old and stiff, can travel but slowly."
"All that thou urgeth be true, mother," exclaimed the lad, petulantly.
"But my sister has ever the same tasks, still she always returned
from Samaria before the setting of the sun. I fear that some ill hath
befallen her," and his lip quivered with pain while his large, soft
eyes dilated with fear.
"How now, lad! why dost thou frighten thy mother with thy sickly
fancies?" cried Ezra, impatiently, as Sarah's cheek grew pale. "What
ill could have befallen thy sister?"
"She may have fallen into the hands of the Syrians, whom thou knoweth
do make raids into our country and carry off captives," answered the
lad, tremulously. "Oh, if I were only as other lads these burdens
should not fall upon the weak shoulders of a maiden. 'Twould be I who
would journey into Samaria with the fruits," and tears of bitter pain
and humiliation filled his eyes.
Sarah leaned forward and gently smoothed back the dark, curling hair
from his white brow.
"Speak not thus, my son," she murmured, with infinite tenderness. "Thy
mother loveth thee but the more tenderly because of thy affliction,
and well dost thou know how thy sister's heart yearneth over thee."
A faint smile touched the lad's pale lips.
"Ah, mother," he said, "it is wicked of me to repine at my affliction
when thou and my sister, Leah, do love me so well. But, oh, mother, if
I were but strong and whole," and, covering his face with his hands, he
sobbed aloud.
"Look up, lad, and dry thy tears, for yonder cometh our Leah," cried
Ezra.
With an exclamation of joy, Isaac obeyed, and, lifting himself eagerly
upon his elbow, watched with joyous eyes, the slow approach of an ass
upon which was seated a maiden.
Ezra went forward and lifted her to the ground.
"Leah! sister! thou art come at last!" cried Isaac.
She ran to the couch and bent over him; his weak arms clasped her neck,
his eyes looked lovingly into her face.
The brother and sister had the same fine-cut features and beautiful,
soft, dark eyes, but the lad's face was white and wan, while the rich
bloom of health the cheeks and lips of the maiden. Her dark
hair, curly and silken, fell to her waist; she was slenderly built, but
erect, graceful and quick of movement.
"Why didst thou tarry so long, my child?" asked Sarah. "Thy brother has
sorely fretted, fearing that some ill had befallen thee."
"I am sorry that thou didst fret, brother," said the maiden, bending to
kiss his pale brow.
"Hadst thou trouble in disposing of the fruits, maiden?" asked Ezra.
"No, dear father," replied Leah, turning towards him with a smile. "I
was but a little while selling the fruits and making the purchases for
my mother."
"Then it was the slowness of | 864.836675 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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THE LIFE OF A CELEBRATED BUCCANEER
_A PAGE OF PAST HISTORY FOR THE USE OF THE CHILDREN OF TO-DAY_
BY RICHARD CLYNTON
LONDON
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO.
PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1889
LIFE OF A CELEBRATED BUCCANEER.
CHAPTER I.
Once upon a time there lived on an island, separated from the main land
of Europe by a silver streak of the ocean, a celebrated Buccaneer.
There was a rugged grandeur about the rock-bound coast of this island,
with its bluff, bold headlands and beetling cliffs, where the sea birds
loved to make their nests high up above the spray; mingling their cries
with the voice of the ocean as it rushed into its wide and deep throated
caverns. The waves, too, worked ever, and for ever, a broad fretwork
collar round these rocky shores. Unlucky was the ship that found this
island on her lee in a gale of wind. Many a child had been made
fatherless there, and many a wife a widow. But to those who knew how to
thread their way through the many channels, numerous bays, creeks, and
rivers, offered a safe retreat either from the storm or from an enemy.
This island was a fit home for one following the profession of a
Buccaneer. Its natural advantages were extremely great; for not only was
it difficult of access, but its innumerable big throated caverns opened
their wide jaws ready to receive anything that floated in from the
ocean. However, this bold pirate did such a good business, that in a
short time these caves became too small, so he had to build wharves and
warehouses to hold his plunder; for he lived in such an age, and was
surrounded by such unprincipled people, that he could not leave his
things lying about on the shore. Besides which, the climate was not
good, being frequently visited by fogs, gales of wind, and very heavy
rains.
Soon villages rose up; then towns, which in their turn grew into great
cities, the principal of which were generally planted by the side of
some one of his many rivers. Soon the bays and rivers became crowded
with ships, and the shores were busy scenes of industry. Cargoes were
being landed. Sails were being made and repaired; ropes overhauled and
restranded, and the smell of the pitch caldrons rose up and mingled with
the salt air blown in fresh from the sea. Shipwrights' hammers resounded
along the shores, and were echoed back by the beetling cliffs. While the
men worked, the women sang, and the chubby-faced, fair-haired children
played about on the beach.
To those who ask how our bold Buccaneer acquired most of his property,
it must be answered that it came to him in a manner usual in those
times. Everybody laid their hands upon what they could, and then devoted
all their spare time and energy to the keeping of it. Title deeds were
for the most part written in blood, with a sharp-pointed one-nibbed
steel pen. When we live in Rome we must do as the Romans do, and we must
not set up to be better than our neighbours, that is, if we wish to
prosper, and when all the world is going in for universal plunder it
does not pay to stand on one side, with hands idle, arms folded, and
eyes upturned to heaven, saying that people are wicked. Needs must when
the devil drives.
It has been a time-honoured custom to rob and kill, so that riches may
be laid up; then it becomes the duty of all to watch lest the thief
breaks through and steals. This primitive method of doing business is
now justly condemned, and all nations pay at least a tribute to virtue,
by flinging a cloth over any shady action. But nations even now have to
maintain their dignity. Insults have to be resented, and ambitious
designs have to be frustrated. Battles are fought, and people are
slaughtered, and some one, as the saying is, has to pay the piper.
It would almost seem, by a contemplation of things in general, that man
by nature is a robber, the action changing its colour according to the
atmosphere that people have to live in. In barbarous ages the act of
plunder is done openly, and a fellow-creature is sent about his
business, either with a broken head or with a spear through his body,
and there is an end to him, and perhaps the world is not much the
poorer. That honesty is the best policy is, by experience, forced upon
us; but even now, in our most enlightened age, the individual will at
times adulterate his liquor, sand his sugar, and sell short weight,
though he may try to sanctify the deed by saying his prayers before and
after; thus adding somewhat to the general stock of humbugs, hypocrites,
and Pharisees. But to our story.
It was a noble sight to see this bold Buccaneer getting under weigh with
his fleet of ships. Clack, clack went the windlasses, and his brave lads
could be heard singing as they lifted their anchors a peak--
Merrily round our capstans go
As we heave in the slack of our chain,
Into our sails the north winds blow
As we bear away from the main.
Yo ho, my lads, heave ho!
Home went the sheets. Up went the yards, and the sails bellied out to
the wind. On the shores crowded the women and children. The little ones
with shock heads of curly hair, the sport of the breeze, crying after
their fathers, holding up their tearful little faces for the sea-breeze
to kiss. The wives wishing their brave lads a prosperous voyage, and a
safe return, with plenty of plunder. Silks and spices from the East, and
gold and silver from the West, or wherever they could find it. Away went
the ships, with their white canvas spread like the wings of a seagull.
Soon the hulls were down, and the white specks, after lingering for a
while upon the far-off horizon, sank beneath and vanished. Then sending
a sigh after their mates on the wings of the north wind, the women
returned to their homes and sang their young sea whelps to sleep, with
lullabies tuned to the daring deeds of their fathers.
CHAPTER II.
Things in this world do not remain shady long. Time works wonders and
throws the halo of romance over the darkest deeds. See what time and
romance have done for William Tell. Look at your Alexander and your
Frederick; are not they both called great? Ah! these two were conquerors
not plunderers; and there lies the difference, though perhaps Maria
Theresa and one or two others might have had something to say against
one of these fine fellows. Then there is Robin Hood. Have not time and
romance completely changed the aspect of that, at one time, bold and
notorious outlaw? For over fifty years did this jolly robber enjoy
himself upon other people's property. Look too at the numerous other
gentlemen of the road; your crusaders and adventurers in early times.
What were the hardy Norsemen, of whom we love to sing? There is
something very attractive about your robber, no matter whether he
carries on his profession by sea or land, the only thing needful being,
to study him at a distance, and through the halo of this said romance.
If it were not for the world's great robbers what would historians have
to record; what would poets have to sing about? If they had to confine
themselves to the virtuous actions, to the good that is done, their
occupation would be gone. The chronicling of small beer is a waste of
labour.
But there comes a time when the very worst of sinners are troubled by
that mysterious part of the human economy known by the name of
conscience. This conscience is at times a veritable tyrant, saying what
we shall eat, what we shall drink, and what we shall do. To the many the
matter is not one of difficulty. If they have to make their way in the
world, conscience is either thrown overboard, or put under hatches until
such times as it is wanted. Then it comes up all the fresher for its
temporary retirement, and is, generally speaking, very exacting.
The disposition to repent of the evil we have done is not confined
either to age, time, or sex happily. The call comes perhaps, more often,
and earlier, to women than it does to men. Jezebel was not altogether as
good as she ought to have been, but even she might have turned over a
new leaf, and have become a most respectable saint, had not misfortune
thrown her across the path of that impetuous fellow Jehu, with the
result that she was, as every one knows, thrown out of a window. Had
Jezebel lived in the Buccaneer island in his later days, and had she
been young and beautiful, and the paint not too thick upon her face, she
might have been tried for some small act of indiscretion, such for
instance as that trifling incident about Naboth; but probably she would
have been acquitted, when no doubt she would have left the court without
a stain upon her character, and would have been an object of sympathy
ever after. This lady has left a numerous family of daughters behind
her, many of whom, however, turn over new leaves, and having been
considerable sinners, become the most straight-laced, unpitying, and
uncharitable of sour-faced saints. Poor Jezebel the first was never
given a chance. She lived too soon.
But to the point. The time came when our bold Buccaneer | 864.840357 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.8204350 | 997 | 6 |
Produced by Julia Miller and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from scans of public domain material produced by
Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)
[Illustration: George Jones.
Drawn by F.S. Agate. Eng. by A.B. Durand.]
AN
ORIGINAL HISTORY
OF
ANCIENT AMERICA.
Founded upon the
RUINS OF ANTIQUITY:
_THE_
Identity of the Aborigines
with the People of
TYRUS AND ISRAEL:
and the Introduction of Christianity by
THE APOSTLE S^T. THOMAS.
_BY_
GEORGE JONES, R.S.I: M.F.S.V: &c.
[Illustration: Moses holding the Ten Commandments]
_DEDICATED TO HIS GRACE_
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
Published by Longman, Brown, Green & Longmans, London.
Harper & Brothers, New-York.
Alexander Duncker, Berlin.
& Frederick Kliencksieck, Paris.
1843.
THE
HISTORY
OF
ANCIENT AMERICA,
ANTERIOR TO THE TIME OF COLUMBUS;
PROVING
THE IDENTITY OF THE ABORIGINES
WITH
THE TYRIANS AND ISRAELITES;
AND
THE INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY
INTO THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
BY THE APOSTLE ST. THOMAS.
BY
GEORGE JONES, M.R.S.I., F.S.V.
=THE TYRIAN ÆRA.=
SECOND EDITION.
PUBLISHED BY
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS, LONDON;
HARPER AND BROTHERS, NEW-YORK;
ALEXANDER DUNCKER, BERLIN; AND FREDERICK
KLINCKSIECK, PARIS.
1843.
C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE.
D e d i c a t i o n.
TO
HIS GRACE
THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
&c. &c. &c.
YOUR GRACE,
Upon the completion of the Tyrian Æra of this Work, I submitted the
outline to an Illustrious Prince, whose urbanity and amiability are
not the least of his high qualities claiming admiration; and in
reference to my desire of Dedication, replied: "* * * With respect to
the request preferred, His Royal Highness thinks,--especially with
reference to _the subject-matter_ of the present historic Work, that
it would be far better to select for the Dedication, _some Theologian
of high rank in the Sacred Profession, and eminent for his Learning
and Piety_, under whose auspices would more appropriately be placed,
than under his own, the Original History of Ancient America. * * *"
The suggestion and description thus expressed by His Royal
Highness--and from one in such an august station,--evidently
contemplate The Primate.
The answer of Your Grace to my letter upon the subject,--my sense of
obedience to the suggestion of His Royal Highness (who has honoured me
as his visitor and guest)--and my own feelings of profound veneration
for Your Grace;--together with the importance of historically
establishing the fulfilment of additional prophecies by ISAIAH,--the
Introduction of Christianity into the Western Hemisphere by one of The
Twelve Apostles--_in person_;--the Founding of Ancient America more
than three centuries previous to that Sacred event,--with the Identity
of the Aborigines, and thus unfolding additional Truths of The
Bible,--being of that Character to call forth attention from every
part of the Globe, where Civilization is known, or the Divine
Blessings of Religion are received and appreciated;--these
considerations all assure me that in Dedicating to Your Grace the
Original History of Ancient America, I but follow the dictates of an
imperative duty;--and shall cherish the hope that my literary labours
upon this novel subject, will receive the fostering protection of
one, whose Life, Learning, and Piety, are alike conspicuous,--and who,
by their triple power,--has been enabled to dare fearless comparisons
with the past,--to continue blessings to the present,--and to create
examples of faith and | 864.840475 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.8223400 | 962 | 34 |
Produced by sp1nd, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note: Italic text is indicated by _underscores_; boldface
text is indicated by =equals signs=.
English Men of Action
MONK
[Illustration]
[Illustration: MONK
From a Miniature by SAMUEL COOPER in the Royal Collection at Windsor]
MONK
BY
JULIAN CORBETT
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1889
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
DEVONSHIRE AND FOREIGN SERVICE 1
CHAPTER II
FOR KING AND PARLIAMENT 15
CHAPTER III
THE KING'S COMMISSION 33
CHAPTER IV
THE PARLIAMENT'S COMMISSION 46
CHAPTER V
THE TREATY WITH THE IRISH NATIONALISTS 56
CHAPTER VI
CROMWELL'S NEW LIEUTENANT 69
CHAPTER VII
GENERAL-AT-SEA 83
CHAPTER VIII
GOVERNOR OF SCOTLAND 95
CHAPTER IX
THE ABORTIVE PRONUNCIAMENTO 116
CHAPTER X
THE NEGLECTED QUANTITY 129
CHAPTER XI
THE BLOODLESS CAMPAIGN 144
CHAPTER XII
ON THE WINGS OF THE STORM 160
CHAPTER XIII
THE UNCROWNED KING 178
CHAPTER XIV
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY 195
CHAPTER I
DEVONSHIRE AND FOREIGN SERVICE
In the middle of September, 1625, the great expedition by which
Charles the First and Buckingham meant to revenge themselves upon the
Spaniards for the ignominious failure of their escapade to Madrid was
still choking Plymouth harbour with disorder and confusion. Impatient
to renew the glories of Drake and Raleigh and Essex, the young King
went down in person to hasten its departure. Great receptions were
prepared for him at the principal points of his route, and bitter was
the disappointment at Exeter that he was not to visit the city. For
the plague was raging within its walls, and while holiday was kept
everywhere else, the shadow of death was upon the ancient capital of
the west.
Hardly, however, had the King passed them by when the citizens had
a new excitement of their own. The noise of a quarrel broke in upon
the gloom of the stricken city. Those within hearing ran to the spot
and found a sight worth seeing. For there in the light of day, under
the King's very nose, as it were, a stalwart young gentleman of about
sixteen years of age was thrashing the under-sheriff of Devonshire
within an inch of his life. With some difficulty, so furious was his
assault, the lad was dragged off his victim before grievous bodily harm
was done, and people began to inquire what it was all about.
Every one must have known young George Monk, who lived with his
grandfather, Sir George Smith, at Heavytree, close to Exeter. Sir
George Smith of Maydford was a great Exeter magnate, and his grandson
and godson George belonged to one of the best families in Devonshire,
and was connected with half the rest; and had they known how the
handsome boy was avenging the family honour in his own characteristic
way, they would certainly have sympathised with him for the scrape he
was in.
For the honour of the Monks of Potheridge in North Devon was a very
serious thing. There for seventeen generations the family had lived.
Ever since Henry the Third was King they had looked down from their
high-perched manor-house over the lovely valley of the Torridge just
where the river doubles upon itself in three majestic sweeps as though
it were loath to leave a spot so beautiful. By dint of judicious
marriages they had managed to be still prosperous and well connected.
It was no secret indeed that they claimed royal blood by two descents
on the distaff side. For the grandmother of George's father, Sir
Thomas, was Frances Plantagenet, daughter and co-heiress of Arthur
Plantagen | 864.84238 |
2023-11-16 18:31:28.9208300 | 2,222 | 15 | Project Gutenberg Etext of Different Forms of Flowers, by Charles Darwin
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2023-11-16 18:31:29.0178220 | 2,332 | 37 |
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Separation and Service
OR
THOUGHTS ON
NUMBERS VI, VII.
BY
J. HUDSON TAYLOR.
London
MORGAN & SCOTT, 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
CHINA INLAND MISSION, NEWINGTON GREEN, N.
PRINTED BY
WOODFALL AND KINDER, LONG ACRE
LONDON
CONTENTS.
Separation and Service.
PAGE
Introductory 7
PART I.
SEPARATION TO GOD: Numbers vi, 1-21.
Institution of the Order of Nazarites 11
Implicit Obedience 13
Entire Consecration 16
Holiness to the LORD 19
Unwitting Defilement 22
The Heinousness of Sin 23
Cleansing only through Sacrifice 25
Acceptance only in CHRIST 27
The Presentation of the Nazarites 33
The Law of the Offerings 35
The Burnt-Offering 39
The Sin and Peace-Offerings 41
PART II.
THE BLESSING OF GOD: Numbers vi, 22-27.
Why Found Here? 44
The Real Meaning of Blessing 49
The Three-fold Benediction 52
The Blessing of the FATHER 53
The Second Person of the Trinity 60
The Blessing of the SON and BRIDEGROOM 63
The LORD, the SPIRIT 70
The Blessing of the HOLY SPIRIT 73
Sealing with the Name of GOD 80
PART III.
PRINCELY SERVICE: Numbers vii.
The Constraint of Love 89
GOD'S Delight in Love-gifts 90
Free-will Offerings 93
Gladsome Acceptance 96
According to his Service 101
The Dedicatory Offerings 107
The Display of the Gifts 109
The Person of the Offerer 113
The Importance of the Altar 117
Separation and Service.
Numbers vi, vii.
INTRODUCTORY.
For many years these chapters had no special interest to me; but I have
never ceased to be thankful that I was early led to read the Word of GOD
in regular course: it was through this habit that these chapters first
became specially precious to me. I was travelling on a missionary tour
in the province of CHEH-KIANG, and had to pass the night in a very
wicked town. All the inns were dreadful places; and the people seemed to
have their consciences seared, and their hearts sealed against the
Truth. My own heart was oppressed, and could find no relief; and I awoke
the next morning much cast down, and feeling spiritually hungry and
thirsty indeed.
On opening my Bible at the seventh chapter of Numbers, I felt as though
I could not then read that long chapter of repetitions; that I _must_
turn to some chapter that would feed my soul. And yet I was not happy in
leaving my regular portion; so after a little conflict I resolved to
read it, praying to GOD to bless me, even through Numb. vii. I fear
there was not much faith in the prayer; but oh! how abundantly it was
answered, and what a feast GOD gave me! He revealed to me His own great
heart of love, and gave me the key to understand this and the previous
chapter as never before. May GOD make our meditations upon them as
helpful to others as they were then and have ever since continued to be
to myself.
Much is revealed in these chapters in germ which is more fully brought
out in the New Testament. Under the Old Covenant many blessings were
enjoyed in measure and for a season, which in this dispensation are ours
in their fulness and permanence. For instance, the atoning sacrifices of
the seventh month had to be repeated every year; but CHRIST, in offering
Himself once for all, perfected for ever them that are sanctified. The
Psalmist needed to pray, "Take not Thy HOLY SPIRIT from me;" but CHRIST
has given us the COMFORTER to abide with us for ever. In like manner the
Israelite might vow the vow of a Nazarite and separate himself unto GOD
for a season; but it is the privilege of the Christian believer to know
himself as always separated to GOD. Many other lessons, which are
hidden from careless and superficial readers, are suggested by these
chapters, which the HOLY SPIRIT will reveal to prayerful students of His
most precious and most perfect Book.
The portions we have selected consist of first a short chapter, and then
a very long one, which at first sight appears to have no special
connection with it. But on more careful reflection we shall see that the
order of the subjects referred to shows that there is really a natural
and close connection between them. We shall find that Separation to GOD
is followed by Blessing from GOD; and that those who receive large
blessing from Him, in turn render to Him acceptable Service: service in
which GOD takes delight, and which He places in everlasting
remembrance.
PART I.
Separation to GOD.
NUMB. VI. 1-21.
THE INSTITUTION OF THE ORDER OF NAZARITES.
The first twenty-one verses of Numb. vi. give us an account of the
institution and ordinances of the order of Nazarites. And let us note at
the outset that this institution, like every other good and perfect
gift, came from above; that GOD Himself gave this privilege--unasked--to
His people; thereby showing His desire that "whosoever will" of His
people may be brought into closest relationship to Himself.
It was very gracious of GOD to _permit_ His people to become Nazarites.
Israel might have been "a kingdom of priests;" but through their own sin
they had nationally forfeited this privilege, and a special family had
been set apart to the priesthood. GOD, however, still opened the way for
individuals who wished to draw near to Him to do so, and for any period
which their own hearts might dictate.
But it is important to notice that though the vow might only be one of
temporary consecration, yet it involved while it lasted an
ABSOLUTE ACCEPTANCE
of the will of GOD, even in regard to matters which might appear trivial
and unimportant. So, in the present day, GOD is willing to give to His
people fulness of blessing, but it must be on His own lines. Though we
are not our own, it is, alas! possible to live as though we were;
devotion to GOD is still a voluntary thing; hence the differences of
attainment among Christians. While salvation is a free gift, the
"winning CHRIST" can only be through unreserved consecration and
unquestioning obedience. Nor is this a hardship, but the highest
privilege.
Let us now look into the law of the Nazarite.
IMPLICIT OBEDIENCE: verses 3, 4.
_"He shall separate himself from wine and strong drink, and shall
drink no vinegar of wine, or vinegar of strong drink, neither shall
he drink any liquor of grapes, nor eat moist grapes, or dried. All
the days of his separation shall he eat nothing that is made of the
vine tree, from the kernels even to the husk."_
The first thing that we note is, that as the obedience of Adam was
tested in the Garden by the prohibition of one tree--a tree pleasant to
look upon, and good for food--so was the obedience of the Nazarite
tested. He was not forbidden to eat poison berries, nor was he merely
required to abstain from the wine and strong drink which might easily
become a snare; fresh grapes and dried raisins were equally prohibited.
It was not that the thing was harmful in itself, but that the doing the
will of GOD, in a matter of seeming indifference, was essential to his
acceptance.
Not less true is this of the Christian Nazarite. Whether he eat or
drink, or whatsoever he do, the will of GOD and not self-indulgence must
be his one aim. Christians often get into perplexity about worldly
allurements by asking, Where is the sin of this, or the danger of that?
There _may_ be danger that the questioner cannot see: Satan's baits
often skilfully conceal a sharp hook; but supposing that the thing be
harmless, it does not follow that it would be pleasing to GOD, or
spiritually helpful.
The fruit of the vine is a type of earth-born pleasures; those who would
enjoy Nazarite nearness to GOD must count His love "better than wine."
To win CHRIST, the Apostle Paul gladly suffered the loss of all things,
and counted them as dross and dung for the excellency of the knowledge
of CHRIST JESUS his LORD. The things he gave up were not bad things, but
good--things that in themselves were gain to him; and CHRIST Himself for
our redemption emptied Himself, and came to seek not His own, but the
will of Him that sent Him.
The highest service demands the greatest sacrifice, but it secures the
fullest blessing and the greatest fruitfulness. CHRIST _could not remain
in His FATHER'S bosom and redeem the world; missionaries cannot win the
heathen and enjoy their home surroundings; nor can they be adequately
sustained without the loving sacrifices of many friends and donors. You,
dear reader, know the MASTER'S choice; what is YOURS? is it to do His
will even if it mean to leave all for Him, to give all to Him?_
ENTIRE CONSECRATION: verse 5.
_"All the days of the vow of his separation there shall no razor come
upon his head: until the days be fulfilled, in the which he separateth
himself unto the LORD, he shall be holy, and shall let the locks of
the hair of his head grow."_
We have already seen that GOD tested the obedience of the Nazarite in
the matter of food: pleasing GOD was rather to be chosen than the most
tempting cluster of grapes. But in the foregoing words we find that his
obedience is further tested, and this in a way which to many might prove
a more severe trial. GOD | 865.037862 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.0233040 | 2,322 | 28 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
SONS AND DAUGHTERS
SONS AND DAUGHTERS
_A NOVEL_
BY
MRS OLIPHANT
SECOND EDITION
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCXCI
SONS AND DAUGHTERS.
CHAPTER I.
“Then you will not take the share in the business which I have offered
you?”
“No, I think not, sir. I don’t like it. I don’t like the way in which it
is worked. It would be entirely out of accordance with all my training.”
“So much the worse for your training--and for you,” said Mr Burton,
hastily.
“Well, sir, perhaps so. I feel it’s ungenerous to say that the training
was your own choice, not mine. I think it, of course, the best training
in the world.”
“So it is--so it was when I selected it for you. There’s no harm in the
training. Few boys come out of it with your ridiculous prejudices
against their bread and butter. It’s not the training, it’s you--that
are a fool, Gervase.”
“Perhaps so, sir,” said the young man with great gravity. “I can offer
no opinion on that subject.”
The father and son were seated together in a well-furnished library in a
large house in Harley Street--not fashionable, but extremely
comfortable, spacious, expensive, and dignified. It was a library in the
truest sense of the word, and not merely the “gentleman’s room” in which
the male portion of a family takes refuge. There was an excellent
collection of books on the shelves that lined the walls, a few good
pictures, a bust or two placed high on the tops of the bookcases. It
bore signs, besides, of constant occupation, and of being, in short, the
room in which its present occupants lived--which was the fact. They were
all their family. Mrs Burton had died years before, and her husband had
after her death lived only for his boy and--his business. The latter
devotion kept everything that was sentimental out of the former. He was
very kind and indulgent to Gervase, and gave him the ideal English
education--the education of an English gentleman: five or six years at
Eton, three or four at Oxford. He intended to do, and did, his son
“every justice.” Expense had never been spared in any way. Though he
did not himself care for shooting, he had taken a moor in the Highlands
for several successive seasons, in order that his boy should be familiar
with that habit of the higher classes. Though he hated travelling, he
had gone abroad for the same purpose. Gervase had never been stinted in
anything: he had a good allowance, rooms handsomely furnished, horses at
his disposal, everything that heart could desire. And he on his part had
done all that could be desired or expected from a young man. If he had
not electrified his tutors and masters, he had not disappointed them. He
had done very well all round. His father had no reason to be otherwise
than proud of his son. Both at school and college he had done well; he
had got into no scrapes. He had even acquired a little distinction; not
much, not enough to spoil him either for business or society--yet
something, enough to enable people to say, “He did very well at Oxford.”
And he had made some good friends, which perhaps was what his father
prized most. One or two scions of noble houses came to Harley Street to
see him; he had invitations from a few fine people for their country
houses, and ladies of note who had a number of daughters were disposed
to smile upon the merchant’s son. All these things pleased Mr Burton
much, and he had been quite willing to assent to his son’s wish that he
should end and complete his experiences by a visit to America, before
beginning the work which had always been his final destination. He had
now just returned from that expedition, and it had been intended that he
should step at once into his place in the business--that business which
was as good as, nay, much better than, an estate. Up to this time the
young man had made no objection to the plan, which he was perfectly
acquainted with. So far as his father knew, he was as well disposed
towards that plan as Mr Burton himself, and looked forward to it with as
much satisfaction. It may therefore be supposed that it was with no
small consternation, with displeasure, disappointment, and indignation,
one greater than the other, that the father had sat and listened to the
sudden and astounding protest of the son. Not go into the business! It
was to Mr Burton as if a man had refused to go to heaven; indeed it was
less reasonable by far: for though going to heaven is supposed to be the
height of everybody’s desire, even the most pious of clergymen has been
known to say “God forbid!” when he has been warned that he stands on the
brink of another world. One would wish generally to postpone that
highest of consummations; but to refuse to go into the business was a
thing incredible. Mr Burton had raged and stormed, but afterwards he had
been brought into partial calm through the evident impossibility of
treating his son in any other way. To scold Gervase was practically
impossible. To treat him like a child or a fool was a thing that could
not be done. His own composure naturally affected all who had to do
with him, and his father among the rest. That passionate speaking or
abuse, or violence of any kind, should fall dumb before his easy and
immovable quiet, was inevitable. He had waited till the outburst was
over, and then he had gone on.
“And what else then, if not in my office, do you mean to do?” Mr Burton
now said.
“I suppose, sir,” said Gervase, “I am right in believing, as everybody
does, that you are a rich man?”
“Well; and what then?” said the merchant, with a wave of his hand.
“And I am your only child.”
“Of that, at least, there can be no doubt. But I repeat, what then?”
“I may be wrong,” said Gervase, ingenuously, “but at least everybody
says--that every means of making an income is pursued by crowds of
people, more than can ever hope to make an income by it. I may not state
the facts so clearly as I wish.”
“There are more men wanting work than there is work to give them. I
suppose that’s what you mean.”
“Far better said than I could say it. In that case, my dear father,”
said Gervase, with a look of imperturbable reason and candour, “why
should I, who have no need to work and no desire for it, help to crowd
the already overcrowded field?”
Mr Burton gave a start like an excited horse, and evidently had to make
an effort to restrain the corresponding burst of utterance. But the
conviction that these impatient outbursts did more harm than good
restrained him. He said with simulated calm--
“I am not aware that there is any crowd--at my gates, to force an
entrance into _my_ business--to the place which I have naturally
reserved for my son.”
“My dear father,” Gervase repeated, with an almost caressing frankness
and appeal to his superior judgment, “there are hundreds who could do it
much better than your son. There is Wickham’s son----”
“Try not to drive me beyond the bounds of patience,” cried the merchant,
with suppressed excitement. “Wickham’s son--my old clerk----”
“Who has served you most faithfully for years. And Charlie Wickham is
worth twenty of me--in all that concerns business----”
“That’s not saying very much,” cried Mr Burton, with a snort of rage.
“I am sorry you should say that, sir--for, of course, it shows that you
thought I would be a mere cipher in the business; whereas I am sure
Charlie----”
“Look here, Gervase,” cried his father. “Let’s understand each other.
You are free to come in and prepare yourself to take my place, which
would be the course of nature; but if you don’t think fit to do this, I
have no desire for your advice. I don’t believe in your advice. Keep
your suggestions to yourself. As for your Wickhams---- If I bring in
anybody in your place, I’ll bring in new blood. I’ll bring in more
money. I’ll----” He felt himself getting hot and excited--and the calm
and slightly wondering countenance of his son, although seen through a
mist of irritation, and apt to send any man dancing with fury, yet held
him in as with a bridle, so strong was the superiority of the calm to
the excitement. “Try not to drive me beyond the bounds of patience,” he
said.
“Well, sir?” replied Gervase, spreading out his hands and slightly
elevating his shoulders. The gesture was French, which irritated Mr
Burton more and more: but he said nothing further; and it was not till
he had taken up the ‘St James’s Gazette’ which lay on the table, and
read through two of those soothing articles on nothing particular with
which that journal abounds, and which the merchant in his anger read
from beginning to end without the slightest idea what they were about,
that he allowed himself to speak again. He was then preternaturally
tranquil, with a quietude like that of an anchorite in his voice.
“I suppose,” he said, “that you have taken everything into account in
making this decision--Miss Thursley, for instance--and given up all idea
of marriage, or anything of that kind?”
Gervase’s quiet looks became slightly disturbed. He looked up with a
certain eagerness. “Given up?----” he said.
“Of course,” said Mr Burton, delighted to have got the mastery, “you
can’t marry--a girl accustomed to every luxury--on your boy’s allowance.
Five hundred a-year is not much--it might do for her pin-money, with a
little perhaps to the good for your button-holes. But what you would
live upon, in the more serious sense of the words, I don’t know.”
The young man’s | 865.043344 |
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Produced by Brian Coe, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
There are five occurrences of a regimental badge identity portrayed as
a large-text fraction without a -- under the 'numerator'. These have
been modified in the etext to V/D.G. 7/DG 4/H XX/H and XXI/H.
The two footnotes in the text have been placed at the end of the
section where the reference (anchor) is.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
THE
REGIMENTAL RECORDS
OF THE
BRITISH ARMY.
_Publisher's Announcement._
=British Regiments in War and Peace.=
I. THE RIFLE BRIGADE. By WALTER WOOD. Crown 8vo., cloth, 3_s._
6_d._
II. THE NORTHUMBERLAND FUSILIERS. By WALTER WOOD. Crown 8vo.,
cloth, 3_s._ 6_d._
=The Campaign of 1815.= By W. O'CONNOR MORRIS. With Maps. Demy 8vo.,
cloth, 12_s._ 6_d._ net.
=The Sword and the Centuries; or, Old Sword Days and Old Sword Ways.=
By Captain HUTTON, F.S.A. Illustrated. Demy 8vo., cloth.
=Modern Weapons and Modern War.= By I. S. BLOCH. With an Introduction
by W. T. STEAD. Illustrated. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6_s._ (Second
Edition.)
=The Story of Baden-Powell.= By HAROLD BEGBIE. Illustrated. Crown
8vo., cloth, 3_s._ 6_d._ (Third Edition.)
=Sir George White, V.C.= By THOMAS F. G. COATES. Illustrated. Crown
8vo., cloth, 3_s._ 6_d._
=Queen or President? An Indictment of Paul Kruger.= By S. M.
GLUCKSTEIN. With Portrait. Crown 8vo., cloth 2_s._ 6_d._
=Majuba: The Story of the Boer War of 1881.= By HAMISH HENDRY.
Illustrated. Crown 8vo., cloth, 2_s._
=The New Battle of Dorking.= By ****. Crown 8vo., paper covers,
1_s._; cloth, 1_s._ 6_d._ (Second Edition.)
LONDON:
GRANT RICHARDS, 9, HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
THE
REGIMENTAL RECORDS
OF THE
BRITISH ARMY
A Historical Résumé Chronologically Arranged
OF
TITLES, CAMPAIGNS, HONOURS, UNIFORMS,
FACINGS, BADGES, NICKNAMES, ETC.
BY
JOHN S. FARMER.
LONDON:
GRANT RICHARDS, 9, HENRIETTA STREET.
1901.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. THE CAVALRY 1
II. THE ROYAL ARTILLERY 61
III. THE ROYAL ENGINEERS 65
IV. THE FOOT GUARDS 69
V. TERRITORIAL REGIMENTS 77
VI. THE ARMY SERVICE CORPS 221
VII. THE DEPARTMENTS 225
APPENDICES--
(1) A TABLE GIVING FORMER NUMBERS AND TERRITORIAL
TITLES OF THE FOOT REGIMENTS 233
(2) THE ORDER OF PRECEDENCE OF THE TERRITORIAL
REGIMENTS 237
I.
THE CAVALRY.
The First Life Guards.
[Illustration: THE ROYAL ARMS.]
TITLES.
1660-85. The 1st, or His Majesty's Own Troop of Guards.
1685-1788. The 1st Troop of Life Guards of Horse.
1788 (from). The 1st Life Guards.
PRINCIPAL CAMPAIGNS, BATTLES, &c.
* "Honours" on the Colours.
1673. Maestricht.
1690. Boyne.
1692-97. Flanders.
1692. Steenkirk.
1693. Neer Landen.
*1743. Dettingen.
*1812-14. Peninsula.
*1815. Waterloo.
1815. Netherlands.
*1882. Egypt.
*1882. Tel-el-Kebir.
1884-5. Khartoum.
UNIFORM.--Scarlet (from 1660). Facings, Blue (probably from 1660,
certainly from 1679). Plume, White.
REGIMENTAL BADGE.--"The Royal Arms."
NICKNAMES.--"The Cheeses:" when re-modelled in 1788 the
veterans declined to serve, alleging that the regiments of Life
Guards then consisted of cheesemongers, not gentlemen; also
"The Piccadilly Butchers" (having been called out to quell
the Piccadilly Riots in 1810); also "Tin Bellies" (from the
cuirasses); also "The Patent Safeties."
NOTES.--Raised in Holland by Charles II., when in exile, and
composed mainly of (80) Cavaliers who had fought in the Civil War
under Charles I. The 3rd and 4th (Scots) Troops of Life Guards,
added at the Union, but disbanded in 1746, saw much service in
Flanders (1742-47). The 1st Life Guards wore cuirasses from its
formation to 1698, and resumed them in 1821.
The Second Life Guards.
[Illustration: THE ROYAL ARMS.]
TITLES.
1660-70. The 3rd, or The Duke of Albemarle's Troop of Guards.
1670-85. The 2nd, or The Queen's Troop of Guards.
1685-1746. The 2nd Troop of Life Guards of Horse: disbanded.
1788 (from). The 2nd Life Guards.
PRINCIPAL CAMPAIGNS, BATTLES, &c.
* "Honours" on the Colours.
1673. Maestricht.
1689-90. Flanders.
1689. Walcourt.
1694-97. Flanders.
1695. Namur.
*1743. Dettingen.
*1812-14. Peninsula.
*1815. Waterloo.
1815. Netherlands.
*1882. Egypt.
*1882. Tel-el-Kebir.
1884-5. Khartoum.
UNIFORM.--Scarlet (from 1690). Facings, Sea-green (1660 to
1690-1742) in honour of Queen Catherine; blue (since 1742).
Plume, White.
REGIMENTAL BADGE.--"The Royal Arms."
NICKNAME.--(See note under "The First Life Guards.")
NOTES.--Similar in origin to "The First Life Guards," and
composed of Cavaliers who, having served under Charles I., fled
at his death, entering the Spanish service as "His Royal Highness
The Duke of York's Troop of Guards." In 1659 (when peace was
declared) they retired to the Netherlands until reorganised by
Charles II. in 1660 as "The Third Troop of Life Guards." In
1670 it became "The Second Troop," and was disbanded in 1746.
Cuirasses were worn from 1660 to 1698, and were resumed in 1821.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.--_Historical Record of the Life Guards._ Containing
an Account of the Formation of the Corps in the year 1660, and of
its Subsequent Services to 1835. [London: Clowes, 1836.]
The Royal Horse Guards (The Blues).
[Illustration: THE ROYAL ARMS.]
TITLES.
1661-87. The Royal Regiment of Horse.
1687-1750. The Royal Regiment of Horse Guards.
1750-1819. The Royal Horse Guards Blue.
1819 (from). The Royal Horse Guards (The Blues).
PRINCIPAL CAMPAIGNS, BATTLES, &c.
* "Honours" on the Colours.
1685. Sedgemoor.
1689-90. Flanders.
1689. Walcourt.
1690. Boyne.
1691. Aughrim.
1742-45. Flanders.
*1743. Dettingen.
1745. Fontenoy.
1758-62. Germany.
1759. Minden.
1760. Warbourg.
1761. Kirk Denkern.
1762. Wilhelmstahl.
1794-95. Flanders.
1794. Cateau.
1794. Tournay.
*1812-14. Peninsula.
1813. Vittoria.
*1815. Waterloo.
1815. Netherlands.
*1882. Egypt.
*1882. Tel-el-Kebir.
1884-85. Nile.
UNIFORM.--Blue with Scarlet facings (from 1661). Plume, Red.
REGIMENTAL BADGE.--"The Royal Arms."
NICKNAMES.--(1) The Oxford Blues, _circa_ 1690, from its
Colonel's name, the Earl of Oxford, and in distinction to a blue
habited Dutch Regiment commanded by the Earl of Portland; (2) The
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Produced by David Widger
A MEMORY OF THE SOUTHERN SEAS
From "Chinkie's Flat And Other Stories"
By Louis Becke
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company 1904
CAPTAIN "BULLY" HAYES
In other works by the present writer frequent allusion has been made,
either by the author or by other persons, to Captain Hayes. Perhaps the
continuous appearance of his name may have been irritating to many of
my readers; if so I can only plead that it is almost impossible when
writing of wild life in the Southern Seas to avoid mentioning him. Every
one who sailed the Austral seas between the "fifties" and "seventies,"
and thousands who had not, knew of him and had heard tales of him.
In some eases these tales were to his credit; mostly they were not.
However, the writer makes no further apology for reproducing the
following sketch of the great "Bully" which he contributed to the _Pall
Mall Gazette_, and which, by the courtesy of the editor of that journal,
he is able to include in this volume.
In a most interesting, though all too brief, sketch of the life of
the late Rev. James Chalmers, the famous New Guinea missionary, which
appeared in the January number of a popular religious magazine,
the author, the Rev. Richard Lovett, gives us a brief glance of the
notorious Captain "Bully" Hayes. Mr. Chalmers, in 1866, sailed for the
South Seas with his wife in the missionary ship _John Williams_--the
second vessel of that name, the present beautiful steamer being the
fourth _John Williams_.
The second John Williams had but a brief existence, for on her first
voyage she was wrecked on Nine Island (the "Savage" Island of Captain
Cook). Hayes happened to be there with his vessel, and agreed to convey
the shipwrecked missionaries to Samoa. No doubt he charged them a pretty
stiff price, for he always said that missionaries "were teaching Kanakas
the degrading doctrine that even if a man killed his enemy and cut out
and ate his heart in public, and otherwise misconducted himself, he
could yet secure a front seat in the Kingdom of Heaven if he said he was
sorry and was then baptized as Aperamo (Abraham) or Lakopo (Jacob)."
"It is characteristic of Chalmers," writes Mr. Lovett, "that he was able
to exert considerable influence over this ruffian, and even saw good
points in him, not easily evident to others."
The present writer sailed with Hayes on four voyages as supercargo, and
was with the big-bearded, heavy-handed, and alleged "terror of the South
Seas" when his famous brig _Leonora_ was wrecked on Strong's Island, one
wild night in March, 1875. And he has nothing but kindly memories of a
much-maligned man, who, with all his faults, was never the cold-blooded
murderer whose fictitious atrocities once formed the theme of a highly
blood-curdling melodrama staged in the old Victoria Theatre, in Pitt
Street, Sydney, under the title of "The Pirate of the Pacific." In this
lively production of dramatic genius Hayes was portrayed as something
worse than Blackboard or Llonois, and committed more murders and
abductions of beautiful women in two hours than ever fell to the luck in
real life of the most gorgeous pirate on record. No one of the audience
was more interested or applauded more vigorously the villain's downfall
than "Bully" Hayes himself, who was seated in a private box with a lady.
He had come to Sydney by steamer from Melbourne, where he had left his
ship in the hands of brokers for sale, and almost the first thing he saw
on arrival were the theatrical posters concerning himself and his career
of crime.
"I would have gone for the theatre people," he told the writer, "if they
had had any money, but the man who 'played' me was the lessee of the
theatre and was hard up. I think his name was Hoskins. He was a big
fat fellow, with a soapy, slithery kind of a voice, and I lent him ten
pounds, which he spent on a dinner to myself and some of his company. I
guess we had a real good time."
But let us hear what poor ill-fated Missionary Chalmers has to say about
the alleged pirate:--
"Hayes seemed to take to me during the frequent meetings we had on
shore" (this was when the shipwrecked missionaries and their wives were
living on Savage Island), "and before going on board for good I met him
one afternoon and said to him, 'Captain Hayes, I hope you will have no
objection to our having morning and evening service on board, and twice
on Sabbaths. All short, and only those who like need attend.' Certainly
not. My ship is a missionary ship now' (humorous dog), 'and I hope you
will feel it so. All on board will attend these services.' I replied,
'Only if they are inclined.'" (If they had shirked it, the redoubtable
"Bully" would have made attendance compulsory with a belaying pin.)
"Hayes was a perfect host and a thorough gentleman. His wife and
children were on board. We had fearful weather all the time, yet I must
say we enjoyed ourselves.... We had gone so far south that we could
easily fetch Tahiti, and so we stood for it, causing us to be much
longer on board. Hayes several times lost his temper and did very queer
things, acting now and then more like a madman than a sane man. Much of
his past life he related to us at table, especially of things (he did)
to cheat Governments."
Poor "Bully!" He certainly did like to "cheat Governments," although he
despised cheating private individuals--unless it was for a large amount.
And he frequently "lost his temper" also; and when that occurred
things were very uncomfortable for the man or men who caused it. On
one occasion, during an electrical storm off New Guinea, a number of
corposants appeared on the yards of his vessel, which was manned by
Polynesians and some Portuguese. One of the latter was so terrified at
the ghastly _corpo santo_ that he fell on his knees and held a small
leaden crucifix, which he wore on his neck, to his lips. His example was
quickly followed by the rest of his countrymen; which so enraged Hayes
that, seizing the first offender, he tore the crucifix from his hand,
and, rolling it into a lump, thrust it into his month _and made him
swallow it_.
"You'll kill the man, sir," cried Hussey, his American mate, who, being
a good Catholic, was horrified.
Hayes laughed savagely: "If that bit of lead is good externally it ought
to be a darned sight better when taken internally."
He was a humorous man at times, even when he was cross. And he was one
of the best sailor-men that ever trod a deck. A chronometer watch,
which was committed to the care of the writer by Hayes, bore this
inscription:--
"_From Isaac Steuart, of New York, to Captain William Henry Hayes, of
Cleveland, Ohio. A gift of esteem and respect for his bravery in saving
the lives of seventeen persons at the risk of his own. Honor to the
brave._"
Hayes told me that story--modestly and simply as brave men only tell a
tale of their own dauntless daring. And he told me other stories as well
of his strange, wild career; of Gordon of Khartoum, whom he had known,
and of Ward and Burgevine and the Taeping leaders; and how Burgevine
and he quarrelled over a love affair and stood face to face, pistols in
hand, when Ward sprang in between them and said that the woman was his,
and that they were fools to fight over what belonged to neither of them
and what he would gladly be rid of himself.
Peace to his _manes!_ He died--in his sea-boots--from a blow on his big,
bald head, superinduced by his attention to a lady who was "no better
than she ought to have been," even for the islands of the North Pacific.
THE "WHALE CURE"
I once heard a man who for nearly six years had been a martyr to
rheumatism say he would give a thousand pounds to have a cure effected.
"I wish, then, that we were in Australia or New Zealand during the shore
whaling season," remarked a friend of the writer; "I should feel pretty
certain of annexing that thousand pounds." And then he described the
whale cure.
The "cure" is not fiction. It is a fact, so the whalemen assert, and
there are many people at the township of Eden, Twofold Bay, New
South Wales, who, it is vouched, can tell of several cases of chronic
rheumatism that have been absolutely perfectly cured by the treatment
herewith briefly described. How it came to be discovered I do not know,
but it has been known to American whalemen for years.
When a whale is killed and towed ashore (it does not matter whether it
is a "right," humpback, finback, or sperm whale) and while the interior
of the carcase still retains a little warmth, a hole is out through one
side of the body sufficiently large to admit the patient, the lower
part of whose body from the feet to the waist should sink in the whale's
intestines, leaving the head, of course, outside the aperture. The
latter is closed up as closely as possible, otherwise the patient would
not be able to breathe through the volume of ammoniacal gases which
would escape from every opening left uncovered. It is these gases, which
are of an overpowering and atrocious odour, that bring about the cure,
so the whalemen say. Sometimes the patient cannot stand this horrible
bath for more than an hour, and has to be lifted out in a fainting
condition, to undergo a second, third, or perhaps fourth course on that
or the following day. Twenty or thirty hours, it is said, will effect a
radical cure in the most severe cases, provided there is no malformation
or distortion of the joints, and even in such cases the treatment causes
very great relief. One man who was put in up to his neck in the carcass
of a small "humpback" stood it for sixteen hours, being taken out at
two-hour intervals. He went off declaring himself to be cured. A year
later he had a return of the complaint and underwent the treatment a
second time.
All the "shore" whalemen whom the writer has met thoroughly believe in
the efficacy of the remedy, and by way of practical proof assert that
no man who works at cutting-in and trying out a whale ever suffers
from rheumatism. Furthermore, however, some of them maintain that the
"deader" the whale is, the better the remedy. "More gas in him," they
say. And any one who has been within a mile of a week-dead whale will
believe _that_.
Anyway, if there is any person, rheumatic or otherwise, who wants to
emulate Jonah's adventure in a safe manner (with a dead whale), let him
write to the Davidson Brothers, Ben Boyd Point, Twofold Bay, N.S.W., or
to the Messrs. Christian, Norfolk Island, and I am sure those valorous
whalemen would help him to achieve his desire.
THE SEA "SALMON" SEASON IN AUSTRALIA
The sea salmon make their appearance on the southern half of the eastern
seaboard of Australia with undeviating regularity in the last week of
October, and, entering the rivers and inlets, remain on the coast till
the first week of December. As far as my knowledge goes, they come
from the south and travel northwards, and do not appear to relish the
tropical waters of the North Queensland coast, though I have heard that
some years ago a vast "school" entered the waters of Port Denison.
Given a dear, sunny day and a smooth sea the advent of these fish to
the bar harbours and rivers of New South Wales presents a truly
extraordinary sight. From any moderately high bluff or headland one can
discern their approach nearly two miles away. You see a dark patch upon
the water, and were it not for the attendant flocks of gulls and other
aquatic birds, one would imagine it to be but the passing reflection of
a cloud. But presently you see another and another; and, still farther
oat, a long black line flecked with white can be discerned with a good
glass. Then you look above--the sky is cloudless blue, and you know
that the dark moving patches are the advance battalions of countless
thousands of sea salmon, and that the mile-long black and white streak
behind them is the main body of the first mighty army; for others are to
follow day by day for another fortnight.
Probably the look-out man at the pilot station is the first to see
them, and in a few minates the lazy little seaport town awakes from its
morning lethargy, and even the butcher, and baker, and bootmaker, and
bank manager, and other commercial magnates shut up shop and walk to
the pilot station to watch the salmon "take" the bar, whilst the entire
public school rushes home to | 865.075019 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.1149810 | 1,674 | 14 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Carol Brown, 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 text includes characters that require UTF-8 (Unicode) file
encoding:
œ (oe ligature)
διορθῶσαι (Greek)
° (degree sign; temperature, latitude and longitude)
“ ” (curly quotes)
If any of these characters do not display properly--in particular, if
the diacritic does not appear directly above the letter--or if the
apostrophes and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage,
make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set
to Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font.
Additional notes are at the end of the book.
_THE WORKS OF HENRY HALLAM._
INTRODUCTION
TO THE
LITERATURE OF EUROPE
IN THE FIFTEENTH, SIXTEENTH,
AND
SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES.
BY
HENRY HALLAM, F.R.A.S.,
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE ACADEMY OF MORAL AND POLITICAL SCIENCES
IN THE FRENCH INSTITUTE.
_VOLUME II._
WARD, LOCK & CO.,
LONDON: WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK: BOND STREET.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE GENERAL STATE OF LITERATURE IN THE MIDDLE AGES TO THE END
OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.
Page
Retrospect of Learning in Middle Ages Necessary 1
Loss of learning in Fall of Roman Empire 1
Boethius--his Consolation of Philosophy 1
Rapid Decline of Learning in Sixth Century 2
A Portion remains in the Church 2
Prejudices of the Clergy against Profane Learning 2
Their Uselessness in preserving it 3
First Appearances of reviving Learning in Ireland and England 3
Few Schools before the Age of Charlemagne 3
Beneficial Effects of those Established by him 4
The Tenth Century more progressive than usually supposed 4
Want of Genius in the Dark Ages 5
Prevalence of bad Taste 5
Deficiency of poetical Talent 5
Imperfect State of Language may account for this 6
Improvement at beginning of Twelfth Century 6
Leading Circumstances in Progress of Learning 6
Origin of the University of Paris 6
Modes of treating the Science of Theology 6
Scholastic Philosophy--its Origin 7
Roscelin 7
Progress of Scholasticism; Increase of University of Paris 8
Universities founded 8
Oxford 8
Collegiate Foundations not derived from the Saracens 9
Scholastic Philosophy promoted by Mendicant Friars 9
Character of this Philosophy 10
It prevails least in Italy 10
Literature in Modern Languages 10
Origin of the French, Spanish, and Italian Languages 10
Corruption of colloquial Latin in the Lower Empire 11
Continuance of Latin in Seventh Century 12
It is changed to a new Language in Eighth and Ninth 12
Early Specimens of French 13
Poem on Boethius 13
Provençal Grammar 14
Latin retained in use longer in Italy 14
French of Eleventh Century 14
Metres of Modern Languages 15
Origin of Rhyme in Latin 16
Provençal and French Poetry 16
Metrical Romances--Havelok the Dane 18
Diffusion of French Language 19
German Poetry of Swabian Period 19
Decline of German Poetry 20
Poetry of France and Spain 21
Early Italian Language 22
Dante and Petrarch 22
Change of Anglo-Saxon to English 22
Layamon 23
Progress of English Language 23
English of the Fourteenth Century--Chaucer, Gower 24
General Disuse of French in England 24
State of European Languages about 1400 25
Ignorance of Reading and Writing in darker Ages 25
Reasons for supposing this to have diminished after 1100 26
Increased Knowledge of Writing in Fourteenth Century 27
Average State of Knowledge in England 27
Invention of Paper 28
Linen Paper when first used 28
Cotton Paper 28
Linen Paper as old as 1100 28
Known to Peter of Clugni 29
And in Twelfth and Thirteenth Century 29
Paper of mixed Materials 29
Invention of Paper placed by some too low 29
Not at first very important 30
Importance of Legal Studies 30
Roman Laws never wholly unknown 31
Irnerius--his first Successors 31
Their Glosses 31
Abridgements of Law--Accursius’s Corpus Glossatum 31
Character of early Jurists 32
Decline of Jurists after Accursius 32
Respect paid to him at Bologna 33
Scholastic Jurists--Bartolus 33
Inferiority of Jurists in Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries 34
Classical Literature and Taste in dark Ages 34
Improvement in Tenth and Eleventh Centuries 34
Lanfranc and his Schools 35
Italy--Vocabulary of Papias 36
Influence of Italy upon Europe 36
Increased copying of Manuscripts 36
John of Salisbury 36
Improvement of Classical Taste in Twelfth Century 37
Influence of increased Number of Clergy 38
Decline of Classical Literature in Thirteenth Century 38
Relapse into Barbarism 38
No Improvement in Fourteenth Century--Richard of Bury 39
Library formed by Charles V. at Paris 39
Some Improvement in Italy during Thirteenth Century 40
Catholicon of Balbi 40
Imperfection of early Dictionaries 40
Restoration of Letters due to Petrarch 40
Character of his Style 41
His Latin Poetry 41
John of Ravenna 41
Gasparin of Barziza 42
CHAPTER II.
ON THE LITERATURE OF EUROPE FROM 1400 TO 1440.
Zeal for Classical Literature in Italy 42
Poggio Bracciolini 42
Latin Style of that Age indifferent 43
Gasparin of Barziza 43
Merits of his Style 43
Victorin of Feltre 44
Leonard Aretin 44
Revival of Greek Language in Italy 44
Early Greek | 865.135021 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
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Archive/American Libraries.)
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 5. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
MARION MARLOWE ENTRAPPED
OR
THE VICTIM OF PROFESSIONAL JEALOUSY
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
_Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at New
York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter._
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class
Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 238 William St., N. Y._
_Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._
No. 5. NEW YORK, October 27, 1900. Price Five Cents.
Marion Marlowe Entrapped;
OR | 865.138801 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.1235940 | 132 | 17 |
Produced by Anna Hall, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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CORNWALL
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 Fifth Avenue, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 Flinders Lane, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
St. Martin's House, 70 Bond Street, | 865.143634 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.1238320 | 997 | 41 |
Letters From Rome on the Council
By "Quirinus"
(Johann Joseph Ignaz von Doellinger)
Reprinted from the _Allgemeine Zeiting_.
Authorized Translation.
Rivingtons
London, Oxford, and Cambridge
1870
CONTENTS
Preface.
Views of the Council. (Allgemeine Zeitung, May 20, 1869.)
The Future Council. (Allg. Zeit., June 11, 1869.)
Prince Hohenlohe and the Council. (Allg. Zeit., June 20 and 21, 1869.)
The Council. (Allg. Zeit., Aug. 19, 1869.)
The Fulda Pastoral. (Allg. Zeit., Sept. 25, 1869.)
The Bishops and the Council. (Allg. Zeit., Nov. 19 and 20, 1869.)
First Letter.
Second Letter.
Third Letter.
Fourth Letter.
Fifth Letter.
Sixth Letter.
Seventh Letter.
Eighth Letter.
Ninth Letter.
Tenth Letter.
Eleventh Letter.
Twelfth Letter.
Thirteenth Letter.
Fourteenth Letter.
Fifteenth Letter.
Sixteenth Letter.
Seventeenth Letter.
Eighteenth Letter.
Nineteenth Letter.
Twentieth Letter.
Twenty-First Letter.
Twenty-Second Letter.
Twenty-Third Letter.
Twenty-Fourth Letter.
Twenty-Fifth Letter.
Twenty-Sixth Letter.
Twenty-Seventh Letter.
Twenty-Eighth Letter.
Twenty-Ninth Letter.
Thirtieth Letter.
Thirty-First Letter.
Thirty-Second Letter.
Thirty-Third Letter.
Thirty-Fourth Letter.
Thirty-Fifth Letter.
Thirty-Sixth Letter.
Thirty-Seventh Letter.
Thirty-Eighth Letter.
Thirty-Ninth Letter.
Fortieth Letter.
Forty-First Letter.
Forty-Second Letter.
Forty-Third Letter.
Forty-Fourth Letter.
Forty-Fifth Letter.
Forty-Sixth Letter.
Forty-Seventh Letter.
Forty-Eighth Letter.
Forty-Ninth Letter.
Fiftieth Letter.
Fifty-First Letter.
Fifty-Second Letter.
Fifty-Third Letter.
Fifty-Fourth Letter.
Fifty-Fifth Letter.
Fifty-Sixty Letter.
Fifty-Seventh Letter.
Fifty-Eighth Letter.
Fifty-Ninth Letter.
Sixtieth Letter.
Sixty-First Letter.
Sixty-Second Letter.
Sixty-Third Letter.
Sixty-Fourth Letter.
Sixty-Fifth Letter.
Sixty-Sixth Letter.
Sixty-Seventh Letter.
Sixty-Eighth Letter.
Sixty-Ninth Letter.
Appendix I.
Appendix II.
Appendix III.
Appendix IV.
Appendix V.
Advertisement.
Footnotes
PREFACE.
These Letters of the Council originated in the following way. Three
friends in Rome were in the habit of communicating to one another what
they heard from persons intimately acquainted with the proceedings of the
Council. Belonging as they did to different stations and different classes
of life, and having already become familiar, before the opening of the
Council, through long residence in Rome, with the state of things and with
persons there, and being in free and daily intercourse with some members
of the Council, they were very favourably situated for giving a true
report as well of the proceedings as of the views of those who took part
in it. Their letters were addressed to a friend in Germany, who added now
and then historical explanations to elucidate the course of events, and
then forwarded them to the _Allgemeine Zeitung_.
Much the authors of these Letters could only communicate, because the
Bishops themselves, from whose mouth or hand they obtained their
materials, were desirous of securing publicity for them in this way, That
there should be occasional inaccuracies of detail in matters of
subordinate importance was inevitable in drawing up reports which had to
be composed as the events occurred, and not seldom had only rumours or
conjectures to rest upon. But on the whole we can safely affirm that no
substantial error has crept in, and that these reports supply as faithful
a portrait as can be given of this Council, so eventful in its bearings on
the future history of the Catholic Church, and not only conscientiously
exhibit its outward course, but in some degree unveil those more secret
and hidden movements whereby the definition of the new dogma of
infallibility was brought about. If it were necessary here to adduce
testimonies for the truth of these reports, we might appeal to the actual
sequence of events, which has so often and so clearly confirmed our
predictions and our estimate of the | 865.143872 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.2209570 | 578 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Fred Salzer, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/discoveryoffutur00welliala
THE DISCOVERY OF THE FUTURE
by
H. G. WELLS
[Illustration]
New York
B. W. Huebsch
1913
Copyright, 1913,
By B. W. Huebsch
Printed in U. S. A.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE FUTURE[1]
BY H. G. WELLS
[1] A discourse delivered at the Royal Institution.
It will lead into my subject most conveniently to contrast and separate
two divergent types of mind, types which are to be distinguished chiefly
by their attitude toward time, and more particularly by the relative
importance they attach and the relative amount of thought they give to
the future.
The first of these two types of mind, and it is, I think, the
predominant type, the type of the majority of living people, is that
which seems scarcely to think of the future at all, which regards it as
a sort of blank non-existence upon which the advancing present will
presently write events. The second type, which is, I think, a more
modern and much less abundant type of mind, thinks constantly and by
preference of things to come, and of present things mainly in relation
to the results that must arise from them. The former type of mind, when
one gets it in its purity, is retrospective in habit, and it interprets
the things of the present, and gives value to this and denies it to
that, entirely with relation to the past. The latter type of mind is
constructive in habit, it interprets the things of the present and
gives value to this or that, entirely in relation to things designed or
foreseen.
While from that former point of view our life is simply to reap the
consequences of the past, from this our life is to prepare the future.
The former type one might speak of as the legal or submissive type of
mind, because the business, the practice, and the training of a lawyer
dispose him toward it; he of all men must constantly refer to the law
made, the right established, the precedent set, and consistently ignore
or condemn the thing that is only seeking to establish itself. The
latter type of mind I might for contrast call the legislative, creative,
organizing, | 865.240997 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.3147060 | 1,021 | 15 |
Produced by David Widger
EVAN HARRINGTON
By George Meredith
CONTENTS:
BOOK 1.
I. ABOVE BUTTONS
II. THE HERITAGE OR THE SOY
III. THE DAUGHTERS OR THE SHEARS
IV. ON BOARD THE JOCASTA
V. THE FAMILY AND THE FUNERAL
VI. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD
VII. MOTHER AND SON
BOOK 2.
VIII. INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC
IX. THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY
X. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAIN
XI. DOINGS AT AN INN
XII. IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINE
XIII. THE MATCH OF FALLOWFIELD AGAINST BECKLEY
BOOK 3.
XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION
XV. A CAPTURE
XVI. LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN
XVII. IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR
XVIII. IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN
BOOK 4.
XIX. SECOND DESPATCH OF THE COUNTESS
XX. BREAK-NECK LEAP
XXI. TRIBULATIONS AND TACTICS OF THE COUNTESS
XXII. IN WHICH THE DAUGHTERS OF THE GREAT MEL HAVE TO
DIGEST HIM AT DINNER
XXIII. TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF
XXIV. THE COUNTESS MAKES HERSELF FELT
XXV. IN WHICH THE STREAM FLOWS MUDDY AND CLEAR
BOOK 5.
XXVI. MRS. MEL MAKES A BED FOR HERSELF AND FAMILY
XXVII. EXHIBITS ROSE'S GENERALSHIP; EVAN'S PERFORMANCE ON THE SECOND
FIDDLE; AND THE WRETCHEDNESS OF THE COUNTESS
XXVIII. TOM COGGLESBY'S PROPOSITION
XXIX. PRELUDE TO AN ENGAGEMENT
XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART I.
XXXI. THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.
BOOK 6.
XXXII. IN WHICH EVAN'S LIGHT BEGINS TO TWINKLE AGAIN
XXXIII. THE HERO TAKES HIS RANK IN THE ORCHESTRA
XXXIV. A PAGAN SACRIFICE
XXXV. ROSE WOUNDED
XXXVI. BEFORE BREAKFAST
XXXVII. THE RETREAT FROM BECKLEY
XXXVIII. IN WHICH WE HAVE TO SEE IN THE DARK
BOOK 7.
XXXIX. IN THE DOMAIN OF TAILORDOM
XL. IN WHICH THE COUNTESS STILL SCENTS GAME
XLI. REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY
XLII. JULIANA
XLIII. ROSE
XLIV. CONTAINS A WARNING TO ALL CONSPIRATORS
XLV. IN WHICH THE SHOP BECOMES THE CENTRE OF ATTRACTION
XLVI. A LOVER'S PARTING
XLVII. A YEAR LATER THE COUNTESS DE SALDAR DE SANCORVO TO HER
SISTER CAROLINE
CHAPTER I. ABOVE BUTTONS
Long after the hours when tradesmen are in the habit of
commencing business, the shutters of a certain shop in the town of
Lymport-on-the-Sea remained significantly closed, and it became known
that death had taken Mr. Melchisedec Harrington, and struck one off the
list of living tailors. The demise of a respectable member of this class
does not ordinarily create a profound sensation. He dies, and his equals
debate who is to be his successor: while the rest of them who have come
in contact with him, very probably hear nothing of his great launch and
final adieu till the winding up of cash-accounts; on which occasions we
may augur that he is not often blessed by one or other of the two great
parties who subdivide this universe. In the case of Mr. Melchisedec it
was otherwise. This had been a grand man, despite his calling, | 865.334746 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.3176700 | 4,243 | 7 | FUSILIERS IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Christine P. Travers, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 25618-h.htm or 25618-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/6/1/25618/25618-h/25618-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/6/1/25618/25618-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
has been maintained.
THE SECOND BATTALION ROYAL DUBLIN FUSILIERS IN THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR
With a Description of the Operations in the Aden Hinterland
by
MAJORS C. F. ROMER & A. E. MAINWARING
[Illustration: _W. & D. Downey._
H.R.H. The Duke of Connaught and Strathearn, K.G.,
Commander-in-Chief of The Mediterranean Forces, and Colonel-in-Chief
of The Royal Dublin Fusiliers.]
[Illustration: E Libris, The Royal Dublin Fusiliers.]
London: A. L. Humphreys, 187 Piccadilly, W.
1908
PREFACE
The 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers is one of the oldest
regiments in the service. It was raised in February and March, 1661,
to form the garrison of Bombay, which had been ceded to the Crown as
part of the dowry of the Infanta of Portugal, on her marriage with
King Charles II. It then consisted of four companies, the
establishment of each being one captain, one lieutenant, one ensign,
two sergeants, three corporals, two drummers, and 100 privates, and
arrived at Bombay on September 18th, 1662, under the command of Sir
Abraham Shipman. Under various titles it took part in nearly all the
continuous fighting of which the history of India of those days is
principally composed, being generally known as the Bombay European
Regiment, until in March, 1843, it was granted the title of 1st Bombay
Fusiliers. In 1862 the regiment was transferred to the Crown, when the
word 'Royal' was added to its title, and it became known as the 103rd
Regiment, The Royal Bombay Fusiliers. In 1873 the regiment was linked
to the Royal Madras Fusiliers, whose history up to that time had been
very similar to its own. By General Order 41, of 1881, the titles of
the two regiments underwent yet another change, when they became known
by their present names, the 1st and 2nd Battalions Royal Dublin
Fusiliers.
The 2nd Battalion first left India for home service on January 2nd,
1871, when it embarked on H.M.S. _Malabar_, arriving at Portsmouth
Harbour about 8 a.m. on February 4th, and was stationed at Parkhurst.
Its home service lasted until 1884, when it embarked for Gibraltar. In
1885 it moved to Egypt, and in 1886 to India, where it was quartered
until 1897, when it was suddenly ordered to South Africa, on account
of our strained relations with the Transvaal Republic. On arrival at
Durban, however, the difficulties had been settled for the time being,
and the regiment was quartered at Pietermaritzburg until it moved up
to Dundee in 1899, just previous to the outbreak of war.
The late Major-General Penn-Symons assumed command of the Natal force
in 1897, and from that date commenced the firm friendship and mutual
regard between him and the regiment, which lasted without a break
until the day when he met his death at Talana. The interest he took in
the battalion and his zeal resulted in a stiff training, but a
training for which we must always feel grateful, and remember with
kind, if sad, recollections. It was his custom to see a great deal of
the regiments under his command, and he very frequently lunched with
us, by which means he not only made himself personally acquainted with
the characters of the officers of the regiment, but also had an
opportunity of seeing for himself the deep _esprit de corps_ which
existed in it, and without which no regiment can ever hope to
successfully overcome the perils and hardships incidental to active
service.
As the shadow of the coming war grew dark and ever darker on the
Northern horizon, the disposition of the Natal troops underwent some
change, and General Penn-Symons' brigade, of which the regiment formed
part, was moved up to Dundee, and was there stationed at the time of
the outbreak of hostilities. In spite of the long roll of battle
honours, of which both battalions are so justly proud, the South
African Campaign was the first active service either had seen under
their present titles, and the first opportunity afforded them of
making those new titles as celebrated as the old ones which had done
so much towards the acquisition of our Indian Empire. Imbued with
these feelings the regiment lay camped within full view of Talana
Hill, waiting the oncoming of the huge wave of invasion which was so
shortly to sweep over the borders, engulf Ladysmith, and threaten to
reach Maritzburg itself. But that was not to be. Its force was spent
long ere it reached the capital, and a few horsemen near the banks of
the Mooi River marked the line of its utmost limit in this direction.
The present work only claims to be a plain soldier's narrative of the
part taken by the 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers in stemming
this rush, and its subsequent efforts, its grim fights on the hills
which fringe the borders of the River Tugela, its long and weary
marches across the rolling uplands of the Transvaal, and its
subsequent monotonous life of constant vigil in fort and blockhouse,
and on escort duty.
All five battalions took part in the war. The 1st sailed from Ireland
on November 10th, 1899, and sent three companies under Major Hicks to
strengthen the 2nd Battalion. They arrived in time to share in the
action at Colenso on December 15th, and all the subsequent fighting
which finally resulted in the relief of Ladysmith, after which they
returned to the headquarters of the 1st Battalion, which formed part
of the Natal army under General Sir Redvers Buller, and later on
advanced through Laing's Nek and Alleman's Nek into the Transvaal. The
3rd Battalion sent a very strong draft of its reserve, and the 4th and
5th Battalions volunteered and came out to the front, where they
rendered most excellent service. In addition to the battalions there
were a good many officers of one or other battalion employed in
various ways in the huge theatre of operations. Major Godley and Major
Pilson had been selected for special service before the war, and the
former served in Mafeking during the siege, while the latter served
under General Plumer in his endeavours to raise it. Captain Kinsman
also served with the latter force. Major Rutherford, Adjutant of the
Ceylon Volunteers, arrived in command of the contingent from that
corps. Lieutenants Cory and Taylor served with the Mounted Infantry
most of the time, as did Lieutenants Garvice, Grimshaw, and Frankland,
after the capture of Pretoria, while Captain Carington Smith's share
in the war is briefly stated later on. Captain MacBean was on the
staff until he was killed at Nooitgedacht. The M.I. of the regiment
served with great distinction, and it is regretted that it is
impossible to include an account of the many actions and marches in
which they took part, but the present volume deals almost exclusively
with the battalion as a battalion.
The authors are desirous of expressing their most hearty and cordial
thanks to all those who have assisted them in the preparation of this
volume. They are especially indebted to Colonel H. Tempest Hicks,
C.B., without whose co-operation the work could not have been carried
out, for the loan of his diary, and for the sketches and many of the
photographs. To Colonel F. P. English, D.S.O., for the extracts from
his diary containing an account of the operations in the Aden
Hinterland and photographs. To Captain L. F. Renny for his Ladysmith
notes. Also to Sergeant-Major C. V. Brumby, Quartermaster-Sergeant
Purcell, and Mr. French (late Quartermaster-Sergeant), for assistance
in collecting data, compiling the appendix, and for photographs,
respectively.
C. F. ROMER.
A. E. MAINWARING.
CONTENTS
PART I.--FIGHTING.
CHAP. Page
I. Talana 3
II. The Retreat from Dundee 16
III. From Colenso to Estcourt 22
IV. Estcourt and Frere 28
V. The Battle of Colenso 34
VI. Venter's Spruit 42
VII. Vaal Krantz 55
VIII. Hart's and Pieter's Hills--The Relief of Ladysmith 61
IX. The Siege of Ladysmith 76
X. Aliwal North and Fourteen Streams 83
PART II.--TREKKING.
I. From Vryburg to Heidelberg 97
II. Heidelberg 111
III. After De Wet 121
IV. September in the Gatsrand 141
V. Frederickstadt--Klip River--The Losberg 164
VI. Buried Treasure--The Eastern Transvaal--The
Krugersdorp Defences 182
VII. The Last Twelve Months 193
PART III.
I. The Aden Hinterland 205
II. The Return Home and Reception 217
III. The Memorial Arch 229
APPENDIX 239
ILLUSTRATIONS
FULL-PAGE PLATES.
H.R.H. The Duke of Connaught and Strathearn,
K.G., Commander-in-chief of the
Mediterranean Forces, and Colonel-in-chief
of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers _Frontispiece_
Regimental Book-Plate _Title-page_
Casualties at Talana _Facing page_ 8
Major-General C. D. Cooper, C.B., commanding
2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers in Natal " " 24
Captain C. F. Romer and Captain E. Fetherstonhaugh " " 32
General Hart's Flank Attack from the
Boers' Point of View (Plan) " " 34
Casualties at Colenso " " 36
Group of twenty Sergeants taken after the
Battle of Colenso, all that remained
of Forty-Eight who left Maritzburg " " 40
Casualties at Tugela Heights " " 56, 64
Taking Fourteen Streams (Plan) " " 88
Miscellaneous Casualties " " 104
Colonel H. Tempest Hicks, C.B., commanding
2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers, March, 1900--March,
1904 _facing Page_ 112
Plan of Position at Zuikerbosch " " 120
Plan of Battle of Frederickstadt " " 168
Sketch Plan of Kilmarnock House and Fortifications " " 184
Krugersdorp from Kilmarnock House " " 200
Officers of the 2nd Battalion Royal Dublin
Fusiliers who embarked for Aden " " 216
The Memorial Arch, Dublin " " 232
The South African Memorial, Natal " " 238
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT.
The Last Rites 10
Armourer-Sergeant Waite--'Delenda Est Carthago' 18
Railway Bridge at Colenso 23
Boer Trenches, Colenso 36
Bringing down the Wounded 41
After the Fight 65
The Grave of Colonel Sitwell and Captain Maitland,
Gordon Highlanders (attached), near Railway
at Pieter's Hill 67
Pieter's Hill, Feb. 27th, 1900 69
Pontoon Bridge, River Tugela, Feb. 28th, 1900 70
2nd Royal, Dublin Fusiliers, heading Relief Troops,
marching into Ladysmith, March, 1900, 72
General Sir Redvers Buller, V.C., entering Ladysmith 73
The Dublins are coming--Ladysmith 74
Sir George White watching Relief Force entering
Ladysmith 75
Sergeant Davis in Meditation over 'Long Cecil' at
Kimberley. 'Shall I Take it for the Officers?' 83
St. Patrick's Day in Camp. Private Monaghan, the
Regimental Butcher, in Foreground 84
A Wash in hot Water--Aliwal North 87
The Regimental Maxim in Action at Fourteen
Streams 89
Captain Jervis, General Fitzroy Hart, C.B., C.M.G.,
and Captain Arthur Hart 91
Issuing Queen Victoria's Chocolate. Colour-Sergeant
Connell, 'G' Company, on left 93
First Entry into Krugersdorp. Captain and Adjutant
Fetherstonhaugh in Foreground 99
'Speed, Dead Slow' 104
Hoisting the Union Jack at Krugersdorp 106
Johan Meyer's House, five Miles outside Johannesburg 107
Sergeant Davis, evidently with all we wanted 108
Paardekraal Monument, Krugersdorp 110
The Officers' Mess 120
Corporal Tierney and Chef Burst 123
Fourth Class on the Z.a.s.m. 125
Fifth Class on the Z.a.s.m. 127
The Vaal River, Lindeque Drift 133
The R.D.F. Bathing in Mooi River, Potchefstroom 136
Father Mathews 142
Funeral of Commandant Theron and a British
Soldier, Sept. 6th, 1900 149
Buffelsdoorn Camp, Gatsrand Hills 152
A Group of Boer Prisoners taken at the Surprise
of Pochefstroom 153
Colour-Sergeant Cossy issuing Beer 154
'Come to the Cook-house Door, Boys!' 163
Sergeant French and the Officers' Mess, Nachtmaal 170
4.7 crossing a Drift, assisted by the Dublin Fusiliers 172
Boy Fitzpatrick waiting at Lunch 178
'The Latest Shave.' Captain G. S. Higginson (mounted)
and Major Bird 181
The Hairdresser's Shop 192
Kilmarnock, Krugersdorp 193
A Blockhouse 196
The 'Blue Caps' relieving the 'Old Toughs' 201
Dthala Camp 210
Dthala Village, From Camp 211
A Frontier Tower--Abdali Country 213
Homeward bound at last, after twenty Years'
Foreign Service 219
PART I.
FIGHTING.
THE 2ND BATTALION
ROYAL DUBLIN FUSILIERS
CHAPTER I.
TALANA.
'The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,
The morn the marshalling in arms, the day--
Battle's magnificently stern array.'
_Byron._
The 2nd Battalion of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers left India for
Maritzburg, Natal, in 1897, and therefore, on the outbreak of the war
between Great Britain and the South African Republics, had the
advantage of possessing some acquaintance with the topography of the
colony, and of a two years' training and preparation for the long
struggle which was to ensue.
The political situation had become so threatening by July, 1899, that
the military authorities began to take precautionary measures, and the
battalion was ordered to effect a partial mobilisation and to collect
its transport. On September 20th it moved by train to Ladysmith,[1]
and four days later proceeded to Dundee. Here Major-General Sir W.
Penn-Symons assumed the command of a small force, consisting of 18th
Hussars, 13th, 67th, and 69th Batteries R.F.A., 1st Leicestershire
Regiment, 1st King's Royal Rifles, and 2nd Royal Dublin Fusiliers.
Each infantry battalion had a mounted infantry company. The brigade
was reinforced on October 16th by the 1st Royal Irish Fusiliers.
[Footnote 1: It was at Ladysmith that the battalion adopted
the green tops on the helmets, a distinguishing badge which
was worn throughout the war. The 1st Battalion painted theirs
blue on account of the historic nickname, 'Blue-caps,'
acquired by them at the time of the Mutiny.]
The country was still nominally at peace, but the Dundee force held
itself ready for emergencies, and sent out mounted patrols by day and
infantry piquets by night, while the important railway junction at
Glencoe was held by a company. The General utilised this period of
waiting in carrying out field-firing and practising various forms of
attack. As he was a practical and experienced soldier, he succeeded in
bringing his command to a high state of efficiency, and the battalion
owed much to his careful preparation. It was due largely to his
teaching that the men knew how to advance from cover to cover and
displayed such ready 'initiative' in the various battles of the Natal
Campaign. The opportunity of putting into practice this teaching soon
presented itself, for on October 12th news was received that the South
African Republics had declared war on the previous day.
Consideration of the advisability of pushing forward a small force to
Dundee, and of the reasons for such a | 865.33771 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.3177160 | 4,995 | 14 |
Produced by Andrea Ball and Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org
THOMAS MOORE
By
STEPHEN GWYNN
ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1905
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--Boyhood and Early Poems
CHAPTER II--Early Manhood and Marriage
CHAPTER III--"Lalla Rookh"
CHAPTER IV--Period of Residence Abroad
CHAPTER V--Work as Biographer and Controversialist
CHAPTER VI--The Decline of Life
CHAPTER VII--General Appreciation
APPENDIX
INDEX
THOMAS MOORE
CHAPTER I
BOYHOOD AND EARLY POEMS
Sudden fame, acquired with little difficulty, suffers generally a period
of obscuration after the compelling power which attaches to a man's
living personality has been removed; and from this darkness it does not
always emerge. Of such splendour and subsequent eclipse, Moore's fate
might be cited as the capital example.
The son of a petty Dublin tradesman, he found himself, almost from his
first entry on the world, courted by a brilliant society; each year
added to his friendships among the men who stood highest in literature
and statesmanship; and his reputation on the Continent was surpassed
only by that of Scott and Byron. He did not live to see a reaction. Lord
John Russell could write boldly in 1853, a year after his friend's
death, that "of English lyrical poets, Moore is surely the greatest."
There is perhaps no need to criticise either this attitude of excessive
admiration, or that which in many cases has replaced it, of tolerant
contempt. But it is as well to emphasise at the outset the fact that
even to-day, more than a century after he began to publish, Moore is
still one of the poets most popular and widely known throughout the
English-speaking world. His effect on his own race at least has been
durable; and if it be a fair test of a poet's vitality to ask how much
of his work could be recovered from oral tradition, there are not many
who would stand it better than the singer of the Irish Melodies. At
least the older generation of Irishmen and Irishwomen now living have
his poetry by heart.
The purpose of this book is to give, if possible, a just estimate of the
man's character and of his work as a poet. The problem, so far as the
biographical part is concerned, is not to discover new material but to
select from masses already in print. The Memoirs of his Life, edited by
Lord John Russell, fill eight volumes, though the life with which they
deal was neither long nor specially eventful. In addition we have
allusions to Moore, as a widely known social personage, in almost every
memoir of that time; and newspaper references by thousands have been
collected. These extraneous sources, however, add very little to the
impression which is gained by a careful reading of the correspondence
and of the long diaries in which Moore's nature, singularly unsecretive,
displays itself with perfect frankness. Whether one's aim be to justify
Moore or to condemn him, the most effective means are provided by his
own words; and for nearly everything that I have to allege in the
narrative part of this work, Moore, himself is the authority. Nor is the
critical estimate which has to be put forward, though remote from that
of Moore's official biographer, at all unlike that which the poet
himself seems to have formed of his work.
Thomas Moore was born in Dublin on the 28th of May 1779, at No. 12
Aungier Street, where his father, a native of Kerry, kept a grocer's
shop. His mother, Anastasia Clodd, was the daughter of a small provision
merchant in Wexford. Moore was their eldest child, and of the brothers
and sisters whom he mentions, only two girls, his sisters Katherine and
Ellen, appear to have grown up or to have played any part in his life.
His parents were evidently prosperous people, devoted to their clever
boy and ambitious to secure him social promotion by giving scope to the
talents which he showed from his early schooldays. The memoir of his
youth, which Moore wrote in middle life, notes the special pleasure
which his mother took in the friendship of a certain Miss Dodd, an
elderly maiden lady moving in "a class of society somewhat of a higher
level than ours"; and it is easy enough to understand why the precocious
imp of a boy found favour with this distinguished person and her guests.
He had all the gifts of an actor and a mimic, and they were encouraged
in him first at home, and then at the boarding-school to which he was
sent. Samuel Whyte, its head master, had been the teacher of Sheridan,
and though he discovered none of Sheridan's abilities, the connection
with the Sheridan family, added to his own tastes, had brought him into
close touch with the stage. He was the author of a didactic poem on "The
Theatre," a great director of private theatricals, and a teacher of
elocution. Such a man was not likely to neglect the gifts of the clever
small boy entrusted to him, and Master Moore, at the age of eleven,
already figured on the playbill of some important private theatricals as
reciting the Epilogue. He was encouraged also in the habit of rhyming, a
habit that reached back as far as he could remember; and before his
fifteenth year was far gone, he attained to the honours of print in a
creditable magazine, the _Anthologia Hibernica_. The first of his
contributions was an amatory address to a Miss Hannah Byrne, herself, it
appears, a poetess. The lines, "To Zelia on her charging the Author with
writing too much on love," need not be quoted (though the subject is
characteristic), nor the "Pastoral Ballad" which followed in the number
for October 1793. It is worth noting, however, that in 1794 we find
Moore paraphrasing Anacreon's Fifth Ode; and further that in March of
the same year he is acknowledging his debt to Mr. Samuel Whyte with
verses beginning
"Hail heaven-taught votary of the laurel'd Nine"
--an unusual form of address from a schoolboy to his pedagogue.
Briefly, one gathers the impression that Moore's schooldays were
enlivened by many small gaieties, while his holidays abounded with the
same distractions. The family was sent down to Sandymount, now a suburb,
but then a seaside village on Dublin Bay, and there, in addition to
sea-bathing, they had their fill of mild play-acting. Moore reproduces
some lines from an epilogue written for one of these occasions when the
return to school was imminent:--
"Our Pantaloon that did so aged look
Must now resume his youth, his task, his book;
Our Harlequin who skipp'd, leap'd, danced, and died,
Must now stand trembling by his tutor's side."
And he notes genially how the pathos of his farewell nearly moved him to
tears as he recited the closing words--doubtless with a thrilling
tremble in his accents. Moore was always [greek: _artidakrous_]. But he
was a healthy, active youngster, and we read that he emulated Harlequin
in jumping talents, as well as in the command of tears and laughter; and
practised over the rail of a tent-bed till he could at last "perform the
headforemost leap of his hero most successfully."
School made little break in these pleasures; for while the family were
at the seaside, his indulgent father provided the boy with a pony on
which he rode down every Saturday to stay over the Sunday; "and at the
hour when I was expected, there generally came my sister with a number
of young girls to meet me, and full of smiles and welcomes, walked by
the side of my pony into the town." Never was a boy more petted. About
this time, too, his musical gifts began to be discovered; for Mrs. Moore
insisted that her daughter Katherine should be taught not only the
harpsichord, but also the piano, and that a piano should be bought. On
this instrument Moore taught himself to play; and since his mother had a
pleasant voice and a talent for giving gay little supper-parties,
musical people used to come to the house, and the boy had plenty of
chances for showing off his accomplishments, accompanying himself, and
developing already his uncanny knack of dramatic singing.
A young gentleman thus brought up was, one would say, in a fair way to
be spoiled, and Moore, looking back, is quick to recognise the danger.
Yet he is fully justified in the comment which closes his narrative of
the triumphant entries into Sandymount with schoolgirls escorting his
pony:--
"There is far more of what is called vanity in my now reporting the
tribute, than I felt then in receiving it; and I attribute very
much to the cheerful and kindly circumstances which thus surrounded
my childhood, that spirit of enjoyment and, I may venture to add,
good temper, which has never, thank God, failed me to the present
time (July 1833)."
Moreover, if his parents were interested in his pleasures, they were no
less concerned about his work. His mother, he writes, examined him daily
in his studies; sometimes even, when kept out late at a party, she would
wake the boy out of his sleep in the small hours of morning, and bid him
sit up and repeat over his lessons. Her affectionate care met with that
return from her son which was continued to the end of her life. There
was nothing in his power that Moore would not do to please his mother.
Nevertheless, touching as the relation was, it had its weak side, and
Moore in time realised it. In a notable passage of his diary, which
describes the pleasant days spent by him at Abbotsford in 1825, we read
how he congratulated Scott on the advantages of his upbringing--the
open-air life, field sports, and free intercourse with the peasantry.
"I said that the want of this manly training showed itself in my
poetry, which would perhaps have had a far more vigorous character,
if it had not been for the sort of _boudoir_ education I had
received." ("The only thing, indeed," he adds, "that conduced to
brace and invigorate my mind was the strong political feelings that
were stirring round me when I was a boy, and in which I took a deep
and most ardent interest.")
Part of this stirring manifested itself in a secret association under
John Moore's own roof; for the son had organised his father's two clerks
into a debating and literary society, of which he constituted himself
president. The meetings took place after the common meal of the
household was over, when the clerks retired to their bedroom, and Master
Thomas to his own apartment--a corner of the same bedroom, but boarded
off, fitted with a table, chest of drawers, and book-case, and decorated
by its owner with inscriptions of his own composition "in the manner, as
I flattered myself, of Shenstone at the Leasowes." The secret society
met at dead of night in a closet beyond the large bedroom, once or twice
a week; and each member was bound to produce a riddle or rebus in verse,
which the others were set to solve. And in addition to this more
literary part of the proceedings, the members discussed politics--Tom
Ennis, the senior clerk, being a strong nationalist.
Politics certainly played a great part in moulding Moore's feelings and
imagination, and it should be observed that his nonage almost coincided
with the duration of Ireland's independent Parliament. He was three
years old when the Volunteers established the freedom of the legislature
in College Green, and twenty-one when Pitt and Castlereagh purchased its
extinction. His father, as a Catholic, had naturally a keen interest in
the great question of reform and Catholic enfranchisement, and Moore
remembered being taken by him to a dinner in honour of Napper Tandy,
when the hero of the evening noticed the small boy. The Latin usher at
Whyte's school too, Mr. Donovan, was an ardent patriot, and in the hours
of special instruction which he devoted to the young scholar--for Moore
had early outstripped his class-fellows in Latin and Greek--he taught
his pupil more than the classics. But these influences bred at most a
predisposition. It was Trinity College that made Moore a rebel--or as
nearly a rebel as he ever became.
The measure of partial enfranchisement passed in 1793 admitted Catholics
to study in the University of Dublin, though its emoluments were denied
them. A curious point should be noted here. The entry under June 2,
1794, reads: "Thomas Moore, P. Prot," _i.e._ Commoner (pensionarius),
Protestant. Now Moore himself states that it was for a while debated in
the family circle whether he should be entered as a Protestant to
qualify him for scholarship, fellowship and the rest; he does not seem
to know that a preliminary step was actually taken, quite possibly by
his school-master. John Moore's political friends were mostly Protestant
("the Catholics," his son writes, "being still too timorous to come
forward openly in their own cause"); the atmosphere into which the
student entered was strongly Protestant, the friends whom he made were
of the dominant religion. But neither then nor at any time was Moore
prepared to change creeds for material advantage. This is the more
remarkable because the family's religion was none of the strictest.
Moore notes that while at college he abandoned the practice of
confession, his mother, after some protest, "very wisely consenting."
Whether owing to the lack of incentive, or because he had no taste for
science, then a necessary part of any honours course, Moore troubled
little about academic successes, and, after gaining a single premium in
his first year, decided to "confine himself to such parts of the course
as fell within his own tastes and pursuits." Incidentally he earned
distinction for a composition in English verse sent in instead of the
prescribed Latin prose; and, needless to say, was busy with less
authorised verse-writing. He did, however, in his third year, 1797,
present himself for the scholarship examination and was (he says) placed
on the list of successful candidates, though his religion disqualified
him for enjoyment of the privileges. Records show that on Tuesday, 13th
June of that year, thirteen exhibitions were given, supplementary to the
list of scholars published on Trinity Monday (the 12th), and on this
list Moore stands first. The award was presumably a solatium.
But the serious and lasting part of his university education was gained,
as so often happens, not from his tutors but from his associates. The
recall of Lord Fitzwilliam in March 1795--"that fatal turning-point in
Irish history," as Mr. Lecky calls it--had shattered the hopes of Irish
Catholics and made civil war a result to be eagerly urged by extremists
on both sides. "The political ferment soon found its way within the
walls of our university," writes Moore; and among his personal friends
was a young man destined to tragic fame.
"This youth was Robert Emmet, whose brilliant success in his
college studies, and more particularly in the scientific portion of
them, had crowned his career, as far as he had gone, with all the
honours of the course; while his powers of oratory displayed at a
debating society, of which, about this time (1796-7), I became a
member, were beginning to excite universal attention, as well from
the eloquence as the political boldness of his displays. He was, I
rather think, by two classes, my senior, though it might have been
only by one. But there was, at all events, such an interval between
our standings as, at that time of life, makes a material
difference; and when I became a member of the debating society, I
found him in full fame, not only for his scientific attainments
but also for the blamelessness of his life and the grave suavity of
his manners."
In the beginning of 1797 this debating club came to an end, and Emmet as
well as Moore transferred his energies to the more important Historical
Society. Here Moore, by his own account, distinguished himself only as
the author of "a burlesque poem called an 'Ode upon Nothing, with Notes
by Trismegistus Rustifustius,'" which earned first a medal by general
acclamation, and then a vote of censure by reason of the broad licence
of certain passages. Emmet, however, was a member of a different kind,
and the speeches delivered by him attracted so much attention that a
senior man was detailed by the governing Board to attend meetings and
answer the young orator. About the same time a paper called _The Press_
was set up by Emmet's elder brother, Thomas Addis Emmet, and other
leaders of the United Irishmen; and in this Moore published anonymously
a "Letter to the Students of Trinity College." The letter was, by
Moore's account of it, treasonable enough, and when, according to
custom, he read out the paper to his father and mother at home, they
pronounced it to be "very bold." Next day a friend called and made some
veiled allusion to the matter, which Moore's mother caught at, and she,
says Moore, "most earnestly entreated of me never again to venture on so
dangerous a step." Her son promised, and a few days later Emmet's
influence was added to the mother's. Moore's account of the circumstance
is so characteristic that it must be quoted.
"A few days after, in the course of one of those strolls into the
country which Emmet and I used often to take together, our
conversation turned upon this letter, and I gave him to understand
it was mine; when, with that almost feminine gentleness of manner
which he possessed, and which is so often found in such determined
spirits, he owned to me that on reading the letter, though pleased
with its contents, he could not help regretting that the public
attention had been thus drawn to the politics of the University, as
it might have the effect of awakening the vigilance of the college
authorities, and frustrate the progress of the good work (as we
both considered it) which was going on there so quietly. Even then,
boyish as my own mind was, I could not help being struck with the
manliness of the view which I saw he took of what men ought to do
in such times and circumstances, namely, not to _talk_ or _write_
about their intentions, but to _act_. He had never before, I think,
in conversation with me, alluded to the existence of the United
Irish societies in college, nor did he now, or at any subsequent
time, make any proposition to me to join in them, a forbearance
which I attribute a good deal to his knowledge of the watchful
anxiety about me which prevailed at home, and his foreseeing the
difficulty which I should experience--from being, as the phrase is,
constantly 'tied to my mother's apron-strings'--in attending the
meetings of the society without being discovered."
It will be seen that Moore makes no claim for heroic conduct. One may
assume with great certainty that in such a matter Emmet would not have
obeyed a mother's injunctions. But although Moore's parents desired that
their son should not go out of his way to incur risks, they were by no
means of opinion that he should seek safety at any price. In 1797, on
the eve of the rebellion, an inquisition was held within Trinity by Lord
Chancellor FitzGibbon. On the first day of the tribunal's sitting, one
of Emmet's friends, named Hamilton, refused to answer certain questions,
and was sent down with the sentence of banishment from the University,
carrying with it exclusion from all the learned professions. Moore went
home and discussed the situation that evening.
"The deliberate conclusion which my dear, honest father and mother
came to was that, overwhelming as the consequences were to all
their prospects and hopes for me, yet if the questions leading to
the crimination of others which had been put to almost all examined
on that day, and which poor Dacre Hamilton alone refused to answer,
should be put also to me, I must in the same manner and at all
risks return a similar refusal."
Next day Moore was called, and, after objecting to the oath, took it
with the express reservation that he should refuse to answer any
question which might criminate his associates. No such question was
asked, and his fortitude was not put to the proof, nor does it seem that
after this Moore dabbled in rebellion. Five years later, in 1803, when
Emmet's abortive rising was nipped in the bud and the young leader went
to his death, Moore was in London, preparing to depart for Bermuda. None
of the letters preserved from that time contain any reference to this
tragedy; but Moore's writings show again and again that the capacity for
hero-worship was evoked in him by this friend of boyhood as by no other
figure of his time. In the first number of the _Irish Melodies_,
published in 1808, an early place is given to the lyric:--
"O breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonoured his ashes are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
"But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls."
Every one, in Ireland at least, who read these lines heard in them an
echo of the closing passage in Emmet's speech from the dock:--
"I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world. It
is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph. When my
country shall | 865.337756 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.3194930 | 2,766 | 13 | AND OTHER AUSTRALIAN TALES***
E-text prepared by MFR, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/nuggetsindevilsp00robe
NUGGETS IN THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL
AND OTHER AUSTRALIAN TALES
* * * * * *
_Crown 8vo. cloth. 6s._
THE KIDNAPPED SQUATTER
And Other Australian Tales
BY
ANDREW ROBERTSON
LONDON AND NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.
* * * * * *
NUGGETS IN THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL
AND OTHER AUSTRALIAN TALES
by
ANDREW ROBERTSON
Author of "The Kidnapped Squatter," etc.
London
Longmans, Green, and Co.
And New York: 15 East 16th Street
Melbourne
Melville, Mullen, and Slade
1894
(All rights reserved)
Printed by
Hazell, Watson, and Viney, Ld.,
London and Aylesbury.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
NUGGETS IN THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL 1
LANKY TIM 59
LOST IN THE BUSH 103
THUNDER-AND-LIGHTNING 159
NUGGETS IN THE DEVIL'S PUNCH BOWL
CHAPTER I
Bill Marlock had been shearing all the morning, with long slashing cuts
before which the fleece fell, fold upon fold. He was the "ringer" of the
shed, and his reputation was at stake, for Norman Campbell was running
him close. To-day was Saturday, and it was known from the tally that
Bill was only one sheep ahead, and that Norman was making every effort
to finish the week "one better" than the record shearer of Yantala
woolshed. The two men were working side by side, and eyeing each other
from time to time with furtive glances. Norman suddenly straightened
himself, and, quick as a frightened snake, thrust his long body across
the "board," with the sheep he had shorn in his sinewy hands, and shot
it into the tally pen among the white, shivering sheep. Then he dashed
into the catching pen, and seized the smaller of two sheep that
remained. At almost the same moment Bill had his hands upon the same
sheep, but took them off when he saw the other man was before him, and
was obliged to content himself, much to his chagrin, with the "cobbler,"
a grizzled, wiry-haired old patriarch that every one had shunned.
When Bill carried out this sheep there was a loud roar from all the
shearers who caught from that pen, followed by derisive laughter.
"Who shaved the cobbler?" was shouted from one end of the shed to the
other.
When almost every man had slashed and stabbed Bill with these cutting
words, a whisper ran round the "board" that Norman had beaten Bill in
his tally, and that the beaten man was groaning over his defeat and
climbing down from the position of the fastest shearer in the shed.
Bill did not like this: that was clear. He had known all the morning
that his pride of place was slipping from him, for his wrist ached and
was giving way under the strain. He finished shearing the "cobbler" when
the manager shouted "Smoko!" Then Bill slid down on the slippery floor
without a word, and laid his head upon his outstretched arm.
The sun was hot. Everything was frizzling, frying, or baking. The
stunted white-gums drooped and yawned; the grass hung limp; the tall
thistles bowed their heads and shut their eyes; the lizards were as
quiet as the granite boulders on which they lay; the crows sat
motionless on the fences; and the clouds were too lazy to move.
"Ee takes es gruel without choking, an' doesn't find no bones in't,"
said Jack Jewell, with a jerk of his left thumb towards Bill.
"Ol' Bill's panned out. Ef ee isn't ringer 'is porridge 'as no salt
in't," said Tom Wren.
"He! he!" giggled a weak little man; "it's like ridin' in a kerridge,
an' comin' down to hobblin' on yer own trotters."
Peter Amos, a greybeard, shook his head solemnly as he buried his nose
in a pannikin of tea, and said, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take
heed lest he fall--that's gospel wisdom; an' don't 'it a man wen's
down--that's worldly wisdom, an' looks like as it 'ad jumped out o' the
Bible stark naked."
"Mair like the man i' the parable, Peter," said Sandy McKerrow, "wha
took the highest room wi' a swagger, an' had to climb down to the lowest
room wi' his tail 'tween his legs."
"Aye, man, that's verra true, verra true," said another known as
"Scottie."
Here a stalwart giant, with a shock of red hair, stood up, with doubled
fists, and spat on the floor; then said, "If any of you mongrel mules
says another word against Bill, I'll rattle your teeth down your throat
like dice in a box."
Meanwhile the subject of this conversation had closed his eyes, and was
fast asleep. All his senses were locked, bolted, and barred. Sheep,
shears, tallies, and pride of place were forgotten. He was in the land
of dreams, that ancient land of gold, precious stones, ivory castles,
battle, murder, and sudden death.
Silence reigned in the shed. The men quietly ladled the tea out of the
buckets into their pannikins, or struck a match on the seat of their
trousers, lit their pipes, and smoked.
Bill slept on, but suddenly his brow was knitted and his hands were
clenched. Then he opened his eyes, and looked round with a scared face.
"Boys," he said, "I've had a dream! I'll never shear another sheep!"
He slowly rose and stood up, then he took his oilstone, and with it
smashed his shears into fragments.
"Good-bye all," he said; then slid into the count-out pen, vaulted two
fences, got his saddle and swag. When he caught his horse, he saddled
up, mounted, and rode away across the ranges.
"There's a roaring fire in that volcano," said Peter Amos, keeping the
words well between his teeth, for fear of the giant with the shock of
red hair.
CHAPTER II
Whether the dream or the hand of fate gave him his course I know not,
but Bill rode a straight line, up hill and down dale. When he came to a
fence or a log he made his horse jump it. There was no going round or
turning back, till he found himself descending a steep, rugged spot,
known as the Devil's Punch Bowl.
"This is the place I saw in my dream," he said aloud; "but where is the
dead man?"
A little stream wound in and out among the rocks. The hum of bees and
the smell of honey filled the air. Wattles waved their yellow tassels,
and reflected splashes of gold on the water. Wild mint, fennel, and
chamomile dipped their feet in the water, and wove two ribbons of green
on the margin of the brook, as far as the eye could measure them.
He came to a little track which his bush experience taught him was made
by man. He followed it to the water's edge. Here it had a grim ending. A
bucket and an old pannikin stood on a stone; a fresh footmark was
printed, sharp and clear, on a patch of damp earth; and the body of a
man, motionless, asleep or dead, was half hidden among the herbage,
growing lush and tall, as if trying to screen it with loving hands.
Bill jumped off his horse, and gently turned the man over on his back
and looked at him. One glance was enough. Two eyes, wide open, and
horrible to behold, met his gaze. A faint smile seemed to linger about
the mouth. The face appeared to be chiselled marble. It was easy to see
that Death had aimed true, and that his dart had struck home.
Bill, nevertheless, instinctively put his finger on the dead man's
pulse, and placed his hand over the heart. They were both still as a
rundown clock, and stopped for ever.
A letter had fallen from the man's pocket when he was being turned
over. Bill took it up in the hope that it would disclose something. The
writing was in a woman's hand, full of affection, repetition, and
platitude. It wound up with, "Your loving daughter, Mary." There was a
date on the top, but no address. There was an envelope, and the postmark
was Melbourne.
"Not much clue," said Bill; "nameless, so far." The man, evidently, by
the clay smears on his trousers, and by the general appearance of his
clothes, was a digger.
"I saw a tent in my dream, so I'll look for it," said Bill.
He went along the little track for a hundred yards, and there, behind
some stunted bushes, stood a weather-stained, ragged tent. Everything
about it was squalid, unkempt, unwashed, and unlovely. The only bit of
sentiment, or romance if you will, was a photograph of a girl, pinned to
the tent, at the head of the bed. There was a pathetic look about the
eyes which seemed to follow him wherever he turned. They haunted him,
and illumined the tent. After a short time he went up to the portrait,
and stared at it for five minutes, studying every feature.
"I suppose you are Mary," he said; "I feel we are to meet some day, and
you are to come into my life."
Below the photograph, and also pinned to the canvas, was a rude diagram.
At one end of a line was a triangle; at the other end a curious tree
with two branches touching the ground. Between the triangle and the tree
was a big dot, and at the dot were two figures, but whether 45 or 65 he
could not tell. An arrow pointed to them.
He kissed the photograph, unpinned it carefully, and put it in his
pocket.
Then he took down the diagram and examined it more carefully. There was
an almost undecipherable scrawl at the bottom, which he made out to be,
"For Mary." He put the diagram in his purse.
"This morning," he whispered, "I thought I was tied to shearing for
life; now I am harnessed, in some mysterious way, to a romance. This
dead man clutches me like the Old Man of the Mountain. He has me in his
grip; and this Mary moves me strangely. Shall we ever meet?"
He mounted his horse, and cantered down the valley till he came to the
main road, where he stood uncertain where to turn. At first he thought
of going to the nearest township, twelve miles to the east, to report
the finding of the body, so that an inquest might be held; but it
occurred to him that his movements this morning might savour of madness,
or worse, and he might be called upon to show why he left the shed so
abruptly. He might be accused of causing the old man's death. These and
suchlike thoughts ran up and down his brain for some time; then he
slowly turned his horse to the west, and rode furiously till he came to
the Yantala woolshed.
The men had finished dinner, had washed and brushed up a bit, and were
catching their horses preparatory to dispersing till Sunday night.
Constable Duffus was coming out of the manager's hut, where he had
dropped in for dinner. Bill told his tale to him, and the manager,
coming up at that moment, listened with all his ears. One by one the
shearers and the rouseabouts clustered, like a swarm of bees round their | 865.339533 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland and the
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LETTERS
AND
LITERARY MEMORIALS
OF
SAMUEL J. TILDEN
EDITED BY
JOHN BIGELOW, LL.D.
VOL. 1
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1908
Copyright, 1908, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published February, 1908.
_Shortly before the death of the late Samuel J. Tilden, and in
compliance with his wishes, a selection was made by our senior
colleague from such of Mr. Tilden's public writings and speeches as
were then conveniently accessible and seemed then responsive to a
popular demand. This selection was edited and published in 1885._
_The forty-second section of the will of Mr. Tilden, who died in the
following year, provided as follows:_
_"I also authorize my said Executors and Trustees to collect and
publish in such form as they may deem proper my speeches and public
documents, and such other writings and papers as they may think
expedient to include with the same, which shall be done under their
direction. The expenses thereof shall be paid out of my estate. My
Trustees and Executors are authorized and empowered to burn and destroy
any of my letters, papers or other documents, whether printed or in
manuscript, which in their judgment will answer no useful purpose to
preserve."_
_In discharge of the duty imposed on us by this clause of the
testator's will, we have selected such portions of a vast
correspondence with, or relating to, the testator as give promise of
answering a useful purpose; and at our solicitation Mr. Bigelow has
undertaken to edit and publish them in a form that shall harmonize
with, and be complementary to, the volume of "Speeches and Writings of
Mr. Tilden," already in print._
JOHN BIGELOW, } Executors
GEORGE W. SMITH, } and
L. V. F. RANDOLPH. } Trustees.
PREFACE OF THE EDITOR
At an early period of his life Samuel J. Tilden seems to have had a
sense of its importance not ordinarily felt by youth of his age. This
may be accounted for in part by the circumstance that while barely out
of his teens, both by pen and speech, he had secured the respectful
attention of many of the leading statesmen of his generation. At
school he preserved all his composition exercises, and from that time
to the close of his life it may well be doubted if he ever wrote a
note or document of any kind of which he did not preserve the draft
or a copy. As the events with which he had to deal came to assume, as
they naturally did, increasing importance with his years, one or more
corrected drafts were made of important papers, most, if not all, of
which were carefully preserved.
As what may fitly enough be termed Mr. Tilden's public life covered
more than half a century, during most of which time he was one of the
recognized leaders of one of the great parties of the country, the
public will learn without surprise that the accumulations of social,
political, and documentary correspondence which fell into the hands of
his executors, to be measured by the ton, embraced among its topics
almost every important political question by which this nation has
been agitated since the accession of General Andrew Jackson to the
Presidency in 1829.
A collection of _Tilden's Public Writings and Speeches_ was published
in 1885, only a year before his death, but very little of his private
correspondence appeared in that publication.
The duty imposed upon his executors of looking through such a vast
collection of papers and selecting such as would be profitable for
publication has been a long and a very tedious one. They indulge the
hope, however, that the volumes now submitted will be found to shed
upon the history of our country during the latter half of the last
century much light unlikely to be reflected with equal lustre from
any other quarter. It will also, they believe, help to transmit to
posterity a juster sense than as yet generally prevails of the majestic
proportions of one of the most gifted statesmen our country has
produced.
Tilden may be said to have fleshed his maiden sword in politics as a
champion of President Jackson in his war against the recharter of a
United States bank of discount and deposit. He next became somewhat
more personally conspicuous as a fervent champion of Mr. Van Buren's
substitute for the national bank, now known as the Assistant Treasury.
In 1848 he led the revolt of the Democratic party in New York State
against the creation of five slave States, with their ten slave-holding
Senators, out of the Territory of Texas. Among the immediate results of
this revolt were the defeat of General Cass, the Democratic candidate
for President, and the development of a Free-soil party, which later
took the name of the Republican, nominated and elected Abraham Lincoln
to the Presidency--synchronously with which, and for the first time in
the nation's history, the decennial census of 1860 disclosed the fact
that the political supremacy of the nation had been transferred to the
non-slave-holding States.
Though averse to resisting the secession of the slave States by
flagrant war, Tilden did his best and much during the war to prevent an
irreconcilable alienation of the people of the two sections, while at
the same time building up for himself a reputation in his profession
scarcely second to that of any other in the country; and by it, before
he had reached the fiftieth year of his age, a fortune which made him
no longer dependent upon it for his livelihood.
The first public use he made of this independence was to retrieve the
fortunes of the Democratic party by delivering the city of New York
from a municipal combination which was threatening it with bankruptcy.
Of Tilden's many achievements as a public servant, it may well be
doubted if there was any for which he deserves so much honor as for his
part in the overthrow of this pillaging combination, familiarly known
as the Tweed Ring, nor any for which it seems so entirely impossible
to have then provided another equally competent leader who could and
would have given the time, incurred the expense, and assumed the risks
that Mr. Tilden did when, with no personal advantage in view, he boldly
consecrated several of what might have been the most lucrative years
of his professional life to this desperate battle with intrenched
municipal villany.
The people of the State were not slow to realize that a man with the
courage, power, and resources exhibited by Mr. Tilden in this memorable
conflict was precisely the kind of man needed by them for Governor; and
while yet wearied with the fatigue and covered with the dust of this
municipal struggle, he was constrained by his admirers to enter the
lists as a candidate against General Dix, the Republican candidate for
that office. The result was a change of about 100,000 votes from the
number by which Governor Dix had been elected two years before, and
Tilden's triumphant election to his place.
Without doffing his armor, and even before his investiture with his new
robes of office, he instituted an elaborate investigation of the canals
of the State; so that he had been but a few weeks in office before
he was engaged with numerically a far more formidable foe than the
one over which he had just triumphed, but one for which his official
position happily equipped him with far superior resources. His triumph
over the Canal Ring of the State was consequently so short, quick, and
decisive as to give him a national reputation, and to make him, long
before his term of office at Albany expired, the inevitable candidate
of his party to succeed General Grant for the Presidency. He was
unanimously nominated by the Democratic National Convention, held at
St. Louis in 1876, on the second ballot, and was elected by a popular
majority of over 250,000. He was then destined to receive a distinction
never shared by any President of the United States, of being an elect
of the people for that office, which, by the operation of a tribunal
unknown to the Constitution, was given to another.
For the remaining ten years of his life Tilden's health prevented his
being wholly a candidate or wholly not a candidate, so reluctant were
his numerous friends to give up all hope of such a restoration of
health as would enable him to resume once more the leadership of his
party. In this they were disappointed.
Thus for more than half a century Mr. Tilden was a shaper and a maker
of American history. What kind of history and by what means it was made
these volumes are expected to render more clear to the world, and his
fame perhaps more enduring.
Mr. Tilden's life, like that of Israel's second king, was, as we have
seen, a life of almost constant warfare, and of course he was always
more or less liable to be viewed by partisan eyes and judged with only
partial justice. None of us can judge himself quite correctly until he
can look back upon his conduct after a considerable lapse of years. So
we only see a public man as he is entitled to be seen, as Moses was
permitted to see his Lord: after He had passed. It is to be hoped that
sufficient time has elapsed since Tilden was taken from us to enable us
to see by the reflection of his life in this correspondence how lofty
was the plane of his entire public life, and how correctly he judged
his qualifications for a successful political career when he said that
his party standards were too high for the multitude. They were too
high, unquestionably, for what is commonly understood as success in
politics. It would have been easy for him--as these pages will show--to
have been President had his ethical standards been nearer the average
of those of the parties of his time.
Without presuming to institute any invidious comparisons, I have no
hesitation in expressing my conviction that neither in the writings,
speeches, or literary remains of any President of the United States
thus far will be found more suggestions profitable for teaching, for
reproof, for correction, and for the instruction of any American
who aspires to be a maker of a nation's laws or an administrator of
them, than will be found in Mr. Tilden's Writings, Speeches, and
Correspondence.
* * * * *
With the permission of Messrs. Houghton & Mifflin, I have prefixed
to these volumes an "Appreciation" of Mr. Tilden by the late James
Coolidge Carter, which originally appeared in the _Atlantic Monthly_ of
October, 1892. Mr. Carter's eminence at the American bar and forum, and
his relations, both personal and professional, with Mr. Tilden, give
value to his judgment of his deceased friend which, both for the honor
of himself and of Mr. Tilden, is entitled to all the prominence that
can be given to it in these volumes.
MR. TILDEN
AN APPRECIATION, BY JAMES C. CARTER
My acquaintance with Governor Tilden | 865.339597 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
THE SPECTACLE MAN
Out of a song the story grew;
Just how it happened nobody knew,
But, song and story, it all came true.
BOOKS BY MARY F. LEONARD.
* * * * *
=THE SPECTACLE MAN=. A STORY OF THE MISSING BRIDGE. 266 pages. Cloth.
$1.00.
=MR. PAT'S LITTLE GIRL=. A STORY OF THE ARDEN FORESTERS. 322 pages.
Cloth. $1.50.
=THE PLEASANT STREET PARTNERSHIP=. A NEIGHBORHOOD STORY. 269 pages.
Cloth. $.75, _net_.
[Illustration: "The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the
show-case"]
The Spectacle Man
_A Story of the Missing Bridge_
* * * * *
By
Mary F. Leonard
AUTHOR OF
"THE BIG FRONT DOOR"
_Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill_
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
BOSTON AND CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1901,_
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_.
_TO THE ONE
Whose Love has been from Childhood
An Unfailing Inspiration
Whose Friendship has made Dark Paths Light
This Little Book is Dedicated
In Memory of "Remembered Hours"_
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER FIRST. Page
Frances meets the Spectacle Man 11
CHAPTER SECOND.
A Certain Person 22
CHAPTER THIRD.
Gladys 32
CHAPTER FOURTH.
They look at a Flat 40
CHAPTER FIFTH.
Some New Acquaintances 50
CHAPTER SIXTH.
An Informal Affair 61
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
A Portrait 77
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
The Story of the Bridge 86
CHAPTER NINTH.
Finding a Moral 106
CHAPTER TENTH.
The Portrait Again 118
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
Mrs. Marvin is perplexed 128
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
At Christmas Time 134
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
One Sunday Afternoon 151
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
Three of a Name 164
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
A Confidence 177
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
Hard Times 186
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
At the Loan Exhibit 198
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
The March Number of _The Young People's Journal_ 207
CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
Surprises 215
CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
Caroline's Story 231
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.
Overheard by Peterkin 240
CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND.
The Little Girl in the Golden Doorway 249
CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD.
"The Ducks and the Geese they All swim over" 257
Illustrations.
Page
"The Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the
show-case" _Frontispiece_ 11
"'What is your name, baby?'" 54
"'Little girl, I wish I knew you'" 120
"She pointed out a picture, set in diamonds" 200
The Spectacle Man.
* * * * *
CHAPTER FIRST.
FRANCES MEETS THE SPECTACLE MAN.
"The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,
Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do--"
sang the Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case, with his
hands outspread, and the glasses between a thumb and finger, as he
nodded merrily at Frances.
Such an odd-looking person as he was! Instead of an ordinary coat he
wore a velvet smoking-jacket; the top of his bald head was protected by
a Scotch cap, and his fringe of hair, white like his pointed beard, was
parted behind and brushed into a tuft over each ear, the ribbon ends of
his cap hanging down between in the jauntiest way. It was really
difficult to decide whether the back or front view of him was most
cheerful.
"Will it take long?" Frances asked, with dignity, although a certain
dimple refused to be repressed.
"Well, at least half an hour, if I am not interrupted; but as my clerk
is out, I may have to stop to wait on a customer. Perhaps if you have
other shopping to do you might call for them on your way home." If there
was a twinkle in the eye of the Spectacle Man, nobody saw it except the
gray cat who sat near by on the directory.
"Thank you, I think I'd better wait," replied Frances, politely, much
pleased to have it supposed she was out shopping.
At this the optician hastened to give her a chair at the window,
motioning her to it with a wave of the hand and a funny little bow; then
he trotted into the next room and returned with a _St. Nicholas_, which
he presented with another bow, and retired to his table in the corner.
As he set to work he hummed his tune, glancing now and then over his
shoulder in the direction of his small customer.
Perched on the high-backed chair, in her scarlet coat and cap, her hands
clasped over the book, her bright eyes fixed on the busy street, it was
as if a stray red bird had fluttered in, bringing a touch of color to
the gray-tinted room. From her waving brown locks to the tips of her
toes she was a dainty little maid, and carried herself with the air of a
person of some importance.
If the Spectacle Man was interested in Frances, she was no less
interested in him; neither the street nor the magazine attracted her
half so much as the queer shop and its proprietor. It had once been the
front parlor of the old dwelling which, with its veranda and grass-plat,
still held its own in the midst of the tall business houses that closed
it in on either side. Here were the show-cases, queer instruments, and
cabalistic looking charts for trying the sight; over the high mantel
hung a large clock, and in the grate below a coal fire nickered and
purred in a lazy fashion; and through the half-open folding doors
Francis had a glimpse into what seemed to be a study or library.
At least a dozen questions were on the tip of her tongue, but didn't get
any further. For instance, she longed to ask if those cunning little
spectacles on the doll's head in the case near her, were for sale, and
if the Spectacle Man had any children who read the _St. Nicholas_ and
what the gray cat's name was, for that he had a name she didn't doubt,
he was so evidently an important part of the establishment.
He had descended from the directory, which was rather circumscribed for
one of his size, and curled himself comfortably on the counter; but
instead of going to sleep he gently fanned his nose with the tip of his
tail, and kept his yellow eyes fixed on Frances as if he too felt some
curiosity about her. She was thinking how much she would like to have
him in her lap when the Spectacle Man looked around and said, "The next
time your grandmother breaks these frames she will have to have some new
ones."
"They aren't my grandmother's, they are Mrs. Gray's. I haven't any
grandmother," she answered.
"You haven't? Why, that's a coincidence; neither have I!"
Frances laughed but didn't think of anything else to say, so the
conversation dropped, and the optician fell to humming:--
"The bridge is broke."
They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving
a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain.
"What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any
umbrella."
The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece
of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering
out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl
was worried, he asked how far she had to go.
"Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father
were out when I left and won't know where I am."
"Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him
right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a
waterproof for you."
This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the
glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar,
he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot
the storm.
The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at
once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled
with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an
ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly
at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait
of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and
beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which,
judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the
Spectacle Man.
"I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a
book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked.
Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to
have so many interesting things," she said.
While she walked slowly around the room the optician sat down at the
table and wrote rapidly. "How does this sound," he presently asked.
"'WANTED: Occupants for a small, partially furnished flat. All
conveniences; rent reasonable. Apply 432 Walnut Street.' You don't
happen to know any one who wants a flat, I suppose?"
Frances said she did not.
"The lady who had my second story rooms was called away by her mother's
death, and now she is not coming back. With Mark away at school it is
really very important to have them rented." The Spectacle Man tapped the
end of his nose with his pen and began to hum absent-mindedly:--
"The bridge is broke and I have to mend it."
At this moment a boy with a dripping umbrella appeared at the door. He
proved to be Dick, and was at once despatched to the Wentworth with
instructions to ask for Mr. John Morrison, and let him know his daughter
was safe and only waiting till the storm was over; and on his way back
to stop at the newspaper office and leave the advertisement.
"Dear me!" said Frances, after he had gone, "we might have sent Mrs.
Gray's glasses; I am afraid she will be tired waiting for them. She
can't see to do anything without them, and she is lame too."
"Well, she is fortunate in having a friend to get them mended for her.
And now I wonder if you wouldn't like to see old Toby," said the
optician, taking down a funny looking jug in the shape of a very fat old
gentleman. "When my grandfather died he left me this jug and the song
about the bridge. Did you ever hear it before?"
Frances said she never had.
"Grandfather used to sing it to me when I was a little boy, and I find
it still a very good song. When I get into a tight place and can't see
how I am to get through, why--" here he waved his hands and nodded his
head--
"'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,'
"and I go to work and try. Sometimes it is for other people, sometimes
for myself. Bridges are always getting broken,--'tisn't only
spectacles."
Frances smiled, for though she did not quite understand, it sounded
interesting; but before she had time to ask any questions a tall young
man entered. "Why, Wink! what in the world are you doing here?" he
exclaimed.
"Oh, daddy dear, I hope you haven't worried!" she cried, running to him;
"Mrs. Gray broke her glasses and couldn't read or sew, and I thought I
ought to have them mended for her,--it wasn't far you know--and then it
began to rain so I couldn't get back."
"And this is Mr. Clark, I suppose," said Mr. Morrison; "let me thank you
for taking care of my little daughter. And now, Wink, put on this coat
and your rubbers, and let us hurry before mother quite loses her mind."
When she was enveloped in the waterproof, Frances held out her hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Clark," she said; "I hope you will find some nice person
to rent your flat. Good-by."
The Spectacle Man stood in his door and watched the two figures till
they disappeared in the misty twilight, then he returned to the shop.
"Peterkin," he said, addressing the cat, "I like that little girl, and I
suppose I'll never see her again."
Peterkin uncurled himself, stood up on the counter, arched his back, and
yawned three times.
CHAPTER SECOND.
A CERTAIN PERSON.
A day or two after her visit to the optician's, Frances lay curled up on
the broad window-sill, a thoughtful little pucker between her eyes.
About fifteen minutes earlier she had entered the room where her father
and mother were talking, just as the former said, "As a certain person
is abroad I see no objection to your spending the winter here if you
wish."
Before she could ask a single question a caller was announced, and she
had taken refuge behind the curtains.
It was quite by accident that they happened to be staying for a few
weeks in this pleasant town where the Spectacle Man lived. They were
returning from North Carolina, where they had spent the summer, when a
slight illness of Mrs. Morrison's made it seem wise to stop for a while
on the way; and before she was quite well, Mr. Morrison was summoned to
New York on business, so his wife and daughter stayed where they were,
waiting for him, and enjoying the lovely fall weather.
They liked it so well they were beginning to think with regret of the
time when they must leave, for though really a city in size, the place
had many of the attractions of a village. The gardens around the houses,
the flowers and vines, the wide shady streets, combined to make an
atmosphere of homelikeness; but to Frances' mind its greatest charm lay
in the fact that once, long ago, her father had lived here. At least she
felt sure it must have been long ago, for it was in that strange time
before there was any Frances Morrison.
She had never heard as much as she wanted to hear about these years,
although she had heard a good deal. There were some things her father
evidently did not care to talk about, and one of these was a mysterious
individual known as a Certain Person. The first time she had heard this
Certain Person mentioned she had questioned her mother, who had replied,
"It is some one who was once a friend of father's, but is not now. I
think he does not care to mention the name, dear."
After this Frances asked no more questions, but she thought a great
deal, and her imagination began to picture a tall, fierce looking man
who lurked in dark corners ready to spring out at her. Sometimes when
she was on the street at night she would see him skulking along in the
shadows, and would clasp her father's hand more closely. Altogether this
person had grown and flourished in her mind in a wonderful way.
And, she couldn't tell how, a Certain Person was connected in her
thoughts with "The Girl in the Golden Doorway." This was a story in her
very own story-book, a collection of tales known only to her father and
herself, which had all been told in the firelight on winter evenings and
afterward written out in Mr. Morrison's clear hand in a book bought for
the purpose, so that not even a printer knew anything about them.
This particular story, which she had heard many times, was of a boy who
lived in a great old-fashioned house in the country, where there were
beautiful things all about, both indoors and out. The only other child
in the house was a little girl who looked down from a heavy gilt frame
above the library mantel. The boy, who was just six years old, used to
lie on the hearth rug, gazing up at her, and sometimes she would smile
and beckon to him as if she wanted to be friends.
This happened only at nightfall when the shadows lay dark in the corners
of the room and the fire blazed brightly; at such times things that had
before been a puzzle to him became quite clear. For instance, he
discovered one evening that what looked like the frame of a picture was
really a doorway belonging to the house where the little girl lived, and
it was plain that if he could only get up there he could find out all
about her. Once there, he felt sure she would take him by the hand and
together they would go away--away--somewhere! But the mantel was very
high, and polished like glass.
One afternoon when he had come in from a long drive, and feeling tired
was lying very still in his usual place, looking up at the little girl
and the long passage that seemed to stretch away behind her, a strange
thing happened. So unexpectedly it sent his heart into his mouth, the
girl stepped out of the doorway; and then, wonder of wonders! he saw a
stairway at one side of the chimney-piece where he had never noticed one
before.
Daintily holding up her silken skirt, the little maid descended and
stood beside him. Astonished and bewildered, he put out his hand to
touch her, but with a laugh she flitted across the room.
Seized with the fear that she would escape him altogether, the boy
started in pursuit. In and out among the massive chairs and tables they
ran, the girl always just out of reach, the boy breathless with anxiety.
His heart quite failed him when she darted toward the mantel. Then he
remembered he could follow; and indeed she seemed to expect it, for she
stood still at the top of what had grown to be a very long flight of
steps, and beckoned. He hurried on, but the steps were very steep and
slippery, and try as he would he could not reach the top.
Suddenly some one opened the library door, there was a crash and a
clatter, the girl disappeared, and the boy heard his mother's voice
asking, "Jack, what in the world are you doing?"
"I fell down the steps," he replied, picking himself up from among the
fire irons that had tumbled in a heap on the hearth.
"What steps?" asked his mother.
He rubbed his eyes: they were not to be seen, and the little girl--yes,
there she was, looking out of the golden doorway, and he was sure she
shook her finger and laughed. He gave up trying to explain--grown people
are hopelessly stupid at times--but he always felt certain that if the
library door had not opened just when it did, he could have caught the
little girl.
"Wasn't it a pity!" Frances always exclaimed at this point.
"Yes," her father would reply, "the little boy lost the chance of a
lifetime, for there is no knowing what he might not have discovered in
the house of the golden doorway."
"And she never came down again?"
"No, for the boy went away to live not long after this, and everything
was changed."
"And is the little girl still over the library mantel?"
"No, Wink, she was taken away long ago."
When the caller left, Frances came out of her hiding-place behind the
curtains. "Are we going to stay here all winter?" she asked.
Mrs. Morrison drew her daughter down beside her on the couch where she
sat. It was hard to believe such a small person the mother of this great
girl. "You shall hear all about it, dearie, and then help us to decide,"
she said. "Father has had an offer from the _Eastern Review_. They want
him to go to Hawaii, and besides paying him well it will be an
advantage to him in other ways."
"But can't we go with you, father?"
"No, Wink, I am afraid not, for several reasons."
"Of course it will be hard for us all, but if it seems to be the best
thing I am sure you and I will be brave and let him go;" Mrs. Morrison's
voice trembled a little, and for a moment she hid her face on Frances'
shoulder.
"Will you be gone very long?" asked the little girl.
"Several months, if I go. The matter is not decided by any means. I do
not see how I can leave you," answered Mr. Morrison.
"You must go, Jack; it will be the very thing for you. It isn't only the
money, dear, or even the opportunity for getting on in your work, but
you need a change, for you haven't been yourself lately. Frances and I
will stay here and be very comfortable, and when you come home we'll
have a jubilee."
"And not go back to Chicago?" Frances asked.
"The winters there are too cold for you. No, I think we'd better stay
here, but not in this house," said her mother.
"It will be difficult to find the kind of place I shall be willing to
leave you in," replied Mr. Morrison. "What is it you are always singing,
Frances?" he added, for as she turned the leaves of a magazine she was
humming softly to herself.
"I don't know," she answered laughing, then--"Why, yes, I do--it is the
song of the Spectacle Man,
"'The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it,'
"that is all I know of it. He was telling me about it when you came for
me. I wish I could go to see him again."
CHAPTER THIRD.
GLADYS.
While they were still talking matters over, Gladys Bowen, a little girl
who lived in the house, came to ask if Frances might play with her; and
Frances, who had not had a playmate of her own age for some time, was
very ready to go. They had once or twice spoken rather shyly to each
other, and she thought Gladys's golden curls perfectly beautiful.
"Would you like to come upstairs and see my dolls, or shall we go down
to the reception room?" Gladys asked, adding, "My Uncle Jo owns this
house, and he lets me go where I please."
"I'd like to see the dolls," Frances said, much impressed by the uncle
who owned a hotel.
Her companion led the way to a room where a lady in an elaborate
house-gown sat in an arm-chair reading. "Mamma, I have brought Frances
to see my dolls," she announced.
"How do you do, Frances.-- Very well, Gladys, but I don't want you to
worry me. You must play in the other room." Mrs. Bowen spoke in a
languid tone, and returned to her book, but she looked up again to say,
"That is a pretty dress you have on, Frances."
The child looked down at the red challis she wore, not knowing what
reply to make.
"But you are stylish, as Gladys is, I am thankful to say," the lady
continued. "You look well together, you are dark and she so fair."
"Come on," Gladys called impatiently from the door, and Frances
followed, feeling that she ought to have said something to Mrs. Bowen.
"I'll show you Marguerite first; she's my handsomest doll. Uncle Jo gave
her to me, and she cost twenty-five dollars."
Frances caught her breath at the idea of such a doll, but was a little
disappointed when her hostess took from a drawer a fine lady, whose hair
was done up in a French twist, and whose silk gown was made with a
train. She was certainly very elegant, however, and her muff and collar
were _sure enough_ sealskin, as Gladys explained.
"She is beautiful, but I believe I like little girl dolls best," Frances
said.
Gladys brought out others of all varieties and sizes, and while her
visitor examined them, she herself talked on without a pause.
"Where did you get your name?" she asked.
Frances, who was adjusting a baby's cap, replied that she was named for
her great-grandmother.
"Are you? How funny! Mamma named me for a lady in a book--Gladys
Isabel. She doesn't like common names."
Frances wondered if Gladys thought her name common, and for a moment she
wished she had been called something more romantic.
"There is a girl who lives here in the winter," continued the
chatterbox, "whose name is Mathilde. Isn't that funny? It's French--and
she has the loveliest clothes! I wish you could see her--she hasn't come
yet. And just think! she has diamond earrings. Have you any diamonds?"
Frances shook her head, feeling very insignificant beside a girl with a
French name and diamond earrings.
"I have a diamond ring, but mamma won't let me wear it all the time for
fear I'll lose it," said Gladys. "Haven't you any rings?" and she
glanced at the plump little hands of her guest.
"I have one, but it is too small for me now. I don't care very much for
rings," was the reply.
"Don't you? I do. Mamma has ever so many. If you won't tell I'll tell
you something," Gladys went on; "Uncle Jo is going to give me a party at
Christmas, and if you are here I'll invite you. It is to be just like a
grown-up party."
"Do you go to school?" Frances asked.
"Everyday school? Yes; but I don't like it. I haven't started yet."
"I think I'll have to go now," said Frances, rising; "I hope you will
come to see me, Gladys. I have only one doll with me, but I have some
games and books."
"I don't care for books, but I'll come; and if Mathilde is here maybe
I'll bring her."
Frances went downstairs with a sober face. She had intended to tell
Gladys the story of The Golden Doorway, and about the Spectacle Man, but
she had not had a chance, and now she felt that these things would
probably seem tame and uninteresting to a young person of such varied
experience.
"Has my little girl had a good time?" Mrs. Morrison asked.
"Y-es, mother, Gladys has some of the prettiest dolls you ever saw, but
they are too dressed up to have much fun with, and she didn't seem to
want to play."
"Perhaps she doesn't know how to have a really good time, Wink; some
persons don't."
"I know one thing; she hasn't a darling mother like you!" and Frances
emphasized her words with an ardent hug.
"Very few have, | 865.339698 |
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_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
_Limited to one thousand sets
for America and Great Britain._
“_Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared
eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation.
* * * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of
profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization._”
_VICTOR HUGO._
[Illustration: AT THIS INTERESTING MOMENT, AS MAY EASILY BE
IMAGINED, WHO SHOULD COME IN BUT THE UNCLE]
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
THE WORKS OF
VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H. G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
_FORTY-THREE VOLUMES_
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHT DESIGNS,
COMPRISING REPRODUCTIONS OF RARE OLD
ENGRAVINGS, STEEL PLATES, PHOTOGRAVURES,
AND CURIOUS FAC-SIMILES
VOLUME IV
E. R. DuMONT
PARIS : LONDON : NEW YORK : CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1901
BY E. R. DUMONT
OWNED by
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
MADE BY
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
VOLTAIRE
ROMANCES
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
CONTENTS
——————
I. ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES IN SIAM … 5
II. THE BLIND AS JUDGES OF COLOR … 13
III. THE CLERGYMAN AND HIS SOUL … 15
IV. A CONVERSATION WITH A CHINESE … 28
V. MEMNON THE PHILOSOPHER … 33
VI. PLATO’S DREAM … 42
VII. AN ADVENTURE IN INDIA … 47
VIII. BABABEC … 51
IX. ANCIENT FAITH AND FABLE … 56
X. THE TWO COMFORTERS … 61
XI. DIALOGUE BETWEEN MARCUS AURELIUS AND A RECOLLET
FRIAR … 64
XII. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A BRAHMIN AND A JESUIT … 70
XIII. DIALOGUES BETWEEN LUCRETIUS AND POSIDONIUS … 76
XIV. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CLIENT AND HIS LAWYER … 95
XV. DIALOGUE BETWEEN MADAME DE MAINTENON AND MDLLE. DE
L’ENCLOS … 101
XVI. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A SAVAGE AND A BACHELOR OF ARTS … 108
——————
A TREATISE ON TOLERATION.
[In 1762 Jean Calas, a Protestant of Toulouse, was
done to death by torture on the wheel on the false
charge of having slain his son, a suicide. His widow
and children were put to the torture to extort a
confession, in utter lack of evidence. Voltaire
devoted years of unremitting labor to agitating the
terrible crime and raising money compensation for the
victims. His pamphlets aroused substantial sympathy
and protests in England and over the Continent. His
efforts led to the writing of over one hundred plays,
poems, and pamphlets on the case. Voltaire had the
satisfaction of witnessing the triumph of his long
struggle. He narrates the facts in this Treatise,
which expands into a sweeping exposure of the
cruelties committed in the name of religion, in all
ages and countries.]
LIST OF PLATES—VOL. IV
——————
MEMNON AND THE LADY’S UNCLE … _Frontispiece_
THE DISCONSOLATE WOMAN … 62
THE MAID OF ORLEANS AT THE STAKE … 144
WIDOW CAL | 865.340761 |
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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.--NO. 982.] OCTOBER 22, 1898. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
[Illustration: A MOTHER'S LOVE.
"'Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember _thee_.'"]
_All rights reserved_.]
"OUR HERO."
BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the
Dower House," etc.
CHAPTER IV.
MOST UNPLEASANT TIDINGS.
"Hallo!--Keene!--Mr. Jack Keene! At your service, sir."
"Admiral! How do you? I was near giving you the go-by."
"Near running me down, you might say. Like to a three-decker in full
sail. You are going indoors? Ay, ay, then I'll wait; I'll come another
day. 'Twas in my mind that Mrs. Fairbank might be glad of a word. But
since you are here----"
"She will be glad, I can assure you. Pray, sir, come in with me. This
is a frightful blow. It was told me as I came off the ground after
parade; and I hastened hither at full speed."
"Ay, ay; that did you!" muttered the Admiral. "Seeing nought ahead of
you but the Corsican, I'll be bound."
"'Tis a disgrace to his nation," burst out Jack. "Sir, what do you
think of the step?"
"Think! The most atrocious--the most abominable piece of work ever
heard of. If ever a living man deserved to be strung up at the
yard-arm, that man is Napoleon and none other."
"It can never, sure, be carried out."
"Nay, if the Consul choose, what is to hinder?"
"Government will not give up the vessels seized."
"Give them up! Knuckle down to the Corsican! Crouch before him like to
a whipped hound! Why, war has been declared. Our Ambassador had had
his orders to come home, before ever the step was taken. Give up the
ships! Confess ourselves wrong, in a custom which has been allowed for
ages. We'll give nothing up, nothing, my dear Jack! Sooner than that,
let Boney do his best and his worst. Wants to chase our vessels of war,
does he? Ay, so he may, when they turn tail and run away. We shall know
how to meet him afloat, fast enough--no fear! With our jolly tars, and
brave Nelson at their head, there's a thing or two yet to be taught to
the First Consul, or I'm greatly in error."
The two speakers stood outside Mrs. Fairbank's house in Bath, where
they had arrived from opposite directions at the same moment. Both had
walked fast; and each after his own mode showed excitement. The older
of the two, Admiral Peirce, a grizzled veteran, made small attempt to
hide the wrath which quivered visibly in every fibre of his athletic
figure. He had usually a frank and kindly countenance, weather-beaten
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THE TRIALS
OF
A COUNTRY PARSON
BY
AUGUSTUS JESSOPP, D.D.
AUTHOR OF
“ONE GENERATION OF A NORFOLK HOUSE,” “HISTORY OF THE DIOCESE OF
NORWICH,” &c., &c.
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
MDCCCXC
[Illustration]
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARCADY:
FOR BETTER FOR WORSE.
_Fourth Edition. Cloth, 3s. 6d._
“A volume which is, to our minds, one of the most delightful ever
published in English.”--_Spectator._
The COMING of the FRIARS,
AND OTHER MEDIÆVAL SKETCHES.
_Fourth Edition. Cloth, 7s. 6d._
“The book is one to be read and enjoyed from its title-page to its
finish.”--_Morning Post._
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.
_Preface._
_In a volume which I published three years ago[1] I attempted to give a
faithful picture of the habits and ways of thinking, the superstitions,
prejudices and grounds for discontent, the grievances and the trials,
of the country folk among whom my lot was cast and among whom it was my
duty and my privilege to live as a country clergyman. I was surprised,
and not a little pained, to hear from many who read my book that the
impression produced upon them was exactly the reverse of that which
I had desired to convey. On returning to a country village after
long residence in a large town, I found things greatly changed, of
course; but I found that, though the country folk had not shared in
the general progress which had been going on in the condition of the
urban population, they still retained some of their sturdy virtues,
still had some love for their homes, still clung to some of their old
prejudices which reflected their attachment to their birthplace, and
that if they were inclined to surrender themselves to the leadership
of blatant demagogues, and to dwell upon some real or imagined wrongs
coarsely exaggerated by itinerant agitators with their living to get
by speechifying, it was not because there was no cause for discontent.
The rustics were right when they followed their instincts and these
told them that their lot might be easily--so very easily--made much
happier than it is, if philanthropists would only give themselves a
fair chance, set themselves patiently to study facts before committing
themselves to crude theories, try to make themselves really conversant
with the conditions which they vaguely desire to ameliorate, go to work
in the right way and learn to take things by the right handles._
_The circumstances under which I commenced residence in my country
parish were, unhappily, not conducive to my forming a favourable
judgment of my people. I was at starting brought face to face with the
worst side of their characters. They were and had for long been in
bad hands; they had surrendered themselves to the guidance of those
who had gone very far towards demoralizing them. I could not be blind
to the faults--the vices if you will--which were only too apparent.
I could not but grieve at the altered_ tone _which was observable in
their language and their manners, since the days when I had been a
country curate twenty years before. But while I lamented the noticeable
deterioration and the fact that the rustics were less cordial, less
courteous, less generous, less loving, and, therefore, less happy
than they had been, I gradually got to see that the surface may be
ruffled and yet the inner nature beneath that surface may have some
depths unaffected by the turmoil. The charity which hopeth all things
suggested that it was the time to work and wait. It was not long before
I learnt to feel something more than mere interest in my people. I
learnt to love them. I learnt_--
_To see a good in evil, and a hope
In ill success; to sympathize, be proud
Of their half-reasons, faint aspirings, dim
Struggles for truth, their poorest fallacies,
Their prejudice, and fears, and cares, and doubts,
Which all touch upon nobleness, despite
Their error, all tend upwardly though weak,
Like plants in mines which never see the sun,
But dream of him, and guess where he may be,
And do their best to climb and get at him._
_I was shocked when friendly critics told me I had drawn a melancholy
picture, and that to live in such a community, and with surroundings
such as I had described, must be depressing, almost degrading, for any
man of culture and refinement._
_The essays which follow in this volume were written as a kind
of protest against any such view of the case. I think the two
volumes--this and my former one--should in fairness be read each as the
complement of the other. In “Arcady” I have drawn, as best I could, the
picture of the life of the rustics around me. In this volume I have
sketched the life of a country parson trying to do his best to elevate
those among whom he has been called to exercise his ministry._
_I hold that any clergyman in a country parish who aims_ exclusively
_at being a Religious Teacher will miss his aim. He must be more, or
he will fail to be that. He must be a social power in his parish,
and he ought to try, at any rate, to be an intellectual force also.
It is because I am strongly convinced of this that I have brought so
much into prominence the daily intercourse which I have enjoyed with
my people on the footing of a mere friendly neighbour. I cannot think
that I have any right at all to lift the veil from those private
communings with penitents who are agonized by ghastly memories, with
poor weaklings torturing themselves with religious difficulties, or at
the bedside of the sick and dying. These seem to me to be most sacred
confidences which we are bound to conceal from others as if they had
been entrusted to us under a sacramental obligation of impenetrable
silence. We all have our share of miserable experiences of this kind.
We have no right to talk of them; they never can become common property
without some one alive or dead being betrayed. In the single instance
in which I may seem to have departed from this principle, it was the
expressed wish of the poor woman whose sad story I told that others
should learn the circumstances of the case which I made public._
_It may be thought, perhaps, that my surroundings have something
peculiar in them. But, No! they are of the ordinary type. For two
centuries or so East Anglia was indeed greatly cut off from union and
sympathy with the rest of England, and was a kingdom apart. The result
has been that there are certain characteristics which distinguish
the Norfolk character, and some of them are not pleasing. These are
survivals, and they present some difficulties to him who is not an East
Anglian born, when he is first brought face to face with them. But in
the main we are all pretty much alike, and let a man be placed where
he may, he will be sure to find something new in the situation, and
almost as sure to make some mistakes at starting. I do not believe that
a man of average ability, who is really in earnest in his desire to do
the best he can for his people, and who throws himself heartily into
his work, will find one place worse than another. Let him resolve to
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[Illustration: THE DISOBEDIENT BOY. _Page 95_]
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
[Illustration: OLD JONAS. _Page 140._]
_THOMAS NELSON AND SONS_,
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE;
OR,
_STORIES ILLUSTRATING THE PROVERBS_.
BY
A. L. O. E.,
AUTHOR OF “THE SILVER CASKET”, “THE ROBBERS’ CAVE,” ETC., ETC.
WITH THIRTY-NINE ENGRAVINGS
London:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1887
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface.
Dear young friends (perhaps I may rather welcome some amongst you as
_old_ friends), I would once more gather you around me to listen to my
simple stories. I have in each one endeavoured to exemplify some truth
taught by the wise King Solomon, in the Book of Proverbs. Perhaps the
holy words, which I trust that many of you have already learned to love,
may be more forcibly imprinted on your minds, and you may apply them
more to your own conduct, when you see them illustrated by tales
describing such events as may happen to yourselves.
May the Giver of all good gifts make the choice of Solomon also yours;
may you, each and all, be endowed with that wisdom from on high which is
_more precious than rubies_; and may you find, as you proceed onward to
that better home to which Heavenly Wisdom would guide you, that _her
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace_.
A. L. O. E.
Contents.
I. THE TWO SONS, 9
II. THE PRISONER RELEASED, 21
III. THE MOTHER’S RETURN, 34
IV. THE FRIEND IN NEED, 43
V. FORBIDDEN GROUND, 62
VI. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, 76
VII. THE GREAT PLAGUE, 89
VIII. THE GREEN VELVET DRESS, 99
IX. FALSE FRIENDS, 115
X. COURAGE AND CANDOUR, 129
XI. THE SAILOR’S RESOLVE, 146
XII. THE GIPSIES, 158
XIII. FRIENDS IN NEED, 173
XIV. THE OLD PAUPER, 190
XV. THE BEAUTIFUL VILLA, 203
List of Illustrations.
THE DISOBEDIENT BOY, _Frontispiece_
OLD JONAS, _Vignette_
THE FROZEN LAKE, 10
HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER, 13
DR. MERTON AND PAUL, 16
THE FUNERAL, 18
MARIA AND MARY, 35
WATCHING FOR MOTHER, 38
GOING TO CHURCH, 44
ON A VISIT, 45
OLD WILL AYLMER, 46
SEEKING THE LORD, 57
LITTLE JOSEPH, 63
THE STREET STALL, 65
THE LAWN, 68
MRS. GRAHAM AND JOSEPH, 73
LUCY AND PRISCILLA, 78
THE TEACHER’S STORY, 92
THE PLAGUE IN LONDON, 94
JENNY IN THE STORM, 101
THE MESSAGE, 103
ALIE WATCHING THE CAT, 135
“POOR TABBY!” 136
ALIE AND THE GIPSY GIRL, 161
THE GIPSIES, 163
THE GIPSY’S APPROACH, 169
THE GREEN LANE, 174
THE OLD PAUPER, 191
MRS. WARNER AND JESSY, 206
PRECEPTS IN PRACTICE.
CHAPTER I.
THE TWO SONS.
“A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his
mother.”—PROV. xv. 20.
It was a clear, cold morning in December. Not a cloud was in the sky,
and the sun shone brightly, gilding the long icicles that hung from the
eaves, and gleaming on the frozen surface of the lake, as though he
would have melted them by his kindly smile. But the cold was too intense
for that; there was no softening of the ice; no drop hung like a tear
from the glittering icicles. Alas! that we should ever find in life
hearts colder and harder still, that even kindness fails to melt!
Many persons were skating over the lake—sometimes darting forward with
the swiftness of the wind, then making graceful curves to the right or
the left, and forming strange figures on the ice. And there were many
boys also enjoying themselves as much, although in a different
way—sliding along the slippery surface, and making the air ring with
their merry laughter.
[Illustration: THE FROZEN LAKE.]
One of the gayest of these last was a rosy-cheeked boy, who looked as
though care or sorrow had never traced a line on his face. He had just
made a very long slide, and stood flushed with the exercise to watch his
companions follow him on the glistening line, when Dr. Merton, a medical
man, who was taking his morning walk, and had come to the lake to see
the skating, lightly touched the boy on the shoulder.
“Paul Fane, is your mother better to-day?”
“Oh, she’s well enough—that’s to say, she’s always ailing,” replied the
boy carelessly, still keeping his eye upon the sliders.
“Did she sleep better last night?”
“Oh, really, why I don’t exactly know. I’ve not seen her yet this
morning.”
“Not seen her!” repeated Dr. Merton in surprise.
“Oh, sir, I knew that she’d be worrying me about my coming here upon the
ice. She’s so fidgety and frightened—she treats one like a child, and is
always fancying that there is danger when there is none;” and the boy
turned down his lip with a contemptuous expression.
“I should say that you are in danger now,” said Dr. Merton, very
gravely.
“How so? the ice is thick enough to roast an ox upon,” replied Paul,
striking it with his heel.
“In danger of the anger of that great Being who hath said, _Honour thy
father and thy mother_—in danger of much future pain and regret, when
the time for obeying that command shall be lost to you for ever.”
Paul’s cheek grew redder at these words. He felt half inclined to make
an insolent reply; but there was something in the doctor’s manner which
awed even his proud and unruly spirit.
“Where is your brother Harry?” inquired Dr. Merton.
“Oh, I suppose at home,” replied Paul bluffly, glad of any change in the
conversation; and still more glad was he when the gentleman turned away,
and left him to pursue his amusement.
And where was Harry on that bright, cheerful morning, while his brother
was enjoying himself upon the ice? In a little, dull, close room, with a
peevish invalid, the sunshine mostly shut out by the dark blinds, while
the sound of merry voices from without contrasted with the gloomy
stillness within. Harry glided about with a quiet step, trimmed the
fire, set on the kettle, prepared the gruel for his mother, and carried
it gently to the side of her bed. He arranged the pillows comfortably
for the sufferer, and tended her even as she had tended him in the days
of his helpless infancy. The fretfulness of the sick woman never moved
his patience. He remembered how often, when he was a babe, his cry had
broken her rest and disturbed her comfort. How could he do enough for
her who had given him life, and watched over him and loved him long,
long before he had been able even to make the small return of a grateful
look? Oh! what a holy thing is filial obedience! God commands it, God
has blessed it, and He will bless it for ever. He that disobeys or
neglects a parent is planting thorns for his own pillow, and they are
thorns that shall one day pierce him even to the soul.
[Illustration: HARRY TENDING HIS MOTHER.]
“Where is Paul?” said Mrs. Fane with uneasiness. “I am always anxious
about that dear boy. I do trust that he has not ventured upon the ice.”
“I believe, mother, that the ice has been considered safe, quite safe,
for the last three days.”
“You know nothing about the matter,” cried the fretful invalid. “I had a
cousin drowned once in that lake when every one said that there was no
danger. I have forbidden you both a thousand times to go near the ice;”
and she gave her son a look of displeasure, as though he had been the
one to break her command.
“Will you not take your gruel now?” said Harry, again drawing her
attention to it, and placing yet closer to her that which he had so
carefully made.
“I do not like it—it’s cold—it’s full of lumps; you never do anything
well!”
“I must try and improve,” said her son, struggling to look cheerful, but
feeling the task rather hard. “If you will not take this, shall I get
you a little tea?”
Mrs. Fane assented with a discontented air, and Harry instantly
proceeded to make some; while all the time that he was thus engaged his
poor mother continued in a tone of anxiety and sorrow to express her
fears for her elder son.
“Are you more comfortable now, dear mother?” said Harry, after she had
partaken of her nice cup of tea. Her only reply was a moan. “Can I do
anything else for you?—yes, I see; the top of that blind hangs loose | 865.4421 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.4238580 | 997 | 22 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
MARRIED LIFE:
ITS SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE
BY
T. S. ARTHUR.
PHILADELPHIA:
1852.
PREFACE.
THE highest, purest, best and holiest relation in life is that of
marriage, which ought never to be regarded as a mere civil contract,
entered into from worldly ends, but as an essential union of two
minds, by which each gains a new power, and acquires! new capacities
for enjoyment and usefulness. Much has been said and written about
the equality of the sexes, and the rights of woman; but little of
all that has been said or written on this subject is based upon a
discriminating appreciation of the difference between man and woman;
a difference provided by the Creator, who made them for each other,
and stamped upon the spirit of each an irresistible tendency towards
conjunction.
The many evils resulting from marriage do not arise from a failure
in our sex to recognise the equality of man and woman, or the rights
of the latter; but from hasty, ill-judged and discordant alliances,
entered into in so many cases, from motives of a mere external
nature, and with no perception of internal qualities tending to a
true spiritual conjunction. Oppression and wrong cannot flow from
true affection, for love seeks to bless its object.--If, therefore,
man and woman are not happy in marriage, the fault lies in an
improper union, and no remedy can be found in outward constraints or
appliances. Let each, under such circumstances, remove from himself
or herself a spirit of selfish opposition; let forbearance,
gentleness, and a humane consideration, the one for the other, find
its way into the heart, and soon a better and a brighter day will
dawn upon them; for then will begin that true interior conjunction
which only can be called marriage. Happily, we have the intellectual
ability to see what is true, and the power to compel ourselves to do
what reason shows us to be right. And here lies the power of all to
rise above those ills of life which flow from causes in themselves.
To aid in this work, so far as discordant marriage relations are
concerned, and to bind in closer bonds those whose union is
internal, is the present volume prepared. That it will tend to unite
rather than separate, where discord unhappily exists, and to warn
those about forming alliances against the wrong of improper ones,
the author is well assured.
This book is the second in the series of "ARTHUR'S LIBRARY FOR THE
HOUSEHOLD." The third in the series will be "THE TWO WIVES; OR, LOST
AND WON," which is nearly ready for publication.
CONTENTS.
THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND.
RULING A WIFE.
THE INVALID WIFE.
THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL.
GUESS WHO IT IS.
MARRYING A TAILOR.
THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE.
THE FORTUNE-HUNTER.
IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY?
THE UNLOVED ONE.
MARRIED LIFE.
THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A HUSBAND.
TO those who have never tried the experiment, the management of a
husband may seem a very easy matter. I thought so once, but a few
years' hard experience has compelled me to change my mind. When I
married Mr. John Smith, which was about ten years ago, I was not
altogether blind to his faults and peculiarities; but then he had so
many solid virtues, that these were viewed as minor considerations.
Besides, I flattered myself that it would be the easiest thing in
the world to correct what was not exactly to my taste. It is no
matter of especial wonder that I should have erred in this, for Mr.
John Smith, while a lover, really appeared to have no will of his
own, and no thought of himself. It was only necessary for me to
express a wish, and it was gratified.
I soon found, much to my disappointment, that there is a marked
difference between a husband and a lover: it was at least so in the
case of Mr. Smith, and observation, since I have had my eyes open,
satisfies me that it is so in most cases. I must own, in justice to
all parties, however, that this difference is made more apparent by
a want of knowledge, on the other side, in regard to the difference
between the relation of a wife and a sweetheart--between | 865.443898 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.4239790 | 22 | 52 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp | 865.444019 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.6576910 | 1,016 | 89 |
Produced by David Edwards, Tom Cosmas, The Internet Archives
for replacement pages, OZClub.org for a better cover image,
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 Notes
Text emphasis id denoted as _Italics_ and =Bold=.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| The |
| |
| Scarecrow of Oz |
| |
| |
| |
| by |
| |
| L. Frank Baum |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
===== The Famous Oz Books =====
Since 1900, when L. Frank Baum introduced to the children of America
THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ and all the other exciting characters who
inhabit the land of Oz, these delightful fairy tales have stimulated the
imagination of millions of young readers.
These are stories which are genuine fantasy creative, funny, tender,
exciting and surprising. Filled with the rarest and most absurd
creatures, each of the 14 volumes which now comprise the series, has been
eagerly sought out by generation after generation until to-day they are
known to all except the very young or those who were never young at all.
When, in a recent survey, The =New York Times= polled a group of teen agers
on the books they liked best when they were young, the Oz books topped
the list.
THE FAMOUS OZ BOOKS
-------------------
By L. Frank Baum:
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE LAND OF OZ
OZMA OF OZ
DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ
THE ROAD TO OZ
THE EMERALD CITY OF OZ
THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
TIK-TOK OF OZ
THE SCARECROW OF OZ
RINKITINK IN OZ
THE LOST PRINCESS OF OZ
THE TIN WOODMAN OF OZ
THE MAGIC OF OZ
GLINDA OF OZ
Chicago THE REILLY & LEE CO. _Publishers_
[Illustration: THE SCARECROW _OF_ OZ]
Dedicated to
"The Uplifters" of Los Angeles, California, in grateful appreciation
of the pleasure I have derived from association with them, and in
recognition of their sincere endeavor to uplift humanity through
kindness, consideration and good-fellowship. They are big men all of them
and all with the generous hearts of little children.
L. Frank Baum
[Illustration]
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| THE |
| |
| =SCARECROW OF OZ= |
| |
| |
| BY |
| |
| L. FRANK BAUM |
| |
| AUTHOR OF |
| |
| THE ROAD TO OZ, DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ, THE EMERALD |
| CITY OF OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, OZMA OF OZ. THE PATCHWORK GIRL |
| OF OZ, TIK-TOK OF OZ |
| |
| |
| |
| [Illustration] |
| |
| |
| |
| ILLUSTRATED BY |
| JOHN R. NEILL |
| |
| |
| =The Reilly & Lee Co= |
| Chicago |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| COPYRIGHT |
| |
| 1915 BY |
| |
| L Frank Baum |
| |
| ALL |
| |
| RIGHTS RESERVED |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
'TWIXT YOU AND ME
The Army of Children which besieged the Postoffice, conquered the Postmen
and delivered to me its imperious Commands, insisted that Trot and Cap'n
Bill be admitted to the Land of Oz, where Trot could enjoy the society
of Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin and Ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might
become a comrade of the Tin Woodman, the Shag | 865.677731 |
2023-11-16 18:31:29.7172200 | 2,322 | 27 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE DESTRUCTION
OF
THE GREEK EMPIRE
The Destruction of the Greek
Empire and the Story of the
Capture of Constantinople by
the Turks
BY
EDWIN PEARS, LL.B.
Knight of the Greek Order of the Saviour and Commander of
the Bulgarian Order of Merit
Author of ‘The Fall of Constantinople: being the
Story of the Fourth Crusade’
_WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1903
All rights reserved
PREFACE
My object in writing this book is to give an account of the capture
of Constantinople and the destruction of the Greek empire. In order
to make the story intelligible and to explain its significance I
have given a summary of the history of the empire between the Latin
conquest in 1204 and the capture of the city in 1453, and have traced
the progress during the same period of the race which succeeded in
destroying the empire and in replacing the Greeks as the possessors of
New Rome.
It may be objected that the task which I have set before me has already
been accomplished by Gibbon, and that, as his chapter on the last siege
of the city is carefully compiled and written with a brilliancy of
style which he has nowhere surpassed, there is no need for any further
study of the subject. My answer is twofold: first, that an important
mass of new material is now at the disposal of any one who wishes to
retell the story, and second, that Gibbon told it with a bias which
makes it desirable that it should be retold.
The historian of the ‘Decline and Fall’ had less than half the material
before him which is now available, and the story of the siege deserves
telling with more accuracy and completeness than either the authorities
available to him or the scope of his monumental work permitted. It is
true that Professor J. B. Bury, the latest editor of Gibbon, has, by
the aid of scholarly notes and of careful research, enabled the reader
to become possessed of many of the details regarding the siege which
have recently become known, but he would be the first to admit that
there is ample room for a fuller history of the siege than that given
in the ‘Decline and Fall’ even with the aid of his valuable notes.[1]
Gibbon himself regretted the poverty of his materials and especially
that he had not been able to obtain any Turkish accounts of the
siege.[2] The only eye-witnesses whose narratives were before him were
Phrantzes, Archbishop Leonard, and Cardinal Isidore. If we add to their
narratives the accounts given by Ducas and Chalcondylas together with
what Gibbon himself calls ‘short hints of Cantemir and Leunclavius,’ we
have substantially all the sources of information which were available
when the ‘Decline and Fall’ was written.
The new sources of information regarding the siege brought to light
since Gibbon’s day enable us to gain a much more complete view of that
event and of the character of its principal actors than was possible
at the time when he wrote. Several Continental writers have taken
advantage of some at least of the new stores of information to rewrite
its story,[3] but I may be allowed to claim the good fortune of being
the first Englishman who has even attempted to write a narrative of
that event with the whole or even with any considerable portion of the
new material before him.
Before, however, proceeding to indicate what the new sources of
information are, I must say something regarding the second reason I
have assigned why those interested in the account of an event which
marks the end of an epoch of great traditions and of a civilisation on
ancient rather than on modern lines should not remain satisfied with
Gibbon’s account of it. Though he claimed to examine the authorities
before him with philosophical impartiality, the writers known to him
belonged to the Roman Church, and he was influenced unconsciously by
their representations. These writers wrote under the influence of the
most bitter theological controversies. They are imbued with a spirit
of rancour towards those Greeks (that is, towards the great majority
of the population) who had not accepted the Union with the Church of
Rome which had been decreed at Florence. Their testimony throughout
their narratives is for the most part that of violent partisans. But
even if Gibbon, when dealing with the disputes between the great
historical Churches, had been in possession of statements of the
Greek case, his contempt for both Churches was too great to allow him
to do justice to the questions which divided them, questions which
nevertheless, as they prevented the united action of Europe to resist
the Turkish invasion, were among the most important of the time. His
habit of thought as an eighteenth century theist did not allow him to
attach sufficient weight to the theological aspect of the struggle
between the East and the West. Everything that smelt of the cloister
was hateful. The theological questions themselves were not worth
discussion. The disputants were in his view narrow-minded, ignorant,
and superstitious. The refinements of the definitions of the Double
Procession were useless, trivial, or ridiculous. Religious zeal or
enthusiasm was a thing to be condemned--was the mark of fanaticism and
always mischievous. In this attitude of mind Gibbon was neither better
nor worse than the majority of his philosophical contemporaries. He
differed from them in being able to bequeath to future generations a
work of monumental learning, in which his and their reading of the
progress of Christianity in the Eastern empire was destined to have
a long and deservedly great reputation. His research and eloquence,
his keen sarcasm, his judicial manner, and the powerful influence of
the ‘Decline and Fall’ were employed to discredit Christianity rather
than to try to discover amid the fierce wranglings of theologians over
insoluble problems what was their signification for the history of the
time of which he was treating and in the development of the human mind.
He began with a period in which the emperor is worshipped as Divinity
and traced the establishment of Christianity as a national faith among
Pagan subjects until in a diversified form it became accepted by all;
but he did this without affording us any help to see how the human mind
could accept the first position or what were the movements of thought
which led to the evolution of the questions which agitated men’s minds
in the later period.
The century in which he and his contemporaries lived was for them
one of hostility to Christianity rather than of investigation, the
period of Voltaire, who could only see in Byzantine history ‘a
worthless repertory of declamation and miracles, disgraceful to
the human mind’ rather than of the Continental and English writers
of the modern historical school. Happily, in the twentieth century
those who look upon Christianity with an independence as complete
as that of Gibbon recognise that insight can only be obtained by
sympathetic investigation, that for the right understanding of history
it is essential to put oneself in the place of men who have attached
importance to a religious controversy, to consider their environment
and examine their conduct and motives from their point of view, if we
would comprehend either the causes which have led such controversy
to be regarded as important or the conduct of the controversialists
themselves. The absence in Gibbon of any sympathetic attempt to
understand the controversies which play so large a part in his great
drama of human history renders him as unsatisfactory a guide in regard
to them as a writer of English history during the period of Charles
the First would be who should merely treat with contempt the half
religious, half political questions which divided Englishmen. While the
objection I have suggested to Gibbon’s attitude would apply generally
to his treatment of religious questions, I have only to deal with it in
reference to the period of which I am treating. When writing of this
period Gibbon did not realise that the religious question was nearly
always a political one, and that union with Rome meant subjection
to Rome. But unless it be realised how completely the citizens of
Constantinople and the other great cities of the empire were engrossed
with semi-religious and semi-political questions, no true conception
of the life of the empire can be formed; for these questions were of
interest not merely to Churchmen but to all.
Among the documents brought to light during the last fifty or sixty
years which have contributed to our better knowledge of the siege the
most important are the ‘Diary’ of Nicolo Barbaro and the ‘Life of
Mahomet’ by Critobulus.
Barbaro belonged to a noble Venetian family. He was present in
Constantinople throughout the siege, kept a journal[4] of what he saw
and heard, and, though full of prejudices against Genoese, Greeks, and
Turks, contrives to tell his story in a manner which carries conviction
of its truthfulness. His narrative conveys the impression of an
independent observer who had no object in writing except to relate what
he knew about the siege. While probably written from day to day, the
diary bears internal evidence of having been revised after he had left
the city. Its language is old-fashioned colloquial Venetian and has
often puzzled Italians whom I have called in to my aid.
The original manuscript of the diary was preserved in Venice by members
of the Barbaro family until 1829. After various adventures it came in
1837 into the possession of the Imperial and Royal Marciana Library in
Venice. In 1854 it was entrusted to Enrico Cornet, and was published by
him for the first time in 1856.
Critobulus, the author of the ‘Life of Mahomet the Second,’ was a man
of a different type. Nothing is known of him beyond what is contained
in his Life of Mahomet.[5] He describes himself as ‘Critobulus the
Islander.’ After the capture of Constantinople, when the archons of
Imbros, Lemnos, and Thasos feared that the Turkish admiral would
shortly approach to annex these islands, messengers were sent to
the admiral and succeeded, by offering voluntary submission and by
paying him a large bribe, in avoiding the general pillage which
usually followed a Turkish conquest. Shortly | 865.73726 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, 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)
_UNDER THE SUPERINTENDENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE DIFFUSION OF USEFUL
KNOWLEDGE._
THE
GALLERY OF PORTRAITS:
WITH
MEMOIRS.
VOLUME VII.
LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT, 22, LUDGATE-STREET.
1837.
[PRICE ONE GUINEA, BOUND IN CLOTH.]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
Duke-Street, Lambeth.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PORTRAITS AND BIOGRAPHIES
CONTAINED IN THIS VOLUME.
Page.
1. Gustavus Adolphus 1
2. Marc Antonio Raimondi 10
3. Coke 15
4. Gibbon 25
5. Scaliger 32
6. Penn 39
7. De Thou 49
8. Chatham 55
9. Mozart 66
10. Loyola 73
11. Brindley 81
12. Schiller 87
13. Bentham 97
14. Catherine II. 103
15. Defoe 112
16. Hume 121
17. De Witt 129
18. Hampden 137
19. Dr. Johnson 145
20. Jefferson 153
21. Wilberforce 162
22. Dr. Black 169
23. Bacon 177
24. Sir Walter Scott 185
[Illustration:
_Engraved by J. Posselwhite._
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.
_From a Print by Paul Pontius, after a Picture by Van Dyck._
Under the Superintendence of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge.
_London, Published by Charles Knight & C^o. Ludgate Street._
]
[Illustration]
GUST. ADOLPHUS.
During the fourteenth, and the beginning of the fifteenth century,
Sweden, lying under vassalage to the crown of Denmark, suffered the
evils which commonly belong to that condition. Gustavus Vasa, after a
series of romantic adventures, established the independence of his
country, and was deservedly elected by the Swedish Diet, in 1523, to
wear its crown. The same kingdom to which he gave a place among free
states, his grandson, Gustavus Adolphus, raised from the obscurity of a
petty northern power, to rule in Germany, and to be the terror of the
Church of Rome.
The establishment of the Reformation was coeval with the independence of
Sweden; and a fundamental law forbade any future sovereign to alter the
national religion, or to admit Roman Catholics to offices of power and
trust. For infringing this principle, Sigismond, by election King of
Poland, the lineal successor of Gustavus Vasa, was set aside by the
Diet, and the crown was given to his father’s younger brother, Charles,
Duke of Sudermania. Charles died, and was succeeded by his son Gustavus
Adolphus, December 31, 1611; the high promise of whose youth induced the
States to abridge the period of minority, and admit him at once to the
exercise of regal power, though he had but just attained the age of
seventeen, being born December 9, 1594.
He had been trained up in the knowledge likely to be serviceable to a
king and a soldier. He spoke the Latin language, then a universal medium
of communication, with uncommon energy and precision; he conversed
fluently in French, Italian, and German; he had studied history,
political science, mathematics, and military tactics; and commencing
with the part of a musketeer, he had been made master, by practice, of
all the details of a soldier’s life. He was capable of very severe
application to abstruse study, and is said to have passed whole nights
in reading the military history of the ancients. He was of uncommon
stature and strength, and his constitution was early inured to labour
and endurance.
Gustavus’s situation, at his accession, was critical. The King of Poland
laid claim to his dominions, and Denmark and Muscovy were in arms
against him. The danger was most pressing on the side of Denmark; and
thither Gustavus’s first efforts were directed. But in Christian IV. he
had to contend with an able enemy, from whom he gained no advantage; and
after one unsuccessful campaign he accommodated the quarrel at the
expense of some concessions. In the war with Muscovy he was more
fortunate; and he reduced the Czar to purchase peace in 1617, by the
sacrifice of the provinces which border the Gulf of Finland and the
Baltic sea. During these years of warfare, Gustavus found leisure to
bestow attention upon internal improvements. He devoted much thought and
care upon strengthening the Swedish navy, esteeming that to be his
surest defence against invasion; he sought to encourage commerce; he
purified the administration of justice, by rendering judges less
dependant upon the crown, and by abridging the tediousness and expense
of lawsuits; and he laboured to devise means for increasing the revenue
by judicious arrangement, without adding to the burdens of the people.
Both in peace and war he received the most valuable assistance from his
zealous, faithful, and sagacious minister, the celebrated Oxenstiern.
In 1620 Gustavus travelled incognito through the chief towns of Germany.
At Berlin he formed acquaintance with Maria Eleonora, sister to the
Elector of Brandenburg, whom he espoused at Stockholm in November of the
same year. One daughter, the famous Christina, his successor, was the
offspring of this marriage.
The King of Poland’s enmity was not seconded by his ability. He
endeavoured in vain to shake the fidelity of Gustavus’s subjects, and he
tried the fortune of war with no better success. In the contests between
the cousins, which occurred in the first ten years of Gustavus’s reign,
the advantage was always on the side of Sweden. Gustavus was desirous of
peace, and forbore to press his superiority. But Sigismond’s hostility
was nourished and stimulated by the leading Catholic powers, Spain and
Austria; and he made so bad a return for this moderation, that in 1621
the war was renewed in a more determined manner, and in the course of
eight years Livonia, Courland, and Polish Prussia, were gradually
subjected to Sweden. During this time Gustavus was no careless spectator
of the Thirty Years’ War, which was raging in Germany. However well
inclined he might be to step forward as the defender of the Protestant
cause, he could not do so with effect while his exertions were demanded
in Poland; and though he made an offer of assistance to the Protestants
in 1626, it was clogged with conditions which induced them to decline
his proposals. But in 1629, under the mediation of France, he concluded
a truce for six years with Sigismond, retaining possession of the
conquered provinces; and being thus relieved from all fear of Poland,
and guaranteed against injury from Denmark by the interest of that
country in checking the progress of the Imperial arms, he found himself
qualified to take the decisive part which he had long desired in the
affairs of Germany. How far his determination was influenced by personal
and ambitious motives, how far it was due to patriotism and religious
zeal, it must be left to each inquirer to decide for himself. The crisis
was one of extreme importance: for the temporal rights of the whole
German empire were endangered by the inordinate and seemingly prosperous
ambition of the House of Austria; and the Protestant states in
particular had reason to apprehend the speedy destruction of their own,
and the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic church. And if the
influence of the Emperor, Ferdinand II., supported by the papal
hierarchy re-established in its great power and rich benefices through
the north of Germany, were suffered unchecked to extend itself to the
Baltic sea, the liberties of Sweden and Denmark, and the very existence
of the Reformation on the Continent, seemed to be involved in no remote
danger. To pull down the power of Ferdinand and the Catholic League thus
became of vital moment to the King of Sweden. But though the Protestant
princes were ready to invoke his assistance in secret complaints, none
of them dared to conclude an open treaty with a distant prince, and a
kingdom hitherto obscure, and thus to incur the resentment of the
Emperor, whose formidable armies, anxious above all things for the
renewal of war and rapine, were at hand. Moreover, the jealousy and
selfishness of the chiefs of the Protestant union formed a greater
obstacle to the King of Sweden’s views, than even the weakness of their
individual states. Unable, therefore, to obtain the cordial and willing
co-operation of those who were linked to him by the bond of a common
interest, Gustavus had only the alternative to abandon them to their
fate and share the dangers which he sought to obviate, or to take the
equivocal and rarely defensible step of occupying their territories and
compelling their assistance, an unsolicited, though an honourable and
friendly, ally. He chose the latter.
The shortest apology for this determination, which as a matter of policy
was opposed by Oxenstiern, may be found in the substance of the king’s
answer to that minister’s objections, as it is abridged by Schiller in
his History of the Thirty Years’ War. “If we wait for the enemy in
Sweden, in losing a battle, all is lost: all, on the contrary, is gained
if we obtain the first success in Germany. The sea is large, and we have
extensive coasts to watch. Should the enemy’s fleet escape us, or our
own be beaten, it is not possible for us to prevent a landing. We must
therefore use all our efforts for the preservation of Stralsund. So long
as this harbour shall be in our power Ave shall maintain the honour of
our flag in the Baltic, and shall be able to keep up a free intercourse
with Germany. But in order to defend Stralsund we must not shut
ourselves up in Sweden; but must pass over with an army into Pomerania.
Speak to me then no more of a defensive war, by which we shall lose our
most precious advantages. Sweden herself must not behold the standards
of the enemy; and, if we are vanquished in Germany, it will still be
time enough to have recourse to your plan.”
The army which Gustavus carried into Germany consisted only of 15,000
men; but it was formidable from its bravery, its high discipline, and
the reliance which the general and the troops felt upon each other. “All
excesses,” we quote from Schiller, “were punished in a severe manner;
but blasphemy, theft, gaming, and duelling, met with a more severe
chastisement. The Swedish articles of war prescribed moderation; there
was not to be seen in the Swedish camp, even in the tent of the king,
either gold or silver. The general’s eye watched carefully over the
manners of the soldiers, while it en-flamed their courage in battle.
Every regiment must each morning and evening form itself in a circle
round its chaplain, and, in the open air, address prayers to the
Almighty. In all this the legislator himself served as a model. An
unaffected and pure piety animated the courage of his great mind.
Equally free from that gross incredulity which leaves without restraint
the ferocious movements of the barbarian, and the grovelling bigotry of
a Ferdinand, who abased himself in the dust before the Divinity, and yet
disdainfully trampled on the necks of mankind, in the height of his good
fortune, Gustavus was always a man and a Christian; amid all his
devotion, the hero and the king. He supported all the hardships of war
like the lowest soldier in his army; his mind was serene in the midst of
the most furious battle; his genius pointed out the results to him
beforehand; everywhere present, he forgot death which surrounded him,
and he was always found where there was the greatest danger. His natural
valour made him too often lose sight of what was due to the general, and
this great king terminated his life as a common soldier. But the coward
as well as the brave followed such a leader to victory, and not any of
the heroical actions which his example had created ever escaped his
penetrating eye. The glory of their sovereign inflamed the entire
Swedish nation with a noble confidence; proud of his king, the peasant
of Finland and Gothland joyfully gave up what his poverty could afford;
the soldier willingly shed his blood; and that elevated sentiment which
the genius of this single man gave to the nation survived him a
considerable time.”
Gustavus took a solemn farewell of the States of the kingdom, May 20,
1630, presenting to them his daughter Christina, as his heir and
successor. Adverse winds delayed his departure, and it was not till the
24th of June that he reached the coast of Pomerania. He disembarked his
army on the islands of Wollin and Usedom, at the mouth of the Oder, and
having taken possession of the strong town of Stettin on the same river,
established a sure footing on the continent, and secured his means of
retreat and communication with Sweden. To this proceeding he gained a
reluctant consent from the Duke of Pomerania, who, though wearied and
disgusted with the ravages of the Imperial troops, was unwilling to
commit himself in defence of that which still appeared the weaker cause.
But having no force to prevent the hostile, if he refused to warrant the
friendly, occupation of his country, he made a virtue of necessity, and
allied himself closely with the Swede.
Gustavus’s progress at first produced no uneasiness at Vienna: the
courtiers called him the snow-king, and said in derision that he would
melt in his progress southward. But in the first campaign he nearly
cleared Pomerania of the Imperialists; and he was strengthened by the
accession of the Duke of Mecklenburg, who, having been despoiled of his
territories in favour of Wallenstein, now openly raised troops in
support of the King of Sweden. As winter approached, the Imperialists
negotiated for a suspension of arms; but Gustavus replied, “The Swedes
are soldiers in winter as well as summer, and are not disposed to make
the peaceable inhabitants of the country support any longer than
necessary the evils of war. The Imperialists may do as they choose, but
the Swedes do not intend to remain inactive.”
Meanwhile he met with cold support from the Protestant princes, in whose
cause he had taken arms. The chief of these was the Elector of Saxony,
who felt a jealousy, not unnatural, of the power and the ultimate views
of the King of Sweden, and was himself ambitious to play the first part
among the Protestants of Germany. Seeking to act independently, and to
hold the balance between Sweden and Austria, he invited the Protestant
States to a conference at Leipsic, February 6, 1613, at which it was
determined to demand from the Emperor the redress of grievances, and to
levy an army of 40,000 men, to give weight to their remonstrances. On
the 13th of January, Gustavus had concluded an alliance with France, by
the terms of which he was to maintain in Germany 30,000 men, France
furnishing a subsidy of 400,000 dollars yearly, to use his best
endeavours to reinstate those princes who had been expelled from their
dominions by the Emperor, or the Catholic League, and to restore the
empire to the condition in which it existed at the commencement of the
war. Richelieu tried to bring the princes who had joined in the
convention of Leipsic to accede to this alliance, but with very partial
success. A few promised to support the Swedes, when opportunity should
favour; but the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg kept aloof. During
these negotiations Gustavus made progress in Brandenburg. The memorable
siege and destruction of Magdeburg, May 10, by Tilly, for a time cast a
gloom over the Protestant cause. Gustavus has been censured, both as a
man and a soldier, for suffering that well-deserving and important place
to fall without risking a battle in its behalf. His defence rests upon
the interposed delays, and the insincerity of the Electors, which
involved him in the risk of total destruction if he advanced thus far
without having his retreat secured. But even this signal misfortune
proved finally serviceable to the Protestant cause. It induced Gustavus
to adopt a different tone with his brother-in-law of Brandenburg, who,
finding no alternative but a real union or an open rupture with Sweden,
wisely chose the former. The pride of success led the Imperial generals
into acts of insolence, which induced the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel,
first of the German princes, to conclude a close and hearty alliance
with Sweden, and left the Elector of Saxony no choice between entire
dependence on the already exasperated Emperor, and an effective support
of the only power that could protect him. Accordingly he formed a
junction with the Swedes, and the united forces joined battle with Tilly
not far from Leipsic, September 7, 1631. The opposing armies were nearly
equal in strength. The stress of the conflict fell on the right wing of
the Swedes, where the King commanded in person. The fiery Pappenheim led
seven impetuous charges of the whole Austrian cavalry against the
Swedish battalions without success, and, seven times repulsed, abandoned
the field with great loss. The Saxons on the left wing were broken by
Tilly. But the day was restored by a decisive movement of the Swedish
right wing upon Tilly’s flank, and the Imperialists dispersed in utter
confusion. Leipsic, Merseburg, and Halle speedily fell into the victor’s
hands; and no obstacle existed to check his advance even to the heart of
the Emperor’s hereditary dominions. This was a tempting prospect to an
ambitious man: but it would have abandoned Germany to Tilly, who was
already occupied in raising a fresh army; and the King of Sweden
determined to march towards Franconia and the Rhine, to encourage by his
presence the Protestants who wavered, and to cut the sinews of the
Catholic League, by occupying the territories, and diverting the
revenues of its princes. Bohemia lay open to the Elector of Saxony, and
he left it to that prince to divert the Emperor’s attention, by carrying
the war into that country.
From Leipsic, Gustavus pursued his triumphant way to the southward. The
rich bishopric of Wurtzburg fell into his hands, almost without
resistance. Nuremburg placed itself under his protection. The nobility
and citizens of Franconia declared in his favour as soon as they were
relieved from the presence of the Imperial troops, and when his drum
beat for recruits, crowds flocked to the Swedish standards. He pursued
his course along the Maine to Frankfort, which opened its gates, and
received a Swedish garrison; and being strengthened by the junction of
the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, with 10,000 men, he crossed the Rhine,
and, after a short siege, became master of Mentz by capitulation,
December 13, 1631. There he gave his troops a few weeks’ repose, being
himself busily engaged in diplomatic labours. Early in the following
year he completed the conquest of the Palatinate, and threatened to
carry the war into Alsace and Lorraine.
The advance of Tilly recalled the King of Sweden into Franconia, at the
head of 40,000 men. Tilly then retreated into Bavaria, closely followed
by the enemy, who passed the Danube at Donawerth, forced the passage of
the Lech, and carried the war into the yet uninjured plains of Bavaria.
The passage of this river in the face of the enemy, April 5, is regarded
as one of the King of Sweden’s most remarkable exploits. His old
antagonist Tilly received a mortal wound on this day. Munich, the
capital, and the greater part of the Electorate, yielded without
resistance. | 865.737452 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
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|The Erratum note has been applied to the text. |
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|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
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MEN WE MEET IN THE FIELD.
[Illustration]
MEN WE MEET IN
THE FIELD.
BY A. G. BAGOT ("BAGATELLE").
[Illustration]
1881.
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND,
LONDON.
MEN WE MEET IN THE FIELD
OR
THE BULLSHIRE HOUNDS.
BY A. G. BAGOT ("BAGATELLE"),
AUTHOR OF "SPORTING SKETCHES IN THREE CONTINENTS."
London:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
1881.
[_All rights reserved._]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
PREFACE.
The present series of Sketches in the Hunting Field have, from time to
time, appeared in the columns of _The Country Gentleman and Sporting
Gazette_, to the Editor of which journal I am indebted for leave to
reprint them. All, or nearly all, the characters I have endeavoured to
portray have come under my personal observation, and are from life; but
I have done my utmost to avoid depicting peculiarities that might serve
to identify my models, or using personalities that might offend them.
In placing MEN WE MEET IN THE FIELD before the public, beyond
acknowledging that I have perhaps not done full justice to the subject,
I offer no apology; for anything said or done, painted or written, that
serves in any way to call attention to our glorious old national sport,
or to recall perchance the scenes of our youth, is not done amiss. In
that it is one more stone, however humble, in the wall of defence which,
alas! it is now becoming necessary to build against the attacks of those
whose aim seems to be the demolition of all sport, dazzled as they are
by the glamour of notoriety, won by sensational legislation, at the
expense of all that has made England what she is, and her sons and
daughters what they are.
I do not for a moment wish to enter into political argument. In the
Field, Liberal and Conservative, Radical and Home-Ruler, meet as one,
save only in the struggle for the lead. But what I do hold is that, by
measures such as the Ground Game Bill and the Abolition of all Freedom
of Contract, our national sports are fast being blotted out, and that it
behoves all true sportsmen to array themselves against such things.
Of the matter contained in the volume I am now sending on its way,
others must judge. I confess that I have enjoyed the writing of it. If I
am fortunate enough to find some at least who enjoy the reading I shall
be content, and shall feel I have not laboured in vain.
To those who so kindly received my maiden venture, "Sporting Sketches"
(Messrs. Swan, Sonnenschein, and Allen), I offer my best thanks. Like a
young hound who has not felt too much whipcord, encouragement has given
confidence. I can only hope I may not have flashed over the line.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
THE MASTER 8
THE HUNTSMAN 16
THE WHIPS 26
THE SECRETARY 35
THE FARMER 46
THE PARSON 58
THE DOCTOR 72
THE DEALERS 84
THE GRUMBLER 98
THE LADY WHO HUNTS AND RIDES 113
THE LADY WHO HUNTS AND DOES NOT RIDE 126
THE SCHOOLBOYS 139
THE BOASTER 154
HODGE 169
THE KEEPER 182
THE AUTHORITY 197
THE BLACKSMITH 212
THE RUNNER 225
THE MAN AT THE TOLL-BAR 237
WHO-WHOOP! 247
THE FIRST OF THE SEASON 257
UNCLE JOHN'S NEW HORSE 262
THE HOG-BACKED STILE 287
ERRATUM.
_For_ "Hollo!" _read throughout_ "Holloa!"
MEN WE MEET IN THE FIELD.
INTRODUCTORY.
For those fond of studying character under various circumstances and in
various positions, there is, perhaps, no medium affording so good an
opportunity, or so vast a scope, as the hunting-field.
There more than in any other place do men's characters appear in their
true lights. At the covert-side the irritable man, however well he may
on ordinary occasions be able to conceal his irritability, will fret and
fume if things do not go exactly as he wishes. The boaster, who in the
safety of his armchair astonishes his friends with anecdotes of his own
daring exploits, is, after a fast forty minutes, more often than not
weighed in the balance and found wanting. The garrulous individual, who
invariably knows where the fox has gone and what the huntsman ought to
do, is in the field estimated at his proper value. There also the
grumblers never fail to find a grievance, nor the elder generations of
sportsmen to lament the "good old days gone by." In fact, the
"bell-mouthed pack and tuneful horn" seem to act in some occult way in
bringing out the idiosyncrasies of all their followers. This being so, a
few sketches may not be uninteresting, and I shall endeavour to draw
with my pen some portraits of those with whom we yearly ride, and who
are so well known to most of us. To do this the more concisely, I
propose to describe the field, subscribers, visitors, and others, who
are to be found at the meets from the 1st of November to the end of
April, and who go to make up the members of that justly celebrated
pack--the Bullshire Hounds. Before individualising, however, it will be
necessary to give a short history of the hunt, with a brief outline of
the country, and its gradual growth.
The Bullshire country is one of the oldest in England, and was
originally hunted on what is known as the "Trencher system," that is
everybody, in lieu of paying a subscription, kept (according to his
means) one or more hounds, which he was bound to bring with him to the
spot selected by the Master (who was yearly elected as huntsman) for the
meet. No sinecure was the office of M.F.H., carrying the horn, for as
every hound recognised the rule of a different Master, and every Master
considered himself entitled to an opinion in the case of his own hound,
there was a good deal of jealousy among the latter and no small amount
of "tail" among the former. The "tailing," however, was augmented by the
different system of preparation and feeding the Bullshire Hounds
received, for while Bellman before hunting was treated to no supper,
Truelove had to deal with a sumptuous repast placed before her by the
compassionate but ignorant goodwife, "who couldn't abear the idea of the
old dog doing all that work on an empty stomach."
After a little the system proved unsatisfactory, and a step in the
proper direction was taken. Old Gregory the Whip was sent round early in
the morning the day before the meet to collect the pack, and it thus
became his business to see that all fared alike--wisely, and not too
well. From this it was an easy stage to kennels, and somehow, before the
inhabitants knew how it happened, they found themselves paying their
subscriptions with and without a murmur, and were able to point with
pride to the Bullshire kennels. Once this an accomplished fact,
everything went on smoothly; and from old Gregory and a Master whose
office was the subject of an annual election, they now turn out a
huntsman, two whips, and a second horseman, and, for a provincial pack,
stand first on the list.
Their present Master is one of the right sort, who takes an interest in
his hounds and his servants, perhaps at times a little free with his
tongue, but only when absolutely necessary, and it is because of their
large and varied field that I have selected the Bullshire for
description. The country, though not a flying one, has a fair share of
grass, and is acknowledged by all to hold a good scent. As there is
every conceivable sort of obstacle, of every conceivable size, shape,
and form, wet and dry, it requires a clever horse to get over it.
Indeed, when some of the swells from the Shires condescend to patronise
the Bullshire (no uncommon occurrence, by-the-way), there are generally
two or three to be found, like water, at the bottom of a ditch.
I remember hearing a description of his day by a Meltonian, when he
returned to his quarters with a battered head-piece and covered in mud.
In reply to a question of "Where had he been?" he said: "Lord knows
where I have not been. To the bottom of about ten ditches, three
brooks, nearly into a gravel-pit, hung up in a bullfinch for five
minutes, and almost broke my neck at the biggest post and rails I ever
saw." "Well," continued his interlocutor, "did you have a good run?"
"Run!" said he; "I believe you! Ran three miles after my horse and then
nicked in, and was up at the finish. Blessed if ever I saw such a
country. They think nothing of an hour and ten minutes, and they do
stick to it, I can tell you; fox hasn't a chance with the Bullshire.
It's for all the world like a stoat and a hare. Rare place to send
creditor to; give him a mount on a green nag, he's bound to kill
himself."
Added to these advantages, so ably set forth by the Leicestershire
sportsman, foxes are plentiful, and, with one notable exception, of whom
more anon, everybody looks after them, and does his best to demonstrate
the fact that the fox and the pheasant can both be preserved, despite
what Velveteens and his myrmidons may say. The man who rules the
destinies of this sporting pack will form the subject of my first
sketch.
THE MASTER.
"Morning, gentlemen," accompanied by a bow to the ladies, apprises us of
the fact that Sir John Lappington has arrived, and as we turn round in
our saddles we see a cheery face beaming with health and goodnature, and
note what a thorough business look both man and horse present. The horse
is one of those rare specimens of weight-carriers, known as "a good
thing in a small parcel." Standing about fifteen hands two inches, with
quarters fit to jump over a house, and shoulders of equal value when
landing the other side, clean flat legs with plenty of bone, and
excellent feet, well ribbed up, with a broad deep chest, it stands a
living picture of the old-fashioned hunter that could and would go
anywhere. And surely the man is not far behind in appearance. Riding
about thirteen stone, or a little lighter, with somewhat a careless
seat, one's first impression is that he is by no means smartly turned
out, though the eye acknowledges at once the workman.
A second and more careful study shows us that, while there is an entire
absence of gilt and gingerbread, of varnish and veneer, still, from the
crown of his-well-brushed hat to the sole of his well-cleaned boot,
everything is neatness itself. It may be that we take exception to the
brown cords which Sir John always wears; but when one has tried to
follow the clever cobby horse and his master through some of the
roughest places in the day's work, and our leathers show plainly where
we have been, we are fain to confess the wisdom of the said brown cords.
Notwithstanding the cheery goodnature that beams from the Master's
face, there is something in his eye and chin that warns instinctively
against riding over the hounds or heading a fox, and shows a latent
power of anathema and rebuke which, when once heard, is not in a hurry
forgotten.
Sir John Lappington has been Master of the Bullshire for four seasons.
He took the hounds at the request of the county on the death of Mr.
Billington, who had hunted them for six-and-twenty years without hardly
missing a day. Some few people urged that the new Master would not be
found old enough to control so large a field, being but thirty years of
age when he commenced his reign; but the first day dispelled their
doubts, for on some of the "galloping-and-jumping" contingent trying to
have things their own way, and paying no heed to repeated remonstrances
to "give hounds a chance," the young Master astonished everyone by
saying to the huntsman: "Stop 'em, Tom;" and when that was effected,
turning to the offenders: "Now, gentlemen, when you have done your
d----d steeplechasing we will go on hunting. If you want to break your
necks you may put down my name for five pounds to bury the first who
does so, provided you run it off at once, so that other people who
prefer hunting to rough-riding may not be kept waiting."
This effectually stopped them, and from that day very little trouble has
been shown, and when any have offended, it has generally required but
one talking-to to bring them to a sense of what was required of them.
Such is the man who now rides up punctual to the minute, and is greeted
by all with a hearty welcome. The hunt servants, with old Tom the
huntsman at their head, are as proud of being under him as they can be,
and the hounds simply adore him. See how they fly, heedless of Harry's
"Ware 'oss, ger away baik," clustering all round the cobby hunter, and
leaving the marks of their affection on boot and saddle. "Eu leu,
Minstrel, old boy; ay, Harbinger, good old man," says Sir John, a word
for each by name; and back they go to the rule of Tom, who cannot for
the life of him help feeling a twinge of jealousy, that "the hounds
should be so 'nation fond of t' young Master, most as much as they are
o' me, I'll be blessed if they ain't."
Five minutes of friendly chaff with the carriages, two more with old
Farmer Simms, who, on being shown his wife's poultry bill, says: "Give
it here, Sir John, give it here. The ould woman would take the money out
of a man's breeches if he did not keep his hands in his pockets," and
with a laugh Tom gets the signal to move off, Sir John stopping before
he canters on to the hounds to say: "Never mind, Simms, I daresay we
shall make it all right. The missus and I are old friends," and replying
to Simms's loudly-expressed opinion that "The ould wench 'ull fleece
you, I fear," with a deprecatory wave of the hand as he ranges up
alongside the old huntsman.
The first draw is a gorse lying on the side of a hill, where there is
always a little difficulty in restraining the impatience of the field,
who, anxious for a start, are rather apt to override the hounds. There
is a hunting-gate, beyond which no one is allowed to go until the hounds
are well away, and here the Master posts himself, saying in a loud voice
that can be heard by all: "If there is any stranger in the field to-day,
he must understand that while hounds are drawing no one is allowed
farther than this." At this moment his quick eye catches sight of a
youngster who has jumped the rails lower down, and hopes he has escaped
detection. "Come back, you sir," rings out; "come back; and as you are
so fond of timber you can take the rails up hill. Dash your impudence,
when I have just said no one is allowed to go for'ard! Come, at them--no
funking;" and as, amid roars of laughter, the culprit, looking
exceedingly foolish, rides at the rails, and gets a rattling fall, Sir
John chuckles to himself: "Don't think he'll try that game on again."
The hounds are by this time hard at work, and from the way they throw
themselves out of the gorse there are evident signs of a speedy find.
With keen enjoyment the Master watches the young entry, and as first one
and then another of his favourites momentarily expose themselves to
view, he thinks he would not exchange his empire for untold wealth.
In this enviable frame of mind he is interrupted by the appearance of a
tall cadaverous-looking individual on foot, who, addressing himself to
him, says: "Sir John Lappington, I believe?" "That's me; what can I do
for you?" is the reply. "Ah! they told me I should find you here, ah!
I--my name is Simpkins, Mr. Simpkins, Secretary of the Young Men's
Improvement Society. I have been requested to ask for your patronage and
subscription for a new school our society have decided on opening for
young men in Lappington; and as they told me you were following the
chase, ah! and my time is limited, I thought I should not be intruding
if I could persuade you to" (pulling out a long subscription-list) "look
over this."
Here, luckily, "Away, g-o-rne a-wa-a-y!" cut short the conversation, and
the Master, swinging down the hill and slipping over the bank and ditch
at the bottom, almost before the astonished Simpkins has made out what
has happened, might have been heard muttering to himself: "Well, I am
blowed! Did anyone hear of a man being asked to subscribe to a school
when hounds had just found? Following the chase too! If | 865.776975 |
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by The Internet Archive)
CAVALRY
FRIEDRICH
von BERNHARDI
CAVALRY
A POPULAR EDITION OF
"CAVALRY IN WAR AND PEACE"
BY
GENERAL FRIEDRICH von BERNHARDI
_Author of "How Germany Makes War"_
WITH A PREFACE BY
FIELD-MARSHAL SIR J.D.P. FRENCH
G.C.B., G.C.V.O., K.C.M.G.
THIS EDITION EDITED BY A. HILLIARD
ATTERIDGE FROM THE TRANSLATION BY
MAJOR G.T.M. BRIDGES, D.S.O.
4TH ROYAL (IRISH) DRAGOON GUARDS
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1914, by
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
EDITOR'S NOTE
General von Bernhardi is best known in England as a writer of the
"Jingo" School which has done so much to produce the war, but this
is only one side of his literary activity. He is also a writer of
recognised ability on the theory and practice of modern war. Sir John
French's introduction to the present work is sufficient testimony to
the value which is set upon his purely professional writings.
General von Bernhardi is a distinguished cavalry officer, and he writes
with remarkable independence on the special work of his own arm, never
hesitating to criticise the regulations of the German Army, when he
considers that they do not correspond to the actual conditions of war.
The book, though written in the first instance for cavalry officers,
will be found of interest to all who wish to understand what cavalry
is called upon to do and how it does it in the war of to-day. It
will be found to be full of useful instruction for not only officers
of the regular cavalry and the yeomanry, but also for officers and
non-commissioned officers of our cyclist battalions, whose work brings
them into such close relation with our cavalry in war and manoeuvres,
and who have to perform much the same work as that of the cavalry in
reconnaissance, screening, and outpost duties.
General von Bernhardi's work deals with cavalry in war and peace,
but much of the second part, dealing with peace duties and training,
is made up of a mass of detail on parade and riding-school work, as
carried out in the German Army. This has been omitted, but his remarks
on cavalry training at manoeuvres are included in an appendix. Sir John
French's introduction gives us the views of the greatest of our own
cavalry leaders, who is now commanding our Army in France.
PREFACE
All British soldiers will welcome this excellent translation by
Major Bridges of a new work by General von Bernhardi, whose intimate
knowledge of cavalry and brilliant writings have won for him such a
great European reputation.
Some prominence has lately been given in England to erroneous views
concerning the armament and tactics of cavalry. General von Bernhardi's
book contains sound doctrine on this subject, and will show to every
one who has an open mind and is capable of conviction by reasoned
argument how great is the future rôle of cavalry, and how determined
are the efforts of the great cavalry leaders of Europe to keep abreast
with the times, and to absorb, for the profit of the arm, every lesson
taught by experience, both in peace and war.
In all theories, whether expounded by so eminent an authority as
General von Bernhardi or by others who have not his claims to our
attention, there is, of course, a good deal that must remain a matter
of opinion, and a question open for free and frank discussion. But
I am convinced that some of the reactionary views recently aired in
England concerning cavalry will, if accepted and adopted, lead first
to the deterioration and then to the collapse of cavalry when next it
is called upon to fulfil its mission in war. I therefore recommend
not only cavalry officers, but officers of all arms and services, to
read and ponder this book, which provides a strengthening tonic for
weak minds which may have allowed themselves to be impressed by the
dangerous heresies to which I have alluded.
* * * * *
Is there such a thing as the cavalry spirit, and should it be our
object to develop this spirit, if it exists, to the utmost, or to
suppress it? General von Bernhardt thinks that this spirit exists and
should be encouraged, and I agree with him. It is not only possible
but necessary to preach the Army spirit, or, in other words, the close
comradeship of all arms in battle, and at the same time to develop
the highest qualities and the special attributes of each branch. The
particular spirit which we seek to encourage is different for each
arm. Were we to seek to endow cavalry with the tenacity and stiffness
of infantry, or to take from the mounted arm the mobility and the cult
of the offensive which are the breath of its life, we should ruin not
only the cavalry, but the Army besides. Those who scoff at the spirit,
whether of cavalry, of artillery, or of infantry, are people who have
had no practical experience of the actual training of troops in peace,
or of the personal leadership in war. Such men are blind guides indeed.
Another reason why I welcome this book is because it supplies a timely
answer to schoolmen who see in our South African experiences, some
of which they distort and many of which they forget, the acme of all
military wisdom. It is always a danger when any single campaign is
picked out, at the fancy of some pedagogue, and its lessons recommended
as a panacea. It is by study and meditation of the whole of the long
history of war, and not by concentration upon single and special phases
of it, that we obtain safe guidance to the principles and practices of
an art which is as old as the world.
It is not only the campaigns which we and others have fought which
deserve reflection, but also the wars which may lie in front of us.
General von Bernhardi does not neglect the lessons of past wars, but he
gives the best of reasons for thinking that the wars in South Africa
and Manchuria have little in common with the conditions of warfare in
Europe. We notice, as we read his book, that he has constantly in his
mind the enemies whom the German Army must be prepared to meet, their
arms, their tactics, and their country, and that he urges his comrades
to keep the conditions of probable wars constantly before their eyes.
It passes comprehension that some critics in England should gravely
assure us that the war in South Africa should be our chief source of
inspiration and guidance, and that it was not abnormal. All wars are
abnormal, because there is no such thing as normal war. In applying
the lessons of South Africa to the training of cavalry, we should be
very foolish if we did not recognise at this late hour that very few of
the conditions of South Africa are likely to recur. I will name only
a few of them. The composition and tactics of the Boer forces were as
dissimilar from those of European armies as possible. Boer commandos
made no difficulty about dispersing to the four winds when pressed, and
re-uniting again some days or weeks later hundreds of miles from the
scene of their last encounter. Such tactics in Europe would lead to the
disruption and disbandment of any army that attempted them.
Secondly, the war in South Africa was one for the conquest and
annexation of immense districts, and no settlement was open to us
except the complete submission of our gallant enemy. A campaign with
such a serious object in view is the most difficult that can be
confided to an army if the enemy is brave, enterprising, well-armed,
numerous, and animated with unconquerable resolve to fight to the
bitter end. I am not sure that people in England have ever fully
grasped this distinctive feature of our war with the Dutch Republics.
Let me quote the opinion of the late Colonel Count Yorck von Wartenburg
on this subject. In his remarkable book "Napoleon as a General," Count
Yorck declares that if, in the campaign of 1870-71, the absolute
conquest and annexation of France had been desired, German procedure
would not have been either logical or successful, and that the Germans
would have failed as completely as Napoleon failed in Spain. But
Count Yorck shows that when plans have a definite and limited object
in view--namely, to obtain peace on given conditions--the situation
is altered. Count Yorck shows that the German plans in 1870-71 were
perfectly appropriate to this limited aim, and that they were therefore
successful. The very serious task which British policy imposed upon
British strategy in South Africa must never be forgotten.
Thirdly, we did not possess any means for remounting our cavalry with
trained horses, such as we are endeavouring to secure by our new system
of cavalry depôts and reserve regiments. After the capture, in rear
of the army, of the great convoy by De Wet, our horses were on short
commons, and consequently lost condition and never completely recovered
it.
Lastly, owing to the wholesale and repeated release of prisoners who
had been captured and who subsequently appeared again in the field
against us, we were called upon to fight, not, as is stated, 86,000 or
87,000 men, but something like double that number or more, with this
additional disadvantage, that the enemy possessed on his second or
third appearance against us considerable experience of our methods, and
a certain additional seasoned fitness.
Nevertheless we are now invited to throw away our cold steel as useless
lumber owing to some alleged failures of the cavalry in South Africa.
Were we to do so, we should invert the rôle of cavalry, turn it into
a defensive arm, and make it a prey to the first foreign cavalry
that it meets, for good cavalry can always compel a dismounted force
of mounted riflemen to mount and ride away, and when such riflemen
are caught on their horses they have power neither of offence nor of
defence and are lost. If, in European warfare, such mounted riflemen
were to separate and scatter, the enemy would be well pleased, for he
could then reconnoitre and report every movement and make his plans in
all security. In South Africa the mounted riflemen were the hostile
army itself, and when they had dispersed there was nothing left to
reconnoitre; but when and where will these conditions recur?
Even in South Africa, grave though were the disadvantages under which
our cavalry laboured from short commons and overwork, the Boer mounted
riflemen acknowledged on many occasions the moral force of the cold
steel, and gave way before it. The action at Zand River in May, 1900,
was a case in point, and I only quote a personal experience because the
venerable maxim that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory has
still a good deal to be said for it. The rôle of the Cavalry Division
on the day to which I refer was to bring pressure to bear on the right
flank of the Boer army in order to enable Lord Roberts to advance
across the river and attack the main Boer forces. Having crossed the
river to the west of the Boers, we determined, with the inner or
easterly brigade, to seize an important kopje lying on the right flank
of the Boer position, and, pivoting upon this, to throw two brigades
against the right flank and rear of the enemy.
The Boers told off a strong force of picked mounted riflemen to oppose
this movement, which they expected. The kopje was seized by the inner
brigade, and the brigade next to it made some progress; but the Boer
mounted riflemen attacked the flank brigade to the extreme west, and
began to drive it back. I galloped from the kopje to the outer brigade
with the thought that either every idea which I had ever formed in
my life as to the efficacy of shock action against mounted riflemen
was utterly erroneous, or that this was the moment to show that it
was not. On reaching the outer brigade I ordered it to mount and form
for attack. All ranks were at once electrified into extraordinary
enthusiasm and energy. The Boers realised what was coming. Their fire
became wild, and the bullets began to fly over our heads. Directly the
advance began, the Boers hesitated, and many rushed to their horses.
We pressed forward with all the very moderate speed of tired horses,
whereupon the whole Boer force retired in the utmost confusion and
disorder, losing in a quarter of an hour more ground than they had won
during three or four hours of fighting. A cavalry which could perform
service like this; which held back, against great numerical odds, the
Dutch forces at Colesberg; which relieved Kimberley; which directly
made possible the victory at Paardeberg by enclosing Kronje in his
entrenchments; which captured Bloemfontein, Kroonstadt, and Barberton,
and took part successfully in all the phases of the long guerilla war
and in countless drives, can afford to regard with equanimity the
attacks of those who have never led, trained, nor understood the arm to
which I am proud to have belonged.
* * * * *
I have already, in an introduction to another book by General von
Bernhardi, expressed my high sense of the general soundness of his
teaching. Were I to do full justice to the merits of this new work,
I should be compelled to make long extracts and to repeat matter
which every reader will perhaps do better to search for and select
for himself. But I would invite particular attention to the General's
remarks on the subjects of reconnaissance, the cavalry fight, the
combination of fire and shock, the divisional cavalry, the rôle of the
strategical cavalry, training, and organisation. The masterly summary
of the qualifications which should be possessed by squadron and patrol
leaders is, in particular, an extremely valuable contribution to the
study of a most important subject.
The General does not always agree with the Regulations of his own Army,
and he is specially in conflict with them when he recommends raids
by cavalry corps against the enemy's communications. My opinion upon
this point is that every plan should be subordinate to what I consider
a primary necessity--namely, the absolute and complete overthrow of
the hostile cavalry. So long as that cavalry remains intact with its
_morale_ unshaken, all our enterprises must of necessity be paralysed.
The successful cavalry fight confers upon the victor the command of
ground, just in the same way that successful naval action carries with
it command at sea. For effective enterprises in either sphere command
is absolutely necessary, and can only be obtained by successful battle,
whether on land or sea.
I agree generally with the German Regulations when they suggest that
raids against communications should not divert cavalry from their true
battle objective, and consequently I must venture to differ from the
author on this point, though I do not approve of all that the German
Regulations say concerning the employment of cavalry in battle. The
opinion which I hold and have often expressed is that _the true rôle
of cavalry on the battlefield is to reconnoitre, to deceive, and
finally to support_. If the enemy's cavalry has been overthrown, the
rôle of reconnaissance will have been rendered easier. In the rôles of
deception and support, such an immense and fruitful field of usefulness
and enterprise is laid open to a cavalry division which has thought out
and practised these rôles in its peace training and is accustomed to
act in large bodies dismounted, that I cannot bring myself to believe
that any equivalent for such manifest advantages can be found even in
the most successful raid against the enemy's communications by mounted
troops.
I entirely agree with General von Bernhardi's conclusion that very
important duties will fall to the lot of the divisional cavalry in war,
and that the fulfilment of these duties has become more difficult of
late years. The necessity for, and the value of, divisional cavalry are
often not properly appreciated. What the strategical cavalry is to the
Army in the greater sphere, the divisional cavalry is to the division
in the lesser.
Most cavalry soldiers of good judgment will agree with the lucid
arguments of the author on the subject of cavalry armament. It is
suggested to us, by critics of the cavalry, that the lance is an
impediment | 865.840897 |
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THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER:
DEVOTED TO EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS.
Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents.
_Crebillon's Electre_.
As _we_ will, and not as the winds will.
RICHMOND:
T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.
1834-5.
SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
VOL. I.] RICHMOND, AUGUST, 1834. [NO. 1.
T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.
PUBLISHER'S NOTICE.
In issuing the first number of the "SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER," the
publisher hopes to be excused for inserting a few passages from the
letters of several eminent literary men which he has had the pleasure
to receive, approving in very flattering terms, his proposed
publication. Whilst the sentiments contained in these extracts
illustrate the generous and enlightened spirit of their authors, they
ought to stimulate the pride and genius of the south, and awaken from
its long slumber the literary exertion of this portion of our country.
The publisher confidently believes that such will be the effect. From
the smiles of encouragement, and the liberal promises of support
received from various quarters--which he takes this opportunity of
acknowledging,--he is strongly imboldened to persevere, and devote his
own humble labors to so good a cause. He is authorised to expect a
speedy arrangement either with a competent editor or with regular
contributors to his work,--but, in the mean time, respectfully solicits
public patronage, as the only effectual means of ensuring complete
success.
FROM WASHINGTON IRVING.
"Your literary enterprise has my highest approbation and warmest good
wishes. Strongly disposed as I always have been in favor of 'the
south,' and especially attached to Virginia by early friendships and
cherished recollections, I cannot but feel interested in the success of
a work which is calculated to concentrate the talent and illustrate the
high and generous character which pervade that part of the Union."
FROM J. K. PAULDING.
"It gives me great pleasure to find that you are about establishing a
literary paper at Richmond,--and I earnestly hope the attempt will be
successful. You have abundance of talent among you; and the situation
of so many well educated men, placed above the necessity of laboring
either manually or professionally, affords ample leisure for the
cultivation of literature. Hitherto your writings have been principally
political; and in that class you have had few rivals. The same talent,
directed to other pursuits in literature, will, unquestionably, produce
similar results,--and Virginia, in addition to her other high claims to
the consideration of the world, may then easily aspire to the same
distinction in other branches that she has attained in politics.
* * * * *
"Besides, the muses must certainly abide somewhere in the beautiful
vallies, and on the banks of the clear streams of the mountains of
Virginia. Solitude is the nurse of the imagination; and if there be any
Virginia lass or lad that ever seeks, they will assuredly find
inspiration, among the retired quiet beauties of her lonely retreats.
Doubtless they only want a vehicle for their effusions,--and I cannot
bring myself to believe that your contemplated paper will suffer from
the absence of contributors or subscribers.
* * * * *
"If your young writers will consult their own taste and genius, and
forget there ever were such writers as Scott, Byron, and Moore, I will
be bound they produce something original; and a tolerable original is
as much superior to a tolerable imitation, as a substance is to a
shadow. Give us something new--something characteristic of yourselves,
your country, and your native feelings, and I don't care what it is. I
am somewhat tired of licentious love ditties, border legends, affected
sorrows, and grumbling misanthropy. I want to see something wholesome,
natural, and national. The best thing a young American writer can do,
is to forget that any body ever wrote before him; and above all things,
that there are such caterpillars as critics in this world."
FROM J. FENIMORE COOPER.
"The south is full of talent, and the leisure of its gentlemen ought to
enable them to bring it freely into action. I made many acquaintances,
in early youth, among your gentlemen, whom I have always esteemed for
their manliness, frankness, and intelligence. If some, whom I could
name, were to arouse from their lethargy, you would not be driven to
apply to any one on this side the Potomac for assistance."
FROM J. P. KENNEDY.
"I have received your prospectus, along with your letter of the 1st
instant. It gives me great pleasure to perceive so just an estimate of
the value of literary enterprise as that indicated by your announcement
of the 'Southern Literary Messenger.' A work of this kind is due to the
talents of your noble state, and I doubt not will be received with a
prompt encouragement."
FROM JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
"Your design is so laudable, that I would gladly contribute to its
promotion; but the periodical literature of the country seems to be
rather superabundant than scanty. The desideratum is of quality rather
than quantity."
FROM PETER A. BROWNE.
"Although you could not have chosen one less able to assist you, owing
to my numerous professional engagements, which deprive me of the
pleasure of dipping into the other sciences, or literature, I am
willing to contribute my mite, and sincerely wish you success."
For the Southern Literary Messenger.
SOUTHERN LITERATURE.
It is understood that the first number of the "Messenger," will be sent
forth by its Publisher, as a kind of pioneer, to spy out the land of
literary promise, and to report whether the same be fruitful or barren,
before he resolves upon future action. It would be a mortifying
discovery, if instead of kindness and good will, he should be repulsed
by the coldness and neglect of a Virginia public. Hundreds of similar
publications thrive and prosper north of the Potomac, sustained as they
are by the liberal hand of patronage. _Shall not one be supported in
the whole south?_ This is a question of great importance;--and one
which ought to be answered with sober earnestness by all who set any
value upon public character, or who are in the least degree jealous of
that individual honor and dignity which is in some measure connected
with the honor and dignity of the state. Are we to be doomed forever to
a kind of vassalage to our northern neighbors--a dependance for our
literary food upon our brethren, whose superiority in all the great
points of character,--in valor--eloquence and patriotism, we are no
wise disposed to admit? Is it not altogether extraordinary that in this
extensive commonwealth, containing a white population of upwards of six
hundred thousand souls--a vast deal of agricultural wealth, and
innumerable persons of both sexes, who enjoy both leisure and
affluence--there is not one solitary periodical exclusively literary?
What is the cause? We are not willing to borrow our
political,--religious, or even our agricultural notions from the other
side of Mason and Dixon's line, and we generously patronize various
domestic journals devoted to those several subjects. Why should we
consider the worthy descendants of the pilgrims--of the Hollanders of
Manhattan, or the German adventurers of Pennsylvania, as exclusively
entitled to cater for us in our choicest intellectual aliment? Shall it
be said that the empire of literature has no geographical boundaries,
and that local jealousies ought not to disturb its harmony? To this
there is an obvious answer. If we continue to be _consumers_ of
northern productions, we shall never ourselves become _producers_. We
may take from them the fabrics of their looms, and give in exchange
without loss our agricultural products--but if we depend exclusively
upon their _literary_ supplies, it is certain that the spirit of
invention among our own sons, will be damped, if not entirely
extinguished. The value of a _domestic_ publication of the kind,
consists in its being at once accessible to all who choose to venture
into the | 865.938998 |
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of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
128 Pages.] Published Semi-Monthly. [Complete.
BEADLE'S
[Illustration: DIME NOVELS
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
ONE
DIME]
No. 21.
The Choicest Works of the Most Popular Authors.
SYBIL CHASE;
OR,
THE VALLEY RANCHE.
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
Author of "Malaeska," "Fashion and Famine," Etc., Etc.
New-York and London:
BEADLE AND COMPANY, 141 WILLIAM ST. N. Y.
A. Williams & Co., 100 Wash. St., Boston
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1861,
by BEADLE AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
for the Southern District of New York.
AN ENTICING STORY.
Beadle's Dime Novels Number 22.
Will Issue Wednesday, May First,
THE MAID OF ESOPUS;
OR, THE
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS
OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY N. C. IRON.
The era of the American Revolution is so fraught with romance that it
ever will prove a chosen one to novelists. In this present instance
the author has selected unusually stirring historic incidents, around
whose facts he has woven a most beautiful and enticing story of love,
devotion and patriotism. Such tales fire the love of our country in the
hearts of all, old and young; while they fill, in the highest degree,
the love for romance, which _all persons_ possess. The "Maid of Esopus"
is a _purely historical_ fiction, written with a thorough knowledge of
the men and women of those times which truly tried and tempered souls,
and embodies all the interest which attaches to that most eventful era.
It will be found not only unexceptionable as a novel, but _unusually_
good in its literary merits, as well as intensely exciting and
absorbing in its narrative. It will become a household favorite.
For Sale by all News Dealers.
BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers,
141 William St., New York.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY RANCHE.]
SYBIL CHASE;
OR,
THE VALLEY RANCHE.
A TALE OF CALIFORNIA LIFE.
BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON:
BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
141 WILLIAM ST., CORNER OF FULTON, N. Y.
44 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1861, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.
THE VALLEY RANCHE.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE BRIDLE-PATH.
CHAPTER II. A FACE FROM THE PAST.
CHAPTER III. HUSBAND AND WIFE.
CHAPTER IV. TWO CONFEDERATES, IN COUNCIL.
CHAPTER V. A SHORT RIDE AND A LONG WALK.
CHAPTER VI. THE WELCOME THAT AWAITS RALPH HINCHLEY.
CHAPTER VII. ARRIVAL OF THE GUEST.
CHAPTER VIII. THE GAMBLER'S FATE.
CHAPTER IX. A CANTER AND A FALL.
CHAPTER X. THE GAME AT CHESS.
CHAPTER XI. THE FEMALE IAGO.
CHAPTER XII. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XIII. HIGHCLIFF.
CHAPTER XIV. THE JAIL.
CHAPTER XV. THE DUEL.
CHAPTER XVI. THE BATTERY.
CHAPTER XVII. THE VALLEY RANCHE.
CHAPTER I.
THE BRIDLE-PATH.
A small valley cutting through a range of mountains in California--a
green oasis that looked strange and picturesque in the midst of that
savage scenery. The cliffs rose in a solid wall on one side to the
height of many hundred feet. Dwarfed fir-trees and dead cedars were
scattered along the summit, stretching up their gaunt limbs and adding
to the lonely grandeur of the scene. Great masses of broken rocks,
which, in some conflict of the elements, had been wrenched from their
bed, projected from the rifted precipices and lay in great moss-covered
boulders in the lap of the valley. On the southeastern side a break in
the heart of the cliffs was covered with thrifty verdure, and, over the
rocks that obstructed it, a mountain torrent rushed thundering into the
valley, dividing that cradle of verdure in the middle, and abruptly
disappearing through another gorge, breaking to the open country
somewhat lower down, where it plunged over a second precipice with the
sound of distant artillery.
Just above the spot where this mountain stream cut the valley in twain,
a collection of huts, tents and rickety frame houses composed one of
those new villages that are so often found in a frontier country, and
half a mile above stood a small ranche, with its long, low-roofed
dwelling half buried in heavy vines that clambered up the rude cedar
pillars of the veranda, and crept in leafy masses along the roof.
Beyond this, great oaks sheltered the dwelling, and the precipice that
loomed behind it was broken with rifts of verdure, which saved this
portion of the valley from the savage aspect of the mountains lower
down.
The sunset was streaming over this picturesque spot; great masses of
gorgeous clouds, piled up in the west, were casting their glory down
the valley, turning the waters to gold, and, flashing against the
metallic sides of the mountains, changed them into rifts and ledges of
solid gems.
Standing upon the rustic veranda, and looking down over the beautiful
valley dotted with tents and picturesque cabins, the waters singing
pleasantly, the evening wind fluttering the greenness of the trees,
that mountain pass appeared so tranquil and quiet, a stranger could
hardly have believed the repose only an occasional thing. In truth, it
is the heavenly aspect of the valley that I have given you, and that
was truly beautiful.
Only a few miles off, still higher up among the rugged mountains, the
"gold diggings" commenced, and from this point, every Saturday night
of that beautiful summer, came down crowds of wild, reckless men with
their bowie-knives, revolvers, and the gold-dust which soon changed
hands either at the liquor-bar, set up in some log-cabin, or the
gambling-table, established in an opposite shanty.
Before the gold excitement, that pretty ranche had been the abode of
a quiet family, whose cattle were fed on the luxuriant herbage of the
valley; but the reckless adventurers that crowded there soon drove
the household into less turbulent quarters, and the dwelling changed
its occupants many times. Thus its quiet walls soon became accustomed
to scenes of strife and dissipation, which destroyed its respectable,
home-like appearance entirely; and the place that had originally been
a pleasing feature in the valley shared the general aspect of the
neighborhood. Still, nature will assert her rights; and, amid the wild
riot of the valley, vines grew luxuriantly as ever, flowers blossomed
in the turf, and the water fall sounded loud and clear above the shouts
of savage men, however turbulently they might be raised.
By one of the upper windows of this dwelling stood a woman, leaning
idly against the rude sill and looking down the sweep of the valley.
Hers was no attitude of expectation; there was no eagerness in the
great eyes that wandered slowly from one object to another, nor did
the glance betray any enjoyment of the beautiful scene. The woman was
evidently lost in deep and melancholy thought; each moment the lines
about her mouth deepened, and the cold sadness of the eyes settled into
a hard, bitter expression which gave something almost repulsive to the
whole face.
She looked very unlike the sort of woman one would have expected to
find in that solitary place. She was tall and slender, and her form
would have appeared almost fragile had it not been for a certain
flexibility and force visible in every line even in that attitude of
repose.
She was young still; but from her face it would have been impossible
to guess at her real age. At one moment it looked fairly girlish; the
next the shadow of some heavy thought swept across it and appeared to
accomplish the work of years upon the features.
It was evident that her fate had been very different from that which
met most of the women who followed husbands and fortune into the
Eldorado of the New World. The hand which lay upon the window-frame was
delicate and white; the colorless pallor of the cheek bore no evidence
of hardship or exposure.
She was plainly dressed, but her garments were made in a picturesque
fashion, and the few ornaments she wore were heavy and rich. Her long,
golden hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead and gathered in
shining bands at the back of her head, and made the chief beauty of her
person. Only those who have seen the tress of Lucretia Borgia's hair,
preserved still in a foreign gallery, can form any idea of the peculiar
color which I desire to describe. I was wrong to call it golden; it was
too pale for that. In the shadow it had the colorless tint one seldom
sees, except in the locks of very young children; but when she moved,
so that the sun struck its loose ripples, it flashed out so brightly
that it crowned her forehead like a halo.
The sunset deepened, but still the lady remained leaning out of the
window and giving herself up to that gloomy meditation, which sometimes
seemed to deepen into absolute pain.
Suddenly a new object at the upper end of the valley attracted her
attention, and she gazed with more eagerness than she had before
manifested.
Leading by the place where the mountain torrent had cleft its way
through the rocks, there ran a bridle-path, worn by the miners' feet,
from the gold diggings down the valley. It was toward that spot the
lady's eyes were directed, as a small cavalcade wound slowly down the
rocky path and took the grassy plain which led toward the ranche.
An expression of displeasure disturbed the stillness of the woman's
face. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked eagerly toward the
advancing group; but at that distance it was impossible to distinguish
more than that it consisted of three men mounted on mules, followed by
several persons on foot.
She moved quickly from the window and passed into another room; in a
moment she returned, carrying a spyglass which she directed toward the
procession. After the first glance she drew a heavy breath and muttered:
"It is not they! I shall have an hour more to myself, at all events."
She still continued to watch the slowly approaching group, and saw
that one of the equestrians was supported in his saddle by two of
the guides, while another led the mule by the bridle. The rider had
evidently met with some accident on the road.
Slowly the party moved on; they were in recognizable distance from
the house; by the aid of her glass, the lady could distinguish the
lineaments of each face.
Suddenly she grasped the glass hard in both hands and looked steadily
at the injured man. A great change passed over her; she trembled
violently and her face grew ashen. Her fingers shook so that she was
obliged to support the glass against the window-sill. At length her
hands fell to her side and a cry broke from her lips like the angry
moan of some wounded animal.
"Oh! I must be mad!" she exclaimed. "This can not be--I fancied it!
This is one of my wild dreams!"
With a powerful effort she controlled herself sufficiently to raise the
glass once more. Nearer and nearer the group advanced; her eyes were
fastened upon it with a look of unutterable fear and agony.
"Laurence!" she exclaimed again; "Laurence in this place! Oh! I shall
go mad! They are coming to the house--they mean to spend the night
here!" The words broke unconsciously from her lips; all the while her
strained gaze was fastened upon the group. "He has been hurt--he has
fainted!"
She dropped the glass and started to her full height, striking her
forehead violently with her clenched hand, as if searching for some
plan or device, which, in her agitation and terror, she could not find.
"Fool!" she muttered, bitterly. "Is this your strength? Does it desert
you now?"
She walked hurriedly up and down the room, flinging her arms about, so
overcome that any thing like connected thought was impossible.
"He must not see me--I would rather be hurled over the precipice! He
must not stay here. Oh! mercy--mercy! if Philip should come home!"
She cast one more feverish glance through the window and hurried out of
the room, nerved to action by the near approach of pain and danger. But
directly she came back again, looking wild and frightened, like a bird
coming back to the branch where it has been wounded. She took up the
glass again, steadied it firmly. She was evidently doubtful still if
she had seen aright.
CHAPTER II.
A FACE FROM THE PAST.
The party of strangers were slowly winding their way across the plain,
and had arrived within a short distance of the house. The woman gazed
on them through her glass till the man supported on his mule became
quite visible to the naked eye; she then dropped her hand heavily, and
drew a deep breath.
"How white he is! There has been violence. He has fainted. See how his
head falls on the guide's shoulder," she murmured, sweeping a hand
across her eyes as if some dimness had come over them.
The lady was quite alone in her dwelling. The Indian women who acted
as the household servants had gone to the hills in search of berries,
and thus she was compelled to descend and open the door, when a summons
was made by the party whose approach had given her so much anxiety. At
another time, knowing, as she did, the lawless nature of the population
around, she would have allowed the besiegers to knock unanswered, and
go away at their leisure; but now she descended the stairs, trembling
violently as she went. She had thrown a black silk scarf over her
head, thus giving her dress a Spanish effect, and, unclosing the door,
stood framed in the opening--and a more remarkable picture was never
presented in the wilderness of any country. It was not that the woman
was so beautiful, in fact, but the color of her hair and the wild
anxiety in her eyes gave that to her person which no artist could ever
have caught. The guide, who had come in advance of his party, stepped
back in amazement as she presented herself, for it was seldom that the
people of the region had obtained a glimpse of her person, and her
presence took him by surprise.
The party were now within a few minutes' ride of the ranche, and a
weary, travel-soiled band it was. The mules were stained far above
their fetlocks with yellow mud, through which they had floundered
all day long; and the travelers, in their slouched hats, rude, blue
flannel shirts, and heavy boots, engulfing the nether garments to the
knees, were liberally bespattered with the same compound. The mules
were huddled close together, for one of the riders was supporting the
wounded man on his saddle; the other had dismounted when the guide left
him, and was leading the sick man's mule, while his own tired beast
followed submissively in the wake of the party.
Before the guide had recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to
address the lady, who seemed perfectly unconscious of his presence, the
party halted in front of the veranda.
The two gentlemen sprung forward to assist their companion, who lay
helpless in his saddle, his head falling upon the shoulder of the man
that supported him. With the assistance of the guides he was removed
from the mule and carried up the steps of the veranda. They laid
him upon a bench under the windows, then the two companions of the
insensible man turned toward the lady.
She had not stirred; her eyes were fastened upon the motionless figure
over which the guides were bending with rough solicitude; the strained,
eager look in her face seemed to demand an explanation which her lips
had no power to frame.
The two gentlemen moved toward her, struck, even in that moment of
anxiety, by her appearance, and saluted her with the courtesy which
proved their station and high-breeding.
"We owe you a thousand apologies, madam," said the foremost, "for this
abrupt proceeding; but our friend here had a hurt."
She started at his words, instinctively drew the folds of the mantle
more closely about her face, and said, quickly:
"No apology is necessary; in this region strangers consider themselves
at home in every house."
"I thought you'd say so, ma'am," said one of the guides, approaching
and looking curiously at her. "I s'pose Mr. Yates ain't to hum."
"No; I believe he is at the mines," she answered; then added quickly,
pointing to the injured man: "Has he fainted?"
"You see he got a fall," answered the guide, before either of the
gentlemen could speak, "a-coming over that rough pass on the mountain;
but I think he's only stunted like."
"I am afraid his arm is broken," said the elder gentleman.
The lady hurried toward the injured man; her face was turned away, so
that none of the party could see how ghastly it became. She bent over
the still form, dextrously cut open the sleeve of his coat with a pair
of scissors which she drew from her pocket, and took the injured limb
between her trembling hands.
"It is only a sprain," she said; "the agony and the shock have been too
much for him."
"He bore it very well at first," said the gentleman who had followed
her; "but fainted quite suddenly, just as we got down into the valley."
The lady made him no answer; she directed the guides where to find
water and spirits. Going into the house herself, she brought out a
large napkin, which she saturated with water, and bound upon the
wounded arm.
While she was bending over him, the man gave signs of returning
consciousness. She started back, and shrouded her face completely in
the mantle.
"Laurence," called one of his friends, stooping over him, "are you
better?"
There was a faint murmur; the injured man raised his head, but it sunk
back, and he was insensible again.
"Is there no physician near?" demanded the gentleman. "I am very
anxious. He is not strong, like the rest of us."
"You will find one at Wilson's ranche," replied the lady.
"How far is that?"
"Good seven miles," answered the guide.
"It will take so long to get him here," exclaimed the first speaker.
"Your best way will be to go there," observed the lady, coldly.
The whole party turned toward her in astonishment; hospitality is the
chief virtue of wild countries, and it was an unparalleled thing in the
experience of those old guides, to hear a woman so coolly turning a
stranger, sick or injured, from her door.
"My dear madam," pleaded the gentleman, "he can not ride; it will be
dangerous--death, perhaps."
"He will come to himself, shortly," she answered. "I assure you I have
proposed the best mode. I do not mean it unkindly. Heaven knows how
sorry I am."
The eldest guide absolutely whistled, and the men stared at each other,
while she busied herself over Laurence, although her whole frame shook
so violently that she could scarcely stand.
"Can't you give us a bed for our friend?" asked the gentleman. "The
rest of us will sleep anywhere, or go away altogether."
"No--no," she replied, hastily; "you must ride on, I say."
"Wal, I'm shot if ever I heerd the beat of that!" muttered a guide.
"The road from here is very good," she continued; "your friend will
suffer little; these men can easily make a litter and carry him."
"He's coming to," whispered the other gentleman.
The woman stepped quickly back, and when she saw the injured man open
his eyes, retreated into the room.
"How are you now, Laurence?" asked his friends, bending over him.
"Better, I think; I am dizzy, but my arm isn't so very painful. Did I
faint?"
While they answered his questions, the guides held a grumbling
consultation, and finally summoned the elder gentleman to the
conference.
"What'll we do?" they asked. "It'll be pitch dark afore long, and that
fellar can't set his horse."
"I will speak to the lady again," he answered. "I am sure she can not
turn us out."
"It's a queer house," said the head guide, "and that's the fact. There
ain't a place in Californy I wouldn't ruther stop at."
"I s'pose that's Yates's wife," said the man who had first reached the
house. "As often as I've passed here, I never seed her afore."
"'Tisn't often she shows herself," replied the leader. "But will you go
and speak to her?" he added, turning to the gentleman.
"Certainly; of course she will permit us to stay."
He went into the house, but the lady was not visible. He opened the
door of an inner room, and there she stood, wringing her hands in
wild distress. She turned at the sound of his footstep, and demanded,
angrily:
"What do you wish more? I have done all that I can for your friend."
"I have come to urge you to give us one night's lodging," he said; "it
seems impossible for us to go on--"
"You must," she said, interrupting him passionately; "you must!"
"This is very singular," he said, so startled by her manner that he
was almost inclined to believe her insane. "In the name of humanity, I
ask | 865.940175 |
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Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS
CONTENTS
American Tract Society, The
Ann Potter's Lesson
Asirvadam the Brahmin
Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, The
Autocrat's Landlady, A Visit to the
Autocrat, The, gives a Breakfast to the Public
Birds of the Garden and Orchard, The
Birds of the Pasture and Forest, The
Bulls and Bears
Bundle of Irish Pennants, A
Catacombs of Rome, The
Catacombs of Rome, Note to the
Chesuncook
Colin Clout and the Fa | 865.944324 |
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Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS
Or The Fighting Canadians of Vimy Ridge
By Clair W. Hayes
CHAPTER I
A NEW USE FOR A DICTAPHONE
The rain fell in torrents over the great battlefield, as Hal Paine and
Chester Crawford, taking advantage of the inky blackness of the night,
crept from the shelter of the American trenches that faced the enemy
across "No Man's Land."
In the trenches themselves all was silence. To a spectator it would
have seemed that the occupants were, either dead or asleep; yet such
was not the case.
It is true that most of the men had "turned in" for the night, sleeping
on their arms, for there was no means of telling at what moment the
enemy might issue from his trenches in another of the night raids that
had marked this particular sector for the last few weeks; but the ever
vigilant sentinels stood watch over the sleeping men. They would sound
an alarm, should occasion demand, in ample time to arouse the sleepers
if an enemy's head appeared in the darkness.
Hal and Chester, of course, left the American trenches with full
knowledge of these sentinels; otherwise they might have been shot.
Once beyond the protecting walls of earth, they moved swiftly and
silently toward the German trenches less than a hundred feet
away--just the distance from the home plate to first base on a baseball
diamond, as Hal put it--ninety feet.
These two lads, who now advanced directly toward the foe, were
lieutenants in the first American expeditionary force to reach France
to lend a hand in driving back the legions of the German Emperor, who
still clung tenaciously to territory he had conquered in the early
stages of the great war. These boys had, at one time, been captains in
the British army, and had had three years of strenuous times and
exciting adventures in the greatest of all wars.
Their captaincies they'd won through gallant action upon the field of
battle. American lads, they had been left in Berlin at the outbreak of
hostilities, when they were separated from Hal's mother. They made
their way to Belgium, where, for a time, they saw service, with King
Albert's troops. Later they fought under the tricolor, with the
Russians and the British and Canadians.
When the United 'States declared war on Germany, Hal and Chester, with
others, were sent to America, where they were of great assistance in
training men Uncle Sam had selected to officer his troops. They had
relinquished their rank in the British army to be able to do this. Now
they found themselves again on French soil, but fighting under the
Stars and Stripes.
On this particular night they advanced toward tile German lines soon
after an audience with General John J. Pershing, commander-in-chief of
the American expeditionary forces. In one hand Chester carried a
little hardwood box, to which were attached coils of wire. In the
other hand the lad held a revolver. Hal, likewise, carried his
automatic in his hand. Each was determined to give a good account of
himself should his presence be discovered.
It was unusually quiet along the front this night. It was too dark for
opposing "snipers"--sharpshooters--to get in their work, and the
voices of the big guns, which, almost incessantly for the last few
weeks, had hurled shells across the intervening distance between the
two lines of trenches, were stilled.
Hal pressed close to Chester.
"Rather creepy out here," he said.
"Right," returned Chester in a whisper. "I've the same feeling
myself. It forebodes, trouble, this silence, to my way of thinking.
The Huns are probably hatching up some devilment."
"Well, we may be able to get the drift of it, with that thing you have
under your arm," was the other's reply.
"Sh-h!" was Chester's reply, and he added: "We're getting pretty
close."
They continued their way without further words.
Hal, slightly in advance, suddenly uttered a stifled exclamation.
Instantly Chester touched his arm.
"What's the matter?" he asked in a whisper.
"Matter is," Hal whispered back, "that we have come to a barbed-wire
entanglement. I had forgotten about those things."
"Well, that's why you brought your 'nippers' along," said Chester. "Cut
the wire."
Hal produced his "nippers." It was but the work of a moment to nip the
wires, and again the lads advanced cautiously.
A moment later there loomed up before them the German trenches. Hal
stood back a few feet while Chester advanced and placed the little
hardwood box upon the top of the trench, and scraped over it several
handfuls of earth. The lad now took the coil of wire in his hand, and
stepped down and back. The lads retraced their steps toward their own
lines, Chester the while unrolling the coil of wire.
The return was made without incident. Before their own trenches the
boys were challenged by a sentinel.
"Halt!" came the command. "Who goes there?"
"Friends," returned Hal.
The sentinel recognized the lad's voice.
"Advance," he said with a breath of relief.
A moment later the boys were safe back among their own men.
"If the Germans had been as watchful as our own sentries, we would have
had more trouble," said Hal.
"Oh, I don't know," was Chester's reply. "I saw a German sentinel, but
he didn't see me in the darkness."
"It was his business to see, however," declared Hal.
"Well, that's true. But now let's listen and seen if we can overhear
anything of importance."
Chester clapped the little receiver to his ear. Hal became silent.
Ten minutes later Chester removed the receiver from his ear.
"Nothing doing," he said. "I can hear some of the men talking, but
they are evidently playing cards."
"Let me listen a while," said Hal.
Chester passed the receiver to his chum, and the latter listened
intently. For some moments he heard nothing save the jabbering jargon
of German troopers apparently interested in a card game. He was about
to take the receiver from his ear, however, when another voice caught
his attention
He held up a hand, which told Chester that something of importance was
going on.
"All right, general," said a voice in the German trenches, which was
carried plainly to Hal's ear by the Dictaphone.
"Stay!" came another voice. "You will also order Colonel Blucher to
open with all his guns at the moment that General Schmidt's men advance
to the attack."
"At midnight, sir," was the reply.
"That is all."
The voices became silent.
Quickly Hal reported to Chester what he had overheard.
"It's up to us to arouse Captain O'Neill," said Chester. He hurried
off.
Hal glanced at his watch.
It was 10 o'clock.
"Two hours," the lad muttered. "Well, I guess we'll be ready for
them."
A few moments later Captain O'Neill appeared. He was in command of the
Americans in the first line trenches. These troops were in their
present positions for "seasoning" purposes. They had been the first to
be given this post of honor. They had held it for several days, and
then had been relieved only to be returned to the front within ten
days.
At command from Captain O'Neill, Hal made his way to the south along
the line of trenches, and approached the quarters of General Dupres.
To an orderly he announced that he bore a communication from Captain
O'Neill.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the French commander, when Hal had delivered his
message. "So they will attack us in the night, eh? Well, we shall
receive them right warmly."
He thought a moment. Then he said:
"You will tell Captain O'Neill to move from the trenches with his
entire strength. He will advance ten yards and then move one hundred
yards north. You may tell him that I will post a force of equal
strength to the south. He will not fire until my French troops open on
the enemy."
Hal returned and reported to Captain O'Neill.
It was plain that the American officer didn't understand the situation
fully. However, he simply shrugged his shoulders.
"General Dupres is in command," he said. "I guess he knows what he's
doing or he wouldn't be here."
Captain O'Neill gave the necessary commands. The American troops moved
from the trenches in silence. There was a suppressed air of
excitement, however, for each man was eager for the coming of he knew
not what.
CHAPTER II
THE AMBUSH
At the point decided upon for the American troops to take their stand
was a collection of shell holes. In order that the attack upon the
Germans might have all the elements of surprise when it came, Captain
O'Neill ordered his men into these holes to guard against any
possibility of surprise.
Now, it is an undoubted fact that when a man curls himself up with two
or three preliminary twists, after the fashion of a dog going to bed,
in a perfectly circular shell hole on a night as black as this, he is
extremely likely to lose his sense of direction.
That is what happened to Private Briggs, of the American forces.
The Americans lay in silence, awaiting the moment of the surprise.
Suddenly it came. From the position held by the French broke out a
fusillade. The Germans had approached closer.
Captain O'Neill and his followers got to their feet and dashed upon the
enemy--all but Private Briggs.
Besides his rifle, each man was armed with hand grenades--bombs--which
he carried in his pockets.
When Private Briggs sprang to his feet, it took him so long to untangle
himself that the others had gone on ahead of him.
He could see no one.
However, want of courage was not one of his failings. He determined
upon a plan of his own. While the other combatants were locked in a
death grapple, he would advance by himself to the German trenches and
hurl his grenade.
To think with Private Briggs was to act. He advanced at a run.
Suddenly a parapet loomed up before him. In this same parapet, low
down, Briggs beheld a black and gaping aperture--plainly a loophole
of some kind. Without a moment's hesitation, Briggs hurled a Mills
grenade straight through the loophole, and, forgetting for the moment
that others of his troop were not with him, uttered a wild screech!
"Come on, boys!"
He leaped to the top of the trench by himself, and jumped from the
parapet--into his own trenches. Having lost his sense of direction,
he had charged the wrong way.
As the bomb exploded in the French trenches, men rushed toward him.
Still grasping several bombs, Briggs stared at them in wide-eyed
surprise. An officer rushed up to him.
Briggs explained the situation. Fortunately, no one had been wounded
by the bomb.
"You Americans! You Americans!" exclaimed the French officer. "But
go!" he commanded. "Your men are out there," pointing; "do you not
hear the sounds of conflict? If you charge there with the courage with
which you have charged here, you may be of some use after all."
Briggs wasted no time. With a flush on his face, he again leaped to
the parapet, and, a moment later, disappeared in the darkness, running
as swiftly as he could to where firing indicated that the battle
raged.
Meanwhile, what of Hal and Chester, and the American troops?
As the Americans poured from their shell holes after the first outburst
of firing, they dashed toward where they could make out the forms of
German infantry close at hand.
From beyond, the French, who had taken up a position as the French
commander had outlined to Hal, poured a withering fire into the foe.
The German officer in command immediately halted his advance, wheeled
his men, and gave battle to the French.
At almost the same moment the Americans dashed upon his men from the
rear. One volley the Americans poured into the Germans, then their
arms drew back and an avalanche of hand grenades sped on their mission
of death. The execution was terrific.
In vain the German officers attempted to hold their men to the work in
hand. Teuton ranks lost formation, and, as the Americans advanced with
the bayonet, the enemy broke and fled.
The German surprise had failed; it had been on the other hand.
As the Germans retreated, the Americans pursued. A body of troops, led
by Hal, came, upon an isolated group of the enemy.
"Surrender!" cried Hal.
The Germans needed no second offer. Their guns went to the ground at
the lad's words, and they raised their hands in the air. They were
made prisoners and sent to the rear. There was one officer among
them--a captain.
At the command from the French general, pursuit of the enemy was
abandoned, much to the disgust of the American troops, who were for
pursuing the Germans clear to their trenches, and beyond, if possible.
Hal and Chester, however, realized the wisdom of the French commander's
order, for there was a possibility, should the French and Americans
advance too close, of their being set upon by overwhelming numbers from
the German trenches, or of their being caught by batteries of
rapid-firers, which most likely would have meant extermination.
As the French and Americans moved back toward their trenches--the
engagement had consumed only it few minutes--Hal and Chester saw a
| 865.944431 |
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Produced by David Widger
ESSAYS OF MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE
Translated by Charles Cotton
Edited by William Carew Hazilitt
1877
CONTENTS OF VOLUME 9.
I. Of the inconstancy of our actions.
II. Of drunkenness.
III. A custom of the Isle of Cea.
IV. To-morrow's a new day.
V. Of conscience.
VI. Use makes perfect.
ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE
BOOK THE SECOND
CHAPTER I
OF THE INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS
Such as make it their business to oversee human actions, do not find
themselves in anything so much perplexed as to reconcile them and bring
them into the world's eye with the same lustre and reputation; for they
commonly so strangely contradict one another that it seems impossible
they should proceed from one and the same person. We find the younger
Marius one while a son of Mars and another a son of Venus. Pope Boniface
VIII. entered, it is said, into his Papacy like a fox, behaved himself in
it like a lion, and died like a dog; and who could believe it to be the
same Nero, the perfect image of all cruelty, who, having the sentence of
a condemned man brought to him to sign, as was the custom, cried out,
"O that I had never been taught to write!" so much it went to his heart
to condemn a man to death. All story is full of such examples, and every
man is able to produce so many to himself, or out of his own practice or
observation, that I sometimes wonder to see men of understanding give
themselves the trouble of sorting these pieces, considering that
irresolution appears to me to be the most common and manifest vice of our
nature witness the famous verse of the player Publius:
"Malum consilium est, quod mutari non potest."
["'Tis evil counsel that will admit no change."
--Pub. Mim., ex Aul. Gell., xvii. 14.]
There seems some reason in forming a judgment of a man from the most
usual methods of his life; but, considering the natural instability of
our manners and opinions, I have often thought even the best authors a
little out in so obstinately endeavouring to make of us any constant and
solid contexture; they choose a general air of a man, and according to
that interpret all his actions, of which, if they cannot bend some to a
uniformity with the rest, they are presently imputed to dissimulation.
Augustus has escaped them, for there was in him so apparent, sudden, and
continual variety of actions all the whole course of his life, that he
has slipped away clear and undecided from the most daring critics. I can
more hardly believe a man's constancy than any other virtue, and believe
nothing sooner than the contrary. He that would judge of a man in detail
and distinctly, bit by bit, would oftener be able to speak the truth. It
is a hard matter, from all antiquity, to pick out a dozen men who have
formed their lives to one certain and constant course, which is the
principal design of wisdom; for to comprise it all in one word, says one
of the ancients, and to contract all the rules of human life into one,
"it is to will, and not to will, always one and the same thing: I will
not vouchsafe," says he, "to add, provided the will be just, for if it be
not just, it is impossible it should be always one." I have indeed
formerly learned that vice is nothing but irregularity, and want of
measure, and therefore 'tis impossible to fix constancy to it. 'Tis a
saying of. Demosthenes, "that the beginning oh all virtue is
consultation and deliberation; the end and perfection, constancy." If we
would resolve on any certain course by reason, we should pitch upon the
best, but nobody has thought on't:
"Quod petit, spernit; repetit, quod nuper omisit;
AEstuat, et vitae disconvenit ordine toto."
["That which he sought he despises; what he lately lost, he seeks
again. He fluctuates, and is inconsistent in the whole order of
life."--Horace, Ep., i. I, 98.]
Our ordinary practice is to follow the inclinations of our appetite, be
it to the left or right, upwards or downwards, according as we are wafted
by the breath of occasion. We never meditate what we would have till the
instant we have a mind to have it; and change like that little creature
which receives its colour from what it is laid upon. What we but just
now proposed to ourselves we immediately alter, and presently return
again to it; 'tis nothing but shifting and inconsistency:
"Ducimur, ut nervis alienis mobile lignum."
["We are turned about like the top with the thong of others."
--Idem, Sat., ii. 7, 82.]
We do not go, we are driven; like things that float, now leisurely, then
with violence, according to the gentleness or rapidity of the current:
"Nonne videmus,
Quid sibi quisque velit, nescire, et quaerere semper
Commutare locum, quasi onus deponere possit?"
["Do we not see them, uncertain what they want, and always asking
for something new, as if they could get rid of the burthen."
--Lucretius, iii. 1070.]
Every day a new whimsy, and our humours keep motion with the time.
"Tales sunt hominum mentes, quali pater ipse
Juppiter auctificas lustravit lumine terras."
["Such are the minds of men, that they change as the light with
which father Jupiter himself has illumined the increasing earth."
--Cicero, Frag. Poet, lib. x.]
We fluctuate betwixt various inclinations; we will nothing freely,
nothing absolutely, nothing constantly. In any one who had prescribed
and established determinate laws and rules in his head for his own
conduct, we should perceive an equality of manners, an order and an
infallible relation of one thing or action to another, shine through his
whole life; Empedocles observed this discrepancy in the Agrigentines,
that they gave themselves up to delights, as if every day was their last,
and built as if they had been to live for ever. The judgment would not
be hard to make, as is very evident in the younger Cato; he who therein
has found one step, it will lead him to all the rest; 'tis a harmony of
very according sounds, that cannot jar. But with us 't is quite
contrary; every particular action requires a particular judgment. The
surest way to steer, in my opinion, would be to take our measures from
the nearest allied circumstances, without engaging in a longer
inquisition, or without concluding any other consequence. I was told,
during the civil disorders of our poor kingdom, that a maid, hard by the
place where I then was, had thrown herself out of a window to avoid being
forced by a common soldier who was quartered in the house; she was not
killed by the fall, and therefore, repeating her attempt would have cut
her own throat, had she not been prevented; but having, nevertheless,
wounded herself to some show of danger, she voluntarily confessed that
the soldier had not as yet importuned her otherwise; than by courtship,
earnest solicitation, and presents; but that she was afraid that in the
end he would have proceeded to violence, all which she delivered with
such a countenance and accent, and withal embrued in her own blood, the
highest testimony of her virtue, that she appeared another Lucretia; and
yet I have since been very well assured that both before and after she
was not so difficult a piece. And, according to my host's tale in
Ariosto, be as handsome a man and as worthy a gentleman as you will, do
not conclude too much upon your mistress's inviolable chastity for having
been repulsed; you do not know but she may have a better stomach to your
muleteer.
Antigonus, having taken one of his soldiers into a great degree of favour
and esteem for his valour, gave his physicians strict charge to cure him
of a long and inward disease under which he had a great while languished,
and observing that, after his cure, he went much more coldly to work than
before, he asked him what had so altered and cowed him: "Yourself, sir,"
replied the other, "by having eased me of the pains that made me weary of
my life." Lucullus's soldier having been rifled by the enemy, performed
upon them in revenge a brave exploit, by which having made himself a
gainer, Lucullus, who had conceived a good opinion of him from that
action, went about to engage him in some enterprise of very great danger,
with all the plausible persuasions and promises he could think of;
"Verbis, quae timido quoque possent addere mentem"
["Words which might add courage to any timid man."
--Horace, Ep., ii. 2, 1, 2.]
"Pray employ," answered he, "some miserable plundered soldier in that
affair":
"Quantumvis rusticus, ibit,
Ibit eo, quo vis, qui zonam perdidit, inquit;"
["Some poor fellow, who has lost his purse, will go whither you
wish, said he."--Horace, Ep., ii. 2, 39.]
and flatly refused to go. When we read that Mahomet having furiously
rated Chasan, Bassa of the Janissaries, because he had seen the
Hungarians break into his squadrons, and himself behave very ill in the
business, and that Chasan, instead of any other answer, rushed furiously
alone, scimitar in hand, into the first body of the enemy, where he was
presently cut to pieces, we are not to look upon that action,
peradventure, so much as vindication as a turn of mind, not so much
natural valour as a sudden despite. The man you saw yesterday so
adventurous and brave, you must not think it strange to see him as great
a poltroon the next: anger, necessity, company, wine, or the sound of the
trumpet had roused his spirits; this is no valour formed and established
by reason, but accidentally created by such circumstances, and therefore
it is no wonder if by contrary circumstances it appear quite another
thing.
These supple variations and contradictions so manifest in us, have given
occasion to some to believe that man has two souls; other two distinct
powers that always accompany and incline us, the one towards good and the
other towards ill, according to their own nature and propension; so
abrupt a variety not being imaginable to flow from one and the same
source.
For my part, the puff of every accident not only carries me along with it
according to its own proclivity, but moreover I discompose and trouble
myself by the instability of my own posture; and whoever will look
narrowly into his own bosom, will hardly find himself twice in the same
condition. I give to my soul sometimes one face and sometimes another,
according to the side I turn her to. If I speak variously of myself, it
is because I consider myself variously; all the contrarieties are there
to be found in one corner or another; after one fashion or another:
bashful, insolent; chaste, lustful; prating, silent; laborious, delicate;
ingenious, heavy; melancholic, pleasant; lying, true; knowing, ignorant;
liberal, covetous, and prodigal: I find all this in myself, more or less,
according as I turn myself about; and whoever will sift himself to the
bottom, will find in himself, and even in his own judgment, this
volubility and discordance. I have nothing to say of myself entirely,
simply, and solidly without mixture and confusion. 'Distinguo' is the
most universal member of my logic. Though I always intend to speak well
of good things, and rather to interpret such things as fall out in the
best sense than otherwise, yet such is the strangeness of our condition,
that we are often pushed on to do well even by vice itself, if well-doing
were not judged by the intention only. One gallant action, therefore,
ought not to conclude a man valiant; if a man were brave indeed, he would
be always so, and upon all occasions. If it were a habit of valour and
not a sally, it would render a man equally resolute in all accidents; the
same alone as in company; the same in lists as in a battle: for, let them
say what they will, there is not one valour for the pavement and another
for the field; he would bear a sickness in his bed as bravely as a wound
in the field, and no more fear death in his own house than at an assault.
We should not then see the same man charge into a breach with a brave
assurance, and afterwards torment himself like a woman for the loss of a
trial at law or the death of a child; when, being an infamous coward, he
is firm in the necessities of poverty; when he shrinks at the sight of a
barber's razor, and rushes fearless upon the swords of the enemy, the
action is commendable, not the man.
Many of the Greeks, says Cicero,--[Cicero, Tusc. Quaes., ii. 27.]--
cannot endure the sight of an enemy, and yet are courageous in sickness;
the Cimbrians and Celtiberians quite contrary;
"Nihil enim potest esse aequabile,
quod non a certa ratione proficiscatur."
["Nothing can be regular that does not proceed from a fixed ground
of reason."--Idem, ibid., c. 26.]
No valour can be more extreme in its kind than that of Alexander: but it
is of but one kind, nor full enough throughout, nor universal.
Incomparable as it is, it has yet some blemishes; of which his being so
often at his wits' end upon every light suspicion of his captains
conspiring against his life, and the carrying himself in that inquisition
with so much vehemence and indiscreet injustice, and with a fear that
subverted his natural reason, is one pregnant instance. The
superstition, also, with which he was so much tainted, carries along with
it some image of pusillanimity; and the excess of his penitence for the
murder of Clytus is also a testimony of the unevenness of his courage.
All we perform is no other than a cento, as a man may say, of several
pieces, and we would acquire honour by a false title. Virtue cannot be
followed but for herself, and if one sometimes borrows her mask to some
other purpose, she presently pulls it away again. 'Tis a vivid and
strong tincture which, when the soul has once thoroughly imbibed it, will
not out but with the piece. And, therefore, to make a right judgment of
a man, we are long and very observingly to follow his trace: if constancy
does not there stand firm upon her own proper base,
"Cui vivendi via considerata atque provisa est,"
["If the way of his life is thoroughly considered and traced out."
--Cicero, Paradox, v. 1.]
if the variety of occurrences makes him alter his pace (his path, I mean,
for the pace may be faster or slower) let him go; such an one runs before
the wind, "Avau le dent," as the motto of our Talebot has it.
'Tis no wonder, says one of the ancients, that chance has so great a
dominion over us, since it is by chance we live. It is not possible for
any one who has not designed his life for some certain end, it is
impossible for any one to arrange the pieces, who has not the whole form
already contrived in his imagination. Of what use are colours to him
that knows not what he is to paint? No one lays down a certain design
for his life, and we only deliberate thereof by pieces. The archer ought
first to know at what he is to aim, and then accommodate his arm, bow,
string, shaft, and motion to it; our counsels deviate and wander, because
not levelled to any determinate end. No wind serves him who addresses
his voyage to no certain, port. I cannot acquiesce in the judgment given
by one in the behalf of Sophocles, who concluded him capable of the
management of domestic affairs, against the accusation of his son, from
having read one of his tragedies.
Neither do I allow of the conjecture of the Parians, sent to regulate the
Milesians sufficient for such a consequence as they from thence derived
coming to visit the island, they took notice of such grounds as were best
husbanded, and such country-houses as were best governed; and having
taken the names of the owners, when they had assembled the citizens, they
appointed these farmers for new governors and magistrates; concluding
that they, who had been so provident in their own private concerns, would
be so of the public too. We are all lumps, and of so various and inform
a contexture, that every piece plays, every moment, its own game, and
there is as much difference betwixt us and ourselves as betwixt us and
others:
"Magnam rem puta, unum hominem agere."
["Esteem it a great thing always to act as one and the same
man."--Seneca, Ep., 150.]
Since ambition can teach man valour, temperance, and liberality, and even
justice too; seeing that avarice can inspire the courage of a shop-boy,
bred and nursed up in obscurity and ease, with the assurance to expose
himself so far from the fireside to the mercy of the waves and angry
Neptune in a frail boat; that she further teaches discretion and
prudence; and that even Venus can inflate boys under the discipline of
the rod with boldness and resolution, and infuse masculine courage into
the heart of tender virgins in their mothers' arms:
"Hac duce, custodes furtim transgressa jacentes,
Ad juvenem tenebris sola puella venit:"
["She leading, the maiden, furtively passing by the recumbent
guards, goes alone in the darkness to the youth."
--Tibullus, ii. 2, 75.]
'tis not all the understanding has to do, simply to judge us by our
outward actions; it must penetrate the very soul, and there discover by
what springs the motion is guided. But that being a high and hazardous
undertaking, I could wish that fewer would attempt it.
CHAPTER II
OF DRUNKENNESS
The world is nothing but variety and disemblance, vices are all alike, as
they are vices, and peradventure the Stoics understand them so; but
although they are equally vices, yet they are not all equal vices; and he
who has transgressed the ordinary bounds a hundred paces:
"Quos ultra citraque nequit consistere rectum,"
["Beyond or within which the right cannot exist."
--Horace, Sat., i, 1, 107.]
should not be in a worse condition than he that has advanced but ten, is
not to be believed; or that sacrilege is not worse than stealing a
cabbage:
"Nec vincet ratio hoc, tantumdem ut peccet, idemque,
Qui teneros caules alieni fregerit horti,
Et qui nocturnus divum sacra legerit."
There is in this as great diversity as in anything whatever. The
confounding of the order and measure of sins is dangerous: murderers,
traitors, and tyrants get too much by it, and it is not reasonable they
should flatter their consciences, because another man is idle,
lascivious, or not assiduous at his devotion. Every one overrates | 866.275196 |
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at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by the Internet Archive.)
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME X
By
VOLTAIRE
EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION
THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H.G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
FORTY-THREE VOLUMES
One hundred and sixty-eight designs, comprising reproductions
of rare old engravings, steel plates, photogravures,
and curious fac-similes
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Produced by David Edwards, David E. Brown, 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.)
Affectionately to my Father,
The Reverend GRIGG THOMPSON.
HOOSIER MOSAICS.
By MAURICE THOMPSON.
NEW YORK:
E. J. HALE & SON, PUBLISHERS,
MURRAY STREET.
1875.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
E. J. HALE & SON,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
_WAS SHE A BOY?_ _7_
TROUT'S LUCK, 29
_BIG MEDICINE_, _50_
_THE VENUS OF BALHINCH_, _76_
THE LEGEND OF POTATO CREEK, 92
_STEALING A CONDUCTOR_, _114_
HOIDEN, 127
THE PEDAGOGUE, 162
AN IDYL OF THE ROD, 188
WAS SHE A BOY?
No matter what business or what pleasure took me, I once, not long ago,
went to Colfax. Whisper it not to each other that I was seeking a
foreign appointment through the influence of my fellow Hoosier, the late
Vice-President of the United States. O no, I didn't go to the Hon.
Schuyler Colfax at all; but I went to Colfax, simply, which is a little
dingy town, in Clinton County, that was formerly called Midway, because
it is half way between Lafayette and Indianapolis. It was and is a place
of some three hundred inhabitants, eking out an aguish subsistence,
maintaining a swampy, malarious aspect, keeping up a bilious, nay, an
atra-bilious color, the year round, by sucking like an attenuated leech
at the junction, or, rather, the crossing of the I. C. & L., and the L.
C. & S. W. railroads. It lay mouldering, like something lost and
forgotten, slowly rotting in the swamp.
I do not mean to attack the inhabitants of Colfax, for they were good
people, and deserved a better fate than the eternal rattling the ague
took them through from year's end to year's end. Why, they had had the
ague so long that they had no respect for it at all. I've seen a woman
in Colfax shaking with a chill, spanking a baby that had a chill, and
scolding a husband who had a chill, all at once--and I had a dreadful
ague on me at the same time! But, as I have said, they were good people,
and I suppose they are still. They go quietly about the usual business
of dead towns. They have "stores" in which they offer for sale calico,
of the big-figured, orange and red sort, surprisingly cheap. They smoke
those little Cuba sixes at a half cent apiece, and call them cigars;
they hang round the depot, and trade jack-knives and lottery watches on
the afternoons of lazy Sundays; they make harmless sport of the incoming
and outgoing country folk; and, in a word, keep pretty busy at one thing
or another, and above all--they shake.
In Colfax the chief sources of exciting amusement are dog fights and an
occasional row at Sheehan's saloon, a doggery of the regular
old-fashioned, drink, gamble, rob and fight sort--a low place, known to
all the hard bats in the State.
As you pass through the town you will not fail to notice a big sign,
outhanging from the front of the largest building on the principal
street, which reads: "Union Hotel, 1865." From the muddy suburbs of the
place, in every direction, stretch black muck swamps, for the most part
heavily timbered with a variety of oaks, interspersed with sycamores,
ash, and elms. In the damp, shady labyrinths of these boggy woods
millions of lively, wide awake, tuneful mosquitoes are daily
manufactured; and out from decaying logs and piles of fermenting leaves,
from the green pools and sluggish ditch streams, creeps a noxious gas,
known in that region as the "double refined, high pressure, forty hoss
power quintessential of the ager!" So, at least, I was told by the
landlord of the Union Hotel, and his skin had the color of one who knew.
Notwithstanding what I have said, Colfax, in summer, is not wholly
without attractions of a certain kind. It has some yellow dogs and some
brindle ones; it has some cattle and some swine; it has some swallows
and some spotted pigeons; it has cool, fresh smelling winds, and, after
the water has sufficiently dried out, the woods are really glorious
with wild roses, violets, turkey-pea blossoms, and wild pinks. But to
my story.
I was sitting on the long veranda of the Union Hotel, when a rough but
kindly voice said to me:
"Mornin', stranger; gi' me a light, will ye?"
I looked up from the miserable dime novel at which I had been tugging
for the last hour, and saw before me a corpulent man of, perhaps,
forty-five years of age, who stood quite ready to thrust the charred end
of a cigar stump into the bowl of my meerschaum. I gave him a match, and
would fain have returned to Angelina St. Fortescue, the heroine of the
novel, whom I had left standing on the extreme giddy verge of a sheer
Alpine precipice, known, by actual triangulation, to be just seven
thousand feet high, swearing she would leap off if Donald Gougerizeout,
the robber, persisted further in his rough addresses; but my new friend,
the corpulent smoker, seemed bent on a little bit of conversation.
"Thankee, sir. Fine mornin', sir, a'n't it?"
"Beautiful," I replied, raising my head, elevating my arms, and, by a
kind of yawn, taking in a deep draught of the fresh spring weather,
absorbing it, assimilating it, till, like a wave of retarded
electricity, it set my nerves in tune for enjoying the bird songs, and
filled my blood with the ecstasy of vigorous health and youth. I, no
doubt, just then felt the burden of life much less than did the big
yellow dog at my feet, who snapped lazily at the flies.
"Yes, yes, this 'ere's a fine mornin'--julicious, sir, julicious,
indeed; but le' me tell ye, sir, this 'ere wind's mighty deceitful--for
a fact it is, sir, jist as full of ager as a acorn is of meat. It's
blowin' right off'n ponds, and is loaded chock down with the miasm--for
a fact it is, sir."
While delivering this speech, the fat man sat down on the bench beside
me there in the veranda. By this time I had my thumbs in the arm holes
of my vest, and my chest expanded to its utmost--my lungs going like a
steam bellows, which is a way I have in fine weather.
"Monstrous set o' respiratory organs, them o' your'n," he said, eyeing
my manoeuvres. Just then I discovered that he was a physician of the
steam doctor sort, for, glancing down at my feet, I espied his well worn
leather medicine bags. I immediately grew polite. Possibly I might ere
long need some quinine, or mandrake, or a hot | 866.374583 |
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[Illustration: LISBETH LONGFROCK]
LISBETH LONGFROCK
TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF HANS AANRUD
BY
LAURA E. POULSSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
OTHAR HOLMBOE
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. LONDON
ATLANTA. DALLAS. COLUMBUS. SAN FRANCISCO
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
LAURA E. POULSSON
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The Athenaeum Press
GINN AND COMPANY. PROPRIETORS.
BOSTON. U.S.A.
PREFACE
Hans Aanrud's short stories are considered by his own countrymen as
belonging to the most original and artistically finished life pictures
that have been produced by the younger _literati_ of Norway. They
are generally concerned with peasant character, and present in true
balance the coarse and fine in peasant nature. The style of speech is
occasionally over-concrete for sophisticated ears, but it is not
unwholesome. Of weak or cloying sweetness--so abhorrent to Norwegian
taste--there is never a trace.
_Sidsel Sidsaerk_ was dedicated to the author's daughter on her eighth
birthday, and is doubtless largely reminiscent of Aanrud's own
childhood. If I have been able to give a rendering at all worthy of the
original, readers of _Lisbeth Longfrock_ will find that the whole story
breathes a spirit of unaffected poetry not inconsistent with the common
life which it depicts. This fine blending of the poetic and commonplace
is another characteristic of Aanrud's writings.
While translating the book I was living in the region where the scenes
of the story are laid, and had the benefit of local knowledge
concerning terms used, customs referred to, etc. No pains were spared
in verifying particulars, especially through elderly people on the
farms, who could best explain the old-fashioned terms and who had a
clear remembrance of obsolescent details of saeter life. For this
welcome help and for elucidations through other friends I wish here to
offer my hearty thanks.
Being desirous of having the conditions of Norwegian farm life made as
clear as possible to young English and American readers, I felt that
several illustrations were necessary and that it would be well for
these to be the work of a Norwegian. To understand how the sun can be
already high in the heavens when it rises, and how, when it sets, the
shadow of the western mountain can creep as quickly as it does from the
bottom of the valley up the opposite <DW72>, one must have some
conception of the narrowness of Norwegian valleys, with steep mountain
ridges on either side. I felt also that readers would be interested in
pictures showing how the dooryard of a well-to-do Norwegian farm looks,
how the open fireplace of the roomy kitchen differs from our
fireplaces, how tall and slender a Norwegian stove is, built with
alternating spaces and heat boxes, several stories high, and how
Crookhorn and the billy goat appeared when about to begin their grand
tussle up at Hoel Saeter.
_Sidsel Sidsaerk_ has given much pleasure to old and young. I hope that
_Lisbeth Longfrock_ may have the same good fortune.
LAURA E. POULSSON
HOPKINTON, MASSACHUSETTS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LISBETH LONGFROCK GOES TO HOEL FARM 1
II. LISBETH LONGFROCK AS SPINNING WOMAN 12
III. LEAVING PEEROUT CASTLE 22
IV. SPRING: LETTING THE ANIMALS OUT TO PASTURE 33
V. SUMMER: TAKING THE ANIMALS UP TO THE SAETER 52
VI. THE TAMING OF CROOKHORN 68
VII. HOME FROM THE SAETER 84
VIII. ON GLORY PEAK 98
IX. THE VISIT TO PEEROUT CASTLE 113
X. SUNDAY AT THE SAETER 129
XI. LISBETH APPOINTED HEAD MILKMAID 139
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LISBETH LONGFROCK _Frontispiece_
PAGE
HOEL FARM 4
THE BIG KITCHEN AT HOEL FARM 12
LISBETH'S ROOM UNDER THE STAIRS 34
THE VALLEY AND THE FARMS 52
UP AT THE SAETER 68
LISBETH LONGFROCK
CHAPTER I
LISBETH LONGFROCK GOES TO HOEL FARM
Bearhunter, the big, shaggy old dog at Hoel Farm, sat on the stone step
in front of the house, looking soberly around the spacious dooryard.
It was a clear, cold winter's day toward the beginning of spring, and
the sun shone brightly over the glittering snow. In spite of the bright
sunshine, however, Bearhunter would have liked to be indoors much
better than out, if his sense of responsibility had permitted; for his
paws ached with the cold, and he had to keep holding them up one after
another from the stone slab to keep from getting the "claw ache."
Bearhunter did not wish to risk that, because "claw ache" is very
painful, as every northern dog knows.
But to leave his post as watchman was not to be thought of just now,
for the pigs and the goats were out to-day. At this moment they were
busy with their separate affairs and behaving very well,--the pigs over
on the sunny side of the dooryard scratching themselves against the
corner of the cow house, and the goats gnawing bark from the big heap
of pine branches that had been laid near the sheep barn for their
special use. They looked as if they thought of nothing but their
scratching and gnawing; but Bearhunter knew well, from previous
experience, that no sooner would he go into the house than both pigs
and goats would come rushing over to the doorway and do all the
mischief they could. That big goat, Crookhorn,--the new one who had
come to the farm last autumn and whom Bearhunter had not yet brought
under discipline,--had already strayed in a roundabout way to the very
corner of the farmhouse, and was looking at Bearhunter in a
self-important manner, as if she did not fear him in the least. She was
really an intolerable creature, that goat Crookhorn! But just let her
dare--!
Bearhunter felt that he must sit on the cold doorstep for some time
longer, at any rate. He glanced up the road occasionally as if to see
whether any one was coming, so that the pigs and goats might not think
they had the whole of his attention.
He had just turned his head leisurely toward the narrow road that came
down crosswise over the <DW72> from the Upper Farms, when--what in the
world was that!
Something _was_ coming,--a funny little roly-poly something. What a
pity, thought Bearhunter, that his sight was growing so poor! At any
rate, he had better give the people in the house warning.
So he gave several deep, echoing barks. The goats sprang together in a
clump and raised their ears; the pigs stopped in the very midst of
their scratching to listen. That Bearhunter was held in great respect
could easily be seen.
He still remained sitting on the doorstep, staring up the road. Never
in his life had he seen such a thing as that now approaching. Perhaps,
after all, it was nothing worth giving warning about. He would take a
turn up the road and look at it a little nearer. So, arching his bushy
tail into a handsome curve and putting on his most good-humored
expression, he sauntered off.
Yes, it must be a human being, although you would not think so. It
began to look very much like "Katrine the Finn," as they called her,
who came to the farm every winter; but it could not be Katrine--it was
altogether too little. It wore a long, wide skirt, and from under the
skirt protruded the tips of two big shoes covered with gray woolen
stocking feet from which the legs had been cut off. Above the | 866.3747 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
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http://books.google.com/books?id=GyAGAAAAQAAJ
(Oxford University)
THE LAST CALL.
THE LAST CALL.
A Romance.
BY
RICHARD DOWLING,
AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS,"
"SWEET INISFAIL," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1884.
[_All rights reserved_.]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
THE LAST CALL.
* * * * *
Part I.
THE LAST CALL.
CHAPTER I.
The sun was low behind a bank of leaden cloud which stood like a wall
upon the western horizon. In front of a horse-shoe cove lay a placid
bay, and to the westward, but invisible from the cove, the plains of
the Atlantic.
It was low water, and summer. The air of the cove was soft with
exhalations from the weed-clad rocks stretching in green and brown
furrows from the ridge of blue shingle in the cove to the violet
levels of the sea.
On the ridge of shingle lay a young man, whose eyes rested on the sea.
He was of the middle height and figure. Twenty-seven or twenty-eight
seemed to be his age. He had a neat, compact forehead, dark gray eyes,
ruddy, full cheeks, a prominent nose, full lips, and a square chin.
The face looked honest, good-humoured, manly. The moustaches were
brown; the brown hair curled under the hat. The young man wore a gray
tweed suit and a straw hat.
He lay resting on his elbow. In the line of his sight far out in the
bay a small dot moved almost imperceptibly. The lounger knew this dot
was a boat: distance prevented his seeing it contained a man and a
woman.
Dominique Lavirotte, the man in the boat, was of the middle height and
figure, twenty-four years of age, looking like a Greek, but French by
descent and birth. The eyes and skin were dark, the beard and
moustaches black. The men of Rathclare, a town ten miles off, declared
he was the handsomest man they had ever seen, and yet felt their
candour ill-requited when their sweethearts and wives concurred.
With Dominique Lavirotte in the boat was Ellen Creagh. She was not a
native of Rathclare, but of Glengowra, the small seaside and fishing
town situate on Glengowra Bay, over which the boat was now lazily
gliding in the cool blue light of the afternoon.
Ellen Creagh was tall and slender, above the average height of women,
and very fair. She had light golden-brown hair, bright lustrous blue
eyes, and lips of delicate red. The upper lip was short. Even in
repose her face always suggested a smile. One of the great charms of
the head was the fluent ease with which it moved. The | 866.473224 |
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My Lady Caprice
by
Jeffery Farnol
CONTENTS
I. TREASURE TROVE
II. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
III. THE DESPERADOES
IV. MOON MAGIC
V. THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT
VI. THE OUTLAW
VII. THE BLASTED OAK
VIII. THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
I
TREASURE TROVE
I sat fishing. I had not caught anything, of course--I rarely do, nor
am I fond of fishing in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances demanded it.
It had all come about through Lady Warburton, Lisbeth's maternal aunt.
Who Lisbeth is you will learn if you trouble to read these veracious
narratives--suffice it for the present that she has been an orphan from
her youth up, with no living relative save her married sister Julia and
her Aunt (with a capital A)--the Lady Warburton aforesaid.
Lady Warburton is small and somewhat bony, with a sharp chin and a
sharper nose, and invariably uses lorgnette; also, she is possessed of
much worldly goods.
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon
her--had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette,
and gently though firmly (Lady Warburton is always firm) had suggested
that Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and inclined to be a
little self-willed. That she (Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had existed between us so
long for something stronger. That although she (Lady Warburton) quite
appreciated the fact that one who wrote books, and occasionally a play,
was not necessarily immoral-- Still I was, of course, a terrible
Bohemian, and the air of Bohemia was not calculated to conduce to that
degree of matrimonial harmony which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother, could wish for. That,
therefore, under these circumstances my attentions were--etc., etc.
Here I would say in justice to myself that despite the torrent of her
eloquence I had at first made some attempt at resistance; but who could
hope to contend successfully against a woman possessed of such an
indomitable nose and chin, and one, moreover, who could level a pair of
lorgnette with such deadly precision? Still, had Lisbeth been beside
me things | 866.67663 |
2023-11-16 18:31:30.6567670 | 750 | 7 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram, Keith Edkins
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Library of Early
Journals.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
{437}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 237.]
SATURDAY, MAY 13. 1854.
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
"Shakspeare's Rime which he made at the Mytre," by
Dr. E. F. Rimbault 439
Rous, the Sottish Psalmist, Provost of Eton College: and
his Will, by the Rev. H. T. Ellacombe 440
Original English Royal Letters to the Grand Masters of
Malta, by William Winthrop 442
Disease among Cattle, by Thos. Nimmo 445
Popiana, by Harry Leroy Temple 445
Hampshire Folk Lore, by Eustace W.
Jacob 446
The most curious Book in the World 446
Minor Notes:--Baptism, Marriage, and Crowning of
Geo. III.--Copernicus--First Instance of Bribery amongst
Members of Parliament--Richard Brinsley Sheridan--Publican's
Invitation--Bishop Burnet again!--Old Custom preserved in
Warwickshire--English Diplomacy v. Russian 447
QUERIES:--
Ancient Tenure of Lands, by A. J. Dunkin 448
Owen Rowe the Regicide 449
Writings of the Martyr Bradford, by the Rev. A. Townsend 449
MINOR QUERIES:--Courtney Family--"The Shipwrecked Lovers"--
Sir John Bingham--Proclamation for making Mustard--Judges
practising at Bar--Celebrated Wagers--"Pay me tribute, or
else----"--"A regular Turk"--Benj. Rush--Per Centum Sign--
Burial Service Tradition--Jean Bart's Descent on Newcastle--
Madame de Stael--Honoria, Daughter of Lord Denny--Hospital
of John of Jerusalem--Heiress of Haddon Hall--Monteith--
Vandyking--Hiel the Bethelite--Earl of Glencairn--Willow
Bark in Ague--"Perturbabantur," &c. 450
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Seamen's Tickets--Bruce,
Robert--Coronation Custom--William Warner--"Isle of
Beauty"--Edmund Lodge--King John 452
REPLIES:--
Has Execution by Hanging been survived? by William Bates 453
Coleridge's Christabel, by C. Mansfield Ingleby 455
General Whitelocke | 866.676807 |
2023-11-16 18:31:30.9568330 | 6,559 | 16 |
E-text prepared by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 43509-h.htm or 43509-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43509/43509-h/43509-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43509/43509-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
[Illustration: THE BEAR WAS TRYING TO CLIMB UP ON THE ENGINE HOOD.]
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
Or
The Hermit of Lost Lake
by
CLARENCE YOUNG
Author of "The Motor Boys," "The Motor Boys Overland,"
"The Motor Boys in Mexico," "Jack Ranger's Schooldays," etc.
Illustrated
New York
Cupples & Leon Co.
* * * * * *
BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG
=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=
(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._)
12mo. Illustrated
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid
THE MOTOR BOYS
Or Chums Through Thick and Thin
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
Or A Long Trip for Fun and Fortune
THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
Or The Secret of the Buried City
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
Or The Hermit of Lost Lake
THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
Or The Stirring Cruise of the Dartaway
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
Or The Mystery of the Lighthouse
THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
Or Lost in a Floating Forest
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
Or The Young Derelict Hunters
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
Or A Trip for Fame and Fortune
=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=
12mo. Finely Illustrated
Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid
JACK RANGER'S SCHOOLDAYS
Or The Rivals of Washington Hall
JACK RANGER'S WESTERN TRIP
Or From Boarding School to Ranch and Range
JACK RANGER'S SCHOOL VICTORIES
Or Track, Gridiron and Diamond
JACK RANGER'S OCEAN CRUISE
Or The Wreck of the Polly Ann
JACK RANGER'S GUN CLUB
Or From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail
* * * * * *
Copyright, 1907, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. RAMMING AN OX CART 1
II. A NEST OF SERPENTS 11
III. THE DESERTED CABIN 20
IV. NEWS FROM THE MINE 30
V. TROUBLE AHEAD 39
VI. ON A STRANGE ROAD 46
VII. THE RESCUE OF TOMMY BELL 55
VIII. PURSUED BY ENEMIES 65
IX. INTO THE CAVE 72
X. ATTACKED BY A COUGAR 81
XI. A RUNAWAY AUTO 90
XII. TOMMY FINDS A FRIEND 98
XIII. THE <DW52> MAN'S GHOST 107
XIV. TROUBLE WITH A BAD MAN 117
XV. THE STORY OF LOST LAKE 127
XVI. A LONELY CABIN 135
XVII. THE INDIAN AND THE AUTO 144
XVIII. LOST LAKE FOUND 152
XIX. THE GHOST OF THE LAKE 161
XX. THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN 169
XXI. THE DEN OF THE HERMIT 175
XXII. A REVELATION 185
XXIII. SEARCHING FOR THE HERMIT 195
XXIV. THE HERMIT'S IDENTITY 203
XXV. ATTACKED BY THE ENEMY 212
XXVI. ON THE ROAD AGAIN 221
XXVII. TROUBLE AT THE MINE 227
XXVIII. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 237
PREFACE
_Dear Boys_:
Here it is at last--the fourth volume of "The Motor Boys Series," for
which so many boys all over our land have been asking during the past
year.
To those who have read the other volumes in this line, this new tale
needs no special introduction. To others, I would say that in the first
volume, entitled, "The Motor Boys," I introduced three wide-awake
American lads, Ned, Bob and Jerry, and told how they first won a bicycle
race and then a great motor cycle contest,--the prize in the latter
being a big touring car.
Having obtained the automobile, the lads went west, and in the second
volume, called, "The Motor Boys Overland," were related the particulars
of a struggle for a valuable mine, a struggle which tested the boys'
bravery to the utmost.
While in the west the boys heard of a strange buried city in Mexico,
and, in company with a learned college professor, journeyed to that
locality. The marvellous adventures met with are told in "The Motor
Boys in Mexico."
Leaving the buried city, the boys started again for the locality of the
mine, and in the present tale are told the particulars of some strange
things that happened on the way. A portion of this story is based on
facts, related to me while on an automobiling tour in the west, by an
old ranchman who had participated in some of the occurrences.
With best wishes, and hoping we shall meet again, I leave you to peruse
the pages which follow.
CLARENCE YOUNG.
_March 1, 1907._
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
CHAPTER I
RAMMING AN OX CART
Mingled with the frantic tooting of an automobile horn, there was the
shrill shrieking of the brake-band as it gripped the wheel hub in a
friction clutch.
"Hi, Bob! Look out for that ox cart ahead!" exclaimed one of three
sturdy youths in the touring car.
"I should say so! Jam on the brakes, Bob!" put in the tallest of the
trio, while an elderly man, who was in the rear seat with one of the
boys, glanced carelessly up to see what was the trouble.
"I have got the brake on, Jerry!" was the answer the lad at the steering
wheel made. "Can't you and Ned hear it screeching!"
The auto was speeding down a steep hill, seemingly headed straight
toward a solitary Mexican who was moving slowly along in an antiquated
ox-drawn vehicle.
"Then why don't she slow up? You've got the power off, haven't you?"
"Of course! Do you take me for an idiot!" yelled Bob, or, as his friends
sometimes called him, because of his fatness, "Chunky." "Of course I've
shut down, but something seems to be the matter with the brake pedal."
"Have you tried the emergency?" asked Ned.
"Sure!"
_Toot! Toot! Toot!_
Again the horn honked out a warning to the Mexican, but he did not seem
to hear.
The big red touring car was gathering speed, in spite of the fact that
it was not under power, and it bore down ever closer to the ox cart.
"Cut out the muffler and let him hear the explosions," suggested Jerry.
Bob did so, and the sounds that resulted were not unlike a Gatling gun
battery going into action. This time the native heard.
Glancing back, he gave a frightened whoop and jabbed the sharp goad
into the ox. The animal turned squarely across the road, thus shutting
off what small chance there might have been of the auto gliding past on
either side.
"We're going to hit him sure!" yelled Ned. "I say Professor, you'd
better hold on to your specimens. There's going to be all sorts of
things doing in about two shakes of a rattlesnake's tail!"
"What's that about a rattlesnake?" asked the old man, who, looking up
from a box of bugs and stones on his lap, seemed aware, for the first
time, of the danger that threatened.
"Hi there! Get out of the way! Move the cart! Shake a leg! Pull to one
side and let us have half the road!" yelled Jerry as a last desperate
resort, standing up and shouting at the bewildered and frightened
Mexican.
"Oh pshaw! He don't understand United States!" cried Ned.
"That's so," admitted Jerry ruefully.
"Vamoose, is the proper word for telling a Mexican to get out of the
road," suggested the professor calmly. "Perhaps if you shouted that at
him he might--"
What effect trying the right word might have had the boys had no chance
of learning, for, the next instant, in spite of Bob's frantic working at
the brake, the auto shot right at the ox cart. By the merest good luck,
more than anything else, for Bob could steer neither to the right nor
left, because the narrow road was hemmed in by high banks, the machine
struck the smaller vehicle a glancing blow.
The force of the impact skidded the auto on two wheels up the side of
the embankment, where, poking the front axle into a stump served to
bring the car to a stop. The car was slewed around to one side, the ox
was yanked from its feet, and, as the cart overturned, the Mexican,
yelling voluble Spanish, pitched out into the road.
Nor did the boys and the professor come off scathless, for the sudden
stopping of their machine piled the occupants on the rear seat up in
a heap on the floor of the tonneau, while Bob and Jerry, who were in
front, went sprawling into the dust near the native.
For a few seconds there was no sound save the yelling of the Mexican and
the bellowing of the ox. Then the cloud of dust slowly drifted away, and
Bob picked himself up, gazing ruefully about.
"This is a pretty kettle of fish," he remarked.
"I should say it was several of 'em," agreed Jerry, trying to get some
of the dust from his mouth, ears and nose. "You certainly hit him,
Chunky!"
"It wasn't my fault! How did I know the brake wasn't going to work just
the time it was most needed?"
"Is anybody killed?" asked the professor, looking up over the edge of
the tonneau, and not releasing his hold of several boxes which contained
his specimens.
"Don't seem to be, nor any one badly hurt, unless it's the ox or the
auto," said Ned, taking a look. "The Mexican seems to be mad about
something, though."
By this time the native had arisen from his prostrate position and was
shaking his fist at the Motor Boys and the professor, meanwhile, it
would appear from his language, calling them all the names to which he
could lay his tongue.
"I guess he wants Bob's scalp," said Jerry with a smile.
"It was as much his fault as mine," growled Chunky. "If he had pulled to
one side, I could easily have passed."
The Mexican, brushing the dust from his clothes, approached the auto
party, and continued his rapid talk in Spanish. The boys, who had been
long enough in Mexico to pick up considerable of the language, gathered
that the native demanded two hundred dollars for the damage to himself,
the cart and the ox, as well as for the injury to his dignity and
feelings.
"You'd better talk to him, Professor," suggested Jerry. "Offer him what
you think is right."
Thereupon Professor Snodgrass, in mild terms explained how the accident
had happened, saying it was no fault of the auto party.
The Mexican, in language more forcible than polite, reiterated his
demand, and announced that unless the money was instantly forthcoming,
he would go to the nearest alcade and lodge a complaint.
The travelers knew what this meant, with the endless delays of Mexican
justice, the summoning of witnesses and petty officers.
"I wish there was some way out," said Jerry.
As the Mexican had not been hurt, nor his cart or ox been damaged, there
was really no excuse for the boys giving in to his demands.
"Let's give him a few dollars and skip out," suggested Ned. "He can't
catch us."
This was easier said than done, for the auto was jammed up against a
tree stump on a bank, and the ox cart, which, the native by this time
had righted, blocked the road.
But, all unexpectedly, there came a diversion that ended matters.
Professor Snodgrass, with his usual care for his beloved specimens
before himself, was examining the various boxes containing them. He
opened one containing his latest acquisition of horned toads, big
lizards, rattlesnakes and bats. The reptiles crawled, jumped and flew
out, for they were all alive.
"Diabalo! Santa Maria! Carramba!" exclaimed the Mexican as he caught
sight of the repulsive creatures. "They are crazy Americanos!" he yelled.
With a flying leap he jumped into his ox cart, and with goad and voice
he urged the animal on to such advantage that, a few minutes later, all
that was to be seen of him was a cloud of dust in the distance.
"Good riddance," said Bob. "Now to see how much our machine is damaged."
Fortunately the auto had struck a rotten stump, and though with
considerable force, the impact was not enough to cause any serious
damage. Under the direction of Jerry the boys managed to get the machine
back into the road, where they let it stand while they went to a near-by
spring for a drink of water.
While they are quenching their thirst an opportunity will be taken to
present them to the reader in proper form.
The three boys were Bob Baker, son of Andrew Baker, a banker, Ned Slade,
the only heir of Aaron Slade, a department store proprietor, and Jerry
Hopkins, the son of a widow. All three were about seventeen years of
age, and lived in the city of Cresville, not far from Boston, Mass.
Their companion was Professor Uriah Snodgrass, a learned man with many
letters after his name, signifying the societies and institutions to
which he belonged.
Those who have read the first book of this series, entitled, "The Motor
Boys," need no introduction to the three lads. Sufficient to say that
some time before this story opens they had taken part in some exciting
bicycle races, the winning of which resulted in the acquiring of motor
cycles for each of them.
On these machines they had had much fun and had also many adventures
befall them. Taking part in a big race meet, one of them won an event
which gave him a chance to get a big touring automobile, the same car in
which they were now speeding through Mexico.
Their adventures in the auto are set forth at length in the second
volume of the series entitled, "The Motor Boys Overland," which tells of
a tour across the country, in which they had to contend with their old
enemy, Noddy Nixon, and his gang. Eventually the boys and Jim Nestor, a
miner whom they befriended, gained some information of a long lost gold
mine in Arizona.
They made a dash for this and won it against heavy odds, after a fight
with their enemies. The mine turned out well, and the boys and their
friends made considerable money.
The spirit of adventure would not drown in them. Just before reaching the
diggings they made the acquaintance of Professor Snodgrass, who told a
wonderful story of a buried city. How the boys found this ancient town
of old Mexico, and the many adventures that befell them there, are told
in the third book, called "The Motor Boys in Mexico."
Therein is related the strange happenings under ground, of the sunken
road, the old temples, the rich treasures and the fights with the
bandits. Also there is told of the rescue of the Mexican girl Maximina,
and how she was taken from a band of criminals and restored to her
friends.
These happenings brought the boys and the professor to the City of
Mexico, where the auto was given a good overhauling, to prepare it for
the trip back to the United States.
The boys and the professor, the latter bearing with him his beloved
specimens, started back for civilization, keeping to the best and most
frequented roads, to avoid the brigands, with whom they had had more
than one adventure on their first trip. It was while on this homeward
journey that the incident of the Mexican and the ox cart befell them.
Having slaked their thirst the boys and the professor went back to the
auto where, gathering up the belongings that had become scattered from
the upset, they prepared to resume their journey.
"Get in; I'll run her for a while," said Jerry.
"One minute! Stand still! Don't move if you value my happiness!"
exclaimed the professor suddenly, dropping down on his hands and knees,
and creeping forward through the long grass.
CHAPTER II
A NEST OF SERPENTS
"What is it; a rattlesnake?" asked Bob, in a hoarse whisper.
"Or a Gila monster?" inquired Ned.
"Quiet! No noise!" cautioned the professor. "I see a specimen worth ten
dollars at the lowest calculation. I'll have him in a minute."
"Is it a bug?" asked Chunky.
"There! I have him!" yelled the scientist, making a sudden dive forward,
sliding on his face, and clutching his hand deep into the grass.
As it happened there was a little puddle of water at that point, and the
professor, in the excess of his zeal, pitched right into it.
"Oh! Oh my! Oh dear! Phew! Wow! Help! Save me!" he exclaimed a moment
later, as he tried to get out of the slough.
The boys hurried to his aid, but the mud was soft and the professor had
gone head first into the ooze, which held fast to him as though it was
quicksand.
"Get him by the heels and yank him out or he'll smother!" cried Jerry.
The other boys followed his advice, and, in a little while the
bug-collector was pulled from his uncomfortable and dangerous position.
As he rolled about in the grass to get rid of some of the mud, he kept
his right hand tightly closed.
"What's the matter, are your fingers hurt?" asked Bob.
"No sir, my fingers are not hurt!" snapped the professor, with the
faintest tinge of impatience, which might be excused on the part of a
man who has just dived into a mud hole. "My fingers are not hurt in the
least. What I have here is one of the rarest specimens of the Mexican
mosquito I have ever seen. I would go ten miles to get one."
"I guess you're welcome to 'em," commented Jerry. "We don't want any."
"That's because you don't understand the value of this specimen,"
replied the professor. "This mosquito will add to my fame, and I shall
devote one whole chapter of my four books to it. This indeed has been a
lucky day for me."
"And unlucky for the rest of us," said Bob, as he thought of the spill.
It was found that a few minor repairs had to be made to the auto, and
when these were completed it was nearly noon.
"I vote we have dinner before we start again," spoke Bob.
"There goes Chunky!" exclaimed Ned. "Never saw him when he wasn't
thinking of something to eat!"
"Well, I guess if the truth was known you are just as hungry as I am,"
expostulated Chunky. "This Mexican air gives me a good appetite."
Bob's plan was voted a good one, so, with supplies and materials carried
in the auto for camping purposes, a fire was soon built, and hot
chocolate was being made.
"I'm sick of canned stuff and those endless eggs, frijoles and
tortillas," complained Bob. "I'd like a good beefsteak and some fish and
bread and butter."
"I don't know about the other things, but I think we could get some fish
over in that little brook," said the professor, pointing to a stream
that wound about the base of a near-by hill.
A minute later the boys had their hooks and lines out. Poles were cut
from trees, and, with some pieces of canned meat for bait they went
fishing. They caught several large white fish, which the professor
named in long Latin terms, and which, he said, were good to eat.
In a little while a savory smell filled the air, for Ned, who volunteered
to act as cook, had put the fish on to broil with some strips of bacon,
and soon there was a dinner fit for any king that ever wielded a scepter.
Sipping their chocolate, the boys and the professor watched the sun
slowly cross the zenith as they reclined in the shade of the big trees
on either side of the road. Then each one half fell asleep in the lazy
atmosphere.
Jerry was the first to rouse up. He looked and saw it would soon be
dusk, and then he awakened the others.
"We'll have to travel, unless we want to sleep out in the open," he said.
Thereupon they made preparations to leave, the professor gathering up
his specimens, including the Mexican mosquito that had caused him such
labor.
"I think we'll head straight for the Rio Grande," said Jerry. "Once we
get into Texas I expect we'll have some news from Nestor, as I wrote him
to let us know how the mine was getting on, and, also, to inform us if
he needed any help."
"I'll be glad to see old Jim again," said Bob.
"So will I," chimed in Ned.
The auto was soon chug-chugging over the road, headed toward the States,
and the occupants were engaged with their thoughts. It was rapidly
growing dusk, and the chief anxiety was to reach some town or village
where they could spend the night. For, though they were used to staying
in the open, they did not care to, now that the rainy season was coming
on, when fevers were prevalent.
The sun sank slowly to rest behind the big wooded hills as the auto
glided along, and, almost before the boys realized it, darkness was upon
them.
"Better light the lamps," suggested Ned. "No telling what we'll run into
on this road. No use colliding with more ox carts, if we can help it."
"I'll light up," volunteered Bob. "It will give me a chance to stretch
my legs. I'm all cramped up from sitting still so long."
Jerry brought the big machine to a stop while Bob alighted and proceeded
to illuminate the big search lamp and the smaller ones that burned oil.
He had just started the acetylene gas aglow when, glancing forward he
gave a cry of alarm.
"What is it?" cried Jerry, seeing that something was wrong. "Is it a
mountain lion?"
"It's worse!" cried Bob in a frightened voice.
"What?"
"A regular den of snakes! The horrible things are stretched right across
the road, and we can't get past. Ugh! There are some whoppers!"
Bob, who hated, above all creatures a snake, made a jump into the auto.
"There's about a thousand of 'em!" he cried with a shudder.
"Great!" exclaimed the professor. "I will have a chance to select some
fine specimens. This is a rare fortune!"
"Don't go out there!" gasped Bob. "You'll be bitten to death!"
Just then there sounded on the stillness of the night a strange,
whirring buzz. At the sound of it the professor started.
"Rattlers!" he whispered. "I guess none of us will get out. Probably
moccasins, cotton-mouths and vipers! There must be thousands of them!"
As he spoke he looked over the side of the car, and the exclamation he
gave caused the boys to glance toward the ground. There they beheld a
sight that filled them with terror.
As the professor had said, the ground was literally covered with the
snakes. The reptiles seemed to be moving in a vast body to some new
location. There were big snakes and little ones, round fat ones, and
long thin ones, and of many hues.
"Let's get out of this!" exclaimed Ned. "Start the machine, Jerry!"
"No! Don't!" called the professor. "You may kill a few, but the
revolving wheels of the auto will fling some live ones up among us, and
I have no desire to be bitten by any of these reptiles. They are too
deadly. So keep the car still until they have passed. They are probably
getting ready to go into winter quarters, or whatever corresponds to
that in Mexico."
"It will be lucky if they don't take a notion to climb up and investigate
the machine and us," put in Jerry. "I have--"
He gave a sudden start, for, at that instant one of the ugly reptiles,
which had twined itself around the wheel spokes, reared its ugly head
up, over the side of the front seat, and hissed, right in Jerry's face.
"Here's one now!" the boy exclaimed as he made a motion to brush the
snake aside.
"Don't touch it as you value your life!" yelled the professor. "It's a
diamond-backed rattler, and one of the most deadly!"
"Here is another coming up on my side," called Bob.
"Yes, and there are some coming up here!" shouted Ned. "They'll
overwhelm us if we don't look out!"
For a time it seemed a serious matter. The snakes began twining up the
sides of the car, and, though most of them dropped back to the ground
again, a few maintained their position, and seemed to exhibit anger at
the sight of the boys and the professor.
"What shall we do?" asked Bob. "We can't run ahead, or go backward, and,
if we stay here we're likely to be killed by the snakes."
Jerry, who was feeling around in the bottom of the car for his rifle,
gave a cry as his hand came in contact with something.
"Get bitten?" asked the professor in alarm.
"No, but I found this lariat," said Jerry in excited tones.
"Are you going to lasso the snakes?" asked Ned, wondering if Jerry had
gone crazy.
"No, but you see this lariat is made of horse hair, and I think I can
keep the snakes away with it."
"How; by shaking it at 'em?"
"No. I read in some book that snakes hated horse hair, and would never
cross even a small ring of it."
"Well?"
"Well, if I run this lariat all around the auto the snakes will not
cross it to come to us. Then we can stay here until they all disappear."
"Good!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the ticket!"
The reptiles that had climbed up the wheels had gone from sight. With
the help of Ned and Bob, Jerry began to spread the horse-hair lariat in
a circle about the car.
CHAPTER III
THE DESERTED CABIN
In a few minutes the hair rope was all about the auto, spread out on the
ground in an irregular circle. As the boys dropped it over the sides of
the car the lariat struck several of the big snakes, and the reptiles
shrunk away as though scorched by fire.
"They're afraid of it all right!" exclaimed Ned. "I guess it will do the
business."
Sure enough, there seemed to be a desire on the part of the snakes to
clear out of the vicinity of the hair rope. They glided off by scores,
and soon there was a clear space all about the car, where, before, there
had been hundreds of the crawling things.
"Shake the lasso," suggested Bob, "and maybe it will scare them farther
off."
"Yes and we might try shooting a few now they are at a safe distance,"
put in Ned.
"It's too bad I can't get some specimens," lamented the professor, "but
I suppose you had better try to get rid of them."
So Jerry, who had retained one end of the long lasso vibrated it
rapidly, and, as it wiggled in sinuous folds toward the reptiles they
made haste to get out of the way. Then Bob and Ned opened fire, killing
several. In a little while there were no snakes to be seen.
"I guess we can go ahead now," said Jerry. "Who'll crank up the car?
Don't all speak at once."
"My arm is a bit sore," spoke Ned, rubbing his elbow.
"Then you do it, Chunky," asked the steersman.
"I think I have a stone in my foot," said Bob, making a wry face.
"Ha! Ha!" laughed Jerry. "Why don't you two own up and say you're afraid
there's a stray rattler or two under the machine, and you think it may
bite you?"
The two boys grinned sheepishly, and both made a motion to get out.
"Stay where you are," called the professor preparing to leave from the
side door of the tonneau. "I'm used to snakes. I don't believe there are
any left, but if there are I want them for specimens. I'll crank the
car."
So he got out and peered anxiously under | 866.976873 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.2531810 | 1,387 | 84 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
=The Watch Fires of '76= Illustrated =$1.25=
=The Campaign of Trenton= =.50=
=Burgoyne's Invasion of 1777= =.50=
=The Taking of Louisburg= =.50=
=The Battle of Gettysburg= =.50=
=Our Colonial Homes= Illustrated =2.50=
=Old Landmarks of Boston= Illustrated =2.00=
=Old Landmarks of Middlesex= Illustrated =2.00=
=Captain Nelson= A romance of Colonial Days =.75=
=The Heart of the White Mountains= Illustra'd =7.50=
=The Same= Tourists' Edition =3.00=
=Old Boston Taverns= Paper =.25=
=Around the Hub= A Boys' Book about Boston =1.12=
=New England Legends and Folk Lore= Illus'd =2.00=
=The Making of New England= Illustrated =1.50=
=The Making of the Great West= Illustrated =1.50=
=The Making of Virginia and Middle Colonies= =1.50=
=The Making of the Ohio Valley States= Ill'd =1.50=
=The Pine Tree Coast= Illustrated =1.50=
_Any book in the above list sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of
price, by_
LEE AND SHEPARD BOSTON MASS.
* * * * * *
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
"_Lord, what fools these mortals be!_"
[Illustration: HALLOWE'EN.]
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
by
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE
Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill
Boston
Lee and Shepard
MCM
Copyright, 1900, by Samuel Adams Drake.
_All rights reserved._
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. A RECKONING WITH TIME 1
II. THE FOLK-LORE OF CHILDHOOD 25
III. WEATHER LORE 34
IV. SIGNS OF ALL SORTS 47
V. CHARMS TO GOOD LUCK 55
VI. CHARMS AGAINST DISEASE 85
VII. OF FATE IN JEWELS 109
VIII. OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE 122
IX. OF EVIL OMENS 144
X. OF HAUNTED HOUSES, PERSONS, AND PLACES 182
XI. OF PRESENTIMENTS 208
XII. THE DIVINING-ROD 229
XIII. WONDERS OF THE PHYSICAL UNIVERSE 234
XIV. "SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT" 244
XV. FORTUNE-TELLING, ASTROLOGY, AND PALMISTRY 259
[Illustration]
I
A RECKONING WITH TIME
"Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too
superstitious."
To say that superstition is one of the facts of history is only to
state a truism. If that were all, we might treat the subject from
a purely philosophical or historical point of view, as one of the
inexplicable phenomena of an age much lower in intelligence than our
own, and there leave it.
But if, also, we must admit superstition to be a present, a living,
fact, influencing, if not controlling, the everyday acts of men, we
have to deal with a problem as yet unsolved, if not insolvable.
I know it is commonly said that such things belong to a past age--that
they were the legitimate product of ignorance, and have died out with
the education of the masses. In other words, we know more than our
ancestors did about the phenomena of nature, and therefore by no means
accept, as they did--good, superstitious souls!--the appearance of a
comet blazing in the heavens, or the heaving of an earthquake under our
feet, as events having moral significance. With the aid of electricity
or steam we perform miracles every day of our lives, such as, no doubt,
would have created equal wonder and fear for the general stability of
the world not many generations ago.
Very true. So far as merely physical phenomena are concerned, most of
us may have schooled ourselves to disunite them wholly from coming
events; but as regards those things which spring from the inward
consciousness of the man himself, his intuitions, his perceptions,
his aspirations, his imaginative nature, which, if strong enough, is
capable of creating and peopling a realm wholly outside of the little
world he lives in--"ay, there's the rub." Who will undertake to span
the gulf stretching out a shoreless void between the revelations of
science and the incomprehensible mysteries of life itself? It is upon
that debatable | 867.273221 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.3557610 | 7,436 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
NOVEMBER & DECEMBER
1665
November 1st. Lay very long in bed discoursing with Mr. Hill of most
things of a man's life, and how little merit do prevail in the world, but
only favour; and that, for myself, chance without merit brought me in; and
that diligence only keeps me so, and will, living as I do among so many
lazy people that the diligent man becomes necessary, that they cannot do
anything without him, and so told him of my late business of the
victualling, and what cares I am in to keepe myself having to do with
people of so different factions at Court, and yet must be fair with them
all, which was very pleasant discourse for me to tell, as well as he
seemed to take it, for him to hear. At last up, and it being a very foule
day for raine and a hideous wind, yet having promised I would go by water
to Erith, and bearing sayle was in danger of oversetting, but ordered them
take down their sayle, and so cold and wet got thither, as they had ended
their dinner. How[ever], I dined well, and after dinner all on shore, my
Lord Bruncker with us to Mrs. Williams's lodgings, and Sir W. Batten, Sir
Edmund Pooly, and others; and there, it being my Lord's birth-day, had
every one a green riband tied in our hats very foolishly; and methinks
mighty disgracefully for my Lord to have his folly so open to all the
world with this woman. But by and by Sir W. Batten and I took coach, and
home to Boreman, and so going home by the backside I saw Captain Cocke
'lighting out of his coach (having been at Erith also with her but not on
board) and so he would come along with me to my lodging, and there sat and
supped and talked with us, but we were angry a little a while about our
message to him the other day about bidding him keepe from the office or
his owne office, because of his black dying. I owned it and the reason of
it, and would have been glad he had been out of the house, but I could not
bid him go, and so supped, and after much other talke of the sad condition
and state of the King's matters we broke up, and my friend and I to bed.
This night coming with Sir W. Batten into Greenwich we called upon Coll.
Cleggatt, who tells us for certaine that the King of Denmark hath declared
to stand for the King of England, but since I hear it is wholly false.
2nd. Up, left my wife and to the office, and there to my great content
Sir W. Warren come to me to settle the business of the Tangier boates,
wherein I shall get above L100, besides L100 which he gives me in the
paying for them out of his owne purse. He gone, I home to my lodgings to
dinner, and there comes Captain Wagers newly returned from the Streights,
who puts me in great fear for our last ships that went to Tangier with
provisions, that they will be taken. A brave, stout fellow this Captain
is, and I think very honest. To the office again after dinner and there
late writing letters, and then about 8 at night set out from my office and
fitting myself at my lodgings intended to have gone this night in a Ketch
down to the Fleete, but calling in my way at Sir J. Minnes's, who is come
up from Erith about something about the prizes, they persuaded me not to
go till the morning, it being a horrible darke and a windy night. So I
back to my lodging and to bed.
3rd. Was called up about four o'clock and in the darke by lanthorne took
boat and to the Ketch and set sayle, sleeping a little in the Cabbin till
day and then up and fell to reading of Mr. Evelyn's book about Paynting,
[This must surely have been Evelyn's "Sculptura, or the History and
Art of Chalcography and Engraving in Copper," published in 1662.
The translation of Freart's "Idea of the Perfection of Painting
demonstrated" was not published until 1668.]
which is a very pretty book. Carrying good victuals and Tom with me I to
breakfast about 9 o'clock, and then to read again and come to the Fleete
about twelve, where I found my Lord (the Prince being gone in) on board
the Royall James, Sir Thomas Allen commander, and with my Lord an houre
alone discoursing what was my chief and only errand about what was
adviseable for his Lordship to do in this state of things, himself being
under the Duke of Yorke's and Mr. Coventry's envy, and a great many more
and likely never to do anything honourably but he shall be envied and the
honour taken as much as can be from it. His absence lessens his interest
at Court, and what is worst we never able to set out a fleete fit for him
to command, or, if out, to keepe them out or fit them to do any great
thing, or if that were so yet nobody at home minds him or his condition
when he is abroad, and lastly the whole affairs of state looking as if
they would all on a sudden break in pieces, and then what a sad thing it
would be for him to be out of the way. My Lord did concur in every thing
and thanked me infinitely for my visit and counsel, telling me that in
every thing he concurs, but puts a query, what if the King will not think
himself safe, if any man should go but him. How he should go off then? To
that I had no answer ready, but the making the King see that he may be of
as good use to him here while another goes forth. But for that I am not
able to say much. We after this talked of some other little things and so
to dinner, where my Lord infinitely kind to me, and after dinner I rose
and left him with some Commanders at the table taking tobacco and I took
the Bezan back with me, and with a brave gale and tide reached up that
night to the Hope, taking great pleasure in learning the seamen's manner
of singing when they sound the depths, and then to supper and to sleep,
which I did most excellently all night, it being a horrible foule night
for wind and raine.
4th. They sayled from midnight, and come to Greenwich about 5 o'clock in
the morning. I however lay till about 7 or 8, and so to my office, my
head a little akeing, partly for want of natural rest, partly having so
much business to do to-day, and partly from the newes I hear that one of
the little boys at my lodging is not well; and they suspect, by their
sending for plaister and fume, that it may be the plague; so I sent Mr.
Hater and W. Hewer to speake with the mother; but they returned to me,
satisfied that there is no hurt nor danger, but the boy is well, and
offers to be searched, however, I was resolved myself to abstain coming
thither for a while. Sir W. Batten and myself at the office all the
morning. At noon with him to dinner at Boreman's, where Mr. Seymour with
us, who is a most conceited fellow and not over much in him. Here Sir W.
Batten told us (which I had not heard before) that the last sitting day
his cloake was taken from Mingo he going home to dinner, and that he was
beaten by the seamen and swears he will come to Greenwich, but no more to
the office till he can sit safe. After dinner I to the office and there
late, and much troubled to have 100 seamen all the afternoon there,
swearing below and cursing us, and breaking the glasse windows, and swear
they will pull the house down on Tuesday next. I sent word of this to
Court, but nothing will helpe it but money and a rope. Late at night to
Mr. Glanville's there to lie for a night or two, and to bed.
5th (Lord's day). Up, and after being trimmed, by boat to the Cockpitt,
where I heard the Duke of Albemarle's chaplin make a simple sermon: among
other things, reproaching the imperfection of humane learning, he cried:
"All our physicians cannot tell what an ague is, and all our arithmetique
is not able to number the days of a man;" which, God knows, is not the
fault of arithmetique, but that our understandings reach not the thing. To
dinner, where a great deale of silly discourse, but the worst is I hear
that the plague increases much at Lambeth, St. Martin's and Westminster,
and fear it will all over the city. Thence I to the Swan, thinking to
have seen Sarah but she was at church, and so I by water to Deptford, and
there made a visit to Mr. Evelyn, who, among other things, showed me most
excellent painting in little; in distemper, Indian incke, water colours:
graveing; and, above all, the whole secret of mezzo-tinto, and the manner
of it, which is very pretty, and good things done with it. He read to me
very much also of his discourse, he hath been many years and now is about,
about Guardenage; which will be a most noble and pleasant piece. He read
me part of a play or two of his making, very good, but not as he conceits
them, I think, to be. He showed me his Hortus Hyemalis; leaves laid up in
a book of several plants kept dry, which preserve colour, however, and
look very finely, better than any Herball. In fine, a most excellent
person he is, and must be allowed a little for a little conceitedness; but
he may well be so, being a man so much above others. He read me, though
with too much gusto, some little poems of his own, that were not
transcendant, yet one or two very pretty epigrams; among others, of a lady
looking in at a grate, and being pecked at by an eagle that was there.
Here comes in, in the middle of our discourse Captain Cocke, as drunk as a
dogg, but could stand, and talk and laugh. He did so joy himself in a
brave woman that he had been with all the afternoon, and who should it be
but my Lady Robinson, but very troublesome he is with his noise and talke,
and laughing, though very pleasant. With him in his coach to Mr.
Glanville's, where he sat with Mrs. Penington and myself a good while
talking of this fine woman again and then went away. Then the lady and I
to very serious discourse and, among other things, of what a bonny lasse
my Lady Robinson is, who is reported to be kind to the prisoners, and has
said to Sir G. Smith, who is her great crony, "Look! there is a pretty
man, I would be content to break a commandment with him," and such loose
expressions she will have often. After an houre's talke we to bed, the
lady mightily troubled about a pretty little bitch she hath, which is very
sicke, and will eat nothing, and the worst was, I could hear her in her
chamber bemoaning the bitch, and by and by taking her into bed with her.
The bitch pissed and shit a bed, and she was fain to rise and had coals
out of my chamber to dry the bed again. This night I had a letter that
Sir G. Carteret would be in towne to-morrow, which did much surprize me.
6th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning and then to dinner
to Captain Cocke's with Mr. Evelyn, where very merry, only vexed after
dinner to stay too long for our coach. At last, however, to Lambeth and
thence the Cockpitt, where we found Sir G. Carteret come, and in with the
Duke and the East India Company about settling the business of the prizes,
and they have gone through with it. Then they broke up, and Sir G.
Carteret come out, and thence through the garden to the water side and by
water I with him in his boat down with Captain Cocke to his house at
Greenwich, and while supper was getting ready Sir G. Carteret and I did
walk an houre in the garden before the house, talking of my Lord
Sandwich's business; what enemies he hath, and how they have endeavoured
to bespatter him: and particularly about his leaving of 30 ships of the
enemy, when Pen would have gone, and my Lord called him back again: which
is most false. However, he says, it was purposed by some hot-heads in the
House of Commons, at the same time when they voted a present to the Duke
of Yorke, to have voted L10,000 to the Prince, and half-a-crowne to my
Lord of Sandwich; but nothing come of it.
[The tide of popular indignation ran high against Lord Sandwich, and
he was sent to Spain as ambassador to get him honourably out of the
way (see post, December 6th).]
But, for all this, the King is most firme to my Lord, and so is my Lord
Chancellor, and my Lord Arlington. The Prince, in appearance, kind; the
Duke of Yorke silent, says no hurt; but admits others to say it in his
hearing. Sir W. Pen, the falsest rascal that ever was in the world; and
that this afternoon the Duke of Albemarle did tell him that Pen was a very
cowardly rogue, and one that hath brought all these rogueish fanatick
Captains into the fleete, and swears he should never go out with the
fleete again. That Sir W. Coventry is most kind to Pen still; and says
nothing nor do any thing openly to the prejudice of my Lord. He agrees
with me, that it is impossible for the King [to] set out a fleete again
the next year; and that he fears all will come to ruine, there being no
money in prospect but these prizes, which will bring, it may be, L20,000,
but that will signify nothing in the world for it. That this late Act of
Parliament for bringing the money into the Exchequer, and making of it
payable out there, intended as a prejudice to him and will be his
convenience hereafter and ruine the King's business, and so I fear it will
and do wonder Sir W. Coventry would be led by Sir G. Downing to persuade
the King and Duke to have it so, before they had thoroughly weighed all
circumstances; that for my Lord, the King has said to him lately that I
was an excellent officer, and that my Lord Chancellor do, he thinks, love
and esteem of me as well as he do of any man in England that he hath no
more acquaintance with. So having done and received from me the sad newes
that we are like to have no money here a great while, not even of the very
prizes, I set up my rest
[The phrase "set up my rest" is a metaphor from the once fashionable
game of Primero, meaning, to stand upon the cards you have in your
hand, in hopes they may prove better than those of your adversary.
Hence, to make up your mind, to be determined (see Nares's
"Glossary").]
in giving up the King's service to be ruined and so in to supper, where
pretty merry, and after supper late to Mr. Glanville's, and Sir G.
Carteret to bed. I also to bed, it being very late.
7th. Up, and to Sir G. Carteret, and with him, he being very passionate
to be gone, without staying a minute for breakfast, to the Duke of
Albemarle's and I with him by water and with Fen: but, among other things,
Lord! to see how he wondered to see the river so empty of boats, nobody
working at the Custome-house keys; and how fearful he is, and vexed that
his man, holding a wine-glasse in his hand for him to drinke out of, did
cover his hands, it being a cold, windy, rainy morning, under the
waterman's coate, though he brought the waterman from six or seven miles
up the river, too. Nay, he carried this glasse with him for his man to
let him drink out of at the Duke of Albemarle's, where he intended to
dine, though this he did to prevent sluttery, for, for the same reason he
carried a napkin with him to Captain Cocke's, making him believe that he
should eat with foule linnen. Here he with the Duke walked a good while
in the Parke, and I with Fen, but cannot gather that he intends to stay
with us, nor thinks any thing at all of ever paying one farthing of money
more to us here, let what will come of it. Thence in, and Sir W. Batten
comes in by and by, and so staying till noon, and there being a great deal
of company there, Sir W. Batten and I took leave of the Duke and Sir G.
Carteret, there being no good to be done more for money, and so over the
River and by coach to Greenwich, where at Boreman's we dined, it being
late. Thence my head being full of business and mind out of order for
thinking of the effects which will arise from the want of money, I made an
end of my letters by eight o'clock, and so to my lodging and there spent
the evening till midnight talking with Mrs. Penington, who is a very
discreet, understanding lady and very pretty discourse we had and great
variety, and she tells me with great sorrow her bitch is dead this
morning, died in her bed. So broke up and to bed.
8th. Up, and to the office, where busy among other things to looke my
warrants for the settling of the Victualling business, the warrants being
come to me for the Surveyors of the ports and that for me also to be
Surveyor-Generall. I did discourse largely with Tom Willson about it and
doubt not to make it a good service to the King as well, as the King gives
us very good salarys. It being a fast day, all people were at church and
the office quiett; so I did much business, and at noon adventured to my
old lodging, and there eat, but am not yet well satisfied, not seeing of
Christopher, though they say he is abroad. Thence after dinner to the
office again, and thence am sent for to the King's Head by my Lord
Rutherford, who, since I can hope for no more convenience from him, his
business is troublesome to me, and therefore I did leave him as soon as I
could and by water to Deptford, and there did order my matters so, walking
up and down the fields till it was dark night, that 'je allais a la maison
of my valentine,--[Bagwell's wife]--and there 'je faisais whatever je
voudrais avec' her, and, about eight at night, did take water, being glad
I was out of the towne; for the plague, it seems, rages there more than
ever, and so to my lodgings, where my Lord had got a supper and the
mistresse of the house, and her daughters, and here staid Mrs. Pierce to
speake with me about her husband's business, and I made her sup with us,
and then at night my Lord and I walked with her home, and so back again.
My Lord and I ended all we had to say as to his business overnight, and so
I took leave, and went again to Mr. Glanville's and so to bed, it being
very late.
9th. Up, and did give the servants something at Mr. Glanville's and so
took leave, meaning to lie to-night at my owne lodging. To my office,
where busy with Mr. Gawden running over the Victualling business, and he
is mightily pleased that this course is taking and seems sensible of my
favour and promises kindnesse to me. At noon by water, to the King's Head
at Deptford, where Captain Taylor invites Sir W: Batten, Sir John Robinson
(who come in with a great deale of company from hunting, and brought in a
hare alive and a great many silly stories they tell of their sport, which
pleases them mightily, and me not at all, such is the different sense of
pleasure in mankind), and others upon the score of a survey of his new
ship; and strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles
everybody, Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Robinson being now as kind to him, and
report well of his ship and proceedings, and promise money, and Sir W.
Batten is a solicitor for him, but it is a strange thing to observe, they
being the greatest enemys he had, and yet, I believe, hath in the world in
their hearts. Thence after dinner stole away and to my office, where did
a great deale of business till midnight, and then to Mrs. Clerk's, to
lodge again, and going home W. Hewer did tell me my wife will be here
to-morrow, and hath put away Mary, which vexes me to the heart, I cannot
helpe it, though it may be a folly in me, and when I think seriously on
it, I think my wife means no ill design in it, or, if she do, I am a foole
to be troubled at it, since I cannot helpe it. The Bill of Mortality, to
all our griefs, is encreased 399 this week, and the encrease generally
through the whole City and suburbs, which makes us all sad.
10th. Up, and entered all my Journall since the 28th of October, having
every day's passages well in my head, though it troubles me to remember
it, and which I was forced to, being kept from my lodging, where my books
and papers are, for several days. So to my office, where till two or
three o'clock busy before I could go to my lodging to dinner, then did it
and to my office again. In the evening newes is brought me my wife is
come: so I to her, and with her spent the evening, but with no great
pleasure, I being vexed about her putting away of Mary in my absence, but
yet I took no notice of it at all, but fell into other discourse, and she
told me, having herself been this day at my house at London, which was
boldly done, to see Mary have her things, that Mr. Harrington, our
neighbour, an East country merchant, is dead at Epsum of the plague, and
that another neighbour of ours, Mr. Hollworthy, a very able man, is also
dead by a fall in the country from his horse, his foot hanging in the
stirrup, and his brains beat out. Here we sat talking, and after supper
to bed.
11th. I up and to the office (leaving my wife in bed) and there till
noon, then to dinner and back again to the office, my wife going to
Woolwich again, and I staying very late at my office, and so home to bed.
12th (Lord's day). Up, and invited by Captain Cocke to dinner. So after
being ready I went to him, and there he and I and Mr. Yard (one of the
Guinny Company) dined together and very merry. After dinner I by water to
the Duke of Albemarle, and there had a little discourse and business with
him, chiefly to receive his commands about pilotts to be got for our
Hambro' ships, going now at this time of the year convoy to the merchant
ships, that have lain at great pain and charge, some three, some four
months at Harwich for a convoy. They hope here the plague will be less
this weeke. Thence back by water to Captain Cocke's, and there he and I
spent a great deale of the evening as we had done of the day reading and
discoursing over part of Mr. Stillingfleet's "Origines Sacrae," wherein
many things are very good and some frivolous. Thence by and by he and I
to Mrs. Penington's, but she was gone to bed. So we back and walked a
while, and then to his house and to supper, and then broke up, and I home
to my lodging to bed.
13th. Up, and to my office, where busy all the morning, and at noon to
Captain Cocke's to dinner as we had appointed in order to settle our
business of accounts. But here came in an Alderman, a merchant, a very
merry man, and we dined, and, he being gone, after dinner Cocke and I
walked into the garden, and there after a little discourse he did
undertake under his hand to secure me in L500 profit, for my share of the
profit of what we have bought of the prize goods. We agreed upon the
terms, which were easier on my side than I expected, and so with
extraordinary inward joy we parted till the evening. So I to the office
and among other business prepared a deed for him to sign and seale to me
about our agreement, which at night I got him to come and sign and seale,
and so he and I to Glanville's, and there he and I sat talking and playing
with Mrs. Penington, whom we found undrest in her smocke and petticoats by
the fireside, and there we drank and laughed, and she willingly suffered
me to put my hand in her bosom very wantonly, and keep it there long.
Which methought was very strange, and I looked upon myself as a man
mightily deceived in a lady, for I could not have thought she could have
suffered it, by her former discourse with me; so modest she seemed and I
know not what. We staid here late, and so home after he and I had walked
till past midnight, a bright moonshine, clear, cool night, before his door
by the water, and so I home after one of the clock.
14th. Called up by break of day by Captain Cocke, by agreement, and he
and I in his coach through Kent-streete (a sad place through the plague,
people sitting sicke and with plaisters about them in the street begging)
to Viner's and Colvill's about money business, and so to my house, and
there I took L300 in order to the carrying it down to my Lord Sandwich in
part of the money I am to pay for Captain Cocke by our agreement. So I
took it down, and down I went to Greenwich to my office, and there sat
busy till noon, and so home to dinner, and thence to the office again, and
by and by to the Duke of Albemarle's by water late, where I find he had
remembered that I had appointed to come to him this day about money, which
I excused not doing sooner; but I see, a dull fellow, as he is, do
sometimes remember what another thinks he mindeth not. My business was
about getting money of the East India Company; but, Lord! to see how the
Duke himself magnifies himself in what he had done with the Company; and
my Lord Craven what the King could have done without my Lord Duke, and a
deale of stir, but most mightily what a brave fellow I am. Back by water,
it raining hard, and so to the office, and stopped my going, as I
intended, to the buoy of the Nore, and great reason I had to rejoice at
it, for it proved the night of as great a storme as was almost ever
remembered. Late at the office, and so home to bed. This day, calling at
Mr. Rawlinson's to know how all did there, I hear that my pretty grocer's
wife, Mrs. Beversham, over the way there, her husband is lately dead of
the plague at Bow, which I am sorry for, for fear of losing her
neighbourhood.
15th. Up and all the morning at the office, busy, and at noon to the
King's Head taverne, where all the Trinity House dined to-day, to choose a
new Master in the room of Hurlestone, that is dead, and Captain Crispe is
chosen. But, Lord! to see how Sir W. Batten governs all and tramples upon
Hurlestone, but I am confident the Company will grow the worse for that
man's death, for now Batten, and in him a lazy, corrupt, doating rogue,
will have all the sway there. After dinner who comes in but my Lady
Batten, and a troop of a dozen women almost, and expected, as I found
afterward, to be made mighty much of, but nobody minded them; but the best
jest was, that when they saw themselves not regarded, they would go away,
and it was horrible foule weather; and my Lady Batten walking through the
dirty lane with new spicke and span white shoes, she dropped one of her
galoshes in the dirt, where it stuck, and she forced to go home without
one, at which she was horribly vexed, and I led her; and after vexing her
a little more in mirth, I parted, and to Glanville's, where I knew Sir
John Robinson, Sir G. Smith, and Captain Cocke were gone, and there, with
the company of Mrs. Penington, whose father, I hear, was one of the Court
of justice, and died prisoner, of the stone, in the Tower, I made them,
against their resolutions, to stay from houre to houre till it was almost
midnight, and a furious, darke and rainy, and windy, stormy night, and,
which was best, I, with drinking small beer, made them all drunk drinking
wine, at which Sir John Robinson made great sport. But, they being gone,
the lady and I very civilly sat an houre by the fireside observing the
folly of this Robinson, that makes it his worke to praise himself, and all
he say and do, like a heavy-headed coxcombe. The plague, blessed be God!
is decreased 400; making the whole this week but 1300 and odd; for which
the Lord be praised!
16th. Up, and fitted myself for my journey down to the fleete, and
sending my money and boy down by water to Eriffe,--[Erith]--I borrowed a
horse of Mr. Boreman's son, and after having sat an houre laughing with my
Lady Batten and Mrs. Turner, and eat and drank with them, I took horse and
rode to Eriffe, where, after making a little visit to Madam Williams, who
did give me information of W. Howe's having bought eight bags of precious
stones taken from about the Dutch Vice-Admirall's neck, of which there
were eight dyamonds which cost him L60,000 sterling, in India, and hoped
to have made L2000 here for them. And that this is told by one that sold
him one of the bags, which hath nothing but rubys in it, which he had for
35s.; and that it will be proved he hath made L125 of one stone that he
bought. This she desired, and I resolved I would give my Lord Sandwich
notice of. So I on board my Lord Bruncker; and there he and Sir Edmund
Pooly carried me down into the hold of the India shipp, and there did show
me the greatest wealth lie in confusion | 867.375801 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.6949670 | 1,506 | 79 |
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Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 24541-h.htm or 24541-h.zip:
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+--------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has |
| been preserved. |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For |
| a complete list, please see the end of this document. |
| |
| A list of illustrations is provided for the reader's |
| benefit. |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------+
BETWEEN THE LINES
Secret Service Stories
Told Fifty Years After
by
BVT. MAJOR H. B. SMITH
Chief of Detectives and Assistant
Provost Marshal General with
Major General Lew Wallace
Civil War
[Illustration: H. B. SMITH.]
Booz Brothers
114 West Fifty-Third Street
New York
Copyright, 1911, by
Henry Bascom Smith
Press of J. J. Little & Ives Co.
New York
DEDICATED
TO
SAMUEL GRAHAM BOOZ
TO WHOSE PERSISTENCY IN THUMPING OUT ON
HIS TYPEWRITER THE WORDS HEREIN HAS
RENDERED IT POSSIBLE FOR ME TO INFLICT
MY FIFTY-YEAR-OLD STORIES ON MY FRIENDS
CONTENTS
PAGE
APOLOGY 17
FILE I
The Harry Gilmor Sword--General Wallace's Comments 21
FILE II
1861-1862 New York Harbor--Fort Schuyler--Fort Marshal--Aunt Mag 25
FILE III
1862-1863 Fort McHenry--General Morris--Colonel Peter A. Porter--
Harper's Ferry--Halltown--Trip to Johnson's Island--Lieutenant-General
Pemberton and other Confederate Officers--Ohio Copperheads--Incident
of York, Pa., Copperheads--Dramatic incident on July 4th, 1863, at
Fort McHenry 30
FILE IV
A taste of the Draft Riots, July 13th, 1863, when conveying wounded
Confederates from Gettysburg to David's Island, New York Harbor--
Governor Seymour's questionable conduct--A mysterious Mr. Andrews of
Virginia--"Knights of the Golden Circle"--"Sons of Liberty" and a
North Western Confederacy--Uncle Burdette--The Laurel incident 37
FILE V
Appointed Assistant Provost Marshal at Fort McHenry, where I began
my first experience in detective work--Somewhat a history of my
early life--Ordered to execute Gordon by shooting 50
FILE VI
Detective work required an extension of territory--A flattering
endorsement by Colonel Porter--Introducing Christian Emmerich and
incidentally Charles E. Langley, a noted Confederate spy 57
FILE VII
Investigator's education--I branded E. W. Andrews, adjutant-general
to General Morris, a traitor to the Colors 63
FILE VIII
Initial trip down Chesapeake Bay after blockade runners and contraband
dealers and goods, incidentally introducing Terrence R. Quinn, George
G. Nellis and E. W. Andrews, Jr.--A description of a storm on the
Chesapeake 66
FILE IX
General Wallace assumes command of the Middle Department--General
Schenck's comments on Maryland--Colonel Woolley 79
FILE X
Here begins my service as an Assistant Provost Marshal of the
Department and Chief of the Secret Service--Confederate General
Winder's detectives--E. H. Smith, special officer, War Department
--Mrs. Mary E. Sawyer, Confederate mail carrier--W. V. Kremer's
report on the "Disloyals" north of Baltimore 83
FILE XI
Mrs. Key Howard, a lineal descendant of the author of "The Star
Spangled Banner," forgetting her honor, prepared to carry a
Confederate mail to "Dixie"--Miss Martha Dungan--Trip on the steam
tug "Ella"--Schooner "W. H. Travers" and cargo captured--James A.
Winn, a spy--Trip to Frederick, Maryland 92
FILE XII
F. M. Ellis, Chief Detective U. S. Sanitary Commission--Arrest of
W. W. Shore, of the New York "World"--John Gillock from Richmond 100
FILE XIII
Ordered to seize all copies of the New York "World," bringing in one
of the great war episodes, the Bogus Presidential Proclamation--
Governor Seymour's queer vigor appears 103
FILE XIV
Arrest of F. W. Farlin and A. H. Covert--The Pulpit not loyal,
reports on Rev. Mr. Harrison and Rev. Mr. Poisal--Comical reports
on a religious conference and a camp meeting--Seizure of Kelly &
Piet store with its contraband kindergarten contents--Sloop "R. B.
Tennis" one of my fleet, and an account of a capture of tobacco,
etc.--Arrest of Frederick Smith, Powell Harrison and Robert
Alexander--Harry Brogden 109
FILE XV
General pass for Schooner "W. H. Travers"--Trip down the Bay after
blockade runners and mail carriers--Gillock and Lewis, two of my
officers captured by Union pickets--Commodore Foxhall A. Parker--
Potomac flotilla--Arrest of J. B. McWilliams--My watch gone to the
mermaids--The ignorance of "poor white trash" 121
FILE XVI
Captain Bailey makes a capture--Sinclair introduces me (as Shaffer)
to Mr. Pyle 132
FILE XVII
A Confederate letter 136
FILE XVIII
Confederate army invades Maryland in 1864--General Wallace's masterly
defence of Washington--Trip outside our pickets--Confederate General
Bradley Johnson and Colonel Harry Gilmor--The Ishmael Day episode--
Uncle Zoe--Arrest of Judge Richard Grason--Report on certain
"Disloyals" 138
FILE XIX
Trip to New York regarding one Thomas H. Gordon 149
FILE XX
Thomas | 867.715007 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.7071360 | 1,728 | 43 |
Produced by Colin Bell, Jonathan Ah Kit, Greg Bergquist
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
The Economist:
OR
THE POLITICAL, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, AND FREE-TRADE JOURNAL.
"If we make ourselves too little for the sphere of our duty; if, on
the contrary, we do not stretch and expand our minds to the compass
of their object; be well assured that everything about us will
dwindle by degrees, until at length our concerns are shrunk to the
dimensions of our minds. _It is not a predilection to mean, sordid,
home-bred cares that will avert the consequences of a false
estimation of our interest, or prevent the shameful dilapidation
into which a great empire must fall by mean reparation upon mighty
ruins._"--BURKE.
No. 3. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1843. PRICE 6_d._
CONTENTS.
Our Brazilian Trade and the Anti-Slavery Party 33
The Fallacy of Protection 34
Agriculture (No. 2.) 35
Court and Aristocracy 36
Music and Musicales 36
The Metropolis 37
The Provinces 37
Ireland 37
Scotland 38
Wales 38
Foreign:
France 38
Spain 38
Austria and Italy 38
Turkey 38
Egypt 39
United States 39
Canada 39
Colonies and Emigration:
Emigration during the last Seventeen Years 39
New South Wales 39
Australia 39
Cape of Good Hope 39
New Zealand 39
Political 39
Correspondence and Answers to Inquiries 40
Postscript 41
Free Trade Movements:
Messrs Cobden and Bright at Oxford 42
Public Dinner to R. Walker, Esq. 42
Dr Bowring's Visit to his Constituents 42
Anti-Corn-law Meeting at Hampstead 43
Mr Ewart and his Constituents 43
Miscellanies of Trade 43
Police 43
Accidents, Offences, and Occurrences 43
Sporting Intelligence 43
Agricultural Varieties:
The best Home Markets 44
Curious Agricultural Experiment 44
Cultivation of Waste Lands 44
Our Library Table 44
Miscellanea 45
Commerce and Commercial Markets 46
Prices Current 46
Corn Markets 46
Smithfield Markets 46
Borough Hop Market 47
Liverpool Cotton Market 47
The Gazette 47
Births, Marriages, and Deaths 47
Advertisements 47
"If a writer be conscious that to gain a reception for his
favourite doctrine he must combat with certain elements of
opposition, in the taste, or the pride, or the indolence of those
whom he is addressing, this will only serve to make him the more
importunate. _There is a difference between such truths as are
merely of a speculative nature and such as are allied with practice
and moral feeling. With the former all repetition may be often
superfluous; with the latter it may just be by earnest repetition,
that their influence comes to be thoroughly established over the
mind of an inquirer._"--CHALMERS.
OUR BRAZILIAN TRADE AND THE ANTI-SLAVERY PARTY.
Since the publication of our article on the Brazilian Treaty, we have
received several letters from individuals who, agreeing with us entirely
in the free-trade view of the question, nevertheless are at variance
with us as to the commercial policy which we should pursue towards that
country, in order to coerce them into our views regarding slavery. We
are glad to feel called upon to express our views on this subject, to
which we think full justice has not yet been done.
We must, however, in doing so, make a great distinction between the two
classes of persons who are now found to be joined in an alliance against
this application of free-trade principles; two classes who have always
hitherto been so much opposed to each other, that it would have been
very difficult ten years since to have conceived any possible
combinations of circumstances that could have brought them to act in
concert: we mean the West India interest, who so violently opposed every
step of amelioration to the slave from first to last; and that body of
_truly great philanthropists_ who have been unceasing in their efforts
to abolish slavery wherever and in whatever form it was to be found. To
the latter alone we shall address our remarks.
As far as it can be collected, the argument relied upon by this party
appears to be, that having once abolished slavery in our own dominions
we ought to interdict the importation of articles produced by slave
labour in other countries, in order to coerce them, for the sake of
their trade with us, to follow our example.
We trust we shall be among the last who will ever be found advocating
the continuance of slavery, or opposing any _legitimate_ means for its
extinction; but we feel well assured that those who have adopted the
opinion quoted above, have little considered either the consequences or
the tendencies of the policy they support.
The first consideration is, that if this policy is to be acted upon, on
principle, it must extend to the exclusion of _all_ articles produced in
whatever country by slaves. It must apply with equal force to the
_gold_, _silver_, and _copper_ of Brazil, as it does to the _sugar_ and
_coffee_ produced in that country;--it must apply with equal force to
the _cotton_, the _rice_, the _indigo_, the _cochineal_, and the
_tobacco_ of the Southern States of America, and Mexico, as it does to
the _sugar_ and _coffee_ of Cuba. To be in any way consistent in
carrying out this principle, we must exclude the great material on which
the millions of Lancashire, the West of Yorkshire, and Lanarkshire
depend for their daily subsistence; we must equally exclude tobacco,
which gives revenue to the extent of 3,500,000_l._ annually; we must
refuse any use of the precious metals, whether for coin, ornament, or
other purposes. But even these form only one class of the obligations
which the affirming of this principle would impose upon us. If we would
coerce the Brazilians by not buying from them, it necessarily involves
the duty of not selling to them; for if we sell, we supply them with all
the means of conducting their slave labour; we supply the implements of
labour, or the materials from which they are made; we supply clothing
for themselves and their slaves; we supply part of their foods and most
of their luxuries; the wines and the spirits in which the slave-owner
indulges; and we even supply the very materials of which the implements
of slave punishment or coercion are made;--and thus participate much
more directly in the profits of slavery than by admitting their produce
into this country. But if we supply them with all these articles, which
we do to the extent of nearly 3,000,000_l._ a year, and are not to
receive some of their slave-tainted produce, it must follow that we are
to give them without an equivalent, | 867.727176 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.8772840 | 535 | 18 |
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SOCIALISM: POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE
by
ROBERT RIVES LA MONTE
"I will make a man more precious than fine gold;
even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir."
--_Isaiah xiii, 12._
Chicago
Charles H. Kerr & Company
1907
Copyright 1907
by Charles H. Kerr & Company
[Illustration: logo]
Press of
John F. Higgins
Chicago
TO
M. E. M. AND L. H. M.
PREFACE
Of the papers in this little volume two have appeared in print before:
"Science and Socialism" in the International Socialist Review for
September, 1900, and "Marxism and Ethics" in Wilshire's Magazine for
November, 1905. My thanks are due to the publishers of those periodicals
for their kind permission to re-print those articles here. The other
papers appear here for the first time.
There is an obvious inconsistency between the treatment of Materialism
in "Science and Socialism" and its treatment in "The Nihilism of
Socialism." I would point out that seven years elapsed between the
composition of the former and that of the latter essay. Whether the
inconsistency be a sign of mental growth or deterioration my readers
must judge for themselves. I will merely say here that the man or woman,
whose views remain absolutely fixed and stereotyped for seven years, is
cheating the undertaker. What I conceive the true significance of this
particular change in opinions to be is set forth in the essay on "The
Biogenetic Law."
Some Socialists will deprecate what may seem to them the unwise
frankness of the paper on "The Nihilism of Socialism." To them I can
only say that to me Socialism has always been essentially a
revolutionary | 867.897324 |
2023-11-16 18:31:31.8784250 | 218 | 21 |
Produced by Joyce Wilson and David Widger
THE BROKEN CUP
By Johann Heinrich Daniel Zschokke
Translated by P. G.
Copyright, 1891, by The Current Literature Publishing Company
Author's Note.--There is extant under this name a short piece by the
author of "Little Kate of Heilbronn." That and the tale which here
follows originated in an incident which took place at Bern in the year
1802. Henry von Kleist and Ludwig Wieland, the son of the poet, were
both friends of the writer, in whose chamber hung an engraving called
_La Cruche Cassee_, the persons and contents of which resembled the
scene set forth below, under the head of The Tribunal. The drawing,
which was full of expression, gave great delight to those who saw it,
and led to many conjectures as to its meaning. The three friends agreed,
in sport, that they would each one day commit to writing his peculiar
interpretation of its design. Wiel | 867.898465 |
2023-11-16 18:31:32.0917890 | 2,283 | 9 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
SECRETS OF THE BOSPHORUS
[Illustration: Ambassador Henry Morgenthau.
[_Frontispiece_
]
SECRETS OF THE
BOSPHORUS
By
AMBASSADOR HENRY MORGENTHAU
CONSTANTINOPLE, 1913-1916
_With 19 Illustrations_
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
ERRATA
[Corrected in this etext]
Page 16, line 4, read “_without_” for _with_.
Page 18, line 13, read “_Mexico_” for _Turkey_.
Page 18, line 35, read “_Humann_” instead of _Enver_.
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE ANCHOR PRESS LTD. TIPTREE ESSEX.
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE
Ambassador Henry Morgenthau requires no introduction to the British
public, but the American diplomat who may with justice be termed _The
Searchlight of Truth at the Golden Horn_, and whose Reminiscences will
rank now and in years to come as historical documents of the first
importance, modestly obscures in his graphic and fascinating narrative
one fact which requires emphasising:
That by his shrewd grasp of enemy psychology, by his unswerving
impartiality, by his tact and dignity, and unflinching courage, he
frustrated again and again the evil designs and machinations of that
trio of arch-schemers and villains, Wangenheim, Talaat, and Enver,
against the Allies, and thus earned a debt of lasting gratitude from the
British people.
PREFACE
By this time the American people have probably become convinced that the
Germans deliberately planned the conquest of the world. Yet they
hesitate to convict on circumstantial evidence, and for this reason all
eye-witnesses to this, the greatest crime in modern history, should
volunteer their testimony.
I have therefore laid aside any scruples I had as to the propriety of
disclosing to my fellow-countrymen the facts which I learned while
representing them in Turkey. I acquired this knowledge as the servant of
the American people, and it is their property as much as it is mine.
I greatly regret that I have been obliged to omit an account of the
splendid activities of the American Missionary and Educational
Institutions in Turkey, but to do justice to this subject would require
a book by itself. I have had to omit the story of the Jews in Turkey for
the same reasons.
My thanks are due to my friend, Mr. Burton J. Hendrick, for the
invaluable assistance he has rendered in the preparation of the book.
HENRY MORGENTHAU.
_October, 1918._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A GERMAN SUPERMAN AT CONSTANTINOPLE 1
II. THE “BOSS SYSTEM” IN THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE
AND HOW IT PROVED USEFUL TO GERMANY 12
III. “THE PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVE OF THE
KAISER”--WANGENHEIM OPPOSES THE SALE OF
AMERICAN WARSHIPS IN GREECE 26
IV. GERMANY MOBILISES THE TURKISH ARMY 39
V. WANGENHEIM SMUGGLES THE “GOEBEN” AND THE
“BRESLAU” THROUGH THE DARDANELLES 44
VI. WANGENHEIM TELLS THE AMERICAN AMBASSADOR
HOW THE KAISER STARTED THE WAR 53
VII. GERMANY’S PLANS FOR NEW TERRITORIES, COALING
STATIONS, AND INDEMNITIES 58
VIII. A CLASSIC INSTANCE OF GERMAN PROPAGANDA 62
IX. GERMANY CLOSES THE DARDANELLES AND SO
SEPARATES RUSSIA FROM HER ALLIES 68
X. TURKEY’S ABROGATION OF THE CAPITULATIONS--ENVER
LIVING IN A PALACE, WITH PLENTY OF
MONEY AND AN IMPERIAL BRIDE 73
XI. GERMANY COMPELS TURKEY TO ENTER THE WAR 80
XII. THE TURKS ATTEMPT TO TREAT ALIEN ENEMIES
DECENTLY, BUT THE GERMANS INSIST ON PERSECUTING THEM 85
XIII. THE INVASION OF THE ZION SISTERS’ SCHOOL 96
XIV. WANGENHEIM AND THE BETHLEHEM STEEL COMPANY--A
HOLY WAR THAT WAS MADE IN GERMANY 103
XV. DJEMAL, A TROUBLESOME MARK ANTONY--AN
EARLY GERMAN ATTEMPT TO GET A GERMAN
PEACE 112
XVI. THE TURKS PREPARE TO FLEE FROM CONSTANTINOPLE
AND ESTABLISH A NEW CAPITAL IN ASIA
MINOR--THE ALLIED FLEET BOMBARDING THE
DARDANELLES 121
XVII. ENVER AS THE MAN WHO DEMONSTRATED “THE
VULNERABILITY OF THE BRITISH FLEET”--OLD-FASHIONED
DEFENCES OF THE DARDANELLES 133
XVIII. THE ALLIED ARMADA SAILS AWAY, THOUGH ON THE
BRINK OF VICTORY 143
XIX. A FIGHT FOR THREE THOUSAND CIVILIANS 153
XX. MORE ADVENTURES OF THE FOREIGN RESIDENTS 167
XXI. BULGARIA ON THE AUCTION BLOCK 173
XXII. THE TURK REVERTS TO THE ANCESTRAL TYPE 180
XXIII. THE “REVOLUTION” AT VAN 193
XXIV. THE MURDER OF A NATION 198
XXV. TALAAT TELLS WHY HE “ANNIHILATES” THE ARMENIANS 215
XXVI. ENVER PASHA DISCUSSES THE ARMENIANS 226
XXVII. “I SHALL DO NOTHING FOR THE ARMENIANS,”
SAYS THE GERMAN AMBASSADOR 240
XXVIII. ENVER AGAIN MOVES FOR PEACE--FAREWELL TO
THE SULTAN AND TO TURKEY 253
XXIX. VON JAGOW, ZIMMERMAN, AND GERMAN-AMERICANS 261
ILLUSTRATIONS
AMBASSADOR HENRY MORGENTHAU _Frontispiece_
BARON WANGENHEIM, GERMAN AMBASSADOR _facing page_ 32
M. TOCHEFF, BULGARIAN MINISTER AT CONSTANTINOPLE 33
“GOEBEN” IN THE SEA OF MARMORA 48
“BRESLAU” (_left_) AT THE GOLDEN HORN 49
ENVER PASHA, MINISTER OF WAR 112
TALAAT PASHA, GRAND VIZIER 112
BUSTÁNY EFFENDI, EX-MINISTER OF COMMERCE AND
AGRICULTURE 113
DJEMAL PASHA, MINISTER OF MARINE 113
MR. MORGENTHAU AND SIR LOUIS MALLET 116
SIR LOUIS MALLET AND M. BOMPARD 116
BEDRI BEY, PREFECT OF POLICE 117
TALAAT AND VON KÜHLMANN 117
SEDD-UL-BAHR FORTIFICATION 144
FORT DARDANOS 145
MOHAMMED V., SULTAN OF TURKEY 176
TCHEMENLIK AND FORT ANADOLU HAMIDIÉ 177
SHEIK-UL-ISLAM PROCLAIMING A HOLY WAR 192
THE BOSPHORUS, KEY TO THE BLACK SEA 193
Secrets of the Bosphorus
CHAPTER I
A GERMAN SUPERMAN AT CONSTANTINOPLE
I am writing these reminiscences of my ambassadorship at a moment when
Germany’s schemes in the Turkish Empire and the Near East have achieved
an apparent success. The Central Powers have disintegrated Russia, have
transformed the Baltic and the Black Seas into German lakes, and have
obtained a new route to the East by way of the Caucasus. Germany now
dominates Serbia, Bulgaria, Rumania, and Turkey, and regards her
aspirations for a new Teutonic Empire, extending from the North Sea to
the Persian Gulf, as practically realised. The world now knows, though
it did not clearly understand this fact in 1914, that Germany
precipitated the war to destroy Serbia, seize control of the Balkan
nations, transform Turkey into a vassal state, and thus obtain a huge
oriental empire that would form the basis for unlimited world dominion.
Do these German aggressions in the East mean that this extensive
programme has succeeded?
As I look upon the new map, which shows Germany’s recent military and
diplomatic triumphs, my experiences in Constantinople take on a new
meaning. I now see the events of these twenty-six months as part of a
connected, definite story. The several individuals that moved upon the
scene now appear as players in a carefully staged, superbly managed
drama. I see clearly enough now that Germany had made all her plans for
world dominion and that the country to which I had been accredited as
American Ambassador was the foundation of the Kaiser’s whole political
and military structure. Had Germany not acquired control of
Constantinople in the early days of the war, it is not unlikely that
hostilities would have ended a few months after the battle of the Marne.
It was certainly an amazing fate that landed me in this great
headquarters of intrigue at the very moment when the plans of the
Kaiser, carefully pursued for a quarter of a century, were about to
achieve | 868.111829 |
2023-11-16 18:31:32.1533030 | 550 | 7 | Project Gutenberg Etext The Unknown Guest, by Maurice Maeterlinck
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The Unknown Guest
by Maurice Maeterlinck
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BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCXXXVIII. DECEMBER, 1843. VOL. LIV.
Transcriber's Note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved
to the end of each article.
CONTENTS.
LECTURES AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 691
SOMETHING ABOUT MUSIC. 709
THE PURPLE CLOAK; OR, THE RETURN OF SYLOSON TO SAMOS. 714
LOVE AND DEATH. 717
THE BRIDGE OVER THE THUR. 717
THE BANKING-HOUSE. A HISTORY IN THREE PARTS. PART II. 719
COLLEGE THEATRICALS. 737
LINES WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF BUTE. 749
TRAVELS OF KERIM KHAN. CONCLUSION. 753
NOTES ON A TOUR OF THE DISTURBED DISTRICTS IN WALES. 766
ADVENTURES IN TEXAS. NO. II. 777
DEATH FROM THE STING OF A SERPENT. 798
GIFTS OF TEREK. 799
MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN. PART VI. 801
INDEX TO VOL. LIV. 815
* * * * *
LECTURES AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
HENRY FUSELI.
At a time when the eye of the public is more remarkably, and we trust
more kindly, directed to the Fine Arts, we may do some service to the
good cause, by reverting to those lectures delivered in the Royal
Academy, composed in a spirit of enthusiasm honourable to the
professors, but which kindled little sympathy in an age strangely dead
to the impulses of taste. The works, therefore, which set forth the
principles of art, were not read extensively at the time, and had little
influence beyond the walls within which they were delivered. Favourable
circumstances, in conjunction with their real merit, have permanently
added the discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds to the standard literature
of our country. They have been transferred from the artist to the
scholar; and so it has happened, that while few of any pretension to
scholarship have not read the "The Discourses," they have not, as they
should have, been continually in the hands of artists themselves. To
awaken a feeling for this kind of professional reading--yet not so
professional as not to be beneficial--reflectingly upon classical
learning; indeed, we might say, education in general, and therefore more
comprehensive in its scope--we commenced our remarks on the discourses
of Sir Joshua Reynolds, which have appeared in the pages of Maga. There
are now more than symptoms of the departure of that general apathy which
prevailed, when most of the Academy lectures were delivered. It will be,
therefore, a grateful, and may we hope a useful, task, by occasional
notices to make them more generally known.
The successors of Reynolds labour under a twofold disadvantage; they
find that he has occupied the very ground they would have taken, and
written so ably and fully upon all that is likely to obtain a general
interest, as to leave a prejudice against further attempts. Of
necessity, there must be, in every work treating of the same subject,
much repetition; and it must require no little ingenuity to give a
novelty and variety, that shall yet be safe, and within the bounds of
the admitted principles of art. On this account, we have no reason to
complain of the lectures of Fuseli, which we now purpose to notice. Bold
and original as the writer is, we find him every where impressed with a
respect for Reynolds, and with a conviction of the truth of the
principles which he had collected and established. If there be any
difference, it is occasionally on the more debatable ground--particular
passages of criticism.
In the "Introduction," the student is supplied with a list of the
authorities he should consult for the "History and Progress of his Art."
He avoids expatiating on the books purely elementary--"the van of which
is led by Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Durer, and the rear by Gherard
Lavresse--as the principles which they detail must be supposed to be
already in the student's possession, or are occasionally interwoven with
the topics of the lectures;" and proceeds "to the historically critical
writers, who consist of all the ancients yet remaining, Pausanias
excepted." Fortunately, there remain a sufficient number of the
monuments of ancient art "to furnish us with their standard of style;"
for the accounts are so contradictory, that we should have little to
rely upon. The works of the ancient artists are all lost: we must be
content with the "hasty compilations of a warrior," Pliny, or the
"incidental remarks of an orator," (rhetorician,) Quintilian. The former
chiefly valuable when he quotes--for then, as Reynolds observed, "he
speaks the language of an artist:" as in his account of the glazing
method of Apelles; the manner in which Protogenes embodied his colours;
and the term of art _circumlitio_, by which Nicias gave "the line of
correctness to the models of Praxiteles;" the foreshortening the bull by
Pausias, and throwing his shade on the crowd--showing a forcible
chiaroscuro. "Of Quintilian, whose information is all relative to style,
the tenth chapter of the XII.th book, a passage on expression in the
XI.th, and scattered fragments of observations analogous to the process
of his own art, is all that we possess; but what he says, though
comparatively small in bulk, with what we have of Pliny, leaves us to
wish for more. His review of the revolutions of style in painting, from
Polygnotus to Apelles, and in sculpture, from Phidias to Lysippus, is
succinct and rapid; but though so rapid and succinct, every word is
poised by characteristic precision, and can only be the result of long
and judicious enquiry, and perhaps even minute examination." Still less
have we scattered in the writings of Cicero, who, "though he seems to
have had little native taste for painting and sculpture, and even less
than he had taste for poetry, had a conception of nature; and with his
usual acumen, comparing the principles of one art with those of another,
frequently scattered useful hints, or made pertinent observations. For
many of these he might probably be indebted to Hortensius, with whom,
though his rival in eloquence, he lived on terms of familiarity, and who
was a man of declared taste, and one of the first collectors of the
time." He speaks somewhat too slightingly of Pausanias,[1] as "the
indiscriminate chronicler of legitimate tradition and legendary trash,"
considering that he praises "the scrupulous diligence with which he
examined what fell under his own eye." He recommends to the epic or
dramatic artist the study of the heroics of the elder, and the Eicones
or Picture Galleries of the elder and younger Philostratus.
"The innumerable hints, maxims, anecdotes, descriptions, scattered over
Lucian, Oelian, Athenaeus, Achilles Tatius, Tatian Pollux, and many
more, may be consulted to advantage by the man of taste and letters, and
probably may be neglected without much loss by the student." "Of modern
writers on art Vasari leads the van; theorist, artist, critic, and
biographer, in one. The history of modern art owes, no doubt, much to
Vasari; he leads us from its cradle to its maturity with the anxious
diligence of a nurse; but he likewise has her derelictions: for more
loquacious than ample, and less discriminating styles than eager to
accumulate descriptions, he is at an early period exhausted by the
superlatives lavished on inferior claims, and forced into frigid
rhapsodies and astrologic nonsense to do justice to the greater. He
swears by the divinity of M. Agnolo. He tells us that he copied every
figure of the Capella Sistina and the stanze of Raffaelle, yet his
memory was either so treacherous, or his rapidity in writing so
inconsiderate, that his account of both is a mere heap of errors and
unpardonable confusion, and one might almost fancy he had never entered
the Vatican." He is less pleased with the "rubbish of his
contemporaries, or followers, from Condior to Ridolfi, and on to
Malvasia." All is little worth "till the appearance of Lanzi, who, in
his 'Storia Pittorica della Italia,' has availed himself of all the
information existing in his time, has corrected most of those who wrote
before him, and, though perhaps not possessed of great discriminative
powers, has accumulated more instructive anecdotes, rescued more
deserving names from oblivion, and opened a wider prospect of art, than
all his predecessors." But for the valuable notes of Reynolds, the idle
pursuit of Du Fresnoy to clothe the precepts of art in Latin verse,
would be useless. "The notes of Reynolds, treasures of practical
observation, place him among those whom we may read with profit." De
Piles and Felibien are spoken of next, as the teachers of "what may be
learned from precept, founded on prescriptive authority more than on the
verdicts of nature." Of the effects of the system pursued by the French
Academy from such precepts, our author is, perhaps, not undeservedly
severe.
"About the middle of the last century the German critics, established at
Rome, began to claim the exclusive privilege of teaching the art, and to
form a complete system of antique style. The verdicts of Mengs and
Winkelmann, become the oracles of antiquaries, dilettanti, and artists,
from the Pyrenees to the utmost north of Europe, have been detailed, and
are not without their influence here. Winkelmann was the parasite of the
fragments that fell from the conversation or the tablets of Mengs--a
deep scholar, and better fitted to comment on a classic than to give
lessons on art and style, he reasoned himself into frigid reveries and
Platonic dreams on beauty. As far as the taste or the instruction of his
tutor directed, he is right when they are; and between his own learning
and the tuition of the other, his history of art delivers a specious
system, and a prodigious number of useful observations." "To him Germany
owes the shackles of her artists, and the narrow limits of their aim."
Had Fuseli lived to have witnessed the "revival" at Munich, he would
have appreciated the efforts made, and still making, there. He speaks of
the works of Mengs with respect. "The works of Mengs himself are, no
doubt, full of the most useful information, deep observation, and often
consummate criticism. He has traced and distinguished the principles of
the moderns from those of the ancients; and in his comparative view of
the design, colour, composition, and expression of Raffaelle, Correggio,
and Tiziano, with luminous perspicuity and deep precision, pointed out
the prerogative or inferiority of each. As an artist, he is an instance
of what perseverance, study, experience, and encouragement can achieve
to supply the place of genius." He then, passing by all English critics
preceding Reynolds, with the petty remark, that "the last is undoubtedly
the first," says--"To compare Reynolds with his predecessors, would
equally disgrace our judgment, and impeach our gratitude. His volumes
can never be consulted without profit, and should never be quitted by
the student's hand but to embody, by exercise, the precepts he gives and
the means he points out." It is useful thus to see together the
authorities which a student should consult, and we have purposely
characterized them as concisely as we could, in our extracts, which
strongly show the peculiar style of Mr Fuseli. If this introduction was,
however, intended for artists, it implies in them a more advanced
education in Greek and Latin literature than they generally possess. Mr
Fuseli was himself an accomplished scholar. How desirable is it that the
arts and general scholarship should go together! The classics, fully to
be enjoyed, require no small cultivation in art; and as the greater
portion of ancient art is drawn from that source, Greek mythology, and
classical history and literature, such an education would seem to be the
very first step in the acquirements of an artist. We believe that in
general they content themselves with Lempriere's Dictionary; and that
rather for information on subjects they may see already painted, than
for their own use; and thus, for lack of a feeling which only education
can give, a large field of resources is cut off from them. If it be said
that English literature--English classics, will supply the place, we
deny it; for there is not an English classic of value to an artist, who
was not, to his very heart's core, embued with a knowledge and love of
the ancient literature. We might instance but two, Spenser and
Milton--the statute-books of the better English art--authors whom, we do
not hesitate to say, no one can thoroughly understand or enjoy, who has
not far advanced in classical education. We shall never cease to throw
out remarks of this kind, with the hope that our universities will yet
find room to foster the art within them; satisfied as we are that the
advantages would be immense, both to the art and to the universities.
How many would then pursue pleasures and studies most congenial with
their usual academical education, and, thus occupied, be rescued from
pursuits that too often lead to profligacy and ruin; and sacrifice to
pleasures that cannot last, those which, where once fostered, have ever
been permanent!
* * * * *
The FIRST LECTURE is a summary of ancient art--one rather of research
than interest--more calculated to excite the curiosity of the student
than to offer him any profitable instruction. The general matter is well
known to most, who have at all studied the subject. Nor have we
sufficient confidence in any theory as to the rise and growth of art in
Greece, to lay much stress upon those laid down in this lecture. We
doubt if the religion of Greece ever had that hold upon the feelings of
the people, artists, or their patrons, which is implied in the
supposition, that it was an efficient cause. A people that could listen
to the broad farce of Aristophanes, and witness every sort of contempt
thrown upon the deities they professed to worship, were not likely to
seek in religion the advancement of art; and their licentious
liberty--if liberty it deserved to be called--was of too watchful a
jealousy over greatness of every kind, to suffer genius to be free and
without suspicion. We will not follow the lecturer through his
conjectures on the mechanic processes. It is more curious than useful to
trace back the more perfect art through its stages--the "Polychrom," the
"Monochrom," the "Monogram," and "Skiagram"--nor from the pencil to the
"cestrum." Polygnotus is said to be the first who introduced the
"essential style;" which consisted in ascertaining the abstract, the
general form, as it is technically termed the central form. Art under
Polygnotus was, however, in a state of formal "parallelism;" certainly
it could boast no variety of composition. Apollodorus "applied the
essential principles of Polygnotus to the delineation of the species, by
investigating the leading forms that discriminate the various classes of
human qualities and passions." He saw that all men were connected
together by one general form, yet were separated by some predominant
power into classes; "thence he drew his line of imitation, and
personified the central form of the class to which his object belonged,
and to which the rest of its qualities administered, without being
absorbed." Zeuxis, from the essential of Polygnotus and specific
discrimination of Apollodorus, comparing one with the other, formed his
ideal style. Thus are there the three styles--the essential, the
characteristic, the ideal.
Art was advanced and established under Parrhasius and Timanthes, and
refined under Eupompus, Apelles, Aristides, and Euphranor. "The
correctness of Parrhasius succeeded to the genius of Zeuxis. He
circumscribed the ample style, and by subtle examination of outline,
established that standard of divine and heroic form which raised him to
the authority of a legislator, from whose decisions there was no appeal.
He gave to the divine and heroic character in painting, what Polycletus
had given to the human in sculpture by his Doryphorus, a canon of
proportion. Phidias had discovered in the nod of the Homeric Jupiter the
characteristic of majesty, _inclination of the head_. This hinted to him
a higher elevation of the neck behind, a bolder protrusion of the front,
and the increased perpendicular of the profile. To this conception
Parrhasius fixed a maximum; that point from which descends the ultimate
line of celestial beauty, the angle within which moves what is inferior,
beyond which what is portentous. From the head conclude to the
proportions of the neck, the limbs, the extremities; from the Father to
the race of gods; all, the sons of one, Zeus; derived from one source of
tradition, Homer; formed by one artist, Phidias; on him measured and
decided by Parrhasius. In the simplicity of this principle, adhered to
by the succeeding periods, lies the uninterrupted progress and the
unattainable superiority of Grecian art."
In speaking of Timanthes as the competitor with Parrhasius, as one who
brought into the art more play of the mind and passions, the lecturer
takes occasion to discuss the often discussed and disputed propriety of
Timanthes, in covering the head of Agamemnon in his picture of the
sacrifice of Iphigenia. He thinks it the more incumbent on him so to do,
as the "late president" had passed a censure upon Timanthes. Sir Joshua
expressed his _doubt_ only, not his censure absolutely, upon the
delivery of the prize at the Academy for the best picture painted from
this subject. He certainly dissents from bestowing the praise, upon the
supposition of the intention being the avoiding a difficulty. And as to
this point, the well-known authorities of Cicero, Quintilian, Valerius
Maximus, and Pliny, seem to agree. And _if_, as the lecturer observes in
a note, the painter is made to waste expression on inferior actors at
the expense of a principal one, he is an improvident spendthrift, not a
wise economist. The pertness of Falconet is unworthy grave criticism and
the subject, though it is quoted by Sir Joshua Reynolds. He assumes that
Agamemnon is the principal figure. Undoubtedly Mr Fuseli is
right--Iphigenia is the principal figure; and it may be fairly admitted,
that the overpowering expression of the grief of the father would have
divided the subject. It might be more properly a separate picture. Art
is limited; nothing should detract from the principal figure, the
principal action--passion. Our sympathy is not called for on behalf of
the father here: the grief of the others in the picture is the grief in
perfect sympathy with Iphigenia; the father would have been absorbed in
his own grief, and his grief would have been an unsympathetic grief
towards Iphigenia. It was his own case that he felt; and it does appear
to us an aggravation of the suffering of Iphigenia, that, at the moment
of her sacrifice, she saw indeed her father's person, but was never
more--and knew she was never more--to behold his face again. This
circumstance alone would justify Timanthes, but other concurrent reasons
may be given. It was no want of power to express the father's grief, for
it is in the province of art to express every such delineation; but
there _is_ a point of grief that is ill expressed by the countenance at
all; and there is a natural action in such cases for the sufferer
himself to hide his face, as if conscious that it was not in agreement
with his feelings. Such grief is astounding: we look for the expression
of it, and find it not: it is better than receive this shock to hide the
face. We do it naturally; so that here the art of the painter, that
required that his picture should be a whole, and centre in Iphigenia,
was mainly assisted by the proper adoption of this natural action of
Agamemnon. Mr Fuseli, whose criticism is always acute, and generally
just and true, has well discussed the subject, and properly commented
upon the flippancy of Falconet. After showing the many ways in which the
painter might have expressed the parent's grief, and that none of them
would be _decere, pro dignitate, digne_, he adds--'But Timanthes had too
true a sense of nature to expose a father's feelings, or to tear a
passion to rags; nor had the Greeks yet learned of Rome to steel the
face. If he made Agamemnon bear his calamity as a man, he made him also
feel it as a man. It became the leader of Greece to sanction the
ceremony with his presence: it did not become the father to see his
daughter beneath the dagger's point: the same nature that threw a real
mantle over the face of Timoleon, when he assisted at the punishment of
his brother, taught Timanthes to throw an imaginary one over the face of
Agamemnon; neither height nor depth, _propriety_ of expression was his
aim.' It is a question whether Timanthes took the idea from the text of
Euripides, or whether it is his invention, and was borrowed by the
dramatist. The picture must have presented a contrast to that of his
rival Parrhasius, which exhibited the fury of Ajax.
Whether the invention was or was not the merit of Euripides, certainly
this is not the only instance wherein he has turned it to dramatic
advantage. No dramatist was so distinct a painter as Euripides; his mind
was ever upon picture. He makes Hecuba, in the dialogue with Agamemnon,
say, "Pity me, and, standing apart as would a painter, look at me, and
see what evils I have,"
[Greek: Oichteiron hemas, os grapheus t apostatheis,
Ida me chanathreson, oi echo chacha.]
And this Hecuba, when Talthybius comes to require her presence for the
burial of Polyxena, is found lying on the ground, _her face covered_
with her robe:--
[Greek: Aute pelas sou, not echous epi chthoni,
Talthubie, keitai, sugchechleismene peplois.]
And in the same play, Polyxena bids Ulysses to cover her head with a
robe, as he leads her away, that she might not see her mother's grief.
[Greek: Komiz, Odysseu, m'amphitheis peplois chara.]
But in the instance in question, in the Iphigenia, there is one
circumstance that seems to have been overlooked by the critics, which
makes the action of Agamemnon the more expressive, and gives it a
peculiar force: the dramatist takes care to exhibit the more than common
parental and filial love; when asked by Clytemnestra what would be her
last, her dying request, it is instantly, on her father's account, to
avert every feeling of wrath against him:--
[Greek: Patera ge ton emon me stugei, posin te son.]
And even when the father covers his face, she is close beside him,
_tells him that she is beside him_, and her last words are to comfort
him. Now, whether Timanthes took the scene from Euripides or Euripides
from Timanthes, it could not be more powerfully, more naturally
conceived; for this dramatic incident, the tender movement to his side,
and speech of Iphigenia, could not have been imagined, or at least with
little effect, had not the father first covered his face. Mr Fuseli has
collected several instances of attempts something similar in pictures,
particularly by Massaccio, and Raffaelle from him; and he well
remarks--"We must conclude that Nature herself dictated to him this
method, as superior to all he could express by features; and that he
recognized the same dictate in Massaccio, who can no more be supposed to
have been acquainted with the precedent of Timanthes than Shakspeare
with that of Euripides, when he made Macduff draw his hat over his
face." From Timanthes Mr Fuseli proceeds to eulogize Aristides; whom
history records as, in a peculiar excellence, the painter of the
passions of nature. "Such, history informs us, was the suppliant whose
voice you seemed to hear, such his sick man's half-extinguished eye and
labouring breast, such Byblis expiring in the pangs of love, and, above
all, the half-slain mother shuddering lest the eager babe should suck
the blood from her palsied nipple."--"Timanthes had marked the limits
that discriminate terror from the excess of horror; Aristides drew the
line that separates it from disgust." Then follows a very just criticism
upon instances in which he considered that Raffaelle himself and Nicolo
Poussin had overstepped the bounds of propriety, and averted the
feelings from their object, by ideas of disgust. In the group of
Raffaelle, a man is removing the child from the breast of the mother
with one hand, while the other is applied to his nostrils. Poussin, in
his plague of the Philistines, has copied the loathsome action--so,
likewise, in another picture, said to be the plague of Athens, but
without much reason so named, in the collection of J. P. Mills, Esq. Dr
Waagen, in his admiration for the executive part of art, speaks of it as
"a very rich masterpiece of Poussin, in which we are reconciled by his
skill to the horrors of the subject."
In the commencement of the lecture, there are offered some definitions
of the terms of art, "nature, grace, taste, copy, imitation, genius,
talent." In that of nature, he seems entirely to agree with Reynolds;
that of beauty leaves us pretty much in the dark in our search for it,
"as that harmonious whole of the human frame, that unison of parts to
one end, which enchants us. The result of the standard set by the great
masters of our art, the ancients, and confirmed by the submissive
verdict of modern imitation." This is unphilosophical, unsatisfactory;
nor is that of grace less so--"that artless balance of motion and
repose, sprung from character, founded on propriety, which neither falls
short of the demands, nor overleaps the modesty of nature. Applied to
execution it means that dexterous power which hides the means by which
it was attained, the difficulties it has conquered." We humbly suggest,
that both parts of this definition may be found where there is little
grace. It is evident that the lecturer did not subscribe to any theory
of lines, as _per se_ beautiful or graceful, and altogether disregarded
Hogarth's line of beauty. Had Mr Hay's very admirable short works--his
"Theory of Form and Proportion"--appeared in Mr Fuseli's day, he would
have taken a new view of beauty and grace. By taste, he means not only a
knowledge of what is right in art, but a power to estimate degrees of
excellence, "and by comparison proceeds from justness to refinement."
This, too, we think inadequate to express what we mean by taste, which
appears to us to have something of a sense, independent of knowledge.
Using words in a technical sense, we may define them to mean what we
please, but certainly the words themselves, "copy" and "imitation," do
not mean very different things. He thinks "precision of eye, and
obedience of hand, are the requisites for copy, without the least
pretence to choice, what to select, what to reject; whilst choice,
directed by judgment or taste, constitutes the essence of imitation, and
alone can raise the most dexterous copyist to the noble rank of an
artist." We do not exactly see how this judgment arises out of his
definition of "taste." But it may be fair to follow him still closer on
this point. "The imitation of the ancients was, _essential_,
_characteristic_, _ideal_. The first cleared nature of accident, defect,
excrescence, (which was in fact his definition of nature, as so
cleared;) the second found the _stamen_ which connects character with
the central form; the third raised the whole and the parts to the
highest degree of unison." This is rather loose writing, and not very
close reasoning. After all, it may be safer to take words in their
common acceptation; for it is very difficult in a treatise of any
length, to preserve in the mind or memory the precise ideas of given
definitions. "Of genius, I shall speak with reserve; for no word has
been more indiscriminately confounded. By genius, I mean that power
which enlarges the circle of human knowledge, which discovers new
materials of nature, or combines the known with novelty; whilst talent
arranges, cultivates, polishes the discoveries of genius." Definitions,
divisions, and subdivisions, though intended to make clear, too often
entangle the ground unnecessarily, and keep the mind upon the stretch to
remember, when it should only feel. We think this a fault with Mr
Fuseli; it often renders him obscure, and involves his style of
aphorisms in the mystery of a riddle.
* * * * *
SECOND LECTURE.--This lecture comprises a compendious history of modern
art; commencing with Massaccio. If religion gave the impulse to both
ancient and modern, so has it stamped each with the different characters
itself assumed. The conceptions the ancients had of divinity, were the
perfection of the human form; thus form and beauty became godlike. The
Christian religion wore a more spiritual character. In ancient art,
human form and beauty were triumphant; in modern art, the greater
triumph was in humility, in suffering; the religious inspiration was to
be shown in its influence in actions less calculated to display the
powers, the energies of form, than those of mind. Mere external beauty
had its accompanying vices; and it was compelled to lower its
pretensions considerably, submit to correction, and take a more
subordinate part. Thus, if art lost in form it gained in expression, and
thus was really more divine. Art in its revival, passing through the
barbarity of Gothic adventurers, not unencumbered with senseless
superstitions, yet with wondrous rapidity, raised itself to the noblest
conceptions of both purity and magnificence. Sculpture had, indeed,
preceded painting in the works of Ghiberti Donato and Philippo
Brunelleschi, when Massaccio appeared. "He first perceived that parts
are to constitute a whole; that composition ought to have a centre;
expression, truth; and execution, unity. His line deserves attention,
though his subjects led him not to investigation of form, and the
shortness of his life forbade his extending those elements, which
Raffaelle, nearly a century afterwards, carried to perfection." That
great master of expression did not disdain to borrow from him--as is
seen in the figure of "St Paul preaching at Athens," and that of "Adam
expelled from Paradise." Andrea Mantegna attempted to improve upon
Massaccio, by adding form from study of the antique. Mr Fuseli considers
his "taste too crude, his fancy too grotesque, and his comprehension too
weak, to advert from the parts that remained to the whole that inspired
them; hence, in his figures of dignity or beauty, we see not only the
meagre forms of common models, but even their defects tacked to ideal
torsos." We think, however, he is deserving of more praise than the
lecturer was disposed to bestow upon him, and that his "triumph | 868.373435 |
2023-11-16 18:31:32.3861850 | 92 | 19 |
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Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
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_THE CANADIAN_
_PORTRAIT GALLERY._
BY
JOHN CHARLES DENT,
ASSISTED BY A STAFF OF CONTRIBUTORS.
VOL. III | 868.406225 |
2023-11-16 18:31:32.5219560 | 6,560 | 12 |
Produced by Rachael Schultz, Charlie Howard, 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
Wide tables have been made narrower by using keys to identify the
column headings.
Superscripts are indicated by the ^ symbol. Italic text is enclosed in
_underscores_.
Odd-page headers have been repositioned between nearby paragraphs
and enclosed in square brackets.
Other Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this eBook.
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA
BY
JOHN BALL, F.R.S., M.R.I.A., ETC.
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., 1, PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1887
(_The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved._)
TO
L. M.,
WHOSE SUGGESTIONS LED TO ITS TAKING SHAPE,
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK.
PREFACE.
A tour round the South American continent, which was completed in so
short a time as five months, may not appear to deserve any special
record; yet I am led to hope that this little book may serve to induce
others to visit a region so abounding in sources of enjoyment and
interest. There is no part of the world where, in the same short space
of time, a traveller can view so many varied and impressive aspects
of nature; while he whose attention is mainly given to the progress
and development of the social condition of mankind will find in the
condition of the numerous states of the continent, and the manners and
habits of the many different races that inhabit it, abundant material
to engage his attention and excite his interest.
Although, as the title implies, the aim of my journey was mainly
directed to the new aspects of nature, organic and inorganic, which
South America superabundantly presents to the stranger, I have not
thought it without interest to give in these pages the impressions as
to the social and political condition of the different regions which I
visited, suggested to an unprejudiced visitor by the daily incidents of
a traveller’s life.
Those who may be tempted to undertake a tour in South America will
find that by a judicious choice of route, according to the season
selected for travelling, they may visit all the accessible parts of
the continent with perfect ease, and with no more risk of injury to
health, or of bodily discomfort, than they incur in a summer excursion
in Europe. The chief precaution to be observed is to make the visit
to Brazil fall in the cool and dry season, extending from mid-May to
September. It may also be well to mention that, while the cost of
passage and expenses on board, for a journey of about 18,400 miles by
sea, somewhat exceeded £170, my expenses during about ten weeks on
land, without any attempt at economy, did not exceed £100.
The reader may regard as superfluous the rather frequent references
to the meteorology of the various parts of the continent which I was
able to visit. But, if he will consider the importance of the two main
elements--temperature and moisture--in regulating the development
of organic life in past epochs, and the influence which they now
exercise on the character of the human population, he will admit that a
student of nature could not fail to make them the objects of frequent
attention, the more especially as many erroneous impressions as to the
climate of various parts of South America are still current, even
among men of science.
I make no pretension to add anything of importance to our store of
positive knowledge respecting the region described in this volume; I
shall be content if it should be found that I have suggested trains of
thought that may lead others to valuable results. I venture, indeed, to
believe that the argument adduced in the sixth chapter, as to the great
extent and importance of the ancient mountains of Brazil, approaches
near to demonstration, and that the recognition of its validity will
be found to throw fresh light on the history of organic life in that
region of the globe.
In the Appendices to this volume two subjects of a somewhat technical
character, not likely to interest the general reader, are separately
discussed. With regard to both of them, my aim has been to show that
the opinions now current amongst men of science do not rest upon
adequate evidence, and that we need further knowledge of the phenomena,
discoverable by observation, before we can safely arrive at positive
conclusions.
In deference to the prejudices of English readers, which are
unfortunately shared by many scientific writers, the ordinary British
standards of measure and weight have been followed throughout the
text, as well as the antiquated custom of denoting temperature by the
scale of Fahrenheit’s thermometer. With regard to the metrical system
of measures and weights, I am fully aware of its imperfections, and
if the question were now raised for the first time I should advocate
the adoption of some considerable modifications. But seeing that no
other uniform system is in existence, and that the metrical system has
been adopted by nearly all civilized nations, I cannot but regret that
my countrymen should retain what is practically a barrier to the free
interchange of thought with the rest of the world. The defects of the
metrical system are mainly those of our decimal system of numeration,
which owes its existence to the fact that the human hand possesses five
fingers. If in some future stage of development our race should acquire
a sixth finger to each hand, it may then also acquire a more convenient
system of numeration, to which the scale of measures would naturally
be adapted. In the mean time the advantages of a uniform system far
outweigh its attendant defects.
The adherence to the Fahrenheit scale for the thermometer is even
less defensible. It belongs to a primitive epoch of science, when a
knowledge of the facts of physics was in a rudimentary stage, and its
survival at the present day is a matter of marvel to the student of
progress.
I should not conclude these prefatory words without expressing my
obligations to many scientific friends whom I have from time to time
consulted with advantage; and I must especially record my obligation to
Mr. Robert Scott, F.R.S., who has on many occasions been my guide to
the valuable materials available in the library of the Meteorological
Office.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Voyage across the Atlantic--Barbadoes--Jamaica--Isthmus of
Panama--Buenaventura, tropical forest--Guayaquil and the
river Guayas--Payta--The rainless zone of Peru--Voyage to
Callao 1
CHAPTER II.
Arrival at Callao--Quarantine--The war between Chili and
Peru--Aspect of Lima--General Lynch--Andean railway to
Chicla--Valley of the Rimac--Puente Infernillo--Chicla--
Mountain-sickness--Flora of the Temperate zone of the Andes--
Excursion to the higher region--Climate of the Cordillera--
Remarks on the Andean flora--Return to Lima--Visit to a
sugar-plantation--Condition of Peru--Prospect of anarchy 56
CHAPTER III.
Voyage from Callao to Valparaiso--Arica--Tocopilla--Scenery of
the moon--Caldera--Aspect of North Chili--British Pacific
squadron--Coquimbo--Arrival at Valparaiso--Climate and
vegetation of Central Chili--Railway journey to Santiago--
Aspect of the city--Grand position of Santiago--Dr. Philippi--
Excursion to Cerro St. Cristobal--Don B. Vicuña Mackenna--
Remarkable trees--Excursion to the baths of Cauquenes--The
first rains--Captive condors--Return to Santiago--Glorious
sunset 118
CHAPTER IV.
Baths of Apoquinto--<DW72>s of the Cordillera--Excursion to
Santa Rosa de los Andes and the valley of Aconcagua--Return to
Valparaiso--Voyage in the German steamer _Rhamses_--Visit to
Lota--Parque of Lota--Coast of Southern Chili--Gulf of Peñas--
Hale Cove--Messier’s Channel--Beautiful scenery--The English
narrows--Eden harbour--Winter vegetation--Eyre Sound--Floating
ice--Sarmiento Channel--Puerto Bueno--Smyth’s Channel--
Entrance to the Straits of Magellan--Glorious morning--Borya
Bay--Mount Sarmiento 188
CHAPTER V.
Arrival at Sandy Point--Difficulties as to lodging--Story of
the mutiny--Patagonian ladies--Agreeable society in the
Straits of Magellan--Winter aspect of the flora--Patagonians
and Fuegians--Habits of the South American ostrich--Waiting
for the steamer--Departure--Climate of the Straits and of the
southern hemisphere--Voyage to Monte Video--Saturnalia of
children--City of Monte Video--Signor Bartolomeo Bossi; his
explorations--Neighbourhood of the city--Uruguayan politics--
River steamer--Excursion to Paisandu--Voyage on the Uruguay--
Use of the telephone--Excursion to the camp--Aspect of the
flora--Arrival at Buenos Ayres--Industrial Exhibition--
Argentine forests--The cathedral of Buenos Ayres--Excursion
to La Boca--Argentaria as a field for emigration 248
CHAPTER VI.
Voyage from Buenos Ayres to Santos--Tropical vegetation in
Brazil--Visit to San Paulo--Journey from San Paulo to Rio
Janeiro--Valley of the Parahyba do Sul--Ancient mountains of
Brazil--Rio Janeiro--Visit to Petropolis--Falls of Itamariti--
Struggle for existence in a tropical forest--The hermit of
Petropolis--Morning view over the Bay of Rio--A gorgeous
flowering shrub--Visit to Tijuca--Yellow fever in Brazil--A
giant of the forest--Voyage to Bahia and Pernambuco--
Equatorial rains--Fernando Noronha--St. Vincent in the Cape
Verde Islands--Trade winds of the North Atlantic--Lisbon--
Return to England 303
APPENDIX A.--On the fall of temperature in ascending to
heights above the sea-level 369
APPENDIX B.--Remarks on Mr. Croll’s theory of secular changes
of the earth’s climate 393
NOTES OF A NATURALIST
IN SOUTH AMERICA.
CHAPTER I.
Voyage across the Atlantic--Barbadoes--Jamaica--Isthmus of
Panama--Buenaventura, tropical forest--Guayaquil and the river
Guayas--Payta--The rainless zone of Peru--Voyage to Callao.
A voyage across the Atlantic in a large ocean steamer is now as
familiar and as little troublesome as the journey from London to Paris.
It rarely offers any incident worth recounting, and yet, especially
as a first experience, it supplies an abundant variety of sources of
curiosity and interest. It is easy for a man to sit down at home and
within the walls of his own study to find the requisite materials for
investigating the still unsolved problems presented by the physics
and meteorology of the ocean, or the evidence favourable or hostile
to the important modern doctrine of the permanence of the great ocean
valleys; but in point of fact very few men who stay at home do occupy
themselves with these questions, and it is no slight privilege to
feel drawn towards them by the hourly suggestions received during a
sea-voyage. Nor is it possible to make light of the simpler pleasures
caused by the satisfaction of mere curiosity, when that is linked by
association with the pictures on which the fancy has worked from one’s
earliest childhood onward. The starting of a covey of flying-fish, the
fringe of cocos palms rising against the horizon, the Southern Cross
and the Magellanic clouds, the reversed apparent motion of the sun from
right to left--none of them very marvellous as mere observed facts--are
so many keys that unlock the closed-up recesses, the blue chambers of
the memory, which the youthful imagination had peopled with shapes of
beauty and wonder and mystery.
Some thrill of delightful anticipation was, I presume, felt by many
of the passengers who went on board the royal mail steamer _Don_ in
Southampton Water on the 17th of March, 1882. Amid the usual waving of
handkerchiefs from the friends who remained behind on board the tender,
we glided seaward, and by four p.m. were going at half speed abreast
of the Isle of Wight. The good ship had suffered severely during the
preceding winter on her homeward passage from the West Indies, when the
heavy seas which swept her upper deck had carried away the covering
of her engine-room, stove in the chief officer’s cabin, and severely
injured her commander, Captain Woolward. On this occasion our voyage
was easy and prosperous, and nothing occurred to test severely the
careful seamanship of Captain Gillies, who had taken the temporary
command.
[_ATLANTIC CYCLONES._]
On the 19th the barometer, which, in spite of a gentle breeze from
south-west, had stood as high as 30·40, fell about a quarter of an inch
between sunrise and sunset; and in the night, on the only occasion
during the entire voyage, remained for some hours below 30·00. A
moderate breeze from the north brought with it a disproportionately
heavy sea, and although there was no sensible pitching, the ship rolled
so heavily as to send many of the passengers to solitary confinement
in their berths. This continued throughout the 20th, afterwards styled
Black Monday by the sufferers from sea-sickness, and we escaped into
smoother water only on the evening of the following day. The discomfort
which I felt from fancying that I had “lost my sea legs” was entirely
relieved by fortunately coming across a distinguished naval officer, on
his way to take a command on the West Indian station, who like myself
was forced to hold on with both hands during the rolling of the ship.
It was clear that we had passed at no great distance from a cyclone in
the North Atlantic--one of those disturbances whose visits are so often
predicted from the western continent, but which so often fortunately
lose their way or get dissipated before they approach our shores.
It would seem that little progress has been made in forecasting the
direction in which these great aërial eddies traverse the ocean, or
the conditions under which they expend their force. It seems allowable
to suppose that the most important of the causes influencing their
direction depend upon the general movements of the great currents of
the atmosphere; and that, as these are constantly modified by the
changing position of the earth in her orbit, the element of season is
primarily to be considered. It being admitted that the origin of these
disturbances is to be sought in the abnormal heating or cooling of some
considerable portion of the earth’s surface, it would seem that, in
the case of the Atlantic, local causes can have little effect, unless
we suppose that the heating of the surface of the Azores in summer, or
the annual descent of icebergs from the polar seas, are adequate to
influence the march of a travelling cyclone.
On the evening of the 20th the barometer had risen again to its former
position, rather over 30·40 inches; the mean of the four following days
was 30·55, and that of the entire run from Southampton to Barbadoes
was 30·36. This fact of the continuance of high or low pressures
at the sea-level at certain seasons in some parts of the world has
scarcely been sufficiently noted in connection with the ordinary
rules for the measurement of heights by means of the barometer. The
tables supplied to travellers are all calculated on the assumption
that the pressure at the sea-level is constant--the English tables
fixing the amount at 30·00 inches of mercury, those calculated on
the continent starting from a pressure of 760 millimetres, or about
29·921 inches. It is admitted that this mode of determining heights,
when comparative observations at a known station are not available,
is subject to serious unavoidable error. With regard, however, to
mountains not remote from the sea-coast, it may be possible to lessen
this inconvenience in many parts of the world by substituting for the
assumed uniform pressure that higher or lower amount which is known to
prevail at given seasons. Such a correction could not, of course, be
made available in very variable climates, such as that of the British
Islands, but might be applied in many parts of the broad zone lying
within 40° of the equator.
[_ATLANTIC SPRING TEMPERATURE._]
Soon after ten p.m. on the 21st we were abreast of the bright light
which marks the harbour of St. Michael’s, but, the night being dark, we
saw very little of that or any other of the Azores group. The spring
temperature of these islands is about the same as that of places in
the same latitude in Portugal; but it appears that the cooling effect
of the east and north-east winds prevailing at that season must in
the mid-Atlantic extend even much farther south. With generally fair
settled weather, the thermometer rose very slowly as we advanced
towards the tropics. Between the 18th and 24th of March, in passing
from 50° to 29° north latitude, the mean daily temperature rose only
from about 55° to about 65° Fahr.--the thermometer never rising to 70°,
nor falling below 52°. Notwithstanding the relatively low temperature,
a few flying-fish were seen on the 24th--rare, it is said, outside the
tropics so early in the year, though sometimes seen in summer as far
north as the Azores.
On March 25th we, for the first time, became conscious of a decided
though moderate change of climate. The thermometer at noon stood
at 71°, and was not seen to fall below 70° until, some three weeks
later, off the Peruvian coast, we met the cold antarctic current which
plays so great a part in the meteorology of that region. We were now
in the regular track of the north-east trade-wind, and my mind was
somewhat exercised to account for the circumstance, said to be of usual
occurrence, that the breeze increases in strength from sunrise during
the day, and falls off, though it does not die away, towards nightfall.
It is easy to understand the cause of this intermittence in breezes on
shore, whether near the sea-coast or in the neighbourhood of mountain
ranges, inasmuch as their direction and strength are determined by the
unequal heating of the surface; but the trade-winds form a main part
of the general system of aërial circulation over the surface of our
planet, and, supposing the phenomenon to be of a normal character, the
explanation is not quite simple. Regarding the trade-wind as a great
current set up in the atmosphere, it is conceivable that the heating
and consequent expansion which must occur as the sun acts upon it,
tends to increase the rate of flow at the bottom of the aërial stream,
while the cooling which ensues as the sun’s heat is withdrawn, has the
contrary effect.
On this and the next day or two my attention was called to the frequent
recurrence of masses of yellow seaweed, sometimes in irregular patches,
but more frequently arranged in regular bands, two or three yards in
width, and extending in a straight line as far as the eye could reach.
We were here at no great distance from the great sargassum fields of
the Northern Atlantic, but I was unable to satisfy myself that the
species seen from the steamer was that which mainly forms the sargassum
beds; and, whatever it might be, this arrangement in long straight
strips seemed deserving of further inquiry. More flying-fish were now
seen, and two or three small whales of the species called by seamen
“black-fish” were sighted during this part of the voyage.
[_ENTERING THE TROPICS._]
On the afternoon of the 26th we entered the tropics, and this and the
following day were thoroughly enjoyable, but did not offer much of
novelty. The colour of the sea was here of a much deeper and purer
blue (rivalling that of the Mediterranean) than we had hitherto
found it, while that of the sky was much paler. The light _cumuli_
with ill-defined edges were such as we are used to in British summer
weather; and, excepting that the interval of twilight was sensibly
shorter, the sunsets were devoid of special interest. At this season
the Southern Cross was above the horizon about nightfall, and was made
out by the practised eyes of some of the officers; but, in truth, it
remains a somewhat insignificant object when seen from the northern
side of the equator, and to enjoy the full splendour of that stellar
hemisphere one must reach high southern latitudes.
Although the thermometer never quite reached 80° Fahr. in the shade
until we touched land, the weather on the 28th and 29th was hot
and close, and few passengers kept up the wholesome practice of a
constitutional walk on the long deck of the _Don_. Of the rain which
constantly seemed impending very little fell.
[_ARRIVAL AT BARBADOES._]
At daybreak on the morning of the 30th, in twelve days and seventeen
hours, we completed the run of about 3340 nautical miles which
separates Southampton from Barbadoes, and found ourselves in the roads
of Bridgetown, about a mile from the shore. Being somewhat prepared,
I was not altogether surprised to find that this first view of a
tropical island forcibly reminded me of the last land I had beheld
at home--the northern shores of the Isle of Wight. Long swelling
hills, on which well-grown trees intervene between tracts of tillage,
present much the same general outline, and at this distance the only
marked difference was the intense dark-green colour of the large trees
that embower the town and nearly conceal all but a few of the chief
buildings. The appearance of things as the morning advanced quite
confirmed the reputation of this small island as the most prosperous,
and, in proportion to its extent, the most productive of the West
Indian Islands. With an area not greater than that of the Isle of
Wight, and a population of about sixty thousand whites and rather more
than a hundred thousand <DW64>s, the value of the exports and imports
surpasses a million sterling under each head; and, besides this, it
is the centre of a considerable transit trade with the other islands.
Under local representative institutions, which have subsisted since
the island was first occupied by the English early in the seventeenth
century, the finances are flourishing, and the colonial government is
free from debt. The average annual produce of sugar is reckoned at
forty-four thousand hogsheads, but varies with the amount of rainfall.
This averages from fifty-eight to fifty-nine inches annually, but any
considerable deficiency, such as occurred in the year 1873, leads to a
proportionate diminution in the sugar crop.
Among other tokens of civilization, the harbour police at Bridgetown
appeared to be thoroughly efficient. As, about nine o’clock, we
prepared to go ashore, we found on deck two privates--black men in
plain uniform--who seemed to have no difficulty in keeping perfect
order amid the crowd of boatmen that swarmed round the big ship. We
had already learned the event of the hour--the fall of three inches
of rain during the day and night preceding our arrival. This is more
than usually falls during the entire month of March, and seemed to be
welcomed by the entire population. On landing we encountered a good
deal of greasy grey mud in the streets, but all was nearly dry when,
after a short excursion, we returned in the afternoon. After a short
stay in the town, where there was a little shopping to be done, and
where some of my companions indulged in a second breakfast of fried
flying-fish, I started with a pleasant party of fellow-travellers to
see something of the island. It was arranged that, after a drive of six
or seven miles, we should go to luncheon at the house of Mr. C----, the
owner of a sugar-plantation, whose brother, Colonel C----, was one of
our fellow-passengers. We enjoyed the benefit of the recent heavy rain
in the comparative coolness of the air--the thermometer scarcely rose
above 80° Fahr. in the shade--and in freedom from dust.
A small, low island, nearly every acre of which has been reduced to
cultivation, cannot offer very much of picturesque beauty; nevertheless
the first peep of the tropics did not fail to present abundant matter
of interest. In this part of the world the dry season, now coming to an
end, is the winter of vegetation, and, of course, there was not very
much to be seen of the herbaceous flora; but the beauty of the trees
and the rich hues of their foliage quite surpassed my anticipations.
The majority of these are plants introduced either from the larger
islands or from more distant tropical countries, that have been planted
in the neighbourhood of houses.
One of the first that strikes a new-comer in the tropics is the mango
tree, which, though introduced by man from its original home in
tropical Asia, is now common throughout the hotter parts of America.
Its widespreading branches, bearing dense tufts of large leathery
leaves, make it as welcome for the sake of protection from the sun
as for its fruit, which is a luxury that some persons never learn
to appreciate. The cinnamon tree (_Canella alba_), common in most
of the West Indian Islands, is another of the plants that serve for
ornament and shade while ministering products useful to man. Of the
smaller shade-trees, the pimento (probably _Pimenta acris_) was also
conspicuous, and very many others which I failed to recognize, might
be added to the new impressions of the first day in the tropics. One
of the most curious is that known to the English residents as the
sand-box tree, the _Hura crepitans_ of botanists. It belongs to the
_Euphorbiaceæ_, or Spurge family, but is strangely unlike any of the
Old-World forms of that order. Here the fruit is in form rather like
a small melon, of hard woody texture, divided into numerous--ten to
twenty--cells. If, when taken from the tree, the top is sawn off and
the seeds scooped out, no farther change occurs, and it may be, and
often is, as the name implies, used as a sand-box. But if left until
the seeds are mature, the whole capsule bursts open with a loud report,
scattering the seeds to a distance. Thinking that a small young fruit,
if dried very gradually, might escape this result, I carried one away,
which, after my return to Europe, I placed in a small wooden box in
my herbarium. Some nine months after it had been collected it must
have exploded in my absence, for, unlocking the room one day, I found
the box broken to pieces, and the valves of the fruit and the seeds
scattered in all directions about the room.
[_POPULATION OF BARBADOES._]
Next to the vegetable inhabitants, I was interested in the black
population of the island. The first impression on finding one’s self
amid fellow-creatures so markedly different in physical characters
is one of strangeness, and one is tempted to ask whether, after all,
there can be any pith in the arguments once confidently urged to
establish a specific difference between the <DW64> and the white man.
But this very quickly wears away, and a contrary impression arises.
The second thought is that, considering what we know of the conditions
under which the native races of Equatorial Africa have been developed
during an unrecorded series of ages, and of the subsequent conditions
during several generations of slavery, the surprising thing is that the
differences should not be far greater than they are.
It would be very rash to draw positive conclusions from what could be
seen in a visit of a few hours, but, undoubtedly, the general effect
was pleasing, and tended to confirm the assertion that the difficult
problem of converting a population of black slaves into useful members
of a free community has been better solved in Barbadoes than in any
other European colony. So far as the elementary wants are concerned,
there was a complete absence of the painful suspicion so commonly felt
as regards the poor in Europe and the East, that their food is either
insufficient or unwholesome. With very few exceptions they all seemed
sleek and well fed, and their clothing showed no symptoms of poverty.
In the town their dress was generally neat, and most of the women made
a display of bright colour in handkerchiefs and parasols. What struck
me most was a general air of good humour and enjoyment. One may be
misled in this respect by the facial characteristics of the black race,
which, in the absence of disturbing causes, readily turn to a smile or
a grin. But, whether in the streets of | 868.541996 |
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University of Massachusetts, University of North Carolina
at Chapel Hill and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
NEW AMAZONIA:
A FORETASTE OF THE FUTURE.
BY MRS. GEORGE CORBETT,
_Author of “The Missing Note,” “Cassandra,” “Pharisee Unveiled,” etc._
PUBLISHERS:
_London_—TOWER PUBLISHING COMPANY, 91, MINORIES, E.C.
_Newcastle-on-Tyne_—LAMBERT & CO., LIMITED, 50, GREY STREET.
CONTENTS.
PROLOGUE.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE NEW AMAZONIA.
PROLOGUE.
It is small wonder that the perusal of that hitherto, in my eyes,
immaculate magazine, the _Nineteenth Century_, affords me less pleasure
than usual. There may possibly be some articles in it both worth reading
and worth remembering, but of these I am no longer conscious, for an
overmastering rage fills my soul, to the exclusion of everything else.
One article stands out with such prominence beyond the rest that, to all
intents and purposes, this number of the _Nineteenth Century_ contains
nothing else for me. Not that there is anything admirable in the said
article. Far from it. I look upon it as the most despicable piece of
treachery ever perpetrated towards woman by women.
Indeed, were it not that some of the perpetrators of this outrage on my
sex are well-known writers and society leaders, I would doubt the
authenticity of the signatures, and comfort my soul with the belief that
the whole affair has been nothing but a hoax got up by timorous and
jealous male bipeds, already living in fear of the revolution in social
life which looms before us at no distant date.
As it is, I am able to avail myself of no such doubtful solace, and I
can only feel mad, downright mad—no other word is strong enough—because
I am not near enough to these traitors to their own sex to give them a
_viva voce_ specimen of my opinion of them, though I resolve mentally
that they shall taste of my vengeance in the near future, if I can only
devise some sure method of bringing this about.
But perhaps by this time some of my readers, who may not have seen or
heard of the objectionable article in question, may be anxious to know
what this tirade is all about.
I will tell them.
But I must first allude to the fact that my sex really consists of three
great divisions. To the first, but not necessarily the superior
division, belongs the class which prefers to be known as _ladies_.
Ladies, or rather the class to which they belong, are generally found to
rest their claim to this distinction, if it be one, upon the fact that
they are the wives or daughters of prominent or well-to-do members of
the other sex.
They find themselves in comfortable circumstances. The money or
distinction which may be at the command of their husbands or fathers
enables them to pass the greater portion of their time in dressing, or
in airing such charms as they may possess. They lead for the most part a
frivolous life, and their greatest glory is the reflected lustre which
shines upon them by virtue of the wealth or attainments of their
husbands or other male connections.
It is always noticeable that the less brains and claim for distinction a
lady possesses herself, and the less actual cause she has for
self-glorification, the higher and the more arrogantly does she hold her
head above her fellows, and the more prone is she to despise and
depreciate every woman who recognises a nobler aim in life than that of
populating the world with offspring as imbecile as herself.
_Il va sans dire_ that there are thousands of ladies to whom the last
remark is scarcely applicable. Gentle in manners, and yielding in
disposition, they are perfectly satisfied with the existing order of
things, and quite believe the doctrine that man in his arrogance has
laid down, that he is the God-ordained lord of creation, and that
implicit obedience to his whims and fancies is the first duty of woman.
They have all they feel necessary to their well being. They have
husbands who regard them as so much personal property, and who treat
them alternately as pets or slaves; their wants are liberally provided
for without any anxiety on their part; they rather like the idea of
having little or no work to do, and to their mind, independence is a
dreadful bugbear, which every lady ought to shun as she would shun a mad
dog or a leper.
They are not to blame, poor things, for they are what man and
circumstances have made them, and their general amiability and vague
notions of doing what they have been taught is right, at all costs,
partly exonerates such of them as have been persuaded to sign the
_Nineteenth Century_ protest.
Although I am not disposed to regard _ladies_ as the wisest and most
immaculate members of my sex, I do not include in this category all
those who would fain usurp the doubtful distinction of being regarded as
such. For instance: a young friend of mine, on her marriage, found
herself domiciled in a very pretty little house in the suburbs, her
domestic staff being limited to one maid-of-all-work.
One day, while the latter was out upon an errand, a tremendous ring at
the front-door bell put my friend all in a flutter. She had but recently
returned from her honeymoon, and wished to receive callers with becoming
dignity. She would have preferred the maid to open the door, and show
the visitor into her tiny drawing room; but as the maid was not at home,
there was nothing for it but to officiate as door-opener herself.
She need not have been alarmed, for the individual at the door proved to
be a big, fat, dirty, perspiring female, with a large basket of
crockery-ware, some of which she tried to persuade my friend to buy.
Finding her efforts in this direction fruitless, she began to wonder if
she had been forestalled, and somewhat surprised my little friend by the
following query: “If ye plaze, mum, can ye tell me if there’s been
_another lady_ hawking pots about here this afternoon?”
No; decidedly this individual’s claim to be regarded as a lady was
somewhat too pretentious, and it must be understood that when speaking
of _ladies_, I draw the line at hawkers.
The second great division of the female sex is composed of _women_.
These do not sigh for society cognomens such as are essential to the
happiness of their less thoughtful sisters. They want something more
substantial. Many of them find it necessary to earn their own
livelihood. Others possess a sufficient percentage of this world’s good
things to enable them to banish all dread of poverty in their own lives.
Others, and I am glad to say that this class is ever on the increase,
prefer to work, simply because they prize independence above all things.
No one will venture to suggest that these women are selfish egotists,
for their aims and ambitions embrace the welfare of half the human race
at least, and, whatever may be the ultimate results of their gallant
fight on behalf of “Woman’s Rights,” they will be only too thankful to
see them enjoyed by every other woman on the face of the earth.
Widely different from these is the third division of the feminine genus
_homo_. _Slaves_ they are. Neither more nor less. When emancipation
comes to them, it will not be as a result of their own endeavours, for
custom, perverted education, physical weakness, and lack of energy all
combine to keep them in the groove into which they have been mercilessly
trodden for centuries.
Fortunately some of them go through life without feeling terribly
discontented. Their wily subjugators, led by the priesthood, have for
centuries played upon feminine superstition and credulity, until they
have succeeded in making them believe that their physical weakness, with
its natural concomitant evil, intellectual inferiority, is foreordained
by an omniscient Being whom they are expected to gratefully adore
because of His great justice and mercy.
Now and again some of these slaves rebel, and are punished for breaking
laws made by men for the benefit of men. Sometimes we hear of some woman
who, driven either by lack of education, or by circumstances, has
committed some outrage upon society which calls for terrible punishment.
Perhaps she has been unfaithful to a wicked incarnation of lust and
cruelty, who has for years indulged in _liaisons_ of which all the world
has been cognisant. She has had to put up with incredible slights and
indignities, but as her husband has been cunning enough to refrain from
beating and starving her, the law, as made and administered by men,
allows her no escape from her irksome marital bonds.
But let her become reckless, and find solace in another man’s love, then
she becomes a social pariah, against whom our canting hypocritical
Pharisees hold up their hands in denunciatory horror, and from whom the
husband speedily obtains a judicial separation, applauded by
sympathising male humbugs, and consoled by the “damages,” valued at
£5,000 or so, which the court has ordered the co-respondent to pay as a
solatium for his wounded _affections_. Said co-respondent will not be
improved in morals by the skinning process he has undergone, but will
turn his attentions in future to ladies who have no husbands to claim
golden solatium for lacerated feelings.
Corrupt, Degraded, Rotten to the core is British Civilisation, and yet
we find women, who ought to know better, actually pretending that they
are perfectly contented with the existing order of things.
And that brings me back to the _raison d’être_ of this story. The
_Nineteenth Century Magazine_ has been guilty of condoning, if not of
instigating, an atrocity. It has published a rigmarole, signed by a
great many _ladies_, to the effect that Woman’s Suffrage is not wanted
by _women_, and, indeed, would hardly be accepted if it were offered to
them. The principal signatories are in comfortable circumstances; have
no great cares upon their shoulders; they plume themselves upon
occupying prominent positions in society; it is to their interest to
uphold the political principles of the men whose privilege it is to
support them; they do not see that life need be made any brighter for
them, therefore they conspire to prevent every other woman from emerging
from the ditch in which she grovels.
Of course the other woman may be ambitious, or industrious, or
miserable, or oppressed; but that has nothing to do with the fine
ladies, whose arguments are as feeble as their hearts are callous, and
whose principles are as unjustifiable as their selfishness is
reprehensible.
“We have all we want,” say these fair philanthropists, “and we intend to
use our best endeavours to make other women regard their circumstances
in the same light. They must be taught to duly acknowledge the reverence
they owe to MAN and GOD. If we cannot persuade them that things are as
they ought to be, we will take effectual means to prevent their further
progress towards the emancipation some of them are treasonably
preaching. Their morals we will leave to the priesthood to coddle and
terrorise, but we must make them understand that MAN always was, always
must, and always will be, of paramount power and wisdom in this world.
Woman was but made from the rib of a man, and ought to know from this
fact alone that she can never be his equal,” and so on _ad nauseum_.
It would be wonderful if I, being a _woman_, did not feel indignant when
being confronted with these and similar _crushing_ arguments, which, if
not all aired in the _Nineteenth Century_, are quite as strong as any
which the deluded signatories have to advance in support of the
despicably unwomanly attitude they have adopted.
Only a rib, forsooth! How do they know that woman was made out of
nothing better than a man’s rib? We have only a man’s word for that, and
I have proved the falsity of so many manly utterances that I would like
some scientific proof as to the truth or falsity of the spare-rib
argument before I give it implicit credence.
Thank goodness, the _Fortnightly Review_ comes to the rescue with a
gallant counter-protest, signed by the cream of British WOMANHOOD, and I
feel viciously glad that I have been privileged to add my name to the
long list of those who are determined to stand up for justice to their
sex, whether they may happen to feel the need of it in their own
individual cases or not. I am also delighted to find an influential
magazine, conducted by men, which chivalrously does battle on behalf of
my sex.
“Good old _Fortnightly_,” I apostrophise mentally. “Long life and
prosperity be thine,” and I am confidently able to predict that there
will be a persistent and flourishing _Fortnightly Review_ of all things
British long after the _Nineteenth Century_ has become a thing of the
past.
But here my attention is directed to the fact that two women, who have
always womanfully championed the cause of their sex, have written
replies to the anti-woman suffrage article, and that, furthermore, the
editor of the _Nineteenth Century_ has inserted these replies in his
review, which forthwith is absolved from a great share of the
displeasure which the “atrocity” roused, not alone in my breast, but in
thousands of other women—_and_ MEN.
The last fact is justly emphasised in big letters, for it shows that at
least some portion of the male sex recognises the enormity and injustice
of saddling one-half of the human race with all the disabilities it is
possible to heap upon it, except the disabilities of exemption from
taxation and kindred methods of assisting in promoting the general
welfare of the nation.
When I mention the fact that the two replies in the _Nineteenth_ are
written by Mrs. Fawcett and Mrs. Ashton Dilke respectively, I have, I
think, given sufficient assurance that the replies are in themselves
able ones.
Into such a good humour, in fact, have I been soothed by the perusal of
the counter-protests, that I find myself stringing together all sorts of
fancies in which women’s achievements form conspicuous features, and I
am just noticing how pleasant Mrs. Weldon looks in the Speaker’s chair,
listening to Mrs. Besant’s first Prime Ministerial speech, when my
senses become entirely “obfuscated,” as <DW71> would say, and I sink into
slumber as profound as that which overcame the fabled enchanted
guardians of my favourite enchanted palace.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
The next event I can chronicle was opening my eyes on a scene at once so
beautiful and strange that I started to my feet in amaze. This was not
my study, and I beheld nothing of the magazine which was the last thing
I remembered seeing before I went to sleep. I was in a glorious garden,
gay with brilliant hued flowers, the fragrance of which filled the air
with a subtle and delicate perfume; around me were trees laden with
luscious fruits which I can only compare to apples, pears, and quinces,
only they were as much finer than the fruits I had hitherto been
familiar with as Ribstone pippins are to crabs, and as jargonelles are
to greenbacks. Countless birds were singing overhead, and I was about to
sink down again, and yield to a delicious languor which overpowered me,
when I was recalled to the necessity of behaving more decorously by
hearing someone near me exclaim in mystified accents, “By Jove! But
isn’t this extraordinary? I say, do you live here, or have you been
taking hasheesh too?”
I looked up, and saw, perched on the limb of a great tree, a young man
of about thirty years of age, who looked so ridiculously mystified at
the elevated position in which he found himself, that I could not
refrain from smiling, though I did not feel able to give an immediate
satisfactory reply to his queries.
“Oh, that’s right,” he commented. “It | 868.773286 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Sankar
Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
The author of this book is Metta Victoria Fuller Victor writing under the
Pen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in the
original text.
The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.
THE BLUNDERS
OF A
BASHFUL MAN.
_By the Author of_
"A BAD BOY'S DIARY"
COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.
V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.
VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.
IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.
XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.
XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.
XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.
XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.
XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.
XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.
XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.
* * * * *
THE
BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.
CHAPTER I.
HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have been
told that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I can
not say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am of
too generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishaps
which have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person can
have smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can even
become so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to make
their stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom himself to the
use of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but for
bashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becoming
hardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's being
with the poison until it loses its power.
I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidly
approaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I am
unmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not some
fresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attacked
me in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." When
I look back over twenty years of suffering through which I have
literally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments and
mortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patient
wonder, why the Old Nick I did not commit suicide ages ago, and thus
end the eventful history with a blank page in the middle of the book.
I dare say the very bashfulness which has been my bane has prevented
me; the idea of being cut down from a rafter, with a black-and-blue
face, and drawn out of the water with a swollen one, has put me so out
of countenance that I had not the courage to brave a coroner's jury
under the circumstances.
Life to me has been a scramble through briers. I do not recall one
single day wholly free from the scratches inflicted on a cruel
sensitiveness. I will not mention those far-away agonies of boyhood,
when the teacher punished me by making me sit with the girls, but will
hasten on to a point that stands out vividly against a dark background
of accidents. I was nineteen. My sentiments toward that part of
creation known as "young ladies" were, at that time, of a mingled and
contradictory nature. I adored them as angels; I dreaded them as if
they were mad dogs, and were going to bite me.
My parents were respected residents of a small village in the western
part of the State of New York. I had been away at a boys' academy for
three years, and returned about the first of June to my parents and to
Babbletown to find that I was considered a young man, and expected to
take my part in the business and pleasures of life as such. My father
dismissed his clerk and put me in his place behind the counter of our
store.
Within three days every girl in that village had been to that store
after something or another--pins, needles, a yard of tape, to look at
gloves, to _try on shoes_, or examine gingham and calico, until I was
happy, because out of sight, behind a pile high enough to hide my
flushed countenance. I shall never forget that week. I ran the
gauntlet from morning till night. I believe those heartless wretches
told each other the mistakes I made, for they kept coming and coming,
looking as sweet as honey and as sly as foxes. Father said I'd break
him if I didn't stop making blunders in giving change--he wasn't in
the prize-candy business, and couldn't afford to have me give
twenty-five sheets of note paper, a box of pens, six corset laces, a
bunch of whalebones, and two dollars and fifty cents change for a
two-dollar bill.
He explained to me that the safety-pins which I had offered Emma Jones
for crochet-needles were _not_ crochet-needles; nor the red wafers I
had shown Mary Smith for gum-drops, gum-drops--that gingham was not
three dollars per yard, nor pale-blue silk twelve | 868.973213 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, Keith Edkins 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: A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected:
they are listed at the end of the text.
In this edition line numbers are displayed on every tenth line--in the
printed work they were synchronised to the pagination, with sometimes only
one number per page. Lines marked = were printed AND COUNTED as two lines.
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Thorn and eth
characters (in cited passages) are expanded to th and dh respectively. In
the main text of The Vision, the numbers of the original pages are enclosed
in curly brackets to facilitate the use of the glossary.
Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43661
* * * * *
Library of Old Authors.
[Illustration: Spede the plough & send us korne enough]
THE VISION AND CREED
OF
PIERS PLOUGHMAN.
EDITED,
FROM A CONTEMPORARY MANUSCRIPT,
WITH A HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION,
NOTES, AND A GLOSSARY,
BY THOMAS WRIGHT, M.A. F.S.A. &c.
Corresponding Member of the Imperial Institute of France,
Academie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
_SECOND AND REVISED EDITION._
LONDON:
REEVES AND TURNER, 196 STRAND.
1887.
_PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION._
It is now thirteen years since the first edition of the following text of
this important poem was published by the late Mr. Pickering, during which
time the study of our old literature and history has undergone considerable
development, and it is believed that a reprint at a more moderate price
would be acceptable to the public. Holding still the same opinion which he
has always held with regard to the superior character of the manuscript
from which this text was taken, the editor has done no more than carefully
reprint it, but, in order to make it as useful as he could, he has revised
and made additions to both the Notes and the Glossary.
The remarkable poem of The Vision of Piers Ploughman is not only so
interesting a monument of the English language and literature, but it is
also so important an illustration of the political history of our country
during the fourteenth century, that it deserves to be read far more
generally than it has been, and the editor will rejoice sincerely if he
should have contributed by this new edition to render it more popular, and
place it within the reach of a greater number of readers. Independent of
its historical and literary importance, it contains many beauties which
will fully repay the slight labour required to master its partially
obsolete language, and, as one of the purest works in the English tongue as
it existed during the century in which it was composed, it is to be hoped
that, when the time shall at length arrive when English antiquities and
English philology and literary history are at length to be made a part of
the studies in our universities and in the higher classes of our schools,
the work of the Monk of Malvern, as a link between the poetry and language
of the Anglo-Saxon and those of modern England, will be made a prominent
text-book.
THOMAS WRIGHT.
14, SYDNEY STREET, BROMPTON,
_Nov. 1855_.
_INTRODUCTION._
The History of the Middle Ages in England, as in other countries,
represents to us a series of great consecutive political movements,
coexistent with a similar series of intellectual revolutions in the mass of
the people. The vast mental development caused by the universities in the
twelfth century led the way for the struggle to obtain religious and
political liberty in the thirteenth. The numerous political songs of that
period which have escaped the hand of time, and above all the mass of
satirical ballads against the Church of Rome, which commonly go under the
name of Walter Mapes, are remarkable monuments of the intellectual history
of our forefathers. Those ballads are written in Latin; for it was the most
learned class of the community which made the first great stand against the
encroachments and corruptions of the papacy and the increasing influence of
the monks. We know that the struggle alluded to was historically
unsuccessful. The baronial wars ended in the entire destruction of the
popular leaders; but their cause did not expire at Evesham; they had laid
foundations which no storm could overthrow, not placed hastily on the
uncertain surface of popular favour, but fixed deeply in the public mind.
The barons, who had fought so often and so staunchly for the great charter,
had lost their power; even the learning of the universities had faded under
the withering grasp of monachism; but the remembrance of the old contest
remained, and what was more, its literature was left, the songs which had
spread abroad the principles for which, or against which, Englishmen had
fought, carried them down (a precious legacy) to their posterity. Society
itself had undergone an important change; it was no longer a feudal
aristocracy which held the destinies of the country in its iron hand. The
plant which had been cut off took root again in another (a healthier) soil;
and the intelligence which had lost its force in the higher ranks of
society began to spread itself among the commons. Even in the thirteenth
century, before the close of the baronial wars, the complaints so
vigorously expressed in the Latin songs, had begun, both in England and
France, to appear in the language of the people. Many of the satirical
poems of Rutebeuf and other contemporary writers against the monks, are
little more than translations of the Latin poems which go under the name of
Walter Mapes.
During the successive reigns of the first three Edwards, the public mind in
England was in a state of constant fermentation. On the one hand, the
monks, supported by the popish church, had become an incubus upon the
country. Their corruptness and immorality were notorious: the description
of their vices given in the satirical writings of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries exceeds even the bitterest calumnies of the age of
Rabelais or the reports of the commissioners of Henry the Eighth.[1] The
populace, held in awe by the imposing appearance of the popish church, and
by the religious belief which had been instilled into them from their
infancy, were opposed to the monks and clergy by a multitude of personal
griefs and jealousies: these frequently led to open hostility, and in the
chronicles of those days we read of the slaughter of monks, and the burning
of abbeys, by the insurgent towns-people or peasantry. At the same time,
while the monks in revenge treated the commons with contempt, there were
numerous people who, under the name of Lollards and other such
appellations,--led sometimes by the love of mischief and disorder, but more
frequently by religious enthusiasm,--whose doctrines were simple and
reasonable (although the church would fain have branded them all with the
title of heretics),--went abroad among the people preaching not only
against the corruptions of the monks, but against the most vital doctrines
of the church of Rome, and, as might be expected, they found abundance of
listeners. On the other hand, a new political system, and the
embarrassments of a continued series of foreign wars, were adding to the
general ferment. Instead of merely calling together the great feudal barons
to lead their retainers to battle, the king was now obliged to appeal more
directly to the people; and at the same time the latter began to feel the
weight of taxation, and consequently they began to talk of the defects and
the corruptions of the government, and to raise the cries, which have since
so often been heard, against the king's "evil advisers." These cries were
justified by many real and great oppressions under | 868.98735 |
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Produced by Michael Gray, Diocese of San Jose
HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
Published April, 1897,
in
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science
HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
IT may be said of Purgatory that if it did not exist it would have to be
created, so eminently is it in accord with the dictates of reason and
common sense. The natural instinct of travellers at their journey's end
is to seek for rest and change of attire. Some are begrimed with mud,
others have caught the dust of a scorching summer day; the heat or cold
or damp of the journey has told upon them and their attire. Perhaps,
even, the way has made them weary unto sickness, and they crave for an
interval of absolute repose.
Travellers from earth, covered with the mud and dust of its long road,
could never wish to enter the banquet-room of eternity in their
travel-stained garments. "Take me away!" cried Gerontius to his angel.
It was a cry of anguish as well as desire, for Gerontius, blessed soul
though he is, could not face heaven just as earth had left him. He has
the true instinct of the traveller at his journey's end. Dust, rust, and
the moth have marked their presence, and even the oddities and
eccentricities of earthly pilgrimage must be obliterated before the home
of eternity can be entered. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_ is interpreted,
nothing short of heaven for those who have crossed the bourne. But, if
the heavenly gates are thrown open to the travellers all weary and
footsore, "not having on a nuptial garment," no heterogeneous meeting
here on earth could compete with the gathering of disembodied spirits
from its four quarters. It is human ignorance alone which canonizes all
the departed, and insists on a direct passage from time to heaven. The
canonization is not ratified in heaven, because heaven would not exist
if it took place. The Beatific Vision is incompatible with the shadow of
imperfection. To act as if it were belongs to the same order of things
as rending the garment of Christian unity.
Purgatory makes heaven, in the sense that heaven would not be possible
for men without it. As well might we try to reach a far-off planet,
which is absolutely removed from our sphere, an unknown quantity, though
a fact science does not dispute. Heaven | 869.273165 |
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Produced by KD Weeks, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited as _italic_. Bold font is delimited as =bold=.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=The Island of Fantasy=
A Romance
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By FERGUS HUME
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Author of “When I Lived In Bohemia,” “The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,”
“The Man Who Vanished,” etc_.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorrow and weariness,
Heartache and dreariness,
None should endure;
Scale ye the mountain peak,
Vale ’o the fountain seek,
There is the cure.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_R. F. FENNO & COMPANY_
9 and 11 East Sixteenth Street, New York
1905
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
---
[_All rights reserved_]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ISLAND OF FANTASY.
------------------------------------
CHAPTER I.
A MIND DISEASED.
Your Eastern drugs, your spices, your perfumes,
Are all in vain;
They cannot snatch my soul from out its glooms,
Nor soothe the brain.
My mind is dark as cycle-sealèd tombs,
And must remain
In darkness till the light of God illumes
Its black inane.
It was eight o’clock on a still summer evening, and, the ladies having
retired, two men were lingering in a pleasant, indolent fashion over
their wine in the dining-room of Roylands Grange. To be exact, only the
elder gentleman was paying any attention to his port, for the young man
who sat at the head of the table stared vaguely on his empty glass, and
at his equally empty plate, as if his thoughts were miles away, which
was precisely the case. Youth was moody, age was cheerful, for, while
the former indulged in a brown study, the latter cracked nuts and sipped
wine, with a just appreciation of the excellence of both. Judging from
this outward aspect of things, there was something wrong with Maurice
Roylands, for if reverend age in the presentable person of Rector
Carriston could be merry, there appeared to be no very feasible reason
why unthinking youth should be so ineffably dreary. Yet woe was writ
largely on the comely face of the moody young man, and he joined but
listlessly in the jocund conversation of his companion, which was
punctuated in a very marked manner by the cracking of filberts.
Outside, a magical twilight brooded over the landscape, and the chill
odors of eve floated from a thousand sleeping flowers into the mellow
atmosphere of the room, which was irradiated by the soft gleam of many
wax candles rising white and slender from amid the pale roses adorning
the dinner-table. All was pleasant, peaceful, and infinitely charming;
yet Maurice Roylands, aged thirty, healthy, wealthy, and not at all
bad-looking, sat moodily frowning at his untasted dessert, as though he
bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.
In truth, Mr. Roylands, with the usual self-worship of latter-day youth,
thought he was being very hardly treated by Destiny, as that
all-powerful goddess had given him everything calculated to make a
mortal happy, save the capability of being happy. This was undeniably
hard, and might be called the very irony of fate, for one might as well
offer a sumptuous banquet to a dyspeptic, as give a man all the means of
enjoyment, without the faculty of taking advantage of such good fortune.
Roylands had considerable artistic power, an income of nearly six
thousand a year, a fine house, friends innumerable—of the summer season
sort; yet he neither cared about nor valued these blessings, for the
simple reason that he was heartily sick of them, one and all. He would
have been happier digging a patch of ground for his daily bread, than
thus idling through life on an independent income, for Ennui, twin
sister of Care, had taken possession of his soul, and in the midst of
all his comforts he was thoroughly unhappy.
The proverb that “The rich are more miserable than the poor,” is but a
trite one on which to preach a sermon, for did not Solomon say all that
there was to be said in the matter? It was an easier task to write a | 869.373396 |
2023-11-16 18:31:33.3553970 | 6,561 | 17 |
E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital material generously made available
by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/ethicsofcopera00tuftuoft
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
* * * * *
Barbara Weinstock Lectures on The Morals of Trade
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION.
By JAMES H. TUFTS.
HIGHER EDUCATION AND BUSINESS STANDARDS.
By WILLARD EUGENE HOTCHKISS.
CREATING CAPITAL: MONEY-MAKING AS AN AIM IN BUSINESS.
By FREDERICK L. LIPMAN.
IS CIVILIZATION A DISEASE?
By STANTON COIT.
SOCIAL JUSTICE WITHOUT SOCIALISM.
By JOHN BATES CLARK.
THE CONFLICT BETWEEN PRIVATE MONOPOLY AND GOOD CITIZENSHIP.
By JOHN GRAHAM BROOKS.
COMMERCIALISM AND JOURNALISM.
By HAMILTON HOLT.
THE BUSINESS CAREER IN ITS PUBLIC RELATIONS.
By ALBERT SHAW.
* * * * *
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
by
JAMES H. TUFTS
Professor of Philosophy in the University of Chicago
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1918
Copyright, 1918, by the Regents of the
University of California
All Rights Reserved
Published September 1918
BARBARA WEINSTOCK
LECTURES ON THE MORALS OF TRADE
This series will contain essays by representative scholars and men of
affairs dealing with the various phases of the moral law in its bearing
on business life under the new economic order, first delivered at the
University of California on the Weinstock foundation.
THE ETHICS OF COOPERATION
I
According to Plato's famous myth, two gifts of the gods equipped man
for living: the one, arts and inventions to supply him with the means
of livelihood; the other, reverence and justice to be the ordering
principles of societies and the bonds of friendship and conciliation.
Agencies for mastery over nature and agencies for cooperation among men
remain the two great sources of human power. But after two thousand
years, it is possible to note an interesting fact as to their relative
order of development in civilization. Nearly all the great skills and
inventions that had been acquired up to the eighteenth century were
brought into man's service at a very early date. The use of fire, the
arts of weaver, potter, and metal worker, of sailor, hunter, fisher,
and sower, early fed man and clothed him. These were carried to higher
perfection by Egyptian and Greek, by Tyrian and Florentine, but it
would be difficult to point to any great new unlocking of material
resources until the days of the chemist and electrician. Domestic
animals and crude water mills were for centuries in man's service, and
until steam was harnessed, no additions were made of new powers.
During this long period, however, the progress of human association
made great and varied development. The gap between the men of
Santander's caves, or early Egypt, and the civilization of a century
ago is bridged rather by union of human powers, by the needs and
stimulating contacts of society, than by conquest in the field of
nature. It was in military, political, and religious organization that
the power of associated effort was first shown. Army, state, and
hierarchy were its visible representatives. Then, a little over a
century ago, began what we call the industrial revolution, still
incomplete, which combined new natural forces with new forms of human
association. Steam, electricity, machines, the factory system,
railroads: these suggest the natural forces at man's disposal; capital,
credit, corporations, labor unions: these suggest the bringing together
of men and their resources into units for exploiting or controlling the
new natural forces. Sometimes resisting the political, military, or
ecclesiastical forces which were earlier in the lead, sometimes
mastering them, sometimes combining with them, economic organization
has now taken its place in the world as a fourth great structure, or
rather as a fourth great agency through which man achieves his greater
tasks, and in so doing becomes conscious of hitherto unrealized powers.
Early in this great process of social organization three divergent
types emerged, which still contend for supremacy in the worlds of
action and of valuation: dominance, competition, and cooperation. All
mean a meeting of human forces. They rest respectively on power,
rivalry, and sympathetic interchange. Each may contribute to human
welfare. On the other hand, each may be taken so abstractly as to
threaten human values. I hope to point out that the greatest of these
is cooperation, and that it is largely the touchstone for the others.
Cooperation and dominance both mean organization. Dominance implies
inequality, direction and obedience, superior and subordinate.
Cooperation implies some sort of equality, some mutual relation. It
does not exclude difference in ability or in function. It does not
exclude leadership, for leadership is usually necessary to make
cooperation effective. But in dominance the special excellence is kept
isolated; ideas are transmitted from above downward. In cooperation
there is interchange, currents flowing in both directions, contacts of
mutual sympathy, rather than of pride-humility, condescension-servility.
The purpose of the joint pursuit in organization characterized by
dominance may be either the exclusive good of the master or the joint
good of the whole organized group, but in any case it is a purpose
formed and kept by those few who know. The group may share in its
execution and its benefits, but not in its construction or in the
estimating and forecasting of its values. The purpose in cooperation is
joint. Whether originally suggested by some leader of thought or
action, or whether a composite of many suggestions in the give and take
of discussion or in experiences of common need, it is weighed and
adopted as a common end. It is not the work or possession of leaders
alone, but embodies in varying degrees the work and active interest of
all.
Cooperation and competition at first glance may seem more radically
opposed. For while dominance and cooperation both mean union of forces,
competition appears to mean antagonism. _They_ stand for combination;
_it_ for exclusion of one by another. Yet a deeper look shows that this
is not true of competition in what we may call its social, as
contrasted with its unsocial, aspect. The best illustration of what I
venture to call social competition is sport. Here is rivalry, and here
in any given contest one wins, the other loses, or few win and many
lose. But the great thing in sport is not to win; the great thing is
the game, the contest; and the contest is no contest unless the
contestants are so nearly equal as to forbid any certainty in advance
as to which will win. The best sport is found when no one contestant
wins too often. There is in reality a common purpose--the zest of
contest. Players combine and compete to carry out this purpose; and the
rules are designed so to restrict the competition as to rule out
certain kinds of action and preserve friendly relations. The contending
rivals are in reality uniting to stimulate each other. Without the
cooperation there would be no competition, and the competition is so
conducted as to continue the relation. Competition in the world of
thought is similarly social. In efforts to reach a solution of a
scientific problem or to discuss a policy, the spur of rivalry or the
matching of wits aids the common purpose of arriving at the truth.
Similar competition exists in business. Many a firm owes its success to
the competition of its rivals which has forced it to be efficient,
progressive. As a manufacturing friend once remarked to me: "When the
other man sells cheaper, you generally find he has found out something
you don't know."
But we also apply the term "competition" to rivalry in which there is
no common purpose; to contests in which there is no intention to
continue or repeat the match, and in which no rules control. Weeds
compete with flowers and crowd them out. The factory competes with the
hand loom and banishes it. The trust competes with the small firm and
puts it out of business. The result is monopoly. When plants or
inventions are thus said to compete for a place, there is frequently no
room for both competitors, and no social gain by keeping both in the
field. Competition serves here sometimes as a method of selection,
although no one would decide to grow weeds rather than flowers because
weeds are more efficient. In the case of what are called natural
monopolies, there is duplication of effort instead of cooperation.
Competition is here wasteful. But when we have to do, not with a
specific product, or with a fixed field such as that of street railways
or city lighting, but with the open field of invention and service, we
need to provide for continuous cooperation, and competition seems at
least one useful agency. To retain this, we frame rules against "unfair
competition." As the rules of sport are designed to place a premium
upon certain kinds of strength and skill which make a good game, so the
rules of fair competition are designed to secure efficiency for public
service, and to exclude efficiency in choking or fouling. In unfair
competition there is no common purpose of public service or of
advancing skill or invention; hence, no cooperation. The cooperative
purpose or result is thus the test of useful, as contrasted with
wasteful or harmful, competition.
There is also an abstract conception of cooperation, which, in its
one-sided emphasis upon equality, excludes any form of leadership, or
direction, and in fear of inequality allows no place for competition.
Selection of rulers by lot in a large and complex group is one
illustration; jealous suspicion of ability, which becomes a cult of
incompetence, is another. Refusals to accept inventions which require
any modification of industry, or to recognize any inequalities of
service, are others. But these do not affect the value of the principle
as we can now define it in preliminary fashion: union tending to secure
common ends, by a method which promotes equality, and with an outcome
of increased power shared by all.
II
What are we to understand by the Ethics of Cooperation? Can we find
some external standard of unquestioned value or absolute duty by which
to measure the three processes of society which we have named,
dominance, competition, cooperation? Masters of the past have offered
many such, making appeal to the logic of reason or the response of
sentiment, to the will for mastery or the claim of benevolence. To make
a selection without giving reasons would seem arbitrary; to attempt a
reasoned discussion would take us quite beyond the bounds appropriate
to this lecture. But aside from the formulations of philosophers,
humanity has been struggling--often rather haltingly and blindly--for
certain goods and setting certain sign-posts which, if they do not
point to a highway, at least mark certain paths as blind alleys. Such
goods I take to be the great words, liberty, power, justice; such signs
of blind paths I take to be rigidity, passive acceptance of what is.
But those great words, just because they are so great, are given
various meanings by those who would claim them for their own. Nor is
there complete agreement as to just what paths deserve to be posted as
leading nowhere. Groups characterized by dominance, cut-throat
competition, or cooperation, tend to work out each its own
interpretations of liberty, power, justice; its own code for the
conduct of its members. Without assuming to decide your choice, I can
indicate briefly what the main elements in these values and codes are.
The group of masters and servants will develop what we have learned to
call a morality of masters and a morality of slaves. This was
essentially the code of the feudal system. We have survivals of such a
group morality in our code of the gentleman, which in England still
depreciates manual labor, although it has been refined and softened and
enlarged to include respect for other than military and sportsman
virtues. The code of masters exalts liberty--for the ruling class--and
resents any restraint by inferiors or civilians, or by public opinion
of any group but its own. It has a justice which takes for its premise
a graded social order, and seeks to put and keep every man in his
place. But its supreme value is power, likewise for the few, or for the
state as consisting of society organized and directed by the ruling
class. Such a group, according to Treitschke, will also need war, in
order to test and exhibit its power to the utmost in fierce struggle
with other powers. It will logically honor war as good.
A group practicing cut-throat competition will simply reverse the
order: first, struggle to put rivals out of the field; then, monopoly
with unlimited power to control the market or possess the soil. It
appeals to nature's struggle for existence as its standard for human
life. It too sets a high value upon liberty in the sense of freedom
from control, but originating as it did in resistance to control by
privilege and other aspects of dominance, it has never learned the
defects of a liberty which takes no account of ignorance, poverty, and
ill health. It knows the liberty of nature, the liberty of the strong
and the swift, but not the liberty achieved by the common effort for
all. It knows justice, but a justice which is likely to be defined as
securing to each his natural liberty, and which therefore means
non-interference with the struggle for existence except to prevent
violence and fraud. It takes no account as to whether the struggle
kills few or many, or distributes goods widely or sparingly, or whether
indeed there is any room at the table which civilization spreads;
though it does not begrudge charity if administered under that name.
A cooperating group has two working principles: first, common purpose
and common good; second, that men can achieve by common effort what
they cannot accomplish singly. The first, reinforced by the actual
interchange of ideas and services, tends to favor equality. It implies
mutual respect, confidence, and good-will. The second favors a
constructive and progressive attitude, which will find standards
neither in nature nor in humanity's past, since it conceives man able
to change conditions to a considerable extent and thus to realize new
goods.
These principles tend toward a type of liberty different from those
just mentioned. As contrasted with the liberty of a dominant group,
cooperation favors a liberty for all, a liberty of live and let live, a
tolerance and welcome for variation in type, provided only this is
willing to make its contribution to the common weal. Instead of
imitation or passive acceptance of patterns on the part of the
majority, it stimulates active construction. As contrasted with the
liberty favored in competing groups, cooperation would emphasize
positive control over natural forces, over health conditions, over
poverty and fear. It would make each person share as fully as possible
in the knowledge and strength due to combined effort, and thus liberate
him from many of the limitations which have hitherto hampered him.
Similarly with justice. Cooperation's ethics of distribution is not
rigidly set by the actual interest and rights of the past on the one
hand, nor by hitherto available resources on the other. Neither natural
rights nor present ability and present service form a complete measure.
Since cooperation evokes new interests and new capacities, it is
hospitable to new claims and new rights; since it makes new sources of
supply available, it has in view the possibility at least of doing
better for all than can an abstract insistence upon old claims. It may
often avoid the deadlock of a rigid system. It is better to grow two
blades of grass than to dispute who shall have the larger fraction of
the one which has previously been the yield. It is better, not merely
because there is more grass, but also because men's attitude becomes
forward-looking and constructive, not pugnacious and rigid.
Power is likewise a value in a cooperating group, but it must be power
not merely used for the good of all, but to some extent controlled by
all and thus actually shared. Only as so controlled and so shared is
power attended by the responsibility which makes it safe for its
possessors. Only on this basis does power over other men permit the
free choices on their part which are essential to full moral life.
As regards the actual efficiency of a cooperating group, it may be
granted that its powers are not so rapidly mobilized. In small,
homogeneous groups, the loss of time is small; in large groups the
formation of public opinion and the conversion of this into action is
still largely a problem rather than an achievement. New techniques have
to be developed, and it may be that for certain military tasks the
military technique will always be more efficient. To the cooperative
group, however, this test will not be the ultimate ethical test. It
will rather consider the possibilities of substituting for war other
activities in which cooperation is superior. And if the advocate of war
insists that war as such is the most glorious and desirable type of
life, cooperation may perhaps fail to convert him. But it may hope to
create a new order whose excellence shall be justified of her children.
III
A glance at the past roles of dominance, competition, and cooperation
in the institutions of government, religion, and commerce and industry,
will aid us to consider cooperation in relation to present
international problems.
Primitive tribal life had elements of each of the three principles we
have named. But with discovery by some genius of the power of
organization for war the principle of dominance won, seemingly at a
flash, a decisive position. No power of steam or lightning has been so
spectacular and wide-reaching as the power which Egyptian, Assyrian,
Macedonian, Roman, and their modern successors introduced and
controlled. Political states owing their rise to military means
naturally followed the military pattern. The sharp separation between
ruler or ruling group and subject people, based on conquest, was
perpetuated in class distinction. Gentry and simple, lord and villein,
were indeed combined in exploitation of earth's resources, but
cooperation was in the background, mastery in the fore. And when
empires included peoples of various races and cultural advance the
separation between higher and lower became intensified. Yet though
submerged for long periods, the principle of cooperation has asserted
itself, step by step and it seldom loses ground. Beginning usually in
some group which at first combined to resist dominance, it has made its
way through such stages as equality before the law, abolition of
special privileges, extension of suffrage, influence of public
sentiment, interchange of ideas, toward genuine participation by all in
the dignity and responsibility of political power. It builds a Panama
Canal, it maintains a great system of education, and has, we may easily
believe, yet greater tasks in prospect. It may be premature to predict
its complete displacement of dominance in our own day as a method of
government, yet who in America doubts its ultimate prevalence?
Religion presents a fascinating mixture of cooperation with dominance
on the one hand, and exclusiveness on the other. The central fact is
the community, which seeks some common end in ritual, or in beneficent
activity. But at an early period leaders became invested, or invested
themselves, with a sanctity which led to dominance. Not the power of
force, but that of mystery and the invisible raised the priest above
the level of the many. And, on another side, competition between rival
national religions, like that between states, excluded friendly
contacts. Jew and Samaritan had no dealings; between the followers of
Baal and Jehovah there was no peace but by extermination. Yet it was
religion which confronted the _Herrenmoral_ with the first reversal of
values, and declared, "So shall it not be among you. But whosoever will
be great among you let him be your minister." And it was religion which
cut across national boundaries in its vision of what Professor Royce so
happily calls the Great Community. Protest against dominance resulted,
however, in divisions, and although cooperation in practical activities
has done much to prepare the way for national understanding, the
hostile forces of the world to-day lack the restraint which might have
come from a united moral sentiment and moral will.
In the economic field the story of dominance, cooperation, and
competition is more complex than in government and religion. It
followed somewhat different courses in trade and in industry. The
simplest way to supply needs with goods is to go and take them; the
simplest way to obtain services is to seize them. Dominance in the
first case gives piracy and plunder, when directed against those
without; fines and taxes, when exercised upon those within; in the
second case, it gives slavery or forced levies. But trade, as a
voluntary exchange of presents, or as a bargaining for mutual
advantage, had likewise its early beginnings. Carried on at first with
timidity and distrust, because the parties belonged to different
groups, it has developed a high degree of mutual confidence between
merchant and customer, banker and client, insurer and insured. By its
system of contracts and fiduciary relations, which bind men of the most
varying localities, races, occupations, social classes, and national
allegiance, it has woven a new net of human relations far more
intricate and wide-reaching than the natural ties of blood kinship. It
rests upon mutual responsibility and good faith; it is a constant force
for their extension.
The industrial side of the process has had similar influence toward
union. Free craftsmen in the towns found mutual support in gilds, when
as yet the farm laborer or villein had to get on as best he could
unaided. The factory system itself has been largely organized from
above down. It has very largely assumed that the higher command needs
no advice or ideas from below. Hours of labor, shop conditions, wages,
have largely been fixed by "orders," just as governments once ruled by
decrees. But as dominance in government has led men to unite against
the new power and then has yielded to the more complete cooperation of
participation, so in industry the factory system has given rise to the
labor movement. As for the prospects of fuller cooperation, this may be
said already to have displaced the older autocratic system within the
managing group, and the war is giving an increased impetus to extension
of the process.
Exchange of goods and services is indeed a threefold cooperation: it
meets wants which the parties cannot themselves satisfy or cannot well
satisfy; it awakens new wants; it calls new inventions and new forces
into play. It thus not only satisfies man's existing nature, but
enlarges his capacity for enjoyment and his active powers. It makes not
only for comfort, but for progress.
IV
If trade and industry, however, embody so fully the principle of
cooperation, how does it come about that they have on the whole had a
rather low reputation, not only among the class groups founded on
militarism, but among philosophers and moralists? Why do we find the
present calamities of war charged to economic causes? Perhaps the
answer to these questions will point the path along which better
cooperation may be expected.
There is, from the outset, one defect in the cooperation between buyer
and seller, employer and laborer. The cooperation is largely
unintended. Each is primarily thinking of his own advantage, rather
than that of the other, or of the social whole; he is seeking it in
terms of money, which as a material object must be in the pocket of one
party or of the other, and is not, like friendship or beauty, sharable.
Mutual benefit is the result of exchange--it need not be the motive.
This benefit comes about as if it were arranged by an invisible hand,
said Adam Smith. Indeed, it was long held that if one of the bargainers
gained, the other must lose. And when under modern conditions labor is
considered as a commodity to be bought and sold in the cheapest market
by an impersonal corporate employer, there is a strong presumption
against the cooperative attitude on either side.
The great problem here is, therefore: How can men be brought to seek
consciously what now they unintentionally produce? How can the man
whose ends are both self-centered and ignoble be changed into the man
whose ends are wide and high? Something may doubtless be done by
showing that a narrow selfishness is stupid. If we rule out monopoly
the best way to gain great success is likely to lie through meeting
needs of a great multitude; and to meet these effectively implies
entering by imagination and sympathy into their situation. The business
maxim of "service," the practices of refunding money if goods are
unsatisfactory, of one price to all, of providing sanitary and even
attractive factories and homes, and of paying a minimum wage far in
excess of the market price, have often proved highly remunerative. Yet,
I should not place exclusive, and perhaps not chief, reliance on these
methods of appeal. They are analogous to the old maxim, honesty is the
best policy; and we know too well that while this holds under certain
conditions,--that is, among intelligent people, or in the long run,--it
is often possible to acquire great gains by exploiting the weak,
deceiving the ignorant, or perpetrating a fraud of such proportions
that men forget its dishonesty in admiration at its audacity. In the
end it is likely to prove that the level of economic life is to be
raised not by proving that cooperation will better satisfy selfish and
ignoble interests, but rather by creating new standards for measuring
success, new interests in social and worthy ends, and by strengthening
the appeal of duty where this conflicts with present interests. The one
method stakes all on human nature as it is; the other challenges man's
capacity to listen to new appeals and respond to better motives. It is,
if you please, idealism; but before it is dismissed as worthless,
consider what has been achieved in substituting social motives in the
field of political action. There was a time when the aim in political
life was undisguisedly selfish. The state, in distinction from the
kinship group or the village community, was organized for power and
profit. It was nearly a gigantic piratical enterprise, highly
profitable to its managers. The shepherd, says Thrasymachus in Plato's
dialogue, does not feed his sheep for their benefit, but for his own.
Yet now, what president or minister, legislator or judge, would
announce as his aim to acquire the greatest financial profit from his
position? Even in autocratically governed countries, it is at least the
assumption that the good of the state does not mean solely the prestige
and wealth of the ruler.
A great social and political order has been built up, and we all hold
that it must not be exploited for private gain. It has not been created
or maintained by chance. Nor could it survive if every man sought
primarily his own advantage and left the commonwealth to care for
itself. Nor in a democracy would it be maintained, provided the
governing class alone were disinterested, deprived of private property,
and given education, as Plato suggested. The only safety is in the
general and intelligent desire for the public interest and common
welfare. At this moment almost unanimous acceptance of responsibility
for what we believe to be the public good and the maintenance of
American ideals--though it brings to each of us sacrifice and to many
the full measure of devotion--bears witness to the ability of human
nature to adopt as its compelling motives a high end which opposes
private advantage.
Is the economic process too desperate a field for larger motives? To me
it seems less desperate than the field of government in the days of
autocratic kings. One great need is to substitute a different standard
of success for the financial gains which have seemed the only test. Our
schools of commerce are aiming to perform this service, by introducing
professional standards. A physician is measured by his ability to cure
the sick, an engineer by the soundness of his bridge and ship; why not
measure a railroad president by his ability to supply coal in winter,
to run trains on time, and decrease the cost of freight, rather than by
his private accumulations? Why not measure a merchant or banker by
similar tests?
Mankind has built up a great economic system. Pioneer, adventurer,
inventor, scientist, laborer, organizer, all have contributed. It is as
essential to human welfare as the political system, and like that
system it comes to us as an inheritance. I can see no reason why it
should be thought unworthy of a statesman or a judge to use the
political structure for his own profit, but perfectly justifiable for a
man to exploit the economic structure for private gain. This does not
necessarily exclude profit as a method of paying for services, and of
increasing capital needed for development, but it would seek to adjust
profits to services, and treat capital, just as it regards political
power, as a public trust in need of cooperative regulation and to be
used for the general welfare.
But the war is teaching with dramatic swiftness what it might have
needed decades of peace to bring home to us. We _are_ thinking of the
common welfare. High prices may still be a rough guide to show men's
needs, but we are learning to raise wheat because others need it--not
merely because the price is high. Prices may also be a rough guide to
consumption, but we are learning that eating wheat or sugar is not
merely a matter of what I can afford. It is a question of whether I
take wheat or sugar away from some one else who needs it--the soldier
in France, the child in Belgium, the family of my less fortunate
neighbor. The great | 869.375437 |
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[Illustration: PRESIDENT WILSON
The first portrait of President Wilson since America entered the war,
taken at the White House March 19, 1918
((C) _Sun Printing and Publishing Association_)]
[Illustration: FERDINAND FOCH
Generalissimo of the allied armies on the western front]
CURRENT HISTORY
_A Monthly Magazine of_ =The New York Times=
Published by The New York Times Company, Times Square, New York, N. Y.
Vol. VIII.} No. 2 25 Cents a Copy
Part I. } May, 1918 $3.00 a Year
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED 191
THE BATTLE OF PICARDY: A Military Review 197
The British Reverses and Their Causes By a Military Observer 205
FOUR EPIC WEEKS OF CARNAGE By Philip Gibbs 209
How General Carey Saved Amiens 219
Battle Viewed From the French Front By G. H. Perris 221
Caring for Thousands of Refugees 228
PROGRESS OF THE WAR: Chronology to April 18 231
RUSSIA UNDER GERMAN DOMINATION 235
The Czar's Loyalty to the Allies: An Autograph Letter 239
PERSHING'S ARMY UNDER GENERAL FOCH 240
Our War Machine in New Phases 243
Shortage in Aircraft Production 245
AMERICA'S FIRST YEAR OF WAR 247
War Department's Improved System By Benedict Crowell 254
The Surgeon General's Great Organization By Caswell A. Mayo 256
WAR WORK OF THE AMERICAN RED CROSS 258
GREAT BRITAIN FACES A CRISIS By David Lloyd George 263
RUSSIA AND THE ALLIES By Arthur J. Balfour 272
PRESIDENT WILSON ON THE RUSSIAN TREATIES 275
AMERICAN LIBERTY'S CRUCIAL HOUR By William E. Borah 278
_Contents Continued on Next Page_
Copyright, 1918, by The New York Times Company. All Rights Reserved.
Entered at the Post Offices in New York and in Canada as Second Class
Matter.
DEFENDING THE WORLD'S RIGHT TO DEMOCRACY By J. Hamilton Lewis 281
Messenger Dogs in the German Army 283
FULL RECORD OF SINKINGS BY U-BOATS By Sir Eric Geddes 284
Admiralty Summary of Shipping Losses 286
The Month's Submarine Record 289
TYPICAL U-BOAT METHODS: British Admiralty Records 290
The Story of an Indomitable Captain By Joseph Conrad 292
THE NAVAL DEFENSE OF VENICE 293
Venice Under the Grim Shadow 299
TAKING OVER THE DUTCH SHIPS 303
AIR RAIDS ON PARIS AND LONDON 305
The Tale of Zeppelin Disasters 309
PARIS BOMBARDED BY LONG-RANGE GUNS 310
THE IRISH GUARDS By Rudyard Kipling 313
THE GUILT OF GERMANY: Prince Lichnowsky's Memorandum 314
Reply of Former Foreign Minister von Jagow 320
COUNT CZERNIN ON PEACE TERMS 323
Great Britain's Reply to Count Czernin 327
AUSTRO-FRENCH "PEACE INITIATIVE" CONTROVERSY 328
A REVIEW OF THE BATTLE OF JUTLAND By Thomas G. Frothingham 334
Charts of Battle of Jutland 332
GERMAN CHURCHMAN'S DEFENSE OF POISON GAS 343
GREAT BRITAIN'S WAR WORK IN 1917 344
THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI: Official Report By Field Marshal Haig 349
THE EUROPEAN WAR AS SEEN BY CARTOONISTS: 42 Cartoons 361
ROTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
PRESIDENT WILSON _Frontis_
FERDINAND FOCH, GENERALISSIMO "
BENEDICT CROWELL 204
AMERICAN ARMY CHIEFS 205
BRITISH COMMANDERS IN FRANCE 220
GERMAN COMMANDERS IN FRANCE 221
UNITED STATES CONGRESS 236
AMERICAN FIRST AID STATION 237
REPRESENTATIVES OF CENTRAL POWERS 268
PANORAMA OF VENICE 269
HENRY P. DAVISON 284
ACTUAL SURRENDER OF JERUSALEM 285
CAMP ZACHARY TAYLOR 316
VIEW OF CAMP SHERMAN 317
GRAVES OF TUSCANIA VICTIMS 332
LIBERTY LOAN POSTER 333
CURRENT HISTORY CHRONICLED
[PERIOD ENDED APRIL 19, 1918.]
AN EPOCH-MAKING MONTH
The month covered by this issue of CURRENT HISTORY MAGAZINE was the most
fateful in a military way since the beginning of the war. The most
desperate and sanguinary battle in history, begun with the great German
offensive in France March 21, 1918, was at its most furious phase when
these pages were printed. No less than 4,000,000 men were engaged in
deadly combat on a front of 150 miles.
General Foch, by agreement of the Allies, was made Commander in Chief of
the allied armies in France, March 28. This decision, long regarded as
of supreme importance, was hastened by the new emergency. The United
States on April 16 officially approved the appointment. The result of
the change was to co-ordinate all the allied forces in France into one
army. Early fruits of this new unity were apparent in the news of April
19, when it was announced that heavy French reinforcements had come that
day to the relief of the hard-pressed and weary British troops in
Flanders, and had halted the Germans; the same day the French
counterattacked in the Amiens region and thrust the Germans back, thus
giving a brighter aspect to the entire situation in France. The story of
the battle of Picardy up to April 18 is told elsewhere in detail.
The separation of Russian provinces from the old Russian Empire
continued during the | 869.736388 |
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[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "This is a terrible piece of work." Page 185.]
THE LOST GOLD OF
THE MONTEZUMAS
A STORY OF THE ALAMO
BY
WILLIAM O. STODDARD
AUTHOR OF "CHUMLEY'S POST," "CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD," "THE TALKING
LEAVES," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
_CHARLES H. STEPHENS_
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Gods of the Montezumas
CHAPTER II.
The Alamo Fort
CHAPTER III.
The Dream of the New Empire
CHAPTER IV.
The Race for the Chaparral
CHAPTER V.
Among the Bushes
CHAPTER VI.
The Old Cash-Box
CHAPTER VII.
The Escape of the Rangers
CHAPTER VIII.
The Camp at the Spring
CHAPTER IX.
The Skirmish in the Night
CHAPTER X.
A Baffled Pursuit
CHAPTER XI.
The Charge of the Lancers
CHAPTER XII.
The Horse-Thieves and the Stampede
CHAPTER XIII.
The Last of Tetzcatl
CHAPTER XIV.
The Perilous Path
CHAPTER XV.
The Return of the Gold Hunters
CHAPTER XVI.
The Army of Santa Anna
CHAPTER XVII.
The First Shot
CHAPTER XVIII.
Crockett's Alarm Gun
CHAPTER XIX.
The Reinforcement
CHAPTER XX.
Nearing the End
ILLUSTRATIONS
"This is a terrible piece of work"......... _Frontispiece._
"Good! Tetzcatl go to the Alamo"
"Heap dollar," remarked Red Wolf
"Ugh!" screeched the Comanche at the end of a terrific minute, and
he sank into the grass
In rode the very airy captain of lancers
A dark, stern, terrible shape half rose from a couch
CHAPTER I.
THE GODS OF THE MONTEZUMAS.
It was a gloomy place. It would have been dark but for a heap of
blazing wood upon a rock at one side. That is, it looked like a rock
at first sight, but upon a closer inspection it proved to be a cube of
well-fitted, although roughly finished, masonry. It was about six feet
square, and there were three stone steps leading up in front.
Behind this altar-like structure a vast wall of the natural rock, a
dark limestone, had been sculptured into the shape of a colossal and
exceedingly ugly human face,--as if the head of a stone giant were half
sunken in that side of what was evidently an immense cave.
There were men in the cave, but no women were to be seen. Several of
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STAND UP, YE DEAD
BY
NORMAN MACLEAN
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
MCMXVI
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DWELLERS IN THE MIST
HILLS OF HOME
CAN THE WORLD BE WON FOR CHRIST?
THE BURNT-OFFERING
AFRICA IN TRANSFORMATION
THE GREAT DISCOVERY
{v}
PREFACE
Two years ago the writer published a book called _The Great Discovery_.
It seemed to him in those days, when the nation chose the ordeal of
battle rather than dishonour, that the people, as if waking from sleep,
discovered God once more. But, now, after an agony unparalleled in the
history of the world, the vision of God has faded, and men are left
groping in the darkness of a great bewilderment. The cause may not be
far to seek. For every vision of God summons men to the girding of
themselves that they may bring their lives more into conformity with
His holy will. And when men decline the venture to which the vision
beckons, then the vision fades.
It is there that we have failed. We were called to put an end to
social evils {vi} which are sapping our strength and enfeebling our arm
in battle, but we refused. We wanted victory over the enemy, but we
deemed the price of moral surgery too great even for victory. In the
rush and crowding of world-shaking cataclysms, memory is short. We
have already almost forgotten the moral tragedy of April 1915. It was
then that the White Paper was issued by the Government, and the nation
was informed of startling facts which our statesmen knew all the time.
At last the nation was told that our armies were wellnigh paralysed for
lack of munitions, while thousands of men were daily away from their
work because of drunkenness; that the repairing of ships was delayed
and transports unable to put to sea because of drunkenness; that goods,
vital to the State, could not be delivered because of drunkenness; that
Admiral Jellicoe had warned the Government that the efficiency of the
Fleet was threatened because of drunkenness; and that shipbuilders and
munition manufacturers had made a strong {vii} appeal to our rulers to
put an end to drunkenness. It was then that the King, by his example,
called upon the people to renounce alcohol, and the nation waited for
its deliverance. But the Government refused to follow the King. There
is but one law for nations, as for individuals, if they would save
their souls: 'If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.' But our
statesmen could not brace themselves to an act of surgery; they devised
a scheme for putting the offending member into splints. And, since
then, it looks as if the wheels of the chariot of victory were stuck in
the bog of the national drunkenness. The vision of God has faded
before the eyes of a nation that refused its beckoning.
This book deals, therefore, with those evils which now hide the face of
God from us. If drunkenness be the greatest of these evils, there are
others closely allied to it. Two Commissions have recently issued
Reports, the one on 'The Declining Birthrate,' and the other on 'The
Social Evil,' {viii} which reveal the perilous condition of
degeneration into which the nation is falling. It is difficult for
people, engrossed in the labours and anxieties of these days, to grasp
the meaning of the facts as presented in these Reports. In these pages
an effort is made to look the facts in the face and to make the danger
clear, so that he who runs may read. And the writer has had but one
purpose: to show that there is but one remedy for all our grievous
ills, even a return to God.
As we think of the millions who have taken all that makes life dear and
laid it down that we might live; who have gone down to an earthly hell
that we might not lose our heaven; who have wrestled with the powers of
destruction on sea and land that these isles might continue to be the
sanctuary of freedom and the home of righteousness; who in the midst of
their torment never flinched; and of the fathers, mothers, and wives
who have laid on the altar the sacrifice of all their love and
hope--the question arises, how can {ix} we show our love and our
gratitude to those who have redeemed us? We can only prove our
gratitude by making a new world for those who have saved us--a world in
which men and women shall no longer be doomed to live lives of
sordidness and misery. When we shall set ourselves to that task,
seeking to meet the sacrifice of heroism by the sacrifice of our
service, deeming no labour too great and no effort too arduous, then
the vision of God will again arise upon us and will abide.
N. M.
_October_ 7, 1916.
{xi}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
CHAPTER II
THE ROOTS OF THE EVIL
CHAPTER III
THE EMPTY COUNTRYSIDE
CHAPTER IV
THE MAN IN THE SLUM
CHAPTER V
THE LORD OF THE SLUM
CHAPTER VI
THE GREAT REFUSAL
{xii}
CHAPTER VII
THE SLUM IN THE MAN
CHAPTER VIII
BEHIND YOU IS GOD
{1}
CHAPTER I
THE EMPTY CRADLE
The greatest disaster of these days has befallen in the streets and
lanes of our cities at home, and, because it has happened in our own
midst, we are blind to it. And, also, it has come upon us so gradually
and so surreptitiously that, though we are overwhelmed by it, we know
not that we are overwhelmed. Our capital cities are leading the nation
in the march to the graveyard. In London the birthrate has fallen in
Hampstead from 30 to 17.55, and in the City itself to 17.4; in
Edinburgh it has fallen in some districts to 10. In many places there
are already more coffins than cradles. What would the city of
Edinburgh say or do if suddenly one half of its children were slain in
a night? What a cry of horror would rise to heaven! {2} Yet, that is
exactly the calamity which has overtaken the city. In the year 1871
there were 34 children born in Edinburgh for every thousand of the
population; in the year 1915 the number of births per thousand of the
population was 17. Edinburgh has, compared to forty-four years ago,
sacrificed half its children. And because this calamity is the slowly
ripening fruit of forty years, and did not occur with dramatic
swiftness in a night, there is no sound of lamentation in the streets.
I
What has happened in London and Edinburgh is only what has happened
over all the British Empire, with this difference--that these cities
are leading the van in the process of desiccating the fountain of the
national life. While the birthrate for the whole of Scotland is 23.9,
that of Edinburgh is 17.8. For the nation as a whole the policy of
racial suicide has become a national policy. The marriage-rate
increases, but the {3} birth-rate decreases. A birthrate of 35.6 per
thousand in 1874 decreased to 33.7 in 1880, 32.9 in 1886, 30.4 in 1890,
and to 23.8 in 1912. If the city of Edinburgh is sacrificing at the
fountain-head half of its possible population, the rest of the
English-speaking race is following hard in its wake. The facts which
to-day confront us spell doom. In the year 1911 the legitimate births
in England and Wales numbered 843,505, but if the birthrate had
remained as it was in the years 1876-80, the number would have been
1,273,698. 'That is to say, there was a potential loss to the nation
of 430,000 in that one year 1911.'[1] In the year 1914 the loss is
even greater, for it amounted to 467,837. The nation as a whole is now
sacrificing every year a third of its possible population. This is
surely a terrible fact. The ravages of war, awful though these ravages
have been, are nothing to the ravages which have been self-inflicted.
In the years that are past, the race recovered from the {4} greatest
calamities of war and pestilence because there was a power mightier
than these--that of the child. The abounding birthrate rapidly
replaced the wastage of war. Through the greatest calamities the
nation ever marched forward on the feet of little children. One
generation might be overwhelmed, but
'Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring our boats ashore.'
But alas! when the greatest of all calamities has overtaken the race;
when the young, the noble, and the brave have lain down in death that
the nation might live, the feet of the little children, on which
erstwhile the race marched forward, are not there. We have offered
them up a sacrifice to Moloch.
II
The nation must be wakened to the dire peril in which the steadily
falling birthrate has placed the race. Militarism {5} slays its
thousands; this has strangled its hundreds of thousands. But no
warning note has been sounded by our statesmen. They were doubtless
waiting to see!
The might of every nation depends on the reservoir of its vitality.
Let that desiccate and the nation desiccates. Of this France is the
proof. That France which, a hundred years ago, overran Europe, fifty
years later lay prostrate under the feet of Germany. Twenty years
before that national humiliation, France began to sacrifice her
children. Lord Acton pointed out the inevitable result; the wise of
their own number warned them--but France went on its way down the <DW72>
of moral degeneration. Its birthrate fell from 30.8 in 1821 to 26.2 in
1851, 25.4 in 1871, 22.1 in 1891, 20.6 in 1901, and to 19 in 1914. The
result was inevitable. In the race of empire France fell slowly back.
The alien had to be imported to cultivate her own fair fields. She
annexed territories, but she could {6} not colonise them. The prophets
who prophesied doom have been abundantly justified. To-day France,
risen from the dead, is wrestling for her life; she is impotent to
drive back the foe without the help of Britain and Russia--she who
dominated Europe a century ago! When we read of a Russian army, after
a journey round half the world, landing at Marseilles to take their
place in the trenches that Paris may be saved from the devastators of
Belgium and Poland, we see the fields ripe for the harvest of that
policy which sacrificed the race to the individual. The hope for
France is that she will rise from the grave of her degeneration,
new-born.
What has happened in France is what happened in Rome long before. It
was not because of the inrush of barbaric hosts that Rome perished, but
because Rome sacrificed its children. In its golden age, when luxury
clouded the heart, Rome began to avoid the responsibilities of family
life, and so sounded the death-knell of its empire. Here is ever the
source of human {7} decay. The most perfect intellectual and aesthetic
civilisation ever developed on earth was that of the ancient Greeks.
'We know and may guess something more of the reason why this
marvellously gifted race declined,' says Francis Galton. 'Social
morality grew exceedingly lax, marriage became unfashionable and was
avoided; many of the more ambitious and accomplished women were avowed
courtesans and consequently infertile, and the mothers of the incoming
population were of a heterogeneous class.' And the misery which lay so
heavily on the heart of Hosea was that Israel was rushing to
destruction because children ceased to be born. National
licentiousness produced a diminishing population. 'And there are no
more births,' cries the prophet beholding the coming doom. Over us the
skies are darkening with the portents of the same doom. For we also
have given ourselves to the same degeneration. To Puritanic Scotland,
a generation ago, France was oft quoted as a solemn {8} warning of the
depths to which atheism and materialism bring a nation. To-day
Scotland as a whole is only four points behind France in the matter of
this degeneration, and the city of Edinburgh has outstripped even
France. And though this policy of the silent nursery and the empty
cradle is a policy of racial doom, the land of the Covenanters and the
capital of Presbyterianism have made it their own. They have
out-Heroded Herod.
III
It is only when this disease, which is threatening the | 869.818791 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ:
A BOOK OF LYRICS:
BY
BLISS CARMAN
[Illustration: logo]
CHARLES L. WEBSTER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK MDCCCXCIII
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY BLISS CARMAN.
(_All rights reserved._)
PRESS OF
JENKINS & MCCOWAN,
NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The poems in this volume have been collected with reference to their
similarity of tone. They are variations on a single theme, more or less
aptly suggested by the title, _Low Tide on Grand Pré_. It seemed better
to bring together between the same covers only those pieces of | 869.873221 |
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THE MENTOR 1916.05.01, No. 106,
American Pioneer Prose Writers
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
MAY 1 1916 SERIAL NO. 106
THE
MENTOR
AMERICAN PIONEER
PROSE WRITERS
By HAMILTON W. MABIE
Author and Editor
DEPARTMENT OF VOLUME 4
LITERATURE NUMBER 6
FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY
Fame In Name Only
What do we really know of them--these library gods of ours? We know
them by name; their names are household words. We know them by fame;
their fame is immortal. So we pay tribute to them by purchasing their
books--and, too often, rest satisfied with that. The riches that they
offer us are within arm’s length, and we leave them there. We go our
ways seeking for mental nourishment, when our larders at home are full.
* * * * *
Three hundred years ago last week William Shakespeare died, but
Shakespeare, the poet, is more alive today than when his bones were
laid to rest in Stratford. It was not until seven years after his
death that the first collected edition of his works was published.
Today there are thousands of editions, and new ones appear each year.
It seems that we must all have Shakespeare in our homes. And why? Is
it simply to give character to our bookshelves; or is it because we
realize that the works of Shakespeare and of his fellow immortals are
the foundation stones of literature, and that we want to be near them
and know them?
* * * * *
We value anniversaries most of all as occasions for placing fresh
wreaths of laurel on life’s altars. In the memory of Shakespeare, then,
let us pledge ourselves anew to our library gods. Let us turn their
glowing pages again--and read once more those inspired messages of mind
and heart in which we find life’s meaning.
[Illustration: JONATHAN EDWARDS]
American Pioneer Prose Writers
JONATHAN EDWARDS
Monograph Number One in The Mentor Reading Course
Jonathan Edwards was one of the most impressive figures of his time.
He was a deep thinker, a strong writer, a powerful theologian, and
a constructive philosopher. He was born on October 5, 1703, at East
(now South) Windsor, Connecticut. His father, Timothy Edwards, was a
minister of East Windsor, and also a tutor. Jonathan, the only son, was
the fifth of eleven children.
Even as a boy he was thoughtful and serious minded. It is recorded that
he never played the games, or got mixed up in the mischief that the
usual boy indulges in. When he was only ten years old he wrote a tract
on the soul. Two years later he wrote a really remarkable essay on the
“Flying Spider.” He entered Yale and graduated at the head of his class
as valedictorian. The next two years he spent in New Haven studying
theology. In February, 1727, he was ordained minister at Northampton,
Massachusetts. In the same year he married Sarah Pierrepont, who was an
admirable wife and became the mother of his twelve children.
In 1733 a great revival in religion began in Northampton. So intense
did this become in that winter that the business of the town was
threatened. In six months nearly 300 were admitted to the church. Of
course Edwards was a leading spirit in this revival. The orthodox
leaders of the church had no sympathy with it. At last a crisis came in
Edwards’ relations with his congregation, which finally ended in his
being driven from the church.
Edwards and his family were now thrown upon the world with nothing
to live on. After some time he became pastor of an Indian mission at
Stockbridge, Massachusetts. He preached to the Indians through an
interpreter, and in every way possible defended their interests against
the whites, who were trying to enrich themselves at the expense of the
red men.
President Burr of the College of New Jersey (now Princeton University)
died in 1757. Five years before he had married one of Edwards’
daughters. Jonathan Edwards was elected to his place, and installed
in February, 1758. There was smallpox in Princeton at this time, and
the new president was inoculated for it. His feeble constitution could
not bear the shock, and he died on March 22. He was buried in the old
cemetery at Princeton.
Edwards in personal appearance was slender and about six feet tall,
with an oval, gentle, almost feminine face which made him look the
scholar and the mystic. But he had a violent temper when aroused, and
was a | 870.096847 |
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Images of the original pages are available through
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https://archive.org/details/lonesometrail00neihrich
THE LONESOME TRAIL
[Illustration: _Drawn by F. E. Schoonover_
THE RACE WITH THE FIRE
_See “The Nemesis of the Deuces,” page 300_]
THE LONESOME TRAIL
by
JOHN G. NEIHARDT
“_In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud._”
New York: John Lane Company, MCMVII
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
Copyright, 1907,
by
John G. Neihardt
TO
VOLNEY STREAMER
“_Friend of my Yester-age_”
_The stories in this volume have appeared in the following magazines:
Munsey’s, The American Magazine, The Smart Set, The Scrap Book,
The All-Story, Watson’s, Overland Monthly. The author gratefully
acknowledges permission to republish._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ALIEN 11
II. THE LOOK IN THE FACE 31
III. FEATHER FOR FEATHER 45
IV. THE SCARS 58
V. THE FADING OF SHADOW FLOWER 75
VI. THE ART OF HATE 93
VII. THE SINGER OF THE ACHE 110
VIII. THE WHITE WAKUNDA 123
IX. THE TRIUMPH OF SEHA 143
X. THE END OF THE DREAM 151
XI. THE REVOLT OF A SHEEP 168
XII. THE MARK OF SHAME 182
XIII. THE BEATING OF THE WAR DRUMS 194
XIV | 870.261269 |
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Transcribed from the 1860 James Nisbet edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
[Picture: Tucker’s cottage. The Oldest House in Kensington Potteries]
RAGGED HOMES,
AND
HOW TO MEND THEM.
* * * * *
BY
MRS BAYLY.
* * * * *
“The corner-stone of the commonwealth is the hearth-stone.”
* * * * *
Fifth Thousand.
* * * * *
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET AND CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
M.DCCC.LX.
DEDICATED,
BY PERMISSION,
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.
MY LORD,
I do not inscribe this narrative of facts to you in the expectation of
adding to that acquaintance with the working-classes which you have
gained from personal intercourse with them.
It is for my own satisfaction that I have dedicated this little Volume to
you. An opportunity, which might not otherwise have occurred, now offers
for thanking you in the name of the poor whom you have cheered by your
sympathy, and of the rich whom you have stimulated by your example.
Compliments between fellow-workers are not seemly, however humble the
bestower, however illustrious the receiver.
That you have allowed your name to appear in these pages cannot but be
gratifying to the writer. The reader will rejoice no less, and from
higher than personal motives. He will see in this kindness another proof
of your hearty interest in that class which, if rightly considered, is,
from its very poverty, a blessing to the land, by putting our indolence
and selfishness to shame.
I have the honour to be,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship’s obliged Servant,
MARY BAYLY.
PREFACE.
AMIDST the excitements of political contests at home, with wars and
rumours of wars abroad, the voice of “Social Science” is occasionally
heard, and listened to, with a growing conviction of its importance. The
Politician, the Moralist, and the Christian are impelled by various
reasons to its consideration, and will listen with equal interest to its
details.
Experience is always valued by practical men, and the records of what has
been done are anxiously sought, to assist our judgment in future and more
extended exertions.
The condition of the young, and the education of children, naturally
engaged the earliest attention of Social Reformers. Experience has shewn
the importance of genial influences at home, and that it is _necessary_
to improve the homes of the poor, in order to save the children from
destruction. It has also been found that _much_ can be thus effected.
Poor women, who have been subjected to the severe discipline of a
struggling existence, are often willing and anxious listeners to useful
instruction, and are perhaps more susceptible of good influence than
younger persons who have not felt the necessity for improvement. There
is, therefore, room to hope that the influence which can be brought to
bear upon the mothers of the working-classes will be a most important
element in that general elevation which it is our desire to attain.
It was principally owing to this impression, and also the great desire
which I felt to do something, however feeble, to bring more happiness and
comfort into the houses of my poor neighbours, that induced me, five or
six years ago, to commence a Mothers’ Society. The usual ways of helping
the poor seemed to me to effect little real good. The nice soup sent for
the sick man was spoiled by being smoked in the warming up, or by the
taste infused into it from the dirty saucepan: the sago intended for the
infant was burnt, or only half cooked; and medicine and food alike failed
to be efficacious in the absence of cleanliness, and in the stifling air
which the poor patient was doomed to breathe. The mothers of the little,
thin, fretful babies would complain to me that they could not think why
the child did so badly, for they managed to get a rasher of bacon for it
whenever they could, and always fed it two or three times in the night.
I saw that the wise man was indeed right in saying “that knowledge is the
principal thing;” and that if I could help them in any way to “get
knowledge,” it would be a gift far surpassing in value anything else I
could offer them. The applications constantly made to me for information
on the best modes of establishing and conducting these Societies, induce
me to suppose that they have taken some hold on the public mind, and that
these institutions supply a want that is every day increasingly felt.
The only value that can be attached to any remarks which I have to make
is, that they are the result of some years’ experience; and that the
plans which I have adopted, though capable of great improvement, have
been to some extent successful. But the principal motive in my own mind
for sending these simple narratives forth into the world is, the hope
that more attention than ever may by their means be directed to that
great and difficult subject, the improvement of the homes of the poor.
As a few notes of a bird, the lisping of a child, the sound of the wind
dying away, have sometimes been sufficient to awaken the spirit of
harmony in some master-mind, and so led to the composition of the music
which has thrilled and delighted all who have heard it; so, it is hoped,
the suggestions here made may be of use to many minds, and that anything
already effected may be as the drop to the showers, or as the first buds
of spring to the luxuriance of summer.
8 LANSDOWNE CRESCENT,
_May_ 10, 1859.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER I.
A VILLAGE—NOT PICTURESQUE 19
CHAPTER II.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHARACTER 39
CHAPTER III.
SLOW ADVANCING 61
CHAPTER IV.
SOWING SEED 81
CHAPTER V.
HOMES AND NO HOMES 107
CHAPTER VI.
DIFFICULTIES 125
CHAPTER VII.
GIVING AND RECEIVING 143
CHAPTER VIII.
LIGHT UPON A DARK SUBJECT 157
CHAPTER IX.
OUR MISSIONARIES 175
CHAPTER X.
OUR BABY 195
CHAPTER XI.
LETTERS 213
CHAPTER XII.
OBSTACLES: WHO SHALL REMOVE THEM? 237
APPENDIX 259
INTRODUCTORY.
“Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less and more.”
WORDSWORTH.
A FEW weeks ago I was visiting the Library in the British Museum. Two
gentlemen, who stood near me, appeared very earnest in the pursuit of
something which they wanted. Presently, by an exclamation of delight, I
understood that their search had been successful; they had found what
they had sought. And what had they found? A very old book, so badly
printed as to be read with difficulty, and containing information of what
must have taken place at least two thousand years ago—information very
interesting and important to the old Romans, no doubt; and which would
have been still more so, if they could have foreseen what delight it
would have imparted, centuries later, to two inhabitants of a remote
island in the north, who could not possibly be affected by it. But so it
is: some minds prefer to dwell on the past; others live in the present;
and some seem of opinion that “man never is, but always _to be_, blest.”
This diversity is no doubt necessary; all do some good: the antiquarian
adds to the interest of our libraries, if not of our lives; and we owe
much to those who teach us to look forward, if they will only at the same
time help us to look upward: but to such as wish to _do_ something, who
desire to have an influence on the great living history which every day
is writing afresh, the passing events of the time have the greatest
charm, because they not only present food for reflection, but opportunity
for exertion.
We not unfrequently hear people speak of life in such a way as would lead
us to suppose that there had been some mistake as to the date of their
birth. Had they come a little earlier or a little later, it would have
been different; but the present seems to afford them no object of
interest. They complain of intolerable dulness, the weariness of life;
and in watching the cheerless, the objectless existence of such people,
we wonder that it is recorded of only a single individual, that one
morning he shot himself, for the reason assigned on a slip of paper which
he had left on the dressing-table—“I am tired of living only to
breakfast, dine, and sup.”
I have often thought, when listening to such complaints, of the prayer of
Elisha for his unbelieving servant, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes,
that he may see;” and if the Lord would do for them as He did for this
servant, and open their eyes—not to see “mountains full of horses and
chariots of fire” waiting to deliver them—but alleys, and lanes, and
villages, full of the needy and the sick, waiting for loving hearts and
kind hands to come and help them to rise from their degradation,
wretchedness, and filth,—the strain would be changed; and, in the
contemplation of such a vast amount of labour, followed by such rich
reward, we should rather expect to hear, if it must still be the language
of complaint:—
“O wretched yet inevitable spite
Of our short span! and we must yield our breath,
And wrap us in the lazy coil of death;
So much remaining of unproved delight!”
There are many indications in the present day that the fields are “white
unto harvest.” Several things, that were looked upon some years ago as
experiments, have been so eminently successful, that no unprejudiced mind
can doubt that they are the means which God has blessed, and by which He
intends to accomplish a great work of reformation in this country. It
was a glorious sight at St Martin’s Hall, on the 2d of March, when 567
young persons came forward to claim the prize for having remained a
twelvemonth in a situation; and, were it not for the strictness of the
rules, excluding all apprentices, requiring a written character from a
master or mistress, it was stated that as many as 1500 would have been
present. All these had been rescued from well-nigh certain destruction
by the Ragged School, and had there received the education which
qualified them to take these situations. There must have been joy in the
presence of the angels of God that night, as they witnessed these rescued
ones sitting together, and listening eagerly to words by which their
souls might live; and which, if the prayers of many there were answered,
would prepare them to receive an incorruptible prize, that can never fade
away.
Whilst these facts convey resistless evidence to the mind, that these
poor outcasts _can_ be lifted out of their wretchedness and be saved, the
conviction deepens, that God will hold us responsible to do this work;
and, in all the labour ever required of our hands, it has never been so
necessary that whosoever would engage in it must be taught of the Lord.
We have to pray not only that the Lord of the harvest would send more
labourers into the harvest, but also that He would endow them with just
the spirit and power necessary for this particular work. In noticing the
physical wants and requirements of this country, nothing strikes us more
forcibly than the certainty with which the demand creates the supply. No
matter how intricate and complicated the required machinery may be, heads
are always to be found clever enough to invent, and hands skilful enough
to work it. In fact, the degree of perfection attained in this way is
enough to make us “proud of the age we live in.” If machinery and
steam-power had been the agency required to purify such places as St
Giles’s and Bethnal Green, the work would have been done long ago. These
wretched localities have not remained so long “like blots in this fair
world,” without being thought of and cared for. Many politicians and
scientific men have asked earnestly, “What can be done?” and have turned
away hopelessly, feeling that the mighty intellect which could subdue
air, earth, and sea, had now met with something beyond its power; and
still the question remained unanswered, “What can be done?”
One of the most interesting discoveries of the past few years has been,
that the humblest instead of the grandest agency is required to
accomplish this work which the wisest heads have found so difficult. A
little sketch of the early history of one of God’s most successful agents
will shew that “His thoughts are not as our thoughts;” for it would not
have entered into the heart of man to have suggested such a preparation
for usefulness. “A drunken father, who broke her mother’s heart, had
brought a young girl of fifteen, gradually down, down from the privileges
of a respectable station, to dwell in a low lodging-house in St Giles’s.
The father died shortly afterwards, and left her, and a sister five years
of age, orphans in the midst of pollution, which they, as by miracle,
escaped; often sitting on the stairs or door-step all night, to avoid
what was to be seen within. An old man, the fellow-lodger of the
children, and kind-hearted, though an Atheist, had taught the elder to
write a little, but bade her never read the Bible, since it was full of
lies; and that she had only to look around her in St Giles’s, and she
might see that there was no God. She had learned to read and knit from
looking continually at the shop-windows. She married at eighteen years
of age her present husband, and for the first time in her young memory
knew the meaning of that blessed word, ‘home;’ although the home was but
a room, changed from time to time in the same neighbourhood. After many
years of considerable suffering, from loss of children, ill-health, and
other calamities, she took shelter one rainy night in an alley which led
up to a little Mission Hall in Dudley Street. She entered, and heard it
announced that books would be lent, on the next evening, from a
newly-formed library for the poor at that place. Going early, she was
the first claimant of the promise. She had intended to borrow Uncle
Tom’s Cabin; but a strong impulse came over her, which she could not
resist—it was as if she had heard it whispered, ‘Do not borrow Uncle Tom;
borrow a Bible.’ So she asked for a Bible. ‘A Bible, my good woman?’
was the missionary’s reply. ‘We did not mean to lend Bibles from this
library; but wait, I will fetch you one. It is a token for good that the
Book of God, the best of books, should be the first one asked for and
lent from this place.’ He brought her the Bible, and asked if he should
call, and read a chapter with her. She said respectfully, ‘No, sir,
thank you; we are very quiet folk, my husband might not like it. I will
take the book, and read it for myself.’ The Lord’s time was come. His
message then first entered her house, and went straight to her heart.
The Divine Spirit applied the Word with power; and the arrow of
conviction was ere long driven home by suffering and affliction.
“A severe illness laid her prostrate, and to this hour she feels—in a way
that we who help her in her work cannot feel—what is meant by sickness
and poverty coming together.” {8}
This was God’s education to prepare for Himself an agent to carry out His
purposes of mercy. By uniting the introduction of God’s Word with care
for the temporal wants of the poor people around her, Marian has been
able to accomplish wonders in two short years; and the account of them
will be seen with great pleasure by those who allow themselves the
monthly treat of reading “The Book and its Mission.” But something more
than facts, valuable as they are, have been deduced from Marian’s
mission. The lock that refused to be picked, has yielded to the fitting
key. We have sat in our beautiful churches long enough, and wished we
could see the poor gathered around us; but they have not come. We have
written numberless | 870.573364 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BOYHOOD OF JESUS
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY
DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY
Factory and Shipping Rooms, Elgin, Illinois
Try to be like Jesus.
The Bible tells of Jesus,
So gentle and so meek;
I’ll try to be like Jesus
In ev’ry word I speak.
For Jesus, too, was loving,
His words were always kind;
I’ll try to be like Jesus
In thought and word and mind.
I long to be like Jesus,
Who said “I am the Truth;”
Then I will give my heart to him,
Now, in my early youth.
—_Lillian Payson._
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY.
[Illustration: THE BABY JESUS.]
The Little Lord Jesus.
Away in a manger,
No crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down his sweet head.
The stars in the sky
Looked down where he lay—
The little Lord Jesus
Asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing,
The poor baby wakes,
But little Lord Jesus
No crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus;
Look down from the sky,
And stay by my cradle
To watch Lullaby.
—_Luther’s Cradle Hymn._
The Child Promised.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THERE was once a time when there was no Christmas at all. There were
no beautiful Christmas trees and happy songs and stockings filled with
presents. No one shouted “Merry Christmas!” or “Christmas Gift!” No
one told the sweet story of Jesus, because Jesus had not come into
the world and so there was no Christmas. You see Christmas is Jesus’
birthday, and before he came, of course people could not keep his
birthday. You have heard of how wicked and unhappy the people were long
ago. Although God loved them and tried to make them do right, they
forgot about him and did so many naughty, disobedient things that they
were very miserable. Then God sent a wonderful message to them. He told
them that some day he would send them his own Son, who should be their
King and teach them how to do right. He said that his Son would come as
a little child to grow up among them to love and help them. God even
told them what they should call this baby who was to be their King. God
said that Christ would be like a beautiful light showing them where to
go. It would be as though some people stumbling sorrowfully along a
dark street should suddenly see a bright light shining ahead of them,
making everything cheerful and pleasant. They would be joyful like
people who gather in the harvest. Jesus makes his children happy, and
he wants them to shine out and make others happy. These people who were
so unhappy before Jesus came, were very glad to know that some day he
would come. They talked about him and waited a long, long time before
he came and brought Christmas light into the world.
[Illustration: THE BABE IN BETHLEHEM.]
The Coming of Jesus.
LONG ago there lived a good man named Joseph, a carpenter of Nazareth,
who built houses and made many useful things for people. He also loved
to read God’s Gift Book, and tried to obey its rules. One day the king
of the land where Joseph lived ordered everyone to write his name in a
book, and pay a tax, in his own city. So Joseph and Mary his wife got
ready to take a long journey to their old home, Bethlehem. There were
no cars for them to ride in, so they must either walk or ride a donkey.
As the fashion was there, Mary wore a long, white veil which covered
her beautiful face.
The streets were full of people, walking, or traveling on mules,
donkeys, or camels—all going to be taxed. It was winter, but in a warm
country, and they went through valleys of figs, olives, dates, oranges
and other good things.
[Illustration]
They must have been very tired when they reached Bethlehem’s gates,
for they had come a long distance, and the dust of the road, the
bustle of traveling, and the strangeness of it all, seemed to add
to their trials. The people of Bethlehem had opened their homes and
welcomed the strangers, until every house was full, and still the
people kept coming. They could scarcely go up the steep hill, they were
so weary, and Joseph tried to get a place to rest, but there was no
kind invitation, no welcome in any house for them, and the inns were
crowded. The inns were not | 870.795896 |
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Produced by Clare Graham & Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive.)
RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.
A Novel.
BY
RHODA BROUGHTON,
AUTHOR OF "COMETH UP AS A FLOWER," "GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART!"
"SECOND THOUGHTS," ETC.
_ELEVENTH EDITION._
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1887.
[Illustration: Frontispiece: ESTHER CRAVEN.
ELISH LA MONTI. PINX. JOSEPH BROWN. SC.]
RED AS A ROSE IS SHE.
CHAPTER I.
Have you ever been to Wales? I do not ask this question of any one in
particular; I merely address it to the universal British public, or,
rather, to such member or members of the same as shall be wise enough
to sit down and read the ensuing true and moving love story--true as
the loves of wicked Abelard and Heloise, moving as those of good Paul
and Virginia. Probably those wise ones will be very few; numerable
by tens, or even units: they will, I may very safely aver, not form
the bulk of the nation. However high may be my estimate of my own
powers of narration, however amply Providence may have gifted me with
self-appreciation, I may be sure of that, seeing that the only books
I know of which enjoy so wide a circulation are the Prayer-book and
Bradshaw. I am not going to instruct any one in religion or trains,
so I may as well make up my mind to a more limited audience, while I
pipe my simple lay (rather squeakily and out of tune, perhaps), and may
think myself very lucky if that same kind, limited audience do not hiss
me down before I have got through half a dozen staves of the dull old
ditty.
Have you ever been to Wales? If you have ever visited the pretty,
dirty, green spot where Pat and his brogue, where potatoes and
absenteeism and head-centres flourish, _alias_ Ireland, you have
no doubt passed through a part of it, rushing by, most likely, in
the Irish mail; but in that case your eyes and nose and ears were
all so very full of dust and cinders--you were so fully employed in
blinking and cough | 870.929823 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE ENTIRE ORIGINAL MAUPASSANT SHORT STORIES
by Guy de Maupassant
GUY DE MAUPASSANT
ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES
Translated by
ALBERT M. C. McMASTER, B.A.
A. E. HENDERSON, B.A.
MME. QUESADA and Others
CONTENTS OF THE 13 VOLUMES (180 Stories)
VOLUME I.
GUY DE MAUPASSANT--A STUDY BY POL. NEVEUX
BOULE DE SUIF
TWO FRIENDS
THE LANCER'S WIFE
THE PRISONERS
TWO LITTLE SOLDIERS
FATHER MILON
A COUP D'ETAT
LIEUTENANT LARE'S MARRIAGE
THE HORRIBLE
MADAME PARISSE
MADEMOISELLE FIFI
A DUEL
VOLUME II.
THE COLONEL'S IDEAS
MOTHER SAUVAGE
EPIPHANY
THE MUSTACHE
MADAME BAPTISTE
THE QUESTION OF LATIN
A MEETING
THE BLIND MAN
INDISCRETION
A FAMILY AFFAIR
BESIDE SCHOPENHAUER'S CORPSE
VOLUME III.
MISS HARRIET
LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE
THE DONKEY
MOIRON
THE DISPENSER OF HOLY WATER
THE PARRICIDE
BERTHA
THE PATRON
THE DOOR
A SALE
THE IMPOLITE SEX
A WEDDING GIFT
THE RELIC
VOLUME IV.
THE MORIBUND
THE GAMEKEEPER
THE STORY OF A FARM GIRL
THE WRECK
THEODULE SABOT'S CONFESSION
THE WRONG HOUSE
THE DIAMOND NECKLACE
THE MARQUIS DE FUMEROL
THE TRIP OF THE HORLA
FAREWELL
THE WOLF
THE INN
VOLUME V.
MONSIEUR PARENT
QUEEN HORTENSE
TIMBUCTOO
TOMBSTONES
MADEMOISELLE PEARL
THE THIEF
CLAIR DE LUNE
WAITER, A "BOCK"
AFTER
FORGIVENESS
IN THE SPRING
A QUEER NIGHT IN PARIS
VOLUME VI.
THAT COSTLY RIDE
USELESS BEAUTY
THE FATHER
MY UNCLE SOSTHENES
THE BARONESS
MOTHER AND SON
THE HAND
A TRESS OF HAIR
ON THE RIVER
THE <DW36>
A STROLL
ALEXANDRE
THE LOG
JULIE ROMAINE
THE RONDOLI SISTERS
VOLUME VII.
THE FALSE GEMS
FASCINATION
YVETTE SAMORIS
A VENDETTA
MY TWENTY-FIVE DAYS
"THE TERROR"
LEGEND OF M | 870.932774 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND. _See page 136_]
ROGER DAVIS
LOYALIST
BY
FRANK BAIRD
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
Toronto
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE OUTBREAK
II. AMONG ENEMIES
III. MADE PRISONER
IV. PRISON EXPERIENCES
V. THE TRIAL AND ESCAPE
VI. KING OR PEOPLE?
VII. THE DIE CAST
VIII. OFF TO NOVA SCOTIA
IX. IN THE 'TRUE NORTH'
X. THE TREATY
XI. HOME-MAKING BEGUN
XII. FACING THE FUTURE
XIII. THE GOVERNOR'S PERIL
XIV. VICTORY AND REWARD
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND......... _Frontispiece_
SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR
'THAT MAN,' I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,'
WHO SAT PALE AND SHIVERING
'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA,' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP
Roger Davis, Loyalist
Chapter I
The Outbreak
It was Duncan Hale, the schoolmaster, who first brought us the news.
When he was half-way from the gate to the house, my mother met him. He
bowed very low to her, and then, standing with his head uncovered--from
my position in the hall--I heard him distinctly say, 'Your husband,
madam, has been killed, and the British who went out to Lexington under
Lord Percy have been forced to retreat into Boston, with a loss of two
hundred and seventy-three officers and men.'
The schoolmaster bowed again, one of those fine, sweeping, old-world
bows which he had lately been teaching me with some impatience, I
thought; then without further speech he moved toward the little gate.
But I had caught a look of keen anxiety on his face as he addressed my
mother. Once outside the garden, he stooped forward, and, breaking
into a run, crouching as he went as though afraid of being seen, he
soon disappeared around a turn in the road.
My mother stood without speaking or moving for some moments. The birds
in the blossom-shrouded trees of the garden were shrieking and
chattering in the flood of April sunlight; I felt a draught of perfumed
air draw into the hall. Then a mist that had been heavy all the
morning on the Charles River, suddenly faded into the blue, and I could
see clearly over to Boston, three miles away.
I shall not soon forget the look on my mother's face as she turned and
came toward me. I have wondered since if it were not born of a high
resolve then made, to be put into effect later. She was not in tears
as I thought she would be. There were no signs of grief on her face,
but instead her whole countenance seemed illuminated with a strangely
noble look. I was puzzled at this; but when I remembered that my
mother was the daughter of an English officer who was killed while
serving under Wolfe at Quebec, I understood.
In a firm voice she repeated to me the words I had already heard, then
she passed up the stairs. In a few moments I heard her telling my two
sisters Caroline and Elizabeth--they were both younger than
myself--that it was time to get up. After that I heard my mother go to
her own room and shut the door. In the silence that followed this I
fell to thinking.
Was my father really dead? Could it be that the British had been
repulsed? Duncan Hale had been telling me for weeks that war was
coming, but I had not thought his prophecy would be fulfilled. Now I
understood why he had come so often to visit my father; and why, during
the past month, he had seemed so absent-minded in school. My
preparation for going to Oxford in the autumn, over which he had been
so enthusiastic, appeared to have been completely pushed out of his
mind. I had once overheard my father caution him to keep his visits to
Lord Percy strictly secret. I was wondering if the part he had played
might have any ill consequences for him and for us, when my mother's
footsteps sounded on the stairs. She came at once to where I had been
standing for some moments, caught me in her arms, and, without
speaking, held me close for a moment, and then pressed a kiss on my
forehead.
'Go, Roger,' she said, 'and find Peter and Dora. Bring them to the
library, and wait there till I come with your sisters.'
I was turning to obey, when I caught a glimpse through the hall doorway
of two rebel soldiers galloping up. They had evidently come from
Boston. At sight of my mother, one of them addressed her with an
unmannerly shout that sent the blood pulsing up to my cheeks in anger.
What my mother had been thinking I did not know; but from that moment a
great passion seized me. That shout which almost maddened me, had, I
can see in looking back over it all, much to do in making me a
Loyalist, and in sending me to Canada.
The soldiers looked in somewhat critically, but passed. They were
rough looking men, poorly mounted and badly dressed. My mother
withdrew from the doorway and went upstairs, as I proceeded to seek out
our two faithful <DW52> servants. I delivered to each the bare
message given me by my mother, and returned at once to the library.
Everything in the room suggested my father. On his desk lay an
unfinished letter to my brother, who had enlisted in the King's forces
some six months before. I had read but a few lines of this when the
door opened, and my mother entered with Caroline and Elizabeth. In a
moment I saw that the spirit of my mother had passed on to my sisters.
I was sure they knew the worst; and although I could see Caroline
struggle with her feelings, both girls maintained a brave and sensible
silence. A moment later Peter and Dora entered, each wide-eyed and
apprehensive, but still ignorant of the great calamity that had now
befallen our recently happy household.
The east window of the library looked toward Boston. To this my mother
went, and stood looking out for some time; then she turned and began to
speak.
'Your master,' she said, addressing Peter and Dora, 'has been killed.
We are here to make plans for the future.'
Dora threw up both hands, giving a little shriek as she did so. Peter
lifted his great eyes to the ceiling, and slid to his knees; a little
later he pressed his hands hard over his heart as though to prevent it
from beating its way through. He found relief in swaying backward and
forward, and uttering a long, low moan, which finally shaped into,
'Poor Massa killed.' He kept repeating this, until we were all on the
point of giving way to our smothered emotion. But my mother's voice
recalled us.
'What are we to do, Roger?' she said.
Instantly the thought of a new and great responsibility flashed upon
me. Was my mother to relinquish the leadership? Did her question mean
that I was to step at once into the place of my fallen father? Had she
forgotten that I was but sixteen? I glanced at my sisters, but I found
I could not look long upon them in their helplessness, and retain my
self-control.
With a hurried glance at the servants, who now sobbed audibly in spite
of all efforts at suppression of grief | 871.373157 |
2023-11-16 18:31:35.7942990 | 1,377 | 28 | Project Gutenberg's Mohammed Ali and His House, by Louise Muhlbach
Translated from German by Chapman Coleman.
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Title: Mohammed Ali and His House
Author: Louise Muhlbach
Author: Luise Muhlbach
Author: Luise von Muhlbach
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HELEN'S BABIES
With some account of their ways, innocent, crafty, angelic, impish,
witching and impulsive; also a partial record of their actions during
ten days of their existence
By JOHN HABBERTON
The first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of
this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only
married sister, and received by me, Harry Burton, salesman of white
goods, bachelor, aged twenty-eight, and received just as I was trying
to decide where I should Spend a fortnight's vacation:--
"HILLCREST, June 15, 1875.
"DEAR HARRY:--Remembering that you are always complaining that you
never have a chance to read, and knowing that you won't get it this
summer, if you spend your vacation among people of your own set, I
write to ask you to come up here. I admit that I am not wholly
disinterested in inviting you. The truth is, Tom and I are invited to
spend a fortnight with my old schoolmate, Alice Wayne, who, you know,
is the dearest girl in the world, though you DIDN'T obey me and marry
her before Frank Wayne appeared. Well, we're dying to go, for Alice and
Frank live in splendid style; but as they haven't included our children
in their invitation, and have no children of their own, we must leave
Budge and Toddie at home. I've no doubt they'll be perfectly safe, for
my girl is a jewel, and devoted to the children, but I would feel a
great deal easier if there was a man in the house. Besides, there's the
silver, and burglars are less likely to break into a house where
there's a savage-looking man. (Never mind about thanking me for the
compliment.) If YOU'LL only come up, my mind will be completely at
rest. The children won't give you the slightest trouble; they're the
best children in the world--everybody says so.
"Tom has plenty of cigars, I know, for the money I should have had for
a new suit went to pay his cigar-man. He has some new claret, too, that
HE goes into ecstasies over, though _I_ can't tell it from the vilest
black ink, except by the color. Our horses are in splendid condition,
and so is the garden--you see I don't forget your old passion for
flowers. And, last and best, there never were so many handsome girls at
Hillcrest as there are among the summer boarders already here; the
girls you already are acquainted with here will see that you meet all
the newer acquisitions.
"Reply by telegraph right away.
"Of course you'll say 'Yes.'
"In great haste, your loving
"SISTER HELEN.
P. S. You shall have our own chamber; it catches every breeze, and
commands the finest views. The children's room communicates with it;
so, if anything SHOULD happen to the darlings at night, you'd be sure
to hear them."
"Just the thing!" I ejaculated. Five minutes later I had telegraphed
Helen my acceptance of her invitation, and had mentally selected books
enough to busy me during a dozen vacations. Without sharing Helen's
belief that her boys were the best ones in the world, I knew them well
enough to feel assured that they would not give me any annoyance. There
were two of them, since Baby Phil died last fall; Budge, the elder, was
five years of age, and had generally, during my flying visits to Helen,
worn a shy, serious, meditative, noble face, with great, pure,
penetrating eyes, that made me almost fear their stare. Tom declared he
was a born philanthropist or prophet, and Helen made so free with Miss
Muloch's lines as to sing:--
"Ah, the day that THOU goest a-wooing,
Budgie, my boy!"
Toddie had seen but three summers, and was a happy little know-nothing,
with a head full of tangled yellow hair, and a very pretty fancy for
finding out sunbeams and dancing in them. I had long envied Tom his
horses, his garden, his house and his location, and the idea of
controlling them for a fortnight was particularly delightful. Tom's
taste in cigars and claret I had always respected, while the lady
inhabitants of Hillcrest were, according to my memory, much like those
of every other suburban village, the fairest of their sex.
Three days later I made the hour and a half trip between New York and
Hillcrest, and hired a hackman to drive me over to Tom's. Half a mile
from my brother-in-law's residence, our horses shied violently, and the
driver, after talking freely to them, turned to me and remarked:--
"That was one of the 'Imps.'"
"What was?" I asked.
"That little cuss that scared the hosses. There he is, now, holdin' up
that piece of brushwood. 'Twould be just like his cheek, now, to ask me
to let him ride. Here he comes, runnin'. Wonder where t'other is?--they
most generally travel together. We call 'em the Imps, about these
parts, because they're so uncommon likely at mischief. Always skeerin'
hosses, or chasin' cows, or frightenin' chickens. Nice enough father
an' mother, too--queer, how young ones do turn out."
As he spoke, the offending youth came panting beside our carriage, and
in a very dirty sailor-suit, and under a broad-brimmed straw hat, with
one stocking about his ankle, and two shoes, averaging about two
buttons each, I recognized my nephew, Budge! About the same time there
emerged from the bushes by the roadside a smaller boy in a green
gingham dress, a ruffle which might once have been white, dirty
stockings, blue slippers worn through at the toes, and an old-fashioned
straw-turban. Thrusting into the dust of the road a branch from a bush,
and shouting, "Here's my grass-cutter!" he ran toward us enveloped in a
"pillar of cloud," which might have served the purpose of Israel in
Egypt. When he paused and the dust had somewhat subsided, I beheld the
unmistakable lineaments of the child Toddie!
"They're--my nephews," I gasped.
"What!" exclaimed the driver. "By gracious! I forgot you were going to
Colonel Lawrence's! I didn't tell anything but the truth about 'em,
though; they're smart enough, an' good enough, as boys go; but they'll
never die of the complaint that children has in Sunday-school books."
"Budge," said I, with all the sternness I could command, "do you know
me?"
The searching eyes of the embryo prophet and philanthropist scanned me
for a moment, then their owner replied:--
"Yes; you're Uncle Harry. Did you bring us anything?"
"Bring us anything?" echoed Toddie.
"I wish I could have brought you some big whippings," said I, with
great severity of manner, "for behaving so badly. Get into this
carriage."
"Come on, Tod," shouted Budge, although Toddie's farther ear was not a
yard from Budge's mouth. "Uncle Harry's going to take us riding!"
"Going to take us riding!" echoed Toddie, with the air of one in a
reverie; both the echo and the reverie I soon learned were
characteristics of Toddie.
As they clambered into the carriage I noticed that each one carried a
very dirty towel, knotted in the center into what is known as a
slip-noose knot, drawn very tight. After some moments of disgusted
contemplation of these rags, without being in the least able to
comprehend their purpose, I asked Budge what those towels were for.
"They're not towels--they're dollies," promptly answered my nephew.
"Goodness!" I exclaimed. "I should think your mother could buy you
respectable dolls, and not let you appear in public with those
loathsome rags."
"We don't like buyed dollies," explained Budge. "These dollies is
lovely; mine's name is Mary, an' Toddie's is Marfa."
"Marfa?" I queried.
"Yes; don't you know about
"Marfa and Mary's jus' gone along
To ring dem charmin' bells,
that them Jubilee sings about?"
"Oh, Martha, you mean?"
"Yes, Marfa--that's what I say. Toddie's dolly's got brown eyes, an' my
dolly's got blue eyes."
"I want to shee yours watch," remarked Toddie, snatching at my chain,
and rolling into my lap.
"Oh--oo--ee, so do I," shouted Budge, hastening to occupy one knee, and
IN TRANSITU wiping his shoes on my trousers and the skirts of my coat.
Each imp put an arm about me to steady himself, as I produced my
three-hundred-dollar time-keeper and showed them the dial.
"I want to see the wheels go round," said Budge.
"Want to shee wheels go wound," echoed Toddie.
"No; I can't open my watch where there's so much dust," I said.
"What for?" inquired Budge.
"Want to shee the wheels go wound," repeated Toddie.
"The dust gets inside the watch and spoils it," I explained.
"Want to shee the wheels go wound," said Toddie, once more.
"I tell you I can't, Toddie," said I, with considerable asperity. "Dust
spoils watches."
The innocent gray eyes looked up wonderingly, the dirty, but pretty
lips parted slightly, and Toddie murmured:--
"Want to shee the wheels go wound."
I abruptly closed my watch and put it into my pocket. Instantly
Toddie's lower lip commenced to turn outward, and continued to do so
until I seriously feared the bony portion of his chin would be exposed
to view. Then his lower jaw dropped, and he cried:--
"Ah--h--h--h--h--h--want--to--shee--the wheels--go wou--OUND."
"Charles" (Charles is his baptismal name),--"Charles," I exclaimed with
some anger, "stop that noise this instant! Do you hear me?"
"Yes--oo--oo--oo--ahoo--ahoo."
"Then stop it."
"Wants to shee--"
"Toddie, I've got some candy in my trunk, but I won't give you a bit if
you don't stop that infernal noise."
"Well, I wants to shee wheels go wound. Ah--ah--h--h--h--h!"
"Toddie, dear, don't cry so. Here's some ladies coming in a carriage;
you wouldn't let THEM see you crying, would you? You shall see the
wheels go round as soon as we get home."
A carriage containing a couple of ladies was rapidly approaching, as
Toddie again raised his voice.
"Ah--h--h--wants to shee wheels--"
Madly I snatched my watch from my pocket, opened the case, and exposed
the works to view. The other carriage was meeting ours, and I dropped
my head to avoid meeting the glance of the unknown occupants, for my
few moments of contact with my dreadful nephews had made me feel
inexpressibly unneat. Suddenly the carriage with the ladies stopped. I
heard my own name spoken, and raising my head quickly (encountering
Budge's bullet head EN ROUTE to the serious disarrangement of my hat),
I looked into the other carriage. There, erect, fresh, neat, composed,
bright-eyed, fair-faced, smiling and observant,--she would have been
all this, even if the angel of the resurrection had just sounded his
dreadful trump,--sat Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who, for about a year, I
had been adoring from afar.
"When did YOU arrive, Mr. Burton?" she asked, "and how long have you
been officiating as child's companion? You're certainly a happy-looking
trio--so unconventional. I hate to see children all dressed up and
stiff as little manikins, when they go out to ride. And you look as if
you had been having SUCH a good time with them."
"I--I assure you, Miss Mayton," said I, "that my experience has been
the exact reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive I'd
volunteer as an executioner, and engage to deliver two interesting
corpses at a moment's notice."
"You dreadful wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "Mother, let me make you
acquainted with Mr. Burton,--Helen Lawrence's brother. How is your
sister, Mr. Burton?"
"I don't know," I replied; "she has gone with her husband on a
fortnight's visit to Captain and Mrs. Wayne, and I've been silly enough
to promise to have an eye to the place while they're away."
"Why, how delightful!" exclaimed Miss Mayton. "SUCH horses! SUCH
flowers! SUCH a cook!"
"And such children," said I, glaring suggestively at the imps, and
rescuing from Toddie a handkerchief which he had extracted from my
pocket, and was waving to the breeze.
"Why, they're the best children in the world. Helen told me so the
first time I met her this season! Children will be children, you know.
We had three little cousins with us last summer, and I'm sure they made
me look years older than I really am."
"How young you must be, then, Miss Mayton!" said I. I suppose I looked
at her as if I meant what I said, for, although she inclined her head
and said, "Oh, thank you," she didn't seem to turn my compliment off in
her usual invulnerable style. Nothing happening in the course of
conversation ever discomposed Alice Mayton for more than a hundred
seconds, however, so she soon recovered her usual expression and
self-command, as her next remark fully indicated.
"I believe you arranged the floral decorations at the St. Zephaniah's
Fair, last winter, Mr. Burton? 'Twas the most tasteful display of the
season. I don't wish to give any hints, but at Mrs. Clarkson's, where
we're boarding, there's not a flower in the whole garden. I break the
Tenth Commandment dreadfully every time I pass Colonel Lawrence's
garden. Good-by, Mr. Burton."
"Ah, thank you; I shall be delighted. Good-by."
"Of course you'll call," said Miss Mayton, as her carriage
started,--"it's dreadfully stupid here--no men except on Sundays."
I bowed assent. In the contemplation of all the shy possibilities which
my short chat with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my
dusty clothing and the two living causes thereof. While in Miss
Mayton's presence the imps had preserved perfect silence, but now their
tongues were loosened.
"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "do you know how to make whistles?"
"Ucken Hawwy," murmured Toddie, "does you love dat lady?"
"No, Toddie, of course not."
"Then you's baddy man, an' de Lord won't let you go to heaven if you
don't love peoples."
"Yes, Budge," I answered hastily, "I do know how to make whistles, and
you shall have one."
"Lord don't like mans what don't love peoples," reiterated Toddie.
"All right, Toddie," said I. "I'll see if I can't please the Lord some
way. Driver, whip up, won't you? I'm in a hurry to turn these
youngsters over to the girl, and ask her to drop them into the
bath-tub."
I found Helen had made every possible arrangement for my comfort. Her
room commanded exquisite views of mountain-<DW72> and valley, and even
the fact that the imps' bedroom adjoined mine gave me comfort, for I
thought of the pleasure of contemplating them while they were asleep,
and beyond the power of tormenting their deluded uncle.
At the supper-table Budge and Toddie appeared cleanly clothed in their
rightful faces. Budge seated himself at the table; Toddie pushed back
his high-chair, climbed into it, and shouted:
"Put my legs under ze tabo."
Rightfully construing this remark as a request to be moved to the
table, I fulfilled his desire. The girl poured tea for me and milk for
the children, and retired; and then I remembered, to my dismay, that
Helen never had a servant in the dining-room except upon grand
occasions, her idea being that servants retail to their friends the
cream of the private conversation of the | 871.815526 |
2023-11-16 18:31:36.0053410 | 189 | 12 | 6)***
E-text prepared by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/pastonlettersad04gairuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43348
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40989
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41024
Volume V: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42239
Volume VI, Part 1 (Letters, Chronological Table): see http://www | 872.025381 |
2023-11-16 18:31:36.0999580 | 7,435 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
APRIL & MAY
1664
April 1st. Up and to my office, where busy till noon, and then to the
'Change, where I found all the merchants concerned with the presenting
their complaints to the Committee of Parliament appointed to receive them
this afternoon against the Dutch. So home to dinner, and thence by coach,
setting my wife down at the New Exchange, I to White Hall; and coming too
soon for the Tangier Committee walked to Mr. Blagrave for a song. I left
long ago there, and here I spoke with his kinswoman, he not being within,
but did not hear her sing, being not enough acquainted with her, but would
be glad to have her, to come and be at my house a week now and then. Back
to White Hall, and in the Gallery met the Duke of Yorke (I also saw the
Queene going to the Parke, and her Mayds of Honour: she herself looks ill,
and methinks Mrs. Stewart is grown fatter, and not so fair as she was);
and he called me to him, and discoursed a good while with me; and after he
was gone, twice or thrice staid and called me again to him, the whole
length of the house: and at last talked of the Dutch; and I perceive do
much wish that the Parliament will find reason to fall out with them. He
gone, I by and by found that the Committee of Tangier met at the Duke of
Albemarle's, and so I have lost my labour. So with Creed to the 'Change,
and there took up my wife and left him, and we two home, and I to walk in
the garden with W. Howe, whom we took up, he having been to see us, he
tells me how Creed has been questioned before the Council about a letter
that has been met with, wherein he is mentioned by some fanatiques as a
serviceable friend to them, but he says he acquitted himself well in it,
but, however, something sticks against him, he says, with my Lord, at
which I am not very sorry, for I believe he is a false fellow. I walked
with him to Paul's, he telling me how my Lord is little at home, minds his
carding and little else, takes little notice of any body; but that he do
not think he is displeased, as I fear, with me, but is strange to all,
which makes me the less troubled. So walked back home, and late at the
office. So home and to bed. This day Mrs. Turner did lend me, as a
rarity, a manuscript of one Mr. Wells, writ long ago, teaching the method
of building a ship, which pleases me mightily. I was at it to-night, but
durst not stay long at it, I being come to have a great pain and water in
my eyes after candle-light.
2nd. Up and to my office, and afterwards sat, where great contest with
Sir W. Batten and Mr. Wood, and that doating fool Sir J. Minnes, that says
whatever Sir W. Batten says, though never minding whether to the King's
profit or not. At noon to the Coffee-house, where excellent discourse
with Sir W. Petty, who proposed it as a thing that is truly questionable,
whether there really be any difference between waking and dreaming, that
it is hard not only to tell how we know when we do a thing really or in a
dream, but also to know what the difference [is] between one and the
other. Thence to the 'Change, but having at this discourse long
afterwards with Sir Thomas Chamberlin, who tells me what I heard from
others, that the complaints of most Companies were yesterday presented to
the Committee of Parliament against the Dutch, excepting that of the East
India, which he tells me was because they would not be said to be the
first and only cause of a warr with Holland, and that it is very probable,
as well as most necessary, that we fall out with that people. I went to
the 'Change, and there found most people gone, and so home to dinner, and
thence to Sir W. Warren's, and with him past the whole afternoon, first
looking over two ships' of Captain Taylor's and Phin. Pett's now in
building, and am resolved to learn something of the art, for I find it is
not hard and very usefull, and thence to Woolwich, and after seeing Mr.
Falconer, who is very ill, I to the yard, and there heard Mr. Pett tell me
several things of Sir W. Batten's ill managements, and so with Sir W.
Warren walked to Greenwich, having good discourse, and thence by water, it
being now moonshine and 9 or 10 o'clock at night, and landed at Wapping,
and by him and his man safely brought to my door, and so he home, having
spent the day with him very well. So home and eat something, and then to
my office a while, and so home to prayers and to bed.
3rd (Lord's day). Being weary last night lay long, and called up by W.
Joyce. So I rose, and his business was to ask advice of me, he being
summonsed to the House of Lords to-morrow, for endeavouring to arrest my
Lady Peters
[Elizabeth, daughter of John Savage, second Earl Rivers, and first
wife to William, fourth Lord Petre, who was, in 1678, impeached by
the Commons of high treason, and died under confinement in the
Tower, January 5th, 1683, s. p.--B.]
for a debt. I did give him advice, and will assist him. He staid all the
morning, but would not dine with me. So to my office and did business.
At noon home to dinner, and being set with my wife in the kitchen my
father comes and sat down there and dined with us. After dinner gives me
an account of what he had done in his business of his house and goods,
which is almost finished, and he the next week expects to be going down to
Brampton again, which I am glad of because I fear the children of my Lord
that are there for fear of any discontent. He being gone I to my office,
and there very busy setting papers in order till late at night, only in
the afternoon my wife sent for me home, to see her new laced gowne, that
is her gown that is new laced; and indeed it becomes her very nobly, and
is well made. I am much pleased with it. At night to supper, prayers,
and to bed.
4th. Up, and walked to my Lord Sandwich's; and there spoke with him about
W. Joyce, who told me he would do what was fit in so tender a point. I
can yet discern a coldness in him to admit me to any discourse with him.
Thence to Westminster, to the Painted Chamber, and there met the two
Joyces. Will in a very melancholy taking. After a little discourse I to
the Lords' House before they sat; and stood within it a good while, while
the Duke of York came to me and spoke to me a good while about the new
ship' at Woolwich. Afterwards I spoke with my Lord Barkeley and my Lord
Peterborough about it. And so staid without a good while, and saw my Lady
Peters, an impudent jade, soliciting all the Lords on her behalf. And at
last W. Joyce was called in; and by the consequences, and what my Lord
Peterborough told me, I find that he did speak all he said to his
disadvantage, and so was committed to the Black Rod: which is very hard,
he doing what he did by the advice of my Lord Peters' own steward. But
the Sergeant of the Black Rod did direct one of his messengers to take him
in custody, and so he was peaceably conducted to the Swan with two Necks,
in Tuttle Street, to a handsome dining-room; and there was most civilly
used, my uncle Fenner, and his brother Anthony, and some other friends
being with him. But who would have thought that the fellow that I should
have sworn could have spoken before all the world should in this be so
daunted, as not to know what he said, and now to cry like a child. I
protest, it is very strange to observe. I left them providing for his stay
there to-night and getting a petition against tomorrow, and so away to
Westminster Hall, and meeting Mr. Coventry, he took me to his chamber,
with Sir William Hickeman, a member of their House, and a very civill
gentleman. Here we dined very plentifully, and thence to White Hall to
the Duke's, where we all met, and after some discourse of the condition of
the Fleete, in order to a Dutch warr, for that, I perceive, the Duke hath
a mind it should come to, we away to the office, where we sat, and I took
care to rise betimes, and so by water to Halfway House, talking all the
way good discourse with Mr. Wayth, and there found my wife, who was gone
with her mayd Besse to have a walk. But, Lord! how my jealous mind did
make me suspect that she might have some appointment to meet somebody.
But I found the poor souls coming away thence, so I took them back, and
eat and drank, and then home, and after at the office a while, I home to
supper and to bed. It was a sad sight, me thought, to-day to see my Lord
Peters coming out of the House fall out with his lady (from whom he is
parted) about this business; saying that she disgraced him. But she hath
been a handsome woman, and is, it seems, not only a lewd woman, but very
high-spirited.
5th. Up very betimes, and walked to my cozen Anthony Joyce's, and thence
with him to his brother Will, in Tuttle Street, where I find him pretty
cheery over [what] he was yesterday (like a coxcomb), his wife being come
to him, and having had his boy with him last night. Here I staid an hour
or two and wrote over a fresh petition, that which was drawn by their
solicitor not pleasing me, and thence to the Painted chamber, and by and
by away by coach to my Lord Peterborough's, and there delivered the
petition into his hand, which he promised most readily to deliver to the
House today. Thence back, and there spoke to several Lords, and so did
his solicitor (one that W. Joyce hath promised L5 to if he be released).
Lord Peterborough presented a petition to the House from W. Joyce: and a
great dispute, we hear, there was in the House for and against it. At
last it was carried that he should be bayled till the House meets again
after Easter, he giving bond for his appearance. This was not so good as
we hoped, but as good as we could well expect. Anon comes the King and
passed the Bill for repealing the Triennial Act, and another about Writs
of Errour. I crowded in and heard the King's speech to them; but he
speaks the worst that ever I heard man in my life worse than if he read it
all, and he had it in writing in his hand. Thence, after the House was
up, and I inquired what the order of the House was, I to W. Joyce,' with
his brother, and told them all. Here was Kate come, and is a comely fat
woman. I would not stay dinner, thinking to go home to dinner, and did go
by water as far as the bridge, but thinking that they would take it kindly
my being there, to be bayled for him if there was need, I returned, but
finding them gone out to look after it, only Will and his wife and sister
left and some friends that came to visit him, I to Westminster Hall, and
by and by by agreement to Mrs. Lane's lodging, whither I sent for a
lobster, and with Mr. Swayne and his wife eat it, and argued before them
mightily for Hawly, but all would not do, although I made her angry by
calling her old, and making her know what herself is. Her body was out of
temper for any dalliance, and so after staying there 3 or 4 hours, but yet
taking care to have my oath safe of not staying a quarter of an hour
together with her, I went to W. Joyce, where I find the order come, and
bayle (his father and brother) given; and he paying his fees, which come
to above L2, besides L5 he is to give one man, and his charges of eating
and drinking here, and 10s. a-day as many days as he stands under bayle:
which, I hope, will teach him hereafter to hold his tongue better than he
used to do. Thence with Anth. Joyce's wife alone home talking of Will's
folly, and having set her down, home myself, where I find my wife dressed
as if she had been abroad, but I think she was not, but she answering me
some way that I did not like I pulled her by the nose, indeed to offend
her, though afterwards to appease her I denied it, but only it was done in
haste. The poor wretch took it mighty ill, and I believe besides wringing
her nose she did feel pain, and so cried a great while, but by and by I
made her friends, and so after supper to my office a while, and then home
to bed. This day great numbers of merchants came to a Grand Committee of
the House to bring in their claims against the Dutch. I pray God guide
the issue to our good!
6th. Up and to my office, whither by and by came John Noble, my father's
old servant, to speake with me. I smelling the business, took him home;
and there, all alone, he told me how he had been serviceable to my brother
Tom, in the business of his getting his servant, an ugly jade, Margaret,
with child. She was brought to bed in St. Sepulchre's parish of two
children; one is dead, the other is alive; her name Elizabeth, and goes by
the name of Taylor, daughter to John Taylor. It seems Tom did a great
while trust one Crawly with the business, who daily got money of him; and
at last, finding himself abused, he broke the matter to J. Noble, upon a
vowe of secresy. Tom's first plott was to go on the other side the water
and give a beggar woman something to take the child. They did once go,
but did nothing, J. Noble saying that seven years hence the mother might
come to demand the child and force him to produce it, or to be suspected
of murder. Then I think it was that they consulted, and got one Cave, a
poor pensioner in St. Bride's parish to take it, giving him L5, he thereby
promising to keepe it for ever without more charge to them. The parish
hereupon indite the man Cave for bringing this child upon the parish, and
by Sir Richard Browne he is sent to the Counter. Cave thence writes to Tom
to get him out. Tom answers him in a letter of his owne hand, which J.
Noble shewed me, but not signed by him, wherein he speaks of freeing him
and getting security for him, but nothing as to the business of the child,
or anything like it: so that forasmuch as I could guess, there is nothing
therein to my brother's prejudice as to the main point, and therefore I
did not labour to tear or take away the paper. Cave being released,
demands L5 more to secure my brother for ever against the child; and he
was forced to give it him and took bond of Cave in L100, made at a
scrivener's, one Hudson, I think, in the Old Bayly, to secure John Taylor,
and his assigns, &c. (in consideration of L10 paid him), from all
trouble, or charge of meat, drink, clothes, and breeding of Elizabeth
Taylor; and it seems, in the doing of it, J. Noble was looked upon as the
assignee of this John Taylor. Noble says that he furnished Tom with this
money, and is also bound by another bond to pay him 20s. more this next
Easter Monday; but nothing for either sum appears under Tom's hand. I
told him how I am like to lose a great sum by his death, and would not pay
any more myself, but I would speake to my father about it against the
afternoon. So away he went, and I all the morning in my office busy, and
at noon home to dinner mightily oppressed with wind, and after dinner took
coach and to Paternoster Row, and there bought a pretty silke for a
petticoate for my wife, and thence set her down at the New Exchange, and I
leaving the coat at Unthanke's, went to White Hall, but the Councell
meeting at Worcester House I went thither, and there delivered to the Duke
of Albemarle a paper touching some Tangier business, and thence to the
'Change for my wife, and walked to my father's, who was packing up some
things for the country. I took him up and told him this business of Tom,
at which the poor wretch was much troubled, and desired me that I would
speak with J. Noble, and do what I could and thought fit in it without
concerning him in it. So I went to Noble, and saw the bond that Cave did
give and also Tom's letter that I mentioned above, and upon the whole I
think some shame may come, but that it will be hard from any thing I see
there to prove the child to be his. Thence to my father and told what I
had done, and how I had quieted Noble by telling him that, though we are
resolved to part with no more money out of our own purses, yet if he can
make it appear a true debt that it may be justifiable for us to pay it, we
will do our part to get it paid, and said that I would have it paid before
my own debt. So my father and I both a little satisfied, though vexed to
think what a rogue my brother was in all respects. I took my wife by
coach home, and to my office, where late with Sir W. Warren, and so home
to supper and to bed. I heard to-day that the Dutch have begun with us by
granting letters of marke against us; but I believe it not.
7th. Up and to my office, where busy, and by and by comes Sir W. Warren
and old Mr. Bond in order to the resolving me some questions about masts
and their proportions, but he could say little to me to my satisfaction,
and so I held him not long but parted. So to my office busy till noon and
then to the 'Change, where high talke of the Dutch's protest against our
Royall Company in Guinny, and their granting letters of marke against us
there, and every body expects a warr, but I hope it will not yet be so,
nor that this is true. Thence to dinner, where my wife got me a pleasant
French fricassee of veal for dinner, and thence to the office, where vexed
to see how Sir W. Batten ordered things this afternoon (vide my office
book, for about this time I have begun, my notions and informations
encreasing now greatly every day, to enter all occurrences extraordinary
in my office in a book by themselves), and so in the evening after long
discourse and eased my mind by discourse with Sir W. Warren, I to my
business late, and so home to supper and to bed.
8th. Up betimes and to the office, and anon, it begunn to be fair after a
great shower this morning, Sir W. Batten and I by water (calling his son
Castle by the way, between whom and I no notice at all of his letter the
other day to me) to Deptford, and after a turn in the yard, I went with
him to the Almes'-house to see the new building which he, with some
ambition, is building of there, during his being Master of Trinity House;
and a good worke it is, but to see how simply he answered somebody
concerning setting up the arms of the corporation upon the door, that and
any thing else he did not deny it, but said he would leave that to the
master that comes after him. There I left him and to the King's yard
again, and there made good inquiry into the business of the poop lanterns,
wherein I found occasion to correct myself mightily for what I have done
in the contract with the platerer, and am resolved, though I know not how,
to make them to alter it, though they signed it last night, and so I took
Stanes
[Among the State Papers is a petition of Thomas Staine to the Navy
Commissioners "for employment as plateworker in one or two
dockyards. Has incurred ill-will by discovering abuses in the great
rates given by the king for several things in the said trade. Begs
the appointment, whereby it will be seen who does the work best and
cheapest, otherwise he and all others will be discouraged from
discovering abuses in future, with order thereon for a share of the
work to be given to him" ("Calendar," Domestic, 1663-64, p. 395)]
home with me by boat and discoursed it, and he will come to reason when I
can make him to understand it. No sooner landed but it fell a mighty
storm of rain and hail, so I put into a cane shop and bought one to walk
with, cost me 4s. 6d., all of one joint. So home to dinner, and had an
excellent Good Friday dinner of peas porridge and apple pye. So to the
office all the afternoon preparing a new book for my contracts, and this
afternoon come home the office globes done to my great content. In the
evening a little to visit Sir W. Pen, who hath a feeling this day or two
of his old pain. Then to walk in the garden with my wife, and so to my
office a while, and then home to the only Lenten supper I have had of
wiggs--[Buns or teacakes.]--and ale, and so to bed. This morning betimes
came to my office to me boatswain Smith of Woolwich, telling me a notable
piece of knavery of the officers of the yard and Mr. Gold in behalf of a
contract made for some old ropes by Mr. Wood, and I believe I shall find
Sir W. Batten of the plot (vide my office daybook).
[These note-books referred to in the Diary are not known to exist
now.]
9th. The last night, whether it was from cold I got to-day upon the water
I know not, or whether it was from my mind being over concerned with
Stanes's business of the platery of the navy, for my minds was mighty
troubled with the business all night long, I did wake about one o'clock in
the morning, a thing I most rarely do, and pissed a little with great
pain, continued sleepy, but in a high fever all night, fiery hot, and in
some pain. Towards morning I slept a little and waking found myself
better, but. . . . with some pain, and rose I confess with my clothes
sweating, and it was somewhat cold too, which I believe might do me more
hurt, for I continued cold and apt to shake all the morning, but that some
trouble with Sir J. Minnes and Sir W. Batten kept me warm. At noon home
to dinner upon tripes, and so though not well abroad with my wife by coach
to her Tailor's and the New Exchange, and thence to my father's and spoke
one word with him, and thence home, where I found myself sick in my
stomach and vomited, which I do not use to do. Then I drank a glass or two
of Hypocras, and to the office to dispatch some business, necessary, and
so home and to bed, and by the help of Mithrydate slept very well.
10th (Lord's day). Lay long in bed, and then up and my wife dressed
herself, it being Easter day, but I not being so well as to go out, she,
though much against her will, staid at home with me; for she had put on
her new best gowns, which indeed is very fine now with the lace; and this
morning her taylor brought home her other new laced silks gowns with a
smaller lace, and new petticoats, I bought the other day both very pretty.
We spent the day in pleasant talks and company one with another, reading
in Dr. Fuller's book what he says of the family of the Cliffords and
Kingsmills, and at night being myself better than I was by taking a
glyster, which did carry away a great deal of wind, I after supper at
night went to bed and slept well.
11th. Lay long talking with my wife, then up and to my chamber preparing
papers against my father comes to lie here for discourse about country
business. Dined well with my wife at home, being myself not yet thorough
well, making water with some pain, but better than I was, and all my fear
of an ague gone away. In the afternoon my father came to see us, and he
gone I up to my morning's work again, and so in the evening a little to
the office and to see Sir W. Batten, who is ill again, and so home to
supper and to bed.
12th. Up, and after my wife had dressed herself very fine in her new
laced gown, and very handsome indeed, W. Howe also coming to see us, I
carried her by coach to my uncle Wight's and set her down there, and W.
Howe and I to the Coffee-house, where we sat talking about getting of him
some place under my Lord of advantage if he should go to sea, and I would
be glad to get him secretary and to out Creed if I can, for he is a crafty
and false rogue. Thence a little to the 'Change, and thence took him to
my uncle Wight's, where dined my father, poor melancholy man, that used to
be as full of life as anybody, and also my aunt's brother, Mr. Sutton, a
merchant in Flanders, a very sober, fine man, and Mr. Cole and his lady;
but, Lord! how I used to adore that man's talke, and now methinks he is
but an ordinary man, his son a pretty boy indeed, but his nose unhappily
awry. Other good company and an indifferent, and but indifferent dinner
for so much company, and after dinner got a coach, very dear, it being
Easter time and very foul weather, to my Lord's, and there visited my
Lady, and leaving my wife there I and W. Howe to Mr. Pagett's, and there
heard some musique not very good, but only one Dr. Walgrave, an Englishman
bred at Rome, who plays the best upon the lute that I ever heard man.
Here I also met Mr. Hill
[Thomas Hill, a man whose taste for music caused him to be a very
acceptable companion to Pepys. In January, 1664-65, he became
assistant to the secretary of the Prize Office.]
the little merchant, and after all was done we sung. I did well enough a
Psalm or two of Lawes; he I perceive has good skill and sings well, and a
friend of his sings a good base. Thence late walked with them two as far
as my Lord's, thinking to take up my wife and carry them home, but there
being no coach to be got away they went, and I staid a great while, it
being very late, about 10 o'clock, before a coach could be got. I found
my Lord and ladies and my wife at supper. My Lord seems very kind. But I
am apt to think still the worst, and that it is only in show, my wife and
Lady being there. So home, and find my father come to lie at our house;
and so supped, and saw him, poor man, to bed, my heart never being fuller
of love to him, nor admiration of his prudence and pains heretofore in the
world than now, to see how Tom hath carried himself in his trade; and how
the poor man hath his thoughts going to provide for his younger children
and my mother. But I hope they shall never want. So myself and wife to
bed.
13th. Though late, past 12, before we went to bed, yet I heard my poor
father up, and so I rang up my people, and I rose and got something to eat
and drink for him, and so abroad, it being a mighty foul day, by coach,
setting my father down in Fleet Streete and I to St. James's, where I
found Mr. Coventry (the Duke being now come thither for the summer) with a
goldsmith, sorting out his old plate to change for new; but, Lord! what a
deale he hath! I staid and had two or three hours discourse with him,
talking about the disorders of our office, and I largely to tell him how
things are carried by Sir W. Batten and Sir J. Minnes to my great grief.
He seems much concerned also, and for all the King's matters that are done
after the same rate every where else, and even the Duke's household
matters too, generally with corruption, but most indeed with neglect and
indifferency. I spoke very loud and clear to him my thoughts of Sir J.
Minnes and the other, and trust him with the using of them. Then to talk
of our business with the Dutch; he tells me fully that he believes it will
not come to a warr; for first, he showed me a letter from Sir George
Downing, his own hand, where he assures him that the Dutch themselves do
not desire, but above all things fear it, and that they neither have given
letters of marke against our shipps in Guinny, nor do De Ruyter
[Michael De Ruyter, the Dutch admiral, was born 1607. He served
under Tromp in the war against England in 1653, and was Lieutenant
Admiral General of Holland in 1665. He died April 26th, 1676, of
wounds received in a battle with the French off Syracuse. Among the
State Papers is a news letter (dated July 14th, 1664) containing
information as to the views of the Dutch respecting a war with
England. "They are preparing many ships, and raising 6,000 men, and
have no doubt of conquering by sea." "A wise man says the States
know how to master England by sending moneys into Scotland for them
to rebel, and also to the discontented in England, so as to place
the King in the same straits as his father was, and bring him to
agree with Holland" ("Calendar," 1663-64, p. 642).]
stay at home with his fleet with an eye to any such thing, but for want of
a wind, and is now come out and is going to the Streights. He tells me
also that the most he expects is that upon the merchants' complaints, the
Parliament will represent them to the King, desiring his securing of his
subjects against them, and though perhaps they may not directly see fit,
yet even this will be enough to let the Dutch know that the Parliament do
not oppose the King, and by that means take away their hopes, which was
that the King of England could not get money or do anything towards a warr
with them, and so thought themselves free from making any restitution,
which by this they will | 872.119998 |
2023-11-16 18:31:36.1699380 | 547 | 11 |
Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, 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)
[Illustration: GREAT SEALS OF KING RICHARD THE FIRST.]
ANCIENT ARMOUR
AND
WEAPONS IN EUROPE:
FROM THE
IRON PERIOD OF THE NORTHERN NATIONS TO THE END
OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY:
WITH
ILLUSTRATIONS FROM COTEMPORARY MONUMENTS.
BY JOHN HEWITT,
MEMBER OF THE ARCHÆOLOGICAL INSTITUTE OF GREAT BRITAIN.
OXFORD AND LONDON:
JOHN HENRY AND JAMES PARKER.
MDCCCLV.
PRINTED BY MESSRS. PARKER, CORN-MARKET, OXFORD.
DESCRIPTION OF THE ENGRAVINGS.
1. (_Frontispiece._) Great Seals of King Richard Cœur-de-Lion. The
first of these (with the rounded helmet) has been drawn from
impressions appended to Harleian Charters, 43, C. 27; 43, C.
29; and 43, C. 30; and Carlton Ride Seals, i. 19. In this, as
in other cases, more seals have been examined, but it seems
unnecessary to supply references to any but the best examples.
The king wears the hauberk of chain-mail with continuous coif,
over a tunic of unusual length. The chausses are also of
chain-mail, and there is an appearance of a chausson at the
knee, but the prominence of the seal at this part has caused
so much obliteration, that the existence of this garment may
be doubted. The helmet is rounded at the top, and appears to
be strengthened by bands passing round the brow and over the
crown. The shield is bowed, and the portion in sight ensigned
with a Lion: it is armed with a spike in front, and suspended
over the shoulders by the usual _guige_. Other points of this
figure will be noticed at a later page.
Second Great Seal of Richard I. Drawn from impressions in the
British Museum: Harl. Charter, 43, C. 31, and Select Seals,
XVI. 1; and Carlton Ride Seals, H. 17 | 872.189978 |
2023-11-16 18:31:36.2571120 | 1,652 | 10 |
Produced by Louise Hope, Greg Lindahl and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note:
This text is intended for users whose text readers cannot use the "real"
(Unicode/UTF-8) version. A few letters such as "oe" have been unpacked,
and curly quotes and apostrophes have been replaced with the simpler
"typewriter" form.
In the main text, page divisions have been retained because page and
line numbers are used in the Index. Page numbers are shown in [[double
brackets]]. Page numbers in the Table of Contents are original.
Further details on format are at the end of the e-text, followed by
a list of errors noted by the transcriber. Numbering errors in the
vocabulary lists are shown inline in [[double brackets]].]
Early English Text Society.
EXTRA SERIES, LXXIX.
Dialogues in French and English.
BY WILLIAM CAXTON.
(Adapted from a Fourteenth-Century Book of Dialogues
in French and Flemish.)
EDITED FROM CAXTON'S PRINTED TEXT (ABOUT 1483), WITH
INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND WORD-LISTS,
BY
HENRY BRADLEY, M.A.,
_Joint-Editor of the New English Dictionary._
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
BY KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUeBNER & CO., Ltd.
PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD.
MDCCCC.
_Price Ten Shillings._
BERLIN: ASHER & CO., 13, UNTER DEN LINDEN.
NEW YORK: C. SCRIBNER & CO.; LEYPOLDT & HOLT.
PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
Dialogues in French and English.
BY WILLIAM CAXTON.
(Adapted from a Fourteenth-Century Book of Dialogues
in French and Flemish.)
EDITED FROM CAXTON'S PRINTED TEXT (ABOUT 1483), WITH
INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND WORD-LISTS,
BY
HENRY BRADLEY, M.A.,
_Joint-Editor of the New English Dictionary._
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
BY KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUeBNER & CO., Ltd.
PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD.
M DCCCC.
Extra Series, No. LXXIX.
OXFORD: HORACE HART, M.A., PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY.
INTRODUCTION.
The work now for the first time reprinted from Caxton's original edition
has been preserved in three copies. One of these is in the Library of
Ripon Cathedral, another in the Spencer Library, now at Manchester, and
the third at Bamborough Castle. A small fragment, consisting of pp.
17-18 and 27-28, is in the Bodleian Library. The text of the present
edition is taken from the Ripon copy. I have not had an opportunity of
seeing this myself; but a type-written transcript was supplied to me by
Mr. John Whitham, Chapter Clerk of Ripon Cathedral, and the proofs were
collated with the Ripon book by the Rev. Dr. Fowler, Vice-Principal of
Bishop Hatfield's Hall, Durham, who was kind enough to re-examine every
passage in which I suspected a possible inaccuracy. It is therefore
reasonable to hope that the present reprint will be found to be a
strictly faithful representation of the original edition.
The earlier bibliographers gave to the book the entirely inappropriate
title of 'Instructions for Travellers.' Mr. Blades is nearer the mark in
calling it 'A Vocabulary in French and English,' but, as it consists
chiefly of a collection of colloquial phrases and dialogues, the
designation adopted in the present edition appears to be preferable. As
in other printed works of the same period, there is no title-page in the
original edition, so that a modern editor is at liberty to give to the
book whatever name may most accurately describe its character. The name
of Caxton does not occur in the colophon, which merely states that the
work was printed at Westminster; but the authorship is sufficiently
certain from internal evidence. On the ground of the form of type
employed, Mr. Blades inferred that the book was printed about 1483.
However this may be, there are, as will be shown, decisive reasons for
believing that it was written at a much earlier period.
A fact which has hitherto escaped notice is that Caxton's book is
essentially an adaptation of a collection of phrases and dialogues in
French and Flemish, of which an edition was published by Michelant in
1875[1], from a MS. in the Bibliotheque Nationale.
[Footnote 1: _Le Livre des Mestiers: Dialogues francais-flamands
composes au XIV^e siecle par un maitre d'ecole de la ville de
Bruges_. Paris: Librairie Tross.]
The text of Caxton's original cannot, indeed, have been precisely
identical with that of the MS. used by Michelant. It contained many
passages which are wanting in the Paris MS., and in some instances had
obviously preferable readings. Caxton's English sentences are very often
servile translations from the Flemish, and he sometimes falls into the
use of Flemish words and idioms in such a way as to show that his long
residence abroad had impaired his familiarity with his native language.
The French _respaulme cet hanap_, for instance, is rendered by'spoylle
the cup.' Of course the English verb _spoylle_ never meant 'to rinse';
Caxton was misled by the sound of the Flemish _spoel_. Caxton's 'after
the house,' as a translation of _aual la maison_ (throughout the house),
is explicable only by a reference to the Flemish version, which has
_achter huse_. The verb _formaketh_, which has not elsewhere been found
in English, is an adoption of the Flemish _vermaect_ (repairs). Another
Flemicism is Caxton's _whiler_ (= while ere) for'some time ago,' in
Flemish _wilen eer_. It is still more curious to find Caxton writing 'it
_en_ is not,' instead of 'it is not'; this _en_ is the particle prefixed
in Flemish to the verb of a negative sentence. As is well known,
Caxton's translation of 'Reynard the Fox' exhibits many phenomena of a
similar kind. From all the circumstances, we may perhaps conclude that
Caxton, while still resident in Bruges, added an English column to his
copy of the French-Flemish phrase-book, rather as a sort of exercise
than with any view to publication, and that he handed it over to his
compositors at Westminster without taking the trouble to subject it to
any material revision.
The original work contains so many references to the city of Bruges that
it is impossible to doubt that it was compiled there. According to
Michelant, the Paris MS. was written in the first half of the fourteenth
century. The MS. used by Caxton must itself have been written not later
than | 872.277152 |
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THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE
A Historical Romance of the 16th Century
By
MRS. LAWRENCE TURNBULL
'This noble citie doth in a manner
chalenge this at my hands, that
I should describe her... the
fairest Lady, yet the richest Paragon,
and Queene of Christendome.'
1900
AS A TRIBUTE TO HIS GIFT OF VIVID
HISTORIC NARRATION WHICH WAS
THE DELIGHT OF MY CHILDHOOD,
I INSCRIBE THIS ROMANCE TO THE
MEMORY OF MY DEAR FATHER.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I desire gratefully to acknowledge my indebtedness to many faithful,
loving and able students of Venetian lore, without whose books my own
presentation of Venice in the sixteenth century would have been
impossible. Mr. Ruskin's name must always come first among the prophets
of this City of the Sea, but among others from whom I have gathered
side-lights I have found quite indispensable Mr. Horatio F. Brown's
"Venice; An Historical Sketch of the Republic," "Venetian Studies," and
"Life on the Lagoons"; Mr. Hare's suggestive little volume of "Venice";
M. Leon Galibert's "Histoire de la Republique de Venise"; and Mr.
Charles Yriarte's "Venice" and his work studied from the State papers in
the Frari, entitled "La vie d'un Patricien de Venise."
Mr. Robertson's life of Fra Paolo Sarpi gave me the first hint of this
great personality, but my own portrait has been carefully studied from
the volumes of his collected works which later responded to my search;
these were collected and preserved for the Venetian government under the
title of "Opere di Fra Paolo Sarpi, Servita, Teologo e Consultore della
Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia" and included his life, letters and
"opinions," and all others of his writings which escaped destruction in
the fire of the Servite Convent, as well as many important extracts from
the original manuscripts so destroyed and which had been transcribed by
order of the Doge, Marco Foscarini, a few years before.
FRANCESE LITCHFIELD TURNBULL.
_La-Paix, June_, 1900.
PRELUDE
Venice, with her life and glory but a memory, is still the _citta
nobilissima_,--a city of moods,--all beautiful to the beauty-lover, all
mystic to the dreamer; between the wonderful blue of the water and the
sky she floats like a mirage--visionary--unreal--and under the spell of
her fascination we are not critics, but lovers. We see the pathos, not
the scars of her desolation, and the splendor of her past is too much a
part of her to be forgotten, though the gold is dim upon her
palace-fronts, and the sheen of her precious marbles has lost its bloom,
and the colors of the laughing Giorgione have faded like his smile.
But the very soul of Venetia is always hovering near, ready to be
invoked by those who confess her charm. When, under the glamor of her
radiant skies the faded hues flash forth once more, there is no ruin nor
decay, nor touch of conquering hand of man nor time, only a splendid
city of dreams, waiting in silence--as all visions wait--until that
invisible, haunting spirit has turned the legends of her power into
actual activities.
_THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE_
I
Sea and sky were one glory of warmth and color this sunny November
morning in 1565, and there were signs of unusual activity in the Campo
San Rocco before the great church of Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari,
which, if only brick without, was all glorious within, "in raiment of
needlework" and "wrought gold." And outside, the delicate tracery of the
cornice was like a border of embroidery upon the sombre surface; the
sculptured marble doorway was of surpassing richness, and the airy grace
of the campanile detached itself against the entrancing blue of the sky,
as one of those points of beauty for which Venice is memorable.
Usually this small square, remote from the centres of traffic as from
the homes of the nobility, seemed scarcely more than a landing-place for
the gondolas which were constantly bringing visitors and worshippers
thither, as to a shrine; for this church was a sort of memorial abbey to
the illustrious dead of Venice,--her Doges, her generals, her artists,
her heads of noble families,--and the monuments were in keeping with all
its sumptuous decorations, for the Frati Minori of the convent to which
it belonged--just across the narrow lane at the side of the church--were
both rich and generous, and many of its gifts and furnishings reflected
the highest art to which modern Venice had attained. Between the
wonderful, mystic, Eastern glory of San Marco, all shadows and
symbolisms and harmonies, and the positive, realistic assertions,
aesthetic and spiritual, of the Frari, lay the entire reach of the art
and religion of the Most Serene Republic.
The church was ancient enough to be a treasure-house for the historian,
and it had been restored, with much magnificence, less than a century
before,--which was modern for Venice,--while innumerable gifts had
brought its treasures down to the days of Titian and Tintoret.
To-day the people were coming in throngs, as to a _festa_, on foot from
under the Portico di Zen, across the little marble bridge which spanned
the narrow canal; on foot also from the network of narrow paved lanes,
or _calle_, which led off into a densely populated quarter; for to-day
the people had free right of entrance, equally with those others who
came in gondolas, liveried and otherwise, from more distant and
aristocratic neighborhoods. This pleasant possibility of entrance
sufficed for the crowd at large, who were not learned, and who preferred
the attractions of the outside show to the philosophical debate which
was the cause of all this agreeable excitement, and which was presently
to take place in the great church before a vast assembly of nobles and
clergy and representatives from the Universities of Padua, Mantua, and
Bologna; and outside, in the glowing sunshine, with the strangers and
the confusion, the shifting sounds and lights, the ceaseless unlading of
gondolas and massing and changing of colors, every minute was a
realization of the people's ideal of happiness.
Brown, bare-legged boys flocked from San Pantaleone and the people's
quarters on the smaller canals, remitting, for the nonce, their
absorbing pastimes of crabbing and petty gambling, and ragged and
radiant, stretched themselves luxuriously along the edge of the little
quay, faces downward, emphasizing their humorous running commentaries
with excited movements of the bare, upturned feet; while the gondoliers
landed their passengers to a lively refrain of "_Stali_!" their curses
and appeals to the Madonna blending not discordantly with the general
babel of sound which gives such a sense of companionship in
Venice--human voices calling in ceaseless interchange from shore to
shore, resonant in the brilliant atmosphere, quarrels softened to
melodies across the water, cries of the gondoliers telling of ceaseless
motion, the constant lap and plash of the wavelets and the drip of the
oars making a soothing undertone of content.
From time to time staccato notes of delight added a distinct jubilant
quality to this symphony, heralding the arrival of some group of Church
dignitaries from one or other of the seven principal parishes of Venice,
gorgeous in robes of high festival and displaying the choicest of
treasures from sacristies munificently endowed, as was meet for an
ecclesiastical body to whom belonged one half of the area of Venice,
with wealth proportionate.
Frequent delegations | 872.277684 |
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Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
| |
+-------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE!
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
BY
LURANA W. SHELDON,
"_Nay, do not ask--
In pity from the task forbear:
Smile on--nor venture to unmask
Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there._"
NEW YORK
W. D. ROWLAND, PUBLISHER 23 CHAMBERS STREET 1892
Copyright, 1892
BY
W. D. ROWLAND.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE.
I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY 5
II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT 12
III. RESCUED BY THIEVES 20
IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD 26
V. MAURICE SINCLAIR 33
VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE 40
VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION 47
VIII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 54
IX. MAURICE SINCLAIR ESCAPES WITH HIS VICTIM 61
X. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN 65
XI. JULIA WEBBER LAYS PLANS FOR REVENGE 73
XII. A SINFUL LOVE 77
XIII. THE CONTRACT BROKEN 85
XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK 93
XV. DEATH 98
XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 104
XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE 112
XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER 120
XIX. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF LOVE 126
XX. DR. SEWARD'S EXPERIMENT 133
XXI. A PERFECT UNION 140
XXII. "QUEEN LIZ" 145
XXIII. ELIZABETH FINDS FRIENDS 149
XXIV. STELLA CONFIDES IN HER HUSBAND 153
XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 159
XXVI. SORROW AND REJOICING 163
XXVII. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 168
XXVIII. TOO LATE 176
XXIX. THE HOME IN NEW YORK 181
XXX. SAM LEE DISCOVERS A FARO GAME 188
XXXI. CLEVERLY CAUGHT 194
XXXII. FACE TO FACE 200
XXXIII. "I HAVE NO NAME" 205
XXXIV. THE LADY VAN TYNE WILL FIGHT FOR HER HONOR 211
XXXV. STELLA AND ELIZABETH 218
XXXVI. A LAST ESCAPE 226
XXXVII. FIVE YEARS AFTER 229
[Illustration: MISS LURANA W. SHELDON.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE.
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY.
Hark! It is a woman's cry
Echoing thro' the unhallowed place:--
Forward, to her rescue, fly--
See the suffering in her face.
A piercing shriek echoed throughout the entire length and breadth of the
gloomy passage, hushed as it was in the brief hour of repose that
usually intervened between the vice-rampant hour of midnight and the
ever reluctant dawn.
It seemed as if the very light shrank from penetrating the loathsome
windings of that wretched quarter of London, and as to pure air, it
simply refused to enter such illy ventilated nooks and crevices, while
the poisoned vapors that filled the narrow precincts were always trying
to escape and failing through their own over-weight of reeking odors.
The scream of the dying woman was carried indistinctly to the ears of
the sleeping inmates simply because the air was too heavy with vile
tobacco and whiskey, stale beer fumes, and the exhalations of festering
garbage heaps to transmit anything in other than a confused and
indistinct manner.
Nevertheless there was something so extraordinarily frightful in the
shriek that it did succeed in reaching the ears of nearly every habitue
of the place, who, shrieking in their turn aroused the others, and one
by one frowzeled heads and wrinkled faces issued from broken windows and
rapidly, with shuffling footsteps, men and women crawled from
innumerable dark passages and darker doorways, and with suspicious
glances at each other, sneaked in and out through the slime and rubbish,
in a half curious, half frightened search for a glimpse of that horrible
tragedy.
I say _sneaked_ about, and I use the word advisedly as the lawyers say,
inasmuch as these degraded members of the human family,--these
de-humanized fag ends of the genius <DW25>, did not walk, run, or perform
any other specified motion in their perambulations.
On the contrary, they hugged the walls and the gutters; they were
distrustful of the laws of gravitation and equilibrium, preferring to
lean more or less heavily on walls and other supports, with bodies bent
and faces averted, while the rapidity with which they appeared and
disappeared was best appreciated by the Police who were supposed to
guard this particular section of Whitechapel, but who religiously
confined their guardianship to the outer walls, while the denizens of
the multitudinous alleys or passages were free to perpetrate their
murders, ply their nefarious trades and revel and rot in the stench of
their own degradations.
One by one these creatures crawled from their hiding places.
Men were seen clutching the rags of their scanty clothing while their
bleared eyes scanned every inch of the broken pavements.
Women, with odd garments thrown carelessly about their shoulders,
joined in the search, and for a brief time no word was spoken.
Finally an old creature, dirtier if possible than the rest, bent in
form, and with one long brown fang extending down over her shrunken
chin, hobbled from a gloomy doorway and in a strident, nasal tone gave
her opinion to these searchers of iniquity.
"Hit's Queen Liz thet's done fer, HI knowed 'er yell; You'll find 'er
somewheres down by the Chinaman's shanty. HI spects 'e's knifed 'er."
"Good enough for 'er, the stuck hup 'uzzy," exclaimed one of the
wretched beings that followed closely at the woman's heels.
"To think of 'er livin' 'ere for two years hand not speakin' to no one
but that greasy yaller-skin. HI knowed 'e'd get sick of 'er 'fore long."
"S'pose you think hit's your turn next," snapped up another bedraggled
female, whereupon a vicious battle ensued between the two while the men
and women halted in their search to watch, what to them was the very
essence of life,--a fight.
But the old crone who had first spoken crawled on until she reached the
Chinaman's quarters, and there sure enough, a Mongolian, swarthy and
greasy, his beady eyes blazing with excitement, was bending over and
trying with poor success to withdraw a villainous looking weapon, half
knife, half dagger, from the breast of an apparently dying woman.
The victim was a familiar figure in the Alley, and her clean, handsome
face with its "hands-off" expression had long since won her the name of
"Queen Liz."
While her failure to mingle with the other women or receive the beastly
attentions of the men had made her an object of hatred to all concerned,
still she had won their respect by her evident ability to defend herself
at all times and in all circumstances, while the love she plainly bore
her beautiful babe, a child of about two years, was a never ceasing
source of wonderment and ridicule to these hardened mortals.
It was true that Queen Liz spent much time in the quarters of this
particular Mongolian while there were many more eligible parties of her
own nationality in the passage, but Queen Liz was evidently above her
station, and as the Mongolian in question was possessed of more worldly
goods than were his neighbors, it was reasonably supposed that she
sought the comforts and luxuries of Chinese fans and Oolong in
preference to the other shanties with their ever prevalent aroma of
stale beer.
Nevertheless Queen Liz was not wholly overwhelmed by the wealth of Sam
Hop Lee, because it was rumored that at certain intervals a gentleman
from the outside world; a member of actual London society was seen going
in and out of the narrow passage, Liz always accompanying him on these
exits and entrances, for protection, it was generally supposed.
The sight of the stranger in their own lawful precincts brought always a
mixture of sentiments to the thieves and sharpers who infested these
gloomy byways.
Here was an excellent opportunity for operations in their own particular
line of business, but here also was a woman armed with the usual weapons
of the alley, ready and anxious to meet in mortal combat any and all
that should dare lay hands upon herself or guest.
Thus Queen Liz was let pretty severely alone by all, and her life past
and present was a mystery too obscure to be in any danger of being
solved by the beer muddled brains of her neighbors.
But now Queen Liz was lying in the slime and mud of the alley with the
deadly knife sticking firmly in her side, and as this uncanny assemblage
of human scavengers drew nearer, Sam Lee gave one more vigorous pull at
the weapon, and withdrawing it, turned its blade to the light of a
flickering tallow dip, and instantly, in the eyes of each and every one
present, he was acquitted of the horrible deed.
The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the
possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford
to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter,
for such the weapon evidently was.
Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver,
handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems,
so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in
dazzling characters.
CHAPTER II.
A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT.
Have pity, Reader,'twas the fire
Of human passion in her brain,--
First, youth's impulsive, mad desire,
Then love, and love's devouring pain.
Some two years previous to the incidents of our opening chapter, in a
quiet house situated on G--St., in the vicinity of Belmont Square, an
aged couple sat quietly talking, while the shadows fell longer and
darker about the room, and the increased tread of passing feet spoke
plainly of the end of another day of that weary labor that fell to the
lot of the large number of tradespeople who lived in this row of modest
houses.
The aged couple mentioned were occupying the two narrow windows that
faced the crowded thoroughfare, and the two faces were pressed anxiously
against the glass, while the old eyes peered eagerly up and down, over
and across in a careful search for the one of whom they had been quietly
speaking.
There was silence for a little while and then the old man leaned back in
his chair and, while wiping the moisture from his glasses with a
generous square of cambric, said querulously:
"It is mighty strange, Marthy, where Lizzie is. She ought to be home
before this."
"I know it, father," responded his wife meekly. "She's been acting very
strange of late, staying away from home and coming in at all hours as
dragged out as if she had been walking the streets for miles."
"Maybe that's what she does," snapped the old man, and then, as if
ashamed of his hasty words, he added in a softer tone: "Though why she
should do that I can't see. She's got a good home here with us and has
had ever since our poor Mary died and left us our grandchild in the
place of our child to care for and protect."
"And we've done both, father," said the old lady, gently. "Lizzie has no
need to seek pleasure outside her own home, what, with the rooms to
look after, her books, her piano and her needle work, she ought to be
pretty well contented."
"That's so, Marthy, but she evidently is not. Now ever since that young
man rented our two back rooms and began to spend his evenings here--"
"You don't think she is in love with him, do you father?" interrupted
his wife quickly.
"Can't say, Marthy, you women can judge better of that. I only know she
acts uncommonly unhappy lately. Let's see, the young fellow has been
gone a week now, hasn't he?"
"Yes, that is so, and Lizzie has seemed all broke down ever since. I was
asking her yesterday to see Mr. Jeller, but she turned as white as
anything.
"'No, no, Grandma,' she said, 'I'll not see any doctors. There's nothing
the matter with me, nothing!'
"But there was a hard look came into her eyes, and the idea went through
my mind that perhaps that gentlemanly looking fellow was just playing
with her after all, and she had only found it out after her heart was
gone from her."
Here the old lady stopped to wipe the tears from her faded eyes, while
the blood of his youth flushed her husband's face and, with cane
uplifted, he muttered fiercely:
"If I thought that, I'd cane him, old as I am! Lizzie's a good girl and
has been as well raised and as well educated as the best of them, and if
her father and grandfather before him were tradespeople, they were
honest and respectable, and I don't know what better dowry a woman can
need than her own virtues and accomplishments and a record behind her of
generations of honorable people."
Here the old man again sank back in his chair, overcome by the violence
of his emotions, while his wife, re-adjusting her glasses, moved aside
the curtain and again peered out into the fast darkening street.
There was silence for a few moments and then her husband resumed his
position at the other window, while the ticking of the clock echoed,
painfully distinct, through the silent room, and the sound of passing
feet grew fainter and fainter, and darkness, mingling with the
impenetrable vapors of a London fog, settled heavily down upon the
earth.
Certainly no girl could have a more happy home or two more tender,
loving companions than had Elizabeth Merril.
But discontent is bred in the bone and needs no outward influence or
surroundings to foster its soul destroying germs.
Elizabeth had grown into womanhood, beautiful in form and feature, loyal
in heart and spotless in her maidenly purity, but the seeds of
discontent, inherited or otherwise, sprang up in her heart and took from
every pleasure that fullness of joy which is so necessary to perfect
happiness.
It was her suggestion to rent the superfluous rooms thereby adding to
the family exchequer and at the same time increasing her household
duties.
The logic was excellent, but the impulse of a dissatisfied mind prompted
the suggestion and evil impulses, however logical, are rarely productive
of good results.
This particular instance was a most conclusive proof of the veracity of
such reasoning.
For a few brief weeks Elizabeth's heart was filled with content and
peace. With her additional labor came renewed ambition and the results
seemed highly satisfactory to all concerned.
Then, as time passed on and the young man who occupied the rooms found
many and varied excuses for seeking her presence, the roses on
Elizabeth's cheeks deepened into carnation, her eyes flashed with a new
born glory, and from morn till night the tender song of the nightingale
burst joyously from her lips.
The young man had occupied the rooms for nearly a year and his devotion
to their grandchild had been constantly growing more marked.
But for the past few months the song had ceased on Elizabeth's lips and
the rosy cheeks were growing steadily paler.
In vain the aged couple watched and questioned, but Elizabeth's feminine
tact and spirit outwitted them.
She fulfilled her duties patiently, as of yore, but would seize upon
every possible pretext for remaining away from home, | 872.93605 |
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Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+-------------------------------------------------+
|Transcriber's note: |
| |
|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. |
| |
+-------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE!
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
BY
LURANA W. SHELDON,
"_Nay, do not ask--
In pity from the task forbear:
Smile on--nor venture to unmask
Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there._"
NEW YORK
W. D. ROWLAND, PUBLISHER 23 CHAMBERS STREET 1892
Copyright, 1892
BY
W. D. ROWLAND.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE.
I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY 5
II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT 12
III. RESCUED BY THIEVES 20
IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD 26
V. MAURICE SINCLAIR 33
VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE 40
VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION 47
VIII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 54
IX. MAURICE SINCLAIR ESCAPES WITH HIS VICTIM 61
X. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN 65
XI. JULIA WEBBER LAYS PLANS FOR REVENGE 73
XII. A SINFUL LOVE 77
XIII. THE CONTRACT BROKEN 85
XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK 93
XV. DEATH 98
XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 104
XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE 112
XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER 120
XIX. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF LOVE 126
XX. DR. SEWARD'S EXPERIMENT 133
XXI. A PERFECT UNION 140
XXII. "QUEEN LIZ" 145
XXIII. ELIZABETH FINDS FRIENDS 149
XXIV. STELLA CONFIDES IN HER HUSBAND 153
XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 159
XXVI. SORROW AND REJOICING 163
XXVII. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 168
XXVIII. TOO LATE 176
XXIX. THE HOME IN NEW YORK 181
XXX. SAM LEE DISCOVERS A FARO GAME 188
XXXI. CLEVERLY CAUGHT 194
XXXII. FACE TO FACE 200
XXXIII. "I HAVE NO NAME" 205
XXXIV. THE LADY VAN TYNE WILL FIGHT FOR HER HONOR 211
XXXV. STELLA AND ELIZABETH 218
XXXVI. A LAST ESCAPE 226
XXXVII. FIVE YEARS AFTER 229
[Illustration: MISS LURANA W. SHELDON.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE.
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY.
Hark! It is a woman's cry
Echoing thro' the unhallowed place:--
Forward, to her rescue, fly--
See the suffering in her face.
A piercing shriek echoed throughout the entire length and breadth of the
gloomy passage, hushed as it was in the brief hour of repose that
usually intervened between the vice-rampant hour of midnight and the
ever reluctant dawn.
It seemed as if the very light shrank from penetrating the loathsome
windings of that wretched quarter of London, and as to pure air, it
simply refused to enter such illy ventilated nooks and crevices, while
the poisoned vapors that filled the narrow precincts were always trying
to escape and failing through their own over-weight of reeking odors.
The scream of the dying woman was carried indistinctly to the ears of
the sleeping inmates simply because the air was too heavy with vile
tobacco and whiskey, stale beer fumes, and the exhalations of festering
garbage heaps to transmit anything in other than a confused and
indistinct manner.
Nevertheless there was something so extraordinarily frightful in the
shriek that it did succeed in reaching the ears of nearly every habitue
of the place, who, shrieking in their turn aroused the others, and one
by one frowzeled heads and wrinkled faces issued from broken windows and
rapidly, with shuffling footsteps, men and women crawled from
innumerable dark passages and darker doorways, and with suspicious
glances at each other, sneaked in and out through the slime and rubbish,
in a half curious, half frightened search for a glimpse of that horrible
tragedy.
I say _sneaked_ about, and I use the word advisedly as the lawyers say,
inasmuch as these degraded members of the human family,--these
de-humanized fag ends of the genius <DW25>, did not walk, run, or perform
any other specified motion in their perambulations.
On the contrary, they hugged the walls and the gutters; they were
distrustful of the laws of gravitation and equilibrium, preferring to
lean more or less heavily on walls and other supports, with bodies bent
and faces averted, while the rapidity with which they appeared and
disappeared was best appreciated by the Police who were supposed to
guard this particular section of Whitechapel, but who religiously
confined their guardianship to the outer walls, while the denizens of
the multitudinous alleys or passages were free to perpetrate their
murders, ply their nefarious trades and revel and rot in the stench of
their own degradations.
One by one these creatures crawled from their hiding places.
Men were seen clutching the rags of their scanty clothing while their
bleared eyes scanned every inch of the broken pavements.
Women, with odd garments thrown carelessly about their shoulders,
joined in the search, and for a brief time no word was spoken.
Finally an old creature, dirtier if possible than the rest, bent in
form, and with one long brown fang extending down over her shrunken
chin, hobbled from a gloomy doorway and in a strident, nasal tone gave
her opinion to these searchers of iniquity.
"Hit's Queen Liz thet's done fer, HI knowed 'er yell; You'll find 'er
somewheres down by the Chinaman's shanty. HI spects 'e's knifed 'er."
"Good enough for 'er, the stuck hup 'uzzy," exclaimed one of the
wretched beings that followed closely at the woman's heels.
"To think of 'er livin' 'ere for two years hand not speakin' to no one
but that greasy yaller-skin. HI knowed 'e'd get sick of 'er 'fore long."
"S'pose you think hit's your turn next," snapped up another bedraggled
female, whereupon a vicious battle ensued between the two while the men
and women halted in their search to watch, what to them was the very
essence of life,--a fight.
But the old crone who had first spoken crawled on until she reached the
Chinaman's quarters, and there sure enough, a Mongolian, swarthy and
greasy, his beady eyes blazing with excitement, was bending over and
trying with poor success to withdraw a villainous looking weapon, half
knife, half dagger, from the breast of an apparently dying woman.
The victim was a familiar figure in the Alley, and her clean, handsome
face with its "hands-off" expression had long since won her the name of
"Queen Liz."
While her failure to mingle with the other women or receive the beastly
attentions of the men had made her an object of hatred to all concerned,
still she had won their respect by her evident ability to defend herself
at all times and in all circumstances, while the love she plainly bore
her beautiful babe, a child of about two years, was a never ceasing
source of wonderment and ridicule to these hardened mortals.
It was true that Queen Liz spent much time in the quarters of this
particular Mongolian while there were many more eligible parties of her
own nationality in the passage, but Queen Liz was evidently above her
station, and as the Mongolian in question was possessed of more worldly
goods than were his neighbors, it was reasonably supposed that she
sought the comforts and luxuries of Chinese fans and Oolong in
preference to the other shanties with their ever prevalent aroma of
stale beer.
Nevertheless Queen Liz was not wholly overwhelmed by the wealth of Sam
Hop Lee, because it was rumored that at certain intervals a gentleman
from the outside world; a member of actual London society was seen going
in and out of the narrow passage, Liz always accompanying him on these
exits and entrances, for protection, it was generally supposed.
The sight of the stranger in their own lawful precincts brought always a
mixture of sentiments to the thieves and sharpers who infested these
gloomy byways.
Here was an excellent opportunity for operations in their own particular
line of business, but here also was a woman armed with the usual weapons
of the alley, ready and anxious to meet in mortal combat any and all
that should dare lay hands upon herself or guest.
Thus Queen Liz was let pretty severely alone by all, and her life past
and present was a mystery too obscure to be in any danger of being
solved by the beer muddled brains of her neighbors.
But now Queen Liz was lying in the slime and mud of the alley with the
deadly knife sticking firmly in her side, and as this uncanny assemblage
of human scavengers drew nearer, Sam Lee gave one more vigorous pull at
the weapon, and withdrawing it, turned its blade to the light of a
flickering tallow dip, and instantly, in the eyes of each and every one
present, he was acquitted of the horrible deed.
The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the
possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford
to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter,
for such the weapon evidently was.
Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver,
handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems,
so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in
dazzling characters.
CHAPTER II.
A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT.
Have pity, Reader,'twas the fire
Of human passion in her brain,--
First, youth's impulsive, mad desire,
Then love, and love's devouring pain.
Some two years previous to the incidents of our opening chapter, in a
quiet house situated on G--St., in the vicinity of Belmont Square, an
aged couple sat quietly talking, while the shadows fell longer and
darker about the room, and the increased tread of passing feet spoke
plainly of the end of another day of that weary labor that fell to the
lot of the large number of tradespeople who lived in this row of modest
houses.
The aged couple mentioned were occupying the two narrow windows that
faced the crowded thoroughfare, and the two faces were pressed anxiously
against the glass, while the old eyes peered eagerly up and down, over
and across in a careful search for the one of whom they had been quietly
speaking.
There was silence for a little while and then the old man leaned back in
his chair and, while wiping the moisture from his glasses with a
generous square of cambric, said querulously:
"It is mighty strange, Marthy, where Lizzie is. She ought to be home
before this."
"I know it, father," responded his wife meekly. "She's been acting very
strange of late, staying away from home and coming in at all hours as
dragged out as if she had been walking the streets for miles."
"Maybe that's what she does," snapped the old man, and then, as if
ashamed of his hasty words, he added in a softer tone: "Though why she
should do that I can't see. She's got a good home here with us and has
had ever since our poor Mary died and left us our grandchild in the
place of our child to care for and protect."
"And we've done both, father," said the old lady, gently. "Lizzie has no
need to seek pleasure outside her own home, what, with the rooms to
look after, her books, her piano and her needle work, she ought to be
pretty well contented."
"That's so, Marthy, but she evidently is not. Now ever since that young
man rented our two back rooms and began to spend his evenings here--"
"You don't think she is in love with him, do you father?" interrupted
his wife quickly.
"Can't say, Marthy, you women can judge better of that. I only know she
acts uncommonly unhappy lately. Let's see, the young fellow has been
gone a week now, hasn't he?"
"Yes, that is so, and Lizzie has seemed all broke down ever since. I was
asking her yesterday to see Mr. Jeller, but she turned as white as
anything.
"'No, no, Grandma,' she said, 'I'll not see any doctors. There's nothing
the matter with me, nothing!'
"But there was a hard look came into her eyes, and the idea went through
my mind that perhaps that gentlemanly looking fellow was just playing
with her after all, and she had only found it out after her heart was
gone from her."
Here the old lady stopped to wipe the tears from her faded eyes, while
the blood of his youth flushed her husband's face and, with cane
uplifted, he muttered fiercely:
"If I thought that, I'd cane him, old as I am! Lizzie's a good girl and
has been as well raised and as well educated as the best of them, and if
her father and grandfather before him were tradespeople, they were
honest and respectable, and I don't know what better dowry a woman can
need than her own virtues and accomplishments and a record behind her of
generations of honorable people."
Here the old man again sank back in his chair, overcome by the violence
of his emotions, while his wife, re-adjusting her glasses, moved aside
the curtain and again peered out into the fast darkening street.
There was silence for a few moments and then her husband resumed his
position at the other window, while the ticking of the clock echoed,
painfully distinct, through the silent room, and the sound of passing
feet grew fainter and fainter, and darkness, mingling with the
impenetrable vapors of a London fog, settled heavily down upon the
earth.
Certainly no girl could have a more happy home or two more tender,
loving companions than had Elizabeth Merril.
But discontent is bred in the bone and needs no outward influence or
surroundings to foster its soul destroying germs.
Elizabeth had grown into womanhood, beautiful in form and feature, loyal
in heart and spotless in her maidenly purity, but the seeds of
discontent, inherited or otherwise, sprang up in her heart and took from
every pleasure that fullness of joy which is so necessary to perfect
happiness.
It was her suggestion to rent the superfluous rooms thereby adding to
the family exchequer and at the same time increasing her household
duties.
The logic was excellent, but the impulse of a dissatisfied mind prompted
the suggestion and evil impulses, however logical, are rarely productive
of good results.
This particular instance was a most conclusive proof of the veracity of
such reasoning.
For a few brief weeks Elizabeth's heart was filled with content and
peace. With her additional labor came renewed ambition and the results
seemed highly satisfactory to all concerned.
Then, as time passed on and the young man who occupied the rooms found
many and varied excuses for seeking her presence, the roses on
Elizabeth's cheeks deepened into carnation, her eyes flashed with a new
born glory, and from morn till night the tender song of the nightingale
burst joyously from her lips.
The young man had occupied the rooms for nearly a year and his devotion
to their grandchild had been constantly growing more marked.
But for the past few months the song had ceased on Elizabeth's lips and
the rosy cheeks were growing steadily paler.
In vain the aged couple watched and questioned, but Elizabeth's feminine
tact and spirit outwitted them.
She fulfilled her duties patiently, as of yore, but would seize upon
every possible pretext for remaining away from home, and now, during the
week that her lover failed to appear at his cosy apartments, they had
hardly seen her for more than a few moments each day.
Thus it was no wonder that to-night they watched and waited at their
narrow windows while the hours stole by and still the wandering girl
returned not to her pleasant home.
Back and forth over the great London Bridge she was walking; her head
bent low; her blue eyes fixed and glaring; her pale lips compressed in
bitter agony, while over and over again she paused and looked eagerly
down into the sluggish water.
The bridge was jammed as usual with hurrying pedestrians and jostling
carts, and few turned to look at the solitary figure.
Now and then a watchful "Bobby" stopped and stared into her face and
more than one of these experienced officers read the signs of coming
trouble in her pallid features.
But it was not their duty to ask her business or order her away. She was
doing no harm and surely it would be but a meddlesome act on their part
to try and avert the danger which they so plainly foresaw.
Still she walked on and on until the crowd was lessened and fewer
officers remained on duty.
Just as the fog, rising from the river below and the smoke falling from
the chimneys above, met and mingled in a pall of gloom and obscurity,
she turned again, paused, looked once more into the darkness below, then
vaulting suddenly to the massive rail, sprang lightly forward through
the mists and down into the awful waters.
CHAPTER III.
RESCUED BY THIEVES.
And these are men,--these creatures bold,
Who live to plunder and to kill;
Formed in the Great Creator's mold
But subject to the Devil's will.
If all committers of this deed of questionable cowardice would choose so
opportune a moment for their rashness as did Elizabeth, they would
probably live to see the error of their ways and to realize that the
things we know are better than the things we know not of, but it is
rarely that one so determined as she to terminate a wretched existence
is thwarted in that desire by the presence of rescuers, but such was the
case in this instance.
Two men of the type commonly known in London as wharf "rats" or dock and
river thieves, were slowly sculling along under cover of the intense fog
on the lookout for plunder of any and every sort.
Naturally, when Elizabeth's body struck the water not ten feet from
their craft, they stopped sculling and quickly investigated the nature
of the prey that had so literally fallen into their hands.
Elizabeth was pulled into the boat apparently lifeless, and in less time
than it takes to chronicle the event, was shorn of her pretty rings,
purse and outer garments.
A folded paper pinned securely to the lining of her waist was also
promptly removed by the thief and thrust carelessly into the outer
pocket of his coat as he doubtless thought it of little consequence, and
only confiscated it through a natural impulse of greed and robbery.
Then the younger of the two proceeded to fasten a heavy lead around her
waist, and lifting her carefully in his arms was about to lower the body
once more into the silent river whose waters had already swallowed up
and forever concealed innumerable secrets of like nature, when a flash
from his partner's lantern falling upon Elizabeth's upturned face
revealed to him her exceeding loveliness and awoke within him an
instinct, whether brutal or humane, we shall shortly determine.
"Oh, Oiy soiy, Bill, this 'ere lass is too bloomin' 'ansome tew feed de
fishes wid," he said, "and she ben't derd, nurther," he added, as he
noticed Elizabeth's breath returning in short, faint gasps. "Ben't
hoften we picks hup such fine goods as dese," he continued, while a
fiendish expression passed over his swarthy face. "Blowed if Oiy doesn't
think Oiy'll confiscate dis fer m' hown use," and he drew Elizabeth's
still senseless form across his knee.
"Put'er down, Jemmy! Cawn't you wait till you gets to de dock or does
yer want ter stay hout 'n dis 'ere fog hall night?" said the older man
gruffly, adding authoritatively: "Cover de gal hup in de bottom, she'll
keep! Oiy'm wet tew de' ide. Come, scull along hor we wont get 'ome till
midnight."
Whether it was the fragments of original humanity that made him refuse
to witness the desecration of helplessness, or whether he possessed
sufficient of the brute instinct to enjoy with keener relish the
struggles of a frenzied woman in the hands of an unprincipled and
determined villain, we can not tell;--
At any rate Elizabeth was allowed to lie quietly under an old sail in
the bottom of the boat, returning slowly, but with such perfect control
to acute consciousness that she allowed no sound of either fear or
suffering to escape her lips.
She overheard enough of their conversation, during the row down the
river to show her who her rescuers were and what her ultimate fate would
be unless she could escape from their clutches. She realized that even
her unfortunate condition would give her no mercy in their hands and
might rather be a source of more intense gratification to their fiendish
and inhuman desires. Reason told her to remain perfectly passive, as it
was evident they only awaited her return to consciousness for the
furtherance of their diabolical plans.
Even when the boat bumped heavily against the wharf, turned back and
veered about in a most extraordinary manner and the damp fog of the
river was exchanged for the foul stench of sewer gas and garbage floats,
and she realized, with a feeling of horror, that they were gliding, not
by, but under the dock, still she made no sound.
At last they stopped by a rotten ladder; the boat was tied and the
younger man sprang hastily up the slippery steps and thrust open, with
his shoulder, a heavy trap door.
Then the older of the two raised Elizabeth from the boat and passed her
up through the narrow opening to the man above. He then followed and
after a hasty consultation between the two she was left, as the young
"rat" expressed it, "soif fer de present," on a pile of rags in the
corner of the cellar.
Then, apparently regardless whether she lived or died, they ascended
another rickety ladder and the sullen gleam of their lantern was soon
lost to sight in the darkness above.
Elizabeth waited until the sound of their footsteps had passed away,
then rising hastily, she began groping about in the darkness for the
ladder which she had so dimly discerned by the light of the smoking
lantern.
Now every thing was dark, and the knowledge of that yawning trap-door
and perhaps more just like it under her very feet, made her almost
insane with fear. All desire for a watery death had vanished from her
mind. Her lungs were so filled with nauseous gases that it was with a
feeling of almost frantic joy she touched the rungs of the worm-eaten
ladder and prepared to climb to the landing above.
The upper Hall was narrow, dirty and perfectly dark. Elizabeth groped
her way carefully along, holding firmly to the wall, but could see no
outlet or glimmer of light either before her or above, but knowing that
to turn back would be but rushing to a fate far worse than death, she
pressed eagerly forward, peering into the impenetrable darkness, while
occasionally a great, slimy rat scampered across her foot, or a
loathsome bat, with a sudden rush, passed so near her face that she
turned sick with horror and held to the heavy walls with all her
strength.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SHAME-BORN CHILD.
Calm Death,--Thou comest not to such as these,--
Their griefs affright thee,--their sad faces fail to please.
Probably the length of time that elapsed (which seemed like an eternity
to Elizabeth,) was, in reality, not more than half an hour before a ray
of light greeted her eyes, coming through a ragged chink in the
crumbling masonry of the heavy walls.
Creeping cautiously forward she put her eye to the crevice and looked
eagerly into the inner room.
The scene she witnessed was well calculated to chill the blood of an
able bodied man, but to a delicate woman, still trembling from the
effects of her awful plunge into the river;--hampered by dripping
garments and nearly frantic with the fear of momentary violence, the
sight was more than doubly horrible.
The room was nothing more than a large vault or closet built into the
solid walls, probably for no definite purpose, but so well adapted to
its present use that one would think its designer must have foreseen its
ultimate fate.
Several battered and smoking lanterns hung on nails, which had been
wedged firmly between loose bricks in the decaying walls, their outlines
appearing to her excited imagination not unlike the red eye balls and
smoke begrimed faces of the score of beings upon whom their dismal
glimmer fell.
This score of individuals, representing a class of monsters, born in the
slime of cellars; nourished on the odors of decomposition and trained to
accomplishments of vice and evil, were busy at the ghoulish work of
robbing two human bodies, whose swollen and livid members plainly
proclaimed them trophies from the river's unfailing supply.
Ragged females with bloated faces and keen eyes were squabbling like
cats over the articles which had been removed from the dead woman's
body, while the males cursed and struck at each other in a frantic
struggle for the watch and jewels which the other water-soaked victim
had worn.
The scene was horrible, pile upon pile of rubbish was heaped about the
room, and one and all seemed interested in claiming and getting
possession of as much plunder as they could, by fair means or foul.
Elizabeth plainly identified her rescuers who were among the most
quarrelsome of the lot, but, even in her bewilderment, she noticed that
there was no mention made of _their_ evenings work or of her body,
which, of course, they supposed was safe in the recesses of that
loathsome cellar.
At this instant a vague thought flitted through her mind as to what
booty her body had afforded them. She felt for her rings, but they were
gone. She thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress for her watch, and
her lips grew white as ashes, while a new horror, passing through her
brain, overcame for the moment all fear of personal violence. The paper
which had been safe in her bosom when she sprang from the bridge was not
there. She had determined that the secret which it held should die with
her, but now that her plan for death had failed, the recovery of that
treasured paper must be the whole aim and purpose of her life.
Again the miserable creature who had rescued her from death became the
unknowing instrument of her good fortune.
The young thief, whom she recognized as "Bill," became violently angry
over the unequal distribution of the jewels and, throwing off his coat,
struck wildly at his partner, while the others proceeded with their
individual bickerings, apparently unconscious of the pugilistic
encounter.
The coat in falling obscured, in a measure, Elizabeth's view of the
inner room.
She had lost all thought of fear in her wild determination to secure the
missing paper.
Pushing her hand cautiously into the hole in the masonry she dislodged a
portion of brick with little trouble, then forcing her white arm
carefully through the opening she touched the coat | 873.088685 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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| Transcriber's Note: |
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| Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the |
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+-----------------------------------------------------+
TRAVELS
IN THE
STEPPES OF THE CASPIAN SEA,
THE CRIMEA, THE CAUCASUS, &c.
BY
XAVIER HOMMAIRE DE HELL,
CIVIL ENGINEER,
MEMBER OF THE SOCIETE GEOLOGIQUE OF FRANCE, AND KNIGHT OF THE ORDER
OF ST. VLADIMIR OF RUSSIA.
WITH ADDITIONS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND.
MDCCCXLVII.
C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
When I left Constantinople for Odessa my principal object was to
investigate the geology of the Crimea and of New Russia, and to arrive
by positive observations at the solution of the great question of the
rupture of the Bosphorus. Having once entered on this pursuit, I was
soon led beyond the limits of the plan I had marked out for myself, and
found it incumbent on me to examine all the vast regions that extend
between the Danube and the Caspian Sea to the foot of the northern <DW72>
of the Caucasus. I spent, therefore, nearly five years in Southern
Russia, traversing the country in all directions, exploring the course
of rivers and streams on foot or on horseback, and visiting all the
Russian coasts of the Black Sea, the Sea of Azof and the Caspian. Twice
I was intrusted by the Russian government with important scientific and
industrial missions; I enjoyed special protection and assistance during
all my travels, and I am happy to be able to testify in this place my
gratitude to Count Voronzof, and to all those who so amply seconded me
in my laborious investigations.
Thus protected by the local authorities, I was enabled to collect the
most authentic information respecting the state of men and things. Hence
I was naturally led to superadd to my scientific pursuits considerations
of all kinds connected with the history, statistics, and actual
condition of the various races inhabiting Southern Russia. I was,
moreover, strongly encouraged in my new task by the desire to make known
in their true light all those southern regions of the empire which have
played so important a part in the history of Russia since the days of
Peter the Great.
My wife, who braved all hardships to accompany me in most of my
journeys, has also been the partner of my literary labours in France. To
her belongs all the descriptive part of this book of travels.
Our work is published under no man's patronage; we have kept ourselves
independent of all extraneous influence; and in frankly pointing out
what struck us as faulty in the social institutions of the Muscovite
empire, we think we evince our gratitude for the hospitable treatment we
received in Russia, better than some travellers of our day, whose pages
are only filled with exaggerated and ridiculous flatteries.
XAVIER H | 873.566214 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: John Norton]
HOW
JOHN NORTON THE TRAPPER
KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS
BY
W. H. H. MURRAY
BOSTON:
DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO.
364 AND 365 WASHINGTON STREET.
COPYRIGHT, 1890,
BY DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO.
HOW JOHN NORTON THE TRAPPER
KEPT HIS CHRISTMAS.
I.
A cabin. A cabin in the woods. In the cabin a great fireplace piled
high with logs, fiercely ablaze. On either side of the broad
hearth-stone a hound sat on his haunches, looking gravely, as only a
hound in a meditative mood can, into the glowing fire. In the centre
of the cabin, whose every nook and corner was bright with the ruddy
firelight, stood a wooden table, strongly built and solid. At the
table sat John Norton, poring over a book,--a book large of size, with
wooden covers bound in leather, brown with age, and smooth as with the
handling of many generations. The whitened head of the old man was
bowed over the broad page, on which one hand rested, with the
forefinger marking the sentence. A cabin in the woods filled with
firelight, a table, a book, an old man studying the book. This was the
scene on Christmas Eve. Outside, the earth was white with snow, and in
the blue sky above the snow was the white moon.
"It says here," said the Trapper, speaking to himself, "it says here,
'Give to him that lacketh, and from him that hath not, withhold not
thine hand.' It be a good sayin' fur sartin; and the world would be a
good deal better off, as I conceit, ef the folks follered the sayin' a
leetle more closely." And here the old man paused a moment, and, with
his hand still resting on the page, and his forefinger still pointing
at the sentence, seemed pondering what he had been reading. At last he
broke the silence again, saying,--
"Yis, the world would be a good deal better off, ef the folks in it
follered the sayin';" and then he added, "There's another spot | 873.566325 |
2023-11-16 18:31:37.5710840 | 95 | 9 |
Produced by Cindy Horton, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online
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Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
| 873.591124 |
2023-11-16 18:31:37.6092920 | 1,445 | 13 |
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BEHIND THE BEYOND
by
STEPHEN LEACOCK
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
NONSENSE NOVELS
12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.00
LITERARY LAPSES
12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.25
SUNSHINE SKETCHES
12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.25
JOHN LANE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PROLOGUE]
BEHIND THE ::: BEYOND :::
And Other Contributions to Human Knowledge
by
STEPHEN LEACOCK
Author of "Nonsense Novels," "Literary
::: Lapses," "Sunshine Sketches," Etc. :::
Illustrated by A. H. Fish
[Illustration]
New York: John Lane Company
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
Toronto: Bell & Cockburn. Mcmxiii
Copyright, 1913, by
The Crowell Publishing Company
Copyright, 1913, by
The Century Company
Copyright, 1913, by
John Lane Company
CONTENTS
BEHIND THE BEYOND 11
FAMILIAR INCIDENTS
I. WITH THE PHOTOGRAPHER 53
II. THE DENTIST AND THE GAS 61
III. MY LOST OPPORTUNITIES 69
IV. MY UNKNOWN FRIEND 74
V. UNDER THE BARBER'S KNIFE 84
PARISIAN PASTIMES
I. THE ADVANTAGES OF A POLITE EDUCATION 93
II. THE JOYS OF PHILANTHROPY 104
III. THE SIMPLE LIFE IN PARIS 117
IV. A VISIT TO VERSAILLES 129
V. PARIS AT NIGHT 143
THE RETROACTIVE EXISTENCE OF MR. JUGGINS 159
MAKING A MAGAZINE 169
HOMER AND HUMBUG 185
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE PROLOGUE _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
THE CURTAIN RISES 12
THEIR EXPRESSION IS STAMPED WITH DEEP THOUGHT 28
HE KISSES HER ON THE BARE SHOULDER 30
HE TAKES HER IN HIS ARMS 50
"IS IT ME?" 58
I DID GO--I KEPT THE APPOINTMENT 66
HE SHOWED ME A CHURCH THAT I COULD HAVE BOUGHT FOR A
HUNDRED THOUSAND 72
I SHALL NOT TRY TO BE QUITE SO EXTRAORDINARILY CLEVER 84
WHEN HE REACHED MY FACE HE LOOKED SEARCHINGLY AT IT 88
THE TAILOR SHRUGGED HIS SHOULDERS 98
SOMETHING IN THE QUIET DIGNITY OF THE YOUNG MAN HELD ME 114
THE PARISIAN DOG 120
PERSONALLY I PLEAD GUILTY TO SOMETHING OF THE SAME SPIRIT 142
THE LADY'S FACE IS AGLOW WITH MORAL ENTHUSIASM 146
MEANWHILE HE HAD BECOME A QUAINT-LOOKING ELDERLY MAN 166
WITH ALL THE LOW CUNNING OF AN AUTHOR STAMPED ON HIS FEATURES 174
_BEHIND THE BEYOND_
_A Modern Problem Play_
_Act I.--Behind the Beyond_
THE curtain rises, disclosing the ushers of the theater still moving up
and down the aisles. Cries of "Program!" "Program!" are heard. There is
a buzz of brilliant conversation, illuminated with flashes of opera
glasses and the rattle of expensive jewelry.
Then suddenly, almost unexpectedly, in fact just as if done, so to
speak, by machinery, the lights all over the theater, except on the
stage, are extinguished. Absolute silence falls. Here and there is heard
the crackle of a shirt front. But there is no other sound.
In this expectant hush, a man in a check tweed suit walks on the stage:
only one man, one single man. Because if he had been accompanied by a
chorus, that would have been a burlesque; if four citizens in togas had
been with him, that would have been Shakespeare; if two Russian
soldiers had walked after him, that would have been melodrama. But this
is none of these. This is a problem play. So he steps in alone, all
alone, and with that absolute finish of step, that ability to walk as
if,--how can one express it?--as if he were walking, that betrays the
finished actor.
He has, in fact, barely had time to lay down his silk hat, when he is
completely betrayed. You can see that he is a finished actor--finished
about fifteen years ago. He lays the hat, hollow side up, on the silk
hat table on the stage right center--bearing north, northeast, half a
point west from the red mica fire on the stage which warms the theater.
All this is done very, very quietly, very impressively. No one in the
theater has ever seen a man lay a silk hat on a table before, and so
there is a breathless hush. Then he takes off his gloves, one by one,
_not_ two or three at a time, and lays them in his hat. The expectancy
is almost painful. If he had thrown his gloves into the mica fire it
would have been a relief. But he doesn't.
[Illustration: The Curtain rises.]
The man on the stage picks up a pile | 873.629332 |
2023-11-16 18:31:37.6532760 | 7,009 | 10 | POLITICAL***
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THE LIFE OF BISMARCK, PRIVATE AND POLITICAL.
“Mit Gott für König und Vaterland.”
[Illustration: COUNT OTTO VON BISMARCK.]
THE LIFE OF BISMARCK,
PRIVATE AND POLITICAL;
With Descriptive Notices of His Ancestry.
by
JOHN GEORGE LOUIS HESEKIEL,
Author of “Faust and Don Juan,” etc.
Translated and Edited,
With an Introduction, Explanatory Notes, and Appendices,
by Kenneth R. H. Mackenzie, F.S.A., F.A.S.L.
With Upward of One Hundred Illustrations by Diez, Grimm,
Pietsch, and Others.
New York:
Harper & Brothers, Publishers,
Franklin Square.
1870.
CONTENTS
EDITOR’S PREFACE. Page xv
Book the First.
THE BISMARCKS OF OLDEN TIME.
CHAPTER I.
NAME AND ORIGIN.
Bismarck on the Biese.—The Bismarck Louse.—Derivation of the
Name Bismarck.—Wendic Origin Untenable.—The Bismarcks in
Priegnitz and Ruppin.—Riedel’s Erroneous Theory.—The Bismarcks
of Stendal.—Members of City Guilds.—Claus von Bismarck of
Stendal.—Rise of the Family into the Highest Rank in the
Fourteenth Century. 31
CHAPTER II.
CASTELLANS AT BURGSTALL CASTLE.
[1270-1550.]
Rulo von Bismarck, 1309-1338.—Excommunicated.—Claus von
Bismarck.—His Policy.—Created Castellan of Burgstall,
1345.—Castellans.—Reconciliation with Stendal, 1350.—Councillor
to the Margrave, 1353.—Dietrich Kogelwiet, 1361.—His White
Hood.—Claus in his Service, while Archbishop of Magdeburg.—The
Emperor Charles IV.—The Independence of Brandenburg
threatened.—Chamberlain to the Margrave, 1368.—Subjection
of the Marks to Bohemia, 1373.—Claus retires into Private
Life.—Death about 1377.—Claus II., 1403.—Claus III. and
Henning.—Friedrich I. appoints Henning a Judge.—Ludolf.—His
Sons.—Pantaleon.—Henning III. _obiit circâ_ 1528.—Claus
Electoral Ranger, 1512.—Ludolf von Bismarck.—Electoral Sheriff
of Boetzow, 1513.—His Descendants. 36
CHAPTER III.
THE PERMUTATION.
[1550-1563.]
Changes.—The Electoral Prince John George and
Burgstall.—Forest-rights.—The Exchange of Burgstall for
Crevese.—Schönhausen and Fischbeck.—The Permutation completed,
1563. 50
CHAPTER IV.
THE BISMARCKS OF SCHÖNHAUSEN.
[1563-1800.]
Further Genealogy of the Bismarcks.—Captain Ludolf von
Bismarck.—Ludolf August von Bismarck.—His remarkable
Career.—Dies in the Russian Service, 1750.—Frederick William
von Bismarck.—Created Count by the King of Würtemberg.—Charles
Alexander von Bismarck, 1727.—His Memorial to his Wife.—His
Descendants.—Charles William Ferdinand, Father of Count Otto
von Bismarck. 57
CHAPTER V.
Armorial Bearings. 68
CHAPTER VI.
THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF BISMARCK’S BIRTHPLACE.
Genthin.—The Plotho Family.—Jerichow.—Fischbeck.—The
Kaiserburg.—The Emperor Charles IV.—The Elector
Joachim Nestor.—Frederick I.—General Fransecky “to the
Front.”—Tangermünde.—Town-hall.—Count Bismarck.—His Uniform,
and the South German Deputy.—Departure for Schönhausen. 77
CHAPTER VII.
SCHÖNHAUSEN.
The Kattenwinkel.—Wust.—Lieutenant Von Katte.—Schönhausen.—Its
History.—The Church.—Bishop Siegobodo.—Bismarck’s
Mansion.—Interior.—Bismarck’s Mother.—Bismarck’s
Birth-Chamber.—The Library.—Bismarck’s Youthful
Studies.—Bismarck’s Maternal Grandmother.—The Countess with the
Dowry.—Ghost Stories.—Anecdote of a Ghost.—The Cellar Door.—The
French at Schönhausen.—The Templars.—The Park.—The Wounded
Hercules.—The Pavilion.—Two Graves.—The Orangery.—The Knight’s
Demesne.—Departure from Schönhausen. 81
Book the Second.
YOUTH.
CHAPTER I.
SCHOOL AND COLLEGE DAYS.
Bismarck’s Parents.—Brothers and Sisters.—Bismarck
Born.—Kniephof, Jarchelin, and Külz.—The Plamann
Institute.—The Frederick William Institute.—Residence in
Berlin.—Bismarck’s Father and Mother.—Letter of Count Bismarck
to his Sister.—Confirmation.—Dr. Bonnell.—Severity of the
Plamanns.—Holiday Time.—Colonel August Frederick von Bismarck
and the Wooden Donkey at Ihna Bridge.—School-life with Dr.
Bonnell.—The Cholera of 1831.—The Youthful Character and
Appearance of Bismarck.—Early Friends.—Proverbs.—“Far from
Sufficient!” quoth Bismarck. 101
CHAPTER II.
UNIVERSITY AND MILITARY LIFE.
[1832-1844.]
Göttingen.—The Danish Dog and the
Professor.—Duels.—Berlin.—Appointed Examiner.—Anecdotes
of his Legal Life.—Bismarck and his Boots.—Meeting
with Prince, now King, William.—Helene von Kessel.—Aix
la Chapelle.—Greifswald.—Undertaking the Pomeranian
Estates.—Kniephof.—“Mad Bismarck.”—His Studies.—Marriage of
his Sister.—Letters to her.—Norderney.—Saves his Servant
Hildebrand’s Life.—“The Golden Dog.”—A Dinner Party at the
Blanckenburgs.—Von Blanckenburg.—Major, now General, Von
Roon.—Dr. Beutner. 123
CHAPTER III.
BETROTHAL AND MARRIAGE.
[1847.]
Falls in Love.—Johanna von Putkammer.—Marriage.—Meets King
Frederick William IV.—Birth of his First Child.—Schönhausen and
Kniephof with a New Mistress. 148
Book the Third.
LEARNING THE BUSINESS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
“UT SCIAT REGNARE.”
Bismarck’s Policy.—Its Gradual Growth and Political
Character.—Contrast with Lucchesini.—Bismarck’s Open
Honesty.—Vassal and Liege.—Liberalism a Danger.—Democracy a
Danger.—The Relative Positions of Prussia and Austria in the
Federation.—Gerlach’s Ideal Conservatism. 157
CHAPTER II.
THE ASSEMBLY OF THE THREE ESTATES.
[1847.]
The February Constitution.—Merseberg.—First Appearance of
Bismarck in the White Saloon.—Von Saucken.—Bismarck’s First
Speech.—Conservatives and Liberals.—The First of June.—Jewish
Emancipation.—Illusions Destroyed. 165
CHAPTER III.
THE DAYS OF MARCH.
[1848.]
Rest at Home.—Contemplation.—The Revolution in Paris,
February, 1848.—Progress of the Revolutionary Spirit.—The
March Days of Berlin.—The Citizen Guard.—Opening of the
Second Session of the United Diet, 2d April, 1848.—Prince
Solms-Hohen-Solms-Lich.—Fr. Foerster.—“Eagle’s Wings and
Bodelswings.”—Prince Felix Lichnowsky.—The Debate on the
Address.—Speech of Bismarck.—Revolution at the Portal of the
White Saloon.—_Vaticinium Lehninense._—The Kreuzzeitung Letter
of Bismarck on Organization of Labor.—Bismarck at Stolpe on the
Baltic.—The Winter of Discontent.—Manteuffel. 178
CHAPTER IV.
CONSERVATIVE LEADERSHIP.
[1849-1851.]
The Second Chamber.—The Sword and the Throne.—Acceptance of
the Frankfurt Project.—The New Electoral Law.—Bismarck’s
Speeches.—The King and the Stag.—Birth of Herbert von
Bismarck.—“What does this Broken Glass Cost?”—The Kreuzzeitung
Letters.—The Prussian Nobility.—“I am Proud to be a Prussian
Junker!”—Close of the Session. 191
Book the Fourth.
ON THE VOYAGE OF LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE VOYAGE OF LIFE.
[1851-1859.]
Ambassador.—Interview with the King.—Lieut.-General von
Rochow.—Anecdotes.—Frankfurt.—Reception of the Prince of
Prussia.—Society at Frankfurt.—The King’s Birthday.—Position of
Prussia.—Correspondence. 217
CHAPTER II.
BISMARCK ON THE NEVA.
[1859-1862.]
Ambassador to St. Petersburg.—Illness.—Journey.—Hunting.—The
Coronation of William I. 280
CHAPTER III.
BISMARCK ON THE SEINE.
[1862.]
The Premiership ahead.—Ambassador to Paris.—Unveiling
of the Brandenburg Statue.—Uncertainty.—Delivers his
Credentials to Napoleon III.—Description of the Embassy
House at Paris, and of Prussia House, London.—Journey to
the South of France.—Trouville.—Bordeaux.—Bayonne.—San
Sebastian.—Biarritz.—Luchon.—Toulouse.—End of his Journeyman
Days. 310
Book the Fifth.
MINISTER-PRESIDENT AND COUNT.
CHAPTER I.
THE CRISIS.
The Crisis of 1862.—Bismarck Premier.—The Party of
Progress.—The Liberals.—The Conservatives.—Bismarck’s
Determination.—“_Voilà mon Médecin!_”—Anecdotes.—Attitude
of the Government.—Refusal of the Budget.—Prudence of the
Minister-President.—Official Presentation of Letters of
Recall at Saint Cloud. 331
CHAPTER II.
THE MAN AT THE HELM.
Negotiations with Austria.—Circular of the 24th of January,
1863.—Conversation with Count Karolyi.—Prusso-Russian
Convention.—The Party of Progress.—Congress of
Princes.—Conditions of Prussia.—War in the Distance.—The
Danish Campaign.—Treaty of Gastein, 14th August,
1865.—Bismarck elevated to the Rank of Count.—Bismarck and
Pauline Lucca.—Correspondence with his Family.—Hunting at
Schönbrunn.—Biarritz. 343
CHAPTER III.
THE GREAT YEAR, 1866.
Disputes with Austria.—The Central States.—Mobilization
of the Army.—Bismarck shot at by Kohn-Blind, 7th May,
1866.—Excitement in Berlin.—War Imminent.—Declaration.—The
King sets out on the Campaign.—Sichrow.—Jitschen.—Battle
of Sadowa, 3d July, 1866.—Bismarck with His Majesty on
the Battle-field.—Negotiations of Nicolsburg.—Treaty
of Prague.—Illness of Bismarck.—Consolidation of
Prussia.—Triumphant Entry of the Army into Berlin.—Peace. 382
CHAPTER IV.
MAJOR GENERAL AND CHANCELLOR OF THE FEDERATION.
Conversation with M. de Vilbort.—Appearance as Chancellor.—M.
Bamberger’s Views.—Bismarck as an Orator.—The Luxemburg
Question.—Fall from his Horse.—Citizenship of Bülow.—Visit to
Holstein.—Speech to a Torchlight Procession. 414
CHAPTER V.
A BALL AT BISMARCK’S.
Interior of Bismarck’s House at Berlin.—Arrival of Guests.—The
King.—The Queen.—The Royal Princes.—The Generals.—Committee of
Story-tellers in the Refreshment-room.—Supper.—The Ball.—Home. 431
CHAPTER VI.
BISMARCK’S HOUSE AT BERLIN.
Bismarck’s House in ordinary Costume.—Its History.—“Sultan
Uilem and Grand Vizier Bi-Smarck.”—“Bismarck, _grand homme_,
Bakschisch!”—The Cuckoo Clock.—Daily Habits.—Sunday at
Bismarck’s. 441
CHAPTER VII.
VARZIN.
Purchase of Varzin.—The Verandah.—The Park.—The name of
Bismarck famous.—House Inscriptions.—Popularity of Bismarck.—In
an Ambush of School-girls.—Conclusion. 448
APPENDIX A.
THE LEGEND OF GERTRUDE AND BISMARCKIAS. 459
APPENDIX B.
THE PRUSSIAN CONSTITUTION OF 1847. 461
ORDINANCE OF THE 3D OF FEBRUARY, 1847. 463
ORDINANCE ON PERIODICAL ASSEMBLING. 468
THE KING’S SPEECH—APRIL, 1847. 472
APPENDIX C.
ICH BIN EIN PREUSSE! 483
I AM A PRUSSIAN! 484
INDEX 487
LIST OF LARGER ILLUSTRATIONS.
_To face page_
COUNT OTTO VON BISMARCK (_Frontispiece_) 5
THE BISMARCKS OF OLD 36
Happy the man who ne’er forgets
The great and good who bore his name;
They honor him who honors them,
And emulates their fame.
BISMARCK’S FATHER (KARL WILHELM FERDINAND VON BISMARCK) 75
BISMARCK’S ARMORIAL BEARINGS 88
Lift the ancestral standard high,
The banners to the breeze be cast!
’Tis in the warnings of the Past
The sure hopes of the Future lie.
EARLY YOUTH 96
The opening buds betray the flowers,
The flowers the fruit betray;
The first note that we catch reveals
The spirit of the lay.
THE CRADLE 107
Stately, noble, and well founded,
And with beauty all surrounded,
Stand the old ancestral towers;
Stately, noble, and well grounded
In himself, with hopes unbounded,
See the son forsake those bowers
For the pathway that will lead him
To the troublous times that need him.
LEARNING THE BUSINESS 154
The master is born, not made,
But must learn the way to rule,
As the workman learns his trade,
And life must be his school:
He must give body and soul,
He must give heart and hand,
To his work, and must search out knowledge
Through many a foreign land.
COUNTESS VON BISMARCK-SCHÖNHAUSEN 181
ON THE VOYAGE OF LIFE 198
Count not such days as wasted;
The wanderer, as he goes,
Plucks many a flower of wisdom
That by the wayside grows.
BISMARCK’S ONLY SISTER (FRAU VON ARNIM) 238
A BALL AT BISMARCK’S 269
Beauty and strength, rank, fame, and power
Assemble in the festive hall,
To dance away the merry hour,
Or watch the gay scene from the wall.
BISMARCK AS CHANCELLOR 313
BISMARCK’S ESTATE IN FARTHER POMERANIA 354
The Bismarcks shall hold their domain till the day
When they from their haunts drive the herons away.
VICTORY 384
MAJOR-GENERAL AND CHANCELLOR OF THE CONFEDERATION 414
Before Prussia’s royal banner
Humbled is the Austrian’s pride;
On the field of victory
Is the statesman justified.
THE PARK AT VARZIN 451
EDITOR’S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The life of Count Bismarck has been so much misinterpreted, by interested
and disinterested persons, that it is thought the present publication,
which tells “a plain unvarnished tale,” will not be unwelcome. In these
days of universal criticism, no person is exempt from the carping mood
of the envious, or the facile unreasoning of the ready-made theorist.
Should we feel disposed to credit vulgar report, noble motives and heroic
lives are no longer extant in our present state of society. The eyes of
detractors are everywhere curiously—too curiously—fixed upon the deeds
of men of mark, and mingled feelings pull down from the pedestal of fame
every man who has ascended to the eminence awarded to the patriot and
statesman. Truly, such a condition of things bodes no good to the common
weal of society, either in England, Prussia, or in any part of Europe.
The present writer can see no utility in this practice of soiling the
reputations and actions of men who, by slow degrees, have worked their
way into positions of merit and mark.
The evil, however, does not wholly rest with the detractors. An
erroneous theory about universal equality gives the spur to this spirit
of criticism. A sort of feeling arises in the mind to the effect of,
“Had I been in his place, I should have acted otherwise!”—the bystander
proverbially seeing more of the game than the players. It is, however,
a great matter of doubt whether this is universally true. It might be
true, if every circumstance, every motive, every actuation, could be laid
bare to positive vision. In the conduct of life, however, this is rarely
possible, even in the crudest way; especially is it so in the intricate
and tortuous paths of politics. Politicians, we all know, are many;
statesmen, unfortunately for the well-being of the world, are few.
Some few years since England lost a statesman named Henry Temple,
Viscount Palmerston. He had the rare happiness of being popular during
his life, although it is perhaps more certain of him than of any modern
statesman, that his inflexibility as to issues was remarkable. Apparently
he would bend, but he had, upon fixed principles, determined to rule,
and his happy method of conciliation, in which he was clad as in a
garment, veiled from the eyes of friend or foe that wonderful spirit of
determination permeating all the actions characterizing his political
career. And when Palmerston died, a wild wail of sorrow arose from all
England, a regret which will never be abated so long as England’s history
remains intelligible.
Of similar materials to Palmerston, Count Bismarck is composed.
Otherwise put together, it is true, in accordance with the genius of
the nation amongst which his life-destiny has cast him; but as to the
generic likeness there can be little doubt. The policy of Palmerston was
“thorough;” so is that of Bismarck. But it is not the “thorough” of a
Strafford; it is rather the enlightened “thorough” of a man cast into
modern society, and intensely patriotic. Though Bismarck has consistently
upheld the prerogatives of his royal master, he has not been neglectful
of the interests of the nation of which he is the Minister. A spirit of
candor breathes through all his actions, and displays him in the light
of an emphatically honest man. Unlike the present remarkable occupant of
the French throne, he is not tided along by public events; nor, like that
potentate, does he extract fame from an adroit bowing to the exigencies
of the hour. The French sovereign has eliminated a policy, and gained a
kind of respect from others, in consequence of a masterly manipulation
of passing occurrences. The Prussian Premier, on the other hand, has
observed fixed principles. The latter has his political regrets—he can
shed a tear over the grave of the meanest soldier who died at Sadowa. The
former looks upon human life much as chess-players look upon pawns—to be
ruthlessly sacrificed on occasion, should it happen that a skillful flank
movement may protect the ultimate design in view. Chess-players, however,
know that the pawns constitute the real strength of the game, and that
it would be worse than folly to sacrifice the humble pieces. Political
sagacity is ever displayed in judicious reserve, and this quality is
eminently evinced in all Bismarck’s activity. Perhaps the most singular
triumph of Bismarck’s life consists in the neutralization of Luxemburg—an
episode in his career of which he has greater reason to be proud than
of the battle-field of Sadowa, or the indirect countenance afforded by
him to Italy. It can scarcely be doubted that so peaceful a victory is a
greater merit than the massing together of thousands of armed men, for
trying a right by ordeal of steel and gunpowder.
Astute as Napoleon may be, Bismarck certainly was wiser than he. The
former has dynastic reasons for maintaining a pre-eminence in the face of
Europe; but the latter, with comparatively inadequate means, had a far
more difficult problem to solve. For Bismarck has a heart large enough to
entertain feelings of kindliness towards the whole of Germany, as well as
towards that section of it known as Prussia alone. There is a generous
aspiration in him for German nationality, overruling petty animosity
towards his enemies.
In all his contests he has ever been ready to hold out the hand of
reconciliation, although, in no instance, has he deviated from the strict
line of duty pointed out by his special nationality. Indeed, it was a
paramount necessity to raise Prussia in the scale of nations, ere a
German nationality could emerge into healthy political being. Prussia’s
rise, therefore, comprehended within it the elements of German political
existence. Geographically, the consolidation of a great kingdom in the
north was a necessity; and considering how well and prudently Prussia
has used its great position, no one can regret the result of the events
of 1866. Prussia, as a Protestant country, as a land of education and
intellectual refinement, has no equal on the face of the globe. But that
single position depends on the race-character of the nation evinced in
its utilitarian spirit. Bismarck will perpetuate his policy in time to
come.
“Great acts,” says the old dramatist, “thrive when reason guides the
will.” This application of reason, so continuously, consistently, and
quietly exercised, predicates a great national future. That future
is bound up with the fame of this great loyal statesman and dutiful
subject, who has had insight enough to see how far the prerogative
of the crown of Prussia was consistent with the happiness of its
people, foresight enough to rationally contend for such prerogative,
and faithful courage adequate to the fearless execution of a grand
design, comprehending within itself elements of consolidation and
enduring strength. What Germany owes to Bismarck can as yet be scarcely
calculated, but very few years need elapse ere the sum will become
intelligible.
It is, however, necessary to descend from generalities into particulars;
to discuss, as briefly as may be, some objections that have been urged,
and to expose the fallacy of certain historical parallels, sought to
be drawn in reference to Bismarck’s position towards his king and his
country.
We have not to contrast Bismarck with any hero or statesman of antiquity.
Society, although not human nature, has so changed, that what our
modern men do for the common weal changes with the circumstances and
the extension of the circle of population. One man could then address
a nation—now the nation must rely upon Camarillas. Democracy, in these
days, either vaguely advocates desperate political experiments, or, stung
to madness by real or fancied wrongs, determines them—as hot-headed
non-thinkers usually determine—by violence.
Our modern Cleons use the press, which, truth to be spoken, is not
unwilling to be used; and hence any thing not to be twisted before the
law-courts into libel, represents the license and not the freedom of the
press. But the man of antiquity at least had to exercise the courage of
meeting his fellow-citizens, and thus either swayed them or was lost.
Assent or dissent was given by acclamation. Bismarck presents rather a
contrast than a likeness to Greek or Roman statesmen—they sought the
Agora or the Forum; he has no time for claptrap.
But let us turn to the political doctrine, partly known as that of divine
right, for which Bismarck has been thought to fight.
The doctrine of a divine right of possession to the Crown of Prussia
is one not readily comprehensible to an English subject, under the
circumstances of the modern constitution of the United Kingdom, for the
reason that modern society has accustomed itself to look upon the results
of the revolutions of 1649 and 1688 as final, and settled by events, and
the contract entered into between the parliament, or representative
body, on the one hand, and the constitutional sovereign on the other. We
may recur to an earlier period, when the crown was devisable by will in
England, or when at least the succession was settled in accordance with
the desires of a dying sovereign, for some kind of parallel. Although
this absolute right of leaving the crown by will has not often been
exercised, it has found its defenders; for instance, in the case of Queen
Jane, a minority held that Edward was justified in devising his crown;
therefore, while the theory was not actually substantiated by the right
of peaceable possession, it was not regarded as wholly illusory. If Henry
VIII. might by his prerogative bar certain members of his family from the
succession, the crown advisers of that day must have been justified in
supporting such a prerogative, and could not have regarded the sovereign
as _ultra vires_ in the matter of a transmission of the crown. It is
certainly, from the logic of facts, an impossibility to effect any such
change in the order of succession now, and in itself would be as fatal
a step as any political theorists could attempt; and if so fatal in a
country where feudalism is a mere historical eidolon, how far more unwise
in a country such as Prussia, where feudalism has still a practical,
though not an avowed, existence? In the very nature of things, the
sovereigns of Prussia hold their crown upon a principle of divine right,
as proprietors of the fee-simple of the soil, which divine right has ever
been construed to impose certain obligations towards their vassals, the
holders of the usufruct, and their subjects, agents, and traders—which
obligations, to their honor be it spoken, the sovereigns of Prussia have
ever attempted to fulfill. This divine right differs in its nature and
mode of action from the mere arbitrary will of a tyrant. There, as here—
“Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds,
But Harry, Harry.”
Their divine right to the soil, which they swear to defend, and seek to
improve, for the benefit of all, differs essentially from the divine
right as understood by a Charles Stuart. Fiscal arrangements are again of
a widely different character, and a vassal like Bismarck, who maintains
the prerogative of his sovereign liege, is merely carrying the legitimate
consequences of an enduring and progressive system, akin to, but not
identical with, ancient feudal theories, into action. It is clearly
false to seek a parallel in Charles and Strafford; the parallel would
be more just if drawn between Henry and Wolsey. But parallels are ever
suspicious, as the course of historical sequence is not identical, and
presents only delusive points of contact.
Any adequate explanation must be sought in another direction, and that
direction is best pointed out by the very essential features of Prussian
history itself. From this cause, a prominence, by no means undeserved,
has been assigned to the early history of the family whence Bismarck
sprang. In the brief sketch given in the first book, it may be plainly
seen that impulses of duty guided, and a kind of hierarchy of rank
sustained, the active energy in the vassal on behalf of the sovereign,
and that in fighting for the supremacy of the Prussian crown, Bismarck
was at the same moment upholding the real solidarity and ultimate rights
of the subjects of that crown. Surely by maintaining the rights of the
father against all comers—those rights held by the father in trust—the
interests of the children are best consulted.
For there is a mesne power between absolutism and republicanism, tyranny
and democracy; this is not constitutionalism. This is honor, higher than
all.
“The divinity that doth hedge a king,” from which a true king’s impulses
flow, must be founded on a higher instinct, and derived from a higher
plane. True kingship is very rare, often falls short of its standard in
the very best of men—for | 873.673316 |
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_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
JULES SANDEAU. LA | 873.67418 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 93.
NOVEMBER 12, 1887.
THE LETTER-BAG OF TOBY, M.P.
FROM A HOME-SICK SECRETARY.
_By Guildford, Saturday._
[Illustration: D]EAR TOBY,
I HOPE you will forgive my not being more precise as to my whereabouts.
The fact is if I can get away from London for a day or two without
leaving my address, I am only too glad to do so. I was at the Cabinet
Council on Thursday, afterwards ran down here, _et j'y reste_, at any
rate over Sunday. I am getting more and more tired of London, and the
office sardonically called "Home." It has never been a sweet
resting-place, and of late has grown absolutely intolerable. I used once
to have Sunday to myself; but now, owing to the new-born church-going
fervour of the Unemployed, Sunday is the worst day of the week. So when
opportunity offers, as just now, I cut the whole business and get me
into the sweet seclusion of Surrey.
I see by the papers that I am about to resign office, and retire into
that private life, upon which during the past twelve months I have
looked back with increasing affection. Perhaps the statement is true,
and perhaps the Markiss would say it is "not authentic." We shall see.
In the mean time, at this distance from Parliament Street, I get the
advantage of perspective in regarding the office of Home Secretary. Down
here it seems odd enough that it should be so much hankered after by men
of various temperaments. H-NRY J-M-S wanted it at the time H-RC-RT
secured it. It had a strange fascination for L-WE, and I am disclosing
no secret when I mention that my old friend and patron, GR-ND-LPH,
fancies it would suit him down to the ground. I only wish he would try
it. If I were certain that he would come in, it might have some effect
in hastening my decision on the question of resignation. Of course
GR-ND-LPH and I remain on terms of friendliest regard. I am indebted to
him for a sudden promotion exceeding the hopes of the most sanguine
politician. Still, I would like to see him at the Home Office, if only
for a short six months. He is serenely confident he could grapple with
the situation. JOHNNY RUSSELL was quite a nervous, modest person,
compared with GR-ND-LPH. I should really like to see my old friend in my
old chair.
The post, of course, has its attractions. It is no small thing to be
principal Secretary of State | 874.073186 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: STEPHEN A. DOUGLAS]
Statesman Edition VOL. V
Charles Sumner
HIS COMPLETE WORKS
With Introduction
BY
HON. GEORGE FRISBIE HOAR
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD
MCM
COPYRIGHT, 1900,
BY
LEE AND SHEPARD.
Statesman Edition.
LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND COPIES.
OF WHICH THIS IS
No. 565
Norwood Press:
NORWOOD, MASS., U.S.A.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME V.
PAGE
THE ANTISLAVERY ENTERPRISE: ITS NECESSITY, PRACTICABILITY,
AND DIGNITY; WITH GLANCES AT THE SPECIAL DUTIES OF THE NORTH.
Address before the People of New York, at the Metropolitan
Theatre, May 9, 1855 1
NEW OUTRAGE FOR THE SAKE OF SLAVERY. Letter to Passmore
Williamson, in Moyamensing Prison, August 11, 1855 52
THE PEN BETTER THAN THE SWORD. Letter to Committee of
Publishers in New York, September 26, 1855 58
REPUBLICAN PARTY IN NEW YORK. Letter to a New York Committee,
October 7, 1855 60
REPUBLICAN PARTY OFFSPRING OF AROUSED CONSCIENCE OF THE
COUNTRY. Letter to a Boston Committee, October 8, 1855 61
POLITICAL PARTIES AND OUR FOREIGN-BORN POPULATION. Speech at
a Republican Rally in Faneuil Hall, November 2, 1855 62
ORIGINATION OF APPROPRIATION BILLS. Speech in the Senate,
on the Usurpation of the Senate in the Origination of
Appropriation Bills, February 7, 1856 83
RELIEF OF VESSELS IN DISTRESS ON THE COAST. Letter to the
Director of the Exchange News-room, Boston, February 18, 1856 93
THE EXAMPLE OF WASHINGTON AGAINST SLAVERY NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN
NOW. Letter to a Committee of the Boston Mercantile Library
Association, February 19, 1856 95
CONSTANT EXERTION AND UNION AMONG GOOD MEN. Letter to a
Massachusetts Committee, February 25, 1856 97
ABROGATION OF TREATIES. Speeches in the Senate, March 6 and
May 8, 1856 98
REPLY TO ASSAULTS ON EMIGRATION IN KANSAS. Speech in the
Senate, on the Report of the Committee on Territories, March
12, 1856 121
UNION TO SAVE KANSAS, AND UNION TO SAVE OURSELVES. Letter to
a New York Committee, April 28, 1856 123
THE CRIME AGAINST KANSAS: THE APOLOGIES FOR THE CRIME; THE
TRUE REMEDY. Speech in the Senate, May 19 and 20, 1856. With
Appendix 125
“WHATEVER MASSACHUSETTS CAN GIVE, LET IT ALL GO TO SUFFERING
KANSAS.” Telegraphic Despatch to Boston, June 6, 1856 343
REFUSAL TO RECEIVE TESTIMONIAL IN APPROBATION OF KANSAS SPEECH.
Letter to a Committee in Boston, June 13, 1856 344
THE ANTISLAVERY ENTERPRISE: ITS NECESSITY, PRACTICABILITY, AND DIGNITY;
WITH GLANCES AT THE SPECIAL DUTIES OF THE NORTH.
ADDRESS BEFORE THE PEOPLE OF NEW YORK, AT THE METROPOLITAN THEATRE, MAY
9, 1855.
The principles of true politics are those of morality enlarged;
and I neither now do nor ever will admit of any other.--BURKE,
_Letter to the Bishop of Chester: Correspondence_, Vol. I. p.
332.
True politics I look on as a part of moral philosophy, which
is nothing but the art of conducting men right in society, and
supporting a community amongst its neighbors.--JOHN LOCKE,
_Letter to the Earl of Peterborough: Life, by Lord King_, Vol.
I. p. 9.
Malus usus abolendus est.--LAW MAXIM.
All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to
you, do ye even so to them; for this is the Law and the
Prophets.--MATTHEW, viii. 12.
You have among you many a purchased slave,
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules,
You use in abject and in slavish parts,
Because you bought them.
SHAKESPEARE, _Merchant of Venice_.
From Guinea’s coast pursue the lessening sail,
And catch the sounds that sadden every gale.
Tell, if thou canst, the sum of sorrows there;
Mark the fixed gaze, the wild and frenzied glare,
The racks of thought, and freezings of despair!
But pause not then,--beyond the western wave,
Go, view the captive bartered as a slave!
ROGERS, _Pleasures of Memory_.
Through the influence of the late Dr. James W. Stone, an
indefatigable Republican, a course of lectures was organized in
Boston especially for the discussion of Slavery. This course
marks the breaking of the seal on the platform. Mr. Sumner
undertook to open this course, which was to begin in the week
after his address before the Mercantile Library Association;
but he was prevented by sudden disability from a cold. His
excuse was contained in the following letter.
“HANCOCK STREET, 23d November, 1854.
“MY DEAR SIR,--An unkindly current of air is often more
penetrating than an arrow. From such a shaft I suffered
on the night of my address to the Mercantile Library
Association, more than a week ago, and no care or skill has
been efficacious to relieve me. I am admonished alike by
painful consciousness and by the good physician into whose
hands I have fallen, that I am not equal to the service I
have undertaken on Thursday evening.
“Fitly to inaugurate | 874.073513 |
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Transcribed from the 1897 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
THE WATER OF THE
WONDROUS ISLES BY
WILLIAM MORRIS
* * * * *
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BOMBAY
MDCCCXCVII
* * * * *
Copyright, 1897, by Longmans, Green, and Co.
* * * * *
_CONTENTS_
_The First Part_: _Of the House of Captivity_
PAGE
_Chap. I._ _Catch at Utterhay_ 1
_II._ _Now shall be told of the House by the 8
Waterside_
_III._ _Of Skin-changing_ 10
_IV._ _Of the Waxing of the Stolen Child_ 12
_V._ _Of Birdalone_, _and how she is grown into 15
Maidenhood_
_VI._ _Herein is told of Birdalone’s Raiment_ 18
_VII._ _Birdalone hath an Adventure in the Wood_ 22
_VIII._ _Of Birdalone and the Witch-wife_ 30
_IX._ _Of Birdalone’s Swimming_ 33
_X._ _Birdalone comes on New Tidings_ 36
_XI._ _Of Birdalone’s Guilt and the Chastisement 39
thereof_
_XII._ _The Words of the Witch-wife to Birdalone_ 43
_XIII._ _Birdalone meeteth the Wood-woman again_ 46
_XIV._ _Of Birdalone’s Fishing_ 51
_XV._ _Birdalone weareth her Serpent-ring_ 54
_XVI._ _Birdalone meeteth Habundia again_; _and 59
learneth her First Wisdom of her_
_XVII._ _The Passing of the Year into Winter_ 62
_XVIII._ _Of Springtide and the Mind of Birdalone_ 65
_XIX._ _They bid Farewell_, _Birdalone and the 68
Wood-mother_
_XX._ _Of Birdalone and the Sending Boat_ 70
_The Second Part_: _Of the Wondrous Isles_
_Chap. I._ _The First Isle_ 75
_II._ _Birdalone falleth in with New Friends_ 77
_III._ _Birdalone is brought before the 82
Witch-wife’s Sister_
_IV._ _Of the Witch’s Prison in the 85
Wailing-tower_
_V._ _They feast in the Witch’s Prison_ 89
_VI._ _Atra tells of how they three came unto the 97
Isle of Increase Unsought_
_VII._ _The three Damsels take Birdalone out of 109
the Witch’s Prison_
_VIII._ _In what Wise Birdalone was clad_, _and how 112
she went her Ways from the Isle of Increase
Unsought_
_IX._ _How Birdalone came to the Isle of the 117
Young and the Old_
_X._ _Birdalone comes to the Isle of the Queens_ 131
_XI._ _And now she comes to the Isle of the 136
Kings_
_XII._ _Of Birdalone_, _how she came unto the Isle 141
of Nothing_
_The Third Part_: _Of the Castle of the Quest_
_ Chap. I._ _Birdalone comes to the Castle of the 146
Quest_
_II._ _Of Birdalone_, _and how she rested the 152
Night through in a Bower without the Castle
of the Quest_
_III._ _How Birdalone dight her for meeting the 157
Champions of the Quest_
_IV._ | 874.380321 |
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THE MENTOR 1918.11.01, No. 166,
Guynemer
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
NOVEMBER 1 | 874.57824 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Red Derelict
By Bertram Mitford
Published by Methuen and Co. London.
This edition dated 1904.
The Red Derelict, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE RED DERELICT, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE EPISODE OF THE BRINDLED GNU.
"Mine!"
The word was breathed rather than uttered, and its intonation conveyed a
sense of the most perfect, even ecstatic, contentment. The vivid green
of early summer woods piled as it were in great cloud masses to the
clear, unbroken blue, rolling up from the sheen and glory of golden seas
of buttercups which flooded every rich meadow surface. Hawthorn hedges
distilled their sweetness from snowy clusters crowding each other in
their profusion, a busy working ground for myriad bees whose murmur made
music in low waves of tone upon the sweet evening glow. And yonder,
behind him who is contemplating all this, the slant of the westering sun
touches the tall chimney stalks of the old house, just visible among
masses of feathery elms loud with cawing clamour from black armies of
homing rooks. Again the glance swept round upon this wealth of English
summer loveliness and again the uttered thought, with all its original
exaltation, escaped the lips.
"Mine!"
Wagram Gerard Wagram strolled leisurely on, drinking in the golden glory
of the surroundings as though suffering it to saturate his whole being.
As for the second time he half-unconsciously enunciated that single
possessive it was with almost a misgiving, an uncomfortable stirring as
of unreality. Would he awaken directly, as he had more than once
awakened before, to find this vision of Paradise, as it were, dispelled
in the cold and sunless grey of a mere existence, blank alike of aim or
prospect--illusions dead, life all behind, in front--nothing?
With these conditions he was well acquainted--only too well. The seamy
side of life had indeed been his--failure, straitened means,
disappointment in every form, and worse. Years of bitter and
heart-wearing experiences had planted the iron in his soul--but this was
all over now, never to return. To him, suddenly, startling in its
unexpectedness, had come the change, and with it, peace.
A perfect chorus of bird harmony filled the air. Thrushes innumerable
poured forth their song, whose sweet and liquid notes gurgled upon the
ear as though through organ pipes. Robins, too, and blackbirds were not
slow to join in, and then the soft amorous coo of wood-pigeons, and
through all--thrown as it were from copse to copse--the blithe and
gladsome shout of answering cuckoos.
Wagram opened a gate noiselessly, and with equally noiseless tread moved
along one of the "rides" of a wood. On his shoulder was a rabbit
rifle--one of some power and driving capacity--with which he was wont to
practise long shots at outlying but uncommonly suspicious and wideawake
Bunny. Things rustled in the undergrowth and brambles on either side,
as though stealthily creeping away. A slight stirring of the grass
caught his eye, and, as he bent over it, an adder contracted itself into
a letter S, with its heart-shaped head somewhat lifted, alert,
defensive. He raised the rifle so as to bring down the butt upon the
snake--then seemed to think better of it.
"Poor little brute. The chances are ten thousand to one against it ever
damaging anybody in a place like this, and those chances it can have the
benefit of."
He touched it with the muzzle of the gun, amused by the impotent wrath
wherewith the small reptile struck at the cold iron. Then he went on
his way.
He reached a gate and peered over. Two or three rabbits were out
feeding, but they darted like lightning into cover before he had time so
much as to raise the piece. Passing out of the gate he crossed the open
meadow.
In front a gleam of water, and beyond it the skipping forms of young
lambs, whose shrill bleat harmonised with the multitudinous bird voices,
and the green loveliness of the picture. Leaning lazily on the parapet
of an old stone bridge which spanned the river, Wagram watched the
ripple here and there of a rising trout, or the perky flirtings of a
pair of water-ouzels, whose nest clung, excrescence-like, against one of
the stone piers. Away down stream the roof of a picturesque old mill,
its wheel for the nonce still and silent, and beyond, pointing above
more woods, the spire of a distant church.
Again that well-nigh ecstatic sense of possession--of ownership--came
over him, and now, giving himself up to it, he fairly revelled in it.
The utter solitude of the spot constituted, in his eyes, one of its
greatest charms. He could wander at will without meeting a human being,
and though here the bridge carried on a public thoroughfare it was a
lonely road at any time. But one side of such solitude was that
thoughts of the past would arise, would obtrude, and such he steadily
put from him. For he hated the past. Not one day of it would he
willingly live over again--to no single incident of it would he
willingly let his mind revert. It was a very nightmare.
Leaving the bridge he strolled up the tree-shaded road intending to
return home. But no chances did he get of practising marksmanship, for
the rabbits seemed unaccountably shy. Ah--at last. There was one.
Nearly a hundred yards' range, too. Yes, it would do.
But before he could draw trigger he lowered the piece and threw up his
head listening. A sound--a strange sound--had caught his ear. Yet it
was not so much the nature of the sound, as the quarter from which it
came that had startled him. No further thought of the rabbit now, as he
listened for its repetition.
It came--louder, nearer, this time--a strange, harsh, raucous bellow.
Again and again he heard it, each time nearer still. And with it now
blended another sound--a loud shrill scream for help.
Wagram's blood thrilled as already he foresaw a tragedy. It happened
that a portion of the park was set apart for several varieties of the
larger African antelopes, which they were trying to acclimatise, and one
of these must, by some means or other, have escaped from its paddock.
It is a fact that the shyest and wariest of wild creatures in their
natural state, when captured and placed in confinement, as they become
accustomed to the sight of the human form divine, soon develop an
aggressive ferocity in exactly opposite proportion to their former
shyness. No better instance is furnished of familiarity thus breeding
contempt than in the case of the male ostrich. In his wild state the
sky-line is hardly a sufficiently respectable distance for him to keep
between you and him--incidentally he never does hide his head in the
sand, a ridiculous fable probably originating with the old Portuguese
explorers, in whom the waggishly disposed natives would find fair game.
"Camped off" or enclosed, there is no limit to his absolutely fearless
truculence. Even the graceful little springbok, half tamed, and shut up
alone in a paddock, we have known to give a full-grown man all the rough
and tumble he wants before getting out of that paddock unscathed. And
these, we repeat, were of the largest variety of antelope, and now here
was one of them at large and pursuing somebody--from the scream,
evidently a woman.
Even while thinking, Wagram was at the same time acting, for he had
rushed forward and literally torn himself through a high thick hedge
which interposed between himself and what was transpiring. And this is
what he saw.
A girl on a bicycle was skimming the broad white road which banded the
level sward. Close in pursuit coursed a strange looking beast, utterly
out of keeping with the peaceful and conventional beauty of an English
park--a slate- beast, with the head of an exaggerated he-goat,
and bearded withal; the horns of a miniature buffalo, the mane of a
horse and almost the tail of one. It was in fact a fair specimen of the
brindled gnu, commonly known as the blue wildebeeste.
Fortunately the creature did not seem able to make up its mind to
charge; for now it would range up alongside of the bicycle and its
rider, prancing and whisking around, and uttering its raucous bellow,
then it would drop back, and rush forward again with horns lowered, to
pull up and proceed to play the fool as before. All this Wagram took
in, as he hurried up, and, taking it in, knew the peril to be great and
dual. If the beast were to charge home, why then--those meat-hook like
horns would do their deadly work in a moment. If the rider kept up, or
increased her pace any further to speak of, why then this road ended in
a gate giving admission to the high road, and this gate was shut. There
was only one thing to be done, and he did it.
He rushed towards this strange chase, shouting furiously, even
grotesquely, anything to draw the attention of the dangerous brute. But
at that moment, whether the girl had lost her head, or was as startled
at this new diversion as her pursuer ought to have been, the bicycle
wheel managed to get into a dry rut, skidded, and shot the rider clean
off on to the turf. A half-strangled scream went up, and she lay still.
It is possible that the accident saved the situation so far as she was
concerned, for the gnu held straight on and, lowering his head, with a
savage drive sent his horns clean through the fabric of the machine
lying in the road, then throwing up his head flung the shattered
fragments of metal whirling about in every direction, but the remainder,
entangled in the horns, still hung about his forehead and eyes.
Wagram summed up the peril in a flash. There lay the girl, helpless if
not unconscious, the gate a quarter of a mile away--even the hedge he
had come through considerably over a hundred yards. Not so much as a
tree was there to dodge behind, and there was the infuriated beast
shaking its head and bellowing savagely in frantic attempts to disengage
itself of the clinging remains of the bicycle. The rifle, he decided,
was of no use; the bullet, too diminutive to kill or disable, would only
avail to madden the animal still more. And even then it succeeded in
flinging the last remnant of the shattered machine from its horns. It
stood for a second, staring, snorting, stamping its hoofs, then charged.
Wagram levelled the piece and pressed the trigger. The hammer fell with
a mere click, and as he remembered how he had fired in the air while
rushing to the rescue, in the hope that the report might scare the
beast, the shock of the onrush sent him to earth, knocking the weapon
from his grasp.
For a second he lay, half stunned. Fortunately, he had managed to dodge
partially aside so as to escape the full shock, and the impetus had
carried his assailant on a little way. Would the brute leave them, he
wondered, if they both lay still. But no. It faced round, stamped,
shook its head, bellowed, then came on again--this time straight for the
prostrate girl.
Wagram rose to his feet with a shout--a loud, pealing, quavering shout.
He had no clear idea as to what he was going to do, but the first thing
was to get between the maddened beast and its intended victim.
Even at that moment, so strange are the workings of the human mind,
there flashed across Wagram's brain the irony of it all. The ecstasy of
possession had culminated thus: that a sudden and violent death should
overtake him in the midst of his possessions, and through the agency of
one of them. The gnu, diverted from its original purpose, or preferring
an erect enemy to a recumbent one, once more charged him. Then he
literally "took the bull by the horns" and gripped them as in a vice.
Throwing up its head the struggling, pushing beast strove to tear itself
free, but those sinewy hands held on. Then it reared on its hind legs,
and tall man as he was, Wagram felt himself pulled off the ground.
Though considerably past his first youth, he was wiry and hard of
condition, and still he held on, but it could not continue. He must
relax his grip, then he would be gored, trampled, mangled out of all
recognition. Already one of the pointed hoofs, pawing wildly downward,
had ripped his waistcoat open, gashing the skin, when--he was
somersaulting through the air, to fall heavily half-a-dozen yards away,
at the same time that the sharp crack of firearms almost at his very ear
seemed to point to a miracle in his swiftly revolving brain.
He raised his head. His late enemy was lying on the turf, a faint
quiver shuddering through its frame, and, standing contemplating it,
erect, unhurt, the form of her he had nearly lost his life to rescue,
and in her hand, the smoke still curling from the muzzle, a rifle--his
rifle.
CHAPTER TWO.
AFTERWARDS.
"How did you do it?" he asked, panting violently after his recent
exertion and shock. "How?"
"I saw the cartridges fall out of your pocket while you fought the
brute," she answered. "That suggested it. I put one in the rifle and
aimed just behind the shoulder, as I had read of people doing when
shooting things of that sort. Thank Heaven it was the right aim. Do
you know, I felt it would be--knew it somehow."
She spoke quickly, excitedly, her breast heaving, and the colour
mantling in her cheeks, as she turned her large eyes upon his face.
"It was splendid--splendid," he repeated, rising, though somewhat
stiffly, for he was very bruised and shaken.
"I don't know about that," she answered with a laugh. "I expect the old
Squire will be of a different opinion. Why I--I mean you and I between
us--have killed one of his African animals. And they say he's no end
proud of them."
"Yes, and you have saved my life."
"Have I? I rather think the boot's on the wrong foot," she answered.
"Where would I have been with that beast chevying me if you hadn't come
on the scene. But--oh, Mr Wagram, are you much hurt? I was
forgetting."
"No, I am not hurt, beyond a bit of a shaking-up. And you?"
"Same here. I suppose the excitement and unexpectedness of the toss
saved me. I was in an awful funk, though--er--I mean I was awfully
scared. You see it was all so unexpected. I didn't know these things
ever attacked people."
"They are apt to be dangerous in a half-tame condition, but ours are
shut up in a separate part of the park. I have yet to find out how this
one got loose."
"What would I have done if you hadn't come up?" she repeated. "I should
certainly have been killed."
Wagram thought that such would very likely have been the case, but he
answered:
"I think you might have been considerably injured. You see, when you
got to the gate over there, you would have had to slow down and jump
off."
"Rather. And--oh, my poor bike! It's past praying for, utterly."
"Well, it's past mending, that's certain. But--er--of course, you must
allow us to make good the loss. As a matter of hard law you need have
no scruple about this. It was destroyed on our property by an animal
belonging to us, and on a public road."
"A public road!" she echoed. "Then I was not trespassing?"
"No. This is a right-of-way, though I don't mind admitting that we have
often wished it wasn't," he added with a smile.
Inwardly he was puzzling as to who this girl could be. She was aware of
his own identity, for she had addressed him by name; but he was
absolutely convinced he had never seen her before. She was a handsome
girl, too, very handsome. She had a clear, brunette skin, through which
the colour would mantle as she grew animated, fine eyes of a light
hazel, and an exceedingly attractive smile. In build she was square
shouldered and of full outline, and though not exactly tall was of a
good height for a woman. She was plainly dressed, but well, in a light
blouse and grey bicycle skirt, and her manner was natural and
unaffected. Yet with all these attractions Wagram decided that she was
just not quite in the same social scale. Who could she be?
"Oh, but, Mr Wagram, I'm sure you must be hurt," she broke in, as he
rose from dusting down her bicycle skirt--she had sustained wonderfully
little damage, even outwardly, from her fall. "Why, what is this?"
catching sight of his ripped waistcoat. "Blood, too! Good heavens!
Did it strike you with its horns? Oh, you must get it seen to at once.
I have read somewhere that the wound from an animal's horn is
frightfully dangerous."
"Well, it wasn't the horn this time, it was the hoof. But I assure you
the thing is a mere scratch; I daresay it might have been worse but for
the waistcoat. As it is, it's nothing."
"Really? Seriously, mind?"
"Seriously. But if you always turn your reading to such practical
account as you did just now, it'll be good for other people all along
the line. It was even better than plucky, for it showed a quickness and
readiness of resource rare among women, and by no means so widely
distributed among men as we like to imagine."
"How good of you to say so," she answered, colouring up with pleasure.
"But--oh, what a pity to have had to kill such a curious animal. Will
the old Squire be very angry, do you think, Mr Wagram?"
"He will be sorry; but you must credit him with a higher estimate of the
sanctity of human life for anger to enter his mind in this connection.
I am sure he will feel only too thankful that a most disastrous accident
has been averted."
"Oh, I am relieved. Poor thing," she broke off, standing over the dead
gnu with a little shudder at the pool of blood which had trickled from
the small hole made by the bullet. "It is very ugly, though."
"Yes; it's a sort of combination of goat and buffalo, and horse and
donkey, to all outward appearance. Ah, here's someone at last," as two
men approached. "Here, Perrin," to the foremost, "how on earth did this
fellow break out of the west park? Are the palings broken down
anywhere?"
"Not as I knows on, sir," replied the man, who was an under keeper. "I
was round there myself this morning, and 'twas all right then. Reckon
he must ha' jumped. Them things do jump terrible high at times. Be you
hurt, sir?" with a look at the other's torn clothing.
"No; only a scratch. But this young lady might have been killed. You'd
better go to the village at once and let Bowles know there's a
butchering job here for him, and the sooner he sets about it the better,
or the light won't last. Oh, and on the way tell Hood to go over now
and make sure there are no gaps or weak places in the palings, or we
shall have more of the things getting out I should never have believed
one would have taken that leap."
"Very good, sir," replied the keeper, turning away to carry out his
orders.
The girl, meanwhile, was watching Wagram with a whole-souled but
half-furtive admiration, not undashed with a little awe. The fact of
her rescue by this man in a moment of ghastly peril, and at considerable
risk to himself, appealed to her less than did the cool, matter-of-fact
way in which he stood there issuing his orders, as though no
life-and-death struggle between himself and a powerful and infuriated
animal had just taken place. Moreover, there was something in the way
in which he gave his orders--as it were, the way of one to whom such
direction was bound as by right to belong--that impressed her, and that
vividly. Perhaps, too, the unconscious refinement of the man--a natural
refinement characterising not only his appearance, but his manner, the
tone of his voice, his every word--came especially home to her, possibly
by virtue of contrast. Anyhow, it was there, and she hardly had time to
disguise the growing admiration in her eyes as he turned to her again.
"Will you walk on with me to the Court and have a rest and some tea? We
can send you home in the brougham."
For a moment she hesitated. The invitation was wholly alluring, but to
herself a perfectly unaccountable resolve came over her to decline it.
It is just possible that the one word "send" had turned the scale. Had
he offered to accompany her home she would probably have accepted with
an alacrity needing some disguise.
"Oh no, thanks; I could not think of intruding upon you like that," she
answered. "I live just outside Bassingham, and a mere three-mile walk
is nothing on a lovely evening like this."
"Are you sure you are doing what you would prefer?" he urged.
"Quite. Oh, Mr Wagram, how can I thank you enough? Why, but for you I
should be in as many pieces as my poor bicycle."
"And but for you, possibly, so should I," he laughed.
"Yes; only you would not have been there at all but for me, so that I am
still all on the debtor's side," she rejoined, flashing up at him a very
winning smile.
"Will you favour me with your address--here," holding out a pocket-book
open at a blank leaf. "And--er--you seem to have the advantage of me as
to name."
"Have I? Why, so I have," (writing). Then handing it back he read:
"Delia Calmour, Siege House, Bassingham."
"Oh, you live in Bassingham, then?" he said, in a tone which seemed to
her to express surprise at never having seen her before.
"Yes; but I have been away for two years," she answered in implied
explanation which was certainly not accidental. "I have only just come
home."
She hoped he would question her further; but he did not.
"Good-bye, Mr Wagram," putting forth her hand with a bright smile. "I
shall return by the main road. It's much shorter--besides, I've had
enough adventure for one afternoon."
"Well, if you won't reconsider my suggestion."
"Thanks, no; I had really better get back."
"And," he supplemented, "again let me remind you that the utter wreck of
your bicycle is our affair. Oh, and by the way--er--in case you are put
out by the want of it even for a day or two in this splendid weather,
Warren, in Bassingham, keeps very good machines on hire--you understand,
our affair of course. I will send him in word the first thing in the
morning."
"Now, Mr Wagram, you are really too good," she protested with real
warmth. "I don't know whether I ought even to think of taking you at
your word."
"Ought? But of course you must. It's a matter, as I said before, of
hard, dry law, and damage. Good-bye."
They had reached the gate by this time, and closing it behind her,
Wagram raised his hat and turned back to where lay the dead gnu. Then,
as the men he had sent for had arrived, and he had given directions as
to the careful preserving of the head, he moved homeward.
The air seemed positively to thrill with the gush of bird-song as the
last rays of dazzling gold swept over the vivid greenery, ere the final
set of sun. Passing the chapel, a Gothic gem, set in an embowering of
foliage, Wagram espied the family chaplain seated in front of his
rose-grown cottage, reading.
"Evening, Father," he called out.
The priest jumped up and came to the gate. He was a man about Wagram's
own age, or a shade older, a cultured man, and possessed of a fund of
strong practical common sense, together with a keen sense of humour.
The two were great friends.
"Come in, come in, and help a lonely man through a lonely half hour, or
as many half-hours as you can spare; though I suppose it's getting too
near your dinner time for that."
"Why don't you stroll up with me and join us?" said Wagram, subsiding
into a cane chair.
"Thanks, but I can't to-night, and that for more reasons than one. Now,
what'll you be taking?"
"Nothing, thanks, just now," answered Wagram, filling his pipe. "I've
got a mighty unpleasant job sticking out if ever there was one. Went
out to knock over a rabbit or two, and knocked over one of the blue
wildebeeste instead. How's that?"
The priest gave a whistle.
"I wouldn't like to be the man to break the news to the old Squire," he
said, "unless the man happened to be yourself. Did you kill it?"
"Dead as a herring, or rather, the girl did."
"The girl did! What girl?"
"Why, the one the brute was chevying. Of course I had to get between,
don't you see?"
"I don't. You omitted the trifling detail that the said brute was
chevying anybody. Now, begin at the beginning."
Wagram laughed. This sort of banter was frequent between the two. The
priest reached down for the half-smoked pipe he had let fall, relit it,
and listened as Wagram gave him the narrative, concise to baldness.
"Who was the girl?" he said, when Wagram had done.
"That's just the point. First of all, do you know any people in
Bassingham named Calmour?"
"M'yes. That is to say, I know _of_ them."
"What do they consist of?"
"One parent--male. I believe three daughters. Sons unlimited."
"What sort of people are they?"
"Ask the old Squire."
"That's good enough answer," laughed Wagram. "You're not going to give
them a bad character, so you won't give them any. All right. I'll go
and ask him now, and, by Jove," looking at his watch, "it's time I did.
Good-night."
Father Gayle returned from the wicket, thinking.
"So that was the girl!" he said to himself. "The eldest, from the
description. I hope she won't make trouble."
For, as it happened, he had heard rather more about Delia Calmour and
her powers of attractiveness than Wagram had; moreover, he knew that
men, even those above the average, were very human. Wagram, in his
opinion, was very much above the average, yet he did not want to foresee
any entanglement or complication that could not but be disastrous--
absolutely and irrevocably disastrous.
CHAPTER THREE.
FATHER AND SON.
The exclamation possessive which had escaped Wagram as he contemplated
Hilversea Court and its fair and goodly appurtenances, was, as a matter
of hard fact, somewhat "previous," in that these enviable belongings
would not be actually and entirely his until the death of his father; an
eventuality which he devoutly hoped might be delayed for many and many a
long year. Yet, practically, the place might as well have been his own;
for since the motor car accident which had, comparatively speaking,
recently cut short the life of his elder brother, and he had taken up
his quarters at Hilversea, the old Squire had turned over to him the
whole management, even to the smallest detail. And he had grown to love
the place with a love that was well-nigh ecstatic. Every stick and
stone upon it, every leaf and blade of grass seemed different somehow to
the like products as existing beyond the boundary; and there were times
when the bare consciousness that he was destined to pass the remaining
half of his life here, was intoxicating, stupefying--too good indeed to
last. It seemed too much happiness for a world whose joys are
notoriously fleeting.
While hurriedly dressing for dinner Wagram's mind reverted to the recent
adventure. The old Squire had procured the African antelopes at
considerable trouble and expense; in fact, had made a hobby of it. He
would certainly not be pleased at the outcome of the said adventure; and
the duty of breaking distasteful news to anybody was not a palatable one
to himself. And the girl? She seemed a nice enough girl, and
unmistakably an attractive one; and at the thought of her Wagram got out
a telegraph form and indited a hasty "wire" to the London agency of a
well-known cycle firm. Then he went down, a little late, to find his
father ready and waiting.
The old Squire was a tall man of very refined appearance, and carried
his stature, in spite of his fourscore years, without stoop or bend, and
this, with his iron-grey moustache, would cause strangers to set him
down as a fine specimen of an old soldier--which was incorrect, for he
had spent the working period of his life in the Diplomatic Service.
"Well, Wagram, and what have you been doing with yourself?" he said, as
they passed into a gem of a panelled room looking out upon a lovely
picture of smooth sward and feathery elms. It was the smaller
dining-room, always used when father and son were alone together.
"Oh, I crept around with the rabbit rifle--a sort of combination of
keeping my hand in, and at the same time admiring the evening effects."
"Did you get any good shots?"
"H'm, rather," thought Wagram to himself drily. Then aloud, "Do you
know anybody in Bassingham, father, by name Calmour?"
"Calmour? Calmour?" repeated the old man dubiously. "I seem to know
the name too, but for the life of me I can't fit it with an owner.
Rundle," as the butler entered, "do I know any Calmour in Bassingham?"
"Well, sir, it's Major Calmour. Lives at Siege House, just this side of
the bridge, sir." And Wagram thought to detect a subtle grin drooping
the corners of the man's well-trained mouth as he filled the Squire's
glass.
"To be sure, to be sure. Now it all comes back. Major Calmour! Ho--
ho--ho! Wagram, that's the man right enough. Why? Has he been writing
to you about anything?"
"No. But--who is he, anyway?"
"He is a retired army veterinary surgeon, addicted to strong drink, and
a wholly unnecessarily lurid way of expressing himself."
"I know the species. What sort of a crowd are his descendants?"
"His descendants? I believe they are many. Their female parent was,
they say, even more partial to _aqua vita_ than their male; indeed,
report sayeth that she died thereof. One, by the way, obtained large
damages from Vance's eldest fool in an action for breach of promise. I
believe the family has been living on it ever since."
"Which of them was that?" said Wagram carelessly, wondering if it was
the heroine of the afternoon's adventure.
"I don't remember. Which of them was it, Rundle?"
"I believe it was the second of the young ladies, sir," supplied the
butler, who, being an old and privileged and, withal, discreet | 874.675243 |
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ABOUT IRELAND
BY
_E. LYNN LINTON._
LONDON:
METHUEN & CO.,
18, BURY STREET, W.C.
1890.
EXPLANATORY.
I am conscious that I ought to make some kind of apology for rushing
into print on a subject which I do not half know. But I do know just a
little more than I did when I was an ardent Home Ruler, influenced by
the seductive charm of sentiment and abstract principle only; and I
think that perhaps the process by which my own blindness has been
couched may help to clear the vision of others who see as I did. All
of us lay-folk are obliged to follow the leaders of those schools in
politics, science, or religion, to which our temperament and mental
idiosyncracies affiliate us. Life is not long enough for us to examine
from the beginning upwards all the questions in which we are
interested; and it is only by chance that we | 874.773234 |
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TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
OR
THE CASTAWAYS OF EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
BY VICTOR APPLETON
AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR
BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE
BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON
THE TOM SWIFT SERIES
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE
Or Fun and Adventures on the Road
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT
Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
Or the Speediest Car on the Road
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
Or the Castaways of Earthquake Island
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
Or the Secret of Phantom Mountain
TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
Or the Wreck of the Airship
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Or the Quickest Flight on Record
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land
(Other Volumes in Preparation)
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
CONTENTS
I. AN APPEAL FOR AID
II. MISS NESTOR'S NEWS
III. TOM KNOCKS OUT ANDY
IV. MR. DAMON WILL GO ALONG
V. VOL-PLANING TO EARTH
VI. THE NEW AIRSHIP
VII. MAKING SOME CHANGES
VIII. ANDY FOGER'S REVENGE
IX. THE WHIZZER FLIES
X. OVER THE OCEAN
XI. A NIGHT OF TERROR
XII. A DOWNWARD GLIDE
XIII. ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
XIV. A NIGHT IN CAMP
XV. THE OTHER CASTAWAY
XVI. AN ALARMING THEORY
XVII. A MIGHTY SHOCK
XVIII. MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS
XIX. SECRET OPERATIONS
XX. THE WIRELESS PLANT
XXI. MESSAGES INTO SPACE
XXII. ANXIOUS DAYS
XXIII. A REPLY IN THE DARK
XXIV. "WE ARE LOST!"
XXV. THE RESCUE-CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
AN APPEAL FOR AID
Tom Swift stepped from the door of the machine shop, where he was at
work making some adjustments to the motor of his airship, and
glanced down the road. He saw a cloud of dust, which effectually
concealed whatever was causing it.
"Some one must be in a hurry this morning," the lad remarked, "Looks
like a motor speeding along. MY! but we certainly do need rain," he
added, as he looked up toward the sky. "It's very dusty. Well, I may
as well get back to work. I'll take the airship out for a flight
this afternoon, if the wind dies down a bit."
The young inventor, for Tom Swift himself had built the airship, as
well as several other crafts for swift locomotion, turned to
re-enter the shop.
Something about the approaching cloud of dust, however, held his
attention. He glanced more intently at it.
"If it's an automobile coming along," he murmured, "it's moving very
slowly, to make so much fuss. And I never saw a motor-cycle that
would kick up as much sand, and not speed along more. It ought to be
here by now. I wonder what it can be?"
The cloud of highway dirt rolled along, making some progress toward
Tom's house and the group of shops and other buildings surrounding
it. But, as the lad had said, the dust did not move at all quickly
in comparison to any of the speedy machines that might be causing
it. And the cloud seemed momentarily to grow thicker and thicker.
"I wonder if it could be a miniature tornado, or a cyclone or
whirlwind?" and Tom spoke aloud, a habit of his when he was
thinking, and had no one to talk to. "Yet it can hardly be that." he
went on. "Guess I'll watch and see what it is."
Nearer and nearer came the dust cloud. Tom peered anxiously ahead, a
puzzled look on his face. A few seconds later there came from the
midst of the obscuring cloud a voice, exclaiming:
"G'lang there now, Boomerang! Keep to' feet a-movin' an' we sho'
will make a record. 'Tain't laik we was a autermobiler, er a
electricity car, but we sho' hab been goin' sence we started. Yo'
sho' done yo'se'f proud t'day, Boomerang, an' I'se gwine t' keep mah
promise an' gib yo' de bestest oats I kin find. Ah reckon Massa Tom
Swift will done say we brought dis yeah message t' him as quick as
anybody could."
Then there followed the sound of hoofbeats on the dusty road, and
the rattle of some many-jointed vehicle, with loose springs and
looser wheels.
"Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed Tom. "But who would ever think that
the <DW52> man's mule could get up such speed as that cloud of dust
indicates. His mule's feet must be working overtime, but he goes
backward about as often as he moves forward. That accounts for it.
There's lots of dust, but not much motion."
Once more, from the midst of the ball-like cloud of dirt came the
voice of the <DW52> man:
"Now behave yo'se'f, Boomerang. We'm almost dere an' den yo' kin sit
down an' rest if yo' laik. Jest keep it up a little longer, an'
we'll gib Massa Tom his telephone. G'lang now, Boomerang."
The tattoo of hoofbeats was slowing up now, and the cloud of dust
was not so heavy. It was gradually blowing away. Tom Swift walked
down to the fence that separated the house, grounds and shops from
the road. As he got there the sounds of the mule's progress, and the
rattle of the wagon, suddenly ceased.
"G'lang! G'lang! Don't yo' dare t' stop now, when we am | 875.073438 |
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THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,
NOW FIRST COLLECTED
_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATED
WITH NOTES,
HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
* * * * *
VOL. X.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1808.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME TENTH.
PAGE.
Religio Laici, or a Layman's Faith, an Epistle, 1
Preface, 11
Threnodia Augustalis, a Funeral Pindaric Poem, sacred
to the happy Memory of King Charles II. 53
Notes, 79
The Hind and the Panther, a Poem, in Three Parts, 85
Preface, 109
Notes on Part I. 139
Part II. 159
Notes on Part II. 185
Part III. 195
Notes on Part III. 240
Britannia Rediviva, a Poem on the Birth of the
Prince, 283
Notes, 302
Prologues and Epilogues, 309
Mack-Flecknoe, a Satire against Thomas Shadwell, 425
Notes, 441
RELIGIO LAICI:
OR,
A LAYMAN'S FAITH.
AN EPISTLE.
_Ornari res ipsa negat; contenta doceri._
ARGUMENT.
TAKEN FROM THE AUTHOR'S MARGINAL NOTES.
Opinions of the several Sects of Philosophers concerning the
_Summum bonum_.--System of Deism.--Of Revealed Religion.--Objection
of the Deist.--Objection answered.--Digression to the Translator
of Father Simon's Critical Edition of the Old Testament.--Of the
Infallibility of Tradition in general.--Objection in behalf of
Tradition, urged by Father Simon.--The Second Objection.--Answered.
RELIGIO LAICI.
The _Religio Laici_, according to Johnson, is almost the only work of
Dryden which can be considered as a voluntary effusion. I do not see
much ground for this assertion. Dryden was indeed obliged to write by
the necessity of his circumstances; but the choice of the mode in which
he was to labour was his own, as well in his Fables and other poems,
as in that which follows. Nay, upon examination, the _Religio Laici_
appears, in a great measure, a controversial, and almost a political
poem; and, being such, cannot be termed, with propriety, a voluntary
effusion, any more than "The Medal," or "Absalom and Achitophel."
It is evident, Dryden had his own times in consideration, and the
effect which the poem was likely to produce upon them. Religious
controversy had mingled deeply with the party politics of the reign
of Charles II. Divided, as the nation was, into the three great sects
of Churchmen, <DW7>s, and Dissenters, their several creeds were
examined by their antagonists with scrupulous malignity, and every
hint extracted from them which could be turned to the disadvantage of
those who professed them. To the Catholics, the dissenters objected
their cruel intolerance and jesuitical practices; to the church of
England, their servile dependence on the crown, and slavish doctrine
of non-resistance. The Catholics, on the other hand, charged the
reformed church of England with desertion from the original doctrines
of Christianity, with denying the infallibility of general councils,
and destroying the unity of the church; and against the fanatics,
they objected their anti-monarchical tenets, the wild visions of
their independent preachers, and their seditious cabals against the
church and state. While the church of England was thus assailed by
two foes, who did not at the same time spare each other, it probably
occurred to Dryden, that he, who could explain her tenets by a plain
and philosophical commentary, had a chance, not only of contributing
to fix and regulate the faith of her professors, but of reconciling to
her, as the middle course, the Catholics and the fanatics. The Duke
of York and the <DW7>s, on the one hand, were urging the king to the
most desperate measures; on the other, the popular faction were just
not in arms. The king, with the assistance and advice of Halifax, was
trimming his course betwixt these outrageous and furious torrents.
Whatever, therefore, at this important crisis, might act as a sedative
on the inflamed spirits of all parties, and encourage them to abide
with patience the events of futurity, was a main point in favour of
the crown. A rational and philosophical view of the tenets of the
national church, liberally expressed, and decorated with the ornaments
of poetry, seemed calculated to produce this effect; and as I have
no doubt, as well from the preface, as from passages in the poem,
that Dryden had such a purpose in view, I have ventured to place the
_Religio Laici_ among his historical and political poems.[1]
I would not, from what is above stated, be understood to mean, that
Dryden wrote this poem merely with a view to politics, and that he
was himself sceptical in the matters of which it treats.--On the
contrary, I have no doubt, that it expresses, without disguise or
reservation, what was then the author's serious and firm, though, as
it unfortunately proved, not his unalterable religious opinion. The
remarkable line in the "Hind and Panther," seems to refer to the state
of his mind at this period; and this system of divinity was among the
"new sparkles which his pride had struck forth," after he had abandoned
the fanatical doctrines in which he was doubtless educated.[2] It is
therefore probable, that, having formed for himself, on grounds which
seemed to warrant it, a rational exposition of the national creed,
he was willing to communicate it to the public at a period, when
moderation of religious zeal was so essentially necessary to the repose
of the nation.
Considered in this point of view, the _Religio Laici_ is one of the
most admirable poems in the language. The argumentative part is
conducted with singular skill, upon those topics which occasioned the
principal animosity between the religious sects; and the deductions
are drawn in favour of the church of England with so much apparent
impartiality, that those who could not assent, had at least no title
to be angry. The opinions of the various classes of free-thinkers
are combated by an appeal to those feelings of the human mind, which
always acknowledge an offended Deity, and to the various modes in
which all ages and nations have shewn their sense of the necessity
of an atonement by sacrifice and penance. Dryden, however, differs
from most philosophers, who suppose this consciousness of guilt to be
originally implanted in our bosoms: he, somewhat fantastically, argues,
as if it were some remnants of the original faith revealed to Noah,
and preserved by the posterity of Shem. The inadequacy of sacrifices
and oblations, when compared with the crimes of those by whom they are
made, and with the grandeur of the omnipotent Being, to whom they are
offered, paves the way for the imputed righteousness of Jesus Christ,
the fundamental doctrine of the Christian religion. The fitness of
this vicarious sacrifice to accomplish the redemption of man, and
vindicate the justice and mercy of God; the obvious impossibility that
the writings, or authors, by which it has been conveyed to us, should
be less than inspired; the progress of the Christian faith itself,
though militating against the corrupt dispositions of humanity, and
graced with none of those attractions by which Mahomet, and other
false prophets, bribed their followers, are then successively urged
as evidences of the Christian religion. The poet then recurs to an
objection, at which he had hinted in his preface. If the Christian
religion is necessary to salvation, why is it not extended to all
nations of the earth? And suppose we grant that the circumstance of
the revealed religion having been formerly preached and embraced in
great part of the world where it is now unknown, shall be sufficient
to subject those regions to be judged by its laws, what is to become
of the generations who have lived before the coming of the Messiah?
what of the inhabitants of those countries on which the beams of the
gospel have never shone? To these doubts, I hope most Christians will
think our author returns a liberal, and not a presumptuous answer,
in supposing that the heathen will be judged according to the light
which it has pleased God to afford them; and that, infinitely less
fortunate than us in the extent of their spiritual knowledge, they will
only be called upon to answer for their conformity with the dictates
of their own conscience. The authority of St Athanasius our author
here sets aside, either because in the ardour of his dispute with
Arius he carried his doctrine too far, or because his creed only has
reference to the decision of a doctrinal question in the Christian
church; and the anathema annexed applies not to the heathen world,
but to those, who, having heard the orthodox faith preached, have
wilfully chosen the heresy. Dryden next takes under review the work
of Father Simon; and, after an eulogy on the author and translator,
pronounces, that the former was not a bigotted Catholic, since he
did not hesitate to challenge some of the traditions of the church
of Rome. To these traditions, these "brushwood helps," with which
the Catholics endeavoured to fence the doctrines of their church,
our author proceeds, and throws them aside as liable to error and
corruption. The pretensions of the church of Rome, by her pope and
general councils, infallibly to determine the authenticity of church
tradition, is the next proposition. To this the poet answers, that
if they possess infallibility at all, it ought to go the length of
restoring the canon, or correcting the corrupt copies of scripture; a
reply which seems to concede to the Romans; as, without denying the
grounds of their claim, it only asserts, that it is not sufficiently
extended. Upon, the ground, however, that the plea of infallibility, by
which the poet is obviously somewhat embarrassed, must be dismissed,
as proving too much, the holy scriptures are referred to as the sole
rule of faith; admitting such explanations as the church of England
has given to the contested doctrines of Christianity. The unlettered
Christian, we are told, does well to pursue, in simplicity, his path to
heaven; the learned divine is to study well the sacred scriptures, with
such assistance as the most early traditions of the church, especially
those which are written, may, in doubtful points, afford him. It is in
this argument chiefly, that there may be traced a sort of vacillation
and uncertainty in our author's opinion, boding what afterwards took
place--his acquiescence in the church authority of Rome. Nevertheless,
having vaguely pronounced, that some traditions are to be received,
and others rejected, he gives his opinion against the Roman see, which
dictated to the laity the explications of doctrine as adopted by the
church, and prohibited them to form their own opinion upon the text,
or even to peruse the sacred volume which contains it. This Dryden
contrasts with the opposite evil, of vulgar enthusiasts debasing
scripture by their own absurd commentaries, and dividing into as many
sects, as there are wayward opinions formed upon speculative doctrine.
He concludes, that both extremes are to be avoided; that saving faith
does not depend on nice disquisitions; yet, if inquisitive minds are
hurried into such, the scripture, and the commentary of the fathers,
are their only safe guides:
And after hearing what our church can say,
If still our reason runs another way,
That private reason 'tis more just to curb,
Than by disputes the public peace disturb;
For points obscure are of small use to learn,
But common quiet is mankind's concern.
In considering Dryden's creed thus analyzed, I think it will appear,
that the author, though still holding the doctrines of the church
of England, had been biassed, in the course of his enquiry, by those
of Rome. His wish for the possibility of an infallible guide,[3]
expressed with almost indecent ardour, the difficulty, nay, it would
seem, in his estimation, almost the impossibility, of discriminating
between corrupted and authentic traditions, while the necessity of the
latter to the interpretation of scripture is plainly admitted, appear,
upon the whole, to have left the poet's mind in an unpleasing state
of doubt, from which he rather escapes than is relieved. He who only
acquiesces in the doctrines of his church, because the exercise of his
private judgement may disturb the tranquillity of the state, can hardly
be said to be in a state to give a reason for the faith that is in him.
The doctrine of the _Religio Laici_ is admirably adapted to
the subject: though treating of the most abstruse doctrines of
Christianity, it is as clear and perspicuous as the most humble prose,
while it has all the elegance and effect which argument is capable
of receiving from poetry. Johnson, usually sufficiently niggard of
praise, has allowed, that this "is a composition of great excellence
in its kind, in which the familiar is very properly diversified with
the solemn, and the grave with the humorous; in which metre has
neither weakened the force, nor clouded the perspicuity of argument;
nor will it be easy to find another example, equally happy, of this
middle kind of writing, which, though prosaic in some parts, rises to
high poetry in others, and neither towers to the skies, nor creeps
along the ground."[4] I cannot help remarking, that the style of the
_Religio Laici | 875.175209 |
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