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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
No Quarter!
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Hurst and Company, New York.
This edition dated 1890.
No Quarter! by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
NO QUARTER! BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
PROLOGUE.
There is no page in England's history so bright, nor of which Englishmen
have such reason to be proud, as that covering the period between 1640
and 1650. This glorious decade was ushered in by the election of the
"Long Parliament," and I challenge the annals of all nations, ancient or
modern, to show an assembly in which sat a greater number of statesmen
and patriots. Brave as pure, fearless in the discharge of their
difficult and dangerous duties, they faltered not in the performance of
them--shrank not from impeaching a traitor to his country, and bringing
his head to the block, even when it carried a crown. True to their
consciences, as to their constituencies, they left England a heritage of
honour that for long haloed her escutcheon, and even to this hour throws
its covering screen over many a deed of shame.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Be a King?"
"Am I not one?"
"In name--nothing more. Ah! were I a man and in your place?"
"What would you do?"
"Give your island churls a taste of kingship, as we know it in France.
My brother wouldn't let his subjects so beard him. Oh, it's
abominable!"
"Ah, _chere_; for subjects your brother has a very different sort of
people to deal with. In France they're not yet come to clamouring for
what they call their rights and liberties. Here in England they've got
Magna Charta into their heads--to a craze."
"I'd have it out of their heads, or have their heads off. _Ciel_! I'd
reign King as King should, or resign. No! not resign. Sooner than that
I'd waste the country with fire and sword--make it a wilderness."
It was Henrietta, wife of Charles the First, who thus expressed herself
to her husband. They were alone in the gardens of Whitehall Palace,
sauntering side by side on a terrace overlooking the Thames, the
afternoon being an unusually fine one. As they made a turn which
brought Westminster Hall before their eyes, the angry fire in those of
the Queen flashed up again, and she added--
"Anything but be dictated to by that _canaille_ of a Parliament!
Anything but let them go on as now?"
"How am I to hinder it, Henriette?" the King timidly interrogated.
"Dismiss--send them packing back to their constituencies, and let them
prate away there as much as they please. Dissolve and do without them,
as you've done before."
"That would be to do without the money we so much need. My subjects are
determined to resist every tax levied under Privy Seal or otherwise. I
can no longer raise loan or sell monopoly. Your own secretary, Sir John
Wintour, has just been telling me how the people of Dean Forest have
been harassing him about the grant we gave him of its timber and mines.
Impossible now to obtain the most insignificant supplies without their
being sanctioned by this _cabal_ called Parliament."
"Then make the _cabal_ sanction them."
"But how, _chere_?"
"Have a score or two of them arrested--lodged in the Tower; and let
Monsieur Tom Lunsford take care of them. He'll soon cure them of their
seditious inclinings."
"To do that were as much as my crown's worth."
"If't be worth no more, you may as well cease wearing it. Fling it into
the Thames, or melt it down and sell it to the Ludgate Street goldsmiths
for old metal. Shame of you, Charles! You talk of kingly rights, yet
fail to exercise them--fear it?"
"My subjects talk of rights, too."
"Yes, and you encourage them--by your timidity. Ever on your knees
begging this and begging that, when a true king would command.
Subjects, indeed! more like our masters. But I'd teach them obedience.
What would they be without a king? What were they born for but to
administer to our wants and our pleasures?"
Words worthy of a Medici; the sentiments of a queen two centuries and a
half ago. Yet not so very different from those entertained by most
Royal personages at the present day and hour. But few of them who would
not sit placidly upon their thrones, see subjects slain, and realms
reduced to desolation, rather than resign crown or yield up one iota of
what they are pleased to call their prerogative. How could it be
otherwise? Environed by sycophantic flatterers, heads bowing, knees
bending, tongues eternally bepraising; things in human shape giving them
adoration as to God Himself--ay, greater than to God--how could it be
otherwise? Not so strange that this proud, pampered woman, from her
cradle accustomed to such slavish obedience, should verily believe it
but her due.
"_Their_ rights?" she continued, with a satirical laugh. "An absurd
notion they've got into their Saxon skulls. Ah! _mon mari_, were I you
for a month--for a week--I'd have it out--stamp it out--I would."
And to give emphasis to her speech, she stamped her foot upon the
ground.
A pretty foot it was, and still a handsome woman she, this daughter of
the Medicis, notwithstanding her being now somewhat _passe_. Ambitious
as Catherine herself--"that mother of a race of kings"--intriguing,
notoriously dissolute, not the less did Charles love her. Perhaps the
more, for the cuckoo's cry is a wonderful incentive to passion, as to
jealousy. He doted upon her with foolish fondness--would have done
anything she commanded, even murder. And to more than this was she now
instigating him; for it was to stifle, trample out the liberties of a
nation, no matter at what cost in life or blood.
Wicked as were her counsels, he would have followed them and willingly,
could he have seen his way clear to success. Men still talk of his
kindly nature--in face of the fact, proved by irresistible evidence,
that he rejoiced at the massacre of the Protestants in Ireland, to say
naught of many other instances of inhumanity brought home to this
so-called "Martyr King." He may not have been--was not--either a Nero
or a Theebaw; and with his favourites and familiars no doubt behaved
amicably enough; at the same time readily sacrificing them when danger
threatened himself. To his wife his fidelity and devotion were such as
to have earned for him the epithet "uxorious," a title which can be more
readily conceded. But in his affection for her--whether upheld by
respect or not--there was a spice of fear. He knew all about the
scandals relating to her mother, Marie of France, with Richelieu, and
his own and father's favourite, the assassinated Buckingham, now
sleeping in his grave. Charles more than suspected, as did all the
world besides, that this same Queen-mother had sent her husband--king as
himself--to an untimely tomb by a "cup of cold poison." And oft as the
dark Italian eyes of her daughter flashed upon him in anger, he felt
secret fear she might some day serve him as had her mother the ill-fated
monarch of France. She was of a race and a land whence such danger
might be reasonably expected and dreaded. Lucrezia Borgia and Tophana
were not the only great female poisoners Italy has produced.
"If you've no care for yourself, then," she went on with untiring
persistence, "think of our children. Think of him," and she nodded
towards a gaudily-dressed stripling of some ten or twelve, seen coming
towards them. It was he who, twenty years after, under the seemingly
innocent soubriquet of "Merry Monarch," made sadness in many a family
circle, smouching England's escutcheon all over with shame, scarce
equalled in the annals of France.
"_Pauvre enfant_!" she exclaimed, as he came up, passing her jewelled
fingers through the curls of his hair; "your father would leave you
bereft of your birthright; some day to be a king with a worthless
crown."
The "pauvre enfant," a sly young wretch, smiled in return for her
caresses, looking dark at his father. Young as he was, he knew what was
meant, and took sides with his mother. She had already well
indoctrinated him with the ideas of Divine Right, as understood by a
Medici.
"_Peste_!" exclaimed the King, looking vexed, possibly at the allusion
to a successor; "were I to follow your counsels, Madam, it might result
in my leaving him no crown at all."
"Then leave him none!" she said in quick return, and with an air of
jaunty indifference. "Perhaps better so. I, his mother, would rather
see him a peasant than prince, with such a future as you are laying out
for him."
"Sire, the Earl of Strafford craves audience of your Majesty."
This was said by a youth in the official costume of the Court, who had
approached from the Palace, and stood with head bent before the King.
A remarkably handsome young fellow he was, and the Queen, as she turned
her eyes on him, seemed to recover sweetness of temper.
"I suppose my company will be _de trop_ now," she said. Then facing
towards the youth, and bestowing upon him one of her syren smiles--slyly
though--she added, "Here, Eustace; bring this to my boudoir," and she
handed him a large book, a _portfeuille_ of pictures, she had been all
the while carrying.
Whether the King caught sight of that smile | 875.175348 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.3532830 | 1,816 | 72 |
Produced by David Widger
MY FRIEND THE MURDERER
By A. Conan Doyle
"Number 481 is no better, doctor," said the head-warder, in a slightly
reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door.
"Confound 481" I responded from behind the pages of the _Australian
Sketcher_.
"And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for
him?"
"He is a walking drug-shop," said I. "He has the whole British
pharmacopaae inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are."
"Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic," continued the warder,
glancing down a blue slip of paper. "And 28 knocked off work
yesterday--said lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want you
to have a look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 81, too--him
that killed John Adamson in the Corinthian brig--he's been carrying on
awful in the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him
either."
"All right, I'll have a look at him afterward," I said, tossing my paper
carelessly aside, and pouring myself out a cup of coffee. "Nothing else
to report, I suppose, warder?"
The official protruded his head a little further into the room. "Beg
pardon, doctor," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I notice as 82
has a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him
and have a chat, maybe."
The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my lips as I stared in
amazement at the man's serious face.
"An excuse?" I said. "An excuse? What the deuce are you talking about,
McPherson? You see me trudging about all day at my practise, when I'm
not looking after the prisoners, and coming back every night as tired as
a dog, and you talk about finding an excuse for doing more work."
"You'd like it, doctor," said Warder McPherson, insinuating one of his
shoulders into the room. "That man's story's worth listening to if you
could get him to tell it, though he's not what you'd call free in his
speech. Maybe you don't know who 82 is?"
"No, I don't, and I don't care either," I answered, in the conviction
that some local ruffian was about to be foisted upon me as a celebrity.
"He's Maloney," said the warder, "him that turned Queen's evidence after
the murders at Bluemansdyke."
"You don't say so?" I ejaculated, laying down my cup in astonishment. I
had heard of this ghastly series of murders, and read an account of
them in a London magazine long before setting foot in the colony. I
remembered that the atrocities committed had thrown the Burke and Hare
crimes completely into the shade, and that one of the most villainous
of the gang had saved his own skin by betraying his companions. "Are you
sure?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, it's him right enough. Just you draw him out a bit, and
he'll astonish you. He's a man to know, is Maloney; that's to say, in
moderation;" and the head grinned, bobbed, and disappeared, leaving me
to finish my breakfast and ruminate over what I had heard.
The surgeonship of an Australian prison is not an enviable position. It
may be endurable in Melbourne or Sydney, but the little town of Perth
has few attractions to recommend it, and those few had been long
exhausted. The climate was detestable, and the society far from
congenial. Sheep and cattle were the staple support of the community;
and their prices, breeding, and diseases the principal topic of
conversation. Now as I, being an outsider, possessed neither the one nor
the other, and was utterly callous to the new "dip" and the "rot" and
other kindred topics, I found myself in a state of mental isolation,
and was ready to hail anything which might relieve the monotony of my
existence. Maloney, the murderer, had at least some distinctiveness and
individuality in his character, and might act as a tonic to a mind sick
of the commonplaces of existence. I determined that I should follow the
warder's advice, and take the excuse for making his acquaintance. When,
therefore, I went upon my usual matutinal round, I turned the lock of
the door which bore the convict's number upon it, and walked into the
cell.
The man was lying in a heap upon his rough bed as I entered, but,
uncoiling his long limbs, he started up and stared at me with an
insolent look of defiance on his face which augured badly for our
interview. He had a pale, set face, with sandy hair and a steely-blue
eye, with something feline in its expression. His frame was tall and
muscular, though there was a curious bend in his shoulders, which almost
amounted to a deformity. An ordinary observer meeting him in the street
might have put him down as a well-developed man, fairly handsome, and
of studious habits--even in the hideous uniform of the rottenest convict
establishment he imparted a certain refinement to his carriage which
marked him out among the inferior ruffians around him.
"I'm not on the sick-list," he said, gruffly. There was something in the
hard, rasping voice which dispelled all softer illusions, and made me
realize that I was face to face with the man of the Lena Valley and
Bluemansdyke, the bloodiest bushranger that ever stuck up a farm or cut
the throats of its occupants.
"I know you're not," I answered. "Warder McPherson told me you had a
cold, though, and I thought I'd look in and see you."
"Blast Warder McPherson, and blast you, too!" yelled the convict, in
a paroxysm of rage. "Oh, that's right," he added in a quieter voice;
"hurry away; report me to the governor, do! Get me another six months or
so--that's your game."
"I'm not going to report you," I said.
"Eight square feet of ground," he went on, disregarding my protest, and
evidently working himself into a fury again. "Eight square feet, and I
can't have that without being talked to and stared at, and--oh, blast
the whole crew of you!" and he raised his two clinched hands above, his
head and shook them in passionate invective.
"You've got a curious idea of hospitality," I remarked, determined not
to lose my temper, and saying almost the first thing that came to my
tongue.
To my surprise the words had an extraordinary effect upon him. He seemed
completely staggered at my assuming the proposition for which he had
been so fiercely contending--namely, that the room in which he stood was
his own.
"I beg your pardon," he said; "I didn't mean to be rude. Won't you
take a seat?" and he motioned toward a rough trestle, which formed the
head-piece of his couch.
I sat down, rather astonished at the sudden change. I don't know that
I liked Maloney better under this new aspect. The murderer had, it is
true, disappeared for the nonce, but there was something in the smooth
tones and obsequious manner which powerfully suggested the witness of
the queen, who had stood up and sworn away the lives of his companions
in crime.
"How's your chest?" I asked, putting on my professional air.
"Come, drop it, doctor--drop it!" he answered, showing a row of white
teeth as he resumed his seat upon the side of the bed. "It wasn't
anxiety after my precious health that brought you along here; that story
won't wash at all. You came to have a look at Wolf Tone Maloney, forger,
murderer, Sydney-slider, ranger, and government peach. That's about my
figure, ain't it? There it is | 875.373323 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.6561670 | 1,378 | 6 |
Produced by Ron Burkey
LIFE OF JOHN STERLING
By Thomas Carlyle
Transcriber's Note: Italics in the text are indicated by the use of an
underscore as delimiter, _thusly_. All footnotes have been collected at
the end of the text, and numbered sequentially in brackets, [thusly].
One illustration has been omitted. The "pound" symbol has been replaced
by the word "pounds". Otherwise, all spelling, punctuation, etc., have
been left as in the printed text.
Taken from volume 2 of Carlyle's Complete Works, which additionally
contains the Latter-Day Pamphlets, to be provided as a separate etext.
PART I.
CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY.
Near seven years ago, a short while before his death in 1844, John
Sterling committed the care of his literary Character and printed
Writings to two friends, Archdeacon Hare and myself. His estimate of the
bequest was far from overweening; to few men could the small sum-total
of his activities in this world seem more inconsiderable than, in those
last solemn days, it did to him. He had burnt much; found much unworthy;
looking steadfastly into the silent continents of Death and Eternity, a
brave man's judgments about his own sorry work in the field of Time are
not apt to be too lenient. But, in fine, here was some portion of his
work which the world had already got hold of, and which he could not
burn. This too, since it was not to be abolished and annihilated, but
must still for some time live and act, he wished to be wisely settled,
as the rest had been. And so it was left in charge to us, the survivors,
to do for it what we judged fittest, if indeed doing nothing did not
seem the fittest to us. This message, communicated after his decease,
was naturally a sacred one to Mr. Hare and me.
After some consultation on it, and survey of the difficulties and
delicate considerations involved in it, Archdeacon Hare and I agreed
that the whole task, of selecting what Writings were to be reprinted,
and of drawing up a Biography to introduce them, should be left to him
alone; and done without interference of mine:--as accordingly it was, [1]
in a manner surely far superior to the common, in every good quality of
editing; and visibly everywhere bearing testimony to the friendliness,
the piety, perspicacity and other gifts and virtues of that eminent and
amiable man.
In one respect, however, if in one only, the arrangement had been
unfortunate. Archdeacon Hare, both by natural tendency and by his
position as a Churchman, had been led, in editing a Work not free from
ecclesiastical heresies, and especially in writing a Life very full of
such, to dwell with preponderating emphasis on that part of his subject;
by no means extenuating the fact, nor yet passing lightly over it (which
a layman could have done) as needing no extenuation; but carefully
searching into it, with the view of excusing and explaining it; dwelling
on it, presenting all the documents of it, and as it were spreading it
over the whole field of his delineation; as if religious heterodoxy had
been the grand fact of Sterling's life, which even to the Archdeacon's
mind it could by no means seem to be. _Hinc illae lachrymae_. For the
Religious Newspapers, and Periodical Heresy-hunters, getting very lively
in those years, were prompt to seize the cue; and have prosecuted
and perhaps still prosecute it, in their sad way, to all lengths and
breadths. John Sterling's character and writings, which had little
business to be spoken of in any Church-court, have hereby been carried
thither as if for an exclusive trial; and the mournfulest set of
pleadings, out of which nothing but a misjudgment _can_ be formed,
prevail there ever since. The noble Sterling, a radiant child of the
empyrean, clad in bright auroral hues in the memory of all that knew
him,--what is he doing here in inquisitorial _sanbenito_, with nothing
but ghastly spectralities prowling round him, and inarticulately
screeching and gibbering what they call their judgment on him!
"The sin of Hare's Book," says one of my Correspondents in those years,
"is easily defined, and not very condemnable, but it is nevertheless
ruinous to his task as Biographer. He takes up Sterling as a clergyman
merely. Sterling, I find, was a curate for exactly eight months; during
eight months and no more had he any special relation to the Church. But
he was a man, and had relation to the Universe, for eight-and-thirty
years: and it is in this latter character, to which all the others were
but features and transitory hues, that we wish to know him. His battle
with hereditary Church formulas was severe; but it was by no means his
one battle with things inherited, nor indeed his chief battle;
neither, according to my observation of what it was, is it successfully
delineated or summed up in this Book. The truth is, nobody that had
known Sterling would recognize a feature of him here; you would never
dream that this Book treated of _him_ at all. A pale sickly shadow in
torn surplice is presented to us here; weltering bewildered amid
heaps of what you call 'Hebrew Old-clothes;' wrestling, with impotent
impetuosity, to free itself from the baleful imbroglio, as if that
had been its one function in life: who in this miserable figure would
recognize the brilliant, beautiful and cheerful John Sterling, with
his ever-flowing wealth of ideas, fancies, imaginations; with his frank
affections, inexhaustible hopes, audacities, activities, and general
radiant vivacity of heart and intelligence, which made the presence of
him an illumination and inspiration wherever he went? It is too bad.
Let a man be honestly forgotten when his life ends; but let him not be
misremembered in this way. | 875.676207 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.7532490 | 232 | 6 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber’s Note: Obvious printer’s errors have been repaired,
but period and inconsistent spelling have not. The printer’s use of
italics was somewhat haphazard. Normal text within italic passages is
indicated ~like this~.
THE
_Gentleman_’s _Magazine_:
OR, TRADER’s
Monthly Intelligencer.
NUMBER I. _for_ JANUARY.
CONTAINING,
I. A view of the Weekly _Essays_ and _Controversies_, viz. Of
Q. _Elizabeth_; Ministers; Treaties; Liberty of the Press; Riot
act; Armies; Traytors; Patriots; Reason; Criticism; Versifying;
Ridicule; Humours; Love; Prostitutes; Music; Pawn-Brokers;
Surgery; Law.
II. POETRY, _viz._ The _Ode_ for the new Year, by _Col | 875.773289 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.8533840 | 924 | 13 |
Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
GERMANY AND NORTHERN EUROPE
CONTENTS
THE BIRD ON ITS JOURNEY, Beatrice Harraden
KOOSJE: A STUDY OF DUTCH LIFE, John Strange Winter
A DOG OF FLANDERS, Ouida
MARKHEIM, R. L. Stevenson
QUEEN TITA'S WAGER, William Black
THE BIRD ON ITS JOURNEY, By Beatrice Harraden
It was about four in the afternoon when a young girl came into the salon
of the little hotel at C---- in Switzerland, and drew her chair up to
the fire.
"You are soaked through," said an elderly lady, who was herself trying
to get roasted. "You ought to lose no time in changing your clothes."
"I have not anything to change," said the young girl, laughing. "Oh, I
shall soon be dry!"
"Have you lost all your luggage?" asked the lady, sympathetically.
"No," said the young girl; "I had none to lose." And she smiled a little
mischievously, as though she knew by instinct that her companion's
sympathy would at once degenerate into suspicion!
"I don't mean to say that I have not a knapsack," she added,
considerately. "I have walked a long distance--in fact, from Z----."
"And where did you leave your companions?" asked the lady, with a touch
of forgiveness in her voice.
"I am without companions, just as I am without luggage," laughed the
girl.
And then she opened the piano, and struck a few notes. There was
something caressing in the way in which she touched the keys; whoever
she was, she knew how to make sweet music; sad music, too, full of that
undefinable longing, like the holding out of one's arms to one's friends
in the hopeless distance.
The lady bending over the fire looked up at the little girl, and forgot
that she had brought neither friends nor luggage with her. She hesitated
for one moment, and then she took the childish face between her hands
and kissed it.
"Thank you, dear, for your music," she said, gently.
"The piano is terribly out of tune," said the little girl, suddenly; and
she ran out of the room, and came back carrying her knapsack.
"What are you going to do?" asked her companion.
"I am going to tune the piano," the little girl said; and she took a
tuning-hammer out of her knapsack, and began her work in real earnest.
She evidently knew what she was about, and pegged away at the notes as
though her whole life depended upon the result.
The lady by the fire was lost in amazement. Who could she be? Without
luggage and without friends, and with a tuning-hammer!
Meanwhile one of the gentlemen had strolled into the salon; but hearing
the sound of tuning, and being in secret possession of nerves, he fled,
saying, "The tuner, by Jove!"
A few minutes afterward Miss Blake, whose nerves were no secret
possession, hastened into the salon, and, in her usual imperious
fashion, demanded instant silence.
"I have just done," said the little girl. "The piano was so terribly out
of tune, I could not resist the temptation."
Miss Blake, who never listened to what any one said, took it for granted
that the little girl was the tuner for whom M. le Proprietaire had
promised to send; and having bestowed on her a condescending nod, passed
out into the garden, where she told some of the visitors that the piano
had been tuned at last, and that the tuner was a young woman of rather
eccentric appearance.
"Really, it is quite abominable how women thrust themselves into every
profession," she remarked, in her masculine voice. "It is so unfeminine,
so unseemly."
There was nothing of the feminine about Miss Blake; her horse-cloth
dress, her waistcoat and high collar, and her billycock hat were of the
masculine genus; even her nerves could not be called feminine, since we
learn from two or three doctors (taken off | 875.873424 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.8556460 | 6,190 | 225 |
Produced by deaurider, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE EVIL EYE
THANATOLOGY
_AND OTHER ESSAYS_
ROSWELL PARK, M. D., LL.D. (YALE)
[Illustration: Man operating fruit press "Arti et Veritati"]
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS
BOSTON
Copyright, 1912, by Richard G. Badger
All Rights Reserved
THE GORHAM PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.
To
Sir William Osler, M. D., LL.D.,
F. R. C. P., etc.
Regius Professor of Medicine,
Oxford University.
Ideal Scholar and Friend.
PREFACE
Responsibility for the following collection of essays and addresses
(occasional papers) rests perhaps not more with their writer, who was
not unwilling to see them presented in a single volume, than with those
of his friends who were complimentary enough to urge their assemblage
and publication in this shape. They partake of the character of studies
in that borderland of anthropology, biology, philology and history
which surrounds the immediate domain of medical and general science.
This ever offers a standing invitation and an enduring fascination
for those who will but raise their eyes from the fertile and arable
soil in which they concentrate their most arduous labors. Too close
confinement in this field may result in greater commercial yield, but
the fragrance of the clover detracts not at all from the value of the
hay, nor do borderland studies result otherwise than in enlargement of
the boundaries of one's storm center of work.
No strictly technical nor professional papers have been reprinted
herein, while several of those which appear do so for the first time.
Buffalo, December, 1912.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Evil Eye 9
II Thanatology 32
III Serpent-Myths and Serpent Worship 49
IV Iatro-Theurgic Symbolism 70
V The Relation of the Grecian Mysteries to
the Foundation of Christianity 92
VI The Knights Hospitaller of St. John of
Jerusalem 132
VII Giordano Bruno 164
VIII Student Life in the Middle Ages 199
IX A Study of Medical Words, Deeds and
Men 233
X The Career of the Army Surgeon 265
XI The Evolution of the Surgeon from the
Barber 296
XII The Story of the Discovery of the Circulation 314
XIII History of Anaesthesia and the Introduction
of Anaesthetics in Surgery 351
I
THE EVIL EYE[1]
[1] A Presidential Address before the Buffalo Society of Natural
Sciences.
Belief in magic has been called by Tylor, one of the greatest
authorities on the occult sciences, "one of the most pernicious
delusions that ever vexed mankind." It has been at all times among
credulous and superstitious people made the tool of envy, which Bacon
well described as the vilest and most depraved of all feelings.
Bacon, moreover, singled out love and envy as the only two affections
which have been noted to fascinate, or bewitch, since they both have
"vehement wishes, frame themselves readily into imaginations and
suggestions and come easily into the eye." He also noted the fact that
in the Scriptures envy was called the Evil Eye.
It is to this interesting subject in anthropological and folk-lore
study, namely, the Evil Eye, that I wish to invite your attention
for a time. Belief in it is, of course, inseparable from credence in
a personal devil or some personal evil and malign influence, but in
modern times and among people who are supposed to be civilized has
been regarded ordinarily as an attribute of the devil. Consideration
of the subject is inseparable, too, from a study of the expressions
"to fascinate" and "to bewitch." Indeed this word "fascination" has
a peculiar etymological interest. It seems to be a Latin form of the
older Greek verb "_baskanein_," or else to be descended from a common
root. No matter what its modern signification, originally it meant
to bewitch or to subject to an evil influence, particularly by means
of eyes or tongue or by casting of spells. Later it came to mean the
influencing of the imagination, reason or will in an uncontrollable
manner, and now, as generally used, means to captivate or to allure.
Its use in our language is of itself an indication of the superstition
so generally prevalent centuries ago. It is, however, rather a polite
term for which we have the more vulgar equivalent "to bewitch," used in
a signification much more like the original meaning.
Belief in an evil power constantly at work has existed from absolutely
prehistoric times. It has been more or less tacitly adopted and
sanctioned by various creeds or religious beliefs, particularly
so by the church of Rome, by mediaeval writers and by writers on
occult science. Even now it exists not only among savage nations but
everywhere among common people. We to-day may call it superstition,
but there was a time when it held enormous sway over mankind, and
exercised a tremendous influence. In its present form it consists
often of a belief that certain individuals possess a blighting power,
and the expression in England to "overlook" is not only very common,
but an easily recognizable persistence of the old notion. Evidently
St. Paul shared this prevalent belief when he rebuked the foolish
Galatians, saying as in our common translation, "Who hath bewitched
you that ye should not obey the truth?" In the Vulgate the word
translated "bewitch" is "_fascinare_," exactly the same word as used by
Virgil, and referring to the influence of the evil eye. Cicero himself
discussed the word "fascination," and he explained the Latin verb
_invidere_ and noun _invidia_ as meaning to look closely at; whence
comes our word envy, or evil eye.
All the ancients believed that from the eyes of envious or angry people
there was projected some malign influence which could infect the air
and penetrate and corrupt both living creatures and inanimate objects.
Woyciki, in his Polish Folk-lore, relates the story of a most unhappy
Slav, who though possessed of a most loving heart realized that he
was afflicted with the evil eye, and at last blinded himself in order
that he might not cast a spell over his children. Even to-day, among
the Scotch Highlanders, if a stranger look too admiringly at a cow the
people believe that she will waste away of the evil eye, and they give
him of her milk to drink in order to break the spell. Plutarch was sure
that certain men's eyes were destructive to infants and young animals,
and he believed that the Thebans could thus destroy not only the young
but strong men. The classical writers are so full of allusions to this
subject that it is easy to see where people during the Middle Ages
got their prevalent belief in witches. Thus, Pliny said that those
possessed of the evil eye would not sink in water, even if weighed down
with clothes; hence the mediaeval ordeal by water;--which had, however,
its inconveniences for the innocent, for if the reputed witch sank he
evidently was not guilty, but if he floated he was counted guilty and
then burned.
Not only was this effect supposed to be produced by the fascinating
eye, but even by the voice, which, some asserted, could blast trees,
kill children and destroy animals. In Pliny's time special laws were
enacted against injury to crops by incantation or fascination; but the
Romans went even farther than this, and believed that their gods were
envious of each other and cast their evil eyes upon the less powerful
of their own circle; hence the _caduceus_ which Mercury always carried
as a protection.
To be the reputed possessor of an evil eye was an exceeding great
misfortune. Solomon lent himself to the belief when he enjoined, "Eat
thou not the bread of him that hath an evil eye." (Prov. 23:6). The
most inconvenient country in which to have this reputation to-day
is Italy, and especially in Naples. The Italians apply the term
_jettatore_ to the individual thus suspected, and to raise the cry of
"_Jettatore_" in a Neapolitan crowd even to-day is to cause a speedy
stampede. For the Italians the worst of all is the "_jettatore di
bambini_," or the fascinator of infants. Elworthy relates the case of
a gentleman who on three occasions acted in Naples in the capacity of
sponsor; singularly all three children died, whereupon he at once
got the reputation of having the "_malocchio_" to such an extent that
mothers would take all sorts of precautions to keep their children
out of his sight. The great Bacon lent himself also to the belief to
such an extent as to advise the carrying on one's person of certain
articles, such as rue, or a wolf's tail or even an onion, by which the
evil influence was supposed to be averted.
A most interesting work was written by Valletta and published in
Naples in 1787. It was practically a treatise upon fascination and the
jettatore. Valletta himself was a profound believer in all this sort
of thing, and finished up his work by offering rewards for answers to
certain questions, among which were the following:--"Which jettatore is
most powerful, he who has or he who has not a wig? Whether monks are
more powerful than others? To what distance does the influence of the
jettatore extend, and whether it operates more to the side, front or
back? What words in general ought one to repeat to escape the evil eye?"
In ancient times it was believed that women had greater power of
fascination then men, a belief to which our sex still hold at the
present day, although in modern times the evil eye proper is supposed
to be possessed by men rather than by women; monks especially, ever
since the establishment of religious orders, being considered to
possess this fatal influence. Curiously enough, the late Pope, Pius
IX, was supposed to be a most pronounced jettatore, and the most
devout Catholics would point two fingers at him even while receiving
his blessing. Let me quote Elworthy in this connection:--"Ask a Roman
about the late Pope's evil eye, and he will answer, 'They say so, and
it really seems to be true. If he had not the jettatura it is very
odd that everything he blessed made fiasco. We did very well in the
campaign against the Austrians in '48; we were winning battle after
battle and all was gayety and hope, when suddenly he blessed the cause
and everything went to the bad at once. Nothing succeeds with anybody
or anything when he wishes well to them. When he went to S. Agnese
to hold a great festival down went the floor and the people were all
smashed together. Then he visited the Column to the Madonna in the
Piazza di Spagna and blessed it and the workmen. Of course one fell
from the scaffold the same day and killed himself. He arranged to meet
the King of Naples at Porto d'Anzio, when up came a violent gale and
storm that lasted a week. Another arrangement was made and then came
the fracas about the ex-Queen of Spain.'"
The superstition of the evil eye and of witchcraft goes everywhere with
the belief in the power of transformation, which at certain periods of
history has been so prevalent as to account for many of the stories of
ancient mythology, and will account even for such nursery stories as
that of Little Red Riding Hood, as well as for the old-world belief
in the _werewolf_. Indeed, a common expression of to-day reminds one
of this old belief, since it is a common saying to be ready to "jump
out of one's skin for joy." This belief in transformation has begotten
an ever-present dread of ill omens which is even now one of the most
prevalent of superstitions. In Somerset, to see a hare cross the path
in front of one is a sign of death. In India they fear to name any
sacred or dreaded animal. The black cat is everywhere an object of
aversion, and in some parts of England to meet a person who squints is
equal to meeting one possessing the evil eye. Surely I do not need to
remind this audience of the fear which many people have of taking any
important action on Friday. This fear goes so far in some instances
as to lead people to deprecate over-praise or apologize for a too
positive statement. Your courteous Turk will not take a compliment
without "Mashallah;" the Italians will not receive one without "Grazio
a Dio;" while the Irishman almost always says "Glory be to God," and
the English peasant "Lord be wi' us;" the idea in every instance being
to avert the danger of fascination by these acknowledgments of a higher
power.
In England during the horrible times when the Black Death raged it
was supposed that the disease was communicated by a glance from the
distorted eyes of a sick man. In 1603 Delrio, a Jesuit, published a
large six-volume folio work entitled "A Disquisition on Magic," in
which he takes it for granted that the calamities of mortals are the
work of evil spirits. He says, "Fascination is a power derived by
contact with the devil, who, when the so-called fascinator looks at
another with evil intent, or praises by means known to himself, infects
with evil the person at whom he looks." Those familiar with the history
of so-called animal magnetism, mesmerism or hypnotism, will see a close
connection between these beliefs and the practice of this peculiar
form of influence. Mesmerism, in fact, as ordinarily practiced, was
more or less dependent upon the influence of touch, or actual contact,
whose importance has always been by the credulous rated high. In fact,
it will be remembered that many of the miracles of the New Testament
were performed by the aid of touch, and in the Old Testament it is
recorded how disappointed Naaman was when he went to be cured of his
leprosy in that the prophet did not _touch_ him. The influence of the
_royal touch_ for the cure of scrofula, known for centuries as the
King's Evil, will also not be forgotten. In fact, our word to "bless"
signifies to touch by making the sign of the cross on the diseased
part, as, for instance, in the West of England, where goitre is rather
common, it is believed that the best cure is that the swelling should
be touched by the hand of a corpse of the opposite sex.
The more we deal with the superstitions now under consideration the
more evident it becomes that the principal thought among the simpler
peoples, or even among some of the religious sects of to-day, has
been the propitiation of angry deities, or of destructive influences,
rather than the worship and exaltation of beneficent attributes. As
Elworthy says, "We find that fear and dread have in all human history
been more potent factors in men's conduct than hope and gratitude or
love." Take for example the propitiatory sacrifices of Abel and Cain,
or the sacrifice which Abraham proposed to make of his own son, or the
very words which have crept into our language such as _atonement_, etc.
With this personification of an evil power or attribute in nature came
also belief in transformation, or metamorphosis, of which the Greek and
Roman mythology is full. How many of the Christian symbols of to-day,
nearly all of which are of pagan origin, convey to the initiated
instances of this belief, can hardly be mentioned in this place.
Suffice it to say that their number is very great. But I find too many
temptations to wander from my subject, which is essentially the evil
eye.
In mediaeval symbolism, as in ancient, the intent often was to
represent either on some amulet, charm or picture a figure of the thing
against which it was most desired that a protective influence should be
exercised, hence the general prevalence of the eye in some pictorial
representation. The ancient Egyptians, as well as the Etruscans, used
to paint a huge eye on the bows of their vessels, which was supposed
to be a charm against the evil eye. Even to-day in the Orient I have
seen Greek boats with eyes painted on either side of their prows. The
eye was a common adornment of Egyptian pottery, usually in combination
with various other pictures, but as a symbol it seems during the past
century or two to have passed out of common employ, except perhaps
in Malta, and among the Free-masons, who simply are perpetuating its
use. Nevertheless, wax or silver eyes are seen hung up in some foreign
churches. A curious feature of these superstitions has been this, that
any feature of indecency or obscenity when attaching to these symbols,
amulets, etc., has been supposed to make them much more potent. This
probably was because anything strange or unusual was more likely to
attract the eye, and therefore divert its influence from the individual
to the inanimate object, hence the prevalence of phallic emblems in
connection with these fancied protections. Many objects of this kind
can be to-day picked up in the jewelry stores of Rome and of Naples.
Another of the most efficacious of these amulets takes the general form
of a hideous mask, often called the _Gorgoneion_. In all probability
this was largely for the reason given above--that it was most likely
to attract attention. Symbols of this kind are in very general use
among people who know nothing of the reason therefore. Thus, we see
them on seals, coins, etc. The gargoyles of mediaeval architecture are
frequently given this fantastic appearance and for this same purpose.
In Roman times the dolphin was a favorite device for a potent charm
against the evil eye, and was pictured on many a soldier's shield.
Ulysses adopted it as his especial choice, both on his signet and his
shield, perhaps because it was supposed to have been through the
agency of the dolphin that Telemachus was saved from drowning.
To us in the medical profession it is of no little interest that in
Rome, according to Varro, there stood three temples on the Esquiline
dedicated to the goddess of Fever and one to Mephitis. Tacitus relates
that a temple to Mephitis was the only building left standing after the
destruction of Cremona, where there was also an altar dedicated to the
Evil Eye. We know, also, that in the very centre of the Forum there
stood an altar to Cloacina, the Goddess of Typhoid. What complete sway
this goddess has held from ancient times to the present I need scarcely
tell you. "When Rome, after the fall of the empire, relapsed into its
most insanitary condition this old worship reappeared in another shape,
and a chapel arose near the Vatican to the _Madonna della Febre_, the
most popular in Rome in times of sickness or epidemic." This simply
shows a transfer of ideas, the attributes of Diana being conveyed over
to her Christian successor, the virgin, whose cult became equally
supreme.
The principal symbol of this cult was the horned moon or crescent,
and, in consequence, horns in one form or another became the most
common of objects as amulets against the Evil Eye. So comprehensive
and persistent is this belief in Naples that, in the absence of a horn
in some shape, the mere utterance of the name _corno_ was supposed to
be an effectual protection. Even more than this, the name _Un Corno_
became applicable to any and every charm or amulet against the Evil
Eye. We may find many references to the Horn in Scripture, where it
served both as an emblem of dignity and as an amulet. Most curious it
is that the phylactery with which the Pharisees adorned their garments,
and which called forth the most scathing denunciation by the Master,
was undoubtedly an emblem of a horn, and worn as an amulet against
the Evil Eye. At the beginning of the Christian era it had become
fashionable to wear these, and how they were enlarged and made not only
badges of sanctity but marks of worldly honor, we may read in the New
Testament.
The horn has been an important feature of Christian symbolism, as of
pagan, and we constantly see the ram's horn, which was the successor of
the bull's horn, made such from economical reasons, all over the ruins
of ancient Rome. The married women of Lebanon wear silver horns upon
their heads to distinguish them from the single women. The Jewesses
of Northern Africa wear them as a part of their regular costume, and
even to-day curious spiral ornaments are worn on either side of the
head by the Dutch women. In Naples horns in all shapes are exceedingly
common upon the trappings of the cab horses. Indeed the heavy trappings
and harness of these overloaded animals are usually protected with a
perfect battery of potent charms, so that any evil glance must be fully
extinguished before it can light upon the animal itself. Thus, we may
frequently see upon the backs of these animals two little brazen flags,
said to be typical of the flaming sword which turned every way, and
which are supposed to be an unfailing attraction to the eye. The high
pommel ends usually in a piece of the inevitable wolf's skin, and many
ribbons or worsteds are wound about portions of the harness in
such a way as completely to protect all that it encloses.
But the most numerous of all these emblems is a _hand_ in various
positions or gestures. Probably every other cab horse in Naples carries
the hand about him in some form. In Rome these things are not seen
so much on horses' backs, although wolf skins, horns and crescents
are common enough, but we see large numbers of silver rings for human
fingers, to each of which a little pendant horn is attached. These
may be seen in the shop windows strung upon rods and plainly marked
_Annelli contra la Jettatura_. Those who have seen Naples thoroughly
have noted how cows' horns, often painted blue, are fixed against the
walls, especially at an angle, about the height of the first floor. But
one of the most remarkable amulets which I have ever seen hangs outside
one of the entries to the Cathedral in Seville, where over a door is
hung by a chain the tusk of an elephant, and further out, over the
same doorway, swung by another chain, an enormous crocodile, sent as a
present or charm of special power to Alfonso, in 1260, by the Sultan of
Egypt. These two strange charms hang over the doorway of a Christian
church of to-day, indicating the acceptance by a Christian people of a
Moslem emblem and amulet.
Again, in Rome it is very common to see a small cow's horn on the
framework of the Roman wine carts or dangling beneath the axle.
Much more common and better known among the Anglo-Saxon peoples is
the horse-shoe emblem, which with us has lost all of its original
signification, as an emblem of fecundity, and has become a charm
against evil. It is hung up over doorways, is nailed up in houses, it
guards stable doors and protects fields against malign influences. Even
in the Paris Exhibition of 1889, where there was a representation of a
street from old Cairo, there hung over several of the doors a crocodile
with a horse-shoe on his snout.
So far I have said very little about the positions of the hand and
certain gestures by which it is intended to ward off the evil eye.
The Mohammedans, like the Neapolitans, are profound believers in the
efficacy of manual signs; thus outside of many a door in Tangier I have
seen the imprint of a hand made by placing the outstretched hand upon
some sticky black or material, which was then transferred as
by a type or die to the doorway of the dwelling, where in the likeness
of the outstretched manus it serves to guard the dwellers within. This
is to me one of the most curious things to be observed in Mohammedan
countries. A relic of the same belief I have seen also over the great
gate of the Alhambra, in the Tower of Justice, where, in spite of the
very strict Moslem custom and belief against representation of any
living object, over the keystone of the outer Moorish arch is carved
an outstretched upright hand, a powerful protection against evil. It
is this position of the hand, by the way, which has been observed in
all countries in the administration of the judicial oath. Moreover, the
hand in this position is the modern heraldic sign of baronetcy.
The hand in the customary position of benediction is sometimes open
and extended, while at other times only the first and second fingers
are straightened. The power which the extended hand may exert is well
illustrated in the biblical account (Exodus 17: 11) "And it came to
pass when Moses held up his hand that Israel prevailed, and when he let
down his hand Amalek prevailed." And so it happened that when Moses
wearied of the constrained position his hand was supported by Aaron
and by Hur. This is only one of numerous illustrations in the holy
writings showing the talismanic influence of the human hand. There are
comparatively few people who realize, to-day, that the conventional
attitude of prayer as of benediction, with hands held up, is the old
charm as against the evil eye. In one of the great marble columns
in the Mosque of St. Sophia in Constantinople there is a remarkable
natural freak by which there seems to appear upon the dark marble
the white figure of an outspread hand. This is held in the highest
reverence by the superstitious populace, who all approach it to pray
for protection from the evil eye. The open hand has also been stamped
upon many a coin both in ancient and modern times, and the general
prevalence of the hand as a form of doorknocker can be seen alike in
the ruins of Pompeii and the modern dwelling.
The hand clenched in various forms has been used in more ways than as
a mere signal or sign of defiance. In Italy the _mano-fica_ implies
contempt or insult rather than defiance. Among all the Latin races this
peculiar gesture of the thumb between the first and second fingers
has a significant name and a significant meaning. It is connected
everywhere with the fig, and expresses in the most discourteous way
that which is implied in our English phrase "don't care a fig." It
is in common use as an amulet to be worn from the neck or about the
body, and conveys the same meaning as that which the Neapolitans
frequently express when they say "May the evil eye do you no harm."
Another position of the hand, namely, that with the index and little
fingers extended, while the middle and ring fingers are flexed and
clasped by the thumb, gives also the rude imitation of the head of
a horned animal, and is frequently spoken of as the _mano cornuta_.
A Neapolitan's right hand is frequently, in some instances almost
constantly, kept in that position pointing downwards, just as hand
charms are made to hang downwards, save when it is desired to use the
sign against some particular individual, when the hand is pointed
toward him, even at his very eyes if he appear much to be dreaded.
When, however, the hand in | 875.875686 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.8557210 | 4,593 | 7 |
Produced by Dave Maddock and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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THE ILLUSTRATED SELF-INSTRUCTOR
IN PHRENOLOGY AND PHYSIOLOGY,
WITH ONE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS,
AND A CHART OF THE CHARACTER
____________________________________________
AS GIVEN BY
____________________________________________
BY O. S. AND L. N. FOWLER,
PRACTICAL PHRENOLOGISTS.
Your head is the type of your mentality.
Self-knowledge is the essence of all knowledge.
NEW YORK:
FOWLER AND WELLS, PUBLISHERS
308 BROADWAY.
Boston: } 1857. {Philadelphia:
No. 142 Washington St.} {No. 234 Arch Street
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 18__ by
FOWLERS AND WELLS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern
District of New York.
STEREOTYPED BY
BANER & PALMER
261 William st., cor. of Frankfort, N. Y.
Conditions Large Very Full Aver- Moder- Small Culti- Re-
Large age ate vate strain
Vital Temperament 17 17 17 17 17 17 165
Powerful or Motive 18 18 18 18 18 18 137
Active or Mental 19 19 19 19 19 19
Excitability of ditto 20 20 20 20 20 20 157 175
Constitution 34 34 34 34 34 34
Organic Quality 47 47 47 47 47 47
Present state 47 47 47 47 47 47
Size of head 48 49 49 49 49 50
DOMESTIC GROUP
1. Amativeness 52 52 53 53 53 54 218
2. Parental Love 55 55 56 56 56 56 220
3. Adhesiveness 57 57 58 58 58 58 226
4. Inhabitiveness 60 60 61 61 61 61 232
5. Continuity 62 62 62 62 62 62 234
SELFISH PROPENSITIES 63 64 64 64 64 64
E. Vitativeness 64 65 65 65 65 65 236 237
6. Combativeness 66 66 66 66 67 67 239 240
7. Destructiveness 67 68 69 69 69 69 242 243
8. Alimentiveness 70 70 70 71 71 71 245 246
9. Acquisitiveness 72 73 73 73 74 74 249 250
10. Secretiveness 75 75 76 76 76 77 252 253
11. Cautiousness 78 78 78 78 79 79 255 256
12. Approbativeness 79 80 80 80 80 81 258 259
13. Self-Esteem 82 82 82 83 83 83 261 262
14. Firmness 84 85 85 85 85 85 265 266
MORAL FACULTIES 86 86 86 86 86 86 268 270
15. Conscientiousness 87 88 88 88 89 89 268 270
16. Hope 89 90 90 90 90 91 272 273
17. Spirituality 91 92 92 92 90 92 276 277
18. Veneration 92 93 94 94 94 94 279 280
19. Benevolence 94 95 96 96 96 96 282 283
20. Constructiveness 98 97 97 97 97 97 285 286
21. Ideality 98 98 98 99 99 99 288 289
B. Sublimity 99 100 100 100 100 100 290 291
22. Imitation 100 101 101 102 102 102 293 294
23. Mirthfulness 103 103 103 103 103 104 296 297
INTELLECTUAL FACULT. 104 104 104 104 105 105
PERCEPTIVE FACULTIES 105 105 105 105 106 106
24. Individuality 107 107 107 107 107 108 424
25. Form 108 108 109 109 109 109 437
26. Size 109 109 110 110 110 110 441
27. Weight 110 110 110 110 110 110 446
28. Color 111 111 111 111 111 111 450
29. Order 112 112 112 112 112 112 456
30. Calculation 113 113 113 114 114 114 460
31. Locality 114 114 114 114 114 115 467
LITERARY FACULTIES 115 115 115 115 115 115
32. Eventuality 116 116 116 117 117 117 476
33. Time 117 117 117 117 117 117 491
34. Tune 118 118 118 118 118 118 504 506
35. Language 119 119 120 120 120 120 515
REASONING FACULTIES 121 121 121 121 121 121
36. Causality 122 122 123 123 123 123 548
37. Comparison 123 124 124 124 124 125 536
D. Human Nature 125 125 125 125 125 125 540
D. Agreeableness 126 126 126 126 126 126 299 273
SYMBOLICAL HEAD.
[Illustration]
NUMBERING AND DEFINITION OF THE ORGANS.
1. AMATIVENESS, Sexual and connubial love.
2. PHILOPROGENITIVENESS, Parental love.
3. ADHESIVENESS, Friendship--sociability.
A. UNION FOR LIFE, Love of one only.
4. INHABITIVENESS, Love of home.
5. CONTINUITY, One thing at a time.
6. COMBATIVENESS, Resistance--defence.
7. DESTRUCTIVENESS, Executiveness--force.
8. ALIMENTIVENESS, Appetite, hunger.
9. ACQUISITIVENESS, Accumulation.
10. SECRETIVENESS, Policy--management.
11. CAUTIOUSNESS, Prudence, provision.
12. APPROBATIVENESS, Ambition--display.
13. SELF-ESTEEM, Self-respect--dignity.
14. FIRMNESS, Decision--perseverance.
15. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS, Justice--equity.
16. HOPE, Expectation--enterprise.
17. SPIRITUALITY, Intuition--spiritual revery.
18. VENERATION, Devotion--respect.
19. BENEVOLENCE, Kindness--goodness.
20. OBSTRUCTIVENESS, Mechanical ingenuity.
21. IDEALITY, Refinement--taste--purity.
B. SUBLIMITY, Love of grandeur.
22. IMITATION, Copying--patterning.
23. MINDFULNESS, Jocoseness--wit--fun.
24. INDIVIDUALITY, Observation.
25. FORM, Recollection of shape.
26. SIZE, Measuring by the eye.
27. WEIGHT, Balancing--climbing.
28. COLOR, Judgment of colors.
29. ORDER, Method--system--arrangement.
30. CALCULATION, Mental arithmetic.
31. LOCALITY, Recollection of places.
32. EVENTUALITY, Memory of facts.
33. TIME, Cognizance of duration.
34. TUNE, Music--melody by ear.
35. LANGUAGE, Expression of ideas.
36. CAUSALITY, Applying causes to effects.
37. COMPARISON, Inductive reasoning.
C. HUMAN NATURE, Perception of motives.
D. AGREEABLENESS, Pleasantness--suavity.
PREFACE AND EXPLANATION.
To TEACH LEARNERS those organic conditions which indicate character, is
the first object of this manual; and in order to render it accessible to
all, it condenses facts and conditions, rather than elaborates
arguments--because to EXPOUND Phrenology is its highest proof--states laws
and results, and leaves them upon their naked merits; embodies recent
discoveries; and crowds into the fewest possible words and pages just what
learners need to know; and, hence, requires to be STUDIED rather than
merely read. "Short, yet clear," is its motto. Its numerous illustrative
engravings give the results of very extensive professional observations
and experience.
To RECORD CHARACTER is its second object. In doing this, it describes
those organic conditions which affect and indicate character in SEVEN
degrees of power--large, very large, full, average, moderate, small, and
very small, and refers those who have their physiological and
phrenological conditions correctly marked in the accompanying tables, to
those paragraphs which both describe themselves, and also contain specific
directions how to PERFECT THEIR characters and improve children. Its plan
for recording character is seen at a glance in the following
EXPLANATION OF THE TABLES.
Those physiological and phrenological conditions marked LARGE have a
powerful and almost CONTROLLING influence over feelings and conduct, both
single and in combination, and engross weaker ones into their service.
VERY LARGE organic conditions are sovereign kings over character and
conduct, and singly and in combination with each other, or with large
organs, direct and sway their possessor. FULL organs play subordinate
parts, yet are seen and felt, and exert more real than apparent influence.
AVERAGE ones have considerable, yet a limited influence, but it is mainly
in COMBINATION with large ones though they affect character more than
they seem to. MODERATE faculties are below par in fact, and still more so
in appearance; exert a limited influence; and leave character defective in
these respects. SMALL organs are so deficient as easily to be perceived;
leave their possessor weak and faulty in these points; and should be
assiduously cultivated; while VERY SMALL ones render him almost idiotic in
these functions.
This table is so constructed as to record the ACTUAL POWER, or quality and
quantity of the physical and mental functions, as deduced from size and
activity combined, and this is done by means of dots or written figures
placed opposite the names of the organs and temperaments, and the printed
figures in the squares thus marked, designate the number of the page in
this work which contains the corresponding description of character; and
these paragraphs, thus referred to in the body of the work, have figures
attached to them, referring to the pages of "Fowler's Phrenology," where
an elaborate description of the several functions are discussed at length,
with numerous combinations which shade and tone the character.
The six left hand columns refer to the pages of this work, while the two
right hand ones refer to those NUMBERED PARAGRAPHS found throughout
"Physiology," "Self-Culture," and "Memory," which contain directions for
cultivating, restraining, and rightly directing whatever physical
functions or mental faculties may require either, both in adults and
children; so that these works, in conjunction with a correct marking in
these tables, furnish a complete directory for obviating faults, supplying
defects, developing excellencies, and perfecting one's self and children.
Faculties marked with an upward curve, thus, [symbol], in the several
squares, are deficient, and require cultivation; while those marked with a
downward curve, thus, [symbol], are liable to excess or perversion, and
should be carefully guarded and rightly directed; while + signifies about
one third larger; and -- one third smaller than a dot would indicate in
the same place, thus rendering one scale equal to twenty-one.
MARKING THE CHART BY FIGURES.
Some persons who record examinations prefer to use numerals to indicate
the size of the organs. We describe the organs in seven degrees of power,
and to indicate those degrees, employ the written figures, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,
6, 7. When thus used, 1 means VERY SMALL; 2, SMALL; 3, MODERATE; 4,
AVERAGE; 5, FULL; 6, LARGE; 7, VERY LARGE. The signs +, --, [symbol],
[symbol], mean the same as in the above table.
THE SELF-INSTRUCTOR.
SECTION I.
PHYSIOLOGICAL CONDITIONS AS AFFECTING AND INDICATING CHARACTER.
I.--VALUE OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE.
"KNOWLEDGE is power"--to accomplish, to enjoy--and these are the only ends
for which man was created. ALL knowledge confers this power. Thus, how
incalculably, and in how many ways, have recent discoveries in chemistry
enhanced human happiness, of which the lucifer match furnishes a _home_
example. Increasing knowledge in agriculture is doubling the means of
human sustenance. How immeasurably have modern mechanical improvements
multiplied, and cheapened all the comforts of life. How greatly have
steamboats and railroads added to the former stock of human success and
pleasures. Similar remarks apply to all other kinds of knowledge, and as
it increases from age to age will it proportionally multiply all forms of
human happiness. In fact, its inherent _nature_ and legitimate effect is
to promote every species of enjoyment and success. Other things being
equal, those who know most, by a law of things, can both accomplish and
enjoy most; while ignorance instead of being bliss, is the greatest cause
of human weakness, wickedness, and woe. Hence, to ENLIGHTEN man, is _the_
way to reform and perfect him.
But SELF-knowledge is, of all its other kinds, both the most useful and
promotive of personal and universal happiness and success. "Know thyself"
was written, in golden capitals, upon the splendid temple of Delphos, as
the most important maxim the wise men of Greece could transmit to unborn
generations; and the Scriptures wisely command us to "search our own
hearts." Since all happiness flows from obeying, and all pain from
violating, the LAWS OF OUR BEING, to know our own selves is to know these
laws, and becomes the first step in the road of their obedience, which is
life. Self-knowledge, by teaching the laws and conditions of life and
health, becomes the most efficacious means of prolonging the former and
increasing the latter--both of which are _paramount_ conditions of
enjoying and accomplishing. It also shows us our natural talents,
capabilities, virtues, vices, strong and weak points, liabilities to err,
etc., and thereby points out, unmistakably, those occupations and spheres
in which we can and cannot succeed and shine; and develops the laws and
conditions of human and personal virtue and moral perfection, as well as
of vice, and how to avoid it. It is, therefore, the quintessence of all
knowledge; places its possessor upon the very acme of enjoyment and
perfection; and bestows the highest powers and richest treasures mortals
can possess. In short, to know ourselves perfectly, is to know every law
of our being, every condition of happiness, and every cause of suffering;
and to _practice_ such knowledge, is to render ourselves as perfectly
happy, throughout every department of our being, as we can possibly be and
live. And since nothing in nature stands alone, but each is reciprocally
related to all, and all, collectively, form one magnificent whole--since
all stars and worlds mutually act and react upon each other, to cause day
and night, summer and winter, sun and rain, blossom and fruit; since every
genus, species, and individual throughout nature is second or sixteenth
cousin to every other; and since man is the epitome of universal nature,
the embodiment of all her functions, the focus of all her light, and
representative of all her perfections--of course to understand _him_
thoroughly is to know _all_ things. Nor can nature be studied
advantageously without him for a text-book, nor he without her.
Moreover, since man is composed of mind _and_ body, both reciprocally and
most intimately related to each other--since his mentality is manifested
only by bodily organs, and the latter depends wholly upon the former, of
course his mind can be studied only through its ORGANIC relations. If it
were manifested independently of his physiology, it might be studied
separately, but since all his organic conditions modify his mentality, the
two must be studied TOGETHER. Heretofore humanity has been studied by
piece-meal. Anatomists have investigated only his organic structure, and
there stopped; and mental philosophers have studied him metaphysically,
wholly regardless of all his physiological relations; while theologians
have theorized upon his moral faculties alone; and hence their utter
barrenness, from Aristotle down. As if one should study nothing but the
trunk of a tree, another only its roots, a third its leaves, or fruit,
without compounding their researches, of what value is such piecemeal
study? If the physical man constituted one whole being, and the mental
another, their separate study might be useful; but since all we know of
mind, and can do with it, is manifested and done wholly by means of
physical instruments--especially since every possible condition and change
of the physiology correspondingly affects the mentality--of course their
MUTUAL relations, and the laws of their RECIPROCAL action, must be
investigated _collectively | 875.875761 |
2023-11-16 18:31:39.8558350 | 7,435 | 17 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
AUTOMATIC PISTOL SHOOTING
[Illustration]
[Illustration: AUTOMATIC PISTOLS]
AUTOMATIC PISTOL SHOOTING
TOGETHER WITH INFORMATION ON HANDLING
THE DUELLING PISTOL AND REVOLVER
BY WALTER WINANS
CHEVALIER OF THE IMPERIAL RUSSIAN ORDER OF ST. STANISLAUS
COMMANDER OF THE ROYAL SPANISH ORDER OF ISABELLA THE CATHOLIC
COMMANDER OF THE ROYAL ORDER OF THE CROWN OF RUMANIA
OFFICER OF THE STAR OF RUMANIA
OLYMPIC CHAMPION FOR DOUBLE-RIFLE SHOOTING IN 1908
GOLD MEDALLIST FIFTH OLYMPIAD, STOCKHOLM, 1912
REVOLVER CHAMPION, FIVE YEARS NATIONAL RIFLE ASSOCIATION OF
GREAT BRITAIN
SEVEN YEARS OF THE SOUTH LONDON RIFLE CLUB AND TEN YEARS OF THE
NORTH LONDON RIFLE CLUB
ONE YEAR DUELLING PISTOL CHAMPION AT GASTINNE-RENETTE'S, PARIS
VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL RIFLE ASSOCIATION OF GREAT BRITAIN
MEMBER OF THE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL RIFLEMEN, LIFE
MEMBER OF THE AMERICAN NATIONAL RIFLE ASSOCIATION, LIFE
MEMBER OF THE UNITED STATES REVOLVER ASSOCIATION AND
OF LE PISTOLET CLUB OF PARIS
PRESIDENT OF ASHFORD RIFLE CLUB, ASHFORD MINIATURE RIFLE CLUB AND
THE SURRENDEN MINIATURE RIFLE CLUB
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1915
COPYRIGHT, 1915
BY WALTER WINANS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFACE
Though my last edition of _Hints on Revolver Shooting_ was published only
four years ago, I find it now necessary, owing to the advance of the
automatic pistol, to revise it thoroughly and to add new chapters.
Till quite recently, the automatic pistol had many defects, both as to
balance and as to safety, chiefly in the latter respect, so that only a
very careful expert could handle one without danger to the public and to
himself.
This has now been altered, and with safety bolts and external hammers
several automatic pistols are quite safe for the use of experts.
They are still very dangerous in the hands of ignorant persons; a revolver
is dangerous enough in such cases but the automatic is much more so.
I shall try to explain how any one possessing mechanical knowledge can, by
observing certain precautions, safely carry and shoot an automatic pistol.
Of course, some men who, for years, have shot small game, and who are good
shots, are still very careless in handling a gun. Such men should never
touch an automatic pistol.
I have made the above remarks as I do not want to be responsible for any
accidents with automatics; and I advise any one not sure of himself to
confine himself to revolvers and single-shot pistols.
The automatic pistol is gradually replacing the revolver except as a
gallery pistol.
Up to the present no automatic pistol can shoot gallery, or light-charge,
ammunition, and the full charge, because of the noise, is very unpleasant
in a shooting-gallery.
It is a great pity that the.44 Smith & Wesson break-down model of
revolver (shooting gallery ammunition) is no longer made, as it is still
the best revolver for gallery shooting.
M. Gastinne Renette, of 39 Avenue d'Antin, Paris, for his gallery, uses
them still, together with his duelling pistols of the same calibre and
powder charge.
I mention this as he is the only dealer who can now supply the old Smith &
Wesson revolvers.
WALTER WINANS.
17 Rue de Tervueren,
BRUSSELS, BELGIUM.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE AUTOMATIC PISTOL 1
II.--SELECTING A PISTOL 5
III.--CLEANING AND CARE OF PISTOLS 10
IV.--SIGHTS 14
V.--LEARNING TO SHOOT 21
VI.--RAPID FIRING 40
VII.--TRAVERSING TARGET 43
VIII.--GALLERY SHOOTING 48
IX.--TWENTY-YARDS STATIONARY TARGET 52
X.--DISAPPEARING TARGET 61
XI.--STATIONARY FIFTY-YARDS TARGET 77
XII.--TEAM SHOOTING AND COACHING 79
XIII.--SHOOTING IN COMPETITIONS 82
XIV.--DUELLING 85
XV.--SHOOTING OFF HORSEBACK 98
XVI.--PISTOL SHOOTING FOR LADIES 102
XVII.--STAGE SHOOTING 106
XVIII.--TRICK SHOOTING 116
XIX.--SHOOTING IN SELF-DEFENCE 120
XX.--SHOOTING IN THE DARK 131
Automatic Pistol Shooting
CHAPTER I
THE AUTOMATIC PISTOL
This is the pistol of the future and the revolver has now to give place to
it, just as the horse has to give place to the automobile for traction
purposes.
Still, like the horse, the revolver seems still to have before it a future
for certain purposes, and one uses a revolver where one would not care to
use an automatic pistol.
The superiority of the revolver consists in its being adaptable to reduced
charges and also in its being less complicated and less apt to be
discharged accidentally by an ignorant person.
At one time, the revolver was considered the most dangerous fire-arm in
existence, but the automatic far surpasses it in this respect. When the
chambers of a revolver are emptied, it is harmless; but when the magazine
is taken out, after an automatic pistol has been charged, _one cartridge
still remains in the chamber_. This has been the cause of several
accidents; a man thinks the pistol is safe after he has extracted the
magazine.
The automatic pistol is barred from gallery shooting by the fact that the
mechanism is operated by the recoil from a full-charge cartridge only, and
this full charge makes too much noise.
I do not advise the purchase of any automatic pistol which does not have
at least one safety bolt and which does not have also an external hammer.
There are two makes which, from personal experience, I can recommend; one
is the Colt.45 which has been adopted by the United States Government for
army and navy purposes. This has a grip at the proper angle for shooting.
Hardly any other automatic pistol is properly designed in this respect,
their grips being too much at a right angle, so that the barrel tends to
point too high, this creating a strain on the wrist, since the wrist must
be held in an unnatural position.
The Colt automatic of the U. S. Army pattern has a stock as pleasant to
aim with as a duelling pistol.
Next, it has a hammer which can be put to full and half cock, just like
that of an ordinary pistol or revolver.
It has, besides, two safety appliances; one a slide which can be moved
with the thumb just before firing, like the safety bolt of a shotgun, the
other a safety bolt which is pressed by the palm of the hand in the act of
squeezing the trigger, like that of the Smith & Wesson safety revolver,
later described.
The pistol is, therefore, as "fool-proof" as it seems possible to make it,
but yet there is the danger of a cartridge being left in the chamber when
the magazine is taken out. I again warn all shooters of automatic pistols
to bear this fact constantly in mind whenever handling an automatic.
However, I do not like the sights of this Colt automatic. The front sight
is a black, upright, narrow rod when aiming, and the notch in the hind
sight is far too small. This arrangement of sights may be all very well
for deliberate aiming at a black bull's-eye on a white target, but it is
of no use for practical shooting in a bad light.
The front sight should be a "shotgun" silver "bead," and the hind sight a
large "U"-shaped notch that will show the full bead in it with a little to
spare at the sides.
With these alterations, I think the U. S. Regulation Colt automatic is the
best automatic I know.
The Savage automatic is also very good, and I can confidently recommend
it, especially for those who find the.45 Colt too large for their
purpose.
The following chapters on learning to shoot with the revolver and duelling
pistol apply equally to the automatic pistol, except that the butts to be
shot against should be more solid when using the automatic, owing to its
penetration, and the shooting with it should take place only out-of-doors,
as the noise is very bad for indoors.
CHAPTER II
SELECTING A PISTOL
You must first decide for what purpose you want the pistol; a "general
utility" one is about as much use as a hunter who goes in harness--not
much good for either purpose. If you want a hunter, buy an English hunter;
if a harness horse, buy an American trotter. In the same way, for whatever
purpose you want a pistol, buy one, if by any means you can do so,
especially for that purpose. Anyhow, it is useless to compete with a
short-barrelled pocket automatic against target pistols. This class of
pistol is intended only for self-defence at short range, and has no
pretensions to accuracy.
A long barrel theoretically gives greater accuracy, especially at long
range, owing to there being more length to burn the powder in, and to the
sights being farther apart, which minimizes error in aiming; but
practically this advantage is more than counterbalanced by making the
pistol heavy at the muzzle, so that it therefore balances badly. The
balance ought to be as near the trigger as possible. For a pocket pistol,
a short barrel may be absolutely necessary for portability. In England
some men use very long barrels, but I prefer shorter pistols, and I do not
consider that anything over 7-1/2 inches is a "Military" revolver nor
should it be permitted in military competitions.
See that the trigger-pull is "sweet," and has no "drag." Also, have your
trigger-pull as light as can safely be used. The pull is often left by
makers very heavy, so as to be alterable to suit customers, and the
shopman may forget to have this altered. If you are not hampered by rules,
about three or three and a half pounds is the best trigger-pull for
general purposes.
I do not like a double-action revolver, except for a pocket one, as it
cannot do accurate shooting when cocking with the trigger.
For a man whose hands are apt to get moist, roughing the trigger may
prevent slipping; but it may also make the finger sore if roughed too
sharp.
Some pistols have too narrow a trigger, almost like a piece of wire; a
wide, spoon-shaped trigger is best, as less likely to cut the finger,
especially when coupled with a heavy trigger-pull.
Get a pistol which, when you grip the stock properly, has the barrel and
your arm as nearly in a horizontal line as possible. Many makes of
revolvers and automatic pistols have the stock much below the level of the
barrel, which consequently is above the hand. This makes shooting more
difficult; you are apt to cant the weapon to one side, and the recoil is
more severe on your wrist. A man who holds a pistol properly does not need
a big stock, even if he has a big hand.
For rough work, and in strong sunlight, a pistol is best blued. I
temporarily paint the rib, etc., when target shooting on sunny days, with
"sight-black."
Revolver ammunition is usually made in the following calibres:.32,.38,
.41,.44,.45,.455. Most of these can be had loaded with various
smokeless powders, as King's semi-smokeless, Riflite, Cordite, Walsrode,
etc.
The Union Metallic Cartridge Company, U. S. A., have supplied me with
great quantities of.44 "gallery ammunition," loaded with both round and
semi-round bullets. These have a small charge of black powder, and I
should prefer this ammunition out of a Smith & Wesson Russian Model
revolver for self-defence, as well as for competitions up to twenty yards,
and I find it the most accurate for exhibition shooting. I believe most
professional stage-shooters use it. It is a great pity this revolver is no
longer made and can only be bought second-hand. If a second-hand one is
otherwise good, a new barrel can be put to it. I suppose the various
English makers of ammunition could supply "gallery" charges in any of
their various calibre cartridges, but I know of none and should not advise
the beginner to try loading this sort of ammunition in English
cartridge-cases for himself. The dome of the cap is generally higher than
in American cartridges; if, therefore, the small powder charge used in
gallery ammunition be put in the case and the bullet pressed down, the
bullet will come down on the dome, stop up the flash-hole, and cause a
misfire. The way to obviate this is to take a wad of suitable calibre,
make a hole in the centre, and push the wad down to the bottom of the
cartridge before putting in the powder, so as to fill up the base of the
cartridge and let the bullet "seat" on the powder, higher than the dome.
Makers can do this properly, but an amateur may put the wad in too
loosely, and a little powder get under the wad. The result would be that,
on the shot being fired, the wad would be driven half-way up the barrel,
and might at the next shot cause a burst.
Be sure to use only low-pressure powder, if you use smokeless, as
high-pressure powders are dangerous in a "break-down" action revolver.
Gallery ammunition in a.38 new model solid frame Smith & Wesson revolver
gives good shooting.
Many people do not understand this difference in powder pressure, and
injure their revolvers by experimenting with what become practically
"blasting" instead of propelling charges.
CHAPTER III
CLEANING AND CARE OF PISTOLS
Always clean your pistol the moment you have finished shooting. If you
leave it over till the next day, you may as well throw it away as expect
to win prizes with it.
The larger the calibre, the easier it is to clean and the less chance is
there of spoiling the rifling by jamming the rod in it. I prefer wooden
rods as less apt to spoil the rifling, but the very narrow calibres
require a metal rod (soft metal for preference), as the wood would have to
be too thin and would be liable to break in the bore.
Clean from the breech, not the muzzle end if the make permits of this; the
last fraction of an inch at the muzzle is where the rifling, if damaged,
spoils the shooting most. For the same reason, it is as well to have the
rifling "reamed off" at the mouth of the muzzle, so that the edge of it is
protected. Examine the interior of your barrel at frequent intervals after
cleaning, to see if there is any damage going on from corrosion.
Use the cleaning fluids recommended for the particular powder you are
using, as what may be good for one powder is of no use for another.
The great thing is to clean very thoroughly. I use cotton-wool of the best
quality rather than tow, and I do not use boiling water unless in very
exceptional cases, for fear of overlooking a spot in drying, and getting
rust in consequence. If necessary to use water to remove fouling, let it
be as hot as possible, but this cannot be done if the barrel is not
capable of being separated from the action.
Do not try to oil the lock, or put it right; send it occasionally to the
maker to be seen to. It is also well to have a cleaning kit with wooden
not metal (except for calibres of.32 or less) cleaning rods, cotton-wool,
cleaning fluids, screw-drivers, etc., all in proper compartments, and to
_put them back when used_. See that the cotton-wool is absolutely dry and
clean before using it. Throw away such pieces after once using. Do not use
too big a piece on your rod, such as would get the latter jammed in the
barrel, as you may ruin the shooting qualities of the barrel by using
force to remove it. Have the cleaning rods long enough, or you may bark
your knuckles.
I do not care much for detachable stocks for pistols. They only turn a
pistol into an inferior carbine, and the pistol is not meant for a
long-range weapon.
I also do not like the cardboard cases in which American pistols are
usually packed, for permanent use; they are not strong enough and are apt
to injure the sights, especially fine sights. A holster, again, is not the
thing in which to keep a pistol habitually, as the sights get knocked
about; if the holster is used out-of-doors it gets damp inside and rusts
the weapon. Great care should always be taken to see that the holster is
absolutely dry inside before placing a pistol therein. To dry the inside
of a holster, make some oats very hot in a saucepan and fill the holster
with them, emptying them out when cold. Some American holsters are made of
india-rubber, to prevent perspiration from the body rusting the pistol,
but such an one is very liable to retain dampness inside after rain. The
holster which I prefer (for wearing, _not_ as a pistol-case) is a cowboy
holster, without any button to the flap. If you fasten the flap, you
cannot get the pistol out in a hurry. A lining of rabbit fur is useful in
keeping out sand or dust.
My pistol-cases are good, strong, and solid, of leather, with brass
corners like gun-cases. Each case holds four, placed either side by side,
each pistol in its own compartment, or, with a tray, two in the tray and
two below. If you have only two pistols, they can be put in a case
without this upper tray, or the tray can be used for cartridges. Under all
circumstances, use a good lock,--not the sort that any key fits,--keep the
case locked, and wear the key on your watch-chain, so that you are sure
nobody but yourself can open the case. Keep the case in a dry place, and
look at the pistols occasionally, when they are not in constant use, to
see that they are not rusting.
Keep your cartridges, if not in the same case as the pistols, also locked
in a good leather case. This may be fitted with compartments for various
calibres and loads. The word "loaded" may with advantage be inscribed
inside the lid of the pistol-cases. People then feel less encouragement to
meddle with the contents.
CHAPTER IV
SIGHTS
Sights are made in many forms. Some suit one man best; others another. You
cannot decide which suits your individual case without trying each sort
for yourself.
When you find one form which suits you, it is a pity to risk spoiling your
shooting by changing to others; a beginner should never do so, as he will
get into an uncertain way of taking his sights, instead of always the
same, which is the only way to make reliable, consistent, shooting. Of
course, all your sights may be useless if you are going to shoot in a
competition, consequent on the authorities making some new rule as to "fit
for rough usage"; and then you will have to shoot with whatever will pass
the rules.
My patent sight has, so far, complied with every rule, and it can be used
for hammering nails without sustaining damage.
The main point is to have a front sight at once easily seen, and of which
you see each time the _same amount_; not sometimes more and at other
times less, else you cannot keep your elevation.
Also the "U" in the back sight should have bevelled edges, so as to give a
sharp edge, else it looks "woolly."
Again, if you are not able to see daylight each side of the front sight
when it is in the "U," you cannot be aware that you are not covering part
of the front sight on one side or the other, and, therefore, whether your
aim is in horizontal axis with your barrel.
The reason I prefer a "U"- to a "V"-shaped notch in the hind sight is
because in the "V" you do not see this daylight so well.
As soon as you can shoot well enough to know whether bad shots are the
fault of the sighting of the revolver or of your own holding, you can
sight the pistol properly for yourself; and in this way you can do the
sighting much more accurately, and with greater nicety, than by taking it
to a gunmaker and saying: "Alter the sights to shoot three inches higher
and two to the left at twenty yards, and open the 'U' a little," etc. To
do this, have front and hind sights made of horn, put in temporarily,
without any "U" in the hind sight, and both hind and front sights a little
higher than you think necessary. Then go to the range with your pistol and
several files of various sizes, including some that are round. Make a
slight "U" in the _measured_ centre of the top edge of the back sight.
Shoot a few shots at the range you want to sight for (taking care that you
do not go clean over the top of the butt, owing to being sighted too
high), and then keep working with the files, first at one sight and then
at the other, till you get them approximately right.
Do not cut the "U" down too close to the barrel, as it will then give you
a blurry aim, especially when the barrel gets hot. If you find you shoot
too high, unless you cut this "U" down take out the front sight and put in
another higher one, rather than file the "U" unduly low.
Remember when filing: Filing at the bottom of the "U" makes you shoot
_lower_; filing at the top of the front sight makes you shoot _higher_;
filing on the side of the "U" or the front sight makes you shoot _towards_
the side on which you have filed. Therefore, by filing a very little at a
time, where necessary, you can at last get your sighting perfect. Be sure
to file a very little at a time, or you will overdo it. As in sculpture,
you can easily take off, but cannot replace. If you have taken off too
much anywhere, you may be able to correct this by filing so as to alter
the direction. For instance, if you have been shooting too much to the
right, you can correct this by filing on the left of the front sight or
the left of the "U," whichever makes the more symmetrical job; but if, by
doing so, you make the front sight too small or too narrow or make the "U"
too wide, there is nothing to do but to put in a new front or hind sight
and begin shooting and filing again.
When you have got the sighting perfect, work carefully with your file
(taking great care not to spoil the edge of the "U" nearest to the eye
when aiming), and give a chamfered or bevelled edge to the other side of
the "U," so that it has a knife-edge. This is to make the "U" look clear
and yet allow the back sight to be strong. On this principle, you can let
the hind sight be strong and over a quarter of an inch thick, and yet have
a nice, clear "U." Do not have the "U" deeper than a semicircle. If this
"U" is too deep, it hampers your view of the object aimed at. In fact, it
should not be quite a real "U," but a semicircle. You can also file all
round the front sight, giving it a taper toward the muzzle, but keeping
unaltered the silhouette that you see when aiming, so that the outline
shall then stand clear to the eye.
A gunmaker's vise (padded, so as not to bruise the revolver) is a useful
thing, as it leaves both your hands free to use the files.
I cannot tell you how much you may undercut the front sight, assuming you
intend to use it in competition, as the rules alter so from year to year.
I have an undercut bead-sight which some years was allowed at Bisley as
"Military," and in other years not. The best plan, if you are in any doubt
as to its passing, is to send your revolver to be passed by the committee
before competing.
When you have finished, and have had a final shoot to see if this
finishing has not spoilt your elevation, etc., you can send your pistol to
the maker, and ask him to make your sights precisely like your model ones,
and to fix them permanently on the pistol _without screws, if for Bisley
use_, so as to comply with the rules. When you get the pistol with these
sights, if the work has been properly done, a very little more filing will
put the matter right.
Should you not be shooting at Bisley, or at any of those clubs which shoot
under Bisley rules, you can, of course, get a pistol with Smith & Wesson's
"Ira Paine" adjustable sights. Carry a miniature folding gilt screw-driver
and sight-case on your watch-chain, as I do, and you will then be able to
shoot in any light, at any range, or in any style of shooting, by merely
giving a slight turn to the adjusting screws to alter your elevation or
direction; or take out a sight from your little case of sights, if a sight
breaks or you want a different size or shape. Public opinion has not yet
been educated to the point of considering this "a practical military
sight," but this will come--in time.
EXTRACTS FROM SPECIFICATIONS OF WALTER WINANS'S REVOLVER FRONT SIGHT
"Great difficulty has hitherto been experienced in seeing the same amount
of front sight each time aim is taken, unless the base of the sight is
sufficiently undercut to form a 'bead-sight'; such undercutting being,
however, detrimental, as it weakens the'sight' and renders it very liable
to injury, and is not permissible in Bisley revolver competitions. The
object of my invention is, therefore, to overcome this difficulty, and to
this end I make the'sight' of metal, horn, wood, or other hard substance,
with a strong, wide base, preferably of the 'barleycorn' or triangular
section.
"The face of the upper part of the'sight' facing the marksman (as much of
it as it is desirable to see in aiming) is made vertical, or inclined
slightly towards the marksman, so as to cause it to appear black, as if in
shadow. The visible part of the sight below the face inclines forward from
the marksman, and downward, so as to reflect the light and enable the face
of the sight to be at once distinguished by its difference of shade from
the lower part. It may be polished or plated to assist in reflecting the
light, while as a contrast, the vertical face is cross-filed, or
'roughed,' or may be hollowed out so as to be in shadow, and give it a
'dead' black appearance.
"In the drawing, I have shown what I consider the best means of carrying
this out. Fig. 1 is a side view, full size, of a portion of a revolver
barrel fitted with my improved 'front sight.'
"Fig. 2 and Fig. 3 are sections of the barrel at A B, showing two forms
which the sight may assume in section, one having straight sides, the
other concave. I show in Figs. 4 and 4*, on a larger scale, for the sake
of clearness, a side and plan view of the sight shown in Fig. 1, and in
Fig. 5 a modification of this shape. Figs. 6 and 7 are end views, showing
two sectional forms of the sight, and corresponding in size with Figs. 4
and 5. In Figs. 1 and 4, it will be seen that _a_ is the vertical face of
the sight, which is designed to present a dark appearance to the marksman;
and _b_ is the polished, inclined surface, which takes a rounded form. In
the modification, Fig. 5, the face _a_ is slightly inclined towards the
marksman, and the bright or polished surface _b_ takes the form of a flat
incline."
CHAPTER V
LEARNING TO SHOOT
It is assumed that you have procured an accurate pistol, properly sighted.
It is best to use a single-shot pistol or revolver as an automatic pistol
cannot well be used as a single loader and for a beginner is very
dangerous with the magazine charged.
First, make sure that it is unloaded. _Always_ do this before handling a
pistol.
Take a bottle of sight-black and paint both sights over with the liquid. I
have seen men try to compete, with their sights in a shiny state, which
made it impossible for them to make good shooting on a white target with
black "bull."
For game shooting, or for military purposes, of course, a "dead" white
(ivory for choice) tip to the front sight is preferable, or my patent
military front sight, which answers the purposes both of a light on dark,
or dark on light sight.
With a pistol the first thing to consider is safety. It is, owing to its
shortness, one of the most dangerous of firearms to handle. Even an
expert must exercise great care; and in the hands of a beginner or a
careless person it may be fearfully dangerous. I have had many very narrow
escapes in teaching men how to shoot; it is not even safe to be behind
them; they will turn round with the pistol at full-cock, pointing it at
you, and say: "I cannot understand why it will not go off; see! I am
pulling as hard as I can at the trigger."
It is indispensable to have a safe background. Some people think that if
the target is fastened to the trunk of a tree it is all safe, since the
bullet will not go through the tree. This may be so if the tree is hit,
but the bullet will, most likely, go past the tree when the beginner
fires; or, what is just as dangerous, graze the tree and go off at an
angle. Also, in shooting with round bullets, and light gallery ammunition,
the bullets may rebound from a hard tree and come back on the shooter.
This I have actually seen happen.
A good background is a high sandy bank, a thick pile of fagots, or, if not
closer than fifty yards, a high brick or stone wall. The target may be
stood some fifteen yards away from the wall to prevent danger of a bullet
coming back on the shooter, and then the shooter can be far enough from
the wall, if the wall is a background. If a lot of shooting is done, it is
not very good for the wall, and if many shots hit the same spot they may
gradually make a hole. Iron butts are expensive, especially for the large
surface required by a beginner; at twenty yards, a beginner could not in
my opinion safely shoot at a background less than twelve feet high and
some ten in width. Even then there should not be any one beyond it within
half a mile, lest he should happen to let off by accident. Shooting out to
sea is safe, if one keeps a good lookout for boats; but the glare from the
water is bad. A sand or chalk pit is a good place to shoot in, or one can
shoot against a high chalk cliff. It is dangerous to shoot anywhere where
people cross unexpectedly, as from round the corner of a building.
The great thing is that _the pistol should never point in any direction
where it would matter if it went off by accident_. This rule should be
observed even with an empty pistol, because so many
"I-did-not-know-it-was-loaded" accidents occur.
Having got a butt, the learner should take a firm, narrow wooden table and
place it some ten yards from the target. This target is preferably a
"Bisley fifty-yards target," four-inch bull's-eye. The Bisley cardboard
targets are cheap; and, by pasting white patches on the white and black on
the bull's-eye bullet-holes, one target can be used for a long time. I
refer to the fifty-yards target because this four-inch bull's-eye is very
easy to hit at ten yards' range. The Bisley revolver "bull's-eyes" count,
at all ranges, seven points; the concentric rings counting one point less,
each, till the outermost one, which counts two points. The highest
possible score, therefore, for the six shots is forty-two, or six times
| 875.875875 |
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Heroes of the Nations
A Series of Biographical Studies
presenting the lives and work
of certain representative
historical characters, about
whom have gathered the
traditions of the nations to
which they belong, and who
have, in the majority of
instances, been accepted as
types of the several national
ideals.
FOR FULL LIST SEE END OF THIS VOLUME
_Heroes of the Nations_
EDITED BY
Evelyn Abbott, M.A.
FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD
FACTA DUCIS VIVENT, OPEROSAQUE GLORIA RERUM.—OVID, IN LIVIAM 265.
THE HERO’S DEEDS AND HARD-WON FAME SHALL LIVE.
OLIVER CROMWELL
[Illustration:
OLIVER CROMWELL.
(_From a painting by an unknown artist, in the National Portrait
Gallery._)
]
OLIVER CROMWELL
AND THE RULE OF THE PURITANS IN ENGLAND
BY
CHARLES FIRTH, M.A.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
PREFACE
This _Life of Cromwell_ is in part based on an article contributed by
the author to the _Dictionary of National Biography_ in 1888, but
embodies the result of later researches, and of recently discovered
documents such as the Clarke Papers. The battle plans have been
specially drawn for this volume by Mr. B. V. Darbishire, and in two
cases differ considerably from those generally accepted as correct. The
scheme of this series does not permit a discussion of the reasons why
these alterations have been made, but the evidence concerning the
battles in question has been carefully examined, and any divergence from
received accounts is intentional. The reader who wishes to see this
subject discussed at length is referred to a study of the battle of
Marston Moor printed in Volume XII. of the _Transactions of the Royal
Historical Society_ (new series), and to a similar paper on Dunbar which
will appear in Volume XIV.
The quotations from Cromwell’s letters or speeches are, where necessary,
freely abridged.
C. H. F.
OXFORD, Feb. 6, 1900.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
EARLY LIFE, 1599–1629 | 875.97321 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this
text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant
spellings and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to
correct an obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.
Also, many occurrences of mismatched single and double quotes remain
as they were in the original.]
[Illustration: Susan B. Anthony. (Signed: Affectionately Yours Susan B. Anthony)]
THE HISTORY
OF
WOMAN SUFFRAGE
EDITED BY
SUSAN B. ANTHONY &
IDA HUSTED HARPER
ILLUSTRATED WITH COPPERPLATE AND PHOTOGRAVURE
ENGRAVINGS
_IN FOUR VOLUMES_
VOL. IV.
1883-1900
"PERFECT EQUALITY OF RIGHTS FOR WOMAN, CIVIL, LEGAL
AND POLITICAL"
SUSAN B. ANTHONY
17 MADISON STREET, ROCHESTER, N. Y.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY SUSAN B. ANTHONY
THE HOLLENBECK PRESS
INDIANAPOLIS
* * * * Make me respect my material so much that I dare not slight my
work. Help me to deal very honestly with words and with people,
because they are both alive. Show me that, as in a river, so in
writing, clearness is the best quality, and a little that is pure is
worth more than much that is mixed. Teach me to see the local color
without being blind to the inner light. Give me an ideal that will
stand the strain of weaving into human stuff on the loom of the real.
Keep me from caring more for books than for folks, for art than for
life. Steady me to do my full stint of work as well as I can, and when
that is done, stop me, pay me what wages thou wilt, and help me to say
from a quiet heart a grateful Amen.
HENRY VAN <DW18>.
PREFACE
After the movement for woman suffrage, which commenced about the
middle of the nineteenth century, had continued for twenty-five years,
the feeling became strongly impressed upon its active promoters, Miss
Susan B. Anthony and Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, that the records
connected with it should be secured to posterity. With Miss Anthony,
indeed, the idea had been ever present, and from the beginning she had
carefully preserved as far as possible the letters, speeches and
newspaper clippings, accounts of conventions and legislative and
congressional reports. By 1876 they were convinced through various
circumstances that the time had come for writing the history. So
little did they foresee the magnitude which this labor would assume
that they made a mutual agreement to accept no engagements for four
months, expecting to finish it within that time, as they contemplated
nothing more than a small volume, probably a pamphlet of a few hundred
pages. Miss Anthony packed in trunks and boxes the accumulations of
the years and shipped them to Mrs. Stanton's home in Tenafly, N. J.,
where the two women went cheerfully to work.
Mrs. Stanton was the matchless writer, Miss Anthony the collector of
material, the searcher of statistics, the business manager, the keen
critic, the detector of omissions, chronological flaws and
discrepancies in statement such as are unavoidable even with the most
careful historian. On many occasions they called to their aid for
historical facts Mrs. Matilda Joslyn Gage, one of the most logical,
scientific and fearless writers of her day. To Mrs. Gage Vol. I of the
History of Woman Suffrage is wholly indebted for the first two
chapters--Preceding Causes and Woman in Newspapers, and for the last
chapter--Woman, Church and State, which she later amplified in a book;
and Vol. II for the first chapter--Woman's Patriotism in the Civil
War.
When the allotted time had expired the work had far exceeded its
original limits and yet seemed hardly begun. Its authors were amazed
at the amount of history which already had been made and still more
deeply impressed with the desirability of preserving the story of the
early struggle, but both were in the regular employ of lecture bureaus
and henceforth could give only vacations to the task. They were
entirely without the assistance of stenographers and typewriters, who
at the present day relieve brain workers of so large a part of the
physical strain. A labor which was to consume four months eventually
extended through ten years and was not completed until the closing
days of 1885. The pamphlet of a few hundred pages had expanded into
three great volumes of 1,000 pages each, and enough material remained
unused to fill another.[1]
It was almost wholly due to Miss Anthony's clear foresight and
painstaking habits that the materials were gathered and preserved
during all the years, and it was entirely owing to her unequaled
determination and persistence that the History was written. The demand
for Mrs. Stanton on the platform and the cares of a large family made
this vast amount of writing a most heroic effort, and one which
doubtless she would have been tempted to evade had it not been for the
relentless mentor at her side, helping to bear her burdens and
overcome the obstacles, and continually pointing out the necessity
that the history of this movement for the emancipation of women should
be recorded, in justice to those who carried it forward and as an
inspiration to the workers of the future. And so together, for a long
decade, these two great souls toiled in the solitude of home just as
together they fought in the open field, not for personal gain or
glory, but for the sake of a cause to which they had consecrated their
lives. Had it not been for their patient and unselfish labor the story
of the hard conditions under which the pioneers struggled to lift
woman out of her subjection, the bitterness of the prejudice, the
cruelty of the persecution, never would have been told. In all the
years that have passed no one else has attempted to tell it, and
should any one desire to do so it is doubtful if, even at this early
date, enough of the records could be found for the most superficial
account. In not a library can the student who wishes to trace this
movement to its beginning obtain the necessary data except in these
three volumes, which will become still more valuable as the years go
by and it nears success.
Miss Anthony began this work in 1876 without a dollar in hand for its
publication. She never had the money in advance for any of her
undertakings, but she went forward and accomplished them, and when the
people saw that they were good they usually repaid the amount she had
advanced from her own small store. In this case she resolved to use
the whole of it and all she could earn in the future rather than not
publish the History. Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson, of New York, a generous
patron of good works, gave her the first $1,000 in 1880, but this did
not cover the expenses that had been actually incurred thus far in its
preparation. She was in nowise discouraged, however, but kept steadily
on during every moment which could be spared by Mrs. Stanton and
herself, absolutely confident that in some way the necessary funds
would be obtained. Her strong faith was justified, for the first week
of 1882 came a notice from Wendell Phillips that Mrs. Eliza Jackson
Eddy, of Boston, had left her a large legacy to be used according to
her own judgment "for the advancement of woman's cause." Litigation by
an indirect heir deprived her of this money for over three years, but
in April, 1885, she received $24,125.
The first volume of the History had been issued in May, 1881, and the
second in April, 1882. In June, 1885, Mrs. Stanton and Miss Anthony
set resolutely to work and labored without ceasing until the next
November, when the third volume was sent to the publishers. With the
bequest Miss Anthony paid the debts that had been incurred, replaced
her own fund, of which every dollar had been used, and brought out
this last volume. All were published at a time when paper and other
materials were at a high price. The fine steel engravings alone cost
$5,000. On account of the engagements of the editors it was necessary
to employ proofreaders and indexers, and because of the many years
over which the work had stretched an immense number of changes had to
be made in composition, so that a large part of the legacy was
consumed.
The money which Miss Anthony now had enabled her to carry out her
long-cherished project to put this History free of charge in the
public libraries. It was thus placed in twelve hundred in the United
States and Europe. Mrs. Stanton and Mrs. Gage, who had contributed
their services without price, naturally felt that it should be sold
instead of given away, and in order to have a perfectly free hand she
purchased their rights. In addition to the libraries, she has given it
to hundreds of schools and to countless individuals, writers,
speakers, etc., whom she thought it would enable to do better work for
the franchise. For seventeen years she has paid storage on the volumes
and the stereotype plates. During this time there has been some demand
for the books from those who were able and willing to pay, but much
the largest part of the labor and money expended were a direct
donation to the cause of woman suffrage.
From the time the last volume was finished it was Miss Anthony's
intention, if she should live twenty years longer, to issue a fourth
containing the history which would be made during that period, and for
this purpose she still preserved the records. As the century drew near
a close, bringing with it the end of her four-score years, the desire
grew still stronger to put into permanent shape the continued story of
a contest which already had extended far beyond the extreme limits
imagined when she dedicated to it the full power of her young
womanhood with its wealth of dauntless courage and unfailing hope. She
resigned the presidency of the National Association in February, 1900,
which marked her eightieth birthday, in order that she might carry out
this project and one or two others of especial importance. Among her
birthday gifts she received $1,000 from friends in all parts of the
country, and this sum she resolved to apply to the contemplated
volume. One of the other objects which she had in view was the
collecting of a large fund to be invested and the income used in work
for the enfranchisement of women. Already about $3,000 had been
subscribed.
By the time the first half year had passed, nature exacted tribute for
six decades of unceasing and unparalleled toil, and it became evident
that the idea of gathering a reserve fund would have to be abandoned.
The donors of the $3,000 were consulted and all gave cordial assent to
have their portion applied to the publication of the fourth volume of
the History. The largest amount, $1,000, had been contributed by Mrs.
Pauline Agassiz Shaw, of Boston. Dr | 875.973275 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 105, JULY 29TH 1893
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
MUSCULAR EDUCATION.
[Illustration]
Mr. PUNCH has much pleasure in recommending the following Prospectus
to the notice of parents desirous of finding a thoroughly practical
school where boys are educated according to the real requirements of
modern life.
CLOANTHUS HOUSE, MARKET DREPANUM, OXON.
Mr. J. PEN-RULLOX, M.A. Cambs., and the Rev. WILFRID BAILS, B.A.
Oxon, receive pupils to prepare for the great public schools and
universities.
The well-known qualifications of Mr. PEN-RULLOX, who rowed stroke in
his university boat in the celebrated race at Amwell in 1878, and of
the Rev. Mr. BAILS, who played for Oxford in the famous university
match in the Common Fields in 1882, will be sufficient guarantee that
the boys will be thoroughly well instructed.
Besides Rowing, Cricket, and Football; Swimming, Racquets, Boxing,
and Hockey, are specially attended to by competent Assistant-Masters,
under the personal supervision of the Principals.
Billiards, Lawn-tennis, Poker, Nurr and Spell, and some other minor
games, now too frequently neglected in the education of youth, will
find their due place in the curriculum of Cloanthus House.
It is in contemplation, should a sufficient number of boys show a
marked inclination for such studies, to engage a Board-school Master,
of approved competence, to direct literary and scientific work.
Terms, inclusive, L250 per annum, payable in advance: the only extras
at present being Reading, Writing, Polo, and Arithmetic.
Reference is kindly permitted to the following:--The Right Rev. the
Bishop of ISTHMIA; the Editor of the _Sporting Life_; the Rev. R.
E. D. HORGAN, M.A., Jesurum Col., Cambs; the Sports Editor of the
_Field_; the Warden of Mortlake College, Putney; Dr. S. A. GRACE,
LL.D.; the Hon. and Rev. HURLINGHAM PEEL.
* * * * *
THE BITTER CRY OF THE BROKEN-VOICED CHORISTER.
(_A long way after Tennyson._)
Break, break, break,
O voice on that clear top C!
And I would that my throat could utter
High notes as they used to be.
O well for old BUNDLECOOP'S boy
That he still shouts his full round A!
O well for that tow-headed lad
That he sings in his old clear way.
And the anthems still go on
With boy-trebles sharp and shrill;
But O for _my_ "compass," so high and grand,
And the voice that I _used_ to trill!
Break, break, break,
Like a creaky old gate, top C!
But the high treble notes of a voice that is cracked,
Will never come back to me!
* * * * *
QUEER QUERIES.
THE WHITE CURRENCY QUESTION.--Can nothing be done to prevent the
Indian VICEROY from carrying out his monstrous proposal about the
Rupee? I was just off to Bombay (having recently completed a period
of enforced seclusion in Devonshire, occasioned by a too successful
competition with a monopolist Mint) on the strength of a newspaper
paragraph that "Free Coining of Silver" was permitted in that happy
land. Free Coining! In my opinion it beats "Free Education" hollow,
and is just what I have always wanted. I felt that my fortune was
made, when suddenly the news comes that the free coinage business is
stopped. What an injustice! In the name of the down-trodden Hindoo,
to whom my specially manufactured nickel-and-tin Rupee would have been
quite a new revelation, I protest against this interference with the
immemorial customs of our Oriental fellow-subjects.--JEREMIAH D'IDDLA.
* * * * *
CONTRIBUTED BY OUR OWN WELSH-HARPER'S MAGAZ | 876.173187 |
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THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES
[Illustration: CHRISTMAS JOLLITY
(_John Leech's "Mr. Fezziwig's Ball," from Dickens' "Christmas
Carol."_)]
THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES
EDITED BY
ASA DON DICKINSON
AND
ADA M. SKINNER
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC.
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY DOUBLEDAY &
COMPANY, INC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
The Publishers desire to acknowledge the kindness of the J. B.
Lippincott Co., Houghton Mifflin Co., D. C. Heath & Co., The
Bobbs-Merrill Co., Milton Bradley Co., Henry Altemus Co., Lothrop, Lee &
Shepherd Co., Little, Brown & Co., Moffat, Yard & Co., American Book
Co., Perry, Mason Co., Duffield & Co., Chicago Kindergarten College, and
others, who have granted them permission to reproduce herein selections
from works bearing their copyright.
PREFACE
Many librarians have felt the need and expressed the desire for a select
collection of children's Christmas stories in one volume. This book
claims to be just that and nothing more.
Each of the stories has already won the approval of thousands of
children, and each is fraught with the true Christmas spirit.
It is hoped that the collection will prove equally acceptable to
parents, teachers, and librarians.
ASA DON DICKINSON.
CONTENTS
(_Note_.--The stories marked with a star (*) will be most enjoyed by
younger children; those marked with a dagger (+) are better suited to
older children.)
PAGE
Christmas at Fezziwig's Warehouse. _By Charles Dickens_ 3
*The Fir-Tree. _By Hans Christian Andersen_ 6
The Christmas Masquerade. _By Mary E. Wilkins Freeman_ 19
*The Shepherds and the Angels. _Adapted from the Bible_ 34
+The Telltale Tile. _By Olive Thorne Miller_ 36
*Little Girl's Christmas. _By Winnifred E. Lincoln_ 48
+A Christmas Matinee. _By M. A. L. Lane_ 57
*Toinette and the Elves. _By Susan Coolidge_ 68
The Voyage of the Wee Red Cap. _By Ruth Sawyer Durand_ 86
*A Story of the Christ-Child (a German Legend for Christmas
Eve). _As told by Elizabeth Harrison_ 96
*Jimmy Scarecrow's Christmas. _by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman_ 103
Why the Chimes Rang. _By Raymond McAlden_ 113
*The Birds' Christmas (founded on fact). _By F. E. Mann_ 120
+The Little Sister's Vacation. _By Winifred M. Kirkland_ 126
*Little Wolff's Wooden Shoes. _By Francois Coppee, adapted
and translated by Alma J. Foster_ 139
+Christmas in the Alley. _By Olive Thorne Miller_ 146
*A Christmas Star. _By Katherine Pyle_ 158
+The Queerest Christmas. _By Grace Margaret Gallaher_ 165
Old Father Christmas. _By J. H. Ewing_ 179
A Christmas Carol. _By Charles Dickens_ 193
How Christmas Came to the Santa Maria Flats. _By Elia W. Peattie_ 196
The Legend of Babouscka. _From the Russian Folk Tale_ 208
*Christmas in the Barn. _By F. Arnstein_ 211
The Philanthropist's Christmas. _By James Weber Linn_ 216
*The First Christmas-Tree. _By Lucy Wheelock_ 230
The First New England Christmas. _By G. L. Stone and M. G.
Fickett_ 232
The Cratchits' Christmas Dinner. _By Charles Dickens_ 242
Christmas in Seventeen Seventy-Six. _By Anne Hollingsworth
Wharton_ 253
*Christmas Under the Snow. _By Olive Thorne Miller_ 261
Mr. Bluff's Experience of Holidays. _By Oliver Bell Bunce_ 273
+Master Sandy's Snapdragon. _By Elbridge S. Brooks_ 284
A Christmas Fairy. _By John Strange Winter_ 297
The Greatest of These. _By Joseph Mills Hanson_ 303
*Little Gretchen and the Wooden Shoe. _By Elizabeth Harrison_ 316
+Christmas on Big Rattle. _By Theodore Goodridge Roberts_ 329
THE CHILDREN'S BOOK OF CHRISTMAS STORIES
I
CHRISTMAS AT FEZZIWIG'S WAREHOUSE
CHARLES DICKENS
"YO HO! my boys," said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night! Christmas Eve,
Dick! Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up!" cried old
Fezziwig with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say Jack
Robinson...."
"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk with
wonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room
here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Cheer-up, Ebenezer!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or
couldn't have cleared away with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in
a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from
public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were
trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug,
and warm, and dry, and bright a ballroom as you would desire to see on a
winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music book, and went up to the lofty desk and
made an orchestra of it and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs.
Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Misses
Fezziwig, beaming and lovable. In came the six followers whose hearts
they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the
business. In came the housemaid with her cousin the baker. In came the
cook with her brother's particular friend the milkman. In came the boy
from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his
master, trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one
who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress; in they all
came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once;
hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up
again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping, old
top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting
off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a
bottom one to help them.
When this result was brought about the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de
Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top
couple, too, with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or
four and twenty pairs of partners; people who were not to be trifled
with; people who would dance and had no notion of walking.
But if they had been thrice as many--oh, four times as many--old
Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig.
As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term.
If that's not high praise, tell me higher and I'll use it. A positive
light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part
of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted at any given time
what would become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig
had gone all through the dance, advance and retire; both hands to your
partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle, and back again
to your place; Fezziwig "cut"--cut so deftly that he appeared to wink
with his legs, and came upon his feet again with a stagger.
When the clock struck eleven the domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs.
Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and
shaking hands with every person individually, as he or she went out,
wished him or her a Merry Christmas!
II
THE FIR-TREE[A]
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
OUT in the woods stood a nice little Fir-tree. The place he had was a
very good one; the sun shone on him; as to fresh air, there was enough
of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, pines as well as
firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.
He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care
for the little cottage children that ran about and prattled when they
were in the woods looking for wild strawberries. The children often came
with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on
a straw, and sat down near the young tree and said, "Oh, how pretty he
is! what a nice little fir!" But this was what the Tree could not bear
to hear.
At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year
he was another long bit taller; for with fir-trees one can always tell
by the shoots how many years old they are.
"Oh, were I but such a high tree as the others are!" sighed he. "Then I
should be able to spread out my branches, and with the tops to look
into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests among my branches;
and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as
the others!"
Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds, which morning
and evening sailed above them, gave the little Tree any pleasure.
In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would
often come leaping along, and jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that
made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the third the tree
was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. "To grow and
grow, to get older and be tall," thought the Tree--"that, after all, is
the most delightful thing in the world!"
In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest
trees. This happened every year; and the young Fir-tree, that had now
grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for the magnificent
great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were
lopped off, and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be
recognized; and then they were laid in carts, and the horses dragged
them out of the woods.
Where did they go to? What became of them?
In spring, when the Swallows and the Storks came, the Tree asked them,
"Don't you know where they have been taken? Have you not met them
anywhere?"
The Swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked
musing, nodded his head, and said: "Yes, I think I know; I met many
ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were magnificent
masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I
may congratulate you, for they lifted themselves on high most
majestically!"
"Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea
look in reality? What is it like?"
"That would take a long time to explain," said the Stork, and with these
words off he went.
"Rejoice in thy growth!" said the Sunbeams, "rejoice in thy vigorous
growth, and in the fresh life that moveth within thee!"
And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the
Fir understood it not.
When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down; trees which often
were not even as large or of the same age as this Fir-tree, who could
never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young trees, and they
were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid
on carts, and the horses drew them out of the woods.
"Where are they going to?" asked the Fir. "They are not taller than I;
there was one indeed that was considerably shorter; and why do they
retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?"
"We know! we know!" chirped the Sparrows. "We have peeped in at the
windows in the town below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest
splendour and the greatest magnificence one can imagine await them. We
peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of the
warm room, and ornamented with the most splendid things--with gilded
apples, with gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!"
"And then?" asked the Fir-tree, trembling in every bough. "And then?
What happens then?"
"We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful."
"I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career," cried the
Tree, rejoicing. "That is still better than to cross the sea! What a
longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, and my
branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh,
were I but already on the cart. Were I in the warm room with all the
splendour and magnificence! Yes; then something better, something still
grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me?
Something better, something still grander, _must_ follow--but what? Oh,
how I long, how I suffer! I do not know myself what is the matter with
me!"
"Rejoice in our presence!" said the Air and the Sunlight; "rejoice in
thy own fresh youth!"
But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green
both winter and summer. People that saw him said, "What a fine tree!"
and toward Christmas he was one of the first that was cut down. The axe
struck deep into the very pith; the tree fell to the earth with a sigh:
he felt a pang--it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness,
for he was sorrowful at being separated from his home, from the place
where he had sprung up. He knew well that he should never see his dear
old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, any more;
perhaps not even the birds! The departure was not at all agreeable.
The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a courtyard with
the other trees, and heard a man say, "That one is splendid! we don't
want the others." Then two servants came in rich livery and carried the
Fir-tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging
on the walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese
vases with lions on the covers. There, too, were large easy chairs,
silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books, and full of toys worth
hundreds and hundreds of crowns--at least the children said so. And the
Fir-tree was stuck upright in a cask that was filled with sand: but no
one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth was hung all around
it, and it stood on a large gayly carpet. Oh, how the Tree
quivered! What was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies,
decorated it. On one branch there hung little nets cut out of
paper, and each net was filled with sugar-plums; and among the other
boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they
had grown there, and little blue and white tapers were placed among the
leaves. Dolls that looked for all the world like men--the Tree had never
beheld such before--were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a
large star of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid--beyond
description splendid.
"This evening!" said they all; "how it will shine this evening!"
"Oh," thought the Tree, "if the evening were but come! If the tapers
were but lighted! And then I wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other
trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps the sparrows will
beat against the window-panes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and
winter and summer stand covered with ornaments!"
He knew very much about the matter! but he was so impatient that for
sheer longing he got a pain in his back, and this with trees is the same
thing as a headache with us.
The candles were now lighted. What brightness! What splendour! The Tree
trembled so in every bough that one of the tapers set fire to the
foliage. It blazed up splendidly.
"Help! Help!" cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.
Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was
so uneasy lest he should lose something of his splendour, that he was
quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when suddenly both
folding-doors opened, and a troop of children rushed in as if they
would upset the Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little
ones stood quite still. But it was only for a moment; then they shouted
so that the whole place reechoed with their rejoicing; they danced round
the tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.
"What are they about?" thought the Tree. | 876.176266 |
2023-11-16 18:31:40.6577610 | 7,435 | 12 |
Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
An Essay Towards a New Theory of Vision
by
George Berkeley (1685-1753)
CONTENTS
Sect.
1 Design
2 Distance of itself invisible
3 Remote distance perceived rather by experience than by sense
4 Near distance thought to be perceived by the ANGLE of the
OPTIC AXES
5 Difference between this and the former manner of perceiving
distance
6 Also by diverging rays
7 This depends not on experience
8 These the common accounts, but not satisfactory
9 Some IDEAS perceived by the mediation of others
10 No IDEA which is not itself perceived, can be the means of
perceiving another
11 Distance perceived by means of some other IDEA
12 Those lines and angles mentioned in optics, are not themselves
perceived
13 Hence the mind does not perceive distance by lines and angles
14 Also because they have no real existence
15 And because they are insufficient to explain the phenomena
16 The IDEAS that suggest distance are, 1st, the sensation arising
from the turn of the eyes
17 Betwixt which and distance there is no necessary connection
18 Scarce room for mistake in this matter
19 No regard had to the angle of the OPTIC AXES
20 Judgment of distance made with both eyes, the result of EXPERIENCE
21 2ndly, Confusedness of appearance
22 This the occasion of those judgments attributed to diverging rays
23 Objection answered
24 What deceives the writers of optics in this matter
25 The cause why one IDEA may suggest another
26 This applied to confusion and distance
27 Thirrdly, the straining of the eye
28 The occasions which suggest distance have in their own nature
no relation to it
29 A difficult case proposed by Dr. Barrow as repugnant to
all the known theories
30 This case contradicts a received principle in catoptrics
31 It is shown to agree with the principles we have laid down
32 This phenomenon illustrated
33 It confirms the truth of the principle whereby it is explained
34 Vision when distinct, and when confused
35 The different effects of parallel diverging and converging rays
36 How converging and diverging rays come to suggest the same
distance
37 A person extreme purblind would judge aright in the
forementioned case
38 Lines and angles, why useful in optics
39 The not understanding this, a cause of mistake
40 A query proposed, by Mr. Molyneux in his DIOPTRICS, considered
41 One born blind would not at first have any IDEA of distance by
sight
42 This not agreeable to the common principles
43 The proper objects of sight, not without the mind, nor the images
of any thing without the mind
44 This more fully explained
45 In what sense we must be understood to see distance
and external things
46 Distance, and things placed at a distance, not otherwise perceived
by the eye than by the ear
47 The IDEAS of sight more apt to be confounded with the IDEAS
of touch than those of hearing are
48 How this comes to pass
49 Strictly speaking, we never see and feel the same thing
50 Objects of SIGHT twofold, mediate and immediate
51 These hard to separate in our thoughts
52 The received accounts of our perceiving magnitude by sight, false
53 Magnitude perceived as immediately as distance
54 Two kinds of sensible extension, neither of which is
infinitely divisible
55 The tangible magnitude of an OBJECT steady, the visible not
56 By what means tangible magnitude is perceived by sight
57 This further enlarged on
58 No necessary connection between confusion or faintness
of appearance, and small or great magnitude
59 The tangible magnitude of an OBJECT more heeded than the visible,
and why
60 An instance of this
61 Men do not measure by visible feet or inches
62 No necessary connection between visible and tangible extension
63 Greater visible magnitude might signify lesser tangible magnitude
64 The judgments we make of magnitude depend altogether on experience
65 Distance and magnitude seen as shame or anger
66 But we are prone to think otherwise, and why
67 The moon seems greater in the horizon than in the meridian
68 The cause of this phenomenon assigned
69 The horizontal moon, why greater at one time than another.
70 The account we have given proved to be true
71 And confirmed by the moon's appearing greater in a mist
72 Objection answered
73 The way wherein faintness suggests greater magnitude illustrated
74 Appearance of the horizontal moon, why thought difficult to
explain
75 Attempts towards the solution of it made by several, but in vain
76 The opinion of Dr. Wallis
77 It is shown to be unsatisfactory
78 How lines and angles may be of use in computing apparent
magnitudes
79 One born blind, being made to see, what judgment he would make
of magnitude
80 The MINIMUM VISIBLE the same to all creatures
81 Objection answered
82 The eye at all times perceives the same number of visible points
83 Two imperfections in the VISIVE FACULTY
84 Answering to which, we may conceive two perfections
85 In neither of these two ways do microscopes improve the sight
86 The case of microscopical eyes, considered
87 The sight, admirably adapted to the ends of seeing
88 Difficulty concerning erect vision
89 The common way of explaining it
90 The same shown to be false
91 Not distinguishing between IDEAS of sight and touch, cause
of mistake in this matter
92 The case of one born blind, proper to be considered
93 Such a one might by touch attain to have IDEAS of UPPER and LOWER
94 Which modes of situation he would attribute only to things
tangible
95 He would not at first sight think anything he saw, high or low,
erect or inverted
96 This illustrated by an example
97 By what means he would come to denominate visible OBJECTS,
high or low, etc.
98 Why he should think those OBJECTS highest, which are painted on
the lowest part of his eye, and VICE VERSA
99 How he would perceive by sight, the situation of external objects
100 Our propension to think the contrary, no argument against
what has been said
101 Objection
102 Answer
103 An object could not be known at first sight by the colour
104 Nor by the magnitude thereof
105 Nor by the figure
106 In the first act of vision, no tangible thing would be suggested
by sight
107 Difficulty proposed concerning number
108 Number of things visible, would not at first sight suggest
the like number of things tangible
109 Number the creature of the mind
110 One born blind would not at first sight number visible things
as others do
111 The situation of any object determined with respect only to
objects of the same sense
112 No distance, great or small, between a visible and tangible thing
113 The not observing this, cause of difficulty in erect vision
114 Which otherwise includes nothing unaccountable
115 What is meant by the picture being inverted
116 Cause of mistake in this matter
117 Images in the eye, not pictures of external objects
118 In what sense they are pictures
119 In this affair we must carefully distinguish between ideas
of sight and touch
120 Difficult to explain by words the true Theory of Vision
121 The question, whether there is any IDEA common to sight
and touch, stated
122 Abstract extension inquired into
123 It is incomprehensible
124 Abstract extension not the OBJECT of geometry
125 The general IDEA of a triangle, considered
126 Vacuum, or pure space, not common to sight and touch
127 There is no idea, or kind of idea, common to both senses
128 First argument in proof hereof
129 Second argument
130 Visible figure and extension, not distinct IDEAS from colour
131 Third argument
132 Confirmation drawn from Mr. Molyneux's problem of a sphere
and a cube, published by Mr. Locke
133 Which is falsely solved, if the common supposition be true
134 More might be said in proof of our tenet, but this suffices
135 Further reflection on the foregoing problem
136 The same thing doth not affect both sight and touch
137 The same idea of motion not common to sight and touch
138 The way wherein we apprehend motion by sight, easily collected
from what hath been said
139 QU. How visible and tangible IDEAS came to have the same name
if not of the same kind
140 This accounted for without supposing them of the same kind
141 OBJ. That a tangible square is liker to a visible square than
to a visible circle
142 ANS. That a visible square is fitter than a visible circle,
to represent a tangible square
143 But it doth not hence follow, that a visible square
is like a tangible square
144 Why we are more apt to confound visible with tangible IDEAS,
than other signs with the things signified
145 Several other reasons hereof, assigned
146 Reluctancy in rejecting any opinion, no argument of its truth
147 Proper objects of vision the language of nature
148 In it there is much admirable, and deserving our attention
149 Question proposed, concerning the object of geometry
150 At first view we are apt to think visible extension the object
of geometry
151 Visible extension shown not to be the object of geometry
152 Words may as well be thought the object of geometry,
as visible extension
153 It is proposed to inquire, what progress an intelligence that
could see, but not feel, might make in geometry
154 He cannot understand those parts which relate to solids, and
their surfaces, and lines generated by their section
155 Nor even the elements of plane geometry
156 The proper objects of sight incapable of being managed as
geometrical figures
157 The opinion of those who hold plane figures to be the immediate
objects of sight, considered
158 Planes no more the immediate objects of sight, than solids
159 Difficult to enter precisely into the thoughts of the
above-mentioned intelligence
160 The object of geometry, its not being sufficiently understood,
cause of difficulty, and useless labour in that science
AN ESSAY TOWARDS A NEW THEORY OF VISION
1. My design is to show the manner wherein we perceive by sight the
distance, magnitude, and situation of OBJECTS. Also to consider the
difference there is betwixt the IDEAS of sight and touch, and whether
there be any IDEA common to both senses.
2. It is, I think, agreed by all that DISTANCE, of itself and
immediately, cannot be seen. For DISTANCE being a Line directed end-wise
to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the eye, which
point remains invariably the same, whether the distance be longer or
shorter.
3. I find it also acknowledged that the estimate we make of the distance
of OBJECTS considerably remote is rather an act of judgment grounded on
EXPERIENCE than of SENSE. For example, when I perceive a great number of
intermediate OBJECTS, such as houses, fields, rivers, and the like, which
I have experienced to take up a considerable space, I thence form a
judgment or conclusion that the OBJECT I see beyond them is at a great
distance. Again, when an OBJECT appears faint and small, which at a near
distance I have experienced to make a vigorous and large appearance, I
instantly conclude it to be far off: And this, it is evident, is the
result of EXPERIENCE; without which, from the faintness and littleness I
should not have inferred anything concerning the distance of OBJECTS.
4. But when an OBJECT is placed at so near a distance as that the
interval between the eyes bears any sensible proportion to it, the
opinion of speculative men is that the two OPTIC AXES (the fancy that we
see only with one eye at once being exploded) concurring at the OBJECT do
there make an ANGLE, by means of which, according as it is greater or
lesser, the OBJECT is perceived to be nearer or farther off.
5. Betwixt which and the foregoing manner of estimating distance there is
this remarkable difference: that whereas there was no apparent, necessary
connection between small distance and a large and strong appearance, or
between great distance and a little and faint appearance, there appears a
very necessary connection between an obtuse angle and near distance, and
an acute angle and farther distance. It does not in the least depend upon
experience, but may be evidently known by anyone before he had
experienced it, that the nearer the concurrence of the OPTIC AXES, the
greater the ANGLE, and the remoter their concurrence is, the lesser will
be the ANGLE comprehended by them.
6. There is another way mentioned by optic writers, whereby they will
have us judge of those distances, in respect of which the breadth of the
PUPIL hath any sensible bigness: And that is the greater or lesser
divergency of the rays, which issuing from the visible point do fall on
the PUPIL, that point being judged nearest which is seen by most
diverging rays, and that remoter which is seen by less diverging rays:
and so on, the apparent distance still increasing, as the divergency of
the rays decreases, till at length it becomes infinite, when the rays
that fall on the PUPIL are to sense parallel. And after this manner it is
said we perceive distance when we look only with one eye.
7. In this case also it is plain we are not beholding to experience: it
being a certain, necessary truth that the nearer the direct rays falling
on the eye approach to a PARALLELISM, the farther off is the point of
their intersection, or the visible point from whence they flow.
8. I have here set down the common, current accounts that are given of
our perceiving near distances by sight, which, though they are
unquestionably received for true by MATHEMATICIANS, and accordingly made
use of by them in determining the apparent places of OBJECTS, do,
nevertheless seem to me very unsatisfactory: and that for these following
reasons:--
9. FIRST, It is evident that when the mind perceives any IDEA, not
immediately and of itself, it must be by the means of some other IDEA.
Thus, for instance, the passions which are in the mind of another are of
themselves to me invisible. I may nevertheless perceive them by sight,
though not immediately, yet by means of the colours they produce in the
countenance. We often see shame or fear in the looks of a man, by
perceiving the changes of his countenance to red or pale.
10. Moreover it is evident that no IDEA which is not itself perceived can
be the means of perceiving any other IDEA. If I do not perceive the
redness or paleness of a man's face themselves, it is impossible I should
perceive by them the passions which are in his mind.
11. Now from sect. 2 it is plain that distance is in its own nature
imperceptible, and yet it is perceived by sight. It remains, therefore,
that it be brought into view by means of some other IDEA that is itself
immediately perceived in the act of VISION.
12. But those LINES and ANGLES, by means whereof some MATHEMATICIANS
pretend to explain the perception of distance, are themselves not at all
perceived, nor are they in truth ever thought of by those unskilful in
optics. I appeal to anyone's experience whether upon sight of an OBJECT he
computes its distance by the bigness of the ANGLE made by the meeting of
the two OPTIC AXES? Or whether he ever thinks of the greater or lesser
divergency of the rays, which arrive from any point to his PUPIL? Everyone
is himself the best judge of what he perceives, and what not. In vain
shall all the MATHEMATICIANS in the world tell me, that I perceive certain
LINES and ANGLES which introduce into my mind the various IDEAS of
DISTANCE, so long as I myself am conscious of no such thing.
13. Since, therefore, those ANGLES and LINES are not themselves perceived
by sight, it follows from sect. 10 that the mind doth not by them judge
of the distance of OBJECTS.
14. Secondly, the truth of this assertion will be yet farther evident to
anyone that considers those LINES and ANGLES have no real existence in
nature, being only an HYPOTHESIS framed by the MATHEMATICIANS, and by them
introduced into OPTICS, that they might treat of that science in a
GEOMETRICAL way.
15. The third and last reason I shall give for rejecting that doctrine is,
that though we should grant the real existence of those OPTIC ANGLES,
etc., and that it was possible for the mind to perceive them, yet these
principles would not be found sufficient to explain the PHENOMENA of
DISTANCE, as shall be shown hereafter.
16. Now, it being already shown that distance is suggested to the mind by
the mediation of some other IDEA which is itself perceived in the act of
seeing, it remains that we inquire what IDEAS or SENSATIONS there be that
attend VISION, unto which we may suppose the IDEAS of distance are
connected, and by which they are introduced into the mind. And FIRST, it
is certain by experience that when we look at a near OBJECT with both
eyes, according as it approaches or recedes from us, we alter the
disposition of our eyes, by lessening or widening the interval between
the PUPILS. This disposition or turn of the eyes is attended with a
sensation, which seems to me to be that which in this case brings the
IDEA of greater or lesser distance into the mind.
17. Not that there is any natural or necessary connection between the
sensation we perceive by the turn of the eyes and greater or lesser
distance, but because the mind has by constant EXPERIENCE found the
different sensations corresponding to the different dispositions of the
eyes to be attended each with a different degree of distance in the
OBJECT: there has grown an habitual or customary connection between those
two sorts of IDEAS, so that the mind no sooner perceives the sensation
arising from the different turn it gives the eyes, In order to bring the
PUPILS nearer or farther asunder, but it withal perceives the different
IDEA of distance which was wont to be connected with that sensation; just
as upon hearing a certain sound, the IDEA is immediately suggested to the
understanding which custom had united with it.
18 Nor do I see how I can easily be mistaken in this matter. I know
evidently that distance is not perceived of itself. That by consequence
it must be perceived by means of some other IDEA which is immediately
perceived, and varies with the different degrees of distance. I know also
that the sensation arising from the turn of the eyes is of itself
immediately perceived, and various degrees thereof are connected with
different distances, which never fail to accompany them into my mind,
when I view an OBJECT distinctly with both eyes, whose distance is so
small that in respect of it the interval between the eyes has any
considerable magnitude.
19. I know it is a received opinion that by altering the disposition of
the eyes the mind perceives whether the angle of the OPTIC AXES is made
greater or lesser. And that accordingly by a kind of NATURAL
GEOMETRY it judges the point of their intersection to be nearer
or farther off. But that this is not true I am convinced by my own
experience, since I am not conscious that I make any such use of the
perception I have by the turn of my eyes. And for me to make those
judgments, and draw those conclusions from it, without knowing that I do
so, seems altogether incomprehensible.
20. From all which it follows that the judgment we make of the distance
of an OBJECT, viewed with both eyes, is entirely the RESULT OF
EXPERIENCE. If we had not constantly found certain sensations arising
from the various disposition of the eyes, attended with certain degrees
of distance, we should never make those sudden judgments from them
concerning the distance of OBJECTS; no more than we would pretend to
judge a man's thoughts by his pronouncing words we had never heard
before.
21. Secondly, an OBJECT placed at a certain distance from the eye, to
which the breadth of the PUPIL bears a considerable proportion, being
made to approach, is seen more confusedly: and the nearer it is brought
the more confused appearance it makes. And this being found constantly to
be so, there ariseth in the mind an habitual CONNECTION between the
several degrees of confusion and distance; the greater confusion still
implying the lesser distance, and the lesser confusion the greater
distance of the OBJECT.
22. This confused appearance of the OBJECT doth therefore seem to be the
MEDIUM whereby the mind judgeth of distance in those cases wherein the
most approved writers of optics will have it judge by the different
divergency with which the rays flowing from the radiating point fall on
the PUPIL. No man, I believe, will pretend to see or feel those imaginary
angles that the rays are supposed to form according to their various
inclinations on his eye. But he cannot choose seeing whether the OBJECT
appear more or less confused. It is therefore a manifest consequence from
what bath been demonstrated, that instead of the greater or lesser
divergency of the rays, the mind makes use of the greater or lesser
confusedness of the appearance, thereby to determine the apparent place
of an OBJECT.
23 Nor doth it avail to say there is not any necessary connection between
confused VISION and distance, great or small. For I ask any man what
necessary connection he sees between the redness of a blush and shame? And
yet no sooner shall he behold that colour to arise in the face of
another, but it brings into his and the IDEA of that passion which hath
been observed to accompany it.
24. What seems to have misled the writers of optics in this matter is
that they imagine men judge of distance as they do of a conclusion in
mathematics, betwixt which and the premises it is indeed absolutely
requisite there be an apparent, necessary connection: but it is far
otherwise in the sudden judgments men make of distance. We are not to
think that brutes and children, or even grown reasonable men, whenever
they perceive an OBJECT to approach, or depart from them, do it by virtue
of GEOMETRY and DEMONSTRATION.
25. That one IDEA may suggest another to the mind it will suffice that
they have been observed to go together, without any demonstration of the
necessity of their coexistence, or without so much as knowing what it is
that makes them so to coexist. Of this there are innumerable instances of
which no one can be ignorant.
26. Thus, greater confusion having been constantly attended with nearer
distance, no sooner is the former IDEA perceived, but it suggests the
latter to our thoughts. And if it had been the ordinary course of Nature
that the farther off an OBJECT were placed, the more confused it should
appear, it is certain the very same perception that now makes us think an
OBJECT approaches would then have made us to imagine it went farther off.
That perception, abstracting from CUSTOM and EXPERIENCE, being equally
fitted to produce the IDEA of great distance, or small distance, or no
distance at all.
27. Thirdly, an OBJECT being placed at the distance above specified, and
brought nearer to the eye, we may nevertheless prevent, at least for some
time, the appearances growing more confused, by straining the eye. In
which case that sensation supplies the place of confused VISION in aiding
the mind to judge of the distance of the OBJECT; it being esteemed so
much the nearer by how much the effort or straining of the eye in order
to distinct VISION is greater.
28. I have here set down those sensations or IDEAS that seem to be the
constant and general occasions of introducing into the mind the different
IDEAS of near distance. It is true in most cases that divers other
circumstances contribute to frame our IDEA of distance, to wit, the
particular number, size, kind, etc., of the things seen. Concerning
which, as well as all other the forementioned occasions which suggest
distance, I shall only observe they have none of them, in their own
nature, any relation or connection with it: nor is it possible they should
ever signify the various degrees thereof, otherwise than as by EXPERIENCE
they have been found to be connected with them.
29. I shall proceed upon these principles to account for a phenomenon
which has hitherto strangely puzzled the writers of optics, and is so far
from being accounted for by any of their THEORIES OF VISION that it is,
by their own confession, plainly repugnant to them; and of consequence,
if nothing else could be objected, were alone sufficient to bring their
credit in question. The whole difficulty I shall lay before you in the
words of the learned Dr. Barrow, with which he concludes his optic
lectures:--
'I have here delivered what my thoughts have suggested to me concerning
that part of optics which is more properly mathematical. As for the other
parts of that science (which being rather physical, do consequently
abound with plausible conjectures instead of certain principles), there
has in them scarce anything occurred to my observation different from what
has been already said by Kepler, Scheinerus, Descartes, and others. And
methinks, I had better say nothing at all, than repeat that which has
been so often said by others. I think it therefore high time to take my
leave of this subject: but before I quit it for good and all, the fair
and ingenuous dealing that I owe both to you and to truth obligeth me to
acquaint you with a certain untoward difficulty, which seems directly
opposite to the doctrine I have been hitherto inculcating, at least,
admits of no solution from it. In short it is this. Before the double
convex glass or concave speculum EBF, let the point A be placed at such a
distance that the rays proceeding from A, after refraction or reflection,
be brought to unite somewhere in the AxAB. And suppose the point of union
(i.e. the image of the point A, as hath been already set forth) to be Z;
between which and B, the vertex of the glass or speculum, conceive the
eye to be anywhere placed. The question now is, where the point A ought
to appear? Experience shows that it does not appear behind at the point
Z, and it were contrary to nature that it should, since all the
impression which affects the sense comes from towards A. But from our
tenets it should seem to follow that it would appear before the eye at a
vast distance off, so great as should in some sort surpass all sensible
distance. For since if we exclude all anticipations and prejudices, every
OBJECT appears by so much the farther off, by how much the rays it sends
to the eye are less diverging. And that OBJECT is thought to be most
remote from which parallel rays proceed unto the eye. Reason would make
one think that OBJECT should appear at yet a greater distance which is
seen by converging rays. Moreover it may in general be asked concerning
this case what it is that determines the apparent place of the point A,
and maketh it to appear after a constant manner sometimes nearer, at
other times farther off? To which doubt I see nothing that can be
answered agreeable to the principles we have laid down except only that
the point A ought always to appear extremely remote. But on the contrary
we are assured by experience that the point A appears variously distant,
according to the different situations of the eye between the points B and
Z. And that it doth never (if at all) seem farther off, than it would if
it were beheld by the naked eye, but on the contrary it doth sometimes
appear much nearer. Nay, it is even certain that by how much the rays
falling on the eye do more converge by so much the nearer doth the OBJECT
seem to approach. For the eye being placed close to the point B, the
OBJECT A appears nearly in its own natural place, if the point B is taken
in the glass, or at the same distance, if in the speculum. The eye being
brought back to O, the OBJECT seems to draw near: and being come to P it
beholds it still nearer. And so on little and little, till at length the
eye being placed somewhere, suppose at Q, the OBJECT appearing extremely
near, begins to vanish into mere confusion. All which doth seem repugnant
to our principles, at least not rightly to agree with them. Nor is our
tenet alone struck at by this experiment, but likewise all others that
ever came to my knowledge are, every whit as much, endangered by it. The
ancient one especially (which is most commonly received, and comes
nearest to mine) seems to be so effectually overthrown thereby that the
most learned Tacquet has been forced to reject that principle, as false
and uncertain, on which alone he had built almost his whole CATOPTRICS;
and consequently by taking away the foundation, hath himself pulled down
the superstructure he had raised on it. Which, nevertheless, I do not
believe he would have done had he but considered the whole matter more
thoroughly, and examined the difficulty to the bottom. But as for me,
neither this nor any other difficulty shall have so great an influence on
me as to make me renounce that which I know to be manifestly agreeable to
reason: especially when, as it here falls out, the difficulty is founded
in the peculiar nature of a certain odd and particular case. For in the
present case something peculiar lies hid, which being involved in the
subtilty of nature will, perhaps, hardly be discovered till such time as
the manner of vision is more perfectly made known. Concerning which, I
must own, I have hitherto been able to find out nothing that has the
least show of PROBABILITY, not to mention CERTAINTY. I shall, therefore,
leave this knot to be untied by you, wishing you may have better success
in it than I have had.'
30. The ancient and received principle, which Dr. Barrow here mentions as
the main foundation of Tacquet's CATOPTRICS, is that: 'every visible point
seen by reflection from a speculum shall appear placed at the intersection
of the reflected ray, and the perpendicular of incidence:' which
intersection in the present case, happening to be behind the eye, it
greatly shakes the authority of that principle, whereon the
aforementioned author proceeds throughout his whole CATOPTRICS in
determining the apparent place of OBJECTS seen by reflection from any kind
of speculum.
31. Let us now see how this phenomenon agrees with our tenets. The eye
the nearer it is placed to the point B in the foregoing figures, the more
distinct is the appearance of the OBJECT; but as it recedes to O the
appearance grows more confused; and at P it sees the OBJECT yet more
confused; and so on till the eye being brought back to Z sees the OBJECT
in the greatest confusion of all. Wherefore by sect. 21 the OBJECT should
seem to approach the eye gradually as it recedes from the point B, that
is, at O it should (in consequence of the principle I have laid down in
the aforesaid section) seem nearer than it did at B, and at P nearer than
at O, and at Q nearer than at P; and so on, till it quite vanishes at Z.
Which is the very matter of fact, as anyone that pleases may easily
satisfy himself by experiment.
32. This case is much the same as if we should | 876.677801 |
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LILITH
THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST WOMAN
BY
ADA LANGWORTHY COLLIER
BOSTON
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY
FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS
COPYRIGHT, 1885.
D. LOTHROP & COMPANY.
PREFACE.
That Eve was Adam's second wife was a common Rabbinic
speculation. Certain commentators on Genesis adopted this view,
to account for the double account of the creation of woman, in
the sacred text, first in Genesis i. 27, and second in Genesis
xi. 18. And they say that Adam's first wife was named Lilith,
but she was expelled from Eden, and after her expulsion Eve was
created. Abraham Ecchelensis gives the following account of
Lilith and her doings: "There are some who do not regard
spectres as simple devils, but suppose them to be of a mixed
nature--part demoniacal, part human, and to have had their
origin from Lilith, Adam's first wife, by Eblis, prince of the
devils. This fable has been transmitted to the Arabs, from
Jewish sources, by some converts of Mohamet from Cabbalism and
Rabbinism, who have transferred all the Jewish fooleries to the
Arabs. They gave to Adam a wife formed of clay, along with Adam,
and called her Lilith, resting on the Scripture: 'Male and
female created He them.'"--_Legends of the Patriarchs and
Prophets.--Baring Gould._
Lilith or Lilis.--In the popular belief of the Hebrews, a female
spectre in the shape of a finely dressed woman, who lies in wait
for, and kills children. The old Rabbins turned Lilith into a
wife of Adam, on whom he begat demons and who still has power to
lie with men and kill children who are not protected by amulets
with which the Jews of a yet later period supply themselves as a
protection against her. Burton in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_
tells us: "The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife called Lilis,
before he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but devils."
A commentator on Skinner, quoted in the _Encyclopaedia
Metropolitana_, says that the English word _Lullaby_ is derived
from Lilla, abi (begone, Lilith)! In the demonology of the
Middle Ages, Lilis was a famous witch, and is introduced as such
in the Walpurgis night scene in Goethe's "Faust."--_Webster's
Dictionary._
Our word _Lullaby_ is derived from two Arabic words which mean
"Beware of Lilith!"--_Anon._
Lilith, the supposed wife of Adam, after she married Eblis, is
said to have ruled over the city of Damascus.--_Legends of the
Patriarchs and Prophets.--Baring Gould._
From these few and meagre details of a fabled existence, which are all
that the author has been able to collect from any source whatever, has
sprung the following poem. The poet feels quite justified in dissenting
from the statements made in the preceding extracts, and has not drawn
Lilith as there represented--the bloodthirsty sovereign who ruled
Damascus, the betrayer of men, the murderer of children. The Lilith of
the poem is transferred to the more beautiful shadow-world. To that
country which is the abode of poets themselves. And about her is wrapt
the humanizing element still, and everywhere embodied in the sweetest
word the human tongue can utter--_lullaby_. Some critics declare that
true literary art inculcates a lofty lesson--has a high moral purpose.
If poets and their work must fall under this rigorous rule, then alas
"Lilith" will knock at the door of public opinion with a trembling hand
indeed. If the poem have either moral aim or lesson of any kind (which
observe, gentle critic, it is by no means asserted that it has), it is
simply to show that the strongest intellectual powers contain no
elements adverse to the highest and purest exercise of the affectional
nature. That, in its true condition, the noblest, the most cultured
intellect, and the loveliest, sublimest moral and emotional qualities,
together weave the web that clothes the world's great soul with
imperishable beauty. The possessor of highest intellectual capacity will
be also capable of highest developments in the latter qualities. The
woman of true intellect is the woman of truest affection. For the rest
let Lilith speak, whose life dropped unrecorded from the earliest world.
It is the poet's hope that the chords of the mother-heart universal will
respond to the song of the childless one. That in the survival of that
one word _lullaby_, may be revivified the pathetic figure of one whose
home, whose hope, whose Eden passed to another. Whose name living in the
terrors of superstitious peoples, now lingers in Earth's sweetest
utterance. That Pagan Lilith, re-baptized in the pure waters of maternal
love, shall breathe to heathen and Christian motherhood alike, that most
sacred love of Earth still throbbing through its tender lullaby.
A. L. C.
TO VALERIA.
Broideries and ancient stuffs that some queen
Wore; nor gems that warriors' hilts encrusted;
Nor fresh from heroes' brows the laurels green;
Nor bright sheaves by bards of eld entrusted
To earth's great granaries--I bring not these.
Only thin, scattered blades from harvests gleaned
Erewhile I plucked, may happen thee to please.
So poor indeed, those others had demeaned
Themselves to cull; or from their strong, firm hands
Down dropped about their feet with careless laugh,
Too broken for home gathering, these strands,
Or else more useless than the idle chaff.
But I have garnered them. Yet, lest they seem
Unworthy, and so shame Love's offering,
Amid the loose-bound sheaf stray flowers gleam.
And fairer seeming make the gift I bring,
Lilies blood-red, that lit the waving field,
And now are knotted through the golden grain.
Thou wilt not scorn the tribute I now yield,
Nor even deem the foolish flowers vain.
So take it, and if still too slight, too small
It seem, think 'tis a bloom that grew anear,
In other Springtime, the old garden wall.
(That pale blue flower you will remember, dear.
The heedless world, unseeing, passed it by,
And left it to the bee and you.) Then say,
"Because the hands that tended it are nigh
No more, and little feet are gone away
That round it trampled down the beaded grass,
Sweeter to me it is than musky spray
Of Southland; and dearer than days that pass
In other summer-tides." This simple song
Read so, dear heart; Nay, rather white-souled one,
Think 'tis an olden echo, wandered long
From a low bed where 'neath the westering sun
You sang. And if your lone heart ever said
"Lo, she is gone, and cannot more be mine,"
Say now, "She is not changed--she is not wed,--
She never left her cradle bed. Still shine
The pillows with the print of her wee head."
So, mother-heart, this song, where through still rings
The strain you sang above my baby bed,
I bring. An idle gift mayhap, that clings
About old days forgotten long, and dead.
This loitering tale, Valeria, take.
Perchance 'tis sad, and hath not any mirth,
Yet love thou it, for the weak singer's sake,
And hold it dear, though yet is little worth,
This tale of Elder-world: of earth's first prime,
Of years that in their grave so long have lain,
To-day's dull ear, through poets' tuneful rhyme
No echo hears, nor mocking friar's strain.
_July_ 17, 1884.
LILITH.
BOOK I.
Pure as an angel's dream shone Paradise.
Blue mountains hemmed it round; and airy sighs
Of rippling waters haunted it. Dim glades,
And wayward paths o'erflecked with shimmering shades,
And tangled dells, and wilding pleasances,
Hung moist with odors strange from scented trees.
Sweet sounds o'erbrimmed the place; and rare perfumes,
Faint as far sunshine, fell '<DW41> verdant glooms.
In that fair land, all hues, all leafage green
Wrapt flawless days in endless summer-sheen.
Bright eyes, the violet waking, lifted up
Where bent the lily her deep, fragrant cup;
And folded buds, 'gainst many a leafy spray--
The wild-woods' voiceless nuns--knelt down to pray.
There roses, deep in greenest mosses swathed,
Kept happy tryst with tropic blooms, sun-bathed.
No sounds of sadness surged through listening trees:
The waters babbled low; the errant bees
Made answer, murmurous; nor paled the hue
The jonquils wore; nor chill the wild breath grew
Of daisies clustered white in dewy croft;
Nor fell the tasseled plumes as satin soft
Upon the broad-leaved corn. Sweet all the day
O'erflowed with music every woodland way;
And sweet the jargonings of nested bird,
When light the listless wind the forest stirred.
Straight as the shaft that 'gainst the morning sun
The slender palm uprears, the Fairest one--
The first of womankind--sweet Lilith--stood,
A gracious shape that glorified the wood.
About her rounded shoulders warm and bare,
Like netted sunshine fell her lustrous hair;
The rosy flush of young pomegranate bells
Dawned on her cheeks; and blue as in lone dells
Sleep the Forget-me-nots, her eyes. With bent
Brows, sullen-creased, swart Adam gazed intent
Upon a leopard, crouched low in its place
Beneath his feet. Not once in Lilith's face
He looked, nor sought her wistful, downcast eyes
With shifting shadows dusk, and strange surprise.
"O, Love," she said, "no more let us contend!
So sweet is life, anger, methinks, should end.
In this, our garden bright, why dost thou claim
Ever the highest place, the noblest name?
Freely to both our Lord gave self-same sway
O'er living things. Love, thou art gone astray!
Twin-born, of equal stature, kindred soul
Are we; like dowed with strength. Yon stars that roll
Their course above, down-looking on my face,
See yours as fair; in neither aught that's base.
Thy wife, not handmaid I, yet thou dost say,
'I first in Eden rule.' Thou, then, hast sway.
Must I, my Adam, mutely follow thee?
Run at thy bidding, crouch beside thy knee?
Lift up (when thou dost bid me) timid eyes?
Not so will Lilith dwell in Paradise."
"Mine own," Adam made answer soft, "'twere best
Thou didst forget such ills in noontide rest.
Content I wake, the keeper of the place.
Of equal stature? Yea! Of self-same grace?
Nay, Love; recall those lately vanished eves,
When we together plucked the plantain leaves;
Yon leopard lowly stretched at my command
Its lazy length beneath my soothing hand.
At thee she snarled, disdaining half, to sheathe
'Neath thy soft pleading eyes her milk-white teeth.
Oft, Love, in other times, in sheltered nook,
We scattered pearly millet by the brook.
Lo thine lay barren in the sand. Quick mine
Upspringing sifts o'er pale blooms odors fine:
Hateful thy chidings grow; each breeze doth bring
Ever thy plaints--thy fretful murmuring.
These many days I weary of thy sighs;
Know, Lilith, I alone rule Paradise."
Thereat he rose, and quick at every stride
The fawning leopard gambolled at his side.
So fell the first dark shadow of Earth's strife.
With coming evil all the winds were rife.
Lone lay the land with sense of dull loss paled.
The days grew sick at heart; the sunshine failed;
And falling waters breathed in silvery moan
A hidden ail to starlit dells alone--
As sometimes you have seen, 'neath household eaves,
'<DW41> scents of Springtime, in the budded leaves,
The swallows circling blithe, with slant brown wing,
Home-flying fleet, with tender chattering,
And all the place o'errun with nested love--
So have you come, when leaves hung crisp above
The silent door. Yet not again, I ween,
Those shining wings, cleaving the air, have seen
Nor heard the gladsome swallows twittering there--
Only the empty nests, low-hung and bare,
Spake of the scattered brood.--So lonely were
To Lilith grown her once loved haunts. Nor fair
The starlit nights, slow-dropping fragrant dew,
Nor the dim groves when dawn came shifting through.
Far '<DW41> the hills the wood-doves' moan she heard,
Or in some nearer copse, a startled bird;
Or the white moonshine '<DW41> green boughs o'erhead
Wrought her full heart to tears. "Sweet peace," she said,
"Alas--lies slain!"
With musing worn, she brake
At last her silence, and to Adam spake:
"Beyond these walls I know not what may be--
Islands low-fringed, or bare; or tranquil sea,
Spaces unpeopled, wastes of burning sands,
Green-wooded belts, enclasping summer lands,
Or realms of dusky pines, or wolds of snow,
Or jagged ice-peaks wrapt in purple glow,
Or shadowy oceans lapped in fadeless sheen--
Yet there were Paradise, were Lilith queen.
To dally with my lord I was not meant;
To soothe his idle whims, above him bent,
Warm in my milk-white arms, lull his repose,
Nor deep in subtle kisses drown his woes.
Wherefore, since here no more dwells love, I fly
To seek my home in other lands. For why
Should Lilith wait since Adam's empty state
More dear he holds than Lilith desolate?"
But answer soft made Adam at the word,
For faint his dying love, yet coldly stirred
Its ashen cerements: "Nay, love, our home
Within these garden walls lies safe. Wouldst roam
Without? Sweet peace, by loss, wilt thou restore
One little loss, or miss it evermore?"
"In goodly Eden, Adam, safely b | 876.776566 |
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EXPOSITIONS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D. D., Litt. D.
GENESIS, EXODUS, LEVITICUS AND NUMBERS
EXPOSITIONS OF HOLY SCRIPTURE
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D. D., Litt. D.
GENESIS
CONTENTS
THE VISION OF CREATION (Genesis i. 26--ii. 3)
HOW SIN CAME IN (Genesis iii. 1-15)
EDEN LOST AND RESTORED (Genesis iii. 24; Revelation xxii. 14)
THE GROWTH AND POWER OF SIN (Genesis iv. 3-16)
WHAT CROUCHES AT THE DOOR (Genesis iv. 7, R.V.)
WITH, BEFORE, AFTER (Genesis v. 22; Genesis xvii. 1; Deuteronomy xiii.
4)
THE COURSE AND CROWN OF A DEVOUT LIFE (Genesis v. 24)
THE SAINT AMONG SINNERS (Genesis vi. 9-22)
'CLEAR SHINING AFTER RAIN' (Genesis viii. 1-22)
THE SIGN FOR MAN AND THE REMEMBRANCER FOR GOD (Genesis ix. 8-17)
AN EXAMPLE OF FAITH (Genesis xii. 1-9)
ABRAM AND THE LIFE OF FAITH
GOING FORTH (Genesis xii. 5)
COMING IN
THE MAN OF FAITH (Genesis xii. 6, 7)
LIFE IN CANAAN (Genesis xii. 8)
THE IMPORTANCE OF A CHOICE (Genesis xiii. 1-13)
ABBAM THE HEBREW (Genesis xiv. 13)
GOD'S COVENANT WITH ABRAM (Genesis xv. 5-18)
THE WORD THAT SCATTERS FEAR (Genesis xv. 1)
FAITH AND RIGHTEOUSNESS (Genesis xv. 6)
WAITING FAITH REWARDED AND STRENGTHENED BY NEW REVELATIONS (Genesis
xvii. 1-9)
A PETULANT WISH (Genesis xvii. 18)
'BECAUSE OF HIS IMPORTUNITY' (Genesis xviii. l6-33)
THE INTERCOURSE OF GOD AND HIS FRIEND
THE SWIFT DESTROYER (Genesis xix. 15-26)
FAITH TESTED AND CROWNED (Genesis xxii. 1-14)
THE CROWNING TEST AND TRIUMPH OF FAITH
JEHOVAH-JIREH (Genesis xxii. 14)
GUIDANCE IN THE WAY (Genesis xxiv. 27)
THE DEATH OF ABRAHAM (Genesis xxv. 8)
A BAD BARGAIN (Genesis xxv. 27-34)
POTTAGE _versus_ BIRTHRIGHT (Genesis xxv. 34)
THE FIRST APOSTLE OF PEACE AT ANY PRICE (Genesis xxvi. 12-25)
THE HEAVENLY PATHWAY AND THE EARTHLY HEART (Genesis xxviii. 10-22)
MAHANAIM: THE TWO CAMPS (Genesis xxxii. 1, 2)
THE TWOFOLD WRESTLE--GOD'S WITH JACOB AND JACOB'S WITH GOD (Genesis
xxxii. 9-12)
A FORGOTTEN VOW (Genesis xxxv. 1)
THE TRIALS AND VISIONS OF DEVOUT YOUTH (Genesis xxxvii. 1-11)
MAN'S PASSIONS AND GOD'S PURPOSE (Genesis xxxvii. 23-36)
GOODNESS IN A DUNGEON (Genesis xl. 1-15)
JOSEPH, THE PRIME MINISTER (Genesis xli. 38-48)
RECOGNITION AND RECONCILIATION (Genesis xlv. 1-15)
JOSEPH, THE PARDONER AND PRESERVER
GROWTH BY TRANSPLANTING (Genesis xlvii. 1-12)
TWO RETROSPECTS OF ONE LIFE (Genesis xlvii. 9; Genesis xlviii. 15, 16)
'THE HANDS OF THE MIGHTY GOD OF JACOB' (Genesis xlix. 23, 24)
THE SHEPHERD, THE STONE OF ISRAEL (Genesis xlix. 24)
A CALM EVENING, PROMISING A BRIGHT MORNING (Genesis l. 14-26)
JOSEPH'S FAITH (Genesis l. 25)
A COFFIN IN EGYPT (Genesis l. 26)
THE VISION OF CREATION
'And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our
likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of
the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the
cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping
thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man
in His own image: in the image of God created He him;
male and female created He them. And God blessed them:
and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and
replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion
over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air,
and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.
And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing
seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every
tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed;
to you it shall be for meat. And to every beast of the
earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing
that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I
have given every green herb for meat: and it was so. And
God saw every thing that He had made, and, behold, it
was very good. And the evening and the morning were the
sixth day.
'Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all
the host of them. And on the seventh day God ended His
work which He had made; and He rested on the seventh day
from all His work which He had made. And God blessed the
seventh day, and sanctified it; because that in it He
had rested from all His work which God created and made.'
--GENESIS i. 26-ii. 3.
We are not to look to Genesis for a scientific cosmogony, and are not
to be disturbed by physicists' criticisms on it as such. Its purpose is
quite another, and far more important; namely, to imprint deep and
ineffaceable the conviction that the one God created all things. Nor
must it be forgotten that this vision of creation was given to people
ignorant of natural science, and prone to fall back into surrounding
idolatry. The comparison of the creation narratives in Genesis with the
cuneiform tablets, with which they evidently are most closely
connected, has for its most important result the demonstration of the
infinite elevation above their monstrosities and puerilities, of this
solemn, steadfast attribution of the creative act to the one God. Here
we can only draw out in brief the main points which the narrative
brings into prominence.
1. The revelation which it gives is the truth, obscured to all other
men when it was given, that one God 'in the beginning created the
heaven and the earth.' That solemn utterance is the keynote of the
whole. The rest but expands it. It was a challenge and a denial for all
the beliefs of the nations, the truth of which Israel was the champion
and missionary. It swept the heavens and earth clear of the crowd of
gods, and showed the One enthroned above, and operative in, all things.
We can scarcely estimate the grandeur, the emancipating power, the
all-uniting force, of that utterance. It is a worn commonplace to us.
It was a strange, thrilling novelty when it was written at the head of
this narrative. _Then_ it was in sharp opposition to beliefs that have
long been dead to us; but it is still a protest against some living
errors. Physical science has not spoken the final word when it has
shown us how things came to be as they are. There remains the deeper
question, What, or who, originated and guided the processes? And the
only answer is the ancient declaration, 'In the beginning God created
the heaven and the earth.'
2. The record is as emphatic and as unique in its teaching as to the
mode of creation: 'God said... and it was so.' That lifts us above all
the poor childish myths of the nations, some of them disgusting, many
of them absurd, all of them unworthy. There was no other agency than
the putting forth of the divine will. The speech of God is but a symbol
of the flashing forth of His will. To us Christians the antique phrase
suggests a fulness of meaning not inherent in it, for we have learned
to believe that 'all things were made by Him' whose name is 'The Word
of God'; but, apart from that, the representation here is sublime. 'He
spake, and it was done'; that is the sign-manual of Deity.
3. The completeness of creation is emphasised. We note, not only the
recurrent 'and it was so,' which declares the perfect correspondence of
the result with the divine intention, but also the recurring 'God saw
that it was good.' His ideals are always realised. The divine artist
never finds that the embodiment of His thought falls short of His
thought.
'What act is all its thought had been?
What will but felt the fleshly screen?
But He has no hindrances nor incompletenesses in His creative work, and
the very sabbath rest with which the narrative closes symbolises, not
His need of repose, but His perfect accomplishment of His purpose. God
ceases from His works because 'the works were finished,' and He saw
that all was very good.
4. The progressiveness of the creative process is brought into strong
relief. The work of the first four days is the preparation of the
dwelling-place for the living creatures who are afterwards created to
inhabit it. How far the details of these days' work coincide with the
order as science has made it out, we are not careful to ask here. The
primeval chaos, the separation of the waters above from the waters
beneath, the emergence of the land, the beginning of vegetation there,
the shining out of the sun as the dense mists cleared, all find
confirmation even in modern theories of evolution. But the intention of
the whole is much rather to teach that, though the simple utterance of
the divine will was the agent of creation, the manner of it was not a
sudden calling of the world, as men know it, into being, but majestic,
slow advance by stages, each of which rested on the preceding. To apply
the old distinction between justification and sanctification, creation
was a work, not an act. The Divine Workman, who is always patient,
worked slowly then as He does now. Not at a leap, but by deliberate
steps, the divine ideal attains realisation.
5. The creation of living creatures on the fourth and fifth days is so
arranged as to lead up to the creation of man as the climax. On the
fifth day sea and air are peopled, and their denizens 'blessed,' for
the equal divine love holds every living thing to its heart. On the
sixth day the earth is replenished with living creatures. Then, last of
all, comes man, the apex of creation. Obviously the purpose of the
whole is to concentrate the light on man; and it is a matter of no
importance whether the narrative is correct according to zoology, or
not. What it says is that God made all the universe, that He prepared
the earth for the delight of living creatures, that the happy birds
that soar and sing, and the dumb creatures that move through the paths
of the seas, and the beasts of the earth, are all His creating, and
that man is linked to them, being made on the same day as the latter,
and by the same word, but that between man and them all there is a
gulf, since he is made in the divine image. That image implies
personality, the consciousness of self, the power to say 'I,' as well
as purity. The transition from the work of the first four days to that
of creating living things must have had a break. No theory has been
able to bridge the chasm without admitting a divine act introducing the
new element of life, and none has been able to bridge the gulf between
the animal and human consciousness without admitting a divine act
introducing 'the image of God' into the nature common to animal and
man. Three facts as to humanity are thrown up into prominence: its
possession of the image of God, the equality and eternal
interdependence of the sexes, and the lordship over all creatures. Mark
especially the remarkable wording of verse 27: 'created He _him_ male
and female created He _them_.' So 'neither is the woman without the
man, nor the man without the woman.' Each is maimed apart from the
other. Both stand side by side, on one level before God. The germ of
the most 'advanced' doctrines of the relations of the sexes is hidden
here.
HOW SIN CAME IN
'Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the
field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the
woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree
of the garden? And the woman said unto the serpent, We
may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: But of
the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the
garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither
shall ye touch it, lest ye die. And the serpent said
unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth
know, that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes
shall be opened; and ye shall be as gods, knowing good
and evil. And when the woman saw that the tree was good
for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a
tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the
fruit thereof, and did eat; and gave also unto her
husband with her, and he did eat. And the eyes of them
both were opened, and they knew that they were naked;
and they sewed fig-leaves together, and made themselves
aprons. And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking
in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his
wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God
amongst the trees of the garden. And the Lord God called
unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou? And he
said, I heard Thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid,
because I was naked; and I hid myself. And He said, Who
told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the
tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not
eat And the man said, The woman whom Thou gavest to be
with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat. And the
Lord God said unto the woman, What is this that thou hast
done? and the woman said, The serpent beguiled me, and I
did eat. And the Lord God said onto the serpent. Because
thou hast done this, thou art cursed above all cattle,
and above every beast of the field: upon thy belly shalt
thou go, and dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy
life. And I will put enmity between thee and the woman,
and between thy seed and her seed: it shall bruise thy
head, and thou shalt bruise his heel.'--GENESIS iii 1-15.
It is no part of my purpose to enter on the critical questions
connected with the story of 'the fall.' Whether it is a legend,
purified and elevated, or not, is of less consequence than what is its
moral and religious significance, and that significance is unaffected
by the answer to the former question. The story presupposes that
primitive man was in a state of ignorant innocence, not of intellectual
or moral perfection, and it tells how that ignorant innocence came to
pass into conscious sin. What are the stages of the transition?
1. There is the presentation of inducement to evil. The law to which
Adam is to be obedient is in the simplest form. There is restriction.
'Thou shalt not' is the first form of law, and it is a form congruous
with the undeveloped, though as yet innocent, nature ascribed to him.
The conception of duty is present, though in a very rudimentary shape.
An innocent being may be aware of limitations, though as yet not
'knowing good and evil.' With deep truth the story represents the first
suggestion of disobedience as presented from without. No doubt, it
might have by degrees arisen from within, but the thought that it was
imported from another sphere of being suggests that it is alien to true
manhood, and that, if brought in from without, it may be cast out
again. And the temptation had a personal source. There are beings who
desire to draw men away from God. The serpent, by its poison and its
loathly form, is the natural symbol of such an enemy of man. The
insinuating slyness of the suggestions of evil is like the sinuous
gliding of the snake, and truly represents the process by which
temptation found its way into the hearts of the first pair, and of all
their descendants. For it begins with casting a doubt on the reality of
the prohibition. 'Hath God said?' is the first parallel opened by the
besieger. The fascinations of the forbidden fruit are not dangled at
first before Eve, but an apparently innocent doubt is filtered into her
ear. And is not that the way in which we are still snared? The reality
of moral distinctions, the essential wrongness of the sin, is obscured
by a mist of sophistication. 'There is no harm in it' steals into some
young man's or woman's mind about things that were forbidden at home,
and they are half conquered before they know that they have been
attacked. Then comes the next besieger's trench, much nearer the
wall--namely, denial of the fatal consequences of the sin: 'Ye shall
not surely die,' and a base hint that the prohibition was meant, not as
a parapet to keep from falling headlong into the abyss, but as a
barrier to keep from rising to a great good; 'for God doth know, that
in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall
be as gods.' These are still the two lies which wile us to sin: 'It
will do you no harm,' and 'You are cheating yourselves out of good by
not doing it.'
2. Then comes the yielding to the tempter. As long as the prohibition
was undoubted, and the fatal results certain, the fascinations of the
forbidden thing were not felt. But as soon as these were tampered with,
Eve saw 'that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to
the eyes.' So it is still. Weaken the awe-inspiring sense of God's
command, and of the ruin that follows the breach of it, and the heart
of man is like a city without walls, into which any enemy can march
unhindered. So long as God's 'Thou shalt not, lest thou die' rings in
the ears, the eyes see little beauty in the sirens that sing and
beckon. But once that awful voice is deadened, they charm, and allure
to dally with them.
In the undeveloped condition of primitive man temptation could only
assail him through the senses and appetites, and its assault would be
the more irresistible because reflection and experience were not yet
his. But the act of yielding was, as sin ever is, a deliberate choice
to please self and disobey God. The woman's more emotional, sensitive,
compliant nature made her the first victim, and her greatest glory, her
craving to share her good with him whom she loves, and her power to
sway his will and acts, made her his temptress. 'As the husband is, the
wife is,' says Tennyson; but the converse is even truer: As the wife
is, the man is.
3. The fatal consequences came with a rush. There is a gulf between
being tempted and sinning, but the results of the sin are closely knit
to it. They come automatically, as surely as a stream from a fountain.
The promise of knowing good and evil was indeed kept, but instead of
its making the sinners 'like gods,' it showed them that they were like
beasts, and brought the first sense of shame. To know evil was, no
doubt, a forward step intellectually; but to know it by experience, and
as part of themselves, necessarily changed their ignorant innocence
into bitter knowledge, and conscience awoke to rebuke them. The first
thing that their opened eyes saw was themselves, and the immediate
result of the sight was the first blush of shame. Before, they had
walked in innocent unconsciousness, like angels or infants; now they
had knowledge of good and evil, because their sin had made evil a part
of themselves, and the knowledge was bitter.
The second consequence of the fall is the disturbed relation with God,
which is presented in the highly symbolical form fitting for early
ages, and as true and impressive for the twentieth century as for them.
Sin broke familiar communion with God, turned Him into a 'fear and a
dread,' and sent the guilty pair into ambush. Is not that deeply and
perpetually true? The sun seen through mists becomes a lurid ball of
scowling fire. The impulse is to hide from God, or to get rid of
thoughts of Him. And when He _is_ felt to be near, it is as a
questioner, bringing sin to mind. The shuffling excuses, which venture
even to throw the blame of sin on God ('the woman whom _Thou_ gavest
me'), or which try to palliate it as a mistake ('the serpent beguiled
me'), have to come at last, however reluctantly, to confess that 'I'
did the sin. Each has to say, 'I did eat.' So shall we all have to do.
We may throw the blame on circumstances, weakness of judgment, and the
like, while here, but at God's bar we shall have to say, '_Mea_ culpa,
_mea_ culpa.'
The curse pronounced on the serpent takes its habit and form as an
emblem of the degradation of the personal tempter, and of the perennial
antagonism between him and mankind, while even at that first hour of
sin and retribution a gleam of hope, like the stray beam that steals
through a gap in a thundercloud, promises that the conquered shall one
day be the conqueror, and that the woman's seed, though wounded in the
struggle, shall one day crush the poison-bearing, flat head in the
dust, and end forever his power to harm. 'Known unto God are all his
works from the beginning,' and the Christ was promised ere the gates of
Eden were shut on the exiles.
EDEN LOST AND RESTORED
'So He drove out the man: and He placed at the east of
the garden of Eden cherubims and a flaming sword which
turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.'
--GENESIS iii. 24.
'Blessed are they that do His commandments, that they
may have right to the tree of life, and may enter in
through the gates into the city.'
REVELATION xxii. 14.
Better is the end of a thing than the beginning.' Eden was fair, but
the heavenly city shall be fairer. The Paradise regained is an advance
on the Paradise that was lost. These are the two ends of the history of
man, separated by who knows how many millenniums. Heaven lay about him
in his infancy, but as he journeyed westwards its morning blush faded
into the light of common day--and only at eventide shall the sky glow
again with glory and colour, and the western heaven at last outshine
the eastern, with a light that shall never die. A fall, and a rise--a
rise that reverses the fall, a rise that transcends the glory from
which he fell,--that is the Bible's notion of the history of the world,
and I, for my part, believe it to be true, and feel it to be the one
satisfactory explanation of what I see round about me and am conscious
of within me.
1. _Man had an Eden and lost it._
I take the Fall to be a historical fact. To all who accept the
authority of Scripture, no words are needed beyond the simple statement
before us, but we may just gather up the signs that there are on the
wide field of the world's history, and in the narrower experience of
individuals, that such a fall has been.
Look at the condition of the world: its degradation, its savagery-all
its pining myriads, all its untold millions who sit in darkness and the
shadow of death. Will any man try to bring before him the actual state
of the heathen world, and, retaining his belief in a God, profess that
these men are what God meant men to be? It seems to me that the present
condition of the world is not congruous with the idea that men are in
their primitive state, and if this is what God meant men for, then I
see not how the dark clouds which rest on His wisdom and His love are
to be lifted off.
Then, again--if the world has not a Fall in its history, then we must
take the lowest condition as the one from which all have come; and is
that idea capable of defence? Do we see anywhere signs of an upward
process going on now? Have we any experience of a tribe raising itself?
Can you catch anywhere a race in the act of struggling up, outside of
the pale of Christianity? Is not the history of all a history of
decadence, except only where the Gospel has come in to reverse the
process?
But passing from this: What mean the experiences of the
individual-these longings; this hard toil; these sorrows?
How comes it that man alone on earth, manifestly meant to be leader,
lord, etc., seems but cursed with a higher nature that he may know
greater sorrows, and raised above the beasts in capacity that he may
sink below them in woe, this capacity only leading to a more exquisite
susceptibility, to a more various as well as more poignant misery?
Whence come the contrarieties and discordance in his nature?
It seems to me that all this is best explained as the Bible explains it
by saying: (1) Sin has done it; (2) Sin is not part of God's original
design, but man has fallen; (3) Sin had a personal beginning. There
have been men who were pure, able to stand but free to fall.
It seems to me that that explanation is more in harmony with the facts
of the case, finds more response in the unsophisticated instinct of
man, than any other. It seems to me that, though it leaves many dark
and sorrowful mysteries all unsolved, yet that it alleviates the
blackest of them, and flings some rays of hope on them all. It seems to
me that it relieves the character and administration of God from the
darkest dishonour; that it delivers man's position and destiny from the
most hopeless despair; that though it leaves the mystery of the origin
of evil, it brings out into clearest relief the central truths that
evil is evil, and sin and sorrow are not God's will; that it vindicates
as something better than fond imaginings the vague aspirations of the
soul for a fair and holy state; that it establishes, as nothing else
will, at once the love of God and the dignity of man; that it leaves
open the possibility of the final overthrow of that Sin which it treats
as an intrusion and stigmatises as a fall; that it therefore braces for
more vigorous, hopeful conflict against it, and that while but for it
the answer to the despairing question, Hast Thou made all men in vain?
must be either the wailing echo 'In vain,' or the denial that He has
made them at all, there is hope and there is power, and there is
brightness thrown on the character of God and on the fate of man, by
the old belief that God made man upright, and that man made himself a
sinner.
2. _Heaven restores the lost Eden_.
'God is not ashamed to be called their God, _for_ He hath prepared them
a _city_.'
The highest conception we can form of heaven is the reversal of all the
evil of earth, and the completion of its incomplete good: the sinless
purity--the blessed presence of God--the fulfilment of all desires--the
service which is _blessed_, not toil--the changelessness which is
progress, not stagnation.
3. _Heaven surpasses the lost Eden_.
(1) Garden--City.
The perfection of association--the _nations_ of the saved. Here 'we
mortal millions live alone,' even when united with dearest. Like
Egyptian monks of old, each dwelling in his own cave, though all were a
community.
(2) The richer experience.
The memory of past sorrows which are understood at last.
Heaven's bliss in contrast with earthly joys.
Sinlessness of those who have been sinners will be more intensely
lustrous for its dark background in the past. Redeemed men will be
brighter than angels.
The impossibility of a fall.
Death behind us.
The former things shall no more come to mind, being lost in blaze of
present transcendent experience, but yet shall be remembered as having
led to that perfect state.
Christ not only repairs the 'tabernacle which was fallen,' but builds a
fairer temple. He brings 'a statelier Eden,' and makes us dwell for
ever in a Garden City.
THE GROWTH AND POWER OF SIN
'And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought
of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the Lord. And
Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock, and
of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel,
and to his offering: But unto Cain, and to his offering,
he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his
countenance fell. And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art
thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou
doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest
not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be
his desire, and thou shalt rule over him. And Cain talked
with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they
were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his
brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain,
Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not. Am
I my brother's keeper? And He said, What hast thou done?
the voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto Me from the
ground. | 877.008636 |
2023-11-16 18:31:41.5978060 | 1,511 | 184 |
Produced by Louise Hope, David Edwards 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 e-text is based on the 1851 Boston edition of _Alonzo and Melissa_.
The story originally appeared in 1804 as a serial in the weekly
_Political Barometer_ of Poughkeepsie, N.Y., written by the newspaper's
editor, Isaac Mitchell. Pirated versions began to appear in 1811,
giving Daniel Jackson, Jr., as author.
The book was printed as a single unit, without chapter divisions.
The breaks in the e-text represent the 22 installments of the serial
version.
Note that the standard punctuation for dialogue is
"To this place, said Melissa, have I taken many a solitary walk...."
The following are listed at the end of the e-text:
Chronology of the Story
Quotations
Other Editions
Errors and Inconsistencies]
ALONZO AND MELISSA,
or
THE UNFEELING FATHER.
An
AMERICAN TALE.
In every varied posture, place, and hour,
How widowed every thought of every joy!
YOUNG.
BY DANIEL JACKSON, Jr.
Boston:
Printed for the Publishers.
1851.
PREFACE
Whether the story of Alonzo and Melissa will generally please, the
writer knows not; if, however, he is not mistaken, it is not unfriendly
to religion and to virtue.--One thing was aimed to be shown, that a firm
reliance on Providence, however the affections might be at war with its
dispensations, is the only source of consolation in the gloomy hours of
affliction; and that generally such dependence, though crossed by
difficulties and perplexities, will be crowned with victory at last.
It is also believed that the story contains no indecorous stimulants;
nor is it filled with unmeaning and inexplicated incidents sounding upon
the sense, but imperceptible to the understanding. When anxieties have
been excited by involved and doubtful events, they are afterwards
elucidated by the consequences.
The writer believes that generally he has copied nature. In the ardent
prospects raised in youthful bosoms, the almost consummation of their
wishes, their sudden and unexpected disappointment, the sorrows of
separation, the joyous and unlooked for meeting--in the poignant
feelings of Alonzo, when, at the grave of Melissa, he poured the
feelings of his anguished soul over her miniature by the "moon's pale
ray;"----when Melissa, sinking on her knees before her father, was
received to his bosom as a beloved daughter risen from the dead.
If these scenes are not imperfectly drawn, they will not fail to
interest the refined sensibilities of the reader.
ALONZO AND MELISSA.
A TALE.
In the time of the late revolution, two young gentlemen of Connecticut,
who had formed an indissoluble friendship, graduated at Yale College in
New-Haven: their names were Edgar and Alonzo. Edgar was the son of a
respectable farmer. Alonzo's father was an eminent merchant. Edgar was
designed for the desk, Alonzo for the bar; but as they were allowed some
vacant time after their graduation before they entered upon their
professional studies, they improved this interim in mutual, friendly
visits, mingling with select parties in the amusements of the day, and
in travelling through some parts of the United States.
Edgar had a sister who, for some time, had resided with her cousin at
New-London. She was now about to return, and it was designed that Edgar
should go and attend her home. Previous to the day on which he was to
set out, he was unfortunately thrown from his horse, which so much
injured him as to prevent his prosecuting his intended journey: he
therefore invited Alonzo to supply his place; which invitation he
readily accepted, and on the day appointed set out for New-London, where
he arrived, delivered his introductory letters to Edgar's cousin, and
was received with the most friendly politeness.
Melissa, the sister of Edgar, was about sixteen years of age. She was
not what is esteemed a striking beauty, but her appearance was
pleasingly interesting. Her figure was elegant; her aspect was
attempered with a pensive mildness, which in her cheerful moments would
light up into sprightliness and vivacity. Though on first impression,
her countenance was marked by a sweet and thoughtful serenity, yet she
eminently possessed the power to
"Call round her laughing eyes, in playful turns,
The glance that lightens, and the smile that burns."
Her mind was adorned with those delicate graces which are the first
ornaments of female excellence. Her manners were graceful without
affectation, and her taste had been properly directed by a suitable
education.
Alonzo was about twenty-one years old; he had been esteemed an excellent
student. His appearance was manly, open and free. His eye indicated a
nobleness of soul; although his aspect was tinged with melancholy, yet
he was naturally cheerful. His disposition was of the romantic cast;
"For far beyond the pride and pomp of power,
He lov'd the realms of nature to explore;
With lingering gaze Edinian spring survey'd;
Morn's fairy splendours; night's gay curtained shade,
The high hoar cliff, the grove's benighting gloom,
The wild rose, widowed o'er the mouldering tomb;
The heaven embosom'd sun; the rainbow's dye,
Where lucid forms disport to fancy's eye;
The vernal flower, mild autumn's purpling glow,
The summer's thunder and the winter's snow."
It was evening when Alonzo arrived at the house of Edgar's cousin.
Melissa was at a ball which had been given on a matrimonial occasion in
the town. Her cousin waited on Alonzo to the ball, and introduced him to
Melissa, who received him with politeness. She was dressed in white,
embroidered and spangled with rich silver lace; a silk girdle, enwrought
and tasseled with gold, surrounded her waist; her hair was unadorned
except by a wreath of artificial flowers, studded by a single diamond.
After the ball closed, they returned to the house of Edgar's cousin.
Melissa's partner at the ball was the son of a gentleman of independent
fortune in New-London. He was a gay young man, aged about twenty-five.
His address was easy, his manners rather voluptuous than refined;
confident, but not ungraceful. He led the ton in fashionable circles;
gave taste its zest | 877.617846 |
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Transcriber Note
Text emphasis is denoted as _Italic Text._
_Barr's Buffon._
Buffon's Natural History.
CONTAINING
A THEORY OF THE EARTH,
A GENERAL
_HISTORY OF MAN_,
OF THE BRUTE CREATION, AND OF
VEGETABLES, MINERALS,
_&c. &c._
FROM THE FRENCH.
WITH NOTES BY THE TRANSLATOR.
IN TEN VOLUMES.
VOL. IX.
London:
PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETOR,
AND SOLD BY H. D. SYMONDS, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1807.
T. Gillet, Crown-court, Fleet-street.
CONTENTS
OF
THE NINTH VOLUME
_Page_
_The Loris_ 1
_The Javelin Bat_ 3
_The Serval_ 6
_The Ocelot_ 9
_The Margay_ 13
_The Jackal and the Adil_ 17
_The Isatis_ 25
_The Glutton_ 29
_The Stinkards_ 35
_The Pekan and the Vison_ 41
_The Leming_ 46
_The Sea Otter_ 51
_The Canakian Otter_ 52
_The Seal, Walrus, and the Manati_ 55
_The Seal_ 57
_The Walrus, Morse, or Sea-Cow_ 78
_The Dugon_ 89
_The Manati_ 92
_The Nomenclature of Apes_ 107
_The Orang-Outang, or the Pongo and the Jocko_ 149
_The Pithecos, or Pigmy_ 177
_The Gibon, or Long-tailed Ape_ 185
_The Magot, or Barbary Ape_ 188
_The Papion, or Baboon, properly so called_ 192
_The Mandrill_ 197
_The Ouanderou, and the Lowando_ 199
_The Maimon_ 202
_The Macaque, and the Egret_ 205
_The Patas_ 208
_The Malbrouck, and the Bonnet Chinois_ 210
_The Mangabey_ 216
_The Mona_ | 877.991793 |
2023-11-16 18:31:42.6141220 | 4,135 | 895 |
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Greg Bergquist, and the Online
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 46642-h.htm or 46642-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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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=).
SPORTING DOGS
[Illustration: _Photo by T. Fall, Baker St._] [_Frontispiece._
HEAD OF BLOODHOUND CHAMPION SULTAN.]
SPORTING DOGS
Their Points: and Management; in Health, and Disease
by
FRANK TOWNEND BARTON
M.R.C.V.S.
Veterinary Surgeon to the Gamekeepers' Kennel Association
Veterinary Adviser to the "Gamekeepers' Gazette"
Author of
"Non-Sporting Dogs," "Toy Dogs,"
"Everyday Ailments and Accidents to the Dog,"
"Sound and Unsound Horses," "Our Friend the Horse,"
"Breaking and Training Horses,"
"How to Choose a Horse," "The Horse Owner's Companion,"
"The Veterinary Manual," "The Age of the Horse,"
"Diseases and Accidents of Cattle,"
etc., etc.
Copiously Illustrated From Photographs
London
R. A. Everett & Co., Ltd.
1905
[All Rights Reserved]
Surely the lines--
"Trust, oh! trust me, I will be
Still true for ever, true to thee."
have never been more practically demonstrated, than in the following
extract, from an account of a poaching affray, published in the
_Gamekeepers' Gazette_.
"The dead gamekeeper's dog was to be seen by the roadside restlessly
waiting for its master, while he lay in a cottage fatally riddled with
shot."
TO
BREEDERS
EXHIBITORS, AND FANCIERS
OF
SPORTING DOGS
THROUGHOUT THE KING'S DOMINIONS
PREFACE
_This work_--Sporting Dogs: Their Points and Management in Health and
Disease--_has been prepared as a companion volume to those already
published, viz._, Non-Sporting Dogs: Their Points, etc., _and_ Toy
Dogs, _in response to numerous inquiries from readers of those volumes,
asking for a work upon Sporting Dogs, to complete the series_, at a
proportionate _price_.
The Points _of the various breeds used by Sportsmen have been freely
discussed, supplemented by illustrations from photographs of the most
celebrated animals known_.
_Kennel Management, The Management of Hounds, Diseases, Accidents and
Simple Operations forms an important section of the work--features
that should render the book of far greater practical utility than one
dealing solely with the different varieties of dogs._
_Both Author and Publisher, will be satisfied, if it meets with the
hearty reception accorded to the companion publications._
_In conclusion, the Author wishes to express most hearty thanks to
all Breeders and Exhibitors who have so generously supplied him with
Photographs: to_ Our Dogs Gazette; The Kennel Gazette; The Gamekeeper,
_etc._
CONTENTS
SECTION A
PAGE
CHAPTER I 3
=The Pointer=
Head--Colour--Eyes--Back--Hind-quarters--Faults--Value
of Points.
CHAPTER II 18
=The English Setter=
Laverack Setters--Coat--Colour--Skull--Ears--Eyes--Neck
--Back-quarters--Tail--Fore-limbs--Weight--Faults.
=The Irish Setter=
Coat--Ears--Eyes--Neck--Forelegs-Loins.
=The Black=and=Tan Setter=
(Gordon Setter)
Eyes--Ears--Head--Neck--Shoulders and Chest--Fore-limbs--Feet
--Back--Loins--Stern--Value of Points.
CHAPTER III 32
=International Gundog League=
POINTER AND SETTER SOCIETY
Rules--Rules for the Trial Meetings.
CHAPTER IV 42
=Retrievers=
FLAT-COATED: Coat--Head--Ears--Eyes--Chest--Neck--Back--
Loins--Limbs--Faults.
CURLY-COATED.
=Labradors=
RULES OF THE RETRIEVER SOCIETY
CHAPTER V 66
=Spaniels=
General Characteristics of the different Varieties--Temperament
--Coat--Colour--Head--Ears--Fore-limbs--Body.
=The Clumber=
Weight--Head--Ears--Eyes--Coat--Neck--Club.
=The Sussex Spaniel=
Colour--Coat--Weight--Head--Eyes--Ears--Nose--Neck--Shoulders and
Chest--Fore-limbs--Faults.
=Field Spaniels=
=The Cocker Spaniel=
Head--Ears--Coat--Colour--Club Prices--Faults.
The Irish Water Spaniel
Colour--Nose--Skull--Ears--Neck--Coat--Height--General
Appearances--Faults--Weight--Club.
=The English Water Spaniel=
CHAPTER VI 94
=International Gundog League=
Rules--Regulations (subject to alteration).
CHAPTER VII 102
=Training Spaniels=
SECTION B
HOUNDS
CHAPTER VIII 113
=The Foxhound=
Packs of Foxhounds.
=Harriers=
Loins--Back--Ribs--Chest--Fore-limbs--Coat.
=The Otterhound=
Colour--Height--Eyes--Ears--Skull--Neck.
=The Deerhound=
Head--Ears--Neck--Shoulders--Stern--Eyes--Body--Legs--Feet
--Coat--Colour--Height--Weight--Points required.
SECTION C
HOUNDS
CHAPTER IX 141
=The Bloodhound=
Head--Eyes--Legs--Feet--Chest--Shoulder--Neck--Ribs--Back
--Loins--Hind-quarters--Limbs--Tail--Coat--Colour--Height
--Club--Association of Bloodhound Breeders.
=Irish Wolfhounds=
Weight--Height--Head--Ears--Neck--Fore-limbs--Hind-quarters
=The Greyhound=
Head--Eyes--Ears--Neck--Fore-quarters.
=The Whippet=
Coat--Constitution--Fore-limbs--Hind-quarters-- Feet--Tail
--General Appearance of the Whippet.
SECTION D
MIXED HOUNDS
CHAPTER X 179
=The Borzois or Russian Wolfhound=
Ears--Eyes--Chest--Neck--Fore-limbs--Colour--Coat--Height
--Faults--Club.
=The Beagle=
English Beagle Club--Points--American Beagle Club--Points.
CHAPTER XI 194
=The Dachshund=
Coat--Head--Nose--Eyes--Ears--Neck--Chest--Shoulders
--Legs--Feet--Toes--Hind-quarters.
=The Basset-hound=
Colour--Coat--Head--Fore-quarters--Chest--Club Rules of Basset
Club--Points of Basset Hound (smooth)--General Appearance
--Points of the Basset-hound (rough).
SECTION E
FOX TERRIERS
CHAPTER XII 239
=The Fox Terrier=
Standard of Points recommended by the Fox Terrier Club.
=Rough Fox Terrier=
Scale of Points--Disqualifying Points.
SECTION F
TERRIERS
CHAPTER XIII 269
=The Skye Terrier=
Colour--Head--Body--Legs--Height--Faults--Club--Prices.
=The Bedlington Terrier=
History--Height--Weight--Colour--Nose--Coat--Skull--Body--Tail
--Limbs and Quarters--Club.
=The Scottish Terrier=
Coat--Height--Colour--Body--Neck--Chest--Limbs and Feet--Ears
--Eyes--Head--Hair--Muzzle--Height--Clubs.
=The Irish Terrier=
Coat--Colour--Neck--Body--Limbs and Feet--Weight--Club--Prices.
=The Airedale Terrier=
Standard of the Airedale Terrier Club--Points--Rules and
Regulations.
=The White West Highland Terrier=
Description of.
=The Welsh Terrier=
Head--Neck--Arms--Forearms--Back and Loins--Tail--First and
Second Thighs--Feet--Club.
=The Dandie=Dinmont=
History--Head--Neck--Tail--Fore and Hind limbs--Colour--Society
--Standard of Points of Dandie-Dinmont Terrier Club--Rules
for Breeders' Challenge Cup--Rules for the Tiddeman Trophies
--Rules for the Ringwood Club--Breeders' Cups, etc.
SECTION G
AFGHAN GREYHOUND-LURCHER
CHAPTER XIV 333
=The Afghan Greyhound=
Skull--Eyes--Ears--Neck--Colour--Weight--Height at Shoulder
--Limbs.
=The Lurcher=
=The Training, Use, and Abuse, of Night=Dogs=
CHAPTER XV 351
=The Gamekeepers' Kennel Association=
CHAPTER XVI 363
=Feeding Sporting Dogs=
=Conditioning Dogs=
CHAPTER XVII 369
=Specific Ailments=
Distemper--Rabies--Blood Poisoning--Rheumatism--Chest Founder
or Kennel Lameness.
CHAPTER XVIII 384
=Constitutional Skin Diseases=
Eczema--Boils--Herpes--Nettle Rash.
CHAPTER XIX 389
=External Parasites and Parasitic
Skin Diseases=
Fleas--Pediculi or Lice--Ringworm--Sarcoptic
Mange--Follicular Mange.
CHAPTER XX 394
=Diseases of the Gullet, Stomach, Bowels,
and Digestive Glands=
Disease of the Gullet--Inflammation of the Stomach--Twist and
Intussusception of the Bowels--Inflammation of the Bowels
--Vomiting--Worms--Diarrhoea--Dysentery--Haemorrhage
--Haemorrhoids--Dyspepsia--Jaundice--Ruptures.
CHAPTER XXI 413
=Poisons and their Remedies=
Poisoning by Arsenic--Antimony--Strychnine--Phosphorus--Rat
and other Vermin Destroyers--By
Lead--Mercury--Ptomaine Poisoning.
CHAPTER XXII 419
=Diseases of the Urinary Organs=
Disease of the Kidneys--Stone in the Bladder--Inflammation
of the Bladder--Stricture of the
Urethra.
CHAPTER XXIII 422
=Diseases of the Ear=
Dropsy of the Ear-flap--Otitis--Otorrhoea or Canker (internal)
--Split Margin of Ear--(External Canker)--Eczema of Ears
--Deafness--Morbid Growths in Passage--Concretions--Syringing
ears.
CHAPTER XXIV 428
=Diseases of the Eye=
Ophthalmia--Blindness--Inverted Eyelids--Everted
Eyelids--Torn Eyelids--Foreign Bodies
in Eyes--Bareness around Margins.
CHAPTER XXV 433
=Injuries and Minor Operations=
Wounds--Overgrown Claws--Fractures.
CHAPTER XXVI 438
=Minor Operations=
Docking--Setoning--Enemas--Fomentations--Blistering--Tumours
and Warts.
APPENDIX 443
White West Highland Terrier
=Club Standard of Points.=
INDEX 447
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
HEAD OF BLOODHOUND CHAMPION SULTAN _Frontispiece_
POINTERS ON PARTRIDGES 5
POINTER CHAMPION FASKALLY BRAG 7
POINTER CHAMPION CORONATION 11
POINTER BITCH BARTON BEAUTY 13
POINTER BITCH BARTON BLANCHE 15
A BRACE OF ENGLISH SETTERS AT REPOSE (PRIDE and SALLY) 19
ENGLISH SETTER ROMNEY ROCK 21
IRISH SETTER DOG 25
IRISH SETTER CHAMPION FLORIZEL 27
MR CARTWRIGHT'S FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER CHAMPION COLWYN CLYTIE 43
TYPICAL FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER 45
FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER DANEHURST ROCKET 49
FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER BUSY MARQUIS 51
TYPICAL FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER DOG 53
CURLY-COATED RETRIEVER DOG 57
CLUMBER SPANIEL DOG BOBS OF SALOP 73
MR NEWINGTON'S SUSSEX SPANIEL DOG ROSEHILL ROCK 77
TYPICAL COCKER SPANIEL 85
IRISH WATER SPANIEL PAT O'BRIEN 89
MR WALTER WINANS' PACK OF HOUNDS AND MASTER 115
ENEMIES AT PEACE--FOXHOUND NAMELESS AND TAME DOG FOX 117
LECTURER--A MEMBER OF THE CRICKHOWELL HARRIERS 123
DEERHOUND CHAMPION ST RONAN'S RHYME 131
DEERHOUND DOG CHAMPION SELWOOD MORVEN 133
A QUARTET OF TYPICAL BLOODHOUNDS 143
GREYHOUND BITCH LADY GOLIGHTLY 159
FAWN GREYHOUND DEAN BADEN POWELL 161
A TRIO OF GREYHOUNDS, DUKE O' RINGMER, LADY GOLIGHTLY, GLORY
O' RINGMER 163
GREYHOUND SUSSEX BELLE 165
TYPICAL WHIPPET DOG DANDY <DW53> 169
BORZOIS PADIHAM NORDIA 175
BORZOIS DOG 177
A GROUP OF LEYSWOOD BEAGLES 183
POCKET BEAGLE CHEERFUL OF RODNANCE 185
DACHSHUND CHAMPION SNAKES PRINCE 195
A BRACE OF TYPICAL DACHSHUNDS 197
DACHSHUND DOG AND BITCH 199
RED DACHSHUND VICTORIA REGINA 201
MR PROCTOR'S BASSET-HOUND BITCH QUEEN OF THE GEISHA 209
A BRACE OF TYPICAL SMOOTH-COATED BASSET-HOUNDS 211
SMOOTH-COATED BASSET-HOUND BITCH AND HER PUPPIES 213
SMOOTH BASSET-HOUND DOG CHAMPION LOUIS LE BEAU.
A veritable pillar of the Stud Book 215
TYPICAL SMOOTH-COATED BASSET BITCH 217
A GROUP OF CHAMPION SMOOTH-COATED BASSETS 219
TYPICAL ROUGH BASSET BITCH 221
ROUGH-COATED BASSET-HOUND DOG CHAMPION PURITAN 223
TYPICAL ROUGH-COATED BASSET DOG 225
MR SCOTT'S SMOOTH FOX TERRIER MILLGATE JOE 241
CHAMPION SOUTH CAVE LEGER 243
SMOOTH FOX TERRIER DUKE OF DONCASTER 245
SMOOTH FOX TERRIER CHAMPION CYMRO QUEEN 249
MISS LEWIS'S WIRE-HAIRED FOX TERRIER CHAMPION DONINGTON VENTURE 251
MR SCOTT'S SMOOTH FOX TERRIER MILLGATE BANDIT 253
SMOOTH FOX TERRIER DOG CHAMPION DUKEDOM 257
SMOOTH FOX TERRIER DOG DARLEY DALE 259
WIRE-HAIRED FOX TERRIER DOG REMUS OF GAYWOOD 261
MR SCOTT'S WIRE-HAIRED FOX TERRIER MILLGATE LEADER 263
TYPICAL PRICK-EARED SKYE TERRIER DOG 271
BEDLINGTON TERRIER DOG 275
SCOTTISH TERRIER DOG CHAMPION HYNDMAN THISTLE 279
A TRIO OF SCOTTISH TERRIERS 281
GROUP OF SCOTTISH TERRIERS 285
IRISH TERRIER BLACKBROOK BANKER 289
AIREDALE TERRIER DOG BARKEREND MASTERPIECE 291
AIREDALE TERRIER DOG CROMPTON MARVEL 295
AIREDALE TERRIER DOG BARKEREND VICTORIA 299
BRACE OF WHITE WEST HIGHLAND | 878.634162 |
2023-11-16 18:31:42.6945500 | 149 | 9 |
Produced by Al Haines
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
BY LORD CHARNWOOD
GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.
COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
GENERAL EDITOR'S PREFACE
Statesmen--even the greatest--have rarely won the same unquestioning
recognition that falls to the great warriors or those supreme in
science, art or literature. Not in their own lifetime and hardly to
this day have the claims to supremacy of our own Oliver Cromwell,
William III. and Lord Chatham rested on so sure a foundation as those
of a Marlborough or a Nelson, a Newton, | 878.71459 |
2023-11-16 18:31:42.8873430 | 1,669 | 9 |
Produced by Joe Longo, Suzan Flanagan, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
THE TALE OF FATTY <DW53>
THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
THE TALE OF PETER MINK
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
_SLEEPY-TIME TALES_
THE TALE OF
BILLY
WOODCHUCK
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRY L. SMITH
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1916, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE HOUSE IN THE PASTURE 9
II CALLING NAMES 14
III MAGIC 19
IV THE GREAT HORNED OWL 24
V BILLY STANDS GUARD 29
VI BILLY FORGETS TO WHISTLE 34
VII GREEN PEAS 39
VIII A NEW GAME 44
IX WHAT HAPPENED AT AUNT POLLY'S 49
X UNCLE JERRY CHUCK 53
XI BILLY ASKS FOR PAY 58
XII WHAT JIMMY RABBIT SAW 62
XIII A JOKE ON UNCLE JERRY 66
XIV MR. FOX HAS AN IDEA 71
XV "POP! GOES THE WEASEL!" 76
XVI THE PLAY-HOUSE 81
XVII BILLY BRINGS THE DOCTOR 86
XVIII A WONDERFUL STICK 91
XIX MR. WOODCHUCK MOVES 95
XX THE FAMILY ESCAPES 100
XXI AT HOME IN THE WOODS 104
XXII GROUND HOG DAY 108
ILLUSTRATIONS
BILLY WOODCHUCK OFTEN DUG
HOLES IN THE PASTURE _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"JUST CRAWL INSIDE THAT OLD
STUMP!" MR. FOX SAID 20
"WHAT'S THE MATTER?" BILLY
ASKED 36
SHE TOOK HOLD OF BILLY'S EAR 50
HE PAINTED TWO WHITE STRIPES ON
UNCLE JERRY'S BACK 68
BILLY CARRIED HER BASKET OF HERBS 88
THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
I
THE HOUSE IN THE PASTURE
One day, when Johnnie Green tramped over the fields toward the
woods, he did not dream that he walked right over somebody's
bedroom. The snow was deep, for it was midwinter. And as Johnnie
crossed his father's pasture he thought only of the fresh rabbit
tracks that he saw all about him. He had no way of knowing that
beneath the three feet of snow, and as much further below the top
of the ground too, there was a snug, cozy little room, where Mr.
and Mrs. Woodchuck lay sound asleep on a bed of dried grass.
They had been there all winter, asleep like that. And there they
would stay, until spring came and the grass began to grow again.
In summer Johnnie Green was always on the watch for woodchucks. But
now he never gave them a thought. There would be time enough for
that after the snow was gone and the chucks came crawling out of
their underground houses to enjoy the warm sunshine.
Usually it happened in just that way, though there had been years
when Mr. and Mrs. Woodchuck had awakened too soon. And then when
they reached the end of the long tunnel that led from their bedroom
into Farmer Green's pasture they found that they had to dig their
way through a snow-bank before they reached the upper world where
Johnnie Green lived.
But this year their winter's nap came to a close at just the right
time. A whole month had passed since Johnnie walked over their
house. And now when they popped their heads out of their front door
they saw that the snow was all gone and that the sun was shining
brightly. Almost the first thing they did was to nibble at the
tender young grass that grew in their dooryard.
When you stop to remember that neither of them had had so much as a
single mouthful of food since long before Thanksgiving Day you will
understand how hungry they were.
They were very thin, too. But every day they grew a little fatter.
And when at last Johnnie Green passed that way again, late one
afternoon, to drive the cows home to be milked, he thought that
Mrs. Woodchuck looked quite well.
She looked happy, too, just before Johnnie came along. But now she
had a worried air. And it was no wonder, either. For she had five
new children, only a few weeks old, and she was afraid that Johnnie
would take them away from her.
Poor, frightened Mrs. Woodchuck ran round and round her five
youngsters, to keep them all together. And all the time she urged
them nearer and nearer the door of her house.
Johnnie was already late about getting the cows. But he waited to
see what happened. And soon he saw all five of the little chucks
scramble through the doorway. And as soon as the last one was
safely inside the old lady jumped in after her children.
That last one was the biggest of all the young chucks. Perhaps it
was because he always ate twice as much as any of his brothers and
sisters. His mother found him harder to manage, too; and she had to
push him along through the doorway, because he wanted to stop and
snatch a bite from a juicy plantain.
That was Billy Woodchuck--that fat, strong youngster. Even then
Johnnie Green knew that he was going to be a big fellow when he
grew up.
II
CALLING NAMES
Billy Woodchuck grew so fast that he soon looked very much like his
father. Of course, he was still much smaller than Mr. Woodchuck.
But like him, Billy was quite gray; and he had whiskers,
too--though, to be sure, those were black. His eyes also were black
and large and bright. When Billy sat up on his hind legs--as he
often did--he appeared for all the world like a huge squirrel.
In fact, some of Billy's friends remarked how like a squirrel he
looked. And one day when Billy was playing near the edge of the
woods a disagreeable young hedgehog told him that. To tell the
truth, Billy Woodchuck had grown to be the least bit vain. He loved
to gaze upon his bushy tail; and he spent a good deal of time
stroking his whiskers. He hoped that the neighbors had noticed
them.
Now, other people are always quick to see when anyone is silly in
that way. | 878.907383 |
2023-11-16 18:31:42.8955430 | 1,669 | 23 |
Transcribed from the 1855 John Colbran edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
“THE BLESSED HOPE.”
* * * * *
A SERMON
ON OCCASION OF THE
DEATH OF MRS. FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM.
* * * * *
BY THE
REV. E. HOARE, M.A.,
_Incumbent of Trinity Church_, _Tunbridge Wells_.
* * * * *
Tunbridge Wells:
PRINTED BY JOHN COLBRAN, LIBRARY, HIGH STREET.
1855.
The substance of the following Sermon was preached at St. Peter’s,
LOWESTOFT, on Sunday, the 19th of August, 1855, after the death and
funeral of MRS. FRANCIS CUNNINGHAM, the beloved wife of the beloved Vicar
of the Parish.
With great animation of spirit, and remarkable energy of natural
character; with an unwearied watchfulness over the young, and a no less
laborious care for their parents; with a fervent missionary spirit, only
equalled by her zeal in the work at home; with real natural eloquence,
and an admirable tact in her intercourse with all kinds of character;
with a tender sympathy for the afflicted, and a most friendly kindness to
all who needed friendship; and above all, with an unceasing spirit of
believing prayer, she laboured for forty years in the parishes of
Pakefield, Kirkly, and Lowestoft, in the happy service of the Saviour
whom she loved; till at length after meekly receiving at her Lord’s hand
the gradual decay of voice and strength, she peacefully fell asleep in
Him on August the 12th, 1855.
“The path of the just is as a shining light, which shineth more and more
unto the perfect day.”
* * * * *
1 THESSALONIANS, 4. xiii.
“_But I would not have you to be ignorant brethren_, _concerning them
which are asleep_, _that ye sorrow not_, _even as others which have
no hope_.”
* * * * *
This world is full of sorrow, for the simple reason that it is full of
sin, and wherever sin is, separation and sorrow are certain, sooner or
later, to follow in its train. So have they followed at this present
time, for the event that has brought us together is a separation that has
called forth a general sorrow throughout the place. It has not been
merely respect that has led to so kind and almost universal an exhibition
of feeling throughout your town, for respect is, after all, but a cold
thing, and there has been nothing cold on this occasion. There has been
a deep and tender sympathy, the mournful sense of real bereavement in
very many affectionate hearts.
Now let us none suppose that real, true, heartfelt, and sympathizing
sorrow is inconsistent with the christian character, for if such a
thought could be for a moment entertained, it would be removed at once by
the one simple statement, “Jesus wept.” The tears of true sorrow,
therefore, are in perfect harmony with the character of Christ. Sorrow
is not eradicated by the Gospel, but has its character changed by it.
The Holy Spirit does not harden the heart against grief, but comforts the
mourner in the midst of it. The deep waters are not frozen, so that the
child of God can coldly walk across dry footed; but they retain their
character, and are deep waters still; and the believer is held up in
passing through them, so that, though deep, they cannot overflow him.
The effect is much the same as that of the coloured glass upon the light;
the light shines still, but a new hue is given to it. Just so is it with
sorrow. Like the light it remains within the soul, and is not
extinguished by the power of grace; but like the light passing through
the coloured glass, it acquires a new colouring, and is beautifully
softened by the sacred hope presented to us in Christ Jesus. Thus the
passage does not simply say “that ye sorrow not,” for if it did, it would
imply that grief was sinful, but it says “that ye sorrow not even as
others that have no hope,” so teaching us that through still felt, sorrow
may be softened within the heart.
The passage also teaches what is the principle by which this change is to
be effected, viz: hope; for when there is no hope, there is nothing left
but the sorrow of the world. I feel therefore that I cannot select a
safer subject for our careful study on this solemn day. The Spirit
indeed appears especially to have stamped it with his own authority as
peculiarly suitable for such a season, for He has said in v. 18,
“Wherefore comfort one another with these words.” May He grant then his
own blessing on the words which shall be now spoken! May He raise our
thoughts to things above! May he teach us to realize the blessed hope!
And may He so make use of the present sorrow as to prepare our souls for
a tearless re-union before the throne of Jesus!
I. The first thing to be noticed in the passage, is the light which it
incidentally throws on the _present state of departed believers_.
The prominent point of hope presented to our view is very clearly the
glorious coming of our blessed Lord, with the accompanying resurrection
and reunion of his saints. But the present position of the soul is three
times incidentally mentioned, and each of these times is described under
the beautiful figure of sleep. Twice are our dear brethren described as
those “which are asleep,” and once as those “which sleep in Jesus.”
What then are we to understand by this expression? Are we to regard it
as proving their present state to be one of unconsciousness or stupor?
God forbid! for then how could such a spirit as hers that has now left
us, say, “To me to live is Christ, to die is gain.” She could truly say
during her life time, “I delight to do thy will O Lord,” and it could be
no gain to such an one to sink down into stupor and inactivity.
But still they are said to sleep in Christ, and the beautiful suitability
of the expression may be seen from two points of view.
In the first place, death is the separation of the immortal spirit from
the mortal body, and the body alone now lies sleeping in the grave. When
we assembled around that opened grave on Friday, it was to leave there
the body. We committed her body to the grave, “earth to earth, dust to
dust, ashes to ashes.”
And this body may be justly said to sleep. It sleeps, for it is without
feeling. There is no pain or languor now, no advancing illness, or
exhaustion from decaying strength. This is all over now, and the poor
body sleeps in Jesus.
Then again it is a sleep, for the time of labour has now passed. That
beautiful and cheerful activity which for twenty-five years has been such
a blessing and example to this place, is now over. The night is come
when she cannot work, and let us who remain learn the lesson that while
the day lasts, we must be, like her, most vigorously employed for God.
And lastly it is a sleep, for it is not permanent, but only for a time.
The night is | 878.915583 |
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THE ORIENTAL RUG
[Illustration:
PLATE I.
ANTIQUE LADIK
_Prayer Rug_
FROM THE COLLECTION OF MR. GEORGE H. ELLWANGER
Size: 3.10 x 6]
THE ORIENTAL RUG
A MONOGRAPH ON
EASTERN RUGS AND CARPETS,
SADDLE-BAGS, MATS & PILLOWS.
WITH A CONSIDERATION OF KINDS
AND CLASSES, TYPES, BORDERS,
FIGURES, DYES, SYMBOLS ETC.
TOGETHER WITH SOME PRACTICAL
ADVICE TO COLLECTORS.
BY W. D. ELLWANGER
Author of
"A Summer Snowflake"
NEW YORK:
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY.
1909
_Copyright, 1903_
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
Published September, 1903
PREFACE
That Oriental rugs are works of art in the highest sense of the term, and
that fine antique specimens, of even modest size, have a financial value
of ten, fifteen, or thirty-eight thousand dollars, has been recently
determined at public auction. At this auction, several nations had a
representative voice in the bidding, and the standard of price was fairly
established. The value of rugs may have been imaginary and sentimental
heretofore; it is now a definite fact, with figures apparently at the
minimum. What the maximum may prove, remains to be seen.
Choice old rugs, therefore, to-day come into the same class with genuine
paintings of the old Dutch School; with canvases of Teniers, Ruysdael,
Cuyp, Ostade, or whatever similar artist's work may have escaped the
museums. They vie in prestige with the finest examples of Corot, Diaz,
Troyon, or Daubigny; and in monetary supremacy they overtop the rarest and
grandest of Chinese porcelains.
And yet the Oriental rug, as against such competitors for the wealthy
collectors' favour, has hardly a history, and is practically without a
name or a pedigree. Experts will tell you at a glance whether or not your
Wouverman is genuine, or inform you where every true Corot was owned or
whence it was bartered or stolen. In Chinese porcelains, the knowing
dealer will easily prove to you not only under what dynasty but in what
decade or year a particular piece was produced.
The painting has descent, signature, or the brush mark of a school to
father it. The Chinese vase, bowl, or jar has its marks, cyphers, stamps
and dates, and an undoubted genealogy to vouch for its authenticity. The
rug must speak for itself and go upon its intrinsic merits. It is its own
guarantee and certificate of artistic and financial value.
The study of Oriental rugs, therefore, can never lead to an exact science
or approximate dogmatic knowledge. Whoever is interested in them must
needs rely upon his personal judgment or the seller's advice. There is
practically only one current book authority in the premises.
A new volume on the subject would thus seem to be well justified. It is
the hope of the author that this book may prove itself sound and
practical, and that it may help to make more clear and simple the right
appreciation of a valuable rug.
W. D. ELLWANGER
ROCHESTER, N.Y., 1903
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. THE MYSTERY OF THE RUG 3
II. GENERAL CLASSIFICATION 13
III. OF THE MAKING, AND OF DESIGNS, BORDERS, ETC. 21
IV. OF THE DYEING 35
V. OF PERSIAN RUGS, SPECIFICALLY 43
VI. CAUCASIAN RUGS, DAGHESTAN AND RUSSIAN TYPES 61
VII. OF TURKISH VARIETIES 69
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Transcriber’s Note
This Table of Contents was added by the Transcriber and placed in the
Public Domain.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I 1
CHAPTER II 10
CHAPTER III 25
CHAPTER IV 37
CHAPTER V 52
CHAPTER VI 59
CHAPTER VII 77
CHAPTER VIII 90
CHAPTER IX 101
CHAPTER X 109
CHAPTER XI 124
CHAPTER XII 132
CHAPTER XIII 143
CHAPTER XIV 155
CHAPTER XV 170
CHAPTER XVI 180
CHAPTER XVII 194
CHAPTER XVIII 202
CHAPTER XIX 219
CHAPTER XX 239
CHAPTER XXI 248
CHAPTER XXII 264
CHAPTER XXIII 274
CHAPTER XXIV 288
CHAPTER XXV 299
A CHICAGO PRINCESS
A CHICAGO
PRINCESS
By ROBERT BARR
Author of “Over the Border,” “The Victors,” “Tekla,”
“In the Midst of Alarms,” “A Woman Intervenes,” etc.
Illustrated by FRANCIS P. WIGHTMAN
[Illustration]
New York · FREDERICK A.
STOKES COMPANY · Publishers
_Copyright, 1904, by_
ROBERT BARR
_All rights reserved_
This edition published in June, 1904
A CHICAGO PRINCESS
CHAPTER I
When I look back upon a certain hour of my life it fills me with wonder
that I should have been so peacefully happy. Strange as it may seem,
utter despair is not without its alloy of joy. The man who daintily
picks his way along a muddy street is anxious lest he soil his polished
boots, or turns up his coat collar to save himself from the shower that
is beginning, eager then to find a shelter; but let him inadvertently
step into a pool, plunging head over ears into foul water, and after
that he has no more anxiety. Nothing that weather can inflict will add
to his misery, and consequently a ray of happiness illumines his gloomy
horizon. He has reached the limit; Fate can do no more; and there is
a satisfaction in attaining the ultimate of things. So it was with me
that beautiful day; I had attained my last phase.
I was living in the cheapest of all paper houses, living as the
Japanese themselves do, on a handful of rice, and learning by
experience how very little it requires to keep body and soul together.
But now, when I had my next meal of rice, it would be at the expense
of my Japanese host, who was already beginning to suspect,--so it
seemed to me,--that I might be unable to liquidate whatever debt I
incurred. He was very polite about it, but in his twinkling little
eyes there lurked suspicion. I have travelled the whole world over,
especially the East, and I find it the same everywhere. When a man
comes down to his final penny, some subtle change in his deportment
seems to make the whole world aware of it. But then, again, this
supposed knowledge on the part of the world may have existed only in my
own imagination, as the Christian Scientists tell us every ill resides
in the mind. Perhaps, after all, my little bowing landlord was not
troubling himself about the payment of the bill, and I only fancied him
uneasy.
If an untravelled person, a lover of beauty, were sitting in my place
on that little elevated veranda, it is possible the superb view spread
out before him might account for serenity in circumstances which to
the ordinary individual would be most depressing. But the view was an
old companion of mine; goodness knows I had looked at it often enough
when I climbed that weary hill and gazed upon the town below me, and
the magnificent harbor of Nagasaki spreading beyond. The water was
intensely blue, dotted with shipping of all nations, from the stately
men-of-war to the ocean tramps and the little coasting schooners. It
was an ever-changing, animated scene; but really I had had enough of it
during all those ineffective months of struggle in the attempt to earn
even the rice and the poor lodging which I enjoyed.
[Illustration: “The twinkling eyes of the Emperor fixed themselves on
Miss Hemster.”
_Page 144_
]
Curiously, it was not of this harbor I was thinking, but of another in
far-distant Europe, that of Boulogne in the north of France, where I
spent a day with my own yacht before I sailed for America. And it was a
comical thought that brought the harbor of Boulogne to my mind. I had
seen a street car there, labelled “Le Dernier Sou,” which I translated
as meaning “The Last Cent.” I never took a trip on this street car,
but I presume somewhere in the outskirts of Boulogne there is a suburb
named “The Last Cent,” and I thought now with a laugh: “Here I am in
Japan, and although I did not take that street car, yet I have arrived
at ‘Le Dernier Sou.’”
This morning I had not gone down to the harbor to prosecute my search
for employment. As with my last cent, I had apparently given that idea
up. There was no employer needing men to whom I had not applied time
and again, willing to take the laborer’s wage for the laborer’s work.
But all my earlier training had been by way of making me a gentleman,
and the manner was still upon me in spite of my endeavors to shake it
off, and I had discovered that business men do not wish gentlemen as
day-laborers. There was every reason that I should be deeply depressed;
yet, strange to say, I was not. Had I at last reached the lotus-eating
content of the vagabond? Was this care-free condition the serenity of
the tramp? Would my next step downward be the unblushing begging of
food, with the confidence that if I were refused at one place I should
receive at another? With later knowledge, looking back at that moment
of mitigated happiness, I am forced to believe that it was the effect
of coming events casting their shadows before. Some occultists tell us
that every action that takes place on the earth, no matter how secretly
done, leaves its impression on some ethereal atmosphere, visible to
a clairvoyant, who can see and describe to us exactly what has taken
place. If this be true, it is possible that our future experiences may
give sub-mental warnings of their approach.
As I sat there in the warm sunlight and looked over the crowded harbor,
I thought of the phrase, “When my ship comes in.” There was shipping
enough in the bay, and possibly, if I could but have known where,
some friend of mine might at that moment be tramping a white deck,
or sitting in a steamer chair, looking up at terrace upon terrace of
the toy houses among which I kept my residence. Perhaps my ship had
come in already if only I knew which were she. As I lay back on the
light bamboo chair, along which I had thrown myself,--a lounging,
easy, half-reclining affair like those we used to have at college,--I
gazed upon the lower town and harbor, taking in the vast blue surface
of the bay; and there along the indigo expanse of the waters, in
striking contrast to them, floated a brilliantly white ship gradually,
imperceptibly approaching. The canvas, spread wing and wing, as it
increased in size, gave it the appearance of a swan swimming toward me,
and I thought lazily:
“It is like a dove coming to tell me that my deluge of misery is past,
and there is an olive-branch of foam in its beak.”
As the whole ship became visible I saw that it, like the canvas,
was pure white, and at first I took it for a large sailing yacht
rapidly making Nagasaki before the gentle breeze that was blowing;
but as she drew near I saw that she was a steamer, whose trim lines,
despite her size, were somewhat unusual in these waters. If this were
indeed a yacht she must be owned by some man of great wealth, for
she undoubtedly cost a fortune to build and a very large income to
maintain. As she approached the more crowded part of the bay, her sails
were lowered and she came slowly in on her own momentum. I fancied I
heard the rattle of the chain as her anchor plunged into the water, and
now I noticed with a thrill that made me sit up in my lounging chair
that the flag which flew at her stern was the Stars and Stripes. It
is true that I had little cause to be grateful to the country which
this piece of bunting represented, for had it not looted me of all I
possessed? Nevertheless in those distant regions an Englishman regards
the United States flag somewhat differently from that of any nation
save his own. Perhaps there is an unconscious feeling of kinship;
perhaps the similarity of language may account for it, because an
Englishman understands American better than any other foreign tongue.
Be that as it may, the listlessness departed from me as I gazed upon
that banner, as crude and gaudy as our own, displaying the most
striking of the primary colors. The yacht rested on the blue waters
as gracefully as if she were a large white waterfowl, and I saw the
sampans swarm around her like a fluffy brood of ducklings.
And now I became conscious that the most polite individual in the
world was making an effort to secure my attention, yet striving to
accomplish his purpose in the most unobtrusive way. My patient and
respected landlord, Yansan, was making deep obeisances before me, and
he held in his hand a roll which I strongly suspected to be my overdue
bill. I had the merit in Yansan’s eyes of being able to converse with
him in his own language, and the further advantage to myself of being
able to read it; therefore he bestowed upon me a respect which he did
not accord to all Europeans.
“Ah, Yansan!” I cried to him, taking the bull by the horns, “ | 879.175026 |
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[Illustration: "She was very pleased to have her mug filled--the mug
which she had brought on purpose."]
[Illustration: New York.
Sheldon & Company.]
LITTLE ROSY'S TRAVELS.
SIX VOLUMES.
ON THE JOURNEY.
A WALK AND A DRIVE.
THE DUCKS AND PIGS.
THE WOUNDED BIRD.
A SAD ADVENTURE.
THE DOCTOR'S VISIT.
Little Rosy's Travels.
A WALK AND A DRIVE.
ILLUSTRATED.
New York:
SHELDON AND COMPANY.
1870.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868,
By SHELDON AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
Southern
District of New York.
Electrotyped at the
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
No. 19 Spring Lane.
A Walk and a Drive.
VISIT TO THE DAIRY.
WHEN Rosy opened her eyes the next morning the sun was shining so
brightly that she was obliged to shut them again. But a great many
thoughts came into her little head, and she was in a great hurry to get
up.
Nurse said it was not time yet, and that she was very sleepy; but when
the little girl had climbed into her bed, and given her a great many
soft kisses, and told her how much she wanted to take a walk before
breakfast, the kind nursey first rubbed her eyes, then opened them, and
then got out of bed.
While she was dressing, Rosy began to put on her own shoes and stockings
and some of her clothes; for she had already learnt to do a great deal
for herself.
She peeped out of window to look for the birds, but for some time she
could not see any.
Rosy thought this very strange, for she remembered how she used to hear
the dear little birdies sing when she had been in the country in
England; but nurse could not explain the puzzle; so Rosy settled that it
was to be a question for her papa. Of course he would know; he always
knew everything.
When they were quite ready, nurse said,--
"Now, my darling, if you like, we will go and get your milk for
breakfast; for I know where it is to be had, and nice, new, good milk I
hope it may be, to make my little Trotty very fat."
"Is not Rosy fat now?" asked the little girl, in surprise, and feeling
first her plump cheeks and then her round arms with her stumpy little
fingers.
"O, pretty well," said nurse laughing, "but you may be fatter yet, and I
like fat little girls."
They had not to walk far before they came to the place where the milk
was sold. It was called a farm; and nurse took Rosy in, and said she
should see the dairy if the good woman would let her.
Rosy did not know what a dairy meant; but she supposed that it was
something curious, and tripped merrily along, wondering what she should
see, till they came to a room which had a floor made of red tiles, on
which stood at least ten or twelve large open bowls full of new milk.
Now Rosy happened to be very fond of milk; and as she was just then
quite ready for her breakfast, she was very pleased to have her mug
filled,--the mug which she had brought on purpose, as nurse told
her,--and then take a good drink.
"Ah, nurse, how good it is!" she cried; "but what is all this sticking
to my lips? It is not white like our milk. See, there is something on
the top of it!" and she held out her mug to show her.
"Ah, that's cream, good cream. We did not get milk like this in Paris,"
said nurse; "and I'm sure we don't in London. There's no water here, is
there, madame?"
But madame did not understand English; so nurse was obliged, by looking
very pleased, to make her see that she thought her milk very good.
"But it's very bad of the other people to put water in my milk," said
Rosy, frowning. "I shall ask my papa to scold them when we go home; and
I shall take a great mugful of this nice milk to show my grandmamma."
"Well, now say good by prettily in French, as your papa teaches you,"
said nurse, "and then we'll go home, and I dare say we shall find some
more milk there."
"Adieu, madame," said the little girl, and off she trotted again, as
ready to go as she had been to come.
They say "madame" to every one in France, you know, and not to rich
ladies only.
Now there are beautiful hills all round the back of Cannes, and a little
way up one of these was the house where Rosy was going to live. She did
so like running up and down hills! and there were two or three little
ones between the farm and this house, which was called a villa.
When she got on to the top of one, she cried out,--
"Ah, there's the sea, I do declare! and there's a boat on it with a
white sail! Shall we go in a boat some day?"
"I don't know," said nurse, "you must ask your mamma; but you don't want
to be sick, do you?"
"I won't be sick," cried the little girl. "Rosy is never sick in a
beau'ful boat like that. I'll ask my mamma," and she bustled on.
"Stay, stay!" cried nurse, "you're going too far, my pet; this is the
way; look, who stands up there?"
Rosy looked up, and there was the villa with its green blinds high up
over her head; and some one stood outside the door calling her by name.
O, what a number of steps there were for those little legs to climb
before she reached her papa!
They went up by the side of a garden, which was itself like a lot of
wide steps, and on each step there was a row of vines, not trained
against a wall as we train our vines in England, but growing on the
ground like bean plants.
Rosy saw lots of such nice grapes that her little mouth quite watered,
and she would have liked to have stopped to pick some; but then she knew
that would be stealing, because they were not hers. And I hope that Rosy
would not have stolen even if nurse had not been following her, or her
papa watching her.
She got the grapes, too, without picking them; for when she had climbed
up to the very top, there was papa waiting for her with a beautiful
bunch in his hand. | 879.57328 |
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ENGLISH LITERATURE
ITS HISTORY AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE
FOR THE LIFE OF THE ENGLISH-SPEAKING
WORLD
A TEXT-BOOK FOR SCHOOLS
BY
WILLIAM J. LONG, PH.D. (Heidelberg)
* * * * *
TO
MY FRIEND
C H T
IN GRATITUDE FOR
HIS CONTINUED HELP IN THE
PREPARATION OF
THIS BOOK
* * * * *
PREFACE
This book, which presents the whole splendid history of English literature
from Anglo-Saxon times to the close of the Victorian Era, has three
specific aims. The first is to create or to encourage in every student the
desire to read the best books, and to know literature itself rather than
what has been written about literature. The second is to interpret
literature both personally and historically, that is, to show how a great
book generally reflects not only the author's life and thought but also the
spirit of the age and the ideals of the nation's history. The third aim is
to show, by a study of each successive period, how our literature has
steadily developed from its first simple songs and stories to its present
complexity in prose and poetry.
To carry out these aims we have introduced the following features:
(1) A brief, accurate summary of historical events and social conditions in
each period, and a consideration of the ideals which stirred the whole
nation, as in the days of Elizabeth, before they found expression in
literature.
(2) A study of the various literary epochs in turn, showing what each
gained from the epoch preceding, and how each aided in the development of a
national literature.
(3) A readable biography of every important writer, showing how he lived
and worked, how he met success or failure, how he influenced his age, and
how his age influenced him.
(4) A study and analysis of every author's best works, and of many of the
books required for college-entrance examinations.
(5) Selections enough--especially from earlier writers, and from writers
not likely to be found in the home or school library--to indicate the
spirit of each author's work; and directions as to the best works to read,
and where such works may be found in inexpensive editions.
(6) A frank, untechnical discussion of each great writer's work as a whole,
and a critical estimate of his relative place and influence in our
literature.
(7) A series of helps to students and teachers at the end of each chapter,
including summaries, selections for reading, bibliographies, a list of
suggestive questions, and a chronological table of important events in the
history and literature of each period.
(8) Throughout this book we have remembered Roger Ascham's suggestion, made
over three centuries ago and still pertinent, that "'tis a poor way to make
a child love study by beginning with the things which he naturally
dislikes." We have laid emphasis upon the delights of literature; we have
treated books not as mere instruments of research--which is the danger in
most of our studies--but rather as instruments of enjoyment and of
inspiration; and by making our study as attractive as possible we have
sought to encourage the student to read widely for himself, to choose the
best books, and to form his own judgment about what our first Anglo-Saxon
writers called "the things worthy to be remembered."
To those who may use this book in their homes or in their class rooms, the
writer ventures to offer one or two friendly suggestions out of his own
experience as a teacher of young people. First, the amount of space here
given to different periods and authors is not an index of the relative
amount of time to be spent upon the different subjects. Thus, to tell the
story of Spenser's life and ideals requires as much space as to tell the
story of Tennyson; but the average class will spend its time more
pleasantly and profitably with the latter poet than with the former.
Second, many authors who are and ought to be included in this history need
not be studied in the class room. A text-book is not a catechism but a
storehouse, in which one finds what he wants, and some good things beside.
Few classes will find time to study Blake or Newman, for instance; but in
nearly every class there will be found one or two students who are
attracted by the mysticism of Blake or by the profound spirituality of
Newman. Such students should be encouraged to follow their own spirits, and
to share with their classmates the joy of their discoveries. And they
should find in their text-book the material for their own study and
reading.
A third suggestion relates to the method of teaching literature; and here
it might be well to consider the word of a great poet,--that if you would
know where the ripest cherries are, ask the boys and the blackbirds. It is
surprising how much a young person will get out of the _Merchant of
Venice_, and somehow arrive at Shakespeare's opinion of Shylock and Portia,
if we do not bother him too much with notes and critical directions as to
what he ought to seek and find. Turn a child and a donkey loose in the same
field, and the child heads straight for the beautiful spots where brooks
are running and birds singing, while the donkey turns as naturally to weeds
and thistles. In our study of literature we have perhaps too much sympathy
with the latter, and we even insist that the child come back from his own
quest of the ideal to join us in our critical companionship. In reading
many text-books of late, and in visiting many class rooms, the writer has
received the impression that we lay too much stress on second-hand
criticism, passed down from book to book; and we set our pupils to
searching for figures of speech and elements of style, as if the great
books of the world were subject to chemical analysis. This seems to be a
mistake, for two reasons: first, the average young person has no natural
interest in such matters; and second, he is unable to appreciate them. He
feels unconsciously with Chaucer:
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THE SIN THAT WAS HIS
By Frank L. Packard
The Copp Clark Co. Toronto, Canada
1917
THE SIN THAT WAS HIS
CHAPTER I--THREE-ACE ARTIE
|OF Arthur Leroy, commonly known throughout the Yukon as Three-Ace
Artie, Ton-Nugget Camp knew a good deal--and equally knew very
little. He had drifted in casually one day, and, evidently finding the
environment remuneratively to his liking, had stayed. He was a bird of
passage--tarrying perhaps for the spring clean-up.
He was not exactly elegant in his apparel, for the conditions of an
out-post mining camp did not lend themselves to elegance; but he was
immeasurably the best dressed and most scrupulously groomed man that
side of Dawson. His hands, for instance, were very soft and white; but
then, he did no work--that is, of a nature to impair their nicety.
His name was somewhat confusing. It might be either French or English,
according to the twist that was given to its pronunciation--and
Three-Ace Artie could give it either twist with equal facility. He
confessed to being a Canadian--which was the only confession of any
nature whatsoever that Three-Ace Artie had ever been known to make. He
spoke English in a manner that left no doubt in the world but that it
was his native language--except in the mind of Canuck John, the only
French Canadian in the camp, who was equally positive that in the person
of Three-Ace Artie he had unquestionably found a compatriot born to the
French tongue.
A few old-timers around Dawson might have remembered, if it had not been
so commonplace an occurrence when it happened, that Leroy, as a very
young man, had toiled in over the White Pass; though that being only a
matter of some four years ago at this time, Leroy was still a very young
man, even if somewhat of a change had taken place in his appearance--due
possibly, or possibly not, to the rigours of the climate. Three-Ace
Artie since then had grown a full beard. But Leroy's arrival, being but
one of so many, the old-timers had found in it nothing to remember.
Other and more definite particulars concerning Three-Ace Artie, however,
were in the possession of Ton-Nugget Camp. Three-Ace Artie had no
temperance proclivities--but he never drank during business hours. No
one had ever seen a glass at his elbow when there was a pack of cards on
the table! Frankly a professional gambler, he was admitted to be a
good one--and square. He was polished, but not too suave; he was
unquestionably possessed of far more than an ordinary education, but
he never permitted his erudition to become objectionable; and he had a
reputation for coolness and nerve that Ton-Nugget Camp had seen enhanced
on several occasions and belied on none. He was of medium height, broad
shouldered, and muscular; he had black hair and black eyes; under the
beard the jaw was square; unruffled, he was genial; ruffled, he was
known to be dangerous; and, still too young to show the markings of an
ungracious life, his forehead was unwrinkled, and his skin clear and
fresh.
Also, during his three months' sojourn in Ton-Nugget Camp, he was
credited, not without reason, in having won considerably more than
he had lost. Upon these details rested whatever claim to an intimate
acquaintanceship with Three-Ace Artie the camp could boast; for the
rest, Ton-Nugget Camp, in common with the Yukon in general, was quite
privileged to hazard as many guesses as it pleased!
In a word, such was Three-Ace Artie's status in Ton-Nugget Camp when
there arrived one afternoon a young man, little more than a boy,
patently fresh from the East. And here, though Ton-Nugget Camp was quick
to take the newcomer's measure, and, ignoring the other's claim to the
self-conferred title of Gerald Rogers, promptly dubbed him the Kid, it
permitted, through lack of observation, a slight detail to escape its
notice that might otherwise perhaps have suggested a new and promising
field for its guesses concerning Three-Ace Artie.
Though at no more distant a date than a few days previous to his
arrival, the Kid had probably never seen a “poke” in his life before,
much less one filled with currency in the shape of gold dust, he had, in
the first flush of his entry to MacDonald's, and with the life-long
air of one accustomed to doing nothing else, flung a very new and
pleasantly-filled poke in the general direction of the scales at the end
of the bar, and, leaning back against the counter, supporting himself on
his elbows, proceeded to “set them up” for all concerned. MacDonald's,
collectively and individually, which is to say no small portion of
the camp, for MacDonald's was at once hotel, store, bar and general
hang-out, obeyed the invitation without undue delay, and was in the act
of enjoying the newcomer's hospitality when Three-Ace Artie strolled in.
Some one nearest the bar reached out a glass to the gambler over the
intervening heads, the cluster of men broke away that the ceremony of
introduction with the stranger might be duly performed--and Ton-Nugget
Camp, failing to note the sudden tightening of the gambler's fingers
around his glass, the startled flash in the dark eyes that was instantly
veiled by half dropped, sleepy lids, heard only Three-Ace Artie's, “Glad
to know you, Mr. Rogers,” in the gambler's usual and quietly modulated
| 879.693872 |
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Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW
A SELECTION OF THE WORLD'S ART MASTERPIECES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY DOLORES BACON
Illustrated from Great Paintings
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Besides making acknowledgments to the many authoritative writers upon
artists and pictures, here quoted, thanks are due to such excellent
compilers of books on art subjects as Sadakichi Hartmann, Muther,
C. H. Caffin, Ida Prentice Whitcomb, Russell Sturgis and others.
INTRODUCTION
Man's inclination to decorate his belongings has always been one of
the earliest signs of civilisation. Art had its beginning in the lines
indented in clay, perhaps, or hollowed in the wood of family utensils;
after that came crude colouring and drawing.
Among the first serious efforts to draw were the Egyptian square and
pointed things, animals and men. The most that artists of that day
succeeded in doing was to preserve the fashions of the time. Their
drawings tell us that men wore their beards in bags. They show us,
also, many peculiar head-dresses and strange agricultural
implements. Artists of that day put down what they saw, and they saw
with an untrained eye and made the record with an untrained hand; but
they did not put in false details for the sake of glorifying the
subject. One can distinguish a man from a mountain in their work, but
the arms and legs embroidered upon Mathilde's tapestry, or the figures
representing family history on an Oriental rug, are quite as correct
in drawing and as little of a puzzle. As men became more intelligent,
hence spiritualised, they began to express themselves in ideal ways;
to glorify the commonplace; and thus they passed from Egyptian
geometry to gracious lines and beautiful colouring.
Indian pottery was the first development of art in America and it led
to the working of metals, followed by drawing and portraiture. Among
the Americans, as soon as that term ceased to mean Indians, art took a
most distracting turn. Europe was old in pictures, great and
beautiful, when America was worshipping at the shrine of the chromo;
but the chromo served a good turn, bad as it was. It was a link
between the black and white of the admirable wood-cut and the true
colour picture.
Some of the Colonists brought over here the portraits of their
ancestors, but those paintings could not be considered "American" art,
nor were those early settlers Americans; but the generation that
followed gave to the world Benjamin West. He left his Mother Country
for England, where he found a knighthood and honours of every kind
awaiting him.
The earliest artists of America had to go away to do their work,
because there was no place here for any men but those engaged in
clearing land, planting corn, and fighting Indians. Sir Benjamin West
was President of the Royal Academy while America was still revelling
in chromos. The artists who remained chose such objects as Davy
Crockett in the trackless forest, or made pictures of the Continental
Congress.
After the chromo in America came the picture known as the "buckeye,"
painted by relays of artists. Great canvases were stretched and
blocked off into lengths. The scene was drawn in by one man, who was
followed by "artists," each in turn painting sky, water, foliage,
figures, according to his specialty. Thus whole yards of canvas could
be painted in a day, with more artists to the square inch than are now
employed to paint advertisements on a barn.
The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 came as a glorious flashlight. For
the first time real art was seen by a large part of our nation. Every
farmer took home with him a new idea of the possibilities of drawing
and colour. The change that instantly followed could have occurred in
no other country than the United States, because no other people would
have travelled from the four points of the compass to see such an
exhibition. Thus it was the American's _penchant_ for travel which
first opened to him the art world, for he was conscious even then of
the educational advantages to be found somewhere, although there
seemed to be few of them in the United States.
After the Centennial arose a taste for the painting of "plaques," upon
which were the heads of ladies with strange- hair; of
leather-covered flatirons bearing flowers of unnatural colour, or of
shovels decorated with "snow scenes." The whole nation began to revel
in "art." It was a low variety, yet it started toward a goal which
left the chromo at the rear end of the course, and it was a better
effort than the mottoes worked in worsted, which had till then been
the chief decoration in most homes. If the "buckeye" was
hand-painting, this was "single-hand" painting, and it did not take a
generation to bring the change about, only a season. After the
Philadelphia exhibition the daughter of the household "painted a
little" just as she played the piano "a little." To-day, much less
than a man's lifetime since then, there is in America a universal love
for refined art and a fair technical appreciation of pictures, while
already the nation has worthily contributed to the world of
artists. Sir Benjamin West, Sully, and Sargent are ours: Inness,
Inman, and Trumbull.
The curator of the Metropolitan Museum in New York has declared that
portrait-painting must be the means which shall save the modern
artists from their sins. To quote him: "An artist may paint a bright
green cow, if he is so minded: the cow has no redress, the cow must
suffer and be silent; but human beings who sit for portraits seem to
lean toward portraits in which they can recognise their own features
when they have commissioned an artist to paint them. A man _will_
insist upon even the most brilliant artist painting him in trousers,
for instance, instead of in petticoats, however the artist-whim may
direct otherwise; and a woman is likely to insist that the artist who
paints her portrait shall maintain some recognised shade of brown or
blue or gray when he paints her eye, instead of indulging in a burnt
orange or maybe pink! These personal preferences certainly put a limit
to an artist's genius and keep him from writing himself down a
madman. Thus, in portrait-painting, with the exactions of truth upon
it, lies the hope of art-lovers!"
It is the same authority who calls attention to the danger that lies
in extremes; either in finding no value in art outside the "old
masters," or in admiring pictures so impressionistic that the objects
in them need to be labelled before they can be recognised.
The true art-lover has a catholic taste, is interested in all forms of
art; but he finds beauty where it truly exists and does not allow the
nightmare of imagination to mislead him. That which is not beautiful
from one point of view or another is not art, but decadence. That
which is technical to the exclusion of other elements remains
technique pure and simple, workmanship--the bare bones of art. A thing
is not art simply because it is fantastic. It may be interesting as
showing to what degree some imaginations can become diseased, but it
is not pleasing nor is it art. There are fully a thousand pictures
that every child should know, since he can hardly know too much of a
good thing; but there is room in this volume only to acquaint him with
forty-eight and possibly inspire him with the wish to look up the
neglected nine hundred and fifty-two.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I. Andrea del Sarto, Florentine School, 1486-1531
II. Michael Angelo (Buonarroti), Florentine School, 1475-1564
III. Arnold Boecklin, Modern German School, 1827-1901
IV. Marie-Rosa Bonheur, French School, 1822-189 | 879.97845 |
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BOOKS ON
EGYPT AND CHALDEA
BY
E. A. WALLIS BUDGE, M. A., LITT D., D. LIT.
_Keeper of the Egyptian and Assyrian
Antiquities in the British Museum_
AND
L. W. KING, M. A.
_Assistant in the Department of
Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities
in the British Museum_
Crown 8vo, 3S, 6d, net each
Vol I--EGYPTIAN RELIGION.
Egyptian Ideas of the Future Life By E. A. WALLIS BUDGE
Vol II--EGYPTIAN MAGIC.
By E. A. WALLIS BUDGE
Vol. III--EGYPTIAN LANGUAGE.
Easy Lessons in Egyptian Hieroglyphics By E. A. WALLIS BUDGE
Vol IV--BABYLONIAN RELIGION.
Babylonian Religion and Mythology. By L. W. King
Vol V--ASSYRIAN LANGUAGE.
Easy Lessons in the Cuneiform Texts By L. W. KING, M. A.
Vols VI, VII, VIII--THE BOOK OF THE DEAD.
an English Translation of the Chapters, Hymns, &c., of the Theban
Recension With Introduction, Notes, and numerous Illustrations By E. A.
WALLIS BUDGE, Litt. D.
Vols IX-XVI--A HISTORY OF EGYPT.
from the end of the Neolithic Period to the Death of Cleopatra VII, B.C.
30 By E. A. WALLIS BUDGE, Litt. D. 8 vols. Illustrated.
* * * * *
VOL. I.
EGYPTIAN IDEAS OF THE FUTURE LIFE
PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
In the year 1894, Dr. Wallis Budge prepared for Messrs. Kegan Paul,
Trench, Truebner & Co. an elementary work on the Egyptian language,
entitled "First Steps in Egyptian," and two years later the companion
volume, "An Egyptian Reading Book," with transliterations of all the
texts printed in it, and a full vocabulary. The success of these works
proved that they had helped to satisfy a want long felt by students of
the Egyptian language, and as a similar want existed among students of
the languages written in the cuneiform character, Mr. L.W. King, of the
British Museum, prepared, on the same lines as the two books mentioned
above, an elementary work on the Assyrian and Babylonian languages
("First Steps in Assyrian"), which appeared in 1898. These works,
however, dealt mainly with the philological branch of Egyptology and
Assyriology, and it was impossible in the space allowed to explain much
that needed explanation in the other branches of those subjects--that is
to say, matters relating to the archaeology, history, religion, etc., of
the Egyptians, Assyrians, and Babylonians. In answer to the numerous
requests which have been made, a series of short, popular handbooks on
the most important branches of Egyptology and Assyriology have been
prepared, and it is hoped that these will serve as introductions to the
larger works on these subjects. The present is the first volume of the
series, and the succeeding volumes will be published at short intervals,
and at moderate prices.
EGYPTIAN IDEAS
OF THE
FUTURE LIFE
BY
E.A. WALLIS BUDGE, M. A., LITT. D., D. LIT.
KEEPER Of THE EGYPTIAN AND ASSYRIAN ANTIQUITIES
OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
_THIRD EDITION_
1908
To SIR JOHN EVANS, K. C. B., D. C. L., F. R. S., ETC., ETC., ETC. IN
GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF MUCH FRIENDLY HELP AND ENCOURAGEMENT
PREFACE.
* * * * *
The following pages are intended to place before the reader in a handy
form an account of the principal ideas and beliefs held by the ancient
Egyptians concerning the resurrection and the future life, which is
derived wholly from native religious works. The literature of Egypt
which deals with these subjects is large and, as was to be expected, the
product of different periods which, taken together, cover several
thousands of years; and it is exceedingly difficult at times to
reconcile the statements and beliefs of a writer of one period with
those of a writer of another. Up to the present no systematic account of
the doctrine of the resurrection and of the future life has been
discovered, and there is no reason for hoping that such a thing will
ever be found, for the Egyptians do not appear to have thought that it
was necessary to write a work of the kind. The inherent difficulty of
the subject, and the natural impossibility that different men living in
different places and at different times should think alike on matters
which must, after all, belong always to the region of faith, render it
more than probable that no college of priests, however powerful, was
able to formulate a system of beliefs which would be received throughout
Egypt by the clergy and the laity alike, and would be copied by the
scribes as a final and authoritative work on Egyptian eschatology.
Besides this, the genius and structure of the Egyptian language are such
as to preclude the possibility of composing in it works of a
philosophical or metaphysical character in the true sense of the words.
In spite of these difficulties, however, it is possible to collect a
great deal of important information on the subject from the funereal and
religious works which have come down to us, especially concerning the
great central idea of immortality, which existed unchanged for thousands
of years, and formed the pivot upon which the religious and social life
of the ancient Egyptians actually turned. From the beginning to the end
of his life the Egyptian's chief thought was of the life beyond the
grave, and the hewing of his tomb in the rock, and the providing of its
furniture, every detail of which was prescribed by the custom of the
country, absorbed the best thoughts | 879.998191 |
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Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE DUCHESS OF WREXE
Her Decline and Death
A Romantic Commentary
by
HUGH WALPOLE
Author of "Fortitude," etc.
New York
George H. Doran Company
Copyright, 1914,
By George H. Doran Company
TO
MY MOTHER
A SMALL EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE
BEYOND WORDS
"And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's Wood."
_Letter to Maria Gisborne_
THE RISING CITY: I
THE DUCHESS OF WREXE
_NOTE: This is an age of Trilogies and Sequels. The title at the
beginning of this book, "The Rising City: I," may lead nervous readers
to fear yet another attempt in that extended and discursive direction_.
_To reassure them I wish to emphasize this point--that_ The Duchess of
Wrexe _is entirely a novel complete and independent in itself. It is
grouped, with the two stories that will follow it, under the heading of
"The Rising City" because the three novels will be connected in place,
in idea, and in sequence of time. Also certain of the same characters
will appear in all three books. But the novels are not intended as
sequels of one another, nor is "The Rising City" a Trilogy.--H. W._
CONTENTS
BOOK I: THE DUCHESS
I Felix Brun, Dr. Christopher, Rachel Beaminster--They
Are Surveyed by the Portrait
II Rachel
III Lady Adela
IV The Pool
V She Comes Out
VI Fans
VII In the Heart of the House
VIII The Tiger
IX The Golden Cage
X Lizzie and Breton
XI Her Grace's Day
XII Defiance of the Tiger--I
XIII Defiance of the Tiger--II
BOOK II: RACHEL
I The Pool and the Snow
II A Little House
III First Sequel to Defiance
IV Rachel--and Christopher and Roddy
V Lizzie's Journey--I
VI All the Beaminsters
VII Rachel and Breton
VIII Christopher's Day
IX The Darkest Hour
X Lizzie's Journey--II
XI Roddy Is Master
XII Lizzie's Journey--III
BOOK III: RODDY
I Regent's Park--Breton and Lizzie
II The Duchess Moves
III Roddy Moves
IV March 13th: Breton's Tiger
V March 13th: Rachel's Heart
VI March 13th: Roddy Talks to the Devil and the Duchess
Denies God
VII Chamber Music--A Trio
VIII A Quartette
IX Rachel and Roddy
X Lizzie Becomes Miss Rand Again
XI The Last View from High Windows
XII Rachel, Roddy, Lord John, Christopher
XIII Epilogue--Prologue
BOOK I
THE DUCHESS
CHAPTER I
FELIX BRUN, DR. CHRISTOPHER, RACHEL BEAMINSTER--THEY ARE SURVEYED BY THE
PORTRAIT.
I
Felix Brun, perched like a little bird, on the steps of the Rede Art
Gallery, gazed up and down Bond Street, with his sharp eyes for someone
to whom he might show Yale Ross's portrait of the Duchess of Wrexe. The
afternoon was warm, the date May of the year 1898, and the occasion was
the Young Portrait Painters' first show with Ross's "Duchess" as its
principal attraction.
Brun was thrilled with excitement, with emotion, and he must have his
audience. There must be somebody to whom he might talk, to whom he might
explain exactly why this occasion was of so stirring an importance.
His eyes lighted with satisfaction. Coming towards him was a tall, gaunt
man with a bronzed face, loose ill-fitting clothes, a stride that had
little of the town about it. This was Arkwright, the explorer, a man who
had been lost in African jungles during the last five years, the very
creature for Brun's purposes.
Here was someone who, knowing nothing about Art, would listen all the
more readily to Brun's pronouncement upon it, a homely simple soul,
fitted for the killing of lions and tigers, but pliable as wax in the
hands of a master of civilization like Brun. At the same time Arkwright
was no fool; a psychologist in his way, he had written two books about
the East that had aroused considerable interest.
No fool, Arkwright.... He would be able to appreciate Brun's subtleties
and perhaps add some of his own.
He had, however, been away from England for so long a time that
anything that Brun had to tell him about the London world would be
pleasantly fresh and stimulating.
Brun, round and neat, and a citizen of the world from the crown of his
head to the top of his shining toes, tapped Arkwright on his shoulder:
"Hallo! Brun. How are you? It _is_ good to see you! Haven't seen a soul
I know for the last ever so long."
"Good--good. Excellent. Come along in here."
"In there? Pictures? What's the use of me looking at pictures?"
"We can talk in here. I'll tell you all the news. Besides, there's
something that even you will appreciate."
"Well?" Arkwright laughed good-humouredly and moved towards the door.
"What is it?"
"The Duchess," Brun answered him. "Yale Ross's portrait of the Duchess
of Wrexe. At last," he triumphantly cried, "at last we've got her!"
II
The Duchess had a small corner wall for her own individual possession.
The thin glowing May sunlight fell about her and the dull gold of her
frame received it and gave it back with a rich solemnity as though it
had said, "You have been gay and unrestrained enough with all those
crowds, but here, let me tell you, is something that requires a very
different attitude."
The Duchess received the colour and the sunlight, but made no response.
She sat, leaning forward a little, bending with one of her dry wrinkled
hands over a black ebony cane, a high carved chair supporting and
surrounding her. She seemed, herself, to be carved there, stone, marble,
anything lifeless save for her eyes, the tense clutch of her fingers
about the cane, and the dull but brooding gleam that a large jade
pendant, the only colour against the black of her dress, flung at the
observer. Her mouth was a thin hard line, her nose small but sharp, her
colour so white that it seemed to cut into the paper | 880.076852 |
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DIO'S ROME
AN HISTORICAL NARRATIVE ORIGINALLY COMPOSED IN GREEK DURING THE REIGNS OF
SEPTIMIUS SEVERUS, GETA AND CARACALLA, MACRINUS, ELAGABALUS AND ALEXANDER
SEVERUS:
AND
NOW PRESENTED IN ENGLISH FORM
BY
HERBERT BALDWIN FOSTER, A.B. (Harvard), Ph.D. (Johns Hopkins), Acting
Professor of Greek in Lehigh University
THIRD VOLUME _Extant Books 45-51 (B.C. 44-29)_.
1906
VOLUME CONTENTS
Book Forty-five
Book Forty-six
Book Forty-seven
Book Forty-eight
Book Forty-nine
Book Fifty
Book Fifty-one
DIO'S ROMAN HISTORY
45
VOL. 3.--1
The following is contained in the Forty-fifth of Dio's Rome:
About Gaius Octavius, who afterward was named Augustus (chapters 1-9).
About Sextus, the son of Pompey (chapter 10).
How Caesar and Antony entered upon a period of hostility (chapters 11-17).
How Cicero delivered a public harangue against Antony (chapters 18-47).
Duration of time, the remainder of the year of the 5th dictatorship of C.
Iulius Caesar with M. Aemilius Lepidus, Master of the Horse, and of his 5th
consulship with Marcus Antonius. (B.C. 44 = a. u. 710.)[1]
(_BOOK 45, BOSSEVAIN_.)
[B.C. 44 (_a. u_.710)]
[-1-] This was Antony's course of procedure.--Gaius Octavius Copia,--this
was the name of the son of Caesar's niece, Attia,--came from Velitrae in
the Volscian country, and having been left without a protector by the
death of his father Octavius he was brought up in the house of his mother
and her husband, Lucius Philippus, but on attaining maturity spent his
time with Caesar. The latter, who was childless, based great hopes upon
him and was devoted to him, intending to leave him as successor to his
name, authority, and supremacy. He was influenced largely by Attia's
explicit affirmation that the youth had been engendered by Apollo. While
sleeping once in his temple, she said, she thought she had intercourse
with a serpent, and through this circumstance at the end of the allotted
time bore a son. Before he came to the light of day she saw in a dream
her womb lifted to the heavens and spreading out over all the earth; and
the same night Octavius thought the sun rose from her vagina. Hardly
had the child been born when Nigidius Figulus, a senator, straightway
prophesied for him sole command of the realm. [2]
He could distinguish most accurately of his contemporaries the order of
the firmament and the mutations of the stars, what they accomplished
by separation and what by conjunctions, in their associations and
retirements, and for this reason had incurred the charge of practicing
some kind of forbidden pursuits. He accordingly met on that occasion
Octavius, who was somewhat tardy in reaching the senate on account of the
birth of the child,--there happened to be a meeting of the senate that
day,--and asked him why he was late. On learning the cause he cried out:
"You have begotten a master over us." [3] At that Octavius was alarmed and
wished to destroy the infant, but Nigidius restrained him, saying that
it was impossible for it to suffer any such fate. [-2-] This was the
conversation at that time. While the boy was growing up in the country an
eagle snatched from his hands a loaf of bread, and after soaring aloft
flew down and gave it back to him.[4] When he was a lad and staying in
Rome Cicero dreamed that the boy was let down by golden chains to the
summit of the Capitol and received a whip from Jupiter.[5] He did not
know who the youth was, but meeting him the next day on the Capitol
itself he recognized him, and told the vision to the bystanders. Catulus,
who had likewise never seen Octavius, beheld in a vision all the noble
children on the Capitol at the termination of a solemn procession to
Jupiter, and in the course of the ceremony the god cast what looked like
an image of Rome into that child's lap. Startled at this he went up into
the Capitol to offer prayers to the god, and finding there Octavius, who
had ascended the hill for some other reason, he compared his appearance
with the dream and was satisfied of the truth of the vision. When later
he had become a young man and was about to reach maturity, he was putting
on the dress of an adult when his tunic was rent on both sides from his
shoulders and fell to his feet. This event of itself not only had
no significance as forecasting any good fortune, but displeased the
spectators considerably because it had happened in his first putting on
the garb of a man: it occurred to Octavius to say: "I shall put the whole
senatorial dignity beneath my feet"; and the outcome proved in accordance
with his words. Caesar founded great hopes upon him as a result of
this, introduced him into the class of patricians and trained him for
rulership. In everything that is proper to come to the notice of one
destined to control so great a power well and worthily he educated him
with care. The youth was trained in oratorical speeches, not only in the
Latin but in this language [Greek], labored persistently in military
campaigns, and received minute instruction in politics and the science of
government.
[-3-] Now this Octavius chanced at the time that Caesar was murdered to
be in Apollonia near the Ionic Gulf, pursuing his education. He had been
sent thither in advance to look after his patron's intended campaign
against the Parthians. When he learned of the event he was naturally
grieved, but did not dare at once to take any radical measures. He had
not yet heard that he had been made Caesar's son or heir, and moreover the
first news he received was to the effect that the people were of one mind
in the affair. When, however, he had crossed to Brundusium and had been
informed about the will and the people's second thought, he made no
delay, particularly because he had considerable money and numerous
soldiers who had been sent on under his charge, but he immediately
assumed the name of Caesar, succeeded to his estate, and began to busy
himself with the situation. [-4-] At the time he seemed to some to have
acted recklessly and daringly in this, but later as a result of his
good fortune and the successes he achieved he acquired a reputation for
bravery. In many instances in history men who were wrong in undertaking
some project have been famed for wisdom because they proved fortunate in
it: others who used the best possible judgment have had to stand a charge
of folly because they did not attain their ends. He, too, acted in a
blundering and dangerous way; he was only just past boyhood,--eighteen
years of age,--and saw that the succession to the inheritance and the
family was sure to provoke jealousy and censure: yet he started in
pursuit of objects that had led to Caesar's murder, and no punishment
befell him, and he feared neither the assassins nor Lepidus and Antony.
Yet he was not thought to have planned poorly, because he became
successful. Heaven, however, indicated not obscurely all the upheaval
that would result from it. As he was entering Rome a great variegated
iris surrounded the whole sun.
[-5-] In this way he that was formerly called Octavius, but already at
this time Caesar, and subsequently Augustus, took charge of affairs and
settled them and brought them | 880.076914 |
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Produced by Brett Fishburne. HTML version by Al Haines.
Alvira: The Heroine of Vesuvius
by
Rev. A. J. O'Reilly, D.D.
Introduction
The Penitent Saints
The interesting and instructive character of this sensational narrative,
which we cull from the traditions of a past generation, must cover
the shortcomings of the pen that has labored to present it in an
English dress.
We are aware that the propriety of drawing from the oblivion of
forgotten literature such a story will be questioned. The decay of
the chivalrous spirit of the middle ages, and the prudish, puritanical
code of morality that has superseded the simple manners of our
forefathers, render it hazardous to cast into the hands of the present
generation the thrilling records of sin and repentance such as they
were seen and recorded in days gone by. Yet in the midst of a
literature professedly false, and which paints in fascinating colors
the various phases of unrepented vice and crime, without the redeeming
shadows of honor and Christian morality, our little volume must fall
a welcome sunbeam. The strange career of our heroine constitutes a
sensational biography charming and beautiful in the moral it presents.
The evils of mixed marriages, of secret societies, of intemperance,
and the indulgence of self-love in ardent and enthusiastic youth, find
here the record of their fatal influence on social life, reflected
through the medium of historical facts. Therefore we present to the
young a chapter of warning--a tale of the past with a deep moral for
the present.
The circumstances of our tale are extraordinary. A young girl dresses
in male attire, murders her father, becomes an officer in the army,
goes through the horrors of battle, and dies a SAINT.
Truly we have here matter sensational enough for the most exacting
novelist; but we disclaim all effort to play upon the passions, or
add another work of fiction to the mass of irreligious trash so powerful
in the employ of the evil one for the seduction of youth. In the
varied scenes of life there are many actions influenced by secret
motives known only to the heart that harbors them. Not all are
dishonorable. It takes a great deal of guilt to make a person as black
as he is painted by his enemies. Many a brave heart has, under the
garb of an im | 880.276863 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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ARCHÆOLOGICAL ESSAYS
BY THE LATE
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON, BART.
M.D., D.C.L.
ONE OF HER MAJESTY’S PHYSICIANS FOR SCOTLAND | 880.279518 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by the
Internet Archive
0001 0008 0009
THE TOWER OF LONDON
A Historical Romance
By William Harrison Ainsworth
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
London: Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street,
MDCCCXL
CONTENTS
PREFACE.
BOOK ONE
I.—OF THE MANNER IN WHICH QUEEN JANE ENTERED THE TOWER OF LONDON.
II.-OF THE INDIGNITY SHOWN TO THE PRIVY COUNCIL BY THE DUKE OF
NORTHUMBERLAND; AND OF THE RESOLUTION TAKEN BY SIMON RENARD TO AVENGE
THEM.
III.-OF THE THREE GIANTS OF THE TOWER, OG, GOG, AND MAGOG; OF XIT, THE
DWARF; OF THE FAIR C | 880.773377 |
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E-text prepared by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe
(http://www.freeliterature.org)
THE BORDER RIFLES.
A Tale of the Texan War
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
Author of "Trapper's Daughter," "Indian Scout," etc.
London:
Ward and Lock,
158, Fleet Street.
MDCCCLXI.
PREFACE
In the series commencing with the present volume GUSTAVE AIMARD has
entirely changed the character of his stories. He has selected a
magnificent episode of American history, the liberation of Texas from
the intolerable yoke of the Mexicans, and describes scenes _quorum pars
magna fuit_. At the present moment, when all are watching with bated
breath the results of the internecine war commencing between North and
South, I believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subject
will be read with special interest, for they impart much valuable
information about the character of the combatants who will, to a great
extent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. The North looks down
on them with contempt, and calls them "Border ruffians;" but when the
moment arrives, I entertain no doubt but that they will command respect
by the brilliancy of their deeds.
Surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the present
volume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. The next
volume, shortly to appear under the title of "The Freebooters,"
describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained the
proportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will be
devoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent State of
Texas, which has cast in its lot with the Secessionists, and will
indubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of its
sons, whose fathers Aimard has so admirably depicted in the present and
the succeeding volumes of the new series.
L.W.
CONTENTS.
I. THE RUNAWAY XVI. A POLITICAL SKETCH
II. QUONIAM XVII. THE PANTHER-KILLER
III. BLACK AND WHITE XVIII. LANZI
IV. THE MANADA XIX. THE CHASE
V. BLACK-DEER XX. THE CONFESSION
VI. THE CLAIM XXI. THE JAGUAR
VII. MONKEY-FACE XXII. BLUE-FOX
VIII. THE DECLARATION OF WAR XXIII. THE WHITE SCALPER
IX. THE SNAKE PAWNEES XXIV. AFTER THE FIGHT
X. THE BATTLE XXV. AN EXPLANATION
XI. THE VENTA DEL POTRERO XXVI. THE EXPRESS
XII. LOVE AND JEALOUSY XXVII. THE GUIDE
XIII. CARMELA XXVIII. JOHN DAVIS
XIV. THE CONDUCTA DE PLATA XXIX. THE BARGAIN
XV. THE HALT XXX. THE AMBUSCADE
CHAPTER I.
THE RUNAWAY.
The immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of North America
are more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters and
pioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier further
and further to the west.
Flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupy
regions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whose
dense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whose
unexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served as
a retreat for hordes of nomadic Indians, who, in their martial ardour,
frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with their
war-yell.
Now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, gradually
repulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fled
step by step before it, and have sought far away other and safer
retreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them,
lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshare
of the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over their
old hunting-grounds.
Is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the American continent a
misfortune? Certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marches
with a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soil
of the New World, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrain
from a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race which
is brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked in
all directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemned
soon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it covered
less than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes.
Perhaps if the people chosen by God to effect the changes to which we
allude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work of
blood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselves
with the divine precepts of the Gospel, instead of seizing rifles,
torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produced
a fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result more
profitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that great
fraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and for
which those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have a
terrible account some day to render.
Men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, and
constantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry for
vengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast in
the balance between conquerors and conquered.
At the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about the
close of 181 | 880.974248 |
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THE
UNION:
OR,
SELECT
SCOTS and ENGLISH
POEMS.
THE SECOND EDITION.
----_Dubiam facientia carmina palmam._ JUV.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR R. BALDWIN, IN PATERNOSTER-ROW.
M.DCC.LIX.
PREFACE.
As the mind of man is ever fond of variety, nothing seems better
calculated to entertain, than a judicious collection of the smaller,
though not on that account less laboured, productions of eminent poets:
an entertainment, not unlike that which we receive from surveying a
finished landschape, or well disposed piece of shell-work: where each
particular object, tho' singly beautiful, and sufficiently striking by
itself, receives an additional charm, thus, as Milton expresses it,
SWEETLY INTERCHANGED.
The first miscellaneous collection of poems, that ever appeared in
Great-Britain with any reputation, is that published by Dryden: which
was afterwards continued by Tonson. There are many pieces of the highest
merit in this collection, by Dryden, Denham, Creech, Drayton, Garth,
Marvell, and many others; yet the compilers, it is evident, were not
always sufficiently scrupulous and cautious in their choice, as several
pieces are admitted, among the rest, which would otherwise utterly have
perished, and which had no other recommendation, than that they served
to swell the volume. Since this, many miscellanies have been published
both in Scotland and England: to enumerate which would be no less
tedious than useless. It will be sufficient to remark, that through want
of care or judgment in their respective editors, they are all forgotten
or neglected. From these the miscellany known by the name of Mr. Pope
perhaps ought to be excepted; tho' that, indeed, cannot properly be
styled a collection of poems by different hands, which is such a one as
we are speaking of at present, the greater part consisting of pieces by
Mr. Pope only. The best miscellany at this day extant in our language,
and the first complete one of the kind which we have seen, is that
lately published by R. Dodsley, which boasts the greatest names of the
present age among its contributors.
As to the poetical collection here exhibited to the public, we apprehend
it challenges no small degree of regard, as it was made under the
immediate inspection and conduct of several very ingenious gentlemen,
whose names it would do us the highest honour to mention; and as it
contains a variety not to be found even in the admirable collection last
spoken of; I mean the Intermixture of poems both Scotch and English. Nor
is this variety less agreeable than useful; as from it we have an
opportunity of forming a comparison and estimate of the taste and genius
of the two different nations, in their poetical compositions.
It will be necessary to take notice, that our chief care has been to
furnish out the following miscellany with those pieces, regard being
first had to real merit, which have laid unknown and unobserved from
their MANNER of publication; several of them having been printed by
themselves, and so perished as it were for want of bulk, and others lost
amid the rubbish of collections injudiciously made, and perhaps not
easily to be met with. Nor will it be improper to mention, that in order
to render our volume still more compleat, we have had the favour of some
original poems, written by a late member of the university of Aberdeen,
whose modesty would not permit us to prefix his name: one of which in
this edition is printed with many improvements, from a corrected copy.
And from these ingenious essays, the public may be enabled to form some
judgment beforehand of a poem of a nobler and more important nature,
which he is now preparing. Nor must we forget to return our public
thanks to this gentleman, for the service he has been to us, not only in
making this collection more excellent by his own contributions, but in
selecting such pieces of others as were suitable to our design.
It is hoped that the ancient Scottish poems (amongst which THE THISTLE
AND THE ROSE, and HARDYKNUTE are more particularly distinguished) will
make no disagreeable figure amongst those of modern date; and that they
will produce the same effect here, as Mr. Pope observes a moderate use
of old words may have in a poem; which, adds he, is like working old
abbey-stones into a modern building, and which I have sometimes seen
practised with good success.
Upon the whole, as we have been favoured with the best assistance in
compiling this volume, no further apology is necessary; and as the
approbation of the public has been already secured to these poems
separately, we hope they have no less reason to claim it, when thus
published together.
CONTENTS.
Page
The Thistle and the Rose, by W. Dunbar 1
Verses on the Death of Queen Caroline.
By Mr. Shipley 10
The Genealogy of Christ, by Mr. Lowth 13
A Fragment, by Mr. Mallet 24
The Eagle and Robin Red-Breast, a Fable, by
Archibald Scott, written before the Year 1600. 28
Ode to Fancy, by Mr. Joseph Warton 31
Ode to Evening, by the same 37
Ode to Evening, by Mr. Collins 39
Isis, an Elegy, by Mr. Mason of Cambridge 42
The Triumph of Isis, by Mr. Thomas Warton
of Oxford 47
A Love-Elegy, by Mr. Hammond 47
The Tears of Scotland, 1746. 62
An Elegy written in a country church-yard, by
Mr. Grey 65
On the Death of Prince Frederic. Written at
Paris, by David Lord Viscount Stormont 70
On the same, by Mr. James Clitherow of Oxford 75
Ode on the Approach of Summer, by a Gentleman
formerly of the University of Aberdeen 81
A Pastoral in the manner of Spenser, from
Theocritus, Idyll. 20. By the same 94
Inscribed on a beautiful Grotto near the Water 96
Love Elegy, by Mr. Smollet 97
A Panegyric on Oxford Ale, by a Gentleman
of Trinity College 99
The Progress of Discontent, by the Same. 105
Ode to Arthur Onslow, Esq; 109
Job, Chapter XXXIX. By a Gentleman of
Oxford 113
Ode on the Death of Mr. Thomson, by Mr.
Collins 116
The Child-Birth, in the manner of Gay 119
On a Lady's presenting a Sprig of Myrtle to
a Gentleman, by Mr. Hammond 125
To a Young Lady with Fontenelle's Plurality
of Worlds 126
Ode on the Fifth of December, by Mr.
Christopher Smart 128
Part of the Prologue to Sir David Lyndesay's
Dream. Written in the Reign of King
James V. 129
Hardyknute, a Fragment 132
Ode. By Dr. Akenside, on Lyric Poetry 147
A POEM IN HONOUR OF
MARGARET
DAUGHTER TO
HENRY VII. OF ENGLAND,
QUEEN TO
JAMES IV. KING OF SCOTS.
BY WILLIAM DUNBAR.
The Thistle and the Rose,
O'er flowers and herbage green,
By Lady Nature chose,
Brave King and lovely Queen.
I.
When March with varying winds was overpast,
And sweet April had with | 881.573385 |
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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._ _And now she meets the Champions_ 160
_V._ _Birdalone has True Tokens from the 167
Champions of the Quest_
_VI._ _How the Champions would do Birdalone to be 177
clad anew in the Castle of the Quest_
_VII._ _Of Birdalone_, _how she told the Champions 180
all her Tale_
_VIII._ _In the Meanwhile of the Departing of the 184
Champions_, _they would pleasure Birdalone
with Feats of Arms and Games of Prowess_
_IX._ _Birdalone cometh before the Champions in 186
her New Array_
_X._ _The Champions go their Ways in the Sending 190
Boat_
_The Fourth Part_: _Of the Days of Abiding_
_ Chap. I._ _Of Birdalone’s Grief_; _and of Leonard the 194
Chaplain_
_II._ _Birdalone learneth Lore of the Priest_. 197
_Ten Days of Waiting wear_
_III._ _Now would Birdalone ride abroad_ 200
_IV._ _Of Birdalone’s Faring abroad_ 205
_V._ _Sir Aymeris showeth Birdalone the 208
Mountains afar off_
_VI._ _Birdalone heareth tell Tales of the Black 213
Valley of the Greywethers_
_VII._ _Birdalone beguileth the Priest to help her 216
to Outgoing_
_VIII._ _Birdalone fares on her Adventure_ 220
_IX._ _Birdalone comes to the Black Valley_ 224
_X._ _How Birdalone fell in with a Man in the 227
Black Valley of the Greywethers_
_XI._ _Birdalone is led up the Black Valley_ 231
_XII._ _How those Twain get them from out of the 235
Black Valley of the Greywethers_
_XIII._ _Now they rest for the Night in the Strait 243
Pass_
_XIV._ _The Black Knight tells the Truth of 245
Himself_
_XV._ _The Black Knight brings Birdalone to the 250
Bower in the Dale_
_XVI._ _Yet a Day and a Night they tarry in the 255
Dale_
_The Fifth Part_: _The Tale of the Quest’s Ending_
_Chap. I._ _Of Sir Leonard’s trouble and the Coming of 263
the Quest_
_II._ _Now ask they of Birdalone_, _and Sir 268
Leonard speaks_
_III._ _How they follow the Slot of Birdalone and 271
the Black Knight_
_IV._ _Of the Slaying of Friend and Foe_ 276
_V._ _They come home to the Castle of the Quest_ 283
_VI._ _Of the Talk betwixt Birdalone and Viridis_ 285
_VII._ _Birdalone telleth the Tale of her 289
Wandering up the Valley of the Greywethers_
_VIII._ _Atra and Birdalone talk together while the 305
Lords sit at the Murder-council_
_IX._ _Hugh tells the Story of the Quest’s 309
Ending_
_X._ _How it fared with the Three Ladies after 340
the Escape of Birdalone_
_XI._ _Birdalone and the Black Squire talk 350
together in the Hall of the Castle_
_XII._ _The Knights and their Fellows betake them 355
to the Assaulting of the Red Hold_
_XIII._ _Birdalone bethinks her to fulfil the 358
Promise made unto Atra_
_XIV._ _Birdalone leaves the Castle of the Quest_ 364
_The Sixth Part_: _The Days of Absence_
_Chap. I._ _Birdalone rides to Greenford and there 366
takes Leave of Arnold and his Men_
_II._ _Of Birdalone and her Fellowship_, _their 372
Faring over the Downland_
_III._ _They come to the City of the Five Crafts_, 374
_and Birdalone meets with the Poor-wife_
_IV._ _Of the Love of Gerard’s Sons and of 385
Jacobus for Birdalone_
_V._ _Of the death of Audrey_, _Mother to 389
Birdalone_. _She is warned in a Dream to
seek the Black Squire_, _and is minded to
depart the City of the Five Crafts_, _and
seek again the Castle of the Quest_
_VI._ _Of the Sundering of Birdalone from Gerard 396
and his Sons_
_VII._ _Birdalone cometh to Greenford_, _and hears 401
of the Wasting of the Castle of the Quest_
_VIII._ _Birdalone cometh to the Castle of the 406
Quest_, _heareth the Tale thereof from
Leonard_, _and departeth thence by the
Sending Boat_
_IX._ _Birdalone findeth the Isle of Nothing 413
greatly bettered_, _and is kindly entreated
there_
_X._ _Of Birdalone’s Flitting from the Isle of 420
Nothing_
_XI._ _Coming to the Isle of Kings Birdalone 422
findeth there a Score and Two of Fair
Damsels who would fain have her Company_
_XII._ _Birdalone cometh again to the Isle of 427
Queens_, _and findeth a Perilous Adventure
therein_
_XIII._ _Coming to the Isle of the Young and the 438
Old_, _Birdalone findeth it peopled with
Children_
_XIV._ _The Sending Boat disappeareth from the 442
Isle of Increase Unsought_, _and Birdalone
seeketh to escape thence by Swimming_
_XV._ _Birdalone lacketh little of Drowning_, 446
_but cometh latterly to the Green Eyot_
_XVI._ _Birdalone findeth her Witch-mistress dead_ 449
_XVII._ _Birdalone layeth to Earth the Body of the 454
Witch_, _and findeth the Sending Boat
broken up_
_XVIII._ _The Wood-mother cometh to Birdalone and 458
heareth her Story_
_XIX._ _Habundia hideth Birdalone’s Nakedness with 463
Faery Raiment_
_XX._ _Birdalone telleth Habundia of her Love for 465
Arthur_, _and getteth from her Promise of
Help therein_
_XXI._ _How the Wood-wife entered the Cot_, _and a 468
Wonder that befell thereon_
_XXII._ _Birdalone wendeth the Wildwood in 472
Fellowship with Habundia_
_XXIII._ _The Wood-wife bringeth Birdalone to the 475
Sight of Arthur in the Wildwood_
_XXIV._ _The Wood-mother changeth her Form to that 485
of a Woman stricken in Years_
_XXV._ _The Wood-wife healeth and tendeth the 489
Black Squire_
_XXVI._ _The Black Squire telleth the Wood-wife of 493
his Doings since Birdalone went from the
Castle of the Quest_
_XXVII._ _Sir Arthur cometh to the House under the 500
Wood_
_XXVIII._ _Fair Days in the House of Love_ 505
_XXIX._ _Those Twain will seek the Wisdom of the 505
Wood-wife_
_XXX._ _They have Speech with Habundia concerning 509
the Green Knight and his Fellows_
_XXXI._ _Habundia cometh with Tidings of those Dear 512
Friends_
_XXXII._ _Of the Fight in the Forest and the Rescue 518
of those Friends from the Men of the Red
Company_
_XXXIII._ _Viridis telleth the Tale of their Seeking_ 525
_The Seventh Part_: _The Days of Returning_
_Chap. I._ _Sir Hugh asketh Birdalone where she would 524
have the Abode of their Fellowship to be_
_II._ _Birdalone taketh Counsel with her 537
Wood-mother concerning the Matter of Sir
Hugh_
_III._ _Of the Journeying through the Forest of 541
Evilshaw unto the Town of Utterhay_
_IV._ _Of the Abiding in Utterhay in Love and 550
Contentment_
THE FIRST PART: OF THE HOUSE OF CAPTIVITY.
CHAPTER I. CATCH AT UTTERHAY.
WHILOM, as tells the tale, was a walled cheaping-town hight Utterhay,
which was builded in a bight of the land a little off the great highway
which went from over the mountains to the sea.
The said town was hard on the borders of a wood, which men held to be
mighty great, or maybe measureless; though few indeed had entered it, and
they that had, brought back tales wild and confused thereof.
Therein was neither highway nor byway, nor wood-reeve nor way-warden;
never came chapman thence into Utterhay; no man of Utterhay was so poor
or so bold that he durst raise the hunt therein; no outlaw durst flee
thereto; no man of God had such trust in the saints that he durst build
him a cell in that wood.
For all men deemed it more than perilous; and some said that there walked
the worst of the dead; othersome that the Goddesses of the Gentiles
haunted there; others again that it was the faery rather, but they full
of malice and guile. But most commonly it was deemed that the devils
swarmed amidst of its thickets, and that wheresoever a man sought to, who
was once environed by it, ever it was the Gate of Hell whereto he came.
And the said wood was called Evilshaw.
Nevertheless the cheaping-town throve not ill; for whatso evil things
haunted Evilshaw, never came they into Utterhay in such guise that men
knew them, neither wotted they of any hurt that they had of the Devils of
Evilshaw.
Now in the said cheaping-town, on a day, it was market and high noon, and
in the market-place was much people thronging; and amidst of them went a
woman, tall, and strong of aspect, of some thirty winters by seeming,
black-haired, hook-nosed and hawk-eyed, not so fair to look on as
masterful and proud. She led a great grey ass betwixt two panniers,
wherein she laded her marketings. But now she had done her chaffer, and
was looking about her as if to note the folk for her disport; but when
she came across a child, whether it were borne in arms or led by its
kinswomen, or were going alone, as were some, she seemed more heedful of
it, and eyed it more closely than aught else.
So she strolled about till she was come to the outskirts of the throng,
and there she happened on a babe of some two winters, which was crawling
about on its hands and knees, with scarce a rag upon its little body.
She watched it, and looked whereto it was going, and saw a woman sitting
on a stone, with none anigh her, her face bowed over her knees as if she
were weary or sorry. Unto her crept the little one, murmuring and merry,
and put its arms about the woman’s legs, and buried its face in the folds
of her gown: she looked up therewith, and showed a face which had once
been full fair, but was now grown bony and haggard, though she were
scarce past five and twenty years. She took the child and strained it to
her bosom, and kissed it, face and hands, and made it great cheer, but
ever woefully. The tall stranger stood looking down on her, and noted
how evilly she was clad, and how she seemed to have nought to do with
that throng of thriving cheapeners, and she smiled somewhat sourly.
At last she spake, and her voice was not so harsh as might have been
looked for from her face: Dame, she said, thou seemest to be less busy
than most folk here; might I crave of thee to tell an alien who has but
some hour to dwell in this good town where she may find her a chamber
wherein to rest and eat a morsel, and be untroubled of ribalds and ill
company? Said the poor-wife: Short shall be my tale; I am over poor to
know of hostelries and ale-houses that I may tell thee aught thereof.
Said the other: Maybe some neighbour of thine would take me in for thy
sake? Said the mother: What neighbours have I since my man died; and I
dying of hunger, and in this town of thrift and abundance?
The leader of the ass was silent a while, then she said: Poor woman! I
begin to have pity on thee; and I tell thee that luck hath come to thee
to-day.
Now the poor-wife had stood up with the babe in her arms and was turning
to go her ways; but the alien put forth a hand to her, and said: Stand a
while and hearken good tidings. And she put her hand to her
girdle-pouch, and drew thereout a good golden piece, a noble, and said:
When I am sitting down in thine house thou wilt have earned this, and
when I take my soles out thereof there will be three more of like
countenance, if I be content with thee meanwhile.
The woman looked on the gold, and tears came into her eyes; but she
laughed and said: Houseroom may I give thee for an hour truly, and
therewithal water of the well, and a mouse’s meal of bread. If thou deem
that worth three nobles, how may I say thee nay, when they may save the
life of my little one. But what else wouldst thou of me? Little enough,
said the alien; so lead me straight to thine house.
So went they forth of the market | 881.77389 |
2023-11-16 18:31:45.8533000 | 193 | 11 |
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TRIALS AND CONFESSIONS OF A HOUSEKEEPER.
BY
T. S. Arthur
PHILADELPHIA:
1859.
INTRODUCTION.
UNDER the title of Confessions of a Housekeeper, a portion of the
matter in this volume has already appeared. The book is now
considerably increased, and the range of subjects made to embrace
the grave and instructive, as well as the agreeable and amusing. The
author is sure, that no lady reader, familiar with the trials,
perplexities, and incidents of housekeeping, can fail to recognize
many of her own experiences, for nearly every picture that is here
presented, has been drawn from life.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. MY SPECULATION IN CHINA WARE.
II. SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS.
| 881.87334 |
2023-11-16 18:31:45.8544490 | 19 | 6 |
Produced by Peter Vachuska, Pat McCoy, Stephen Hope and
the | 881.874489 |
2023-11-16 18:31:45.9531160 | 229 | 9 | MAGICAL MONARCH OF MO AND HIS PEOPLE***
E-text prepared by Michael Gray ([email protected])
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 16259-h.htm or 16259-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/2/5/16259/16259-h/16259-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/2/5/16259/16259-h.zip)
THE SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF THE MAGICAL MONARCH OF MO AND HIS PEOPLE
by
L. FRANK BAUM
With pictures by Frank Ver Beck
1903
To the Comrade of my
boyhood days
Dr. Henry Clay Baum
TO THE READER
This book has been written for children. I have no shame in
acknowledging that I, who wrote it, am also a child; for since I can
remember my eyes have always grown big at tales of the marvelous | 881.973156 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE.
Works of
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
The Little Colonel Series
(_Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of._)
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel Stories $1.50
(Containing in one volume the three
stories, "The Little Colonel," "The
Giant Scissors," and "Two Little
Knights of Kentucky.")
The Little Colonel's House Party 1.50
The Little Colonel's Holidays 1.50
The Little Colonel's Hero 1.50
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 1.50
The Little Colonel in Arizona 1.50
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 1.50
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor 1.50
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding 1.50
Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum 1.50
Mary Ware in Texas 1.50
Mary Ware's Promised Land 1.50
The above 12 vols., _boxed_, as a set 18.00
* * * * *
The Little Colonel Good Times Book 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book--First Series 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book--Second Series 1.50
Illustrated Holiday Editions
Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in color
The Little Colonel $1.25
The Giant Scissors 1.25
Two Little Knights of Kentucky 1.25
Big Brother 1.25
Cosy Corner Series
Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel $.50
The Giant Scissors .50
Two Little Knights of Kentucky .50
Big Brother .50
Ole Mammy's Torment .50
The Story of <DW55> .50
Cicely .50
Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50
The Quilt that Jack Built .50
Flip's "Islands of Providence" .50
Mildred's Inheritance .50
Other Books
Joel: A Boy of Galilee $1.50
In the Desert of Waiting Net.50
The Three Weavers Net.50
Keeping Tryst Net.50
The Legend of the Bleeding Heart Net.50
The Rescue of the Princess Winsome Net.50
The Jester's Sword Net.50
Asa Holmes 1.00
Travelers Five Along Life's Highway 1.25
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: "'THEN TAKE YOURSELF OUT OF MY SIGHT FOR EVER'"
(_See page 96_)]
_NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION_
JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE
By
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
Author of "The Little Colonel Series," "Big Brother,"
"Ole Mammy's Torment," "Asa Holmes," etc.
With Pictures by L. J. BRIDGMAN
[Illustration]
BOSTON
THE PAGE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1895_
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS
_Copyright, 1904_
BY THE PAGE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Eleventh Impression, October, 1910
Twelfth Impression, March, 1915
Thirteenth Impression, March, 1918
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE
IN this volume, it has been the purpose of the author to present to
children, through "Joel," as accurate a picture of the times of the
Christ as has been given to older readers through "Ben Hur." With this
in view, the customs of the private and public life of the Jews, the
temple service with its sacerdotal rites, and the minute observances of
the numerous holidays have been studied so carefully that the
descriptions have passed the test of the most critical inspection. An
eminent rabbi pronounces them correct in every detail.
While the story is that of an ordinary boy, living among shepherds and
fishermen, it touches at every point the gospel narrative, making Joel,
in a natural and interesting way, a witness to the miracles, the death,
and the resurrection of the Nazarene.
It was with the deepest reverence that the task was undertaken, and the
fact that the little book is accomplishing its mission is evinced not
only by the approval accorded its first editions by so many, from Bible
students to bishops, but by the boys and girls here and in distant
lands.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"'THEN TAKE YOURSELF OUT OF MY SIGHT FOR
EVER'" (_See page 96_) _Frontispiece_
"HE LOOKED DOWN AT PHINEAS, AND SMILED
BLISSFULLY" 34
"'I PEEPED OUT 'TWEEN 'E WOSE-VINES'" 82
"NOT A WORD WAS SAID" 104
"'WE TALKED LATE'" 139
"'YOU BUT MOCK ME, BOY'" 184
"A DARK FIGURE WENT SKULKING OUT INTO THE
NIGHT" 203
"'THE STONE IS GONE!'" 233
JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE.
CHAPTER I.
IT was market day in Capernaum. Country people were coming in from the
little villages among the hills of Galilee, with fresh butter and eggs.
Fishermen held out great strings of shining perch and carp, just dipped
up from the lake beside the town. Vine-dressers piled their baskets with
tempting grapes, and boys lazily brushed the flies from the dishes of
wild honey, that they had gone into the country before day-break to
find.
A ten-year-old girl pushed her way through the crowded market-place,
carrying her baby brother in her arms, and scolding another child, who
clung to her skirts.
"Hurry, you little snail!" she said to him. "There's a camel caravan
just stopped by the custom-house. Make haste, if you want to see it!"
Their bare feet picked their way quickly over the stones, down to the
hot sand of the lake shore. The children crept close to the shaggy
camels, curious to see what they carried in their huge packs. But before
they were made to kneel, so that the custom-house officials could
examine the loads, the boy gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Look, Jerusha! Look!" he cried, tugging at her skirts. "What's that?"
Farther down the line, came several men carrying litters. On each one
was a man badly wounded, judging by the many bandages that wrapped him.
Jerusha pushed ahead to hear what had happened. One of the drivers was
telling a tax-gatherer.
"In that last rocky gorge after leaving Samaria," said the man, "we were
set upon by robbers. They swarmed down the cliffs, and fought as
fiercely as eagles. These men, who were going on ahead, had much gold
with them. They lost it all, and might have been killed, if we had not
come up behind in such numbers. That poor fellow there can hardly live,
I think, he was beaten so badly."
The children edged up closer to the motionless form on the litter. It
was badly bruised and blood-stained, and looked already lifeless.
"Let's go, Jerusha," whispered the boy, whimpering and pulling at her | 881.975961 |
2023-11-16 18:31:46.0947700 | 107 | 15 |
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[Illustration: FRANK READE WEEKLY MAGAZINE Containing Stories of
Adventures on Land, Sea & in the Air]
_Issued Weekly—By Subscription $2.50 per year. Application
made for Second-Class Entry at N. Y. Post-Office._
| 882.11481 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.1341810 | 2,711 | 82 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
"Entered according to Act of the Provincial Legislature, for the
Protection of Copy-rights, in the year one thousand eight hundred and
fifty-six, by P. SINCLAIR, Quebec, in the Office of the Registrar of
the Province of Canada."
THE RISE
OF
CANADA,
FROM
BARBARISM
TO
WEALTH AND CIVILISATION.
BY
CHARLES ROGER,
QUEBEC.
Una manus calamum teneat, manus altera ferrum,
Sic sis nominibus dignus utrinque tuis.
VOLUME I.
QUEBEC: PETER SINCLAIR.
Montreal, H. Ramsay and B. Dawson; Toronto, A. H. Armour & Co.; London,
C. W., Andrews & Coombe; Port Hope, James Ainsley; New York, H. Long &
Brothers, D. Appleton & Co., J. C. Francis; Boston, Little & Brown;
Philadelphia, Lindsay & Blakiston; London, Trubner & Co.
1856.
ST. MICHEL & DARVEAU, JOB PRINTERS,
No. 3, Mountain Street.
TO
JOSEPH MORRIN, ESQUIRE, M. D.,
MAYOR OF QUEBEC,
This Volume
IS DEDICATED, AS THE ONLY MONUMENT, WHICH CAN BE RAISED
TO ACKNOWLEDGED WORTH,
BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL
FRIEND AND SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
Quebec, December, 1855.
INDEX.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
Canada Discovered 4
Cartier's Arrival in the St. Lawrence 5
Commencement of the Fur Trade 6
Quebec Founded 7
Exploration of the Ottawa 8
The Cold--Lake Huron 9
Sixty White Inhabitants 10
The First Franco-Canadian 11
The Colonists Dissatisfied 12
The Hundred Associates 13
Quebec Surrendered to the English 14
The Restoration--Death of Champlain 15
The Massacre at Sillery 16
The Effect of Rum upon the Iroquois 17
Arrival of Troops--A Moon-Light Flitting 18
Swearing and Blasphemy--The Earthquake 19
The Physical Features of the Country 20
The First Governor and Council 21
First Settlement of old Soldiers 22
The Canada Company 23
Kingston Founded 24
The Small Pox--De Frontenac--Sale of Spirits 25
Marquette--Jollyet--The Sieur La Salle 26
The First Vessel Built in Canada 27
Voyage of the Cataraqui--Tempest on Lake Erie 28
Mouths of the Mississippi--Murder of La Salle 29
Indian Difficulties--Fort Niagara 30
Deception and its Results 31
Massacre of Schenectady 32
Education--Witchcraft 33
Port Royal reduced by Phipps 34
De Frontenac's Penobscot Expedition 35
Trade--War--Population 36
New England Expedition to Canada 37
Gen. Nicholson--Peace of Utrecht 38
Social Condition and Progress 39
Louisbourg--Shirley's Expedition 40
Siege of Louisbourg 41
Surrender of Louisbourg 42
A French Fleet Intercepted 43
The New Englanders' Convention 44
Surprise and Defeat of Braddock 45
Avariciousness of Bigot 46
Capture of Oswego by Montcalm 47
Incompetent Generals--Change of Ministry 48
Abercrombie's attack on Ticonderoga 49
Surrender of Fort Frontenac 50
Wolfe's Invasion 51
The Repulse at Montmorenci 52
The Battle of Quebec 53
Death of Wolfe 54
Death of Montcalm 55
Canada ceded to England 56
Canada and New England 57
Quebec Act--Taxation without Representation 58
CHAPTER II.
Representation in the Imperial Parliament 59
Montgomery's Invasion 60
Arnold--Montgomery--Allen 61
The American Siege--Death of Montgomery 62
Independence Refused by the Catholic Clergy 63
The American Siege Raised 64
Independence--Defeat of Baum 65
The Surrender of Burgoyne 66
Western Canada divided into Districts 67
Divisions of the Province of Quebec 68
Lord Dorchester 69
Governor-General Prescott 70
Governor Milnes 71
The Royal Institution Founded 72
Cultivation of Hemp--Land Jobbing 73
The Lachine Canal--The Gaols Act 74
Trinity Houses Established--An Antagonism 75
Mr. Dunn, Administrator 76
Upper Canada--The Separation Act 77
Debate on the Separation Act 78
Mr. Fox's Speech 79
Mr. Chancellor Pitt's Speech 81
Mr. Burke's Speech 82
Governor Simcoe and his Parliament 83
Parliamentary Proceedings 84
Simcoe's Character 85
London Founded--Simcoe's Prejudices 86
Selection of a Seat of Government 87
Simcoe and the Hon. John Young 88
The Newark Spectator 89
First Parliament of Upper Canada 90
The Hon. Peter Russell 91
General Hunter, Governor 92
Hunter--New Ports of Entry 93
Collectors of Customs appointed 94
Parliamentary Business 95
Grant and Gore 96
Lower Canada--Importance of Parliament 97
Parliament Libelled 98
The Honorable Herman Ryland 99
Mr. Ryland's hatred of Papacy 100
Romanism seriously threatened 101
No Roman Catholic Bishop of Quebec 102
Mr. Plessis and Mr. Att'y. Gen'l.--Explanation 103
A New Bishop Made--Ryland Angry 104
Churches and Education 105
Lord Bishop Strachan 106
The Church of England 107
The Dissenters and Episcopacy 108
Gift of L20,000 to the King--Spencer Wood, &c. 109
Garrison Pipeclay--the Habitants 110
A Provincial Agent in London 111
A Speck of War 112
The Chesapeake Difficulty Settled 113
Feeling in the United States 114
War Preparations in Canada 115
Upper Canada--The Parliament 116
Governor General Sir James Craig 117
Ryland's Love for the New Governor 118
Services of Sir James Craig 119
Meeting of Parliament 120
The Judges in Parliament 121
Expulsion of Mr. Hart 122
Prorogation of Parliament 123
Mr. Parent and "The Canadien" 124
Dismissals from the Militia 125
Mr. Panet re-elected Speaker 126
The War--The Judges--Mr. Hart 127
Parliament Angrily Dissolved 128
French Hatred of the British Officials 129
Craig's Opinion of the French Canadians 130
Composition of the Assembly 131
Vilification of the "Gens en Place" 132
The Martello Towers 133
The First Steamboat on the St. Lawrence 134
Death of Washington 135
No Liberty of Discussion in the United States 136
President Burr's Conspiracy 137
Madison--Erskine--and Jackson 138
Washington Diplomacy--A new Parliament 139
The Speech from the Throne 140
The Address in Reply 141
The Civil List 142
Civil List Resolutions 143
The Resolutions Premature 144
Mr. Justice De Bonne 145
An Antagonism--Parliament Dissolved 146
Rumors of Rebellion 147
Seizure of the "Canadien" 148
Sir James' upon Obnoxious Writings 149
A Proclamation 150
A Warning 151
Misgovernment of the Country 152
An Apology for Misgovernment 153
The Red-Tapist and the Colonist 154
Arrogance of the Officials 155
The Craig Road completed 156
Meeting of a New Parliament 157
Mr. Bedard, M.P., in prison 158
Why Mr. Bedard was not liberated 159
Disqualification of the Judges 160
Departure of Sir James Craig 161
Mr. Peel on Canadian Affairs 162
Mr. Peel--Sir Vicary Gibbs 163
Legislation in Upper Canada 164
Brocke--Prevost--The "Little Belt" 165
CHAPTER III.
Sir George Prevost 166
Opening of Parliament 167
Embodiment of the Militia 168
Declaration of War by the United States 169
The Henry Plot 170
Henry's Treachery 171
The American Minority's Fears 172
United States unprepared for War 173
The Feeling in Canada 174
Army Bills--Prorogation of Parliament 175
The Ste. Claire Riot 176
The Commencement of Hostilities 177
Surrender of Michillimackinac 178
General Hull.--Proclamation--Amherstburgh 179
Offensive operations by the British 180
The Battle of Maguago 181
Bombardment of Detroit 182
Surrender of General Hull 183
Hull in Montreal--His Excuse 184
Surrender of H.M.S. "Guerriere"--The Fight 185
The "Guerriere" a wreck 186
Abandonment of the "Guerriere" 187
The Northern States clamorous for peace 188
The Battle of Queenston--Death of Brocke 189
The Victory--The Burial of Brocke 190
The "President" and "Belvidera" 191
The "Frolic" and the "Wasp" 192
The "Macedonian" and "United States" 193
The Lords of the Admiralty 194
The "Constitution" and the "Java" 195
Capture of the "Java"--Spirit of "The Times" 196
Generals Sheaffe and Smyth 197
The Fleets on the Lakes 198
De Salaberry--Lacolle 199
Dearborn's Retreat 200
Smyth's Attempt at Erie 201
Meeting of the Lower Canadian Parliament 202
The Prevalent Feeling--Mr. Jas. Stuart 203
Proceedings of Parliament 204
Mr. Ryland on the Press 205
The "Mercury" upon Mr. Stuart 206
Opening of the next Campaign 207
| 885.154221 |
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Produced by Robert Cicconetti and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Italics have been transcribed using _underscores_, small capitals as ALL
CAPITALS. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have not been
corrected. Punctuation has been silently corrected. A list of other
corrections can be found at the end of the document.
THE MYSTERY OF CHOICE
BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
AUTHOR OF THE KING IN YELLOW, THE RED REPUBLIC, A KING AND A FEW DUKES,
THE MAKER OF MOONS, ETC.
NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.
_DEDICATION._
_There is a maid, demure as she is wise,
With all of April in her winsome eyes,
And to my tales she listens pensively,
With slender fingers clasped about her knee,
Watching the sparrows on the balcony._
_Shy eyes that, lifted up to me,
Free all my heart of vanity;
Clear eyes, that speak all silently,
Sweet as the silence of a nunnery--
Read, for I write my rede for you alone,
Here where the city's mighty monotone
Deepens the silence to a symphony--
Silence of Saints, and Seers, and Sorcery._
_Arms and the Man! A noble theme, I ween!
Alas! I can not sing of these, Eileen--
Only of maids and men and meadow-grass,
Of sea and fields and woodlands, where I pass;
Nothing but these I know, Eileen, alas!_
_Clear eyes that, lifted up to me,
Free all my soul from vanity;
Gray eyes, that speak all wistfully--
Nothing but these I know, alas!_
_R. W. C._
_April, 1896._
INTRODUCTION.
_I._
_Where two fair paths, deep flowered
And leaf-embowered,
Creep East and West across a World concealed,
Which shall he take who journeys far afield?_
_II._
_Canst thou then say, "I go,"
Or "I forego"?
What turns thee East or West, as thistles blow?
Is fair more fair than fair--and dost thou know?_
_III._
_Turn to the West, unblessed
And uncaressed;
Turn to the East, and, seated at the Feast
Thou shalt find Life, or Death from Life released._
_IV._
_And thou who lovest best
A maid dark-tressed,
And passest others by with careless eye,
Canst thou tell why thou choosest? Tell, then; why?_
_V._
_So when thy kiss is given
Or half-forgiven,
Why should she tremble, with her face flame-hot,
Or laugh and whisper, "Love, I tremble not"?_
_VI._
_Or when thy hand may catch
A half-drawn latch,
What draws thee from the door, to turn and pass
Through streets unknown, dim, still, and choked with grass?_
_VII._
_What! Canst thou not foresee
The Mystery?
Heed! For a Voice commands thy every deed!
And it hath sounded. And thou needs must heed!_
_R. W. C._
_1896._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE PURPLE EMPEROR 1
POMPE FUNEBRE 39
THE MESSENGER 47
THE WHITE SHADOW 109
PASSEUR 175
THE KEY TO GRIEF 185
A MATTER OF INTEREST 213
ENVOI 283
THE PURPLE EMPEROR.
THE PURPLE EMPEROR.
Un souvenir heureux est peut-etre, sur terre,
Plus vrai que le bonheur.
A. DE MUSSET.
I.
The Purple Emperor watched me in silence. I cast again, spinning out
six feet more of waterproof silk, and, as the line hissed through the
air far across the pool, I saw my three flies fall on the water like
drifting thistledown. The Purple Emperor sneered.
"You see," he said, "I am right. There is not a trout in Brittany that
will rise to a tailed fly."
"They do in America," I replied.
"Zut! for America!" observed the Purple Emperor.
"And trout take a tailed fly in England," I insisted sharply.
"Now do I care what things or people do in England?" demanded the
Purple Emperor.
"You don't care for anything except yourself and your wriggling
caterpillars," I said, more annoyed than I had yet been.
The Purple Emperor sniffed. His broad, hairless, sunburnt features bore
that obstinate expression which always irritated me. Perhaps the manner
in which he wore his hat intensified the irritation, for the flapping
brim rested on both ears, | 885.154305 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.1370310 | 1,090 | 6 | HISTORIANS, VOLUME 5***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Gwidon Naskrent, David King, and the
Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE GREAT EVENTS
BY
FAMOUS HISTORIANS
A COMPREHENSIVE AND READABLE ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD'S HISTORY. EMPHASIZING
THE MORE IMPORTANT EVENTS, AND PRESENTING THESE AS COMPLETE NARRATIVES
IN THE MASTER-WORDS OF THE MOST EMINENT HISTORIANS
NON-SECTARIAN NON-PARTISAN NON-SECTIONAL
ON THE PLAN EVOLVED FROM A CONSENSUS OF OPINIONS GATHERED FROM THE MOST
DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS OF AMERICA AND EUROPE. INCLUDING BRIEF
INTRODUCTIONS BY SPECIALISTS TO CONNECT AND EXPLAIN THE CELEBRATED
NARRATIVES. ARRANGED CHRONOLOGICALLY. WITH THOROUGH INDICES,
BIBLIOGRAPHIES. CHRONOLOGIES, AND COURSES OF READING
SUPERVISING EDITOR
ROSSITER JOHNSON, LL.D.
LITERARY EDITORS
CHARLES F. HORNE, Ph.D.
JOHN RUDD, LL.D.
DIRECTING EDITOR
WALTER F. AUSTIN, LL.M.
With a staff of specialists
CONTENTS
VOLUME V
An Outline Narrative of the Great Events
CHARLES F. HORNE
Feudalism: Its Frankish Birth and English Development
(9th to 12th Century)
WILLIAM STUBBS
Decay of the Frankish Empire
Division into Modern France, Germany, and Italy
(A.D. 843-911)
FRANCOIS P. G. GUIZOT
Career of Alfred the Great (A.D. 871-901)
THOMAS HUGHES
JOHN R. GREEN
Henry the Fowler Founds the Saxon Line of German Kings
Origin of the German Burghers or Middle Classes (A.D. 911-936)
WOLFGANG MENZEL
Conquest of Egypt by the Fatimites (A.D. 969)
STANLEY LANE-POOLE
Growth and Decadence of Chivalry (10th to 15th Century)
LEON GAUTIER
Conversion of Vladimir the Great
Introduction of Christianity into Russia (A.D. 988-1015)
A. N. MOURAVIEFF
Leif Ericson Discovers America (A.D. 1000)
CHARLES C. RAFN
SAGA OF ERIC THE RED
Mahometans In India
Bloody Invasions under Mahmud (A.D. 1000)
ALEXANDER DOW
Canute Becomes King of England (A.D. 1017)
DAVID HUME
Henry III Deposes the Popes (A.D. 1048)
The German Empire Controls the Papacy
FERDINAND GREGOROVIUS
JOSEPH DARRAS
Dissension and Separation of the Greek and Roman
Churches (A.D. 1054)
HENRY F. TOZER
JOSEPH DEHARBE
Norman Conquest of England
Battle of Hastings (A.D. 1066)
SIR EDWARD S. CREASY
Triumphs of Hildebrand
"The Turning-point of the Middle Ages"
Henry IV Begs for Mercy at Canossa (A.D. 1073-1085)
ARTHUR R. PENNINGTON
ARTAUD DE MONTOR
Completion of the Domesday Book (A.D. 1086)
CHARLES KNIGHT
Decline of the Moorish Power in Spain
Growth and Decay of the Almoravide and Almohade
Dynasties (A.D. 1086-1214)
S.A. DUNHAM
The First Crusade (A.D. 1096-1099)
SIR GEORGE W. COX
Foundation of the Order of Knights Templars (A.D. 1118)
CHARLES G. ADDISON
Stephen Usurps the English Crown
His Conflicts with Matilda
Decisive Influence of the Church (A.D. 1135-1154)
CHARLES KNIGHT
Antipapal Democratic Movement
Arnold of Brescia
St. Bernard and the Second Crusade (A.D. 1145-1155)
JOHANN A. W. NEANDER
Decline of the Byzantine Empire
Ravages of Roger of Sicily (A.D. 1146)
GEORGE FINLAY
Universal Chronology (A.D. 843-1161)
JOHN RUDD
AN OUTLINE NARRATIVE
TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS, AND CONSEQUENCES OF
THE GREAT EVENTS
(FROM CHARLEMAGNE TO FREDERICK BARBAROSSA)
CHARLES F. HORNE
The three centuries which follow the downfall of the empire of
Charlemagne laid the foundations of modern Europe, and made of | 885.157071 |
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| Inconsistent and missing punctuation have been corrected |
| without comment. |
| |
| The 'oe' and 'ae' ligatures have been changed to 'oe' and |
| 'ae'. |
| |
| Obvious spelling mistakes have been corrected. A list of |
| corrections from the original is included at the end of |
| the book |
| |
| Text enclosed between equal signs was in bold face in the |
| original (=bold=). |
| |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
WHEN GHOST MEETS GHOST
+------------------------------------------------------------- +
| BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| |
| JOSEPH VANCE |
| |
| An intensely human and humorous novel of life near London in |
| the '50s. $1.75. |
| |
| ALICE-FOR-SHORT |
| |
| The story of a London waif, a friendly artist, | 885.254219 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.4814430 | 16 | 76 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: | 885.501483 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.7343560 | 1,952 | 8 |
CLOTELLE: A TALE OF THE SOUTHERN STATES
by
William Wells Brown
CONTENTS
I THE SLAVE'S SOCIAL CIRCLE.
II THE <DW64> SALE.
III THE SLAVE SPECULATOR.
IV THE BOAT-RACE.
V THE YOUNG MOTHER.
VI THE SLAVE-MARKET.
VII THE SLAVE-HOLDING PARSON.
VIII A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN.
IX THE MAN OF HONOR.
X THE QUADROON'S HOME
XI TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE
XII THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
XIII A HARD-HEARTED WOMAN.
XIV THE PRISON.
XV THE ARREST.
XVI DEATH IS FREEDOM.
XVII CLOTELLE.
XVIII A SLAVE-HUNTING PARSON.
XIX THE TRUE HEROINE.
XX THE HERO OF MANY ADVENTURES.
XXI SELF-SACRIFICE.
XXII LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
XXIII MEETING OF THE COUSINS.
XXIV THE LAW AND ITS VICTIM.
XXV THE FLIGHT.
XXVI THE HERO OF A NIGHT.
XXVII TRUE FREEDOM.
XXVIII FAREWELL TO AMERICA.
XXIX A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND.
XXX NEW FRIENDS.
XXXI THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING.
XXXII THE HAPPY MEETING.
XXXIII THE HAPPY DAY.
XXXIV CLOTELLE MEETS HER FATHER.
XXXV THE FATHER'S RESOLVE.
CHAPTER I
THE SLAVE'S SOCIAL CIRCLE.
With the growing population in the Southern States, the increase of
mulattoes has been very great. Society does not frown upon the man who
sits with his half-white child upon his knee whilst the mother stands,
a slave, behind his chair. In nearly all the cities and towns of the
Slave States, the real <DW64>, or clear black, does not amount to more
than one in four of the slave population. This fact is of itself the
best evidence of the degraded and immoral condition of the relation of
master and slave. Throughout the Southern States, there is a class of
slaves who, in most of the towns, are permitted to hire their time from
their owners, and who are always expected to pay a high price. This
class is the mulatto women, distinguished for their fascinating beauty.
The handsomest of these usually pay the greatest amount for their time.
Many of these women are the favorites of men of property and standing,
who furnish them with the means of compensating their owners, and not a
few are dressed in the most extravagant manner.
When we take into consideration the fact that no safeguard is thrown
around virtue, and no inducement held out to slave-women to be pure and
chaste, we will not be surprised when told that immorality and vice
pervade the cities and towns of the South to an extent unknown in the
Northern States. Indeed, many of the slave-women have no higher
aspiration than that of becoming the finely-dressed mistress of some
white man. At <DW64> balls and parties, this class of women usually make
the most splendid appearance, and are eagerly sought after in the
dance, or to entertain in the drawing-room or at the table.
A few years ago, among the many slave-women in Richmond, Virginia, who
hired their time of their masters, was Agnes, a mulatto owned by John
Graves, Esq., and who might be heard boasting that she was the
daughter of an American Senator. Although nearly forty years of age at
the time of which we write, Agnes was still exceedingly handsome. More
than half white, with long black hair and deep blue eyes, no one felt
like disputing with her when she urged her claim to her relationship
with the Anglo-Saxon.
In her younger days, Agnes had been a housekeeper for a young
slaveholder, and in sustaining this relation had become the mother of
two daughters. After being cast aside by this young man, the
slave-woman betook herself to the business of a laundress, and was
considered to be the most tasteful woman in Richmond at her vocation.
Isabella and Marion, the two daughters of Agnes, resided with their
mother, and gave her what aid they could in her business. The mother,
however, was very choice of her daughters, and would allow them to
perform no labor that would militate against their lady-like
appearance. Agnes early resolved to bring up her daughters as ladies,
as she termed it.
As the girls grew older, the mother had to pay a stipulated price for
them per month. Her notoriety as a laundress of the first class enabled
her to put an extra charge upon the linen that passed through her
hands; and although she imposed little or no work upon her daughters,
she was enabled to live in comparative luxury and have her daughters
dressed to attract attention, especially at the <DW64> balls and parties.
Although the term "<DW64> ball" is applied to these gatherings, yet a
large portion of the men who attend them are whites. <DW64> balls and
parties in the Southern States, especially in the cities and towns, are
usually made up of quadroon women, a few <DW64> men, and any number of
white gentlemen. These are gatherings of the most democratic character.
Bankers, merchants, lawyers, doctors, and their clerks and students,
all take part in these social assemblies upon terms of perfect
equality. The father and son not unfrequently meet and dance alike at a
<DW64> ball.
It was at one of these parties that Henry Linwood, the son of a wealthy
and retired gentleman of Richmond, was first introduced to Isabella,
the oldest daughter of Agnes. The young man had just returned from
Harvard College, where he had spent the previous five years. Isabella
was in her eighteenth year, and was admitted by all who knew her to be
the handsomest girl, or white, in the city. On this occasion,
she was attired in a sky-blue silk dress, with deep black lace
flounces, and bertha of the same. On her well-moulded arms she wore
massive gold bracelets, while her rich black hair was arranged at the
back in broad basket plaits, ornamented with pearls, and the front in
the French style (a la Imperatrice), which suited her classic face to
perfection.
Marion was scarcely less richly dressed than her sister.
Henry Linwood paid great attention to Isabella which was looked upon
with gratification by her mother, and became a matter of general
conversation with all present. Of course, the young man escorted the
beautiful quadroon home that evening, and became the favorite visitor
at the house of Agnes. It was on a beautiful moonlight night in the
month of August when all who reside in tropical climates are eagerly
grasping for a breath of fresh air, that Henry Linwood was in the
garden which surrounded Agnes' cottage, with the young quadroon by his
side. He drew from his pocket a newspaper wet from the press, and read
the following advertisement:--
NOTICE.--Seventy-nine <DW64>s will be offered for sale on Monday,
September 10, at 12 o'clock, being the entire stock of the late John
Graves in an excellent condition, and all warranted against the common
vices. Among them are several mechanics, able-bodied field-hands,
plough-boys, and women with children, some of them very prolific,
affording a rare opportunity for any one who wishes to raise a strong
and healthy lot of servants for their own use. Also several mulatto
girls of rare personal qualities,--two of these very superior.
Among the above slaves advertised for sale were Agnes and her two
daughters. Ere young Linwood left the quadroon that evening, he
promised her that he would become her purchaser, and make her free and
her own mistress.
Mr. Graves had long been considered not only an excellent and upright
citizen of the first standing among the whites, but even the slaves
regarded him as one of the kindest of masters. Having inherited his
slaves with the rest of his property, he became possessed of them
without any consultation or wish of his own. He would neither buy nor
sell slaves, and was exceedingly careful, in letting them out, that
they did not find oppressive and tyrannical masters. No slave
speculator ever dared to cross the threshold of this planter of the Old
Dominion. He was a constant attendant upon religious worship, and was
noted for his general bene | 885.754396 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.9353350 | 3,344 | 16 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel, 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:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
[Illustration: Rudyard Kipling]
[Illustration]
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
[Illustration]
DECORATED BY
JOHN LOCKWOOD KIPLING, C.I.E.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1906
Copyright, 1895, by THE CENTURY CO.
How Fear Came, The Law of the Jungle;
The Miracle of Purun Bhagat, a Song of Kabir;
The Undertakers, a Ripple-song.
Copyright, 1894, by Bacheller, Johnson & Bacheller.
Quiquern, "Angutivun tina."
Copyright, 1895, by Irving Bacheller.
The Spring Running, The Outsong.
Copyright, 1895, by John Brisben Walker.
Letting in the Jungle, Mowgli's Song Against People.
Copyright, 1894, by Rudyard Kipling.
Red Dog, Chil's Song.
Copyright, 1895, by Rudyard Kipling.
The King's Ankus, The Song of the Little Hunter.
Copyright, 1895, by The Century Co.
THE DE VINNE PRESS.
"_Now these are the Laws of the Jungle,
and many and mighty are they;
But the head and the hoof of the Law
and the haunch and the hump is--Obey!_"
CONTENTS
PAGE
HOW FEAR CAME 1
THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE 29
THE MIRACLE OF PURUN BHAGAT 33
A SONG OF KABIR 61
LETTING IN THE JUNGLE 63
MOWGLI'S SONG AGAINST PEOPLE 112
THE UNDERTAKERS 115
A RIPPLE-SONG 155
THE KING'S ANKUS 157
THE SONG OF THE LITTLE HUNTER 191
QUIQUERN 193
"ANGUTIVUN TINA" 234
RED DOG 237
CHIL'S SONG 281
THE SPRING RUNNING 283
THE OUTSONG 321
THE
SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
The stream is shrunk--the pool is dry,
And we be comrades, thou and I;
With fevered jowl and sunken flank
Each jostling each along the bank;
And, by one drouthy fear made still,
Foregoing thought of quest or kill.
Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see
The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he,
And the tall buck, unflinching, note
The fangs that tore his father's throat.
_The pools are shrunk--the streams are dry,
And we be playmates, thou and I,
Till yonder cloud--Good Hunting!--loose
The rain that breaks the Water Truce._
[Illustration]
HOW FEAR CAME
The Law of the Jungle--which is by far the oldest law in the
world--has arranged for almost every kind of accident that may befall
the Jungle People, till now its code is as perfect as time and custom
can make it. If you have read the other book about Mowgli, you will
remember that he spent a great part of his life in the Seeonee
Wolf-Pack, learning the Law from Baloo, the Brown Bear; and it was
Baloo who told him, when the boy grew impatient at the constant
orders, that the Law was like the Giant Creeper, because it dropped
across every one's back and no one could escape. "When thou hast lived
as long as I have, Little Brother, thou wilt see how all the Jungle
obeys at least one Law. And that will be no pleasant sight," said
Baloo.
This talk went in at one ear and out at the other, for a boy who
spends his life eating and sleeping does not worry about anything till
it actually stares him in the face. But, one year, Baloo's words came
true, and Mowgli saw all the Jungle working under the Law.
It began when the winter Rains failed almost entirely, and Ikki, the
Porcupine, meeting Mowgli in a bamboo-thicket, told him that the wild
yams were drying up. Now everybody knows that Ikki is ridiculously
fastidious in his choice of food, and will eat nothing but the very
best and ripest. So Mowgli laughed and said, "What is that to me?"
"Not much _now_," said Ikki, rattling his quills in a stiff,
uncomfortable way, "but later we shall see. Is there any more diving
into the deep rock-pool below the Bee-Rocks, Little Brother?"
"No. The foolish water is going all away, and I do not wish to break
my head," said Mowgli, who, in those days, was quite sure that he
knew as much as any five of the Jungle People put together.
"That is thy loss. A small crack might let in some wisdom." Ikki
ducked quickly to prevent Mowgli from pulling his nose-bristles, and
Mowgli told Baloo what Ikki had said. Baloo looked very grave, and
mumbled half to himself: "If I were alone I would change my
hunting-grounds now, before the others began to think. And
yet--hunting among strangers ends in fighting; and they might hurt the
Man-cub. We must wait and see how the _mohwa_ blooms."
That spring the _mohwa_ tree, that Baloo was so fond of, never
flowered. The greeny, cream-, waxy blossoms were heat-killed
before they were born, and only a few bad-smelling petals came down
when he stood on his hind legs and shook the tree. Then, inch by inch,
the untempered heat crept into the heart of the Jungle, turning it
yellow, brown, and at last black. The green growths in the sides of
the ravines burned up to broken wires and curled films of dead stuff;
the hidden pools sank down and caked over, keeping the last least
footmark on their edges as if it had been cast in iron; the
juicy-stemmed creepers fell away from the trees they clung to and died
at their feet; the bamboos withered, clanking when the hot winds
blew, and the moss peeled off the rocks deep in the Jungle, till they
were as bare and as hot as the quivering blue boulders in the bed of
the stream.
The birds and the monkey-people went north early in the year, for they
knew what was coming; and the deer and the wild pig broke far away to
the perished fields of the villages, dying sometimes before the eyes
of men too weak to kill them. Chil, the Kite, stayed and grew fat, for
there was a great deal of carrion, and evening after evening he
brought the news to the beasts, too weak to force their way to fresh
hunting-grounds, that the sun was killing the Jungle for three days'
flight in every direction.
Mowgli, who had never known what real hunger meant, fell back on stale
honey, three years old, scraped out of deserted rock-hives--honey
black as a sloe, and dusty with dried sugar. He hunted, too, for
deep-boring grubs under the bark of the trees, and robbed the wasps of
their new broods. All the game in the Jungle was no more than skin and
bone, and Bagheera could kill thrice in a night, and hardly get a full
meal. But the want of water was the worst, for though the Jungle
People drink seldom they must drink deep.
And the heat went on and on, and sucked up all the moisture, till at
last the main channel of the Waingunga was the only stream that
carried a trickle of water between its dead banks; and when Hathi, the
wild elephant, who lives for a hundred years and more, saw a long,
lean blue ridge of rock show dry in the very center of the stream, he
knew that he was looking at the Peace Rock, and then and there he
lifted up his trunk and proclaimed the Water Truce, as his father
before him had proclaimed it fifty years ago. The deer, wild pig, and
buffalo took up the cry hoarsely; and Chil, the Kite, flew in great
circles far and wide, whistling and shrieking the warning.
By the Law of the Jungle it is death to kill at the drinking-places
when once the Water Truce has been declared. The reason of this is
that drinking comes before eating. Every one in the Jungle can
scramble along somehow when only game is scarce; but water is water,
and when there is but one source of supply, all hunting stops while
the Jungle People go there for their needs. In good seasons, when
water was plentiful, those who came down to drink at the Waingunga--or
anywhere else, for that matter--did so at the risk of their lives, and
that risk made no small part of the fascination of the night's doings.
To move down so cunningly that never a leaf stirred; to wade
knee-deep in the roaring shallows that drown all noise from behind; to
drink, looking backward over one shoulder, every muscle ready for the
first desperate bound of keen terror; to roll on the sandy margin, and
return, wet-muzzled and well plumped out, to the admiring herd, was a
thing that all tall-antlered young bucks took a delight in, precisely
because they knew that at any moment Bagheera or Shere Khan might leap
upon them and bear them down. But now all that life-and-death fun was
ended, and the Jungle People came up, starved and weary, to the
shrunken river,--tiger, bear, deer, buffalo, and pig, all
together,--drank the fouled waters, and hung above them, too exhausted
to move off.
The deer and the pig had tramped all day in search of something better
than dried bark and withered leaves. The buffaloes had found no
wallows to be cool in, and no green crops to steal. The snakes had
left the Jungle and come down to the river in the hope of finding a
stray frog. They curled round wet stones, and never offered to strike
when the nose of a rooting pig dislodged them. The river-turtles had
long ago been killed by Bagheera, cleverest of hunters, and the fish
had buried themselves deep in the dry mud. Only the Peace Rock lay
across the shallows like a long snake, and the little tired ripples
hissed as they dried on its hot side.
It was here that Mowgli came nightly for the cool and the
companionship. The most hungry of his enemies would hardly have cared
for the boy then. His naked hide made him seem more lean and wretched
than any of his fellows. His hair was bleached to tow color by the
sun; his ribs stood out like the ribs of a basket, and the lumps on
his knees and elbows, where he was used to track on all fours, gave
his shrunken limbs the look of knotted grass-stems. But his eye, under
his matted forelock, was cool and quiet, for Bagheera was his adviser
in this time of trouble, and told him to go quietly, hunt slowly, and
never, on any account, to lose his temper.
"It is an evil time," said the Black Panther, one furnace-hot evening,
"but it will go if we can live till the end. Is thy stomach full, Man
cub?"
"There is stuff in my stomach, but I get no good of it. Think you,
Bagheera, the Rains have forgotten us and will never come again?"
"Not I! We shall see the _mohwa_ in blossom yet, and the little fawns
all fat with new grass. Come down to the Peace Rock and hear the news.
On my back, Little Brother."
"This is no time to carry weight. I can still stand alone, but--indeed
we be no fatted bullocks, we too."
Bagheera looked along his ragged, dusty flank and whispered: "Last
night I killed a bullock under the yoke. So low was I brought that I
think I should not have dared to spring if he had been loose. _Wou!_"
Mowgli laughed. "Yes, we be great hunters now," said he. "I am very
bold--to eat grubs," and the two came down together through the
crackling undergrowth to the river-bank and the lace-work of shoals
that ran out from it in every direction.
"The water cannot live long," said Baloo, joining them. "Look across.
Yonder are trails like the roads of Man."
On the level plain of the further bank the stiff jungle-grass had died
standing, and, dying, had mummied. The beaten tracks of the deer and
the pig, all heading toward the river, had striped that colorless
plain with dusty gullies driven through the ten-foot grass, and, early
as it was, each long avenue was full of first-comers hastening to the
water. You could hear the does and fawns coughing in the snuff-like
dust.
Up-stream, at the bend of the sluggish pool round the Peace Rock, and
Warden of the Water Truce, stood Hathi, the wild elephant, with his
sons, gaunt and gray in the moonlight, rocking to and fro--always
rocking. Below him a little were the vanguard of the deer; below
these, again, the pig and the wild buffalo; and on the opposite bank,
where the tall trees came down to the water's edge, was the place set
apart for the Eaters of Flesh--the tiger, the wolves, the panther, and
the bear, and the others.
"We are under one Law, indeed," said Bagheera, wading into the water
and looking across at the lines of clicking horns and starting eyes
where the deer and the pig pushed each other to and fro. "Good
hunting, all you of my blood," he added, lying down at full length,
one flank thrust out of the shallows; and then, between his teeth,
"But for that which is the Law it would be _very_ good hunting."
The quick-spread ears of the deer caught the last sentence, and a
frightened whisper ran along the ranks. "The Truce! Remember the
Truce | 885.955375 |
2023-11-16 18:31:49.9353570 | 5,520 | 10 |
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PARADOXES OF CATHOLICISM
BY ROBERT HUGH BENSON
_These sermons (which the following pages contain in a much abbreviated
form) were delivered, partly in England in various places and at various
times, partly in New York in the Lent of 1912, and finally, as a
complete course, in the church of S. Silvestro-in-Capite, in Rome, in
the Lent of 1913. Some of the ideas presented in this book have already
been set out in a former volume entitled "Christ in the Church" and a
few in the meditations upon the Seven Words, in another volume, but in
altogether other connexions. The author thought it better, therefore, to
risk repetition rather than incoherency in the present set of
considerations. It is hoped that the repetitions are comparatively few.
Italics have been used for all quotations, whether verbal or
substantial, from Holy Scripture and other literature_.
ROBERT HUGH BENSON
HARE STREET HOUSE, BUNTINGFORD
EASTER, 1913
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY
(i) JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND MAN
(ii) THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, DIVINE AND HUMAN
I PEACE AND WAR
II WEALTH AND POVERTY
III SANCTITY AND SIN
IV JOY AND SORROW
V LOVE OF GOD AND LOVE OF MAN
VI FAITH AND REASON
VII AUTHORITY AND LIBERTY
VIII CORPORATENESS AND INDIVIDUALISM
IX MEEKNESS AND VIOLENCE
X THE SEVEN WORDS
XI LIFE AND DEATH
PARADOXES OF CATHOLICISM
INTRODUCTORY
(i) JESUS CHRIST, GOD AND MAN
_I and My Father are one_.--JOHN X. 30.
_My Father is greater than I_.--JOHN XIV. 20.
The mysteries of the Church, a materialistic scientist once announced to
an astonished world, are child's play compared with the mysteries of
nature.[1] He was completely wrong, of course, yet there was every
excuse for his mistake. For, as he himself tells us in effect, he found
everywhere in that created nature which he knew so well, anomaly piled
on anomaly and paradox on paradox, and he knew no more of theology than
its simpler and more explicit statements.
[Footnote 1: Professor Huxley.]
We can be certain therefore--we who understand that the mysteries of
nature are, after all, within the limited circle of created life, while
the mysteries of grace run up into the supreme Mystery of the eternal
and uncreated Life of God--we can be certain that, if nature is
mysterious and paradoxical, grace will be incalculably more mysterious.
For every paradox in the world of matter, in whose environment our
bodies are confined, we shall find a hundred in that atmosphere of
spirit in which our spirits breathe and move--those spirits of ours
which, themselves, paradoxically enough, are forced to energize under
material limitations.
We need look no further, then, to find these mysteries than to that tiny
mirror of the Supernatural which we call our self, to that little thread
of experience which we name the "spiritual life." How is it, for
example, that while in one mood our religion is the lamp of our shadowy
existence, in another it is the single dark spot upon a world of
pleasure--in one mood the single thing that makes life worth living at
all, and in another the one obstacle to our contentment? What are those
sorrowful and joyful mysteries of human life, mutually contradictory yet
together resultant (as in the Rosary itself) in others that are
glorious? Turn to that master passion that underlies these
mysteries--the passion that is called love--and see if there be anything
more inexplicable than such an explanation. What is this passion, then,
that turns joy to sorrow and sorrow to joy--this motive that drives a
man to lose his life that he may save it, that turns bitter to sweet and
makes the cross but a light yoke after all, that causes him to find his
centre outside his own circle, and to please himself best by depriving
himself of pleasure? What is that power that so often fills us with
delights before we have begun to labour, and rewards our labour with
the darkness of dereliction?
I. If our interior life, then, is full of paradox and apparent
contradiction--and there is no soul that has made any progress that does
not find it so--we should naturally expect that the Divine Life of Jesus
Christ on earth, which is the central Objective Light of the World
reflected in ourselves, should be full of yet more amazing anomalies.
Let us examine the records of that Life and see if it be not so. And let
us for that purpose begin by imagining such an examination to be made by
an inquirer who has never received the Christian tradition.
(i) He begins to read, of course, with the assumption that this Life is
as others and this Man as other men; and as he reads he finds a hundred
corroborations of the theory. Here is one, born of a woman, hungry and
thirsty by the wayside, increasing in wisdom; one who works in a
carpenter's shop; rejoices and sorrows; one who has friends and enemies;
who is forsaken by the one and insulted by the other--who passes, in
fact, through all those experiences of human life to which mankind is
subject--one who dies like other men and is laid in a grave.
Even the very marvels of that Life he seeks to explain by the marvellous
humanity of its hero. He can imagine, as one such inquirer has said, how
the magic of His presence was so great--the magic of His simple yet
perfect humanity--that the blind opened their eyes to see the beauty of
His face and the deaf their ears to hear Him.
Yet, as he reads further, he begins to meet his problems. If this Man
were man only, however perfect and sublime, how is it that His sanctity
appears to run by other lines than those of other saints? Other perfect
men as they approached perfection were most conscious of imperfection;
other saints as they were nearer God lamented their distance from Him;
other teachers of the spiritual life pointed always away from themselves
and their shortcomings to that Eternal Law to which they too aspired.
Yet with this Man all seems reversed. He, as He stood before the world,
called on men to imitate Him; not, as other leaders have done, to avoid
His sins: this Man, so far from pointing forward and up, pointed to
Himself as the Way to the Father; so far from adoring a Truth to which
He strove, named Himself its very incarnation; so far from describing a
Life to which He too one day hoped to rise, bade His hearers look on
Himself Who was their Life; so far from deploring to His friends the
sins under which He laboured, challenged His enemies to find within Him
any sin at all. There is an extraordinary Self-consciousness in Him that
has in it nothing of "self" as usually understood.
Then it may be, at last, that our inquirer approaches the Gospel with a
new assumption. He has been wrong, he thinks, in his interpretation that
such a Life as this was human at all. "_Never man spake like this
man_." He echoes from the Gospel, "_What manner of man is this that even
the winds and the sea obey Him_? How, after all," he asks himself,
"could a man be born without a human father, how rise again from the
dead upon the third day?" Or, "How even could such marvels be related at
all of one who was no more than other men?"
So once more he begins. Here, he tells himself, is the old fairy story
come true; here is a God come down to dwell among men; here is the
solution of all his problems. And once more he finds himself bewildered.
For how can God be weary by the wayside, labour in a shop, and die upon
a cross? How can the Eternal Word be silent for thirty years? How can
the Infinite lie in a manger? How can the Source of Life be subject to
death?
He turns in despair, flinging himself from theory to theory--turns to
the words of Christ Himself, and the perplexity deepens with every
utterance. If Christ be man, how can He say, _My Father and I are one_?
If Christ be God, how can He proclaim that _His Father is greater than
He_? If Christ be Man, how can He say, _Before Abraham was, I am_? If
Christ be God, how can He name Himself _the Son of Man_.
(ii) Turn to the spiritual teaching of Jesus Christ, and once more
problem follows problem, and paradox, paradox.
Here is He Who came to soothe men's sorrows and to give rest to the
weary, He Who offers a sweet yoke and a light burden, telling them that
no man can be His disciple who will not take up the heaviest of all
burdens and follow Him uphill. Here is one, the Physician of souls and
bodies, Who _went about doing good_, Who set the example of activity in
God's service, pronouncing the silent passivity of Mary as the better
part that shall not be taken away from her. Here at one moment He turns
with the light of battle in His eyes, bidding His friends who have not
swords to _sell their cloaks and buy them_; and at another bids those
swords to be sheathed, since _His Kingdom is not of this world_. Here is
the Peacemaker, at one time pronouncing His benediction on those who
make peace, and at another crying that He _came to bring not peace but a
sword_. Here is He Who names as _blessed those that mourn_ bidding His
disciples to _rejoice and be exceeding glad_. Was there ever such a
Paradox, such perplexity, and such problems? In His Person and His
teaching alike there seems no rest and no solution--_What think ye of
Christ? Whose Son is He_?
II. (i) The Catholic teaching alone, of course, offers a key to these
questions; yet it is a key that is itself, like all keys, as complicated
as the wards which it alone can unlock. Heretic after heretic has sought
for simplification, and heretic after heretic has therefore come to
confusion. Christ is God, cried the Docetic; therefore cut out from the
Gospels all that speaks of the reality of His Manhood! God cannot bleed
and suffer and die; God cannot weary; God cannot feel the sorrows of
man. Christ is Man, cries the modern critic; therefore tear out from the
Gospels His Virgin Birth and His Resurrection! For none but a Catholic
can receive the Gospels as they were written; none but a man who
believes that Christ is both God and Man, who is content to believe that
and to bow before the Paradox of paradoxes that we call the Incarnation,
to accept the blinding mystery that Infinite and Finite Natures were
united in one Person, that the Eternal expresses Himself in Time, and
that the Uncreated Creator united to Himself Creation--none but a
Catholic, in a word, can meet, without exception, the mysterious
phenomena of Christ's Life.
(ii) Turn now again to the mysteries of our own limited life and, as in
a far-off phantom parallel, we begin to understand.
For we too, in our measure, have a double nature. _As God and Man make
one Christ, so soul and body make one man_: and, as the two natures of
Christ--as His Perfect Godhead united to His Perfect Manhood--lie at the
heart of the problems which His Life presents, so too our affinities
with the clay from which our bodies came, and with the Father of Spirits
Who inbreathed into us living souls, explain the contradictions of our
own experience.
If we were but irrational beasts, we could be as happy as the beasts;
if we were but discarnate spirits that look on God, the joy of the
angels would be ours. Yet if we assume either of these two truths as if
it were the only truth, we come certainly to confusion. If we live as
the beasts, we cannot sink to their contentment, for our immortal part
will not let us be; if we neglect or dispute the rightful claims of the
body, that very outraged body drags our immortal spirit down. The
acceptance of the two natures of Christ alone solves the problems of the
Gospel; the acceptance of the two parts of our own nature alone enables
us to live as God intends. Our spiritual and physical moods, then, rise
and fall as the one side or the other gains the upper hand: now our
religion is a burden to the flesh, now it is the exercise in which our
soul delights; now it is the one thing that makes life worth living, now
the one thing that checks our enjoyment of life. These moods alternate,
inevitably and irresistibly, according as we allow the balance of our
parts to be disturbed and set swaying. And so, ultimately, there is
reserved for us the joy neither of beasts nor of angels, but the joy of
humanity. We are higher than the one, we are lower than the other, that
we may be crowned by Him Who in that same Humanity sits on the Throne of
God.
So much, then, for our introduction. We have seen how the Paradox of the
Incarnation alone is adequate to the phenomena recorded in the
Gospel--how that supreme paradox is the key to all the rest. We will
proceed to see how it is also the key to other paradoxes of religion, to
the difficulties which the history of Catholicism presents. For the
Catholic Church is the extension of Christ's Life on earth; the Catholic
Church, therefore, that strange mingling of mystery and common-sense,
that union of earth and heaven, of clay and fire, can alone be
understood by him who accepts her as both Divine and Human, since she is
nothing else but the mystical presentment, in human terms, of Him Who,
though the Infinite God and the Eternal Creator, was _found in the form
of a servant_, of Him Who, _dwelling always in the Bosom of the Father_,
for our sakes _came down from heaven_.
(ii) THE CATHOLIC CHURCH, DIVINE AND HUMAN
_Blessed art thou Simon Bar-jona; because flesh and blood hath not
revealed it to thee, but My Father Who is in heaven.... Go behind me,
satan, for thou savourest not the things that are of God, but the things
that are of men_.--MATT. XVI. 17, 23.
We have seen how the only reconciliation of the paradoxes of the Gospel
lies in the Catholic doctrine of the Incarnation. It is only to him who
believes that Jesus Christ is perfect God and perfect Man that the
Gospel record is coherent and intelligible. The heretics--men who for
the most part either rejected or added to the inspired record--were
those who, on the one side, accepted Christ's Divinity and rejected the
proofs of His Humanity, or accepted His Humanity and rejected the proofs
of His Divinity. In the early ages, for the most part, these accepted
His Divinity and, rejecting His Humanity, invented childish miracles
which they thought appropriate to a God dwelling on earth in a phantom
manhood; at the present day, rejecting His Divinity, they reject also
those miracles for which His Divinity alone is an adequate explanation.
Now the Catholic Church is an extension of the Incarnation. She too
(though, as we shall see, the parallel is not perfect) has her Divine
and Human Nature, which alone can account for the paradoxes of her
history; and these paradoxes are either predicted by Christ--asserted,
that is, as part of His spiritual teaching--or actually manifested in
His own life. (We may take them as symbolised, so to speak, in those
words of our Lord to St. Peter in which He first commends him as a man
inspired by God and then, almost simultaneously, rebukes him as one who
can rise no further than an earthly ideal at the best.)
I. (i) Just as we have already imagined a well-disposed inquirer
approaching for the first time the problems of the Gospel, so let us now
again imagine such a man, in whom the dawn of faith has begun,
encountering the record of Catholicism.
At first all seems to him Divine. He sees, for example, how singularly
unique she is, how unlike to all other human societies. Other societies
depend for their very existence upon a congenial human environment; she
flourishes in the most uncongenial. Other societies have their day and
pass down to dissolution and corruption; she alone knows no corruption.
Other dynasties rise and fall; the dynasty of Peter the Fisherman
remains unmoved. Other causes wax and wane with the worldly influence
which they can command; she is usually most effective when her earthly
interest is at the lowest ebb.
Or again, he falls in love with her Divine beauty and perceives even in
her meanest acts a grace which he cannot understand. He notices with
wonder how she takes human mortal things--a perishing pagan language, a
debased architecture, an infant science or philosophy--and infuses into
them her own immortality. She takes the superstitions of a country-side
and, retaining their "accidents," transubstantiates them into truth; the
customs or rites of a pagan society, and makes them the symbols of a
living worship. And into all she infuses a spirit that is all her own--a
spirit of delicate grace and beauty of which she alone has the secret.
It is her Divinity, then, that he sees, and rightly. But, wrongly, he
draws certain one-sided conclusions. If she is so perfect, he argues (at
least subconsciously), she can be nothing else than perfect; if she is
so Divine she can be in no sense human. Her pontiffs must all be saints,
her priests shining lights, her people stars in her firmament. If she is
Divine, her policy must be unerring, her acts all gracious, her lightest
movements inspired. There must be no brutality anywhere, no
self-seeking, no ambition, no instability. How should there be, since
she is Divine?
Such are his first instincts. And then, little by little, his
disillusionment begins.
For, as he studies her record more deeply, he begins to encounter
evidences of her Humanity. He reads history, and he discovers here and
there a pontiff who but little in his moral character resembles Him
Whose Vicar he is. He meets an apostate priest; he hears of some
savagery committed in Christ's name; he talks with a convert who has
returned complacently to the City of Confusion; there is gleefully
related to him the history of a family who has kept the faith all
through the period of persecution and lost it in the era of toleration.
And he is shaken and dismayed. "How can these be in a Society that is
Divine? I had _trusted_ that it had been_ She _who should have redeemed
Israel;_ _and now--_!"
(ii) Another man approaches the record of Catholicism from the opposite
direction. To him she is a human society and nothing more; and he finds,
indeed, a thousand corroborations of his theory. He views her amazing
success in the first ages of Christianity--the rapid propagation of her
tenets and the growth of her influence--and sees behind these things
nothing more than the fortunate circumstance of the existence of the
Roman Empire. Or he notices the sudden and rapid rise of the power of
the Roman pontiff and explains this by the happy chance that moved the
centre of empire to the east and left in Rome an old prestige and an
empty throne. He sees how the Church has profited by the divisions in
Europe; how she has inherited the old Latin genius for law and order;
and he finds in these things an explanation of her unity and of her
claim to rule princes and kings. She is to him just human, and no more.
There is not, at first sight, a phenomenon of her life for which he
cannot find a human explanation. She is interesting, as a result of
innumerable complicated forces; she is venerable, as the oldest coherent
society in Europe; she has the advantage of Italian diplomacy; she has
been shrewd, unweary, and persevering. But she is no more.
And then, as he goes deeper, he begins to encounter phenomena which do
not fall so easily under his compact little theories. If she is merely
human, why do not the laws of all other human societies appear to affect
her too? Why is it that she alone shows no incline towards dissolution
and decay? Why has not she too split up into the component parts of
which she is welded? How is it that she has preserved a unity of which
all earthly unities are but shadows? Or he meets with the phenomena of
her sanctity and begins to perceive that the difference between the
character she produces in her saints and the character of the noblest of
those who do not submit to her is one of kind and not merely of degree.
If she is merely mediaeval, how is it that she commands such allegiance
as that which is paid to her in modern America? If she is merely
European, how is it that she alone can deal with the Oriental on his own
terms? If she is merely the result of temporal circumstances, how is it
that her spiritual influence shows no sign of waning when the forces
that helped to build her are dispersed?
His theory too, then, becomes less confident. If she is Human, why is
she so evidently Divine? If she is Divine, whence comes her obvious
Humanity? So years ago men asked, If Christ be God, how could He be
weary by the wayside and die upon the Cross? So men ask now, If Christ
be Man, how could He cast out devils and rise from the dead?
II. We come back, then, to the Catholic answer. Treat the Catholic
Church as Divine only and you will stumble over her scandals, her
failures, and her shortcomings. Treat her as Human only and you will be
silenced by her miracles, her sanctity, and her eternal resurrections.
(i) Of course the Catholic Church is Human. She consists of fallible
men, and her Humanity is not even safeguarded as was that of Christ
against the incursions of sin. Always, therefore, there have been
scandals, and always will be. Popes may betray their trust, in all human
matters; priests their flocks; laymen their faith. No man is secure.
And, again, since she is human it is perfectly true that she has
profited by human circumstances for the increase of her power.
Undoubtedly it was the existence of the Roman Empire, with its roads,
its rapid means of transit, and its organization, that made possible the
swift propagation of the Gospel in the first centuries. Undoubtedly it
was the empty throne of Caesar and the prestige of Rome that developed
the world's acceptance of the authority of Peter's Chair. Undoubtedly
it was the divisions of Europe that cemented the Church's unity and led
men to look to a Supreme Authority that might compose their differences.
There is scarcely an opening in human affairs into which she has not
plunged; hardly an opportunity she has missed. Human affairs, human sins
and weaknesses as well as human virtues, have all contributed to her
power. So grows a tree, even in uncongenial soil. The rocks that impede
the roots later become their support; the rich soil, waiting for an
occupant, has been drawn up into the life of the leaves; the very winds
that imperilled the young sapling have developed too its power of
resistance. Yet these things do not make the tree.
(ii) For her Humanity, though it is the body in which her Divinity
dwells, does not create that Divinity. Certainly human circumstances
have developed her, yet what but Divine Providence ordered and developed
those human circumstances? What but that same power, which indwells in
the Church, dwelt without her too and caused her to take root at that
time and in that place which most favored her growth? Certainly she is
Human. It may well be that her rulers have contradicted one another in
human matters--in science, in policy, and in discipline; but how is it,
then, that they have not contradicted one another in matters that are
Divine? Granted that one Pope has reversed the policy of his
predecessor, then what has saved him from reversing his theology also?
Certainly there have been appalling scandals, outrageous sinners,
blas | 885.955397 |
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CHIPS FROM A GERMAN WORKSHOP
BY
F. MAX MUeLLER, M. A.,
FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE FRENCH INSTITUTE, ETC.
VOLUME V.
MISCELLANEOUS LATER ESSAYS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
1881.
CONTENTS
I. On Freedom
II. On The Philosophy Of Mythology.
III. On False Analogies In Comparative Theology.
IV. On Spelling.
V. On Sanskrit Texts Discovered In Japan.
Index.
Footnotes
I.
ON FREEDOM.
Presidential Address Delivered Before The Birmingham Midland Institute,
October 20, 1879.
Not more than twenty years have passed since John Stuart Mill sent forth
his plea for Liberty.(1)
If there is one among the leaders of thought in England who, by the
elevation of his character and the calm composure of his mind, deserved
the so often misplaced title of Serene Highness, it was, I think, John
Stuart Mill.
But in his Essay "On Liberty," Mill for once becomes passionate. In
presenting his Bill of Rights, in stepping forward as the champion of
individual liberty, he seems to be possessed by a new spirit. He speaks
like a martyr, or the defender of martyrs. The individual human soul, with
its unfathomable endowments, and its capacity of growing to something
undreamt of in our philosophy, becomes in his eyes a sacred thing, and
every encroachment on its world-wide domain is treated as sacrilege.
Society, the arch-enemy of the rights of individuality, is represented
like an evil spirit, whom it behooves every true man to resist with might
and main, and whose demands, as they cannot be altogether ignored, must be
reduced at all hazards to the lowest level.
I doubt whether any of the principles for which Mill pleaded so warmly and
strenuously in his Essay "On Liberty" would at the present day be
challenged or resisted, even by the most illiberal of philosophers, or the
most conservative of politicians. Mill's demands sound very humble to
_our_ ears. They amount to no more than this, "that the individual is not
accountable to society for his actions so far as they concern the
interests of no person but himself, and that he may be subjected to social
or legal punishments for such actions only as are prejudicial to the
interests of others."
Is there any one here present who doubts the justice of that principle, or
who would wish to reduce the freedom of the individual to a smaller
measure? Whatever social tyranny may have existed twenty years ago, when
it wrung that fiery protest from the lips of John Stuart Mill, can we
imagine a state of society, not totally Utopian, in which the individual
man need be less ashamed of his social fetters, in which he could more
freely utter all his honest convictions, more boldly propound all his
theories, more fearlessly agitate for their speedy realization; in which,
in fact, each man can be so entirely himself as the society of England,
such as it now is, such as generations of hard-thinking and hard-working
Englishmen have made it, and left it as the most sacred inheritance to
their sons and daughters?
Look through the whole of history, not excepting the brightest days of
republican freedom at Athens and Rome, and you will not find one single
period in which the measure of liberty accorded to each individual was
larger than it is at present, at least in England. And if you wish to
realize the full blessings of the time in which we live, compare Mill's
plea for Liberty with another written not much more than two hundred years
ago, and by a thinker not inferior either in power or boldness to Mill
himself. According | 894.36148 |
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Produced by Michael Roe 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 LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
[Illustration]
THE LOVE LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
_Translated from the original latin and now reprinted from the
edition of 1722: together with a brief account of their lives and
work_
RALPH FLETCHER SEYMOURA.CHICAGO
Copyright 1903
by
Ralph Fletcher Seymour
THE STORY OF ABELARD AND HELOISE.
It sometimes happens that Love is little esteemed by those who choose
rather to think of other affairs, and in requital He strongly
manifests His power in unthought ways. Need is to think of Abelard
and Heloise: how now his treatises and works are memories only, and
how the love of her (who in lifetime received little comfort
therefor) has been crowned with the violet crown of Grecian Sappho
and the homage of all lovers.
The world itself was learning a new love when these two met; was
beginning to heed the quiet call of the spirit of the Renaissance,
which, at its consummation, brought forth the glories of the
Quattrocento.
It was among the stone-walled, rose-covered gardens and clustered
homes of ecclesiastics, who served the ancient Roman builded pile of
Notre Dame, that Abelard found Heloise.
From his noble father's home in Brittany, Abelard, gifted and
ambitious, came to study with William of Champeaux in Paris. His
advancement was rapid, and time brought him the acknowledged
leadership of the Philosophic School of the city, a prestige which
received added lustre from his controversies with his later
instructor in theology, Anselm of Laon.
His career at this time was brilliant. Adulation and flattery, added
to the respect given his great and genuine ability, made sweet a life
which we can imagine was in most respects to his liking. Among the
students who flocked to him came the beautiful maiden, Heloise, to
learn of philosophy. Her uncle Fulbert, living in retired ease near
Notre Dame, offered in exchange for such instruction both bed and
board; and Abelard, having already seen and resolved to win her,
undertook the contract.
Many quiet hours these two spent on the green, river-watered isle,
studying old philosophies, and Time, swift and silent as the Seine,
sped on, until when days had changed to months they became aware of
the deeper knowledge of Love. Heloise responded wholly to this new
influence, and Abelard, forgetting his ambition, desired their
marriage. Yet as this would have injured his opportunities for
advancement in the Church Heloise steadfastly refused this formal
sanction of her passion. Their love becoming known in time to
Fulbert, his grief and anger were uncontrollable. In fear the two
fled to the country and there their child was born. Abelard still
urged marriage, and at last, outwearied with importunities, she
consented, only insisting that it be kept a secret. Such a course was
considered best to pacify her uncle, who, in fact, promised
reconciliation as a reward. Yet, upon its accomplishment he openly
declared the marriage. Unwilling that this be known lest the
knowledge hurt her lover, Heloise strenuously denied the truth. The
two had returned, confident of Fulbert's reaffirmed regard, and he,
now deeply troubled and revengeful, determined to inflict that
punishment and indignity on Abelard, which, in its accomplishment,
shocked even that ruder civilization to horror and to reprisal.
The shamed and mortified victim, caring only for solitude in | 894.460774 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Pamela Patten and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.—NO. 1002.] MARCH 11, 1899. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
[Illustration: A YOUTHFUL PIANIST.]
_All rights reserved._]
“OUR HERO.”
A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.
BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A BARRED WINDOW.
How the next fortnight passed, Roy never afterwards could recall. He
was sick and dazed with the shock he had had, grieving for Will Peirce,
and all but hopeless. He had ceased to care for food, and, though he
slept much, passing hours at a time in heavy doze, it was not the kind
of sleep to rest him. Life at this time seemed awfully hard to live.
Sometimes he envied little Will.
The Colonel, who had spoken to him that day, spoke to him again often
when they met in the yard; and Roy was grateful, but he could not rouse
himself. He had lost all interest in what went on around him. He hated
the yard, and he always kept as far as possible from the spot where
that terrible exposure had taken place.
His one longing was to know how the other poor boys in the hospital
were; but accounts in that direction were uncertain and not to be
relied upon.
About a fortnight later, one cold afternoon, he was leaning against the
wall at the further end, hardly thinking, only drearily enduring. He
became aware of a man coming across the yard, carrying a large basket,
or _hotte_, piled up with loose wood—not a gendarme, but evidently one
employed in the fortress on manual work.
Something about the fellow arrested Roy’s attention, though why it
should be so Roy had no idea. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered
and long-limbed, and he walked in a slouching manner. As he drew near
the basket tilted over, raining the whole mass of wood at Roy’s feet.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Roy.
The man muttered something, and went slowly down upon his knees to pick
up the wood. No one else was near. A body of prisoners had been that
morning removed elsewhere, and the yard was not so full as usual. Roy,
after a moment’s hesitation, good-naturedly bent to help; and as he did
so, their faces came close together.
“Hist!” was whispered cautiously.
Roy started.
“Hist!”—again. “Does monsieur know me? But not a word—hist!”
Roy drew one quick breath. Then he picked up more pieces of wood,
tossing them into the _hotte_. He cast another glance at the man,
his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small
French town, the crowd in front of the _hôtel de ville_, the released
conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham’s hands, and Denham’s
compassionate face. All was clear.
“Jean Paulet,” he breathed.
“Hist!”—softly.
“But—you are he?”
“Oui, M’sieu.”
Jean piled some of the wood together, with unnecessary fuss and noise.
“Will M’sieu not betray that he has seen me before? It is important.”
“Oui.”
Roy tossed two more bits of wood into the _hotte_. Then he stood up,
yawned, and stared listlessly in another direction. After which he hung
lazily over the _hotte_, as if to play with the wood, and under cover
of it a touch of cold steel came against his left hand.
“Hist!”—at the same instant.
Roy grasped and slipped the something securely out of reach and out of
sight, without a moment’s hesitation. His right hand still turned over
the wood.
“Bon!” Jean murmured, making a considerable clatter. Then, low and
clearly—“Listen! If M’sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready
to be removed—I will be there outside, to-morrow night after dark. When
M’sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui,
M’sieu—and a poor man like me may not complain.”
Jean hitched up the big _hotte_, now full, and passed on, grumbling
audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was
beating like a hammer, and he dreaded lest he might betray his change
of mood in his face. To return to his former dejected attitude was not
easy when new life was stirring in every vein; but he managed to shirk
observation, and when two o’clock came it was a relief to be alone in
his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of
delight.
If only little Will might have escaped with him! That thought lay as a
weight of sorrow in his joy.
But there was little leisure for regrets. He had a task to accomplish
in a given time, and it might not be an easy task. Many a time he had
examined the stout iron bar wedged firmly in across the small window.
If that could be taken out, he would be able to squeeze himself
through; but to take out the bar, or at least to move it on one side,
meant first to file nearly through it—quite through, indeed, for the
noise of breaking it might not be risked. What might lie on the other
side, down below, he could only guess, since the deep embrasure within,
and the thickness of the wall without, prevented him from seeing.
The gendarmes visited him at stated intervals, and he could pretty well
reckon upon their visits; yet he knew well that he was never secure
against a sudden interruption at any moment. He had to work at the bar
in a difficult and cramped position, supporting himself in a corner
of the slanting embrasure and filing lightly, so that no sound should
reach the ears of any passer-by outside, while his own hearing had to
be incessantly strained towards the cell-door to catch the faintest
intimation of anybody entering.
One narrow escape of detection he had. Absorbed in his toil, he failed
to hear the first preliminary click of the lock, and the door began to
open. Roy flung himself to the ground, reckless of bruises, and the
noise of his fall was happily drowned in the creak of the door. When
the gendarme entered, he found a sleepy prisoner, lying with head on
folded arms. Roy wondered that the thumping of his heart did not betray
him.
Thoughtful Jean had provided him with three files; and but for this the
plan would have proved a failure. Two of them broke. The third held out
to the end.
A good part of the night he worked, growing terrified lest the task
should not be done in time. In the dark, by feeling instead of sight,
silently and persistently, despite aching muscles, he kept on at it.
His hands were strained and bleeding, and next day he had carefully
to guard them from notice. In the morning he was again up in the
embrasure—after the usual visit from a gendarme—filing, filing, softly
and steadily. By mid-day he had worked his way through the heavy bar.
Roy stirred it cautiously. Yes, it yielded. The other end alone would
not hold it firm. One good wrench, and it could be forced aside.
That was all he had now to do. The bar would have to remain in position
till the last moment. He cleared away every speck of iron filing, and
then he had to go into the yard. What if the gendarmes should examine
the cell during his absence and find out what he had done? What if,
any hour before night, they should take it into their heads to test
the bar? What if, before Jean came, Roy himself should be removed
elsewhere? Then came another question. What if his mother’s prayers
were being answered?
And by-and-by the afternoon had waned away without any mischance, and
the gendarme’s evening visit had been safely paid. Roy’s allowance of
food lay upon the floor, the window had not been examined, and Roy was
left alone for the night. He wisely disposed of the food, knowing that
he would need all his strength. Then he waited, minute after minute, in
a suspense hardly to be imagined, not to be described.
A slight faint whistle, close to the window.
In a moment Roy was up in the slanting embrasure, where for hours he
had clung, getting through his task.
Jean’s hand met his, and together, noiselessly, they wrenched the bar
aside.
“Hist! Be still as death!” whispered Jean.
Roy squeezed himself through the opening, Jean’s grasp steadying him.
He found his feet to be resting on the topmost rung of a ladder. Jean
whispered one or two directions, then himself went down and held it
firm below while Roy followed. Little need was there to bid the boy
be quiet in his movements. The slightest sound might betray them,
destroying every hope of escape.
The moment Roy reached the bottom, Jean’s hand grasped his wrist and
led him away. The ladder had to remain where it was. Its removal would
have meant too great a risk. Roy could not see where they were, for
pitch darkness surrounded them; but Jean moved with confidence, though
with extreme care.
Soon they had to pass near a sentry, and a sharp challenge rang out.
Roy’s heart leaped into his mouth, and Jean promptly replied with the
password for the night. Veiled by the darkness, which was increased by
a drizzling rain, they went by in safety.
The outer wall at length was gained—that same wall which the middies
had reached in their attempted escape, though at a different part of
it. Jean had chosen this mode of escape, not daring to take Roy under
the eyes of sentries at the gates, where, despite his command of the
password, the prisoner must almost inevitably have been found out.
In a quiet corner, where nobody was or seemed to be near, Jean drew
down the end of a stout rope, already secured at the top of the wall,
the loose end having been knotted up out of easy reach. This had been
his doing after dark, before he went to Roy’s cell. With the help of
the rope they made their way to the top, Roy first, Jean next, pulling
it up after them, and lowering it on the other side. Then, together,
they trusted their weight to it once more.
As they hung over the depth, Roy could not but recall the cold-blooded
act of two or three weeks earlier and its dire consequences. If any man
had obtained an inkling of Jean’s intentions, or had discovered the
rope placed in readiness, the same tragedy might now be repeated on a
smaller scale. One clear cut would do the business. He and Jean would
fall heavily downward, and, in an instant, he too, like little Will,
might be in that land where battles and dungeons and cruel separations
are things of the past.
These thoughts came to Roy—unbidden—even while his whole attention
was bent to the task of working himself, hand under hand, swiftly and
noiselessly, down the rope. Already his hands were torn and strained,
yet, under the excitement of the moment, he felt no pain.
The rope remained taut. There was no sudden yielding from above—no
abrupt and helpless plunge earthward. He and Jean arrived in safety on
firm ground.
Again Jean gripped his wrist.
“Now, M’sieu, hist!” he whispered; and as fast as might be, yet with
extreme caution, avoiding even the sound of a footfall, they hurried
away from that grim surrounding wall. Roy could not see in the darkness
where they were, or whither they were going. He could only trust
himself blindly to Jean’s guidance, and Jean seemed to be in no doubt.
He never paused or faltered.
Running at full speed, then slackening for breath, running again, and
halting anew, walking at a brisk swing, then breaking into a fresh race
side by side, only to come to another short pause—so they passed the
hours of that night. During the first twenty or thirty minutes extreme
care was needful; and more than once Jean had to make use of the
password, which he had somehow learnt. When once thoroughly away from
Bitche, however, immediate discovery became less likely; and the chief
aim then was to put as wide a space as possible between themselves
and the fortress before morning. That was as much as Roy had in mind.
Jean’s object was more definite, including arrival at a particular
hiding-place within a given time; but at present he attempted no
explanations.
So soon as Roy’s disappearance should become known, and the gendarmes
should have started in pursuit, Roy’s danger—and, for the matter of
that, Jean’s also—would be intensified a hundred-fold. At present they
had a clear field, favoured by darkness and by the fact of a world
mainly asleep.
Few words were spoken by either. While in the vicinity of Bitche even
the lightest whisper meant a risk of being overheard; and when the fear
lessened, breath and strength were too precious to be wasted.
Roy’s powers were severely taxed. Excitement kept him going. But he had
slept and eaten little, and had worked hard, during the last thirty
hours; and after six months without proper exercise, he was direfully
out of training. His muscles had grown flabby, and he so soon began to
pant as to become angry with himself. Still, he fought doggedly onward,
making no complaint.
At first they followed by-paths or kept to fields for greater safety;
but by-and-by Jean struck into the high road, and here advance was
easier. It was unlikely that Roy would be missed before early morning;
and, even if pursued now, they would see the approaching gendarmes
before they could be seen, and to hide in the darkness would not be
difficult.
As hour passed after hour, and still they made uninterrupted progress,
Roy grew light of heart. Breathlessness, aching limbs, sharp cold,
growing hunger—all these were as nothing compared with the fact that he
was free! No stone walls, no iron-bound and padlocked doors, shut him
ruthlessly in!
From time to time a brief halt became necessary, and Roy was allowed to
fling himself flat on the icy ground for ten minutes, after which he
could always start with redoubled energy.
“Wonder what happened to take you to Bitche, Jean?” he said, after one
of these breaks.
“M’sieu, I had a friend at Bitche.”
“A gendarme! A soldier?” asked Roy, with quickness.
“Oui, M’sieu. Un soldat. M’sieu will perhaps refrain from putting many
questions. It is a friend whom I have known from boyhood. He was taken,
like others, in the conscription, and no kind | 897.156151 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.2380820 | 1,338 | 49 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor 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: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE <DW29> BOOKS.
=Each volume 12mo, cloth, $1.50=
Chautauqua Girls at Home.
Christie's Christmas.
Divers Women.
Echoing and Re-Echoing.
Eighty-Seven.
Endless Chain (An).
Ester Ried.
Ester Ried Yet Speaking.
Four Girls at Chautauqua.
From Different Standpoints.
Hall in the Grove (The).
Household Puzzles.
Interrupted.
Judge Burnham's Daughters.
Julia Ried.
King's Daughter (The).
Little Fishers and Their Nets.
Links in Rebecca's Life.
Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking On.
Modern Prophets.
Man of the house.
New Graft on the Family Tree (A).
One Commonplace Day.
Pocket Measure (The).
Profiles.
Ruth Erskine's Crosses.
Randolphs (The).
Sevenfold Trouble (A).
Sidney Martin's Christmas.
Spun from Fact.
Those Boys.
Three People.
Tip Lewis and His Lamp.
Wise and Otherwise.
=Each volume 12mo, cloth. $1.25.=
Cunning Workmen.
Dr. Deane's Way.
Grandpa's Darlings.
Miss Priscilla Hunter.
Mrs. Deane's Way.
What She Said.
=Each volume 12mo, cloth, $1.00.=
At Home and Abroad.
Bobby's Wolf and other Stories.
Five Friends.
In the Woods and Out.
Young Folks Worth Knowing.
Mrs. Harry Harper's Awakening.
New Years Tangles.
Next Things.
<DW29> Scrap Book.
Some Young Heroines.
=Each volume 12mo, cloth, 75 cts.=
Couldn't be Bought.
Getting Ahead.
Mary Burton Abroad.
<DW29>s.
Six Little Girls.
Stories from the life of Jesus.
That Boy Bob.
Two Boys.
=Each volume 16mo, cloth, 75 cts.=
Bernie's White Chicken.
Docia's Journal.
Helen Lester.
Jessie Wells.
Monteagle.
=Each volume 16mo, cloth, 60 cts.=
Browning Boys.
Dozen of Them (A).
Gertrude's Diary.
Hedge Fence (A).
Side by Side.
Six O'Clock in the Evening.
Stories of Remarkable Women.
Stories of Great Men.
Story of Puff.
"We Twelve girls."
World of Little People (A).
[Illustration: NORMAN WAS A HANDSOME BOY WHEN SHE MARRIED MR. DECKER.]
Little Fishers: and Their Nets
BY
<DW29>
AUTHOR OF "CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS," "A HEDGE FENCE," "GERTRUDE'S
DIARY," "THE MAN OF THE HOUSE," "INTERRUPTED,"
"THE HALL IN THE GROVE," "AN ENDLESS
CHAIN," "MRS. SOLOMON SMITH LOOKING
ON," "FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA,"
"RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES,"
"SPUN FROM FACT,"
ETC., ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
BOSTON
D LOTHROP COMPANY
FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS
COPYRIGHT 1887
BY
D LOTHROP COMPANY
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
THE DECKERS' HOME 7
CHAPTER II.
BEGINNING HER LIFE 24
CHAPTER III.
THE TRUTH IS TOLD 43
CHAPTER IV.
NEW FRIENDS 63
CHAPTER V.
A GREAT UNDERTAKING 85
CHAPTER VI.
HOW IT SUCCEEDED 106
CHAPTER VII.
LONG STORIES TO TELL 125
CHAPTER VIII.
A SABBATH TO REMEMBER 143
CHAPTER IX.
A BARGAIN AND A PROMISE 164
CHAPTER X.
PLEASURE AND DISAPPOINTMENT 179
CHAPTER XI.
A COMPLETE SUCCESS 204
CHAPTER XII.
AN UNEXPECTED HELPER 226
CHAPTER XIII.
THE LITTLE PICTURE MAKERS 240
CHAPTER XIV.
THE CONCERT 257
CHAPTER XV.
A WILL AND A WAY 271
CHAPTER XVI.
AN ORDEAL 288
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FLOWER PARTY 304
CHAPTER XVIII.
A SATISFACTORY EVENING 320
CHAPTER XIX.
READY TO TRY 334
CHAPTER XX.
THE WAY MADE PLAIN 351
CHAPTER XXI.
THE NEW ENTERPRISE 365
CHAPTER XXII.
TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE 382
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CROWNING WONDER 400
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PAST AND PRESENT 418
Little Fishers: and Their Nets.
CHAPTER I.
THE DECKERS' HOME.
JOE DECKER gave his chair a noisy shove backward from the table, over
the uneven floor, shambled across the space between it and the kitchen
door, a look of intense disgust on his face, then stopped for his
good-morning speech:
"You may as well know, first as last, that I've sent for Nan. I've
stood this kind of thing just exactly as long as I'm going to. There
ain't many men, I can tell you, who would have stood it so long. Such a
meal as that! Ain't fit for a decent dog!
| 897.258122 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.3398050 | 188 | 6 |
Produced by Ted Garvin, Josephine Paolucci, and Project
Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
THE RIDE TO THE LADY
And Other Poems
BY
HELEN GRAY CONE
1891
CONTENTS
The Ride to the Lady
The First Guest
Silence
Arraignment
The Going Out of the Tide
King Raedwald
Ivo of Chartres
Madonna Pia
Two Moods of Failure
The Story of the "Orient"
A Resurrection
The Glorious Company
The Trumpeter
Comrades
The House of Hate
The Arrowmaker
A Nest in a Lyre
Thisbe
The Spring Beauties
Kinship
Compensation
When Willows Green
At the Parting of the Ways
| 897.359845 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.4411810 | 1,053 | 69 |
Produced by Lynn Hill. HTML version by Al Haines.
To all friends of the brave children of France
Map of the Voyage
THE FRENCH TWINS
by
Lucy Fitch Perkins
CONTENTS
I. THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE
II. ON THE WAY HOME
III. THE COMING OF THE GERMANS
IV. THE RETURN OF THE FRENCH
V. AT MADAME COUDERT'S
VI. THE BURNING OF THE CATHEDRAL
VII. HOME AGAIN
VIII. REFUGEES
IX. THE FOREIGN LEGION
X. FONTANELLE
XI. A SURPRISE
XII. MORNING IN THE MEADOW
XIII. CHILDREN OF THE LEGION
I. THE CHURCH AND THE PEOPLE
The sunlight of the clear September afternoon shone across the roofs of
the City of Rheims, and fell in a yellow flood upon the towers of the
most beautiful cathedral in the world, turning them into two shining
golden pillars against the deep blue of the eastern sky.
The streets below were already in shadow, but the sunshine still poured
through the great rose window above the western portal, lighting the
dim interior of the church with long shafts of brilliant reds, blues,
and greens, and falling at last in a shower of broken color upon the
steps of the high altar. Somewhere in the mysterious shadows an unseen
musician touched the keys of the great organ, and the voice of the
Cathedral throbbed through its echoing aisles in tremulous waves of
sound. Above the deep tones of the bass notes a delicate melody
floated, like a lark singing above the surf.
Though the great church seemed empty but for sound and color, there
lingered among its shadows a few persons who loved it well. There were
priests and a few worshipers. There was also Father Varennes, the
Verger, and far away in one of the small chapels opening from the apse
in the eastern end good Mother Meraut was down upon her knees, not
praying as you might suppose, but scrubbing the stone floor. Mother
Meraut was a wise woman; she knew when to pray and when to scrub, and
upon occasion did both with equal energy to the glory of God and the
service of his Church. Today it was her task to make the little chapel
clean and sweet, for was not the Abbe coming to examine the
Confirmation Class in its catechism, and were not her own two children,
Pierre and Pierette, in the class? In time to the heart-beats of the
organ, Mother Meraut swept her brush back and forth, and it was already
near the hour for the class to assemble when at last she set aside her
scrubbing-pail, wiped her hands upon her apron, and began to dust the
chairs which had been standing outside the arched entrance, and to
place them in orderly rows within the chapel.
She had nearly completed her task, when there was a tap-tapping upon
the stone floor, and down the long aisle, leaning upon his crutch, came
Father Varennes. He stopped near the chapel and watched her as she
whisked the last chair into place and then paused with her hands upon
her hips to make a final inspection of her work.
"Bonjour, Antoinette," said the Verger.
Mother Meraut turned her round, cheerful face toward him. "Ah, it is
you, Henri," she cried, "come, no doubt, to see if the chapel is clean
enough for the Abbe! Well, behold."
The Verger peered through the arched opening, and sniffed the wet,
soapy smell which pervaded the air. "One might even eat from your clean
floor, Antoinette," he said, smiling, "and taste nothing worse with his
food than a bit of soap. Truly the chapel is as clean as a shriven
soul."
"It's a bold bit of dirt that would try to stand out against me,"
declared Mother Meraut, with a flourish of her dust-cloth, "for when I
go after it I think to myself, 'Ah, if I but had one of those
detestable Germans by the nose, how I would grind it!' and the very
thought brings such power to my elbow that I check myself lest I wear
through the stones of the floor."
The Verger laughed, then shook his head. "Truly, Antoinette," he said,
"I believe you could seize your husband's gun if he were to fall, and
fill his place in the Army as well as you fill his place here in the
Cathedral, doing a man's work with a woman's strength, and smiling as
if it were but play! Our France can never despair while there are women
like you | 897.461221 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.4420530 | 1,217 | 13 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE HUNT BALL MYSTERY
BY SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY, Bt.
Author of "A Prince of Lovers," "The Mystery of the Unicorn," etc., etc.
1918
Contents
Chap
I THE INTRUDER
II THE STAINED FLOWERS
III THE STREAK ON THE CUFF
IV THE MISSING GUEST
V THE LOCKED ROOM
VI THE MYSTERY OF CLEMENT HENSHAW
VII THE INCREDULITY OF GERVASE HENSHAW
VIII KELSON'S PERPLEXITY
IX THE CLOAK OF NIGHT
X AN ALARMING DISCOVERY
XI GIFFORD'S COMMISSION
XII HAD HENSHAW A CLUE?
XIII WHAT GIFFORD SAW IN THE WOOD
XIV GIFFORD'S PERPLEXITY
XV ANOTHER DISCOVERY
XVI AN EXPLANATION
XVII WHAT A GIRL SAW
XVIII THE LOST BROOCH
XIX IN THE CHURCHYARD
XX AN INVOLUNTARY EAVESDROPPER
XXI GIFFORD CONTINUES HIS STORY
XXII HOW GIFFORD ESCAPED
XXIII EDITH MORRISTON'S STORY
XXIV HOW THE STORY ENDED
XXV DEFIANCE
XXVI ISSUE JOINED
XXVII GIFFORD'S REWARD
CHAPTER I
THE INTRUDER
"I'm afraid it must have gone on in the van, sir."
"Gone on!" Hugh Gifford exclaimed angrily. "But you had no business to
send the train on till all the luggage was put out."
"The guard told me that all the luggage for Branchester was out," the
porter protested deprecatingly. "You see, sir, the train was nearly
twenty minutes late, and in his hurry to get off he must have overlooked
your suit-case."
"The very thing I wanted most," the owner returned. "I say, Kelson," he
went on, addressing a tall, soldierly man who strolled up, "a nice thing
has happened; the train has gone off with my evening clothes."
Kelson whistled. "Are you sure?"
"Quite." Gifford appealed to the porter, who regretfully confirmed the
statement.
"That's awkward to-night," Kelson commented with a short laugh of
annoyance. "Look here, we'd better interview the station-master, and have
your case wired for to the next stop. I am sorry, old fellow, I kept you
talking instead of letting you look after your rattle-traps, but I was so
glad to see you again after all this long time."
"Thanks, my dear Harry, you've nothing to blame yourself about. It was my
own fault being so casual. The nuisance is that if I don't get the
suit-case back in time I shan't be able to go with you to-night."
"No," his friend responded; "that would be a blow. And it's going to
be a ripping dance. Dick Morriston, who hunts the hounds, is doing the
thing top-hole. Now let's see what the worthy and obliging Prior can
do for us."
The station-master was prepared to do everything in his power, but
that did not extend to altering the times of the trains or shortening
the mileage they had to travel. He wired for the suit-case to be put
out at Medford, the next stop, some forty miles on, and sent back by
the next up-train. "But that," he explained, "is a slow one and is
not due here till 9.47. However, I'll send it on directly it arrives,
and you should get it by ten o'clock or a few minutes after. You are
staying at the _Lion_?"
"Yes."
"Not more than ten or twelve minutes' drive. I'll do my best and there
shall be no delay."
The two men thanked him and walked out to the station yard, where a
porter waited with the rest of Gifford's luggage.
"There is a gentleman here going to the _Lion_" he said with a rather
embarrassed air; "I told him your fly was engaged, sir; but he said
perhaps you would let him share it with you."
Kelson looked black. "I like the way some people have of taking things
for granted. Cheek, I call it. He had better wait or walk."
"The gentleman said he was in a hurry, sir," the porter observed
apologetically.
"No reason why he should squash us up in the fly," Kelson returned. "I'll
have a word with the gentleman. Where is he?"
"I think he is in the fly, sir."
"The devil he is! We'll have him out, Hugh. Infernally cool." And he
strode off towards the waiting fly.
"Better see what sort of chap he is before you go for him, Harry,"
Gifford said deprecatingly as he followed. He knew his masterful friend's
quick temper, and anticipated a row.
"If you don't mind, this is my fly, sir," Kelson was saying as Gifford
reached him.
"The porter told me it was the _Golden Lion_ conveyance," a strong,
deeply modulated voice replied from the fly.
"And I think he told you it was engaged," Kelson rejoined bluffly.
"I did not quite understand that," the | 897.462093 |
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***Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
*****************The Life of Henry the Fift*****************
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The Life of Henry the Fift
by William Shakespeare
July, 2000 [Etext #2253]
***Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
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[Illustration: NEW NEIGHBORS.
_"Who can have taken the Ferguses' house, sister?" said a brisk little
old lady, peeping through the window blinds._--p. 7.]
WE AND OUR NEIGHBORS:
OR,
THE RECORDS OF AN UNFASHIONABLE STREET.
(_Sequel to "My Wife and I."_)
_A NOVEL._
BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
_Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "My Wife and I," etc._
With Illustrations.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
J. B. FORD & COMPANY.
COPYRIGHT A.D. 1875
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET 7
II.--HOW WE BEGIN LIFE 23
III.--THE FAMILY DICTATOR AT WORK 30
IV.--EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER 42
V.--AUNT MARIA ROUSES A TEMPEST IN A TEAPOT 52
VI.--THE SETTLING OF THE WATERS 69
VII.--LETTERS AND AIR-CASTLES 78
VIII.--THE VANDERHEYDEN FORTRESS TAKEN 86
IX.--JIM AND ALICE 95
X.--MR. ST. JOHN 103
XI.--AUNT MARIA CLEARS HER CONSCIENCE 115
XII.--"WHY CAN'T THEY LET US ALONE?" 131
XIII.--OUR "EVENING" PROJECTED 144
XIV.--MR. ST. JOHN IS OUTARGUED 152
XV.--GETTING READY TO BEGIN 160
XVI.--THE MINISTER'S VISIT 173
XVII.--OUR FIRST THURSDAY 178
XVIII.--RAKING UP THE FIRE 192
XIX.--A LOST SHEEP 197
XX.--EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER 201
XXI.--BOLTON AND ST. JOHN 207
XXII.--BOLTON TO CAROLINE 214
XXIII.--THE SISTERS OF ST. BARNABAS 221
XXIV.--EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER 227
XXV.--AUNT MARIA ENDEAVORS TO SET MATTERS RIGHT 232
XXVI.--SHE STOOD OUTSIDE THE GATE 243
XXVII.--ROUGH HANDLING OF SORE NERVES 253
XXVIII.--REASON AND UNREASON 262
XXIX.--AUNT MARIA FREES HER MIND 270
XXX.--A DINNER ON WASHING DAY 274
XXXI.--WHAT THEY TALKED ABOUT 285
XXXII.--A MISTRESS WITHOUT A MAID 296
XXXIII.--A FOUR-FOOTED PRODIGAL 307
XXXIV.--GOING TO THE BAD 317
XXXV.--A SOUL IN PERIL 328
XXXVI.--LOVE IN CHRISTMAS GREENS 339
XXXVII.--THEREAFTER? 350
XXXVIII.--"WE MUST BE CAUTIOUS" 357
XXXIX.--SAYS SHE TO HER NEIGHBOR--WHAT? 365
XL.--THE ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCED 369
XLI.--LETTER FROM EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER 375
XLII.--JIM'S FORTUNES 387
XLIII.--A MIDNIGHT CAUCUS OVER THE COALS 399
XLIV.--FLUCTUATIONS 407
XLV.--THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 414
XLVI.--WHAT THEY ALL SAID ABOUT IT 418
XLVII.--"IN THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS" 430
XLVIII.--THE PEARL CROSS 439
XLIX.--THE UNPROTECTED FEMALE 448
L.--EVA TO HARRY'S MOTHER 461
LI.--THE HOUR AND THE WOMAN 465
LII.--EVA'S CONSULTATIONS 469
LIII.--WEDDING PRESENTS 474
LIV.--MARRIED AND A' 478
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
I.--NEW NEIGHBORS _Frontispiece._
"_'Who can have taken the Ferguses' house, sister?' said a
brisk little old lady, peeping through the window blinds._"
PAGE
II.--TALKING IT OVER 73
"_Come now, Puss, out with it. Why that anxious brow?
What domestic catastrophe?_"
III.--THE DOMESTIC ARTIST 131
"_A spray of ivy that was stretching towards the window had been
drawn back and was forced to wreathe itself around a picture._"
IV.--WICKEDNESS, OR MISERY? 197
"_Bolton laid his hand on her shoulder, and, looking down
on her, said: 'Poor child, have you no mother?'_"
V.--CONFIDENCES 287
"_In due course followed an introduction to'my wife,' whose
photograph Mr. Selby wore dutifully in his coat-pocket._"
VI.--GOING TO THE BAD 327
"_The sweet-faced woman calls the attention of her husband.
He frowns, whips up the horse, and is gone.... Bitterness
possesses Maggie's soul.... Why not go to the bad?_"
VII.--SKIRMISHING 341
"_'I like your work,' he said, 'better than you do mine.'
'I didn't say that I didn't like yours,' said Angie, coloring._"
VIII.--A MIDNIGHT CAUCUS 400
"_'There, now he's off,' said Eva... then, leaning back,
she began taking out hair-pins and shaking down curls and
untying ribbons as a preface to a wholly free conversation._"
WE AND OUR NEIGHBORS.
_CHAPTER I._
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET.
"Who can have taken the Ferguses' house, sister?" said a brisk little
old lady, peeping through the window blinds. "It's taken! Just come
here and look! There's a cart at the door."
"You don't say so!" said Miss Dorcas, her elder sister, flying across
the room to the window blinds, behind which Mrs. Betsey sat discreetly
ensconced with her knitting work. "Where? Jack, get down, sir!" This
last remark was addressed to a rough-coated Dandie Dinmont terrier,
who had been winking in a half doze on a cushion at Miss Dorcas's
feet. On the first suggestion that there was something to be looked at
across the street, Jack had ticked briskly across the room, and now
stood on his hind legs on an old embroidered chair, peering through
the slats as industriously as if his opinion had been requested. "Get
down, sir!" persisted Miss Dorcas. But Jack only winked contumaciously
at Mrs. Betsey, whom he justly considered in the light of an ally,
planted his toe nails more firmly in the embroidered chair-bottom, and
stuck his nose further between the slats, while Mrs. Betsey took up
for him, as he knew she would.
"Do let the dog alone, Dorcas! _He_ wants to see as much as anybody."
"Now, Betsey, how am I ever to teach Jack not to jump on these chairs
if you will always take his part? Besides, next we shall know, he'll
be barking through the window blinds," said Miss Dorcas.
Mrs. Betsey replied to the expostulation by making a sudden diversion
of subject. "Oh, look, look!" she called, "that must be _she_," as a
face with radiant, dark eyes, framed in an aureole of bright golden
hair, appeared in the doorway of the house across the street. "She's a
pretty creature, anyway--much prettier than poor dear Mrs. Fergus."
"Henderson, you say the name is?" said Miss Dorcas.
"Yes. Simons, the provision man at the corner, told me that the
house had been bought by a young editor, or something of that sort,
named Henderson--somebody that writes for the papers. He married Van
Arsdel's daughter."
"What, the Van Arsdels that failed last spring? One of our mushroom
New York aristocracy--up to-day and down to-morrow!" commented Miss
Dorcas, with an air of superiority. "Poor things!"
"A very imprudent marriage, I don't doubt," sighed Mrs. Betsey. "These
upstart modern families never bring up their girls to do anything."
"She seems to be putting her hand to the plough, though," said Miss
Dorcas. "See, she actually is lifting out that package herself! Upon
my word, a very pretty creature. I think we must take her up."
"The Ferguses were nice," said Mrs. Betsey, "though he was only a
newspaper man, and she was a nobody; but she really did quite answer
the purpose for a neighbor--not, of course, one of our sort exactly,
but a very respectable, lady-like little body."
"Well," said Miss Dorcas, reflectively, "I always said it doesn't do
to carry exclusiveness too far. Poor dear Papa was quite a democrat.
He often said that he had seen quite good manners and real refinement
in people of the most ordinary origin."
"And, to be sure," said Mrs. Betsey, "if one is to be too particular,
one doesn't get anybody to associate with. The fact is, the good old
families we used to visit have either died off or moved off up into
the new streets, and one does like to have _somebody_ to speak to."
"Look there, Betsey, do you suppose that's Mr. Henderson that's coming
down the street?" said Miss Dorcas.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Betsey, in an anxious flutter. "Why, there are
_two_ of them--they are both taking hold to lift out that bureau--see
there! Now _she's_ put her head out of the chamber window there, and
is speaking to them. What a pretty color her hair is!"
At this moment the horse on the other side of the street started
prematurely, for some reason best known to himself, and the bureau
came down with a thud; and Jack, who considered his opinion as now
called for, barked frantically through the blinds.
Miss Dorcas seized his muzzle energetically and endeavored to hold
his jaws together, but he still barked in a smothered and convulsive
manner; whereat the good lady swept him, _vi et armis_, from his
perch, and disciplined him vigorously, forcing him to retire to his
cushion in a distant corner, where he still persistently barked.
"Oh, poor doggie!" sighed Mrs. Betsey. "Dorcas, how can you?"
"How can I?" said Miss Dorcas, in martial tones. "Betsey Ann
Benthusen, this dog would grow up a perfect pest of this
neighborhood if I left him to you. He _must_ learn not to get up
and bark through those blinds. It isn't so much matter now the
windows are shut, but the _habit_ is the thing. Who wants to have
a dog firing a fusillade when your visitors come up the front
steps--barking-enough-to-split-one's-head-open," added Miss Dorcas,
turning upon the culprit, with a severe staccato designed to tell upon
his conscience.
Jack bowed his head and rolled his great soft eyes at her through a
silvery thicket of hair.
"You are a _very_ naughty dog," she added, impressively.
Jack sat up on his haunches and waved his front paws in a deprecating
manner to Miss Dorcas, and the good lady laughed and said, cheerily,
"Well, well, Jacky, be a good dog now, and we'll be friends."
And Jacky wagged his tail in the most demonstrative manner, and
frisked with triumphant assurance of restored favor. It was the usual
end of disciplinary struggles with him. Miss Dorcas sat down to a bit
of worsted work on which she had been busy when her attention was
first called to the window.
Mrs. Betsey, however, with her nose close to the window blinds,
continued to announce the state of things over the way in short jets
of communication.
"There! the gentlemen are both gone in--and there! the cart has driven
off. Now, they've shut the front door," etc.
After | 897.554124 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.5342380 | 6,169 | 6 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
_THE GIRLS_
_OF_
_SILVER SPUR RANCH_
BY
GRACE MACGOWAN COOKE
AND
ANNE MCQUEEN
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Chicago_
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
*LIST OF CHAPTERS*
I. A Question of Names
II. Roy Rides to Silver Spur
III. A Package and a Leather-Brown Phaeton
IV. A Jewel of Great Price
V. The Silver Spur Bakery
VI. A Shiny Black Box
VII. The Wire Cutter
VIII. A Partner of the Sun
IX. The Rose by Another Name
_*THE GIRLS OF*_*
*_*SILVER SPUR RANCH*_
*CHAPTER I*
*A Question of Names*
The girls of Silver Spur ranch were all very busy helping Mary, the
eldest, with her wedding sewing. Silver Spur was rather a pretentious
name for John Spooner's little Texas cattle-farm, but Elizabeth, the
second daughter, who had an ear attuned to sweet sounds, had chosen it;
as a further confirmation of the fact she had covered an old spur with
silver-leaf and hung it over the doorway. The neighboring ranchers had
laughed, at first, and old Jonah Bean, the one cowboy left in charge of
the small Spooner herd, always sniffed scornfully when he had occasion
to mention the name of his ranch, declaring that The Tin Spoon would
suit it much better. However, in time everybody became used to it, and
Silver Spur the ranch remained--somehow Elizabeth always had her own
way.
This young lady sat by the window in the little living-room where they
were all at work, and carefully embroidered a big and corpulent "B" on a
sofa-pillow for Mary, who was to marry, in a few days, a young man from
another state who owned the euphonious name of Bellamy--a name Elizabeth
openly envied him.
"I do think Spooner is such a horrid, commonplace sort of name," she
declared with emphatic disapproval. "Aren't you glad you'll soon be rid
of it, Mary?"
"Um-m," murmured Mary, paying scant heed to Elizabeth's query; she was
hemming a ruffle to trim the little muslin frock which was the last
unfinished garment of her trousseau, and she was too busy for argument.
"As if," continued Elizabeth, "the name wasn't odious enough, father
must needs go and choose a _spoon_ for his brand! And he might so
easily have made it a _fleur-de-lys_--fairly rubbing it in, as if it was
something to be proud of!"
Just then Mary, finding that the machine needle kept jabbing in one
place, looked about for a cause, and perceived Elizabeth tranquilly
rocking upon one of the unhemmed breadths of her ruffle.
"I'll be much obliged if you'll take your chair off my ruffle, Saint
Elizabeth," she laughed, tugging at the crumpled cloth, "and just don't
worry over the name--try and live up to your looks."
Elizabeth blushed a little as she stooped to disentangle the cloth from
her rocker; she was a very handsome girl, altogether unlike her sisters,
who were all rather short and dark, and plump looking, Cousin Hannah
Pratt declared, as much alike as biscuits cut out of the same batch of
dough. Elizabeth was about sixteen, tall and fair and slim, with large,
serious blue eyes and long, thick blond hair, which she wore plaited in
the form of a coronet or halo about her head--privately, she much
preferred the halo, as best befitting the character of her favorite
heroine, Saint Elizabeth, a canonized queen whom she desired to resemble
in looks and deportment.
"One would have to be a saint to bear with the name of Spooner," she
said, rather crossly, as she tossed Mary her ruffle.
Cousin Hannah Pratt, rocking in the biggest chair, which she filled to
overflowing, lifted her eyes from her work and regarded Elizabeth
meditatively. "How'd you like to swap it for Mudd, Libby?" she asked
tranquilly.
Elizabeth shuddered--she hated to be called Libby, it was so
commonplace; and Cousin Hannah persisted in calling her that when she
knew how it annoyed her. Elizabeth was thankful that Cousin Hannah--who
kept a boarding-house in Emerald, the near-by village, and had kindly
come over to help with the wedding--was only kin-in-law, which was bad
enough; to have such an uncultured person for a blood relation would
have been worse.
"Mudd! O, poor Elizabeth!" giggled Ruth, the third of the Spooner
sisters, a merry-hearted girl of fifteen, who looked on all the world
with mirthful eyes. "Cousin Hannah, what made you think of such an
_awful_ name?"
"Don't be so noisy, Ruth," cautioned Mary, with what seemed unnecessary
severity. "Mother's neuralgia is bad to day. You can hear every sound
right through in her room. Cousin Hannah, won't you please make her a
cup of tea? I think it would do her good; you make such nice tea."
"Sure and certain!" agreed Cousin Hannah, heartily. Rising ponderously
from her chair, she moved on heavy tiptoes out into the kitchen, the
thin boards creaking as she walked.
"I might also remark that a person would have to be a saint to bear with
Cousin Hannah," said Elizabeth, "she doesn't intend it, maybe, but she
does rile me so!"
"I don't see why anybody would want to be a saint; I'd heap rather be a
knight," spoke up little Harvie, nicknamed by her family "the Babe."
She lay curled up on a lounge in the corner, ostensibly pulling out
bastings, but really reading a worn old copy of Ivanhoe, which was the
book of her heart. There were no children living near the lonely little
ranch, and the Babe, who was only ten, solaced herself with the company
of heroes and heroines of romance--much preferring the heroes.
"I'd rather be'most anything than a'mover'," declared Elizabeth,
emphatically. "And if you want to know the reason, just look out of the
window and watch this procession coming up from the road."
Ruth and the Babe ran to the window; Mary, leaving her machine, slipped
quietly out of the room to see about her mother. Also Mary desired to
have a little private talk with Cousin Hannah.
It was a pitifully ludicrous spectacle that the girls beheld. Up the
driveway leading to the house came a dreary procession of those
unfortunates known in western parlance as "movers," family tramps who
follow the harvests in hope of getting a little work in the fields;
always moving on when the crops are gathered, or planted, as the case
may be--movers never became dwellers in any local territory.
These movers were, in appearance, even more wretched than usual. In a
little covered cart drawn by a diminutive donkey, sat a pale woman with
a baby in her arms, and two small and pallid children crouching beside
her. Behind the cart the father of the family pushed valiantly, in a
kindly endeavor to help along the donkey, while just ahead of that
overburdened animal walked a small boy, holding, as further inducement,
an alluring ear of corn just out of reach of the donkey's nose.
Certainly the family justified Elizabeth's declaration that'most
anything was preferable to being a mover!
Ruth and Elizabeth both laughed at the comical procession, but the
Babe's eyes were full of pity. "The poor things are coming up for
water," she said sorrowfully. "Father always let them get water at our
well--I'll go show them the way." And she ran out to meet the movers
and show them the well at the back of the house, where they filled their
water-jugs and quenched the thirst of the patient and unsatisfied
donkey.
"I wish to goodness Father never had gone to Cuba," sighed Ruth, as she
turned from the window to take up her button-holes, "it is so awfully
lonesome without him."
"I think it was splendid," said Elizabeth, with shining eyes, "to be
among the very first of the volunteers. And maybe he'll do some deed of
daring and be made an officer. Think how nice it will be to say, when
the war is over, that our father figures in history--maybe as one of the
foremost heroes of the Spanish-American war."
"You're always dreaming of things that never happen, Elizabeth," scoffed
practical Ruth. "Of course he won't be made a big officer. If he comes
back just a plain Captain I'll be mighty glad."
"O, well, the world's greatest men and women have always been dreamers,"
asserted Elizabeth, cheerfully, "I can't help being born different from
the rest of you, can I?"
"H'm, I reckon not--but you can start a fire in the stove. People must
eat, no matter how great they are. It's your time to get supper."
"O, dear, it's bad to be born poor!" sighed Elizabeth, as she arose
reluctantly. "Especially when there's a longing within you to do
perfectly fine things, and not mere drudgery. I wish I were a
princess--it seems to me I was born to rule. I'm sure I would be a wise
and capable sovereign. Well, even queens stoop to minister to the lowly,
like Saint Elizabeth, so _I'll_ go get supper for the Spooners!"
And with her head in the clouds, the throneless queen marched
majestically kitchenward, to engage in the humble occupation of cooking
supper for her family.
Voices from her mother's closed door reached her ears as she passed.
Elizabeth would have scorned eavesdropping, but--the ranch being located
in the prairie region of Texas, where lumber is so scarce that just as
little as possible is used in building, and the walls being merely board
partitions, she could not help hearing Cousin Hannah's voice, always
strident, rising above her mother's and Mary's lower tones.
"Fiddle-diddle! What's the use of mincin' matters anyway? She's bound
to know, sooner or later--ought to know without--tellin', if she had a
grain o' common sense. Ain't a single, solitary thing about her favors
the rest of you all."
The words sounded very clearly in Elizabeth's startled ears, arousing a
train of troubled thoughts in her mind, as she moved mechanically about
the kitchen. She felt quite certain that they were talking about her,
and that Cousin Hannah wanted to tell her something that Mrs. Spooner
and Mary didn't want known.
"I wonder what it can be," pondered Elizabeth, as she slowly stirred the
hominy pot. "Whether Cousin Hannah thinks so or not, I've always known
I wasn't like the rest."
This was quite true; Elizabeth, though she dearly loved the parents and
sisters who had always, Cousin Hannah declared, spoiled her, yet could
not help feeling that she was, mentally and physically superior to them,
"made of finer clay," she would have put it. People often remarked on
this lack of resemblance to the others, and when they did so in Mrs.
Spooner's presence she always hastily changed the subject. Elizabeth
had often wondered why. Somehow there seemed always to have been a
mystery surrounding her--something that, if explained, would prove very
thrilling indeed.
Occupied with these thoughts, she moved from cupboard to table, and from
table to fire, preparing the evening meal with deft skill, for anything
Elizabeth Spooner did she did a little better than other people.
Outside the window stretched a vast brown-green plain, bounded by a
horizon line like a ring. There was monotony in the prospect, and yet a
curious sense of adventure and romance, as there is about the sea.
Elizabeth delighted in the mystic beauty of the prairie, yet to-day her
fine eyes studied the level unseeingly as she glanced through the
window, looking to see if Jonah Bean was in sight; the glories of sunset
that flooded the plain passed almost unnoticed. She was thinking too
earnestly on her own problem to observe the outside world.
"If I were by chance adopted, I certainly have a right to know who I
am," Elizabeth pondered, as she set the table beautifully, with certain
artistic touches that the clumsier hands of the other girls somehow
could never manage. "It won't make any difference in my feelings for
father and mother and the girls if I should happen to be born in a
higher station of life than theirs--though I can easily see how poor
mother could think it might; I trust I'm above being snobbish--"
Elizabeth's eyes began to glow with a resolute purpose--"I'm going to
find out, that's what! I'll make Cousin Hannah tell me. She's so big
it's awful to sleep with her, and she snores like thunder. Mary knows
how bad it is, and how I hate it, that's the reason she made me sleep
with Ruth, when one of us had to give up our place. To-night I'll make
Mary take the Babe's place with Mother, who might need her in the night,
and I'll sleep with Cousin Hannah--and find out what she knows about
me!"
Jonah Bean came stamping up the steps just then to wash up for supper at
the water-shelf just outside the kitchen door; informing anybody who
chose to listen that he was mighty tired--there was two men's work to do
on the Spooner ranch, anyhow, and he was gittin' old, same's other
folks. Glancing in at the open door he observed who was the cook.
"Humph! So it's your night for gittin' supper? Well, I hope the
truck'll taste as fancy as that air table looks."
"Sure, Jonah," answered Elizabeth, critically observing the effect of
her handiwork. "If you'll just step outside and get me a big bunch of
those yellow cactus-blooms to put in this brown pitcher it'll be
perfect, and I'll see that you get a big painted cup full of coffee."
"Never could see no use in weeds--full o' stickers at that," grumbled
Jonah, as he turned to go out for the flowers that were growing on the
great cactus in the fence corner. "Hope that air coffee'll be strong
and hot, though."
The coffee was strong and hot, and the hominy was white and well-cooked;
the bacon was brown and crisp and the biscuits light as feathers.
Elizabeth dished the supper in the flowered dishes kept for company,
because she could not bear the heavy earthenware they used every day.
She filled the squatty brown pitcher with the big bunch of golden blooms
old Jonah bore gingerly, careful of the thorns, and then lighted the
lamp with the red shade. Really they didn't need a lamp, but the glow
from the red shade was so pretty that she lighted it anyway--she so
loved beautiful things.
She arranged her mother's tray daintily, laying a cactus-bloom, freed of
its thorns, beside the plate--somehow she felt as if she was preparing
for some extra occasion.
"I declare Libby always cooks like she was fixin' for company," said
Cousin Hannah, admiringly, as she sat at the gracefully arranged table.
"Oughter keep boarders, and she wouldn't find no time for extra kinks."
Elizabeth shuddered a little as she poured Jonah's coffee in the biggest
cup, with the painted motto on it--how she would hate to do such a
sordid thing as keep boarders!
But she smiled very affably on Cousin Hannah, and asked if she wouldn't
tell her how to make spice cake--she always noticed that Cousin Hannah's
cake was so good. She wished to get the recipe to write in her
scrap-book.
"Shore and certain," said Cousin Hannah, amiably, pleased at Elizabeth's
praise, "I'll be glad to write it off. You're 'bout as good a cook as
Ruth, though I always did say she was the born cook o' the family--you
seemin' to be a master hand at managin'."
That she was indeed a master hand at the art, Elizabeth proved that
night, when with a few energetic commands, she sent Mary obediently to
her mother's room, to take the Babe's place, who in turn was put to
sleep with Ruth.
"Why in the world don't you let Ruth sleep with Cousin Hannah?" argued
Mary, "you know how you hate to--and she doesn't mind."
"Because it isn't fair that I shouldn't have my turn as well as the
others--it's disagreeable to all of us. Now you just let me have my
way, and say nothing else about it!" declared Elizabeth with authority,
and as usual, she was allowed to have her way.
While Cousin Hannah undressed, moving ponderously about the little room,
Elizabeth sat on the side of the bed, brushing her long blond hair,
watching with critical admiration of the beautiful, the gleams of red
and gold the lamplight cast upon its glittering strands, and formulating
in her mind a plan to find out the secret of her birth--if secret there
was.
She finally decided that plain speech was better than beating about the
bush, and spoke in a carefully suppressed tone.
"Cousin Hannah," she said, with whispering decisiveness, "I want to know
what you, and Mother and Mary were talking about in her room."
"Why, Libby!" exclaimed Cousin Hannah, plumping down upon the bed in her
astonishment, "did you go and listen to what we was sayin'?"
"Indeed I didn't! But I couldn't help hearing you--and I think it's my
right to know, if you were talking about me."
"But your Ma--but Jennie said she didn't _want_ you should know," argued
the bewildered Cousin Hannah, "land o' livin', girl, ain't you got a
home, and people to care for you? Why in tunket can't you be satisfied
with _that_?"
Certainty made Elizabeth calmly triumphant.
"I have felt, for a long time--ever since I can remember, that I was
different from the rest of my family, though you didn't give me credit
for having sense enough to see it. Of course, I love them all dearly
but I can't help feeling that it's my right to know the truth, whatever
it is. Cousin Hannah, is or is not my name Spooner?"
"Well," Cousin Hannah evaded the question, "what would you get out of it
if your name wasn't Spooner?"
Elizabeth leaped up softly, she held her hairbrush as though it were a
scepter; her long hair flowed and billowed about her as she walked with
majestic tread, up and down the tiny room--she was seeing visions!
If her name was not Spooner! That would mean that her birth was, she
felt sure, indefinitely illustrious some way. Of course she would never
desert the people who loved her, and whom she would always love,
but--might not something come of it that would be grand for them all?
"Libby," Cousin Hannah's eyes followed the moving figure with a
distressed look in them, "your ma--Jennie Spooner--your true ma, if love
and tenderness count for anything, never wanted you told. Mary knows,
and she don't want you should know. When I watch your uppity ways I tell
'em it's high time they explained the situation to you."
"The situation--" Elizabeth hung breathlessly on her words with shining
eyes, and an eager tremble of her lips.
"Yes, the situation," repeated Cousin Hannah heavily. "Jennie Spooner
had a tough time raisin' you--a troublesome young'un as ever I see. You
teethed so hard that it looked like she never knew what a night's rest
was till you got 'em through the gums. I used to come over here many a
time and help her; what with Ruth bein' so nigh the same age, she had
her hands full. It was kept from you for fear of hurtin' your feelin's,
if you must know."
"How could it hurt my feelings?" questioned Elizabeth, a little puzzled.
"I love them all--but they should have told me. They ought to have known
they couldn't change--" a swan to a duckling had been on the tip of her
tongue, but she stopped in time, "me to a Spooner, even by their love
and kindness."
"Change you to a Spooner?" slow wrath mounted to Cousin Hannah's face.
She caught Elizabeth's arm as the girl passed by. "I reckon they
couldn't make a Spooner out o' you, that's a fact. The Spooners, bein',
so far's known to me, respectable householders--"
"But not what _my_ people were," suggested Elizabeth, her whole face
alight, her eyes shining with eagerness. "You must tell me who they
were--what my rightful name is."
Cousin Hannah groaned. "Looks like I've let the cat out of the
bag--don't it? Well, what I've got to tell ain't nigh what you think
I've got to tell," she asserted doggedly. "You'll be sorry for askin'."
Through Elizabeth's mind flashed visions of a wonderful ancestry; to do
her justice these dream parents did not in any way displace the father
and mother she really loved with all her young heart--they were only
that vision which comes to us all in some shape when we feel we are
misunderstood--different.
Mary's step was heard approaching in the little corridor. She had
undoubtedly been disturbed by the sound of their voices, and was uneasy
for fear Cousin Hannah would be teased into making in judicious
revelations.
"Tell me--tell me quick--" whispered Elizabeth, shaking her room-mate's
arm. "Tell me before Mary gets here."
"Well, I will," gasped Cousin Hannah. "You ought to know it--but I warn
you it's not what you're expectin'!"
*CHAPTER II*
*Roy Rides to Silver Spur*
When Mary stepped into the little bedroom Cousin Hannah Pratt had
already spoken.
"Your pa and ma was movers that come here sixteen years ago--movers,
like the folks you seen to-day and made such fun of. The name was Mudd."
These whispered words sounded in Elizabeth's ears, and the girl crumpled
up on the bed sobbing just as Mary opened the door. Mrs. Pratt pulled
the elder sister into the room.
"I've told Libby--she ought to have been told long ago--with you
marryin' and goin' away and Ruth not havin' a bit of faculty and her
bein' the one to take your place I think she was obliged to know it."
Mary came across the room with a rush, and took slim Elizabeth in loving
arms.
"Go away, Cousin Hannah, please," she said. "You can sleep with Ruth
and I'll stay with Elizabeth."
Mrs. Pratt, glad enough to be relieved from sight of the misery she had
caused, hurried away and the two sisters were alone together. Mary knew
very little of what Cousin Hannah had seen fit to reveal, a child
herself at the time, she had but vague remembrances of it, and indeed
Elizabeth asked no questions--she only needed to be comforted, and this
Mary did as best she could.
The next day but one was the wedding day, Mr. Bellamy was expected in
the morning and they would probably have no other chance for private
talk, but Mary urged Elizabeth to go to their mother for comfort when
the wedding was over, and some time late in the night they both fell
asleep.
In the days that followed the wedding, when everything was strange, and
they were settling slowly back into the usual routine Elizabeth found no
opportunity to speak with her mother of that trouble which had come now
to haunt every waking hour, and even pursued her into dreams.
Mary and her euphoniously named Mr. Bellamy had gone on their way to
Oklahoma, where the bridegroom owned a ranch. Cousin Hannah Pratt,
having helped with the wedding sewing and the packing, had gone back to
Emerald and her own overflowing boarding-house. Mrs. Spooner, the three
girls, and old Jonah were left alone, face to face with the problem of
getting along.
Everything had settled into the usual routine at the Silver Spur; Mrs.
Spooner, rather weak from her neuralgia and the strain of the wedding,
sat on the front porch in a big chair which Elizabeth had endeavored to
make comfortable with rugs and pillows.
"Are you perfectly sure I can't do anything else for you, Mother?" she
asked anxiously. "Mary always waited on you so beautifully, while--it
seems to me I've never done one little thing for you, when you've done
so much for me!"
A big tear slipped from the long lashes and splashed on Mrs. Spooner's
little hand, fluttering among the cushions. In a minute the mother-arms
had pulled the girl's head down to the mother-breast, the thin fingers
patting the blond braids and the mother-voice crooning comfort into the
crumpled little ear buried upon the maternal shoulder.
"Don't cry, daughter, Mother loves you just the same! Haven't you been
our own since you were, O, such a _wee_ baby! It was cruel of Cousin
Hannah to tell you, but we won't let it make one bit of difference.
You're ours and we are yours. A thing like that can't matter to people
who love each other as we do."
"It--it doesn't matter, Mother," gasped Elizabeth, as she mopped her
reddened eyes, "if I can just take Mary's place to you. I am going to
try, my very level best."
"Then you'll be sure to succeed," said her mother, confidently. "You
always succeed in everything you undertake--hadn't you noticed that,
dear? Now, really, I'm just as comfortable as hands can make me, so you
run on down to the corral and help Ruth and the Babe with the ponies.
You ride with them to Emerald, and get the mail--it'll do you good. And
be sure you bring me a letter from father."
Cheered by her mother's words, Elizabeth gave one more pat and pull to
the pillows, kissed her, and ran down to the corral, where the girls
were roping the ponies. She and Ruth could each rope a little, missing
about three out of five throws, but the Babe usually flourished so
reckless a loop that she entangled herself, and had to be helped out; in
spite of which old Jonah Bean insisted that she was the only one who
showed any signs of learning the art.
Poor Elizabeth! Her castle of dreams had fallen, leaving her wide awake
to the fact that she was no princess | 897.554278 |
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CONTENTS
PAGE
LET DAD AND SON BEWARE! 2
ADVENTS AND PUBLIC PLUNDERERS. 3
THE MAYOR AND CHARLEY. 6
LIFE OF STEPHEN H. BRANCH. 8
[Illustration: STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Volume I.—No. 4.] SATURDAY, MAY 15, 1858. [Price 2 Cents.]
STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S ALLIGATOR.
Let Dad and Son Beware!
Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann are old and sacred friends of George
W. Matsell, who are more familiar with each other than they are
with the Bible, or morning and evening prayers. Mayor Tiemann was
elected with the express condition that Matsell should be restored
to his old position, and Peter Cooper and Mayor Tiemann, and James
W. Gerard, and Ambrose C. Kingsland are at work for their lives to
effect the restoration of Matsell, and all impends on the election of
a Commissioner in place of the noble Perrit. Matsell was in the city
at the last Mayoralty election, conspiring against Wood, who saved him
from the scaffold, after we convicted him of alienage and perjury,
and the dastard and sacrilegious abjuration of his country. And at
the late election, he stabbed his benefactor down in the dust, in the
assassin’s darkness, and did not play Brutus for the public virtue, but
to consummate his restoration to an office (he had always degraded)
which was in the contract between himself and Cooper, Tiemann, Gerard,
and Kingsland, and other slavish friends. We know them all and the
rendezvous of all their kindred Diavolos, whose names would fill the
jaws of the _Alligator_. Matsell professed to enter the city from
Iowa with flags and music on the day after Tiemann’s election, but he
was in the city long before, and concealed in as dark a cavern as the
odious Cataline, while conspiring to foil the patriotic Cicero, and
consign the eternal city to a million thieves. And we now warn Cooper,
Tiemann, Gerard, and Kingsland to beware. For if they foist Matsell on
the city through the purchase of Nye or Bowen with Mayoralty, Street
Commissioner, or the pap of the Mayor’s Executive vassals, we will make
disclosures that will make them stare like affrighted cats, (Gerard _a
la_ he-cat, and the others _a la_ she-cats,) and rock the city to its
carbonic entrails. Talmadge must remain, although he annoyed his nurse
and mother when a brat, and so did we; and in boyhood and early manhood
we both had worms, and raised Sancho Panza,
And we rambled around the town,
And saw perhaps Miss Julia Brown,
as we may develop in the publication of our funny reminiscences;
but we are both growing old, and told our experience at the recent
revival, and asked admission as pious pilgrims, when the deacons said
that we should both be put on five year’s trial, but we begged so hard
they let us in. Talmadge joined the Presbyterians, and he looks pale
and pensive, but we joined the noisy Methodists, and look mighty
cheerful, and sing and dance, and scream like the devil in delirium
tremens, and nervous neighbors murmur at our thundering methodistic
demonstrations. Talmadge | 897.559826 |
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GEO. M. BAKER’S
NEW PLAYS.
=PAST REDEMPTION.= 4 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=COMRADES.= 3 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=TITANIA.= A Fairy Play for Children. 2 Acts. Price 25 cts.
=OUR FOLKS.= 3 Acts. Price 15 cts.
=SANTA CLAUS THE FIRST.= A Christmas play for children.
By F. E. Chase. 25 c.
=REBECCA’S TRIUMPH.= For female characters only. Price 25 cts.
[Illustration: THE
GLOBE
DRAMA.
ALL THE WORLD’S
A STAGE
POISON.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER & CO.,
No. 47 Franklin Street.]
Copyright, 1876, by GEORGE M. BAKER.
* * * * *
Spencer’s Universal Stage.
_A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public
or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the
necessary Stage Business._
PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. ☞ No Plays Exchanged.
1. LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 6 male, 4 female characters.
2. NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3
female char.
3. THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2
female char.
4. JOHN WOPPS. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female
char.
5. THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. By Montague Williams and F.
C. Burnand. 6 male, 1 female char.
6. THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
7. OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 Acts. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2
female char.
8. TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male
char.
9. SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3
female char.
10. TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A Farce in 1 Act. By Lenox Horne. 4
male, 1 female char.
11. JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female
char.
12. THE DAUGHTER of the REGIMENT. A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edward
Fitzball, 6 male, 2 female char.
13. AUNT CHARLOTTE’S MAID. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
male, 3 female char.
14. BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 4 male,
3 female char.
15. DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male,
2 female char.
16. DUNDUCKETTY’S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 6
male, 3 female char.
17. I’VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
male, 3 female char.
19. MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4
female char.
20. MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3
female char.
22. THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce in 1 Act. By Chas. Selby. 3
male, 2 female char.
23. DANDELION’S DODGES. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4
male, 2 female char.
24. A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2
female char.
25. ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 Act. By Horace Wigan. 3 male, 3
female char.
26. A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy in 2 Acts. By Charles
Matthews. 6 male, 4 female char.
27. ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Thomas Morton. 6 male, 3
female char.
28. BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. By H. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female
char.
29. COUSIN TOM. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By Geo. Roberts. 3 male, 2
female char.
30. SARAH’S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3
female char.
31. HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and
N. H. Harrington. 7 male, 3 female char.
32. THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. B. Buckstone. 5 male,
6 female char.
33. A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 5
male, 4 female char.
34. YOUR LIFE’S IN DANGER. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3
male, 3 female char.
35. TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6
male, 2 female char.
36. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude in 1 Act. By W. H. Murray. 10
male, 1 female char.
37. LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act. By George A. Stuart, M. D.
6 male, 1 female char.
38. MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. By Thomas Archer. 15 male, 3
female char.
39. A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 3
male char.
40. BROTHER BEN. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3
female char.
41. ONLY A CLOD. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By J. P. Simpson. 4 male,
1 female char.
42. GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama in 3 Acts. By George Almar. 10
male, 2 female char.
43. SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby
Lawrence. 3 male, 3 female char.
44. DON’T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A Farce in 1 Act. By J. M. Morton.
3 male, 2 female char.
45. NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act. By T. J. Williams. 4 male,
2 female char.
46. MARY MOO; or, Which shall I Marry? A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E.
Suter. 2 male, 1 female char.
47. EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char.
48. THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama in 5 Acts. By Robert Jones. 16 male, 7
female char.
49. SILVERSTONE’S WAGER. A Commedietta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews.
4 male, 3 female char.
50. DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By Chas. Reade. 5 male, 2
female char.
55. THE WIFE’S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. By Geo. W. Lovell. 10
male, 2 female char.
56. THE BABES IN THE WOOD. A Comedy in 3 Acts. By Tom Taylor. 10
male, 3 female char.
57. PUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By
W. R. Emerson. 2 male, 2 female char.
58. AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. By Thomas J. Williams. 3
male, 2 female char.
59. BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char.
60. A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char.
61. THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 Acts. 8 male, 7 female char.
62. WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaudeville. 1 male, 2 female char.
63. MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 2 male, 2 female char.
64. THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 2 male, 2 female char.
65. THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 5 male, 3 female char.
66. A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, AND A TAILOR. A Farce in 1 Act.
4 male, 2 female char.
67. GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 2 male, 2 female char.
68. DAMON AND PYTHIAS. A Farce. 6 male, 4 female char.
69. A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic Drama in 2 Acts. 5 male, 3
female char.
70. PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female
char.
_Descriptive Catalogue mailed free on application to_
Geo. M. Baker & Co., 47 Franklin St., Boston.
POISON.
A Farce.
AS PERFORMED
BY “THE HASTY PUDDING CLUB”
OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
BOSTON:
GEORGE M. BAKER AND COMPANY.
1882.
Copyright, 1882,
BY GEORGE M. BAKER.
_All Rights Reserved._
POISON.
_A FARCE._
AS ACTED AT THE HASTY PUDDING CLUB, HARVARD COLLEGE, DEC. 20TH, 1881.
CHARACTERS:
MR. THEOPHILUS TWITTERS, _a retired sugar merchant_ E. J. WENDELL.
GOTTLIEB HUNKER, _honorary secretary of the society
for the prevention of capital_ J. E. WEBB.
DR. CHARLES SQUILLCOX, _an apothecary in love
with Clara_ F. C. WOODBURY.
CLARA TWITTERS H. C. FRENCH.
THE MOTHER OF THE LATE MRS. TWITTERS A. MATTHEWS.
MARY JANE R. T. BABSON.
OFFICER OF THE LAW H. M. HUBBARD.
SCENE.--_Breakfast-room of the suburban villa of Mr. Twitters. The
mother of the late Mrs. Twitters and Mary Jane are discovered._
MARY JANE. But I tell you this is Mr. Twitters’ breakfast, mum. There’s
no telling what he’ll do if | 897.562139 |
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by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note regarding the illustrations
"The Book of Khalid" contains illustrations drawn by Khalil
Gibran, the other early Arab-American writer (author of "The
Prophet"), that are well-known and exceptional. There are no
captions in the original book, and are very difficult to describe
in words. Their locations in the text have been marked with the
text '[Illustration]'. The reader is encouraged to view these
illustrations in the HTML version of this ebook.
* * * * *
THE BOOK OF KHALID
THE
BOOK OF KHALID
BY
AMEEN RIHANI
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
_Published, October_, 1911
CONTENTS
BOOK THE FIRST
IN THE EXCHANGE
CHAPTER PAGE
AL-FATIHAH v
TO MAN 3
I PROBING THE TRIVIAL 5
II THE CITY OF BAAL 14
III VIA DOLOROSA 25
IV ON THE WHARF OF ENCHANTMENT 34
V THE CELLAR OF THE SOUL 46
VI THE SUMMER AFTERNOON OF A SHAM 58
VII IN THE TWILIGHT OF AN IDEA 70
VIII WITH THE HURIS 83
BOOK THE SECOND
IN THE TEMPLE
TO NATURE 97
I THE DOWRY OF DEMOCRACY 99
II SUBTRANSCENDENTAL 115
III THE FALSE DAWN 125
IV THE LAST STAR 130
V PRIESTO-PARENTAL 143
VI FLOUNCES AND RUFFLES 154
VII THE HOWDAJ OF FALSEHOOD 167
VIII THE KAABA OF SOLITUDE 181
IX SIGNS OF THE HERMIT 192
X THE VINEYARD IN THE KAABA 202
BOOK THE THIRD
IN KULMAKAN
TO GOD 217
I THE DISENTANGLEMENT OF THE ME 219
II THE VOICE OF THE DAWN 231
III THE SELF ECSTATIC 239
IV ON THE OPEN HIGHWAY 249
V UNION AND PROGRESS 274
VI REVOLUTIONS WITHIN AND WITHOUT 287
VII A DREAM OF EMPIRE 298
VIII ADUMBRATIONS 311
IX THE STONING AND FLIGHT 325
X THE DESERT 333
AL-KHATIMAH 341
AL-FATIHAH
In the Khedivial Library of Cairo, among the Papyri of the Scribe of
Amen-Ra and the beautifully illuminated copies of the Koran, the
modern Arabic Manuscript which forms the subject of this Book, was
found. The present Editor was attracted to it by the dedication and
the rough drawings on the cover; which, indeed, are as curious, if not
as mystical, as ancient Egyptian symbols. One of these is supposed to
represent a New York Skyscraper in the shape of a Pyramid, the other
is a dancing group under which is written: "The Stockbrokers and the
Dervishes." And around these symbols, in Arabic circlewise, these
words:--"_And this is my Book, the Book of Khalid, which I dedicate to
my Brother Man, my Mother Nature, and my Maker God._"
Needless to say we asked at once the Custodian of the Library to give
us access to this Book of Khalid, and after examining it, we hired an
amanuensis to make a copy for us. Which copy we subsequently used as
the warp of our material; the woof we shall speak of in the following
chapter. No, there is nothing in this Work which we can call ours,
except it be the Loom. But the weaving, we assure the Reader, was a
mortal process; for the material is of such a mixture that here and
there the raw silk of Syria is often spun with the cotton and wool of
America. In other words, the Author dips his antique pen in a modern
inkstand, and when the ink runs thick, he mixes it with a slabbering
of slang. But we started to write an Introduction, not a Criticism.
And lest we end by writing neither, we give here what is more to the
point than anything we can say: namely, Al-Fatihah, or the Opening
Word of Khalid himself.
With supreme indifference to the classic Arabic proem, he begins by
saying that his Book is neither a Memoir nor an Autobiography, neither
a Journal nor a Confession.
"Orientals," says he, "seldom adventure into that region of fancy and
fabrication so alluring to European and American writers; for, like
the eyes of huris, our vanity is soft and demure. This then is a book
of travels in an impalpable country, an enchanted country, from which
we have all risen, and towards which we are still rising. It is, as it
were, the chart and history of one little kingdom of the Soul,--the
Soul of a philosopher, poet and criminal. I am all three, I swear, for
I have lived both the wild and the social life. And I have thirsted in
the desert, and I have thirsted in the city: the springs of the former
were dry; the water in the latter was frozen in the pipes. That is
why, to save my life, I had to be an incendiary at times, and at
others a footpad. And whether on the streets of knowledge, or in the
open courts of love, or in the parks of freedom, or in the cellars and
garrets of thought and devotion, the only _saki_ that would give me a
drink without the asking was he who called himself Patience....
"And so, the Book of Khalid was written. It is the only one I wrote in
this world, having made, as I said, a brief sojourn in its civilised
parts. I leave it now where I wrote it, and I hope to write other
books in other worlds. Now understand, Allah keep and guide thee, I do
not leave it here merely as a certificate of birth or death. I do not
raise it up as an epitaph, a trade-sign, or any other emblem of
vainglory or lucre; but truly as a propylon through which my race and
those above and below my race, are invited to pass to that higher
Temple of mind and spirit. For we are all tourists, in a certain
sense, and this world is the most ancient of monuments. We go through
life as those pugreed-solar-hatted-Europeans go through Egypt. We are
pestered and plagued with guides and dragomans of every rank and
shade;--social and political guides, moral and religious dragomans: a
Tolstoy here, an Ibsen there, a Spencer above, a Nietzche below. And
there thou art left in perpetual confusion and despair. Where wilt
thou go? Whom wilt thou follow?
"Or wilt thou tarry to see the work of redemption accomplished? For
Society must be redeemed, and many are the redeemers. The Cross,
however, is out of fashion, and so is the Dona Dulcinea motive.
Howbeit, what an array of Masters and Knights have we, and what a
variety! The work can be done, and speedily, if we could but choose.
Wagner can do it with music; Bakunin, with dynamite; Karl Marx, with
the levelling rod; Haeckel, with an injection of protoplasmic logic;
the Pope, with a pinch of salt and chrism; and the Packer-Kings of
America, with pork and beef. What wilt thou have? Whom wilt thou
employ? Many are the applicants, many are the guides. But if they are
all going the way of Juhannam, the Beef-packer I would choose. For
verily, a gobbet of beef on the way were better than canned
protoplasmic logic or bottled salt and chrism....
"No; travel not on a Cook's ticket; avoid the guides. Take up thy
staff and foot it slowly and leisurely; tarry wherever thy heart
would tarry. There is no need of hurrying, O my Brother, whether
eternal Juhannam or eternal Jannat await us yonder. Come; if thou
hast not a staff, I have two. And what I have in my Scrip I will
share with thee. But turn thy back to the guides; for verily we see
more of them than of the ruins and monuments. Verily, we get more
of the Dragomans than of the Show. Why then continue to move and
remove at their command?--Take thy guidebook in hand and I will
tell thee what is in it.
"No; the time will come, I tell thee, when every one will be his own
guide and dragoman. The time will come when it will not be necessary
to write books for others, or to legislate for others, or to make
religions for others: the time will come when every one will write his
own Book in the Life he lives, and that Book will be his code and his
creed;--that Life-Book will be the palace and cathedral of his Soul in
all the Worlds."
BOOK THE FIRST
IN THE EXCHANGE
[Illustration]
TO MAN
_No matter how good thou art, O my Brother, or how bad thou art, no
matter how high or how low in the scale of being thou art, I still
would believe in thee, and have faith in thee, and love thee. For do I
not know what clings to thee, and what beckons to thee? The claws of
the one and the wings of the other, have I not felt and seen? Look up,
therefore, and behold this World-Temple, which, to us, shall be a
resting-place, and not a goal. On the border-line of the Orient and
Occident it is built, on the mountain-heights overlooking both. No
false gods are worshipped in it,--no philosophic, theologic, or
anthropomorphic gods. Yea, and the god of the priests and prophets is
buried beneath the Fountain, which is the altar of the Temple, and
from which flows the eternal spirit of our Maker--our Maker who
blinketh when the Claws are deep in our flesh, and smileth when the
Wings spring from our Wounds. Verily, we are the children of the God
of Humour, and the Fountain in His Temple is ever flowing. Tarry, and
refresh thyself, O my Brother, tarry, and refresh thyself._
KHALID.
CHAPTER I
PROBING THE TRIVIAL
The most important in the history of nations and individuals was once
the most trivial, and vice versa. The plebeian, who is called to-day
the man-in-the-street, can never see and understand the significance
of the hidden seed of things, which in time must develop or die. A
garter dropt in the ballroom of Royalty gives birth to an Order of
Knighthood; a movement to reform the spelling of the English language,
initiated by one of the presidents of a great Republic, becomes
eventually an object of ridicule. Only two instances to illustrate our
point, which | 897.659074 |
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Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Chris Logan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A
JOURNAL,
OF
A YOUNG MAN OF MASSACHUSETTS,
LATE
A SURGEON ON BOARD AN AMERICAN PRIVATEER,
WHO WAS CAPTURED AT SEA BY THE BRITISH, IN MAY, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED
AND THIRTEEN, AND WAS CONFINED FIRST,
AT MELVILLE ISLAND, HALIFAX, THEN AT CHATHAM,
IN ENGLAND... AND LAST,
AT DARTMOOR PRISON.
INTERSPERSED WITH
OBSERVATIONS, ANECDOTES AND REMARKS,
TENDING TO ILLUSTRATE THE MORAL AND POLITICAL CHARACT | 897.660332 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.6427070 | 210 | 15 |
Produced by Mike Lough
THE GAMING TABLE: ITS VOTARIES AND VICTIMS,
In all Times and Countries, especially in England and in France.
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. II.
By Andrew Steinmetz
Of The Middle Temple, Barrister-At-Law; First-Class Extra Certificate
School Of Musketry, Hythe; Late Officer Instructor Musketry, The Queens
Own Light Infantry Militia. Author Of 'The History Of The Jesuits,'
'Japan And Her People,' 'The Romance Of Duelling,' &C., &C.
'The sharp, the blackleg, and the knowing one,
Livery or lace, the self-same circle, run;
The same the passion, end and means the same--
Dick and his Lordship differ but in name.'
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
I. CHEVALIERS D'INDUSTRIE, OR POLITE SHARPERS II. PROFESSIONAL GAMEST | 897.662747 |
2023-11-16 18:32:01.7394030 | 1,342 | 120 | The Project Gutenberg Etext The City of Domes, by John D. Barry
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Title: The City of Domes
Author: John D. Barry
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additions to this | 897.759443 |
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Transcribed from the 1916 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
GLASSES
CHAPTER I
Yes indeed, I say to myself, pen in hand, I can keep hold of the thread
and let it lead me back to the first impression. The little story is all
there, I can touch it from point to point; for the thread, as I call it,
is a row of beads on a string. None of the beads are missing--at
least I think they're not: that's exactly what I shall amuse myself with
finding out.
I had been all summer working hard in town and then had gone down to
Folkestone for a blow. Art was long, I felt, and my holiday short; my
mother was settled at Folkestone, and I paid her a visit when I could. I
remember how on this occasion, after weeks in my stuffy studio with my
nose on my palette, I sniffed up the clean salt air and cooled my eyes
with the purple sea. The place was full of lodgings, and the lodgings
were at that season full of people, people who had nothing to do but to
stare at one another on the great flat down. There were thousands of
little chairs and almost as many little Jews; and there was music in an
open rotunda, over which the little Jews wagged their big noses. We all
strolled to and fro and took pennyworths of rest; the long, level cliff-
top, edged in places with its iron rail, might have been the deck of a
huge crowded ship. There were old folks in Bath chairs, and there was
one dear chair, creeping to its last full stop, by the side of which I
always walked. There was in fine weather the coast of France to look at,
and there were the usual things to say about it; there was also in every
state of the atmosphere our friend Mrs. Meldrum, a subject of remark not
less inveterate. The widow of an officer in the Engineers, she had
settled, like many members of the martial miscellany, well within sight
of the hereditary enemy, who however had left her leisure to form in
spite of the difference of their years a close alliance with my mother.
She was the heartiest, the keenest, the ugliest of women, the least
apologetic, the least morbid in her misfortune. She carried it high
aloft with loud sounds and free gestures, made it flutter in the breeze
as if it had been the flag of her country. It consisted mainly of a big
red face, indescribably out of drawing, from which she glared at you
through gold-rimmed aids to vision, optic circles of such diameter and so
frequently displaced that some one had vividly spoken of her as
flattering her nose against the glass of her spectacles. She was
extraordinarily near-sighted, and whatever they did to other objects they
magnified immensely the kind eyes behind them. Blest conveniences they
were, in their hideous, honest strength--they showed the good lady
everything in the world but her own queerness. This element was enhanced
by wild braveries of dress, reckless charges of colour and stubborn
resistances of cut, wondrous encounters in which the art of the toilet
seemed to lay down its life. She had the tread of a grenadier and the
voice of an angel.
In the course of a walk with her the day after my arrival I found myself
grabbing her arm with sudden and undue familiarity. I had been struck by
the beauty of a face that approached us and I was still more affected
when I saw the face, at the sight of my companion, open like a window
thrown wide. A smile fluttered out of it an brightly as a drapery
dropped from a sill--a drapery shaken there in the sun by a young lady
flanked by two young men, a wonderful young lady who, as we drew nearer,
rushed up to Mrs. Meldrum with arms flourished for an embrace. My
immediate impression of her had been that she was dressed in mourning,
but during the few moments she stood talking with our friend I made more
discoveries. The figure from the neck down was meagre, the stature
insignificant, but the desire to please towered high, as well as the air
of infallibly knowing how and of never, never missing it. This was a
little person whom I would have made a high bid for a good chance to
paint. The head, the features, the colour, the whole facial oval and
radiance had a wonderful purity; the deep grey eyes--the most agreeable,
I thought, that I had ever seen--brushed with a kind of winglike grace
every object they encountered. Their possessor was just back from
Boulogne, where she had spent a week with dear Mrs. Floyd-Taylor: this
accounted for the effusiveness of her reunion with dear Mrs. Meldrum. Her
black garments were of the freshest and daintiest; she suggested a pink-
and-white wreath at a showy funeral. She confounded us for three minutes
with her presence; she was a beauty of the great conscious public
responsible order. The young men, her companions, gazed at her and
grinned: I could see there were very few moments of the day at which
young men, these or others, would not be so occupied. The people who
approached took leave of their manners; every one seemed to linger and
gape. When she brought her face close to Mrs. Meldrum's--and she
appeared to be always bringing it close to somebody's--it was a marvel
| 897.759713 |
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Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
SOUND MIND;
OR,
_CONTRIBUTIONS_
TO THE
NATURAL HISTORY AND PHYSIOLOGY
OF THE
HUMAN INTELLECT.
By JOHN HASLAM, M.D.
LATE OF PEMBROKE HALL, CAMBRIDGE:
FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL MEDICAL, NATURAL HISTORY,
AND CHEMICAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1819.
Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode,
Printers-Street, London.
TO
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, M.P.
DEAR SIR,
The privilege of long acquaintance, and a sufficient experience of the
kindness of your disposition, might be an adequate inducement to
dedicate the following pages to your notice. To this offering, I am
however impelled by motives, which boast a higher descent, and more
enlightened character:--an admiration of your superior talents, and the
adaptation of those excellent endowments, to the advancement and
happiness of the human race,--and by which you have been enabled
"The applause of listening senates to command."
The subjects to which I now solicit the permission of prefixing your
name, were once your favourite study; and I am induced to consider your
profound researches into the nature and constitution of the human
intellect, as the basis of that high reputation, you now so deservedly
maintain among the wise and dignified of your contemporaries.
I am, Dear Sir,
with respect, esteem,
and the kindest feelings,
Your very obedient servant,
JOHN HASLAM.
PREFACE.
The indulgence of the public has been already extended to several works
which I have submitted to its decision on the subject of INSANITY; and
the same favourable interpretation is now solicited for the present
performance,--which attempts the more difficult investigation of SOUND
MIND. In treating of Mental Derangement, I became very early sensible,
that a competent knowledge of the faculties and operations of the
Intellect in its healthy state, was indispensably necessary to him, who
professed to describe its disorders:--that in order to define the
aberrations, the standard should be fixed. There was indeed no lack of
theories and systems of Metaphysic; and although they essentially
differed, many possessed the highest reputation. Amidst this distraction
of conflicting opinions, which no mediator could adequately
reconcile,--without daring to contend with a host of discrepancies, or
presuming to demolish the lofty edifices which scholastic Pneumatology
had reared,--I determined to throw off the shackles of authority, and
think for myself. For it was evident, on the freehold ground of
literature, that there is "ample room and verge enough" for every man to
build his own tenement;--and the present construction is too lowly to
intercept another's prospect, and without those ornaments that might
provoke the jealousy, or challenge the rivalship of surrounding
inhabitants.
The mind of every rational person may be considered as an elaboratory,
wherein he may conduct psychological experiments:--he is enabled to
analyze his own acquirement,--and if he be sufficiently attentive, he
may note its formation and progress in his children:--and thus trace the
accumulation of knowledge, from the dawn of infancy to the meridian of
manhood. The prosecution of these means, according to my own views, will
qualify the diligent observer, to become the Natural Historian and
Physiologist of the Human Mind.
In the comparative survey of the capacities of Man, and the intelligence
of animals, the contrast has appeared so striking, that it was
impossible wholly to abstain from the inference of his future
destination:--notwithstanding very different conclusions had been
extorted by some modern physiologists. It has been often remarked, that
the practitioners of the healing art, have been very moderately
impressed with a solicitude for the future. This observation, in some
late instances, has been unhappily confirmed:--but it would be unjust to
visit the whole tribe with a sweeping and acrimonious censure, for the
transgressions of a few. The reproach has, however, long existed. The
venerable father of English poetry, in his description of the Doctor,
has passed a high and merited compliment to his learning; which at that
period was a heterogeneous compound of Greek, Latin, and Arabian lore,
mysteriously engrafted on Galenicals and Astrology:--yet with this
courteous concession to his professional science he could not refrain
from a dry and sarcastic memorandum, that
"His study was but little in the Bible."
Throughout this inquiry, the province of the Theologian has never been
invaded:--it has been my humble toil to collect and concentrate the
scattered rays which emanate from natural reason,--a pale phosphoric
light, and "uneffectual" glow, compared with the splendid and animating
beams, which issue from the source of divine communication.
As the object of these contributions, has been principally to convey my
opinions, concerning the formation of the human mind, from the superior
capacities that man possesses, many subjects have been left untouched,
which, in similar works, urge an important claim to the attention of the
reader. Among these neglected articles, the IMAGINATION is the chief
omission:--of which many authors have treated so copiously, and so well.
According to my own views, the consideration of this faculty was not
essential to the outline that has been traced;--and it has been rather
deemed a graceful embellishment, than a constituent pillar of the
edifice of mind. This gay attirer of thought, that decks passion and
sentiment, is also the prolific parent of fiction;--and justly banished
from the retreats of sober demonstration.--To the science of
numbers,--to mathematical precision, and to the whole range of
experimental philosophy,--Imagination does not lend her glowing and
gaudy tints. No vestiges of her colouring can be discovered in Divine
ordinances, or in the systems of human jurisprudence:--neither in the
Ten Commandments nor in the Statutes at Large. Imagination may indeed
enliven the cold pages of historical narrative, and blend the "Utile
Dulci"--but even here she is a profane intruder: and a vigilant eye must
be directed, lest, in some unguarded moment, her seductive
blandishments should decoy the nakedness of truth. A sedate and
unambitious recorder of facts, does not presume to describe her regions,
or to enumerate her attributes. That delightful task must be performed
by her votaries,
"The poet, the lunatic, and the lover;"
nor should the Orator be excluded from his fair participation and
kindred alliance with this airy and fascinating group.
If the present essay should conform to nature, and be founded in
truth,--should it assist the young inquirer, and more especially the
medical student,--for whom no compendium of the science of mind has been
hitherto prepared; my own expectations will be fully answered; and this
scantling may probably lead some more capable person to an extensive
investigation, enlarged comprehension, and luminous arrangement of the
phenomena of the human intellect.
JOHN HASLAM.
57. Frith-Street, Soho-Square,
1st November, 1819.
CONTENTS.
Page
Perception 1
Memory 16
On the intellectual superiority which man has
acquired by speech, and the possession of the
hand 28
On the nature and composition of language, as
applied to the investigation of the phenomena
of mind 59
On will or volition 74
On thought or reflection 110
On reason 135
Instinct 160
Conclusion 182
_Works by the same Author._
I. Observations on Madness and Melancholy.
II. Illustrations of Madness.
III. On the Moral Management of the Insane.
IV. Medical Jurisprudence, as it relates to Insanity.
V. A Letter to the Governors of Bethlem Hospital.
SOUND MIND.
PERCEPTION.
The faculty of perceiving the objects which surround us, is an important
feature in the history of mind; but by what means or contrivance this is
effected, can only be known to the Supreme Being, who has thus been
pleased to endow us; and our utmost endeavours to detect the _modus
operandi_ will be puerile and unavailing.
The first operations of the infant are to educate its senses, in order
to become acquainted, through these organs, with surrounding objects.
This, in the human species, is a process of very slow attainment; and
our information concerning this subject, must be derived from
attentively watching the progress of the infant itself; as of these
early perceptions, for a reason which will be afterwards assigned, we
retain no distinct recollection.
For the manner in which we become acquainted with the objects in nature,
we have appropriated a term, which was probably supposed to be
explanatory of the process, by which we received our intelligence of
these phenomena, and have accordingly termed it _Perception_. The
intrinsic meaning of this word is the taking, seizing, or grasping, of
an object, from the Latin _Cum_ and _Capio_, and the same figure
pervades most of the European languages. This term may sufficiently
apply to the information we derive from the organ of touch; but it
affords no solution of that which we obtain through the medium of the
other senses, as sight, smell, and hearing. It has been the bane of
philosophy, and the great obstacle to its advancement, that we have
endeavoured to penetrate that which is inscrutable; and in this vain
pursuit, we have neglected to detect and cultivate that which is
obvious, and the legitimate province of our research.
These organs of sense are the instruments by which we obtain our
different perceptions; they are the tests by which we become acquainted
with the objects of nature.
When we view the newly-born infant, and consider its state for many
weeks after it has become a member of our community, we are then
enabled to form some opinion of the almost insensible gradations, by
which it acquires its perceptions. An enumeration of the progressive
steps of this tardy process is within the power of any patient and
accurate observer; but this detail does not constitute a part of the
plan which has been adopted.
It has been endeavoured by writers on this subject, to establish a
distinction between perception and sensation, and the reader for his
information may consult their works: they do not however appear to have
founded this distinction on any obvious difference, nor to have adduced
sufficient reasons for their separate establishment, as independent
properties of the nerves. To feel, to experience a sensation, or to
perceive, implies consciousness; it is that which is transmitted by the
nerves to the sensorium, either by the organs of sense, or by the
internal nerves; as pain, or feelings of which we are conscious.
Consciousness is the test, the evidence, the proof of sensation or
perception. This point has been adverted to, in order that terms should
not be multiplied without a distinct and essential difference of
meaning.
The five senses, together with some auxiliaries, which will be the
subjects of future notice, may be considered as the instruments or
agents, by which the edifice of mind is constructed. In the act of
perceiving by the different senses, there are some circumstances, which
are particularly deserving of attention. In order that perception may
fully and certainly take place, it is necessary that the person should
be undisturbed; he ought to be exempt from external intrusions, and
internal perturbation. During this process the respiration is in general
more slowly drawn, the body endeavours to maintain a perfect quietude,
and its position becomes fixed. When we perceive objects by the eye,
this organ becomes fixed and the lips are usually closed. During our
examinations by the touch, the eye is also fixed, the breathing is
suspended, and the lips brought into contact: the fingers are separated,
and their more delicately tangent surfaces applied to the object with
their utmost expansion. In the exercise of audible perception, the neck
is stretched forth, and the ear applied to the quarter from whence the
sound appears to issue; the mouth is partly open to conduct the
vibrations to the Eustachian tube. When we acquire intelligence by the
smell, the lips are very firmly closed, the nostrils become dilated, and
the inspiration of air through them is conducted by short and successive
inhalations. From the connection between the smell and organs of taste,
(and this association is more remarkable in some animals than in man,)
it is difficult to describe the process, which, however, principally
consists, when minutely tasting, in moving the tongue (the principal
discriminator) on the palate:--but when urged by strong appetite as in
the act of feeding, and when divested of the restraints which refined
society imposes; the nostrils are widely expanded, the eye is keenly
directed to the portion, and the hands are busily employed.
Experience has sufficiently informed us that the organs of sense must be
in a healthy state, in order to the due conveyance of perception. When
the function of any organ is altogether defective, as when a person is
born blind, he is cut off from all perception of light and of visible
objects. If by nature deaf, from the intonation of sounds; and many
unhappy instances of such connate defects abound among our species. In
one particular subject, both these defects existed from birth; so that
the sum of his intelligence was conveyed by the touch, smell, and
taste, or in other words, his mind was exclusively composed of the
perceptions he derived from these senses. This case will be more
particularly noticed in a subsequent chapter. The alterations which take
place in the state of our perceptions from a morbid cause, are generally
known. Thus a person labouring under a catarrh, will be unable to detect
the odours which certain substances communicate in a healthy condition
of his olfactory organ. In fever excited by a disordered stomach, the
taste will become vitiated, and the partial obstruction of the ear by
accumulated wax, will impress him with the bubbling of a pot, the
singing of birds, or the ringing of bells.
The same law that produces fatigue in a muscle from exertion, appears
to obtain in the organs of sense. If they be excited by their
appropriate stimuli too violently, or for a too long continuance,
fatigue or languor is produced, their percipience is diminished, or
confusedly conveyed; and they require a period of rest for their
refreshment.
As we advance in our enquiries into the nature of perception, it will be
evident that we cannot long continue to treat of it as a simple act, or
as a distinct faculty. The organs by which we obtain our different
perceptions are not insulated parts, but communicate with a substance,
termed the brain, and which is continued through the vertebral column.
The ultimate expansion of a nerve of sense, has been termed its sentient
or percipient extremity; and where it is united to the brain, its
sensorial insertion. If we were to divide the optic nerve where it
passes into the foramen, taking care to leave the apparatus of the eye
uninjured, the visual organ would be deprived of its function, and the
person or animal would be completely blind of that eye; so that a
communication with the brain is necessary for the purpose or act of
perception. As therefore the union of the nerve with the brain is
indispensably necessary for the purpose or act of perception, we are
naturally led to inquire into the properties of this substance, termed
the brain. Before we proceed to this part of the subject, it will be
proper to notice a fact which is of frequent occurrence. In amputations
of the thigh, at the moment the femoral nerve is divided, it often
occurs that a pain is distinctly felt in the toes; and after the limb
has been removed, even for many months, the same painful feeling of
these lost extremities is occasionally experienced. This circumstance
would render it probable that the larger branch of the nerve becomes
itself impregnated with the sensation it transmits: indeed it is a
continuation of the same substance, from its sentient extremity to its
sensorial insertion. This intimate union of nerve and brain may be
further illustrated: it has been already noticed, that a morbid state of
the organs of sense will convey inaccurate perceptions; and it is
equally certain, that disease of the brain, will excite phantasms, which
appear as realities to the sensitive organs.
As consciousness is implied, in order to constitute the act of
perception, it is of some importance to investigate the nature and
meaning of this term. The consciousness of _having experienced_ a
perception by any of the senses would be an act of memory:
consciousness, therefore, applies to the past; and it also accompanies
our prediction of the future. When a person is writing a letter, he is
at the time, conscious that his own hand is forming the characters; if
this letter be afterwards submitted to his inspection, he is conscious
that he wrote it; and if he be desired to write it over again, he is
conscious that it will bear, both to himself and others, the character
of his hand-writing. Consciousness, therefore, accompanies human action
through all its tenses: it is equivalent to the knowledge we possess of
our own personal identity, the evidence of mind, and therefore must
accompany every act of intelligence. Thus we are equally conscious that
we perceive, remember, think or reflect, and reason. As consciousness
must accompany every act of perception, it follows that we cannot be
impressed with more than one at the same instant; for it can never be
contended that we are able to experience two acts of consciousness at
the same moment. The very term two, implies repetition or succession,
and we could as well conceive the possibility of being, at the same
time, in two different places.
As far as we are warranted to infer from the evidences it affords, an
infant appears to possess no consciousness; but it may be considered of
early acquirement, and coeval with distinctness of perception.
These few preliminary remarks concerning perception have been submitted
to the notice of the reader, in order to advance to another subject. The
faculties which constitute mind are so blended, and dependant on each
other, that it would only hazard confusion to proceed. But this subject
will be resumed.[1]
FOOTNOTE:
[1] There exists already furnished, a considerable mass of facts,
dispersed in various works, which might be advantageously collected into
a volume in order to illustrate the phenomena and laws of perception,
and more especially to display the mutual assistance they afford to each
other, and the superior knowledge which we have derived from their
united co-operation.
MEMORY.
Allow a human being to be gifted with his five senses, exquisitely
attuned for the conveyance of those perceptions, which the separate
organs and common sensory are destined to receive: let him during fifty,
or as many thousand years, scent the most delicious perfumes,--convey to
his palate the flavour of the choicest viands,--to his eyes, present the
fairest prospects in nature,--impart to his ear the sweetest music, and
regale his touch with smoothness and warmth; moreover let him be
conscious of each individual perception he receives:--what would he be
at the expiration of this period, without recollection? He would be no
more than a sheet of white paper, that had been carried round the world
to receive, through the camera obscura, its most delightful views; or
the bare walls of Westminster Abbey, after the commemoration of Handel.
Perception and consciousness, therefore, although indispensable to the
building up of mind, are by themselves inefficient and useless without
the adjunct of memory.
The writers who have treated of the human faculties, have usually and
properly bestowed an elaborate investigation to the developement of this
interesting subject: indeed, when men first began to describe the
operations of their own minds, it might be expected that they would
treat copiously of its most important function; but the nature of this
endowment has received no elucidation from the aggregate of their
labours.
The term memory has been Anglicised from the Latin Memoria; yet we
possess two other words of similar meaning, and from their derivation,
in a certain degree, explanatory of this process; namely, to REMEMBER
and RECOLLECT. Thus if an individual have seen any particular animal,
and given sufficient attention to perceive accurately its construction,
so as to possess a complete perception of the different parts or
_members_ of which it is composed; he would, in the absence of the
animal, be enabled to remember it. If his hand had been duly educated he
might form its model, or chisel it from a block of marble; or on a
plain surface, according to the rules of art, might make a drawing of
the animal, and with such exactitude of its different _members_, that it
would appear to those who compared it with the original, that he
perfectly _re-membered_ it. To recollect is only a different figure for
the same process, and implies to re-gather or collect, those parts which
have been scattered in different directions.
The perceptions we obtain by our different senses are all capable of
being remembered, but in different ways. Those which we derive from
sight, may be communicated by the pictures of the objects, which become
the means of assisting our recollection, and thus form a durable record
of our visible perceptions; of course excepting motion, which pictures
cannot represent; but motion, or change of place, implies a succession
of perceptions. Yet this manner of record does not directly apply to the
other senses: we can exhibit no pictures of odours, tastes, the lowing
of a cow, the roaring of a lion, or the warbling of birds; much less do
hardness and softness admit of any picturesque representations as their
record. The memory of animals seems to be in the simple state: they
have, through their organs, different perceptions; and in many instances
these organs are more susceptible than those of the human subject. The
ear of some timid species is enabled to collect the feeblest vibrations
of sound, and which are inaudible to us. The eye of some birds can
tolerate an effulgence of light, that would dazzle and confuse our
vision; and others "do their errands," in a gloom where we could not
distinguish. In certain animals the smell is so acute, that it becomes a
sense of the highest importance for the purposes of their destination.
But animals are incapable of recording their perceptions by any signs or
tokens: they therefore possess no means of recalling them, and their
recollection can only be awaked from the recurrence of the object, by
which the perception was originally excited: whereas man, by the
possession of speech, and of the characters in which it is recorded, can
at all times revive his recollection of the past.
It is generally acknowledged that our memory is in proportion to the
distinctness of the perception, and also to the frequency of its
repetition.
The simple acts of perception and memory appear to be the same in man
and animals; and there are many facts which would induce us to suppose,
if these faculties be identical in their nature, that the endowment of
the latter is more excellent. This conjecture is hazarded from the
greater susceptibility of the organs of some animals, and from their
wonderful recollection of tracks which they have traversed. Among the
phenomena of memory there are two very curious occurrences, and for
which no adequate explanation has been hitherto afforded. Many of the
transactions of our early years appear to be wholly obliterated from our
recollection; they have never been presented as the subject of our
thoughts, but after the lapse of many years, have been accidentally
revived, by our being placed in the situation which originally gave them
birth. Although there are numerous instances on record, and some perhaps
familiar to every reader, I shall prefer the relation of one which came
under my immediate observation. About sixteen years ago, I attended a
lady at some distance from town, who was in the last stage of an
incurable disorder. A short time before her death, she requested that
her youngest child, a girl about four years of age, might be brought to
visit her, and which was accordingly complied with. The child remained
with her about three days. During the last summer some circumstances
led me to accompany this young lady to the same house. Of her visit when
a child she retained no trace of recollection, nor was the name of the
village even known to her. When arrived at the house, she had no memory
of its exterior; but on entering the room where her mother had been
confined, her eye anxiously traversed the apartment, and she said, "I
have been here before, the prospect from the window is quite familiar to
me, and I remember that in this part of the room there was a bed and a
sick lady, who kissed me and wept." On minute inquiry none of these
circumstances had ever occurred to her recollection during this long
interval, and in all probability they would never have recurred but for
the locality which revived them. In a work professedly the fabric of
fancy, but which is evidently a portrait from nature, and most highly
finished,--in the third volume of Guy Mannering, the reader may peruse a
similar but more interesting relation, where the return of Bertram to
the scenes of his childhood, awakens a train of reminiscences which
conduce to the developement of his history and legitimate claims.
According to my own interpretation, however wonderful these phenomena of
memory may appear, they merely afford examples of the simplest acts of
recollection, excited by the recurrence of the original objects, at a
period when language was little familiar: in the same manner as an
animal, at a distant time brought into its former haunts, would
remember the paths it had heretofore trodden.
But there are some facts in the history of recollection which do not
admit of any satisfactory solution. From these it appears, that persons
in their childhood have learned a language which, from the acquirement
and usage of another during many years, they have entirely forgotten; so
that when spoken by others, they have been wholly unable to understand
it: yet during the delirium of fever, or from inflammation of the brain
and its membranes, in consequence of external injury, the former and
forgotten language has been revived, and spoken with fluency: but after
a restoration to health no traces of its recollection have remained. A
remarkable case of this kind has been published by Mr. Abernethy; and a
similar instance is recorded of the lady of an ambassador. These few
preliminary observations have been submitted to the reader, in order to
introduce a principal part of the subject to his notice, to prevent
repetitions, and from the impossibility of considering the more curious
and important phenomena of perception and memory as simple and
unconnected endowments.
ON THE INTELLECTUAL SUPERIORITY WHICH MAN HAS ACQUIRED BY SPEECH, AND
THE POSSESSION OF THE HAND.
In our investigations of the nature and offices of the human mind, we
are immediately and forcibly struck with two important circumstances,
which appear to have contributed in an especial manner to the
superiority of man over all | 897.760673 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOY AVIATORS ON SECRET SERVICE
OR
WORKING WITH WIRELESS
BY
CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON
AUTHOR OF "THE BOY AVIATORS IN NICARAGUA"
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Boy Aviators' Series
By CAPTAIN WILBUR LAWTON
Author of "Dreadnought Boys Series"
Six Titles. Cloth Bound. Price 50c
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
1 The Boy Aviators in Nicaragua; or, In League with the Insurgents.
2 The Boy Aviators on Secret Service; or, Working with Wireless.
3 The Boy Aviators in Africa; or, An Aerial Ivory Trail.
4 The Boy Aviators' Treasure Quest; or, The Golden Galleon.
5 The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; or, The Rival Aeroplane.
6 The Boy Aviators' Polar Dash; or, Facing Death in the Antarctic.
7 The Boy Aviators' Flight for a Fortune.
Sold Everywhere.
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
_Copyright_, 1910, by HURST & CO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
I. An Important Commission
II. The Boys Meet an Old Friend,--and an Enemy
III. A Tramp with Field-Glasses
IV. A Plot Discovered
V. Two Rascals get a Shock
VI. The Start for the 'Glades
VII. A Night Attack
VIII. The Men of the Island
IX. A Message from the Unknown
X. The Captive's Warning
XI. The Black Squall
XII. Pork Chops Proves His Metal
XIII. The Front Door of the 'Glades
XIV. Close Quarters with 'Gators
XV. An Island Mystery
XVI. The Boys Make an Acquisition
XVII. The Everglades in an Aeroplane
XVIII. A Night Alarm
XIX. On the Mound-Builders' Island
XX. Captain Bellman's Island
XXI. A Bold Dash
XXII. Ben Stubbs Disappears
XXIII. The Boy Aviators Trapped
XXIV. A Startling Meeting
XXV. Quatty as a Scout
XXVI. Lathrop as an Air Pilot
XXVII. Hemmed in by Flames
XXVIII. The Black Aeroplane
XXIX. The Last of Bellman's Crew
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOY AVIATORS ON SECRET SERVICE;
OR,
WORKING WITH WIRELESS.
CHAPTER I.
AN IMPORTANT COMMISSION.
"Come in!"
The gray-haired man who uttered these words gazed sharply up at the door
of the private office of the Secretary of the Navy's Bureau, at
Washington, D. C., as he spoke. He was evidently anticipating callers of
more than usual importance judging from his expectant look. The old
<DW64> who had knocked opened the door and respectfully stood waiting.
"Well, Pinckney?"
"Dey have come, sah."
"Ah; good,--show them in at once."
The old <DW64> bowed respectfully and withdrew. A few seconds later he
reappeared and ushered in two bright looking youths of sixteen and
fourteen with the announcement in a pompous tone of voice:
"Messrs. Frank and Harry Chester."
Frank, the elder of the two brothers, was a well set up youngster with
crisp, wavy brown hair and steady gray eyes. Harry, his junior by two
years, had the same cool eyes but with a merrier expression in them. He,
like Frank, was a well-knit, broad-shouldered youth. Both boys were
tanned to an almost mahogany tinge for they had only returned a few days
before from Nicaragua, where they had passed through a series of strange
adventures and perils in their air-ship, the _Golden Eagle_, perhaps,
before her destruction in an electric storm, the best known craft of her
kind in the world and one which they had built themselves from top plane
to landing wheels.
The Secretary of the Navy, for such was the office held by the
gray-haired man, looked at the two youths in front of him with some
perplexity for a moment.
"You are the Boy Aviators we have all heard so much of?" he inquired at
length with a note of frank incredulity in his voice.
"We are, sir," rejoined Frank, with just the ghost of a smile playing
about his lips at the great man's evident astonishment--and its equally
evident cause.
"I beg your pardon," hastily spoke up the Secretary of the Navy, who had
observed Frank's amusement; "but you seem----"
"I know what you were thinking, sir," interrupted Frank, "that we are
very young to undertake such exacting service as Admiral Kimball
outlined to us in Nicaragua."
"You have guessed just right, my boy," rejoined the other, with a hearty
laugh at Frank's taking his thoughts and putting them into such exact
words, "but your youth has evidently not interfered with your progress
if all the reports I have heard of you are true. Sit down," he went on,
"and we will talk over the proposal the Department has to make to you."
The boys set down their straw hats and seated themselves in two chairs
facing the grizzled official. Both listened attentively as he began.
"When Admiral Kimball wrote to me about you, telling me that he had
found in the two sons of Planter Chester of Nicaragua the very agents we
wanted for a particularly dangerous and difficult mission," he said, "I
at once sent for you to come here from New York to see for myself if his
judgment was correct. I have not been disappointed--"
The boys with pleasure.
"My brief observation of you has confirmed to my mind his report and I
am going to entrust to you the responsibility of this undertaking. Now,"
he went on impressively, "the government has been experimenting for some
time in secret with Chapinite, a new explosive of terrific power, the
invention--as its name makes apparent--of Lieut. Bob Chapin of the
United States Navy. I say 'has been experimenting' advisedly. It is so
no more.
"The formula of the explosive has disappeared from the archives of the
department and, what is still more serious, Lieutenant Chapin himself is
missing."
"The agents of the Secret Service force have worked in vain on the case
without discovering much more than the one very important fact that the
government of a far Eastern power has recently been experimenting with
an explosive whose effects and manifestations make it almost undoubted
that the stuff is Chapinite. By a tedious process of observation and
deduction the men have traced the shipments as far as the west Florida
coast but there all clues have ended. Weeks of work have left us as much
in the dark as ever as to the location of the source of supply of the
far Eastern power. But that somewhere within the untracked wildernesses
of the Everglades a plant has been set up in which Chapinite is being
manufactured in large quantities is a practical certainty to my mind.
"It is useless for the secret service men to attempt to explore what is
still an unmapped labyrinth of swamp and jungle and above all it would
occupy time. What we have to do is to act quickly. I racked my brain for
days until I happened to come across a paragraph in a newspaper calling
attention to your wonderful flights in the _Golden Eagle_, and then
followed Admiral Kimball's dispatch. It struck me at once that here
indeed was a way of locating these men that might prove feasible--I say
'might' because if you boys accept the commission I do not want to
absolutely impose the condition of success upon you. All that we shall
expect of you is that you will do your best.
"Will you accept the assignment?"
The blunt question almost took the boys off their feet so to speak. They
exchanged glances and then Frank said:
"As you perhaps know, sir, our first aeroplane, the _Golden Eagle_----"
"In which you rescued William Barnes, a newspaper correspondent, from a
camp in which he was held prisoner," remarked the Secretary--"you see I
have followed your doings closely."
"Exactly," went on Frank; "that first _Golden Eagle_ is at the bottom of
the sea. She went down when we were driven off the land in a tropical
electric storm and it was only the fact that she was equipped with
wireless, with which we signaled a passing steamer, that saved us from
sharing her fate.
"We might, however, construct a second one. In fact I have the designs
partially drawn up. She would be a more powerful craft than the first
and capable of even longer sustained flights."
"The very thing!" exclaimed his listener enthusiastically, "then you
will accept the commission?"
"I have not yet said that we would," rejoined Frank, calmly. "As you
have described the situation it looks rather like a wild-goose chase;
however, I think that if my brother agrees that we might consent to try
to do our best."
"Of course I agree, Frank," cried Harry enthusiastically. The very
mention of anything that promised exciting adventures was sufficient to
enlist Harry's ar | 897.761662 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
SKY ISLAND
BEING THE FURTHER EXCITING ADVENTURES
OF TROT AND CAP'N BILL AFTER THEIR
VISIT TO THE SEA FAIRIES
BY
L. FRANK BAUM
TO
MY SISTER
MARY LOUISE BREWSTER
CONTENTS
1. A MYSTERIOUS ARRIVAL
2. THE MAGIC UMBRELLA
3. A WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE
4. THE ISLAND IN THE SKY
5. THE BOOLOOROO OF THE BLUES
6. THE SIX SNUBNOSED PRINCESSES
7. GHIP-GHISIZZLE PROVES FRIENDLY
8. THE BLUE CITY
9. THE TRIBULATION OF TROT
10. THE KING'S TREASURE CHAMBER
11. BUTTON-BRIGHT ENCOUNTERS THE BLUE WOLF
12. THROUGH THE FOG BANK
13. THE PINK COUNTRY
14. TOURMALINE THE POVERTY QUEEN
15. THE SUNRISE TRIBE AND THE SUNSET TRIBE
16. ROSALIE THE WITCH
17. THE ARRIVAL OF POLYCHROME
18. MAYRE, QUEEN OF THE PINK COUNTRY
19. THE WAR OF THE PINKS AND BLUES
20. GHIP-GHISIZZLE HAS A BAD | 897.857665 |
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Produced by Heather Clark, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
SILVER PITCHERS: AND INDEPENDENCE,
A Centennial Love Story.
By LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL," "LITTLE MEN," "EIGHT
COUSINS," "WORK," "HOSPITAL SKETCHES," ETC.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1888.
_Copyright_,
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
1876.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: JOHN WILSON & SON,
CAMBRIDGE.
CONTENTS
SILVER PITCHERS
ANNA'S WHIM
TRANSCENDENTAL WILD OATS
THE ROMANCE OF A SUMMER DAY
MY ROCOCO WATCH
BY THE RIVER
LETTY'S TRAMP
SCARLET STOCKINGS
INDEPENDENCE: A CENTENNIAL LOVE STORY
SILVER PITCHERS.
CHAPTER I.
_HOW IT BEGAN._
"We can do nothing about it except show our displeasure in some proper
manner," said Portia, in her most dignified tone.
"_I_ should like to cut them all dead for a year to come; and I'm not
sure that I won't!" cried Pauline, fiercely.
"We _ought_ to make it impossible for such a thing to happen again, and
I think we _might_," added Priscilla, so decidedly that the others
looked at her in surprise.
The three friends sat by the fire "talking things over," as girls love
to do. Pretty creatures, all of them, as they nestled together on the
lounge in dressing-gowns and slippers, with unbound hair, eyes still
bright with excitement, and tongues that still wagged briskly.
Usually the chat was of dresses, compliments, and all the little
adventures that befall gay girls at a merry-making. But to-night
something of uncommon interest absorbed the three, and kept them talking
earnestly long after they should have been asleep.
Handsome Portia looked out from her blonde locks with a disgusted
expression, as she sipped the chocolate thoughtful mamma had left inside
the fender. Rosy-faced Pauline sat staring indignantly at the fire;
while in gentle Priscilla's soft eyes the shadow of a real sorrow seemed
to mingle with the light of a strong determination.
Yes, something had happened at this Thanksgiving festival which much
offended the three friends, and demanded grave consideration on their
part; for the "Sweet P's," as Portia, Pris, and Polly were called, were
the belles of the town. One ruled by right of beauty and position, one
by the power of a character so sweet and strong that its influence was
widely felt, and one by the wit and winsomeness of a high yet generous
spirit.
It had been an unusually pleasant evening, for after the quilting bee in
the afternoon good Squire Allen had given a bountiful supper, and all
the young folks of the town had joined in the old-fashioned games, which
made the roof ring with hearty merriment.
All would have gone well if some one had not privately introduced
something stronger than the cider provided by the Squire,--a mysterious
and potent something, which caused several of the young men to betray
that they were decidedly the worse for their libations.
That was serious enough; but the crowning iniquity was the putting of
brandy into the coffee, which it was considered decorous for the young
girls to prefer instead of cider.
Who the reprobates were remained a dead secret, for the young men
laughed off the dreadful deed as a joke, and the Squire apologized in
the handsomest manner.
But the girls felt much aggrieved and would not be appeased, though the
elders indulgently said, "Young men will be young men," even while they
shook their heads over the pranks played and the nonsense spoken under
the influence of the wine that had been so slyly drank.
Now what should be done about it? The "Sweet P's" knew that their mates
would look to them for guidance at this crisis, for they were the
leaders in all things. So they must decide on some line of conduct for
all to adopt, as the best way of showing their disapproval of such
practical jokes.
When Pris spoke, the others looked at her with surprise; for there was a
new expression in her face, and both asked wonderingly, "How?"
"There are several ways, and we must decide which is the best. One is to
refuse invitations to the sociable next week."
"But I've just got a lovely new dress expressly for it!" cried Portia,
tragically.
"Then we might decline providing any supper," began Pris.
"That wouldn't prevent the boys from providing it, and I never could get
through the night without a morsel of something!" exclaimed Polly, who
loved to see devoted beings bending before her, with offerings of ice,
or struggling manfully to steer a glass of lemonade through a tumultuous
sea of silk and broadcloth, feeling well repaid by a word or smile from
her when they landed safely.
"True, and it _would_ be rather rude and resentful; for I am sure they
will be models of deportment next time," and gentle Pris showed signs of
relenting, though that foolish joke bad cost her more than either of the
others.
For a moment all sat gazing thoughtfully at the fire, trying to devise
some awful retribution for the sinners, no part of which should fall
upon themselves. Suddenly Polly clapped her hands, crying with a
triumphant air,--
"I've got it, girls! I've got it!"
"What? How? Tell us quick!"
"We _will_ refuse to go to the first sociable, and that will make a
tremendous impression, for half the nice girls will follow our lead, and
the boys will be in despair. Every one will ask why we are not there;
and what can those poor wretches say but the truth? Won't that be a
bitter pill for my lords and gentlemen?"
"It will certainly be one to us," said Portia, thinking of the "heavenly
blue dress" with a pang.
"Wait a bit; our turn will come at the next sociable. To this we can go
with escorts of our own choosing, or none at all, for they are free and
easy affairs, you know. So we need be under no obligation to any of
those sinners, and can trample upon them as much as we please."
"But how about the games, the walks home, and all the pleasant little
services the young men of our set like to offer and we to receive?"
asked Portia, who had grown up with these "boys," as Polly called them,
and found it hard to turn her back on the playmates who had now become
friends or lovers.
"Bless me! I forgot that the feud might last more than one evening. Give
me an idea, Pris," and Polly's triumph ended suddenly.
"I will," answered Pris, soberly; "for at this informal sociable we can
institute a new order of things. It will make a talk, but I think we
have a right to do it, and I'm sure it will have a good effect, if we
only hold out, and don't mind being laughed at. Let us refuse to
associate with the young men whom we know to be what is called 'gay,'
and accept as friends those of whose good habits we are sure. If they
complain, as of course they will, we can say their own misconduct made
it necessary, and there we have them."
"But, Pris, who ever heard of such an idea? People will say all sorts of
things about us!" said Portia, rather startled at the proposition.
"Let them! I say it's a grand plan, and I'll stand by you, Pris, through
thick and thin!" cried Polly, who enjoyed the revolutionary spirit of
the thing.
"We can but try it, and give the young men a lesson; for, girls, matters
are coming to a pass, when it is our _duty_ to do something. I cannot
think it is right for us to sit silent and see these fine fellows
getting into bad habits because no one dares or cares to speak out,
though we gossip and complain in private."
"Do you want us to begin a crusade?" asked Portia, uneasily.
"Yes, in the only way we girls can do it. We can't preach and pray in
streets and bar-rooms, but we may at home, and in our own little world
show that we want to use our influence for good. I know that you two can
do any thing you choose with the young people in this town, and it is
just that set who most need the sort of help you can give, if you will."
"You have more influence than both of us put together; so don't be
modest, Pris, but tell us what to do, and I'll do it, even if I'm hooted
at," cried warm-hearted Polly, won at once.
"You must do as you think right; but _I_ have made up my mind to protest
against wine-drinking in every way I can. I know it will cost me much,
for I have nothing to depend upon but the good opinion of my friends;
nevertheless, I shall do what seems my duty, and I may be able to save
some other girl from the heart-aches I have known."
"You won't lose our good opinion, you dear little saint! Just tell us
how to begin and we will follow our leader," cried both Portia and
Polly, fired with emulation by their friend's quiet resolution.
Pris looked from one to the other, and, seeing real love and confidence
in their faces, was moved to deepen the impression she had made, by
telling them the sad secret of her life. Pressing her hands tightly
together, and drooping her head, she answered in words that were the
more pathetic for their brevity,--
"Dear girls, don't think me rash or sentimental, for I _know_ what I am
trying to do, and you will understand my earnestness better when I tell
you that a terrible experience taught me to dread this appetite more
than death. It killed my father, broke mother's heart, and left me all
alone."
As she paused, poor Pris hid her face and shrank away, as if by this
confession she had forfeited her place in the respect of her mates. But
the girlish hearts only clung the closer to her, and proved the
sincerity of their affection by sympathetic tears and tender words, as
Portia and Polly held her fast, making a prettier group than the marble
nymphs on the mantelpiece; for the Christian graces quite outdid the
heathen ones.
Polly spoke first, and spoke cheerfully, feeling, with the instinct of a
fine nature, that Priscilla's grief was too sacred to be talked about,
and that they could best show their appreciation of her confidence by
proving themselves ready to save others from a sorrow like hers.
"Let us be a little society of three, and do what we can. I shall begin
at home, and watch over brother Ned; for lately he has been growing away
from me somehow, and I'm afraid he is beginning to be 'gay.' I shall get
teased unmercifully; but I won't mind if I keep him safe."
"I have no one at home to watch over but papa, and he is in no danger,
of course; so I shall show Charley Lord that I am not pleased with him,"
said Portia, little dreaming where her work was to be done.
"And you will set about reforming that delightful scapegrace, Phil
Butler?" added Polly, peeping archly into the still drooping face of
Pris.
"I have lost my right to do it, for I told him to-night that love and
respect must go together in my heart," and Pris wiped her wet eyes with
a hand that no longer wore a ring.
Portia and Polly looked at one another in dismay, for by this act Pris
proved how thoroughly in earnest she was.
Neither had any words of comfort for so great a trouble, and sat
silently caressing her, till Pris looked up, with her own serene smile
again, and said, as if to change the current of their thoughts,--
"We must have a badge for the members of our new society, so let us each
wear one of these tiny silver pitchers. I've lost the mate to mine, but
Portia has a pair just like them. You can divide, then we are all
provided for."
Portia ran to her jewel-case, caught up a pair of delicate filigree
ear-rings, hastily divided a narrow velvet ribbon into three parts,
attached to each a silver pitcher, and, as the friends smilingly put on
these badges, they pledged their loyalty to the new league by a silent
good-night kiss.
CHAPTER II.
_A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE._
Great was the astonishment of their "set" when it was known that the
"Sweet P's" had refused all invitations to the opening sociable.
The young men were in despair, the gossips talked themselves hoarse
discussing the affair, and the girls exulted; for, as Polly predicted,
the effect of their first step was "tremendous."
When the evening came, however, by one accord they met in Portia's room,
to support each other through that trying period. They affected to be
quite firm and cheerful; but one after the other broke down, and sadly
confessed that the sacrifice to principle was harder than they expected.
What added to their anguish was the fact that the Judge's house stood
just opposite the town-hall, and every attempt to keep away from certain
windows proved a dead failure.
"It is _so_ trying to see those girls go in with their dresses bundled
up, and not even know what they wear," mourned Portia, watching shrouded
figures trip up the steps that led to the paradise from which she had
exiled herself.
"They must be having a capital time, for every one seems to have gone. I
wonder who Phil took," sighed Pris, when at length the carriages ceased
to roll.
"Girls! I wish to be true to my vow, but if you don't hold me I shall
certainly rush over there and join in the fun, for that music is too
much for me," cried Polly, desperately, as the singing began.
It was an endless evening to the three pretty pioneers, though they went
early to bed, and heroically tried to sleep with that distracting music
in their ears. Slumber came at last, but as the clocks were striking
twelve a little ghost emerged from Portia's room, and gliding to the
hall window vanished among the heavy damask curtains.
Presently another little ghost appeared from the same quarter, and
stealing softly to the same window was about to vanish in the same
capacious draperies, when a stifled cry was heard, and Portia, the
second sprite, exclaimed in an astonished whisper,--
"Why, Pris, are you here, too? I saw Polly creep away from me, and came
to take her back. How dare you go wandering about and startling me out
of my wits in this way?"
"I was only looking to see if it was all over," quavered Pris, meekly,
emerging from the right-hand curtain.
"So was I!" laughed Polly, bouncing out from the left-hand one.
There was a sound of soft merriment in that shadowy hall for a moment,
and then the spirits took a look at the world outside, for the moon was
shining brightly. Yes, the fun was evidently over, for the lamps were
being extinguished, and several young men stood on the steps exchanging
last words. One wore a cloak theatrically thrown over the shoulder, and
Polly knew him at once.
"That's Ned! I _must_ hear what they are saying. Keep quiet and I'll
listen," she whispered, rolling herself in the dark folds of the curtain
and opening the window a crack, so that a frosty breeze could blow
freely into her left ear.
"You'll get your death," murmured Portia, shivering in her quilted
wrapper.
"O, never mind!" cried Pris, who recognized the tallest man in the
group, and was wild to catch a word from "poor Phil."
"They think they've done a fine thing; but, bless their little hearts,
we'll show that we can do without them by not asking them to the next
sociable, or taking notice of them if they go. That will bring them
round without fail," said one masculine voice, with a jolly laugh.
"Many thanks for letting us know your plots, Mr. Lord. Now we can
arrange a nice little surprise for _you_," and Portia made a scornful
courtesy in the dark.
"Faith! I don't blame the girls much, for that was a confoundedly
ungentlemanly trick of yours, and I'll thank you not to lay any of the
blame of it on me; I've got as much as I can carry without that," said
the tall figure, stalking away alone.
"I'm _so_ glad to know that Phil had nothing to do with it!" breathed
Pris, gratefully.
"Come on, Charley! I must get home as soon as possible, or Polly will be
down on me, for she has taken a new tack lately, and holds forth on the
error of my ways like a granny."
"Won't I give Ned an extra lecture for that speech, the rascal!" and
Polly shook a small fist at him as her brother passed under the window,
blissfully unconscious of the avenging angels up aloft.
"'Tis well; let us away and take sweet counsel how we may annihilate
them," added Polly, melodramatically, as the three ghosts vanished from
the glimpses of the moon.
Every one turned out to the sociables, for they were town affairs, and
early hours, simple suppers, and games of all sorts, made it possible
for old and young to enjoy them together.
On the night of the second one there was a goodly gathering, for the
public rebuke administered to the young men had made a stir, and
everybody was curious to see what the consequences would be when the
parties met.
There was a sensation, therefore, when a whisper went round that the
"Sweet P's" had come, and a general smile of wonder and amusement
appeared when the girls entered, Portia on the arm of her father, Polly
gallantly escorted by her twelve-year-old brother Will, and Pris beside
Belinda Chamberlain, whose five feet seven made her a capital cavalier.
"Outwitted!" laughed Charley Lord, taking the joke at once as he saw
Portia's gray-headed squire.
"I _knew_ Polly was plotting mischief, she has been so quiet lately,"
muttered Ned, eying his little brother with lofty scorn.
Phil said nothing, but he gave a sigh of relief on seeing that Pris had
chosen an escort of whom it was impossible to be jealous.
The Judge seldom honored these gatherings, but Portia ruled papa, and
when she explained the peculiar state of things, he had heroically left
his easy chair to cast himself into the breach.
Master Will was in high feather at his sudden promotion, and bore
himself gallantly, though almost as much absorbed by his wristbands as
Mr. Toots; for Polly had got him up regardless of expense, with a gay
tie, new gloves, and, O, crowning splendor! a red carnation in his
button-hole.
Buxom Belinda was delighted with the chance to play cavalier, and so get
her fair share of all the fun going, for usually she stood in a corner
smiling at an unappreciative world, like a patient sunflower.
The faces of the young men were a study as the games began, and the
three girls joined in them with the partners they had chosen.
"The Judge is evidently on his mettle, but he can't stand that sort of
thing long, even to please Portia; and then her Majesty will have to
give in, or condescend to some one out of our set," thought Charley
Lord, longing already to be taken into favor again.
"Polly will have to come and ask me to lead, if she wants to sing her
favorite songs; for I'll be hanged if I do it till she has humbled
herself by asking," said Ned, feeling sure that his sister would soon
relent.
"If it was any one but Belinda, I don't think I could stand it,"
exclaimed Phil, as he watched his lost sweetheart with wistful eyes;
for, though he submitted to the sentence which he knew he deserved, he
could not relinquish so much excellence without deep regret.
But the young men underrated the spirit of the girls, and overrated
their own strength. The "Sweet P's" went on enjoying themselves,
apparently quite indifferent to the neglect of their once devoted
friends. But to the outcasts it was perfectly maddening to see stately
Portia promenading with stout Major Quackenboss, who put his best foot
foremost with the air of a conquering hero; also to behold sweet Pris
playing games with her little pupils in a way that filled their small
souls with rapture. But the most aggravating spectacle of all was
captivating Polly, chatting gayly with young Farmer Brown, who was
evidently losing both head and heart in the light of her smiles.
"It's no use, boys; I _must_ have one turn with Portia, and you may hang
me for a traitor immediately afterward," cried Charley at last,
recklessly casting both pride and promise to the winds.
"O, very well; if you are going to give in, we may as well all eat
humble pie 'together,'" and Ned imitated his weak-minded friend, glad of
an excuse to claim the leadership of the little choir who led off the
weekly "sing."
Phil dared not follow their example as far as Pris was concerned, but
made his most elegant bow to Belinda, and begged to have the honor of
seeing her home. His chagrin may be imagined when the lofty wall-flower
replied, with a significant emphasis that made his face burn,--
"No, thank you. I need a very _steady_ escort, for I shouldn't take a
fall into a snow-bank as lightly as Pris did not long ago."
Charley met with a like fate at Portia's hands, for she outraged
established etiquette by coldly declining his meek invitation to
promenade, and two minutes later graciously accepting that of an
unfashionable young man, who was known to belong to a temperance lodge.
But Ned's repulse was the most crushing of all, for in reply to his
condescending hint,--
"I suppose people won't be satisfied unless we give them our favorites,
hey, Polly?" he received a verbal box on the ear in the sharp answer,--
"We don't want _you_, for I intend to lead myself, and introduce a new
set of songs which won't be at all to your taste."
Then, to his utter amazement and confusion, Miss Polly began to sing one
of the good old temperance songs, the burden whereof was,--
"O, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O, that will be joyful,
When young men drink no more!"
It was taken up all over the hall, and the chorus rang out with an
energy that caused sundry young men to turn red and dodge behind any
capacious back they could find, for every one understood Polly's motive,
and looked approvingly upon her as she stood singing, with an occasional
quiver in the voice that usually was as clear and sweet as a
blackbird's.
This unexpected manoeuvre on the part of the fair enemy produced
direful perplexity and dismay in the opposing camp, whither the
discomfited trio fled with tidings of their defeat. None of them dared
try again in that quarter, but endeavored to console themselves by
flirting wildly with such girls as still remained available, for, sad to
relate, many of the most eligible took courage and followed the example
of the "Sweet P's." This fact cast added gloom over the hapless
gentlemen of the offending set, and caused them to fear that a social
revolution would follow what they had considered merely a girlish freak.
"Shouldn't wonder if they got up a praying-band after this," groaned
Ned, preparing himself for the strongest measures.
"Portia had better lead off, then, for the first time I indulged too
freely in the 'rosy' was at her father's house," added Charley, laying
all the blame of his expulsion from Eden upon Eve, like a true Adam.
"Look here, boys, we ought to thank, not blame them, for they want to
help us, I'm sure, and some of us need help, God knows!" sighed Phil,
with a look and tone that made his comrades forget their pique in sudden
self-reproach; for not one of them could deny his words, or help feeling
that the prayers of such innocent souls would avail much.
CHAPTER III.
_WHAT PORTIA DID._
"I know your head aches, mamma, so lie here and rest while I sit in my
little chair and amuse you till papa comes in."
As Portia bent to arrange the sofa-cushions comfortably, the tiny silver
pitcher hanging at her neck swung forward and caught her mother's eye.
"Is it the latest fashion to wear odd ear-r | 898.157463 |
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[Illustration: THOMAS JEFFERSON.
_From Portrait by Gilbert Stuart._]
[Illustration: MONTICELLO:--THE WESTERN FRONT.]
THE DOMESTIC LIFE
OF
THOMAS JEFFERSON.
COMPILED FROM
FAMILY LETTERS AND REMINISCENCES,
BY HIS GREAT-GRANDDAUGHTER,
SARAH N. RANDOLPH.
[Illustration: Jefferson's seal]
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1871.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
PREFACE.
I do not in this volume write of Jefferson either as of the great
man or as of the statesman. My object is only to give a faithful
picture of him as he was in private life--to show that he was, as
I have been taught to think of him by those who knew and loved him
best, a beautiful domestic character. With this view I have collected
the reminiscences of him which have been written by his daughter and
grandchildren. From his correspondence, published and unpublished,
I have culled his family letters, and here reproduce them as being
the most faithful witnesses of the warmth of his affections, the
elevation of his character, and the scrupulous fidelity with which he
discharged the duties of every relation in life.
I am well aware that the tale of Jefferson's life, both public and
private, has been well told by the most faithful of biographers in
"Randall's Life of Jefferson," and that much of what is contained in
these pages will be found in that admirable work, which, from the
author's zealous devotion to truth, and his indefatigable industry
in collecting his materials, must ever stand chief among the most
valuable contributions to American history. I propose, however, to
give a sketch of Jefferson's private life in a briefer form than it
can be found in either the thirteen volumes of the two editions of
his published correspondence, or in the three stout octavo volumes of
his Life by Randall. To give a bird's-eye view of his whole career,
and to preserve unbroken the thread of this narrative, I quote freely
from his Memoir, and from such of his letters as cast any light upon
the subject, filling up the blanks with my own pen.
Jefferson's executor having a few months ago recovered from the
United States Government his family letters and private papers, which
had been exempted from the sale of his public manuscripts, I am
enabled to give in these pages many interesting letters never before
published.
No man's private character has been more foully assailed than
Jefferson's, and none so wantonly exposed to the public gaze, nor
more fully vindicated. I shall be more than rewarded for my labors
should I succeed in imparting to my readers a tithe of that esteem
and veneration which I have been taught to feel for him by the person
with whom he was most intimate during life--the grandson who, as a
boy, played upon his knee, and, as a man, was, as he himself spoke of
him, "the staff" of his old age.
The portrait of Jefferson is from a painting by Gilbert Stuart, in
the possession of his family, and by them considered as the best
likeness of him. The portrait of his daughter, Martha Jefferson
Randolph, is from a painting by Sully. The view of Monticello
represents the home of Jefferson | 898.256737 |
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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 | 898.25764 |
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/songsofwomanhood00almauoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold).
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
_Uniform with this Volume._
REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.
=The Athenaeum.=--'_In this volume the critic recognises with sudden
joy the work of a true poet._'
=The Saturday Review.=--'_It is a book in which deep feeling speaks
... and | 898.258682 |
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[Illustration:
“She made them gallop around an imaginary ring.”
See page 79.]
The Book of Clever
Beasts
Studies in Unnatural History
By
Myrtle Reed
Illustrated by Peter Newell
[Illustration: wolf drawing]
G. P. Putnam’s Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1904
_By_ Myrtle Reed
---
Love Letters of a Musician
Later Love Letters of a Musician
The Spinster Book
Lavender and Old Lace
Pickaback Songs
The Shadow of Victory
The Master’s Violin
The Book of Clever Beasts
[Illustration: cat drawing]
COPYRIGHT, 1904
BY
MYRTLE REED
Published, October, 1904
[Illustration: crow drawing]
Dedicated to
Lovers of Truth
Everywhere
[Illustration: owl drawing]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LITTLE UPSIDAISI 1
II. JAGG, THE SKOOTAWAY GOAT 22
III. SNOOF 51
IV. KITCHI-KITCHI 82
V. JIM CROW 108
VI. HOOP-LA 136
VII. JENNY RAGTAIL 168
VIII. HOOT-MON 198
IX. APPENDIX 225
[Illustration: bear drawing]
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“She made them gallop around an imaginary ring” _Frontispiece_
“Instinctively, I followed them” 20
“There was something very human in the grateful 36
look he gave me just before closing his eyes”
“Her little hand rested confidingly in his great 68
paw”
“She arrived on the fair, open page of my 94
observation ledger, sooty, panting, but
thoroughly happy”
“Put the crotch under his wing, and with this 116
improvised crutch, went back to the cabin”
“Hoop-La sat beside me, with her hands on her 154
sides, rocking and swaying in a spasm of
merriment”
“In plain sight of the whole school, punished him 186
severely with a lady’s slipper”
“Coquetting like lovers on a moonlight night” 204
[Illustration: rabbit drawing]
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Although practically all the Nature Books of recent years have been
carefully studied in order to gather material for this volume, the
author desires to make grateful acknowledgment of her indebtedness to
the following works, which have proved particularly helpful and
suggestive:
JOHN BURROUGHS:
_Squirrels and Other Fur-Bearers._
“Real and Sham Natural History,” _Atlantic Monthly_, March, 1903.
WILLIAM DAVENPORT HULBERT:
_Forest Neighbours._
ERNEST INGERSOLL:
_Wild Life of Orchard and Field._
WILLIAM J. LONG:
_A Little Brother to the Bear._
_Beasts of the Field._
_Ways of Wood Folk._
_Wood Folk at School._
_Secrets of the Woods._
_Wilderness Ways._
“The Modern School of Nature Study and its Critics,” _North
American Review_, May, 1903.
CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS:
_The Heart of the Ancient Wood._
_The Kindred of the Wild._
ERNEST THOMPSON-SETON:
_Wild Animals I Have Known._
_Lives of the Hunted._
MASON A. WALTON:
_A Hermit’s Wild Friends._
[Illustration: duck drawing]
THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS
[Illustration: goat drawing]
LITTLE UPSIDAISI
I shall never forget the day I first saw him! That, indeed, was a day to
be marked in my note-book with a red cross. I kept red ink and maltese
ink in my cabin, to be used when things did or did not happen, as the
case might be. By this simple method I was enabled to keep track of the
notes suitable for the magazines which pay the best, reserving the
others for the periodicals which reimburse their army of contributors at
the starvation rate of a cent a word, no distinction being made between
long and short words. It is depressing, when you think of it, that a
long scientific name brings no more than a plain Anglo-Saxon word in one
syllable, and that only a cent apiece is paid for new words coined for
the occasion and which have never before been printed in any book.
But I digress. It was early in the Spring when my physician said to me:
“My dear Mr. Johnson-Sitdown, you are getting dashed dotty.” This was a
pleasing allusion to my employment, for, as the discerning reader has
long since guessed, I was a telegraph operator in a great city, where
the click of the instrument was superadded to the roar of the elevated
trains, the rumble of the surface cars, and the nerve-destroy | 898.258857 |
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OXFORD AND HER COLLEGES
[Illustration]
[Illustration: RADCLIFFE LIBRARY.]
OXFORD
AND HER COLLEGES
A View from the Radcliffe Library
BY
GOLDWIN SMITH, D.C.L.
AUTHOR OF "THE UNITED STATES: AN OUTLINE OF
POLITICAL HISTORY," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS REPRODUCED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
New York
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND LONDON
1895
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
Norwood Press:
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE.
The writer has seldom enjoyed himself more than in showing an American
friend over Oxford. He has felt something of the same enjoyment in
preparing, with the hope of interesting some American visitors, this
outline of the history of the University and her Colleges. He would
gladly believe that Oxford and Cambridge, having now, by emancipation
and reform, been reunited to the nation, may also be reunited to the
race; and that to them, not less than to the Universities of Germany,
the eyes of Americans desirous of studying at a European as well as at
an American University may henceforth be turned.
It was once the writer's duty, in the service of a Royal Commission of
Inquiry, to make himself well acquainted with the archives of the
University and its Colleges. But he has also availed himself of a number
of recent publications, such as the series of the Oxford Historical
Society, the history of the University by Mr. Maxwell Lyte, and the
volume on the Colleges of Oxford and their traditions, edited by Mr.
Andrew Clark, as well as of the excellent little Guide published by
Messrs. James Parker and Co.
[Illustration]
OXFORD AND HER COLLEGES.
To gain a view of Oxford from a central point, we mount to the top of
the Radcliffe Library. We will hope that it is a fine summer day, that,
as we come out upon the roof, the old city, with all its academical
buildings lying among their gardens and groves, presents itself to view
in its beauty, and that the sound of its bells, awakening the memories
of the ages, is in the air. The city is seen lying on the spit of gravel
between the Isis, as the Thames is here called, which is the scene of
boat races, and the Cherwell, famed for water-lilies. It is doubtful
whether the name means the ford of the oxen, or the ford of the river
(_oxen_ being a corruption of _ousen_). Flat, sometimes flooded, is the
site. To ancient founders of cities, a river for water carriage and rich
meads for kine were prime attractions. But beyond the flat we look to a
lovely country, rolling and sylvan, from many points of which, Wytham,
Hinksey, Bagley, Headington, Elsfield, Stowe Wood, are charming views,
nearer or more distant, of the city. Turner's view is taken from Bagley,
but it is rather a Turner poem than a simple picture of Oxford.
* * * * *
There is in Oxford | 898.259755 |
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[Illustration: MR. F. E. BENNETT, Expert Pistol and Revolver Shot.]
THE MODERN AMERICAN PISTOL AND REVOLVER
INCLUDING
A DESCRIPTION OF MODERN PISTOLS AND
REVOLVERS OF AMERICAN MAKE; AMMUNITION
USED IN THESE ARMS; RESULTS ACCOMPLISHED;
AND SHOOTING-RULES FOLLOWED BY AMERICAN
MARKSMEN
BY A. C. GOULD
_Editor of The Rifle_
BOSTON
A. C. GOULD & CO., PUBLISHERS
1888
Copyright, 1888
BY A. C. GOULD & CO.
PRESS OF
Rockwell & Churchill,
BOSTON.
PREFACE.
For many years the author was among the great number of persons who
believed it was impossible to do fine shooting with a pistol beyond a few
yards, and out of the question to secure much accuracy from a revolver.
With the object of learning the limit of accuracy these arms possessed, a
great many experiments were arranged and exhibitions given by the most
skilful marksmen to be found. The spirit of rivalry soon became apparent,
and, without doubt, has considerably aided in determining the
possibilities of the pistol and revolver.
The author feels that his labors have not been in vain, as he has the
testimony of manufacturers of these arms, as well as cartridge-makers,
that the results obtained within a period of three years are finer than it
was thought possible.
As we close this little volume it is apparent that revolver and pistol
shooting is about to become a very popular sport; the cavalry and
artillery of the National Guard in America are likely soon to be equipped
with and instructed in the use of the revolver. As pistol practice
increases in popularity, events herein recorded will, doubtless, be
equalled and excelled many times.
The author begs to acknowledge courtesies extended to him by Messrs. Smith
& Wesson; Colt's Patent Fire-Arms Co.; Merwin, Hulbert, & Co.; Union
Metallic Cartridge Co.; United States Cartridge Co.; Messrs. Wm. R.
Schaefer & Son; John P. Lovell Arms Co.; as well as the many professional
and amateur shots who have devoted time and money to aid in developing the
American pistol and revolver.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I
American Pistols and Revolvers 5
CHAPTER II.
Single-Shot Pistols--Description of Various American Patterns 9
CHAPTER III.
American Revolvers--Smith & Wesson's Productions 21
CHAPTER IV.
The Merwin, Hulbert, & Co.'s Revolvers 36
CHAPTER V.
The Colt's Revolver 46
CHAPTER VI.
Sights for Revolvers and Pistols 56
CHAPTER VII.
Ammunition for Pistols and Revolvers 64
CHAPTER VIII.
Reloading Ammunition for Pistols and Revolvers 75
CHAPTER IX.
The Possibilities of the Revolver--Results of Revolver-firing
up to Fifty Yards 90
CHAPTER X.
Pistol and Revolver Shooting at Long Range 116
CHAPTER XI.
Rules for Pistol and Revolver Shooting 126
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Portrait of Mr. F. E. Bennett _Frontispiece_
Stevens Target Pistol (Lord Model) 11
" " " (Conlin Model) 13
Remington Single-Shot Pistol 15
New 6-inch Barrel Stevens Pistol 16
Colt's National Deringer 17
Remington Vest-Pocket Pistol 19
Smith & Wesson.32-calibre Single-Action Revolver 23
Smith & Wesson Revolver (Russian Model) Single Action 25
Smith & Wesson Revolver (Russian Model) Double Action 27
Smith & Wesson Hammerless Safety Revolver 33
Opening the Merwin, Hulbert, & Co. Revolver 37
Merwin, Hulbert, & Co.'s Revolver--Manner of Ejecting Shells 39
Colt's Revolver,.38-calibre, Double Action 51
" " (Frontier Model) 53
" " (Army Model) 53
Sights for Revolvers and Pistols 58, 59, 61
Chevalier Ira A. Paine 60
Winchester Reloading Tool 76
Ideal Reloading Tool 79
Target made by Mr. F. E. Bennett 84, 100, 114
Target made by Mr. George Bird 92, 96
" " " Mr. Pierre Lorillard, Jr. 94
" " " Mr. J. T. B. Collins 99
" " " Mr. Allen P. Kelly 103
" " " Chevalier Ira A. Paine 105
" " " Mr. W. W. Bennett 108
" " " Mr. D. D. Davis 109
" " " Mr. George Bird 110
Position, Mr. F. E. Bennett 112
" Chevalier Ira A. Paine 115
" Mr. W. W. Bennett 117
" Mr. B. J. Robertson 119
" Mr. Walter Winans 121
" Miss Annie Oakley 127
Standard American Target 125
Holsters 129, 131
Six shots with Colt's Frontier Model Revolver 135
THE MODERN AMERICAN PISTOL AND REVOLVER.
CHAPTER I.
During the years the author has been interested in studying fire-arms, and
endeavoring to learn the greatest amount of accuracy it was possible to
secure from them, his attention has frequently been attracted to the
statements of individuals in relation to pistols and revolvers, which were
mostly in the form of contributions to sportsmen's journals, or in books
chronicling the adventures of living heroes of the plains and
backwoods,--many of the latter passing through the author's hands for
review and criticism. It was noticeable that brief matter in relation to
pistols and revolvers, which was found in print, came from two
classes,--one making the most absurd statements in relation to feats
performed with these arms, which were entirely beyond the possibilities of
both arms and ammunition, and which were immediately recognized as coming
from parties who knew little or nothing about the subject. The statements
which came from the other class--the contributors to sportsmen's
journals--were evidently from parties who had expected to perform the
impossible feats, and, failing to do so, poured out their wrath in print,
condemning the makers of the arms, and making libellous statements in
reference to the arms, which at once indicated that it was lack of skill,
rather than imperfections in the tools.
All skilled marksmen who have handled the modern American pistol and
revolver must be aware that those of standard make are strong, well-made,
safe, and accurate. It is believed that no attempt has ever been made to
learn the possibilities of the various weapons, the greatest accuracy,
range, and power, and record them for comparison in a single volume.
Government tests have been made by the Ordnance Department, but its work
has been almost wholly with revolvers suitable for military purposes. As
there are a number of weapons which possess power, accuracy, and are in
every way equal in effectiveness to those accepted by military
authorities, it is apparent that the reports of government tests do not
fully represent all of the weapons which would properly be classed as
weapons of defence or suitable for military purposes.
Any attempt to record an historical account of the inventions and
improvement in the American pistol and revolver would, doubtless, prove
uninteresting to a majority of the readers of this work, and have but
little practical value; we therefore refrain from any mention of priority
of invention or description of the arms of early manufacture, and confine
our descriptions of the pistol and revolver of to-day. Those in use at the
present time, for extensive and elaborate experiments and investigations,
have impressed the author with the fact that improvements have constantly
been going on, and that the pistol and revolver of the present time are as
much superior to those produced a quarter of a century ago as the modern
rifle is superior to the ancient flint-lock musket. The world moves,
mechanical skill improves, artistic knowledge of form and symmetry is each
year combined with mechanical ingenuity, and at the present time the
American pistol and revolver has reached a degree of perfection previously
unknown; and it is our purpose to describe in this volume the modern
pistol and revolver of American make, those manufactured in quantity known
in trade, and procurable by any one desiring to secure a safe and reliable
weapon. There are a few pistols made in this country by hand, but the
number is so small that they are unknown to the trade; and, although great
stories have occasionally reached us of the accuracy of these arms, we
have never yet found one which would begin to compare with the accuracy of
those constructed by manufacturers who have made the perfection of the arm
a study of years. The standard single-shot pistols of American make at
the present time are the Stevens, Remington, and Wesson. The revolvers,
the Smith & Wesson, Colt's, Merwin & Hulbert, and Remington. The country
is flooded with revolvers of other make, some of them good enough for the
purpose intended, for a very short-range weapon of defence, among them the
products of the Marlin Arms Co., the American Arms Co., and Harrington &
Richardson; but a majority of the revolvers to be found throughout the
country are cheaply made, unreliable, inaccurate, and, above all, unsafe,
and endanger the lives of those who attempt to use them, though they bear
names high-sounding enough to captivate rustics and juvenile purchasers;
and this has always seemed to the author to be the chief cause of so many
condemning the modern revolver. All of the pistols and revolvers described
in the following chapters have been carefully and thoroughly tested by
expert marksmen, a careful comparison made, and the results given, unless
specified, are not the finest results obtainable by the best experts; but
the average results secured, and those it is believed to be within the
reach of ordinary marksmen possessing an average amount of health and
strength.
CHAPTER II.
SINGLE-SHOT PISTOLS.
A number of years ago, when gentlemen sought to vindicate their honor by
duels with pistols, it was the custom to provide themselves with a pair of
duelling-pistols. These were generally of large calibre, often.50 or
1/2-inch, generally of smooth bore and flint-lock. These and even larger
calibres were also made for the cavalrymen in the service. Then came the
percussion pistol, many styles of duelling-pistols, both smooth bore and
rifled, and to-day many Southern gentlemen have in their possession a pair
of these ancient arms handed down to them by their parents and
grandparents. They are used chiefly, at the present time, for decorative
purposes, for their days of usefulness are passed; the modern revolver has
superseded them as arms of defence, and the single-shot breech-loading
pistol, possessing much greater accuracy, far more convenient to load, and
more economical to use, has taken the place of the duelling pistol for
target work, stage shooting, and exhibition work. The single-shot pistol
is used almost wholly for short-range target practice, generally in-doors,
at a distance from five to fifty yards, or for small-game shooting.
Therefore, it is unusual to find at the present time these pistols larger
in bore than.32-calibre, and generally in.22 calibre. As the
.22-calibre is perfectly accurate up to fifty yards, and our own
experiments compared with others lead us to believe the small calibre is
fully as accurate as the larger, and beyond a doubt that with good weather
conditions the larger bore possesses no advantages over the small bore up
to fifty yards in point of accuracy, and the fact that the cost of the.
22-calibre ammunition is so much less, is more compact, allowing a large
number of cartridges to be carried about, and the knowledge that the tiny
bore can be shot so many times without cleaning, makes it the favorite
calibre, in single-shot pistols, for target and small-game shooting within
the distance named.
Any shooting at a distance beyond fifty yards with a pistol is almost
unheard | 898.358504 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Veronika Redfern and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
PHIL MAY'S
GUTTER-SNIPES
The impressions herein are extra carefully printed as _PROOFS_ on fine
paper, and the issue is limited to one thousand and fifty copies, of
which this is No. =462=.
A paper-covered edition, on thinner paper, at a popular price, will
follow.
[Illustration: GRACE!]
[Illustration]
PHIL MAY'S
GUTTER-SNIPES
50
ORIGINAL SKETCHES
IN PEN & INK.
LONDON:
THE LEADENHALL PRESS, LIMITED.
(THESE SKETCHES xxHAVE BEENxx ARE SEPARATELY COPYRIGHTED)
COPYRIGHT 1896
IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
[Illustration: DEDICATION
THIS TO THAT.]
DRAWINGS
1 GRACE! FRONTISPIECE
2 TITLE.
3 DEDICATION.
4 INTRODUCTION.
5 SHUTTLECOCK.
6 A GUTTER-BALL.
7 PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.
8 WATER-WORKS.
9 A GAME AT BALL.
10 LONGING FOR LICKINGS.
11 LUXURIES.
12 "ORRIBLE AND RE-VOLTIN' DETAILS, SIR!"
13 PLUNDERERS.
14 LOST.
15 HOMELESS.
16 THE SLIDE.
17 THE FIRST SMOKE.
18 BROTHER ARTISTS.
19 BITS & SCRAPS.
20 PEG-TOP.
21 TANTALIZING!
22 SEE-SAW.
23 HONEY-POTS.
24 SNOWBALLING.
25 "BOX O' LIGHTS, MY LORD?"
26 MUDLARKS.
27 A SWELL.
28 BUTTONS.
29 FAIRIES.
30 "WHIP-BEHIND."
31 "WILL IT BE ME?"
32 "'EAR Y'ARE SIR!"
33 "THREE SHIES A PENNY."
34 "GIVE US A BITE."
35 WHAT BETSY-ANN MAKES OF IT.
36 HOP-SCOTCH.
37 MARBLES.
38 OLD FRIENDS.
39 AN ADEPT.
40 "REMEMBER, REMEMBER!"
41 PLAYING AT HORSES.
42 "SWEEP YOUR DOOR AWAY, MUM?"
43 A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
44 HIDE & SEEK.
45 TWO PENNORTH.
46 RUGBY RULES.
47 LITTLE MOTHERS.
48 WHISTLING THE LAST NEW TUNE.
49 A MISUNDERSTANDING.
50 LEAP-FROG.
51 BOB-IN-THE-CAP.
52 TIP-CAT.
53 ACROBATS.
54 GUTTER GYMNASTICS.
[Illustration: Andrew Tuer]
June 30th. 96.
My Dear Tuer
Here is the last of the Gutter snipe drawings and sorry I am to
leave them! Children of the gutter roam about free and are often
hungry, but what would one give for such appetites? You and I smoke
big cigars while they--all too soon, poor little chaps--smoke what
you and I and others throw away. Sometimes I wonder whether they
don't lead the happier lives?
Yours always
Phil May
[Illustration: Phil May]
[Illustration: SHUTTLECOCK.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A GUTTER-BALL.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: WATER-WORKS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A GAME AT BALL.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: LONGING FOR LICKINGS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BOY. "NO? WHY DON'T YOU =NEVER= TREAT YOURSELF TO NO
LUXURIES, GUVNER?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "ORRIBLE AND RE-VOLTIN' DETAILS, SIR!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PLUNDERERS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: LOST]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HOMELESS]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SLIDE.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE FIRST SMOKE.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BROTHER ARTISTS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BITS & SCRAPS.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: PEG-TOP.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: TANTALIZING!]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SEE-SAW]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HONEY-POTS]
* * * * *
[Illustration: SNOWBALLING.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: "BOX O' LIGHTS MY LORD?"]
* * | 898.359481 |
2023-11-16 18:32:02.4433710 | 1,221 | 13 | 6)***
E-text prepared by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/pastonlettersad02gairuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43348
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41024
Volume IV: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41081
Volume V: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42239
Volume VI, Part 1 (Letters, Chronological Table): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42240
Volume VI, Part 2 (Index): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42494
Transcriber's note:
The Gairdner edition of the Paston Letters was printed in six
volumes. Each volume is a separate e-text; Volume VI is further
divided into two e-texts, Letters and Index. Volume I, the
General Introduction, will be released after all other volumes,
matching the original publication order.
Except for footnotes and sidenotes, all brackets are in the
original, as are parenthetical question marks and (_sic_)
notations. Series of dots representing damaged text are as in
the printed original.
The year was shown in a sidenote at the top of each page; this
has been merged with the sidenote at the beginning of each
Letter or Abstract.
A carat character is used to denote superscription. The
character(s) following the carat is superscripted (example:
xxviii^me). Braces { } are used only when the superscripted
text is immediately followed by non-superscripted letters
or period (full stop). Errata and other transcriber's notes
are shown in [[double brackets]]. The notation "corrected by
editor" refers to the Errata printed in Volume VI. "(o)" is
used to represent the male ordinal.
Footnotes have their original numbering, with added page
number to make them usable with the full Index. They are
grouped at the end of each Letter or Abstract.
Typographical errors are listed at the end of each Letter,
after the footnotes. In the primary text, errors were only
corrected if they are clearly editorial, such as missing
italics, or mechanical, such as u-for-n misprints. Italic "d"
misprinted as "a" was a recurring problem. The word "invisible"
means that there is an appropriately sized blank space, but the
letter or punctuation mark itself is missing. The spelling
"Jhon" is not an error. Gresham and Tresham are different
people.
Note that the printed book used z to represent original small
letter yogh. This has not been changed for the e-text.
This edition, published by arrangement with Messrs. ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LIMITED, is strictly limited to 650 copies for Great
Britain and America, of which only 600 sets are for sale, and are
numbered 1 to 600.
No. 44.
[[The number 44 is handwritten.]]
* * * * *
* * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
* * * *
* * * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
New Complete Library Edition
Edited with Notes and an Introduction
By
JAMES GAIRDNER
of the Public Record Office
_VOLUME II_
London
Chatto & Windus
[Decoration]
Exeter
James G. Commin
1904
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
THE PASTON LETTERS
_Early Documents_
Before entering upon the correspondence of the Paston family, in the
reign of Henry VI., we have thought it well to give the reader a brief
note of such deeds and charters of an earlier date as appear either to
have been preserved in the family, or to have any bearing on its
history. The following is a list of those we have been able to meet with
either in the originals or in other quarters, such as Blomefield's
_History of Norfolk_, where notices are given of several documents,
which appear now to have got into unknown hands. The documents seen by
Blomefield, and those from the Paston and Dawson-Turner collections, now
in the British Museum, were probably all at one time part of the Paston
family muniments. The three Harleian charters seem to have been derived
from a different source.
A Deed is cited by Blomefield (_Hist. Norf._ vi. 480), by which
Anselm, Abbot of St. Benet's, Hulme, and the Convent there, gave to
Osbern, the priest (said by Blomefield to have been a son of Griffin
de Thwait, the founder of the Paston family), the land of St.
Benet's of Paston (_terram Sancti Benedicti de Paston_), in fee, for
half the farm of | 898.463411 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
MARCH
1663-1664
March 1st. Up and to the office, where we sat all the morning, and at
noon to the 'Change, and after much business and meeting my uncle Wight,
who told me how Mr. Maes had like to have been trapanned yesterday, but
was forced to run for it; so with Creed and Mr. Hunt home to dinner, and
after a good and pleasant dinner, Mr. Hunt parted, and I took Mr. Creed
and my wife and down to Deptford, it being most pleasant weather, and
there till night discoursing with the officers there about several things,
and so walked home by moonshine, it being mighty pleasant, and so home,
and I to my office, where late about getting myself a thorough
understanding in the business of masts, and so home to bed, my left eye
being mightily troubled with rheum.
2nd. Up, my eye mightily out of order with the rheum that is fallen down
into it, however, I by coach endeavoured to have waited on my Lord
Sandwich, but meeting him in Chancery Lane going towards the City I
stopped and so fairly walked home again, calling at St. Paul's
Churchyarde, and there looked upon a pretty burlesque poem, called
"Scarronides, or Virgile Travesty;" extraordinary good. At home to the
office till dinner, and after dinner my wife cut my hair short, which is
growne pretty long again, and then to the office, and there till 9 at
night doing business. This afternoon we had a good present of tongues and
bacon from Mr. Shales, of Portsmouth. So at night home to supper, and,
being troubled with my eye, to bed. This morning Mr. Burgby, one of the
writing clerks belonging to the Council, was with me about business, a
knowing man, he complains how most of the Lords of the Council do look
after themselves and their own ends, and none the publique, unless Sir
Edward Nicholas. Sir G. Carteret is diligent, but all for his own ends
and profit. My Lord Privy Scale, a destroyer of every body's business,
and do no good at all to the publique. The Archbishop of Canterbury
speaks very little, nor do much, being now come to the highest pitch that
he can expect. He tells me, he believes that things will go very high
against the Chancellor by Digby, and that bad things will be proved. Talks
much of his neglecting the King; and making the King to trot every day to
him, when he is well enough to go to visit his cozen Chief-Justice Hide,
but not to the Council or King. He commends my Lord of Ormond mightily in
Ireland; but cries out cruelly of Sir G. Lane for his corruption; and that
he hath done my Lord great dishonour by selling of places here, which are
now all taken away, and the poor wretches ready to starve. That nobody
almost understands or judges of business better than the King, if he would
not be guilty of his father's fault to be doubtfull of himself, and easily
be removed from his own opinion. That my Lord Lauderdale is never from
the King's care nor council, and that he is a most cunning fellow. Upon
the whole, that he finds things go very bad every where; and even in the
Council nobody minds the publique.
3rd. Up pretty early and so to the office, where we sat all the morning
making a very great contract with Sir W. Warren for provisions for the
yeare coming, and so home to dinner, and there was W. Howe come to dine
with me, and before dinner he and I walked in the garden, and we did
discourse together, he assuring me of what he told me the other day of my
Lord's speaking so highly in my commendation to my Lord Peterborough and
Povy, which speaks my Lord having yet a good opinion of me, and also how
well my Lord and Lady both are pleased with their children's being at my
father's, and when the bigger ladies were there a little while ago, at
which I am very glad. After dinner he went away, I having discoursed with
him about his own proceedings in his studies, and I observe him to be very
considerate and to mind his book in order to preferring himself by my
Lord's favour to something, and I hope to the outing of Creed in his
Secretaryship. | 898.464379 |
2023-11-16 18:32:02.4445740 | 1,697 | 100 |
E-text prepared by David Clarke, Martin Pettit, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital
material generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/ifyesperhaps00halerich
IF, YES, AND PERHAPS.
Four Possibilities and Six Exaggerations, with Some Bits of Fact.
by
EDWARD E. HALE.
Boston:
Fields, Osgood, & Co.,
Successors To Ticknor and Fields.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
Ticknor and Fields,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
University Press: Welch, Bigelow, & Co., Cambridge.
DEDICATION.
I dedicate this book to the youngest of my friends, now two hours old.
Fun, fact, and fancy,--may his fresh life mix the three in their just
proportions.
MILTON, June 6, 1868.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
The title to this book has met with general opprobrium, except in a few
quarters, where it was fortunately regarded as beneath contempt. Colonel
Ingham even exacted an explanation by telegraph from the Editor, when he
learned from the Governor-General of Northern Siberia what the title
was. This explanation the Editor gave in the following note. It is,
however, impossible to change the title, as he proposes. For reasons
known to all statesmen, it is out of the question to swap horses in
crossing a river; and all publishers know that it is equally impossible
to change titles under those circumstances.
BOSTON, October 17, 1868.
MY DEAR COLONEL INGHAM:--
I have your note complaining of the sensational title, "somewhat
affected," as you think, which I gave to our little story-book. Of
course I am sorry you do not like the name; but, while you strike,
I beg you to hear.
I readily acceded to your original title, and called the book in
manuscript as you bade me,--
"A Few Short Sketches taken from Ancient History, Modern Travel,
and the Realm of Imagination, Illustrative of the Poetry of the
Bible, the History of Christianity, the Manners of the Times, and
the Politics of the Present and Past Generations."
This title would, I admit, meet the views of most of our present
critics. But I abandoned it on my own responsibility,--you being
then beyond the telegraph, at the mouth of the Oby River,--because
it occurred to me, that, under the catalogue rules of Panizzi and
the lamented Jewett, we should be indexed and catalogued at "Few."
I did not think that a good omen.
Relinquishing, therefore, the effort at description of subject, I
tried description of object, and determined on this:--
"Moral Sketches of Human Society, in the Past, the Present, and
Imagined Worlds." By F. I., &c., &c., &c.
But, as I slept and waked on this, I said, "Who knows that these
are _moral_ sketches?" We wished them to be moral, but Ingham's
have been attacked by such patient critics as read them as being
immoral, while many of the sketches seem to have no moral at all.
Who are we, to claim that we have attained a moral standard?
Waking and sleeping once more, I asked myself, "What are the
things,--poor, nameless heathen children, that can get no sponsor
and no Christian baptism?"
I said, in reply, that at least one of them was the living truth,
so far as it could be squeezed out of blue books and the most
proper of documents. Others might have been true, if the destinies
had so willed. Others would have been true, had they not been
untrue. Others should have been true, had poetical justice been the
working rule of a vulgar world.
"Might, Could, Would, or Should," then, would have been an
available name for most of them,--unless one took from the older
grammars the title of "The Potential Mood."
But, you observe, my dear Ingham, that our little story-book is
destined mostly for young readers, who know no more of "The
Potential Mood" than they know of the surrender of Cornwallis (this
day celebrated). And, besides, we have some facts in the treatise
which are not hypothetical. Why ignore them? Do you not see that
your miserable suggestion of "The Potential Mood" is as worthless
as it is sensational and fails as not comprehensive, inadequate,
unintelligible, and not true?
For these reasons I settled on the plain, straightforward title of
unadorned truth, viz. "Four Possibilities, Six Exaggerations, and
some Bits of Fact"; and with this we went to the publisher. But, as
I entered his shop, a boy from Dutton's rushed in with his
order-book, and cried:--
"I want seventy _Chimes_ and ninety _Ivanhoe_."
"What," said I, "if, by any good fortune, it had been our
story-book that was wanted, this boy would then have called for
"'Seventy Four Possibilities.' Can there be so many in a world
which runs in grooves? Will he even get the number that he needs of
our treatises? Alexander a robber! Let me reflect."
Reflecting thus, I determined that the title of a book must be,--
1. Brief.
2. Intelligible.
3. Suggestive.
4. It must not begin with a numeral.
I took a Tremont Street car and returned home.
"What," I said in the night-watches, "is the brief expression of a
possibility? Surely it is in the word PERHAPS.
"What of a fact?
"Surely it is YES.
"What of an exaggeration? Why, it is that which would be true If it
had not been overstated. Our title then, clearly, is
"PERHAPS, YES, AND IF."
I see that the critics would have been better satisfied with this.
But, on the principle of the little elephants sacrificing
themselves in the passage of a river, Mr. Fields and I determined
to start the smallest word first, and thus to drive a gentle wedge
into the close chasm of the public favor. Sensitive, however, as I
am, dear Ingham, to your criticism, I will at the earliest
opportunity consult with him as to a return to the original
title:--
"A Few Sketches * * * Illustrative," &c., &c., &c.
Or might we not let the one word "Etcetera" stand alone? Or thus,
with the stars, "* * * &c., &c., &c."?
Truly yours,
E. E. HALE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE CHILDREN OF THE PUBLIC 1
A PIECE OF POSSIBLE HISTORY 58
THE SOUTH AMERICAN EDITOR 78
THE OLD AND THE NEW, FACE TO FACE 100
THE DOT AND LINE ALPHABET 116 | 898.464614 |
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Produced by Al Haines
The Orpheus Series No. 1
THE
HERO IN MAN
BY
A. E.
[Transcriber's note: "A.E." is a pseudonym of George William Russell]
The Orpheus Press, 1910
First Edition (1,000 copies), May, 1909.
Second Edition (1,000 copies), September, 1910.
PRELUDE.
[Greek: _lampadia echontes diadosousin allelois_.]--PLATO.
We who live in the great cities could not altogether avoid, even if we
would, a certain association with the interests of our time. Wherever
we go the minds of men are feverishly debating some new political
measure or some new scheme for the reconstruction of society. Now, as
in olden times, the rumours of an impending war will engulf the subtler
interests of men, and unless we are willing to forego all intercourse
we find ourselves involved in a hundred sympathies. A friendly group
will gather one evening and open their thoughts concerning the
experiences of the soul; they will often declare that only these
matters are of profound interest, and yet on the morrow the most of
them regard the enthusiasms of the mind as far away, unpractical, not
of immediate account. But even at noon the stars are above us and
because a man in material difficulties cannot evoke the highest
experiences that he has known they have not become less real. They
pertain to his immortal nature and if in the circumstance of life he
loses memory of them it is because he is likewise mortal. In the
measure that we develop our interior selves philosophy becomes the most
permanent of our interests and it may well be that the whole aim of Man
is to acquire an unbroken and ever-broadening realisation of the
Supreme Spirit so that in a far-off day he may become the master of all
imaginable conditions. He, therefore, who brings us back to our
central selves and shows us that however far we may wander it is these
high thoughts which are truly the most real--he is of all men our
greatest benefactor.
Now those who thus care for the spiritual aspect of life are of two
kinds,--the intellectual and the imaginative. There are men of keen
intellect who comprehend some philosophic system, who will defend it
with elaborate reasonings and proclaim themselves its adherents, but
the earth at their feet, the stars in the firmament, man himself and
their own souls have undergone no transfiguration. Their philosophies
are lifeless, for imagination is to the intellect what breath is to the
body. Thoughts that never glow with imagination, that are never
applied to all that the sense perceives or the mind remembers--thoughts
that remain quite abstract, are as empty husks of no value.
But there are those who have studied by the light of imagination and
these know well that the inner life of thought, of experiment, and of
wonder, though it may often be over-clouded, is the only life which can
henceforth give them content. They know that it was not when they were
most immersed in the affairs of the day but rather when the whole world
appeared for a little while to be pulsating with an almost
uncontainable splendour, that they were most alive. For the best mood
we have ever known, though it be lost for long, is yet the clearest
revelation of our true selves, and it is then that we learn most nearly
what marvels life may hold.
If we read with imagination the Dialogues of Plato we dwell for a while
among those ardent Greeks for whom the universe was changed by the
words of the poet-philosopher. So too when we read the letter that was
written by Plotinus to Flaccus, perhaps the serenest height the human
soul has ever attained, we become ourselves the recipients. In either
case we feel that we have lived in the presence of a princely soul. It
is an inspiration to realise that we are of the one race with these and
may look out on the same beauty of earth and heaven.
Yet the magic of the mind is not enduring and to dream overlong of a
bygone beauty is to make sorrowful the present. What imaginative
reader of Plato but has desired with a fruitless ardour that he might
in truth have been numbered with those who walked on the daisied lawns
of the Academy, might in truth have heard the voice of the hardly human
initiate, have seen him face to face, have responded to the influence
of his presence? who but would willingly translate his life to another
century if he could but hear Plotinus endeavouring to describe in human
language an ecstasy which makes of man a god?
I know that one may easily injure whatever one most loves by speaking
of it in superlative praise to those who as yet remain aloof with
interest unaroused, but for me it is hard to refrain from an expression
of that admiration, and I would fain say also that affection, which
burns up within me when I read the writings of A.E. For they cause me
to think of him as one of those rare spirits who bring to men the
realisation of their own divinity, who make the spiritual life seem
adventurous, attractive, and vivid, so that we go forth into the world
with a new interest and a new joy at heart. That, as I have sought to
show in the opening of this note, is the greatest of all things that
anyone can do. The life of such a man makes beautiful the generation
with which it coincides. If we penetrate the human words and inhabit,
so far as we are able, the mood which was passing in the soul as it
shaped them, we may learn from the reveries that are here reprinted how
to the mystic of this material age the world remains equally wonderful
and human life equally holy as either seemed in the far-off days when
beauty was more greatly desired. For of deeper value at all times than
any particular thought is the pervading mood. Perhaps the reader will
remember here the following passage by Robert Louis Stevenson:--"Such
are the best teachers; a dogma learned is only a new error--the old one
was perhaps as good; but a spirit communicated is a perpetual
possession. These best teachers climb beyond teaching to the plane of
art; it is themselves, and what is best in themselves, that they
communicate." To read the essays that follow, or the three volumes of
poetry that A.E. has published, is to recognise one who has endeavoured
always to communicate the "best in himself," and the mood which they
induce is a mood from which we may see the world once more in its
primal beauty, may recover a sense of the long-forgotten but
inextinguishable grandeur of the soul.
CLIFFORD BAX.
_April_, 1909.
THE HERO IN MAN.
I.
There sometimes comes on us a mood of strange reverence for people and
things which in less contemplative hours we hold to be unworthy; and in
such moments we may set side by side the head of Christ and the head of
an outcast, and there is an equal radiance around each, which makes of
the darker face a shadow and is itself a shadow around the head of
light. We feel a fundamental unity of purpose in their presence here,
and would as willingly pay homage to the one who has fallen as to him
who has become a master of life. I know that immemorial order decrees
that the laurel and the crown be given only to the victor, but in those
moments I speak of a profound intuition changes the decree and sets the
aureole on both alike.
We feel such deep pity for the fallen that there must needs be a
justice in it, for these diviner feelings are wise in themselves and do
not vaguely arise. They are lights from the Father. A justice lies in
uttermost pity and forgiveness, even when we seem to ourselves to be
most deeply wronged; or why is it that the awakening of resentment or
hate brings such swift contrition? We are ever self-condemned; and the
dark thought which went forth in us brooding revenge, when suddenly
smitten by the light, withdraws and hides within itself in awful
penitence. In asking myself why it is that the meanest are safe from
our condemnation when we sit on the true seat of judgment in the heart,
it seemed to me that their shield was the sense we have of a nobility
hidden in them under the cover of ignoble things; that their present
darkness was the result of some too weighty heroic labour undertaken
long ago by the human spirit; that it was the consecration of past
purpose which played with such a tender light about their ruined lives,
and it was more pathetic because this nobleness was all unknown to the
fallen and the heroic cause of so much pain was forgotten in life's
prison-house.
While feeling the service to us of the great ethical ideals which have
been formulated by men, I think that the idea of justice intellectually
conceived tends to beget a certain hardness of the heart. It is true
that men have done wrong--hence their pain: but back of all this there
is something infinitely soothing, a light which does not wound, which
says no harsh thing, even although the darkest of spirits turns to it
in its agony, for the darkest of human spirits has still around him
this first glory which shines from a deeper being within, whose history
may be told as the legend of the Hero in Man.
Among the many immortals with whom ancient myth peopled the spiritual
sphere of humanity are some figures which draw to themselves a more
profound tenderness than the rest. Not Aphrodite rising in beauty from
the faery foam of the first seas, not Apollo with sweetest singing,
laughter, and youth, not the wielder of the lightning, could exact the
reverence accorded to the lonely Titan chained on the mountain, or to
that bowed figure heavy with the burden of the sins of the world; for
the brighter divinities had no part in the labour of man, no such
intimate relation with the wherefore of his own existence so full of
struggle. The more radiant figures are prophecies to him of his
destiny, | 898.562897 |
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XIV, No. 383] SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1829. [PRICE 2d.
TUNBRIDGE WELLS.
[Illustration: TUNBRIDGE WELLS IN 1748. With sketches of Dr. Johnson,
Cibber, Garrick, Lyttleton, Richardson, &c. &c. _For Explanation, see the
annexed page._]
_References to the Characters in the Engraving._
1. Dr. Johnson.--2. Bishop of Salisbury (Dr. Gilbert.)--3. Lord
Harcourt.--4. Cotley Cibber.--5. Mr. Garrick.--6. Mrs. Frasi, the
singer.--7. Mr. Nash.--8. Miss Chudleigh (Duchess of Kingston.)--9.
Mr. Pitt (Earl of Chatham.)--10. A. Onslow, Esq. (the Speaker.)--11. Lord
Powis.--12. Duchess of Norfolk.--13. Miss Peggy Banks--14. Lady
Lincoln--15. Mr. (afterwards Lord) Lyttleton.--16. The Baron (a German
gamester.)--17. Samuel Richardson.--18. Mrs. Onslow.--20. Mrs. Johnson
(the Doctor's wife.)--21. Mr. Whiston--22. Loggan, the artist.--23. Woman
of the Wells.
Tunbridge, or as old folks still call it, "the Wells," was a gay,
anecdotical resort of the last century, and about as different from the
fashionable haunts of the present, as St. James's is to Russel Square, or
an old English mansion to the egg-shell architecture of yesterday. In its
best days, it was second only to Bath, and little did its belles and beaux
dream of the fishified village of Brighthelmstone, in the adjoining county,
spreading to a city, and being docked of its syllabic proportions to the
_Brighton_ of ears polite.
The annexed Engraving represents Tunbridge Wells about 80 years ago, or in
the year 1748. It is copied from a drawing which belonged to Samuel
Richardson, the novelist, and was found among his papers at his death in
1761. The original is in the possession of Sir Richard Phillips, who
published Richardson's _Correspondence_, in 1804; it contains portrait
figures of all the celebrated characters who were at Tunbridge Wells, in
August, 1748, at which time Richardson was likewise there, and beneath the
drawing is the above key, or the names of the characters, in the
hand-writing of the novelist.
But the pleasantest illustration that we can supply is the following
extract from one of Richardson's Letters to Miss Westcomb, which
represents the gaiety and flirtation of the place in very attractive
colours. At this time Richardson was at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of
his health; but he says, "I had rather be in a desert, than in a place so
public and so giddy, if I may call the place so from its frequenters. But
these waters were almost the only thing in medicine that I had not tried;
and, as my disorder seemed to increase, I was willing to try them.
Hitherto, I must own, without effect is the trial. But people here, who
slide in upon me, as I traverse the outermost edges of the walks, that I
may stand in nobody's way, nor have my dizziness increased by the swimming
triflers, tell me I shall not give them fair play under a month or six
weeks; and that I ought neither to read nor write; yet I have all my town
concerns upon me here, sent me every post and coach, and cannot help it.
Here are great numbers of people got together. A very full season, and
more coming every day--Great comfort to me."
"What if I could inform you, that among scores of belles, flatterers,
triflers, who swim along these walks, self-satisfied and pleased, and
looking defiances to men (and to modesty, I had like to have said; for
bashfulness seems to be considered as want of breeding in all I see here);
a pretty woman is as rare as a black swan; and when one such starts up,
she is nicknamed a Beauty, and old fellows and young fellows are set
a-spinning after her."
"_Miss Banks_ (Miss Peggy Banks) was the belle when I came first down--yet
she had been so many seasons here, that she obtained but a faint and
languid attention; so that the smarts began to put her down in their list
of had-beens. New faces, my dear, are more sought after than fine faces. A
piece of instruction lies here--that women should not make even their
faces cheap."
"_Miss Chudleigh_ next was the triumphant toast: a lively, sweet-tempered,
gay, self-admired, and not altogether without reason, generally-admired
lady--she moved not without crowds after her. She smiled at every one.
Every one smiled before they saw her, when they heard she was on the walk.
She played, she lost, she won--all with equal good-humour. But, alas, she
went off, before she was wished to go off. And then the fellows' hearts
were almost broken for a new beauty."
"Behold! seasonably, the very day that she went away entered upon the
walks Miss L., of Hackney!--Miss Chudleigh was forgotten (who would wish
for so transient a dominion in the land of fickledom!)--And have you seen
the new beauty?--And have you seen Miss L.? was all the inquiry from smart
to smartless. But she had not traversed the walks two days, before she was
found to want spirit and life. Miss Chudleigh was remembered by those who
wished for the brilliant mistress, and scorned the wifelike quality of
sedateness--and Miss L. is now seen with a very silly fellow or two,
walking backwards and forwards unmolested--dwindled down from the new
beauty to a very quotes pretty girl; and perhaps glad to come off so. For,
upon my word, my dear, there are very few pretty girls here."
"But here, to change the scene, to see Mr. W----sh at eighty (Mr. Cibber
calls him papa), and Mr. Cibber at seventy-seven, hunting after new faces;
and thinking themselves happy if they can obtain the notice and
familiarity of a fine woman!--How ridiculous!--If you have not been at
Tunbridge, you may nevertheless have heard that here are a parcel of
fellows, mean traders, whom they call touters, and their business,
touting--riding out miles to meet coaches and company coming hither, to
beg their custom while here."
"Mr. Cibber was over head and ears in love with Miss Chudleigh. Her
admirers (such was his happiness!) were not jealous of him; but, pleased
with that wit in him which they had not, were always for calling him to
her. She said pretty things--for she was Miss Chudleigh. He said pretty
things--for he was Mr. Cibber; and all the company, men and women, seemed
to think they had an interest in what was said, and were half as well
pleased as if they had said the sprightly things themselves; and mighty
well contented were they to be secondhand repeaters of the pretty things.
But once | 898.659886 |
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Produced by ellinora and The Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note
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and hyphenation retained.
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This decoration has been preserved in the html and ebook versions at
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An illustration in the front matter of a prison door with bars
surrounding the book title has been replicated in the text with ascii
art.
Italic text is represented by underscores surrounding the _italic
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| 898.661619 |
2023-11-16 18:32:02.6428480 | 4,653 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of God's Good Man, by Marie Corelli
#7 in our series by Marie Corelli
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Title: God's Good Man
Author: Marie Corelli
Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4653]
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GOD'S GOOD MAN
A Simple Love Story
By MARIE CORELLI
AUTHOR OF "THE TREASURE OF HEAVEN," "THELMA," "A ROMANCE OF TWO
WORLDS," "THE MASTER CHRISTIAN," ETC.
TO
THE LIVING ORIGINAL
OF
"THE REVEREND JOHN WALDEN"
AND HIS WIFE
THIS SIMPLE LOVE STORY
IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
"THERE WAS A MAN SENT FROM GOD WHOSE NAME WAS JOHN."
NEW TESTAMENT
GOD'S GOOD MAN
I
It was May-time in England.
The last breath of a long winter had blown its final farewell across
the hills,--the last frost had melted from the broad, low-lying
fields, relaxing its iron grip from the clods of rich, red-brown
earth which, now, soft and broken, were sprouting thick with the
young corn's tender green. It had been a hard, inclement season.
Many a time, since February onward, had the too-eagerly pushing buds
of trees and shrubs been nipped by cruel cold,--many a biting east
wind had withered the first pale green leaves of the lilac and the
hawthorn,--and the stormy caprices of a chill northern. Spring had
played havoc with all the dainty woodland blossoms that should,
according to the ancient 'Shepherd's Calendar' have been flowering
fully with the daffodils and primroses. But during the closing days
of April a sudden grateful warmth had set in,--Nature, the divine
goddess, seemed to awaken from long slumber and stretch out her arms
with a happy smile,--and when May morning dawned on the world, it
came as a vision of glory, robed in clear sunshine and girdled with
bluest skies. Birds broke into enraptured song,--young almond and
apple boughs quivered almost visibly every moment into pink and
white bloom,--cowslips and bluebells raised their heads from mossy
corners in the grass, and expressed their innocent thoughts in
sweetest odour--and in and through all things the glorious thrill,
the mysterious joy of renewed life, hope and love pulsated from the
Creator to His responsive creation.
It was May-time;--a real 'old-fashioned' English May, such as
Spenser and Herrick sang of:
"When all is yclad
With blossoms; the ground with grass, the woodes
With greene leaves; the bushes with blossoming buddes,"
and when whatever promise our existence yet holds for us, seems far
enough away to inspire ambition, yet close enough to encourage fair
dreams of fulfilment. To experience this glamour and witchery of the
flowering-time of the year, one must, perforce, be in the country.
For in the towns, the breath of Spring is foetid and feverish,--it
arouses sick longings and weary regrets, but scarcely any positive
ecstasy. The close, stuffy streets, the swarming people, the high
buildings and stacks of chimneys which only permit the narrowest
patches of sky to be visible, the incessant noise and movement, the
self-absorbed crowding and crushing,--all these things are so many
offences to Nature, and are as dead walls of obstacle set against
the revivifying and strengthening forces with which she endows her
freer children of the forest, field and mountain. Out on the wild
heathery moorland, in the heart of the woods, in the deep bosky
dells, where the pungent scent of moss and pine-boughs fills the air
with invigorating influences, or by the quiet rivers, flowing
peacefully under bending willows and past wide osier-beds, where the
kingfisher swoops down with the sun-ray and the timid moor-hen
paddles to and from her nest among the reeds,--in such haunts as
these, the advent of a warm and brilliant May is fraught with that
tremor of delight which gives birth to beauty, and concerning which
that ancient and picturesque chronicler, Sir Thomas Malory, writes
exultantly: "Like as May moneth flourisheth and flowerth in many
gardens, so in likewise let every man of worship flourish his heart
in this world!"
There was a certain'man of worship' in the world at the particular
time when this present record of life and love begins, who found
himself very well-disposed to 'flourish his heart' in the Maloryan
manner prescribed, when after many dark days of unseasonable cold
and general atmospheric depression, May at last came in rejoicing.
Seated under broad apple-boughs, which spread around him like a
canopy studded with rosy bud-jewels that shone glossy bright against
the rough dark-brown stems, he surveyed the smiling scenery of his
own garden with an air of satisfaction that was almost boyish,
though his years had run well past forty, and he was a parson to
boot. A gravely sedate demeanour would have seemed the more fitting
facial expression for his age and the generally accepted nature of
his calling,--a kind of deprecatory toleration of the sunshine as
part of the universal 'vanity' of mundane things,--or a
condescending consciousness of the bursting apple-blossoms within
his reach as a kind of inferior earthy circumstance which could
neither be altered nor avoided.
The Reverend John Walden, however, was one of those rarely gifted
individuals who cannot assume an aspect which is foreign to
temperament. He was of a cheerful, even sanguine disposition, and
his countenance faithfully reflected the ordinary bent of his
humour. Seeing him at a distance, the casual observer would at once
have judged him to be either an athlete or an ascetic. There was no
superfluous flesh about him; he was tall and muscular, with well-
knit limbs, broad shoulders, and a head altogether lacking in the
humble or conciliatory 'droop' which all worldly-wise parsons
cultivate for the benefit of their rich patrons. It was a
distinctively proud head,--almost aggressive,--indicative of strong
character and self-reliance, well-poised on a full throat, and set
off by a considerable quantity of dark brown hair which was
refractory in brushing, inclined to uncanonical curls, and
plentifully dashed with grey. A broad forehead, deeply-set, dark-
blue eyes, a straight and very prominent nose, a strong jaw and
obstinate chin,--a firmly moulded mouth, round which many a sweet
and tender thought had drawn kindly little lines of gentle smiling
that were scarcely hidden by the silver-brown moustache,--such,
briefly, was the appearance of one, who though only a country
clergyman, of whom the great world knew nothing, was the living
representative of more powerful authority to his little 'cure of
souls' than either the bishop of the diocese, or the King in all his
majesty.
He was the sole owner of one of the smallest 'livings' in England,--
an obscure, deeply-hidden, but perfectly unspoilt and beautiful
relic of mediaeval days, situated in one of the loveliest of
woodland counties, and known as the village of St. Rest, sometimes
called 'St. Est.' Until quite lately there had been considerable
doubt as to the origin of this name, and the correct manner of its
pronouncement. Some said it should be, 'St. East,' because, right
across the purple moorland and beyond the line of blue hills where
the sun rose, there stretched the sea, miles away and invisible, it
is true, but nevertheless asserting its salty savour in every breath
of wind that blew across the tufted pines. 'St. East,' therefore,
said certain rural sages, was the real name of the village, because
it faced the sea towards the east. Others, however, declared that
the name was derived from the memory of some early Norman church on
the banks of the peaceful river that wound its slow clear length in
pellucid silver ribbons of light round and about the clover fields
and high banks fringed with wild rose and snowy thorn, and that it
should, therefore, be 'St. Rest,' or better still, 'The Saint's
Rest.' This latter theory had recently received strong confirmation
by an unexpected witness to the past,--as will presently be duly
seen and attested.
But St. Rest, or St. Est, whichever name rightly belonged to it, was
in itself so insignificant as a 'benefice,' that its present rector,
vicar, priest and patron had bought it for himself, through the good
offices of a friend, in the days when such purchases were possible,
and for some ten years had been supreme Dictator of his tiny kingdom
and limited people. The church was his,--especially his, since he
had restored it entirely at his own expense,--the rectory, a lop-
sided, half-timbered house, built in the fifteenth century, was
his,--the garden, full of flowering shrubs, carelessly planted and
allowed to flourish at their own wild will, was his,--the ten acres
of pasture-land that spread in green luxuriance round and about his
dwelling were his,--and, best of all, the orchard, containing some
five acres planted with the choicest apples, cherries, plums and
pears, and bearing against its long, high southern wall the finest
peaches and nectarines in the county, was his also. He had, in fact,
everything that the heart of a man, especially the heart of a
clergyman, could desire, except a wife,--and that commodity had been
offered to him from many quarters in various delicate and diplomatic
ways,--only to be as delicately and diplomatically rejected.
And truly there seemed no need for any change in his condition. He
had gone on so far in life,--'so far!' he would occasionally remind
himself, with a little smile and sigh,--that a more or less solitary
habit had, by long familiarity, become pleasant. Actual loneliness
he had never experienced, because it was not in his nature to feel
lonely. His well-balanced intellect had the brilliant quality of a
finely-cut diamond, bearing many facets, and reflecting all the hues
of life in light and colour; thus it quite naturally happened that
most things, even ordinary and common things, interested him. He was
a great lover of books, and, to a moderate extent, a collector of
rare editions; he also had a passion for archaeology, wherein he was
sustained by a certain poetic insight of which he was himself
unconscious. The ordinary archaeologist is generally a mere Dry-as-
Dust, who plays with the bones of the past as Shakespeare's Juliet
fancied she might play with her forefathers' joints, and who eschews
all use of the imaginative instinct as though it were some deadly
evil. Whereas, it truly needs a very powerful imaginative lens to
peer down into the recesses of bygone civilisations, and re-people
the ruined haunts of dead men with their shadowy ghosts of learning,
art, enterprise, or ambition.
To use the innermost eyes of his soul in such looking backward down
the stream of Time, as well as in looking forward to that 'crystal
sea' of the unknown Future, flowing round the Great White Throne
whence the river of life proceeds, was a favourite mental occupation
with John Walden. He loved antiquarian research, and all such
scientific problems as involve abstruse study and complex
calculation,--but equally he loved the simplest flower and the most
ordinary village tale of sorrow or mirth recounted to him by any one
of his unlessoned parishioners. He gave himself such change of air
and scene as he thought he required, by taking long swinging walks
about the country, and found sufficient relaxation in gardening, a
science in which he displayed considerable skill. No one in all the
neighbourhood could match his roses, or offer anything to compare
with the purple and white masses of violets which, quite early in
January came out under his glass frames not only perfect in shape
and colour, but full of the real 'English' violet fragrance, a
benediction of sweetness which somehow seems to be entirely withheld
from the French and Russian blooms. For the rest, he was physically
sound and morally healthy, and lived, as it were, on the straight
line from earth to heaven, beginning each day as if it were his
first life-opportunity, and ending it soberly and with prayer, as
though it were his last.
To such a mind and temperament as his, the influences of Nature, the
sublime laws of the Universe, and the environment of existence, must
needs move in circles of harmonious unity, making loveliness out of
commonness, and poetry out of prose. The devotee of what is
mistakenly called 'pleasure,'--enervated or satiated with the sickly
moral exhalations of a corrupt society,--would be quite at a loss to
understand what possible enjoyment could be obtained by sitting
placidly under an apple-tree with a well-thumbed volume of the
wisdom of the inspired pagan Slave, Epictetus, in the hand, and the
eyes fixed, not on any printed page, but on a spray of warmly-
blushing almond blossom, where a well-fed thrush, ruffling its
softly speckled breast, was singing a wild strophe concerning its
mate, which, could human skill have languaged its meaning, might
have given ideas to a nation's laureate. Yet John Walden found
unalloyed happiness in this apparently vague and vacant way. There
was an acute sense of joy for him in the repeated sweetness of the
thrush's warbling,--the light breeze, stirring through a great bush
of early flowering lilac near the edge of the lawn, sent out a wave
of odour which tingled through his sensitive blood like wine,--the
sunlight was warm and comforting, and altogether there seemed
nothing wrong with the world, particularly as the morning's
newspapers had not yet come in. With them would probably arrive the
sad savour of human mischief and muddle, but till these daily morbid
records made their appearance, May-day might be accepted as God made
it and gave it,--a gift unalloyed, pure, bright and calm, with not a
shadow on its lovely face of Spring. The Stoic spirit of Epictetus
himself had even seemed to join in the general delight of nature,
for Walden held the book half open at a page whereon these words
were written:
"Had we understanding thereof, would any other thing better beseem
us than to hymn the Divine Being and laud Him and rehearse His
gracious deeds? These things it were fitting every man should sing,
and to chant the greatest and divinest hymns for this, that He has
given us the power to observe and consider His works, and a Way
wherein to walk. If I were a nightingale, I would do after the
manner of a nightingale; if a swan, after that of a swan. But now I
am a reasoning creature, and it behooves me to sing the praise of
God; this is my task, and this I do, nor as long as it is granted
me, will I ever abandon this post. And you, too, I summon to join me
in the same song."
"A wonderfully 'advanced' Christian way of looking at life, for a
pagan slave of the time of Nero!" thought Walden, as his eyes
wandered from the thrush on the almond tree, back to the volume in
his hand,--"With all our teaching and preaching, we can hardly do
better. I wonder---"
Here his mind became altogether distracted from classic lore, by the
appearance of a very unclassic boy, clad in a suit of brown
corduroys and wearing hob-nailed boots a couple of sizes too large
for him, who, coming suddenly out from a box-tree alley behind the
gabled corner of the rectory, shuffled to the extreme verge of the
lawn and stopped there, pulling his cap off, and treading on his own
toes from left to right, and from right to left in a state of
sheepish hesitancy.
"Come along,--come along! Don't stand there, Bob Keeley!" And Walden
rose, placing Epictetus on the seat he vacated--"What is it?"
Bob Keeley set his hob-nailed feet on the velvety lawn with gingerly
precaution, and advancing cap in hand, produced a letter, slightly
grimed by his thumb and finger.
"From Sir Morton, please sir! Hurgent, 'e sez."
Walden took the missive, small and neatly folded, and bearing the
words 'Badsworth Hall' stamped in gold at the back of the envelope.
Opening it, he read:
"Sir Morton Pippitt presents his compliments to the Reverend John
Walden, and having a party of distinguished guests staying with him
at the Hall, will be glad to know at what day and hour this week he
can make a visit of inspection to the church with his friends."
A slight tinge of colour overspread Walden's face. Presently he
smiled, and tearing up the note leisurely, put the fragments into
one of his large loose coat pockets, for to scatter a shred of paper
on his lawn or garden paths was an offence which neither he nor any
of those he employed ever committed.
"How is your mother, Bob?" he then said, approaching the stumpy
urchin, who stood respectfully watching him and awaiting his
pleasure.
"Please sir, she's all right, but she coughs 'orful!"
"Coughs 'orful, does she?" repeated the Reverend John, musingly;
"Ah, that is bad!--I am sorry! We must--let me think!--yes, Bob, we
must see what we can do for her--eh?"
"Yes, sir," replied Bob meekly, turning his cap round and round and
wondering what 'Passon' was thinking about to have such a 'funny
look' in his eyes.
"Yes!" repeated Walden, cheerfully, "We must see what we can do for
her! My compliments to Sir Morton Pippitt, Bob, and say I will
write."
"Nothink else, sir?"
"Nothing--or as you put it, Bob, 'nothink else'! I wish you would
remember, my dear boy,"--and here he laid his firm | 898.662888 |
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THE WORKS OF
MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
AFFINITIES
AND OTHER STORIES
THE REVIEW OF REVIEWS CORP.
_Publishers_ NEW YORK
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1920,
By George H. Doran Company_
_Copyright, 1909, 1913, 1914, 1915, by the Curtis Publishing
Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
CONTENTS
I AFFINITIES 9
II THE FAMILY FRIEND 55
III CLARA'S LITTLE ESCAPADE 103
IV THE BORROWED HOUSE 161
V SAUCE FOR THE GANDER 237
AFFINITIES
I
Somebody ought to know the truth about the Devil's Island affair and I
am going to tell it. The truth is generally either better or worse than
the stories that get about. In this case it is somewhat better, though I
am not proud of it.
It started with a discussion about married women having men friends. I
said I thought it was a positive duty--it kept them up to the mark with
their clothes and gave a sort of snap to things, without doing any harm.
There were six of us on the terrace at the Country Club at the time and
we all felt the same way--that it was fun to have somebody that
everybody expected to put by one at dinners, and to sit out dances with
and like the way one did one's hair, and to say nice things.
"And to slip out on the links for a moonlight chat with you," said
Annette, who is rather given to those little pastimes, the most
harmless in the world.
We were all awfully bored that Sunday afternoon. Most of the men were
golfing; and when you meet the same people all the time--day after day,
dinner after dinner, dance after dance--anything new is welcome. Really
the only variety we had was a new drink now and then. Some one would
come home from his vacation with a brand-new idea in beverages and order
one all round, and it was a real sensation.
That was all we had had all summer for excitement, except the time
Willie Anderson kissed Sybilla--she was his wife--on a wager. They had
been rather cool to each other for a month or so.
We would sit on the terrace and the conversation would be about like
this:
"There's the Jacksons' car."
"Why on earth does Ida Jackson wear green?"
"Hello, Ida! When d'you get back?"
"Yesterday. Bully time!"
Just in time to save us from utter boredom somebody would yawn and
remark:
"Here comes the Henderson car."
"Jane Henderson's put on weight. She's as big as a house! Hello, Jane!"
"Hello, everybody! My goodness! Why did I come back? Isn't it hot?"
More excitement for a minute and then more yawns. It was Ferd Jackson
who suggested the affinity party. He had heard about what I had said on
the terrace, and he came to me while Day was playing on the links. Day
is my husband.
"Had a nice afternoon?" he asked.
"Only fair. Day's been underfoot most of the time. Why?"
"How'd you like a picnic?"
"I would not!" I said decisively. "I hate cold food and motoring in a
procession until you choke with dust--and Day getting jealous and
disagreeable and wanting to get home early."
"Poor little girl!" said Ferd, and patted my hand in a friendly way.
Ferd was a good | 898.664885 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Price 25 Cents
[Illustration]
Christmas at
McCarthy’s
_GUPTILL_
PAINE PUBLISHING CO.
DAYTON, OHIO
New Entertainment Songs
By Edna Randolph Worrell.
These songs can be used in all manner of entertainments. The music is
easy, and both music and words are especially catchy. Children like
them. Everybody likes them. Sheet music. Price =25= cents each. Five
copies, =$1.00=.
WE HOPE YOU’VE BROUGHT YOUR SMILES ALONG. A welcome song that will at
once put the audience in a joyous frame of mind and create a happy
impression that will mean half the success of your entire program.
Words, bright and inspiring. Music, catchy.
WE’LL NOW HAVE TO SAY GOOD-BYE. This beautiful song has snap and go
that will appeal alike to visitors and singers. It is just the song to
send your audience home with happy memories of the occasion.
WE’VE JUST ARRIVED FROM BASHFUL TOWN. This song will bring memories
to the listeners of their own bashful school days. Words, unusually
clever. Music, decidedly melodious. A capital welcome song, or it may
be sung at any time on the program with assured success.
MY OWN AMERICA, I LOVE THEE. A song that will bring a thrill of
patriotism to the heart of every one who hears it. The children and
grown-ups just can’t resist the catchy music. It makes a capital
marching song.
COME AND PARTAKE OF OUR WELCOME CAKE. A merry welcome song and a jolly
one, too. The audience will be immediately curious about the Welcome
Cake, and the children will love to surprise the listeners with the
catchy words. Music, easy and tuneful.
LULLABY LANE. The music and words blend so beautifully that people will
be humming the appealing strains long after they hear this charming
song. A wonderfully effective closing song, whether sung by the school
or as a solo by a little girl, with a chorus of other little girls with
dolls.
JOLLY PICKANINNIES. Words by Elizabeth F. Guptill. Music by Edna R.
Worrell. This spicy <DW53> song will bring down the house, especially if
you use the directions for the motions which accompany the music. The
black faces and shining eyes of the pickaninnies will guarantee a hit.
The words are great and the music just right.
THE LITTLE BIRD’S SECRET. Here is just the song for those two little
folks to sing together. They won’t have to be coaxed to sing it,
especially when they find that the whole school is to whistle the
chorus. This is a decided novelty, and will prove a rare treat to your
audience.
A GARDEN ROMANCE. This is a dainty little song telling of the romance
and wedding of Marigold and Sweet William. It is just the song for
dainty little girls to sing.
COME TO THE NURSERY RHYME GARDEN AND PLAY. Here is something different
for the little folks to sing. The Nursery Rhyme Folk are so familiar to
children, it will be no trick for them to remember the words. The music
has a most captivating swing.
=Paine Publishing Company= =Dayton, Ohio=
Christmas at McCarthy’s
BY
ELIZABETH F. GUPTILL
_Author of “Christmas at Punkin Holler,”
“A Topsy Turvy Christmas,” Etc._
[Illustration]
Copyright, 1916
PAINE PUBLISHING COMPANY
Dayton, Ohio
Cast of Characters
PATRICK MCCARTHY, the most important man in the “tinement”
BRIDGET MCCARTHY His Wife
MR. OPPERMAN A Jew
MRS. OPPERMAN His Wife
LARS A Swede
MRS. CHLOE WASHINGTON
MRS. FERRARI Italian
MR. STRAUSS Elsie’s father, a German
ELSIE “Tinement” Orphan
JIMMIE The News Boy
PATSY }
KATIE }
POMPEY }
CONNIE }
CLEOPATRA }
MICKEY } Other Children of the “Tinement”
CAESAR }
LUIGI }
CARLOTTA }
HILDA }
TONY }
Christmas at McCarthy’s
SCENE I.
(_Setting—The sidewalk outside of “Murphy’s Tinement.” Have a couple
of low, wide steps, if possible. The children are gathered on and
around these steps. Use plenty of children—as many as convenient. Small
children from two to six or seven may be used as little brothers and
sisters to those who have the speaking parts. As curtain rises, some
of the children are playing “Button, button,” on the lowest step, and
others are playing “Hop-scotch” at one side. The smallest ones hug
dilapidated dollies | 898.762129 |
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Produced by Maria Cecilia Lim and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells
abou--Frontispiece]
RILEY
CHILD-RHYMES
James Whitcomb Riley
WITH HOOSIER PICTURES BY
Will Vawter
Copyright 1890, 1896, 1898 and 1905
WITH HALE AFFECTION AND ABIDING FAITH
THESE RHYMES AND PICTURES
ARE INSCRIBED
TO THE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE
_He owns the bird-songs of the hills--
The laughter of the April rills;
And his are all the diamonds set
In Morning's dewy coronet,--
And his the Dusk's first minted stars
That twinkle through the pasture-bars
And litter all the skies at night
With glittering scraps of silver light;--
The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,
In beaten gold, belongs to him._
CONTENTS
[Note from the transcriber: The Table of Contents below was taken from
the book and is an alphabetical list of the poems. A second Table of
Contents, listing the poems in the order they occur in this book, has
been provided by the transcriber.]
AT AUNTY'S HOUSE
BEAR STORY, THE | 898.861104 |
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E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lostfruitsofwate00bassrich
THE LOST FRUITS OF WATERLOO
* * * * * *
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
* * * * * *
THE LOST FRUITS OF WATERLOO
by
JOHN SPENCER BASSETT, PH.D., LL.D.
Author of “Life of Andrew Jackson,” “A Short History
of the United States,” “The Middle Group
of American Historians,” “The
Federalist System,” etc.
New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1918
By the Macmillan Company
Set up and printed. Published April, 1918
PREFACE
This book was begun under the influence of the enthusiasm aroused by
President Wilson’s address to Congress on January 22, 1917. It was
then that he first gave definite utterance of his plan for a league,
or federation, of nations to establish a permanent peace. The idea
had long been before the world, but it was generally dismissed as too
impracticable for the support of serious minded men. By taking it
up the President brought it into the realm of the possible. In the
presence of the great world catastrophe that hung over us it seemed
well to dare much in order that we might avoid a repetition of existing
evils. And if the idea was worth trying, it was certainly worth a
careful examination in the light of history. It was with the hope of
making such a careful examination that I set to work on the line of
thought that has led to this book.
As my work has progressed the great drama has been unfolding itself
with terrible realism. New characters have come upon the stage,
characters not contemplated in the original cast of the play. At the
same time some of the old parts have undergone such changes that they
appear in new relations. I am not unmindful of the fact that events
now unforeseen may make other and radical changes in the _dramatis
personæ_ before this book is placed in the hand of the reader. But
always the great problem must be the same, the prevention of a return
to the present state of world madness. That end we must ever keep in
mind as we consider the arguments here advanced, and any inconsistency
discovered between the argument and the actual state of events will,
I hope, be treated with as much leniency as the transitions of the
situation seem to warrant.
As I write, many things indicate that the great conflict is approaching
dissolution. The exhaustion of the nations, the awakening voices of
the masses, the evident failure of militarism to lead Germany to world
empire, the rising spectre of the international solidarity of the
laborers, and many other portents seem to show that the world will soon
have to say “yes” or “no” to the plain question: “Shall we, or shall we
not, have a union of nations to promote permanent peace?”
The warning that they must answer the question is shouted to many
classes. Bankers are threatened with the repudiation of the securities
of the greatest nations, manufacturers may soon see their vast gains
swallowed up in the destruction of the forms of credit which hitherto
have seemed most substantial, churches and every form of intellectual
life that should promote civilization may have their dearest ideals
swept away in a rush toward radicalism, and even the German autocracy
is fighting for its life against an infuriated and despairing
proletariat. Are not these dangers enough to make us ask if the old
menace shall continue?
It is not my purpose to answer all the questions I ask. It is
sufficient to unfold the situation and show how it has arisen out of
the past. If the reader finds that mistakes were once made, he will
have to consider the means of correcting them. No pleader can compel
the opinions of intelligent men and women. It is enough if he lays
the case before clear and conscientious minds in an impersonal way.
More than this he should not try to do: as much as this I have sought
to do. If the world really lost the fruits of its victory over a world
conqueror at Waterloo, it is for the citizen of today to say in what
way the lost fruits can be recovered.
Many friends have aided me in my efforts to present my views to the
public, and among them Dr. Frederick P. Keppel, Dean of Columbia
University, deserves special acknowledgment. I am also under
obligation to Dean Ada C. Comstock, of Smith College, for very careful
proofreading. But for the opinions here expressed and the errors which
may be discovered I alone am responsible.
JOHN SPENCER BASSETT.
Northampton, Massachusetts,
February 5, 1918.
INTRODUCTION
The nations of Europe fought a great war to a finish a hundred and two
years ago, defeating a master leader of men and ending the ambitions
of a brilliantly organized nation. They were so well satisfied with
their achievement that they imagined that peace, won after many years
of suffering, was a sufficient reward for their sacrifices. To escape
impending subjugation seemed enough good fortune for the moment. They
forgot that it was a principle and not merely a man they had been
contending against, and when they had made sure that Napoleon was
beyond the possibility of a return to power, they thought the future
was secure. But the principle lived and has come to life again. It was
the inherent tendency to unification in government, a principle that
appeals to the national pride of most peoples when they find themselves
in a position to make it operate to the supposed advantage of their own
country. It has been seized upon by the Germans in our own generation,
to whom it has been as glittering a prize as it was to the Frenchmen of
the early nineteenth century. To conquer the world and win a place in
the sun is no mean ideal; and if the efforts of the _Entente_ allies
succeed in defeating it in its present form, it is reasonably certain
that it will appear again to distress the future inhabitants of the
earth, unless sufficient steps are taken to bind it down by bonds which
cannot be broken.
This conviction has led to the suggestion that when Germany is beaten,
as she must be beaten, steps should be taken, not only to insure that
she shall not again disturb the earth, but that no other power coming
after her shall lay the foundations and form the ambition which will
again put the world to the necessity of fighting the present war
over again. When the North broke the bonds of slavery in the South
in 1865 it was filled with a firm determination that slavery should
stay broken. In the same way, when the nations shall have put down the
menace of world domination now rampant in Europe, they should make it
their first concern to devise a means by which the menace shall stay
broken.
To kill a principle demands a principle equally strong and inclusive.
No one nation can keep down war and subjugation; for it must be so
strong to carry out that purpose that it becomes itself a conqueror.
It would be as intolerable to Germany, for example, to be ruled
by the United States as it would be to the United States if they
were ruled by Germany. The only restraint that will satisfy all the
nations will be exercised by some organ of power in which all have
fair representation and in which no nation is able to do things which
stimulate jealousy and give grounds for the belief that some are being
exploited by others. This suggestion does not demand a well integrated
federal government for all the functions of the state but merely the
adoption of a system of coöperation with authority over the outbreak
of international war and strong enough to make its will obeyed. It is
federation for only one purpose and such a purpose as will never be
brought into vital action as long as the federated will is maintained
at such a point of strength and exercised with such a degree of
fairness that individual states will not question that will.
This principle of federated action for a specific purpose was adopted
by the United States in 1789, and though hailed by the practical
statesmen of Europe as an experiment, it has proved the happiest form
of government that has yet been established over a vast territory in
which are divergent economic and social interests. In it is much more
integration than would exist in a federated system to prevent war,
where the action of the central authority would be limited to one main
object. If it could be formed and put into operation by the present
generation, who know so well what it costs to beat back the spectre of
world conquest it might pass through the preliminary critical stages
of its existence successfully. At any rate, the world is full of the
feeling that such things may be possible, and it would be unwise to
dismiss the suggestion without giving it fair and full consideration.
The discussion brings up what seems to be a law of human activities,
that as the ages run and as men develop their minds they combine in
larger and larger units for carrying on the particular thing they are
interested in. And they make these combinations by force or through
mutual agreement. We have before us the consideration of the most
important form of this unifying process, the unification of nations,
which has generally come through force, but sometimes has come through
agreement.
In recent industrial history is a parallel process so well illustrating
the point at issue that I can not refrain from mentioning it. In his
book, _My Four Years in Germany_, Mr. James W. Gerard contrasts great
industrial combinations in the United States and Germany. In one
country are trusts, in the other great companies known as cartels.
The development of the trust we know well. It came out of a process
of competitive war. Some large manufacturer who possessed ability for
war, formed an initial group of manufacturers with the prospect of
controlling a large part of the market. He was careful to see that
his own group had the best possible organization, central control,
and a loyal body of subordinates. Then he opened his attack on his
smaller rivals, and in most cases they were driven into surrender or
bankruptcy. It was a hard process, but it led to industrial unity with
its many advantages.
The cartel began with co-operation. All the persons or companies
manufacturing a given article were asked to unite in its creation. They
pooled their resources, adopted common buying and selling agencies,
and shared the returns amicably. They proved very profitable for the
shareholders, and they strengthened the national industry in its
competition against foreigners. In the United States the trust has been
unpopular, despite its many economic advantages. The reason is the
battle-like methods by which it destroyed its rivals. The result was
the enactment of laws to restrain its development, laws so contrary
to the trend of the times that they have been very tardily enforced.
The cartel, established with the co-operation of the whole group of
manufacturers, aroused no antagonism and obtained the approval of the
laws. It is not necessary to say which is the better of these two
methods of arriving at the same object.
Turning to the subject with which we are here chiefly concerned, it
is interesting to note that Germany has undertaken in the last years
to carry forward her world expansion by methods that are entirely
different. While she has federated in industrial life she appears in
her foreign relations as a true representative of the spirit that
built up the trusts. She means to unify her competitor states, not as
she has united her industries, but as the American trusts secured the
whole field of operations. First she forms a small group with herself
at the head. In the group are Germany, Austria, Turkey, and, later on,
Bulgaria. At this stage of her progress she has gone as far as the
Standard Oil Company had gone when Mr. Rockefeller had perfected the
idea of the “trust” in 1882. Her next step was to attack her rivals.
France she would crush at a blow, first lulling Great Britain to
inactivity by feigned friendship and the promise of gains in the Near
East. Then she would do what she would with Russia. With these two
nations disposed of, Britain, the unready, could be easily brought to
terms, and the United States would then be at her mercy. The mass of
German people had not, perhaps, reasoned the process out in this way;
but it was so easily seen that it could not have escaped the minds of
the leaders of the German military party. No trust builder ever made
fairer plans for the upbuilding of his enterprise than these gentlemen
made for putting through their combination, before which they saw in
their minds the states of the world toppling. So well were the plans
made and so efficient were the strokes that the utmost efforts of the
rest of the world | 898.86227 |
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Digital Library.)
_By the same Author._
A LITTLE PILGRIM:
In the Unseen.
Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.
THE LAND OF DARKNESS
[Illustration: colophon]
THE
LAND OF DARKNESS
ALONG WITH SOME
FURTHER CHAPTERS IN THE EXPERIENCES
OF
THE LITTLE PILGRIM
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1888
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE LAND OF DARKNESS 1
THE LITTLE | 899.15818 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE PAPERS AND WRITINGS OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN
VOLUME ONE
CONSTITUTIONAL EDITION
By Abraham Lincoln
Edited by Arthur Brooks Lapsley
With an Introduction by Theodore Roosevelt
The Essay on Lincoln by Carl Schurz
The Address on Lincoln by Joseph Choate
VOLUME 1.
INTRODUCTORY
Immediately after Lincoln's re-election to the Presidency, in an
off-hand speech, delivered in response to a serenade by some of his
admirers on the evening of November 10, 1864, he spoke as follows:
"It has long been a grave question whether any government not too strong
for the liberties of its people can be strong enough to maintain its
existence in great emergencies. On this point, the present rebellion
brought our republic to a severe test, and the Presidential election,
occurring in regular course during the rebellion, added not a little
to the strain.... The strife of the election is but human nature
practically applied to the facts in the case. What has occurred in this
case must ever occur in similar cases. Human nature will not change. In
any future great national trial, compared with the men of this, we shall
have as weak and as strong, as silly and as wise, as bad and as good.
Let us therefore study | 899.356612 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, The Baldwin Library of Historical
Children\'s Literature in the Department of Special
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration]
[Illustration: JUMBO BROKEN LOOSE.]
MY
TREASURE.
[Illustration]
EDITED BY
THOMAS W. HANDFORD,
("ELMO.")
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK.
BELFORD, CLARKE & CO.
1888.
COPYRIGHT,
BELFORD, CLARKE & CO.
1887.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
A Queer Play-House 50
A Reckless Ride 8
At the Shore 82
Baby Ralph's Letter 64
Bell and her Pet Dog 42
Belle and her Brothers 95
Betty and Polly 33
Brave Hal 80
Dolly Knits, then Hides 70, 71
Dot's New Friend 78
Frankie Minds Mamma 58
Going to Bed 18
Going to Boston 67
Hattie and the Butterfly 72
Jane and Rob 46, 47
Little May's Pet 36
Little Mother Hubbard 84
May and her Papa 41
Meg and Little Bell 32
Milk for Baby's Supper 30
Moll and Jane's Picnic 94
Mr. Fox is Sure 68
New Eyes 86
Old Charlie Runs 90
Only a Bird 54
Our Little Hand-Organ Man 66
Playing at Soldiers 20, 21
Polly and her Dead Bird 93
Poor Joe 60
Rebie's New Home 48
Rose and the Little Beggar 88
Sick Molly 62
The Disobedient Mouse 22, 23
The Fishing-Boat Nancy 10
The Gypsy Camp 74
The Pet Rabbit 39
The Shark 26
The Three Kittens 44, 45
The Two Stags 38
Tom, Grace and Lou 37
Walter's Butterflies 76
What a Kiss Did 56
Who is to Blame? 52
POETRY.
Page.
Baby Boy 28
Bertie and Rover 24
Cowslips 16
Doll and I 40
"Fly Little Bird Away" 34, 35
May Day 19
My Treasure 7
"Out of the Wild Northeast 92
Tad and the Lobster 31
The Blacksmith 15
The Disobedient Mouse 22, 23
The Little Rill 12
The Robin 14
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Jumbo Broken Loose _Frontispiece._
PAGE.
A Queer Play-House 51
A Reckless Ride 9
At the Shore 83
Baby Boy 28
Baby Ralph's Letter 65
Bell and her Pet Dog 43
Belle and her Brothers 95
Bertie and Rover 25
Betty and Polly 33
Brave Hal 81
Cowslips 17
Doll and I 40
Dolly Knits, then Hides 70, 71
Dot's New Friend 79
"Fly Little Bird Away" 34, | 899.357228 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.5359860 | 5,691 | 14 |
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| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| The combination "vv" which occurs at some places for |
| "w" and the word "Jonick" used sometimes for "Ionick" |
| has been kept to conserve the original appearance of the |
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[Illustration: ARCHITECTVRE 1692]
AN
ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
ARCHITECTURE
OF
VITRUVIUS.
CONTAINING
A System of the whole WORKS
of that Author.
Illustrated with divers Copper Plates, curiously
engraved; with a Table of Explanation,
To which is added in this Edition
The Etymology and Derivation of the
Terms used in _Architecture_.
First done in _French_ by Monsr _Perrault_, of the
Academy of _Paris_, and now _Englished_, with Additions.
_LONDON_: Printed for _Abel Small_ and _T. Child_,
at the _Unicorn_ in St. _Paul_'s Church-yard. 1692.
A
TABLE
OF THE
CHAPTERS.
The Introduction.
Article 1. _Of the great merits of_ Vitruvius, _and the
Excellencies of his Works_. Page 1.
Art. 2. _Of the method of the Works of_ Vitruvius, _with
short Arguments of every Book_. 9.
_A division of his whole Works into three parts, whereof 1.
treats of Building, 2. Gnomonical, 3. Mechanical. A second
division into three parts, 1. of Solidity, 2. of
Convenience, and 3. of Beauty. The Arguments of the Ten
Books._ 11, 12, &c.
THE FIRST PART.
Of the Architecture that is common to us
with the Ancients.
_Chap. I._ Of Architecture in general.
Art. 1. _Of the Original of Architecture_, 17.
_The first occasion of Architecture; the Models of the
first_ _Architects_, 19. _The Inventers of the four Orders
of Architecture_, 20.
Art. 2. _What Architecture is_, 23.
_Definition of it; an Architect ought to have the knowledge
of eleven things_, viz. _Writing_, _Designing_, _Geometry_,
_Arithmetick_, _History_, 24. _Philosophy, moral and
natural_, 25. _Physick_, _Law_, _Astronomy_, and _Musick_.
26.
Art. 3. _What the parts of Architecture are_, 27.
_There are eight parts in Architecture_, viz. 1. _Solidity_,
27. 2. _Convenience_, 3. _Beauty_, 4. _Order_, 5.
_Disposition_, 28. 6. _Proportion_, 7. _Decorum_, 8.
_Oeconomy_, 32.
_Chap._ II. Of the Solidity of Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of the choice of Materials_, 33.
Vitruvius _speaks of five sorts of Materials_, 1. _Stone_,
33. 2. _Bricks_, 34. 3. _Wood, whereof divers sorts are
used, as Oak, Fir, Poplar, Alder_, 35. _Pine, Cypress,
Juniper, Cedar, Larch_, 36. _and Olive_; 4. _Lime_; 5. _Sand
and Gravel_, 37. _of which several sorts, Pit, River, and
Pozzalane_, 38.
Art. 2. _Of the use of Materials_, 39.
_Of the Preparation of Stone_, 39. _Of Wood_, 40. _Of
Bricks_, 41. _Lime and Sand_, 43.
Art. 3. _Of the Foundation_, 45.
_In Foundations, to take care that the Earth be solid_, 45.
_Of the Masonry_, 46.
Art. 4. _Of the Walls_, 47.
_Six sorts of Masonry_, 48, 49. _Precautions to be used in
binding the Walls, to strengthen them with Wood_, 50. _That
they be exact perpendicular_, 51. _to ease them of their own
weight, by Timber or Arches over doors and windows, and by
Butresses in the earth_, 53.
Art. 5. _Of Flooring and Ceiling_, 54.
_Of Flooring upon the Ground_, 54. _between Stories_, 55.
_Open to the Air as Terrass, &c._ 57. _the Roof_, 58.
_Cornice_, 59.
Art. 6. _Of Plaistering_, 59.
_For great Walls, For Fresco_, 60. _for Partitions_, 61.
_For moist places_, 61.
_Chap. III._ Of the Convenience of Fabricks.
Art. 1. _Of convenient Scituation_, 63.
_That a place be convenient, it ought to be fertile,
accessible, in a wholsom Air, not on low Ground or marshy_,
64. _How to know a wholsom Climate_, 65.
Art. 2. _Of the Form and Scituation of the Building_, 65.
_The Streets and Houses of a City to be the most
advantagiously expos'd in respect to the Heavens and Wind_,
65, 66. _The scituation of each Room to be according to the
use of it; of Dining-rooms, Libraries, Closets, &c._ 67, 68.
Art. 3. _Of the Dispositions of Fabricks_, 68.
_The Dispositions of Buildings to be according to the use of
the House, either publick or private; of Merchants Houses;
of Country Houses; Of the several Apartments_, 70. _Of
Lights_, 71.
Art. 4. _Of the convenient form of Buildings_, 71.
_Of the Walls of Cities; Form of publick places_, 72. _which
were different among the_ Greeks _and_ Romans; _of Stairs
and Halls_, 72.
_Chap. IV._ Of the Beauty of Buildings.
Art. 1. _In what the beauty of Buildings consists_, 74.
_Two sorts of beauty in Buildings; 1st, Positive, which
consists in the Symmetry, Materials, and Performance_, 75.
_2d. Arbitrary, which is of two sorts; 1. Prudence, 2.
Regularity; which consist in the proper providing against
Inconveniences, and observing the Laws of Proportion_, 76.
_The beauty is most seen in the proportion of these
principal parts_, viz. _Pillars, Piedments, and
Chambrantes_, 78. _From these things result two other,
Gender and Order_, 79.
Art. 2. _Of the five Genders, or sorts of Fabricks_, 80.
_The five sorts are Pycnostyle, Systile_, 80. _Diastyle,
Areostyle, Eustyle_, 81. _The Genders to be always agreable
to the Orders of Architecture_, 82.
Art. 3. _Of the five Orders of Architecture_, 84.
_The distinction and difference in the several Orders;
consists in the Strength and Ornament_; Vitruvius _speaks
but of three Orders_, 85.
Art. 4. _Of things that are common to several Orders_, 85.
_There are seven things common to all Orders_, viz. _Steps_,
85. _Pedastals_, 86. _the diminution of Pillars, the
Channelings of Pillars, which is of three sorts_, 89. _the
Piedemont_, 90. _Cornices, and Acroteres_, 93.
Art. 5. _Of the_ Tuscane _Order_, 93.
_The_ Tuscane _Order consists in the Proportion of Columns,
in which there are three parts, the Base, the Shaft, and the
Capital_, 94. _Of Chambrantes; and of the Piedement_, 95.
Art. 6. _Of the_ Dorick _Order_, 96.
_The_ Dorick _Order consists in the proportion; of the
Columns, which have been different at diverse times, and in
diverse Works_, 96, 97. _The parts of the Column are the
Shaft; the Base which it anciently wanted, but hath since
borrowed from the Attic; the proportion of the Base_, 97.
_and the Captial_, 98. _the Archiatrave, which hath two
parts, the Platbands and the Gouttes_, 98. _the Frise, in_
_which are the Triglyphs and the Metops_, 98. _the
Proportion of them_, 99. _Of the Cornice, its proportion_,
99.
Art. 7. _Of the_ Ionick _Order_, 101.
_The preportion of Pillars of this Order_, 101. _The Pillars
set upon the Bases two ways, perpendicular, and not so_,
101. _Proportion of the Base, divided into its parts the
Plinthus, the Thorus, the Scotia upper and lower, with the
Astragals_, 102. _Of the Capital, its proportion and parts_,
103. _Of the Architrave, wherein to be considered, the
proportion it must have to the Pedestals, and to the heighth
of the Column_, 105. _to the breadth at the bottom_, 106.
_and to the jetting of the Cymatium_, 106. _Of the Frise and
Cornice_, 107.
Art. 8. _Of the_ Corinthian _Order_, 108.
_This Order different from the_ Ionick _in nothing but in
the Capitals of Pillars, being otherwise composed of the_
Dorick _and_ Ionick; _the proportion of the Capital_, 109.
_in which are to be consider'd its heighth, its breadth at
the bottom, the Leafs, Stalks, the Volutes, and the Roses_,
109. _Of the Ornaments_, 110.
Art. 9. _Of the Compound Order_, 110.
_The Compound is not described by_ Vitruvius, _it being a
general Design, and borrows the parts of the Capital (which
is the only distinction it has) from the_ Corinthian,
Ionick, _and_ Dorick _Orders_, 111.
THE SECOND PART,
Containing the Architecture that was particular
to the Ancients.
_Chap. I._ Of publick Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of Fortresses_, 113.
_In Fortification four things are consider'd; the
disposition of the Ramparts; the Figure of the whole place_,
114. _the building of the Walls; thickness, materials, and
terrass; the figure and disposition of the Towers_, 115,
116.
Art. 2. _Of Temples_, 116.
_Temples divided in the_ Greek _and_ Tuscan _Fashion; of
the_ Greek _some were round, and some square; in the square
Temples of the Greeks three things are to be considered; 1.
the_ Parts, _which are five, the Porch, the Posticum_, 117.
_the Middle, the Portico, and the Gates, which were of three
sorts_, viz. Dorick, 118. Jonick, 120. _and_ Attick, 120.
_2. The_ Proportion, 121. _and 3. The_ Aspect, _in respect
to the Heavens_, 122. _and to its own parts, which were
different in Temples with Pillars, and those without
Pillars; of Temples with Pillars there are eight sorts_,
122, 123, 124. Round Temples _were of two sorts, Monoptere_,
125. _Periptere_, 126. _Temples of the_ Tuscane Fashion,
126. _The Ancients had fourteen sorts of Temples_, 127.
Art. 3. _Of publick Places, Basilica's, Theatres,
Gates, Baths, and Academies_, 127.
_The Fabricks for publick Convenience were of six sorts, I.
Market-places of the_ Greeks _of the_ Romans, 128. _their
Proportions; II. Basilica's, their Proportions, Columns,_
_Galleries, and Chalcediques_, 128. _III. Theatres composed
of three parts; the Steps or Degrees which enclosed the
Orchestra_, 125. _the Scene which had three parts, the
Pulpit, the Proscenium_, 130. _and the Palascenium_, 131.
_And the Walking-places_, 131. _IV. Gates, which were either
natural or artificial, built three ways_, 132. _V. Baths,
consisting of many Chambers, their Description_, 133, 134.
_VI. Academies composed of three parts, the Peristyle_, 134.
_the Xystile_, 135. _and the Stadium_, 136.
_Chap. II._ Of Private Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of the Courts of Houses_, 137.
_The Courts of Houses were of five sorts, four whereof were
made with jettings out, or Pent-houses of four sorts. the_
Tuscan, 137. _the_ Corinthian, _the Tetrastyle, the
Vaulted_, 138. _the fifth sort uncoverted_, 138.
Art. 2. _Of the Vestibulum or Entry_, 139.
_The proportion of the Vestibulum was taken three ways, for
the length, breadth, and heighth_, 139. _Of the Alley in the
middle_, 140.
Art. 3. _Of Halls_, 140.
_Three sorts of Halls, the_ Corinthian, _the_ AEgyptian, _and
the_ Cyzican, 141.
Art. 4. _Of the Distribution of the Apartments among
the Ancients_, 142.
_The Distribution of the Apartments different among the_
Greeks _and_ Romans; _what the Difference was_, 141.
_Chap. III._ Of things that equally appertain to Publick
and Private Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of Aqueducts_, 143.
_The manner the Ancients used to take the Level exactly_,
143 _The Water was brought by Aqueducts, or by Pipes of
Lead, or Potters Work_, 144.
Art. 2. _Of Wells and Cisterns_, 145.
_The Precautions the Ancients used in digging their Wells,
to discover bad Water, and in making their Cisterns_, 145.
Art. 3. _Of Machines for carrying and lifting up great
Stones and Burthens_, 146.
_Machines for drawing Pillars_, 147. _Architraves_, 147.
_for raising great Weights, three sorts; first, with a
Handmill; second, with a Windlas_, 147. _third, with several
Ropes, to be drawn by Mens Hands_, 148.
Art. 4. _Of Machines for elevating Waters_, 149.
_Five sorts; I. The Tympan_, 149. _II. A Wheel with Boxes.
III. A Chain with Buckets. IV. The Vice of Archimedes. V.
The Pomp of_ Cresibius, 151.
Art. 5. _Of Water-mills for grinding Corn_, 152.
_The Water-mills of the Ancients were like ours._
Art. 6. _Of other Hydraulick Machines_, 153.
_Three sorts of Water-Machines; first, for shewing the
hour_, 153. _Second, Organs_, 154. _Third, for measuring the
Way by Water_, 154. _by Land_, 155.
Art. 7. _Of Machines of War_, 155.
_Three kinds; I. To dart Arrows, &c._ 155. _II. To batter
down Walls_, 157. _III. To cover them in their Approaches to
the Walls of the Besieged_, 158.
AN
ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
TEN BOOKS
OF THE
ARCHITECTURE
OF
VITRUVIUS.
THE
INTRODUCTION.
ARTICLE I.
_Of the great Merits of_ Vitruvius, _and the Excellencies
of his Works_.
There are so many things in the Works of _Vitruvius_ that do not
directly appertain to Architecture, that one would think they were less
fitted to Instruct those that have a design to learn the Precepts of
this Art, than to perswade the World that the Author was the most
knowing Architect that ever was, and a Person of the greatest Merit: He
had the Honour to serve _Julius Caesar_ and _Augustus_, the two Greatest
and most Magnificent Princes of the World, in an Age when all things
were come to the highest degree of Perfection.
[Sidenote: _Lib. 6. Preface._]
For one may see in reading his Works, which are full of a wonderful
variety of Matters, which he treats of with a singular Erudition, that
this great Man had acquired that Profound Knowledge which is necessary
for his Profession by more excellent Methods, and more capable of
producing something excellent, than the bare exercise and ordinary
practice of a Mechanical Art could possibly do; being compleat in all
the Liberal Arts and Sciences, and his great Wit being accustomed, even
from his Cradle, to understand the most difficult Matters: He had
acquired a certain Facility which meer Artizans have not, of penetrating
the deepest Secrets, and all the difficulties of so vast an Art, as that
of Architecture.
[Sidenote: _Lib. 2. Pref._]
[Sidenote: _Lib. 6. Pref._]
Now as it's true that in the Practice and Exercise of Arts, one does not
always easily distinguish the Abilities of those that work in them. The
great Capacity of _Vitruvius_ before the publishing of his Book, which
he Composed when he was in Years, had not all the Esteem it deserved;
which he complains of in his Preface, and in the Age he lived; though it
was full of the most refined Wits, yet he had the fortune of others, to
find few to defend him from the Surprizes and Attacks of false
Reasoning, and from the injustice that prejudice creates, to those who
apply themselves more to cultivate the Talents they possess, than to
make parade of them.
[Sidenote: _Lib. 2. Pref._]
[Sidenote: _Lib. 6. Pref._]
[Sidenote: _Lib. 3. pref_.]
[Sidenote: _Lib. 3. Pref_.]
[Sidenote: _Lib. 6. Pref_.]
_Vitruvius_ was a Man, who, as to the exteriour, made a small Figure,
and who had not heaped up great Riches by the practice of his
Profession; and having, as it were, buried himself in study, and wholly
given himself over to the Contemplation of Sciences, understood little
of the Arts of the Court, or the Crafty Slights of pushing on his
Fortune and making himself considerable; for though he was bestowed
upon, and recommended to _Augustus_, by the Princess _Octavia_ his
Sister, we cannot find that he was employed in any Works of great
Importance. The Noblest Edifice that we can learn that _Augustus_ caused
to be built, was, the Theatre of _Marcellus_; and this was done by
another Architect: And the only Fabrick we can find he was employed in
was not at _Rome_, but at _Fano_, a very little City; insomuch, that the
greatest part of the Architects of that Age, who had gained the general
Vogue, being so ignorant, that they did not know even (as himself is
forced to declare) the first Principles of their Art: The Quality of a
mere Architect was become so Contemptible, that if his Books had not
carried all the Marks of an extraordinary Knowledge, and rare abilities,
and undeceived the World by taking away the prejudice that his small
employ created him, the Precepts he has left us would have wanted that
Authority that was necessary to support them.
For Architecture being an Art that has scarce any other Rule to walk by,
in performing all those Excellencies her Works are capable of, than what
we call a Good Fancy, which truly distinguishes that which is Beautiful
and Good from that which is not so; it's absolutely necessary that one
be perswaded that the Fancy he follows is better than any other; to the
end, that this Perswasion insinuating it self into them that study this
Art, it may form in them a Correct and Regular Idea, which without this
Perswasion, would be always floating and uncertain; so that to establish
this Good Fancy, it's necessary to have one to whom we give great
deference, and who has merited great Credit by the Learning that is
found in his Writings; and is believed to have had sufficient abilities
of chusing well among all Antiquity, that which is most solid and
capable of founding the Precepts of Architecture.
The Veneration we have for the first Inventers of Arts, is not only
Natural, but it's founded upon Reason; which makes us judge, that he
that had the first Thought, and first invented any Thing, must needs
have had a fitter Genius, and a better Capacity for it, than all those
that afterwards laboured to bring it to its utmost Perfection. The
_Greeks_, who were the Inventers of Architecture, as well as of other
Sciences, having left many Works behind them as well in Building as in
Books, which were looked upon in the time of _Vitruvius_, as the Models
of what was perfect and accomplished in this Art, _Vitruvius_ chiefly
followed and imitated them; and in the Composition of his Book, gathered
from them all that was to be found Excellent and Rare in all their
Works; which makes us believe, that he has omitted nothing that was
necessary, to form the General Idea of Good and Beautiful, since there
is not the least probability that any thing could escape so Rare a Wit,
Illuminated with so many different Lights.
But because at present the Reputation of _Vitruvius_ is so generally
established, that all Ages have placed him in the first Rank of great
Wits, and that there is nothing necessary to recommend the Precepts of
Architecture, but to prove they were drawn out of his Works: We having
here designed to make only an Abridgment of his Works, we thought it
would be necessary to cut off many things that this Famous Author has
drawn out of an infinity of Writers, whose Works are now lost, and only
gives a short Account of the Contents of every Book, in the beginning of
this Abridgment; handling only in this Book, those Things that directly
belong to Architecture; disposing the Matter in a different Method from
that of _Vitruvius_, who often leaves off the Matter he is treating of,
and takes it up again in another place.
The Order we have proposed to our selves in this Abstract, is, That
after having given an Account in few words of what is contained in the
whole Book; we Explain more particularly what we judge may be
serviceable to those that study Architecture. This Treatise is divided
into Two Parts; The First contains the Maxims and Precepts that may be
accommodated to _Modern_ Architecture; the Second contains all that
appertains to the _Ancient_ and _Antique_ Architectures; which, though
often affected, have little that's now made use of, may yet nevertheless
serve to form the Judgment, and regulate the Fancy, and serve for
Examples of things that may be useful.
I make a Distinction between the _Ancient_ Architecture, and the
_Antique_ Architecture, and the _Modern_; for we call that Architecture
_Ancient_ of which _Vitruvius_ has writ, and of which we may as yet see
many Examples in the Fabricks that remain in _Greece_. The Architecture
which we call _Antique_, is that which may be found in the Famous
Edifices, which, since the Time of _Vitruvius_, were built at _Rome_,
_Constantinople_, and many other places. The _Modern_, is that which
being more accommodated to the present use, or for other Reasons, has
changed some of the Dispositions and Proportions which were observed by
the _Ancient_ and _Antique_ Architects.
ART. II.
_The Method of the Works | 899.556026 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.6343100 | 2,932 | 10 | ***
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THE HAPPIEST TIME OF THEIR LIVES
BY ALICE DUER MILLER
Author of "Come Out of the Kitchen," "Ladies Must Live," "Wings in the
Nights," etc.
1918
TO CLARENCE DAY, JR.
"... and then he added in a less satisfied tone: "But friendship is so
uncertain. You don't make any announcement to your friends or vows to
each other, unless you're at an age when you cut your initials in the
bark of a tree. That's what I'd like to do."
THE HAPPIEST TIME OF THEIR LIVES
CHAPTER I
Little Miss Severance sat with her hands as cold as ice. The stage of her
coming adventure was beautifully set--the conventional stage for the
adventure of a young girl, her mother's drawing-room. Her mother had the
art of setting stages. The room was not large,--a New York brownstone
front in the upper Sixties even though altered as to entrance, and
allowed to sprawl backward over yards not originally intended for its
use, is not a palace,--but it was a room and not a corridor; you had the
comfortable sense of four walls about you when its one small door was
once shut. It was filled, perhaps a little too much filled, with objects
which seemed to have nothing in common except beauty; but propinquity,
propinquity of older date than the house in which they now were, had
given them harmony. Nothing in the room was modern except some uncommonly
comfortable sofas and chairs, and the pink and yellow roses that stood
about in Chinese bowls.
Miss Severance herself was hardly aware of the charm of the room. On the
third floor she had her own room, which she liked much better. There was
a great deal of bright chintz in it, and maple furniture of a late
colonial date, inherited from her mother's family, the Lanleys, and
discarded by her mother, who described the taste of that time as "pure,
but provincial." Crystal and ivories and carved wood and Italian
embroideries did not please Miss Severance half so well as the austere
lines of those work-tables and high-boys.
It was after five, almost half-past, and he had said "about five." Miss
Severance, impatient to begin the delicious experience of anticipation,
had allowed herself to be ready at a quarter before the hour. Not that
she had been entirely without some form of anticipation since she woke
up; not, perhaps, since she had parted from him under the windy awning
the night before. They had held up a long line of restless motors as she
stood huddled in her fur-trimmed cloak, and he stamped and jigged to
keep warm, bareheaded, in his thin pumps and shining shirt-front, with
his shoulders drawn up and his hands in his pockets, while they almost
awkwardly arranged this meeting for the next day.
Several times during the preceding evening she had thought he was going
to say something of the kind, for they had danced together a great deal;
but they had always danced in silence. At the time, with his arm about
her, silence had seemed enough; but in separation there is something
wonderfully solid and comforting in the memory of a spoken word; it is
like a coin in the pocket. And after Miss Severance had bidden him good
night at the long glass door of the paneled ball-room without his saying
anything of a future meeting, she had gone up-stairs with a heavy heart
to find her maid and her wrap. She knew as soon as she reached the
dressing-room that she had actually hurried her departure for the sake of
the parting; for the hope, as their time together grew short, of having
some certainty to look forward to. But he had said nothing, and she had
been ashamed to find that she was waiting, leaving her hand in his too
long; so that at last she snatched it away, and was gone up-stairs in an
instant, fearing he might have guessed what was going on in her mind.
She had thought it just an accident that he was in the hall when she
came down again, and he hadn't much choice, she said to herself, about
helping her into her motor. Then at the very last moment he had asked
if he mightn't come and see her the next afternoon. Miss Severance, who
was usually sensitive to inconveniencing other people, had not cared at
all about the motor behind hers that was tooting its horn or for the
elderly lady in feathers and diamonds who was waiting to get into it.
She had cared only about arranging the hour and impressing the address
upon him. He had given her back the pleasure of her whole evening like
a parting gift.
As she drove home she couldn't bring herself to doubt, though she tried
to be rational about the whole experience, that it had meant as much to
him as it had to her, perhaps more. Her lips curved a little at the
thought, and she glanced quickly at her maid to see if the smile had
been visible in the glare of the tall, double lamps of Fifth Avenue.
To say she had not slept would be untrue, but she had slept close to the
surface of consciousness, as if a bright light were shining somewhere
near, and she had waked with the definite knowledge that this light was
the certainty of seeing him that very day. The morning had gone very
well; she had even forgotten once or twice for a few seconds, and then
remembered with a start of joy that was almost painful: but, after lunch,
time had begun to drag like the last day of a long sea-voyage.
About three she had gone out with her mother in the motor, with the
understanding that she was to be left at home at four; her mother was
going on to tea with an elderly relation. Fifth Avenue had seemed
unusually crowded even for Fifth Avenue, and the girl had fretted and
wondered at the perversity of the police, who held them up just at the
moment most promising for slipping through; and why Andrews, the
chauffeur, could not see that he would do better by going to Madison
Avenue. She did not speak these thoughts aloud, for she had not told
her mother, not from any natural love of concealment, but because any
announcement of her plans for the afternoon would have made them seem
less certain of fulfilment. Perhaps, too, she had felt an
unacknowledged fear of certain of her mother's phrases that could
delicately puncture delight.
She had been dropped at the house by ten minutes after four, and exactly
at a quarter before five she had been in the drawing-room, in her
favorite dress, with her best slippers, her hands cold, but her heart
warm with the knowledge that he would soon be there.
Only after forty-five minutes of waiting did that faith begin to grow
dim. She was too inexperienced in such matters to know that this was the
inevitable consequence of being ready too early. She had had time to run
through the whole cycle of certainty, eagerness, doubt, and she was now
rapidly approaching despair. He was not coming. Perhaps he had never
meant to come. Possibly he had merely yielded to a polite impulse;
possibly her manner had betrayed her wishes so plainly that a clever,
older person, two or three years out of college, had only too clearly
read her in the moment when she had detained his hand at the door of the
ball-room.
There was a ring at the bell. Her heart stood perfectly still, and then
began beating with a terrible force, as if it gathered itself into a
hard, weighty lump again and again. Several minutes went by, too long for
a man to give to taking off his coat. At last she got up and cautiously
opened the door; a servant was carrying a striped cardboard box to her
mother's room. Miss Severance went back and sat down. She took a long
breath; her heart returned to its normal movement.
Yet, for some unexplained reason, the fact that the door-bell had rung
once made it more possible that it would ring again, and she began to
feel a slight return of confidence.
A servant opened the door, and in the instant before she turned her head
she had time to debate the possibility of a visitor having come in
without ringing while the messenger with the striped box was going out.
But, no; Pringle was alone.
Pringle had been with the family since her mother was a girl, but, like
many red-haired men, he retained an appearance of youth. He wanted to
know if he should take away the tea.
She knew perfectly why he asked. He liked to have the tea-things put away
before he had his own supper and began his arrangements for the family
dinner. She felt that the crisis had come.
If she said yes, she knew that her visitor would come just as tea had
disappeared. If she said no, she would sit there alone, waiting for
another half-hour, and when she finally did ring and tell Pringle he
could take away the tea-things, he would look wise and reproachful.
Nevertheless, she did say no, and Pringle with admirable
self-control, withdrew.
The afternoon seemed very quiet. Miss Severance became aware of all
sorts of bells that she had never heard before--other door-bells,
telephone-bells in the adjacent houses, loud, hideous bells on motor
delivery-wagons, but not her own front door-bell.
Her heart felt like lead. Things would never be the same now. Probably
there was some explanation of his not coming, but it could never be
really atoned for. The wild romance and confidence in this first visit
could never be regained.
And then there was a loud, quick ring at the bell, and at once he was in
the room, breathing rapidly, as if he had run up-stairs or even from the
corner. She could do nothing but stare at him. She had tried in the last
ten minutes to remember what he looked like, and now she was astonished
to find how exactly he looked as she remembered him.
To her horror, the change between her late despair and her present joy
was so extreme that she wanted to cry. The best she knew how to do was to
pucker her face into a smile and to offer him those chilly finger-tips.
He hardly took them, but said, as if announcing a black, but
incontrovertible, fact:
"You're not a bit glad to see me."
"Oh, yes, I am," she returned, with an attempt at an easy social manner.
"Will you have some tea?"
"But why aren't you glad?"
Miss Severance clasped her hands on the edge of the tea-tray and looked
down. She pressed her palms together; she set her teeth, but the muscles
in her throat went on contracting; and the heroic struggle was lost.
"I thought you weren't coming," she said, and making no further effort
to conceal the fact that her eyes were full of tears she looked straight
up at him.
He sat down beside her on the small, low sofa and put his hand on hers.
"But I was perfectly certain to come," he said very gently, "because, you
see, I think I love you."
"Do you think I love you?" she asked, seeking information.
"I can't tell," he answered. "Your being sorry I did not come doesn't
prove anything. We'll see. You're so wonderfully young, my dear!"
"I don't think eighteen is so young. My mother was married before she
was twenty."
He sat silent for a few seconds, and she felt his hand shut more firmly
on hers. Then he got up, and, pulling a chair to the opposite side of
the table, said briskly:
"And now give me some tea. I haven't had any lunch."
"Oh, why not?" She blew her nose, tucked away her handkerchief, and began
her operations on the tea-tray.
"I work very hard," he returned. "You don't know what at, do you? I'm a
statistician."
"What's that?"
"I make reports on properties, on financial ventures, for the firm I'm
with, Benson & Honaton. They're brokers. When they are asked to
underwrite a scheme--"
"Underwrite? I never heard that word."
The boy laughed.
"You'll hear it a good many times if our acquaintance continues." Then
more gravely, but quite parenthetically, he added: "If a firm puts up
money for a business, they want to know all about it, of course. I tell
them. I've just been doing a report this afternoon, a wonder; it's what
made me late. Shall I tell you about it?"
She nodded with the same eagerness with which ten years before she might
have answered an inquiry as to whether he should tell her a fairy-story.
"Well, it was on a coal-mine in Pennsylvania. I'm afraid my report is
going to be a disappointment to the firm. The mine's good, a sound, rich
vein, and the labor conditions aren't bad; but there's one fatal
defect--a car shortage on the only railroad that reaches it. They can't
make a penny on their old mine until that's met, and that can't be
straightened out for a year, anyhow; and so | 899.65435 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.6367320 | 2,437 | 9 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans provided by Google Books
Source: books.google.com
http://books.google.com/books?pg=PP8&dq=the+nephews&id=tSgHAAAAQAAJ#v=o
nepage&q=&f=false
THE
NEPHEWS:
A PLAY,
IN FIVE ACTS.
* * * * *
FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF
_WILLIAM AUGUSTUS IFFLAND,_
BY
HANNIBAL EVANS LLOYD, ESQ.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. AND C. SPILSBURY, SNOWHILL;
AND SOLD BY G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW;
CADELL AND DAVIES, STRAND; J. DEBRETT,
PICCADILLY; AND J. BELL, OXFORD-STREET.
M.DCC.XCIX.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.
COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, his Son.
MR. DRAVE, a Merchant, Guardian to the two BROOKS.
LEWIS BROOK, \
> Brothers
PHILIP BROOK, /
MR. ROSE, a Banker.
Clerk to the Chancellor.
Old Man.
FREDERICK DRAVE's Servant.
MRS. DRAVE.
AUGUSTA.
THE NEPHEWS.
_ACT I._
SCENE I.
At the Chancellor's House.
COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, LEWIS BROOK, at Breakfast.
Enter a Servant.
Counsellor (to the Servant).
Take away. But, no--let it stand; my father may chuse some: is he
returned?
_Servant._ I'll enquire, Sir. [Exit Servant.
_Counsellor_ [rising and viewing himself]. We've made a long breakfast.
_Lewis._ But _you_ have eaten nothing.
_Counsellor._ Why, my dear friend, I'm quite uneasy about my growing so
fat.
_Lewis_ [ironically]. Oh, certainly; All the affecting graces of a
pining love-sick swain will be destroyed: you'll lose all your credit
with the ladies.--Apropos of ladies, how do you stand with Miss Drave?
_Counsellor._ Ill enough. Your worthy guardian and the whole family are
so intolerably stiff.
_Lewis._ Don't say I told you; but you certainly are the happy man.
_Counsellor._ I?--No indeed; it is rather you.
_Lewis._ You have nothing to fear from me. You know my passion for your
sister. But for that grave, melancholy gentleman, my dear brother, I'd
have you beware of him.
_Counsellor_ [laughs] Excellent! As if such a sour misanthrope could
please any one, particularly a young girl.
_Lewis._ Tastes are different; and besides, my serious guardian is his
friend.
_Counsellor._ So much the worse for _you_.
_Lewis._ No matter.
_Counsellor._ How! Believe me, this excellent brother of yours is
continually defaming you.
_Lewis._ I know it very well.
_Counsellor._ And he is now striving----
_Lewis._ I know what you would say; to enforce the clause of my
father's will.
_Counsellor._ Tell me, how is this clause worded?
_Lewis._ If one of his sons should turn out a prodigal, the other is
declared his tutor.
_Counsellor._ It is a shocking clause.
_Lewis._ It is indeed. Yet, should they attempt it--by heavens!--But to
the purpose--your father is still willing to give me your sister?
_Counsellor._ Certainly.
_Lewis._ But take care then I have some of the ready with her.
_Counsellor._ Oh, you may depend upon that.
_Lewis._ Not any of your father's own; only my share of the fortune of
old Crack-brains.
_Counsellor._ Old Crack-brains! What do you mean?
_Lewis._ As if you did not know! Why my old uncle, to whom you have
prescribed a little wholesome confinement, by way of cure for his
pretended madness.
_Counsellor._ Oh! that old man! So, so.
_Lewis._ Exactly. You always seem wonderfully at a loss when that point
is touch'd.
_Counsellor._ But--I was going to observe--yes--it might be done, had
he not escaped--but now it is uncertain whether he is alive, or what is
become of him.
_Lewis._ I say he is dead.
_Counsellor._ But we have not heard.
_Lewis._ He shall be dead.
_Counsellor._ But----
_Lewis._ Why a live man is as easily declared to be dead, as a man in
his senses to be mad; and if he should make his appearance, you can
secure him again.
_Counsellor._ No! who would do that?
_Lewis._ Zounds! what a tender conscience! If my uncle could be
declared mad, by your good-nature, that you might shew your Christian
charity, in managing his estate, I am sure your noble heart would have
no scruple to advance a part of the inheritance to the lawful heir.
_Counsellor._ My dear friend, your expressions are so harsh--so----
_Lewis._ His madness was not so very clear. The old fellow was
reasonable enough at times.
_Counsellor._ Quite out of his senses, I assure you: mad as a March
hare.
_Lewis_ I don't know how--but indeed, I sometimes pity him.
_Counsellor._ It was the will of God.
_Lewis._ Oh, I have nothing to do with that: 'tis a subject too deep
for me. But beware of my brother: he suspects foul play, and has spies
drawn up every where.
Enter CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.
_Counsellor._ Good morning, dear father.
_Lewis_ [bowing]. My Lord!
_Chancellor._ Good morning, my son,--your most obedient, Sir.
_Lewis._ Engaged so early?
_Chancellor._ Can I avoid it, my dear Sir?
_Lewis._ The State is much indebted to you.
_Chancellor._ Yet my zeal is frequently overlooked--no attention paid.
[To his son] No news, Samuel?
_Counsellor._ No, father.
_Chancellor._ I feel quite tired.
_Counsellor._ You have had no breakfast.
_Chancellor._ No; and the cold marble floor of the Palace has quite
chilled me. What have you here? [Seats himself at the breakfast table.]
Our most excellent Prince has been heaping new favours upon me. You
have heard, no doubt, [to Lewis] of the bustle there has been. An
underclerk of the Treasury, a man of no extraction, accused me of a
fraud, in executing the late regulations for the distribution of corn
to the poor.
_Lewis._ So I have been informed--and what is our Prince's pleasure?
_Chancellor._ As the man could bring no evidence whatever, his Serene
Highness, for the reparation of my honour, has been graciously pleased
to punish him.
_Lewis._ And in what manner?
_Chancellor._ The warrant was signed yesterday, [drinks]--To be
cashiered and banished.
_Lewis._ He is pretty well rewarded.
_Chancellor._ I have supplicated, my dear Sir, for a mitigation of the
sentence--but in vain----Samuel, cut me a wing of that fowl----I have
sent another letter, on your account, to Mr. Drave.
_Lewis._ Too kind, my Lord.
_Chancellor._ I long to see his answer. To my last he sent an absolute
refusal.
_Lewis._ Is it possible? Can he dare?
_Chancellor_ [rising]. He has not gathered roses by it, my dear
Sir--No, no, [laughs] L.4000, which I had in his hands, I withdrew
instantly.--Your good father was wrong to put such promising sons under
this man's guardianship.
_Lewis._ I agree with you; but some of his best friends advised him.
_Chancellor_ [taking snuff]. Has Drave ever given any account of his
guardianship?
_Lewis._ Not yet.
_Chancellor._ Note that, Samuel. He _shall_ give it--I have hinted it
in Court already--You must not lose your fortune, my dear Sir.
_Lewis._ I do not think there is any danger.
_Chancellor._ Well, but have you drawn up a statement of your
property, as you promised?
_Lewis_ [gives him a paper]. Here it is.
_Chancellor_ [looking over it]. So, so; a very good fortune!
[muttering] L.10,000 in the hands of Rose--Which Rose is that?
_Lewis._ John Frederick.
_Chancellor._ Samuel, give me the red ink.--[Writes.] So, so--L.10,000,
at John Frederick Rose's.
_Lewis._ May I ask why that name strikes you so much?
_Chancellor._ For important reasons.
_Lewis._ You think----
_Chancellor._ That your property is not in the best hands, my dear Sir.
Rose is rather in a ticklish situation just now.
_Lewis._ I may lose it then!
_Chancellor._ Not you exactly, but your worthy tutor might suffer.
[Looks at the back of the paper.] Aye, aye; many drawbacks too--you are
not the best manager, my good friend.
_Lewis._ I know it, my Lord.
_Chancellor._ Overcharged besides by your honest guardian now and then.
I am a plain, sincere man. Speak freely--the valuable furniture--the
plate--is there any regular inventory?
_Lewis._ No, my Lord. It was in the will.
_Chancellor._ You must apply to the Court then.
_Lewis._ Yes--But--
_Chancellor._ Only for form sake--you just sign a little paper--a mere
form, I assure you. You are too good-natured--give so easily away--must
not be.--Come, we will go to my room, and examine your affairs more
closely. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Apartment in Drave's House.
Mr. DRAVE writing.--Mrs. DRAVE enters.
_Mrs. D._ Good morning, my dear--you have not come down.
_Mr. D._ [gives her his hand, without looking up]. Good morning.
_Mrs. D._ You are busy.
_Mr. D._ I shall have done in a moment.
_Mrs. D._ I'll leave you.
_Mr. D._ [rising]. It is done now.
_Mrs. D._ You seem angry.
_Mr. D._ No wonder--that man----
_Mrs. D._ Who?
_Mr. D._ My hopeful ward Lewis | 899.656772 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.7354280 | 192 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Google Print project.
THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were | 899.755468 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.8365920 | 2,085 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 48107-h.htm or 48107-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48107/48107-h/48107-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/48107/48107-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/inlineofbattle00woodrich
IN THE LINE OF BATTLE
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_ |
| |
| Soldiers’ Stories of the War |
| |
| Edited by WALTER WOOD |
| |
| With 20 full-page Illustrations by A. C. MICHAEL. |
| |
| _Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. net_ |
| |
| |
| “Unchallengeably the best war budget of its kind that we have |
| had.”--_The Referee._ |
| |
| “A collection of absolutely authentic accounts by privates |
| and non-commissioned officers.... In the language in which |
| these fighters couch their experiences and opinions we see a |
| great simplicity and directness of observation and recital, so |
| admirable that _one page of such writing is worth all the folios |
| of the war experts and correspondents_, not to say romancers and |
| publicists.”--_The Athenæum._ |
| |
| “It is a stimulating and hopeful record, full of the real |
| atmosphere of the war, and Mr. Wood has done a serviceable thing |
| in producing it.”--_Daily Chronicle._ |
| |
| “The human side, the naked horror and simple glory of actual |
| conflict, is what Mr. Wood’s soldiers are concerned with, and the |
| stories they tell give a clearer picture of this side of war than |
| can be found in any other form.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._ |
| |
| “All Mr. Wood’s papers make us feel, if that is possible, prouder |
| of the British sailor and soldier.”--_Evening News._ |
| |
| “A very real and deeply affecting book, and the editor has done |
| a valuable work in collecting these poignant, odd, whimsical, |
| terrible stories together.”--_Westminster Gazette._ |
| |
| “No man who boasts a heart, least of all any man of young limbs, |
| will read these soldiers’ simple stories without a quickening |
| of the pulse. They are at once a great stimulus and a great |
| memorial.”--_Daily Telegraph._ |
| |
| “It is a noble tribute to the unassuming heroism of the |
| British soldier, and brings one close to the realities of |
| war.”--_Spectator._ |
| |
| “This is a collection of absolutely authentic stories narrated |
| by non-commissioned officers and privates who have taken part in |
| the present war, and who relate their experiences.”--_War Office |
| Times._ |
| |
| “Mr. Wood has done his work uncommonly well; his book is alive |
| with interest, and has the permanent value that must always |
| belong to such first-hand testimony.”--_Bookman._ |
| |
| |
| LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD. |
| |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration:
[_Frontispiece._
“SEVERAL VILLAGES... HAVE BEEN DESTROYED IN THE INTERESTS OF OUR
DEFENCE.... MY HEART BLEEDS WHEN... I THINK OF THE NUMBER OF INNOCENT
PERSONS WHO HAVE LOST THEIR HOMES AND THEIR GOODS.”--THE KAISER, IN A
TELEGRAM TO PRESIDENT WILSON.]
IN THE LINE OF BATTLE
Soldiers’ Stories of the War
Edited by
WALTER WOOD
Author of
“Men of the North Sea,” “Survivors’ Tales of Great Events,”
“North Sea Fishers and Fighters,” etc
Illustrated from Official Photographs
London
Chapman & Hall, Ltd.
1916
Printed in Great Britain by
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
Brunswick St., Stamford St., S.E.,
and Bungay Suffolk.
INTRODUCTION
The narratives in this volume, which is a companion to my _Soldiers’
Stories of the War_, are told on exactly the same lines as those which
were adopted for that collection. There was a personal interview to
get the teller’s own tale; then the writing, the object being to act
as the soldier’s other self; and finally the submission to him of the
typescript, so that he could revise and become responsible for the
completed work.
In dealing with these records I have tried to be a faithful interpreter
or reproducer of a tale that has been told to me. I have invited a
man to tell his story as it came into his mind, and to look upon me
simply as a means of putting it into concrete and coherent form, and
as a medium between himself and the reader. The greatest difficulty
that had to be overcome was a narrator’s reluctance to speak of his own
achievements, though he never failed to wax enthusiastic when telling
of the doings of his comrades. Nothing has left a deeper impression
on my mind than the generous praise which a gunner, say, has bestowed
upon the infantry, and the blessings that the infantry have invoked
upon the gunners. Never in any of Great Britain’s wars has there been
such an exhibition of universal esprit de corps as we have witnessed in
this stupendous conflict between civilisation and freedom and cultured
barbarism and tyranny.
Nothing could have been more encouraging to me as compiler and
editor of these true tales than the generous praise that was given to
the companion volume. I am grateful to all my critics, who, without
exception, so far as I know, welcomed and accepted the work for what it
professed to be--an honest contribution on behalf of soldiers to the
history of the war.
I set out to do a certain thing--to act as pilot to members of a
wondrous band who found themselves in unknown waters, and I succeeded
past my utmost expectations. I am proud to think that any act of mine
has put on record the doings of patriotic men who have fought so
nobly for their country; and thankful to feel that I have been the
means of getting for his relatives and friends and all the rest of us
the experiences of more than one fine fellow who since I saw him has
answered the roll-call for the last time.
WALTER WOOD.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
HOW TROOPER POTTS WON THE V.C. ON BURNT HILL 1
TROOPER FREDERICK WILLIAM OWEN POTTS, 1/1st Berkshire
Yeomanry (T.F.).
CHAPTER II
A PRISONER OF WAR IN GERMANY 16
CORPORAL OLIVER H. BLAZE, 1st Battalion Scots Guards.
CHAPTER III
GASSED NEAR HILL 60 33
LANCE-CORPORAL R. G. SIMMINS, 8th Battalion Canadian
Infantry, 90th Winnipeg Rifles.
CHAPTER IV
A LINESMAN IN GALLIPOLI 43
PRIVATE JOHN FRANK GRAY, 5th Battalion Wiltshire
Regiment.
CHAPTER V
AN ANZAC’S ADVENTURES 62
TROOPER RUPERT HENDERSON, 6th Australian Light
Horse.
CHAPTER VI
”IMPERISHABLE GLORY” FOR THE KENSINGTONS 80
----, 13th (Kensington) Battalion London Regiment.
CHAPTER VII
TEN MONTHS IN THE FIGHTING-LINE 94
PRIVATE FREDERICK WOODS, 1st Battalion Royal Irish
Fusiliers.
CHAPTER VIII
A GUNNER AT THE DARDANELLES 114
GUNNER JOHN EVANS, 92nd Battery Royal Field Artillery.
CHAPTER IX
THE “FLOOD” 130
CORPORAL GUY SILK, 2nd Battalion Royal Fusiliers.
CHAPTER X
THE BELGIANS’ FIGHT WITH GERMAN HOSTS 133
SOLDAT FRANÇOIS ROMBOUTS, 8th Regiment of the Line,
Belgian Army.
CHAPTER XI
A BLINDED PRISONER OF THE TURKS 148
PRIVATE DAVID MELLING, 1/8th Battalion Lancashire
Fusiliers.
CHAPTER XII
HOW THE “FORMIDABLE” WAS LOST 160
WILLIAM EDWARD FRANCIS, Stoker.
CHAPTER XIII
A TROOPER’S TALE 171
TROOPER NOTLEY, | 899.856632 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.8371950 | 372 | 12 |
Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Wayne Hammond,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
NOVEMBER 3, 1894.
PUNCH TO THE NEW ATTORNEY-GENERAL.
Law is not Pan; but "BOB"'s a man,
To make us sure indeed.
Themis will play airs bright and gay,
Armed with this "vocal REID"!
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
[Illustration]
"'Now I'm furnished,'" hummed the Baron. "'Now I'm furnished'--with
several books for my journey, and----" "Tickets, please," broke in the
inspector. "Just when I was comfortable," growled the Baron; "but no
matter. And now for the _Pen and Pencil Sketches_."
[Illustration: "Little Billee."]
The father of Mr. STACY MARKS predestined him for the coach-building
business. Providence, interposing, made him a painter, and the gaiety of
nations has been increased by the possession of some storks. In _Pen and
Pencil Sketches_ (CHATTO AND WINDUS) he has given the world some
reminiscences of a career justly crowned by the laurels of the Royal
Academy. The work is in two volumes, and my Baronite says would have
been more than twice as good had it been in one. The first volume is
charming, with its chat about LEIGH'S studio and the men met there; of
| 899.857235 |
2023-11-16 18:32:03.8372190 | 2,928 | 10 |
Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Ramon Pajares Box, 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
* Italics are denoted by underscores as in _italics_.
* Bold text is denoted by equals as in =bold=.
* Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made
consistent when a predominant usage was found.
* Throughout the text the following replacements were made:
“Maria” by “María”,
“Telleria” by “Tellería”,
“Joaquin” by “Joaquín”,
“Fontan” by “Fontán”,
“Leopold” by “Leopoldo”,
“Agustin” by “Agustín”,
“Perez” by “Pérez”.
* The following changes were also made:
Page 18: “Atheneam” replaced by “Atheneum”.
Page 28: “Centa” replaced by “Ceuta”.
Page 75: “Corralles” replaced by “Corrales”.
Page 144: “Cerinola” replaced by “Ceriñola”.
Page 147: “Cayentano” replaced by “Cayetano”.
Page 199: “Arragon” replaced by “Aragón” (twice).
Page 246: “Monilla” replaced by “Monina”.
Page 274: “her papa” replaced by “your papa” (twice--after
checking the Spanish original version).
LEON ROCH
A ROMANCE
BY
B. PÉREZ GALDÓS
Author of “Gloria,” etc.
FROM THE SPANISH BY CLARA BELL
--AUTHORIZED EDITION--
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. I.
REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES
NEW YORK
WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER
11 MURRAY STREET
1888
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886
BY WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
THIS TRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER
CONTENTS.
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME, 1
II.--LIFE AT A WATERING PLACE, 9
III.--IN WHICH THE READER WILL ENJOY HEARING THE
PRAISES LAVISHED BY SPANIARDS ON THEIR
COUNTRY AND COUNTRY-MEN, 15
IV.--MORE CONVERSATION, GIVING US SOME IDEA
OF THE SPANISH CHARACTER, 24
V.--ILLUSTRATING ANOTHER TRAIT OF SPANISH
CHARACTER, 31
VI.--PEPA, 37
VII.--TWO MEN AND THEIR SCHEMES IN LIFE, 45
VIII.--MARÍA EGYPTIACA, 57
IX.--THE MARQUESA TELLERÍA, 69
X.--THE MARQUIS, 79
XI.--LEOPOLDO, 88
XII.--GUSTAVO, 94
XIII.--THE LAST ILLUSION, 103
XIV.--HUSBAND AND WIFE, 111
XV.--A MODUS VIVENDI, 127
XVI.--IN THE DOG-DAYS, 133
XVII.--DESERTERS, 142
XVIII.--THE ASCETIC, 149
XIX.--THE MARQUESA GOES TO A CONCERT, 159
XX.--THE OLD, OLD DRAMA, 166
XXI.--A STRUGGLE WITH THE ANGEL, 179
XXII.--CONQUERED BY THE ANGEL, 185
XXIII.--WEATHER PERMITTING, 188
XXIV.--REMINISCENCES--ANXIETIES, 200
XXV.--MARÍA EGYPTIACA DRESSES IN GREY AND DOES
NOT WASH HER HANDS, 211
XXVI.--THE DEVOURING OGRE--CROUP, 222
XXVII.--THE MOTHER, 238
XXVIII.--THE MARQUIS DE FÚCAR ENJOYS THE SPECIAL
FAVOUR OF HEAVEN, 242
XXIX.--ERUNT DUO IN CARNE UNA, 253
XXX.--AN IRRUPTION OF THE BARBARIANS; ALARIC,
ATTILA, AND OMAR, 263
XXXI.--THE CRISIS, 275
XXXII.--REASON _versus_ PASSION, 293
LEON ROCH
LEON ROCH
PART I.
CHAPTER I.
FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
“_Ugoibea_, AUGUST 30th.
“DEAR LEON: Think no more of my letter of yesterday; it must have
crossed yours, which I have just received. Vexation, and a fit of
petty jealousy, made me write a great deal of nonsense, and I am
ashamed of having covered my paper with so many dreadful words, mixed
up with such childish prevarications; but no--I am not ashamed; I can
only laugh at myself and my style, and ask you to forgive me. If I
had only had a little patience and waited for your explanations--but
that again is nonsense.--Jealousy and Patience! Who ever saw the
two things combined in one person? You see there is no end to my
absurdities; this proves that after having been a fool, though only
for a day, a woman cannot recover her natural balance of mind all at
once.
“But now I am recovering mine. An end to recrimination; I am
firmly resolved never again to be irritable and suspicious and
inquisitive--as you say I am. Your explanations really and entirely
satisfy me; their frankness and fulness impress me strongly--I hardly
know why--and leave no room in my mind for doubt, but fill my soul
with a conviction--how can I express it? that is in itself a sort
of affection, that is its twin brother and as inseparable from it
as--as--I cannot finish my sentence; but what does it matter?--To
proceed; I was saying that I fully accept your explanation. A denial
would have increased my suspicions; your confession has removed
them. You tell me that you did love--no, that is not the word, that
you had a fancy, a mere fancy, as a boy--as children together--for
Pepa de Fúcar; that you have known her since she was little, and
that you played together--I remember you used to tell me something
about it in Madrid, when we first made your acquaintance. It was
she, no doubt, who used to go with you to pick up the blossoms
fallen from the orange-trees--who was frightened at the rustling
made by the silk-worms when they were feeding, and for whom you
used to make crowns of Marvel of Peru? Yes, you told me many funny
stories of your companion as a child. You and she used to dye your
cheeks with blackberries, and make paper crowns to wear; you loved
to take birds’ nests, and her greatest delight was to pull off her
shoes and stockings and paddle in the streams among the rushes and
water-plants. One day, almost at the same instant, you fell from a
tree and she was bitten by some reptile. That was Pepa de Fúcar, was
it not? You see I remember very well, and could write your history
quite accurately.
“The truth is that I really did not pay much attention to those baby
stories; but when I saw the girl, and when they said you were in love
with her.--It is ten days ago and I still feel as if I were being
suffocated--as I did when I first heard it. Believe me; I felt as if
the world were coming to an end, as if time were standing still--I
cannot express the feeling--or had turned backward and revealed
some horrible spot, some unknown desert where--another unfinished
sentence! To proceed.
“I remember now some more stories of your childish amusements, which
you told me not long ago. How such trifles cling to our memories!
When you were a boy, and were studying that science of stones of
which I can never see the use; when she--for I think that again
it was Pepa de Fúcar--had left off putting her feet in the water
and staining your cheeks with blackberry juice or decking herself
with your paper crowns, that you played at being lovers with less
innocence than before, but still--come, I will allow thus much--still
with perfect innocence. She was at some school where there were a
great number of lilac shrubs, and a porter who undertook to receive
and deliver notes. Are you not astonished at my good memory? I even
remember that porter’s name; it was Escoiquiz.
“Well--enough of ancient history. What you have just told me, what
I did not know till I just now read your letter (and I repeat that I
was not particularly pleased to hear it) was that two years ago you
met again where the orange-trees blow and the silk-worms feed and
the water flows in the brooks; that you suffered a slight illusion,
so to speak, and at that time began to feel a sincere affection for
her, which grew and grew until--and here I come to the story--until
you knew me.--Thank you Sir, and I make you a pretty curtsy, for the
string of compliments, polite hints, protestations, and loving words
which here follow. This shower of praises fills a whole page. Such
pages as these come before us like a face we love, and this one made
me cry with joy. Thanks again, a thousand thanks. It is all charming,
and what you say of me is much too kind and good. You are worth a
hundred of me.--You live for me? Oh Leon! How can I do better than
believe all these romantic speeches? My heart opens wide to accept
them all. I am a good catholic and have been brought up to be a true
believer.
“Yes, I will be so foolish--I have read that blessed page once more.
Oh! it is good to be told that ‘a true, deep, and lofty devotion
has blotted out that fancy and left no trace of it’--very good!
‘the illusions of childhood rarely last into mature years’ of
course; ‘Your sentiments are sincere, and your intentions thoroughly
honest’--yes no doubt; ‘The voice I heard, the words that made me
feel as if the world had come to an end, were simply one of those
wild suppositions thrown out at random, to be taken up by malice
and used by her as terrible weapons’--so it is, so it is; ‘Pepa de
Fúcar is as indifferent to you at this moment as any other woman
living’--that is perfect, exquisite! and finally ‘I and I alone’--me
and no one else.--What joy to press my hand closely to my heart while
I think to myself--me, me alone, and no one in the world but me!
“A potent argument in your favour has just occurred to me; Pepa de
Fúcar is immensely rich and I am almost poor. However, when one
has faith no arguments are needed, and I have faith in you. Every
one who knows you, says you are a model of uprightness and noble
generosity--a rare thing in these days. I am as proud as I am
flattered. How good God has been to me in bestowing on me a gift
which, by all accounts, is so seldom found in this world!
“I cannot avoid telling you--though this letter already seems
interminable--the impression that girl produced on me, even setting
aside the rancour I could not help feeling at first. But now the
storm is over; I can judge her coolly and impartially, and though,
when I heard what you know, I thought she must be perfectly
charming, I see her now in her true light. Every one talks of her
shameful extravagance. It is an insult to Heaven and humanity! Papa
says she spends enough in clothes in a week to support several
families comfortably. She is elegant, no doubt; but sometimes very
affected--as much as to say: ‘Gentlemen, I behave in this way that
you may all see how rich I am.’ Mamma says, no man would ever
think of | 899.857259 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE RIVERS AND STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
ST. MARTIN'S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE DERWENT, HIGH TOR, MATLOCK, DERBYSHIRE]
THE
RIVERS & STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
PAINTED BY
SUTTON PALMER
DESCRIBED BY
A. G. BRADLEY
[Illustration: colophon]
PUBLISHED BY 4 SOHO SQUARE
ADAM AND CHARLES LONDON, W
BLACK MCMIX
PREFACE
Though this is not a book on angling, a life-long attachment to the
fly-rod on the part of the author, and to the delightful scenes into
which such predilections notoriously lead one, makes it at once more
difficult and more easy to write than if one were approaching the
subject as a stranger to the atmosphere, and merely to "write round" the
pictures Mr. Palmer has so admirably painted. But in my case it is by no
means only this. A predilection for British landscape in general, and
all that thereby hangs, has stimulated a far wider acquaintance with it
than any mere angling rambles could achieve, and resulted in the
publication of several books concerned with such things, and covering
more or less about twenty counties. I feel this explanation is
desirable, lest the note of intimacy with many far-sundered streams, in
allusion and otherwise, that must occur in these pages may be suspect.
The more so, as from the fascination of the Cook's ticket or what not,
comparatively few of my countrymen have any considerable knowledge of
their own land. The Rhine is certainly better known than the Wye, and
the Danube probably than the Severn.
But these very experiences made the first proposal to write a book,
other than a mere encyclopaedia, within a brief space on such a big
subject, seem almost hopeless. Rivers and streams from every direction,
by scores, came surging out upon the memory at the very thought of it,
in quite distracting fashion. It was finally agreed, however, that the
literary part of the book should take shape in a series of essays or
chapters dealing with the rivers mainly in separate groups or
water-sheds, leaving the proportions to my discretion. Capricious in a
measure this was bound to be. Selection was inevitable. It is not of
supreme importance. _Caeteris paribus_, and without diverging more than
necessary from the skilful illustrator, I have dealt more freely with
the rivers I know best, and also with those I hold to be more worthy of
notice. There are, of course, omissions, this book being neither a guide
nor an encyclopaedia, but rather a collection of descriptive essays and
of water-colour sketches covering, though necessarily in brief, most of
the groups. In this particular subject there is happily no need for
author and illustrator to keep close company in detail. What inspires
the pen, and in actual survey stirs the blood, is often unpaintable.
What makes a delightful picture, on the other hand, tells sometimes but
a dull tale in print. I have had to leave to the artist's capable brush,
owing to the necessary limitations of the letterpress, several subjects;
a matter, however, which seems to me as quite immaterial to the general
purport of the book, as it is unavoidable. But otherwise I think we run
reasonably together. At first sight the omission of the Thames in
description may seem outrageous. A moment's reflection, however, will, I
am sure, conduce to a saner view. Illustration is wholly another matter;
but to attempt ten or fifteen pages on that great and familiar river,
dealt with, too, in bulk and brief by innumerable pens, that could serve
any purpose or gratify any reader, seems to me a fatuous undertaking.
The Severn, on the other hand, as great, almost as important as the
Thames, and still more beautiful, is by comparison an absolutely unknown
river, and we have given it the first place.
A. G. B.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE SEVERN 1
CHAPTER II
THE WYE 39
CHAPTER III
THE CHALK STREAMS 64
CHAPTER IV
THE BORDER RIVERS 101
CHAPTER V
TWO AVONS 149
CHAPTER VI
THE RIVERS OF DEVON 161
CHAPTER VII
THE RIVERS OF THE SOUTH-EAST 209
CHAPTER VIII
THE YORKSHIRE DALES 227
CHAPTER IX
AN EAST ANGLIAN RIVER 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. The Derwent, High Tor, Matlock _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2. The Severn, near Arley, Shropshire 6
3. The Severn, Bridgenorth, Shropshire 18
4. The Severn, near Cam, Gloucestershire 30
5. Chepstow with Wye and Severn 34
6. The Wye, Haddon Hall, Derbyshire 38
7. The Wye, Hay, Breconshire 40
8. The Wye, Ross, Herefordshire 46
9. The Monnow, Old Bridge, Monmouth 52
10. The Wye, Symond's Yat, Herefordshire 60
11. The Wye, Tintern, Monmouthshire 62
12. The Thames, looking towards Henley 64
13. The Avon, near Salisbury 66
14. The Thames, the Bells of Ouseley, Old Windsor 70
15. Stapleford on the Wiley 82
16. The Itchen, St. Cross, Winchester 88
17. The Itchen, and St. Giles' Hill, Winchester 94
18. The Dove, Dovedale, Derbyshire 100
19. The Tyne, Hexham, Northumberland 102
20. The Coquet, and Warkworth Castle, Northumberland 124
21. The Eden, Samson's Chamber, near Carlisle 136
22. The Eden, near Lazonby, Cumberland 140
23. The Derwent, Grange, Borrowdale 142
24. Skelwith Force, near Ambleside, Westmoreland 144
25. The Derwent, Borrowdale, Cumberland 146
26. The Brathay, Langdale, Westmoreland 150
27. The Thames, Backwater by the Islands, Henley 152
28. The Avon at Clifton 154
29. The Avon, Stratford, Warwickshire 158
30. A Glimpse of the Thames, Kew 160
31. The Hamoaze, Devon | 900.0545 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS
By Bret Harte
CHAPTER I.
Where the great highway of the Sierras nears the summit, and the pines
begin to show sterile reaches of rock and waste in their drawn-up files,
there are signs of occasional departures from the main road, as if the
weary traveller had at times succumbed to the long ascent, and turned
aside for rest and breath again. The tired eyes of many a dusty
passenger on the old overland coach have gazed wistfully on those sylvan
openings, and imagined recesses of primeval shade and virgin wilderness
in their dim perspectives. Had he descended, however, and followed one
of these diverging paths, he would have come upon some rude wagon track,
or "logslide," leading from a clearing on the <DW72>, or the ominous
saw-mill, half hidden in the forest it was slowly decimating. The
woodland hush might have been broken by the sound of water passing over
some unseen dam in the hollow, or the hiss of escaping steam and throb
of an invisible engine in the covert.
Such, at least, was the experience of a young fellow of five-and-twenty,
who, knapsack on back and stick in hand, had turned aside from the
highway and entered the woods one pleasant afternoon in July. But he
was evidently a deliberate pedestrian, and not a recent deposit of
the proceeding stage-coach; and although his stout walking-shoes were
covered with dust, he had neither the habitual slouch and slovenliness
of the tramp, nor the hurried fatigue and growing negligence of an
involuntary wayfarer. His clothes, which were strong and serviceable,
were better fitted for their present usage than the ordinary garments
of the Californian travellers, which were too apt to be either above or
below their requirements. But perhaps the stranger's greatest claim to
originality was the absence of any weapon in his equipment. He carried
neither rifle nor gun in his hand, and his narrow leathern belt was
empty of either knife or revolver.
A half-mile from the main road, which seemed to him to have dropped out
of sight the moment he had left it, he came upon a half-cleared area,
where the hastily-cut stumps of pines, of irregular height, bore an odd
resemblance to the broken columns of some vast and ruined temple. A few
fallen shafts, denuded of their bark and tessellated branches, sawn into
symmetrical cylinders, lay beside the stumps, and lent themselves to the
illusion. But the freshly-cut chips, so damp that they still clung in
layers to each other as they had fallen from the axe, and the stumps
themselves, still wet and viscous from their drained life-blood, were
redolent of an odor of youth and freshness.
The young man seated himself on one of the logs and deeply inhaled the
sharp balsamic fragrance--albeit with a slight cough and a later hurried
respiration. This, and a certain drawn look about his upper lip,
seemed to indicate, in spite of his strength and color, some pulmonary
weakness. He, however, rose after a moment's rest with undiminished
energy and cheerfulness, readjusted his knapsack, and began to lightly
pick his way across the fallen timber. A few paces on, the muffled whir
of machinery became more audible, with the lazy, monotonous command
of "Gee thar," from some unseen ox-driver. Presently, the slow,
deliberately-swaying heads of a team of oxen emerged from the bushes,
followed by the clanking chain of the "skids" of sawn planks, which they
were ponderously dragging with that ostentatious submissiveness peculiar
to their species. They had nearly passed him when there was a sudden
hitch in the procession. From where he stood he could see that a
projecting plank had struck a pile of chips and become partly imbedded
in it. To run to the obstruction and, with a few dexterous strokes and
the leverage of his stout stick, dislodge the plank was the work not
only of the moment but of an evidently energetic hand. The teamster
looked back and merely nodded his appreciation, and with a "Gee up! Out
of that, now!" the skids moved on.
"Much obliged, there!" said a hearty voice, as if supplementing the
teamster's imperfect acknowledgment.
The stranger looked up. The voice came from the open, sashless,
shutterless window of a rude building--a mere shell of boards and beams
half hidden in the still leafy covert before him. He had completely
overlooked it in his approach, even as he had ignored the nearer
throbbing of the machinery, which was so violent as to impart a decided
tremor to the slight edifice, and to shake the speaker so strongly that
he was obliged while speaking to steady himself by the sashless frame
of the window at which he stood. He had a face of good-natured and alert
intelligence, a master's independence and authority of manner, in spite
of his blue jean overalls and flannel shirt.
"Don't mention it," said the stranger, smiling with equal but more
deliberate good-humor. Then, seeing that his interlocutor still
lingered a hospitable moment in spite of his quick eyes and the jarring
impatience of the machinery, he added hesitatingly, "I fancy I've
wandered off the track a bit. Do you know a Mr. Bradley--somewhere
here?"
The stranger's hesitation seemed to be more from some habitual
conscientiousness of statement than awkwardness. The man in the window
replied, "I'm Bradley."
"Ah! Thank you: I've a letter for you--somewhere. Here it is." He
produced a note from his breast-pocket. Bradley stooped to a sitting
posture in the window. "Pitch it up." It was thrown and caught cleverly.
Bradley opened it, read it hastily, smiled and nodded, glanced behind
him as if to implore further delay from the impatient machinery, leaned
perilously from the window, and said,--
"Look here! Do you see that silver-fir straight ahead?"
"Yes."
"A little to the left there's a trail. Follow it and skirt along the
edge of the canyon until you see my house. Ask for my wife--that's Mrs.
Bradley--and give her your letter. Stop!" He drew a carpenter's pencil
from his pocket, scrawled two or three words across the open sheet
and tossed it back to the stranger. "See you at tea! Excuse me--Mr.
Mainwaring--we're short-handed--and--the engine--" But here he
disappeared suddenly.
Without glancing at the note again, the stranger quietly replaced it
in his pocket, and struck out across the fallen trunks towards the
silver-fir. He quickly found the trail indicated by Bradley, although it
was faint and apparently worn by a single pair of feet as a shorter and
private cut from some more travelled path. It was well for the stranger
that he had a keen eye or he would have lost it; it was equally
fortunate that he had a mountaineering instinct, for a sudden profound
deepening of the blue mist seen dimly through the leaves before him
caused him to slacken his steps. The trail bent abruptly to the right;
a gulf fully two thousand feet deep was at his feet! It was the Great
Canyon.
At the first glance it seemed so narrow that a rifle-shot could have
crossed its tranquil depths; but a second look at the comparative size
of the trees on the opposite mountain convinced him of his error. A
nearer survey of the abyss also showed him that instead of its walls
being perpendicular they were made of successive ledges or terraces to
the valley below. Yet the air was so still, and the outlines so clearly
cut, that they might have been only the reflections of the mountains
around him cast upon the placid mirror of a lake. The spectacle arrested
him, as it arrested all men, by some occult power beyond the mere
attraction of beauty or magnitude; even the teamster never passed
it without the tribute of a stone or broken twig tossed into its
immeasurable profundity.
Reluctantly leaving the spot, the stranger turned with the trail that
now began to skirt its edge. This was no easy matter, as the undergrowth
was very thick, and the foliage dense to the perilous brink of the
precipice. He walked on, however, wondering why Bradley had chosen so
circuitous and dangerous a route to his house, which naturally would
be some distance back from the canyon. At the end of ten minutes'
struggling through the "brush," the trail became vague, and, to all
appearances, ended. Had he arrived? The thicket was as dense as before;
through the interstices of leaf and spray he could see the blue void of
the canyon at his side, and he even fancied that the foliage ahead of
him was more symmetrical and less irregular, and was touched here and
there with faint bits of color. To complete his utter mystification,
a woman's voice, very fresh, very youthful, and by no means unmusical,
rose apparently from the circumambient air. He looked hurriedly to the
right and left, and even hopelessly into the trees above him.
"Yes," said the voice, as if renewing a suspended conversation, "it
was too funny for anything. There were the two Missouri girls from
Skinner's, with their auburn hair ringleted, my dear, like the old
'Books of Beauty'--in white frocks and sashes of an unripe greenish
yellow, that puckered up your mouth like persimmons. One of them was
speechless from good behavior, and the other--well! the other was
so energetic she called out the figures before the fiddler did, and
shrieked to my vis-a-vis to dance up to the entire stranger--meaning ME,
if you please."
The voice appeared to come from the foliage that overhung the canyon,
and the stranger even fancied he could detect through the shimmering
leafy veil something that moved monotonously to and fro. Mystified and
impatient, he made a hurried stride forward, his foot struck a wooden
step, and the next moment the mystery was made clear. He had almost
stumbled upon the end of a long veranda that projected over the abyss
before a low, modern dwelling, till then invisible, nestling on its
very brink. The symmetrically-trimmed foliage he had noticed were the
luxuriant Madeira vines that hid the rude pillars of the veranda; the
moving object was a rocking-chair, with its back towards the intruder,
that disclosed only the brown hair above, and the white skirts and small
slippered feet below, of a seated female figure. In the mean time, a
second voice from the interior of the house had replied to the figure in
the chair, who was evidently the first speaker:--
"It must have been very funny; but as long as Jim is always bringing
somebody over from the mill, I don't see how I can go to those places.
You were lucky, my dear, to escape from the new Division Superintendent
last night; he was insufferable to Jim with his talk of his friend the
San Francisco millionaire, and to me with his cheap society airs. I do
hate a provincial fine gentleman."
The situation was becoming embarrassing to the intruder. At the
apparition of the woman, the unaffected and simple directness he had
previously shown in his equally abrupt contact with Bradley had fled
utterly; confused by the awkwardness of his arrival, and shocked at the
idea of overhearing a private conversation, he stepped hurriedly on the
veranda.
"Well? go on!" said the second voice impatiently. "Well, who else was
there? WHAT did you say? I don't hear you. What's the matter?"
The seated figure had risen from her chair, and turned a young and
pretty face somewhat superciliously towards the stranger, as she said in
a low tone to her unseen auditor, "Hush! there is somebody here."
The young man came forward with an awkwardness that was more boyish than
rustic. His embarrassment was not lessened by the simultaneous entrance
from the open door of a second woman, apparently as young as and
prettier than the first.
"I trust you'll excuse me for--for--being so wretchedly stupid," he
stammered, "but I really thought, you know, that--that--I was following
the trail to--to--the front of the house, when I stumbled in--in here."
Long before he had finished, both women, by some simple feminine
intuition, were relieved and even prepossessed by his voice and manner.
They smiled graciously. The later-comer pointed to the empty chair. But
with his habit of pertinacious conscientiousness the stranger continued,
"It was regularly stupid, wasn't it?--and I ought to have known better.
I should have turned back and gone away when I found out what an ass I
was likely to be, but I was--afraid--you know, of alarming you by the
noise."
"Won't you sit down?" said the second lady, pleasantly.
"Oh, thanks! I've a letter here--I"--he transferred his stick and hat
to his left hand as he felt in his breast-pocket with his right. But the
action was so awkward that the stick dropped on the veranda. Both women
made a movement to restore it to its embarrassed owner, who, however,
quickly anticipated them. "Pray don't mind it," he continued, with
accelerated breath and heightened color. "Ah, here's the letter!" He
produced the note Bradley had returned to him. "It's mine, in
fact--that is, I brought it to Mr. Bradley. He said I was to give it
to--to--to--Mrs. Bradley." He paused, glancing embarrassedly from the
one to the other.
"I'm Mrs. Bradley," said the prettiest one, with a laugh. He handed her
the letter. It ran as follows:--
"DEAR BRADLEY--Put Mr. Mainwaring through as far as he wants to go, or
hang him up at The Lookout, just as he likes. The Bank's behind him, and
his hat's chalked all over the Road; but he don't care much about being
on velvet. That ain't his style--and you'll like him. He's somebody's
son in England. B."
Mrs. Bradley glanced simply at the first sentence. "Pray sit down, Mr.
Mainwaring," she said gently; "or, rather, let me first introduce my
cousin--Miss Macy."
"Thanks," said Mainwaring, with a bow to Miss Macy, "but
I--I--I--think," he added conscientiously, "you did not notice that your
husband had written something across the paper."
Mrs. Bradley smiled, and glanced at her husband's indorsement--"All
right. Wade in." "It's nothing but Jim's slang," she said, with a laugh
and a slightly heightened color. "He ought not to have sent you by that
short cut; it's a bother, and even dangerous for a stranger. If you had
come directly to US by the road, without making your first call at
the mill," she added, with a touch of coquetry, "you would have had a
pleasanter walk, and seen US sooner. I suppose, however, you got off the
stage at the mill?"
"I was not on the coach," said Mainwaring, unfastening the strap of his
knapsack. "I walked over from Lone Pine Flat."
"Walked!" echoed both women in simultaneous astonishment.
"Yes," returned Mainwaring simply, laying aside his burden and taking
the proffered seat. "It's a very fine bit of country."
"Why, it's fifteen miles," said Mrs. Bradley, glancing horror-stricken
at her cousin. "How dreadful! And to think Jim could have sent you a
horse to Lone Pine. Why, you must be dead!"
"Thanks, I'm all right! I rather enjoyed it, you know."
"But," said Miss Macy, glancing wonderingly at his knapsack, "you must
want something, a change--or some refreshment--after fifteen miles."
"Pray don't disturb yourself," said Mainwaring, rising hastily, but not
quickly enough to prevent the young girl from slipping past him into the
house, whence she rapidly returned with a decanter and glasses.
"Perhaps Mr. Mainwaring would prefer to go into Jim's room and wash his
hands and put on a pair of slippers?" said Mrs. Bradley, with gentle
concern.
"Thanks, no. I really am not tired. I sent some luggage yesterday by the
coach to the Summit Hotel," he said, observing the women's eyes still
fixed upon his knapsack. "I dare say I can get them if I want them.
I've got a change here," he continued, lifting the knapsack as if with a
sudden sense of its incongruity with its surroundings, and depositing it
on the end of the veranda.
"Do let it remain where it is," said Mrs. Bradley, greatly amused, "and
pray sit still and take some refreshment. You'll make yourself ill
after your exertions," she added, with a charming assumption of matronly
solicitude.
"But I'm not at all deserving of your sympathy," said Mainwaring, with
a laugh. "I'm awfully fond of walking, and my usual constitutional isn't
much under this."
"Perhaps you were stronger than you are now," said Mrs. Bradley, gazing
at him with a frank curiosity that, however, brought a faint deepening
of color to his cheek.
"I dare say you're right," he said suddenly, with an apologetic smile.
"I quite forgot that I'm a sort of an invalid, you know, travelling
for my health. I'm not very strong here," he added, lightly tapping
his chest, that now, relieved of the bands of his knapsack, appeared
somewhat thin and hollow in spite of his broad shoulders. His voice,
too, had become less clear and distinct.
Mrs. Bradley, who was still watching him, here rose potentially. "You
ought to take more care of yourself," she said. "You should begin by
eating this biscuit, drinking that glass of whiskey, and making yourself
more comfortable in Jim's room until we can get the spare room fixed a
little."
"But I am not to be sent to bed--am I?" asked Mainwaring, in half-real,
half-amused consternation.
"I'm not so sure of that," said Mrs. Bradley, with playful precision.
"But for the present we'll let you off with a good wash and a nap
afterwards in that rocking-chair, while my cousin and I make some
little domestic preparations. You see," she added with a certain proud
humility, "we've got only one servant--a Chinaman, and there are many
things we can't leave to him."
The color again rose in Mainwaring's cheek, but he had tact enough to
reflect that any protest or hesitation on his part at that moment would
only increase the difficulties of his gentle entertainers. He allowed
himself to be ushered into the house by Mrs. Bradley, and shown to her
husband's room, without perceiving that Miss Macy had availed herself of
his absence to run to the end of the veranda, mischievously try to
lift the discarded knapsack to her own pretty shoulder, but, failing,
heroically stagger with it into the passage and softly deposit it at his
door. This done, she pantingly rejoined her cousin in the kitchen.
"Well," said Mrs. Bradley, emphatically. "DID you ever? Walking fifteen
miles for pleasure--and with such lungs!"
"And that knapsack!" added Louise Macy, pointing to the mark in her
little palm where the strap had imbedded itself in the soft flesh.
"He's nice, though; isn't he?" said Mrs. Bradley, tentatively.
"Yes," said Miss Macy, "he isn't, certainly, one of those provincial
fine gentlemen you object to. But DID you see his shoes? I suppose they
make the miles go quickly, or seem to measure less by comparison."
"They're probably more serviceable than those high-heeled things that
Captain Greyson hops about in."
"But the Captain always rides--and rides very well--you know," said
Louise, reflectively. There was a moment's pause.
"I suppose Jim will tell us all about him," said Mrs. Bradley,
dismissing the subject, as she turned her sleeves back over her white
arms, preparatory to grappling certain culinary difficulties.
"Jim," observed Miss Macy, shortly, "in my opinion, knows nothing more
than his note says. That's like Jim."
"There's nothing more to know, really," said Mrs. Bradley, with a
superior air. "He's undoubtedly the son of some Englishman of fortune,
sent out here for his health."
"Hush!"
Miss Macy had heard a step in the passage. It halted at last, half
irresolutely, before the open door of the kitchen, and the stranger
appeared with an embarrassed air.
But in his brief absence he seemed to have completely groomed himself,
and stood there, the impersonation of close-cropped, clean, and
wholesome English young manhood. The two women appreciated it with
cat-like fastidiousness.
"I beg your pardon; but really you're going to let a fellow do something
for you," he said, "just to keep him from looking like a fool. I really
can do no end of things, you know, if you'll try me. I've done some
camping-out, and can cook as well as the next man."
The two women made a movement of smiling remonstrance, half coquettish,
and half superior, until Mrs. Bradley, becoming conscious of her bare
arms and the stranger's wandering eyes, faintly, and said with
more decision:--
"Certainly not. You'd only be in the way. Besides, you need rest more
than we do. Put yourself in the rocking-chair in the veranda, and go to
sleep until Mr. Bradley comes."
Mainwaring saw that she was serious, and withdrew, a little ashamed at
his familiarity into which his boyishness had betrayed him. But he had
scarcely seated himself in the rocking-chair before Miss Macy appeared,
carrying with both hands a large tin basin of unshelled peas.
"There," she said pantingly, placing her burden in his lap, "if you
really want to help, there's something to do that isn't very fatiguing.
You may shell these peas."
"SHELL them--I beg pardon, but how?" he asked, with smiling earnestness.
"How? Why, I'll show you--look."
She frankly stepped beside him, so close that her full-skirted dress
half encompassed him and the basin in a delicious confusion, and,
leaning over his lap, with her left hand picked up a pea-cod, which,
with a single movement of her charming little right thumb, she broke at
the end, and stripped the green shallow of its tiny treasures.
He watched her with smiling eyes; her own, looking down on him, were
very bright and luminous. "There; that's easy enough," she said, and
turned away.
"But--one moment, Miss--Miss--?"
"Macy," said louise.
"Where am I to put the shells?"
"Oh! throw them down there--there's room enough."
She was pointing to the canyon below. The veranda actually projected
over its brink, and seemed to hang in mid air above it. Mainwaring
almost mechanically threw his arm out to catch the incautious girl, who
had stepped heedlessly to its extreme edge.
"How odd! Don't you find it rather dangerous here?" he could not help
saying. "I mean--you might have had a railing that wouldn't intercept
the view and yet be safe?"
"It's a fancy of Mr. Bradley's," returned the young girl carelessly.
"It's all like this. The house was built on a ledge against the side of
the precipice, and the road suddenly drops down to it."
"It's tremendously pretty, all the same, you know," said the young man
thoughtfully, gazing, however, at the girl's rounded chin above him.
"Yes," she replied curtly. "But this isn't working. I must go back to
Jenny. You can shell the peas until Mr. Bradley comes home. He won't be
long."
She turned away, and re-entered the house. Without knowing why, he
thought her withdrawal abrupt, and he was again feeling his ready color
rise with the suspicion of either having been betrayed by the young
girl's innocent fearlessness into some unpardonable familiarity, which
she had quietly resented, or of feeling an ease and freedom in the
company of these two women that were inconsistent with respect, and
should be restrained.
He, however, began to apply himself to the task given to him with his
usual conscientiousness of duty, and presently acquired a certain manual
dexterity in the operation. It was "good fun" to throw the cast-off
husks into the mighty unfathomable void before him, and watch them
linger with suspended gravity in mid air for a moment--apparently
motionless--until they either lost themselves, a mere vanishing black
spot in the thin ether, or slid suddenly at a sharp angle into unknown
shadow. How deuced odd for him to be sitting here in this fashion! It
would be something to talk of hereafter, and yet,--he stopped--it was
not at all in the line of that characteristic adventure, uncivilized
novelty, and barbarous freedom which for the last month he had sought
and experienced. It was not at all like his meeting with the grizzly
last week while wandering in a lonely canyon; not a bit in the line of
his chance acquaintance with that notorious ruffian, Spanish Jack, or
his witnessing with his own eyes that actual lynching affair at Angels.
No! Nor was it at all characteristic, according to his previous ideas of
frontier rural seclusion--as for instance the Pike County cabin of the
family where he stayed one night, and where the handsome daughter asked
him what his Christian name was. No! These two young women were very
unlike her; they seemed really quite the equals of his family and
friends in England,--perhaps more attractive,--and yet, yes, it was
this very attractiveness that alarmed his inbred social conservatism
regarding women. With a man it was very different; that alert, active,
intelligent husband, instinct with the throbbing life of his saw-mill,
creator and worker in one, challenged his unqualified trust and
admiration.
He had become conscious for the last minute or two of thinking rapidly
and becoming feverishly excited; of breathing with greater difficulty,
and a renewed tendency to cough. The tendency increased until he
instinctively put aside the pan from his lap and half rose. But even
that slight exertion brought on an accession of coughing. He put his
handkerchief to his lips, partly to keep the sound from disturbing the
women in the kitchen, partly because of a certain significant taste
in his mouth which he unpleasantly remembered. When he removed the
handkerchief it was, as he expected, spotted with blood. He turned
quickly and re-entered the house softly, regaining the bedroom without
attracting attention. An increasing faintness here obliged him to lie
down on the bed until it should pass.
Everything was quiet. He hoped they would not discover his absence from
the veranda until he was better; it was deucedly awkward that he should
have had this attack just now--and after he had made so light of his
previous exertions. They would think him an effeminate fraud, these two
bright, active women and that alert, energetic man. A faint | 900.056704 |
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