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Transcribed from the 1912 John Murray edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: George Borrow from the picture in the possession of John
Murray]
| 900.056947 |
2023-11-16 18:32:04.2344530 | 2,290 | 10 |
Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 734. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE STORY OF THIERS.
In a densely populated street of the quaint sea-port of Marseilles
there dwelt a poor locksmith and his family, who were so hard pressed
by the dearness of provisions and the general hardness of the times,
that the rent and taxes for the wretched tenement which they called
a home had been allowed to fall many weeks into arrear. But the good
people struggled on against their poverty; and the locksmith (who
was the son of a ruined cloth-merchant), though fallen to the humble
position of a dock-porter, still managed to wade through life as if
he had been born to opulence. This poor labourer’s name was Thiers,
and his wife was a descendant of the poet Chenier; the two being
destined to become the parents of Louis Adolphe Thiers, one of the most
remarkable men that ever lived.
The hero of our story was at his birth mentally consigned to oblivion
by his parents, while the neighbours laughed at the ungainly child,
and prognosticated for him all kinds of evil in the future. And it is
more than probable that these evil auguries would have been fulfilled
had it not been for the extraordinary care bestowed upon him by his
grandmother. But for her, perhaps our story had never been written.
Under her fostering care the child survived all those diseases which
were, according to the gossips, to prove fatal to him; but while his
limbs remained almost stationary, his head and chest grew larger, until
he became a veritable dwarf. By his mother’s influence with the family
of André Chenier, the lad was enabled to enter the Marseilles Lyceum
at the age of nine; and here the remarkable head and chest kept the
promise they made in his infancy, and soon fulfilled Madame Thiers’
predictions.
Louis Adolphe Thiers was a brilliant though somewhat erratic pupil. He
was noted for his practical jokes, his restlessness, and the ready and
ingenious manner in which he always extricated himself from any scrapes
into which his bold and restless disposition had led him. Thus the
child in this case would appear to have been ‘father to the man,’ by
the manner in which he afterwards released his beloved country from one
of the greatest ‘scrapes’ she ever experienced.
On leaving school Thiers studied for the law, and was eventually called
to the bar, though he never practised as a lawyer. He became instead
a local politician; and so well did the rôle suit him, that he soon
evinced a strong desire to try his fortune in Paris itself. He swayed
his auditory, when speaking, in spite of his diminutive stature,
Punch-like physiognomy, and shrill piping speech; and shout and yell
as his adversaries might, they could not drown his voice, for it arose
clear and distinct above all the hubbub around him. While the studious
youth was thus making himself a name in his native town, he was ever on
the watch for an opportunity to transfer his fortunes to the capital.
His almost penniless condition, however, precluded him from carrying
out his design without extraneous assistance of some kind or other;
but when such a stupendous ambition as that of governing one of the
greatest nations of the earth filled the breast of the Marseilles
student, it was not likely that the opportunity he was seeking would be
long in coming.
The Academy of Aix offered a prize of a few hundred francs for a
eulogium on _Vauvenargues_, and here was the opportunity which Louis
Adolphe Thiers required. He determined to compete for the prize,
and wrote out two copies of his essay, one of which he sent to the
Academy’s Secretary, and the other he submitted to the judgment of
his friends. This latter indiscretion, however, would appear to have
been the cause of his name being mentioned to the Academicians as a
competitor; and as they had a spite against him, and disapproved of his
opinions, they decided to reject any essay which he might submit to
them.
On the day of the competition they were as good as their word, and
Thiers received back his essay with only an ‘honourable mention’
attached to it. The votes, however, had been equally divided, and the
principal prize could not be adjudged until the next session. The
future statesman and brilliant journalist was not, however, to be cast
aside in this contemptuous manner, and he accordingly adopted a _ruse
de guerre_, which was perfectly justifiable under the circumstances. He
sent back his first essay for the second competition with his own name
attached thereto, and at the same time transmitted another essay, by
means of a friend, through the Paris post-office. This paper was signed
‘Louis Duval;’ and as M. Thiers knew that they had resolved to reject
his essay and accept the next best on the list, he made it as near as
possible equal to the other in point of merit.
The Academicians were thoroughly out-generalled by this clever
artifice, and the prize was awarded to the essay signed ‘Louis Duval;’
but the chagrin of the dons when the envelope was opened and the name
of Louis Adolphe Thiers was read out, can be better imagined than
described. The prize, which amounted to about twenty pounds, was
added to another sum of forty pounds gained by his friend Mignet for
essay-writing; and with this modest amount, the two friends set out
on their journey to Paris. On their arrival there, both of them were
at once engaged as writers on the _Globe_ newspaper, and M. Thiers’
articles soon attracted such attention that the highest political
destinies were predicted for their author.
Alluding to the small stature of our hero, Prince Talleyrand once
said: ‘_Il est petit, mais il grandira!_’ (He is little, but he will
be great!) Meanwhile, the young adventurer, as we may call him, was
engaged on general literary work for the press, writing political
leaders one day, art-criticisms the next, and so on, until a publisher
asked him to write the _History of the French Revolution_. He accepted;
and when published, the work met with so great a success that it placed
him in the front rank of literature, and gained for him the proud title
of ‘National Historian.’ After this the two friends published the
_National_ newspaper, an undertaking which we are told was conceived
in Talleyrand’s house, and was largely subscribed to by the Duke
of Orleans, afterwards King Louis-Philippe. M. Thiers disliked the
Bourbons; and when, in 1829, Charles X. dissolved a liberal parliament,
he took the lead in agitating for the reinstating of the people’s
rights. The king having determined to reply to the re-election of the
‘221’ by a _coup d’état_, the nature of which was secretly communicated
to M. Thiers, the latter hastened to the office of the _National_
and drew up the celebrated Protest of the Journalists, which before
noon was signed by every writer on the liberal side. As M. Thiers was
leaving the office, a servant of Prince Talleyrand placed in his hand a
note, which simply bore the words, ‘Go and gather cherries.’ This was a
hint that danger was near the young patriot, and that he should repair
to the house of one of the Prince’s friends at Montmorency--a place
famous for its cherries--and there lie hidden until the storm had blown
over.
M. Thiers did not immediately accept the hint, but remained in the
capital during the day, to watch the course of events and endeavour to
prevent his friends from doing anything rash. He energetically sought
to dissuade those who were for resisting the king’s decree by force of
arms; but did not succeed. When the barricades were raised, he left
Paris, because he thought that the people were doing an unwise thing,
which would lead to a fearful slaughter, and perhaps result in himself
and friends being shot.
When, however, the battle between the army and the people had really
begun, the indomitable little man returned to Paris, and heedless of
the bullets that were flying about, he ran here and there trying to
collect adherents for the Duke of Orleans. He also had a proclamation
of the Duke, as king, printed, rushed out with it, damp as it was from
the press, and distributed copies to the victorious insurgents; but
this operation nearly cost him his life, for the crowds on the Place
de la Bourse were shouting for a republic, and a cry was immediately
raised to lynch M. Thiers. He only escaped by dashing into a
pastry-cook’s shop, and taking a header down the open cellar which led
to the kitchen.
Nothing daunted by this _contretemps_, however, he sought out M.
Scheffer, an intimate friend of the Duke of Orleans, and started off
for Neuilly with him (without consulting anybody else), to offer the
crown of France to the Duke. When they found the Duke, he despatched
M. Thiers to Prince Talleyrand to ask his advice on the subject; and
the latter, who was in bed at the time, said: ‘Let him accept;’ but
positively refused to put this advice in writing. Thus the Duke of
Orleans became King of the French under the name of Louis-Philippe, and
the Marseilles student found himself a step nearer the accomplishment
of his aim. The poor locksmith’s son had overthrown one king and
established another!
It was M. Thiers who caused the remains of Napoleon to be removed from
the gloomy resting-place in St Helena to the church of the Invalides in
Paris, where they were re-interred amid great pomp and circumstance.
He it was who also invented or gave currency to the now well-known
constitutional maxim, ‘The king reigns, but does not govern.’
In this reign | 900.254493 |
2023-11-16 18:32:04.2378450 | 1,343 | 10 | VOLUME VII (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Paul Murray, Lisa Reigel, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes links to images of the original pages.
See 25261-h.htm or 25261-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/5/2/6/25261/25261-h.zip)
The index for the entire 8 volume set of _History of
the English People_ was located at the end of Volume
VIII. For ease in accessibility, it has been removed
and produced as a separate volume
(http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/25533).
HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH PEOPLE
by
JOHN RICHARD GREEN, M.A.
Honorary Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford
VOLUME VII
THE REVOLUTION, 1683-1760. MODERN ENGLAND, 1760-1767
London
MacMillan and Co., Ltd.
New York: MacMillan & Co.
1896
First Edition 1879; Reprinted 1882, 1886, 1891.
Eversley Edition, 1896.
CONTENTS
BOOK VIII
THE REVOLUTION. 1683-1760
CHAPTER III
PAGE
THE FALL OF THE STUARTS. 1683-1714. 1
CHAPTER IV
THE HOUSE OF HANOVER. 1714-1760. 147
BOOK IX
MODERN ENGLAND. 1760-1815
CHAPTER I
ENGLAND AND ITS EMPIRE. 1760-1767. 273
CHAPTER III
THE FALL OF THE STUARTS
1683-1714
[Sidenote: The King's Triumph.]
In 1683 the Constitutional opposition which had held Charles so long in
check lay crushed at his feet. A weaker man might easily have been led
to play the mere tyrant by the mad outburst of loyalty which greeted his
triumph. On the very day when the crowd around Russell's scaffold were
dipping their handkerchiefs in his blood as in the blood of a martyr the
University of Oxford solemnly declared that the doctrine of passive
obedience even to the worst of rulers was a part of religion. But
Charles saw that immense obstacles still lay in the road of a mere
tyranny. Ormond and the great Tory party which had rallied to his
succour against the Exclusionists were still steady for parliamentary
and legal government. The Church was as powerful as ever, and the
mention of a renewal of the Indulgence to Nonconformists had to be
withdrawn before the opposition of the bishops. He was careful therefore
during the few years which remained to him to avoid the appearance of
any open violation of public law. He suspended no statute. He imposed no
tax by Royal authority. Galling to the Crown as the freedom of the press
and the Habeas Corpus Act were soon found to be, Charles made no attempt
to curtail the one or to infringe the other. But while cautious to avoid
rousing popular resistance, he moved coolly and resolutely forward on
the path of despotism. It was in vain that Halifax pressed for energetic
resistance to the aggressions of France, for the recall of Monmouth, or
for the calling of a fresh Parliament. Like every other English
statesman he found he had been duped. Now that his work was done he was
suffered to remain in office but left without any influence in the
government. Hyde, who was created Earl of Rochester, still remained at
the head of the Treasury; but Charles soon gave more of his confidence
to the supple and acute Sunderland, who atoned for his desertion of the
king's cause in the heat of the Exclusion Bill by an acknowledgement of
his error and a pledge of entire accordance with the king's will.
[Sidenote: New Town Charters.]
The protests both of Halifax and of Danby, who was now released from the
Tower, in favour of a return to Parliaments were treated with
indifference, the provisions of the Triennial Act were disregarded, and
the Houses remained unassembled during the remainder of the king's
reign. His secret alliance with France furnished Charles with the funds
he immediately required, and the rapid growth of the customs through the
increase of English commerce promised to give him a revenue which, if
peace were preserved, would save him from any further need of fresh
appeals to the Commons. Charles was too wise however to look upon
Parliaments as utterly at an end: and he used this respite to secure a
House of Commons which should really be at his disposal. The strength of
the Country party had been broken by its own dissensions over the
Exclusion Bill and by the flight or death of its more prominent leaders.
Whatever strength it retained lay chiefly in the towns, whose
representation was for the most part virtually or directly in the hands
of their corporations, and whose corporations, like the merchant class
generally, were in sympathy Whig. The towns were now attacked by writs
of "quo warranto," which called on them to show cause why their charters
should not be declared forfeited on the ground of abuse of their
privileges. A few verdicts on the side of the Crown brought about a
general surrender of municipal liberties; and the grant of fresh
charters, in which all but ultra-loyalists were carefully excluded from
their corporations, placed the representation of the boroughs in the
hands of the Crown. Against active discontent Charles had long been
quietly providing by the gradual increase of his Guards. The withdrawal
of its garrison from Tangier enabled him to raise their force to nine
thousand well-equipped soldiers, and to supplement this force, the
nucleus of our present standing army, by a reserve of six regiments
which were maintained till they should | 900.257885 |
2023-11-16 18:32:04.7351140 | 373 | 9 |
Produced by Neville Allen,Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 98.
MAY 3, 1890.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.
[Illustration]
No. X.--TOMMY AND HIS SISTER JANE.
Once more we draw upon our favourite source of inspiration--the poems of
the Misses TAYLOR. The dramatist is serenely confident that the new
London County Council Censor of Plays, whenever that much-desired
official is appointed, will highly approve of this little piece on
account of the multiplicity of its morals. It is intended to teach,
amongst other useful lessons, that--as the poem on which it is founded
puts it--"Fruit in lanes is seldom good"; also, that it is not always
prudent to take a hint; again, that constructive murder is distinctly
reprehensible, and should never be indulged in by persons who cannot
control their countenances afterwards. Lastly, that suicide may often be
averted by the exercise of a little _savoir vivre._
CHARACTERS.
_Tommy and his Sister Jane (Taylorian Twins, and awful examples)._
_Their Wicked Uncle (plagiarised from a forgotten Nursery Story, and
slightly altered)._
_Old Farmer Copeer (skilled in the use of horse and cattle medicines)._
SCENE--_A shady lane; on the right, a gate, leading to the farm; left,
some bushes, covered with practicable scarlet berries._
_Enter | 900.755154 |
2023-11-16 18:32:04.7353260 | 7,436 | 10 | TELEGRAPH***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Stephen H. Sentoff, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 34765-h.htm or 34765-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34765/34765-h/34765-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34765/34765-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/storyofatlantict00fielrich
THE STORY OF THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH
by
HENRY M. FIELD
* * * * *
DR. FIELD'S BOOKS OF TRAVEL.
FROM THE LAKES OF KILLARNEY TO THE GOLDEN HORN. Crown 8vo,
$2.00.
FROM EGYPT TO JAPAN. Crown 8vo, $2.00.
ON THE DESERT. Crown 8vo, $2.00.
AMONG THE HOLY HILLS. With a map. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
THE GREEK ISLANDS, and Turkey after the War. With illustrations
and maps. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
OLD SPAIN AND NEW SPAIN. With map. Crown 8vo, $1.50.
BRIGHT SKIES AND DARK SHADOWS. With maps. Crown 8vo, $1.50
_The set, 7 vols., in a box, $12.00._
OUR WESTERN ARCHIPELAGO. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $2.00.
THE BARBARY COAST. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $2.00.
GIBRALTAR. Illustrated. Small 4to, $2.00.
THE STORY OF THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Cyrus W. Field.]
THE STORY OF THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH
by
HENRY M. FIELD
"Since the discovery of Columbus, nothing has been done in any degree
comparable to the vast enlargement which has thus been given to the
sphere of human activity."
--THE TIMES, August 6th, 1858.
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1898
Copyright, 1892, by
Henry M. Field.
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
PREFACE
The recent death of Mr. Cyrus W. Field recalls attention to the great
enterprise with which his name will be forever associated. "The Atlantic
Telegraph," said the late Chief Justice Chase, "is the most wonderful
achievement of civilization, and entitles its author to a distinguished
rank among public benefactors. High upon that illustrious roll will his
name be placed, and there will it remain while oceans divide, and
telegraphs unite, mankind." The memory of such an achievement the world
should not let die. The story of its varied fortunes reads like a tale
of adventure. From the beginning it was a series of battles, fighting
against the elements and against the unbelief of men. This long struggle
the new generation may forget, profiting by the result, but thinking
little of the means by which it was attained. What toil of hand and
brain had gone before; what days and nights of watching and weariness;
how often hope deferred had made the heart sick: how year after year had
dragged on, and seen the end still afar off--all that is dimly
remembered, even by those who reap the fruits of victory. And yet in the
history of human achievements, it is necessary to trace these
beginnings step by step, if we would learn the lesson they teach, that
it is only out of heroic patience and perseverance that anything truly
great is born.
Twelve years of unceasing toil was the price the Atlantic Telegraph cost
its projector; and not years lighted up by the assurance of success, but
that were often darkened with despair: years in which he was restlessly
crossing and recrossing the ocean, only to find on either side, worse
than storms and tempests, an incredulity which sneered at every failure,
and derided the attempt as a delusion and a dream. Against such
discouragements nothing could prevail but that faith, or fanaticism,
which, believing the incredible, achieves the impossible. Such a tale,
apart from the results, is in itself a lesson and an inspiration.
In attempting to chronicle all this, the relation of the writer to the
prime mover has given him facilities for obtaining the materials of an
authentic history; but he trusts that it will not lead him to overstep
the limits of modesty. Standing by a new-made grave, he has no wish to
indulge in undue praise even of the beloved dead. Enough for him is it
to unroll the canvas on which the chief actor stands forth as the
conspicuous figure. But in a work of such magnitude there are many
actors, and there is glory enough for all; and it is a sacred duty to
the dead to recognize, as he did, what was due to the brave companions
in arms, who stood by him in disaster and defeat; who believed in him
even when his own countrymen doubted and despaired; and furnished anew
men and money and ships for the final conquest of the sea. If history
records that the enterprise of the Atlantic Telegraph owed its inception
to the faith and daring of an American, it will also record that all his
ardor and activity would have been of no avail but for the science and
seamanship, the capital and the undaunted courage, of England. But when
all these conditions were supplied, it is the testimony of Englishmen
themselves that his was the spirit within the wheels that made them
revolve; that it was his intense vitality that infused itself into a
great organization, and made the dream of science the reality of the
world. This is not to his honor alone: it is a matter of national pride;
and Americans may be pardoned if, in the year in which they celebrate
the discovery of the continent, they recall that it was one of their
countrymen whom the Great Commoner of England, John Bright, pronounced
"the Columbus of our time, who, after no less than forty voyages across
the Atlantic in pursuit of the great aim of his life, had at length by
his cable moored the New World close alongside the Old." How the miracle
was wrought, it is the design of these pages to tell.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. Page 1
Discovery of the New World by Columbus. Relative Position
of the Two Hemispheres. Nearest Points--The Outlying
Islands, Ireland and Newfoundland. Shorter Route to Europe
suggested by Bishop Mullock. The Electric Telegraph Company
of Newfoundland. Project of Mr. F. N. Gisborne. Failure of
the Company
CHAPTER II. Page 15
Mr. Gisborne comes to New York. Is introduced to Cyrus W.
Field, who conceives the Idea of a Telegraph across the
Atlantic Ocean. Is it Practicable? Two Elements to be
mastered, the Sea and the Electric Current. Letters of
Lieutenant Maury and Professor Morse
CHAPTER III. Page 24
Mr. Field enlists Capitalists in the Enterprise. Commission
to Newfoundland to obtain a Charter. The New York,
Newfoundland, and London Telegraph Company
CHAPTER IV. Page 38
The Land-Line in Newfoundland. Four Hundred Miles of Road
to be built, a Work of Two Years. Attempt to lay a Cable
across the Gulf of St. Lawrence, in 1855, fails. A Second
Attempt, in 1856, is successful
CHAPTER V. Page 51
Deep-Sea Soundings by Lieutenant Berryman in the Dolphin in
1853, and the Arctic in 1856, and by Commander Dayman, of
the British Navy, in the Cyclops, in 1857. The Bed of the
Atlantic. The Telegraphic Plateau
CHAPTER VI. Page 69
Mr. Field in London. The English Engineers and
Electricians. Result of Experiments. The Atlantic Telegraph
Company organized. Applies to the Government for Aid.
Contract for a Cable
CHAPTER VII. Page 91
Mr. Field returns to America. Seeks Aid from the
Government. Opposition in Congress. Bill passed
CHAPTER VIII. Page 112
Return to England. The Niagara--Captain Hudson. The
Agamemnon. Expedition of 1857 sails from Ireland. Speech of
the Earl of Carlisle. The Cable broken
CHAPTER IX. Page 142
Preparations for an Expedition in 1858. Mr. Field is made
the General Manager of the Company. The Squadron assemble
at Plymouth, and put to Sea, June 10. New Method of laying
Cable, beginning in Mid-Ocean. The Agamemnon in Danger of
being Foundered. The Cable lost Three Times. The Ships
return to England. Meeting of the Directors. Shall they
abandon the Project? One Last Effort
CHAPTER X. Page 165
Second Expedition Successful. Cable landed in Ireland and
Newfoundland
CHAPTER XI. Page 188
Great Excitement in America. Celebration in New York and
other Cities
CHAPTER XII. Page 213
Sudden Stoppage of the Cable. Reaction of Public Feeling.
Suspicions of Bad Faith. Did the Cable ever work?
CHAPTER XIII. Page 229
Attempts to revive the Company. The Government asked for
Aid, but declines to give an Unconditional Guarantee.
Failure of the Red Sea Telegraph. Scientific Experiments.
Cables laid in the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf.
Brief History of the next Five Years
CHAPTER XIV. Page 241
The Enterprise renewed. Improvement on the Old Cable. The
Great Eastern and Captain Anderson. Expedition of 1865.
Twelve Hundred Miles laid safely, when the Cable is broken
CHAPTER XV. Page 293
Formation of a New Company, the Anglo-American. New Cable
made and shipped on Board the Great Eastern
CHAPTER XVI. Page 306
The Expedition of 1866. Immense Preparations. Religious
Service at Valentia. Sailing of the Fleet. Diary of the
Voyage. Cable landed at Heart's Content
CHAPTER XVII. Page 347
Return to Mid-Ocean to search for the Cable lost the Year
before. Dragging in the Deep Sea. Repeated Failures. Cable
finally recovered and completed to Newfoundland
CHAPTER XVIII. Page 376
The Afterglow. Honors conferred in England and America.
Commercial Revolution wrought by the Cable. Mr. Field and
the Elevated Railroads in New York City. Tour round the
World. Last Years. Death in 1892
STORY OF THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH
CHAPTER I.
THE BARRIER OF THE SEA.
When Columbus sailed from the shores of Spain, it was not in search of a
New World, but only to find a nearer path to the East. He sought a
western passage to India. He had adopted a traditionary belief that the
earth was round; but he did not once dream of another continent than the
three which had been the ancient abodes of the human race--Europe, Asia,
and Africa. All the rest was the great deep. The Florentine sage
Toscanelli, from his knowledge of the world so far as then discovered,
had made a chart, on which the eastern coast of Asia was represented as
lying opposite to the western coast of both Europe and Africa. Accepting
this theory, Columbus reasoned that he could sail direct from Spain to
India. No intervening continent existed even in his imagination. Even
after he had crossed the Atlantic, and descried the green woods of San
Salvador rising out of the western seas, he thought he saw before him
one of the islands of the Asiatic coast. Cuba he believed was a part of
the mainland of India; Hayti was the Ophir of King Solomon; and when,
on a later voyage, he came to the broad mouth of the Orinoco, and saw it
pouring its mighty flood into the Atlantic, he rejoiced that he had
found the great river Gihon, which had its rise in the garden of Eden!
Even to the hour of his death, he remained ignorant of the real extent
of his magnificent discovery. It was reserved to later times to lift the
curtain fully from the world of waters; to reveal the true magnitude of
the globe; and to unite the distant hemispheres by ties such as the
great discoverer never knew.
It is hard to imagine the darkness and the terror which then hung over
the face of the deep. The ocean to the west was a Mare Tenebrosum--a Sea
of Darkness, into which only the boldest voyagers dared to venture.
Columbus was the most successful navigator of his time. He had made
voyages to the Western Islands, to Madeira and the Canaries, to Iceland
on the north, and to the Portuguese settlements in Africa. But when he
came to cross the sea, he had to grope his way almost blindly. But a few
rays of knowledge glimmered, like stars, on the pathless waters. When he
sailed on his voyage of discovery, he directed his course, first to the
Canaries, which was a sort of outstation for the navigators of those
times, as the last place at which they could take in supplies; and
beyond which they were venturing into unknown seas. Here he turned to
the west, though inclining southward toward the tropics (for even the
great discoverers of that day, in their search for new realms to
conquer, were not above the consideration of riches as well as honor,
and somehow associated gems and gold with torrid climes), and bore away
for India!
From this route taken by the great navigator, he crossed the ocean in
its widest part. Had he, instead, followed the track of the Northmen,
who crept around from Iceland to Greenland and Labrador; or had he
sailed straight to the Azores, and then borne away to the north-west, he
would much sooner have descried land from the mast-head. But steering in
darkness, he crossed the Atlantic where it is broadest _and deepest_;
where, as submarine explorers have since shown, it rolls over mountains,
lofty as the Alps and the Himalayas, which lie buried beneath the
surface of the deep. But farther north the two continents, so widely
sundered, incline toward each other, as if inviting that closer relation
and freer intercourse which the fulness of time was to bring.
As the island of Newfoundland is to stand in the foreground of our
story, we observe on the map its salient geographical position. It holds
the same relation to America that Ireland does to Europe. Stretching far
out into the Atlantic, it is the vanguard of the western continent, or
rather the signal-tower from which the New World may speak to the Old.
And yet, though large as England, and so near our coast, few Americans
ever see it, as it lies out of the track of European commerce. Our
ships, though they skirt the Banks of Newfoundland, pass to the south,
and get but occasional glimpses of the headlands. Even what is seen
gives the country rather an ill reputation. It has a rockbound coast,
around which hang perpetual fogs and mists, through which great icebergs
drift slowly down, like huge phantoms of the deep, gliding away to be
dissolved by the warm breath of the Gulf Stream: dangers that warn the
voyager away from such a sea and shore.
Sailing west from Cape Race, and making the circuit of the island as far
as the Straits of Belle Isle, one is often reminded of the most northern
peninsula of Europe. The rocky shores are indented with numerous bays,
reaching far up into the land, like the fiords along the coast of
Norway; while the large herds of Caribou deer, that are seen feeding on
the hills, might easily be mistaken for the flocks of reindeer that
browse on the pastures and drink of the mountain torrents of ancient
Scandinavia.
The interior of the island is little known. Not only is it uninhabited,
it is almost unexplored, a boundless waste of rock and moor, where vast
forests stretch out their unbroken solitudes, and the wild bird utters
its lonely cry. Bears and wolves roam on the mountains. Especially
common is the large and fierce black wolf; while of the smaller animals,
whose skins furnish material for the fur-trade, such as martins and
foxes, there is the greatest abundance. But from all pests of the
serpent tribe, Newfoundland is as free as Ireland, which was delivered
by the prayers of St. Patrick. There is not a snake or a frog or a toad
in the island!
Yet, even in this ruggedness of nature, there is a wild beauty, which
only needs to be "clothed upon" by the hand of man. Newfoundland, in
many of its features, is not unlike Scotland, even in its most desolate
portions, where the rocky surface of the country, covered with thick
moss, reminds the emigrant Scot of the heather on his native moors. In
the interior are lakes as long as Loch Lomond, and mountains as lofty as
Ben Lomond and Ben Nevis. There are passes as wild as the Vale of
Glencoe, where one might feel that he is in the heart of the Highlands,
while the roar of the torrents yet more vividly recalls the
Land of the brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood.
Yet in all this there is nothing to repel human habitation. By the hand
of industry, these wild moors might be transformed into fruitful fields.
We think it a very cold country, where winter reigns over half the year,
as in Greenland; yet it is not so far north as Scotland, nor is its
climate more inhospitable. It only needs the same population, the same
hardy toil: and the same verdure would creep up its hill-sides, which
now makes green and beautiful the loneliest of Scottish glens.
But at present the country is a _terra incognita_. In the interior there
are no towns and no roads. As yet almost the whole wealth of the island
is drawn from the sea. Its chief trade is its fisheries, and the only
places of importance are a few small towns, chiefly on the eastern side,
which have grown up around the trading posts. Besides these, the only
settlements are the fishermen's huts scattered along the coast. Hence
the bishop of the island, when he would make his annual visit to his
scattered flock, is obliged to sail around his diocese in his yacht,
since even on horseback it would not be possible to make his way through
the dense forests to the remote parts of the island. This first
suggested the idea of cutting across the island a nearer way, not only
for internal intercourse, but for those who were passing to and fro on
the sea.
It was in one of these excursions around the coast that the good Bishop
Mullock, the head of the Roman Catholic Church in Newfoundland, when
visiting the western portion of his diocese, lying one day becalmed in
his yacht, in sight of Cape North, the extreme point of the province of
Cape Breton, bethought himself how his poor neglected island might be
benefited by being taken into the track of communication between Europe
and America. He saw how nature had provided an easy approach to the
mainland on the west. About sixty miles from Cape Ray stretched the long
island of Cape Breton, while, as a stepping-stone, the little island of
St. Paul's lay between. So much did it weigh upon his mind that, as soon
as he got back to St. John's, he wrote a letter to one of the papers on
the subject. As this was the first suggestion of a telegraph across
Newfoundland, his letter is here given in full:
_To the Editor of the Courier_:
Sir: I regret to find that, in every plan for transatlantic
communication, Halifax is always mentioned, and the natural
capabilities of Newfoundland entirely overlooked. This has been
deeply impressed on my mind by the communication I read in your
paper of Saturday last, regarding telegraphic communication
between England and Ireland, in which it is said that the
nearest telegraphic station on the American side is Halifax,
twenty-one hundred and fifty-five miles from the west of
Ireland. Now would it not be well to call the attention of
England and America to the extraordinary capabilities of St.
John's, as the nearest telegraphic point? It is an Atlantic
port, lying, I may say, in the track of the ocean steamers, and
by establishing it as the American telegraphic station, news
could be communicated to the whole American continent
forty-eight hours, _at least_, sooner than by any other route.
But how will this be accomplished? Just look at the map of
Newfoundland and Cape Breton. From St. John's to Cape Ray there
is no difficulty in establishing a line passing near Holy-Rood
along the neck of land connecting Trinity and Placentia Bays,
and thence in a direction due west to the Cape. You have then
about forty-one to forty-five miles of sea to St. Paul's
Island, with deep soundings of one hundred fathoms, so that the
electric cable will be perfectly safe from icebergs. Thence to
Cape North, in Cape Breton, is little more than twelve miles.
Thus it is not only practicable to bring America two days
nearer to Europe by this route, but should the telegraphic
communication between England and Ireland, sixty-two miles, be
realized, it presents not the least difficulty. Of course, we
in Newfoundland will have nothing to do with the erection,
working, and maintenance of the telegraph; but I suppose our
Government will give every facility to the company, either
English or American, who will undertake it, as it will be an
incalculable advantage to this country. I hope the day is not
far distant when St. John's will be the first link in the
electric chain which will unite the Old World and the New.
J. T. M.
St. John's, November 8, 1850.
This suggestion came at the right moment, since it quickened, if it did
not originate, the first attempt to link the island of Newfoundland with
the mainland of America. For about the same time, the attention of Mr.
Frederick N. Gisborne, a telegraph operator, was attracted to a similar
project. Being a man of great quickness of mind, he instantly saw the
importance of such a work, and took hold of it with enthusiasm. It might
easily occur to him without suggestion from any source. He had had much
experience in telegraphs, and was then engaged in constructing a
telegraph line in Nova Scotia. Whether, therefore, the idea was first
with him or with the bishop, is of little consequence. It might occur
at the same time to two intelligent minds, and show the sagacity of
both.
But having taken hold of this idea, Mr. Gisborne pursued it with
indomitable resolution. As the labors of this gentleman were most
important in the beginning of this work, it is a pleasure to recognize
his untiring zeal and energy. In assurance of this we could have no
higher authority than the following from the late Mr. E. M. Archibald,
who was at the time Attorney-General of Newfoundland, and afterwards for
many years British Consul at New York:
"It was during the winter of 1849-50, that Mr. Gisborne, who
had been, as an engineer, engaged in extending the electric
telegraph through Lower Canada and New Brunswick to Halifax,
Nova Scotia, conceived the project of a telegraph to connect
St. John's, the most easterly port of America, with the main
continent. The importance of the geographical position of
Newfoundland, in the event of a telegraph ever being carried
across the Atlantic, was about the same time promulgated by Dr.
Mullock, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Newfoundland, in a St.
John's newspaper.
"In the spring of the following year (1851), Mr. Gisborne
visited Newfoundland, appeared before the Legislature, then in
session, and explained the details of his plan, which was an
overland line from St. John's to Cape Ray, nearly four hundred
miles in length, and (the submarine cable between Dover and
Calais not having then been laid) a communication between Cape
Ray and Cape Breton by steamer and carrier-pigeons,
eventually, it was hoped, by a submarine cable across the Gulf
of St. Lawrence. The Legislature encouraged the project,
granted L500 sterling to enable Mr. Gisborne to make an
exploratory survey of the proposed line to Cape Ray, and passed
an act authorizing its construction, with certain privileges,
and the appointment of commissioners for the purpose of
carrying it out. Upon this, Mr. Gisborne, who was then the
chief officer of the Nova Scotia Telegraph Company, returned to
that province, resigned his situation, and devoted himself to
the project of the Newfoundland telegraph. Having organized a
local company for the purpose of constructing the first
telegraph line in the island, from St. John's to Carbonear, a
distance of sixty miles, he, on the fourth of September, set
out upon the arduous expedition of a survey of the proposed
line to Cape Ray, which occupied upward of three months, during
which time himself and his party suffered severe privations,
and narrowly escaped starvation, having to traverse the most
rugged and hitherto unexplored part of the island.[A] On his
return, having reported to the Legislature favorably of the
project, and furnished estimates of the cost, he determined to
proceed to New York, to obtain assistance to carry it out....
Mr. Gisborne returned to St. John's in the spring of 1852,
when, at his instance, an act, incorporating himself (his being
the only name mentioned in it) and such others as might become
shareholders in a company, to be called the Newfoundland
Electric Telegraph Company, was passed, granting an exclusive
right to erect telegraphs in Newfoundland for thirty years,
with certain concessions of land, by way of encouragement, to
be granted upon the completion of the telegraph from St. John's
to Cape Ray. Mr. Gisborne then returned to New York, where he
organized, under this charter, a company, of which Mr. Tebbets
and Mr. Holbrook[B] were prominent members, made his financial
arrangements with them, and proceeded to England to contract
for the cable from Cape Ray to Prince Edward Island, and from
thence to the mainland. Returning in the autumn, he proceeded
in a small steamer, in November of that year, 1852, to stretch
the first submarine cable, of any length, in America, across
the Northumberland Strait from Prince Edward Island to New
Brunswick, which cable, however, was shortly afterward broken,
and a new one was subsequently laid down by the New York,
Newfoundland, and London Telegraph Company. In the spring of
the following year, 1853, Mr. Gisborne set vigorously to work
to complete his favorite project of the line (which he intended
should be chiefly underground) from St. John's to Cape Ray. He
had constructed some thirty or forty miles of road, and was
proceeding with every prospect of success, when, most
unexpectedly, those of the company who were to furnish the
needful funds dishonored his bills, and brought his operations
to a sudden termination. He and the creditors of the company
were for several months buoyed up with promises of forthcoming
means from his New York allies, which promises were finally
entirely unfulfilled; and Gisborne, being the only ostensible
party, was sued and prosecuted on all sides, stripped of his
whole property, and himself arrested to answer the claims of
the creditors of the company. He cheerfully and honorably gave
up every thing he possessed, and did his utmost to relieve the
severe distress in which the poor laborers on the line had been
involved."
This is a testimony most honorable to the engineer who first led the way
through a pathless wilderness. But this Newfoundland scheme is not to be
confounded with that of the Atlantic Telegraph, which did not come into
existence until a year or two later. The latter was not at all included
in the former. Indeed, Mr. Gisborne himself says, in a letter referring
to his original project: "My plans were to run a subterranean line from
Cape Race to Cape Ray, fly carrier-pigeons and run boats across the
Straits of Northumberland to Cape Breton, and thence by overland lines
convey the news to New York." He adds however: "Meanwhile Mr. Brett's
experimental cable between Dover and Calais having proved successful, I
set forth in my report, [which appeared a year after his first
proposal], that 'carrier-pigeons and boats would be required only until
such time as the experiments then making in England with submarine
cables should warrant a similar attempt between Cape Ray and Cape
Breton.'" But nowhere in his report does he allude to the possibility of
ever spanning the mighty gulf of the Atlantic.
But several years after, when the temporary success of the Atlantic
Telegraph gave a name to everybody connected with it, he or his friends
seemed not unwilling to have it supposed that this was embraced in the
original scheme. When asked why he did not publish his large design to
the world, he answered: "Because I was looked upon as a wild visionary
by my friends, and pronounced a fool by my relatives for resigning a
lucrative government appointment in favor of such a laborious
speculation as the Newfoundland connection. Now had I coupled it at that
time with an Atlantic line, all confidence in the prior undertaking
would have been destroyed, and my object defeated." This may have been a
reason for not announcing such a project to the public, but not for
withholding it from his friends. A man can hardly lay claim to that
which he holds in such absolute reserve.
However, whether he ever entertained the _idea_ of such a project, is
not a matter of the slightest consequence to the public, nor even to his
own reputation. Ten years before Professor Morse had expressed, not a
dreamer's fancy, but a deliberate conviction, founded on scientific
experiments, that "a telegraphic communication might with certainty be
established across the Atlantic Ocean;" so that the idea was not
original with Mr. Gisborne, any more than with others who were eager to
appropriate it.
It is a part of the history of great enterprises, that the moment one
succeeds, a host spring up to claim the honor. Thus when, in 1858, the
Atlantic Telegraph seemed to be a success, the public, knowing well who
had borne the brunt and burden of the undertaking, awarded him the
praise which he so well deserved; but instantly there were other
Richmonds in the field. Those who had had no part in the labor, at least
claimed to have originated the idea! Of course, these many claims
destroy each other. But after all, to raise such a point at all is the
merest trifling. The question is not who first had the "idea," but who
took hold of the enterprise as a practical thing; who grappled with the
gigantic difficulties of the undertaking, and fought the battle through
to victory.
As to Mr. Gisborne, his activity in the beginning of the Newfoundland
telegraph is a matter of history. In that preliminary work, he bore an
honorable part, and acquired a title to respect, of which he cannot be
deprived. All honor to him for his enterprise, his courage, and his
perseverance!
But for the company of which he was the father, which he had got up with
so much toil, it lived but a few months, when it became involved in debt
some fifty thousand dollars, chiefly to laborers on the line, and ended
its existence by an ignominious failure. The concern was bankrupt, and
it was plain that, if the work was not to be finally abandoned, it must
be taken up by stronger hands.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] "On the fourth day of December, I accomplished the survey through
three hundred and fifty miles of wood and wilderness. It was an arduous
undertaking. My original party, consisting of six white men, were
exchanged for four Indians; of the latter party, two deserted, one died
a few days after my return, and the other, 'Joe Paul,' has ever since
proclaimed himself an ailing man."--_Letter of Mr. Gisborne._
[B] Horace B. Te | 900.755366 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD
By William Dean Howells
Part I.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
In those dim recesses of the consciousness where things have their
beginning, if ever things have a beginning, I suppose the origin of this
novel may be traced to a fact of a fortnight's sojourn on the western
shore of lake Champlain in the summer of 1891. Across the water in the
State of Vermont I had constantly before my eyes a majestic mountain form
which the earlier French pioneers had named "Le Lion Couchant," but which
their plainer-minded Yankee successors preferred to call "The Camel's
Hump." It really looked like a sleeping lion; the head was especially
definite; and when, in the course of some ten years, I found the scheme
for a story about a summer hotel which I had long meant to write, this
image suggested the name of 'The Landlord at Lion's Head.' I gave the
title to my unwritten novel at once and never wished to change it, but
rejoiced in the certainty that, whatever the novel turned out to be, the
title could not be better.
I began to write the story four years later, when we were settled for the
winter in our flat on Central Park, and as I was a year in doing it, with
other things, I must have taken the unfinished manuscript to and from
Magnolia, Massachusetts, and Long Beach, Long Island, where I spent the
following summer. It was first serialized in Harper's Weekly and in the
London Illustrated News, as well as in an Australian newspaper--I forget
which one; and it was published as a completed book in 1896.
I remember concerning it a very becoming despair when, at a certain
moment in it, I began to wonder what I was driving at. I have always had
such moments in my work, and if I cannot fitly boast of them, I can at
least own to them in freedom from the pride that goes before a fall. My
only resource at such times was to keep working; keep beating harder and
harder at the wall which seemed to close me in, till at last I broke
through into the daylight beyond. In this case, I had really such a very
good grip of my characters that I need not have had the usual fear of
their failure to work out their destiny. But even when the thing was done
and I carried the completed manuscript to my dear old friend, the late
Henry Loomis Nelson, then editor of the Weekly, it was in more fear of
his judgment than I cared to show. As often happened with my manuscript
in such exigencies, it seemed to go all to a handful of shrivelled
leaves. When we met again and he accepted it for the Weekly, with a
handclasp of hearty welcome, I could scarcely gasp out my unfeigned
relief. We had talked the scheme of it over together; he had liked the
notion, and he easily made me believe, after my first dismay, that he
liked the result even better.
I myself liked the hero of the tale more than I have liked worthier men,
perhaps because I thought I had achieved in him a true rustic New England
type in contact with urban life under entirely modern conditions. What
seemed to me my esthetic success in him possibly softened me to his
ethical shortcomings; but I do not expect others to share my weakness for
Jeff Durgin, whose strong, rough surname had been waiting for his
personality ever since I had got it off the side of an ice-cart many
years before.
At the time the story was imagined Harvard had been for four years much
in the direct knowledge of the author, and I pleased myself in realizing
the hero's experience there from even more intimacy with the university
moods and manners than had supported me in the studies of an earlier
fiction dealing with them. I had not lived twelve years in Cambridge
without acquaintance such as even an elder man must make with the
undergraduate life; but it is only from its own level that this can be
truly learned, and I have always been ready to stand corrected by
undergraduate experience. Still, I have my belief that as a jay--the word
may now be obsolete--Jeff Durgin is not altogether out of drawing; though
this is, of course, the phase of his character which is one of the least
important. What I most prize in him, if I may go to the bottom of the
inkhorn, is the realization of that anti-Puritan quality which was always
vexing the heart of Puritanism, and which I had constantly felt one of
the most interesting facts in my observation of New England.
As for the sort of summer hotel portrayed in these pages, it was
materialized from an acquaintance with summer hotels extending over
quarter of a century, and scarcely to be surpassed if paralleled. I had a
passion for knowing about them and understanding their operation which I
indulged at every | 900.756026 |
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Transcribed from the 1812 J. Smith edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
HULSEAN ESSAY
_For_ 1811.
* * * * *
A
DISSERTATION
ON THE
BOOKS _of_ ORIGEN _against_ CELSUS,
WITH A VIEW
TO ILLUSTRATE THE ARGUMENT
AND
POINT OUT THE EVIDENCE THEY AFFORD
TO THE
TRUTH OF CHRISTIANITY.
* * * * *
_Published in pursuance of the Will of the Rev._ J. HULSE, _as having
gained the_ ANNUAL PRIZE, _instituted by him in the University of
Cambridge_.
* * * * *
BY
FR | 900.856738 |
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Transcribed from the 1893 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY
* * * * *
PETER PLYMLEY’S LETTERS
AND
SELECTED ESSAYS
* * * * *
BY
SYDNEY SMITH
| 900.856785 |
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Produced by Anne Folland, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
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 | 900.958483 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram 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.)
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. III.--NO. 83--SATURDAY, MAI 31. 1851.
Price Threepence. Stamped Edition 4_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
On the Proposed Record of Existing Monuments 417
NOTES:--
Illustrations of Chaucer, No. VII.: The star Min Al Auwa 419
Traditions from remote Periods through few Links, by Rev.
Thos. Corser 421
Dr. Young's Narcissa 422
Minor Notes:--Curious Epitaph--The Curse of Scotland--The
Female Captive--Pictorial Antiquities 422
QUERIES:--
English Poems by Constantine Huyghens, by S. W. Singer 423
The Rev. Mr. Gay, by Edward Tagart 424
Minor Queries:--Carved Ceiling in Dorsetshire--Publicans'
Signs--To a T.--Skeletons at Egyptian Banquet--Gloves--Knapp
Family in Norfolk and Suffolk--To learn by "Heart"--Knights--
Supposed Inscription in St. Peter's at Rome--Rag Sunday in
Sussex--Northege Family--A Kemble Pipe of Tobacco--Durham
Sword that killed the Dragon 424
MINOR QUERIES ANSWERED:--"At Sixes and Sevens"--Swobbers--
Handel's Occasional Oratorio--Archbishop Waldeby's
Epitaph--Verstegan--Royal Library 425
REPLIES:--
Hugh Holland and his Works, by Bolton Corney 427
The Milesians 428
The Tanthony 428
Pilgrims' Road to Canterbury 429
Replies to Minor Queries:--Shakespeare's Use of
"Captious"--Inscription of a Clock--Authors of the Anti-Jacobin
Poetry--"Felix, quem faciunt," &c.--Church Bells--Chiming,
Tolling, and Pealing--Extraordinary North Briton--Fitzpatrick's
Lines of Fox--Ejusdem Farinae--The Sempecta--"Nulli fraus
tuta latebris"--Voltaire, where situated--By the Bye--Bigod de
Loges--Knebsend--Mrs. Catherine Barton--Peter Sterry--Wife of
James Torre--Ramasse--Four Want Way--Dr. Owen's Works--Bactrian
Coins--Baldrocks--Tu Autem--Commoner marrying a Peeress--Ancient
Wood Engraving--Vegetating Insects--Prayer at the Healing--M.
or N., &c. 430
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, Sales, Catalogues, &c. 438
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 438
Notices to Correspondents 439
Advertisements 439
ON THE PROPOSED RECORD OF EXISTING MONUMENTS.
Although disappointed in the hope we had entertained of being, by this
time, in a position to announce that some decided steps had been taken
to carry out, in a practical manner, the great scheme of preserving a
record of our existing Monuments, we are gratified at being enabled to
bring under the notice of our readers several communications which
show the still increasing interest which is felt upon the subject.
The first, by Sir Thomas Phillipps, besides some valuable information
upon the matter immediately under consideration, contains several very
useful suggestions upon other, though kindred points.
In approving of the design mentioned in your "NOTES" by MR. DUNKIN, it
has surprised me that in no one of the communications which you have
there printed is any allusion to the multitude of inscriptions already
collected, and now preserved in the British Museum and other libraries.
A list of what are already copied should _first_ be made, which would
considerably abridge the labour of collecting. For instance, the whole
of Gloucestershire has been preserved by Bigland, and nearly two-thirds
of these have been printed. I should recommend his plan to be adopted,
being _multum in parvo_, as to the headstones in the churchyards, and
the clearest for reference by its alphabetical order of parishes. He
copies them about 1780; so that now seventy years remain to be obtained.
His collection would make two, or at most three, volumes folio, by which
we can form an approximate idea as to the extent for the kingdom, which
I estimate at one hundred volumes for the forty counties, because some
of these are very small, and many monuments have been destroyed by the
barbarous Gothlike conduct of church renovators and builders. (_A
propos_ of which conduct, I believe they are liable to an _action at
law_ from the next of kin: at all events, it is sacrilege.) In many
county histories, _all_ the monuments inside the churches, up to nearly
the date of the publication, have been printed, as in Nichols's
_Leicestershire_. I have myself printed the greater part of those for
Wiltshire; but some are incorrectly printed, not having been collated;
for I merely printed a few as handbooks to accompany me in my personal
correcting survey of each church at another time. I have also printed as
far as letter "E" of Antony a Wood's and Hinton's _Oxfordshire
Monuments_, of which, I believe, MR. DUNKIN has a MS. copy. Now, it
would be useless to reprint those which have been printed; consequently
I should imagine twenty-five or thirty volumes, on Bigland's plan, would
comprise all the villages; and I should imagine five or ten volumes at
most would comprise all the capital towns. Allow me here to suggest the
absolute necessity of taking "Notes" of the residence, parentage, and
kindred of _every one_ of the families of that vast tide of emigration
now quitting our shores; and I call Lord Ashley's and Mr. Sidney
Herbert's attention to it. These poor people will, many of them, become
rich in half a century; will then probably die without a kindred soul in
America to possess their wealth; and their next of kin must be sought
for in the mother land, where, unless some _registered memorial_ of
their departure and connexions is kept, all traces of their origin may
be lost for ever. It was the neglect of an act like this which has
involved the beginning of nations in such profound obscurity. It was the
neglect of such a register as I here propose, that makes it so difficult
now for the American to discover the link which actually connected him
with England. There is a corporate body, long established in this
country, whose sole occupation is to make such registers; but at present
they confine themselves to those called gentlemen. Why not make them
useful as registers of the poor, at a small remuneration for entering
each family. These poor, or their descendants, will some day become
gentlemen, and perhaps not ashamed of their ancestry, although they may
derive it through poverty. How gratified they may feel to be able, by
means of this proposed registry, clearly to trace themselves to Great
Britain (once the mistress of half the world), when their now adopted
country has risen up in her place, and the mother has become subject to
the daughter.
And then, too, how valuable will Americans and Canadians, Australians
and New Zealanders, find the proposed _Monumentarium_ of MR. DUNKIN.
THOS. PHILLIPPS.
Middle Hill, April, 1851.
The next is from a frequent contributor to our pages, and we have
selected it for publication from among many which we have received
promising assistance in the carrying out of the great scheme, because
it shows very strikingly how many of the memorials, which it is the
especial object of that scheme to preserve, have disappeared within
the last few years.
Your valuable remarks on this head have induced me to send you a few
observations in the same direction. You have justly said that the means
by which the object can be accomplished fall into the three distinct
operations of Collection, Preservation, and Publication. The first will
require the help of all antiquaries throughout the kingdom who will
volunteer their services, and of the clergymen resident in country
parishes. Where possible, it would be well to find a co-operator in
every county town, who would undertake the collection of all ancient
memorials in his own district, either by personal inspection, or by the
aid of the clergy. For this county we have, fortunately, a record of
all or most of the monuments existing in the time of James I., published
in Burton's History. Besides the monuments, there are also mentioned the
coats of arms preserved in the churches. In the useful and voluminous
world of Nichols, the record is brought down nearly to the commencement
of the present century. But in late years, many ancient memorials have
been removed altogether, or displaced. A day or two ago, I found only
one monument in a village church, where Burton says there were two in
his time. The chancel of St. Martin's Church, Leicester, a few years
ago, contained a large number, of which many have been placed elsewhere,
in order to "improve" the appearance of this part of the edifice. I
believe a list of the monuments is preserved somewhere. This kind of
proceeding has been carried on very generally throughout the country
since the desire for "church restoration" has prevailed, and has led to
great alterations in the interiors of our old parish churches. I should
be happy to lend a helping hand in the collections for Leicester and the
neighbourhood.
JAYTEE.
From our next communication, it will be seen that the Scottish
Antiquaries, whose zeal and intelligence in the preservation and
illustration of objects of national interest, are beyond all praise,
are working in the same direction; and although we have not seen the
_Origines Parochiales_, we can readily believe in the great value of a
work of such a character when undertaken by the Bannatyne Club.
It may interest some of your "Monumental" and "Ecclesiological"
correspondents to be informed that in 1834 there was collected and
published by D. Macvean, bookseller, Glasgow, a volume of _Epitaphs and
Monumental Inscriptions in Scotland_. Also, that there has just been
published by Lizars, Edinburgh, for the Bannatyne Club, the first volume
of the _Origines Parochiales Scotiae_.
The former of these books (_Epitaphs_, &c.) is perhaps of no great
value, being badly selected and worse arranged; but the latter
(_Origines_, &c.) seems to be exactly such a work as W. J. D. R. (Vol.
iii., p. 314.) has in his mind's eye for England.
Y.
A correspondent, MERCURII, has also directed our attention to a small
volume, published in 1848, by one of the most valued contributors to
our own columns, MR. DAWSON TURNER, under the title of _Sepulchral
Reminiscences of a Market Town, as afforded by a List of the
Interments within the Walls of the Parish Church of St. Nicholas,
Great Yarmouth, collected chiefly from Monuments and Gravestones still
remaining, June, 1845_. This little volume may be regarded as a public
testimony on the part of MR. DAWSON TURNER to the value of the plan
under consideration, and there are few antiquaries whose opinions are
entitled to greater respect upon this or any other point to which he
has devoted his talents and attention. Can we doubt, then, the success
of a plan which has met with such general approbation, and is
undertaken with so praiseworthy an object,--an object which may well
be described in the words which Weever used when stating the motive
which led him to undertake the publication of his _Funeral Monuments_,
viz., "To check the unsufferable injury, offered as well to the living
as to the dead, by breaking down and almost utterly ruinating
monuments with their epitaphs, and by erasing, tearing away, and
pilfering brazen inscriptions, by which inhumane deformidable act, the
honorable memory of many virtuous and noble persons deceased is
extinguished, and the true understanding of divers families is so
darkened, that the course of their inheritance is thereby partly | 901.156557 |
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E-text prepared by KD Weeks, MWS, 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
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See 54484-h.htm or 54484-h.zip:
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Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Chapters were framed by a decorative header and, if there
was sufficient space on the final page, a footer, both of
which are indicated here as [Illustration].
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been
corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end
of this text for details.
There was no Table of Contents in this text. The following
table was prepared for the reader's convenience.
BOOK I
PHILIP OF SPAIN.
I. HOW A MARRIAGE WAS AGREED | 901.255519 |
2023-11-16 18:32:06.0342700 | 1,342 | 57 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Friends I have made
By George Manville Fenn
Published by Cassell, Petter, Galpin & Co, London, Paris, New York.
This edition dated 1883.
Friends I have made, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
This version was made from a set of scans that were actually defective.
Two sets of sixteen pages were missing, resulting in the absence of
chapters 10, 11 and 16. In addition some text is missing from chapters
15 and 18. Since the book consists of a collection of almost unrelated
anecdotes it was felt worth our while to make available as much as we
can, as it is certain that a better set of scans of this book may become
available, for instance from the microfilmed set held by Cambridge
University. There are 21 chapters, of which we present 16 in full,
and two with a few paragraphs missing.
________________________________________________________________________
FRIENDS I HAVE MADE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
MY LIFE.
May I ask your patience while I introduce myself--the writer of the
following chapters? I am sitting before the looking-glass at the end of
my room as I write, I not from any vanity, you will readily perceive
that as you read on--but so that I may try and reflect with my ink the
picture that I wish to present to you of a rather sad--I only say
_rather_, for, upon the whole, I am very cheerful,--thin, pale,
careworn-looking woman, with hair that has long been scant and grey--
whiter, perhaps, than that of many people at eight-and-forty.
Eight-and-forty! What a great age that seems to the young; and yet how
few the years, save in one period of my life, have appeared to me! At
times I can hardly realise that I am decidedly elderly, so busy has been
my life, so swiftly has it glided away, thinking so much as I have of
other people and their lives as well as of my own.
I never knew how it was, but, somehow, those with whom I came in contact
always seemed to look upon me, because I had had trouble, as one in whom
they could confide. I never sought their confidence, but when some
weary wayfarer in life's journey has held out a hand to me, asking help
or advice, it has grown into my pleasure to try and aid or counsel as
far as in me lay. And it is strange how relieved some have been, what a
quiet solace it has seemed, to pour out into my sympathetic ear the
salient passages of their troubled lives. "You have suffered, so you
can feel," has always seemed to be the thought, expressed or
unexpressed, of their hearts, and hence, without being inquisitive, I
have been made the storehouse, so to speak, of that which I without any
breach of confidence propose to tell.
I should first, though, tell you of myself, for why should I lay bare
the sorrows of others without prefacing them with my own?
A strangely quiet, uneventful life mine has been; its incidents simple,
its troubles many, and its pleasures--I was about to say few, but that
would be false, for its pleasures have been great. They have not been
the boisterous joys that fall to the lot of some; but, feeling, as I do
most thoroughly now, that the greatest delights, the purest and most
unalloyed are those which are unselfish, I can think and believe that my
pleasures have been many.
I will, then, tell you my own little history first, slight as it is, and
you may, in reading, find that it is the key-note to the simple chords
that I afterwards strike in passing, and perhaps it will explain why
others have come to me to tell me what they knew.
It is a tale of early sorrow, but you shall hear, and you will bear with
me when I tell you that the wound has never healed, and if I put my hand
above it, the place still throbs, even as it will beat and ache till
kindly nature says to me, "Sleep, poor weary one, and rest." And then
peacefully, trustingly, and with a simple hope of forgiveness, may I
sleep that long sleep which they say so flippantly has no end; but which
has a waking, as every lesson which we learn in life persists in
teaching.
You will smile, perhaps, when I tell you that I was once what people
call pretty--that this pale, lined face was once plump and rosy, these
sad eyes bright, and this grey scant hair golden-brown, long, and
flowing. But why should I think you would smile? Do I not know that
you must have seen the gay young plant putting out its tender leaves in
spring, growing green and luxuriant of foliage in summer, ripe and ruddy
in autumn, and grey, bent, and withered in age? And should I be pitied
because I have but followed in the way of nature? Surely not. It is
not for that I ask your sympathy, but for the blight that fell upon the
young plant, and seared and scathed it so that it seemed for months as
if it would die; but it lived, as I have lived to tell you this.
Do you know that wondrous feeling which comes in the early year, and
that strange sense of keen delight, that elasticity of spirit, when,
full of youth and hope, the very tears of joyous sensibility start to
the eyes as you wander amidst the trees and flowers in spring? I
remember how I felt, oh! so well, even though it is now thirty years
ago, and I was but eighteen.
Jack and I were engaged. It was all such a simple, homely affair. We
had known one another for years--the children of neighbouring farmers.
Jack--I still call him by the simple old pet name of those days--Jack
had been away | 902.05431 |
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Produced by Dagny, and Bonnie Sala
GOBSECK
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
DEDICATION
To M. le Baron Barchou de Penhoen.
Among all the pupils of the Oratorian school at Vendome, we are, I
think, the only two who have afterwards met in mid-career of a
life of letters--we who once were cultivating Philosophy when by
rights we should have been minding our De viris. When we met, you
were engaged upon your noble works on German philosophy, and I
upon this study. So neither of us has missed his vocation; and
you, when you see your name here, will feel, no doubt, as much
pleasure as he who inscribes his work to you.--Your old
schoolfellow,
1840 De Balzac.
GOBSECK
It was one o'clock in the morning, during the winter of 1829-30, but in
the Vicomtesse de Grandlieu's salon two persons stayed on who did not
belong to her family circle. A young and good-looking man heard the
clock strike, and took his leave. When the courtyard echoed with the
sound of a departing carriage, the Vicomtesse looked up | 902.062127 |
2023-11-16 18:32:06.3156440 | 1,908 | 14 |
E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
AT PLATTSBURG
by
ALLEN FRENCH
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE HIDING-PLACES.. net $1.35
* * * * * *
AT PLATTSBURG
by
ALLEN FRENCH
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published April, 1917
TO
SQUAD EIGHT
MY BOOK THE SQUAD ISN'T AS IT REALLY WAS.
SOME OF YOU ARE NOT THERE, AND THE REST
ARE ALTERED. BUT WHILE, ON ACCOUNT OF THE
STORY THAT I NEEDED AND THE FACTS I WANTED
TO DISPLAY, I COULD NOT DRAW YOUR PORTRAITS,
I HOPE I HAVE SUCCEEDED IN SHOWING THAT
THING IN PLATTSBURG WHICH MEANT MOST TO
ME PERSONALLY, THE SPIRIT OF OUR SQUAD
PREFACE
To describe military scenes is always to rouse the keenest scrutiny from
military men. I write this foreword not to deprecate criticism, but to
remind the professional reader that, while the scenes I have described
are all from experience, the aim in writing them was not for technical
exactness, often confusing to the lay reader, but rather for the purpose
of giving a general picture of the fun and work at a training camp.
Nowadays we are making history so fast that readers may have to be
reminded that last summer occurred the mobilization on the Mexican border
of most of the regular army and many regiments of the National Guard, a
fact which considerably affected conditions at Plattsburg.
The "Buzzard Song," which my company used with such satisfaction on the
hike, was written by a camp-mate, John A. Straley, who has kindly allowed
me to use it, with a few minor changes.
Allen French.
Concord, Massachusetts,
April 3, 1917.
AT PLATTSBURG
RICHARD GODWIN TO HIS MOTHER
On the train, nearing Plattsburg.
Friday morning, Sep. 8, 1916.
DEAR MOTHER:--
Though you kissed me good-by with affection, you know there was amusement
in the little smile with which you watched me go. I, a modest citizen,
accustomed to shrink from publicity, was exposed in broad day in a badly
fitting uniform, in color inconspicuous, to be sure, but in pattern
evidently military and aggressive. What a guy I felt myself, and how
every smile or laugh upon the street seemed to mean Me! The way to the
railroad station had never seemed so long, nor so thronged with curious
folk. I felt myself very silly.
Thus it was a relief when I met our good pastor, for I knew at the first
glance of his eye that my errand and my uniform meant to him, as they did
to me, something important. So strong was this comforting sense that I
even forgot what importance he might attach to them.
But fixing me with his eye as I stopped and greeted him (being within
easy hurrying distance of the station) he said in pained surprise: "And
so you are going to Plattsburg?"
Then I remembered that he was an irreconcilable pacifist. Needing no
answer, he went on: "I am sorry to see that the militarist spirit has
seized you too."
Now if anything vexes me, it is to be told that I am a militarist. "Not
that, sir," said I. "War is the last thing that I want."
"Train a man to wield a weapon," he rejoined, "and he will itch to use
it." I think we were both a little sententious because of the approach of
the train. "Your argument is, I suppose, that the country is in danger?"
"Exactly," I replied.
He raised both hands. "Madness! No one will attack us."
I refrained from telling him that with so much at stake I was unwilling
to accept even treaty assurances on that point. He went on. "The whole
world is mad with desire to slay. But I would rather have my son killed
than killing others."
He is proud of his son, but he is prouder of his daughter. Said I, "If
war comes, and we are unprepared for it, you might have not only your son
killed, but your daughter too."
Horrified, he had not yet begun to express himself on the impossibility
of invasion, when the train came. So we parted. To tell the truth, I am
not sorry that he feels so: it is very ideal. And I regret no longer
having my own fine feeling of security. It is only a year or so ago that
I was just such a pacifist as he.
If I in my new uniform was at home a curiosity, when I reached Boston I
found myself merely one among many, for the North Station was full of
Plattsburgers. There is great comfort in being like other folk. A thick
crowd it was at our special train, raw recruits with their admiring
women-folk or fun-poking friends. The departure was not like the leaving
of soldiers for the front, such as we saw in July when the boys went to
Texas. We should come back not with wounds, but with a healthy tan and
much useful experience. So every one was jolly, except for a young couple
that were walking up and down in silent communion, and sometimes
furtively touching hands--a young married pair, I thought, before their
first separation.
We were off without much delay, a train-load wholly of men, and all
greenhorns. For all of us had nice fresh crinkly blouses, and olive-drab
(properly o. d.) knees not yet worn white (as I have seen on returning
Plattsburgers) while our canvas leggings were still unshaped to our manly
calves. Our hats were new and stiff, and their gaudy cords were bright.
And we were inquisitive of the life that was ahead of us, readily making
acquaintance in order to compare our scraps of information. Dismay ran
here and there with the knowledge that the typhoid inoculation required
three weekly doses. Thank goodness, that is over with for me. We tried to
be very soldierly in bearing, evidently an effort in other cases than
mine. One fellow had his own gun along; he wanted, he said, to make a
good score on the range. So I had my first chance to handle an army
rifle.
You know that when I left, you had been worrying as to how I should stand
the strain of the coming month's work. I will admit that I have been
wondering about it myself. I have worked very hard for the last few
years, practically without vacation, in order to marry as suited Vera's
ideas. And then, two years after she had said Yes, and when my earnings
ought to satisfy any woman, began the complex strain of the breaking of
the engagement--the heart burnings, the self-searching, the difficult
coming to an understanding. And now that she and I have parted friends,
with both of us quite satisfied, I have been realizing how much run down
I am, so that it has seemed quite possible that Plattsburg life might be
too strenuous for me. But a good look at my companions has made it clear
that I can stand up with the average of them. A fair number of them, to
be sure, are brown and seasoned by the summer. But quite as many are pale
and stooped from desk work, or pasty from good living. If I fall out, I
shall have plenty of company.
I write this letter while the train is approaching Plattsburg. When I
woke this morning we were at a standstill in some railway yard, and
beside us was standing another train, labelled like ours, doubtless
carrying the New York men. It drew out ahead of us, and I suppose its
inmates are now debarked, and gawking about them as presently my
companions and I shall gawk. Tonight I shall write again. Affectionately
DICK.
DAVID RIDGWAY FARNHAM, 3D, TO HIS MOTHER
On the Train to Plattsburg.
Friday morning, Sept. 8th.
DEAR MAMA:--
It is unlucky that both of our cars were out of order just when I was
starting for Plattsburg. For the train has been | 902.335684 |
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Produced by Ronald Lee
PRISONERS THEIR OWN WARDERS
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_
GENERAL MONTHLY MUSTER OF THE CONVICTS, SINGAPORE JAIL.]
PRISONERS THEIR OWN
WARDERS
A RECORD OF THE CONVICT PRISON AT SINGAPORE
IN THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS ESTABLISHED 1825,
DISCONTINUED 1873, TOGETHER WITH A
CURSORY HISTORY OF THE CONVICT
ESTABLISHMENTS AT BENCOOLEN,
PENANG AND MALACCA FROM
THE YEAR 1797
BY MAJOR J. R A. McNAIR
_Late Royal Artillery, C.M.G., A.M.I.C.E., F.L.S., and F.R.G.S
Late Colonial Engineer and Surveyor General and
Comptroller of Indian Convicts
Straits Settlements from 1857 to 1877
Author of "Perak and the Malays"
(Sarong and Kris)_
ASSISTED BY W. D. BAYLISS
_Mem. Soc. Engineers Lond., Late Superintendent of Works and
Surveys and Superintendent of Convicts, Singapore_
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
"A | 902.337384 |
2023-11-16 18:32:06.4342360 | 1,744 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 45517-h.htm or 45517-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45517/45517-h/45517-h.htm)
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS
Or, Good Times in School and Out
by
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
Author of "The Rover Boys Series," "Bob, The Photographer," etc.
Illustrated
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers . New York
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS;
Or, Fun and Sport Afloat and Ashore.
THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS;
Or, Good Times in School and Out.
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE PLAINS;
Or, The Mystery of Red Rock Ranch.
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE RIVER;
Or, The Search for the Missing Houseboat.
THE ROVER BOYS IN CAMP;
Or, The Rivals of Pine Island.
THE ROVER BOYS ON LAND AND SEA;
Or, The Crusoes of Seven Islands.
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE MOUNTAINS;
Or, A Hunt for Fun and Fortune.
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES;
Or, The Secret of the Island Cave.
THE ROVER BOYS OUT WEST;
Or, The Search for a Lost Mine.
THE ROVER BOYS IN THE JUNGLE;
Or, Stirring Adventures in Africa.
THE ROVER BOYS ON THE OCEAN;
Or, A Chase for a Fortune.
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL;
Or, The Cadets of Putnam Hall.
_12mo, finely illustrated and bound in cloth._
_Price, per volume, 60 cents._
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS . NEW YORK
* * * * * *
Copyright, 1901
by
The Mershon Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Introducing Some Cadets 1
II. The Mysterious Sloop 10
III. A Case of Bribery 19
IV. Electing a Major 29
V. Off on a Picnic 38
VI. An Odd Bit of Punishment 47
VII. How the Boat Races were Won 56
VIII. The Cadets to the Rescue 66
IX. The Chums Make a Call 74
X. In the Hands of the Enemy 84
XI. A Great Game of Football 92
XII. Happenings after the Game 101
XIII. The Circus, and a Monkey 110
XIV. All about a Tiger 120
XV. Prisoners of a Wild Beast 129
XVI. Off on a Long March 138
XVII. Mumps Sees a Ghost 147
XVIII. The Young Major Shows His Courage 156
XIX. The Result of the Nutting Party 165
XX. Out in the Cold 175
XXI. The Boys "Hold the Fort" 185
XXII. Josiah Crabtree is Nonplused 194
XXIII. Buried under the Snow 203
XXIV. A Challenge Accepted 210
XXV. How the Fight Ended 217
XXVI. Friends in Need 225
XXVII. The Punishment of a Bully 233
XXVIII. The Results of a Fire 241
XXIX. The Disappearance of George Strong 249
XXX. A Lucky Escape--Conclusion 257
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Boys: In bringing out this story, "The Putnam Hall Cadets," the
initial volume in the "Putnam Hall Series," I feel it necessary to make
an explanation why it is that this tale is brought out when I have
already written so much concerning the doings of the students at Putnam
Hall.
Ever since I presented to the boys the first volume in the "Rover Boys
Series," I have been urged by the boys--and girls, too, for the matter of
that--to write something concerning the doings of the students at the
Hall previous to the coming of the Rover boys on the scene. When the
Rovers arrived they found a wide-awake, jolly crowd of cadets already
there, some of whom had been at the academy several years. My young
friends wished to know more about these, and it is for their benefit that
I have instituted this new series, which will tell of many things that
happened at the famous seat of learning from the time it was first opened
to the present day.
Putnam Hall is an ideal boarding school for boys, located on the shore of
a beautiful lake in upper New York State. The students there are bright,
manly fellows, full of vigor and fun, and bound to get the best there is
out of school life. There are some keen rivalries, and in the story are
related the particulars of a mystery which had an unlooked-for ending.
In offering this first book of the new series I wish to thank the
thousands everywhere who have written to me regarding the "Rover Boys
Series." It does my heart good to know that the tales have been so well
liked. I trust sincerely that the present story meets with equal
approbation.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
Arthur M. Winfield.
_July 25, 1905._
THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING SOME CADETS
"Hurrah, Jack, I've got news! To-morrow we are going to ballot for
officers!"
"I'm glad to hear that," answered Jack Ruddy, as he threw down the
algebra he had been studying. "I was almost afraid we weren't going to
have officers this term."
"I suppose Captain Putnam wanted to find out if there was any military
material here before he let us fellows take charge," went on Pepper
Ditmore, as he swung himself up on a corner of the dormitory table. "Tell
you what, Jack, it's a great thing to organize a school like this, and
get everything in working order, all in six weeks."
"Do you think you are organized, Pep?" queried Jack Ruddy, with a twinkle
in his eyes.
"I'm organized about as much as I'll ever be," returned Pepper Ditmore.
"You can't expect a fellow like me to settle down and be as quiet as a
lamb, can you?"
"No, you're more like a jumping-jack. The fellows don't call you the Imp
for nothing."
"It's a base slander," returned Pepper Ditmore, with an injured air. "I'm
as meek, sometimes----"
"When you are asleep."
"As a--a----"
"Circus clown. By the way, have they found out yet who mixed the salt and
sugar last Saturday?"
"Can't say as they have."
"And who put that little bulldog in Josiah Crabtree's bedroom in the
dark?"
"They haven't asked me about it," and now Pepper Ditmore began to grin.
"Then let me congratulate you on your escape," and Jack Ruddy smiled
broadly.
"Let's change the subject, Jack. Don't you want to be an officer of the
Putnam Hall Cadet Corps | 902.454276 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
SONNETS
AND
CANZONETS.
BY
A. BRONSON ALCOTT.
“LOVE CAN SUN THE REALMS OF LIGHT.”
_Schiller._
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1882.
_Copyright, 1882_,
BY A. BRONSON ALCOTT.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
PAGE
TO A. BRONSON ALCOTT, A LETTER BY F. B. SANBORN 5-10
AN ESSAY ON THE SONNET 11-35
SONNETS OF ILLUSTRATION 21-35
I. Love in Spring 21
II. The Maiden in April 22
III. The Estrangement 23
IV. Love in Time 24
V. To those of Noble Heart 24
VI. The Ocean a blessed God 27
VII. The Nightingale 28
VIII. The Fair Saint 29
IX. Love a Poor Palmer 30
X. Love against Love 31
XI. Death 32
XII. Ah, Sweet Content! 34
XIII. The Poet’s Immortality 34
PART FIRST.
PROEM 39
DOMESTIC SONNETS AND CANZONETS 41-8
PART SECOND.
SONNETS OF CHARACTER 94-145
A PROPHETIC ODE 146-149
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
TO A. BRONSON ALCOTT,
UPON READING HIS OCTOGENARIAN POEMS.
The period to which the scholar of two and eighty years belongs, is
seldom that of his youngest readers: it is more likely to be the epoch
of his own golden youth, when his masters were before his eyes, and
his companions were the books and the friends of his heart. Thus the
aged Landor could not bring his thoughts down from the grand forms of
Greek and Roman literature to which they were early accustomed; he had
swerved now and then from that loyalty in middle life, impressed and
acted upon as he was by the great political events of the Napoleonic
era,--but he returned to the epigram and the idyl in the “white winter
of his age,” and the voices of the present and of the future appealed
to him in vain. In the old Goethe there was something more prophetic
and august; he came nearer to his contemporaries, and prepared the way
for a recognition of his greatness by the generation which saw the
grave close over him. In this, that strange but loyal disciple of his,
the Scotch Carlyle, rendered matchless service to his master; yet he,
too, in his unhappy old age, could only at intervals, and by gleams
of inspiration,--as at the Edinburgh University Festival,--come into
communication with the young spirits about him. To you, dear Friend
and Master, belongs the rare good fortune (good genius rather) that
has brought you in these late days, into closer fellowship than of
yore with the active and forthlooking spirit of the time. In youth and
middle life you were in advance of your period, which has only now
overtaken you when it must, by the ordinance of Nature, so soon bid
you farewell, as you go forward to new prospects, in fairer worlds
than ours.
It is this union of youth and age, of the past and the present--yes,
and the future also--that I have admired in these artless poems, over
which we have spent together so many agreeable hours. Fallen upon an
age in literature when the poetic form is everywhere found, but the
discerning and inventive spirit of Poesy seems almost lost, I have
marked with delight in these octogenarian verses, flowing so naturally
from your pen, the very contradiction of this poetic custom of the
period. Your want of familiarity with the accustomed movement of verse
in our time, brings into more distinct notice the genuine poetical
motions of your genius. Having been admitted to the laboratory, and
privileged to witness the action and reaction of your thought, as it
crystallized into song, I perceived, for the first time, how high
sentiment, by which you have from youth been inspired, may become the
habitual movement of the mind, at an age when so many, if they live at
all in spirit, are but nursing the selfish and distorted fancies of
morose singularity. To you the world has been a brotherhood of noble
souls,--too few, as we thought, for your companionship,--but which you
have enlarged by the admission to one rank of those who have gone,
and of us who remain to love you and listen to your oracles. The men
and the charming women who recognized your voice when it was that of
one crying in the wilderness--“Prepare ye the way of our Lord,” are
joined, in your commemorative sonnets, with those who hearken to its
later accents, proclaiming the same acceptable year of the Lord.
It is the privilege of poets--immemorial and native to the clan--that
they should share the immortality they confer. This right you may
vindicate for your own. The honors you pay, in resounding verse, to
Channing, to Emerson, to Margaret Fuller, to Hawthorne, Thoreau,
and the rest of the company with whom you trod these groves, and
honored these altars of the Spirit unnamed, return in their echoes to
yourself. They had their special genius, and you yours no less, though
it found not the same expression with theirs. We please our love
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TWICE TOLD TALES
THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
At fifteen, I became a resident in a country village, more than a hundred
miles from home. The morning after my arrival--a September morning, but
warm and bright as any in July--I rambled into a wood of oaks, with a few
walnut-trees intermixed, forming the closest shade above my head. The
ground was rocky, uneven, overgrown with bushes and clumps of young
saplings, and traversed only by cattle-paths. The track, which I chanced
to follow, led me to a crystal spring, with a border of grass, as freshly
green as on May morning, and overshadowed by the limb of a great oak.
One solitary sunbeam found its way down, and played like a goldfish in
the water.
From my childhood, I have loved to gaze into a spring. The water filled
a circular basin, small but deep, and set round with stones, some of
which were covered with slimy moss, the others naked, and of variegated
hue, reddish, white, and brown. The bottom was covered with coarse sand,
which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam, and seemed to illuminate the spring
with an unborrowed light. In one spot, the gush of the water violently
agitated the sand, but without obscuring the fountain, or breaking the
glassiness of its surface. It appeared as if some living creature were
about to emerge--the Naiad of the spring, perhaps--in the shape of a
beautiful young woman, with a gown of filmy water-moss, a belt of
rainbow-drops, and a cold, pure, passionless countenance. How would the
beholder shiver, pleasantly, yet fearfully, to see her sitting on one of
the stones, paddling her white feet in the ripples, and throwing up
water, to sparkle in the sun! Wherever she laid her hands on grass and
flowers, they would immediately be moist, as with morning dew. Then
would she set about her labors, like a careful housewife, to clear the
fountain of withered leaves, and bits of slimy wood, and old acorns from
the oaks above, and grains of corn left by cattle in drinking, till the
bright sand, in the bright water, were like a treasury of diamonds. But,
should the intruder approach too near, he would find only the drops of a
summer shower glistening about the spot where he had seen her.
Reclining on the border of grass, where the dewy goddess should have
been, I bent forward, and a pair of eyes met mine within the watery
mirror. They were the reflection of my own. I looked again, and lo!
another face, deeper in the fountain than my own image, more distinct in
all the features, yet faint as thought. The vision had the aspect of a
fair young girl, with locks of paly gold. A mirthful expression laughed
in the eyes and dimpled over the whole shadowy countenance, till it
seemed just what a fountain would be, if, while dancing merrily into the
sunshine, it should assume the shape of woman. Through the dim rosiness
of the cheeks, I could see the brown leaves, the slimy twigs, the acorns,
and the sparkling sand. The solitary sunbeam was diffused among the
golden hair, which melted into its faint brightness, and became a glory
round that head so beautiful!
My description can give no idea how suddenly the fountain was thus
tenanted, and how soon it was left desolate. I breathed; and there was
the face! I held my breath; and it was gone! Had it passed away, or
faded into nothing? I doubted whether it had ever been.
My sweet readers, what a dreamy and delicious hour did I spend, where
that vision found and left me! For a long time I sat perfectly still,
waiting till it should reappear, and fearful that the slightest motion,
or even the flutter of my breath, might frighten it away. Thus have I
often started from a pleasant dream, and then kept quiet, in hopes to
wile it back. Deep were my musings, as to the race and attributes of
that ethereal being. Had I created her? Was she the daughter of my
fancy, akin to those strange shapes which peep under the lids of
children's eyes? And did her beauty gladden me, for that one moment, and
then die? Or was she a water-nymph within the fountain, or fairy, or
woodland goddess peeping over my shoulder, or the ghost of some forsaken
maid, who had drowned herself for love? Or, in good truth, had a lovely
girl, with a warm heart, and lips that would bear pressure, stolen softly
behind me, and thrown her image into the spring?
I watched and waited, but no vision came again. I departed, but with a
spell upon me, which drew me back, that same afternoon, to the haunted
spring. There was the water gushing, the sand sparkling, and the sunbeam
glimmering. There the vision was not, but only a great frog, the hermit
of that solitude, who immediately withdrew his speckled snout and made
himself invisible, all except a pair of long legs, beneath a stone.
Methought he had a devilish look! I could have slain him!
Thus did the Vision leave me; and many a doleful day succeeded to the
parting moment. By the spring, and in the wood, and on the hill, and
through the village; at dewy sunrise, burning noon, and at that magic
hour of sunset, when she had vanished from my sight, I sought her, but in
vain. Weeks came and went, months rolled away, and she appeared not in
them. I imparted my mystery to none, but wandered to and fro, or sat in
solitude, like one that had caught a glimpse of heaven, and could take no
more joy on earth. I withdrew into an inner world, where my thoughts
lived and breathed, and the Vision in the midst of them. Without
intending it, I became at once the author and hero of a romance,
conjuring up rivals, imagining events, the actions of others and my own,
and experiencing every change of passion, till jealousy and despair had
their end in bliss. O, had I the burning fancy of my early youth, with
manhood's colder gift, the power of expression, your hearts, sweet
ladies, should flutter at my tale!
In the middle of January, I was summoned home. The day before my
departure, visiting the spots which had been hallowed by the Vision, I
found that the spring had a frozen bosom, and nothing but the snow and a
glare of winter sunshine, on the hill of the rainbow. "Let me hope,"
thought I, "or my heart will be as icy as the fountain, and the whole
world as desolate as this snowy hill." Most of the day was spent in
preparing for the journey, which was to commence at four o'clock the next
morning. About an hour after supper, when all was in readiness, I
descended from my chamber to the sitting-room, to take leave of the old
clergyman and his family, with whom I had been an inmate. A gust of wind
blew out my lamp as I passed through the entry.
According to their invariable custom, so pleasant a one when the fire
blazes cheerfully, the family were sitting in the parlor, with no other
light than what came from the hearth. As the good clergyman's scanty
stipend compelled him to use all sorts of economy, the foundation of his
fires was always a large heap of tan, or ground bark, which would
smoulder away, from morning till night, with a dull warmth and no flame.
This evening the heap of tan was newly put on, and surmounted with three
sticks of red-oak, full of moisture, and a few pieces of dry pine, that
had not yet kindled. There was no light, except the little that came
sullenly from two half-burned brands, without even glimmering on the
andirons. But I knew the position of the old minister's arm-chair, and
also where his wife sat, with her knitting-work, and how to avoid his two
daughters, one a stout country lass, and the other a consumptive girl.
Groping through the gloom, I found my own place next to that of the son,
a learned collegian, who had come home to keep school in the village
during the winter vacation. I noticed that there was less room than
usual, to-night, between the collegian's chair and mine.
As people are always taciturn in the dark, not a word was said for some
time after my entrance. Nothing broke the stillness but the regular
click of the matron's knitting-needles. At times, the fire threw out a
brief and dusky gleam, which twinkled on the old man's glasses, and
hovered doubtfully round our circle, but was far too faint to portray the
individuals who composed it. Were we not like ghosts? Dreamy as the
scene was, might it not be a type of the mode in which departed people,
who had known and loved each other here, would hold communion in
eternity? We were aware of each other's presence, not by sight, nor
sound, nor touch, but by an inward consciousness. Would it not be so
among the dead?
The silence was interrupted by the consumptive daughter, addressing a
remark to some one in the circle, whom she called Rachel. Her tremulous
and decayed accents were answered by a single word, but in a voice that
made me start, and bend towards the spot whence it had proceeded. Had I
ever heard that sweet, low tone? If not, why did it rouse up so many old
recollections, or mockeries of such, the shadows of things familiar, yet
unknown, and fill my mind with confused images of her features who had
spoken, though buried in the gloom of the parlor? Whom had my heart
recognized, that it throbbed so? I listened, to catch her gentle
breathing, and strove, by the intensity of my gaze, to picture forth a
shape where none was visible.
Suddenly, the dry pine caught; the fire blazed up with a ruddy glow; and
where the darkness had been, there was she,--the Vision of the Fountain!
A spirit of radiance only, she had vanished with the rainbow, and
appeared again in the firelight, perhaps to flicker with the blaze, and
be gone. Yet, her cheek was rosy and life-like, and her features, in the
bright warmth of the room, were even sweeter and tenderer than my
recollection of them. She knew me! The mirthful expression that had
laughed in her eyes and dimpled over her countenance, when I beheld her
faint beauty in the fountain, was laughing and dimpling there now. One
moment our glance mingled,--the next, down rolled the heap of tan upon
the kindled wood,--and darkness snatched away that Daughter of the Light,
and gave her back to me no more!
Fair ladies, there is nothing more to tell. Must the simple mystery be
revealed, then, that Rachel was the daughter of the village squire, and
had left home for a boarding-school, the morning after I arrived, and
returned the day before my departure? | 902.954259 |
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BUCHANAN'S
JOURNAL OF MAN.
VOL. I. APRIL, 1887. NO. 3.
CONTENTS OF JOURNAL OF MAN.
Psychometry: The Divine Science
A Modern Miracle-Worker
Human Longevity
Justice to the Indians
MISCELLANEOUS INTELLIGENCE--Anatomy of the Brain; Mesmeric Cures;
Medical Despotism; The Dangerous Classes; Arbitration; Criticism
on the Church; Earthquakes and Predictions
Chapter II. Of Outlines of Anthropology; Structure of the Brain
Business Department, College of Therapeutics
PSYCHOMETRY: THE DIVINE SCIENCE.
It is presumed that every reader of these pages has some knowledge of
this subject, either by reading the "Manual of Psychometry" or
otherwise, and has at least read the "Introduction to the JOURNAL OF
MAN" on our cover pages.
It is not of the directly practical bearings of Psychometry that I
would speak at present, but of its imperial rank among sciences,
entitling it to the post of honor.
In all human affairs, that takes the highest rank which has the
greatest controlling and guiding power. The king, the statesman, the
hero, the saintly founder of a religion, the philosopher that guides
the course of human thought, and the scientist who gives us a greater
command of nature, are the men whom we honor as the ministers of
destiny.
When we speak of science, we accord the highest rank to that which
gives the greatest comprehension of the world as it is--of its past
and of its future. Geology and astronomy are the sciences which reach
out into the illimitable alike in the present and past. Biology will
do the same for the world of life when biology is completed by a
knowledge of the centre of all life, the brain. But in its present
acephalous condition it is but a fragment of science--a headless
corpse, unfit to rank among complete sciences. Theology claims the
highest rank of all, but based as it has been on the conceptions
current in the dark ages, it has become, in the light of modern
science, a crumbling ruin. Does psychometry compare with astronomy and
geology in its scientific rank, or does it compare with the acephalous
biology, which occupies all medical colleges?
It compares with neither. Like astronomy, it borders on the limitless;
like geology, it reaches into the vast, undefined past; and like
biology, it comprehends all life science; but unlike each, it has no
limitation to any sphere. It is equally at home with living forms and
with dead matter--equally at home in the humbler spheres of human life
and human infirmity, and in the higher spheres of the spirit world,
which we call heaven. It grasps all of biology, all of history, all of
geology and astronomy, and far more than telescopes have revealed. It
has no parallel in any science, for sciences are limited and defined
in their scope, while psychometry is unlimited, transcending far all
that collegians have called science, and all that they have deemed the
limits of human capacities, for in psychometry the divinity in man
becomes apparent, and the intellectual mastery of all things lifts
human life to a higher plane than it has ever known before.
Psychometry is therefore in its nature and scope not classifiable
among the sciences, since it reaches out above and beyond all, in a
higher and broader sphere, and hence may truly be called the Divine
science, for it is the expression of the Divine element in man.
Wherein is Divine above human knowledge? And wherein is human above
animal knowledge and understanding? The superiority in each case
consists in a deeper and more interior comprehension of that which is,
which realizes in the present the potentiality of the future, enabling
us to act for future results and accomplish whatever is possible to
our powers. That forecast, that comprehension through the present of
that which is to be, constitutes foresight,--the essential element of
wisdom; and in its grander manifestations it appears as prophecy.
Prophecy, then, is the noblest aspect of psychometry; and if this
prophetic power can be cultivated to its maximum possibilities, there
is no reason why it should not become the guiding power of each
individual life, and the guiding power for the destiny of nations.
Moreover, in its prophetic role its superiority of rank is manifest,
since it is then the instructor of all hearers,--the revealer of that
in which they readily confess their ignorance.
Hence it was that St. Paul especially recommended the cultivation of
prophecy as the most sacred and Divine of all religious exercises,
saying, in 1 Corinthians xiv. 21-25: "If therefore the whole church be
come together into one place, and all speak with tongues, and there
come in those who are unlearned or unbelievers, will they not say ye
are mad? But _if all prophesy_, and there come in one that believeth
not, or one unlearned, he is convinced of all, he is judged of all:
and thus are the secrets of his heart made manifest; and so falling
down on his face, he will worship God, and report that God is in you
of a truth." This is a | 902.988281 |
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THERE WAS A KING IN EGYPT
by
NORMA LORIMER
Author of
"Catherine Sterling,"
"By the Waters of Germany,"
"By the Waters of Sicily,"
"The Second Woman,"
"The Gods' Carnival,"
"A Wife Out of Egypt"
"On | 903.061547 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE DORRANCE DOMAIN
_By_ CAROLYN WELLS
_Illustrated by_
PELAGIE DOANE
GROSSET & DUNLAP
_Publishers_ NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1905_,
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY,
_All rights reserved_.
The Dorrance Domain.
Made in the United States of America
[Illustration: "IF THAT'S THE DORRANCE DOMAIN, IT'S ALL RIGHT. WHAT DO
YOU THINK, FAIRY?"]
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. COOPED UP 9
II. REBELLIOUS HEARTS 22
III. DOROTHY'S PLAN 35
IV. THE DEPARTURE 48
V. THE MAMIE MEAD 60
VI. THE DORRANCE DOMAIN 73
VII. MR. HICKOX 86
VIII. MRS. HICKOX 99
IX. THE FLOATING BRIDGE 112
X. THE HICKOXES AT HOME 124
XI. SIX INVITATIONS 137
XII. GUESTS FOR ALL 149
XIII. AN UNWELCOME LETTER 161
XIV. FINANCIAL PLANS 174
XV. A SUDDEN DETERMINATION 188
XVI. A DARING SCHEME 201
XVII. REGISTERED GUESTS 214
XVIII. AMBITIONS 226
XIX. THE VAN ARSDALE LADIES 239
XX. A REAL HOTEL 252
XXI. UPS AND DOWNS 265
XXII. TWO BOYS AND A BOAT 278
XXIII. AN UNWELCOME PROPOSITION 290
XXIV. DOROTHY'S REWARD 307
The Dorrance Domain
CHAPTER I
COOPED UP
"I _wish_ we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!" said Dorothy
Dorrance, flinging herself into an armchair, in her grandmother's room,
one May afternoon, about six o'clock.
She made this remark almost every afternoon, about six o'clock, whatever
the month or the season, and as a rule, little attention was paid to it.
But to-day her sister Lilian responded, in a sympathetic voice,
"_I_ wish we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!"
Whereupon Leicester, Lilian's twin brother, mimicking his sister's
tones, dolefully repeated, "I wish _we_ didn't have to live in a
boarding-house!"
And then Fairy, the youngest Dorrance, and the last of the quartet,
sighed forlornly, "I wish we didn't have to live in a _boarding-house_!"
There was another occupant of the room. A gentle white-haired old lady,
whose sweet face and dainty fragile figure had all the effects of an
ivory miniature, or a painting on porcelain.
"My dears," she said, "I'm sure I wish you didn't."
"Don't look like that, grannymother," cried Dorothy, springing to kiss
the troubled face of the dear old lady. "I'd live here a million years,
rather than have you look so worried about it. And anyway, it wouldn't
be so bad, if it weren't for the dinners."
"I don't mind the dinners," said Leicester, "in fact I would be rather
sorry not to have them. What I mind is the cramped space, and the
shut-up-in-your-own-room feeling. I spoke a piece in school last week,
and I spoke it awful well, too, because I just meant it. It began, 'I
want free life, and I want fresh air,' and that's exactly what I do
want. I wish we lived in Texas, instead of on Manhattan Island. Texas
has a great deal more room to the square yard, and I don't believe
people are crowded down there."
"There can't be more room to a square yard in one place than another,"
said Lilian, who was practical.
"I mean back yards and front yards and side yards,--and I don't care
whether they're square or not," went on Leicester, warming to his
subject. "My air-castle is situated right in the middle of the state of
Texas, and it's the only house in the state."
"Mine is in the middle of a desert island," said Lilian; "it's so much
nicer to feel sure that you can get to the water, no matter in what
direction you walk away from your house."
"A desert island would be nice," said Leicester; "it would be more
exciting than Texas, I suppose, on account of the wild animals. But then
in Texas, there are wild men and wild animals both."
"I like plenty of room, too," said Dorothy, "but I want it inside my
house as well as out. Since we are choosing, I think I'll choose to
live in the Madison Square Garden, and I'll have it moved to the middle
of a western prairie."
"Well, children," said Mrs. Dorrance, "your ideas are certainly big
enough, but you must leave the discussion of them now, and go to your
small cramped boarding-house bedrooms, and make yourselves presentable
to go down to your dinner in a boarding-house dining-room."
This suggestion was carried out in the various ways that were
characteristic of the Dorrance children.
Dorothy, who was sixteen, rose from her chair and humming a waltz tune,
danced slowly and gracefully across the room. The twins, Lilian and
Leicester, fell off of the arms of the sofa, where they had been
perched, scrambled up again, executed a sort of war-dance and then
dashed madly out of the door and down the hall.
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The Mentor, No. 35, The Story of America in Pictures: The Contest for
North America
THE MENTOR
“A Wise and Faithful Guide and Friend”
Vol. 1 No. 35
THE STORY OF AMERICA IN PICTURES
THE CONTEST FOR NORTH AMERICA
LA SALLE
CAPTURE OF LOUISBURG
DEERFIELD MASSACRE
CAPTURE OF QUEBEC
BRADDOCK’S DEFEAT
PONTIAC WAR
[Illustration]
_By ALBERT BUSHNELL HART Professor of Government, Harvard University_
The whole round world is now open. Gone is the pleasure of finding new
lands, sighting strange mountains, floating down mysterious rivers,
and meeting unknown races of men. After Mt. Everest is climbed by some
daring mountaineer, and after an airship lands on the highest peak of
Mt. McKinley, what will be left for the seeker of novelty? Where can
you now find a river or mountain range or tribe certified never before
to have been seen by white men?
That rich pleasure was enjoyed in the fullest measure by the explorers
in North America; in fact, they enjoyed it so much that they kept it
alive for four centuries. For a good two hundred and fifty years the
English at intervals battered their way into Hudson Bay, and Davis
Strait, and the Arctic deserts, trying to smash a route through the
ice, around to the north of Asia and Europe. Nearly three centuries
passed after De Soto reached the lower Mississippi before Lieutenant
Pike found its source in its native lair. As late as 1880 no man, white
or red, knew the passes across the Canadian Rockies; and to this day
only three boat parties have ever gone through the length of the canyon
of the Colorado.
[Illustration: ROBERT CAVELIER DE LA SALLE
_Born 1643; died 1687._]
In the work of opening up North America the French surpassed the
English: if no bolder, they were more adventurous. From the lower St.
Lawrence they held a direct route into the interior, which flanked the
two great obstacles to western exploration; namely, the Six Nations of
the Iroquois and the Alleghany Mountains. It is hard to say which was
the firmer wall against English discovery.
FRENCH ADVENTURE
[Illustration: LA SALLE’S SHIP, THE GRIFFIN
_From an old print._]
If we were only French, we could weep at the splendid story of French
discovery, as compared with the final collapse of the French empire on
the continent of North America. The French were the first to find the
St. Lawrence; first to see each one of the Great Lakes; first to spread
exaggerated ideas about Niagara Falls--where, according to Mark Twain,
the hack fares in his time were so much higher than the falls that the
visitor did not perceive the latter. They were first to be awestruck at
the site of the future city of Chicago; first to reach the Mississippi;
first to be stopped by the Falls of St. Anthony, which unfortunately
were not at that time subject to conservation; first to navigate the
Mississippi; first to see the Rocky Mountains; first to cross from Lake
Superior to Hudson Bay. What a fate, to be the star actors in so many
first performances, and then not to appear at all in the last act!
What a destiny for the earliest explorers of our country!
One reason why the French secured early control of the interior
was that they had an astonishing gift of living on the country.
When Stanley crosses the Dark Continent, or Amundsen penetrates the
White Continent, he carries great quantities of stores with him; but
Champlain, and Marquette, and La Salle went light. The Frenchmen
paddled their canoes along with their Indian friends, lived on game and
Indian corn, found much to engage and interest them, and were always
ready for a joyous fight. Frenchmen know how to draw the pleasures of
life out of unpromising surroundings.
FOUNDING OF QUEBEC
The French made their first permanent settlement at Quebec in 1608;
but the English had then been in Jamestown a year. From the first the
continent was too small to hold two such boisterous, expanding, and
conflict-loving people. Captain Argall in 1613 opened the ball by
capturing the little Jesuit settlement at Flying Mountain on Mount
Desert. From that time, for just a hundred and fifty years, the two
nations were sparring with each other.
[Illustration: Copyright, 1897, by Little, Brown & Co. Reproduced by
permission.
LA SALLE PRESENTING A PETITION TO KING LOUIS XIV]
For many years this warfare was hedged in, because mountains, woods,
and savages filled up a broad belt of territory between the English
coast settlements and the St. Lawrence. But in war, as in the chivalric
game of football, when you cannot break through the center, you play
round the ends. Hence in every one of the six regular wars, besides
various local squabbles, there was always fighting between French and
English in Nova Scotia, or the Islands of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, or
along that river. In 1613 the English captured Port Royal on the Bay of
Fundy, and again in 1690 and 1710,--it became almost a habit,--in 1670
they broke into Hudson Bay; in 1745 and 1758 they mastered Louisburg;
and in 1759 took Quebec.
LA SALLE
The most gallant figure in this century and a half is the chevalier
Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle, who had all the pluck and endurance
of his Norman ancestors. He was educated by the Jesuits; but preferred
the life of a seignior on the frontier of Canada. There he heard tales
of a river starting somewhere near the Great Lakes and following so
long a course that he guessed it must be the Colorado. From that time
he became a still hunter for the Mississippi River. He built the
Griffin, the first vessel ever seen on Lake Erie. Apparently he found
the Ohio, and decided that that was not the advertised stream; and
before he could get to the Mississippi it had been discovered by the
priest Marquette and the Indian trader Joliet, while Father Hennepin
went up the great stream to the falls.
[Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS
_As pictured by Father Louis Hennepin, probably the first white man
to see this wonderful waterfall. From a plate made from the original
Utrecht edition of 1697._]
La Salle had larger plans than to see new countries and float on
strange rivers: he wanted to occupy that region for his sovereign and
friend, Louis XIV, Le Grand Monarque. Early in 1682 he reached what
the recorder of that expedition calls “the divine river, called by the
Indians Checagou.” With him was that picturesque figure Tonti, “the man
with the iron hand”--and his artificial member was no tougher and more
enduring than his iron heart.
February 6, 1682, the expedition reached what they called “the River
Colbert,” and six leagues lower they passed the mouth of the Missouri.
There they registered the first protest against the St. Louis water
supply; for that stream, they said, “is full as large as the River
Colbert, into which it empties, troubling it so that from the mouth
the water is hardly drinkable.” The Indians entertained him with the
fiction that by going up the Missouri ten or twelve days he would come
to a mountain, beyond which was the sea with many ships.
La Salle was the man who put the French into the Mississippi Valley,
and thus gave them possession of the two finest regions in North
America,--the whole watershed of the St. Lawrence, including the Great
Lakes, and the whole watershed of the Mississippi. How many different
craft have followed after his canoes,--a keel boat containing Aaron
Burr and his misfortunes; a flat boat, with Abraham Lincoln stretching
his long arms over the steering oar; the Belle of St. Louis racing the
Belle of Memphis, cramming sugar and hams into the furnace, and, just
as she pulled abreast of her rival, blowing up in most spectacular
style; and Porter’s gunboats, driving past Vicksburg and exchanging
broadsides with the batteries on the heights! Little did La Salle know
that he was opening up a highway for a nation not yet born!
ENGLISH CLAIMS
[Illustration: GENERAL PEPPERELL AT LOUISBURG
_General Pepperell was commander of the English forces which on June
16, 1745, captured the town of Louisburg._]
Where were the English all this time? Did their Indian friends tell
them nothing about great rivers full of crocodiles, and crook-backed,
woolly oxen, and mountains of gold? After 1664 they held the whole
coast from the St. Croix River to the Savannah River; but it took them
a long time simply to reach the edge of the Mississippi Valley. Two
adventurous men, Thomas Batts, and the German, John Lederer, wormed
their way through the confused mountains of western Virginia, and
Batts reached the New River about 1671,--“a pleasing but dreadful
sight to see, mountains and hills piled one upon another.” They took
possession of “all the territories thereunto belonging” for his Majesty
Charles II. Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania all had
charters reaching west of the mountains; but they knew better than to
try to pick up territory from under the lodge poles of the ferocious
Iroquois. The English seemed to lack the discoverer’s spirit, which
can be satisfied only, as the colored preacher puts it, “by unscrewing
the inscrutable.” John Endicott thought he was as heroic as Marco
Polo, when he went up the Merrimac River to Lake Winnepesaukee, and
there cut his initials on a rock; and Governor Alexander Spotswood of
Virginia felt very proud of himself when in 1716 he conducted a party
of gentlemen on horseback across the mountains into the valley of the
Shenandoah, which was still a long way from the Mississippi Basin.
[Illustration: DOOR OF OLD HOUSE, DEERFIELD
_Showing the holes chopped in the door by the Indians, through which
they shot Mrs. Weldon, a victim of the raid._]
The French riveted their claim on the Mississippi by sending out a
colony in 1699, which soon after founded the town of New Orleans, on
the high bluff fourteen feet above the sea level of the nearby Lake
Pontchartrain. They made many settlements; such as Detroit, and St.
Joseph, and Green Bay, Vincennes, Kaskaskia, and Natchez. They set up
trading posts among the Indians; they buried lead plates along the
banks of the Ohio River, bearing the arms of the king,--they had a
clear claim to the two enormous river valleys.
[Illustration: OLD HOUSE IN DEERFIELD
_This old house escaped the conflagration in 1704._]
What was a clear claim? The Indians thought they had a clear claim,
and warlike tribes like the Iroquois and the Creeks fought for that
conviction. The English claimed the Mississippi Valley because they
wanted it, and took advantage of the four international wars of
the eighteenth century to make that claim good by further right of
conquest. After the second war, by the treaty of Utrecht, in 1713, the
first territory was clipped off from the French possessions; Acadia
(Nova Scotia) passed to the English, and with it they acquired whatever
the French claims had been to Newfoundland and Hudson Bay. At the end
of the third war, in 1748, they were holding Louisburg; but gave it
back. Then in 1754 came the great struggle of the French and Indian
War, in which the English attacked the French on the upper Ohio, on
Lake Ontario, at Louisburg, and finally at Quebec, all with triumphant
success. The Canadian French were outnumbered five or six times to one
in America, and their home government had its hands full with European
and naval wars, and could not help them.
FRONTIER WARFARE
[Illustration: SOLDIERS’ MONUMENT, DEERFIELD
_This monument stands on the common in Deerfield, on the site of the
church of 1704._]
All this fighting was not according to the nice, formal,
observe-the-laws-of-war methods, such as are now followed between
civilized nations: it was more like a campaign in the Balkans, or the
amenities of the Zulus in Africa. Europeans were not particularly
gentle in their warfare. The early colonies were planted when the
Thirty Years’ War was raging in Germany, a war in which the unoffending
peas | 903.156501 |
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MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF ST. CLOUD
By Lewis Goldsmith
Being Secret Letters from a Gentleman at Paris to a Nobleman in London
PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
The present work contains particulars of the great Napoleon not to be
found in any other publication, and forms an interesting addition to the
information generally known about him.
The writer of the Letters (whose name is said to have been Stewarton, and
who had been a friend of the Empress Josephine in her happier, if less
brilliant days) gives full accounts of the lives of nearly all Napoleon's
Ministers and Generals, in addition to those of a great number of other
characters, and an insight into the inner life of those who formed
Napoleon's Court.
All sorts and conditions of men are dealt with--adherents who have come
over from the Royalist camp, as well as those who have won their way
upwards as soldiers, as did Napoleon himself. In fact, the work abounds
with anecdotes of Napoleon, Talleyrand, Fouche, and a host of others, and
astounding particulars are given of the mysterious disappearance of those
persons who were unfortunate enough to incur the displeasure of Napoleon.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
At Cardinal Caprara's
Cardinal Fesch
Episode at | 903.25525 |
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GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXIII. PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER, 1848. NO. 5.
THE BRIDE OF FATE.
A TALE: FOUNDED UPON EVENTS IN THE EARLY HISTORY OF VENICE.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.
It was a glad day in Venice. The eve of the feast of the Purification
had arrived, and all those maidens of the Republic, whose names had
been written in the "Book of Gold," were assembled with their parents,
their friends and lovers--a beautiful and joyous crowd--repairing, in
the gondolas provided by the Republic, to the church of San Pietro de
Castella, at Olivolo, which was the residence of the Patriarch. This
place was on the extreme verge of the city, a beautiful and isolated
spot, its precincts almost without inhabitants, a ghostly and small
priesthood excepted, whose grave habits and taciturn seclusion seemed
to lend an additional aspect of solitude to the neighborhood. It was,
indeed, a solitary and sad-seeming region, which, to the thoughtless
and unmeditative, might be absolutely gloomy. But it was not the less
lovely as a place suited equally for the picturesque and the
thoughtful; and, just now, it was very far from gloomy or solitary.
The event which was in hand was decreed to enliven it in especial
degree, and, in its consequences, to impress its characteristics on
the memory for long generations after. It was the day of St. Mary's
Eve--a day set aside from immemorial time for a great and peculiar
festival. All, accordingly, was life and joy in the sea republic. The
marriages of a goodly company of the high-born, the young and the
beautiful, were to be celebrated on this occasion, and in public,
according to the custom. Headed by the Doge himself, Pietro Candiano,
the city sent forth its thousands. The ornamented gondolas plied
busily from an early hour in the morning, from the city to Olivolo;
and there, amidst music and merry gratulations of friends and kindred,
the lovers disembarked. They were all clad in their richest array.
Silks, which caught their colors from the rainbow, and jewels that had
inherited, even in their caverns, their beauties from the sun and
stars, met the eye in all directions. Wealth had put on all its
riches, and beauty, always modest, was not satisfied with her
intrinsic loveliness. All that could delight the eye, in personal
decorations and nuptial ornaments, was displayed to the eager gaze of
curiosity, and, for a moment, the treasures of the city were
transplanted to the solitude and waste.
But gorgeous and grand as was the spectacle, and joyous as was the
crowd, there were some at the festival, some young, throbbing hearts,
who, though deeply interested in its proceedings, felt any thing but
gladness. While most of the betrothed thrilled only with rapturous
anticipations that might have been counted in the strong pulsations
that made the bosom heave rapidly beneath the close pressure of the
virgin zone, there were yet others, who felt only that sad sinking of
the heart which declares nothing but its hopelessness and desolation.
There were victims to be sacrificed as well as virgins to be made
happy, and girdled in by thousands of the brave and goodly--by golden
images and flaunting banners, and speaking symbols--by music and by
smiles--there were more hearts than one that longed to escape from
all, to fly away to some far solitude, where the voices of such a joy
as was now present could vex the defrauded soul no more. As the fair
procession moved onward and up through the gorgeous avenues of the
cathedral to the altar-place, where stood the venerable Patriarch in
waiting for their coming, in order to begin the solemn but grateful
rites, you might have marked, in the crowding column, the face of one
meek damsel, which declared a heart very far removed from hope or
joyful expectation. Is that tearful eye--is that pallid cheek--that
lip, now so tremulously convulsed--are these proper to one going to a
bridal, and that her own? Where is her anticipated joy? It is not in
that despairing vacancy of face--not in that feeble, faltering, almost
fainting footstep--not, certainly, in any thing that we behold about
the maiden, unless we seek it in the rich and flaming jewels with
which she is decorated and almost laden down; and these no more
declare for her emotions than the roses which encircle the neck of
the white lamb, as it is led to the altar and the priest. The fate of
the two is not unlike, and so also is their character. Francesca Ziani
is decreed for a sacrifice. She was one of those sweet and winning,
but feeble spirits, which know how to submit only. She has no powers
of resistance. She knows that she is a victim; she feels that her
heart has been wronged even to the death, by the duty to which it is
now commanded; she feels that it is thus made the cruel but unwilling
instrument for doing a mortal wrong to the heart of another; but she
lacks the courage to refuse, to resist, to die rather than submit. Her
nature only teaches her submission; and this is the language of the
wo-begone, despairing glance--but one--which she bestows, in passing
up the aisle, upon one who stands beside a column, close to her
progress, in whose countenance she perceives a fearful struggle,
marking equally his indignation and his grief.
Giovanni Gradenigo was one of the noblest cavaliers of Venice--but
nobleness, as we know, is not always, perhaps not often, the
credential in behalf of him who seeks a maiden from her parents. He
certainly was not the choice of Francesca's sire. The poor girl was
doomed to the embraces of one Ulric Barberigo, a man totally destitute
of all nobility, that alone excepted which belonged to wealth. This
shone in the eyes of Francesca's parents, but failed utterly to
attract her own. She saw, through the heart's simple, unsophisticated
medium, the person of Giovanni Gradenigo only. Her sighs were given to
him, her loathings to the other. Though meek and finally submissive,
she did not yield without a remonstrance, without mingled tears and
entreaties, which were found unavailing. The ally of a young damsel is
naturally her mother, and when she fails her, her best human hope is
lost. Alas! for the poor Francesca! It was her mother's weakness,
blinded by the wealth of Ulric Barberigo, that rendered the father's
will so stubborn. It was the erring mother that wilfully beheld her
daughter led to the sacrifice, giving no heed to the heart which was
breaking, even beneath its heavy weight of jewels. How completely that
mournful and desponding, that entreating and appealing glance to her
indignant lover, told her wretched history. There he stood, stern as
well as sad, leaning, as if for support, upon the arm of his kinsman,
Nicolo Malapieri. Hopeless, helpless, and in utter despair, he thus
lingered, as if under a strange and fearful fascination, watching the
progress of the proceedings which were striking fatally, with every
movement, upon the sources of his own hope and happiness. His
resolution rose with his desperation, and he suddenly shook himself
free from his friend.
"I will not bear this, Nicolo," he exclaimed, "I must not suffer it
without another effort, though it be the last."
"What would you do, Giovanni," demanded his kinsman, grasping him by
the wrist as he spoke, and arresting his movement.
"Shall I see her thus sacrificed--delivered to misery and the grave!
Never! they shall not so lord it over true affections to their loss
and mine. Francesca was mine--is mine--even now, in the very sight of
Heaven. How often hath she vowed it! Her glance avows it now. My lips
shall as boldly declare it again; and as Heaven has heard our vows,
the church shall hear them. The Patriarch shall hear. Hearts must not
be wronged--Heaven must not thus be defrauded. That selfish, vain
woman, her mother--that mercenary monster, miscalled her father, have
no better rights than mine--none half so good. They shall hear me.
Stand by me, Nicolo, while I speak!"
This was the language of a passion, which, however true, was equally
unmeasured and imprudent. The friend of the unhappy lover would have
held him back.
"It is all in vain, Giovanni! Think! my friend, you can do nothing
now. It is too late; nor is there any power to prevent this
consummation. Their names have been long since written in the 'Book of
Gold,' and the Doge himself may not alter the destiny!"
"The Book of Gold!" exclaimed the other. | 909.035652 |
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EACH VOLUME SOLD SEPARATELY.
COLLECTION OF BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3970.
THE HOUSE OF DEFENCE. BY E. F. BENSON.
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I.
LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
PARIS: LIBRAIRIE CH. GAULON & FILS, 39, RUE MADAME.
PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI, AND AT NICE, 8, AVENUE
MASSENA.
_The Copyright of this Collection is purchased for Continental
Circulation only, and the volumes may therefore not be introduced into
Great Britain or her Colonies._
(_See also pp. 3-6 of Large Catalogue._)
Latest Volumes.--June 1907.
=The Princess Priscilla's Fortnight.= By the author of "Elizabeth and
her German Garden." 1 vol.--3880.
The tale of a German Princess who runs away to England to live the
simple life accompanied by her aged teacher. The story is a
delightful mixture of smiles and tears.
=The Adventures of Elizabeth in Ruegen.= By the author of "Elizabeth
and her German Garden." 1 vol.--3881.
An account of a holiday spent in one of the pleasantest of German
island resorts, so plentifully sprinkled with humorous incident as
to make the book fascinating even to those unable to travel there
except in imagination.
=A Dazzling Reprobate.= By W. R. H. TROWBRIDGE. 1 v.--3882.
A very original study of high life and society in England, in which
it is shown how hard regeneration is made for a fallen member.
=The Way of the Spirit.= By H. RIDER HAGGARD. 2 vols.--3883/84.
A psychological romance and at the same time a tale of modern
Egypt, in which a daughter of the ancient kings plays an important
and novel _role_.
"=If Youth but knew!=" By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE. 1 vol.--3885.
An idyl of Westphalia in the days of Jerome Bonaparte's pinchbeck
court and reign. A delicate and pretty love-story.
=Mr. John Strood.= By PERCY WHITE. 1 vol.--3886.
A story, written somewhat on the lines of "Mr. Bailey-Martin," of
the career of a public man. The snobbishness of the quondam friend
who is here supposed to write the biography is cunningly revealed
throughout.
=The Artful Miss Dill.= By F. FRANKFORT MOORE. 1 vol.--3887.
A modern English romance, the opening scene of which, however, is
laid in Caracas, and is of a most stirring nature.
=Genius Loci=, and =The Enchanted Woods.= By VERNON LEE. 1 vol.--3888.
A collection of essays and articles on towns and villages in
France, Germany, Italy, and Switzerland, in which the authoress
paints her impressions of their romanticism or interest.
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An American society novel in which the hollow life of a certain
moneyed clique of New York is admirably described.
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This book might almost be described as socialistic. It is a description
of the difficulty experienced at the present day by man or woman of
earning their daily bread.
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A love-story, treating of modern English life, by the favourite and
well-known authoress of "The Visits of Elizabeth."
=Fenwick's Career.= By MRS. HUMPHRY WARD. 2 vols.--3893/94.
Mrs. Ward's new book describes the life of an artist in England,
the vicissitudes through which he passes, and his ultimate
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COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 3970.
THE HOUSE OF DEFENCE. BY E. F. BENSON.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
DODO 1 vol.
THE RUBICON 1 vol.
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THE BOOK OF MONTHS 1 vol.
THE RELENTLESS CITY 1 vol.
MAMMON & CO. 2 vols.
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THE ANGEL OF PAIN 2 vols.
PAUL 2 vols.
THE
HOUSE OF DEFENCE
BY
E. F. BENSON
AUTHOR OF "DODO," "THE CHALLONERS," "THE IMAGE IN THE SAND,"
"THE ANGEL OF PAIN," "PAUL," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1907.
DEDICATION
TO
C. E. M.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
It is with your permission that I dedicate this book to you, and with
your permission and by your desire that I explain the circumstances of
its dedication. You were cured, as both you and I know, of a disease
that medical science had pronounced incurable by a certain Christian
Science healer, who used neither knife nor drugs upon you.
I, a layman in medical affairs, think, as you know, that your disease
was nervous in origin, and you will readily admit that the wise and
skilful man who figures here as Sir James thought the same. But it was
already organic when you went to him, and, after consultation with
others, he pronounced it incurable. At the same time | 909.180466 |
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THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES.
I.
GOING WEST; or, The Perils of a Poor Boy.
II.
OUT WEST; or, Roughing it on the Great Lakes.
III.
LAKE BREEZES; or, The Cruise of the Sylvania.
IV.
GOING SOUTH; or, Yachting on the Atlantic Coast.
V.
DOWN SOUTH; or, Yacht Adventures in Florida.
VI.
UP THE RIVER; or, Yachting on the Mississippi.
(_In Press._)
_THE GREAT WESTERN SERIES_
DOWN SOUTH
OR
YACHT ADVENTURES IN FLORIDA
By
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD, THE ARMY AND NAVY SERIES,
THE WOODVILLE SERIES, THE STARRY FLAG SERIES, THE BOAT
CLUB STORIES, THE LAKE SHORE SERIES, THE UPWARD
AND ONWARD SERIES, THE YACHT CLUB SERIES,
THE RIVERDALE STORIES, ETC.
_WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS_
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
1881
COPYRIGHT,
1880,
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry
No. 4 Pearl Street.
TO MY YOUNG FRIEND,
WILFORD L. WRIGHT,
_OF CAIRO, ILL._,
EX-PRESIDENT OF THE NATIONAL AMATEUR PRESS ASSOCIATION,
WHO HAD THE COURAGE AND THE SELF-DENIAL TO
RESIGN HIS OFFICE IN ORDER TO PROMOTE
HIS OWN AND OTHERS' WELFARE,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"Down South" is the fifth and last volume but one of the "Great Western
Series." The action of the story is confined entirely to Florida; and
this fact may seem to belie the title of the Series. But the young
yachtman still maintains his hold upon the scenes of his earlier life
in Michigan, and his letters come regularly from that State. If he were
old enough to vote, he could do so only in Michigan; and therefore he
has not lost his right to claim a residence there during his temporary
sojourn in the South. Besides, half his ship's company are Western
boys, who carry with them from "The Great Western" family of States
whatever influence they possess in their wanderings through other
sections of the grand American Union.
The same characters who have figured in other volumes of the Series
are again presented, though others are introduced. The hero is as
straightforward, resolute, and self-reliant as ever. His yacht
adventures consist of various excursions on the St. Johns River, from
its mouth to a point above the head of ordinary navigation, with a run
across to Indian River, on the sea-coast, a trip up the Ocklawaha, to
the Lake Country of Florida, and shorter runs up the smaller streams.
The yachtmen and his passengers try their hand at shooting alligators
as well as more valuable game in the "sportsman's paradise" of the
South, and find excellent fishing in both fresh and salt water.
Apart from the adventures incident to the cruise of the yacht in so
interesting a region as Florida, the volume, like its predecessors in
the Series, has its own story, relating to the life-history of the
hero. But his career mingles with the events peculiar to the region in
which he journeys, and many of his associates are men of the "sunny
South." In any clime, he is the same young man of high aims and noble
purposes. The remaining volume will follow him in his cruise on the
Gulf of Mexico, and up the Mississippi.
DORCHESTER, MASS., August 25, 1880.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
MAKING A FLORIDA PORT 13
CHAPTER II.
OUR LIBERAL PASSENGERS 23
CHAPTER III.
A NATIVE FLORIDIAN 33
CHAPTER IV.
A TRIP UP THE SAN SEBASTIAN 43
CHAPTER V.
SAVED FROM THE BURNING HOUSE 53
CHAPTER VI.
MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC ON BOARD 63
CHAPTER VII.
THE ENEMY IN A NEW BUSINESS 73
CHAPTER VIII.
A DISAGREEABLE ROOM-MATE 83
CHAPTER IX.
A BATTLE WITH THE SERPENT 93
CHAPTER X.
THE FELLOW IN THE LOCK-UP 103
CHAPTER XI.
THE HON. PARDON TIFFANY'S WARNING 113
CHAPTER XII.
SUGGESTIONS OF ANOTHER CONSPIRACY 123
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. COBBINGTON AND HIS PET RATTLESNAKE 133
CHAPTER XIV.
THE EXCURSION TO FORT GEORGE ISLAND 143
CHAPTER XV.
A WAR OF WORDS 153
CHAPTER XVI.
GRIFFIN LEEDS AT A DISCOUNT 163
CHAPTER XVII.
POOR GRIFF AND HIS COUNSEL 173
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE EXCURSION TO MANDARIN 183
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ADVENTURES OF AN INVALID 193
CHAPTER XX.
DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY OF DEPARTURE 203
CHAPTER XXI.
A VISIT TO ORANGE PARK 213
CHAPTER XXII.
FISHING IN DOCTOR'S LAKE 223
CHAPTER XXIII.
TROLLING FOR BLACK BASS 233
CHAPTER XXIV.
GREEN COVE SPRINGS AND GOVERNOR'S CREEK 243
CHAPTER XXV.
ALLIGATOR-SHOOTING ON BLACK CREEK 253
CHAPTER XXVI.
ON BOARD OF THE WETUMPKA 263
CHAPTER XXVII.
UP THE OCKLAWAHA TO LAKE GRIFFIN 273
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AN EXPEDITION TO INDIAN RIVER 283
CHAPTER XXIX.
A MYSTERIOUS SHOT 293
CHAPTER XXX.
SHOOTING IN THE FOREST AND BEING SHOT 303
DOWN SOUTH;
OR,
_YACHT ADVENTURES IN FLORIDA._
CHAPTER I.
MAKING A FLORIDA PORT.
"That's it, as true as you live, Captain Alick!" exclaimed Bob
Washburn, the mate of the Sylvania, as he dropped the spy-glass from
his right eye. "Your dead-reckoning was correct every time."
"I have no doubt you are right, Washburn," I replied, referring to an
open volume that lay on the shelf under the forward windows of the
pilot-house. "'A square tower, painted white, sixty-eight feet above
the sea,'" I continued, reading from the _Coast Pilot_. "But there
is another tower, more than twice that height. Ah, here is a note in
pencil I made: 'The government has built a new tower, one hundred and
sixty feet high.'"
"That must be St. Augustine Light: there can be no possible doubt of
it. It fits the description; and that is exactly where we ought to find
it," added the mate.
The Sylvania had been on a ten weeks' cruise to Nassau, Havana, and the
Bermuda Islands. In Havana we had been startled by the report of a few
cases of yellow fever, and we had hastily departed for the Bermudas,
where we had cruised by sea and journeyed by land for a month. The
steam-yacht was now on her return to Florida. The weather had been
thick and rainy, and for the last two days I had failed to obtain an
observation. But we had heaved the log every two hours, though there
was rarely a variation of half a knot from our regular speed. We had
made careful calculations and allowances for the current of the Gulf
Stream, and the result was that we came out right when we made the
Florida coast.
We had two sets of instruments on board; and Washburn and myself had
each made an independent observation, when the sky was clear enough to
permit us to do so, and had ciphered out the latitude and longitude. We
had also figured up the dead-reckoning separately, as much for practice
as to avoid mistakes. We had varied a little on the dead-reckoning, and
it proved that I was the nearer right, as the position of St. Augustine
Light proved.
The steam-yacht was under charter for a year to my cousin, Owen
Garningham, a young Englishman, who was spending the winter in the
South. The after cabin was occupied by four other persons, who were his
guests,--Colonel Shepard, his wife, son, and daughter. Miss Edith, the
daughter, was Owen's "bright particular star," and she was one of the
most beautiful young ladies I ever saw. I may add that she was as
gentle and amiable as she was pretty. All the Shepard family were very
pleasant people, invariably kind to the ship's company; and though the
Colonel was a very wealthy man, none of them ever "put on airs" in
their relations with the crew.
Though I did not pride myself on the fact that some of my ship's
company had "blue blood" in their veins, I certainly believed that no
vessel was ever manned by a more intelligent, gentlemanly, and skilful
crew. Robert C. Washburn, the mate, was a college student, who would
return to his studies at the end of the voyage. He was one of the best
fellows I had ever met, and was competent to command any vessel, on any
voyage, so far at least as its navigation and management were
concerned. We were devoted friends; but he received his wages and did
his duty as though he and I had had no other relations than those of
captain and mate.
Moses Brickland, the chief engineer, was the son of my guardian; and
though he was still in his teens, he was competent to build an engine,
or to run it after it was built. Bentley F. Bowman, the assistant
engineer, was a full-grown man, and had a certificate, besides being
one of the best seamen I ever sailed with. Our steward, who was our
only waiter until we sailed | 909.234828 |
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Produced by the Bookworm, <bookworm.librivox AT gmail.com>,
Ernest Schaal, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Google
Print project.)
The Journal of the
Debates in the Convention
Which Framed
The Constitution of the
United States
May-September, 1787
As Recorded by
James Madison
Edited by
Gaillard Hunt
In Two Volumes
Volume I.
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York and London
The Knickerbocker Press
1908
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
PAGE
The Records of the Constitutional Convention (Introduction
by the Editor) vii
Chronology xix
Journal of the Constitutional Convention of 1787 1
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF FAC-SIMILES.
FACING
PAGE
First Page of Madison's Journal, actual size 2
Charles Pinckney's Letter 20
The Pinckney Draft 22
Hamilton's Principal Speech 154
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE RECORDS OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL
CONVENTION.
James Madison's contemporaries generally conceded that he was the
leading statesman in the convention which framed the Constitution of
the United States; but in addition to this he kept a record of the
proceedings of the convention which outranks in importance all the
other writings of the founders of the American Republic. He is thus
identified, as no other man is, with the making of the Constitution
and the correct interpretation of the intentions of the makers. His is
the only continuous record of the proceedings of the convention. He
took a seat immediately in front of the presiding officer, among the
members, and took down every speech or motion as it was made, using
abbreviations of his own and immediately afterwards transcribing his
notes when he returned to his lodgings. A few motions only escaped him
and of important speeches he omitted none. The proceedings were ordered
to be kept secret, but his self-imposed task of reporter had the
unofficial sanction of the convention. Alexander Hamilton corrected
slightly Madison's report of his great speech and handed him his plan of
government to copy. The same thing was done with Benjamin Franklin's
speeches, which were written out by Franklin and read by his colleague
Wilson, the fatigue of delivery being too great for the aged Franklin,
and Madison also copied the Patterson plan. Edmund Randolph wrote out
for him his opening speech from his notes two years after the convention
adjourned.[1]
[1] Madison to Randolph, April 21, 1789.
In the years after the convention Madison made a few alterations and
additions in his journal, with the result that in parts there is much
interlineation and erasure, but after patient study the meaning is
always perfectly clear. Three different styles of Madison's own
penmanship at different periods of his life appear in the journal,
one being that of his old age within five years of his death. In
this hand appears the following note at the end of the journal:
"The few alterations and corrections made in the debates which are
not in my handwriting were dictated by me and made in my presence
by John C. Payne."[2] The rare occasions where Payne's penmanship is
distinguishable are indicated in the notes to this edition.
[2] Mrs. Madison's brother.
The importance attached by Madison to his record is shown by the terms
of his will, dated April 15, 1835, fourteen months before his death:
"I give all my personal estate ornamental as well as useful,
except as herein after otherwise given, to my dear Wife; and
I also give to her all my manuscript papers, having entire
confidence in her discreet and proper use of them, but subject
to the qualification in the succeeding clause. Considering the
peculiarity and magnitude of the occasion which produced the
Convention at Philadelphia in 1787, the Characters who composed
it, the Constitution which resulted from their deliberations,
its effects during a trial of so many years on the prosperity of
the people living under it, and the interest it has inspired
among the friends of free Government, it is not an unreasonable
inference that a careful and extended report of the proceedings
and discussions of that body, which were with closed doors, by a
member who was constant in his attendance, will be particularly
gratifying to the people of the United States, and to all who
take an interest in the progress of political science and the
course of true liberty. It is my desire that the Report as made
by me should be published under her authority and direction."[3]
[3] Orange County, Va., MSS. records.
This desire was never consummated, for Mrs. Madison's friends advised
her that she could not herself profitably undertake the publication of
the work, and she accordingly offered it to the Government, by which it
was bought for $30,000, by act of Congress, approved March 3, 1837. On
July 9, 1838, an act was approved authorizing the Joint Committee on the
Library to cause the papers thus purchased to be published, and the
Committee intrusted the superintendence of the work to Henry D. Gilpin,
Solicitor of the Treasury. The duplicate copy of the journal which Mrs.
Madison had delivered was, under authority of Congress, withdrawn from
the State Department and placed in Mr. Gilpin's hands. In 1840
(Washington: Lantree & O'Sulivan), accordingly, appeared the three
volumes, _The Papers of James Madison Purchased by Order of Congress_,
edited by Henry D. Gilpin. Other issues of this edition, with changes of
date, came out later in New York, Boston, and Mobile. This issue
contained not only the journal of the Constitutional Convention, but
Madison's notes of the debates in the Continental Congress and in the
Congress of the Confederation from February 19 to April 25, 1787, and a
report Jefferson had written of the debates in 1776 on the Declaration
of Independence, besides a number of letters of Madison's. From the text
of Gilpin a fifth volume was added to Elliot's _Debates_ in 1845, and it
was printed in one volume in Chicago, 1893.
Mr. Gilpin's reading of the duplicate copy of the Madison journal is
thus the only one that has hitherto been published.[4] His work was both
painstaking and thorough, but many inaccuracies and omissions have been
revealed by a second reading from the original manuscript journal
written in Madison's own hand, just as he himself left it; and this
original manuscript has been followed with rigid accuracy in the text of
the present edition.
[4] Volume iii of _The Documentary History of the United States_
(Department of State, 1894) is a presentation of a literal
print of the original journal, indicating by the use
of larger and smaller type and by explanatory words the
portions which are interlined or stricken out.
The editor has compared carefully with Madison's report, as the notes
will show, the incomplete and less important records of the convention,
kept by others. Of these, the best known is that of Robert Yates, a
delegate in the convention from New York, who took notes from the time
he entered the convention, May 25, to July 5, when he went home to
oppose what he foresaw would be the result of the convention's labors.
These notes were published in 1821 (Albany), edited by Yates's colleague
in the convention, John Lansing, under the title, _Secret Proceedings
and Debates of the Convention Assembled at Philadelphia, in the Year
1787, for the Purpose of Forming the Constitution of the United States
of America_. This was afterwards reprinted in several editions and in
the three editions of _The Debates on the Federal Constitution_, by
Jonathan Elliot (Washington, 1827-1836). Madison pronounced Yates's
notes "Crude and broken." "When I looked over them some years ago," he
wrote to J. C. Cabell, February 2, 1829, "I was struck with the number
of instances in which he had totally mistaken what was said by me, or
given it in scraps and terms which, taken without the developments or
qualifications accompanying them, had an import essentially different
from what was intended." Yates's notes were by his prejudices,
which were strong against the leaders of the convention, but, making
allowance for this and for their incompleteness, they are of high value
and rank next to Madison's in importance.
Rufus King, a delegate from Massachusetts, kept a number of notes,
scattered and imperfect, which were not published till 1894, when they
appeared in King's _Life and Correspondence of Rufus King_ (New York:
Putnam's).
William Pierce, a delegate from Georgia, made some memoranda of the
proceedings of the convention, and brief and interesting sketches of all
the delegates, which were first printed in _The Savannah Georgian_,
April, 18-28, 1828, and reprinted in _The American Historical Review_
for January, 1898.
The notes of Yates, King, and Pierce are the only unofficial record of
the convention extant, besides Madison's, and their chief value is in
connection with the Madison record, which in the main they support, and
which occasionally they elucidate.
December 30, 1818, Charles Pinckney wrote to John Quincy Adams that he
had made more notes of the convention than any other member except
Madison, but they were never published and have been lost or
destroyed.[5]
[5] See p. 22, n.
In 1819 (Boston) was published the _Journal, Acts and Proceedings of the
Convention_, etc., under the supervision of John Quincy Adams, Secretary
of State, by authority of a joint resolution of Congress of March 27,
1818. This was the official journal of the convention, which the
Secretary, William Jackson, had turned over to the President, George
Washington, when the convention adjourned, Jackson having previously
burned all other papers of the convention in his possession. March 16,
1796, Washington deposited the papers Jackson had given him with the
Secretary of State, Timothy Pickering. They consisted of three
volumes,--the journal of the convention, the journal of the proceedings
of the Committee of the Whole of the convention, and a list of yeas and
nays, beside a printed draft of the Constitution as reported August 6th,
showing erasures and amendments afterwards adopted, and the Virginia
plan in different stages of development.
In preparing the matter for publication Secretary Adams found that for
Friday, September 14, and Saturday, September 15, the journal was a mere
fragment, and Madison was applied to and completed it from his minutes.
From General B. Bloomfield, executor of the estate of David Brearley, a
delegate in the convention from New Jersey, Adams obtained a few
additional papers, and from Charles Pinckney a copy of what purported to
be the plan of a constitution submitted by him to the convention. All of
these papers, with some others, appeared in the edition of 1819, which
was a singularly accurate publication, as comparison by the present
editor of the printed page with the original papers has shown.
The Pinckney plan, as it appeared in this edition of the journal, was
incorporated by Madison into his record, as he had not secured a copy of
it when the convention was sitting. But the draft furnished to Secretary
Adams in 1818, and the plan presented by Pinckney to the convention in
1787 were not identical, as Madison conclusively proved in his note to
his journal, in his letter to Jared Sparks of November 25, 1831, and in
several other letters, in all of which he showed that the draft did not
agree in several important respects with Pinckney's own votes and
motions in the convention, and that there were important discrepancies
between it and Pinckney's _Observations on the Plan of Government_, a
pamphlet printed shortly after the convention adjourned.[6]
[6] See P. L. Ford's _Pamphlets on the Constitution_, 419.
It is, indeed, inconceivable that the convention should have
incorporated into the constitution so many of the provisions of the
Pinckney draft, and that at the same time so little reference should
have been made to it in the course of the debates; and it is equally
extraordinary that the contemporaries of Pinckney did not accord to him
the chief paternity of the Constitution, which honor would have belonged
to him if the draft he sent to Mr. Adams in 1818 had been the one he
actually offered the convention in the first week of its session. The
editor has made a careful examination of the original manuscripts in the
case. They consist (1) of Mr. Pinckney's letter to Mr. Adams of December
12, 1818, written from Winyaw, S. C., while Pinckney was temporarily
absent from Charleston, acknowledging Mr. Adams's request for the draft,
(2) his letter of December 30, written from Charleston, transmitting the
draft, and (3) the draft. The penmanship of all three papers is
contemporaneous, and the letter of December 30 and the draft were
written with the same pen and ink. This may possibly admit of a
difference of opinion, because the draft is in a somewhat larger
chirography than the letter, having been, as befitted its importance,
written more carefully. But the letter and the draft are written upon
the same paper, and this paper was not made when the convention sat in
1787. There are several sheets of the draft and one of the letter, and
all bear the same water-mark--"Russell & Co. 1797." The draft cannot,
therefore, claim to be the original Pinckney plan, and was palpably made
for the occasion, from Mr. Pinckney's original notes doubtless, aided
and modified by a copy of the Constitution itself. Thirty years had
elapsed since the close of the Constitutional Convention when the draft
was compiled, and its incorrectness is not a circumstance to occasion
great wonder.[7]
[7] See p. 19, n.
Correspondence on the subject of the convention, written while it was in
session, was not extensive, but some unpublished letters throwing light
upon contemporaneous opinion have been found and are quoted in the
notes.
The editor desires to record his obligation for assistance in preparing
these volumes to his friend, Montgomery Blair, Esq., of Silver Spring,
Md.
GAILLARD HUNT.
CHERRY HILL FARM, VA.,
September, 1902.
[Illustration]
CHRONOLOGY OF JAMES MADISON.
1787.
1787. Prepares the "Virginia plan" in conjunction with the
May 6-25. Virginia delegates.
May 14. Attends the first gathering of the delegates.
May 30. Moves postponement of question of representation by free
population.
Moves that congressional representation be proportioned
to the importance and size of the States.
Makes his first speech on this subject.
May 31. Advocates representation in one house by popular
election.
Opposes uniting several States into one district for
representation in Senate.
Doubts practicability of enumerating powers of national
legislature.
Suggests the impossibility of using force to coerce
individual States.
June 1. Moves that the powers of the Executive be enumerated.
June 2. Objects to giving Congress power to remove the President
upon demand of a majority of the State legislatures.
June 4. Favors giving power to more than a majority of the
national legislature to overrule an Executive negative
of a law.
June 5. Opposes election of judges by both branches of Congress.
Advocates submission of constitution to conventions of
the people.
Favors inferior judicial tribunals.
June 6. Speaks for popular representation in the House.
Seconds motion to include a portion of the Judiciary
with the Executive in revisionary power over laws.
June 7. Speaks for proportional representation in both houses
of Congress.
June 8. Seconds motion to give Congress power to negative State
laws.
Suggests temporary operation of urgent laws.
June 12. Seconds motion to make term of Representatives three
years.
Thinks the people will follow the convention.
Favors a term of seven years for Senators.
June 13. Moves defining powers of Judiciary.
Objects to appointment of judges by whole legislature.
Thinks both houses should have right to originate money
bills.
Advocates a national government and opposes the "Jersey
plan."
June 21. Speaks in favor of national supremacy.
Opposes annual or biennial elections of Representatives.
June 22. Favors fixing payment of salaries by a standard.
June 23. Proposes to debar Senators from offices created or
enhanced during their term.
Speaks for the proposition.
June 25. Wishes to take up question of right of suffrage.
June 26. Speaks for a long term for Senators.
Opposes their payment by the States.
June 28. Speaks for proportional representation.
June 29. Insists that too much stress is laid on State
sovereignty.
June 30. Contends against equal State representation in the
Senate.
Speaks again on subject, but would preserve State
rights.
July 2. Opposes submission of the question to a special
committee.
July 5. Opposes compromise report of committee.
July 6. Thinks part of report need not be postponed.
July 7. Thinks question of representation ought to be settled
before other questions.
July 9. Suggests free inhabitants as basis of representation in
one house, and all inhabitants as basis in the other
house.
July 10. Moves increase of Representatives.
July 11. Favors representation based on population.
July 14. Urges proportional representation as necessary to
protect the smaller States.
July 17. Advocates national power of negative over State laws.
Thinks the branches of government should be kept
separate.
Thinks monarchy likely to follow instability.
Thinks there should be provision for interregnum between
adoption and operation of constitution.
Moves national guarantee of States against domestic
violence.
July 18. Seconds motion forbidding a State to form any but a
republican government.
JOURNAL OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL
CONVENTION OF 1787.
Monday May 14^{th} 1787 was the day fixed for the meeting of the
deputies in Convention for revising the federal System of Government. On
that day a small number only had assembled. Seven States were not
convened till,
Friday 25 of May, when the following members appeared to wit:
From _Massachusetts_, Rufus King. _N. York_, Robert Yates,[8] Alex^r
Hamilton. _N. Jersey_, David Brearly, William Churchill Houston, William
Patterson. _Pennsylvania_, Robert Morris, Thomas Fitzsimons, James
Wilson, Governeur Morris. _Delaware_, George Read, Richard Basset,[9]
Jacob Broome. _Virginia_, George Washington, Edmund Randolph, John
Blair,[10] James Madison, George Mason, George Wythe, James McClurg. _N.
Carolina_, Alexander Martin, William Richardson Davie, Richard Dobbs
Spaight, Hugh Williamson. _S. Carolina_, John Rutlidge, Charles
Cotesworth Pinckney, Charles Pinckney, Pierce Butler. _Georgia_, William
Few.[11]
[8] William Pierce, delegate from Georgia, made an estimate
of each member of the convention, the only contemporary
estimate thus far brought to light. Yates did not speak in
the Convention.
"M^r Yates is said to be an able Judge. He is a Man of great
legal abilities, but not distinguished as an Orator. Some of
his Enemies say he is an anti-federal Man, but I discovered
no such disposition in him. He is about 45 years old, and
enjoys a great share of health."--Pierce's Notes, _Am. Hist.
Rev._, iii., 327. For more about Pierce's Notes, see p.
45, n.
[9] "M^r Bassett is a religious enthusiast, lately turned
Methodist, and serves his Country because it is the will of
the people that he should do so. He is a Man of plain sense,
and has modesty enough to hold his Tongue. He is Gentlemanly
Man and is in high estimation among the Methodists. Mr.
Bassett is about 36 years old."--Pierce's Notes, _Id._,
iii., 330. He did not speak in the Convention.
[10] "Mr. Blair is one of the most respectable Men in Virginia,
both on account of his Family as well as fortune. He is one
of the Judges of the Supreme Court in Virginia, and
acknowledged to have a very extensive knowledge of the Laws.
M^r Blair is however, no Orator, but his good sense,
and most excellent principles, compensate for other
deficiencies. He is about 50 years of age."--Pierce's Notes,
_Am. Hist. Rev._, iii., 331. He did not speak in the
Convention.
[11] "M^r Few possesses a strong natural Genius, and from
application has acquired some knowledge of legal
matters;--he practises at the bar of Georgia, and speaks
tolerably well in the Legislature. He has been twice a
Member of Congress, and served in that capacity with
fidelity to his State, and honor to himself. Mr. Few is
about 35 years of age."--Pierce's Notes, _Id._, iii., 333.
He did not speak in the Convention.
The credentials of Connecticut and Maryland required but one
deputy to represent the state; of New York, South Carolina,
Georgia, and New Hampshire, two deputies; of Massachusetts,
New Jersey, Delaware, Virginia, and North Carolina, three;
of Pennsylvania, four.--_Journal of the Federal Convention_,
16 _et seq._; _Documentary History of the Constitution_, i.,
10 _et seq._
M^r Robert Morris[12] informed the members assembled that by the
instruction & in behalf, of the deputation of Pen^a he proposed George
Washington, Esq^r late Commander in chief for president of the
Convention. M^r Jn^o Rutlidge seconded the motion; expressing his
confidence that the choice would be unanimous, and observing that the
presence of Gen^l Washington forbade any observations on the occasion
which might otherwise be proper.
[12] "Robert Morris is a merchant of great eminence and wealth;
an able Financier, and a worthy Patriot. He has an
understanding equal to any public object, and possesses an
energy of mind that few Men can boast of. Although he is not
learned, yet he is as great as those who are. I am told that
when he speaks in the Assembly of Pennsylvania, that he
bears down all before him. What could have been his reason
for not Speaking in the Convention I know not,--but he never
once spoke on any point. This Gentleman is about 50 years
old."--Pierce's Notes, _Am. Hist: Rev._, iii., 328.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
General Washington[13] was accordingly unanimously elected by ballot,
and conducted to the Chair by M^r R. Morris and M^r Rutlidge; from
which in a very emphatic manner he thanked the Convention for the
honor they had conferred on him, reminded them of the novelty of the
scene of business in which he was to act, lamented his want of better
qualifications, and claimed the indulgence of the House towards the
involuntary errors which his inexperience might occasion.
[13] "Gen^l Washington is well known as the Commander in chief
of the late American Army. Having conducted these States to
independence and peace, he now appears to assist in framing
a Government to make the People happy. Like Gustavus Vasa,
he may be said to be the deliverer of his Country;--like
Peter the great he appears as the politician and the
States-man; and like Cincinnatus he returned to his farm
perfectly contented with being only a plain Citizen, after
enjoying the highest honor of the confederacy,--and now only
seeks for the approbation of his Country-men by being
virtuous and useful. The General was conducted to the Chair
as President of the Convention by the unanimous voice of its
Members. He is in the 52^d year of his age."--Pierce's
Notes, _Am. Hist. Rev._, iii., 331.
(The nomination came with particular grace from Pe[~nn]a, as Doc^r
Franklin alone could have been thought of as a competitor. The Doc^r was
himself to have made the nomination of General Washington, but the state
of the weather and of his health confined him to his house.)
M^r Wilson[14] moved that a Secretary be appointed, and nominated M^r
Temple Franklin.
[14] "Mr. Wilson ranks among the foremost in legal and political
knowledge. He has joined to a fine genius all that can set
him off and show him to advantage. He is well acquainted
with Man, and understands all the passions that influence
him. Government seems to have been his peculiar Study, all
the political institutions of the World he knows in detail,
and can trace the causes and effects of every revolution
from the earliest stages of the Greecian commonwealth down
to the present time. No man is more clear, copious, and
comprehensive than Mr. Wilson, yet he is no great Orator. He
draws the attention not by the charm of his eloquence, but
by the force of his reasoning. He is about 45 years
old."--Pierce's Notes, _Am. Hist. Rev._, iii., 329.
Col Hamilton[15] nominated Major Jackson.
[15] "Col^o Hamilton is deservedly celebrated for his talents.
He is a practitioner of the Law, and reputed to be a
finished Scholar. To a clear and strong judgment he unites
the ornaments of fancy, and whilst he is able, convincing,
and engaging in his eloquence the Heart and Head sympathize
in approving him. Yet there is something too feeble in his
voice to be equal to the strains of oratory;--it is my
opinion he is rather a convincing Speaker, that [than] a
blazing Orator. Col^o Hamilton requires time to think,--he
enquires into every part of his | 909.250042 |
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OLD TAVERNS OF NEW YORK
by
W. HARRISON BAYLES
Frank Allaben Genealogical Company
Forty-Second Street Building, New York
Copyright, 1915, by Frank Allaben Genealogical Company
Old Taverns of New York
Contents
Page
PREFACE xv
I DUTCH TAVERNS 1
Indian Trade--First Settlement--Purchase of Manhattan
Island--Popular Taverns in New Amsterdam--Sunday Closing
Under Stuyvesant--Dutch Festivities
II NEW YORK AND THE PIRATES 37
The English Conquest--Horse Races--Regulations for
Innkeepers--First Merchants' Exchange--Famous Taverns of
the Period--Early Buccaneers and Their Relations with
Government Officials--Efforts of the Earl of Bellomont to
Restrain Piracy
III THE COFFEE HOUSE 65
An Exciting Election in 1701--Popularity of the Coffee
House--Aftermath of the Leisler Troubles--Political
Agitation under Lord Cornbury--Trials of Nicholas Bayard
and Roger Baker--Conferences at the Coffee House--Festivals
under the English Rule--Official Meetings in Taverns and
Coffee Houses
IV THE BLACK HORSE 91
The Black Horse Tavern, Scene of Many Political Conferences
in the Early Eighteenth Century--Rip Van Dam and Governor
Cosby--Lewis Morris' Campaign--Zenger's Victory for Liberty
of the Press--Old New York Inns--Privateering--The <DW64>
Plot
V THE MERCHANTS' COFFEE HOUSE 127
The Slave Market, Later the Meal Market--The Merchants'
Coffee House, Famous for More than Half a Century--Clubs of
Colonial New York--The Merchants' Exchange--Charter of
King's College, Now Columbia University--French and Indian
War--The Assembly Balls--The Press Gang--Some Old
Inns--Surrender of Fort Washington
VI TAVERN SIGNS 167
Doctor Johnson on the Comforts of an Inn--Landlords of the
Olden Time--Some Curious Tavern Signs--Intemperance in the
Eighteenth Century--Sports and Amusements
VII THE KING'S ARMS 191
The Crown and Thistle, Meeting Place of St. Andrew's
Society and Later Called the King's Head--The King's Arms,
Formerly the Exchange Coffee House and the Gentlemen's
Coffee House--Broadway of the Eighteenth Century--The Stamp
Act and the Non-Importation Agreement--The Liberty
Pole--Recreation Gardens
VIII HAMPDEN HALL 227
The Queen's Head Tavern, Where Was Organized the New York
Chamber of Commerce--Pre-Revolutionary Excitement--Battle
of Golden Hill--Hampden Hall, Meeting Place of the Sons of
Liberty and Attacked by the British--List of Members of the
Social Club, 1775--Other Clubs and Societies of the
Period--The Moot, a Lawyers' Club and Its Charter
Members--The Tax on Tea, Committee of Correspondence and
Outbreak of the Revolution
IX THE PROVINCE ARMS 271
The Continental Congress--Marinus Willett's Seizure of
Arms--Flight of the Tories--Happenings at the Coffee
House--The Province Arms, Resort of British Officers--Other
Taverns--The Theatre Royal--Sports--The Refugee
Club--Social Affairs Under the British Occupation
X FRAUNCES' TAVERN 307
The Treaty of Peace--Celebration Dinners at Sam Fraunces'
House and Other Taverns--Evacuation of New
York--Washington's Farewell to His Officers, at Fraunces'
Tavern, 1783--First New York Bank--Re-organization of
Chamber of Commerce--Social, Philanthropic, and Learned
Societies of the Day--The Cincinnati--The New
Constitution--Washington's Inauguration--Sam Fraunces,
Steward of the President
XI THE TONTINE COFFEE HOUSE 351
The Tammany Society--Tontine Coffee House Founded by
Prominent New York Merchants--New York Stock Exchange in
the Tontine--Marriner's Tavern, Later Called the Roger
Morris House and the Jumel Mansion--The Tammany
Wigwam--Brillat-Savarin in New York
XII THE CITY HOTEL 385
Club Life After the Revolution--The City Hotel and the
Assembly Balls--Musical Societies--Second Hudson
Centennial, 1809--St. Andrew's Society Dinners and Other
Feasts--Tea Gardens--The Embargo of 1807--Society of
Mechanics and Tradesmen--New England Society--Political
Associations--Tammany Hall--The Battery--The Ugly Club
XIII THE SHAKESPEARE TAVERN 417
The War of 1812--Dinner to Naval Victors at the City
Hotel--Dinners to Captain Lawrence, General Harrison,
Commodores Bainbridge and Perry--News of Peace--The
Shakespeare Tavern, a Musical and Literary Centre--Cradle
of the Seventh Regiment--A New York Inn Comparable to
London's "Mermaid Tavern" and "Turk's Head"--Visits of
Monroe and Jackson--The Erie Canal--First New York Savings
Bank--The Price-Wilson Duel
XIV ROAD HOUSES 445
Prejudice Against Dancing--Balls--Debates and Lectures--The
City Hotel--Niblo's Garden--Road Houses--Trotting
Matches--Upper Third Avenue--Suburban Drives and
Taverns--Lafayette's Visit--Clubs--End of City Hotel--Era
of Hotels
INDEX 481
Illustrations
Page
"Beer Was the Dutchman's Drink" 5
The City Tavern from the Justin Dancker's View, 1650 15
The White Horse Tavern 18
The Damen House 19
Water Gate, Foot of Wall Street 24
"They Had Discovered the Toothsome Terrapin" 31
"The Man of the Knight of St. George" 38
The Earl of Bellomont 56
"As Genuine Pirates as Ever Sailed the Sea" 57
Captain Tew 59
The Bayard Punch Bowl 74
Viscount Cornbury 78
Old Tankard 80
The Black Horse Tavern 90
Rip Van Dam 93
Governor Cosby 94
Lewis Morris 95
Fac-Simile News Item from the New York Weekly Journal, November
5, 1733 99
Andrew Hamilton 102
The Ball at the Black Horse 107
"Which Were All Drank in Bumpers" 109
"The Violin and Flute, by 'Private Hands'" 111
House at 122 William Street 117
The Royal Exchange 136
Sir Danvers Osborne, Governor of New York 139
"The Drumbeat Was Constantly Heard in the Streets" 145
Sir Charles Hardy, Governor of New York 147
Colonel Peter Schuyler 150
The Press Gang 153
The Bull's Head Tavern 157
The Roger Morris House 160
The Blue Bell Tavern 161
The Old Time Landlord 169
"Hard Drinking Prevailed" 171
Good Old Madeira 173
A Racing Trophy 180
Bull Baiting, From an Old Advertisement 184
The Bowling Green, From Lyne's Map 186
William Alexander, Earl of Stirling 192
House Built by Cornelis Steenwyck 197
The De Lancey House 201
Liberty Boys 214
At Ranelagh 220
Corner of Broadway and Murray Street, 1816 235
Captain A. McDougall 241
Merchants' Coffee House and Coffee House Slip 254
Marinus Willett Stopping the Transfer of Arms 274
Baroness De Riedesel 298
In the Coffee House 318
"Gambling With Cards Was Pretty General" 339
Simmons' Tavern 342
Fac-Simile Receipt of Sam Fraunces, as Washington's Steward 343
The Bowery Theatre 348
Tontine Coffee House 356
Old Sleigh 365
The City Hotel 373
Martling's Tavern 376
Belvedere Club House 382
Fac-Simile Bill of the City Hotel, 1807 384
Anthelme Brillat-Savarin 387
White Conduit House 398
Robert R. Livingston 404
Washington Hall 409
Tammany Hall 411
Fraunces' Tavern About 1830 412
The Great Naval Dinner at the City Hotel, December 29, 1812 416
Commodore Stephen Decatur 418
Commodore Isaac Hull 420
Captain James Lawrence 421
The Shakespeare Tavern 429
"As Choice Spirits as Ever Supped at the Turk's Head" 431
De Witt Clinton 438
Contoit's Garden 454
Niblo's Garden 457
Reynolds' Beer House 459
Cato's House 461
The Old Hazzard House | 909.258489 |
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WORKS BY
SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE
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+NATIONALISM.+ Ex. cr. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.
LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
NATIONALISM
[Illustration: Logo]
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA. MADRAS
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
DALLAS. SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
NATIONALISM
BY
SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1918
COPYRIGHT
_First Edition 1917_
_Reprinted 1918 (twice)_
CONTENTS
PAGE
NATIONALISM IN THE WEST 1
NATIONALISM IN JAPAN 47
NATIONALISM IN INDIA 95
THE SUNSET OF THE CENTURY 131
NATIONALISM IN THE WEST
Man's history is being shaped according to the difficulties it
encounters. These have offered us problems and claimed their solutions
from us, the penalty of non-fulfilment being death or degradation.
These difficulties have been different in different peoples of the
earth, and in the manner of our overcoming them lies our distinction.
The Scythians of the earlier period of Asiatic history had to struggle
with the scarcity of their natural resources. The easiest solution that
they could think of was to organize their whole population, men, women,
and children, into bands of robbers. And they were irresistible to those
who were chiefly engaged in the constructive work of social
co-operation.
But fortunately for man the easiest path is not his truest path. If his
nature were not as complex as it is, if it were as simple as that of a
pack of hungry wolves, then, by this time, those hordes of marauders
would have overrun the whole earth. But man, when confronted with
difficulties, has to acknowledge that he is man, that he has his
responsibilities to the higher faculties of his nature, by ignoring
which he may achieve success that is immediate, perhaps, but that will
become a death-trap to him. For what are obstacles to the lower
creatures are opportunities to the higher life of man.
To India has been given her problem from the beginning of history--it is
the race problem. Races ethnologically different have in this country
come into close contact. This fact has been and still continues to be
the most important one in our history. It is our mission to face it and
prove our humanity by dealing with it in the fullest truth. Until we
fulfil our mission all other benefits will be denied us.
There are other peoples in the world who have to overcome obstacles in
their physical surroundings, or the menace of their powerful neighbours.
They have organized their power till they are not only reasonably free
from the tyranny of Nature and human neighbours, but have a surplus of
it left in their hands to employ against others. But in India, our
difficulties being internal, our history has been the history of
continual social adjustment and not that of organized power for defence
and aggression.
Neither the colourless vagueness of cosmopolitanism, nor the fierce
self-idolatry of nation-worship, is the goal of human history. And India
has been trying to accomplish her task through social regulation of
differences, on the one hand, and the spiritual recognition of unity on
the other. She has made grave errors in setting up the boundary walls
too rigidly between races, in perpetuating in her classifications the
results of inferiority; often she has crippled her children's minds and
narrowed their lives in order to fit them into her social forms; but for
centuries new experiments have been made and adjustments carried out.
Her mission has been like that of a hostess who has to provide proper
accommodation for numerous guests, whose habits and requirements are
different from one another. This gives rise to infinite complexities
whose solution depends not merely upon tactfulness but upon sympathy and
true realization of the unity of man. Towards this realization have
worked, from the early time of the Upanishads up to the present moment,
a series of great spiritual teachers, whose one object has been to set
at naught all differences of man by the overflow of our consciousness of
God. In fact, our history has not been of the rise and fall of kingdoms,
of fights for political supremacy. In our country records of these days
have been despised and forgotten, for they in no way represent the true
history of our people. Our history is that of our social life and
attainment of spiritual ideals.
But we feel that our task is not yet done. The world-flood has swept
over our country, new elements have been introduced, and wider
adjustments are waiting to be made.
We feel this all the more, because the teaching and example of the West
have entirely run counter to what we think was given to India to
accomplish. In the West the national machinery of commerce and politics
turns out neatly compressed bales of humanity which have their use and
high market value; but they are bound in iron hoops, labelled and
separated off with scientific care and precision. Obviously God made man
to be human; but this modern product has such marvellous square-cut
finish, savouring of gigantic manufacture, that the Creator will find it
difficult to recognize it as a thing of spirit and a creature made in
His own divine image.
But I am anticipating. What I was about to say is this. Take it in
whatever spirit you like, here is India, of about fifty centuries at
least, who tried to live peacefully and think deeply, the India devoid
of all politics, the India of no nations, whose one ambition has been to
know this world as of soul, to live here every moment of her life in the
meek spirit of adoration, in the glad consciousness of an eternal and
personal relationship with it. It was upon this remote portion of
humanity, childlike in its manner, with the wisdom of the old, that the
Nation of the West burst in.
Through all the fights and intrigues and deceptions of her earlier
history India had remained aloof. Because her homes, her fields, her
temples of worship, her schools, where her teachers and students lived
together in the atmosphere of simplicity and devotion and learning, her
village self-government with its simple laws and peaceful
administration--all these truly belonged to her. But her thrones were
not her concern. They passed over her head like clouds, now tinged with
purple gorgeousness, now black with the threat of thunder. Often they
brought devastations in their wake, but they were like catastrophes of
nature whose traces are soon forgotten.
But this time it was different. It was not a mere drift over her
surface of life,--drift of cavalry and foot soldiers, richly caparisoned
elephants, white tents and canopies, strings of patient camels bearing
the loads of royalty, bands of kettle-drums and flutes, marble domes of
mosques, palaces and tombs, like the bubbles of the foaming wine of
extravagance; stories of treachery and loyal devotion, of changes of
fortune, of dramatic surprises of fate. This time it was the Nation of
the West driving its tentacles of machinery deep down into the soil.
Therefore I say to you, it is we who are called as witnesses to give
evidence as to what our Nation has been to humanity. We had known the
hordes of Moghals and Pathans who invaded India, but we had known them
as human races, with their own religions and customs, likes and
dislikes,--we had never known them as a nation. We loved and hated them
as occasions arose; we fought for them and against them, talked with
them in a language which was theirs as well as our own, and guided the
destiny of the Empire in which we had our active share. But this time we
had to deal, not with kings, not with human races, but with a
nation--we, who are no nation ourselves.
Now let us from our own experience answer the question, What is this
Nation?
A nation, in the sense of the political and economic union of a people,
is that aspect which a whole population assumes when organized for a
mechanical purpose. Society as such has no ulterior purpose. It is an
end in itself. It is a spontaneous self-expression of man as a social
being. It is a natural regulation of human relationships, so that men
can develop ideals of life in co-operation with one another. It has also
a political side, but this is only for a special purpose. It is for
self-preservation. It is merely the side of power, not of human ideals.
And in the early days it had its separate place in society, restricted
to the professionals. But when with the help of science and the
perfecting of organization this power begins to grow and brings in
harvests of wealth, then it crosses its boundaries with amazing
rapidity. For then it goads all its neighbouring societies with greed of
material prosperity, and consequent mutual jealousy, and by the fear of
each other's growth into powerfulness. The time comes when it can stop
no longer, for the competition grows keener, organization grows vaster,
and selfishness attains supremacy. Trading upon the greed and fear of
man, it occupies more and more space in society, and at last becomes its
ruling force.
It is just possible that you have lost through habit consciousness that
the living bonds of society are breaking up, and giving place to merely
mechanical organization. But you see signs of it everywhere. It is owing
to this that war has been declared between man and woman, because the
natural thread is snapping which holds them together in harmony; because
man is driven to professionalism, producing wealth for himself and
others, continually turning the wheel of power for his own sake or for
the sake of the universal officialdom, leaving woman alone to wither and
to die or to fight her own battle unaided. And thus there where
co-operation is natural has intruded competition. The very psychology of
men and women about their mutual relation is changing and becoming the
psychology of the primitive fighting elements, rather than of humanity
seeking its completeness through the union based upon mutual
self-surrender. For the elements which have lost their living bond of
reality have lost the meaning of their existence. Like gaseous particles
forced into a too narrow space, they come in continual conflict with
each other till they burst the very arrangement which holds them in
bondage.
Then look at those who call themselves anarchists, who resent the
imposition of power, in any form whatever, upon the individual. The only
reason for this is that power has become too abstract--it is a
scientific product made in the political laboratory of the Nation,
through the dissolution of personal humanity.
And what is the meaning of these strikes in the economic world, which
like the prickly shrubs in a barren soil shoot up with renewed vigour
each time they are cut down? What, but that the wealth-producing
mechanism is incessantly growing into vast stature, out of proportion to
all other needs of society,--and the full reality of man is more and
more crushed under its weight? This state of things inevitably gives
rise to eternal feuds among the elements freed from the wholeness and
wholesomeness of human ideals, and interminable economic war is waged
between capital and labour. For greed of wealth and power can never have
a limit, and compromise of self-interest can never attain the final
spirit of reconciliation. They must go on breeding jealousy and
suspicion to the end--the end which only comes through some sudden
catastrophe or a spiritual re-birth.
When this organization of politics and commerce, whose other name is the
Nation, becomes all-powerful at the cost of the harmony of the higher
social life, then it is an evil day for humanity. When a father becomes
a gambler and his obligations to his family take the secondary place in
his mind, then he is no longer a man, but an automaton led by the power
of greed. Then he can do things which, in his normal state of mind, he
would be ashamed to do. It is the same thing with society. When it
allows itself to be turned into a perfect organization of power, then
there are few crimes which it is unable to perpetrate. Because success
is the object and justification of a machine, while goodness only is the
end and purpose of man. When this engine of organization begins to
attain a vast size, and those who are mechanics are made into parts of
the machine, then the personal man is eliminated to a phantom,
everything becomes a revolution of policy carried out by the human parts
of the machine, with no twinge of pity or moral responsibility. It may
happen that even through this apparatus the moral nature of man tries
to assert itself, but the whole series of ropes and pullies creak and
cry, the forces of the human heart become entangled among the forces of
the human automaton, and only with difficulty can the moral purpose
transmit itself into some tortured shape of result.
This abstract being, the Nation, is ruling India. We have seen in our
country some brand of tinned food advertised as entirely made and packed
without being touched by hand. This description applies to the governing
of India, which is as little touched by the human hand as possible. The
governors need not know our language, need not come into personal touch
with us except as officials; they can aid or hinder our aspirations from
a disdainful distance, they can lead us on a certain path of policy and
then pull us back again with the manipulation of office red tape; the
newspapers of England, in whose columns London street accidents are
recorded with some decency of pathos, need but take the scantiest notice
of calamities which happen in India over areas of land sometimes larger
than the British Isles.
But we, who are governed, are not a mere abstraction. We, on our side,
are individuals with living sensibilities. What comes to us in the
shape of a mere bloodless policy may pierce into the very core of our
life, may threaten the whole future of our people with a perpetual
helplessness of emasculation, and yet may never touch the chord of
humanity on the other side, or touch it in the most inadequately feeble
manner. Such wholesale and universal acts of fearful responsibility man
can never perform, with such a degree of systematic unawareness, where
he is an individual human being. These only become possible, where the
man is represented by an octopus of abstractions, sending out its
wriggling arms in all directions of space, and fixing its innumerable
suckers even into the far-away future. In this reign of the nation, the
governed are pursued by suspicions; and these are the suspicions of a
tremendous mass of organized brain and muscle. Punishments are meted
out, which leave a trail of miseries across a large bleeding tract of
the human heart; but these punishments are dealt by a mere abstract
force, in which a whole population of a distant country has lost its
human personality.
I have not come here, however, to discuss the question as it affects my
own country, but as it affects the future of all humanity. It is not a
question of the British Government, but of government by the Nation--the
Nation which is the organized self-interest of a whole people, where it
is least human and least spiritual. Our only intimate experience of the
Nation is with the British Nation, and as far as the government by the
Nation goes there are reasons to believe that it is one of the best.
Then, again, we have to consider that the West is necessary to the East.
We are complementary to each other because of our different outlooks
upon life which have given us different aspects of truth. Therefore if
it be true that the spirit of the West has come upon our fields in the
guise of a storm it is nevertheless scattering living seeds that are
immortal. And when in India we become able to assimilate in our life
what is permanent in Western civilization we shall be in the position to
bring about a reconciliation of these two great worlds. Then will come
to an end the one-sided dominance which is galling. What is more, we
have to recognize that the history of India does not belong to one
particular race but to a process of creation to which various races of
the world contributed--the Dravidians and the Aryans, the ancient Greeks
and the Persians, the Mohammedans of the West and those of central
Asia. Now at last has come the turn of the English to become true to
this | 909.335319 |
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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 15
JUNE 5, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
SUBMARINE
_OR_ THE STRANGE
CRUISE OF THE GRAMPUS
_By
THE AUTHOR OF "MOTOR MATT"_
[Illustration: _MOTOR MATT GRABBED AT THE ROPE
AS IT WAS THROWN TO HIM BY THE
MAN IN THE SUBMARINE._]
_STREET & SMITH,
PUBLISHERS,
NEW YORK._
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._
No. 15. NEW YORK, June 5, 1909. Price Five Cents.
MOTOR MATT'S SUBMARINE;
OR,
THE STRANGE CRUISE OF THE _GRAMPUS_.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A STARTLING REPORT.
CHAPTER II. MIXED MESSAGES.
CHAPTER III. HURRY-UP ORDERS.
CHAPTER IV. ACCIDENT OR DESIGN?
CHAPTER V. SIXTY SHOWS HIS HAND.
CHAPTER VI. AN UNEXPECTED RESCUE.
CHAPTER VII. A FRUITLESS SEARCH.
CHAPTER VIII. THE OVERTURNED BOAT.
CHAPTER IX. ADRIFT IN THE STORM.
CHAPTER X. THE DERELICT.
CHAPTER XI. THE SCHOONER.
CHAPTER XII. A STUNNING SURPRISE.
CHAPTER XIII. CLOSING IN.
CHAPTER XIV. THE "GRAMPUS" GETS A CLUE.
CHAPTER XV. AN ULTIMATUM.
CHAPTER XVI. "OFF WITH THE OLD, AND ON WITH THE NEW."
The Chicken-hearted Tenderfoot.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Motor Matt=, a lad who is at home with every variety of motor, and
whose never-failing nerve serves to carry him through difficulties
that would daunt any ordinary young fellow. Because of his daring
as a racer with bicycle, motor-cycle and automobile he is known as
"Mile-a-minute Matt." Motor-boats, air ships and submarines come
naturally in his line, and consequently he lives in an atmosphere of
adventure in following up his "hobby."
=Dick Ferral=, a young sea dog from Canada, with all a sailor's
superstitions, but in spite of all that a royal chum, | 909.335571 |
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Internet Archive)
[Illustration:
_Raeburn. pinx^t._ _Dean, sculp^t._
JOSEPH BLACK, M.D. F.R.S.E.
_London. Published by Henry Colburn & Richard Bentley. 1830._]
THE
HISTORY
OF
CHEMISTRY.
BY
THOMAS THOMSON, M.D. F.R.S.E.
PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, AND RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1830.
C. WHITING, BEAUFORT HOUSE, STRAND.
PREFACE.
It may be proper, perhaps, to state here, in a very few words, the
objects which the author had in view in drawing up the following
History of Chemistry. Alchymy, or the art of making gold, with which
the science originated, furnishes too curious a portion of the
aberrations of the human intellect to be passed over in silence.
The writings of the alchymists are so voluminous and so mystical,
that it would have afforded materials for a very long work. But
I was prevented from extending this part of the subject to any
greater length than I have done, by considering the small quantity of
information which could have been gleaned from the reveries of these
fanatics or impostors; I thought it sufficient to give a general view
of the nature of their pursuits: but in order to put it in the power of
those who feel inclined to prosecute such investigations, I have given
a catalogue of the most eminent of the alchymists and a list of their
works, so far as I am acquainted with them. This catalogue might have
been greatly extended. Indeed it would have been possible to have added
several hundred names. But I think the works which I have quoted are
more than almost any reasonable man would think it worth his while to
peruse; and I can state, from experience, that the information gained
by such a perusal will very seldom repay the trouble.
* * * * *
The account of the chemical arts, with which the ancients were
acquainted, is necessarily imperfect; because all arts and trades were
held in so much contempt by them that they did not think it worth their
while to make themselves acquainted with the processes. My chief
guide has been Pliny, but many of his descriptions are unintelligible,
obviously from his ignorance of the arts which he attempts to describe.
Thus circumstanced, I thought it better to be short than to waste a
great deal of paper, as some have done, on hypothesis and conjecture.
* * * * *
The account of the Chemistry of the Arabians is almost entirely limited
to the works of Geber, which I consider to be the first book on
Chemistry that ever was published, and to constitute, in every point
of view, an exceedingly curious performance. I was much struck with
the vast number of facts with which he was acquainted, and which have
generally been supposed to have been discovered long after his time.
I have, therefore, been at some pains in endeavouring to convey a
notion of Geber’s opinions to the readers of this history; but am not
sure that I have succeeded. I have generally given his own words, as
literally as possible, and, wherever it would answer the purpose, have
employed the English translation of 1678.
Paracelsus gave origin to so great a revolution in medicine and the
sciences connected with it, that it would have been unpardonable not
to have attempted to lay his opinions and views before the reader;
but, after perusing several of his most important treatises, I found
it almost impossible to form accurate notions on the subject. I
have, therefore, endeavoured to make use of his own words as much
as possible, that the want of consistency and the mysticism of his
opinions may fall upon his own head. Should the reader find any
difficulty in understanding the philosophy of Paracelsus, he will be
in no worse a situation than every one has been who has attempted to
delineate the principles of this prince of quacks and impostors. Van
Helmont’s merits were of a much higher kind, and I have endeavoured to
do him justice; though his weaknesses are so visible that it requires
much candour and patience to discriminate accurately between his
excellencies and his foibles.
* * * * *
The history of Iatro-chemistry forms a branch of our subject scarcely
less extraordinary than Alchymy itself. It might have been extended
to a much greater length than I have done. The reason why I did not
enter into longer details was, that I thought the subject more
intimately connected with the history of medicine than of chemistry:
it undoubtedly contributed to the improvement of chemistry; not,
however, by the opinions or the physiology of the iatro-chemists, but
by inducing their contemporaries and successors to apply themselves to
the discovery of chemical medicines.
* * * * *
The History of Chemistry, after a theory of combustion had been
introduced by Beccher and Stahl, becomes much more important. It now
shook off the trammels of alchymy, and ventured to claim its station
among the physical sciences. I have found it necessary to treat of its
progress during the eighteenth century rather succinctly, but I hope
so as to be easily intelligible. This made it necessary to omit the
names of many meritorious individuals, who supplied a share of the
contributions which the science was continually receiving from all
quarters. I have confined myself to those who made the most prominent
figure as chemical discoverers. I had no other choice but to follow
this plan, unless I had doubled the size of this little work, which
would have rendered it less agreeable and less valuable to the general
reader.
* * * * *
With respect to the History of Chemistry during that portion of the
nineteenth century which is already past, it was beset with several
difficulties. Many of the individuals, of whose labours I had occasion
to speak, are still actively engaged in the prosecution of their
useful works. Others have but just left the arena, and their friends
and relations still remain to appreciate their merits. In treating of
this branch of the science (by far the most important of all) I have
followed the same plan as in the history of the preceding century. I
have found it necessary to omit many names that would undoubtedly have
found a place in a larger work, but which the limited extent to which I
was obliged to confine myself, necessarily compelled me to pass over. I
have been anxious not to injure the character of any one, while I have
rigidly adhered to truth, so far as I was acquainted with it. Should I
have been so unfortunate as to hurt the feelings of any individual by
any remarks of mine in the following pages, it will give me great pain;
and the only alleviation will be the consciousness of the total absence
on my part of any malignant intention. To gratify the wishes of every
individual may, perhaps, be impossible; but I can say, with truth,
that my uniform object has been to do justice to the merits of all, so
far as my own limited knowledge put it in my power to do.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
Page
Introduction 1
CHAPTER I.
Of Alchymy 3
CHAPTER II.
Of the chemical knowledge possessed by the Ancients 49
CHAPTER III.
Chemistry of the Arabians 110
CHAPTER IV.
Of the progress of Chemistry under Paracelsus and his disciples 140
CHAPTER V.
Of Van Helmont and the Iatro-Chemists 179
CHAPTER VI.
Of Agricola and metallurgy 219
CHAPTER VII.
Of Glauber, Lemery, and some other chemists of the end of the
seventeenth century 226
CHAPTER VIII.
Of the attempts to establish a theory in chemistry 246
CHAPTER IX.
Of the foundation and progress of scientific chemistry in Great
Britain 303
HISTORY OF CHEMISTRY.
INTRODUCTION.
Chemistry, unlike the other sciences, sprang originally from delusion
and superstition, and was at its commencement exactly on a level
with magic and astrology. Even after it began to be useful to man,
by furnishing him with better and more powerful medicines than the
ancient physicians were acquainted with, it was long before it could
shake off the trammels of alchymy, which hung upon it like a nightmare,
cramping and blunting all its energies, and exposing it to the scorn
and contempt of the enlightened part of mankind. It was not till about
the middle of the eighteenth century that it was able to free itself
from these delusions, and to venture abroad in all the native dignity
of a useful science. It was then that its utility and its importance
began to attract the attention of the world; that it drew within its
vortex some of the greatest and most active men in every country; and
that it advanced towards perfection with an accelerated pace. The field
which it now presents to our view is vast and imposing. Its paramount
utility is universally acknowledged. It has become a necessary part of
education. It has contributed as much to the progress of society, and
has done as much to augment the comforts and conveniences of life, and
to increase the power and the resources of mankind, as all the other
sciences put together.
It is natural to feel a desire to be acquainted with the origin and the
progress of such a science; and to know something of the history and
character of those numerous votaries to whom it is indebted for its
progress and improvement. The object of this little work is to gratify
these laudable wishes, by taking a rapid view of the progress of
Chemistry, from its first rude and disgraceful beginnings till it has
reached its present state of importance and dignity. I shall divide the
subject into fifteen chapters. In the first I shall treat of Alchymy,
which may be considered as the inauspicious commencement of the
science, and which, in fact, consists of little else than an account of
dupes and impostors; every where so full of fiction and obscurity, that
it is a hopeless and almost impossible task to reach the truth. In the
second chapter I shall endeavour to point out the few small chemical
rills, which were known to the ancients. These I shall follow in their
progress, in the succeeding chapters, till at last, augmented by an
infinite number of streams flowing at once from a thousand different
quarters, they have swelled to the mighty river, which now flows on
majestically, wafting wealth and information to the civilized world.
CHAPTER I.
OF ALCHYMY.
The word _chemistry_ (χημεια, _chemeia_) first occurs in Suidas,
a Greek writer, who is supposed to have lived in the eleventh
century, and to have written his lexicon during the reign of Alexius
Comnenus.[1] Under the word χημεια in his dictionary we find the
following passage:
“CHEMISTRY, the preparation of silver and gold. The books
on it were sought out by Dioclesian and burnt, on account of the new
attempts made by the Egyptians against him. He treated them with
cruelty and harshness, as he sought out the books written by the
ancients on the chemistry (Περι χημειας) of gold and silver, and burnt
them. His object was to prevent the Egyptians from becoming rich by the
knowledge of this art, lest, emboldened by abundance of wealth, they
might be induced afterwards to resist the Romans.”[2]
[1] The word χημεια is said to occur in several Greek manuscripts of
a much earlier date. But of this, as I have never had an opportunity
of seeing them, I cannot pretend to judge. So much fiction has been
introduced into the history of Alchymy, and so many ancient names have
been treacherously dragged into the service, that we may be allowed
to hesitate when no evidence is presented sufficient to satisfy a
reasonable man.
[2] Χημεια, ἡ του αργυρου και χρυσου κατασκευη· ἡς τα βιβλια
διερευνησαμενος ὁ Διοκλητιανος εκαυσε, δια τα νεωτερισθεντα αιγυπτιοις
Διοκλητιανω· τουτοις ανημερως και φονικως εχρησατο ὁτεδη και τα
περι χημειας χρυσου και αργυρου τοις παλαιοις γεγραμμενα βιβλια
διερευνησαμενος εκαυσε, προς το μηκετι πλουτον αι | 909.3395 |
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California and the Californians
By
David Starr Jordan
President Stanford University
The Californian loves his state because his state loves him. He returns
her love with a fierce affection that to men who do not know California
is always a surprise. Hence he is impatient of outside criticism. Those
who do not love California cannot understand her, and, to his mind,
their shafts, however aimed, fly wide of the mark. Thus, to say that
California is commercially asleep, that her industries are gambling
ventures, that her local politics is in the hands of professional
pickpockets, that her small towns are the shabbiest in Christendom, that
her saloons control more constituents than her churches, that | 909.434614 |
2023-11-16 18:32:13.4145970 | 640 | 14 |
Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.
WAR IS KIND
by Stephen Crane
Drawings by Will Bradley
1899
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the
regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory files above
them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his
kingdom--
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow
trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of the slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses
lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
What says the sea, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept his message for the ships,
"Awkward ships, stupid ships."
"The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,
"Sing low in the moonlight.
"He sends tale of the land of doom,
"Of place where endless falls
"A rain of women's tears,
"And men in grey robes--
"Men in grey robes--
"Chant the unknown pain."
"What says the sea, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept is message for the ships,
"Puny ships, silly ships."
"The sea bids you teach, O Pines,
"Sing low in the moonlight;
"Teach the gold of patience,
"Cry gospel of gentle hands,
"Cry a brotherhood of hearts.
"The sea bids you teach, O Pines."
"And where is the reward, little shell?
"What says the sea?
"Long has our brother been silent to us,
"Kept his message for the ships,
"Puny ships, silly ships."
"No word says the sea, O Pines,
"No word says the sea.
"Long will your brother be silent to you,
"Keep his message for the ships,
"O puny ships, silly pines."
To the maiden
The sea was blue meadow,
Alive with little froth-people
Singing.
To the sailor | 909.434637 |
2023-11-16 18:32:13.4153500 | 1,065 | 10 |
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Digital Library Project at http://www.tpdlp.net and the
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
FROM OVER THE SEA.
[Illustration]
_This book may be obtained through any bookseller in the United States,
for two dollars, or will be mailed, postage paid, on receipt of that
amount by the publishers._
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
FROM OVER THE SEA
BY
Louise B. Robinson
“Visions of the days departed
Shadowy phantoms fill my brain”
BOSTON
J. G. CUPPLES COMPANY
The Back Bay Bookstore
94 BOYLSTON STREET
1890
_COPYRIGHT_, 1889,
BY LOUISE B. ROBINSON.
_All rights reserved._
Cupples Press: Boston.
PRINTED BY J. G. CUPPLES COMPANY.
[Illustration]
DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR
To Her Mother
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE ix
LETTER I. 1
I am off. On the sea.
LETTER II. 13
Liverpool. Chester. Rugby. Leamington.
Stratford-on-Avon. Kenilworth. Warwick.
LETTER III. 29
London.
LETTER IV. 67
Paris.
LETTER V. 127
Ambrieau. Geneva.
LETTER VI. 143
Chamouni. Mer de Glace. Tête Noire.
LETTER VII. 157
Martigny. Chillon. Berne. Interlaken.
LETTER VIII. 171
Lucerne. Altorf. The Rigi. Zurich. Schaffhausen.
LETTER IX. 191
Strassburg. Baden Baden. Willbad. Carlsruhe.
Heidelberg.
LETTER X. 217
Mayence. Wiesbaden. The Rhine.
LETTER XI. 233
Cologne.
LETTER XII. 247
Utrecht. Amsterdam.
LETTER XIII. 263
The Hague. Rotterdam. Brussels.
LETTER XIV. 281
Antwerp.
LETTER XV. 291
On Shipboard. New York. Boston.
PREFACE.
_In presenting my little book to the public, I feel that I should
apologize for so doing, instead of introducing it; for at the time my
letters were written I had no idea of publishing them. Since my return,
however, several friends who had read them have assured me that they
greatly enjoyed them, and felt that others would do so, also, had they
the opportunity. The letters have, at least, the merit of being fresh
and honest impressions of the places described, as they were written on
the spots. Remembering how eagerly I have always read letters of travel,
I sincerely hope that mine may prove a source of pleasure to some--to
those who have been over the same ground, and to many who have the
pleasure in anticipation. I am aware that the route I describe is a
well-worn thoroughfare, but every eye has its own perspective, and
different views of the same pictures assist the sight-seer in
comprehending the whole. Therefore, I here beg the charity of all into
whose hands this little book may fall._
_L. B. R._
_Hotel Oxford, Boston,
December 20, 1889._
[Illustration]
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS FROM OVER THE SEA.
LETTER I.
CUNARD ROYAL MAIL STEAMSHIP _Etruria_,
MID-OCEAN, _June 12_.
Well, was not this starting for Europe in a hurry? I left Boston
Saturday, June 9th, at five A.M., only deciding the day previous to go.
A number of letters and telegrams, from New York, urging me to join a
delightful party who were to make the journey, proved to be too much of
a temptation to accept the change I so much needed, to resist. For
several previous seasons I have seen friends off, honestly glad to have
them enjoy so much, but after awhile enthusiasm in the pleasures of
others, who enjoy much and leave you behind to be glad for them, grows
dull, like champagne long uncorked, not much sparkle to it, ‘for all
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ A hurried packing; good-by
letters; messenger boys running here and there; a turning of the keys;
and I am off. To my maid, to the elevator boy, to the expressman and the
coachman, I excitedly said, ‘I am going to | 909.43539 |
2023-11-16 18:32:13.6621740 | 682 | 8 |
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book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
BENTLEY'S
MISCELLANY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1837.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
ADDRESS.
Twelve months have elapsed since we first took the field, and every
successive number of our Miscellany has experienced a warmer reception,
and a more extensive circulation, than its predecessor.
In the opening of the new year, and the commencement of our new volume,
we hope to make many changes for the better, and none for the worse;
and, to show that, while we have one grateful eye to past patronage,
we have another wary one to future favours; in short, that, like the
heroine of the sweet poem descriptive of the faithlessness and perjury
of Mr. John Oakhum, of the Royal Navy, we look two ways at once.
It is our intention to usher in the new year with a very merry
greeting, towards the accomplishment of which end we have prevailed
upon a long procession of distinguished friends to mount their hobbies
on the occasion, in humble imitation of those adventurous and
aldermanic spirits who gallantly bestrode their foaming chargers on the
memorable ninth of this present month, while
"The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad."
These, and a hundred other great designs, preparations, and surprises,
are in contemplation, for the fulfilment of all of which we are already
bound in two volumes cloth, and have no objection, if it be any
additional security to the public, to stand bound in twenty more.
BOZ.
30th November, 1837.
CONTENTS
OF THE
SECOND VOLUME.
SONGS of the Month--July, by "Father Prout;" August; September, by
"Father Prout;" October, by J.M.; November, by C.D.; December, by
Punch Pages 1, 109, 213, 321, 429, 533
Papers by Boz:
Oliver Twist, or the Parish Boy's Progress, 2, 110, 215, 430, 534
The Mudfog Association for the Advancement of Everything 397
Poetry by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson:
Elegiac Stanzas 16
Lady Blue's Ball 380
My Father's Old Hall 453
Fictions of the Middle Ages: The Butterfly Bishop, by Delta 17
A New Song to the Old Tune of Kate Kearney 25
What Tom Binks did when he didn't know what to do with himself 26
A Gentleman Quite 36
The Foster-Child 37
The White Man's Devil-house, by F.H. Rankin 46 | 909.682214 |
2023-11-16 18:32:13.7206640 | 800 | 20 |
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_Songs of a Sourdough_
_"Songs from Overseas"_
SONGS OF A SOURDOUGH. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
LYRA NIGERIAE. By "ADAMU" (E. C. ADAMS).
SOUTH AFRICA, AND OTHER POEMS. By A. VINE HALL.
SONGS OUT OF EXILE (RHODESIAN RHYMES). By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
COWBOY SONGS. By JOHN A. LOMAX.
RHYMES OF A ROLLING STONE. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
THE HELL-GATE OF SOISSONS, AND OTHER POEMS. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
THE WAITING WOMAN. By HERBERT KAUFMAN.
FROM THE OUTPOSTS. By CULLEN GOULDSBURY.
RHYMES OF A RED CROSS MAN. By ROBERT W. SERVICE.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD.
_Songs of a Sourdough_
_By
Robert W. Service_
_London
T. Fisher Unwin, Ltd.
Adelphi Terrace_
_First Fifteen Impressions published in Canada
Sixteenth Impression, 1907
(First English Edition)
Seventeenth Impression, 1908
Eighteenth Impression, 1908
Nineteenth Impression, 1909
Twentieth Impression, 1909
Twenty-first Impression, 1909
Twenty-second Impression, 1910
Twenty-third Impression, 1910
Twenty-fourth Impression, 1911
Twenty-fifth Impression, 1912
Twenty-sixth Impression, 1913
Twenty-seventh Impression, 1913
Twenty-eighth Impression, 1914
Twenty-ninth Impression, 1915
Thirtieth Impression, 1915
Thirty-first Impression, 1916
Thirty-second Impression, 1916
Thirty-third Impression, 1916_
(_All rights reserved_)
To
C. M.
_The lonely sunsets flare forlorn
Down valleys dreadly desolate;
The lordly mountains soar in scorn,
As still as death, as stern as fate._
_The lonely sunsets flame and die;
The giant valleys gulp the night;
The monster mountains scrape the sky,
Where eager stars are diamond-bright._
_So gaunt against the gibbous moon,
Piercing the silence velvet-piled,
A lone wolf howls his ancient rune,
The fell arch-spirit of the Wild._
_O outcast land! O leper land!
Let the lone wolf-cry all express--
The hate insensate of thy hand,
Thy heart's abysmal loneliness._
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE LAW OF THE YUKON 11
THE PARSON'S SON 17
THE SPELL OF THE YUKON 21
THE CALL OF THE WILD 25
THE LONE TRAIL 28
THE HEART OF THE SOURDOUGH 31
THE THREE VOICES 34
THE PINES 36
THE HARPY 39
THE LURE OF LITTLE VOICES 43
THE SONG OF THE WAGE-SLAVE | 909.740704 |
2023-11-16 18:32:13.8637030 | 3,083 | 13 |
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THE LITTLE ROOM
AND OTHER STORIES
[Illustration:
“You don’t
s’pose
she _set_ it
on fire?”]
THE LITTLE ROOM
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
MADELINE YALE WYNNE
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
WAY & WILLIAMS
1895
COPYRIGHT
BY WAY AND WILLIAMS
MDCCCXCV
_Decorations by the Author_
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE LITTLE ROOM 7
THE SEQUEL TO THE LITTLE ROOM 41
MY GHOST OF A CHANCE 77
IN GRANADA 91
THE VOICE 105
THE SCARF 119
[_Thanks are due to the Editors of “Harper’s Magazine” for
permission to reprint “The Little Room” from the number for
August, 1895._]
THE LITTLE ROOM.
‘How would it do for a smoking-room?’
‘Just the very place! only, you know, Roger, you must not think of
smoking in the house. I am almost afraid that having just a plain,
common man around, let alone a smoking man, will upset Aunt Hannah. She
is New England--Vermont New England--boiled down.’
‘You leave Aunt Hannah to me; I’ll find her tender side. I’m going to
ask her about the old sea-captain and the yellow calico.’
‘Not yellow calico--blue chintz.’
‘Well, yellow _shell_ then.’
‘No, no! don’t mix it up so; you won’t know yourself what to expect,
and that’s half the fun.’
‘Now you tell me again exactly what to expect; to tell the truth, I
didn’t half hear about it the other day; I was wool-gathering. It was
something queer that happened when you were a child, wasn’t it?’
‘Something that began to happen long before that, and kept happening,
and may happen again; but I hope not.’
‘What was it?’
‘I wonder if the other people in the car can hear us?’
‘I fancy not; we don’t hear them--not consecutively, at least.’
‘Well, mother was born in Vermont, you know; she was the only child by
a second marriage. Aunt Hannah and Aunt Maria are only half-aunts to
me, you know.’
‘I hope they are half as nice as you are.’
‘Roger, be still; they certainly will hear us.’
‘Well, don’t you want them to know we are married?’
‘Yes, but not just married. There’s all the difference in the world.’
‘You are afraid we look too happy!’
‘No; only I want my happiness all to myself.’
‘Well, the little room?’
‘My aunts brought mother up; they were nearly twenty years older than
she. I might say Hiram and they brought her up. You see, Hiram was
bound out to my grandfather when he was a boy, and when grandfather
died Hiram said he “s’posed he went with the farm, ’long o’ the
critters,” and he has been there ever since. He was my mother’s only
refuge from the decorum of my aunts. They are simply workers. They make
me think of the Maine woman who wanted her epitaph to be: “She was a
_hard_ working woman.”’
‘They must be almost beyond their working-days. How old are they?’
‘Seventy, or thereabouts; but they will die standing; or, at least, on
a Saturday night, after all the house-work is done up. They were rather
strict with mother, and I think she had a lonely childhood. The house
is almost a mile away from any neighbors, and off on top of what they
call Stony Hill. It is bleak enough up there, even in summer.
‘When mamma was about ten years old they sent her to cousins in
Brooklyn, who had children of their own, and knew more about bringing
them up. She staid there till she was married; she didn’t go to Vermont
in all that time, and of course hadn’t seen her sisters, for they never
would leave home for a day. They couldn’t even be induced to go to
Brooklyn to her wedding, so she and father took their wedding trip up
there.’
‘And that’s why we are going up there on our own?’
‘Don’t, Roger; you have no idea how loud you speak.’
‘You never say so except when I am going to say that one little word.’
‘Well, don’t say it, then, or say it very, very quietly.’
‘Well, what was the queer thing?’
‘When they got to the house, mother wanted to take father right off
into the little room; she had been telling him about it, just as I am
going to tell you, and she had said that of all the rooms, that one was
the only one that seemed pleasant to her. She described the furniture
and the books and paper and everything, and said it was on the north
side, between the front and back room. Well, when they went to look
for it, there was no little room there; there was only a shallow
china-closet. She asked her sisters when the house had been altered and
a closet made of the room that used to be there. They both said the
house was exactly as it had been built--that they had never made any
changes, except to tear down the old wood-shed and build a smaller one.
‘Father and mother laughed a good deal over it, and when anything was
lost they would always say it must be in the little room, and any
exaggerated statement was called “little-roomy.” When I was a child I
thought that was a regular English phrase, I heard it so often.
‘Well, they talked it over, and finally they concluded that my mother
had been a very imaginative sort of a child, and had read in some book
about such a little room, or perhaps even dreamed it, and then had
“made believe,” as children do, till she herself had really thought the
room was there.’
‘Why, of course, that might easily happen.’
‘Yes, but you haven’t heard the queer part yet; you wait and see if you
can explain the rest as easily.
‘They staid at the farm two weeks, and then went to New York to live.
When I was eight years old my father was killed in the war, and mother
was broken-hearted. She never was quite strong afterwards, and that
summer we decided to go up to the farm for three months.
‘I was a restless sort of a child, and the journey seemed very long
to me; and finally, to pass the time, mamma told me the story of the
little room, and how it was all in her own imagination, and how there
really was only a china-closet there.
‘She told it with all the particulars; and even to me, who knew
beforehand that the room wasn’t there, it seemed just as real as
could be. She said it was on the north side, between the front and
back rooms; that it was very small, and they sometimes called it an
entry. There was a door also that opened out-of-doors, and that one
was painted green, and was cut in the middle like the old Dutch doors,
so that it could be used for a window by opening the top part only.
Directly opposite the door was a lounge or couch; it was covered with
blue chintz--India chintz--some that had been brought over by an old
Salem sea-captain as a “venture.” He had given it to Hannah when she
was a young girl. She was sent to Salem for two years to school.
Grandfather originally came from Salem.’
‘I thought there wasn’t any room or chintz.’
‘_That is just it._ They had decided that mother had imagined it all,
and yet you see how exactly everything was painted in her mind, for
she had even remembered that Hiram had told her that Hannah could have
married the sea-captain if she had wanted to!
‘The India cotton was the regular blue stamped chintz, with the peacock
figure on it. The head and body of the bird were in profile, while
the tail was full front view behind it. It had seemed to take mamma’s
fancy, and she drew it for me on a piece of paper as she talked.
Doesn’t it seem strange to you that she could have made all that up, or
even dreamed it?
‘At the foot of the lounge were some hanging shelves with some old
books on them. All the books were leather-colored except one; that was
bright red, and was called the _Ladies’ Album_. It made a bright break
between the other thicker books.
‘On the lower shelf was a beautiful pink sea-shell, lying on a mat
made of balls of red shaded worsted. This shell was greatly coveted
by mother, but she was only allowed to play with it when she had been
particularly good. Hiram had shown her how to hold it close to her ear
and hear the roar of the sea in it.
‘I know you will like Hiram, Roger; he is quite a character in his way.
‘Mamma said she remembered, or _thought_ she remembered, having been
sick once, and she had to lie quietly for some days on the lounge; then
was the time she had become so familiar with everything in the room,
and she had been allowed to have the shell to play with all the time.
She had had her toast brought to her in there, with make-believe tea.
It was one of her pleasant memories of her childhood; it was the first
time she had been of any importance to anybody, even herself.
‘Right at the head of the lounge was a light-stand, as they called it,
and on it was a very brightly polished brass candlestick and a brass
tray, with snuffers. That is all I remember of her describing, except
that there was a braided rag rug on the floor, and on the wall was a
beautiful flowered paper--roses and morning-glories in a wreath on a
light blue ground. The same paper was in the front room.’
‘And all this never existed except in her imagination?’
‘She said that when she and father went up there, there wasn’t
any little room at all like it anywhere in the house; there was a
china-closet where she had believed the room to be.’
‘And your aunts said there had never been any such room.’
‘That is what they said.’
‘Wasn’t there any blue chintz in the house with a peacock figure?’
‘Not a scrap, and Aunt Hannah said there had never been any that she
could remember; and Aunt Maria just echoed her--she always does that.
You see, Aunt Hannah is an up-and-down New England woman. She looks
just like herself; I mean, just like her character. Her joints move
up and down or backward and forward in a plain square fashion. I
don’t believe she ever leaned on anything in her life, or sat in an
easy-chair. But Maria is different; she is rounder and softer; she
hasn’t any ideas of her own; she never had any. I don’t believe she
would think it right or becoming to have one that differed from Aunt
Hannah’s, so what would be the use of having any? She is an echo,
that’s all.
‘When mamma and I got there, of course I was all excitement to see the
china-closet, and I had a sort of feeling that it would be the little
room after all. So I ran ahead and threw open the door, crying, “Come
and see the little room.”
‘And Roger,’ said Mrs. Grant, laying her hand in his, ‘there really
was a little room there, exactly as mother had remembered it. There
was the lounge, the peacock chintz, the green door, the shell, the
morning-glory, and rose paper, _everything exactly as she had described
it to me_.’
‘What in the world did the sisters say about it?’
‘Wait a minute and I will tell you. My mother was in the front hall
still talking with Aunt Hannah. She didn’t hear me at first, but I ran
out there and dragged her through the front room, saying, “The room
_is_ here--it is all right.”
‘It seemed for a minute as if my mother would faint. She clung to me in
terror. I can remember now how strained her eyes looked and how pale
she was.
‘I called out to Aunt Hannah and asked her when they had had the closet
taken away and the little room built; for in my excitement I thought
that that was what had been done.
‘“That little room has always been there,” said Aunt Hannah, “ever
since the house was built.”
‘“But mamma said there wasn’t any little room here, only a
china-closet, when she was here with papa,” said I.
“No, there has never been any china-closet there; it has always been
just as it is now,” said Aunt Hannah.
‘Then mother spoke; her voice sounded weak and far off. She said,
slowly, and with an effort, “Maria, don’t you remember that you told
me that there had _never been any little room here_? and Hannah said so
too, and then I said I must have dreamed it?”
‘“No, I don’t remember anything of the kind,” said Maria, without the
slightest emotion. “I don’t remember you ever said anything about any
china-closet. The house has never been altered; you used to play in
this room when you were a child, don’t you remember?”
‘“I know it,” said mother, in that queer slow voice that | 909.883743 |
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Produced by Joseph Myers and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
SIR GEORGE BIDDELL AIRY, K.C.B.,
M.A., LL.D., D.C.L., F.R.S., F.R.A.S.,
HONORARY FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
ASTRONOMER ROYAL FROM 1836 TO 1881.
EDITED BY
WILFRID AIRY, B.A., M.Inst.C.E.
1896
PREFACE.
The life of Airy was essentially that of a hard-working, business man,
and differed from that of other hard-working people only in the
quality and variety of his work. It was not an exciting life, but it
was full of interest, and his work brought him into close relations
with many scientific men, and with many men high in the State. His
real business life commenced after he became Astronomer Royal, and
from that time forward, during the 46 years that he remained in
office, he was so entirely wrapped up in the duties of his post that
the history of the Observatory is the history of his life. For writing
his business life there is abundant material, for he preserved all his
correspondence, and the chief sources of information are as follows:
(1) His Autobiography.
(2) His Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors.
(3) His printed Papers entitled "Papers by G.B. Airy."
(4) His miscellaneous private correspondence.
(5) His letters to his wife.
(6) His business correspondence.
(1) His Autobiography, after the time that he became Astronomer Royal,
is, as might be expected, mainly a record of the scientific work
carried on at the Greenwich Observatory: but by no means exclusively
so. About the time when he took charge of the Observatory there was an
immense development of astronomical enterprise: observatories were
springing up in all directions, and the Astronomer Royal was expected
to advise upon all of the British and Colonial Observatories. It was
necessary also for him to keep in touch with the Continental
Observatories and their work, and this he did very diligently and
successfully, both by correspondence and personal intercourse with the
foreign astronomers. There was also much work on important subjects
more or less connected with his official duties--such as geodetical
survey work, the establishment of time-balls at different places,
longitude determinations, observation of eclipses, and the
determination of the density of the Earth. Lastly, there was a great
deal of time and work given to questions not very immediately
connected with his office, but on which the Government asked his
assistance in the capacity of general scientific adviser: such were
the Correction of the Compass in iron ships, the Railway Gauge
Commission, the Commission for the Restoration of the Standards of
Length and Weight, the Maine Boundary, Lighthouses, the Westminster
Clock, the London University, and many other questions.
Besides those above-mentioned there were a great many subjects which
he took up out of sheer interest in the investigations. For it may
fairly be said that every subject of a distinctly practical nature,
which could be advanced by mathematical knowledge, had an interest for
him: and his incessant industry enabled him to find time for many of
them. Amongst such subjects were Tides and Tidal Observations,
Clockwork, and the Strains in Beams and Bridges. A certain portion of
his time was also given to Lectures, generally on current astronomical
questions, for he held it as his duty to popularize the science as far
as lay in his power. And he attended the meetings of the Royal
Astronomical Society with great regularity, and took a very active
part in the discussions and business of the Society. He also did much
work for the Royal Society, and (up to a certain date) for the British
Association.
All of the foregoing matters are recorded pretty fully in his
Autobiography up to the year 1861. After that date the Autobiography
is given in a much more abbreviated form, and might rather be regarded
as a collection of notes for his Biography. His private history is
given very fully for the first part of his life, but is very lightly
touched upon during his residence at Greenwich. A great part of the
Autobiography is in a somewhat disjointed state, and appears to have
been formed by extracts from a number of different sources, such as
Official Journals, Official Correspondence, and Reports. In editing
the Autobiography it has been thought advisable to omit a large number
of short notes relating to the routine work of the Observatory, to
technical and scientific correspondence, to Papers communicated to
various Societies and official business connected with them, and to
miscellaneous matters of minor importance. These in the aggregate
occupied a great deal of time and attention. But, from their detached
nature, they would have but little general interest. At various places
will be found short Memoirs and other matter by the Editor.
(2) All of his Annual Reports to the Board of Visitors are attached to
his Autobiography and were evidently intended to be read with it and
to form part of it. These Reports are so carefully compiled and are so
copious that they form a very complete history of the Greenwich
Observatory and of the work carried on there during the time that he
was Astronomer Royal. The first Report contained only four pages, but
with the constantly increasing amount and range of work the Reports
constantly increased in volume till the later Reports contained 21
pages. Extracts from these Reports relating to matters of novelty and
importance, and illustrating the principles which guided him in his
conduct of the Observatory, have been incorporated with the
Autobiography.
(3) The printed "Papers by G.B. Airy" are bound in 14 large quarto
volumes. There are 518 of these Papers, on a great variety of
subjects: a list of them is appended to this history, as also is a
list of the books that he wrote, and one or two of the Papers which
were separately printed. They form a very important part of his
life's work, and are frequently referred to in the present
history. They are almost all to be found in the Transactions of
Societies or in newspapers, and extend over a period of 63 years (1822
to 1885). The progress made in certain branches of science during this
long period can very fairly be traced by these Papers.
(4) His private correspondence was large, and like his other papers it
was carefully arranged. No business letters of any kind are included
under this head. In this correspondence letters are occasionally found
either dealing with matters of importance or in some way
characteristic, and these have been inserted in this biography. As
already stated the Autobiography left by Airy is confined almost
entirely to science and business, and touches very lightly on private
matters or correspondence.
(5) The letters to his wife are very numerous. They were written
during his occasional absences from home on business or for
relaxation. On these occasions he rarely let a day pass without
writing to his wife, and sometimes he wrote twice on the same
day. They are full of energy and interest and many extracts from them
are inserted in this history. A great deal of the personal history is
taken from them.
(6) All correspondence in any way connected with business during the
time that he was Astronomer Royal is to be found at the Royal
Observatory. It is all bound and arranged in the most perfect order,
and any letter throughout this time can be found with the greatest
ease. It is very bulky, and much of it is, in a historical sense,
very interesting. It was no doubt mainly from this correspondence that
the Autobiography, which so far as related to the Greenwich part of it
was almost entirely a business history, was compiled.
The history of the early part of his life was written in great detail
and contained a large quantity of family matter which was evidently
not intended for publication. This part of the Autobiography has been
compressed. The history of the latter part of his life was not written
by himself at all, and has been compiled from his Journal and other
sources. In both these cases, and occasionally in short paragraphs
throughout the narrative, it has been found convenient to write the
history in the third person.
2, THE CIRCUS,
GREENWICH.
NOTE.
The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press desire to express their
thanks to Messrs Macmillan & Co. for their courteous permission to use
in this work the steel engraving of Sir George Biddell Airy published
in _Nature_ on October 31, 1878.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Personal Sketch of George Biddell Airy
CHAPTER II.
From his birth to his taking his B.A. Degree at Cambridge
CHAPTER III.
At Trinity College, Cambridge, from his taking his B.A. Degree to his
taking charge of the Cambridge Observatory as Plumian Professor
CHAPTER IV.
At Cambridge Observatory, from his taking charge of the Cambridge
Observatory to his residence at Greenwich Observatory as Astronomer
Royal
CHAPTER V.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1836-1846
CHAPTER VI.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1846-1856
CHAPTER VII.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1856-1866
CHAPTER VIII.
At Greenwich Observatory, 1866-1876
CHAPTER IX.
At Greenwich Observatory, from January 1st, 1876, to his resignation
of office on August 15th, 1881
CHAPTER X.
At the White House, Greenwich, from his resignation of office on
August 15th, 1881, to his death on January 2nd, 1892
APPENDIX.
List of Printed Papers by G.B. Airy, and List of Books written by
G.B. Airy
INDEX.
CHAPTER I.
PERSONAL SKETCH OF GEORGE BIDDELL AIRY.
The history of Airy's life, and especially the history of his life's
work, is given in the chapters that follow. But it is felt that the
present Memoir would be incomplete without a reference to those
personal characteristics upon which the work of his life hinged and
which can only be very faintly gathered from his Autobiography.
He was of medium stature and not powerfully built: as he advanced in
years he stooped a good deal. His hands were large-boned and
well-formed. His constitution was remarkably sound. At no period in
his life does he seem to have taken the least interest in athletic
sports or competitions, but he was a very active pedestrian and could
endure a great deal of fatigue. He was by no means wanting in physical
courage, and on various occasions, especially in boating expeditions,
he ran considerable risks. In debate and controversy he had great
self-reliance, and was absolutely fearless. His eye-sight was
peculiar, and required correction by spectacles the lenses of which
were ground to peculiar curves according to formulae which he himself
investigated: with these spectacles he saw extremely well, and he
commonly carried three pairs, adapted to different distances: he took
great interest in the changes that took place in his eye-sight, and
wrote several Papers on the subject. In his later years he became
somewhat deaf, but not to the extent of serious personal
inconvenience.
The ruling feature of his character was undoubtedly Order. From the
time that he went up to Cambridge to the end of his life his system of
order was strictly maintained. He wrote his autobiography up to date
soon after he had taken his degree, and made his first will as soon as
he had any money to leave. His accounts were perfectly kept by double
entry throughout his life, and he valued extremely the order of
book-keeping: this facility of keeping accounts was very useful to
him. He seems not to have destroyed a document of any kind whatever:
counterfoils of old cheque-books, notes for tradesmen, circulars,
bills, and correspondence of all sorts were carefully preserved in the
most complete order from the time that he went to Cambridge; and | 909.954892 |
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E-text prepared by Larry B. Harrison, Sam W., and the Online Distributed
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 54682-h.htm or 54682-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/zuifolktales00cushrich
ZUÑI FOLK TALES
Recorded and Translated by
FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING
With an Introduction by J. W. Powell
[Illustration: TÉNATSALI]
New York and London
G. P. Putnam’S Sons
The Knickerbocker Press
1901
Copyright, 1901
By
Emily T. M. Cushing
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
[Illustration: {Photograph of Frank Hamilton Cushing}]
LIST OF TALES
PAGE
THE TRIAL OF LOVERS: OR THE MAIDEN OF MÁTSAKI AND THE
RED FEATHER 1
THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34
THE POOR TURKEY GIRL 54
HOW THE SUMMER BIRDS CAME 65
THE SERPENT OF THE SEA 93
THE MAIDEN OF THE YELLOW ROCKS 104
THE FOSTER-CHILD OF THE DEER 132
THE BOY HUNTER WHO NEVER SACRIFICED TO THE DEER HE HAD
SLAIN: OR THE ORIGIN OF THE SOCIETY OF RATTLESNAKES 150
HOW ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA STOLE THE THUNDER-STONE AND
THE LIGHTNING-SHAFT 175
THE WARRIOR SUITOR OF MOKI 185
HOW THE COYOTE JOINED THE DANCE OF THE BURROWING-OWLS 203
THE COYOTE WHO KILLED THE DEMON SÍUIUKI: OR WHY COYOTES
RUN THEIR NOSES INTO DEADFALLS 215
HOW THE COYOTES TRIED TO STEAL THE CHILDREN OF THE
SACRED DANCE 229
THE COYOTE AND THE BEETLE 235
HOW THE COYOTE DANCED WITH THE BLACKBIRDS 237
HOW THE TURTLE OUT HUNTING DUPED THE COYOTE 243
THE COYOTE AND THE LOCUST 255
THE COYOTE AND THE RAVENS WHO RACED THEIR EYES 262
THE PRAIRIE-DOGS AND THEIR PRIEST, THE BURROWING-OWL 269
HOW THE GOPHER RACED WITH THE RUNNERS OF K’IÁKIME 277
HOW THE RATTLESNAKES CAME TO BE WHAT THEY ARE 285
HOW THE CORN-PESTS WERE ENSNARED 288
JACK-RABBIT AND COTTONTAIL 296
THE RABBIT HUNTRESS AND HER ADVENTURES 297
THE UGLY WILD BOY WHO DROVE THE BEAR AWAY FROM SOUTHEASTERN
MESA 310
THE REVENGE OF THE TWO BROTHERS ON THE HÁWIKUHKWE, OR THE
TWO LITTLE ONES AND THEIR TURKEYS 317
THE YOUNG SWIFT-RUNNER WHO WAS STRIPPED OF HIS CLOTHING
BY THE AGED TARANTULA 345
ÁTAHSAIA, THE CANNIBAL DEMON 365
THE HERMIT MÍTSINA 385
HOW THE TWINS OF WAR AND CHANCE, ÁHAIYÚTA AND MÁTSAILÉMA,
FARED WITH THE UNBORN-MADE MEN OF THE UNDERWORLD 398
THE COCK AND THE MOUSE 411
THE GIANT CLOUD-SWALLOWER 423
THE MAIDEN THE SUN MADE LOVE TO, AND HER BOYS: OR THE
ORIGIN OF ANGER 429
LIST OF PLATES
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF FRANK HAMILTON CUSHING _Frontispiece_
THE YOUTH AND HIS EAGLE 34
ZUÑI FROM THE SOUTH 64
WAÍHUSIWA 92
A BURRO TRAIN IN A ZUÑI STREET 132
THUNDER MOUNTAIN FROM ZUÑI 174
A HOPI (MOKI) MAIDEN 184
A DANCE OF THE KÂKÂ 228
ACROSS THE TERRACES OF ZUÑI 276
THE PINNACLES OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN 344
PÁLOWAHTIWA 388
ZUÑI WOMEN CARRYING WATER 428
INTRODUCTION
It is instructive to compare superstition with science. Mythology is the
term used to designate the superstitions of the ancients. Folk-lore is
the term used to designate the superstitions of the ignorant of today.
Ancient mythology has been carefully studied by modern thinkers for
purposes of trope and simile in the embellishment of literature, and
especially of poetry; then it has been investigated for the purpose of
discovering its meaning in the hope that some occult significance might
be found, on the theory that the wisdom of the ancients was far superior
to that of modern men. Now, science has entered this field of study to
compare one mythology with another, and pre-eminently to compare
mythology with science itself, for the purpose of discovering stages of
human opinion.
When the mythology of tribal men came to be studied, it was found that
their philosophy was also a mythology in which the mysteries of the
universe were explained in a collection of tales told by wise men,
prophets, and priests. This lore of the wise among savage men is of the
same origin and has the same significance as the lore of Hesiod and
Homer. It is thus a mythology in the early sense of that term. But the
mythology of tribal men is devoid of that glamour and witchery born of
poetry; hence it seems rude and savage in comparison, for example, with
the mythology of the _Odyssey_, and to rank no higher as philosophic
thought than the tales of the ignorant and superstitious which are
called folk-lore; and gradually such mythology has come to be called
folk-lore. Folk-lore is a discredited mythology--a mythology once held
as a philosophy. Nowadays the tales of savage men, not being credited by
civilized and enlightened men with that wisdom which is held to belong
to philosophy, are called folk-lore, or sometimes folk-tales.
The folk-tales collected by Mr. Cushing constitute a charming exhibit of
the wisdom of the Zuñis as they believe, though it may be but a charming
exhibit of the follies of the Zuñis as we believe.
The wisdom of one age is the folly of the next, and the opinions of
tribal men seem childish to civilized men. Then why should we seek to
discover their thoughts? Science, in seeking to know the truth about the
universe, does not expect to find it in mythology or folk-lore, does not
even consider it as a paramount end that it should be used as an
embellishment of literature, though it serves this purpose well. Modern
science now considers it of profound importance to know the course of
the evolution of the humanities; that is, the evolution of pleasures,
the evolution of industries, the evolution of institutions, the
evolution of languages, and, finally, the evolution of opinions. How
opinions grow seems to be one of the most instructive chapters in the
science of psychology. Psychologists do not go to the past to find valid
opinions, but to find stages of development in opinions; hence
mythology or folk-lore is of profound interest and supreme importance.
Under the scriptorial wand of Cushing the folk-tales of the Zuñis are
destined to become a part of the living literature of the world, for he
is a poet although he does not write in verse. Cushing can think as
myth-makers think, he can speak as prophets speak, he can expound as
priests expound, and his tales have the verisimilitude of ancient lore;
but his sympathy with the mythology of tribal men does not veil the
realities of science from his mind.
The gods of Zuñi, like those of all primitive people, are the ancients
of animals, but we must understand and heartily appreciate their simple
thought if we would do them justice. All entities are animals--men,
brutes, plants, stars, lands, waters, and rocks--and all have souls. The
souls are tenuous existences--mist entities, gaseous creatures
inhabiting firmer bodies of matter. They are ghosts that own bodies.
They can leave their bodies, or | 910.135282 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: JUST SO STORIES]
[Illustration: How the Whale Got His Throat]
Transcriber's Note: Not being able to ascertain which words were Kipling
being clever and which were his printer's creativity, all spelling
anomalies except the few glaringly obvious ones noted at the end have
been retained. For example, "He married ever so many wifes" was retained
on page 227. For the HTML version, the page images have been included so
that the reader may make comparisons.
JVST SO STORIES
BY RVDYARD KIPLING
[Illustration]
_Pictures by Joseph M. Gleeson_
Doubleday Page & Company
1912
Copyright, 1912, by Rudyard Kipling
"Just So Stories," have also been copyrighted
separately as follows: How the Whale Got His Tiny
Throat. Copyright, 1897, by the Century Company.
How the Camel Got His Hump. Copyright, 1897, by
the Century Company. How the Rhinoceros Got His
Wrinkly Skin. Copyright, 1898, by the Century
Company. The Elephant's Child. Copyright, 1900, by
Rudyard Kipling; Copyright, 1900, by the Curtis
Publishing Company. The Beginning of the
Armadillos. Copyright, 1900, by Rudyard Kipling.
The Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo. Copyright, 1900
by Rudyard Kipling. How the Leopard Got His Spots,
Copyright, 1901, by Rudyard Kipling. How the First
Letter Was Written. Copyright, 1901, by Rudyard
Kipling. The Cat That Walked by Himself,
Copyright, 1902, by Rudyard Kipling.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
PAGE
How the Whale Got His Throat 1
How the Camel Got His Hump 15
How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin 29
How the Leopard Got His Spots 43
The Elephant's Child 63
The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo 85
The Beginning of the Armadillos 101
How the First Letter was Written 123
How the Alphabet was Made 145
The Crab that Played with the Sea 171
The Cat that Walked by Himself 197
The Butterfly that Stamped 225
[Illustration]
HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT
IN the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and
he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the
dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the
mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All
the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth--so! Till
at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a
small 'Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale's right ear, so
as to be out of harm's way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and
said, 'I'm hungry.' And the small 'Stute Fish said in a small'stute
voice, 'Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?'
'No,' said the Whale. 'What is it like?'
'Nice,' said the small 'Stute Fish. 'Nice but nubbly.'
'Then fetch me some,' said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with
his tail.
'One at a time is enough,' said the 'Stute Fish. 'If you swim to
latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will
find, sitting _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the sea, with nothing
on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must
_not_ forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, one
shipwrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.'
So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty
West, as fast as he could swim, and _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the
sea, _with_ nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a
pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best
Beloved), _and_ a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked
Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy's leave to
paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.)
Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly
touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft
he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders
(which you _must_ not forget), _and_ the jack-knife--He swallowed them
all down into his warm, dark, inside cupboards, and then he smacked his
lips--so, and turned round three times on his tail.
But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale's
warm, dark, inside cupboards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped
and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he
clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he
prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and
he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped,
and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn't, and the Whale felt most
unhappy indeed. (_Have_ you forgotten the suspenders?)
[Illustration: THIS is the picture of the Whale swallowing the Mariner
with his infinite-resource-and-sagacity, and the raft and the jack-knife
_and_ his suspenders, which you must _not_ forget. The buttony-things
are the Mariner's suspenders, and you can see the knife close by them.
He is sitting on the raft, but it has tilted up sideways, so you don't
see much of it. The whity thing by the Mariner's left hand is a piece of
wood that he was trying to row the raft with when the Whale came along.
The piece of wood is called the jaws-of-a-gaff. The Mariner left it
outside when he went in. The Whale's name was Smiler, and the Mariner
was called Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens, A.B. The little 'Stute Fish is
hiding under the Whale's tummy, or else I would have drawn him. The
reason that the sea looks so ooshy-skooshy is because the Whale is
sucking it all into his mouth so as to suck in Mr. Henry Albert Bivvens
and the raft and the jack-knife and the suspenders. You must never
forget the suspenders.]
So he said to the 'Stute Fish, 'This man is very nubbly, and besides
he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?'
'Tell him to come out,' said the 'Stute Fish.
So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner,
'Come out and behave yourself. I've got the hiccoughs.'
'Nay, nay!' said the Mariner. 'Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my
natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I'll think about it.'
And he began to dance more than ever.
'You had better take him home,' said the 'Stute Fish to the Whale. 'I
ought to have warned you that he is a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.'
[Illustration: HERE is the Whale looking for the little 'Stute Fish, who
is hiding under the Door-sills of the Equator. The little 'Stute Fish's
name was Pingle. He is hiding among the roots of the big seaweed that
grows in front of the Doors of the Equator. I have drawn the Doors of
the Equator. They are shut. They are always kept shut, because a door
ought always to be kept shut. The ropy-thing right across is the Equator
itself; and the things that look like rocks are the two giants Moar and
Koar, that keep the Equator in order. They drew the shadow-pictures on
the doors of the Equator, and they carved all those twisty fishes under
the Doors. The beaky-fish are called beaked Dolphins, and the other fish
with the queer heads are called Hammer-headed Sharks. The Whale never
found the little 'Stute Fish till he got over his temper, and then they
became good friends again.]
So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his
tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the
Mariner's natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and he rushed
half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and
said, 'Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and stations
on the _Fitch_burg Road;' and just as he said 'Fitch' the Mariner walked
out of his mouth. But while the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner,
who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his
jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running
criss-cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (_now_ you know
why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged that grating
good and tight into the Whale's throat, and there it stuck! Then he
recited the following _Sloka_, which, as you have not heard it, I will
now proceed to relate--
By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.
For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out on the
shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail
his toes in the water; and he married and lived happily ever afterward.
So did the Whale. But from that day on, the grating in his throat, which
he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating
anything except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales
nowadays never eat men or boys or little girls.
The small 'Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the
Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale | 910.13539 |
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Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 93.
SEPTEMBER 10, 1887.
* * * * *
STRANGE ADVENTURES OF ASCENA LUKINGLASSE.
(_By_ PHIL UPPES, _Author of "An Out-of-Luck Young Man," "Jack and Jill
went up the Hill," "The Bishop and his Grandmother," &c._)
ASCENA'S NARRATIVE.
THE story which I have to tell is more than strange. It is so terrible,
so incredible, so entirely contrary to all that any ordinary reader of
the _London Journal_ or the "penny dreadfuls" has ever heard of, that
even now I have some doubt in telling it. I happen, however, to know it
is true, and so does my husband. My husband will come in presently with
his narrative. There! that ought to make you curious. A very good
commencement.
My early life was uneventful. I was a foundling. I was left with two old
ladies (I fancy I may work them up some day into "character" sketches)
by a perfect gentleman, who, after giving them L200, went away the next
morning to Vienna for ever. He left with these two old ladies a little
wardrobe full of clothes, but there was not a mark, nor so much as an
initial, upon a single thing. They had all been cut out with a sharp
pair of scissors.
This again ought to excite your curiosity. Bear it in mind. Mysterious
parentage--no mother, no marks, and father gone to Vienna for ever.
The two old ladies kept a school, in which I first was a scholar, then a
teacher. There I remained until I was seventeen, when I was tall and
strong for my age, and looked more like three or four and twenty. One
day one of the old ladies said to me--
"Now, my dear, I will tell you what we are going to do. We are going to
sell the school, and buy a little cottage at Bognor. It doesn't face the
sea, and just holds two. So, as we have considered you more or less our
own daughter, we are going to kick you out. Now don't let's talk any
more about it to-day, but tell us to-morrow at breakfast, like a dear
good girl, that we are going to do what you wish."
"I shall tell you to-morrow," I answered, firmly. "I'll pretend to think
the matter over with all my might and main, until to-morrow morning, and
then give you an answer as solemnly weighed, and as carefully set out,
as a Saturday afternoon essay."
So I was kicked out.
I became a governess in the household of Mrs. COWSTREAM. That household
consisted of the master, whose manner was what old ladies in
Lincolnshire call "rampageous," the children, who were, beyond doubt,
hopelessly dull, and the mistress, who was colourless.
Nothing particularly happened save my dismissal (after receiving a
salary of about a thousand to twelve-hundred a year) within six months.
With about four-hundred pounds in hand I went to the Charing Cross
Hotel.
I feel I am a little plot-less. So far: foundling, old ladies at Bognor,
aimless engagement by Mrs. COWSTREAM and advertisement for the Charing
Cross Hotel. All good in their way, but not quite enough. I want an
incident. I have it.
Having untold gold, I thought I would buy some gloves in the Tottenham
Court Road. I entered an omnibus, was much struck by an old woman who
sat next me, bought the gloves, was arrested as a thief for passing
false money and saved from penal servitude for life by old woman. Come,
there's action for you! Still, I don't know why it is, but we don't seem
to get much "forrader."
The old woman hurried me about from place to place feeding me simply on
grapes and bonbons. For some reason I was not allowed to know where I
was. I didn't want to, and not caring a brass-farthing for the selfish
old ladies at Bognor, it mattered nothing to me whether they heard from
me or not. After a time the old woman asked me to sign this with my
blood.
"In consideration of seven pounds a week, I agree to sell my dreams
between sunset and sunrise, the payment ceasing on my death, and my
dreams, if any, immediately becoming only, and unconditionally my own."
I broke out laughing and signed it. Then the old woman said:--
"I am old enough to be your mother, and I am sure you know I feel kindly
towards you. I am not entirely my own mistress--think well of me if you
can."
Then placing by my side a little bottle of champagne, potted meats,
Devonshire cream, and dainty biscuits of various kinds, she left me. The
next day I was kicked out and carried in a carriage to Dawlish. I had a
nice little dinner--tender beefsteak, new potatoes, asparagus and
spinach, a bottle of sound port and a ripe stilton. After this, somehow
or other, I had a restless night. I was tormented with strange dreams in
which appeared a person whom I had never seen in my life. Certainly not
that I can remember. He was an old man wearing an immense opal on his
right-hand little finger. I had never seen such an opal before. The
dream was confused, I can only give these facts about it.
Let's see how I am getting on. Mysterious parentage. School life. Old
woman in omnibus, ghastly-comical agreement, heavy dinner and consequent
nightmare. Is that all? No, I have forgotten the advertisement for the
Charing Cross Hotel. All told, I can't say that there is much in my
story. Must get on. More heavy dinners, more nightmares. Went to
Brighton. Saw Doctor who said, "Your nerves are out of order, you are
suffering from a malady called Incipient Detearia. What do you drink?"
"Nothing but port, maraschino, and champagne."
"Quite right. Persevere. I am going away for a fortnight. Continue your
diet, and, when I return, I will come and see you again. By that time
your malady will have reached an acute stage. By the way, do you ever
eat?"
"Not as much as I drink. I sometimes have a plate of turtle soup, but
chiefly as an excuse for a glass of punch."
"Quite so. Good day."
After this, my dreams became more and more confused, and I grew quite
ill. Then I met a gentleman at the _table d'hote_, called Captain
CHARLES. He was most kind, asked me on board his yacht, and, when we had
got to Dieppe, said,--
"Miss ASCENA, I think we both understand each other. I am afraid I have
done very wrong in kidnapping you. Well, now, I am going to put a
question to you, straight and fair. When the yacht slipped anchor at
Brighton, I had a marriage-licence in our names, in a morocco case in my
pocket, upon which any clergyman on the Continent is bound to act. It's
no Gretna-Green business, I can assure you."
"I'll talk about it this afternoon, if I am well enough," I said,
holding on to a rope (it was very rough), and, feeling myself turning
deadly pale.
"Are you married already?" he asked, with a something like a choking in
his mouth.
"No, no, no," I cried. "I like you very much."
I got out of the general embarrassment by fainting away until I found
myself in the Hotel Royal, Dieppe.
Again I pause to say that I fancy somehow I am making a mess of this
story. To my list I have added an absolutely pointless and superfluous
case of kidnapping, which would be unpleasant were it not ridiculous.
Well, the Doctor came, and said I was to have a large glass of port wine
and a small glass of beef tea every ten minutes. This did me good. After
a few hours of this treatment, feeling more communicative, I told
Captain CHARLES all I have written here. I also explained to him my
difficulty in carrying on my tale without a _collaborateur_.
He stooped over me, kissed me gently on the forehead, and said--
"Never mind, dearest. I will send for a curious old man from Strasburg,
and have myself a shot at the story. Two pens are better than one."
I could only wonder how it would all end, and, vaguely hope for the
best.
CAPTAIN CHARLES' NARRATIVE.
My name is ALBERT CHARLES. I have a curious old friend who lives at
Strasburg, called OUTHOUSE. I am CHARLES, his friend. I wrote to
OUTHOUSE and told him Miss LUKINGLASSE'S story--of course, in
unscientific language. He replied, it was deeply interesting, and he
would come to me at once. He arrived, and immediately performed the old
"drop of ink trick," where, it will be remembered, a chap is made to
describe what he sees in a little writing-fluid.
Then OUTHOUSE turned to me with a strangely solemn face.
"We have got our finger," said he, "on the tarantula in his hole, the
viper in his lair, the _pieuvre_ in his cave. Such monsters should not
be allowed to live."
I was bewildered. We made our way from Newhaven to Chislehurst. We
called upon the old man with the opal, of whom we had so often talked.
He trembled. OUTHOUSE seemed to swell to twice his natural height. Then
the old chap with the opal appeared to wither under his gaze. Then he
changed to all manner of colours, and literally exploded. He went off
with a feeble bang, like a cheap firework. Not waiting to pick up his
pieces, we returned to Dieppe, collared the omnibus old woman (whom we
found on the point of strangling ASCENA), and got her sent to prison,
where she very properly committed suicide to save us further
embarrassment. After these preliminaries had been successfully
accomplished, I am pleased to say that ASCENA enjoyed peaceful dreams
and sweet repose.
There now! I have cleared up things pretty well, and don't think it bad
for a first attempt | 910.235442 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "So you're not dead after all, my hearty." _Page 37_]
[Illustration: Title page]
THE WRECKERS
OF
SABLE ISLAND
BY
J. MACDONALD OXLEY
_Author of "Up Among the Ice-Floes," "Diamond Rock," &c._
T. NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1897
CONTENTS.
I. THE SETTING FORTH
II. IN ROUGH WEATHER
III. THE WRECK
IV. ALONE AMONG STRANGERS
V. ERIC LOOKS ABOUT HIM
VI. BEN HARDEN
VII. A SABLE ISLAND WINTER
VIII. ANXIOUS TIMES
IX. FAREWELL TO SABLE ISLAND
X. RELEASE AND RETRIBUTION
THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND.
CHAPTER I.
THE SETTING FORTH.
A voyage across the Atlantic Ocean in the year 1799 was not the
every-day affair that it has come to be at the present time. There
were no "ocean greyhounds" then. The passage was a long and trying one
in the clumsy craft of those days, and people looked upon it as a more
serious affair than they now do on a tour round the world.
In the year 1799 few people thought of travelling for mere pleasure.
North, south, east, and west, the men went on missions of discovery, of
conquest, or of commerce; but the women and children abode at home,
save, of course, when they ventured out to seek new homes in that new
world which was drawing so many to its shores.
It was therefore not to be wondered at that the notion of Eric Copeland
going out to his father in far-away Nova Scotia should form the subject
of more than one family council at Oakdene Manor, the beautiful country
seat of the Copeland family, situated in one of the prettiest parts of
Warwickshire.
Eric was the only son of Doctor Copeland, surgeon-in-chief of the
Seventh Fusiliers, the favourite regiment of the Duke of Kent, the
father of Queen Victoria. This regiment formed part of the garrison at
Halifax, then under the command of the royal duke himself; and the
doctor had written to say that if the squire, Eric's grandfather,
approved, he would like Eric to come out to him, as his term of service
had been extended three years beyond what he expected, and he wanted to
have his boy with him. At the same time, he left the matter entirely
in the squire's hands for him to decide.
So far as the old gentleman was concerned, he decided at once.
"Send the boy out there to that wild place, and have him scalped by an
Indian or gobbled by a bear before he's there a month? Not a bit of
it. I won't hear of it. He's a hundred times better off here."
| 910.235719 |
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Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Matthew Wheaton
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS SHOEMAKERS.
BY
WILLIAM EDWARD WINKS.
NEW YORK:
FUNK & WAGNALLS, PUBLISHERS,
10 AND 12 DEY STREET.
PREFACE.
Time out of mind _The Gentle Craft_ has been invested with an air of
romance. This honorable title, given to no other occupation but that of
shoemakers, is an indication of the high esteem in which the Craft is
held. It is by no means an easy thing to account for a sentiment of this
kind, or to trace such a title to its original source. Whether the
traditionary stories which have clustered round the lives of Saints
Anianus, Crispin and Crispianus, or Hugh and Winifred, gave rise to the
sentiment, or the sentiment itself is to be regarded as accounting for
the traditions, one cannot tell. Probably there is some truth in both
theories, for sentiment and tradition act and react on each other.
Certain it is, that among all our craftsmen none appear to enjoy a
popularity comparable with that of "the old Cobbler" or "Shoemaker."
Most men have a good word to say for him, a joke to crack about him, or
a story to tell of his ability and "learning," his skill in argument, or
his prominence and influence in political or religious affairs. Both in
ancient times and in modern, in the Old World and in the New, a rare
interest has been felt in Shoemakers, as a class, on account of their
remarkable intelligence and the large number of eminent men who have
risen from their ranks.
These facts, and especially the last--which has been the subject of
frequent remark--may be deemed sufficient justification for the
existence of such a work as this.
Another reason might be given for the issue of such a book as this just
now. A change has come over the craft of boot and shoe making. The use
of machinery has effected nothing short of a _revolution_ in the trade.
The old-fashioned Shoemaker, with his leathern apron and hands redolent
of wax, has almost disappeared from the workrooms and streets of such
towns as Northampton and Stafford in Old England, or Lynn in New
England. His place and function are now, for the most part, occupied by
the "cutter" and the "clicker," the "riveter" and the "machine-girl."
The old Cobbler, like the ancient spinster and handloom weaver, is
retiring into the shade of the boot and shoe factory. Whether or no he
will disappear entirely may be questionable; but there can be no doubt
that the Cobbler, sitting at his stall and working with awl and hammer
and last, will never again be the conspicuous figure in social life that
he was wont to be in times gone by. Before we bid him a final farewell,
and forget the traditions of his humble yet honorable craft, it may be
of some service to bring under one review the names and histories of
some of the more illustrious members of his order.
Long as is the list of these worthy "Sons of Crispin," it cannot be said
to be complete. Only a few examples are taken from Germany, France, and
the United States, where, in all probability, as many illustrious
Shoemakers might have been met with as in Great Britain itself. And even
the British muster-roll is not fully made up. With only a few
exceptions, _living men_ are not included in the list. Very gladly would
the writer have added to these exceptions so remarkable a man as Thomas
Edward, the shoemaker of Banff, one of the best self-taught naturalists
of our time, and, for the last sixteen years, an Associate of the
Linnaean Society. But for the Life of this eminent Scotchman the reader
must be referred to the interesting biography written by his friend Dr.
Smiles.
In writing the longer sketches, free and ample use has been made of
biographies already in existence. But this has not been done without the
kind consent of the owners of copyrights. To these the writer tenders
his grateful acknowledgments. To the widow of the Rev. T. W. Blanshard
he is indebted for permission to draw upon the pages of her late
husband's valuable biography of "The Wesleyan Demosthenes," _Samuel
Bradburn_; to Jacob Halls Drew, Esq., Bath, for his courtesy in allowing
a liberal use to be made of the facts given in his biography of his
father, _Samuel Drew_, "The Self-Taught Cornishman;" and to the
venerable _Thomas Cooper_, as well as to his publishers, Messrs. Hodder
& Stoughton, for their kind favor in regard to the lengthy and detailed
sketch of the author of "The Purgatory of Suicides." This sketch, the
longest in the book, is inserted by special permission of Messrs. Hodder
& Stoughton.
The minor sketches have been drawn from a variety of sources. One or two
of these require special mention. In preparing the notice of John
O'Neill, the Poet of Temperance, the writer has received kind help from
_Mr. Richard Gooch_ of Brighton, himself a poet of temperance. Messrs.
_J. & J. H. Rutherford_ of Kelso have also been good enough to place at
the writer's service--but, unfortunately, too late to be of much use--a
copy of their recently published autobiography of John Younger, the
Shoemaker of St. Boswells. In the all-too-brief section devoted to
American worthies, valuable aid has been given to the author by Henry
Phillips, Esq., jun., A.M., Ph.D., Corresponding Member of the
Antiquarian Society of Philadelphia, U.S.A.
In all probability the reader has never been introduced to so large a
company of illustrious Sons of Crispin before. It is sincerely hoped
that he will derive both pleasure and profit from their society.
WILLIAM EDWARD WINKS.
CARDIFF, 1882.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE
CHAPTER I.
Sir Cloudesley Shovel: The Cobbler's Boy who became an Admiral
CHAPTER II.
James Lackington: Shoemaker and Bookseller
CHAPTER III.
Samuel Bradburn: The Shoemaker who became President of the Wesleyan
Conference
CHAPTER IV.
William Gifford: From the Shoemaker's Stool to the Editor's Chair
CHAPTER V.
Robert Bloomfield: The Shoemaker who wrote "The Farmer's Boy"
CHAPTER VI.
Samuel Drew: The Metaphysical Shoemaker
CHAPTER VII.
William Carey: The Shoemaker who Translated the Bible into Bengali
and Hindostani
CHAPTER VIII.
John Pounds: The Philanthropic Shoemaker
CHAPTER IX.
Thomas Cooper: The Self-educated Shoemaker who "Reared his own
Monument"
CHAPTER X.
A Constellation of Celebrated Cobblers
ANCIENT EXAMPLES.
The Cobbler and the Artist Apelles
The Shoemaker Bishops: Annianas, Bishop of Alexandria, and
Alexander, Bishop of Comana
The Pious Cobbler of Alexandria
"Rabbi Jochanan, The Shoemaker"
EUROPEAN EXAMPLES: _France_.
SS. Crispin and Crispianus: The Patron Saints of Shoemakers
"The Learned Baudouin"
Henry Michael Buch: "Good Henry"
_Germany._
Hans Sachs: "The Nightingale of the Reformation"
Jacob Boehmen: The Mystic
_Italy._
Gabriel Cappellini: "il Caligarino"
Francesco Brizzio: The Artist
_Holland._
Ludolph de Jong: The Portrait-Painter
Sons of Shoemakers
GREAT BRITAIN.
"Ye Cocke of Westminster"
Timothy Bennett: The Hero of Hampton-Wick
_Military and Naval Heroes._
The Souters of Selkirk
Watt Tinlinn
Colonel Hewson: The "Cerdon" of Hudibras
Sir Christopher Myngs, Admiral
_Astrologers and others._
Dr. Partridge
Dr. Ebenezer Sibly, F.R.C.P. 222
Manoah Sibly, Short-hand Writer, Preacher, etc
Mackey, "the Learned Shoemaker" of Norwich, and two other Learned
Shoemakers
Anthony Purver, Bible Revisionist
_The Poets of the Cobbler's Stall._
James Woodhouse, the Friend of Shenstone
John Bennet, Parish Clerk and Poet
Richard Savage, the Friend of Pope
Thomas Olivers, Hymn-Writer
Thomas Holcroft, Dramatist, Novelist
Joseph Blacket, "The Son of Sorrow"
David Service and other Songsters of the Shoemaker's Stall
John Struthers, Poet and Editor
John O'Neill, the Poet of Temperance
John Younger, Fly-Fisher and Corn-Law Rhymer
Charles Crocker, "The Poor Cobbler of Chichester"
_Preachers and Theologians._
George Fox, Founder of the Society of Friends
Thomas Shillitoe, the Shoemaker who stood before Kings
John Thorp, Founder of the Independent Church at Masboro'
William Huntingdon, S.S.
Robert Morrison, D.D., Chinese Scholar and Missionary
Rev. John Burnet, Preacher and Philanthropist
John Kitto, D.D., Biblical Scholar
_Science._
William Sturgeon, the Electrician
_Politicians._
Thomas Hardy, of "The State Trials"
George Odger, Political Orator
AMERICAN EXAMPLES.
Noah Worcester, D.D., "The Apostle of Peace"
Roger Sherman, the Patriot
Henry Wilson, the Natick Cobbler
John Greenleaf Whittier, "The Quaker Poet"
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
SIR CLOUDSLEY SHOVEL,
JAMES LACKINGTON,
REV. S. BRADBURN,
ROBERT BLOOMFIELD,
SAMUEL DREW, M.A.,
WILLIAM CAREY,
THOMAS COOPER,
JOSEPH BLACKET,
J. G. WHITTIER
CHAPTER I.
[Illustration: SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL]
Sir Cloudesley Shovel,
THE COBBLER'S BOY WHO BECAME AN ADMIRAL.
"Honor and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.
Fortune in men has some small difference made,
One flaunts in rags, one <DW42>s in brocade;
The cobbler aproned and the parson gowned,
The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned.
"What differ more' (you cry) 'than crown and cowl?'
I'll tell you, friend,--a wise man and a fool.
You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk;
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
The rest is all but leather or prunella."
--POPE, _Essay on Man_.
SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL.
On the south side of the choir of Westminster Abbey may be seen a very
handsome and costly monument, on which reclines a life-sized figure in
marble, representing a naval commander. The grotesque uniform and
elaborate wig are of the style of Queen Anne's time. The commander
himself has all the look of a well-bred gentleman and a brave officer.
He is a capital type of the old school of naval heroes, stout in person,
jolly in temper, but terrible in action, by whom our shores were
defended, our colonies secured to us, and the power and stability of the
British Empire were established for centuries to come. These men had, in
many instances, risen from the lowest social status, and had been
compelled to begin their nautical career in the humblest fashion,
accepting the most menial position the naval service could offer them.
When they came to hold positions of command, they had, perhaps, no
culture nor general education; the little knowledge they possessed was
confined to the arts of navigation and warfare, and this they had picked
up in actual service. Such knowledge served them well, and made them
equal to any emergency. It made them capable of deeds of valor and
enterprise, that brought renown to their own name and honor to their
country. They could sail round the world; they could, by their
discoveries, add new territories to the British crown, and open up
splendid fields for commercial enterprise; they could keep their vessels
afloat in a gale of wind, get to windward of the enemy if they wanted,
pour a broadside into him, board and capture his vessels or blow up his
forts; and, very often fighting against fearful odds, beat him by dint
of superior skill in seamanship and greater courage in action. Such a
commander was "old Benbow," whose name appears so often in the nautical
songs of the last century; and such a commander was his contemporary,
Sir Cloudesley Shovel, to whose memory the handsome monument just
referred to is erected. Let us pause for a moment to read the
inscription. It runs thus:
"Sir Cloudesley Shovel, Knt., Rear-Admiral of Great Britain,
Admiral and Commander-in-Chief of the Fleet: The just reward
of long and faithful services. He was deservedly beloved of
his country, and esteemed though dreaded by the enemy, | 910.240385 |
2023-11-16 18:32:14.3150290 | 2,187 | 20 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*WHITE MOTLEY*
_A NOVEL_
BY
MAX PEMBERTON
AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE HUGUENOT," "THE
GARDEN OF SWORDS," ETC., ETC.
New York
STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
1911
_All rights reserved_
Copyright 1911
By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1911
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE
I THE GRAND PRIX AT ANDANA
II A DARK HORSE GOES DOWN
III CONCERNING A DISOBLIGING GHOST
IV THE MAN WHO KNEW
V THE GHOST TAKES WINGS
VI A LESSON UPON SKIS
VII AN ULTIMATUM
VIII BENNY BECOMES AN OPTIMIST
IX IN WHICH WE BAG A BRACE
X A SPECIALIST IS CONSULTED
XI THE VIGIL OF TRAGEDY
XII FLIGHT
XIII AFTER THE STORM
XIV THE GENDARME PHILIP
XV THE CORTEGE
XVI TWO OPINIONS
XVII HERALDS OF GREAT TIDINGS
XVIII THE EVE OF THE GREAT ATTEMPT
XIX THE THIEF
XX THE FLIGHT IS BEGUN
XXI THE FLIGHT IS FINISHED
XXII THE EMPTY HOUSE
XXIII THE NIGHT MAIL
XXIV THE DOCTOR INTERVENES
XXV THE LIGHTS OF MAGADINO
XXVI AT THE HOSPICE
XXVII BENNY SETS OUT FOR ENGLAND
*WHITE MOTLEY*
*PROLOGUE*
*THE NEW HOUSE AT HOLMSWELL*
The New House at Holmswell lies, far back from the road, upon the great
highway to Norwich. Local topographers delight to tell you that it is
just forty-five miles from that city and five from the Cesarewitch
course at Newmarket. They are hardly less eloquent when they come to
speak of its late owner, Sir Luton Delayne, and of that unforgotten and
well-beloved woman, the wife he so little deserved.
To be sure, the house is not new at all, for it was built at the very
moment when the great Harry put his hands into the coffers of the
monasteries and called upon high Heaven to witness the justice of his
robberies. They faced it with wonderful tiles some years ago, and
stamped the Tudor rose all over it; but the people who first called it
"new" have been dead these four hundred years, and it is only the local
antiquary who can tell you just where the monastery (which preceded it)
was built.
Here, the master of a village which knows more about the jockeys of the
day than about any Prime Minister, here lived Sir Luton Delayne and that
gentle woman who won so many hearts during her brief tenure of the
village kingdom. Well the people knew her and well they knew him. A
florid, freckled-faced man with red hair and the wisp of an auburn
moustache, the common folk said little about his principles and much
about his pugnacity. Even these dull intellects knew that he had been
"no gentleman" and were not afraid to tell you so. His fame, of a sort,
had culminated upon the day he thrashed the butcher from Mildenhall,
because the fellow would halt on the high road just when the pheasants
were being driven from the Little Barton spinneys. That was no famous
day for the House of Delayne; for the butcher had been a great bruiser
in his time, and he knocked down the baronet in a twinkling without any
regard at all for his ancestry or its dignities. Thereafter, Sir
Luton's violent speech troubled the vulgar but little, and when he rated
Johnny Drummond for wheeling a barrow over the tennis-court, the lad
fell back upon the price of mutton and took his week's notice like a
man.
To Lady Delayne local sympathy went out in generous measure. If little
were known of the sorrows of her life, much was surmised. The "county"
could tell you many tales and would tell them to intimates. These spoke
of a ruffian who had sworn at that gentle lady before a whole company at
the meet; who openly snubbed her at her own table; who had visited upon
her the whims and the temper of a disposition at once vicious and
uncontrollable. Darker things were said and believed, but the sudden
end surprised no one; and when one day the village heard that she had
gone for good, when a little while afterwards the bailiffs came to the
New House and Sir Luton himself disappeared, it seemed but the sudden
revelation of a tragedy which all had expected.
Whither had Lady Delayne gone, and what was the truth of the disaster?
Few could speak upon matters so uncertain, but amongst the few the name
of Redman Rolls, the bookmaker, stood high. Report from Newmarket said
that Luton Delayne had lost twenty-seven thousand pounds upon the
Cambridgeshire and that this loss, following extensive and disastrous
speculation in American insecurities, had been the immediate instrument
of disaster. As to Lady Delayne's hurried flight from the New House,
that was a delicate affair upon which no one could throw much light. She
had relatives in the North, and was believed to possess a small fortune
of her own; but no news of her came to Holmswell, and the far from
curious village had no particular interest in the whereabouts of a man
who had browbeaten and bullied it for more than ten years. He had gone
to Somaliland to join his brother who was out after big game, the parson
said. It meant little to the simple folk, who had not the remotest idea
where Somaliland was unless it lay somewhere beyond Norwich--a
conclusion to which they arrived in the kitchen of the ancient inn.
To be sure, there were many tales told of the final separation of these
unhappy people, and some of them were sad enough. The servants at the
New House well remembered how Sir Luton had come home upon that unlucky
day; and what he had done and what he had said upon his arrival. To
begin with, Martin, the motor-man, could speak of a savage, silent
figure, driving blindly through the twilight of an October afternoon, of
the narrow escape from accident at the lodge gate and of the oaths with
which his attentions were received. Morris, the butler, would tell how
Sir Luton had almost knocked him down when he opened the door, and had
cursed her ladyship openly when he heard she had company. There was the
maid Eva, to tell of her mistress half dressed for dinner and of a scene
which in some part she had witnessed. Few believed her wholly when she
said that her master had attributed his misfortunes to the day when he
met his wife, and had told her that "he had done with her, by Heaven!"
And then upon that there would be Morris's further story of the table
laid for dinner, the candles lighted, the soup hot and steaming--and not
a soul in the great room where dinner was served. They waited a long
time, this faithful old gossip and the lean footman with the dull eyes;
but neither Sir Luton nor her ladyship came down. And then, shortly
before nine, the old horse and the single brougham were ordered--and the
kindest lady they would ever know went from them and they heard of her
no more.
But the man remained, though he had become but a shadow in the house.
All night he drank in the little study behind the billiard room, and a
light still burned there at six o'clock next morning, as Jelf, the
under-gardener, could testify. If he made any effort to recall the
wife, who would willingly have stood by him in the darkest hour, none
knew of it. For a few days, Morris carried his meals to the study and
would discover him there, sitting at a table and staring blankly over
the drear park as though dim figures of his own life's story moved
beneath the stately trees. Then, following an outburst which surpassed
all the servants could remember, an outburst of passion and of obscenity
inconceivable, he was driven one morning to Mildenhall Station, and
Holmswell heard with a satisfaction it made no attempt to conceal that
this was the end.
The New House was the scene of a great sale shortly afterwards, and
brokers came from London to buy the porcelain and the pictures, while
many a country gentleman drove in to bid for the well-proved '63 port
and the fine bin of Steinberg Cabinet. Few in the village could be more
than spectators at such a scene as that; but the old clergyman, Mr.
Deakins, bought Lady Delayne's mirror for three pounds fifteen
shillings, and when they asked him why, had a ready answer.
"An old man's fancy," he said; "and yet--who knows that some day it may
not show me again the face of the gentlest lady I have ever known?"
*CHAPTER I*
*THE GRAND PRIX AT ANDANA*
The sleigh climbed the heights laboriously, jolting heavily in the ruts
which last night's frost had hardened. Minute by minute now new
pictures were revealed. The Rhone valley appeared to be shaping itself
more clearly at every zigzag; so that | 910.335069 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "HOW GOOD OF YOU TO COME!" SHE EXCLAIMED. BESSIE SAW SHE
HAD BEEN CRYING.]
OUR BESSIE
BY
ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY
AUTHOR OF "MERLE'S CRUSADE," "NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS,"
"ONLY THE GOVERNESS," ETC.
THE MERSHON COMPANY
RAHWAY, N. J. NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
BESSIE MEETS WITH AN ADVENTURE 1
CHAPTER II.
"HERE IS OUR BESSIE" 16
CHAPTER III.
HATTY 31
CHAPTER IV.
A COSY MORNING 46
CHAPTER V.
THE OATLANDS POST-MARK 61
CHAPTER VI.
LITTLE MISS MUCH-AFRAID 74
CHAPTER VII.
IN THE KENTISH LANES 87
CHAPTER VIII.
AT THE GRANGE 101
CHAPTER IX.
RICHARD SEFTON 115
CHAPTER X.
BESSIE IS INTRODUCED TO BILL SYKES 129
CHAPTER XI.
EDNA HAS A GRIEVANCE 148
CHAPTER XII.
THE FIRST SUNDAY AT THE GRANGE 156
CHAPTER XIII.
WHITEFOOT IN REQUISITION 171
CHAPTER XIV.
BESSIE SNUBS A HERO 183
CHAPTER XV.
"SHE WILL NOT COME" 197
CHAPTER XVI.
A NOTE FROM HATTY 209
CHAPTER XVII.
"TROUBLE MAY COME TO ME ONE DAY" 222
CHAPTER XVIII.
"FAREWELL, NIGHT" 236
CHAPTER XIX.
"I MUST NOT THINK OF MYSELF" 249
CHAPTER XX.
"BESSIE'S SECOND FLITTING" 263
CHAPTER XXI.
ON THE PARADE 276
CHAPTER XXII.
BESSIE BUYS A JAPANESE FAN 289
CHAPTER XXIII.
MRS. SEFTON HAS ANOTHER VISITOR 303
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN THE COOMBE WOODS 318
OUR BESSIE.
CHAPTER I.
BESSIE MEETS WITH AN ADVENTURE.
It was extremely tiresome!
It was vexatious; it was altogether annoying!
Most people under similar circumstances would have used stronger
expressions, would have bemoaned themselves loudly, or at least
inwardly, with all the pathos of self-pity.
To be nearly at the end of one's journey, almost within sight and sound
of home | 910.434867 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
SAMANTHA
AMONG THE BRETHREN.
By
"Josiah Allen's Wife"
(Marietta Holley)
Part 1
_With Illustrations_.
1890
TO
All Women
WHO WORK, TRYING TO BRING INTO DARK LIVES
THE BRIGHTNESS AND HOPE OF A
BETTER COUNTRY,
_THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED_.
PREFACE.
Again it come to pass, in the fulness of time, that my companion, Josiah
Allen, see me walk up and take my ink stand off of the manteltry piece,
and carry it with a calm and majestick gait to the corner of the settin'
room table devoted by me to literary pursuits. And he sez to me:
"What are you goin' to tackle now, Samantha?"
And sez I, with quite a good deal of dignity, "The Cause of Eternal
Justice, Josiah Allen."
"Anythin' else?" sez he, lookin' sort o' oneasy at me. (That man
realizes his shortcomin's, I believe, a good deal of the time, he duz.)
"Yes," sez I, "I lay out in petickuler to tackle the Meetin' House. She
is in the wrong on't, and I want to set her right."
Josiah looked sort o' relieved like, but he sez out, in a kind of a pert
way, es he set there a-shellin corn for the hens:
"A Meetin' House hadn't ort to be called she--it is a he."
And sez I, "How do you know?"
And he sez, "Because it stands to reason it is. And I'd like to know
what you have got to say about him any way?"
Sez I, "That 'him | 910.445686 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, Bryan Ness and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
BOHN’S STANDARD LIBRARY
THE POEMS OF HEINE
GEORGE BELL AND SONS
LONDON: PORTUGAL ST., LINCOLN’S INN.
CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CO.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY: A. H. WHEELER AND CO.
THE POEMS OF HEINE
COMPLETE
TRANSLATED INTO THE ORIGINAL METRES
WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE
BY
EDGAR ALFRED BOWRING, C.B.
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON
GEORGE BELL AND SONS
1908
[_Reprinted from Stereotype plates._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION viii
PREFACE ix
MEMOIR OF HEINRICH HEINE xi
EARLY POEMS.
SONGS OF LOVE
Love’s Salutation 1
Love’s Lament 1
Yearning 2
The White Flower 3
Presentiment 4
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
GERMANY, 1815 6
DREAM, 1816 9
THE CONSECRATION 11
THE MOOR’S SERENADE 12
DREAM AND LIFE 13
THE LESSON 14
TO FRANCIS V. Z---- 14
A PROLOGUE TO THE HARTZ-JOURNEY 15
DEFEND NOT 15
A PARODY 16
WALKING FLOWERS AT BERLIN 16
EVENING SONGS 16
SONNETS
To Augustus William von Schlegel 17
To the Same 17
To Councillor George S----, of Göttingen 19
To J. B. Rousseau 19
The Night Watch on the Drachenfels. To Fritz von B---- 20
In Fritz Steinmann’s Album 20
To Her 21
Goethe’s Monument at Frankfort-on-the-Main, 1821 21
Dresden Poetry 21
Beardless Art 22
BOOK OF SONGS
PREFACE 23
YOUTHFUL SORROWS (1817-1821)
VISIONS 24
SONGS 39
ROMANCES 43
The Mournful One 43
The Mountain Echo 43
The Two Brothers 44
Poor Peter 44
The Prisoner’s Song 45
The Grenadiers 46
The Message 46
| 910.735505 |
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Produced by Alan Light. HTML version by Al Haines.
Renascence and Other Poems
by
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Contents:
Renascence
All I could see from where I stood
Interim
The room is full of you!--As I came in
The Suicide
"Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more!
God's World
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Tavern
I'll keep a little tavern
Ashes of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
The Little Ghost
I knew her for a little ghost
Kin to Sorrow
Am I kin to Sorrow,
Three Songs of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree
II
Let the little birds sing;
III
All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!
The Shroud
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
The Dream
Love, if I weep it will not matter,
Indifference
I said,--for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,--
Witch-Wife
She is neither pink nor pale,
Blight
Hard seeds of hate I planted
When the Year Grows Old
I cannot but remember
Sonnets
I
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no,
II
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
III
Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
IV
Not in this chamber only at my birth--
V
If I should learn, in some quite casual way,
VI Bluebeard
This door you might not open, and you did;
Renascence and Other Poems
Renascence
All I could see from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood;
I turned and looked another way,
And saw three islands in a bay.
So with my eyes I traced the line
Of the horizon, thin and fine,
Straight around till I was come
Back to where I'd started from;
And all I saw from where I stood
Was three long mountains and a wood.
Over these things I could not see;
These were the things that bounded me;
And I could touch them with my hand,
Almost, I thought, from where I stand.
And all at once things seemed so small
My breath came short, and scarce at all.
But, sure, the sky is big, I said;
Miles and miles above my head;
So here upon my back I'll lie
And look my fill into the sky.
And so I looked, and, after all,
The sky was not so very tall.
The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,
And--sure enough!--I see the top!
The sky, I thought, is not so grand;
I'most could touch it with my hand!
And reaching up my hand to try,
I screamed to feel it touch the sky.
I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity
Came down and settled over me;
Forced back my scream into my chest,
Bent back my arm upon my breast,
And, pressing of the Undefined
The definition on my mind,
Held up before my eyes a glass
Through which my shrinking sight did pass
Until it seemed I must behold
Immensity made manifold;
Whispered to me a word whose sound
Deafened the air for worlds around,
And brought unmuffled to my ears
The gossiping of friendly spheres,
The creaking of the tented sky,
The ticking of Eternity.
I saw and heard, and knew at last
The How and Why of all things, past,
And present, and forevermore.
The Universe, cleft to the core,
Lay open to my probing sense
That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence
But could not,--nay! But needs must suck
At the great wound, and could not pluck
My lips away till I had drawn
All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn!
For my omniscience paid I toll
In infinite remorse of soul.
All sin was of my sinning, all
Atoning mine, and mine the gall
Of all regret. Mine was the weight
Of every brooded wrong, the hate
That stood behind each envious thrust,
Mine every greed, mine every lust.
And all the while for every grief,
Each suffering, I craved relief
With individual desire,--
Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire
About a thousand people crawl;
Perished with each,--then mourned for all!
A man was starving in Capri;
He moved his eyes and looked at me;
I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,
And knew his hunger as my own.
I saw at sea a great fog bank
Between two ships that struck and sank;
A thousand screams the heavens smote;
And every scream tore through my throat.
No hurt I did not feel, no death
That was not mine; mine each last breath
That, crying, met an answering cry
From the compassion that was I.
All suffering mine, and mine its rod;
Mine, pity like the pity of God.
Ah, awful weight! Infinity
Pressed down upon the finite Me!
My anguished spirit, like a bird,
Beating against my lips I heard;
Yet lay the weight so close about
There was no room for it without.
And so beneath the weight lay I
And suffered death, but could not die.
Long had I lain thus, craving death,
When quietly the earth beneath
Gave way, and inch by inch, so great
At last had grown the crushing weight,
Into the earth I sank till I
Full six feet under ground did lie,
And sank no more,--there is no weight
Can follow here, however great.
From off my breast I felt it roll,
And as it went my tortured soul
Burst forth and fled in such a gust
That all about me swirled the dust.
Deep in the earth I rested now;
Cool is its hand upon the brow
And soft its breast beneath the head
Of one who is so gladly dead.
And all at once, and over all
The pitying rain began to fall;
I lay and heard each pattering hoof
Upon my lowly, thatched roof,
And seemed to love the sound far more
Than ever I had done before.
For rain it hath a friendly sound
To one who's six feet underground;
And scarce the friendly voice or face:
A grave is such a quiet place.
The rain, I said, is kind to come
And speak to me in my new home.
I would I were alive again
To kiss the fingers of the rain,
To drink into my eyes the shine
Of every slanting silver line,
To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze
From drenched and dripping apple-trees.
For soon the shower will be done,
And then the broad face of the sun
Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth
Until the world with answering mirth
Shakes joyously, and each round drop
Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.
How can I bear it; buried here,
While overhead the sky grows clear
And blue again after the storm?
O, multi-colored, multiform,
Beloved beauty over me,
That I shall never, never see
Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,
That I shall never more behold!
Sleeping your myriad magics through,
Close-sepulchred away from you!
O God, I cried, give me new birth,
And put me back upon the earth!
Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd
And let the heavy rain, down-poured
In one big torrent, set me free,
Washing my grave away from me!
I ceased; and through the breathless hush
That answered me, the far-off rush
Of herald wings came whispering
Like music down the vibrant string
Of my ascending prayer, and--crash!
Before the wild wind's whistling lash
The startled storm-clouds reared on high
And plunged in terror down the sky,
And the big rain in one black wave
Fell from the sky and struck my grave.
I know not how such things can be;
I only know there came to me
A fragrance such as never clings
To aught save happy living things;
A sound as of some joyous elf
Singing sweet songs to please himself,
And, through and over everything,
A sense of glad awakening.
The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,
Whispering to me I could hear;
I felt the rain's cool finger-tips
Brushed tenderly across my lips,
Laid gently on my sealed sight,
And all at once the heavy night
Fell from my eyes and I could see,--
A drenched and dripping apple-tree,
A last long line of silver rain,
A sky grown clear and blue again.
And as I looked a quickening gust
Of wind blew up to me and thrust
Into my face a miracle
Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,--
I know not how such things can be!--
I breathed my soul back into me.
Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I
And hailed the earth with such a cry
As is not heard save from a man
Who has been dead, and lives again.
About the trees my arms I wound;
Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;
I raised my quivering arms on high;
I laughed and laughed into the sky,
Till at my throat a strangling sob
Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb
Sent instant tears into my eyes;
O God, I cried, no dark disguise
Can e'er hereafter hide from me
Thy radiant identity!
Thou canst not move across the grass
But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,
Nor speak, however silently,
But my hushed voice will answer Thee.
I know the path that tells Thy way
Through the cool eve of every day;
God, I can push the grass apart
And lay my finger on Thy heart!
The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,--
No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat--the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.
Interim
The room is full of you!--As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick!--
Sharp, unfamiliar odors have destroyed
Each other room's dear personality.
The heavy scent of damp, funereal flowers,--
The very essence, hush-distilled, of Death--
Has strangled that habitual breath of home
Whose expiration leaves all houses dead;
And wheresoe'er I look is hideous change.
Save here. Here 'twas as if a weed-choked gate
Had opened at my touch, and I had stepped
Into some long-forgot, enchanted, strange,
Sweet garden of a thousand years ago
And suddenly thought, "I have been here before!"
You are not here. I know that you are gone,
And will not ever enter here again.
And yet it seems to me, if I should speak,
Your silent step must wake across the hall;
If I should turn my head, that your sweet eyes
Would kiss me from the door.--So short a time
To teach my life its transposition to
This difficult and unaccustomed key!--
The room is as you left it; your last touch--
A thoughtless pressure, knowing not itself
As saintly--hallows now each simple thing;
Hallows and glorifies, and glows between
The dust's grey fingers like a shielded light.
There is your book, just as you laid it down,
Face to the table,--I cannot believe
That you are gone!--Just then it seemed to me
You must be here. I almost laughed to think
How like reality the dream had been;
Yet knew before I laughed, and so was still.
That book, outspread, just as you laid it down!
Perhaps you thought, "I wonder what comes next,
And whether this or this will be the end | 910.738814 |
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Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
[Illustration: cover art]
The Quest of the
"Golden Hope"
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, LONDON
17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, TORONTO
[Illustration: CAPTAIN JEREMY IS WOUNDED (missing from book)]
The Quest of the
"Golden Hope"
A Seventeenth Century Story of Adventure
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "East in the _Golden Gain_" "The Third Officer"
"Sea Scouts All" &c.
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK E. WILES
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
By Percy F. Westerman
Rivals of the Reef.
A Shanghai Adventure.
Pat Stobart in the "Golden Dawn".
The Junior Cadet.
Captain Starlight.
The Sea-Girt Fortress.
On the Wings of the Wind.
Captured at Tripoli.
Captain Blundell's Treasure.
The Third Officer.
Unconquered Wings.
The Buccaneers of Boya.
The Riddle of the Air.
Chums of the "Golden Vanity".
The Luck of the "Golden Dawn".
Clipped Wings.
The Salving of the "Fusi Yama".
Winning his Wings.
A Lively Bit of the Front.
A Cadet of the Mercantile Marine.
The Good Ship "Golden Effort".
East in the "Golden Gain".
The Quest of the "Golden Hope".
Sea Scouts Abroad.
Sea Scouts Up-Channel.
The Wireless Officer.
A Lad of Grit.
The Submarine Hunters.
Sea Scouts All.
The Thick of the Fray.
A Sub and a Submarine.
Under the White Ensign.
The Fight for Constantinople.
With Beatty off Jutland.
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
Contents
I. OF THE FUGITIVE FROM SEDGEMOOR
II. THE TWO DRAGOONS ON THE BROCKENHURST ROAD
III. CAPTAIN JEREMY'S SURPRISE
IV. THE _MADRE DE DIOS_
V. THE CHART
VI. A MIDNIGHT INTRUDER
VII. THE CAVE IN THE LONELY HEATH
VIII. CONCERNING THE EVENTS THAT PROMPTED ME
TO A DESPERATE RESOLVE
IX. FLIGHT
X. IN THE HOLD
XI. MY FIRST DAY AT SEA
XII. A BRUSH WITH ALGERINES
XIII. OF THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP IN THE MIDST OF THE OCEAN
XIV. "CAPTAIN 'ENERY"
XV. WE ARRIVE AT TREASURE ISLAND
XVI. A HASTY RECALL
XVII. ATTACKED BY BUCCANEERS
XVIII. "REPEL BOARDERS!"
XIX. BLOWN UP
XX. THE REPULSE AT THE STOCKADE
XXI. CAPTAIN CRADDOCK
XXII. A LEAP FOR LIFE
XXIII. THE PERILS OF THE SHOAL
XXIV. MORE TROUBLE IN SIGHT
XXV. WE ARRIVE AT THE HIDING-PLACE OF THE TREASURE
XXVI. UNTOLD WEALTH
XXVII. THE MUTINY OF | 911.037152 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/progressionists00bolagoog
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE
PROGRESSIONISTS,
AND
ANGELA.
_TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN_.
* * * * *
New York:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
9 WARREN STREET.
1873.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
* * * * *
THE PROGRESSIONISTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE WAGER
The balcony of the _palais_ Greifmann contains three persons who
together represent four million florins. It is not often that one sees
a group of this kind. The youthful landholder, Seraphin Gerlach, is
possessor of two millions. His is a quiet disposition; very calm, and
habitually thoughtful; innocence looks from his clear eye upon the
world; physically, he is a man of twenty-three; morally, he is a child
in purity; a profusion of rich brown hair clusters about his head; his
cheeks are ruddy, and an attractive sweetness plays round his mouth.
The third million belongs to Carl Greifmann, the oldest member of the
group, head _pro tem_. of the banking-house of the same name. This
gentlemen is tall, slender, animated; his cheeks wear no bloom; they
are pale. His carriage is easy and smooth. Some levity is visible in
his features, which are delicate, but his keen, glancing eye is
disagreeable beside Seraphin's pure soul-mirror. Greifmann's sister
Louise, not an ordinary beauty, owns the fourth million. She is seated
between the young gentlemen; the folds of her costly dress lie heaped
around her; her hands are engaged with a fan, and her eyes are sending
electric glances into Gerlach's quick depths. But these flashing beams
fail to kindle; they expire before they penetrate far into those
depths. His eyes are bright, but they refuse to gleam with intenser
fire. Strange, too, for a twofold reason; first, because glances from
the eyes of beautiful women seldom suffer young men to remain cool;
secondly, because a paternal scheme designs that Louise shall be
engaged and married to the fire-proof hero.
Millions of money are rare; and should millions strive to form an
alliance, it is in conformity with the genius of every solid banking
establishment to view this as quite a natural tendency.
For eight days Mr. Seraphin has been on a visit at the _palais_
Greifmann, but as yet he has yielded no positive evidence of intending
to join his own couple of millions with the million of Miss Louise.
Whilst Seraphin converses with the beautiful young lady, Carl Greifmann
cursorily examines a newspaper which a servant has just brought him on
a silver salver.
"Every age has its folly," suddenly exclaims the banker. "In the
seventeenth century people were busy during thirty years cutting one
another's throats for religion's sake--or rather, in deference to the
pious hero of the faith from Sweden and his fugleman Oxenstiern. In the
eighteenth century, they decorated their heads with periwigs and
pigtails, making it a matter of conjecture whether both ladies and
gentlemen were not in the act of developing themselves from monkeydom
into manhood.
"Elections are the folly of our century. See here, my good fellow, look
what is written here: In three days the municipal elections will come
off throughout the country--in eighteen days the election of delegates.
For eighteen days the whole country is to labor in election throes.
Every man twenty-one years of age, having a wife and a homestead, is to
be employed in rooting from out the soil of party councilmen, mayors,
and deputies.
"And during the period these rooters not unfrequently get at
loggerheads. Some are in favor of Streichein the miller, because
Streichein has lavishly greased their palms; others insist upon
re-electing Leimer the manufacturer, because Leimer threatens a
reduction of wages if they refuse to keep him in the honorable
position. In the heat of dispute, quite a storm of oaths and ugly
epithets, yes, and of blows too, rages, and many is the voter who
retires from the scene of action with a bloody head. The beer-shops are
the chief battle-fields for this sort of skirmishing. Here, zealous
voters swill down hogsheads of beer: brewers drive a brisk trade during
elections. But you must not think, Seraphin, that these absurd election
scenes are confined to cities. In rural districts the game is conducted
with no less interest and fury. There is a village not far away, where
a corpulent ploughman set his mind on becoming mayor. What does he, to
get the reins of village government into his great fat fist? Two days
previous to the election he butchers three fatted hogs, has several
hundred ringlets of sausage made, gets ready his pots, and pans for
cooking and roasting, and then advertises: eating and drinking _ad
libitum_ and _gratis_ for every voter willing to aid him to ascend the
mayor's throne. He obtained his object.
"Now, I put the question to you, Seraphin, is not this sort of election
jugglery far more ridiculous and disgusting than the most preposterous
periwigs of the last century?"
"Ignorance and passion may occasion the abuse of the best
institutions," answered the double millionaire. "However, if beer and
pork determine the choice of councilmen and mayors, voters have no
right to complain of misrule. It would be most disastrous to the state,
I should think, were such corrupt means to decide also the election of
the deputies of our legislative assembly."
The banker smiled.
"The self-same man[oe]uvring, only on a larger scale," replied he. Of
course, in this instance, petty jealousies disappear. Streichein the
miller and Leimer the manufacturer make concessions in the interest of
the common party. All stand shoulder to shoulder in the cause of
_progress_ against Ultramontanes and democrats, who in these days have
begun to be troublesome.
"Whilst at municipal elections office-seekers employed money and
position for furthering their personal aims, at deputy elections
_progress_ men cast their means into a common cauldron, from which the
mob are fed and made to drink in order to stimulate them with the
spirit of _progress_ for the coming election. At bottom it amounts to
the same--the stupefaction of the multitude, the rule of a minority, in
which, however, all consider themselves as having part, the folly of
the nineteenth century."
"This is an unhealthy condition of things, which gives reason to fear
the corruption of the whole body politic," remarked the landholder with
seriousness. "The seats of the legislative chamber should be filled not
through bribery and deception of the masses, nor through party passion,
but through a right appreciation of the qualifications that fit a man
for the office of deputy."
"I ask your pardon, my dear friend," interposed the banker with a
laugh. "Being reared by a mother having a rigorous faith has prompted
you to speak thus, not acquaintance with the spirit of the age. Right
appreciation! Heavens, what _naivete_! Are you not aware that
_progress_, the autocrat of our times, follows a fixed, unchanging
programme? It matters not whether Tom or Dick occupies the cushions of
the legislative hall; the main point is to wear the color of
_progress_, and for this no special qualifications are needed. I will
give you an illustration of the way in which these things work. Let us
suppose that every member is provided with a trumpet which he takes
with him to the assembly. To blow this trumpet neither skill, nor quick
perception, nor experience, nor knowledge--neither of these
qualifications is necessary. Now, we will suppose these gentlemen
assembled in the great hall where the destinies of the country are
decided; should abuses need correction, should legislation for church
or state be required, they have only to blow the trumpet of _progress_.
The trumpet's tone invariably accords with the spirit of progress, for
it has been attuned to it. Should it happen that at a final vote upon a
measure the trumpets bray loudly enough to drown the opposition of
democrats and Ultramontanes, the matter is settled, the law is passed,
the question is decided."
"Evidently you exaggerate!" said Seraphin with a shake of the head.
"Your illustration beats the enchanted horn of the fable. Do not you
think so. Miss Louise?"
"Brother's trumpet story is rather odd, 'tis true, yet I believe that
at bottom such is really the state of things."
"The instrument in question is objectionable in your opinion, my
friend, only because you still bear about you the narrow conscience of
an age long since buried. As you never spend more than two short winter
months in the city, where alone the life-pulse of our century can be
felt beating, you remain unacquainted with the present and its spirit.
The rest of the year you pass in riding about on your lands, suffering
yourself to be impressed by the stern rigor of nature's laws, and
concluding that human society harmonizes in the same manner with the
behests of fixed principles. I shall have to brush you up a little. I
shall have to let you into the mysteries of progress, so that you may
cease groping like a blind man in the noonday of enlightenment. Above
all, let us have no narrow-mindedness, no scrupulosity, I beg of you.
Whosoever nowadays walks the grass-grown paths of rigorism is a doomed
man."
Whilst he was saying this, a smile was on the banker's countenance.
Seraph in mused in silence on the meaning and purpose of his
extraordinary language.
"Look down the street, if you please," continued Carl Greifmann. "Do
you observe yon dark mass just passing under the gas-lamp?"
"I notice a pretty corpulent gentleman," answered Seraphin.
"The corpulent gentleman is Mr. Hans Shund, formerly treasurer of this
city," explained Greifmann. "Many years ago, Mr. Shund put his hand
into the public treasury, was detected, removed for dishonesty, and
imprisoned for five years. When set at liberty, the ex-treasurer made
the loaning of money on interest a source of revenue. He conducted this
business with shrewdness, ruined many a family that needed money and in
its necessity applied to him, and became rich. Shund the usurer is
known to all the town, despised and hated by everybody. Even the dogs
cannot endure the odor of usury that hangs about him; just see--all the
dogs bark at him. Shund is moreover an extravagant admirer of the
gentler sex. All the town is aware that this Jack Falstaff contributes
largely to the scandal that is afloat. The pious go so far as to
declare that the gallant Shund will be burned and roasted in hell for
all eternity for not respecting the sixth commandment. Considered in
the light of the time honored morality of Old Franconia, Shund, the
thief, the usurer and adulterer, is a low, good-for-nothing scoundrel,
no question about it. But in the light of the indulgent spirit of the
times, no more can be said than that he has his foibles. He is about to
pass by on the other side, and, as a well-bred man, will salute us."
Seraphin had attentively observed the man thus characterized, but with
the feelings with which one views an ugly blotch, a dirty page in the
record of humanity.
Mr. Shund lowered his hat, his neck and back, with oriental
ceremoniousness in presence of the millions on the balcony. Carl
acknowledged the salute, and even Louise returned it with a friendly
inclination of the head.
The landholder, on the contrary, was cold, and felt hurt at Greifmann's
bowing to a fellow whom he had just described as a scoundrel. That
Louise, too, should condescend to smile to a thief, swindler, usurer,
and immoral wretch! In his opinion, Louise should have followed the
dictates of a noble womanhood, and have looked with honest pity on the
scapegrace. She, on the contrary, greeted the bad man as though he were
respectable, and this conduct wounded the young man's feelings.
"Apropos of Hans Shund, I will take occasion to convince you of the
correctness of my statements," said Carl Greifmann. "Three days hence,
the municipal election is to come off. Mr. Shund is to be elected
mayor. And when the election of deputies takes place, this same Shund
will command enough of the confidence and esteem of his fellow-citizens
to be elected to the legislative assembly, thief and usurer though he
be. You will then, I trust, learn to understand that the might of
progress is far removed from the bigotry that would subject a man's
qualifications to a microscopic examination. The enlarged and liberal
principles prevailing in secular concerns are opposed to the
intolerance that would insist on knowing something of an able man's
ant | 911.235246 |
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Produced by Julia Miller, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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MARTINE'S
HAND-BOOK OF ETIQUETTE,
AND
GUIDE TO TRUE POLITENESS.
A COMPLETE MANUAL FOR THOSE WHO DESIRE TO UNDERSTAND THE RULES OF GOOD
BREEDING, THE CUSTOMS OF GOOD SOCIETY, AND TO AVOID INCORRECT AND
VULGAR HABITS,
CONTAINING
_Clear and Comprehensive Directions for Correct Manners, Dress, and
Conversation_;
_Instructions for Good Behavior at Dinner Parties, and the Table, with
Hints on the Art of Carving and Taking Wine at Table_;
_Together with the Etiquette of the Ball and Assembly Room, Evening
Parties_;
_Deportment in the Street and when Travelling_;
_And the Usages to be Observed when Visiting or Receiving Calls_.
TO WHICH IS ADDED
THE ETIQUETTE OF COURTSHIP, MARRIAGE, DOMESTIC DUTIES, AND FIFTY-SIX
RULES TO BE OBSERVED IN GENERAL SOCIETY.
BY ARTHUR MARTINE.
NEW YORK:
DICK & FITZGERALD, PUBLISHERS.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
DICK & FITZGERALD,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
CONTENTS.
General Observations 5
The Art of Conversation 8
General Rules for Conversation 24
On Dress 48
Introductions 57
Letters of Introduction 61
Dinner Parties 63
Habits at Table 67
Wine at Table 74
Carving 82
Etiquette of the Ball and Assembly Room 93
Evening Parties 104
Visiting 113
Street Etiquette 127
Traveling 133
Marriage 136
Domestic Etiquette and Duties 144
On General Society 154
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.
Politeness has been defined as an "artificial good-nature;" but it would
be better said that _good-nature is natural politeness_. It inspires us
with an unremitting attention, both to please others and to avoid giving
them offence. Its code is a ceremonial, agreed upon and established
among mankind, to give each other external testimonies of friendship or
respect. _Politeness_ and _etiquette_ form a sort of supplement to the
law, which enables society to protect itself against offences which the
_law_ cannot touch. For instance, the law cannot punish a man for
habitually staring at people in an insolent and annoying manner, but
_etiquette_ can banish such an offender from the circles of good
society, and fix upon him the brand of vulgarity. _Etiquette_ consists
in certain forms, ceremonies, and rules which the _principle of
politeness_ establishes and enforces for the regulation of the manners
of men and women in their intercourse with each other.
Many unthinking persons consider the observance of etiquette to be
nonsensical and unfriendly, as consisting of unmeaning forms, practiced
only by the _silly_ and the idle; an opinion which arises from their not
having reflected on the _reasons_ that have led to the establishment of
certain rules indispensable to the well-being of society, and without
which, indeed, it would inevitably fall to pieces, and be destroyed.
The true aim of politeness, is to make those with whom you associate as
well satisfied with themselves as possible. It does not, by any means,
encourage an impudent self-importance in them, but it does whatever it
can to accommodate their feelings and wishes in social intercourse.
Politeness is a sort of social benevolence, which avoids wounding the
pride, or shocking the prejudices of those around you.
The principle of politeness is the same among all nations, but the
ceremonials which etiquette imposes differ according to the taste and
habits of various countries. For instance, many of the minor rules of
etiquette at Paris differ from those at London; and at New York they may
differ from both Paris and London. But still the polite of every country
have about the same manners.
Of the manners and deportment of both ladies and gentlemen, we would
remark that a proper consideration for the welfare and comfort of others
will generally lead to a greater propriety of demeanor than any rules
which the most rigid master of etiquette could supply. This feeling,
however, is one that must be cultivated, for the promptings of nature
are eminently selfish, and courtesy and good-breeding are only
attainable by effort and discipline. But even courtesy has limits where
dignity should govern it, for when carried to excess, particularly in
manner, it borders on sycophancy, which is almost as despicable as
rudeness. To overburden people with attention; to render them
uncomfortable with a prodigality of proffered services; to insist upon
obligations which they do not desire, is not only to render yourself
disagreeable, but contemptible. This defect of manners is particularly
prevalent in the rural districts, where the intense effort to render a
visitor comfortable has exactly the contrary effect; besides, there are
those whose want of refinement and good breeding often leads them to an
unwarrantable familiarity, which requires coldness and indifference to
subdue.
Much misconstruction and unpleasant feeling arises, especially in
country towns, from not knowing what is "_expected_," or necessary to be
done on certain occasions, resulting sometimes from the prevalence of
local customs, with which the world in general are not supposed to be
acquainted. "To do in Rome as the Romans do," applies to every kind of
society. At the same time, you can never be expected to commit a serious
breach of manners because your neighbors do so.
But what you should do, and what not, in particular cases, you will
learn in the following chapters. I have only now to say, that if you
wish to be agreeable, which is certainly a good and religious desire,
you must both study how to be so, and take the trouble to put your
studies into constant practice. The fruit you will soon reap. You will
be generally liked and loved. The gratitude of those to whom you have
devoted yourself will be shown in speaking well of you; you will become
a desirable addition to every party, and whatever your birth, fortune,
or position, people will say of you, "He is a most agreeable and
well-bred man," and be glad to introduce you to good society. But you
will reap a yet better reward. You will have in yourself the
satisfaction of having taken trouble and made sacrifices in order to
give pleasure and happiness for the time to others. How do you know what
grief or care you may not obliterate, what humiliation you may not alter
to confidence, what anxiety you may not soften, what--last, but really
not least--what intense dullness you may not enliven? If this work
assist you in becoming an agreeable member of good society, I shall
rejoice at the labor it has given me.
THE ART OF CONVERSATION.
As the object of conversation is pleasure and improvement, those
subjects only which are of universal interest can be made legitimate
topics of pleasantry or discussion. And it is the gift of expressing
thoughts and fancies in a quick, brilliant, and graceful manner on such
topics,--of striking out new ideas, eliciting the views and opinions of
others, of attaching the interest of all to the subject discussed,
giving it, however trifling in itself, weight and importance in the
estimation of the hearers, that constitutes the great talent for
conversation. But this talent can never, we may safely aver, be
displayed except in a good cause, and when conversation is carried on in
a spirit of genuine charity and benevolence.
We should meet in society to please and be pleased, and not to display
cold and stately dignity, which is as much out of place, as all attempts
to shine by a skillful adherence to the fantastic rules of the
silver-fork school, are puerile and ludicrous. Such little things are
great to little persons, who are proud of having acquired by rote, what
the naturally elegant derive, in sufficient measure, from naturally just
feeling.
The power of preserving silence is the very first requisite to all who
wish to shine, or even please in discourse; and those who cannot
preserve it, have really no business to speak. Of course, I do not mean
the dull, ignorant, sulky, or supercilious silence, of which we see
enough in all conscience; but the graceful, winning and eloquent
silence. The silence that, without any deferential air, listens with
polite attention, is more flattering than compliments, and more
frequently broken for the purpose of encouraging others to speak, than
to display the listener's own powers. This is the really eloquent
silence. It requires great genius--more perhaps than speaking--and few
are gifted with the talent; but it is of such essential advantage, that
I must recommend its study to all who are desirous to take a share in
conversation, and beg they will learn to be silent, before they attempt
to speak.
Notwithstanding the praise here bestowed on silence, it must still be
explained that there are various modes of being silently rude. There is
the rude silence of disdain--of not hearing, of not even deeming your
words deserving attention or reply. These are minor and mere passive
modes of impertinence; the direct and active sort of silent rudeness is
to listen with a fixed and attentive stare on the speaker, and without
any necessity of raising the eyebrows--for that might be
precarious--show your utter amazement, that any one should think of thus
addressing a person of your rank, wealth, genius, or greatness. There
are of course various styles and degrees in all these modes of
impertinence, but they all originate in the same cause: ignorance of the
real facility of being rude, and a wish to acquire distinction by the
practice. It is idle to assert that every one can be rude if he likes;
for, if such were the fact, we should not see hosts of persons belonging
to what is termed good society, seeking fame and renown by various
shades and degrees of mere impertinence.
Never give short or sharp answers in ordinary conversation, unless you
aspire to gain distinction by mere rudeness; for they have in fact no
merit, and are only uncivil. "I do not know," "I cannot tell," are the
most harmless words possible, and may yet be rendered very offensive by
the tone and manner in which they are pronounced. Never reply, in answer
to a question like the following, "Did Mrs. Spitewell tell you how Miss
Rosebud's marriage was getting on?" "I did not ask." It is almost like
saying, I never ask impertinent questions, though you do; we learn
plenty of things in the world without having first inquired about them.
If you must say, you did not ask, say, that "you forgot to ask,"
"neglected it," or "did not think of it." We can always be ordinarily
civil, even if we cannot always be absolutely wise.
Except in mere sport and raillery, and where a little _extravaganza_ is
the order of the moment, always when you answer, or speak in reply to an
observation made, speak to the true and just import of what is said.
Leave quibbling of every kind to lawyers pleading at the bar for the
life of a culprit; in society and conversation it is invariably out of
place, unless when Laughter is going his merry round. At all other times
it is a proof of bad breeding.
You must not overstretch a proposition, neither must you overstretch or
spin out a jest, that has done its duty; for few can be made to rebound
after they have once come to the ground.
Another mode of being rude, is to collect, and have at command, all the
set phrases used by uncivil persons, in order to say what they fancy
very sharp and severe things. Such a collector, jealous perhaps of the
attention with which a pleasant guest is listened to, may break in upon
the most harmless discourse with the words, "I think you _lie_ under a
mistake." The term may in itself be harmless, but its application is at
all times rude, coarse and decidedly vulgar.
La Bruyere tells us that "rudeness is not a fixed and inherent vice of
the mind, but the result of other vices; it springs," he says, "from
vanity, ignorance, laziness, stupidity, jealousy, and inattention. It is
the more hateful from being constantly displayed in exterior deportment
and from being thus always visible and manifest; and is offensive in
character and | 911.337771 |
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See 30325-h.htm or 30325-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
One typographical error has been corrected: it is listed
at the end of the text.
Illustrations occurring in the middle of a paragraph were
moved to the nearest paragraph's begining.
Library Edition
THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
JOHN RUSKIN
ELEMENTS OF DRAWING AND
PERSPECTIVE
THE TWO PATHS
UNTO THIS LAST
MUNERA PULVERIS
SESAME AND LILIES
ETHICS OF THE DUST
National Library Association
New York Chicago
THE ELEMENTS OF DRAWING
IN THREE LETTERS TO BEGINNERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE ix
LETTER I.
ON FIRST PRACTICE 1
LETTER II.
SKETCHING FROM NATURE 65
LETTER III.
ON COLOR AND COMPOSITION 106
APPENDIX I.
ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES 183
APPENDIX II.
THINGS TO BE STUDIED 188
["The Elements of Drawing" was written during the winter of 1856. The
First Edition was published in 1857; the Second followed in the same
year, with some additions and slight alterations. The Third Edition
consisted of sixth thousand, 1859; seventh thousand, 1860; and eighth
thousand, 1861.
The work was partly reproduced in "Our Sketching Club," by the Rev. R.
St. John Tyrwhitt, M.A., 1874; with new editions in 1875, 1882, and
1886.
Mr. Ruskin meant, during his tenure of the Slade Professorship at
Oxford, to recast his teaching, and to write a systematic manual for the
use of his Drawing School, under the title of "The Laws of Fesole." Of
this only vol. i. was completed, 1879; second edition, 1882.
As, therefore, "The Elements of Drawing" has never been completely
superseded, and as many readers of Mr. Ruskin's works have expressed a
desire to possess the book in its old form, it is now reprinted as it
stood in 1859.]
ADVERTISEMENT
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.
As one or two questions, asked of me since the publication of this work,
have indicated points requiring elucidation, I have added a few short
notes in the first Appendix. It is not, I think, desirable otherwise to
modify the form or add to the matter of a book as it passes through
successive editions; I have, therefore, only mended the wording of some
obscure sentences; with which exception the text remains, and will
remain, in its original form, which I had carefully considered. Should
the public find the book useful, and call for further editions of it,
such additional notes as may be necessary will be always placed in the
first Appendix, where they can be at once referred to, in any library,
by the possessors of the earlier editions; and I will take care they
shall not be numerous.
_August 3, 1857._
PREFACE.
i. It may perhaps be thought, that in prefacing a manual of drawing, I
ought to expatiate on the reasons why drawing should be learned; but
those reasons appear to me so many and so weighty, that I cannot quickly
state or enforce them. With the reader's permission, as this volume is
too large already, I will waive all discussion respecting the importance
of the subject, and touch only on those points which may appear
questionable in the method of its treatment.
ii. In the first place, the book is not calculated for the use of
children under the age of twelve or fourteen. I do not think it
advisable to engage a child in any but the most voluntary practice of
art. If it has talent for drawing, it will be continually scrawling on
what paper it can get; and should be allowed to scrawl at its own free
will, due praise being given for every appearance of care, or truth, in
its efforts. It should be allowed to amuse itself with cheap colors
almost as soon as it has sense enough to wish for them. If it merely
daubs the paper with shapeless stains, the color-box may be taken away
till it knows better: but as soon as it begins painting red coats on
soldiers | 911.544427 |
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Transcribed from the S. Mary Abbots Parish Magazine (reprint) by David
Price, email [email protected]. Many thanks to the Royal Borough of
Chelsea and Kensington Libraries for allowing their copy to be used for
this transcription.
The Endowed Charities of Kensington;
BY WHOM BEQUEATHED,
AND
HOW ADMINISTERED.
* * * * *
BY
EDWARD MORTON DANIEL, Esq.
* * * * *
* * * * *
_Reprinted from the_ “S. MARY ABBOTS PARISH MAGAZINE.”
* * * * *
* * * * *
_Printed for Private Circulation_
The Endowed Charities of Kensington; by whom Bequeathed, and how
Administered.
BY EDWARD MORTON DANIEL, ESQ.
_A Paper read at a Meeting of the Kensington Ratepayers Association_,
_held at S. Mark’s Parish Rooms_, _Notting Hill_, _on Tuesday_, 21_st_
_April_, 1891.
[Reprinted from the “S. MARY ABBOTS PARISH MAGAZINE.”]
AS everyone has need of charity, everyone exercises charity, and most of
us receive charity, the subject is of personal application and importance
to us all. This is the case when charity is abstractly regarded; but
when we approach the consideration of the charities of our own parish,
those which we are bound to support and upon which we have individually a
claim, our subject must excite the keenest interest. Too much cannot be
known about them in order that their benefits may be distributed amongst
the fittest subjects and most deserving persons that can be found; and in
order that those of us who are blessed with means may learn how carefully
and fruitfully any benefaction we may make in the future will be utilised
and bestowed, if placed in the hands of those administering the charities
already established in our parish.
Perhaps the point which will strike you most, when you have learned what
I have to tell you this evening of the charities of Kensington, is the
circumstance that, from small sums of money left for purposes of charity,
great and ever growing results may spring, fulfilling purposes of good
far beyond the most sanguine anticipations in which the original donors
could have ever indulged.
Old Faulkner, to whose quaint and interesting history of Kensington I
would refer all lovers of antiquity and curious anecdote, writing in
1820, says: “The amount of benefactions to this parish is highly
creditable to the humanity of the original founders, and it is a pleasing
as well as an important part of the duty of the historian to record
these; perhaps in few parishes in the kingdom have they been more
scrupulously observed, or more faithfully administered.” Pleasing as it
was to Faulkner seventy years ago to remark upon the then condition of
the parish charities, it will be yet more gratifying to us to observe at
the present time how greatly they have developed, and how admirably they
have been fostered, improved, and administered. Seventy years ago
Kensington was really rural, containing only three or four hamlets, or
assemblages of dwellings, a few large houses with grounds, some
celebrated nursery and market gardens, and a few distinguished
inhabitants. This is what Tickell, the poet, says about it:—
“Here, while the town in damp and darkness lies,
They (at Kensington he means) breathe in sunshine and see azure
skies.”
What Kensington is now we all know; would that its charities had grown in
proportion to its population. Perhaps if through your kind exertions
more attention can be drawn to the subject they may enlarge, and the
history of the future charities of Kensington prove as creditable as the
past.
In the year 1807 a joint committee of the trustees of the poor, and of
the vestry, was appointed to consider and report, amongst other subjects,
upon the charities of the parish; and that committee undertook a most
careful and exhaustive inquiry into the matter, the results of which were
recorded in “The Report of the Kensington Committee of the 30th October,
1810.” It is needless to say that this report has now become a very rare
document. Fortunately a copy has been preserved in the archives of the
vestry, and to that copy—through the kindness of the vestry clerk,
although with all due precautions to its safe preservation—I have had
access; and thus we are enabled to make an interesting comparison between
the condition of the parish and its charities then and now.
It appears from this report (which is as able a document as I ever read)
that the parish in 1810 contained about 1,500 rateable houses, and an
estimated population of 10,000 souls.
It appears from the report to the vestry of the Medical Officer of Health
to the parish for the year 1888, dated July, 1889, that at the middle of
1888 the inhabited houses in the parish numbered 21,566, with an
estimated population of 177,000 persons.
In 1810 the main charity of the parish was then, as now, the Campden
Bequests. There were also the Methwold Almshouses, the Parish Free
School, and some various other bequests of comparatively small amount for
specific objects, or for the purposes of the poor of the parish
generally.
What are known as the Campden Bequests have a most interesting history,
and have grown from very small beginnings into a wealthy institution.
They are alike the most ancient and most important of the parish
charities.
In 1629, Baptist Viscount Campden, of the family which built Campden
House, which has within the last sixty years extended its name to the
hill on which its stands, bequeathed the sum of £200 to two gentlemen,
and to the churchwardens of Kensington from time to time, “in trust to be
employed for the good and benefit of the poor of the parish for ever as
the trustees should think fit to establish.” This sum of £200, with £20
added from accumulated interest and otherwise, was in 1635 expended in
the purchase of two closes of land containing fourteen acres, called
Charecrofts, situate near Shepherd’s Bush Green, a very fortunate
investment, as we shall presently find.
Elizabeth, Viscountess Dowager Campden, the widow of the former donor, in
1644 bequeathed another sum of £200 to Sir John Thorowgood and sundry
parishioners, and to the churchwardens of Kensington, “upon trust that
they should within eighteen months purchase lands of the clear yearly
value of £10; one-half whereof should be applied from time to time for
ever for and towards the better relief of the most poor and needy people
_that be of good life and conversation_ that should be inhabiting the
said parish of Kensington; and the other half thereof should be applied
yearly for ever to put forth one poor boy or more living in said parish
to be apprenticed. The said £5 due to the poor to be paid to them
half-yearly for ever at Lady Day and Michaelmas in the church or the
porch thereof at Kensington.”
With Lady Campden’s £200 a close called Butt’s Field was immediately
purchased, containing 5 acres 2 roods and 30 perches, and the purchase
also included 3 roods to be taken out of an adjoining field, called the
Middle Quale Field, at the south end of Butt’s Field. This purchase, we
shall find, has proved a still more profitable investment than that of
Lord Campden’s £200.
The remaining portion of the original property, now known as the Campden
Bequests, is of a still more interesting character. In 1651, one Thomas
Coppin, in consideration of the sum of £45, sold to the same Sir John
Thorowgood and eleven of the parishioners and their heirs, “all that land
with the appurtenances at the gravel pits in Kensington, containing two
acres, in the occupation of Richard Barton.” No trust was declared in
this conveyance, but subsequent occurrences leave no doubt that it was
intended for purposes similar to those provided for by Lord and Lady
Campden’s wills. And the purchase having been made so shortly after the
two others, and at a time when the great Oliver Cromwell was the ruler of
the country under the title of Protector, and when he held property in
the parish, added to the circumstance that the gift was always
traditionally ascribed to him and known as Cromwell’s gift, appear to
leave no real doubt that it is to Oliver Cromwell that the parish owes
this addition to the charities. It will be seen that this gift and
purchase has proved no less profitable to the parish than the two others.
Let us pause for a moment, and see of what the property of the Campden
Bequests then consisted.
Purchased in 1635 from Lord Campden’s gift, Charecrofts, 14 £220
acres, costing
Purchased in 1645 from Lady Campden, Butt’s Field (say), 6½ 200
acres, costing
Purchased in 1651 from Cromwell, Gravel Pits, 2 acres, 45
costing
Total, 22½ acres, costing £465
Let us now endeavour to identify these properties.
I can make you understand where Charecrofts is situated by telling you
that the Shepherd’s Bush Station of the London and South Western Railway
now occupies a portion of the site.
Butt’s Field comprises the frontage to the Kensington Road extending from
Gloucester Road on the west, eastward about 140 feet to Palace Gate, and
from the Kensington Road southwards to and including the whole of the
premises known as Kensington Gate.
The Gravel Pits are now occupied by Clanricarde Gardens, and the six
shops known as Nos. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 and 12, High Street, Notting Hill.
It would take too long to describe the various uses to which these sites
have been put, and all the applications of the income derived from them.
Suffice it to say, that the whole was always conscientiously applied to
the purposes intended by their donors, except, that under an Act of
Parliament passed in 1777 the original parish workhouse was built upon
that part of Butt’s Field where Kensington Gate now stands, and the Act
provided that the then existing rents of the three estates, amounting to
£54, | 911.637205 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team
THE LIVING LINK.
A Novel
By James De Mille
Author of "The Dodge Club," "Cord and Creese," "The Cryptogram," "The
American Baron," &c, &c.
THE LIVING LINK.
CHAPTER I.
A TERRIBLE SECRET.
On a pleasant evening in the month of May, 1840, a group of young ladies
might have been seen on the portico of Plympton Terrace, a fashionable
boarding-school near Derwentwater. They all moved about with those
effusive demonstrations so characteristic of young girls; but on this
occasion there was a general hush among them, which evidently arose from
some unusual cause. As they walked up and down arm in arm, or with arms
entwined, or with clasped hands, as young girls will, they talked in low
earnest tones over some one engrossing subject, or occasionally gathered
in little knots to debate some point, in which, while each offered a
differing opinion, all were oppressed by one common sadness.
While they were thus engaged there arose in the distance the sound of a
rapidly galloping horse. At once all the murmur of conversation died
out, and the company stood in silence awaiting the new-comer. They did
not have to wait long. Out from a place where the avenue wound amidst
groves and thickets a young girl mounted on a spirited bay came at full
speed toward the portico. Arriving there, she stopped abruptly; then
leaping lightly down, she flung the reins over the horse's neck, who
forthwith galloped away to his stall.
The rider who thus dismounted was young girl of about eighteen, and of
very striking appearance. Her complexion was dark, her hair black, with
its rich voluminous folds gathered in great glossy plaits behind. Her
eyes were of a deep hazel color, radiant, and full of energetic life. In
those eyes there was a certain earnestness of expression, however,
deepening down into something that seemed like melancholy, which showed
that even in her young life she had experienced sorrow. Her figure was
slender and graceful, being well displayed by her close-fitting
riding-habit, while a plumed hat completed her equipment, and served to
heighten the effect of her beauty.
At her approach a sudden silence had fallen over the company, and they
all stood motionless, looking at her as she dismounted.
"Why, what makes you all look at me so strangely?" she asked, in a tone
of surprise, throwing a hasty glance over them. "Has any thing
happened?"
To this question no answer was given, but each seemed waiting for the
other to speak. At length a little thing of about twelve came up, and
encircling the new-comer's waist with her arm, looked up with a
sorrowful expression, and whispered,
"Edith dearest, Miss Plympton wants to see you."
The silence and ominous looks of the others, and the whispered words of
the little girl, together with her mournful face, increased the surprise
and anxiety of Edith. She looked with a strange air of apprehension
over the company.
"What is it?" she asked, hurriedly. "Something has happened. Do any of
you know? What is it?"
She spoke breathlessly, and her eyes once more wandered with anxious
inquiry over all of them. But no one spoke, for, whatever it was, they
felt the news to be serious--something, in fact, which could not well be
communicated by themselves. Once more Edith repeated her question, and
finding that no answer was forth-coming, her impatience allowed her to
wait no longer; and so, gathering up her long skirts in one hand and
holding her whip in the other, she hurried into the house to see Miss
Plympton.
Miss Plympton's room was on the second floor, and that lady herself was
seated by the window as Edith entered. In the young girl's face there
was now a deeper anxiety, and seating herself near the centre-table, she
looked inquiringly at Miss Plympton.
The latter regarded her for some moments in silence.
"Did you wish to see me, auntie dear?" said Edith.
Miss Plympton sighed.
"Yes," she said, slowly; "but, my poor darling Edie, I hardly know how
to say to you what I have to say. I--I--do you think you can bear to
hear it, dear?"
At this Edith looked more disturbed than ever; and placing her elbow on
the centre-table, she leaned her cheek upon her hand, and fixed her
melancholy eyes upon Miss Plympton. Her heart throbbed painfully, and
the hand against which her head leaned trembled visibly. But these signs
of agitation did not serve to lessen the emotion of the other; on the
contrary, she seemed more distressed, and quite at a loss how to
proceed.
"Edith," said she at last, "my child, you know how tenderly I love you.
I have always tried to be a mother to you, and to save you from all
sorrow; but now my love and care are all useless, for the sorrow has
come, and I do not know any way by which I can break bad news
to--to--a--a bereaved heart."
She spoke in a tremulous voice and with frequent pauses.
"Bereaved!" exclaimed Edith, with white lips. "Oh, auntie! Bereaved! Is
it that? Oh, tell me all. Don't keep me in suspense. Let me know the
worst."
Miss Plympton looked still more troubled. "I--I--don't know what to
say," she faltered.
"You mean _death_!" cried Edith, in an excited voice; "and oh! I
needn't ask who. There's only one--only one. I had only one--only
one--and now--he is--gone!"
"Gone," repeated Miss Plympton, mechanically, and she said no more; for
in the presence of Edith's grief, and of other facts which had yet to be
disclosed--facts which would reveal to this innocent girl something
worse than even bereavement--words were useless, and she could find
nothing to say. Her hand wandered through the folds of her dress, and
at length she drew forth a black-edged letter, at which she gazed in an
abstracted way.
"Let me see it," cried Edith, hurriedly and eagerly; and before Miss
Plympton could prevent her, or even imagine what she was about, she
darted forward and snatched the letter from her hand. Then she tore it
open and read it breathlessly. The letter was very short, and was
written in a stiff, constrained hand. It was as follows:
"DALTON HALL, _May_ 6, 1840.
"Madame,--It is my painful duty to communicate to you the death of
Frederick Dalton, Esq., of Dalton Hall, who died at Hobart Town, Van
Diemen's Land, on the 2d of December, 1839. I beg that you will impart
this intelligence to Miss Dalton, for as she is now of age, she may wish
to return to Dalton Hall.
"I remain, madame,
"Your most obedient servant,
"JOHN WIGGINS.
"MISS PLYMPTON, _Plympton Terrace_."
Of this letter Edith took in the meaning of the first three lines only.
Then it dropped from her trembling hands, and sinking into a chair, she
burst into a torrent of tears. Miss Plympton regarded her with a face
full of anxiety, and for some moments Edith wept without restraint; but
at length, when the first outburst of grief was past, she picked up the
letter once more and read it over and over.
Deep as Edith's grief evidently was, this bereavement was not, after
all, so sore a blow as it might have been under other circumstances.
For this father whom she had lost was virtually a stranger. Losing her
mother at the age of eight, she had lived ever since with Miss Plympton,
and during this time her father had never seen her, nor even written to
her. Once or twice she had written to him a pretty childish letter, but
he had never deigned any reply. If in that unknown nature there had been
any thing of a father's love, no possible hint had ever been given of
it. Of her strange isolation she was never forgetful, and she felt it
most keenly during the summer holidays, when all her companions had gone
to their homes. At such times she brooded much over her loneliness, and
out of this feeling there arose a hope, which she never ceased to
cherish, that the time would come when she might join her father, and
live with him wherever he might be, and set herself to the task of
winning his affections.
She had always understood that her father had been living in the East
since her mother's death. The only communication which she had with him
was indirect, and consisted of business letters which his English agent
wrote to Miss Plympton. These were never any thing more than short,
formal notes. Such neglect was keenly felt, and Edith, unwilling to
blame her father altogether, tried to make some one else responsible for
it. As she knew of no other human being who had any connection with her
father except this agent, she brought herself gradually to look upon him
as the cause of her father's coldness, and so at length came to regard
him with a hatred that was unreasoning and intense. She considered him
her father's evil genius, and believed him to be somehow at the bottom
of the troubles of her life. Thus every year this man, John Wiggins,
grew more hateful, and she accustomed herself to think of him as an evil
fiend, a Mephistopheles, by whose crafty wiles her father's heart had
been estranged from her. Such, then, was the nature of Edith's
bereavement; and as she mourned over it she did not mourn so much over
the reality as over her vanished hope. He was gone, and with him was
gone the expectation of meeting him and winning his affection. She
would never see him--never be able to tell how she loved him, and hear
him say with a father's voice that he loved his child!
These thoughts and feelings overwhelmed Edith even as she held the
letter in her hand for a new perusal, and she read it over and over
without attaching any meaning to the words. At length her attention was
arrested by one | 911.637325 |
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Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Colin Bell 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 EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.
_Editor of "The Expositor"_
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III._
PSALM XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown_ 8_vo, cloth, price_ $1.50 _each vol._
FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.
Colossians.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D.
St. Mark.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
Genesis.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
1 Samuel.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
2 Samuel.
By the same Author.
Hebrews.
By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.
SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.
Galatians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Pastoral Epistles.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Isaiah I.-XXXIX.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.
The Book of Revelation.
By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.
1 Corinthians.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
The Epistles of St. John.
By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.
THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.
Judges and Ruth.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Jeremiah.
By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.
Isaiah XL.-LXVI.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.
St. Matthew.
By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.
Exodus.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
St. Luke.
By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.
FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.
Ecclesiastes.
By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.
St. James and St. Jude.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Proverbs.
By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
Leviticus.
By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.
FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.
1 and 2 Thessalonians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
The Book of Job.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Ephesians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.
SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.
1 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Philippians.
By Principal RAINY, D.D.
Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Joshua.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.
The Epistles of St. Peter.
By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.
SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.
2 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Romans.
By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.
The Books of Chronicles.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
2 Corinthians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
Numbers.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.
EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.
Daniel.
By the Ven. Archdeacon F. W. FARRAR.
The Book of Jeremiah.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
Deuteronomy.
By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.
The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Ezekiel.
By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.
The Minor Prophets.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III_
PSALMS XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
CONTENTS
PAGE
PSALM XC. 3
" XCI. 14
" XCII. 26
" XCIII. 33
" XCIV. 38
" XCV. 48
" XCVI. 55
" XCVII. 60
" XCVIII. 68
" XCIX. 71
" C. 78
" CI. 81
" CII. 87
" CIII. 101
" CIV. 111
" CV. 124
" CVI. 137
" CVII. 155
" CVIII. 169
" CIX. 172
" CX. 183
" CXI. 193
" CXII. 198
" CXIII. 205
" CXIV. 210
" CXV. 214
" CXVI. 221
" CXVII. 229
" CXVIII. 231
" CXIX. 244
" CXX. 292
" CXXI. 297
" CXXII. 303
" CXXIII. 307
" CXXIV. 310
" CXXV. 313
" CXXVI. 318
" CXXVII. 323
" CXXVIII. 327
" CXXIX. 331
" CXXX. 335
" CXXXI. 341
" CXXXII. 344
" CXXXIII. 355
" CXXXIV. 359
" CXXXV. 361
" CXXXVI. 366
" CXXXVII. 370
" CXXXVIII. 376
" CXXXIX. 382
" CXL. 393
" CXLI. 398
" CXLII. 405
" CXLIII. 410
" CXLIV. 418
" CXLV. 424
" CXLVI. 434
" CXLVII. 440
" CXLVIII. 448
" CXLIX. 454
" CL. 458
BOOK IV.
_PSALMS XC.-CVI._
PSALM XC.
1 Lord, a dwelling-place hast Thou been for us
In generation after generation.
2 Before the mountains were born,
Or Thou gavest birth to the earth and the world,
Even from everlasting, Thou art God.
3 Thou turnest frail man back to dust,
And sayest, "Return, ye sons of man."
4 For a thousand years in Thine eyes are as yesterday when it was
passing,
And a watch in the night.
5 Thou dost flood them away, a sleep do they become,
In the morning they are like grass [which] springs afresh.
6 In | 911.662613 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "An' the bridal couple 'd be holdin' hands an' gazin'
over the spanker-boom at the full moon." [Page 242.]]
RUNNING FREE
BY
JAMES B. CONNOLLY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK ::::::::::::::::::::: 1917
COPYRIGHT, 1913, 1915, 1917, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published September, 1917
COPYRIGHT, 1912, 1913, 1917, BY P. F. COLLIER & SON, INCORPORATED
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
The Strategists
The Weeping Annie
The Bull-Fight
A Bale of Blankets
Breath o' Dawn
Peter Stops Ashore
The Sea-Birds
The Medicine Ship
One Wireless Night
Dan Magee: White Hope
ILLUSTRATIONS
"An' the bridal couple'd be holdin' hands an' gazin' over the
spanker-boom at the full moon" Frontispiece
"All stand clear of the main entrance"
"It was drive, drive, drive, from midnight to daylight"
It took till the daylight was all but gone before I knocked him down
for the last time
"You doubted my courage, maybe?" I asked
"'Quiscanto vascamo mirajjar,' which is Yunzano for 'I am satisfied, I
can now die happy'"
The Strategists
I arrived in Santacruz in the early evening, and as I stepped out of
the carriage with the children the majordomo came rushing out from
under the hotel portales and said: "Meesus Trench, is it? Your suite
awaits, madam. The Lieutenant Trench from the American warship has
ordered, madam."
There was a girl, not too young, sitting over at a small table, and at
the name Trench, pronounced in the round voice of the majordomo,
she--well, she was sitting by herself, smoking a cigarette, and I did
not know why she should smile and look at me--in just that way, I mean.
But I can muster some poise of manner myself when I choose--I looked at
her. And she looked me over and smiled again. And I did not like that
smile. It was as if--as Ned would say--she had something on me.
She and I were to be enemies--already I saw that. She was making smoke
rings, and she never hurried the making of a single one of them as she
looked at me; nor did I hurry a particle the ushering of the two
children and the maid into the hotel. But I did ask, after I had
greeted Nan and her mother inside: "Auntie--or you, Nan--who is the
oleander blossom smoking the cigarette out under the portales?"
It spoke volumes to me that Nan and her mother, without looking, at
once knew whom I meant. | 911.847325 |
2023-11-16 18:32:15.8761700 | 230 | 76 |
E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/houseoftormentta00gulliala
HOUSE OF TORMENT
A Tale of the Remarkable Adventures of Mr. John Commendone
Gentleman to King Philip II of Spain at the English Court
by
C. RANGER-GULL
Author of "The Serf," etc.
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
1911
Published September, 1911
The Quinn & Boden Co. Press
Rahway, N. J.
DEDICATION TO DAVID WHITELAW
SOUVENIR OF A LONG FRIENDSHIP
_My dear David,_
_Since I first met you, considerably more than a decade ago, in
a little studio high up in a | 911.89621 |
2023-11-16 18:32:16.3156870 | 4,512 | 9 |
Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at Free Literature (Images
generously made available by the Internet Archive.)
ANTON TCHEKHOV
AND OTHER ESSAIS
BY
LEON SHESTOV
TRANSLATED BY
S. KOTELIANSKY AND J. M. MURRY
MAUNSEL AND CO. LTD.
DUBLIN AND LONDON
1916
CONTENTS
ANTON TCHEKHOV (CREATION FROM THE VOID)
THE GIFT OF PROPHECY
PENULTIMATE WORDS
THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE
INTRODUCTION
It is not to be denied that Russian thought is chiefly manifested in
the great Russian novelists. Tolstoi, Dostoevsky, and Tchekhov made
explicit in their works conceptions of the world which yield nothing in
definiteness to the philosophic schemes of the great dogmatists of old,
and perhaps may be regarded as even superior to them in that by their
nature they emphasise a relation of which the professional philosopher
is too often careless--the intimate connection between philosophy and
life. They attacked fearlessly and with a high devotion of which we
English readers are slowly becoming sensible the fundamental problem of
all philosophy worthy the name. They were preoccupied with the answer
to the question: Is life worth living? And the great assumption which
they made, at least in the beginning of the quest, was that to live
life must mean to live it wholly. To live was not to pass by life on
the other side, not suppress the deep or even the dark passions of body
or soul, not to lull by some lying and narcotic phrase the urgent
questions of the mind, not to deny life. To them life was the sum of
all human potentialities. They accepted them all, loved them all, and
strove to find a place for them all in a pattern in which none should
be distorted. They failed, but not one of them fainted by the way,
and there was not one of them but with his latest breath bravely held
to his belief that there was a way and that the way might be found.
Tolstoi went out alone to die, yet more manifestly than he had lived,
a seeker after the secret; death overtook Dostoevsky in his supreme
attempt to wrest a hope for mankind out of the abyss of the imagined
future; and Tchekhov died when his most delicate fingers had been
finally eager in lighting _The Cherry Orchard_ with the tremulous glint
of laughing tears, which may perhaps be the ultimate secret of the
process which leaves us all bewildered and full of pity and wonder.
There were great men and great philosophers. It may be that this
cruelly conscious world will henceforward recognise no man as great
unless he has greatly sought: for to seek and not to think is the
essence of philosophy. To have greatly sought, I say, should be the
measure of man's greatness in the strange world of which there will be
only a tense, sorrowful, disillusioned remnant when this grim ordeal
is over. It should be so: and we, who are, according to our strength,
faithful to humanity, must also strive according to our strength to
make it so. We are not, and we shall not be, great men: but we have
the elements of greatness. We have an impulse to honesty, to think
honestly, to see honestly, and to speak the truth to ourselves in the
lonely hours. It is only an impulse, which, in these barren, bitter,
years, so quickly withers and dies. It is almost that we dare not be
honest now. Our hearts are dead: we cannot wake the old wounds again.
And yet if anything of this generation that suffered is to remain, if
we are to hand any spark of the fire which once burned so brightly,
if we are to be human still, then we must still be honest at whatever
cost. We--and I speak of that generation which was hardly man when the
war burst upon it, which was ardent and generous and dreamed dreams
of devotion to an ideal of art or love or life--are maimed and broken
for ever. Let us not deceive ourselves. The dead voices will never be
silent in our ears to remind us of that which we once were, and that
which we have lost. We shall die as we shall live, lonely and haunted
by memories that will grow stranger, more beautiful, more terrible,
and more tormenting as the years go on, and at the last we shall not
know which was the dream--the years of plenty or the barren years that
descended like a storm in the night and swept our youth away.
Yet something remains. Not those lying things that they who cannot feel
how icy cold is sudden and senseless death to all-daring youth, din in
our ears. We shall not be inspired by the memory of heroism. We shall
be shattered by the thought of splendid and wonderful lives that were
vilely cast away. What remains is that we should be honest as we shall
be pitiful. We shall never again be drunk with hope: let us never be
blind with fear. There can be in the lap of destiny now no worse thing
which may befall us. We can afford to be honest now.
We can afford to be honest: but we need to learn how, or to increase
our knowledge. The Russian writers will help us in this; and not the
great Russians only, but the lesser also. For a century of bitter
necessity has taught that nation that the spirit is mightier than the
flesh, until those eager qualities of soul that a century of social
ease has almost killed in us are in them well-nigh an instinct. Let
us look among ourselves if we can find a Wordsworth, a Shelley, a
Coleridge, or a Byron to lift this struggle to the stars as they did
the French Revolution. There is none.--It will be said: 'But that was
a great fight for freedom. Humanity itself marched forward with the
Revolutionary armies.' But if the future of mankind is not in issue
now, if we are fighting for the victory of no precious and passionate
idea, why is no voice of true poetry uplifted in protest? There is
no third way. Either this is the greatest struggle for right, or the
greatest crime, that has ever been. The unmistakable voice of poetry
should be certain either in protest or enthusiasm: it is silent or
it is trivial. And the cause must be that the keen edge of the soul
of those century-old poets which cut through false patriotism so
surely is in us dulled and blunted. We must learn honesty again:
not the laborious and meagre honesty of those who weigh advantage
against advantage in the ledger of their minds, but the honesty that
cries aloud in instant and passionate anger against the lie and the
half-truth, and by an instinct knows the authentic thrill of contact
with the living human soul.
The Russians, and not least the lesser Russians, may teach us this
thing once more. Among these lesser, Leon Shestov holds an honourable
place. He is hardly what we should call a philosopher, hardly again
what we would understand by an essayist. The Russians, great and small
alike, are hardly ever what we understand by the terms which we victims
of tradition apply to them. In a hundred years they have accomplished
an evolution which has with us slowly unrolled in a thousand. The very
foundations of their achievement are new and laid within the memory of
man. Where we have sharply divided art from art, and from science and
philosophy, and given to each a name, the Russians have still the sense
of a living connection between all the great activities of the human
soul. From us this connection is too often concealed by the tyranny
of names. We have come to believe, or at least it costs us great
pains not to believe, that the name is a particular reality, which to
confuse with another name is a crime. Whereas in truth the energies of
the human soul are not divided from each other by any such impassable
barriers: they flow into each other indistinguishably, modify, control,
support, and decide each other. In their large unity they are real;
isolated, they seem to be poised uneasily between the real and the
unreal, and become deceptive, barren half-truths. Plato, who first
discovered the miraculous hierarchy of names, though he was sometimes
drunk with the new wine of his discovery, never forgot that the unity
of the human soul was the final outcome of its diversity; and those
who read aright his most perfect of all books--_The Republic_--know
that it is a parable which fore-shadows the complete harmony of all the
soul's activities.
Not the least of Shestov's merits is that he is alive to this truth in
its twofold working. He is aware of himself as a soul seeking an answer
to its own question; and he is aware of other souls on the same quest.
As in his own case he knows that he has in him something truer than
names and divisions and authorities, which will live in spite of them,
so towards others he remembers that all that they wrote or thought or
said is precious and permanent in so far as it is the manifestation
of the undivided soul seeking an answer to its question. To know a
man's work for this, to have divined the direct relation between his
utterance and his living soul, is criticism: to make that relation
between one's own soul and one's speech direct and true is creation.
In essence they are the same: creation is a man's lonely attempt to
fix an intimacy with his own strange and secret soul, criticism is the
satisfaction of the impulse of loneliness to find friends and secret
sharers among the souls that are or have been. As creation drives a man
to the knowledge of his own intolerable secrets, so it drives him to
find others with whom he may whisper of the things which he has found.
Other criticism than this is, in the final issue, only the criminal and
mad desire to enforce material order in a realm where all is spiritual
and vague and true. It is only the jealous protest of the small soul
against the great, of the slave against the free.
Against this smallness and jealousy Shestov has set his face. To have
done so does not make him a great writer; but it does make him a real
one. He is honest and he is not deceived. But honesty, unless a man is
big enough to bear it, and often even when he is big enough to bear it,
may make him afraid. Where angels fear to tread, fools rush in: but
though the folly of the fool is condemned, some one must enter, lest
a rich kingdom be lost to the human spirit. Perhaps Shestov will seem
at times too fearful. Then we must remember that Shestov is Russian in
another sense than that I have tried to make explicit above. He is a
citizen of a country where the human spirit has at all times been so
highly prized that the name of thinker has been a key to unlock not
merely the mind but the heart also. The Russians not only respect,
but they love a man who has thought and sought for humanity, and, I
think, their love but seldom stops 'this side idolatry.' They will
exalt a philosopher to a god; they are even able to make of materialism
a religion. Because they are so loyal to the human spirit they will
load it with chains, believing that they are garlands. And that is why
dogmatism has never come so fully into its own as in Russia.
When Shestov began to write nearly twenty years ago, Karl Marx was
enthroned and infallible. The fear of such tyrannies has never
departed from Shestov. He has fought against them so long and so
persistently--even in this book one must always remember that he
is face to face with an enemy of which we English have no real
conception--that he is at times almost unnerved by the fear that he
too may be made an authority and a rule. I do not think that this
ultimate hesitation, if understood rightly, diminishes in any way from
the interest of his writings: but it does suggest that there may be
awaiting him a certain paralysis of endeavour. There is indeed no
absolute truth of which we need take account other than the living
personality, and absolute truths are valuable only in so far as they
are seen to be necessary manifestations of this mysterious reality.
Nevertheless it is in the nature of man, if not to live by absolute
truths, at least to live by enunciating them; and to hesitate to
satisfy this imperious need is to have resigned a certain measure of
one's own creative strength. We may trust to the men of insight who
will follow us to read our dogmatisms, our momentary angers, and our
unshakable convictions, in terms of our personalities, if these shall
be found worthy of their curiosity or their love. And it seems to me
that Shestov would have gained in strength if he could have more firmly
believed that there would surely be other Shestovs who would read him
according to his own intention. But this, I also know, is a counsel of
perfection: the courage which he has not would not have been acquired
by any intellectual process, and its possession would have deprived him
of the courage which he has. As dogmatism in Russia enjoys a supremacy
of which we can hardly form an idea, so a continual challenge to its
claims demands in the challenger a courage which it is hard for us
rightly to appreciate.
I have not written this foreword in order to prejudice the issue.
Shestov will, no doubt, be judged by English readers according to
English standards, and I wish no more than to suggest that his
greatest quality is one which has become rare among us, and that his
peculiarities are due to Russian conditions which have long since
ceased to obtain in England. The Russians have much to teach us, and
the only way we shall learn, or even know, what we should accept
and what reject, is to take count as much as we can of the Russian
realities. And the first of these and the last is that in Russia the
things of the spirit are held in honour above all others. Because of
this the Russian soul is tormented by problems to which we have long
been dead, and to which we need to be alive again. J. M. M.
_Postscript._--Leon Shestov is fifty years old. He was born at Kiev,
and studied at the university there. His first book was written
in 1898. As a writer of small production, he has made his way to
recognition slowly: but now he occupies a sure position as one of the
most delicate and individual of modern Russian critics. The essays
contained in this volume are taken from the fourth and fifth works in
the following list:--
1898. _Shakespeare and his Critic, Brandes._
1900. _Good in the teaching of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche: Philosophy and
Preaching._
1903. _Dostoevsky and Nietzsche: The Philosophy of Tragedy._
1905. _The Apotheosis of Groundlessness: An Essay on Dogmatism._
1908. _Beginnings and Ends._
1912. _Great Vigils._
ANTON TCHEKHOV
(CREATION FROM THE VOID)
Résigne-toi, mon cœur, dors ton sommeil de brute.
(CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.)
I
Tchekhov is dead; therefore we may now speak freely of him. For to
speak of an artist means to disentangle and reveal the 'tendency'
hidden in his works, an operation not always permissible when the
subject is still living. Certainly he had a reason for hiding himself,
and of course the reason was serious and important. I believe many felt
it, and that it was partly on this account that we have as yet had no
proper appreciation of Tchekhov. Hitherto in analysing his works the
critics have confined themselves to common-place and _cliché_. Of course
they knew they were wrong; but anything is better than to extort the
truth from a living person. Mihailovsky alone attempted to approach
closer to the source of Tchekhov's creation, and as everybody knows,
turned away from it with aversion and even with disgust. Here, by the
way, the deceased critic might have convinced himself once again of
the extravagance of the so-called theory of 'art for art's sake.' Every
artist has his definite task, his life's work, to which he devotes
all his forces. A tendency is absurd when it endeavours to take the
place of talent, and to cover impotence and lack of content, or when
it is borrowed from the stock of ideas which happen to be in demand
at the moment. 'I defend ideals, therefore every one must give me his
sympathies.' Such pretences we often see made in literature, and the
notorious controversy concerning 'art for art's sake' was evidently
maintained upon the double meaning given to the word 'tendency' by its
opponents. Some wished to believe that a writer can be saved by the
nobility of his tendency; others feared that a tendency would bind them
to the performance of alien tasks. Much ado about nothing: ready-made
ideas will never endow mediocrity with talent; on the contrary, an
original writer will at all costs set himself his own task. And
Tchekhov had his _own_ business, though there were critics who said
that he was the servant of art for its own sake, and even compared him
to a bird, carelessly flying. To define his tendency in a word, I would
say that Tchekhov was the poet of hopelessness. Stubbornly, sadly,
monotonously, during all the years of his literary activity, nearly a
quarter of a century long, Tchekhov was doing one thing alone: by one
means or another he was killing human hopes. Herein, I hold, lies the
essence of his creation. Hitherto it has been little spoken of. The
reasons are quite intelligible. In ordinary language what Tchekhov
was doing is called crime, and is visited by condign punishment. But
how can a man of talent be punished? Even Mihailovsky, who more than
once in his lifetime gave an example of merciless severity, did not
raise his hand against Tchekhov. He warned his readers and pointed
out the 'evil fire' which he had noticed in Tchekhov's eyes. But he
went no further. Tchekhov's immense talent overcame the strict and
rigorous critic. It may be, however, that Mihailovsky's own position
in literature had more than a little to do with the comparative
mildness of his sentence. The younger generation had listened to him
uninterruptedly for thirty years, and his word had been law. But
afterwards every one was bored with eternally repeating: 'Aristides
is just, Aristides is right.' The younger generation began to desire
to live and to speak in its own way, and finally the old master was
ostracised. There is the same custom in literature as in Terra del
Fuego. The young, growing men kill and eat the old. Mihailovsky
struggled with all his might, but he no longer felt the strength of
conviction that comes from the sense of right. Inwardly, he felt that
the young were right, not because they knew the truth--what truth did
the economic materialists know?--but because they were young and had
their lives before them. The rising star shines always brighter than
the setting, and the old must of their own will yield themselves up to
be devoured by the young. Mihailovsky felt this, and perhaps it was
this which undermined his former assurance and the firmness of his
opinion of old. True, he was still like Gretchen's mother in Goethe: he
did not take rich gifts from chance without having previously consulted
his confessor. Tchekhov's talent too was taken to the priest, by whom
it was evidently rejected as suspect; but Mihailovsky no longer had the
courage to set himself against public opinion. The younger generation
prized Tchekhov for his talent, his immense talent, and it was plain
they would riot disown him. What remained for Mihailovsky He attempted,
| 912.335727 |
2023-11-16 18:32:16.3257700 | 236 | 7 | FROM CELT TO TUDOR***
E-text prepared by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
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Project Gutenberg has the other three volumes of this work.
II: From Elizabeth to Anne
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54142
III: Queen Anne and the Georges
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37226
IV: The Later Georges to Victoria
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54143
ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS
From Celt to Tudor
* * * * * *
ENGLISH LANDS LETTERS AND KINGS
_By Donald G. Mitchell_
I. From Celt to Tudor
II. From Elizabeth to Anne
III. Queen Anne and the Georges
IV. The Later Georges to Victoria
_Each | 912.34581 |
2023-11-16 18:32:16.4214040 | 3,216 | 9 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks and the people at DP
CECILIA
OR
Memoirs of an Heiress
by
FRANCES BURNEY
VOL. III.
BOOK VIII. _Continued_.
CHAPTER ii.
AN EVENT.
Scarce less unhappy in her decision than in her uncertainty, and every
way dissatisfied with her situation, her views and herself, Cecilia
was still so distressed and uncomfortable, when Delvile called the next
morning, that he could not discover what her determination had been, and
fearfully enquired his doom with hardly any hope of finding favour.
But Cecilia was above affectation, and a stranger to art. "I would not,
Sir," she said, "keep you an instant in suspense, when I am no longer in
suspense myself. I may have appeared trifling, but I have been nothing
less, and you would readily exculpate me of caprice, if half the
distress of my irresolution was known to you. Even now, when I hesitate
no more, my mind is so ill at ease, that I could neither wonder nor be
displeased should you hesitate in your turn."
"You hesitate no more?" cried he, almost breathless at the sound of
those words, "and is it possible--Oh my Cecilia!--is it possible your
resolution is in my favour?"
"Alas!" cried she, "how little is your reason to rejoice! a dejected and
melancholy gift is all you can receive!"
"Ere I take it, then," cried he, in a voice that spoke joy; pain, and
fear all at once in commotion, "tell me if your reluctance has its
origin in _me_, that I may rather even yet relinquish you, than merely
owe your hand to the selfishness of persecution?"
"Your pride," said she, half smiling, "has some right to be alarmed,
though I meant not to alarm it. No! it is with myself only I am at
variance, with my own weakness and want of judgment that I quarrel,--in
_you_ I have all the reliance that the highest opinion of your honour
and integrity can give me."
This was enough for the warm heart of Delvile, not only to restore
peace, but to awaken rapture. He was almost as wild with delight, as he
had before been with apprehension, and poured forth his acknowledgments
with so much fervour of gratitude, that Cecilia imperceptibly grew
reconciled to herself, and before she missed her dejection, participated
in his contentment.
She quitted him as soon as she had power, to acquaint Mrs Charlton with
what had passed, and assist in preparing her to accompany them to the
altar; while Delvile flew to his new acquaintance, Mr Singleton, the
lawyer, to request him to supply the place of Mr Monckton in giving her
away.
All was now hastened with the utmost expedition, and to avoid
observation, they agreed to meet at the church; their desire of secrecy,
however potent, never urging them to wish the ceremony should be
performed in a place less awful.
When the chairs, however, came, which were to carry the two ladies
thither, Cecilia trembled and hung back. The greatness of her
undertaking, the hazard of all her future happiness, the disgraceful
secrecy of her conduct, the expected reproaches of Mrs Delvile, and
the boldness and indelicacy of the step she was about to take, all so
forcibly struck, and so painfully wounded her, that the moment she was
summoned to set out, she again lost her resolution, and regretting the
hour that ever Delvile was known to her, she sunk into a chair, and gave
up her whole soul to anguish and sorrow.
The good Mrs Charlton tried in vain to console her; a sudden horror
against herself had now seized her spirits, which, exhausted by long
struggles, could rally no more.
In this situation she was at length surprised by Delvile, whose uneasy
astonishment that she had failed in her appointment, was only to be
equalled by that with which he was struck at the sight of her tears. He
demanded the cause with the utmost tenderness and apprehension; Cecilia
for some time could not speak, and then, with a deep sigh, "Ah!" she
cried, "Mr Delvile! how weak are we all when unsupported by our own
esteem! how feeble, how inconsistent, how changeable, when our courage
has any foundation but duty!"
Delvile, much relieved by finding her sadness sprung not from any new
affliction, gently reproached her breach of promise, and earnestly
entreated her to repair it. "The clergyman," cried he, "is waiting; I
have left him with Mr Singleton in the vestry; no new objections have
started, and no new obstacles have intervened; why, then, torment
ourselves with discussing again the old ones, which we have already
considered till every possible argument upon them is exhausted?
Tranquillize, I conjure you, your agitated spirits, and if the truest
tenderness, the most animated esteem, and the gratefullest admiration,
can soften your future cares, and ensure your future peace, every
anniversary of this day will recompense my Cecilia for every pang she
now suffers!"
Cecilia, half soothed and half ashamed, finding she had in fact nothing
new to say or to object, compelled herself to rise, and, penetrated
by his solicitations, endeavoured to compose her mind, and promised to
follow him.
He would not trust her, however, from his sight, but seizing the very
instant of her renewed consent, he dismissed the chairs, and ordering
a hackney-coach, preferred any risk to that of her again wavering, and
insisted upon accompanying her in it himself.
Cecilia had now scarce time to breathe, before she found herself at the
porch of----church. Delvile hurried her out of the carriage, and then
offered his arm to Mrs Charlton. Not a word was spoken by any of the
party till they went into the vestry, where Delvile ordered Cecilia
a glass of water, and having hastily made his compliments to the
clergyman, gave her hand to Mr Singleton, who led her to the altar.
The ceremony was now begun; and Cecilia, finding herself past all power
of retracting, soon called her thoughts from wishing it, and turned her
whole attention to the awful service; to which though she listened with
reverence, her full satisfaction in the object of her vows, made
her listen without terror. But when the priest came to that solemn
adjuration, _If any man can shew any just cause why they may not
lawfully be joined together_, a conscious tear stole into her eye, and
a sigh escaped from Delvile that went to her heart: but, when the priest
concluded the exhortation with _let him now speak, or else hereafter
for-ever hold his peace_, a female voice at some distance, called out in
shrill accents, "I do!"
The ceremony was instantly stopt. The astonished priest immediately shut
up the book to regard the intended bride and bridegroom; Delvile started
with amazement to see whence the sound proceeded; and Cecilia, aghast,
and struck with horror, faintly shriekt, and caught hold of Mrs
Charlton.
The consternation was general, and general was the silence, though all
of one accord turned round towards the place whence the voice issued: a
female form at the same moment was seen rushing from a pew, who glided
out of the church with the quickness of lightning.
Not a word was yet uttered, every one seeming rooted to the spot on
which he stood, and regarding in mute wonder the place this form had
crossed.
Delvile at length exclaimed, "What can this mean?"
"Did you not know the woman, Sir?" said the clergyman.
"No, Sir, I did not even see her."
"Nor you, madam?" said he, addressing Cecilia.
"No, Sir," she answered, in a voice that scarce articulated the two
syllables, and changing colour so frequently, that Delvile, apprehensive
she would faint, flew to her, calling out, "Let _me_ support you!"
She turned from him hastily, and still, holding by Mrs Charlton, moved
away from the altar.
"Whither," cried Delvile, fearfully following her, "whither are you
going?"
She made not any answer; but still, though tottering as much from
emotion as Mrs Charlton from infirmity, she walked on.
"Why did you stop the ceremony, Sir?" cried Delvile, impatiently
speaking to the clergyman.
"No ceremony, Sir," he returned, "could proceed with such an
interruption."
"It has been wholly accidental," cried he, "for we neither of us
know the woman, who could not have any right or authority for the
prohibition." Then yet more anxiously pursuing Cecilia, "why,"
he continued, "do you thus move off?--Why leave the ceremony
unfinished?--Mrs Charlton, what is it you are about?--Cecilia, I beseech
you return, and let the service go on!"
Cecilia, making a motion with her hand to forbid his following her,
still silently proceeded, though drawing along with equal difficulty Mrs
Charlton and herself.
"This is insupportable!" cried Delvile, with vehemence, "turn, I conjure
you!--my Cecilia!--my wife!--why is it you thus abandon me?--Turn,
I implore you, and receive my eternal vows!--Mrs Charlton, bring her
back,--Cecilia, you _must_ not go!--"
He now attempted to take her hand, but shrinking from his touch, in an
emphatic but low voice, she said, "Yes, Sir, I must!--an interdiction
such as this!--for the world could I not brave it!"
She then made an effort to somewhat quicken her pace.
"Where," cried Delvile, half frantic, "where is this infamous woman?
This wretch who has thus wantonly destroyed me!"
And he rushed out of the church in pursuit of her.
The clergyman and Mr Singleton, who had hitherto been wondering
spectators, came now to offer their assistance to Cecilia. She declined
any help for herself, but gladly accepted their services for Mrs
Charlton, who, thunderstruck by all that had past, seemed almost robbed
of her faculties. Mr Singleton proposed calling a hackney coach, she
consented, and they stopt for it at the church porch.
The clergyman now began to enquire of the pew-opener, what she knew of
the woman, who she was, and how she had got into the church? She knew of
her, she answered, nothing, but that she had come in to early prayers,
and she supposed she had hid herself in a pew when they were over, as
she had thought the church entirely empty.
An hackney coach now drew up, and while the gentlemen were assisting Mrs
Charlton into it, Delvile returned.
"I have pursued and enquired," cried he, "in vain, I can neither
discover nor hear of her.--But what is all this? Whither are you
going?--What does this coach do here?--Mrs Charlton, why do you get into
it?--Cecilia, what are you doing?"
Cecilia turned away from him in silence. The shock she had received,
took from her all power of speech, while amazement and terror deprived
her even of relief from tears. She believed Delvile to blame, though she
knew not in what, but the obscurity of her fears served only to render
them more dreadful.
She was now getting into the coach herself, but Delvile, who could
neither brook her displeasure, nor endure her departure, forcibly caught
her hand, and called out, "You are _mine_, you are my _wife_!--I will
part with you no more, and go whithersoever you will, I will follow and
claim you!"
"Stop me not!" cried she, impatiently though faintly, "I am sick, I am
ill already,--if you detain me any longer, I shall be unable to support
myself!"
"Oh then rest on _me_!" cried he, still holding her; "rest but upon me
till the ceremony is over!--you will drive me to despair and to madness
if you leave me in this barbarous manner!"
A crowd now began to gather, and the words bride and bridegroom reached
the ears of Cecilia; who half dead with shame, with fear, and with
distress, hastily said "You are determined to make me miserable!" and
snatching away her hand, which Delvile at those words could no longer
hold, she threw herself into the carriage.
Delvile, however, jumped in after her, and with an air of authority
ordered the coachman to Pall-Mall, and then drew up the glasses, with a
look of fierceness at the mob.
Cecilia had neither spirits nor power to resist him; yet, offended by
his violence, and shocked to be thus publickly pursued by him, her looks
spoke a resentment far more mortifying than any verbal reproach.
"Inhuman Cecilia!" cried he, passionately, "to desert me at the very
altar!--to cast me off at the instant the most sacred rites were uniting
us!--and then thus to look at me!--to treat me with this disdain at a
time of such distraction!--to scorn me thus injuriously at the moment
you unjustly abandon me!"
"To how dreadful a scene," said Cecilia, recovering from her
consternation, "have you exposed me! to what shame, what indignity, what
irreparable disgrace!"
"Oh heaven!" cried he with horror, "if any crime, any offence of mine
has occasioned this fatal blow, the whole world holds not a wretch so
culpable as myself, nor one who will sooner allow the justice of your
rigour! my veneration for you has ever equalled my affection, and could
I think it was through _me_ you have suffered any indignity, I should
soon abhor myself, as you seem to abhor me. But what is it I have done?
How have I thus incensed you? By what action, by what guilt, have I
incurred this displeasure?
"Whence," cried she, "came that voice which still vibr | 912.441444 |
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[Illustration: frontispiece]
MRS. LOUDON’S
ENTERTAINING NATURALIST,
BEING
POPULAR DESCRIPTIONS, TALES, AND
ANECDOTES
OF MORE THAN
FIVE HUNDRED ANIMALS.
_A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED_.
BY
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
LONDON:
BELL & DALDY, 6, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN,
1867.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET
AND CHARING CROSS.
_PREFACE._
MRS. LOUDON’S _Entertaining Naturalist_ has been so deservedly popular
that the publishers, in preparing a new edition, have striven to render
it still more worthy of the reputation it has obtained. For this
purpose, it has been very thoroughly revised and enlarged by Mr. W. S.
Dallas, Member of the Zoological Society, and Curator of the Museum of
Natural History at York, and several illustrations have been added.
In its present form, it is not only a complete Popular Natural History
of an entertaining character, with an illustration of nearly every
animal mentioned, but its instructive introductions on the
Classification of Animals adapt it well for use as an elementary Manual
of the Natural History of the Animal Kingdom for the use of the Young.
INTRODUCTION.
ZOOLOGY is that branch of Natural History which treats of animals, and
embraces not only their structure and functions, their habits,
instincts, and utility, but their names and systematic arrangement.
Various systems have been proposed by different naturalists for the
scientific arrangement of the animal kingdom, but that of Cuvier, with
some modifications, is now thought the best, and a sketch of it will be
found under the head of the Modern System in this Introduction. As,
however, the System of Linnæus was formerly in general use, and is still
often referred to, it has been thought advisable to give a sketch of it
first; that the reader may be aware of the difference between the old
system and the new one.
_LINNÆAN SYSTEM._
According to the system of Linnæus, the objects comprehended within the
animal kingdom were divided into six classes: Mammalia or Mammiferous
Animals, Birds, Amphibia or Amphibious Animals, Fishes, Insects, and
Worms, which were thus distinguished:
CLASSES.
{ With vertebræ { Hot Blood { Viviparous I. MAMMALIA.
{ { { Oviparous II. BIRDS.
Body { { Cold red Blood { With lungs III. AMPHIBIA.
{ { With gills IV. FISHES.
{ Without vertebræ Cold white Blood { Having antennæ V. | 912.637567 |
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THROUGH NATURE
TO GOD
BY
JOHN FISKE
_Soyez comme l'oiseau posé pour un instant
Sur des rameaux trop frêles,
Qui sent ployer la branche et qui chante pourtant,
Sachant qu'il a des ailes!_
VICTOR HUGO
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1900
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY JOHN FISKE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TO THE BELOVED AND REVERED MEMORY
OF MY FRIEND
THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY
THIS BOOK IS CONSECRATED
[Illustration]
PREFACE
A single purpose runs throughout this little book, though different
aspects of it are treated in the three several parts. The first part,
"The Mystery of Evil," written soon after "The Idea of God," was
designed to supply some considerations which for the sake of conciseness
had been omitted from that book. Its close kinship with the second part,
"The Cosmic Roots of Love and Self-Sacrifice," will be at once apparent
to the reader.
That second part is, with a few slight changes, the Phi Beta Kappa
oration delivered by me at Harvard University, in June, 1895. Its
original title was "Ethics in the Cosmic Process," and its form of
statement was partly determined by the fact that it was intended as a
reply to Huxley's famous Romanes lecture delivered at the University of
Oxford in 1893. Readers of "The Destiny of Man" will observe that I have
here repeated a portion of the argument of that book. The detection of
the part played by the lengthening of infancy in the genesis of the
human race is my own especial contribution to the Doctrine of Evolution,
so that I naturally feel somewhat uncertain as to how far that subject
is generally understood, and how far a brief allusion to it will
suffice. It therefore seemed best to recapitulate the argument while
indicating its bearing upon the ethics of the Cosmic Process.
I can never cease to regret that Huxley should have passed away without
seeing my argument and giving me the benefit of his comments. The
subject is one of a kind which we loved to discuss on quiet Sunday
evenings at his fireside in London, many years ago. I have observed on
Huxley's part, not only in the Romanes lecture, but also in the charming
"Prolegomena," written in 1894, a tendency to use the phrase "cosmic
process" in a restricted sense as equivalent to "natural selection;" and
doubtless if due allowance were made for that circumstance, the
appearance of antagonism between us would be greatly diminished. In our
many talks, however, I always felt that, along with abundant general
sympathy, there was a discernible difference in mental attitude. Upon
the proposition that "the foundation of morality is to... give up
pretending to believe that for which there is no evidence," we were
heartily agreed. But I often found myself more strongly inclined than my
dear friend to ask the Tennysonian question:--
"Who forged that other influence,
That heat of inward evidence,
By which he doubts against the sense?"
In the third part of the present little book, "The Everlasting Reality
of Religion," my aim is to show that "that other influence," that inward
conviction, the craving for a final cause, the theistic assumption, is
itself one of the master facts of the universe, and as much entitled to
respect as any fact in physical nature can possibly be. The argument
flashed upon me about ten years ago, while reading Herbert Spencer's
controversy with Frederic Harrison concerning the nature and reality of
religion. Because Spencer derived historically the greater part of the
modern belief in an Unseen World from the savage's primeval world of
dreams and ghosts, some of his critics maintained that logical
consistency required him to dismiss the modern belief as utterly false;
otherwise he would be guilty of seeking to evolve truth from false-hood.
By no means, replied Spencer: "Contrariwise, the ultimate form of the
religious consciousness is the final development of a consciousness
which at the outset contained a germ of truth obscured by multitudinous
errors." This suggestion has borne fruit in the third part of the
present volume, where I have introduced a wholly new line of argument to
show that the Doctrine of Evolution, properly understood, does not
leave the scales equally balanced between Materialism and Theism, but
irredeemably discredits the former, while it places the latter upon a
firmer foundation than it has ever before occupied.
My reference to the French materialism of the eighteenth century, in its
contrast with the theism of Voltaire, is intended to point the stronger
contrast between the feeble survivals of that materialism in our time
and the unshakable theism which is in harmony with the Doctrine of
Evolution. When some naturalist like Haeckel assures us that as
evolutionists we are bound to believe that death ends all, it is a great
mistake to hold the Doctrine of Evolution responsible for such a
statement. Haeckel's opinion was never reached through a scientific
study of evolution; it is nothing but an echo from the French
speculation of the eighteenth century. Such a writer as La Mettrie
proceeded upon the assumption that no belief concerning anything in the
heavens above, or the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth, is
worthy of serious consideration unless it can be demonstrated by the
methods employed in physical science. Such a mental attitude was natural
enough at a time when the mediæval theory of the world was falling into
discredit, while astronomy and physics were winning brilliant victories
through the use of new methods. It was an attitude likely to endure so
long as the old-fashioned fragmentary and piecemeal habits of studying
nature were persisted in; and the change did not come until the latter
half of the nineteenth century.
The encyclopædic attainments of Alexander von Humboldt, for example,
left him, to all intents and purposes, a materialist of the eighteenth
century. But shortly before the death of that great German scholar,
there appeared the English book which heralded a complete reversal of
the attitude of science. The "Principles of Psychology," published in
1855 by Herbert Spencer, was the first application of the theory of
evolution on a grand scale. Taken in connection with the discoveries of
natural selection, of spectrum analysis, and of the mechanical
equivalence between molar and molecular motions, it led the way to that
sublime conception of the Unity of Nature by which the minds of
scientific thinkers are now coming to be dominated. The attitude of mind
which expressed itself in a great encyclopædic book without any
pervading principle of unity, like Humboldt's "Kosmos," is now become
what the Germans call _ein ueberwundener Standpunkt_, or something that
we have passed by and left behind.
When we have once thoroughly grasped the monotheistic conception of the
universe as an organic whole, animated by the omnipresent spirit of God,
we have forever taken leave of that materialism to which the universe
was merely an endless multitude of phenomena. We begin to catch glimpses
of the meaning and dramatic purpose of things; at all events we rest
assured that there really is such a meaning. Though the history of our
lives, and of all life upon our planet, as written down by the
unswerving finger of Nature, may exhibit all events and their final
purpose in unmistakable sequence, yet to our limited vision the several
fragments of the record, like the leaves of the Cumæan sibyl, caught by
the fitful breezes of circumstance and whirled wantonly hither and
thither, lie in such intricate confusion that no ingenuity can enable us
wholly to decipher the legend. But could we attain to a knowledge
commensurate with the reality--could we penetrate the hidden depths
where, according to Dante (_Paradiso_, xxxiii. 85), the story of Nature,
no longer scattered in truant leaves, is bound with divine love in a
mystic volume, we should find therein no traces of hazard or
incongruity. From man's origin we gather hints of his destiny, and the
study of evolution leads our thoughts through Nature to God.
CAMBRIDGE, March 2, 1899.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
THE MYSTERY OF EVIL
I. _The Serpent's Promise to the Woman_ 3
II. _The Pilgrim's Burden_ 8
III. _Manichæism and Calvinism_ 14
IV. _The Dramatic Unity of Nature_ 22
V. _What Conscious Life is made of_ 27
VI. _Without the Element of Antagonism there
could be no Consciousness, and therefore
no World_ 34
VII. _A Word of Caution_ 40
VIII. _The Hermit and the Angel_ 43
IX. _Man's Rise from the Innocence of Brutehood_ 48
X. _The Relativity of Evil_ 54
THE COSMIC ROOTS OF LOVE AND SELF-SACRIFICE
I. _The Summer Field, and what it tells us_ 59
II. _Seeming Wastefulness of the Cosmic Process_ 65
III. _Caliban's Philosophy_ 72
IV. _Can it be that the Cosmic Process has no
Relation to Moral Ends?_ 74
V. _First Stages in the Genesis of Man_ 80
VI. _The Central Fact in the Genesis of Man_ 86
VII. _The Chief Cause of Man's lengthened Infancy_ 88
VIII. _Some of its Effects_ 96
IX. _Origin of Moral Ideas and Sentiments_ 102
X. _The Cosmic Process exists purely for the
Sake of Moral Ends_ 109
XI. _Maternity and the Evolution of Altruism_ 117
XII. _The Omnipresent Ethical Trend_ 127
THE EVERLASTING REALITY OF RELIGION
I. "_Deo erexit Voltaire_" 133
II. _The Reign of Law, and the Greek Idea of
God_ 147
III. _Weakness of Materialism_ 152
IV. _Religion's First Postulate: the Quasi-Human
God_ 163
V. _Religion's Second Postulate: the undying
Human Soul_ 168
VI. _Religion's Third Postulate: the Ethical Significance
of the Unseen World_ 171
VII. _Is the Substance of Religion a Phantom, or
an Eternal Reality?_ 174
VIII. _The Fundamental Aspect of Life_ 177
IX. _How the Evolution of Senses expands the
World_ 182
X. _Nature's Eternal Lesson is the Everlasting
Reality of Religion_ 186
THE MYSTERY OF EVIL
I am the Lord, and there is none else. I form the light, and create
darkness; I make peace, and create evil. I the Lord do all these
things.--ISAIAH, xiv. 6, 7.
Did not our God bring all this evil upon us?--NEHEMIAH, xiii. 18.
[Greek: Ouk eoike d' hê physis epeisodiôdês ousa ek tôn phainomenôn,
hôsper mochthêra tragôdia.]--ARISTOTLE, _Metaphysica_, xiii. 3.
[Illustration]
I
_The Serpent's Promise to the Woman_
"Your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing
good and evil." _Genesis_ iii. 5.
The legend in which the serpent is represented as giving this counsel to
the mother of mankind occurs at the beginning of the Pentateuch in the
form which that collection of writings assumed after the return of the
Jews from the captivity at Babylon, and there is good reason for
believing that it was first placed there at that time. Allusions to Eden
in the Old Testament literature are extremely scarce,[1] and the story
of Eve's temptation first assumes prominence in the writings of St.
Paul. The marks of Zoroastrian thought in it have often been pointed
out. This garden of Eden is a true Persian paradise, situated somewhere
in that remote wonderland of Aryana Vaëjo to which all Iranian tradition
is so fond of pointing back. The wily serpent is a genuine Parsee
serpent, and the spirit which animates him is that of the malicious and
tricksome Ahriman, who takes delight in going about after the good
creator Ormuzd and spoiling his handiwork. He is not yet identified with
the terrible Satan, the accusing angel who finds out men's evil thoughts
and deeds. He is simply a mischief-maker, and the punishment meted out
to him for his mischief reminds one of many a curious passage in the
beast epos of primitive peoples. As in the stories which tell why the
mole is blind or why the fox has a bushy tail, the serpent's conduct is
made to account for some of his peculiar attributes. As a punishment he
is made to crawl upon his belly, and be forever an object of especial
dread and loathing to all the children of Eve.
What, | 912.836048 |
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E-text prepared by Emmanuel Ackerman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/hafizinlondontra00hafiuoft
HAFIZ IN LONDON
Printed by
Spottiswoode and Co., New-Street Square
London
HAFIZ IN LONDON
by
JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY, M.P.
ﺍﻛﺮ ﺑﺰﻟﻒ ﺫﺭﺍﺯ ﺗﻮ ﺩﺳﻦ ﻣﺎ ﻧﺮ ﺳﺪ
ﻛﻨﺎﻩ ﺑﺨﺖ ﭘﺮﻳﺸﺎﻥ ﻭ ﺩﺳﺖ ﻛﻮﺗﻪ ﻣﺎﺳﺖ
London
Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly
1886
[The right of translation is reserved]
_DEDICATION._
Ferangis, at thy feet I lay
These roses from the haunted coast
Of Faristan, whose poets boast
Their Rocknabad and Mosellay;
For I was in Shiraz to-day,
With ancient Hafiz for my host,
Who, like a comfortable ghost,
With Persian roses crowned my stay.
They are thy tribute from the land
Of Khayyam and our Khalifate,
For on their crimson folds of fate
A wizard ciphered with his wand
Words which I dare not here translate,
But you will read and understand.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
DEDICATION v
HAFIZ IN LONDON 1
MEMORY 6
ELD 11
LONG AGO 14
VANITY 19
KAIF 21
YOU AND I 25
CONSOLATION 28
LOTUS 31
PHILOSOPHY FOR OTHERS 33
WISDOM 36
RENUNCIATION 38
AFTER RHAMAZAN 40
LONELY 44
COURAGE 47
VINE-VISIONS 49
A DREAM 52
ATTAR OF LOVE 58
VAULTING AMBITION 60
A NIGHT-PIECE 62
FALLEN ANGELS 65
PRAISE OF WINE 67
HAROUN ER-RASHEED’S POET 70
GHAZEL 74
THE GRAVE OF OMAR-I-KHAYYAM 77
OMAR ANSWERS 86
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
HAFIZ IN LONDON.
_HAFIZ IN LONDON._
Hafiz in London! even so.
For not alone by Rukni’s flow
The ruddy Persian roses grow.
Not only ’neath the cypress groves,
With soul on fire the singer roves,
And tells the laughing stars his loves.
Here in this city-- | 912.937334 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lamé, Google Books for
some images. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Notes
Typographical transcription used: text between ~tildes~,
_underscores_, and =equal signs= represents text printed in the
original work in blackletter, italics and bold face, respectively.
Small capitals have been transcribed as ALL CAPITALS. Superscript text
has been transcribed as ^{text}.
More transcriber’s notes (including a list of corrections) may be
found at the end of this text.
[Illustration: PETRARCH’S INKSTAND.
IN THE POSSESSION OF MISS EDGEWORTH, PRESENTED TO HER BY A LADY.]
By beauty won from soft Italia’s land,
Here Cupid, Petrarch’s Cupid, takes his stand.
Arch suppliant, welcome to thy fav’rite isle,
Close thy spread wings, and rest thee here awhile;
Still the true heart with kindred strains inspire,
Breathe all a poet’s softness, all his fire;
But if the perjured knight approach this font,
Forbid the words to come as they were wont,
Forbid the ink to flow, the pen to write,
And send the false one baffled from thy sight.
_Miss Edgeworth._
THE
EVERY-DAY BOOK
AND
TABLE BOOK;
OR,
EVERLASTING CALENDAR OF POPULAR AMUSEMENTS,
SPORTS, PASTIMES, CEREMONIES, MANNERS,
CUSTOMS, AND EVENTS,
INCIDENT TO
~Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days,~
IN PAST AND PRESENT TIMES;
FORMING A
COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE YEAR, MONTHS, AND SEASONS,
AND A
PERPETUAL KEY TO THE ALMANAC;
INCLUDING
ACCOUNTS OF THE WEATHER, RULES FOR HEALTH AND CONDUCT, REMARKABLE AND
IMPORTANT ANECDOTES, FACTS, AND NOTICES, IN CHRONOLOGY, ANTIQUITIES,
TOPOGRAPHY, BIOGRAPHY, NATURAL HISTORY, ART, SCIENCE, AND GENERAL
LITERATURE; DERIVED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND VALUABLE
ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS, WITH POETICAL ELUCIDATIONS, FOR DAILY USE AND
DIVERSION.
BY WILLIAM HONE.
I tell of festivals, and fairs, and plays,
Of merriment, and mirth, and bonfire blaze;
I tell of Christmas-mummings, new year’s day,
Of twelfth-night king and queen, and children’s play;
I tell of valentines, and true-love’s-knots,
Of omens, cunning men, and drawing lots:
I tell of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers;
I tell of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes;
I tell of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairy king.
HERRICK.
WITH FOUR HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SIX ENGRAVINGS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG,
73, CHEAPSIDE.
J. Haddon, Printer, Castle Street, Finsbury.
PREFACE.
On the close of the EVERY-DAY BOOK, which commenced on New Year’s Day,
1825, and ended in the last week of 1826, I began this work.
The only prospectus of the TABLE BOOK was the eight versified lines on
the title-page. They appeared on New Year’s Day, prefixed to the first
number; which, with the successive sheets, to the present date,
constitute the volume now in the reader’s hands, and the entire of my
endeavours during the half year.
So long as I am enabled, and the public continue to be pleased, the
TABLE BOOK will be continued. The kind reception of the weekly numbers,
and the monthly parts, encourages me to hope that like favour will be
extended to the half-yearly volume. Its multifarious contents and the
illustrative engravings, with the help of the copious index, realize my
wish, “to please the young, and help divert the wise.” Perhaps, if the
good old window-seats had not gone out of fashion, it might be called a
parlour-window book--a good name for a volume of agreeable reading
selected | 913.03544 |
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Produced by Irma Spehar, Stephen Blundell 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:
Variant spellings (including quoted proper nouns) remain as printed.
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Unique page headings have been retained, placed between {braces},
and positioned at a relevant paragraph break.
Non-standard characters have been transcribed as follows:
[oe]--oe ligature;
[=x]--macron over vowel _x_;
[)x]--breve over vowel _x_;
[alpha], [beta], [gamma]--Single Greek letters;
^ precedes a superscript character.
[Illustration: The 'Fox' steaming out of the Rolling Pack.]
IN THE
ARCTIC SEAS.
A NARRATIVE
OF THE
DISCOVERY OF THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN
AND HIS COMPANIONS.
BY
CAPTAIN M'CLINTOCK, R.N., LL.D.
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,
822 CHESTNUT STREET.
AUTHOR'S EDITION
[Device]
CAXTON PRESS OF SHERMAN & CO.,
PHILADELPHIA.
DEDICATION.
MY DEAR LADY FRANKLIN,
There is no one to whom I could with so much propriety or willingness
dedicate my Journal as to you. For you it was originally written, and to
please you it now appears in print.
To our mutual friend, SHERARD OSBORN, I am greatly obliged for his
kindness in seeing it through the press--a labor I could not have
settled down to so soon after my return; and also for pointing out some
omissions and technicalities which would have rendered parts of it
unintelligible to an ordinary reader. These kind hints have been but
partially attended to, and, as time presses, it appears with the mass of
its original imperfections, as when you read it in manuscript. Such as
it is, however, it affords me this valued opportunity of assuring you of
the real gratification I feel in having been instrumental in
accomplishing an object so dear to you. To your devotion and
self-sacrifice the world is indebted for the deeply interesting
revelation unfolded by the voyage of the 'Fox.'
Believe me to be,
With sincere respect, most faithfully yours,
F. L. M'CLINTOCK.
_London, 24th Nov., 1859._
LIST OF OFFICERS AND SHIP'S COMPANY OF THE 'FOX.'
F. L. M'CLINTOCK, Captain R.N.
W. R. HOBSON, Lieutenant R.N.
ALLEN W. YOUNG, Captain, Mercantile Marine.
DAVID WALKER, M.D., Surgeon and Naturalist.
GEORGE BRANDS, Engineer, died 6th Nov. 1858, (Apoplexy).
CARL PETERSEN, Interpreter.
THOMAS BLACKWELL, Ship's Steward, died 14th June, 1859, (Scurvy).
WM. HARVEY, Chief Quartermaster.
HENRY TOMS, Quartermaster.
ALEX. THOMPSON, "
JOHN SIMMONDS, Boatswain's Mate.
GEORGE EDWARDS, Carpenter's Mate.
ROBERT SCOTT, Leading Stoker, died 4th Dec. 1857, (in
consequence of a fall).
THOMAS GRINSTEAD, Sailmaker.
GEORGE HOBDAY, Captain of Hold.
ROBERT HAMPTON, A. B.
JOHN A. HASELTON, "
GEORGE CAREY, "
BEN. POUND, "
WM. WALTERS, Carpenter's Crew.
WM. JONES, Dog-driver.
JAMES PITCHER, } Stokers.
THOMAS FLORANCE, }
RICHARD SHINGLETON, Officers' Steward.
ANTON CHRISTIAN, } Greenland Esquimaux, discharged in Greenland.
SAMUEL EMANUEL, }
OFFICIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE SERVICES OF THE YACHT 'FOX.'
ADMIRALTY, LONDON,
_24th Oct. 1859._
SIR,
I am commanded by my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty to acquaint
you, that, in consideration of the important services performed by you
in bringing home the only authentic intelligence of the death of the
late Sir John Franklin, and of the fate of the crews of the 'Erebus' and
'Terror,' Her Majesty has been pleased, by her order in Council of the
22nd instant, to sanction the time during which you were absent on these
discoveries in the Arctic Regions, viz., from the 30th June, 1857, to
the 21st September, 1859, to reckon as time served by a captain in
command of one of Her Majesty's ships, and my Lords have given the
necessary directions accordingly.
I am, Sir,
Your very humble servant,
W. G. ROMAINE,
_Secretary to the Admiralty_.
Captain Francis L. M'Clintock, R.N.
PREFACE.
The following narrative of the bold adventure which has successfully
revealed the last discoveries and the fate of Franklin, is published at
the request of the friends of that illustrious navigator. The gallant
M'Clintock, when he penned his journal amid the Arctic ices, had no idea
whatever of publishing it; and yet there can be no doubt that the reader
will peruse with the deepest interest the simple tale of how, in a
little vessel of 170 tons burthen, he and his well-chosen companions
have cleared up this great mystery.
To the honor of the British nation, and also let it be said to that of
the United States of America, many have been the efforts made to
discover the route followed by our missing explorers. The highly
deserving men who have so zealously searched the Arctic seas and lands
in this cause must now rejoice, that after all their anxious toils, the
merit of rescuing from the frozen North the record of the last days of
Franklin, has fallen to the share of his noble-minded widow.
Lady Franklin has, indeed, well shown what a devoted and true-hearted
English woman can accomplish. The moment that relics of the expedition
commanded by her husband were brought home (in 1854) by Rae, and that
she heard of the account given to him by the Esquimaux of a large party
of Englishmen having been seen struggling with difficulties on the ice
near the mouth of the Back or Great Fish River, she resolved to expend
all her available means (already much exhausted in four other
independent expeditions) in an exploration of the limited area to which
the search must thenceforward be necessarily restricted.
Whilst the supporters of Lady Franklin's efforts were of opinion, that
the Government ought to have undertaken a search, the extent of which
was, for the first time, definitely limited, it is but rendering justice
to the then Prime Minister[1] to state, that he had every desire to
carry out the wishes of the men of science[2] who appealed to him, and
that he was precluded from acceding to their petition, by nothing but
the strongly expressed opinion of official authorities, that after so
many failures the Government were no longer justified in sending out
more brave men to encounter fresh dangers in a cause which was viewed as
hopeless. Hence it devolved on Lady Franklin and her friends to be the
sole means of endeavoring to bring to light the true history of her
husband's voyage and fate.
Looking to the list of Naval worthies, who, during the preceding years,
had been exploring the Arctic Regions, Lady Franklin was highly
gratified when she obtained the willing services of Captain M'Clintock
to command the yacht 'Fox,' which she had purchased; for that officer
had signally distinguished himself in the voyages of Sir John Ross and
Captain (now Admiral) Austin, and especially in his extensive journeys
on the ice when associated with Captain Kellett. With such a leader she
could not but entertain sanguine hopes of success when the fast and
well-adapted little vessel sailed from Aberdeen on the 1st of July,
1857, upon this eventful enterprise.
Deep, indeed, was the mortification experienced by every one who shared
the feelings and anticipations of Lady Franklin when the untoward news
came, in the summer of 1858, that, the preceding winter having set in
earlier than usual, the 'Fox' had been beset in the ice off Melville
Bay, on the coast of Greenland, and after a dreary winter, various
narrow escapes, and eight months of imprisonment, had been carried back
by the floating ice nearly twelve hundred geographical miles--even to
63-1/2 deg. N. lat. in the Atlantic! See the woodcut map, No. 1.
But although the good little yacht had been most roughly handled among
the ice-floes (see Frontispiece), we were cheered up by the information
from Disco, that, with the exception of the death of the engine-driver
in consequence of a fall into the hold, the crew were in stout health
and full of energy, and that provided with sufficient fuel and
provisions, a good supply of sledging dogs, two tried Esquimaux, and the
excellent interpreter Petersen the Dane,[3] ample grounds yet remained
to lead us to hope for a successful issue. Above all, we were encouraged
by the proofs of the self-possession and calm resolve of M'Clintock, who
held steadily to the accomplishment of his original project; the more so
as he had then tested and recognized the value of the services of
Lieutenant (now Commander) Hobson, his able second in command; of
Captain Allen Young, his generous volunteer associate;[4] and of Dr.
Walker, his accomplished Surgeon.
Despite, however, of these re-assuring data, many an advocate of this
search was anxiously alive to the chance of the failure of the venture
of one unassisted yacht, which after sundry mishaps was again starting
to cross Baffin's Bay, with the foreknowledge, that when she reached the
opposite coast, the real difficulties of the enterprise were to
commence.
Any such misgivings were happily illusory; and the reader who follows
M | 913.135298 |
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Produced by Paul Haxo from a copy generously made available
by the University of California, Davis.
A
DAY WELL SPENT:
_A Farce_,
IN ONE ACT.
BY
JOHN OXENFORD,
MEMBER OF THE "DRAMATIC AUTHOR'S SOCIETY;"
AUTHOR OF
"MY FELLOW CLERK," "I AND MY DOUBLE," "THE DICE OF DEATH,"
"TWICE KILLED," ETC.
FIRST PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE,
_APRIL_ 4_th_, 1835.
LONDON:
JOHN MILLER, HENRIETTA STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
1836.
LONDON:
T. C. SAVILL, PRINTER, ST. MARTIN'S LANE,
CHARING CROSS.
TO
B. WRENCH, ESQ.
MY DEAR SIR,
It is with the greatest pleasure, I dedicate to you a Farce, the
success of which is so much to be attributed to your exertions. Accept
my most hearty thanks for your inimitable performance of the principal
character in this piece, as well as for the kind attention you have
paid to my previous productions, and the pains you have taken to
render them acceptable to the public.
I remain, dear Sir,
Yours very truly,
JOHN OXENFORD.
16, John Street, Bedford Row.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Mr. Cotton (_an eminent hosier, and old gentleman_) MR. BENNETT.
Bolt (_his foreman, quite a gentleman_) MR. WRENCH.
Mizzle (_his apprentice, wishing to be a gentleman_) MR. OXBERRY.
Mr. Cutaway (_an adventurous gentleman_) MR. HEMMING.
Sam Newgate (_no gentleman_) MR. ROMER.
Peter Prig (_an ex-foreman, likewise no gentleman_) MR. SANDERS.
Coachman MR. IRELAND.
Waiter MR. LEWIS.
Miss Harriet Cotton (_an adventurous lady_) MISS SHAW.
Mrs. Stitchley (_an old lady_) MRS. EMDEN.
Miss Brown (_her bosom friend--a middle-aged lady_) MRS. F. MATTHEWS.
Mrs. Chargely (_a beneficent lady_) MISS ROBINSON.
Bridget (_a lady's lady_) MISS JACKSON.
A DAY WELL SPENT.
SCENE I.
_A Room in COTTON'S house | 913.13715 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, ChuckGreif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images | 913.137359 |
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Produced by sp1nd 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 JENOLAN CAVES.
[Illustration: THE CORAL GROTTO. [_Frontispiece_]
THE
JENOLAN CAVES:
AN
EXCURSION
IN
AUSTRALIAN WONDERLAND.
BY SAMUEL COOK.
_ILLUSTRATED WITH TWENTY-FOUR PLATES AND MAP._
EYRE & SPOTTISWOODE,
Her Majesty's Printers:
LONDON--GREAT NEW STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1889.
[Illustration: Coat of Arms]
PREFACE.
THE following historical and descriptive account of the Jenolan
(formerly called the Fish River) Caves was written for the _Sydney
Morning Herald_. By the kind permission of the proprietors of that
journal (Messrs. John Fairfax and Sons) and, at the request of numerous
correspondents, it is now republished. The author is conscious, however,
that neither tongue, nor pen, nor pictorial art can convey an adequate
idea of the magnificence and exquisite beauty of these caves. Words are
too poor to express the feelings of admiration and awe which are
experienced by those who wander through the marvellous subterranean
galleries embellished with myriads of graceful and fantastic forms of
purest white alternating with rich colour and delicate tints and shades.
Of all the caves in New South Wales those at Jenolan are the most
beautiful, and well-travelled men admit that they are unrivalled in any
other part of the world. As they are so little known this book may be
interesting, and serve to give some impression concerning geological
transformations and the slow processes of Nature in the production of
works at once grand, ornate, and unique.
The illustrations are from photographs by Messrs. Kerry and Jones of
Sydney, who have generously permitted the author to make selections from
their beautiful and extensive series of cave pictures.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
HOW THE CAVES WERE DISCOVERED 13
CHAPTER II.
THE APPROACH TO THE CAVES 17
CHAPTER III.
THE EXTERNAL FEATURES OF THE CAVES--THE GRAND ARCH 20
CHAPTER IV.
THE DEVIL'S COACH HOUSE 33
CHAPTER V.
THE NIGHT CAVES 39
CHAPTER VI.
THE NETTLE CAVE 43
CHAPTER VII.
THE ARCH CAVE 48
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CARLOTTA ARCH 55
CHAPTER IX.
THE ELDER CAVE 58
CHAPTER X.
THE LUCAS CAVE--THE MUSIC HALL--THE SHAWL CAVE 65
CHAPTER XI.
THE EXHIBITION--THE BROKEN COLUMN--THE JEWEL CASKET--JUDGE
WINDEYER'S COUCH--THE UNDERGROUND BRIDGE 73
CHAPTER XII.
THE LURLINE CAVE--THE FOSSIL BONE CAVE | 913.334814 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections)
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF
_Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._
VOLUME XX.
[Illustration]
BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS, 124 TREMONT STREET.
1867.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected. Footnotes have been
moved to the end of the article.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Artist's Dream, An _T. W. Higginson_ 100
Autobiography of a Quack, The. I., II. 466, 586
Bornoo, A Native of 485
Bowery at Night, The _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 602
By-Ways of Europe. From Perpignan to Montserrat.
_Bayard Taylor_ 495
" " A Visit to the Balearic Islands. I.
_Bayard Taylor_ 680
Busy Brains _Austin Abbott_ 570
Canadian Woods and Waters _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 311
Cincinnati _James Parton_ 229
Conspiracy at Washington, The 633
Cretan Days _Wm. J. Stillman_ 533
Dinner Speaking | 913.335645 |
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Produced by David Widger
MRS. DUD'S SISTER
By Josephine Daskam
Copyright, 1903, by Charles Scribner's Sons
They were having tea on the terrace. As Varian strolled up to the group
he wished that Hunter could see the picture they made--Hunter, who
had not been in America for thirty years, and who had been so honestly
surprised when Varian had spoken of Mrs. Dud's pretty maids--she always
had pretty ones, even to the cook's third assistant.
"Maids? Maids? It used to be 'help,'" he had protested. "You don't mean
to say they have waitresses in Binghamville now?"
Varian had despaired of giving him any idea.
"Come over and see Mrs. Dud," he had urged, "and do her portrait. We've
moved on since you left us, you know. She's a wonder--she really is.
When you remember how she used to carry her father's dinner to the store
Saturday afternoons--"
"And now I suppose she sports real Mechlin on her cap," assented Hunter,
anxious to show how perfectly he caught the situation.
Varian had roared helplessly. "Cap? Cap!" he had moaned finally. "Oh, my
sainted granny! Cap! My poor fellow, your view of Binghamville must be
like the old maps of Africa in the green geography, that said 'desert'
and 'interior' and'savage tribes' from time to time. I should like
awfully to see Mrs. Dud in a cap."
Hunter had looked puzzled.
"But, dear me! she might very well wear one, I should think," he had
murmured defensively. "I don't wish to be invidious, but surely
Lizzie must be--let's see; 'eighty, 'ninety--why, she must be between
forty-five and fifty now."
Varian had waved his hand dramatically. "Nobody considers Mrs. Dud and
time in the same breath. If you could see her in her golf rig! Or on
a horse! She even sheds a lustre on the rest of us. I forget my
rheumatism!"
But Hunter, retreating behind his determination to avoid a second
seasickness--it might have been sincere; nobody ever knew--had stayed
in Florence, and Varian had been obliged to come without him to the
house-party.
On a straw cushion, a cup in her strong white hand, a bunch of adoring
young girls at her feet, sat Mrs. Dud. Rosy and firm-cheeked, crisp
in stiff white duck, deliriously contrasted with her fluffy
Parisian parasol, she scorned the softening ruffles of her presumable
contemporaries; her delicately squared chin, for the most part held
high, showed a straight white collar under a throat only a little fuller
than the girlish ones all around her.
Old Dudley himself strolled about the group, gossiping here and there
with some pretty woman, sending the grave servants from one to another
with some particularly desirable sandwich, "rubbing it in," as he said
to the men who had failed to touch his score on the links, tantalizingly
uncertain as to which one of the young women he would invite to lead
the cotillon with him at the club dance that week: none of the young men
could take his place at that, as they themselves enviously admitted.
What a well-matched couple it was! What a lot they got out of life!
Varian walked quietly by the group, to enjoy better the pretty, modish
picture they made. Their quick chatter, their bursts of laughter, the
sweet faint odor of the tea, the gay dresses and light flannels, with
the quiet, sombrely attired servants to add tone, all gave him, fresh
from Hunter's quick sense of the effective, an appreciation that gained
force from his separateness; he walked farther away to get a different
point of view.
He was out of any path now, and suddenly, hardly beyond reach of
their voices, he found himself in a part of the grounds he had never
approached before. A thick high hedge shut in a kind of court at the
side and back of the great house, and a solid wooden door, carefully
matched to its green, left open by accident, showed a picture so out
of line with the succession of vivid scenes that dazzled the visitor at
Wilton Bluffs that he stopped involuntarily. The rectangle was
carpeted with the characteristic emerald turf of the place, divided by
intersecting red brick paths into four regular squares. In the farther
corner of each of these a trim green clothes-tree was planted, all
abloom with snowy fringed napkins that shone dazzling white against the
hedge. One of the squares was a neat little kitchen-garden; parsley was
there in plenty, and other vaguely familiar green things, curly-leaved
and spear-pointed. A warm gust of wind brought mint to his nostrils. A
second plot held a small crab-apple tree covered with pink and orange
globes. A great tortoise-shell cat with two kittens ornamented the
third, and in the middle of the fourth, beside a small wooden table, a
woman sat with her back toward the intruder. On the table were one or
two tin boxes and a yellow earthen dish; in her left hand, raised to
the shoulder-level, was a tall thin bottle, from which an amber fluid
dripped in an almost imperceptibly thin stream; her right arm stirred
vigorously. She was a middle-aged woman with lightly grayed hair--a kind
of premonitory powdering. Over her full skirt of lavender-striped cotton
stuff fell a broad, competent white apron. Except for the thudding of
the spoon against the bowl, and a faint, homely echo of clashing china
and tin, mingled with occasionally raised voices and laughter from some
farther kitchen region, all was utterly, placidly still.
Varian stood chained to the open gate. Something in the calm sun-bathed
picture tugged strongly at his heart. He thought suddenly of his mother
and his Aunt Delia--he had been very fond of Aunt Delia. And what
cookies she used to make! Molasses cookies, brown, moist, and crumbly,
they had sweetened his boyhood.
What was it, that delighted sense of congruity that filled him, every
passing second, with keener familiarity, so strangely tinged with sorrow
and regret? Ah, he had it! He bit his lip as it came clear to him. His
little namesake nephew, dead at eight years old, and dear as only a
dearly loved child can be, had delighted greatly in the Kate Greenaway
pictures that came in "painting-books," with colored prints on alternate
pages and corresponding outlines on the others. Dozens of those books
the boy had cleverly filled in with his little japanned paint-box and
mussy, quill-handled brushes; and the scene before him, the rich tints
of the hedge, the symmetrical little tree brilliant with hundreds of
tiny globes, the big white apron, the lazy yellow cats, and everywhere
the prim rectangular lines so amusingly conventional to accentuate the
likeness, almost choked him with the suddenness of the recognition. They
must have colored that very picture a dozen times, Tommy and he.
Half unconsciously he rested his arms on the top of the gate and drifted
into revery. He forgot that he was at Wilton Bluffs, one of the greatest
of the country palaces, and lived for a while in a mingled vision of his
boyhood on the old farm and in the land of the Greenaway painting-books.
Suddenly a door opened into the green.
A housemaid advanced to the table, bearing in both red hands a long tray
covered with a napkin. On the napkin lay, heaped in rich confusion, a
great pile of spicy, smoking brown cookies.
"They're just out o' the oven," she began, but Varian could contain
himself no longer. He could not be deceived: he would have known those
cookies in the Desert of Sahara. He crossed the little plot in three
long steps, and faced the astonished maid.
"I beg your pardon," he said firmly, "but it is very necessary that I
should have one of those cookies! I hope you can spare one?"
She giggled convulsively.
"I--I guess you can, sir," she murmured, laying down the tray and
retreating toward the house door.
Varian faced the older woman, and, with hat still in hand, instinctively
bowed lower; for this was no housekeeper--he was sure of that. Even as
she met his eyes a great flood of pink rushed to her smooth forehead,
and she dropped her lids as she bowed slightly. He reflected
irrelevantly that he had never seen Mrs. Dudley blush in his life.
"You are very welcome to all you wish, I am sure," she said graciously.
"I--I didn't know any one liked them but me. I always have them made for
me--I taught her the rule. I always call them"--she laughed nervously,
and it dawned on him that this woman was really shy and "talking against
time," as they said--"I always call them 'Aunt Delia's cookies.' They--"
"Aunt Delia's cookies!" he interrupted. "What Aunt Delia?"
"Aunt Delia Parmentre," she returned, a little surprised, evidently,
at this stranger, who, with a straw sailor-hat in one hand and a warm
molasses cooky in the other, stared so intently at her. "She wasn't
really my aunt, of course--"
"But she was mine!" he burst out, "and these are her cookies, and no
mistake. Who are you?"
Again she flushed, but more lightly.
"I am Miss Redding," she said with a gentle dignity, "Mrs. Wilton's
sister."
He stared at her vaguely.
"Mrs. Wilton--oh! you're her sister? I didn't know--" He stopped
abruptly. As his confusion grew, her own faded away.
"You didn't know she had one?" she asked, almost mischievously.
"I didn't know you were here," he recovered himself. "You've never been
with Mrs. Dud before, have you?"
"No, not here when there was company," she said.
He hardly noticed the words; his mind was groping among past histories.
"Her sister--her sister," he muttered. "Why, then," with an illuminating
smile, "I used to go to school with you! I'm Tom Varian!"
She smiled and | 913.536444 |
2023-11-16 18:32:17.6148400 | 2,417 | 16 | LITERATURE***
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ENGLISH: COMPOSITION AND LITERATURE
by
W. F. WEBSTER
Principal of the East High School
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Houghton Mifflin Company
Boston: 4 Park Street; New York: 85 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 378-388 Wabash Avenue
The Riverside Press Cambridge
Copyright, 1900 and 1902, by W. F. Webster
All Rights Reserved
PREFACE
In July, 1898, I presented at the National Educational Association,
convened in Washington, a Course of Study in English. At Los Angeles,
in 1899, the Association indorsed the principles[1] of this course,
and made it the basis of the Course in English for High Schools. At
the request of friends, I have prepared this short text-book,
outlining the method of carrying forward the course, and emphasizing
the principles necessary for the intelligent communication of ideas.
It has not been the purpose to write a rhetoric. The many fine
distinctions and divisions, the rarefied examples of very beautiful
forms of language which a young pupil cannot possibly reproduce, or
even appreciate, have been omitted. To teach the methods of simple,
direct, and accurate expression has been the purpose; and this is all
that can be expected of a high school course in English.
The teaching of composition differs from the teaching of Latin or
mathematics in this point: whereas pupils can be compelled to solve a
definite number of problems or to read a given number of lines, it is
not possible to compel expression of the full thought. The full
thought is made of an intellectual and an emotional element. Whatever
is intellectual may be compelled by dint of sheer purpose; whatever is
emotional must spring undriven by outside authority, and uncompelled
by inside determination. A boy saws a cord of wood because he has been
commanded by his father; but he cannot laugh or cry because directed
to do so by the same authority. There must be the conditions which
call forth smiles or tears. So there must be the conditions which call
forth the full expression of thought, both what is intellectual and
what is emotional. This means that the subject shall be one of which
the writer knows something, and in which he is interested; that the
demands in the composition shall not be made a discouragement; and
that the teacher shall be competent and enthusiastic, inspiring in
each pupil a desire to say truly and adequately the best he thinks and
feels.
These conditions cannot be realized while working with dead fragments
of language; but they are realized while constructing living wholes of
composition. It is not two decades ago when the pupil in drawing was
compelled to make straight lines until he made them all crooked. The
pupil in manual training began by drawing intersecting lines on two
sides of a board; then he drove nails into the intersections on one
side, hoping that they would hit the corresponding points on the
other. Now no single line or exercise is an end in itself; it
contributes to some whole. Under the old method the pupil did not care
or try to draw a straight line, or to drive a nail straight; but now,
in order that he may realize the idea that lies in his mind, he does
care and he does try: so lines are drawn better and nails are driven
straighter than before. In all training that combines intellect and
hand, the principle has been recognized that the best work is done
when the pupil's interest has been enlisted by making each exercise
contribute directly to the construction of some whole. Only in the
range of the spiritual are we twenty years behind time, trying to get
the best construction by compulsion. It is quite time that we
recognized that the best work in composition can be done, not while
the pupil is correcting errors in the use of language which he never
dreamed of, nor while he is writing ten similes or ten periodic
sentences, but when both intellect and feeling combine and work
together to produce some whole. Then into the construction of this
whole the pupil will throw all his strength, using the most apt
comparisons, choosing the best words, framing adequate sentences, in
order that the outward form may worthily present to others what to
himself has appeared worthy of expression.
There are some persons who say that other languages are taught by the
word and sentence method; then why not English? These persons overlook
the fact that we are leaving that method as rapidly as possible, and
adopting a more rational method which at once uses a language to
communicate thought. And they overlook another fact of even greater
importance: the pupil entering the high school is by no means a
beginner in English. He has been using the language ten or twelve
years, and has a fluency of expression in English which he cannot
attain in German throughout a high school and college course. The
conditions under which a pupil begins the study of German in a high
school and the study of English composition are entirely dissimilar;
and a conclusion based upon a fancied analogy is worthless.
It is preferable, then, to practice the construction of wholes rather
than the making of exercises; and it is best at the beginning to study
the different kinds of wholes, one at a time, rather than all
together. No one would attempt to teach elimination by addition and
subtraction, by comparison and by substitution, all together; nor
would an instructor take up heat, light, and electricity together. In
algebra, or physics, certain great principles underlie the whole
subject; and these appear and reappear as the study progresses through
its allied parts. Still the best results are obtained by taking up
these several divisions of the whole one after another. And in English
the most certain and definite results are secured by studying the
forms of discourse separately, learning the method of applying to each
the great principles that underlie all composition.
If the forms of discourse are to be studied one after another, which
shall be taken up first? In general, all composition may be separated
into two divisions: composition which deals with things, including
narration and description; and composition which deals with ideas,
comprising exposition and argument. It needs no argument to justify
the position that an essay which deals with things seen and heard is
easier for a beginner to construct than an essay which deals with
ideas invisible and unheard. Whether narration or description should
precede appears yet to be undetermined; for many text-books treat one
first, and perhaps as many the other. I have thought it wiser to begin
with the short story, because it is easier to gain free, spontaneous
expression with narration than with description. To write a whole page
of description is a task for a master, and very few attempt it; but
for the uninitiated amateur about three sentences of description mark
the limit of his ability to see and describe. To get started, to gain
confidence in one's ability to say something, to acquire freedom and
spontaneity of expression,--this is the first step in the practice of
composition. Afterward, when the pupil has discovered that he really
has something to say,--enough indeed to cover three or four pages of
his tablet paper,--then it may be time to begin the study of
description, and to acquire more careful and accurate forms of
expression. Spontaneity should be acquired first,--crude and unformed
it may be, but spontaneity first; and this spontaneity is best gained
while studying narration.
There can be but little question about the order of the other forms.
Description, still dealing with the concrete, offers an admirable
opportunity for shaping and forming the spontaneous expression gained
in narration. Following description, in order of difficulty, come
exposition and argument.
I should be quite misunderstood, did any one gather from this that
during the time in which wholes are being studied, no attention is to
be given to parts; that is, to paragraphs, sentences, and words. All
things cannot be learned at once and thoroughly; there must be some
order of succession. In the beginning the primary object to be aimed
at is the construction of wholes; yet during their construction, parts
can also be incidentally studied. During this time many errors which
annoy and exasperate must be passed over with but a word, in order
that the weight of the criticism may be concentrated on the point then
under consideration. As a pupil advances, he is more and more
competent to appreciate and to form good paragraphs and well-turned
sentences, and to single out from the multitude of verbal signs the
word that exactly presents his thought. The appreciation and the use
of the stronger as well as the finer and more delicate forms of
language come only with much reading and writing; and to demand
everything at the very beginning is little less than sheer madness.
Moreover there never comes a time when the construction of a
paragraph, the shaping of a phrase, or the choice of a word becomes an
end in itself. Paragraphs, sentences, and words are well chosen when
they serve best the whole composition. He who becomes enamored of one
form of paragraph, who always uses periodic sentences, who chooses
only common words, has not yet recognized that the beauty of a phrase
or a word is determined by its fitness, and that it is most beautiful
because it exactly suits the place it fills. The graceful sweep of a
line by Praxiteles or the glorious radiancy of a color by Angelico is
most beautiful in the place it took from the master's hand. So
Lowell's wealth of figurative language and Stevenson's unerring choice
of delicate words are most beautiful, not when torn from their
original setting to serve as examples in rhetorics, but when
fulfilling their part in a well-planned whole. And it is only as the
beauties of literature are born of the thought that they ever succeed.
No one can say to himself, "I will now make a good simile," and
straightway fulfill his promise. If, however, the thought of a writer
takes fire, and instead of the cold, unimpassioned phraseology of the
logician, glowing images crowd up, and phrases tipped with fire, then
figurative language best suits the thought,--indeed, it is the
thought. But imagery upon compulsion,--never. So that at no time
should one attempt to mould fine phrases for the sake of the phrases
themselves, but he should spare no pains with them when they spring
from the whole, when they harmonize with the whole, and when they give
to the whole added beauty and strength.
It is quite unnecessary at this | 913.63488 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
CHRISTINA
BY
L. G. MOBERLY
_Author of "Hope, My Wife," "That Preposterous Will," etc._
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON, MELBOURNE & TORONTO
1912
Dedicated to
WINIFRED V. WALKER,
WITH MUCH LOVE.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. "THE LITTLE PRACTICAL JOKE"
II. "MUMMY'S BABA--DAT'S ALL"
III. "ONE OF THE BEST THINGS LEFT"
IV. "I SUPPOSE IT WAS AN HOUR"
V. "I KNOW THIS IS WORTH A LOT OF MONEY"
VI. "BABA LOVES YOU VERY MUCH".
VII. "A VERY BEAUTIFUL PENDANT, WITH THE INITIALS 'A.V.C.'"
VIII. "IT IS A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH"
IX. "A VERY BEAUTIFUL LADY"
X | 913.947937 |
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Produced by Ted Garvin, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed Proofreaders
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 to a successful close more vigourously than
any mature man, more prudently than any graybeard. First he entered the
city as if for the sole purpose of succeeding to the inheritance, and as
a private citizen with only a few attendants, without any ostentation.
Still later he did not utter any threat against any one nor show that he
was displeased at what had occurred and would take vengeance for it. So
far from demanding of Antony any of the money that he had previously
plundered, he actually paid court to him although he was insulted and
wronged by him. Among the other injuries that Antony did him by both word
and deed was his action when the lex curiata was proposed, according to
which the transfer of Octavius into Caesar's family was to take place:
Antony himself, of course, was active to have it passed, but through some
tribunes he secured its postponement in order that the young man being
not yet Caesar's child according to law might not meddle with the property
and might be weaker in all other ways. [-6-] Caesar was restive under this
treatment, but as he was unable to speak his mind freely he bore it until
he had won over the crowd, by whose members he understood his father had
been raised to honor. He knew that they were angry at the latter's death
and hoped they would be enthusiastic over him as his son and perceived
that they hated Antony on account of his having been master of the horse
and also for his failure to punish the murderers. Hence he undertook to
become tribune as a starting point for popular leadership and to secure
the power that would result from it; and he accordingly became a
candidate for the place of Cinna, which was vacant. Though hindered
by Antony's clique he did not desist and after using persuasion upon
Tiberius Cannutius, a tribune, he was by him brought before the populace.
He took as an excuse the gift bequeathed by Caesar and in his speech
touched upon all the important points, promising that he would discharge
this debt at once, and gave them cause to hope for much besides. After
this came the festival appointed in honor of the completion of the temple
of Venus, which some, while Caesar was alive, had promised to celebrate,
but were now holding in, slight regard as they did the horse-race
connected with the Parilia;[6] and to win the favor of the populace he
provided for it at his private expense on the ground that it concerned
him because of his family. At this time out of fear of Antony he brought
into the theatre neither Caesar's gilded chair nor his crown set with
precious stones, though it was permitted by decree. [-7-] When, however,
a certain star through all those days appeared in the north toward
evening, some called it a comet, and said that it indicated the usual
occurrences; but the majority, instead of believing this, ascribed it
to Caesar, interpreting it to mean that he had become a god and had been
included in the number of the stars. Then Octavius took courage and set
up in the temple of Venus a bronze statue of him with a star above his
head. Through fear of the populace no one prevented this, and then, at
last, some of the earlier decrees in regard to honors to Caesar were put
into effect. They called one of the months July after him and in the
course of certain triumphal religious festivals they sacrificed during
one special day in memory of his name. For these reasons the soldiers
also, and particularly since some of them received largesses of money,
readily took the side of Caesar.
Rumors accordingly went abroad, and it seemed likely that something
unusual would take place. This idea gained most headway for the reason
that when Octavius was somewhat anxious to show himself in court in an
elevated and conspicuous place, as he had been wont to do in his father's
lifetime, Antony would not allow it, but had his lictors drag him down
and drive him out. [-8-] All were exceedingly vexed, and especially
because Caesar with a view to casting odium upon his rival and arousing
the multitude would no longer even frequent the Forum. So Antony became
terrified, and in conversation with the bystanders one day remarked
that he harbored no anger against Caesar, but on the contrary owed him
affection, and felt inclined to dispel the entire cloud of suspicion. The
statement was reported to the other, they held a conference, and some
thought they had become reconciled. As a fact they understood each
other's dispositions accurately, and, thinking it inopportune at that
time to put them to the test, they came to terms by making a few mutual
concessions. For some days they were quiet; then they began to suspect
each other afresh as a result of either some really hostile action
or some false report of hostility,--as regularly happens under such
conditions,--and were again at variance. When men become reconciled after
a great enmity they are suspicious of many acts that contain no malice
and of many chance occurrences. In brief, they regard everything, in the
light of their former hostility, as done | 913.968492 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
AUGUST 4, 1894.
* * * * *
SPORT FOR RATEPAYERS.
_August 1st._--Deer-shooting in Victoria Park commences.
_2nd._--Distribution of venison to "Progressive" County Councillors and
their families--especially to Aldermen.
_3rd._--Stalking American bison in the Marylebone disused grave-yard is
permitted from this day. A staff of competent surgeons will be outside
the palings.
_4th._--Chamois-coursing in Brockwell Park.
_5th._--A few rogue elephants having been imported (at considerable
expense to the rates), and located in the Regent's Park, the Chairman of
the L. C. C., assisted by the Park-keepers, will give an exhibition of
the method employed in snaring them. The elephants in the Zoological
Gardens will be expected to assist.
_6th._--_Bank Holiday._--Popular festival on Hampstead Heath. Two herds
of red deer will be turned on to the Heath at different points, and
three or four specially procured man-eating Bengal tigers will be let
loose at the Flag-staff to pursue them. Visitors may hunt the deer or
the tigers, whichever they prefer. Express rifles recommended, also the
use of bullet-proof coats. No dynamite to be employed against the
tigers. Ambulances in the Vale of Health. The Council's Band, up some of
the tallest trees, will perform musical selections.
_7th._--Races at Wormwood Scrubbs between the Council's own ostriches
and leading cyclists. A force of the A1 Division of the Metropolitan
Police, mounted on some of the reindeer from the enclosure at Spring
Gardens, will be stationed round the ground to prevent the ostriches
escaping into the adjoining country.
_8th._--Sale of ostrich feathers (dropped in the contests) to West-End
bonnet-makers at Union prices.
_9th._--Grand review of all the Council's animals on Clapham Common.
Procession through streets (also at Union rate). Banquet on municipal
venison, tiger chops, elephant steaks, and ostrich wings at Spring
Gardens. Progressive fireworks.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GENEROSITY.
_Andrew (preparing to divide the orange)._ "WILL YOU CHOOSE THE BIG
HALF, GEORGIE, OR THE WEE HALF?"
_George._ "'COURSE I'LL CHOOSE THE BIG HALF."
_Andrew (with resignation)._ "THEN I'LL JUST HAVE TO MAKE 'EM EVEN."]
* * * * *
RATHER A CHANGE--FOR THE BETTER.--They (the dockers) wouldn't listen to
BEN TILLETT. They cried out to him, "We keep you and starve ourselves."
Hullo! the revolt of the sheep! are they beginning to think that their
leaders and instigators are after all _not_ their best friends? "O
TILLETT not in Gath!" And Little BEN may say to himself, "I'll wait
TILL-ETT's over."
* * * * *
LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.
V.--SCHOOL. "A DISTANT VIEW."
"Distance lends enchantment"--kindly Distance!
Wiping out all troubles and disgraces,
How we seem to cast, with your assistance,
All our boyish lines in pleasant places!
Greek and Latin, struggles mathematic,
These were worries leaving slender traces;
Now we tell the boys (we wax emphatic)
How our lines fell all in pleasant places.
How we used to draw (immortal _Wackford_!)
EUCLID's figures, more resembling faces,
Surreptitiously upon the black-board,
Crude yet telling lines in pleasant places.
Pleasant places! That was no misnomer.
Impositions?--little heed scape-graces;
Writing out a book or so of HOMER,
Even those were lines in pleasant places!
How we scampered o'er the country, leading
Apoplectic farmers pretty chases,
Over crops, through fences all unheeding,
Stiff cross-country lines in pleasant places.
Yes, and how--too soon youth's early day flies--
In the purling brook which seaward races
_How_ we used to poach with luscious May-flies,
Casting furtive lines in pleasant places.
Then the lickings! How we took them, scorning
Girlish outcry, though we made grimaces;
Only smiled to find ourselves next morning
Somewhat marked with lines in pleasant places!
Alma Mater, whether young or olden,
Thanks to you for hosts of friendly faces,
Treasured memories, days of boyhood golden,
Lines that fell in none but pleasant places!
* * * * *
LONDON BICYCLISTS.
["Mr. ASQUITH said that he was informed by the Chief
Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police that undoubtedly
numerous accidents were caused by bicycles and tricycles, though
he was not prepared to say from the cause of the machines
passing on the near instead of the off side of the road.
Bicycles and tricycles were carriages, and should conform to the
rules of the road, and the police, as far as possible, enforced
the law as to riding to the common danger."--_Daily Graphic,
July 25._]
Round the omnibus, past the van,
Rushing on with a reckless reel,
Darts that horrible nuisance, an
Ardent cyclist resolved that he'll
Ride past everything he can,
Heed not woman, or child, or man,
Beat some record, some ride from Dan
To Beersheba; that seems his plan.
Why does not the Home Office ban
London fiends of the whirling wheel?
Let them ride in the country so,
Dart from Duncansbay Head to Deal,
Shoot as straight as the flight of crow,
Sweep as swallow that seeks a meal,
We don't care how the deuce they go,
But in thoroughfares where we know
Cyclists, hurrying to and fro,
Make each peaceable man their foe,
Riders, walkers alike cry "Whoa!
Stop these fiends of the whirling wheel!"
* * * * *
ODE ON SACRIFICE.
Amid the glowing pageant of the year
There comes too soon th' inevitable shock,
That token of the season sere,
To the unthinking fair so cheaply dear,
Who, like to shipwreck'd seamen, do it hail,
And cry, "A Sale! a Sale!
A Sale! a Summer Sale of Surplus Stock!"
See, how, like busy-humming bees
Around the ineffable fragrance of the lime,
Woman, unsparing of the salesman's time,
Reviews the stock, and chaffers at her ease,
Nor yet, for all her talking, purchases,
But takes away, with copper-bulged purse,
The textile harvest of a quiet eye,
Great bargains still unbought, and power to buy.
Or she, her daylong, garrulous labour done,
Some victory o'er reluctant remnants won,
Fresh from the trophies of her skill,
Things that she needed not, nor ever will,
She takes the well-earned bun;
Ambrosial food, DEMETER erst design'd
As the appropriate food of womankind,
Plain, or with comfits deck'd and spice;
Or, daintier, dallies with an ice.
Nor feels in heart the worse
Because the haberdashers thus disperse
Their surplus stock at an astounding sacrifice!
Yet Contemplation pauses to review
The destinies that meet the silkworm's care,
The fate of fabrics whose materials grew
In the same fields of cotton or of flax,
Or waved on fellow-flockmen's fleecy backs,
And the same mill, loom, case, emporium, shelf, did share.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "ADDING INSULT," &c.
SCENE--_Hunters cantering round Show Ring._
_Youth on hard-mouthed Grey (having just cannoned against old
Twentystun)._ "'SCUSE ME, SIR,--'BLIGED TO DO IT. NOTHING LESS THAN A
HAYSTACK STOPS HIM!"]
* * * * *
THE RIDER'S VADE MECUM.
(_For Use in Rotten Row._)
_Question._ What part of London do you consider the most dangerous for
an equestrian?
_Answer._ That part of the Park known as Rotten Row.
_Q._ Why is it so dangerous?
_A._ Because it is overcrowded in the Season, and at all times
imperfectly kept.
_Q._ What do you mean by "imperfectly kept"?
_A._ I mean that the soil is not free from bricks and other impediments
to comfortable and safe riding.
_Q._ Why do you go to Rotten Row?
_A._ Because it is the most convenient place in London for the residents
of the West End.
_Q._ But would not Battersea Park do as well?
_A._ It is farther afield, and at present, so far as the rides are
concerned, given over to the charms of solitude.
_Q._ And is not the Regent's Park also available for equestrians?
_A._ To some extent; but the roads in that rather distant pleasaunce are
not comparable for a moment with the ride within view of the Serpentine.
_Q._ Would a ride in Kensington Gardens be an advantage?
_A._ Yes, to some extent; still it would scarcely be as convenient as
the present exercising ground.
_Q._ Then you admit that there are (and might be) pleasant rides other
than Rotten Row?
_A._ Certainly; but that fact does not dispense with the necessity of
reform in existing institutions.
_Q._ Then you consider the raising of other issues is merely a plan to
confuse and obliterate the original contention?
_A._ Assuredly; and it is a policy that has been tried before with
success to obstructors and failure to the grievance-mongers.
_Q._ So as two blacks do not make one white you and all believe that
Rotten Row should be carefully inspected and the causes of the recent
accidents ascertained and remedied?
_A._ I do; and, further, am convinced that such a course would be for
the benefit of the public in general and riders in Rotten Row in
particular.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "PERSONALLY CONDUCTED."]
* * * * *
"PERSONALLY CONDUCTED."
'Tis a norrible tale I'm a-going to narrate;
It happened--vell, each vone can fill in the date!
It's a heartrending tale of three babbies so fine.
Whom to spifflicate promptly their foes did incline.
Ven they vos qvite infants they lost their mamma;
They vos left all alone in the vorld vith their pa.
But to vatch o'er his babbies vos always _his_ plan--
(_Chorus_)--
'Cos their daddy he vos sich a keerful old man!
He took those three kiddies all into his charge,
And kep them together so they shouldn't "go large."
Two hung to his coat-tails along the hard track.
And the third one, he clung to his neck pick-a-back.
The foes of those kiddies they longed for their bleed,
And they swore that to carry 'em _he_ shouldn't succeed,
But to save them poor babbies he hit on a plan--
(_Chorus_)--
'Cos their dadda he vos sich a artful old man!
Some hoped, from exposure, the kids would ketch cold,
And that croup or rheumatics would lay 'em in the mould;
But they seemed to survive every babbyish disease,
Vich their venomous enemies did not qvite please.
But, in course, sich hard lines did the kiddies no good;
They got vet in the storm, they got lost in the vood,
But their dad cried, "I'll yet save these kids if I can!"--
(_Chorus_)--
'Cos their feyther he vos sich a dogged old man!
Foes hoped he'd go out of his depth,--or his mind,--
Or, cutting his stick, leave his babbies behind,
Ven they came to the margin of a vide roaring stream.
And the kids, being frightened, began for to scream.
But he cries, cheery like, "Stash that hullabulloo!
_Keep your eye on your father, and HE'll pull you through!!_"--
Vich some thinks he _vill_ do--if any von can--
(Chorus)--
'Cos Sir VILLYUM he is sich a walliant old man!
* * * * *
LYRE AND LANCET.
(_A Story in Scenes._)
PART V.--CROSS-PURPOSES.
SCENE VI.--_A First-Class Compartment._
_Lady Maisie_ (_to herself_). Poets don't seem to have much
self-possession. He seems perfectly overcome by hearing my name like
that. If only he doesn't lose his head completely and say something
about my wretched letter!
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). I'd better tell 'em before they find out for
themselves. (_Aloud; desperately._) My lady, I--I feel I ought to
explain at once how I come to be going down to Wyvern like this.
[Lady MAISIE _only just suppresses a terrified protest_.
_Lady Cantire_ (_benignly amused_). My good Sir, there's not the
slightest necessity, I am perfectly aware of who you are, and everything
about you!
_Spurr._ (_incredulously_). But really I don't see _how_ your
ladyship----Why, I haven't said a _word_ that----
_Lady Cant._ (_with a solemn waggishness_). Celebrities who mean to
preserve their _incognito_ shouldn't allow their | 914.158499 |
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Richard Prairie and PG Distributed Proofreaders
DISCOURSES:
BIOLOGICAL & GEOLOGICAL
ESSAYS
BY
THOMAS H. HUXLEY
1894
PREFACE
The contents of the present volume, with three exceptions, are either
popular lectures, or addresses delivered to scientific bodies with which
I have been officially connected. I am not sure which gave me the more
trouble. For I have not been one of those fortunate persons who are able
to regard a popular lecture as a mere _hors d'oeuvre_, unworthy of being
ranked among the serious efforts of a philosopher; and who keep their
fame as scientific hierophants unsullied by attempts--at least of the
successful sort--to be understanded of the people.
On the contrary, I found that the task of putting the truths learned in
the field, the laboratory and the museum, into language which, without
bating a jot of scientific accuracy shall be generally intelligible,
taxed such scientific and literary faculty as I possessed to the
uttermost; indeed my experience has furnished me with no better
corrective of the tendency to scholastic pedantry which besets all those
who are absorbed in pursuits remote from the common ways of men, and
become habituated to think and speak in the technical dialect of their
own little world, as if there were no other.
If the popular lecture thus, as I believe, finds one moiety of its
justification in the self-discipline of the lecturer, it surely finds the
other half in its effect on the auditory. For though various sadly
comical experiences of the results of my own efforts have led me to
entertain a very moderate estimate of the purely intellectual value of
lectures; though I venture to doubt if more than one in ten of an average
audience carries away an accurate notion of what | 914.158667 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
_Grimm Library_
No. 15
THE THREE DAYS' TOURNAMENT
(_Appendix to No. 12, 'The Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac'_)
_The Grimm Library._
(_Crown 8vo. Net Prices._)
I. GEORGIAN FOLK-TALES. Translated by Marjory Wardrop. _Cr. 8vo, pp._
xii + 175. 5_s._
II., III., V. THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS. By Edwin Sidney Hartland, F.S.A.
3 vols. L1, 7_s._ 6_d._
Vol. I. THE SUPERNATURAL BIRTH. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxiv + 228 (_not
sold separately_).
Vol. II. THE LIFE-TOKEN. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ viii + 445. 12_s._ 6_d._
Vol. III. ANDROMEDA. MEDUSA. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xxxvii + 225. 7_s._
6_d._
IV., VI. THE VOYAGE OF BRAN, SON OF FEBAL. An Eighth-century Irish
Saga, now first edited and translated by Kuno Meyer.
Vol. I. With an Essay upon the Happy Otherworld in Irish Myth, by
Alfred Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xvii + 331. 10_s._ 6_d._
Vol. II. With an Essay on the Celtic Doctrine of Rebirth, by Alfred
Nutt. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 352. 10_s._ 6_d._
VII. THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN. Studies upon its Original Scope and
Significance. By Jessie L. Weston, translator of Wolfram von
Eschenbach's 'Parzival.' _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xiv + 111. 4_s._
VIII. THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE. Being a Collection of
Stories relating to the Hero Cuchullin, translated from the
Irish by various Scholars. Compiled and Edited, with
Introduction and Notes, by Eleanor Hull. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix
+ 316. 7_s._ 6_d._
IX., X. THE PRE- AND PROTO-HISTORIC FINNS, both Eastern and Western,
with the Magic Songs of the West Finns. By the Hon. John
Abercromby. I., _pp._ xxiv + 363. II., _pp._ xiii + 400. L1,
1_s._
XI. THE HOME OF THE EDDIC POEMS. With Especial Reference to the 'Helgi
Lays,' by Sophus Bugge, Professor in the University of
Christiania. Revised Edition, with a new Introduction
concerning Old Norse Mythology. Translated from the Norwegian
by William Henry Schofield, Instructor in Harvard University.
_Cr. 8vo, pp._ lxxix + 408. 12_s._ 6_d._
XII. THE LEGEND OF SIR LANCELOT DU LAC. Studies upon its Origin,
Development, and Position in the Arthurian Romantic Cycle. By
Jessie L. Weston. _Cr. 8vo, pp._ xii + 252. 7_s._ 6_d._
XIII. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. Its Sources and Analogues. By C. F.
Maynadier. _Pp._ xii + 222. 6_s._
XIV. SOHRAB AND RUSTEM. The Epic Theme of a Combat between Father and
Son. A Study of its Genesis and Use in Literature and Popular
Tradition. By Murray Anthony Potter, A.M. _Pp._ xii + 235.
6_s._
_All rights reserved_
THE
Three Days' Tournament
A Study in Romance and Folk-Lore
_Being an Appendix to the Author's 'Legend of Sir Lancelot'_
By
Jessie L. Weston
AUTHOR OF 'THE LEGEND OF SIR GAWAIN' ETC., ETC.
London
Published by David Nutt
At the Sign of the Phoenix
Long Acre
1902
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
PREFACE
The Study comprised in the following pages should, as the title
indicates, be regarded as an Appendix to the Studies on the Lancelot
Legend previously published in the Grimm Library Series. As will be
seen, they not only deal with an adventure ascribed to that hero, but
also provide additional arguments in support of the theory of romantic
evolution there set forth. Should the earlier volume ever attain to the
honour of a second edition, it will probably be found well to include
this Study in the form of an additional chapter; but serious students of
Arthurian romance are unfortunately not so large a body that the speedy
exhaustion of an edition of any work dealing with the subject can be
looked for, and, therefore, as the facts elucidated in the following
pages are of considerable interest and importance to all concerned in
the difficult task of investigating the sources of the Arthurian legend,
it has been thought well to publish them without delay in their present
form.
In the course of this Study I have, as opportunity afforded, expressed
opinions on certain points upon which Arthurian scholars are at issue.
Here in these few introductory words I should like, if possible, to make
clear my own position with regard to the question of Arthurian criticism
as a whole. I shall probably be deemed presumptuous when I say that, so
far, I very much doubt whether we have any one clearly ascertained and
established fact that will serve as a definite and solid basis for the
construction of a working hypothesis as to the origin and development of
this immense body of romance. We all of us have taken, and are taking,
far too much for granted. We have but very few thoroughly reliable
critical editions, based upon a comparative study of all the extant
manuscripts. Failing a more general existence of such critical editions,
it appears impossible to hope with any prospect of success to 'place'
the various romances.[1]
Further, it may be doubted if the true conditions of the problem, or
problems, involved have even yet been adequately realised. The Arthurian
cycle is not based, as is the Charlemagne cycle, upon a solid substratum
of fact, which though modified for literary purposes is yet more or less
capable of identification and rectification; such basis of historic fact
as exists is extremely small, and for critical purposes may practically
be restricted to certain definite borrowings from the early chronicles.
The great body of Arthurian romance took shape and form in the minds of
a people reminiscent of past, hopeful of future, glory, who interwove
with their dreams of the past, and their hopes for the future, the
current beliefs of the present. To thoroughly understand, and to be able
intelligently and helpfully to criticise the Arthurian Legend, it is
essential that we do not allow ourselves to be led astray by what we may
call the 'accidents' of the problem--the moulding into literary shape
under French influence--but rather fix our attention upon the
'essentials'--the radically Celtic and folk-lore character of the
material of which it is composed.
We need, as it were, to place ourselves _en rapport_ with the mind alike
of the conquered and the conquerors. It is not easy to shake ourselves
free from the traditions and methods of mere textual criticism and treat
a question, which is after all more or less a question of scholarship,
on a wider basis than such questions usually demand. Yet, unless I am
much mistaken, this adherence to traditional methods, and consequent
confusion between what is essential and what merely accidental, has
operated disastrously in retarding the progress of Arthurian criticism;
because we have failed to realise the true character of the material
involved, we have fallen into the error of criticising Arthurian romance
as if its beginnings synchronised more or less exactly with its
appearance in literary form. A more scientific method will, I believe,
before long force us to the conclusion that the majority of the stories
existed in a fully developed, coherent, and what we may fairly call a
romantic form for a considerable period before they found literary
shape. We shall also, probably, find that in their gradual development
they owed infinitely less to independent and individual imagination than
they did to borrowings from that inexhaustible stock of tales in which
all peoples of the world appear to have a common share.
Thus I believe that the first two lessons which the student of Arthurian
romance should take to heart are (_a_) the extreme paucity of any
definite critical result, (_b_) the extreme antiquity of much of the
material with which we are dealing.
But there is also a third point as yet insufficiently realised--the
historic factors of the problem. We hear a great deal of the undying
hatred which is supposed to have existed between the Britons and their
Saxon conquerors; the historical facts, such as they are, have been
worked for all they are worth in the interests of a particular school of
criticism; but so far attention has been but little directed to a series
of at least equally remarkable historic facts--the deliberate attempts
made to conciliate the conquered Britons by a dexterous political use of
their national beliefs and aspirations.
In 1894, when publishing my first essay in Arthurian criticism, the
translation of Wolfram von Eschenbach's _Parzival_, I drew attention to
the very curious Angevin allusions of that poem, and the definite
parallels to be traced between the incidents of the story and those
recorded in the genuine Angevin Chronicles. I then hazarded the
suggestion that many of the peculiarities of this version might be
accounted for by a desire on the part of the author to compliment the
most noted prince of that house by drawing a parallel between the
fortunes of Perceval and his mother, Herzeleide, and those of Henry of
Anjou and his mother, the Empress Maude. Subsequent study has only
confirmed the opinion then tentatively expressed; and I cannot but feel
strongly that the average method of criticism, which contents itself
merely with discussion of those portions of Wolfram's poem which
correspond to other versions of the _Perceval_ story, while it neglects
those sections (_i.e._ the Angevin allusions and the Grail 'Templars')
to which no parallel can be found elsewhere, is a method which entirely
defeats its own object, and one from which | 914.161792 |
2023-11-16 18:32:18.6489660 | 1,983 | 27 | POEMS***
E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Carol David, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS
BY
RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
1913
WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY
IRMA LE GALLIENNE
TO
IRMA
ALL THE WAY
Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time
Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:
Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,
And noble dreams that had to end at last:--
Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy
Full many a holy relic hath he torn,
Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,
Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.
All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,
Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:
Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,
When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath
Filling with light and incense the last shrine,
Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.
CONTENTS
THE LONELY DANCER
I
FLOS AEVORUM
"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
II
TO A BIRD AT DAWN
ALMA VENUS
"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
APRIL
MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
SHADOW
JUNE
GREEN SILENCE
SUMMER SONGS
TO A WILD BIRD
"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
AUGUST MOONLIGHT
TO A ROSE
INVITATION
SUMMER GOING
AUTUMN TREASURE
WINTER
THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
THE COUNTRY GODS
III
TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
SPRING'S PROMISES
"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
"SINGING GO I"
"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
RESURRECTION
"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
"THE DEAD AROSE"
"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
THE FRIEND
ADORATION
"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
IV
SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
V
A BALLAD OF WOMAN
AN EASTER HYMN
BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
MORALITY
VI
FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
VII
A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
A FACE IN A BOOK
TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
YOUNG LOVE
LOVERS
FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
LOVE IN SPAIN
THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
BLUE FLOWER
THE HEART UNSEEN
THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
A SONG OF SINGERS
THE END
THE LONELY DANCER
I had no heart to join the dance,
I danced it all so long ago--
Ah! light-winged music out of France,
Let other feet glide to and fro,
Weaving new patterns of romance
For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
But leave me thus where I may hear
The leafy rustle of the waltz,
The shell-like murmur in my ear,
The silken whisper fairy-false
Of unseen rainbows circling near,
And the glad shuddering of the walls.
Another dance the dancers spin,
A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
And other partners enter in
And dance within my lonely brain--
The swaying woodland shod in green,
The ghostly dancers of the rain;
The lonely dancers of the sea,
Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
The wizard dance of wind and tree,
The eddying dance of stream and star;
Yea, all these dancers tread for me
A measure mournful and bizarre:
An echo-dance where ear is eye,
And sound evokes the shapes of things,
Where out of silence and a sigh
The sad world like a picture springs,
As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
We see it in the sound of wings.
Those human feet upon the floor,
That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--
How sadly to an unknown shore
Each silver footfall hurryeth;
A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
On the fantastic wind of death.
Fire clasped to elemental fire,
'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
The butterfly in aery gyre,
On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
In dance of delicate desire,
No other than these boys and girls.
The same strange music everywhere,
The woven paces just the same,
Dancing from out the viewless air
Into the void from whence they came;
Ah! but they make a gallant flare
Against the dark, each little flame!
And what if all the meaning lies
Just in the music, not in those
Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
Holding in vain each other close;
Only the music never dies,
The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.
A woman dancing, or a world
Poised on one crystal foot afar,
In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
Like notes of the strange music are;
Small shape against another curled,
Or dancing dust that makes a star.
To him who plays the violin
All one it is who joins the reel,
Drops from the dance, or enters in;
So that the never-ending wheel
Cease not its mystic course to spin,
For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
I
FLOS AEVORUM
You must mean more than just this hour,
You perfect thing so subtly fair,
Simple and complex as a flower,
Wrought with such planetary care;
How patient the eternal power
That wove the marvel of your hair.
How long the sunlight and the sea
Wove and re-wove this rippling gold
To rhythms of eternity;
And many a flashing thing grew old,
Waiting this miracle to be;
And painted marvels manifold,
Still with his work unsatisfied,
Eager each new effect to try,
The solemn artist cast aside,
Rainbow and shell and butterfly,
As some stern blacksmith scatters wide
The sparks that from his anvil fly.
How many shells, whorl within whorl,
Litter the marges of the sphere
With wrack of unregarded pearl,
To shape that little thing your ear:
Creation, just to make one girl,
Hath travailed with exceeding fear.
The moonlight of forgotten seas
Dwells in your eyes, and on your tongue
The honey of a million bees,
And all the sorrows of all song:
You are the ending of all these,
The world grew old to make you young.
All time hath traveled to this rose;
To the strange making of this face
Came agonies of fires and snows;
And Death and April, nights and days
Unnumbered, unimagined throes,
Find in this flower their meeting place.
Strange artist, to my aching thought
Give answer: all the patient power
That to this perfect ending wrought,
Shall it mean nothing but an hour?
Say not that it is all for nought
Time brings Eternity a flower.
All the words in all the world
Cannot tell you how I love you,
All the little stars that shine
To make a silver crown above you;
"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
All the flowers cannot weave
A garland worthy of your hair,
Not a bird in the four winds
Can sing of you that is so fair.
Only the spheres can sing of you;
Some planet in celestial space,
Hallowed and lonely in the dawn,
Shall sing the poem of your face.
"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
I said--I care not if I can
But look into her eyes again,
But lay my hand within her hand
Just once again.
Though all the world be filled with snow
And fire and cataclysmal storm,
I'll cross it just to lay my head
Upon her bos | 914.669006 |
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GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVII. October, 1850. NO. 4.
Table of Contents
Fiction, Literature and Articles
The Slave of the Pacha
Music
Pedro de Padilh
Edda Murray
Thomas Johnson
Early English Poets—George Herbert
Teal and Teal Shooting
The Fine Arts
Review of New Books
Poetry, Music and Fashion
A Night at The Black Sign
Sonnets: Suggested by Passages in the Life of
Christopher Columbus
To a Friend—with a Bunch of Roses
Spring Lilies
The Earth
Alone—Alone!
The Name of Wife
Sonnet.—The Olive.
Sin No More
Wordsworth
Inspiration. To Shirley.
Sonnets, On Pictures in the Huntington Gallery
Thinking of Minna
The Maiden’s Lament for Her Shipwrecked Lover
The Years of Love
Ah, Do Not Speak So Coldly
Le Follet
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.
Painted by W. Brown and Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by J.
Brown]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXVII. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1850. NO. 4.
* * * * *
THE SLAVE OF THE PACHA.
A TALE OF ASIA MINOR.
FROM THE FRENCH OF SAINTINE.
I was botanizing lately in the woods of Luciennes, with one of my
friends, a distinguished Orientalist and renowned botanist, who had, a
few years since, traveled six thousand miles, and risked his life twenty
times, in order to obtain a handful of plants from the <DW72>s of the
Taurus or the plains of Asia Minor. After we had wandered for some time
through the woods, gathering here and there some dry grass and orchis,
merely to renew an acquaintance with them, we lounged toward the
handsome village of Gressets and the delightful valley of Beauregard,
directing our steps toward a breakfast, which we hoped to find a little
further on, when, beneath an alley of lofty poplars, on the left of the
meadows of the Butard, we saw two persons, a man and a woman, both
young, approaching us.
My companion made a gesture of surprise at the sight of them.
“Do you know those persons?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Of what class, genus and species are they?” I used the words merely in
their botanical sense.
“Analyze, observe and divine,” replied my illustrious traveler.
I determined then on applying to my individuals, not the system of
Linnæus, but that of Jussien, that of affinities and analogies. The
latter appeared to me to be more suitable and easier than the former.
The young man was dressed in a very simple and even negligent style,
wearing those high heeled shoes, three-quarter boots, which have
succeeded the half boots, (boots, since the introduction of comfort
among us, having steadily lessened,) and had not even straps to his
pantaloons. A pearl sack, shirt, and traveling cap with
a large visor, completed his costume.
Near him walked a young woman, of the middle height and finely formed,
but with such an air of indolence in her movements, flexibility of the
body, and jogging of the haunches, as proclaimed a southern origin or a
want of distinction. They advanced with their heads down, speaking
without looking up, and walking side by side without taking arms, but
from time to time one leant on the shoulder of the other, with a
movement full of affection.
It was not until we crossed them that I could see their figures; until
then I had been able to study only their costume and general outline.
The young man blushed on recognizing my companion, and saluted him with
a very humble air; I had scarcely time, however, to catch a single
pathognomic line of his face. The female was very handsome; the elegance
of her neck, the regularity of her features, gave her a certain air of
distinction, contradicted, however, by something provoking in her
appearance.
When they had passed on some distance, my friend said to me:
“Well, what judgment do you pass on our two persons?”
“Well,” replied I, positively, “the young man is your confectioner, who
is about to marry his head shop-girl;” but reading a sign of negation on
the countenance of my interrogator—“or a successful merchant’s clerk,
with a countess without prejudices.”
“You are wrong.”
I asked for a moment’s reflection, and, to render my work of observation
perfect, I looked after them.
They had reached, near the place where we were, the side of a spring,
called, in the country, the “Priest’s Fountain.” The young female had
already seated herself upon the grass, and drawing forth a napkin spread
it near her, whilst the young man drew a paté and some other provisions
carefully from his basket.
“Certainly,” I said to myself, “there are, evidently, in the face of
this beautiful person, traits both of the great lady and the grisette;
but, on thinking of her rolling fashion of walking, and especially
judging of her by the appearance of her companion, then stooping to
uncork a bottle, and whose unstrapped pantaloons, riding half way up his
leg, revealed his quarter boots, the grisette type prevailed in my
opinion.”
“The lady,” I replied, but with less assurance than at first, “is a
figurante at one of our theatres, or a female equestrian at the Olympic
circus.”
“There is some truth in what you say.”
“He is a lemonade seller.” I judged so from the practiced facility with
which he appeared to open the bottle.
“You are farther from the mark than ever,” said my companion.
“Well, then, let us talk about something else.”
Once at the Butard we thought no more of our two Parisian cockneys.
Whilst they were preparing our breakfast, and even whilst we were
breakfasting, my friend naturally recommenced speaking of his travels in
the Taurus and Anti-Taurus, in the Balkan, the Caucasus, on the banks of
the Euphrates, and then, to give me a respite from all his botanical and
geological descriptions, he related to me, piece by piece, without
appearing to attach the least importance to them, a story, which
interested me very much. He had collected the details of it (the scene
of which was laid not far from the shores of the Black Sea, between
Erzerum and Constantinople) from the lips of one of the principal actors
in it.
I endeavored to reduce it to writing when with him, not in the same
order, or disorder, as to events, but at least so far as regards their
exactness, and availing myself of the knowledge of persons and places
acquired by my traveler.
CHAPTER I.
Toward the middle of the month of July, in the year 1841, in the
pachalick of Shivas, in the vast gardens situated near the Red River, a
young girl, dressed in the Turkish costume, was walking slowly, with her
head bent down, followed by an old negress. At times she turned her head
rapidly, and when her eyes, through the massive maples and sycamores,
rested on the angle of a large building, with gilded lattices and
balconies of finely carved cedar, her complexion, usually pale, became
suddenly suffused, her small foot contracted against the ground, her
breast heaved, and she restrained with difficulty the sigh that
endeavored to escape.
Silent and pre-occupied she stopped, and with her finger designated a
plantain tree to the negress. The latter immediately entered an elegant
kiosk, a few paces distant, and returned, bearing the skin of a tiger,
which she placed at the foot of the tree. After the old negress had
passed and repassed several times from the skin to the kiosk, and from
the kiosk to the skin, the young girl seated herself, cross-legged, on
the latter, leaning against the plantain tree, on a cushion of black
velvet, holding carelessly in her left hand an ornamented pipe, with a
tube of Persian cherry, and in her right, in a small stand of filagreed
gold, shaped like an egg-cup, a slight porcelain cup, which the old
slave replenished from time to time with the fragrant Mocha.
Baïla was seventeen years old; her black and lustrous hair, parted over
her temples, resembled the raven’s wing; her eye-brows thin, and forming
a perfect arch, though of the same color as her hair, were, as well as
her long eye-lashes and the edge of the lids, covered with a preparation
of antimony, called _sourmah_. Still other colors had been employed to
heighten the lustre of her beauty; the carnation of her lips had
disappeared beneath a light touch of indigo; and, by way of contrary
effect, beneath her eyes, where the fine net work of her veins naturally
produced a light blue tint, the purple of the henna shone out. The
henna, a kind of vegetable carmine, much used in the east, also blushed
upon the nails of her hands and feet, and even upon her heels, which
peeped out, naked, from her small, beautiful sandals, embroidered with
gold and pearls.
Though thus tattooed, in the Asiatic fashion, Baïla was none the less
beautiful. Her costume consisted simply of a velvet caftan, muslin
pantaloons, embroidered with silver, and a cashmere girdle; but all the
knicknackeries of Oriental luxuriousness were displayed in her toilet.
The double row of sequins which swung on her head, the large golden
bracelets which covered her arms and graced her ankles, the chains, the
precious stones which shone on her hands and her corsage, and which
shook on the extremities of her long flowing hair and glittered on her
very pipe stem, graced in a singular manner her youthful charms.
The better to understand what kind of astonished admiration her
appearance might at this time produce, we should add that of the old
black slave, who, from her age as well as color, her short, thick
figure, her dull and heavy look, formed so striking a contrast with the
fresh beauty of Baïla, her fine and supple figure and her glance, still
lively and penetrating, notwithstanding the deep thought which then half
veiled it.
The better to lighten up this picture we must suspend over the heads of
these two females, so dissimilar, the beautiful blue sky of Asia, and
describe some incidents of the land, some singularities of the local
vegetation which surrounded them.
Some paces in advance of the plantain against which Baïla was reclining,
was a small circular basin of Cipolin marble, from which sprang a jet,
in the form of a sheaf, causing a delicious freshness to reign around. A
little farther on were two palm trees, which, springing up on either
hand and mingling their tops, presented the appearance of two columns,
forming an arcade of verdure. But before this entrance, judging from
appearances, the shadow even of a man should never appear. Baïla
belonged to a jealous master; her beauty, heightened by so much art and
coquetry, was to grow, blossom and flower for him alone.
From the foot of the palm trees parted a double hedge of purple beeches,
of silvery willows, of nopals of strange forms with saffron tints, and
of various shrubs with their many flowers and fruits. The
dog-shades, with their stars of violet velvet, the night-shades,
with their scarlet clusters involved amidst the mimosas, out of which
sprang the golden features of the cassia. Mingling their branches with
the lower branches of the plantain, the mangroves hung like garlands
above the head of Baïla, their large leaves hollowed into cups, and so
strangely bordered with flowers and fruits of orange color mixed with
crimson.
Farther back, behind the plantain, on a reddish, sandy spot, grew large
numbers of the ice plant, presenting to the deceived vision the
appearance of plants caught by the frost during the winter in our
northern climes, and the glass work covered the ground with crystalized
plates.
The picture was soon to become animated.
The magnificent eastern sun, sinking toward the horizon and throwing his
last flames beneath the verdant pediment of the palm trees, caused the
earth to sparkle as if covered with diamonds. His rays, broken by the
glittering sheaf in the basin, spread across those masses of flower and
foliage, rainbows, superb in golden and violet tints; they flashed from
the plantain to the variegated cups of the mangrove, and lighted up the
whole form of Baïla, from her brow, crowned with sequins, to her
spangled slippers; they even mingled with the smoke of her narghila, and
with the vapor of the Mocha, which arose like a perfume from the
porcelain cup, and glistening on the skin of the tiger on which she was
seated, appeared to roll about in small vague circles.
When the night breeze, rising, gently agitated the flowers and the
herbage, mingling in soft harmony all those zones of light and shade,
was it not a subject of regret that a human eye could not gaze upon the
beautiful odalisk, in the midst of those magical illusions, shining in
the triple splendor of her jewels, her youth, and her beauty?
And, yet, a man was to enjoy this bewitching scene, and that man not her
master.
Mariam, the old negress, was asleep at the foot of the tree, holding in
her hands the small mortar in which she had bruised the coffee to supply
the demands of her mistress. Baïla, half dozing, was holding out,
mechanically, toward her the china cup, when a man suddenly appeared
between the two palm trees.
At the sight of him the odalisk at first thought she was dreaming; then,
restrained by a feeling, perhaps of alarm, perhaps of curiosity,
remained quiet, immovable, without speaking—only the cup which she held
fell from her hands.
The stranger, who was a young Frank, having first made a motion as of
flight, became emboldened and approached her, with a heightened color
and trembling lips, arising from a too lively emotion or from an excess
of prudence on account of the negress. He merely inquired from Baïla the
way to the city.
He expressed himself very well in Turkish; she did not appear, however,
to understand him. What! a stranger, eluding the vigilance of guards,
had crossed the double circuit of the gardens which enclosed her—had
braved death—merely to ask his way!
Restored to a feeling of her situation, she rose, with an offended air,
drew from her girdle a small dagger, ornamented with diamonds—a
plaything, rather than offensive or defensive arms—and made an
imperious sign to him to retire.
The young man recoiled before the beautiful slave, with an appearance of
contriteness and embarrassment, but without ceasing to regard her
earnestly. He appeared to be unable to remove his eyes from the picture
which had riveted his attention; still, however, undecided and muttering
confused words, he was crossing the porch of the palm trees, when the
negress suddenly awoke.
At the sight of the shadow of a man, which reached into the enclosure,
she sprang up, uttering a cry of alarm.
“What are you doing?” said Baïla, placing herself before her, doubtless
from a feeling of pity toward the imprudent youth.
“But that shadow—do you not see it? It is that of a man!”
“Of a bostangy! Who else would have dared to enter here?”
“But the bostangis should be more careful. Has not our master prohibited
them from entering the gardens when we are here—when you are here? A
man has entered, I tell you; I saw his shadow.”
“Of what shadow are you speaking? Stop—look!” and Baïla stopped before
the negress.
“I saw it,” repeated the negress.
“The shadow of a tree—yes, that is possible.”
“Trees do not run, and it appeared to run.”
“You have been dreaming, my good Mariam,” and Baïla maintained so well
that no one had been there, that she had seen nothing, but in a dream,
that Mariam submissively feigned to believe her, and both prepared to
return to the house.
They were half way there when, on turning an alley, the negress uttered
a new cry, pointing to an individual who was escaping at full speed.
“Am I dreaming this time?” she said, and she was about to call for
assistance, when the odalisk, placing her hand on her mouth, ordered her
to keep silence. Mariam, who was devoted to her mistress, obeyed her.
Having returned to her apartment, Baïla reflected on her adventure.
Adventures are rare in a harem life. She was intriguing there
desperately, and would have been disquieted had she not had other cares.
These, in their turn, occupied her thoughts.
In thinking of them she became fretful, angry; she crushed the rich
stuffs which lay beside her. She even wept, but rather from passion than
grief.
Since the preceding evening Baïla was doubtful of her beauty; since then
she cursed the existence to which she had been condemned, and regretted
the days of her early youth. To remove from her mind the incessant idea
which tormented her, she essayed to remount to the past. She found
there, if not consolation, at least distraction.
The past of a young girl of seventeen is frequently but the paradise of
memory—a radiant Eden, peopled with remembrances of her family, and
sometimes of a first love. It was not so with Baïla; her family were
indifferent to her, and her first love had been imposed upon her.
She was born in Mingrelia, of a drunken father and an avaricious mother.
They, finding her face handsome and her body well proportioned, had
destined her, almost from the cradle, for the pleasures of the Sultan.
Her education had been suitable for her destined state. She was taught
to dance and sing, and to accompany herself in recitative; nothing more
had ever been thought of.
Although her parents professed externally one of the forms of the
Christian religion, had they sought to develop the slightest religious
instinct in her? What was the use of it? The morality of Christ could
but give her false ideas and be entirely useless to her in the brilliant
career which was to open before her.
But if the beautiful child only awakened toward herself feelings of
speculation, if she was, in the eyes of her parents, but a piece of
precious merchandise, she, at least, profited in advance by the
privileges it conferred upon her.
Whilst her brothers were unceasingly occupied with the culture of their
vineyard, with the gathering of grapes and honey—whilst her sister, as
beautiful as herself, but slightly lame, was condemned to assist her
mother in household cares, Baïla led a life of indolence. Could they
allow her white and delicate hands to come in contact with dirty
furnaces, or her well-turned nails to be bruised against the heavy
earthen ware, or her handsome feet to be deformed by the stones in the
roads? No—it would have been at the risk of injuring her, and of
deteriorating from her value.
Thus, under the paternal roof, where all the rest were struggling and
laboring, she alone, extended in the shade, having no other occupation
than singing and dancing, passed her life in indolence, or in regarding
with artless admiration the increase and development of her beauty, the
wealth of her family.
The common table was covered with coarse food for the rest; for her, and
her alone, are reserved the most delicate products of fishing and
hunting. Her brothers collected carefully for her those delicate bulbs,
which, reduced to flour, make that marvelous _salep_, at once an
internal cosmetic and a nutritive substance, which the women of the East
use to aid them in the development of their figures, and to give to
their skin a coloring of rosy white.
If they were going to any place, Baïla traveled on the back of a mule,
in a dress of silk, whilst the rest of the family, clothed in coarse
wool or serge, escorted her on foot, watching over her with constant
solicitude. Truly, a stranger meeting them by the way, and witnessing
all these cares and demonstrations, would have taken her for an idolized
daughter, guarded against destiny by the most tender affections.
If her father, however, approached her, it was to pinch her nose, the
nostrils of which were a little too wide; and her mother, as an habitual
caress, contented herself with pulling her eyebrows near the temples, so
as to give the almond form to her eyes.
Sometimes the husband, seized suddenly with enthusiasm on seeing Baïla
exhibit her grace when dancing by starlight, would say in a low voice to
his wife—
“By Saint Demetrius, I believe the child will some day bring us enough
to furnish a cellar with rack and tafita enough to last forever;” and a
laugh of happiness would light up his dull face.
“If we should be so unfortunate as to lose her before her time, it will
be ten thousand good piastres of which the Good God will rob us,”
replied his worthy companion; and she shed a tear of alarm.
Baïla was thirteen years old, when a barque ascending the Incour,
stopped at a short distance from the hut of the Mingrelian. A man
wearing a turban descended from it. He was a purveyor for the harem,
then on an expedition.
“Do you sell honey?” he said to the master of the hut, whom he found at
the door.
“I gather white and red.”
“Can I taste it?”
The honest Mingrelian brought him a sample of both kinds.
“I would see another kind,” said the man with a turban, with a
significant glance.
“Enter then,” replied the father of Baïla, and whilst the stranger was
passing the threshold, hastening to the room occupied by his wife, he
said to her—
“Be quick; the nuptials of thy daughter are preparing; the merchant is
here; he is below; arrange her and come down with her.”
At the sight of Baïla, the merchant could not restrain an exclamation of
admiration; then almost immediately, with a commercial manœuvre he threw
up her head, preparing to examine her with more attention.
During this inspection the young girl blushed deeply; the father and
mother seeking to read the secret thoughts of the merchant in his eyes
and face, kept a profound silence, beseeching lowly their patron saint
for success in the matter.
The man in the turban changing his course, and as if he had come merely
to lay in a supply of honey, took up one of the two samples deposited on
a table, and taking up some with his finger tasted it.
“This honey is white and handsome enough, but it wants flavor. How much
is the big measure?”
“Twelve thousand,” the mother hastened to reply.
“Twelve thousand paras?”
“Twelve thousand piastres.”
The merchant shrugged his shoulders—“You will keep it for your own use
then, my good woman.” He then went toward the door.
The woman made a sign to her husband not to stop him. In fact, as she
had foreseen, he stopped before reaching the door, and turning toward
the master of the house said—
“Brother in God, I have rested beneath your roof. In return for your
hospitality, I give you some good advice. You have children?”
“Two daughters.”
“Well, have an eye to them, for the Lesghis have recently descended from
their mountains and carried off large numbers in Guriel and Georgia.”
“Let them come,” replied the Mingrelian, “I have three sons and four
guns.”
The merchant then made a movement of departure, but having cast a rapid
glance on Baïla, he raised his right hand with his five fingers
extended.
Baïla, red with shame, cast on him a look of contempt and took the
attitude of an insulted queen. Thanks to that look and attitude, in
which he doubtless found some flavor, the merchant raised a finger of
his left hand.
The Mingrelian showed his ten fingers, not however without an angry
glance from his wife, who muttered, “it is too soon.”
“Honey is dear in your district,” said the man with the turban; “I
foresee I shall have to buy it from the Lesghis against my will.
Farewell, and may Allah keep you.”
“Can we not on the one hand sell any thing, nor on the other buy any
thing without your turning your back so quickly on us on that account?”
replied the father. “Repose still, the oar has doubtless wearied your
hands.”
“That is why they are so difficult to open,” growled the housewife.
“Since you permit it,” said the merchant, “I will remain here until the
sun has lost a little of its power.”
“I cannot offer you any thing but the shade. I know that the children of
the prophet avoid food beneath the roof of a Christian; but instead of
that you can indulge in a permitted pleasure; as my daughter is still
here, she can sing for you.”
Baïla sang, accompanying herself with an instrument. The man with the
turban, seated on his heels, his arms crossed on his knees, his head
resting on his arms, listened with a profound and immovable attention,
and when she finished, in testimony of his satisfaction, he contented
himself with silently raising one finger more.
Baïla, to the sound of ivory castanets and small silver bells, then
performed an expressive dance, imitating the voluptuous movements of the
bayaderes of India and the Eastern almas, but with more reserve however.
Forced this time to look at her, the man with the turban was unable to
disguise the impression made upon him by so much grace, suppleness and
agility, and, in an irrestrainable outbreak of enthusiasm, he raised two
fingers at once. They were near to a conclusion.
In this mysterious bargaining, this language of the fingers, these mutes
signs were used to enable the parties to swear, if necessary, before the
Russian authorities, by Christ or Mahommed, that there had | 914.694086 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Martin Mayer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcribers notes:
1. Italics rendered with underline e.g. _italics_.
2. Small Caps rendered with all caps e.g. SMALL CAPS.
3. Ligatures rendered with [ ] e.g. [OE]dipus.
[Illustration: "THE CONNOISSEURS."
ENGRAVED BY PERMISSION OF HENRY GRAVES & CO., LONDON. AFTER THE
PAINTING BY SIR EDWIN LANDSEER. (SEE PAGE 814.)]
ST. NICHOLAS.
VOL. XIII. SEPTEMBER, 1886. NO. 11.
[Copyright, 1886, by THE CENTURY CO.]
STORIES OF ART AND ARTISTS: ENGLISH PAINTERS.
BY CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT.
When Henry VIII. came to the throne of England, he was a magnificent
prince. He loved pleasure and pomp and invited many foreign artists to
his court. After a time, however, he became indifferent to art, and it
is difficult to say whether he lessened or added to the art-treasures of
England.
The long reign of Queen Elizabeth--forty-seven years--afforded great
opportunity for the encouragement of art. But most of the painters whom
she employed were foreigners.
King Charles I. was a true lover of art. Rubens and Vandyck were his
principal painters, and Inigo Jones his architect; the choice of such
artists proves the excellence of his artistic taste and judgment. He
employed many other foreign artists, of whom it need only be said that
the English artists profited much by their intercourse with them, as
well as by the study of foreign pictures which the King purchased.
In fact, before the time of William Hogarth, portraits had been the only
pictures of any importance which were painted by English artists, and no
one painter had become very eminent. No native master had originated a
manner of painting which he could claim as his own.
Hogarth was born near Ludgate Hill, London, in 1697.
In 1734, he produced some works which immediately made him famous. He
had originated a manner of his own; he had neither attempted to
illustrate the stories of Greek Mythology, nor to invent allegories, as
so many painters had done before him; he simply gave form to the nature
that was all about him, and painted just what he could see in London
every day. His pictures of this sort came to be almost numberless, and
no rank in society, no phase of life, escaped the truthful
representation of his brush.
He was a teacher as well as an artist, for his pictures dealt with
familiar scenes and subjects and presented the lessons of the follies of
his day with more effect upon the mass of the people than any writer
could produce with his pen, or any preacher by his sermons.
Hogarth died at his house in Leicester Fields, on October 26, 1764.
His success aroused a strong faith and a new interest in the native art
of England, which showed their results in the establishment of the Royal
Academy of Arts. A little more than four years after Hogarth's death,
this Academy was founded by King George III. The original members of the
Academy numbered thirty-four, and among them was
JOSHUA REYNOLDS,
who afterward became its first president.
His father, Samuel Reynolds, was the rector of a grammar school at
Plympton, in Devonshire, and in that little hamlet, on July 16, 1723,
was born Joshua, the seventh of eleven children.
When Joshua was but a mere child, his father was displeased to find him
devoted to drawing; on a sketch which the boy had made, his father
wrote: "This is drawn by Joshua in school, out of pure idleness." The
child found the "Jesuit's Treatise on Perspective," and studied it with
such intelligence that before he was eight years old he made a sketch of
the school and its cloister which was so accurate that his astonished
father exclaimed, "Now this justifies the author of the 'Perspective'
when he says that, by observing the laws laid down in his book | 914.734578 |
2023-11-16 18:32:19.0512920 | 2,952 | 26 |
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)
[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-destroying
concussions made by the breaking of the cable during rush hours morning
and evening.
“What you need,” said this gifted scientist to me, “is absolute rest and
quiet. If you do not pack up and take to the woods within three days
from the receipt of this notice, I will not answer for the consequences.
Your brain is slowly but surely giving way. Your batteries are becoming
exhausted and must be renewed if measurable currents are to be expected.
I recommend new cells, rather than recharging from a dynamo. Get busy
now, and let me see you no more until September first.”
Face to face with my death warrant, as it were, I unhesitatingly obeyed.
Fortunately, my grandmother had left me a small log cabin in a clearing,
this being her ancestral domicile and the only piece of real estate she
possessed at the time of her long-delayed demise some months back.
Without waiting to inspect it, I hurried to my new home, accompanied
only by a few books on Natural History—which, as I afterward discovered,
were by ignorant and untrustworthy writers, seeking to prey upon the
credulity of the uninstructed public,—and Tom-Tom, my Cat.
I had not intended to take Tom-Tom, but his fine animal instinct warned
him of my impending departure, and he sat upon my bookcase and wailed
piteously all through my packing. My foolish heart has always been
strangely tender toward the lower animals, and I hastened to reassure
Tom-Tom. After a little, I made him understand that wherever I went he
should go also, and he frisked about my apartment like a wild thing at
play, waving his tail madly in the exuberance of his joy.
Among the ignorant, the waving of a tail by any member of the Cat family
is taken to mean anger. According to my own observations, it may also
indicate joy. Darwin has distinguished several canine emotions which are
distinctively expressed in the bark. Correlatively, I have tabulated
eight emotions expressed by the _caudalis appendagis felinis_, according
to the method of waving it—down, up, right, left, twice to the right,
once to the left, then up, and so on. These discoveries I reserve for a
future article, as I began to tell about Little Upsidaisi.
When I reached my home in the wilderness, it was nearly nightfall. I had
only time to unpack my books, place them upon a rough shelf I hastily
constructed, draw out the rude table which happened to be in a corner of
my cabin, and place upon it my observation ledger, my pocket note-book,
and my red and maltese inks.
Tom-Tom watched my proceedings with great interest, and after I had
built my camp-fire, just outside the cabin door, we ate our frugal meal
of bologna, wienerwursts, pretzels, and canned salmon, relying upon the
cracker-box for bread, which Tom-Tom did not seem to care for. I was too
tired to make either bread or coffee, but promised myself both for
breakfast the following morning.
Before retiring, I made a pilgrimage to the beach and secured nearly a
peck of fine sand. I scattered this all about my cabin, that in the
morning I might see what visitors had left their cards, so to speak,
upon this tell-tale medium of communication.
My first night in the clearing was uneventful. The unusual quiet kept me
awake, and I thought that if someone would only pound a tin pan under my
window, I could soon lose consciousness. The Cat purred methodically in
the hollow of my arm, but even with the noise of my Tom-Tom in my ears,
it was four o’clock, according to my jewelled repeater, before I finally
got to sleep.
When I awoke, it was broad day, and after dressing hurriedly, I ran out
to look at the sand, which the Cat had not disturbed, being sound asleep
still. Poor Tom-Tom! Perhaps he, too, found a cabin in the wilderness an
unusual resting place.
Much to my delight, though hardly to my surprise, the sand was covered
with a fine tracery, almost like lace-work. The prints of tiny toes were
to be discovered here and there, and now and then a broad sweep,
evidently made by a tail.
I would have thought it the work of fairies, dancing in the moonlight,
had I not dedicated my life to Science. As it was, I surmised almost
instantly that it was the Field Mouse—the common species, known as
_rodentia feminis scarus_, and reference to my books proved me right.
By measuring the prints, according to the metric system, with delicate
instruments I had brought for the purpose, I soon discovered that these
tracks were all made by the same individual. The Bertillon method has
its uses, but unfortunately I was not sufficiently up in my calling, as
yet, to reconstruct the entire animal from a track. I have since done
it, but I could not then.
Tom-Tom came out into the sunlight, waving his glorious, plumed tail,
yawning, and loudly demanding food. I called him to me, using the old,
familiar Cat-call which I have always employed with the species, and the
faithful pet made a great bound toward me. Suddenly he stopped, as if
caught on a foul half-way to the grand stand, and began to sniff
angrily. His back arched, his tail enlarged, and began to wave in a
circle. Great agitation possessed Tom-Tom, and he, too, was scrutinising
the sand.
Wondering at his fine instinct, I hastened to his side, and, thereupon,
my pet unmistakably hissed. It required a magnifying-glass and some
reconstruction of line before I could make out what had so disturbed
him, but at last I discovered that a rude picture of a Cat had been
drawn in the sand, evidently by a tail tipped with malice, immediately
in front of my cabin door!
Truth compels me to state that the hideous caricature was not unlike
Tom-Tom in its essential lines. No wonder he was angry! Before I could
get a photograph of the spot, however, Tom-Tom had clawed it out of
existence. Nothing remained but to soothe his ruffled feelings, which I
did with a fresh Fish newly caught from the lake.
During the day, I meditated upon my nocturnal visitor. Evidently he had
drawn the Cat in the sand as a warning to others of his kind, as some
specimens of the genus _homo_ mark gate-posts. That night I made the
sand smooth before retiring, and in the morning I looked anxiously for
further messages, but there was nothing there. A charm had evidently
been set against my cabin door.
I began to consider getting rid of Tom-Tom, feeling sure that the Mice
would know it if I did so, but after long study, I concluded that it was
better to keep my faithful companion than to wait in loneliness for
problematical visitors.
The health-giving weeks passed by, and I gained in strength each day.
When I went there, I was so weak that I could not have spanked a baby,
but I soon felt equal to discharging a cook.
Frequently I went far away from the cabin, in the search for food and
firewood, leaving Tom-Tom at home to keep house. The intelligent animal
missed me greatly, but seldom offered to go along, his padded feet not
being suited to the long overland journeys. I made him some chamois-skin
boots out of some of the Natural History Shams I found in print, and,
for a few times, he gallantly accompanied me, but it soon became evident
that he preferred to stay at home and bear his loneliness, rather than
to face dangers that he knew not of.
When I returned from my hunting trips with a string of Fish, a | 915.071332 |
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CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
[Illustration: "My only kingdom is here... in this dear woman's
arms. Walk with me, Ailsa... as my queen _and_ my wife."]
The International Adventure Library
Three Owls Edition
CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
Detective Stories
by
T. P. Hanshew
Author of "Cleek the Master Detective",
"Cleek's Government Cases" etc.
W. R. Caldwell & Co.
New York
Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian.
Cleek of Scotland Yard
_PROLOGUE_
The Affair of the Man Who Vanished
Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent at Scotland Yard, flung aside
the paper he was reading and wheeled round in his revolving
desk-chair, all alert on the instant, like a terrier that scents a
rat.
He knew well what the coming of the footsteps toward his private
office portended; his messenger was returning at last.
Good! Now he would get at the facts of the matter, and be relieved
from the sneers of carping critics and the pin pricks of overzealous
reporters, who seemed to think that the Yard was to blame, and all
the forces connected with it to be screamed at as incompetents if
every evildoer in London was not instantly brought to book and his
craftiest secrets promptly revealed.
Gad! Let them take on his job, then, if they thought the thing so
easy! Let them have a go at this business of stopping at one's post
until two o'clock in the morning trying to patch up the jumbled
fragments of a puzzle of this sort, if they regarded it as such
child's play--finding an assassin whom nobody had seen and who struck
with a method which neither medical science nor legal acumen could
trace or name. _Then_, by James....
The door opened and closed, and Detective Sergeant Petrie stepped
into the room, removing his hat and standing at attention.
"Well?" rapped out the superintendent, in the sharp staccato of
nervous impatience. "Speak up! It was a false alarm, was it not?"
"No, sir. It's even worse than reported. Quicker and sharper than
any of the others. He's gone, sir."
"Gone? Good God! you don't mean _dead_?"
"Yes, sir. Dead as Julius Caesar. Total collapse about twenty minutes
after my arrival and went off like that"--snapping his fingers and
giving his hand an outward fling. "Same way as the others, only,
as I say, quicker, sir; and with no more trace of what caused it
than the doctors were able to discover in the beginning. That makes
five in the same mysterious way, Superintendent, and not a ghost
of a clue yet. The papers will be ringing with it to-morrow."
"Ringing with it? Can they 'ring' any more than they are doing
already?" Narkom threw up both arms and laughed the thin, mirthless
laughter of utter despair. "Can they say anything worse than they
have said? Blame any more unreasonably than they have blamed? It
is small solace for the overburdened taxpayer to reflect that he
may be done to death at any hour of the night, and that the heads
of the institution he has so long and so consistently supported
are capable of giving his stricken family nothing more in return
than the "Dear me! dear me!" of utter bewilderment; and to prove
anew that the efficiency of our boasted police-detective system
may be classed under the head of "Brilliant Fiction." That sort
of thing, day after day--as if I had done nothing but pile up
failures of this kind since I came into office. No heed of the
past six years' brilliant success. No thought for the manner in which
the police departments of other countries were made to sit up and
to marvel at our methods. Two months' failure and _that_ doesn't
count! By the Lord Harry! I'd give my head to make those newspaper
fellows eat their words--gad, yes!"
"Why don't you, then, sir?" Petrie dropped his voice a tone or
two and looked round over the angle of his shoulder as he spoke;
then, recollecting the time and the improbability of anybody being
within earshot, took heart of grace and spoke up bolder. "There's
no use blinking the fact, Mr. Narkom; it was none of us--none of
the regular force, I mean--that made the record of those years what
it was. That chap Cleek was the man that did it, sir. You know
that as well as I. I don't know whether you've fallen out with
him or not; or if he's off on some secret mission that keeps him
from handling Yard matters these days. But if he isn't, take my
advice, sir, and put him on this case at once."
"Don't talk such rot!" flung out Narkom, impatiently. "Do you think
I'd have waited until now to do it if it could be done? Put him on
the case, indeed! How the devil am I to do it when I don't know
where on earth to find him? He cleared out directly after that
Panther's Paw case six months ago. Gave up his lodgings, sacked
his housekeeper, laid off his assistant, Dollops, and went the
Lord knows where and why."
"My hat! Then that's the reason we never hear any more of him in Yard
matters, is it? I wondered! Disappeared, eh? Well, well! You don't
think he can have gone back to his old lay--back to the wrong 'uns
and his old 'Vanishing Cracksman's' tricks, do you, sir?"
"No, I don't. No backslider about that chap, by James! He's not built
that way. Last time I saw him he was out shopping with Miss Ailsa
Lorne--the girl who redeemed him--and judging from their manner
toward each other, I rather fancied--well, never mind! That's got
nothing to do with you. Besides, I feel sure that if they had, Mrs.
Narkom and I would have been invited. All he said was that he was
going to take a holiday. He didn't say why, and he didn't say where.
I wish to heaven I'd asked him. I could have kicked myself for not
having done so when that she-devil of a Frenchwoman managed to slip
the leash and get off scot free."
"Mean that party we nabbed in the house at Roehampton along with
the Mauravanian baron who got up that Silver Snare fake, don't you,
sir? Margot, the Queen of the Apaches. Or, at least, that's who you
declared she was, I recollect."
"And that's who I still declare she was!" rapped in Narkom, testily,
"and what I'll continue to say while there's a breath left in me.
I never actually saw the woman until that night, it is true, but
Cleek told me she was Margot; and who should know better than
he, when he was once her pal and partner? But it's one of the
infernal drawbacks of British justice that a crook's word's as good
as an officer's if it's not refuted by actual proof. The woman
brought a dozen witnesses to prove that she was a respectable
Austrian lady on a visit to her son in England; that the motor in
which she was riding broke down before that Roehampton house about
an hour before our descent upon it, and that she had merely been
invited to step in and wait while the repairs were being attended
to by her chauffeur. Of course such a chauffeur was forthcoming
when she was brought up before the magistrate; and a garage-keeper
was produced to back up his statement; so that when the Mauravanian
prisoner 'confessed' from the dock that what the lady said was
true, that settled it. _I_ couldn't swear to her identity, and
Cleek, who could, was gone--the Lord knows where; upon which the
magistrate admitted the woman to bail and delivered her over to the
custody of her solicitors pending my efforts to get somebody
over from Paris to identify her. And no sooner is the vixen set at
large than--presto!--away she goes, bag and baggage, out of the
country, and not a man in England has seen hide nor hair of her
since. Gad! if I could but have got word to Cleek at that time--just
to put him on his guard against her. But I couldn't. I've no more
idea than a child where the man went--not one."
"It's pretty safe odds to lay one's head against a brass farthing as
to where the woman went, though, I reckon," said Petrie, stroking
his chin. "Bunked it back to Paris, I expect, sir, and made for her
hole like any other fox. I hear them French 'tecs are as keen to get
hold of her as we were, but she slips 'em like an eel. Can't lay
hands on her, and couldn't swear to her identity if they did. Not one
in a hundred of 'em's ever seen her to be sure of her, I'm told."
"No, not one. Even Cleek himself knows nothing of who and what she
really is. He confessed that to me. Their knowledge of each other
began when they threw in their lot together for the first time, and
ceased when they parted. Yes, I suppose she did go back to Paris,
Petrie--it would be her safest place; and there'd be rich pickings
there for her and her crew just now. The city is _en fete_, you know."
"Yes, sir. King Ulric of Mauravania is there as the guest of the
Republic. Funny time for a king to go visiting another nation, sir,
isn't it, when there's a revolution threatening in his own? Dunno
much about the ways of kings, Superintendent, but if there was a
row coming up in _my_ house, you can bet all you're worth I'd be
mighty sure to stop at home."
"Diplomacy, Petrie, diplomacy! he may be safer where he is. Rumours
are afloat that Prince What's-his-name, son and heir of the late
Queen Karma, is not only still living, but has, during the present
year, secretly visited Mauravania in person. I see by the papers
that that ripping old royalist, Count Irma, is implicated in the
revolutionary movement and that, by the king's orders, he has been
arrested and imprisoned in the Fort of Sulberga on a charge of
sedition. Grand old johnny, that--I hope no harm comes to him. He
was in England not so long ago. Came to consult Cleek about some
business regarding a lost pearl, and I took no end of a fancy to
him. Hope he pulls out all right; but if he doesn't--oh, well, we
can't bother over other people's troubles--we've got enough of
our own just now with these mysterious murders going on, and the
newspapers hammering the Yard day in and day out. Gad! how I wish
I knew how to get hold of Cleek--how I wish I did!"
"Can't you find somebody to put you on the lay, sir? some friend of
his--somebody that's seen him, or maybe heard from him since you
have?"
"Oh, don't talk rubbish!" snapped Narkom, with a short, derisive
laugh. "Friends, indeed! What friends has he outside of myself? Who
knows him any better than I know him--and what do I know of him, at
that? Nothing--not where he comes from; not what his real name may
be; not a living thing but that he chooses to call himself Hamilton
Cleek and to fight in the interest of the law as strenuously as he
once fought against it. And where will I find a man who has'seen'
him, as you suggest--or would know if he had seen him--when he has
that amazing birth gift to fall back upon? _You_ never saw his
real face--never in all your life. _I_ never saw it but twice, and
even I--why, he might pass me in the street a dozen times a day and
I'd never know him if I looked straight into his eyes. He'd come
like a shot if he knew I wanted him--gad, yes! But he doesn't; and
there you are."
Imagination was never one of Petrie's strong points. His mind moved
always along well-prepared grooves to time-honoured ends. It found
one of those grooves and moved along it now.
"Why don't you advertise for him, then?" he suggested. "Put a
Personal in the morning papers, sir. Chap like that's sure to read
the news every day; and it's bound to come to his notice sooner
or later. Or if it doesn't, why, people will get to knowing that the
Yard's lost him and get to talking about it and maybe he'll learn
of it that way."
Narkom looked at him. The suggestion was so bald, so painfully
ordinary and commonplace, that, heretofore, it had never occurred to
him. To associate Cleek's name with the banalities of the everyday
Agony Column; to connect _him_ with the appeals of the scullery
and the methods of the raw amateur! The very outrageousness | 915.135927 |
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Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & Marc D'Hooghe
at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by Internet Archive.)
VOLTAIRE'S ROMANCES
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
_A NEW EDITION_,
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.
[Illustration: M. de VOLTAIRE.]
I choose that a story should be founded on probability, and not
always resemble a dream. I desire to find nothing in it trivial or
extravagant; and I desire above all, that under the appearance of
fable there may appear some latent truth, obvious to the discerning
eye, though it escape the observation of the vulgar.--_Voltaire._
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY PETER ECKLER,
35 FULTON STREET.
1889.
[Illustration: Ancient writing implements, Pompeii.]
PUBLISHER'S PREFACE
Voltaire wrote what the people thought, and consequently his writings
were universally read. He wittily ridiculed established abuses, and
keenly satirized venerable absurdities. For this he was consigned to the
Bastile, and this distinction served to increase his popularity and
extend his influence. He was thus enabled to cope successfully with the
papal hierarchy, and laugh at the murmurs of the Vatican. The struggle
commenced in his youth, and continued till his death. It was a struggle
of light against darkness--of freedom against tyranny; and it ended in
the triumph of truth over error and of toleration over bigotry.
Educated by the Jesuits, he early learned their methods, and his great
ability enabled him to circumvent their wiles. The ceremonious
presentation of his tragedy of _Mahomet_[1] to Pope Benedict XIV., is an
example of his daring audacity;--his success with the "head of the
church" shows his intellectual superiority--whilst the gracious reply of
"his Holiness" fitly illustrates the pontiff's vanity. From priest to
bishop, from cardinal to pope, all felt his intellectual power and all
dreaded his merciless satire.
[Illustration: Voltaire at seventy.]
He was famous as poet, dramatist, historian, and philosopher. An
experienced courtier and polished writer, he gracefully and politely
conquered his clerical opponents, and with courteous irony overthrew his
literary critics. From his demeanor you could not judge of his thoughts
or intentions, and while listening to his compliments, you instinctively
dreaded his sarcasms. But venture to approach this grand seigneur, this
keen man of the world, this intellectual giant, and plead in favor of
human justice--appeal to his magnanimity and love of toleration--and you
then had no cause to question his earnestness, no reason to doubt his
sincerity. His blood boiled, says Macaulay,[2] at the sight of cruelty
and injustice, and in an age of religious persecution, judicial torture,
and arbitrary imprisonment, he made manful war, with every faculty he
possessed, on what he considered as abuses; and on many signal
occasions, placed himself gallantly between the powerful and the
oppressed. "When an innocent man was broken on the wheel at Toulouse,
when a youth, guilty only of an indiscretion, was beheaded at Abbeville,
when a brave officer, borne down by public injustice, was dragged, with
a gag in his mouth, to die on the Place de Greve, a voice instantly went
forth from the banks of Lake Leman, which made itself heard from Moscow
to Cadiz, and which sentenced the unjust judges to the contempt and
detestation of all Europe."
"None can read these stories of the horrible religious bigotry of the
day," says Alex. A. Knox, in _The Nineteenth Century_,[3] "without
feeling for Voltaire reverence and respect."
The following extract from the above named Review will explain the
religious cruelty to which Macaulay refers:
"Jean Calas, a Protestant, kept a small shop in Toulouse. He had a
scape-grace of a son, Marc Antoine by name, who hanged himself in
his father's shop. The poor father and mother were up stairs at the
time, at supper, in company with the second son. The evidence was
so clear that a coroner's jury at a public-house would not have
turned round upon it. The priests and the priest party got hold of
it, and turned it into a religious crime. The Protestant, or
Huguenot parents were charged with murdering their son for fear he
should turn Catholic. The body was taken to the Hotel de Ville, and
then escorted by priests to the cathedral. The religious
orders--White Penitents and others--held solemn ceremonies for the
repose of Marc Antoine's soul. The churches resounded with the
exhortations of the priests, informing the people what evidence was
required to procure the condemnation of the Calas, and directing
them to come forward as witnesses. Upon such assumptions as these
horrible people could devise, the poor old man was stretched till
his limbs were torn out of the sockets. He was then submitted to
the _question extraordinaire_. This consisted in pouring water into
his mouth from a horn till his body was swollen to twice its size.
The man had been drowned a hundred times over, but he was still
alive. He was then carried to the scaffold and his limbs were
broken with an iron bar, and he was left for two hours to die. He
did not then die, and so the executioner strangled him at last; but
he died without confessing his crime. The man was innocent; he had
no confession to make. The poor creature by his unutterable agony
thus saved the lives of his wife and family, all as innocent as
himself. Two daughters were thrust into a convent: a son shammed
conversion to Catholicism and was released. The servant escaped
into a convent. The property of the family was confiscated. The
poor mother slipped away unseen. Finally, another son, who had been
apprenticed to a watchmaker of Nismes, escaped to Geneva. This is a
picture of France in the eighteenth century.
"Voltaire took poor young Calas into his family. He tried at once
to interest the Cardinal de Bernis, the Duc de Choiseul, and others
in this horrible story. He found for the widow a comfortable
retreat at Paris; he employed the best lawyers he could find to
give practical form to the business; he sent the daughters to join
the mother. He paid all the expenses out of his own pocket. He
reached the Chancellor; he made his appeal to Europe. He employed a
clever young advocate M. Elie de Beaumont, to conduct the cast. The
Queen of England, Frederick the Great, Catharine of Russia, were
induced by Voltaire to help the Calas.
"The case of the Sirvens was well-nigh as bad as that of the Calas.
Sirven lived with his wife and three daughters, all Protestants,
near Toulouse. The story is so illustrative of the France of the
eighteenth century, and of what Voltaire was about, that it
deserves a few lines. Sirven's housekeeper, a Roman Catholic, with
the assent of the Bishop of Castres, spirited away the youngest
daughter, and placed her in a convent of the Black Ladies with a
view to her conversion. She returned to her parents in a state of
insanity, her body covered with the marks of the whip. She never
recovered from the cruelties she had endured at the convent. One
day, when her father was absent on his professional duties, she
threw herself into a well, at the bottom of which she was found
drowned. It was obvious to the authorities that the parents had
murdered their child because she wished to become a Roman Catholic.
They most wisely did not appear, and were sentenced to be hanged
when they could be caught. In their flight the married daughter
gave premature birth to a child; and Madame Sirven died in despair.
It took Voltaire ten years to get this abominable sentence
reversed, and to turn wrong into right.
"A Protestant gentleman, M. Espinasse, had been condemned to the
galleys for life and his estate confiscated because he had given
supper and lodging to a Protestant clergyman. He served
twenty-three years; but in 1763 Voltaire obtained his release, and
ultimately obtained back for the family a portion of their
property.
"The Chevalier de la Barre was another victim. Some person or
persons unknown had hacked with a knife a wooden crucifix which
stood on a bridge at Abbeville over the Somme. The same night a
crucifix on one of the cemeteries was bespattered with mud. The
bishop of the place set to work to stir up excitement, praying for
punishment 'on those who had rendered themselves worthy of the
severest punishment known to the world's law.' Young De la Barre
was arrested. The evidence against him was that he, with certain
companions, had been known to pass within thirty yards of a
procession bearing the Sacrament without taking off their hats. It
was further proved in evidence that he and his friends had sung
certain objectionable songs, and that not only some novels had been
found in his rooms, but also two small volumes of Voltaire's
_Dictionnaire Philosophique_. On this evidence he was sentenced to
be subjected to the torture, ordinary and extraordinary; to have
his tongue torn out by the roots with pincers of iron, to have his
right hand cut off at the door of the principal church at
Abbeville, to be drawn in a cart to the market-place, and there to
be burned to death by a slow fire. The sentence was mitigated so
far that he was allowed to be beheaded before he was burned. This
sentence was carried out on the 1st of July, 1766. These are
samples of what was occurring in France. Was there not enough to
rouse indignation to fever-heat?
"When one reads such stories, even at this distance of time, he
understands the French Revolution and Voltaire."
In all his writings Voltaire claimed to be religious, and was as ready
to oppose with his sarcasms the agnostic or atheist, as the catholic. In
speaking of Tully as a doubter, he makes Pococurante exclaim: "I once
had some liking for his philosophical works; but when I found he
doubted of everything, I thought I knew as much as himself, and had no
need of a guide to learn ignorance."
But while Voltaire was a Theist--as Lord | 915.236192 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
JUANA
BY HONORE DE BALZAC
Translated By Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Madame la Comtesse Merlin.
JUANA
(THE MARANAS)
CHAPTER I. EXPOSITION
Notwithstanding the discipline which Marechal Suchet had introduced into
his army corps, he was unable to prevent a short period of trouble and
disorder at the taking of Tarragona. According to certain fair-minded
military men, this intoxication of victory bore a striking resemblance
to pillage, though the marechal promptly suppressed it. Order being
re-established, each regiment quartered in its respective lines, and
the commandant of the city appointed, military administration began. The
place assumed a mongrel aspect. Though all things were organized on a
French system, the Spaniards were left free to follow "in petto" their
national tastes.
This period of pillage (it is difficult to determine how long it lasted)
had, like all other sublunary effects, a cause, not so difficult
to discover. In the marechal's army was a regiment, composed almost
entirely of Italians and commanded by a certain Colonel Eugene, a man
of remarkable bravery, a second Murat, who, having entered the military
service too late, obtained neither a Grand Duchy of Berg nor a Kingdom
of Naples, nor balls at the Pizzo. But if he won no crown he had ample
opportunity to obtain wounds, and it was not surprising that he met with
several. His regiment was composed of the scattered fragments of the
Italian legion. This legion was to Italy what the colonial battalions
are to France. Its permanent cantonments, established on the island of
Elba, served as an honorable place of exile for the troublesome sons of
good families and for those great men who have just missed greatness,
whom society brands with a hot iron and designates by the term "mauvais
sujets"; men who are for the most part misunderstood; whose existence
may become either noble through the smile of a woman lifting them out
of their rut, or shocking at the close of an orgy under the influence of
some damnable reflection dropped by a drunken comrade.
Napoleon had incorporated these vigorous beings in the sixth of the
line, hoping to metamorphose them finally into generals,--barring those
whom the bullets might take off. But the emperor's calculation was
scarcely fulfilled, except in the matter of the bullets. This regiment,
often decimated but always the same in character, acquired a great
reputation for valor in the field and for wickedness in private life.
At the siege of Tarragona it lost its celebrated hero, Bianchi, the man
who, during the campaign, had wagered that he would eat the heart of a
Spanish sentinel, and did eat it. Though Bianchi was the prince of the
devils incarnate to whom the regiment owed its dual reputation, he had,
nevertheless, that sort of chivalrous honor which excuses, in the army,
the worst excesses. In a word, he would have been, at an earlier period,
an admirable pirate. A few days before his death he distinguished
himself by a daring action which the marechal wished to reward. Bianchi
refused rank, pension, and additional decoration, asking, for sole
recompense, the favor of being the first to mount the breach at the
assault on Tarragona. The marechal granted the request and then forgot
his promise; but Bianchi forced him to remember Bianchi. The enraged
hero was the first to plant our flag on the wall, where he was shot by a
monk.
This historical digression was necessary, in order to explain how it was
that the 6th of the line was the regiment to enter Tarragona, and why
the disorder and confusion, natural enough in a city taken by storm,
degenerated for a time into a slight pillage.
This regiment possessed two officers, not at all remarkable among these
men of iron, who played, nevertheless, in the history we shall now
relate, a somewhat important part.
The first, a captain in the quartermaster's department, an officer half
civil, half military, was considered, in soldier phrase, to be fighting
his own battle. He pretended bravery, boasted loudly of belonging to
the 6th of the line, twirled his moustache with the air of a man who was
ready to demolish everything; but his brother officers did not esteem
him. The fortune he possessed made him cautious. He was nicknamed, for
two reasons, "captain of crows." In the first place, he could smell
powder a league off, and took wing at the sound of a musket; secondly,
the nickname was based on an innocent military pun, which his position
in the regiment warranted. Captain Montefiore, of the illustrious
Montefiore family of Milan (though the laws of the Kingdom of Italy
forbade him to bear his title in the French service) was one of the
handsomest men in the army. This beauty may have been among the secret
causes of his prudence on fighting days. A wound which might have
injured his nose, cleft his forehead, or scarred his cheek, would have
destroyed one of the most beautiful Italian faces which a woman ever
dreamed of in all its delicate proportions. This face, not unlike the
type which Girodet has given to the dying young Turk, in the "Revolt at
Cairo," was instinct with that melancholy by which all women are more or
less duped.
The Marquis de Montefiore possessed an entailed property, but his income
was mortgaged for a number of years to pay off the costs of certain
Italian escapades which are inconceivable in Paris. He had ruined
himself in supporting a theatre at Milan in order to force upon a public
a very inferior prima donna, whom he was said to love madly. A fine
future was therefore before him, and he did not care to risk it for the
paltry distinction of a bit of red ribbon. He was not a brave man, but
he was certainly a philosopher; and he had precedents, if we may use so
parliamentary an expression. Did not Philip the Second register a vow
after the battle of Saint Quentin that never again would he put himself
under fire? And did not the Duke of Alba encourage him in thinking that
the worst trade in the world was the involuntary exchange of a crown
for a bullet? Hence, Montefiore was Philippiste in his capacity of rich
marquis and handsome man; and in other respects also he was quite as
profound a politician as Philip the Second himself. He consoled himself
for his nickname, and for the disesteem of the regiment by thinking
that his comrades were blackguards, whose opinion would never be of any
consequence to him if by chance they survived the present war, which
seemed to be one of extermination. He relied on his face to win him
promotion; he saw himself made colonel by feminine influence and a
carefully managed transition from captain of equipment to orderly
officer, and from orderly officer to aide-de-camp on the staff of some
easy-going marshal. By that time, he reflected, he should come into his
property of a hundred thousand scudi a year, some journal would speak of
him as "the brave Montefiore," he would marry a girl of rank, and no one
would dare to dispute his courage or verify his wounds.
Captain Montefiore had one friend in the person of the quartermaster,
--a Provencal, born in the neighborhood of Nice, whose name was Diard.
A friend, whether at the galleys or in the garret of an artist, consoles
for many troubles. Now Montefiore and Diard were two philosophers, who
consoled each other for their present lives by the study of vice,
as artists soothe the immediate disappointment of their hopes by the
expectation of future fame. Both regarded the war in its results, not
its action; they simply considered those who died for glory fools.
Chance had made soldiers of them; whereas their natural proclivities
would have seated them at the green table of a congress. Nature had
poured Montefiore into the mould of a Rizzio, and Diard into that of
a diplomatist. Both were endowed with that nervous, feverish,
half-feminine organization, which is equally strong for good or evil,
and from which may emanate, according to the impulse of these singular
temperaments, a crime or a generous action, a noble deed or a base one.
The fate of such natures depends at any moment on the pressure, more
or less powerful, produced on their nervous systems by violent and
transitory passions.
Diard was considered a good accountant, but no soldier would have
trusted him with his purse or his will, possibly because of the
antipathy felt by all real soldiers against the bureaucrats. The
quartermaster was not without courage and a certain juvenile generosity,
sentiments which many men give up as they grow older, by dint of
reasoning or calculating. Variable as the beauty of a fair woman, Diard
was a great boaster and a great talker, talking of everything. He said
he was artistic, and he made prizes (like two celebrated generals) of
works of art, solely, he declared, to preserve them for posterity.
His military comrades would have been puzzled indeed to form a correct
judgment of him. Many of them, accustomed to draw upon his funds when
occasion obliged them, thought him rich; but in truth, he was a gambler,
and gamblers may be said to have nothing of their own. Montefiore was
also a gambler, and all the officers of the regiment played with the
pair; for, to the shame of men be it said, it is not a rare thing to
see persons gambling together around a green table who, when the game is
finished, will not bow to their companions, feeling no respect for them.
Montefiore was the man with whom Bianchi made his bet about the heart of
the Spanish sentinel.
Montefiore and Diard were among the last to mount the breach at
Tarragona, but the first in the heart of the town as soon as it was
taken. Accidents of this sort happen in all attacks, but with this pair
of friends they were customary. Supporting each other, they made their
way bravely through a labyrinth of narrow and gloomy little streets in
quest of their personal objects; one seeking for painted madonnas, the
other for madonnas of flesh and blood.
In what part of Tarragona it happened I cannot say, but Diard presently
recognized by its architecture the portal of a convent, the gate of
which was already battered in. Springing into the cloister to put a
stop to the fury of the soldiers, he arrived just in time to prevent two
Parisians from shooting a Virgin by Albano. In spite of the moustache
with which in their military fanaticism they had decorated her face, he
bought the picture. Montefiore, left alone during this episode, noticed,
nearly opposite the convent, the house and shop of a draper, from which
a shot was fired at him at the moment when his eyes caught a flaming
glance from those of an inquisitive young girl, whose head was advanced
under the shelter of a blind. Tarragona taken by assault, Tarragona
furious, firing from every window, Tarragona violated, with dishevelled
hair, and half-naked, was indeed an object of curiosity,--the curiosity
of a daring Spanish woman. It was a magnified bull-fight.
Montefiore forgot the pillage, and heard, for the moment, neither the
cries, nor the musketry, nor the growling of the artillery. The profile
of that Spanish girl was the most divinely delicious thing which he,
an Italian libertine, weary of Italian beauty, and dreaming of an
impossible woman because he was tired of all women, had ever seen.
He could still quiver, he, who had wasted his fortune on a thousand
follies, the thousand passions of a young and blase man--the most
abominable monster that society generates. An idea came into his head,
suggested perhaps by the shot of the draper-patriot, namely,--to set
fire to the house. But he was now alone, and without any means of
action; the fighting was centred in the market-place, where a few
obstinate beings were still defending the town. A better idea then
occurred to him. Diard came out of the convent, but Montefiore said not
a word of his discovery; on the contrary, he accompanied him on a series
of rambles about the streets. But the next day, the Italian had obtained
his military billet in the house of the draper,--an appropriate lodging
for an equipment captain!
The house of the worthy Spaniard consisted, on the ground-floor, of a
vast and gloomy shop, externally fortified with stout iron bars, such
as we see in the old storehouses of the rue des Lombards. This shop
communicated with a parlor lighted from an interior courtyard, a large
room breathing the very spirit of the middle-ages, with smoky old
pictures, old tapestries, antique "brazero," a plumed hat hanging to
a nail, the musket of the guerrillas, and the cloak of Bartholo. The
kitchen adjoined this unique living-room, where the inmates took their
meals and warmed themselves over the dull glow of the brazier, smoking
cigars and discoursing bitterly to animate all hearts with hatred
against the French. Silver pitchers and precious dishes of plate and
porcelain adorned a buttery shelf of the old fashion. But the light,
sparsely admitted, allowed these dazzling objects to show but slightly;
all things, as in pictures of the Dutch school, looked brown, even the
faces. Between the shop and this living-room, so fine in color and
in its tone of patriarchal life, was a dark staircase leading to
a ware-room where the light, carefully distributed, permitted the
examination of goods. Above this were the apartments of the merchant and
his wife. Rooms for an apprentice and a servant-woman | 915.237356 |
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A
COMMONPLACE BOOK
OF
Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies.
[Illustration]
A COMMONPLACE BOOK--
OF
Thoughts, Memories, and Fancies.
ORIGINAL AND SELECTED.
PART I.--ETHICS AND CHARACTER.
PART II.--LITERATURE AND ART.
BY MRS. JAMESON.
"Un peu de chaque chose, et rien du tout,--a la francaise!"--MONTAIGNE.
With Illustrations and Etchings.
SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED.
LONDON:
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS.
1855.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
I must be allowed to say a few words in explanation of the contents of
this little volume, which is truly what its name sets forth--a book of
common-places, and nothing more. If I have never, in any work I have
ventured to place before the public, aspired to _teach_, (being myself a
_learner_ in all things,) at least I have hitherto done my best to
deserve the indulgence I have met with; and it would pain me if it could
be supposed that such indulgence had rendered me presumptuous or
careless.
For many years I have been accustomed to make a memorandum of any
thought which might come across me--(if pen and paper were at hand), and
to mark (and _remark_) any passage in a book which excited either a
sympathetic or an antagonistic feeling. This collection of notes
accumulated insensibly from day to day. The volumes on Shakspeare's
Women, on Sacred and Legendary Art, and various other productions,
sprung from seed thus lightly and casually sown, which, I hardly know
how, grew up and expanded into a regular, readable form, with a
beginning, a middle, and an end. But what was to be done with the
fragments which remained--without beginning, and without end--links of a
hidden or a broken chain? Whether to preserve them or destroy them
became a question, and one I could not answer for myself. In allowing a
portion of them to go forth to the world in their original form, as
unconnected fragments, I have been guided by the wishes of others, who
deemed it not wholly uninteresting or profitless to trace the path,
sometimes devious enough, of an "inquiring spirit," even by the little
pebbles dropped as vestiges by the way side.
A book so supremely egotistical and subjective can do good only in one
way. It may, like conversation with a friend, open up sources of
sympathy and reflection; excite to argument, agreement, or disagreement;
and, like every spontaneous utterance of thought out of an earnest mind,
suggest far higher and better thoughts than any to be found here to
higher and more productive minds. If I had not the humble hope of such a
possible result, instead of sending these memoranda to the printer, I
should have thrown them into the fire; for I lack that creative faculty
which can work up the teachings of heart-sorrow and world-experience
into attractive forms of fiction or of art; and having no intention of
leaving any such memorials to be published after my death, they must
have gone into the fire as the only alternative left.
The passages from books are not, strictly speaking, _selected_; they are
not given here on any principle of choice, but simply because that by
some process of assimilation they became a part of the individual mind.
They "found _me_,"--to borrow Coleridge's expression,--"found me in some
depth of my being;" I did not "find _them_."
For the rest, all those passages which are marked by inverted commas
must be regarded as borrowed, though I have not always been able to give
my authority. All passages not so marked are, I dare not say, original
or new, but at least the unstudied expression of a free discursive mind.
Fruits, not advisedly plucked, but which the variable winds have shaken
from the tree: some ripe, some "harsh and crude."
Wordsworth's famous poem of "The Happy Warrior" (of which a new
application will be found at page 87.), is supposed by Mr. De Quincey to
have been first suggested by the character of Nelson. It has since been
applied to Sir Charles Napier (the Indian General), as well as to the
Duke of Wellington; all which serves to illustrate my position, that the
lines in question are equally applicable to any man or any woman whose
moral standard is irrespective of selfishness and expediency.
With regard to the fragment on Sculpture, it may be necessary to state
that it was written in 1848. The first three paragraphs were inserted in
the Art Journal for April, 1849. It was intended to enlarge the whole
into a comprehensive essay on "Subjects fitted for Artistic Treatment;"
but this being now impossible, the fragment is given as originally
written; others may think it out, and apply it better than I shall live
to do.
August, 1854.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
PART I.
Ethics and Character.
ETHICAL FRAGMENTS. Page
Vanity 1
Truths and Truisms 3
Beauty and Use 5
What is Soul? 7
The Philosophy of Happiness 9
Cheerfulness a Virtue 10
Intellect and Sympathy 11
Old Letters 12
The Point of Honour 13
Looking up 14
Authors 14
Thought and Theory 15
Impulse and Consideration 16
Principle and Expediency 16
Personality of the Evil Principle 17
The Catholic Spirit 18
Death-beds 19
Thoughts on a Sermon 20
Love and Fear of God 22
Social Opinion 23
Balzac 23
Political 24
Celibacy 25
Landor's Wise Sayings 26
Justice and Generosity 27
Roman Catholic Converts 28
Stealing and Borrowing 28
Good and Bad 29
Italian Proverb. Greek Saying 30
Silent Grief 31
Past and Future 32
Suicide. Countenance 33
Progress and Progression 34
Happiness in Suffering 35
Life in the Future 36
Strength. Youth 38
Moral Suffering 40
The Secret of Peace 41
Motives and Impulses 42
Principle and Passion 43
Dominant Ideas 44
Absence and Death 45
Sydney Smith. Theodore Hook 46
Werther and Childe Harold 50
Money Obligations 52
Charity. Truth 53
Women. Men 55
Compensation for Sorrow 57
Religion. Avarice 57
Genius. Mind 59
Hieroglyphical Colours 60
Character 61
Value of Words 62
Nature and Art 64
Spirit and Form 67
Penal Retribution. The Church 68
Woman's Patriotism 70
Doubt. Curiosity 71
Tieck. Coleridge 71
Application of a Bon Mot of Talleyrand 73
Adverse Individualities 75
Conflict in Love 76
French Expressions 77
Practical and Contemplative Life 78
Joanna Baillie. Macaulay's Ballads 80
Cunning 80
Browning's Paracelsus 81
Men, Women, and Children 84
Letters 100
Madame de Stael. Deja 103
Thought too free 105
Good Qualities, not Virtues 106
Sense and Phantasy 107
Use the Present 108
Facts 109
Wise Sayings 111
Pestilence of Falsehood 112
Signs instead of Words. Relations with the World 113
Milton's Adam and Eve 115
Thoughts, sundry 116
A REVELATION OF CHILDHOOD 117
THE INDIAN HUNTER AND THE FIRE;
an Allegory 147
POETICAL FRAGMENTS 152
Theological.
THE HERMIT AND THE MINSTREL 155
Pandemonium 158
Southey on the Religious Orders 162
Forms in Religion--Image Worship 164
Religious Differences 165
Expansive Christianity 169
NOTES FROM VARIOUS SERMONS:--
A Roman Catholic Sermon 172
Another 176
Church of England Sermon 178
Another 181
Dissenting Sermon 187
Father Taylor of Boston 188
PART II.
Literature and Art.
NOTES FROM BOOKS:--
Dr. Arnold 198
Niebuhr 220
Lord Bacon 230
Chateaubriand 240
Bishop Cumberland 247
Comte's Philosophy 250
Goethe 261
Hazlitt's "Liber Amoris" 263
Francis Horner, "The Nightingale" 267
Thackeray's "English Humourists" 271
NOTES ON ART:--
Analogies 276
Definition of Art 279
No Patriotic Art 280
Verse and Colour 280
Dutch Pictures 281
Morals in Art 283
Physiognomy of Hands 288
Mozart and Chopin 289
Music 293
Rachel, the Actress 294
English and German Actresses 298
Character of Imogen 303
Shakspeare Club 305
"Maria Maddalena" 305
| 915.286446 |
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THE ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.
[Illustration: THE CORNICHE ROAD.]
THE
ENGLISHWOMAN IN ITALY.
IMPRESSIONS OF LIFE
IN THE
ROMAN STATES AND SARDINIA,
DURING A TEN YEARS' RESIDENCE.
BY
MRS. G. GRETTON.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
Departure from Florence—The Vettura—Inn among the
Apennines—General aspect of towns in Romagna—Causes
of their decay—Austrian officers at Forli—Dangers
of the road—First impressions of Ancona 1
CHAPTER II.
Description of the Palazzo—An English family, though
Italian born—Complimentary visits of the Anconitan
nobility—How they pass their time—Dislike to country
walks—Modern _Cavaliere Servente_ 10
CHAPTER III.
A marriage in high life—Wedding outfit—The first
interview—Condition of single women—The laws of
courtship—Dependence of young married people—Anecdotes
of mothers-in-law 19
CHAPTER IV.
System pursued towards children—Results of Jesuit
training—Anecdotes of the Sacré Cœur—A
_Contessina_ just out of the convent—Difficulty
of giving a liberal education to young nobles—No
profession open to them but the Church—Their
ignorance and idleness 26
CHAPTER V.
The middle classes—Superior education of the men—Low
standard of female intellect and manners—Total
separation from the nobility—Cultivated physician—A
peep into his household—Family economy—_Conversazione_
at the chemist's—Passion for gambling—The _caffè_ 37
CHAPTER VI.
Prejudice against fires—General dilapidation of
dwelling-houses—A lady's _valet de chambre_—Kindness
towards servants—Freedom of intercourse with their
masters—Devotedness of Italians to the sick—Horror of
death—Funerals—Mourning 46
CHAPTER VII.
Decline of Carnival diversions—Dislike to being brought
into contact with Austrians—The theatre—Public
_Tombole_—Short-sighted policy of the Government 59
CHAPTER VIII.
The Lottery—Its miserable results—Evening parties—Absence
of all ostentation—Poverty no crime—Grand supper on
Shrove Tuesday—Reception of a Cardinal 67
CHAPTER IX.
Picturesque environs of Ancona—Dwellings of the
peasantry—Their simplicity and trust—Manner of life
and amusements—A wedding feast 76
CHAPTER X.
A rural christening—The young count 86
CHAPTER XI.
Lent observances—Compulsory confession—The sepulchres on
Holy Thursday—Procession on Good Friday—Blessing the
houses—Joyful celebration of Easter 95
CHAPTER XII.
Festivals of the Madonna—The Duomo—Legend of San
Ciriaco—Miraculous Picture—Course of sermons by Padre
G———General irreligion of the Anconitans—Ecclesiastical
tribunal of 1856—The Sacconi 103
CHAPTER XIII.
Political condition of Ancona—Arrogance of the Austrian
General—Strictness of the martial law—A man shot on the
denunciation of his wife—Application of the
stick—Republican excesses—Proneness to
assassination—_Infernal Association_ in 1849 110
CHAPTER XIV.
Execution of a criminal—Sympathy for his fate—The
Ghetto—Hardships of the Jews—The case of the Mortara
child not without precedent—Story of the Merchant and
his niece 121
CHAPTER XV.
A wedding in the Ghetto—Contrast between the state of the
Christian and Hebrew population—Arrival of the
post—Highway robberies—Exploits of Passatore 128
CHAPTER XVI.
A visit to Macerata—The journey—The Marziani
family—Volunnia the old maid—The Marchesa Gentilina's
midnight communications 137
CHAPTER XVII.
Comfortless bed-room—National fear of water—Waste of
time—Occupations of the different members of the
family—Volunnia's sitting-room—Her acquirements 145
CHAPTER XVIII.
Volunnia's inquisitiveness—Her strictures on English
propriety—The Marchesa Silvia's dread of heretics—The
dinner—The Marchesa Gentilina knits stockings and
talks politics 151
CHAPTER XIX.
A conversazione verbatim—Admiration for Piedmont—An
attack of banditti—The Marchesa describes the actual
wretchedness of the country—Cardinal Antonelli's addition
to the calendar year—Monopoly of the corn trade—Entrance
of the Knight of Malta 160
CHAPTER XX.
Conversazione continued—Match-making—The Codini opposed
to travelling—Hopes of the liberals centred in
Piedmont—Volunnia's pleasantries—Story of the young
noble and his pasteboard soldiers 169
CHAPTER XXI.
Unwillingness of the Italians to speak on serious
topics—Indifference of the majority to literature—Reasons
for discouraging the cultivation of female
intellect—The Marchesa Gentilina relates her convent
experiences—Admiration of English domestic life 176
CHAPTER XXII.
On the study of music in the Marche—Neglect of
painting—The young artist—His hopeless love—His
jealousy—His subsequent struggles and constancy 187
CHAPTER XXIII.
From Ancona to Umana—Moonlight view—The
country-house—Indifference of the Anconitans to flowers
and gardening—Ascent of the mount—Magnificent prospect
at sunrise—Trappist convent 196
CHAPTER XXIV.
The bishop's palace at Umana—Inroad of beggars—The
grotto of the slaves—The physician's political
remarks—Approach to Loretto—Bad reputation of its
inhabitants—Invitation from the Canonico 204
CHAPTER XXV.
The Santa Casa—Pilgrims—The treasury—Exquisite statues
and bassi-rilievi—Chocolate at the Canonico's—La Signora
Placida—A survey of the house—The rich vestments 214
CHAPTER XXVI.
Visit to the Carmelites at Jesi—Our joyous reception—The
casino and theatre—Infractions of convent discipline—The
dinner near the sacristy—In company with the friars we
visit the nuns 224
CHAPTER XXVII.
The writer's motive for not having dwelt minutely on
political or historical subjects—Antiquity of Ancona—Its
reputation under the Roman Empire—Its celebrated
resistance to the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa—Stratagem
employed by its deliverers—Continues to be a free city
till 1532, when it is surprised by Gonzaga, General of
Pope Clement VII., and subjected to the Holy
See—Flourishes under Napoleon—Restoration of the
Papacy—Pontifical possessions—Explanation of the terms,
Legations and Romagna—Bologna conquered in 1506, by
Julius II., but retains a separate form of
government—Ferrara, Urbino, &c.—Dates of their
annexation 234
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Injudicious policy of the Government at the
Restoration—Non-fulfilment of the _Motu proprio_
of Pius VII.—Disappointment of the pontifical
subjects—Inability of Cardinals Consalvi and Guerrieri
to contend against the narrow views of their
colleagues—Reasons of Austria's animosity against the
former—Guerrieri's projected reforms bring about his
fall—The constitutional movement of 1820-21—Its effect
in the Papal States—Abuse of Consalvi's
instructions—Extreme political rigour under Leo
XII.—Distracted condition of the country—The
_Sanfedisti_ rising of 1831—First Austrian army
intervention in Romagna—Conferences at Rome—Mr
Seymour's protest—Fresh disturbances in the
Legations—The Austrians again occupy Bologna—The French
land at Ancona—The reign of Gregory XVI. 241
CHAPTER XXIX.
Accession of Pius IX.—The amnesty—His unbounded
popularity—His reforms and concessions—Disasters
entailed by the French Revolution—The encyclical of the
29th April—Revulsion of feeling—The Mazzinians gain
ground—Austrian intrigues—Assassination of Count
Rossi—The Pope's flight to Gaeta—Efforts of the
Constitutionalists to bring about an accommodation—The
republic is proclaimed in Rome—Excesses in Ancona and
Senigallia—Moderation of the Bolognese—Their courageous
resistance to General Wimpffen—Siege of Ancona—Extreme
severities of the victors 252
CHAPTER XXX.
Rome subjugated by the French—Leniency of General
Oudinot—Rigour of the Pope's Commissioners—Investigation
into the opinions of Government _employés_—Disfavour
of the Constitutionalists—The Pope's edict and second
amnesty—He returns to his capital, April, 1850—Bitter
disappointment of the Romans—Count Cavour's appeal to
the Congress of Paris on their behalf—The Papal progress
in 1857—Public feeling at the opening of 1859—Excitement
in the Pontifical States at the outbreak of the war—The
Austrians evacuate Bologna—Establishment of | 915.562353 |
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THE TRESPASSER
By D. H. Lawrence
1912
_Chapter 1_
'Take off that mute, do!' cried Louisa, snatching her fingers from the
piano keys, and turning abruptly to the violinist.
Helena looked slowly from her music.
'My dear Louisa,' she replied, 'it would be simply unendurable.' She
stood tapping her white skirt with her bow in a kind of a pathetic
forbearance.
'But I can't understand it,' cried Louisa, bouncing on her chair with
the exaggeration of one who is indignant with a beloved. 'It is only
lately you would even submit to muting your violin. At one time you
would have refused flatly, and no doubt about it.'
'I have only lately submitted to many things,' replied Helena, who
seemed weary and stupefied, but still sententious. Louisa drooped from
her bristling defiance.
'At any rate,' she said, scolding in tones too naked with love, I don't
like it.'
'_Go on from Allegro_,' said Helena, pointing with her bow to the place
on Louisa's score of the Mozart sonata. Louisa obediently took the
chords, and the music continued.
A young man, reclining in one of the wicker arm-chairs by the fire,
turned luxuriously from the girls to watch the flames poise and dance
with the music. He was evidently at his ease, yet he seemed a stranger
in the room.
It was the sitting-room of a mean house standing in line with hundreds
of others of the same kind, along a wide road in South London. Now and
again the trams hummed by, but the room was foreign to the trams and to
the sound of the London traffic. It was Helena's room, for which she was
responsible. The walls were of the dead-green colour of August foliage;
the green carpet, with its border of polished floor, lay like a square
of grass in a setting of black loam. Ceiling and frieze and fireplace
were smooth white. There was no other colouring.
The furniture, excepting the piano, had a transitory look; two light
wicker arm-chairs by the fire, the two frail stands of dark, polished
wood, the couple of flimsy chairs, and the case of books in the
recess--all seemed uneasy, as if they might be tossed out to leave the
room clear, with its green floor and walls, and its white rim of
skirting-board, serene.
On the mantlepiece were white lustres, and a small soapstone Buddha from
China, grey, impassive, locked in his renunciation. Besides these, two
tablets of translucent stone beautifully clouded with rose and blood,
and carved with Chinese symbols; then a litter of mementoes,
rock-crystals, and shells and scraps of seaweed.
A stranger, entering, felt at a loss. He looked at the bare wall-spaces
of dark green, at the scanty furniture, and was assured of his
unwelcome. The only objects of sympathy in the room were the white lamp
that glowed on a stand near the wall, and the large, beautiful fern,
with narrow fronds, which ruffled its cloud of green within the gloom of
the window-bay. These only, with the fire, seemed friendly.
The three candles on the dark piano burned softly, the music fluttered
on, but, like numbed butterflies, stupidly. Helena played mechanically.
She broke the music beneath her bow, so that it came lifeless, very
hurting to hear. The young man frowned, and pondered. Uneasily, he
turned again to the players.
The violinist was a girl of twenty-eight. Her white dress, high-waisted,
swung as she forced the rhythm, determinedly swaying to the time as if
her body were the white stroke of a metronome. It made the young man
frown as he watched. Yet he continued to watch. She had a very strong,
vigorous body. Her neck, pure white, arched in strength from the fine
hollow between her shoulders as she held the violin. The long white lace
of her sleeve swung, floated, after the bow.
Byrne could not see her face, more than the full curve of her cheek. He
watched her hair, which at the back was almost of the colour of the
soapstone idol, take the candlelight into its vigorous freedom in front
and glisten over her forehead.
Suddenly Helena broke off the music, and dropped her arm in irritable
resignation. Louisa looked round from the piano, surprised.
'Why,' she cried, 'wasn't it all right?'
Helena laughed wearily.
'It was all wrong,' she answered, as she put her violin tenderly to
rest.
'Oh, I'm sorry I did so badly,' said Louisa in a huff. She loved Helena
passionately.
'You didn't do badly at all,' replied her friend, in the same tired,
apathetic tone. 'It was I.'
When she had closed the black lid of her violin-case, Helena stood a
moment as if at a loss. Louisa looked up with eyes full of affection,
like a dog that did not dare to move to her beloved. Getting no
response, she drooped over the piano. At length Helena looked at her
friend, then slowly closed her eyes. The burden of this excessive
affection was too much for her. Smiling faintly, she said, as if she
were coaxing a child:
'Play some Chopin, Louisa.'
'I shall only do that all wrong, like everything else,' said the elder
plaintively. Louisa was thirty-five. She had been Helena's friend
for years.
'Play the mazurkas,' repeated Helena calmly.
Louisa rummaged among the music. Helena blew out her violin-candle, and
came to sit down on the side of the fire opposite to Byrne. The music
began. Helena pressed her arms with her hands, musing.
'They are inflamed still' said the young man.
She glanced up suddenly, her blue eyes, usually so heavy and tired,
lighting up with a small smile.
'Yes,' she answered, and she pushed back her sleeve, revealing a fine,
strong arm, which was scarlet on the outer side from shoulder to wrist,
like some long, red-burned fruit. The girl laid her cheek on the
smarting soft flesh caressively.
'It is quite hot,' she smiled, again caressing her sun-scalded arm with
peculiar joy.
'Funny to see a sunburn like that in mid-winter,' he replied, frowning.
'I can't think why it should last all these months. Don't you ever put
anything on to heal it?'
She smiled at him again, almost pitying, then put her mouth lovingly on
the burn.
'It comes out every evening like this,' she said softly, with curious
joy.
'And that was August, and now it's February!' he exclaimed. 'It must be
psychological, you know. You make it come--the smart; you invoke it.'
She looked up at him, suddenly cold.
'I! I never think of it,' she answered briefly, with a kind of sneer.
The young man's blood ran back from her at her acid tone. But the
mortification was physical only. Smiling quickly, gently--'
'Never?' he re-echoed.
There was silence between them for some moments, whilst Louisa continued
to play the piano for their benefit. At last:
'Drat it,' she exclaimed, flouncing round on the piano-stool.
The two looked up at her.
'Ye did run well--what hath hindered you?' laughed Byrne.
'You!' cried Louisa. 'Oh, I can't play any more,' she added, dropping
her arms along her skirt pathetically. Helena laughed quickly.
'Oh I can't, Helen!' pleaded Louisa.
'My dear,' said Helena, laughing briefly, 'you are really under _no_
obligation _whatever_.'
With the little groan of one who yields to a desire contrary to her
self-respect, Louisa dropped at the feet of Helena, laid her arm and her
head languishingly on the knee of her friend. The latter gave no sign,
but continued to gaze in the fire. Byrne, on the other side of the
hearth, sprawled in his chair, smoking a reflective cigarette.
The room was very quiet, silent even of the tick of a clock. Outside,
the traffic swept by, and feet pattered along the pavement. But this
vulgar storm of life seemed shut out of Helena's room, that remained
indifferent, like a church. Two candles burned dimly as on an altar,
glistening yellow on the dark piano. The lamp was blown out, and the
flameless fire, a red rubble, dwindled in the grate, so that the yellow
glow of the candles seemed to shine even on the embers. Still no
one spoke.
At last Helena shivered slightly in her chair, though did not change her
position. She sat motionless.
'Will you make coffee, Louisa?' she asked. Louisa lifted herself, looked
at her friend, and stretched slightly.
'Oh!' she groaned voluptuously. 'This is so comfortable!'
'Don't trouble then, I'll go. No, don't get up,' said Helena, trying to
disengage herself. Louisa reached and put her hands on Helena's wrists.
'I will go,' she drawled, almost groaning with | 916.074855 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.1045040 | 1,599 | 9 |
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Juliet Sutherland, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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EZRA POUND: HIS METRIC AND POETRY
By T. S. Eliot
BOOKS BY EZRA POUND
PROVENCA, being poems selected from Personae, Exultations, and
Canzoniere. (Small, Maynard, Boston, 1910)
THE SPIRIT OF ROMANCE: An attempt to define somewhat the charm
of the pre-renaissance literature of Latin-Europe. (Dent,
London, 1910; and Dutton, New York)
THE SONNETS AND BALLATE OF GUIDO CAVALCANTI. (Small, Maynard,
Boston, 1912)
RIPOSTES. (Swift, London, 1912; and Mathews, London, 1913)
DES IMAGISTES: An anthology of the Imagists, Ezra Pound,
Aldington, Amy Lowell, Ford Maddox Hueffer, and others
GAUDIER-BRZESKA: A memoir. (John Lane, London and New York,
1916)
NOH: A study of the Classical Stage of Japan with Ernest
Fenollosa. (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1917; and Macmillan,
London, 1917)
LUSTRA with Earlier Poems. (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1917)
PAVANNES AHD DIVISIONS. (Prose. In preparation: Alfred A. Knopf,
New York)
EZRA POUND: HIS METRIC AND POETRY
I
"All talk on modern poetry, by people who know," wrote Mr. Carl
Sandburg in _Poetry_, "ends with dragging in Ezra Pound
somewhere. He may be named only to be cursed as wanton and
mocker, poseur, trifler and vagrant. Or he may be classed as
filling a niche today like that of Keats in a preceding epoch.
The point is, he will be mentioned."
This is a simple statement of fact. But though Mr. Pound is well
known, even having been the victim of interviews for Sunday
papers, it does not follow that his work is thoroughly known.
There are twenty people who have their opinion of him for every
one who has read his writings with any care. Of those twenty,
there will be some who are shocked, some who are ruffled, some
who are irritated, and one or two whose sense of dignity is
outraged. The twenty-first critic will probably be one who knows
and admires some of the poems, but who either says: "Pound is
primarily a scholar, a translator," or "Pound's early verse was
beautiful; his later work shows nothing better than the itch for
advertisement, a mischievous desire to be annoying, or a
childish desire to be original." There is a third type of
reader, rare enough, who has perceived Mr. Pound for some years,
who has followed his career intelligently, and who recognizes
its consistency.
This essay is not written for the first twenty critics of
literature, nor for that rare twenty-second who has just been
mentioned, but for the admirer of a poem here or there, whose
appreciation is capable of yielding him a larger return. If the
reader is already at the stage where he can maintain at once the
two propositions, "Pound is merely a scholar" and "Pound is
merely a yellow journalist," or the other two propositions,
"Pound is merely a technician" and "Pound is merely a prophet of
chaos," then there is very little hope. But there are readers of
poetry who have not yet reached this hypertrophy of the logical
faculty; their attention might be arrested, not by an outburst
of praise, but by a simple statement. The present essay aims
merely at such a statement. It is not intended to be either a
biographical or a critical study. It will not dilate upon
"beauties"; it is a summary account of ten years' work in
poetry. The citations from reviews will perhaps stimulate the
reader to form his own opinion. We do not wish to form it for
him. Nor shall we enter into other phases of Mr. Pound's
activity during this ten years; his writings and views on art
and music; though these would take an important place in any
comprehensive biography.
II
Pound's first book was published in Venice. Venice was a halting
point after he had left America and before he had settled in
England, and here, in 1908, "A Lume Spento" appeared. The
volume is now a rarity of literature; it was published by the
author and made at a Venetian press where the author was able
personally to supervise the printing; on paper which was a
remainder of a supply which had been used for a History of the
Church. Pound left Venice in the same year, and took "A Lume
Spento" with him to London. It was not to be expected that a
first book of verse, published by an unknown American in Venice,
should attract much attention. The "Evening Standard" has the
distinction of having noticed the volume, in a review summing it
up as:
wild and haunting stuff, absolutely poetic, original,
imaginative, passionate, and spiritual. Those who do not
consider it crazy may well consider it inspired. Coming
after the trite and decorous verse of most of our decorous
poets, this poet seems like a minstrel of Provence at a
suburban musical evening.... The unseizable magic of poetry
is in the queer paper volume, and words are no good in
describing it.
As the chief poems in "A Lume Spento" were afterwards
incorporated in "Personae," the book demands mention only as a
date in the author's history. "Personae," the first book
published in London, followed early in 1909. Few poets have
undertaken the siege of London with so little backing; few books
of verse have ever owed their success so purely to their own
merits. Pound came to London a complete stranger, without either
literary patronage or financial means. He took "Personae" to Mr.
Elkin Mathews, who has the glory of having published Yeats'
"Wind Among the Reeds," and the "Books of the Rhymers' Club," in
which many of the poets of the '90s, now famous, found a place.
Mr. Mathews first suggested, as was natural to an unknown
author, that the author should bear part of the cost of
printing. "I have a shilling in my pocket, if that is any use to
you," said the latter. "Well," said Mr. Mathews, "I want to
publish it anyway." His acumen was justified. The book was, it
is true, received with opposition, but it was received. There
were a few appreciative critics, notably Mr. Edward Thomas, the
poet (known also as "Edward Eastaway"; he has since been killed
in France). Thomas, writing in the "English Review" (then in its
brightest days under the editorship of Ford Madox Hueffer),
recognized the first-hand intensity of feeling in "Personae":
He has... hardly | 916.124544 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Underlined text has been rendered as *underlined text*.
The Cambridge Manuals of Science and Literature
THE FLEA
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
[Illustration: LOGO]
Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET
London: H. K. LEWIS, 136, GOWER STREET, W.C.
WILLIAM WESLEY & SON, 28, ESSEX STREET, STRAND
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration:
_After a drawing by Dr Jordan_
Oriental rat-flea (_Xenopsylla cheopis_ Rothsch.). Male.]
[Illustration; DECORATED FRONT PAGE:
THE FLEA
BY
HAROLD RUSSELL,
B.A., F.Z.S., M.B.O.U.
With nine illustrations
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1913]
Cambridge
PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
_With the exception of the coat of arms at the foot, the design on
the title page is a reproduction of one used by the earliest known
Cambridge printer, John Siberch, 1521_
PREFACE
THE aim of this book is to give in plain language some account of a
small, but noteworthy, group of insects. I have avoided, whenever I
could, using the technical terms of zoology. To avoid doing so entirely
is impossible in a book which describes insects in some detail. No
technical term has, I hope, been used without an explanation.
Over thirty years have elapsed since Taschenberg’s German book, _Die
Flöhe_, appeared. Our knowledge has made enormous strides since then.
More species of flea are now known from the British Islands alone
than were then known from the whole world. So far as I am aware, no
book, devoted to what is known about fleas, has ever been published in
English. The statements about these insects in the general text-books
of entomology are frequently antiquated and inaccurate. But there is
a fairly extensive literature on the _Siphonaptera_ scattered through
scientific periodicals mostly in English, German, Italian, Dutch and
Russian. I have given some references in the Bibliography.
The naturalists now living who have devoted any time to the special
study of fleas may almost be counted on one’s fingers. In England there
are Mr Charles Rothschild and Dr Jordan; in the Shetland Islands, the
Rev. James Waterston; in Germany, Taschenberg of Halle and Dampf of
Königsberg; in Russia, Wagner of Kieff; in Holland, Oudemans of Arnhem;
in Italy, Tiraboschi of Rome; in the United States, Carl Baker and a
few others. I have not mentioned medical men who have investigated
fleas in connection with plague.
There are small collections of fleas in the Natural History Museums at
South Kensington (London), Paris, Berlin, Königsberg, Vienna, Budapest,
S. Petersburg and Washington. Of private collections Mr Charles
Rothschild’s at Tring is by far the best in the world. It contains
something like a hundred thousand specimens and is most admirably kept.
I must express profound and sincere gratitude to Mr Rothschild for
having helped me in numberless ways and advised me in many difficulties.
It is well known that the mere mention of fleas is not only considered
a subject for merriment, but in some people produces, by subjective
suggestion, violent irritation of the skin. The scientific study
of fleas has, however, received a great impetus since it has been
ascertained that they are the active agents in spreading plague.
Rat-fleas are of various kinds, and not all fleas will bite man. A
knowledge of the different species has suddenly become useful. The
humble, but ridiculous, systematist with his glass tubes of alcohol for
collecting fleas, his microscopic distinctions, and Latin nomenclature
has become a benefactor of humanity. Some people seem to be practically
immune to the bites of fleas, but even to such persons their visits are
unwelcome. A famous Frenchwoman once declared: “_Quant à moi ce n’est
pas la morsure, c’est la promenade._”
H. R.
LONDON,
_September, 1913_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
Preface v
I. Introductory 1
II. The external structure of a flea 21
III. The mouth-parts and sense-organs 38
IV. The internal organs of a flea 52
V. The Human flea and other species 62
VI. The Chigoes and their allies 74
VII. Fleas and Plague 83
VIII. Rat-fleas and Bat-fleas 97
Appendix A. Systematic view of the order _Siphonaptera_ 108
” B. A list of British fleas and their hosts 110
” C. On collecting and preserving fleas 113
” D. Bibliography 118
Index 122
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Male Oriental rat-flea _frontispiece_
FIGURE PAGE
1. The larva of a flea 6
2. Types of genal and thoracic combs of a flea 26
3. The hind leg of a flea 30
4. The mouth-parts of a flea 43
5. The antenna of a flea 47
6. The alimentary canal of a flea 53
7. The head of a female dog-flea and a female cat-flea 71
8. Pregnant female of _Dermatophilus cæcata_ 81
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
FLEAS form a group of insects that have, until recently, been little
studied by zoologists. We call them insects because they are jointed
animals, or Arthropods, with three pairs of legs in the adult
condition. The reader will best understand the position which fleas
occupy in the general classification of animals by remembering that
the arthropods, or jointed animals, are one of a dozen subkingdoms, or
phyla, to which the various members of the great animal kingdom have
been assigned. There is good ground for believing that all the animals
included in each phylum trace their ancestry back to a common primitive
form which lived in more or less remote ages. Besides (1) _Insects_,
the arthropods, or jointed animals, include (2) _Crustaceans_, such as
crabs, lobsters, shrimps, wood-lice, water-fleas and barnacles; (3)
_Myriapods_, such as centipedes and millipedes; and (4) _Arachnids_,
such as spiders, scorpions, mites and ticks. To all these varied forms
of animal life fleas, and other insects, are therefore more or less
nearly related.
The animals belonging to this large and important collection, which
compose the arthropod phylum, have certain common characteristic
features. We find a body made up of a series of more or less completely
similar segments placed one behind the other. In this they resemble
certain worms which are far less highly organised. The body is
elongated, symmetrical on either side, and the mouth and anus are at
opposite ends. There is, however, an important advance on the segmented
worms. Each typical segment carries a pair of appendages which are very
different from the foot-stumps that are found on certain worms. These
appendages of arthropods are divisible into distinct limb-segments,
separated from one another by moveable joints, and acted upon by
special muscles.
The common ancestor of all the various arthropods which are found
living on the earth to-day, was probably composed of a series of
segments each very similar to the last and each bearing a pair of very
similar appendages. In the course of ages, these appendages have been
astoundingly modified in form and in function. So it happens that
we find in the arthropods of the present day pairs of antennæ, of
mandibles and other mouth-parts, of pincers, of legs, of swimming-feet
and of tail pieces which on close examination can all be traced back to
a common structure. The body-segments, also, have been strangely fused
together and modified. All that has been so far said applies equally to
fleas and to other insects.
It is of great interest, when one comes to make a minute study of
the form and external structure of a flea, to try and trace the
modifications | 916.143974 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.2144970 | 661 | 14 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of My Three Days In Gilead, by Elmer U. Hoenshel
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also a | 916.234537 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.2492450 | 2,191 | 7 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
A Forgotten Hero, or, Not for Him, by Emily Sarah Holt.
________________________________________________________________________
This shortish book takes us to the end of the thirteenth century, and,
although the people in the book are mostly high-born, the scene is a
very domestic one. It gives us a good understanding of the way life was
lived in those days. Recommended for its social interest.
________________________________________________________________________
A FORGOTTEN HERO, OR, NOT FOR HIM, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT.
CHAPTER ONE.
CASTLES IN THE AIR.
"O pale, pale face, so sweet and meek, Oriana!"
Tennyson.
"Is the linen all put away, Clarice?"
"Ay, Dame."
"And the rosemary not forgotten?"
"I have laid it in the linen, Dame."
"And thy day's task of spinning is done?"
"All done, Dame."
"Good. Then fetch thy sewing and come hither, and I will tell thee
somewhat touching the lady whom thou art to serve."
"I humbly thank your Honour." And dropping a low courtesy, the girl
left the room, and returned in a minute with her work.
"Thou mayest sit down, Clarice."
Clarice, with another courtesy and a murmur of thanks, took her seat in
the recess of the window, where her mother was already sitting. For
these two were mother and daughter; a middle-aged, comfortable-looking
mother, with a mixture of firmness and good-nature in her face; and a
daughter of some sixteen years, rather pale and slender, but active and
intelligent in her appearance. Clarice's dark hair was smoothly brushed
and turned up in a curl all round her head, being cut sufficiently short
for that purpose. Her dress was long and loose, made in what we call
the Princess style, with a long train, which she tucked under one arm
when she walked. The upper sleeve was of a narrow bell shape, but under
it came down tight ones to the wrist, fastened by a row of large round
buttons quite up to the elbow. A large apron--which Clarice called a
barm-cloth--protected the dress from stain. A fillet of ribbon was
bound round her head, but she had no ornaments of any kind. Her mother
wore a similar costume, excepting that in her case the fillet round the
head was exchanged for a wimple, which was a close hood, covering head
and neck, and leaving no part exposed but the face. It was a very
comfortable article in cold weather, but an eminently unbecoming one.
These two ladies were the wife and daughter of Sir Gilbert Le Theyn, a
knight of Surrey, who held his manor of the Earl of Cornwall; and the
date of the day when they thus sat in the window was the 26th of March
1290.
It will strike modern readers as odd if I say that Clarice and her
mother knew very little of each other. She was her father's heir, being
an only child; and it was, therefore, considered the more necessary that
she should not live at home. It was usual at that time to send all
young girls of good family, not to school--there were no schools in
those days--but to be brought up under some lady of rank, where they
might receive a suitable education, and, on reaching the proper age,
have a husband provided for them, the one being just as much a matter of
course as the other. The consent of the parents was asked to the
matrimonial selection of the mistress, but public opinion required some
very strong reason to justify them in withholding it. The only
exception to this arrangement was when girls were destined for the
cloister, and in that case they received their education in a convent.
But there was one person who had absolutely no voice in the matter, and
that was the unfortunate girl in question. The very idea of consulting
her on any point of it, would have struck a mediaeval mother with
astonishment and dismay.
Why ladies should have been considered competent in all instances to
educate anybody's daughters but their own is a mystery of the Middle
Ages. Dame La Theyn had under her care three girls, who were receiving
their education at her hands, and she never thought of questioning her
own competency to impart it; yet, also without a question, she sent
Clarice away from her, first to a neighbouring knight's wife, and now to
a Princess, to receive the education which she might just as well have
had at home. It was the command of Fashion; and who does not know that
Fashion, whether in the thirteenth century or the nineteenth, _must_ be
obeyed?
Clarice was on the brink of high promotion. By means of a ladder of
several steps--a Dame requesting a Baroness, and the Baroness entreating
a Countess--the royal lady had been reached at last, whose husband was
the suzerain of Sir Gilbert. It made little difference to this lady
whether her bower-women were two or ten, provided that the attendance
given her was as much as she required; and she readily granted the
petition that Clarice La Theyn might be numbered among those young
ladies. The Earl of Cornwall was the richest man in England, not
excepting the King. It may be added that, at this period, Earl was the
highest title known short of the Prince of Wales. The first Duke had
not yet been created, while Marquis is a rank of much later date.
Dame La Theyn, though she had some good points, had also one grand
failing. She was an inveterate gossip. And it made no difference to
her who was her listener, provided a listener could be had. A spicy
dish of scandal was her highest delight. She had not the least wish nor
intention of doing harm to the person whom she thus discussed. She had
not even the slightest notion that she did any. But her bower-maidens
knew perfectly well that, if one of them wanted to put the dame in high
good-humour before extracting a favour, the best way to do so was to
inform her that Mrs Sheppey had had words with her goodman, or that
Dame Rouse considered Joan Stick i' th' Lane [Note 1], no better than
she should be.
An innocent request from Clarice, that she might know something about
her future mistress, had been to Dame La Theyn a delightful opportunity
for a good dish of gossip. Reticence was not in the Dame's nature; and
in the thirteenth century--and much later than that--facts which in the
nineteenth would be left in concealment, or, at most, only delicately
hinted at, were spoken out in the plainest English, even to young girls.
The fancy that the Countess of Cornwall might not like her whole life,
so far as it was known, laid bare to her new bower-woman was one which
never troubled the mind of Dame La Theyn. Privacy, to any person of
rank more especially, was an unknown thing in the Middle Ages.
"Thou must know, Clarice," began the Dame, "that of old time, before
thou wert born, I was bower-maiden unto my most dear-worthy Lady of
Lincoln--that is brother's wife to my gracious Lady of Gloucester,
mother unto my Lady of Cornwall, that shall be thy mistress. The Lady
of Lincoln, that was mine, is a dame of most high degree, for her father
was my Lord of Saluces, [Note 2], in Italy--very nigh a king--and she
herself was wont to be called `Queen of Lincoln,' being of so high
degree. Ah, she gave me many a good gown, for I was twelve years in her
service. And a good woman she is, but rarely proud--as it is but like
such a princess should be. I mind one super-tunic she gave me, but half
worn,"--this was said impressively, for a garment only _half worn_ was
considered a fit gift from one peeress to another--"of blue damask, all
set with silver buttons, and broidered with ladies' heads along the
border. I gave it for a wedding gift unto Dame Rouse when she was wed,
and she hath it now, I warrant thee. Well! her lord's sister, our Lady
Maud, was wed to my Lord of Gloucester; but stay!--there is a tale to
tell thee thereabout."
And Dame La Theyn bit off her thread with a complacent face. Nothing
suited her better than a tale to tell, unless it were one to hear.
"Well-a-day, there be queer things in this world!"
The Dame paused, as if to give time for Clarice to note that very
original sentiment.
"Our Lady Maud was wed to her lord, the good Earl of Gloucester, with
but little liking of her side, and yet less on his. Nathless, she made
no plaint, but submitted herself, as a good maid should do--for mark
thou, Clarice, 'tis the greatest shame that can come to a maiden to set
her will against those of her father and mother in wedlock. A good
maid--as I trust thou art--should have no will in such matters but that
of those whom God hath set over her. And all love-matches end ill,
Clarice; take my word for it! Art noting me?"
Clarice meekly responded that the moral lesson had reached her. She did
not add whether she meant to profit by it. Probably she had her own
ideas on the question, and it is quite possible that they did not
entirely correspond with those which her mother was instilling.
"Now look on me, Clarice," pursued Dame La Theyn, | 916.269285 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.3159390 | 6,191 | 7 |
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg.
THE TRIBES AND CASTES OF THE CENTRAL PROVINCES OF INDIA
By
R.V. RUSSELL
Of the Indian Civil Service Superintendent of Ethnography, Central
Provinces
Assisted by
Rai Bahadur Hira Lal
Extra Assistant Commissioner
Published Under the Orders of the Central Provinces Administration
In Four Volumes
Vol. III.
Macmillan and Co., Limited St. Martin's Street, London.
1916
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III
Articles on Castes and Tribes of the Central Provinces in Alphabetical
Order
The articles which are considered to be of most general interest are
shown in capitals
Page
Gadaria (Shepherd) 3
Gadba (Forest tribe) 9
Ganda (Weaver and labourer) 14
Gandhmali (Uriya village priests and temple servants) 17
Garpagari (Averter of hailstorms) 19
Gauria (Snake-charmer and juggler) 24
Ghasia (Grass-cutter) 27
Ghosi (Buffalo-herdsman) 32
Golar (Herdsman) 35
Gond (Forest tribe and cultivator) 39
Gond-Gowari (Herdsman) 143
Gondhali (Religious mendicant) 144
Gopal (Vagrant criminal caste) 147
Gosain (Religious mendicant) 150
Gowari (Herdsman) 160
Gujar (Cultivator) 166
Gurao (Village priest) 175
Halba (Forest tribe, labourer) 182
Halwai (Confectioner) 201
Hatkar (Soldier, shepherd) 204
Hijra (Eunuch, mendicant) 206
Holia (Labourer, curing hides) 212
Injhwar (Boatman and fisherman) 213
Jadam (Cultivator) 217
Jadua (Criminal caste) 219
Jangam (Priest of the Lingayat sect) 222
Jat (Landowner and cultivator) 225
Jhadi Telenga (Illegitimate, labourer) 238
Jogi (Religious mendicant and pedlar) 243
Joshi (Astrologer and village priest) 255
Julaha (Weaver) 279
Kachera (Maker of glass bangles) 281
Kachhi (Vegetable-grower) 285
Kadera (Firework-maker) 288
Kahar (Palanquin-bearer and household servant) 291
Kaikari (Basket-maker and vagrant) 296
Kalanga (Soldier, cultivator) 302
Kalar (Liquor vendor) 306
Kamar (Forest tribe) 323
Kanjar (Gipsies and prostitutes) 331
Kapewar (Cultivator) 342
Karan (Writer and clerk) 343
Kasai (Butcher) 346
Kasar (Worker in brass) 369
Kasbi (Prostitute) 373
Katia (Cotton-spinner) 384
Kawar (Forest tribe and cultivator) 389
Kayasth (Village accountant, writer and clerk) 404
Kewat (Boatman and fisherman) 422
Khairwar (Forest tribe; boilers of catechu) 427
Khandait (Soldier, cultivator) 436
Khangar (Village watchman and labourer) 439
Kharia (Forest tribe, labourer) 445
Khatik (Mutton-butcher) 453
Khatri (Merchant) 456
Khojah (Trader and shopkeeper) 461
Khond (Forest tribe, cultivator) 464
Kir (Cultivator) 481
Kirar (Cultivator) 485
Kohli (Cultivator) 493
Kol (Forest tribe, labourer) 500
Kolam (Forest tribe, cultivator) 520
Kolhati (Acrobat) 527
Koli (Forest tribe, cultivator) 532
Kolta (Landowner and cultivator) 537
Komti (Merchant and shopkeeper) 542
Kori (Weaver and labourer) 545
Korku (Forest tribe, labourer) 550
Korwa (Forest tribe, cultivator) 571
Koshti (Weaver) 581
ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOLUME III
Page
65. Gond women grinding corn 42
66. Palace of the Gond kings of Garha-Mandla at Ramnagar 46
67. Gonds on a journey 62
68. Killing of Rawan, the demon king of Ceylon, from whom the
Gonds are supposed to be descended 114
69. Woman about to be swung round the post called Meghnath 116
70. Climbing the pole for a bag of sugar 118
71. Gonds with their bamboo carts at market 122
72. Gond women, showing tattooing on backs of legs 126
73. Maria Gonds in dancing costume 136
74. Gondhali musicians and dancers 144
75. Gosain mendicant 150
76. Alakhwale Gosains with faces covered with ashes 152
77. Gosain mendicants with long hair 154
78. Famous Gosain Mahant. Photograph taken after death 156
79. Gujar village proprietress and her land agent 168
80. Guraos with figures made at the Holi festival called
Gangour 176
81. Group of Gurao musicians with their instruments 180
82. Ploughing with cows and buffaloes in Chhattisgarh 182
83. Halwai or confectioner's shop 202
84. Jogi mendicants of the Kanphata sect 244
85. Jogi musicians with sarangi or fiddle 250
86. Kaikaris making baskets 298
87. Kanjars making ropes 332
88. A group of Kasars or brass-workers 370
89. Dancing girls and musicians 374
90. Girl in full dress and ornaments 378
91. Old type of sugarcane mill 494
92. Group of Kol women 512
93. Group of Kolams 520
94. Korkus of the Melghat hills 550
95. Korku women in full dress 556
96. Koshti men dancing a figure, holding strings and beating
sticks 582
PRONUNCIATION
a has the sound of u in but or murmur.
a has the sound of a in bath or tar.
e has the sound of e in ecarte or ai in maid.
i has the sound of i in bit, or (as a final letter) of y in sulky.
i has the sound of ee in beet.
o has the sound of o in bore or bowl.
u has the sound of u in put or bull.
u has the sound of oo in poor or boot
The plural of caste names and a few common Hindustani words is formed
by adding s in the English manner according to ordinary usage, though
this is not, of course, the Hindustani plural.
Note.--The rupee contains 16 annas, and an anna is of the same value
as a penny. A pice is a quarter of an anna, or a farthing. Rs. 1-8
signifies one rupee and eight annas. A lakh is a hundred thousand,
and a krore ten million.
PART III
ARTICLES ON CASTES AND TRIBES
GARARDIA--KOSHTI
Gadaria
List of Paragraphs
1. General notice.
2. Subdivisions.
3. Marriage customs.
4. Religion and funeral rites.
5. Social customs.
6. Goats and sheep.
7. Blanket-weaving.
8. Sanctity of wool.
1. General notice.
Gadaria, Gadri. [1]--The occupational shepherd caste of northern
India. The name is derived from the Hindi gadar and the Sanskrit
gandhara, a sheep, the Sanskrit name being taken from the country of
Gandhara or Kandahar, from which sheep were first brought. The three
main shepherd castes all have functional names, that of the Dhangars
or Maratha shepherds being derived from dhan, small stock, while the
Kuramwars or Telugu shepherds take their name like the Gadarias from
kuruba, a sheep. These three castes are of similar nature and status,
and differ only in language and local customs. In 1911 the Gadarias
numbered 41,000 persons. They are found in the northern Districts,
and appear to have been amongst the earliest settlers in the Nerbudda
valley, for they have given their name to several villages, as
Gadariakheda and Gadarwara.
2. Subdivisions.
The Gadarias are a very mixed caste. They themselves say that their
first ancestor was created by Mahadeo to tend his rams, and that he
married three women who were fascinated by the sight of him shearing
the sheep. These belonged to the Brahman, Dhimar and Barai castes
respectively, and became the ancestors of the Nikhar, Dhengar and
Barmaiyan subcastes of Gadarias. The Nikhar subcaste are the highest,
their name meaning pure. Dhengar is probably, in reality, a corruption
of Dhangar, the name of the Maratha shepherd caste. They have other
subdivisions of the common territorial type, as Jheria or jungly,
applied to the Gadarias of Chhattisgarh; Desha from desh, country,
meaning those who came from northern India; Purvaiya or eastern,
applied to immigrants from Oudh; and Malvi or those belonging to
Malwa. Nikhar and Dhengar men take food together, but not the women;
and if a marriage cannot be otherwise arranged these subcastes will
sometimes give daughters to each other. A girl thus married is no
longer permitted to take food at her father's house, but she may eat
with the women of her husband's subcaste. Many of their exogamous
groups are named after animals or plants, as Hiranwar, from hiran,
a deer; Sapha from the cobra, Moria from the peacock, Nahar from the
tiger, Phulsungha, a flower, and so on. Others are the names of Rajput
septs and of other castes, as Ahirwar (Ahir) and Bamhania (Brahman).
Another more ambitious legend derives their origin from the Bania
caste. They say that once a Bania was walking along the road with a
cocoanut in his hand when Vishnu met him and asked him what it was. The
Bania answered that it was a cocoanut. Vishnu said that it was not
a cocoanut but wool, and told him to break it, and on breaking the
cocoanut the Bania found that it was filled with wool. The Bania asked
what he should do with it, and Vishnu told him to make a blanket out
of it for the god to sit on. So he made a blanket, and Vishnu said
that from that day he should be the ancestor of the Gadaria caste,
and earn his bread by making blankets from the wool of sheep. The
Bania asked where he should get the sheep from, and the god told him
to go home saying 'Ehan, Ehan, Ehan,' all the way, and when he got
home he would find a flock of sheep following him; but he was not to
look behind him all the way. And the Bania did so, but when he had
almost got home he could not help looking behind him to see if there
were really any sheep. And he saw a long line of sheep following him
in single file, and at the very end was a ram with golden horns just
rising out of the ground. But as he looked it sank back again into
the ground, and he went back to Vishnu and begged for it, but Vishnu
said that as he had looked behind him he had lost it. And this was
the origin of the Gadaria caste, and the Gadarias always say 'Ehan,
Ehan,' as they lead their flocks of sheep and goats to pasture.
3. Marriage customs.
Marriage within the clan is forbidden and also the union of first
cousins. Girls may be married at any age, and are sometimes united to
husbands much younger than themselves. Four castemen of standing carry
the proposal of marriage from the boy's father, and the girl's father,
being forewarned, sends others to meet them. One of the ambassadors
opens the conversation by saying, 'We have the milk and you have the
milk-pail; let them be joined.' To which the girl's party, if the
match be agreeable, will reply, "Yes, we have the tamarind and you
have the mango; if the panches agree let there be a marriage." The
boy's father gives the girl's father five areca-nuts, and the latter
returns them and they clasp each other round the neck. When the
wedding procession reaches the bride's village it is met by their
party, and one of them takes the sarota or iron nut-cutter, which
the bridegroom holds in his hand, and twirls it about in the air
several times. The ceremony is performed by walking round the sacred
pole, and the party return to the bridegroom's lodging, where his
brother-in-law fills the bride's lap with sweetmeats and water-nut
as an omen of fertility. The maihar or small wedding-cakes of wheat
fried in sesamum oil are distributed to all members of the caste
present at the wedding. While the bridegroom's party is absent at
the bride's house, the women who remain behind enjoy amusements of
their own. One of them strips herself naked, tying up her hair like
a religious mendicant, and is known as Baba or holy father. In this
state she romps with her companions in turn, while the others laugh
and applaud. Occasionally some man hides himself in a place where
he can be a witness of their play, but if they discover him he is
beaten severely with belnas or wooden bread-rollers. Widow-marriage
and divorce are permitted, the widow being usually expected to marry
her late husband's younger brother, whether he already has a wife or
not. Sexual offences are not severely reprobated, and may be atoned
for by a feast to the caste-fellows.
4. Religion and funeral rites.
The Gadarias worship the ordinary Hindu deities and also Dishai Devi,
the goddess of the sheep-pen. No Gadaria may go into the sheep-pen with
his shoes on. On entering it in the morning they make obeisance to the
sheep, and these customs seem to indicate that the goddess Dishai Devi
[2] is the deified sheep. When the sheep are shorn and the fleeces are
lying on the ground they take some milk from one of the ewes and mix
rice with it and sprinkle it over the wool. This rite is called Jimai,
and they say that it is feeding the wool, but it appears to be really
a sacrificial offering to the material. The caste burn the dead when
they can afford to do so, and take the bones to the Ganges or Nerbudda,
or if this is not practicable, throw them into the nearest stream.
5. Social customs.
Well-to-do members of the caste employ Brahmans for ceremonial
purposes, but others dispense with their services. The Gadarias
eat flesh and drink liquor, but abstain from fowls and pork. They
will take food cooked with water from a Lodhi or a Dangi, members
of these castes having formerly been their feudal chieftains in the
Vindhyan Districts and Nerbudda valley. Brahmans and members of the
good cultivating castes would be permitted to become Gadarias if
they should so desire. The head of the caste committee has the title
of Mahton and the office is hereditary, the holder being invariably
consulted on caste questions even if he should be a mere boy. The
Gadarias rank with those castes from whom a Brahman cannot take water,
but above the servile and labouring castes. They are usually somewhat
stupid, lazy and good-tempered, and are quite uneducated. Owing to
their work in cleaning the pens and moving about among the sheep, the
women often carry traces of the peculiar smell of these animals. This
is exemplified in the saying, 'Ek to Gadaria, dusre lahsan khae,' or
'Firstly she is a Gadaria and then she has eaten garlic'; the inference
being that she is far indeed from having the scent of the rose.
6. Goats and sheep.
The regular occupations of the Gadarias are the breeding and grazing
of sheep and goats, and the weaving of country blankets from sheep's
wool. The flocks are usually tended by the children, while the men
and women spin and weave the wool and make blankets. Goats are bred
in larger numbers than sheep in the Central Provinces, being more
commonly used for food and sacrifices, while they are also valuable
for their manure. Any Hindu who thinks an animal sacrifice requisite,
and objects to a fowl as unclean, will choose a goat; and the animal
after being sacrificed provides a feast for the worshippers, his head
being the perquisite of the officiating priest. Muhammadans and most
castes of Hindus will eat goat's meat when they can afford it. The
milk is not popular and there is very little demand for it locally,
but it is often sold to the confectioners, and occasionally made into
butter and exported. Sheep's flesh is also eaten, but is not so highly
esteemed. In the case of both sheep and goats there is a feeling
against consuming the flesh of ewes. Sheep are generally black in
colour and only occasionally white. Goats are black, white, speckled
or reddish-white. Both animals are much smaller than in Europe. Both
sheep and goats are in brisk demand in the cotton tracts for their
manure in the hot-weather months, and will be kept continually on
the move from field to field for a month at a time. It is usual to
hire flocks at the rate of one rupee a hundred head for one night;
but sometimes the cultivators combine to buy a large flock, and
after penning them on their fields in the hot weather, send them to
Nagpur in the beginning of the rains to be disposed of. The Gadaria
was formerly the bete noir of the cultivator, on account of the
risk incurred by the crops from the depredations of his sheep and
goats. This is exemplified in the saying:
Ahir, Gadaria, Pasi,
Yeh tinon satyanasi,
or, 'The Ahir (herdsman), the Gadaria and the Pasi, these three are
the husbandmen's foes.' And again:
Ahir, Gadaria, Gujar,
Yeh tinon chahen ujar,
or 'The Ahir, the Gadaria and the Gujar want waste land,' that is for
grazing their flocks. But since the demand for manure has arisen, the
Gadaria has become a popular personage in the village. The shepherds
whistle to their flocks to guide them, and hang bells round the necks
of goats but not of sheep. Some of them, especially in forest tracts,
train ordinary pariah dogs to act as sheep-dogs. As a rule, rams and
he-goats are not gelt, but those who have large flocks sometimes resort
to this practice and afterwards fatten the animals up for sale. They
divide their sheep into five classes, as follows, according to the
length of the ears: Kanari, with ears a hand's length long; Semri,
somewhat shorter; Burhai, ears a forefinger's length; Churia, ears
as long as the little finger; and Neori, with ears as long only as
the top joint of the forefinger. Goats are divided into two classes,
those with ears a hand's length long being called Bangalia or Bagra,
while those with small ears a forefinger's length are known as Gujra.
7. Blanket-weaving.
While ordinary cultivators have now taken to keeping goats, sheep
are still as a rule left to the Gadarias. These are of course valued
principally for their wool, from which the ordinary country blanket
is made. The sheep [3] are shorn two or sometimes three times a year,
in February, June and September, the best wool being obtained in
February from the cold weather coat. Members of the caste commonly
shear for each other without payment. The wool is carded with a
kamtha, or simple bow with a catgut string, and spun by the women of
the household. Blankets are woven by men on a loom like that used for
cotton cloth. The fabric is coarse and rough, but strong and durable,
and the colour is usually a dark dirty grey, approaching black,
being the same as that of the raw material. Every cultivator has one
of these, and the various uses to which it may be put are admirably
described by 'Eha' as follows: [4]
"The kammal is a home-spun blanket of the wool of black sheep, thick,
strong, as rough as a farrier's rasp, and of a colour which cannot
get dirty. When the Kunbi (cultivator) comes out of his hole in the
morning it is wrapped round his shoulders and reaches to his knees,
guarding him from his great enemy, the cold, for the thermometer is
down to 60 deg. Fahrenheit. By-and-by he has a load to carry, so he folds
his kammal into a thick pad and puts it on the top of his head. Anon
he feels tired, so he lays down his load, and arranging his kammal
as a cushion, sits with comfort on a rugged rock or a stony bank, and
has a smoke. Or else he rolls himself in it from head to foot, like a
mummy, and enjoys a sound sleep on the roadside. It begins to rain,
he folds his kammal into an ingenious cowl and is safe. Many more
are its uses. I cannot number them all. Whatever he may be called
upon to carry, be it forest produce, or grain or household goods,
or his infant child, he will make a bundle of it with his kammal and
poise it on his head, or sling it across his back, and trudge away."
8. Sanctity of wool.
Wool is a material of some sanctity among the Hindus. It is
ceremonially pure, and woollen clothing can be worn by Brahmans
while eating or performing sacred functions. In many castes the
bridegroom at a wedding has a string of wool with a charm tied round
his waist. Religious mendicants wear jatas or wigs of sheep's wool,
and often carry woollen charms. The beads used for counting prayers are
often of wool. The reason for wool being thus held sacred may be that
it was an older kind of clothing used before cotton was introduced,
and thus acquired sanctity by being worn at sacrifices. Perhaps the
Aryans wore woollen clothing when they entered India.
Gadba
1. Description and structure of the tribe.
Gadba, Gadaba. [5]--A primitive tribe classified as Mundari or Kolarian
on linguistic grounds. The word Gadba, Surgeon-Major Mitchell states,
signifies a person who carries loads on his shoulders. The tribe call
themselves Guthau. They belong to the Vizagapatam District of Madras,
and in the Central Provinces are found only in the Bastar State, into
which they have immigrated to the number of some 700 persons. They
speak a Mundari dialect, called Gadba, after their tribal name, and
are one of the two Mundari tribes found so far south as Vizagapatam,
the other being the Savars. [6] Their tribal organisation is not very
strict, and a Bhatra, a Parja, a Muria, or a member of any superior
caste may become a Gadba at an expenditure of two or three rupees. The
ceremony consists of shaving the body of the novice, irrespective of
sex, clean of hair, after which he or she is given to eat rice cooked
in the water of the Ganges. This is followed by a feast to the tribe
in which a pig must be killed. The Gadbas have totemistic exogamous
septs, usually named after animals, as gutal dog, angwan bear, dungra
tortoise, surangai tiger, gumal snake, and so on. Members of each sept
abstain from killing or injuring the animal or plant after which it is
named, but they have no scruple in procuring others to do this. Thus
if a snake enters the hut of a person belonging to the Gumal sept,
he will call a neighbour of another sept to kill it. He may not touch
its carcase with his bare hand, but if he holds it through a piece
of rag no sin is incurred.
2. Marriage.
Marriage is adult, but the rule existing in Madras that a girl is
not permitted to marry until she can weave her own cloth does not
obtain in the Central Provinces. [7] As a rule the parents of the
couple arrange the match, but the wishes of the girl are sometimes
consulted and various irregular methods of union are recognised. Thus
a man is permitted with the help of his friends to go and carry off a
girl and keep her as his wife, more especially if she is a relation
on the maternal side more distant than a first cousin. Another form
is the Paisa Mundi, by which a married or unmarried woman may enter
the house of a man of her caste other than her husband and become his
wife; and the Upaliya, when a married woman elopes with a lover. The
marriage ceremony is simple. The bridegroom's party go to the girl's
house, leaving the parents behind, and before they reach it are met and
stopped by a bevy of young girls and men in their best clothes from
the bride's village. A girl comes forward and demands a ring, which
one of the men of the wedding party places on her finger, and they
then proceed to the bride's house, where the bridegroom's presents,
consisting of victuals, liquor, a cloth, and two rupees, are opened
and carefully examined. If any deficiency is found, it must at once
be made good. The pair eat a little food together, rice is
applied to their | 916.335979 |
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Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES
by
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
I. THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY
II. THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW
III. THE FIRST CUSTOMER
IV. A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER
V. MAY AND NOVEMBER
VI. MAULE'S WELL
VII. THE GUEST
VIII. THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY
IX. CLIFFORD AND PHOEBE
X. THE PYNCHEON GARDEN
XI. THE ARCHED WINDOW
XII. THE DAGUERREOTYPIST
XIII. ALICE PYNCHEON
XIV. PHOEBE'S GOOD-BYE
XV. THE SCOWL AND SMILE
XVI. CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER
XVII. THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS
XVIII. GOVERNOR PYNCHEON
XIX. ALICE'S POSIES
XX. THE FLOWER OF EDEN
XXI. THE DEPARTURE
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.
IN September of the year during the February of which Hawthorne had
completed "The Scarlet Letter," he began "The House of the Seven
Gables." Meanwhile, he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in Berkshire
County, Massachusetts, where he occupied with his family a small red
wooden house, still standing at the date of this edition, near the
Stockbridge Bowl.
"I sha'n't have the new story ready by November," he explained to his
publisher, on the 1st of October, "for I am never good for anything in
the literary way till after the first autumnal frost, which has
somewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliage
here about me-multiplying and brightening its hues." But by vigorous
application he was able to complete the new work about the middle of
the January following.
Since research has disclosed the manner in which the romance is
interwoven with incidents from the history of the Hawthorne family,
"The House of the Seven Gables" has acquired an interest apart from
that by which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne (as the
name was then spelled), the great-grandfather of Nathaniel Hawthorne,
was a magistrate at Salem in the latter part of the seventeenth
century, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there.
It is of record that he used peculiar severity towards a certain woman
who was among the accused; and the husband of this woman prophesied
that God would take revenge upon his wife's persecutors. This
circumstance doubtless furnished a hint for that piece of tradition in
the book which represents a Pyncheon of a former generation as having
persecuted one Maule, who declared that God would give his enemy "blood
to drink." It became a conviction with the Hawthorne family that a
curse had been pronounced upon its members, which continued in force in
the time of the romancer; a conviction perhaps derived from the
recorded prophecy of the injured woman's husband, just mentioned; and,
here again, we have a correspondence with Maule's malediction in the
story. Furthermore, there occurs in the "American Note-Books" (August
27, 1837), a reminiscence of the author's family, to the following
effect. Philip English, a character well-known in early Salem annals,
was among those who suffered from John Hathorne's magisterial
harshness, and he maintained in consequence a lasting feud with the old
Puritan official. But at his death English left daughters, one of whom
is said to have married the son of Justice John Hathorne, whom English
had declared he would never forgive. It is scarcely necessary to point
out how clearly this foreshadows the final union of those hereditary
foes, the Pyncheons and Maules, through the marriage of Phoebe and
Holgrave. The romance, however, describes the Maules as possessing some
of the traits known to have been characteristic of the Hawthornes: for
example, "so long as any of the race were to be found, they had been
marked out from other men--not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line,
but with an effect that was felt rather than spoken of--by an
hereditary characteristic of reserve." Thus, while the general
suggestion of the Hawthorne line and its fortunes was followed in the
romance, the Pyncheons taking the place of the author's family, certain
distinguishing marks of the Hawthornes were assigned to the imaginary
Maule posterity.
There are one or two other points which indicate Hawthorne's method of
basing his compositions, the result in the main of pure invention, on
the solid ground of particular facts. Allusion is made, in the first
chapter of the "Seven Gables," to a grant of lands in Waldo County,
Maine, owned by the Pyncheon family. In the "American Note-Books"
there is an entry, dated August 12, 1837, which speaks of the
Revolutionary general, Knox, and his land-grant in Waldo County, by
virtue of which the owner had hoped to establish an estate on the
English plan, with a tenantry to make it profitable for him. An
incident of much greater importance in the story is the supposed murder
of one of the Pyncheons by his nephew, to whom we are introduced as
Clifford Pyncheon. In all probability Hawthorne connected with this,
in his mind, the murder of Mr. White, a wealthy gentleman of Salem,
killed by a man whom his nephew had hired. This took place a few years
after Hawthorne's graduation from college, and was one of the
celebrated cases of the day, Daniel Webster taking part prominently in
the trial. But it should be observed here that such resemblances as
these between sundry elements in the work of Hawthorne's fancy and
details of reality are only fragmentary, and are rearranged to suit the
author's purposes.
In the same way he has made his description of Hepzibah Pyncheon's
seven-gabled mansion conform so nearly to several old dwellings
formerly or still extant in Salem, that strenuous efforts have been
made to fix upon some one of them as the veritable edifice of the
romance. A paragraph in the opening chapter has perhaps assisted this
delusion that there must have been a single original House of the Seven
Gables, framed by flesh-and-blood carpenters; for it runs thus:--
"Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection--for it has been an
object of curiosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of the
best and stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the scene
of events more full of interest perhaps than those of a gray feudal
castle--familiar as it stands, in its rusty old age, it is therefore
only the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which it
first caught the sunshine."
Hundreds of pilgrims annually visit a house in Salem, belonging to one
branch of the Ingersoll family of that place, which is stoutly
maintained to have been the model for Hawthorne's visionary dwelling.
Others have supposed that the now vanished house of the identical
Philip English, whose blood, as we have already noticed, became mingled
with that of the Hawthornes, supplied the pattern; and still a third
building, known as the Curwen mansion, has been declared the only
genuine establishment. Notwithstanding persistent popular belief, the
authenticity of all these must positively be denied; although it is
possible that isolated reminiscences of all three may have blended with
the ideal image in the mind of Hawthorne. He, it will be seen, remarks
in the Preface, alluding to himself in the third person, that he trusts
not to be condemned for "laying out a street that infringes upon
nobody's private rights... and building a house of materials long in
use for constructing castles in the air." More than this, he stated to
persons still living that the house of the romance was not copied from
any actual edifice, but was simply a general reproduction of a style of
architecture belonging to colonial days, examples of which survived
into the period of his youth, but have since been radically modified or
destroyed. Here, as elsewhere, he exercised the liberty of a creative
mind to heighten the probability of his pictures without confining
himself to a literal description of something he had seen.
While Hawthorne remained at Lenox, and during the composition of this
romance, various other literary personages settled or stayed for a time
in the vicinity; among them, Herman Melville, whose intercourse
Hawthorne greatly enjoyed, Henry James, Sr., Doctor Holmes, J. T.
Headley, James Russell Lowell, Edwin P. Whipple, Frederika Bremer, and
J. T. Fields; so that there was no lack of intellectual society in
the midst of the beautiful and inspiring mountain scenery of the place.
"In the afternoons, nowadays," he records, shortly before beginning the
work, "this valley in which I dwell seems like a vast basin filled with
golden Sunshine as with wine;" and, happy in the companionship of his
wife and their three children, he led a simple, refined, idyllic life,
despite the restrictions of a scanty and uncertain income. A letter
written by Mrs. Hawthorne, at this time, to a member of her family,
gives incidentally a glimpse of the scene, which may properly find a
place here. She says: "I delight to think that you also can look
forth, as I do now, upon a broad valley and a fine amphitheater of
hills, and are about to watch the stately ceremony of the sunset from
your piazza. But you have not this lovely lake, nor, I suppose, the
delicate purple mist which folds these slumbering mountains in airy
veils. Mr. Hawthorne has been lying down in the sun shine, slightly
fleckered with the shadows of a tree, and Una and Julian have been
making him look like the mighty Pan, by covering his chin and breast
with long grass-blades, that looked like a verdant and venerable
beard." The pleasantness and peace of his surroundings and of his
modest home, in Lenox, may be taken into account as harmonizing with
the mellow serenity of the romance then produced. Of the work, when it
appeared in the early spring of 1851, he wrote to Horatio Bridge these
words, now published for the first time:--
"'The House of the | 916.336195 |
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Produced by Curtis Weyant, Stephen H. Sentoff and the
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GRAY'S LESSONS IN BOTANY
REVISED EDITION
THE
ELEMENTS OF BOTANY
FOR BEGINNERS AND FOR SCHOOLS
By ASA GRAY
IVISON, BLAKEMAN, AND COMPANY
NEW YORK AND CHICAGO
_Copyright_,
By Asa Gray.
1887.
PREFACE.
This volume takes the place of the author's Lessons in Botany and
Vegetable Physiology, published over a quarter of a century ago. It is
constructed on the same lines, and is a kind of new and much revised
edition of that successful work. While in some respects more extended,
it is also more concise and terse than its predecessor. This should the
better fit it for its purpose now that competent teachers are common.
They may in many cases develop paragraphs into lectures, and fully
illustrate points which are barely, but it is hoped clearly, stated.
Indeed, even for those without a teacher, it may be that a condensed is
better than a diffuse exposition.
The book is adapted to the higher schools, "How Plants Grow and Behave"
being the "Botany for Young People and Common Schools." It is intended
to ground beginners in Structural Botany and the principles of vegetable
life, mainly as concerns Flowering or Phanerogamous plants, with which
botanical instruction should always begin; also to be a companion and
interpreter to the Manuals and Floras by which the student threads his
flowery way to a clear knowledge of the surrounding vegetable creation.
Such a book, like a grammar, must needs abound in technical words, which
thus arrayed may seem formidable; nevertheless, if rightly apprehended,
this treatise should teach that the study of botany is not the learning
of names and terms, but the acquisition of knowledge and ideas. No
effort should be made to commit technical terms to memory. Any term used
in describing a plant or explaining its structure can be looked up when
it is wanted, and that should suffice. On the other hand, plans of
structure, types, adaptations, and modifications, once understood, are
not readily forgotten; and they give meaning and interest to the
technical terms used in explaining them.
In these "Elements" naturally no mention has been made of certain terms
and names which recent cryptogamically-minded botanists, with lack of
proportion and just perspective, are endeavoring to introduce into
phanerogamous botany, and which are not needed nor appropriate, even in
more advanced works, for the adequate recognition of the ascertained
analogies and homologies.
As this volume will be the grammar and dictionary to more than one or
two Manuals, Floras, etc., the particular directions for procedure which
were given in the "First Lessons" are now relegated to those works
themselves, which in their new editions will provide the requisite
explanations. On the other hand, in view of such extended use, the
Glossary at the end of this book has been considerably enlarged. It will
be found to include not merely the common terms of botanical description
but also many which are unusual or obsolete; yet any of them may now and
then be encountered. Moreover, no small number of the Latin and Greek
words which form the whole or part of the commoner specific names are
added to this Glossary, some in an Anglicized, others in their Latin
form. This may be helpful to students with small Latin and less Greek,
in catching the meaning of a botanical name or term.
The illustrations in this volume are largely increased in number. They
are mostly from the hand of Isaac Sprague.
It happens that the title chosen for this book is that of the author's
earliest publication, in the year 1836, of which copies are rarely seen;
so that no inconvenience is likely to arise from the present use of the
name.
ASA GRAY.
Cambridge, Massachusetts,
_March, 1887_.
CONTENTS.
Page
SECTION I. INTRODUCTORY 9
SECTION II. FLAX AS A PATTERN PLANT 11
Growth from the Seed, Organs of Vegetation 11
Blossoming, Flower, &c. 14
SECTION III. MORPHOLOGY OF SEEDLINGS 15
Germinating Maples 15
Cotyledons thickened, hypogaeous in germination 18
Store of Food external to the Embryo 20
Cotyledons as to number 22
Dicotyledonous and Polycotyledonous 23
Monocotyledonous 24
Simple-stemmed Plants 26
SECTION IV. GROWTH FROM BUDS; BRANCHING 27
Buds, situation and kinds 27
Vigorous vegetation from strong Buds 28
Arrangement of Branches 29
Non-developed, Latent, and Accessory Buds 30
Enumeration of kinds of Buds 31
Definite and Indefinite growth; Deliquescent and Excurrent 31
SECTION V. ROOTS 33
Primary and Secondary. Contrast between Stem and Root 34
Fibrous and Fleshy Roots; names of kinds 34
Anomalous Roots. Epiphytic and Parasitic Plants 36
Duration: Annuals, Biennials, Perennials 37
SECTION VI. STEMS 38
Those above Ground: kinds and modifications 39
Subterranean Stems and Branches 42
Rootstock 42
Tuber 44
Corm 45
Bulb and Bulblets 46
Consolidated Vegetation 47
SECTION VII. LEAVES 49
Sec. 1. LEAVES AS FOLIAGE 49
Parts and Venation 50
Forms as to general outline 52
As to apex and particular outline 53
As to lobing or division 56
Compound, Perfoliate, and Equitant Leaves 57
With no distinction of Petiole and Blade, Phyllodia, &c. 61
Sec. 2. LEAVES OF SPECIAL CONFORMATION AND USE 62
Leaves for storage 62
Leaves as bud-scales 63
Spines 64
and for Climbing 64
Pitchers 64
and Fly-traps 65
Sec. 3. STIPULES 66
Sec. 4. THE ARRANGEMENT OF LEAVES 67
Phyllotaxy 67
Of Alternate Leaves 69
Of Opposite and Whorled Leaves 71
Vernation or Praefoliation 71
SECTION VIII. FLOWERS 72
Sec. 1. POSITION AND ARRANGEMENT, INFLORESCENCE 73
Raceme 73
Corymb, Umbel, Spike, Head 74
Spadix, Catkin, or Ament 75
Panicle: Determinate Inflorescence 76
Cyme, Fascicle, Glomerule, Scorpioid or Helicoid Cymes 77
Mixed Inflorescence 78
Sec. 2. PARTS OR ORGANS OF THE FLOWER 79
Floral Envelopes: Perianth, Calyx, Corolla 79
Essential Organs: Stamen, Pistil 80
Torus or Receptacle 81
Sec. 3. PLAN OF THE FLOWER 81
When perfect, complete, regular, or symmetrical 81
Numerical Plan and Alternation of Organs 82
Flowers are altered branches 83
Sec. 4. MODIFICATIONS OF THE TYPE 85
Unisexual or diclinous 85
Incomplete, Irregular, and Unsymmetrical 86
Flowers with Multiplication of Parts 88
Flowers with Union of Parts: Coalescence 88
Regular Forms 89
Irregular Forms 90
Papilionaceous 91
Labiate 92
and Ligulate Corollas 93
Adnation or Consolidation 94
Position of Flower or of its Parts 96
Sec. 5. ARRANGEMENT OF PARTS IN THE BUD 97
AEstivation or Praefloration, its kinds 97
SECTION IX. STAMENS IN PARTICULAR 98
Androecium 98
Insertion, Relation, &c. 99
Anther and Filament. Pollen 101
SECTION X. PISTILS IN PARTICULAR 105
Sec. 1. ANGIOSPERMOUS OR ORDINARY GYNOECIUM 105
Parts of a complete Pistil 105
Carpels, Simple Pistil 106
Compound Pistil with Cells and Axile Placentae 107
One-celled with Free Central Placenta 108
One-celled with Parietal Placentae 108
Sec. 2. GYMNOSPERMOUS GYNOECIUM 109
SECTION XI. OVULES 110
Their Parts, Insertion, and Kinds 111
SECTION XII. MODIFICATIONS OF THE RECEPTACLE 112
Torus, Stipe, Carpophore, Disk 113
SECTION XIII. FERTILIZATION 114
Sec. 1. ADAPTATIONS FOR POLLINATION OF THE STIGMA 114
Close and Cross Fertilization, Anemophilous and Entomophilous 115
Dichogamy and Heterogony 116
Sec. 2. ACTION OF THE POLLEN AND FORMATION OF THE EMBRYO 117
SECTION XIV. THE FRUIT 117
Nature and kinds 118
Berry, Pepo, Pome 119
Drupe and Akene 120
Cremocarp, Caryopsis, Nut 121
Follicle, Legume, Capsule 122
Capsular Dehiscence, Silique and Silicle 123
Pyxis, Strobile or Cone 124
SECTION XV. THE SEED 125
Seed-coats and their appendages 125
The Kernel or Nucleus, Embryo and its parts, Albumen 127
SECTION XVI. VEGETABLE LIFE AND WORK 128
Sec. 1. ANATOMICAL STRUCTURE AND GROWTH 129
Nature of Growth, Protoplasm 129
Cells and Cell-walls. Cellular Structure or Tissue 130
Strengthening Cells. Wood, Wood-cells, Vessels or Ducts 132
Sec. 2. CELL-CONTENTS 136
Sap, Chlorophyll, Starch 136
Crystals, Rhaphides 137
Sec. 3. ANATOMY OF ROOTS AND STEMS 138
Endogenous and Exogenous Stems 139
Particular structure of the latter 140
Wood, Sapwood and Heart-wood. The living parts of a Tree 141
Sec. 4. ANATOMY OF LEAVES 142
Epidermis, Stomata or Breathing pores 143
Sec. 5. PLANT FOOD AND ASSIMILATION 144
Sec. 6. PLANT WORK AND MOVEMENT 149
Movements in Cells or Cyclosis 149
Transference from Cell to Cell 150
Movements of Organs, Twining Stems, Leaf-movements 150
Movements of Tendrils, Sensitiveness 152
Movements in Flowers 153
Movements for capture of Insects 154
Work costs, using up Material and Energy 155
SECTION XVII. CRYPTOGAMOUS OR FLOWERLESS PLANTS 156
Vascular Cryptogams, Pteridophytes 156
Horsetails (Equisetaceae), Ferns 157
Club-Mosses (Lycopodium), &c. 161
Quillworts (Isoetes), Pillworts (Marsilia) 161
Azolla. Cellular Cryptogams 162
Bryophytes. Mosses (Musci) 163
Liverworts (Hepaticae) 164
Thallophytes 165
Characeae 167
Algae, Seaweeds, &c. 168
Lichenes or Lichens 171
Fungi 172
SECTION XVIII. CLASSIFICATION AND NOMENCLATURE 175
Sec. 1. KINDS AND RELATIONSHIP 175
Species, Varieties, Individuals 176
Genera, Orders, Classes, &c. 177
Sec. 2. NAMES, TERMS AND CHARACTERS 178
Nomenclature of Genera, Species, and Varieties 179
Nomenclature of Orders, Classes, &c. Terminology 180
Sec. 3. SYSTEM 181
Artificial and Natural 182
Synopsis of Series, Classes, &c. 183
SECTION XIX. BOTANICAL WORK 184
Sec. 1. COLLECTION OR HERBORIZATION 184
Sec. 2. HERBARIUM 186
Sec. 3. INVESTIGATION AND DETERMINATION OF PLANTS 187
Sec. 4. SIGNS AND ABBREVIATIONS 188
ABBREVIATIONS OF THE NAMES OF BOTANISTS 190
GLOSSARY COMBINED WITH INDEX 193
ELEMENTS OF BOTANY.
Section I. INTRODUCTORY.
1. BOTANY is the name of the science of the vegetable kingdom in
general; that is, of plants.
2. Plants may be studied as to their kinds and relationships. This study
is SYSTEMATIC BOTANY. An enumeration of the kinds of vegetables, as far
as known, classified according to their various degrees of resemblance
or difference, constitutes a general _System of plants_. A similar
account of the vegetables of any particular country or district is
called a _Flora_.
3. Plants may be studied as to their structure and parts. This is
STRUCTURAL BOTANY, or ORGANOGRAPHY. The study of the organs or parts of
plants in regard to the different forms and different uses which the
same kind of organ may assume,--the comparison, for instance, of a
flower-leaf or a bud-scale with a common leaf,--is VEGETABLE MORPHOLOGY,
or MORPHOLOGICAL BOTANY. The study of the minute structure of the parts,
to learn by the microscope what they themselves are formed of, is
VEGETABLE ANATOMY, or HISTOLOGY; in other words, it is Microscopical
Structural Botany. The study of the actions of plants or of their parts,
of the ways in which a plant lives, grows, and acts, is the province of
PHYSIOLOGICAL BOTANY, or VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY.
4. This book is to teach the outlines of Structural Botany and of the
simpler parts of the physiology of plants, that it may be known how
plants are constructed and adapted to their surroundings, and how they
live, move, propagate, and have their being in an existence no less
real, although more simple, than that of the animal creation which they
support. Particularly, this book is to teach the principles of the
structure and relationships of plants, the nature and names of their
parts and their modifications, and so to prepare for the study of
Systematic Botany; in which the learner may ascertain the name and the
place in the system of any or all of the ordinary plants within reach,
whether wild or cultivated. And in ascertaining the name of any plant,
the student, if rightly taught, will come to know all about its general
or particular structure, rank, and relationship to other plants.
5. The vegetable kingdom is so vast and various, and the difference is
so wide between ordinary trees, shrubs, and herbs on the one hand, and
mosses, moulds, and such like on the other, that it is hardly possible
to frame an intelligible account of plants as a whole without
contradictions or misstatements, or endless and troublesome
qualifications. If we say that plants come from seeds, bear flowers, and
have roots, stems, and leaves, this is not true of the lower orders. It
is best for the beginner, therefore, to treat of the higher orders of
plants by themselves, without particular reference to the lower.
6. Let it be understood, accordingly, that there is a higher and a lower
series of plants; namely:--
PHANEROGAMOUS PLANTS, which come from seed and bear _flowers_,
essentially stamens and pistils, through the co-operation of which seed
is produced. For shortness, these are commonly called PHANEROGAMS, or
_Phaenogams_, or by the equivalent English name of FLOWERING PLANTS.[1]
CRYPTOGAMOUS PLANTS, or CRYPTOGAMS, come from minute bodies, which
answer to seeds, but are of much simpler structure, and such plants have
not stamens and pistils. Therefore they are called in English FLOWERLESS
PLANTS. Such are Ferns, Mosses, Algae or Seaweeds, Fungi, etc. These
sorts have each to be studied separately, for each class or order has a
plan of its own.
7. But Phanerogamous, or Flowering, Plants are all constructed on one
plan, or _type_. That is, taking almost any ordinary herb, shrub, or
tree for a pattern, it will exemplify the whole series: the parts of one
plant answer to the parts of any other, with only certain differences in
particulars. And the occupation and the delight of the scientific
botanist is in tracing out this common plan, in detecting the likenesses
under all the diversities, and in noting the meaning of these manifold
diversities. So the attentive study of any one plant, from its growth
out of the seed to the flowering and fruiting state and the production
of seed like to that from which the plant grew, would not only give a
correct general idea of the structure, growth, and characteristics of
Flowering Plants in general, but also serve as a pattern or standard of
comparison. Some plants will serve this purpose of a pattern much better
than others. A proper pattern will be one that is perfect in the sense
of having all the principal parts of a phanerogamous plant, and simple
and regular in having these parts free from complications or disguises.
The common Flax-plant may very well serve this purpose. Being an annual,
it has the advantage of being easily raised and carried in a short time
through its circle of existence, from seedling to fruit and seed.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The name is sometimes _Phanerogamous_, sometimes _Phaenogamous_
(_Phanerogams_, or _Phaenogams_), terms of the same meaning
etymologically; the former of preferable form, but the latter shorter.
The meaning of such terms is explained in the Glossary.
Section II. FLAX AS A PATTERN PLANT.
8. =Growth from the Seed.= Phanerogamous plants grow from seed, and
their flowers are destined to the production of seeds. A seed has a
rudimentary plant ready formed in it,--sometimes with the two most
essential parts, i. e. stem and leaf, plainly discernible; sometimes
with no obvious distinction of organs until germination begins. This
incipient plant is called an EMBRYO.
9. In this section the Flax-plant is taken as a specimen, or type, and
the development and history of common plants in general is illustrated
by it. In flax-seed the embryo nearly fills the coats, but not quite.
There is a small deposit of nourishment between the seed-coat and the
embryo: this may for the present be left out of the account. This embryo
consists of a pair of leaves, pressed together face to face, and
attached to an extremely short stem. (Fig. 2-4.) In this rudimentary
condition the real nature of the parts is not at once apparent; but when
the seed grows they promptly reveal their character,--as the
accompanying figures (Fig. 5-7) show.
[Illustration: Fig. 1. Pod of Flax. 2. Section lengthwise, showing two
of the seeds; one whole, the other cut half away, bringing contained
embryo into view. 3. Similar section of a flax-seed more magnified and
divided flatwise; turned round, so that the stem-end (caulicle) of the
embryo is below: the whole broad upper part is the inner face of one of
the cotyledons; the minute nick at its base is the plumule. 4. Similar
section through a seed turned edgewise, showing the thickness of the
cotyledons, and the minute plumule between them, i. e. the minute bud on
the upper end of the caulicle.]
10. Before the nature of these parts in the seed was altogether
understood, technical names were given to them, which are still in use.
These initial leaves were named COTYLEDONS. The initial stem on which
they stand was called the RADICLE. That was because it gives rise to the
first root; but, as it is really the beginning of the stem, and because
it is the stem that produces the root and not the root that produces the
stem, it is better to name it the CAULICLE. Recently it has been named
_Hypocotyle_; which signifies something below the cotyledons, without
pronouncing what its nature is.
[Illustration: Fig. 5. Early Flax seedling; stem (caulicle), root at
lower end, expanded seed-leaves (cotyledons) at the other: minute bud
(plumule) between these. 6. Same later; the bud developed into second
pair of leaves, with hardly any stem-part below them; then into a third
pair of leaves, raised on a short joint of stem; and a fifth leaf also
showing. 7. Same still older, with more leaves developed, but these
singly (one after another), and with joints of stem between them.]
11. On committing these seeds to moist and warm soil they soon sprout,
i. e. _germinate_. The very short stem-part of the embryo is the first
to grow. It lengthens, protrudes its root-end; this turns downward, if
not already pointing in that direction, and while it is lengthening a
root forms at its point and grows downward into the ground. This root
continues to grow on from its lower end, and thus insinuates itself and
penetrates into the soil. The stem meanwhile is adding to its length
throughout; it erects itself, and, seeking the light, brings the seed up
out of the ground. The materials for this growth have been supplied by
the cotyledons or seed-leaves, still in the seed: it was the store of
nourishing material they held which gave them their thickish shape, so
unlike that of ordinary leaves. Now, relieved of a part of this store of
food, which has formed the growth by which they have been raised into
the air and light, they appropriate the remainder to their own growth.
In enlarging they open and throw off the seed-husk; they expand, diverge
into a horizontal position, turn green, and thus become a pair of
evident leaves, the first foliage of a tiny plant. This seedling,
although diminutive and most simple, possesses and puts into use, all
the ORGANS of VEGETATION, namely, root, stem, and leaves, each in its
proper element,--the root in the soil, the stem rising out of it, the
leaves in the light and open air. It now draws in moisture and some
food-materials from the soil by its root, conveys this through the stem
into the leaves, where these materials, along with other crude food
which these imbibe from the air, are assimilated into vegetable matter,
i. e. into the material for further growth.
12. =Further Growth= soon proceeds to the formation of new
parts,--downward in the production of more root, or of branches of the
main root, upward in the development of more stem and leaves. That from
which a stem with its leaves is continued, or a new stem (i. e. branch)
originated, is a BUD. The most conspicuous and familiar buds are those
of most shrubs and trees, bearing buds formed in summer or autumn, to
grow the following spring. But every such point for new growth may
equally bear the name. When there is such a bud between the cotyledons
in the seed or seedling it is called the PLUMULE. This is conspicuous
enough in a bean (Fig. 29.), where the young leaf of the new growth
looks like a little plume, whence the name, _plumule_. In flax-seed this
is very minute indeed, but is discernible with a magnifier, and in the
seedling it shows itself distinctly (Fig. 5, 6, 7).
13. As it grows it shapes itself into a second pair of leaves, which of
course rests on a second joint of stem, although in this instance that
remains too short to be well seen. Upon its summit appears the third
pair of leaves, soon to be raised upon its proper joint of stem; the
next leaf is single, and is carried up still further upon its supporting
joint of stem; and so on. The root, meanwhile, continues to grow
underground, not joint after joint, but continuously, from its lower
end; and commonly it before long multiplies itself by branches, which
lengthen by the same continuous growth. But stems are built up by a
succession of leaf-bearing growths, such as are strongly marked in a
reed or corn-stalk, and less so in such an herb as Flax. The word
"joint" is ambiguous: it may mean either the portion between successive
leaves, or their junction, where the leaves are attached. For precision,
therefore, the place where the leaf or leaves are borne is called a
NODE, and the naked interval between two nodes, an INTERNODE.
[Illustration: Fig. 8. Upper part of Flax-plant in blossom.]
14. In this way a simple stem with its garniture of leaves is developed
from the seed. But besides this direct continuation, buds may form and
develop into lateral stems, that is, _into branches_, from any node. The
proper origin of branches is from the AXIL of a leaf, i. e. the angle
between leaf and stem on the upper side; and branches may again branch,
so | 916.434531 |
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF
_Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._
VOLUME XX.
[Illustration]
BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS, 124 TREMONT STREET.
1867.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected. Footnotes have been
moved to the end of the article.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Artist's Dream, An _T. W. Higginson_ 100
Autobiography of a Quack, The. I., II. 466, 586
Bornoo, A Native of 485
Bowery at Night, The _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 602
By-Ways of Europe. From Perpignan to Montserrat.
_Bayard Taylor_ 495
" " A Visit to the Balearic Islands. I.
_Bayard Taylor_ 680
Busy Brains _Austin Abbott_ 570
Canadian Woods and Waters _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 311
Cincinnati _James Parton_ 229
Conspiracy at Washington, The 633
Cretan Days _Wm. J. Stillman_ 533
Dinner Speaking _Edward Everett Hale_ 507
Doctor Molke _Dr. I. I. Hayes_ 43
Edisto, Up the _T. W. Higginson_ 157
Foster, Stephen C., and <DW64> Minstrelsy
_Robert P. Nevin_ 608
Fugitives from Labor _F. Sheldon_ 370
Grandmother's Story: The Great Snow 716
Gray Goth, In the _Miss E. Stuart Phelps_ 559
Great Public Character, A _James Russell Lowell_ 618
Growth, Limitations, and Toleration of Shakespeare's Genius
_E. P. Whipple_ 178
Guardian Angel, The. VII., VIII., IX., X., XI., XII.
_Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 1, 129, 257, 385, 513, 641
Hospital Memories. I., II.
_Miss Eudora Clark_ 144, 324
International Copyright _James Parton_ 430
Jesuits in North America, The _George E. Ellis_ 362
Jonson, Ben _E. P. Whipple_ 403
Longfellow's Translation of Dante's Divina Commedia 188
Liliput Province, A _W. Winwood Reade_ 247
Literature as an Art _T. W. Higginson_ 745
Little Land of Appenzell, The _Bayard Taylor_ 213
Minor Elizabethan Dramatists _E. P. Whipple_ 692
Minor Italian Travels _W. D. Howells_ 337
Mysterious Personage, A _John Neal_ 658
Opinions of the late Dr. Nott, respecting Books, Studies and Orators
_E. D. Sanborn_ 527
Pacific Railroads, Our _J. K. Medbery_ 704
Padua, At _W. D. Howells_ 25
Passage from Hawthorne's English Note-Books, A 15
Piano in the United States, The _James Parton_ 82
Poor Richard. II., III. _Henry James, Jr._ 32, 166
Prophetic Voices about America. A Monograph
| 916.445513 |
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Produced by Jeannie Howse, David Garcia and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The University of Florida, The Internet
Archive/Children's Library)
* * * * *
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has |
| been preserved. |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For |
| a complete list, please see the end of this document. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------------+
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PEDDLER AND HIS GRANDCHILDREN.]
UNCLE FRANK'S
BOY'S & GIRL'S LIBRARY,
BY
FRANCIS C. WOODWORTH,
EDITOR OF WOODWORTH'S YOUTH'S CABINET.
[Illustration]
THE
PEDDLER'S BOY;
OR,
"I'LL BE SOMEBODY."
With Tinted Illustrations.
BY UNCLE FRANK,
AUTHOR OF "A PEEP AT OUR NEIGHBORS," "WILLOW LANE STORIES,"
"THE DIVING BELL," ETC., ETC.
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.,
PUBLISHERS.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
C.W. BENEDICT,
STEREOTYPER AND PRINTER,
201 William st., N.Y.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
A BIRD'S-EYE GLANCE, 7
PEDDLERS AND PEDDLING, 14
THE OTHER SIDE, 32
DEACON BISSELL, 36
THE YOUNGEST BOY, 48
A NOBLE RESOLUTION, 60
A TALK ABOUT THE FUTURE, 75
THANKSGIVING AND TEMPTATION, 80
PATRIOTISM AND POWDER, 89
THE GLASS OF GIN, 100
LIFE IN A FACTORY, 111
A GLANCE AT FREDERICK, 120
SAMUEL IN BOSTON, 132
THE FLOUR STORE, 140
THE WINDING UP, 152
ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE PEDDLER AND HIS GRANDCHILDREN, (Frontispiece)
VIGNETTE TITLE-PAGE, 1
SAMUEL AND THE SCHOOLMASTER, 52
LOOKING THROUGH THE TELESCOPE, 65
A TALK ABOUT THE FUTURE, 74
THE YOUNG DRUMMER, 93
THE DRUNKARD, WITH HIS FATHER, 128
MR. BISSELL AND HIS CHILDREN, 147
THE PEDDLER'S BOY.
CHAP. I.
A BIRD'S-EYE GLANCE.
Among the many beautiful villages near Boston, there is one quite as
beautiful as any, situated but a few miles from that busy metropolis,
called--but I must not mention its name; that is of very little
consequence. A few rods from the Common, the pride of the Bostonians,
is the depot of the railroad which passes through this place; and one
has only to jump into the cars, and in less than fifteen minutes he is
there. Uncle Frank has some dear friends in this village, and choice
spirits they are, in his estimation. How much this fact has to do with
his opinion of the beauty of the place, he does not pretend to say. He
has scarcely settled it in his own mind. Nor is it much matter, as the
story about to be related will neither lose nor gain much in its
interest, by the good or ill opinion which the reader may happen to
have of the village itself; though I may be pardoned for adding that
I should put rather a low value upon the taste of that man, or woman,
or child, who could visit this part of the country, when Nature has
her best dress on, and not pronounce it one of the most delightful
spots, in his or her opinion, that the sun or moon ever shone upon.
Among my friends in this charming village, is one whom, at present, I
will call Mr. Bissell--Mr. _Samuel Bissell_. I will call him so for
the present, I say. His real name is no more like Bissell than yours
is--no more like Samuel Bissell than it is like John Smith or George
Jones; but I think he will forgive us, though, for taking such a
liberty with his "good name," should he ever happen to come across
this story, and should it prove to him a sort of looking-glass, in
which he can see his own features.
When he was a lad, about twelve years old, his father, who had been
possessed of a handsome property, failed in business, and as Samuel
says, "became as poor as a church mouse." What would have taken place
if Samuel's father had been successful in his business affairs, so
that it would not have been absolutely necessary for the lad to work
for a living, is more than I can say. | 916.534629 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 734. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE STORY OF THIERS.
In a densely populated street of the quaint sea-port of Marseilles
there dwelt a poor locksmith and his family, who were so hard pressed
by the dearness of provisions and the general hardness of the times,
that the rent and taxes for the wretched tenement which they called
a home had been allowed to fall many weeks into arrear. But the good
people struggled on against their poverty; and the locksmith (who
was the son of a ruined cloth-merchant), though fallen to the humble
position of a dock-porter, still managed to wade through life as if
he had been born to opulence. This poor labourer’s name was Thiers,
and his wife was a descendant of the poet Chenier; the two being
destined to become the parents of Louis Adolphe Thiers, one of the most
remarkable men that ever lived.
The hero of our story was at his birth mentally consigned to oblivion
by his parents, while the neighbours laughed at the ungainly child,
and prognosticated for him all kinds of evil in the future. And it is
more than probable that these evil auguries would have been fulfilled
had it not been for the extraordinary care bestowed upon him by his
grandmother. But for her, perhaps our story had never been written.
Under her fostering care the child survived all those diseases which
were, according to the gossips, to prove fatal to him; but while his
limbs remained almost stationary, his head and chest grew larger, until
he became a veritable dwarf. By his mother’s influence with the family
of André Chenier, the lad was enabled to enter the Marseilles Lyceum
at the age of nine; and here the remarkable head and chest kept the
promise they made in his infancy, and soon fulfilled Madame Thiers’
predictions.
Louis Adolphe Thiers was a brilliant though somewhat erratic pupil. He
was noted for his practical jokes, his restlessness, and the ready and
ingenious manner in which he always extricated himself from any scrapes
into which his bold and restless disposition had led him. Thus the
child in this case would appear to have been ‘father to the man,’ by
the manner in which he afterwards released his beloved country from one
of the greatest ‘scrapes’ she ever experienced.
On leaving school Thiers studied for the law, and was eventually called
to the bar, though he never practised as a lawyer. He became instead
a local politician; and so well did the rôle suit him, that he soon
evinced a strong desire to try his fortune in Paris itself. He swayed
his auditory, when speaking, in spite of his diminutive stature,
Punch-like physiognomy, and shrill piping speech; and shout and yell
as his adversaries might, they could not drown his voice, for it arose
clear and distinct above all the hubbub around him. While the studious
youth was thus making himself a name in his native town, he was ever on
the watch for an opportunity to transfer his fortunes to the capital.
His almost penniless condition, however, precluded him from carrying
out his design without extraneous assistance of some kind or other;
but when such a stupendous ambition as that of governing one of the
greatest nations of the earth filled the breast of the Marseilles
student, it was not likely that the opportunity he was seeking would be
long in coming.
The Academy of Aix offered a prize of a few hundred francs for a
eulogium on _Vauvenargues_, and here was the opportunity which Louis
Adolphe Thiers required. He determined to compete for the prize,
and wrote out two copies of his essay, one of which he sent to the
Academy’s Secretary, and the other he submitted to the judgment of
his friends. This latter indiscretion, however, would appear to have
been the cause of his name being mentioned to the Academicians as a
competitor; and as they had a spite against him, and disapproved of his
opinions, they decided to reject any essay which he might submit to
them.
On the day of the competition they were as good as their word, and
Thiers received back his essay with only an ‘honourable mention’
attached to it. The votes, however, had been equally divided, and the
principal prize could not be adjudged until the next session. The
future statesman and brilliant journalist was not, however, to be cast
aside in this contemptuous manner, and he accordingly adopted a _ruse
de guerre_, which was perfectly justifiable under the circumstances. He
sent back his first essay for the second competition with his own name
attached thereto, and at the same time transmitted another essay, by
means of a friend, through the Paris post-office. This paper was signed
‘Louis Duval;’ and as M. Thiers knew that they had resolved to reject
his essay and accept the next best on the list, he made it as near as
possible equal to the other in point of merit.
The Academicians were thoroughly out-generalled by this clever
artifice, and the prize was awarded to the essay signed ‘Louis Duval;’
but the chagrin of the dons when the envelope was opened and the name
of Louis Adolphe Thiers was read out, can be better imagined than
described. The prize, which amounted to about twenty pounds, was
added to another sum of forty pounds gained by his friend Mignet for
essay-writing; and with this modest amount, the two friends set out
on their journey to Paris. On their arrival there, both of them were
at once engaged as writers on the _Globe_ newspaper, and M. Thiers’
articles soon attracted such attention that the highest political
destinies were predicted for their author.
Alluding to the small stature of our hero, Prince Talleyrand once
said: ‘_Il est petit, mais il grandira!_’ (He is little, but he will
be great!) Meanwhile, the young adventurer, as we may call him, was
engaged on general literary work for the press, writing political
leaders one day, art-criticisms the next, and so on, until a publisher
asked him to write the _History of the French Revolution_. He accepted;
and when published, the work met with so great a success that it placed
him in the front rank of literature, and gained for him the proud title
of ‘National Historian.’ After this the two friends published the
_National_ newspaper, an undertaking which we are told was conceived
in Talleyrand’s house, and was largely subscribed to by the Duke
of Orleans, afterwards King Louis-Philippe. M. Thiers disliked the
Bourbons; and when, in 1829, Charles X. dissolved a liberal parliament,
he took the lead in agitating for the reinstating of the people’s
rights. The king having determined to reply to the re-election of the
‘221’ by a _coup d’état_, the nature of which was secretly communicated
to M. Thiers, the latter hastened to the office of the _National_
and drew up the celebrated Protest of the Journalists, which before
noon was signed by every writer on the liberal side. As M. Thiers was
leaving the office, a servant of Prince Talleyrand placed in his hand a
note, which simply bore the words, ‘Go and gather cherries.’ This was a
hint that danger was near the young patriot, and that he should repair
to the house of one of the Prince’s friends at Montmorency--a place
famous for its cherries--and there lie hidden until the storm had blown
over.
M. Thiers did not immediately accept the hint, but remained in the
capital during the day, to watch the course of events and endeavour to
prevent his friends from doing anything rash. He energetically sought
to dissuade those who were for resisting the king’s decree by force of
arms; but did not succeed. When the barricades were raised, he left
Paris, because he thought that the people were doing an unwise thing,
which would lead to a fearful slaughter, and perhaps result in himself
and friends being shot.
When, however, the battle between the army and the people had really
begun, the indomitable little man returned to Paris, and heedless of
the bullets that were flying about, he ran here and there trying to
collect adherents for the Duke of Orleans. He also had a proclamation
of the Duke, as king, printed, rushed out with it, damp as it was from
the press, and distributed copies to the victorious insurgents; but
this operation nearly cost him his life, for the crowds on the Place
de la Bourse were shouting for a republic, and a cry was immediately
raised to lynch M. Thiers. He only escaped by dashing into a
pastry-cook’s shop, and taking a header down the open cellar which led
to the kitchen.
Nothing daunted by this _contretemps_, however, he sought out M.
Scheffer, an intimate friend of the Duke of Orleans, and started off
for Neuilly with him (without consulting anybody else), to offer the
crown of France to the Duke. When they found the Duke, he despatched
M. Thiers to Prince Talleyrand to ask his advice on the subject; and
the latter, who was in bed at the time, said: ‘Let him accept;’ but
positively refused to put this advice in writing. Thus the Duke of
Orleans became King of the French under the name of Louis-Philippe, and
the Marseilles student found himself a step nearer the accomplishment
of his aim. The poor locksmith’s son had overthrown one king and
established another!
It was M. Thiers who caused the remains of Napoleon to be removed from
the gloomy resting-place in St Helena to the church of the Invalides in
Paris, where they were re-interred amid great pomp and circumstance.
He it was who also invented or gave currency to the now well-known
constitutional maxim, ‘The king reigns, but does not govern.’
In this reign M. Thiers commenced his great work on the _Consulate and
the Empire_, in which he so eulogised the First Napoleon and flattered
the military fame of France, that he unwittingly paved the way for the
advent of the second Empire.
The revolution of 1848, which led to the abdication of Louis-Philippe,
found Thiers but a simple soldier in the National Guard, and parading
the streets with a musket on his shoulder, despite his diminutive
stature. A man of his transcendent ability, however, could not be left
long in so humble a position, and we therefore find the newly elected
sovereign Louis Napoleon trying hard to win over to his side this
unique citizen. But Thiers declined the honour, and remained a thorn in
Napoleon’s side during the whole period of his reign. When the _coup
d’état_ of 1851 was struck he was one of the leading statesmen whose
arrest was ordered and carried out. The patriot was seized and forcibly
taken out of his bed at an early hour in the morning, and imprisoned at
Mazas for several days. He was then escorted out of the country, and
became an exile from the land he loved so well.
While the excitement in Paris, which culminated in the outbreak of the
war with Germany, was at its height, and the whole nation was singing
the _Marseillaise_ and shouting ‘à Berlin,’ M. Thiers’ voice was the
only one raised to protest against France precipitating herself into an
unjust and unnecessary war. He was unheeded at the moment; but a few
weeks sufficed to prove the soundness of his reasoning; and when the
Germans were marching on Paris, it was to the locksmith’s son that the
whole nation turned in its distress.
The Napoleonic dynasty was deposed, and at the elections for the
National Assembly which afterwards took place, M. Thiers was elected
for twenty-six Departments--a splendid national testimony to his
patriotism and ability. As soon as the Assembly met he was at once
appointed ‘Chief of the Executive Power’ of the French Republic.
Thus the poor student of the Marseilles Academy had become, almost
without any effort of his own, the governor of his country; and how he
acquitted himself of the onerous and self-sacrificing task, let the
living grief of Frenchmen for his loss at this moment proudly attest.
Previous to this appointment, however, and while the German army was
thundering at the gates of Paris, the brave old statesman had, in
his seventy-fourth year, shewn his unalterable devotion to France by
the famous journey he made to all the European courts to endeavour
to obtain assistance. Failing in this, he came back, and being made
President, as above mentioned, he made peace with the Germans on the
best terms he could get, turned round and beat the Communists in the
streets of Paris; and within three short years he had not only paid the
heaviest war indemnity ever known, but had cleared his country of the
Germans, consolidated her resources, and reorganised her army.
On the morning of the 4th September last, France was suddenly plunged
into the deepest grief and dismay by the announcement that her greatest
citizen had been taken from her by death on the previous evening, at a
time when the whole nation was looking to him as the one man who could
save it from the dangerous crisis through which it was at that moment
passing.
The funeral was a magnificent one, and though a wet day, there was not
a citizen in Paris that did not join the throng, which lined the whole
of the way to the cemetery | 916.550638 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
IGNORANT ESSAYS.
_IGNORANT_
_ESSAYS._
[Illustration: text decoration]
LONDON:
WARD AND DOWNEY,
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1887.
[_All Rights Reserved._]
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE ONLY REAL GHOST IN FICTION 1
THE BEST TWO BOOKS 30
LIES OF FABLE AND ALLEGORY 55
MY COPY OF KEATS 83
DECAY OF THE SUBLIME 117
A BORROWED POET 132
THE ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER 160
A GUIDE TO IGNORANCE 175
IGNORANT ESSAYS.
THE ONLY REAL GHOST IN FICTION.
My most ingenious friend met me one day, and asked me whether I
considered I should be richer if I had the ghost of sixpence or if I had
not the ghost of sixpence.
“What side do you take?” I inquired, for I knew his disputatious turn.
“I am ready to take either,” he answered; “but I give preference to the
ghost.”
“What!” I said. “Give preference to the ghost!”
“Yes. You see, if I haven’t the ghost of sixpence I have nothing at
all; but if I have the ghost of a sixpence----”
“Well?”
“Well, I am the richer by having the ghost of a sixpence.”
“And do you think when you add one more delusion to those under which
you already labour”--he and I could never agree about the difference
between infinity and zero--“that you will be the better off?”
“I have not admitted a ghost is a delusion; and even if I had I am not
prepared to grant that a delusion may not be a source of wealth. Look at
the South Sea Bubble.”
I was willing, so there and then we fell to and were at the question--or
rather, the questions to which it led--for hours, until we finally
emerged upon the crystallization of cast-iron, the possibility of a
Napoleonic restoration, or some other kindred matter. How we wandered
about and writhed in that talk I can no more remember than I can recall
the first articulate words that fell into my life. I know we handled
ghosts (it was broad day and in a public street) with a freedom and
familiarity that must have been painful to spirits of refinement and
reserve. I know we said much about dreams, and compared the phantoms of
the open lids with the phantoms of the closed eyes, and pitted them one
against another like cocks in a main, and I remember that the case of
the dreamer in Boswell’s Johnson came up between us. The case in Boswell
submitted to Johnson as an argument in favour of a man’s reason being
more acute in sleep than in waking, showed the phantom antagonistic able
to floor the dreamer in his proper person. Johnson laughed at such a
delusion, for, he pointed out, only the dreamer was besotted with sleep
he would have perceived that he himself had furnished the confounding
arguments to the shadowy disputant. That is very good, and seems quite
conclusive as far as it goes; but is there nothing beyond what Johnson
saw? Was there no ghostly prompter in the scene? No _suggeritore_
invisible and inaudible to the dreamer, who put words and notes into the
mouth of the opponent? No thinner shade than the spectral being visible
in the dream? If in our waking hours we are subject to phantoms which
sometimes can be seen and sometimes cannot, why not in our sleeping
hours also? Are all ghosts of like grossness, or do some exist so fine
as to be beyond our carnal apprehension, and within the ken only of the
people of our sleep? If we ponderable mortals are haunted, who can say
that our insubstantial midnight visitors may not know wraiths finer and
subtler than we, may not be haunted as we are? In physical life
parasites have parasites. Why in phantom life should not ghosts have
ghosts?
The firm, familiar earth--our earth of this time, the earth upon which
we each of us stand at this moment--is thickly peopled with living
tangible folk who can eat, and drink, and talk, and sing, and walk, and
draw cheques, and perform a number of other useful, and hateful, and
amusing actions. In the course of a day a man meets, let us say, forty
people, with whom he exchanges speech. If a man is a busy dreamer, with
how many people in the course of one night does he exchange speech? Ten,
a hundred, a thousand? In the dreaming of one minute by the clock a man
may converse with half the children of Adam since the Fall! The command
of the greatest general alive would not furnish sentries and vedettes
for the army of spirits that might visit one man in the interval between
one beat of the pendulum of Big Ben and another!
Shortly after that talk with my friend about the ghost of the sixpence,
I was walking alone through one of the narrow lanes in the tangle of
ways between Holborn and Fleet Street, when my eye was caught by the
staring white word “Dreams” on a black ground. The word is, so to speak,
printed in white on the black cover of a paper-bound book, and under the
word “Dreams” are three faces, also printed in white on a black ground.
Two of the faces are those of women: one of a young woman, purporting to
be beautiful, with a star close to her forehead, and the other of a
witch with the long hair and disordered eyes becoming to a person of her
occupation. I dare say these two women are capable not only of
justification, but of the simplest explanation. For all I know to the
contrary, the composition may be taken wholly, or in part, from a
well-known picture, or perhaps some canon of ghostly lore would be
violated if any other design appeared on the cover. About such matters I
know absolutely nothing. The word “Dreams” and the two female faces are
now much less prominent than when I saw the book first, for, Goth that I
am, long ago I dipped a brush in ink and ran a thin wash over the
letters and the two faces; as they were, to use artist’s phrases, in
front of the third face, and killing it.
The third face is that of a man, a young man clean shaven and handsome,
with no ghastliness or look of austerity. His arms are resting on a
ledge, and extend from one side of the picture to the other. The left
arm lies partly under the right, and the left hand is clenched softly
and retired in half shadow. The right arm rises slightly as it crosses
the picture, and the right wrist and hand ride on the left. The fore and
middle fingers are apart, and point forward and a little downward,
following the sleeve of the other arm. The third finger droops still
more downward, and the little finger, with a ring on it, lies directly
perpendicular along the cuff of the sleeve beneath. The hand is not well
drawn, and yet there is some weird suggestiveness in the purposeless
dispersion of the fingers.
| 916.667502 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.7560050 | 3,219 | 21 |
E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Pat McCoy, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39612-h.htm or 39612-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39612/39612-h/39612-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39612/39612-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/lifeofconspirato00longuoft
Transcriber's note:
A letter or letters contained within curly brackets was a
superscript in the original text. Example: exam{t}
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics. Example:
_Criminal Trials_
Another transcriber's note is at the end of this text.
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
[Illustration: SIR EVERARD DIGBY
_From a portrait belonging to W. R. M. Wynne, Esq. of Peniarth, Merioneth_]
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
Being a Biography of Sir Everard Digby by One of His Descendants
by the author of
"A Life of Archbishop Laud," By a Romish Recusant, "The
Life of a Prig, by One," etc.
With Illustrations
London
Kegan Paul, Trench, Truebner & Co., Ltd.
Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road
1895
PREFACE
The chief difficulty in writing a life of Sir Everard Digby is to steer
clear of the alternate dangers of perverting it into a mere history of
the Gunpowder Plot, on the one hand, and of failing to say enough of
that great conspiracy to illustrate his conduct, on the other. Again, in
dealing with that plot, to condemn all concerned in it may seem like
kicking a dead dog to Protestants, and to Catholics like joining in one
of the bitterest and most irritating taunts to which they have been
exposed in this country throughout the last three centuries.
Nevertheless, I am not discouraged. The Gunpowder Plot is an historical
event about which the last word has not yet been said, nor is likely to
be said for some time to come; and monographs of men who were, either
directly or indirectly, concerned in it, may not be altogether useless
to those who desire to make a study of it. However faulty the following
pages may be in fact or in inference, they will not have been written in
vain if they have the effect of eliciting from others that which all
students of historical subjects ought most to desire--the Truth.
I wish to acknowledge most valuable assistance received from the Right
Rev. Edmund Knight, formerly Bishop of Shrewsbury, as well as from the
Rev. John Hungerford Pollen, S.J., who was untiring in his replies to my
questions on some very difficult points; but it is only fair to both of
them to say that the inferences they draw from the facts, which I have
brought forward, occasionally vary from my own. My thanks are also due
to that most able, most courteous, and most patient of editors, Mr Kegan
Paul, to say nothing of his services in the very different capacity of a
publisher, to Mr Wynne of Peniarth, for permission to photograph his
portrait of Sir Everard Digby, and to Mr Walter Carlile for information
concerning Gayhurst.
The names of the authorities of which I have made most use are given in
my footnotes; but I am perhaps most indebted to one whose name does not
appear the oftenest. The back-bone of every work dealing with the times
of the Stuarts must necessarily be the magnificent history of Mr Samuel
Rawson Gardiner.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The portrait of Sir Everard Digby--Genealogy--His father a
literary man--His father's book--Was Sir Everard brought up a
Protestant?--At the Court of Queen Elizabeth--Persecution of
Catholics--Character of Sir Everard--Gothurst--Mary
Mulsho--Marriage--Knighthood 1-14
CHAPTER II.
Hospitality at Gothurst--Roger Lee--Sir Everard "Catholickly
inclined"--Country visiting 300 years ago--An absent
host--A good hostess--Wish to see a priest--Priest or
sportsman?--Father Gerard--Reception of Lady Digby--Question
of Underhandedness--Illness of Sir Everard--Conversion--Second
Illness--Impulsiveness of Sir Everard 15-32
CHAPTER III.
The wrench of conversion--Position of converts at different
periods--The Digbys as converts--Their chapel--Father
Strange--Father Percy--Chapels in the days of
persecution--Luisa de Carvajal--Oliver Manners--Pious
dodges--Stolen waters--Persecution under Elizabeth 33-48
CHAPTER IV.
The succession to the Crown--Accession of James--The Bye
Plot--Guy Fawkes--Father Watson's revenge on the
Jesuits--Question as to the faithlessness of
James--Martyrdoms and persecutions--A Protestant Bishop upon
them 49-69
CHAPTER V.
Catholics and the Court--Queen Anne of Denmark--Fears of the
Catholics--Catesby--Chivalry--Tyringham--The Spanish
Ambassador--Attitude of foreign Catholic powers--Indictments
of Catholics--Pound's case--Bancroft--Catesby and
Garnet--Thomas Winter--William Ellis--Lord Vaux--Elizabeth,
Anne, and Eleanor Vaux--Calumnies 70-96
CHAPTER VI.
Roger Manners--A pilgrimage--Harrowden--Catesby informs Sir
Everard of the Conspiracy--Scriptural precedents--Other
Gunpowder Plots--Mary Queen of Scots, Bothwell and
Darnley--Pretended Jesuit approval 97-113
CHAPTER VII.
A Latin Book--Immoderate friendships--Principles--Second-hand
approval--How Catesby deceived Garnet--He deceived his
fellow-conspirators--A liar 114-129
CHAPTER VIII.
Garnet's unfortunate conversation with Sir Everard--Garnet's
weakness--How Garnet first learned about the Plot--Secresy of
the Confessional--Catesby and the Sacraments--Catesby a
Catholic on Protestant principles--Could Garnet have saved
Sir Everard?--Were the conspirators driven to
desperation?--Did Cecil originate the Plot? 130-148
CHAPTER IX.
Financial aspects of the Gunpowder Plot--Sir Everard's
relations to his wife--Little John--Secret room at
Gothurst--Persecution of Catholics in Wales--The plan of
Campaign--Coughton--Guy Fawkes--His visit to Gothurst 149-168
CHAPTER X.
White Webbs--Baynham's Mission--All-Hallows at Coughton--All
Souls at Gothurst--An unwelcome Guest--The remains of
feudalism--Start from Gothurst--Arrival at Dunchurch--What
was going on in London--Tresham--The hunting-party--A
card-party--Arrival of the fugitives--The discovery in
London--The flight 169-191
CHAPTER XI.
Catesby lies to Sir Everard--Expected help from Talbot--The
hunting-party repudiates the conspirators--The future Earl of
Bristol--The start--Warwick--Norbrook--Alcester--Coughton--
Huddington--Talbot refuses to join in the Insurrection--Father
Greenway--Father Oldcorne--Whewell Grange--Shadowed--No
Catholics will join the conspirators--Don Quixote 192-218
CHAPTER XII.
Holbeche House--Sir Everard deserts--Sir Fulke Greville--The
Hue-and-Cry--Hunted--In cover--Caught--Journey to
London--Confiscation--The fate of the conspirators at
Holbeche--The Archpriest--Denunciations--Letter of Sir
Everard--Confession 219-236
CHAPTER XIII.
Threats of torture--Search at Mrs Vaux's house--Lady Digby's
letters to Salisbury--Sir Everard to his wife--Sir Everard
writes to Salisbury--Death of Tresham--Poem--Examinations 237-251
CHAPTER XIV.
Father Gerard's letter to Sir Everard--Sir Everard exonerates
Gerard--Sir Everard's letter to his sons 252-267
CHAPTER XV.
The trial--Appearance of the prisoners from different points
of view--Sir Edward Philips--Sir Edward Coke--His description
of the punishment for High Treason--Sir Everard's
speech--Coke's reply--Earl of Northampton--Lord
Salisbury--Sentence 268-288
CHAPTER XVI.
Waiting for death--Poem--Kind words for Sir Everard--The
injury he did to the Catholic cause--Two happy
days--Procession to the scaffold--Sir Everard's last
speech--Execution--Epilogue 289-306
CHAPTER I.
Nothing is so fatal to the telling of an anecdote as the prelude:--"I
once heard an amusing story," &c., and it would be almost as unwise to
begin a biography by stating that its subject was a very interesting
character. On the other hand, perhaps I may frighten away readers by
telling them at starting, this simple truth, that I am about to write
the history of a young man of great promise, whose short life proved a
miserable failure, who terribly injured the cause he had most at heart,
for which he gave his life, a man of whom even his enemies said, when he
had met his sad fate:--"Poor fellow. He deserved it. But what a pity!"
If the steady and unflinching gaze of one human being upon another can
produce the hypnotic state, it may be that, in a much lesser degree,
there is some subtle influence in the eternal stare of the portrait of
an ancestor. There is no getting away from it unless you leave the room.
If you look at your food, talk to a friend, or read a book, you know and
feel that his eyes are still rivetted upon you; and if you raise your
own, again, towards his, there he is, gravely and deliberately gazing at
you, or, you are half inclined to think, _through_ you at something
beyond and behind you, until you almost wish that you could be thrown
into some sort of cataleptic condition, in which a series of scenes
could be brought before your vision from the history of the long-dead
man, whose representation seems only to exist for the purpose of staring
you out of countenance.
In a large country house, near the west coast of Wales, and celebrated
for its fine library, hangs a full-length portrait which might well
impel such a desire. It represents a tall man, with long hair and a
pointed beard, in a richly-chased doublet, a lace ruff and cuffs, very
short and fringed trunk hose, and a sword by his side. He has a high
forehead, rather raised and arched eyebrows, a long nose, hollow cheeks,
and a narrow, pointed chin. His legs are thin; his left hand is placed
upon his hip; and with his right he holds a cane, which is resting on
the ground. At the bottom of the picture is painted, in Roman
characters, "Sir Everard Digby, Knight, OB. 1606."
Few people care for genealogies unless their own names are recorded in
them. The keenest amateur herald in matters relating to his own family,
will exhibit an amazing apathy when the pedigree of another person is
offered for his inspection; the shorter, therefore, my notice of Sir
Everard Digby's descent, the better. He was descended from a
distinguished family. It had come over from Normandy with William the
Conqueror, who had granted it lands at Tilton, which certainly were in
its possession in the sixteenth century, though whether the subject of
my biography inherited them, I am not quite sure. The first Sir Everard
Digby lived in the reigns of Henry I. and Stephen.[1] This powerful
family sided with Henry VII. against Richard III.; and on one occasion,
King Henry VII.[2] "did make Knights in the field seven brothers of his
house at one time, from whom descended divers houses of that name, which
live all in good reputation in their several countries. But this Sir
Everard Digby was the heir of the eldest and chiefest house, and one of
the chiefest men in Rutlandshire, where he dwelt, as his ancestors had
done before him, though he had also much living in Leicestershire and
other shires adjoining." He was the fourteenth in direct eldest male
descent from Almar, the founder of the family in the eleventh century.
Five of his forefathers had borne the name of Everard Digby, one of whom
was killed at the battle of Towton in 1641. Sir Everard's father had
also been an Everard, and done honour to the name; but literature and
not war had been the field in which he had succeeded. He published four
books.[3] The only one of these in my possession is his _Dissuasive from
taking the Goods and Livings of the Church_. It is dedicated "To the
Right Honourable Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord High Chancellor of
England, &c."
[1] Harleian MSS., 1364.
[2] _Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot_, Father Gerard, p. 87.
_N.B._--"The Narrative of the Gunpowder Plot," and "The Life of
Father John Gerard," are both published in one volume, entitled _The
Condition of Catholics under James I._, edited by Father John
Morris, S.J.: Longmans, | 916.776045 |
2023-11-16 18:32:20.8168680 | 2,087 | 7 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan 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.)
THAT AFFAIR AT ELIZABETH
BY BURTON E. STEVENSON
AUTHOR OF "THE MARATHON MYSTERY," "THE HOLLADAY CASE," ETC.
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1907,
BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
_Published October, 1907_
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.
CONTENTS
I. AN URGENT SUMMONS
II. A BRIDE'S VAGARY
III. THE LOVER'S STORY
IV. A STRANGE MESSAGE
V. DEEPER IN THE MAZE
VI. AN ASTONISHING REQUEST
VII. TANGLED THREADS
VIII. THE PATH THROUGH THE GROVE
IX. THE OLD SORROW
X. THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT
XI. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
XII. WORD FROM THE FUGITIVE
XIII. PURSUIT
XIV. RECALLED TO THE FRONT
XV. A BATTLE OF WITS
XVI. THE SECRET OF THE CELLAR
XVII. A TRAGEDY UNFORESEEN
XVIII. A NEW TURN TO THE PUZZLE
XIX. UNDER SUSPICION
XX. AN APPEAL FOR ADVICE
XXI. CROSS-PURPOSES
XXII. LIGHT AT LAST!
XXIII. THE STORY
XXIV. THE SECRET
XXV. THE REVELATION
XXVI. THE RETURN
XXVII. THE CURTAIN LIFTS
THAT AFFAIR AT ELIZABETH
CHAPTER I
An Urgent Summons
"That seems to be all right, Lester," said Mr. Royce, and handed the
papers back to me. "I'll be mighty glad when we get that off our hands."
So, I knew, would the whole force of the office, for the case had been
an unusually irritating one, tangling itself up in the most unexpected
ways, until, with petitions and counter-petitions and answers and
demurrers and what not, we were all heartily tired of it. I slipped the
papers into an envelope and shot them into a pigeon-hole with a sigh of
relief.
"I think that'll end it," I said. "I don't see how there can be any
further delay."
"No," agreed our junior, "neither do I. Are the papers in the Griffin
case ready?"
"Not yet; I doubt if they will be ready before this afternoon."
"Well, they can wait," he said, and glanced at his watch. "I want to
catch the ten-ten for Elizabeth."
"For Elizabeth?"
"Yes. I know it's a mighty awkward time for me to leave, but it's an
engagement I've got to keep. You've heard me speak of Burr Curtiss?"
"Yes," I said; "I seem to remember the name."
"He's been one of my best friends for the past ten years. I met him
first at Yale, and a liking sprang up between us, which grew stronger as
time went on. I played a sort of second fiddle to him, then, for he was
president of the class in his senior year and was voted the most popular
man in it. He came to New York, as soon as he was graduated, and got a
place on the construction staff of the Pennsylvania road. He was
assigned to one of the western divisions, and I didn't see anything of
him for two or three years, but finally he was recalled, and we used to
hobnob at the University Club. Since my marriage, he comes around to
smoke a pipe with me occasionally and talk over old times. He's a social
fellow, likes companionship, and, my wife says, is just the man to make
a woman happy; so when he wrote me a note, two months ago, announcing
his engagement, we were naturally curious concerning the woman in the
case--for his ideals were high--too high, I always told him."
Mr. Royce paused and sat for a moment smiling out the window at the grey
wall of the building opposite.
"I remember it was one evening early last winter," he went on at last,
"that Curtiss happened in and, as we sat smoking together, our talk
somehow turned to women. It was then I learned what an idealist he was.
The woman to win his heart must be accomplished, of course; witty,
knowing the world, and yet unsoiled by it, capable of original thought,
of being her husband's intellectual companion--so much for the mental
side. Physically--well, physically he wanted a Venus de Milo or Helen of
Troy, nothing less. I laughed at him. I pointed out that beautiful women
are seldom intellectual. But he was obdurate. He protested that he would
capitulate on no other terms. I retorted that, in that case, he would
probably remain a bachelor."
"But," I remarked, "it seems to me that this friend of yours is a trifle
egotistical. What has he to offer in exchange for such perfection?"
"Well," said Mr. Royce slowly, "it would be a good bargain on both
sides. Given such a woman, I could fancy her longing for such a man as
Curtiss, just as he would long for her. I've told you something of his
mental calibre--physically, he's the handsomest man I ever saw. And it
seems to me he gets handsomer every year. In our college days, he was
rather too stout, too girlish-looking, but hard work and contact with
the world have rubbed all that away. George!" he added, "the children of
such a pair would be fit for Olympus!"
"And did he find her?" I asked, curious for the rest of the story.
"After I got his note," said my companion, "I hunted him up at his
apartments as soon as I could. He let me in himself, got out his cigars,
and sat down opposite me fairly beaming. I looked him over--I had never
before seen a man who seemed so supremely happy.
"'So,' I asked at last, 'you've found her?'
"'Yes,' he said; 'yes.'
"'The woman you were looking for?'
"'The very woman.'
"'That impossible ideal?'
"'An ideal, yes; but not impossible, since she exists in the flesh and I
have found her.'
"'Well, you're a lucky dog,' I said. 'Tell me about her.'
"So he told me--quite a Laura Jean Libbey story. She was everything, it
seemed, that could be desired in a woman.
"'And beautiful?' I asked him.
"For reply, he brought out a photograph from his desk. I tell you,
Lester, it fairly took my breath away. I felt as though I were looking
at a masterpiece--say Andrea del Sarto's Madonna. And I would as soon
have thought of marrying the one as the other. It was like snatching a
star down out of heaven.
"Curtiss was leaning back in his chair watching me, and he smiled as I
looked up.
"'Well?' he asked.
"I went over and shook hands with him--I couldn't find words to tell him
what I felt.
"'But where has she been?' I demanded. 'How does it happen she was left
for you?'
"'She's been abroad for five or six years,' he explained.
"'That's no answer,' I said. 'Why isn't she a queen, then; or a duchess,
at least?'
"'She's had chances enough, I dare say,' and he smiled at my enthusiasm.
'I agree with you that she's worthy to wear a crown; but then, you see,
she has ideals, too. Perhaps none of the kings she met measured up to
them.'
"'And you did?'
"'She's good enough to think so.'
"I had been idling over the photograph, and my eyes happened to fall
upon some lines written across the back--I didn't know them, then, but
I've looked them up, since:--
'My days were sunless and my nights were moonless,
Parched the pleasant April herbage and the lark's heart's outbreak
tuneless,
If you loved me not!'
"I tell you, Lester," and there was a little break in our junior's
voice, "I was overwhelmed. You know, love--passion--the real thing the
poets write about--has grown mighty rare in this world. We're too
commercial for it, I suppose; too much given to calculating chances. But
here I was, face to face with it. Well, I was unequal to the
situation--I didn't know what to say, but he helped me.
"'The date hasn't been set, yet,' he said, 'but it will be some time in
June; and the reason I'm telling you all this is that I'm going to ask a
favour of you. It's to be a church wedding and I want you to be best
man. I hope you won't refuse.'
"I was glad of the chance to be of service and told him so," concluded
Mr. Royce, glancing again at his watch and rising hastily. "The
wedding's to be at noon to-day. You see I'm | 916.836908 |
2023-11-16 18:32:21.0249670 | 3,839 | 48 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE DANCE OF DEATH
By Ambrose Bierce (AKA William Herman)
```"Wilt thou bring fine gold for a payment
````For sins on this wise?
```For the glittering of raiment
````And the shining of eyes,
```For the painting of faces
````And the sundering of trust,
```For the sins of thine high places
````And delight of thy lust?"=
* * * *
```"Not with fine gold for a payment,
````But with coin of sighs,
```But with rending of raiment
````And with weeping of eyes,
```But with shame of stricken faces
````And with strewing of dust,
```For the sin of stately places
````And lordship of lust."
`````Swinburne.=
[Illustration: 0013]
PREFACE.
[Illustration: 9013]
he writer of these pages is not foolish enough to suppose that he can
escape strong and bitter condemnation for his utterances. On this
score he is not disposed to be greatly troubled; and for these reasons:
Firstly--he feels that he is performing a _duty_; secondly--he is
certain that his sentiments will be endorsed by hundreds upon whose
opinion he sets great value; thirdly--he relieves his mind of a burden
that has oppressed it for many years; and fourthly--as is evident upon
the face of these pages--he is no professed _litterateur_, who can be
starved by adverse criticism. Nevertheless he would be apostate to his
self-appointed mission if he invited censure by unseemly defiance of
those who must read and pass judgment upon his work. While, therefore,
he does not desire to invoke the _leniency_ of the professional critic
or the casual reader, he does desire to justify the position he has
taken as far as may be consistent with good taste.
It will doubtless be asserted by many: That the writer is a "bigoted
parson," whose puritanical and illiberal ideas concerning matters of
which he has no personal experience belong to an age that is happily
passed. On the contrary, he is a man of the world, who has mixed much
in society both in the old world and the new, and who knows whereof he
affirms.
That he is, for some reason, unable to partake of the amusement he
condemns, and is therefore jealous of those more fortunate than himself.
Wrong again. He has drunk deeply of the cup he warns others to avoid;
and has better opportunities than the generality of men to continue the
draught if he found it to his taste.
That he publishes from motives of private malice. _Private_ malice--no.
Malice of a certain kind, yes. Malice against those who should know
better than to abuse the rights of hospitality by making a bawdy-house
of their host's dwelling.
But the principal objection will doubtless refer to the plain language
used.
My excuse, if indeed excuse be needed for saying just what I mean,
is, that it is impossible to clothe in delicate terms the intolerable
nastiness which I expose, and at the same time to press the truth home
to those who are most in need of it; I might as well talk to the winds
as veil my ideas in sweet phrases when addressing people who it seems
cannot descry the presence of corruption until it is held in all its
putridity under their very nostrils.
Finally, concerning the prudence and advisability of such a publication,
I have only to say that I have consulted many leading divines and
principals of educational institutions, all of whom agree that the
subject must be dealt with plainly, and assure me that its importance
demands more than ordinary treatment--that it is a foeman worthy of the
sharpest steel; for, say they: To repeat the tame generalities uttered
from the pulpit, or the quiet tone of disapprobation adopted by the
press, would be to accord to the advocates of this evil a power which
they do not possess, and to proclaim a weakness of its opponents which
the facts will not justify.
I have therefore spoken plainly and to the purpose, that those who
run--or waltz--may read.
But there remains yet something to be said, which is more necessary to
my own peace of mind, and to that of many of my readers, than all that
has gone before. So important is it, indeed, that what I am about to say
should be distinctly understood by all those whose criticism I value,
and whose feelings I respect, that I almost hesitate to consign it to
that limbo of egotism--the preface.
Be it known, then, that although in the following pages I have, without
compunction, attacked the folly and vice of those who practice such, yet
I would rather my right hand should wither than that the pen it wields
should inflict a single wound upon one innocent person. I am willing to
believe, nay, I _know_, that there are many men and women who can and do
dance without an impure thought or action; for theirs is not the Dance
of Death; they can take a reasonable pleasure in one another's society
without wishing to be locked in one another's embrace; they can rest
content with such graces as true refinement teaches them are modest,
without leaping the bounds of decorum to indulge in what a false and
fatal refinement styles the "poetry of motion;" in short, to them the
waltz, in its newest phases at least, is a stranger. I would not, like
Lycurgus and Mahomet, cut down all the vines, and forbid the drinking of
wine, because it makes some men drunk. Dancers of this class,
therefore, I implore not to regard the ensuing chapters as referring to
themselves--the cap does not fit their heads, let them not attempt to
wear it.
The same remarks will apply to some of those heads of families who
permit and encourage dancing at their homes. Many among them doubtless
exercise a surveillance too strict to admit of anything improper taking
place within their doors; these stand in no need of either advice or
warning from me. But more of them, I am grieved to say, are merely
blameless because they are ignorant of what really _does_ take place.
The social maelstrom whirls nightly in their drawing-rooms; with their
wealth, hospitality; and countenance they unconsciously, but none the
less surely, lure the fairest ships of life into its mad waters. Let
these also, then, not be offended that in this book I raise a beacon
over the dark vortex, within whose treacherous embrace so many sweet
young souls have been whirled to perdition.
[Illustration: 5020]
[Illustration: 0021]
CHAPTER I.
````"That motley drama! Oh, be sure
`````It shall not be forgot!
````With its Phantom chased for evermore
`````By a crowd that seize it not,
````Through a circle that ever returneth in
`````To the self-same spot;
````And much of Madness, and more of Sin
`````And Horror, the soul of the plot!"
`````Poe.
[Illustration: 9021]
eader, I have an engagement to keep to-night. Let me take you with me;
you will be interested.
But, stay--I have a condition to make before I accept of your company.
Have you read the preface? "No, of course not; who reads prefaces?" Very
well, just oblige me by making mine an exception--it is a Gilead where
you perhaps may obtain balm for the wounds you will receive on our
expedition. And now, supposing you to have granted this request, let us
proceed.
Our carriage pulls up before the entrance of an imposing mansion. From
every window the golden gaslight streams out into the darkness; from
the wide-open door a perfect glory floods the street from side to side.
There is a hum of subdued voices within, there is a banging of coach
doors without; there is revelry brewing, we may be sure.
We step daintily from our carriage upon the rich carpet which preserves
our patent-leathers from the contamination of the sidewalk; we trip
lightly up the grand stone stairway to the entrance; obsequious lackeys
relieve us of our superfluous raiment; folding doors fly open before us
without so much as a "sesame" being uttered; and, behold, we enter upon
a scene of enchantment.
Magnificent apartments succeed each other in a long vista, glittering
with splendid decorations; costly frescoes are overhead, luxurious
carpets are under foot, priceless pictures, rich laces, rare trifles of
art are around us; an atmosphere of wealth, refinement, luxury, and good
taste is all-pervading.
But these are afterthoughts with us; it is the splendor of the assembled
company that absorbs our admiration now. Let us draw aside and observe
this throng a little, my friend.
Would you have believed it possible that so much beauty and richness
could have been collected under one roof? Score upon score of fair women
and handsome men; the apparel of the former rich beyond conception--of
the latter, immaculate to a fault. The rooms are pretty well filled
already, but the cry is still they come.
See yonder tall and radiant maiden, as she enters leaning upon the arm
of her grey-headed father. Mark her well, my friend; I will draw your
attention to her again presently. How proud of her the old man looks;
and well he may. What divine grace of womanhood lives in that supple
form; what calm, sweet beauty shines in that lovely face--a face so pure
and passionless in expression that the nudity of bust and arms, and the
contour of limbs more than suggested by the tightly clinging silk,
call for no baser admiration than we feel when looking upon the
representation of an angel. Observe closely with what high-bred and
maidenly reserve she responds to the greeting of the Apollo in a
"claw-hammer" who bows low before her--the very type of the elegant
and polished gentleman. In bland and gentle tones he begs a favor to
be granted a little later in the evening. With downcast eyes she smiles
consent; with a bow he records the promise upon a tablet in his hand.
Gracefully she moves forward again, leaning on her father's arm, smiling
and nodding to her acquaintances, and repeating the harmless little
ceremony described above with perhaps a dozen other Apollos before she
reaches the end of the room.
"Ah, pure and lovely girl!" I hear you mutter as she disappears, "happy
indeed is he who can win that jewel for a wife. That face will haunt
me like a dream!" Likely enough, O my friend! but dreams are not all
pleasant.
Now look again at this young wife just entering with her husband. Is
she not beautiful! and how devotedly she hangs upon his arm! With what
a triumphant glance around the room he seems to say: "Behold my
treasure--my very own; look at the gorgeousness of her attire, ladies,
and pray for such a husband; gaze upon the fairness of her face,
gentlemen, and covet such a wife." Again the Apollos step blandly
forward, again the little promises are lisped out and recorded. And
so the goodly company go on, introducing and being introduced, and
conversing agreeably together. A right pleasant and edifying spectacle,
surely.
But, hark! The music strikes up; the dancing is about to begin. You
and I do not dance; we withdraw to an adjoining room and take a hand at
cards.
The hours go swiftly by and still we play on. The clock strikes two; the
card-players are departing. But the strains of the distant music have
been unceasing; the game does not flag in the ball-room. You have not
seen a dance since your youth, you say, and then only the rude gambols
of country-folk; you would fain see before you go how these dames and
damsels of gentler breeding acquit themselves.
The dance is at its height; we could not have chosen a better time to
see the thing in its glory.
As we approach the door of the ballroom the music grows louder and more
ravishing than ever; no confusion of voices mars its delicious melody;
the only sounds heard beneath its strains are a low swish and rustle
as of whirling robes, and a light, but rapid and incessant shuffling of
feet. The dull element has gone home; those who remain have better work
to do than talking. We push the great doors asunder and enter.
Ha! the air is hot and heavy here; it breathes upon us in sensuous gusts
of varying perfumes. And no wonder. A score of whirling scented robes
stir it into fragrance. How beautiful--but you look aghast, my friend.
Ah, I forgot; these are not the rude countryfolk of your youth. You are
dazzled--bewildered. Then let me try to enliven your dulled senses with
a description of what we see.
A score of forms whirl swiftly before us under the softened gaslight.
I say a score of _forms_--but each is double--they would have made two
score before the dancing began. Twenty floating visions--each male and
female. Twenty women knit and growing to as many men, undulate, sway,
and swirl giddily before us, keeping time with the delirious melody of
piano, harp, and violin.
But draw nearer--let us see how this miracle is accomplished. Do you
mark yonder tall couple who seem even to excel the rest in grace and
ardor. Do they not make a picture which might put a soul under the
ribs of Death? Such must have been the sight which made Speusippas
incontinently rave: "O admirable, O divine Panareta! Who would not
admire her, who would not love her, that should but see her dance as
I did? O how she danced, how she tripped, how she turned! With what
a grace! _Felix qui Panareta fruitur!_ O most incomparable, only,
Panareta!" Let Us take this couple for a sample. He is stalwart, agile,
mighty; she is tall, supple, lithe, and how beautiful in form and
feature! Her head rests upon his shoulder, her face is upturned to his;
her naked arm is almost around his neck; her swelling breast heaves
tumultuously against his; face to face they whirl, his limbs interwoven
with her limbs; with strong right arm about her yielding waist, he
presses her to him till every curve in the contour of her lovely body
thrills with the amorous contact. Her eyes look into his, but she sees
nothing; the soft music fills the room, but she hears nothing; swiftly
he whirls her from the floor or bends her frail body to and fro in his
embrace, but she knows it not; his hot breath is upon her hair, his lips
almost touch her forehead, yet she does not shrink; his eyes, gleaming
with a fierce intolerable lust, gloat satyrlike over her, yet she does
not quail; she is filled with a rapture divine in its intensity--she is
in the Maelstrom of burning desire--her spirit is with the gods.=
````With a last, low wail the music ceases.
````Her swooning; senses come back to life.=
Ah, must it be? Yes; her companion releases her from his embrace.
Leaning wearily upon his arm, the rapture faded from her eye, the flush
dying from her cheek--enervated, limp, listless, worn out--she is led
to a seat, there to recover from her delirium and gather her energies
as best she may in the space of five minutes, after which she must yield
her body to a new embrace.
But did you not notice a faint smile upon the lips of her late companion
as he turned and left her? a smile of triumph, an air of sated appetite,
it seemed to me; and see, as he joins his cronies yonder he laughs, rubs
his hands together, chuckles visibly, and communicates some choice scrap
of news which makes them look over at our jaded beauty and laugh too;
they appreciate the suggestion of the ancient:=
`````"Tenta modo tangere corpus,
```Jam tua mellifluo membra calore fluent."=
But she can keep her secret better than they, it is evident.
And now tell me, friend of mine, did you not recognize an old
acquaintance in the lady we have been watching so closely? No! Then
believe me she is no other than the "pure and lovely girl" you so much
admired earlier in the evening, the so desirable wife, the angel who was
to "haunt your dreams."
"What!_that_harlot-----
Hush--a spade is not called a spade here; but I assure you again that
the sensuous, delirious Bacchante whose semi-nakedness was so apparent
as she lay swooning in the arms of her param--partner just now, was one
and the same with the chaste | 917.045007 |
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