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Proofreaders
Bullets & Billets
By Bruce Bairnsfather
1916
TO MY OLD PALS,
"BILL," "BERT," AND "ALF,"
WHO HAVE SAT IN THE MUD WITH ME
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Landing at Havre--Tortoni's--Follow the tram lines--Orders
for the Front.
CHAPTER II
Tortuous travelling--Clippers and tablets--Dumped at a
siding--I join my Battalion.
CHAPTER III
Those Plugstreet trenches--Mud and rain--Flooded out--A
hopeless dawn.
CHAPTER IV
More mud--Rain and bullets--A bit of cake--"Wind up"--Night
rounds.
CHAPTER V
My man Friday--"Chuck us the biscuits"--Relieved--Billets.
CHAPTER VI
The Transport Farm--Fleeced by the Flemish--Riding--Nearing
Christmas.
CHAPTER VII
A projected attack---Digging a sap--An 'ell of a night--The
attack--Puncturing Prussians.
CHAPTER VIII
Christmas Eve--A lull in hate--Briton cum Boche.
CHAPTER IX
Souvenirs--A ride to Nieppe--Tea at H.Q.--Trenches once more.
CHAPTER X
My partial escape from the mud--The deserted village--My
"cottage."
CHAPTER XI
Stocktaking--Fortifying--Nebulous Fragments.
CHAPTER XII
A brain wave--Making a "funk hole"--Plugstreet Wood--Sniping.
CHAPTER XIII
Robinson Crusoe--That turbulent table.
CHAPTER XIV
The Amphibians--Fed-up, but determined--The gun parapet.
CHAPTER XV
Arrival of the "Johnsons"--"Where did that one go?"--The
First Fragment dispatched--The exodus--Where?
CHAPTER XVI
New trenches--The night inspection--Letter from the
_Bystander_.
CHAPTER XVII
Wulverghem--The Douve--Corduroy boards--Back at our farm.
CHAPTER XVIII
The painter and decorator--Fragments forming--Night on the
mud prairie.
CHAPTER XIX
Visions of leave--Dick Turpin--Leave!
CHAPTER XX
That Leave train--My old pal--London and home--The call of
the wild.
CHAPTER XXI
Back from leave--That "blinkin' moon"--Johnson 'oles--Tommy
and "frightfulness"--Exploring expedition.
CHAPTER XXII
A daylight stalk--The disused trench--"Did they see me?"--A
good sniping position.
CHAPTER XXIII
Our moated farm--Wulverghem--The Cure's house--A shattered
Church--More "heavies"--A farm on fire.
CHAPTER XXIV
That ration fatigue--Sketches in request--Bailleul--Baths and
lunatics--How to conduct a war.
CHAPTER XXV
Getting stale--Longing for change--We leave the Douve--On the
march--Spotted fever--Ten days' rest.
CHAPTER XXVI
A pleasant change--Suzette, Berthe and Marthe--"La jeune
fille farouche"--Andre.
CHAPTER XXVII
Getting fit--Caricaturing the Cure--"Dirty work ahead"--A
projected attack--Unlooked-for orders.
CHAPTER XXVIII
We march for Ypres--Halt at Locre--A bleak camp and meagre
fare--Signs of battle--First view of Ypres.
CHAPTER XXIX
Getting nearer--A lugubrious party--Still nearer--Blazing
Ypres--Orders for attack.
CHAPTER XXX
Rain and mud--A trying march--In the thick of it--A wounded
officer--Heavy shelling--I get my "quietus!"
CHAPTER XXXI
Slowly recovering--Field hospital--Ambulance train--Back in
England.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Bruce Bairnsfather: a photograph
The Birth of "Fragments": Scribbles on the farmhouse walls
That Astronomical Annoyance, the Star Shell
"Plugstreet Wood"
A Hopeless Dawn
The usual line in Billeting Farms
"Chuck us the biscuits, Bill. The fire wants mendin'"
"Shut that blinkin' door. There's a 'ell of a draught in 'ere"
A Memory of Christmas, 1914
The Sentry
A Messines Memory: "'Ow about shiftin' a bit further down the road, Fred?"
"Old soldiers never die"
Photograph of the Author. St. Yvon, Christmas Day, 1914
Off "in" again
"Poor old Maggie! She seems to be 'avin' it dreadful wet at 'ome!"
The Tin-opener
"They're devils to snipe, ain't they, Bill?"
Old Bill
FOREWORD
_Down South, in the Valley of the Somme, far
from the spots recorded in this book, I began
to write this story._
_In billets it was. I strolled across the old
farmyard and into the wood beyond. Sitting
by a gurgling little stream, I began, with the
aid of a notebook and a pencil, to record the
joys and sorrows of my first six months in
France._
_I do not claim any unique quality for these
experiences. Many thousands have had the
same. I have merely, by request, made a
record of my times out there, in the way that
they appeared to me_.
BRUCE BAIRNSFATHER.
CHAPTER I
LANDING AT HAVRE--TORTONI'S--FOLLOW
THE TRAM LINES--ORDERS FOR THE FRONT
[Illustration: G]
Gliding up the Seine, on a transport crammed to the lid with troops, in
the still, cold hours of a November morning, was my debut into the war.
It was about 6 a.m. when our boat silently slipped along past the great
wooden sheds, posts and complications of Havre Harbour. I had spent most
of the twelve-hour trip down somewhere in the depths of the ship,
dealing out rations to the hundred men that I had brought with me from
Plymouth. This sounds a comparatively simple process, but not a bit of
it. To begin with, the ship was filled with troops to bursting point,
and the mere matter of proceeding from one deck to another was about as
difficult as trying to get round to see a friend at the other side of
the ground at a Crystal Palace Cup final.
I stood in a queue of Gordons, Seaforths, Worcesters, etc., slowly
moving up one, until, finally arriving at the companion (nearly said
staircase), I tobogganed down into the hold, and spent what was left of
the night dealing out those rations. Having finished at last, I came to
the surface again, and now, as the transport glided along through the
dirty waters of the river, and as I gazed at the motley collection of
Frenchmen on the various wharves, and saw a variety of soldiery, and a
host of other warlike "props," I felt acutely that now I was _in_ the
war at last--the real thing! For some time I had been rehearsing in
England; but that was over now, and here I was--in the common or garden
vernacular--"in the soup."
At last we were alongside, and in due course I had collected that
hundred men of mine, and found that the number was still a hundred,
after which I landed with the rest, received instructions and a guide,
then started off for the Base Camps.
[Illustration: "Rations"]
These Camps were about three miles out of Havre, and thither the whole
contents of the ship marched in one long column, accompanied on either
side by a crowd of ragged little boys shouting for souvenirs and
biscuits. I and my hundred men were near the rear of the procession, and
in about an hour's time arrived at the Base Camps.
I don't know that it is possible to construct anything more atrociously
hideous or uninteresting than a Base Camp. It consists, in military
parlance, of nothing more than:--
Fields, grassless 1
Tents, bell 500
In fact, a huge space, once a field, now a bog, on which are perched
rows and rows of squalid tents.
I stumbled along over the mud with my troupe, and having found the
Adjutant, after a considerable search, thought that my task was over,
and that I could slink off into some odd tent or other and get a sleep
and a rest. Oh no!--the Adjutant had only expected fifty men, and here
was I with a hundred.
Consternation! Two hours' telephoning and intricate back-chat with the
Adjutant eventually led to my being ordered to leave the expected fifty
and take the others to another Base Camp hard by, and see if they would
like to have them there.
The rival Base Camp expressed a willingness to have this other fifty, so
at last I had finished, and having found an empty tent, lay down on the
ground, with my greatcoat for a pillow and went to sleep.
I awoke at about three in the afternoon, got hold of a bucket of water
and proceeded to have a wash. Having shaved, washed, brushed my hair,
and | 923.543721 |
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CAMPAIGNING IN
CUBA
BY
GEORGE KENNAN
AUTHOR OF "SIBERIA AND THE EXILE SYSTEM"
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1899
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. STARTING FOR THE FIELD 1 | 923.580381 |
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This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
SONGS
OF THE
ARMY OF THE NIGHT.
* * * * *
BY
FRANCIS ADAMS.
* * * * *
"_For the cause of Labour all over the Earth_."
* * * * *
SECOND EDITION.
* * * * *
London:
WILLIAM REEVES, 185, FLEET STREET, E.C.
TO EDITH.
"My sweet, my child, through all this night
Of dark and wind and rain,
Where thunder crashes, and the light
Sears the bewildered brain,
"It is your face, your lips, your eyes
I see rise up; I hear
Your voice that sobs and calls and cries,
Or shrills and mocks at fear.
"O this that's mine is yours as well,
For side by side our feet
Trod through these bitter brakes of hell.
Take it, my child, my sweet!"
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Preface 11
This Book 15
SONGS OF THE ARMY OF THE NIGHT.
_Proem_:--"Outside London" 18
_PART I.--ENGLAND_.
In the Camp 19
"Axiom" 20
Drill 20
Evening Hymn in the Hovels 21
In the Street: "Lord Shaftesbury" 22
"Liberty" 22
In the Edgware Road 24
To the Girls of the Unions 24
Hagar 25
"Why?" 26
A Visitor in the Camp 27
"Lord Leitrim" 28
"Anarchism" 28
Belgravia by Night: "Move on!" 29
Jesus 29
Parallels for the Pious 30
"Prayer" 30
To the Christians 31
"Defeat" 31
To John Ruskin 32
To the Emperor William 34
Song of the Dispossessed: "To Jesus" 34
Art 35
The Peasants' Revolt | 923.634148 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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{117}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 224.]
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 11. 1854
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
Eliminate, by C. Mansfield Ingleby 119
Cranmer's Bible 119
Sovereigns Dining and Supping in Public 120
Parallel Ideas from Poets, by Norris Deck 121
The great Alphabetic Psalm, and the Songs of Degrees,
by T. J. Buckton 121
MINOR NOTES:--Inscription on a Grave-stone in Whittlebury
Churchyard, Northamptonshire--Epitaph on Sir Henry
St. George--Newton and Milton--Eternal Life--Inscriptions
in Books--Churchill's Grave 122
QUERIES:--
Coronation Stone 123
Old Mereworth Castle, Kent 124
MINOR QUERIES:--"I could not love thee, dear, so much"--
Leicester as Ranger of Snowden--Crabb of Telsford--
Tolling the Bell while the Congregation is leaving
Church--O'Brien of Thosmond--Order of St. David of
Wales--Warple-way--Purlet--Liveries, Red and Scarlet--
Dr. Bragge--Chauncy, or Chancy--Plaster Casts--
[Greek: Sikera]--Dogs in Monumental Brasses 125
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Marquis of Granby--
"Memorials of English Affairs," &c.--Standing when the
Lord's Prayer is read--Hypocrisy, &c. 127
REPLIES:--
"Consilium Novem Delectorum Cardinalium," &c.,
by B. B. Woodward 127
John Bunyan, by George Offor 129
The Asteroids, &c., by J. Wm. Harris 129
Caps at Cambridge, by C. H. Cooper 130
Russia, Turkey, and the Black Sea, by John Macray 132
High Dutch and Low Dutch, by Professor Goedes de Grueter 132
PHOTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE:--The Calotype on the Sea-shore 134
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Ned o' the Todding--Hour-Glasses
and Inscriptions on Old Pulpits--Table-turning--"Firm | 923.746875 |
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and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III
EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS
MCMXV
CONTENTS:
THE TOWN-<DW2>; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY
THE FALSE COUNT
THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN
THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM
THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON
NOTES
THE TOWN-<DW2>; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY.
ARGUMENT.
Sir Timothy Tawdrey is by the wishes of his mother and the lady's father
designed for Celinda, who loves Bellmour, nephew to Lord Plotwell. A
coxcomb of the first water, Sir Timothy receives a sharp rebuff when he
opens his suit, and accordingly he challenges Bellmour, but fails to
appear at the place of meeting. Celinda's old nurse, at night, admits
Bellmour to her mistress' chamber, where they are surprized by
Friendlove, her brother, who is, however, favourable to the union, the
more so as he is a friend of Bellmour, and they have but newly returned
from travelling together in Italy. Lord Plotwell warmly welcomes his
nephew home, and proceeds to unfold his design of giving him his niece
Diana in marriage. When he demurs, the old lord threatens to deprive him
of his estate, and he is compelled eventually to acquiesce in the
matrimonial schemes of his guardian. Bellmour sends word to Celinda, who
replies in a heart-broken letter; and at the wedding feast Friendlove,
who himself is deeply enamoured of Diana, appears in disguise to observe
the traitor. He is followed by his sister disguised as a boy, and upon
Friendlove's drawing on Bellmour a scuffle ensues which, however, ends
without harm. In the nuptial chamber Bellmour informs Diana that he
cannot love her and she quits him maddened with rage and disappointment.
Sir Timothy serenades the newly-mated pair and is threatened by
Bellmour, whilst Celinda, who has been watching the house, attacks the
<DW2> and his fiddlers. During the brawl Diana issuing forth meets
Celinda, and taking her for a boy leads her into the house and shortly
makes advances of love. They are interrupted by Friendlove, disguised,
and he receives Diana's commands to seek out and challenge Bellmour. At
the same time he reveals his love as though he told the tale of another,
but he is met with scorn and only bidden to fight the husband who has
repulsed her. Bellmour, meantime, in despair and rage at his misery
plunges into reckless debauchery, and in company with Sir Timothy visits
a bagnio, where they meet Betty Flauntit, the knight's kept mistress,
and other cyprians. Hither they are tracked by Charles, Bellmour's
younger brother, and Trusty, Lord Plotwell's old steward. Sharp words
pass, the brothers fight and Charles is slighted wounded. Their Uncle
hears of this with much indignation, and at the same time receiving a
letter from Diana begging for a divorce, he announces his intention to
further her purpose, and to abandon wholly Charles and Phillis, his
sister, in consequence of their elder brother's conduct. Sir Timothy,
induced by old Trusty, begins a warm courtship of Phillis, and arranges
with a parasite named Sham to deceive her by a mock marriage. Sham,
however, procures a real parson, and Sir Timothy is for the moment
afraid he has got a wife without a dowry or portion. Lord Plotwell
eventually promises to provide for her, and at Diana's request, now she
recognizes her mistake in trying to hold a man who does not love her,
Bellmour is forgiven and allowed to wed Celinda as soon as the divorce
has been pronounced, whilst Diana herself rewards Friendlove with
her hand.
SOURCE.
_The Town-<DW2>; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ is materially founded upon
George Wilkins' popular play, _The Miseries of Enforced Marriage_ (4to,
1607, 1611, 1629, 1637), reprinted in Dodsley. Sir Timothy himself is
moulded to some extent upon Sir Francis Ilford, but, as Geneste aptly
remarks, he may be considered a new character. In the older drama,
Clare, the original of Celinda, dies tragically of a broken heart. It
cannot be denied that Mrs. Behn has greatly improved Wilkins' scenes.
The well-drawn character of Betty Flauntit is her own, and the
realistically vivacious bagnio episodes of Act iv replace a not very
interesting or lively tavern with a considerable accession to wit and
humour, although perhaps not to strict propriety.
THEATRICAL HISTORY.
_The Town-<DW2>; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ was produced at the Duke's
Theatre, Dorset Garden, in September, 1676. There is no record of its
performance, and the actors' names are not given. It was a year of
considerable changes in the company, and any attempt to supply these
would be the merest surmise.
THE TOWN-<DW2>;
or, Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_.
PROLOGUE.
_As Country Squire, who yet had never known
The long-expected Joy of being in Town;
Whose careful Parents scarce permitted Heir
To ride from home, unless to neighbouring Fair;
At last by happy Chance is hither led,
To purchase Clap with loss of Maidenhead;
Turns wondrous gay, bedizen'd to Excess;
Till he is all Burlesque in Mode and Dress:
Learns to talk loud in Pit, grows wily too,
That is to say, makes mighty Noise and Show.
So a young Poet, who had never been
Dabling beyond the Height of Ballading;
Who, in his brisk Essays, durst ne'er excel
The lucky Flight of rhyming Doggerel,
Sets up with this sufficient Stock on Stage,
And has, perchance, the luck to please the Age.
He draws you in, like cozening Citizen;
Cares not how bad the Ware, so Shop be fine.
As tawdry Gown and Petticoat gain more
(Tho on a dull diseas'd ill-favour'd Whore)
Than prettier Frugal, tho on Holy-day, |
When every City-Spark has leave to play_, |
--Damn her, she must be sound, she is so gay; |
_So let the Scenes be fine, you'll ne'er enquire
For Sense, but lofty Flights in nimble Wire.
--What we present to Day is none of these,
But we cou'd wish it were, for we wou'd please,
And that you'll swear we hardly meant to do:
Yet here's no Sense; Pox on't, but here's no Show;
But a plain Story, that will give a Taste
Of what your Grandsires lov'd i'th' Age that's past_.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
Lord _Plotwell_.
_Bellmour_, Nephew to the Lord _Plotwell_, contracted to _Celinda_.
_Charles_, Brother to _Bellmour_.
_Friendlove_, Brother to _Celinda_, in love with _Diana_.
Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_, a <DW2>-Knight, design'd to marry _Celinda_.
_Sham_, | Hangers on to Sir _Timothy_.
_Sharp_, |
_Trusty_, An old Steward to _Bellmour's_ Family.
Page to _Bellmour_.
Page to Lord _Plotwell_.
Sir _Timothy's_ Page.
Guests, Dancers, Fiddlers, and Servants.
WOMEN.
The Lady _Diana_, Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_.
_Celinda_, Sister to _Friendlove_, contracted to _Bellmour_.
_Phillis_, Sister to _Bellmour_.
_Betty Flauntit_, kept by Sir _Timothy_.
_Driver_, A Bawd.
_Jenny_, | Two Whores
_Doll_, |
_Nurse_,
Ladies and Guests.
SCENE, _Covent-Garden_.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _The Street_.
_Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham, _and_ Sharp.
Sir _Tim_. Hereabouts is the House wherein dwells the Mistress of my
Heart; for she has Money, Boys, mind me, Money in abundance, or she were
not for me--The Wench her self is good-natur'd, and inclin'd to be
civil: but a Pox on't--she has a Brother, a conceited Fellow, whom the
World mistakes for a fine Gentleman; for he has travell'd, talks
Languages, bows with a _bonne mine_, and the rest; but, by Fortune, he
shall entertain you with nothing but Words--
_Sham_. Nothing else!--
Sir _Tim_. No--He's no Country-Squire, Gentlemen, will not game, whore;
nay, in my Conscience, you will hardly get your selves drunk in his
Company--He treats A-la-mode, half Wine, half Water, and the rest--But
to the Business, this Fellow loves his Sister dearly, and will not trust
her in this leud Town, as he calls it, without him; and hither he has
brought her to marry me.
_Sham_. A Pox upon him for his Pains--
Sir _Tim_. So say I--But my Comfort is, I shall be as weary of her, as
the best Husband of 'em all. But there's Conveniency in it; besides, the
Match being as good as made up by the old Folks in the Country, I must
submit--The Wench I never saw yet, but they say she's handsom--But no
matter for that, there's Money, my Boys.
_Sharp_. Well, Sir, we will follow you--but as dolefully as People do
their Friends to the Grave, from whence they're never to return, at
least not the same Substance; the thin airy Vision of a brave good
Fellow, we may see thee hereafter, but that's the most.
Sir _Tim_. Your Pardon, sweet _Sharp_, my whole Design in it is to be
Master of my self, and with part of her Portion to set up my Miss,
_Betty Flauntit_; which, by the way, is the main end of my marrying; the
rest you'll have your shares of--Now I am forc'd to take you up Suits at
treble Prizes, have damn'd Wine and Meat put upon us, 'cause the
Reckoning is to be book'd: But ready | 923.852953 |
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Produced by Gregory Walker, for the Digital Daguerreian Archive Project.
This etext was created by Gregory Walker, in Austin, Texas, for the
Digital Daguerreian Archive Project--electronic texts from the dawn of
photography.
Internet: [email protected] CompuServe: 73577,677
The location of the illustrations in the text are marked by
"[hipho_##.gif]" on a separate line.
I hope this etext inspires a wider interest in the origins of
photography and in the modern practice of the Daguerreian Art.
THE HISTORY AND PRACTICE OF THE ART OF PHOTOGRAPHY;
OR THE PRODUCTION OF PICTURES THROUGH THE AGENCY OF LIGHT.
CONTAINING ALL THE INSTRUCTIONS NECESSARY FOR THE COMPLETE PRACTICE OF
THE DAGUERREAN AND PHOTOGENIC ART, BOTH ON METALLIC PLATES AND ON PAPER.
By HENRY H. SNELLING.
ILLUSTRATED WITH WOOD CUTS.
New York: PUBLISHED BY G. P. PUTNAM, 155 Broadway, 1849.
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1849, by H. H.
Snelling, in the Clerk's office, of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
New York: PRINTED BY BUSTEED & McCOY, 163 Fulton Street.
TO EDWARD ANTHONY, ESQ., AN ESTEEMED FRIEND.
Whose gentlemanly deportment, liberal feelings, and strict integrity
have secured him a large circle of friends, this work is Respectfully
Dedicated By the AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The object of this little work is to fill a void much complained of by
Daguerreotypists--particularly young beginners.
The author has waited a long time in hopes that some more able pen
would be devoted to the subject, but the wants of the numerous, and
constantly increasing, class, just mentioned, induces him to wait no
longer.
All the English works on the subject--particularly on the practical
application, of Photogenic drawing--are deficient in many minute
details, which are essential to a complete understanding of the art.
Many of their methods of operating are entirely different from, and
much inferior to, those practised in the United States: their
apparatus, also, cannot compare with ours for completeness, utility or
simplicity.
I shall, therefore, confine myself principally--so far as Photogenic
drawing upon metalic plates is concerned--to the methods practised by
the most celebrated and experienced operators, drawing upon French and
English authority only in cases where I find it essential to the
purpose for which I design my work, namely: furnishing a complete
system of Photography; such an one as will enable any gentleman, or
lady, who may wish to practise the art, for profit or amusement, to do
so without the trouble and expense of seeking instruction from
professors, which in many cases within my own knowledge has prevented
persons from embracing the profession.
To English authors I am principally indebted for that portion of my
work relating to Photogenic drawing on paper. To them we owe nearly
all the most important improvements in that branch of the art.
Besides, it has been but seldom attempted in the United States, and
then without any decided success. Of these attempts I shall speak
further in the Historical portion of this volume.
Every thing essential, therefore, to a complete knowledge of the whole
art, comprising all the most recent discoveries and improvements down
to the day of publication will be found herein laid down.
CONTENTS
I. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ART.
II. THE THEORY ON LIGHT.--THE PHOTOGRAPHIC PRINCIPLE
III. SYNOPSIS OF MR. HUNT'S TREATISE ON "THE INFLUENCE OF THE
SOLAR RAYS ON COMPOUND BODIES, WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO
THEIR PHOTOGRAPHIC APPLICATION."
IV. A FEW HINTS AND SUGGESTIONS TO DAGUERREOTYPISTS.
V. DAGUERREOTYPE APPARATUS.
VI. THE DAGUERREOTYPE PROCESS.
VII. PAPER DAGUERREOTYPES.--ETCHING DAGUERREOTYPES.
VIII. PHOTOGENIC DRAWING ON PAPER.
IX. CALOTYPE AND CHRYSOTYPE.
X. CYANOTYPE--ENERGIATYPE--CHROMATYPE--ANTHOTYPE--AMPHITYPE
AND "CR | 923.944782 |
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THE CENTAUR
ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
1911
I
"We may be in the Universe as dogs and cats are in our libraries, seeing
the books and hearing the conversation, but having no inkling of the
meaning of it all."
--WILLIAM JAMES, _A Pluralistic Universe_
"... A man's vision is the great fact about him. Who cares for Carlyle's
reasons, or Schopenhauer's, or Spencer's? A philosophy is the expression
of a man's intimate character, and all definitions of the Universe are
but the deliberately adopted reactions of human characters upon it."
--Ibid
"There are certain persons who, independently of sex or comeliness,
arouse an instant curiosity concerning themselves. The tribe is small,
but its members unmistakable. They may possess neither fortune, good
looks, nor that adroitness of advance-vision which the stupid name good
luck; yet there is about them this inciting quality which proclaims that
they have overtaken Fate, set a harness about its neck of violence, and
hold bit and bridle in steady hands.
"Most of us, arrested a moment by their presence to snatch the definition
their peculiarity exacts, are aware that on the heels of curiosity
follows--envy. They know the very things that we forever seek in vain.
And this diagnosis, achieved as it were _en passant_, comes near to the
truth, for the hallmark of such persons is that they have found, and
come into, their own. There is a sign upon the face and in the eyes.
Having somehow discovered the 'piece' that makes them free of the whole
amazing puzzle, they know where they belong and, therefore, whither they
are bound: more, they are definitely _en route_. The littlenesses of
existence that plague the majority pass them by.
"For this reason, if for no other," continued O'Malley, "I count my
experience with that man as memorable beyond ordinary. 'If for no other,'
because from the very beginning there was another. Indeed, it was
probably his air of unusual bigness, massiveness rather,--head, face,
eyes, shoulders, especially back and shoulders,--that struck me first
when I caught sight of him lounging there hugely upon my steamer deck at
Marseilles, winning my instant attention before he turned and the
expression on his great face woke more--woke curiosity, interest, envy.
He wore this very look of certainty that knows, yet with a tinge of mild
surprise as though he had only recently known. It was less than
perplexity. A faint astonishment as of a happy child--almost of an
animal--shone in the large brown eyes--"
"You mean that the physical quality caught you first, then the
psychical?" I asked, keeping him to the point, for his Irish imagination
was ever apt to race away at a tangent.
He laughed good-naturedly, acknowledging the check. "I believe that to be
the truth," he replied, his face instantly grave again. "It was the
impression of uncommon bulk that heated my intuition--blessed if I know
how--leading me to the other. The size of his body did not smother, as so
often is the case with big people: rather, it revealed. At the moment I
could conceive no possible connection, of course. Only this overwhelming
attraction of the man's personality caught me and I longed to make
friends. That's the way with me, as you know," he added, tossing the hair
back from his forehead impatiently,"--pretty often. First impressions.
Old man, I tell you, it was like a possession."
"I believe you," I said. For Terence O'Malley all his life had never
understood half measures.
II
"The friendly and flowing savage, who is he? Is he waiting for
civilization, or is he past it, and mastering it?"
--WHITMAN
"We find ourselves today in the midst of a somewhat peculiar state of
society, which we call Civilization, but which even to the most
optimistic among us does not seem altogether desirable. Some of us,
indeed, are inclined to think that it is a kind of disease which the
various races of man have to pass through....
"While History tells us of many nations that have been attacked by it, of
many that have succumbed to it, and of some that are still in the throes
of it, we know of no single case in which a nation has fairly recovered
from and passed through it to a more normal and healthy condition. In
other words, the development of human society has never yet (that we know
of) passed beyond a certain definite and apparently final stage in the
process we call Civilization; at that stage it has always succumbed or
been arrested."
--EDWARD CARPENTER, _Civilization: Its Cause and Cure_
O'Malley himself is an individuality that invites consideration from the
ruck of commonplace men. Of mingled Irish, Scotch, and | 923.945709 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Jack and Jill in the Witch's House.]
MORE TALES
IN THE LAND OF
NURSERY RHYME
BY
ADA M. MARZIALS
AUTHOR OF
"IN THE LAND OF NURSERY RHYME"
WITH FRONTISPIECE
LONDON: H. R. ALLENSON, LIMITED
RACQUET COURT, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1913
TO
MY LITTLE COUSINS
KATHLEEN AND DOROTHY
CONTENTS
THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW
MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY
JACK AND JILL
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
PUSSY CAT, PUSSY CAT
HEY, DIDDLE, DIDDLE!
THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW
"_Different people have different opinions_"
The North Wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then? Poor thing!
He will sit in a barn,
And to keep himself warm
He will hide | 923.951921 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.0176850 | 2,924 | 7 |
Produced by Thierry Alberto, Diane Monico, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Canadian Institute for
Historical Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org).)
MOUND-BUILDERS
BY
REV. W. J. SMYTH, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D.
_Pastor of St. Joseph Street Presbyterian Church, Montreal._
PUBLISHED BY REQUEST OF NATURAL HISTORY SOCIETY,
TORONTO.
MONTREAL:
GAZETTE PRINTING COMPANY.
APRIL, 1886.
MOUND-BUILDERS
BY REV. WILLIAM J. SMYTH, M.A., B.Sc., Ph.D.
When the early settlers began to pioneer the unbroken forests of North
America, they considered the various Indian tribes to be the true
Aborigines of this continent. But long before the red man, even long
before the growth of the present forests, there lived an ancient race,
whose origin and fate are surrounded with impenetrable darkness. The
remains of their habitations, temples and tombs, are the only voices
that tell us of their existence. Over broad areas, in the most fertile
valleys, and along the numerous tributaries of the great rivers of the
central and western portions of the United States, are to be found
these wonderful remains, of the existence and origin of which, even
the oldest red man could give no history.
Following in the track of these ancient tumuli, which have been raised
with some degree of order and sagacity, we are bound to believe that
they were constructed by a very intelligent and somewhat civilized
race, who during long periods enjoyed the blessings of peace, but like
most nations of the earth, at times were plunged in the horrors of
war. We cannot tell by what name these strange people were known
during their existence. But archaeologists, to keep themselves safe,
have given them the name of "Mound-builders," from the nature of the
structures left behind them.
Of this wonderful, semi-civilized, prehistoric race, we have no
written testimony. Their mysterious enclosures, implements of war, and
comparatively impregnable fortifications, together with a few strange
tablets, are the only evidence of their character, civilization, and
doom. No contemporary race, if such there existed on this continent,
has left any record of them.
The mounds they have left are found in the western part of the State
of New York, and extend, it is said, as far as Nebraska. And as they
have lately been found in the Northwest, they have thus a much more
northern limit than was at first thought, while the southern limit is
the Gulf of Mexico.
Having seen only a few mounds in Illinois, Indiana and Kentucky, I
must confine my paper to those found in the State of Ohio, where,
during a residence of seventeen months, I made the closest
investigation my time and duties permitted. In Ohio, the number of
mounds, including enclosures of different kinds, is estimated at about
13,000, though it requires the greatest care to distinguish between
the mounds proper and those subsequently erected by the Indians. In
some parts they are very close together, which is strong evidence that
these regions were densely populated. In others, a solitary mound,
with adjacent burial mounds, gives us the idea of a rural village or
town.
ENCLOSURES.--In the State of Ohio, alone, there have been found 1,500
enclosures. Some of these have walls ranging in height from three to
thirty feet, enclosing areas of from ten to 400 acres. Those areas,
enclosed by strong walls, erected in regions difficult of access, were
undoubtedly intended as military enclosures; while those areas
enclosed by slight walls, with no mounds to cover the openings, were
intended as sacred enclosures. I shall leave the consideration of the
sacred enclosures until I describe the temple, or sacrificial mounds,
giving a brief outline of some of the famous fortifications built by
those strange people.
Within convenient distance of the city of Xenia, on Little Miami River
in Warren county, Ohio, can be seen at any time that famous enclosure
known as "Fort Ancient." There can be no mistake as to the intention
of this wonderful enclosure. It is situated on the east bank of the
Miami on a most commanding position. On the east, two ravines
originate, running on either side towards the river, leaving the great
fortress on an elevation of 230 feet above the river. The whole is
surrounded by a wall of five miles in length, but owing to the uneven
course of the river, there are only enclosed one hundred acres. The
wall has numerous openings, which, however, are well protected by
inner walls, or mounds. These openings could be occupied by warriors
while the interior would not be exposed to the enemy. Within the
enclosure are disposed twenty-four reservoirs, which could be
dexterously connected with springs, so that in time of siege, they
would be comparatively independent. The strength of this fortress does
not depend on the walls alone, which range in height from five to
twenty feet, but upon its isolated position and steep sides. Near the
fortification are two large mounds from which run two parallel walls
for 1,350 feet, and then unite, enclosing another mound. We cannot
tell what part these outer walls and mounds played in the defence of
this fortification. But we know that all give evidence of an immense
garrison occupied by an ancient and somewhat civilized race, whose
numerous enemies, doubtless, forced such strong defence. In point of
inaccessibility, engineering skill, and strength, this famous
enclosure will compare not unfavorably with Edinburgh Castle, the
stronghold of Quebec, or the impregnable Gibraltar.
Another stronghold of considerable importance may be seen at Fort
Hill, in Highland county, on an elevation of 500 feet, and enclosing
an area of forty acres. There is another near Piqua, on a hill 160
feet high; and another near the city of Dayton, on a hill 160 feet
high, where a mound is enclosed, which like the ancient watch-towers
of Scripture, can command a view of the whole surrounding country.
Near Carlisle lies the site of another remarkable military enclosure,
which overlooks the fertile valley, between the Twin and Miami Rivers.
Two deep ravines fortify the north and south sides, while an almost
perpendicular bluff fortifies the east. The wall which is partly of
earth and partly of stone is 3,676 feet in length, and encloses a
beautiful area of fifteen acres.
The settlers state that in early times there were two stone mounds and
one stone circle, which contained such excellent building stone, that
they removed them for building purposes. They had to cut a way and
grade it, to remove the stones, which those rude architects of early
prehistoric times found no difficulty in taking from a distant quarry
to that high elevation. We must therefore agree that their knowledge
of the mechanical powers was far superior to anything the Indian race
has shown.
About the largest fortification in Ohio may be seen at Bournville. It
encloses a magnificent area of fertility, on an elevation of 400 feet.
The sides are remarkably steep, and are washed by small creeks, that
empty into Paint Creek hard by. Within the fortification are several
depressions, where water remains most of the year. The area, of
itself, would be a beautiful farm, as it consists of 140 acres. The
wall, which was about 2-1/4 miles in length, is very much in ruins,
being chiefly built of stone. Some years ago the whole place was
covered by the trees, and on the dilapidated stone wall, may still be
seen immense trees, whose growth among the stones helped to displace
them. The decayed wood beneath some of these trees indicates that
successions of forests have flourished since these forts were
abandoned by those who made them.
GRADED WAYS.--It is well known that, in most of these valleys; there
are several terraces, from the river bottom or flats, up to the high
lands in the distance. Near a place called Piketown there is a
beautiful graded avenue. The third terrace is seventeen feet above the
second and the second about fourteen feet from the river flat. These
terraces form, when graded, this avenue, which has walls on either
side in height twenty-two feet. These walls run for 1,010 feet to the
third terrace, where they continue to run for 2,580 feet, terminating
in a group of mounds one of which is thirty feet high. Some distance
from these walls another wall runs 212 feet at right angles, and then
turns parallel for 420 feet, when it curves inwardly for 240 feet.
MOUNDS.--I stated at the outset that the mounds in Ohio were very
numerous. They are of various sizes, ranging from those which are only
a few feet in height and a few yards at their base, to those which are
about 90 feet in height, and covering some acres at their base. These
mounds are mostly composed of earth, the material often differing
greatly from the surrounding soil. When we consider the multitudes of
these mounds, and the immense transportation of earth and stones
required in their structure, it needs no stretch of imagination to
conclude that the Mound-builders were a mighty race. Most of these
mounds are located near large rivers or streams, and, consequently, in
the valleys, although some few are to be found on high lands, and even
on hills very suitable for military purposes. Sometimes they may be
seen in clusters, indicating a great business centre and large
population, while again only one may be found in a journey of fifty or
one hundred miles.
During the last fifty years, these tumuli have been carefully
examined, and, from their contents, shape and position, they are now
classified as Temple or Sacrificial Mounds, Burial or Sepulchral
Mounds, Symbolic Mounds, Signal Mounds and Indefinite Mounds. I shall
briefly describe the characteristic of each class and give a few
examples.
_Temple Mounds_.--These mounds are not so numerous in Ohio as in some
other States, yet they occur in sufficient numbers to deserve a small
share of our attention. The city of Marietta has slowly encroached
upon some interesting remains of a sacrificial character, which
consist of two irregular squares containing 50 and 27 acres
respectively. They are situated on a level plain 100 feet above the
level of the Ohio and Muskingum Rivers. The smaller square has ten
gateways, which are covered by mounds, while the larger square, being
strictly a sacred enclosure, has no mounds to cover the 16 openings,
but contains nevertheless four temple mounds of considerable interest.
On the top of these mounds, doubtless there were erected capacious
temples, as there are significant avenues of ascent. There may still
be seen the remains of the ancient altar, where, without doubt, these
people assembled for worship, and where, from the presence of human
bones, we may conclude human beings were offered in sacrifice. In all
the sacred enclosures, evidences of altars have been found, on which,
doubtless, the sacrificial fires blazed for ages. Often are to be
found successions of alternate layers of ashes and blue clay,
indicating a desire for pure sacrifice.
In the neighborhood of Newark, Ohio, at the forks of Licking River,
may be seen most elaborate enclosures, square, circular, and polygonal
in their form, covering in all an extent of four square miles. Like
the ancient temples of the Druids, most of the enclosures have their
openings to the east, or rising sun, so that the first rays shall
strike the altar where doubtless a priest, from the early hour of
dawn, performed mysterious rites.
On the west, there is erected a mound, 170 feet long and 14 feet in
height, which overlooks the whole works, and has been styled "the
Observatory". To the east is a true circle 2,880 feet in
circumference, the wall being 6 feet in height. To the north of this
is an avenue leading from the circle to an octagon of fifty acres, in
the wall of which are eight gateways, which, however, are covered by
mounds five feet in height. From this strange eight-sided figure run
three parallel walls. Those to the south are about two miles in
length, and those running towards the east are each about one mile in
length.
About a mile east, where the middle line of parallel walls terminates,
is a square containing twenty acres, within and around the walls of
which are disposed seven mounds. To the north-east of this is an
elliptical work of large dimensions. On the south-east is a circle, in
the centre of which is the form of a bird with wings expanded. The
body is 155 feet, the length of each wing 110 feet, and the head of
the bird is towards the opening. When this structure was opened, there
was found an altar, proving that, in this circular place, this ancient
people must have assembled for worship.
There is a | 924.037725 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: CAPTAIN BARCLAY
_In his Walking dress._]
PEDESTRIANISM;
OR,
AN ACCOUNT
OF
The Performances of celebrated Pedestrians
DURING
_THE LAST AND PRESENT CENTURY_;
WITH A FULL NARRATIVE OF
Captain Barclay’s
PUBLIC AND PRIVATE MATCHES;
AND
AN ESSAY ON TRAINING.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF ABERDEEN,
_&c. &c. &c._
ABERDEEN:
Printed by D. Chalmers and Co.
FOR A. BROWN, AND F. FROST, ABERDEEN; CONSTABLE AND CO.
AND GREIG, HIGH-STREET, EDINBURGH; LONGMAN AND
CO. PATERNOSTER-ROW; FORSYTH, 114, LEADENHALL-STREET;
AND RICE, 28, BERKELEY-SQUARE,
LONDON.
1813.
_PREFACE._
At the suggestion of a few friends, the author undertook this work.
His intention at first was to confine it solely to Capt. Barclay’s
performances. But on farther consideration, he thought that the _feats_
of other pedestrians might be introduced, and the plan enlarged, so as
to embrace a treatise conveying information or amusement to readers in
general, as well as to sporting gentlemen.
He has therefore treated of objects connected with the physical powers
of man, with the view of drawing the attention of the public to the
best means of strengthening and augmenting the capacities of the body.
The subject he deems important, especially at a time when the physical
energies of many of our countrymen are frequently brought into action by
the conflicts of war.
The republics of Greece prepared their youth for the duty of the field
by their gymnastic institutions; and the Romans were exercised by long
marches, running, leaping, and throwing the javelin. But with the
soldiers of Britain, a different system prevails. While stationed at
home, they are allowed to waste their time in “indolent repose,” and
prevented from taking even that degree of exercise which is requisite to
health, lest they should exhaust the most trifling of their necessaries,
before the return of the usual period of supply. All the advantages
they might derive from a course of training, are thus sacrificed to an
ill-judged economy, and to the vain show of a parade or field day.
The author has considered _Exercise_ in a military point of view, and
he thinks he cannot too strongly urge the necessity of adopting such
measures for training our troops preparatory to actual service as would
fit them for undergoing the hardships of the campaign.
He therefore trusts that this work may deserve the perusal of military
men--no class in the community having so much occasion to prepare
themselves to bear bodily fatigue, as those who are engaged in the
business of war.--And, if it be fully explained, as the author hopes it
is, by what expedients men may be enabled to undergo more than ordinary
exertion, the subject certainly merits the consideration of the defenders
of their country.
But as exercise conduces so much to the strength and soundness of both
body and mind, the subjects treated in this volume, may be deemed, he
presumes, of sufficient moment to deserve the attention of all classes.
The different pedestrian matches which are recorded, may serve to
illustrate general principles, as they exhibit the power of the human
frame; and hence conclusions of extensive utility may be deduced. But
to _Sporting Gentlemen_ this work is particularly interesting, as they
will find, concisely related, the performances of the most celebrated
pedestrians of the present age. And from what has been already done, they
may form some opinion of what it is possible for others to accomplish;
and thus regulate their _bets_ according to the different circumstances
of the cases under their review.
The author acknowledges his obligations to several gentlemen of the
highest respectability, for their encouragement and patronage. To
Capt. Barclay, in particular, he is much indebted, for having not only
furnished the chapter on training, but also for having taken the trouble
to revise the greater part of the work.
WALTER THOM.
_Aberdeen, 1st Jan. 1813._
CONTENTS.
PREFACE, _Page_ 3
CHAPTER I.
On the Gymnastic Exercises of the Ancients, 9
CHAP. II.
Modern Pedestrianism, 33
CHAP. III.
The same subject continued, 69
CHAP. IV.
Capt. Barclay’s Public and Private Matches, 101
CHAP. V.
Sketches of Capt. Barclay’s Favourite Pursuits,
and General Mode of Living, 205
CHAP. VI.
On Training, 221
CHAP. VII.
On the Physical Powers of Man, 249
APPENDIX.
Genealogy of the Family of Barclay of Mathers and
Ury, in the County of Kincardine, 257
ERRATA.
Page 113. line 20. instead of 12 read 2 seconds. And correct the same
error, p. 158.
Transcriber’s Note: These errata have been corrected.
PEDESTRIANISM.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE GYMNASTIC EXERCISES OF THE ANCIENTS.
Gymnastic exercises were held in the highest repute by the most
illustrious nations of antiquity. They mingled with the sacred and
political institutions of their governments, and produced consequences
affecting the physical and moral character of the people.
The GAMES interested all Greece; and the period of their celebration was
that of peace and security. The different republics, with their dependent
colonies in the isles, in Asia, and Africa, furnished candidates emulous
to gain the distinguished honors. Hostile states, then uniting in bonds
of friendship, interchanged those favourable impressions which tend
to humanize the rough nature of man; and that asperity of temper, or
animosity of heart, so characteristic of rude nations, was thus softened
or lulled.
The SACRED GAMES of the Greeks, were composed of the exhibitions of the
STADIUM and HIPPODROME; and the charms of poetry and music were added,
to gratify the more refined taste of the lovers of these exquisite
arts. Philosophers, poets, historians, orators, and every description
of people, assembled to witness the exertions of the combatants, and to
enjoy the varied pleasures of the festival.
The OLYMPIC games claimed precedency over all others; and to IPHITUS,
king of ELIS, they owe their revival--for their origin is lost in
the obscurity of remote ages. The Eleans obtained the direction and
management, by the united consent of Greece; and their territory, on this
account, was deemed inviolable. They founded their prosperity on the
cultivation of peace; and, on sacred ground, raised a temple dedicated
to Jupiter, which inclosed them within the pale of its protecting
influence.
“The temple,” (says Strabo, lib. viii.) “stands in the Pisæan division,
little less than three hundred stadia distant from ELIS. Before it is
a grove of wild olives, within which lies the OLYMPIC stadium.” The
temple was magnificent. It was built of beautiful marble, in the Doric
order, and surrounded by a colonade[1]. It was ornamented by the finest
productions of art--the genius of the sculptor and painter having adorned
the sacred edifice[2]. But the STADIUM was no more than a terrace of
earth, the area of which was six hundred and thirty-eight feet in length.
On the one side was erected the seat of the HELLANODICS, or judges;
and on the other, an altar of white marble, upon which the priestess
of CERES, and her virgins, had the privilege of viewing the games. At
the farther extremity was the barrier, where those who contended in the
SIMPLE FOOT-RACE began their course; and there also was situated the tomb
of ENDYMION[3].
The STADIUM was appropriated to the exhibition of those games denominated
GYMNASTIC; and they consisted of five different exercises, viz.
1st, RUNNING, or FOOT-RACING.
2d, LEAPING.
3d, WRESTLING.
4th, THROWING THE DISCUS; and,
5th, BOXING, or PANCRATIA.
The FOOT-RACE was the most ancient, and claimed a pre-eminence over the
other sports; the Olympiads being distinguished by the name of the victor
who obtained the prize in this game.--But as our subject is particularly
connected with this branch of the ancient gymnastics, we shall treat it
more fully in the sequel.
LEAPING consisted in projecting the body by a sudden spring, in which
the competitors endeavoured to surpass each other in the length of their
leap. Their bodies were poised and impelled forwards by weights of
lead suspended in their hands; and it is said, that PHAULUS of Cretona
acquired such proficiency in this exercise as to leap fifty-two feet.
WRESTLING.--This art required both strength and agility. The wrestlers
were matched by lot; and the prize belonged to him who had thrice thrown
his adversary on the ground. They rubbed their bodies with oil to elude
the grasp, and to prevent too profuse perspiration.
THROWING THE DISCUS.--This sport consisted in throwing a globular mass
of iron, brass, or stone, under the hand, in the manner of the English
quoit. It tried the strength of the arms; and the length of the cast
decided the claims of the competitors.
BOXING, or the PANCRATIA.--This combat was performed either by the naked
fist, or with the addition of the CÆSTUS, which was made of straps of
leather, lined with metal. Boxing was one of the most dangerous of the
gymnastic contests, and frequently terminated in maiming, or death.
Judges called HELLANODICS were appointed to preside at the Olympic
festival; and their office conveyed great authority. They inflicted
corporal punishments and pecuniary penalties on those who infringed the
Olympic laws: and that vast assembly of combatants and spectators, which
was composed of men of every rank and degree, was thus kept in order and
regularity. For ten centuries, religion and custom consecrated their
powerful influence to the maintenance of the sacred games--the period
of their revival by Iphitus, being seven hundred and seventy-six years
before the birth of Christ. The duration of this institution shews its
perfect organization, and that, while it comprized so many different
states, its laws were administered with justice and impartiality.
The games were celebrated every fifth year; and the candidates for the
Olympic crown, termed ATHLETÆ, were obliged, previously, to enter their
names, that they might be known to the Hellanodics, and their pretensions
to the honor of competition investigated. Ten months of preparatory
training were requisite; of which one was devoted to exercise in the
stadium in the presence of the judges, in order to qualify the competitor
for the arduous trial; and FREE citizens only, whose characters were
irreproachable, and who, in other respects, had complied with the rules
of the institution, were permitted to contend. So important was the prize
of victory, that none but men of spotless reputation were allowed to
enter the lists, which were carefully guarded against the intrusion of
unworthy or improper persons.
The games lasted five days, and commenced with the FOOT-RACE, which was
the first in order, and the highest in estimation of all the gymnastic
exercises.
At first, the race, as instituted by Iphitus, was SIMPLE. It consisted of
running once from the barrier to the goal, or from the one extremity of
the stadium to the other. But in the fourteenth Olympiad, the DIAULUS was
introduced, which, as the word implies, was double the former distance.
The runners in this race turned round the goal, and finished their course
at the barrier, whence they had started. In the next Olympiad, the
DOLICHUS, or LONG COURSE, was added, which consisted of six, twelve, or
twenty-four stadia, or in doubling the goal three, six, or twelve times.
In the simple foot-race, fleetness or agility only was required;
but in the long course, strength of body, and command of WIND, were
indispensable to enable the candidate to gain the prize. Strength and
agility are seldom united in the same person; yet there are some modern
examples of the union of both; and, in antiquity, LEONIDAS of RHODES
obtained the triple crown, in four Olympiads, and was thus distinguished
in the list of conquerors by twelve victories[4].
The competitors in the gymnastic exercises contended naked; but in
the sixty-fifth Olympiad, the race of ARMED MEN was introduced, as
particularly applicable to the duties of war: and, according to
Pausanias, lib. v. twenty-five brass bucklers were kept in a temple
at Olympia for the purpose of equipping the candidates, who wore also
helmets and bucklers. DAMARETUS gained the first victory in this race,
which in no respect differed from the stadium, or simple foot-race, but
that the Athletæ were covered with armour.
While the runners waited the sound of the trumpet as the signal to
start, they exercised themselves by various feats of agility, and short
experimental excursions.
“They try, they rouse their speed with various arts,
“Their languid limbs they prompt to act their parts,
“And with bent hams, amid the practis’d crowd,
“They sit; now strain their lungs, and shout aloud;
“Now a short flight, with fiery steps they trace,
“And with a sudden stop abridge the mimic race.”
When the signal was given, the racers ran with amazing rapidity. They
“seemed on feathered feet to fly,” and the first who arrived at the goal
was declared the victor.
So highly were gymnastics estimated in Greece, that the most liberal
rewards, and the most flattering honors, were bestowed on the victors,
whose glory shed a lustre around their friends, their parents, and their
country.
The Olympic crown was composed of the branches of the wild olive; but
the pine, the parsley, and the laurel, were the symbols appropriated
to the several solemnities of the sacred games at the Isthmus, Nemea,
and Delphi. This reward, however, was only a pledge of the many honors,
immunities, and privileges, consequent of the glory of being crowned.
To excite the emulation of the competitors, these crowns were laid on a
tripod which was placed in the middle of the stadium, where also were
exposed branches of PALM, which the conquerors received at the same time,
to carry in their hands, as emblems of their invincible vigour of body
and mind[5].
The ceremony of investing the victors with this distinguished prize, was
attended with great solemnity. The conquerors were called by proclamation
to the tribunal of the Hellanodics, where the HERALD placed a crown of
olive upon the head of each of them, and gave into his hand a branch of
the palm. Thus adorned with the trophies of victory, they were led along
the stadium preceded by trumpets; and the herald proclaimed with a loud
voice, their own names, and those of their fathers, and country; and
specified the particular exercise in which each of them had gained the
victory.
Although the Hellanodics could bestow no other reward than the OLIVE
CHAPLET, which was merely a symbol, yet the shouts of applause from the
spectators, and the congratulations of relatives, friends, and assembled
countrymen, formed a meed that gratified the ambition of the conquerors.
Sacrifices were made in honor of the victors, and entertainments were
given, in which they presided, or were otherwise eminently distinguished.
In the PRYTANEUM, or town-hall of Olympia, a banqueting-room was set
apart for the special purpose of entertaining them; and odes composed
for the occasion were sung by a CH | 924.04754 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.0283740 | 944 | 20 |
Produced by David Edwards, Jana Srna 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:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in spelling, hyphenation, and
punctuation. Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been
made. They are listed at the end of the text.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
MELMOTH
THE
WANDERER:
A
TALE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF “BERTRAM,” &c.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND COMPANY,
AND HURST, ROBINSON, AND CO. CHEAPSIDE,
LONDON.
1820.
MELMOTH.
CHAPTER XII.
Juravi lingua, mentem injuratam gero.----
Who brought you first acquainted with the devil?
SHIRLEY’S ST PATRICK FOR IRELAND.
“I ran on till I had no longer breath or strength, (without perceiving
that I was in a dark passage), till I was stopt by a door. In falling
against it, I burst it open, and found myself in a low dark room. When I
raised myself, for I had fallen on my hands and knees, I looked round,
and saw something so singular, as to suspend even my personal anxiety
and terror for a moment.
“The room was very small; and I could perceive by the rents, that I had
not only broken open a door, but a large curtain which hung before it,
whose ample folds still afforded me concealment if I required it. There
was no one in the room, and I had time to study its singular furniture
at leisure.
“There was a table covered with cloth; on it were placed a vessel of a
singular construction, a book, into whose pages I looked, but could not
make out a single letter. I therefore wisely took it for a book of
magic, and closed it with a feeling of exculpatory horror. (It happened
to be a copy of the Hebrew Bible, marked with the Samaritan points).
There was a knife too; and a cock was fastened to the leg of the table,
whose loud crows announced his impatience of further constraint(1).
(1) Quilibet postea paterfamilias, cum _gallo_ præ manibus, in medium
primus prodit. * * * * * * * *
Deinde expiationem aggreditur et capiti suo ter gallum allidit,
singulosque ictus his vocibus prosequitur. Hic Gallus sit permutio pro
me, &c. * * * * * * * Gallo deinde imponens manus, eum statim mactat,
&c.
Vide Buxtorf, as quoted in Dr Magee (Bishop of Raphoe’s) work on the
atonement. Cumberland in his Observer, I think, mentions the discovery
to have been reserved for the feast of the Passover. It is just as
probable it was made on the day of expiation.
“I felt that this apparatus was somewhat singular--it looked like a
preparation for a sacrifice. I shuddered, and wrapt myself in the
volumes of the drapery which hung before the door my fall had broken
open. A dim lamp, suspended from the ceiling, discovered to me all these
objects, and enabled me to observe what followed almost immediately. A
man of middle age, but whose physiognomy had something peculiar in it,
even to the eye of a Spaniard, from the clustering darkness of his
eye-brows, his prominent nose, and a certain lustre in the balls of his
eyes, entered the room, knelt before the table, kissed the book that lay
on it, and read from it some sentences that were to precede, as I
imagined, some horrible sacrifice;--felt the edge of the knife, knelt
again, uttered some words which I did not understand, (as they were in
the language of that book), and then called aloud | 924.048414 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.2151570 | 800 | 15 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"
A Comedietta in Four Acts
By Arthur W. Pinero
1899
This Play was produced at the Court Theatre, London, on Thursday,
January 29th, 1898.
[_The Original Cast at the Lyceum Theatre, New York_]
[Ill 0000]
THEATRICAL FOLK
Tom Wrench Ferdinand Gadd
James Telfer of the
Augustus Colpoys Bagnigge-Wells
Rose Trelawny Theatre
Avonia Bunn
Mrs. Telfer, ( Miss Violet)
Imogen Parrott, of the Royal Olympic Theatre O' Dwyer, prompter at the
Pantheon Theatre
Edward J. Morgan Wm. Courtleigh Geo. C. Boniface Charles W. Butler Mary
Mannering Elizabeth Tyree Mrs. Chas. Walcot Hilda Spong Grant Stewart
Mr. Denzil Mr. Mortimer Mr. Hunston Miss Brewster of the Pantheon
Theatre
Thos. Whiffen Louis Albion Mace Greenleaf Adelaide Keim
Hallkeeper at the Pantheon
Edward H. Wilkinson
NON-THEATRICAL FOLK
Vice-Chancellor Sir William Gower, Kt.
Arthur Gower 4
Clara de Foenix &
Charles Walcot
Henry Woodruff Helma Nelson
Miss Trafalgar Gower, Sir William's sister Ethel Hornick
Captain de Foenix, Clara's husband H. S. Taber
Mrs. Mossop, a landlady Mrs. Thos. Whiffen
Mr. Ablett, a grocer John Findlay
Charles, a butler W. B. Royston
Sarah, a maid Blanche Kelleher
THE FIRST ACT at Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's Lodgings in No. 2 Brydon
Crescent, Clerkenwell. May
THE SECOND ACT at Sir William Gower's, in Cavendish Square. June.
THE THIRD ACT again in Brydon Crescent. December.
THE FOURTH ACT on the stage of the Pantheon Theatre. A few days later.
PERIOD somewhere in the early Sixties. (1860s)
NOTE:--Bagnlgge (locally pronounced Bagnidge) Wells, formerly a popular
mineral spring in Islington, London, situated not far from the better
remembered Sadler's-Wells. The gardens of Bagnlgge-Wells were at one
time much resorted to; but, as a matter of fact, Bagnigge-Wells, unlike
Sadler's-Wells, has never possessed a playhouse. Sadler's-Wells Theatre,
however, always familiarly known as the "Wells," still exists. It was
rebuilt in 1876-77.
The costumes and scenic decoration of this little play-should follow, to
the closest detail, the mode of the early Sixties, the period, in dress,
of crinoline and the peg-top trouser; in furniture, of horsehair and
mahogany, and the abominable "walnut -and -rep." No attempt should
be made to modify such fashions in illustration, to render them less
strange, even less grotesque, to the modern eye. On the contrary, there
should be an endeavor to reproduce, perhaps to accentuate, any feature
which may now seem particularly quaint and bizarre. Thus, lovely youth
should be shown decked uncompromisingly as it was at the time indicated,
at the risk (which the author believes to be a slight one) of pointing
the chastening moral that, while beauty fades | 924.235197 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.2152800 | 693 | 13 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scans provided by the Internet Archive,
https://archive.org/details/delawareorruined02jame
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY M. AITKEN, 1, ST JAMES'S SQUARE.
DELAWARE;
OR
THE RUINED FAMILY.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH;
AND WHITTAKER & CO., LONDON.
MDCCCXXXIII.
DELAWARE;
OR,
THE RUINED FAMILY.
CHAPTER I.
The sand in the hour-glass of happiness is surely of a finer quality
than that which rolls so slowly through the glass of this world's
ordinary cares and fears. Oh! how rosy-footed trip the minutes that
lead along the dance of joy! How sweetly they come, how swiftly they
fly, how bright their presence, and how speedy their departure! Every
one who has ever had a pen in his hand, has said exactly the same
words before me; and therefore, though a little stale, they must be
true.
The hours flew as lightly at Emberton Park as if they had plucked all
the down from the wings of their good father Time, in order to furnish
their own soft pinions; and many of the days which intervened between
the signature of the bill for twenty-five thousand pounds, given by
Sir Sidney Delaware to Lord Ashborough, and the time when it was to
become due, slipped away unnoticed. The worthy baronet suffered them
to pass with very great tranquillity, relying perfectly upon the word
of Mr. Tims, that the money would be ready at the appointed period. As
comfort, and happiness, too, are far less loquacious qualities than
grief and anxiety. Sir Sidney thought it unnecessary to enter into any
farther particulars with Burrel, than by merely thanking him, in
general terms, for the advice he had given; and by informing him that,
in consequence of his son's second journey to London, his affairs were
likely to be finally arranged in the course of a month or two. The
miser also suffering himself, for a certain time, to be governed by
his nephew--who well knew the only two strings which moved him like a
puppet, to be avarice and fear--did not attempt to give the young
stranger at Emberton any information of the events which had taken
place, till long after Captain Delaware's return; and, within five
days of the time when the bill became due, Burrel, who had delayed his
promised visit to Dr. Wilton till he was almost ashamed to go at all,
rode over to his rectory to pass a couple of days with the worthy
clergyman, whom he found deep in all the unpleasant duties of his
magisterial capacity. William Delaware, also, | 924.23532 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
DISCOVERIES. EDMUND SPENSER.
POETRY AND TRADITION; & OTHER
ESSAYS:: BEING THE EIGHTH VOLUME
OF THE COLLECTED WORKS IN VERSE
& PROSE OF WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS :: IMPRINTED
AT THE SHAKESPEARE
HEAD PRESS STRATFORD-ON-AVON
MCMVIII
CONTENTS
PAGE
DISCOVERIES:
PROPHET, PRIEST AND KING 3
PERSONALITY AND THE INTELLECTUAL ESSENCES 8
THE MUSICIAN AND THE ORATOR 12
A GUITAR PLAYER 13
THE LOOKING-GLASS 14
THE TREE OF LIFE 15
THE PRAISE OF OLD WIVES’ TALES 18
THE PLAY OF MODERN MANNERS 20
HAS THE DRAMA OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE A ROOT OF ITS OWN? 22
WHY THE BLIND MAN IN ANCIENT TIMES WAS MADE A POET 24
CONCERNING SAINTS AND ARTISTS 29
THE SUBJECT MATTER OF DRAMA 32
THE TWO KINDS OF ASCETICISM 36
IN THE SERPENT’S MOUTH 38
THE BLACK AND THE WHITE ARROWS 39
HIS MISTRESS’S EYEBROWS 39
THE TRESSES OF THE HAIR 41
A TOWER ON THE APENNINE 42
THE THINKING OF THE BODY 43
RELIGIOUS BELIEF NECESSARY TO SYMBOLIC ART 45
THE HOLY PLACES 48
EDMUND SPENSER 51
POETRY AND TRADITION 91
MODERN IRISH POETRY 113
LADY GREGORY’S CUCHULAIN OF MUIRTHEMNE 131
LADY GREGORY’S GODS AND FIGHTING MEN 147
MR. SYNGE AND HIS PLAYS 171
LIONEL JOHNSON 183
THE PATHWAY 189
BIBLIOGRAPHY 197
DISCOVERIES
PROPHET, PRIEST AND KING
THE little theatrical company I write my plays for had come to a west
of Ireland town, and was to give a performance in an old ball-room, for
there was no other room big enough. I went there from a neighbouring
country-house, and, arriving a little before the players, tried to open
a window. My hands were black with dirt in a moment, and presently a
pane of glass and a part of the window-frame came out in my hands.
Everything in this room was half in ruins, the rotten boards cracked
under my feet, and our new proscenium and the new boards of the
platform looked out of place, and yet the room was not really old, in
spite of the musicians’ gallery over the stage. It had been built by
some romantic or philanthropic landlord some three or four generations
ago, and was a memory of we knew not what unfinished scheme.
From there I went to look for the players, and called for information
on a young priest, who had invited them and taken upon himself the
finding of an audience. He lived in a high house with other priests,
and as I went in I noticed with a whimsical pleasure a broken pane of
glass in the fanlight over the door, for he had once told me the story
of an old woman who a good many years ago quarrelled with the bishop,
got drunk and hurled a stone through the painted glass. He was a clever
man who read Meredith and Ibsen, but some of his books had been packed
in the fire-grate by his housekeeper, instead of the customary view of
an Italian lake or the tissue-paper. The players, who had been
giving a performance in a neighbouring town, had not yet come, or were
unpacking their costumes and properties at the hotel he had recommended
them. We should have time, he said, to go through the half-ruined
town and to visit the convent schools and the cathedral, where, owing
to his influence, two of our young Irish sculptors had been set to
carve an altar and the heads of pillars. I had only heard of this
work, and I found its strangeness and simplicity—one of them had been
Rodin’s pupil—could not make me forget the meretriciousness of the
architecture and the commercial commonplace of the inlaid pavements.
The new movement had seized on the cathedral midway in its growth, and
the worst of the old and the best of the new were side by side without
any sign of transition. The convent school was, as other like places
have been to me—a long room in a workhouse hospital at Portumna, in
particular—a delight to the imagination and the eyes. A new floor had
been put into some ecclesiastical building and the light from a great
mullioned window, cut off at the middle, fell aslant upon rows of clean
and seemingly happy children. The nuns, who show in their own convents,
where they can put what they like, a love of what is mean and pretty,
make beautiful rooms where the regulations compel them to do all with
a few colours and a few flowers. I think it was that day, but am not
sure, that I had lunch at a convent and told fairy stories to a couple
of nuns, and I hope it was not mere politeness that made them seem to
have a child’s interest in such things.
A good many of our audience, when the curtain went up in the old
ball-room, were drunk, but all were attentive, for they had a great
deal of respect for my friend, and there were other priests there.
Presently the man at the door opposite to the stage strayed off
somewhere and I took his place, and when boys came up offering two or
three pence and asking to be let into the sixpenny seats, I let them
join the melancholy crowd. The play professed to tell of the heroic
life of ancient Ireland, but was really full of sedentary refinement
and the spirituality of cities. Every emotion was made as dainty-footed
and dainty-fingered as might be, and a love and pathos where passion
had faded into sentiment, emotions of pensive and harmless people,
drove shadowy young men through the shadows of death and battle. I
watched it with growing rage. It was not my own work, but I have
sometimes watched my own work with a rage made all the more salt in
the mouth from being half despair. Why should we make so much noise
about ourselves and yet have nothing to say that was not better said
in that workhouse dormitory, where a few flowers and a few
counterpanes and the walls had made a severe and gracious
beauty? Presently the play was changed and our comedian began to act
a little farce, and when I saw him struggle to wake into laughter
an audience, out of whom the life had run as if it were water, I
rejoiced, as I had over that broken window-pane. Here was something
secular, abounding, even a little vulgar, for he was gagging horribly,
condescending to his audience, though not without contempt.
We had supper in the priest’s house, and a government official, who
had come down from Dublin, partly out of interest in this attempt ‘to
educate the people,’ and partly because it was his holiday and it was
necessary to go | 924.249147 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.4168450 | 1,675 | 20 |
E-text prepared by Woodie4, Curtis Weyant, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital
material generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 28861-h.htm or 28861-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/daveporterinfarn00straiala
Dave Porter Series
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Or
The Pluck of an American Schoolboy
by
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," "Dave Porter in the South Seas,"
"Dave Porter's Return to School," "Old Glory Series," "Pan American
Series," "Defending His Flag," etc.
Illustrated By Charles Nuttall
[Illustration: In a twinkling the turnout was upset.--_Page 206._]
[Illustration: Publishers mark]
Boston
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
Published, March, 1908
Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
All rights reserved
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
Norwood, Mass.
U. S. A.
PREFACE
"Dave Porter in the Far North" is a complete story in itself, but forms
the fourth volume in a line issued under the general title of "Dave
Porter Series."
In the first volume, entitled "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," I introduced a
typical American lad, full of life and vigor, and related the
particulars of his doings at an American boarding school of to-day--a
place which is a little world in itself. At this school Dave made both
friends and enemies, proved that he was a natural leader, and was
admired accordingly.
The great cloud over Dave's life was the question of his parentage. His
enemies called him "that poorhouse nobody," which hurt him deeply. He
made a discovery, and in the second volume of the series, entitled "Dave
Porter in the South Seas," we followed him on a most unusual voyage, at
the end of which he found an uncle, and learned something of his father
and sister, who were at that time traveling in Europe.
Dave was anxious to meet his own family, but could not find out just
where they were. While waiting for word from them, he went back to Oak
Hall, and in the third volume of the series, called "Dave Porter's
Return to School," we learned how he became innocently involved in a
mysterious series of robberies, helped to win two great games of
football, and brought the bully of the academy to a realization of his
better self.
As time went by Dave longed more than ever to meet his father and his
sister, and how he went in search of them I leave the pages which follow
to relate. As before, Dave is bright, manly, and honest to the core, and
in those qualities I trust my young readers will take him as their model
throughout life.
Once more I thank the thousands who have taken an interest in what I
have written for them. May the present story help them to despise those
things which are mean and hold fast to those things which are good.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
January 10, 1908.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON THE TRAIN 1
II. A ROW IN A RESTAURANT 12
III. OFF THE TRACK 22
IV. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BARN 32
V. BACK TO OAK HALL 42
VI. GUS PLUM'S CONFESSION 51
VII. HOW JOB HASKERS WENT SLEIGH-RIDING 59
VIII. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER 69
IX. DAVE TALKS TO THE POINT 78
X. AN ADVENTURE ON ROBBER ISLAND 87
XI. A HUNT FOR AN ICE-BOAT 97
XII. THE MEETING OF THE GEE EYES 107
XIII. AN INTERRUPTED INITIATION 116
XIV. GOOD-BYE TO OAK HALL 125
XV. DAVE AND ROGER IN LONDON 134
XVI. SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION 143
XVII. ON THE NORTH SEA 152
XVIII. IN NORWAY AT LAST 162
XIX. OFF TO THE NORTHWARD 171
XX. AN ENCOUNTER WITH WOLVES 181
XXI. CAUGHT IN A WINDSTORM 190
XXII. SNOWBOUND IN THE MOUNTAINS 200
XXIII. LEFT IN THE DARK 210
XXIV. THE BURGOMASTER OF MASOLGA 219
XXV. TO THE NORTHWARD ONCE MORE 228
XXVI. DAYS OF WAITING 237
XXVII. DAVE STRIKES OUT ALONE 246
XXVIII. A JOYOUS MEETING 255
XXIX. BEARS AND WOLVES 264
XXX. HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION 274
ILLUSTRATIONS
In a twinkling the turnout was upset (page
206) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Roger shoved it aside and it struck Isaac Pludding
full on the stomach 25
"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled
Shadow 58
The mule shied to one side and sent Dave
sprawling on the ice 101
What was left of the camp-fire flew up in the
air 120
Once they ran close to a three-masted schooner 160
"Out with the lot of them! I will take the
rooms" 229
Dave received a blow from a rough paw that
sent him headlong 267
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
CHAPTER I
ON THE TRAIN
"Here we are at the station, Dave!"
"Yes, and there is Phil waiting for us," answered Dave Porter. He threw
up the car window hastily. "Hi, there, Phil, this way!" he called out,
lustily.
A youth who stood on the railroad platform, dress-suit case in hand,
turned hastily, smiled broadly, and then ran for the steps of the
railroad car. The two boys already on board arose in their seats to
greet him.
"How are you, Dave? How are you, Ben?" he exclaimed cordially, and shook
hands. "I see you've saved a seat for me. Thank you. My, but it's a cold
morning, isn't it?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't come on account of the weather," answered
Dave Porter. "How are you feeling?"
"As fine as ever," answered Phil Lawrence. "Oh, it will take more than
one football game to kill me," he went on, with a light laugh.
"I trust you never get knocked out like that again, Phil," said Dave
Porter, | 924.436885 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.6297200 | 106 | 7 |
Produced by Chuck Greif 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 GALLEY SLAVE'S RING
THE FULL SERIES OF
The Mysteries of the People
OR
History of a Proletarian Family
Across the Ages
By EUGENE SUE
_Consisting of the Following Works:_
| 924.64976 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.6416820 | 1,688 | 10 |
Produced by fh, Nick Wall and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Illustration: ROBERT O'HARA BURKE.
_From Photo_--HILL, Melbourne.]
AUSTRALIAN HEROES
AND
ADVENTURERS.
LONDON:
WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE,
AND MELBOURNE.
1889.
PREFACE.
This book is the first of a series which the Publisher intends to issue,
illustrative of life and adventure in the Australian Colonies and the
Islands of the Pacific. It has been carefully compiled from reliable
sources of information--viz., _Wills's Diary_, _King's Narrative_,
_Howitt's Diary_, Wood's _Explorations in Australia_, Withers's _History
of Ballarat_, Sutherland's _Tales of the Gold-fields_, Raffello's
_Account of the Ballarat Riots_, McCombie's _History of Victoria_, etc.,
etc. Most of these books are very expensive or out of print, and
therefore not easily procurable at the booksellers.
In the succeeding volumes of the series it is proposed to
give--"Buckley, the Runaway Convict, and his Black Friends," "John
Batman, the Founder of Melbourne," "Fawkner, the Pioneer," "Early Days
of Tasmania," "Botany Bay Tales," "Remarkable Convicts," "Notorious
Bushrangers," "Brave Deeds," "Squatting Tales," "Remarkable Personal
Adventures," "Curious Anecdotes," etc., etc.
MELBOURNE, 1889.
CONTENTS.
Burke and Wills--Two Heroes of Exploration.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
ACROSS AUSTRALIA 7
CHAPTER II.
THE RETURN JOURNEY 21
CHAPTER III.
SUFFERINGS AND DEATHS OF THE TWO LEADERS 34
CHAPTER IV.
SEARCH PARTIES, AND CONCLUSION 48
Old Times on the Gold-Fields.
CHAPTER I.
THE CONVICT'S STRATAGEM 63
EARLY DISCOVERIES IN NEW SOUTH WALES 66
HARGRAVES, THE PIONEER MINER 69
AN ABORIGINAL DISCOVERER 77
CHAPTER II.
GOLD IN VICTORIA 80
JAMES ESMOND, THE VICTORIAN PIONEER 81
OTHER PIONEERS 85
CHAPTER III.
EFFECT OF DISCOVERIES 89
CANVAS TOWN 94
RAG FAIR 95
NEW CHUMS AND OLD CHUMS 96
CHAPTER IV.
SLY GROG SHANTIES 100
CHAPTER V.
THE DIGGER'S LICENSE 105
DIGGER-HUNTING ANECDOTES 109
CHAPTER VI.
BEGINNINGS OF REVOLT 116
AN IRISH GALLANT 117
REFORM LEAGUES 120
CHAPTER VII.
THE EUREKA HOTEL MURDER 125
A LOYAL TOAST 130
BURNING THE LICENSES 131
THE LAST DIGGER-HUNT 134
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EUREKA STOCKADE 136
STORMING OF THE STOCKADE 141
EXCITEMENT IN MELBOURNE 145
WRONGS RIGHTED 149
[ILLUSTRATION: MAP ROUTE.]
Australian Heroes and Adventurers.
BURKE AND WILLS.
TWO HEROES OF EXPLORATION.
CHAPTER I.
_ACROSS AUSTRALIA._
There stood for twenty years, at the intersection of Collins and Russell
Streets, the only monument which the city of Melbourne can boast of.
Increasing traffic has recently necessitated its removal to a small
reserve opposite our Parliament Houses, where it occupies a most
commanding position at one of the chief entrances of the city. It is the
lasting memorial of two men and the expedition they led across the
continent of Australia. It stands in silent and solemn grandeur amidst
the noisy turmoil of a busy thoroughfare--two massive figures gazing
earnestly and longingly, seemingly in a solitude as complete as the
deepest seclusion of the lonely plains of the interior, where the
heroes whose memory they perpetuate met their fate. No inscription tells
the curious visitor or wayfarer who they are, or records the deeds that
have gained them such a high place in the estimation of the citizens of
Victoria. The story is an old one in these days of rapidly passing
events, but we think it will bear repetition, and, therefore, in the
following pages we will do our best to relate the events that led to the
erection of so magnificent a memorial.
From the days of the first settlement of New South Wales at Port Jackson
in 1788, down to the present time, the laudable desire of bettering
their condition, enhanced by the adventurous spirit moving in their
breasts, has prompted the colonists of Australia to organise parties for
the exploration of the unknown interior of their vast continent. In not
a few instances the explorer has been the precursor of the squatter and
the selecter of settlements and civilisation. The journey of Oxley, in
1818, led to the discovery that the Macquarie and other rivers ended in
large reedy marshes. This discovery gave rise to the belief in an
immense inland sea, into which all the rivers of the interior emptied
themselves. But subsequent travellers in search of this supposed inland
sea dissipated the belief in its existence. In 1828 Sturt reached the
"great salt river," called the Darling, which has since filled such an
important part in facilitating the carriage of our staple product to
the ocean. In his next journey Sturt went down the Murrumbidgee and the
Murray as far as Lake Alexandrina. His description of the country
surrounding the lake--plenty of green pastures and abundance of
agricultural land of the most fertile kind--induced the squatters to
send down their emaciated flocks from the parched plains of Riverina,
and also led to the emigration of numbers of farmers and vine-growers
from overcrowded Europe, who founded the Colony of South Australia.
Mitchell, in 1836, descended the Darling, crossed over the Murray, and
entered into what is now the Colony of Victoria. He named it "Australia
Felix," because the country which met his view delighted him with its
beautiful scenery, and its congenial climate presented such a pleasant
contrast to that of the land he had just travelled over. Pioneers from
Port Jackson and Van Diemen's Land migrated to this newly-revealed
district. The productiveness of its soil, and the subsequent discovery
of gold, soon attracted a great number of adventurers and immigrants to
the happy clime. In an incredibly short period the district grew into a
rich and prosperous colony, and Melbourne, its mighty capital, took rank
amongst the chief cities of the world.
The success attending the early exploring expeditions equipped by the
mother colony seems to have incited the colonists of Victoria to emulate
the doings of their neighbours. In 1859 a patriotic offer was made by
an enterprising citizen of Melbourne--Mr. Ambrose Kyte--to contribute
L1000 towards defraying the cost of fitting out an expedition to explore
the vast interior of Australia. This generous offer was accepted. | 924.661722 |
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 39631-h.htm or 39631-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39631/39631-h/39631-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39631/39631-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/runawaysneworigi00gouliala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital letters were replaced with all capital letters.
There were places where a word was unreadable. In those places,
the most likely word was used, enclosed in brackets.
THE RUNAWAYS
All rights reserved
THE RUNAWAYS
A New and Original Story
by
NAT GOULD
[Illustration]
G. Heath Robinson
and J. Birch, Limited
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited.
Duke Street, Stamford Street, S.E. and Great Windmill Street, W.
NAT GOULD: AN APPRECIATION.
[Illustration]
Nat Gould's novels of the Turf are read and enjoyed by multitudes of men
and women all over the world. That in itself is a guarantee of literary
merit. Had he been a stylist, the sale of his hundred odd books would
never have run into a score of millions. He wrote to please and not to
puzzle, to give pleasure and not to educate, and his reward came in the
gratitude of a host of admirers of clean, healthy fiction.
His main theme was the King of Sports and the Sport of Kings. Nat Gould
dearly loved a horse, and so does the great British public, including
those who have no liking for racing. It is a characteristic as national
as our admiration of ships, sailors and the sea. The theme fascinated
him, and, combined with a gift for writing, was one of the secrets of
his success. Another reason for his almost boundless popularity is to be
found in the "atmosphere" of his stories, which is created without
elaborate literary setting. The machinery of it is hidden by reason of
its very artlessness. The romance is told in a plain, straightforward
way that carries intense conviction, and though the plots are neither
subtle nor involved, they are unfolded in so vigorous and lifelike a
manner that few people who pick up one of Nat Gould's novels are able to
put it down before having finished the last chapter. Few modern writers
can boast that they are read and understood at a single sitting.
His novels ring true. They are clean, manly and sincere. There is
nothing vicious about them. As _The Times_ truly said of Nat Gould in
its obituary notice of him, "He must have written some millions of
words, but few of them were wasted, if a rattling good story makes a
reader happier and more contented for having read it."
Such praise is praise indeed, for literature that is involved and
appeals to a select few obviously cannot have the influence of
literature that embraces so large a section of the population. To have
added to the enjoyment of so vast a number of young and old, rich and
poor, were a monument worthy of any man.
Nathaniel Gould was born in Manchester in 1857, and died in 1919. His
wide experience as a journalist in England and Australia doubtless
explained his methods of rapid workmanship, while his travels in the
Antipodes and elsewhere afforded him that "local colour" which is not
the least pleasing characteristic of his novels. He not only wrote of
outdoor life, but enjoyed it, for racing, driving and gardening were his
hobbies.
E. LATON BLACKLANDS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--AS THE SNOW FALLS 11
II.--THE RUNAWAYS 23
III.--RANDOM 35
IV.--IRENE'S PAINTING 45
V.--HONEYSUCKLE'S FOAL 57
VI.--A WILY YOUNG MAN 70
VII.--SELLING HIS HERITAGE 83
VIII.--WARREN'S RETURN 96
IX.--HOW ULICK BOUGHT THE SAINT 108
X.--"THE CURIOSITY" 120
XI.--FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE 133
XII.--TWO SCHEMERS 146
XIII.--THE SQUIRE AND THE SAINT 158
XIV.--A DISCOVERY IMMINENT 170
XV.--THE RESULT OF THE DISCOVERY 182
XVI.--A RACE TO BE REMEMBERED 194
XVII.--THE SQUIRE OVERHEARS 206
XVIII.--"TALLY-HO!" 219
XIX.--A FATAL LEAP 230
XX.--PERFECT HARMONY 242
THE RUNAWAYS
CHAPTER I.
AS THE SNOW FALLS.
Redmond Maynard stood at the dining-room window gazing at the deep-dyed
reflection upon the snow of the blood-red setting sun. The leafless
trees, with their gnarled trunks and gaunt, twisted branches, spreading
fiercely in imprecation at the hardness of their lot, resembled giant
monsters from an unknown world. These diseased protruding growths put on
all manner of fantastic shapes, as his eyes dwelt first upon one, then
upon another. It was the shortening winter's day drawing near a close,
and a spirit of melancholy brooded over the landscape. On such an
evening as this, the thoughts of thinking men are apt to draw
comparisons which bring vividly before them the uncertainty of life, and
the prospects of that something after death which has never been
understood, never will be, until each one solves the problem by going
out into the eternal night.
It seemed to Redmond Maynard that he was peering into a mystery he had
no hope of solving. He was not a godless man, neither was he a man whose
life had been altogether well spent. His mistakes had been many; he
acknowledged this, and thereby robbed his detractors of selfish
victories. Slowly the sun sank, and as it dipped lower and lower into
obscurity the red shadows on the snow grew fainter, the harshness
melted, and a gentle warmth seemed to mingle with the biting cold. The
glow remained some time after the sun had disappeared, and Redmond
Maynard stood in the same position watching it.
Then, almost without warning--
"Out of the bosom of the air,
Out of the cloud folds of her garment shaken--
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow,
Descended the snow."
It came fluttering down from the "bosom of the air," to nestle in the
bosom of the earth, to mingle with the white mantle lying there, to lie
pure and undefiled until an angry thaw turned all its beauty into
dulness and decay. How gently the flakes fell, and Redmond Maynard
watched them with the warm glow from the fire shedding flickering light
behind and around him.
"Shall I draw the curtain, sir?"
"No."
The man silently left the room, sighing as he did so, thinking to
himself, "It's two years come to-night since Mr. Ulick left home. I
wonder will he come back. The Squire's thinking of it now. God help 'em
both."
"There will be no darkness to-night," muttered Redmond Maynard, as he
saw a silvery ray cross the lawn in front of the house. No darkness,
perhaps not, but in his heart there was a desolate feeling deeper than
the blackness of night. Two years ago Ulick Maynard walked out of that
very room, and had not since returned. Bitter words were spoken between
father and son. Both were proud. The accusation fell upon Ulick like a
thunderbolt; for the moment he was stunned. Then, with his frozen blood
bursting into a fiery torrent, he hurled back the insult his father had
put upon him. He stayed not to think what causes led Redmond Maynard to
make the charge. In his mind no evidence, however conclusively
circumstantial, ought to have been considered sufficient to make his
father speak such words.
The elder man recoiled under the shock. Given an opportunity, he would
have recalled his words. But the chance was not allowed.
"Believing, as you must, or you would not have accused me, that I am
guilty of this infamy, I will no longer inflict my presence upon you,
sir. Good-night."
No more, no less; those were the very words, and Ulick Maynard left the
room. That was two years ago, and nothing had been heard of him since.
"Ulick!" called his father, as the door closed behind him. "Come back at
once. Ulick!"
No answer was returned, and the still angry man thought, "He'll get over
it by morning. Gad, what a devil of a temper he has. He's the culprit,
safe enough, although Eli will not hear of it."
Ulick Maynard did not "get over it by morning." He disappeared, and his
father had never been the same man since. Without drawing the curtains,
Redmond Maynard left the window, and, walking to the fireplace, stood
with his back to the blaze.
Stretched on the hearthrug was a strong, powerful, shaggy wolf-hound.
Bersak raised his long, lean head, and looked at his master, but
observing no sign that his services were required, stretched himself out
again at full length with a sigh of satisfaction. There was ample room
between the dog and the hearth for his master to stand, and Redmond
Maynard looked down upon him from a height of nearly six feet.
"His dog," he muttered. "Bersak, where's Ulick?"
The hound sprang to his feet and stood alert, every nerve strained, head
erect, listening for footsteps he had not heard for two years, but which
he would have recognised even amidst the deadening snow. Man and dog
looked at each other. That question had been asked before.
"Bersak, where's Ulick?"
Rather shaky the tones this time, and something in them affected the
hound, for he lifted up his head and whined; the sound would have
developed into a howl, but Redmond Maynard placed his hand on his head
and said--
"Don't howl, Bersak, I could not stand it. Lie down. Good dog, lie
down."
Obedient to the word of command, Bersak lowered himself--no other word
adequately expresses the dog's movement,--to the hearthrug, and with his
fore-paws stretched out watched the Squire's face.
How much would Redmond Maynard have given to see the door open and his
son Ulick walk in. All he possessed--aye, more, many years of his life.
He knew how Bersak would have leapt [to] his feet with a mighty bark of
welcome, and a spring forward until his strong paws reached Ulick's
shoulders.
He fixed his eyes on the door, and as he did so it opened. But it was
not Ulick entering, although the newcomer brought a faint smile on his
face.
"Irene!" he exclaimed, as the vision in furs came across the fire-lit
room; "this is good of you. However did you get here; is it still
snowing?"
"No, Squire, it is not snowing, although there is plenty of snow; and as
to how I came here, well--look at my boots," and she held up her dress
and disclosed a pair of strong "lace-ups," fitting perfectly her
well-shaped feet.
"So you walked all the way from the Manor, and with the express object
of cheering a lonely old man on a depressing winter's evening. I call
that good of you, positively charitable, but Irene Courtly's name is
ever associated with good works," said the Squire.
"I am afraid the good work on this occasion is closely allied with
selfishness," she replied, smiling. "Being alone, I appreciate the
feelings of others similarly situated, and that is how I came to think
of you."
"Alone!" he exclaimed. "Where is Warren?"
"Gone to London. Important business. No hunting, you see, Squire," she
said, with a laugh he thought had not a very true ring about it.
Redmond Maynard gave an impatient gesture, and Bersak pushed his head
against her hand in doggish sympathy. Irene Courtly noticed the
movement, and said--
"He really had to go; he assured me it was absolutely necessary," she
said.
Warren Courtly had also added. "I'll be back in a few days, Irene. Run
over and see the Squire, you will be company for each other."
"You cannot humbug me, Irene," said Redmond Maynard. "He's tired of the
country because there is no sport, and I call it downright selfish of
him to go up to town and leave you behind at Anselm Manor."
"But, really, I did not wish to go, Squire."
"You mean it?"
"Yes, most decidedly."
"Then pull off those furs; let me send Bob over for your things and your
maid, and stay here until Warren returns," said the Squire.
This time the laugh was hearty enough, and she said--
"Impetuous as ever, Squire. I only wish I could."
"And what is to prevent your doing so?"
"My duty towards my neighbours," said Irene, laughing.
"Love your neighbour as yourself, and I am your nearest neighbour," he
answered.
Then, going to the window, he opened it, and, putting out his arm for a
few moments, drew it in again and showed her the snowflakes on his
coat-sleeve.
"You cannot possibly return to the Manor in such weather," he said, and
touched the bell.
"Can you drive, or ride, to Anselm Manor, Bob?" he asked.
The man shook his head doubtfully.
"I'll try, sir."
"Take the old mare | 924.735484 |
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Produced by Maria Cecilia Lim and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: Letter from Susan B. Anthony, January, 1903.]
HARRIET
THE MOSES OF HER PEOPLE
By
SARAH H. BRADFORD
"Farewell, ole Marster, don't think hard of me,
I'm going on to Canada, where all de slaves are free."
"Jesus, Jesus will go wid you,
He will lead you to His throne,
He who died has gone before you,
Trod de wine-press all alone."
COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY SARAH H. BRADFORD.
PREFACE.
The title I have given my black heroine, in this second edition of
her story, viz.: THE MOSES OF HER PEOPLE, may seem a little
ambitious, considering that this Moses was a woman, and that she
succeeded in piloting only three or four hundred slaves from the
land of bondage to the land of freedom.
But I only give her here the name by which she was familiarly
known, both at the North and the South, during the years of terror
of the Fugitive Slave Law, and during our last Civil War, in both
of which she took so prominent a part.
And though the results of her unexampled heroism were not to free
a whole nation of bond-men and bond-women, yet this object was as
much the desire of her heart, as it was of that of the great
leader of Israel. Her cry to the slave-holders, was ever like his
to Pharaoh, "Let my people go!" and not even he imperiled life and
limb more willingly, than did our courageous and self-sacrificing
friend.
Her name deserves to be handed down to posterity, side by side
with the names of Jeanne D'Arc, Grace Darling, and Florence
Nightingale, for not one of these women, noble and brave as they
were, has shown more courage, and power of endurance, in facing
danger and death to relieve human suffering, than this poor black
woman, whose story I am endeavoring in a most imperfect way to
give you.
Would that Mrs. Stowe had carried out the plan she once projected,
of being the historian of our sable friend; by her graphic pen,
the incidents of such a life might have been wrought up into a
tale of thrilling interest, equaling, if not exceeding her world
renowned "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
The work fell to humbler hands, and the first edition of this
story, under the title of "Harriet Tubman," was written in the
greatest possible haste, while the writer was preparing for a
voyage to Europe. There was pressing need for this book, to save
the poor woman's little home from being sold under a mortgage, and
letters and facts were penned down rapidly, as they came in. The
book has now been in part re-written and the letters and
testimonials placed in an appendix.
For the satisfaction of the incredulous (and there will naturally
be many such, when so strange a tale is repeated to them), I will
here state that so far as it has been possible, I have received
corroboration of every incident related to me by my heroic friend.
I did this for the satisfaction of others, not for my own. No one
can hear Harriet talk, and not believe every word she says. As Mr.
Sanborn says of her, "she is too _real_ a person, not to be true."
Many incidents quite as wonderful as those related in the story, I
have rejected, because I had no way in finding the persons who
could speak to their truth.
This woman was the friend of William H. Seward, of Gerritt Smith,
of Wendell Phillips, of William Lloyd Garrison, and of many other
distinguished philanthropists before the War, as of very many
officers of the Union Army during the conflict.
After her almost superhuman efforts in making her own escape from
slavery, and then returning to the South _nineteen times_, and
bringing away with her over three hundred fugitives, she was sent
by Governor Andrew of Massachusetts to the South at the beginning
of the War, to act as spy and scout for our armies, and to be
employed as hospital nurse when needed.
Here for four years she labored without any remuneration, and
during the time she was acting as nurse, never drew but twenty
days' rations from our Government. She managed to support herself,
as well as to take care of the suffering soldiers.
Secretary Seward exerted himself in every possible way to procure
her a pension from Congress, but red-tape proved too strong even
for him, and her case was rejected, because it did not come under
any recognized law.
The first edition of this little story was published through the
liberality of Gerritt Smith, Wendell Phillips, and prominent men
in Auburn, and the object for which it was written was
accomplished. But that book has long been out of print, and the
facts stated there are all unknown to the present generation.
There have, I am told, often been calls for the book, which could
not be answered, and I have been urged by many friends as well as
by Harriet herself, to prepare another edition. For another
necessity has arisen and she needs help again not for herself, but
for certain helpless ones of her people.
Her own sands are nearly run, but she hopes, 'ere she goes home,
to see this work, a hospital, well under way. Her last breath and
her last efforts will be spent in the cause of those for whom she
has already risked so much.
For them her tears will fall,
For them her prayers ascend;
To them her toils and cares be given,
Till toils and cares shall end.
S.H.B.
Letter from Mr. Oliver Johnson for the second edition:
NEW YORK, _March 6_, | 924.748982 |
2023-11-16 18:32:28.9173370 | 694 | 18 | THE OVERLAND ROUTE ACROSS THE PLAINS IN 1850-51***
E-text prepared by the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital material generously made available
by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/journaloftriptoc00ingarich
Transcriber's note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without
note. Dialect spellings and punctuation have been retained.
JOURNAL OF A TRIP TO CALIFORNIA BY THE
OVERLAND ROUTE ACROSS THE PLAINS IN 1850-51
by
E. S. INGALLS.
Waukegan:
Tobey & Co., Printers
1852
PREFACE.
In offering this Journal to the public, the publishers believe that a
benefit will be conferred on many who are desirous of visiting the
Eldorado of the nineteenth century. This is one object we have in
publishing it; but our principal object is to gratify the numerous
friends of Judge Ingalls by furnishing them with his journal in a form
easily transmitted through the mails to the different parts of the
country. Without claiming any merit as a literary production, the
author has simply given us a plain statement of incidents as he saw
them. Without further remark, we present his work to the public.
PUBLISHERS.
JOURNAL.
In offering this journal to the public, the writer makes no pretensions
to authorship, but believes that, although it be written in plain,
off-hand style, nevertheless, some portions of it may be interesting to
the public, and that if any who may chance to read it are about to
start for "Eldorado," they may derive some benefit from it, whether
they go over the Plains, or by water. The writer will only attempt to
describe objects and incidents as he saw them.
We commenced our journey from Lake county, Ill., on the 27th day of
March, (or rather I did, the team not being ready, and I having some
business to transact at Rock River.)
_March_, 28--I left Hainesville, and traveled to Franklinville, McHenry
Co., at night a distance of 30 miles.
29th. Reached Belvidere about noon, and spent the remainder of the day
with John S. Curtis, Esq. Belvidere is a thriving village in Boon co.,
situated in the midst of a fertile and beautiful country.
18 miles.
30th.--Left Belvidere about noon, after having made a very agreeable
visit with Mr. Curtis, and traveled as far as Rockford, on Rock river,
where I found E. Ford, one of our company, and several others from Lake
county. I found Ford taking care of a California emigrant from
Wisconsin, by the name of Maynard, who was very sick at the Rockford
House.
12 miles.
31st. I remained at Rockford, it being Sunday. Rockford is one of the
most active and prosperous villages on the Rock River, and when the | 924.937377 |
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Produced by Arno Peters, Branko Collin, Tiffany Vergon,
Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW
A SELECTION OF THE WORLD'S ART MASTERPIECES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY DOLORES BACON
Illustrated from Great Paintings
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Besides making acknowledgments to the many authoritative writers upon
artists and pictures, here quoted, thanks are due to such excellent
compilers of books on art subjects as Sadakichi Hartmann, Muther,
C. H. Caffin, Ida Prentice Whitcomb, Russell Sturgis and others.
INTRODUCTION
Man's inclination to decorate his belongings has always been one of
the earliest signs of civilisation. Art had its beginning in the lines
indented in clay, perhaps, or hollowed in the wood of family utensils;
after that came crude colouring and drawing.
Among the first serious efforts to draw were the Egyptian square and
pointed things, animals and men. The most that artists of that day
succeeded in doing was to preserve the fashions of the time. Their
drawings tell us that men wore their beards in bags. They show us,
also, many peculiar head-dresses and strange agricultural
implements. Artists of that day put down what they saw, and they saw
with an untrained eye and made the record with an untrained hand; but
they did not put in false details for the sake of glorifying the
subject. One can distinguish a man from a mountain in their work, but
the arms and legs embroidered upon Mathilde's tapestry, or the figures
representing family history on an Oriental rug, are quite as correct
in drawing and as little of a puzzle. As men became more intelligent,
hence spiritualised, they began to express themselves in ideal ways;
to glorify the commonplace; and thus they passed from Egyptian
geometry to gracious lines and beautiful colouring.
Indian pottery was the first development of art in America and it led
to the working of metals, followed by drawing and portraiture. Among
the Americans, as soon as that term ceased to mean Indians, art took a
most distracting turn. Europe was old in pictures, great and
beautiful, when America was worshipping at the shrine of the chromo;
but the chromo served a good turn, bad as it was. It was a link
between the black and white of the admirable wood-cut and the true
colour picture.
Some of the Colonists brought over here the portraits of their
ancestors, but those paintings could not be considered "American" art,
nor were those early settlers Americans; but the generation that
followed gave to the world Benjamin West. He left his Mother Country
for England, where he found a knighthood and honours of every kind
awaiting him.
The earliest artists of America had to go away to do their work,
because there was no place here for any men but those engaged in
clearing land, planting corn, and fighting Indians. Sir Benjamin West
was President of the Royal Academy while America was still revelling
in chromos. The artists who remained chose such objects as Davy
Crockett in the trackless forest, or made pictures of the Continental
Congress.
After the chromo in America came the picture known as the "buckeye,"
painted by relays of artists. Great canvases were stretched and
blocked off into lengths. The scene was drawn in by one man, who was
followed by "artists," each in turn painting sky, water, foliage,
figures, according to his specialty. Thus whole yards of canvas could
be painted in a day, with more artists to the square inch than are now
employed to paint advertisements on a barn.
The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 came as a glorious flashlight. For
the first time real art was seen by a large part of our nation. Every
farmer took home with him a new idea of the possibilities of drawing
and colour. The change that instantly followed could have occurred in
no other country than the United States, because no other people would
have travelled from the four points of the compass to see such an
exhibition. Thus it was the American's _penchant_ for travel which
first opened to him the art world, for he was conscious even then of
the educational advantages to be found somewhere, although there
seemed to be few of them in the United States.
After the Centennial arose a taste for the painting of "plaques," upon
which were the heads of ladies with strange- hair; of
leather-covered flatirons bearing flowers of unnatural colour, or of
shovels decorated with "snow scenes." The whole nation began to revel
in "art." It was a low variety, yet it started toward a goal which
left the chromo at the rear end of the course, and it was a better
effort than the mottoes worked in worsted, which had till then been
the chief decoration in most homes. If the "buckeye" was
hand-painting, this was "single-hand" painting, and it did not take a
generation to bring the change about, only a season. After the
Philadelphia exhibition the daughter of the household "painted a
little" just as she played the piano "a little." To-day, much less
than a man's lifetime since then, there is in America a universal love
for refined art and a fair technical appreciation of pictures, while
already the nation has worthily contributed to the world of
artists. Sir Benjamin West, Sully, and Sargent are ours: Inness,
Inman, and Trumbull.
The curator of the Metropolitan Museum in New York has declared that
portrait-painting must be the means which shall save the modern
artists from their sins. To quote him: "An artist may paint a bright
green cow, if he is so minded: the cow has no redress, the cow must
suffer and be silent; but human beings who sit for portraits seem to
lean toward portraits in which they can recognise their own features
when they have commissioned an artist to paint them. A man _will_
insist upon even the most brilliant artist painting him in trousers,
for instance, instead of in petticoats, however the artist-whim may
direct otherwise; and a woman is likely to insist that the artist who
paints her portrait shall maintain some recognised shade of brown or
blue or gray when he paints her eye, instead of indulging in a burnt
orange or maybe pink! These personal preferences certainly put a limit
to an artist's genius and keep him from writing himself down a
madman. Thus, in portrait-painting, with the exactions of truth upon
it, lies the hope of art-lovers!"
It is the same authority who calls attention to the danger that lies
in extremes; either in finding no value in art outside the "old
masters," or in admiring pictures so impressionistic that the objects
in them need to be labelled before they can be recognised.
The true art-lover has a catholic taste, is interested in all forms of
art; but he finds beauty where it truly exists and does not allow the
nightmare of imagination to mislead him. That which is not beautiful
from one point of view or another is not art, but decadence. That
which is technical to the exclusion of other elements remains
technique pure and simple, workmanship--the bare bones of art. A thing
is not art simply because it is fantastic. It may be interesting as
showing to what degree some imaginations can become diseased, but it
is not pleasing nor is it art. There are fully a thousand pictures
that every child should know, since he can hardly know too much of a
good thing; but there is room in this volume only to acquaint him with
forty-eight and possibly inspire him with the wish to look up the
neglected nine hundred and fifty-two.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I. Andrea del Sarto, Florentine School, 1486-1531
II. Michael Angelo (Buonarroti), Florentine School, 1475-1564
III. Arnold Boecklin, Modern German School, 1827-1901
IV. Marie-Rosa Bonheur, French School, 1822-1899
V. Alessandro Botticelli, Florentine School, 1447-1510
VI. William Adolphe Bouguereau, French (Genre) School 1825-1905
VII. Sir Edward Burne-Jones, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1833-1898
VIII. John Constable, English School, 1776-1837
IX. John Singleton Copley, English School, 1737-1815
X. Jean Baptiste Camille Corot, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1796-1875
XI. Correggio (Antonio Allegri), School of Parma, 1494(?)--1534
XII. Paul Gustave Dore, French School, 1833-1883
XIII. Albrecht Duerer, Nuremberg School, 1471-1528
XIV. Mariano Fortuny, Spanish School, 1838-1874
XV. Thomas Gainsborough, English School, 1727-1788
XVI. Jean Leon Gerome, French Semi-classical School, 1824-1904
XVII. Ghirlandajo, Florentine School, 1449-1494
XVIII. Giotto (di Bordone), Florentine School, 1276-1337
XIX. Franz Hals, Dutch School, 1580-84-1666
XX. Meyndert Hobbema, Dutch School, 1637-1709
XXI. William Hogarth, School of Hogarth (English), 1697-1764
XXII. Hans Holbein, the Younger, German School, 1497-1543
XXIII. William Holman Hunt, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1827-
XXIV. George Inness, American, 1825-1897
XXV. Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, English School, 1802-1873
XXVI. Claude Lorrain (Gellee), Classical French School, 1600-1682
XXVII. Masaccio (Tommaso Guidi), Florentine School, 1401-1428
XXVIII. Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier, French School, 1815-1891
XXIX. Jean Francois Millet, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1814-1875
XXX. Claude Monet, Impressionist School of France, 1840-
XXXI. Murillo (Bartolome Esteban), Andalusian School, 1617-1682
XXXII. Raphael (Sanzio), Umbrian, Florentine, and Roman Schools,
1483-1520
XXXIII. Rembrandt (Van Rijn), Dutch School, 1606-1669
XXXIV. Sir Joshua Reynolds, English School, 1723-1792
XXXV. Peter Paul Rubens, Flemish School, 1577-1640
XXXVI. John Singer Sargent, American and Foreign Schools, 1856-
XXXVII. Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti), Venetian School, 1518-1594
XXXVIII. Titian (Tiziano Vecelli), Venetian School, 1489-1576
XXXIX. Joseph Mallord William Turner, English, 1775-1831
XL. Sir Anthony Van Dyck, Flemish School, 1599-1641
XLI. Velasquez (Diego Rodriguez de Silva), Castilian School, 1599-1660
XLII. Paul Veronese (Paolo Cagliari), Venetian School, 1528-1588.
XLIII. Leonardo da Vinci, Florentine School, 1452-1519.
XLIV. Jean Antoine Watteau, French (Genre) School, 1684-1721
XLV. Sir Benjamin West, American, 1738-1820
Index
ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
The Avenue, Middleharnis, Holland--_Hobbema_
Madonna of the Sack--_Andrea del Sarto_
Daniel--_Michael Angelo (Buonarroti)_
The Isle of the Dead--_Arnold Boecklin_
The Horse Fair--_Rosa Bonheur_
Spring--_Alessandro Botticelli_
The Hay Wain--_John Constable_
A Family Picture--_John Singleton Copley_
The Holy Night--_Correggio (Antonio Allegri)_
Dance of the Nymphs--_Jean Baptiste Camille Corot_
The Virgin as Consoler--_Wm. Adolphe Bouguereau_
The Love Song--_Sir Edward Burne-Jones_
The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine--_Correggio_
Moses Breaking the Tablets of the Law--_Paul Gustave Dore_
The Nativity--_Albrecht Duerer_
The Spanish Marriage--_Mariana Fortuny_
Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan--_Thomas Gainsborough_
The Sword Dance--_Jean Leon Gerome_
Portrait of Giovanna degli Albizi--_Ghirlandajo (Domenico Bigordi)_
The Nurse and the Child--_Franz Hals_
The Meeting of St. John and St. Anna at Jerusalem--_Giotto (Di
Bordone)_
The Avenue--_Meyndert Hobbema_
The Marriage Contract--_Wm. Hogarth_
The Light of the World--_William Holman Hunt_
Robert Cheseman with his Falcon--_Hans Holbein, the Younger_
The Berkshire Hills--_George Inness_
The Old Shepherd's Chief Mourner--_Sir Edwin Henry Landseer_
The Artist's Portrait--_Tommaso Masaccio_
Acis and Galatea--_Claude Lorrain_
Retreat from Moscow--_Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier_
The Angelus--_Jean Francois Millet_
The Immaculate Conception--_Murillo (Bartolome Esteban)_
Haystack in Sunshine--_Claude Monet_
The Sistine Madonna--_Raphael (Sanzio)_
The Night Watch--_Rembrandt (Van Rijn)_
The Duchess of Devonshire and Her Daughter--_Sir Joshua Reynolds_
The Infant Jesus and St. John--_Peter Paul Rubens_
Carmencita--_John Singer Sargent_
The Miracle of St. Mark--_Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti)_
The Artist's Daughter, Lavinia--_Titian (Tiziano Vecelli)_
The Fighting Temeraire--_Joseph Mallord William Turner_
The Children of Charles the First--_Sir Anthony Van Dyck_
Equestrian Portrait of Don Balthasar Carlos--_Velasquez (Diego
Rodriguez de Silva)_
The Marriage at Cana--_Paul Veronese_
The Death of Wolfe--_Sir Benjamin West_
The Artist's Two Sons--_Peter Paul Rubens_
The Last Supper--_Leonardo da Vinci_
Fete Champetre--_Jean Antoine Watteau_
I
ANDREA DEL SARTO
(Pronounced Ahn'dray-ah del Sar'to)
_Florentine School_
1486-1531
_P | 925.037227 |
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Produced by Simon Gardner, Adrian Mastronardi, The
Philatelic Digital Library Project at http://www.tpdlp.net
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes
Several symbols appear in the left margin of certain catalogue entries:
the equals sign (=), em-dash (--) and a circular "bullet" (o). No
explanation is given in the book for the significance of these symbols
which are reproduced as the original.
A distinctive larger typeface is introduced on the title page and used
to denote catalogue items donated by the Boston Philatelic Society. In
this Plain Text version of the e-book this typeface is distinguished by
preceding and following dollar symbols: $thus$.
Other typeface conventions and symbol substitutions are as follows:
Bold typeface is represented by =equals signs=;
italic typeface by _surrounding underscores_;
superscripts by a preceding caret (^) symbol;
and small caps typeface by UPPER CASE.
[ae] for ae-ligature
[a'], [e'] for grave accent
[:a], [:o], [:u] for umlaut
['e], ['o] for acute accent (or Spanish final stress)
[oe] for oe-ligature character
[asterism] for a triangle of three stars.
Where changes or corrections have been made to the text, these are
listed at the end of the book.
* * * * *
CATALOGUE
OF
BOOKS ON PHILATELY
IN THE
PUBLIC LIBRARY
OF THE CITY OF BOSTON.
ITEMS PRINTED IN THIS STYLE OF TYPE
$(Albrecht, R. F., and Company, publishers. *2234.22)$
WERE GIVEN BY
THE BOSTON PHILATELIC SOCIETY.
JANUARY, 1903.
PRESS OF D. H. BACON & CO.,
DERBY, CONN.
Consult the Card Catalogue Under Headings:
Envelopes,
Perforation,
Penny Postage,
Post,
Postage,
Postage Stamps,
Postal ----,
Postal Cards,
Postmarks,
Post Office,
Revenue,
Revenue Stamps,
Telegraph Stamps.
Also public documents.
CATALOGUE.
=Adenaw, Julius.= *2234.13
A complete catalogue of the revenue stamps of the United States,
including all private and state issues, and giving all minor
varieties, with the market value of every stamp.
New York, Scott Stamp & Coin Co. [1884?] 74, (1) pp 8^o.
$=Albrecht, R. F.=, and Company, publishers. *2232.22$
$Auction prices. An epitome of the prices realized for postage
stamps at R. F. Albrecht & Co.'s auction sales during four
seasons. (1892-95, sales 1-29.)$
= $New York, 1895. (4), 127 pp. 8^o.$
$=American Journal of Philately.= *2234.23$
$Monthly, Henry L. Calman, editor, first series, vol. 1, 1868.$
= $New York: Scott Stamp & Coin Co., second series, 1888-1902, 15v.,
illus. plates, 8^o. The issues for 1889 were edited by J. W.
Scott.$
=American Philatelic Association.= *2237.69
Books on philately in the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh. [Chicago]
1901. 7 pp. 8^o.
$=American Philatelic Association.= 2237.137$
$Catalogue of the American Philatelic Association's loan exhibit of
postage stamps to the United States Post Office Department, at the
World's Columbian Exposition, Chicago, 1893.$
$Birmingham, Conn. Bacon & Co., 1893. 68 pp. 8^o.$
$=American Philatelic Association.= *2230a.13$
$Official circular. Sept., 1893-Aug., 1895.$
= $[St. Louis, Mo., 1893-95.] v. L. 8^o.$
$=American Philatelic Publishing Company.= 2239a.121$
$"Our catalogue." The standard American catalogue of all the postal
issues of the world. Together with the revenue stamps of the
United States and Canada.$
= $New York. Albrecht & Co. [1894] (2), 592 pp. Illus. 16^o.$
$=American Philatelist.= Vol. 1-13. *6233.9$
$Chicago. American Philatelic Association. 1888-99. 13 v. in 7.
8^o.$
$The annual number for Dec., 1884, is published as vol. 8.
Previous to vol. 8 the periodical is called American Philatelist
and Year Book of the American Philatelic Association.$
$=Bacon=, E. D. 2237.59$
$Reprints of postal adhesive stamps and their characteristics.$
= $London. [1900.] viii, 168 pp. Illus. [Stanley Gibbons'
philatelic handbooks.] 8^o.$
$=Bacon=, E. D. *2236.47$
$And Francis John Hamilton Scott Napier.$
$Grenada: to which is prefixed an account of the perforations of
the Perkins-Bacon printed stamps of the British Colonies.$
$London. Stanley Gibbons, 1902 (4) 173 pp. Illus. Pls. [The
Stanley Gibbons Philatelic Handbooks] 8^o.$
=Bacon=, E. D. and Francis J. H. S. Napier. 2237.48
The stamps of Barbadoes, with a history and description of the
star-watermarked papers of Perkins, Bacon & Co.
London: 1896. xi., 119pp. Pls. [The Stanley Gibbons Philatelic
handbooks.] 8^o.
$=Bartels, J. M.=, Co., publishers. *2230a.2$
$Complete catalogue and reference list of the stamped envelopes,
wrappers, and letter sheets regularly issued by the United States.
1853-97.$
$Washington, 1897, 38 pp. Illus Pls. L. 8^o.$
$=Bartels=, J. M., Co. 2230a.3$
$March, 1899. J. M. Bartels' second complete catalogue and reference
list of the stamped envelopes, wrappers, letter sheets and postal
cards, regularly issued by the United States. 1853-1899.$
$Washington (1899) Unpaged. Illus. F^o.$
$=Bartels=, J. Murray & Co., publishers. 2239a.112$
$The standard price catalogue and reference list of the plate
numbers of United States adhesive postage stamps, issued from 1890
to 1898. 3d edition.$
$Washington, 1898, 37pp. 16^o.$
$Same. 2239a.113$
$Stamps issued from 1893 to 1899, 4th edition. With supplement,
1899, 1900, 2 parts in 1v.$
| 925.040193 |
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Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet, email [email protected]
KING DIDERIK
AND THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE
LION AND DRAGON
AND OTHER BALLADS
BY
GEORGE BORROW
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION
1913
_Copyright in the United States of America_
_by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.
KING DIDERIK AND THE LION’S FIGHT WITH THE DRAGON
From Bern rode forth King Diderik,
A stately warrior form;
Engaged in fray he found in the way
A lion and laidly worm. {5}
They fought for a day, they fought for two,
But ere the third was flown,
The worm outfought the beast, and brought
To earth the lion down.
Then cried the lion in his need
When he the warrior saw:
“O aid me quick, King Diderik,
To ’scape the Dragon’s claw.
“O aid me quick, King Diderik,
For the mighty God thou fearest;
A lion save for the lion brave,
Which on thy shield thou bearest.
“Come to my rescue, thou noble King,
Help, help me for thy name;
Upon thy targe I stand at large,
Glittering like a flame.”
Long, long stood he, King Diderik,
Deep musing thereupon;
At length he cried: “Whate’er betide
I’ll help thee, noble one.”
It was Sir King Diderik,
His good sword bare he made:
With courage fraught, the worm he fought,
Till blood tinged all the blade.
The gallant lord would not delay
So fast his blows he dealt;
He hacked and gored until his sword
Was sundered at the hilt.
The Lindworm took him upon her back,
The horse beneath her tongue;
To her mountain den she hurried then
To her eleven young.
The horse she cast before her young,
The man in a nook she throws:
“Assuage your greed upon the steed,
But I will to repose.
“I pray ye feed upon the steed,
At present no more I can;
When I upleap, refreshed, from sleep,
We’ll feast upon the man.”
It was Sir King Diderik,
In the hill he searched around;
Then, helped by the Lord, the famous sword
Called Adelring he found.
Aye there he found so sharp a sword,
And a knife with a golden heft:
“King Sigfred be God’s grace with thee,
For here thy life was reft!
“I’ve been with thee in many a fight,
In many an inroad too,
But that thy doom had been in this tomb
I never, never knew.”
It was Sir King Diderik,
Would prove the faulchion’s might;
He hewed upon the flinty stone
’Till all around was light.
It was the youngest Lindworm saw
The sparks the hill illume:
“Who dares awake the fiery snake
In her own sleeping room?”
The Lindworm gnashed its teeth with rage,
Its grinning fangs it show’d:
“Who dares awake the mother snake
Within her own abode?”
Then spake the other little ones,
From the dark nooks of the hill:
“If from her sleep the old one leap,
’Twill fare with thee but ill.”
Then answered Sir King Diderik,
His eyes with fury gleam:
“I will awake your mother snake
With chilly, chilly dream.
“Your mother she King Sigfred slew,
A man of noble line;
I’ll on ye all avenge his fall
With this good hand of mine.”
And then awaked the Lindworm old,
And on her fell such fear:
“Who thus with riot disturbs my quiet?
What noise is this I hear?”
Then said King Diderik: “’Tis I,
And this have I to say:
O’er hill and dale, ’neath thy crooked tail,
Thou brought’st me yesterday.”
“O hew me not, King Diderik,
I’ll give thee all my hoard;
’Twere best that we good friends should be,
So cast away thy sword.”
“I pay no trust to thy false device,
Befool me thou wouldst fain;
Full many hast thou destroyed ere now,
Thou never shalt again.”
“Hear me, Sir King Diderik,
Forbear to do me ill,
And thee I’ll guide to thy plighted bride,
She’s hidden in the hill.
“Above by my head, King Diderik,
Is hung the little key;
Below by my feet to the maiden sweet
Descend thou fearlessly.”
“Above by thy head, thou serpent curst,
To begin I now intend;
Below by thy feet, as is full meet,
I soon shall make an end.”
Then first the laidly worm he slew,
And then her young he smote;
But in vain did he try from the mountain to fly,
For tongues of snakes thrust out.
So then with toil in the rocky soil
He dug a trench profound,
That in the flood of serpent blood
And bane he might not be drowned.
Then bann’d the good King Diderik,
On the lion he wroth became:
“Bann’d, bann’d,” said he, “may the lion be,
Confusion be his and shame.”
“With subtle thought the brute has brought
On me this grievous risk;
Which I ne’er had seen had he not been
Graved on my buckler’s disc.”
And when the gallant lion heard
The King bewail his hap:
“Stand fast, good lord,” the lion roared,
“While with my claws I scrap.”
The lion scrapp’d, King Diderik hewed,
Bright sparks the gloom relieved;
Unless the beast had the knight released
He’d soon to death have grieved.
So when he had slain the laidly worm,
And her offspring all had kill’d;
Escaped the knight to the morning light,
With heavy cuirass and shield.
And when he had now come out of the hill
For his gallant courser he sighed;
With reason good he trust him could,
For they had each other tried.
“O there’s no need to bewail the steed,
Which thou, Sir King, hast miss’d;
I am thy friend, my back ascend,
And ride where’er thou list.”
So he rode o’er the deepest dales,
And o’er the verdant meads;
The knight he rode, the lion strode,
Through the dim forest glades.
The lion and King Diderik
Together thenceforth remain;
Each death had braved, and the other saved
From peril sore and pain.
Where’er King Diderik rode in the fields
The lion beside him sped;
When on the ground the knight sat down
In his bosom he laid his head.
Wherefore they call him the lion knight
With fame that name he bore;
Their love so great did ne’er abate
Until their dying hour.
DIDERIK AND OLGER THE DANE
With his eighteen brothers Diderik stark
Dwells in the hills of Bern;
And each I wot twelve sons has got,
For manly feats they yearn.
He has twelve sisters, each of them
A dozen sons can show;
Thirteen the youngest, gallant lads,
Of fear who nothing know.
To stand before the King a crowd
Of giant bodies move;
I say to ye forsooth their heads
O’ertopped the beechen grove.
“With knights of pride we war have plied
For many, many a year;
Of Olger, who in Denmark reigns,
Such mighty things we hear.
“Men talk so fain of Olger Dane
Who dwells in Jutland’s fields;
Crowned is his head with gold so red,
No tribute us he yields.”
Then Swerting took a mace, and shook
That mace right furiously:
“From ten times ten of Olger’s men
I would not look to flee!”
“Hark, Swerting, hark, of visage dark,
Esteem them not so little;
I’d have thee ken that Olger’s men
Are knights of gallant mettle.
“They feel no fright for faulchions,
For arrows no dismay;
The desperate fight is their delight,
They deem it children’s play.”
Then cried the mighty man of Bern,
When pondered long had he:
“To Denmark we will wend, and learn
At home if Olger | 925.041179 |
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Produced by Rosanna Murphy, 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)
Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
_The Early History of the Scottish Union Question_
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION.
"With considerable literary skill he has compressed into a brief compass
a most readable and impartial account of the efforts which from the time
of Edward I. went on to weld the two countries into one."--_Edinburgh
Evening News._
"Mr. Omond tells his story brightly and with full
knowledge."--_Manchester Guardian._
"A genuine contribution to British history."--_Dumfries Courier._
"There is much to interest and inform in this volume."--_Liverpool
Mercury._
"The conciseness of the sketch, instead of detracting from the worth of
the work, rather enables the author to give a more vivid description of
the course and progress of events."--_Dundee Advertiser._
"Mr. Omond has laid students of British history under a debt of
gratitude to him for his work on the Scottish Union question."--_Leeds
Mercury._
"Mr. Omond is at home in the struggles which led up to the act of Union
in 1707."--_British Weekly._
"His book, modest and unpretentious as it is, is a careful contribution
to the study of one of the most important features of the history of the
two kingdoms, since 1707 united as Great Britain."--_Liverpool Daily
Post._
"A handy summary of the history of such international relations, written
with an orderly method and much clearness and good sense."--_The
Academy._
"A handy, well-written volume."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"A very interesting, as well as very instructive book."--_Literary
World._
[Illustration: JOHN HAMILTON, LORD BELHAVEN.]
_The Early History
of the
Scottish Union Question_
_By
G. W. T. Omond_
_Author of
"Fletcher of Saltoun" in the "Famous Scots" Series_
_Bi-Centenary Edition_
_Edinburgh & London
Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
1906_
_Now Complete in 42 Volumes_
_The Famous Scots Series_
_Post 8vo, Art Canvas, 1s. 6d. net; and with gilt top and uncut
edges, price 2s. net_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
JAMES HOGG. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
THOMAS CAMPBELL. By J. CUTHBERT HADDEN.
GEORGE BUCHANAN. By ROBERT WALLACE. Completed by
J. CAMPBELL SMITH.
SIR DAVID WILKIE, AND THE SCOTS SCHOOL OF PAINTERS. By
EDWARD PINNINGTON.
THE ERSKINES, EBENEZER AND RALPH. By A. R. MACEWEN.
THOMAS GUTHRIE. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
DA | 925.139003 |
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Produced by Al Haines
MEANS AND ENDS
OF EDUCATION
BY
J. L. SPALDING
Bishop of Peoria
WHO BRINGETH MANY THINGS,
FOR EACH ONE SOMETHING BRINGS
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
1895
COPYRIGHT
BY A. C. MCCLURG L Co.
A.D. 1895
By Bishop Spalding
EDUCATION AND THE HIGHER LIFE. 12mo. $1.00.
THINGS OF THE MIND. 12mo. $1.00.
MEANS AND ENDS OF EDUCATION. 12mo. $1.00.
A. C. McCLURG AND CO.
CHICAGO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. TRUTH AND LOVE
II. TRUTH AND LOVE
III. THE MAKING OF ONE'S SELF
IV. WOMAN AND EDUCATION
V. THE SCOPE OF PUBLIC-SCHOOL EDUCATION
VI. THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT IN EDUCATION
VII. THE HIGHER EDUCATION
MEANS AND ENDS OF EDUCATION.
CHAPTER I.
TRUTH AND LOVE.
None of us yet know, for none of us have yet been taught in early
youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thought--proof
against all adversity;--bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble
histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful
thoughts; which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty
take away from us--houses built without hands for our souls to live
in.--RUSKIN.
Stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy
patriots, dear to God and famous to all ages.--MILTON.
A great man's house is filled chiefly with menials and creatures of
ceremony; and great libraries contain, for the most part, books as dry
and lifeless as the dust that gathers on them: but from amidst these
dead leaves an immortal mind here and there looks forth with light and
love.
From the point of view of the bank president, Emerson tells us, books
are merely so much rubbish. But in his eyes the flowers also, the
flowing water, the fresh air, the floating clouds, children's voices,
the thrill of love, the fancy's play, the mountains, and the stars are
worthless.
Not one in a hundred who buy Shakspere, or Milton, or a work of any
other great mind, feels a genuine longing to get at the secret of its
power and truth; but to those alone who feel this longing is the secret
revealed. We must love the man of genius, if we would have him speak
to us. We learn to know ourselves, not by studying the behavior of
matter, but through experience of life and intimate acquaintance with
literature. Our spiritual as well as our physical being springs from
that of our ancestors. Freedom, however, gives the soul the power not
only to develop what it inherits, but to grow into conscious communion
with the thought and love, the hope and faith of the noble dead, and,
in thus enlarging itself, to become the inspiration and source of
richer and wider life for those who follow. As parents are consoled by
the thought of surviving in their descendants, great minds are upheld
and strengthened in their ceaseless labors by the hope of entering as
an added impulse to better things, from generation to generation, into
the lives of thousands. The greatest misfortune which can befall
genius is to be sold to the advocacy of what is not truth and love and
goodness and beauty. The proper translation of _timeo hominem unius
libri_ is not, "I fear a man of one book," but "I dread a man of one
book:" for he is sure to be narrow, one-sided, and unreasonable. The
right phrase enters at once into our spiritual world, and its power
becomes as real as that of material objects. The truth to which it
gives body is borne in upon us as a star or a mountain is borne in upon
us. Kings and rich men live in history when genius happens to throw
the light of abiding worlds upon their ephemeral estate. Carthage is
the typical city of merchants and traders. Why is it remembered?
Because Hannibal was a warrior and Virgil a poet.
The strong man is he who knows how and is able to become and be
himself; the magnanimous man is he who, being strong, knows how and is
able to issue forth from himself, as from a fortress, to guide,
protect, encourage, and save others. Life's current flows pure and
unimpeded within him, and on its wave his thought and love are borne to
bless his fellowmen. If he who gives a cup of water in the right
spirit does God's work, so does he who sows or reaps, or builds or
sweeps, or utters helpful truth or plays with children or cheers the
lonely, or does any other fair or useful thing. Take not seriously one
who treats with derision men or books that have been deemed worthy of
attention by the best minds. He is false or foolish. As we cherish a
human being for the courage and love he inspires, so books are dear to
us for the noble thoughts and generous moods they call into being. To
drink the spirit of a great author is worth more than a knowledge of
his teaching.
He who desires to grow wise should bring his reason to bear habitually
upon what he sees and hears not less than upon what he reads; for thus
he soon comes to understand that whatever he thinks or feels, says or
does, whatever happens within the sphere of his conscious life, may be
made the means of self-improvement. "He is not born for glory," says
Vauvenargues, "who knows not the worth of time." The educational value
of books lies in their power to set the intellectual atmosphere in
vibration, thereby rousing the mind to self-activity; and those which
have not this power lack vitality.
If in a whole volume we find one passage in which truth is expressed in
a noble and striking manner, we have not read in vain. To read with
profit, we should read as a serious student reads, with the mind all
alive and held to the subject; for reading is thinking, and it is
valuable in proportion to the stimulus it gives to the exercise of
faculty. The conversation of high and ingenuous minds is doubtless as
instructive as it is delightful, but it is seldom in our power to call
around us those with whom we should wish to hold discourse; and hence
we go back to the emancipated spirits, who having transcended the
bounds of time and space, are wherever they are desired and are always
ready to entertain whoever seeks their company. Genius neither can nor
will discover its secret. Why his thought has such a mould and such a
tinge he no more knows than why the flowers have such a tint and such a
perfume; and if he knew he would not care to tell. Nothing is wholly
manifest. In the most trivial object, as in the simplest word, there
lies a world of meaning which does not reveal itself to a passing
glance. If therefore thou wouldst come to right understanding,
consider all things with an awakened and interested curiosity.
When the mind at last finds itself rightly at home in its world, it is
as delighted as children making escape from restraining walls, as full
of spirit as colts newly turned upon the greensward.
In the realm of truth each one is king, and what he knows is as much
his own as though he were its first discoverer. However firmly thou
holdest to thy opinions, if truth appears on the opposite side, throw
down thy arms at once. A book has the power almost of a human being to
inspire admiration or disgust, love or hatred. To be useful is a noble
thing, to be necessary is not desirable. The youth has not enough
ambition unless he has too much. It is difficult to give lessons in
the art of pleasing without teaching that of lying. The discouraged
are already vanquished. In judging the deed let not the character of
the doer influence thy opinion, for good is good, evil evil, by
whomsoever done. When the author is rightly inspired his words need
not interpretation. They are as natural and as beautiful as the faces
of children or as new-blown flowers, and their meaning is plain. The
spirit and love of dogmatism is characteristic of the imperfectly
educated. As there is a communion of saints, there is a communion of
noble minds, living and dead. To speak of love which is not felt, of
piety which is not a living sentiment within us, is to weaken both in
ourselves and in those who hear us the power of faith and affection.
The best that has been known and experienced by minds and hearts lies
asleep in books, ready to awaken for whoever holds the magician's wand.
Books which at their first appearance create a breeze of excitement,
are forgotten when the wind falls.
A human soul rightly uttering itself, in whatever age or country,
ceases to belong to any age or country, and becomes part of the
universal life of man. A sprightly wit may serve only to lead us
astray, and to enmesh us more hopelessly in error. Deeper knowledge is
the remedy for the foolishness of sciolism: like cures like. In the
books in which men worth knowing have put some of the vital quality
which makes them worth knowing, there is perennial inspiration. They
are the form and substance of an immortal spirit which, in creating
them, became itself. "I have not made my book," says Montaigne, "more
than my book has made me."
Were one to ask an acquaintance who knows men to point out the
individuals whom he should make his friends, his request would probably
receive an unsatisfactory reply: for how, except by trial, is it
possible to say who will suit whom? Those whose friendship would be
valuable might, for whatever cause, be disagreeable to him, as the
greatest and noblest may be unpleasant companions. Many a one whom we
admire as he stands forth in history, whose words and deeds thrill and
uplift us, we should detest had we known him in life; and others to
whom we might have been drawn would have cared nothing for us. Between
men and books there is doubtless a wide difference, though a good book
contains the best of the life of some true man. But when we are asked
to point out the books one should learn | 925.337016 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER: STUDIES IN PESSIMISM
TRANSLATED BY
T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A.
CONTENTS.
ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD
ON THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE
ON SUICIDE
IMMORTALITY: A DIALOGUE
PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
ON EDUCATION
OF WOMEN
ON NOISE
A FEW PARABLES
NOTE.
The Essays here presented form a further selection from Schopenhauer's
_Parerga_, brought together under a title which is not to be found
in the original, and does not claim to apply to every chapter in
the volume. The first essay is, in the main, a rendering of the
philosopher's remarks under the heading of _Nachtraege zur Lehre vom
Leiden der Welt_, together with certain parts of another section
entitled _Nachtraege zur Lehre von der Bejahung und Verneinung des
Willens zum Leben_. Such omissions as I have made are directed chiefly
by the desire to avoid repeating arguments already familiar to readers
of the other volumes in this series. The _Dialogue on Immortality_
sums up views expressed at length in the philosopher's chief work, and
treated again in the _Parerga_. The _Psychological Observations_ in
this and the previous volume practically exhaust the chapter of the
original which bears this title.
The essay on _Women_ must not be taken in jest. It expresses
Schopenhauer's serious convictions; and, as a penetrating observer
of the faults of humanity, he may be allowed a hearing on a question
which is just now receiving a good deal of attention among us.
T.B.S.
ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD.
Unless _suffering_ is the direct and immediate object of life, our
existence must entirely fail of its aim. It is absurd to look upon
the enormous amount of pain that abounds everywhere in the world, and
originates in needs and necessities inseparable from life itself, as
serving no purpose at all and the result of mere chance. Each separate
misfortune, as it comes, seems, no doubt, to be something exceptional;
but misfortune in general is the rule.
I know of no greater absurdity than that propounded by most systems of
philosophy in declaring evil to be negative in its character. Evil is
just what is positive; it makes its own existence felt. Leibnitz is
particularly concerned to defend this absurdity; and he seeks to
strengthen his position by using a palpable and paltry sophism.[1]
It is the good which is negative; in other words, happiness and
satisfaction always imply some desire fulfilled, some state of pain
brought to an end.
[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_, cf. _Theod_, sec. 153.--Leibnitz
argued that evil is a negative quality--_i.e_., the | 925.341136 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
FRANCIS BEAUMONT
Born 1584
Died 1616
JOHN FLETCHER
Born 1579
Died 1625
_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_
THE MAD LOVER
THE LOYAL SUBJECT
RULE A WIFE, AND HAVE A WIFE
THE LAWS OF CANDY
THE FALSE ONE
THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER
THE TEXT EDITED BY
A. R. WALLER, M.A.
CAMBRIDGE:
at the University Press
1906
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER.
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
Glasgow: 50, WELLINGTON STREET.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS.
New York: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
[_All Rights reserved._]
THE
MAD LOVER,
A
TRAGI-COMEDY.
Persons Represented in the Play.
Astorax, _King of_ Paphos.
Memnon, _the General and the Mad Lover_.
Polydor, _Brother to_ Memnon, _beloved of_ Calis.
Eumenes, } _two eminent Souldiers._
Polybius, }
Chilax, _an old merry Souldier_.
Syphax, _a Souldier in love with the Princess_.
Stremon, _a Souldier that can sing_.
Demagoras, _Servant to the General_.
_Chirurgion_.
_Fool_.
_Page_.
_Courtiers_.
_WOMEN._
Calis, _Sister to the King, and Mistris to_ Memnon.
Cleanthe _Sister to_ Syphax.
Lucippe, _one of the Princesses Women_.
_Priest of_ Venus, _an old wanton_.
_A Nun._
Cloe, _a Camp Baggage_.
_The Scene_ Paphos.
The principal Actors were,
_Richard Burbadge._
_Robert Benfeild._
_Nathanael Feild._
_Henry Condel._
_John Lowin._
_William Eglestone._
_Richard Sharpe._
_Actus primus. Scena prima._
_Flourish._ _Enter_ Astorax _King of_ Paphos, _his Sister_
Calis, _Train_, _and_ Cleanthe, Lucippe _Gentlewomen, at
one door; at the other_ Eumenes _a Souldier_.
_Eume._ Health to my Soveraign.
_King._ _Eumenes_, welcome:
Welcome to _Paphos_, Souldier, to our love,
And that fair health ye wish us, through the Camp
May it disperse it self, and make all happy;
How does the General, the valiant _Memnon_,
And how his Wars, _Eumenes_?
_Eume._ The Gods have giv'n you (Royal Sir) a Souldier,
Better ne're sought a danger, more approv'd
In way of War, more master of his fortunes,
Expert in leading 'em; in doing valiant,
In following all his deeds to Victories,
And holding fortune certain there.
_King._ O Souldier,
Thou speak'st a man indeed; a Generals General,
A soul conceiv'd a Souldier.
_Eumen._ Ten set Battels
Against the strong usurper _Diocles_
(Whom long experience had begot a Leader,
Ambition rais'd too mighty) hath your _Memnon_
Won, and won gloriously, distrest and shook him
Even from the head of all his hopes to nothing:
In three, he beat the Thunder-bolt his Brother,
Forc'd him to wall himself up: there not safe,
Shook him with warlike Engins like an Earthquake,
Till like a Snail he left his shell and crawl'd
By night and hideous darkness to destruction:
Disarm'd for ever rising more: Twelve Castles,
Some thought impregnable; Towns twice as many;
Countries that like the wind knew no command
But savage wildness, hath this General
With loss of blood and youth, through Storms and Tempests
Call'd to your fair obedience.
_King._ O my Souldier
That thou wert now within my arms; what drums { _Drums
Are those that beat _Eumenes_? { within._
_Eumen._ His, my Soveraign;
Himself i'th' head of conquest drawing home,
An old man now to offer up his glories,
And endless conquest at your shrine.
_King._ Goe all,
And entertain him with all Ceremonie,
We'l keep him now a Courtier.
_Eumen._ Sir, a strange one,
Pray God his language bear it; by my life, Sir
He knows no complement, nor curious casting
Of words into fit places e're he speak 'em,
He can say fight well fellow, and I'le thank thee:
He that must eat, must fight; bring up the rear there,
Or charge that wing of horse home. [_Flourish._
_King._ Goe too, goe too.
_Enter_ Memnon, _and a train of Courtiers, and Souldiers,
two Captains_, Chilax.
Valiant and wise are twins Sir: welcom, welcom,
Welcom my fortunate and famous General,
High in thy Princes favour, as in fame,
Welcom to Peace, and _Paphos_.
_Mem._ Thank your Grace,
And would to God my dull tongue had that sweetness
To thank you as I should; but pardon me,
My sword and I speak roughly Sir: your battels
I dare well say, I have fought well; for I bring ye
That lazie end you wish for Peace, so fully,
That no more name of war is: who now thinks
Sooner or safer these might have been ended,
Begin 'em if he dare again; I'le thank him.
Souldier and Souldiers Mate these twenty five years,
At length your General, (as one whose merit
Durst look upon no less,) I have waded through
Dangers would damp these soft souls, but to hear of.
The maidenheads of thousand lives hang here Sir,
Since which time Prince, I know no Court but Marshal,
No oylie language, but the shock of Arms,
No dalliance but with death; No lofty measures
But weary and sad marches, cold and hunger,
Larums at midnight Valours self would shake at,
Yet I ne're shrunk: Balls of consuming Wildfire,
That lickt men up like lightning, have I laught at,
And tost 'em back again like childrens trifles.
Upon the edges of my Enemies swords
I have marcht like whirle-winds, fury at this hand waiting,
Death at my right; Fortune my forlorn hope,
When I have grapled with destruction,
And tug'd with pale fac'd Ruine, Night and Mischief,
Frighted to see a new day break in bloud;
And every where I conquer'd; and for you Sir,
Mothers have wanted wombs to make me famous,
And blown ambition, dangers; Those that griev'd ye,
I have taken order for i'th' earth: those fools
That shall hereafter--
_King._ No more wars my Souldier: { _K. takes_ Mem. _aside
We must now treat of peace Sir. { and talks with him_.
_Clean._ How he talks,
How gloriously.
_Cal._ A goodly timber'd fellow,
Valiant no doubt.
_Cle._ If valour dwell in vaunting;
In what a phrase he speaks, as if his actions
Could be set off in nothing but a noise;
Sure h'as a drum in's mouth.
_Cal._ I wonder wenches
How he would speak to us.
_Clean._ Nothing but Larum,
Tell us whose throat he cut, shew us his sword,
And bless it for sure biting.
_Lucippe._ And 't like your Grace,
I do not think he knows us what we are,
Or to what end; for I have heard his followers
Affirm he never saw a woman that exceeded
A Sutlers wife yet, or in execution
Old bedrid Beldames without teeth or tongues,
That would not flie his furie? how he looks.
_Clea._ This way devoutly.
_Cal._ Sure his Lordship's viewing
Our Fortifications.
_Lucip._ If he mount at me,
I may chance choak his Battery.
_Cal._ Still his eye
Keeps quarter this way: _Venus_ grant his valour
Be not in love.
_Clean._ If he be, presently
Expect a Herald and a Trumpet with ye
To bid ye render; we two Perdu's pay for't else.
_King._ I'le leave ye to my sister, and these Ladies
To make your welcom fuller: my good souldier
We must now turn your sternness into Courtship;
When ye have done there, to your fair repose Sir: [_Flourish._
I know you need it _Memnon_; welcom Gentlemen. [_Exit_ King.
_Luci._ Now he begins to march: Madam the Van's yours,
Keep your ground sure; 'tis for your spurrs.
_Mem._ O _Venus_. {
{ _He kneels amaz'd,
_Cal._ How he stares on me. { and forgets to speak._
_Clean._ Knight him Madam, knight him,
He will grow toth' ground else.
_Eumenes._ Speak Sir, 'tis the Princess.
_1 Cap._ Ye shame your self, speak to her.
_Cal._ Rise and speak Sir.
Ye are welcome to the Court, to me, to all Sir.
_Lucip._ Is he not deaf?
_Cal._ The Gentleman's not well.
_Eumen._ Fie noble General.
_Lucip._ Give him fresh air, his colour goes, how do ye?
The Princess will be glad Sir.
_Mem._ Peace, and hear me.
_Clean._ Command a silence there.
_Mem._ I love thee Lady.
_Cal._ I thank your Lordship heartily: proceed Sir.
_Lucip._ Lord how it stuck in's stomach like a surfeit.
_Clean._ It breaks apace now from him, God be thanked,
What a fine spoken man he is.
_Lucip._ A choice one, of singular variety in carriage.
_Clean._ Yes and I warrant you he knows his distance.
_Mem._ With all my heart I love thee.
_Cal._ A hearty Gentleman,
And I were e'en an arrant beast, my Lord,
But I lov'd you again.
_Mem._ Good Lady kiss me.
_Clean._ I marry, _Mars_, there thou cam'st close up to her.
_Cal._ Kiss you at first my Lord? 'tis no fair fashion,
Our lips are like Rose buds, blown with mens breaths,
They lose both sap and savour; there's my hand Sir.
_Eumen._ Fie, fie, my Lord, this is too rude.
_Mem._ Unhand me,
Consume me if I hurt her; good sweet Lady
Let me but look upon thee.
_Cal._ Doe.
_Mem._ Yet--
_Cal._ Well Sir,
Take your full view.
_Lucip._ Bless your eyes Sir.
_Cal._ Mercy,
Is this the man they talkt of for a Souldier,
So absolute and Excellent: O the Gods,
If I were given to that vanitie
Of making sport with men for ignorance,
What a most precious subject had I purchas'd!
Speak for him Gentlemen: some one that knows,
What the man ails; and can speak sense.
_Clean._ Sure Madam,
This fellow has been a rare Hare finder.
See how his eyes are set.
_Cal._ Some one goe with me,
I'le send him something for his head, poor Gentleman,
He's troubled with the staggers.
_Lucip._ Keep him dark,
He will run March mad else, the fumes of Battels
Ascend into his brains.
_Clean._ Clap to his feet
An old Drum head, to draw the thunder downward.
_Cal._ Look to him Gentlemen: farewel, Lord I am sorry
We cannot kiss at this time, but believe it
We'l find an hour for all: God keep my Children,
From being such sweet Souldiers; Softly wenches,
Lest we disturb his dream. [_Exeunt_ Calis _and_ Ladies.
_Eumen._ Why this is Monstrous.
_1 Capt._ A strange forgetfulness, yet still he holds it.
_2 Capt._ Though he ne're saw a woman of great fashion
Before this day, yet methinks 'tis possible
He might imagine what they are, and what
Belongs unto 'em: meer report of others.
_Eumen._ Pish, his head had other whimsies in't: my Lord,
Death I think y'are struck dumb; my good Lord General.
_1 Capt._ Sir.
_Mem._ That I do love ye Madam; and so love ye
An't like your grace.
_2 Capt._ He has been studying this speech.
_Eumen._ Who do ye speak to Sir?
_Mem._ Why where's the Lady,
The woman, the fair woman?
_1 Capt._ Who?
_Mem._ The Princess,
Give me the Princess.
_Eumen._ Give ye counsel rather
To use her like a Princess: Fy my Lord,
How have you born your self, how nakedl[y]
Laid your soul open, and your ignorance
To be a sport to all. Report and honour
Drew her to doe you favours, and you bluntly,
Without considering what, or who she was,
Neither collecting reason, nor distinction.
_Mem._ Why, what did I my Masters?
_Eumen._ All that shews
A man unhandsom, undigested dough.
_Mem._ Did not I kneel unto her?
_Eumen._ Dumb and sensless,
As though ye had been cut out for your fathers tomb,
Or stuck a land-mark; when she spoke unto you,
Being the excellence of all our Island,
Ye star'd upon her, as ye had seen a monster.
_Me[m]._ Was I so foolish? I confess _Eumenes_,
I never saw before so brave an outside,
But did I kneel so long?
_Eumen._ Till they laught at ye,
And when you spoke I am asham'd to tell ye
What 'twas my Lord; how far from order;
Bless me, is't possible the wild noise of war
And what she only teaches should possess ye?
Knowledge to treat with her, and full discretion
Being at flood still in ye: and in peace,
And manly conversation smooth and civil,
Where gracefulness and glory twyn together,
Thrust your self out an exile?
Do you know Sir, what state she carries?
What great obedience waits at her beck continually?
_Mem._ She ne're commanded
A hundred thousand men, as I have done,
Nor ne're won battel; Say I would have kist her.
_Eumen._ There was a dainty offer too, a rare one.
_Mem._ Why, she is a woman, is she not?
_Eumen._ She is so.
_Mem._ Why, very well; what was she made for then?
Is she not young, and handsom, bred to breed?
Do not men kiss fair women? if they doe,
If lips be not unlawfull ware; Why a Princess
Is got the same way that we get a begger
Or I am cozen'd; and the self-same way
She must be handled e're she get another,
That's rudeness is it not?
_2 Capt._ To her 'tis held so, & rudeness in that high degree--
_Mem._ 'Tis reason,
But I will be more punctual; pray what thought she?
_Eum._ Her thoughts were merciful, but she laught at ye,
Pitying the poorness of your complement,
And so she left ye. Good Sir shape your self
To understand the place, and noble persons
You live with now.
_1 Capt._ Let not those great deserts
The King hath laid up of | 925.541083 |
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Produced by Mary Starr and Martin Robb. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME
by
JOHN FOX, JR.
To
CURRIE DUKE
DAUGHTER OF THE CHIEF
AMONG
MORGAN'S MEN
KENTUCKY, APRIL, 1898
CONTENTS
1. TWO RUNAWAYS FROM LONESOME
2. FIGHTING THEIR WAY
3. A "BLAB SCHOOL" ON KINGDOM COME
4. THE COMING OF THE TIDE
5. OUT OF THE WILDERNESS
6. LOST AT THE CAPITAL
7. A FRIEND ON THE ROAD
| 925.636314 |
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Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
Our Little Swedish Cousin
The Little Cousin Series
[Illustration]
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents.
[Illustration]
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
[Illustration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: SIGRID]
Our Little Swedish
Cousin
By
Claire M. Coburn
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman and R. C. Woodberry
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCVI_
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, July, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A._
Preface
FOR more than five thousand years, the ancestors of our little Swedish
cousin have dwelt in the Scandinavian peninsula. No wonder she loves
the stories of the Vikings, the old legends, customs, and fete-days.
They are her priceless heritage from the days of long ago.
The snow and glaciers on the extreme north cut off this long tongue of
land, so that it is as separate from the rest of Europe as an island.
In the olden days, almost every Swede tilled the soil and lived remote
from his neighbour. Villages were few, so that each family created
its own little world of work and pleasure. Even the children must be
very industrious and ingenious to help supply the needs of the family.
Whether she lives in the city or the country, every little Swedish girl
to-day is taught this same thrift and industry.
Because the winter months, when the sun shows his face but a few hours
each day, are long and dreary, our northern relatives fairly revel in
their short summers. The whole nation lives out-of-doors and rejoices
in the merry sunshine. All day excursions, picnics, and water trips are
crowded into the brief season.
The peasant still owns his little red cottage and the well-to-do farmer
and the nobleman live in their old homesteads. The cities continue to
be small in number and in size, but slowly, slowly, the great throbbing
life of the outside world is creeping in to steal away much of the
picturesqueness of this old nation.
You will be surprised to learn in how many ways the life of our little
Swedish cousin is similar to that of American children. But she is such
a very hospitable | 925.636345 |
2023-11-16 18:32:29.7197080 | 7,428 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE ADVENTURES OF PETER COTTONTAIL
By Thornton W. Burgess
Author of "The Adventures of Reddy Fox"
"Old Mother West Wind," etc.
With Illustrations by Harrison Cady
Boston
Little, Brown, And Company
1917
THE ADVENTURES OF PETER COTTONTAIL
I. PETER RABBIT DECIDES TO CHANGE HIS NAME
|PETER RABBIT! Peter Rabbit! I don't see what Mother Nature ever gave
me such a common sounding name as that for. People laugh at me, but if I
had a fine sounding name they wouldn't laugh. Some folks say that a name
doesn't amount to anything, but it does. If I should do some wonderful
thing, nobody would think anything of it. No, Sir, nobody would think
anything of it at all just because--why just because it was done by
Peter Rabbit."
Peter was talking out loud, but he was talking to himself. He sat in the
dear Old Briar-patch with an ugly scowl on his usually happy face. The
sun was shining, the Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind were
dancing over the Green Meadows, the birds were singing, and happiness,
the glad, joyous happiness of springtime, was everywhere but in Peter
Rabbit's heart. There there seeded to be no room for anything but
discontent. And such foolish discontent--discontent with his name! And
yet, do you know, there are lots of people just as foolish as Peter
Rabbit.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
The voice made Peter Rabbit jump and turn around hastily. There was
Jimmy Skunk poking his head in at the opening of one of Peter's private
little paths. He was grinning, and Peter knew by that grin that Jimmy
had heard what he had said. Peter didn't know what to say. He hung his
head in a very shame-faced way.
"You've got something to learn," said Jimmy Skunk.
"What is it?" asked Peter.
"It's just this," replied Jimmy.
"There's nothing in a name except
Just what we choose to make it.
It lies with us and no one else
How other folks shall take it.
It's what we do and what we say
And how we live each passing day
That makes it big or makes it small
Or even worse than none at all.
A name just stands for what we are;
It's what we choose to make it.
And that's the way and only way
That other folks will take it."
Peter Rabbit made a face at Jimmy Skunk. "I don't like being preached
to."
"I'm not preaching; I'm just telling you what you ought to know without
being told," replied Jimmy Skunk. "If you don't like your name, why
don't you change it?"
"What's that?" cried Peter sharply.
"If you don't like your name, why don't you change it?" repeated Jimmy.
Peter sat up and the disagreeable frown had left his face. "I--I--hadn't
thought of that," he said slowly. "Do you suppose I could, Jimmy Skunk?"
"Easiest thing in the world," replied Jimmy Skunk. "Just decide what
name you like and then ask all your friends to call you by it."
"I believe I will!" cried Peter Rabbit.
"Well, let me know what it is when you have decided," said Jimmy, as
he started for home. And all the way up the Crooked Little Path, Jimmy
chuckled to himself as he thought of foolish Peter Rabbit trying to
change his name.
II. PETER FINDS A NAME
|PETER RABBIT had quite lost his appetite. When Peter forgets to eat you
may make up your mind that Peter has something very important to
think about. At least he has something on his mind that he thinks is
important. The fact is, Peter had fully made up his mind to change his
name. He thought Peter Rabbit too common a name. But when he tried to
think of a better one, he found that no name that he could think of
really pleased him any more. So he thought and he thought and he thought
and he thought. And the more he thought the less appetite he had.
Now Jimmy Skunk was the only one to whom Peter had told how discontented
he was with his name, and it was Jimmy who had suggested to Peter that
he change it. Jimmy thought it a great joke, and he straightway passed
the word along among all the little meadow and forest people that Peter
Rabbit was going to change his name. Everybody laughed and chuckled over
the thought of Peter Rabbit's foolishness, and they planned to have
a great deal of fun with Peter as soon as he should tell them his new
name.
Peter was sitting on the edge of the Old Briar-patch one morning when
Ol' Mistah Buzzard passed, flying low. "Good mo'ning, Brer Cottontail,"
said Ol' Mistah Buzzard, with a twinkle in his eye.
At first Peter didn't understand that Ol' Mistah Buzzard was speaking
to him, and by the time he did it was too late to reply, for Ol' Mistah
Buzzard was way, way up in the blue, blue sky. "Cottontail, Cottontail."
said Peter over and over to himself and began to smile. Every time he
said it he liked it better.
[Illustration: 0024]
"Cottontail, Peter Cottontail! How much better sounding that is than
Peter Rabbit! That sounds as if I really was somebody. Yes, Sir, that's
the very name I want. Now I must send word to all my friends that
hereafter I am no longer Peter Rabbit, but Peter Cottontail."
Peter kicked up his heels in just the funny way he always does when he
is pleased. Suddenly he remembered that such a fine, long, high-sounding
name as Peter Cottontail demanded dignity. So he stopped kicking up his
heels and began to practise putting on airs. But first he called to the
Merry Little Breezes and told them about his change of name and asked
them to tell all his friends that in the future he would not answer to
the name of Peter Rabbit, but only to the name of Peter Cottontail. He
was very grave and earnest and important as he explained it to the Merry
Little Breezes. The Merry Little Breezes kept their faces straight while
he was talking, but as soon, as they had left him to carry his message
they burst out laughing. It was such a joke!
And they giggled as they delivered this message to each of the little
forest and meadow people:
"Peter Rabbit's changed his name.
In the future without fail
You must call him, if you please,
Mr. Peter Cottontail."
While they were doing this, Peter was back in the Old Briar-patch
practising new airs and trying to look very high and mighty and
important, as became one with such a fine sounding name as Peter
Cottontail.
III. THERE'S NOTHING LIKE THE OLD NAME AFTER ALL
|BOBBY <DW53> and Jimmy Skunk had their heads together. Now when these
two put their heads together, you may make up your mind that they are
planning mischief. Yes, Sir, there is sure to be mischief afoot when
Bobby <DW53> and Jimmy Skunk put their heads together as they were doing
now. Had Peter Rabbit seen them, he might not have felt so easy in his
mind as he did. But Peter didn't see them. He was too much taken up with
trying to look as important as his new name sounded. He was putting on
airs and holding his head very high as he went down to the Smiling Pool
to call on Jeny Muskrat.
Whenever any one called him by his old name, Peter pretended not to
hear. He pretended that he had never heard that name and didn't know
that he was being spoken to. Bobby <DW53> and Jimmy Skunk thought it a
great joke and they made up their minds that they would have some fun
with Peter and perhaps make him see how very foolish he was. Yes, Sir,
they planned to teach Peter a lesson. Bobby <DW53> hurried away to find
Reddy Fox and tell him that Peter had gone down to the Smiling Pool, and
that if he hid beside the path, he might catch Peter on the way back.
Jimmy Skunk hunted up Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay and told them of his
plan and what he wanted them to do to help. Of course they promised that
they would. Then he went to Ol' Mistah Buzzard and told him. Ol' Mistah
Buzzard grinned and promised that he would do his share. Then Bobby <DW53>
and Jimmy Skunk hid where they could see all that would happen.
Peter had reached the Smiling Pool and now sat on the bank admiring his
own reflection in the water and talking to Jerry Muskrat. He had just
told Jerry that when his old name was called out he didn't hear it any
more when along came Blacky the Crow.
"Hello, Peter Rabbit! You're just the fellow I am looking for; I've a
very important message for you," shouted Blacky.
Peter kept right on talking with Jerry Muskrat just as if he didn't
hear, although he was burning with curiosity to know what the message
was.
"I say, Peter Rabbit, are you deaf?" shouted Blacky the Crow.
Jerry Muskrat looked up at Blacky and winked. "Peter Rabbit isn't here,"
said he. "This is Peter Cottontail."
[Illustration: 0030]
"Oh!" said Blacky. "My message is for Peter Rabbit, and it's something
he really ought to know. I'm sorry he isn't here." And with that, away
flew Blacky the Crow, chuckling to himself.
Peter looked quite as uncomfortable as he felt, but of course he
couldn't say a word after boasting that he didn't hear people who called
him Peter Rabbit. Pretty soon along came Sammy Jay. Sammy seemed very
much excited.
"Oh, Peter Rabbit, I'm so glad I've found you!" he cried. "I've some
very important news for you."
Peter had all he could do to sit still and pretend not to hear, but he
did.
"This is Peter Cottontail," said Jerry Muskrat, winking at Sammy Jay.
"Oh," replied Sammy, "my news is for Peter Rabbit!" and off he flew,
chuckling to himself.
Peter looked and felt more uncomfortable than ever. He bade Jerry
Muskrat good-by and started for the dear Old Briar-patch to think things
over. When he was half way there, Ol' Mistah Buzzard came sailing down
out of the sky.
"Brer Cottontail," said he, "if yo' see anything of Brer Rabbit, yo'
tell him that Brer Fox am hiding behind that big bunch of grass just
ahead."
Peter stopped short, and his heart gave a great leap. There, behind the
clump of grass, was something red, sure enough. Peter didn't wait to see
more. He started for a hiding place he knew of in the Green Forest as
fast as he could go, and behind him raced Reddy Fox. As he ran, he heard
Blacky the Crow and Sammy Jay laughing, and then he knew that this was
the news that they had had for him.
"I--I--guess that Peter Rabbit is a good enough name, after all," he
panted.
IV. PETER RABBIT FOOLS JIMMY SKUNK
|PETER RABBIT came hopping and skipping down the Crooked Little Path.
Unc' Billy Possum always calls him Brer Rabbit, but everybody else calls
him Peter. Peter was feeling very fine that morning, very fine indeed.
Every few minutes he jumped up in the air, and kicked his heels
together, just for fun. Presently he met Jimmy Skunk.
Jimmy was on his way back from Farmer Brown's corn field, where he had
been helping Blacky the Crow get free from a snare. Jimmy was still
tickling and laughing over the way Blacky the Crow had been caught. He
had to tell Peter Rabbit all about it.
Peter thought it just as good a joke as did Jimmy, and the two trotted
along side by side, planning how they would spread the news all over
the Green Meadows that Blacky the Crow, who thinks himself so smart, had
been caught.
"That reminds me," said Jimmy Skunk suddenly, "I haven't had my
breakfast yet. Have you seen any beetles this morning, Peter Rabbit?"
Peter Rabbit stopped and scratched his long left ear with his long left
hind foot.
"Now you speak of it, it seems to me that I did," said Peter Rabbit.
"Where?" asked Jimmy Skunk eagerly.
Peter pretended to think very hard.
"It seems to me that it was back at the top of the Crooked Little Path
up the hill," said Peter.
"I think I will go look for them at once," replied Jimmy.
"All right," replied Peter, "I'll show you the way."
So up the Crooked Little Path hopped Peter Rabbit, and right behind him
trotted Jimmy Skunk. By and by they came to an old pine stump. Peter
Rabbit stopped. He put one hand on his lips.
"Hush!" whispered Peter. "I think there is a whole family of beetles on
the other side of this stump. You creep around the other side, and I'll
creep around this side. When I thump the ground, you spring right around
and grab them before they can run away."
So Jimmy Skunk crept around one side of the stump, and Peter Rabbit
crept around the other side. Suddenly Peter thumped the ground hard,
twice. Jimmy Skunk was waiting and all ready to spring. When he heard
those thumps, he just sprang as quickly as he could. What do you think
happened?
Why, Jimmy Skunk landed _thump!_ right on Reddy Fox, who was taking a
sun nap on the other side of the pine stump!
"Ha, ha, ha," shouted Peter Rabbit, and started down the Crooked Little
Path as fast as his long legs could take him.
V. REDDY POX GETS INTO TROUBLE
|REDDY FOX, curled up behind the big pine stump, was dreaming of a coop
full of chickens, where there was no Bowser the Hound to watch over
them. Suddenly something landed on him with a thump that knocked all his
breath out. For an instant it frightened Reddy so that he just shook and
shook. Then he got his senses together and discovered that it was Jimmy
Skunk who had jumped on him.
Jimmy was very polite. He begged Reddy's pardon. He protested that it
was all a mistake. He explained how Peter Rabbit had played a trick
on both of them, and how he himself was just looking for beetles for
breakfast.
Now, Reddy Fox is very quick tempered, and as soon as he realized that
he had been made the victim of a joke, he lost his temper completely. He
glared at Jimmy Skunk. He was so angry that he stuttered.
"Y-y-you, y-y-y-you, y-y-y-you did that on p-p-purpose," said Reddy Fox.
"No such thing!" declared Jimmy Skunk. "I tell you it was a joke on the
part of Peter Rabbit, and if you don't believe me, just look down there
on the Green Meadows."
Reddy Fox looked. There sat Peter, his hands on his hips, his long ears
pointed straight up to the blue sky, and his mouth wide open, as he
laughed at the results of his joke.
Reddy shook his fist.
"Ha, ha, ha," shouted Peter Rabbit.
Reddy Fox looked hard at Jimmy Skunk, but like all the other little
meadow and forest people, he has a very great respect for Jimmy Skunk,
and though he would have liked to quarrel with Jimmy, he thought it
wisest not to. Instead, he started after Peter Rabbit as fast as his
legs could go.
Now, Reddy Fox can run very fast, and when Peter saw him coming, Peter
knew that he would have to use his own long legs to the very best of his
ability. Away they went across the Green Meadows. Jimmy Skunk, sitting
on top of the hill, could see the white patch on the seat of Peter
Rabbit's trousers bobbing this way and that way, and right behind him
was Reddy Fox. Now, Peter Rabbit could run fast enough to keep away from
Reddy for a while. You remember that Peter's eyes are so placed that he
can see behind him without turning his head. So he knew when Reddy was
getting too near.
In and out among the bushes along the edge of the Green Meadows they
dodged, and the more he had to run, the angrier Reddy Fox grew. He paid
no attention to where they were going; his whole thought was of catching
Peter Rabbit.
Now, when Peter began to grow tired he began to work over towards Farmer
Brown's corn field, where he knew that Farmer Brown's boy was hiding,
with Bowser the Hound. Dodging this way and that way, Peter worked over
to the fence corner, where Jimmy Skunk had watched Blacky the Crow get
caught in a snare. He let Reddy almost catch him, then he dodged out
into the open corn field, and Reddy, of course, followed him, "Bow-wow,
bow-wow-wow!"
Reddy did not need to turn to know what had happened. Bowser the Hound
had seen him and was after him. Peter just ducked behind a big bunch of
grass and sat down to get his breath, while Reddy started off as hard as
he could go, with Bowser the Hound behind him.
VI. REDDY FOOLS BOWSER THE HOUND
|AWAY across the Green Meadows and up the hill through the Green Forest
raced Reddy Fox at the top of his speed. Behind him, nose to the ground,
came Bowser the Hound, baying at the top of his lungs. Reddy ran along
an old stone wall and jumped as far out into the field as he could.
"I guess that will fool him for a while," panted Reddy, as he sat down
to get his breath.
When Bowser came to the place where Reddy had jumped on the stone wall,
he just grinned.
"That's too old a trick to fool me one minute," said Bowser to himself,
and he just made a big circle, so that in a few minutes he had found
Reddy's tracks again.
Every trick that Reddy had heard old Granny Fox tell about he tried,
in order to fool Bowser the Hound, but it was of no use at all. Bowser
seemed to know exactly what Reddy was doing, and wasted no time.
Reddy was beginning to get worried. He was getting dreadfully out of
breath. His legs ached. His big, plumey tail, of which he is very, very
proud, had become dreadfully heavy. Granny Fox had warned him never,
never to run into the snug house they had dug unless he was obliged to
to save his life, for that would tell Bowser the Hound where they lived,
and then they would have to move.
How Reddy did wish that wise old Granny Fox would come to his relief. He
was running along the back of Farmer Brown's pasture, and he could hear
Bowser the Hound altogether too near for comfort. He looked this way and
he looked that way for a chance to escape. Just ahead of him he saw
a lot of woolly friends. They were Farmer Brown's sheep. Reddy had a
bright idea. Like a flash he sprang on the back of one of the sheep. It
frightened the sheep as badly as Reddy had been frightened, when Jimmy
Skunk had landed on him that morning.
"Baa, baa, baa!" cried the sheep and started to run. Reddy hung on
tightly, and away they raced across the pasture.
Now Bowser the Hound trusts wholly to his nose to follow Reddy Fox or
Peter Rabbit or his master, Farmer Brown's boy. So he did not see Reddy
jump on the back of the sheep, and, of course, when he reached the
place where Reddy had found his strange horse, he was puzzled. Round and
round, and round and round Bowser worked in a circle, but no trace of
Reddy could he find.
And all the time Reddy sat behind the stone wall on the far side of the
pasture, getting his wind and laughing and laughing at the smart way in
which he had fooled Bowser the Hound.
VII. REDDY INVITES PETER RABBIT TO TAKE A WALK
|OLD GRANNY FOX was not feeling well. For three days she had been
unable to go out hunting, and for three days Reddy Fox had tried to find
something to tempt Granny's appetite. He had brought in a tender young
chicken from Farmer Brown's hen yard, and he had stolen a plump trout
from Billy Mink's storehouse, but Granny had just turned up her nose.
"What I need," said Granny Fox, "is a tender young rabbit."
Now, Reddy Fox is very fond of Granny Fox, and when she said that she
needed a tender young rabbit, Reddy made up his mind that he would get
it for her, though how he was going to do it he didn't know. Dozens of
times he had tried to catch Peter Rabbit, and every time Peter's long
legs had taken him to a place of safety. "I'll just have to fool Peter
Rabbit," said Reddy Fox, as he sat on his door-steps and looked over the
Green Meadows.
Reddy Fox is very sly. He is so sly that it is hard work to be sure
when he is honest and when he is playing a trick. As he sat on his
door-steps, looking across the Green Meadows, he saw the Merry Little
Breezes coming his way. Reddy smiled to himself. When they got near
enough, he shouted to them.
"Will you do something for me?" he asked.
"Of course we will," shouted the Merry Little Breezes, who are always
delighted to do something for others.
"I wish you would find Peter Rabbit and tell him that I have found a new
bed of tender young carrots in Farmer Brown's garden, and invite him to
go there with me to-morrow morning at sun-up," said Reddy Fox.
Away raced the Merry Little Breezes to find Peter Rabbit and give him
the invitation of Reddy Fox. Pretty soon back they came to tell Reddy
that Peter Rabbit would be delighted to meet Reddy on the edge of the
Old Briar-patch at sun-up the next morning, and go with him to get some
tender young carrots.
Reddy smiled to himself, for now he was sure that he would get Peter
Rabbit for Granny's breakfast.
Early the next morning, just before sun-up, Reddy Fox started down
the Lone Little Path and hurried across the Green Meadows to the Old
Briar-patch. Reddy was dressed in his very best suit of clothes, and
very smart and handsome he looked. When he reached the Old Briar-patch
he could see nothing of Peter Rabbit. He waited and waited and waited,
but still Peter Rabbit did not come. Finally he gave it up and decided
that he would go over and have a look at the young carrots in Farmer
Brown's garden. When he got there, what do you think he saw? Why,
all around that bed of tender young carrots were footprints, and the
footprints were Peter Rabbit's!
Reddy Fox ground his teeth and snarled wickedly, for he knew then that
instead of fooling Peter Rabbit, Peter Rabbit had fooled him. Just then
up came one of the Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind.
"Good morning, Reddy Fox," said the Merry Little Breeze.
"Good morning," replied Reddy Fox, and if you could have seen him
and heard him, you would never have suspected how ill-tempered he was
feeling.
"Peter Rabbit asked me to come and tell you that he is very sorry that
he could not meet you at the Briar-patch this morning, but that he grew
so hungry thinking of those tender young carrots that he just had to
come and get some before sun-up, and he is very much obliged to you for
telling him about them. He says they are the finest young carrots that
he has ever tasted," said the Merry Little Breeze.
The heart of Reddy Fox was filled with rage, but he did not let the
Merry Little Breeze know it. He just smiled and sent the Merry Little
Breeze back to Peter Rabbit to tell him how glad he was that Peter
enjoyed the carrots, and to invite Peter to meet him the next morning on
the edge of the Old Briar-patch at sun-up, to go with him to a patch of
sweet clover which he had just found near the old hickory-tree.
The Merry Little Breeze danced off with the message. Pretty soon he
was back to say that Peter Rabbit would be delighted to go to the sweet
clover patch the next morning.
Reddy grinned as he trudged off home. "I'll just be at the clover patch
an hour before sun-up to-morrow morning, and then we'll see!" he said to
himself.
VIII. PETER RABBIT GETS AN EARLY BREAKFAST
|PETER RABBIT crept out of his snug little bed in the middle of the
Old Briar-patch two hours before sun-up and hurried over to the big
hickory-tree. Sure enough, close by, he found a beautiful bed of sweet
clover, just as Reddy Fox had said was there. Peter chuckled to himself
as he ate and ate and ate, until his little round stomach was so full
that he could hardly hop.
When he had eaten all that he could, he hurried back to the Old
Briar-patch to finish his morning nap, and all the time he kept
chuckling to himself. You see, Peter was suspicious of Reddy Fox, and so
he had gone over to the sweet clover bed alone two hours before sun-up.
Peter Rabbit had hardly left the sweet clover bed when Reddy Fox
arrived. Reddy lay down in the long meadow grass and grinned to himself
as he waited. Slowly the minutes went by, until up from behind the
Purple Hills came jolly, round, red Mr. Sun--but no Peter Rabbit. Reddy
stopped grinning.
"Perhaps," said he to himself, "Peter is waiting for me on the edge of
the Old Briar-patch and wasn't going to try to fool me."
So Reddy hurried over to the Old Briar-patch, and sure enough there was
Peter Rabbit'sitting on the edge of it. When Peter saw him coming, he
dodged in behind a big clump of friendly old brambles. Reddy came up
with his broadest smile.
"Good morning, Peter Rabbit," said Reddy. "Shall we go over to that
sweet clover bed?"
[Illustration: 0056]
Peter put one hand over his mouth to hide a smile. "Oh," said he, "I was
so dreadfully hungry for sweet clover that I couldn't wait until sun-up,
and so I went over two hours ago. I hope you will excuse me, Reddy Fox.
I certainly do appreciate your kindness in telling me of that new, sweet
clover bed and I hope I have not put you out."
"Certainly not," replied Reddy Fox, in his pleasantest manner, and you
know Reddy Fox can be very pleasant indeed when he wants to be. "It is a
very great pleasure to be able to give you pleasure. There is nothing
I so like to do as to give pleasure to others. By the way, I have just
heard that Farmer Brown has a new planting of young cabbage in the
corner of his garden. Will you meet me here at sun-up to-morrow morning
to go over there?"
"I will be delighted to, I will indeed!" replied Peter Rabbit, and all
the time he smiled to himself behind his hand.
Reddy Fox bade Peter Rabbit good-by in the pleasantest way you can
imagine, yet all the time, down in his heart, Reddy was so angry that he
hardly knew what to do, for you see he had got to go back to Granny Fox
without the tender young rabbit which he had promised her.
"This time I will be there two hours before sun-up, and then we will
see, Peter Rabbit, who is the smartest!" said Reddy Fox to himself.
IX. REDDY FOX GETS A SCARE
|PETER RABBIT looked up at the silvery moon and laughed aloud. Then he
kicked up his heels and laughed again as he started out across the Green
Meadows towards Fanner Brown's garden. You see, Peter was suspicious,
very suspicious indeed of Reddy Fox. So, as it was a beautiful night for
a walk, he thought he would just run over to Farmer Brown's garden and
see if he could find that bed of newly planted cabbage, about which
Reddy Fox had told him.
So Peter hopped and skipped across the Green Meadows, singing as he
went;
"Hold, ol' Miss Moon, hold up your light!
Show the way! show the way!
The little stars are shining bright;
Night folks all are out to play."
When Peter reached Farmer Brown's garden, he had no trouble in finding
the new planting of cabbage. It was tender. It was good. My, how good it
was! Peter started in to fill his little round stomach. He ate and ate
and ate and ate! By and by, just when he thought he couldn't eat another
mouthful, he happened to look over to a patch of moonlight. For just
a second Peter's heart stopped beating. There was Reddy Fox coming
straight over to the new cabbage bed!
Peter Rabbit didn't know what to do. Reddy Fox hadn't seen him yet, but
he would in a minute or two, unless Peter could hide. He was too far
from the dear Old Briar-patch to run there. Peter looked this way and
looked that way. Ha! ha! There lay Fanner Brown's boy's old straw hat,
just where he had left it when the supper horn blew. Peter crawled under
it. It covered him completely.
Peter peeped out from under one edge. He saw Reddy Fox standing in the
moonlight, looking at the bed of newly set cabbage. Reddy was smiling as
if his thoughts were very pleasant. Peter shivered. He could just guess
what Reddy was thinking--how he would gobble up Peter, when once he got
him away from the safety of the Old Briar-patch.
The thought made Peter so indignant that he forgot that he was hiding,
and he sat up on his hind legs. Of course, he lifted the straw hat with
him. Then he remembered and sat down again in a hurry. Of course, the
straw hat went down quite as quickly.
Presently Peter peeped out. Reddy Fox was staring and staring at the old
straw hat, and he wasn't smiling now. He actually looked frightened. It
gave Peter an idea. He made three long hops straight towards Reddy Fox,
all the time keeping the old straw hat over him. Of course the hat went
along with him, and, because it covered Peter all up, it looked for all
the world as if the hat was alive.
Reddy Fox gave one more long look at the strange thing coming towards
him through the cabbage bed, and then he started for home as fast as he
could go, his tail between his legs.
Peter Rabbit just lay down right where he was and laughed and laughed
and laughed. And it almost seemed as if the old straw hat laughed too.
X. PETER HAS ANOTHER GREAT LAUGH
|IT was just sun-up as Reddy Fox started down the Lone Little Path
to the Green Meadows. Reddy was late. He should be over at the Old
Briar-patch by this time. He was afraid now that Peter Rabbit would not
be there. When he came in sight of the Old Briar-patch, there sat Peter
on the edge of it.
"Good morning, Peter Rabbit," said Reddy Fox, in his politest manner.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting; it is all because I had a terrible
fright last night."
"Is that so? What was it?" asked Peter, ducking down behind a big
bramble bush to hide his smile.
"Why, I went over to Farmer Brown's garden to see if that new planting
of young cabbage was all right, and there I met a terrible monster.
It frightened me so that I did not dare to come out this morning until
jolly, round Mr. Sun had begun to climb up in the sky, and so I am a
little late. Are you ready, Peter Rabbit, to go up to the new planting
of young cabbage with me?" asked Reddy, in his pleasantest manner.
Now, what do you think Peter Rabbit did? Why, Peter just began to laugh.
He laughed and laughed and shouted! He lay down on his back and kicked
his heels for very joy! But all the time he took care to keep behind a
big, friendly bramble bush.
Reddy Fox stared at Peter Rabbit. He just didn't know what to make of
it. He began to think that Peter had gone crazy. He couldn't see a thing
to laugh at, yet here was Peter laughing fit to kill himself. Finally
Peter stopped and sat up.
"Did--did-- | 925.739748 |
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[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF VAN DYCK
_Prado Gallery, Madrid_]
Masterpieces of Art
VAN DYCK
A COLLECTION OF FIFTEEN PICTURES
AND A PORTRAIT OF THE PAINTER
WITH INTRODUCTION AND
INTERPRETATION
BY
ESTELLE M. HURLL
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
* * * * *
PREFACE
The fame of Van Dyck's portraits has so far over-shadowed that of his
other works that his sacred pictures are for the most part unfamiliar
to the general public. The illustrations for this little book are
equally divided between portraits and subject-pieces, and it is hoped
that the selection may give the reader some adequate notion of the
scope of the painter's art.
ESTELLE M. HURLL.
NEW BEDFORD, MASS.,
March, 1902.
* * * * *
CONTENTS AND LIST OF PICTURES
Portrait of Van Dyck (DETAIL) (_Frontispiece_)
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
INTRODUCTION
I. ON VAN DYCK'S CHARACTER AS AN ARTIST
II. ON BOOKS OF REFERENCE
III. HISTORICAL DIRECTORY OF THE PICTURES OF THIS COLLECTION
IV. OUTLINE TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS IN VAN DYCK'S LIFE
V. LIST OF CONTEMPORARY PAINTERS
VI. NOTABLE ENGLISH PERSONS OF THE REIGN OF CHARLES I.
I. PORTRAIT OF ANNA WAKE
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
II. THE REST IN EGYPT
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
III. THE SO-CALLED PORTRAIT OF RICHARDOT AND HIS SON
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
IV. THE VISION OF ST. ANTHONY
Picture from Photograph by Fratelli Alinari
V. MADAME ANDREAS COLYNS DE NOLE AND HER DAUGHTER
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
VI. DAEDALUS AND ICARUS
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
VII. PORTRAIT OF CHARLES I.
By Sir Peter Lely after Van Dyck. Picture from Carbon Print by Braun,
Clement & Co.
VIII. THE MADONNA OF ST. ROSALIA
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
IX. CHARLES, PRINCE OF WALES (DETAIL)
Picture from Photograph by D. Anderson
X. ST. MARTIN DIVIDING HIS CLOAK WITH A BEGGAR
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
XI. THE CRUCIFIXION
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
XII. JAMES STUART, DUKE OF LENNOX AND RICHMOND
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
XIII. CHRIST AND THE PARALYTIC
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
XIV. PHILIP, LORD WHARTON
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
XV. THE LAMENTATION OVER CHRIST
Picture from Carbon Print by Braun, Clement & Co.
XVI. PORTRAIT OF VAN DYCK
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY OF PROPER NAMES AND FOREIGN WORDS
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
I. ON VAN DYCK'S CHARACTER AS AN ARTIST.
The student of Van Dyck's art naturally classifies the painter's works
into four groups, corresponding chronologically to the four successive
periods of his life. There was first the short period of his youth in
Antwerp, when Rubens was the dominating influence upon his work. The
portrait of Van der Geest, in the National Gallery, belongs to this
time.
Then followed the four years' residence in Italy, when he fell under
the spell of Titian. This was the period of the series of splendid
portraits of noble Italian families which are to this day the pride of
Genoa. Here too belong those lovely Madonna pictures which brought
back for a time the golden age of Venetian art.
Upon his return to Antwerp, the six succeeding years gave him the
opportunity to work out his own individuality. Some noble altar-pieces
were produced in these years. Pleasant reminiscences of Titian still
appear in such work, as in the often-used motif of baby angels; but in
the subjects of the Crucifixion and the Pieta, he stands quite apart.
These works are distinctly his own, and show genuine dramatic power.
During this Flemish period Van Dyck was appointed court painter by the
Archduchess Isabella Clara Eugenia, Spanish Regent of the Netherlands.
In this capacity he painted a notable series of portraits, including
some of his most interesting works, which represent many of the most
distinguished personages of the time.
The last nine years of Van Dyck's life were passed in England, where
the family of Charles I. and the brilliant group of persons forming
his court were the subjects of his final series of portraits. There
were no altar-pieces in this period. At the beginning of his English
work Van Dyck produced certain portraits unsurpassed during his whole
life. The well-known Charles I., with an equerry, in the Louvre, is
perhaps the best of these. His works after this were uneven in
quality. His vitality was drained by social dissipations, and he lost
the ambition to grow. Some features of the portraits became
stereotyped, especially the hands. Yet from time to time he rose to a
high level.
A painter so easily moulded by his environment cannot justly take rank
among the world's foremost masters. A great creative mind Van Dyck
certainly had not, but, gifted assimilator that he was, he developed
many delightful qualities of his art. The combined results of his
borrowing and his own innate gifts make him a notable and indeed a
beloved figure in art history.
The leading note of his style is distinction. His men are all
noblemen, his women all great ladies, and his children all princes and
princesses. The same qualities of dignity and impressiveness are
carried into his best altar-pieces. Sentiment they have also in no
insignificant degree.
It is perhaps naming only another phase of distinction to say that his
figures are usually characterized by repose. The sense of motion which
so many of Reynolds's portraits convey is almost never expressed in
Van Dyck's work, nor would it be consistent with his other qualities.
The magic gift of charm none have understood better when the subject
offered the proper inspiration. We see this well illustrated in many
portraits of young noblemen, such as the Duke of Lennox and Richmond
and Lord Wharton.
Van Dyck's clever technique has preserved for us the many rich fabrics
of his period, and his pictures would be a delight were these details
their sole attraction. Heavy velvet, with the light playing
deliciously in the creases, lustrous satins, broken by folds into many
tints, delicate laces, elaborate embroideries, gleaming jewels--these
are the never-failing accessories of his compositions. Yet while he
loved rich draperies, he was also a careful student of the nude.
Examples of his work range from the supple and youthful torso of
Icarus to the huge muscular body of the beggar receiving St. Martin's
cloak. The modelling of the Saviour's body in the Crucifixion and the
Pieta shows both scientific knowledge and artistic handling.
Generally speaking, Van Dyck was little of a psychologist. His patrons
belonged to that social class in which reserve is a test of breeding
and thoughts and emotions are sedulously concealed. To penetrate the
mask of the face and interpret the character of his sitter was an
office he seldom took upon himself to perform. Yet he was capable of
profound character study, especially in the portrayal of men. Even in
so early a work as the so-called portrait of Richardot and his son, he
revealed decided talent in this direction, while the portrait of
Cardinal Bentivoglio, of the Italian period, and the portrait of
Wentworth, in the English period, are masterly studies of the men they
represent.
A common feature of his portraits is the averted glance of the
sitter's eyes. This fact is in itself a barrier to our intimate
knowledge of the subject, and also in a measure injures the sense of
vitality expressed in the work. It must be confessed that Van Dyck,
disciple though he was of Rubens and Titian, fell below these masters
in the art of imparting life to a figure.
In certain mechanical elements of his art Van Dyck was conspicuously
deficient. He seemed to have no ingenuity in devising poses for his
subjects. Sitting or standing, the attitude is usually more or less
artificial and constrained. The atmosphere of the studio is painfully
evident. Never by any accident did he seem to catch the sitter off
guard, so to speak, except in a few children's portraits. Here he
expressed a vivacity and charm which seemed impossible to him with
adult subjects.
In composition he is at his best in altar-pieces. In portrait groups,
as in the pictures of the children of Charles I., he apparently made
no effort to bring the separate figures into an harmonious unity. A
single figure, or half length, he placed on his canvas with unerring
sense of right proportion. Perhaps the best summary of Van Dyck's art
has been made by the English critic, Claude Phillips, in these words:
His was "not indeed one of the greatest creative individualities that
have dominated the world of art, but a talent as exquisite in
distinction, as true to itself in every successive phase, a technical
accomplishment as surprising of its kind in solidity, brilliancy, and
charm, as any that could be pointed to even in the seventeenth
century."
II. ON BOOKS OF REFERENCE.
It has been reserved for our own day to produce two superb works by
English writers on Van Dyck. The first to appear was that by Ernest
Law, "a storehouse of information," on the paintings by Van Dyck in
the Royal Collections. The second is the definitive biography by
Lionel Cust: "Anthony Van Dyck; An Historical Study of his Life and
Works." The author is the director of the English National Portrait
Gallery, and has had exceptional opportunities for the examination of
Van Dyck's paintings. His work has been done with great thoroughness
and care. The volume is richly illustrated with photogravures, and
contains complete lists of the painter's works arranged by periods.
For brief sketches of Van Dyck's life the student is referred to
general histories, of which Kugler's "Hand-book of the German,
Flemish, and Dutch School" (revised by Crowe), is of first importance.
Luebke's "History of Painting," and Woltman and Woerman's "History of
Painting," contain material on Van Dyck. A volume devoted to Van Dyck
is in the series of German monographs edited by H. Knackfuss, and may
be had in an English translation.
A critical appreciation of Van Dyck is given by Fromentin in his
valuable little book on "The Old Masters of Holland and Belgium."
Critical articles by Claude Phillips have appeared in "The Nineteenth
Century," November, 1899, and "The Art Journal" for March, 1900.
III. HISTORICAL DIRECTORY OF THE PICTURES OF THIS COLLECTION.
Frontispiece. _Portrait of Van Dyck._ Detail of a portrait of Van Dyck
and John Digby, Earl of Bristol. Painted about 1640. Formerly in the
Isabel Farnese Collection in the palace of San Ildefonso; now in the
Prado Gallery, Madrid. _Cust_, p. 285.
1. _Portrait of Anna Wake_, inscribed: "AEtat suae 22, An 1628." Signed:
"Anton Van Dyck fecit." In the Royal Gallery at the Hague. Size: 3 ft.
8-1/2 in. by 3 ft. 2-1/2 in. _Cust_, pp. 58 and 261.
2. _The Rest in Egypt._ Painted in the Italian period for Frederick
Henry, Prince of Orange. One of several pictures of the same subject,
and generally considered the original, though the authenticity is
doubted by Signor Venturi. In the Pitti, Florence.
3. _The so-called Portrait of Richardot and his Son._ The identity of
the subject not established. Sometimes attributed to Rubens, but
accepted as Van Dyck's work by Cust. In the Louvre, Paris. Size: 3 ft.
7 in. by 2 ft. 5-1/2 in. _Cust_, pp. 76 and 134.
4. _The Vision of St. Anthony._ Painted in the Italian period.
Obtained by exchange in 1813 from the Musee National at Paris. In the
Brera Gallery, Milan. Size: 6 ft. 1 in. by 5 ft. 1/4 in. _Cust_, pp.
46 and 239.
5. _Madame Andreas Colyns de Nole and her Daughter._ Painted in
Antwerp in period from 1626 to 1632. Purchased in 1698 by the Elector
Max Emanuel of Bavaria. Munich Gallery. Size: 3 ft. 11-1/2 in. by 2
ft. 11-2/5 in. _Cust_, pp. 79 and 254.
6. _Daedalus and Icarus._ Painted about 1621 (?). Exhibited at Antwerp
in 1899. One of several paintings of the same subject. In the
collection of the Earl of Spencer, Althorp. _Cust_, pp. 61 and 241.
7. _Portrait of Charles I._ Supposed to be a copy by Sir Peter Lely
from the original, which was painted about 1636, and destroyed in the
fire at Whitehall in 1697. Not impossibly, however, the original
painting itself, given by the king to the Prince Palatine. In the
Dresden Gallery. Size: 4 ft. by 3 ft. 2 in. _Cust_, pp. 105 and 264.
8. _The Madonna of St. Rosalia._ Painted in 1629 for the Confraternity
of Celibates in the Hall of the Jesuits, Antwerp. On the suppression
of the order in 1776 it was purchased by the Empress Maria Theresa.
Now in the Imperial Gallery, Vienna. Size: 9 ft. 1 in. by 6 ft. 11 in.
_Cust_, p. 250.
9. _Charles, Prince of Wales._ Detail of a group of the three children
of Charles I., painted in 1635. Probably painted for the queen, and
presented by her to her sister Christina of Savoy. In the Royal
Gallery, Turin. _Cust_, pp. 110 and 266.
10. _St. Martin dividing his Cloak with a Beggar._ Painted in the
Italian period. Presented to the Church of Saventhem by Ferdinand de
Boisschot, Seigneur de Saventhem. Taken by the French to Paris in 1806
and returned in 1815. A copy of this picture is in the Imperial
Gallery, Vienna, but the original is in the church of Saventhem.
_Cust_, pp. 32 and 240.
11. _The Crucifixion._ Painted in 1628 for the church of St. Augustine
at Antwerp. Taken by the French to Paris in 1794 and restored in 1815.
Now in the Antwerp Museum. Size: 3 ft. 5 in. by 2 ft. 4 in. _Cust_,
pp. 61 and 248.
12. _James Stuart, Duke of Lennox and Richmond._ Painted about 1633.
Formerly belonged to Lord Methuen at Corsham. Now in the Marquand
collection at the Metropolitan Art Museum, New York. Size: 4 ft. 3/4
in. by 6 ft. 11-5/8 in. _Cust_, pp. 117-278.
13. _Christ and the Paralytic. Painted at Genoa._ In Buckingham
Palace. Size: 3 ft. 10-1/2 in. by 4 ft. 9 in. _Cust_, pp. 46 and 237.
14. _Philip, Lord Wharton._ Inscribed in the lower left corner with
the painter's name; in the lower right corner, "Philip, Lord Wharton,
1632, about y^e age of 19." Purchased from the Duke of Wharton's
collection in 1725 by Sir Robert Walpole, and thence it passed in 1779
to the collection of Catherine II. of Russia. In the Hermitage
Gallery, St. Petersburg. Size: 4 ft. 5 in. by 2 ft. 4 in. _Cust_, pp.
121 and 286.
15. _The Lamentation over Christ._ Painted about 1629 for the church
of the Beguinage at Antwerp. Now in the Antwerp Museum. Size: 9 ft. 11
in. by 7 ft. 4 in. _Cust_, pp. 66 and 248.
IV. OUTLINE TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS IN VAN DYCK'S LIFE.
_Compiled from Lionel Cust's_ Anthony Van Dyck, _to which the
references to pages apply._
1599. Antoon Van Dyck born March 22, in the house "der Berendaus,"
Antwerp (p. 4).
1601. Removal of Van Dyck family to house number 46 in street De Stat
Gent (p. 4).
1607. Death of Van Dyck's mother (p. 4).
1609. Van Dyck among the apprentices of the painter Hendrick van Balen
(p. 6).
1613. Portrait of an old man (p. 7).
1618. Admitted to the freedom of the Guild of St. Luke, Antwerp,
February (p. 8). Entered Rubens' studio (p. 15).
1620. An order from the Jesuits for thirty-nine pictures designed by
Rubens and completed by Van Dyck (p. 14).
Visit to England and service for King James I. (p. 23), and return to
Antwerp (p. 24).
1621. Departure for Italy, Oct | 925.83884 |
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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 4
MAR. 20, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
RACE
THE LAST FLIGHT
OF THE COMET
_By STANLEY R. MATTHEWS_
[Illustration: "I've got it, pard!" shouted Chub, snatching the letter
from Motor Matt's fingers.]
_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. 4. NEW YORK, March 20, 1909. Price Five Cents.
MOTOR MATT'S RACE
OR,
THE LAST FLIGHT OF THE _COMET_.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. TROUBLE ON THE ROAD.
CHAPTER II. THE STAMPEDE.
CHAPTER III. CLIP'S NOTE.
CHAPTER IV. M'KIBBEN'S TIP.
CHAPTER V. A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES.
CHAPTER VI. THE PRIDE OF TOM CLIPPERTON.
CHAPTER VII. LAYING PLANS.
CHAPTER VIII. THE RIFLED CACHE.
CHAPTER IX. THE BREAK IN THE ROAD.
CHAPTER X. PRESCOTT.
CHAPTER XI. MATT MAKES A NEW MOVE.
CHAPTER XII. THE OLD HOPEWELL TUNNEL.
CHAPTER XIII. QUICK WORK.
CHAPTER XIV. STEAM VERSUS GASOLINE.
CHAPTER XV. IN COURT.
CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.
THE TENNIS-GROUND MYSTERY.
MAKE QUEER CATCHES AT CAPE COD.
COLD FIRE.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad
of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won
for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of
"Mile-a-minute Matt."
=Chub McReady=, sometimes called plain "Reddy," for short, on account
of his fiery "thatch"--a chum of Matt, with a streak of genius for
inventing things that often land the bold experimenter in trouble.
=Welcome Perkins=, a one-legged wanderer who lives with Chub and his
sister while their father prospects for gold--Welcome is really a
man of peace, yet he delights to imagine himself a "terror," and is
forever boasting about being a "reformed road-agent."
=Tom Clipperton=, known generally as "Clip," a quarter-blood, who is
very sensitive about his Indian ancestry.
=McKibben=, the sheriff who has both nerve and intelligence.
=Fresnay=, a cowboy who performs some mighty queer stunts.
=Pima Pete=, an Indian to whom Clip is related.
=Hogan=, }
=Leffingwell=, } two deputy sheriffs.
=Short=, a lawyer.
=Burke=, sheriff of an adjoining county.
=Jack Moody=, an engineer friend of Chub.
CHAPTER I.
TROUBLE ON THE ROAD.
"Ye're afeared! Yah, that's what ye are! Motor Matt's scared, an' I
never thought ye was afeared o' nothin'. Go ahead! I dare ye!"
An automobile--a high-powered roadster--was nosing along through the
hills a dozen miles out of the city of Phoenix. The vehicle had the
usual two seats in front and a rumble-seat behind--places for three,
but there were four piled aboard.
Matt King was in the driver's seat, of course, and equally, of course,
he had to have the whole seat to himself. On his left were Chub McReady
and Tom Clipperton, sitting sideways and wedged into their places like
sardines in a can. In the rumble behind was the gentleman with the
wooden leg--Welcome Perkins, the "reformed road-agent."
Matt was giving his friends a ride. The red roadster, in which they
were taking the spin, was an unclaimed car at present in the custody
of McKibben, the sheriff. It had been used for lawless work by its
original owners, and had fallen into the hands of the sheriff, who was
holding it in the hope that the criminals would come forward and claim
it.[A]
[A] See MOTOR MATT WEEKLY, No. 3, "Motor Matt's 'Century' Run; or, The
Governor's Courier."
McKibben and Motor Matt were the best of friends, and McKibben had told
Matt to take the red road | 926.234999 |
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Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration: A. J. VAUGHAN.]
PERSONAL RECORD
OF THE
THIRTEENTH REGIMENT,
TENNESSEE INFANTRY.
[Illustration]
BY
ITS OLD COMMANDER.
Price, 75 cents.
PRESS OF S. C. TOOF & CO.
MEMPHIS.
1897.
MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
TO THE
NOBLE MOTHERS AND WIVES
OF THE
TRUE AND HEROIC MEN WHO FOR FOUR YEARS
FOLLOWED THE CONFEDERATE FLAG,
AND WHO WERE WILLING TO LAY DOWN THEIR
LIVES IN DEFENSE OF THAT CAUSE THEY
BELIEVED RIGHT AND JUST.
A. J. VAUGHAN.
PREFACE.
_MY OLD COMRADES_:
In writing out this record I have gone back to the morning time of my
own life, and lived once more in that other day that not only tried,
but proved men's souls. Insignificant as my work may appear as a
literary production, it carries with it the most sacred memories of
the past. In writing, I have lived over again the days when the boom
of cannon, the rattle of musketry and the old rebel yell were familiar
sounds to our ears. If a shade of mournfulness hovers over the failure
of the cause for which these brave men fought and many fell, it is
not a mournfulness born of regret. When we who wore the gray put away
forever the musket and sword--and let me say, my comrades, swords and
muskets that had been bravely borne--we did so in sorrow but not in
malice or hate. And today, I am sure, where one of the old regiment
lingers yet a little while this side of the dark river, he accepts in
good faith the terms of his parole, and is a peaceful and faithful
citizen of the United States; not only faithful, but as loyal to the
stars and stripes as we were once to that other flag which we followed
for four long years, and which was woven from an honest belief of a
people's need.
Now, to my old comrades, whether in flesh or spirit, to whom this
little compilation has carried me back with such tremendous force, and
to keep alive whose fair fame I have written, I can only say as my last
words--God bless you!
A. J. VAUGHAN.
The Thirteenth Regiment,
TENNESSEE INFANTRY.
This was one of the regiments that made Cheatham's Division, and
Smith's-Vaughan's and Gordon's Brigades so famous in the Army
of Tennessee. It was organized and mustered into service on the
third day of June, 1861, in answer to a call of Governor Isham G.
Harris for seventy-five thousand volunteers. At that time it was
the seventh infantry regiment organized in West Tennessee and the
thirteenth in the State. It was made up of the "flower of the South"
young men, most of whom were fresh from the best institutions of
learning--aspiring, hopeful and ambitious--sons of men of education,
wealth and influence--the very best material for volunteer service. It
was composed of ten full companies--five from Fayette county, one from
Shelby, one from Dyer, one from McNairy, one from Gibson, and one from
Henderson, and were as follow:
Company A, Fayette Rifles, Captain William Burton of Somerville, Tenn.
Company B, Macon Grays, Captain J. L. Granberry, Macon, Tenn.
Company C, Secession Guards, organized at Germantown, Tenn., and
composed of Mississippians and Tennesseeans, Captain John H. Morgan,
Horn Lake, Miss.
Company D, Yorkville Rifles, Captain John Wilkins, Yorkville, Tenn.
Company E, Dixie Rifles, organized at Moscow, Tenn., and composed
of Tennesseeans and Mississippians, Captain A. J. Vaughan, Marshall
county, Miss.
Company F, Wright Boys, Captain Jno. V. Wright, Purdy, McNairy county,
Tenn.
Company G, Gaines Invincibles, Captain W. E. Winfield, LaGrange, Tenn.
Company H, Yancey Rifles, Captain Robert W. Pittman, Hickory Withe,
Tenn.
Company I, Forked Deer Volunteers, Captain G. S. Ross, Forked Deer,
Tenn.
Company K, Dyer Grays, Captain S. R. Latta, Dyersburg, Tenn.
On the following day, the 4th of June, the election of field officers
was held, and resulted in the election of Captain Jno. V. Wright
of Company F as Colonel, Captain A. J. Vaughan of Company E as
Lieutenant-Colonel, and Captain W. E. Winfield of Company G as Major.
The regiment was ordered at once by way of Memphis to Randolph, on
the Mississippi river, when the organization was completed by the
appointment of Lieutenant W. E. Morgan, Company C, Adjutant; Dr. J. A.
Forbes, Company E, Surgeon; Dr. B. F. Dickerson, Company I, Assistant
Surgeon; W. E. Dyer, Company G, Commissary; L. B. Cabler, Company A,
Regimental Quartermaster; Peter Cole, Company H, Sergeant-Major; and W.
D. F. Hafford, Chaplain.
The regiment remained at Randolph engaged in drilling, camp duty,
etc., until July 26th, when it was ordered to New Madrid, Mo., and
placed in a brigade under command of Colonel J. P. McCown, who, under
orders from General Gid. J. Pillow, was about to make a campaign into
South-west Missouri to prevent reinforcements being sent to the Federal
General Lyons, then operating in that section.
On the 18th of August, 1861, the troops were moved in the direction of
Benton, Mo., where the Thirteenth Regiment arrived on the 19th. This
was the first campaign or march of the regiment, and though in the
middle of summer during a severe drouth, under a burning sun and over
roads shoe deep in sand and dust, it was cheerfully performed, and
showed an endurance and fortitude rarely witnessed in new troops. The
object of the campaign being accomplished, the command returned to New
Madrid on Sept. 2, and on the following day the regiment was ordered to
Hickman, Ky., where it was placed in Cheatham's Brigade. At Hickman,
on Sept. 4, 1861, the regiment for the first time caught a glimpse of
the "boys in blue" and saw the first "burning of gunpowder," which was
an artillery duel between the Federal gunboats and the Confederate
land batteries; but it was at long range, no damage was done, and the
gunboats were soon withdrawn up the river.
About this time General Leonidas Polk, commanding the Mississippi
Department, determined to occupy Columbus, Ky., and ordered General
B. F. Cheatham to proceed at once to that point, where the Thirteenth
Regiment arrived Sept. 6, 1861, and was among the first, if not the
first, to occupy that important position. Nothing but camp duty,
throwing up heavy fortifications and hard and constant drilling
occurred in the regiment until Nov. 7, when it was reported that the
enemy in heavy force was advancing on Columbus on both sides of the
river. The long roll was sounded and every regiment reported at once
and fell into line on its parade ground. All were excited and anxious
to meet the enemy. Soon it was ascertained that a heavy force had
disembarked from their gunboats above and were moving down to a point
near Belmont, on the opposite side of the river.
The Thirteenth Regiment, under command of Colonel John V. Wright,
having been supplied with ammunition, was ordered at once to cross the
river and take position on the extreme left of our line of battle near
Watson's Battery. Never was a regiment more anxious or more willing
to face an enemy. It was the maiden fight of the regiment and every
man felt that he was "on his mettle." Though our position was an
unfortunate one--in an open field, the enemy being under cover of thick
woods--this regiment met the advance with the steadiness of veterans
and held its position and fought while comrades fell on every side
until the last round of ammunition was exhausted, and the order given
to fall back to the river. By the time the regiment reached the river
reinforcements had crossed from Columbus which engaged the enemy and
checked his further advance. The Thirteenth, obtaining a fresh supply
of ammunition, rallied and again advanced gallantly to the contest,
which had become fierce and obstinate. In a short time the Federals
were driven from their position and fled to their gunboats, hotly
pursued by the Confederates. At their gunboats, such was their haste,
confusion and disorder that they did not attempt to return the fire.
The Federal loss here, as in previous engagements, was heavy.
The loss of the Thirteenth Regiment was heavy; out of one hundred and
fourteen killed and wounded, thirty-four were killed on the field,
among them the very best men of Tennessee. Their names should never be
forgotten, and are as follow:
Company A--A. Middlemus, First Sergeant; A. J. McCully; Mike McCully;
Matthew Rhea, First Lieutenant commanding.
Company B--F. M. Stockinger; W. H. Burnett, Second Corporal.
Company C--Arthur R. Pittman; J. W. Rogers; Robt. F. Dukes, Lieutenant;
J. P. Farrow; J. W. Harris.
Company D--W. H. Parks; W. H. Polk; Jno. H. Shaw; Albert G. Zaracer; B.
M. Dozier.
Company E--S. J. Roberson; Geo. R. Tiller; E. Wales Newby.
Company F--H. H. Barnett; E. H. Hill; John A. Jones, Sr.; C. H.
Middleton.
Company G--P. N. D. Bennett; Jno. Mayo; Jno. C. Penn.
Company H--George Hall; Wm. J. Dunlap.
Company I--C. C. Cawhon; L. F. Hamlet; John G. Nesbit; H. H. Waggoner;
James Hamlet.
Company K--Y. W. Hall; K. A. Parrish; Jas. L. Smith.
J. P. Farrow and Wm. J. Dunlap were the first men in the regiment who
yielded their young lives in battle to the Confederate cause, and were
killed by the first volley of the enemy's fire.
Early in action Colonel John V. Wright was painfully injured in the
knee by the fall of his horse which was shot under him. I, who then
took command of the regiment, had two horses shot under me: the first
at the very commencement of the engagement; the second (which had been
cut out of Watson's Battery after its men had been driven from their
guns) was shot just as I reached the river bank.
Never did men display more heroic courage and deport themselves in
a more soldierlike manner, and while it is impossible in this brief
sketch to refer to all the acts of devotion and fidelity to the
Southern cause performed by the officers and men of this regiment,
Lieutenant Matthew Rhea certainly deserves special mention. As soon as
the regiment took position in line of battle, in command of his company
(A) he was sent to the extreme left of our line with instruction to
extend his line to the river, which he did. By some means the enemy
got in between him and the regiment, thus cutting him off. Though
surrounded he continued to fight, and rather than surrender his sword,
which had been worthily worn by his grandfather, he fell at the hands
of the enemy. A braver, truer or more faithful officer never fought for
any cause.
About this time, if not on the very day of the battle of Belmont,
Colonel John V. Wright was elected to the Confederate Congress, and
resigned his position as Colonel of the regiment. No man ever stood
higher in the estimation of his soldiers or was more beloved by them.
Upon the resignation of Colonel Wright I was unanimously elected
Colonel of the regiment. I was a disciplinarian while on duty of the
strictest school, which for the first months of the war made me very
unpopular with volunteer soldiers, but only one fight was necessary to
satisfy them that an undisciplined army was nothing more than an armed
mob. Adjutant W. E. Morgan was now elected Lieutenant-Colonel, and
Lieutenant Richard M. Harwell of Company E was appointed Adjutant.
After the battle of Belmont and while at Columbus, Ky., the measles
broke out in the regiment, and it was a matter of surprise that there
should be so many grown men who had never had the measles. So many were
down at one time that there were scarcely enough well ones to wait on
the sick, and many died.
Early in the spring it became necessary to move our lines further
south, and Columbus was evacuated March 12, 1862. The Thirteenth was
ordered to Union City, and four days later to Corinth, Miss., where it
arrived March 19, 1862. Before leaving Columbus, however, there had
been some changes made in the command. General B. F. Cheatham had been
promoted to a division commander, and the Thirteenth was assigned to
Colonel R. M. Russell's Brigade, General Chas. Clark's Division. In
this brigade and division the regiment remained until after the battle
of Shiloh.
About this time the enemy was known to be landing and concentrating
a large force at Pittsburg Landing, on the Tennessee river. It was
determined by Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, who had been placed in
command, to give battle; so on the 3rd of April, 1862, the regiment,
with the whole army, was moved toward the point of attack, but heavy
rains and bad roads prevented forming line of battle until the evening
of the 5th of April. That night a council of war was held, and though
some officers were opposed, an attack was determined upon.
On the morning of the 6th, just as the sun in all its splendor was
rising above the horizon, and while in the second line of battle,
General Clark rode up to us and stated that Marks' Louisiana Regiment
had been repulsed, and asked, "Can you take that battery yonder, which
is annoying our troops so much?" Having such unlimited confidence in
the Thirteenth, I replied, "We can take it." Whereupon the regiment
was moved by the right flank, under cover of a hill, until in proper
position, and then fronted the battery and advanced rapidly up the
hill. All was well until the crest of the hill was reached, when the
enemy opened fire with canister, grape and musketry, which was so
severe that it literally tore the regiment in two. But, though, for
a moment checked, nothing daunted, our officers and men gallantly
stood their ground, and poured into the ranks of the enemy such deadly
volleys as to cause them to waver, and then with the "rebel yell"
rushed so impetuously upon them that they could no longer stand,
precipitately fleeing and leaving battery and dead and wounded on the
field.
This was indeed a brilliant charge, and only equaled on that
battlefield by the charge made shortly afterward by that magnificent
regiment, the Fourth Tennessee. But the loss to the regiment was
terrible; some of Tennessee's best blood was shed here, and many a
noble spirit sank to rise no more.
The balance of the day the regiment, though not actively engaged, was
for the most time under heavy fire in changing and shifting positions
and in supporting and relieving other troops. It was present and
assisted in capturing Gen. Lew Wallace[A] and his brigade late in
the evening on the bank of the Tennessee river, to which point we
had driven the enemy. Here, because of the steep bluff, the gunboats
could not reach us, and a rain of iron and lead passed over our heads
until late in the night. Under orders the regiment retired from the
river bank and bivouaced for the night in the enemy's camp, rich with
quartermaster's stores, commissary supplies and sutlers' goods.
[Footnote A: By oversight I have printed on page 16 the name LEW
WALLACE. Of course it should have been GEN. PRENTICE.]
Every officer and soldier of the regiment sank to sleep serenaded by
the guns from the river, and supposed that the battle was won and the
victory ours. But how sadly disappointed next morning, when it was
known that Buell had arrived and crossed the river that night with his
whole army, and was drawn up in line with fresh troops to renew the
contest. Though not anticipating such a state of affairs, the regiment
was formed by early dawn and moved forward to meet the enemy as proudly
and defiantly as on the day before. But their batteries, within easy
range and supported by columns of infantry, opened such a terrible fire
of grape and canister that we were forced to retire and seek shelter
beyond the next ridge. By this time the whole Confederate forces
were hotly engaged, and from right to left was one continuous roar
of artillery and musketry. The struggle was terrific, and closer and
harder fighting was never done on any battlefield; and though the enemy
were held at bay from early dawn till nearly noon, it was apparent
that the unequal contest could not be much longer maintained. So the
Confederate forces were gradually withdrawn, and the army returned
to its old camp grounds at Corinth, Miss. No attempt was made by the
enemy to follow. The first day's fight of this battle was the grandest
of the war--less friction, more concert of action, more thorough
co-operation and better generalship displayed--everything moved with
clock-like precision--a master mind directed the whole until General A.
S. Johnston fell.
Throughout the two days' fight every officer and man of the Thirteenth
did his whole duty, as shown by the heavy loss in killed and wounded.
We lost one hundred and twelve men killed and wounded, and of this
number forty-two fell dead on the bloody field, thus sealing their
devotion with their lives to the cause they believed right. Their names
deserve to be remembered by their countrymen, and are as follow:
Robert Thompson, B. F. Eaton, H. B. Hunt, R. Harrison, J. M. Moore,
James Moore, N. Matthews, R. M. Thompson and Lieut. C. H. Whitmore
of Company A; J. G. Babbett, Lieut. S. B. Dugan and Henry Walker of
Company B; W. B. Dukes, C. P. Graham, H. J. Hutchinson, Thos. Rainey
(color bearer) and W. L. Stokes of Company C; Second Lieut. W. F.
Cowan, First Lieut. J. W. Cunningham, R. D. Eaton and Capt. John A.
Wilkins of Company D; D. C. Arnett, D. C. Bull, J. C. Black and M. C.
Grisson of Company E; M. Donelly, J. N. Guthrie, Jno. Morgan, William
Saunders, J. D. Springer and B. Thomas of Company F; M. M. McKinstry,
J. H. Brown and J. O. Winfield of Company G; E. O. Chambers, S. O.
Cole, D. R. Royster and Carr Young of Company H; Jno. Mitchell, Lewis
Roberson, J. N. Vandyke and G. W. Borger of Company I; Carroll Chitwood
of Company K.
From the opening to the close of this engagement I was most ably and
efficiently assisted in the management and direction of the regiment
by Lieut.-Col. W. E. Morgan, Adjutant R. M. Harwell, and Major W.
E. Winfield. Adjutant Harwell was painfully wounded in the first
engagement but remained at his post of duty until the close of the
struggle. Lieut.-Colonel Morgan and Major Winfield had their horses
shot, and I had two horses shot under me and was struck by a spent ball
that did no serious harm.
While at Corinth, the period for which the regiment had enlisted
having expired, it re-enlisted for the war and reorganized. Company A,
from some disaffection or dissatisfaction, refused to reorganize, and
was consolidated with Company D, and the deficiency supplied by the
admission of Company L, Zollicoffer's Avengers, Captain C. B. Jones,
of LaGrange, Tenn. On the 28th of April, 1862, the reorganization
was perfected by the election of the following officers: I was
unanimously re-elected Colonel; W. E. Morgan unanimously re-elected
Lieutenant-Colonel; Sergeant-Major P. H. Cole elected Major; Lieut.
R. M. Harwell re-elected Adjutant. Many changes were made in line
officers, but the writer has no data from which to supply them. While
at Corinth the regiment, from the use of bad and unhealthy water,
suffered very much with sickness, and many were furloughed on sick
leave to recuperate for the summer campaign.
The enemy in the meantime having recovered from the severe blow
received at Shiloh commenced to advance on Corinth by gradual
approaches, and by the latter part of May was in the vicinity of
that place. The regiment was daily engaged in heavy skirmishes, and
sometimes in sharp engagements but with small losses. On May 13, 1862,
Corinth was evacuated, and the Thirteenth fell back by way of Baldwin
to Tupelo, Miss. Here, with good water, the health of the regiment
improved rapidly, and with strict discipline and constant drilling we
soon became one of the crack regiments in that army.
About this time General Charles Clark, commanding the division, was
assigned to another department, and his division broken up and assigned
to other commands. The Thirteenth was assigned to Cheatham's Division
and General Preston Smith's Brigade, which, on July 10, 1862, was
ordered to report to General E. Kirby Smith at Knoxville, Tenn., who
was about to make a campaign into Kentucky. Everything being ready the
Thirteenth, with the forces under General Smith, moved on the 13th day
of August into Kentucky by way of Wilson Gap, and on the 18th of August
arrived at Cumberland Gap after a weary and toilsome march of five
days. From this point by way of Manchester the forces were moved in the
direction of Richmond, Ky. The enemy was watching the movement, and
had sent forward General Bull Nelson with a large force of infantry,
artillery and cavalry to check our advance. A battle was now imminent.
Early on the morning of August 30 the army was put in motion, and by
8 o'clock while marching up the road a shell from the enemy's battery
not far off came whizzing over the head of our advancing column and
exploded high in the air. The Thirteenth with the other regiments of
the brigade immediately deployed in line of battle on the right of the
road, when Allen's sharpshooters under command of Lieut. Creighton were
sent forward and deployed as skirmishers, with instructions to feel
the enemy and develop their position. This being done the regiment
with the brigade was ordered to advance, and in a short time a most
terrific fire was opened by both sides from one end of the line to
the other. The enemy occupied a strong position and stubbornly held
their ground, but onward the Confederates continued to march, when,
with a charge and a yell in front and a volley on their flank, which
General Smith with the One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Sr. had succeeded
in reaching, the enemy precipitately fled, hotly pursued and pressed by
the Confederates. The enemy lay thick upon the field, and their loss
was heavy. The Thirteenth's loss was also heavy in officers and men,
and among them some of Tennessee's best and bravest soldiers.
It was in this first engagement that Lieutenant Edward Lanier of
Company G was killed, a young, brilliant and gallant officer who, had
he lived, would either as citizen or soldier have inscribed his name
high up on the roll of fame. Gifted by nature, young, aspiring and
ambitious it seemed hard that he should have been stricken down at the
very threshold of his manhood. A truer soldier never shed his blood on
his country's altar. Here, too, General Pat Cleburne was wounded in the
mouth, and had to retire from the field, whereupon the command of the
division devolved upon Brigadier-General Preston Smith, and that of the
brigade on me, and that of the regiment on Lieutenant-Colonel W. E.
Morgan.
The enemy after retiring a couple of miles made a second stand, but
so impetuous was the second attack that after a short engagement they
broke in disorder and confusion, and did not halt until at or near
Richmond, where for the last time they made a stand, and it was here
that they were completely routed and demoralized.
This was the most complete victory gained during the war in which the
Thirteenth participated. Nothing escaped. All the enemy's artillery,
their artillery horses, their transportation, quartermaster and
commissary supplies, together with all their camp equipage fell into
the hands of the Confederates. In this engagement our forces captured
and paroled more officers and men than General E. Kirby Smith had in
his command. The Thirteenth did its whole duty, as attested by the
killed on that battlefield as follow: R. A. Donalson, W. L. Fullerton,
S. G. Lawrence, Company A; T. F. Gaither, Company B; W. L. Rhodes,
Company C; Jas. J. Lawrence, W. H. Minter, Company D; T. M. Ballard,
Company E; H. L. Winningham, Company F; Lieutenant Edward Lanier,
Edward Dicks, Company G; Wm. Claiburn, R. H. Crouch, Company H; John
Reed, R. R. Stone, B. F. Holtom, Company I; John H. Gates, B. G. Sims,
H. A. Gray, J. S. Jenkins, M. R. Winfield, B. W. Wilkerson, Company L.
In this battle I received from the hands of a captain of an Indiana
company a beautiful and highly ornamented sword, which had been
presented to him by the citizens of his town when he started to the
war. After the first attack the Federal captain was retreating with
his company when he was shot in the leg. Unable to proceed further a
private of the Thirteenth ran up to him and ordered the surrender of
his sword. This he refused to do, saying that he would surrender it to
an officer, but never to a private. This so enraged the private that he
was in the very act of shooting him when I rode up and ordered him not
to shoot a prisoner, whereupon the officer extended to me his sword,
and thanked me for saving his life. I wore this sword a long time, but
while on leave of absence left it in charge of a young Confederate
officer who, being insulted by a <DW64>, broke it over his head.
After the battle of Richmond the Thirteenth with the brigade marched
to Lexington, Ky.; thence to Cynthiana, thence to Covington, thence
to Frankfort, and joined Gen. Bragg's army just before the battle of
Perryville, where it rejoined Cheatham's Division.
The next engagement was the battle of Perryville, which was fought on
October 8, 1862. In this battle the Thirteenth with the brigade was not
actively engaged, but was held in reserve, and with the brigade acted
as rear guard to the army on its march out of Kentucky.
Our march into Kentucky was an ovation. We were the first infantry
troops to enter that part of the State, and as soon as we crossed
the mountains and struck the Blue Grass region, the demonstration of
sympathy for the South and the hearty welcome extended us filled every
heart with profound gratitude. Citizens all along our line of march
received us with open arms, and showed us every hospitality. When we
halted for the night, droves of fattest cattle, herds of the fattest
sheep, and wagonloads of corn and hay, were driven to our camp. Even
the women--God bless them--brought to our soldiers the delicacies of
the table and garden. We thought that Kentucky was ours, and that no
Federal force would invade her beautiful territory; but, alas! how soon
the scene shifted.
The retreat out of Kentucky was one of greater trial and hardship than
any march made during the war. Over a rough and barren country, without
shoes and thinly clad, with scarcely anything to eat, the suffering was
great, yet it was borne with fortitude and without a murmur.
The regiment, with the army, reached Knoxville on October 24, 1862.
From Knoxville the Thirteenth was moved by rail to Tullahoma, where
it received a fresh supply of clothing, blankets, shoes, etc., which
was so much needed. After a few weeks' rest we were marched to
Murfreesboro, where we arrived the latter part of November, 1862. It
was here that smallpox broke out in the regiment, and it was detached
from the brigade, but by strict quarantine and vaccination it was soon
checked--not, however, without the loss of some good soldiers.
Early on the morning of December 30, 1862, we commenced that
hard-fought and stubbornly-contested battle of Murfreesboro, or Stone
River. It was a most terrific contest--one that brought forth those
shining and brilliant qualities of the Southern volunteer which made
him so renowned in the Mexican and other wars. In the absence of
Brigadier-General Preston Smith, I was in command of the brigade and
Lieutenant-Col. W. E. Morgan in command of the regiment. In this fight
the Thirteenth, as in every other from Belmont to Murfreesboro, took
an active part, and did its whole duty and gathered fresh laurels. It
was the most satisfactory fight, both to the officers and men, that was
made by the regiment during the war. With the exception of a slight
check in the morning, it drove the enemy from every position from early
dawn till late in the evening; and though every inch of ground was
fiercely contested, the regiment never faltered, but onward like an
avalanche it swept everything before it. I had two horses shot under
me, and the horse of every field and staff officer of the regiment was
killed.
In this engagement I witnessed an exhibition of discipline and coolness
that I never saw on any other battlefield. We had in our front and
opposed to us a brigade of United States Regulars; they were formed
in two lines of battle some distance apart. Firing as we advanced,
their first line waited until we got within easy range and then coolly
delivered their fire; without waiting to reload they faced to the rear
and double-quicked through their second line and reformed in line of
battle. The second line then awaited our approach, and though their
men were falling fast around them, they coolly delivered their fire
and retired through the first line and reformed in line of battle; and
thus they continued to fire and fall back until they were driven across
a large field. Their lines were plainly marked by their dead, who lay
thick upon the ground.
These were Americans fighting Americans--the one, the trained soldier,
who fought because he was ordered to do so, and because of the old flag
and that Union which he believed ought to be eternal; the other, the
Southern volunteer, who fought because he believed that his home and
fireside were invaded and that his constitutional rights were trampled
upon. Both exhibited a courage which commands the world's admiration.
In this battle a battery of four beautiful Napoleon guns was captured
from the Federals. Four divisions of our army claimed to have
participated in the capture, and each division laid claims to the
battery. A conference of the officers of the divisions was called, and
after a full discussion and careful consideration of the claims of
each division, it was decided that one of the guns should be given to
each division, and that upon it should be inscribed the name of the
most gallant and meritorious soldier who fell on that battlefield. One
of the guns was given to Cheatham's Division and assigned to Preston
Smith's Brigade. At that time I was Colonel of the Thirteenth Tennessee
Regiment and W. E. Morgan Lieutenant-Colonel; but in the absence of
Gen. Preston Smith I commanded the brigade and Lieutenant-Colonel
Morgan the regiment. He fell in the first day's fight, and by unanimous
consent his name was inscribed upon the gun, and read as follows:
"L | 926.336511 |
2023-11-16 18:32:30.3186150 | 1,743 | 10 |
Produced by Angela M. Cable
MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Adventure I. Silver Blaze
"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat
down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already
been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of
conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day
my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and
his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest
black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks.
Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only
to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was,
I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was
but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of
analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for
the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore,
he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the
drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.
"I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the
way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me by coming. And
I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about
the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I
think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further
into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with
you your very excellent field-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the
corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while
Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped
travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he
had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before
he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his
cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out the window and glancing at his
watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards
apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you
have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the
disappearance of Silver Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say."
"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be
used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh
evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such
personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a
plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to
detach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the
embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established
ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences
may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole
mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel
Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking
after the case, inviting my cooperation."
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why
didn't you go down yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I am afraid, a more
common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your
memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most
remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in
so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to
hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that
his abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another
morning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy
Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take
action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall
enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating
it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do
not show you the position from which we start."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes,
leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points
upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had
led to our journey.
"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock, and holds as
brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year,
and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross,
his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first
favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He
has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and
has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous
sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that
there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing
Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where the
Colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to
guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey
who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he became too heavy for the
weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and
for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and
honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a
small one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up
each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three
bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived
in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no
children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country
round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a
small cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor
for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure
Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while
across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training
establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater, and is
managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete
wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the
general situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred.
"On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and
the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of the lads walked up
to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the
third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine
the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which
consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was
a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the | 926.338655 |
2023-11-16 18:32:30.4156220 | 2,195 | 6 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Stephen Blundell
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE
VERBALIST:
_A MANUAL_
DEVOTED
TO BRIEF DISCUSSIONS OF THE RIGHT AND THE
WRONG USE OF WORDS
AND
TO SOME OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST TO THOSE WHO
WOULD SPEAK AND WRITE WITH PROPRIETY.
BY
ALFRED AYRES.
We remain shackled by timidity till we have learned to speak with
propriety.--JOHNSON.
As a man is known by his company, so a man's company may be known
by his manner of expressing himself.--SWIFT.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1, 3, AND 5 BOND STREET.
1887.
COPYRIGHT BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
1881
Transcriber's Note
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic
spellings have been retained as printed.
PREFATORY NOTE.
The title-page sufficiently sets forth the end this little book is
intended to serve.
For convenience' sake I have arranged in alphabetical order the subjects
treated of, and for economy's sake I have kept in mind that "he that
uses many words for the explaining of any subject doth, like the
cuttle-fish, hide himself in his own ink."
The curious inquirer who sets himself to look for the learning in the
book is advised that he will best find it in such works as George P.
Marsh's "Lectures on the English Language," Fitzedward Hall's "Recent
Exemplifications of False Philology," and "Modern English," Richard
Grant White's "Words and Their Uses," Edward S. Gould's "Good English,"
William Mathews' "Words: their Use and Abuse," Dean Alford's "The
Queen's English," George Washington Moon's "Bad English," and "The
Dean's English," Blank's "Vulgarisms and Other Errors of Speech,"
Alexander Bain's "English Composition and Rhetoric," Bain's "Higher
English Grammar," Bain's "Composition Grammar," Quackenbos' "Composition
and Rhetoric," John Nichol's "English Composition," William Cobbett's
"English Grammar," Peter Bullions' "English Grammar," Goold Brown's
"Grammar of English Grammars," Graham's "English Synonymes," Crabb's
"English Synonymes," Bigelow's "Handbook of Punctuation," and other
kindred works.
Suggestions and criticisms are solicited, with the view of profiting by
them in future editions.
If "The Verbalist" receive as kindly a welcome as its companion volume,
"The Orthoëpist," has received, I shall be content.
A. A.
NEW YORK, _October_, 1881.
Eschew fine words as you would rouge.--HARE.
Cant is properly a double-distilled lie; the second power of a
lie.--CARLYLE.
If a gentleman be to study any language, it ought to be that of his
own country.--LOCKE.
In language the unknown is generally taken for the
magnificent.--RICHARD GRANT WHITE.
He who has a superlative for everything, wants a measure for the
great or small.--LAVATER.
Inaccurate writing is generally the expression of inaccurate
thinking.--RICHARD GRANT WHITE.
To acquire a few tongues is the labor of a few years; but to be
eloquent in one is the labor of a life.--ANONYMOUS.
Words and thoughts are so inseparably connected that an artist in
words is necessarily an artist in thoughts.-WILSON FLAGG.
It is an invariable maxim that words which add nothing to the sense
or to the clearness must diminish the force of the
expression.--CAMPBELL.
Propriety of thought and propriety of diction are commonly found
together. Obscurity of expression generally springs from confusion
of ideas.--MACAULAY.
He who writes badly thinks badly. Confusedness in words can proceed
from nothing but confusedness in the thoughts which give rise to
them.--COBBETT.
THE VERBALIST.
A--AN. The second form of the indefinite article is used for the sake of
euphony only. Herein everybody agrees, but what everybody does not agree
in is, that it is euphonious to use _an_ before a word beginning with an
aspirated _h_, when the accented syllable of the word is the second. For
myself, so long as I continue to aspirate the _h's_ in such words as
_heroic_, _harangue_, and _historical_, I shall continue to use _a_
before them; and when I adopt the Cockney mode of pronouncing such
words, then I shall use _an_ before them. To my ear it is just as
euphonious to say, "I will crop off from the top of his young twigs a
tender one, and will plant it upon _an_ high mountain and eminent," as
it is to say _an_ harangue, _an_ heroic, or _an_ historical. _An_ is
well enough before the doubtful British aspiration, but before the
distinct American aspiration it is wholly out of place. The reply will
perhaps be, "But these _h's_ are silent; the change of accent from the
first syllable to the second neutralizes their aspiration." However true
this may be in England, it is not at all true in America; hence we
Americans should use _a_ and not _an_ before such _h's_ until we decide
to ape the Cockney mode of pronouncing them.
Errors are not unfrequently made by omitting to repeat the article in a
sentence. It should always be repeated when a noun or an adjective
referring to a distinct thing is introduced; take, for example, the
sentence, "He has a black and white horse." If two horses are meant, it
is clear that it should be, "He has a black and _a_ white horse." See
THE.
ABILITY--CAPACITY. The distinctions between these two words are not
always observed by those who use them. "_Capacity_ is the power of
receiving and retaining knowledge with facility; _ability_ is the power
of applying knowledge to practical purposes. Both these faculties are
requisite to form a great character: capacity to conceive, and ability
to execute designs. Capacity is shown in quickness of apprehension.
Ability supposes something done; something by which the mental power is
exercised in executing, or performing, what has been perceived by the
capacity."--Graham's "English Synonymes."
ABORTIVE. An outlandish use of this word may be occasionally met with,
especially in the newspapers. "A lad was yesterday caught in the act of
_abortively_ appropriating a pair of shoes." That is abortive that is
untimely, that has not been borne its full time, that is immature. We
often hear _abortion_ used in the sense of failure, but never by those
that study to express themselves in chaste English.
ABOVE. There is little authority for using this word as an adjective.
Instead of, "the _above_ statement," say, "the _foregoing_ statement."
_Above_ is also used very inelegantly for _more than_; as, "above a
mile," "above a thousand"; also, for _beyond_; as, "above his strength."
ACCIDENT. See CASUALTY.
ACCORD. "He [the Secretary of the Treasury] was shown through the
building, and the information he desired was _accorded_
him."--Reporters' English.
"The heroes prayed, and Pallas from the skies
_Accords_ their vow."--Pope.
The goddess of wisdom, when she granted the prayers of her worshipers,
may be said to have _accorded_; not so, however, when the clerks of our
Sub-Treasury answer the inquiries of their chief.
ACCUSE. See BLAME IT ON.
ACQUAINTANCE. See FRIEND.
AD. This abbreviation for the word _advertisement_ is very justly
considered a gross vulgarism. It is doubtful whether it is permissible
under any circumstances.
ADAPT--DRAMATIZE. In speaking and in writing of stage matters, these
words are often misused. To _adapt_ a play is to modify its construction
with the view of improving its form for representation. Plays translated
from one language into another are usually more or less _adapted_; i.
e., altered to suit the taste of the public before which the translation
is to be represented. To _dramatize_ is to change the form of a story
from the narrative to the dramatic; i. e., to make a drama out of a
story. In the first instance, the product of the playwright's labor is
called an _adaptation_; in the second, a _dramatization_.
ADJECTIVES. "Very often adjectives stand where adverbs might be
expected; as, 'drink _deep_,' 'this looks _strange_,''standing
_erect_.'
"We have also examples of one adjective qualifying another adjective;
as, '_wide_ open,' '_red_ hot,' 'the _pale_ blue sky.' Sometimes the
corresponding adverb is used, but with a different meaning; as, 'I found
the way _easy_--_easily_'; 'it appears _clear_--_clearly_.' Although
there is a propriety in the employment of the adjective in certain
instances, yet such forms as '_indifferent_ well,' '_extreme_ bad,' are
grammatical errors. 'He was interrogated _relative_ to that
circumstance,' should be _relatively_, or _in relation to_. It is | 926.435662 |
2023-11-16 18:32:30.5224740 | 4,209 | 7 | SUFFRAGE***
E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images digitized by the Google Books
Library Project (https://books.google.com) and generously made available
by HathiTrust Digital Library (https://www.hathitrust.org/)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 57474-h.htm or 57474-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57474/57474-h/57474-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57474/57474-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
HathiTrust Digital Library. See
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.31175035167884
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
_PRICE ONE PENNY._
SOCIAL-DEMOCRACY AND WOMAN SUFFRAGE.
[Illustration]
A Paper Read by
CLARA ZETKIN
To the Conference of Women belonging to the Social-Democratic Party held
at Mannheim before the opening of the 1906 Annual Congress of the German
Social-Democracy
Twentieth Century Press, Limited (Trade Union and 48 hours), 37A,
Clerkenwell Green, E.C.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SOCIAL-DEMOCRACY & WOMAN SUFFRAGE.
A Paper Read by
CLARA ZETKIN
To the Conference of Women belonging to the Social-Democratic Party held
at Mannheim, before the opening of the Annual Congress of the German
Social-Democracy.
Comrades,—The decision to discuss the question of Woman Suffrage at this
Congress was not arrived at from any theoretical considerations, or from
any wish to point out the advisability of such a measure. This
desirability has long been acknowledged by Social-Democrats, and by the
women who work with them for the attainment of their aims. We have been
much more interested in the tactics and in the historical events about
which I am now going to speak. There never was greater urgency than at
the present time for making the question of Woman Suffrage one of the
chief demands of our practical programme in politics. It is well for us,
therefore, to be clear that we are on the right lines, and in what
conditions and in what ways we should conduct the agitation, the action,
the struggle for Woman Suffrage so as to bring it before the public as a
question of intense practical activity for all. But we should not be
what we are, we should not be working-class women agitators who base
their demands on the ground of a Socialist demand, if we did not, when
seeking on the right lines, with all our strength, for this right, at
the same time show why we base our claim for this reform, and how we are
totally separated from those who only agitate for this from the point of
view of middle-class women. We take our stand from the point of view
that the demand for Woman Suffrage is in the first place a direct
consequence of the capitalist method of production. It may seem perhaps
to others somewhat unessential to say this so strongly, but not so to
us, because the middle-class demand for women’s rights up to the present
time still bases its claims on the old nationalistic doctrines of the
conception of rights. The middle-class women’s agitation movement still
demands Woman Suffrage to-day as a natural right, just as did the
speculative philosophers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. We,
on the contrary, basing our demand on the teachings of economics and of
history, advocate the suffrage for women as a social right, which is not
based on any natural right, but which rests on social, transient
conditions. Certainly in the camp of the Suffragettes it is also
understood that the revolution which the capitalist method of production
has caused in the position of women, has been of great importance in
causing many to agitate for their rights. But this is not given as the
most important reason, the tendency is to put this in the background,
and, as an illustration of this, I would refer, for example, to the
declaration of principles which the middle-class international
association for the attainment of Woman Suffrage formulated at its first
Congress in Berlin, in June, 1904, when the constitution of the society
was drawn up. In this declaration of principles there are stated
firstly, secondly, and thirdly, considerations from a purely
natural-right point of view, which were inspired from a sentimentalist
standpoint due to idealistic considerations, and it will need other
grounds of action, other considerations, other ideals if the masses are
ever to be reached. It was only when they came to the fourth clause,
after talking about the economic revolution of society, that they began
to think about the industrial activity of women. But in what connection?
There it was stated that Woman Suffrage is required, owing to the
increase of wealth, which has been attained by the labours of women.
Comrades, I declare that the strongest and greatest demand for women’s
rights is not due to the increase of wealth among women, but that it is
based on the poverty, on the need, on the misery of the great mass of
women. We must reject with all our might this middle-class agitation of
women, which is only a renewed idle prattling about national wealth. If
you simply argue from the point of view of natural rights, then we
should be justified in adapting the words which Shakespeare puts into
the mouth of Shylock. We might say, “Hath not a woman eyes? Hath not a
woman hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,
healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and
summer as a _man_ is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle
us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?” But, comrades,
though these questions might be of momentary use, yet in the struggle
for social rights they are like a weapon which breaks as soon as it is
used in fighting.
The right to Woman Suffrage is based for us in the variation of social
life which has come about through the capitalist methods of production,
and more especially through the fact of women working for their living,
and in the greatest degree through the enrolment of working women in the
army of industry. This has given the greatest impetus to the movement. I
agree that there are facts which appear to go against this movement. It
is a fact that the agitation for Woman Suffrage, though in a weakened
form, already existed in many countries before capitalist production had
become more important than anything else, before it had reached its
highest point, and had been able to attain its greatest development
owing to the exploitation of women’s labour. In Russia, in the village
communes, women were able to take an equal share with men, in certain
cases, in the government of the communes. This is an old custom, which
has been duly recognised by Russian law. But this right is due to the
fact that in Russia the old customs of the rights of mothers have lasted
for a longer time than in the West of Europe, and that there women enjoy
this right not as persons or as individuals, but as guardians of the
household, and of the common property which has lasted longer there. In
many other States, as well as in many provinces, of Prussia, there is
still a species of woman suffrage. In the seven eastern provinces, as
well as in Westphalia and Schleswig-Holstein, the women in the country
districts have votes for the local bodies. But under what conditions?
Not every woman has the right of voting, but it is restricted to those
who own land and pay taxes. The same rule obtains not only in the
country but also in the towns, in part of the Palatinate, and in other
places. In Austria, too, the women in the country districts have the
right of voting for the members of the local district authorities, but
only in so far as they are owners of land and inasmuch as they are
taxpayers, and it is thought that they will soon be able to vote for the
election of members of the local diets and of the Reichsrath. And the
consequence is that, in many Crown lands of Austria there are women who
are indirectly electors for the Reichsrath, because they are allowed to
vote for the delegates who choose the representatives for that body. In
Sweden women who fulfil the same conditions of property are also allowed
to vote in the elections for local bodies. But when we carefully
consider all these cases, we find that women do not vote because they
are women; they do not enjoy, so to speak, a personal vote, but they
only have this right because they are owners of property and taxpayers.
That is not the kind of Woman Suffrage which we demand; it is not the
right we desire to give a woman, as a burgess of the State, it is only a
privilege of property. In reality, all these and similar schemes stand
out in marked contrast to the demand for Woman Suffrage which we
advocate. In England we find, too, that women may take part in elections
for local bodies; but this again is only under conditions of owning a
certain amount of property or paying a certain sum in taxes.
But when we demand Woman Suffrage, we can only do so on the ground, not
that it should be a right attached to the possession of a certain amount
of property, but that it should be inherent in the woman herself. This
insistence of the personal right of woman to exercise her own influence
in the affairs of the town and the State has received no small measure
of support, owing to the large increase in the capitalist methods of
production. You all know that already in the beginning of the capitalist
development these thoughts found their first exponents among members of
the middle-class democracy. There is no need for the middle-class to be
ashamed of this, that they—in the time of their youth—still dreamed
their dreams, and that their more advanced members were brave fighters
in the struggle for women’s rights. We see, moreover, people in England
arguing in favour of Woman Suffrage as a personal right. We see them
also striving like the French middle-class, which achieved their
political emancipation over the body of Louis Capet.
We see that they fought with great energy during the struggle in North
America for the abolition of slavery. Briefly, in all those periods in
which the middle-class agitated for the complete attainment of
democratic principles as a means of effecting its own political
emancipation and securing power, it also fought for the recognition of
equal rights for women. But with whatever zeal and whatever trouble and
whatever energy this question of the rights of women was demanded by the
middle-class, yet it was not till the advent of Socialism that the
struggle began in earnest. Already in 1792 Mary Wollstonecraft, in her
celebrated work, “The Claims of Woman,” already in 1787, Condorcet, in
his Letters from a Citizen of Newhaven,[1] had claimed equal rights for
women; and the cause also received an impetus from the French
Revolution. The demand for Woman’s Suffrage was inscribed among the list
of reforms desired by some electors at the French Revolution, and a
petition asking for it was also presented to the National Assembly. But
this body contented itself by issuing a platonic declaration that it
relegated the question to the consideration of mothers and daughters.
But in 1793 the Committee of Public Safety, on the motion of Amar,
dissolved all the women’s organisations, and forbade their meetings.
Then the French middle-classes gave up the struggle for Woman Suffrage;
and the first Socialists—the Utopians—Saint Simon and Fourier, and their
disciples, took up the cause. In 1848 Victor Considérant, in 1851 Pierre
Leroux, agitated concerning this question. But they received no
encouragement, and their arguments were received with scorn and
derision. In the English Parliament in 1866 a numerously signed petition
in favour of Woman Suffrage was first presented by John Stuart Mill, one
of the most enlightened minds of the democratic middle-class.
Footnote 1:
“Letters from a Citizen of Newhaven to a Citizen of Virginia on the
Uselessness of Dividing the Legislative Power in Several Bodies.”
These struggles for the emancipation of women have indeed secured some
concessions, and many advantages have been gained; but the political
emancipation of the female sex to-day, and especially in industrial
lands, is as far off as ever, while the most stalwart exponents of
middle-class democracy for men, having attained most of their demands,
are no longer clamouring, as during the fight, for equal rights for
women. The preliminary condition for success is that there should be a
great increase in capitalist production. It stands in the closest
relation with the revolutionising of the household. With the increase of
industry, which in primitive conditions was carried on in the family,
and when that family carried out industrial operations as a whole in the
home, there was not then a demand for the emancipation of woman from the
family and the household, and women did not then, always living at home,
feel the need for political power. The same machinery which drove with
decisive power the home industries from the family, allowed woman to
become an active worker outside the home, and her advent on the labour
market produced not only new economic, but also new social, effects. The
destruction of the old middle-class woman’s world has created, of
necessity, a new moral purpose in women’s lives, in order to secure to
them new advantages. Therefore, the middle-class woman’s world was
compelled to recognise the necessity of advocating the political
emancipation of women as a precious and useful weapon, and with its help
to endeavour to procure changes in the law, so that man should no longer
enjoy a monopoly, and prevent women from earning their living. In the
proletarian women’s world the need, so far from being less, was indeed
much greater to obtain political power, and they advocated complete
political emancipation. Hundreds of thousands, nay millions, of women
workers have been exploited by capitalist methods. Statistics are there
to show how in all capitalist countries women are more and more going
into the labour market. In Germany, the last census (that of 1895) gives
the number of women working as 6,578,350, and of these the workers in
factories, etc., were no less than 5,293,277. In Austria, in 1890, there
were 6,245,073 women working, and of these there were 5,310,639 working
in factories; in France, in 1890, the numbers were 5,191,084 and
3,584,518; in the United States, in 1890, 3,914,571 and 2,864,818; in
England and Wales, in 1891, 4,016,571 and 3,113,256.
This I only give as an illustration, not only to show that women deserve
the suffrage, but also to show what importance the labour of women has
attained. It is evident that the question of woman’s rights must be
greatly influenced, owing to the fact of so many women being in the
labour market. Hundreds of thousands of working women who labour with
their brains are just as much exploited by the action of capitalists and
middle-men as the millions of women who work with their hands, because
the whole capitalist class hangs together, and defends its interests. By
this economic process, women have also been taught to think and act for
themselves. And they now demand Universal Suffrage as a social necessity
of life as the aim and means which will give them a stimulus to obtain
protection and improvement by obtaining an improvement in their economic
and moral interests. But when we place the demand for Woman Suffrage in
the front as a social necessity, we also argue that it should be granted
to us as a self-evident act of justice. Woman is not only now
emancipated from the family and the home, but she is determined to use
the activity of her brain and hand in order, just as man, to improve her
mental and social position, for the clear light which the furnace of
great factories has thrown on the path of woman has made her conscious
of the social worth of her activity, and has directed it into other
channels. It has taught her the great social importance and the great
social worth of her career as a mother and the educator of youth. For
the multitude of women who go to factories will generally become wives;
they then will become mothers and bear children, and they know that the
care which they give to their new-born children, the zeal with which
they discharge their duties in training children, shows that the service
rendered by the mother in the home is no private service simply to her
husband, but an activity which is of the highest social importance.
Because millions are condemned, not through their own fault, not through
a want of their motherly instinct, but owing to the pressure of
capitalist influence, to forego their bodily, spiritual, and moral good,
then, as a consequence, there is a great increase in infant mortality,
and children do not receive proper attention in their tender years. All
this proves the high social worth of labour which woman performs in the
producing and rearing of children. The demand for Woman Suffrage is only
a phase of the demand that their high social worth should be more
adequately recognised.
But they base this right also on the ground of the democratic principle
in its widest bearing, not only on the fact that the same duties demand
equal rights, but we also say that it would be criminal for the
democracy not to use all the strength which women have in order that by
their work of head and hand they may take part in the service of the
community.
We do not maintain, like certain advocates of women’s rights, that men
and women should have the same rights because they are alike. No; I am
of opinion that in bodily strength, in spiritual insight, and in
intellectual aims, we are very different. But to be different does not
necessarily imply inferiority, and if it be true that we think, act, and
feel differently, then we say that this is another reason which condemns
the action of men in the past, and a reason why we should try and
improve society.
From this point of view of history, we demand the political equality of
women and the right to vote as a recognition of the political rights due
to our sex. This is a question which applies to the whole of women
without exception. All women, whatever be their position, should demand
political equality as a means of a freer life, and one calculated to
yield rich blessings to society. Besides, in the women’s world, as well
as in the men’s world, | 926.542514 |
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Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
[Illustration: cover of "The Captain" volume XXV]
THE SEA MONARCH
By
Percy F. Westerman
[Transcriber's note:
Mr. Percy F. Westerman has written this story for:
THE CAPTAIN
A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & "OLD BOYS".
VOL. XXV
_APRIL to SEPTEMBER, 1911_
_London:_
GEORGE NEWNES, LIMITED, 3 to 12, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND.
The magazine was a periodical that appeared monthly and was also
sold in volumes of 6 months, in this case April to September
of 1911. In the index of this volume the story appeared as
follows:
*SEA MONARCH, THE.* By Percy F. Westerman 40
98, 217, 311, 386, 482
Each instalment, except the first, has a copyright-statement
at the bottom of the first page:
_Copyright_ 1911, _by George Newness, Ltd., in the United States
of America._
]
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE "ZIETAN"
II. INTRODUCES THE "PLAYMATE" AND HER SKIPPER
III. RUN DOWN
IV. A PRISONER ON THE MYSTERIOUS SHIP
V. CAPTAIN BROOKES
VI. THE CONNING-TOWER OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
VII. RUMOURS OF WAR
VIII. TREACHERY
IX. AN ACT OF PIRACY
X. CLEARED FOR ACTION
XI. WIPED OUT
XII. THROUGH THE MINE FIELD
XIII. TRAPPED
XIV. RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
XV. A ONE-SIDED ENGAGEMENT
XVI. IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE PATAGONIANS
XVII. GERALD'S RUSE
XVIII. THE CAPTAIN'S REVENGE
XIX. GERALD'S PROMOTION
XX. THE AIRMAN
XXI. THE MISSING WIRELESS GEAR
XXII. THE TOUCHSTONE OF PERIL
XXIII. THE CRIPPLED SUBMARINE
XXIV. A FRUSTRATED PLOT
XXV. THE EMPIRE'S ORDEAL
XXVI. THE VINDICATION OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
ILLUSTRATIONS
Crash! The huge vessel, looming out of the fog, struck the little
yacht amidships. The stout planks were shorn through as if made of
match-board, and the water poured in a cataract over the lee side.
There was the sound of a hasty scuffling; then appeared the head
and shoulders of the owner of the _Playmate_
The mast snapped off close to the deck, and a block, hurtling
through the air, struck Gerald a terrific blow over the head.
Staggering to the door he threw it open. To his great surprise he
saw a burly sentry standing without.
In spite of his strenuous resistance they hauled the deserter out
of the empty tank, and then unceremoniously bundled him into the
gig.
"Look here, Mr. Schneider, you've come to the wrong box with your
sneaking complaints. So clear out!"
Bending over the instrument was a young officer, his head
practically covered with a metal cap fitted with receivers.
The man staggered, clapped his hand to his shoulder, and fell to
the deck, the weapon slipping from his grasp.
Schneider cleared the rail, and leapt into the sea.
The doomed vessel was instantly swept out of existence. The massive
outlines of the cruiser seemed to melt into a hundred thousand
fragments.
As night fell the searchlights played with unceasing vigilance upon
the harbour. Suddenly Captain Brookes turned to Gerald. "Does my
compact forbid me using the Z-rays?" he asked.
A party of natives appeared on the beach regarding the cruiser with
obvious amazement. In their hands they carried long slender spears,
which they brandished menacingly.
Like a terrier let loose amidst a swarm of rats the submarine
dashed towards the canoes.
A terrific detonation shook the ground, and a thick cloud of smoke
obscured the view of the pinnacle. In an agony of fear the natives
threw themselves face downwards in the dust.
Seated up to his waist in water was the aviator, clad in an
inflated rubber suit. The engine was lost to view, the tips of the
twin propellers just projected above the surface.
"Good shot!" yelled several of the officers on the _Olive Branch_.
For a full ten seconds the monoplane held on its course, then,
lurching like a wounded bird, it swooped swiftly downwards.
The searchlight revealed a huge circular turret with a pair of
monster guns. Slowly the submarine swung round, the light
travelling the length of the huge mass of weed-encrusted iron
and steel.
The four men threw themselves on the astonished foreigners, and
a desperate conflict ensued.
"In view of possible events I must ask you to take up your quarters
beneath the armoured deck," said Captain Brookes.
An admiral's pinnace was approaching the shattered _Olive Branch_.
Gerald hastened on deck to receive the distinguished officer.
[Illustration: Crash! The huge vessel, looming out of the fog, struck
the little yacht amidships. The stout planks were shorn through as if
made of match-board, and the water poured in a cataract over the lee
side. (_See page_ 52)]
THE SEA MONARCH
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of: "A Lad of Grit," "The Quest of the Golden Hope," etc.,
etc.
_ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON_
[Illustration: chapter I]
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF THE "ZIETAN"
IT was a scorching afternoon in the month of August. The slanting
rays of the sun beat powerfully upon the tranquil waters of
Portsmouth Harbour, while the white ensigns of the numerous warships
fluttered idly in the almost motionless air.
Swinging easily at her moorings to the first of the young flood lay
the torpedo-boat destroyer _Calder_, presenting a very different
appearance from its trim state of a few days before. Engine-room
defects had occasioned her return to harbour, and as these were of a
somewhat serious nature, the opportunity was taken to place the
destroyer into dockyard hands for at least two months. The
commissioned officers had obtained permission to go on leave, while
the _Calder_, in the charge of a gunner, was to be put into dock the
following day.
_Ting-ting! Ting-ting! Ting-ting! Ting-ting!_ Eight bells had hardly
sounded ere two men appeared on deck, scrambling agilely through the
small hatchway that did duty for the ward-room companion. The first
was the tall, lean-featured lieutenant-commander. The other,
Sub-Lieutenant Gerald Tregarthen, needs a slightly longer
introduction.
He was almost the same height as the commander, or a fraction under
5ft. 11 ins. in his socks, and was broad in proportion. His features,
tanned by constant exposure to sun, wind, and spray, were clear-cut,
almost boyish in expression, while at times there was a roguish light
in his deep blue eyes.
Yet beneath the apparently boyish exterior lurked the spirit of a
man. When occasion arose those merry lips would compress themselves
into a thin, straight line, the powerful chin would be thrust
aggressively forward, and a dangerous glint in his eyes would betoken
that resolution, coolness, and daring which are the indispensable
characteristics of a successful naval officer.
His service career, in spite of its comparative shortness, had been
one continued success, yet success had not been gained without sheer
hard work. With a "first" in gunnery, torpedo, and navigation, he
found himself at an early age well up on the list for promotion.
Gerald Tregarthen was in mufti; but his well-cut civilian clothes
could not conceal the erect bearing and breezy alertness that
characterised the British naval officer. Taking advantage of the
_Calder's_ temporary idleness, he had applied and obtained permission
for six weeks' leave, and, strange as it may appear, his intention
was to spend the best part of that time afloat.
There is a story told of a London 'bus-driver who devoted a rare
holiday to playing the role of passenger on his own vehicle. Similar
motives doubtless prompt hundreds of bluejackets and marines to hire
private skiffs during their leave. One has but to go to Southsea
beach, the shores of the Hamoaze, or the mouth of the Medway to see
jolly tars and jovial "joeys" rowing in shore-boats as if that form
of recreation was the greatest treat imaginable. It is, then, not so
much to be wondered at that Gerald Tregarthen elected to spend most
of his leave on board the 4-ton cutter _Playmate_, at that moment
lying in Poole Harbour, the yacht being owned by his old school-chum,
Jack Stockton.
The appearance of the two officers on deck was immediately followed
by the hoarse orders of the quarter-master. The boat's crew manned
the falls, and the little craft was brought alongside the destroyer's
starboard quarter. Tregarthen's luggage, consisting only of a
well-filled portmanteau, was handed over the side, and, having bade
his senior officer goodbye, the sub-lieutenant took his place in the
stern-sheets. A quarter of an hour later Gerald Tregarthen landed at
the King's Stairs, and, followed by a seaman bearing his portmanteau,
walked rapidly through the dockyard to the main gate. Here a
lynx-eyed driver; spotting a likely fare, ran his taxi close up to
the spot where the young sub. was standing.
"Town station for all you're worth," exclaimed Tregarthen, but ere he
could enter the taxi a boy rushed up to him.
"Evening paper, sir? All the latest naval appointments."
This is a bait that rarely fails to draw the naval man. Taking the
paper Tregarthen boarded the vehicle, and was soon bowling along
towards the railway station.
Two unavoidable delays were sufficient to alter Tregarthen's
arrangements, for on arriving at the town station he found that he
had missed the 4.45 Bournemouth train by a bare two minutes. Little
did he imagine that the loss of those two minutes was fated to effect
a tremendous change in his career at no distant date.
"Next train 6.2, sir," replied a porter in answer to the sub.'s
anxious inquiry.
"Just my luck. Over an hour to wait," soliloquised the disappointed
sub., and sitting down and placing his portmanteau by his side, he
unfolded the sheets of the newspaper.
The "Naval Appointments" he read with more than ordinary interest,
inwardly commenting on the good luck or otherwise of those of the
numerous officers he knew personally. Then the "Movements of H.M.
Ships" attracted his attention. Lower down in the columns was a
paragraph that, though he paid scant heed to it at the time, was to
vitally affect him within the next few days:--
The new ironclad _Almirante Constant_ left the Tyne yesterday. A
persistent rumour is being circulated in certain quarters that the
vessel, which has been built with the utmost secrecy, is not, after
all, to become a unit of the Brazilian navy. Our correspondent has
made careful and exhaustive inquiries on this point, but the
officials concerned maintain a strict reticence. One thing is
certain, however--she is not at present armed, the contract for her
ordnance being placed, we understand; with an American firm.
"Blest if I can understand why these South American republics want
such up-to-date ships," mused the sub. as he turned over the
refractory pages. "It's like giving a child a razor to play with.
Well, I suppose it means work for the North Country shipyards; but
should any European power lay its hands on half a dozen of them I'm
afraid our naval supremacy will have but a very small margin. Hallo!
What's this?"
A telegram from Wilhelmshaven, dated the 11th inst., states that
the Imperial third class cruiser _Zietan_ has arrived here
apparently in difficulties, in charge of two tugs. Captain Schloss
immediately landed and despatched a lengthy report to the German
Admiralty, but, as shore leave is refused, our correspondent is
unable to obtain details of the accident from any of the officers
or crew. We have reason to believe that a serious | 926.635319 |
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E-text prepared by Rick Niles, Gene Smethers, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 15384-h.htm or 15384-h.zip:
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THE REAL ADVENTURE
A Novel
by
HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER
Illustrated by R.M. Crosby
Indianapolis
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Publishers
Serial Version 1915
The Ridgway Company
Press of Braunworth & Co.
Bookbinders and Printers
Brooklyn, N.Y.
1916
[Illustration: "We can't talk here," he said. "We must go elsewhere."]
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE GREAT ILLUSION
CHAPTER
I A Point of Departure
II | 926.635353 |
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Produced by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE WALCOTT TWINS
BY
LUCILE LOVELL
ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCM
Copyright 1900 by The Penn Publishing Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Gay and May 5
II The First Separation 11
III Just for Fun 16
IV A Remarkable Household 23
V More Confusion 30
VI Being a Boy 37
VII Being a Girl 44
VIII A Scene at Rose Cottage 49
IX Saw and Axe 56
X A Course of Training 62
XI The Training Begins 68
XII A Silver-haired Lady 75
XIII A Plan that Failed 82
XIV The Boy Predominates 89
XV Gay's Popularity Begins 97
XVI A Squad of One 106
XVII Concerning Philip 114
XVIII Dark Days 122
XIX The Event of the Season 130
XX The Belle of Hazelnook 141
XXI The Sky Brightens 151
XXII The Dearest Girl 162
XXIII A Great Game 172
XXIV The Idol Totters 181
XXV The Girls | 926.735913 |
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Produced by John Hamm
THE GOLDEN ROAD
By L. M. Montgomery
"Life was a rose-lipped comrade
With purple flowers dripping from her fingers."
--The Author.
TO
THE MEMORY OF
Aunt Mary Lawson
WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES
REPEATED BY THE
STORY GIRL
FOREWORD
Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair
highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were
blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a
new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes.
On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrances
aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies and
iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the years
waited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comrade
with purple flowers dripping from her fingers.
We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the
dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such
may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are
pilgrims on the golden road of youth.
THE GOLDEN ROAD
CHAPTER I. A NEW DEPARTURE
"I've thought of something amusing for the winter," I said as we
drew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec's
kitchen.
It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, eerie
twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and around the
eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow at the gate
was writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of weird music,
born of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night. But
little we cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world;
we kept them at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of our
young lips.
We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is, it
had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because we
found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to be
caught too easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catching
Felicity--which he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyes
were bound. What remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can see
through five folds of closely-woven muffler with ease!
"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather quickly
and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's sit down and get
the Story Girl to tell us a story."
But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significant
glance at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment for
introducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for some
days. It was really the Story Girl's idea and none of mine. But she had
insisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from myself.
"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, how
contrary she's been lately over anything I mention. And if she goes
against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn't be any fun if we
weren't all in it."
"What is it?" asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from
Peter's.
"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it all
ourselves, and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get a lot of
fun out of it?"
Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knew
what she had to do, and she did it.
"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her long
brown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!"
Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped.
"I think it's a splendid idea," she said enthusiastically. "I'd like to
know why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as they have in town!
Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to the dogs--all the news
it prints is that some old woman has put a shawl on her head and gone
across the road to have tea with another old woman. I guess we could do
better than that. You needn't think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you
can do anything."
"I think it would be great fun," said Peter decidedly. "My Aunt Jane
helped edit a paper when she was at Queen's Academy, and she said it was
very amusing and helped her a great deal."
The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes and
frowning.
"Bev wants to be editor," she said, "and I don't see how he can, with no
experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble."
"Some people are so afraid of a little bother," retorted Felicity.
"I think it would be nice," said Cecily timidly, "and none of us have
any experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that wouldn't
matter."
"Will it be printed?" asked Dan.
"Oh, no," I said. "We can't have it printed. We'll just have to write it
out--we can buy foolscap from the teacher."
"I don't think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn't printed," said
Dan scornfully.
"It doesn't matter very much what YOU think," said Felicity.
"Thank you," retorted Dan.
"Of course," said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan turned
against our project, "if all the rest of you want it I'll go in for it
too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I come to think of
it. And we'll keep the copies, and when we become famous they'll be
quite valuable."
"I wonder if any of us ever will be famous," said Felix.
"The Story Girl will be," I said.
"I don't see how she can be," said Felicity skeptically. "Why, she's
just one of us."
"Well, it's decided, then, that we're to have a newspaper," I resumed
briskly. "The next thing is to choose a name for it. That's a very
important thing."
"How often are you going to publish it?" asked Felix.
"Once a month."
"I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least," said
Dan.
"We couldn't have one every week," I explained. "It would be too much
work."
"Well, that's an argument," admitted Dan. "The less work you can get
along with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you needn't say it.
I know exactly what you want to say, so save your breath to cool your
porridge. I agree with you that I never work if I can find anything else
to do."
"'Remember it is harder still
To have no work to do,"'
quoted Cecily reprovingly.
"I don't believe THAT," rejoined Dan. "I'm like the Irishman who said he
wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it."
"Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?" asked Felix.
"Of course it is," Felicity answered for everybody.
"Then," said Felix, "I move that the name be The King Monthly Magazine."
"That sounds fine," said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearer
Felicity's.
"But," said Cecily timidly, "that will leave out | 926.872633 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: A flower shot down amid the crowd. Page 19.]
*Latter-Day Sweethearts*
By
*MRS. BURTON HARRISON*
Author of
"A Bachelor Maid,"
"The Carlyles," "The Circle of a Century,"
"The Anglomaniacs," Etc.
"La Duchesse.--'L'amour est le fleau du monde. Tous
nos maux nous viennent de lui.'
"Le Docteur.--'C'est le seul qui les guerisse,"
--"_Le Duel_," _Henri Lavedan_.
Illustrated in Water-Colors by FRANK T. MERRILL
A. S. & T. HUNTER
SPECIAL EDITION,
UTICA, N. Y.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
THE AUTHORS AND NEWSPAPERS ASSOCIATION
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
CONSTANCE BURTON HARRISON.
_Entered at Stationers' Hall._
_All Rights Reserved._
Composition and Electrotyping by
J. J. Little & Co.
Printed and bound by the
Plimpton Press, Norwood, Mass.
[Illustration: (Facsimile Page of Manuscript from LATTER-DAY
SWEETHEARTS)]
*LATTER-DAY
SWEETHEARTS*
*CHAPTER I*
In going aboard the "Baltic" that exceptionally fine October morning,
Miss Carstairs convinced herself that, of the people assembled to see
her off, no one could reasonably discern in her movement the suggestion
of a retreat. The commonplace of a sailing for the other side would not,
indeed, have met with the recognition of any attendance at the pier
among her set, save for her hint that she might remain abroad a year.
There had been a small rally on the part of a few friends who had
chanced to meet at a dinner overnight, to go down to the White Star
docks and say good-by to Helen Carstairs. Helen sincerely wished they
had not come, both because the ceremony proved a little flat, and
because, when she had time to think them over, she was not so sure they
were her friends.
But the main thing was that she had been able to withdraw, easily and
naturally, from a doubly trying situation. She had not wanted to go
abroad. All the novelty and sparkle had gone out of that business long
ago. She knew foreign travel from A to Z, and she loathed tables
d'hote, even more than the grim prospect of private meals with Miss
Bleecker in sitting-rooms redolent of departed food, insufficiently
atoned for by an encircling wilderness of gilding and red plush. The
very thought of a concierge with brass buttons lifting his cap to her
every time she crossed the hall, of hotel corridors decked with strange
foot gear upon which unmade bedrooms yawned, of cabs and galleries and
harpy dressmakers, of sights and fellow tourists, gave her a mental
qualm. But it was better than staying at home this winter in the big
house in Fifth Avenue where Mr. Carstairs had just brought a stepmother
for her, in the person of "that Mrs. Coxe."
There was apparently no valid reason for Helen's shuddering antipathy to
the lady, who had been the widow of a junior partner of her father, a
man whom Mr. Carstairs had "made," like many another beginning in his
employ.
Mr. Coxe had died two years before, of nervous overstrain, leaving this
flamboyantly handsome, youngish woman to profit by his gains. Helen had
always disliked having to ask the Coxes to dinner when her father's fiat
compelled her to preside over the dull banquets of certain
smartly-dressed women and weary, driven men, whom he assembled at
intervals around his board. She could not say what she objected to in
Mrs. Coxe; she thought it might be her giggle and her double chin. It
had been always a relief when one of these "business" dinners was over,
and she knew she would not have to do it soon again. When Mr. Carstairs
dined in return with the Coxes, they had him at some fashionable
restaurant, taking him afterward to the play. Mrs. Coxe had shown sense
enough for that! During the interregnum of Mrs. Co | 926.967403 |
2023-11-16 18:32:31.2034470 | 2,673 | 18 |
Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Alan 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.)
TRAVELS
IN
PERU AND INDIA.
[Illustration: HINCHONA-PLANTS AT OOTACAMUND,
In August 1881 (from a Photograph). A flowering branch of Chinchona in
the foreground. FRONTISPIECE. Page 487]
TRAVELS
IN
PERU AND INDIA
WHILE SUPERINTENDING THE COLLECTION OF CHINCHONA
PLANTS AND SEEDS IN SOUTH AMERICA, AND
THEIR INTRODUCTION INTO INDIA.
BY CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, F.S.A., F.R.G.S.,
CORR. MEM. OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CHILE;
AUTHOR OF 'CUZCO AND LIMA.'
WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1862.
_The right of Translation is reserved._
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE.
[Illustration]
THE introduction of quinine-yielding Chinchona-trees into India, and
the cultivation of the "Peruvian Bark" in our Eastern possessions,
where that inestimable febrifuge is almost a necessary of life, has
for some years engaged the attention of the Indian Government. In 1859
the author of the present work was intrusted, by the Secretary of
State for India in Council, with the duty of superintending all the
necessary arrangements for the collection of Chinchona-plants and seeds
of the species esteemed in commerce, in South America, and for their
introduction into India. This important measure has now been crowned
with complete success, and it is the object of the following pages
to relate the previous history of the Chinchona-plant; to describe
the forests in South America where the most valuable species grow; to
record the labours of those who were engaged in exploring them; and to
give an account of all the proceedings connected with the cultivation
of Chinchona-plants in India.
In the performance of this service it was a part of my duty to explore
the forests of the Peruvian province of Caravaya, which has never yet
been described by any English traveller; and the first part of the work
is occupied by an account of the various species of Chinchona-plants
and their previous history, a narrative of my travels in Peru, and a
record of the labours of the agents whom I employed to collect plants
and seeds of the various species of Chinchonæ in other parts of South
America.
The traveller who ascends to the lofty plateau of the Cordilleras
cannot fail to be deeply interested in the former history and
melancholy fate of the Peruvian Indians; and some account of their
condition under Spanish colonial rule, and of the insurrection of
Tupac Amaru, the last of the Incas, will, I trust, not be unwelcome.
I have devoted three chapters to these subjects, which will form a
short digression on our way to the Chinchona forests. I am indebted
to the late General Miller, and to Dr. Vigil, the learned Director of
the National Library at Lima, for much new and very curious material
throwing light on that period of Spanish colonial history which
includes the great rebellion of the Peruvian Indians in 1780.
The second part of the work contains a narrative of my travels in
India, a description of the sites selected for Chinchona-plantations,
and an account of the progress of the experimental cultivation of those
inestimable trees, from the arrival of the plants and seeds, early in
1861, to the latest dates.
In conducting the operations connected with the collection of
Chinchona-plants and seeds in South America, I obtained the services
of Mr. Spruce, Mr. Pritchett, Mr. Cross, and Mr. Weir; and it affords
me great pleasure to have this opportunity of publicly recording their
perseverance in facing many dangers and hardships, and in doing the
work that was allotted to them so ably, and with such complete success.
To Mr. Richard Spruce, an eminent botanist who has for eight years
been engaged in exploring the basin of the Amazons, from Para to the
peaks of the Quitenian Andes, and from the falls of the Orinoco to the
head-waters of the Huallaga, the largest share of credit, so far as
the South American portion of the enterprise is concerned, undoubtedly
belongs. I have endeavoured to do justice to his untiring energy and
zeal, and to the important service which he has rendered to India.
But the collection of plants and seeds in South America, and their
conveyance to the shores of India, would have been of little use if
they had not been delivered into competent hands on arriving at their
destination. To the scientific and practical knowledge, the unwearied
zeal, and skilful management of Mr. McIvor, the Superintendent of the
Government Gardens at Ootacamund, on the Neilgherry hills, is therefore
due the successful introduction of Chinchona-plants into India. His
care has now been fully rewarded, and the experiment has reached a
point which places it beyond the possibility of ultimate failure.
I am indebted to Sir William Hooker, who has, from the first, taken a
deep interest in this beneficial measure, for many acts of kindness,
and for his readiness to give me valuable advice and assistance; while
he has rendered most essential service in successfully raising a large
number of Chinchona-plants at Kew. To Dr. Weddell my thanks are due
for much information most promptly and kindly supplied; and to Mr.
Howard for the important suggestions and information with which he
has frequently favoured me, and which no scientific man in Europe is
better able to give. It is a fortunate circumstance that his invaluable
and superbly illustrated work on the Chinchona genus should have been
published just at the time when the Chinchonæ are about to be planted
out in India and Ceylon, for from no other source could the cultivators
derive so large an amount of valuable information. Mr. Howard has
likewise done good service by presenting the Indian Government with
a fine healthy plant of _Chinchona Uritusinga_, a species which had
not previously been introduced. I take this opportunity of expressing
my thanks for much assistance from Dr. Seemann, the able Editor of
the 'Bonplandia;' from Mr. Dalzell, the Conservator of Forests in
the Bombay Presidency; from Dr. Forbes Watson, the Reporter on the
vegetable products of India, at the India Office; from Mr. Veitch, of
the Royal Exotic Nursery at Chelsea; and from many kind friends both
in Peru and India. I am also indebted to Mr. Alexander Smith, son of
Mr. John Smith, the Curator of the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew, for
an interesting note on the principal plants employed by the natives of
India on account of their real or supposed febrifugal virtues, which
will be found in an Appendix.
The botanical name for the plants which yield Peruvian bark was given
by Linnæus, in honour of the Countess of Chinchon, who was one of the
first Europeans cured by this priceless febrifuge. The word has been
generally, but most erroneously, spelt _Cinchona_; and, considering
that such mis-spelling is no mark of respect to the lady whose memory
it is intended to preserve, while it defeats the intention of Linnæus
to do her honour, I have followed the good example of Mr. Howard and
the Spanish botanists in adopting the correct way of spelling the
word--_Chinchona_.[1] The Counts of Chinchon, the hereditary Alcaides
of the Alcazar of Segovia, do not hold so obscure a place in history as
to excuse the continuance of this mis-spelling of their name.
After much anxiety, extending over a period of three years; after all
the hardships, dangers, and toils which a search in virgin tropical
forests entails; and after more than one disappointment, it is a
source of gratification and thankfulness that this great and important
measure, fraught with blessings to the people of India, and with no
less beneficial results to the whole civilized world, should have been
finally attended with complete success, in spite of difficulties of no
ordinary character. How complete this success has been, will be seen
by a perusal of the two last chapters of the present work, and of Mr.
McIvor's very interesting Report in the Appendix; it is sufficient here
to say that it has exceeded our most sanguine expectations.
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
TRAVELS IN PERU.
[Illustration]
PREFACE PAGE V
CHAPTER I.
DISCOVERY OF PERUVIAN BARK.
The Countess of Chinchon--Introduction of the use of bark into
Europe--M. La Condamine's first description of a
_chinchona_-tree--J. de Jussieu--Description
of the chinchona region--The different valuable species--The
discovery of quinine 1
CHAPTER II.
THE VALUABLE SPECIES OF CHINCHONA-TREES--THEIR HISTORY, THEIR
DISCOVERERS, AND THEIR FORESTS.
I. The Loxa region and its _crown barks_ 21
II. The "_red-bark_" region, on the western <DW72>s of
Chimborazo 26
III. The New Granada region 27
IV. The Huanuco region in Northern Peru, and its
"_grey barks_" 30
V. The _Calisaya_ region in Bolivia and Southern Peru 35
CHAPTER III.
Rapid destruction of chinchona-trees in South America--Importance
of their introduction into other countries--M. Hasskarl's
mission--Chinchona plantations in Java 44
CHAPTER IV.
INTRODUCTION OF CHINCHONA-PLANTS INTO INDIA.
Preliminary arrangements 60
CHAPTER V.
Islay and Arequipa 69
CHAPTER VI.
Journey across the Cordillera to Puno 88
CHAPTER VII.
LAKE TITICACA.
The Aymara Indians--Their antiquities--Tiahuanaco--Coati--Sillustani
--Copacabana 108
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PERUVIAN INDIANS.
Their condition under Spanish colonial rule 117
CHAPTER IX.
Narrative of the insurrection of José Gabriel Tupac Amaru, the last
of the Incas 134
CHAPTER X.
Diego Tupac Amaru--Fate of the Inca's family--Insurrection of
Pumacagua 158
CHAPTER XI.
Journey from Puno to Crucero, the capital of Caravaya 180
CHAPTER XII.
THE PROVINCE OF CARAVAYA.
A short historical and geographical description 199
CHAPTER XIII.
Caravaya--The valley of Sandia 216
CHAPTER XIV.
Coca cultivation 232
CHAPTER XV.
CARAVAYA.
Chinchona forests of Tambopata 240
CHAPTER XVI.
General remarks on the chinchona-plants of Caravaya 267
CHAPTER XVII.
JOURNEY FROM THE FORESTS OF TAMBOPATA TO THE PORT OF ISLAY.
Establishment of the plants in Wardian cases 275
CHAPTER XVIII.
PRESENT CONDITION AND FUTURE PROSPECTS OF PERU.
Population--Civil wars--Government--Constitution--General Castilla
and his ministers--Dr. Vigil--Mariano | 927.223487 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: George William Curtis]
FROM THE
EASY CHAIR
BY
GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS
_THIRD SERIES_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HARPER AND BROTHERS
MDCCCXCIV
Copyright, 1894, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS
PAGE
HAWTHORNE AND BROOK FARM 1
BEECHER IN HIS PULPIT AFTER THE DEATH OF LINCOLN 20
KILLING DEER 28
AUTUMN DAYS 37
FROM COMO TO MILAN DURING THE WAR OF 1848 43
HERBERT SPENCER ON THE YANKEE 56
HONOR 65
JOSEPH WESLEY HARPER 72
REVIEW OF UNION TROOPS, 1865 78
APRIL, 1865 88
WASHINGTON IN 1867 94
RECEPTION TO THE JAPANESE AMBASSADORS AT THE WHITE HOUSE 102
THE MAID AND THE WIT 112
THE DEPARTURE OF THE _GREAT EASTERN_ 120
CHURCH STREET 127
HISTORIC BUILDINGS 140
THE BOSTON MUSIC HALL 151
PUBLIC BENEFACTORS 162
MR. TIBBINS'S NEW-YEAR'S CALL 169
THE NEW ENGLAND SABBATH 178
THE REUNION OF ANTISLAVERY VETERANS, 1884 185
REFORM CHARITY 193
BICYCLE RIDING FOR CHILDREN 204
THE DEAD BIRD UPON CYRILLA'S HAT AN ENCOURAGEMENT OF "SLARTER" 210
CHEAPENING HIS NAME 214
CLERGYMEN'S SALARIES 221
HAWTHORNE AND BROOK FARM
In his preface to the _Marble Faun_, as before in that to _The
Blithedale Romance_, Hawthorne complained that there was no romantic
element in American life; or, as he expressed it, "There is as yet no
such Faery-land so like the real world that, in a suitable remoteness,
one cannot tell the difference, but with an atmosphere of strange
enchantment, beheld through which the inhabitants have a propriety of
their own." This he says in _The Blithedale_ preface, and then adds
that, to obviate this difficulty and supply a proper scene for his
figures, "the author has ventured to make free with his old and
affectionately remembered home at Brook Farm as being certainly the most
romantic episode of his own life, essentially a day-dream, and yet a
fact, and thus offering an available foothold between fiction and
reality." Probably a genuine Brook-Farmer doubts whether Hawthorne
remembered the place and his life there very affectionately, in the
usual sense of that word, and although in sending the book to one of
them, at least, he said that it was not to be considered a picture of
actual life or character. "Do not read it as if it had anything to do
with Brook Farm [which essentially it has not], but merely for its own
story and characters," yet it is plain that it is a very faithful
picture of the kind of impression that the enterprise made upon him.
Strangely enough, Hawthorne is likely to be the chief future authority
upon "the romantic episode" of Brook Farm. Those who had it at heart
more than he whose faith and hope and energy were all devoted to its
development, and many of whom have every ability to make a permanent
record, have never done so, and it is already so much of a thing of the
past that it will probably never be done. But the memory of the place
and of the time has been recently pleasantly refreshed by the lecture of
Mr. Emerson and the _Note-Book_ of Hawthorne. Mr. Emerson, whose mind
and heart are ever hospitable, was one of the chief, indeed the
chiefest, figure in this country of the famous intellectual
"Renaissance" of twenty-five years ago, which, as is generally the case,
is historically known by its nickname of "Transcendentalism," a
spiritual fermentation from which some of the best modern influences of
this country have proceeded.
In his late lecture upon the general subject, Mr. Emerson says that the
mental excitement began to take practical form nearly thirty years ago,
when Dr. Channing counselled with George Ripley upon the practicability
of bringing thoughtful and cultivated people together and forming a
society that should be satisfactory. "That good attempt," says Emerson,
with a sly smile, "ended in an oyster supper with excellent wines." But
a little later it was revived under better auspices, and as Brook Farm
made a name which will not be forgotten. Mr. Emerson was never a
resident, but he was sometimes a visitor and guest, and the more ardent
minds of the romantic colony were always much under his influence. With
his sensitively humorous eye he seizes | 927.321718 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Leonora Dias de Lima, Henry
Gardiner and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS at the end of
the text. This etext presumes a mono-spaced font on the user's device,
such as Courier New. Words in italics are indicated like _this_. Text
emphasized with bold characters or other treatment is shown like =this=.
The author indicates questionable data with (?). Superscripts are
indicated like this: S^{ta} Maria. Subscripts are indicated like this:
H_{2}O. Examples of short and long vowels: [)a]: "a" with a breve
overhead, indicating a short vowel. [=o]: "o" with a macron overhead,
indicating a long vowel. [oe] is the oe ligature.
* * * * *
COOLEY'S CYCLOPAEDIA
OF
PRACTICAL RECEIPTS
AND
COLLATERAL INFORMATION
IN THE
ARTS, MANUFACTURES, PROFESSIONS, AND TRADES
INCLUDING
Medicine, Pharmacy, Hygiene, and Domestic Economy
DESIGNED AS A COMPREHENSIVE
SUPPLEMENT TO THE PHARMACOP[OE]IA
AND
GENERAL BOOK OF REFERENCE
FOR THE MANUFACTURER, TRADESMAN, AMATEUR, AND
HEADS OF FAMILIES
SIXTH EDITION
REVISED AND GREATLY ENLARGED BY
RICHARD V. TUSON, F.I.C., F.C.S.
PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IN THE ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE;
FORMERLY LECTURER ON CHEMISTRY AT THE CHARING CROSS HOSPITAL.
VOL. I
[Illustration]
LONDON
J. & A. CHURCHILL, NEW BURLINGTON STREET
1880
PRINTED BY ADLARD AND SON BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION
Some one has said that "when a book reaches a fifth edition it scarcely
requires a preface." If such be true of a fifth, it is probably still
truer of a sixth edition, and therefore this issue of 'Cooley's
Cyclopaedia' might fairly be sent forth to the public without any prefatory
remarks whatever. It is, however, desirable to point out that the present
edition is larger than the last by about six hundred pages; that much
greater space than hitherto is devoted to Hygiene (including sanitation,
the composition and adulteration of foods) as well as to the Arts,
Pharmacy, Manufacturing Chemistry, and other subjects of importance to
those for whom the work is intended.
The articles on what is commonly termed 'Household Medicine' have been
amplified and numerically increased.
Short accounts of the more common diseases, their causes, symptoms, and
treatment, affecting the domesticated animals have been introduced. "Here,
however, it may be useful to repeat the cautions given in other parts of
this volume, as to the impropriety of unnecessarily meddling with the
healing art or neglecting a prompt application" (where and when possible)
"to a duly qualified practitioner in all cases demanding medical or
surgical aid." These remarks of Mr Cooley are as applicable to cases of
Veterinary as to those of Human Medicine.
Numerous authors have necessarily been consulted; a list of them, and the
titles of their works from which information has been derived, will be
found at the end of the second volume. When extracts have been introduced
_verbatim_ the authority is quoted in the body of the book.
Many of my scientific _confreres_ have rendered me valuable aid in
preparing this edition; but I am particularly indebted to my accomplished
and zealous friend Mr John Gardner for his hearty and constant
co-operation; to Dr Lionel Beale for his kindness in revising the articles
on "Urine," "Urinary Diseases," &c., as well as for the use of cuts from
his celebrated works on these subjects; to my friend and former pupil Mr
F. Woodland Toms for revising and rewriting the articles on "Sewage" and
"Water;" and to my assistants Mr James Bayne and Mr Cuthbert Neison for
correcting "proof."
The laborious task of preparing a sixth edition of 'Cooley' having been
accomplished, it is hoped that, due consideration being given to the
magnitude of the work and to the great variety of the subjects treated, it
will be found to be practically free from important errors, and that it
| 927.323245 |
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Produced by Steven Giacomelli and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images produced by Core Historical Literature
in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University)
MYSTERIES
OF
BEE-KEEPING EXPLAINED:
BEING A COMPLETE
ANALYSIS OF THE WHOLE SUBJECT;
CONSISTING OF
THE NATURAL HISTORY OF BEES, DIRECTIONS FOR OBTAINING THE GREATEST
AMOUNT OF PURE SURPLUS HONEY WITH THE LEAST POSSIBLE
EXPENSE, REMEDIES FOR LOSSES GIVEN, AND THE SCIENCE OF
"LUCK" FULLY ILLUSTRATED--THE RESULT OF MORE
THAN TWENTY YEARS' EXPERIENCE IN
EXTENSIVE APIARIES.
BY M. QUINBY,
PRACTICAL BEE-KEEPER.
NEW YORK:
C. M. SAXTON, AGRICULTURAL BOOK PUBLISHER
152 FULTON STREET.
1853.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
M. QUINBY,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New York.
E. O. JENKINS, PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER,
114 NASSAU STREET, N. YORK.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
BRIEF HISTORY.
Three kinds of Bees, 9
Queen described, 9
Description and Duty of Workers, 10
Description of Drones, 11
Most Brood in Spring, 11
Their Industry, 12
CHAPTER II.
HIVES.
Hives to be thoroughly made, 13
Different opinions about them, 14
The Author has no Patent to recommend, 14
Speculators supported long enough, 15
Prefix of Patent a bad recommendation, 15
Ignorance of affairs and committees, 15
Opposition to simplicity, 16
By gaining one point produce another evil, 16
First Delusion, 17
Chamber Hive, 17
Mrs. Griffith's Hive, 18
Weeks' Improvement, 18
Inclined Bottom-Boards do not throw out all the worms, 19
Objections to suspended hives, 19
See bees often, 20
Hall's Patent, 21
Jones's Patent, 21
An Experiment, 21
Reason of failure in dividing hive, 22
Cause of starving in such hives, 23
Advantages of the changeable hive considered, 24
Variation of these hives, 25
Expense in constructing changeable hives, 25
The surplus honey will contain bee-bread, 26
Description of Cutting's changeable hive, 26
First objection cost of construction, 28
Hives can be made with less expense, 29
Old breeding cells will last a long time, 29
Cells larger than necessary at first, 30
Expense of renewing combs, 30
Best to use old combs as long as they will last, 31
Method for Pruning when necessary, 31
Tools for Pruning, 32
Use of Tobacco Smoke, 33
Further objections to a sectional hive, 34
Non-Swarmers, 35
Contrast of profit, 35
Principle of swarming not understood, 36
Not to be depended upon, 37
Hives not always full before swarming, 37
Size of hives needed, 37
An Experiment, 37
Bees do not increase if full after the first year in same hive, 38
Gillmore's system doubted, 39
Utility of moth-proof hives doubted, 39
Instincts of the bee always the same, 40
Profit the object, 41
Common hive recommended, 42
Size Important, 42
Small hives most liable to accidents, 42
Apt to deceive, 43
Unprofitable if too large, 43
Correct size between two extremes, 43
Size for warm latitudes, 44
Larger hives more safe for long Winters or backward Spring, 44
2,000 inches safe for this section, 45
Kind of Wood, width of Board, &c., 46
Shape of little consequence, 46
Directions for making hives, 47
Size of cap and boxes, 48
Miner's Hive, 48
Directions for making holes, 49
A Suggestion, 50
Glass boxes preferred, 51
Glass boxes--how made, 51
Guide-combs necessary, 52
Wood Boxes, 53
Cover for Hives, 54
Jars and Tumblers--how prepared, 54
Perfect Observatory Hive described, 55
One like Common Hive preferred, 56
What may be seen, 56
Directions for making Glass Hive, 57
Plate for Hive, 61
CHAPTER III.
BREEDING.
Imperfectly Understood, 62
Good stocks seldom without brood, 63
How small stocks commence, 64
Different with larger ones, 65
How Pollen is stored in the breeding season, 65
Operation of Laying, and the Eggs described, 66
Time from the Egg to the perfect Bee, 67
Rough treatment of the young Bee, 67
Guess-work, 68
Terms applied to young Bees, 69
Discrepancy in time in rearing brood as given by Huber, 70
The number of Eggs deposited by the Queen guessed at, 71
A test for the presence of a Queen, 73
When Drones are reared, 74
When Queens, 74
Liability of being destroyed, 76
Drones destroyed when honey is scarce, 77
Old Queen leaves with the first swarm, 78
A young Queen takes the place of her mother in the old stock, 79
Other Theories, 80
Subject not understood, 80
Necessity for further observation, 84
Two sides of the question, 85
CHAPTER IV.
BEE PASTURAGE.
Substitute for Pollen, 88
Manner of packing it, 89
Alder yields the first, 89
Fruit Flowers important in good weather, 91
Red Raspberry a favorite, 91
Catnip, Mother-wort and Hoarhound, are sought after, 92
Singular fatality attendant on Silkweed, 93
Large yield from Basswood, 96
Garden Flowers unimportant, 97
Honey-dew, 97
Singular Secretion, 98
Secretions of the Aphis, 98
Advantages of Buckwheat, 101
Amount of honey collected from it, 101
Do Bees injure the crop? 102
Are not Bees an advantage to vegetation? 103
A test for the presence of Queen doubted, 106
An extra quantity of Pollen not always detrimental, 107
What combs are generally free from Bee-bread, 108
Manner of packing stores, 108
Philosophy in filling a cell with honey, 109
Long cells sometimes turned | 927.541797 |
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A HAZARD OF NEW FORTUNES
By William Dean Howells
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
The following story was the first fruit of my New York life when I began
to live it after my quarter of a century in Cambridge and Boston, ending
in 1889; and I used my own transition to the commercial metropolis in
framing the experience which was wholly that of my supposititious
literary adventurer. He was a character whom, with his wife, I have
employed in some six or eight other stories, and whom I made as much the
hero and heroine of 'Their Wedding Journey' as the slight fable would
bear. In venturing out of my adoptive New England, where I had found
myself at home with many imaginary friends, I found it natural to ask the
company of these familiar acquaintances, but their company was not to be
had at once for the asking. When I began speaking of them as Basil and
Isabel, in the fashion of 'Their Wedding Journey,' they would not respond
with the effect of early middle age which I desired in them. They
remained wilfully, not to say woodenly, the young bridal pair of that
romance, without the promise of novel functioning. It was not till I
tried addressing them as March and Mrs. March that they stirred under my
hand with fresh impulse, and set about the work assigned them as people
in something more than their second youth.
The scene into which I had invited them to figure filled the largest
canvas I had yet allowed myself; and, though 'A Hazard of New Fortunes
was not the first story I had written with the printer at my heels, it
was the first which took its own time to prescribe its own dimensions. I
had the general design well in mind when I began to write it, but as it
advanced it compelled into its course incidents, interests,
individualities, which I had not known lay near, and it specialized and
amplified at points which I had not always meant to touch, though I
should not like to intimate anything mystical in the fact. It became, to
my thinking, the most vital of my fictions, through my quickened interest
in the life about me, at a moment of great psychological import. We had
passed through a period of strong emotioning in the direction of the
humaner economics, if I may phrase it so; the rich seemed not so much to
despise the poor, the poor did not so hopelessly repine. The solution of
the riddle of the painful earth through the dreams of Henry George,
through the dreams of Edward Bellamy, through the dreams of all the
generous visionaries of the past, seemed not impossibly far off. That
shedding of blood which is for the remission of sins had been symbolized
by the bombs and scaffolds of Chicago, and the hearts of those who felt
the wrongs bound up with our rights, the slavery implicated in our
liberty, were thrilling with griefs and hopes hitherto strange to the
average American breast. Opportunely for me there was a great street-car
strike in New York, and the story began to find its way to issues nobler
and larger than those of the love-affairs common to fiction. I was in my
fifty-second year when I took it up, and in the prime, such as it was, of
my powers. The scene which I had chosen appealed prodigiously to me, and
the action passed as nearly without my conscious agency as I ever allow
myself to think such things happen.
The opening chapters were written in a fine, old fashioned apartment
house which had once been a family house, and in an uppermost room of
which I could look from my work across the trees of the little park in
Stuyvesant Square to the towers of St. George's Church. Then later in the
spring of 1889 the unfinished novel was carried to a country house on the
Belmont border of Cambridge. There I must have written very rapidly to
have pressed it to conclusion before the summer ended. It came, indeed,
so easily from the pen that I had the misgiving which I always have of
things which do not cost me great trouble.
There is nothing in the book with which I amused myself more than the
house-hunting of the Marches when they were placing themselves in New
York; and if the contemporary reader should | 927.640184 |
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The Sign of the Four
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Contents
Chapter I
The Science of Deduction
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and
his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,
white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back
his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully
upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with
innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home,
pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined
arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but
custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to
day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled
nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to
protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver
my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant
air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would
care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his
masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many
extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing
him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken
with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme
deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no
longer.
"Which is it to-day?" I asked,--"morphine or cocaine?"
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he
had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent. solution.
Would you care to try it?"
"No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has not got over
the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain
upon it."
He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said.
"I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it,
however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that
its secondary action is a matter of small moment."
"But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may,
as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid
process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a
permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon
you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for
a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which
you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to
another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to
some extent answerable."
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips
together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who
has a relish for conversation.
"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me
work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate
analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then
with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence.
I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own
particular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the only one in
the world."
"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "I am the
last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or
Lestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the way,
is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine the
data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no
credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work
itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my
highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my
methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."
"Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck by anything
in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat
fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"
He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he. "Honestly, I
cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an
exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional
manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which
produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an
elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid."
"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamper with
the facts."
"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of
proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the
case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from
effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it."
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially
designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the
egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be
devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years
that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small
vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no
remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet
through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from
walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.
"My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes,
after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted
last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come
rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has all
the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide
range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher developments
of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some
features of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases,
the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have
suggested to him the true solution. Here is the letter which I had
this morning acknowledging my assistance." He tossed over, as he
spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down
it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray
"magnifiques," "coup-de-maitres," and "tours-de-force," all testifying
to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.
"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes, lightly.
"He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three
qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of
observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge;
and that may come in time. He is now translating my small works into
French."
"Your works?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty of
several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for
example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various
Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar-,
cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with plates illustrating the
difference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up
in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a
clue. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has
been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously
narrows your field of search. To the trained eye there is as much
difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff
of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato."
"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked.
"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing
of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a
preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon the
influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the
hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and
diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest to the
scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in
discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my
hobby."
"Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest
to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your
practical application of it. But you spoke just now of observation and
deduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other."
"Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his arm-chair,
and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "For example,
observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street
Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there
you dispatched a telegram."
"Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that I don't
see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I
have mentioned it to no one."
"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my surprise,--"so
absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may
serve to define the limits of observation and of deduction.
Observation tells me that you have a little reddish mould adhering to
your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they have taken
up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that
it is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is of
this peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as I know, nowhere
else in the neighborhood. So much is observation. The rest is
deduction."
"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"
"Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat
opposite to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there that
you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of post-cards. What
could you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire?
Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the
truth."
"In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a little thought.
"The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest. Would you think
me impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe test?"
"On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a
second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problem
which you might submit to me."
"I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any object
in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality upon it
in such a way that a trained observer might read it. Now, I have here
a watch which has recently come into my possession. Would you have the
kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the
late owner?"
I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my
heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I
intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he
occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at
the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked
eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep from
smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and
handed it back.
"There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been recently
cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts."
"You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent to me."
In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and
impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from
an uncleaned watch?
"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he
observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes.
"Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to
your elder brother, who inherited it from your father."
"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?"
"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is
nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so
it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descends to the
eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the father.
Your father has, if I remember right, been dead many years. It has,
therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."
"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"
"He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He was left
with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time
in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally,
taking to drink, he died. That is all I can gather."
I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with
considerable bitterness in my heart.
"This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not have believed
that you would have descended to this. You have made inquires into the
history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this
knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that
you have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to speak
plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it."
"My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies. Viewing
the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and
painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I
never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch."
"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts?
They are absolutely correct in every particular."
"Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of
probability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate."
"But it was not mere guess-work?"
"No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive to the
logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do
not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which
large inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that your
brother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that
watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but it
is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard
objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no
great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so
cavalierly must be a careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched
inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty
well provided for in other respects."
I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.
"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a
watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the
inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there is no risk
of the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than four
such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case.
Inference,--that your brother was often at low water. Secondary
inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could
not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner
plate, which contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of scratches
all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What sober man's
key could have scored those grooves? But you will never see a
drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he leaves
these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?"
"It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret the injustice
which I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous
faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot
at present?"
"None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else
is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a
dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down
the street and drifts across the dun- houses. What could be
more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having
powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime
is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those
which are commonplace have any function upon earth."
I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock
our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.
"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion.
"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the
name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor.
I should prefer that you remain."
Chapter II
The Statement of the Case
Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure
of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved,
and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness
and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of
limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and
unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved
only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither
regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was
sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual
and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many
nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face
which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could
not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed
for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign
of intense inward agitation.
"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabled
my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic
complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill."
"Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that I
was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember
it, was a very simple one."
"She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine.
I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable,
than the situation in which I find myself."
Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in
his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his
clear-cut, hawklike features. "State your case," said he, in brisk,
business tones.
I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am sure,
excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.
To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.
"If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might be
of inestimable service to me."
I relapsed into my chair.
"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an
officer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a
child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was
placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh,
and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year
1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve
months' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me from London that he
had arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the
Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of
kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham, and was
informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone
out the night before and had not yet returned. I waited all day without
news of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I
communicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all the
papers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from that day to this no
word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with
his heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and
instead--" She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short
the sentence.
"The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.
"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years ago."
"His luggage?"
"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a
clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of
curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers
in charge of the convict-guard there."
"Had he any friends in town?"
"Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th
Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before, and
lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but he
did not even know that his brother officer was in England."
"A singular case," remarked Holmes.
"I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six
years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisement
appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and
stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was
no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the
family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her
advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same
day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed to
me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word
of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same date
there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl,
without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an
expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see
for yourselves that they are very handsome." She opened a flat box as
she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.
"Your statement is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "Has
anything else occurred to you?"
"Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. This
morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for
yourself."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark,
London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on
corner,--probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence
a packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at the
third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven
o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged
woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all
will be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, this is a very
pretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?"
"That is exactly what I want to ask you."
"Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. Watson
is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I have
worked together before."
"But would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in her voice
and expression.
"I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I can be of any
service."
"You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retired life,
and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it
will do, I suppose?"
"You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is one other point,
however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box
addresses?"
"I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of
paper.
"You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition.
Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon the table, and gave
little darting glances from one to the other. "They are disguised
hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be no
question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will
break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by
the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss
Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of
your father?"
"Nothing could be more unlike."
"I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at
six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter
before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then."
"Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from
one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and
hurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly
down the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a
speck in the sombre crowd.
"What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning to my companion.
He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids.
"Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe."
"You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried. "There
is something positively inhuman in you at times."
He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "not to
allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to
me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are
antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning
woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for
their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is
a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the
London poor."
"In this case, however--"
"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you
ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make
of this fellow's scribble?"
"It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of business habits and
some force of character."
Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said. "They
hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l an
e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters, however
illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k's and
self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few
references to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the most
remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's 'Martyrdom of Man.' I
shall be back in an hour."
I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were
far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our
late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the
strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the
time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--a
sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a
little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerous
thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged
furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army
surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I should
dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more.
If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man
than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the
imagination.
Chapter III
In Quest of a Solution
It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager,
and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with
fits of the blackest depression.
"There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup of
tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit of only
one explanation."
"What! you have solved it already?"
"Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive
fact, that is all. It is, however, VERY suggestive. The details are
still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of
the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay
Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882."
"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests."
"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan
disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is
Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.
Four years later Sholto dies. WITHIN A WEEK OF HIS DEATH Captain
Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from
year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a
wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of
her father? And why should the presents begin immediately after
Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir knows something of the
mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative
theory which will meet the facts?"
"But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too,
should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the
letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is
too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other
injustice in her case that you know of."
"There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said
Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will solve
them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are
you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the
hour."
I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes
took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It
was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious one.
Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was
composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not
feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were
embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered
the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.
"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "His
letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in
command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a
great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's
desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose that it is of the
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THE IRON TREVET
OR
JOCELYN THE CHAMPION
A Tale of the Jacquerie
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
DANIEL DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, 1906
Copyright, 1906, by the
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Etienne Marcel, John Maillart, William Caillet, Adam the Devil and
Charles the Wicked, King of Navarre, are the five leading personages in
this story. Their figures and actions, the virtues and foibles of the
ones, the vices of the others, the errors of all, are drawn with strict
historic accuracy, all the five being historic characters. Seeing the
historic importance of the epoch in which they figured, and the types
that these five men represent, the story of "The Iron Trevet; or,
Jocelyn, the Champion" is more than an historic narrative, it is more
than a treatise on the philosophy of history, it is a treatise on human
nature, it is a compendium of lessons inestimable to whomsoever his or
her good or evil genius throws into the clash of human currents, and to
those who, though not themselves participants, still may wish to
understand that which they are spectators of and which, some way or
other, they are themselves affected by and, some way or other, are bound
to either support or resist.
In a way, "The Iron Trevet; or, Jocelyn the Champion" is the uniquest of
the series of brilliant stories that the genius of Eugene Sue has
enriched the world with under the collective title of "The Mysteries of
the People"--we can recall no other instance in which so much profound
and practical instruction is so skillfully clad in the pleasing drapery
of fiction, and one within so small a compass.
To America whose youthful years deprive her of historic perspective,
this little story, or rather work, can not but be of service. To that
vast English-speaking world at large, now throbbing with the pulse of
awakening aspirations, this translation discloses another treasure
trove, long and deliberately held closed to it in the wrappage of the
foreign tongue in which the original appeared.
DANIEL DE LEON.
New York, April 13, 1904.
INDEX
Translator's Preface iii
Part I. The Seigniory of Nointel.
Chapter 1. The Tavern of Alison the Huffy 10
Chapter 2. The Amende Honorable 26
Chapter 3. The Tournament 34
Chapter 4. The Judicial Combat 39
Chapter 5. Sheet Lightenings 50
Chapter 6. Prophecies and Premonitions 58
Chapter 7. Wrecked Hearts 65
Part II. The Regency of Normandy.
Chapter 1. The States General 74
Chapter 2. Etienne Marcel 77
Chapter 3. The Man of the Furred Cap 83
Chapter 4. The Serpent Under the Grass 97
Chapter 5. Charles the Wicked 105
Chapter 6. The Meeting at the Cordeliers 118
Chapter 7. Popular Justice 126
Chapter 8. "The Hour Has Sounded!" 143
Part III. The Jacquerie.
Chapter 1. Captain Griffith and His Chaplain 154
Chapter 2. The Fox's Burrow 161
Chapter 3. The Castle of Chivry 175
Chapter 4. Jacquerie! Jacquerie! 180
Chapter 5. The Orville Bridge 191
Chapter 6. "On to Clermont!" 207
Chapter 7. Clermont 211
Part IV. John Maillart.
Chapter 1. The Wages of Envy 228
Chapter 2. Last Day at Home 239
Chapter 3. Darkening Shadows 247
Chapter 4. Plotters Uncovered 258
Chapter 5. The Gate of St. Antoine 267
Epilogue 270
PART I.
THE SEIGNIORY OF NOINTEL.
CHAPTER I.
THE TAVERN OF ALISON THE HUFFY.
On a Sunday, towards the end of the month of October of 1356, a great
stir was noticeable since early morning in the little town of Nointel,
situated a few leagues from the city of Beauvais, in the department of
Beauvoisis. The tavern of Alison the Huffy--so nicknamed from her hot
temper, although she was a good woman--was rapidly filling with
artisans, villeins and serfs who came to wait for the hour of mass at
the tavern, where, due to the prevailing poverty, little was drunk and
much talked. Alison never complained. As talkative as huffy, dame Alison
preferred to see her tavern full with chatterers than empty of tipplers.
Still fresh and buxom, though on the shady side of thirty, she wore a
short skirt and low bodice--probably because her bust was well rounded
and her limbs well shaped. Black of hair, bright of eyes, white of
teeth, and quick of hands, more than once since her widowhood, had
Alison broken a bumper over the head of some customer, whom liquor had
rendered too expressive in his admiration for her charms. Accordingly,
like a prudent housekeeper, she had taken the precaution of replacing
her earthenware bumpers with pewter ones. That morning the dame seemed
to be in a particular huffy mood, judging by her rumpling brows, her
brusque motions, and her sharp and cross words.
Presently, the door of the tavern was darkened and in stepped a man of
vigorous age, with an angular and sun-burnt face, whose only striking
features were two little, piercing, crafty and savage eyes half hidden
under his eyebrows thick and grizzly like his hair, that escaped in
disorder from under his old woolen cap. He had traveled a long distance;
his wooden shoes, shabby cloth leggings and patched smock-frock were
covered with dust. He was noticeably tired; it was with difficulty that
he moved his limbs with the support of a knotted stick. Hardly inside
the tavern, the serf, whose name was William Caillet, let himself down
heavily upon a bench, immediately placing his elbows on his knees and
his head upon his hands. Alison the Huffy, already out of humor, as
stated, called to him sharply:
"What do you want here? I do not know you. If you want to drink, pay; if
not, off with you!"
"In order to drink, money is needed; I have none," answered William
Caillet; "allow me to rest on this bench, good woman."
"My tavern is no lazar-house," replied Alison; "be gone, you vagabond!"
"Come now, hostess, we have never seen you in such a bad humor," put in
one of the customers; "let the poor man rest; we invite him to a
bumper."
"Thank you," answered the serf with a somber gesture and shaking his
head; "I'm not thirsty."
"If you do not drink you have no business here," the buxom tavern-keeper
was saying when a voice, hailing from without, called: "Where is the
hostess... where is she... a thousand bundles of demons! Is there no
one here to take my horse? Our throats are dry and our tongues hanging
out. Ho, there, hostess, attend to us!"
The arrival of a rider, always a good omen for a hostlery, drew Alison
away from her anger. She called her maid servant while herself ran to
the door to answer the impatient traveler, who, his horse's bridle in
hand, continued finding fault, although good-naturedly. The new arrival
was about twenty-four years of age; the visor of his somewhat rusty
casque, wholly raised, exposed to view a pleasant face, the left cheek
of which was furrowed with a deep scar. Thanks to his Herculean build,
his heavy cuirass of tarnished iron, but still usable, seemed not to
press him any more than a coat of cloth. His coat of mail, newly patched
in several places, fell half over his thigh-armor, made, like his
greaves, of iron, the latter of which were hidden within the large
traveling boots. From his shoulder-strap hung a long sword, from his
belt a sharp dagger of the class called "mercy". His mace, which
consisted of a thick cudgel an arm long, terminating in three little
iron chains riveted to a ball seven or eight pounds heavy, hung from the
pommel of the rider's saddle, together with his steel-studded and ribbed
buckler. Three reserve wooden lance shafts, tied together, and the
points of which rested in a sort of leather bonnet, adjusted to the
strap of one of his stirrups, were held up straight along the saddle,
behind which a sheep-skin satchel was attached. The horse was large and
vigorous. Its head, neck, chest and part of its crupper were protected
by an iron caparison--a heavy armor that the robust animal carried as
easily as its master wore his.
Responding to the redoubled calls of the traveler, Alison the Huffy ran
out with her maid and said in bitter-sweet voice: "Here I am, Sir. Hein!
If ever you are canonized, it will not be, I very much fear, under the
invocation of St. Patience!"
"By the bowels of the Pope, my fair hostess, your pretty black eyes and
pink cheeks could never be seen too soon. As sure as your garter could
serve you for a belt, the prettiest girl of Paris, where I come from,
could not be compared to you. By Venus and Cupid, you are the pearl of
hostesses."
"You come from Paris, Sir Knight!" said Alison with joyful surprise,
being at once flattered by the compliments of the traveler, and proud of
having a guest from Paris, the great city. "You really come from Paris?"
"Yes, truly. But tell me, am I rightly informed? Is there to be a
passage of arms to-day, here in the valley of Nointel?"
"Yes, Sir; you arrive in time. The tourney is to begin soon; right after
mass."
"Well, then, my pretty hostess, while I take my horse to the stable to
have him well fed, you will prepare a good repast for myself, and, to
the end that it may taste all the better, you will share it with me
while we chat together. There is much information that I need from you;"
and raising his coat of mail to enable him to reach his leather purse,
the rider took from it a piece of silver. Giving it to Alison, he said
gaily: "Here is payment in advance for my score. I am none of your
strollers, so frequent in these days, who pay their host with sword
thrusts and by plundering his house;" but noticing that Alison examined
the piece before putting it in her pocket, he added laughing: "Accept
that coin as I did, with eyes shut. The devil take it, only King John
and his minter know what the piece is worth, and whether it contains
more lead than it does silver!"
"Oh, Sir Knight, is it not terrible to think that our master, the King,
is an inveterate false-coiner? What times these are! We are borne down
with taxes, and we never know the value of what we have!"
"True. But I wager, my pretty hostess, that your lover is in no such
annoying ignorance.... Come, you will have overcome your modest blushes
by the time your maid has shown me the way to the stable, after which
you will make my breakfast ready. But you must share it with me; that's
understood."
"As you please, Sir Knight," answered Alison, more and more charmed with
the jolly temper of the stranger. Accordingly, she hastened to busy
herself with the preparations for the meal, and in a short time spread
upon one of the tables of the tavern a toothsome dish of bacon in green
fennel, flanked with fried eggs, cheese and a mug of foaming beer.
The serf, William Caillet, now forgotten by the hostess, his forehead
resting on both his hands, seemed lost to what went on around him, and
kept his seat on a bench not far from the table at which presently
Alison and the traveler took theirs. Back from the stable, the latter
relieved himself of his casque, dagger and sword, laying them down near
to himself, and proceeded to do honor to the repast.
"Sir Knight," said Alison, "you come from Paris? What fine stories you
will have to tell!"
"Mercy, pretty hostess, do not call me 'Sir Knight.' I belong to the
working class, not the nobility. My name is Jocelyn. My father is a
book-seller, and I am a _champion_[1] as my battle-harness attests to
you;--and here I am at your service."
"Can it be!" exclaimed Alison, joining her hands in glad astonishment,
"you are a fighting champion?"
"Yes, and I have not yet lost a single case, as you may judge from my
right hand not yet being cut off--a penalty reserved for all champions
who are vanquished in a judicial duel. Although often wounded, I have at
least always rendered a Roland for my adversary's Oliver. I learned in
Paris that there was to be a tourney here and thinking that, as usual,
it would be followed or preceded by some judicial combat, where I might
represent the appellant or the appellee, I came to the place on a
venture. Now, then, as a tavern-keeper, you are surely informed
thereon."
"Oh, Sir champion! It is heaven that sends you. There will surely be
need of you."
"Heaven, I am of the opinion, mixes but little in my concerns. Let us
leave Gog and Magog to settle their affairs among themselves."
"You should know that, unfortunately, I have a process. I admit that I
am in great trouble."
"You, my pretty hostess?"
"It is now three months ago that I lent twelve florins to Simon the
Hirsute. When I asked him for the money, the mean thief denied the debt.
We went before the seneschal. I maintained what I said; Simon maintained
his side. There were no witnesses either for or against us, and as the
amount involved was above five sous, the seneschal ordered a judicial
battle. But who would take my part?"
"And you have found nobody | 928.440733 |
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Produced by David Widger
MONSIEUR, MADAME AND BEBE
By Gustave Droz
Antoine-Gustave Droz was born in Paris, June 9, 1832. He was the son | 928.535408 |
2023-11-16 18:32:32.6167010 | 1,060 | 10 | A TREATISE ON PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE ***
Produced by Bryan Ness, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE VISCERA IN POSITION.]
* * * * *
A
TREATISE
ON
PHYSIOLOGY AND HYGIENE
FOR
EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS AND GENERAL READERS.
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED._
BY
JOSEPH C. HUTCHISON, M. D.,
_President of the New York Pathological Society, Vice-President of the New
York
Academy of Medicine, Surgeon to the Brooklyn City Hospital, late
President
of the Medical Society of the State of New York, etc._
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
CLARK & MAYNARD, PUBLISHERS,
5 BARCLAY STREET.
1872.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
By CLARK & MAYNARD.
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Stereotyped by LITTLE, RENNIE & CO.
645 and 647 Broadway.
* * * * *
TO MY WIFE,
WHOSE SYMPATHY HAS, FOR MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS, LIGHTENED THE
CARES INCIDENT TO
_AN ACTIVE PROFESSIONAL LIFE_,
THIS HUMBLE VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
* * * * *
{3}
PREFACE.
------o------
This work is designed to present the leading facts and principles of human
Physiology and Hygiene in clear and concise language, so that pupils in
schools and colleges, and readers not familiar with the subjects, may
readily comprehend them. Anatomy, or a description of the structure of an
organ, is of course necessary to the understanding of its Physiology, or
its uses. Enough of the former study has, therefore, been introduced, to
enable the pupil to enter intelligently upon the latter.
Familiar language, as far as practicable, has been employed, rather than
that of a technical character. With a view, however, to supply what might
seem to some a deficiency in this regard, a Pronouncing Glossary has been
added, which will enable the inquirer to understand the meaning of many
scientific terms not in common use.
In the preparation of the work the writer has carefully examined all the
best material at his command, and freely used it; the special object being
to have it abreast of the present knowledge on the subjects treated, as far
as such is possible in a work so elementary as this. The discussion of
disputed points has been avoided, it being manifestly inappropriate in a
work of this kind.
Instruction in the rudiments of Physiology in schools does not necessitate
the general practice of dissections, or of experiments upon animals. The
most important subjects may be illustrated by {4} drawings, such as are
contained in this work. Models, especially those constructed by AUZOUX of
Paris, dried preparations of the human body, and the organs of the lower
animals, may also be used with advantage.
The writer desires to acknowledge his indebtedness to R. M. WYCKOFF, M.D.,
for valuable aid in the preparation of the manuscript for the press; and to
R. CRESSON STILES, M.D., a skilful microscopist and physician, for the
chapter "On the Use of the Microscope in the Study of Physiology." Mr. AVON
C. BURNHAM, the well-known teacher of gymnastics, furnished the drawing of
the parlor gymnasium and the directions for its use.
_Brooklyn, N. Y., 1870._
* * * * *
{5}
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
THE FRAMEWORK OF THE BODY 15
_The Bones--Their form and composition--The Properties of Bone--The
Skeleton--The Joints--The Spinal Column--The Growth of Bone--The
Repair of Bone._
CHAPTER II.
THE MUSCLES 25
_The Muscles--Flexion and Extension--The Tendons--Contraction--Physical
Strength--Necessity for Exercise--Its Effects--Forms of
Exercise--Walking--Riding--Gymnastics--Open-air Exercise--Sleep--
Recreation._
CHAPTER III.
THE INTEGUMENT, OR SKIN 41
_The Integument-- | 928.636741 |
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Produced by David Clarke, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Million Book Project)
ANALYSIS OF MR. MILL'S SYSTEM OF LOGIC.
* * * * *
WORKS BY JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. FOR WESTMINSTER.
A SYSTEM of LOGIC, RATIOCINATIVE and INDUCTIVE. Sixth Edition. 2
vols. 8vo. 25_s._
An EXAMINATION of SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON'S PHILOSOPHY, and of the
Principal Philosophical Questions discussed in his Writings. Third
Edition, revised. 8vo. 14_s._
PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECONOMY, with some of their Applications to
Social Philosophy. Sixth Edition. 2 vols. 8vo. 30_s._
PRINCIPLES of POLITICAL ECONOMY. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's
Edition. Crown 8vo. 5_s._
CONSIDERATIONS on REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. Third Edition. 8vo.
9_s._
On REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's
Edition. Crown 8vo. 2_s._
On LIBERTY. Third Edition. Post 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._
On LIBERTY. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. People's Edition. Crown 8vo.
1_s._ 4_d._
DISSERTATIONS and DISCUSSIONS, POLITICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, and
HISTORICAL. Second Edition of VOLS. I. and II. price 24_s._; VOL.
III., price 12_s._
INAUGURAL ADDRESS delivered to the University of St. Andrew's, Feb.
1, 1867. By JOHN STUART MILL, M.P. Rector of the University.
Library Edition (the Second), post 8vo. 5_s._ People's Edition,
crown 8vo. 1_s._
UTILITARIANISM. Second Edition. 8vo. 5_s._
THOUGHTS on PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. Second Edition, with SUPPLEMENT.
8vo. 1_s._ 6_d._
London: LONGMANS and CO. Paternoster Row.
* * * * *
ANALYSIS OF MR. MILL'S SYSTEM OF LOGIC.
BY
W. STEBBING, M.A.
FELLOW OF WORCESTER COLLEGE, OXFORD.
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1867.
LONDON
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO.
NEW-STREET SQUARE
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The author's aim has been to produce such a condensation of the original
work as may recall its contents to those who have read it, and may serve
those who are now reading it in the place of a full body of marginal
notes. Mr. | 928.636768 |
2023-11-16 18:32:32.7164220 | 953 | 17 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Twa Miss Dawsons
By Margaret Murray Robertson
Published by Hodder and Stoughton, 27 Paternoster Row, London.
This edition dated 1880.
The Twa Miss Dawsons, by Margaret Murray Robertson.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE TWA MISS DAWSONS, BY MARGARET MURRAY ROBERTSON.
CHAPTER ONE.
"AULD MISS JEAN."
Saughleas was not a large estate, nor were the Dawsons gentlefolks, in
the sense generally accepted in the countryside.
It was acknowledged that both the mother and the wife of the new laird
had had good blood in their veins; but George Dawson himself, had been,
and, in a sense, still was, a merchant in the High-street of Portie. He
was banker and ship-owner as well, and valued the reputation which he
had acquired as a business man, far more than he would ever be likely to
value any honour paid to him as the Laird of Saughleas.
He had gotten his land honestly, as he had gotten all else that he
possessed. He had taken no advantage of the necessities of the last
owner, who had been in his power, in a certain sense, but had paid him
the full value of the place; and not a landed proprietor among them all
had more pride in the name and fame of his ancestry, than he had in the
feet that he had been the maker of his own fortune, and that no man,
speaking truth, could accuse him, in the making of it, of doing a single
mean or dishonest deed.
His mother "had come o' gentle bluid," but his father had been first a
common sailor and then the mate of a whaling ship that sailed many a
time from the little Scottish east coast harbour of Portie, and which at
last sailed away never more to return.
His widow lived through years of heart-sickness that must have killed
her sooner than it did, but that her two fatherless bairns needed her
care. They were but bairns when she died, with no one to look after
them but a neighbour who had been always kind to them. The usual lot
awaited them, it was thought. The laddie must take to the sea, as most
of the laddies in Portie did, and the lassie must get "bit and sup" here
and there among the neighbours, till she should be able to do for
herself as a servant in some house in the town.
But it happened quite otherwise. Whatever the Dawsons had been in old
times, there was good stuff in them now, it was said. For "Wee Jean
Dawson," as she was called, with few words spoken, made it clear that
she was to make her own way in the world. She was barely fifteen at
that time, and her brother was two years younger, and if she had told
her plans and wishes, she would have been laughed at, and possibly
effectually hindered from trying to carry them out. But she said
nothing.
The rent of the two rooms which the children and their mother had
occupied, was paid to the end of the year, and the little stock of pins
and needles, and small wares generally, by the sale of which the mother
had helped out the "white seam," her chief dependence, was not
exhausted, and Jean, declining the invitation of their neighbour to take
up their abode with her in the mean time, quietly declared her intention
of "biding where she was for a while," and no one had the right to say
her nay. Before the time to pay another quarter's rent came round, it
was ready, and Jean had proved her right to make her own plans, having
shown herself capable of carrying them out when they were made.
How she managed, the neighbours could not tell, and they watched her
with doubtful wonder. But it was not so surprising as it seemed to
them. She was doing little more than she had been doing during the last
two years of her mother's life under her mother's guidance. She had
bought and sold, she had toiled late and early at the white seam, when
her mother was past doing much, and had made herself busy with various
trifles in cotton and wool, | 928.736462 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Robin Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
* * * * *
[Illustration: cover]
THE
SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON.
[Illustration:
DRAWN BY G. H. THOMAS. ENGRAVED BY W. L. THOMAS.
THE OLD SHEPHERD.
Vol. i. page 2.]
[Illustration:
the
Sheepfold
and the
Common
OR
WITHIN & WITHOUT.
Blackie & Son Glasgow Edinburgh and London.]
THE
SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON:
OR,
WITHIN AND WITHOUT.
VOL. I.
"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow
me."--JOHN x. 27.
"Them that are without God judgeth."--1 COR. v. 13.
[Illustration: logo]
BLACKIE AND SON:
GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, LONDON, AND NEW YORK.
MDCCCLXI.
GLASGOW:
W. G. BLACKIE AND CO., PRINTERS,
VILLAFIELD.
PREFACE.
This Work was originally published, above thirty years ago,
under the title of the _Evangelical Rambler_. It has long been
out of print; and its republication at the present time has been
recommended, as calculated to assist in arresting the progress
of some popular errors and dangerous institutions, and in aiding
the advancement of truth and social happiness. This opinion was
strengthened by a knowledge of the fact, that, according to the most
accurate calculations, from sixty thousand to a hundred thousand
copies of the Work, under its original title, were issued from the
English press, whilst in America it obtained an equally extended
circulation; and from the still more important fact of the Author
having received, from a large number of persons, assurances, both by
letter and personal interviews, of their having derived their first
religious impressions and convictions from perusing its pages. A new
and thoroughly-revised Edition is, therefore, now issued, under the
title of "THE SHEEPFOLD AND THE COMMON," as being more descriptive
of the aim and intention of the Work than its former name.
The object of the Work is to afford instruction and amusement,
conveyed by a simple narration of the events of every-day life. In
constructing his story, the Author has availed himself occasionally
of the conceptions of his fancy, and at other times he has crowded
into a narrow compass facts and incidents culled from an extended
period of his history; but reality forms the basis of every
narrative and of every scene he has described. He has departed
from the common-place habit of presenting the grand truths of the
Christian faith in didactic and dogmatic statements, preferring the
dramatic form, as more likely to arrest the attention and interest
the feelings, especially of the youthful and | 928.836322 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one has to submit, is irreligious...
It is Christian to pray that God would give the Spirit to make us strong
to overcome the feelings and the doubts of nature... Where this
faith, obtained in this way, exists, it has always been supported by the
conviction that the Man lives who brought life and immortality to light.
To hold fast this faith is the goal of life, for only what we consciously
strive for is in this matter our own. What we think we possess is very
soon lost."
"The feelings and the doubts of nature!" The Divine Discontent, the
striving against the doubt that every honest soul experiences and admits.
Thus the contrast between her and these others who accepted and went
their several ways was brought home to him.
He longed to talk to her, but his days were full. Yet the very thought
of her helped to bear him up as his trials, his problems accumulated; nor
would he at any time have exchanged them for the former false peace which
had been bought (he perceived more and more clearly) at the price of
compromise.
The worst of these trials, perhaps, was a conspicuous article in a
newspaper containing a garbled account of his sermon and of the sensation
it had produced amongst his fashionable parishioners. He had refused to
see the reporter, but he had been made out a hero, a socialistic champion
of the poor. The black headlines were nauseating; and beside them, in
juxtaposition, were | 929.035136 |
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Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
_SPECIAL EDITION_
WITH THE WORLD'S
GREAT TRAVELLERS
EDITED BY CHARLES MORRIS
AND OLIVER H. G. LEIGH
VOL. III
CHICAGO
UNION BOOK COMPANY
1901
COPYRIGHT 1896 AND 1897
BY
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT 1901
E. R. DUMONT
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO]
CONTENTS.
SUBJECT. AUTHOR. PAGE
London, Glasgow, Dublin, Manchester,
Liverpool OLIVER H. G. LEIGH 5
Kenilworth and Warwick Castles ELIHU BURRITT 25
Windsor Forest and Castle ANONYMOUS 36
The Aspect of London HIPPOLYTE TAINE 47
Westminster Abbey NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 56
The Gardens at Kew JULIAN HAWTHORNE 64
Chatsworth Castle JOHN LEYLAND 75
King Arthur's Land J. YOUNG 84
The English Lake District AMELIA BARR 93
The Roman Wall of Cumberland ROSE G. KINGSLEY 105
English Rural Scenery SARAH B. WISTER 112
The "Old Town" of Edinburgh ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 120
In the Land of Rob Roy NATHANIEL P. WILLIS 129
The Island of Staffa and Fingal's Cave BERIAH BOTFIELD 140
Ireland and Its Capital MATTHEW WOODS, M. D. 148
From Cork to Killarney SARA J. LIPPINCOTT 157
North of Ireland Scenes W. GEORGE BEERS 168
Paris and Its Attractions HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 178
Travel in France Fifty Years Ago CHARLES DICKENS 189
From Normandy to Provence DONALD G. MITCHELL 200
A French Farmer's Paradise M. BENTHAM-EDWARDS 211
Cordova and Its Mosque S. P. SCOTT 218
The Spanish Bull-Fight JOSEPH MOORE 230
Seville, the Queen of Andalusia S. P. SCOTT 238
Street Scenes in Genoa AUGUSTA MARRYAT 249
The Alhambra S. P. SCOTT 257
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME III
THE CATHEDRAL, CITY OF MEXICO _Frontispiece_
LONDON BRIDGE 14
BANK OF ENGLAND 50
WESTMINSTER ABBEY AND VICTORIA TOWER 62
CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL FROM THE NORTHWEST 114
PRINCES STREET AND SIR WALTER SCOTT'S MONUMENT, EDINBURGH 122
THE FORTH BRIDGE FROM THE NORTH 136
CUSTOM-HOUSE, DUBLIN, IRELAND 150
QUEENSTOWN HARBOR 164
GRAND OPERA HOUSE, PARIS 180
THE LUMINOUS PALACE, PARIS 216
THE GROTTO OF THE SIBYL, TIVOLI 250
WITH THE WORLD'S
GREAT TRAVELLERS.
THE WORLD'S GREAT CAPITALS OF TO-DAY.
OLIVER H. G. LEIGH.
LONDON.
To the ordinary eye the moon and stars have at least prettiness, perhaps
grandeur. To the trained astronomer, and the contemplative poet, the
mighty firmament overwhelms the mind with the sense of human inability
to grasp the vast. Knowing and loving the features and characteristics
of London as a lover those of his mistress, it can be imagined how such
a one despairs of doing justice, in a brief space, either to his subject
or his own sane enthusiasm. He would fain impart his knowledge, insight,
and what glimmerings of romantic fancy may add charm to the prosy
exposition, but the showman's harangue is received as art without heart.
London is a hundred captivating sights and themes for our hundred
capacities and moods. You go to it the first time with the child's
enviable eye-delight in novelty, and are lucky if in a week you are not
eye-sore, dazed, and jaded with the very monotony of new scenes and
blurred impressions. You wisely fly to the lovely country lanes for
restful change, and come back with new eyes and a clean slate. Then
the mysterious quality which lifts visible London into the London of
real romance and realizable antiquity dawns upon the mind. A third
exploration reveals its almost omniscient and omnipotent headship as for
three centuries the world's centre for the intellectual and material
forces that have so largely built up our civilization. Continued
observation brings other and endless aspects of the indescribable city,
which is no city, but a Chinese puzzle of separately whirling worlds
within each other.
This mystifying prelude may seem rather disheartening to the stranger,
primed with rational curiosity to understand, as well as see, this
unwieldy London. He will find, however, his curiosity whetted, deepened,
elevated, in proportion as he takes with him a moderate grounding
in the historical associations of the old city. This easily acquired
information will prove to be a key that will unlock hidden places
holding bunches of other keys, so that everywhere one may turn, the
streets, buildings, and monuments recite their own fascinating stories.
We live in the day of big things, and sneer as we may at the
superficiality of estimating quality by size, there is no escape from it
when the purpose is only to kindle interest. Analysis can be undertaken
afterwards. London "whips creation" in the number of its people, though
its greatness is quite independent of this. The circle can be drawn to
include four, six, or seven millions and it will still be true that the
sustainers of its greatness come within a single million, possibly the
half of that. Yet it has a few businesses useful for the novice to know.
People have walked and ridden through the double tunnel under the wider
part of the Thames since 1843. Its underground railway, costing five
million dollars per mile to make, carries one hundred and fifty millions
of people a year, and has been running forty years. The public are
served by fifteen thousand cabs, which earn twenty-five million dollars
a year. There are over one thousand omnibuses, not including tram-cars,
on which there are roof seats, and you pay from two to six cents,
according to distance. Steamboats afford a fine view of the city, at the
same fares.
It has about five hundred theatres and music-halls, giving variety
programmes. Many of these hold from three to five thousand and they are
always well-filled. The roof of a famous music-hall built in 1870 slides
off for a few minutes at a time, for ventilation on summer nights. The
Crystal Palace entertains a hundred thousand people without being
crowded, in its beautiful glass hall, 1,608 feet long, with two great
aisles and transepts, and a charming pleasure park. In the palace are
reproductions of ancient architecture, primitive peoples, extinct
animals, everything in art and nature that can expand knowledge. The
orchestra seats four thousand, the concert-hall four thousand, and the
theatre four thousand, all under the same roof, yet their performances
are simultaneous. The Palace cost over seven million dollars in 1854,
and admission is twenty-five cents. The Albert Memorial Hall holds ten
thousand. The Agricultural Hall covers three acres and a half, and holds
audiences of twenty-five thousand.
There is not a day in the year without half-a-dozen or more public
meetings, convened by religious, scientific, or other societies, a
free field for the stranger to see distinguished people, hear average
oratory, study character and customs, and lay in stores of useful
knowledge with varied entertainment. "Doing the sights" is a matter of
course, but they should be selected to suit one's mood at the time, also
the usually unlovely weather, and above all, after some preliminary
guide-book reading. The Tower is already familiar in story and picture,
yet not every cockney is aware that its walls enclose a virtual town of
over three thousand inhabitants. It has a hundred distinct interests
for the leisurely-minded, besides that of being a great old fortress.
The new Tower bridge equals the underground railway and sub-river
tunnels as a triumph of engineering, lifting itself high above the tall
ships' masts when they sail in and out of the port. Near by, the much
maligned East End, the Whitechapel district beloved by horror-vending
reporters, invites and will repay a visit.
Would you like to realize a dream of some magnificent pageant, in
which the great notabilities of all the earth take a share? Take your
stand where Rotten Row meets the Drive any morning or afternoon between
April and July. Here meet the pink of fashion and the celebrities
distinguished for honors won in art, science, diplomacy, statesmanship,
and war. The outward and visible magnificence belongs to the horses
rather than their riders and drivers, for plainness of attire and
decoration is the rule among the great folks. This double daily parade
is truly a unique spectacle, viewed by throngs of idlers of all nations,
themselves a picturesque feature of the show.
A panorama with another sort of interest should be viewed ponderingly.
Let the visitor approach Westminster Abbey from Victoria station along
Victoria Street, once a worse than any Whitechapel nest of criminal
slum-dwellers. Grouped into a picture unrivalled elsewhere in the world
for architectural splendor combined with historic glory, he will see the
hoary Abbey, not simply the stone record of a thousand years of human
progress; not simply the petrified survival of druidicial worship in the
forest groves, with its soaring tree-trunk columns breaking into foliage
as their tops meet to screen the sun and echo down again the ascending
incense of prayer and song; not simply the stately temple which for ages
has been the shrine of England's great ones, thirteen kings, fourteen
queens, and the greater than these--the glorious array of its poets,
musicians, statesmen, soldiers, sailors, and explorers, who, like
Livingstone in his line and Chaucer in his, poured all their wealth of
genius and power into the lap of their motherland, to make her happier
and stronger. He will see through the mediaeval stained windows the
deeper meaning of the old church's story, the reddened sun-rays telling
of the bloodshed that watered the growing plant of the nation's
greatness, and the blue beams that figure Britannia's olden mastery of
the seas, and the rainbow hues suggestive of her labors to give hope to
the people that long sat in darkness till she brought the light of
civilization.
Close to the Abbey's side stands the venerable St. Margaret's parish
church, where Caxton printed the first book and is buried; where
Ambassador James Russell Lowell's epitaph on Raleigh graces the window
that honors the memory of Virginia's founder, whose headless body
reposes | 929.258764 |
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Produced by David Widger
SAILORS' KNOTS
By W.W. Jacobs
1909
SELF-HELP
The night-watchman sat brooding darkly over life and its troubles. A
shooting | 929.275984 |
2023-11-16 18:32:33.3176320 | 699 | 25 |
Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, Children, Michael
Ciesielski and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The
STORY
of the
TWO BULLS
WITH ORIGINAL ENGRAVINGS
NEW YORK:
Daniel Burgess & Co.
1856
THE STORY OF THE TWO BULLS.
In former times, my story tells,
There lived one Deacon R.,
And not the worst man in the world,
Nor best was he, by far.
His fields were rich, his acres broad,
And cattle were his pride;
Oxen and sheep, and horses, too,
And what you please, beside.
His brindle cow, the highest prize
Won at the county fair,
For taper limbs and rounded form,
And short and shining hair.
Old Bonny Gray, a noble steed
Of sure, majestic pace,
Before the deacon purchased him,
Was famous at a race.
This story he would sometimes tell,
And at the end would say,
"Alas! such sports are far from right;
But Bonny won the day!"
Still, more than all, the spotted bull
Had filled the deacon's mind;
His back so straight, his breast so broad,
So perfect of his kind.
And when 'twas said that Moses Grimes,
A justice of the peace,
Had got the likeliest bull in town,
The deacon had no ease.
So off he rode to see the squire,
And put this question straight:
"Say, don't you want another bull,
And don't yours want a mate?"
The squire, perceiving at a glance
All that the man was after,
"Just forty pounds will buy my bull,"
Quoth he, with ready laughter.
And when the beast was brought to view,
And carefully surveyed,
Of deepest red, its every point
Of excellence displayed.
"I'll take him at your price," said he--
"Please drive him down to-morrow,
And you shall have the money, sir,
If I the cash can borrow."
So saying, turned he on his steed,
The nimble-footed Bonny;
To-morrow came, and came the bull--
The deacon paid the money.
The sun was hid behind the hills--
The next day would be Sunday;
"You'll put him in the barn," said he,
"And leave him there till Monday."
The deacon was a man of peace,
For so he claimed, albeit
When there was war among the beasts,
He always liked to see it.
"How will the bulls together look,
And which will prove the stronger?
'Twere sin to wish the time to pass--
'Twould only make it longer."
Such thoughts as these, on Sabbath morn,
Like birds of evil token,
Flew round and round the deacon's mind--
Its holy peace was broken.
Beyond the hills the steeple rose,
Distant a mile or two.
Our deacon's house and barns and bulls
Were well concealed from view.
"Be ready all, to meeting go;
Perhaps I may not come--
A curious fluttering near my heart
Calls me to stay at home."
As thus he spake, his careful wife
Replied with anxious | 929.337672 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
THE STORY OF A CHILD
By Pierre Loti
Translated by Caroline F. Smith
PREFACE
There is to-day a widely spread new interest in child life, a desire to
get nearer to children and understand them. To be sure child study is
not new; every wise parent and every sympathetic teacher has ever been
a student of children; but there is now an effort to do more consciously
and systematically what has always been done in some way.
In the few years since this modern movement began much has been
accomplished, yet there is among many thoughtful people a strong
reaction from the hopes awakened by the enthusiastic heralding of the
newer aspects of psychology. It had been supposed that our science would
soon revolutionize education; indeed, taking the wish for the fact, we
began to talk about the new and the old education (both mythical) and
boast of our millennium. I would not underrate the real progress, the
expansion of educational activities, the enormous gains made in many
ways; but the millennium! The same old errors meet us in new forms, the
old problems are yet unsolved, the waste is so vast that we sometimes
feel thankful that we cannot do as much as we would, and that Nature
protects children from our worst mistakes.
What is the source of this disappointment? Is it not that education,
like all other aspects of life, can never be reduced to mere science? We
need science, it must be increasingly the basis of all life; but exact
science develops very slowly, and meantime we must live. Doubtless the
time will come when our study of mind will have advanced so far that we
can lay down certain great principles as tested laws, and thus clarify
many questions. Even then the solution of the problem will not be in the
enunciation of the theoretic principle, but will lie in its application
to practice; and that application must always depend upon instinct,
tact, appreciation, as well as upon the scientific law. Even the aid
that science can contribute is given slowly; meanwhile we must work with
these children and lift them to the largest life.
It is in relation to this practical work of education that our effort to
study children gets its human value. There are always two points of
view possible with reference to life. From the standpoint of nature
and science, individuals count for little. Nature can waste a thousand
acorns to raise one oak, hundreds of children may be sacrificed that
a truth may be seen. | 929.337768 |
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E-text prepared by Julia Miller, JoAnn Greenwood, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40220-h.htm or 40220-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40220/40220-h/40220-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40220/40220-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/howwomenshouldri00dehu
HOW WOMEN SHOULD RIDE
by
"C. DE HURST"
Illustrated
[Illustration]
New York
Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square
1892
Copyright, 1892, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
All rights reserved.
TO
E. E. F.
TO WHOM I OWE THE EXPERIENCE
WHICH HAS ENABLED ME TO WRITE OF RIDING
THIS BOOK
IS GRATEFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
INTRODUCTION
It has not been the intention of the author of this little volume to
present the reader with elaborate chapters of technical essays.
Entire libraries have been written on the care and management of the
horse from the date of its foaling; book upon book has been compiled
on the best and proper method of acquiring some degree of skill in the
saddle. The author has scarcely hoped, therefore, to exhaust in 248
pages a subject which, after having been handled on the presses of
nearly every publisher in this country and England, yet contains
unsettled points for the discussion of argumentative horse-men and
horse-women.
But it happens with riding--as, indeed, it does with almost every
other subject--that we ignore the simpler side for the more intricate.
We delve into a masterpiece, suitable for a professional, on the
training of a horse, when the chances are we do not know how to saddle
him. We stumble through heavy articles on bitting, the technical terms
of which we do not understand, when if our own horse picked up a stone
we probably would be utterly at a loss what to do.
We, both men and women, are too much inclined to gallop over the
fundamental lessons, which should be conned over again and again until
thoroughly mastered. We are restive in our novitiate period, impatient
to pose as past-masters in an art before we have acquired its first
principles.
Beginning with a bit of advice to parents, of which they stand sorely
in need, it is the purpose of this book to carry the girl along the
bridle-path, from the time she puts on a habit for the first attempt,
to that when she joins the Hunt for a run across country after the
hounds.
There is no intention of wearying and confusing her by a formidable
array of purely technical instruction.
The crying fault with nearly all those who have handled this subject
at length has been that of distracting the uninformed reader by the
most elaborate dissertation on all points down to the smallest
details.
This author, on the contrary, has shorn the instruction of all hazy
intricacies, with which the equestrienne has so often been asked to
burden herself, and brought out instead only those points essential
to safety, skill, and grace in the saddle.
No space has been wasted on unnecessary technicalities which the woman
is not likely to either understand or care to digest, but everything
has been written with a view of aiding her in obtaining a sound,
practical knowledge of the horse, under the saddle and in harness.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A WORD TO PARENTS Page 3
Dangers of Early Riding, 4.--Vanity, 9.
CHAPTER II
GIRLS ON HORSEBACK 13
Hints to Mothers, 13.--The Beginner's
Horse, 14.--Costuming, 16.--Preparatory
Lessons, 16.--Instructors, 20.--Balance, 21.--Hands,
23.--Position, 25.--Management, 26.
CHAPTER III
BEGINNING TO RIDE 31
Form, 32.--Insufficient Training, 33.--Mounting,
34.--Dismounting, 37.--Stirrup, 38.
CHAPTER IV
IN THE SADDLE 43
Below the Waist, 44.--Above the Waist, 48.--Hands
and Wrists, 49.--Reins, 53.
CHAPTER V
EMERGENCIES 63
Eagerness to Start, 63.--Shyers, 65.--Stumblers,
66.--Rearers, 66.--Plungers, 67.--Buckers,
68.--Pullers, 70.--Runaways, 72.--Punishment, 76.
CHAPTER VI
CHOOSING A MOUNT 83
An Adviser, 83.--Park Hack, 87.--Measurement,
88.--Conformation, 90.--Hunter, 94.--Gait and
Manners, 95.
CHAPTER VII
DRESS 99
Skirt, 100.--Safety Skirt, 100.--Divided
Skirt, 102.--Bodice, 103.--Waistcoat, 104.--Corsets,
105.--Boots, Breeches, Tights, 106.--Collars and
Cuffs, 110.--Gloves, 111.--Hair and Hat, 112.--Veil,
113.--Whip or Crop, 113.--Spur, 114.
CHAPTER VIII
LEAPING 121
Requirements, 121.--In the Ring, 122.--Approaching
Jump, 122.--Taking off, 124.--Landing,
125.--Lifting, 126.--Out-of-Doors, 127.--Pilot,
128.--Selecting a Panel, 128.--Stone Wall, 130.--In
Hand, 131.--Trappy Ground and Drops, 131.--In and
Out, 133.--Picket and Slat Fences, 134.--Wire,
135.--Combined Obstacles, 136.--Refusing,
136.--Timidity, 137.--Temper, 138.--Rider at Fault,
139.
CHAPTER IX
LEAPING (continued) 145
Rushers, 145.--Balkers, 147.--Sluggards, 149.--Falls,
150.
CHAPTER X
RIDING TO HOUNDS 159
Courtesy, 159.--The Novice, 161.--Hard
Riding, 162.--Jealous Riding, 163.--Desirable
Qualities, 164.--Getting Away, 165.--Indecision,
166.--Right of Way, 167.--Funk, 168.--Excitable
and Sluggish Horses, 169.--Proximity to Hounds,
170.--Choosing a Line, 172.
CHAPTER XI
SYMPATHY BETWEEN HORSE AND WOMAN 179
Talking to Horse, 180.--In the Stall, 183.--On the
Road, 185.--Cautions, 187.
CHAPTER XII
PRACTICAL KNOWLEDGE OF THE STABLE 193
Stabling, 193.--Picking up Feet, 194.--Grooming,
197.--Bitting, 197.--Clipping, 199.--Bridling,
200.--Noseband, 202.--Martingale, 203.--Breast-plate,
204.--The Saddle, 205.--Stirrup, 208.--Girths,
209.--Saddling, 210.
CHAPTER XIII
SOMETHING ON DRIVING 215
Desirability of Instruction, 215.--Vulgar
Display, 218.--Bad Form, 219.--Costume, 220.--Cockade,
221.--Confidence, 222.--The Family-Horse Fallacy,
222.--On the Box, 223.--Position of Reins, 224.--Handling
Reins, 225.--A Pair, 226.
CHAPTER XIV
SOMETHING MORE ON DRIVING 231
Management, 231.--Stumbling, 232.--Backing,
232.--Rearing and Kicking, 234.--Rein under Tail,
236.--Bolting and Running, 238.--Crowded
Driveways, 239.--Road Courtesy, 241.--Tandems and Teams,
243.--Reins, 244.--Unruly Leader, 245.--Turning, 246.
Illustrations
CORRECT POSITION _Facing p._ 24
INCORRECT POSITION " 26
INCORRECT LEFT LEG AND HEEL 43
CORRECT LEFT LEG AND HEEL 44
INCORRECT RIGHT THIGH AND KNEE 46
CORRECT RIGHT THIGH AND KNEE 47
CORRECT KNUCKLES, SIDE VIEW 50
INCORRECT POSITION OF HANDS 51
HANDS IN GOOD FORM, FRONT VIEW 52
SNAFFLE OUTSIDE, CURB INSIDE, FRONT VIEW 54
SNAFFLE OUTSIDE, CURB INSIDE, SIDE VIEW 55
REINS IN TWO HANDS, SNAFFLE OUTSIDE,
CURB INSIDE _Facing p._ 56
POSITION OF REINS AND HANDS IN JUMPING,
CURB OUTSIDE, SNAFFLE INSIDE 57
REINS IN TWO HANDS, CURB OUTSIDE, SNAFFLE
INSIDE, SIDE VIEW 58
HANDS AND SEAT IN REARING _Facing p._ 66
CROP 114
A GOOD SPUR 115
TAKING OFF _Facing p._ 124
ABOUT TO LAND " 126
DOUBLE BRIDLE FOR GENERAL USE " 202
CORRECT SADDLE 205
UNDESIRABLE SADDLE 206
SAFETY STIRRUP, CLOSED 209
SAFETY STIRRUP, OPEN 210
A WELL-BALANCED CART _Facing p._ 220
POSITION IN TANDEM DRIVING " 244
I
A WORD TO PARENTS
Riding has been taken up so generally in recent years by the mature
members of society that its espousal by the younger element is quite
in the natural order of events. We can look upon the declaration of
Young America for sport with supreme gratification, as it argues well
for the generation to come, but we should not lose sight of the fact
that its benefits may be more than counterbalanced by injudiciously
forcing these tastes. That there is danger of this is shown by the
tendency to put girls on horseback at an age much too tender to have
other than harmful results.
It is marvellous that a mother who is usually most careful in guarding
her child's safety should allow her little one to incur the risks
attendant upon riding (which are great enough for a person endowed
with strength, judgment, and decision) without proper consideration of
the dangers she is exposed to at the time, or a realization of the
possible evil effects in the future.
[Sidenote: Dangers of Early Riding]
Surely parents do not appreciate what the results may be, or they
would never trust a girl of eight years or thereabouts to the mercy of
a horse, and at his mercy she is bound to be. No child of that age, or
several years older, has strength sufficient to manage even an unruly
pony, which, having once discovered his power, is pretty sure to take
advantage of it at every opportunity; and no woman is worthy the
responsibilities of motherhood who will permit her child to make the
experiment.
Even if no accident occurs, the knowledge of her helplessness may so
frighten the child that she will never recover from her timidity. It
is nonsense to say she will outgrow it; early impressions are never
entirely eradicated; and should she in after-life appear to regain her
courage, it is almost certain at a critical moment to desert her, and
early recollections reassert themselves.
The vagaries of her own mount are not the only dangers to which the
unfortunate child is exposed.
Many accidents come from collisions caused by some one else's horse
bolting; and it is not to be expected, when their elders often lose
their wits completely, that shoulders so young should carry a head
cool enough to make escape possible in such an emergency.
It is a common occurrence to hear parents inquiring for a "perfectly
safe horse for a child."
Such a thing does not exist, and the idea that it does often betrays
one into trusting implicitly an animal which needs perhaps constant
watching. If fresh or startled, the capers of the most gentle horse
will not infrequently create apprehension, because totally unexpected.
On the other hand, if he is too sluggish to indulge in any expressions
of liveliness, he is almost sure to require skilful handling and
constant urging to prevent his acquiring a slouching gait to which it
is difficult to rise.
A slouching horse means a stumbling one, and, with the inability of
childish hands to help him recover his balance, he is likely to fall.
Supposing the perfect horse to be a possibility--a girl under sixteen
has not the physique to endure without injury to her health such
violent exercise as riding. From the side position she is forced to
assume, there is danger of an injured spine, either from the unequal
strain on it or from the constant concussion, or both.
If a mother can close her eyes to these dangers, insisting that her
child shall ride, a reversible side-saddle is the best safeguard that
I know of against a curved spine; but it only lessens the chances of
injury, and is by no means a sure preventive, although it has the
advantage of developing both sides equally.
Another evil result of beginning too young is that if she escapes
misadventures and does well, a girl is sure to be praised to such an
extent that she forms a most exaggerated idea of her prowess in the
saddle. By the time she is | 929.337795 |
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Produced by Michael Gray, Diocese of San Jose
HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
Published April, 1897,
in
THE CATHOLIC WORLD
A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science
HAPPINESS IN PURGATORY.
IT may be said of Purgatory that if it did not exist it would have to be
created, so eminently is it in accord with the dictates of reason and
common sense. The natural instinct of travellers at their journey's end
is to seek for rest and change of attire. Some are begrimed with mud,
others have caught the dust of a scorching summer day; the heat or cold
or damp of the journey has told upon them and their attire. Perhaps,
even, the way has made them weary unto sickness, and they crave for an
interval of absolute repose.
Travellers from earth, covered with the mud and dust of its long road,
could never wish to enter the banquet-room of eternity in their
travel-stained garments. "Take me away!" cried Gerontius to his angel.
It was a cry of anguish as well as desire, for Gerontius, blessed soul
though he is, could not face heaven just as earth had left him. He has
the true instinct of the traveller at his journey's end. Dust, rust, and
the moth have marked their presence, and even the oddities and
eccentricities of earthly pilgrimage must be obliterated before the home
of eternity can be entered. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_ is interpreted,
nothing short of heaven for those who have crossed the bourne. But, if
the heavenly gates are thrown open to the travellers all weary and
footsore, "not having on a nuptial garment," no heterogeneous meeting
here on earth could compete with the gathering of disembodied spirits
from its four quarters. It is human ignorance alone which canonizes all
the departed, and insists on a direct passage from time to heaven. The
canonization is not ratified in heaven, because heaven would not exist
if it took place. The Beatific Vision is incompatible with the shadow of
imperfection. To act as if it were belongs to the same order of things
as rending the garment of Christian unity.
Purgatory makes heaven, in the sense that heaven would not be possible
for men without it. As well might we try to reach a far-off planet,
which is absolutely removed from our sphere, an unknown quantity, though
a fact science does not dispute. Heaven without Purgatory is a far-off
planet which must ever remain beyond our touch and ken, for it would be
easier that we in our present condition should traverse space than that
the sinner should see God face to face.
The vestibule of heaven, in which souls tarry in order to make their
preparations, and to be prepared for the feast of eternity, can scarcely
be an abode of pure suffering. Heart and mind, as they exist in the
_anima separata_--that is, understanding and love--are at rest. On earth
mind and heart are the source of the greatest pain as well as the
greatest joy. The severest pain of body may be accompanied by happiness
and a mind at rest, whereas remorse makes life unbearable. Hidden
criminals at large have not unfrequently given themselves up to justice
in order to arrive at peace by a public execution, that being the
penalty demanded by their tortured conscience. Death, however
ignominious, rather than remorse--the backbite of inwit, in the quaint
language of our forefathers. Remorse is not in the organs of sense, but
a purely intellectual operation, proper to man. It cannot be softened by
worldly prosperity or riches, fame or success. On the other hand, a good
conscience is a well-spring of happiness, be the outward circumstances
of a man's life what they may. Bodily pain would add to the torture of
remorse, just as it might deaden the joy of a good conscience, _per
accidens_, as theologians say. Conjointly with the mind, the heart
causes the keenest sufferings and the deepest joys of human life, joys
and sufferings which are acted upon in the same way indirectly by pain
of body. A severe toothache, for instance, quickens the pangs of
remorse, whilst it deadens joy proceeding either from the intellect or
the heart. It would madden a bride on her wedding morning, without in
reality affecting her happiness. The root of both joy and grief is in
the soul, not in the body. Conscience is the "worm which never
dieth"--that is, hell, the torment created by man himself for his own
punishment. The same applies to Purgatory, as far as conscience has been
sinned against. The soul has created its own torment, but in Purgatory
the fires die out because | 929.33866 |
2023-11-16 18:32:33.5156770 | 3,058 | 246 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "An Avalanche!" declared Fogg. "Dodge--something's coming!"
Page 254. Ralph on the Overland Express.]
RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
OR
THE TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF A YOUNG ENGINEER
BY
ALLEN CHAPMAN
AUTHOR OF "RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE,"
"RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER,"
"RALPH ON THE ENGINE,"
"DAREWELL CHUMS SERIES," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
THE RAILROAD SERIES
By Allen Chapman
12mo. Illustrated. Cloth
RALPH OF THE ROUNDHOUSE
Or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man
RALPH IN THE SWITCH TOWER
Or, Clearing the Track
RALPH ON THE ENGINE
Or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail
RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
Or, The Trials and Triumphs of a Young Engineer
(Other Volumes in Preparation.)
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1910, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Ralph on the Overland Express
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. No. 999 1
II. A Special Passenger 12
III. One of the Rules 22
IV. A Warning 35
V. At Bay 43
VI. Four Medals 51
VII. Dave Bissell, Train Boy 60
VIII. An Astonishing Discovery 68
IX. The Light of Home 76
X. Fire! 88
XI. The Master Mechanic 95
XII. A Good Friend 104
XIII. The "Black Hand" 114
XIV. A Serious Plot 123
XV. "The Silvandos" 129
XVI. Zeph Dallas and His "Mystery" 138
XVII. In Widener's Gap 145
XVIII. At the Semaphore 153
XIX. The Boy Who Was Hazed 160
XX. "Lord Lionel Montague" 171
XXI. Archie Graham's Invention 179
XXII. Ike Slump Again 188
XXIII. A Critical Moment 195
XXIV. The New Run 203
XXV. The Mountain Division 209
XXVI. Mystery 217
XXVII. The Railroad President 225
XXVIII. A Race Against Time 233
XXIX. Zeph Dallas Again 244
XXX. Snowbound 254
XXXI. Conclusion 264
RALPH ON THE OVERLAND EXPRESS
CHAPTER I
NO. 999
"All aboard."
Ralph Fairbanks swung into the cab of No. 999 with the lever hooked up
for forward motion, and placed a firm hand on the throttle.
It looked as though half the working force of the railroad, and every
juvenile friend he had ever known in Stanley Junction, had come down
to the little old depot that beautiful summer afternoon to especially
celebrate the greatest event in his active railroad career.
Ralph was the youngest engineer in the service of the Great Northern,
and there was full reason why he should center attention and interest
on this the proudest moment of his life. No. 999 was the crack
locomotive of the system, brand new and resplendent. Its headlight was
a great glow of crystal, its metal bands and trimmings shone like
burnished gold, and its cab was as spick and span and neat as the
private office of the division superintendent himself.
No. 999 was out for a trial run--a record run, Ralph hoped to make it.
One particular car attached to the rear of the long train was the main
object of interest. It was a new car to the road, and its blazoned
name suggested an importance out of the ordinary--"China & Japan
Mail."
This car had just come in over a branch section by a short cut from
the north. If No. 999 could beat timetable routine half an hour and
deliver the mail to the Overland Express at Bridgeport, two hundred
miles distant, on time, it would create a new schedule, and meant a
good contract for the Great Northern, besides a saving of three hours'
time over the former roundabout trip of the China & Japan Mail.
Ralph had exchanged jolly greetings with his friends up to now. In an
instant, however, the sonorous, echoing "All aboard" from the
conductor way down the train was a signal for duty, prompt and
imperative. The pleasant depot scene faded from the sight and mind of
the ambitious young railroader. He turned his strict attention now to
the cab interior, as though the locomotive was a thing of life and
intelligence.
"Let 'er go, Ralph!"
John Griscom, the oldest engineer on the road, off duty, but a
privileged character on all occasions, stepped from the gossiping
crowd of loungers at a little distance. He swung up into the cab with
the expert airiness of long usage. His bluff, hearty face expressed
admiration and satisfaction, as his rapid eye took in the cab layout.
"I'll hold up the tender rail till we get to crossing," announced
Griscom. "Lad, this is front rank service all right, and I'm happy to
say that you deserve it."
"Thank you, Mr. Griscom," answered Ralph, his face beaming at the
handsome compliment. "I don't forget, though, that you helped some."
"Oh, so, so," declared Griscom. "I say, Fogg, you're named right."
It was to Lemuel Fogg that Griscom spoke. Fogg was Ralph's fireman on
the present trip. He presented a decided contrast to the brisk, bright
engineer of No. 999. He shoveled in the coal with a grim mutter, and
slammed the fire door shut with a vicious and unnecessary bang.
"What you getting at?" he growled, with a surly eye on Griscom.
"Fogg--fog, see? foggy, that's you--and groggy, eh? Sun's shining--why
don't you take it in? No slouch privilege firing this magnificent
king of the road, I'm thinking, and you ought to think so, too."
"Huh!" snapped Fogg, "it'll be kid luck, if we get through."
"Oho! there's where the shoe pinches, is it?" bantered the old
railroad veteran. "Come, be fair, Fogg. You was glad to win your own
spurs when you were young."
"All right, mind the try-out, you hear me!" snorted Fogg ungraciously.
"You mind your own business."
"Say," shot out Griscom quickly, as he caught a whiff from Fogg's
lips, "you be sure you mind yours--and the rules," he added, quite
sternly, "I advise you not to get too near the furnace."
"Eh, why not?"
"Your breath might catch fire, that's why," announced Griscom bluntly,
and turned his back on the disgruntled fireman.
Ralph had not caught this sharp cross-fire of repartee. His mind had
been intently fixed on his task. He had started up the locomotive
slowly, but now, clearing the depot switches, he pulled the lever a
notch or two, watching carefully ahead. As the train rounded a curve
to an air line, a series of brave hurrahs along the side of the track
sent a thrill of pleasure through Ralph's frame.
The young engineer had only a fleeting second or two to bestow on a
little group, standing at the rear fence of a yard backing down to the
tracks. His mother was there, gaily waving a handkerchief. A neighbor
joined in the welcome, and half-a-dozen boys and small children with
whom Ralph was a rare favorite made the air ring with enthusiastic
cheers.
"Friends everywhere, lad," spoke Griscom in a kindly tone, and then,
edging nearer to his prime young favorite, he half-whispered: "Keep
your eye on this grouch of a Fogg."
"Why, you don't mean anything serious, Mr. Griscom?" inquired Ralph,
with a quick glance at the fireman.
"Yes, I do," proclaimed the old railroader plainly. "He's got it in
for you--it's the talk of the yards, and he's in just the right frame
of mind to bite off his own nose to spite his face. So long."
The locomotive had slowed up for crossing signals, and Griscom got to
the ground with a careless sail through the air, waved his hand, and
Ralph buckled down to real work on No. 999.
He glanced at the schedule sheet and the clock. The gauges were in
fine working order. There was not a full head of steam on as yet and
the fire box was somewhat over full, but there was a strong draft and
a twenty-mile straight run before them, and Ralph felt they could make
it easily.
"Don't choke her too full, Mr. Fogg," he remarked to the fireman.
"Teach me!" snorted Fogg, and threw another shovelful into the box
already crowded, and backed against the tender bar with a surly,
defiant face.
Ralph made no retort. Fogg did, indeed, know his business, if he was
only minded to attend to it. He was somewhat set and old-fashioned in
his ways, and he had grown up in the service from wiper.
Ralph recalled Griscom's warning. It was not pleasant to run two
hundred miles with a grumpy cab comrade. Ralph wished they had given
him some other helper. However, he reasoned that even a crack fireman
might be proud of a regular run on No. 999, and he did not believe
that Fogg would hurt his own chances by any tactics that might delay
them.
The landscape drifted by swiftly and more swiftly, as Ralph gave the
locomotive full head. A rare enthusiasm and buoyancy came into the
situation. There was something fascinating in the breathless rush, the
superb power and steadiness of the crack machine, so easy of control
that she was a marvel of mechanical genius and perfection.
Like a panorama the scenery flashed by, and in rapid mental panorama
Ralph reviewed the glowing and stirring events of his young life,
which in a few brief months had carried him from his menial task as an
engine wiper up to the present position which he cherished so
proudly.
Ralph was a railroader by inheritance as well as predilection. His
father had been a pioneer in the beginning of the Great Northern.
After he died, through the manipulations of an unworthy village
magnate named Gasper Farrington, his widow and son found themselves at
the mercy of that heartless schemer, who held a mortgage on their
little home.
In the first volume of the present series, entitled "Ralph of the
Roundhouse," it was told how Ralph left school to earn a living and
help his self-sacrificing mother in her poverty.
Ralph got a job in the roundhouse, and held it, too, despite the
malicious efforts of Ike Slump, a ne'er-do-well who tried to undermine
him. Ralph became a favorite with the master mechanic of the road
through some remarkable railroad service in which he saved the
railroad shops from destruction by fire.
Step by step Ralph advanced, and the second volume of this series,
called "Ralph in the Switch Tower," showed how manly resolve, and
being right and doing right, enabled him to overcome his enemies and
compel old Farrington to release the fraudulent mortgage.
Incidentally, Ralph made many friends. He assisted a poor waif named
Van Sherwin to reach a position of comfort and honor, and was
instrumental in aiding a former business partner of his father, one
Farwell Gibson, to complete a short line railroad through the woods
near Dover.
In the third volume of the present series, entitled "Ralph on the
Engine," was related how our young railroad friend became an active
employee of the Great Northern as a fireman. He made some record runs
with old John Griscom, the veteran of the road. In that volume was
also depicted the ambitious but blundering efforts of Zeph Dallas, a
farmer boy who was determined to break into railroading, and there was
told as well the grand success of little Limpy Joe, a railroad
<DW36>, who ran a restaurant in an old, dismantled box car.
These and other staunch, loyal friends had rallied around Ralph with
all the influence they could exert, when after a creditable
examination Ralph was placed on the extra list as an engineer.
Van and Zeph had been among the first to congratulate the friend to
whom they owed so much, when, after a few months' service on
accomodation runs, it was made known that Ralph had been appointed as
engineer of No. 999.
It was Limpy Joe, spending a happy vacation week with motherly,
kind-hearted Mrs. Fairbanks, who led the cheering coterie whom Ralph
had passed near his home as he left the Junction on his present run.
Of his old-time enemies, Ike Slump and Mort Bemis were in jail, the
last Ralph had heard of them. There was a gang in his home town,
however, whom Ralph had reason to fear. It was made up of men who had
tried to <DW36> the Great Northern through an | 929.535717 |
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Transcription notes:
p 170. Period added at the end of the first sentence.
p xi. Period added after 1892 entry.
Both bare-footed and barefooted were in text. This has been retained.
Both bread-winner and breadwinner were in text. This has been retained.
Both egg-shells and eggshell were in text. This has been retained.
Both God-men and god-men were in text. This has been retained.
Subtitution scheme for non-ascii characters:
[:o] was used to indicate o with an umlaut diacritical mark
['E] was used to indicate E with an acute diacritical mark
['e] was used to indicate e with an acute diacritical mark
[~n] was used to indicate n with a tilde diacritical mark
[L] was used to indicated the British pound sign
* * * * *
The Story of Mary Slessor
THE WHITE QUEEN
of
OKOYONG
[Illustration: THE CANOE WAS ATTACKED BY A HUGE HIPPOPOTAMUS]
THE STORY OF MARY SLESSOR
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
THE WHITE QUEEN
OF OKOYONG
A TRUE STORY OF ADVENTURE
HEROISM AND FAITH
BY
W. P. LIVINGSTONE
AUTHOR OF "MARY SLESSOR OF CALABAR"
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. D | 929.535831 |
2023-11-16 18:32:33.5158350 | 616 | 134 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note
Endnotes have been moved to the end of the scene to which they apply.
The following note preceded the printed endnotes:
"In the Quartos there are no divisions of acts and scenes.
A, B, C = 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Quartos."
Italic text is marked by _underscores_, and bold text by ~swung dashes~.
[Illustration]
_THE TEMPLE DRAMATISTS_
ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM
[Illustration]
The text of this edition is nearly that of the first Quarto, the copy
of which in the Dyce Library at South Kensington has been carefully
collated. I have not noted minute variations. The German editors,
Warnke and Proescholt, give the various readings of the three Quartos
and of later editions.
[Illustration: _Feversham Abbey._]
ARDEN OF
FEVERSHAM
_Edited with a Preface, Notes
and Glossary by_
REV. RONALD BAYNE
M.A.
J. M. DENT AND CO.
ALDINE HOUSE : LONDON
1897
'Considering the various and marvellous gifts displayed for the first
time on our stage by the great poet, the great dramatist, the strong
and subtle searcher of hearts, the just and merciful judge and painter
of human passions, who gave this tragedy to the new-born literature
of our drama... I cannot but finally take heart to say, even in
the absence of all external or traditional testimony, that it seems
to me not pardonable merely or permissible, but simply logical and
reasonable, to set down this poem, a young man's work on the face of
it, as the possible work of no man's youthful hand but Shakespeare's.'
Mr. A. C. SWINBURNE.
PREFACE
~Early Editions.~ On 3rd April, 1592, '_The Tragedie of Arden of
Feversham and Blackwall_'[A] was entered on the Stationers' Registers
to Edward White. In the same year appeared, '_The lamentable and true
Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in Kent. Who was most wickedlye
murdered, by the meanes of his disloyall and wanton wyfe, who for the
love she bare to one Mosbie, hyred two desperat ruffins, Blackwill
and Shakbag, to kill him. Wherin is shewed the great mallice and
discimulation of a wicked woman, the unsatiable desire of filthie lust
and the shamefull end of all | 929.535875 |
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Proofreading Canada Team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This
book was created from images of public domain material
made available by the University of Toronto Libraries
(http://link.library.utoronto.ca/booksonline/).)
THE ONTARIO ARCHIVES: SCOPE OF ITS
OPERATIONS
(Paper read at the twenty-seventh annual meeting of
the American Historical Association, held at
Buffalo, N. Y., December 27-30, 1911)
BY
ALEXANDER FRASER
LL. D., LITT. D., F. S. A., SCOT. EDIN.
Reprinted from the Annual Report of the American Historical Association
for 1911, pages 353-362
WASHINGTON
1913
THE ONTARIO ARCHIVES.
By ALEXANDER FRASER, Provincial Archivist.
The line of demarcation between the Canadian or Dominion archives and
the Ontario or other provincial archives is somewhat similar to that
between the Federal and State archives in the United States. It consists
with the scope of the jurisdiction of the Dominion or major
commonwealth, and the narrower or minor jurisdiction of the Province.
This constitutes a clearly defined boundary within which both work
without conflict or overlapping of interests. Our public charter is an
imperial statute entitled the British North America act, and to-day,
when there are nine fully constituted, autonomous Provinces within the
Dominion of Canada, it is interesting to recall that when the British
North America act became law in 1867 the subtitle set forth that it was
"An act for the union of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick, and the
government thereof; and for purposes connected therewith."
This act provides for the government of Ontario a lieutenant-governor,
who represents the Crown; an executive council of ministers of state and
a legislature composed of duly elected representatives of the people. To
this body the act secures exclusive legislative powers in Ontario and
Quebec, in the matter of Crown lands, forests and mines; education, from
the public common school to the university; municipal government,
institutions and laws; incorporation of chartered companies--commercial,
financial, professional, or social; solemnization of marriage, involving
family history, vital statistics, etc.; property and civil rights;
administration of justice, embracing both civil and criminal
jurisdiction; agriculture and immigration, under which municipal,
industrial, and agricultural statistics are collected, tabulated, and
published; the founding and maintenance of provincial institutions such
as hospitals, asylums, reformatories, prisons, and institutions for the
instruction of the deaf and dumb and the blind; offices for the local
registration of deeds, titles to land; the licensing of shops, taverns,
hotels, auctioneers, etc.; the erection of local public works; the
authorization and regulation of transportation not interprovincial.
In short the Provincial Government gets close to the life of the people
and touches its business and social sides intimately. As at present
constituted the ministry comprises the departments of: The attorney
general, dealing with the administration of law; the provincial
secretary, controlling registration, and the public institutions; the
provincial treasurer, dealing with the public accounts; agriculture;
lands, forests, and mines; public works; and education. The prime
minister is statutorily president of the council and head of the
ministry. Besides these and exercising semi-ministerial or departmental
functions are two commissions, the hydro-electric commission and the
Government railway commission. These, with the legislature itself, are
the departments of government in which our archives originate.
Archives we have defined as the records, the | 929.735283 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THROUGH THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE
A Romance
With An Introduction
By William Dean Howells
1907
INTRODUCTION
Aristides <DW25>s, an Emissary of the Altrurian Commonwealth, visited the
United States during the summer of 1893 and the fall and winter
following. For some weeks or months he was the guest of a well-known
man of letters at a hotel in one of our mountain resorts; in the early
autumn he spent several days at the great Columbian Exhibition in
Chicago; and later he came to New York, where he remained until he
sailed, rather suddenly, for Altruria, taking the circuitous route by
which he came. He seems to have written pretty constantly throughout his
sojourn with us to an intimate friend in his own country, giving freely
his impressions of our civilization. His letters from New York appear to
have been especially full, and, in offering the | 929.936806 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Dianne Nolan, and the team
at Distributed Proofreaders Canada
HESTER
A STORY OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT
"A springy motion in her gait,
A rising step, did indicate
Of pride and joy no common rate
That flush'd her spirit:
I know not by what name beside
I shall it call: if 'twas not pride,
It was a joy to that allied
She did inherit.
* * * * *
She was trained in Nature's school,
Nature had blest her.
A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester."
CHARLES LAMB.
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. II
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1883
The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved
LONDON
R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR,
BREAD STREET HILL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE YOUNG AND THE OLD.
CHAPTER II. A FAMILY PARTY.
CHAPTER III. CONFIDENCES.
CHAPTER IV. ROLAND.
CHAPTER V. WARNING.
CHAPTER VI. DANCING TEAS.
CHAPTER VII. THE FIRST OF THEM.
CHAPTER VIII. A NEW COMPETITOR.
CHAPTER IX. A DOUBLE MIND.
CHAPTER X. STRAIGHTFORWARD.
CHAPTER XI. A CENTRE OF LIFE.
CHAPTER XII. WAS IT LOVE?
CHAPTER XIII. CHRISTMAS.
CHAPTER XIV. THE PARTY AT THE GRANGE.
HESTER.
HESTER.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG AND THE OLD.
"I like your Roland," said Miss Vernon. She had come to pay one of her
usual visits to her old relations. The grandson whom Hester had made
acquaintance with without seeing his face, had now been nearly a week at
the Vernonry and was known to everybody about. The captain's precautions
had, of course, come to nothing. He had gone, as in duty bound, to pay
his respects to the great lady who was his relation too, though in a
far-off degree, and he had pleased her. Catherine thought of nothing
less than of giving a great pleasure to her old friends by her praise.
"He is full of news and information, which is a godsend to us country
folks, and he is very good-looking, _qui ne gâte rien_."
Mrs. Morgan looked up from her place by the fireside with a smile of
pleasure. She sat folding her peaceful old hands with an air of
beatitude, which, notwithstanding her content, had not been upon her
countenance before the young man's arrival.
"That is a great pleasure to me, Catherine--to know that you like him,"
said the old lady. "He seems to me all that, and kind besides."
"What I should have expected your grandson to be," said Catherine. "I
want him to see the people here, and make a few acquaintances. I don't
suppose that our little people at Redborough can be of much importance
to a young man in town; still it is a pity to neglect an opportunity. He
is coming to dine with me to-morrow--as I suppose he told you?"
The old lady nodded her head several times with the same soft smile of
happiness.
"You are always good," she said; "you have done everything, Catherine,
for me and my old man. But if you want to go straight to my heart you
know the way lies through the children--my poor Katie's boys."
"I am glad that the direct route is so easy," Miss Vernon said in her
fine, large, beneficent way; "at least in this case. The others I don't
know."
Captain Morgan came and stood between his wife and the visitor. To be
sure it was to the fire he went, by which he posted himself with his
back to it, as is the right of every Englishman. His countenance wore a
troubled look, very different from the happiness of his wife's. He stood
like a barrier between them, a non-conductor intercepting the passage of
genial sentiment.
"My dear Catherine," he said, with a little formality, "I don't wish to
be unkind, nor to check your kindness; but you must recollect that
though he is poor Katie's boy, she, poor soul, had nothing to do with
the up-bringing of him, and that, in short, we know nothing about him.
It has been my principle, as you know, of late years, to insist upon
living my own life."
"All that, my kind old uncle, is understood," said Catherine. "There are
a great many people, I believe, who are better than their principles,
and you are one of them--that is all. I understand that you know nothing
about him. You are only a man, which is a great drawback, but it is not
to be helped: _we_ know, though we have seen no more of him than you
have. Isn't it so?"
She leaned forward a little, and looked across at the old lady, who
smiled and nodded in return. Old Mrs. Morgan was not disturbed by her
husband's disagreement. It did not even make her angry. She took it with
perfect composure, beaming over her own discovery of her grandson, and
the additional happiness it had brought.
"My old man," she said, "Catherine, has his own ways of thinking, we all
know that; and sometimes he will act upon them, but most commonly not.
One thing I know, he will never shut his doors on his own flesh and
blood, nor deny his old wife what is her greatest pleasure--the thing
that has been wanting to me all the time--all the time! I scarcely knew
what it was. And if the boy had been distant or strange, or showed that
he knew nothing about us, still I should have been content. I would have
said, 'Let him go; you were right, Rowley, and not I.' But it is not
so," the old lady went on after a pause, "there's love in him. I
remember when the girls were married there was something I always seemed
to want, I found out what it was when the first grandchild was born. It
was to feel a baby in my arms again--that was what I wanted. I don't
know, Catherine," she added with humility, "if you will think that
foolish?"
"If I will understand--that is what you are doubtful of--for I am an old
maid, and never had, so to speak, a baby in my arms; but I do
understand," said Catherine, with a little moisture in her eyes. "Well,
and this great handsome fellow, a man of the world, is he your baby that
you wanted so much?"
"Pooh!" said the old captain. "The great advantage of being an old maid,
as you say, is that you are above the prejudices of parentage. It is
possible to get you to hear reason. Why should my life be overshadowed
permanently by the action of another? That is what I ask. Why should I
be responsible for one who is not me, nor of my mind?"
"Listen to him! You would think that was all he knows," said Mrs.
Morgan; "there is no fathoming that old man, my dear."
"What I have to say is, that we know nothing of this young man," said
the captain, shaking his shaggy head as if to shake off his wife's
comments. "You will exercise your own judgment--but don't take him on
mine, for I don't know him. He is well enough to look at; he has plenty
to say for himself; I dare say he is clever enough. Form your own
judgment and act upon that, but don't come and say it's our fault if he
disappoints you--that is all I have to say. Excuse me, Catherine, if I
take a walk even while you are here, for this puts me out--I allow it
puts me out," Captain Morgan said.
"What has made him take this idea?" said Miss Vernon, when Captain
Morgan had hobbled out.
"Oh, my dear, he has his fancies like another. We have had many things
to put up with, and he thinks when it comes to the second generation--he
thinks we have a right to peace and quiet in our old age."
"And so you have," said Catherine gravely, "so you have."
She did not ask any questions. Neither she nor any one knew what it was
with which, in the other part of their lives, these old people had been
compelled to "put up." Nor did the old lady say. She answered softly,
"Yes, I think so too. Peace is sweet, but it is not life."
"Some people would say it was better."
"They never knew, those people, what life was. I like to see the
children come and go--one here, one there. One in need of your sympathy,
another of your help, another, oh Catherine, even that--of your pardon,
my dear!" This made her pause, and brought, what was so unusual, a
little glistening moisture to the old lady's eyes. She was silent for a
moment, and smiled, perhaps to efface the impression she had made. "If
you can do nothing else for them you can always do that," she said.
Catherine Vernon, who was sixty-five, and knew herself to be an old
woman, looked at the other, who was over eighty, as a girl looks at her
mother--wondering at her strange experiences, feeling herself a child in
presence of a knowledge which is not hers. She had not experience enough
to understand this philosophy. She looked for a little at her companion,
wondering, and then she said, soothingly--
"We must not dwell upon painful subjects. This young fellow will not
appeal to you so. What I like in him is his independence. He has his own
opinion, and he expresses it freely. His society will be very good for
my nephew Edward. If he has a fault--and, indeed, I don't think that boy
has many--it is that he is diffident about his own opinion. Roland, if
he stays long enough, will help to cure him of that. And how does the
other affair go on?" she added, with a perceptible pause, and in a voice
which was a little constrained. "No doubt there is great triumph next
door."
Old Mrs. Morgan shook her head.
"It is curious what mistakes we all make," she said.
"Mistakes? Do you mean that I am mistaken about the triumph? Well, they
have very good reason. I should triumph too, if having been turned | 930.099434 |
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Transcriber’s Notes
Italic markup is enclosed within _underscores_.
Bold markup is enclosed within =equal signs=.
Additional notes appear at the end of the file.
ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE.
THE
AMATEUR
DRAMA.
GENTLEMEN
OF THE JURY
BOSTON:
GEO. M. BAKER & CO.,
149 Washington Street.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873 by GEORGE M.
BAKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
SPENCER’S UNIVERSAL STAGE.
_A Collection of COMEDIES, DRAMAS, and FARCES, adapted to either Public
or Private Performance. Containing a full description of all the
necessary Stage Business._
_PRICE, 15 CENTS EACH. No | 930.161656 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Wild Man of the West, by R.M. Ballantyne.
________________________________________________________________________
The action of this book takes place entirely in the foothills of the
Rocky Mountains in North America. We can certainly appreciate the
hardness of the life of the hunters in those days, which were during the
early part of the nineteenth century. The action is very well narrated,
and is very exciting and interesting. All sorts of things are suddenly
pulled together in the very last few pages, and it would be quite hard
for the reader to guess what was going to happen, before the last two
chapters.
________________________________________________________________________
THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO A MAD HERO, A RECKLESS LOVER, AND A
RUNAWAY HUSBAND--BACKWOODS JUVENILE TRAINING DESCRIBED--THE PRINCIPLES
OF FIGHTING FULLY DISCUSSED, AND SOME VALUABLE HINTS THROWN OUT.
March Marston was mad! The exact state of madness to which March had
attained at the age when we take up his personal history--namely,
sixteen--is uncertain, for the people of the backwoods settlement in
which he dwelt differed in their opinions on that point.
The clergyman, who was a Wesleyan, said he was as wild as a young
buffalo bull; but the manner in which he said so led his hearers to
conclude that he did not think such a state of ungovernable madness to
be a hopeless condition, by any means. The doctor said he was as mad as
a hatter; but this was an indefinite remark, worthy of a doctor who had
never obtained a diploma, and required explanation, inasmuch as it was
impossible to know _how_ mad he considered a hatter to be. Some of the
trappers who came to the settlement for powder and lead, said he was as
mad as a grisly bear with a whooping-cough--a remark which, if true,
might tend to throw light on the diseases to which the grisly bear is
liable, but which failed to indicate to any one, except perhaps
trappers, the extent of young Marston's madness. The carpenter and the
blacksmith of the place--who were fast friends and had a pitched battle
only once a month, or twice at most--agreed in saying that he was as mad
as a wild-cat. In short, every one asserted stoutly that the boy was
mad, with the exception of the women of the settlement, who thought him
a fine, bold, handsome fellow; and his own mother, who thought him a
paragon of perfection, and who held the opinion (privately) that, in the
wide range of the habitable globe there was not another like him--and
she was not far wrong!
Now, the whole and sole reason why March Marston was thus deemed a
madman, was that he displayed an insane tendency, at all times and in
all manners, to break his own neck, or to make away with himself in some
similarly violent and uncomfortable manner.
There was not a fence in the whole countryside that March had not bolted
over at full gallop, or ridden crash through if he could not go over it.
There was not a tree within a circuit of four miles from the top of
which he had not fallen. There was not a pond or pool in the
neighbourhood into which he had not soused at some period of his stormy
juvenile career, and there was not a big boy whom he had not fought and
thrashed--or been thrashed by--scores of times.
But for all this March had not a single enemy. He did his companions
many a kind turn; never an unkind one. He fought for love, not for
hatred. He loved a dog--if any one kicked it, he fought him. He loved
a little boy--if any one was cruel to that little boy, he fought him.
He loved fair play--if any one was guilty of foul play, he fought him.
When he was guilty of foul play himself (as was sometimes the case, for
who is perfect?) he felt inclined to jump out of his own body and turn
about and thrash himself! And he would have done so often, had it been
practicable. Yes, there is no doubt whatever about it March Marston was
mad--as mad, after a fashion, as any creature, human or otherwise, you
choose to name.
Young Marston's mother was a handsome, stout, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired
woman, of a little over thirty-five summers. She was an English
emigrant, and had, seventeen years before the time we write of settled
at Pine Point, on the banks of the Yellowstone River, along with her
brother, the blacksmith above referred to. At that time she was the
sweetest maiden in all the village, and now she was the handsomest
matron. Indeed, the bloom of her youth remained on her cheeks so little
impaired that she was often mistaken by strangers for March Marston's
elder sister. The men of the place called her pretty widow Marston; but
she was not a widow--at least, they had as little ground for saying that
she was as they had for asserting that her son was mad. Mrs Marston
was peculiarly circumstanced, but she was not a widow.
The peculiar circumstances connected with her history are soon told.
Immediately after the arrival of the blacksmith and his pretty sister at
Pine Point settlement, a tall stout young stripling--a trapper--about a
year older than herself, fell deeply in love with Mary West--that being
Mrs Marston's maiden name. The young trapper's case was desperate. He
sank at once so deep into the profundities of love, that no deep-sea
lead, however ingeniously contrived, could reach him.
Although just emerging from boyhood, Louis the trapper was already a
tall, strong, handsome man, and Mary felt flattered by his attentions.
But when, a month afterwards, he boldly offered her his hand and fortune
(which latter consisted of a trapper's costume and a western rifle), she
was taken aback and flatly refused him. Louis was hare-brained and
passionate. He told her he would give her one day and a night to think
of it. At the end of that time he came back and was again refused, for
Mary West had no notion of being taken by storm in that fashion. But
she trembled and grew pale on observing the storm of angry passion that
gleamed from the young trapper's eyes and caused his broad chest to
heave violently. He did not speak. He did not even look at Mary--had
he done so, years of sorrow and suffering might have been spared them
both. He stood for one moment with his eyes fixed upon the ground--then
he turned, sprang through the doorway, vaulted on his horse, and went
off from her cottage door as an arrow leaps from a bow. The fences and
ditches that lay in his way were no impediment. His powerful steed
carried him over all and into the forest beyond, where he was quickly
lost to view. Mary tried to resume her household occupations with a
sigh. She did not believe he was gone. But he was!
At first Mary was nettled; then she grew sad; as weeks passed away she
became nettled again, and at this juncture another suitor appeared in
the shape of a young immigrant farmer, whose good looks and insinuating
address soothed her irritation at the strange abrupt conduct of her
lover. She began to think that she must have been mistaken in supposing
that she cared for the wild trapper--and, in order to prove the
correctness of her supposition, she married Obadiah Marston, the farmer.
Alas! poor Mary discovered her error too late. Marston turned out a
profligate drunkard. At first he did not come out in his true colours.
A son was born, and he insisted on calling him March, for no other
reason than that he was born in the month so named. Mary was obliged to
consent, and at last came to congratulate herself that the child had
been born in March, and not in April or October, or any other month
equally unsuitable for a Christian name. After the first year, Obadiah
Marston treated his wife badly, then brutally, and at last he received a
sound drubbing from his brother-in-law, the blacksmith, for having
beaten poor Mary with a stick. This brought things to a climax.
Marston vowed he would forsake his wife, and never set eyes on her
again; and he kept his vow. He embarked one day in a boat that was
going down to the Missouri with a cargo of furs, and his poor wife never
saw him again. Thus was Mary West forsaken, first by her lover and then
by her husband.
It was long before she recovered from the blow; but time gradually
reconciled her to her lot, and she devoted herself thenceforth to the
training of her little boy. As years rolled on, Mrs Marston recovered
her spirits and her looks; but, although many a fine young fellow sought
her heart and hand, assuring her that she was a widow--that she _must_
be a widow, that no man in his senses could remain so long away from
such a wife unless he were dead--she turned a deaf ear to them all.
March Marston's infancy was spent in yelling and kicking, with the
exception of those preternaturally calm periods when he was employed in
eating and sleeping. As he grew older the kicking and yelling
decreased, the eating increased, and the sleeping continued pretty much
the same. Then came a period when he began to learn his A, B, C. Mrs
Marston had been well educated for her station in life. She had read
much, and had brought a number of books to the backwoods settlement; so
she gave her boy a pretty good education--as education went in those
days--and certainly a much better one than was given to boys in such
out-of-the-way regions. She taught him to read and write, and carried
him on in arithmetic as far as compound division, where she stuck,
having reached the extreme limits of her own tether.
Contemporaneously with the cessation of squalling and kicking, and the
acquirement of the A, B, C, there arose in little March's bosom
unutterable love for his mother; or, rather, the love that had always
dwelt there began to well up powerfully, and to overflow in copious
streams of obedience and considerate attention. About the same time the
roving, reckless "madness," as it was styled, began to develop itself.
And, strange to say, Mrs Marston did not check that! She was a
large-minded, a liberal-minded woman, that semi-widow. She watched her
son closely, but very few of his deeds were regarded by her in the light
of faults. Tumbling off trees was not. Falling into ditches and horse
ponds was not. Fighting was, to some extent; and on this point alone
did mother and son seem to entertain any difference of opinion, if we
may style that difference of opinion where the son fell into silent and
extreme perplexity after a short, and on his part humble, discussion on
the subject.
"Why, mother," said March in surprise (having attained the mature age of
eight when he said it), "if a grisly bear was to 'tack me, you'd let me
defend myself, wouldn't you?"
Mrs Marston smiled to see the rotund little object of two-feet-ten
standing before the fire with its legs apart and its arms crossed,
putting such a question, and replied--
"Certainly, my boy."
"And when Tom Blake offered to hit Susy Jefferson, wasn't I right to
fight him for that?"
"Yes, my boy, I think it right to fight in defence of the weak and
helpless."
The object of two-feet-ten began to swell and his eyes to brighten at
the unexpected success of this catechising of its mother, and went on to
say--
"Well, mother, why do you blame me for fightin', then, if it's right?"
"Because fighting is not always right, my boy. You had a fight with
Bill Summers, hadn't you, yesterday?"
"Yes, mother."
Two-feet-ten said this in a hesitating tone, and shrank into its
ordinary proportions as it continued--
"But I didn't lick him, mother, he licked _me_. But I'll try again,
mother--indeed I will, and I'll be sure to lick him next time."
"I don't want you to try again," rejoined Mrs Marston; "and you must
not try again without a good reason. Why did you fight him yesterday?"
"Because he told a lie," said the object promptly, swelling out again,
and looking big under the impression that the goodness of its reason
could not be questioned. It was, therefore, with a look of baffled
surprise that it collapsed | 930.239053 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
JUGGERNAUT
A Veiled Record
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON AND DOLORES MARBOURG
NEW YORK
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT
1891
COPYRIGHT IN 1891, BY
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
AND
DOLORES MARBOURG
_All Rights Reserved_
To Madame
JUGGERNAUT:
A VEILED RECORD.
I.
Edgar Braine was never so blithe in all his life as on the morning of
his suicide.
Years after, in the swirl and tumult of his extraordinary career, the
memory of that June morning, and of the mood in which he greeted it,
would rush upon him as a flood, and for the moment drown the eager
voices that besought his attention, distracting his mind for the
briefest fraction of an instant from the complex problems of affairs
with which he wrestled ceaselessly.
In the brief moment during which he allowed the vision of a dead past
thus to invade his mind, he would recall every detail of that morning
with photographic accuracy, and more than photographic vividness.
In such moments, he saw himself young, but with a mature man's ambition,
and more than the strength of a man, as he strode sturdily down the
streets of the little Western city, the June sunshine all about him in a
golden glory, while the sunshine within exceeded it a hundredfold.
His mood was exultant, and with reason. He had already conquered the
only obstacles that barred his way to success and power. He had
impressed himself upon the minds of men, in a small way as yet, to be
sure, but sufficiently to prove his capacity, and confirm his confidence
in his ability to conquer, whithersoever he might direct his march.
Life opened its best portals to him. He was poor, but strong and well
equipped. He had won possession of the tools with which to do his work;
and the conquest of the tools is the most difficult task set the man who
confronts life armed only with his own abilities. That accomplished, if
the man be worthy, the rest follows quite as a matter of course,--an
effect flowing from an efficient cause.
Edgar Braine had proved to himself that he possessed superior
capacities. He had long entertained that opinion of his endowment, but
his caution in self-estimate was so great that he had been slower than
any of his acquaintances to accept the fact as indisputably proved.
It had been proved, however, and that was cause enough for rejoicing, to
a mind which had tortured itself from boyhood with unutterable longings
for that power over men which superior intellect gives,--a mind that had
dreamed high dreams of the employment of such power for human progress.
His was not an ambition achieved. It was that immeasurably more joyous
thing, an ambition in sure process of achievement.
But this was not his only cause of joy. Love, as well as life, had
smiled upon him, and the woman who had subdued all that was noblest in
him to that which was still nobler in her, was presently to be his wife.
And so Edgar Braine's heart sang merrily within him as he strode through
the cottonwood-bordered streets toward his editorial work-shop.
He entered the composing-room in front, and greeted the foreman with
even more of cordiality | 930.239165 |
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Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in hyphenation. It seems that
the italic typeface used in this book did not have an ae ligature.
Names of genera and higher taxonomic groups are not capitalized in
the printed book: they have bee left unchanged. Some changes have
been made. They are listed at the end of the text.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
OE ligatures have been expanded.
THE RIDDLE OF THE UNIVERSE
[Illustration: ERNST HAECKEL]
THE RIDDLE
OF THE UNIVERSE
_AT THE CLOSE OF
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY_
BY
ERNST HAECKEL
(Ph.D., M.D., LL.D., Sc.D., and Professor at the
University of Jena)
AUTHOR OF "THE HISTORY OF CREATION"
"THE EVOLUTION OF MAN" ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
JOSEPH McCABE
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1905
Copyright, 1900, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS
PAGE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE v
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE xi
CHAPTER I
THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM 1
CHAPTER II
OUR BODILY FRAME 22
CHAPTER III
OUR LIFE 39
CHAPTER IV
OUR EMBRYONIC DEVELOPMENT 53
CHAPTER V
THE HISTORY OF OUR SPECIES 71
CHAPTER VI
THE NATURE OF THE SOUL 88
CHAPTER VII
PSYCHIC GRADATIONS 108
CHAPTER VIII
THE EMBRYOLOGY OF THE SOUL 132
CHAPTER IX
THE PHYLOGENY OF THE SOUL 148
CHAPTER X
CONSCIOUSNESS 170
CHAPTER XI
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL 188
CHAPTER XII
THE LAW OF SUBSTANCE 211
CHAPTER XIII
THE EVOLUTION OF THE WORLD 233
CHAPTER XIV
THE UNITY OF NATURE 254
CHAPTER XV
GOD AND THE WORLD 275
CHAPTER XVI
KNOWLEDGE AND BELIEF 292
CHAPTER XVII
SCIENCE AND CHRISTIANITY 308
CHAPTER XVIII
OUR MONISTIC RELIGION 331
CHAPTER XIX
OUR MONISTIC ETHICS 347
CHAPTER XX
SOLUTION OF THE WORLD-PROBLEMS 365
CONCLUSION 380
INDEX 385
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The present study of the monistic philosophy is intended for thoughtful
readers | 930.24532 |
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E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Eminent Women Series
Edited by John H. Ingram
EMILY BRONTE
All Rights Reserved.
EMILY BRONTE
by
A. MARY F. ROBINSON
Second Edition.
London:
W. H. Allen and Co.
13, Waterloo Place
1883.
[All Rights Reserved]
London:
Printed by W. H. Allen and Co., 13 Waterloo Place. S.W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction 1
CHAPTER I.
Parentage 8
CHAPTER II.
Babyhood 18
CHAPTER III.
Cowan's Bridge 28
CHAPTER IV.
Childhood 40
CHAPTER V.
Going to School 53
CHAPTER VI.
Girlhood at Haworth 61
CHAPTER VII.
In the Rue d'Isabelle 77
CHAPTER VIII.
A Retrospect 92
CHAPTER IX.
The Recall 103
CHAPTER X.
The Prospectuses 111
CHAPTER XI.
Branwell's Fall 116
CHAPTER XII.
Writing Poetry 128
CHAPTER XIII.
Troubles 144
CHAPTER XIV.
Wuthering Heights: its Origin 154
CHAPTER XV.
Wuthering Heights: the Story 168
CHAPTER XVI.
'Shirley' 209
CHAPTER XVII.
Branwell's End 217
CHAPTER XVIII.
Emily's Death 223
FINIS! 233
* * * * *
LIST OF AUTHORITIES.
1846-56. The Works of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell.
1857. Life of Charlotte Bronte. _Mrs. Gaskell. 1st and 2nd Editions._
1877. Charlotte Bronte. _T. Wemyss Reid._
1877. Note on Charlotte Bronte. _A. C. Swinburne._
1881. Three Great Englishwomen. _P. Bayne._
MS. Lecture on Emily Bronte. _T. Wemyss Reid._
MS. Notes on Emily and Charlotte Bronte. _Miss Ellen Nussey._
MS. Letters of Charlotte and Branwell Bronte.
1879. Reminiscences of the Brontes. _Miss E. Nussey._
1870. Unpublished Letters of Charlotte, Emily,
and Anne Bronte. _Hours at Home._
1846. Emily Bronte's Annotated Copy of her Poems.
1872. Branwell Bronte: in the "Mirror." _G. S. Phillips._
1879. Pictures of the Past. _F. H. Grundy._
1830. Prospectus of the Clergymen's Daughters' School
at Cowan's Bridge.
1850. Preface to Wuthering Heights. _Charlotte Bronte._
1850. Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell. _Charlotte Bronte._
1850. Wuthering Heights: in the "Palladium." _Sydney Dobell._
Personal Reminiscences of Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Ratcliffe, Mrs. Brown,
and Mr. William Wood, of Haworth.
1811-18. Poems of Patrick Bronte, B.A., Incumbent of Haworth.
1879. Haworth: Past and Present. _J. Horsfall Turner._
* * * * *
EMILY BRONTE.
INTRODUCTION.
There are, perhaps, few tests of excellence so sure as the popular
verdict on a work of art a hundred years after its accomplishment. So
much time must be allowed for the swing and rebound of taste, for the
despoiling of tawdry splendours and to permit the work of art itself to
form a public capable of appreciating it. Such marvellous fragments
reach us of Elizabethan praises; and we cannot help recalling the number
of copies of 'Prometheus Unbound' sold in the lifetime of the poet. We
know too well "what porridge had John Keats," and remember with
misgiving the turtle to which we treated Hobbs and Nobbs at dinner, and
how complacently we watched them put on their laurels afterwards.
Let us, then, by all means distrust our own and the public estimation of
all heroes dead within a hundred years. Let us, in laying claim to an
infallible verdict, remember how oddly our decisions sound at the other
side of Time's whispering gallery. Shall we therefore pronounce only on
Chaucer and Shakespeare, on Gower and our learned Ben? Alas! we are too
sure of their relative merits; we stake our reputations with no qualms,
no battle-ardours. These we reserve to them for whom the future is not
yet secure, for whom a timely word may still be spoken, for whom we yet
may feel that lancing out of enthusiasm only possible when the cast of
fate is still unknown, and, as we fight, we fancy that the glory of our
hero is in our hands.
But very gradually the victory is gained. A taste is unconsciously
formed for the qualities necessary to the next development of
art--qualities which Blake in his garret, Millet without the sou, set
down in immortal work. At last, when the time is ripe, some connoisseur
sees the picture, blows the dust from the book, and straightway blazons
his discovery. Mr. Swinburne, so to speak, blew the dust from 'Wuthering
Heights'; and now it keeps its proper rank in the shelf where Coleridge
and Webster, Hofmann and Leopardi have their place. Until then, a few
brave lines of welcome from Sydney Dobell, one fine verse of Mr.
Arnold's, one notice from Mr. Reid, was all the praise that had been
given to the book by those in authority. Here and there a mill-girl in
the West Riding factories read and re-read the tattered copy from the
lending library; here and there some eager, unsatisfied, passionate
child came upon the book and loved it, in spite of chiding, finding in
it an imagination that satisfied, and a storm that cleared the air; or
some strong-fibred heart felt without a shudder the justice of that
stern vision of inevitable, inherited ruin following the chance-found
child of foreign sailor and seaport mother. But these readers were not
many; even yet the book is not popular.
For, in truth, the qualities that distinguish Emily Bronte are not those
which are of the first necessity to a novelist. She is without
experience; her range of character is narrow and local; she has no
atmosphere of broad humanity like George Eliot; she has not Jane
Austen's happy gift of making us love in a book what we have overlooked
in life; we do not recognise in her the human truth and passion, the
never-failing serene bitterness of humour, that have made for Charlotte
Bronte a place between Cervantes and Victor Hugo.
Emily Bronte is of a different class. Her imagination is narrower, but
more intense; she sees less, but what she sees is absolutely present: no
writer has described the moors, the wind, the skies, with her passionate
fidelity, but this is all of Nature that she describes. Her narrow
fervid nature accounted as simple annoyance the trivial scenes and
personages touched with immortal sympathy and humour in 'Villette' and
'Shirley'; Paul Emanuel himself appeared to her only as a pedantic and
exacting taskmaster; but, on the other hand, to a certain class of mind,
there is nothing in fiction so moving as the spectacle of Heathcliff
dying of joy--an unnatural, unreal joy--his panther nature paralysed,
_aneanti_, in a delirium of visionary bliss.
Only an imagination of the rarest power could conceive such a
denouement, requiting a life of black ingratitude by no mere common
horrors, no vulgar Bedlam frenzy; but by the torturing apprehension of a
happiness never quite grasped, always just beyond the verge of
realisation. Only an imagination of the finest and rarest touch,
absolutely certain of tread on that path of a single hair which alone
connects this world with the land of dreams. Few have trod that perilous
bridge with the fearlessness of Emily Bronte: that is her own ground and
there she wins our highest praise; but place her on the earth, ask her
to interpret for us the common lives of the surrounding people, she can
give no answer. The swift and certain spirit moves with the clumsy
hesitating gait of a bird accustomed to soar.
She tells us what she saw; and what she saw and what she was incapable
of seeing are equally characteristic. All the wildness of that moorland,
all the secrets of those lonely farms, all the capabilities of the one
tragedy of passion and weakness that touched her solitary life, she
divined and appropriated; but not the life of the village at her feet,
not the bustle of the mills, the riots, the sudden alternations of
wealth and poverty; not the incessant rivalry of church and chapel; and
while the West Riding has known the prototype of nearly every person and
nearly every place in 'Jane Eyre' and 'Shirley,' not a single character
in 'Wuthering Heights' ever climbed the hills round Haworth.
Say that two foreigners have passed through Staffordshire, leaving us
their reports of what they have seen. The first, going by day, will tell
us of the hideous blackness of the country; but yet more, no doubt, of
that awful, patient struggle of man with fire and darkness, of the grim
courage of those unknown lives; and he would see what they toil for,
women with little children in their arms; and he would notice the blue
sky beyond the smoke, doubly precious for such horrible environment. But
the second traveller has journeyed through the night; neither squalor
nor ugliness, neither sky nor children, has he seen, only a vast stretch
of blackness shot through with flaming fires, or here and there burned
to a dull red by heated furnaces; and before these, strange toilers,
half naked, scarcely human, and red in the leaping flicker and gleam of
the fire. The meaning of their work he could not see, but a fearful and
impressive phantasmagoria of flame and blackness and fiery energies at
work in the encompassing night.
So differently did the black country of this world appear to Charlotte,
clear-seeing and compassionate, and to Emily Bronte, a traveller through
the shadows. Each faithfully recorded what she saw, and the place was
the same, but how unlike the vision! The spectacles of temperament
colour the world very differently for each beholder; and, to understand
the vision, we too should for a moment look through the seer's glass. To
gain some such transient glance, to gain and give some such momentary
insight into the character of Emily Bronte, has been the aim I have
tried to make in this book. That I have not fulfilled my desire is
perhaps inevitable--the task has been left too long. If I have done
anything at all I feel that much of the reward is due to my many and
generous helpers. Fore | 930.335667 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
(Library of Congress)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
A TRAITOR IN LONDON
BY
FERGUS HUME
Author of
"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "Hagar of the Pawn Shop,"
Etc., Etc.
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
9 AND 11 EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON--JOHN LONG
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
_A Traitor in London_
A Traitor in London.
CHAPTER I.
CUPID IN LEADING STRINGS.
"It's an infernal shame!"
"I call it common sense!"
"Call it what you please, Malet. I deny your right to keep back my
money."
"Right? Your father's will gives me every right. If I approve of your
marriage, the money will be paid down on your wedding day."
"But you don't approve, confound you!"
"Certainly not. Brenda Scarse is not the wife for you, Harold."
"That's my business."
"Mine also--under the will. Come, come now; don't lose your temper."
The elder speaker smiled as he proffered this advice, knowing well
that he was provoking his cousin beyond all bounds. Harold Burton was
young, fiery-tempered, and in love. To be thwarted in his love was
something more than exasperating to this impetuous lover. The
irritating request that he should keep his temper caused him to lose
it promptly; and for the next five minutes Mr. Gilbert Malet was
witness of a fine exhibition of unrestrained rage. He trembled for the
furniture, almost for his own personal safety, though he managed to
preserve a duly dignified outward calm. While Harold stamped about the
room, his burly cousin posed before a fireless grate and trimmed his
nails, and waited until the young man should have exhausted this
wholly unnecessary display of violence.
They were in the library of Holt Manor. It was a sombre, monkish room;
almost ascetic in its severity. Bookcases and furniture were of black
oak, carpet and curtains of a deep red color; and windows of stained
glass subdued the light suitably for study and meditation. But on this
occasion the windows were open to the brilliant daylight of an August
afternoon, and shafts of golden sunshine poured into the room. From
the terrace stretching before the house, vast woods sloped toward
Chippingholt village, where red-roofed houses clustered round a
brawling stream, and rose again on the further side to sweep to the
distant hills in unbroken masses of green. Manor and village took
their Teutonic names from these forests, and buried in greenery, might
have passed as the domain of the Sleeping Beauty. Her palace was
undoubtedly girdled by just such a wood.
But this sylvan beauty did not appeal to the pair in the library. The
stout, domineering owner of the Manor who trimmed his nails and smiled
blandly had the stronger position of the two, and he knew it well--so
well that he could afford to ignore the virile wrath of his ward.
Strictly speaking, Captain Burton was not a ward, if that word implies
minority. He was thirty years of age, in a lancer regiment, and
possessed of an income sufficient to emancipate him from the control
of his cousin Gilbert. Still, though possible for one, his income was
certainly not possible for two, and if Gilbert chose he could increase
his capital by twenty thousand pounds. But the stumbling-block was the
condition attached to the disposal of the money. Only if Malet
approved of the prospective bride was he to part with the legacy. As
such he did not approve of Brenda Scarse, so matters were at a
standstill. Nor could Harold well see how he was to move them. Finding
all his rage of no avail, he gradually subsided and had recourse to
methods more pacific.
"Let me understand this matter clearly," he said, taking a seat with a
resolute air. "Independent of my three hundred a year, you hold twenty
thousand pounds of my money."
"To be correct," replied Malet in a genial tone, "I hold forty
thousand pounds, to be equally shared between you and your brother
Wilfred when you marry. The three hundred a year which you each
possess I have nothing to do with."
"Well, I want to marry, and----"
"You do--against my wishes. If I do not approve of your choice I need
not pay you this money. I can hold it until I die."
"And then?" asked Harold, sharply.
Gilbert shrugged his burly shoulders. "Then it goes to you and Wilfred
direct. There is no provision made for my handing it over to another
trustee. You are bound to get your share in the long run; but I am not
thinking of dying just yet, my dear Harold."
"I can't imagine what possessed my father ever to make so foolish a
will."
"Your father was guided by experience, my boy. He made a miserable
marriage himself, and did not want you or Wilfred to go and do
likewise. He had evidently confidence in my judgment, and knew that I
would stand between you and folly."
"Confound your impudence," shouted Harold, his dark face crimson with
anger. "You're only fifteen years older than I am. At the age of
thirty I am surely capable of selecting my own wife!"
"I hardly think so, when you select Miss Scarse!"
"What the deuce have you against her?"
"Nothing, personally. She is a nice girl, a very nice girl, but poor.
A man of your extravagant tastes should marry money. Brenda is well
enough, for herself," continued Malet, with odious familiarity, for
which Harold could have struck him, "but her father!--Stuart Scarse is
a Little Englander!"
Captain Burton was taken aback at the irrelevancy of this remark.
"What the devil has that to do with her or me?" he demanded bluntly.
"Everything, if you love your country. You belong to a Conservative
family. You are a soldier, and the time is coming when we must all
rally round the flag and preserve the Empire. Scarse is a member of
that pernicious band which desires the dismemberment of our
glorious----
"Oh, I'm sick of this!" Harold jumped up and crammed on his cap. "Your
political ideas have nothing to do with my marriage. You have no
reason to object to Miss Scarse. Once for all, will you pay me this
money?"
"No, I will not. I shall not agree to your marrying the daughter of a
Little Englander."
"Then I shall throw the estate into Chancery."
Malet looked uneasy, but sneered. "By all means, if you want the whole
forty thousand to go to fee the lawyers! But, before you risk losing
your money, let me advise you to make sure of Miss Brenda Scarse!"
"What do you mean?"
"Ask Mr. van Zwieten, who is staying with her father."
"Oh!" said Harold, contemptuously, "Brenda has told me all about him.
Her father wants her to marry him, and it is true he is in love with
her; but Brenda loves me, and will never consent to become the wife of
that Boer!
"Van Zwieten is no Boer. He is a Dutchman, born in Amsterdam."
"And a friend of yours," sneered Captain Burton. "He is no friend of
mine!" shouted Malet, somewhat ruffled. "I detest the man as much as I
do Scarse. If----"
"Look here, Gilbert, I don't want any more of this. I trust Brenda,
and I intend to marry her."
"Very good. Then you'll have to starve on your three hundred a year."
"You refuse to give me the money?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I'm glad I don't live under your roof and can tell you what I
think of you. You are a mean hound, Malet--keep back, or I'll knock
you down. Yes, a mean hound! This is not your real reason for refusing
to pay me this money. I'll go up to town to-day and have your
trusteeship inquired into."
Gilbert changed color and looked dangerous. "You can act as you
please, Harold; but recollect that my powers are very clearly defined
under the will. I am not accountable to you or to Wilfred or to any
one else for the money. I have no need to defend my honor."
"That we shall see." Harold opened the door and looked back. " | 930.335758 |
2023-11-16 18:32:34.4148530 | 3,384 | 9 | VOLUME I (OF 3) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*ADVENTURES*
*OF*
*AN AIDE-DE-CAMP:*
*OR,*
*A CAMPAIGN IN CALABRIA.*
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR."
_Claud._ I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
That liked, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love:
But now I am returned, and that war thoughts
Have left their places vacant; in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is,
Saying how I liked her ere I went to war.
SHAKSPEARE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER, AND CO., CORNHILL.
1848.
London:
Printed by STEWART and MURRAY,
Old Bailey.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER
I.--The Landing in Calabria
II.--The Pigtail
III.--The Visconte Santugo
IV.--Double or Quit
V.--Truffi the Hunchback
VI.--The Calabrian Free Corps
VII.--The Battle of Maida
VIII.--The Cottage.--Capture of the Eagle
IX.--Lives for Ducats!--Bianca D'Alfieri
X.--A Night with the Zingari
XI.--The Hunchback Again!
XII.--The Hermitage
XIII.--The Hermit's Confession
XIV.--The Siege Of Crotona
XV.--The Abduction.--A Scrape
XVI.--The Summons of Surrender
XVII.--Marching 'Out' with the Honours of War
XVIII.--Another Dispatch
XIX.--Narrative of Castelermo
XX.--The Villa Belcastro
XXI.--Sequel to the Story of Castelermo
*PREFACE.*
The very favourable reception given by the Press and Public generally,
to "The Romance of War," and its "Sequel," has encouraged the Author to
resume his labours in another field.
Often as scenes of British valour and conquest have been described, the
brief but brilliant campaign in the Calabrias (absorbed, and almost
lost, amid the greater warlike operations in the Peninsula) has never,
he believes, been touched upon: though a more romantic land for
adventure and description cannot invite the pen of a novelist; more
especially when the singular social and political ideas of those unruly
provinces are remembered.
Indeed it is to be regretted that no narrative should have been
published of Sir John Stuart's Neapolitan campaign. It was an
expedition set on foot to drive the French from South Italy; and (but
for the indecision which sometimes characterized the ministry of those
days) that country might have become the scene of operations such as
were carried on so successfully on the broader arena of the Spanish
Peninsula.
Other campaigns and victories will succeed those of the great Duke, and
the names of Vittoria and Waterloo will sound to future generations as
those of Ramillies and Dettingen do to the present. Materials for
martial stories will never be wanting: they are a branch of literature
peculiarly British; and it is remarkable that, notwithstanding the love
of peace, security and opulence, which appears to possess us now, the
present age is one beyond all others fond of an exciting style of
literature.
Military romances and narratives are the most stirring of all. There
are no scenes so dashing, or so appalling, as those produced by a state
of warfare, with its contingent woes and horrors; which excite the
energies of both body and mind to the utmost pitch.
The author hopes, that, though containing less of war and more of love
and romantic adventure than his former volumes, these now presented to
the Reader will be found not the less acceptable on this account. They
differ essentially from the novels usually termed military; most of the
characters introduced being of another cast.
The last chapters are descriptive of the siege of Scylla; a passage of
arms which, when the disparity of numbers between the beleaguered
British and the besieging French is considered, must strike every reader
as an affair of matchless bravery.
Several of the officers mentioned have attained high rank in their
profession--others a grave on subsequent battle-fields: their names may
be recognised by the military reader. Other characters belong to
history.
The names of the famous brigand chiefs may be familiar to a few:
especially Francatripa. He cost the French, under Massena, more lives
than have been lost in the greatest pitched battle. All the attempts of
Buonaparte to seduce him to his faction, or capture him by force, were
fruitless; and at last, when his own followers revolted, and were about
to deliver him up to the iron-hearted Prince of Essling, he had the
address to escape into Sicily with all their treasure, the accumulated
plunder of years. Being favoured by the Queen, he, no doubt, spent the
close of his years in ease and opulence. Scarolla became a true
patriot, and died "Chief of the Independents of Basilicata."
It is, perhaps, needless to observe, that many scenes purely fanciful
are mingled with the real military details.
The story of the Countess of La Torre, however, is a fact: the shocking
incidents narrated actually occurred in an Italian family of rank, many
years ago. Strazzoldi's victim received no less than thirty-three
wounds from his poniard. The author has given the real titles of the
infamous parties, and only trusts he has not marred a very sad story by
his mode of relating it. In atrocity, the tale has lately found a
parallel in the Praslin tragedy: indeed, "truth is stranger than
fiction." There is nothing so horrible in a romance but may be
surpassed by the occurrences contained in the columns of a newspaper;
where we often find recorded outrages against humanity, greater by far
than any conceived by the wildest imaginings of a French novelist.
Those feudal militia, or gens-d'armes, the _sbirri_, so often mentioned
in these pages, were a force maintained by the landholders. The sbirri
received a certain sum daily to support themselves, and provide their
arms, clothing, and horses: they lived among the paesani in the
villages, but were completely under the orders and at the disposal of
their lord. The sbirri were the last relics of the feudal system.
Since these volumes were written, the flames of civil war have passed
over the romantic Calabrias: the government of Naples has received a
severe, though perhaps wholesome, shock; and the brave Sicilians are
wresting from their obstinate sovereign those beneficial concessions
which he cannot safely withhold. A still greater crisis for Italy is,
perhaps, impending: Lombardy is filled with the troops of Austria; and
if the _absolute_ policy of the veteran Metternich prevails, ere long
those "millions of cannon-balls" (which were so lately ordered by his
government) will be dealing death among the ranks of Italian patriots.
Should that day ever arrive, surely the Hungarian, the Bohemian, and the
brave Pole, will know the time has come to draw and to strike! The eyes
of all Europe are at present turned upon the policy of Austria, and the
fate of Italy; and should matters ever take the turn anticipated, the
landing again of a British army on the Italian shores will prove a
death-blow to the ambitious projects of the House of Hapsburg.
A long preface may be likened to a hard shell, which must be cracked ere
one can arrive at the kernel. The Author has to ask pardon of his
readers for trespassing so long on their patience; but he considered the
foregoing explanations in some degree necessary, to illustrate the
fortunes, mishaps, and adventures of the hero.
EDINBURGH, _February_ 1848.
*ADVENTURES*
*OF AN*
*AIDE-DE-CAMP.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE LANDING IN CALABRIA.*
On the evening of the last day of June 1806, the transports which had
brought our troops from Sicily anchored off the Italian coast, in the
Bay of St. Eufemio, a little to the southward of a town of that name.
The British forces consisted of H. M. 27th, 58th, 78th, and 81st
Regiments of the Line, the Provisional Light Infantry and Grenadier
Battalions, the Corsican Rangers, Royal Sicilian Volunteers, and the
Regiment of Sir Louis de Watteville, &c., the whole being commanded by
Major-General Sir John Stuart, to whose personal staff I had the honour
to be attached.
This small body of troops, which mustered in all only 4,795 rank and
file, was destined by our ministry to support the Neapolitans, who in
many places had taken up arms against the usurper, Joseph Buonaparte,
and to assist in expelling from Italy the soldiers of his brother.
Ferdinand, King of Naples, after being an abject vassal of Napoleon, had
allowed a body of British and Russian soldiers to land on his
territories without resistance. This expedition failed; he was deserted
by the celebrated Cardinal Ruffo, who became a Buonapartist; and as the
French emperor wanted a crown for his brother Joseph, he proclaimed that
"the Neapolitan dynasty had ceased to reign"--that the race of Parma
were no longer kings in Lower Italy--and in January 1806 his legions
crossed the frontiers. The "lazzaroni king" fled instantly to Palermo;
his spirited queen, Carolina (sister of the unfortunate Marie
Antoinette), soon followed him; and the usurper, Joseph, after meeting
with little or no resistance, was, in February, crowned king of Naples
and Sicily, in the church of Sancto Januario, where Cardinal Ruffo of
Scylla, performed solemn mass on the occasion. All Naples and its
territories submitted to him, save the brave mountaineers of the
Calabrias, who remained continually in arms, and with whom we were
destined to co-operate.
When our anchors plunged into the shining sea, it was about the close of
a beautiful evening--the hour of Ave Maria--and the lingering light of
the Ausonian sun, setting in all his cloudless splendour, shed a crimson
glow over the long line of rocky coast, burnishing the bright waves
rolling on the sandy beach, and the wooded mountains of Calabria, the
abode of the fiercest banditti in the world.
The tricolor flaunted over the towers of St. Amanthea, a little town to
the northward of the bay, commanded by a castle on a steep rock, well
garrisoned by the enemy; and the smoke of their evening gun curled away
from the dark and distant bastions, as the last vessel of our armament
came to anchor. The whole fleet, swinging round with the strong current
which runs through the Strait of Messina, lay one moment with their
sterns to the land and the next to the sparkling sea, which pours
through between these rock-bound coasts with the speed of a mill-race.
Italy lay before us: the land of the fabled Hesperia--the country of the
"eternal city;" and I thought of her as she was once: of "majestic
Rome," in all her power, her glory, and her military supremacy; when
nations bowed their heads before her banners, and her eagles spread
their wings over half a world. But, alas! we find it difficult to
recognise in the effeminate Venetian, the revengeful Neapolitan, or the
ferocious Calabrian, the descendants of those matchless soldiers, whose
pride, valour, and ambition few since have equalled, and none have yet
surpassed. We viewed with the deepest interest that classic shore,
which so many of us now beheld for the first time. To me, it was a
country teeming with classic recollections--the sunny and beautiful land
whose very history has been said to resemble a romance; but the mass of
our soldiers were of course, strangers to all these sentiments: the
grave and stern Ross-shireman, and the brave bog-trotters of the
Inniskilling, regarded it only as a land of hard marches, short rations,
and broken heads; as a hostile coast, where the first soldiers of the
continent were to be encountered and overcome--for with us these terms
are synonymous.
Barbarized by the wars and ravages which followed the French revolution
and invasion,--swarming with disorderly soldiers, savage brigands, and
starving peasantry writhing under the feudal system--the Naples of that
time was very different from the Naples of to-day, through which so many
tourists travel with luxurious safety: at least so far as the capital.
Few, I believe, penetrate into that terra incognita, the realm of the
bandit Francatripa.
Orders were despatched by the general from ship to ship, that the troops
should be held in readiness to disembark by dawn next day. The
quarter-guards and deck-watches were strengthened for the night, and
strict orders given to sentries not to permit any communication with the
shore, or with the numerous boats which paddled about among the fleet.
Our ships were surrounded by craft of all shapes and sizes, filled with
people from St. Eufemio, and other places adjacent: bright-eyed women,
their dark hair braided beneath square linen head-dresses, with here and
there a solitary "gentiluomo," muffled in his cloak, and ample hat,
beneath which glowed the red spark of a cigar; meagre and grizzled
priests; wild-looking peasantry, half naked, or half covered with rough
skins; and conspicuous above all, many fierce-looking fellows, wearing
the picturesque Calabrian garb, of whose occupation we had little doubt:
the gaiety of their attire, the long dagger gleaming in their sashes,
the powder-horn, and the well-oiled rifle slung across the back by a
broad leather sling, proclaimed them brigands; who came crowding among
their honester countrymen, to hail and bid us welcome as allies and
friends.
An hour before daylight, next morning, we were all on deck and under
arms. Our orders were, to land with the utmost silence and expedition,
in order to avoid annoyance from the light guns of the French; who
occupied the whole province from sea to sea, and whom we fully expected
to find on the alert to oppose our disembarkation.
My first care was to get my horse, Cartouche, into one of the boats of
the _Amphion_ frigate. Aware that sharp work was before us, I personally
superintended his harnessing; having previously given him a mash with a
dash of nitre in it, and had his fetlocks and hoofs | 930.434893 |
2023-11-16 18:32:34.6168000 | 1,229 | 18 |
Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Eric Eldred, Charles
Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE LITTLE REGIMENT
AND OTHER EPISODES OF THE
AMERICAN CIVIL WAR
By
STEPHEN CRANE
CONTENTS
THE LITTLE REGIMENT
THREE MIRACULOUS SOLDIERS
A MYSTERY OF HEROISM
AN INDIANA CAMPAIGN
A GREY SLEEVE
THE VETERAN
THE LITTLE REGIMENT
I
The fog made the clothes of the men of the column in the roadway seem
of a luminous quality. It imparted to the heavy infantry overcoats a
new colour, a kind of blue which was so pale that a regiment might have
been merely a long, low shadow in the mist. However, a muttering, one
part grumble, three parts joke, hovered in the air above the thick
ranks, and blended in an undertoned roar, which was the voice of the
column.
The town on the southern shore of the little river loomed spectrally, a
faint etching upon the grey cloud-masses which were shifting with oily
languor. A long row of guns upon the northern bank had been pitiless in
their hatred, but a little battered belfry could be dimly seen still
pointing with invincible resolution toward the heavens.
The enclouded air vibrated with noises made by hidden colossal things.
The infantry tramplings, the heavy rumbling of the artillery, made the
earth speak of gigantic preparation. Guns on distant heights thundered
from time to time with sudden, nervous roar, as if unable to endure in
silence a knowledge of hostile troops massing, other guns going to
position. These sounds, near and remote, defined an immense
battle-ground, described the tremendous width of the stage of the
prospective drama. The voices of the guns, slightly casual, unexcited
in their challenges and warnings, could not destroy the unutterable
eloquence of the word in the air, a meaning of impending struggle which
made the breath halt at the lips.
The column in the roadway was ankle-deep in mud. The men swore piously
at the rain which drizzled upon them, compelling them to stand always
very erect in fear of the drops that would sweep in under their
coat-collars. The fog was as cold as wet cloths. The men stuffed their
hands deep in their pockets, and huddled their muskets in their arms.
The machinery of orders had rooted these soldiers deeply into the mud,
precisely as almighty nature roots mullein stalks.
They listened and speculated when a tumult of fighting came from the
dim town across the river. When the noise lulled for a time they
resumed their descriptions of the mud and graphically exaggerated the
number of hours they had been kept waiting. The general commanding
their division rode along the ranks, and they cheered admiringly,
affectionately, crying out to him gleeful prophecies of the coming
battle. Each man scanned him with a peculiarly keen personal interest,
and afterward spoke of him with unquestioning devotion and confidence,
narrating anecdotes which were mainly untrue.
When the jokers lifted the shrill voices which invariably belonged to
them, flinging witticisms at their comrades, a loud laugh would sweep
from rank to rank, and soldiers who had not heard would lean forward
and demand repetition. When were borne past them some wounded men with
grey and blood-smeared faces, and eyes that rolled in that helpless
beseeching for assistance from the sky which comes with supreme pain,
the soldiers in the mud watched intently, and from time to time asked
of the bearers an account of the affair. Frequently they bragged of
their corps, their division, their brigade, their regiment. Anon they
referred to the mud and the cold drizzle. Upon this threshold of a wild
scene of death they, in short, defied the proportion of events with
that splendour of heedlessness which belongs only to veterans.
"Like a lot of wooden soldiers," swore Billie Dempster, moving his feet
in the thick mass, and casting a vindictive glance indefinitely:
"standing in the mud for a hundred years."
"Oh, shut up!" murmured his brother Dan. The manner of his words
implied that this fraternal voice near him was an indescribable bore.
"Why should I shut up?" demanded Billie.
"Because you're a fool," cried Dan, taking no time to debate it; "the
biggest fool in the regiment."
There was but one man between them, and he was habituated. These
insults from brother to brother had swept across his chest, flown past
his face, many times during two long campaigns. Upon this occasion he
simply grinned first at one, then at the other.
The way of these brothers was not an unknown topic in regimental
gossip. They had enlisted simultaneously, with each sneering loudly at
the other for doing it. They left their little town, and went forward
with the flag, exchanging protestations of undying suspicion. In the
camp life they so openly despised each other that, when entertaining
quarrels were lacking, their companions often contrived situations
calculated to bring forth display of this fraternal dislike.
Both were large-limbed, strong young men, and often fought with friends
in camp unless one was near to interfere with the other. This latter
happened rather frequently, because Dan, preposterously willing for any
manner of combat, had a very great horror of seeing Billie in a fight;
and Billie, almost odiously ready himself, simply refused to see Dan | 930.63684 |
2023-11-16 18:32:34.9399780 | 2,399 | 24 |
Produced by Thorsten Kontowski, Henry Gardiner and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file made from scans of public domain material at
Austrian Literature Online.)
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the List Of Corrections at the end of the
text. Words in italics are indicated like _this_. Footnotes are located
near the end of each chapter. [oe] represents the oe ligature.
* * * * *
NARRATIVE
OF THE
Circumnavigation of the Globe
BY THE AUSTRIAN FRIGATE
NOVARA,
(COMMODORE B. VON WULLERSTORF-URBAIR,)
_Undertaken by Order of the Imperial Government_,
IN THE YEARS 1857, 1858, & 1859,
UNDER THE IMMEDIATE AUSPICES OF HIS I. AND R. HIGHNESS
THE ARCHDUKE FERDINAND MAXIMILIAN,
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE AUSTRIAN NAVY.
BY
DR. KARL SCHERZER,
MEMBER OF THE EXPEDITION, AUTHOR OF "TRAVELS IN CENTRAL AMERICA," ETC.
VOL. II.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
_SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO._,
66, BROOK STREET, HANOVER SQUARE.
1862.
[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER X.
THE NICOBAR ISLANDS.
Historical details respecting this Archipelago.--Arrival at
Kar-Nicobar.--Communication with the Aborigines.--Village of
Saoui and "Captain John."--Meet with two white men.--Journey to
the south side of the Island.--Village of Komios.--Forest
Scenery.--Batte-Malve.--Tillangschong.--Arrival and stay at
Nangkauri Harbour.--Village of Itoe.--Peak Mongkata on Kamorta.--
Villages of Enuang and Malacca.--Tripjet, the first settlement
of the Moravian Brothers.--Ulala Cove.--Voyage through the
Archipelago.--The Island of Treis.--Pulo Miu.--Pandanus Forest.--
St. George's Channel.--Island of Kondul.--Departure for the
northern coast of Great Nicobar.--Mangrove Swamp.--Malay
traders.--Remarks upon the natives of Great Nicobar.--Disaster
to a boat dispatched to make Geodetical observations.--Visit to
the Southern Bay of Great Nicobar.--General results obtained
during the stay of the Expedition in this Archipelago.--
Nautical, Climatic, and Geognostic observations.--Vegetation.--
Animal Life.--Ethnography.--Prospects of this group of Islands
in the way of settlement and cultivation.--Voyage to the Straits
of Malacca.--Arrival at Singapore. 1
CHAPTER XI.
SINGAPORE.
Position of the Island.--Its previous history.--Sir Stamford
Raffles' propositions to make it a port of the British
Government free to all sea-faring nations.--The Island becomes
part of the Crown property of England.--Extraordinary
development under the auspices of a Free Trade policy.--Our
stay shortened in consequence of the severity of the cholera.--
Description of the city.--Tigers.--Gambir.--The Betel
plantations.--Inhabitants.--Chinese and European labour.--
Climate.--Diamond merchants.--Preparation of Pearl Sago.--Opium
farms.--Opium manufacture.--Opium-smokers.--Intellectual
activity.--Journalism.--Logan's "Journal of the Indian
Archipelago."--School for Malay children.--Judicial procedure.--
Visit to the penal settlement for criminals.--A Chinese
provision-merchant at business and at home.--Fatal accident on
board.--Departure from Singapore.--Difficulty in passing through
Gaspar Straits.--Sporadic outbreak of cholera on board.--Death
of one of the ship's boys.--First burial at sea.--Sea-snakes.--
Arrival in the Roads of Batavia. 137
CHAPTER XII.
JAVA.
Old and New Batavia.--Splendid reception.--Scientific
societies.--Public institutions.--Natives.--A Malay embassy.--
Excursion into the interior.--Buitenzorg.--The Botanic Garden.--
The <DW64>.--Prince Aquasie Boachi.--Pondok-Gedeh.--The infirmary
at Gadok, and Dr. Bernstein.--Megamendoeng.--Javanese villages.--
Tjipannas.--Ascent of Pangerango.--Forest scenery.--Javanese
resting-houses or Pasanggrahans.--Night and morning on the
summit of the volcano.--Visit to Gunung Gedeh.--The plantations
of Peruvian bark-trees in Tjipodas.--Their actual condition.--
Conjectures as to the future.--Voyage to Bandong.--Spots where
edible swallows' nests are found.--Hospitable reception by a
Javanese prince.--Visit to Dr. Junghuhn in Lembang.--Coffee
cultivation.--Decay in value of the coffee bean of Java.--
Professor Vriese and the coffee planters of Java.--Free trade
and monopoly.--Compulsory and free labour.--Ascent of the
volcano of Tangkuban Prahu.--Poison Crater and King's Crater.--A
geological excursion to a portion of the Preanger Regency.--
Native fete given by the Javanese Regent of Tjiangoer.--A day at
the Governor-general's country-seat at Buitenzorg.--Return to
Batavia.--Ball given by the military club in honour of the
Novara.--Raden Saleh, a Javanese artist.--Barracks and prisons.--
Meester Cornelis.--French opera.--Constant changes among the
European society.--Aims of the colonial government.--Departure
from Batavia.--Pleasant voyage.--An English ship with Chinese
Coolies.--Bay of Manila.--Arrival in Cavite harbour. 180
CHAPTER XIII.
MANILA.
Historical notes relating to the Philippines.--From Cavite to
Manila.--The river Pasig.--First impressions of the city.--Its
inhabitants.--Tagales and Negritoes.--Preponderating influence
of monks.--Visit to the four chief monasteries.--Conversation
with an Augustine Monk.--Grammars and Dictionaries of the idioms
chiefly in use in Manila.--Reception by the Governor-general of
the Philippines.--Monument in honour of Magelhaens.--The
"Calzada."--Cock-fighting.--"Fiestas Reales."--Causes of
the languid trade with Europe hitherto.--Visit to the
Cigar-manufactories.--Tobacco cultivation in Luzon and at the
Havanna.--Abaca, or Manila hemp.--Excursion to the "Laguna de
Bay."--A row on the river Pasig.--The village of Patero.--
Wild-duck breeding.--Sail on the Lagoon.--Plans for
canalization.--Arrival at Los Banos.--Canoe-trip on the
"enchanted sea."--Alligators.--Kalong Bats.--Gobernador and
Gobernadorcillo.--The Poll-tax.--A hunt in the swamps of
Calamba.--Padre Lorenzo.--Return to Manila.--The "Pebete."--The
military Library.--The civil and military Hospital.--
Ecclesiastical processions.--Ave Maria.--Tagalian merriness.--
Condiman.--Lunatic Asylum.--Gigantic serpent thirty-two years
old.--Departure.--Chinese pilots.--First glimpse of the coasts
of the Celestial Empire.--The Lemmas Channel.--Arrival in
Hong-kong Harbour. 281
CHAPTER XIV.
HONG-KONG.
Rapid increase of the colony of Victoria or Hong-kong.--
Disagreeables.--Public character.--The Comprador, or
"factotum."--A Chinese fortune-teller.--Curiosity-stalls.--The
To-stone.--Pictures on so-called "rice-paper."--Canton English.--
Notices on the Chinese language and mode of writing.--
Manufacture of ink.--Hospitality of German missionaries.--The
custom of exposing and murdering female children.--Method of
dwarfing the female foot.--Sir John Bowring.--Branch Institute
of the Royal Asiatic Society.--An ecclesiastical dignitary on
the study of natural sciences.--The Chinese in the East Indies.--
Green indigo or Lu-Kao.--Kind reception by German countrymen.--
Anthropometrical measurements.--Ramble to Little Hong-kong.--
Excursion to Canton on board H.M. gun-boat _Algerine_.--A day at
the English head-quarters.--The Treaty of Tien-Tsin.--Visit to
the Portuguese settlement of Macao.--Herr von Carlowitz.--
Camoens' Grotto.--Church for Protestants.--Pagoda Makok.--Dr.
Kane.--Present position of the colony.--Slave-trade revived
under the name of Chinese emigration.--Excursions round Macao.--
The Isthmus.--Chinese graves.--Praya Granite.--A Chinese
physician.--Singing stones.--Departure.--Gutzlaff's Island.--
Voyage up the Yang-tse-Kiang.--Wusung.--Arrival at Shanghai. 355
CHAPTER XV.
SHANGHAI.
A stroll through the old Chinese quarter.--Book-stalls.--Public
Baths.--Chinese Pawnbrokers.--Foundling hospital.--The Hall of
Universal Benevolence.--Sacrificial Hall of Medical Faculty.--
City prison.--Temple of the Goddess of the Sea.--Chinese
taverns.--Tea-garden.--Temple of Buddha.--Temple of Confucius.--
Taouist convent.--Chinese nuns.--An apothecary's store, and what
is sold therein.--Public schools.--Christian places of worship.--
Native industry.--Cenotaphs to the memory of beneficent
females.--A Chinese patrician family.--The villas of the foreign
merchants.--Activity of the London Missionary Society.--Dr.
Hobson.--Chinese medical works.--Leprosy.--The American
Missionary Society.--Dr. Bridgman | 930.960018 |
2023-11-16 18:32:35.2389540 | 3,647 | 94 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: "SETTING SPURS TO THEIR HORSES, THE FOUR MEN DASHED
FORWARD"]
*WITH THE BRITISH LEGION*
A STORY OF THE CARLIST WARS
BY
G. A. HENTY
Author of "With Roberts to Pretoria" "Held Fast for England"
"Under Drake's Flag" &c.
_WITH TEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY WAL. PAGET_
LONDON
BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW AND DUBLIN
1903
*PREFACE*
The story of the doings of the British Legion under Sir de Lacy Evans in
Spain is but little known. The expedition was a failure, and that from
no want of heroic courage on the part of the soldiers, but from the most
scandalous neglect and ill-treatment by the Government of Queen
Christina. So gross was this neglect that within six months of their
arrival in the Peninsula nearly five thousand, that is to say half the
Legion, had either died from want, privation, or fever in the hospitals
of Vittoria, or were invalided home. The remainder, although ill-fed,
ill-clothed, and with their pay nine months in arrear, showed themselves
worthy of the best traditions of the British army, and it was only at
the end of their two years' engagement that, finding all attempts to
obtain fair treatment from the Government unavailing, they took their
discharge and returned home.
The history of their doings as described in the following story is
largely founded on a pamphlet by Alex. Somerville, a man of genius who
enlisted in the Legion; and the events subsequent to its disbandment are
taken from the work of Major Duncan, one of the Commissioners appointed
by the British Government to endeavour to see that the conditions of a
convention entered into by our Government and the leaders of the
contending parties in Spain were duly observed--a convention, however,
that had very small influence in checking the atrocities committed by
both combatants.
G. A. HENTY.
*CONTENTS*
CHAP.
I. ENLISTED
II. IN SPAIN
III. AN ADVENTURE
IV. THE FIRST FIGHT
V. A FURIOUS STRUGGLE
VI. A CAPTIVE
VII. A GREAT CHANGE
VIII. A DESPERATE ADVENTURE
IX. THE ESCAPE
X. A GOOD SERVICE
XI. A THWARTED PLOT
XII. A FIASCO
XIII. A DESPERATE ATTEMPT
XIV. A RESCUE
XV. A CHALLENGE
XVI. ENGAGED
XVII. KIDNAPPED
XVIII. ESCAPED
XIX. MILITARY MOVEMENTS
XX. THE END OF A FEUD
XXI. HOME
*ILLUSTRATIONS*
"SETTING SPURS TO THEIR HORSES THE FOUR MEN DASHED FORWARD"
_Frontispiece_
ARTHUR MAKES HIS WAY THROUGH THE CARLIST LINES
"A SAIL WAS HOISTED AND THEY RAN OUT MERRILY"
"HE BEGAN TO DRAG HIMSELF ALONG"
"ARTHUR FLUNG HIM BACK ACROSS THE TABLE"
"QUEEN CHRISTINA HELD OUT HER HAND"
"AH!" HE SAID, "SO I HAVE LAID HANDS ON YOU AT LAST"
"LITTLE BY LITTLE ARTHUR'S ADVANCE ACCELERATED"
"A TALL MAN WITH A HARSH, ASCETIC FACE ENTERED"
"THE TWO WEAPONS FLASHED AT THE SAME MOMENT"
*WITH THE BRITISH LEGION*
*CHAPTER I*
*ENLISTED*
"Well, sir, I shall be glad to know what you intend to do next?"
There was no answer to the question, which, after a pause, was repeated
in the same cold tone. "Don't know, uncle," came at last from the lips
of the boy standing before him.
"Nor do I, Arthur. This is the fourth school from which I have been
requested to remove you. When I sent you to Shrewsbury I told you that
it was your last chance, and now here you are back again. Your case
seems hopeless. By the terms of your father's will, which seems to have
been written with a prevision of what you were going to turn out, you
are not to come into your property until you arrive at the age of
twenty-five; though, as his executor, I was authorized to pay from the
incoming rents the cost of your education and clothes, and also a
certain amount for your expenses at the university, and when you took
your degree I was to let you have the sum of one hundred and fifty
pounds per year until you reached the age fixed for your coming into the
bulk of the fortune."
The speaker, Mr. Hallett, was a solicitor in Liverpool with a large
practice, which so occupied him that he was too busy to attend to other
matters. At bottom he was not an unkindly man, but he had but little
time to give to home or family. He had regarded it as a nuisance when
his elder brother died and left him sole trustee and guardian of his
son, then a boy of ten years old. Arthur's father had been an invalid
for some years before he died, and the boy had been allowed to run
almost wild, and spent the greater part of his time in the open air.
Under the tuition of the grooms he had learned to ride well, and was
often away for hours on his pony; he had a daily swim in the river that
ran through the estate, and was absolutely fearless. He had had narrow
escapes of being killed, from falling from trees and walls, and had
fought more than one battle with village boys of his own age.
His father, a weak invalid, scarcely attempted to control him in any
way, although well aware that such training was eminently bad for him;
but he knew that his own life was drawing to a close, and he could not
bear the thought of sending him to school, as his brother had more than
once advised him to do. He did, however, shortly before his death, take
the latter's advice, and drew up a will which he hoped would benefit the
boy, by rendering it impossible for him to come into the property until
he was of an age to steady down.
"I foresee, Robert," the lawyer said, "that my post as guardian will be
no sinecure, and, busy as I am, I feel that I shall not have much time
to look after him personally; still, for your sake, I will do all that I
can for him. It is, of course, impossible for me to keep him in my
house. After the life he has led, it would be equally disagreeable to
him and to my wife, so he must go to a boarding-school."
And so at his brother's death the solicitor made enquiries, and sent the
boy to school at Chester, where he had heard that the discipline was
good. Four months later Arthur turned up, having run away, and almost
at the moment of his arrival there came a letter from the principal,
saying that he declined to receive him back again.
"It is not that there is anything radically wrong about him, but his
disobedience to all the rules of the school is beyond bearing. Flogging
appears to have no effect upon him, and he is altogether incorrigible.
He has high spirits and is perfectly truthful; he is bright and
intelligent. I had intended to tell you at the end of the half-year
that I should be glad if you would take him away, for although I do not
hesitate to use the cane when necessary, I am not a believer in breaking
a boy's spirit; and when I find that even severe discipline is
ineffectual, I prefer to let other hands try what they can do. I
consider that his faults are the result of bad training, or rather, so
far as I can see, of no training at all until he came to me."
At his next school the boy stayed two years. The report was similar to
that from Chester. The boy was not a bad boy, but he was always getting
into mischief and leading others into it. Complaints were continually
being made, by farmers and others, of the breaking down of hedges, the
robbing of orchards, and other delinquencies, in all of which deeds he
appeared to be the leader; and as punishment seemed to have no good
effect the head-master requested Mr. Hallett to remove him.
The next experiment lasted eighteen months, and he was then expelled for
leading a "barring-out" as a protest against an unpopular usher. He had
then been sent to Shrewsbury, from which he had just returned.
"The lad," the head-master wrote, "has a good disposition. He is
intelligent, quick at his books, excellent in all athletic exercises,
honourable and manly; but he is a perpetual source of trouble. He is
always in mischief; he is continually being met out of bounds; he is
constantly in fights--most of them, I am bound to say, incurred on
behalf of smaller boys. His last offence is that he got out of his room
last night, broke the window of one of the masters, who had, he
considered, treated him unfairly, and threw a large number of crackers
into his room. He was detected climbing up to his own window again by
the house master, who, having been awakened by the explosions, had
hastily gone round to the boys' rooms. After this I felt that I could
keep him no longer; discipline must be sustained. At the same time I am
sorry at being compelled to say that he must leave. He is a favourite
in the school, and has very many good qualities; and his faults are the
faults of exuberant spirits and not of a bad disposition."
"Now, to return to my question," continued Mr. Hallett, "what do you
mean to do? You are too old to send to another school, even if one
would take you, which no decent institution would do now that you have
been expelled from four schools in succession, winding up with
Shrewsbury. I have spoken to you so often that I shall certainly not
attempt so thankless a task again. As to your living at my house, it is
out of the question. I am away the whole day; and your aunt tells me
that at the end of your last holidays you were making your two cousins
tomboys, and that although she liked you very much she really did not
feel equal to having you about the house for six weeks at a time. You
cannot complain that I have not been frank with you. I told you, when
you came home from your first school, the provisions of your father's
will, and how matters stood. I suppose you have thought, on your way
from Shrewsbury, as to your future? You were well aware that I was not
the sort of man to go back from what I said. I warned you solemnly,
when you went to Shrewsbury, that it was the last chance I should give
you, and that if you came back again to this place I should wash my
hands of you, except that I should see the terms of the will strictly
carried out.
"Of course, your father little dreamt of such a situation as has arisen,
or he would have made some provision for it; and I shall therefore
strain a point, and make you an allowance equal to the sum your
schooling has cost. According to the wording of the will I am certainly
not empowered to do so, but I do not think that even a judge in the
Court of Chancery would raise any objection. I have ordered your boxes
to be taken to the Falcon Hotel. You will find there a letter from me
addressed to you, enclosing four five-pound notes. The same sum will be
sent to you every two months to any address that you may send to me.
You will, I hope, communicate with me each time you receive your
remittance, acquainting me with what you are doing. I may tell you that
I have determined on this course with some hopes that when you are your
own master you will gain a sufficient sense of responsibility to steady
you. At the end of two years, if you desire to go to the university you
will receive the allowance there which would be suitable for you. I
have thought this matter over very carefully and painfully, Arthur. I
talked it over with your aunt last night. She is deeply grieved, but
she agrees with me that it is as good a plan as can be devised for you.
You cannot go to school again; we cannot have you at home on our hands
for two years."
"Thank you!" the lad said; "I know I have been a frightful trouble to
you, and I am not surprised that I have worn out your patience."
"I wish you to understand, Arthur, that the course has been made easier
to your aunt and myself, because we are convinced that with all your
boyish folly you can be trusted not to do anything to disgrace your
father's name, and that these two years of what I may call probation
will teach you to think for yourself; and at its termination you will be
ready to go to the university to prepare yourself for the life of a
country gentleman which lies before you. If you will let me advise you
at all, I should say that as a beginning you might do worse than put a
knapsack on your back and go for a walking tour of some months through
England, Scotland, and Ireland, after which you might go on to the
Continent for a bit. I don't like to influence your decision, but I know
that you will never be content to stay quiet, and this would be a way of
working off your superfluous energy. Now, lad, we will shake hands. I
am convinced that your experience during the next two years will be of
great value to you, and I ask you to believe that in what we have
decided upon we have had your own good even more than our comfort at
heart."
"I will think it over, uncle," the lad said, his face clearing up
somewhat, "and will write to tell you and my aunt what I am going to do.
I suppose you have no objection to my saying good-bye to my aunt and my
cousins before I go?"
"No objection at all. You have done nothing dishonourable; you have let
your spirits carry you away, and have shown a lamentable contempt for
discipline. These are fault that will cure themselves in time. Come,
by all means, to see your aunt before you go."
Arthur Hallett left his uncle's office in somewhat low spirits. He was
conscious that his uncle's indignation was natural, and that he
thoroughly deserved it. He had had a jolly time, and he was sorry that
it was over; but he was ashamed of the trouble he had given his uncle
and aunt, and quite expected that they would not again receive him. His
only fear had been that his uncle would at once place him with some
clergyman who made a speciality of coaching troublesome boys; and he had
determined that after the liberty and pleasant life at Shrewsbury he
could never put up with that. But upon the way by coach to Liverpool he
had read a placard which had decided him. It ran as follows:--
"Smart young men required for the British Legion now being formed. A
bounty of two pounds and free kit will be given to each applicant
accepted. For all particulars apply at the Recruiting Office, 34 the
Quay, Liverpool."
"That is just the thing for me," he said to himself. "Till I saw that,
I had intended to enlist; but there is no chance of a war, and I expect
I should get into all sorts of mischief in no time. This legion, I
know, is going out to fight in Spain. I read all about it some time ago.
There will be excitement there, and I dare say hard work, and possibly
short rations. However, that will make no odds to me. It will be
something | 931.258994 |
2023-11-16 18:32:35.4457510 | 368 | 32 |
Produced by ellinora,, Barry Abrahamsen, 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.)
THRILLS OF A BELL BOY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THRILLS OF A
BELL BOY
By
Samuel Ellsworth Kiser
Author of “Love Sonnets of an Office Boy,”
“Ballads of the Busy Days,” etc.
Illustrated by
John T. McCutcheon
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
Chicago
Forbes & Company
1906
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1904
BY THE SATURDAY EVENING POST
-------
Copyright, 1906
BY FORBES & COMPANY
Colonial Press: Electrotyped and Printed
by C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U. S. A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THRILLS OF A
BELL BOY
I.
GEE! There’s a call from seven-forty-eight—
That’s Miss Le Claire; she wants some ice, I’ll bet;
She stars in “Mrs. Middleton’s Regret.”
And when you mention peaches—say, she’s great!
If I could marry her I guess I’d hate
To have to do it—nit! I’d go and get
A plug hat and a fur-trimmed coat and let
The guy that’s managin’ her, pay the freight.
They say she gets a hundred dollars per;
I | 931.465791 |
2023-11-16 18:32:35.6198580 | 1,231 | 15 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
THAT LAST WAIF OR SOCIAL QUARANTINE
HORACE FLETCHER'S WORKS
THE A.B.-Z. OF OUR OWN NUTRITION.
Thirteenth thousand. 462 pp.
THE NEW MENTICULTURE; OR,
THE A-B-C OF TRUE LIVING. Forty-Eighth thousand. 310 pp.
THE NEW GLUTTON OR EPICURE; OR,
ECONOMIC NUTRITION. Fifteenth thousand. 344 pp.
HAPPINESS AS FOUND IN FORETHOUGHT MINUS FEARTHOUGHT.
Fourteenth thousand. 251 pp.
THAT LAST WAIF; OR,
SOCIAL QUARANTINE. Sixth thousand. 270 pp.
THAT LAST WAIF
OR
SOCIAL QUARANTINE
A BRIEF
BY
HORACE FLETCHER
_Advocate for the Waifs_
_Fellow American Association for the Advancement of Science_
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
1909
MATTHEW, xviii; 1, 2 and 14
1. At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus saying,
Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?
2. And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him
in the midst of them.
14. Even so it is not the will of your Father which is in
heaven, that one of these little ones should perish?
COPYRIGHT, 1898
BY HORACE FLETCHER
CONTENTS
1903 PREFACE, ix
PREFACE, 9
THE LOST WAIF, 17
MENACE OF THE HAVE-TO-BE, 39
SOCIAL QUARANTINE FIRST, 71
QUARANTINE, 93
UNCIVILIZED INCONSISTENCIES, 105
QUARANTINE AGAINST IDLENESS, 131
QUARANTINE AGAINST MISUNDERSTANDING, 145
QUARANTINE AGAINST MALADMINISTRATION, 157
SUGGESTIONS FOR LOCAL QUARANTINE ORGANIZATION, 169
SARAH B. COOPER, 191
CORROBORATIVE TESTIMONY, 221
"AND A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM," 227
SUMMARY, 233
LOGICAL SEQUENCES, 251
APPENDIX:
IT HAS BEGUN, 263
DEDICATION, 269
"_It was Juvenal who said, 'The man's character is made at seven; what
he then is, he will always be.' This seems a sweeping assertion, but
Aristotle, Plato, Lycurgus, Plutarch, Bacon, Locke, and Lord Brougham,
all emphasize the same idea, while leading educators of a modern day
are all united upon this point._" [_Sarah B. Cooper, to the National
Conference of Charities and Correction of the United States and
Canada._]
* * * * *
"_This institution was established as the result of a quickened public
conscience on the subject of waifs of the State, a comprehensive
understanding of the relation of the State to the child, and the
demonstrated effect of such institutions in decreasing crime._" [_The
American Journal of Sociology, May, 1898, page 790._]
FOREWORD
"Waif," as herein employed, applies to all neglected or abused
children, and not especially to those who have lost their parents, or
have been abandoned.
While the evidence of the kindergartners may seem extreme as to the
possibility of making useful citizens of _all_ children, the unanimity
of their enthusiasm must be taken as very strong evidence.
The plea for a social quarantine which shall establish protection for
helpless infancy during the period of present neglect, and when the
cost is insignificant, is made in the belief that, once attracted to
the idea of the possibility of social quarantine, which is nothing if
not complete, popular sentiment will demand a continuance of organized
protection for each member of society as long as he may be helpless or
weak, without reference to an age limit.
Immediate special attention, however, should be given to the victims
of the "sweaters," to unsanitary work-rooms and other environing
conditions provided by conscienceless (usually alien) employers, and
to the prevention of children being employed in occupations where
temptation is so strong as to be a menace to unformed character.
1903 PREFACE
When first published, five years ago, this appeal for better care of
children born into unfortunate environment met with very favorable
reception, especially from practical child educators and child
economists; and the author received numerous requests to address
gatherings of altruists in various parts of the country. He responded
to some forty of these invitations, and met with warmest encouragement
and the assurance that the sentiment of this book was shared pretty
generally, when the facts in the case were understood. In meeting men
of all kinds in the outside world, as well as women from whom a
generous sympathy might be expected, he found that any scheme offering
care and protection for neglected children excited the sympathy | 931.639898 |
2023-11-16 18:32:35.7147750 | 1,554 | 46 |
Produced by David Widger
MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT 1725-1798
THE ETERNAL QUEST, Volume 3e--WITH VOLTAIRE
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO
WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
THE ETERNAL QUEST
WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
M. de Voltaire; My Discussions with That Great Man--Ariosto--The Duc de
Villars--The Syndic and the Three Girls--Dispute with
Voltaire--Aix-en-Savoie--The Marquis Desarmoises
"M. de Voltaire," said I, "this is the happiest moment of my life. I have
been your pupil for twenty years, and my heart is full of joy to see my
master."
"Honour me with your attendance on my course for twenty years more, and
promise me that you will bring me my fees at the end of that time."
"Certainly, if you promise to wait for me."
This Voltairean sally made all present laugh, as was to be expected, for
those who laugh keep one party in countenance at the other's expense, and
the side which has the laughter is sure to win; this is the rule of good
society.
I was not taken by surprise, and waited to have my revenge.
Just then two Englishmen came in and were presented to him.
"These gentlemen are English," said Voltaire; "I wish I were."
I thought the compliment false and out of place; for the gentlemen were
obliged to reply out of politeness that they wished they had been French,
or if they did not care to tell a lie they would be too confused to tell
the truth. I believe every man of honour should put his own nation first.
A moment after, Voltaire turned to me again and said that as I was a
Venetian I must know Count Algarotti.
"I know him, but not because I am a Venetian, as seven-eights of my dear
countrymen are not even aware of his existence."
"I should have said, as a man of letters."
"I know him from having spent two months with him at Padua, seven years
ago, and what particularly attracted my attention was the admiration he
professed for M. de Voltaire."
"That is flattering for me, but he has no need of admiring anyone."
"If Algarotti had not begun by admiring others, he would never have made
a name for himself. As an admirer of Newton he endeavoured to teach the
ladies to discuss the theory of light."
"Has he succeeded?"
"Not as well as M. de Fontenelle in his 'Plurality of Worlds;' however,
one may say he has succeeded."
"True. If you see him at Bologna, tell him I am expecting to hear from
him about Russia. He can address my letters to my banker, Bianchi, at
Milan, and they will be sent on to me."
"I will not fail to do so if I see him."
"I have heard that the Italians do not care for his style."
"No; all that he writes is full of French idioms. His style is wretched."
"But do not these French turns increase the beauty of your language?"
"They make it insufferable, as French would be mixed with Italian or
German even though it were written by M. de Voltaire."
"You are right; every language should preserve its purity. Livy has been
criticised on this account; his Latin is said to be tainted with
patavinity."
"When I began to learn Latin, the Abbe Lazzarini told me he preferred
Livy to Sallust."
"The Abbe Lazzarini, author of the tragedy, 'Ulisse il giovine'? You must
have been very young; I wish I had known him. But I knew the Abbe Conti
well; the same that was Newton's friend, and whose four tragedies contain
the whole of Roman history."
"I also knew and admired him. I was young, but I congratulated myself on
being admitted into the society of these great men. It seems as if it
were yesterday, though it is many years ago; and now in your presence my
inferiority does not humiliate me. I wish to be the younger son of all
humanity."
"Better so than to be the chief and eldest. May I ask you to what branch
of literature you have devoted yourself?"
"To none; but that, perhaps, will come afterwards. In the meantime I read
as much as I can, and try to study character on my travels."
"That is the way to become learned, but the book of humanity is too vast.
Reading a history is the easier way."
"Yes, if history did not lie. One is not sure of the truth of the facts.
It is tiring, while the study of the world is amusing. Horace, whom I
know by heart, is my guide-book."
"Algarotti, too, is very fond of Horace. Of course you are fond of
poetry?"
"It is my passion."
"Have you made many sonnets?"
"Ten or twelve I like, and two or three thousand which in all probability
I have not read twice."
"The Italians are mad after sonnets."
"Yes; if one can call it a madness to desire to put thought into measured
harmony. The sonnet is difficult because the thought has to be fitted
exactly into the fourteen lines."
"It is Procrustes' bed, and that's the reason you have so few good ones.
As for us, we have not one; but that is the fault of our language."
"And of the French genius, which considers that a thought when extended
loses all its force."
"And you do not think so?"
"Pardon me, it depends on the kind of thought. A witty saying, for
example, will not make a sonnet; in French or Italian it belongs to the
domain of epigram."
"What Italian poet do you like best?"
"Ariosto; but I cannot say I love him better than the others, for he is
my only love."
"You know the others, though?"
"I think I have read them all, but all their lights pale before
Ariosto's. Fifteen years ago I read all you have written against him, and
I said that you, would retract when you had read his works."
"I am obliged to you for thinking that I had not read them. As a matter
of fact I had done so, but I was young. I knew Italian very imperfectly,
and being prejudiced by the learned Italians who adore Tasso I was
unfortunate enough to publish a criticism of Ariosto which I thought my
own, while it was only the echo of those who had prejudiced me. I adore
your Ariosto!"
"Ah! M. de Voltaire, I breathe again. But be good enough to have the work
in which you turned this great man into ridicule excommunicated."
"What use would that be? All my books are excommunicated; but I will
give you a good proof of my retractation."
I was astonished! The great man began to | 931.734815 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Counsel for the Defense
By
Leroy Scott
Author of
"The Shears of Destiny," "To Him That Hath,"
"The Walking Delegate"
Frontispiece by
Charles M. Chapman
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1911, 1912, by_
LEROY SCOTT
_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_
[Illustration: "THRILLING WITH AN UNEXPECTED HOPE, KATHERINE ROSE AND
TRIED TO KEEP HERSELF BEFORE THE EYES OF DOCTOR SHERMAN LIKE AN
ACCUSING CONSCIENCE"]
TO
HELEN
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
KATHERINE WEST.
DR. DAVID WEST, her father.
ARNOLD BRUCE, editor of the _Express_.
HARRISON BLAKE, ex-lieutenant-governor.
MRS. BLAKE, his mother.
"BLIND CHARLIE" PECK, a political boss.
HOSEA HOLLINGSWORTH, an old attorney.
BILLY HARPER, reporter on the _Express_.
THE REVEREND DR. SHERMAN, of the Wabash Avenue Church.
MRS. SHERMAN, his wife.
MRS. RACHEL GRAY, Katherine's aunt.
ROGER KENNEDY, prosecuting attorney.
JUDGE KELLOG.
MR. BROWN, of the National Electric & Water Company.
MR. MANNING, a detective.
ELIJAH STONE, a detective.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Westville Prepares to Celebrate 3
II. The Bubble Reputation 15
III. Katherine Comes Home 30
IV. Doctor West's Lawyer 49
V. Katherine Prepares for Battle 63
VI. The Lady Lawyer 80
VII. The Mask Falls 98
VIII. The Editor of the _Express_ 116
IX. The Price of a Man 131
X. Sunset at The Sycamores 146
XI. The Trial 158
XII. Opportunity Knocks at Bruce's Door 172
XIII. The Deserter 191
XIV. The Night Watch 212
XV. Politics Make Strange Bedfellows 226
XVI. Through The Storm 240
XVII. The Cup of Bliss 250
XVIII. The Candidate and the Tiger 264
XIX. When Greek Meets Greek 276
XX. A Spectre Comes to Town 295
XXI. Bruce to the Front 311
XXII. The Last Stand 328
XXIII. At Elsie's Bedside 346
XXIV. Billy Harper Writes a Story 368
XXV. Katherine Faces the Enemy 388
XXVI. An Idol's Fall 403
XXVII. The End of The Beginning 418
COUNSEL FOR THE DEFENSE
CHAPTER I
WESTVILLE PREPARES TO CELEBRATE
The room was thick with dust and draped with ancient cobwebs. In one
corner dismally reposed a literary junk heap--old magazines,
broken-backed works of reference, novels once unanimously read but now
unanimously forgotten. The desk was a helter-skelter of papers. One of
the two chairs had its burst cane seat mended by an atlas of the
world; and wherever any of the floor peered dimly through the general
debris it showed a complexion of dark and ineradicable greasiness.
Altogether, it was a room hopelessly unfit for human habitation; which
is perhaps but an indirect manner of stating that it was the office of
the editor of a successful newspaper.
Before a typewriter at a small table sat a bare-armed, solitary man.
He was twenty-eight or thirty, abundantly endowed with bone and
muscle, and with a face----But not to soil this early page with
abusive terms, it will be sufficient to remark that whatever the
Divine Sculptor had carved his countenance to portray, plainly there
had been no thought of re-beautifying the earth with an Apollo. He was
constructed not for grace, but powerful, tireless action; and there
was something absurdly disproportionate between the small machine and
the broad and hairy hands which so heavily belaboured its ladylike
keys.
It was a custom with Bruce to write the big local news story of the
day himself, a feature that had proved a stimulant to his paper's
circulation and prestige. To-morrow was to be one of the proudest days
of Westville's history, for to-morrow was the formal opening of the
city's greatest municipal enterprise, its thoroughly modern
water-works; and it was an extensive and vivid account of the next
day's programme that the editor was pounding so rapidly out of his
machine for that afternoon's issue of the _Express_. Now and then, as
he paused an instant to shape an effective sentence in his mind, he
glanced through the open window beside him across Main Street to
where, against the front of the old Court House, a group of
shirt-sleeved workmen were hanging their country's colours about a
speakers' stand; then his big, blunt fingers thumped swiftly on.
He had jerked out the final sheet, and had begun to revise his story,
making corrections with a very black pencil and in a very large hand,
when there sauntered in from the general editorial room a pale, slight
young man of twenty-five. The newcomer had a reckless air, a humorous
twist to the left corner of his mouth, and a negligent smartness in
his dress which plainly had its origin elsewhere than in Westville.
The editor did not raise his eyes.
"In a minute, Billy," he said shortly.
"Nothing to hurry about, Arn," drawled the other.
The young fellow drew forward the atlas-bottomed chair, leisurely
enthroned himself upon the nations of the earth, crossed his feet upon
the window-sill, and lit a cigarette. About his lounging form there
was a latent energy like that of a relaxed cat. He gazed rather
languidly over at the Square, its sides abustle with excited
preparation. Across the fronts of stores bunting was being tacked;
from upper windows crisp cotton flags were being unscrolled. As for
the Court House yard itself, to-day its elm-shaded spaces were
lifeless save for the workmen about the stand, a litigant or two going
up the walk, and an occasional frock-coated lawyer, his vest
democratically unbuttoned to the warm May air. But to-morrow----
The young fellow had turned his head slowly toward the editor's copy,
and, as though reading, he began in an emotional, declamatory voice:
"To-morrow the classic shades of Court House Square will teem with a
tumultuous throng. In the emblazoned speakers' stand the Westville
Brass Band, in their new uniforms, glittering like so many grand
marshals of the empire, will trumpet forth triumphant music fit to
burst; and aloft from this breeze-fluttered throne of oratory----"
"Go to hell!" interrupted Bruce, eyes still racing through his copy.
"And down from this breeze-fluttered throne of oratory," continued
Billy, with a rising quaver in his voice, "Mr. Harrison Blake,
Westville's favourite son; the Reverend Doctor Sherman, president of
the Voters' Union, and the Honourable Hiram Cogshell, Calloway
County's able-bodiest or | 931.924725 |
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Produced by Les Bowler
THE LAST HOPE
By Henry Seton Merriman
"What is it thou knowest, sweet voice?" I cried.
"A hidden hope," the voice replied.
CONTENTS
I. LE ROI EST MORT
II. VIVE LE ROI
III. THE RETURN OF "THE LAST HOPE"
IV. THE MARQUIS'S CREED
V. ON THE <DW18>
VI. THE STORY | 932.267326 |
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Produced by Ted Garvin, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
THE DELICIOUS VICE
Pipe Dreams and Fond Adventures of an Habitual Novel-Reader Among Some
Great Books and Their People
By Young E. Allison
_Second Edition_
(Revised and containing new material)
CHICAGO THE PRAIRIELAND PUBLISHING CO. 1918 Printed originally in the
Louisville Courier-Journal. Reprinted by courtesy.
First edition, Cleveland, Burrows Bros., 1907.
Copyright 1907-1918
I. A RHAPSODY ON THE NOBLE PROFESSION OF NOVEL READING
It must have been at about the good-bye age of forty that Thomas Moore,
that choleric and pompous yet genial little Irish gentleman, turned a
sigh into good marketable "copy" for Grub Street and with shrewd economy
got two full pecuniary bites out of one melancholy apple of reflection:
"Kind friends around me fall
Like leaves in wintry weather,"
--he sang of his own dead heart in the stilly night.
"Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves on the bed
Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead."
--he sang to the dying rose. In the red month of October the rose is
forty years old, as roses go. How small the world has grown to a man of
forty, if he has put his eyes, his ears and his brain to the uses for
which they are adapted. And as for time--why, it is no longer than a
kite string. At about the age of forty everything that can happen to a
man, death excepted, has happened; happiness has gone to the devil or
is a mere habit; the blessing of poverty has been permanently secured
or you are exhausted with the cares of wealth; you can see around
the corner or you do not care to see around it; in a word--that is,
considering mental existence--the bell has rung on you and you are up
against a steady grind for the remainder of your life. It is then there
comes to the habitual novel reader the inevitable day when, in anguish
of heart, looking back over his life, he--wishes he hadn't; then he asks
himself the bitter question if there are not things he has done that he
wishes he hadn't. Melancholy marks him for its own. He sits in his room
some winter evening, the lamp swarming shadowy seductions, the grate
glowing with siren invitation, the cigar box within easy reach for that
moment when the pending sacrifice between his teeth shall be burned out;
his feet upon the familiar corner of the mantel at that automatically
calculated altitude which permits the weight of the upper part of the
body to fall exactly upon the second joint from the lower end of the
vertebral column as it rests in the comfortable depression created by
continuous wear in the cushion of that particular chair to which every
honest man who has acquired the library vice sooner or later gets
attached with a love no misfortune can destroy. As he sits thus,
having closed the lids of, say, some old favorite of his youth, he will
inevitably ask himself if it would not have been better for him if he
hadn't. And the question once asked must be answered; and it will be an
honest answer, too. For no scoundrel was ever addicted to the delicious
vice of novel-reading. It is too tame for him. "There is no money in
it."
* * * * *
And every habitual novel-reader will answer that question he has asked
himself, after a sigh. A sigh that will echo from the tropic deserted
island of Juan Fernandez to that utmost ice-bound point of Siberia where
by chance or destiny the seven nails in the sole of a certain mysterious
person's shoe, in the month of October, 1831, formed a cross--thus:
*
* * *
*
*
*
while on the American promontory opposite, "a young and handsome woman
replied to the man's despairing gesture by silently pointing to heaven."
The Wandering Jew may be gone, but the theater of that appalling
prologue still exists unchanged. That sigh will penetrate the gloomy
cell of the Abbe Faria, the frightful dungeons of the Inquisition, the
gilded halls of Vanity Fair, the deep forests of Brahmin and fakir, the
jousting list, the audience halls and the petits cabinets of kings of
France, sound over the trackless and storm-beaten ocean--will echo, in
short, wherever warm blood has jumped in the veins of honest men and
wherever vice has sooner or later been stretched groveling in the dust
at the feet of triumphant virtue.
And so, sighing to the uttermost ends of the earth, the old novel-reader
will confess that he wishes he hadn't. Had not read all those novels
that troop through his memory. Because, if he hadn't--and it is the
impossibility of the alternative that chills his soul with the despair
of cruel realization--if he hadn't, you see, he could begin at the very
first, right then and there, and read the whole blessed business through
for the first time. For the FIRST TIME, mark you! Is there anywhere in
this great round world a novel reader of true genius who would not do
that with the joy of a child and the thankfulness of a sage?
Such a dream would be the foundation of the story of a really noble Dr.
Faustus. How contemptible is the man who, having staked his life freely
upon a career, whines at the close and begs for another chance; just
one more--and a different career! It is no more than Mr. Jack Hamlin, a
friend from Calaveras County, California, would call "the baby act,"
or his compeer, Mr. John Oakhurst, would denominate "a squeal." How
glorious, on the other hand, is the man who has spent his life in his
own way, and, at its eventide, waves his hand to the sinking sun and
cries out: "Goodbye; but if I could do so, I should be glad to go over
it all again with you--just as it was!" If honesty is rated in heaven
as we have been taught to believe, depend upon it the novel-reader
who sighs to eat the apple he has just devoured, will have no trouble
hereafter.
What a great flutter was created a few years ago when a blind
multi-millionaire of New York offered to pay a million dollars in cash
to any scientist, savant or surgeon in the world who would restore
his sight. Of course he would! It was no price at all to offer for the
service--considering the millions remaining. It was no more to him than
it would be to me to offer ten dollars for a peep at Paradise. Poor as I
am I will give any man in the world one hundred dollars in cash who will
enable me to remove every trace of memory of M. Alexandre Dumas' "Three
Guardsmen," so that I may open that glorious book with the virgin
capacity of youth to enjoy its full delight. More; I will duplicate the
same offer for any one or all of the following:
"Les Miserables," of M. Hugo.
"Don Quixote," of Senor Cervantes.
"Vanity Fair," of Mr. Thackeray.
"David Copperfield," of Mr. Dickens.
"The Cloister and the Hearth," of Mr. Reade.
And if my good friend, Isaac of York, is lending money at the old
stand and will take pianos, pictures, furniture, dress suits and plain
household plate as collateral, upon even moderate valuation, I will go
fifty dollars each upon the following:
"The Count of Monte Cristo," of M. Dumas.
"The Wandering Jew," of M. Sue.
"The Memoirs of Barry Lyndon, Esq.," of Mr. Thackeray.
"Treasure Island," of Mr. Robbie Stevenson.
"The Vicar of Wakefield," of Mr. Goldsmith.
"Pere Goriot," of M. de Balzac.
"Ivanhoe," of Baronet Scott.
(Any one previously unnamed of the whole layout of M. Dumas, excepting
only a paretic volume entitled "The Conspirators.")
Now, the man who can do the trick for one novel can do it for all--and
there's a thousand dollars waiting to be earned, and a blessing also.
It's a bald "bluff," of course, because it can't be done as we all know.
I might offer a million with safety. If it ever could have been done the
noble intellectual aristocracy of novel-readers would have been reduced
to a condition of penury and distress centuries ago.
For, who can put fetters upon even the smallest second of eternity? Who
can repeat a joy or duplicate a sweet sorrow? Who has ever had more than
one first sweetheart, or more than one first kiss under the honeysuckle?
Or has ever seen his name in print for the first time, ever again? Is it
any wonder that all these inexplicable longings, these hopeless hopes,
were summed up in the heart-cry of Faust--
"Stay, yet awhile, O moment of beauty."
* * * * *
Yet, I maintain, Dr. Faustus was a weak creature. He begged to be given
another and wholly different chance to linger with beauty. How much
nobler the magnificent courage of the veteran novel-reader, who in the
old age of his service, asks only that he may be permitted to do again
all that he has done, blindly, humbly, loyally, as before.
Don't I know? Have I not been there? It is no child's play, the life of
a man who--paraphrasing the language of Spartacus, the much neglected
hero of the ages--has met upon the printed page every shape of perilous
adventure and dangerous character that the broad empire of fiction could
furnish, and never yet lowered his arm. Believe me it is no carpet duty
to have served on the British privateers in Guiana, under Commodore
Kingsley, alongside of Salvation Yeo; to have been a loyal member of
Thuggee and cast the scarf for Bowanee; to have watched the tortures of
Beatrice Cenci (pronounced as written in honest English, and I spit upon
the weaklings of the service who imagine that any freak of woman called
Bee-ah-treech-y Chon-chy could have endured the agonies related of that
sainted lady)--to have watched those tortures, I say, without breaking
down; to have fought under the walls of Acre with Richard Coeur de Lion;
to have crawled, amid rats and noxious vapors, with Jean Valjean through
the sewers of Paris; to have dragged weary miles through the snow with
Uncas, Chief of the Mohicans; to have lived among wild beasts with Morok
the lion tamer; to have charged with the impis of Umslopogaas; to have
sailed before the mast with Vanderdecken, spent fourteen gloomy years
in the next cell to Edmund Dantes, ferreted out the murders in the Rue
Morgue, advised Monsieur Le Cocq and given years of life's prime in
tedious professional assistance to that anointed idiot and pestiferous
scoundrel, Tittlebat Titmouse! Equally, of course, it has not been all
horror and despair. Life averages up fairly, as any novel-reader
will admit, and there has been much of delight--even luxury and
idleness--between the carnage hours of battle. Is it not so? Ask that
boyish-hearted old scamp whom you have seen scuttling away from the
circulating library with M. St. Pierre's memoirs of young Paul and his
beloved Virginia under his arm; or stepping briskly out of the book
store hugging to his left side a carefully wrapped biography of Lady
Diana Vernon, Mlle. de la Valliere, or Madame Margaret Woffington; or
in fact any of a thousand charming ladies whom it is certain he had met | 932.376575 |
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Jonathan Ingram, Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
[Illustration: DANIEL WEBSTER.
Engraved by Gustav Kruell; after a daguerreotype in the possession of
Josiah J. Hawes, Boston.]
SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE
PUBLISHED MONTHLY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME XXVI JULY-DECEMBER
1899
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & Co. LIMITED LONDON
Copyright, 1899,
By Charles Scribner's Sons.
Printed by
Trow Directory, Printing and Bookbinding Company,
New York, U. S. A.
CONTENT | 932.434855 |
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Transcribed from the 1914 Burns & Oates edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
Essays by Alice Meynell
Contents:
WINDS AND WATERS
Ceres' Runaway
Wells
Rain
The Tow Path
The Tethered Constellations
Rushes and Reeds
IN A BOOK ROOM
A Northern Fancy
Pathos
Anima Pellegrina!
A Point of Biography
The Honours of Mortality
Composure
The Little Language
A Counterchange
Harlequin Mercutio
COMMENTARIES
Laughter
The Rhythm of Life
Domus Angusta
Innocence and Experience
The Hours of Sleep
Solitude
Decivilized
WAYFARING
The Spirit of Place
Popular Burlesque
Have Patience, Little Saint
At Monastery Gates
The Sea Wall
ARTS
Tithonus
Symmetry and Incident
The Plaid
The Flower
Unstable Equilibrium
Victorian Caricature
The Point of Honour
"THE CHEARFUL L | 932.535535 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Richard J. Shiffer
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE ARENA.
EDITED BY JOHN CLARK RIDPATH, LL. D.
VOL. XVIII
JULY TO DECEMBER, 1897
PUBLISHED BY
THE ARENA COMPANY
BOSTON, MASS.
1897
COPYRIGHTED, 1897
BY
THE ARENA COMPANY.
SKINNER, BARTLETT & CO., 7 Federal Court, Boston.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The Citadel of the Money Power:
I. Wall Street, Past, Present, and Future HENRY CLEWS 1
II. The True Inwardness of Wall Street JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 9
The Reform Club's Feast of Unreason Hon. CHARLES A. TOWNE 24
Does Credit Act on Prices? A. J. UTLEY 37
Points in the American and French Constitutions Compared,
NIELS GROeN 49
Honest Money; or, A True Standard of Value: A Symposium.
I. WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN 57
II. M. W. HOWARD 58
III. WHARTON BARKER 59
IV. ARTHUR I. FONDA 60
V. Gen. A. J. WARNER 62
The New Civil Code of Japan TOKICHI MASAO, M. L., D. C. L. 64
John Ruskin: A Type of Twentieth-Century Manhood B. O. FLOWER 70
The Single Tax in Operation Hon. HUGH H. LUSK 79
Natural Selection, Social Selection, and Heredity,
Prof. JOHN R. COMMONS 90
Psychic or Supermundane Forces CORA L. V. RICHMOND 98
The American Institute of Civics HENRY RANDALL WAITE, Ph. D. 108
An Industrial Fable HAMILTON S. WICKS 116
Plaza of the Poets:
Reply to "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," BARTON LOMAX PITTMAN 122
John Brown COATES KINNEY 125
Demos W. H. VENABLE, LL. D. 126
The Editor's Evening: Leaf from My Samoan Notebook (A. D.
2297); _Vita Longa_; Kaboto (a Sonnet) 128
A Stroke for the People: A Farmer's Letter to THE ARENA 134
Evolution: What It Is and What It Is Not Dr. DAVID STARR JORDAN 145
Has Wealth a Limitation? ROBERT N. REEVES 160
The Battle of the Money Metals:
I. Bimetallism Simplified GEORGE H. LEPPER 168
II. Bimetallism Extinguished JOHN CLARK RIDPATH 180
The Segregation and Permanent Isolation of Criminals,
NORMAN ROBINSON 192
How to Increase National Wealth by the Employment of Paralyzed
Industry B. O. FLOWER 200
Open Letter to Eastern Capitalists CHARLES C. MILLARD 211
The Telegraph Monopoly: Part XIII. Prof. FRANK PARSONS 218
The Provisional Government of the Cubans THOMAS W. STEEP 226
A Noted American Preacher DUNCAN MACDERMID 232
The Civic Outlook HENRY RANDALL WAITE, Ph. D. 245
"The Tempest" the Sequel to "Hamlet" EMILY DICKEY BEERY 254
The Creative Man STINSON JARVIS 262
Plaza of the Poets:
The New Woman MILES MENANDER DAWSON 275
Under the Stars COATES KINNEY 275
The Cry of the Valley CHARLES MELVIN WILKINSON 276
A Radical ROBERT F. GIBSON 277
The Editor's Evening: Our Totem; _Vive La France! Le Siecle_
(a Sonnet) 278
The Concentration of Wealth: Its Causes and Results: Part I,
HERMAN E. TAUBENECK 289
The Future of the Democratic Party: A Reply DAVID OVERMYER 302
The Multiple Standard for Money ELTWEED POMEROY 318
Anticipating the | 932.735459 |
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Produced by Gregory Walker
THE TAO TEH KING,
OR
THE TAO AND ITS CHARACTERISTICS
by Lao-Tse
Translated by James Legge
PART 1.
Ch. 1. 1. The Tao that can be trodden is not the enduring and
unchanging Tao. The name that can be named is not the enduring and
unchanging name.
2. (Conceived of as) having no name, it is the Originator of heaven
and earth; (conceived of as) having a name, it is the Mother of all
things.
3.
Always without desire we must be found,
If its deep mystery we would sound;
But if desire always within us be,
Its outer fringe is all that we shall see.
4. Under these two aspects, it is really the same; but as development
takes place, it receives the different names. Together we call them
the Mystery. Where the Mystery is the deepest is the gate of all that
is subtle and wonderful.
2. 1. All in the world know the beauty of the beautiful, and in doing | 932.74019 |
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Produced by James Linden. HTML version by Al Haines.
State of the Union Addresses of Woodrow Wilson
The addresses are separated by three asterisks: ***
Dates of addresses by Woodrow Wilson in this eBook:
December 2, 1913
December 8, 1914
December 7, 1915
December 5, 1916
December 4, 1917
December 2, 1918
December 2, 1919
December 7, 1920
***
State of the Union Address
Woodrow Wilson
December 2, 1913
Gentlemen of the Congress:
In pursuance of my constitutional duty to "give to the Congress information
of the state of the Union," I take the liberty of addressing you on several
matters which ought, as it seems to me, particularly to engage the
attention of your honorable bodies, as of all who study the welfare and
progress of the Nation.
I shall ask your indulgence if I venture to depart in some degree from the
usual custom of setting before you in formal review the many matters which
have engaged the attention and called for the action of the several
departments of the Government or which look to them for early treatment in
the future, because the list is long, very long, and would suffer in the
abbreviation to which I should have to subject it. I shall submit to you
the reports of the heads of the several departments, in which these
subjects are set forth in careful detail, and beg that they may receive the
thoughtful attention of your committees and of all Members of the Congress
who may have the leisure to study them. Their obvious importance, as
constituting the very substance of the business of the Government, makes
comment and emphasis on my part unnecessary.
The country, I am thankful to say, is at peace with all the world, and many
happy manifestations multiply about us of a growing cordiality and sense of
community of interest among the nations, foreshadowing an age of settled
peace and good will. More and more readily each decade do the nations
manifest their willingness to bind themselves by solemn treaty to the
processes of peace, the processes of frankness and fair concession. So far
the United States has stood at the front of such negotiations. She will, I
earnestly hope and confidently believe, give fresh proof of her sincere
adherence to the cause of international friendship by ratifying the several
treaties of arbitration awaiting renewal by the Senate. In addition to
these, it has been the privilege of the Department of State to gain the
assent, in principle, of no less than 31 nations, representing four-fifths
of the population of the world, to the negotiation of treaties by which it
shall be agreed that whenever differences of interest or of policy arise
which can not be resolved by the ordinary processes of diplomacy they shall
be publicly analyzed, discussed, and reported upon by a tribunal chosen by
the parties before either nation determines its course of action.
There is only one possible standard by which to determine controversies
between the United States and other nations, and that is compounded of
these two elements: Our own honor and our obligations to the peace of the
world. A test so compounded ought easily to be made to govern both the
establishment of new treaty obligations and the interpretation of those
already assumed.
There is but one cloud upon our horizon. That has shown itself to the south
of us, and hangs over Mexico. There can be no certain prospect of peace in
America until Gen. Huerta has surrendered his usurped authority in Mexico;
until it is understood on all hands, indeed, that such pretended
governments will not be countenanced or dealt with by-the Government of the
United States. We are the friends of constitutional government in America;
we are more than its friends, we are its champions; because in no other way
can our neighbors, to whom we would wish in every way to make proof of our
friendship, work out their own development in peace and liberty. Mexico has
no Government. The attempt to maintain one at the City of Mexico has broken
down, and a mere military despotism has been set up which has hardly more
than the semblance of national authority. It originated in the usurpation
of Victoriano Huerta, who, after a brief attempt to play the part of
constitutional President, has at last cast aside even the pretense of legal
right and declared himself dictator. As a consequence, a condition of
affairs now exists in Mexico which has made it doubtful whether even the
most elementary and fundamental rights either of her own people or of the
citizens of other countries resident within her territory can long be
successfully safeguarded, and which threatens, if long continued, to
imperil the interests of peace, order, and tolerable life in the lands
immediately to the south of us. Even if the usurper had succeeded in his
purposes, in despite of the constitution of the Republic and the rights of
its people, he would have set up nothing but a precarious and hateful
power, which could have lasted but a little while, and whose eventual
downfall would have left the country in a more deplorable condition than
ever. But he has not succeeded. He has forfeited the respect and the moral
support even of those who were at one time willing to see him succeed.
Little by little he has been completely isolated. By a little every day his
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STANHOPE PRIZE ESSAY--1859.
THE
CAUSES OF THE SUCCESSES
OF THE
OTTOMAN TURKS.
BY
JAMES SURTEES PHILLPOTTS,
SCHOLAR OF NEW COLLEGE.
[Illustration]
OXFORD:
T. and G. SHRIMPTON.
M DCCC LIX.
THE CAUSES OF THE SUCCESSES OF THE OTTOMAN TURKS.
By the fall of the Seljukian dynasty in Asia Minor, a vast number of
Turks, scattered over the fertile tracts of Western Asia, were left
without any organized government. The Emirs of the Seljouks in their
different districts tried to set up separate kingdoms for themselves,
but their power was successfully exercised only in making depredations
upon each other. For some time they were under the sway of the Khans of
Persia, but the decline of the Mogul Empire after the death of Cazan,
freed them from this control[1]. During this time of general anarchy,
a clan of Oghouz Turks, under Ertogruhl, settled in the dominions of
Alaeddin, the chief of Iconium. These Turks were of the same family as
the Huns and Avars, and the other Barbarian hordes, whose invasions
had continually devastated Europe for nearly ten centuries[2]; nor had
the energy and restless activity of their race yet begun to fail. They
were all united by the affinity of race, as well as by their language,
and by the common bond of the Sunnite creed. In return for Ertogruhl’s
services in war Alaeddin gave him a grant of territory in the highlands
of Phrygia. The warlike spirit of Ertogruhl’s son Othman, raised him to
the rank of an independent chieftain, and he soon made himself master
of strong positions on the borders of the Greek Empire. With ill-judged
parsimony, the Emperor Michael had disbanded the militia, who guarded
the passes of Mount Olympus, and had thus left Bithynia open to
attack. Orchan, the son of Othman, took advantage of these favourable
occurrences, enlarged his territory at the expense of the Greeks, and
by uniting several of the scattered Turkish tribes under one head, laid
the foundation of the Ottoman Empire.
Thus the circumstances of the times were throughout eminently
favourable to the Ottomans. The fall of the Seljouk monarchy, and
the consequent diffusion of the Turkish population, had given free
scope to their enterprising spirit. Through the civil wars of the
Byzantine Emperors and the disputes of the Venetians and Genoese, they
were enabled to gain their first footing in Europe. Had Amurath’s
attempt to extend his kingdom over the Christian nations of Thrace and
Roumelia been made in the 11th century, he would have roused all Europe
in common resistance to his rising power. But in 1388, the Servian
confederacy could obtain no aid from Western Christendom. As long as
Richard II. was king of England, and Charles VI. of France--while
Germany was ruled by the dissolute Winceslaus--Amurath had little to
fear from the powers of the West[3]. Spain was too much occupied by
her wars with the Moslems at home to think of the sufferings of her
Christian brethren in the East. Nor was there any danger that the rival
popes of Avignon and Rome would forget their private animosities to
assist in arresting the fall of a distant and schismatical church.
At the crowning point of their success, the siege of Constantinople
by Mahomet II., the advantages of time were again on the side of the
Ottomans. The Roman pontiff, furious at their obstinacy in refusing
to join the communion of the Latin church, had conceived an aversion
for the Greeks which could hardly be exceeded by any abhorrence of
the Mnssulman’s creed. It might have been expected that he would
rouse himself to prevent the destruction of the Eastern defences
of Christendom, but he chose rather a selfish and inglorious part,
content to foresee and even to foretell the coming overthrow of the
Greek Empire[4]. Thus did the Patriarch of the West, the natural head
of any confederacy for the succour of Constantinople, look on at its
fall with seeming unconcern. Meanwhile the English and the French were
engaged in a quarrel too deadly to be reconciled. The Germans would
not join with the Hungarians, nor would the Spanish have any concert
with the Genoese. In short no coalition of the powers of Europe was
possible. Even the Greeks themselves were too much divided by religious
dissensions to offer united resistance to their Moslem foe, and their
want of union could only be equalled by their cowardice. The valour
of the last Constantine did indeed shed glory over his own particular
fate, but the issue of the struggle could not be doubtful when the
disciplined troops and the famed artillery of the Turk were opposed to
the feeble and disunited force of the enervated Byzantines.
These external circumstances are important, as having been auxiliary to
the rise of the Ottomans. But the main causes of their success must be
sought in the wisdom of their rulers and in the institutions which they
established.
Their government was most singularly constituted, and of a character
totally dissimilar to any of the governments of Christendom. The
institutions too from which they derived their solid and lasting power
were for the most part peculiar to themselves. On these institutions
the stability of the Ottoman greatness mainly rested. With their first
appearance it arose; with their gradual development it had grown; as
they were neglected and fell into disuse, the ancient glory of the
Crescent was dimmed, obscured, and finally extinguished.
Even in the legendary history of the founder of their nation is
shadowed forth the faint outline of their peculiar, policy. By patient
waiting till he attained his purpose, Othman won his wife from an alien
tribe. His expeditions were sanctioned by the blessing of the Holy
Scheik Edebali. From the fruit of these expeditions, from the Christian
captives who were condemned to slavery, was selected the wife of his
son Orchan. A Christian apostate, ‘Michael of the Pointed Beard’ was
the chief of Othman’s captains.
It was from the example of their founder, they would have us
believe, that they adopted customs of receiving renegades, of foreign
intermarriage, a warlike zeal sanctioned by religion, a system of
slavery-institutions which in later times were the distinguishing
characteristics of their race[5]. It matters not if these accounts
of Othman’s early history be the invention of later times; this
rather shows (since fiction is more philosophical than truth), that
the Ottomans themselves were convinced that it was mainly on the
preservation of these usages that their greatness rested. It was,
however, reserved for the sons of Othman to set the system on a
permanent basis, and to the legislative genius of Alaeddin in the
succeeding reign, was chiefly due the stability of the Ottoman race.
In general the Asiatic dynasties culminate to their height of power
with a marvellous rapidity, and then, dependent solely on the merits
of their rulers, with no institutions calculated to ensure any lasting
greatness, fall by a decline no less rapid and less marvellous than
their rise. The career of Ottoman conquest lacked the dazzling grandeur
which invests the exploits of Genghis Khan, or Timour, but it was not
destined to be as ephemeral as they. In its slow and cautious advance,
in the gradual organization of conquered provinces, in the unswerving
patience which waited always for the fittest opportunity, it bore no
faint resemblance to the stately march of Roman sovereignty.
The close of Othman’s life of seventy years saw him but just made
possessor of a single city of importance. It was not till the reign of
Orchan that the Ottomans ceased to acknowledge the sovereignty of the
Iconian Sultans, and first adopted a coinage of their own. The wise
policy of Orchan’s coadjutor, Alaeddin, gave them a respite from war
for twenty years, in which time he consolidated the small kingdom they
had already won, and perfected a system which was to be the instrument
of future conquest.
It was during this period of tranquillity that the organization of
the army was effected--an organization which, possessing in itself
the various merits of the most invincible forces that have ever been
collected--the asceticism and brotherhood of the Spartan companies, the
mixture of races in the army of Hannibal, the religious zeal of the
English Puritans, and the devotion of Caesar’s 10th legion--added to
all these, two peculiarities of their creed, the absolute subjection of
every individual to the sacred authority of the Sultan, and the warlike
inspirations of a religion that taught them that ‘in the conflict of
the crossing scymetars Paradise was to be won.’
It is a remarkable and significant fact, that this abstinence from war
for the long period of twenty years was never repeated by the Ottomans
during the time of their success. That soldiers long unemployed must
become either citizens or rebels is an axiom which must have special
force in a government like that of the Ottomans. War was the normal
condition of their race. It was to this object that not only their
iconoclastic creed, but the whole tenor of their institutions pointed,
and in this aspect they must chiefly be contemplated.
The feudal system of the Ottomans was essentially military. It was the
device of an aggressive power and was made to answer a double purpose;
to secure the permanency of its conquests, and to supply soldiers for
war. Ottoman feudalism was wholly different from that which prevailed
in Western Europe. The great distinction lay in the fact, that among
the Ottomans all the feudal vassals held their fiefs directly of
the Sultan, or his officers; whereas in Western Europe, between the
sovereigns and the lower tenants was interposed a powerful class,
which always more or less counterbalanced the supreme power. The one
was the division of a kingdom into petty fiefs, the other the fusion
of conquered territories under the sway of one victorious monarch. It
was through the feudal system of the Ottomans, in combination with
their institution of slavery, that war was made to feed war; that every
conquest supplied the means for future conquest.
The use of the Ottoman system for the supply of soldiers in time of
war may be estimated from the fact, that an armed horseman was required
for every fief of the value of twelve pounds a year, and another for
every additional twenty pounds. In the time of Solyman these fiefs were
able to furnish 150,000 cavalry[6]. The feudal troops were always kept
in readiness, nor was anything required to summon them to the field
but an order of the Sultan to the two Beglerbegs of the Empire from
whom it was communicated to a regular gradation of officers entrusted
with the task of mustering these Spahi, or Cavaliers, in their separate
divisions[7]. This force served without pay. If they fell in battle,
they were honoured as martyrs: if they distinguished themselves, or if
the expedition was successful, they were rewarded with larger gifts of
property. All their hopes of advancement depended upon the Sultan, and
his success in war. They were ready to do his bidding in any part of
the world, for the greater part of every country which they subdued was
divided among the members of their own body.
It is to this institution of feudalism that we must look for an
explanation of the fact, that the Turkish conquests, unlike those of
other great conquerors, seldom returned to their original possessors.
Immediately an additional piece of territory was gained, it became an
integral part of the Empire. Thus it was that the Sultans were able to
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ANNA ST. IVES
THOMAS HOLCROFT
1792
CONTENTS
Volume I
Volume II
Volume III
Volume IV
Volume V
Volume VI
VOLUME VII
Explanatory Notes
ANNA ST. IVES
_A NOVEL_
VOLUME I
LETTER I
_Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_
_Wenbourne-Hill_
Here are we, my dear girl, in the very height of preparation. We begin
our journey southward at five tomorrow morning. We shall make a short
stay in London, and then proceed to Paris. Expectation is on tiptoe: my
busy fancy has pictured to itself Calais, Montreuil, Abbeville, in
short every place which the book of post roads enumerates, and some of
which the divine Sterne has rendered so famous. I expect to find
nothing but mirth, vivacity, fancy, and multitudes of people. I have
read so much of the populousness of France, the gaiety of its
inhabitants, the magnificence of its buildings, its fine climate,
fertility, numerous cities, superb roads, rich plains, and teeming
vineyards, that I already imagine myself journeying through an
enchanted land.
I have another pleasure in prospect. Pray have you heard that your
brother is soon to be at Paris, on his return from Italy?--My father
surprised me by informing me we should probably meet him in that
capital. I suspect Sir Arthur of an implication which his words perhaps
will not authorize; but he asked me, rather significantly, if I had
ever heard you talk of your brother; and in less than five minutes
wished to know whether I had any objections to marriage.
My father is exceedingly busy with his head man, his plotter, his
planner; giving directions concerning still further improvements that
are to be made, in his grounds and park, during our absence. You know
his mania. Improvement is his disease. I have before hinted to you that
I do not like this factotum of his, this Abimelech Henley. The amiable
qualities of his son more than compensate for the meanness of the
father; whom I have long suspected to be and am indeed convinced that
he is artful, selfish, and honest enough to seek his own profit, were
it at the expence of his employer's ruin. He is continually insinuating
new plans to my father, whom he Sir Arthurs, and Honours, and Nobles,
at every word, and then persuades him the hints and thoughts are all
his own. The illiterate fellow has a language peculiar to himself;
energetic but half unintelligible; compounded of a few fine phrases,
and an inundation of proverbial wisdom and uncouth cant terms. Of the
scanty number of polite words, which he has endeavoured to catch, he is
very bountiful to Sir Arthur. 'That's noble! That's great your noble
honour! Well, by my truly, that's an _elegunt ideer_! But I always said
your honour had more _nobler_ and _elegunter ideers_ than any other
noble gentleman, knight, lord, or dooke, in every thing of what your
honour calls the grand gusto.' Pshaw! It is ridiculous in me to imitate
his language; the cunning nonsense of which evaporates upon paper, but
is highly characteristic when delivered with all its attendant bows and
cringes; which, like the accompaniments to a concerto, enforce the
character of the composition, and give it full effect.
I am in the very midst of bandboxes, portmanteaus, packing-cases, and
travelling trunks. I scarcely ever knew a mind so sluggish as not to
feel a certain degree of rapture, at the thoughts of travelling. It
should seem as if the imagination frequently journeyed so fast as to
enjoy a species of ecstasy, when there are any hopes of dragging the
cumbrous body after its flights.
I cannot banish the hints of Sir Arthur from my busy fancy.--I must not
I ought not to practise disguise with any one, much less with my
Louisa; and I cannot but own that his questions suggested a plan of
future happiness to my mind, which if realized would be delightful. The
brother of my dear Louisa, the chosen friend of my heart, is to be at
Paris. I shall meet him there. He cannot but resemble his sister. He
cannot but be all generosity, love, expansion, mind, soul! I am
determined to have a very sincere friendship for him; nay I am in
danger of falling in love with him at first sight! Louisa knows what I
mean by falling in love. Ah, my dear friend, if he be but half equal to
you, he is indeed a matchless youth! Our souls are too intimately
related to need any nearer kindred; and yet, since marry I must, as you
emphatically tell me it will some time be my duty to do, I could almost
wish Sir Arthur's questions to have the meaning I suspect, and that it
might be to the brother of my friend.
Do not call me romantic: if romance it be, it originates in the supreme
satisfaction I have taken in contemplating the powers and beauties of
my Louisa's mind. Our acquaintance has been but short, yet our
friendship appears as if it had been eternal. Our hearts understand
each other, and speak a language which, alas, we both have found to be
unintelligible to the generality of the world.
Once more adieu. You shall hear from me again at London. Direct to me
as usual in Grosvenor Street.
Ever and ever your
A. W. ST. IVES
P.S. I am sorry to see poor Frank Henley look so dejected. He has many
good, nay I am well persuaded many great, qualities. Perhaps he is
disappointed at not being allowed to go with us; for which I know he
petitioned his father, but was refused; otherwise I could easily have
prevailed on Sir Arthur to have consented.
I am determined to take King Pepin[1] with me. It is surely the most
intelligent of all animals; the unfeathered bipeds, as the French wits
call us two-legged mortals, excepted. But no wonder it was my Louisa's
gift; and, kissing her lips, imbibed a part of her spirit. Were I to
leave it behind me, cats, and other good for nothing creatures, would
teach it again to be shy, and suspicious; and the present charming
exertion of its little faculties would decay. The development of mind,
even in a bird, has something in it highly delightful.
[Footnote 1: A goldfinch which the young lady had so named.]
Why, my Louisa, my friend, my sister, ah, why are not you with me? Why
do you not participate my pleasures, catch with me the rising ideas,
and enjoy the raptures of novelty? But I will forbear. I have before in
vain exhausted all my rhetoric. You must not, will not quit a
languishing parent; and I am obliged to approve your determination,
though I cannot but regret the consequence.
LETTER II
_Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_
_Rose Bank_
Health, joy, and novelty attend the steps of my ever dear and charming
Anna! May the whirling of your chariot wheels bring a succession of
thoughts as exhilarating as they are rapid! May gladness hail you
through the day, and peace hush you to sleep at night! May the hills
and valleys smile upon you, as you roll over and beside them; and may
you meet festivity and fulness of content at every step!
I too have my regrets. My heart is one-half with you; nay my beloved,
my generous mamma has endeavoured to persuade me to quit her, arguing
that the inconvenience to her would be more than compensated by the
benefit accruing to myself. The dear lady, I sincerely believe, loves
you if possible better than she does me, and pleaded strenuously. But
did she not know it was impossible she should prevail? She did. If my
cares can prolong a life so precious but half an hour, is it not an
age? Do not her virtues and her wisdom communicate themselves to all
around her? Are not her resignation, her fortitude, and her
cheerfulness in pain, lessons which I might traverse kingdoms and not
find an opportunity like this of learning? And, affection out of the
question, having such high duties to perform, must I fly from such an
occasion, afflicting though it be? No! Anna St. Ives herself must not
tempt me to that. She is indeed too noble seriously to form such a
wish. Answer, is she not?
Oh that I may be deceived, but I fear you expect too much from my
brother. Oh that he might be worthy of my Anna! Not for my own sake;
for, as she truly says, we [That is our souls, for I know of no other
we]. We cannot be more akin; but for his own. He is the son of my
beloved mother, and most devoutly do I wish he might be found deserving
of her and you. He would then be more deserving than any man, at least
any young man, I have ever known. Though brother and sister, he and I
may be said to have but little acquaintance. He has always been either
at school, or at college, or in town, or on his travels, or in some
place where I did not happen to be, except for short intervals. I have
told you that his person is not displeasing, that his temper appears to
be prompt and daring, but gay, and that his manners I doubt are of that
free kind which our young gentlemen affect.
To say the truth however, I have heard much in favour of Coke Clifton;
but then it has generally been either from persons whose good word was
in my opinion no praise, or from others who evidently meant to be civil
to me, or to the family, by speaking well of my brother. I believe him
to have much pride, some ambition, a high sense of fashionable honour;
that he spurns at threats, disdains reproof, and that he does not want
generosity, or those accomplishments which would make him pass with the
world for a man whose alliance would be desirable. But the husband of
my Anna [you perceive I have caught your tone, and use the word husband
as familiarly as if there were any serious intention of such an event,
and as if it were any thing more than the sportive effusion of fancy,
or rather the momentary expansion of friendship] the husband of my Anna
ought to be more, infinitely more, than what the | 932.93547 |
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Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
FAIRVIEW BOYS AT LIGHTHOUSE COVE
OR
CARRIED OUT TO SEA
BY
FREDERICK GORDON
AUTHOR OF "FAIRVIEW BOYS AFLOAT AND ASHORE," "FAIRVIEW
BOYS AND THEIR RIVALS," "FAIRVIEW BOYS
AT CAMP MYSTERY," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
CHARLES E. GRAHAM & CO.
NEWARK, N. J. NEW YORK
[Illustration: They crowded to the rail eager for their rescue.]
BOOKS FOR BOYS
BY FREDERICK GORDON
FAIRVIEW BOYS SERIES
Illustrated. Price, per volume, 75 cents, postpaid.
FAIRVIEW BOYS AFLOAT AND ASHORE
Or, The Young Crusoes of Pine Island
FAIRVIEW BOYS ON EAGLE MOUNTAIN
Or, Sammy Brown's Treasure Hunt
FAIRVIEW BOYS AND THEIR RIVALS
Or, Bob Bouncer's Schooldays
FAIRVIEW BOYS AT CAMP MYSTERY
Or, The Old Hermit and His Secret
FAIRVIEW BOYS AT LIGHTHOUSE COVE
Or, Carried Out to Sea
FAIRVIEW BOYS ON A RANCH
Or, Riding with the Cowboys
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
GRAHAM & MATLACK
_Fairview Boys At Lighthouse Cove_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. VACATION PLANS 7
II. AT LIGHTHOUSE COVE 15
III. SAMMY GETS A CLUE 23
IV. IN THE LIGHTHOUSE 31
V. THE DARK BEACON 41
VI. JUST IN TIME 48
VII. ON THE TRAIL 55
VIII. DRIVEN BACK 63
IX. IN THE BOAT 70
X. CARRIED OUT TO SEA 80
XI. IN THE STORM 90
XII. DRIFTING 95
XIII. THE ABANDONED BOAT 104
XIV. THE RESCUE 110
XV. TWO MYSTERIES CLEARED UP 120
[Illustration: Logo]
Fairview Boys at Lighthouse Cove
OR
CARRIED OUT TO SEA
CHAPTER I
VACATION PLANS
"Last day of school; hurray!"
"No more lessons! No more books!"
"Nothing but fun, from now on! I say, Frank, catch Sammy; he's going to
fall!"
Three boys were standing together in the school yard, making merry over
the coming of the Summer vacation. The last one who spoke was a
jolly-looking lad, with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Suddenly he put
out his foot, caught it around the ankle of one of his companions, and
gently pushed him over backwards.
"Catch Sammy, Frank!" he cried, and the other boy grasped the toppling
one just in time.
"I told you so!" cried the fun-loving lad, as he sprang to one side.
"Look here, Bob Bouncer, what do you mean by that?" demanded the one who
had been pushed, as he stood upright again. "What did you do that for?"
and he started toward his companion.
"Oh, it was only a joke," answered the one who had been called Bob
Bouncer. "I wanted to have some fun. I feel just full of fun when I
think what good times I'm going to have this Summer."
"Huh! just because you feel good you needn't knock me all around," went
on Sammy Brown. But, though he spoke a bit crossly he could not help
smiling at Bob, who was making funny faces, and dancing about, just out
of reach.
"I didn't hurt you," cried Bob, who was generally "cutting-up," or
thinking up some joke to play on his chums. "I waited until Frank was
there to catch you before I shoved you."
"Humph! You're getting mighty thoughtful, all of a sudden," said Bob.
"What about it, Frank?"
"That's right," answered the third lad. "I didn't know what he meant
when he said I was to catch you, for you were going to fall. Let up,
Bob, can't you?"
"Yes, I won't do anything more--right away. But say, have you fellows
made any plans for this Summer?"
"Oh, I s'pose the folks'll go way as they always do," said | 933.334521 |
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: M^o). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: 540.7^{mm}).
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Aboriginal America
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. I
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1889,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.
[Illustration]
To
CHARLES WILLIAM ELIOT, LL. D.
PRESIDENT OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
_DEAR ELIOT:_
_Forty years ago, you and I, having made preparation together, entered
college on the same day. We later found different spheres in the world;
and you came back to Cambridge in due time to assume your high office.
Twelve years ago, sought by you, I likewise came, to discharge a duty
under you._
_You took me away from many cares, and transferred me to the more
congenial service of the University. The change has conduced to the
progress of those studies in which I hardly remember to have had a lack
of interest._
_So I owe much to you; and it is not, I trust, surprising that I desire
to connect, in this work, your name with that of your_
_Obliged friend_,
[Illustration]
CAMBRIDGE, 1889.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The cut on the title represents a mask, which forms the centre of
the Mexican Calendar Stone, as engraved in D. Wilson’s Prehistoric
Man, i. 333, from a cast now in the Collection of the Society of
Antiquaries of Scotland._]
INTRODUCTION.
PART I. AMERICANA IN LIBRARIES AND BIBLIOGRAPHIES. _The Editor_ i
ILLUSTRATIONS: Portrait of Professor Ebeling, iii; of
James Carson Brevoort, x; of Charles Deane, xi.
PART II. EARLY DESCRIPTIONS OF AMERICA, AND COLLECTIVE ACCOUNTS
OF THE EARLY VOYAGES THERETO. _The Editor_ xix
ILLUSTRATIONS: Title of the _Newe Unbekanthe Landte_, xxi; of
Peter Martyr’s _De Nuper sub D. Carolo repertis insulis_
(1521), xxii; Portrait of Grynæus, xxiv; of Sebastian
Münster, xxvi, xxvii; of Monardes, xxix; of De Bry, xxx;
of Feyerabend, xxxi.
CHAPTER I.
THE GEOGRAPHICAL KNOWLEDGE OF THE ANCIENTS CONSIDERED IN
RELATION TO THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. _William H.
Tillinghast_ 1
ILLUSTRATIONS: Maps by Macrobius, 10, 11, 12; Carli’s _Traces of
Atlantis_, 17; Sanson’s _Atlantis Insula_, 18; Bory de St.
Vincent’s _Carte Conjecturale de l’Atlantide_, 19; Contour
Chart of the Bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, 20; The
Rectangular Earth, 30.
CRITICAL ESSAY 33
NOTES 38
A. The Form | 933.5354 |
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THE VALKYRIES
BY
E. F. BENSON
Author of "Limitations," "Dodo," etc.
T. FISHER UNWIN
LONDON LEIPZIG PARIS
1903
[Illustration: The Flight of the Valkyries]
[Illustration: Brunnhilde]
[Illustration: Siegmund The Wolsung]
[Illustration: Waltraute]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION: THE HOUSE OF HUNDING
CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF THE STRANGER
CHAPTER III
THE STORY OF THE STRANGER
CHAPTER IV
THE RECOGNITION
CHAPTER V
THE STRIFE OF WOTAN AND FRICKA
CHAPTER VI
SIEGMUND'S LOT IS CAST
CHAPTER VII
THE FIGHT OF SIEGMUND
CHAPTER VIII
THE FLIGHT OF BRUNNHILDE
CHAPTER IX
THE SENTENCE OF BRUNNHILDE
CHAPTER X
THE SLEEP OF BRUNNHILDE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE FLIGHT OF THE VALKYRIES Frontispiece
OFTEN HAD SHE SAT THERE
"LADY, I THANK THEE"
"TO-NIGHT WE ARE HOST AND GUEST"
AT THAT HE WRENCHED AT THE SWORD-HILT
"I GIVE THEE MINE OATH!" SAID HE
VERY SLOWLY SHE ARMED HERSELF
"WOTAN'S SPEAR IS STRETCHED AGAINST THEE, SIEGMUND"
BRUNNHILDE BRINGS SIEGLINDE TO THE VALKYRIES' MEETING-PLACE
CROUCHING AMONG HER SISTERS
THEN TENDERLY HE RAISED HER FROM WHERE SHE KNELT
PREFACE
In the following pages an attempt has been made to render as closely
as possible into English narrative prose the libretto of Wagner's
"Valkyrie". The story is one little known to English readers, and even
those who are familiar with the gigantic music may find in the story
something which, even when rendered into homely prose, will reveal to
them some new greatness of the master-mind of its author. It is in this
hope that I have attempted this version.
Whether I have attempted a task either absolutely impossible, or
impossible to my capacity, I cannot tell, for so huge is the scale of
the original, so big with passion, so set in the riot of storm-clouds
and elemental forces, that perhaps it can only be conveyed to the mind
as Wagner conveyed it, through such sonorous musical interpretations
as he alone was capable of giving to it. Yet even because the theme is
so great, rather than in spite of it, any interpretation, even that
of halting prose, may be unable to miss certain of the force of the
original.
The drama itself comes second in the tetralogy of the Ring, being
preceded by the Rheingold. But this latter is more properly to be
considered as the overture to a trilogy than as the first drama of
a tetralogy. In it the stage is set, and Heaven above, rainbow-girt
Walhalla, and the dark stir of the forces beneath the earth, Alberich
and the Niebelungs, enter the arena waiting for the puny and momentous
sons of men to assert their rightful lordship over the earth, at the
arising of whom the gods grow grey and the everlasting foundations of
Walhalla crumble. From the strange loves of Siegmund and Sieglinde,
love not of mortal passion, but of primeval and elemental need, the
drama starts; this is the first casting of the shuttle across the
woof of destiny. From that point, through the present drama, through
Siegfried, through the dusk of the gods the eternal grinding of the
mills continues. Once set going the gods themselves are powerless
to stop them, for the stream that turns them is stronger than the
thunderings of Wotan, for the stream is "That which shall be."
In storm the drama begins, in storm of thunder and all the range of
passion and of death it works its inevitable way, till for a moment
there is calm, when on the mountain-top Brunnhilde sleeps, waiting for
the coming of him whose she is, for the awakening to the joy of human
life. And there till Siegfried leaps the barrier of flame we leave her.
E. F. BENSON.
THE VALKYRIES
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
THE HOUSE OF HUNDING
Never before in the memory of man had spring been so late in
coming, and into mid-May had lasted the hurricanes and tempests of
winter. Not even yet was the armoury of its storms and squalls wholly
spent, and men, as they huddled by the fire and heard night by night,
and day by day the bugling of the wind, and the hiss of rain and the
patter of the hailstones, wondered what this subversion and stay of the
wholesome seasons should portend. For now for many years had strange
omens and forebodings shadowed and oppressed the earth. Some said that
the earth itself and Erda the spirit of earth were growing old; some
even had seen the great mother, not as of old she had appeared from
time to time, vigorous and young, clad in the fresh green of growing
things, but old and heavy-eyed, and her mantle was frosted over with
rime, for the chill of the unremitting years had | 933.540886 |
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PRAY YOU, SIR, WHOSE DAUGHTER?
By Helen H. Gardener
R. F. Fenno & Company
9 and 11 East 16th Street
New York
1892
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreampt Life stood before her,
and held in each hand a gift--in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And
she said to the woman, "Choose!"
And the woman waited long; and she said: "Freedom!" And Life said, "Thou
hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, 'Love,' I would have given thee
that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee, and returned
to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that
day I shall bear both gifts in one hand." I heard the woman laugh in her
sleep.
Olive Schreener's Dreams.
DEDICATED
With the love and admiration of the Author,
To Her Husband
Who is ever at once her first, most severe, and most sympathetic critic,
whose encouragement and interest in her work never flags; whose abiding
belief in human rights, without sex limitations, and in equality of
opportunity leaves scant room in his great soul to harbor patience with
sex domination in a land which boasts of freedom for all, and embodies
its symbol of Liberty in the form of the only legally disqualified and
unrepresented class to be found upon its shores.
PREFACE.
In the following story the writer shows us what poverty and dependence
are in their revolting outward aspects, as well as in their crippling
effects on all the tender sentiments of the human soul. Whilst the many
suffer | 933.735843 |
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PERSONAL NARRATIVES
OF THE
BATTLES OF THE REBELLION,
BEING
PAPERS READ BEFORE THE
RHODE ISLAND SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY.
No. 2.
_"Quaeque ipse miserrima vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui."_
PROVIDENCE:
SIDNEY S. RIDER
1878.
Copyright by
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
PRINTED BY PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY.
THE RHODE ISLAND ARTILLERY
AT THE
FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
BY
J. ALBERT MONROE,
(Late Lieutenant-Colonel First Rhode Island Light Artillery.)
PROVIDENCE:
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
Copyright by
SIDNEY S. RIDER.
1878.
THE RHODE ISLAND ARTILLERY AT THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
When the first call for troops, to serve for the term of three months, was
made by President Lincoln, in 1861, for the purpose of suppressing the
rebellion, which had assumed most dangerous proportions to the National
Government, the Marine Artillery, of this city, responded cheerfully to
the call, and under the command of Captain Charles H. Tompkins, left
Providence, April eighteenth, for the seat of war.
The senior officer of the company, who remained at home, was Captain
William H. Parkhurst, then book-keeper at the Mechanics Bank on South Main
Street. Before the company was fairly away, I called upon him and
suggested the propriety of calling a meeting to organize a new company to
take the place of the one that had gone. The suggestion met his views, and
he at once published a notice that a meeting for the purpose would be held
that evening at the armory of the Marines, on Benefit Street. The meeting
was largely attended, and comprised among its numbers a great many of our
most intelligent and influential citizens. A large number of names were
enrolled that night as members of the new company, and arrangements were
made to have the armory open daily, for the purpose of obtaining
additional signatures to the roll of membership. In a few days some three
hundred names were obtained, and every man whose name was enrolled seemed
to take the greatest interest in having the work proceed.
By general consent, rather than by appointment or election, I assumed the
duty of conducting the drills and of reducing matters to a system. It was
supposed at the time that the force already called into the field,
consisting of seventy-five thousand men, would be amply sufficient to
effectually quell the disturbance that had arisen at the South, but there
appeared to be in the minds of all the men who gathered at the Marines'
Armory, a quiet determination to go to the assistance of those who had
already gone, should they appear to need aid. The call for men to serve
for the period of three years put a new phase upon matters. Those whose
private business was of such importance that absence from home that length
of time would injure the interests of others as well as their own,
withdrew, leaving more than a sufficient number to man a full battery.
From that time drilling of the men proceeded uninterruptedly both day and
night. A greater number than the capacity of the armory would admit of
drilling at one time, presented themselves daily. Many of the evenings
were spent in taking the men out on the streets and to vacant lots near
by, exercising them in marching drill. Through the influence of Governor
Sprague the company was furnished with a complete battery of twelve
pounder James guns, which arrived here some time in May, I think, and then
the drills became spirited in exercise in the manual of the piece,
mechanical maneuvres, as well as in marching.
About the first of June Lieutenant William H. Reynolds and First Sergeant
Thomas F. Vaughn of the three months battery, were appointed Captain and
First Lieutenant respectively, and J. Albert Monroe, John A. Tompkins and
William B. Weeden were appointed Second, Third and Fourth Lieutenants, and
they were so commissioned. The commissions should have been one captain,
two first lieutenants and two second lieutenants, but there was so little
knowledge of just the right way to do things at that time, that this error
occurred, and it was not until after the First Battle of Bull Run that it
was corrected.
On the sixth of June, 1861, the company was mustered into the United
States service by Colonel S. Loomis of the United States Army, for the
period of "three years unless sooner discharged," in a large room of a
building on Eddy street.
On the eighth of June, the regular business of soldier's life began by the
company going into camp on Dexter Training Ground. The time was occupied
in detachment and battery drills until the nineteenth of the month, when
the guns, carriages, and the horses also, if my memory serves me, were
embarked on the steamer Kill-von-Kull, at the Fox Point wharf. The steamer
landed at Elizabethport, New Jersey, where the battery and men were
transferred to cars. The train left Elizabethport about four o'clock in
the afternoon. The journey to Washington was a most tedious one.
Harrisburg was not reached until the next morning, and it was not until
the following morning that the train arrived in Washington.
Although the journey was a long one, and tiresome, many incidents
transpired to relieve the tedium of the trip. At Baltimore, which was
passed through in the evening, every man was on the _qui vive_, with
nerves strung to the tension, so great was the fear that an attack might
be made upon us. Every one who had a revolver carried it cocked. A
corporal, who is now a commissioned officer in the regular army, remarked
to me that he never was in such danger in his life, though nothing had
occurred to awaken a sense of danger, except that a small pebble was
thrown, probably by some boys, that hit one of the gun carriages on the
flat car, upon which he and I were riding. The next day rebel flags, in
imagination, were frequently discovered while passing through Maryland.
On our arrival at Washington, the morning of the twenty-second, we were
cordially greeted by Captain Tompkins of the three months battery, and he
and his men lent us every assistance in their power. The company went into
camp in Gale's woods, with the Second Regiment Rhode Island Infantry, and
adjoining were the camps of the three months organizations--the First
Regiment Rhode Island Detached Militia and the First Battery. The ground
occupied by the three months men was already known as "Camp Sprague;" the
ground occupied by the Second Battery and the Second Regiment was named
"Camp Clark," in honor of Bishop Thomas M. Clark, who had taken a great
interest in the raising and the organization of troops in Rhode Island.
Affairs went along more smoothly than could reasonably have been expected
from men just taken from the pursuits of civil life. Captain Reynolds,
with rare tact, won the confidence of all his men and officers. Section
and battery drills took place daily, in the morning, and the afternoons
were generally spent at standing gun drill.
On the ninth of July, while at section drill, a sad accident occurred, by
which Corporal Morse (Nathan T.) and private Bourne (William E.) lost
their lives, and private Freeman (Edward R.) was very seriously injured.
From some unaccountable cause the limber chest upon which they were
mounted exploded, almost instantly killing Morse and Bourne and severely
injuring Freeman. The remains of Morse and Bourne were escorted to the
depot by the company, and there was extended to them a marked tribute of
respect upon their arrival and burial at home.
On the sixteenth of July the battery left Camp Clark at half past one
o'clock in the morning, with the First and Second Rhode Island Regiments,
but it was broad daylight before the command got fairly away from the
vicinity of the camp. Under the lead of Colonel Ambrose E. Burnside, who
had command of the Second New Hampshire, Seventy-first New York, First and
Second Rhode Island Regiments and the battery, as a brigade, the company
marched over Long Bridge to a point about ten miles from Washington,
where the whole brigade bivouacked for the night. The next morning the
march was resumed at day-break, and Fairfax Court House was reached about
half past one in the afternoon. The battery was parked and the company
went into camp near the Court House, on the ground and near the residence
of a Mr. Stephenson, an English gentleman with a large and interesting
family, every member of which appeared to do their utmost to promote our
comfort. Early the next morning, Thursday the eighteenth, the advance
again began and continued with numerous delays until near night-fall, when
camp was established near Centreville, on the plantation of a Mr.
Utteback.
On the morning of Sunday the twenty-first the brigade broke camp and
commenced the march towards Manassas. The march was a tedious and lonely
one until daybreak. The morning broke as clear and lovely as any that ever
opened upon Virginia soil. In the early daylight it seemed to dawn upon
the minds of both officers and men, that they were there for a fixed
purpose, and that the actual business of their vocation was to commence.
Previously, nearly all had thought that upon the approach of the United
States troops, with their splendid equipment and the vast resources behind
them, the "rebel mob," as it was deemed, but which we afterwards learned
to respect as the rebel forces, would flee from their position and
disperse.
General Hunter's column, to which Colonel Burnside's brigade was attached,
was the right of the advancing line, and soon after sunrise the report of
heavy guns to the left told us that the work of the day had commenced.
Steadily, however, the column pushed on, but with frequent halts, until
Sudley Church was reached, where a short stop was made in the shade of the
thick foliage of the trees in the vicinity of the church. The battery was
following the Second Rhode Island, a portion of which were deployed as
skirmishers, and contrary to the custom of throwing them, the skirmishers,
well in advance, they moved directly on the flanks of the column. Suddenly
the outposts of the enemy opened fire, which, to our inexperienced ears,
sounded like the explosion of several bunches of fire crackers.
Immediately after came the order, "FORWARD YOUR BATTERY!" Although | 933.876229 |
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_Descriptions of Three New Birds from the Belgian Congo._
BY JAMES P. CHAPIN.
BULLETIN OF THE
AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY,
VOL. XXXIV, ART. XVI, pp. 509-513
_New York, October 20, 1915._
=Article XVI.=--DESCRIPTIONS OF THREE NEW BIRDS FROM THE BELGIAN
CONGO.
BY JAMES P. CHAPIN.
The whole of the large collection of birds secured by the Congo
Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History during the years
1909 to 1915, under the leadership of Mr. Herbert Lang, has now arrived
safely at the Museum. It is composed of material gathered all across the
Belgian Congo, from Boma on the west to Aba in the northeastern corner,
but the greater part from the more remote territory between Stanley
Falls and the Enclave of Lado, including the dense equatorial forests of
the Ituri, Nepoko, and Bomokandi, and the high-grass and bush country of
the Uele District to the north and northeast.
Of the relatively small number of zooelogical expeditions that have
passed through and collected in these regions, none has ever before
been able to make such a prolonged stay, and the varied zooelogical
results of this Expedition are surely of the highest scientific
interest. The ornithological collection contains in the neighborhood
of six thousand skins, and represents some 600 different species, a
number of them of course new to science. These it is our purpose to
describe as promptly as possible in this Bulletin, before taking up
the greater work of a general report on all the forms collected, with
more extended notes on their distribution, habits, food, and nests.
Descriptions of the first three new forms follow:
=Chaetura melanopygia= sp. nov.
Related to _C. stictilaema_, but much larger, with feathers of
upper breast more heavily margined with blackish, and without any
trace of a light rump-band.
Description of type, collector's No. 4986 Congo Exp. A. M. N. H.,
[Male] ad. Avakubi, Ituri District, Belgian Congo, Aug. 15, 1913.
Upper parts brownish-black (chaetura-black, Ridgw.) becoming black
on wings and tail, with faint violet and green reflections (green
on freshly molted feathers). Ear coverts drab, bordered with
fuscous-black; feathers of throat pale smoke-gray, margined with
fuscous, those of upper breast similar, but heavily bordered with
fuscous-black, consequently with a very pronounced "scaly"
appearance; lower breast growing darker, so that the dark borders
are less conspicuous, and the feathering of the belly completely
fuscous-black with slight oily gloss. Under wing coverts
mouse-gray with darker edges, flanks and under tail-coverts black
with slight greenish gloss. Tail slightly rounded.
Iris dark brown, bill black, feet bluish, shading to dusky brown
on tips of toes and claws. Sexual organs enlarged.
Length (skin) 145 mm.; wing 164; tail 49.5; bill (exposed
culmen), 7.5; metatarsus 13.
Only one specimen secured, out of two or three of these swifts that were
flying about over the Ituri River, in company with several examples of
_Chaetura cassini_. In spite of our long stay in this region, the species
was not again positively recognized; but _Chaetura cassini_, _C.
stictilaema_ and _C. sabinei_ were all of common occurrence there.
=Apaloderma minus= sp. nov.
Resembling _Apaloderma narina_, but decidedly smaller, of different
coloration, and with bill less swollen. The serration of the maxilla
is less pronounced.
The adult male of _A. minus_ is distinguished by the bluer hue of the
forehead, throat, and upper breast, which show in certain lights deep
violet reflections, and by the more scarlet, less crimson color of the
remaining underparts. In life the naked areas on the cheeks are bright
yellow, whereas in _A. narina_ they are light green.
The adult female differs in the more tawny or ochraceous coloration of
the breast, which is grayish in this sex of _A. narina_, although
sometimes washed with light brown on the upper breast. A greenish
gloss on the upper breast is more common in females of _A. narina_.
In juvenal plumage both species are entirely buff below, the feathers
more or less tipped with dusky.
Type: collector's No. 4983. Congo Exp. A. M. N. H. [Male] ad.
Avakubi Ituri District, Belgian Congo, August 13, 1913.
_Description of Adult Male_ (type).--Throat, upper breast, lores
and forehead glossy wall-green, in certain lights with violet
reflections; upper tail-coverts much the same, but nape and back
brilliant peacock-green. Lower breast, sides, belly, and under
tail-coverts bright scarlet-red; feathering of legs dusky, with
faint green gloss and slightly bordered with whitish. Primaries
fuscous-black, the outer ones margined with white and the inner
ones white at the base. Alula and primary-coverts blackish;
lesser wing-coverts blackish, broadly margined with green; middle
coverts with less green and vermiculated with white. Greater
coverts and secondaries blackish vermiculated with white, the
former narrowly edged with green, the secondaries only very
faintly. Three middle pairs of rectrices blackish, slightly
glossed with violet-blue and margined with green; outer three
pairs white, with bases black faintly glossed with blue, this
blackish color extending out furthest on inner webs, and finally
breaking up into small dusky spots.
Iris red-brown; distal portion of bill light greenish gray, base
of bill and two naked patches beneath eye light cadmium-yellow,
naked skin above eye lemon-yellow; bare skin of foreneck (covered
in life by plumage) light blue; feet pale pink.
Length (skin) 254 mm.; length of bill (culmen from base) 18 mm.;
height of bill at nostril 9.5 mm.; greatest width of maxilla, near
gape, 16 mm.; wing (measured with dividers) 113 mm.; tail 146 mm.
In some of the other male specimens the green borders on the
secondaries are lacking, and the exact intensity of the white
vermiculation is of course variable. The measurements of a series
of 11 adult males are: bill, 17-18.5 mm.; wing, 108-115.5; tail,
136.5-151. This is smaller than any _Apaloderma_ heretofore
described.
_Adult Female._ Crown, back, and rump brilliant peacock-green,
upper tail-coverts viridian. Lores, forehead, and ear-coverts
more brownish; throat and upper breast snuff-brown, sometimes
with glossy green at sides of neck or a few narrow green borders
on the chest. Lower breast cinnamon, sometimes finely barred with
dusky; belly somewhat lighter and rosier than that of male;
feathering of legs dusky. Tail similar to that of male; but the
vermiculation on the wing-coverts and secondaries is very much
finer, and light ochraceous-buff, not white.
Iris red-brown; naked cheek-patches lemon-yellow, base of bill
slightly deeper yellow; culmen dusky, bill light green below;
feet flesh-color, claws gray.
Measurements of three adult females: bill (culmen from base),
17-17.5 mm.; wing 104.5-113 mm.; tail, 140-149 mm.
An _immature male_ has the green of the upper breast broken by
irregular bars of cinnamon. The lower breast is cinnamon mixed
with rose, and barred at the sides with green, and shades to
light scarlet-red on belly and under tail-coverts. The greater
wing-coverts and three inner secondaries bear each a large spot
of light ochraceous buff, extending across the whole width of the
innermost secondary, and most of the secondaries are vermiculated
or speckled on their outer webs with buff. Just behind the eye
there is a small spot of white, and the lower edge of the
ear-coverts is marked by a buff line.
Iris dark brown; maxilla dusky, but its base greenish-yellow like
the naked cheek-patches, mandible light yellowish-green, with
light-gray tip; feet pinkish. Bill, 18.5 mm.; wing, 108; tail, 139.
A _nestling_ ([Male]), with tail only 25 mm. long, is of a
yellower green above (calliste green); lores, forehead and entire
underparts cinnamon-buff, the downy feathers slightly tipped with
dusky except on abdomen. The wing-coverts and inner secondaries
bear large spots of buff. Iris brownish-gray; bill very light
bluish-gray, its base and corners of mouth greenish-yellow; feet
pale flesh-color, claws gray.
The spots on the inner secondaries, in the first plumage, appear
to be much larger in the case of _A. minus_ than with _A.
narina_, for an immature female specimen of the latter shows only
rounded spots on the outer webs not exceeding 5.5 mm. in diameter,
while the additional buffy speckling is practically absent.
This trogon was found by us in the Ituri forest, from the Nepoko River
south to Avakubi and westward to Ban | 933.888123 |
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Produced by Eve Sobol. HTML version by Al Haines.
MAJOR BARBARA
BERNARD SHAW
ACT I
It is after dinner on a January night, in the library in
Lady Britomart Undershaft's house in Wilton Crescent. A large and
comfortable settee is in the middle of the room, upholstered in
dark leather. A person sitting on it [it is vacant at present]
would have, on his right, Lady Britomart's writing table, with
the lady herself busy at it; a smaller writing table behind him
on his left; the door behind him on Lady Britomart's side; and a
window with a window seat directly on his left. Near the window
is an armchair.
Lady Britomart is a woman of fifty or thereabouts, well dressed
and yet careless of her dress, well bred and quite reckless of
her breeding, well mannered and yet appallingly outspoken and
indifferent to the opinion of her interlocutory, amiable and yet
peremptory, arbitrary, and high-tempered to the last bearable
degree, and withal a very typical managing matron of the upper
class, treated as a naughty child until she grew into a scolding
mother, and finally settling down with plenty of practical
ability and worldly experience, limited in the oddest way with
domestic and class limitations, conceiving the universe exactly
as if it were a large house in Wilton Crescent, though handling
her corner of it very effectively on that assumption, and being
quite enlightened and liberal as to the books in the library, the
pictures on the walls, the music in the portfolios, and the
articles in the papers.
Her son, Stephen, comes in. He is a gravely correct young man
under 25, taking himself very seriously, but still in some awe of
his mother, from childish habit and bachelor shyness rather than
from any weakness of character.
STEPHEN. What's the matter?
LADY BRITOMART. Presently, Stephen.
Stephen submissively walks to the settee and sits down. He takes
up The Speaker.
LADY BRITOMART. Don't begin to read, Stephen. I shall require all
your attention.
STEPHEN. It was only while I was waiting--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't make excuses, Stephen. [He puts down The
Speaker]. Now! [She finishes her writing; rises; and comes to the
settee]. I have not kept you waiting very long, I think.
STEPHEN. Not at all, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. Bring me my cushion. [He takes the cushion from
the chair at the desk and arranges it for her as she sits down on
the settee]. Sit down. [He sits down and fingers his tie
nervously]. Don't fiddle with your tie, Stephen: there is nothing
the matter with it.
STEPHEN. I beg your pardon. [He fiddles with his watch chain
instead].
LADY BRITOMART. Now are you attending to me, Stephen?
STEPHEN. Of course, mother.
LADY BRITOMART. No: it's not of course. I want something much
more than your everyday matter-of-course attention. I am going to
speak to you very seriously, Stephen. I wish you would let that
chain alone.
STEPHEN [hastily relinquishing the chain] Have I done anything to
annoy you, mother? If so, it was quite unintentional.
LADY BRITOMART [astonished] Nonsense! [With some remorse] My poor
boy, did you think I was angry with you?
STEPHEN. What is it, then, mother? You are making me very uneasy.
LADY BRITOMART [squaring herself at him rather aggressively]
Stephen: may I ask how soon you intend to realize that you are a
grown-up man, and that I am only a woman?
STEPHEN [amazed] Only a--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't repeat my words, please: It is a most
aggravating habit. You must learn to face life seriously,
Stephen. I really cannot bear the whole burden of our family
affairs any longer. You must advise me: you must assume the
responsibility.
STEPHEN. I!
LADY BRITOMART. Yes, you, of course. You were 24 last June.
You've been at Harrow and Cambridge. You've been to India and
Japan. You must know a lot of things now; unless you have wasted
your time most scandalously. Well, advise me.
STEPHEN [much perplexed] You know I have never interfered in the
household--
LADY BRITOMART. No: I should think not. I don't want you to order
the dinner.
STEPHEN. I mean in our family affairs.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, you must interfere now; for they are
getting quite beyond me.
STEPHEN [troubled] I have thought sometimes that perhaps I ought;
but really, mother, I know so little about them; and what I do
know is so painful--it is so impossible to mention some things to
you--[he stops, ashamed].
LADY BRITOMART. I suppose you mean your father.
STEPHEN [almost inaudibly] Yes.
LADY BRITOMART. My dear: we can't go on all our lives not
mentioning him. Of course you were quite right not to open the
subject until I asked you to; but you are old enough now to be
taken into my confidence, and to help me to deal with him about
the girls.
STEPHEN. But the girls are all right. They are engaged.
LADY BRITOMART [complacently] Yes: I have made a very good match
for Sarah. Charles Lomax will be a millionaire at 35. But that is
ten years ahead; and in the meantime his trustees cannot under
the terms of his father's will allow him more than 800 pounds a
year.
STEPHEN. But the will says also that if he increases his income
by his own exertions, they may double the increase.
LADY BRITOMART. Charles Lomax's exertions are much more likely to
decrease his income than to increase it. Sarah will have to find
at least another 800 pounds a year for the next ten years; and
even then they will be as poor as church mice. And what about
Barbara? I thought Barbara was going to make the most brilliant
career of all of you. And what does she do? Joins the Salvation
Army; discharges her maid; lives on a pound a week; and walks in
one evening with a professor of Greek whom she has picked up in
the street, and who pretends to be a Salvationist, and actually
plays the big drum for her in public because he has fallen head
over ears in love with her.
STEPHEN. I was certainly rather taken aback when I heard they
were engaged. Cusins is a very nice fellow, certainly: nobody
would ever guess that he was born in Australia; but--
LADY BRITOMART. Oh, Adolphus Cusins will make a very good
husband. After all, nobody can say a word against Greek: it
stamps a man at once as an educated gentleman. And my family,
thank Heaven, is not a pig-headed Tory one. We are Whigs, and
believe in liberty. Let snobbish people say what they please:
Barbara shall marry, not the man they like, but the man I like.
STEPHEN. Of course I was thinking only of his income. However, he
is not likely to be extravagant.
LADY BRITOMART. Don't be too sure of that, Stephen. I know your
quiet, simple, refined, poetic people like Adolphus--quite
content with the best of everything! They cost more than your
extravagant people, who are always as mean as they are second
rate. No: Barbara will need at least 2000 pounds a year. You see
it means two additional households. Besides, my dear, you must
marry soon. I don't approve of the present fashion of philandering
bachelors and late marriages; and I am trying to arrange something
for you.
STEPHEN. It's very good of you, mother; but perhaps I had better
arrange that for myself.
LADY BRITOMART. Nonsense! you are much too young to begin
matchmaking: you would be taken in by some pretty little nobody.
Of course I don't mean that you are not to be consulted: you know
that as well as I do. [Stephen closes his lips and is silent].
Now don't sulk, Stephen.
STEPHEN. I am not sulking, mother. What has all this got to do
with--with--with my father?
LADY BRITOMART. My dear Stephen: where is the money to come from?
It is easy enough for you and the other children to live on my
income as long as we are in the same house; but I can't keep four
families in four separate houses. You know how poor my father is:
he has barely seven thousand a year now; and really, if he were
not the Earl of Stevenage, he would have to give up society. He
can do nothing for us: he says, naturally enough, that it is
absurd that he should be asked to provide for the children of a
man who is rolling in money. You see, Stephen, your father must
be fabulously wealthy, because there is always a war going on
somewhere.
STEPHEN. You need not remind me of that, mother. I have hardly
ever opened a newspaper in my life without seeing our name in it.
The Undershaft torpedo! The Undershaft quick firers! The
Undershaft ten inch! the Undershaft disappearing rampart gun! the
Undershaft submarine! and now the Undershaft aerial battleship!
At Harrow they called me the Woolwich Infant. At Cambridge it was
the same. A little brute at King's who was always trying to get
up revivals, spoilt my Bible--your first birthday present to
me--by writing under my name, "Son and heir to Undershaft and
Lazarus, Death and Destruction Dealers: address, Christendom and
Judea." But that was not so bad as the way I was kowtowed to
everywhere because my father was making millions by selling
cannons.
LADY BRITOMART. It is not only the cannons, but the war loans
that Lazarus arranges under cover of giving credit for the
cannons. You know, Stephen, it's perfectly scandalous. Those two
men, Andrew Undershaft and Lazarus, positively have Europe under
their thumbs. That is why your father is able to behave as he
does. He is above the law. Do you think Bismarck or Gladstone or
Disraeli could have openly defied every social and moral
obligation all their lives as your father has? They simply
wouldn't have dared. I asked Gladstone to take it up. I asked The
Times to take it up. I asked the Lord Chamberlain to take it up.
But it was just like asking them to declare war on the Sultan.
They WOULDN'T. They said they couldn't touch him. I believe they
were afraid.
STEPHEN. What could they do? He does not actually break the law.
LADY BRITOMART. Not break the law! He is always breaking the law.
He broke the law when he was born: his parents were not married.
STEPHEN. Mother! Is that true?
LADY BRITOMART. Of course it's true: that was why we separated.
STEPHEN. He married without letting you know this!
LADY BRITOMART [rather taken aback by this inference] Oh no. To
do Andrew justice, that was not the sort of thing he did.
Besides, you know the Undershaft motto: Unashamed. Everybody
knew.
STEPHEN. But you said that was why you separated.
LADY BRITOMART. Yes, because he was not content with being a
foundling himself: he wanted to disinherit you for another
foundling. That was what I couldn't stand.
STEPHEN [ashamed] Do you mean for--for--for--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't stammer, Stephen. Speak distinctly.
STEPHEN. But this is so frightful to me, mother. To have to speak
to you about such things!
LADY BRITOMART. It's not pleasant for me, either, especially if
you are still so childish that you must make it worse by a
display of embarrassment. It is only in the middle classes,
Stephen, that people get into a state of dumb helpless horror
when they find that there are wicked people in the world. In our
class, we have to decide what is to be done with wicked people;
and nothing should disturb our self possession. Now ask your
question properly.
STEPHEN. Mother: you have no consideration for me. For Heaven's
sake either treat me as a child, as you always do, and tell me
nothing at all; or tell me everything and let me take it as best
I can.
LADY BRITOMART. Treat you as a child! What do you mean? It is
most unkind and ungrateful of you to say such a thing. You know I
have never treated any of you as children. I have always made you
my companions and friends, and allowed you perfect freedom to do
and say whatever you liked, so long as you liked what I could
approve of.
STEPHEN [desperately] I daresay we have been the very imperfect
children of a very perfect mother; but I do beg you to let me
alone for once, and tell me about this horrible business of my
father wanting to set me aside for another son.
LADY BRITOMART [amazed] Another son! I never said anything of the
kind. I never dreamt of such a thing. This is what comes of
interrupting me.
STEPHEN. But you said--
LADY BRITOMART [cutting him short] Now be a good boy, Stephen,
and listen to me patiently. The Undershafts are descended from a
foundling in the parish of St. Andrew Undershaft in the city.
That was long ago, in the reign of James the First. Well, this
foundling was adopted by an armorer and gun-maker. In the course
of time the foundling succeeded to the business; and from some
notion of gratitude, or some vow or something, he adopted another
foundling, and left the business to him. And that foundling did
the same. Ever since that, the cannon business has always been
left to an adopted foundling named Andrew Undershaft.
STEPHEN. But did they never marry? Were there no legitimate sons?
LADY BRITOMART. Oh yes: they married just as your father did; and
they were rich enough to buy land for their own children and
leave them well provided for. But they always adopted and trained
some foundling to succeed them in the business; and of course
they always quarrelled with their wives furiously over it. Your
father was adopted in that way; and he pretends to consider
himself bound to keep up the tradition and adopt somebody to
leave the business to. Of course I was not going to stand that.
There may have been some reason for it when the Undershafts could
only marry women in their own class, whose sons were not fit to
govern great estates. But there could be no excuse for passing
over my son.
STEPHEN [dubiously] I am afraid I should make a poor hand of
managing a cannon foundry.
LADY BRITOMART. Nonsense! you could easily get a manager and pay
him a salary.
STEPHEN. My father evidently had no great opinion of my capacity.
LADY BRITOMART. Stuff, child! you were only a baby: it had
nothing to do with your capacity. Andrew did it on principle,
just as he did every perverse and wicked thing on principle. When
my father remonstrated, Andrew actually told him to his face that
history tells us of only two successful institutions: one the
Undershaft firm, and the other the Roman Empire under the
Antonines. That was because the Antonine emperors all adopted
their successors. Such rubbish! The Stevenages are as good as the
Antonines, I hope; and you are a Stevenage. But that was Andrew
all over. There you have the man! Always clever and unanswerable
when he was defending nonsense and wickedness: always awkward and
sullen when he had to behave sensibly and decently!
STEPHEN. Then it was on my account that your home life was broken
up, mother. I am sorry.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, dear, there were other differences. I
really cannot bear an immoral man. I am not a Pharisee, I hope;
and I should not have minded his merely doing wrong things: we
are none of us perfect. But your father didn't exactly do wrong
things: he said them and thought them: that was what was so
dreadful. He really had a sort of religion of wrongness just as
one doesn't mind men practising immorality so long as they own
that they are in the wrong by preaching morality; so I couldn't
forgive Andrew for preaching immorality while he practised
morality. You would all have grown up without principles, without
any knowledge of right and wrong, if he had been in the house.
You know, my dear, your father was a very attractive man in some
ways. Children did not dislike him; and he took advantage of it
to put the wickedest ideas into their heads, and make them quite
unmanageable. I did not dislike him myself: very far from it; but
nothing can bridge over moral disagreement.
STEPHEN. All this simply bewilders me, mother. People may differ
about matters of opinion, or even about religion; but how can
they differ about right and wrong? Right is right; and wrong is
wrong; and if a man cannot distinguish them properly, he is
either a fool or a rascal: that's all.
LADY BRITOMART [touched] That's my own boy [she pats his cheek]!
Your father never could answer that: he used to laugh and get out
of it under cover of some affectionate nonsense. And now that you
understand the situation, what do you advise me to do?
STEPHEN. Well, what can you do?
LADY BRITOMART. I must get the money somehow.
STEPHEN. We cannot take money from him. I had rather go and live
in some cheap place like Bedford Square or even Hampstead than
take a farthing of his money.
LADY BRITOMART. But after all, Stephen, our present income comes
from Andrew.
STEPHEN [shocked] I never knew that.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, you surely didn't suppose your grandfather
had anything to give me. The Stevenages could not do everything
for you. We gave you social position. Andrew had to contribute
something. He had a very good bargain, I think.
STEPHEN [bitterly] We are utterly dependent on him and his
cannons, then!
LADY BRITOMART. Certainly not: the money is settled. But he
provided it. So you see it is not a question of taking money from
him or not: it is simply a question of how much. I don't want any
more for myself.
STEPHEN. Nor do I.
LADY BRITOMART. But Sarah does; and Barbara does. That is,
Charles Lomax and Adolphus Cusins will cost them more. So I must
put my pride in my pocket and ask for it, I suppose. That is your
advice, Stephen, is it not?
STEPHEN. No.
LADY BRITOMART [sharply] Stephen!
STEPHEN. Of course if you are determined--
LADY BRITOMART. I am not determined: I ask your advice; and I am
waiting for it. I will not have all the responsibility thrown on
my shoulders.
STEPHEN [obstinately] I would die sooner than ask him for another
penny.
LADY BRITOMART [resignedly] You mean that I must ask him. Very
well, Stephen: It shall be as you wish. You will be glad to know
that your grandfather concurs. But he thinks I ought to ask
Andrew to come here and see the girls. After all, he must have
some natural affection for them.
STEPHEN. Ask him here!!!
LADY BRITOMART. Do not repeat my words, Stephen. Where else can I
ask him?
STEPHEN. I never expected you to ask him at all.
LADY BRITOMART. Now don't tease, Stephen. Come! you see that it
is necessary that he should pay us a visit, don't you?
STEPHEN [reluctantly] I suppose so, if the girls cannot do
without his money.
LADY BRITOMART. Thank you, Stephen: I knew you would give me the
right advice when it was properly explained to you. I have asked
your father to come this evening. [Stephen bounds from his seat]
Don't jump, Stephen: it fidgets me.
STEPHEN [in utter consternation] Do you mean to say that my
father is coming here to-night--that he may be here at any
moment?
LADY BRITOMART [looking at her watch] I said nine. [He gasps. She
rises]. Ring the bell, please. [Stephen goes to the smaller
writing table; presses a button on it; and sits at it with his
elbows on the table and his head in his hands, outwitted and
overwhelmed]. It is ten minutes to nine yet; and I have to
prepare the girls. I asked Charles Lomax and Adolphus to dinner
on purpose that they might be here. Andrew had better see them in
case he should cherish any delusions as to their being capable of
supporting their wives. [The butler enters: Lady Britomart goes
behind the settee to speak to him]. Morrison: go up to the
drawingroom and tell everybody to come down here at once.
[Morrison withdraws. Lady Britomart turns to Stephen]. Now
remember, Stephen, I shall need all your countenance and
authority. [He rises and tries to recover some vestige of these
attributes]. Give me a chair, dear. [He pushes a chair forward
from the wall to where she stands, near the smaller writing
table. She sits down; and he goes to the armchair, into which he
throws himself]. I don't know how Barbara will take it. Ever
since they made her a major in the Salvation Army she has
developed a propensity to have her own way and order people about
which quite cows me sometimes. It's not ladylike: I'm sure I
don't know where she picked it up. Anyhow, Barbara shan't bully
me; but still it's just as well that your father should be here
before she has time to refuse to meet him or make a fuss. Don't
look nervous, Stephen, it will only encourage Barbara to make
difficulties. I am nervous enough, goodness knows; but I don't
show it.
Sarah and Barbara come in with their respective young men,
Charles Lomax and Adolphus Cusins. Sarah is slender, bored, and
mundane. Barbara is robuster, jollier, much more energetic. Sarah
is fashionably dressed: Barbara is in Salvation Army uniform.
Lomax, a young man about town, is like many other young men about
town. He is affected with a frivolous sense of humor which
plunges him at the most inopportune moments into paroxysms of
imperfectly suppressed laughter. Cusins is a spectacled student,
slight, thin haired, and sweet voiced, with a more complex form
of Lomax's complaint. His sense of humor is intellectual and
subtle, and is complicated by an appalling temper. The lifelong
struggle of a benevolent temperament and a high conscience
against impulses of inhuman ridicule and fierce impatience has
set up a chronic strain which has visibly wrecked his constitution.
He is a most implacable, determined, tenacious, intolerant person
who by mere force of character presents himself as--and indeed
actually is--considerate, gentle, explanatory, even mild and
apologetic, capable possibly of murder, but not of cruelty or
coarseness. By the operation of some instinct which is not merciful
enough to blind him with the illusions of love, he is obstinately
bent on marrying Barbara. Lomax likes Sarah and thinks it will be
rather a lark to marry her. Consequently he has not attempted to
resist Lady Britomart's arrangements to that end.
All four look as if they had been having a good deal of fun in
the drawingroom. The girls enter first, leaving the swains
outside. Sarah comes to the settee. Barbara comes in after her
and stops at the door.
BARBARA. Are Cholly and Dolly to come in?
LADY BRITOMART [forcibly] Barbara: I will not have Charles called
Cholly: the vulgarity of it positively makes me ill.
BARBARA. It's all right, mother. Cholly is quite correct
nowadays. Are they to come in?
LADY BRITOMART. Yes, if they will behave themselves.
BARBARA [through the door] Come in, Dolly, and behave yourself.
Barbara comes to her mother's writing table. Cusins enters
smiling, and wanders towards Lady Britomart.
SARAH [calling] Come in, Cholly. [Lomax enters, controlling his
features very imperfectly, and places himself vaguely between
Sarah and Barbara].
LADY BRITOMART [peremptorily] Sit down, all of you. [They sit.
Cusins crosses to the window and seats himself there. Lomax takes
a chair. Barbara sits at the writing table and Sarah on the
settee]. I don't in the least know what you are laughing at,
Adolphus. I am surprised at you, though I expected nothing better
from Charles Lomax.
CUSINS [in a remarkably gentle voice] Barbara has been trying to
teach me the West Ham Salvation March.
LADY BRITOMART. I see nothing to laugh at in that; nor should you
if you are really converted.
CUSINS [sweetly] You were not present. It was really funny, I
believe.
LOMAX. Ripping.
LADY BRITOMART. Be quiet, Charles. Now listen to me, children.
Your father is coming here this evening. [General stupefaction].
LOMAX [remonstrating] Oh I say!
LADY BRITOMART. You are not called on to say anything, Charles.
SARAH. Are you serious, mother?
LADY BRITOMART. Of course I am serious. It is on your account,
Sarah, and also on Charles's. [Silence. Charles looks painfully
unworthy]. I hope you are not going to object, Barbara.
BARBARA. I! why should I? My father has a soul to be saved like
anybody else. He's quite welcome as far as I am concerned.
LOMAX [still remonstrant] But really, don't you know! Oh I say!
LADY BRITOMART [frigidly] What do you wish to convey, Charles?
LOMAX. Well, you must admit that this is a bit thick.
LADY BRITOMART [turning with ominous suavity to Cusins] Adolphus:
you are a professor of Greek. Can you translate Charles Lomax's
remarks into reputable English for us?
CUSINS [cautiously] If I may say so, Lady Brit, I think Charles
has rather happily expressed what we all feel. Homer, speaking of
Autolycus, uses the same phrase.
LOMAX [handsomely] Not that I mind, you know, if Sarah don't.
LADY BRITOMART [crushingly] Thank you. Have I your permission,
Adolphus, to invite my own husband to my own house?
CUSINS [gallantly] You have my unhesitating support in everything
you do.
LADY BRITOMART. Sarah: have you nothing to say?
SARAH. Do you mean that he is coming regularly to live here?
LADY BRITOMART. Certainly not. The spare room is ready for him if
he likes to stay for a day or two and see a little more of you;
but there are limits.
SARAH. Well, he can't eat us, I suppose. I don't mind.
LOMAX [chuckling] I wonder how the old man will take it.
LADY BRITOMART. Much as the old woman will, no doubt, Charles.
LOMAX [abashed] I didn't mean--at least--
LADY BRITOMART. You didn't think, Charles. You never do; and the
result is, you never mean anything. And now please attend to me,
children. Your father will be quite a stranger to us.
LOMAX. I suppose he hasn't seen Sarah since she was a little kid.
LADY BRITOMART. Not since she was a little kid, Charles, as you
express it with that elegance of diction and refinement of
thought that seem never to desert you. Accordingly--er-- [impatiently]
Now I have forgotten what I was going to say. That comes of your
provoking me to be sarcastic, Charles. Adolphus: will you kindly
tell me where I was.
CUSINS [sweetly] You were saying that as Mr Undershaft has not
seen his children since they were babies, he will form his
opinion of the way you have brought them up from their behavior
to-night, and that therefore you wish us all to be particularly
careful to conduct ourselves well, especially Charles.
LOMAX. Look here: Lady Brit didn't say that.
LADY BRITOMART [vehemently] I did, Charles. Adolphus's
recollection is perfectly correct. It is most important that you
should be good; and I do beg you for once not to pair off into
opposite corners and giggle and whisper while I am speaking to
your father.
BARBARA. All right, mother. We'll do you credit.
LADY BRITOMART. Remember, Charles, that Sarah will want to feel
proud of you instead of ashamed of you.
LOMAX. Oh I say! There's nothing to be exactly proud of, don't
you know.
LADY BRITOMART. Well, try and look as if there was.
Morrison, pale and dismayed, breaks into the room in unconcealed
disorder.
MORRISON. Might I speak a word to you, my lady?
LADY BRITOMART. Nonsense! Show him up.
MORRISON. Yes, my lady. [He goes].
LOMAX. Does Morrison know who he is?
LADY BRITOMART. Of course. Morrison has always been with us.
LOMAX. It must be a regular corker for him, don't you know.
LADY BRITOMART. Is this a moment to get on my nerves, Charles,
with your outrageous expressions?
LOMAX. But this is something out of the ordinary, really--
MORRISON [at the door] The--er--Mr Undershaft. [He retreats in
confusion].
Andrew Undershaft comes in. All rise. Lady Britomart meets him in
the middle of the room behind the settee.
Andrew is, on the surface, a stoutish, easygoing elderly man,
with kindly patient manners, and an engaging simplicity of
character. But he has a watchful, deliberate, waiting, listening
face, and formidable reserves of power, both bodily and mental,
in his capacious chest and long head. His gentleness is partly
that of a strong man who has learnt by experience that his
natural grip hurts ordinary people unless he handles them very
carefully, and partly the mellowness of age and success. He is
also a little shy in his present very delicate situation.
LADY BRITOMART. Good evening, Andrew.
UNDERSHAFT. How d'ye do, my dear.
LADY BRITOMART. You look a good deal older.
UNDERSHAFT [apologetically] I AM somewhat older. [With a touch of
courtship] Time has stood still with you.
LADY BRITOMART [promptly] Rubbish! This is your family.
UNDERSHAFT [surprised] Is it so large? I am sorry to say my
memory is failing very badly in some things. [He offers his hand
with paternal kindness to Lomax].
LOMAX [jerkily shaking his hand] Ahdedoo.
UNDERSHAFT. I can see you are my eldest. I am very glad to meet
you again, my boy.
LOMAX [remonstrating] No but look here don't you know--[Overcome]
Oh I say!
LADY BRITOMART [recovering from momentary speechlessness] Andrew:
do you mean to say that you don't remember how many children you
have?
UNDERSHAFT. Well, I am afraid I--. They have grown so much--er.
Am I making any ridiculous mistake? I may as well confess | 934.335017 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.0357590 | 1,338 | 8 |
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Transcriber’s Note
Obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected.
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GREAT
TAXICAB ROBBERY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
RHINELANDER WALDO
Commissioner of Police, New York City
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GREAT
TAXICAB ROBBERY
_A True Detective Story_
BY
JAMES H. COLLINS
WRITTEN FROM RECORDS AND PERSONAL ACCOUNTS
OF THE CASE FURNISHED BY THE NEW
YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT
NEW YORK
JOHN LANE COMPANY
MCMXII
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
JOHN LANE COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This book has something to say about practical
results of wiser police administration in New
York. It is respectfully dedicated to
HON. WILLIAM J. GAYNOR
MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY
the official who took the initiative in improving
conditions
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
There are several reasons for this little book, but the best of all is
the main reason—that it is a cracking good story, and right out of life.
The characters will be found interesting, and they are real people,
every one of them. The incidents are full of action and color. The plot
has mystery, surprise, interplay of mind and motive—had a novelist
invented it, the reader might declare it improbable. This is the kind of
story that is fundamental—the kind Mr. Chesterton says is so necessary
to plain people that, when writers do not happen to write it, plain
people invent it for themselves in the form of folk-lore.
But apart from the story interest there are other reasons.
When the New York police department had run down all the threads of the
plot, and accounted for most of the characters by locking them up, they
had become so absorbed in the story themselves, as a story, that they
thought the public would enjoy following it from the inside.
While the crime was being dealt with, the police were subjected to
pretty severe criticism. They felt that the facts would make it clear
that they knew their trade and had been working at it diligently.
The story gives an insight into real police methods. These are very
different from the methods of the fiction detective, and also from the
average citizen’s idea of police work. They ought to be better known.
When the public understands that there is nothing secret, tyrannical or
dangerous in good police practice, and that our laws safeguard even the
guilty against abuses, there will be helpful public opinion behind
officers of the law, and we shall have a higher degree of order and
security.
The directing mind in this case was that of Commissioner George
Dougherty, executive head of the detectives of the New York Police
Department. Thousands of clean, ambitious young fellows are constantly
putting on the policeman’s uniform all over the country, and rising to
places as detectives and officials. The manufacturer or merchant may
find himself in the police commissioner’s chair. Even the suburbanite,
with his bundles, may be, out at Lonesomehurst, a member of the village
council, and thus responsible for the supervision of a police force
that, though it be only two patrolmen and a chief, is important in its
place. So in writing the story there has been an effort to show how a
first-rate man like Commissioner Dougherty works. His methods are plain
business methods. Most of his life he has earned his living following
the policeman’s trade as a commercial business. What he did in a case of
this kind, and how, and why, are matters of general interest and
importance.
Finally, the story throws some useful light on criminals. It shows the
cunning of the underworld, and also its limitations. To free the
law-abiding mind of romantic notions about the criminal, and show him as
he is, is highly important in the prevention of crime.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
Rhinelander Waldo, Commissioner of
Police, New York City
_Frontispiece_
George S. Dougherty, Second Deputy 20
Police Commissioner
Edward P. Hughes, Inspector in Command 40
of Detective Bureau, and Dominick G.
Riley, Lieutenant and Aide to
Commissioner Dougherty
Geno Montani, Eddie Kinsman, Gene 60
Splaine, “Scotty the Lamb” and John
Molloy
James Pasquale, Bob Delio, Jess 80
Albrazzo, and Matteo Arbrano
“Scotty” Receives Final Instructions 110
“The Brigands” “Stick-up” the Hold-up 126
Men for Theirs
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE CAST
GENO MONTANI, a taxicab proprietor.
WILBUR SMITH, an elderly bank teller.
FRANK WARDLE, a seventeen-year-old bank office boy.
EDDIE KINSMAN, alias “Collins,” alias “Eddie the Boob,” a hold-up man.
BILLY KELLER, alias “Dutch,” a hold-up man.
GENE SPLAINE, a hold-up man.
“SCOTTY THE LAMB,” a thieves’ helper, or “stall.”
JOE PHILADELPHIA, alias “The Kid,” a runner for thieves, or “lobbygow.”
JAMES PASQUALE, alias “Jimmy the Push,” keeper of shady resorts known
as “208” and “233.”
BOB DEILIO, partner of “Jimmy the Push.”
JESS ALBRAZZO, a middleman, formerly keeper of the Arch Café, pal of
Montani, “Jimmy the Push | 1,073.055799 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.1372040 | 1,855 | 15 |
Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS
Or The Fighting Canadians of Vimy Ridge
By Clair W. Hayes
CHAPTER I
A NEW USE FOR A DICTAPHONE
The rain fell in torrents over the great battlefield, as Hal Paine and
Chester Crawford, taking advantage of the inky blackness of the night,
crept from the shelter of the American trenches that faced the enemy
across "No Man's Land."
In the trenches themselves all was silence. To a spectator it would
have seemed that the occupants were, either dead or asleep; yet such
was not the case.
It is true that most of the men had "turned in" for the night, sleeping
on their arms, for there was no means of telling at what moment the
enemy might issue from his trenches in another of the night raids that
had marked this particular sector for the last few weeks; but the ever
vigilant sentinels stood watch over the sleeping men. They would sound
an alarm, should occasion demand, in ample time to arouse the sleepers
if an enemy's head appeared in the darkness.
Hal and Chester, of course, left the American trenches with full
knowledge of these sentinels; otherwise they might have been shot.
Once beyond the protecting walls of earth, they moved swiftly and
silently toward the German trenches less than a hundred feet
away--just the distance from the home plate to first base on a baseball
diamond, as Hal put it--ninety feet.
These two lads, who now advanced directly toward the foe, were
lieutenants in the first American expeditionary force to reach France
to lend a hand in driving back the legions of the German Emperor, who
still clung tenaciously to territory he had conquered in the early
stages of the great war. These boys had, at one time, been captains in
the British army, and had had three years of strenuous times and
exciting adventures in the greatest of all wars.
Their captaincies they'd won through gallant action upon the field of
battle. American lads, they had been left in Berlin at the outbreak of
hostilities, when they were separated from Hal's mother. They made
their way to Belgium, where, for a time, they saw service, with King
Albert's troops. Later they fought under the tricolor, with the
Russians and the British and Canadians.
When the United 'States declared war on Germany, Hal and Chester, with
others, were sent to America, where they were of great assistance in
training men Uncle Sam had selected to officer his troops. They had
relinquished their rank in the British army to be able to do this. Now
they found themselves again on French soil, but fighting under the
Stars and Stripes.
On this particular night they advanced toward tile German lines soon
after an audience with General John J. Pershing, commander-in-chief of
the American expeditionary forces. In one hand Chester carried a
little hardwood box, to which were attached coils of wire. In the
other hand the lad held a revolver. Hal, likewise, carried his
automatic in his hand. Each was determined to give a good account of
himself should his presence be discovered.
It was unusually quiet along the front this night. It was too dark for
opposing "snipers"--sharpshooters--to get in their work, and the
voices of the big guns, which, almost incessantly for the last few
weeks, had hurled shells across the intervening distance between the
two lines of trenches, were stilled.
Hal pressed close to Chester.
"Rather creepy out here," he said.
"Right," returned Chester in a whisper. "I've the same feeling
myself. It forebodes, trouble, this silence, to my way of thinking.
The Huns are probably hatching up some devilment."
"Well, we may be able to get the drift of it, with that thing you have
under your arm," was the other's reply.
"Sh-h!" was Chester's reply, and he added: "We're getting pretty
close."
They continued their way without further words.
Hal, slightly in advance, suddenly uttered a stifled exclamation.
Instantly Chester touched his arm.
"What's the matter?" he asked in a whisper.
"Matter is," Hal whispered back, "that we have come to a barbed-wire
entanglement. I had forgotten about those things."
"Well, that's why you brought your 'nippers' along," said Chester. "Cut
the wire."
Hal produced his "nippers." It was but the work of a moment to nip the
wires, and again the lads advanced cautiously.
A moment later there loomed up before them the German trenches. Hal
stood back a few feet while Chester advanced and placed the little
hardwood box upon the top of the trench, and scraped over it several
handfuls of earth. The lad now took the coil of wire in his hand, and
stepped down and back. The lads retraced their steps toward their own
lines, Chester the while unrolling the coil of wire.
The return was made without incident. Before their own trenches the
boys were challenged by a sentinel.
"Halt!" came the command. "Who goes there?"
"Friends," returned Hal.
The sentinel recognized the lad's voice.
"Advance," he said with a breath of relief.
A moment later the boys were safe back among their own men.
"If the Germans had been as watchful as our own sentries, we would have
had more trouble," said Hal.
"Oh, I don't know," was Chester's reply. "I saw a German sentinel, but
he didn't see me in the darkness."
"It was his business to see, however," declared Hal.
"Well, that's true. But now let's listen and seen if we can overhear
anything of importance."
Chester clapped the little receiver to his ear. Hal became silent.
Ten minutes later Chester removed the receiver from his ear.
"Nothing doing," he said. "I can hear some of the men talking, but
they are evidently playing cards."
"Let me listen a while," said Hal.
Chester passed the receiver to his chum, and the latter listened
intently. For some moments he heard nothing save the jabbering jargon
of German troopers apparently interested in a card game. He was about
to take the receiver from his ear, however, when another voice caught
his attention
He held up a hand, which told Chester that something of importance was
going on.
"All right, general," said a voice in the German trenches, which was
carried plainly to Hal's ear by the Dictaphone.
"Stay!" came another voice. "You will also order Colonel Blucher to
open with all his guns at the moment that General Schmidt's men advance
to the attack."
"At midnight, sir," was the reply.
"That is all."
The voices became silent.
Quickly Hal reported to Chester what he had overheard.
"It's up to us to arouse Captain O'Neill," said Chester. He hurried
off.
Hal glanced at his watch.
It was 10 o'clock.
"Two hours," the lad muttered. "Well, I guess we'll be ready for
them."
A few moments later Captain O'Neill appeared. He was in command of the
Americans in the first line trenches. These troops were in their
present positions for "seasoning" purposes. They had been the first to
be given this post of honor. They had held it for several days, and
then had been relieved only to be returned to the front within ten
days.
At command from Captain O'Neill, Hal made his way to the south along
the line of trenches, and approached the quarters of General Dupres.
To an orderly he announced that he bore a communication from Captain
O'Neill.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the French commander, when Hal had delivered his
message. "So they will attack us in the night, eh? Well, we shall
receive them right warmly."
He thought a moment. Then he said:
"You will tell Captain O'Neill to move from the trenches with his
entire strength. He will advance ten yards and then move one hundred
yards north. You may tell him that I will post a force of equal
strength to the south. He will not fire until my French troops open on
the enemy."
Hal returned and reported to Captain O'Neill.
It was plain that the American officer didn't understand the situation
fully. However, he | 1,073.157244 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.2341310 | 3,598 | 13 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
A LITTLE BOOK OF CHRISTMAS
[Illustration: "What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near.
FRONTISPIECE. _See page_ 69.]
A LITTLE BOOK OF
CHRISTMAS
BY
JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ARTHUR E. BECHER
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published, September, 1912
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. SIMONDS & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON 5
THE CHILD WHO HAD EVERYTHING BUT-- 47
SANTA CLAUS AND LITTLE BILLEE 87
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN SANTAS 129
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"What are you doing?" he asked, drawing near _Frontispiece_
She stood with her eyes popping out of her head PAGE 39
He thought it very strange that Santa Claus'
hand should be so red and cold and rough 91
One by one the prisoners of the night dropped
in surreptitiously 155
A TOAST TO SANTA CLAUS
Whene'er I find a man who don't
Believe in Santa Claus,
And spite of all remonstrance won't
Yield up to logic's laws,
And see in things that lie about
The proof by no means dim,
I straightway cut that fellow out,
And don't believe in him.
The good old Saint is everywhere
Along life's busy way.
We find him in the very air
We breathe day after day--
Where courtesy and kindliness
And love are joined together,
To give to sorrow and distress
A touch of sunny weather.
We find him in the maiden's eyes
Beneath the mistletoe,
A-sparkling as the star-lit skies
All golden in their glow.
We find him in the pressure of
The hand of sympathy,
And where there's any thought of love
He's mighty sure to be.
So here's to good old Kindliheart!
The best bet of them all,
Who never fails to do his part
In life's high festival;
The worthy bearer of the crown
With which we top the Saint.
A bumper to his health, and down
With them that say he ain't!
THE CONVERSION OF HETHERINGTON
I
Hetherington wasn't half a bad sort of a fellow, but he had his
peculiarities, most of which were the natural defects of a lack of
imagination. He didn't believe in ghosts, or Santa Claus, or any of the
thousands of other things that he hadn't seen with his own eyes, and as
he walked home that rather chilly afternoon just before Christmas and
found nearly every corner of the highway decorated with bogus Saints,
wearing the shoddy regalia of Kris-Kringle, the sight made him a trifle
irritable. He had had a fairly good luncheon that day, one indeed that
ought to have mellowed his disposition materially, but which somehow or
other had not so resulted. In fact, Hetherington was in a state of raspy
petulance that boded ill for his digestion, and when he had reached the
corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, the constant iteration
and reiteration of these shivering figures of the god of the Yule had
got on his nerves to such an extent as to make him aggressively
quarrelsome. He had controlled the asperities of his soul tolerably well
on the way uptown, but the remark of a small child on the highway, made
to a hurrying mother, as they passed a stalwart-looking replica of the
idol of his Christmas dreams, banging away on a tambourine to attract
attention to the iron pot before him, placed there to catch the pennies
of the charitably inclined wayfarer--"Oh, mar, there's Sandy Claus
now!"--was too much for him.
"Tush! Nonsense!" ejaculated Hetherington, glowering at the shivering
figure in the turkey-red robe. "The idea of filling children's minds up
with such balderdash! Santa Claus, indeed! There isn't a genuine Santa
Claus in the whole bogus bunch."
The Saint on the corner banged his tambourine just under Hetherington's
ear with just enough force to jar loose the accumulated irascibility of
the well-fed gentleman.
"This is a fine job for an able-bodied man like you!" said Hetherington
with a sneer. "Why don't you go to work instead of helping to perpetuate
this annual fake?"
The Saint looked at him for a moment before replying.
"Speakin' to me?" he said.
"Yes. I'm speaking to you," said Hetherington. "Here's the whole country
perishing for the lack of labor, and in spite of that fact this town has
broken out into a veritable rash of fake Santa Clauses--"
"That'll do for you!" retorted Santa Claus. "It's easy enough for a
feller with a stomach full o' victuals and plenty of warm clothes on
his back to jump on a hard-workin' feller like me--"
"Hard-working?" echoed Hetherington. "I like that! You don't call
loafing on a street corner this way all day long hard work, do you?"
He rather liked the man's spirit, despite his objection to his
occupation.
"Suppose you try it once and find out," retorted Santa Claus, blowing on
his bluish fingers in an effort to restore their clogged-up circulation.
"I guess if you tried a job like this just once, standin' out in the
cold from eight in the mornin' to ten at night, with nothin' but a cup
o' coffee and a ham-sandwich inside o' you--"
"What's that?" cried Hetherington, aghast. "Is that all you've had to
eat to-day?"
"That's all," said the Saint, as he turned to his work with the
tambourine. "Try it once, mister, and maybe you won't feel so cock-sure
about its not bein' work. If you're half the sport you think you are
just take my place for a couple of hours."
An appeal to his sporting instinct was never lost on Hetherington.
"By George!" he cried. "I'll go you. I'll swap coats with you, and while
you're filling your stomach up I'll take your place, all right."
"What'll I fill me stomach up with?" demanded the man. "I don't look
like a feller with a meal-ticket in his pocket, do I?"
"I'll take care of that," said Hetherington, taking out a roll of bills
and peeling off a two-dollar note from the outside. "There--you take
that and blow yourself, and I'll take care of the kitty here till you
come back."
The exchange of externals was not long in accomplishment. The gathering
of the shadows of night made it a comparatively easy matter to arrange
behind a conveniently stalled and heavily laden express wagon hard by,
and in a few moments the irascible but still "sporty" Hetherington, who
from childhood up to the present had never been able to take a dare,
found himself banging away on a tambourine and incidentally shivering in
the poor red habiliments of a fraudulent Saint. For a half-hour the
novelty of his position gave him a certain thrill, and no Santa Claus in
town that night fulfilled his duties more vociferously than did
Hetherington; but as time passed on, and the chill of a windy corner
began to penetrate his bones, to say nothing of the frosty condition of
his ears, which his false cotton whiskers but indifferently protected,
he began to tire of his bargain.
"Gosh!" he muttered to himself, as it began to snow, and certain passing
truckmen hurled the same kind of guying comments at him as had been more
or less in his mind whenever he had passed a fellow-Santa-Claus on his
way up-town, "if General Sherman were here he'd find a twin-brother to
War! I wish that cuss would come back."
He gazed eagerly up and down the street in the hope that the departed
original would heave in sight, but in vain. A two-dollar meal evidently
possessed attractions that he wished to linger over.
"Can't stand this much longer!" he muttered to himself, and then his eye
caught sight of a group that filled his soul with dismay: two policemen
and the struggling figure of one who appeared to have looked not wisely
but too well upon the cup that cheers, the latter wearing Hetherington's
overcoat and Hetherington's hat, but whose knees worked upon hinges of
their own, double-back-action hinges that made his legs of no use
whatsoever, either to himself or to anybody else.
"Hi there!" Hetherington cried out, as the group passed up the street on
the way to the station-house. "That fellow's got my overcoat--"
But the only reply Hetherington got was a sturdy poke in the ribs from
the night-stick of the passing officer.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" growled Hetherington.
II
Ten minutes later a passing taxi was hailed by a shivering gentleman
carrying an iron pot full of pennies and nickels and an occasional
quarter in one hand, and a turkey-red coat, trimmed with white cotton
cloth, thrown over his arm. Strange to say, considering the inclemency
of the night, he wore neither a hat nor an overcoat.
"Where to, sir?" queried the chauffeur.
"The police-station," said Hetherington. "I don't know where it is, but
the one in this precinct is the one I want."
"Ye'll have to pay by the hour to-night, sir," said the chauffeur. "The
station ain't a half-mile away, sir, but Heaven knows how long it'll
take us to get there."
"Charge what you please," retorted Hetherington. "I'll buy your darned
old machine if it's necessary, only get a move on."
The chauffeur, with some misgivings as to the mental integrity of his
fare, started on their perilous journey, and three-quarters of an hour
later drew up in front of the police-station, where Hetherington, having
been compelled in self-defense to resume the habiliments of Santa Claus
under penalty of freezing, alighted.
"Just wait, will you?" he said, as he alighted from the cab.
"I'll go in with you," said the chauffeur, acting with due caution. He
had begun to fear that there was a fair chance of his having trouble
getting his fare out of a very evident lunatic.
Utterly forgetful of his appearance in his festal array, Hetherington
bustled into the station, and shortly found himself standing before the
sergeant behind the desk.
"Well, Santa Claus," said the official, with an amused glance at the
intruder, "what can I do for you to-night? There ain't many rooms with a
bath left."
Hetherington flushed. He had intended to greet the sergeant with his
most imposing manner, but this turkey-red abomination on his back had
thrust dignity out in the cold.
"I have come, officer," he said, as impressively as he could under the
circumstances, "to make some inquiries concerning a man who was brought
here about an hour ago--I fear in a state of intoxication."
"We have known such things to happen here, Santa," said the officer,
suavely. "In fact, this blotter here seems to indicate that one George
W. Hetherington, of 561 Fifth Avenue--"
"Who?" roared Hetherington.
"George W. Hetherington is the name on the blotter," said the sergeant;
"entered first as a D. D., but on investigation found to be suffering
from--"
"But that's my name!" cried Hetherington. "You don't mean to tell me he
claimed to be George W. Hetherington?"
"No," said the sergeant. "The poor devil didn't make any claims for
himself at all. We found that name on a card in his hat, and a letter
addressed to the same name in his overcoat pocket. Puttin' the two
together we thought it was a good enough identification."
"Well, I'll have you to understand, sergeant--" bristled Hetherington,
cockily.
"None o' that, Santa Claus--none o' that!" growled the sergeant, leaning
over the desk and eying him coldly. "I don't know what game you're up
to, but just one more peep in that tone and there'll be two George W.
Hetheringtons in the cooler this night."
Hetherington almost tore the Santa Claus garb from his shoulders, and
revealed himself as a personage of fine raiment underneath, whatever he
might have appeared at a superficial glance. As he did so a crumpled
piece of paper fell to the floor from the pocket of the turkey-red coat.
"I don't mean to do anything but what is right, sergeant," he said,
controlling his wrath, "but what I do want is to impress it upon your
mind that _I_ am George W. Hetherington, and that having my name spread
on the blotter of a police court isn't going to do me any good. I
loaned that fellow my hat and coat to get a square meal, while I took
his place--"
The officer grinned broadly, but with no assurance in his smile that he
believed.
"Oh, you may not believe it," said Hetherington, "but it's true, and if
this thing gets into the papers to-morrow morning--"
"Say, Larry," said the sergeant, addressing an officer off duty, "did
the reporters copy that letter we found in Hetherington's pocket?"
"Reporters?" gasped Hetherington. "Good Lord, man--yuh-you don't
mum-mean to say yuh-you let the reporters--"
"No, chief," replied Larry. "They ain't been in yet--I t'ink ye shoved
it inter yer desk."
"So I did, so I did," grinned the sergeant. Here he opened the drawer in
front of him and extracted a pretty little blue envelope which
Hetherington immediately recognized as a particularly private and
confidential communication from--well, somebody. This is not a _cherchez
la femme_ story, so we will leave the lady's name out of it altogether.
It must be noted, however, that a sight of that dainty missive in the
great red fist of the sergeant gave Hetherington a heart action that
fifty packages of cigarettes a day could hardly inflict upon a less
healthy man.
"That's the proof--" cried Hetherington, excitedly. "If that don't
prove it's my overcoat nothing will."
"Right you are, Santa Claus," said the sergeant, opening the envelope
and taking out the delicately scented sheet of paper within. "I'll give
you two guesses at the name signed to this, and if you get it right once
I'll give you the coat, and Mr. Hetherington Number One in our evening's
consignment of Hetheringtons gets re-christened."
"'Anita'!" growled Hetherington.
"You win!" said the sergeant, handing over the letter.
Hetherington drew a long sigh of relief.
"I guess this is worth cigars for the house, sergeant," he said. "I'll
send 'em round to-morrow--meanwhile, how about--how about the other?"
"He's gone to the hospital," said the sergeant, grimly. "The doctor says
he wasn't drunk--just another case of freezing starvation | 1,073.254171 |
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