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Produced by Dianna Adair, Suzanne Shell and the Online
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Object: Matrimony
[Illustration: "DID YOU EVER SUFFER FROM STUMMICK TROUBLE?"]
OBJECT:
MATRIMONY
by
MONTAGUE
GLASS
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1909, by_
THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
_Copyright, 1912, by_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
_All rights reserved including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Object: Matrimony
BY MONTAGUE GLASS
"Real estate!" Philip Margolius cried bitterly; "that's a business for a
business man! If a feller's in the clothing business and it comes bad
times, Mr. Feldman, he can sell it his goods at cost and live anyhow;
but if a feller's in the real-estate business, Mr. Feldman, and it comes
bad times, he can't not only sell his houses, but he couldn't give 'em
away yet, and when the second mortgage forecloses he gets deficiency
judgments against him."
"Why don't you do this?" Mr. Feldman suggested. "Why don't you go to the
second mortgagee and tell him you'll convey the houses to him in
satisfaction of the mortgage? Those houses will never bring even the
amount of the first mortgage in these times, and surely he would rather
have the houses than a deficiency judgment against you."
"That's what I told him a hundred times. Believe me, Mr. Feldman, I used
hours and hours of the best salesmanship on that feller," Margolius
answered, "and all he says is that he wouldn't have to pay no interest,
insurance and taxes on a deficiency judgment, while a house what stands
vacant you got to all the time be paying out money."
"But as soon as they put the subway through," Mr. Feldman continued,
"that property around Two Hundred and Sixty-fourth Street and Heidenfeld
Avenue will go up tremendously."
"Sure I know," Margolius agreed; "but when a feller's got four double
flat-houses and every flat yet vacant, futures don't cut no ice. Them
tenants couldn't ride on futures, Mr. Feldman; and so, with the nearest
trolley car ten blocks away, I am up against a dead proposition."
"Wouldn't he give you a year's extension?" Mr. Feldman asked.
"He wouldn't give me positively nothing," Margolius replied hopelessly.
"That feller's a regular Skylark. He wants his pound of meat every time,
Mr. Feldman. So I guess you got to think up some scheme for me that I
should beat him out. Them mortgages falls due in ten days, Mr. Feldman,
and we got to act quick."
Mr. Feldman frowned judicially. In New York, if an attorney for a realty
owner knows his business and neglects his professional ethics he can so
obstruct an action to foreclose a mortgage as to make Jarndyce vs.
Jarndyce look like a summary proceeding. But Henry D. Feldman was a
conscientious practitioner, and never did anything that might bring him
before the grievance committee of the Bar Association. Moreover, he was
a power in the Democratic organization and right in line for a Supreme
Court judgeship, and so it behooved him to be careful if not ethical.
"Why don't you go and see Goldblatt again, and then if you can't move
him I'll see what I can do for you?" Feldman suggested.
"But, Mr. Feldman," Margolius protested, "I told it you it ain't no use.
Goldblatt hates me worser as poison."
Feldman leaned back in his low chair with one arm thrown over the back,
after the fashion of Judge Blatchford's portrait in the United States
District Courtroom.
"See here, Margolius: what's the real trouble between you and
Goldblatt?" he said. "If you're going to get my advice in this matter
you will have to tell me the whole truth. _Falsus in uno, falsus in
omnibus_, you know."
"You make a big mistake, Mr. Feldman," Margolius replied. "It ain't
nothing like that, and whoever told it you is got another think coming.
The trouble was about his daughter Fannie. You could bring a horse a
pail of water, Mr. Feldman, but no one could make the horse drink it if
he don't want to, and that's the way it was with me. Friedman, the
Schatchen, took me up to see Goldblatt's daughter Fannie, and I assure
you I ain't exaggeration a bit when I tell you she's got a moustache
what wouldn't go bad with a <DW55> barber yet."
"Why, I thought Goldblatt's daughter was a pretty good looker," Feldman
exclaimed.
"That's Birdie Goldblatt," Margolius replied, blushing. "But
Fannie--that's a different proposition, Mr. Feldman. Well, Goldblatt
gives me all kinds of induc | 1,073.255754 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.2426360 | 572 | 9 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Matthew Wheaton and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: THE LAST STAND]
PONY TRACKS
_WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY_
FREDERIC REMINGTON
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
FRANKLIN SQUARE
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE FELLOWS WHO
RODE THE PONIES THAT MADE THE TRACKS
BY THE AUTHOR
CONTENTS
CHASING A MAJOR-GENERAL
LIEUTENANT CASEY'S LAST SCOUT
THE SIOUX OUTBREAK IN SOUTH DAKOTA
AN OUTPOST OF CIVILIZATION
A RODEO AT LOS OJOS
IN THE SIERRA MADRE WITH THE PUNCHERS
BLACK WATER AND SHALLOWS
COACHING IN CHIHUAHUA
STUBBLE AND SLOUGH IN DAKOTA
POLICING THE YELLOWSTONE
A MODEL SQUADRON
THE AFFAIR OF THE --TH OF JULY
THE COLONEL OF THE FIRST CYCLE INFANTRY
A MERRY CHRISTMAS IN A SIBLEY TEPEE
BEAR-CHASING IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE LAST STAND
GENERAL MILES AND HIS ESCORT
THE SUPPLY TRAIN
UNITED STATES CAVALRY IN WINTER RIG
UNITED STATES INFANTRY IN WINTER RIG
CHIS-CHIS-CHASH SCOUT ON THE FLANKS
"TWO GHOSTS I SAW"
WATCHING THE DUST OF THE HOSTILES
THE HOTCHKISS GUN
A RUN TO THE SCOUT CAMP
IN THE TRENCHES
THE ADVANCE GUARD--A MILITARY SACRIFICE
THE HACIENDA SAN JOSE DE BAVICORA
EL PATRON
THE ADMINISTRADOR OF SAN JOSE DE BAVICORA
A HAIR-CUT A LA PUNCHER
THE MUSIC AT THE "BAILLE"
COMING TO THE RODEO
WAVING SERAPE TO DRIVE CATTLE
TAILING A BULL
JOHNNIE BELL OF LOS | 1,073.262676 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.4863090 | 51 | 8 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Blind Policy, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
BLIND POLICY, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
IN RAYBE | 1,073.506349 |
2023-11-16 18:34:57.6342520 | 4,181 | 19 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: Cover]
The Pagan's Cup
BY
Fergus Hume
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB,"
"THE RAINBOW FEATHER,"
"CLAUDE DUVAL OF NINETY-FIVE,"
ETC.
[Illustration: Vignette]
NEW YORK
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1902, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
[All rights reserved]
_The Pagan's Cup_
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. A Modern Arcadia 1
II. The Crusaders' Chapel 14
III. The Lady of the Manor 28
IV. The Dinner-Party 42
V. Love's Young Dream 58
VI. Trouble 71
VII. A Nine Days' Wonder 87
VIII. Haverleigh's Defence 101
IX. A Bad Reputation 113
X. The Price of Silence 126
XI. The London Detective 140
XII. A Surprise 154
XIII. An Interesting Document 168
XIV. An Unexpected Meeting 183
XV. A New Complication 198
XVI. Sybil's Visitor 214
XVII. Lord Kilspindie Explains 227
XVIII. A Miracle 242
XIX. A Story of the Past 257
XX. Mrs Gabriel's Secret 276
THE PAGAN'S CUP
CHAPTER I
A MODERN ARCADIA
Certain portions of England yet remain undiscovered by Americans and
uncivilised by railways. Colester village above King's-meadows, in a
county which need not be named, is one of these unknown spots. No doubt
before long the bicycle and the motor-car will enliven its somnolent
neighbourhood, but at present it is free from the summer jaunts of
tourists. With this neglect the Colester folk profess themselves
satisfied. They have no wish to come into contact with the busy world.
This prejudice against intrusion dates from mediaeval times, when
strangers rarely came to the village with peaceful intentions. Even now
a chance comer is looked upon with suspicion.
Mr Richard Pratt said something of this sort to the vicar during a
morning ramble, some six weeks after he had taken up his residence in
The Nun's House. With the parson and the gentry of the parish Mr Pratt
agreed very well, his respectability having been vouched for by Mrs
Gabriel, the lady of the manor. But the villagers still held aloof,
although the newcomer did his best to overcome their churlish doubts.
They did not credit his story that he had settled in Colester to pass
his remaining years in peace, and even the money he scattered so freely
could not buy their loyalty. Pratt had never met with such people
before. In most countries an open purse invites an open heart; but the
Colester villagers were above Mammon worship. Such an experience was
refreshing to Pratt, and introduced him to a new type of humanity.
"The first place I ever struck in which the dollar is not all-powerful,"
he said, with his Yankee twang and pleasant laugh.
"We are not sufficiently educated in that respect," replied Mr Tempest
in his simple way. "For my part, I am not ill pleased that my
parishioners should refuse to worship the Golden Calf."
"There is no calf about me, I guess," said Pratt, grimly, "and very
little gold. I don't say I haven't a decent income, but as to being a
millionaire--no, sir."
"In the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed is king, Mr Pratt. You are a
millionaire in this poor place. But I fear you find it dull."
"Why, no, vicar. I'm glad to be out of the buzz. The world's made up of
nerves and machinery nowadays. At fifty-two years of age I can't stand
the racket. This Sleepy Hollow's good enough for me to stay in until I
peg out. Guess I'll buy an allotment in that graveyard of yours."
"Hollow!" said the vicar, smiling, "and our earthly dwelling-place is
set upon a hill! Mr Pratt, I suspect you have Irish blood in your
veins."
Pratt laughed, and being to a large extent devoid of humour, explained
earnestly that he had used the word figuratively. "Washington Irving,
Rip Van Winkle," he explained, nodding, whereat the vicar smiled again.
The situation of Colester was striking and strange. A green-clothed
promontory extended abruptly from the high table-land into
King's-meadow. To right and left chalky cliffs of considerable height
flared away for miles, forming a buttress to the moors above and walls
to the plains below. In pre-historic ages the ocean waves had beaten
against these cliffs, but, gradually receding, had left dry the miles
upon miles of fertile lands now called King's-meadows. An appanage of
the Crown, they had been called so from the days of William the
Conqueror.
From where they stood, the vicar and his friend had a bird's-eye view of
this desirable land, unrolled like a map under the bright June sky.
League after league of corn-fields stretched away to the clear, shining
line of ocean; and amidst the ripening grain appeared red-roofed
villages, clumps of trees, the straight lines of dusty white roads and
the winding, glittering serpent of the river. And as a background to
this smiling plenty--if so Irish an expression be permitted--was the
blue expanse of the Channel dotted with the white sails of merchantmen.
A small wood of ancient oaks shut off the purple-clad moor from the spur
upon which Colester was built. On the verge of this, yet encircled by
trees, stood the village church--a crusading chapel, dedicated to St
Gabriel the Messenger. Thence the ground fell away gradually, and spread
out into a broad neck of land, down the centre of which ran a road
leading from chapel to village. On either side of this, amidst oaks and
elms and sycamores, were the houses of the gentry. From where they ended
the promontory rose into two rounded hills, with a slight depression
between. On the one to the left the village was built, its houses
cramped within a tumble-down wall, dating from the days when it was
needed as a defence. The other hill was surmounted by a well-preserved
castle, the keep of which with its flag could be seen above the oak
woods. This was inhabited by Mrs Gabriel, the sole representative of the
feudal lords of Colester. Yet she was only the childless widow of the
last baron, and had none of the fierce Gabriel blood in her veins. The
once powerful and prolific family was extinct.
From castle and village steps led down into the depression between the
two hills. Down this continued the chapel road, sloping gradually with
many windings to the plains below. The whole place had the look of some
Rhenish robber-hold. And if tradition was to be trusted, the Gabriel
lords had dwelt like eagles in their eyrie, swooping down at intervals
to harry and plunder, burn and slay the peaceful folk of the plains. A
turbulent and aggressive race the Gabriels. It had defied king and
priest, and parliament and people. Time alone had ever conquered it.
"A survival of the Middle Ages," said Mr Tempest, pointing out these
things to his companion. "It was needful that the Gabriel barons should
build strong defences. They were fierce and blood-thirsty, defiant of
law and order. For many centuries they were a scourge to the inhabitants
of the plains. These often complained to the king, and several times the
place was besieged, but without result. The Gabriels kept their hold of
it. The only thing they ever lost was their title. A bill of attainder
was passed against them in the time of the second George. After that
they became less lions than foxes."
"Just so," said Mr Pratt. "This place couldn't do much against
artillery, I guess. And even in the bow and arrow days, a strong force
coming over the moor and down the spur--"
"That was often tried," interrupted Tempest, quickly, "but the attempt
always failed. In the days of Henry II. Aylmer Gabriel beat back an
overwhelming force, and then erected the chapel as a thanksgiving. The
Archangel Gabriel was the patron saint of the family, and the chapel is
dedicated to him."
"He couldn't keep the family from dying out, however," said Pratt, as
they moved towards the village.
"No. With the late John Gabriel the family became extinct. But I daresay
Mrs Gabriel will arrange that her adopted son succeeds. He can take the
name and the coat of arms. I should be very pleased to see that," added
the vicar, half to himself. "Leo is a good fellow, and would make an
excellent landlord."
The eyes of the American flashed when the name was mentioned, but he
made only a careless comment. "Leo Haverleigh," he said, after a pause,
"he's a right smart young chap, sure. Who is he?"
"The son of Mrs Gabriel's brother. She was a Miss Haverleigh, you know.
I believe her brother was somewhat dissipated, and died abroad. The boy
arrived here when he was three years of age, and Mrs Gabriel adopted
him. He will be her heir."
"Is there anyone to object?" asked Pratt, eagerly.
The vicar shook his head. "The Gabriels are absolutely extinct. Failing
Leo, the estates would lapse to the Crown. In the old days they would
have been seized by the king in any case, as the sovereigns were always
anxious to hold this point of vantage which dominated their lands below.
But we live in such law-abiding times, that Mrs Gabriel, although not of
the blood of the family, can leave the estates to whomsoever she will. I
understand that she has quite decided Leo shall inherit and take the
name; also the coat of arms."
"She doesn't strike me as over-fond of the boy," said Pratt, as they
climbed the crooked street; "rather a hard woman I should say."
"Mrs Gabriel has a particularly high moral standard," replied the vicar,
evasively, "and she wishes all to attain to it. Leo--" he hesitated.
"He's no worse than a boy ought to be," said the American, cheerily.
"Your young saint makes an old sinner. That's so, vicar!"
Mr Tempest laughed outright. "I fear there is small chance of Leo
becoming a saint either young or old," he said, "though he is a good
lad in many ways. Wild, I admit, but his heart is in the right place."
Pratt smiled to himself. He knew that Leo was in love with Sybil, the
daughter of this prosy old archaeologist. Simple as Mr Tempest was, he
could not be blind to the possibility of his daughter making such an
excellent match. "Oh, yes," laughed Pratt, knowingly, "I'm sure his
heart is in the right place."
But by this time the vicar was on his hobby horse, and did not gauge the
significance of the speech. "Here," he said, waving his hand towards the
four sides of the square in which they stood, "the Romans built a camp.
It crowned this hill, and was garrisoned by the tenth legion to overawe
the turbulent tribes swarming on the plains below. In fact, this town is
built within the camp, as the name shows."
"How does it show that?" asked Pratt, more to keep the vicar talking
than because he cared.
"The name, man, the name. It is properly Colncester, but by usage has
been shortened to Colester. Coln comes from the Latin _colonia_, a
colony, and caster, or cester, is derived from _castra_, a camp.
Colncester therefore means the camp colony, which proves that the
original builders of this town erected their dwellings within the
circumvallation of the original _castra_ of Claudian. If you will come
with me, Mr Pratt, I will show you the remains of this great work."
"I have seen it several times before," replied Pratt, rather bored by
this archaeological disquisition. "I know every inch of this place. It
doesn't take an American centuries to get round, and six weeks of
walking have fixed me up in your local geography. But there's the
chapel, vicar. We might walk up there. I'd like to hear a few remarks on
the subject of the chapel. Interesting. Oh, I guess so!"
"Certainly! certainly!" said Tempest, absently, "let us walk, walk," and
he strolled away with his hands in his tail-coat pockets, looking
something like an elderly jackdaw. Indeed the churchman, with his lean,
oval face, his large spectacles and the fluttering black garments on his
thin figure, very much resembled a bird. He was scholarly, well-bred and
gentle, but wholly unworldly. Since his wife had died seven years
before, Sybil had taken charge of the house. Harold Raston, the
energetic curate, looked after the parish. But for these two, both
clerical and domestic affairs would have been neglected, so immersed was
Mr Tempest in his dry-as-dust explorations. Many people said openly that
the vicar was past his work and should be pensioned off. Mrs Gabriel, a
capable and managing woman, had once hinted as much to him. But the
usually placid parson had flown into such a rage, that she had hastily
withdrawn herself and her suggestion. "There is nothing more terrible
than the rebellion of a sheep." Mrs Gabriel recalled this remark of
Balzac's when Tempest, proving himself worthy of his name, swept her in
wrath from his study.
Pratt was quite another specimen of humanity. A neat, dapper, suave
little man, undersized yet perfectly proportioned. He had black hair,
black eyes, and a clean-shaven face, which constantly wore an
expression of imperturbable good-humour. His dress was too neat for the
country. A blue serge suit, white spats on brown boots, a Panama hat,
gloves and--what he was never without--a smoothly-rolled umbrella.
Spick-and-span, he might have stepped out of a glass case, and this was
his invariable appearance. No one ever saw Pratt unshaven or untidy. He
had been everywhere, had seen everything, and was a most engaging
companion, never out of temper and never bored. But for all his smiling
ways the villagers held aloof from him. Wishing to break down their
barrier of prejudice, the sharp little American had attached himself to
the vicar during the good man's usual morning walk. He thought that such
a sight might dispose the villagers to relent.
"I shall not vary my usual walk," remarked Mr Tempest, positively. "We
will stroll through the village, return to the chapel, and then, Mr
Pratt, I hope you will lunch with me."
"Delighted, if it will not put Miss Sybil out."
"No, no. My wife is always prepared for chance visitors," answered the
vicar, quite oblivious to the fact that the late Mrs Tempest was resting
in the churchyard. "Ha, this is Mrs Jeal. How do you do, Mrs Jeal?"
Mrs Jeal was in excellent health, and said so with a curtsey. A dumpy,
rosy-faced woman was Mrs Jeal, with a pair of extremely wicked black
eyes which snapped fire when she was angered. She had a temper, but
rarely displayed it, for it suited her better to gain her ends by craft
rather than force. Fifteen years ago she had appeared from nowhere, to
settle as a midwife in Colester. Contrary to their usual fashion, the
villagers had taken her to their bosoms. This was owing to the clever
way Mrs Jeal had of managing them, and to her knowledge of herbs. She
had cured many sick people whom the doctor had given up, and
consequently was not looked upon with favour by Dr James, who had
succeeded to the family practice. But even he could not be angry at
rosy, laughing Mrs Jeal. "Though I don't like her," confessed Dr James;
"the devil looks out of her eyes. Dangerous woman, very dangerous."
Pratt had no chance of proving this remark of the doctor's to be true,
for Mrs Jeal never looked at him. She kept her wicked eyes on the kindly
vicar and smiled constantly, punctuating such smiles with an occasional
curtsey. "Pearl is not with you?" said Mr Tempest.
"No, bless her poor heart!" cried Mrs Jeal, "she is up at the chapel.
Her favourite place is the chapel, as your reverence knows."
"She might have a worse place to haunt, Mrs Jeal. Poor soul--poor, mad,
innocent child!"
"Do you call eighteen years of age childish, Mr Tempest?" asked the
woman.
"No, no! I speak of her mind, her poor, weak mind. She is still a child.
I beg of you to look after her, Mrs Jeal. We must make her path as
pleasant as we may."
"Then I beg your reverence will tell that Barker to leave her alone."
"Barker, Barker? Ah, yes, the sexton--of course. Worthy man."
Mrs Jeal sniffed. "He won't let her stay in the chapel," she said.
"Tut! tut! This must be seen to. Poor Pearl is God's child, Mrs Jeal, so
she has a right to rest in His House. Yes, yes, I'll see to it.
Good-day, Mrs Jeal."
The woman dropped a curtsey, and for the first time shot a glance at
Pratt, who was smiling blandly. A nervous expression crossed her face as
she caught his eye. The next moment she drew herself up and passed on,
crossing herself. Pratt looked after her, still smiling, then hurried to
rejoin the vicar, who began to explain in his usual wandering way.
"A good woman, Mrs Jeal, a good woman," he said. "For some years | 1,073.654292 |
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Produced by Anthony Matonac and Paul Selkirk.
TIK-TOK OF OZ
by
L. FRANK BAUM
To Louis F. Gottschalk,
whose sweet and dainty melodies
breathe the true spirit of fairyland,
this book is affectionately dedicated
To My Readers
The very marked success of my last year's fairy book, "The Patchwork
Girl of Oz," convinces me that my readers like the Oz stories "best of
all," as one little girl wrote me. So here, my dears, is a new Oz story
in which is introduced Ann Soforth, the Queen of Oogaboo, whom Tik-Tok | 1,073.754272 |
2023-11-16 18:35:00.0407540 | 1,749 | 11 |
Produced by Jason Isbell, Christine D. and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was made using scans of public domain works in the
International Children's Digital Library.)
[Illustration]
[Illustration: A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES]
[Illustration: ROBERT LOVIS STEVENSON]
EDINBVRGH. VAILIMA
1850 1894
[Illustration]
A CHILD'S
GARDEN OF
VERSES
BY ROBERT
LOVIS
STEVENSON
ILLVSTRATED--BY
CHARLES
ROBINSON.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S
SONS
LONDON:
IOHN LANE.
1895
_Copyright 1895, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration]
TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM
FROM HER BOY
FOR THE LONG NIGHTS YOU LAY AWAKE
AND WATCHED FOR MY UNWORTHY SAKE:
FOR YOUR MOST COMFORTABLE HAND
THAT LED ME THROUGH THE UNEVEN LAND:
FOR ALL THE STORY BOOKS YOU READ:
FOR ALL THE PAINS YOU COMFORTED:
FOR ALL YOU PITIED, ALL YOU BORE,
IN SAD AND HAPPY DAYS OF YORE:--
MY SECOND MOTHER, MY FIRST WIFE.
THE ANGEL OF MY INFANT LIFE--
FROM THE SICK CHILD, NOW WELL AND OLD,
TAKE, NURSE, THE LITTLE BOOK YOU HOLD!
AND GRANT IT, HEAVEN, THAT ALL WHO READ
MAY FIND AS DEAR A NURSE AT NEED,
AND EVERY CHILD WHO LISTS MY RHYME,
IN THE BRIGHT, FIRESIDE, NURSERY CLIME,
MAY HEAR IT IN AS KIND A VOICE
AS MADE MY CHILDISH DAYS REJOICE!
_R. L. S._
CONTENTS
_Bed in Summer_ _Page_ 3
_A Thought_ 5
_At the Seaside_ 6
_Young Night Thought_ 7
_Whole Duty of Children_ 9
_Rain_ 10
_Pirate Story_ 11
_Foreign Lands_ 13
_Windy Nights_ 15
_Travel_ 17
_Singing_ 20
_Looking Forward_ 21
_A Good Play_ 22
_Where Go the Boats?_ 24
_Auntie's Skirts_ _Page_ 26
_The Land of Counterpane_ 27
_The Land of Nod_ 29
_My Shadow_ 32
_System_ 34
_A Good Boy_ 36
_Escape at Bedtime_ 38
_Marching Song_ 40
_The Cow_ 42
_Happy Thought_ 44
_The Wind_ 45
_Keepsake Mill_ 47
_Good and Bad Children_ 49
_Foreign Children_ 51
_The Sun's Travels_ 53
_The Lamplighter_ 55
_My Bed is a Boat_ 57
_The Moon_ 59
_The Swing_ 62
_Time to Rise_ 64
_Looking-Glass River_ 65
_Fairy Bread_ 67
_From a Railway Carriage_ 68
_Winter-Time_ 70
_The Hayloft_ 72
_Farewell to the Farm_ 74
_North-West Passage_
1. _Good Night_ _Page_ 76
2. _Shadow March_ 77
3. _In Port_ 78
[Illustration]
_THE CHILD ALONE_
_The Unseen Playmate_ 81
_My Ship and I_ 83
_My Kingdom_ 85
_Picture Books in Winter_ 87
_My Treasures_ 89
_Block City_ 91
_The Land of Story-Books_ 93
_Armies in the Fire_ 95
_The Little Land_ 97
[Illustration]
_GARDEN DAYS_
_Night and Day_ _Page_ 103
_Nest Eggs_ 107
_The Flowers_ 110
_Summer Sun_ 112
_The Dumb Soldier_ 114
_Autumn Fires_ 117
_The Gardener_ 119
_Historical Associations_ 121
[Illustration]
_ENVOYS_
_To Willie and Henrietta_ 125
_To my Mother_ 127
_To Auntie_ 128
_To Minnie_ 129
_To my Name-Child_ 133
_To any Reader_ 136
[Illustration]
_A CHILD'S
GARDEN of
Verses_
_Copyright 1895, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
[Illustration]
BED IN SUMMER
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.
[Illustration]
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A Thought.
It is very nice to think
The world is full of meat and drink
With little children saying grace
In every Christian kind of place.
[Illustration]
At The Seaside.
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup,
In every hole the sea came up,
Till it could come no more.
[Illustration]
YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT.
All night long and every night,
When my mamma puts out the light,
I see the people marching by,
As plain as day, before my eye.
Armies and emperors and kings,
All carrying different kinds of things,
And marching in so grand a way,
You never saw the like by day.
So fine a show was never seen,
At the great circus on the green;
For every kind of beast and man
Is marching in that caravan.
[Illustration]
At first they move a little slow,
But still the faster on they go,
And still beside them close I keep
Until we reach the town of Sleep.
[Illustration: THE TOWN OF SLEEP]
[Illustration]
WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN
A child should always say what's true
And speak when he is spoken to,
And behave mannerly at table:
At least as far as he is able.
[Illustration]
RAIN
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.
[Illustration]
PIRATE STORY
Three of us | 1,076.060794 |
2023-11-16 18:35:00.1341910 | 1,339 | 10 |
Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.
Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm
by
Kate Douglas Wiggin
TO MY MOTHER
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.
Wordsworth.
CONTENTS
I. "WE ARE SEVEN"
II. REBECCA'S RELATIONS
III. A DIFFERENCE IN HEARTS
IV. REBECCA'S POINT OF VIEW
V. WISDOM'S WAYS
VI. SUNSHINE IN A SHADY PLACE
VII. RIVERBORO SECRETS
VIII. COLOR OF ROSE
IX. ASHES OF ROSES
X. RAINBOW BRIDGES
XI. "THE STIRRING OF THE POWERS"
XII. "SEE THE PALE MARTYR"
XIII. SNOW-WHITE; ROSE-RED
XIV. MR. ALADDIN
XV. THE BANQUET LAMP
XVI. SEASONS OF GROWTH
XVII. GRAY DAYS AND GOLD
XVIII. REBECCA REPRESENTS THE FAMILY
XIX. DEACON ISRAEL'S SUCCESSOR
XX. A CHANGE OF HEART
XXI. THE SKY LINE WIDENS
XXII. CLOVER BLOSSOMS AND SUNFLOWERS
XXIII. THE HILL DIFFICULTY
XXIV. ALADDIN RUBS HIS LAMP
XXV. ROSES OF JOY
XXVI. OVER THE TEACUPS
XXVII. "THE VISION SPLENDID"
XXVIII. "TH' INEVITABLE YOKE"
XXIX. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER
XXX. "GOOD-BY, SUNNYBROOK!"
XXXI. AUNT MIRANDA'S APOLOGY
REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM
I
"WE ARE SEVEN"
The old stage coach was rumbling along the dusty road that runs from
Maplewood to Riverboro. The day was as warm as midsummer, though it was
only the middle of May, and Mr. Jeremiah Cobb was favoring the horses
as much as possible, yet never losing sight of the fact that he carried
the mail. The hills were many, and the reins lay loosely in his hands
as he lolled back in his seat and extended one foot and leg luxuriously
over the dashboard. His brimmed hat of worn felt was well pulled over
his eyes, and he revolved a quid of tobacco in his left cheek.
There was one passenger in the coach,--a small dark-haired person in a
glossy buff calico dress. She was so slender and so stiffly starched
that she slid from space to space on the leather cushions, though she
braced herself against the middle seat with her feet and extended her
cotton-gloved hands on each side, in order to maintain some sort of
balance. Whenever the wheels sank farther than usual into a rut, or
jolted suddenly over a stone, she bounded involuntarily into the air,
came down again, pushed back her funny little straw hat, and picked up
or settled more firmly a small pink sun shade, which seemed to be her
chief responsibility,--unless we except a bead purse, into which she
looked whenever the condition of the roads would permit, finding great
apparent satisfaction in that its precious contents neither disappeared
nor grew less. Mr. Cobb guessed nothing of these harassing details of
travel, his business being to carry people to their destinations, not,
necessarily, to make them comfortable on the way. Indeed he had
forgotten the very existence of this one unnoteworthy little passenger.
When he was about to leave the post-office in Maplewood that morning, a
woman had alighted from a wagon, and coming up to him, inquired whether
this were the Riverboro stage, and if he were Mr. Cobb. Being answered
in the affirmative, she nodded to a child who was eagerly waiting for
the answer, and who ran towards her as if she feared to be a moment too
late. The child might have been ten or eleven years old perhaps, but
whatever the number of her summers, she had an air of being small for
her age. Her mother helped her into the stage coach, deposited a bundle
and a bouquet of lilacs beside her, superintended the "roping on"
behind of an old hair trunk, and finally paid the fare, counting out
the silver with great care.
"I want you should take her to my sisters' in Riverboro," she said. "Do
you know Mirandy and Jane Sawyer? They live in the brick house."
Lord bless your soul, he knew 'em as well as if he'd made 'em!
"Well, she's going there, and they're expecting her. Will you keep an
eye on her, please? If she can get out anywhere and get with folks, or
get anybody in to keep her company, she'll do it. Good-by, Rebecca; try
not to get into any mischief, and sit quiet, so you'll look neat an'
nice when you get there. Don't be any trouble to Mr. Cobb.--You see,
she's kind of excited.--We came on the cars from Temperance yesterday,
slept all night at my cousin's, and drove from her house--eight miles
it is--this morning."
"Good-by, mother, don't worry; you know it isn't as if I hadn't
traveled before."
The woman gave a short sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way to
Mr. Cobb, "She's been to Wareham and stayed over night; that isn't much
to be journey-proud on!"
"It WAS TRAVELING, | 1,076.154231 |
2023-11-16 18:35:00.7346690 | 574 | 7 |
Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN
By Frederich Schiller
Translated by James Churchill.
The Camp of Wallenstein is an introduction to the celebrated tragedy of
that name; and, by its vivid portraiture of the state of the general's
army, gives the best clue to the spell of his gigantic power. The blind
belief entertained in the unfailing success of his arms, and in the
supernatural agencies by which that success is secured to him; the
unrestrained indulgence of every passion, and utter disregard of all law,
save that of the camp; a hard oppression of the peasantry and plunder of
the country, have all swollen the soldiery with an idea of interminable
sway. But as we have translated the whole, we shall leave these reckless
marauders to speak for themselves.
Of Schiller's opinion concerning the Camp, as a necessary introduction to
the tragedy, the following passage taken from the prologue to the first
representation, will give a just idea, and may also serve as a motto to
the work:--
"Not he it is, who on the tragic scene
Will now appear--but in the fearless bands
Whom his command alone could sway, and whom
His spirit fired, you may his shadow see,
Until the bashful Muse shall dare to bring
Himself before you in a living form;
For power it was that bore his heart astray
His Camp, alone, elucidates his crime."
THE CAMP OF WALLENSTEIN.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Sergeant-Major | of a regiment of Recruit.
Trumpeter | Terzky's carabineers. Citizen.
Artilleryman, Peasant.
Sharpshooters. Peasant Boy.
Mounted Yagers, of Holk's corps. Capuchin.
Dragoons, of Butler's regiment. Regimental Schoolmaster.
Arquebusiers, of Tiefenbach's regiment. Sutler-Woman.
Cuirassier, of a Walloon regiment. Servant Girl.
Cuirassier, of a Lombard regiment. Soldiers' Boys.
Croats. Musicians.
Hulans.
(SCENE.--The Camp before Pilsen, in Bohemia.)
SCENE I.
Sutlers' tents--in front, a Slop-shop. Soldiers of all colors and
uniforms thronging about. Tables all filled. Croats and Hulans
cooking at a fire. Sutler-w | 1,076.754709 |
2023-11-16 18:35:00.9090100 | 3,601 | 42 |
Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email
[email protected]. Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was
made.
THE GOLD HORNS
TRANSLATED BY
GEORGE BORROW
_from the Danish of_
ADAM GOTTLOB OEHLENSCHLAGER
EDITED
_with an Introduction by_
EDMUND GOSSE, C.B.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION
1913
_Copyright in the United States of America_
_by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.
INTRODUCTION
Early in the present year Mr. Thos. J. Wise discovered among the
miscellaneous MSS. of Borrow a fragment which proved to be part of a
version of Oehlenschlager's _Gold Horns_. His attention being drawn to
the fact, hitherto unknown, that Borrow had translated this famous poem,
he sought for, and presently found, a complete MS. of the poem, and from
this copy the present text has been printed. The paper on which it is
written is watermarked 1824, and it is probable that the version was
composed in 1826. The hand-writing coincides with that of several of the
pieces included in the _Romantic Ballads_ of that year, and there can be
little doubt that Borrow intended _The Gold Horns_ for that volume, and
rejected it at last. He was conscious, perhaps, that his hand had lacked
the skill needful to reproduce a lyric the melody of which would have
taxed the powers of Coleridge or of Shelley. Nevertheless, his attempt
seems worthy of preservation.
_The Gold Horns_ marks one of the most important stages in the history of
Scandinavian literature. It is the earliest, and the freshest, specimen
of the Romantic Revival in its definite form. In this way, it takes in
Danish poetry a place analogous to that taken by _The Ancient Mariner_ in
English poetry.
The story of the events which led to the composition of _The Gold Horns_
is told independently, by Steffens and by Oehlenschlager in their
respective Memoirs, and the two accounts tally completely. Adam Gottlob
Oehlenschlager (1779-1850), the greatest poet whom the North of Europe
has produced, had already attracted considerable renown and even profit
by his writings, which were in the classico-sentimental manner of the
late 18th century, when, in the summer of 1802, the young Norwegian
philosopher, Henrik Steffens, arrived in Copenhagen from Germany, where
he had imbibed the new romantic ideas. He began to give lectures on
aesthetics, and these awakened a turmoil of opposition. Among those who
heard him, no one was more scandalised than Oehlenschlager, then in his
twenty-third year. He was not acquainted with Steffens, but in the
course of the autumn they happened to meet at a restaurant in Copenhagen,
when they instantly experienced a violent mutual attraction. Steffens
has described how deep an impression was made upon him by the handsome
head, flashing eyes, and graceful vivacity of the poet, while
Oehlenschlager bears witness to being no less fascinated by the gravity
and enthusiasm of the philosopher. The new friends found it impossible
to part, and sixteen hours had gone by, and 3 a.m. had struck, before
Oehlenschlager could tear himself away from the company of Steffens.
He scarcely slept that night, and rose in a condition of bewilderment and
rapture. His first act, after breakfast, was to destroy a whole volume
of his own MS. poetry, which was ready for press, and for which a
publisher had promised him a handsome sum of money. His next was to sit
down and write _The Gold Horns_, a manifesto of his complete conversion
to the principles of romanticism. Later in the day he presented himself
again at Steffens' lodgings, bringing the lyric with him, "to prove," as
he says, "to Steffens that I was a poet at last beyond all doubt or
question." His new friend received him with solemn exultation. "Now you
are indeed a poet," he said, and folded him in his arms. The conversion
of Oehlenschlager to romanticism meant the conquest of Danish literature
by the new order of thought.
Oehlenschlager has explained what it was that suggested to him the
leading idea of his poem. Two antique horns of gold, discovered some
time before in the bogs of Slesvig, had been recently stolen from the
national collection at Rosenborg, and the thieves had melted down the
inestimable treasures. Oehlenschlager treats these horns as the reward
for genuine antiquarian enthusiasm, shown in a sincere and tender passion
for the ancient relics of Scandinavian history. From a generation
unworthy to appreciate them, the _Horns_ had been withdrawn, to be
mysteriously restored at the due romantic hour. He was, when he came
under the influence of Steffens, absolutely ripe for conversion, filled
with the results of his Icelandic studies, and with an imagination
redolent of _Edda_ and the Sagas. To this inflammable material, Henrik
Steffens merely laid the torch of his intelligence.
It is impossible to pretend that Borrow has caught the enchanting beauty
and delicacy of the Danish poem. But he has made a gallant effort to
reproduce the form and language of Oehlenschlager, and we have thought it
not without interest to print opposite his version the whole of the
original Danish.
EDMUND GOSSE.
GULDHORNENE {10} THE GOLD HORNS
De higer og soger Upon the pages
I gamle Boger, Of the olden ages,
I oplukte Hoie, And in hills where are lying
Med speidende Oie, The dead, they are prying;
Paa Svaerd og Skjolde, On armour rusty,
I mulne Volde, In ruins musty,
Paa Runestene, On Rune-stones jumbled,
Blandt smuldnede Bene. With bones long crumbled.
Oldtids Bedrifter Eld's deeds, through guesses
Anede trylle, Beheld, are delighting,
Men i Mulm de sig hylle, But mist possesses
De gamle Skrifter. The ancient writing.
Blikket stirrer, The eye-ball fixed is,
Sig Tanken forvirrer, The thought perplexed is;
I Taage de famle. In darkness they're groping
"I gamle, gamle, Their mouths they're op'ing:
Forsvundne Dage! "Ye days long past,
Da det straalte paa Jorden, When the North was uplighted,
Da Osten var i Norden, And with earth heav'n united,
Giver Glimt tilbage!" A glimpse back cast."
Skyen suser, The clouds are bustling,
Natten bryser, The night blasts rustling,
Gravhoien sukker, Sighs are breaking,
Rosen sig lukker. From grave-hills quaking,
De sig mode, de sig mode, The regions were under
De forklarede Hoie, Thunder.
Kampfarvede, rode, Of the mighty and daring,
Med Stjerneglands i Oie. The ghosts there muster,
Stains of war bearing,
In their eye star lustre.
"I, som rave iblinde, "Ye who blind are straying,
Skal finde And praying,
Et aeldgammelt Minde, Shall an ag'd relic meet,
Der skal komme og svinde! Which shall come and shall fleet,
Dets gyldne Sider Its red sides golden,
Skal Praeget baere, The stamp displaying
Afaeldste Tider. Of the times most olden.
Af det kan I laere, That shall give ye a notion
Med andagtsfuld AEre To hold in devotion
I vor Gave belonne! Our gift, is your duty!
Det skjonneste Skjonne, A maiden, of beauty
En Mo Most rare.
Skal Helligdommen finde!" Shall find the token!"
Saa sjunge de og svinde, They vanished; this spoken
Lufttonerne doe. Their tones die in air.
Hrymfaxe, den sorte, Black Hrymfax, weary,
Puster og dukker Panteth and bloweth,
Og i Havet sig begraver; And in sea himself burieth;
Morgenens Porte Belling, cheery,
Delling oplukker, Morn's gates ope throweth;
Og Skinfaxe traver Forth Skinfax hurrieth,
I straalende Lue On heaven's bridge prancing,
Paa Himmelens Bue. And with lustre glancing.
Og Fuglene synge; The little birds quaver,
Dugperler bade Pearls from night's weeping;
Blomsterblade, The flowers are steeping
Som Vindene gynge; In the winds which waver;
Og med svaevende Fjed To the meadows, fleet
En Mo hendandser A maiden boundeth;
Til Marken afsted. Violet fillet neat
Violer hende krandser, Her brows surroundeth;
Hendes Rosenkind braender, Her cheeks are glowing,
Hun har Liljehaender; Lilly hands she's showing;
Let som et Hind, Light as a hind,
Med muntert Sind With sportive mind
Hun svaever og smiler; She smiling frisketh.
Og som hun iler And as on she whisketh,
Og paa Elskov grubler, And thinks on her lover,
Hun snubler-- She trips something over;
Og stirrer og skuer And, her eyes declining,
Gyldne Luer Beholds a shining,
Og rodmer og baever And red'neth and shaketh,
Og skjaelvende haever And trembling uptaketh
Med undrende Aand With wondering sprite
Udaf sorten Muld From the dingy mould,
Med snehvide Haand, With hand snow-white,
Det rode Guld. The ruddy gold.
En sagte Torden A gentle thunder
Dundrer; Pealeth;
Hele Norden The whole North wonder
Undrer. Feeleth.
Og hen de stimle Forth rush with gabble
I store Vrimle; A countless rabble;
De grave, de soge The earth they're upturning,
Skatten at foroge. For the treasure burning.
Men intet Guld! But there's no gold!
Deres Haab har bedraget: Their hope is mistaken;
De see kun det Muld, They see but the mould,
Hvoraf det er taget. From whence it is taken.
Et Sekel svinder! An age by rolleth.
Over Klippetinder Again it howleth
Det atter bruser. O'er the tops of the mountains.
Stormens Sluser Of the rain the fountains
Bryde med Vaelde Burst with fury;
Over Norges Fjelde The spirits of glory
Til Danmarks Dale. From Norge's highlands,
I Skyernes Sale To Denmark's islands,
De forklarede Gamle In the halls of ether
Sig atter samle. Again meet together.
"For de sjeldne Faa, "For the few there below
Som vor Gave forstaae, Who our gift's worth know,
Som ei Jordlaenker binde Who earth's fetters spurn all,
Men hvis Sjaele sig haeve And whose souls are soaring
Til det Eviges Tinde; To the throne of th' Eternal;
Som ane det Hoie Who in eye of Nature
I Naturens Oie; Behold the Creator;
Som tilbedende baeve And tremble adoring,
For Guddommens Straaler 'Fore the rays of his power
I Sole, Violer, In the sun, in the flower,
I det Mindste, det Storste, In the greatest and least,
Som braendende torste And with thirst are possest
Efter Livets Liv; For of life the spring;
Som, o store Aand Who, O powerful sprite
For de svundne Tider! Of the times departed!
Se dit Guddomsblik See thy look bright
Paa Helligdommens Sider: From the relic's sides darted:
For _dem_ lyder atter vort Bliv. For them our Be once more shall
ring.
"Naturens Son, "Nature's son, whose name
Ukjaendt i Lon, Is unknown to fame,
Men som sine Faedre But his acre tilling,
Kraftig og stor, Strong-armed and tall,
Dyrkende sin Jord, Like his forefathers all,
Ham vil vi haedre, Him to honour we're willing,
Han skal atter finde!" He shall find the second token!"
Saa syngende de svinde. They vanished, this spoken.
Hrymfaxe, den sorte, Black Hrymfax weary
Puster og dukker Panteth and bloweth,
Og i Havet sig begraver: And in sea himself buried;
Morgenens Porte And Belling cheery
Delling oplukker; Morn's gates ope throweth;
Skinfaxe traver Forth Skinfax hurrieth,
I straalende Lue On heaven's bridge prancing,
Paa Himmelens Bue. And with lustre glancing.
Ved lune Skov By the bright green shaw
Oxnene traekke The oxen striding
Den tunge Plov The heavy plough draw,
Over sorten Daekke. The soil dividing.
Da standser Ploven The plough stops; sorest
En Gysen farer Of shudders rushes
Igjennem Skoven; Right through the forest;
Fugleskaren The bird-quire hushes
Pludsclig tier; Sudden its strains;
Hellig Taushed Holy silence
Alt indvier. O'er all reigns.
Da klinger i Muld Then rings in the mould
Det gamle Guld. The ancient gold.
Tvende Glimt fra Oldtidsdage Glimpses two from period olden
Funkle i de nye Tider; Lo! in modern time appearing;
Selsomt vendte de tilbage, Strange returned those glimpses
Gaadefyldt paa blanke Sider. golden,
On their sides enigmas
bearing.
Skjulte Helligdom omsvaever Holiness mysterious hovers
Deres gamle Tegn og maerker; O'er their signs, of meaning
Guddomsglorien ombaever pond'rous;
Evighedens Undervaerker. Glory of the Godhead covers
These eternal works so
wondrous.
Haedre dem ved Bon og Psalter; Reverence them, for nought is
Snart maaske er hver stable;
forsvunden. They may vanish, past all
Jesu Blod paa Herrens Alter seeking.
Fylde dem, som Blod i Lunden. Let Christ's blood on Christ's
own table
Fill them, once with red blood
| 1,076.92905 |
2023-11-16 18:35:01.1380110 | 2,001 | 13 | Project Gutenberg's Heroes Every Child Should Know, by Hamilton Wright Mabie
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Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
Not Paul, But Jesus
BY JEREMY BENTHAM, ESQR.,--The Eminent
Philosopher of Sociology, Jurisprudence,
&c., of London.
With Preface Containing Sketches of His Life and
Works Together with Critical Notes by John
J. Crandall, Esqr., of the New Jersey Bar--author
of Right to Begin and Reply
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
Jeremy Bentham, an eminent English judicial or jural philosopher, was
born in London, February 15, 1748, and died at Westminster, his
residence for six years previously, June 6, 1832. His grandfather was a
London Attorney; his father, who followed the same profession, was a
shrewd man of business, and added considerably to his patrimony by land
speculations. These London Benthams were probably an offshoot from an
ancient York family of the same name, which boasted a Bishopric among
its members; but our author did not trouble himself to trace his
genealogy beyond the pawnbroker. His mother, Alicia Groove, was the
daughter of an Andover shopkeeper. Jeremy, the eldest, and for nine
years the only child of this marriage, was for the first sixteen years
of his life exceedingly puny, small and feeble. At the same time, he
exhibited a remarkable precocity which greatly stimulated the pride and
affection of his father. At five years of age he acquired a knowledge of
musical notes and learned to play the violin. At four or earlier, having
previously learned to write, he was initiated into Latin grammar, and in
his seventh year entered Westminster School. Meanwhile, he was taught
French by a private master at home and at seven read Telemaque, a book
which strongly impressed him. Learning to dance was a much more serious
undertaking, as he was so weak in his legs.
Young as he was, he acquired distinction at Westminster as a fabricator
of Latin and Greek verses, the great end and aim of the instruction
given there.
When twelve years old, he was entered as a Commoner at Queen's College,
Oxford, where he spent the next three years. Though very uncomfortable
at Oxford, he went through the exercises of the College with credit and
even with some distinction. Some Latin verses of his, on the accession
of George III, attracted a great deal of attention as the production of
one so young. Into all of the disputations which formed a part of the
College exercises, he entered with zeal and much satisfaction; yet he
never felt at home in the University because of its historical monotony,
and of all of which he retained the most unfavorable recollections.
In 1763, while not yet sixteen, he took the degree of A.B. Shortly
after this he began his course of Law in Lincoln's Inn, and journeyed
back and forth to Oxford to hear Blackstone's Lectures. These lectures
were published and read throughout the realm of England and particularly
in the American Colonies. These were criticised by the whole school of
Cromwell, Milton and such followers as Priestly and others in England
and many in the Colonies in America. Young Bentham returned to London
and attended as a student the Court of the King's Bench, then presided
over by Mansfield, of whom he continued for some years a great admirer.
Among the advocates, Dunning's clearness, directness and precision most
impressed him. He took the degree of A.M. at the age of 18, the
youngest graduate that had been known at the Universities; and in 1772
he was admitted to the Bar.
Young Bentham had breathed from infancy, at home, at school, at college
and in the Courts, an atmosphere conservative and submissive to
authority, yet in the progress of his law studies, he found a striking
contrast between the structural imperialism of the British Empire as
expounded by Blackstone and others of his day, and the philosophical
social state discussed by Aristotle, Plato, Aurelius, the struggling
patriots of France, and the new brotherhood, then agitating the colonies
of America.
His father had hoped to see him Lord-Chancellor, and took great pains to
push him forward. But having perceived a shocking contrast between the
law as it was under the Church imperial structure and such as he
conceived it ought to be, he gradually abandoned the position of a
submissive and admiring student and assumed a position among the school
of reformers and afterwards the role of sharp critic and indignant
denouncer.
He heroically suffered privations for several years in Lincoln's Inn
garrett, but persevered in study. He devoted some of his time to the
study of science. The writings of Hume, Helvetius and others led him to
adopt utility as the basis of Morals and Legislation. There had
developed two distinct parties in England: The Radicals and
Imperialists. The Radicals contended that the foundation of Legislation
was that utility which produced the greatest happiness to the greatest
number.
Blackstone and the Ecclesiastics had adopted the theory of Locke, that
the foundation of Legislation was a kind of covenant of mankind to
conform to the laws of God and Nature, as interpreted by hereditarily
self-constituted rulers.
Bentham contended that this was only a vague and uncertain collection of
words well adapted to the promotion of rule by dogmatic opinions of the
Lords and King and Ecclesiastics in combination well calculated to
deprive the people of the benefits of popular government. He conceived
the idea of codifying the laws so as to define them in terms of the
greatest good to the greatest number, and devoted a large share of the
balance of his life to this work.
In 1775 he published a small book in defense of the policy of Lord North
toward the Colonies, but for fear of prosecution it was issued by one
John Lind and extensively read. A little later he published a | 1,077.354281 |
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THE STORY OF MY MIND
How I Became a Rationalist
By M. M. Mangasarian
1909
DEDICATION
To My Children
My Dear Children:--
You have often requested me to tell you how, having been brought up by
my parents as a Calvinist, I came to be a Rationalist. I propose now to
answer that question in a more connected and comprehensive way than I
have ever done before. One reason for waiting until now was, that you
were not old enough before, to appreciate fully the mental struggle
which culminated in my resignation from the Spring Garden Presbyterian
church of Philadelpha, in which, my dear Zabelle, you received your
baptism at the time I was its pastor. Your brother, Armand, and your
sister, Christine, were born after I had withdrawn from the Presbyterian
church, and they have therefore not been baptised. But you are, all
three of you, now sufficiently advanced in years, and in training, to
be interested in, and I trust also, to be benefited by, the story of my
religious evolution. I am going to put the story in writing that you may
have it with you when I am gone, to remind you of the aims and interests
for which I lived, as well as to acquaint you with the most earnest and
intimate period in my career as a teacher of men. If you should ever
become parents yourselves, and your children should feel inclined to
lend their support to dogma, I hope you will prevail upon them, first to
read the story of their grand-father, who fought his way out of the camp
of orthodoxy by grappling with each dogma, hand to hand and breast to
breast.
I have no fear that you yourselves will ever be drawn into the meshes of
orthodoxy, which cost me my youth and the best years of my life to break
through, or that you will permit motives of self-interest to estrange
you from the Cause of Rationalism with which my life has been so closely
identified. My assurance of your loyalty to freedom of thought in
religion is not based, nor do I desire it to be based, on considerations
of respect or affection which you may entertain for me as your father,
but on your ability and willingness to verify a proposition before
assenting to it. Do not believe me because I am your parent, but believe
what you have yourselves, by conscientious and earnest endeavor, found
to be worthy of belief. It will never be said of you, that you have
inherited your opinions from me, or borrowed them from your neighbors,
if you can give a reason for the faith that is in you.
I wish you also to know that during those years of storm and stress,
when everything seemed so discouraging, and when my resignation from
the church had left us exposed to many privations,--without money and
without help, your mother's sympathy with me in my combat with the
church--a lone man, and a mere youth, battling with the most powerfully
intrenched institution in all the world, was more than my daily bread
to me during the pain and travail of my second birth. My spirits, often
depressed from sheer weariness, were nursed to new life and ardor by her
patience and sympathy.
One word more: Nothing will give your parents greater satisfaction than
to see in you, increasing with the increase of years, a love for those
ideals which instead of dragging the world backward, or arresting its
progress, urge man's search to nobler issues. Co-operate with the
light. Be on the side of the dawn. It is not enough to profess
Rationalism--make it your religion. Devotedly,
M. M. Mangasarian.
CHAPTER I. In the Cradle of Christianity
I was a Christian because I was born one. My parents were Christians for
the same reason. It had never occurred to me, any more than it had to
my parents, to ask for any other reason for professing the Christian
religion. Never in the least did I entertain even the most remote
suspicion that being born in a religion was not enough, either to make
the religion true, or to justify my adherence to it.
My parents were members of the Congregational church, and when I was
only a few weeks old, they brought me, as I have often been told by
those who witnessed the ceremony, to the Rev. Mr. Richardson, to be
baptized and presented to the Lord. It was the vow of my mother, if she
ever had a son, to dedicate him to the service of God. As I advanced in
years, the one thought constantly instilled into my mind was that I did
not belong to myself but to God. Every attempt was made to wean me from
the world, and to suppress in me those hopes and ambitions which might
lead me to choose some other career than that of the ministry.
This constant surveillance over me, and the artificial sanctity
associated with the life of one set apart for God, was injurious to me
in many ways. Among other things it robbed me of my childhood. Instead
of playing, I began very early to pray. God, Christ, Bible, and the
dogmas of the faith monopolized my attention, and left me neither the
leisure nor the desire for the things that make childhood joyous. At the
age of eight years I was invited to lead the congregation in prayer, in
church, and could recite many parts of the New Testament by heart. One
of my favorite pastimes was "to play church." I would arrange the chairs
as I had seen them arranged at church, then mounting on one of the
chairs, I would improvise a sermon and follow it with an unctuous
prayer. All this pleased my mother very much, and led her to believe
that God had condescended to accept her offering.
My dear mother is still living, and is still a devout member of the
Congregational church. I have not concealed my Rationalism from her,
nor have I tried to make light of the change which has separated us
radically in the matter of religion. Needless to say that my withdrawal
from the Christian ministry, and the Christian religion, was a painful
disappointment to her. But like all loving mothers, she hopes and prays
that I may return to the faith she still holds, and in which I was
baptized. It is only natural that she should do so. At her age of life,
beliefs have become so crystallized that they can not yield to new
impressions. When my mother had convictions I was but a child, and
therefore I was like clay in her hands, but now that I can think for
myself my mother is too advanced in years for me to try to influence
her. She was more successful with me than I shall ever be with her.
That my mother had a great influence upon me, all my early life attests.
As soon as I was old enough I was sent to college with a view of
preparing myself for the ministry. Having finished college I went to the
Princeton Theological Seminary, where I received instruction from such
eminent theologians as Drs. A. A. Hodge, William H. Green, and Prof.
Francis L. Patton. At the age of twenty-three, I became pastor of the
Spring Garden Presbyterian church of Philadelphia.
It was the reading of Emerson and Theodore Parker which gave me my first
glimpse of things beyond the creed I was educated in. I was at this time
obstinately orthodox, and, hence, to free my mind from the Calvinistic
teaching which I had imbibed with my mother's milk, was a most painful
operation. Again and again, during the period of doubt, I returned to
the bosom of my early faith, just as the legendary dove, scared by the
waste of waters, returned to the ark. To dislodge the shot fired into
a wall is not nearly so difficult an operation as to tear one's self
forever from the early beliefs which cling closer to the soul than the
skin does to the bones.
While it was the reading of a new set of books which first opened my
eyes, these would have left no impression upon my mind had not certain
events in my own life, which I was unable to reconcile with the belief
in a "Heavenly Father", created in me a predisposition to inquire into
the foundations of my Faith.
An event, which happened when I was only a boy, gave me many anxious
thoughts about the truth of the beliefs my dear mother had so eloquently
instilled into me. The one thought I was imbued with from my youth was
that "the tender mercies of God are over all his children," I believed
myself to be a child of God, and counted confidently upon his special
providence. But when the opportunity came for providence to show his
interest in me, I was forsaken, and had to look elsewhere for help. My
first disappointment was a severe shock. I got over it at the time, but
when I came to read Rationalistic books, the full meaning of that early
experience, which I will now briefly relate, dawned upon me, and helped
to make my mind good soil for the new ideas.
In 1877 I was traveling in Asia Minor, going from the Euphrates to the
Bosphorus, accompanied by the driver of my horses, one of which I rode,
the other carrying my luggage. We had not proceeded very far when we
were overtaken by a young traveler on foot, who, for reasons of safety,
begged to join our little party. He was a Mohammedan, while my driver
and I professed the Christian religion.
For three days we traveled together, going at a rapid pace in order to
overtake the caravan. It need hardly be said that in that part of the
world it is considered unsafe to travel even with a caravan, but, to
go on a long journey, as we were doing, all by ourselves, was certainly
taking a great risk.
We were armed with only a rifle--one of those flint fire-arms which
frequently refused to go off. I forgot to say that my driver had also
hanging from his girdle a long and crooked knife sheathed in a
black canvas scabbard. Both the driver, who was a Christian, and the
Mohammedan, who had placed himself under our protection, were, I am
sorry to say, much given to boasting. They would tell how, on various
occasions, they had, single-handed, driven away the Kurdish brigands,
who outnumbered them, ten to one; how that rusty knife had disemboweled
one of the most renowned Kurdish chiefs, and how the silent and
meek-looking flint-gun had held at bay a pack of those "curs" who go
about scenting for human flesh. All this was reassuring to me--a lad of
seventeen, and I began to think that I was indebted to Providence for my
brave escort.
On the morning of the 18th of February, 1877, we reached the valley said
to be a veritable den of thieves, where many a traveler had lost his
life as well as his goods. A great fear fell upon us when we saw on
the wooden bridge which spanned the river at the base of the hills, two
Kurds riding in our direction. I was at once disillusioned as to the
boasted bravery of my comrades, and felt that it was all braggadocio
with which they had been regaling me. As I was the one supposed to have
money, I would naturally be the chief object of attack, which made
my position the more perilous. But this sudden fear which seemed to
paralyze me at first, was followed by a bracing resolve to cope with
these "devils" mentally.
As I look back now upon the events of that day, I am puzzled to know
how I got through it all without any serious harm to my person. I was
surprised also that I, who had been brought up to pray and to trust in
divine help, forgot in the hour of real peril, all about "other help"
and bent all my energies upon helping myself.
But why did I not pray? Why did I not fall upon my knees to commit
myself to God's keeping? Perhaps it was because I was too much
pre-occupied--too much in earnest to take the time to pray. Perhaps my
better instincts would not let me take refuge in words when something
stronger was wanted. We may ask the good Lord not to burn our house,
but when the house is actually on fire, water is better than prayer.
Perhaps, again, I did not pray because of an instinctive feeling that
this was a case of self-help or no help at all. Perhaps, again, there
was a feeling in me, that if all the prayers my mother and I had offered
did not save me from falling into the hands of thieves neither would any
new prayer that I might offer be of any help. But the fact is that in
the hour of positive and imminent peril--when face to face with death--I
was too busy to pray.
My mother, before I started on this journey, had made a bag for my
valuables--watch and chain, etc.--and sewed it on my underflannels, next
to my body. But my money (all in gold coins) was in a snuff-box, and
that again in a long silk purse. I was, of course, the better dressed
of the three--with long boots which reached higher than my knees, a
warm English broadcloth cloak reaching down to my ankles, and an Angora
collarette, soft and snow white, about my neck.
I rode ahead, and the others, with the baggage horse, followed me. When
the two Kurdish riders who were advancing in our direction reached me,
they saluted me very politely, saying, according to the custom of the
country, "God be with you," to which I timidly returned the customary
answer, "We are all in his keeping." At the time it did not occur to me
how absurd it was for both travelers and robbers to recommend each other
to God while carrying fire-arms--the ones for attack, the others for
defense.
Of course now I can see, though I could not at the time I am speaking
of, that God never interfered to save an _unarmed_ traveler from
brigands--I say never, for if he ever did, and could, he would do it
always. But as we know, alas, too well, that hundreds and thousands have
been robbed and cut to pieces by these Kurds, it would be reasonable to
infer that God is indifferent. Of course, the strongly-armed travelers,
as a rule, escape, thanks to their own courage and firearms. For, we ask
again, if the Lord can save one, why not all? And if he can save all,
but will not, does he not become as dangerous as the robbers? But really
if God could do anything in the matter, He would reform the Kurds out
of the land, or--out of the thieving business. If God is the unfailing
police force in Christian, lands, he is not that in Mohammedan
countries, at any rate.
As the two mounted Kurds passed by me, they scanned me very closely--my
costume, boots, furs, cap and so on. Then I heard them making inquiries
of my driver about me--who I was, where I was going, and why I was going
at all.
My driver answered these, inquiries as honestly as the circumstances
permitted. Wishing us all again the protection of Allah, the Kurds
spurred their horses and galloped away.
For a moment we began to breathe freely--but only for a moment, for as
our horses reached the bridge we saw that the Kurds had turned around
and were now following us. And before we reached the middle of the
bridge over the river, one of the Kurds galloping up close to me laid
his hand on my shoulders and, unceremoniously, pulled me out of my
saddle. At the same time he dismounted himself, while his partner
remained on horseback with his gun pointed squarely in my-face, and
threatening to kill me if I did not give him my money immediately.
I can never forget his savage grin when at last he found my purse, and
grabbing it, with another oath, pulled it out of its hiding place. I
have | 1,077.354498 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=IgMiAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE FATE:
A TALE OF STIRRING TIMES.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"THE COMMISSIONER," "HENRY SMEATON," "THE OLD OAK CHEST," "THE
WOODMAN," "GOWRIE," "RUSSELL," "THE FORGERY," "BEAUCHAMP,"
"RICHELIEU," "DARK SCENES OF HISTORY," &c., &c.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-one, by
GEORGE P. R. JAMES,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
PREFACE.
Change of scene I believe to be as invigorating to the mind as change
of air is to the body, refreshing the weary and exhausted powers, and
affording a stimulus which prompts to activity of thought. To a writer
of fiction, especially, the change may be necessary, not only on
account of the benefits to be derived by his own mind from the
invigorating effects of a new atmosphere, but also on account of the
fresh thoughts suggested by the different circumstances in which he is
placed.
We are curiously-constructed creatures, not unlike the mere brute
creation in many of our propensities; and the old adage, that "custom
is a second nature," is quite as applicable to the mind as to the
body. If we ride a horse along a road to which he is accustomed, he
will generally make a little struggle to stop at a house where his
master has been in the habit of calling, or to turn up a by-lane
through which he has frequently gone. The mind, too, especially of an
author, has its houses of call and by-lanes in plenty; and, so long as
it is in familiar scenes, it will have a strong hankering for its
accustomed roads and pleasant halting-places. Every object around us
is a sort of bough from which we gather our ideas; and it is very
well, now and then, to pluck the apples of another garden, of a flavor
different from our own.
Whether I have in any degree benefited by the change from one side of
the Atlantic to the other--a change much greater when morally than
when physically considered--it is not for me to say; but I trust that,
at all events, the work which is to follow these pages will not show
that I have in any degree or in any way suffered from my visit to and
residence in America. I have written it with interest in the
characters portrayed and the events detailed; and I humbly
desire--without even venturing to hope--that I may succeed in
communicating some portion of the same interest to my readers.
A good deal of laudatory matter has been written upon the
landscape-painting propensities of the author; and one reviewer,
writing in Blackwood's Magazine, has comprehended and pointed out what
has always been one of that author's especial objects in describing
mere scenes of inanimate nature. In the following pages I have
indulged very little in descriptions of this kind; but here, as every
where else, I have ever endeavored to treat the picture of any
particular place or scene with a reference to man's heart, or mind, or
fate--his thoughts, his feelings, his destiny--and to bring forth, as
it were, the latent sympathies between human and mere material nature.
There is, to my mind, a likeness (a shadowing forth--a symbolism) in
all the infinite variations which we see around us in the external
world, to the changeful ideas, sensations, sentiments--as infinite and
as varied--of the world of human life; and I can not think that the
scenes I have visited, or the sights that I have seen, in this
portion of the earth--the richness, the beauty, the grandeur, the
sublimity--can have been without influence upon myself; can have left
the pages of nature here a sealed book to one who has studied their
bright, mysterious characters so diligently in other lands.
Nay, more, I have met with much, in social life, well calculated to
expand the heart, as well as to elevate the mind, which I should be
ungrateful not to mention--kindness, hospitality, friendship, where I
had no claim, and enlightened intercourse with powerful minds, in
which I expected much, and found much more.
Sweet and ineffaceable impressions, ye can not have served to deaden
the feelings or to obscure the intellect!
I will rest, then, in hope that this work, the first which I have
commenced and completed in America, may not be worse than its many
literary brethren, and merely pray that it may be better. Let the
critics say, Amen!
G. P. R. JAMES.
_Stockbridge, Massachusetts_, 30_th July_, 1851.
THE FATE.
CHAPTER I.
There is no mistake more common among historians, no mistake more
mischievous, than to take for granted, without deduction, all the
statements of the satirists and splenetics of past-by ages as to the
manners and customs of their own times, and of the people with whom
they mingled. There are half a dozen, at least, of the pleasant little
passions of human nature which lead men, especially men of letters, to
decry their companions, their friends, and their neighbors--nay, even
their countrymen and their country. To say nothing of "envy, hatred,
malice, and all uncharitableness"--sins common enough to be wisely
prayed against--pride, vanity, and levity point the pen, direct the
words, or furnish forth a little drop of gall to every man who is
giving an account of the times in which he lives and the country in
which he dwells, for those who are living or to live at a distance of
space or time from himself. It is pleasant to place our own brightness
on a dark back-ground; and the all but universal propensity of mankind
to caricature derives an extraordinary zest in its exercise, when, by
rendering others around us contemptible or odious, we can bring out
our own characters in bolder relief. But there are other, perhaps even
meaner motives still, which induce men frequently to portray their own
times in broad and distorted sketches. The faculty of admiration is a
very rare one; the faculty of just appreciation a rarer one still; but
every one loves to laugh; every one feels himself elevated by the
contemplation of absurdities in others. There is a vain fondness for
the grotesque lurking in the bosoms of most men; and a consciousness
that sly or even gross satire, and delicate or coarse caricature, are
the best means of giving pleasure to the great mass of mankind, is
probably one reason why we find such depreciatory exaggeration in the
writings of all those who have given pictures of their own times. The
letters of Petrarch, the statements of Hollingshed, the pictures of
Hogarth, the romances of Smollett and Fielding, all furnish, it is
true, certain sketches of their own times from which we can derive
some valuable information, but so distorted by passion, by prejudice,
by a satirical spirit, or a love of the ridiculous, that the portrait
can be no more relied upon, in its details, than Bunbury's caricature
of a Cantab for the general appearance of Cambridge scholars.
To give such pictures is mischievous in itself; but I can not help
thinking that for an historian to follow them without allowance is
more mischievous still. If there be a deviation on either side--though
any deviation should be avoided, if possible--surely it would be
better for every moral object to paint the past more bright rather
than more foul, as the past alone contains the just objects of
imitation, though we may emulate contemporary virtue or aspire to
ideal perfection in the future.
Truth--plain, simple truth, with such reflections upon the verities of
the past as may tend to benefit mankind in the present and the future,
forms all that the historian can desire; but he might as well hope to
draw truth from the pages of the satirists of any age, as a future
portrait painter might represent Lord John Russell or Lord Brougham
from the caricatures in Punch, where a certain likeness is kept up,
but every peculiarity is exaggerated with the grossest extravagance.
I enter my caveat against the picture given of the state of England in
the year 1685 by Mr. Macaulay, in his great and fanciful historical
work, and especially against that part of it which refers to the
English country gentlemen of those times, and to the English country
clergy. That such men did exist as those from which he has drawn his
statement, there can be no doubt; that they did exist in a greater
proportion than at present, there can be no doubt either; but that the
great mass were such as he has represented, may be very safely denied.
Pickwicks, and Tupmans, and Winkles are full of truth; but society is
not made up of these; and the reign of Victoria would appear very ill
in history if, by misfortune, it should have for its future historian
one inclined to paint the state of England in 1850 from similar
sources to those which have been pressed into the service of Mr.
Macaulay.
Nor does his reasoning afford any support to his statements; for, when
important elements are left out of calculation, the result can never
be admitted. Thus, when he says, "A country gentleman who witnessed
the revolution was probably in receipt of about a fourth part of the
rent which his acres now yield to his posterity. He was, therefore, as
compared with his posterity, a poor man, and was generally under the
necessity of residing with little interruption on his estate." The
historian forgets to state what was the comparative value of money at
the period he speaks of, and therefore can not draw as a fair
inference from the amount of rent, that the country gentleman of those
days was condemned by poverty to perpetual seclusion in the country,
which is, in fact, what he attempts to show. The tastes, the habits of
a country gentleman of that period kept him probably more in the
country; but it was not poverty. Even in the eighteenth century, we
find gentlemen of an estate producing two thousand pounds a year
keeping a pack of hounds without burdening their property, and every
true picture of country life which has descended to us shows that the
country gentlemen in general lived more at their ease than the same
class in the present day, and were as numerous in proportion to the
population. If their enjoyments were not so refined, it was because
the age was not so refined; and though the picture of Squire Alworthy
may be a pleasing exaggeration on the one hand, that of Squire Western
is an unpleasant caricature on the other, while the truth lay between,
and a multitude of country gentlemen existed of a very fair degree of
polish, without all the refined virtues of the one or the brutal
coarseness of the other.
CHAPTER II.
On the borders of Lincolnshire stood an old building, which had
preserved the name given to it more than two centuries before, though
the purpose which had given significance and propriety to that name
had passed away. It was a long, tall edifice of stone, somewhat like
the body of a church, and, as if to give it more resemblance still to
a religious edifice, another building had been added to the end of the
first, a story higher, and having some resemblance to a tower. This
additional part was built of brick; but moss and lichen had reduced
both stone and brick to very nearly one color; for though, when viewed
nearer, a variety of hues were to be discovered in the cryptogamous
vegetation which covered the walls, at a distance the general tint was
a brownish gray. The windows in the longer portion of the building
were placed in pointed arches, somewhat rudely and carelessly
decorated; those in the taller and newer portion were, on the
contrary, generally square, with a stone label above them, though some
had that flattened arch peculiarly characteristic of the worst Tudor
architecture. The whole building was not very large, and it was clear,
at first sight, that the long portion was devoted to barns, stables,
cart-houses, &c., while the other was separated for human habitation.
At the distance of some sixty or seventy yards from the house, a long
triple row of old elms topped a high bank, affording nesting-place for
innumerable rooks; and a little, clear stream, not unconscious of
trout, ran babbling along, mixing its melody with the music of the
birds. A stone wall, breast high, and in some decay, encircled the
whole, with two large uncouth posts ornamented with fragments of urns,
giving entrance, unimpeded by any gate between them, to any one who
might wish to approach the front door of the dwelling-house. There
probably had been a gate there once, for some iron work on the posts
seemed to show that they had been intended to support something; but
if so, the gate had long been gone--made into pikes in the civil war
for aught I know.
The scene around this old house, when viewed from the top of the bank,
was desolate enough. A wide, fenny piece of uninclosed land stretched
out far toward the north and east, only interrupted at the distance of
some three miles by an undulating rise of woodland. But, nevertheless,
the coloring was often fine, especially on autumnal evenings, when the
moor assumed a solemn, intense blue tint, and the pools and distant
river gleamed like rubies in the rich light of the setting sun.
On the other side, behind the house, the country had a more cheerful
look, with some well-cultivated fields sloping up, as the land rose to
the west, and many a knoll and gentle wave, and scattered trees, with
a thicker wood beyond, while sweeping away southward were hedgerows
and a hamlet here and there, the tower of a village church, and the
chimneys of a distant manor-house.
Such was the aspect of the building and the scene around it; and now
let us say a word of its history and its name.
In former years, when Plantagenet was the royal name of England, when
popes were powerful in the land, and it was sinful to eat beef on
Friday, among the best fed and best taught people of the country were
the abbots and priors of the various monasteries, who somehow,
notwithstanding vigil, prayer, and fasting--nay, even occasionally
vows of voluntary poverty--got fat, prosperous, and wealthy. Large
domains had these good men, and productive fields, besides tithes and
dues of various sorts, which were usually paid in kind. As the abbot,
and the abbot's bailiff, and other officers made their little profit
upon the sale of such commodities as they did not consume; and as, in
a benevolent and Christian spirit, they took good heed to have
plentiful stores laid up to aid the people in time of scarcity, it was
requisite that they should be provided with barns and garners to
preserve the fruits of the earth which they received. These barns were
called granges, and very often had a small farm attached to them. The
masonry of the edifice was generally solid, and the style of the
architecture in some degree ecclesiastical. When the grange was built
near the abbey, it usually stood by itself, without any dwelling-house
attached; but when it was at a distance, on one of the abbey farms, as
was frequently the case, a good mansion for grieve or farmer was often
added by the care of the monks; and a farmer who had pretty daughters,
or brewed good beer, generally contrived to get very comfortably
accommodated.
The house I have been describing was still called The Grange, and such
as I have stated had been its original destination. The long building
had been the real grange or barn of a neighboring abbey; the taller
building had been added afterward for the convenience of the abbot's
bailiff. When the monasteries were suppressed by the arch plunderer
Henry VIII., we all know how many and how great were those who shared
in the pickings of the defunct fowl of Rome. The Grange and the farm
attached to it fell to the lot of a nobleman in the neighborhood,
together with much other valuable property. He bestowed it upon a
younger son; and from that younger son it had descended in unbroken
line to its present possessor. The fortunes of the house had varied
considerably; some had proved gamblers, some had been soldiers, some
had been profuse, some penurious, some had even made love matches, and
now the farm, and the house, and the family were all in a state not
very prosperous, not very disastrous, somewhere between decay and
preservation. It was lucky, indeed, that the owner thereof had but one
son; for, had he been blessed with as many babes as a curate, there
might have been some danger of a dearth in the pantry. As it was, he
could afford comforts--an occasional bottle even of claret. Punch was
a frequent accessory to digestion, and good sound ale, which would
have done honor to any Cambridge audit, was never wanting for a friend
or a poor man.
The owner of that house, however, was a man of a peculiar disposition,
which prevented him from enjoying as much as he might have done the
favorable position in which fate had placed him. I do not mean to say
that he was of a discontented mood, nor that he was precisely a
melancholy man. He was whimsical, somewhat cynical, and certain it is
he had always the art, though a good and kind man at heart, of
discovering the bad or ridiculous side of every thing. He was a
learned man withal, and could often fit an occasion with a quaint
quotation, often twisted considerably from its just application, but
always serving his own purpose very well. He had passed a long time at
the University, and gained odd habits and some distinction. He had
then suddenly married a very beautiful woman of good family and small
fortune. For her sake he determined to exert himself, to strive with
the crowd for honors and distinctions, to place her in the same
position in which his ancestors and hers had stood. For this purpose
he went to the bar, around which he had been indolently buzzing for
some time previous. He was engaged in one cause: circumstances favored
him; the senior counsel was taken ill; the weight, the responsibility
fell upon the junior, but with them the opportunity. He made a
brilliant speech, a powerful argument, carried the court and jury
along with him, and saved his client from fine and imprisonment.
Then came the heaviest blow of his life. His wife died and left him
with one infant. The law was thrown up; the object of ambition was
gone; all his old habits returned, more wrinkled and stiff than ever.
He retired to his small property at The Grange; and there he had lived
ever since, cultivating his acres and his oddities. But let us venture
within the old walls, and see the proprietor in his glory.
Mark the knocker as you pass, reader--that great truncheon of iron, I
mean, suspended by a ring surrounded by a marvelously cut plate of
steel, with a large boss at the lower part, just beneath the obtuse
end of the hammer. The door, too, is worth a look, with oak enough in
it to build a modern house. Then we come to a low passage, none of the
widest, and diminished in space by two chairs with tall backs, each
back having round rods or bars joining the two sides together,
ornamented with round, movable pieces of wood, which may be rattled
from side to side, and resemble exactly those upon the curious machine
with which in popular schools we teach the infant mind to count, now
that we have discarded nature's original numeration table furnished by
our own ten fingers. Between the chairs, in order not to leave space
for intruders to pass too readily, is a suit of complete armor,
somewhat rusty, while on the other side are three cuirasses and three
steel caps, with sundry pikes, swords, and gauntlets, arranged with
some taste and garnished with much dust and many cobwebs.
Now, take care! There is a step--not up, but down; for the floor is
made to accommodate the ground, not the ground leveled to accommodate
the floor. Then this small door on the left hand, with sundry names
and capital letters carved in it with a penknife, to prove the
universality of idle habits in all ages and countries, leads into the
room where we would be.
But, ere we enter, let us take a glance around.
Seated at a small table, near a fire, with one foot resting on the
massive carved brass dog's head which ornaments the end of the
andiron, at the imminent risk of burning the slipper, and with the
other drawn up under his chair--which, by-the-way, was as tall and
stiff-backed as a corporal of dragoons, and would have been a most
uncomfortable seat had it not been well cushioned and partially
covered with Genoa velvet--sat a gentleman of perhaps five-and-fifty
years of age. He wore his own gray hair, though wigs were even then
beginning to domineer over the crown, and the somewhat slovenly
easiness of his whole apparel forbade the supposition that he would
have ever consented to embarrass his cranium with a load of horsehair
only fitted to stew the brains of the wearer into an unintellectual
mass of jelly. He had upon his back a brocade dressing-gown, which
might have been handsome at some former epoch--say twenty years
before; but which, though not actually dirty, was faded, and though
not actually ragged, was patched. He wore stockings of gray thread,
and breeches of a chocolate color, and by some antipathy between the
waistband thereof and the fawn- silk waistcoat above, a large
portion of that part of his shirt which covered the pit of his stomach
was exposed to view; but then that shirt was of the very finest and
cleanest linen. Every man has somewhere a point of coxcombry about
him, and fine linen was his weak spot. The ruffles and the cravat were
of lawn, and white as snow.
On the table before him was a large candle, shedding its light upon an
open book; and ever and anon, as he read, he raised one finger and
rubbed a spot a little above the temple, which, by long labor of the
same kind, he had contrived to render quite bald.
The room was by no means a large one, and the ceiling was of black
oak, which rendered its appearance even smaller than the reality; but
the greater part of three sides was covered with book-cases, and an
immense number of curious and antiquated pieces of furniture
encumbered the floor. The chairs were of all sizes and all
descriptions then in use; the tables were as numerous and as
various as the chairs. The latter, moreover, were loaded with large
glass tankards, curious specimens of Delftware--some exceedingly
coarse in material and coloring, but remarkable in device or
ornament--richly-covered wooden-bound books, strange daggers, and
fragments of goldsmith's work, with one or two pieces of China and
enamel of great value, besides coins and small pictures inestimable in
the eyes of an antiquary. The large center-table was tolerably clear,
for supper-time was approaching, and on it he took his frugal evening
meal, although he had a dining-room on the other side of the passage,
furnished with the most remarkable simplicity, and paved with hard
flag-stones. It was enough for him, however, to | 1,077.362725 |
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Produced by David Widger
SAILORS' KNOTS
By W.W. Jacobs
1909
"MATRIMONIAL OPENINGS"
Mr. Dowson sat by the kitchen fire smoking and turning a docile and | 1,077.675708 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ANTHROPOLOGICAL PAPERS
OF
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
VOLUME XXXVIII, PART I
TEXTILE FIBERS USED IN EASTERN
ABORIGINAL NORTH AMERICA
By A. C. Whitford
[Illustration: THE
AMERICAN
MUSEUM
OF
NATURAL
HISTORY
SCIENCE
EDUCATION]
By Order of the Trustees
of
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
New York City
1941
THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY
PUBLICATIONS IN ANTHROPOLOGY
In 1906 the present series of Anthropological Papers was authorized by
the Trustees of the Museum to record the results of research conducted
by the Department of Anthropology. The series comprises octavo volumes
of about 350 pages each, issued in parts at irregular intervals.
Previous to 1906 articles devoted to anthropological subjects appeared
as occasional papers in the Bulletin and also in the Memoir series of
the Museum. Of the Anthropological Papers 35 volumes have been
completed. A complete list of these publications with prices will be
furnished when requested. All communications should be addressed to
the Librarian of the Museum.
The current volume is:--
VOLUME XXXVIII
I. Textile Fibers used in Eastern Aboriginal North America. By A. C.
Whitford. Pp. 1-22. 1941. Price, $.25.
II. (_In preparation._)
TEXTILE FIBERS USED IN EASTERN ABORIGINAL NORTH AMERICA
By A. C. Whitford
CONTENTS
Page
INTRODUCTION 5
MONOCOTYLEDONOUS SPECIES 7
DIOCOTYLEDONOUS SPECIES 9
OBJECTS FROM SPIRO MOUND, OKLAHOMA 15
SUMMARY 17
FIBER PLANTS AS IDENTIFIED 17
TABLE OF IDENTIFICATIONS 19
INTRODUCTION
The author of this paper has studied the vegetable fibers used in
fabricating objects in the ethnological and archaeological collections
from the Indian tribes of the Mississippi drainage and eastward, now
in the American Museum. The first task was to identify them and view
them against the background of existing textile knowledge. The present
paper reports these identifications and comments upon fiber samples
from collections in other museums.
The writing of this paper would have been impossible without the
generous and whole-hearted coöperation of many institutions and
individuals. This assistance has ranged from the furnishing of
specimens for determination, to advice as to methods, classifications,
and the supplying of modern material for comparison. For specimens of
classified plants to be used in the comparative work thanks are due to
The New York Botanical Garden in Bronx Park, the Botanical Departments
of the University of Wisconsin, the University of Oklahoma, and the
University of Georgia.
The standard histological microscopic methods were used for the
determination of the fiber. Slides were made of both cross-sections
and longitudinal sections and these were compared with previously
prepared and classified modern material. When the specimen was too
colored for microscopic examination it was bleached in a solution of
Sodium perborate until clear enough for study. In charred material,
when sufficient detail was preserved for identification the fiber
sample was treated with Schultz Maceration solution, washed, dried,
and fortified by saturating in a collodion solution. Occasionally, it
was found necessary to stain the material and in this either
Delafield's Haematoxylon or Methylene Blue was used. In the
differentiation of certain species, it was found necessary to make
microscopic measurements of the length and width of the cells, but
generally the shape, distribution, medullation, and other constant
characters were sufficient for the identifications.
In the text and tables the following abbreviations are used for the
names of the coöperating institutions:--
American Museum of Natural History AMNH
Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation MAIHF
Milwaukee Public Museum MPM
McGill University Archaeological Museum McGU
Ohio State Historical and Archaeological Museum OSHAM
Peabody Museum, Harvard University PMHU
Rochester Museum of Arts and Science RMAS
University of Kentucky Museum UKM
United States National Museum USNM
MONOCOTYLEDONOUS SPECIES
The fibers from monocotyledonous plants, as identified, are listed
here. Approximately five hundred objects were sampled, so the
frequencies for the several species should be given that denominator.
ARECACEAE, Reichenb. (Palm Family)
The palmetto (_Sabal palmetto_, Walt.) seems to have been an article
of commerce as it was used by the Winnebago and the Iroquois, north of
its northern limit of distribution. It was also used by the Cherokee.
The Winnebago used the fiber in the production of stiff cords for
their bags. In three bags in the American Museum the stiff cords are
made from this material (50-7531). For burden straps the Iroquois used
this fiber to produce stiff strong cords which were covered with
cotton or other soft fiber (AMNH 50.1-1954). The Cherokee used it in
the manufacture of basketry (AMNH 50.1-2141).
BROMELIACEAE, J. St. Hil. (Pineapple Family)
This Florida moss (_Tillandsia usneoides_, L.) was found in specimens
from the Southern States only. The Koasati and the people who built
certain mounds in Florida used it frequently. A specimen in the United
States National Museum from the Parish Mound, Number 2, in Florida,
consisted of a bunch of loose material. The Koasati material is in the
Museum of the American Indian, Heye Foundation, and is represented by
fibers from a blanket and threads on a spindle (1-8551).
DRACAENACEAE, Link. (Yucca Family)
Yucca (_Yucca arkansana_, Trelease) was encountered in one specimen
from the Arkansas Bluff culture in a bundle of loose fiber (MAIHF
11-7429).
Yucca (_Yucca filamentosa_, L.) was found once in a heavy cord made by
the cave and shelter people of Ohio (OSHAM 332-42)
_Nolina georgiana_, Michx., was found in two specimens, a moccasin
(OSHAM 332) and a bristle-like fiber from the Spiro Mound (2718-K,
Trowbridge Collection). It is possible that this plant may have been
used very frequently in objects from caves and rock-shelters. It was
not always convenient, however, to examine complete objects so that
some occurrences of its use may have been overlooked, especially since
these people commonly mixed several fibers. In the specimen in
question, for example (OSHAM 332), _Nolina georgiana_ and _Eryngium
yuccaefolium_ | 1,077.760286 |
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THE RING OF THE NIBLUNG
THE RHINEGOLD: PRELUDE
THE VALKYRIE: FIRST DAY OF THE TRILOGY
SIEGFRIED: SECOND DAY OF THE TRILOGY
THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS: THIRD
DAY OF THE TRILOGY
THE RHINEGOLD & THE VALKYRIE
BY RICHARD WAGNER
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ARTHUR RACKHAM
TRANSLATED BY MARGARET ARMOUR
LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN
NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY PACE & Co
1910
[Illustration: "Raging, Wotan
Rides to the rock!
.......
Like a storm-wind he comes!"]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Raging, Wotan
Rides to the rock!
. . . . . . . .
Like a storm-wind he comes" plate 01
The frolic of the Rhine-Maidens plate 02
The Rhine-Maidens teasing Alberich plate 03
"Mock away! Mock!
The Niblung makes for your toy!" plate 04
"Seize the despoiler!
Rescue the gold!
Help us! Help us!
Woe! Woe!" plate 05
Freia, the fair one plate 06
"The Rhine's pure-gleaming children
Told me of their sorrow" plate 07
Fasolt suddenly seizes Freia and drags her to one side
with Fafner plate 08
The Gods grow wan and aged at the loss of Freia plate 09
MIME, howling. "Ohé! Ohé!
Oh! Oh!" plate 10
MIME writhes under the lashes he receives plate 11
Alberich drives in a band of Niblungs laden with gold
and silver treasure plate 12
"Ohé! Ohé!
Horrible dragon,
O swallow me not!
Spare the life of poor Loge! plate 13
"Hey! Come hither,
And stop me this cranny!" plate 14
"Erda bids thee beware" plate 15
Fafner kills Fasolt plate 16
"To my hammer's swing
Hitherward sweep
Vapours and fogs!
Hovering mists!
Donner, your lord, summons his hosts!" plate 17
"The Rhine's fair children,
Bewailing their lost gold, weep" plate 18
"This healing and honeyed
Draught of mead
Deign to accept from me."
"Set it first to thy lips" plate 19
Hunding discovers the likeness between Siegmund and
Sieglinde plate 20
Sieglinde prepares Hunding's draught for the night plate 21
"Siegmund the Walsung
Thou dost see!
As bride-gift
He brings thee this sword" plate 22
Brünnhilde plate 23
Fricka approaches in anger plate 24
Brünnhilde slowly and silently leads her horse down the
path to the cave plate 25
"Father! Father!
Tell me what ails thee?
With dismay thou art filling thy child!" plate 26
Brünnhilde stands for a long time dazed and alarmed plate 27
Brünnhilde with her horse, at the mouth of the cave plate 28
"I flee for the first time
And am pursued:
Warfather follows close
. . . . . . .
He nears, he nears, in fury!
Save this woman!
Sisters, your help!" plate 29
"There as a dread
Dragon he sojourns,
And in a cave
Keeps watch over Alberich's ring" plate 30
The ride of the Valkyries plate 31
"Appear, flickering fire,
Encircle the rock with thy flame!
Loge! Loge! Appear!" plate 32
As he moves slowly away, Wotan turns and looks
sorrowfully back at Brünnhilde plate 33
The sleep of Brünnhilde plate 34
THE RHINEGOLD
CHARACTERS
GODS: WOTAN, DONNER, FROH, LOGE
NIBELUNGS: ALBERICH, MIME
GIANTS: FASOLT, FAFNER
GODDESSES: FRICKA, FREIA, ERDA
RHINE-MAIDENS: WOGLINDE, WELLGUNDE, FLOSSHILDE
SCENES OF ACTION
I. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RHINE
II. OPEN SPACE ON A MOUNTAIN HEIGHT NEAR THE RHINE
III. THE SUBTERRANEAN CAVERNS OF NIBELHEIM
IV. OPEN SPACE AS IN SCENE II.
FIRST SCENE
_At the bottom of the Rhine_
_A greenish twilight, lighter above than below. The upper part is filled
with undulating water, which streams respectively from right to left.
Towards the bottom the waves resolve themselves into a mist which
grows finer as it descends, so that a space, as high as a mans body
from the ground, appears to be quite free from the water, which
floats like a train of clouds over the gloomy stretch below. Steep
rocky peaks jut up everywhere from the depths, and enclose the entire
stage. The ground is a wild confusion of jagged rocks, no part of
it being quite level, and on every side deeper fisures are indicated
by a still denser gloom. Wog | 1,079.057172 |
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[Illustration: SLEDDING UP THE CHILKAT VALLEY]
GOLD-SEEKING
ON THE DALTON TRAIL
_BEING THE ADVENTURES OF TWO
NEW ENGLAND BOYS IN ALASKA
AND THE NORTHWEST TERRITORY_
BY
ARTHUR R. THOMPSON
Illustrated
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1900
_Copyright, 1900_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
UNIVERSITY PRESS. JOHN WILSON AND SON. CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
My Comrade of Many Camp-Fires
DEXTER WADLEIGH LEWIS
PREFACE
Among my first passions was that for exploration. The Unknown--that
region of mysteries lying upon the outskirts of commonplace
environment--drew me with a mighty attraction. My earliest
recollections are of wanderings into the domains of the neighbors, and
of excursions--not infrequently in direct contravention to parental
warnings--over fences, stone-walls, and roofs, and into cobwebbed
attics, fragrant hay-lofts, and swaying tree-tops. Of my favorite tree,
a sugar maple, I remember that, so thoroughly did I come to know every
one of its branches, I could climb up or down unhesitatingly with eyes
shut. At that advanced stage of acquaintance, however, it followed
naturally that the mysteriousness, and hence the subtle attractiveness,
of my friend the maple was considerably lessened.
By degrees the boundary line of the unknown was pushed back into
surrounding fields. Wonderful caves were hollowed in sandy banks.
Small pools, to the imaginative eyes of the six-year-old, became
lakes abounding with delightful adventures. The wintry alternations
of freezing and thawing were processes to be observed with closest
attention and never-failing interest. Nature displayed some new charm
with every mood.
There came a day when I looked beyond the fields, when even the river,
sluggish and muddy in summer, a broad, clear torrent in spring, was
known from end to end. Then it was that the range of low mountains--to
me sublime in loftiness--at the western horizon held my fascinated
gaze. To journey thither on foot became ambition's end and aim. This
feat, at first regarded as undoubtedly beyond the powers of man unaided
by horse and carry-all (the thing had once been done in that manner on
the occasion of a picnic), was at length proved possible.
What next? Like Alexander, I sought new worlds. Nothing less than real
camping out could satisfy that hitherto unappeasable longing. This
dream was realized in due season among the mountains of New Hampshire;
but the craving, far from losing its keenness, was whetted. Of late it
has been fed, but never satiated, by wider rovings on land and sea.
Perhaps it is in the blood and can never be eliminated.
Believing that this restlessness, accompanied by the love of
adventure and out-of-door life, is natural to every boy, I have
had in mind particularly in the writing of this narrative those
thousands of boys in our cities who are bound within a restricted,
and it may be unromantic, sphere of activity. To them I have wished
to give a glimpse of trail life, not with a view to increasing their
restlessness,--for I have not veiled discomforts and discouragements in
relating enjoyments,--but to enlarge their horizon,--to give them, in
imagination at least, mountain air and appetites, journeys by lake and
river, and an acquaintance with men and conditions as they now exist
in the great Northwest.
The Dalton trail, last year but little known, may soon become a much
travelled highway. With a United States garrison at Pyramid, and the
village of Klukwan a bone of contention between the governments of this
country and Canada, the region which it traverses is coming more and
more into notice. I would only add that natural features, scenery, and
people, have been described faithfully, however inadequately, and the
story throughout is based upon real happenings. Should any of my young
readers pass over the trail to-day in the footsteps of David and Roly,
they would find, save for possible vandalism of Indians or whites, the
cabins on the North Alsek and in the Kah Sha gorge just as they are
pictured, and they could be sure of a welcome from Lucky, Long Peter,
and Coffee Jack.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A LETTER FROM ALASKA 1
II. BUYING AN OUTFIT 7
III. FROM SEATTLE TO PYRAMID HARBOR 18
IV. THE FIRST CAMP 28
V. THE GREAT NUGGET, AND HOW UNCLE WILL HEARD OF IT 38
VI. ROLY IS HURT 47
VII. CAMP AT THE CAVE 54
VIII. SLEDDING 60
IX. KLUKWAN AND THE FORDS 69
X. A PORCUPINE-HUNT AT PLEASANT CAMP 77
XI. THE MYSTERIOUS THIRTY-SIX 88
XII. THE SUMMIT OF CHILKAT PASS 101
XIII. DALTON'S POST 112
XIV. FROM THE STIK VILLAGE TO LAKE DASAR-DEE-ASH 120
XV. STAKING CLAIMS 127
XVI. A CONFLAGRATION 135
XVII. THROUGH THE ICE 142
XVIII. BUILDING THE CABIN 149
XIX. THE FIRST PROSPECT-HOLE 157
XX. ROLY GOES DUCK-HUNTING 166
XXI. LAST DAYS AT PENNOCK'S POST 175
XXII. A HARD JOURNEY 182
XXIII. THE LAKE AFFORDS TWO MEALS AND A PERILOUS CROSSING 192
XXIV. DAVID GETS HIS BEAR-SKIN 201
XXV. MORAN'S CAMP 210
XXVI. HOW THE GREAT NUGGET NEARLY COST THE BRADFORDS DEAR 216
XXVII. AN INDIAN CREMATION 223
XXVIII. THE PLAGUE OF MOSQUITOES 231
XXIX. LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS 238
XXX. WASHING OUT THE GOLD 248
XXXI. DAVID MAKES A BOAT-JOURNEY 256
XXXII. CHAMPLAIN'S LANDING 264
XXXIII. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS 272
XXXIV. RAIDED BY A WOLF 279
XXXV. A LONG MARCH, WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF IT 289
XXXVI. HOW DAVID MET THE OFFENDER AND WAS PREVENTED FROM
SPEAKING HIS MIND 297
XXXVII. HOMEWARD BOUND 306
XXXVIII. A CARIBOU, AND HOW IT WAS KILLED 314
XXXIX. DANGERS OF THE SUMMER FORDS 321
XL. SUNDAY IN KLUKWAN | 1,079.35856 |
2023-11-16 18:35:06.1383340 | 1,601 | 59 |
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 1895. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 825. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
BRADDY'S BROTHER.
BY JULIANA CONOVER.
[Illustration: Decorative I]
t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in
Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were
full.
Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep their seats, and that
the very air seemed to hold its breath while Bradfield, '98, twisted the
ball?
In the centre of the grand stand, where the orange and black was
thickest, but the enthusiasm more controlled, stood a boy, his whole
body quivering with nervous excitement, his eyes glued--as were all
others--to the pitcher's box.
"Come in, now! look out! lead off!" the Harvard coach was saying, as the
umpire's "one strike, two balls, two strikes, three balls," raised and
dashed again the hopes of Princeton. Then came a moment of horrible
nerve-destroying suspense, and then the umpire's calm and
judicial--"striker out."
Above the cheers, which literally tore the air, the shrill discordant
note of the boy's voice could be heard, yelling like mad for Princeton
and '98.
"Who is that little fellow?" said a girl, just behind him to her
companion. The boy turned like a flash.
"I'm Braddy's brother," he said, his chest still heaving, and his cheek
glowing. "He's struck out _seven_ men!"
The girl smiled, and an upper classman, who was next to him, patted him
on the back.
"It's a proud day for Braddy's brother," he said, "and for '98 and
Princeton, that is, if Harvard doesn't--" For a moment it looked as if
Harvard would, for the regular thud of the ball against the catcher's
glove was interrupted by the ominous crack of the bat, and the men on
bases ran for their lives on the bare chance of a hit, or possibly an
error.
But '98 was not going to let a hard-earned victory slip between her
fingers like that; the short-stop fielded the swift grounder
beautifully, and the runner was out at first.
There was a short cheer, then a long wordless, formless burst of triumph
swelling out from a hundred throats. The crowd swarmed on the diamond,
the Freshman nine was picked up and carried off the field, "Braddy"
riding on the crest of a dangerous-looking wave which was formed by a
seething, howling mob.
"Well," said the Senior, turning to his small neighbor, "how does
'Braddy's brother' feel now?"
But "Braddy's brother's" feelings were too deep for utterance; besides,
he was trying to remember just how many times the Princeton Freshmen had
won from Harvard in the last six years.
* * * * *
"Hullo, Dave! Dave Hunter!" called Bradfield, as a small boy passed near
the group on the front campus. "Don't you want to take my brother off
for a little while, and show him the town?"
Dave came up blushing with pleasure at having the man who had just
pitched a winning game single him out.
"This is Dave Hunter, a special friend of mine, Bing," Braddy continued,
turning to the little chap who was lying stretched out on the grass
beside him, and who felt by this time as if he owned the whole campus
and all the college buildings, for hadn't he been in the athletic
club-house, the cage, and the 'gym.'? and wasn't he actually going to
eat at a Freshman club, and sleep up in a college room? It was the
greatest day of his life, his first taste of independence; and the glory
of being "Braddy's brother" seemed to him beyond compare.
"Don't keep him too long, Dave," said Bradfield, as the two boys started
off; "we'll have to get through dinner early if we want to hear the
Seniors sing."
Young Bingham Bradfield nodded and blushed and smiled all the way down
to the gate, as men in the different groups which they passed called
out:
"There goes 'Braddy's brother,'" or, "Hullo, little Brad," or, "What's
the matter with '98?" and one who knew him at home sang out,
"B-I-N-G-O--_Bingo_!" It was awfully exciting.
"They're going to have a fire to-night," Dave said, as they walked up
Nassau Street. "I heard some of the Freshmen say that they would begin
and collect the wood as soon as it was dark."
"Where do they get it?" asked Bingham.
"Oh, just take it," Dave answered, carelessly. "They take fences and
gates, and boards and barrels, and, oh, anything they can find. That
would be a dandy one," pointing to a half-broken-down rail fence which
divided an orchard from a newly opened road.
"It wouldn't let any cows or horses out, you see. They stole our barn
gate once, and the horses got loose on the front lawn and tore up all
the grass. We didn't mind, though," with true college spirit, "for we'd
beaten Yale."
"Yale Freshmen?" eagerly.
"No," with great scorn: "the 'Varsity. Nobody's much stuck on Freshmen
in Princeton," he continued, "except, of course, your brother. He's
great; he'll make the 'Varsity next year, sure."
Bingo's feelings were soothed. _He_ thought all the Freshmen "great,"
but was satisfied if others only appreciated Braddy.
They grew very chummy, the two boys, and Braddy's brother had learned a
great deal about college life by the time he was brought back to the
campus.
* * * * *
It was in the middle of Senior singing, when the shadows from the tall
old elms were being swallowed up in the gathering darkness, and the
groups in white duck trousers scattered about the grass were beginning
to be indistinguishable, that slim figures were seen hurrying
mysteriously to and fro, and the peace of the evening was rudely broken
into by the preparations for a "Freshman fire."
The victory had already been celebrated on Old North steps, for had not
Bingo himself heard the Seniors sing, as an encore to a favorite solo,
these never-to-be-forgotten lines, composed for the occasion:
"The Freshmen nine came from Harvard for to show
How they played the game of ball;
But found when Bradfield got in his finest curves
They couldn't hit the ball at all.
The game stood in our favor 8 to 7
| 1,082.158374 |
2023-11-16 18:35:06.1383710 | 6,143 | 6 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "Cats for the cats' home!" said Sir Maurice Falconer.]
THE TERRIBLE TWINS
By
EDGAR JEPSON
Author of
The Admirable Tinker, Pollyooly, etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HANSON BOOTH
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1913
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
[Updater's note: In the originally posted version of this book (August
14, 2006), four pages (3, 4, 53, 54) were missing. In early February
2008, the missing pages were found, scanned and submitted by a reader
of the original etext and incorporated into this updated version.]
CONTENTS
Chapter
I AND CAPTAIN BASTER
II GUARDIAN ANGELS
III AND THE CATS' HOME
IV AND THE VISIT OF INSPECTION
V AND THE SACRED BIRD
VI AND THE LANDED PROPRIETOR
VII AND PRINGLE'S POND
VIII AND THE MUTTLE DEEPING PEACHES
IX AND THE CAUSE OF FREEDOM
X AND THE ENTERTAINMENT OF ROYALTY
XI AND THE UNREST CURE
XII AND THE MUTTLE DEEPING FISHING
XIII AND AN APOLOGY
XIV AND THE SOUND OF WEDDING BELLS
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Cats for the cats' home!" said
Sir Maurice Falconer...... _Frontispiece_
"This is different," she said.
We are avenged.
She was almost sorry when they came at last to the foot of the knoll.
The Archduke bellowed, "Zerbst! Zerbst! Zerbst!"
Sir James turned and found himself looking into the deep brown eyes of
a very pretty woman.
THE TERRIBLE TWINS
CHAPTER I
AND CAPTAIN BASTER
For all that their voices rang high and hot, the Twins were really
discussing the question who had hit Stubb's bull-terrier with the
greatest number of stones, in the most amicable spirit. It was indeed
a nice question and hard to decide since both of them could throw
stones quicker, straighter and harder than any one of their size and
weight for miles and miles round; and they had thrown some fifty at the
bull-terrier before they had convinced that dense, but irritated,
quadruped that his master's interests did not really demand his
presence in the orchard; and of these some thirty had hit him. Violet
Anastasia Dangerfield, who always took the most favorable view of her
experience, claimed twenty hits out of a possible thirty; Hyacinth
Wolfram Dangerfield, in a very proper spirit, had at once claimed the
same number; and both of them were defending their claims with loud
vehemence, because if you were not loudly vehement, your claim lapsed.
Suddenly Hyacinth Wolfram, as usual, closed the discussion; he said
firmly, "I tell you what: we both hit that dog the same number of
times."
So saying, he swung round the rude calico bag, bulging with booty,
which hung from his shoulders, and took from it two Ribston pippins.
"Perhaps we did," said Anastasia amiably. They went swiftly down the
road, munching in a peaceful silence.
It had been an odd whim of nature to make the Twins so utterly unlike.
No stranger ever took Violet Anastasia Dangerfield, so dark-eyed,
dark-haired, dark-skinned, of so rich a coloring, so changeful and
piquant a face, for the cousin, much less for the twin-sister, of
Hyacinth Wolfram Dangerfield, so fair-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed,
on whose firmly chiseled features rested so perpetual, so contrasting a
serenity. But it was a whim of man, of their wicked uncle Sir Maurice
Falconer, that had robbed them of their pretty names. He had named
Violet "Erebus" because, he said,
She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry spheres:
and he had forthwith named Hyacinth the "Terror" because, he said, the
ill-fated Sir John Franklin had made the Terror the eternal companion
of Erebus.
Erebus and the Terror they became. Even their mother never called them
by their proper pretty names save in moments of the severest
displeasure.
"They're good apples," said the Terror presently, as he threw away the
core of his third and took two more from the bag.
"They are," said Erebus in a grateful tone--"worth all the trouble we
had with that dog."
"We'd have cleared him out of the orchard in half the time, if we'd had
our catapults and bullets. It was hard luck being made to promise
never to use catapults again," said the Terror sadly.
"All that fuss about a little lead from the silly old belfry gutter!"
said Erebus bitterly.
"As if belfries wanted lead gutters. They could easily have put slates
in the place of the sheet of lead we took," said the Terror with equal
bitterness.
"Why can't they leave us alone? It quite spoils the country not to
have catapults," said Erebus, gazing with mournful eyes on the rich
autumn scene through which they moved.
The Twins had several grievances against their elders; but the loss of
their catapults was the bitterest. They had used those weapons to
enrich the simple diet which was all their mother's slender means
allowed them; on fortunate days they had enriched it in defiance of the
game laws. Keepers and farmers had made no secret of their suspicions
that this was the case: but the careful Twins never afforded them the
pleasure of adducing evidence in support of those suspicions. Then a
heavy thunderstorm revealed the fact that they had removed a sheet of
lead, which they had regarded as otiose, from the belfry gutter, to
cast it into bullets for their catapults; a consensus of the public
opinion of Little Deeping had demanded that they should be deprived of
them; and their mother, yielding to the demand, had forbidden them to
use them any longer.
The Twins always obeyed their mother; but they resented bitterly the
action of Little Deeping. It was, indeed, an ungrateful place, since
their exploits afforded its old ladies much of the carping conversation
they loved. In a bitter and vindictive spirit the Twins set themselves
to become the finest stone-throwers who ever graced a countryside; and
since they had every natural aptitude in the way of muscle and keenness
of eye, they were well on their way to realize their ambition. There
may, indeed, have been northern boys of thirteen who could outthrow the
Terror, but not a girl in England could throw a stone straighter or
harder than Erebus.
They came to a gate opening on to Little Deeping common; Erebus vaulted
it gracefully; the Terror, hampered by the bag of booty, climbed over
it (for the Twins it was always simpler to vault or climb over a gate
than to unlatch it and walk through) and took their way along a narrow
path through the gorse and bracken. They had gone some fifty yards,
when from among the bracken on their right a voice cried: "Bang-g-g!
Bang-g-g!"
The Twins fell to the earth and lay still; and Wiggins came out of the
gorse, his wooden rifle on his shoulder, a smile of proud triumph on
his richly freckled face. He stood over the fallen Twins; and his
smile of triumph changed to a scowl of fiendish ferocity.
"Ha! Ha! Shot through the heads!" he cried. "Their bones will bleach
in the pathless forest while their scalps hang in the wigwam of Red
Bear the terror of the Cherokees!"
Then he scalped the Twins with a formidable but wooden knife. Then he
took from his knickerbockers pocket a tattered and dirty note-book, an
inconceivable note-book (it was the only thing to curb the exuberant
imagination of Erebus) made an entry in it, and said in a tone of
lively satisfaction: "You're only one game ahead."
"I thought we were three," said Erebus, rising.
"They're down in the book," said Wiggins; firmly; and his bright blue
eyes were very stern.
"Well, we shall have to spend a whole afternoon getting well ahead of
you again," said Erebus, shaking out her dark curls.
Wiggins waged a deadly war with the Twins. He ambushed and scalped
them; they ambushed and scalped him. Seeing that they had already
passed their thirteenth birthday, it was a great condescension on their
part to play with a boy of ten; and they felt it. But Wiggins was a
favored friend; and the game filled intervals between sterner deeds.
The Terror handed Wiggins an apple; and the three of them moved swiftly
on across the common. Wiggins was one of those who spurn the earth.
Now and again, for obscure but profound reasons, he would suddenly
spring into the air and proceed by leaps and bounds.
Once when he slowed down to let them overtake him, he said, "The game
isn't really fair; you're two to one."
"You keep very level," said the Terror politely.
"Yes; it's my superior astuteness," said Wiggins sedately.
"Goodness! What words you use!" said Erebus in a somewhat jealous tone.
"It's being so much with my father; you see, he has a European
reputation," Wiggins explained.
"Yes, everybody says that. But what is a European reputation?" said
Erebus in a captious tone.
"Everybody in Europe knows him," said Wiggins; and he spurned the earth.
They called him Wiggins because his name was Rupert. It seemed to them
a name both affected and ostentatious. Besides, crop it as you might,
his hair _would_ assume the appearance of a mop.
They came out of the narrow path into a broader rutted cart-track to
see two figures coming toward them, eighty yards away.
"It's Mum," said Erebus.
Quick as thought the Terror dropped behind her, slipped off the bag of
booty, and thrust it into a gorse-bush.
"And--and--it's the Cruncher with her!" cried Erebus in a tone in which
disgust outrang surprise.
"Of all the sickening things! The Cruncher!" cried the Terror, echoing
her disgust. "What's he come down again for?"
They paused; then went on their way with gloomy faces to meet the
approaching pair.
The gentleman whom they called the "Cruncher," and who from their tones
of disgust had so plainly failed to win their young hearts was Captain
Baster of the Twenty-fourth Hussars; and they called him the Cruncher
on account of the vigor with which he plied his large, white, prominent
teeth.
They had not gone five yards when Wiggins said in a tone of
superiority: "_I_ know why he's come down."
"Why?" said the Terror quickly.
"He's come down to marry your mother," said Wiggins.
"What?" cried the Twins with one voice, one look of blank
consternation; and they stopped short.
"How dare you say a silly thing like that?" cried Erebus fiercely.
"_I_ didn't say it," protested Wiggins. "Mrs. Blenkinsop said it."
"That silly old gossip!" cried Erebus.
"And Mrs. Morton said it, too," said Wiggins. "They came to tea
yesterday and talked about it. I was there: there was a plum cake--one
of those rich ones from Springer's at Rowington. And they said it
would be such a good thing for both of you because he's so awfully
rich: the Terror would go to Eton; and you'd go to a good school and
get a proper bringing-up and grow up a lady, after all--"
"I wouldn't go! I should hate it!" cried Erebus.
"Yes; they said you wouldn't like wholesome discipline," said the
faithful reporter. "And they didn't seem to think your mother would
like it either--marrying the Cruncher."
"Like it? She wouldn't dream of it--a bounder like that!" said the
Terror.
"I don't know--I don't know--if she thought it would be good for
us--she'd do anything for us--you know she would!" cried Erebus,
wringing her hands in anxious fear.
The Terror thrust his hands into his pockets; his square chin stuck out
in dogged resolution; a deep frown furrowed his brow; and his face was
flushed.
"This must be stopped," he said through his set teeth.
"But how?" said Erebus.
"We'll find a way. It's war!" said the Terror darkly.
Wiggins spurned the earth joyfully: "I'm on your side," he said. "I'm
a trusty ally. He called me Freckles."
"Come on," said the Terror. "We'd better face him."
They walked firmly to meet the detested enemy. As they drew near, the
Terror's face recovered its flawless serenity; but Erebus was scowling
still.
From twenty yards away Captain Baster greeted them in a rich hearty
voice: "How's Terebus and the Error; and how's Freckles?" he cried, and
laughed heartily at his own delightful humor.
The Twins greeted him with a cold, almost murderous politeness; Wiggins
shook hands with Mrs. Dangerfield very warmly and left out Captain
Baster.
"I'm always pleased to see you with the Twins, Wiggins," said Mrs.
Dangerfield with her delightful smile. "I know you keep them out of
mischief."
"It's generally all over before I come," said Wiggins somewhat glumly;
and of a sudden it occurred to him to spurn the earth.
"I've not had that kiss yet, Terebus. I'm going to have it this time
I'm here," said Captain Baster playfully; and he laughed his rich laugh.
"Are you?" said Erebus through her clenched teeth; and she gazed at him
with the eyes of hate.
They turned; and Mrs. Dangerfield said, "You'll come to tea with us,
Wiggins?"
"Thank you very much," said Wiggins; and he spurned the earth. As he
alighted on it once more, he added. "Tea at other people's houses is
so much nicer than at home. Don't you think so, Terror?"
"I always eat more--somehow," said the Terror with a grave smile.
They walked slowly across the common, a protecting twin on either side
of Mrs. Dangerfield; and Captain Baster, in the strong facetious vein,
enlivened the walk with his delightful humor. The gallant officer was
the very climax of the florid, a stout, high-colored, black-eyed,
glossy-haired young man of twenty-eight, with a large tip-tilted nose,
neatly rounded off in a little knob forever shiny. The son of the
famous pickle millionaire, he had enjoyed every advantage which great
wealth can bestow, and was now enjoying heartily a brave career in a
crack regiment. The crack regiment, cold, phlegmatic, unappreciative,
was not enjoying it. To his brother officers he was known as
Pallybaster, a name he had won for himself by his frequent remark, "I'm
a very pally man." It was very true: it was difficult, indeed, for any
one whom he thought might be useful to him, to avoid his friendship,
for, in addition to all the advantages which great wealth bestows, he
enjoyed an uncommonly thick skin, an armor-plate impenetrable to snubs.
All the way to Colet House, he maintained a gay facetious flow of
personal talk that made Erebus grind her teeth, now and again suffused
the face of Wiggins with a flush of mortification that dimmed his
freckles, and wrinkled Mrs. Dangerfield's white brow in a distressful
frown. The Terror, serene, impassive, showed no sign of hearing him;
his mind was hard at work on this very serious problem with which he
had been so suddenly confronted. More than once Erebus countered a
witticism with a sharp retort, but with none sharp enough to pierce the
rhinocerine hide of the gallant officer. Once this unbidden but
humorous guest was under their roof, the laws of hospitality denied her
even this relief. She could only treat him with a steely civility.
The steeliness did not check the easy flow of his wit.
He looked oddly out of his place in the drawing-room of Colet House; he
was too new for it. The old, worn, faded, carefully polished
furniture, for the most part of the late eighteenth or early nineteenth
century, seemed abashed in the presence of his floridness. It seemed
to demand the setting of spacious, ornately glittering hotels. Mrs.
Dangerfield liked him less in her own drawing-room than anywhere. When
her eyes rested on him in it, she was troubled by a curious feeling
that only by some marvelous intervention of providence had he escaped
calling in a bright plaid satin tie.
The fact that he was not in his proper frame, though he was not
unconscious of it, did not trouble Captain Baster. Indeed, he took
some credit to himself for being so little contemptuous of the shabby
furniture. In a high good humor he went on shining and shining all
through tea; and though at the end of it his luster was for a while
dimmed by the discovery that he had left his cigarette-case at the inn
and there were no cigarettes in the house, he was presently shining
again. Then the Twins and Wiggins rose and retired firmly into the
garden.
They came out into the calm autumn evening with their souls seething.
"He's a pig--and a beast! We can't let Mum marry him! We _must_ stop
it!" cried Erebus.
"It's all very well to say'must.' But you know what Mum is: if she
thinks a thing is for our good, do it she will," said the Terror
gloomily.
"And she never consults us--never!" cried Erebus.
"Only when she's a bit doubtful," said the Terror.
"Then she's not doubtful now. She hasn't said a word to us about it,"
said Erebus.
"That's what looks so bad. It looks as if she'd made up her mind
already; and if she has, it's no use talking to her," said the Terror
yet more gloomily.
They were silent; and the bright eyes of Wiggins moved expectantly
backward and forward from one to the other. He preserved a decorous
sympathetic silence.
"No, it's no good talking to Mum," said Erebus presently in a
despairing tone.
"Well, we must leave her out of it and just squash the Cruncher
ourselves," said the Terror.
"But you can't squash the Cruncher!" cried Erebus.
"Why not? We've squashed other people, haven't we?" said the Terror
sharply.
"Never any one so thick-skinned as him," said Erebus.
The Terror frowned deeply again: "We can always try," he said coldly.
"And look here: I've been thinking all tea-time: if stepchildren don't
like stepfathers, there's no reason why stepfathers should like
stepchildren."
"The Cruncher likes us, though it's no fault of ours," said Erebus.
"That's just it; he doesn't really know us. If he saw the kind of
stepchildren he was in for, it might choke him off," said the Terror.
"But he can't even see we hate him," objected Erebus.
"No, and if he did, he wouldn't mind, he'd think it a joke. My idea
isn't to show him how we feel, but to show him what we can do, if we
give our minds to it," said the Terror in a somewhat sinister tone.
Erebus gazed at him, taking in his meaning. Then a dazzling smile
illumined her charming face; and she cried: "Oh, yes! Let's give him
socks! Let's begin at once!"
"Yes: I'll help! I'm a trusty ally!" cried Wiggins; and he spurned the
earth joyfully at the thought.
They were silent a while, their faces grave and intent, cudgeling their
brains for some signal exploit with which to open hostilities.
Presently Wiggins said: "You might make him an apple-pie bed. They're
very annoying when you're sleepy."
He spoke with an air of experience.
"What's an apple-pie bed?" said Erebus scornfully.
Wiggins hung his head, abashed.
"It's a beginning, anyhow," said the Terror in an approving tone; and
he added with the air of a philosopher: "Little things, and big things,
they all count."
"I was trying to think how to break his leg; but I can't," said Erebus
bitterly.
"By Jove! That cigarette-case! Come on!" cried the Terror; and he led
the way swiftly out of the garden and took the path to Little Deeping.
"Where are we going?" said Erebus.
"We're going to make him that apple-pie bed. There's nothing like
making a beginning. We shall think of heaps of other things. If we
don't worry about them, they'll occur to us. They always do," said the
Terror, at once practical and philosophical.
They walked briskly down to The Plough, the one inn of Little Deeping,
where, as usual, Captain Baster was staying, and went in through the
front door which stood open. At the sound of their footsteps in her
hall the stout but good-humored landlady came bustling out of the bar
to learn what they wanted.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Pittaway," said the Terror politely. "We've come
for Captain Baster's cigarette-case. He's left it somewhere in his
room."
At the thought of handling the shining cigarette-case Mrs. Pittaway
rubbed her hands on her apron; then the look of favor with which her
eyes had rested on the fair guileless face of the Terror, changed to a
frown; and she said: "Bother the thing! It's sure to be stuck
somewhere out of sight. And the bar full, too."
"Don't you trouble; I'll get it. I know the bedroom," said the Terror
with ready amiability; and he started to mount the stairs.
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Mrs. Pittaway, bustling back to the bar.
Erebus and Wiggins dashed lightly up the stairs after the Terror. In
less than two minutes the deft hands of the Twins had dealt with the
bed; and their intelligent eyes were eagerly scanning the hapless
unprotected bedroom. Erebus sprang to the shaving-brush on the
mantelpiece and thrust it under the mattress. The Terror locked
Captain Baster's portmanteau; and as he placed the keys beside the
shaving-brush, he said coldly:
"That'll teach him not to be so careless."
Erebus giggled; then she took the water-jug and filled one of Captain
Baster's inviting dress-boots with water. Wiggins rocked with laughter.
"Don't stand giggling there! Why don't you do something?" said Erebus
sharply.
Wiggins looked thoughtful; then he said: "A clothes-brush in bed is
very annoying when you stick your foot against it."
He stepped toward the dressing-table; but the Terror was before him.
He took the clothes-brush and set it firmly, bristles outward, against
the bottom of the folded sheet of the apple-pie bed, where one or the
other of Captain Baster's feet was sure to find it. The Terror did not
care which foot was successful.
Then inspiration failed them; the Terror took the cigarette-case from
the dressing-table; they came quietly down the stairs and out of the
inn.
As they turned up the street the Terror said with modest if somewhat
vengeful triumph: "There! you see things _do_ occur to us." Then with
his usual scrupulous fairness he added: "But it was Wiggins who set us
going."
"I'm an ally; and he called me Freckles," said Wiggins vengefully; and
once more he spurned the earth.
On their way home, half-way up the lane, where the trees arched most
thickly overhead, they came to a patch of deepish mud which was too
sheltered to have dried after the heavy rain of the day before.
"Mind the mud, Wiggins," said Erebus, mindful of his carelessness in
the matter.
Wiggins walked gingerly along the side of it and said: "It wouldn't be
a nice place to fall down in, would it?"
The Terror went on a few paces, stopped short, laughed a hard, sinister
little laugh, and said: "Wiggins, you're a treasure!"
"What is it? What is it now?" said Erebus quickly.
"A little job of my own. It wouldn't do for you and Wiggins to have a
hand in it, he'll swear so," said the Terror.
"Who'll swear?" said Erebus.
"The Cruncher. And you're a girl and Wiggins is too young to hear such
language," said the Terror.
"Rubbish!" said Erebus sharply. "Tell us what it is."
The Terror shook his head.
"It's a beastly shame! I ought to help--I always do," cried Erebus in
a bitterly aggrieved tone.
The Terror shook his head.
"All right," said Erebus. "Who wants to help in a stupid thing like
that? But all the same you'll go and make a silly mull of it without
me--you always do."
"You jolly well wait and see," said the Terror with calm confidence.
Erebus was still muttering darkly about piggishness when they reached
the house.
They went into the drawing-room in a body and found Captain Baster
still talking to their mother, in the middle, indeed, of a long story
illustrating his prowess in a game of polo, on two three-hundred-guinea
and one three-hundred-and-fifty-guinea ponies. He laid great stress on
the prices he had paid for them.
When it came to an end, the Terror gave him his cigarette-case.
Mrs. Dangerfield observed this example of the thoughtfulness of her
offspring with an air of doubtful surprise.
Captain Baster took the cigarette-case and said with hearty jocularity:
"Thank you, Error--thank you. But why didn't you bring it to me,
Terebus? Then you'd have earned that kiss I'm going to give you."
Erebus gazed at him with murderous eyes, and said in a sinister tone:
"Oh, I helped to get it."
CHAPTER II
GUARDIAN ANGELS
At seven o'clock Captain | 1,082.158411 |
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THE VINTAGE
_A Romance of the Greek War of
Independence. By_ E. F. BENSON
_Author of "Limitations" "Dodo"
"The Judgment Books" etc._
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
"And the wine-press was trodden without the
city, and blood came out of the wine-press"
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1898
[Illustration: "'COME AND SIT DOWN'"]
THIS ROMANCE
DEALING WITH THE REGENERATION OF HER PEOPLE
IS DEDICATED BY PERMISSION
TO
HER MAJESTY
OLGA
QUEEN OF THE HELLENES
CONTENTS
PART I
THE VINEYARD
I. The House on the Road To Nauplia
II. The Coming of Nicholas Vidalis
III. The Story of a Brigand
IV. The Midnight Ordeal
V. Mitsos Picks Cherries for Maria
VI. The Song from the Darkness
VII. The Port Dues of Corinth
VIII. The Mending of the Monastery Roof
IX. The Singer from the Darkness
PART II
THE EVE OF THE GATHERING
I. Mitsos Meets His Cousins
II. Mitsos and Yanni find a Horse
III. Mitsos Has the Hysterics
IV. Yanni Pays a Visit to the Turk
V. The Vision at Bassae
VI. Three Little Men Fall Off their Horses
VII. Mitsos Disarranges a House-roof
VIII. The Message of Fire
PART III
THE TREADING OF THE GRAPES
I. Te Deum Laudamus
II. Two Silver Candlesticks
III. The Adventure of the Fire-ship
IV. The Training of the Troops
V. The Hornets' Nest at Valtetzi
VI. The Entry of Germanos
VII. The Rule of the Senate
VIII. The Song from Tripoli
IX. Private Nicholas Vidalis
X. The Fall of Tripoli
XI. Father and Daughter
XII. The Search for Suleima
XIII. Nicholas Goes Home
XIV. The House on the Road to Nauplia
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'COME AND SIT DOWN'"
"'I AM FATHER ANDREA,' HE SHOUTED"
"HALF CARELESSLY SHE THREW INTO THE BOAT THE ROSES SHE HAD PICKED"
"SHE KISSED HIM LIGHTLY ON THE FOREHEAD"
"MITSOS SURVEYED HIM WITH EASY INDIFFERENCE"
"YANNI WAS STRUGGLING IN THE GRASP OF TWO MEN, THE GREEK AND THE TURK"
"KATSI AND A FINE SELECTION OF COUSINS ACCOMPANIED THE TWO"
"AFTER SUPPER MITSOS EXPOUNDED"
"IN THE CENTRE OF THE GREAT CHAMBER STOOD ONE WHOM IT DAZZLED HIS EYES
TO LOOK UPON"
"'AH, BUT IT IS GOOD TO BE WITH YOU AGAIN'"
"MITSOS TORE UP GREAT HANDFULS OF UNDERGROWTH AND THREW THEM ON"
"MIXED WITH THE NOISE OF THE SINGING, ROSE ONE GREAT SOB OF A THANKFUL
PEOPLE BORN AGAIN"
"BOTH THE BOYS, SEIZING THEIR OARS, ROWED FOR LIFE"
"CASTING HIMSELF DOWN THERE, IN AN AGONY BITTER SWEET, HE PRAYED"
"MITSOS, FLYING AT HIM LIKE A WILD-CAT"
"BORNE IN A CHAIR ON THE SHOULDERS OF FOUR MONKS"
"HE HAD CLAMBERED UP AND DROPPED DOWN ON THE OTHER SIDE"
"UNBUCKLING HIS SWORD, HE LAID IT ON THE TABLE"
"YANNI WAS BY HIM WITH A BRILLIANT SMILE ON HIS FACE"
"'WOULD YOU SLAY ME, FATHER?' SHE CRIED AGAIN"
"BY AN EFFORT HE RAISED HIMSELF ON HIS ELBOW"
"'SULEIMA!' CRIED MITSOS"
THE VINTAGE
Part I
THE VINEYARD
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE OF THE ROAD TO NAUPLIA
Nauplia, huddled together on the edge of its glittering bay, and
grilled beneath the hot stress of the midsummer noon, stood silent as a
city of the dead. Down the middle of the main street, leading up from
the quay to the square, lay a scorching ribbon of sunshine, and the
narrow strips of shadow, sharp cut and blue, spoke of the South.
Along one side of the square ran the barracks of the Turkish garrison
of occupation, two-storied buildings of brown stone, solid but airless,
and faced with a line of arcade. These contained the three companies of
men who were stationed in the town itself, less fortunate in this oven
of heat than the main part of the garrison who held the airier fortress
of Palamede behind, overlooking the plain from a height of five
hundred feet. Down the west side stood the quarters of the officers,
and opposite, the prison, full as usual to overflowing of the native
Greeks, cast there for default of payment to the Turkish usurers of
an interest of forty or fifty per cent. on some small loan; for these
new Turkish laws of 1820 with regard to debt had made the prisons more
populous than ever. A row of shops and a couple of cafes along the
north struck a more domestic note.
A narrow street led out of the square eastwards, and passing the length
of the town, burrowed through the wall of Venetian fortification in
the manner of a tunnel. On the right the outline of the gray fortress
hill, precipitously pitched towards the town in a jagged edge like
forked lightning, rose steep and craggy, weathered by the wind in
places to a tawny red, and peppered over with sun-dried tufts of grass.
Along the base of this the road ran, cobbled unevenly in the Turkish
fashion, and after passing two or three villas which stood white and
segregate among their gardens of flowering pomegranate and serge-clad
cypress, struck out into the plain. Vineyards and rattling maize fields
bordered it on one hand; on the other, beds of rushes and clumps of
king-thistles, which peopled the little swamp between it and the bay.
The spring had been very rainless, and these early days of June saw the
country already yellow and sere. The clumps of succulent leaves round
the base of the asphodels were dried and brown; only the virile stems
with their seeding sprouts remained green and vigorous.
The blinding whiteness of the forenoon gave place before one of the day
to a veiled but unabated heat, and sirocco began to blow up from the
south. Furnace-mouthed, it raised mad little whirlwinds, which spun
across the road and over the hot, reaped fields in petulant eddies,
and powdered all they passed with fine white dust. Two or three hawks,
in despair of spying their dinner through this palpable air, and being
continually blown downwind in the attempt to poise, were following
the example of the rest of the world, and seeking their craggy homes
on the sides of Palamede till the tempest should be overpast. A few
cicalas in a line of white poplars by the wayside alone maintained
their alacrity, and clicked and whirred as if sirocco was of all airs
the most invigorating. The hills of Argolis to the north were already
getting dim and veiled, and losing themselves in an ague of heat.
By the roadside, a mile from the town, stood a small wine-shop, in
front of which projected a rough wooden portico open to the air on
three sides, and roofed with boughs of oleander, plucked leaf and
flower together. A couple of rough stools and a rickety table stood
in the shade in order to invite passers-by to rest, and so to drink,
and the owner himself was lying on a bench under the house wall in
wide-mouthed sleep. A surly-looking dog, shaggy and sturdy, guarded his
slumbers in the intervals of its own, and snapped ineffectually at the
flies.
Directly opposite the wine-shop stood a whitewashed house, built in
a rather more pretentious style than the dwellings of most Greek
peasants, and fronted by a garden, to which a row of white poplars
gave a specious and private air. A veranda ran around two sides of
it, floored with planks, and up the wooden pillars, by which it was
supported, streamed long shoots of flowering roses. A low wooden
settee, cushioned with two Greek saddle-bags, stood in the shade of the
veranda, and on it were sitting two men, one of whom was dressed in the
long black cassock of a priest--both silent.
Then for the first time a human note overscored the thundering of
the hot wind, and a small gray cat scuffled round the corner of the
veranda, pursued by a great long-limbed boy, laughing to himself. He
was dressed in a white linen tunic and tight-fitting linen trousers;
he had no shoes, no socks, and no hat. He almost fell over the settee
before he saw the two men, and then paused, laughing and panting.
"She was after the fish," he explained, "and I was after her. She shall
taste a slapping."
One of the two men looked up at the boy and smiled.
"You'll get into mischief if you run about in the heat at noonday
without your cap on," he said. "Come and sit down. Where are your
manners, Mitsos? Here is Father Andrea."
Mitsos knelt down, and the priest put his hand on the boy's rumpled
black hair.
"God make you brave and good," he said, "and forgive all your sins!"
"Now sit down, Mitsos," said his father. "Who is going to taste a
slapping?"
The boy's face, which had grown grave as he received the priest's
blessing, dimpled into smiles again.
"Why, my cat, Psepseka," he said. "The greedy woman was going down to
the cellar where I put the fish, and I went after her and caught her by
the tail. She spit at me like a little she-devil. Then she scratched
me, and I let go. But soon I will catch her again, and she shall pay
for it all twice over, Turkish fashion. See!"
He held out a big brown hand, down which Psepseka had scored three red
lines.
"What a fierce woman!" said his father. "But you're overbig to run
about after little cats. You're eighteen now, Mitsos, and your uncle
comes here this evening. He'll think you're a boy still."
The boy looked up from his examination of his hand.
"Uncle Nicholas?" he asked.
"Yes. Go and wash your hand, and then lay the table. Put some eggs to
boil, and get out some bread and cheese, and pick some cherries."
Mitsos got up.
"Will the father eat with us?"
"Surely; and put your shoes on before you come to dinner."
And without waiting the boy was off into the house.
The priest looked up at Mitsos' father as he disappeared.
"He is full young yet," he said.
"So I think, and so perhaps Nicholas will think. Yet who knows what
Nicholas thinks? But he is a good lad, and he can keep a secret. He is
strong too; he walked from here to Corinth last week, and came back
next day, and he grows like the aloe flower."
The priest rose and looked fiercely out over the garden.
"May the God of Justice give the Turks what they have deserved!" he
cried. "May He send them bitterness to eat and death to drink! May
their children be fatherless and their wives widows! They had no mercy;
may they find none! The curse of a priest of God be upon them!"
Mitsos' father sat still watching him. Eleven years ago Father Andrea
had been obliged to make a journey to Athens to settle about some plot
of land belonging to his wife, who had lately died, and, if possible,
to sell it--for under the Turkish taxes land was more often an expense
than a revenue. He had taken with him his only daughter, a girl of five
or six years of age, pretty even then, and with promise of wonderful
beauty to come. On his way home, just outside Athens, he had been
attacked by some half dozen Turks, and, after a desperate, hopeless
resistance, had been left on the road more dead than alive, and his
daughter had been carried off, to be trained, no doubt, to the doom of
some Turkish harem. He must have lain there stunned for some hours,
for when he awoke again to an aching consciousness of soul and body,
the day was already reddening to its close, and the shadow of the
hills of Daphne had stretched itself across the plain to where he lay.
Wounded and bleeding as he was, and robbed of the money he had got
for the land, he had dragged himself back to Athens, and stayed there
for weeks, until his hope of ever finding his Theodora again had faded
and died. For it was scant justice that was given to the Greeks by
their masters, who treated them as a thoughtless man will scarce treat
an animal that annoys him. Rape, cruelty, robbery was their method of
rule, and for the unruly a noose.
Since that time one thought, and one only, possessed his brain, a
thought which whispered to him all day and shouted to him in sleep--the
lust for vengeance; not on one Turk alone, on those who had carried
Theodora off, but on the whole of that race of devils. For eleven years
he had thought and schemed and worked, at first only with nothing more
than wild words and bloody thoughts, but of late in a soberer belief
that his day would come; for organized schemes of throwing off the
Turkish rule were on foot, and though they were still things only to be
whispered, it was known that agents of the Club of Patriots were doing
sure and silent work all over the country.
Father Andrea was a tall, finely made man, and, to judge from his
appearance, the story that he would tell you, how he and his family
were of pure Greek descent, had good warrant. He came from the
southwest part of Argolis, a rough, mountainous land which the Turks
had never entirely subdued. His father had died five years before, but
when Andrea went home after the capture of his daughter, the old man
had turned him out of the house and refused to see him again.
"A child is a gift which God has given the father," said he; "it were
better for him to lose himself than lose God's gift; and now we, who
are of the few who have not mixed with that devil-brood--we are fallen
even as others. You have brought disgrace on me, and on our dead, and
on our living, and I would sooner have seen you dead yourself than hear
this from your lips!"
"They were six to one," said Andrea, "and they left me for dead. Would
to God they had killed me!"
"Would to God they had killed you," said his father, "and her too."
"The fault was not mine. Will you not forgive me?"
"Yes, when the fault is wiped out by the death of Theodora."
"Of Theodora? What has she done?"
"She will grow up in shame, and mate with devils. Go!"
Five years passed before they met again. But one day Andrea's father,
left lonely in his house, moved by some vague desire which he hardly
understood himself, saddled his mule and went to Nauplia, whither
Andrea had gone. He was very old and very feeble in body, and perhaps
he felt that death could not be far from him; and to Andrea's cry of
welcome and wonder--"I have come to you, my son," said the old man,
"for otherwise we are both alone, and--and I am very old."
Day by day he used to sit looking up and down the road for Theodora.
There was a bend in it some quarter of a mile farther up, and
sometimes, when the spring days were warm to his bones, he would hobble
up to the corner and sit waiting for her there, where he could command
a longer stretch of country. But Theodora came not, and one evening,
when he came back, he sank into a chair without strength and called
Andrea to him.
"I am dying," he said, "and this is no season to waste idle words. When
Theodora comes back"--he always clung to the idea that she would come
back--"tell her that I waited for her every day, for I should have
loved to see her again. And if you find it hard, Andrea, to forgive
her, forgive her for my sake, for she was very little and the fault was
not hers; nor is it yours, and I was hard on you; yet if I had loved
you not, I should have cared the less. But if, when the day comes,
you spare your hand and do not take vengeance on the Turks to the
uttermost, then may my ghost tear you limb from limb, and give you to
the vultures and the jackals."
The old man rose from his chair.
"Vengeance!" he cried; "death to man, woman, and child. Smite and spare
not, for you are a priest of God and they are of the devil. Smite,
smite, avenge!"
He sank back in his chair again, his head fell over on to his shoulder,
and his arms rattled against the woodwork. And with vengeance on his
lips, and the desire of vengeance in his heart, he died.
From that day a double portion of his spirit seemed to have descended
on Father Andrea. One hope and one desire ruled his life--to help in
wiping out from Greece the whole race of Turks. To him innocent or
guilty mattered not; they were of one accursed brood. But though the
longing burned like fire within him, he kept it in, choking it as it
were with fresh fuel. He was willing to wait till all was ready. For
a year or two large organizations had been at work in North Greece
collecting funds, and, by means of secret agents, feeding and fanning
the smouldering hate against their brutal masters in the minds of the
people. Soon would the net be so drawn round them that escape was
impossible. And then vengeance in the name of God.
Mitsos had encouraged a small charcoal fire to heat the water, and he
went to fetch the eggs. Two minutes of puckered brow were devoted to
the number which he was free to boil. His father usually ate two, the
priest--and he cursed his own good memory--never ate more than one, and
he himself invariably ate as many as he could possibly | 1,082.259407 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Donovan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: A number of obvious printing errors have been
corrected. Dialect has been left as printed.
No. 2. ONE PENNY.
FREE TRAPPER’S
PASS.
[Illustration]
JACKSON’S NOVELS
JAMES JACKSON.
2 Red Lion Court, Fleet Street, London, E.C.
JACKSON’S NOVELS
FREE TRAPPERS’ PASS;
OR,
The Gold-seeker’s Daughter!
CHAPTER I.
THE RAID OF THE BLACKFEET.
On a tributary of the Yellowstone River, and near to the Bighorn
Mountains, there stood, at the time our story opens, a cabin. Though
rough | 1,082.55543 |
2023-11-16 18:35:06.5354800 | 6,191 | 19 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
[Illustration: "'PICK UP YOUR SKIRT,' HE SAID BLUNTLY; 'IT GETS
STEEPER.'"--Page 32]
HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN,
WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE, ETC
WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE PIONEERS 1
II PORTENTS OF CHANGE 14
III AT THE FORD 26
IV THE OPENING OF THE RIFT 36
V THE SPENDTHRIFT 48
VI THE MORTGAGE BROKER 56
VII AN ACCIDENT 67
VIII AN UNEXPECTED ESCAPE 79
IX A MAN OF AFFAIRS 92
X THE CASTING VOTE 103
XI THE STEAM PLOW 118
XII THE ENEMY WITHIN 132
XIII THE TRAITOR 145
XIV A BOLD SCHEME 156
XV HARVEST HOME 169
XVI THE BRIDGE 182
XVII A HEAVY BLOW 192
XVIII COVERING HIS TRAIL 203
XIX THE BLIZZARD 215
XX A SEVERE TEST 225
XXI THE DAY OF RECKONING 236
XXII THE PRICE OF HONOR 245
XXIII A WOMAN INTERVENES 255
XXIV A GREAT TRIUMPH 264
XXV THE REBUFF 276
XXVI DROUGHT 287
XXVII THE ADVENTURESS 298
XXVIII FIRE AND HAIL 308
XXIX A BRAVE HEART 318
XXX THE INHERITANCE 326
HARDING, OF ALLENWOOD
CHAPTER I
THE PIONEERS
It was a clear day in September. The boisterous winds which had swept
the wide Canadian plain all summer had fallen and only a faint breeze
stirred the yellowing leaves of the poplars. Against the glaring blue of
the northern sky the edge of the prairie cut in a long, straight line;
above the southern horizon rounded cloud-masses hung, soft and white as
wool. Far off, the prairie was washed with tints of delicate gray, but
as it swept in to the foreground the color changed, growing in strength,
to brown and ocher with streaks of silvery brightness where the withered
grass caught the light. To the east the view was broken, for the banks
of a creek that wound across the broad level were lined with
timber--birches and poplars growing tall in the shelter of the ravine
and straggling along its crest. Their pale- branches glowed among
the early autumn leaves.
In a gap between the trees two men stood resting on their axes, and rows
of logs and branches and piles of chips were scattered about the
clearing. The men were dressed much alike, in shirts that had once been
blue but were now faded to an indefinite color, old brown overalls, and
soft felt hats that had fallen out of shape. Their arms were bare to the
elbows, the low shirt-collars left their necks exposed, showing skin
that had weathered, like their clothing, to the color of the soil.
Standing still, they were scarcely distinguishable from their
surroundings.
Harding was thirty years old, and tall and strongly built. He looked
virile and athletic, but his figure was marked by signs of strength
rather than grace. His forehead was broad, his eyes between blue and
gray, and his gaze gravely steady. He had a straight nose and a firm
mouth; and although there was more than a hint of determination in his
expression, it indicated, on the whole, a pleasant, even a magnetic,
disposition.
Devine was five years younger and of lighter build. He was the handsomer
of the two, but he lacked that indefinite something about his companion
which attracted more attention.
"Let's quit a few minutes for a smoke," suggested Devine, dropping his
ax. "We've worked pretty hard since noon."
He sat down on a log and took out an old corncob pipe. When it was
filled and lighted he leaned back contentedly against a friendly stump.
Harding remained standing, his hand on the long ax-haft, his chin
slightly lifted, and his eyes fixed on the empty plain. Between him and
the horizon there was no sign of life except that a flock of migrating
birds were moving south across the sky in a drawn-out wedge. The wide
expanse formed part of what was then the territory of Assiniboia, and is
now the province of Saskatchewan. As far as one could see, the soil was
thin alluvial loam, interspersed with the stiff "gumbo" that grows the
finest wheat; but the plow had not yet broken its surface. Small towns
were springing up along the railroad track, but the great plain between
the Saskatchewan and the Assiniboine was, for the most part, still a
waste, waiting for the tide of population that had begun to flow.
Harding was a born pioneer, and his expression grew intent as he gazed
across the wilderness.
"What will this prairie be like, Fred, when those poplars are tall
enough to cut?" he said gravely, indicating some saplings beside him.
"There's going to be a big change here."
"That's true; and it's just what I'm counting on. That's what made me
leave old Dakota. I want to be in on the ground-floor!"
Harding knit his brows, and his face had a concentrated look. He was not
given to talking at large, but he had a gift of half-instinctive
prevision as well as practical, constructive ability, and just then he
felt strangely moved. It seemed to him that he heard in the distance the
march of a great army of new home-builders, moving forward slowly and
cautiously as yet. He was one of the advance skirmishers, though the
first scouts had already pushed on and vanished across the skyline into
the virgin West.
"Well," he said, "think what's happening! Ontario's settled and busy
with manufactures; Manitoba and the Dakotas, except for the sand-belts,
are filling up. The older States are crowded, and somebody owns all the
soil that's worth working in the Middle West. England and Germany are
overflowing, and we have roughly seven hundred miles of country here
that needs people. They must come. The pressure behind will force them."
"But think what that will mean to the price of wheat! It's bringing only
a dollar and a half now. We can't raise it at a dollar."
"It will break the careless," Harding said, "but dollar wheat will come.
The branch railroads will follow the homesteads; you'll see the
elevators dotting the prairie, and when we've opened up this great
tableland between the American border and the frozen line, the wheat
will pour into every settlement faster than the cars can haul it out.
Prices will fall until every slack farmer has mortgaged all he owns."
"Then what good will it do? If the result is to be only mortgages?"
"Oh, but I said every _slack_ farmer. It will clear out the incompetent,
improve our methods. The ox-team and the grass trail will have to go.
We'll have steam gang-plows and graded roads. We'll have better machines
all round."
"And afterward?"
Harding's eyes sparkled.
"Afterward? Then the men with brains and grit who have held on--the
fittest, who have survived--will come into such prosperity as few
farmers have ever had. America, with her population leaping up, will
have less and less wheat to ship; England will steadily call for more;
we'll have wheat at a price that will pay us well before we're through.
Then there'll be no more dug-outs and log-shacks, but fine brick
homesteads, with all the farms fenced and mechanical transport on the
roads. It's coming, Fred! Those who live through the struggle will
certainly see it."
Harding laughed and lifted his ax.
"But enough of that! If we're to get our homesteads up before the frost
comes, we'll have to hustle."
The big ax flashed in the sunshine and bit deep into a poplar trunk; but
when a few more logs had been laid beside the rest the men stopped
again, for they heard a beat of hoofs coming toward them across the
prairie. The trees cut off their view of the rider, but when he rounded
a corner of the bluff and pulled up his horse, they saw a young lad,
picturesquely dressed in a deerskin jacket of Indian make, decorated
with fringed hide and embroidery, cord riding-breeches, and polished
leggings. His slouch hat was pushed back on his head, showing a handsome
face that had in it a touch of imperiousness.
"Hello!" he said, with a look of somewhat indignant surprise. "What are
you fellows doing here?"
Harding felt amused at the tone of superiority in the youngster's voice;
yet he had a curious, half-conscious feeling that there was something he
recognized about the boy. It was not that he had met him before, but
that well-bred air and the clean English intonation were somehow
familiar.
"If you look around you," Harding smiled, "you might be able to guess
that we're cutting down trees."
The boy gave an imperious toss of his head.
"What I meant was that you have no right on this property."
"No?"
"It belongs to us. And logs large enough for building are scarce enough
already. As a matter of fact, we're not allowed to cut these ourselves
without the Colonel's permission."
"Haven't met him yet," said Devine dryly. "Who's he?"
"Colonel Mowbray, of Allenwood Grange."
"And who's Colonel Mowbray? And where's Allenwood Grange?"
The boy seemed nettled by the twinkle in Devine's eyes, but Harding
noticed that pride compelled him to hide his feelings.
"You can't cut this lumber without asking leave! Besides, you're
spoiling one of our best coyote covers."
"Kyotes!" exclaimed Devine. "What do you do with 'em?"
The youngster stared at him a moment in disdain.
"We have a pack of hounds at the Grange," he then condescended to
answer.
"Hunt them! Well, now, that's mighty strange. I'd have thought you'd
find arsenic cheaper. Then if you were to lie out round the
chicken-house with a gun----"
The boy cut him short.
"If you want these logs, you must ask for them. Shall I tell the Colonel
you are coming to do so?"
"Well, sonny," drawled Devine, "you just run along home and send
somebody grown-up. We might talk to him."
"As it happens," the boy said with great dignity, "Kenwyne is in the
bluff. I must warn you not to touch a tree until you see him."
Without another word he turned and rode off.
During the conversation Harding had been studying him closely. The
well-bred reserve in his manner, which, while peremptory, was somehow
free from arrogance, compelled the man's admiration.
"From the Old Country," he said with a laugh, "and a bit high-handed,
but there's sand in him. Do you know anything about Allenwood?"
"Not much, but I heard the boys talking about it at the railroad store.
It's a settlement of high-toned Britishers with more money than sense.
They play at farming and ride round the country on pedigree horses."
"The horse the boy rode was certainly a looker!" Harding commented,
swinging his ax once more.
As it sliced out a chip with a ringing thud, and another, and yet
another, the boy returned, accompanied by a well-mounted older man with
a sallow face and very dark eyes and a languidly graceful air. The man
was plainly dressed but he wore the stamp Harding had noticed on the
youngster; and again there flashed through Harding's mind the
half-indistinct thought that these people were familiar to him.
"I understand that you insist upon cutting this timber," Kenwyne began.
"Yes," Harding replied. "And I was surprised when your friend here said
it belonged to Colonel Mowbray."
"He went too far, but it does belong to him in a sense. The Colonel
founded the settlement when very few other people thought of leaving
Manitoba, and he had the usual option of cutting all the wood he wanted
on unoccupied land. We have always got it here, and as we have done all
the road-making and general improvements in the neighborhood, we have
come to look upon it as our own."
"Is that your bridge across the creek?"
"Yes; and it's not a bad job, I think. We had a good deal of trouble
digging out the grade in the ravine."
"Well, interfering with bridges is not a habit of mine; so we'll let
your trail stand. But I could make you divert it to the proper road
reserve."
"Ah!" exclaimed Kenwyne. "That sounds significant."
"Precisely. This bluff and the section it stands on belong to me; the
transfer was registered at the land office a week ago."
"Then I think there's nothing more to be said."
"Oh," Harding responded with a smile, "you might tell your Colonel that
when he wants any lumber he may cut it if he'll let me know!"
Kenwyne laughed.
"Thanks!" he said. "It's a generous offer, but I can't promise that
Colonel Mowbray will avail himself of your permission. I wish you good
afternoon."
He rode away with his companion, and an hour later Harding and Devine
threw their axes on their shoulders and struck out across the prairie.
The sun had dipped, the air was getting cool, and on the clean-cut
western horizon a soft red flush faded beneath a band of vivid green.
At the foot of a low rise the men stopped.
"I'll be around the first thing in the morning," Devine said.
"Then you're not coming to supper?"
"No," Devine answered reluctantly; "I guess not. I've been over twice
this week, and Hester has enough to do without extra cooking for me."
"As you wish," said Harding, and they separated in a friendly manner.
When he was alone Harding went on briskly, walking with an elastic step
and looking far ahead across the shadowy plain. It was a rich land that
stretched away before him, and a compact block of it belonged to him. It
was virgin soil, his to do with as he liked. He thought that he could
make good use of it; but he had no illusions; he knew all about prairie
farming, and was prepared for a hard struggle.
Crossing the rise, he headed for a glow of light that flickered in the
gloom of a small birch bluff, and presently stopped at a tent pitched
among the trees. Two big red oxen were grazing by the edge of the bluff,
a row of birch logs lay among the grass beside a pile of ship-lap
boards, and some more of the boards had been roughly built into a
pointed shack. In front of this a young girl bent over a fire that
burned between two logs. All round, except where the wood broke the
view, the wilderness rolled away, dim and silent.
Hester Harding looked up with a smile when her brother stopped. She
resembled him, for she had his direct, thoughtful glance and fine
proportions. Her face and hands were browned by sun and wind, but,
although she had worked hard from childhood, she wore no coarsening
stamp of toil. Her features were good, and the plain print dress she had
made in her scanty spare time became her.
"Tired, Craig?" she asked in a pleasant voice.
"Not quite as fresh as I was at sun-up," Harding smiled. "We got
through a good deal of work to-day and I'll soon be able to make a start
with the house. We'll have to rush the framing to get finished before
the frost."
While they ate their simple supper they talked about his building plans,
and he answered her questions carefully; for Hester had keen
intelligence, and had shared his work and ambitions for the past few
years. For the most part, their life had been hard and frugal. Until
Craig reached the age of eighteen, he had helped his father to cultivate
his patch of wheat-soil in an arid belt of North Dakota. Then the father
had died, leaving about a thousand dollars besides his land and teams,
and the lad had courageously taken up the task of supporting his mother
and sister. Two years afterward, Mrs. Harding died, and Craig, at the
age of twenty, set himself to consider the future.
During his management of the farm he had made more money than his father
had ever made, but the land was poor and incapable of much improvement.
On the other hand, Dakota was getting settled and homesteads were
becoming valuable, and Craig determined to sell out and invest the money
in a larger holding in a thinly populated part of Manitoba. Hester went
with him to Canada; and when the advancing tide of settlement reached
their new home, Craig sold out again, getting much more than he had paid
for his land, and moved west ahead of the army of prairie-breakers which
he knew would presently follow him. It was a simple plan, but it needed
courage and resourcefulness. He spoke of it to Hester when he lighted
his pipe after the meal.
"It was a notion of Father's that one should try to anticipate a big
general movement," he remarked. "'Keep a little in front; the pioneers
get the pickings,' he once told me. 'If you follow the main body, you'll
find the land swept bare.' He had a way of saying things like that; I
learned a good deal from him."
"He knew a good deal," said Hester thoughtfully. "He was more clever
than you are, Craig, but he hadn't your habit of putting his ideas into
practise. I've sometimes thought he must have lost heart after some big
trouble long ago, and only made an effort now and then for Mother's
sake. It's strange that we know nothing about him except that he came
from the Old Country."
Craig had often wondered about his father, for the man had been somewhat
of an enigma to him. Basil Harding had lived like his neighbors, who
were plain tillers of the soil, and he never spoke of his English
origin, but now and then he showed a breadth of thought and refinement
of manner that were not in keeping with his environment. Mrs. Harding
was the daughter of a Michigan farmer, a shrewd but gentle woman of
practical turn of mind.
"I wonder," Craig said, "how much Mother knew?"
"She must have known something. Once or twice, near the end, I think she
meant to tell us, for there was something troubling her, but the last
stroke came so suddenly, and she never spoke." Hester paused, as if lost
in painful memories, and then went on: "It was very strange about that
money you got."
Craig nodded. When he was twenty-one a Winnipeg lawyer had turned over
to him five thousand dollars on condition that he remain in Canada, and
make no attempt to communicate with his father's relatives.
"Yes," he said. "And something happened this afternoon that puzzled me."
He told Hester about his meeting with the men from Allenwood.
"The curious thing about it," he added, "is that as I watched the boy
sitting on his fine blooded horse and heard him speak, I felt as if I'd
once lived among high-toned English people and could somehow understand
what he was thinking. But of course I never had a horse like his, and we
were born in a rough shack on a poor Dakota farm. Can one inherit one's
ancestors' feelings and memories?"
"It's very strange," mused Hester.
Harding laughed.
"Well, anyway, I'm a farmer," he said. "I stand upon my own
feet--regardless of ancestors. What I am is what I make of myself!"
He moved off toward the tent.
"It's getting late," he called back to her.
But for a long time Hester sat beside the sinking fire. Her brother,
whom she loved and admired, differed slightly, but noticeably in one or
two respects, from any of the prairie farmers she had known. Though it
was hard to procure books, he had read widely and about other subjects
than agriculture. Odd tricks of thought and speech also suggested the
difference; but she knew that nobody else except her mother had noticed
it, for, to all intents, Craig was merely a shrewd, hard-working grower
of wheat.
Then the girl's face grew gentle as she thought of Fred Devine. He had
proved very constant and had several times made what was then a long and
adventurous journey to see her. Now, when his father had given him a
few hundred dollars, he had followed Craig, and she was ready to marry
him as soon as he could make a home for her. At present he was living in
a dug-out in a bank, and must harvest his first crop before he could
think about a house.
When the fire had died down to a few smoldering coals, Hester got up and
looked about her. The moon hung, large and red, above the prairie's rim;
the air was sharp and wonderfully exhilarating. Behind the tent the
birch leaves rustled softly in the bluff, and in the distance a coyote
howled. There was no other sound; it was all very still and strangely
lonely; but the girl felt no shrinking. On her mother's side she sprang
from a race of pioneers, and her true work was to help in the breaking
of the wilderness.
CHAPTER II
PORTENTS OF CHANGE
The moon was above the horizon when Kenwyne pulled up his horse to a
walk opposite Allenwood Grange. The view from this point always appealed
to the artist in Kenwyne. The level plain was broken here by steep,
sandy rises crowned with jack-pines and clumps of poplar, and a shallow
lake reached out into the open from their feet. A short distance back
from its shore, the Grange stood on a gentle <DW72>, with a grove of
birches that hid the stables and outbuildings straggling up the hill
behind.
As Kenwyne saw it in the moonlight across the glittering water, the
house was picturesque. In the center rose a square, unpretentious
building of notched logs; but from this ship-lap additions, showing
architectural taste, stretched out in many wings, so that, from a
distance, the homestead with its wooded back-ground had something of the
look of an old English manor house. It was this which made the colonists
of Allenwood regard it with affection. Now it was well lighted, and the
yellow glow from its windows shone cheerfully across the lake.
The foundations of the place had been laid in unsettled times, after the
Hudson Bay fur-traders had relinquished their control of the trackless
West, but before the Dominion Government had established its authority.
The farmers were then spreading cautiously across the Manitoban plain,
in some fear of the Metis half-breeds, and it was considered a bold
adventure when the builder of the Grange pushed far out into the
prairies of the Assiniboine. He had his troubles, but he made his
holding good, and sold it to Colonel Mowbray, who founded the Allenwood
settlement.
On the whole, the colony had succeeded, but Kenwyne saw that it might
become an anachronism in changing times. He had noted the advance of the
hard-bitten homesteaders who were settling wherever the soil was good,
and who were marked by sternly utilitarian methods and democratic ideas.
Before long Allenwood must cast off its aristocratic traditions and
compete with these newcomers; but Kenwyne feared that its founder was
not the man to change.
As he rode slowly past the lake, a man came toward him with a gun and a
brace of prairie-chickens.
"Hello, Ralph!" he said. "Have you forgotten that it's council night?"
"I'm not likely to forget after the rebuke I got for missing the last
meeting," Kenwyne replied. "Do you happen to know what kind of temper
the Colonel is in, Broadwood?"
"My opinion is that it might be better. Gerald Mowbray has turned up
again, and I've noticed that the old man is less serene than usual when
his son's about. In fact, as we have to bear the consequences, I wish
the fellow would stay away."
While Broadwood and Kenwyne were discussing him on the hillside, Colonel
Mowbray sat in his study at the Grange, talking to the elder of his two
sons. The room was small and plainly furnished, with a map of the
territory on the matchboarded wall, a plain table on which lay a few
bundles of neatly docketed papers, and a stove in one corner.
Account-books filled a shelf, and beneath there was a row of
pigeonholes. The room had an air of austere simplicity with which
Colonel Mowbray's appearance harmonized.
He was tall, but spare of flesh, with an erect carriage and an
autocratic expression. His hair was gray, his eyes were dark and keen,
and his mouth was unusually firm; but the hollowness of his face and the
lines on his forehead showed advancing age. He was a man of some
ability, with simple tastes, certain unchangeable convictions, and a
fiery temper. Leaving the army with a grievance which he never spoke
about, and being of too restless a character to stay at home, he had
founded Allenwood for the purpose of settling young Englishmen upon the
land. He demanded that they be well born, have means enough to make a
fair start, and that their character should bear strict investigation.
Though the two latter conditions were not invariably complied with, his
scheme had prospered. Mowbray was generous, and had taken the sons of
several old friends who did not possess the capital required; while the
discipline he enforced had curbed the wayward. For the most part, the
settlers regarded him with affection as well as respect; but he had
failed most signally with his own son, who now stood rather awkwardly
before him.
After serving for a year or two in India as an engineer lieutenant,
Gerald Mowbray met with an accident which forced him to leave the army.
He made an unsuccessful start on another career, and had of late been
engaged upon a Government survey of the rugged forest-belt which runs
west to the confines of the Manitoban plain. He was a handsome,
dark-complexioned man, but looked slacker and less capable than his
father.
"I think five hundred pounds would clear me," he said in an apologetic
tone. "If I could pay off these fellows, it would be a great relief, and
I'd faithfully promise to keep clear of debt in future."
"It seems to me I've heard something of the kind on previous occasions,"
Mowbray returned dryly. "There's a weak strain in you, Gerald, though I
don't know where you got it. I suppose a thousand pounds would be
better?"
Gerald's | 1,082.55552 |
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THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT
By George Meredith
AN ARABIAN ENTERTAINMENT
1898/1909
CONTENTS:
THE THWACKINGS
THE STORY OF | 1,082.555553 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
SAMANTHA
AMONG THE BRETHREN.
By
"Josiah Allen's Wife"
(Marietta Holley)
Part 1
_With Illustrations_.
1890
TO
All Women
WHO WORK, TRYING TO BRING INTO DARK LIVES
THE BRIGHTNESS AND HOPE OF A
BETTER COUNTRY,
_THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED_.
PREFACE.
Again it come to pass, in the fulness of time, that my companion, Josiah
Allen, see me walk up and take my ink stand off of the manteltry piece,
and carry it with a calm and majestick g | 1,082.56207 |
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Produced by Ted Garvin, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE
GOLDEN LEGEND
BY
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
THE GOLDEN LEGEND
PROLOGUE.
THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.
_Night and storm._ LUCIFER, _with the Powers of the
Air, trying to tear down the Cross._
_Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten!
O ye spirits!
From its station drag the ponderous
Cross of iron, that to mock us
Is uplifted high in air!
_Voices._ O, we cannot!
For around it
All the Saints and Guardian Angels
Throng in legions to protect it;
They defeat us everywhere!
_The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum
Plebem voco!
Congrego clerum!
_Lucifer._ Lower! lower!
Hover downward!
Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and
Clashing, clanging, to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!
_Voices._ All thy thunders
Here are harmless!
For these bells have been anointed,
And baptized with holy water!
They defy our utmost power.
_The Bells._ Defunctos ploro!
Pestem fugo!
Festa decoro!
_Lucifer._ Shake the casements!
Break the painted
Panes that flame with gold and crimson!
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn,
Swept away before the blast!
_Voices._ O, we cannot!
The Archangel
Michael flames from every window,
With the sword of fire that drove us
Headlong, out of heaven, aghast!
_The Bells._ Funera plango!
Fulgora frango!
Sabbata pango!
_Lucifer._ Aim your lightnings
At the oaken,
Massive, iron-studded portals!
Sack the house of God, and scatter
Wide the ashes of the dead!
_Voices._ O, we cannot!
The Apostles
And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles,
Stand as wardens at the entrance,
Stand as sentinels o'erhead!
_The Bells._ Excito lentos!
Dissipo ventos!
Paco cruentos!
_Lucifer._ Baffled! baffled!
Inefficient,
Craven spirits! leave this labor
Unto Time, the great Destroyer!
Come away, ere night is gone!
_Voices._ Onward! onward!
With the night-wind,
Over field and farm and forest,
Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet,
Blighting all we breathe upon!
(_They sweep away. Organ and Gregorian Chant._)
_Choir._ Nocte surgentes
Vig lemus omnes!
* * * * *
I.
THE CASTLE OF VAUTSBERG ON THE RHINE.
* * * * *
_A chamber in a tower._ PRINCE HENRY, _sitting alone,
ill and restless._
_Prince Henry._ I cannot sleep! my fervid brain
Calls up the vanished Past again,
And throws its misty splendors deep
Into the pallid realms of sleep!
A breath from that far-distant shore
Comes freshening ever more and more,
And wafts o'er intervening seas
Sweet odors from the Hesperides!
A wind, that through the corridor
Just stirs the curtain, and no more,
And, touching the aeolian strings,
Faints with the burden that it brings!
Come back! ye friendships long departed!
That like o'erflowing streamlets started,
And now are dwindled, one by one,
To stony channels in the sun!
Come back! ye friends, whose lives are ended!
Come back, with all that light attended,
Which seemed to darken and decay
When ye arose and went away!
They come, the shapes of joy and woe,
The airy crowds of long-ago,
The dreams and fancies known of yore,
That have been, and shall be no more.
They change the cloisters of the night
Into a garden of delight;
They make the dark and dreary hours
Open and blossom into flowers!
I would not sleep! I love to be
Again in their fair company;
But ere my lips can bid them stay,
They pass and vanish quite away!
Alas! our memories may retrace
Each circumstance of time and place,
Season and scene come back again,
And outward things unchanged remain;
The rest we cannot reinstate;
Ourselves we cannot re-create,
Nor set our souls to the same key
Of the remembered harmony!
Rest! rest! O, give me rest and peace!
The thought of life that ne'er shall cease
Has something in it like despair,
A weight I am too weak to bear!
Sweeter to this afflicted breast
The thought of never-ending rest!
Sweeter the undisturbed and deep
Tranquillity of endless sleep!
(_A flash of lightning, out of which_ LUCIFER _appears,
in the garb of a travelling Physician._)
_Lucifer_. All hail Prince Henry!
_Prince Henry_ (_starting_). Who is it speaks?
Who and what are you?
_Lucifer_. One who seeks
A moment's audience with the Prince.
_Prince Henry_. When came you in?
_Lucifer_. A moment since.
I found your study door unlocked,
And thought you answered when I knocked.
_Prince Henry_. I did not hear you.
_Lucifer_. You heard the thunder;
It was loud enough to waken the dead.
And it is not a matter of special wonder
That, when God is walking overhead,
You should not have heard my feeble tread.
_Prince Henry_. What may your wish or purpose be?
_Lucifer_. Nothing or everything, as it pleases
Your Highness. You behold in me
Only a traveling Physician;
One of the few who have a mission
To cure incurable diseases,
Or those that are called so.
_Prince Henry_. Can you bring
The dead to life?
_Lucifer_. Yes; very nearly.
And, what is a wiser and better thing,
Can keep the living from ever needing
Such an unnatural, strange proceeding,
By showing conclusively and clearly
That death is a stupid blunder merely,
And not a necessity of our lives.
My being here is accidental;
The storm, that against your casement drives,
In the little village below waylaid me.
And there I heard, with a secret delight,
Of your maladies physical and mental,
Which neither astonished nor dismayed me.
And I hastened hither, though late in the night,
To proffer my aid!
_Prince Henry (ironically)_ For this you came!
Ah, how can I ever hope to requite
This honor from one so erudite?
_Lucifer_. The honor is mine, or will be when
I have cured your disease.
_Prince Henry_. But not till then.
_Lucifer_. What is your illness?
_Prince Henry_. It has no name.
A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame,
As in a kiln, burns in my veins,
Sending up vapors to the head,
My heart has become a dull lagoon,
Which a kind of leprosy drinks and drains;
I am accounted as one who is dead,
And, indeed, I think that I shall be soon.
_Lucifer_ And has Gordonius the Divine,
In his famous Lily of Medicine,--
I see the book lies open before you,--
No remedy potent enough to restore you?
_Prince Henry_. None whatever!
_Lucifer_ The dead are dead,
And their oracles dumb, when questioned
Of the new diseases that human life
Evolves in its progress, rank and rife.
Consult the dead upon things that were,
But the living only on things that are.
Have you done this, by the appliance
And aid of doctors?
_Prince Henry_. Ay, whole schools
Of doctors, with their learned rules,
But the case is quite beyond their science.
Even the doctors of Salern
Send me back word they can discern
No cure for a malady like this,
Save one which in its nature is
Impossible, and cannot be!
_Lucifer_ That sounds oracular!
_Prince Henry_ Unendurable!
_Lucifer_ What is their remedy?
_Prince Henry_ You shall see;
Writ in this scroll is the mystery.
_Lucifer (reading)._ "Not to be cured, yet not incurable!
The only remedy that remains
Is the blood that flows from a maiden's veins,
Who of her own free will shall die,
And give her life as the price of yours!"
That is the strangest of all cures,
And one, I think, you will never try;
The prescription you may well put by,
As something impossible to find
Before the world itself shall end!
And yet who knows? One cannot say
That into some maiden's brain that kind
Of madness will not find its way.
Meanwhile permit me to recommend,
As the matter admits of no delay,
My wonderful Catholicon,
Of very subtile and magical powers!
_Prince Henry._ Purge with your nostrums and drugs infernal
The spouts and gargoyles of these towers,
Not me! My faith is utterly gone
In every power but the Power Supernal!
Pray tell me, of what school are you?
_Lucifer._ Both of the Old and of the New!
The school of Hermes Trismegistus,
Who uttered his oracles sublime
Before the Olympiads, in the dew
Of the early dawn and dusk of Time,
The reign of dateless old Hephaestus!
As northward, from its Nubian springs,
The Nile, forever new and old,
Among the living and the dead,
Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled;
So, starting from its fountain-head
Under the lotus-leaves of Isis,
From the dead demigods of eld,
Through long, unbroken lines of kings
Its course the sacred art has held,
Unchecked, unchanged by man's devices.
This art the Arabian Geber taught,
And in alembics, finely wrought,
Distilling herbs and flowers, discovered
The secret that so long had hovered
Upon the misty verge of Truth,
The Elixir of Perpetual Youth,
Called Alcohol, in the Arab speech!
Like him, this wondrous lore I teach!
_Prince Henry._ What! an adept?
_Lucifer._ Nor less, nor more!
_Prince Henry._ I am a reader of such books,
A lover of that mystic lore!
With such a piercing glance it looks
Into great Nature's open eye,
And sees within it trembling lie
The portrait of the Deity!
And yet, alas! with all my pains,
The secret and the mystery
Have baffled and eluded me,
Unseen the grand result remains!
_Lucifer (showing a flask)._ Behold it here! this little flask
Contains the wonderful quintessence,
The perfect flower and efflorescence,
Of all the knowledge man can ask!
Hold it up thus against the light!
_Prince Henry._ How limpid, pure, and crystalline,
How quick, and tremulous, and bright
The little wavelets dance and shine,
As were it the Water of Life in sooth!
_Lucifer._ It is! It assuages every pain,
Cures all disease, and gives again
To age the swift delights of youth.
Inhale its fragrance.
_Prince Henry._ It is sweet.
A thousand different odors meet
And mingle in its rare perfume,
Such as the winds of summer waft
At open windows through a room!
_Lucifer._ Will you not taste it?
_Prince Henry._ Will one draught
Suffice?
_Lucifer._ If not, you can drink more.
_Prince Henry._ Into this crystal goblet pour
So much as safely I may drink.
_Lucifer (pouring)._ Let not the quantity alarm you:
You may drink all; it will not harm you.
_Prince Henry._ I am as one who on the brink
Of a dark river stands and sees
The waters flow, the landscape dim
Around him waver, wheel, and swim,
And, ere he plunges, stops to think
Into what whirlpools he may sink;
One moment pauses, and no more,
Then madly plunges from the shore!
Headlong into the dark mysteries
Of life and death I boldly leap,
Nor fear the fateful current's sweep,
Nor what in ambush lurks below!
For death is better than disease!
(_An_ ANGEL _with an aeolian harp hovers in the air_.)
_Angel._ Woe! woe! eternal woe!
Not only the whispered prayer
Of love,
But the imprecations of hate,
Reverberate
Forever and ever through the air
Above!
This fearful curse
Shakes the great universe!
_Lucifer (disappearing)._ Drink! drink!
And thy soul shall sink
Down into the dark abyss,
Into the infinite abyss,
From which no plummet nor rope
Ever drew up the silver sand of hope!
_Prince Henry (drinking)._ It is like a draught of fire!
Through every vein
I feel again
The fever of youth, the soft desire;
A rapture that is almost pain
Throbs in my heart and fills my brain!
O joy! O joy! I feel
The band of steel
That so long and heavily has pressed
Upon my breast
Uplifted, and the malediction
Of my affliction
Is taken from me, and my weary breast
At length finds rest.
_The Angel._ It is but the rest of the fire, from which the air
has been taken!
It is but the rest of the sand, when the hour-glass is not shaken!
It is but the rest of the tide between the ebb and the flow!
It is but the rest of the wind between the flaws that blow!
With fiendish laughter,
Hereafter,
This false physician
Will mock thee in thy perdition.
_Prince Henry._ Speak! speak!
Who says that I am ill?
I am not ill! I am not weak!
The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er!
I feel the chill of death no more!
At length,
I stand renewed in all my strength!
Beneath me I can feel
The great earth stagger and reel,
As it the feet of a descending God
Upon its surface trod,
And like a pebble it rolled beneath his heel!
This, O brave physician! this
Is thy great Palingenesis!
(_Drinks again_.)
_The Angel._ Touch the goblet no more!
It will make thy heart sore
To its very core!
Its perfume is the breath
Of the Angel of Death,
And the light that within it lies
Is the flash of his evil eyes.
Beware! O, beware!
For sickness, sorrow, and care
All are there!
_Prince Henry (sinking back)._ O thou voice within my breast!
Why entreat me, why upbraid me,
When the steadfast tongues of truth
And the flattering hopes of youth
Have all deceived me and betrayed me?
Give me, give me rest, O, rest!
Golden visions wave and hover,
Golden vapors, waters streaming,
Landscapes moving, changing, gleaming!
I am like a happy lover
Who illumines life with dreaming!
Brave physician! Rare physician!
Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission!
(_His head falls On his book_.)
_The Angel (receding)._ Alas! alas!
Like a vapor the golden vision
Shall fade and pass,
And thou wilt find in thy heart again
Only the blight of pain,
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition!
* * * * *
COURT-YARD OF THE CASTLE.
* * * * *
HUBERT _standing by the gateway._
_Hubert._ How sad the grand old castle looks!
O'erhead, the unmolested rooks
Upon the turret's windy top
Sit, talking of the farmer's crop;
Here in the court-yard springs the grass,
So few are now the feet that pass;
The stately peacocks, bolder grown,
Come hopping down the steps of stone,
As if the castle were their own;
And I, the poor old seneschal,
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall.
Alas! the merry guests no more
Crowd | 1,082.562211 |
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Produced by Roy Brown, Wiltshire, England
THE LIGHTHOUSE
By R.M.BALLANTYNE
Author of "The Coral Island" &c.
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW BOMBAY
E- | 1,082.762256 |
2023-11-16 18:35:07.3391930 | 56 | 12 |
Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy
of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
| 1,083.359233 |
2023-11-16 18:35:07.4409260 | 851 | 7 | 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 | 1,083.460966 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 35966-h.htm or 35966-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35966/35966-h/35966-h.htm)
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[Illustration: LOVELINESS]
LOVELINESS
A Story
by
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS
"Be my benediction said,
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!"
E. B. BROWNING.
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1900
The Illustrations Are by Sarah S. Stilwell
Copyright, 1899, by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward
and Houghton, Mifflin and Co.
All Rights Reserved
_For the smoke of their torment ascendeth._
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
LOVELINESS _Frontispiece_
THE MAID STOOD LOOKING IDLY ABOUT 14
"TILL LOVELINESS COMES HOME" 20
THROUGH THE BENDING SHRUBBERY 40
LOVELINESS.
Loveliness sat on an eider-down cushion embroidered with cherry-
puppies on a pearl satin cover. The puppies had gold eyes. They were
drinking a saucer of green milk. Loveliness wore a new necktie, of
cherry, a shade or two brighter than the puppies, and a pearl-gray, or
one might call it a silver-gray jacket. He was sitting in the broad
window sill, with his head tipped a little, thoughtfully, towards the
left side, as the heads of nervous people are said to incline. He was
dreamily watching the street, looking for any one of a few friends of
his who might pass by, and for the letter-carrier, who was somewhat
late.
Loveliness had dark, brilliant eyes, remarkably alert, but reflective
when in repose. Part of their charm lay in the fact that one must watch
for their best expression; for Loveliness wore bangs. He had a small and
delicate nose, not guiltless of an aristocratic tip, with a suspicion of
a sniff at the inferior orders of society. In truth, Loveliness was an
aristocrat to the end of his tongue, which curled daintily against his
opalescent teeth. At this moment it lay between his teeth, and hung
forward as if he held a roseleaf in his lips; and this was the final
evidence of his birth and breeding.
For Loveliness was a little dog; a silver Yorkshire, blue of blood and
delicately reared,--a tiny creature, the essence of tenderness; set,
soul and body, to one only tune. To love and to be beloved,--that was
his life. He knew no other, nor up to this time could he conceive of any
other; for he was as devotedly beloved as he was passionately loving.
His brain was in his heart. In saying this one does not question the
quality of the brain, any more than one does in saying a similar thing
of a woman. Indeed, considered as an intellect, his was of the highest
order known to his race. Loveliness would have been interesting as a
psychological study, had he not been absorbing as an affectional
occupation. His family and friends often said, "How clever!" but not
until after they had said, "How dear he is!" The order of precedence in
this summary of character is the most enviable that can be experienced
by human beings. But the dog took it as a matter of course.
This little creature loved a number of people on a sliding scale of
intimacy, carefully guarded, as the intimacies of the high-born usually
are; but one he loved first, most, best of all, and profoundly. I have
called him Loveliness because it was the pet name, the "little name,"
given to him by this person. In point of fact, he answered to a variety
of appellations, more or less recognized by society; of these the most
lawful and the least agreeable to himself was Mop. It was a disputed
point whether this were an ancestral name, or whether he had received it
from the dog store, whence he had emerged at the beginning of
history,--the shaggiest, scrubbiest, raggedest, wildest little terrier
that ever boasted of a high descent.
People of a low type, those whose imagination was bounded by menial
similes, or persons of that too ready inclination to the humorous which
fails to consider the possible injustice or unkindness that it may
involve, had in Mop's infancy found a base pleasure in attaching to him
such epithets as window-washer, scrubbing-brush, feather-duster, and
footmuff. But these had not adhered. Loveliness had. It bade fair, at
the time of our story, to outlive every other name.
The little dog had both friends and acquaintances on the street where
the professor lived; and he watched for them from his cushion in the
window, hours at a time. There was the cabman, the academic-looking
cabman, who was the favorite of the faculty, and who hurrahed and
snapped his whip at the Yorkshire as he passed by; there was the newsboy
who brought the Sunday papers, and who whistled at Loveliness, and made
faces, and called him Mop.
To-day there was a dark-faced man, a stranger, standing across the
street, and regarding the professor's house with the unpleasant look of
the foreign and ill-natured. This man had eyebrows that met in a
straight, black line upon his forehead, and he wore a yellow jersey. The
dog threw back his supercilious little head and barked at the yellow
jersey severely. But at that moment he saw the carrier, who ran up the
steps laughing, and brought a gumdrop in a sealed envelope addressed to
Loveliness. There was a large mail that afternoon, including a pile of
pamphlets and circulars of the varied description that haunts
professors' houses. Kathleen, the parlor maid,--another particular
friend of the terrier's--took the mail up to the study, but dropped one
of the pamphlets on the stairs. The dog rebuked her carelessness (after
he had given his attention to the carrier's gumdrop) by picking the
pamphlet up and bringing it back to the window seat, where he opened
and dog-eared it with a literary manner for a while, until suddenly
he forgot it altogether, and dropped it on the floor, and sprang,
bounding. For the dearest person in the world had called him in a
whisper,--"Love-li-ness!" And the dearest face in the world appeared
above him and melted into laughing tenderness. "Loveliness! Where's my
_Love_-li-ness?"
A little girl had come into the room, a girl of between five and six
years, but so small that one would scarcely have guessed her to be
four,--a beautiful child, but transparent of coloring, and bearing in
her delicate face the pathetic patience which only sick children, of all
human creatures, ever show. She was exquisitely formed, but one little
foot halted and stepped weakly on the thick carpet. Her organs of speech
were perfect in mechanism, but often she did not speak quite aloud.
Sometimes, on her weaker days, she carried a small crutch. They called
her Adah.
She came in without her crutch that afternoon; she was feeling quite
strong and happy. The little dog sprang to her heart, and she crooned
over him, sitting beside him on the window seat and whispering in her
plaintive voice: "Love-li-ness! I can't live wivout you anover _min_ute,
Loveliness! I can't _live_ wivout you!"
She put her head down on the pearl-gray satin pillow with the cherry
puppies, and the dog put his face beside hers. He was kept as sweet and
clean as his little mistress, and he had no playfellow except herself,
and never went away from home unless at the end of a gray satin ribbon
leash. At all events, the two _would_ occupy the same pillow, and all
idle effort to struggle with this fact had ceased in the household.
Loveliness sighed one of the long sighs of perfect content recognized by
all owners and lovers of dogs as one of the happiest sounds in this sad
world, and laid his cheek to hers quietly. He asked nothing more of
life. He had forgotten the world and all that was therein. He looked no
longer for the cabman, the newsboy, or the carrier, and the man with the
eyebrows had gone away. The universe did not exist; he and she were
together. Heaven had happened. The dog glanced through half-closed,
blissful eyes at the yellow hair--"eighteen carats fine"--that fell
against his silver bangs. His short ecstatic breath mingled with the
gentle breathing of the child. She talked to him in broken rhapsodies. She
called him quaint, pet names of her own,--"Dearness" and "Daintiness,"
"Mopsiness" and "Preciousness," and "Dearest-in-the-World," and who knew
what besides? Only the angels who are admitted to the souls of children
and the hearts of little dogs could have understood that interview.
No member of the professor's household ever interfered with the
attachment between the child and the dog, which was set apart as one of
the higher facts in the family life. Indeed, it had its own page of
sacred history, which read on this wise:--
When Adah was a walking baby, two and a half years before the time of
which we tell, the terrier was in the first proud flush of enthusiasm
which an intelligent dog feels in the mastery of little feats and
tricks. Of these he had a varied and interesting repertoire. His
vocabulary, too, was large. At the date of our story it had reached one
hundred and thirty words. It was juvenile and more limited at the time
when the sacred page was written, but still beyond the average canine
proficiency. Loveliness had always shown a genius for the English
language. He could not speak it, but he tried harder than any other dog
I ever knew to do so; and he grew to understand with ease an incredibly
large part of the usual conversation of the family. It could never be
proved that he followed--or did not follow--the professor of psychology
in a discussion on the Critique of Pure Reason; but his mental grasp of
ordinary topics was alert and logical. He sneezed when he was cold and
wanted a window shut, and barked twice when his delicate china water-cup
was empty. When the fire department rang by, or a stove in the house was
left on draught too long, and he wished to call attention to the
circumstance, he barked four times. Besides the commonplace
accomplishments of turning somersaults, being a dead dog, sitting up to
beg for things, and shaking hands, Loveliness had some attainments
peculiar to himself.
One of these was in itself scientifically interesting. This luxurious,
daintily fed little creature, who had never known an hour's want nor any
deprivation that he could remember, led by the blind instinct of
starving, savage ancestors skulking in forests where the claw and tooth
of every living thing were against every other, conscientiously sought
to bury, against future exigencies, any kind of food for which he had no
appetite. The remnants of his dog biscuit, his saucer of weak tea, an
unpalatable dinner, alike received the treatment given to the bare bone
of his forefathers when it was driven into the ground.
Anything served the purpose of the earth,--the rough, wild earth of
whose real nature the house pet knew so little. A newspaper, a glove, a
handkerchief, a sheet of the professor's manuscript, a hearth brush, or
a rug would answer. Drag these laboriously, and push them perseveringly
to their places! Cover the saucer or the plate from sight with a solemn
persistence that the starving, howling ancestor would have respected!
Thus Loveliness recognized the laws of heredity. But the corners of rugs
were, and remained, the favorite burying sod.
On that black day when the baby girl had used her white apron by way of
blowers before the reluctant nursery fire, the little dog was alone in
the room with her. It had so happened.
Suddenly, through the busy house resounded four shrill, staccato barks.
In the vocabulary of Loveliness this meant, "Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Borne with them came the terrible cries of the child. When the mother
and the nursemaid got to the spot, the baby was ablaze from her white
apron to her yellow hair. She was writhing on the floor. The terrier,
his own silver locks scorching, and his paws in the flame, was trying to
cover his young mistress with the big Persian rug, in itself a load for
a collie. He had so far succeeded that the progress of the flames had
been checked.
For years the professor speculated on the problems raised by this
tremendous incident. Whether the Yorkshire regarded the fire as a
superfluity, like a dinner one does not want,--but that was far-fetched.
Whether he knew that wool puts out fire,--but that was incredible.
Whether this, that, or the other, no man could say, or ever has. Perhaps
the intellect of the dog, roused to its utmost by the demand upon his
heart, blindly leaped to its most difficult exertion. It was always hard
to cover things with rugs. In this extremity one must do the hardest. Or
did sheer love teach him to choose, in a moment that might have made a
fool or a lunatic of a man, the only one or two of several processes
which could by any means reach the emergency?
At all events, the dog saved the child. And she became henceforth the
saint and idol of the family, and he its totem and its hero. The two
stood together in one niche above the household altar. It was impossible
to separate them. But after that terrible hour little Adah was as she
was: frail, uncertain of step, scarred on the pearl of her neck and the
rose of her cheek; not with full command of her voice; more nervously
deficient than organically defective,--but a perfect being marred. Her
father said, "She goeth lame and lovely."
On the afternoon when our story began, the child and the Yorkshire sat
cuddled together in the broad window seat for a long time. Blessedness
sat with them. Adah talked in low love tones, using a language as
incomprehensible to other people as the tongue in which the dog replied
to her. They carried on long conversations, broken only by caresses, and
by barks of bliss or jets of laughter. The child tired herself with
laughing and loving, and the dog watched her; he did not sleep; he
silently lapped the fingers of her little hand that lay like a cameo
upon the silken cushion.
Some one came in and said in a low voice: "She is tired out. She must
have her supper and be put to bed."
Afterwards it was remembered that she clung to Loveliness and cried a
little, foolishly; fretting that she did not want her supper, and
demanding that the dog should go up to bed with her and be put at once
into his basket by her side. This was gently refused.
"You shall see him in the morning," they told her. Kathleen put the
little dog down forcibly from the arms of the child, who wailed at the
separation. She called back over the balusters: "_Love_-li-ness!
Good-by, Loveliness! When we're grown up, we'll _al_ways be togever,
Loveliness!"
The dog barked rebelliously for a few minutes; | 1,083.461045 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
OCTOBER
1665
October 1st (Lord's day). Called up about 4 of the clock and so dressed
myself and so on board the Bezan, and there finding all my company asleep
I would not wake them, but it beginning to be break of day I did stay upon
the decke walking, and then into the Maister's cabbin and there laid and
slept a little, and so at last was waked by Captain Cocke's calling of me,
and so I turned out, and then to chat and talk and laugh, and mighty
merry. We spent most of the morning talking and reading of "The Siege of
Rhodes," which is certainly (the more I read it the more I think so) the
best poem that ever was wrote. We breakfasted betimes and come to the
fleete about two of the clock in the afternoon, having a fine day and a
fine winde. My Lord received us mighty kindly, and after discourse with
us in general left us to our business, and he to his officers, having
called a council of wary, we in the meantime settling of papers with Mr.
Pierce and everybody else, and by and by with Captain Cuttance. Anon
called down to my Lord, and there with him till supper talking and
discourse; among other things, to my great joy, he did assure me that he
had wrote to the King and Duke about these prize-goods, and told me that
they did approve of what he had done, and that he would owne what he had
done, and would have me to tell all the world so, and did, under his hand,
give Cocke and me his certificate of our bargains, and giving us full
power of disposal of what we have so bought. This do ease my mind of all
my fear, and makes my heart lighter by L100 than it was before. He did
discourse to us of the Dutch fleete being abroad, eighty-five of them
still, and are now at the Texell, he believes, in expectation of our
Eastland ships coming home with masts and hempe, and our loaden Hambrough
ships going to Hambrough. He discoursed against them that would have us
yield to no conditions but conquest over the Dutch, and seems to believe
that the Dutch will call for the protection of the King of France and come
under his power, which were to be wished they might be brought to do under
ours by fair means, and to that end would have all Dutch men and familys,
that would come hither and settled, to be declared denizens; and my Lord
did whisper to me alone that things here must break in pieces, nobody
minding any thing, but every man his owne business of profit or pleasure,
and the King some little designs of his owne, and that certainly the
kingdom could not stand in this condition long, which I fear and believe
is very true. So to supper and there my Lord the kindest man to me,
before all the table talking of me to my advantage and with tenderness too
that it overjoyed me. So after supper Captain Cocke and I and Temple on
board the Bezan, and there to cards for a while and then to read again in
"Rhodes" and so to sleep. But, Lord! the mirth which it caused me to be
waked in the night by their snoaring round about me; I did laugh till I
was ready to burst, and waked one of the two companions of Temple, who
could not a good while tell where he was that he heard one laugh so, till
he recollected himself, and I told him what it was at, and so to sleep
again, they still snoaring.
2nd. We having sailed all night (and I do wonder how they in the dark
could find the way) we got by morning to Gillingham, and thence all walked
to Chatham; and there with Commissioner Pett viewed the Yard; and among
other things, a teame of four horses come close by us, he being with me,
drawing a piece of timber that I am confident one man could easily have
carried upon his back. I made the horses be taken away, and a man or two
to take the timber away with their hands. This the Commissioner did see,
but said nothing, but I think had cause to be ashamed of. We walked, he
and I and Cocke, to the Hill-house, where we find Sir W. Pen in bed and
there much talke and much dissembling of kindnesse from him, but he is a
false rogue, and I shall not trust him, but my being there did procure his
consent to have his silk carried away before the money received, which he
would not have done for Cocke I am sure. Thence to Rochester, walked to
the Crowne, and while dinner was getting ready, I did there walk to visit
the old Castle ruines, which hath been a noble place, and there going up I
did upon the stairs overtake three pretty mayds or women and took them up
with me, and I did 'baiser sur mouches et toucher leur mains' and necks to
my great pleasure: but, Lord! to see what a dreadfull thing it is to look
down the precipices, for it did fright me mightily, and hinder me of much
pleasure which I would have made to myself in the company of these three,
if it had not been for that. The place hath been very noble and great and
strong in former ages. So to walk up and down the Cathedral, and thence
to the Crowne, whither Mr. Fowler, the Mayor of the towne, was come in his
gowne, and is a very reverend magistrate. After I had eat a bit, not
staying to eat with them, I went away, and so took horses and to
Gravesend, and there staid not, but got a boat, the sicknesse being very
much in the towne still, and so called on board my Lord Bruncker and Sir
John Minnes, on board one of the East Indiamen at Erith, and there do find
them full of envious complaints for the pillageing of the ships, but I did
pacify them, and discoursed about making money of some of the goods, and
do hope to be the better by it honestly. So took leave (Madam Williams
being here also with my Lord), and about 8 o'clock got to Woolwich and
there supped and mighty pleasant with my wife, who is, for ought I see,
all friends with her mayds, and so in great joy and content to bed.
3rd. Up, and to my great content visited betimes by Mr. Woolly, my uncle
Wight's cozen, who comes to see what work I have for him about these East
India goods, and I do find that this fellow might have been of great use,
and hereafter may be of very great use to me, in this trade of prize
goods, and glad I am fully of his coming hither. While I dressed myself,
and afterwards in walking to Greenwich we did discourse over all the
business of the prize goods, and he puts me in hopes I may get some money
in what I have done, but not so much as I expected, but that I may
hereafter do more. We have laid a design of getting more, and are to talk
again of it a few days hence. To the office, where nobody to meet me, Sir
W. Batten being the only man and he gone this day to meet to adjourne the
Parliament to Oxford. Anon by appointment comes one to tell me my Lord
Rutherford is come; so I to the King's Head to him, where I find his lady,
a fine young Scotch lady, pretty handsome and plain. My wife also, and
Mercer, by and by comes, Creed bringing them; and so presently to dinner
and very merry; and after to even our accounts, and I to give him tallys,
where he do allow me L100, of which to my grief the rogue Creed has
trepanned me out of L50. But I do foresee a way how it may be I may get a
greater sum of my Lord to his content by getting him allowance of interest
upon his tallys. That being done, and some musique and other diversions,
at last away goes my Lord and Lady, and I sent my wife to visit Mrs.
Pierce, and so I to my office, where wrote important letters to the Court,
and at night (Creed having clownishly left my wife), I to Mrs. Pierces and
brought her and Mrs. Pierce to the King's Head and there spent a piece
upon a supper for her and mighty merry and pretty discourse, she being as
pretty as ever, most of our mirth being upon "my Cozen" (meaning my Lord
Bruncker's ugly mistress, whom he calls cozen), and to my trouble she
tells me that the fine Mrs. Middleton is noted for carrying about her body
a continued sour base smell, that is very offensive, especially if she be
a little hot. Here some bad musique to close the night and so away and
all of us saw Mrs. Belle Pierce (as pretty as ever she was almost) home,
and so walked to Will's lodging where I used to lie, and there made shift
for a bed for Mercer, and mighty pleasantly to bed. This night I hear
that of our two watermen that use to carry our letters, and were well on
Saturday last, one is dead, and the other dying sick of the plague. The
plague, though decreasing elsewhere, yet being greater about the Tower and
thereabouts.
4th. Up and to my office, where Mr. Andrews comes, and reckoning with him
I get L64 of him. By and by comes Mr. Gawden, and reckoning with him he
gives me L60 in his account, which is a great mercy to me. Then both of
them met and discoursed the business of the first man's resigning and the
other's taking up the business of the victualling of Tangier, and I do not
think that I shall be able to do as well under Mr. Gawden as under these
men, or within a little as to profit and less care upon me. Thence to the
King's Head to dinner, where we three and Creed and my wife and her woman
dined mighty merry and sat long talking, and so in the afternoon broke up,
and I led my wife to our lodging again, and I to the office where did much
business, and so to my wife. This night comes Sir George Smith to see me
at the office, and tells me how the plague is decreased this week 740, for
which God be praised! but that it encreases at our end of the town still,
and says how all the towne is full of Captain Cocke's being in some ill
condition about prize-goods, his goods being taken from him, and I know
not what. But though this troubles me to have it said, and that it is
likely to be a business in Parliament, yet I am not much concerned at it,
because yet I believe this newes is all false, for he would have wrote to
me sure about it. Being come to my wife, at our lodging, I did go to bed,
and left my wife with her people to laugh and dance and I to sleep.
5th. Lay long in bed talking among other things of my sister Pall, and my
wife of herself is very willing that I should give her L400 to her
portion, and would have her married soon as we could; but this great
sicknesse time do make it unfit to send for her up. I abroad to the
office and thence to the Duke of Albemarle, all my way reading a book of
Mr. Evelyn's translating and sending me as a present, about directions for
gathering a Library;
[Instructions concerning erecting of a Library, presented to my
Lord the President De Mesme by Gilbert Naudeus, and now interpreted
by Jo. Evelyn, Esquire. London, 1661: This little book was
dedicated to Lord Clarendon by the translator. It was printed while
Evelyn was abroad, and is full of typographical errors; these are
corrected in a copy mentioned in Evelyn's "Miscellaneous Writings,"
1825, p. xii, where a letter to Dr. Godolphin on the subject is
printed.]
but the book is above my reach, but his epistle to my Lord Chancellor is a
very fine piece. When I come to the Duke it was about the victuallers'
business, to put it into other hands, or more hands, which I do advise in,
but I hope to do myself a jobb of work in it. So I walked through
Westminster to my old house the Swan, and there did pass some time with
Sarah, and so down by water to Deptford and there to my Valentine.
[A Mrs. Bagwell. See ante, February 14th, 1664-65]
Round about and next door on every side is the plague, but I did not value
it, but there did what I would 'con elle', and so away to Mr. Evelyn's to
discourse of our confounded business of prisoners, and sick and wounded
seamen, wherein he and we are so much put out of order.
[Each of the Commissioners for the Sick and Wounded was appointed to
a particular district, and Evelyn's district was Kent and Sussex.
On September 25th, 1665, Evelyn wrote in his Diary: "My Lord Admiral
being come from ye fleete to Greenewich, I went thence with him to
ye Cockpit to consult with the Duke of Albemarle. I was peremptory
that unlesse we had L10,000 immediately, the prisoners would starve,
and 'twas proposed it should be rais'd out of the E. India prizes
now taken by Lord Sandwich. They being but two of ye Commission,
and so not impower'd to determine, sent an expresse to his Majesty
and Council to know what they should do."]
And here he showed me his gardens, which are for variety of evergreens,
and hedge of holly, the finest things I ever saw in my life.
[Evelyn purchased Sayes Court, Deptford, in 1653, and laid out his
gardens, walks, groves, enclosures, and plantations, which
afterwards became famous for their beauty. When he took the place
in hand it was nothing but an open field of one hundred acres, with
scarcely a hedge in it.]
Thence in his coach to Greenwich, and there to my office, all the way
having fine discourse of trees and the nature of vegetables. And so to
write letters, I very late to Sir W. Coventry of great concernment, and so
to my last night's lodging, but my wife is gone home to Woolwich. The
Bill, blessed be God! is less this week by 740 of what it was the last
week. Being come to my lodging I got something to eat, having eat little
all the day, and so to bed, having this night renewed my promises of
observing my vowes as I used to do; for I find that, since I left them
off, my mind is run a'wool-gathering and my business neglected.
6th. Up, and having sent for Mr. Gawden he come to me, and he and I
largely discoursed the business of his Victualling, in order to the adding
of partners to him or other ways of altering it, wherein I find him ready
to do anything the King would have him do. So he and I took his coach and
to Lambeth and to the Duke of Albemarle about it, and so back again, where
he left me. In our way discoursing of the business and contracting a
great friendship with him, and I find he is a man most worthy to be made a
friend, being very honest and gratefull, and in the freedom of our
discourse he did tell me his opinion and knowledge of Sir W. Pen to be,
what I know him to be, as false a man as ever was born, for so, it seems,
he hath been to him. He did also tell me, discoursing how things are
governed as to the King's treasure, that, having occasion for money in the
country, he did offer Alderman Maynell to pay him down money here, to be
paid by the Receiver in some county in the country, upon whom Maynell had
assignments, in whose hands the money also lay ready. But Maynell refused
it, saying that he could have his money when he would, and had rather it
should lie where it do than receive it here in towne this sickly time,
where he hath no occasion for it. But now the evil is that he hath lent
this money upon tallys which are become payable, but he finds that nobody
looks after it, how long the money is unpaid, and whether it lies dead in
the Receiver's hands or no, so the King he pays Maynell 10 per cent. while
the money lies in his Receiver's hands to no purpose but the benefit of
the Receiver. I to dinner to the King's Head with Mr. Woolly, who is come
to instruct me in the business of my goods, but gives me not so good
comfort as I thought I should have had. But, however, it will be well
worth my time though not above 2 or L300. He gone I to my office, where
very busy drawing up a letter by way of discourse to the Duke of Albemarle
about my conception how the business of the Victualling should be ordered,
wherein I have taken great pains, and I think have hitt the right if they
will but follow it. At this very late and so home to our lodgings to bed.
7th. Up and to the office along with Mr. Childe, whom I sent for to
discourse about the victualling business, who will not come into
partnership (no more will Captain Beckford ), but I do find him a mighty
understanding man, and one I will keep a knowledge of. Did business,
though not much, at the office; because of the horrible crowd and
lamentable moan of the poor seamen that lie starving in the streets for
lack of money. Which do trouble and perplex me to the heart; and more at
noon when we were to go through them, for then a whole hundred of them
followed us; some cursing, some swearing, and some praying to us. And
that that made me more troubled was a letter come this afternoon from the
Duke of Albemarle, signifying the Dutch to be in sight, with 80 sayle,
yesterday morning, off of Solebay, coming right into the bay. God knows
what they will and may do to us, we having no force abroad able to oppose
them, but to be sacrificed to them. Here come Sir W. Rider to me, whom I
sent for about the victualling business also, but he neither will not come
into partnership, but desires to be of the Commission if there be one.
Thence back the back way to my office, where very late, very busy. But
most of all when at night come two waggons from Rochester with more goods
from Captain Cocke; and in houseing them at Mr. Tooker's lodgings come two
of the Custome-house to seize them, and did seize them but I showed them
my 'Transire'. However, after some hot and angry words, we locked them
up, and sealed up the key, and did give it to the constable to keep till
Monday, and so parted. But, Lord! to think how the poor constable come
to me in the dark going home; "Sir," says he, "I have the key, and if you
would have me do any service for you, send for me betimes to-morrow
morning, and I will do what you would have me." Whether the fellow do
this out of kindness or knavery, I cannot tell; but it is pretty to
observe. Talking with him in the high way, come close by the bearers with
a dead corpse of the plague; but, Lord! to see what custom is, that I am
come almost to think nothing of it. So to my lodging, and there, with Mr.
Hater and Will, ending a business of the state of the last six months'
charge of the Navy, which we bring to L1,000,000 and above, and I think we
do not enlarge much in it if anything. So to bed.
8th (Lord's day). Up and, after being trimmed, to the office, whither I
upon a letter from the Duke of Albemarle to me, to order as many ships
forth out of the river as I can presently, to joyne to meet the Dutch;
having ordered all the Captains of the ships in the river to come to me, I
did some business with them, and so to Captain Cocke's to dinner, he being
in the country. But here his brother Solomon was, and, for guests,
myself, Sir G. Smith, and a very fine lady, one Mrs. Penington, and two
more gentlemen. But, both [before] and after dinner, most witty discourse
with this lady, who is a very fine witty lady, one of the best I ever
heard speake, and indifferent handsome. There after dinner an houre or
two, and so to the office, where ended my business with the Captains; and
I think of twenty-two ships we shall make shift to get out seven. (God
helpe us! men being sick, or provisions lacking.) And so to write letters
to Sir Ph. Warwicke, Sir W. Coventry, and Sir G. Carteret to Court about
the last six months' accounts, and sent away by an express to-night. This
day I hear the Pope is dead;--[a false report]--and one said, that the
newes is, that the King of France is stabbed, but that the former is very
true, which will do great things sure, as to the troubling of that part of
the world, the King of Spayne
[Philip IV., King of Spain, who succeeded to the throne in 1621,
died in 1665. He was succeeded by his son Charles II.]
being so lately dead. And one thing more, Sir Martin Noell's lady is dead
with griefe for the death of her husband and nothing else, as they say, in
the world; but it seems nobody can make anything of his estate, whether he
be dead worth anything or no, he having dealt in so many things, publique
and private, as nobody can understand whereabouts his estate is, which is
the fate of these great dealers at everything. So after my business being
done I home to my lodging and to bed,
9th. Up, my head full of business, and called upon also by Sir John Shaw,
to whom I did give a civil answer about our prize goods, that all his dues
as one of the Farmers of the Customes are paid, and showed him our
Transire; with which he was satisfied, and parted, ordering his servants
to see the weight of them. I to the office, and there found an order for
my coming presently to the Duke of Albemarle, and what should it be, but
to tell me, that, if my Lord Sandwich do not come to towne, he do resolve
to go with the fleete to sea himself, the Dutch, as he thinks, being in
the Downes, and so desired me to get a pleasure boat for to take him in
to-morrow morning, and do many other things, and with a great liking of
me, and my management especially, as that coxcombe my Lord Craven do tell
me, and I perceive it, and I am sure take pains enough to deserve it.
Thence away and to the office at London, where I did some business about
my money and private accounts, and there eat a bit of goose of Mr.
Griffin's, and so by water, it raining most miserably, to Greenwich,
calling on several vessels in my passage. Being come there I hear another
seizure hath been made of our goods by one Captain Fisher that hath been
at Chatham by warrant of the Duke of Albemarle, and is come in my absence
to Tooker's and viewed them, demanding the key of the constable, and so
sealed up the door. I to the house, but there being no officers nor
constable could do nothing, but back to my office full of trouble about
this, and there late about business, vexed to see myself fall into this
trouble and concernment in a thing that I want instruction from my Lord
Sandwich whether I should appear in it or no, and so home to bed, having
spent two hours, I and my boy, at Mr. Glanvill's removing of <DW19>s to
make room to remove our goods to, but when done I thought it not fit to
use it. The newes of the killing of the [King of] France is wholly
untrue, and they say that of the Pope too.
10th. Up, and receive a stop from the Duke of Albemarle of setting out
any more ships, or providing a pleasure boat for himself, which I am glad
of, and do see, what I thought yesterday, that this resolution of his was
a sudden one and silly. By and by comes Captain Cocke's Jacob to tell me
that he is come from Chatham this morning, and that there are four waggons
of goods at hand coming to towne, which troubles me. I directed him to
bring them to his master's house. But before I could send him away to
bring them thither, newes is brought me that they are seized on in the
towne by this Captain Fisher and they will carry them to another place.
So I to them and found our four waggons in the streete stopped by the
church by this Fisher and company and 100 or 200 people in the streetes
gazing. I did give them good words, and made modest desires of carrying
the goods to Captain Cocke's, but they would have them to a house of their
hiring, where in a barne the goods were laid. I had transires to show for
all, and the tale was right, and there I spent all the morning seeing this
done. At which Fisher was vexed that I would not let it be done by any
body else for the merchant, and that I must needs be concerned therein,
which I did not think fit to owne. So that being done, I left the goods
to be watched by men on their part and ours, and so to the office by noon,
whither by and by comes Captain Cocke, whom I had with great care sent for
by expresse the last night, and so I with him to his house and there eat a
bit, and so | 1,084.158381 |
2023-11-16 18:35:08.1384830 | 6,542 | 9 |
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THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS
JOINT EDITORS
ARTHUR MEE Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
J.A. HAMMERTON Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
VOL. IX LIVES AND LETTERS
MCMX
* * * * *
Table of Contents
ABELARD AND HELOISE
Love-Letters
AMIEL, H.F.
Fragments of an Intimate Diary
AUGUSTINE, SAINT
Confessions
BOSWELL, JAMES
Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D.
BREWSTER, SIR DAVID
Life of Sir Isaac Newton
BUNYAN, JOHN
Grace Abounding
CARLYLE, ALEXANDER
Autobiography
CARLYLE, THOMAS
Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell
Life of Schiller
CELLINI, BENVENUTO
Autobiography
CHATEAUBRIAND, FRANCOIS RENE DE
Memoirs from Beyond the Grave
CHESTERFIELD, EARL OF
Letters to His Son
CICERO, MARCUS TULLIUS
Letters
COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR
Biographia Literaria
COWPER, WILLIAM
Letters
DE QUINCEY, THOMAS
Confessions of an English Opium-Eater
DUMAS, ALEXANDRE
Memoirs
EVELYN, JOHN
Diary
FORSTER, JOHN
Life of Goldsmith
FOX, GEORGE
Journal
FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN
Autobiography
GASKELL, MRS.
The Life of Charlotte Bronte
GIBBON, EDWARD
Memoirs
GOETHE, J.W. VON
Letters to Zelter
Poetry and Truth
Conversations with Eckermann
GRAY, THOMAS
Letters
HAMILTON, ANTONY
Memoirs of the Count De Grammont
HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL
Our Old Home
A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
of Volume XX.
* * * * *
ABELARD AND HELOISE
Love-Letters
In the Paris cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, on summer Sundays,
flowers and wreaths are still laid on the tomb of a woman who
died nearly 750 years ago. It is the grave of Heloise and of
her lover Abelard, the hero and heroine of one of the world's
greatest love stories. Born in 1079, Abelard, after a
scholastic activity of twenty-five years, reached the highest
academic dignity in Christendom--the Chair of the Episcopal
School in Paris. When he was 38 he first saw Heloise, then a
beautiful girl of 17, living with her uncle, Canon Fulbert.
Abelard became her tutor, and fell madly in love with her. The
passion was as madly returned. The pair fled to Brittany,
where a child was born. There was a secret marriage, but
because she imagined it would hinder Abelard's advancement,
Heloise denied the marriage. Fulbert was furious. With hired
assistance, he invaded Abelard's rooms and brutally mutilated
him. Abelard, distressed by this degradation, turned monk. But
he must have Heloise turn nun; she agreed, and at 22 took the
veil. Ten years later she learned that Abelard had not found
content in his retirement, and wrote to him the first of the
five famous letters. Abelard died in 1142, and his remains
were given into the keeping of Heloise. Twenty years
afterwards she died, and was buried beside him at Paraclete.
In 1800 their remains were taken to Paris, and in 1817
interred in Pere-Lachaise Cemetery. The love-letters,
originally written in Latin, about 1128, were first published
in Paris in 1616.
_I.--Heloise to Abelard_
Heloise has just seen a "consolatory" letter of Abelard's to a friend.
She had no right to open it, but in justification of the liberty she
took, she flatters herself that she may claim a privilege over
everything which comes from that hand.
"But how dear did my curiosity cost me! What disturbance did it
occasion, and how surprised I was to find the whole letter filled with a
particular and melancholy account of our misfortunes! Though length of
time ought to have closed up my wounds, yet the seeing them described by
you was sufficient to make them all open and bleed afresh. Surely all
the misfortunes of lovers are conveyed to them through the eyes. Upon
reading your letter I feel all mine renewed. Observe, I beseech you, to
what a wretched condition you have reduced me; sad, afflicted, without
any possible comfort unless it proceed from you. Be not then unkind, nor
deny me, I beg of you, that little relief which you only can give. Let
me have a faithful account of all that concerns you; I would know
everything, be it ever so unfortunate. Perhaps by mingling my sighs with
yours I may make your sufferings less, for it has been said that all
sorrows divided are made lighter.
"I shall always have this, if you please, and it will always be
agreeable to me that, when I receive a letter from you, I shall know you
still remember me. I have your picture in my room. I never pass it
without stopping to look at it. If a picture, which is but a mute
representation of an object, can give such pleasure, what cannot letters
inspire? We may write to each other; so innocent a pleasure is not
denied us. I shall read that you are my husband, and you shall see me
sign myself your wife. In spite of all our misfortunes, you may be what
you please in your letter. Having lost the substantial pleasures of
seeing and possessing you, I shall in some measure compensate this loss
by the satisfaction I shall find in your writing. There I shall read
your most sacred thoughts; I shall carry them always about with me; I
shall kiss them every moment. I cannot live if you will not tell me that
you still love me.
"When you write to me you will write to your wife; marriage has made
such a correspondence lawful and since you can without the least scandal
satisfy me why will you not? I am not only engaged by my vows, but I
have the fear of my uncle before me. There is nothing, then, that you
need dread. You have been the occasion of all my misfortunes, you
therefore must be the instrument of my comfort. You cannot but remember
(for lovers cannot forget) with what pleasure I have passed whole days
in hearing your discourse; how, when you were absent, I shut myself from
everyone to write to you; how uneasy I was till my letter had come to
your hands; what artful management it required to engage messengers.
This detail perhaps surprises you, and you are in pain for what may
follow. But I am no longer ashamed that my passion for you had no
bounds, for I have done more than all this.
"I have hated myself that I might love you; I came hither to ruin myself
in a perpetual imprisonment that I might make you live quietly and at
ease. Nothing but virtue, joined to a love perfectly disengaged from the
senses, could have produced such effects. Vice never inspires anything
like this; it is too much enslaved to the body. This was my cruel
uncle's notion; he measured my virtue by the frailty of my sex, and
thought it was the man and not the person I loved. But he has been
guilty to no purpose. I love you more than ever, and so revenge myself
on him. I will still love you with all the tenderness of my soul till
the last moment of my life."
Formerly, she tells him, the man was the least she valued in him. It was
his heart she desired to possess. "You cannot but be entirely persuaded
of this by the extreme unwillingness I showed to marry you, though I
knew that the name of wife was honourable in the world and holy in
religion; yet the name of your mistress had greater charms because it
was more free. The bonds of matrimony, however honourable, still bear
with them a necessary engagement, and I was very unwilling to be
necessitated to love always a man who would perhaps not always love me.
I despised the name of wife that I might live happy with that of
mistress."
And then, ecstatically recalling the old happy times, she deplores that
she has nothing left but the painful memory that they are past. Beyond
that, she has no regret except that against her will she must now be
innocent. "My misfortune was to have cruel relatives whose malice
destroyed the calm we enjoyed; had they been reasonable, I had now been
happy in the enjoyment of my dear husband. Oh, how cruel were they when
their blind fury urged a villain to surprise you in your sleep! Where
was I--where was your Heloise then? What joy should I have had in
defending my lover! I would have guarded you from violence at the
expense of my life. Oh, whither does this excess of passion hurry me?
Here love is shocked, and modesty deprives me of words."
She goes on to reproach him with his neglect and silence these ten
years. When she pronounced her "sad vow," he had protested that his
whole being was hers; that he would never live but to love Heloise. But
he has proved the "unfaithful one." Though she is immured in the
convent, it was only harsh relatives and "the unhappy consequences of
our love and your disgrace" that made her put on the habit of chastity.
She is not penitent for the past. At one moment she is swayed by the
sentiment of piety, and next moment she yields up her imagination to all
that is amorous and tender. "Among those who are wedded to God I am
wedded to a man; among the heroic supporters of the Cross I am the slave
of a human desire; at the head of a religious community I am devoted to
Abelard alone. Even here I love you as much as ever I did in the world.
If I had loved pleasures could I not have found means to gratify myself?
I was not more than twenty-two years old, and there were other men left
though I was deprived of Abelard. And yet I buried myself in a nunnery,
and triumphed over life at an age capable of enjoying it to its full
latitude. It is to you I sacrifice these remains of a transitory beauty,
these widowed nights and tedious days."
And then she closes passionately: "Oh, think of me--do not forget
me--remember my love, and fidelity, and constancy: love me as your
mistress, cherish me as your child, your sister, your wife! Remember I
still love you, and yet strive to avoid loving you. What a terrible
saying is this! I shake with horror, and my very heart revolts against
what I say. I shall blot all my paper with tears. I end my long letter
wishing you, if you desire it (would to Heaven I could!), for ever
adieu!"
_II. Abelard to Heloise_
Abelard's answer to this letter is almost as passionate. He tells how he
has vainly sought in philosophy and religion a remedy for his disgrace;
how with equal futility he has tried to secure himself from love by the
rigours of the monastic life. He has gained nothing by it all. "If my
passion has been put under a restraint, my thoughts yet run free. I
promise myself that I will forget you, and yet cannot think of it
without loving you. After a multitude of useless endeavours I begin to
persuade myself that it is a superfluous trouble to strive to free
myself; and that it is sufficient wisdom to conceal from all but you how
confused and weak I am. I remove to a distance from your person with an
intention of avoiding you as an enemy; and yet I incessantly seek for
you in my mind; I recall your image in my memory, and in different
disquietudes I betray and contradict myself. I hate you! I love you! You
call me your master; it is true you were entrusted to my care. I saw
you, I was earnest to teach you; it cost you your innocence and me my
liberty. If now, having lost the power of satisfying my passion, I had
also lost that of loving you, I should have some consolation. But I find
myself much more guilty in my thoughts of you, even amidst my tears,
than in possessing you when I was in full liberty. I continually think
of you; I continually call to mind your tenderness."
He explains some of the means he has tried to make himself forget. He
has tried several fasts, and redoubled studies, and exhausted his
strength in constant exercises, but all to no purpose. "Oh, do not," he
exclaims, "add to my miseries by your constancy. Forget, if you can,
your favours and that right which they claim over me; allow me to be
indifferent. Why use your eloquence to reproach me for my flight and for
my silence? Spare the recital of our assignations and your constant
exactness to them; without calling up such disturbing thoughts I have
enough to suffer. What great advantages would philosophy give us over
other men if, by studying it, we could learn to govern our passions?
What a troublesome employment is love!"
Then he tries to excuse himself for his original betrayal. "Those
charms, that beauty, that air, which I yet behold at this instant,
occasioned my fall. Your looks were the beginning of my guilt; your
eyes, your discourse, pierced my heart; and, in spite of that ambition
and glory which tried to make a defence, love was soon the master." Even
now "my love burns fiercer amidst the happy indifference of those who
surround me. The Gospel is a language I do not understand when it
opposes my passion. Void of all relish for virtue, without concern for
my condition and without application to my studies, I am continually
present by my imagination where I ought not to be, and I find I have no
power to correct myself." He advises her to give up her mind to her holy
vocation as a means of forgetting him. "Make yourself amends by so
glorious a choice; make your virtue a spectacle worthy of men and
angels. Drink of the chalice of saints, even to the bottom, without
turning your eyes with uncertainty upon me. To forget Heloise, to see
her no more, is what Heaven demands of Abelard; and to expect nothing
from Abelard, to forget him even as an idea, is what Heaven enjoins on
Heloise."
He acknowledges that he made her take the veil for his own selfish
reasons, but is now bound to admit that "God rejected my offering and my
prayer, and continued my punishment by suffering me to continue my love.
Thus I bear alike the guilt of your vows and of the passion that
preceded them, and must be tormented all the days of my life." Once more
he adjures her to deliver herself from the "shameful remains" of a
passion which has taken too deep root. "To love Heloise truly," he
closes, "is to leave her to that quiet which retirement and virtue
afford. I have resolved it: this letter shall be my last fault. Adieu! I
hope you will be willing, when you have finished this mortal life, to be
buried near me. Your cold ashes need then fear nothing, and my tomb
shall be more rich and renowned."
_III.--Heloise to Abelard_
The passion of Heloise is only inflamed by this letter from Abelard. She
has got him to write, and now she wants to see him and to hear more
about him. She cynically remarks that he has made greater advances in
the way of devotion than she could wish. There, alas! she is too weak to
follow him. But she must have his advice and spiritual comfort. "Can you
have the cruelty to abandon me? The fear of this stabs my heart." She
reproaches him for the "fearful presages" of death he had made in his
letter. And as regards his wish that she should take care of his
remains, she says: "Heaven, severe as it has been to me, is not so
insensible as to permit me to live one moment after you. Life without
Abelard were an insupportable punishment, and death a most exquisite
happiness if by that means I could be united to him. If Heaven but
hearken to my continual cry, your days will be prolonged and you will
bury me." It is his part, she says, to prepare _her_ for the great
crisis, to receive her last sighs. What could she hope for if _he_ were
taken away? "I have renounced without difficulty all the charms of life,
preserving only my love, and the secret pleasure of thinking incessantly
of you and hearing that you live. Dear Abelard, pity my despair! The
higher you raised me above other women, who envied me your love, the
more sensible am I now of the loss of your heart. I was exalted to the
top of happiness only that I might have the more terrible fall. Nothing
could be compared to my pleasures, and now nothing can equal my misery."
She blames herself entirely for Abelard's present position. "I, wretched
I, have ruined you, and have been the cause of all your misfortunes. How
dangerous it is for a great man to suffer himself to be moved by our
sex! He ought from his infancy to be inured to insensibility of heart
against all our charms. I have long examined things, and have found that
death is less dangerous than beauty. It is the shipwreck of liberty, a
fatal snare, from which it is impossible ever to get free."
She protests that she cannot forget. "Even into holy places before the
altar I carry the memory of our love; and, far from lamenting for having
been seduced by pleasures, I sigh for having lost them." She counts
herself more to be pitied than Abelard, because grace and misfortune
have helped him, whereas she has still her relentless passions to fight.
"Our sex is nothing but weakness, and I have the greater difficulty in
defending myself, because the enemy that attacks me pleases me. I doat
on the danger which threatens. How, then, can I avoid yielding? I seek
not to conquer for fear I should be overcome; happiness enough for me to
escape shipwreck and at last reach port. Heaven commands me to renounce
my fatal passion for you; but, oh! my heart will never be able to
consent to it. Adieu."
_IV.--Heloise to Abelard_
Abelard has not replied to this letter, and Heloise begins by
sarcastically thanking him for his neglect. She pretends to have subdued
her passion, and, addressing him rather as priest than lover, demands
his spiritual counsel. Thus caustically does she proclaim her
inconstancy. "At last, Abelard, you have lost Heloise for ever.
Notwithstanding all the oaths I made to think of nothing but you, and to
be entertained by nothing but you, I have banished you from my thoughts;
I have forgot you. Thou charming idea of a lover I once adored, thou
wilt be no more my happiness! Dear image of Abelard! thou wilt no longer
follow me, no longer shall I remember thee. Oh, enchanting pleasures to
which Heloise resigned herself--you, you have been my tormentors! I
confess my inconstancy, Abelard, without a blush; let my infidelity
teach the world that there is no depending on the promises of women--we
are all subject to change. When I tell you what Rival hath ravished my
heart from you, you will praise my inconstancy, and pray this Rival to
fix it. By this you will know that 'tis God alone that takes Heloise
from you."
She explains how she arrived at this decision by being brought to the
gates of death by a dangerous illness. Her passion now seemed criminal.
She has therefore torn off the bandages which blinded her, and "you are
to me no longer the loving Abelard who constantly sought private
conversations with me by deceiving the vigilance of our observers." She
enlarges on her resolution. She will "no more endeavour, by the relation
of those pleasures our passion gave us, to awaken any guilty fondness
you may yet feel for me. I demand nothing of you but spiritual advice
and wholesome discipline. You cannot now be silent without a crime. When
I was possessed with so violent a love, and pressed you so earnestly to
write to me, how many letters did I send you before I could obtain one
from you?"
But, alas! her woman's weakness conquers again. For the moment she
forgets her resolution, and exclaims: "My dear husband (for the last
time I use that title!), shall I never see you again? Shall I never have
the pleasure of embracing you before death? What dost thou say, wretched
Heloise? Dost thou know what thou desirest? Couldst thou behold those
brilliant eyes without recalling the tender glances which have been so
fatal to thee? Couldst thou see that majestic air of Abelard without
being jealous of everyone who beholds so attractive a man? That mouth
cannot be looked upon without desire; in short, no woman can view the
person of Abelard without danger. Ask no more to see Abelard; if the
memory of him has caused thee so much trouble, Heloise, what would not
his presence do? What desires will it not excite in thy soul? How will
it be possible to keep thy reason at the sight of so lovable a man?"
She reverts to her delightful dreams about Abelard, when "you press me
to you and I yield to you, and our souls, animated with the same
passion, are sensible of the same pleasures." Then she recalls her
resolution, and closes with these words: "I begin to perceive that I
take too much pleasure in writing to you; I ought to burn this letter.
It shows that I still feel a deep passion for you, though at the
beginning I tried to persuade you to the contrary. I am sensible of
waves both of grace and passion, and by turns yield to each. Have pity,
Abelard, on the condition to which you have brought me, and make in some
measure my last days as peaceful as my first have been uneasy and
disturbed."
_V.--Abelard to Heloise_
Abelard remains firm. "Write no more to me, Heloise, write no more to
me; 'tis time to end communications which make our penances of no
avail," he says. "Let us no more deceive ourselves with remembrance of
our past pleasures; we but make our lives troubled and spoil the sweets
of solitude. Let us make good use of our austerities, and no longer
preserve the memories of our crimes amongst the severities of penance.
Let a mortification of body and mind, a strict fasting, continual
solitude, profound and holy meditations, and a sincere love of God
succeed our former irregularities."
Both, he deplores, are still very far from this enviable state. "Your
heart still burns with that fatal fire you cannot extinguish, and mine
is full of trouble and unrest. Think not, Heloise, that I here enjoy a
perfect peace; I will for the last time open my heart to you; I am not
yet disengaged from you, and though I fight against my excessive
tenderness for you, in spite of all my endeavours I remain but too
sensible of your sorrows, and long to share in them. The world, which is
generally wrong in its notions, thinks I am at peace, and imagining that
I loved you only for the gratification of the senses, have now forgot
you. What a mistake is this!"
He exhorts her to strive, to be more firm in her resolutions, to "break
those shameful chains which bind you to the flesh." He pictures the
death of a saint and he works upon her fears by impressing upon her the
terrors of hell. His last recorded words to her are these:
"I question not, Heloise, but you will hereafter apply yourself in good
earnest to the business of your salvation; this ought to be your whole
concern. Banish me, therefore, for ever from your heart--it is the best
advice I can give you, for the remembrance of a person we have loved
guiltily cannot but be hurtful, whatever advances we may have made in
the way of virtue. When you have extirpated your unhappy inclination
towards me, the practice of every virtue will become easy; and when at
last your life is conformable to that of Christ, death will be desirable
to you. Your soul will joyfully leave this body, and direct its flight
to heaven. Then you will appear with confidence before your Saviour; you
will not read your reprobation in the Judgement Book, but you will hear
your Saviour say: 'Come, partake of My glory, and enjoy the eternal
reward I have appointed for those virtues you have practised.'
"Farewell, Heloise, this is the last advice of your dear Abelard; for
the last time let me persuade you to follow the rules of the Gospel.
Heaven grant that your heart, once so sensible of my love, may now yield
to be directed by my zeal. May the idea of your loving Abelard, always
present to your mind, be now changed into the image of Abelard truly and
sincerely penitent; and may you shed as many tears for your salvation as
you have done for our misfortunes."
Then the silence falls for ever.
* * * * *
HENRI FREDERIC AMIEL
Fragments of an Intimate Diary
Henri Frederic Amiel, born at Geneva on September 21, 1821,
was educated there, and later at the University of Berlin; and
held a professorship at the University of Geneva from 1849
until his death, on March 11, 1881. The "Journal Intime," of
which we give a summary, was published in 1882-84, and an
English translation by Mrs. Humphrey Ward appeared in 1885.
The book has the profound interest which attaches to all
genuine personal confessions of the interior life; but it has
the further claim to notice that it is the signal expression
of the spirit of its time, though we can no longer call it the
modern spirit. The book perfectly renders the disillusion,
languor and sentimentality which characterise a self-centred
scepticism. It is the record, indeed, of a morbid mind, but of
a mind gifted with extraordinary acuteness and with the utmost
delicacy of perception. Amiel wrote also several essays and
poems, but it is for the "Intimate Diary" alone that his name
will be remembered.
_Thoughts on Life and Conduct_
Only one thing is needful--to possess God. The senses, the powers of the
soul, and all outward resources are so many vistas opening upon
Divinity, so many ways of tasting and adoring God. To be detached from
all that is fugitive, and to seize only on the eternal and the absolute,
using the rest as no more than a loan, a tenancy! To worship,
understand, receive, feel, give, act--this is your law, your duty, your
heaven!
After all, there is only one object which we can study, and that is the
modes and metamorphoses of the human spirit. All other studies lead us
back to this one.
I have never felt the inward assurance of genius, nor the foretaste of
celebrity, nor of happiness, nor even the prospect of being husband,
father, or respected citizen. This indifference to the future is itself
a sign; my dreams are vague, indefinite; I must not now live, because I
am now hardly capable of living. Let me control myself; let me leave
life to the living, and betake myself to my ideas; let me write the
testament of my thoughts and of my heart.
_Heroism and Duty_
Heroism is the splendid and wonderful triumph of the soul over the
flesh; that is to say, over fear--the fear of poverty, suffering,
calumny, disease, isolation and death. There is no true piety without
this dazzling concentration of courage.
Duty has this great value--it makes us feel reality of the positive
world, while yet it detaches us from it.
How vulnerable am I! If I were a father, what a host of sorrows a child
could bring on me! As a husband, I should suffer in a thousand ways,
because a thousand conditions are necessary to my happiness. My heart is
too sensitive, my imagination anxious, and despair is easy. The | 1,084.158523 |
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(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
No. 29
SEPT. 11, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
MAKE UP
OR PLAYING
A NEW ROLE
_BY
THE AUTHOR
OF
"MOTOR MATT"_
_Street & Smith
Publishers
New York_
[Illustration: _"Maskee!" cried the astounded Hindoo as Motor Matt
leaped at him_]
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Copyright, 1909, by_
STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y._
=No. 29.= NEW YORK, September 11, 1909. =Price Five Cents.=
MOTOR MATT'S MAKE-UP;
OR,
PLAYING A NEW RÔLE.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HIGH JINKS IN THE SIDE SHOW.
CHAPTER II. THE "BARKER" SHOWS HIS TEETH.
CHAPTER III. THE MAN FROM WASHINGTON.
CHAPTER IV. A CLUE IN HINDOOSTANEE.
CHAPTER V. SOMETHING WRONG.
CHAPTER VI. A BLUNDER IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
CHAPTER VII. THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN SHUTTERS.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PILE OF SOOT.
CHAPTER IX. MATT MEETS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
CHAPTER X. RESCUE!
CHAPTER XI. BILL WILY REPENTS.
CHAPTER XII. MATT LAYS HIS PLANS.
CHAPTER XIII. MOTOR CAR AND AEROPLANE.
CHAPTER XIV. THE OAK OPENING.
CHAPTER XV. AEROPLANE WINS!
CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION.
A BRAVE DEED.
A LOCOMOTIVE HERO.
GEESE DROWN A SQUIRREL.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and
character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A
good chum to tie to-- | 1,084.257608 |
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THE KINGDOM OF THE YELLOW ROBE
[I | 1,084.36034 |
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
THE PARSON’S DAUGHTER OF OXNEY COLNE.
THE prettiest scenery in all England—and if I am contradicted in that
assertion, I will say in all Europe—is in Devonshire, on the southern and
south-eastern skirts of Dartmoor, where the rivers Dart, and Avon, and
Teign form themselves, and where the broken moor is half cultivated, and
the wild-looking upland fields are half moor. In making this assertion I
am often met with much doubt, but it is by persons who do not really know
the locality. Men and women talk to me on the matter, who have travelled
down the line of railway from Exeter to Plymouth, who have spent a
fortnight at Torquay, and perhaps made an excursion from Tavistock to the
convict prison on Dartmoor. But who knows the glories of Chagford? Who
has walked through the parish of Manaton? Who is conversant with
Lustleigh Cleeves and Withycombe in the moor? Who has explored Holne
Chase? Gentle reader, believe me that you will be rash in contradicting
me, unless you have done these things.
There or thereabouts—I will not say by the waters of which little river
it is washed—is the parish of Oxney Colne. And for those who wish to see
all the beauties of this lovely country, a sojourn in Oxney Colne would
be most desirable, seeing that the sojourner would then be brought nearer
to all that he would wish to visit, than at any other spot in the
country. But there in an objection to any such arrangement. There are
only two decent houses in the whole parish, and these are—or were when I
knew the locality—small and fully occupied by their possessors. The
larger and better is the parsonage, in which lived the parson and his
daughter; and the smaller is a freehold residence of a certain Miss Le
Smyrger, who owned a farm of a hundred acres, which was rented by one
Farmer Cloysey, and who also possessed some thirty acres round her own
house, which she managed herself; regarding herself to be quite as great
in cream as Mr. Cloysey, and altogether superior to him in the article of
cyder. “But yeu has to pay no rent, Miss,” Farmer Cloysey would say,
when Miss Le Smyrger expressed this opinion of her art in a manner too
defiant. “Yeu pays no rent, or yeu couldn’t do it.” Miss Le Smyrger was
an old maid, with a pedigree and blood of her own, a hundred and thirty
acres of fee-simple land on the borders of Dartmoor, fifty years of age,
a constitution of iron, and an opinion of her own on every subject under
the sun.
And now for the parson and his daughter. The parson’s name was
Woolsworthy—or Woolathy, as it was pronounced by all those who lived
around him—the Rev. Saul Woolsworthy; and his daughter was Patience
Woolsworthy, or Miss Patty, as she was known to the Devonshire world of
those parts. That name of Patience had not been well chosen for her, for
she was a hot-tempered damsel, warm in her convictions, and inclined to
express them freely. She had but two closely intimate friends in the
world, and by both of them this freedom of expression had now been fully
permitted to her since she was a child. Miss Le Smyrger and her father
were well accustomed to her ways, and on the whole well satisfied with
them. The former was equally free and equally warm-tempered as herself,
and as Mr. Woolsworthy was allowed by his daughter to be quite paramount
on his own subject—for he had a subject—he did not object to his daughter
being paramount on all others. A pretty girl was Patience Woolsworthy at
the time of which I am writing, and one who possessed much that was
worthy of remark and admiration, had she lived where beauty meets with
admiration, or where force of character is remarked. But at Oxney Colne,
on the borders of Dartmoor, there were few to appreciate her, and it
seemed as though she herself had but little idea of carrying her talent
further afield, so that it might not remain for ever wrapped in a
blanket.
She was a pretty girl, tall end slender, with dark eyes and black hair.
Her eyes were perhaps too round for regular beauty, and her hair was
perhaps too crisp; her mouth was large and expressive; her nose was
finely formed, though a critic in female form might have declared it to
be somewhat broad. But her countenance altogether was wonderfully
attractive—if only it might be seen without that resolution for dominion
which occasionally marred it, though sometimes it even added to her
attractions.
It must be confessed on behalf of Patience Woolsworthy, that the
circumstances of her life had peremptorily called upon her to exercise
dominion. She had lost her mother when she was sixteen, and had had | 1,084.461417 |
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EXULTATIONS
OF
EZRA POUND
LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET
M CM IX
_I am an eternal spirit and the things I_
_make are but ephemera, yet I endure:_
_Yea, and the little earth crumbles beneath_
_our feet and we endure._
TO CARLOS TRACY CHESTER
"_amicitiae longaevitate_"
I have to thank the Editors of the _English Review_ and the
_Evening Standard_ and _St. James's Gazette_ for permission to
include in this volume certain poems which originally appeared in
those papers.
CONTENTS
GUIDO INVITES YOU THUS
NIGHT LITANY
SANDALPHON
SESTINA: ALTAFORTE
PIERE VIDAL OLD
BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE
HYMN III FROM THE LATIN OF FLAMINIUS
SESTINA FOR YSOLT
PORTRAIT (FROM "LA MERE INCONNUE")
FAIR HELENA
LAUDANTES DECEM
AUX BELLES DE LONDRES
FRANCESCA
GREEK EPIGRAM
COLUMBUS' EPITAPH
PLOTINUS
ON HIS OWN FACE IN A GLASS
HISTRION
THE EYES
DEFIANCE
SONG
NEL BIANCHEGGIAR
NILS LYKKE
A SONG OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER
PLANH FOR THE YOUNG ENGLISH KING
ALBA INNOMINATA
PLANH
EXULTATIONS
Guido invites you thus[1]
"Lappo I leave behind and Dante too,
Lo, I would sail the seas with thee alone!
Talk me no love talk, no bought-cheap fiddl'ry,
Mine is the ship and thine the merchandise,
All the blind earth knows not th' emprise
Whereto thou calledst and whereto I call.
Lo, I have seen thee bound about with dreams,
Lo, I have known thy heart and its desire;
Life, all of it, my sea, and all men's streams
Are fused in it as flames of an altar fire!
Lo, thou hast voyaged not! The ship is mine."
[Footnote 1: The reference is to Dante's sonnet "Guido vorrei...."]
Night Litany
O Dieu, purifiez nos coeurs!
purifiez nos coeurs!
Yea the lines hast thou laid unto me
in pleasant places,
And the beauty of this thy Venice
hast thou shown unto me
Until is its loveliness become unto me
a thing of tears.
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos coeurs,
Purifiez nos coeurs,
For we have seen
The glory of the shadow of the
likeness of thine handmaid,
Yea, the glory of the shadow
of thy Beauty hath walked
Upon the shadow of the waters
In this thy Venice.
And before the holiness
Of the shadow of thy handmaid
Have I hidden mine eyes,
O God of waters.
O God of silence,
Purifiez nos coeurs,
Purifiez nos coeurs,
O God of waters,
make clean our hearts within us
And our lips to show forth thy praise,
For I have seen the
Shadow of this thy Venice
Floating upon the waters,
And thy stars
Have seen this thing out of their far courses
Have they seen this thing,
O God of waters,
Even as are thy stars
Silent unto us in their far-coursing,
Even so is mine heart
become silent within me.
_Purifiez nos coeurs_
_O God of the silence,_
_Purifiez nos coeurs_
_O God of waters._
Sandalphon
The angel of prayer according to the Talmud stands unmoved among
the angels of wind and fire, who die as their one song is finished,
also as he gathers the prayers they turn to flowers in his hands.
And these about me die,
Because the pain of the infinite singing
Slayeth them.
Ye that have sung of the pain of the earth-horde's
age-long crusading,
Ye know somewhat the strain,
the sad-sweet wonder-pain of such singing.
And therefore ye know after what fashion
This singing hath power destroying.
Yea, these about me, bearing such song in homage
Unto the Mover of Circles,
Die for the might of their praising,
And the autumn of their marcescent wings
Maketh ever new loam for my forest;
And these grey ash trees hold within them
All the secrets of whatso things
They dreamed before their praises,
And in this grove my flowers,
Fruit of prayerful powers,
Have first their thought of life
And then their being.
Ye marvel that I die not! _forsitan_!
Thinking me kin with such as may not weep,
Thinking me part of them that die for praising
--yea, tho' it be praising,
past the power of man's mortality to
dream or name its phases,
--yea, tho' it chant and paean
past the might of earth-dwelt
soul to think on,
--yea, tho' it be praising
as these the winged ones die of.
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Norwegian Life
AN ACCOUNT OF PAST AND CONTEMPORARY CONDITIONS AND PROGRESS IN NORWAY
AND SWEDEN
Edited and Arranged by
ETHLYN T. CLOUGH
PREFACE
An excursion into Norwegian life has for the student all the charm of
the traveler's real journey through the pleasant valleys of the Norse
lands. Much of this charm is explained by the tenacity of the people
to the homely virtues of honesty and thrift, to their customs which
testify to their home-loving character, and to their quaint costumes.
It is a genuine delight to study and visit these lands, because they
are the least, perhaps in Europe, affected by the leveling hand of
cosmopolitan ideas. Go where you will,--to England, about Germany,
down into Italy,--everywhere, the same monotonous sameness is growing
more oppressive every year. But in Norway and Sweden there is still an
originality, a type, if you please, that has resisted the growth of
an artificial life, and gives to students a charm which is even more
alluring than modern cities with their treasures and associations.
The student takes up Norwegian life as one of the subjects which has
been comparatively little explored, and is, therefore replete with
freshness and delight. This little book can not by any means more
than lift the curtain to view the fields of historical and literary
interest and the wondrous life lived in the deep fiords of Viking
land. But its brief pages will have, at least, the merit of giving
information on a subject about which only too little has been written.
Taken in all, there are scarcely half a dozen recent books circulating
in American literary channels on these interesting lands, and for one
reason or another, most of these are unsuited for club people. There
is an urgent call for a comprehensive book which will waste no time
in non-essentials,--a book that can be read in a few sittings and yet
will give a glimpse over this quaint and wondrously interesting corner
of Europe. This book has been prepared, as have all the predecessors
in this series, by the help of many who have written most delightfully
of striking things in Norwegian life. One has specialized in one
thing, while another has been allured by another subject. Accordingly,
"Norwegian Life" is the product of many, each inspired with feeling
and admiration for the one or two subjects on which he has written
better than on any others. Liberty has been taken to make a few
verbal changes in order to give to the story the unity and smoothness
desired, and a key-letter at the end of each chapter refers the reader
to a page at the close where due credits are given.
J.M. HALL.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I PREHISTORIC AND EARLY HISTORIC TIMES
CHAPTER II NORWAY IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
CHAPTER III SWEDEN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
CHAPTER IV THE RELIGION OF THE NORTHMEN
CHAPTER V THE LITERATURE OF NORWAY
CHAPTER VI THE LITERATURE OF SWEDEN
CHAPTER VII GOVERNMENT AND POLITICS OF NORWAY AND SWEDEN
CHAPTER VIII THE ARMY AND NAVY
CHAPTER IX PUBLIC EDUCATION
CHAPTER X HAAKON VII, NEW KING OF NORWAY
CHAPTER XI THE ROYAL FAMILY OF SWEDEN
CHAPTER XII CHARITABLE AND BENEVOLENT INSTITUTIONS
CHAPTER XIII MATERIAL CONDITIONS
CHAPTER XIV HIGHWAYS, RAILWAYS, AND WATERWAYS
CHAPTER XV THE PEOPLE: THEIR MANNERS AND CUSTOMS
CHAPTER XVI HEALTH, EXERCISE, AND AMUSEMENTS
CHAPTER XVII THE NEWSPAPERS OF NORWAY AND SWEDEN
CHAPTER XVIII NORWEGIAN FOLK SONGS
CHAPTER XIX WOMEN OF NORWAY AND SWEDEN
NORWEGIAN LIFE
CHAPTER I
PREHISTORIC AND EARLY HISTORIC TIMES
A glance at the map will show that the Scandinavian Peninsula, that
immense stretch of land running from the Arctic Ocean to the North
Sea, and from the Baltic to the Atlantic, covering an area of nearly
three hundred thousand square miles, is, next to Russia, the largest
territorial division of Europe. Surrounded by sea on all sides but
one, which gives it an unparalleled seaboard of over two thousand
miles, it hangs on the continent by its frontier line with Russia in
Lapland. Down the middle of this seabound continent, dividing it into
two nearly equal parts, runs a chain of mountains not inappropriately
called Koelen, or Keel. The name suggests the image which the aspect of
the land calls to mind, that of a huge ship floating keel upwards on
the face of the ocean. This keel forms the frontier line between the
kingdoms of Norway and Sweden: Sweden to the east, sloping gently from
the hills to the Baltic, Norway to the west, running more abruptly
down from their watershed to the Atlantic.
Norway (in the old Norse language _Noregr_, or _Nord-vegr, i.e_., the
North Way), according to archaeological explorations, appears to have
been inhabited long before historical time. The antiquarians maintain
that three populations have inhabited the North: a Mongolian race and
a Celtic race, types of which are to be found in the Finns and the
Laplanders in the far North, and, finally, a Caucasian race, which
immigrated from the South and drove out the Celtic and Laplandic
races, and from which the present inhabitants are descended. The
Norwegians, or Northmen (Norsemen), belong to a North-Germanic branch
of the Indo-European race; their nearest kindred are the Swedes, the
Danes, and the Goths. The original home of the race is supposed to
have been the mountain region of Balkh, in Western Asia, whence from
time to time families and tribes migrated in different directions. It
is not known when the ancestors of the Scandinavian peoples left
the original home in Asia; but it is probable that their earliest
settlements in Norway were made in the second century before the
Christian era.
The Scandinavian peoples, although comprising the oldest and most
unmixed race in Europe, did not realize until very late the value of
writing chronicles or reviews of historic events. Thus the names of
heroes and kings of the remotest past are helplessly forgotten, save
as they come to us in legend and folk-song, much of which we must
conclude is imaginary, beautiful as it is. But Mother Earth has
revealed to us, at the spade of the archaeologist, trustworthy
and irrefutable accounts of the age and the various degrees of
civilization of the race which inhabited the Scandinavian Peninsula in
prehistoric times. Splendid specimens now extant in numerous museums
prove that Scandinavia, like most other countries, has had a Stone
Age, a Bronze Age, and an Iron Age, and that each of these periods
reached a much higher development than in other countries.
The Scandinavian countries are for the first time mentioned by the
historians of antiquity in an account of a journey which Pyteas from
Massilia (the present Marseille) made throughout Northern Europe,
about 300 B.C. He visited Britain, and there heard of a great country,
Thule, situated six days' journey to the north, and verging on the
Arctic Sea. The inhabitants in Thule were an agricultural people who
gathered their harvest into big houses for threshing, on account of
the very few sunny days and the plentiful rain in their regions. From
corn and honey they prepared a beverage (probably mead).
Pliny the Elder, who himself visited the shores of the Baltic in the
first century after Christ, is the first to mention plainly the name
of Scandinavia. He says that he has received advices of immense
islands "recently discovered from Germany." The most famous of these
islands was Scandinavia, of as yet unexplored size; the known parts
were inhabited by a people called _hilleviones_, who gave it the name
of another world. He mentions Scandia, Nerigon, the largest of them
all, and Thule. Scandia and Scandinavia are only different forms of
the same name, denoting the southernmost part of the peninsula, and
still preserved in the name of the province of Scania in Sweden.
Nerigon stands for Norway, the northern part of which is mentioned as
an island by the name of Thule. The classical writers were ignorant
of the fact that Scandinavia was one great peninsula, because the
northern parts were as yet uninhabited and their physical connection
with Finland and Russia unknown. That the Romans were later acquainted
with the Scandinavian countries is evidenced from the fact that great
numbers of Roman coins have been found in excavating, also vessels of
bronze and glass, weapons, etc., as well as works of art, all turned
out of the workshops in Rome or its provinces. There, no doubt,
existed a regular traffic over the Baltic, through Germany, between
the Scandinavian countries and the Roman | 1,085.358086 |
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The American Missionary
(QUARTERLY)
July }
Aug. } 1900
Sept.}
Vol. LIV.
No. 3.
* * * * *
[Illustration: COURT SQUARE THEATRE, SPRINGFIELD, MASS. PLACE OF
FIFTY-FOURTH ANNUAL MEETING.]
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCI | 1,085.557094 |
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[Illustration]
THE UNIVERSAL COUNTERFEIT
AND
ALTERED BANK NOTE DETECTOR,
AT SIGHT:
A System of Infallible Detection at Sight, Applicable to all Banks
in the United States, now in circulation, or hereafter issued.
COMPLETE IN SEVEN RULES:
WITH
Diagrams and Illustrations on Steel,
FOR SELF-INSTRUCTION.
ARRANGED AND IMPROVED BY H. C. FOOTE,
71 BROADWAY, NEW YORK.
FOURTH EDITION.--FIFTH THOUSAND.
NEW YORK:
MANN & SPEAR, PRINTERS AND STATIONERS,
133 PEARL STREET.
1853.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by
WHEELER M. GILLETT,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States,
for the District of Ohio.
TESTIMONIALS.
_New York, Sept. 18th, 1849._--I have examined Mr. Foote’s method of
detecting counterfeit Bank Notes, and have no hesitation in saying, that
in my opinion it will be exceedingly serviceable to any who will give it
their attention.
F. W. EDMONDS, Cashier Mechanics’ Bank, N.Y.
I concur in the above.
E. H. ARTHUR,
Ass’t Cashier Union Bank, N.Y.
Mr. H. C. Foote’s method of detecting counterfeit and altered notes is
founded on true principles, and well worthy the consideration of all
money-takers.
J. McCHESNEY,
Of Adams, McChesney & Co., Exchange Brokers, 71 Wall st., N.Y.
CHAS. COLGATE & CO., Exchange Brokers, 67 Wall street.
C. S. SLOANE, Exchange Broker, 23 Wall street.
ANTHONY LANE, Exchange Broker, 49 Wall street.
_Troy, Nov. 23d, 1849._--Two months since I attended Mr. Foote’s
instructions in detecting counterfeit Bank Notes, and am very willing now
to say that I am well satisfied with his system and mode of explaining it.
C. P. HARTT, Teller Troy City Bank.
_New York, Nov. 28th, 1849._--I fully concur in the opinion respecting Mr.
Foote’s mode of detecting Counterfeit Bills as expressed above.
J. SIMPSON, Book-keeper, 72 William street.
_City Hall, New York, Nov 29th, 1849._--I fully concur with Mr. Simpson in
the above opinion.
GEO. W. MATSELL,
Chief of Police.
_Lansingburgh, N. Y., Nov. 23d, 1849._--I fully agree with the preceding
opinions on the subject of H. C. Foote’s Detector.
A. WALSH, Jr., Teller Bank of Lansingburgh.
_New York, Dec. 22d, 1849._--I concur in the above statements.
AMASA Z. FOSTER, Exchange Broker, 234 Pearl street.
_New York, Dec. 26th, 1849._--I have examined Mr. H. C. Foote’s system for
detecting counterfeit Bank paper and think it useful, especially in
well-executed counterfeits where judgment must depend upon the engraving
alone.
W. R. VERMILYE,
Of Carpenter & Vermilye, Exchange Brokers, 54 Wall street.
_New York, Nov. 17th, 1849._--Having taken lessons in counterfeit Bank
Note Detection, as given by Mr. H. C. Foote, I hesitate not to say that I
am fully satisfied that if strictly followed and practised upon, any man
may detect the most ingenious counterfeit. It has the advantage of being
reduced to system, and the information imparted respecting genuine
engraving is worth double the cost of lesson.
A. LEWIS,
Cashier at Loder & Co.’s Wholesale Dry Goods, 83 Cedar street.
_New York, Nov. 20th, 1849._--I have examined into Mr. Foote’s system of
counterfeit detection, and am satisfied it is useful and of great
advantage to all dealing in Bank Notes.
WILSON DEFENDORF, Exchange Broker, 82 Wall street.
SMITH & HAWS, Exchange Brokers, 137 Chatham street.
_New York, Jan. 8th, 1850._--Having been instructed by Mr. H. C. Foote in
his method of detecting counterfeit Bank Bills, I can say with confidence
that his system is perfect.
CHAS. W. HUBBELL, Cashier with Lee & Brewster,
Print Warehouse, 44 Cedar street.
_New York, Dec. 5th, 1849._--Having availed myself of the instruction
imparted in counterfeit detection as taught by Mr. H. C. Foote, I have no
hesitation in saying that I am fully satisfied that it can by strict
attention to the rules be made an infallible means of detecting all kinds
of spurious Bills.
A. CARPENTER, Domestic Goods, 52 Cedar street.
_New York. Feb. 19th, 1850._--I take pleasure in stating that the
instruction I have received from Mr. Foote is of great service to me in
detecting counterfeit and altered Bills.
CHAS. F. GOODHUE, Cashier at D. & D. H. Brooks,
Clothing Warehouse, cor. Catharine and Cherry streets.
_New York, Feb. 19th, 1850._--About the best three dollars I have spent
was with Mr. Foote for his valuable lesson in detecting counterfeit money.
JOHN T. BROWN,
Of Andrew Brown & Son, Clothiers, 114 Cherry street.
_New York, 16th Nov. 1849._--I have examined the system of Mr. Foote for
detecting counterfeits, and am satisfied that it is infallible when all
the rules are applied.
S. M. ALFORD,
Wholesale Hardware, 5 Platt street.
Also several hundred more testimonials from Bankers, Brokers, and
Merchants in New York City, Troy, Buffalo, Detroit and Ohio.
Notices by the Press of the “Universal Counterfeit Detector.”
“COUNTERFEIT BANK-NOTE DETECTOR AT SIGHT.”--We have seen a little pamphlet
of 20 pages, by H. C. Foote, of 763 Greenwich-street, N. Y., with this
title. It gives eight rules, with illustrative diagrams, by an
acquaintance with which, any person may readily distinguish the engraving
of a counterfeit bill from a genuine one--founded upon the principle that
no counterfeiter, working with his hand, can possibly attain the beauty
and accuracy of engraving by the perfect and costly machinery of
professional engravers. The difference between the two is shown by the
diagrams. The writer says he has never seen a counterfeit which a judgment
by these rules would not condemn at sight. Well-informed dealers in Bank
Notes usually act upon this principle, but Mr. Foote has here attempted to
give rules and explanations to render it more clear and easily understood,
and by which every man may judge for himself. Its price is $2. We think,
with Mr. Edmonds, Cashier of the Mechanics’ Bank, N. Y., that it will be
“exceedingly serviceable to any one who will give it due
attention.”--_Newark Daily Advertiser._
COUNTERFEIT DETECTOR.--Our readers will notice in another column the
advertisement of H. C. Foote’s Universal Counterfeit Detector. We have
examined the system, and have no hesitation in stating that it will do
more than all others now in use towards ridding the country of counterfeit
notes. The instructions which accompany the magnifying glass will enable a
person, with very little trouble, to determine between good and bad notes.
We notice among those who have recommended the system, the names of F. W.
Edmonds, Esq. Cashier of the Mechanics’ Bank, N. Y.; E. H. Arthur, Esq. of
the Union Bank; C. S. Sloane, Broker, Wall street, and many other
prominent money dealers. From what we can learn, we should think it a
subject of universal interest.--_Scientific American._
🖙 H. C. Foote has published a little book of 20 pages, called the
Counterfeit Note Detector. It seems to us to contain much important
information for the detection of counterfeit Paper-money.--_New York
Express_, November 24.
TO DETECT COUNTERFEITS.--We have been made acquainted with a very valuable
method of detecting counterfeit Bank Notes at sight, which may be learned
by any one in one hour. The author is Mr. H. C. Foote, No. 763
Greenwich-street, N. Y.--_New York Sun_, November 6th, 1849.
“THE UNIVERSAL COUNTERFEIT DETECTOR.”--Mr. H. C. Foote, of 763
Greenwich-street, has just published a pamphlet, entitled as above, small
in size, but exceedingly useful; a familiarity with the contents of which
will render every one fully competent to detect any counterfeit or altered
Bank Note at sight. From an examination into the system we are convinced
that the knowledge derived from the little work in question will be of
essential interest to every tradesman, and we therefore commend it to
their attention and consideration. By an advertisement in another column
it will be perceived that Mr. Foote will give lessons in his system, to
all who may desire it.--_New York Atlas_, February 3d, 1850.
_Water Cure Institute, Saratoga Spa_, Sept. 12th. 1849.--TO WHOM IT MAY
CONCERN:--The bearer, Henry C. Foote, is a young gentleman of
unexceptionable moral character, of excellent business habits, of strict
integrity, and is scrupulously honest. He professes nothing he is not
competent to perform. The business he is now engaged in is, and must be,
of great individual and public benefit, and a direct means of preventing
men from attempting to prey upon the community by fraud. If all that
handle money had the knowledge of detecting spurious Bank Notes at sight,
the trade would become extinct. Mr. Foote can impart this knowledge in one
hour to any person of ordinary observation. We most heartily commend him
and | 1,085.557994 |
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Thursday, _Novemb. 9. 1671_.
_At a Meeting of the Council of the ~R. Society~._
_Ordered_,
That the Discourse presented to the R. Society, Entitul’d, _The Anatomy
of ~Vegetables~ begun, with a General Accompt of ~Vegetables~ thereon_,
By _N. Grew_, M.D. be Printed by _Spencer Hickman_, one of the Printers
of the _R. Society_.
_Brouncker_ Pres.
THE
ANATOMY
OF
VEGETABLES
Begun.
With a
GENERAL ACCOUNT
OF
_VEGETATION_
Founded thereon.
By _NEHEMIAH GREW_, M. D.
and Fellow of the _Royal Society_.
_LONDON_,
Printed for _Spencer Hickman_, Printer
to the _R. Society_, at the _Rose_
in S. _Pauls_ Church-Yard, 1672.
TO THE
_Right Honourable_
&
_Most Illustrious_
THE
PRESIDENT & FELLOWS
OF THE
_ROYAL SOCIETY_,
_The Following_
DISCOURSE
_Is most Humbly_
Presented
_By_
The Authour
_NEHEMIAH GREW_.
[Illustration]
TO THE _Right Reverend_ JOHN _Lord Bishop of CHESTER_.
_MY LORD_,
I hope your pardon, if while you are holding _that Best of Books_ in one
Hand, I here present some Pages of that of _Nature_ into your other:
Especially since _your Lordship_ knoweth very well, how excellent a
_Commentary_ This is on the _Former_; by which, in part God reads the
World his own Definition, and their Duty to him.
But if this Address, _my Lord_, may be thought congruous, ’tis yet more
just; and that I should let _your Lordship_, and others know, how much,
and how deservedly I resent your extraordinary Favours: Particularly
that you were pleased so far to animate my Endeavours towards the
publishing the following _Observations_. Many whereof, and most belonging
to the First Chapter, having now lain dormant near seven years; and yet
might perhaps have so continued, had not _your Lordships_ Eye at length
created Light upon them. In doing which, you have given one, amongst
those many Tokens, of as well your readiness to promote learning and
knowledge by the hands of others; as your high Abilities to do it by
your own. Both which are so manifest in _your Lordship_, that like the
first Principles of _Mathematical Science_, they are not so much to be
asserted, because known and granted by all.
The Consideration whereof, _my Lord_, may make me not only _just_ in
owning of your Favours, but also most _Ambitious_ of your _Patronage_:
which yet to bespeak, I must confess I cannot well. Not that I think what
is good and valuable, is alwaies its own best Advocate; for I know that
the Censures of men are humorous and variable, and that one Age must
have leave to frown on those Books, which another will do nothing less
than kiss and embrace. But chiefly for this Reason, lest I should so much
as seem desirous of _your Lordships_ Solliciting my Cause as to all I
have said: For as it is your Glory, that you like not so to shine, as to
put out the least Star; so were it to your Dishonour to borrow your Name
to illustrate the Spots, though of the most conspicuous.
_Your Lordships_ Most Obliged & Most Humble Servant
_Nehemiah Grew_.
[Illustration]
THE PREFACE.
_Of what antiquity the ~Anatomy~ of ~Animals~ is, and how great have been
its Improvements of later years, is well known. That of ~Vegetables~
is a subject which from all Ages to this day hath not only lain by
uncultivated; but for ought I know, except some Observations of some of
our own Countrey-men, hath not been so much as thought upon; whether
for that the World hath been more enamoured with the former, or pity to
humane frailty hath more obliged to it, or other Reasons, I need not
enquire._
_But considering that both came at first out of the same Hand, and are
therefore the Contrivances of the same Wisdom; I thence fully assured my
self, that it could not be a vain Design, though possibly unsuccessful,
to seek it in both._
_In the prosecution hereof, how far I have gone, I neither judge my
self, nor leave it to any one else to do it; because no man knows how
far we have yet to go, or are capable of going. Nor is there any thing
which starves and stinteth the growth of knowledge more, than such
Determinations, whether we speak or conceit them only._
_What we have performed thus far, lieth, for the most part, open to the
use and improvement of all men. Only in some places, and chiefly in the
Third Chapter, we have taken in the help of Glasses; wherein, | 1,085.5592 |
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CAPRICIOUS CAROLINE
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Susannah and One Other
Love and Louisa
Peter a Parasite
The Blunder of an Innocent
CAPRICIOUS CAROLINE
BY
E. MARIA ALBANESI
"GOD HAS A FEW OF US WHOM
HE WHISPERS IN THE EAR"
BROWNING
SECOND EDITION
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published_... _September, 1904_
_Second Edition_ ... _May, 1905_
This story originally appeared in the Weekly Edition of _The Times_,
and is now issued in book form by arrangement with the proprietors of
that journal.
TO
THE LADY AILEEN WYNDHAM-QUIN
CAPRICIOUS CAROLINE
CHAPTER 1
As the large motor swung along with the easy velocity and assurance of
some enormous bird, Camilla Lancing nestled more cosily into the warmth
of her fur wraps.
Rupert Haverford was driving, and he looked back every now and then to
see if his guest was comfortable.
"Is this too quick for you?" he asked once; and Mrs. Lancing only shook
her head with a smile.
"It is too delightful," she answered.
The little town where they had been lunching lay far, far away in the
distance now, its ugliness softened by the mingling of sun and haze,
and the country through which they were passing was very open; in a
degree bleak. On one hand marshland and rough common ground, and on the
other the beach inland, then stretches of wet sand, and then the
restless, murmuring sea, bearing on its shimmering surface the cold
embrace of the setting November sun.
Mrs. Lancing sighed involuntarily as she looked dreamily away to where
the sky and sea seemed to meet, but her sigh was an unconscious tribute
to the graciousness of the circumstances in which she found herself.
The smooth swinging movement of the car fascinated her. As she now and
then closed her eyes, she felt as if she were being carried away from
all that constituted life to her at other times; from excitement and
pleasure and anxiety, from sordid and obtrusive care; even from the
fever of hope and the illusive charm of chance. It was a delightful
sensation.
Sometimes as the road curved the car seemed almost to approach the
water, and the white-crested waves broke within a few yards of it with
a boom; the rushing of the incoming and receding water making a musical
accompaniment to the humming sound of the motor. Then they passed from
the coastline, and the road began to wind upwards. The sea was shut
from view by a wall of chalky hillocks covered with stubbly grass, and
only the country outlook remained.
Just before, for a brief while, the world had worn a soft, an almost
rosy tint; but as the sun vanished this warmth went also, and now the
landscape stretched into the distance grey, unsympathetic, and
monotonous.
The speed of the car lessened as the ascent grew steeper; a thin mist
began to gather ahead of them. To Mrs. Lancing's imaginative eye this
mist took the form of a flock of fleecy white birds just hovering
before winging flight.
Haverford pulled up here and, relinquishing his place to the chauffeur,
climbed into the body of the car.
"Are you very cold?" he asked anxiously; "do you know, I am very much
afraid, Mrs. Lancing, that this road will put us back an hour or so. It
was foolish of me to come this way, for the country is new to me, and
the road is certainly about the worst we have struck lately."
He occupied himself in tucking the big fur rug more securely about his
guest, despite her protestations that she was quite warm enough, and
quite comfortable.
The road was certainly very bad, and though the car disposed of the
rough ground with an air of superb indifference, a certain amount of
jolting was inevitable.
Camilla Lancing only laughed, however, as she was tossed up and down
occasionally by the elastic movement of the springs.
"It is a matter of perfect indifference to me what time we arrive
home," she said. "That is the effect motoring has on me! It engenders a
heavenly sensation of irresponsibility. I simply don't care a pin what
happens. My one conscious desire is to go on, and on, and on."
Rupert Haverford sat down in the other seat and looked at her with the
sincerest pleasure; she was so delightful to look at. The tone of her
garb was a rich brown; she had on a long coat of some rough fur, but
round her throat and shoulders she wore a stole of the softest sables;
there was a small cap of sables on her brown hair, and she had tied the
brown gauze veil she wore in a cunning bow under her chin. A knot of
white flowers that Rupert Haverford had given her at luncheon was
tucked in among the fur at her breast, and was the only break in the
harmonious whole. She turned to him as she spoke lightly; she had a
bird-like trick of moving her small head that was very characteristic
and very pretty.
"But of course this sounds horribly selfish. So like me. Shall we be
very late? I am so sorry if you are sorry, otherwise I don't think it
matters. Agnes said she would expect us when she saw us.
Fortunately"--Mrs. Lancing laughed--"dinner is a movable feast at
Yelverton, or indeed anywhere where Agnes Brenton presides."
Haverford answered this very frankly.
"I am afraid I am not troubling in the very least about Mrs. Brenton or
her dinner, I am thinking entirely of you. This is the first time you
have entrusted yourself to my care, you know, and I want everything to
go smoothly."
"Can anything go crookedly with you?" asked Camilla Lancing; there was
the faintest tinge of envy in her voice.
Haverford laughed.
"Oh! I suppose so," he said. "I have certainly had more than my share
of luck up to now, but one never knows what is waiting for one round
the corner." Then he half rose and looked ahead. "What a mist!" he
said. "I hope we are not in for a sea fog. I hate fog of any sort."
They drove on in silence for a few moments, and the mist gathered
increasingly about them; the flock of birds had melted away, and the
white velvety film floated about them like smoke. Everything became
indistinct; even the broad outline of the chauffeur was veiled and
vague.
Camilla Lancing spoke first.
"Now, please don't worry about me," she said, half-petulantly,
translating his silence adroitly. "I am absolutely comfortable.
Naturally"--she added with a laugh--"I know that if I had done my duty
I should have insisted on driving back with Agnes, though she declared
she did not want me; but it is so nice _not_ to do one's duty every now
and then. Did you ever hear of the little boy who always asked to be
allowed some wickedness on Sundays, as he had to be so good all the
days of the week? I share the sentiments of that little boy, Mr.
Haverford."
The car pulled up here again, and the chauffeur got down and lit the
powerful lamps. By now they had passed completely into the embrace of
the white fog; the air was raw, and the damp cold very penetrating.
"But perhaps you mean you wanted me to go back with the others," Mrs.
Lancing murmured softly, as they moved onwards again.
Haverford just looked into her eyes, that even through the mist and her
veil shone brilliantly.
"You know perfectly well I was not likely to do that," he answered
bluntly, and yet there was a kind of restraint in his voice. Mrs.
Lancing caught that restraint, and with a sudden impatient contraction
of her brows moved almost imperceptibly nearer to him; she arranged her
veil with her small, white-gloved hand, and then left it lying for an
instant on the outside of the rug. It was very close to his; but Rupert
Haverford did not touch the hand, nor enfold it as he might so easily
have done protectingly in his large, brown, strong one.
Mrs. Lancing bit her lip.
"There is no mistake, we _are_ in for a fog," she said jerkily, and she
slipped her hand as she spoke back into the warmth of her big sable
muff. It was not the first time that this man had unconsciously
repulsed her; there were times when, in her irritation, she called him
a prig. But she misjudged him; Rupert Haverford was not a prig, he was
only a very straightforward, practical, in a sense, simple-minded man,
who, like an explorer, was advancing step by step into an unknown
world, meeting and mingling every day with elements that were not only
new to him, but that belonged to a range of things about which he had
never had occasion to think hitherto. Camilla herself was prominent
amongst these new sensations; she at once was a bewilderment and a
fascination. There had been no woman of this class in his life up to a
couple of years before; indeed, women of any kind had played but a
nominal part in the busy, uneventful, and certainly unpicturesque
existence that had been his lot since early boyhood.
Mrs. Lancing, of course, knew briefly the outlines of the story of this
working man and his sudden and unexpected accession to wealth, and
recognized clearly enough that Haverford was as far removed in thought
and social education from the various men who fluttered in and out of
her life as the sun is from the earth; but she had little
discrimination. With her it was never a question of character or
quality; fundamentally she decreed all men were alike, strong in
prejudice, weak in temptation, selfish, and even tyrannical; vain and
sentimental, uncomfortably moral at times, but amazingly loyal, and, as
a rule, sensitively moved by the potent charm of a woman of her
temperament and attractions.
She liked men very much, she had many men friends, and few women
friends, although the spontaneous effervescing sympathy, which was
perhaps her most marked characteristic, made her very attractive to
women, and accounted for her wide popularity; there was something so
disarming, so delightful about Camilla Lancing. Beauty alone would
never have given her a quarter the power she possessed; it was her
ready interest (absolutely genuine for the moment), her quickness in
associating herself with those things that were paramount with the
persons who approached her, that made her irresistible to all sorts and
kinds of people.
She had the tact of a delicately fashioned nature, and a vast amount of
endurance.
But she was not patient, and the more she saw of Rupert Haverford, the
more necessary he became to her, the less patience she had.
He puzzled her; he piqued her; he annoyed her; he made her nervous.
What were his feelings towards herself?
"He is so horribly slow," she mused now fretfully, "he ponders every
word he says. I suppose he is terribly afraid of making a mistake. I am
sure his money oppresses him. He must have been ever so much nicer when
he was working as a foreman, or drayman, or whatever he was before all
this money came to him."
She kept her eyes turned resolutely away from Haverford. For perversely
enough, though he was so slow, so silent, so dull, he was exceedingly
good to look at. Old-fashioned, or rather out of the fashion, he might
be, but his manners were irreproachable, and his speech cultured, and
he dressed very well.
It came to Camilla as an inspiration, as the car moved on cautiously
through the cold white fog, that he was only shy and perhaps stupid.
Rupert Haverford had certainly a good amount of diffidence in his
disposition, but at the present moment it was the most exquisite, and
the most real sense of hospitality that tinged even his protective
courtesy with restraint.
When their hostess had deserted the motor after luncheon, and had
insisted in making her way homeward in a hired carriage, Haverford had
been delighted because Mrs. Lancing had elected to return with him. But
this very fact--the fact that this woman, who had been charming herself
into his inmost thoughts of late, was alone with him, charged him with
a sense of responsibility, and he steeled himself carefully against
even a suggestion of the delicious intimacy with which the situation
was fraught.
"The fog is lifting," he said, after a little while; "if we can only
get off this road and turn inland, we shall drive out of it altogether."
Mrs. Lancing had her muff in front of her face; the fog made everything
damp; her veil was clinging to her face uncomfortably.
"We are going downhill now," she said indistinctly.
Haverford was really a little anxious; they were certainly on a
downward grade, and the progress was not pleasant; the road appeared to
be rougher than it had been.
He sat forward, trying to scan what lay around and ahead, but the white
gloom baffled him.
And then all at once the machine grated sharply; they shook in their
seats, and Mrs. Lancing gave a little exclamation of alarm; then the
car stood still, and the chauffeur got out hastily.
"We're done for now, sir," he said; and Rupert Haverford swallowed a
word or two.
If it had not been for Mrs. Lancing he would not have cared two pins.
Time was of no importance to him, and a breakdown rather interested
him, as he had commenced to make a study of the mechanism of his
various cars, and knew pretty well how to put them right when things
went wrong, but this accident was most inopportune and annoying under
the circumstances.
Fortunately the cold, thick mist seemed to part a little at this
moment. With a reassuring word to his guest, Mr. Haverford got out and
joined the chauffeur in his investigations.
It was very, very cold sitting in that raw, damp atmosphere, and Mrs.
Lancing began to wish heartily enough that she had done her duty and
gone back to Yelverton in the carriage with Mrs. Brenton.
She felt tired now, and even a little cross. All the pleasure vanished;
that spell of delicious forgetfulness was swept away, and the morrow,
with its wearying demands, confronted her like a phantom.
After a sharp conference with the chauffeur, Mr. Haverford approached
his guest.
He spoke as cheerily as he could.
"Something has gone wrong with the works," he said, "we can't see what
it is exactly in this gloom. I wonder if you would mind sitting here a
little while I go and find out where we are? There may be somebody on
hand who can help us to get along a bit."
Mrs. Lancing shook aside the rug.
"Do let me come with you?" she pleaded. "Really, I would much rather
go, a walk will warm me up, and I shall feel so lonely without you. I
believe I am frightened. May I come?"
Her pretty helplessness touched him, of course. And as he helped her to
alight, Rupert Haverford felt his heart stir a little. So he supposed
other men felt when they ministered to a wife or some one who had a
tender claim on them.
They set off at a brisk pace down the hill.
Decidedly the fog was less thick, the bewildering effect on the eyes
was passing, but it was still sufficiently cold and raw to make them
shiver, though they were so warmly clad. Indeed, Mrs. Lancing was
rather overweighted with her long coat, and her small feet stumbled
every now and then.
Rupert Haverford drew her arm more closely through his.
He was conscious of a very tangible sense of pleasure in the near
proximity of this pretty, womanly creature. The unconscious claim that
she made upon his strength and protection moved him to tenderness, and
her delightful affectation of indifference to any discomfort awakened
his very real admiration.
"I have not the least idea where we are, but there must be a station
somewhere near, I suppose," he said. "And if we can only borrow a trap,
perhaps we shall be able to get back to Yelverton in time for dinner,
after all. It must be somewhere about half-past four now. I am afraid
you will never come out with me again, Mrs. Lancing. You see things
_can_ go crookedly with me at times! I am certainly out of luck to-day."
"I don't call this unlucky," Camilla said softly; and she nestled a
little closer to him. She was meeting him on familiar ground at last.
They came after a while upon a kind of village, in which the lights of
the one shop--a post office and | 1,085.656993 |
2023-11-16 18:35:09.7416880 | 7,435 | 60 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Pasteur Nicole and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
JUST PUBLISHED.
LAURENT DE LARA'S
SHAKSPERIAN PROVERBS, FROM HIS PLAYS.
Quarto Imperial, price 1s. 6d. Plain; 3s. Partly.
1. ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE.
2. RICH GIFTS WAX POOR.
3. SUSPICION ALWAYS HAUNTS.
4. FAST BIND, FAST FIND.
5. SWEET ARE THE USES OF ADVERSITY.
6. THERE IS NO VICE SO SIMPLE.
7. VIRTUE ITSELF TURNS VICE.
8. COME WHAT, COME MAY, TIME.
9. O IT IS EXCELLENT TO HAVE A GIANT'S STRENGTH.
10. THERE'S A DIVINITY THAT SHAPES OUR ENDS.
11. ONE TOUCH OF NATURE MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN.
12. LIFE'S BUT A WALKING SHADOW.
3. SHAKSPERE "IN MEMORIAM," with Vignette Portrait.
2_s._ and 3_s._ 6_d._
4. THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. "Be thou faithful," &c. With Photograph,
2_s._ plain; 3_s._ 6_d._ partly.
CROSSES.
1. NO CROSS, NO CROWN, &C. Imperial 4to, 14½ by 10½,
1_s._ 6_d._ plain; 3_s._ partly.
2. TAKE UP THY CROSS AND FOLLOW ME. 18 by 7½,
1_s._ 6_d._ plain; 3_s._ partly.
ILLUMINATED WORKS
PUBLISHED BY MESSRS. LONGMAN, GREEN & CO.
The Parables of Our Lord.
A Selection of the most striking Parables from the four
Gospels, richly illuminated on every Page by HENRY NOEL
HUMPHREYS. In rich binding, in high relief, imitative of carved
ebony, 21_s._
The Miracles of Our Lord.
Being a Selection from the Miracles of our Saviour, richly
illuminated with appropriate borders of original design
on every page, and 6 illuminated miniatures by HENRY NOEL
HUMPHREYS. In a carved binding of appropriate design, 21_s._
Maxims and Precepts of the Saviour.
A Selection of the most striking Aphorisms and Moral Precepts
of the Saviour, richly ornamented with decorative borders of
appropriate design by HENRY NOEL HUMPHREYS, founded on the
passage, "Behold the lilies of the field," &c. In an ornamental
cover of novel character, after the Style of the famous "Opus
Anglicum" of the 9th and 10th centuries. 21_s._
Sermon on the Mount.
Gospel of St. Matthew, illuminated by F. LEPELLE DE
BOIS-GALLAIS. Printed on plates of Silver with Landscape,
illustrative Vignettes, and illuminated borders. Square 18mo,
bound, 21_s._
The Book of Ruth,
from the Holy Scriptures. Enriched with borders. The
illuminations arranged and executed under the direction of H.
NOEL HUMPHREYS. In embossed leather cover, square fcap. 8vo.,
21_s._
The Good Shunammite.
From the Scriptures--2 Kings, chap. IV. vv. 8 to 37. Square
fcap. 8vo. With Six original designs, and an ornamental border
to each page, printed in Colours and Gold. In carved binding,
21_s._
Sentiments and Similes of Shakspeare.
Illuminated by H. N. HUMPHREYS. New Edition, square 8vo, in
massive carved binding, 21_s._
LONDON: LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS & GREEN.
THE
Albert Lithographic Printing Office,
_Established to promote Female Employment_,
168, GREAT PORTLAND STREET, OXFORD STREET,
LONDON, W.
E. FULLER & CO.,
ARE PREPARED TO EXECUTE
Every description of Chromo-Lithography,
ALSO
COPPER-PLATE & LETTER-PRESS PRINTING,
WITH PROMPTNESS AND DESPATCH,
At Twenty per Cent. lower than any other House.
1000 CIRCULARS ON GOOD PAPER FOR 21s.
Lithographic Fac-simile Circulars, and all kinds
of Commercial Printing
EXECUTED FOR THE TRADE ON LIBERAL TERMS.
_The artistic Branch of Lithography wholly carried out by Females._
ELEMENTARY INSTRUCTION
IN
The Art of Illuminating and Missal
Painting on Vellum,
A GUIDE TO MODERN ILLUMINATORS.
_With Illustrations in Outline as Copies for the Student._
BY D. LAURENT DE LARA,
(_Illuminating Artist to the Queen.)_
Seventh Edition,
WITH CONSIDERABLE ENLARGEMENTS AND ADDITIONS.
"Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros."
LONDON:
LONGMAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, ROBERTS, AND GREEN,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.
_Price Three Shillings._
_The Author reserves the right of translation to himself._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY J. WERTHEIMER AND CO.,
CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS.
DEDICATED BY KIND PERMISSION TO THE LADY HARRIET ASHLY.
MADAM,
Irrespective of the honor your Ladyship confers on me, by allowing
the privilege of associating your name with this edition, a nobler
motive which actuated your generous sanction, viz., "the high
interest you feel in the revival of an obsolete but noble art," and
of which you are at once its zealous Patroness, and its more than
accomplished votary, are claims on my gratitude, which words scarcely
can express, even in the hackneyed terms the humble sometimes venture
to address to rank!--Appreciating, therefore, deeply the distinction
you thus confer on one of your fellow-labourers in art,
Allow me,
MADAM,
To remain with profound respect,
Your Ladyship's devoted
and obliged servant,
D. LAURENT DE LARA.
3, Torrington Square, October, 1863.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
PREFACE 7
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION 9
INTRODUCTION 11
On Illumination 17
General Rules 25
On Colours:--Ultramarine Blue--Vermilion--Emerald
Green--Cobalt Blue--Purple--Orange Chrome--Chrome
Yellow--Carmine, plain and burnt--Hooker's
Green--Burnt Sienna--Lamp Black--Middle
Tints--Enamel White--Platina and Silver--Green
or Yellow Gold--The Agate 30
On the Arrangement of Colours 47
On Composition 52
On Preparing the Vellum 59
On Tracing and Transferring 61
On Raised Gold Ornamentations 64
Conclusion 67
On Outlines 78
List of Colours 82
Plates 83
Appendix 83
PREFACE TO THE SEVENTH EDITION.
Two years sufficed to exhaust the sixth edition (the first shilling
one) of my "Elementary Instruction on Illuminating," in opposition,
too, of a rival author; who was, however, more fortunate--for he was
enabled to _illuminate_ the world, with seven consecutive editions
in as many months, and left the world for two years after in as much
darkness as ever.--Far from envying him this inordinate success,
I rest secure on my laurels, humble though they be.--Ten years
were needed to bring forth my seventh edition, and here it is--as
unpretending as ever--but fully understood, and understandable--no
new theories erudite in print and bad in practice--no old ones,
filched from musty manuscripts, alike impracticable as complicated,
and displayed with learning and research, to bolster up repute and
attach importance to very questionable utility; wholly unimportant to
those who seek information. I address the _few_ and the few only,
who will take practical hints, from a practical man, clothed in the
plainest English. I do not trade on other men's brains, but endeavour
to live by my own. Those who encourage the empiric in art must buy
experience, and be contented with their shillings worth.(?) I have
added only some additional matter on colours and composition, as
applied to illumination, which I hope the public may find useful--in
other respects the seventh edition is like its predecessors--a
claimant to public favour.
D. L.
PREFACE TO THE SIXTH EDITION.
The steady revival of the "Art of Illuminating" during the last
few years, and the rapid progress it has made amongst the educated
classes, even since the fifth edition of this work was published
in 1859 (all the copies of which are now sold), has induced me to
re-publish it, under the present less expensive form, in order to
keep pace with the many publications which, under the names of
"Manuals," "Primers," "Treatises," "Guides," and "Instruction Books,"
have lately been forced on the public notice, each pretending to
give the desired information to the followers of this beautiful art,
with more or less display of talent; but all tending towards the
cultivation of a highly interesting pursuit, and proving that the
nineteenth century may in future history be distinguished as having
produced a "style" of its own, and identifying it with the happy
and peaceful reign of "Victoria," under whose mild rule, arts and
civilization are so eminently flourishing. The perusal, however, of
these various publications has confirmed me in the conviction, that,
for the purposes of instruction, the plan originally carried out by
me was best fitted to achieve the object in view, my aim being to
_instruct in_, and not to _lecture on_ the art. I have, therefore,
studiously divested the present publication of technicalities, or of
any attempt to display learned research, in the origin or progress
of the art, which, to the uninitiated, would not be instructive,
and could only prove "caviare to the general." My long professional
experience as a practical artist, has induced me to clothe, in the
plainest language, the information I wished to convey; and, in common
English, endeavour to speak to the understanding of my readers. If,
therefore, the present volume prove continuously useful, as it has
hitherto been, my readers will absolve me from blame or egotism, in
thus adhering to my original plan; my care having been not to fall
into the error of my contemporary imitators. All I have ventured to
add, is such information as my continued practical experience has
enabled me to collect, and I cheerfully communicate it to my readers.
3, Torrington Square, October, 1860.
INTRODUCTION.
The beautiful "Art of Illuminating," which sprang up with the early
dawn of Christianity, and attained its highest perfection in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, owes its total extinction to
that powerful instrument of modern civilisation, the Printing Press.
Whether it be the phlegmatic Dutch Coster, or the German Necromancer,
Guttenberg, who was the first inventor of "moveable type," I know
not; but it is quite certain that the "printing process" struck a
fatal and decisive blow to "illuminated painting," the relics of
which at present are carefully hoarded up in our Museums and Public
Libraries, and are at once the living and imperishable oracles of
the bygone ages of romance and chivalry, and form the glorious
monuments of the known and unknown artists who created them! It is
equally true, as well as curious, that to another mode of printing
(chromo-lithography) the present century is indebted for the partial
revival of this beautiful art, since the many publications from the
lithographic press have engendered a corresponding taste with the
public for its cultivation, which is daily increasing. That taste
is now so manifest, and so general amongst the higher and middle
classes, that it can no longer be considered as a mere "fashionable"
pursuit, subject to the capricious ebb and flow of the tide of
fashion, and again to be doomed to pass into oblivion. I believe a
healthier motive is apparent in its cultivators; and the desire of
re-instating it to the rank it once held amongst its sister arts
is not unmixed with the holier emotions which a genuine religious
feeling, arising from the daily contemplation of the divine truths
of Holy Writ (as exhibited in the study of our finest missals), is
capable of producing. In this respect, it presents itself to the
devout mind of the novice as a labour of love, for the glorious
poetry of the Bible offers such a singularly fertile source, to which
the imagination and pencil may look for artistic inspiration.
The seductiveness of the art, too, on which the meanest capacity can
employ itself, is another incentive, which will cause many to venture
on so pleasing an occupation. The interesting question then arises:
What probable results are likely to follow from this general revival
of an obsolete art? My answer is, "That modern civilisation will
adapt it to our modern wants, and will gradually lay the foundation
of forming a _new school_, identical with the nineteenth century."
To attain this end, _conscientious_ artists only can pave the road;
_they_ have it in their power to direct and guide the masses, and the
public is sure to go with them.
The ILLUMINATING ART UNION OF LONDON, in its annual expositions,
invites artists to exhibit their productions, by which others less
gifted may be incited to follow their example. True Genius, however
exalted, does not feel itself above instructing others, as long as
through the medium of its productions the very best interests of the
art are likely to be promoted. Gradually, these productions will
develop new ideas, new resources, and features of originality, in
addition to the improvements which modern civilisation and modern
appliances necessarily suggest. Already three prizes have been
awarded for original designs of the "Beatitudes"; and, as a first
essay of a young Society, they are eminently creditable. The highest
in the land, and, perhaps, the humblest also, are its members and
supporters; and however the effort to increase its strength and its
popularity might have been thwarted, by the lukewarmness of those
professedly the most interested in the art, we owe it a debt of
profound gratitude, for the real good it has already achieved, and
cheerfully join our wishes for its welfare and success in what it
still hopes to accomplish.
A tendency to undermine the best interests of the art is, however,
insidiously at work to misguide the public taste. The hired pen
of the unprincipled and unskilful scribbler has been used by mere
traders, to advertise _their own materials_, and bring into notice
_worthless designs for illuminating_; the former without the
slightest regard to their adaptability for the purposes of "missal
painting," and the latter without the least pretence to artistic
merit. Unscrupulous authors have been found to dictate "rules"
for instruction, when, practically, they require _instruction_
themselves, judging from the ignorance they display in their own
pages. These very books, miscalled "Guides" and Outlines, facetiously
named "Useful Models," have received, in their turn, fulsome praise
in the pages of those, whose talents (to their shame be it written)
as illuminators are unquestionable, and whose commendations, though
valuable (?) in a _trading sense_, are sadly detrimental to the
interests of those who seek for information and instruction.
It is, however, to be hoped that a discriminating public, whose
taste in _Missal Painting and Illuminating_ has become considerably
enlightened and developed of late years, by the daily contemplation
of, and familiarity with, the works of our greatest masters,
(owing to the great liberality displayed by the trustees of the
British Museum, in throwing open, without reserve, for daily
inspection, the glowing vellums contained in its various collections,
together with the publication of such immortal works as the "Hours of
Anna Brittanny" published in Paris, etc., etc.) will be enabled to
discern the _useful_ from the worthless, and separate the _gold_ from
the _dross_.
ON ILLUMINATION.
The necessity for an "Elementary Instruction Book," to acquire the
art of illuminating on vellum, for the use of those who are desirous
of practising this beautiful and graceful accomplishment, has long
since become imperative; particularly since, to my own knowledge,
several handbooks have made their appearance, professedly with the
object of affording instruction to the many amateur artists, who
eagerly seek for such information in the first one that is presented
to them by the bookseller; and it often happens, that such books, by
their high sounding titles, deceive both the vendor and purchaser.
The subsequent disappointment to the latter may be easily imagined,
when, instead of the "instruction" anxiously looked for, he finds
an elaborate treatise "_cut short_" on the plea "_of the necessary
limits of the little work_," etc; and then only obtains snatches
of information of extraordinary existing specimens to be found in
the various libraries of Europe, to which he can have _no_ access;
interlarded with "technical phrases," of which he can have _no_
idea, and elaborate fragments of ornamentation, illustrative of
the author's text, but without affording him the slightest clue
what to do with them, or how, in his experience, he can apply them
to a useful purpose. The disappointed amateur artist, therefore,
turns away and feels himself sadly at a loss for some aid in his
endeavour to pursue a most beautiful, and, at the same time, easy
accomplishment, simply from the fact of unexplained difficulties
having been thrown in his path; for though specimens of illuminations
have from time to time been published, from which the student may
have derived some slight advantage,--if only a superficial insight
into style and taste,--yet they are universally of too elaborate a
character to be of much utility to the beginner; and in the attempt
to copy such specimens as Noel Humphreys has published in his
"Illuminated Books of the Middle Ages," the pupil frequently must
become embarrassed by the intricacy of the design; and not knowing
any method _where_ to commence or _how_ to proceed, would, in
attempting such specimens, make such signal failures, that in despair
he would throw his work aside, and for ever abandon an art, which,
simple and highly interesting in itself, would by him be considered
at once as futile and impracticable.
The beauty of illuminated drawing consists chiefly in the _nicety_
of execution, elaborate ornamental detail, and the mathematical
precision with which ornaments are frequently repeated throughout the
same design. The arrangement of colours requires also much judgment
and taste, whilst the knowledge how to lay them on evenly and
smoothly, requires the practical instruction of the teacher, without
whom it is almost impossible to overcome these difficulties, or
acquire proficiency, particularly in _raised gilding_, and the nicety
which is required in using the agate, with which the ornamentations
are engraved on matted gold or silver.
As an art, which originated at the remotest period of Christianity,
and which originally was practised by very limited artistic
intelligence, its first development was exceedingly simple, crude,
and grotesque. When the rolled papyrus manuscripts were superseded by
squares of parchment, in the form of our present books, the Scribes
or Monks of the early Christian period were the first who were
engaged in the writing of prayer-books or missals for the wealthier
classes of people, who at that time were alone enabled to indulge
in the luxury of a book; it is then we find the first germs of
artistic composition displayed, in the initial letters which began
to be conspicuously large and ornamental, fanciful, and sometimes
intricately and ingeniously contrived, in contradistinction to the
older rolled manuscripts discovered in Herculaneum and Pompeii, in
which no traces of ornamentation could be found. From this simple
source of artistic development, we may contrast the productions
of Giulio Clovio of a much later period, and his many and unknown
contemporaries, who have astonished the world by productions,
unequalled by anything that modern art could achieve. As I shall have
occasion to speak of the progress of illuminating, and ornamental
art, in a separate work about to be published, I merely hint here,
at the commencement, that, for modern purposes of illumination, it
would be highly pedantic to copy the earlier productions of missal
painting, merely because they are antique, if in other respects they
do not possess some artistic quality of graceful development both in
outline and colouring, to which the modern artist may, with very good
taste, give preference.
The object of this little work is not so much to enter into any
detailed history of the progress of ornamental art, which may
well become a separate and intricate study, as to smooth down
the difficult path of the beginner, to unravel for him apparent
mysteries in the art, to give him examples of practical designs to
imitate from, suitable to his skill; to point out to him clearly
and unmistakeably such rules as, from my experience, I have found
absolutely necessary to adopt, and which if studiously followed up
will, in a great measure, assist his first efforts and enhance his
ultimate success and proficiency.
That which is most remarkable in those mediæval vellum-illuminations
which have been preserved in the various collections of Europe,
is the brilliancy of their colours, tints unsurpassed by anything
that our modern contrivances can equal, or our colour-box approach.
Specimens which have stood the test of a thousand years' duration,
are as fresh and as brilliant as if they came newly from the artist's
hands. Such _orange_, and such _greens_, and _purples_, as if
directly snatched and stolen from the rainbow itself, or distilled
from the prismatic rays of a benignant sun. The borders are actually
studded with gems of colour which sparkle on the insects as if they
were photographed from nature, colours as well as form. Drapery,
damask, armoury, furs, and feathers, are all portrayed in such rich
and gorgeous tints, that we may well doubt whether the secret of
these colours has not died with those who used them centuries ago.
Our water-colours were as brickdust at the side of them. In order
somewhat to remedy the deficiency of our colours (as I found them)
in comparison with what was desirable, the attempt has been made to
manufacture them on a new principle, in order to preserve all the
brightness of the chief tints predominant in illuminations; and I
am happy to say, that, after years of experience, I have entirely
succeeded in producing a set of colours suitable for the purposes
of illumination; and I now beg to recommend to my pupils and readers
those only called "Illuminating Colours." Chemically speaking,
they are manufactured on a totally distinct principle from other
water-colours, and are made to answer all the purposes of illuminated
drawing, affording perfect facility on the one hand in laying them
on evenly and smoothly, and, on the other, saving a great deal of
time and labour, and enhancing much the general effect of the design,
in the _brilliancy_ of the tints; this refers more particularly to
their use when applied to vellum, which from its greasy surface
is apt to reject the _usual water-colours_, whilst those of the
illuminating-box are found perfectly to answer the purpose. I beg
also to recommend the "water gold-size," which in its application to
the drawing, can be raised considerably above its surface, assuming
all the appearance of being embossed, and can be _immediately_ gilded
over, which greatly expedites the process over that of any other gold
varnish.[A]
[A] _Vide_ list of materials at the end of the book.
That persons having a knowledge of drawing can and will make better
illuminators than those who have not, there can be no doubt; and
the more accomplished the artist, the better illuminator he will
make is also obvious. Yet the art of illumination may be practised
by persons who may be but indifferent artists in general design,
and with a great deal of success; whilst others, conversant with
the highest principles of art, have frequently been found to be
but very indifferent illuminators. The reason of this is apparent;
illuminating being for the most part a strictly mechanical art
(though subject to artistic principles), any one possessed of natural
gifts of taste, patience and perseverance, will, by studiously
following out some slight mechanical contrivances, easily attain
the first principles primarily necessary to copy any given outline
however intricate; not even excluding the human figure.
The ornamental arabesque scroll, from its primitive simplicity
to the most elaborately finished foliage, interlaced initials,
etc., are given in due succession for the pupil to copy; by which
means his hand becomes gradually trained to curval delineations,
and his eyes get by degrees educated, till at last all angular
tendency in his ornamentations is entirely eradicated. Once trained
to that perfection, colouring and shading become comparatively
easy, and a little instruction, with practice, will enable the
hitherto uneducated artist to overcome almost every obstacle. The
free-hand artist, on the other hand, relying on his capacity alone,
and disregarding the mechanical contrivances at his command, not
unfrequently stumbles over the easiest parts, pettishly condemns
all such appliances, the neglect of which destroys the uniformity
and mathematical precision of his work, and finally he leaves off,
disgusted with his ill success.
I would, therefore, recommend first of all to the pupil to provide
himself with a box of Illuminating Colours, which can be obtained
of the author, or at any of the authors agents, which also includes
compasses, parallel rule, ruling-pen, agate, gold, etc., and other
little but indispensable tools; without which the student would be
at a loss to proceed. Having procured these, I would then place this
book in his hand, and, by following up the rules laid down here he
will find himself, at least, enabled to make such progress, that,
with the aid of one or two courses of instruction from a proper and
experienced artist, he will completely overcome those difficulties
which it would be vain to struggle against by himself. The manuscript
room in the British Museum, to which, on a proper recommendation,
access can be had, will finally give him an opportunity of studying
the art more fully, and make him conversant with the immense store
of mediæval treasures hoarded up there in endless variety and
profusion.
GENERAL RULES.
Beginners should not be too ambitious; let them be, therefore,
contented to copy first, before attempting _original_ designs,--it
will give them experience and method. In the higher walks of art,
copying is always resorted to; the painter has models, casts, and
drapery to guide him, and Nature is his instructor; and let him be
ever so original, he still imitates nature. Now, since there are no
ornamentations in nature to guide our illuminating art-student, let
him be content to copy, first, from those whose works are acceptable
for their originality, their effect, and their classical beauty. The
more these are studied and copied from, the nearer the pupil will
arrive at perfection, and may gradually become an original artist
himself.
* * * * *
In commencing a subject, it is absolutely necessary first to arrange
a rough design of the intended subject; to perfect a sketch, and
then to make careful and correct tracings of the various parts (if
the design is a subject of repetition), or the whole; to retrace
them to the vellum, or Bristol board, with the red prepared paper,
as faintly as is consistent with being able to see it. This is
accomplished by placing the red paper between the tracing and the
vellum, or drawing board, and following its outline rather briskly
with a fine pointed H H H lead pencil, reversing the tracing when the
ornament or border forms the counterpart of the design, which secures
a perfect facsimile reversed; and, when completed, repairing any part
which may be defective with the pencil, and perfecting the outline
where it is uneven, or the scrollwork is broken or ungraceful. The
beauty of illuminations is always best secured when the scrollwork
runs gracefully smooth, not broken or angular, which gives it an
awkward and unartistic appearance. In order to prepare the pupil,
I have given, in the illustrations, the arabesque scroll and curval
lines to be drawn at the beginning in pencil only; and when _form_
is thoroughly attained, let him re-execute it with a fine sable
brush and carmine, which will give proper practice to use the brush
effectually. I have adopted the arabesque scroll as the principle
of all ornamental design; and I would advise the novice to practise
it continually, on the same principle that exercises and scales are
recommended in music to train the hand.
Referring back to the design, when the sketch is complete (which
should always be as faint and delicate as possible, since it is no
easy matter to erase a coarse outline from the vellum or cardboard
by the usual mode of india-rubber), the process of colouring may
then commence, by placing in the various compartments of the design
the colours as previously arranged, somewhat in the following order,
viz., first, all the blue throughout the drawing, or any portion
of it intended for completion; then the vermilion, the orange,
the purple, the green or yellow, and any other colour which may
be in the design; next, the gold forming the outlines of the next
ornamentations; and last of all, the shading of scrollwork, both gold
and, and also the shadings on the gold backgrounds; that
being completed, you put white or gold arabesque ornamentations on
the ultramarine, carmine damask on the vermilions and orange, and
Hooker's green or cobalt ornamentations on the emerald. After the
whole has been thus far finished, the raised gold may be introduced,
finishing the matted or dead gold with burnished ornamentations,
dots, scrolls, arabesques, or any other design. This should be the
last process of all, since the atmosphere is somewhat apt to deaden
its brilliancy; and, therefore, it should be the concluding operation
before the drawing is finally consigned to the frame or album. I
must here also state, that if the vellum be somewhat soiled whilst
the drawing proceeds (which every care should be taken to avoid, by
always using a mat of blotting paper to rest the hand on), it may be
rubbed over with a piece of stale bread, which will perfectly cleanse
it. This process, however, must always be done before filling in the
gold, silver, or platina, as it cannot be used _over_ the _gold_ with
safety.
All straight lines, however short, should be drawn in with the
ruling-pen, opening it wider or narrowing it, as the line is required
to be thick or thin; if very thick, rule in _two_ thin lines equally
distant, and then fill up the intermediate space with the brush. A
circle, or portion of a circle, is drawn with the bow-pen; and any
portion of a curve is drawn in by the aid of the wooden scroll,
which is fixed on the drawing in such a position, that its curve
corresponds with the outline to be ruled. The nicety of the drawing
depends entirely on the execution, and the carefulness with which the
details are accomplished.
ON COLOURS.
If the observations on Colours, advanced elsewhere, hold good, as to
their brilliancy in the mediæval missals, the improvement which the
modern manufacturer has been able to effect is not less apparent;
for, although the mediæval productions are mostly painted in body
colours, which are managed | 1,085.761728 |
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Produced by David Widger
ESSAYS OF MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE
Translated by Charles Cotton
Edited by William Carew Hazilitt
1877
CONTENTS OF VOLUME 8.
XLVIII. Of war-horses, or destriers.
XLIX. Of ancient customs.
L. Of Democritus and Heraclitus.
LI. Of the vanity of words.
LII. Of the parsimony of the Ancients.
LIII. Of a saying of Caesar.
LIV. Of vain subtleties.
LV. Of smells.
LVI. Of prayers.
LVII. Of age.
CHAPTER XLVIII
OF WAR HORSES, OR DESTRIERS
I here have become a grammarian, I who never learned any language but by
rote, and who do not yet know adjective, conjunction, or ablative. I
think I have read that the Romans had a sort of horses by them called
'funales' or 'dextrarios', which were either led horses, or horses laid
on at several stages to be taken fresh upon occasion, and thence it is
that we call our horses of service 'destriers'; and our romances commonly
use the phrase of 'adestrer' for 'accompagner', to accompany. They also
called those that were trained in such sort, that running full speed,
side by side, without bridle or saddle, the Roman gentlemen, armed at all
pieces, would shift and throw themselves from one to the other,
'desultorios equos'. The Numidian men-at-arms had always a led horse in
one hand, besides that they rode upon, to change in the heat of battle:
"Quibus, desultorum in modum, binos trahentibus equos, inter
acerrimam saepe pugnam, in recentem equum, ex fesso, armatis
transultare mos erat: tanta velocitas ipsis, tamque docile
equorum genus."
["To whom it was a custom, leading along two horses, often in the
hottest fight, to leap armed from a tired horse to a fresh one; so
active were the men, and the horses so docile."--Livy, xxiii. 29.]
There are many horses trained to help their riders so as to run upon any
one, that appears with a drawn sword, to fall both with mouth and heels
upon any that front or oppose them: but it often happens that they do
more harm to their friends than to their enemies; and, moreover, you
cannot loose them from their hold, to reduce them again into order, when
they are once engaged and grappled, by which means you remain at the
mercy of their quarrel. It happened very ill to Artybius, general of the
Persian army, fighting, man to man, with Onesilus, king of Salamis, to be
mounted upon a horse trained after this manner, it being the occasion of
his death, the squire of Onesilus cleaving the horse down with a scythe
betwixt the shoulders as it was reared up upon his master. And what the
Italians report, that in the battle of Fornova, the horse of Charles
VIII., with kicks and plunges, disengaged his master from the enemy that
pressed upon him, without which he had been slain, sounds like a very
great chance, if it be true.
[In the narrative which Philip de Commines has given of this battle,
in which he himself was present (lib. viii. ch. 6), he tells us
of wonderful performances by the horse on which the king was
mounted. The name of the horse was Savoy, and it was the most
beautiful horse he had ever seen. During the battle the king | 1,085.762726 |
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A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN.
[Illustration: VITTORIA COLONNA.]
_From an Original Painting in the Colonna Gallery at Rome_
A DECADE
OF
ITALIAN WOMEN.
BY
T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE,
AUTHOR OF "THE GIRLHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI."
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1859.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
RADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
PREFACE.
The degree in which any social system has succeeded in ascertaining
woman's proper position, and in putting her into it, will be a very
accurate test of the progress it has made in civilisation. And the | 1,085.862798 |
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Produced by Malcolm Farmer
AFTER LONDON
or
Wild England
by
Richard Jefferies
Contents
Part I The Relapse into Barbarism
Chapter 1 The Great Forest
Chapter 2 Wild Animals
Chapter 3 Men of the Woods
Chapter 4 The Invaders
Chapter 5 The Lake
Part II Wild England
Chapter 1 Sir Felix
Chapter 2 The House of Aquila
Chapter 3 The Stockade
Chapter 4 The Canoe
Chapter 5 Baron Aquila
Chapter 6 The Forest Track
Chapter 7 The Forest Track continued
Chapter 8 Thyma Castle
Chapter 9 Superstitions
Chapter 10 The Feast
Chapter 11 Aurora
Chapter 12 Night in the Forest
Chapter 13 Sailing Away
Chapter 14 The Straits
Chapter 15 Sailing Onwards
Chapter 16 The City
Chapter 17 The Camp
Chapter 18 The King's Levy
Chapter 19 Fighting
Chapter 20 In Danger
Chapter 21 A Voyage
Chapter 22 Discoveries
Chapter 23 Strange Things
Chapter 24 Fiery Vapours
Chapter 25 The Shepherds
Chapter 26 Bow and Arrow
Chapter 27 Surprised
Chapter 28 For Aurora
Part I
The Relapse into Barbarism
CHAPTER I
THE GREAT FOREST
The old men say their fathers told them that soon after the fields were
left to themselves a change began to be visible. It became green
everywhere in the first spring, after London ended, so that all the
country looked alike.
The meadows were green, and so was the rising wheat which had been sown,
but which neither had nor would receive any further care. Such arable
fields as had not been sown, but where the last stubble had been
ploughed up, were overrun with couch-grass, and where the short stubble
had not been ploughed, the weeds hid it. So that there was no place
which was not more or less green; the footpaths were the greenest of
all, for such is the nature of grass where it has once been trodden on,
and by-and-by, as the summer came on, the former roads were thinly
covered with the grass that had spread out from the margin.
In the autumn, as the meadows were not mown, the grass | 1,085.955651 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
THE CRITICAL PERIOD OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
1783-1789
BY
JOHN FISKE
"I am uneasy and apprehensive, more so than during the war."
JAY TO WASHINGTON, _June_ 27, 1786.
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1888,
BY JOHN FISKE.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A._ Electrotyped and Printed
by H.O. Houghton & Co.
To
MY DEAR CLASSMATES,
FRANCIS LEE HIGGINSON
AND
CHARLES CABOT JACKSON,
_I DEDICATE THIS BOOK._
PREFACE.
This book contains the substance of the course of lectures given in the
Old South Meeting-House in Boston in December, 1884, at the Washington
University in St. Louis in May, 1885, and in the theatre of the
University Club in New York in March, 1886. In its present shape it may
serve as a sketch of the political history of the United States from the
end of the Revolutionary War to the adoption of the Federal
Constitution. It makes no pretensions to completeness, either as a
summary of the events of that period or as a discussion of the political
questions involved in them. I have aimed especially at grouping facts in
such a way as to bring out and emphasize their causal sequence, and it
is accordingly hoped that the book may prove useful to the student of
American history.
My title was suggested by the fact of Thomas Paine's stopping the
publication of the "Crisis," on hearing the news of the treaty of 1783,
with the remark, "The times that tried men's souls are over." Commenting
upon this, on page 55 of the present work, I observed that so far from
the crisis being over in 1783, the next five years were to be the most
critical time of all. I had not then seen Mr. Trescot's "Diplomatic
History of the Administrations of Washington and Adams," on page 9 of
which he uses almost the same words: "It must not be supposed that the
treaty of peace secured the national life. Indeed, it would be more
correct to say that the most critical period of the country's history
embraced the time between 1783 and the adoption of the Constitution in
1788."
That period was preeminently the turning-point in the development of
political society in the western hemisphere. Though small in their mere
dimensions, the events here summarized were in a remarkable degree
germinal events, fraught with more tremendous alternatives of future
welfare or misery for mankind than it is easy for the imagination to
grasp. As we now stand upon the threshold of that mighty future, in the
light of which all events of the past are clearly destined to seem
dwindled in dimensions and significant only in the ratio of their
potency as causes; as we discern how large a part of that future must be
the outcome of the creative work, for good or ill, of men of English
speech; we are put into the proper mood for estimating the significance
of the causes which determined a century ago that the continent of North
America should be dominated by a single powerful and pacific federal
nation instead of being parcelled out among forty or fifty small
communities, wasting their strength and lowering their moral tone by
perpetual warfare, like the states of ancient Greece, or by perpetual
preparation for warfare, like the nations of modern Europe. In my book
entitled "American Political Ideas, viewed from the Standpoint of
Universal History," I have tried to indicate the pacific influence
likely to be exerted upon the world by the creation and maintenance of
such a political structure as our Federal Union. The present narrative
may serve as a commentary upon what I had in mind on page 133 of that
book, in speaking of the work of our Federal Convention as "the finest
specimen of constructive statesmanship that the world has ever seen." On
such a point it is pleasant to find one's self in accord with a
statesman so wise and noble as Mr. Gladstone, whose opinion is here
quoted on page 223.
To some persons it may seem as if the years 1861-65 were of more
cardinal importance than the years 1783-89. Our civil war was indeed an
event of prodigious magnitude, as measured by any standard that history
affords; and there can be little doubt as to its decisiveness. The
measure of that decisiveness is to be found | 1,086.05412 |
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material from the Google Print project.)
THE SEXUAL LIFE OF
THE CHILD
By
Dr. Albert Moll
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY
DR. EDEN PAUL
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
EDWARD L. THORNDIKE
PROFESSOR OF EDUCATIONAL PSYCHOLOGY
TEACHERS COLLEGE, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
NEW YORK
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1919
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1912,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1912.
NORWOOD PRESS
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
INTRODUCTION
Dr. Moll is a gifted physician of long experience whose work with those
problems of medicine and hygiene which demand scientific acquaintance
with human nature has made him well known to experts in these fields. In
this book he has undertaken to describe the origin and development, in
childhood and youth, of the acts and feelings due to sex; to explain the
forces by which sex-responses are directed and misdirected; and to judge
the wisdom of existing and proposed methods of preventing the
degradation of a child's sexual life.
This difficult task is carried out, as it should be, with dignity and
frankness. In spite of the best intentions, a scientific book on
sex-psychology is likely to appear, at least in spots, to gratify a low
curiosity; but in Dr. Moll's book there is no such taint. Popular books
on sex-hygiene, on the other hand, are likely to suffer from a
pardonable but harmful delicacy whereby the facts of anatomy,
physiology, and psychology which are necessary to make their principles
comprehensible and useful, are omitted, veiled, or even distorted. Dr.
Moll honors his readers by a frankness which may seem brutal to some of
them. It is necessary.
With dignity and frankness Dr. Moll combines notable good sense. In the
case of any exciting movement in advance of traditional custom, the
forerunners are likely to combine a certain one-sidedness and lack of
balance with their really valuable progressive ideas. The greater
sagacity and critical power are more often found amongst the men of
science who avoid public discussion of exciting social or moral reforms,
and are suspicious of startling and revolutionary doctrines or
practices. It is therefore fortunate that a book on the sexual life
during childhood should have been written by a man of critical,
matter-of-fact mind, of long experience as a medical specialist, and of
wide scholarship, who has no private interest in any exciting
psychological doctrine or educational panacea.
The translation of this book will be welcomed by men and women from many
different professions, but alike in the need of preparation to guide the
sex-life of boys and girls and to meet emergencies caused by its
corruption by weakness within or attack from without. Of the clergymen
in this country who are in real touch with the lives of their charges,
there is hardly a one who does not, every so often, have to minister to
a mind whose moral and religious distress depends on an unfortunate sex
history. Conscientious and observant teachers realize, in a dim way,
that they cannot do justice to even the purely intellectual needs of
pupils without understanding the natural history of those instinctive
impulses, which, concealed and falsified as they are under our
traditional taboos, nevertheless retain enormous potency. The facts, so
clearly shown in the present volume, that the life of sex begins long
before its obvious manifestations at puberty, and that | 1,086.061388 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Inconsistent punctuation in the ads section has been
left as printed. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
ARETHUSA
[Illustration: ARETHUSA]
ARETHUSA
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA," "A LADY OF ROME,"
ETC., ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND_
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1907
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907,
BY THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING CO.
| 1,086.265616 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
FOOTFALLS
In the cell over mine at night
A step goes to and fro
From barred door to iron wall--
From wall to door I hear it go,
Four paces, heavy and slow,
In the heart of the sleeping jail:
And the goad that drives, I know!
I never saw his face or heard him speak;
He may be Dutchman, <DW55>, Yankee, Greek;
But the language of that prisoned step
Too well I know!
Unknown brother of the remorseless bars,
Pent in your cage from earth and sky and stars,
The hunger for lost life that goads you so,
I also know!
Hour by hour, in the cell overhead,
Four footfalls, to and fro
'Twixt iron wall and barred door--
Back and forth I hear them go--
Four footfalls come and go!
I wake and listen in the night:
Brother, I know!
_(Written in Atlanta Penitentiary,
May, 1913.)_
THE SUBTERRANEAN BROTHERHOOD
By JULIAN HAWTHORNE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I INTRODUCTORY
II THE DEVIL'S ANTECHAMBER
III THE ROAD TO OBLIVION
IV INITIATION
V ROUTINE
VI SOME PRISON FRIENDS OF MINE
VII THE MEN ABOVE
VIII FOR LIFE
IX THE TOIL OF SLAVERY
X OUR BROTHER'S KEEPER
XI THE GRASP OF THE TENTACLES
XII THE PRISON SILENCE
XIII THE BANQUETS OF THE DAMNED
XIV THE POLICY OF FALSEHOOD
XV THE FRUIT OF PRISONS
XVI IF NOT PRISONS--WHAT?
APPENDIX
PREFACE
These chapters were begun the day after I got back to New York from the
Atlanta penitentiary, and went on from day to day to the end. I did not
know, at the start, what the thing would be like at the finish, and I made
small effort to make it look shapely and smooth; but the inward impulse in
me to write it, somehow, was irresistible, in spite of the other impulse
to go off somewhere and rest and forget it all. But I felt that if it were
not done then it might never be done at all; and done it must be at any
cost. I had promised my mates in prison that I would do it, and I was
under no less an obligation, though an unspoken one, to give the public an
opportunity to learn at first hand what prison life is, and means. I had
myself had no conception of the facts and their significance until I
became myself a prisoner, though I had read as much in "prison literature"
as most people, perhaps, and had for many years thought on the subject of
penal imprisonment. Twenty odd years before, too, I had been struck by
William Stead's saying, "Until a man has been in jail, he doesn't know
what human life means." But one does not pay that price for knowledge
voluntarily, and I had not expected to have the payment forced upon me. I
imagined I could understand the feelings of a prisoner without being one.
I was to live to acknowledge myself mistaken. And I conceive that other
people are in the same deceived condition. So, with all the energy and
goodwill of which I am capable, I set myself to do what I could to make
them know the truth, and to ask themselves what should or could be done to
end a situation so degrading to every one concerned in it, from one end of
the line to the other. The situation, indeed, seems all but incredible.
Your first thought on being told of it is, It must be an exaggeration or a
fabrication. On the contrary, words cannot convey the whole horror and
shamefulness of it.
I am conscious of having left out a great deal of it. I found as I went on
with this writing that the things to be said were restricted to a few
categories. First, the physical prison itself and the routine of life in
it must be stated. That is the objective part. Then must be indicated the
subjective conditions, those of the prisoner, and of his keepers--what the
effect of prison was upon them. Next was to come a presentation of the
consequences, deductions and inferences suggested by these conditions.
Finally, we would be confronted with the question, What is to be done
about it? Such are the main heads of the theme.
But I was tempted to run into detail. Here I will make a pertinent
disclosure. During my imprisonment I was made the confidant of the life
stories of many of my brethren in the cells. I am receiving through the
mails, from day to day, up to the present time, other such tales from
released convicts. The aim of them is not to get their tellers before the
public and win personal sympathy, but to hold up my hands by supplying
data--chapter and verse--in support of the assertions I have made. They do
it abundantly; the stories bleed and groan before your eyes and ears, and
smell to heaven; the bluntest, simplest, most formless stuff imaginable,
but terrible in every fiber. Before I left prison I had accumulated a
considerable number of these narratives, and had made many notes of things
heard and seen--data and memoranda which I designed to use in the already
projected book which is now in your hands. Such material, however, would
have been confiscated by the Warden had its existence been known, and none
of it would have been permitted to get outside the walls openly. The only
thing to do, then, was to get it out secretly--by the "underground
railroad."
There is an underground railroad in every penal institution. There is one
at Atlanta. I attempted to use it, but my freight got in the wrong car. A
prisoner whom I knew well and trusted came to me, and said he had found a
man who would undertake to pass the packet through the barriers; he had
already served such a need, and was anxious to do it in my case. This man
was also a prisoner of several years' standing, and with several years
yet to serve; he had recently applied for parole, but had been refused.
I met and talked with him, found him intelligent and circumspect, and
professedly eager to do his share toward helping me get my facts before
the world. He intimated that he was on favorable terms with one of the
guards or overseers who was inclined to help the prisoners, and would
take the packet out in his pocket and mail it to its address. I addressed
it to a friend of mine living near New York and on a certain prearranged
day I handed it to my confederate. He hid it inside his shirt, and that
was the last I saw of it.
The packet never turned up at its address, and it was only long after that
I was told what had occurred. My confederate wanted his parole badly, and
made a bargain with the Warden, by the terms of which his parole should be
granted in return for his delivering to the Warden my bundle of memoranda.
The terms were fulfilled on both sides, and my data are at this moment in
the Warden's safe, I suppose, along with the letter that I wrote during my
confinement to the Editor of the New York _Journal_ (mentioned in the text
of this book).
The Warden thought, perhaps, that the lack of my accumulated data would
prevent or embarrass me in writing my book. I thought so myself at first,
but had not long been at work before I found that the essential book
needed no data other than those existing in my memory and supplied by the
general theme; my material was not scant, but excessive. My knowledge
of prison and my opinions and arguments based upon that knowledge were
not subject to the Warden's confiscation, and they were quite enough to
make a book of themselves, without need of dates, places, names and
illustrations. Indeed, even of such supplementary and confirmatory matter
I also found an adequate amount in my own unaided recollection--more
than I cared to give space to; for it was my belief that such things
were not required to secure confidence in the truth of what I had to say
in the minds of persons whose confidence was worth my winning. They would
believe me because they couldn't help it--because truth has a quality
which compels belief. Moreover, of illustrations of my statements the
public had of late had more than enough from other sources; what was now
wanted was not so much instances of the facts, as a general presentation
of the subject into which special and apposite cases could be fitted
by the reader according to his previously acquired information. Finally,
I reflected that the introduction of names, places and dates might injure
the men thus pointed out; secret service men, post-office inspectors and
other spies, and the prison authorities themselves, would be prompted
and helped to give them trouble. Accordingly, I was sparing even of such
data as I had; and I noticed, as the chapters appeared serially in the
newspaper syndicate which published them, that they were criticised in
certain quarters as of the "glittering generality" class of writings;
I made assertions, but adduced no specific proof of them. The source of
such criticisms was obvious enough, but they did no harm, and were not
accompanied by denials of my facts. The only other form of attack brought
against the book is comprised in the claim that I am a writer of fiction
and as such incapable of telling the truth, about anything; that I was the
dupe of designing persons who made me the mouthpiece for their factitious
grievances or spites; and that I was myself animated by a spirit of
revenge for the injury of my imprisonment, which must render anything I
might allege against prisons and their conduct worthless.
I have touched upon the two latter counts of the indictment in the text of
the book; of the assertion that fiction writers cannot stick to facts or
convey truth, I will say that it is unreasonable upon its face. Fiction
writers, in order to attain any measure of success in their calling, must
above all things base their structures upon facts, and to seek and
promulgate undeniable truth in their descriptions and analyses. The
"fiction" part of their stories is the merest outside part; all within
must be true, or it is nothing. A novelist or story writer, therefore, is
more likely to give a true version of any event or condition he may be
required to present, than a person trained in any other form of writing,
with the exception, perhaps, of journalism. And I have been a journalist,
as well as a story writer, for more than thirty years past, and what
success I attained was due to the accuracy and veracity of the reports I
sent to my papers. In short, I am a trained observer of facts if ever
there were one; and no facts in my experience have been so thoroughly
hammered into my mind, heart and soul, digested and appreciated, as were
the facts of my prison life. Whatever else that I have written might be
cavilled at on the plea of inaccuracy, certainly this book cannot be.
Whether the statements which it contains be feebly or strongly put may
properly be questioned, but none of them can be successfully denied.
But this aspect of the matter gives me small uneasiness. The important
consideration is, will the book, assuming that it is accepted as the
truth, do the work, or any large part of the work, which it was designed
to do? Will readers be influenced by it to practical action; will it be an
effective element in the forces that are now rising up to make wickedness
and corruption less than they are? The proposal toward which the book
points and in which it ultimates is so radical and astounding--nothing
less than that _Penal Imprisonment for Crime be Abolished_--that the
author can hardly escape the apprehension that the mass of the public will
dismiss it as preposterous and impossible. And yet nothing is more certain
in my opinion than that penal imprisonment for crime must cease, and if it
be not abolished by statute, it will be by force. It must be abolished
because, alarming or socially destructive though alternatives to it may
appear, it is worse than any alternative, being not only dangerous, but
wicked, and it breeds and multiplies the evils it pretends to heal or
diminish. It is far more wicked and dangerous than it was a thousand or a
hundred years ago, because society is more enlightened than it was then,
and the multitude now exercise power which was then confined to the few.
Whatever person or society knowingly and wilfully permits the existence
of a wickedness which it might extirpate, makes itself a party thereto,
and also inflames the wickedness itself. And the ignorance or the
impotence which we could plead heretofore in history, we cannot plead
to-day. We know, we have power, and we must act; if we shrink from
acting, action will be taken against us by powers which cannot be
estimated or controlled. This book is meant to confirm our knowledge and
to stimulate and direct, in a measure, our action; and to avert, if
possible, the consequences of not acting. Its individual power may be
slight; but it should be the resolve of every honest and courageous man
and woman to add to it the weight of their own power. Wonderful things
have been accomplished before now by means which seemed, in their
beginning, as inadequate and weak as this.
In the sixth chapter of the Book of Joshua you may read the great type and
example of such achievements, the symbol of every victory of good over
evil, the thing that could not be done by man's best power, skill and
foresight, accomplished, with God to aid, by a breath. The defensive
strength of Jericho was greater, compared with the means of attack then
known, than that of Sebastopol in the fifties of the last century, or of
Plevna in the seventies, or of Port Arthur a few years since. Those walls
were too high to be scaled, too massive to be beaten down, and they were
defended by a great king and his mighty men of valor. From any moral point
of view, the enterprise of destroying the city was hopeless. Nor did the
Lord add anything to such weapons of offense as Joshua already possessed.
Seven trumpets of rams' horns were the sole agents of the destruction
provided; and not the trumpets themselves, but the breath of the mouths of
the seven priests who should blow through them, should overthrow those
topless ramparts, and give the king and his army and his people into the
hand of the men of Israel. Were such a proposition presented to our
consideration to-day, we can imagine what would be the comments of the
Army and Navy departments, of Congress, of the editors of newspapers, of
witty paragraphers, and of the man on the street. Possibly the churches
themselves might hesitate before giving their support to such a plan of
war: "We must take the biblical stories in a figurative sense!" But stout
Joshua had seen the angel of the Lord, with his sword drawn, the night
before; and he knew nothing of figures of speech. He got the seven
trumpets of rams' horns, and put them in the hands of the seven priests,
and led the hosts of the Israelites round and round the walls of Jericho
day after day for six days, the trumpets blowing amain, and the hosts
silent. And on the seventh day, the hosts compassed the walls of the city
seven times; "And at the seventh time, when the priests blew with the
trumpets, Joshua said unto the people, Shout; for the Lord hath given you
the city.... So the people shouted when the priests blew with the
trumpets; and it came to pass, when the people heard the sound of the
trumpets, and the people shouted with a great shout, that the walls fell
down flat, so that every man went up into the city, every man straight
before him, and they took the city. And they utterly destroyed all that
was within the city."
Yes, the biblical stories are to be taken in a figurative sense; they
stand as symbols for spiritual actions in the nature of man; though that
is not to say that the events narrated did not actually take place as
recorded. But Joshua had faith; and faith in the hearts of the champions
of right begets fear in the hearts of supporters of wrong, and the
defenses they have so laboriously built up tumble distractedly about their
ears when the trumpets of the Lord blow and the people who believe in Him
utter a mighty shout. Our jails are our Jericho; the evils which they
encompass and protect are greater than the sins of that strong city; but a
breath may shatter them into irretrievable ruin. Not compromises; not
gradual and circumspect approaches; not prudent considerations of
political economy, nor sound sociological principles; but simple faith in
God and a blast on the ram's horn.
My business in this book was to show that penal imprisonment is an evil,
and its perpetuation a crime; that it does not reform the criminal but
destroys him body and soul; that it does not protect the community but
ex | 1,086.265871 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.3377170 | 229 | 13 |
Produced by Andrea Ball & Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
The Rise of the Dutch Kingdom
1795-1813
A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT
OF THE MODERN KINGDOM OF THE NETHERLANDS
BY
Hendrik Willem van Loon,
ILLUSTRATED
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1915
[Illustration: WILLIAM I]
DEDICATION
This little book, telling the story of our national usurpation by a
foreign enemy during the beginning of the nineteenth century, appears at
a moment when our nearest neighbours are suffering the same fate which
befell us more than a hundred years ago.
I dedicate my work to the five soldiers of the Belgian army who saved my
life near Waerloos.
I hope that their grandchildren may read a story of national revival
which will be as complete and happy as that of our own land.
Brussels, Belgium,
Christmas night, 1914.
APOLOGIA
And for | 1,086.357757 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.3386490 | 1,091 | 14 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v1
#19 in our series by George Meredith
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2023-11-16 18:35:10.3396630 | 1,179 | 22 |
Produced by PM for Bureau of American Ethnology, The
Internet Archive (American Libraries) and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the BibliothA"que nationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Words that were printed in italics are marked with _ _. Printing and
spelling errors have been corrected. A list of these corrections can be
found at the end of the document. The original text uses diacritical
marks that cannot be displayed in this text. These characters have been
replaced by the unmarked letter.
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION----BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY.
MYTHS
OF
THE IROQUOIS.
BY
ERMINNIE A. SMITH.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.--GODS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS 51
Hi-nun destroying the giant animals 54
A Seneca legend of Hi-nun and Niagara 54
The Thunderers 55
Echo God 58
Extermination of the Stone Giants 59
The North Wind 59
Great Head 59
Cusick's story of the dispersion of the Great Heads 62
The Stone Giant's wife 62
The Stone Giant's challenge 63
Hiawatha and the Iroquois wampum 64
CHAPTER II.--PIGMIES 65
The warrior saved by pigmies 65
The pigmies and the greedy hunters 66
The pigmy's mission 67
CHAPTER III.--PRACTICE OF SORCERY 68
The origin of witches and witch charms 69
Origin of the Seneca medicine 70
A "true" witch story 71
A case of witchcraft 72
An incantation to bring rain 72
A cure for all bodily injuries 73
A witch in the shape of a dog 73
A man who assumed the shape of a hog 73
Witch transformations 74
A superstition about flies 74
CHAPTER IV.--MYTHOLOGIC EXPLANATION OF PHENOMENA 75
Origin of the human race 76
Formation of the Turtle Clan 77
How the bear lost his tail 77
Origin of medicine 78
Origin of wampum 78
Origin of tobacco 79
Origin of plumage 79
Why the chipmunk has the black stripe on his back 80
Origin of the constellations 80
The Pole Star 81
CHAPTER V.--TALES 83
Boy rescued by a bear 83
Infant nursed by bears 84
The man and his step-son 85
The boy and his grandmother 86
The dead hunter 87
A hunter's adventures 88
The old man's lesson to his nephew 89
The hunter and his faithless wife 90
The charmed suit 92
The boy and the corn 96
The lad and the chestnuts 97
The guilty hunters 99
Mrs. Logan's story 100
The hunter and his dead wife 103
A sure revenge 104
Traveler's jokes 107
Kingfisher and his nephew 108
The wild-cat and the white rabbit 110
CHAPTER VI.--RELIGION 112
New Year's festival 112
Tapping the maple trees 115
Planting corn 115
Strawberry festival 115
Green-corn festival 115
Gathering the corn 115
_ILLUSTRATIONS._
PLATE XII.--Returning thanks to the Great Spirit 52
XIII.--Stone giant or cannibal 56
XIV.--Atotarho, war chief 60
XV.--The Flying Head put to flight 64
MYTHS OF THE IROQUOIS.
BY ERMINNIE A. SMITH.
CHAPTER I.
GODS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL BEINGS.
The principal monuments of the once powerful Iroquois are their myths
and folk-lore, with the language in which they are embodied. As these
monuments are fast crumbling away, through their contact with European
civilization, the ethnologist must hasten his search among them in order
to trace the history of their laws of mind and the records of their
customs, ideas, laws, and beliefs. Most of these have been long
forgotten by the people, who continue to repeat traditions as they have
been handed down through their fathers and fathers' fathers, from
generation to generation, for many centuries.
The pagan Iroquois of to-day (and there are still many) will tell you
that his ancestors worshiped, as he continues to do, the "Great Spirit,"
and, like himself, held feasts and dances in his honor; but a | 1,086.359703 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.3397590 | 2,339 | 104 |
Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
_THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN’S LIBRARY_
_EDITED BY
CASPAR WHITNEY_
MUSK-OX, BISON, SHEEP
AND GOAT
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
MUSK-OX, BISON, SHEEP
AND GOAT
BY
CASPAR WHITNEY
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
AND
OWEN WISTER
[Illustration]
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1904
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1904,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up, electrotyped, and published February, 1904.
_Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
THE MUSK-OX. BY CASPAR WHITNEY
I. MY FIRST KILL 17
II. THE PROVISION QUESTION 32
III. SEASONS AND EQUIPMENT 44
IV. METHOD OF HUNTING 56
V. THE MUSK-OX 70
THE BISON. BY GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL 107
THE MOUNTAIN SHEEP: HIS WAYS. BY OWEN WISTER 167
THE WHITE GOAT AND HIS WAYS. BY OWEN WISTER 227
INDEX 277
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE BEGINNING OF THE SLAUGHTER _Frontispiece_
PAGE
IN THE FAR NORTH 15
AT BAY 30
OUTNUMBERED 45
EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX CALF 57
HEAD OF TWO-YEAR-OLD MUSK-OX BULL 57
MUSK-OXEN ON CAPE MORRIS JESUP, BROUGHT TO BAY BY DOGS 65
THE AUTHOR’S BARREN GROUND HUNTING KNIFE AND AX 67
THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--A FULL-GROWN BULL 71
FOREFOOT OF BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX 76
FULL-GROWN EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--ADULT MALE 77
FOREFOOT OF EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX 79
SKULL OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--FRONT VIEW 82
SKULL OF THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--FRONT VIEW 82
SKULL OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX--SIDE VIEW 83
SKULL OF THE BARREN GROUND MUSK-OX--SIDE VIEW 83
MALE YEARLING OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX 87
ADULT FEMALE OF THE EAST GREENLAND MUSK-OX 95
MUSK-OX CALF 101
THE LAST OF THE HERD 109
PROTECTED 139
ROCKY MOUNTAIN SHEEP 169
ALERT 177
UNDER A HOT SKY 187
SURPRISED 201
THE SADDLEBACK SHEEP 213
ABOVE TIMBER LINE 229
THE WHITE GOAT IS AN AGILE CLIMBER 253
THE MUSK-OX AND ITS HUNTING
BY CASPAR WHITNEY
[Illustration: IN THE FAR NORTH]
I
MY FIRST KILL
We had passed through the “Land of Little Sticks,” as the Indians so
appropriately call that desolate waste which connects the edge of
timber land with the Barren Grounds, and had been for several days
making our way north on the lookout for any living thing that would
provide us with a mouthful of food.
We had got into one of those pieces of this great barren area, which,
broken by rocky ridges, of no great height but of frequent occurrence,
are unspeakably harassing to the travelling snow-shoer. It was the
third twelve hours of our fast, save for tea and the pipe, and all day
we had been dragging ourselves wearily up one ridge and down another
in the ever recurring and always disappointed hope that on each we
should sight caribou or musk-oxen. The Indians were discouraged and
sullen, as they usually did become on such occasions; and this troubled
me really more than not finding food, for I was in constant dread of
their growing disheartened and turning back to the woods. That was
the possibility which, since the very starting day, had at all times
and most seriously menaced the success of my venture; because we were
pushing on in the early part of March, at a time when the storms are at
their greatest severity, and when none had ever before ventured into
the Barren Grounds. Therefore, in my fear lest the Indians turn back, I
sought to make light of our difficulties by breaking into song when we
stopped to “spell”[1] our dogs, hoping by my assumed light-heartedness
to shame the Indians out of showing their desire to turn homeward.
How much I felt like singing may be imagined.
So the day dragged on without sight of a moving creature, not even a
fox, and it was past noon when we laboriously worked our way up one
particular ridge which seemed to have an unusual amount of unnecessary
and ragged rock strewn over its surface. I remember we scarcely
ventured to look into the white silent country that stretched in front
of us; disappointment had rewarded our long searchings so often that
we had somehow come to accept it as a matter of course. Squatting down
back of the sledge in shelter from the wind seemed of more immediate
concern than looking ahead for meat: at least we were sure of the
solace our pipes gave. Thus we smoked in silence, with no sign of
interest in what the immediate country ahead might hold for us, until
Beniah, the leader of my Indians, and an unusually good one, started
to his feet with an exclamation and, hurriedly climbing on top a
good-sized rock, stretched his arm ahead, obviously much stirred with
excitement. He shouted, once and loud, “_ethan_,”[2] and then continued
mumbling it as though to make his tongue sure of what his eyes beheld.
We all gathered around him, climbing his rock or on other ones, in
desperate earnestness to see what he saw in the direction he continued
pointing. It was minutes before I could discern anything having life in
the distance which reached away to the horizon all white and silent,
and then I detected a kind of vapor arising apparently from some dark
objects blurringly outlined against the snow about four miles away; it
was the mist which arises from a herd of animals where the mercury is
ranging between sixty and seventy degrees below zero, and on a clear
day may be seen five miles away. Thoroughly aroused now, I got my
field-glasses from my sledge and searched the dark objects under the
mist. They were not caribou, of that I was certain; as to what they
were I was equally uncertain, for the forms were strange to my eye. So
I handed the glasses to Beniah, saying, “_ethan illa_.”[3] Beniah took
the glasses, but as it was the first time he had ever looked through
a pair, their range and power seemed to excite him quite as much as
did the appearance of the game itself. When he did find his tongue,
he fairly shouted, “_ejerri_.”[4] I had no accurate knowledge of what
“_ejerri_” meant, but assumed we had sighted musk-oxen. Instantly all
was excitement. The Indians set up a yell and rushed for their sledges,
jabbering and laughing. It seemed incredible that these were the same
men who so shortly before had sat silent with backs to the wind,
dejected and indifferent.
Every one now busied himself turning loose his dogs,--a small matter
for the Indians, with their simply sewn harness from which the dogs
were easily slipped, but a rather complex job for me. My dog train had
come from the Post, and its harness was made of buckles and straps and
things not easily undone in freezing weather; so it happened that by
the time my dogs were unhitched, the Indians and all their dogs were
fully quarter of a mile nearer the musk-oxen than I and running for
very dear life. My preconceived notions of the musk-ox hunting game
were in a jiffy jolted to the point of destruction, as I now found
myself in a situation neither expected nor joyful. It was natural to
suppose some assistance would be given me in this strange environment,
and that the consideration of a party of my own organizing and my own
paying should be my killing the musk-ox for which I had come so long
a distance. But we were a long way from the Post and interpreters
and restraining influences; and at this moment of readjustment I
speedily realized that it was to be a survival of the fittest on this
expedition, and if I got a musk-ox it would be of my own getting.
It comforted me to know that, even though somewhat tucked up as to
stomach, due to three days’ hard travel on only tea, I was in fine
physical condition, and up to making the effort of my life.
By the time I had run about two miles I had caught the last of the
Indians, who were stretched out in a long column, with two leading
by half a mile. Within another mile I had passed all the stragglers,
and was running practically even with the second Indian, who was two
or three hundred yards behind the leading one. This Indian, Seco by
name, was one of the best snow-shoe runners I ever encountered. He
gave evidence of his endurance and speed on many another occasion than
this one, for always there was a run of four miles or more after every
musk-ox herd we sighted, and invariably a foot-race between Seco and me
preceded final leadership. I may add incidentally that he | 1,086.359799 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.4406560 | 852 | 9 |
credit
Transcribed from the 1916 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE FIGURE IN THE CARPET
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
LONDON; MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
* * * * *
This edition first published 1916
The text follows that of the
Definitive Edition
CHAPTER I
I HAD done a few things and earned a few pence--I had perhaps even had
time to begin to think I was finer than was perceived by the patronising;
but when I take the little measure of my course (a fidgety habit, for
it's none of the longest yet) I count my real start from the evening
George Corvick, breathless and worried, came in to ask me a service. He
had done more things than I, and earned more pence, though there were
chances for cleverness I thought he sometimes missed. I could only
however that evening declare to him that he never missed one for
kindness. There was almost rapture in hearing it proposed to me to
prepare for _The Middle_, the organ of our lucubrations, so called from
the position in the week of its day of appearance, an article for which
he had made himself responsible and of which, tied up with a stout
string, he laid on my table the subject. I pounced upon my
opportunity--that is on the first volume of it--and paid scant attention
to my friend's explanation of his appeal. What explanation could be more
to the point than my obvious fitness for the task? I had written on Hugh
Vereker, but never a word in _The Middle_, where my dealings were mainly
with the ladies and the minor poets. This was his new novel, an advance
copy, and whatever much or little it should do for his reputation I was
clear on the spot as to what it should do for mine. Moreover if I always
read him as soon as I could get hold of him I had a particular reason for
wishing to read him now: I had accepted an invitation to Bridges for the
following Sunday, and it had been mentioned in Lady Jane's note that Mr.
Vereker was to be there. I was young enough for a flutter at meeting a
man of his renown, and innocent enough to believe the occasion would
demand the display of an acquaintance with his "last."
Corvick, who had promised a review of it, had not even had time to read
it; he had gone to pieces in consequence of news requiring--as on
precipitate reflexion he judged--that he should catch the night-mail to
Paris. He had had a telegram from Gwendolen Erme in answer to his letter
offering to fly to her aid. I knew already about Gwendolen Erme; I had
never seen her, but I had my ideas, which were mainly to the effect that
Corvick would marry her if her mother would only die. That lady seemed
now in a fair way to oblige him; after some dreadful mistake about a
climate or a "cure" she had suddenly collapsed on the return from abroad.
Her daughter, unsupported and alarmed, desiring to make a rush for home
but hesitating at the risk, had accepted our friend's assistance, and it
was my secret belief that at sight of him Mrs. Erme would pull round.
His own belief was scarcely to be called secret; it discernibly at any
rate differed from mine. He had showed me Gwendolen's photograph with
the remark that she wasn't pretty but was awfully interesting; she had
published at the age of nineteen a novel in three volumes, "Deep Down,"
about which, in _The Middle_, he had been really splendid. He
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E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Christina, Joseph Cooper, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS
by
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
W. B. Conkey Company
Chicago
Copyright, 1888
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
_I step across the mystic border-land,_
_And look upon the wonder-world of Art._
_How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!_
_And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!_
_The winding paths that lead up to the heights_
_Are polished by the footsteps of the great._
_The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:_
_The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon_
_Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked._
_Here are no sounds of discord--no profane_
_Or senseless gossip of unworthy things--_
_Only the songs of chisels and of pens._
_Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains_
_Of souls surcharged with music most divine._
_Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief_
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Produced by Susan Skinner, Ted Garvin and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration:
THE
MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL;
BY
CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D.
F.S.A. SCOT.
VOL. VI.
PAISLEY
Birth Place of Tannahill, Alexander Wilson, John Wilson, &c.
EDINBURGH:
ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE,
BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO THE QUEEN.]
* * * * *
[Illustration: [Handwritten: Ever yours truly,
Chas. Mackay.]]
* * * * *
THE
MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL;
OR,
THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND OF THE
PAST HALF CENTURY.
WITH
Memoirs of the Poets,
AND
SKETCHES AND SPECIMENS
IN ENGLISH VERSE OF THE MOST CELEBRATED
MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
BY
CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D.,
F.S.A. SCOT.
IN SIX VOLUMES.
VOL VI.
EDINBURGH:
ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE,
BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO HER MAJESTY.
MDCCCLVII.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY,
PAUL'S WORK.
TO
CHARLES BAILLIE, ESQ.,
SHERIFF OF STIRLINGSHIRE,
CONVENER OF THE ACTING COMMITTEE FOR REARING
A NATIONAL MONUMENT
TO THE
ILLUSTRIOUS DEFENDER OF SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE,
THIS SIXTH VOLUME
OF
The Modern Scottish Minstrel
IS DEDICATED,
WITH SENTIMENTS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT AND ESTEEM,
BY
HIS VERY OBEDIENT FAITHFUL SERVANT,
CHARLES ROGERS.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION, xi
OBSERVATIONS ON SCOTTISH SONG. BY HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL, xx
CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D., 1
Love aweary of the world, 8
The lover's second thoughts on world weariness, 9
A candid wooing, 11
Procrastinations, 12
Remembrances of nature, 13
Believe, if you can, 15
Oh, the happy time departed, 17
Come back! come back! 17
Tears, 18
Cheer, boys, cheer, 20
Mourn for the mighty dead, 21
A plain man's philosophy, 22
The secrets of the hawthorn, 24
A cry from the deep waters, 25
The return home, 26
The men of the North, 28
The lover's dream of the wind, 29
ARCHIBALD CRAWFORD, 31
Bonnie Mary Hay, 33
Scotland, I have no home but thee, 33
GEORGE DONALD, 35
The spring time o' life, 36
The scarlet rose-bush, 37
HENRY GLASSFORD BELL, 39
My life is one long thought of thee, 40
Why is my spirit sad? 41
Geordie Young, 42
My fairy Ellen, 44
A bachelor's complaint, 45
WILLIAM BENNET, 47
Blest be the hour of night, 48
The rose of beauty, 49
I 'll think on thee, love, 50
There's music in a mother's voice, 51
The brig of Allan, 52
GEORGE OUTRAM, 54
Charge on a bond of annuity, 55
HENRY INGLIS, 59
Weep away, 59
JAMES MANSON, 61
Ocean, 61
The hunter's daughter, 63
An invitation, 63
Cupid and the rose-bud, 64
Robin Goodheart's carol, 65
JAMES HEDDERWICK, 67
My bark at sea, 68
Sorrow and song, 69
The land for me, 70
The emigrants, 72
First grief, 73
The linnet, 76
WILLIAM BROCKIE, 78
Ye 'll never gang back to yer mither nae mair, 78
ALEXANDER M'LACHLAN, 80
The lang winter e'en, 80
THOMAS YOUNG, 81
Antoinette; or, The Falls, 81
ROBERT WILSON, 84
Away, away, my gallant bark, 84
Love, 85
EDWARD POLIN, 87
A good old song, 88
ALEXANDER BUCHANAN, 89
I wander'd alane, 89
Katie Blair, 91
DAVID TAYLOR, 92
My ain gudeman, 92
ROBERT CATHCART, 94
Mary, 94
WILLIAM JAMIE, 96
Auld Scotia's sangs, 96
JOHN CRAWFORD, 98
My auld wifie Jean, 102
The land o' the bonnet and plaid, 103
Sing on, fairy Devon, 104
Ann o' Cornylee, 105
My Mary dear, 106
The waes o' eild, 107
JOHN STUART BLACKIE, 109
Song of Ben Cruachan, 115
The braes of Mar, 117
My loves, 118
Liking and loving, 120
WILLIAM STIRLING, M.P., 121
Ruth, 122
Shallum, 126
THOMAS C. LATTO, 127
The kiss ahint the door, 128
The widow's ae bit lassie, 129
The yellow hair'd laddie, 130
Tell me, dear, 131
WILLIAM CADENHEAD, 133
Do you know what the birds are singing, 134
An hour with an old love, 135
ALLAN GIBSON, 137
The lane auld man, 138
The wanderer's return, 139
THOMAS ELLIOTT, 141
Up with the dawn, 142
Clyde boat song, 143
Dimples and a', 144
Bubbles on the blast, 145
A serenade, 146
A song of little things, 147
My ain mountain land, 148
When I come hame at e'en, 149
WILLIAM LOGAN, 151
Jeanie Gow, 151
JAMES LITTLE, 153
Our native hills again, 154
Here's a health to Scotia's shore, 155
The days when we were young, 156
Lizzy Frew, | 1,086.462732 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Alberta)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source the Web Archive:
https://archive.org/details/cihm_75374
(University of Alberta)
THE
COIL OF CARNE
BY
JOHN OXENHAM
AUTHOR OF "THE LONG ROAD"
TORONTO
THE COPP, CLARK CO. LIMITED
1911
TO
RODERIC DUNKERLEY, B.A., B.D.
"_And what are you eager for, Mr. Eager?_"
"_Men, women, and children--bodies and souls_."
_Intra, page_ 53.
"_By God's help we will make men of them, the rest we must trust to
Providence_."
_Intra, page_ 66.
"_Catch them young!_"
_Intra, page_ 67.
"_No man is past mending till he's dead, perhaps not then_."
_Intra, page_ 82.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAP.
I. THE HOUSE OF CARNE
II. THE STAR IN THE DUST
III. THE FIRST OF THE COIL
IV. THE COIL COMPLETE
V. IN THE COIL
BOOK II
VI. FREEMEN OF THE FLATS
VII. EAGER HEART
VIII. SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
IX. MORE OF SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
X. GROWING FREEMEN
XI. THE LITTLE LADY
XII. MANY MEANS
XIII. MOUNTING
XIV. WIDENING WAYS
XV. DIVERGING LINES
XVI. A CUT AT THE COIL
XVII. ALMOST SOLVED
XVIII. ALMOST SOLVED AGAIN
XIX. WHERE'S JIM?
XX. A NARROW SQUEAK
XXI. A WARM WELCOME
XXII. WHERE'S JACK?
BOOK III
XXIII. BREAKING IN
XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
XXV. REVELATION AND SPECULATION
XXVI. JIM'S TIGHT PLACE
XXVII. TWO TO ONE
XXVIII. THE LINE OF CLEAVAGE
XXIX. GRACIE'S DILEMMA
XXX. NEVER THE SAME AGAIN
XXXI. DESERET
XXXII. THE LADY WITH THE FAN
XXXIII. A STIRRING OF MUD
XXXIV. THE BOYS IN THE MUD
XXXV. EXPLANATIONS
XXXVI. JIM'S WAY
XXXVII. A HOPELESS QUEST
XXXVIII. LORD DESERET HELPS
XXXIX. OLD SETH GOES HOME
XL. OUT OF THE NIGHT
XLI. HORSE AND FOOT
XLII. DUE EAST
XLIII. JIM TO THE FORE
XLIV. JIM'S LUCK
XLV. MORE REVELATIONS
XLVI. THE BLACK LANDING
XLVII. ALMA
XLVIII. JIM'S RIDE
XLIX. AMONG THE BULL-PUPS
L. RED-TAPE
LI. THE VALLEY OF DEATH
LII. PATCHING UP
LIII. THE FIGHT IN THE FOG
LIV. AN ALLY OF PROVIDENCE
LV. RETRIBUTION
LVI. DULL DAYS
LVII. HOT OVENS
LVIII. CHILL NEWS
LIX. TOUCH AND GO FOR THE COIL
LX. INSIDE THE FIERY RING
LXI. WEARY WAITING
LXII. FROM ONE TO MANY
LXIII. EAGER ON THE SCENT
LXIV. THE LONG SLOW SIEGE
LXV. THE CUTTING OF THE COIL
LXVI. PURGATORY
LXVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END
LXVIII. HOME AGAIN
LXIX. "THE RIGHT ONE"
LXX. ALL'S WELL
THE COIL OF CARNE
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE OF CARNE
If by any chance you should ever sail on a low ebb-tide along a
certain western coast, you will, if you are of a receptive humour and
new to the district, receive a somewhat startling impression of the
dignity of the absolutely flat.
Your ideas of militant and resistant grandeur may have been associated
hitherto with the iron frontlets and crashing thunders of Finisterre
or Sark, of Cornwall or the Western Isle. Here you are faced with a
repressive curbing of the waters, equal in every respect to theirs,
but so quietly displayed as to be somewhat awesome, as mighty power in
restraint must always be.
As far as eye can reach--sand, nothing but sand, overpowering by
reason of its immensity, a very Sahara of the coast. Mighty levels
stretching landward and seaward--for you are only threading a
capricious channel among the banks which the equinoctials will twist
at their pleasure, and away to the west the great grim sea lies
growling in his sandy chains until his time comes. Then, indeed, he
will swell and boil and seethe in his channels till he is full ready,
and come creeping silently over his barriers, and then--up and away
over the flats with the speed of a racehorse, and death to the unwary.
You may see the humping back of him among the outer banks if you climb
a few feet up your mast. Then, if you turn towards the land, you will
see, far away across the brown ribbed flats, a long rim of yellow sand
backed by bewildering ranges of low white hummocks, and farther away
still a filmy blue line of distant hills.
Here and there a fisherman's cottage accentuates the loneliness of it
all. At one point, as the sun dips in the west, a blaze of light
flashes out as though a hidden battery had suddenly unmasked itself;
and if you ask your skipper what it is, he will tell you that is
Carne. Then, if he is a wise man, he will upsail and away, to make
Wytham or Wynsloe before it is dark, for the shifting banks off Carne
are as hungry as Death, and as tricky as the devil.
For over three hundred years the grim gray house of Carne has stood
there and watched the surface of all things round about it change with
the seasons and the years and yet remain in all essential things the
same. When the wild equinoctials swept the flats till they hummed like
a harp, the sand-hills stirred and changed their aspects as though the
sleeping giants below turned uneasily in their beds. For, under the
whip of the wind, grain by grain the sand-hills creep hither and
thither and accommodate themselves to circumstances in strange and
ghostly fashions. So that, after the fury of the night, the peace of
the morning looked in vain for the landmarks of the previous day.
And the cold seabanks out beyond were twisted and tortured this way
and that by the winds and waves, and within them lay many an honest
seaman, and some maybe who might have found it difficult to prove
their right to so honourable a title. But the banks were always there,
silent and deadly even when they shimmered in the sunshine.
And generations of Carrons had held Carne, and had even occupied it at
times, and had passed away and given place to others. But Carne was
always there, grim and gray, and mostly silent.
The outward aspects of things might change, indeed, but at bottom they
remained very much the same, and human nature changed as little as the
rest, though its outward aspects varied with the times. What strange
twist of brain or heart set its owner to the building of Carne has
puzzled many a wayfarer coming upon it in its wide sandy solitudes for
the first time. And the answer to that question answers several
others, and accounts for much.
It was Denzil Carron who built the house in the year Queen Mary died.
He was of the old faith, a Romanist of the Romanists, narrow in his
creed, fanatical in his exercise of it, at once hot- and cold-blooded
in pursuit of his aims. When Elizabeth came to the throne he looked to
be done by as he had done, and had very reasonable doubts as to the
quality of the mercy which might be strained towards him. So he
quietly withdrew from London, sold his houses and lands in other
counties, and sought out the remotest and quietest spot he could find
in the most Romanist county in England. And there he built the great
house of Carne, as a quiet harbourage for himself and such victims of
the coming persecutions as might need his assistance.
But no retributive hand was stretched after him. He was Englishman
first and Romanist afterwards. Calais, and the other national
crumblings and disasters of Mary's short reign, had been bitter pills
to him, and he hated a Spaniard like the devil. He saw a brighter
outlook for his country, though possibly a darker one for his Church,
in Elizabeth's firm grip than any her opponents could offer. So he
shut his face stonily against the intriguers, who came from time to
time and endeavoured to wile him into schemes for the subversion of
the Crown and the advancement of the true Church, and would have none
of them. And so he was left in peace and quietness by the powers that
were, and found himself free to indulge to the full in those religious
exercises on the strict observance of which his future state depended.
His wife died before the migration, leaving him one son, Denzil, to
bring up according to his own ideas. And a dismal time the lad had of
it. Surrounded by black jowls and gloomy-faced priests, tied hand and
foot by ordinances which his growing spirit loathed, all the
brightness and joy of life crushed out by the weight of a religion
which had neither time nor place for such things, he lived a narrow
monastic life till his father died. Then, being of age, and able at
last to speak for himself, he quietly informed his quondam governors
that he had had enough of religion to satisfy all reasonable
requirements of this life and the next, and that now he intended to
enjoy himself. Carne he would maintain as his father had maintained
it, for the benefit of those whom his father had loved, or at all
events had materially cared for. And so, good-bye, Black-Jowls! and Ho
for Life and the joy of it!
He went up to London, bought an estate in Kent, ruffled it with the
best of them, married and had sons and daughters, kept his head out of
all political nooses, fought the Spaniards under Admiral John Hawkins
and Francis Drake, and died wholesomely in his bed in his house in
Kent, a very different man from what Carne would have made him.
And that is how the grim gray house of Carne came to be planted in the
wilderness.
Now and again, in the years that followed, the Carron of the day, if
he fell on dolorous times through extravagance of living--as
happened--or suffered sudden access of religious fervour--as also
happened, though less frequently--would take himself to Carne and
there mortify flesh and spirit till things, financial and spiritual,
came round again, either for himself or the next on the rota. And so
some kind of connection was always maintained between Carne and its
owners, though years might pass without their coming face to face.
The Master of Carne in the year 1833 was that Denzil Carron who came
to notoriety in more ways than one during the Regency. His father had
been of the quieter strain, with a miserly twist in him which
commended the wide, sweet solitude and simple, inexpensive life of
Carne as exactly suited to his close humour. He could feel rich there
on very little; and after the death of his wife, who brought him a
very ample fortune, he devoted himself to the education of his boy and
the enjoyment, by accumulation, of his wealth. But a short annual
visit to London on business affairs afforded the boy a glimpse of what
he was missing, and his father's body was not twelve hours underground
before he had shaken off the sands of Carne and was posting to London
in a yellow chariot with four horses and two very elevated post-boys,
like a silly moth to its candle.
There, in due course, by processes of rapid assimilation and lavish
dispersion, he climbed to high altitudes, and breathed the atmosphere
of royal rascality refined by the gracious presence of George, Prince
of Wales. For the replenishment of his depleted exchequer he married
Miss Betty Carmichael, only daughter and sole heiress of the great
Calcutta nabob. She died in child-birth, leaving him a boy whose
education his own diversions left him little time or disposition to
attend to. He won the esteem, such as it was, of the Prince Regent by
running through the heart the Duke of Astrolabe, who had, in his cups,
made certain remarks of a quite unnecessarily truthful character
concerning Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom he persisted in calling Madame
Bellois; and lost it for ever by the injudicious insertion of a slice
of skinned orange inside the royal neckcloth in a moment of undue
elevation, producing thereby so great a shock to the royal system and
dignity as to bring it within an ace of an apoplexy and the end of its
great and glorious career.
Under the shadow of this exploit Carron found it judicious to retire
for a time to the wilderness, and carried his boy with him. He had had
a racketing time, and a period of rest and recuperation would be good
both for himself and his fortunes.
He had hoped and believed that his trifling indiscretion would in time
be forgotten and forgiven by his royal comrade. But it never was. The
royal cuticle crinkled at the very mention of the name of Carron, and
Sir Denzil remained in retirement, embittered somewhat at the price he
had had to pay for so trivial a jest, and solacing himself as best he
could.
Once only he emerged, and then solely on business bent.
In the panic year, when thousands were rushing to ruin, he gathered
together his accumulated savings, girded his loins, and stepped
quietly and with wide-open eyes into the wild mêlée. He played a
cautious, far-sighted game, and emerged triumphant over the dry-sucked
bodies of the less wary, with overflowing coffers and many gray hairs.
He was prepared to greet the royal beck with showers of gold once
more. But the royal neck, though it now wore the ermine in its own
right, could not forget the clammy kiss of the orange, and Carron went
sulkily back to Carne.
When the Sailor Prince stepped up from quarter-deck to throne, he
returned to London and took his place in society once more. But ten
years in the desert had placed him out of touch with things; and with
reluctance he had to admit to himself that if the star of Carron was
to blaze once more, it must be in the person of the next on the roll.
And so, characteristically enough, he set himself to the dispersal of
the flimsy cloudlet of disgrace which attached to his name by seeking
to win for his boy what the royal disfavour had denied to himself.
Now, indeed, that the royal sufferer was dead, the rising generation,
when they recalled it, rather enjoyed the crinkling of the royal skin.
They would even have welcomed the crinkler among them as a reminder of
the hilarities of former days. But the fashion of things had changed.
He did not feel at home with them as he had done with their fathers,
and he who had shone as a star, though he had indeed disappeared like
a rocket, had no mind to figure at their feasts as a lively old stick.
Young Denzil's education had been of the most haphazard during the
years his father was starring it in London. On the retirement to
Carne, however, Sir Denzil took the boy in hand himself and inculcated
in him philosophies and views of life, based upon his own experiences,
which, while they might tend to the production of a gentleman, as then
considered, left much to be desired from some other points of view.
He bought him a cornetcy in the Hussars, supplied him freely with
money, and required only that his acquaintance should be confined to
those circles of which he himself had once been so bright an ornament.
The young man was a success. He was well-built and well-featured, and
his manners had been his father's care. He had all the family faults,
and succeeded admirably in veiling such virtues as he possessed, with
the exception of one or two which happened to be fashionable. He was
hot-headed, free-handed, jovial, heedless of consequences in pursuit
of his own satisfactions, incapable of petty meanness, but quite
capable of those graver lapses which the fashion of the times
condoned. With a different upbringing, and flung on his own resources,
Denzil Carron might have gone far and on a very much higher plane than
he chose.
As it was, his career also ended somewhat abruptly.
At eight-and-twenty he had his captaincy in the 8th Hussars, and was
in the exuberant enjoyment of health, wealth, and everything that
makes for happiness--except only those things through which alone
happiness may ever hope to be attained. He had been in and out of love
a score of times, with results depressing enough in several cases to
the objects of his ardent but short-lived affections. It was the
fashion of the times, and earned him no word of censure. He loved and
hated, gambled and fought, danced and drank, with the rest, and was no
whit better or worse than they.
At Shole House, down in Hampshire, he met Lady Susan Sandys, sister of
the Earl of Quixande--fell in love with her through pity, maybe, at
the forlornness of her state, which might indeed have moved the heart
of a harder man. For Quixande was a warm man, even in a warm age, and
Shole was ante-room to Hades. Carron pitied her, liked her--she was
not lacking in good looks--persuaded himself, indeed, that he loved
her. For her sake he summarily cut himself free from his other current
feminine entanglements, carried her hotfoot to Gretna--a labour of
love surely, but quite unnecessary, since her brother was delighted to
be rid of her, and Sir Denzil had no fault to find either with the
lady or her portion--and returned to London a married, but very
doubtfully a wiser, man.
Lady Susan did her best, no doubt. She was full of gratitude and
affection for the gallant warrior who had picked her out of the
shades, and set her life in the sunshine. But Denzil was no Bayard,
and it needed a stronger nature than Lady Susan's to lift him to the
higher level.
For quite a month--for thirty whole days and nights, counting those
spent on the road to and from Gretna--Lady Susan kept her hold on her
husband. Then his regimental duties could no longer be neglected. They
grew more and more exigent as time passed, and the young wife was left
more and more to the society of her father-in-law. Sir Denzil accepted
the position with the grace of an old courtier, and did his duty by
her, palliated Captain Denzil's defections with cynical kindness, and
softened her lot as best he might. And the gallant captain, exhausted
somewhat with the strain of his thirty days' conservatism, resumed his
liberal progression through the more exhilarating circles of
fashionable folly, and went the pace the faster for his temporary
withdrawal.
The end came abruptly, and eight months after that quite unnecessary
ride to Gretna Lady Susan was again speeding up the North Road, but
this time with her father-in-law, their destination Carne. Captain
Denzil was hiding for his life, with a man's blood on his hands; and
his father's hopes for the blazing star of Carron were in the dust.
CHAPTER II
THE STAR IN THE DUST
And the cause of it all?--Madame Damaris, of Covent Garden Theatre,
the most bewitching woman and the most exquisite dancer of her time.
Perhaps Captain Denzil's handsome face and gallant bearing carried him
farther into her good graces than the others. Perhaps their jealous
tongues wagged more freely than circumstances actually justified.
Anyway, the rumours which, as usual, came last of all to Lady Susan's
ears caused her very great distress. She was in that state of health
in which depression of spirits may have lasting and ulterior
consequences. There were rumours too of a return of the cholera, and
she was nervous about it; and Sir Denzil was already considering the
advisability of a quiet journey to that quietest of retreats: the
great house of Carne, when that happened which left him no time for
consideration, but sent him speeding thither with the forlorn young
wife as fast as horses could carry them.
There was in London at this time a certain Count d'Aumont attached to
the French Embassy. He was a man of some note, and was understood to
be related in some roundabout way to that branch of the Orleans family
which force of circumstance had just succeeded in seating on the
precarious throne of France. He cut a considerable figure in society,
and had most remarkable luck at play. He possessed also a quick tongue
and a flexibility of wrist which so far had served to guard his
reputation from open assault.
He had known Madame Damaris prior to her triumphant descent on London,
and was much piqued when he found himself ousted from her good graces
by men whom he could have run through with his left hand, but who
could squander on her caprices thousands to his hundreds. Head and
front of the offenders, by reason of the lady's partiality, was Denzil
Carron, and the two men hated one another like poison.
Denzil was playing at Black's one night, when a vacancy was occasioned
in the party by the unexpected call to some official duty of one of
the players. D'Aumont was standing by, and to Denzil's disgust was
invited by one of the others to take the vacant chair.
He had watched the Frenchman's play more than once, and had found it
extremely interesting. In fact, on one occasion he had been restrained
with difficulty from creating a disturbance which must inevitably have
led to an inquiry and endless unpleasantness. Then, too, but a short
time before, hearing of some remarks D'Aumont had made concerning
Madame Damaris and himself, Denzil, in his hot-headed way, had sworn
that he would break the Frenchman's neck the very first time they met.
It is possible that these matters were within the recollection of
Captain O'Halloran when he boisterously invited D'Aumont to his
partnership at the whist-table that night. For O'Halloran delighted in
rows, and was ready for a "jule," either as principal or second, at
any hour of the day or night. He was also very friendly with D'Aumont,
and it is possible that the latter desired a collision with Carron as
a pretext for his summary dismissal at the point of the sword. However
it came about, the meeting ended in disaster.
The play ran smoothly for a time, and the onlookers had begun to
believe the sitting would end without any explosion, when Carron rose
suddenly to his feet, saying:
"At your old tricks, M. le Comte. You cheated!"
"Liar!" said the Count.
Then Carron laid hold of the card-table, swung it up in his powerful
arms, and brought it down with a crash on the Frenchman's head. The
remnants of it were hanging round his neck like a new kind of clown's
ruffle before the guineas had ceased spinning in the corners of the
room.
"He knows where to find me," said Denzil, and marched out and went
thoughtfully home to his quarters to await the Frenchman's challenge,
which for most men had proved equivalent to a death-warrant.
Instead, there came to him in the gray of the dawn one of his friends,
in haste, and with a face like the morning's.
"Ha, Pole! I hardly expected you to carry for a damned Frenchman.
Where do we meet, and when?" said Carron brusquely, for he had been
waiting all night, and he hated waiting.
"God knows," said young Pole, with a grim humour which none would have
looked to find in him. "He's gone to find out. He's dead!"
"Dead!--Of a crack on the head!"
"A splinter ran through his throat, and he bled out before they could
stop it. You had better get away, Carron. There'll be a deuce of a
row, because of his connections, you see."
"I'll stay and see it through. I'd no intent to kill the man--not that
way, at any rate."
"You'll see it through from the outside a sight easier than from the
inside," said young Pole. "You get away. We'll see to the rest. It's
easier to keep out of the jug than to get out of it."
Carron pondered the question.
"I'll see my father," he said, with an accession of wisdom.
"That's right," said young Pole. "He'll know. Go at once. I'm off."
It was a week since Denzil had been to the house in Grosvenor Square,
and when he got there he was surprised to find, early as it was, a
travelling-chariot at the door, with trunks strapped on, all ready for
the road.
He met his father's man coming down the stairs with an armful of
shawls.
"Sir Denzil, Kennet. At once, please."
"Just in time, sir. Another ten minutes and we'd been gone. He's all
dressed, Mr. Denzil. Will you come up, sir?"
"Ah, Denzil, you got my note," said Sir Denzil at sight of him. "We
settled it somewhat hurriedly. But Lady Susan is nervous over this
cholera business. What's wrong?" he asked quickly, as Kennet quitted
the room.
Denzil quietly told him the whole matter, and his father took snuff
very gravely. He saw all his hopes ruined at a blow; but he gave no
sign, except the tightening of the bones under the clear white skin of
his face, and a deepening of the furrows in his brow and at the sides
of his mouth.
"The man's death is a misfortune--as was his birth, I believe," he
said, as he snuffed gravely again. "Had you any quarrel with him
previously?"
"I had threatened, in a general way, to break his head for wagging his
tongue about me."
"They may twist that to your hurt," said his father, nodding gravely.
"In any case it means much unpleasantness. I am inclined to think you
would be better out of the way for a time."
"I will do as you think best, sir. I am quite ready to wait and see it
through."
"You never can tell how things may go," said his father thoughtfully.
"It all depends on the judge's humour at the time, and that is beyond
any man's calculation.... Yes, you will be more comfortable away,
and I will hasten back and see how things go here.... And if you
are to go, the sooner the better.... You can start with us. We will
drop you at St. Albans, and you will make your way across to Antwerp.
You had better take Kennet," he continued, with the first visible
twinge of regret, as his plans evolved bit by bit. "He is safe, and I
don't trust that man of yours--he has a foxy face. If they follow us
to Carne, you will be at Antwerp by that time. Send us your address,
and I will send you funds there. Here is enough for the time being.
Oblige me by ringing the bell. And, by the way, Denzil, say a kind
word or two to Susan. You have been neglecting her somewhat of late,
and she has felt it.... Kennet, tell Lady Susan I am ready, and
inform her ladyship that Mr. Denzil is here, and will accompany us."
And ten minutes later the travelling-chariot was bowling away along
the Edgware Road; and the hope which had shone in Lady Susan's eyes at
sight of her husband was dying out with every beat of the horses'
hoofs and every word that passed between the two men. For the matter
had to be told, and the time was short. Sir Denzil had intended to
stop for a time at Carne. Now he must get back at the earliest
possible moment. And, though they made light of the matter, and
described Denzil's hurried journey as a simple measure of precaution,
and a means of escaping unnecessary annoyance, Lady Susan's jangled
nerves adopted gloomier views, and naturally went farther even than
the truth.
Denzil did his best to follow his father's suggestion. His conscience
smote him at sight of his wife's pinched face and the shadows under
her eyes--shadows which told of days of sorrow and nights of lonely
weeping, shadows for which he knew he was as responsible as if his
fists had placed them there.
"I am sorry, dear, to bring this trouble on you," he said, pressing
her hand.
"Let me go with you, Denzil," she cried, with a catch of hope in her
voice. "Let me go with you, and the trouble will be as nothing."
How she would have welcomed any trouble that drove him to her arms
again! But she knew, even as she said it, that it was not possible.
That lay before her, looming large in the vagueness of its mystery,
which sickened her, body and soul, with apprehension. But it was a
path which she must travel alone, and already, almost before they were
fairly started, she was longing for the end of the journey and for
rest. The jolting of the carriage was dreadful to her. The trees and
hedges tumbled over one another in a hazy rout which set her brain
whirling and made her eyes close wearily. She longed for the end of
the journey and for rest--peace and quiet and rest, and the end of
the journey.
"We will hope the trouble will soon blow over," said Sir Denzil. "But
we lose nothing by taking precautions. I shall return to town at once
and keep an eye on matters, and as soon as things smooth down Denzil
will join you at Carne." At which Denzil's jaw tightened lugubriously.
He had his own reasons for not desiring to visit Carne.
"Old Mrs. Lee," continued Sir Denzil--for the sake of making talk,
since it seemed to him that silence would surely lead to hysterics on
the part of Lady Susan--"will make you very comfortable. She is a
motherly old soul, though you may find her a trifle uncouth at first;
and Carne is very restful at this time of year. That woman of yours
always struck me as a fool, my dear. I think it is just as well she
decided not to come, but she might have had the grace to give you a
little longer warning. That class of person is compounded of
selfishness and duplicity. They are worse, I think, than the men, and
God knows the men are bad enough. Your man is another of the same
pattern, Denzil. They ought to marry. The result might be interesting,
but I should prefer not having any of it in my service."
At St. Albans they parted company. Denzil pressed his wife's hand for
the last time in this world, hired a post-chaise, and started across
country in company with the discomfited Kennet, who regarded the
matter with extreme disfavour both on his own account and his
master's, and Sir Denzil and Lady Susan went bumping along on the way
to Carne.
CHAPTER III
THE FIRST OF THE COIL
A woman trudged heavily along the firm damp sand just below the
bristling tangle of high-water mark, in the direction of Carne. She
wore a long cloak, and bent her head and humped her shoulders over a
small bundle which she hugged tight to her breast.
She had hoped to reach the big house before it was dark. But a
north-east gale was blowing, and it caught up the loose tops of the
sand-hills and carried them in streaming clouds along the flats and
made walking difficult. The | 1,086.462797 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.6419680 | 228 | 14 |
Produced by David Widger
AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Drawings by Will Owen
Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
List of Illustrations
"His Perturbation Attracted the Attention of His Hostess."
"A Welcome Subject of Conversation in Marine Circles."
"The Suspense Became Painful."
"Captain Hardy Lit his Pipe Before Replying."
"Mr. Wilks Watched It from the Quay."
"Master Hardy on the Beach Enacting The Part of David."
"Mr. Wilks Replied That he Was Biding his Time."
"A Particularly Hard Nut to Crack."
"A Stool in the Local Bank."
"A Diversion Was Created by the Entrance of a | 1,086.662008 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.6420830 | 7,436 | 20 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Transcriber's note: Original spelling varieties have not been
standardized. Characters with macrons have been marked in brackets with
an equal sign, as [=e] for a letter e with a macron on top; [th] was
used for the letter thorn, [dh] for eth, and [gh] for yogh. Saxon
characters have been marked in braces, as in {Eafel}. Underscores have
been used to indicate _italic_ fonts (or emphasis in Greek). A list of
volumes and pages in "Notes and Queries" has been added at the end.]
NOTES and QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. IV.--No. 99 SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20. 1851.
Price Threepence. Stamped Edition, 4_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
NOTES:--
Venerable Bede's Mental Arithmetic 201
Hyphenism, Hyphenic, Hyphenization 203
Gray and Cowley 204
Minor Notes:--[Greek: Hypopiazo]--Meaning of
Whitsunday--Anagrammatic Pun by William Oldys--Ballad of
Chevy Chase: Ovid--Horace Walpole at Eton 205
QUERIES:--
Continental Watchmen and their Songs 206
Minor Queries:--Quotation from Bacon--Carmagnoles--The
Use of Tobacco by the Elizabethan Ladies--Covines--Story
referred to by Jeremy Taylor--Plant in Texas--Discount
--Sacre Cheveux--"Mad as a March Hare"--Payments for
Destruction of Vermin--Fire unknown--Matthew Paris's
Historia Minor--Mother Bunche's Fairy Tales--Monumental
Symbolism--Meaning of "Stickle" and "Dray"--Son of the
Morning--Gild Book 208
REPLIES:--
Pope and Flatman 209
Test of the Strength of a Bow 210
Baskerville the Printer 211
Replies to Minor Queries:--Mazer Wood and Sin-eaters--"A
Posie of other Men's Flowers"--Table Book--Briwingable
--Simnels--A Ship's Berth--Suicides buried in Cross-roads
--A Sword-blade Note--Domesday Book of Scotland--Dole-bank
--The Letter "V"--Cardinal Wolsey--Nervous--Coleridge's
Essays on Beauty--"Nao" or "Naw," a Ship--Unde derivatur
Stonehenge--Nick Nack--Meaning of Carfax--Hand giving the
Benediction--Unlucky for Pregnant Women to take an
Oath--Borough-English--Date of a Charter 211
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, Sales, Catalogues, &c. 215
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 215
Notices to Correspondents 215
Advertisements 216
Notes.
VENERABLE BEDE'S MENTAL ALMANAC.
If our own ancient British sage, the Venerable Bede, could rise up from
the dust of eleven centuries, he might find us, notwithstanding all our
astounding improvements, in a worse position, in one respect at least,
than when he left us; and as the subject would be one in which he was
well versed, it would indubitably attract his attention.
He might then set about teaching us from his own writings a mental
resource, far superior to any similar device practised by ourselves, by
which the day of the week belonging to any day of the month, in any year
of the Christian era, might easily and speedily be found.
And when the few, who would give themselves the trouble of thoroughly
understanding it, came to perceive its easiness of acquirement, its
simplicity in practice, and its firm hold upon the memory, they might
well marvel how so admirable a facility should have been so entirely
forgotten, or by what perversion of judgment it could have been
superseded by the comparatively clumsy and impracticable method of the
Dominical letters.
Let us hear his description of it in his own words:
"QUAE SIT FERIA IN CALENDIS.
"Simile autem huic tradunt argumentum ad inveniendam diem
Calendarum promptissimum.
"Habet ergo regulares Januarius II, Februarius V, Martius V,
Apriles I, Maius III, Junius VI, Julius I, Augustus IIII,
September VII, October II, November V, December VII. Qui videlicet
regulares hoc specialiter indicant, quota sit feria per Calendas,
eo anno quo septem concurrentes adscripti sunt dies: caeteris vero
annis addes concurrentes quotquot in praesenti fuerunt adnotati ad
regulares mensium singulorum, et ita diem calendarum sine errore
semper invenies. Hoc tantum memor esto, ut cum imminente anno
bisextili unus concurrentium intermittendus est dies, eo tamen
numero quem intermissurus es in Januario Februarioque utaris: ac
in calendis primum Martiis per illum qui circulo centinetur solis
computare incipias. Cum ergo diem calendarum, verbi gratia,
Januarium, quaerere vis; dicis Januarius II, adde concurrentes
septimanae dies qui fuerunt anno quo computas, utpote III, fiunt
quinque; quinta feria intrant calendae Januariae. Item anno qui sex
habet concurrentes, sume v regulares mensis Martii, adde
concurrentes sex, fiunt undecim, tolle septem, remanent quatuor,
quarta feria sunt Calendae Martiae."--Bedae Venerabilis, _De Temporum
Ratione_, caput xxi.
The meaning of this may be expressed as follows:--Attached to the twelve
months of the year are certain fixed numbers called regulars, ranging
from I to VII, denoting the days of the week in their usual order. These
regulars, in any year whereof the concurrent, or solar epact, is 0 or 7,
express, of themselves, the commencing day of each month: but in other
years, whatever the solar epact of the year may be, that epact must be
added to the regular of any month to indicate, in a similar manner, the
commencing day of that month.
It follows, therefore, that the only burthen the memory need be charged
with is the distribution of the regulars among the several months;
because the other element, the solar epact (which also ranges from 1 to
7), may either be obtained from a short mental calculation, or, should
the system come into general use, it would soon become a matter of
public notoriety during the continuance of each current year.
Now, these solar epacts have several practical advantages over the
Dominical letters. 1. They are numerical in themselves, and therefore
they are found at once, and used directly, without the complication of
converting figures into letters and letters into figures. 2. They
increase progressively in every year; whereas the Dominical letters have
a crab-like retrogressive progress, which impedes facility of practice.
3. The _rationale_ of the solar epacts is more easily explained and more
readily understood: they are the accumulated odd days short of a
complete week; consequently the accumulation must increase by 1 in every
year, except in leap years, when it increases by 2; because in leap
years there are 2 odd days over 52 complete weeks. But this irregularity
in the epact of leap year does not come into operation until the
additional day has actually been added to the year; that is, not until
after the 29th of February. Or, as Bede describes it, "_in leap years
one of the concurrent days is intermitted, but the number so intermitted
must be used for January and February; after which, the epact obtained
from cyclical tables_ (or from calculation) _must be used for the
remaining months_." By which he means, that the epacts increase in
arithmetical succession, except in leap years, when the series is
interrupted by one number being passed over; the number so passed over
being used for January and February only. Thus, 2 being the epact of
1851, 3 would be its natural successor for 1852; but, in consequence of
this latter being leap year, 3 is intermitted (except for January and
February), and 4 becomes the real epact, as obtained from calculation.
To calculate the solar epact for any year, Bede in another place gives
the following rule:
"Si vis scire concurrentes septimanae dies, sume annos Domini et
eorum quartum partem adjice: his quoque quatuor adde, (quia)
quinque concurrentes fuerunt anno Nativitatis Domini: hos partire
per septem et remanent Epactae Solis."
That is: take the given year, add to it its fourth part, and also the
constant number 4 (which was the epact preceding the first year of the
Christian era), divide the sum by 7, and what remains is the solar
epact. (If there be no remainder, the epact may be called either 0 or
7.)
This is an excellent rule; the same, I believe, that is to this day
prescribed for arriving at the Dominical letter of the Old Style. Let it
be applied, for example, to find upon what day of the week the battle of
Agincourt was fought (Oct. 25, 1415). Here we have 1415, and its fourth
353, and the constant 4, which together make 1772, divided by 7 leaves 1
as the solar epact; and this, added to 2, the _regular_ for the month of
October, informs us that 3, or Tuesday, was the first day of that month;
consequently it was the 22nd, and Friday, the 25th, was Saint Crispin's
day.
But this rule of Bede's, in consequence of the addition, since his time,
of a thousand years to the number to be operated upon, is no longer so
convenient as a _mental_ resource.
It may be greatly simplified by separating the centuries from the odd
years, by which the operation is reduced to two places of figures
instead of four. Such a method, moreover, has the very great advantage
of assimilating the operation of finding the solar epact, in both
styles, the Old and the New; the only remaining difference between them
being in the rules for finding the _constant number_ to be added in each
century. These rules are as follow:--
_For the Old Style._--In any date, divide the number of centuries by 7,
and deduct the remainder from 4 (or 11); the result is the constant for
that century.
_For the New Style._--In any date, divide the number of centuries by 4,
double the remainder, and deduct it from 6: the result is the constant
for that century.
_For the Solar Epact, in either Style._--To the odd years of any date
(rejecting the centuries) add their fourth part, and also the constant
number found by the preceding rules; divide the sum by 7, and what
remains is the solar epact.
As an example of these rules in _Old Style_, let the former example be
repeated, viz. A.D. 1415:
First, since the centuries (14), divided by 7, leave no remainder, 4 is
the constant number. Therefore 15, and 3 (the fourth), and 4 (the
constant), amount to 22, from which eliminating the sevens, remains 1 as
the solar epact.
For an example in _New Style_, let the present year be taken. In the
first place, 18 divided by 4 leaves 2, which doubled is 4, deducted from
6 results 2, the constant number for the present century. Therefore 51,
and 12 (the fourth), and 2 (the constant), together make 65, from which
the sevens being eliminated, remains 2, the solar epact for this year.
But in appreciating the practical facility of this method, we must bear
in mind that _the constant_, when once ascertained for any century,
remains unchanged throughout the whole of that century; and that _the
solar epact_, when once ascertained for any year, can scarcely require
recalculation during the remainder of that year: furthermore, that
although the rule for calculating the epact, as just recited, is so
extremely simple, yet even that slight mental exertion may be spared to
the mass of those who might benefit by its application to current
purposes; because it might become an object of general notoriety in each
current year. And I am not without hope that "NOTES AND QUERIES" will
next year set the example to other publications, by making the current
solar epact for 1852 a portion of its "heading," and by suffering it to
remain, incorporated with the date of each impression, throughout the
year.
Let us now recur to the allotment of _the regulars_ at the beginning of
Bede's description. Placed in succession their order is as follows:--
April and July I, or Sunday
January and October II, or Monday
May III, or Tuesday
August IIII, or Wednesday
March, Feb., and November V, or Thursday
June VI, or Friday
September and December VII, or Saturday
There is no great difficulty in retaining this in the memory; but should
uncertainty arise at any time, it may be immediately corrected by a
mental reference to the following lines, the alliterative jingle of
which is designed to house them as securely in the brain as the immortal
and never-failing, "Thirty days hath September." The order of the
allotment is preserved by appropriating as nearly as possible a line to
each day of the week; while the absolute connexion here and there of
certain days, by name, with certain months, forms a sort of interweaving
that renders mistake or misplacement almost impossible.
"April loveth to link with July,
And the merry new year with October comes by,
August for Wednesday, Tuesday for May,
March and November and Valentine's Day,
Friday is June day, and lastly we seek
September and Christmas to finish the week."
Now, since we have ascertained, from the short calculation before
recited, that the solar epact of this present year of 1851 is 2, and
since the regular of October is also 2, we have but to add them together
to obtain 4 (or Wednesday) as the commencing day of this next coming
month of October. And, if we wish to know the day of the month belonging
to any other day of the week in October, we have but to subtract the
commencing day, which is 4, from 8, and to the result add the required
day. Let the latter, for example, be Sunday; then 4 from 8 leaves 4,
which added to 1 (or Sunday), shows that Sunday, in the month of October
1851, is either 5th, 12th, 19th, or 26th.
This additional application is here introduced merely to illustrate the
great facilities afforded by the purely numerical form of Bede's
"_argumentum_,"--such as must gradually present themselves to any person
who will take the trouble to become thoroughly and practically familiar
with it.
A. E. B.
Leeds, September, 1851.
HYPHENISM, HYPHENIC, HYPHENIZATION.
Where our ancestors wanted words, they made them, or imported them ready
made. But we are become so particular about the etymological force of
newly coined words, that we can never please ourselves, but rather
choose to do without than to tolerate anything exceptionable. We have to
learn again that a word cannot be like Burleigh's nod, but must be
content to indicate the whole by the expression of some prominent part,
or of some convenient part, prominent or not.
Among the uses to which the "NOTES AND QUERIES" might be put, is the
suggestion of words. It very often happens that one who is apt at
finding the want is not equally good for the remedy, and _vice versa_.
By the aid of this journal the blade might find a handle, or the handle
a blade, as wanted, with the advantage of criticism at the formation;
while an author who coins a word, must commit himself before he can have
much advice.
The above remarks were immediately suggested by my happening to think of
a word for a thing which gives much trouble, and requires more attention
than it has received, but not more than it may receive if it can be
fitly designated by a single word. A _clause_ of a sentence, both by
etymology and usage, means any part of it of which the component words
cannot be separated, but must all go together, or all remain together:
it is then a component of the sentence which has a finished meaning in
itself. The proper mode of indicating the clauses takes its name from
the means, and not from the end: we say _punctuation_, not
_clausification_. This may have been a misfortune, for it is possible
that punctuation might have been better studied, if its name had
imported its object. But there is another and a greater misfortune,
arising from the total want of a name. In a sentence, not only do
collections of words form minor sentences, but they also form compound
words: sometimes eight or ten words are really only one. When two words
are thus compounded, we use a hyphen: but those who have attempted to
use more than one hyphen have been laughed out of the field; though
perspicuity, logic, and algebra were all on their side. The _Morning
Post_ adopted this practice in former days; and Horace Smith (or James,
as the case may be,) ridiculed them in a parody which speaks of "the
not-a-bit-the-less-on-that-account-to-be-universally-detested monster
Buonaparte." It is, I think, much to be regretted that the use of the
hyphen is so restricted: for though, like the comma, it might be
abused, yet the abuse would rather tend to clearness.
But, without introducing a further use of the hyphen, it
would be desirable to have a distinct name for a combination
of words; which, without being such a recognised and permanent
compound as _apple-tree_ or _man in the moon_, is nevertheless
one word in the particular sentence in hand. And the name is
easily found. The word hyphen being Greek ([Greek: hyph' hen]),
and being made a substantive, we might join Greek suffixes to it,
and speak of _hyphenisms_ and _hyphenic_ phrases. For example,
the following I should call a hyphenic error. When the British
Museum recently published _A Short Guide to that Portion of
the Library of printed Books now open to the Public_, a review
pronounced the title a misnomer; because the _books_ are not
open to the public, but are in locked glass cases. The reviewer
read it "library of printed-books-now-open-to-the-public," instead
of "library-of-printed-books now open to the public." And though in
this case the reviewer was very palpably wrong, yet there are many
cases in which a real ambiguity exists.
A neglect of mental hyphenization often leads to mistake as to an
author's meaning, particularly in this age of morbid implication. For
instance, a person writes something about "a Sunday or other
day-for-which-there-is-a-special-service;" and is taken as meaning "a
Sunday-or-other-day for which," &c. The odds are that some readers will
suppose him, by speak of Sundays _with_ special service, to imply that
some are _without_.
M.
GRAY AND COWLEY.
Some spirited publisher would confer a serious obligation on the
classical world by bringing out an edition of Gray's _Poems_, with the
parallel passages annexed. "Taking him for all in all," he is one of our
most perfect poets: and though Collins might have rivalled him (under
circumstances equally auspicious), he could have been surpassed by
Milton alone. In 1786, Gilbert Wakefield attempted to do for Gray what
Newton and Warton had done for Milton (and, for one, I thank him for
it); but his illustrations, though almost all good and to the point, are
generally from books which every ordinary reader knows off by heart.
Besides, Wakefield is so very egotistical, and at times so very puerile,
that he is too much for most people. However, his volume, _The Poems of
Mr. Gray, with Notes_, by Gilbert Wakefield, B.A., late Fellow of Jesus
College, Cambridge: London, 1786, would furnish a good substratum for
the volume I am now recommending.
Not to speak of Milton's English poems and the great masterpieces of
ancient times, with which so learned a scholar as Gray was, of course,
familiar, he draws largely from the Greek anthology, from Nonnus, from
Milton's Latin poems, from Cowley, and I had almost said from the prose
works of Bishop Jeremy Taylor. His admiration of the great "Shakspeare
of Divinity" is proved from a portion of one of his letters to Mason;
and some other day I may furnish an illustration or two. Indeed, were
any publisher to undertake the generous office I mention, I dare say
that many a secret treasure would be unlocked, and many an "orient pearl
at random strung" be forthcoming for his use. Let me first mention
Gray's opinion of Cowley, and then add in confirmation one or two
passages out of many. He says in a note to his "Ode on the Progress of
Poesy:"
"We have had in our language not other odes of the sublime kind
than that of Dryden 'On St. Cecilia's Day:' for _Cowley (who had
his merit) yet wanted judgment, style, and harmony for such a
task_. That of Pope is not worthy of so great a man."
We must submit to Gray's oracular sentence, for he himself was
pre-eminently gifted in the three great qualities in which he declares
the deficiency of Cowley (at least if we are to judge from his English
poems; for the prosody of his Latin efforts seems sadly deficient). At
times Cowley's "harmony" is not first-rate, and his "style" is deeply
impregnated with the fantastic conceits of the day; but he is still a
poet, and a great one too. And I think that in some of his writings Gray
had Cowley evidently in mind; _e.g._ in the _epitaph_ to his "Elegy in a
Country Churchyard:"
"Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompence as largely send:
He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear;
He gained from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend."
Cowley had previously written:
"Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er
Submitted to _inform_ a _body_ here.
High as the place 'twas shortly in _Heav'n_ to have,
But low, and humble as his _grave_.
So _high_ that all the _virtues_ there did come,
As to their chiefest seat,
Conspicuous, and great;
So _low_ that for _me_ too it made a room."
_On the Death of Mr. William Hervey._
_Miscellanies_, page 18. London, 1669.
Again--
"The attick warbler pours her _throat_
Responsive to the cuckoo's note,
The _untaught_ harmony of spring."
Gray, Ode I. _On the Spring._
"Hadst thou all the charming notes
Of the wood's poetic _throats_."
Cowley, _Ode to the Swallow_.
"Teaching their Maker in their _untaught_ lays."
Cowley, _Davideis_ lib. i. sect 63. p. 20.
Again:
"Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
A broader browner shade,
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech
O'ercanopies the glade,
Beside some water's rushy brink,
With me the Muse shall sit, and think," &c.
Gray, Ode I. _On the Spring._
"O magnum Isacidum decus! O pulcherrima castra!
O arma ingentes olim paritura triumphos!
Non sic herbarum vario subridet Amictu,
Planities pictae vallis, montisque supini
Clivus, perpetuis Cedrorum versibus altus.
Non sic aestivo quondam nitet hortus in anno,
Frondusque, fructusque ferens, formosa secundum
Flumina, mollis ubi viridisque supernatat umbra."
Cowley, _Davideidos_ lib. i. ad finem.
I do not mean that Gray may not have had other poets in his mind when
writing these lines (for there is nothing new or uncommon about them);
but rather a careful going over of Cowley's poems convinces me that Gray
was sensible of his "merits," and often corrects his want of "judgment"
by his own refined and most exquisite taste. I must give one more
instance; and I think that Bishop Hall's allusion to his life at
Emmanuel College, and Bishop Ridley's "Farewell to Pembroke Hall," must
every one fall into the background before Cowley. Gray's poem ought to
be too well known to require quoting:
"Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver winding way.
"Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain.
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring."
Ode III. _On a distant Prospect of Eton College._
Cowley was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge; and if I rightly
remember Bonney's _Life of Bishop Middleton_, his affecting allusions to
Cambridge had the highest praise of that accomplished scholar and
divine:
"O mihi jucundum Grantae super omnia nomen!
O penitus toto corde receptus amor!
O pulchrae sine luxu aedes, vitaeque beatae,
Splendida paupertas, ingenuusque decor!
O chara ante alias, magnorum nomine Regum
Digna domus! Trini nomine digna Dei
O nimium Cereris cumulati munere campi,
Posthabitis Ennae quos colit illa jugis!
O sacri fontes! et sacrae vatibus umbrae
Quas recreant avium Pieridumque chori!
O Camus! Phoebo multus quo gratior amnis
Amnibus auriferis invidiosus inops!
Ah mihi si vestrae reddat bona gaudia sedis,
Detque Deus docta posse quiete frui!
Qualis eram cum me tranquilla mente sedentem
Vidisti in ripa, Came serene, tua;
Mulcentem audisti puerili flumina cantu;
Ille quidem immerito, sed tibi gratus erat.
Nam, memini ripa cum tu dignatus utraque
Dignatum est totum verba referre nemus.
Tunc liquidis tacitisque simul mea vita diebus,
Et similis vestra candida fluxit aqua.
At nunc coenosa luces, atque obice multo
Rumpitur atatis turbidus ordo mea.
Quid mihi Sequana opus, Tamesisve aut Thybridis unda?
Tu potis es nostram tollere, Came, sitim."
_Elegia dedicatoria, ad illustrissimam Academiam
Cantabrigiensem_, prefixed to Cowley's Works,
Lond. 1669, folio.
RT.
Warmington, Sept. 8. 1851.
Minor Notes.
[Greek: _Hypopiazo_]--I "keep under my body," &c. 1 Cor. ix. 27. One can
scarcely allude to this passage without remembering the sarcastic
observations of Dr. South upon a too literal interpretation of it.
(_Sermons_, vol. i. p. 12. Dublin, 1720.) And yet deeper and more
spiritual writers by no means pass the literal interpretation by with
indifference. Bishop Andrewes distinctly mentions [Greek: hypopiasmos],
or _suggillatio_, amongst the "circumstantiae orationis;" as also
[Greek: ekdikesis], _vindicta_, or _revenge_, 2 Cor. vii. II. (_Preces
Privatae_, pag. 14. Londini, 1828.) Bishop J. Taylor is equally explicit
in a well-known and remarkable passage:
"If the lust be upon us, and sharply tempting, by inflicting any
smart to overthrow the strongest passion by the most violent pain,
we shall find great ease for the present, and the resolution and
apt sufferance against the future danger; and this was St. Paul's
remedy: 'I bring my body under;' he used some rudeness towards
it."--_Holy Living_, sect. iii. _Of Chastity. Remedies against
Uncleanness_, 4.
The word [Greek: hypopia] occurs only once in the LXX, but that seems in
a peculiarly apposite way: "[Greek: _hypopia kai syntrimmata synanta
kakois_, plegai de eis tamieia koilias.]" As our English version
translates it: "The blueness of a wound cleanseth away evil (or, is a
purging medicine against evil, margin), so do stripes the inward parts
of the belly." (Proverbs xx. 30.) If it were not absolute presumption to
differ from the great Dr. Jackson, one would feel inclined to question,
or at least to require further proof of some observations of his. He
says, in treating of our present passage:
"The very literal importance of those three words in the
original--[Greek: hypopiazo], [Greek: keryxas], and
[Greek: adokimos]--cannot be so well learned from any Dictionary
or Lexicon, as from such as write of the Olympic Games, or of that
kind of tryal of masteries, which in his time or before was in
use. The word [Greek: hypopiazo] is proper (I take it) unto
wrestlers, whose practice it was to keep under other men's bodies,
not their own, or to keep their antagonists from all advantage of
hold, either gotten or aimed at. But our apostle did imitate their
practice upon his own body, not on any others; for his own body
was his chief antagonist."--_Works_, vol. ii. p. 644. Lond. 1673.
Suidas makes some remarks upon the word, but they are not very much to
our purpose.
RT.
Warmington.
_Meaning of Whitsunday._--I long ago suggested in your pages that
Whitsun Day, or, as it was anciently written, Witson Day, meant Wisdom
Day, or the day of the outpouring of Divine wisdom; and I requested the
attention of your learned correspondents to this | 1,086.662123 |
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[Illustration: The good-natured Giant]
THE
TWO STORY MITTENS
AND THE
LITTLE PLAY MITTENS:
BEING
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
AUNT FANNY,
AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1867.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the
Southern District of New York.
I DEDICATE
THESE TWO STORIES AND THIS LITTLE PLAY
TO MY FRIEND
MR. FRANK A----,
who makes fun of me before my face and speaks well of me behind my back.
I don't mind the first a bit; and as long as he continues to practise
the second, we will fight under the same flag.
LONG MAY IT AND HE WAVE!
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS, 7
THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE, 12
THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE, 45
MASTER EDWARD'S TRIAL, 80
THE LITTLE PLAY MITTENS, 139
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS.
THE mittens were coming bravely on. Some evenings, Aunt Fanny could not
send a story; and then the little mother read an entertaining book, or
chatted pleasantly with her children.
There had been twelve pairs finished, during the reading of the third
book, and several more were on the way. George had written the most
delightful letters, each of which was read to his eagerly-listening
sisters and brothers several times, for they were never tired of hearing
about life in camp.
This evening, the mother drew another letter, received that day, out of
her pocket. The very sight of the envelope, with the precious flag in
the corner, caused their eyes to sparkle, and their fingers to fly at
their patriotic and loving work.
"Attention!" said the mother in a severe, military tone. Everybody burst
out laughing, choked it off, immediately straightened themselves up as
stiff as ramrods, and she began:
"DEAR MOTHER, CAPTAIN, AND ALL THE BELOVED
SQUAD:--Our camp is splendid! We call it Camp
Ellsworth. It covers the westward <DW72> of a
beautiful hill. The air is pure and fresh, and our
streets (for we have real ones) are kept as clean
as a pin. Not an end of a cigar, or an inch of
potato peeling, dare to show themselves. Directly
back of the camp strong earthworks have been
thrown up, with rifle pits in front; and these are
manned by four artillery companies from New York.
Our commissary is a very good fellow, but I wish
he would buy pork with less fat. I am like the boy
in school, who wrote home to his mother, his face
all puckered up with disgust: "They make us eat
p-h-a-t!!" When I swizzle it (or whatever you call
that kind of cooking) in a pan over the fire,
there is nothing left of a large slice, but a
little shrivelled brown bit, swimming in about
half a pint of melted lard, not quarter enough to
satisfy a great robin redbreast like me; but | 1,086.763047 |
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The
Fern Bulletin.
Vol. XI. No. 4.
A Quarterly Devoted to Ferns.
OCTOBER
Binghamton, N. Y.
THE FERN BULLETIN CO.
1903
THE FERN BULLETIN
A QUARTERLY DEVOTED TO FERNS
WILLARD N. CLUTE, Editor
THE FERN BULLETIN CO., PUBLISHERS, BINGHAMTON, N. Y.
20 Cents a Copy; 75 Cents a Year.
Awarded Grand Prize at the Paris Exposition.
To insure subscribers against loss of one or more numbers between the
expiration and renewal of their subscriptions the journal will be sent
until ordered stopped. All arrearages must be paid. Personal Checks Must
Contain Ten Cents Extra for Collection. Otherwise credit will be given
for the amount less collection fees.
Entered at the postoffice, Binghamton, N. Y., as second-class mail
matter.
THE LINNAEAN FERN CHAPTER
President, B. D. Gilbert, Clayville, N. Y. Secretary, Homer D. House, N.
Y. Bot. Garden, Bronx, New York City.
Fern students are cordially invited to join the Chapter. Address either
the President or Secretary for further information. The annual dues are
$1.00 and should be sent direct to Jas. A. Graves, Treasurer,
Susquehanna, Pa.
FERNS FOR SALE
A Fern Student of many years standing who has made a specialty of
cultivating New England Ferns is prepared to supply plants for Ferneries
and House. For prices and variety address,
C. C. BROWNE, South Groveland, Mass.
“MOSSES WITH A HAND LENS”
BY DR A. J. GROUT
It is the only book of its kind in the English language. It makes the
mosses as easy to study as the flowering plants. Eight full page plates
and ninety figures in the text. Price $1.10 postpaid. Send for sample
pages to O. T. Louis, 59 Fifth Avenue, N. Y. City.
WANTS AND EXCHANGES
_Special announcements inserted here for One Cent a word. No notice
received for less than 25c. No charge for address._
EXCHANGE—I will exchange three flowering plants of California for any
one desired fern of the United States. Send me your list of duplicates.
GEORGE B. GRANT, 637 Summit Ave., Pasadena, California.
EATON’S FERNS FOR $35.00
Eaton’s “Ferns of North America” has been out of print for some time and
is constantly advancing in price. We can offer a second-hand copy, the
two volumes bound in cloth, clean and in good condition, for $35.00,
express paid. There are 81 colored plates, and all the North American
ferns are described. Address,
THE FERN BULLETIN, Binghamton, N. Y.
[Illustration: WILLIAM RALPH MAXON.]
CONTENTS
THE FERN FLORA OF NEW YORK. 97
Ophioglossaceae. 98
Osmundaceae. 99
Schizaeaceae. 100
Polypodiaceae. 100
Equisetaceae. 103
Isoetaceae. 103
Lycopodiaceae. 103
Salviniaceae. 104
Selaginellaceae. 104
FERNWORT NOTES—IV. 105
SCOLOPENDRIUM FROM CANADA. 107
THE GENUS EQUISETUM IN NORTH AMERICA. 108
THE SPECIES-CONCEPTION AMONG THE TERNATE BOTRYCHIUMS. 115
NEW FORMS OF FERNS. 118
FERNS IN BOTTLES. 120
WILLIAM RALPH MAXON. 121
ANOTHER STATION FOR ASPLENIUM EBENEUM HORTONAE. 122
INDEX TO CURRENT LITERATURE RELATING TO FERNS. 122
EDITORIAL. 123
BOOK NEWS. 125
A WORD FROM THE EDITOR 129
THE FERN BULLETIN
_VOL. XI._ _OCTOBER, 1903._ _No. 4_
THE FERN FLORA OF NEW YORK.
By B. D. Gilbert.
The State of New York has the largest area of any northern State east of
Michigan. It also possesses a great diversity of surface, with its two
mountain ranges, its numerous lakes, its interior salt basin, and its
seashore confined entirely to the southern extremity. On its eastern
side it stretches through more than four degrees of north latitude, and
as these are the degrees just south of the 45th parallel, it is easy to
understand that there is liable to be a greater intermixture of northern
and southern forms of ferns than there would be in a State lying farther
south. And the fact is that certain species from the north and others
from the south do meet within its borders. This also accounts for the
large number of species found in the State: California and Texas, the
one State having four times the area of New York, and the other five
times that area, being the only ones which contain as large or a larger
number of species.
For the purpose of fern classification, the State may be divided into
four distinct zones, as follows:
I. The Littoral.—This comprises Long Island and Staten Island. Only one
fern is peculiar to this zone, viz. _Woodwardia angustifolia_; but there
are two Lycopods, viz. _L. alopecuroides_ and its variety _adpressum_.
II. The Catskill Mountain Region, extending down to Manhattan
Island.—This being the southern mountain range of the State, it is here
that three southern species find their northern limit, viz. _Asplenium
Bradleyi_, _A. montanum_ and _Cheilanthes vestita_. It may be a question
whether the Connecticut stations for _Asplenium montanum_ lie farther
north than the New York stations, but it is certain that there can be
but little difference between them in this respect.
III. The Adirondack Region, extending as far south as Little Falls.—Here
there are a few of the northern species that descend to their southern
limit in this country. Among them may be mentioned _Nephrodium
fragrans_, _Polystichum Braunii_, _Woodsia glabella_, and _W.
hyperborea_. There are also two Lycopods to be included in this list,
_L. annotinum pungens_ and _L. Sitchense_.
IV. The Western Region, extending from the mountain regions to the
State’s western boundary, the southern part drained by the Susquehanna
and its tributaries, and the northern part containing (a) _The Salt
Basin_ of Syracuse and its vicinity, the home of _Scolopendrium_ and
_Botrychium Onondagense_, and (b) _The Central Basin_, extending from
Little Falls to Oneida Lake, and drained by the Mohawk River, being
famous for its large number of _Botrychia_, some of which seem to be
almost, if not quite, peculiar to this region.
In the preparation of this list I have consulted various local floras
and other reports of the State, especially Paine’s “Catalogue of Plants
Found in Oneida County and Vicinity;” the Annual Reports of the State
Botanist, “The Flora of the Upper Susquehanna,” and the files of the
Fern Bulletin. I have also been favored with many notes from the State
Herbarium sheets by Professor Peck himself; while my own herbarium and
that of Dr. J. V. Haberer, of Utica, have been exceedingly useful in
fixing definite localities.
The plan I have followed is to include along with the species only such
varieties as seem to be most important and distinct.
Mr. Bush in _The Torrey Bulletin_ for June, 1903, enumerates 59 species
and varieties of ferns found in Texas. This compares well with our list
of 64 species and varieties in New York State, of which only 18 of these
are common to both States. Mr. Reverchon’s list for Texas, published in
the Fern Bulletin, April, 1903, gives 51 ferns and 15 allies, or 66 in
all. The present list includes 53 species and 12 varieties of ferns, and
23 species and 7 varieties of fern allies. If we take Bush’s ferns and
Rever | 1,086.766493 |
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Transcriber’s Note:
This text includes characters that require UTF-8 (Unicode) file
encoding. If apostrophes and quotation marks appear as garbage, make
sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set to
Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font.
Additional notes are at the end of the book.
3 BEADLES 3
DIME
[Illustration]
Song Book
No. 3.
A COLLECTION OF NEW AND POPULAR
COMIC AND SENTIMENTAL
SONGS.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
General Dime Book Publishers.
Books for the Hour!
MILITARY EXPLOITS
OF
Great Soldiers and Generals.
BEADLE’S
DIME BIOGRAPHICAL LIBRARY.
Each Issue Complete. 100 Pages. Price Ten Cents.
No. 6.--THE LIFE, MILITARY AND CIVIC SERVICES OF LIEUT.-GEN. WINFIELD
SCOTT. Complete up to the present period.
No. 4.--THE LIFE, TIMES AND SERVICES OF ANTHONY WAYNE (MAD ANTHONY):
Brigadier-General in the War of the Revolution, and Commander-in-Chief
of the Army during the Indian War.
No. 1.--THE LIFE OF JOSEPH GARIBALDI: The Liberator of Italy. Complete
up to the withdrawal of Garibaldi to his Island Home, after the
Neapolitan Campaign, 1860.
These brilliant books of the most brilliant Commanders and soldiers of
modern times possess remarkable interest at this moment. Each book
will be found to be a _full_ record of the men and events in which
they acted so splendid a part.
EVERY YOUNG MAN SHOULD READ THEM!
EVERY SOLDIER SHOULD READ THEM!
EVERY LOVER OF THE UNION SHOULD READ THEM!
For Sale at all News Depots.
BEADLE’S
DIME
[Illustration]
Song Book
No. 3.
A COLLECTION OF NEW AND POPULAR
COMIC AND SENTIMENTAL
SONGS.
NEW YORK:
IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,
NO. 137 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860
BY IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern district of New York.
CONTENTS OF DIME SONG BOOK NO. 3.
Page
Annie, Dear, Good-by, 9
A Sailor’s Life for Me, 54
Bessy was a Sailor’s Bride, 62
Bonny Jean, 6
Comic Katee Darling, 23
Comic Parody, 25
Darling Jenny Bell, 46
Darling Rosabel, 10
Death of Annie Laurie, 7
Ettie May, 31
Few Days, 41
Give ’em String and let ’em Went, 38
Go it while You’re Young, 38
Hail Columbia, 55
Happy Hezekiah, 69
I’d Choose to be a Daisy, 5
I have Something Sweet to Tell You, 14
Isle of Beauty, 59
I Think of Old Ireland wherever I Go, 13
Jeannette and Jeannot, 58
John Jones, 21
Jordan is a Hard Road to Travel, 43
Kitty Kimo, 64
Lather and Shave, 40
Lager Bier Song, 36
Linda has Departed, 11
Lillie Bell, 28
Love Not, 63
Man the Life-Boat, 53
My Dear Old Mother, 57
My Girl with a Calico Dress, 45
My Heart’s in Old Ireland, 12
My Poor Dog Tray, 68
Old Rosin the Bow, 61
Over the Left, 65
Old Dog Tray, No. 2. 16
Parody on the West, 27
Pop Goes the Weasel, 39
Pretty Jane, 44
Rosa Lee, 17
Song of the Locomotive, 35
Sparking Sarah Jane, 22
The American Girl, 66
The American Boy, 67
The Boys of Kilkenny, 49 | 1,086.855745 |
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MOSCOW
A STORY OF THE FRENCH INVASION OF 1812
BY FRED WHISHAW
AUTHOR OF "LOVERS AT FAULT," "THE TIGER OF MUSCOVY," "A GRAND
DUKE OF RUSSIA," ETC.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1905
MOSCOW.
CHAPTER I.
With a great jangling of sleigh-bells and much shouting from his
driver, who addressed the three horses by every epithet both endearing
and abusive that his vocabulary could provide, Count Maximof drove
into the yard of his nearest neighbour, the Boyar Demidof. The visit
was expected, for Maximof had sent a messenger to give warning of his
approach and to notify the boyar of the object of his coming. The Count
was accompanied by his wife, Avdotia, and his son, a child of ten
years, as well as by the priest of the district who had been picked up
_en route_ at his own village. The child Alexander, commonly called
Sasha, sat by the driver, a young serf of surly appearance and manners,
while the three elders occupied--as best they could--the cushioned seat
behind. This was designed to hold two with moderate comfort, so that
the two outside passengers now fared indifferently, but the middle one,
who was the Count, was comfortable enough.
Demidof, with his wife, met the party at the threshold of his house,
greeting them with voluble and exaggerated expressions of welcome, after
the manner of Russian hosts of his day, which was about one hundred
years ago.
"You see I have brought him," said Maximof; "make your bow, Sasha, and
ask after the health of your _nevyesta_ (bride)."
Sasha advanced shyly. "I hope Mademoiselle Vera Danilovna is well?" he
said, glibly enough.
"She is well and waiting anxiously to embrace her fiance," said Demidof,
laughing. "Go into the salon on the right and you will find her--what?
You have a present for her--a doll--that is delightful; she will love
you from the very beginning. That is the door."
Sasha disappeared in the direction indicated.
"The notary is here," continued Demidof. "We can complete the legal
part of the matter immediately; after which you, Father Nicholas, shall
perform your share of the ceremony."
Parents, priest and notary now proceeded to the business of the
occasion, which was the betrothal of Alexander Maximof, aged ten,
to Vera Demidof, who numbered seven summers, and the signing of the
contract of betrothal. When this latter document had been read over and
approved and signed by all present, the two persons chiefly concerned in
the matter were summoned for the religious ceremony; little Vera came
hugging her doll, while Sasha was arrayed in a tiny Lancer uniform, the
gift of his bride-to-be.
The priest recited certain prayers and injunctions to which the
principals paid scant attention; and, the ceremony ended, all sat down
to dinner. At this function there were many servants, serfs of the
estate, to wait upon the feasters; the food was good and plentiful,
but badly cooked, the wine plentiful also, but indifferent, and the
plates and dishes were filthy. Civilisation had not as yet reached a
high standard in the Russia of that day, when, even in the best houses,
though the furniture might be gorgeously gilt, it stood in dust and
dirt; where men- and women-servants slept in the passages which were
not aired during the day; where there were no arrangements for personal
ablutions, and ventilation and sanitation were arts as yet undiscovered
and undreamed of.
The two mothers gushed over their children, who chattered and
played together quite unconcerned to think of the serious nature of
the function in which they had this day taken a chief part. It was
a beautiful thing, Countess Maximof observed, to see innocent love
actually in the birth, as at this moment. The fathers drank heavily and
made boisterous jokes at which all present laughed aloud, including the
servants and his reverence the priest, who drank as hard as any and gave
no sign of displeasure when the humour of the two manor-lords surpassed
in its vulgarity even the wide margin which, in those days of much
breadth in such matters, was considered permissible.
More than once Demidof rose to chastise some unfortunate serf who had in
some manner displeased him. Neither of the gentlemen hesitated to use
language towards the servants, whether male or female, too outrageous to
be imagined, far less quoted, applying names and epithets of the most
unsavoury and insulting nature.
"You are too kind and gentle with your fellows," said Maximof, who was,
even in those dark days of tyrannous and brutal manor-lords, a noted
bully towards his serfs, and was hated by them in consequence even more
bitterly | 1,086.860226 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.8418460 | 6,192 | 12 |
Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOLUME 93.
AUGUST 6, 1887.
* * * * *
ALL IN PLAY.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Now that your own particular theatrical adviser and follower, Mr. NIBBS,
has left London for a trip abroad, I venture to address you on matters
dramatic. I am the more desirous of so doing because, although the
Season is nearly over, two very important additions have been made to
the London playhouse programme--two additions that have hitherto escaped
your eagle glance. I refer, Sir, to _The Doctor_ at the Globe, and _The
Colonel_ at the Comedy--both from the pen of a gentleman who (while I am
writing this in London) is partaking of the waters at Royat. Mr. BURNAND
is to be congratulated upon the success that has attended both
productions. I had heard rumours that _The Doctor_ had found some
difficulty in establishing himself (or rather herself, because I am
talking of a lady) satisfactorily in Newcastle Street, Strand. It was
said that she required practice, but when I attended her consulting-room
the other evening, I found the theatre full of patients, who were
undergoing a treatment that may be described (without any particular
reference to marriages or "the United States") as "a merry cure." I was
accompanied by a young gentleman fresh from school, and at first felt
some alarm on his account, as his appreciation of the witty dialogue
with which the piece abounds was so intense that he threatened more than
once to die of laughing.
[Illustration: "How happy could he be with either."]
I have never seen a play "go" better--rarely so well. The heroine--the
"_Doctoresse_"--was played with much effect and discretion by Miss
ENSON, a lady for whom I prophesy a bright future. Mr. PENLEY was
excellent in a part that fitted him to perfection. Both Miss VICTOR, as
a "strong woman," and Mr. HILL, as--well, himself,--kept the pit in
roars. The piece is more than a farce. The first two Acts are certainly
farcical, but there is a touch of pathos in the last scene which reminds
one that there is a close relationship between smiles and tears. And
here let me note that the company in the private boxes, even when most
heartily laughing, were still in tiers. As a rule the Doctor is not a
popular person, but at the Globe she is sure to be always welcome. Any
one suffering from that very distressing and prevalent malady, "the
Doleful Dumps," cannot do better than go to Newcastle Street for a
speedy cure.
The _Colonel_ at the Comedy is equally at home, and, on the occasion of
his revival, was received with enthusiasm. Mr. BRUCE has succeeded Mr.
COGHLAN in the title _role_, and plays just as well as his predecessor.
Mr. HERBERT is the original _Forester_, and the rest of the _dramatis
personae_ are worthy of the applause bestowed upon them. To judge from
the laughter that followed every attack upon the aesthetic fad, the
"Greenery Yallery Gallery" is as much to the front as ever--a fact, by
the way, that was amply demonstrated at the _Soiree_ of the Royal
Academy, where "passionate Brompton" was numerously represented.
[Illustration: The Colonel.]
_The Bells of Hazlemere_ seem to be ringing in large audiences at the
Adelphi, although the piece is not violently novel in its plot or
characters. Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE ceases to die "every evening" at the end
of this week at the Opera Comique until November. I peeped in, a few
days since, just before the last scene of _As in a Looking-Glass_, and
found the talented lady on the point of committing her nightly suicide.
Somehow I missed the commencement of the self-murder, and thus could not
satisfactorily account for her dying until I noticed that a double-bass
was moaning piteously. Possibly this double-bass made Mrs. BERNARD-BEERE
wish to die--it certainly created the same desire on my part. Believe
me, yours sincerely,
ONE WHO HAS GONE TO PIECES.
* * * * *
OUR EXCHANGE AND MART.
HOLIDAY INQUIRIES.
ELIGIBLE CONTINENTAL TRAVELLING COMPANION.--A D.C.L., B.M., and R.S.V.P.
of an Irish University, is desirous of meeting with one or two Young
English Dukes who contemplating, as a preliminary to their taking their
seats in the House of Lords, passing a season at Monaco, would consider
the advertiser's society and personal charge, together with his
acquaintance with a system of his own calculated to realise a
substantial financial profit from any lengthened stay in the locality,
an equivalent for the payment of his hotel, travelling, and other
incidental expenses. Highest references given and expected. Apply to
"MASTER OF ARTS." Blindhooky. County Cork.
* * * * *
INVALID OUTING. EXCEPTIONAL ADVANTAGES.--A confirmed Invalid, formerly
an active member of the Alpine Club, who has temporarily lost the use of
his legs, and has in consequence hired a Steam-traction engine attached
to which, in a bath-chair, he proposes making a prolonged excursion
through the most mountainous districts of Wales, is anxious to meet with
five other paralytics who will join him in his contemplated undertaking,
and bear a portion of the expense. As he will take in tow two furniture
vans containing respectively a Cottage-Hospital and a Turkish-bath, and
be accompanied by three doctors, and a German Band, it is scarcely
necessary for him to point out that the details of the trip will be
carried out with a due regard to the necessities of health and
recreation. While the fact that a highly respectable firm of Solicitors
will join him _en route_, will be a guarantee that any vexatious
litigation instituted against him by local boroughs for the crushing and
otherwise damaging their gas and water-mains, or running into their
lamp-posts will, if it occur, be jealously watched and effectually dealt
with. In the not unforeseen, though by no means expected event of the
Traction Engine becoming by some accident permanently wedged in and
unable to move from some inaccessible pass, it is understood that the
party shall separate, and that each member shall be at liberty to return
home by any _route_ he may select for himself as most convenient and
available for the purpose. For all further particulars apply to X. X.
X., Struggle-on-the-Limp, Lame End, Beds.
* * * * *
LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. RARE OPPORTUNITY.--An impecunious Nobleman, whose
income has been seriously reduced owing to the prevailing agricultural
depression, would be willing to let his Family Mansion to a considerate
tenant at a comparatively low rental. As half the furniture has been
seized under a distress-warrant, and as a man in possession is
permanently installed, under a bill of sale, in charge of the rest, a
recluse of aesthetic tastes, to whom a series of rooms entirely devoid of
furniture would present a distinct attraction, and who would find a
little friendly social intercourse not an altogether disagreeable
experience, might discover in the above an eligible opportunity. Some
excellent fishing can be had on the sly in the small hours of the
morning by dodging the local Middle-man to whom it has been let. Capital
rat-shooting over nearly an eighth of an acre of wild farm-yard
buildings. Address, "MARQUIS." Spillover. Herts.
* * * * *
THE BEST PART OF HALF A PACK OF HOUNDS FOR SALE.--A Midland County
Squire, who, through having come into a Suburban Omnibus business, is
about to relinquish his position as a county gentleman, is anxious to
find a purchaser for what is left of a Pack of Hounds, of which he has
for several years been the acknowledged Master. The "remnant" consists
of a Dachshund, a Setter, slightly blind of one eye, two Drawing-room
Pugs, a Lurcher, and a French Poodle, who can tell fortunes with a pack
of cards, jump through three papered hoops at a time, walk round the
room on his fore legs, and take five o'clock tea with any assembled
company. Any enthusiastic huntsman wishing "to ride to hounds" in the
middle of August, could, with a little preliminary training, scarcely
fail to find in the above all the elements that would provide him with a
capital run, even at this comparatively early season of the sporting
year. With a red herring tied on to the fox, they could be warranted not
to miss the scent; and, failing their performances in the field, might
be safely relied on as a striking feature in any provincial Circus. The
advertiser would be glad to hear from a respectable and responsible
sausage manufactory.--Apply, MASTER, Packholme, Kenilworth.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE POETS.
"A CYCLE OF CATHAY."
_Locksley Hall._]
* * * * *
SOME MORE OFFICIAL JILLS.
(_Whom Mr. Punch, with his characteristic sense of justice and
fair-play, is proud to recognise as no less representative than his
earlier types--although he could wish he had the pleasure of
encountering them a little more frequently._)
SCENE--_A large Branch Post Office. The weather is oppressively warm,
and the Public slightly irritable in consequence. Behind the counter are
three Young Ladies, of distinctly engaging appearance, whom we will
call_ Miss GOODCHILD, Miss MEEKIN, _and_ Miss MANNERLY, _respectively.
As the Curtain rises_, Miss GOODCHILD _is laboriously explaining to an
old lady with defective hearing the relative advantages of a Postal and
a Post Office Order_.
_The Old Lady._ Just say it over again, so that a body can hear ye. You
young Misses ought to be taught to speak _out_,'stead o' mumbling
the way you do. _Why_ can't ye give me a Postal Order for
five-and-fourpence, and a'done with it, eh?
_Miss Goodchild (endeavouring to speak distinctly)._ A _Post Office_
Order will be what you require. See, you just fill in that form, and
then I'll make it out--it's quite simple.
_Old Lady._ Yes, I dessay, _anything_ to save yourselves a little
trouble! You're all alike, you Post-Office young women. As if I couldn't
send five-and-fourpence to my boy down at Toadley in the 'Ole, without
filling up a parcel o' nonsense!
_Person behind (with a talent for grim irony of a heavy order)._ Can you
inform me whether there are any arrangements for providing luncheon for
the Public--because, as it appears I am to spend the entire _day_
here----
_Miss Goodchild (sweetly)._ I'm so very sorry to keep you waiting, Sir.
As soon as _ever_ I have attended to this lady!----
_Old Lady._ If you _call_ it attending--which I don't myself. There's
your form.
_Miss Goodchild._ Oh, but you haven't told me whom you want the order
made out to!
_Old Lady._ I did--I told you it was my son. If you hadn't been
woolgathering, you'd ha' heard me. I'm sure _I_ speak plain enough!
_Miss Goodchild (laughing good-humouredly)._ Oh, yes, you speak _very_
plainly--but I want the name in full, please, to put in the
instructions.
_The Person with the Irony._ When you have _quite_ concluded your little
conversation----
_Miss Goodchild (as she fills in the order)._ Now, Sir, what can I do
for you?
_The Person with the Irony._ Well, I should be glad to be informed what
you mean by requiring me to take out a licence for a dog that died of
distemper a fortnight after I had him--and I had a warranty with him
too!
_Miss Goodchild._ Oh, but that isn't my department, you see. You must
go----(_gives him elaborate instructions as to the place he is to apply
to._)
_The Person._ Ah, if you had had the common courtesy to tell me all that
before, I should not have wasted my time like this! [_Exit in wrath._
_A Feeble Lady (to_ Miss MEEKIN). Oh, I just thought as I was passing
by--may I put my umbrella here--and these parcels? thank you. I daresay
you can tell me. Does the Mail for New Heligoland touch at Port Sandune?
They go every other Friday, don't they? or is it changed to alternate
Tuesdays now? and will there be anyone on board who would look after a
box of Japanese rats if I sent them?--they'll want feeding, or
_something_ I suppose.
[Miss MEEKIN _disentangles these inquiries, and answers them
categorically to the test of her knowledge, information and belief_.
_Feeble Lady (disappointed)._ Oh, I _quite_ thought you would know _all_
about it! Then you _wouldn't_ send the rats, you think?
_Miss Meekin._ No, I don't _think_ I should send the rats, without
someone in charge.
_Feeble Lady._ Oh, well, but I call it very unsatisfactory--did I put my
umbrella down in this corner, or not? Oh, (_slightly annoyed_) you have
it... there must be another parcel, do see if you haven't put it away
by mistake! No? Then it will be all right about the rats?
[_Exit vaguely._
_A Conversational Man (to_ Miss MANNERLY). _Warm_, isn't it?
_Miss Mannerly._ _Very_ warm. What can I do for you?
_Conv. Man._ Wait a bit. Give a man time to get his breath... phew!
(_In an injured tone._) Why, the mercury in this office of yours must be
over eighty at least!
_Miss Mannerly._ I daresay... you wanted----?
_Conv. Man._ Daresay! Haven't you got a thermometer--you can easily look
for yourself!
_Miss M._ I'm afraid there isn't one. If you will tell me what you came
for?
_Conv. Man._ Ah, you wouldn't be in such a hurry if I was a nice-looking
young chap! You'd be ready enough to talk all day then--_I_ know what
you young ladies are like!
_Miss M._ Perhaps we are not all alike--and I really have no time to
talk to anybody.
[_Turns away and weighs a parcel for somebody else._
_Conv. M._ So that's the way you treat a civil remark, is it! I tell you
what it is--you young women want taking down; a little showing up will
do you _good_! Perhaps you haven't seen _Punch_ lately? Well, you look
out--I could give _Punch_ some wrinkles if I liked! Ah, I thought _that_
would make a change in you! What do I want? Well, 'pon my soul I forget
what I came in for. I'll look in when you're in a better temper.
[_Exit with the consciousness of having scored._
_A Testy Man (to_ Miss MEEKIN). Look here, this is simply scandalous!
I've brought it to show you. My little girl in the country sent home
some silkworms to her sister in a light paper-box. They were marked
"fragile, with care"--and _this_ is how they arrived! (_Thrusts a
crushed packet, unpleasantly stained, upon_ Miss MEEKIN'S _notice._)
That's your _stamping_, that is!
_Miss Meekin._ I'm sure I'm very sorry.
_Testy M._ Sorry! What's the use of _that?_ The silkworms are _dead_!
dead through culpable negligence on the part of someone in this
office--and if you'll give me a sheet of paper, I'll let the
Postmaster-General know what I think of you here. (Miss MEEKIN _supplies
him with paper and an envelope; he dashes down a strong-worded screed
with a gold pencil-case_.) There, you'll hear more of that--I'll bring
these silkworms home to somebody, if I have to do it through Parliament!
good-day to you.
_Miss Meekin (as he is opening the door)._ Sir, one moment!
_Testy Man._ No, I'll listen to no apologies--disgraceful,
_disgraceful!_
_Miss Meekin (a little roused)._ I wasn't _going_ to apologise--only to
tell you you've left your pencil-case on the counter.
_Testy Man._ Oh--er--have I? much obliged. (_Disarmed._) And you may
give me back that letter--I'll think over it!
_Miss Goodchild (to_ Mrs. QUIVERFUL--_a regular client_). Oh, Mrs.
QUIVERFUL, do you know, you never put any stamp on that letter to
Wurra-Gurra? I saw it was in your handwriting.
_Mrs. Quiverful._ Dear, _dear_ me! how careless--and my boy expecting to
hear as usual! So you couldn't send it?
_Miss G._ Oh, yes, it _was_ sent--I thought you wouldn't like to miss
the Mail.
_Mrs. Q._ But he'll have to pay double at his end--he'll think I grudge
the expense, poor boy!
_Miss G. (timidly)._ I--I thought you'd rather it went stamped, so I--I
took the liberty of stamping it myself.
_Mrs. Q._ Did you? Then you're a darling, and I don't care what unkind
things _Mr. Punch_ chooses to say about you--there!
_Mr. Punch (in background)._ If they were all like her, he would never
have said any unkind things at all, Madam. _O si sic omnes!_
_Mrs. Q. (in some alarm)._ A--quite so, I'm sure. What a very singular
person! [_Scene closes in._
* * * * *
[Illustration: AN APPEAL FROM SCIENCE.
"AM I NOT WORTH OF AS MUCH CONSIDERATION AS MUSIC AND GEOLOGY! WHY
SHOULD NOT _I_ HAVE A MUSEUM?"]
* * * * *
HORATIAN MOTTO FOR MR. STANSFELD & CO.--"_Gens humana ruit per vetitum
nefas._" "The humane gent plunges headlong into impropriety."
* * * * *
THE BEST "DRESS IMPROVER."--A Pretty Girl.
* * * * *
A REMINISCENCE OF THE NAVAL REVIEW.
I HAD never seen a Naval Review. It was to come off on the Saturday, and
this was the Thursday previous. When therefore in answer to a modest
inquiry, I received a wire from Mr. RICHARD ROSSHER, Chairman of the
Great M. & N. Steamship Company, saying, "Come aboard our new boat,
_Regina_, to-morrow, Friday; tickets and instructions by post," I made
up my mind on the spot to accept, if I could return on the Saturday
night, as business of the utmost importance demanded my presence in
London on Sunday morning. What that business was is nobody's business
but mine, so I need not explain. Suffice it to say that to miss a
certain appointment on Sunday morning, would have been fraught with most
disastrous consequences to myself and others.
[Illustration]
I answered ROSSHER'S telegram, "Yes, with pleasure, if you can land me
Saturday night." To which the reply was, "Think it can be managed; try
to come." To this I wired, "Instructions and tickets received. Am
coming." Within two hours I got a message from a Clerk in the M. & N.
Office, City, "ROSSHER on board at Southampton. Too late to wire."
What this was meant to convey I did not understand, but my mind was made
up, and very soon my bag was packed, and I was ready for the start. At
all events, there was the utter novelty to me of being a guest on board
one of the largest vessels afloat in the Indian Merchant Service (I
believe it is the Indian Merchant Service, or, as OLLENDORFF would put
it, "the Service of the Indian Merchant,") with a select party, limited,
I supposed, to about a dozen "jolly companions every one," and in being
taken in and done for _en prince_, _en prince indien_.
"Immensely kind of ROSSHER," I said to myself (and subsequently said it
to him) as I alighted at the Waterloo Station, and proceeded at once to
the wrong platform. I do not remember ever having been to Waterloo
Station without having been to the wrong platform to begin with.
Bag in hand, and coat over arm--the wary sea-dog provides against
probable squalls--I strode to another platform--wrong again. "The M. &
N. Special," I panted to a porter, who was so taken aback by being
appealed to suddenly, that for a few seconds he could only mop his
heated brow and stare at me vaguely. Then after repeating my question
twice, once to me and once to himself, he shook his head as if he were
giving up a conundrum, whereupon to interest him personally in my
proceedings I handed him my bag to carry. This looking like real
business, he showed himself a man of vast resources by stopping an
official in a buttoned-up uniform and a tall chimney-pot hat, and
obtaining the information from him. Across the bridge and then second on
the left. Off we go. Here we are. Board up labelled "M. & N. Special.
_Regina._" A crowd is pouring in at the wicket-gate. Can they all be
going by the M. & N. Special? Yes. I hear the question put, and those
not possessing the proper tickets are sternly rejected. Some are sent
off to another platform where there is another "M. & N. Special" for the
_Italia_.
I present my ticket. It is examined, clipped, and I am passed in. Seeing
a number of people ahead and an empty smoking-carriage close at hand, I
jump into this, stow away my bag, and find myself with a quarter of an
hour to the good. I get out to look about me. Enter Sir PETER PORTLAND
(looking younger than ever, as he always does whenever I meet him) in
decidedly fashionable yachting-costume, cap and all (he once owned a
yacht), carrying a brown-paper parcel. Delighted to see one another. He
secures a seat in my carriage. So does another fellow, name unknown, but
evidently a gallant seaman with a weather-beaten countenance. At the
last moment hurries up Sir THOMAS QUIRCKE, also in full
yachting-costume, cap and all, only not so bright and gay as Sir PETER,
who I observe has on an evening white waistcoat and patent leather
shoes, which combination gives a light and airy and hornpipy appearance
to the wearer, which mere navy blue serge can never convey.
We, including the unknown man in the corner, with the weather-beaten
face--the Knight of the Bronzed Features--congratulate ourselves on
being the guests of the M. & N. Sir PETER produces his card of
invitation. So does Sir THOMAS; so does the Weather-beaten One. I feel
in all my pockets. No. I've left it behind me. Sir PETER, Sir THOMAS,
and the Weather-beaten Stranger eye me suspiciously. There is a lull in
the conversation. I tell my story, and try to interest them. It strikes
me that they don't believe it; but my railway ticket proves my veracity.
They brighten up again, but are evidently still far from clear that they
are not travelling with an impostor.
"I don't see your name on the list," says Sir PETER, scanning a large
card through his glasses.
"What list?" I ask, somewhat disturbed.
"List of guests," replies Sir THOMAS, examining his card.
Weather-beaten Man hasn't got a list; he asks to be allowed to examine
Sir PETER'S. Aha! the Weather-beaten Man's name is not there. Sir THOMAS
and Sir PETER eye _him_ with suspicion now. He explains and tells his
story. If my name had been on the list I should have disbelieved him;
but as it isn't, I only think that his account of being here at all is
not so plausible and clear as my own.
"You've got the number of your berth?" asks Sir THOMAS, looking round at
me doubtfully, as if he were giving me a last chance.
"Berth!" I exclaim. "No, I haven't. You see I only telegraphed----" and
here I am about to repeat my entire explanation, when Sir PETER and Sir
THOMAS cut it short by shaking their heads ominously. "I'm going away on
Saturday night," I say, as if the prospect of my leaving them soon would
soften them a bit.
"Saturday!" returns Sir PETER, with a chuckle. "'Pon my soul I don't see
how you're going to do that." And he smiles derisively.
"No one goes on shore till Monday," observes Sir THOMAS, with decision.
"Certainly not," says the Weather-beaten Man, who is not on the list,
turning against me; "and, for my part, I don't care how long I stay in
such good quarters."
After this there is an uncomfortable silence. Sir THOMAS says there are
two hundred and fifty guests. Heavens! and I had thought it was a small
and select party of genial bachelors! We read our papers, the
Weather-beaten Man in his corner, I in mine. Sir PETER and Sir THOMAS
smoke, and then both fall asleep. Waking up, they fall to conversing
about a trip they have already had on the _Regina_, comparing notes of
comfort and so forth. I'm out of it. So is the Weather-beaten Stranger.
I begin to wish I hadn't come, or, at all events, that I had brought my
invitation card as proof of my identity, and a verification of my
statement. Wish, too, I'd brought ROSSHER'S telegram. No good wishing. I
haven't. I'm not there yet; but what frightens me is, that as there are
two hundred and fifty passengers, if I am the only one who wants to go
on shore on Saturday night, they will never upset all the arrangements
for the sake of sending me off in a launch or a gig, or whatever they
have in use. And if I can't return Saturday----However, here I am, and
I'll go through | 1,086.861886 |
2023-11-16 18:35:10.9347810 | 1,459 | 18 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE ROMANCE OF
THE COMMONPLACE*
*Gelett Burgess*
_Now things there are that, upon him who sees,_
_A strong vocation lay; and strains there are_
_That whoso hears shall hear for evermore._
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Paul Elder and Morgan Shepard : : : San Francisco
_Copyright_, 1902
by GELETT BURGESS
_Entered at_ Stationer's Hall
_London_
PRINTED BY THE STANLEY-TAYLOR COMPANY, SAN FRANCISCO
To
My Sisters, Ella and Ann:
with whom
This Philosophy was Proven
*THE ROMANCE OF
THE COMMONPLACE*
*Contents*
Introduction
April Essays
Getting Acquainted
Dining Out
The Uncharted Sea
The Art of Playing
The Use of Fools
Absolute Age
The Manual Blessing
The Deserted Island
The Sense of Humour
The Game of Correspondence
The Caste of the Articulate
The Tyranny of the Lares
Costume and Custom
Old Friends and New
A Defense of Slang
The Charms of Imperfection
"The Play's the Thing"
Living Alone
Cartomania
The Science of Flattery
Romance *en Route*
At the Edge of the World
The Diary Habit
The Perfect Go-between
Growing Up
A Pauper's Monologue
A Young Man's Fancy
Where is Bohemia?
The Bachelor's Advantage
The Confessions of an Ignoramus
A Music-Box Recital
A Plea for the Precious
Sub Rosa
*Introduction*
To let this book go from my hands without some one more personal note
than the didactic paragraphs of these essays contained, has been, I must
confess, a temptation too strong for me to resist. The observing reader
will note that I have so re-written my theses that none of them begins
with an "I" in big type, and though this preliminary chapter conforms to
the rule also, it is for typographic rather than for any more modest
reasons. Frankly, this page is by way of a flourish to my signature,
and is the very impertinence of vanity.
But this little course of philosophy lays my character and temperament,
not to speak of my intellect, so bare that, finished and summed up for
the printer, I am all of a shiver with shame. My nonsense gave, I
conceit myself, no clue by which my real self might be discovered. My
fiction I have been held somewhat responsible for, but escape for the
story-teller is always easy. Even in poetry a man may so cloak himself
in metaphor that he may hope to be well enough disguised. But the essay
is the most compromising form of literature possible, and even such
filmy confidences and trivial gaieties as these write me down for what I
am. Were they even critical in character, I would have that best of
excuses, a difference of taste, but here I have had the audacity to
attempt a discussion of life itself, upon which every reader will
believe himself to be a competent critic.
By a queer sequence of circumstances, the essays, begun in the _Lark_,
were continued in the _Queen_, and, if you have read these two papers,
you will know that one magazine is as remote in character from the other
as San Francisco is from London. But each has happened to fare far
afield in search of readers, and between them I may have converted some
few to my optimistic view of every-day incident. To educate the British
Matron and Young Person was, perhaps, no more difficult an undertaking
than to open the eyes of the California Native Son. The fogs that fall
over the Thames are not very different to the mists that drive in
through the Golden Gate, after all!
Still, I would not have you think that these lessons were written with
my tongue in my cheek. I have made believe so long that now I am quite
sincere in my conviction that we can see pretty much whatever we look
for; which should prove the desirability of searching for amusement and
profit rather than for boredom and disillusion.
We are in the day of homespun philosophy and hand-made dogma. A kind of
mental atavism has made science preposterous; modern astrologers and
palmists put old wine into new bottles, and the discussion of
Psychomachy bids fair to revolutionize the Eternal Feminine. And so I,
too, strike my attitude and apostrophize the Universe. As being, in
part, a wholesome reaction from the prevailing cult, I might call my
doctrine Pagan Science, for the type of my proselyte is the Bornese war
chief peripatetic on Broadway--the amused wonderer. But I shall not
begin all my nouns with capitals, for it is my aim to write of romance
with a small "r." Also my philosophy must not be thought a mere
_laissez faire_; it is an active, not a passive creed. We are here not
to be entertained, but to entertain ourselves.
I might have called this book _A Guide Through Middle Age_, for it is
then that one needs enthusiasm the most. We stagger gaily through
Youth, and by the time Old Age has come we have usually found a
practicable working philosophy, but at forty one is likely to have a
bitter hour at times, especially if one is still single. Or, so they
tell me; I shall never confess to that status, and shall leap boldly
into a white beard. A kindly euphemism calls this horrid, half-way
stage one's Prime. I have here endeavoured to justify the usage, though
I am opposed by a thousand poets.
If some of these essays seem but vaguely correlated to my major theme,
you must think of them as being mere illustrations or practical
solutions of the commonplace, solved by means of the theory I have
developed and iterated. It was hard, indeed, to know when to stop, but,
ragged as are my hints, I hope that in all essentials I have covered the
ground and formulated the main rules of the Game of Living. One does
not even have to be an expert to be able to do that!
*THE ROMANCE OF
THE COMMONPLACE*
*April Essays*
They were begun in the April of my life, and though it is now well into
mid-June, some of the glamour of the Spring yet inspires me, and I am
still a-wondering. I have tried every | 1,086.954821 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*WHITE MOTLEY*
_A NOVEL_
BY
MAX PEMBERTON
AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE HUGUENOT," "THE
GARDEN OF SWORDS," ETC., ETC.
New York
STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
1911
_All rights reserved_
Copyright 1911
By STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1911
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
PROLOGUE
I THE GRAND PRIX AT ANDANA
II A DARK HORSE GOES DOWN
III CONCERNING A DISOBLIGING GHOST
IV THE MAN WHO KNEW
V THE GHOST TAKES WINGS
VI A LESSON UPON SKIS
VII AN ULTIMATUM
VIII BENNY BECOMES AN OPTIMIST
IX IN WHICH WE BAG A BRACE
X A SPECIALIST IS CONSULTED
XI THE VIGIL OF TRAGEDY
XII FLIGHT
XIII AFTER THE STORM
XIV THE GENDARME PHILIP
XV THE CORTEGE
XVI TWO OPINIONS
XVII HERALDS OF GREAT TIDINGS
XVIII THE EVE OF THE GREAT ATTEMPT
XIX THE THIEF
XX THE FLIGHT IS BEGUN
XXI THE FLIGHT IS FINISHED
XXII THE EMPTY HOUSE
XXIII THE NIGHT MAIL
XXIV THE DOCTOR INTERVENES
XXV THE LIGHTS OF MAGADINO
XXVI AT THE HOSPICE
XXVII BENNY SETS OUT FOR ENGLAND
*WHITE MOTLEY*
*PROLOGUE*
*THE NEW HOUSE AT HOLMSWELL*
The New House at Holmswell lies, far back from the road, upon the great
highway to Norwich. Local topographers delight to tell you that it is
just forty-five miles from that city and five from the Cesarewitch
course at Newmarket. They are hardly less eloquent when they come to
speak of its late owner, Sir Luton Delayne, and of that unforgotten and
well-beloved woman, the wife he so little deserved.
To be sure, the house is not new at all, for it was built at the very
moment when the great Harry put his hands into the coffers of the
monasteries and called upon high Heaven to witness the justice of his
robberies. They faced it with wonderful tiles some years ago, and
stamped the Tudor rose all over it; but the people who first called it
"new" have been dead these four hundred years, and it is only the local
antiquary who can tell you just where the monastery (which preceded it)
was built.
Here, the master of a village which knows more about the jockeys of the
day than about any Prime Minister, here lived Sir Luton Delayne and that
gentle woman who won so many hearts during her brief tenure of the
village kingdom. Well the people knew her and well they knew him. A
florid, freckled-faced man with red hair and the wisp of an auburn
moustache, the common folk said little about his principles and much
about his pugnacity. Even these dull intellects knew that he had been
"no gentleman" and were not afraid to tell you so. His fame, of a sort,
had culminated upon the day he thrashed the butcher from Mildenhall,
because the fellow would halt on the high road just when the pheasants
were being driven from the Little Barton spinneys. That was no famous
day for the House of Delay | 1,086.96103 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
Volume I.
Part 7.
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON
QUIXOTE, AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING
Sancho reached his master so limp and faint that he could not urge on his
beast. When Don Quixote saw the state he was in he said, "I have now come
to the conclusion, good Sancho, that this castle or inn is beyond a doubt
enchanted, because those who have so atrociously diverted themselves with
thee, what can they be but phantoms or beings of another world? and I
hold this confirmed by having noticed that when I was by the wall of the
yard witnessing the acts of thy sad tragedy, it was out of my power to
mount upon it, nor could I even dismount from Rocinante, because they no
doubt had me enchanted; for I swear to thee by the faith of what I am
that if I had been able to climb up or dismount, I would have avenged
thee in such a way that those braggart thieves would have remembered
their freak for ever, even though in so doing I knew that I contravened
the laws of chivalry, which, as I have often told thee, do not permit a
knight to lay hands on him who is not one, save in case of urgent and
great necessity in defence of his own life and person."
"I would have avenged myself too if I could," said Sancho, "whether I had
been dubbed knight or not, but I could not; though for my part I am
persuaded those who amused themselves with me were not phantoms or
enchanted men, as your worship says, but men of flesh and bone like
ourselves; and they all had their names, for I heard them name them when
they were tossing me, and one was called Pedro Martinez, and another
Tenorio Hernandez, and the innkeeper, I heard, was called Juan Palomeque
the Left-handed; so that, senor, your not being able to leap over the
wall of the yard or dismount from your horse came of something else
besides enchantments; and what I make out clearly from all this is, that
these adventures we go seeking will in the end lead us into such
misadventures that we shall not know which is our right foot; and that
the best and wisest thing, according to my small wits, would be for us to
return home, now that it is harvest-time, and attend to our business, and
give over wandering from Zeca to Mecca and from pail to bucket, as the
saying is."
"How little thou knowest about chivalry, Sancho," replied Don Quixote;
"hold thy peace and have patience; the day will come when thou shalt see
with thine own eyes what an honourable thing it is to wander in the
pursuit of this calling; nay, tell me, what greater pleasure can there be
in the world, or what delight can equal that of winning a battle, and
triumphing over one's enemy? None, beyond all doubt."
"Very likely," answered Sancho, "though I do not know it; all I know is
that since we have been knights-errant, or since your worship has been
one (for I have no right to reckon myself one of so honourable a number)
we have never won any battle except the one with the Biscayan, and even
out of that your worship came with half an ear and half a helmet the
less; and from that till now it has been all cudgellings and more
cudgellings, cuffs and more cuffs, I getting the blanketing over and
above, and falling in with enchanted persons on whom I cannot avenge
myself so as to know what the delight, as your worship calls it, of
conquering an enemy is like."
"That is what vexes me, and what ought to vex thee, Sancho," replied Don
Quixote; "but henceforward I will endeavour to have at hand some sword
made by such craft that no kind of enchantments can take effect upon him
who carries it, and it is even possible that fortune may procure for me
that which belonged to Amadis when he was called 'The Knight of the
Burning Sword,' which was one of the best swords that ever knight in the
world possessed, for, besides having the said virtue, it cut like a
razor, and there was no armour, however strong and enchanted it might be,
that could resist it."
"Such is my luck," said Sancho, "that even if that happened and your
worship found some such sword, it would, like the balsam, turn out
serviceable and good for dubbed knights only, and as for the squires,
they might sup sorrow."
"Fear not that, Sancho," said Don Quixote: "Heaven will deal better by
thee."
Thus talking, Don Quixote and his squire were going along, when, on the
road they were following, Don Quixote perceived approaching them a large
and thick cloud of dust, on seeing which he turned to Sancho and said:
"This is the day, Sancho, on which will be seen the boon my fortune is
reserving for me; this, I say, is the day on which as much as on any
other shall be displayed the might of my arm, and on which I shall do
deeds that shall remain written in the book of fame for all ages to come.
Seest thou that cloud of dust which rises yonder? Well, then, all that is
churned up by a vast army composed of various and countless nations that
comes marching there."
"According to that there must be two," said Sancho, "for on this opposite
side also there rises just such another cloud of dust."
Don Quixote turned to look and found that it was true, and rejoicing
exceedingly, he concluded that they were two armies about to engage and
encounter in the | 1,087.160152 |
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THE ROMAN TRAITOR:
OR
THE DAYS OF CICERO, CATO AND CATALINE.
A TRUE TALE OF THE REPUBLIC.
BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT
AUTHOR OF "CROMWELL," "MARMADUKE WYVIL," "BROTHERS," ETC.
Why not a Borgia or a Catiline?—POPE.
VOLUME II.
This is one of the most powerful Roman stories in the English
language, and is of itself sufficient to stamp the writer as a
powerful man. The dark intrigues of the days which Cæsar,
Sallust and Cicero made illustrious; when Cataline defied and
almost defeated the Senate; when the plots which ultimately
overthrew the Roman Republic were being formed, are described in
a masterly manner. The book deserves a permanent position by the
side of the great _Bellum Catalinarium_ of Sallust, and if we
mistake not will not fail to occupy a prominent place among
those produced in America.
Philadelphia:
T. B. Peterson, NO. 102 CHESTNUT STREET
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
T. B. PETERSON,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and
for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PHILADELPHIA:
STEREOTYPED BY GEORGE CHARLES,
No. 9 Sansom Street.
CONTENTS
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE MEN 9
II. THE MEASURES 25
III. THE LOVERS 37
IV. THE CONSUL 51
V. THE CAMPUS 69
VI. THE FALSE LOVE 89
VII. THE OATH 108
VIII. THE TRUE LOVE 121
IX. THE AMBUSH 137
X. THE WANTON 146
XI. THE RELEASE 166
XII. THE FORGE 183
XIII. THE DISCLOSURE 197
XIV. THE WARNINGS 209
XV. THE CONFESSION 223
XVI. THE SENATE 235
VOLUME II.
I. THE OLD PATRICIAN 3
II. THE CONSULAR 12
COMITIA
III. THE PERIL 21
IV. THE CRISIS 29
V. THE ORATION 38
VI. THE FLIGHT 54
VII. THE AMBASSADORS 65
VIII. THE LATIN VILLA 75
IX. THE MULVIAN BRIDGE 88
X. THE ARREST 101
XI. THE YOUNG 113
PATRICIAN
XII. THE ROMAN FATHER 123
XIII. THE DOOM 136
XIV. THE TULLIANUM 150
XV. THE CAMP IN THE 158
APPENINES
XVI. THE WATCHTOWER OF 168
USELLA
XVII. TIDINGS FROM ROME 185
XVIII. THE RESCUE 192
XIX. THE EVE OF BATTLE 205
XX. THE FIELD OF 216
PISTORIA
XXI. THE BATTLE 223
XXII. A NIGHT OF HORROR 234
THE ROMAN TRAITOR;
OR, THE DAYS OF
CICERO, CATO AND CATALINE.
A TRUE TALE OF THE REPUBLIC.
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD PATRICIAN.
A Roman father of the olden time.
MS. PLAY.
In a small street, not far from the Sacred Way and the Roman Forum, there
was a large house, occupying the whole of one _insula_, as the space
contained between four intersecting streets was called by the ancients.
But, although by its great size and a certain rude magnificence, arising
from the massy stone-work of its walls, and the solemn antiquity of the
old Oscan columns which adorned its entrance, it might be recognised at
once as the abode of some Patrician family; it was as different in many
respects from the abodes of the aristocracy of that day, as if it had been
erected in a different age and country.
It had no stately colonnades of foreign marbles, no tesselated pavement to
the vestibule, no glowing frescoes on the walls, no long lines of exterior
windows, glittering with the new luxury of glass. All was decorous, it is
true; but all, at the same time, was stern, and grave, and singular for
its antique simplicity.
On either hand of the entrance, there was, in accordance with the custom
of centuries long past, when Rome’s Consulars were tillers of the ground,
a large shop with an open front, devoted to the sale of the produce of the
owner’s farm. And, strange to say, although the custom had been long
disused in these degenerate times, it seemed that the owner of this
time-honored mansion adhered sturdily to the ancient usage of his race.
For, in one of these large cold unadorned vaults, a tall grayheaded slave,
a rural laborer, as it required no second glance to perceive, was
presiding over piles of cheese, stone-jars of honey, baskets of autumn
fruits, and sacks of grain, by the red light of a large smoky flambeau;
while a younger man, who from his resemblance to the other might safely be
pronounced his son, was keeping an account of the sales by a somewhat
complicated system of tallies.
In the other apartment, two youths, slaves likewise from the suburban or
rustic farm, were giving samples, to such as wished to buy, of different
qualities of wine from several amphora or earthen pitchers, which stood on
a stone counter forming the sill of the low-browed window.
It was late in the evening already, and the streets were rapidly growing
dark; yet there were many passengers abroad, more perhaps than was usual
at that hour; and now and then, a little group would form about one or the
other of the windows, cheapening and purchasing provisions, and chatting
for a few minutes, after their business was finished, with their gossips.
These groups were composed altogether of the lowest order of the free
citizens of Rome, artizans, and small shop keepers, and here and there a
woman of low origin, or perhaps a slave, the house steward of some noble
family, mingling half reluctantly with his superiors. For the time had not
arrived, when the soft eunuchs of the East, and the bold bravoes of the
heroic North, favorites and tools of some licentious lord, dared to insult
the freeborn men of Rome, or gloried in the badges of their servitude.
The conversation ran, as it was natural to expect, on the probable results
of the next day’s election; and it was a little remarkable, that among
these, who should have been the supporters of the democratic faction,
there appeared to be far more of alarm and of suspicion, concerning the
objects of Catiline, than of enthusiasm for the popular cause.
"He a man of the people, or the people’s friend!" said an old
grave-looking mechanic; "No, by the Gods! no more than the wolf is the
friend of the sheepfold!"
"He may hate the nobles," said another, "or envy the great rich houses;
but he loves nothing of the people, unless it be their purses, if he can
get a chance to squeeze them"—
"Or their daughters," interrupted a third, "if they be fair and willing"—
"Little cares he for their good-will," cried yet a fourth, "so they are
young and handsome. It is but eight days since, that some of his gang
carried off Marcus’, the butcher’s, bride, Icilia, on the night of her
bridal. They kept her three days; and on the fourth sent her home
dishonored, with a scroll, ’that she was _now_ a fit wife for a butcher’!"
"By the Gods!" exclaimed one or two of the younger men, "who was it did
this thing?"
"One of the people’s friends!" answered the other, with a sneer.
"The people have no friends, since Caius Marius died," said the deep voice
of Fulvius Flaccus, as he passed casually through the crowd.
"But what befel the poor Icilia?" asked an old matron, who had been
listening with greedy sympathy to the dark tale.
"Why, Marcus would yet have taken her to his bosom, seeing she had no
share in the guilt; but she bore a heart too Roman to bring disgrace upon
one she loved, or to survive her honor. Icilia _is_ no longer."
"She died like Lucretia!" said an old man, who stood near, with a clouded
brow, which flashed into stormy light, as the same deep voice asked aloud,
"Shall she be so avenged?"
But the transient gleam faded instantly away, and the sad face was again
blank and rayless, as he replied—
"No—for who should avenge her?"
"The people! the people!" shouted several voices, for the mob was
gathering, and growing angry—
"The Roman People should avenge her!"
"Tush!" answered Fulvius Flaccus. "There is no Roman people!"
"And who are you," exclaimed two or three of the younger men, "that dare
tell us so?"
"The grandson," answered the republican, "of one, who, while there yet
_was_ a people, loved it"—
"His name? his name?" shouted many voices.
"He hath no name"—replied Fulvius. "He lost that, and his life together."
"Lost them for the people?" inquired the old man, whom he had first
addressed, and who had been scrutinizing him narrowly.
"And _by_ the people," answered the other. "For the people’s cause; and by
the people’s treason!—as is the case," he added, half scornfully, half
sadly, "with all who love the people."
"Hear him, my countrymen," said the old man. "Hear him. If there be any
one can save you, it is he. It is Fulvius, the son of Caius, the son of
Marcus—Flaccus. Hear him, I say, if he will only lead you."
"Lead us! speak to us! lead us!" shouted the fickle crowd. "Love us, good
Fulvius, as your fathers did of old."
"And die, for you, as they died!" replied the other, in a tone of
melancholy sarcasm. "Hark you, my masters," he added, "there are none now
against whom to lead you; and if there were, I think there would be none
to follow. Keep your palms unsoiled by the base bribes of the nobles! Keep
your ears closed to the base lies of the demagogues! Keep your hearts true
and honest! Keep your eyes open and watchful! Brawl not, one with the
other; but be faithful, as brethren should. Be grave, laborious, sober,
and above all things humble, as men who once were free and great, and now,
by their own fault, are fallen and degraded. Make yourselves fit to be led
gloriously; and, when the time shall come, there will be no lack of
glorious leaders!"
"But to-morrow? what shall we do to-morrow?" cried several voices; but
this time it was the elder men, who asked the question, "for whom shall we
vote to-morrow?"
"For the friend of the people!" answered Flaccus.
"Where shall we find him?" was the cry; "who is the friend of the people?"
"Not he who would arm them, one against the other," he replied. "Not he,
who would burn their workshops, and destroy their means of daily
sustenance! Not he, by all the Gods! who sports with the honor of their
wives, the virtue"—
But he was interrupted here, by a stern sullen hum among his audience,
increasing gradually to a fierce savage outcry. The mob swayed to and fro;
and it was evident that something was occurring in the midst, by which it
was tremendously excited.
Breaking off suddenly in his speech, the democrat leaped on a large block
of stone, standing at the corner of the large house in front of which the
multitude was gathered, and looked out anxiously, if he might descry the
cause of the tumult.
Nor was it long ere he succeeded.
A young man, tall and of a slender frame, with features singularly
handsome, was making his way, as best he could, with unsteady steps, and a
face haggard and pale with debauchery, through the tumultuous and angry
concourse.
His head, which had no other covering than its long curled and perfumed
locks, was crowned with a myrtle wreath; he wore a long loose
saffron- tunic richly embroidered, but ungirt, and flowing nearly
to his ankles; and from the dress, and the torch-bearers, who preceded
him, as well as from his wild eye and reeling gait, it was evident that he
was returning from some riotous banquet.
Fulvius instantly recognised him. It was a kinsman of his own, Aulus, the
son of Aulus Fulvius, the noblest of the survivors of his house, a senator
of the old school, a man of stern and rigid virtue, the owner of that
grand simple mansion, beside the door of which he stood.
But, though he recognised his cousin, he was at a loss for a while to
discover the cause of the tumult; ’till, suddenly, a word, a female name,
angrily murmured through the crowd, gave a clue to its meaning.
"Icilia! Icilia!"
Still, though the crowd swayed to and fro, and jostled, and shouted,
becoming evidently more angry every moment, it made way for the young
noble, who advanced fearlessly, with a sort of calm and scornful
insolence, contemning the rage which his own vile deed had awakened.
At length one of the mob, bolder than the rest, thrust himself in between
the torch bearers and their lord, and meeting the latter face to face,
cried out, so that all the crowd might hear,
"Lo! Aulus Fulvius! the violator of Icilia! the friend of the people!"
A loud roar of savage laughter followed; and then, encouraged by the
applause of his fellows, the man added,
"Vote for Aulus Fulvius, the friend of the people! vote for good Aulus,
and his virtuous friend Catiline!"
The hot blood flashed to the brow of the young noble, at the undisguised
scorn of the plebeian’s speech. Insolence he could have borne, but
contempt!—and contempt from a plebeian!
He raised his hand; and slight and unmuscular as he appeared, indignation
lent such vigor to that effeminate arm, that the blow which he dealt him
on the face, cast the burly mechanic headlong, with the blood spouting
from his mouth and nostrils.
A fearful roar of the mob, and a furious rush against the oppressor,
followed.
The torch-bearers fought for their master gallantly, with their tough
oaken staves; and the young man showed his patrician blood by his
patrician courage in the fray. Flaccus, too, wished and endeavored to
interpose, not so much that he cared to shield his unworthy kinsman, as
that he sought to preserve the energies of the people for a more noble
trial | 1,087.160235 |
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Produced by Charles Franks, Robert Prince
THE HISTORY
OF
DAVID GRIEVE
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
AUTHOR OF 'ROBERT ELSMERE,' ETC.
TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
BOOK II YOUTH
BOOK III STORM AND STRESS
BOOK IV MATURITY
BOOK I CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
'Tak your hat, Louie! Yo're allus leavin summat behind yer.'
'David, yo go for 't,' said the child addressed to a boy by her
side, nodding her head insolently towards the speaker, a tall and
bony woman, who stood on the steps the children had just descended,
holding out a battered hat.
'Yo're a careless thing, Louie,' said the boy, but he went back and
took the hat.
'Mak her tie it,' said the woman, showing an antiquated pair of
strings. 'If she loses it she needna coom cryin for anudder. She'd
lose her yead if it wor | 1,087.164041 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Karen Dalrymple, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
The American Missionary
(QUARTERLY)
July }
Aug. } 1900
Sept.}
Vol. LIV.
No. 3.
* * * * *
[Illustration: COURT SQUARE THEATRE, SPRINGFIELD, MASS. PLACE OF
FIFTY-FOURTH ANNUAL MEETING.]
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION,
THE CONGREGATIONAL ROOMS,
FOURTH AVENUE AND TWENTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
Price 50 Cents a Year in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second-Class mail
matter.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PAGE
FINANCIAL--NINE MONTHS 97
EDITORIAL NOTES 97
INDIAN PROGRESS 102
LIGHT AND SHADE 104
COMMENCEMENT EXERCISES:
FISK UNIVERSITY, TENN. 106
TALLADEGA COLLEGE, ALA. 108
STRAIGHT UNIVERSITY, LA. 110
TOUGALOO UNIVERSITY, MISS. 113
GRANDVIEW INSTITUTE, TENN. 115
PLEASANT HILL ACADEMY, TENN. 115
FORT BERTHOLD INDIAN SCHOOL, N. D. 116
A TRIBUTE TO REV. A. J. F. BEHRENDS, D.D. 118
RICHARD SALTER STORRS, D.D. 119
OBITUARY--PROF. A. K. SPENCE--REV. W. S. ALEXANDER, D.D. 121
PORTO RICO NOTES 122
LOSS OF SUPPLIES FOR ALASKA 124
DEPARTMENT OF CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR 125
RECEIPTS 128
WOMAN'S STATE ORGANIZATIONS 142
SECRETARIES OF YOUNG PEOPLE'S AND CHILDREN'S WORK 144
* * * * *
THE 54th ANNUAL MEETING
OF THE
American Missionary Association
WILL BE HELD IN
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
October 23-25, 1900.
SERMON: REV. NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS, D.D.
* * * * *
The AMERICAN MISSIONARY presents new form, fresh material and
generous illustrations for 1900. This magazine is published by the
American Missionary Association quarterly. Subscription rate fifty
cents per year.
Many wonderful missionary developments in our own country during this
stirring period of national enlargement are recorded in the columns
of this magazine.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
VOL. LIV. JULY, 1900. NO. 3.
* * * * *
FINANCIAL.
Nine Months, Ending June 30th.
The receipts are $237,141.25, exclusive of Reserve Legacy Account, an
increase of $24,922,63 compared with last year. There has been an
increase of $15,751.36 in donations, $5,800.96 in estates, $852,26 in
income and $2,518.05 in tuition.
The expenditures are $249,148.75, an increase of $21,699.95 compared
with last year. The debt showing June 30th, this year, is
$12,007.50--last year at the same time $15,230.18.
We appeal to churches, Sunday-schools, Christian Endeavor Societies,
Woman's Missionary Societies and individuals, and also to executors
of estates, to secure as large a sum as possible for remittance in
July, August and September. The fiscal year closes September 30th. We
hope to receive from all sources every possible dollar. The
Association closed the year 1897-98 without debt, and the year
1898-99 without debt, and it earnestly desires to close this year,
1899-1900 without debt.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Annual Meeting, Oct. 23d-25th.]
The Fifty-fourth Annual Meeting of the American Missionary
Association is to be held in Springfield, Mass., October 23d-25th.
The Court Square Theatre has been secured, containing the largest
auditorium in the city. A great gathering is anticipated. Rev. Newell
Dwight Hillis, D.D., will preach the sermon. Reports from the large
and varied fields will be presented by missionaries. The fields now
reach from Porto Rico to Alaska, and present various and interesting
conditions of life. The great problems of national and missionary
importance that are pressing themselves upon the attention of
Christian patriots everywhere will be ably discussed. Contributing
churches, local conferences and state associations are entitled to
send delegates to this convention of the American Missionary
Association.
[Sidenote: A New Departure Program.]
Santee Training School presented a unique and interesting program at
the closing exercises, June 15th, 1900. "A New Departure Program for
Closing of School" was the title upon the printed page. The program
was divided into two parts. Part first was confined to history. The
general subject presented in the papers was "The Development of
Civilized Ways of Living." One of the Indian pupils read a paper on
"First Ways of Getting Food and Clothing." Another on "First
Dwellings." The future as well as the past in race development and
elevation was considered. "Beginning to Provide for the Future" was
the subject of another paper. "Clothing" was discussed in relation to
its production and value.
The second part of this "New Departure Program" presented science in
a practical and helpful way. The general subject was "Natural Forces
are for Human Use." Interesting and valuable papers were presented on
such themes as "Wind Mills," "Non-conduction in Electricity," "Plant
Breathing," "Food Stored," and other suggestive and important
subjects. Throughout abundant illustrations were presented impressing
upon these Indian boys and girls important lessons in independence
and self-control and self-help essential to development and progress.
Santee is to be commended surely for this new departure, which must
prove not only interesting but of permanent value in race elevation.
[Sidenote: A New Departure Program.]
The attention of the whole world has been focalized on China during
the past few weeks. Many hearts are deeply anxious for friends who
are in the midst of this upheaval and whose lives are threatened.
Beginning with mobs instigated by a secret society, apparently
without preconcertion, a state bordering upon war now exists. Whether
the Empress Dowager is at the head of this movement it seems
impossible to decide. The conservative element of the Chinese is
certainly in sympathy with the Boxers in their effort to exterminate
the "foreign devils." What the outcome of this insane uprising and
mad onslaught involving substantial war against the civilized nations
of the world will be, no prophet of modern times can foretell. Many
of us wait with anxious and sorrowful hearts for messages which we
hope and yet fear to receive, lest they confirm our apprehension and
alarm.
We hope to present in the next issue of the MISSIONARY an article
from Rev. Jee Gam, the missionary of the A. M. A. in San Francisco,
giving his views and interpretations of the trouble in China. This
Association is closely related to the great work in this Empire
through the missions in our own country among the Chinese. How much
the civilized nations are responsible for the present condition
through their eager and often ill-advised efforts to absorb the
territory, or to gain political and commercial advantages, is a
serious problem. The need of aggressive and earnest work for the
Chinese who come to our own country is emphasized by these alarming
conditions. Hundreds should be sent back as missionaries to their own
people. We hold the key to the solution of foreign missions in
Africa, China and Japan in members of these races in our own country.
[Sidenote: A United Annual Meeting.]
Several state and local conferences have passed resolutions in favor
of one annual meeting for all our six missionary societies. Such a
convention would probably occupy a week. Each society would have
representation during such a portion of the time as the magnitude of
the work represented demanded. The general sentiment seems to be that
the Sabbath should be used as a day of missionary and spiritual
arousement, for the general interests of the Kingdom of God, as
represented through our denomination. This plan met the cordial
approval of the Home Missionary Convention in Detroit recently. It is
certainly worthy of the careful consideration of all our societies.
[Sidenote: The Testimony of Prof. Roark.]
Prof. R. M. Roark, of the Kentucky State College, at the commencement
of Chandler Normal School, Lexington, Ky., bore the following
testimony to the strength and value of the <DW64>s of the South:
"Forty years ago the race had nothing; now property in the hands of
the <DW64> has an assessed valuation of nearly five hundred million
dollars. Not a few individuals are worth seventy-five thousand to one
hundred thousand dollars. Forty years ago it was a violation of the
law to teach a <DW64>; now there are thousands of children in good
schools; and there are two hundred higher institutes of learning for
<DW64>s, with an attendance of two hundred thousand or more. There
are many successful teachers, editors, lawyers, doctors and ministers
who are <DW64>s. All these professions are fully and ably represented
here, in conservative and aristocratic Lexington, and as regards
these men and women there is no race problem. Worth, honesty, clear
knowledge, self-respect and independent support lie at the foundation
of any citizenship, white or black. May these young graduates carry
these with them into the life conflict, and be the leaders of their
race into the widest opportunities of free American citizenship."
[Sidenote: Splendid Benefactions.]
Mr. Rossiter Johnson has recently compiled a list of bequests to
benevolent objects during the last year in the United States. This is
a remarkable showing. The grand total is nearly sixty-three million
dollars. The year previous it reached the good sum of thirty-eight
million, and in 1897, forty-five million. In three years, therefore,
over one hundred and forty million dollars have been bestowed by
generous men and women for charitable and educational objects. There
never has been a time in the history of the world when generosity and
riches were so often held in possession of the same person as to-day.
[Sidenote: Important.]
Mr. R. H. Learell, of the Class of 1901, at Harvard University, was
awarded the first prize in the Harvard Bowdoin Series. His subject
was "The Race Problems in the South."
An interesting and valuable lecture was delivered before the students
of Western Reserve University, Ohio, by Prof. O. H. Tower, Ph.D. His
subject was "The Food of the Alabama <DW64> and its Relation to His
Mental and Moral Development."
[Sidenote: A Useful Record.]
LeMoyne Normal Institute, at Memphis, Tenn., has just completed the
twenty-ninth year of its history. It was founded by the American
Missionary Association in October, 1871. The work of the school has
grown into large proportions. The enrollment of students for the year
has numbered 725 in all grades. More than 200 of these have studied
in the normal department. They are thus fitting themselves for
teaching among their people in the public and private schools of the
state.
The graduating class of 1900 consisted of twenty. Dr. LeMoyne, of
Washington, Pa., after whom the institute is named, gave the ground
and the buildings and the original outlay. The American Missionary
Association has maintained the work during these twenty-nine years.
The Alumni Association of the institute has contributed generously in
proportion to their means to the work at the school. The Alumni have
been much interested in the development of the industrial department,
and have contributed for that purpose. Woodworking, cooking and
nursing classes will be conducted in the school next year, offering
still larger opportunities for the training of these young people for
a larger and more useful life-work.
[Sidenote: Whittier High School.]
The closing exercises of Whittier High School were held in the
Congregational Church, on the 18th of May. This school is situated in
the Highlands of North Carolina. It reaches the young people of a
considerable area, and is an influence for large good among them.
Among the speeches or essays presented at the closing exercises, was
one entitled: "The South, Her Strength and Weakness." It is a hopeful
sign that the young men of the South, who are to be the leaders in
their section, are seriously considering these problems. In the "New
South," a large element of strength and progress will come from the
educated young men of the Highlands. They are somewhat slow to be
moved, but are strong, steadfast and courageous in the defense of
that which they believe to be right, when they do move.
[Sidenote: Grit that Wins.]
In one of our schools among the American Highlanders a young
mountaineer, then scarcely out of his teens, applied for membership.
When asked what funds he had to support him in his proposed study, he
replied: "Only fifty cents." He had dependent upon him two sisters, a
brother and his mother. It seemed rather limited capital for such an
undertaking. He went to work, however, cutting logs, built a
log-cabin, moved into it with his family, and with an eagerness that
can scarcely be appreciated by those who have had larger
opportunities, went to his study in the schoolroom. It is not
necessary to say that such grit and devotion won for him success. He
has fitted himself for Christian instruction among his people, and is
rapidly becoming a leader. This young man, however, is not an
individual but a type of hundreds of such Highland lads and lassies
who are struggling with great self-sacrifice for an education in our
American Missionary Association schools.
[Sidenote: Prepared for Life Work.]
The graduating class from Williamsburg Academy, Kentucky, numbers
three. They are all from the State of Kentucky, but from different
counties. The mountain people only are represented. One contemplates
the study of medicine next fall. One expects to teach. The other, a
young lady, will probably remain at home for a time. All are
Christians and in active Christian work.
[Sidenote: Grand View Institute, Tennessee.]
This school, among the Highlanders, has closed a most successful
year. The following item comes from the principal: "The young men
have held a mid-week prayer meeting twice each week during the
month. These meetings were well attended, and much interest was
manifested. At our last mid-week service, before the closing of the
school, our little church was well filled, and a large number took
part in the service. The topic for the evening was 'Some of the
benefits I have received during the school year in Grand View.' The
meeting was exceptionally impressive. Many of these students have,
during the year, taken Christ into their hearts and lives, and this,
after all, we feel is the 'one thing needful.'"
[Sidenote: Manual of Savannah Congregational District.]
Through the courtesy of the Moderator, the manual of this conference
has been presented to the editor of the MISSIONARY. It contains the
constitution and | 1,087.254732 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.2347160 | 7,289 | 13 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Memories of Childhood's
Slavery Days
By
Annie L. Burton
BOSTON
ROSS PUBLISHING COMPANY
1909
RECOLLECTIONS OF A HAPPY LIFE
The memory of my happy, care-free childhood days on the plantation,
with my little white and black companions, is often with me. Neither
master nor mistress nor neighbors had time to bestow a thought upon
us, for the great Civil War was raging. That great event in American
history was a matter wholly outside the realm of our childish
interests. Of course we heard our elders discuss the various events of
the great struggle, but it meant nothing to us.
On the plantation there were ten white children and fourteen <DW52>
children. Our days were spent roaming about from plantation to
plantation, not knowing or caring what things were going on in the
great world outside our little realm. Planting time and harvest time
were happy days for us. How often at the harvest time the planters
discovered cornstalks missing from the ends of the rows, and blamed
the crows! We were called the "little fairy devils." To the sweet
potatoes and peanuts and sugar cane we also helped ourselves.
Those slaves that were not married served the food from the great
house, and about half-past eleven they would send the older children
with food to the workers in the fields. Of course, I followed, and
before we got to the fields, we had eaten the food nearly all up. When
the workers returned home they complained, and we were whipped.
The slaves got their allowance every Monday night of molasses, meat,
corn meal, and a kind of flour called "dredgings" or "shorts." Perhaps
this allowance would be gone before the next Monday night, in which
case the slaves would steal hogs and chickens. Then would come the
whipping-post. Master himself never whipped his slaves; this was left
to the overseer.
We children had no supper, and only a little piece of bread or
something of the kind in the morning. Our dishes consisted of one
wooden bowl, and oyster shells were our spoons. This bowl served for
about fifteen children, and often the dogs and the ducks and the
peafowl had a dip in it. Sometimes we had buttermilk and bread in our
bowl, sometimes greens or bones.
Our clothes were little homespun cotton slips, with short sleeves. I
never knew what shoes were until I got big enough to earn them myself.
If a slave man and woman wished to marry, a party would be arranged
some Saturday night among the slaves. The marriage ceremony consisted
of the pair jumping over a stick. If no children were born within a
year or so, the wife was sold.
At New Year's, if there was any debt or mortgage on the plantation,
the extra slaves were taken to Clayton and sold at the court house. In
this way families were separated.
When they were getting recruits for the war, we were allowed to go to
Clayton to see the soldiers.
I remember, at the beginning of the war, two <DW52> men were hung in
Clayton; one, Caesar King, for killing a blood hound and biting off an
overseer's ear; the other, Dabney Madison, for the murder of his
master. Dabney Madison's master was really shot by a man named
Houston, who was infatuated with Madison's mistress, and who had hired
Madison to make the bullets for him. Houston escaped after the deed,
and the blame fell on Dabney Madison, as he was the only slave of his
master and mistress. The clothes of the two victims were hung on two
pine trees, and no <DW52> person would touch them. Since I have grown
up, I have seen the skeleton of one of these men in the office of a
doctor in Clayton.
After the men were hung, the bones were put in an old deserted house.
Somebody that cared for the bones used to put them in the sun in
bright weather, and back in the house when it rained. Finally the
bones disappeared, although the boxes that had contained them still
remained.
At one time, when they were building barns on the plantation, one of
the big boys got a little brandy and gave us children all a drink,
enough to make us drunk. Four doctors were sent for, but nobody could
tell what was the matter with us, except they thought we had eaten
something poisonous. They wanted to give us some castor oil, but we
refused to take it, because we thought that the oil was made from the
bones of the dead men we had seen. Finally, we told about the big
white boy giving us the brandy, and the mystery was cleared up.
Young as I was then, I remember this conversation between master and
mistress, on master's return from the gate one day, when he had
received the latest news: "William, what is the news from the seat of
war?" "A great battle was fought at Bull Run, and the Confederates
won," he replied. "Oh, good, good," said mistress, "and what did Jeff
Davis say?" "Look out for the blockade. I do not know what the end
may be soon," he answered. "What does Jeff Davis mean by that?" she
asked. "Sarah Anne, I don't know, unless he means that the <DW65>s
will be free." "O, my God, what shall we do?" "I presume," he said,
"we shall have to put our boys to work and hire help." "But," she
said, "what will the <DW65>s do if they are free? Why, they will
starve if we don't keep them." "Oh, well," he said, "let them wander,
if they will not stay with their owners. I don't doubt that many
owners have been good to their slaves, and they would rather remain
with their owners than wander about without home or country."
My mistress often told me that my father was a planter who owned a
plantation about two miles from ours. He was a white man, born in
Liverpool, England. He died in Lewisville, Alabama, in the year 1875.
I will venture to say that I only saw my father a dozen times, when I
was about four years old; and those times I saw him only from a
distance, as he was driving by the great house of our plantation.
Whenever my mistress saw him going by, she would take me by the hand
and run out upon the piazza, and exclaim, "Stop there, I say! Don't
you want to see and speak to and caress your darling child? She often
speaks of you and wants to embrace her dear father. See what a bright
and beautiful daughter she is, a perfect picture of yourself. Well, I
declare, you are an affectionate father." I well remember that
whenever my mistress would speak thus and upbraid him, he would whip
up his horse and get out of sight and hearing as quickly as possible.
My mistress's action was, of course, intended to humble and shame my
father. I never spoke to him, and cannot remember that he ever noticed
me, or in any way acknowledged me to be his child.
My mother and my mistress were children together, and grew up to be
mothers together. My mother was the cook in my mistress's household.
One morning when master had gone to Eufaula, my mother and my mistress
got into an argument, the consequence of which was that my mother was
whipped, for the first time in her life. Whereupon, my mother refused
to do any more work, and ran away from the plantation. For three years
we did not see her again.
Our plantation was one of several thousand acres, comprising large
level fields, upland, and considerable forests of Southern pine.
Cotton, corn, sweet potatoes, sugar cane, wheat, and rye were the
principal crops raised on the plantation. It was situated near the
P---- River, and about twenty-three miles from Clayton, Ala.
One day my master heard that the Yankees were coming our way, and he
immediately made preparations to get his goods and valuables out of
their reach. The big six-mule team was brought to the smoke-house
door, and loaded with hams and provisions. After being loaded, the
team was put in the care of two of the most trustworthy and valuable
slaves that my master owned, and driven away. It was master's
intention to have these things taken to a swamp, and there concealed
in a pit that had recently been made for the purpose. But just before
the team left the main road for the by-road that led to the swamp, the
two slaves were surprised by the Yankees, who at once took possession
of the provisions, and started the team toward Clayton, where the
Yankees had headquarters. The road to Clayton ran past our plantation.
One of the slave children happened to look up the road, and saw the
Yankees coming, and gave warning. Whereupon, my master left
unceremoniously for the woods, and remained concealed there for five
days. The <DW65>s had run away whenever they got a chance, but now it
was master's and the other white folks' turn to run.
The Yankees rode up to the piazza of the great house and inquired who
owned the plantation. They gave orders that nothing must be touched or
taken away, as they intended to return shortly and take possession. My
mistress and the slaves watched for their return day and night for
more than a week, but the Yankees did not come back.
One morning in April, 1865, my master got the news that the Yankees
had left Mobile Bay and crossed the Confederate lines, and that the
Emancipation Proclamation had been signed by President Lincoln.
Mistress suggested that the slaves should not be told of their
freedom; but master said he would tell them, because they would soon
find it out, even if he did not tell them. Mistress, however, said she
could keep my mother's three children, for my mother had now been gone
so long.
All the slaves left the plantation upon the news of their freedom,
except those who were feeble or sickly. With the help of these, the
crops were gathered. My mistress and her daughters had to go to the
kitchen and to the washtub. My little half-brother, Henry, and myself
had to gather chips, and help all we could. My sister, Caroline, who
was twelve years old, could help in the kitchen.
After the war, the Yankees took all the good mules and horses from
the plantation, and left their old army stock. We children chanced to
come across one of the Yankees' old horses, that had "U. S." branded
on him. We called him "Old Yank" and got him fattened up. One day in
August, six of us children took "Old Yank" and went away back on the
plantation for watermelons. Coming home, we thought we would make the
old horse trot. When "Old Yank" commenced to trot, our big melons
dropped off, but we couldn't stop the horse for some time. Finally,
one of the big boys went back and got some more melons, and left us
eating what we could find of the ones that had been dropped. Then all
we six, with our melons, got on "Old Yank" and went home. We also used
to hitch "Old Yank" into a wagon and get wood. But one sad day in the
fall, the Yankees came back again, and gathered up their old stock,
and took "Old Yank" away.
One day mistress sent me out to do some churning under a tree. I went
to sleep and jerked the churn over on top of me, and consequently got
a whipping.
My mother came for us at the end of the year 1865, and demanded that
her children be given up to her. This, mistress refused to do, and
threatened to set the dogs on my mother if she did not at once leave
the place. My mother went away, and remained with some of the
neighbors until supper time. Then she got a boy to tell Caroline to
come down to the fence. When she came, my mother told her to go back
and get Henry and myself and bring us down to the gap in the fence as
quick as she could. Then my mother took Henry in her arms, and my
sister carried me on her back. We climbed fences and crossed fields,
and after several hours came to a little hut which my mother had
secured on a plantation. We had no more than reached the place, and
made a little fire, when master's two sons rode up and demanded that
the children be returned. My mother refused to give us up. Upon her
offering to go with them to the Yankee headquarters to find out if it
were really true that all <DW64>s had been made free, the young men
left, and troubled us no more.
The cabin that was now our home was made of logs. It had one door, and
an opening in one wall, with an inside shutter, was the only window.
The door was fastened with a latch. Our beds were some straw.
There were six in our little family; my mother, Caroline, Henry, two
other children that my mother had brought with her upon her return,
and myself.
The man on whose plantation this cabin stood, hired my mother as
cook, and gave us this little home. We children used to sell
blueberries and plums that we picked. One day the man on whom we
depended for our home and support, left. Then my mother did washing by
the day, for whatever she could get. We were sent to get cold victuals
from hotels and such places. A man wanting hands to pick cotton, my
brother Henry and I were set to help in this work. We had to go to the
cotton field very early every morning. For this work, we received
forty cents for every hundred pounds of cotton we picked.
Caroline was hired out to take care of a baby.
In 1866, another man hired the plantation on which our hut stood, and
we moved into Clayton, to a little house my mother secured there. A
rich lady came to our house one day, looking for some one to take care
of her little daughter. I was taken, and adopted into this family.
This rich lady was Mrs. E. M. Williams, a music teacher, the wife of a
lawyer. We called her "Mis' Mary."
Some rich people in Clayton who had owned slaves, opened the Methodist
church on Sundays, and began the work of teaching the <DW64>s. My new
mistress sent me to Sunday school every Sunday morning, and I soon got
so that I could read. Mis' Mary taught me every day at her knee. I
soon could read nicely, and went through Sterling's Second Reader,
and then into McGuthrie's Third Reader. The first piece of poetry I
recited in Sunday school was taught to me by Mis' Mary during the
week. Mis' Mary's father-in-law, an ex-judge, of Clayton, Alabama,
heard me recite it, and thought it was wonderful. It was this:
"I am glad to see you, little bird,
It was your sweet song I heard.
What was it I heard you say?
Give me crumbs to eat today?
Here are crumbs I brought for you.
Eat your dinner, eat away,
Come and see us every day."
After this Mis' Mary kept on with my studies, and taught me to write.
As I grew older, she taught me to cook and how to do housework. During
this time Mis' Mary had given my mother one dollar a month in return
for my services; now as I grew up to young womanhood, I thought I
would like a little money of my own. Accordingly, Mis' Mary began to
pay me four dollars a month, besides giving me my board and clothes.
For two summers she "let me out" while she was away, and I got five
dollars a month.
While I was with Mis' Mary, I had my first sweetheart, one of the
young fellows who attended Sunday school with me. Mis' Mary, however,
objected to the young man's coming to the house to call, because she
did not think I was old enough to have a sweetheart.
I owe a great deal to Mis' Mary for her good training of me, in
honesty, uprightness and truthfulness. She told me that when I went
out into the world all white folks would not treat me as she had, but
that I must not feel bad about it, but just do what I was employed to
do, and if I wasn't satisfied, to go elsewhere; but always to carry an
honest name.
One Sunday when my sweetheart walked to the gate with me, Mis' Mary
met him and told him she thought I was too young for him, and that she
was sending me to Sunday school to learn, not to catch a beau. It was
a long while before he could see me again,--not until later in the
season, in watermelon time, when Mis' Mary and my mother gave me
permission to go to a watermelon party one Sunday afternoon. Mis' Mary
did not know, however, that my sweetheart had planned to escort me. We
met around the corner of the house, and after the party he left me at
the same place. After that I saw him occasionally at barbecues and
parties. I was permitted to go with him some evenings to church, but
my mother always walked ahead or behind me and the young man.
We went together for four years. During that time, although I still
called Mis' Mary's my home, I had been out to service in one or two
families.
Finally, my mother and Mis' Mary consented to our marriage, and the
wedding day was to be in May. The winter before that May, I went to
service in the family of Dr. Drury in Eufaula. Just a week before I
left Clayton I dreamed that my sweetheart died suddenly. The night
before I was to leave, we were invited out to tea. He told me he had
bought a nice piece of poplar wood, with which to make a table for our
new home. When I told him my dream, he said, "Don't let that trouble
you, there is nothing in dreams." But one month from that day he died,
and his coffin was made from the piece of poplar wood he had bought
for the table.
After his death, I remained in Clayton for two or three weeks with my
people, and then went back to Eufaula, where I stayed two years.
My sweetheart's death made a profound impression on me, and I began to
pray as best I could. Often I remained all night on my knees.
Going on an excursion to Macon, Georgia, one time, I liked the place
so well that I did not go back to Eufaula. I got a place as cook in
the family of an Episcopal clergyman, and remained with them eight
years, leaving when the family moved to New Orleans.
During these eight years, my mother died in Clayton, and I had to take
the three smallest children into my care. My oldest sister was now
married, and had a son.
I now went to live with a Mrs. Maria Campbell, a <DW52> woman, who
adopted me and gave me her name. Mrs. Campbell did washing and ironing
for her living. While living with her, I went six months to Lewis'
High School in Macon. Then I went to Atlanta, and obtained a place as
first-class cook with Mr. E. N. Inman. But I always considered Mrs.
Campbell's my home. I remained about a year with Mr. Inman, and
received as wages ten dollars a month.
One day, when the family were visiting in Memphis, I chanced to pick
up a newspaper, and read the advertisement of a Northern family for a
cook to go to Boston. I went at once to the address given, and made
agreement to take the place, but told the people that I could not
leave my present position until Mr. Inman returned home. Mr. and Mrs.
Inman did not want to let me go, but I made up my mind to go North.
The Northern family whose service I was to enter had returned to
Boston before I left, and had made arrangements with a friend, Mr.
Bullock, to see me safely started North.
After deciding to go North, I went to Macon, to make arrangements with
Mrs. Campbell for the care of my two sisters who lived with her. One
sister was now about thirteen and the other fifteen, both old enough
to do a little for themselves. My brother was dead. He went to
Brunswick in 1875, and died there of the yellow fever in 1876. One
sister I brought in later years to Boston. I stayed in Macon two
weeks, and was in Atlanta three or four days before leaving for the
North.
About the 15th of June, 1879, I arrived at the Old Colony Station in
Boston, and had my first glimpse of the country I had heard so much
about. From Boston I went to Newtonville, where I was to work. The
gentleman whose service I was to enter, Mr. E. N. Kimball, was waiting
at the station for me, and drove me to his home on Warner Street. For
a few days, until I got somewhat adjusted to my new circumstances, I
had no work to do. On June 17th the family took me with them to
Auburndale. But in spite of the kindness of Mrs. Kimball and the
nurse, I grew very homesick for the South, and would often
look in the direction of my old home and cry.
The washing, a kind of work I knew nothing about, was given to me;
but I could not do it, and it was finally given over to a hired woman.
I had to do the ironing of the fancy clothing for Mrs. Kimball and the
children.
About five or six weeks after my arrival, Mrs. Kimball and the
children went to the White Mountains for the summer, and I had more
leisure. Mr. Kimball went up to the mountains every Saturday night, to
stay with his family over Sunday; but he and his father-in-law were at
home other nights, and I had to have dinner for them.
To keep away the homesickness and loneliness as much as possible, I
made acquaintance with the hired girl across the street.
One morning I climbed up into the cherry tree that grew between Mr.
Kimball's yard and the yard of his next-door neighbor, Mr. Roberts. I
was thinking of the South, and as I picked the cherries, I sang a
Southern song. Mr. Roberts heard me, and gave me a dollar for the
song.
By agreement, Mrs. Kimball was to give me three dollars and a half a
week, instead of four, until the difference amounted to my fare from
the South; after that, I was to have four dollars. I had, however,
received but little money. In the fall, after the family came home, we
had a little difficulty about my wages, and I left and came into
Boston. One of my Macon acquaintances had come North before me, and
now had a position as cook in a house on Columbus Avenue. I looked
this girl up. Then I went to a lodging-house for <DW52> people on
Kendall Street, and spent one night there. Mrs. Kimball had refused to
give me a recommendation, because she wanted me to stay with her, and
thought the lack of a recommendation would be an inducement. In the
lodging-house I made acquaintance with a <DW52> girl, who took me to
an intelligence office. The man at the desk said he would give me a
card to take to 24 Springfield Street, on receipt of fifty cents. I
had never heard of an office of this kind, and asked a good many
questions. After being assured that my money would be returned in case
I did not accept the situation, I paid the fifty cents and started to
find the address on the card. Being ignorant of the scheme of street
numbering, I inquired of a woman whom I met, where No. 24 was. This
woman asked me if I was looking for work, and when I told her I was,
she said a friend of hers on Springfield Street wanted a servant
immediately. Of course I went with this lady, and after a conference
with the mistress of the house as to my ability, when I could begin
work, what wages I should want, etc., I was engaged as cook at three
dollars and a half a week.
From this place I proceeded to 24 Springfield Street, as directed,
hoping that I would be refused, so that I might go back to the
intelligence office and get my fifty cents. The lady at No. 24 who
wanted a servant, said she didn't think I was large and strong enough,
and guessed I wouldn't do. Then I went and got my fifty cents.
Having now obtained a situation, I sent to Mr. Kimball's for my trunk.
I remained in my new place a year and a half. At the end of that time
the family moved to Dorchester, and because I did not care to go out
there, I left their service.
From this place, I went to Narragansett Pier to work as a chambermaid
for the summer. In the fall, I came back to Boston and obtained a
situation with a family, in Berwick Park. This family afterward moved
to Jamaica Plain, and I went with them. With this family I remained
seven years. They were very kind to me, gave me two or three weeks'
vacation, without loss of pay.
In June, 1884, I went with them to their summer home in the Isles of
Shoals, as housekeeper for some guests who were coming from Paris. On
the 6th of July I received word that my sister Caroline had died in
June. This was a great blow to me. I remained with the Reeds until
they closed their summer home, but I was not able to do much work
after the news of my sister's death.
I wrote home to Georgia, to the white people who owned the house in
which Caroline had lived, asking them to take care of her boy Lawrence
until I should come in October. When we came back to Jamaica Plain in
the fall, I was asked to decide what I should do in regard to this
boy. Mrs. Reed wanted me to stay with her, and promised to help pay
for the care of the boy in Georgia. Of course, she said, I could not
expect to find positions if I had a child with me. As an inducement to
remain in my present place and leave the boy in Georgia, I was
promised provision for my future days, as long as I should live. It
did not take me long to decide what I should do. The last time I had
seen my sister, a little over a year before she died, she had said,
when I was leaving, "I don't expect ever to see you again, but if I
die I shall rest peacefully in my grave, because I know you will take
care of my child."
I left Jamaica Plain and took a room on Village Street for the two or
three weeks until my departure for the South. During this time, a lady
came to the house to hire a girl for her home in Wellesley Hills. The
girl who was offered the place would not go. I volunteered to accept
the position temporarily, and went at once to the beautiful farm. At
the end of a week, a man and his wife had been engaged, and I was to
leave the day after their arrival. These new servants, however, spoke
very little English, and I had to stay through the next week until the
new ones were broken in. After leaving there I started for Georgia,
reaching there at the end of five days, at five o'clock.
I took a carriage and drove at once to the house where Lawrence was
being taken care of. He was playing in the yard, and when he saw me
leave the carriage he ran and threw his arms around my neck and cried
for joy. I stayed a week in this house, looking after such things of
my sister's as had not been already stored. One day I had a headache,
and was lying down in the cook's room. Lawrence was in the dining-room
with the cook's little girl, and the two got into a quarrel, in the
course of which my nephew struck the cook's child. The cook, in her
anger, chased the boy with a broom, and threatened to give him a good
whipping at all costs. Hearing the noise, I came out into the yard,
and when Lawrence saw me he ran to me for protection. I interceded for
him, and promised he should get into no more trouble. We went at once
to a neighbor's house for the night. The next day I got a room in the
yard of a house belonging to some white people. Here we stayed two
weeks. The only return I was asked to make for the room was to weed
the garden. Lawrence and I dug out some weeds and burned them, but
came so near setting fire to the place that we were told we need not
dig any more weeds, but that we might have the use of the room so long
as we cared to stay.
In about a week and a half more we got together such things as we
wanted to keep and take away with us.
The last time I saw my sister, I had persuaded her to open a bank
account, and she had done so, and had made small deposits from time to
time. When I came to look for the bankbook, I discovered that her
lodger, one Mayfield, had taken it at her death, and nobody knew where
it might be now. I found out that Mayfield had drawn thirty dollars
from the account for my sister's burial, and also an unknown amount
for himself. He had done nothing for the boy. I went down to the bank,
and was told that Mayfield claimed to look after my sister's burial
and her affairs. He had made one Reuben Bennett, who was no relation
and had no interest in the matter, administrator for Lawrence, until
his coming of age. But Bennett had as yet done nothing for him. The
book was in the bank, with some of the account still undrawn, how much
I did not know. I next went to see a lawyer, to find out how much it
would cost me to get this book. The lawyer said fifteen dollars. I
said I would call again. In the meantime, I went to the court house,
and when the case on trial was adjourned I went to the judge and
stated my case. The judge, who was slightly acquainted with my sister
and me, told me to have Reuben Bennett in court next morning at nine
o'clock, and to bring Lawrence with me. When we had all assembled
before the judge, he told Bennett to take Lawrence and go to the bank
and get the money belonging to my sister. Bennett went and collected
the money, some thirty-five dollars. The boy was then given into my
care by the judge. For his kindness, the judge would accept no return.
Happy at having obtained the money so easily, we went back to our
room, and rested until our departure the next night for Jacksonville,
Florida. I had decided to go to this place for the winter, on account
of Lawrence, thinking the Northern winter would be too severe for him.
My youngest sister, who had come to Macon from Atlanta a few days
before my arrival, did not hear of Caroline's death until within a few
days of our departure. This youngest sister decided to go to Florida
with us for the winter.
Our trunks and baggage were taken to the station in a team. We had a
goodly supply of food, given us by our friends and by the people whose
hospitality we had shared during the latter part of our stay.
The next morning we got into Jacksonville. My idea was to get a place
as chambermaid at Green Cove Springs, Florida, through the influence
of the head waiter at a hotel there, whom I knew. After I got into
Jacksonville I changed my plans. I did not see how I could move my
things any farther, and we went to a hotel for <DW52> people, hired a
room for two dollars, and boarded ourselves on the food which had been
given us in Macon. This food lasted about two weeks. Then I had to
buy, and my money was going every day, and none coming in, I did not
know what to do. One night the idea of keeping a restaurant came to
me, and I decided to get a little home for the three of us, and then
see what I could do in this line of business. After a long and hard
search, I found a little house of two rooms where we could live, and
the next day I found a place to start my restaurant. For house
furnishings, we used at first, to the best advantage we could, | 1,087.254756 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.2356780 | 2,009 | 11 |
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THE AUGUSTAN REPRINT SOCIETY
ELKANAH SETTLE
THE NOTORIOUS IMPOSTOR
(1692)
DIEGO REDIVIVUS
(1692)
Introduction by
Spiro Peterson
Publication Number 68
Los Angeles
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University of California
GENERAL EDITORS
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
RALPH COHEN, _University of California, Los Angeles_
VINTON A. DEARING, _University of California, Los Angeles_
LAWRENCE CLARK POWELL, _Clark Memorial Library_
ASSISTANT EDITOR
W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_
ADVISORY EDITORS
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _Duke University_
LOUIS BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
JOHN BUTT, KING'S COLLEGE, _University of Durham_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
LOUIS A. LANDA, _Princeton University_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
ERNEST C. MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _University College, London_
H. T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
EDNA C. DAVIS, _Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
The great English novel of the eighteenth century was developed out of
the long established traditions in the essay, letter, religious
treatise, biography and personal memoir. Although this influence has
been generally acknowledged, the critical investigation of its exact
nature has often been hampered by the lack of readily available texts.
Especially is this true of the criminal biographies written in the late
seventeenth century. The reprinting of Elkanah Settle's _The Notorious
Impostor_ (Part One) and the anonymous _Diego Redivivus_ is thus
justified as providing the means for the further study of the early
fiction-writer's techniques. Published In 1692, the two pamphlets
belong to a group of five closely-related narratives dealing with a
real criminal named William Morrell. In the probable order of their
publication, these were _Diego Redivivus_, _The Notorious Impostor_
(Part One), _The Second Part of the Notorious Impostor_, "_William
Morrell's_ Epitaph" in _The Gentleman's Journal_, and _The Compleat
Memoirs of the Life of that Notorious Impostor Will. Morrell_. The
different accounts forcefully demonstrate how criminal fiction allied
itself with both biography and the picaresque. In addition, _The
Notorious Impostor_ serves as a representative work by Elkanah Settle
whose criminal biographies have never received the attention they
deserve.[1]
The combination of fact and fiction in the William Morrell narratives
had been tried earlier in Settle's first known criminal biography, _The
Life and Death of Major Clancie, the Grandest Cheat of this Age_
(1680). Like Bunyan's _Mr. Badman_, advertised in the same issue of
_The Term Catalogues_ (I, 382), _Major Clancie_ purports to narrate
"Real matter of Fact." Thus, in the background, significant historical
events, from the Irish Rebellion to the Great Fire, are being enacted.
Important English worthies--Lord Ormonde, Bishop Compton, Charles
II--become entangled in the villainies of the Major, an actual Irish
criminal. None of this historical backdrop is to be found, however, in
_The Notorious Impostor_; and the characters here, although Sir William
Walters and Humphrey Wickham were well-known local personages, are not
historically eminent. The picaresque in _Major Clancie_, too, is more
readily identifiable than in _The Notorious Impostor_. For, contrary to
its stated aim, the biography of Clancie is more fiction than fact.
Anthony Wood, noting the fictional elaborations, remarked: "Several
stories in this book which belong to other persons are fathered on the
said major; who, as I remember, was in Oxon in the plague year 1665
when the king and the queen kept their respective courts there."[2]
Wood then contributes a few of his own pungent stories about the Major,
which have no counterparts in Settle's narrative. Where the two writers
provide parallel accounts, the "fiction" appears to be based on a
substratum of truth surviving in anecdotes. Settle's verisimilitude had
an effect upon Theophilus Lucas's _Memoirs of the Lives, Intrigues, and
Comical Adventures of the Most Famous Gamesters and Celebrated
Sharpers_ (1714), which begins with a condensed version of _The Life
and Death of Major Clancie_.[3] Lucas presents his account as if it
were a true memoir.
_The Notorious Impostor_ was to experience a similar acceptance as a
memoir. All modern biographical accounts of its villain-hero, William
Morrell,[4] are based on the two separate parts of _The Notorious
Impostor_ or _The Compleat Memoirs_. On January 3, 1692, he had died, a
criminal at large; and the strange circumstances of his death became
the talk of London. While the event was still a sensation, the
bookseller Abel Roper rushed his "last will and testament" lives into
print. The first to appear was _Diego Redivivus_, reprinted here from
the rare copy at the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library. Evidence
for the publication of _Diego Redivivus_ before _The Notorious
Impostor_ is fairly conclusive. _The Registers of the Worshipful
Company of Stationers_ (III, 397) enters _Diego Redivivus_, on behalf
of Abel Roper, for January 12, 1692, and _The Term Catalogues_ (II,
392) advertises _The Notorious Impostor_ in the quarterly issue
published in February, but Anthony Wood (III, 384) states that he
bought his copy of the latter "in the beginning of March." A comparison
of the two texts, moreover, supports this order of the publication.
Events in _Diego Redivivus_, as in a news story, have greater
immediacy. Morrell's death, the title asserts, took place the third
of "this instant January." The specific detail of _Diego_ (p. 2:
"about a fortnight before _Christmas_") is paralleled by the general
statement of _The Notorious Impostor_ (p. 30: "Some few days before
_Christmas_"). Although its title-page promises a "Full Relation" of
Morrell's cheats, _Diego Redivivus_ presents only the final "will"
episode, whereas _The Notorious Impostor_ ranges over the whole
criminal career. Both narratives have in common the long will and
codicil, except that _The Notorious Impostor_ (p. 34) drastically
shortens the Latin passage which, in _Diego Redivivus_ (p. 10),
states that the will had been probated. Even more conclusive evidence
may be found in comparing the dates of the final events in the two
accounts. _Diego Redivivus_, licensed on January 12, stops short with
the humble burial of Morrell on January 13. Considerably later,
certainly, must be the occurrence described in the Postscript of _The
Notorious Impostor_: the nurse's and assistants' recollection that
Morrell was laughing to himself in his last grim cheating of the
world.
Part One of _The Notorious Impostor_, as the sequel informs us, met
with a "general Reception." Advertised in the February issue of _The
Term Catalogues_, also, was a separate continuation. Interest in the
impostor did not diminish during February. "The Death of _William
Morrell_," complained _The Gentleman's Journal_ of this month, "hath
made too much Noise not to have reach'd you before this.... Had not his
Will and Life been printed, I would have given you a large Account of
both." The anonymous writer refers here, perhaps, to _Diego Redivivus_
("Will") and _The Notorious Impostor_ ("Life") in the order of their
publication. He then ironically lauds, in the verses of "_William
Morrell's_ Epitaph," the great skill of the impostor ("Columbus-like I
a new World descry'd, / Of Roguery before untry'd").
Elkanah Settle's two parts of _The Notorious Impostor_ were | 1,087.255718 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
HENRIE THE SIXT,
sonne and heire to Henrie the fift.
[Sidenote: 1422.]
[Sidenote: An. Reg. 1.]
[Sidenote: _Buchan lib. 10._]
After that death had bereft the world of that noble prince king
Henrie the fift, his onelie sonne prince Henrie, being of the age of
nine moneths, or thereabouts, with the sound of trumpets was openlie
proclamed king of England and France the thirtith daie of August, by
the name of Henrie the sixt; in the yeare of the world fiue thousand,
three hundred, eightie and nine, after the birth of our Sauiour 1422,
about the twelfe yeare of the emperour Frederike the third, the fortith
and two and last of Charles the sixt, and the third yeare of Mordaks
regiment (after his father Robert) gouernour of Scotland. The custodie
of this yoong prince was appointed to Thomas duke of Excester, & to
Henrie Beauford bishop of Winchester. The duke of Bedford was deputed
regent of France, and the duke of Glocester was ordeined protectour of
England; who taking vpon him that office, called to him wise and graue
councellors, by whose aduise he prouided and tooke order as well for
the good gouernment of the realme & subiects of the same at home, as
also for the maintenance of the warres abroad, and further conquest to
be made in France, appointing valiant and expert capteins, which should
be readie, when need required. Besides this, he gathered great summes
of monie to mainteine men of warre, and left nothing forgotten that
might aduance the good estate of the realme.
While these things were a dooing in England, the duke of Bedford regent
of France studied most earnestlie, not onelie to keepe and well order
the countries by king Henrie late conquered; but also determined not
to leaue off warre & trauell, till Charles the Dolphin (which was
now aflote, because king Charles his father in the moneth of October
in this present yeare was departed to God) should either be subdued,
or brought to obeisance. And suerlie the death of this king Charles
caused alterations in France. For a great manie of the nobilitie,
which before, either for feare of the English puissance, or for the
loue of this king Charles (whose authoritie they followed) held on
the English part, did now reuolt to the Dolphin, with all indeuour
to driue the English nation out of the French territories. Whereto
they were the more earnestlie bent, and thought it a thing of greater
facilitie, because of king Henries yoong yeares; whome (because he was
a child) they esteemed not, but with one consent reuolted from their
sworne fealtie: as the recorder of the Englishmens battels with forren
nations, verie aptlie doth note, saieng:
Hic Franci puerum regem neglectui habentes
Desciscunt, violatque fidem gens perfida sacro
Consilio ante datam.
The duke of Bedford being greatlie mooued with these sudden changes,
fortified his townes both with garrisons of men, munition, and
vittels, assembled also a great armie of Englishmen and Normans, and
so effectuouslie exhorted them to continue faithfull to their liege
and lawfull lord yoong king Henrie, that manie of the French capteins
willinglie sware to king Henrie fealtie and obedience, by whose example
the communaltie did the same. Thus the people quieted, and the countrie
established in order, nothing was minded but warre, and nothing spoken
of but conquest.
[Sidenote: Pont Meulan surprised by the Fr[=e]ch.]
[Sidenote: 1423.]
[Sidenote: _Enguerant._]
The Dolphin which lay the same time in the citie of Poitiers, after
his fathers deceasse, caused himselfe to be proclamed king of France,
by the name of Charles the seuenth: and in good hope to recouer his
patrimonie, with an haultie courage preparing war, assembled a great
armie: and first the warre began by light skirmishes, but after it grew
into maine battels. The Dolphin thinking not to lose anie occasions
of well dooing, sent the lord Grauile to the towne of Pont Meulan,
standing on the riuer of Seine, who comming to the same vpon the
sudden, the fourteenth of Ianuarie, tooke it and slue a great number of
English souldiors, which he found within it.
[Sidenote: Lord Grauile falsified his oth.]
When the duke of Bedford the regent, aduertised of this sudden
surprise, appointed the lord Thomas Montacute earle of Salisburie (a
man both for policie and courage, liker to the old Romans than to men
of his daies) accompanied with the earle of Suffolke, the lord Scales,
the yoong lord Poinings, sir Iohn Fastolfe maister of the houshold,
with himselfe and diuerse others, to besiege the said towne of Pont
Meulan, which after two moneths siege was rendred to the said earle,
and the lord Grauile sware to be true to the king of England euer after
that day: but shortlie after, forgetting his oth, he turned French
againe.
The earle of Salisburie appointed sir Henrie Mortimer, and sir Richard
Vernon, capteins of the towne, and from thence went into Champaigne,
and there besieged the towne of Sens, tooke it, and sir William Marin
the capteine within it, and slue all the souldiors that kept it, made
capteins there sir Hugh Godding, and sir Richard Aubemond. [pilcrow] In this
season, Humfrie duke of Glocester, either striken in loue, or vpon some
other occasion, maried the ladie Iaquet or Iaquelin, daughter and sole
heire to William of Bauier duke of Holland, which was lawfull wife to
Iohn duke of Brabant then liuing, who afterwards (as after ye shall
heare) recouered hir out of the dukes hands.
[Sidenote: Affinitie an interteiner of friendship.]
The chances thus happening (as you before haue heard) Iohn duke of
Bedford, Philip duke of Burgognie, and Iohn duke of Britaine made a
freendlie meeting in the citie of Amiens, where they renewed the old
league and ancient amitie made betweene the noble prince king Henrie
the fift and them, adding thereto these conditions and agreements, ech
of them to be to the other freend and aider; and the enimie of the one
to be enimie to the other; and all they to be freends and aiders to
the king of England, welwiller to his welwillers, and aduersarie to
his aduersaries. And (bicause that affinitie is commonlie the bond of
amitie) there was concluded a mariage betweene the duke of Bedford,
and the ladie Anne sister to the duke of Burgognie, which was after
solemnized at Trois in Champaigne, in the presence of the duke of
Burgognie brother to the bride, and of hir vncle the duke of Brabant,
the earles of Salisburie and Suffolke, and of nine hundred lords,
knights, and esquiers, with such feast and triumph, as before that time
had not beene seene of the Burgognions.
[Sidenote: The Parisiens preuented of their practises.]
Whilest these matters were in hand, the Parisiens, thinking to blind
the eies of the duke of Bedford, wrote to him how diuerse castels and
fortresses lieng about their territories, were replenished with their
enimies, dailie stopping their passages, and robbing their merchants,
to their vtter vndooing, if they by his helpe were not relieued. But
this was but a glose of the Parisiens, meaning to cause him to go about
the winning of some strong hold, whilest they in his absence might
bring into the citie Charles the Dolphin, that then called himselfe
French king; for so had they appointed, assigning to him the daie of
his comming, and the post of his entrie. But their practise being
discouered to the duke of Bedford, he with a great power entered into
Paris, one daie before the faire was appointed, & two nights before he
was looked for of his enimies being vnprouided, and suddenlie caused
the conspirators within the citie to be apprehended, and openlie to be
put to execution.
This doone, putting a mistrust in the Parisiens, he caused the castels
and fortresses neere and adioining to the citie, to be furnished with
Englishmen. And to auoid all night-watchers about Paris, and the
confines thereof, he first tooke into his possession either by assault
or composition, the towne of Trainelle and Braie vpon Seine. And
bicause two castels, the one called Pacie, and the other Coursaie were
also euil neighbours to the Parisiens, he sent sir Iohn Fastolfe great
maister of his houshold with a notable armie to win the same castels;
which he did, and with preie and prisoners returned backe againe to his
maister the regent.
[Sidenote: The English armie entreth the riuer and winneth the banke.]
In this verie season, the Dolphin sent the lord William Steward earle
of Buchquhane that was constable of France, and the earle of Ventadour
in Auuergne, and manie other noble men of his part, to laie siege to
the towne of Crauant in the countie of Auxerre, within the parts of
Burgognie. Wherof hearing the lord regent, and the duke of Burgognie
they assembled a great armie, and appointed the earle of Salisburie
to haue the guiding thereof; who with his capteins and men of warre,
English and Burgognions, came in good arraie to giue battell to the
besiegers. And bicause the riuer of Yonne, which runneth by the said
towne, was betweene the English armie, and their aduersaries, they
could not well assaile their enimies, which defended the bankes and
passages verie stronglie: yet notwithstanding, both horssemen and
footmen of the English part couragiouslie put themselues into the
riuer, and with fine force recouered the banke, whome the Burgognions
incontinentlie followed.
When they were all gotten into the plaine, the archers shot, the
bill men strake, and long was the fight in doubtfull balance. But in
conclusion the Frenchmen not able to resist the force of the English
nation, were discomfited, slaine, and chased, leauing a glorious
victorie to the Englishmen and Burgognions. There were slaine of the
Frenchmen an eighteene hundred knights and esquiers, beside commons:
of Scots neere hand three thousand. Amongest the Frenchmen these were
chiefest that were slaine: the earle of Lestrake, the earl of Comigens,
the earle of Tonnoire, the lord Coquart de Comeron, the bastard of
Arminake, the viscount of Touraine, the bastard of Forrestes, the lord
de Port, and the lord Memorancie.
Of Scots the lord of saint Iohns towne, sir Iohn of Balgarie, sir
Iohn Turnbull, sir Iohn Holiburton, sir Robert Lislie, sir William
Coningham, sir William Dowglas, sir Alexander Hume, sir William Lislie,
sir Iohn Rotherford, sir William Craiford, sir Thomas Seton, sir
William Hamilton, and his sonne, Iohn Pillot. There were taken the
earle of Buchquhane constable of France, which lost his eie, the earle
of Ventadour, sir Alexander Meldrine, sir Lewes Ferignie, and two and
twentie hundred gentlemen of the French part. Of Englishmen there were
slaine sir Iohn Greie, sir William Hall, sir Gilbert Halsall one of the
marshals of the field, Richard ap Madocke, and one and twentie hundred
souldiers and men of warre.
[Sidenote: An. Reg. 2]
After this fortunate victorie was the earle of Salisburie made (by
the lord regent) lieutenant and vicegerent for the king and the said
lord regent in the countries of France, Brie, and Champaigne; and sir
Iohn Fastolf was substituted deputie vnder the lord regent within the
duchie of Normandie on this side the riuer of Seine; and withall he
was also made gouernour of the countries of Aniou and Maine. The earle
of Salisburie after fiue moneths siege, wan by surrender the towne and
castell of Montaguillon in Brie; the capteins whereof, the one named
Pregent of Cotinie, and Guille Bourgois Britons, sware neuer to beare
armour against the Englishmen on this side the riuer of Loire. In the
mean time of that siege, the earle of Suffolke tooke by force the
castell of Coucie, and the strong castell of la Roch in Masconnois he
got by appointment.
[Sidenote: 1424]
[Sidenote: _Ann. 1423, per Buchanan._]
[Sidenote: Homage doone by the king of Scotland to king Henrie the
sixt.]
In this second yeare of king Henrie the sixt, Iames (the first of
that name & the hundred & second K. of Scotland, tooke to wife the
ladie Iane, daughter to Iohn earle of Summerset deceassed, and sister
to Iohn then duke of Summerset, and also coosine germane remoued to
king Henrie, and neece to the duke of Winchester, and to the duke of
Excester) was set at libertie, couenanting to paie a small portion
of monie more than was allowed to him for his wiues marriage monie,
and left hostages for the same. But before his departure out of the
realme, he did his homage vnto the the yoong king of England Henrie the
sixt at the castell of Windsor, before three dukes, two archbishops,
twelue earles, ten bishops, twentie barons, and two hundred knights
and esquiers, beside others, in order of words according to the tenour
hereafter following.
The formall recognisance or acknowledgement of the said homage.
I, IAMES STEWARD, K. of Scots, shall be true and faithfull vnto you
lord Henrie by the grace | 1,087.255859 |
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Transcriber's note:
The original text includes Greek characters that have been
replaced with transliterations in this text version.
OLD ROME:
A Handbook to the Ruins of the City and the Campagna.
by
ROBERT BURN, M.A.,
Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
Being an Epitome of His Larger Work 'Rome and the Campagna.'
[Illustration]
London: George Bell and Sons, York Street,
Covent Garden.
Cambridge: Deighton, Bell, & Co.
1880.
[The Right of Translation is reserved.]
London:
Printed by William Clowes and Sons,
Stamford Street and Charing Cross.
PREFACE.
This book is intended to serve as a handbook to the actually-existing
ruins and monuments of ancient Rome and the Campagna. It is divided into
topographical sections for the convenience of travellers visiting Rome,
and the monuments which exist in each section have been briefly described,
and a summary given of their history and archaeological value.
The introductory section contains general remarks upon the site,
monumental history, and architecture of Rome; and in a section prefixed to
Chapter IX. the nature of the soil and configuration of the hills and
valleys of the district surrounding the city are stated.
In the Appendix to the eighth chapter will be found a list of the chief
monumental antiquities in the museums, galleries, and other public places.
This has been thought to be useful, as these are often difficult to
recognise from being mixed with so many other attractive and important
objects of more modern art and history. All speculative conjectures as to
the probable sites or constructions of ancient buildings or places have
been avoided. Such questions require more space than can be spared in so
small a volume, and have been fully treated of in my larger work, "Rome
and the Campagna."
I have confined myself in this handbook to a brief topographical,
archaeological, and historical description of each existing ruin or
monument. The references given have been restricted to modern treatises
and to a few of the more rarely read Greek and Latin authors. Full
classical authorities are given in "Rome and the Campagna," and are
referred to in the foot-notes of this handbook.
The importance of topographical and archaeological knowledge, in enabling
us to realise the history of ancient life, both national and social, is
fortunately becoming more and more generally recognised. The early growth
and characteristic features of the Roman commonwealth can be traced in
great measure to the conformation of the ground on which the community was
first developed. Such local influences are among the highest and most
philosophical parts of historical investigation, and have a most important
value in enabling us to form an estimate of the truth of statements made
by the ancient writers of history.
Besides this interest which pervades the early stage of Roman history,
there is also a natural connection, by way of cause or explanation,
between the events of later times and the localities in which they
occurred; and this in social as well as in national history. Many Roman
customs and usages, now extinct, are illustrated and realised by the
knowledge gained from monuments of ancient architecture and art. And
again, the spirit of Roman literature is more fully sympathised with, and
its difficult passages and allusions are frequently elucidated by the
light of archaeological knowledge.
Thus there is not only the poetical and imaginative satisfaction, which is
usually felt most vividly in treading the soil, surveying the scenes, and
breathing the air in which great historical persons lived and events
occurred, but also an element of fact which gives a firm basis of
incontestable truth to our knowledge, and which no speculative
interpretation can dissolve.
It is hoped, therefore, that even such an abridged description of ruins,
and such a summary of archaeological results as that which forms the basis
of the present volume, will not be without use to the student of history,
as well as a guide to the traveller.
In the chapter on the ruins of the Campagna I have inserted some
statements on the geological formations, and on the climate, which appear
to have influenced the history and the architecture of that district.
The books from which useful information has been derived are, in addition
to those mentioned in the list given in "Rome and the Campagna," some of
the later numbers of "Annali dell' Instituto," a small treatise called
"Guida del Palatino," by C. L. Visconti and R. A. Lanciani, and "A
Topographical Study of the Roman Forum," by Mr. F. M. Nichols.
ROBERT BURN.
CAMBRIDGE.
_Sept. 24, 1879._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER I.
THE PALATINE AND VELIA 14
CHAPTER II.
THE FORUM ROMANUM 38
CHAPTER III.
THE COLISEUM AND ESQUILINE 58
CHAPTER IV.
THE IMPERIAL FORA AND THE CAPITOLIUM 83
CHAPTER V.
THE VELABRUM AND THE CIRCUS FLAMINIUS 103
CHAPTER VI.
PANTHEON, COLUMN OF MARCUS AURELIUS, MAUSOLEUM OF
AUGUSTUS, MAUSOLEUM OF HADRIAN, AND NEIGHBOURHOOD 127
CHAPTER VII.
THE QUIRINAL HILL--BATHS OF DIOCLETIAN--AGGER OF
SERVIUS--CASTRA PRAETORIA 153
CHAPTER VIII.
THE AVENTINE AND CAELIAN HILLS 161
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIII. MONUMENTAL ANTIQUITIES IN THE
MUSEUMS, PIAZZAS, AND OTHER PLACES 177
INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER IX 185
CHAPTER | 1,087.26131 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the
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THE
QUARTERLY REVIEW.
NO. CCCXXIV. APRIL, 1886. VOL. CLXII.
CONTENTS:
I. Matthew Parish
II. The Christian Brothers.--Religious Schools in France and England.
III. Archives of the Venetian Republic.
IV. Yeomen Farmers in Norway.
V. Oliver Cromwell: his character illustrated by himself.
VI. Travels in the British Empire.
VII. The Bishop of Durham on the Ignatian Epistles.
VIII. Books and Reading.
IX. Characteristics of Democracy.
X. The Gladstone-Morley Administration.
PHILADELPHIA:
LEONARD SCOTT PUBLICATION COMPANY,
1104 WALNUT STREET.
THE
LEONARD SCOTT PUBLICATION CO'S.,
PERIODICALS.
Single Copies for sale by the following Dealers in Cities named:
BALTIMORE, MD., Baltimore News Co., Sun. Iron Building.
BOSTON, MASS., Cupples, Upham & Co., 283 Washington St.
CHICAGO, ILL., Brentano Bros., 101 State St.
CINCINNATI, OHIO. Robert Clarke & Co., 61 West 4th, St.
HALIFAX, NOVA SCO., T. C. Allen & Co., 124 Granville St.
HAMILTON, CANADA. J. Eastwood & Co.,
MONTREAL, CANADA. Dawson Bros., 233 St. James St.
NEW ORLEANS, LA., Geo. F. Wharton & Bro., 5 Carondelet St.
NEW YORK CITY, N. Y., Brentano Bros., 5 Union Square.
PHILADELPHIA, PA., Leonard Scott Pub. Co., 1104 Walnut St.
PROVIDENCE, R. I., S. S. Rider.
RICHMOND, VA., Beckwith & Parham.
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., J. C. Scott. 22 Third St.
ST. JOHN, N. B., A. & J. McMillan. 98 Prince William St.
ST. LOUIS, MO., St. Louis News Co.,
TORONTO, CANADA. Hart & Co., 31 King St., W.
VICTORIA, BR. COL., T. H. Hibben & Co., Masonic Building.
WASHINGTON, D. C., Brentano Bros., 1015 Penna. Av.
_Annual Subscriptions Received by all Booksellers and Newsdealers._
THE LEONARD SCOTT PUB. CO.,
1104 WALNUT STREET.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
CONTENTS OF NO. 324.
Art. Page
I.--Matthaei Parisiensis, Monachi Sancti Albani, Chronica
Majora. Edited by Henry Richards Luard, D.D., Fellow of
Trinity College, Registrary of the University, and Vicar of
Great St. Mary's Cambridge. Published by the Authority of
the Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's Treasury, under the
direction of the Master of the Rolls. 7 vols. 8vo. London,
Vol I. 1872--Vol. VII. 1883. 293
II.--1. The Christian Brothers, their Origin and Work, with
a sketch of the Life of their Founder, The Venerable Jean
Baptiste de la Salle. By Mrs. R. F. Wilson. London, 1883.
2. La Premiere Annee d'Instruction Morale et Civique:
notions de droit et d'economie politique (Textes et Recits)
pour repondre a la loi du 28 Mars 1882 sur l'enseignement
primaire obligatoire: ouvrage accompagne de Resume, de
Questionnaires, de Devoirs, et d'un Lexique des mots
difficiles. Par Pierre Laloi. Quatorzieme Edition. Paris,
1885.
3. Report of the Committee of Council on Education (England
and Wales). 1884-85.
4. Seventy-fourth Annual Report of the Incorporated National
Society. 1885. 325
III.--The State Papers of the Venetian Republic; namely,
Cancelleria Inferiore, Cancelleria Ducale, Cancelleria
Secreta, preserved in the Convent of the Frari, at Venice.
356
IV.--1. Journal of a Residence in Norway during the years
1834, 1835, and 1836. By Samuel Laing, Esq. London, 1837.
2. Le Royaume de Norvege et le Peuple Norvegien. Par le Dr.
O. I. Broch. Christiania, 1878.
3. Official Reports of Prefects on the Economic Condition of
the Provinces of Norway in 1876-80. Christiania, 1884.
4. Publications of the Statistical Bureau Christiania. 384
V.--A Collection of the State Papers of John Thurloe, Esq.;
Secretary, first to the Council of State, and afterwards to
the Two Protectors, Oliver and Richard Cromwell. In Seven
Volumes, containing authentic Memorials of the English
affairs from the year 1638 to the Restoration of King
Charles II. Vol. III. London, 1742. 414
VI.--1. Oceana, or England and her Colonies. By James
Anthony Froude. London, 1886.
2. Through the British Empire. By Baron von Huebner. 2. vols.
London, 1886.
3. The Western Pacific and New Guinea. By Hugh Hastings
Romilly, Deputy Commissioner of the Western Pacific. London,
1886. 443
VII.--The Apostolic Fathers: S. Ignatius, S. Polycarp.
Revised Texts, with Introductions, Notes, Dissertations, and
Translations. By J. B. Lightfoot, D.D., D.C.L., LL.D.,
Bishop of Durham. London, 1885. 2 vols. 467
VIII.--1. An Address delivered to the Students of Edinburgh
University on Nov. 3, 1885. By the Earl of Iddesleigh, Lord
Rector of the University of Edinburgh.
2. Hearing, Reading and Thinking: an address to the Students
attending the Lectures of the London Society for the
Extension of University Teaching. By the Rt. Hon. G. J.
Goschen, M.P.
3. The Choice of Books and other Literary Pieces. By
Frederic Harrison. London, 1886. 501
IX.--1. Popular Government. Four Essays. By Sir Henry Sumner
Maine. Second Edition. London, 1886.
2. Democracy in America. By Alexis de Tocqueville.
Translated by Henry Reeve. New Edition. London, 1862.
3. On the State of Society in France before the Revolution
of 1789. Translated by Henry Reeve. Second Edition. London,
1873. 518
And other Works.
X.--1. Fourth Midlothian Campaign. Political Speeches
delivered, November, 1885, by the Right Hon. W. E.
Gladstone, M.P. Edinburgh, 1886.
2. John Morley: The Irish Record of the New Chief Secretary,
1886.
3. Ireland: A Book of Light on the Irish Problem. Edited by
Andrew Reid. London, 1886. 544
And other Works.
ART. I.--_Matthaei Parisiensis, Monachi Sancti Albani, Chronica Majora._
Edited by Henry Richards Luard, D.D., Fellow of Trinity College,
Registrary of the University, and Vicar of Great St. Mary's, Cambridge.
Published by the Authority of the Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's
Treasury, under the direction of the Master of the Rolls. 7 vols. 8vo.
London, Vol. I. 1872--Vol. VII. 1883.
Some of our readers are not likely yet to have forgotten the remarkable
essay which the late Professor Brewer contributed to our pages in 1871,
and which has since been reprinted in the volume of 'English Studies,'
published shortly after the author's death in 1879. English History owes
a larger debt to few men of our time than it owes to Mr. Brewer. As a
teacher whose pupils were always eager to listen to all that fell from
his lips, and whose enthusiasm never failed to awake a kindred spark in
the minds of those who looked to him for light in dark places and
guidance along tortuous paths of research, Mr. Brewer has had few
equals, and perhaps has left no successor who can compare with him. As a
writer he was always brilliant, lucid, and vigorous, and his unrivalled
'Introductions' to the Calendars of Letters and Papers, concerned with
the reign of Henry VIII., will long continue to be read by all students
of our History, as necessary and indispensable interpreters of the vast
storehouses of original documents which he did so much to rescue from
the oblivion or obscurity to which they had previously been consigned.
But it was as an organizer of research that Mr. Brewer earned his
greatest fame and achieved his greatest success, and it was to him more
than to any one man, to his immense persistence in urging upon the
powers that be a more generous freedom of access to our Records, and to
his prodigious powers of work in arranging and tabulating the enormous
masses of documents of all kinds which constitute the _Apparatus_ of
English History, that this country stands indebted, and will remain
indebted as long as our literature lasts.
In the Essay on 'New Sources of English History' the learned author has
given us a startling account of the deplorable condition into which some
of the most precious of our national manuscripts had been allowed to
fall--of the utterly chaotic state of our depositories--of the
hopelessness, the despair which must needs have come upon one student
after another who might be fortunate enough to be turned loose into the
various prison-houses of our muniments--and of the efforts made, and
happily at last made with splendid success, to cleanse the Augean
stable, and to let the world know something of the wealth it contained.
With characteristic modesty Mr. Brewer said nothing of his own part in
all that laborious and sagacious organization which resulted in our
obtaining the magnificent _Calendars_, which have opened out to us all
'that new world which is the old' that had become almost forgotten or
unknown. He was not the man to assert himself, he knew that posterity
would give him his due, but with a simple desire to stimulate research,
and to show how much remained to be done, and how much to be discovered
and made known, he drew the attention of his readers chiefly and
primarily to the value of the Calendars, and to the important results
which those Calendars had already produced, and were destined to produce
hereafter. He had quite enough to say upon this point, and if his life
had been spared, it is probable that he would eventually have given us a
more comprehensive account of the series of volumes which, though now
issuing from the press _pari passu_ with the Calendars, were originally
undertaken a little later. Such an Essay by such a master would indeed
have been an important aid to the student, but at the time of Mr.
Brewer's lamented death the day had hardly come for such a _resume_; and
even now, though so much has been achieved, so much and so well, the
hour has hardly arrived nor the man for taking a comprehensive survey,
and giving to the public an intelligent and intelligible account of that
other Library of Chronicles, and biographies, and letters, and
cartularies, and those other memorials of the Middle Ages in England,
which it is to be feared are hardly as well known as they ought to be,
nor as widely studied as they deserve.
Meanwhile it is high time that attention should be drawn to that noble
series of volumes now issuing from the press under the editorship of
scholars whose reputation is assured, and whose work continues to
enhance their reputation--high time that we should begin to do something
like justice to the labourers, who have deserved so well at the hands
of such Englishmen as have any sentiment of loyalty to the great
thoughts, the great doings, and the noble lives of their forefathers.
The philosopher, who 'holds the mirror up to nature,' has not of late,
as a rule, missed his reward. The historian, who in his dogged, patient,
toilsome fashion holds the mirror up to the life of bygone ages, has
received among us scant recognition, and generally is rewarded with but
barren honour. What has been done and still is doing will be best
understood by briefly reviewing the progress of that movement, which has
brought about the great revival of English Historical study, and under
the influence of which the opinions and convictions of educated men have
passed through a very decided change, one destined to produce still
greater and more unlooked for changes of sentiment and belief before the
present century shall have closed.
It is just fifty years since 'the Father of Record Reform,' as he has
been justly called, received his patent creating him Master of the
Rolls. Although as far back as the year 1800 a Commission was issued for
the methodizing and digesting the National Records, and for printing
such calendars and indexes as should be thought advisable; and though
during the next twenty-seven years many works of supreme interest and
importance were printed at the public expense, the enormous extent of
our National Records were known to few, and the difficulty of consulting
them, (dispersed as they were through a score of different depositories)
was enough to deter all but the most resolute enquirers. It was Lord
Langdale who first set himself to reduce the chaos of our archives into
something like order. When the old Record Commission expired in 1837, it
was by Lord Langdale's influence that the Public Record Act was passed
on the 14th of August, 1838, whereby the Records named therein were
placed under the custody of the Master of the Rolls for the time being,
and hereupon a new era began. Nevertheless it was not till July 1850
that a vote was obtained from the Treasury for the erection of a
national depository, wherein our vast archives should be assembled under
a single roof, and not till 1855 that the magnificent _Tabularium_ in
Fetter Lane was opened for the reception of our muniments.
Lord Langdale died in April 1851;[1] he was succeeded in the Mastership
of the Rolls by Lord Romilly, then Sir John. A happier choice could not
have been made. To Lord Langdale belongs the credit of carrying out the
grand scheme for consolidating the various collections of documents,
which, as we have said, had up to this time been widely dispersed, and
the very existence of the larger mass of which was known only to a few
experts. To Lord Romilly we owe it that the great original sources of
English History so assembled have been rendered accessible to any
student who desires to consult them; and it is to him, too, that we are
indebted for the issue of that unrivalled series of 'Chronicles and
Memorials of Great Britain and Ireland, from the Invasion of the Romans
to the Reign of Henry VIII.,' which has laid the foundation for a
science of history firmer and deeper and wider than before was believed
to be even attainable.
Great men are at once the leaders and the product of their age. When
Lord Langdale set himself to his task he was only attempting that which
had been talked of since the reign of Edward II. For five centuries the
unification of our National Records had been recommended and advised by
lawyers, statesmen, and scholars from generation to generation, but no
practical scheme had ever been suggested, and the difficulties in the
way of reform were supposed to be insuperable. It was a Herculean task,
and one that grew ever more arduous the longer it was postponed. During
the first quarter of the present century profound dissatisfaction had
begun to be felt at the condition of our historical literature. The
ordinary text-books were full of fables, more than suspected to be
fables, and which yet it was extremely difficult to disprove
satisfactorily. Theories which had long passed current were being rudely
assailed, and yet--in the face of the obstacles that hindered
research--stubbornly held their ground, or were repeated with peremptory
dogmatism. A deep distrust of the old methods and the old assumptions
had given rise to a widespread desire to drag forth from their
hiding-places any documents, however dry or recondite, which might throw
some clear light upon our national life and manners, and not only upon
mere events of national importance during Medieval times. A desire to
know the truth was _in the air_. The science of history had passed out
of its infancy, and the stirrings of a new craving--the passion of
Research--were making themselves felt in that mysterious restlessness
which indicates that the old smooth-faced docility, the old childish
submission to tutelage, the old unquestioning acceptance of authority,
has gone for ever, and a new life has begun. The year before Lord
Langdale received his appointment as Master of the Rolls, the Surtees
Society had been founded for the printing of unedited MSS. illustrative
of the history of the northern counties; and in the same year that the
old Record Commission expired, the English Historical Society was
started, a society which numbered amongst its promoters such men as the
late Mr. Kemble, Mr. H. O. Coxe, Sir T. Duffus Hardy, and Mr.
Stevenson--the leaders and teachers of that school of younger men who
have so ably followed in the steps of their seniors, and who, mounting
on the shoulders of the giants, have gained a wider view than it was
given to those others to attain. The five years that followed saw the
foundation of the Camden, the Percy, and the Chetham Societies, not to
mention many another that has done useful work in its way. The labours
of these pioneers soon made it quite apparent that the sources of our
national history--social, ecclesiastical, and political--were quite too
voluminous for private enterprise to deal with, and would demand the
co-operation of a body of trained scholars and the resources of the
public exchequer to make them available as apparatus for the teachers of
the future.
On the 26th of January, 1857, Sir John Romilly submitted to the Treasury
his memorable proposal for the publication of certain materials for the
History of England;[2] and on the 9th of February a Treasury Minute was
put forth approving of the plan that had been drawn up as one 'well
calculated for the accomplishment of this important national object in
an effectual and satisfactory manner within a reasonable time.'
Forthwith arrangements were made for the issue of that series of works
which is now known as the 'Rolls Series,' a collection which has already
extended to upwards of 200 volumes.
The lines laid down by Sir John Romilly were almost exactly those which
had been followed by the English Historical Society. Every editor was to
'give an account of the MSS. employed by him, of their age and their
peculiarities;' he was to add 'a brief account of the life and times of
the author, and any remarks necessary to explain the chronology; _but no
other note or comment_ was to be allowed, except what might be necessary
to establish the correctness of the text.' The restriction was
absolutely necessary if only for this, that when the 'Rolls Series' was
first commenced even the most accomplished of its editors were mere
learners. The time had not yet arrived for comments. The text was wanted
first in its completeness and integrity.
Looking back to this period--little more than a quarter of a century
ago--it is difficult for us to realize the deplorable condition into
which our historical literature had been allowed to fall. Kemble's great
work, the 'Codex Diplomaticus aevi Saxonici,' the first volume of which
appeared in 1839, and his 'History of the Saxons in England,' published
in 1849, came upon the great body of intelligent men as the revelation
of new things. It is sufficient to turn to the chapter on the
Constitutional History of England before the Conquest, in Hallam's
'History of the Middle Ages,' to be assured how meagre and superficial
even Hallam's knowledge was of everything before the Norman invasion. It
was no fault of his; he made good use of all such materials as were then
accessible to the student--that is, all such as had been printed; for
that incomparably larger _apparatus_ which since Hallam's days has been
published to the world, it was for all practical purposes as if it had
never existed at all. Even men of culture and learning were persuaded
that all that was ever likely to be known about the religious houses had
been collected in the new edition of Dugdale's 'Monasticon.' It is
hardly too much to say that of the history of English monasticism Hallam
knew nothing. Dr. Lingard himself had very little more to say of the
great Abbeys than his predecessors, and had a very inadequate conception
of the part they played in the development of our institutions; and when
Dr. Maitland wrote his brilliant 'Essays on the Dark Ages,' he hardly
names St. Edmundsbury or St. Alban's, and though one of his most
fascinating chapters is concerned with the early days of Croyland, his
only authority for the beautiful story, which he has handled so
skilfully, is a romantic narrative attributed to Ingulphus, which has
been demonstrated to be a somewhat clumsy though a clever forgery. Of
the Mendicant Orders--of the work they did, of the influence they
exercised, and of the attitude adopted towards them in the 13th century
by the parochial clergy on the one hand, and by the monks on the
other--even less was known, if less were possible, than of their
wealthier rivals.
Two years had scarcely elapsed since the issue of the Treasury Minute of
February, 1857, before it began to be said that the history of England
would have to be written anew. In the single year 1858 _eleven_ works of
the highest importance were printed, and it was evident that neither
original materials nor scholarly editors would be wanting to make the
'Rolls Series' all that it was desired it should become. The 'Chronicles
of the Monasteries of Abingdon and of St. Augustine at Canterbury,' the
contemporary 'Life of Edward the Confessor,' and the priceless
'Monumenta Franciscana,' telling the wonderful story of the settlement
of the Minorites among us, were printed from unique MSS. Next year the
'Chronicle of John of Oxnedes' was brought out by Sir Henry Ellis, and
the 'Historia Anglicana' of Bartholomew Cotton, by Dr. Luard, neither
work having ever before been printed. Volume followed volume in rapid
succession, a steady improvement becoming observable in the style of
editing, as the several editors became more familiar with the results of
their predecessors' labours.
It was while working at Bartholomew Cotton that Dr. Luard was brought
into intimate relations with the 13th century. Hitherto the _composite_
character of such chronicles as had been published had indeed been
perceived, but no attempt had been made to trace the original authority
for statements repeated in the same words by one writer after another.
Dr. Luard opened out a new line of enquiry, and in his edition of
Cotton's Chronicle he endeavoured to distinguish in every instance the
material which might fairly be called original from that which his
author had borrowed from older writers and incorporated into his text.
The borrowed matter was printed in smaller type, and the sources from
which it had been derived were indicated by references given at the foot
of the page. Cottons' own additions were printed in a bolder type, so as
at once to catch the eye. While conducting the laborious researches
necessitated by this new method of editing his text, it became clear to
Dr. Luard that Cotton had borrowed largely from Matthew Paris--who had
lived just a generation before him--and that he had also borrowed from a
mysterious writer much read in the 14th and 15th centuries, who went by
the name of Matthew of Westminster. As to this Matthew of Westminster,
Dr. Luard postponed dealing with him till some future time. He might
prove a mere mythic personage, and it was suspected he would; but
Matthew Paris was certainly no shadow, but a very real man, whose
greatness seemed to grow greater the more he was studied and the better
he was known. Yet as Dr. Luard became more familiar with the text of
Paris, he was soon convinced that in its printed form it was bristling
with the grossest inaccuracies of all kinds. Originally it had been
published under the authority of Archbishop Parker in 1571; and though
other editions had appeared, in this country and on the Continent,
several times since then, Paris's great work had remained exactly in the
same state as Parker (or whoever his agent was) had left it three
centuries ago. That is to say, that by far the most important work on
English history during the 13th century--not to mention European
affairs--and by far the most minute and trustworthy picture of English
life and manners during the reign of Henry III.--a record, too, drawn
up by a contemporary writer of rare genius and literary skill--was
defaced by blunders, audacious tampering with the text and gross
inaccuracies, to such an extent that no conscientious student could
allow himself to quote the printed work without first referring to one
of the very MSS. which the Archbishop professed to have used.
Nevertheless, the task of bringing out a critical edition of the
'Chronica Majora' did not appear less formidable as fresh sources of
information cropped up; and Dr. Luard shrank from the immense labour
that such an edition involved, it was because he had formed a correct
notion of its magnitude. In 1861 he brought out in the same series the
'Letters of Robert Grosseteste,' the heroic and magnanimous Bishop of
Lincoln; and while working at this volume, the England of the 13th
century became more and more alive and present to the mind of the
student.
But distinctly and grandly as one noble character after another revealed
itself, there was a strange mist that required to be dispelled before
even the importance of great events could be rightly estimated. The
inner life of the monasteries, great and small, must be enquired into,
so far as it was possible to get any information on so obscure a
subject; and, above all, the paramount influence which so magnificent an
institution as the Abbey of St. Alban's exercised upon the intellectual
life of the country must be studied with patient impartiality. Before a
scholar with so lofty an ideal of an editor's duty could venture upon
his _magnum opus_, there was indeed an enormous mass of preliminary work
to get through. The horizon seemed to widen everywhere as the years of
historical discovery went on. It was left to Mr. Riley to attack that
wonderful collection of documents to which he gave the title of
'Chronica Monasterii Sancti Albani'--a series occupying twelve thick
volumes, and which furnish us not | 1,087.261451 |
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Produced by Jill Diffendal. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
by
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
PREFACE
For an explanation of the allusions in the present Tale, scarcely any
Notes are necessary, save a reference to the bewitching Chronicle of
Froissart; and we cannot but hope that our sketch may serve as an
inducement to some young readers to make acquaintance with the
delectable old Canon for themselves, undeterred by the size of his
tomes.
The story of Orthon is almost verbally copied from him, and bears a
curious resemblance to various German legends--such as that of
"Heinzelman," to be found in Keightley's "Fairy Mythology," and to
"Teague of the Lea," as related in Croker's "Irish Fairy Legends."
The old French "Vie de Bertrand du Guesclin" has likewise been drawn
upon for materials, and would have supplied much more of great
interest, such as Enrique of Trastamare's arrival in the disguise of a
palmer, to consult with him during his captivity at Bordeaux, and many
most curious anecdotes of his early childhood and youth.
To Breton tradition, his excellent wife Epiphanie Raguenel owes her
title of Tiphaine la fee, meaning that she was endowed with magic
power, which enabled her to predict what would be lucky or unlucky days
for her husband. His disregard of them was thought to have twice cost
him the loss of a battle.
We must apologize for having made Henry of Lancaster a year or two
older than is warranted by the date of his birth.
THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
CHAPTER I
Seldom had the interior of this island presented a more peaceful and
prosperous aspect than in the reign of Edward III., when the more
turbulent spirits among his subjects had found occupation in his
foreign wars, and his wise government had established at home a degree
of plenty, tranquility, and security, such as had probably never before
been experienced in England.
Castle and cottage, church and convent, alike showed the prosperity and
safety of the inhabitants, at once by the profuseness of embellishment
in those newly erected, and by the neglect of the jealous precautions
required in former days of confusion and misrule. Thus it was with the
village of Lynwood, where, among the cottages and farm-houses occupying
a fertile valley in Somersetshire, arose the ancient Keep, built of
gray stone, and strongly fortified; but the defences were kept up
rather as appendages of the owner's rank, than as requisite for his
protection; though the moat was clear of weeds, and full of water, the
drawbridge was so well covered with hard-trodden earth, overgrown at
the edges with grass, that, in spite of the massive chains connecting
it with the gateway, it seemed permanently fixed on the ground. The
spikes of the portcullis frowned above in threatening array, but a
wreath of ivy was twining up the groove by which it had once descended,
and the archway, which by day stood hospitably open, was at night only
guarded by two large oaken doors, yielding to a slight push. Beneath
the southern wall of the castle court were various flower-beds, the
pride and delight of the old seneschal, Ralph Penrose, in his own
estimation the most important personage of Lynwood Keep, manager of the
servants, adviser of the Lady, and instructor of the young gentleman in
the exercises of chivalry.
One fine evening, old Ralph stood before the door, his bald forehead
and thin iron-gray locks unbonneted, and his dark ruddy-brown face
(marked at Halidon Hill with a deep scar) raised with an air of
deference, and yet of self | 1,087.262206 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and
Instruction, David Garcia and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XII, No. 338.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1828. [PRICE 2d.
Nelson's Monument, at Liverpool.
[Illustration]
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
In No. 270 of the MIRROR, you favoured us with a correct engraving of
the Town Hall, Liverpool, and informed us of a trophied monument erected
to the memory of Nelson in the Liverpool Exchange Buildings. Of the
latter I am happy to be able to present you with the above view.
The monument, executed in bronze by Richard Westmacott, Esq. R.A.
is erected in the area of the Liverpool Exchange Buildings, and was
completed in October, 1823. The subscription amounted to about 9,000l.
The weight of the bronze of which it is composed is estimated at upwards
of 22 tons. The figures are in the proportion of seven feet.
On a basis of Westmoreland marble stands a circular pedestal of the same
material, and peculiarly suitable in colour to the group which it
supports. At the base of the pedestal are four emblematic figures, in
the character of captives, or vanquished enemies, in allusion to Lord
Nelson's victories. The spaces between these figures, on the sides of
the pedestal, are filled by four grand bas-reliefs, executed in bronze,
representing some of the great naval actions in which Nelson was
engaged. The other parts of the pedestal are richly decorated with
lions' heads and festoons of laurel; and in a moulding round the upper
part of it is inscribed, in brass letters, pursuant to the resolution
of the general meeting, that most impressive charge delivered by the
illustrious commander previous to the commencement of the battle of
Trafalgar, "ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY."
The figures constituting the principal design are Nelson, Victory, and
Death: his Country mourning for her loss, and her Navy, eager to avenge
it,--naturally claim a place in the group.
The principal figure is the Admiral, resting one foot on a conquered
enemy, and the other on a cannon. With an eye stedfast and upraised to
Victory, he is receiving from her a fourth naval crown upon his sword,
which, to indicate the loss of his right arm, is held in his left hand.
The maimed limb is concealed by the enemy's flag, which Victory is
lowering to him. Under the folds of the flag Death lies in ambush for
his victim, intimating, that Nelson received the reward of his valour
and the stroke of death at the same moment.
By the figure of an exasperated British seaman is represented the zeal
of the navy to wreak vengeance on the enemies who robbed England of her
gallant leader.
Britannia, with laurels in her hand, and leaning regardless of them on
her spear and shield, describes the feelings of the country fluctuating
between the pride and the anguish of triumph so dearly purchased, but
relying for security on her own resources.
_Hoxton_. T. WARD.
* * * * *
TAKING OF CONSTANTINOPLE BY THE TURKS.[1]
[1] From the time of Alcibiades to the reign of Mahommed II.,
Constantinople has undergone twenty-four sieges.
(_For the Mirror_.)
Mahomet II., soon after he mounted the Turkish throne, resolved to
achieve some glorious action, that he might surpass the fame of his
predecessors; and nothing appeared so compatible with his ambition as
the gaining of Constantinople, and the total subversion of the Greek
empire, which at that period was in a very precarious condition. The
sultan, therefore, made vast preparations, which the Greek emperor,
Constantine VIII., perceiving, he solicited the aid of several Christian
princes, especially of Pope Nicholas V. and the king of Naples; but they
_all_, in a most unaccountable manner, excused themselves. Being thus
disappointed, the emperor laid an embargo on all vessels within his
ports, so that he added about three thousand veterans of different
nations to the garrison of his imperial city, which before consisted
of only six thousand Greeks.
In the spring of 1453, Mahomet set forward, with an army of three
hundred thousand men, for Constantinople, which city, on the ninth day
of April, was closely invested by land. The Turkish galleys would have
done the same by sea, had not the emperor been extremely vigilant, for
he caused the haven to be strongly chained from Constantinople to Pera,
having within the chain his whole strength of shipping. The Turks, on
the land side, erected towers, cast up trenches, and raised batteries;
from these works they carried on their attacks with great fury, and made
several breaches, which, however, the besieged repaired with much
industry, at the same time repulsing their enemies with artillery. This
unexpected bravery greatly enraged Mahomet, who loudly exclaimed, "It is
neither the Grecians' skill nor courage, but the Franks, that defend the
city." Affairs stood thus, when a renegado Christian informed the sultan
how he might bring part of his fleet over land to the very haven of
Constantinople. Mahomet, who began to despair of taking the city,
determined to put the project of the renegado into execution; and he
therefore committed the charge of it to a famous bassa, who, with
wonderful labour, brought seventy vessels out of the Bosphorus, up a
steep hill, the space of eight miles, to the haven of the city. The
Turks, being thus miraculously possessed of the haven, assaulted the
city also on that side; but their whole fleet was shamefully routed,
and ten thousand of their men were killed. Yet this loss, instead
of depressing their spirits, increased their courage, and on the
twenty-ninth of May, early in the morning, they approached the walls
with greater violence than ever; but so undaunted was the resolution
of the Christians, that they repulsed their assailants with prodigious
slaughter for a considerable time.
Constantine, however, who had undertaken the charge of one of the city
gates, unhappily received a wound in the arm; and, being obliged to
retire from the scene of action, his soldiers were discouraged, forsook
their stations, and fled after him, notwithstanding his earnest prayers
to the contrary. In their flight, they crowded so thickly together,
that, while endeavouring to enter a passage, above eight hundred of them
were pressed to death. The ill-fated emperor likewise perished. It is
needless to describe what quickly ensued--the infidels became masters of
the fine city of Constantinople, whose inhabitants were all,--except
those who were reserved for lust,--put to the sword, and the plunder,
pursuant to a promise made previously by the sultan, was given up to the
Turkish soldiers for three days together.
G.W.N.
* * * * *
GAME OF CHESS.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
Perceiving in No. 321 of the MIRROR a brief history of the game of
chess, perhaps the following anecdote will not be found unacceptable
to your readers:--When the game of chess was first invented, the emperor
of China sent for the inventor, and desired him to teach it him. The
emperor was so delighted with the game, that he told the inventor
whatever he should demand should be given him as a remuneration for his
discovery. To which he replied, that if his majesty would but give him a
grain of corn for the first square of the chess-board, and keep doubling
it every check until he arrived at the end, he would be satisfied. At
first the emperor was astonished at what he thought the man's modesty,
and instantly ordered his request to be granted.
The following is the sum total of the number of grains of corn, and also
the number of times they would reach round the world, which is 360
degrees, each degree being 69-1/2 miles:--
18446743573783086315 grains.
3883401821 times round the world.
I perfectly agree with your correspondent that China has the preference
of invention.
G.H.C.
* * * * *
QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VIRGINAL.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
On reading No. 336 of the MIRROR, I saw an account of an ancient musical
instrument, _the virginal_, stating it to have been an instrument much
in use in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. That such was the case there can
be no doubt, for the musical world can still furnish many compositions,
written expressly for Queen Elizabeth, her majesty being considered a
very good performer on the virginal. But it is not generally known that
the very identical instrument, the favourite property of that queen,
is still in the possession of a Mr. Jonah Child, artist, of Dudley,
Worcestershire. It is a very fine-toned old instrument, considering the
many improvements which have been made since that date, and if put in
good repair, (which might easily be done, it being quite playable in its
present state,) it would not disgrace the name of a Kirkman, or of any
of our latest and best harpsichord makers; indeed, it is very far
superior to any other instrument of the kind I ever heard. The case is
good, particularly in the inside, which is of exquisite workmanship, and
beautifully ornamented with (as far as I recollect) gilt scroll work; on
the keys has been bestowed a great deal of labour and curious taste.
Each of the sharps, or short keys, is composed of a number (perhaps
thirty) of bits of pearl, &c., well wrought together. On the whole it
is an object well worthy of the attention of the antiquarian and the
musician.
Although a stranger to Mr. Jonah Child, I feel great pleasure, while
speaking on the subject, in acknowledging the very courteous reception
I once met with, on calling at that gentleman's house to see the above
curiosity.
_Hampstead Road_. S.A.
* * * * *
FIRE TOWERS.
(_To the Editor of the Mirror_.)
I perceive by a paper in your interesting little work, that the round
towers so common in Scotland and Ireland, have afforded the antiquaries
much room for the display of their erudition, in ascertaining the
purposes for which these towers have been erected.
Now, if any of these worthy and learned gentlemen were to take a trip to
Sutherlandshire, in Scotland, they would see the _exact purpose_ for
which these buildings were erected; it was merely for the purpose of
hanging the church bell in, as stated by your correspondent, in No. 335,
of the MIRROR; for there stands at present in the parish of Clyne, near
Dunrobin, the seat of the most noble the Marquess of Stafford, one of
the said towers with the church bell hung in it to this day, unless
removed since last October, the time at which I was there. It stands on
the top of an eminence, a short distance (about fifty yards) to the west
of the parish church, and is about twenty-five feet high.
A. GAEL.
* * * * *
A SUMMER SCENE, BY CLAUDE.
(_For the Mirror_.)
How proudly those hush'd towers receive the glow
That mellows the gold sunset--and the trees,
Clasping with their deep belt the festal hills,
Are ting'd with summer-beauty; the rich waves
Swell out their hymn o'er shells and sweet blue flow'rs,
And haply the pure seamaid, wandering by,
Dips in them her soft tresses. The calm sea,
Floating in its magnificence, is seen
Like an elysian isle, whose sapphire depths
Entranc'd the Arabian poets! In the west,
The clouds blend their harmonious pageantry
With the descending sun-orb; some appear
Like Jove's immortal bird, whose eyes contain'd
An essence of its sanctity--and some
Seem like proud temples, form'd but to admit
The souls of god-like men! Emerald and gold
And pink, that softens down the aerial bow,
Are interspersed promiscuously, and form
A concentration of all lovely things!
And far off cities, glittering with the pomp
Of spire and pennon, laugh their joyance up
In the deep flood of light. Sweet comes the tone
Of the touch'd lute from yonder orange bow'rs,
And the shrill cymbal pours its elfin spell
Into the peasant's being!
A sublime
And fervid mind was _his_, whose pencil trac'd
The grandeur of this scene! Oh! matchless Claude!
Around the painter's mastery thou hast thrown
An halo of surpassing loveliness!
Gazing on thy proud works, we mourn the curse
Which'reft our race of Eden, for from thee,
As from a seraph's wing, we catch the hues
That sunn'd our primal heritage ere sin
Weav'd her dark oracles. With thee, sweet Claude!
_Thee!_ and blind Maeonides would I dwell
By streams that gush out richness; there should be
Tones that entrance, and forms more exquisite
Than throng the sculptor's visions! I would dream
Of gorgeous palaces, in whose lit halls
Repos'd the reverend magi, and my lips
Would pour their spiritual commune'mid the hush
Of those enchanting groves!
_Deal_.
REGINALD AUGUSTINE.
* * * * *
THE NOVELIST
A LEGEND OF THE HARTZ.
(_For the Mirror_.)
"Still the boar held on his way
Careless through what toils it lay,
Down deep in the tangled dell--
Or o'er the steep rock's pinnacle.
Staunch the steed, and bold the knight
That would follow such a flight!"
The night was fast closing in, and the last retiring beams of the sun
shed a mournful light over an extensive tract of forest bordering upon
the district of the Hartz, just as (but I must not forget the date,
somewhere about the year 1547,) the Baron Rudolf found himself in the
very disagreeable predicament of having totally lost his companions and
his way, amidst an almost interminable region of forest and brushwood.
"Hans," addressing himself to his noble steed, "my old veteran, I must
trust to thee, since thy master's wit is at a stand, to extricate us
from this dilemma."
The animal finding his head free, moved forward as fast as bush and
brake would permit him. They had proceeded in this way for half an hour
longer, when the Baron at last bethought himself of his bugle, and wound
a long and powerful blast; but the echo was the only answer he received.
He repeated the sound with the like effect. Again the Baron lost his
patience, and "Der terefel--" when all at once his steed made a dead
stop, and pricked up his ears as at some well known sound. The Baron
listened attentively, and distinctly heard the blast he had sounded ten
minutes before, responded by one so exactly similar, though apparently
at a great distance, that he could scarcely believe the "evidence" of
his ears. "By the mass but that must be the work of Mynheer von
Heidelberger himself, for no one in my own broad barony can wind that
blast save Rudolf Wurtzheim." He shrunk within himself at the very
thought; for to any one it was rather appalling to meet this being at
such a place and hour. The recollection of an adventure in these wilds
which occurred on this very eve, twelve-months previous, now rushed
vividly to his mind. The concurrence in the date was startling. In
short, on reflection, he began to think there was witchcraft throughout
the affair.
He had lost his companions of the chase in rather a singular manner; on
this afternoon, being unusually unsuccessful, the Baron, while hunting
a brace of favourite stag-hounds in a dell apart from the rest of the
field, suddenly struck upon a boar of remarkable size; attracted by the
cries of the dogs, the Baron spurred Hans to the pursuit, and did not
reflect that he was pursuing a route apart from the other hunters; and
trusting to his knowledge of the wilds he so often traversed, he bore
on with undiminished speed. The boar seemed to have a pair of wings in
addition to his legs. Suffice it to say, that though Hans chased him in
gallant style, yet the Baron eventually lost his way in the pursuit,
partly owing to the doubling of the animal, till both dogs and boar
completely disappeared from sight.
Entangled in the forest, the evening rapidly approached, a general hush
prevailed, and all endeavours to recover his track seemed fruitless.
The sun had now gone down for a considerable time, and a mist was
arising that obscured the little light which the luminary of night
afforded.
"Mein Gott," exclaimed the Baron, "mortal or devil, he has involved me
in a very disagreeable predicament, and to avoid him is, I fear,
impossible." He once more sounded a long blast; again the blast was
re-echoed after a short lapse of time, though seemingly at an extreme
distance. "Ah, there it comes again! what if my ears should deceive me,
and this should be the answering bugle of my faithful Wildstein." The
thought infused some fresh vigour into him; the low night wind murmuring
through the trees, reminded him of the importance of every moment, Hans
and his master pushed onwards through brake and dell.
It will be necessary, however, that we should leave the Baron for
awhile, and detail some occurrences germane to our tale, and which are
necessary for its developement. And now as Mark Antony says, "Lend me
your ear."
Some years before the preceding events took place, there dwelt in a spot
of the most romantic description, a personage known by the designation
of Mynheer von Heidelberger. No one had either heard or could recollect
when or whence he came. Strange rumours were afloat respecting this
person, and the peasantry crossed themselves with fright if they were
led near the spot where his dwelling was said to be; and if his name
was casually mentioned in the circle round the winter's hearth, all
involuntarily drew their seats into a closer space. Impelled by
adventurous curiosity, many individuals were said to have visited him,
for the purpose of obtaining some insight into futurity; for his
knowledge of the future, and the "things that none may name," was
reputed to be great. It was also rumoured that some of his visitants
had never returned.
About this time, by the sudden death of her father, the Baron Ernest,
who was killed, it was believed, by a fall from his horse while hunting,
Agatha von Keilermann was left sole and undisputed heiress of his vast
domains. A prize so great, united to a fair person, caused many suitors
to be on the alert; but they all met with ill success, being generally
dismissed rather summarily.
Ambition was always the ruling passion of Rudolf Wurtzheim, whose
domains adjoined those of the Baron Ernest, and before the death of
the latter it had also been allied to jealousy of his great power and
wealth. Not daunted by the ill success of his predecessors, he became a
suitor of the fair Agatha. He met with a summary repulse. Burning with
rage and mortified ambition, the Baron bethought himself of Mynheer von
Heidelberger, of whose fame he had sometimes heard.
At the close of a day far advanced in autumn, he set off to visit this
being. The howling of the wind as it came in fitful gusts through the
openings of the forest, formed no bad accompaniment to his thoughts;
while the indistinct twilight received little aid from the moon, which
waded through heavy masses of clouds. The Baron, however, was a man of
daring spirit. He had often been led past the spot, whilst engaged in
the chase, near which the _solitaire_ was said to dwell:--
"Vague mystery hangs on all these desert places!
The fear which hath no name hath wrought a spell,
Strength, courage, wrath, have been, and left no traces!
They came--and fled; but whither? who can tell!"
He several times, on account of the uncertain light, lost his track.
At length he emerged into the rocky scenery of the mountain side, and
an indistinct light in the distance served to guide his steps. He now
entered between two rocks of great height; till a magnificent waterfall
almost blocked up the way. The Baron stepped cautiously forward,
and after apparently passing through a cavern, the scene opened and
displayed (for, to his surprise, the light was greatly increased,)
a wild view, in which nature had piled rock, cavern, and mountain
together, till the whole seemed lost and blended in one general chaos.
At the foot, and a short distance before him, were seen a number of
persons of venerable aspect, grouped on the turf around the vast
amphitheatre of rocks, and a noise as of many hammers, greeted his
ears. Attracted onwards by the now distinct glittering light, the Baron
proceeded boldly to the mouth of what seemed a natural grotto. He loudly
demanded admittance, the entrance being blocked up with a large stone.
He was at first answered by a scornful laugh; indeed, as he afterwards
found, he had entered by the wrong path, and observed a scene, perhaps,
never displayed to mortal eyes. The stone was at last removed, and in
the interior he found the object of his search:--
He, like the tenant
Of some night haunted ruin, bore an aspect
Of horrors, worn to habitude.
What passed will appear in the sequel, and the Baron returned just at
nightfall; while his ghastly demeanour and unquiet eye betokened the
nature of his visit. It is said many a wild and unearthly peal of
laughter resounded that night through the mountains.
In three months from that time the lady Agatha became his wife. She had
suddenly disappeared from her grounds a short time before, and to the
amazement and wonder of all, returned with the Baron Wurtzheim, to whom
she was united the same evening. Rumour was busy upon this occasion, but
the mystery which enveloped it was never dispersed. The lady Agatha,
however, seemed oppressed with a ceaseless gloom; in a short time she
devoted herself entirely to seclusion, and in a year after her marriage,
expired in giving birth to a son. The demeanour of Rudolf was most
strange on this occasion. He had apparently a weight on his mind, which
seemed to increase with dissipation, when he devoted his time to hunting
and nightly revels, with a band of choice friends and dependents. Time,
however, which blunts the edge of the keenest misfortunes, seemed to
restore him to his former self.
Years passed away. Some time before the commencement of this legend, the
Baron lost his path whilst hunting, and was benighted in the forest.
After much fatigue, he was attracted by a light amongst trees which he
found to proceed from a low building. It was in a state of extreme
dilapidation, though a sort of wing appeared to have been recently
tenanted. His knocks for admittance not having been answered, he lifted
up the latch and boldly entered. Nothing greeted his sight save the
almost extinguished remains of a fire. The apartment was lone and
destitute of furniture. Having bestowed Hans as well as he could,
he laid himself on the floor; while he felt an extreme chillness of
spirits, which he endeavoured in vain to shake off; he was soon buried
in sleep.
He was awakened by a noise resembling the strokes of many hammers.
He conceived his senses must be wandering, for he found that he was
at the entrance of the amphitheatre of rocks near the dwelling of the
_solitaire_. The same group of figures appeared, and it was not long
before a voice, which he knew to be that of Heidelberger, slowly
repeated the following chant:--
Woe to him who dares intrude
Upon our midnight solitude!
Woe to him whose faith is broken--
Better he had never spoken.
'Ere twelve moons shall pass away,
Thou wilt he beneath our sway.
Drear the doom, and dark the fate
Of him who rashly dares our hate!
Deceive me once, I tell thee never
Shall thy soul and body sever!
Under the greenwood wilt thou lie,
Nor shall thou there unheeded die.
Mortal, thou my vengeance brave,
Thou had'st better seen thy grave.
Drear the doom, and dark the fate
Of him who rashly dares our hate!
Meanwhile the Baron had sunk into a state of insensibility. When he
awoke from his trance it was broad daylight, and the birds were singing
merrily around the ruin.
After this adventure, the Baron resumed many of his old habits; and
sought by deeper dissipation to dispel the visions of the past. His son
was now grown up a sickly youth, and his father's inquietude about him
was so great that he would not suffer him for a moment to be out of the
sight of his attendants.
The year rolled on without any harm befalling the Baron, and his
spirits lightened as the time advanced. He had almost forgotten the
circumstance, when on the day preceding that of the anniversary of the
adventure just related, a grand hunting party was proposed, it being the
birth-day of his son. We now return to the situation in which we left
the Baron at the beginning of this legend.
The forest seemed to the exhausted Rudolf, almost interminable, and
this provoking horn perplexed him sadly. On this night the dreaded
twelve-months expired. The bare thought made him redouble his speed.
The darkness seemed increasing, and the flapping of the bats and hoarse
croaking of the night birds, disturbed by his progress through the
branches, did not add to his comfort; when to his great joy, he felt a
strong current of air, and found that he had at last apparently emerged
from the thickest of the forest. The moon was now beginning to cast her
"peerless light" over the scene, and Rudolf perceived he was in an
extensive amphitheatre or opening of the trees, which he could not
recollect ever having seen before, bounded at a short distance by what
seemed a small lake, near the centre of which grew a large and solitary
pine.
The moon had now fully risen. Hans who had been flagging for some time,
fell suddenly lame. From this fresh misfortune the Baron was aroused by
the well known baying of his gallant stag-hounds. "Aiglette and Caspar
are not baying after nothing," thought he. He was not long in suspense.
To his extreme amazement, the identical boar which had caused all his
trouble and fatigue, appeared closely followed by both the dogs.
"Donner et blitzen," | 1,087.26234 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.3344230 | 1,092 | 15 |
Produced by Charles Aldarondo and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
WHAT'S MINE'S MINE
By George MacDonald
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. I.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAPTER
I. HOW COME THEY THERE?
II. A SHORT GLANCE OVER THE SHOULDER
III. THE GIRLS' FIRST WALK
IV. THE SHOP IN THE VILLAGE
V. THE CHIEF
VI. WORK AND WAGE
VII. MOTHER AND SON
VIII. A MORNING CALL
IX. MR. SERCOMBE
X. THE PLOUGH-BULLS
XI. THE FIR-GROVE
XII. AMONG THE HILLS
XIII. THE LAKE
XIV. THE WOLVES
XV. THE GULF THAT DIVIDED
XVI. THE CLAN CHRISTMAS
XVII. BETWEEN DANCING AND SUPPER
WHAT'S MINE'S MINE.
CHAPTER I.
HOW COME THEY THERE?
The room was handsomely furnished, but such as I would quarrel with
none for calling common, for it certainly was uninteresting. Not a
thing in it had to do with genuine individual choice, but merely
with the fashion and custom of the class to which its occupiers
belonged. It was a dining-room, of good size, appointed with all the
things a dining-room "ought" to have, mostly new, and entirely
expensive--mirrored sideboard in oak; heavy chairs, just the dozen,
in fawn- morocco seats and backs--the dining-room, in short,
of a London-house inhabited by rich middle-class people. A big fire
blazed in the low round-backed grate, whose flashes were reflected
in the steel fender and the ugly fire-irons that were never used. A
snowy cloth of linen, finer than ordinary, for there was pride in
the housekeeping, covered the large dining-table, and a company,
evidently a family, was eating its breakfast. But how come these
people THERE?
For, supposing my reader one of the company, let him rise from the
well-appointed table--its silver, bright as the complex motions of
butler's elbows can make it; its china, ornate though not elegant;
its ham, huge, and neither too fat nor too lean; its game-pie, with
nothing to be desired in composition, or in flavour natural or
artificial;--let him rise from these and go to the left of the two
windows, for there are two opposite each other, the room having been
enlarged by being built out: if he be such a one as I would have for
a reader, might I choose--a reader whose heart, not merely his eye,
mirrors what he sees--one who not merely beholds the outward shows
of things, but catches a glimpse of the soul that looks out of them,
whose garment and revelation they are;--if he be such, I say, he
will stand, for more than a moment, speechless with something akin
to that which made the morning stars sing together.
He finds himself gazing far over western seas, while yet the sun is
in the east. They lie clear and cold, pale and cold, broken with
islands scattering thinner to the horizon, which is jagged here and
there with yet another. The ocean looks a wild, yet peaceful
mingling of lake and land. Some of the islands are green from shore
to shore, of low yet broken surface; others are mere rocks, with a
bold front to the sea, one or two of them strange both in form and
character. Over the pale blue sea hangs the pale blue sky, flecked
with a few cold white clouds that look as if they disowned the earth
they had got so high--though none the less her children, and doomed
to descend again to her bosom. A keen little wind is out, crisping
the surface of the sea in patches--a pretty large crisping to be
seen from that height, for the window looks over hill above hill to
the sea. Life, quiet yet eager, is all about; the solitude itself is
alive, content to be a solitude because it is alive. Its life needs
nothing from beyond--is independent even of the few sails of fishing
boats that here and there with their red brown break the blue of the
water.
If my reader, gently obedient to my thaumaturgy, will now turn and
cross to the other window, let him as he does so beware of casting a
glance on his right towards the place he has left at the table, for
the room will now look to him tenfold commonplace, so that he too
will be inclined to ask, "How come these and their belongings
HERE--just HERE?"--let him first look from the window. There he sees
hills of heather rolling away eastward, at middle distance beginning
to rise into mountains, and farther yet, on the horizon, showing
snow on their crests--though that may | 1,087.354463 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.4396020 | 564 | 20 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Old Hendrik's Tales, by Captain Arthur Owen Vaughan.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
OLD HENDRIK'S TALES, BY CAPTAIN ARTHUR OWEN VAUGHAN.
CHAPTER ONE.
WHY OLD BABOON HAS THAT KINK IN HIS TAIL.
The day was hot, and the koppies simmered blue and brown along the Vaal
River. Noon had come, dinner was done. "Allah Mattie!" said the grey
old kitchen boy to himself, as he stretched to sleep in the shade of the
mimosa behind the house. "Allah Mattie! but it near break my back in
dem tobacco lands dis mawnin'. I sleep now."
He stretched himself with a slow groan of pleasure, settling his face
upon his hands as he lay, soaking in comfort. In three minutes he was
asleep.
But round the corner of the house came the three children, the eldest a
ten-year-old, the youngest six. With a whoop and a dash the eldest
flung himself astride the old Hottentot's back, the youngest rode the
legs behind, while the girl, the eight-year-old with the yellow hair and
the blue eyes, darted to the old man's head and caught him fast with
both hands. "Ou' Ta'! Ou' Ta'!" she cried. "Now you're Ou' Jackalse
and we're Ou' Wolf, and we've got you this time at last." She wanted to
dance in the triumph of it, could she have done it without letting go.
Old Hendrik woke between a grunt and a groan, but the merry clamour of
the little girl would have none of that. "Now we've got you, Ou'
Jackalse," cried she again.
The old man's yellow face looked up in a sly grin. "Ah, Anniekye," said
he unctuously; "but Ou' Wolf never did ketch Ou' Jackalse. He ain't
never bin slim enough yet. He make a big ole try dat time when he got
Oom Baviyaan to help him; but all dey got was dat kink in Ou' Baviyaan's
tail--you can see it yet."
"But how _did_ old Bobbyjohn get that kink in his tail? You never told
us that, Ou' Ta'," protested Annie.
The old Hottentot smiled to the little girl, and then straightway sighed
to himself. "If you little folks only | 1,087.459642 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.5394140 | 7,294 | 6 | Project Gutenberg Etext of A Unique Story of a Marvellous Career
Life of Hon. Phineas T. Barnum, by Joel Benton.
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Scanned by Charles Keller with OmniPage Professional OCR
A UNIQUE STORY OF A MARVELLOUS CAREER.
LIFE OF Hon. PHINEAS T. BARNUM. ----
COMPRISING HIS BOYHOOD, YOUTH,...
By JOEL BENTON.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. IN THE BEGINNING.
Family and Birth--School Life--His First Visit to New York
City--A Landed Proprietor--The Ethics of Trade--Farm Work and
Keeping Store--Meeting-house and Sunday-school--"The One Thing
Needful."
CHAPTER II. EARLY YEARS AT BETHEL.
Death of his Grandmother and Father--Left Penniless and
Bare-footed--Work in a Store--His First Love--Trying to buy
Russia--Uncle Bibbin's Duel
CHAPTER III. BUSINESS LIFE
Removal to Brooklyn--Smallpox--Goes Home to Recover His
Health--Renewed Acquaintance with the Pretty Tailoress--First
Independent Business Venture--Residence in New York--Return to
Bethel--Anecdotes
CHAPTER IV. TRYING MANY VENTURES.
Visit to Pittsburg--Successful Lottery Business--Marriage--First
Editorial Venture--Libel Suit--Imprisonment and
Liberation--Removal to New York--Hard Times--Keeping a Boarding
House
CHAPTER V. BEGINNING AS A SHOWMAN.
Finding His True Vocation--The Purchase of Joice Heth--Evidence
as to Her Age--Her Death--Signor Vivalla--Visit to
Washington--Joining a Travelling Circus--Controversies with
Ministers--The Victim of a Practical Joke
CHAPTER VI. INCIDENTS OF A CIRCUS TOUR.
Beating a Landlord--A Joke on Turner--Barnum as a Preacher and as
a <DW64> Minstrel--A Bad Man with a Gun--Dealing with a
Sheriff--"Lady Hayes"--An Embarrassed Juggler--Barnum as a
Matrimonial Agent
CHAPTER VII. HARD TIMES.
Advertising for a Partner--"Quaker Oats"--Diamond the Dancer--A
Dishonest Manager--Return to New York--From Hand to Mouth--The
American Museum
CHAPTER VIII. THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.
Advertising Extraordinary--A Quick-witted Performer--Niagara
Falls with Real Water--Other Attractions--Drummond Light
CHAPTER IX. INCREASED POPULARITY OF THE MUSEUM.
The American Flag and St. Paul's--St. Patrick's Day--The Baby
Show--Grand Buffalo Hunt--N. P. Willis--The First Wild West Show
CHAPTER X. GIANTS AND DWARFS.
Science for the Public--Mesmerism Extraordinary--Killing off a
Rival--The Two Giants--Discovery of "Tom Thumb"--Seeking Other
Worlds to Conquer--First Visit to England
CHAPTER XI. TOM THUMB IN LONDON.
An Aristocratic Visitor--Calling at Buckingham Palace and
Hobnobbing with Royalty--Getting a Puff in the "Court
Circular"--The Iron Duke--A Great Social and Financial Success
CHAPTER XII. IN FRANCE.
Arrival in Paris--Visit to the Tuilleries--Longchamps--"Tom
Ponce" all the Rage--Bonaparte and Louis Phillipi--Tour through
France--Barnum's Purchase
CHAPTER XIII. IN BELGIUM.
Presented to King Leopold and the Queen--The General's Jewels
stolen--The Field of Waterloo--An Accident--An Expensive
Equipage--The Custom of the Country
CHAPTER XIV. IN ENGLAND AGAIN.
Egyptian Hall and the Zoological Garden--The Special
Relics--Purchase of the Happy Family--Return to America
CHAPTER XV. AT HOME.
Partnership with Tom Thumb--Visit to Cuba--Iranistan, his Famous
Palace at Bridgeport--Barnum's Game-Keeper and the Great Game
Dinner--Frank Leslie
CHAPTER XVI. JENNY LIND.
A Daring Venture--Barnum's Ambassador--Unprecedented Terms
offered--Text of the Contract--Hard Work to Raise the Guarantee
Fund--Educating the American Mind to receive the Famous Singer
CHAPTER XVII. ARRIVAL OF JENNY LIND.
First Meeting with Barnum--Reception in New York--Poems in Her
Honor--A Furore of Public Interest--Sale of Tickets for the First
Concert--Barnum's Change in Terms--Ten Thousand Dollars for
Charity--Enormous Success of the First Concert
CHAPTER XVIII. CONTINUED TRIUMPH.
Successful Advertising--The Responsibilities of Riches--Visit to
Iranistan--Ovations at Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore and
Washington--Visit to Mt. Vernon--Charleston--Havana--Fredericka
Brerner
CHAPTER XIX. HAVANA.
Conquest of the Habaneros--The Italian and his Dog--Mad
Bennett--A Successful Ruse--Return to New Orleans--Ludicrous
Incident--Up the Mississippi--Legerdemain
CHAPTER XX. THE TRIALS OF AN IMPRESSARIO.
St Louis--The Secretary's Little Game--Legal Advice--Smooth
Waters Again--Barnum's Efforts Appreciated--An Extravagant
Encomium
CHAPTER XXI. CLOSING THE GRAND TOUR.
April Fool Jokes at Nashville--A Trick at Cincinnati--Return to
New York--Jenny Lind Persuaded to Leave Barnum--Financial Results
of the Enterprise
CHAPTER XXII. A FEW SIDE ISSUES.
The Expedition to Ceylon--Harnessing an Elephant to a
Plow--Barnum and Vanderbilt--The Talking Machine--A Fire at
Iranistan--Mountain Grove Cemetery
CHAPTER XXIII. SOME DOMESTIC ENTERPRISES.
Putting a Pickpocket on Exhibition--Traveling Incognito--The
Pequonnock Bank--The New York Crystal Palace--A Poem on an
Incident at Iranistan
CHAPTER XXIV. THE JEROME CLOCK COMPANY.
Founding East Bridgeport--Growth of the City--The Jerome Clock
Bubble--A Ruined Man--Paying Honest Debts--Down in the Depths
CHAPTER XXV. THE WHEAT AND THE CHAFF.
False and True Friends--Meeting of Bridgeport Citizens--Barnum's
Letter--Tom Thumb's Offer--Shillaber's Poem--Barnum's Message to
the Creditors of the Jerome Clock Company--Removal to New
York--Beginning Life Anew at Forty-six
CHAPTER XXVI. IDLENESS WITHOUT REST.
Annoying Persecutions of Creditors--Summer on Long Island--The
Black Whale Pays the Board Bill--The Wheeler & Wilson Company
Remove to East Bridgeport--Setting Sail for England
CHAPTER XXVII. A PROSPEROUS EXILE.
His Successful Pupil--Making Many Friends in London--Acquaintance
with Thackeray--A Comedy of Errors in a German Custom
House--Aristocratic Patronage at Fashionable Resorts--Barnum's
Impressions of Holland and the Dutch
CHAPTER XXVIII. HOME AGAIN.
A Jolly Voyage--Mock Trial on Shipboard--Barnum on Trial for His
Life--Discomfited Witnesses and a Triumphant Prisoner--Fair
Weather Friends--The Burning of Iranistan
CHAPTER XXIX. THE ART OF MONEY GETTING.
The Lecture Field--Success--Cambridge--Oxford--An Unique
Entertainment--Barnum Equal to the Occasion--Invited to Stay a
Week
CHAPTER XXX. AN ENTERPRISING ENGLISHMAN.
A New Friend--Dinner to Tom Thumb and Commodore Nutt--Measuring
the Giant--The Two Engines
CHAPTER XXXI. AT HOME AGAIN.
The Clock Debts Paid--The Museum once more under Barnum's
Management--Enthusiastic Reception--His Speech--Two Poems
CHAPTER XXXII. THE STORY OF "GRIZZLY ADAMS."
Barnum's Partnership with the Famous Bear Hunter--Fooling Him
with the "Golden Pigeons"--Adams Earns $500 at Desperate
Cost--Tricking Barnum out of a Fine Hunting Suit--Prosperity of
the Museum--Visit of the Prince of Wales
CHAPTER XXXIII. BUILDING A CITY.
At Home Once More--Growth of East Bridgeport--Barnum's Offer to
Men Wanting Homes of Their Own--Remarkable Progress of the
Place--How the Streets were Named
CHAPTER XXXIV. A GREAT YEAR AT THE MUSEUM.
Capturing and Exhibiting White Whales--Newspaper Comments--A
Touching Obituary--The Great Behemoth--A Long "Last
Week"--Commodore Nutt--Real Live Indians on Exhibition
CHAPTER XXXV. GENERAL AND MRS. TOM THUMB.
Miss Lavinia Warren--The Rivals--Miss Warren's Engagement to Tom
Thumb--The Wedding--Grand Reception--Letter From a Would-be
Guest, and Dr Taylor's Reply
CHAPTER XXXVI. POLITICAL NOTES.
Barnum Becomes a Republican--Illuminating the House of a
Democrat--The Peace Meeting--Elected to the Legislature--War on
the Railroads--Speech on the Amendment
CHAPTER XXXVII. BURNING OF THE AMERICAN MUSEUM.
How Barnum Received the Tidings--Humorous Description of the
Fire--A Public Calamity--Greeley's Advice--Intention to
Re-establish the Museum--Speech at Employees' Benefit
CHAPTER XXXVIII. POLITICAL LIFE.
In the Connecticut Legislature--The Great Railroad
Fight--Barnum's Effective Stroke--Canvassing for a United States
Senator--Barnum's Congressional Campaign--A Challenge that was
not Accepted
CHAPTER XXXIX. FIGHTING A NEWSPAPER.
Disposing of the Lease of the Museum Site--The Bargain with Mr.
Bennett--Barnum's Refusal to Back Out--A Long and Bitter War with
"The Herald"--Action of the Other Managers--The Return of Peace
CHAPTER XL. BRIDGEPORT.
The Fight for the Establishment of Seaside Park--Laying out City
Streets--Impatience with "Old Fogies"--Building a Seaside
Home--Waldemere--A Home in New York City
CHAPTER XLI. HONORS AND ADULATIONS.
Second Marriage--The King of Hawaii--Elected Mayor of
Bridgeport--Successful Tour of the Hippodrome--Barnum's
Retirement from Office
CHAPTER I. IN THE BEGINNING.
FAMILY AND BIRTH--SCHOOL LIFE--HIS FIRST VISIT TO NEW YORK CITY
--A LANDED PROPRIETOR--THE ETHICS OF TRADE--FARM WORK AND KEEPING
STORE--MEETING-HOUSE AND SUNDAY SCHOOL--"THE ONE THING NEEDFUL."
Among the names of great Americans of the nineteenth century
there is scarcely one more familiar to the world than that of the
subject of this biography. There are those that stand for higher
achievement in literature, science and art, in public life and in
the business world. There is none that stands for more notable
success in his chosen line, none that recalls more memories of
wholesome entertainment, none that is more invested with the
fragrance of kindliness and true humanity. His career was, in a
large sense, typical of genuine Americanism, of its enterprise
and pluck, of its indomitable will and unfailing courage, of its
shrewdness, audacity and unerring instinct for success.
Like so many of his famous compatriots, Phineas Taylor Barnum
came of good old New England stock. His ancestors were among the
builders of the colonies of Massachusetts and Connecticut. His
father's father, Ephraim Barnum, was a captain in the War of the
Revolution, and was distinguished for his valor and for his
fervent patriotism. His mother's father, Phineas Taylor, was
locally noted as a wag and practical joker. His father, Philo
Barnum, was in turn a tailor, a farmer, a storekeeper, and a
country tavernkeeper, and was not particularly prosperous in any
of these callings.
Philo Barnum and his wife, Irena Taylor, lived at Bethel,
Connecticut, and there, on July 5, 1810, their first child was
born. He was named Phineas Taylor Barnum, after his maternal
grandfather; and the latter, in return for the compliment,
bestowed upon his first grandchild at his christening the
title-deeds of a "landed estate," five acres in extent, known as
Ivy Island, and situated in that part of, Bethel known as the
"Plum Trees." Of this, more anon.
In his early years the boy led the life of the average New
England farmer's son of that period. He drove the cows to and
from the pasture, shelled corn, weeded the garden, and "did up
chores." As he grew older he rode the horse in plowing corn,
raked hay, wielded the shovel and the hoe, and chopped wood. At
six years old he began to go to school--the typical district
school. "The first date," he once said, "I remember inscribing
upon my writing-book was 1818." The ferule, or the birch-rod, was
in those days the assistant schoolmaster, and young Barnum made
its acquaintance. He was, however, an apt and ready scholar,
particularly excelling in mathematics. One night, when he was ten
years old, he was called out of bed by his teacher, who had made
a wager with a neighbor that Barnum could calculate the number of
feet in a load of wood in five minutes. Barnum did it in less
than two minutes, to the delight of his teacher and the
astonishment of the neighbor.
At an early age he manifested a strong development of the good
old Yankee organ of acquisitiveness. Before he was five years old
he had begun to hoard pennies and "fourpences," and at six years
old he was able to exchange his copper bits for a whole silver
dollar, the possession of which made him feel richer than he ever
felt afterward in all his life. Nor did he lay the dollar away in
a napkin, but used it in business to gain more. He would get ten
cents a day for riding a horse before the plow, and he would add
it to his capital. On holidays other boys spent all their
savings, but not so he. Such days were to him opportunities for
gain, not for squandering. At the fair or training of troops, or
other festivity, he would peddle candy and cakes, home-made, or
sometimes cherry rum, and by the end of the day would be a dollar
or two richer than at its beginning. "By the time I was twelve
years old," he tells us, "I was the owner of a sheep and a calf,
and should soon, no doubt, have become a small Croesus had not my
father kindly permitted me to purchase my own clothing, which
somewhat reduced my little store."
At ten years of age, realizing himself to be a "landed
proprietor" through the christening gift of his waggish
grandsire, young Barnum set out to survey his estate, which he
had not yet seen. He had heard much of "Ivy Island." His
grandfather had often, in the presence of the neighbors, spoken
of him as the richest child in the town, since he owned the whole
of Ivy Island, the richest farm in the State. His parents hoped
he would use his wealth wisely, and "do something for the family"
when he entered upon the possession of it; and the neighbors were
fearful lest he should grow too proud to associate with their
children.
The boy took all this in good faith, and his eager curiosity to
behold his estate was greatly increased, and he asked his father
to let him go thither. "At last," says Barnum, "he promised I
should do so in a few days, as we should be getting some hay near
'Ivy Island.' The wished-for day arrived, and my father told me
that as we were to mow an adjoining meadow. I might visit my
property in company with the hired man during the 'nooning.' My
grandfather reminded me that it was to his bounty I was indebted
for this wealth, and that had not my name been Phineas I might
never have been proprietor of 'Ivy Island.' To this my mother
added:
" 'Now, Taylor, don't become so excited when you see your
property as to let your joy make you sick, for remember, rich as
you are, that it will be eleven years before you can come into
possession of your fortune.'
"She added much more good advice, to all of which I promised to
be calm and reasonable, and not to allow my pride to prevent me
from speaking to my brothers and sisters when I returned home.
"When we arrived at the meadow, which was in that part of the
'Plum Trees' known as 'East Swamp,' I asked my father where 'Ivy
Island' was.
" 'Yonder, at the north end of this meadow, where you see those
beautiful trees rising in the distance.'
"All the forenoon I turned grass as fast as two men could cut it,
and after a hasty repast at noon, one of our hired men, a
good-natured Irishman, named Edmund, took an axe on his shoulder
and announced that he was ready to accompany me to 'Ivy Island.'
We started, and as we approached the north end of the meadow we
found the ground swampy and wet and were soon obliged to leap
from bog to bog on our route. A mis-step brought me up to my
middle in water, and to add to the dilemma a swarm of hornets
attacked me. Attaining the altitude of another bog I was cheered
by the assurance that there was only a quarter of a mile of this
kind of travel to the edge of my property. I waded on. In about
fifteen minutes more, after floundering through the morass, I
found myself half-drowned, hornet-stung, mud covered, and out of
breath, on comparatively dry land.
" 'Never mind, my boy,' said Edmund, 'we have only to cross this
little creek, and ye'll be upon your own valuable property.'
"We were on the margin of a stream, the banks of which were
thickly covered with alders. I now discovered the use of Edmund's
axe, for he felled a small oak to form a temporary bridge to my
'Island' property. Crossing over, I proceeded to the centre of my
domain. I saw nothing but a few stunted ivies and straggling
trees. The truth flashed upon me. I had been the laughing-stock
of the family and neighborhood for years. My valuable 'Ivy
Island' was an almost inaccessible, worthless bit of barren land,
and while I stood deploring my sudden downfall, a huge black
snake (one of my tenants) approached me with upraised head. I
gave one shriek and rushed for the bridge.
"This was my first and last visit to 'Ivy Island.' My father
asked me 'how I liked my property?' and I responded that I would
sell it pretty cheap."
The year 1822 was a memorable one in his childhood's history. He
was then about twelve years old. One evening, late in January,
Daniel Brown, a cattle-drover, of Southbury, Connecticut, arrived
at Bethel and stopped for the night at Philo Barnum's tavern. He
had with him some fat cattle, which he was driving to the New
York markets; and he wanted both to add to his drove of cattle
and to get a boy to help him drive them. Our juvenile hero heard
him say this, and forthwith made application for the job. His
father and mother gave their consent, and a bargain was quickly
closed with the drover.
"At daylight next morning," Barnum himself has related, "I
started on foot in the midst of a heavy snow-storm to help drive
the cattle. Before reaching Ridgefield I was sent on horseback
after a stray ox, and, in galloping, the horse fell and my ankle
was sprained. I suffered severely, but did not complain lest my
employer should send me back. We arrived at New York in three or
four days, and put up at the Bull's Head Tavern, where we were to
stay a week while the drover disposed of his cattle. It was an
eventful week for me. Before I left home my mother had given me a
dollar, which I supposed would supply every want that heart could
wish."
His first outlay was for oranges. "I was told," he says, "that
they were four pence apiece, and as four pence in Connecticut was
six cents, I offered ten cents for two oranges, which was of
course readily taken; and thus, instead of saving two cents, as I
thought, I actually paid two cents more than the price demanded.
I then bought two more oranges, reducing my capital to eighty
cents. Thirty-one cents was the charge for a small gun which
would 'go off' and send a stick some little distance, and this
gun I bought. Amusing myself with this toy in the bar-room of the
Bull's Head, the arrow happened to hit the bar-keeper, who
forthwith came from behind the counter and shook me, and soundly
boxed my ears, telling me to put that gun out of the way or he
would put it into the fire. I sneaked to my room, put my treasure
under the pillow, and went out for another visit to the toy shop.
"There I invested six cents in 'torpedoes,' with which I intended
| 1,087.559454 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.5407290 | 5,459 | 147 |
Produced by Al Haines
THE
DALES OF ARCADY
BY
DOROTHY UNA RATCLIFFE
ERSKINE MACDONALD, LTD.
LONDON, W.C.1
_All Rights Reserved_
_First published November 1918_
DEDICATED TO
THE FIRST YORKSHIREMAN I SET EYES ON
DADDY
CONTENTS
Prologue
Daleshire
On Otley Chevin
The Song of Nidderdale
Song of the Mists
Wander-Thirst
The Road
The Swaling of the Moor
The Moors in Summer
My Herbary
Rushes
Satan and I
To the Wind
Saadi and the Rose
The Difference
Song of the Primroses
Lilies
The Pear-Tree
Beggar's Gold
On Early Rising
Jewels
Bargaining
Song of Good-Bye
King Yesterday
Kissing
Philosophy
A Thrush's Song
A February Day
Laus Deo
"Past-Ten-O'Clock-Land"
To Memory
A War Prayer for a Little Boy
Star-Scandal
The First of July
"The Ideal Man"
To the Coming Spring
Question
The Dales of Arcady
A War-time Grace
Queen Mab's Awakening
PROLOGUE
_The youngest Goddess sat in a corner of the Universe and sulked.
For aeons, she had watched the older Goddesses play each in turn with
the Earth-Ball, and every time the Ball passed her way, someone said,
"She is too young, and, if she played with the Ball, might injure it."
Another added,
"Even our honourable Sister E---- created baleful Etna in her ardent
desire to give a beauteous mountain to flowering Sicily, and C----,
when she designed the azure Mediterranean, raised her little finger all
too hurriedly, causing the whirlpool so dreaded by Grecian sailors."
But the youngest Goddess had waited long and was becoming mutinous.
Her great grey eyes, like silent moorland tarns fringed with shadowy
larches, were fixed on the handiwork of the Goddess who at that moment
held the Ball.
She noticed the blue line thoughtfully traced across a vast tract of
land, the line men call the River Amazon, and she watched the Designer
proudly hold the Ball aloft to show her handiwork to her sisters.
"Surely it is the finest river we have yet traced!"
"Nay! let me see it."
"Can it be greater than that which Mortals call the Ganges?"
Then, as the Designer of the Amazon threw the Ball above the head of
the youngest Goddess toward the lap of a weary, responsible-looking
sister, the youngest Goddess leapt above the little silvern stars, and
caught it in her lithe white arms.
A look of consternation went round the Universe.
"She is too young to play!"
But the youngest Goddess claspt the Ball to her breast.
"Let me play, just once," she pleaded. "I will make no earthquakes, no
volcanoes, no geysers, nothing that could spoil the beauty of the Ball."
Then an old Goddess--so old that she could remember God calling order
out of chaos, hobbled towards her.
"Child! thou hast seized the Ball, and play with it thou wilt, but
disturb not the handiwork of thine elder sisters. Thou canst pattern
only where they have not worked."
So the youngest Goddess held the Ball up to the glance of God to get a
great light upon it, and by chance found one small space covered with
heather and bilberry, a wild sad waste.
"Here, I may play! Oh! my sisters, I would make something rarer and
more beautiful of my little wild heath than any of you have dreamed of
for other parts of the Ball."
Lovingly she laid her outstretched hand upon the bosom of the moorland,
and when she lifted it the uplands bore the soft imprint, and a little
river flowed where each finger had rested.
Thus were created
Airedale,
Wharfedale,
Nidderdale,
Wensleydale, and
Swaledale.
And because the fingers of the youngest Goddess quivered with pleasure
they are merry little dancing rivers, and even play underground as they
ripple to the Ouse.
In this wise she fulfilled her desire to make something rarer and more
beautiful of her moorland waste than her sisters had ever dreamed of
for any other part of the Ball.
But, being very young, she boasted of her wondrous achievement, and, as
a punishment, the other Goddesses prevented her from ever playing with
the Ball again.
That is the reason there is only one Daleshire._
DALESHIRE
To E. A. B.
When sad home-longings, like little waifs,
Come to my heart, in a stranger-land,
No thought of a house sweeps over me,
No pleasant thorp does my heart demand;
For the great blue open wold it cries,
For the road that over the moorland lies.
For heather lands where the plovers wing,
Where frail mists gather about the hills
Like mystic shapes that eerily cling,
Where the air is hushed for the snipe-loved rills:
All these my tired heart greets as "Home,"
When and wherever I'm forced to roam.
In the dales the pollarded willows flower:
I hear the wings of a mating thrush;
The river has gained its spated hour,
Its mad, magnificent, tumbling rush;
Ready to break their hearts or sing,
My own sweet dales are expecting spring.
No flower-girt cottage means home to me,
No stately, splendid ancestral pile,
No cosy house builded pleasantly
Does my wandering-weary heart beguile,
But the homesick heart of me longs to hail
My county of lovering moor and dale!
BEAMSLEY BEACON.
ON OTLEY CHEVIN
Over the rough-hewn limestone wall,
I watched the serpenting river crawl
Adown the dale, thro' dimpled fields,
Daisy-brimmed, where Almscliffe shields
With rocky crest
The lambs that play on the old Earth's breast.
Gently I felt God's hand in mine,
As the sun came forth with a strength benign:
"_I have one request to make, dear God:
That when my body is 'neath the sod,
My spirit still
May over this country roam at will._"
On the wings of the wind I heard Him sigh:
"Unheedingly many--so many--pass by,
Tho' the world is full of My fairest thought,
Of all that My servant Time hath wrought,
It is so rare
To hear that My work is surpassing fair."
"_O! Grant my prayer, and let me stay
In this land where Thy little rivers stray,
For I love them, God, with a love so true,
Remembering they are a part of You.
O! Speak and bless!_"
And the wind from the uplands echoed "Yes."
WHARFEDALE.
THE SONG OF NIDDERDALE
As I came past the Brimham Rocks
I heard the thrushes calling,
And saw the pleasant, winding Nidd
In peaty ripples falling.
Its banks were gay with witching flowers,
And all the folk did hail
Me back again so cheerily
To bonnie Nidderdale.
The blackbirds in the birchen holts
The live-long day were singing,
Where countless azure hyacinths
Their perfumed bells were ringing.
And Guisecliff stands in loneliness
Between the moor and vale,
Protecting with its rocky scaur
My bonnie Nidderdale.
And as I passed thro' Pateley Brigg,
A woman carolled blithely,
And up and down the cobbled streets
The bairnies skipped so lithely.
The sky was blue, and silken clouds,
Each like an elfin sail,
Swept o'er the waking larchen woods
Of bonnie Nidderdale.
Where grey-stone <DW18>s, and greyer garths
Look down on Ramsgill village,
The thieving, gawmless, gay tomtits
The little gardens pillage.
Grey Middlesmoor is perched upon
The fellside azure pale,
A mist-girt, lonely sentinel
O'er bonnie Nidderdale.
Above the dowly intake lands
The great wide moor is calling,
Of heathered bens and brackened glens,
Where peat-born rills are brawling.
O! land of ever-changing skies,
Where wild winds storm and wail,
There is nowhere a land more loved
Than bonnie Nidderdale.
NIDDERDALE.
SONG OF THE MISTS
When Twilight beckons from the ghyll
We follow, follow up the hill;
Garth, holt, and meadow we caress,
Enwreathing all with loveliness;
Small, silver, mauve-blue butterflies
Are born of our brief summer sighs;
Frail harebells in our arms we bring,
To curtsey to the reigning ling;
Bairnies who watch for us to rise
Steal azure from us for their eyes;
And poets find their Land of Dreams
Lost in the moonlight of our streams.
THE HOLE OF HORCUM, NEAR WHITBY.
WANDER-THIRST
There's a drop of Romany blood in me,
And days there are when it swirls and leaps
Like a river's race or a surging sea,
Stirring to life all my calmer deeps.
Then wandering, wandering must I go
And the great, wide, open places know.
For out in the world the woods are awake,
And I hear the voice of the calling Wind,
My wonderful wooer, my rough, sweet mate,
And follow I must! Perchance I'll find
His whip that drives the clouds o'er the fells,
And cracks in the corrie, like short, sharp bells.
The wild Ever-during is calling for me,
A missel's song and a curlew's cry,
Blent with a rivulet's minstrelsy,
And the crooning voice of the fir-top's sigh.
'Tis the great god Pan that I seek to find
Borne on the wings of my lover Wind.
"O! make me one with the wondrous earth,
God of the woods and the laughing rills!
Make me one with the lucent mirth
Of the Sun as he rides o'er the gorse-loved hills.
When I am gone and my singing is mute
Give to my Lover my silent lute."
ROSEBERRY TOPPING.
THE ROAD
Over the moor in the velvet dusk
Mysteriously it lies.
White thro' the heath and the swart fir woods
White 'neath the twilit skies.
'Tis hid in the folds of the purple hills,
Seeking a fern-fringed burn:
But it mounts again, then is lost once more,
With a tremulous, misting turn.
Where blue mists gather beneath the moon
It shows as a silvern stream.
O Path of Life, you are out of sight,
And lost in a wistful dream.
JUGGER HOWE DALE.
THE SWALING* OF THE MOOR
Oh! Moorland in September
To love and to remember.
The air is still and sunlit,
The moor's a russet bed,
The bracken's turning beryl,
The whortle leaves are red.
Here stand five sister pine-trees,
Gold-nimbussed by the sun;
And near, a slender rowan,
Its scarlet reign begun.
A runnel near is singing
A song of liquid glee,
A saucy, joyous blackbird
Tilts bubbling notes at me.
Then in a magic circle
Seven thick white smokes upcurl,
And forks of flame triumphant
Like crimson flags unfurl.
They rise with grace, and slowly--
Flower incense from the ling,
Repaying summer splendour
By an autumn offering.
Oh! Moorland in September
To love and to remember.
WEST END, BLUBBERHOUSES.
* The annual burning of the heather.
THE MOORS IN SUMMER
Up to the moorlands a lingtit has flown--
(Another meadow has yet to be mown
Before the sun goes under the hill).
I will hie me down, for a drink, to the rill:
A wheatear mimics the whinchat's call,
And a cuckoo cries from the Woods of Wath
As a heron soars over the verdant strath,
And an ousel pipes from the grey stone wall.
I drink in a dream--
The water flows from a Fairy Stream.
For the smell of the ling my heart is a-yearn,
And the sharp, sweet tang of a moorland burn.
The lingtit waited anent a gate
Where foxgloves held their midsummer fete,
Then on she sped o'er the feathery green
Of the bracken fronds, flying beneath and between,
Till she reached a <DW18> where the bents and moors
Stretched out to the sky in a rolling sea
Of wave upon wavelet of purpling glee,
O'er a land where the wistful lapwing lures.
I sought to rest
On the moorland's soft, sweet, heathery breast,
When out of the bilberries, spick and clean,
A small man stepped, in a coat of green.
He bowed to the earth, with an old-world grace,
Then lifted his eyes to my sun-tanned face:
"_So you are the Mortal who drank from our rill,
A cordial welcome to Bilberry Hill!_"
He peered again, and he watched mine eyes,
Then turning, he whistled the lapwing's note.
For a moment the melody seemed to float
O'er the heather; and then with increased surprise
I saw a troop
Of little green men around me group.
They all bowed low, "I thought you had fled
The Yorkshire Uplands, green men!" I said.
They smiled at each other. Their leader broke
The hush of the heather, and thus he spoke:
"_Ling-men! her eyes are the eyes of the fells,
Grey as the clouds and blue as the bells
Of the harebell. See! how they flash and play
As the rivulet does 'neath the rowan and birk;
'Tis a glance in which there's loving a-lurk;
A glance that only is born on the brae.
Ling-men! I am sure
A changeling is she, and belongs to the moor.
Her way she lost as a weeny bairn.
Men found her, and town-ways they made her learn.
Capture her heart so she cannot roam
Far away from her grouse-loved home,
Weave from the cottony grasses a chain
That will pull at her heart with a wild, dear pain;
Fashion a gyve from the wings of the lark,
Manacles make from the bumble-bees' croon,
To keep her a captive from June to June,
To render her ours in the light, in the dark!_"
They wove a spell
Which encircled me round from fell to fell.
O! it bound my heart for ever and aye,
To the lands where the Bilberry Ling-men play.
DALLOWGILL MOOR.
MY HERBARY
I know a little garden very old,
High-walled, with wandering paths of greenest box;
Beyond the doorway lies the rolling wold,
The open moorland, and the Brimham Rocks.
Here find a home all nigh-forgotten herbs;
The sage and rosemary nod side by side;
A giant lavender no pruning curbs,
With us each year the honesties abide.
Under a hawthorn, ruby-gemmed in May,
A bank of marjorams lie at their ease;
Here, lad's-love sigh their fragrant hearts away,
Whilst rippling lieds of water never cease.
Beside the cherry-tree the balsams flower,
The rue and mint bloom out a life-time meek;
A pleasant place it is at sunrise hour,
When sportful finches wing in hide-and-seek.
And where the aged, moss-grown sundial lies,
The peacock pert unfolds his wheel-rim tail,
Showing a hundred jewelled Argus eyes:
With harsh, shrill cry he bids the day "All hail."
More is he fitted for the fountained sward
Than for my herbary of butterflies;
No! I proclaim the lovelier throstle, Lord,
The only one my simples recognise.
PATELEY BRIDGE, NIDDERDALE.
RUSHES
Rushes by the river
Rear their heads of brown;
In the wind they quiver
With a warning frown.
"Do you want them, Fairest?
At thy feet they lie;
They were guarding, Rarest,--
Sentinels!--They die."
Wild things are not willing
To be captive ta'en:
"Cutting's almost killing,"
Is their sad refrain.
"Rushes in their beauty
Greenly-proud should stand:
Guarding is their duty--
River from the land."
DARLEY, NIDDERDALE.
SATAN* AND I
To-day there is no one as happy as I,
Who am free of the hills, of the dales, of the sky,
As I ride o'er the moors while the lapwings cry.
I ride thro' the whin, watch the rabbits run,
Then slowly I turn to bask in the sun--
Then gallop away o'er the crest, like fun.
And Satan, you fiend, with your knowing ways
And tricks, that you dream of for days and days,
And mem'ries of maddening hours of the chase;
Do you feel the liberty of the wind,
That wakes the fern-land with kisses kind,
And seeks with caresses our lips to find?
To-day, for us both to be out is joy,
Tho' I am a girl with the soul of a boy,
And you are a horse, whom the spurs annoy.
To just be alive is a blessing rare,
In a world of beauty, endlessly fair;
For Satan and I, we have no care.
ALMSCLIFFE CRAG, WHARFEDALE.
* The name of my horse.
TO THE WIND
Strong, powerful Sweetheart-Wind,
In tireless love-storm surging;
Great, bold, tempestuous Wind,
Ever thy passion urging.
Hold me close in thine arms,
O! strengthening ecstasy:
Wild, sweet, capturing arms--
Love! I am yearning for thee.
Eyes, hair, bosom caress,
My rowan-red lips now kiss;
Life-giving, wilful caress,
O! marvellous moorland bliss.
Great, strong lover o' mine,
I long for thy grand embrace;
Fierce, brave lover o' mine,
I yield to thee my heart's grace.
GREENHOW HILL.
SAADI AND THE ROSE
O summer, with thy magic gift of flowers
And soft bird voices, musicking the breeze,
While yet thy roses stir the lazy air
My soul wings back thro' centuries, as hours.
It journeys till it 'lights within a court
Where roses riot o'er veined-marble walls,
Where peacocks strut along the broad white steps,
Or over broideries by fair hands wrought.
Within the palace, divanned, rests a king,
Who watches listlessly the fountain's jet;
And at his feet the poet Saadi stands
And hears intent th' captured bulbuls sing.
A slave with soul on freedom bent he stands,
His eyes ablaze with restless ecstasy,
While all around him breathes magnificence
Of power imperial over many lands.
Within his slender hand he holds a rose;
Raising his head, he murmurs, "_Mighty King!
Do good unto thy servant while thou canst:
Thou may'st not always mitigate his woes._
"_Like to this fleeting glory, carmined deep,
The season of thy power is transient:
Do good, whilst yet thou canst--'before thine eyes
Close in thy last, forgetting, silent sleep._"
O blood-red rose! Thy petals bring to me
The sunlit beauty of the Persian Court,
The voice of Saadi, pleading with the king
His freedom granted on thy crimson plea.
A ROSE-GARDEN IN AIREDALE.
THE DIFFERENCE
When the factories all are silenced,
And night brings her balm of sleep,
What are your last dear waking thoughts
Ere you drift into slumber deep?
Why, Darling Mine! they are all of work,
As your mind reviews the day:
Of the men you meet, of progress made,
Of struggles to make your way.
But I--when I nestle among the sheets,
Ere sleep my tired eyes woo,
Just count and repeat the loving words
That have fall'n to-day from you!
AIREDALE.
SONG OF THE PRIMROSES
Listen to the infant breeze,
Clutching at the nippled trees,
Where our yellow flowers are blowing,
Where the rivulet is flowing.
Over all the blue-cupped sky
Silver brooding clouds swim by;
See! The firstling swallow flying,
Later, owlets will be crying.
Come and mark the painter sun
Daub the earth with golden fun;
Hear the larches' fingers snapping,
As if goblin hands were clapping.
Smell the rain-sweet, thymy earth,
Feel the wonder of rebirth!
Far away a cuckoo's calling,
Notes that sound like twin bells falling.
Then a clearer voice replies
To his echo ere it dies,
And the blackbirds' voices mingle
With th' Eistedfodd in the dingle.
Gold-green poplars slowly wave
O'er the Winter's mossy grave;
Ferns are pointing curly fingers
Where the dead year's bracken lingers.
We have seen a hedgehog hide
Prickle-less to greet his bride;
Watched the baby otter shiver
Ere he plunged into the river.
We are critics of the bees,
Watch how they despoil and seize
From each cowslip saffron bounty;
Uncaught robbers of the county!
All the keenings of the bat,
Whimperings of the water-rat;
All the hopes of sister flowers
Come to us by gossip showers.
Tortoise-shelled butterflies,
On their dew-pearl'd wingful sighs,
Bear the news of elfin squabbles;
"Wounded Oberon still hobbles."
We are darlings of the Spring,
All her secrets she doth bring,
Runes of magic she discloses
To her confidant-Primroses.
ENVOI
We shall feel her joy-winged sigh,
When she hears the Summer's cry:
We shall droop and die of grieving,
When our lovely Spring is leaving.
LITTONDALE.
LILIES
When I am old, so very old
That all my own have passed away,
And I await Life's evening-gold,
A little figure, lone and | 1,087.560769 |
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THE
UNCONSTITUTIONALITY
OF
SLAVERY.
BY LYSANDER SPOONER.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY BELA MARSH,
NO. 25 CORNHILL.
1845.
ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by LYSANDER
SPOONER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
DOW & JACKSON'S ANTI-SLAVERY PRESS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.--WHAT IS LAW? PAGE 5
" II.--WRITTEN CONSTITUTIONS, 18
" III.--THE COLONIAL CHARTERS, 24
" IV.--COLONIAL STATUTES, 36
" V.--THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE, 42
" VI.--THE STATE CONSTITUTIONS OF 1789.
(MEANING OF THE WORD "FREE,") 46
" VII.--THE ARTICLES OF CONFEDERATION, 61
" VIII.--THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES, 65
" IX.--THE INTENTIONS OF THE CONVENTION, 135
" X.--THE PRACTICE OF THE GOVERNMENT, 145
" XI.--THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE PEOPLE, 147
" XII.--THE STATE CONSTITUTIONS OF 1845, 150
" XIII.--THE CHILDREN OF SLAVES ARE BORN FREE, 153
THE
UNCONSTITUTIONALITY OF SLAVERY.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT IS LAW?
Before examining the language of the Constitution, in regard to Slavery,
let us obtain a view of the principles, by virtue of which _law_ arises
out of those constitutions and compacts, by which people agree to
establish government.
To do this it is necessary to define the term _law_. Popular opinions
are very loose and indefinite, both as to the true definition of law,
and also as to the principle, by virtue of which law results from the
compacts or contracts of mankind with each other.
What then is LAW? That law, I mean, which, and which only, judicial
tribunals are morally bound, under all circumstances, to declare and
sustain?
In answering this question, I shall attempt to show that law is an
intelligible principle of right, necessarily resulting from the nature
of man; and not an arbitrary rule, that can be established by mere will,
numbers or power.
To determine whether this proposition be correct, we must look at the
_general_ signification of the term _law_.
The true and general meaning of it, is that _natural_, permanent,
unalterable principle, which governs any particular thing or class of
things. The principle is strictly a _natural_ one; and the term applies
to every _natural_ principle, whether mental, moral or physical. Thus
we speak of the laws of mind; meaning thereby those _natural_, universal
and necessary principles, according to which mind acts, or by which it
is governed. We speak too of the moral law; which is merely an universal
principle of moral obligation, that arises out of the nature of men, and
their relations to each other, and to other things--and is consequently
as unalterable as the nature of men. And it is solely because it is
unalterable in its nature, and universal in its application, that it is
denominated law. If it were changeable, partial or arbitrary, it would
be no law. Thus we speak of physical laws; of the laws, for instance,
that govern the solar system; of the laws of motion, the laws of
gravitation, the laws of light, &c., &c.--Also the laws that govern the
vegetable and animal kingdoms, in all their various departments: among
which laws may be named, for example, the one that like produces like.
Unless the operation of this principle were uniform, universal and
necessary, it would be no law.
Law, then, applied to any object or thing whatever, signifies a
_natural_, unalterable, universal principle, governing such object or
thing. Any rule, not existing in the nature of things, or that is not
permanent, universal and inflexible in its application, is no law,
according to any correct definition of the term law.
What, then, is that _natural_, universal, impartial and inflexible
principle, which, under all circumstances, _necessarily_ fixes,
determines, defines and governs the civil rights of men? Those rights of
person, property, &c., which one human being has, as against other human
beings?
I shall define it to be simply _the rule, principle, obligation or
requirement of natural justice_.
This rule, principle, obligation or requirement of natural justice, has
its origin in the natural rights of individuals, results necessarily
from them, keeps them ever in view as its end and purpose, secures their
enjoyment, and forbids their violation. It also secures all those
acquisitions of property, privilege and claim, which men have a
_natural_ right to make by labor and contract.
Such is the true meaning of the term law, as applied to the civil rights
of men. And I doubt if any other definition of law can be given, that
will prove correct in every, or necessarily in any possible case. The
very idea of law originates in men's natural rights. There is no other
standard, than natural rights, by which civil law can be measured. Law
has always been the name of that rule or principle of justice, which
protects those rights. Thus we speak of _natural law_. Natural law, in
fact, constitutes the great body of the law that is _professedly_
administered by judicial tribunals: and it always necessarily must
be--for it is impossible to anticipate a thousandth part of the cases
that arise, so as to enact a special law for them. Wherever the cases
have not been thus anticipated, the natural law prevails. We thus
politically and judicially _recognize_ the principle of law as
originating in the nature and rights of men. By recognizing it as
originating in the nature of men, we recognize it as a principle, that
is necessarily as immutable, and as indestructible as the nature of man.
We also, in the same way, recognize the impartiality and universality of
its application.
If, then, law be a natural principle--one necessarily resulting from the
very nature of man, and capable of being destroyed or changed only by
destroying or changing the nature of man--it necessarily follows that it
must be of higher and more inflexible obligation than any other rule of
conduct, which the arbitrary will of any man, or combination of men, may
attempt to establish. Certainly no rule can be of such high, universal
and inflexible obligation, as that, which, if observed, secures the
rights, the safety and liberty of all.
Natural law, then, is the paramount law. And, being the paramount law,
it is necessarily the only law: for, being applicable to every possible
case that can arise touching the rights of men, any other principle or
rule, that should arbitrarily be applied to those rights, would
necessarily conflict with it. And, as a merely arbitrary, partial and
temporary rule must, of necessity, be of less obligation than a natural,
permanent, equal and universal one, the arbitrary one becomes, in
reality, of no obligation at all, when the two come in collision.
Consequently there is, and can be, correctly speaking, _no law but
natural law_. There is no other principle or rule, applicable to the
rights of men, that is obligatory in comparison with this, in any case
whatever. And this natural law is no other than that rule of natural
justice, which results either directly from men's natural rights, or
from such acquisitions as they have a _natural_ right to make, or from
such contracts as they have a _natural_ right to enter into.
Natural law recognizes the validity of all contracts which men have a
_natural_ right to make, and which justice requires to be fulfilled:
such, for example, as contracts that render equivalent for equivalent,
and are at the same time consistent with morality, the natural rights of
men, and those rights of property, privilege, &c., which men have a
natural right to acquire by labor and contract.
Natural law, therefore, inasmuch as it recognizes the natural right of
men to enter into obligatory contracts, permits the formation of
government, founded on contract, as all our governments profess to be.
But in order that the contract of government may be valid and lawful, it
must purport to authorize nothing inconsistent with natural justice, and
men's natural rights. It cannot lawfully authorize government to destroy
or take from men their natural rights: for natural rights are
inalienable, and can no more be surrendered to government--which is but
an association of individuals--than to a single individual. They are a
necessary attribute of man's nature; and he can no more part with
them--to government or any body else--than with his nature itself. But
the contract of government may lawfully authorize the adoption of
means--not inconsistent with natural justice--for the better protection
of men's natural rights. And this is the legitimate and true object of
government. And rules and statutes, not inconsistent with natural
justice and men's natural rights, if enacted by such government, are
binding, on the ground of contract, upon those who are parties to the
contract, which creates the government, and authorizes it to pass rules
and statutes to carry out its objects.[1]
But natural law tries the contract of government, and declares it lawful
or unlawful, obligatory or invalid, by the same rules by which it tries
all other contracts between man and man. A contract for the
establishment of government, being nothing but a voluntary contract
between individuals for their mutual benefit, differs, in nothing that
is essential to its validity, from any other contract between man and
man, or between nation and nation. If two individuals enter into a
contract to commit trespass, theft, robbery or murder upon a third, the
contract is unlawful and void, simply because it is a contract to
violate natural justice, or men's natural rights. If two nations enter
into a treaty, that they will unite in plundering, enslaving or
destroying a third, the treaty is unlawful, void, and of no obligation,
simply because it is contrary to justice and men's natural rights. On
the same principle, if the majority, however large, of the people of a
country, enter into a contract of government, called a constitution, by
which they agree to aid, abet or accomplish any kind of injustice, or to
destroy or invade the natural rights of any person or persons
whatsoever, whether such persons be parties to the compact or not, this
contract of government is unlawful and void--and for the same reason
that a treaty between two nations for a similar purpose, or a contract
of the same nature between two individuals, is unlawful and void. Such a
contract of government has no moral sanction. It confers no rightful
authority upon those appointed to administer it. It confers no legal or
moral rights, and imposes no legal or moral obligation upon the people
who are parties to it. The only duties, which any one can owe to it, or
to the government established under color of its authority, are
disobedience, resistance, destruction.
Judicial tribunals, sitting under the authority of this unlawful
contract or constitution, are bound, equally with other men, to declare
it, and all unjust enactments passed by the government in pursuance of
it, unlawful and void. These judicial tribunals cannot, by accepting
office under a government, rid themselves of that paramount obligation,
that all men are under, to declare, if they declare any thing, that
justice is law; that government can have no lawful powers, except those
with which it has been invested by lawful contract; and that an unlawful
contract for the establishment of government, is as unlawful and void as
any other contract to do injustice.
No oaths, which judicial or other officers may take, to carry out and
support an unlawful contract or constitution of government, are of any
moral obligation. It is immoral to take such oaths, and it is criminal
to fulfil them. They are, both in morals and law, like the oaths which
individual pirates, thieves and bandits give to their confederates, as
an assurance of their fidelity to the purposes for which they are
associated. No man has any moral right to assume such oaths; they impose
no obligation upon those who do assume them; they afford no moral
justification for official acts, in themselves unjust, done in pursuance
of them.
If these doctrines are correct, then those contracts of government,
state and national, which we call constitutions, are void, and unlawful,
so far as they purport to authorize, (if any of them do authorize,) any
thing in violation of natural justice, or the natural rights of any man
or class of men whatsoever. And all judicial tribunals are bound, by the
highest obligations that can rest upon them, to declare that these
contracts, in all such particulars, (if any such there be,) are void,
and not law. And all agents, legislative, executive, judicial and
popular, who voluntarily lend their aid to the execution of any of the
unlawful purposes of the government, are as much personally guilty,
according to all the moral and legal principles, by which crime, in its
essential character, is measured, as though they performed the same acts
independently, and of their own volition.
Such is the true character and definition of law. Yet, instead of being
allowed to signify, as it in reality does, that natural, universal and
inflexible principle, which has its origin in the nature of man, keeps
pace every where with the rights of man, as their shield and protector,
binds alike governments and men, weighs by the same standard the acts of
communities and individuals, and is paramount in | 1,087.562103 |
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THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,
NOW FIRST COLLECTED
_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.
ILLUSTRATED
WITH NOTES,
HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,
AND
A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,
BY
WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
VOL. VIII.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.
1808.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME EIGHTH.
PAGE.
Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias, a Comedy, 1
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir William Leveson Gower, Bart. 7
King Arthur, or the British Worthy, a Dramatic Opera, 107
Epistle Dedicatory to the Marquis of Halifax, 113
Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy, 181
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester, 191
Preface, 196
The Life of Cleomenes, translated from
Plutarch by Mr Thomas Creech, 207
Love Triumphant, or Nature will prevail, a Tragi-comedy, 331
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Salisbury, 337
Prologue, Song, Secular Masque, and Epilogue, written for
the Pilgrim, revived for Dryden's benefit in 1700, 437
AMPHITRYON:
OR
THE TWO SOSIAS.
A COMEDY.
_Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,
Una dolo <DW37>ûm si fæmina victa duorum est._ VIRG.
AMPHITRYON.
Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during
the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon,
which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere
and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and
inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with
that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished
times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised
and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter
throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard,
upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made
few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a
formal _Prologus_, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury,
and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere
and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method,
by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also,
that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so
indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules
into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event.
Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of
his dialogue,--resting frequently, for wit, upon the most miserable
puns,--the comic device of the two Sosias; the errors into which
the malice of Mercury plunges his unlucky original; the quarrel of
Alcmena with her real husband, and her reconciliation with Jupiter
in his stead; the final confronting of the two Amphitryos; and the
astonishment of the unfortunate general, at finding every proof of his
identity exhibited by his rival,--are all, however rudely sketched,
the inventions of the Roman poet. In one respect it would seem, that
the _jeu de theatre_, necessary to render the piece probable upon
the stage, was better managed in the time of Plautus than in that of
Dryden and Moliere. Upon a modern stage it is evidently difficult to
introduce two pair of characters, so extremely alike as to make it at
all probable, or even possible, that the mistakes, depending upon their
extreme resemblance, could take place. But, favoured by the masks and
costume of the ancient theatre, Plautus contrived to render Jupiter and
Mercury so exactly like Amphitryon and Sosia, that they were obliged
to retain certain marks, supposed to be invisible to the other persons
of the drama, by which the audience themselves might be enabled to
distinguish the gods from the mortals, whose forms they had assumed[1].
The modern poets have treated the subject, which they had from Plautus,
each according to the fashion of his country; and so far did the
correctness of the French stage exceed ours at that period, that the
palm of the comic writing must be, at once, awarded to Moliere. For,
though Dryden had the advantage of the French author's labours, from
which, and from Plautus, he has translated liberally, the wretched
taste of the age has induced him to lard the piece with gratuitous
indelicacy. He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Moliere is
witty; and where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the
Englishman always contrives to make it a single one. Yet although
inferior to Moliere, and accommodated to the gross taste of the
seventeenth century, "Amphitryon" is one of the happiest effusions
of Dryden's comic muse. He has enriched the plot by the intrigue of
Mercury and Phædra; and the petulant interested "Queen of Gipsies," as
her lover terms her, is no bad paramour for the God of Thieves.
In the scenes of a higher cast, Dryden far outstrips both the
French and Roman poet. The sensation to be expressed is not that of
sentimental affection, which the good father of Olympus was not capable
of feeling; but love, of that grosser and subordinate kind which
prompted Jupiter in his intrigues, has been by none of the ancient
poets expressed in more beautiful verse than that in which Dryden has
clothed it, in the scenes between Jupiter and Alcmena. Even Milbourne,
who afterwards attacked our author with such malignant asperity, was
so sensible of the merit of "Amphitryon," that he addressed to the
publisher the following letter and copy of verses, which Mr Malone's
industry recovered from among Mr Tonson's papers.
"MR TONSON, _Yarmouth, Novemb. 24.--90._
"You'l wonder perhaps at this from a stranger; but ye reason of it
may perhaps abate somewhat of ye miracle, and it's this. On Thursday
the twentyth instant, I receiv'd Mr Drydens AMPHYTRIO: I leave out
the Greeke termination, as not so proper in my opinion, in English.
But to passe that; I liked the play, and read it over with as much of
criticisme and ill nature as ye time (being about one in ye morning,
and in bed,) would permit. Going to sleep very well pleasd, I could
not leave my bed in ye morning without this sacrifice to the authours
genius: it was too sudden to be correct, but it was very honestly
meant, and is submitted to yours and Mr Ds. disposall.
"Hail, Prince of Witts! thy fumbling Age is past,
Thy youth and witt and art's renewed at last.
So on some rock the Joviall bird assays
Her ore-grown beake, that marke of age, to rayse;
That done, through yield'ing air she cutts her way,
And strongly stoops againe, and breaks the trembling prey.
What though prodigious thunder stripp'd thy brows
Of envy'd bays, and the dull world allows
Shadwell should wear them,--wee'll applaud the change;
Where nations feel it, who can think it strange!
So have I seen the long-ear'd brute aspire
To drest commode with every smallest wire;
With nightrail hung on shoulders, gravely stalke,
Like bawd attendant on Aurelias walke.
Hang't! give the <DW2> ingratefull world its will;
He wears the laurel,--thou deservs't it still.
Still smooth, as when, adorn'd with youthful pride,
For thy dear sake the blushing virgins dyed;
When the kind gods of witt and love combined,
And with large gifts thy yielding soul refined.
"Not Phœbus could with gentler words pursue
His flying Daphne, not the morning dew
Falls softer than the words of amorous Jove,
When melting, dying, for Alcmene's love.
"Yet briske and airy too, thou fill'st the stage,
Unbroke by fortune, undecayed by age.
French wordy witt by thine was long surpast;
Now Rome's thy captive, and by thee wee taste
Of their rich dayntyes; but so finely drest,
Theirs was a country meal, thine a triumphant feast.
"If this to thy necessityes wee ow,
O, may they greater still and greater grow!
Nor blame the wish; Plautus could write in chaines,
Wee'll blesse thy wants, while wee enjoy thy pains.
Wealth makes the poet lazy, nor can fame,
That gay attendant of a spritely flame,
A Dorset or a Wycherly invite,
Because they feel no pinching wants, to write.
"Go on! endenizon the Romane slave;
Let an eternal spring adorne his grave;
His ghost would gladly all his fame submitt
To thy strong judgment and thy piercing witt.
Purged by thy hand, he speaks immortall sense,
And pleases all with modish excellence.
Nor would we have thee live on empty praise
The while, for, though we cann't restore the bays,
While thou writ'st thus,--to pay thy merites due,
Wee'll give the claret and the pension too."
Milbourne concludes, by desiring to be supplied with such of our
author's writings, as he had not already, to be sent to Yarmouth in
Norfolk, where he probably had then a living.
"Amphitryon" was produced in the same year with "Don Sebastian;" and
although it cannot be called altogether an original performance, yet it
contains so much original writing as to shew, that our author's vein
of poetry was, in his advanced age, distinguished by the same rapid
fluency, as when he first began to write for the stage.
This comedy was acted and printed in 1690. It was very favourably
received; and continued long to be what is called a stock-play.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: This caution is given by Mercury in the prologue.
"Nunc internosse ut vos possitis facilius,
Ego has habebo hic usque in petaso pinnulas,
Tum meo patri autem torulus inerit aureus
Sub petaso: Id signum Amphitruoni non erit.
Ea signa nemo horumce familiarium
Videri poterit; verum vos videbitis."]
TO
THE HONOURABLE
SIR WILLIAM LEVESON GOWER,
BARONET.[2]
There is one kind of virtue which is inborn in the nobility, and indeed
in most of the ancient families of this nation; they are not apt to
insult on the misfortunes of their countrymen. But you, sir, I may
tell it without flattery, have grafted on this natural commiseration,
and raised it to a nobler virtue. As you have been pleased to honour
me, for a long time, with some part of your esteem, and your good
will; so, in particular, since the late Revolution, you have increased
the proofs of your kindness to me; and not suffered the difference of
opinions, which produce such hatred and enmity in the brutal part of
human kind, to remove you from the settled basis of your good nature,
and good sense. This nobleness of yours, had it been exercised on an
enemy, had certainly been a point of honour, and as such I might have
justly recommended it to the world; but that of constancy to your
former choice, and the pursuance of your first favours, are virtues
not over-common amongst Englishmen. All things of honour have, at
best, somewhat of ostentation in them, and self-love; there is a pride
of doing more than is expected from us, and more than others would
have done. But to proceed in the same track of goodness, favour, and
protection, is to shew that a man is acted by a thorough principle: it
carries somewhat of tenderness in it, which is humanity in a heroical
degree; it is a kind of unmoveable good-nature; a word which is
commonly despised, because it is so seldom practised. But, after all,
it is the most generous virtue, opposed to the most degenerate vice,
which is that of ruggedness and harshness to our fellow-creatures.
It is upon this knowledge of you, sir, that I have chosen you, with
your permission, to be the patron of this poem. And as, since this
wonderful Revolution, I have begun with the best pattern of humanity,
the Earl of Leicester, I shall continue to follow the same method, in
all to whom I shall address; and endeavour to pitch on such only, as
have been pleased to own me, in this ruin of my small fortune; who,
though they are of a contrary opinion themselves, yet blame not me for
adhering to a lost cause; and judging for myself, what I cannot chuse
but judge, so long as I am a patient sufferer, and no disturber of the
government. Which, if it be a severe penance, as a great wit has told
the world, it is at least enjoined me by myself: and Sancho Pança, as
much fool as I, was observed to discipline his body no farther than he
found he could endure the smart.
You see, sir, I am not entertaining you like Ovid, with a lamentable
epistle from Pontus: I suffer no more than I can easily undergo; and so
long as I enjoy my liberty, which is the birth-right of an Englishman,
the rest shall never go near my heart. The merry philosopher is more to
my humour than the melancholic; and I find no disposition in myself to
cry, while the mad world is daily supplying me with such occasions of
laughter. The more reasonable sort of my countrymen have shewn so much
favour to this piece, that they give me no doubt of their protection
for the future.
As you, sir, have been pleased to follow the example of their goodness,
in favouring me; so give me leave to say that I follow yours, in this
dedication to a person of a different persuasion. Though I must confess
withal, that I have had a former encouragement from you for this
address; and the warm remembrance of your noble hospitality to me, at
Trentham[3], when some years ago I visited my friends and relations
in your country, has ever since given me a violent temptation to this
boldness.
It is true, were this comedy wholly mine, I should call it a trifle,
and perhaps not think it worth your patronage; but, when the names of
Plautus and Moliere are joined in it, that is, the two greatest names
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE IDIOT;
_HIS PLACE IN CREATION_,
AND
_HIS CLAIMS ON SOCIETY_.
[Illustration: THE EASTERN COUNTIES' ASYLUM FOR IDIOTS AND
IMBECILES.]
THE IDIOT;
_HIS PLACE IN CREATION_,
AND
_HIS CLAIMS ON SOCIETY_.
BY
SIR FREDERIC BATEMAN, M.D., LL.D.,
_Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians_;
_Consulting Physician to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, and to
the Eastern Counties' Asylum for Idiots_;
_Associé et Lauréat de l'Académie de Médecine de Paris_;
_Citation de l'Institut de France_;
_Corresponding Member of the Psychiatrical Society of St. Petersburg_;
_Hon. Member of the New York Neurological Society_;
_Foreign Associate of the Medico-Psychological Society of Paris_.
_Author of "Aphasia, or Loss of Speech";
"Darwinism tested by Language," &c._
SECOND EDITION.
LONDON:
JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE.
1897.
PREFACE
TO
THE SECOND EDITION.
As stated in the preface to the first edition, the arguments contained
in this essay formed the nucleus of an address advocating the claims
of the Idiot upon the philanthropists of East Anglia, at a public
meeting held in Norwich, in support of the Eastern Counties' Asylum
for Idiots, under the presidency of His Grace the Duke of Norfolk,
K.G., Earl Marshal of England.
In acceding to the request of the Board of Directors to publish a
second edition, I have thought it right to retain the form of a public
oration, as requiring less modification in the phraseology of the
appeal for help, than would otherwise have been necessary.
Much additional matter has been added, especially in reference to
Consanguine Marriages, Parental Intemperance, Overpressure in
Education, and other factors in the causation of Idiocy.
I have tried to show how the study of the Idiot is calculated to throw
light upon the abstruse question of the connection between Matter and
Mind, and that it is a subject fraught with interest not only to the
Philanthropist, but to the Theologian, and to the Political Economist.
Although I have endeavoured to explain my views in popular language, I
trust it has not been at the sacrifice of strict scientific accuracy.
FREDERIC BATEMAN.
_Norwich,
January, 1897._
THE IDIOT;
HIS PLACE IN CREATION,
AND
HIS CLAIMS ON SOCIETY.
As Consulting Physician to the Eastern Counties' Asylum for Idiots, it
is my privilege to advocate the claims of one of the most important
charities connected with the Eastern District of England, and which,
as such, is calculated to excite an especial interest amongst the
philanthropists of East Anglia.
The Eastern Counties' Asylum for Idiots is an institution founded
specially for the reception of patients from Norfolk and the three
other Eastern Counties, just in the same way as the Royal Albert
Asylum, at Lancaster, is intended for patients from the seven northern
counties. It is, therefore, essentially an East Anglian Charity, and I
dwell especially on this point, because, being situated at Colchester,
I think there is an impression in certain quarters, that this
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The Road To Providence
by
Maria Thompson Daviess
CONTENTS
I THE DOCTORS MAYBERRY, MOTHER AND SON
II THE SINGER LADY AND THE BREAD-BOWL
III THE PEONY GIRL AND THE BUMPKIN
IV LOVE, THE CURE-ALL
V THE LITTLE RAVEN AND HER COVERED DISH
VI THE PROVIDENCE TAG-GANG
VII PRETTY BETTIE'S WEDDING DAY
VIII THE NEST ON PROVIDENCE NOB
IX THE LITTLE HARPETH WOMAN OF MANY SORROWS
X THE SONG OF THE MASTER'S GRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE DOCTORS MAYBERRY, MOTHER AND SON
"Now, child, be sure and don't mix 'em with a heavy hand! Lightness is
expected of riz biscuits and had oughter be dealt out to 'em by | 1,087.657378 |
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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION, 1566-1574, Complete
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC
By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY
1855
VOLUME 2, Book 1., 1566
1566 [CHAPTER VIII.]
Secret policy of the government--Berghen and Montigny in Spain--
Debates at Segovia--Correspondence of the Duchess with Philip--
Procrastination and dissimulation of the King--Secret communication
to the Pope--Effect in the provinces of the King's letters to the
government--Secret instructions to the Duchess--Desponding
statements of Margaret--Her misrepresentations concerning Orange,
Egmont, and others--Wrath and duplicity of Philip--Egmont's
exertions in Flanders--Orange returns to Antwerp--His tolerant
spirit--Agreement of 2d September--Horn at Tournay--Excavations in
the Cathedral--Almost universal attendance at the preaching--
Building of temples commenced--Difficult position of Horn--Preaching
in the Clothiers' Hall--Horn recalled--Noircarmes at Tournay--
Friendly correspondence of Margaret with Orange, Egmont, Horn, and
Hoogstraaten--Her secret defamation of these persons.
Egmont in Flanders, Orange at Antwerp, Horn at Tournay; Hoogstraaten at
Mechlin, were exerting themselves to suppress insurrection and to avert
ruin. What, meanwhile, was the policy of the government? The secret
course pursued both at Brussels and at Madrid may be condensed into the
usual formula--dissimulation, procrastination, and again dissimulation.
It is at this point necessary to take a rapid survey of the open and the
secret proceedings of the King and his representatives from the moment at
which Berghen and Montigny arrived in Madrid. Those ill-fated gentlemen
had been received with apparent cordiality, and admitted to frequent, but
unmeaning, interviews with his Majesty. The current upon which they were
embarked was deep and treacherous, but it was smooth and very slow. They
assured the King that his letters, ordering the rigorous execution of the
inquisition and edicts, had engendered all the evils under which the
provinces were laboring. They told him that Spaniards and tools of
Spaniards had attempted to govern the country, to the exclusion of native
citizens and nobles, but that it would soon be found that Netherlanders
were not to be trodden upon like the abject inhabitants of Milan, Naples,
and Sicily. Such words as these struck with an unaccustomed sound upon
the royal ear, but the envoys, who were both Catholic and loyal, had no
idea, in thus expressing their opinions, according to their sense of
duty, and in obedience to the King's desire, upon the causes of the
discontent, that they were committing an act of high treason.
When the news of the public preaching reached Spain, there were almost
daily consultations at the grove of Segovia. The eminent personages who
composed the royal council were the Duke of Alva, the Count de Feria, Don
Antonio de Toledo, Don Juan Manrique de Lara, Ruy Gomez, Quixada,
Councillor Tisnacq, recently appointed President of the State Council,
and Councillor Hopper. Six Spaniards and two Netherlanders, one of whom,
too, a man of dull intellect and thoroughly subservient character, to
deal with the local affairs of the Netherlands in a time of intense
excitement! The instructions of the envoys had been to represent the
necessity of according three great points--abolition of the inquisition,
moderation of the edicts, according to the draft prepared in Brussels,
and an ample pardon for past transactions. There was much debate upon all
these propositions. Philip said little, but he listened attentively to
the long discourses in council, and he took an incredible quantity of
notes. It was the general opinion that this last demand on the part of
the Netherlanders was the fourth link in the chain of treason. The first
had been the cabal by which Granvelle had been expelled; the second, the
mission of Egmont, the main object of which had been to procure a
modification of the state council, in order to bring that body under the
control of a few haughty and rebellious nobles; the third had been the
presentation of the insolent and seditious Request; and now, to crown the
whole, came a proposition embodying the three points--abolition of the
inquisition, revocation of the edicts, and a pardon to criminals, for
whom death was the only sufficient punishment.
With regard to these three points, it was, after much wrangling, decided
to grant them under certain restrictions. To abolish the inquisition
would be to remove the only instrument by which the Church had been
accustomed to regulate the consciences and the doctrines of its subjects.
It would be equivalent to a concession of religious freedom, at least to
individuals within their own domiciles, than which no concession could be
more pernicious. Nevertheless, it might be advisable to permit the
temporary cessation of the papal inquisition, now that the episcopal
inquisition had been so much enlarged | 1,087.659627 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 729. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 15, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]
A BUNCH OF KEYS.
I am a professional man, and reside in the West End of London. One
morning some few months back, my assistant on coming to attend to his
duties produced a bunch of keys, which he informed me he had just
picked up at the corner of a street leading from Oxford Street.
'Hadn't they best be handed over to the police?' suggested my
assistant. I wish to goodness I had at once closed with his suggestion;
but I didn't, much to my own cost, as will be presently seen.
'Well, I don't know,' was my answer. 'I rather think it will be a wiser
plan to advertise them, if the owner is really to have a chance of
recovering them; for to my mind, articles found in that way and handed
over to the police are rarely heard of again.'
An advertisement for the _Times_ was duly drawn up and sent off for
insertion. It merely stated where the keys had been picked up, and
where the owner of the bunch could have it returned to him on giving
a proper description. The next morning the advertisement appeared;
and though I half expected that some applications might be made later
on in the same day, it passed over quite quietly. But the following
morning I had a foretaste of the trouble that awaited me so soon as the
postman had deposited my letters in the box and given his accustomed
knock. A glance at my table shewed me that my correspondence was very
considerably beyond its average that morning. The very first letter I
opened was in reference to the advertisement; and before I had gone
through the collection I found there were over twenty applications
for the bunch of keys in my possession. Some of the writers took the
trouble to describe the keys they had lost; but none of them were in
the least like those that had been picked up by my assistant. Some did
not take the trouble to give any description at all, or to state if
they had been in the part of the town where the keys were found; and
a few boldly claimed them on the strength of having dropped a bunch
miles from the spot indicated in the advertisement!
By the time I had got through my letters and my breakfast, my
servant came to tell me that my waiting-room was already full of
people--'mostly ladies,' he said--though it was nearly two hours
before the time I was accustomed to see any one professionally. With a
foreboding that a good deal of worry and a loss of much valuable time
was in store for me, I entered my consulting-room, and gave orders that
the ladies should be admitted in the order of their arrival. They were
all applicants for the keys; and out of the sixteen persons that were
waiting, fourteen were ladies. The two gentlemen were soon despatched.
They _had_ lost keys, near the spot for anything they could tell; but
on being satisfied that what had been found did in no way agree with
the description of what they had lost, they apologised for the trouble
and went at once.
But it was no such easy matter to get rid of my fourteen
lady-applicants. Some of them were for inflicting upon me a narration
of family affairs that had not the most remote connection with the
business in hand. A few kept closely enough to the subject on which
they had come; but would not take a denial that the keys in my
possession were not the least like those they said they had lost; and
it was only at the sacrifice of some of my usual politeness that I was
able to get rid of them. Not one of the morning's arrival could make
out anything like a fair claim, and one or two owned that they had not
even been in the quarter where the keys were found on the day specified.
More letters, more applicants, came as the day wore on; and I began
heartily to repent of my well-meant desire to benefit my fellow-mortals
by taking the trouble to find out the rightful owner of a lost article.
I was just on the point of giving orders to my servant to put off all
further applicants until the following morning, when he ushered in
a comfortable-looking lady of middle age, who proceeded straight to
business by at once describing with the greatest accuracy the bunch of
keys that had given me so much anxiety that day; and assuring me that
she had passed the spot indicated in the advertisement on the morning
they were found.
'Nine keys on the bunch, all Chubb's patent; three very small ones,
five of various sizes, and one latch-key longer than any of the others.'
The description was perfect. Some of the other applicants had curiously
enough been right as to the number, but wrong as to description.
I at once told my lady visitor that I had no doubt the keys were hers;
and that I was ready to hand them over to her. But I ventured to add
that it would give me greater security were she to permit my assistant
to accompany her to her residence, and there, in his presence, to
open the different locks to which the keys belonged. To this proposal
not the smallest objection was raised. She begged I would call my
assistant, as she had a cab waiting at the door. The direction was
given to some place in Bloomsbury, and they drove off. In less than an
hour my assistant returned. He stated that the lady opened the street
door with the latch-key, and that the other eight keys opened desks,
writing-tables, cash-boxes, &c.--all quite correct and satisfactorily.
The expense of the advertisement was of course paid.
Congratulating myself that this troublesome business was well over, and
mentally resolving that another time, under similar circumstances, I
should act on my assistant's suggestion, and hand such matters over to
the police, I gave orders that all applicants that might come were to
be told that the rightful owner had been found and that the keys were
disposed of.
Two days passed, and I had almost dismissed the whole affair from my
mind. On the morning of the third day my attention was attracted by
an altercation going on between my servant and an irate lady--well
advanced in years--to whom he refused admittance. Anxious to
escape disturbance, I gave orders that she should be shewn into my
consulting-room, where I presently went to see what | 1,087.660723 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
================================================
Transcriber's note:
Chapter numbers in the Index with question marks
do not exist in the previous volumes.
================================================
PLUTARCH'S LIVES.
Translated from the Greek.
WITH
_NOTES AND A LIFE OF PLUTARCH_.
BY
AUBREY STEWART, M.A.,
_Late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge_;
AND THE LATE
GEORGE LONG, M.A.,
_Formerly Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge_.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. IV.
LONDON:
GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN,
AND NEW YORK.
1892.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS
PAGE
LIFE OF AGIS 1
LIFE OF KLEOMENES 19
LIFE OF TIBERIUS GRACCHUS (_by G. Long _) 53
LIFE OF CAIUS GRACCHUS (_by G. Long _) 90
COMPARISON OF TIBERIUS AND CAIUS GRACCHUS WITH AGIS AND
KLEOMENES 115
LIFE OF DEMOSTHENES 119
LIFE OF CICERO (_by G. Long_) 146
COMPARISON OF DEMOSTHENES AND CICERO 211
LIFE OF DEMETRIUS 215
LIFE OF ANTONIUS (_by G. Long_) 263
COMPARISON OF DEMETRIUS AND ANTONIUS 348
LIFE OF DION 352
LIFE OF BRUTUS (_by G. Long_) 398
COMPARISON OF DION AND BRUTUS 454
LIFE OF ARTAXERXES 458
LIFE OF ARATUS 485
LIFE OF GALBA 530
LIFE OF OTHO 556
INDEX 573
PLUTARCH'S LIVES.
LIFE OF AGIS.
I. Many writers have very naturally conceived that the myth of Ixion,
who is fabled to have embraced a cloud instead of Hera, and so to have
begotten the centaurs, is really typical of ambitious men; for, although
they aim at obtaining glory, and set before themselves a lofty ideal of
virtue, yet they never succeed in producing any very distinct result,
because all their actions are by various human passions and
prejudices, just as the herdsmen with their flocks say in Sophokles's
play:--
"We needs must serve them, though their lords we be,
And to their mute commands obedience pay."
These verses really represent the state of those who, in order to obtain
the empty title of statesmen and popular leaders, govern a country by
following the caprices and impulses of the people. Just as the men
stationed in the bows of a ship see what is coming before the steersmen,
but yet look up to them as their chiefs and execute their orders; so
they who govern with a view solely to their own popularity, although
they may be called rulers, are, in truth, nothing more than slaves of
the people.
II. An absolutely perfect man would not even wish for popularity, except
so far as it enabled him to take part in politics, and caused him to be
trusted by the people; yet a young and ambitious man must be excused if
he feels pride in the glory and reputation which he gains by brilliant
exploits. For, as Theophrastus says, the virtue which buds and sprouts
in youthful minds is confirmed by praise, and the high spirit thus
formed leads it to attempt greater things. On the other hand, an
excessive love of praise is dangerous in all cases, but, in statesmen,
utterly ruinous; for when it takes hold of men in the possession of
great power it drives them to commit acts of sheer madness, because they
forget that honourable conduct must increase their popularity, and think
that any measure that increases their popularity must necessarily be a
good one. We ought to tell the people that they cannot have the same man
to lead them and to follow them, just as Phokion is said to have replied
to Antipater, when he demanded some disgraceful service from him, "I
cannot be Antipater's friend and his toady at the same time." One might
also quote the fable of the serpent's tail which murmured against the
head and desired sometimes to take the lead, and not always follow the
head, but which when allowed to lead the way took the wrong path and
caused the head to be miserably crushed, because it allowed itself to be
guided by that which could neither see nor hear. This has been the fate
of many of those politicians who court the favour of the people; for,
after they have once shared their blind impulses, they lose the power of
checking their folly, and of restoring good discipline and order. These
reflections upon the favour of the people occurred to me when I thought
of its power, as shown in the case of Tiberius and Caius Gracchus, men
who were well born, well educated, and began their political career with
great promise, and yet were ruined, not so much by an excessive craving
for popular applause as by a very pardonable fear of disgrace. They both
received at the outset great proofs of their countrymen's goodwill, but
felt ashamed to remain as it were in their debt, and they ever strove to
wipe out their obligations to the people by legislation on their behalf,
and by their beneficent measures continually increased their popularity,
until, in the heat of the rivalry thus created, they found themselves
pledged to a line of policy in which they could not even pause with
honour, and which they could not desist from without disgrace. The
reader, however, will be able to form his own opinion about them from
their history, and I shall now write, as a parallel to them, the lives
of that pair of Laconian reformers, Agis and Kleomenes, kings of Sparta,
who, like the Gracchi, increased the power of the people, and
endeavoured to restore an admirable and just constitution which had
fallen into desuetude; but who, like them, incurred the hatred of the
governing class, who were unwilling to relinquish their encroachments
and privileges. These Lacedaemonians were not indeed brothers, yet they
pursued a kindred policy, with the same objects in view.
III. After the desire for silver and gold had penetrated into Sparta,
the acquisition of wealth produced greed and meanness, while the use and
enjoyment of riches was followed by luxury, effeminacy, and
extravagance. Thus it fell out that Sparta lost her high and honoured
position in Greece, and remained in obscurity and disgrace until the
reign of Agis and Leonidas. Agis was of the Eurypontid line, the son of
Eudamidas, and the sixth in descent from king Agesilaus, who invaded
Asia, and became the most powerful man in Greece. This Agesilaus had a
son named Archidamus, who fell in battle against the Messapians at the
battle of Mandurium[1] in Italy. He was succeeded by his eldest son
Agis, who, being killed by Antipater near Megalopolis, and leaving no
issue, was succeeded by his brother, Eudamidas; he, by a son named
Archidamus; and Archidamus by another Eudamidas, the father of Agis, the
subject of this memoir.
Leonidas, the son of Kleonymus, was of the other royal family, that of
the Agiadae, and was eighth in descent from Pausanias who conquered
Mardonius at the battle of Plataea. Pausanias had a son named
Pleistoanax, whose son was again named Pausanias. This Pausanias[2]
fled for his life from Sparta to Tegea, and was succeeded by his eldest
son Agesipolis; and he, dying childless, by his younger brother
Kleombrotus. Kleombrotus left two sons, Agesipolis and Kleomenes, of
whom Agesipolis reigned but a short time, and left no children.
Kleomenes succeeded his brother Agesipolis on the throne. Of his two
sons, the elder, Akrotatus, died during his father's lifetime, and the
younger, Kleonymus, never reigned, as the throne was occupied by
Areus[3] the grandson of Kleomenes, and the son of Akrotatus. Areus
perished in battle before Corinth, and was succeeded by his son
Akrotatus. This Akrotatus was defeated and slain near the city of
Megalopolis by the despot Aristodemus, leaving his wife pregnant. When
she bore a son, Leonidas the son of Kleonymus was appointed his
guardian, and, as the child died before reaching manhood, he succeeded
to the throne although he was far from being an acceptable personage to
his countrymen; for, though the Spartans at this period had all
abandoned their original severe simplicity of living, yet they found the
manners of Leonidas in offensive contrast to their own. Indeed,
Leonidas, who had spent much of his life at the courts of Asiatic
potentates, and had been especially attached to that of Seleukus, seemed
inclined to outrage the political feeling of the Greeks by introducing
the arrogant tone of an Oriental despot into the constitutional monarchy
of Sparta.
IV. On the other hand, the goodness of heart and intellectual power of
Agis proved so greatly superior not only to that of Leonidas, but of
every king since Agesilaus the Great, that before he arrived at his
twentieth year, in spite of his having been brought up in the greatest
luxury by his mother Agesistrata and his grandmother Archidamia, the two
richest women in Sparta, he abjured all frivolous indulgence, laid aside
all personal ornament, avoided extravagance of every kind, prided
himself on practising the old Laconian habits of dress, food, and
bathing, and was wont to say that he would not care to be king unless
he could use his position to restore the ancient customs and discipline
of his country.
V. The corruption of the Lacedaemonians began at the time when, after
having overthrown the Athenian empire, they were able to satiate
themselves with the possession of gold and silver. Nevertheless, as the
number of houses instituted by Lykurgus was still maintained, and each
father still transmitted his estate to his son, the original equal
division of property continued to exist and preserved the state from
disorder. But a certain powerful and self-willed man, named Epitadeus,
who was one of the Ephors, having quarrelled with his son, proposed a
rhetra permitting a man to give his house and land to whomsoever he
pleased, either during his life, or by his will after his death. This
man proposed the law in order to gratify his own private grudge; but the
other Spartans through covetousness eagerly confirmed it, and ruined the
admirable constitution of Lykurgus. They now began to acquire land
without limit, as the powerful men kept their relatives out of their
rightful inheritance; and as the wealth of the country soon got into the
hands of a few, the city became impoverished, and the rich began to be
viewed with dislike and hatred. There were left at that time no more
than seven hundred Spartans, and of these about one hundred possessed an
inheritance in land, while the rest, without money, and excluded from
all the privileges of citizenship, fought in a languid and spiritless
fashion in the wars, and were ever on the watch for some opportunity to
subvert the existing condition of affairs at home.
VI. Agis, therefore, thinking that it would be an honourable enterprise,
as indeed it was, to restore these citizens to the state and to
re-establish equality for all, began to sound the people themselves as
to their opinion about such a measure. The younger men quickly rallied
round him, and, with an enthusiasm which he had hardly counted upon,
began to make ready for the contest; but most of the elder men, who had
become more thoroughly tainted by the prevailing corruption, feared to
be brought back to the discipline of Lykurgus as much as a runaway slave
fears to be brought back to his master, and they bitterly reviled Agis
when he lamented over the condition of affairs and sighed for the
ancient glories of Sparta. His enthusiastic aspirations, however, were
sympathised with by Lysander the son of Libys, Mandrokleidas the son of
Ekphanes, and Agesilaus. Lysander was the most influential of all the
Spartans, while Mandrokleidas was thought to be the ablest politician in
Greece, as he could both plot with subtlety and execute with boldness.
Agesilaus was the uncle of King Agis and a fluent speaker, but of a weak
and covetous disposition. It was commonly supposed that he was stirred
to action by the influence of his son Hippomedon, who had gained great
glory in the wars and was exceedingly popular among the younger
citizens; but what really determined him to join the reformers was the
amount of his debts, which he hoped would be wiped out by a revolution.
As soon as Agis had won over this important adherent, he began to try to
bring over his mother to his views, who was Agesilaus's sister, and who,
from the number of her friends, debtors, and dependants, was very
powerful in the state, and took a large share in the management of
public affairs.
VII. When she first heard of Agis's designs she was much startled, and
dissuaded the youth from an enterprise which she thought neither
practicable nor desirable. However, when Agesilaus pointed out to her
what a notable design it was, and how greatly to the advantage of all,
while the young king himself besought his mother to part with her wealth
in order to gain him glory, arguing that he could not vie with other
kings in riches, as the servants of Persian satraps, and the very slaves
of the intendants of Ptolemy and Seleukus possessed more money than all
the kings that ever reigned in Sparta; but that, if he could prove
himself superior to those vanities by his temperance, simplicity of
life, and true greatness of mind, and could succeed in restoring
equality among his fellow-countrymen, he would be honoured and renowned
as a truly great king. By this means the youth entirely changed his
mother's mind, and so fired her with his own ambition, as if by an
inspiration from heaven, that she began to encourage Agis and urge him
on, and invited her friends to join them, while she also communicated
their design to the other women, because she knew that the Lacedaemonians
were in all things ruled by their women, and that they had more power in
the state than the men possessed in their private households. Most of
the wealth of Lacedaemon had fallen into female hands at this time, and
this fact proved a great hindrance to the accomplishment of Agis's
schemes of reform; for the women offered a vehement opposition to him,
not merely through a vulgar love for their idolised luxury, but also
because they saw that they would lose all the influence and power which
they derived from their wealth. They betook themselves to Leonidas, and
besought him, as being the elder man, to restrain Agis, and check the
development of his designs. Leonidas was willing enough to assist the
richer class, but he feared the people, who were eager for reform, and
would not openly oppose Agis, although he endeavoured secretly to ruin
his scheme, and to prejudice the Ephors against him, by imputing to him
the design of hiring the poor to make him despot with the plunder of the
rich, and insinuating that by his redistribution of lands and remission
of debts he meant to obtain more adherents for himself instead of more
citizens for Sparta.
VIII. In spite of all this, Agis contrived to get Lysander appointed one
of the Ephors, and immediately brought him to propose a rhetra before
the Gerusia, or Senate, the main points of which were that all debts
should be cancelled; that the land[4] should be divided, that between
the valley of Pellene and Mount Taygetus, Malea, and Sellasia into four
thousand five hundred lots, and the outlying districts into fifteen
thousand: that the latter district should be distributed among the
Perioeki of military age, and the former among the pure Spartans: that
the number of these should be made up by an extension of the franchise
to Perioeki or even foreigners of free birth, liberal education, and
fitting personal qualifications: and that these citizens should be
divided into fifteen companies some of four hundred, and some of two
hundred, for the public meals, and should conform in every respect to
the discipline of their forefathers.
IX. When this rhetra was proposed, as the Senate could not agree
whether it should become law, Lysander convoked a popular assembly and
himself addressed the people. Mandrokleidas and Agesilaus also besought
them not to allow a few selfish voluptuaries to destroy the glorious
name of Sparta, but to remember the ancient oracles, warning them
against the sin of covetousness, which would prove the ruin of Sparta,
and also of the responses which they had recently received from the
oracle of Pasiphae. The temple and oracle of Pasiphae at Thalamae was of
peculiar sanctity. Pasiphae is said by some writers to have been one of
the daughters of Atlas, and to have become the mother of Ammon by Zeus,
while others say that Kassandra the daughter of Priam died there, and
was called Pasiphae because her prophecies were plain to all men.
Phylarchus again tells us that Daphne the daughter of Amyklas, while
endeavouring to escape from the violence of Apollo, was transformed into
the laurel,[5] which bears her name, and was honoured by the god and
endowed by him with the gift of prophecy. Be this as it may, the
oracular responses which were brought from this shrine bade the Spartans
all become equal according as Lykurgus had originally ordained. After
these speeches had been delivered, King Agis himself came forward, and,
after a few introductory words, said that he was giving the strongest
possible pledges of his loyalty to the new constitution; for he declared
his intention of surrendering to the state, before any one else, his own
property, consisting of a vast extent of land, both arable and pasture,
besides six thousand talents of money; and he assured the people that
his mother and her friends, the richest people in Sparta, would do the
same.
X. The people were astounded at the magnanimity of the youth, and were
filled with joy, thinking that at last, after an interval of three
hundred years, there had appeared a king worthy of Sparta. Leonidas, on
the other hand, opposed him as vigorously as he could, reflecting that
he would be forced to follow his example, and divest himself of all his
property, and that Agis, not he, would get the credit of the act. He
therefore inquired of Agis whether he thought Lykurgus to have been a
just and well-meaning man. Receiving an affirmative reply, he again
demanded, "Where, then, do we find that Lykurgus approved of the
cancelling of debts, or of the admission of foreigners to the franchise,
seeing that he did not think that the state could prosper without a
periodical expulsion of foreigners?" To this Agis answered, that it was
not to be wondered at if Leonidas, who had lived in a foreign country,
and had a family by the daughter of a Persian satrap, should be ignorant
that Lykurgus, together with coined money, had banished borrowing and
lending from Sparta, and that he had no hatred for foreigners, but only
for those whose profession and mode of life made them unfit to associate
with his countrymen. These men Lykurgus expelled, not from any hatred of
their persons, but because he feared that their manners and habits would
infect the citizens with a love of luxury, effeminacy, and avarice.
Terpander, Thales, and Pherekydes were all foreigners, but, since they
sang and taught what Lykurgus approved, they lived in Sparta, and were
treated with especial honour. "Do you," asked he, "praise Ekprepus, who
when Ephor cut off with a hatchet the two additional strings which
Phrynis the musician had added to the original seven strings of the
lyre, and those who cut the same strings off the harp of Timotheus, and
yet do you blame us when we are endeavouring to get rid of luxury,
extravagance, and frivolity, just as if those great men did not merely
mean thereby to guard against vain refinements of music, which would
lead to the introduction of extravagant and licentious manners, and
cause the city to be at discord and variance with itself?"
XI. After this the people espoused the cause of Agis, while the rich
begged Leonidas not to desert them, and by their entreaties prevailed
upon the senators, who had the power of originating all laws, to throw
out the rhetra by a majority of only one vote. Lysander, who was still
one of the Ephors, now proceeded to attack Leonidas, by means of a
certain ancient law, which forbade any descendant of Herakles to beget
children by a foreign wife, and which bade the Spartans put to death any
citizen who left his country to dwell in a foreign land. He instructed
his adherents to revive the memory of this law, and threaten Leonidas
with its penalties, while he himself with the other Ephors watched for
the sign from heaven. This ceremony is conducted as follows:--Every ninth
year the Ephors choose a clear moonless night, and sit in silence
watching the heavens. If a star shoots across the sky, they conclude
that the kings must have committed some act of impiety, and they suspend
them from their office, until they were absolved by a favourable oracle
from Delphi or Olympia. Lysander now declared that he had beheld this
sign, and impeached Leonidas, bringing forward witnesses to prove that
he had two children born to him by an Asiatic wife, the daughter of one
of the lieutenants of Seleukus, and that having quarrelled with his wife
and become hated by her he had unexpectedly returned home, and in
default of a direct heir, had succeeded to the throne. At the same time
Lysander urged Kleombrotus, the son-in-law of Leonidas, who was also of
the royal family, to claim the throne for himself. Leonidas, terrified
at this, took sanctuary in the temple of Athena of the Brazen House, and
was joined there by his daughter, who left her husband Kleombrotus. When
the trial came on, Leonidas did not appear in court, he was removed from
the throne, and Kleombrotus was appointed in his stead.
XII. At this crisis Lysander was forced to lay down his office, as the
year for which he had been elected had expired. The Ephors at once took
Leonidas under their protection, restored him to the throne, and
impeached Lysander and Mandrokleidas as the authors of illegal measures
in the cancelling of debts and the redistribution of the land. As these
men were now in danger of their lives, they prevailed upon the two kings
to act together and overrule the decision of the Ephors; for this, they
declared, was the ancient rule of the constitution, that if the kings
were at variance, the Ephors were entitled to support the one whom they
judged to be in the right against the other, but their function was
merely to act as arbitrators and judges between the kings when they
disagreed, and not to interfere with them when they were of one mind.
Both the kings agreed to act upon this advice, and came with their
friends into the assembly, turned the Ephors out of their chairs of
office, and elected others in their room, one of whom was Agesilaus.
They now armed many of the younger citizens, released the prisoners, and
terrified their opponents by threatening a general massacre. No one,
however, was killed by them; for although Agesilaus desired to kill
Leonidas, and when he withdrew from Sparta to Tegea, sent men to waylay
and murder him on the road, Agis, hearing of his intention, sent others
on whom he could rely, who escorted Leonidas safely as far as Tegea.
XIII. Thus far all had gone well, and no one remained to hinder the
accomplishment of the reforms; but now Agesilaus alone upset and ruined
the whole of this noble and truly Spartan scheme by his detestable vice
of covetousness. He possessed a large quantity of the best land in the
country, and also owed a great sum of money, and as he desired neither
to pay his debts nor to part with his land, he persuaded Agis that it
would be too revolutionary a proceeding to carry both measures at once,
and that, if the moneyed class were first propitiated by the cancelling
of debts, they would afterwards be inclined to submit quietly to the
redistribution of lands. Lysander and the rest were deceived by
Agesilaus into consenting to this, and they brought all the written
securities for money which had been given by debtors, which are called
by them _klaria_, into the market-place, collected them into one heap,
and burned them. As the flames rose up, the rich and those who had lent
money went away in great distress, but Agesilaus, as if exulting at
their misfortune, declared that he had never seen a brighter blaze or a
purer fire. As the people at once demanded the division of the land, and
called upon the kings to distribute it among them, Agesilaus put them
off with various excuses, and managed to spin out the time till Agis was
sent out of the country on military service, as the Achaeans, who were
allies, had demanded a reinforcement from Sparta, because the AEtolians
threatened to invade Peloponnesus through the territory of Megara, and
Aratus, the general of the Achaeans, who was collecting an army to resist
them, sent to Sparta demanding assistance.
XIV. The Spartans at once despatched Agis at the head of an army, whose
high spirits and devotion to his person filled him with delight. The men
were nearly all young and poor; and as they were now relieved from the
pressure of their debts, and expected that on their return the land
would be distributed amongst them, they behaved with the most admirable
discipline. They marched through Peloponnesus without doing the least
damage, without offending any one, almost without noise; so that all the
cities were astonished at the spectacle thus afforded them, and men
began to wonder what a Lacedaemonian army must have been like when led by
Agesilaus or L | 1,087.661447 |
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THE IDOL OF THE BLIND
BOOKS BY T. GALLON.
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
The Idol of the Blind.
"No person well posted in current fiction lets a story by Mr. Gallon
pass unnoticed."--_Buffalo Commercial._
The Kingdom of Hate.
"The whole story is told with an appearance of honest, straightforward
sincerity that is very clever and well sustained, and the suspicion of
satire will only dawn on the reader when the story is well advanced,
and he is thoroughly interested in the tumultuous swing."--_Chicago
Chronicle._
Dicky Monteith. A Love Story.
"A good story, told in an engaging style."--_Philadelphia Press._
"A refreshing example of everything that a love story ought to
be."--_San Francisco Call._
A Prince of Mischance.
"The story is a powerful one, and holds the reader from the
start."--_Boston Budget._
"An admirable story."--_London Telegraph._
Tatterly.
"A charming love story runs through the book, which is written in a
bright and lively style.... The book is worth reading."--_New York Sun._
"We believe in 'Tatterly' through thick and thin. We could not
recommend a better story."--_London Academy._
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
THE IDOL
OF THE BLIND
_A NOVEL_
BY
TOM GALLON
AUTHOR OF
TATTERLY, A PRINCE OF MISCHANCE,
DICKY MONTEITH, ETC.
"When pious frauds and holy shifts
Are dispensations and gifts."
HUDIBRAS
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--COMETHUP ENTERS LIFE DISASTROUSLY 1
II.--AND MAKES DISCOVERIES 10
III.--THE GHOST OF A LITTLE CHILD 20
IV.--THE CAPTAIN PLAYS THE KNIGHT-ERRANT 40
V.--TELLS OF AN ERRING WOMAN 55
VI.--THE CAPTAIN IN STRANGE COMPANY 62
VII.--IN WHICH SEPARATIONS ARE SUGGESTED 79
VIII.--COMETHUP SUFFERS A LOSS 88
IX.--THE COMING OF AUNT CHARLOTTE 100
X.--COMETHUP LEAVES THE OLD LIFE 115
XI.--AND BECOMES A PERSONAGE 131
XII.--THE CAPTAIN SPEAKS HIS MIND 141
XIII.--A RETROSPECT--AND A FLUTTERING OF HEARTS 158
XIV.--AN INCUBUS, AND THE DEMON OF JEALOUSY 175
XV.--COMETHUP PRACTISES DECEPTION 183
XVI.--COMETHUP IS SHADOWED 199
XVII.--THE BEGINNINGS OF A GENIUS 214
XVIII.--AUNT CHARLOTTE IS SYMPATHETIC 231
XIX.--GENIUS ASSERTS ITSELF 247
XX.--THE DESERTION OF A PARENT 262
XXI.--GENIUS AND THE DOMESTIC VIRTUES 276
XXII.--A SECOND DESERTION 286
XXIII.--COMETHUP DRIVES A BARGAIN 301
XXIV.--UNCLE ROBERT HAS AN INSPIRATION 311
XXV.--THE FALL OF PRINCE CHARMING 327
XXVI.--BRIAN PAYS HIS DEBTS 332
XXVII.--THE PLEADING OF THE CAPTAIN 351
XXVIII.--MEDMER MELTS A SILVER SPOON 361
XXIX.--COMETHUP LEARNS THE TRUTH 369
XXX.--AUNT CHARLOTTE ATTENDS A CELEBRATION 374
THE IDOL OF THE BLIND.
CHAPTER I.
COMETHUP ENTERS LIFE DISASTROUSLY.
"My dear" had looked her last upon a troublesome world. She had taken
life sighingly, in little frightened gasps, as it were, with the fear
upon her, even from childhood, that unknown horrors lurked for her
in each day to which she was awakened. It can scarcely be said that
she had clung to life with any tenacity--rather with the instinct of
living; and she had fluttered out of it resignedly enough, a little
sorry, perhaps, that she had left any one behind to grieve for her. And
yet, with the inconsistency which had marked her life, she had died at
the very moment when life had actually begun to be worth living for her.
"My dear" was one of those who wait long for the happiness, if any,
that is to come to them, and find it a little tasteless when it is
at last given to them. She had been the younger child of a stern and
unbending man, who bent or broke to his code of rules those who were
weak enough to be bent or broken, and thrust sternly aside those whose
strength | 1,087.66176 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.7348450 | 1,349 | 12 | INDIES AND MEXICO***
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, and the Online Distributed
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 36242-h.htm or 36242-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36242/36242-h/36242-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36242/36242-h.zip)
NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES
AND MEXICO IN THE YEARS 1599-1602,
* * * * *
WORKS ISSUED BY
The Hakluyt Society.
NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES AND MEXICO.
FIRST SERIES. NO. XXIII-MDCCCLIX
* * * * *
[Illustration: Facsimile of MS.]
NARRATIVE OF A VOYAGE TO THE WEST INDIES
AND MEXICO IN THE YEARS 1599-1602,
With Maps and illustrations.
by
SAMUEL CHAMPLAIN.
Translated from the Original and Unpublished Manuscript,
with a Biographical Notice and Notes by Alice Wilmere.
Edited by Norton Shaw.
Burt Franklin, Publisher
New York, New York
Published by
Burt Franklin
514 West 113th Street
New York 25, N.Y.
Originally Published by The Hakluyt Society
Reprinted by Permission
Printed in the U.S.A.
* * * * *
THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY.
SIR RODERICK IMPEY MURCHISON, G.C.St.S., F.R.S., D.C.L., Corr. Mem.
Inst. Fr., Hon. Mem. Imp. Acad. So. St. Petersburg, &c., &c.,
PRESIDENT.
THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE. }
}VICE-PRESIDENTS.
REAR-ADMIRAL C. R. DRINKWATER BETHUNE, C.B. }
RT. HON. LORD BROUGHTON.
BERIAH BOTFIELD, ESQ.
THE LORD ALFRED SPENCER CHURCHILL.
CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE, ESQ., F.S.A.
RT. HON. SIR DAVID DUNDAS.
SIR HENRY ELLIS, K.H., F.R.S.
JOHN FORSTER, ESQ.
LIEUT.-GEN. CHARLES RICHARD FOX.
R. W. GREY, ESQ., M.P.
EGERTON HARCOURT, ESQ.
JOHN WINTER JONES, ESQ., F.S.A.
HIS EXCELLENCY THE COUNT DE LAVRADIO.
RT. HON. ROBERT LOWE, M.P.
R. H. MAJOR, ESQ., F.S.A.
SIR HENRY RAWLINSON, K.C.B.
THE EARL OF SHEFFIELD.
CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM, ESQ., HONORARY SECRETARY.
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION.
The manuscript, of which the following is a translation, as literal as
the idioms of the two languages admit, is in the possession of Monsieur
Feret, the learned and extremely obliging librarian of the Public
Library at Dieppe. Of its originality and authenticity there can be no
doubt; the internal evidence of similarity in style, diction, and
orthography even, with the published account of Champlain's _Voyages
in New France_, would alone suffice to establish those points.[1]
[1] Extract from "Histoire et Description Generale de la Nouvelle
France, avec le Journal Historique d'un Voyage fait par ordre du
Roi dans l'Amerique Septentrionnale. Par le P. De Charlevoix, de
la Compagnie de Jesus." Tome Premier, 12o., Paris, 1744, p. 172.
"Le Commandeur de CHATTE, governeur de Dieppe, lui succeda, forma
une Compagnie de Marchands de Rouen, avec lesquels plusieurs
Personnes de condition entrerent en societe, et fit un Armement,
dont il confia la conduite a Pontgrave, a qui le Roy avoit donne
des Lettres Patentes, pour continuer les decouvertes dans le
Fleuve du Canada, et pour y faire des Etablissemens. Dans le meme
tems Samuel de CHAMPLAIN, Gentilhomme Saintongeois, Capitaine de
Vaisseau, et en reputation d'Officier brave, habile et experimente,
_arriva des Indes Occidentales, ou il avoit passe deux ans et
demi._ Le Commandeur de Chatte lui proposa de faire le voyage de
Canada, et il y consentit avec l'agrement du Roy, etc."--ED.
M. Feret obtained this valuable document from a resident in Dieppe,
where it has been for an unknown time; and it is more than probable
that it had been in the possession of M. de Chastes, governor of the
town and castle of Dieppe, who was Champlain's chief friend and
protector, under whose auspices he had been employed in the war in
Brittany against the League, and by whom, after his return from the
West Indies, he was sent to Canada. To him, it is most likely that
Champlain would present a narrative of his voyage. On M. de Chastes'
death, the manuscript probably passed into the possession of the
Convent of the Minimes at Dieppe, to which he was a great benefactor
during his life, and by testament after his death. He was also, by his
desire, buried in the church of the convent. The library of the Minime
fathers was, with the rest of their property, and that of the other
convents of the town, dispersed at the great Revolution; but most of
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Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 433
NEW YORK, APRIL 19, 1884
Scientific American Supplement. Vol | 1,087.762388 |
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THE WILL TO DOUBT
AN ESSAY IN PHILOSOPHY FOR THE
GENERAL THINKER
BY
ALFRED H. LLOYD
Truth hath neither visible form nor body; it is without habitation or name;
like the Son of Man it hath not where to lay its head.
LONDON
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO., Lim.
25 HIGH STREET, BLOOMSBURY, W.C.
1907
PREFACE.
The chapters that follow comprise what might be called an introduction
to philosophy, but such a description of them would probably be
misleading, for they are addressed quite as much to the general reader,
or rather to the general thinker, as to the prospective student of
technical philosophy. They are the attempt of a University teacher of
philosophy to meet what is a real emergency of the day, namely, the
doubt that is appearing in so many departments of life, that is
affecting so many people, and that is fraught with so many dangers, and
in attempting this they would also at least help to bridge the chasm
between academic sophistication and practical life, self-consciousness
and positive activity. With peculiar truth at the present time the
University can justify itself only by serving real life, and it can
serve real life, not merely by bringing its pure science down to, or up
to, the health and the industrial pursuits of the people, but also by
explaining, which is even to say by applying, as science is "applied,"
or by animating the general scepticism of the time.
That this scepticism is often charged to the peculiar training of the
University hardly needs to be said, but except for its making such an
undertaking as the present essay only the more appropriate the charge
itself is strangely humorous. One might also accuse the University of
making atoms and germs, or, by its magic theories, of generating
electricity or disease. Scepticism is a world-wide, life-wide fact; even
like heat or electricity, it is a natural force or agent--unless
forsooth one must exclude all the attitudes of mind from what in the
fullest and deepest sense is natural; scepticism, in short, is a real
phase of whatever is real, and its explanation is an academic
responsibility. Its explanation, however, like the explanation of
everything real or natural, can be complete only when, as already
suggested here, its application and animation have been achieved, or
when it has been shown to be properly and effectively an object of will.
So, just as we have the various applied sciences, in this essay there is
offered an applied philosophy of doubt, a philosophy that would show
doubt to have a real part in effective action, and that with the showing
would make both the doubting and the acting so much the more effective.
But it may be said that effective acting depends, not on doubt, but
rather on belief, on confidence or "credit." This will prove to be true,
excepting in what it denies. To be commonplace, to write down here and
now what is at once the truism and the paradox of this book, a vital,
practical belief must always live by doubting. Was it Schopenhauer who
declared that man walks only by saving himself at every step from a
fall? The meaning of this book is much the same, although no pessimism
is either intended or necessarily implied in such a declaration. Doubt
is no mere negative of belief; rather it is a very vital part of belief,
it has a place in the believer's experience and volition; the doubters
in society, be they trained at the University or not, and those
practical creatures in society who have kept the faith, who believe and
who do, are naturally and deeply in sympathy. And this essay seeks to
deepen their natural sympathy.
Here, then, is my simple thesis. Doubt is essential to real belief.
Perhaps this means that all vital problems are bound in a real life to
be perennial, and certainly it cannot mean that in its support I may be
expected by my readers to give a solution of every special problem that
might be raised, an answer to every question about knowledge or
morality, about religion or politics or industry, that might be asked.
Problems and questions, of course the natural children, not of doubt,
but of doubt and belief, may be as worthy and as practical as solutions.
Some of them may be even better put than answered. But be this as it
may, the present essay must be taken for what it is, not for something
else. It is, then, for reasons not less practical than theoretical, an
attempt to face and, so far as may be, to solve the very general problem
of doubt itself, or say simply--if this be simple--the problem of
whatever in general is problematic; and, this done, to suggest what may
be the right attitude for doubters and believers towards each other and
towards life and the world which is life's natural sphere; emphatically
it is not the announcement of a programme for life in any of its
departments.
The substance of chapters I., II., III., IV., and V. in small parts, and
VI. and VIII. was given during the summer of 1903 in lectures before the
Glenmore School of the Culture Sciences at Hurricane in the Adirondacks,
and except for some revision chapters V. and VII. have already been
published--Science, July 5, 1902, and the journal of Philosophy,
Psychology and Scientific Methods, June, 1905.
To Professor Muirhead, the Editor of the Ethical Library, I wish here to
express my hearty appreciation of his interest and assistance in the
final preparation of this volume for publication.
A. H. L.
THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN,
ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
I. Introduction
II. The Confession of Doubt
III. Difficulties in the Ordinary View of Things
IV. The View of Science: its Rise and Consequent Character
V. The View of Science: its Peculiar Limitations
i. Science would be Objective
ii. Science would be Specialistic
iii. Science would be Agnostic
VI. Possible Value in these Essential Defects of Experience
VII. The Personal and the Social, the Vital and the Formal in Experience
VIII. An Early Modern Doubter
IX. The Doubter's World
i. Reality, without Finality, in all Things
ii. Perfect Sympathy between the Spiritual and the Material
iii. A Genuine Individuality
iv. Immortality
X. Doubt and Belief
Index
THE WILL TO DOUBT.
[p.001]
I.
INTRODUCTION.
Without undue sensationalism it may be said that this is an age of
doubt. Wherever one looks in journeying through the different
departments of life one sees doubt. And one sees, too, some of the
blight which doubt produces, although the blight is by no means all that
one sees. There is heat everywhere in the physical world, but not
necessarily only arson or even destructive fire. Morals, however, social
life, industry, politics, religion, have suffered somewhat--and many
would insist very seriously--from the prevailing doubt. Moreover, if the
outward view shows doubt everywhere, the inward view is at least not
more reassuring. Who can examine his own consciousness without finding
doubt at work there? We would often hide it from others, not to say from
ourselves, but it is there, and we all know it to be there. Other times
may also have been times of doubt, but our day, as the time to which we
certainly owe our first and chief [p.002] duty, is very conspicuously
and very seriously a time of doubt.
Now there are some, and they are many, who would decry the discussion of
such a thing as doubt, for they see only danger ahead. Doubt they
compare with death or disease, and to dwell upon any of these is idle,
unnatural, morbid. Why not let such things alone, and look only to what
is pleasant, to what is good and true and beautiful? Then, too, doubt,
the confession of doubt, is the royal entrance to philosophy and the
risk of an entanglement with philosophy, which seems to them the source
of much that is harmful, the essence of all that is impractical, is
altogether too great. Doubt for them is even less to be played with than
fire, with which already it has been compared here. Again, as others in
matters political and industrial, so they in matters intellectual and
spiritual resent anything that appears likely in any way to disturb the
standing credit of the country. To doubt is just to join the opposition,
and the opposition is made up of heretics and agents generally of mere
destruction. To treat doubt as real and positively significant, as
having any true worth in human experience, as being even a proper object
of will, is to stop permanently, not the wheels of commerce and
industry, but the wheels of the present life in all its phases. In a
word, perhaps one of the words of the hour, Christian Science has not
wished to be more inhospitable to the reality of disease than have these
believers to the reality and usefulness of doubt.
Yet all who feel in this way are short-sighted. Their contentions, like
those of their cousins, perhaps [p.003] their country cousins, the
Christian Scientists, may have worth for being corrective, but at very
best they are only one-sided. In a fable, never in real life, a man
might get the smell of burning wood in his house and refuse to recognize
the danger because of the inevitable delay to his business which the
alarm of fire would involve; but doubt is not less real nor less
dangerous, nor even less capable, when under control, of useful
applications. Any danger, too, squarely faced is at least half met. Why,
then, be so impracticable, so like characters in fables, as to overlook
or turn one's back upon the doubt of the day, refusing it a place and a
part in real life? The negative things of life can be so only
relatively. Death itself cannot possibly be absolute, and doubt, not
unlike death, indeed perhaps only one of death's messengers, must be
even a gift, or an agent, of the gods. Some things, dangerous when
hidden, are wonderfully serviceable, when recognized and controlled.
Sometimes men really have entertained angels unawares.
And so throughout these chapters, although some may think me and those
who follow me morbid, and although we may have to enter the dangerous
parlour of philosophy, the doubt of our time is to be squarely and
fairly faced. In all candour, we are from the start to be confessed
parties to it, hiding nothing intentionally, and at the same time trying
always to give nothing undue emphasis. The doubt that all seem to know,
that many really feel without perhaps clearly confessing, and that some
confess or even actually boast, we shall face and examine closely,
[p.004] trying as we can to find its true meaning and real worth. In
short, the confession of doubt, of our doubt, and the fruits of
confession are the burden of these chapters.
[p.005]
II.
THE CONFESSION OF DOUBT.
Our confession must, of course, be thorough-going, and can be made so
only through a complete statement of every possible reason that
experience affords for the attitude of doubt. To the end, therefore, of
such a statement we shall consider in this chapter certain general and
easily recognized facts about doubt itself, while in chapters that
follow we shall continue the confession by examining, first, our
customary or "common-sense" view of things, and then the view of
science, and having brought together in each case numerous
incongruities, or contradictions, which ordinarily are at best only
casually noticed or timorously overlooked, we shall find ourselves
facing in a peculiarly telling way, not only certain strong reasons for
doubt, but also some of the real issues that doubt raises. As no issue,
moreover, can be more central or crucial than the meaning of the
contradictions found to pervade our views of things, before completing
our confession we shall allow ourselves some reflections, that should
prove useful to us in the end, upon the possible worth of contradiction
in human experience; for even to casual thinking contradiction, although
good ground for scepticism, suggests some positive advantage and
opportunity; the advantage of breadth, [p.006] for example, of freedom
from special form, or the opportunity of personal spontaneity and
initiative as against the restraints of formal consistency, of class,
and of institution; and if these things, among others, can be associated
with our case for doubt, our reflections will certainly not have been in
vain. Then we shall close our confession by seeking the companionhip of
a great doubter of modern times, and by learning what we can from him of
doubt itself and of the doubter's natural world. And finally, as a
result of all our own efforts, supplemented by his help, we shall be
able to reap some of the fruits for life and thought that a confession
so fully made may fairly claim.
From start to finish, moreover, of this study of doubt we have to
remember that there can be no important difference between what is
possible and what is real. Thus anything whatsoever that can possibly be
doubted is really doubtful. Also, if anybody is amazed to hear mention
of facts about doubt, as if doubt should not somehow submit to its own
nostrum, let him merely reflect that, strangely enough, nothing is quite
so indubitable as doubt, nothing so convincing as the reasons for doubt.
Let me not be too subtle, but to doubt doubt is only to affirm it, and
somehow--whether for good or ill need not now be said--all the negative
things of life possess a peculiar certainty, and are all most easily
proved. A great Frenchman once put the case quite plainly when he said,
after canvassing very carefully the whole field of his consciousness,
that his doubts were the only things there, the only things he could be
quite certain about, and these were so very real that they left him
absolutely [p.007] nothing but belief in himself, in his all-doubting
and ever-doubting self, to rest upon. His was surely a sweeping
confession, and his residuum of belief may not at first sight seem very
promising or very substantial, but quickly, I think, we shall find
ourselves in agreement with him, at least as to the reality and the wide
scope of our doubting, and it is also a possibility well worth
foreseeing that we may even find his belief in the reality of an
ever-doubting and all-doubting self a rock for our own saving.
So, to turn now to those general and easily recognized facts, which were
to be the special interest of the present chapter, in the first place:
_We are all universal doubters_. We are all universal doubters in the
sense that every one of us doubts something, and there is nothing which
some of us have not doubted. Who would be so rash as to say that what a
fellow-being had questioned might not be questionable to himself also,
or that, if anything in his own experience had ever been subject to
question, all the other things might not also be subject to question?
But the merely dubitable is the already doubtful. In this sense,
therefore, not so abstruse and formally logical as it may appear, we are
all universal doubters.
Our life is ever cherishing what we are pleased to call its verities,
some in religion and morals, some in politics, some in mathematics and
science, some in the more general relations to nature, but what elusive
things these verities are! How shallow, or how hollow all of them are,
or at one time or another may become. To take a rather minute case, such
as it is [p.008] always the philosopher's license to make use of, a case
that is, however, quite typical in experience; here is a word--any word
you like--that has been spoken and written by you for years. Always
before it has been spelt correctly and clearly understood, but to-day
how unreal it seems. Are those the right letters, and are they correctly
placed? Is that the true meaning? What has happened, too, to give rise
to these unusual questions? Well, who can say? And who has not
substantially asked every one of them, not merely with reference to some
long-familiar word, but also with reference to much larger things in
life? Self and society, love and friendship, mind and matter, nature and
God have again and again been subjected to essentially the same
questioning. The verities of life, all the way from simple words used
every day to the great things of our moral and spiritual being, have
lost, sometimes slowly, sometimes very suddenly, the reality with which
we have supposed them endowed, and although we may still bravely believe
we find ourselves crying out passionately for help in our unbelief.
There certainly are the verities; not one of them can possibly fall to
the ground; yet these very verities are never quite in our experience.
Still the world has its thoroughly confident people. Every one of us has
met some of those estimable beings to whom doubt seems wholly foreign,
people who assert with trembling voice and sacred vow that their
convictions, political perhaps or religious, are unassailable, and that
they must hold them to the grave. But, whatever may be said of political
convictions, religious convictions have often been [p.009] regarded as a
contradiction of terms. How can one be sure and religious at the same
time? Moreover, positive people under any standard are notoriously as
fearful as they are dogmatic. Fear is often, if not always, the chief
motive of dogmatism, and fear is hardly the most natural companion of
genuine confidence. The part which the emotion of fear has had, both in
the personal life and in the doctrine of the dogmatic among men, would
make a most instructive study.
If, then, dogmatic people are slaves to their fears, while more
thoughtful people, as has not needed to be said, seem to get no reward
from their self-consciousness but the uncertain reward of their doubts,
then only such as live quietly, asserting nothing, depending on nothing,
and even assuming nothing, but simply taking what comes, are left to
represent genuine belief. Yet how many such are there? A few may seem to
approach the ideal, if ideal it be, but the class itself in realization
must be said to be a hypothetical one, and few, if any, of us could ever
really envy or strive to imitate its supposed manner of living; for, in
spite of all the dangers and all the doubts and fears, only the
constantly examined life can ever really lure us. Doubt, besides being a
general condition of life, seems to be also incident to what gives life
worth.
But, furthermore, not only are we all universal doubters; the case for
doubt in the world is, if possible, even stronger; for also--and this is
the second general fact: _Doubt is a phase, nay, a vital condition of
all consciousness_. To be a conscious creature is to be a doubting
creature.
[p.010] In so many ways psychology is teaching us to-day with renewed
emphasis that we are conscious of nothing as it is, and that more or
less clearly we all know our shortcoming in this regard; or again, with
still more directness and emphasis, that for us there is no such thing
as a state of consciousness which does not indicate tension, or unstable
equilibrium, that is to say uncertainty, in our activity. Nor have we
need of the testimony of science to these facts, since common personal
experience is well aware of them. In small things and in great
consciousness transforms or refracts. In small things and in great
consciousness marks a moment of poise between an impulse to do
something, and more or less distinctly recognized conditions or
relations that would put restraint upon the doing of it. Even the law of
relativity, a psychological law only in its definite formulation, in its
idea a simple fact of everyday experience, true for all conscious states
from the crudest perceptions of the organs of sense to the most highly
developed ideas of critical reflection, by binding as it does all the
details of actual or possible experience into a whole, every part of
which acts upon the other parts, points very directly to this fact of
poise and instability, besides indicating also that knowledge never can
be literally or objectively exact, and that at least with some clearness
every knower must know it cannot. How can there ever be even a single
stable or a single finally accurate element in the consciousness of a
creature whose experience, in the first place, can comprise only
related, interdependent parts, and whose nature, in the second place, is
an essentially mobile and active [p.011] one? Moreover, as just one
other way of suggesting the inexactness and uncertainty of consciousness
and the balancing, tentative nature of all conscious life, we always
think, and think properly, of conscious creatures as having will, as
doing what they do purposely or from design. The new psychology,
however, to which we naturally turn, and which again has only formulated
what we can recognize from everyday experience, declares that the
purpose in conscious activity is not a developed, but an always
developing one. Purposive action is action that never finally knows, but
is ever finding out its real intent, purpose being identical with the
progressively discovered meaning of action. A volitionally, purposively
active being is always a seeker as well as a doer. Indeed, any doing
would itself be empty, or idle, if it were not a seeking, and so if it
were not subject to conditions of some uncertainty. In so many ways,
then, through the necessary inexactness of consciousness, through the
unstable equilibrium of all conscious activity, through the law and fact
of relativity, and through the tentative and provisional nature which
must always belong to purpose, we see how doubt must be a phase or
condition of all consciousness.
Illustrations are abundant. Thus, once more to take a somewhat minute
case, which is really more significant for being minute, with regard to
conscious activity being in a state of tension, visual sensations always
involve muscular sensations, and these are incident not only to
expressed, but also to possible, yet restrained, movements. The eyes may
have been [p.012] moved and the head turned, but in spite of the
impulses present in them the legs have not been used to bring the
observer nearer to the object seen, nor have the arms and hands been
raised to secure a contact with it, and perhaps a tracing of its lines,
although some stimulus for such contact and tracing must be always
present as a part of the actual or possible value of the experience. Or,
again, to adopt an illustration used for a different purpose by
Professor William James, so simple a process as the spelling of a word
is complicated with all sorts of diverting and unsettling impulses as
each letter is expressed. Let the word be _onomatopoetic_. Can I really
spell it correctly? And what a gauntlet of dangers I have to run. The
initial letter _o_ tempts, perhaps with childhood memories of the
alphabet, to _p-q-r-s-t_, etc., or to indefinite words or syllables,
actual from my past or possible to my future experience, such as _of,
off, opine, October, -ology, -ovy_, and so on, or, to suggest mere
possibilities, such as _ontic, oreate, ot_, or _ow_; and every
succeeding letter is equally a scene of combat, a place of dangers
met--safely met, let us hope, and triumphantly passed. Worthy the boy,
or the man, who reaches the end unhurt. And what a voyage of
uncertainties, what a course between hope and fear, confidence and
doubt, the spelling of words or the spelling of life as a whole always
is. One's whole vocabulary, real or possible, or one's whole repertory
of acts is more or less directly involved, whatever one does. As to the
tentative nature of purpose, which seems the only other point here that
can possibly require illustration, the right we all [p.013] reserve to
change our minds in the different affairs of life tells its own story.
We never do do, or can do, exactly what we consciously would do; and
recognizing this, men, as well as women, insist on the right of a change
of mind, and sometimes even of conscious misrepresentation or of
disparity between their seeming and their being in thought or in deed.
That such a claim has its dangers does not now concern us; it has also
its opportunities; but the fact of it and the ground for it are quite
evident. Even jurisprudence, for which loyalty to established and
visible forms is peculiarly sacred, has its ways, direct and indirect,
of recognizing that purposes develop, that the returns are never all in,
that any purpose or meaning must sooner or later assume a new form, and
so may even now be other than it seems. Bequests for institutions, for
example, are allowed to continue in force, although, with the demands of
a more enlightened day, the formal conditions under which they were made
have been openly violated. In short--for it all comes to this--"Not the
letter, but the spirit," is an inevitable comment, or at least an
inevitable feeling about everything that is done. A man vaults a fence,
and then, even if he get over fairly well, vaulting is not what it was
for him. He may continue to use the old word, or the same arms and legs,
but with a changed meaning and a changed feeling of limb and muscle, and
so with a new purpose and a new body to control and modify his next
performance. And what is true for vaulting is true also for making boxes
or tables, for writing essays, for talking, for thinking, for founding
colleges or theological seminaries, or finally, for [p.014] what we so
indefinitely call living. An activity such as throughout its length and
breadth ours is, conscious activity that must for ever heed the call:
"Not the letter, but the spirit," an activity that never is, therefore,
and never can be without the elements of the game, since it must ever
wait on its own revealed consequences in order to grow into an
understanding of its real meaning; such an activity, among other things,
cannot but fasten doubt upon us as a most natural heritage. As man is
conscious, to doubt is human. Other things may be human, too, but doubt
is so certainly and conspicuously.
Thirdly, in this presentation of general facts: _Doubt is inseparable
from habit_. Habit is usually associated with what is permanent and
established, but just here lies its undoing. As we usually understand
it, habit really deadens what it touches by leading to abstraction or
separation from actual conditions. Conservative as it surely is in
things important and in things unimportant, in things personal and in
things social, it sets him who is party to it behind the times, for no
act in its second expression, no simply repeated act, no mere habit
could ever be up to date in the sense of really meeting all the
emergencies of its own time. Personal habits make fixed characters;
social habits make customs and laws; religious habits make churches and
creeds; intellectual habits make schools; and of all these products,
which for the sake of the single term we will call institutions, it must
be said, however paradoxically, that in being made they are also
outgrown, for the habitual turns formal and unreal and so unsatisfying.
A growing nature has [p.015] her ways of making even conservatives keep
pace with her. An institution in the sense of an acquired manner of
action, personal or social, can never really be an end in itself,
although to a narrow view it may often seem to be; it is at best only
the manifested means to a newly developed or developing end which must
eventually transform it. In so large a thing, for example, as political
life, the institutes of monarchy have become the instruments of
democracy, and this conspicuously ever since the French Revolution; in
the history of thought, of man's intellectual life, the objective dogmas
of one time have been only the subjective standpoints of the next, the
metaphysics of one time has made the scientific method, the working
hypothesis, of the succeeding time; and in so small a thing as a child's
vocabulary, the oft-repeated and finally mastered syllable _ba_, or some
other equally intellectual, has become in time only one of the means to
a whole word, say _baby_ or _bath_, or even _basilica_ or
_barometrograph_. In all life the thing we get the habit of is only a
tool with which we strive towards something else. Some one thinking no
doubt of Hercules has called the institutions of life a great club which
the irresistible arm of society, always a hero when looked back upon,
swings fatally against the present.
So intimately is change seen nowadays to be related to habit, or
indirectly involved in it, that in technical science a new account of
habit has been formulated. To cite but one case, Professor Baldwin,
says:[1] "Habit expresses the tendency of the organism [p.016] to secure
and retain its vital stimulations," and such an account, placing the
interest of habit in so general and so changeable a thing as "vital
stimulations," is designed to make habit fundamentally, not merely a
tendency to repetition or imitation, but instead a demand for constant
adaptation or differentiation. In the doctrines of inheritance, also,
always moving necessarily in close sympathy with those of habit, a
similar departure has been made. Both habit and inheritance are in fact
seen to belong to life in a world of change, or variation, and they have
assumed what I will style a protective colouring accordingly. The habit
of always being adapted is at least as radical as it is conservative.
With this reform in the account of habit we have not only analogous
reforms, as was said, in the account of inheritance, but also in the
scientific view of character, custom, law, creed, and the institution
generally. Moreover, if in scientific theory we find these new views, in
practical life there are at least signs of the same standpoint. What may
be called a new conservatism--the most truly conservative thing being
taken to be the most thoroughly pertinent or adaptive thing--has for
many years been getting possession of us, and is now quite manifest. Our
political constitutions are amendable constitutions; our religious rites
and doctrines are recognized as only symbols; our theories are only
standpoints.
So, once more, because change is at least an ever-present companion, if
not actually an integral part of habit, doubt must be as real and
general as habit. [p.017] Change must make doubt. Sociologically,
institutionalism must always imply a contemporary scepticism; the
conservative must have an unbeliever for his neighbour. Indeed, to add
an important point, some go so far as to say in general that change,
that is, something new and different, is not only a necessary incident
but also an actual motive in all activity, and when all is said they
seem quite right. Perhaps habit, as always an interest in adaptation,
would imply as much. Certainly novelty is a universal motive, and as for
society there can be no question that it has a very strong predilection
for lawlessness in all its forms. True, it may be objected that at times
men, individually or collectively, seek not something else, but simply
_more_ of something already secured; more money, it may be, or more
learning, or more territory, or more pleasure. There is, however, in
spite of man's many conceits to the contrary, no change that is purely
quantitative. _More_ is also _different_ or _other_. Accordingly, we
both always find, and, what is even more to the point, always seek a
real change whenever we do anything. To speak again in most general
terms, the motion in the outer world, which is the fundamental stimulus
of all 'consciousness, both physically, that is, literally, and
figuratively, is more than merely an outer stimulus; something there is
within the nature of the subject which answers to it with perfect
sympathy and makes it equally an inner motive. Forsooth, could any
stimulus ever produce a response without its being in accord with an
existing motive? Life, then, is a game, and the game of life, doubts and
all, is a real interest as well as a necessity. We are [p.018] creatures
of habit, but we have, and we cherish, no habit stronger or more
essential than the habit at once of adaptation and variation.[2]
A fourth general fact, very closely related to the foregoing, is this:
_Doubt is necessary to life, to real life, to deep experience_. Doubt is
but one of the phases of the resistance which a real life demands. Real
life implies a constant challenge, and doubt is a form under which the
challenge finds expression. The doubter is a questioner, a seeker; he
has, then, something to overcome; he fears, too, as well as hopes.
Were all things settled once for all, were all things clearly known and
freely executed, or | 1,087.854499 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.8345530 | 3,139 | 14 |
Produced by Rose Mawhorter 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
All obvious spelling errors have been corrected.
The Greek word Ὠθεὰ has been corrected to Ὠ θεὰ.
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INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use with
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NOTE TO THIS VOLUME
I have to thank Sir E. Maunde Thompson and the Council of the Royal
Society of Literature for so readily permitting me to quote from Sir
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exceptions, the sources quoted in this volume are contemporary, and,
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W. G. J.
_Postscript._--Mr. C. L. Kingsford, in his valuable critical account,
_English Historical Literature in the Fifteenth Century_, recently
published, argues strongly against the accepted authorship of the _Vita
et gesta Henrici Quinti_ (quoted on pp. 15-19). Hearne erroneously
attributes it to Thomas Elmham. Mr. Kingsford shows that the date of
its composition lies between 1446 and 1449, and that its anonymous
author was, in all probability, a foreigner.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
+Introduction+ v
DATE
1399. +The Coronation of Henry IV.+ _Chronicle of Adam of Usk_ 1
1400. +Conspiracy of the Earls+ _Capgrave's Chronicle_ 2
1401. +De Heretico Comburendo+ _Statutes of the Realm_ 3
1401-2. +The Glendower War+ _Chronicle of Adam of Usk_ 4
1403. +The Peril of Henry+ _Ellis's "Original Letters"_ 6
+The Battle of Shrewsbury+ _Chronicle of Adam of Usk_ 7
1404. +French Aid for Glendower+ _Ellis's "Original Letters"_ 8
1406. +Election of Knights of the
Shire+ _Statutes of the Realm_ 8
1407. +Money-Grants to Initiate in
the Commons+ _Rotuli Parliamentorum_ 9
1410. +Prince Henry and the Heretic+ _Gregory's Chronicle_ 11
1413. +The Death of Henry IV.+ _Fabyan's "Chronicle"_ 12
+Electors and Elected to
Parliament to be Resident+ _Statutes of the Realm_ 13
1414. +The Dauphin's Reply to Henry+ _Chronicle of Henry V._ 13
+The Commons and Legislation+ _Rotuli Parliamentorum_ 14
1415. +The Conspiracy of Cambridge+ _Nicolas's "Agincourt"_ 15
+The Battle of Agincourt+ _Elmham's "Vita et gesta
Henrici Quinti"_ 15
1416. +Borough Customs+ _Customs of Hereford_ 19
1417. +The Execution of Sir John _Brief Chronicle of Sir John
Oldcastle+ Oldcastle_ 22
1418. +The Siege of Rouen+ _Collections of a London
Citizen_ (_Camden Soc._) 23
1420. +The Treaty of Troyes+ _Rymer's "Fœdera"_ 24
1422. +The Death of Henry V.+ _Monstrelet's "Chronicles"_ 26
+A Begging Letter to Henry VI.+ _Ellis's "Original Letters"_ 27
1424. +The Battle of Verneuil+ _Waurin's "Chronicles"_ 28
1429. +To King Henry VI.+ _Wright's "Political Poems"_ 30
+The Battle of Herrings+ _Monstrelet's "Chronicles"_ 31
+Joan of Arc Raises the Siege
of Orleans+ _Waurin's "Chronicles"_ 32
1430. +The Forty-Shilling Franchise+ _Statutes of the Realm_ 35
1431. +The Condemnation of the Maid+ _Waurin's "Chronicles"_ 36
1432. +The Education of Henry VI.+ _Paston Letters_ 40
1439. +Precautions to Protect the
King against Infection+ _Rotuli Parliamentorum_ 43
1445. +A Nobleman requests a Licence
for a Ship+ _Ellis's "Original Letters"_ 44
+Discomforts of Pilgrims at Sea+ _Early Naval Ballads_ 44
+Parliamentary Elections+ _Statutes of the Realm_ 46
1446. +Henry VI. Reforms the Grammar
Schools+ _Excerpta Historica_ 47
1449. +The French Recover Fougères+ _Reductio Normannie_ 48
+Capture of Verneuil+ _Reductio Normannie_ 49
1450. +The Battle of Formigny+ _Reductio Normannie_ 51
+A Father's Counsel+ _Paston Letters_ 52
1450. +Murder of Duke of Suffolk+ _Paston Letters_ 54
+Cade's Rebellion+ _Three 15th-Cent. Chronicles_ 55
1451. +Packing a Jury+ _Paston Letters_ 58
+Partial Judges+ _Paston Letters_ 58
1454. +Lawlessness+ _Paston Letters_ 59
+The Condition of Ireland+ _Ellis's "Original Letters"_ 62
+Beginnings of Civil Strife+ _Ingulph's "Chronicles"_ 63
+The King's Madness+ _Paston Letters_ 64
1455. +The Battle of St. Albans+ _Archæologia_ 65
+An Unruly Noble+ _Rotuli Parliamentorum_ 69
+The Litigiousness of the Age+ _Gascoigne's "Loci e Libro
Veritatum"_ 70
1457. +The Trial of Bishop Pecock+ _An English Chronicle_ 70
1458. +A Sea Fight+ _Paston Letters_ 72
+The Evils in the Church+ _Gascoigne's "Loci e Libro
Veritatum"_ 73
1459. +The Evils of Misgovernment+ _An English Chronicle_ 75
1460. +York's Popularity+ _An English Chronicle_ 75
+The Battle of Northampton+ _An English Chronicle_ 76
+The Wanderings of Margaret+ _Gregory's Chronicle_ 78
+The Battle of Wakefield+ _Hall's "Chronicle"_ 79
+Ravages of the Lancastrians+ _Ingulph's "Chronicles"_ 80
1461. +Battle of Mortimer's Cross+ _Collections of London
Citizen_ 81
+The Battle of Towton+ _Ingulph's "Chronicles"_ 81
+Accession of Edward IV.+ _Archæologia_ 83
1463. +Mayor of London's Dignity+ _Collections of London
Citizen_ 83
1464. +Marriage of Edward IV.+ _Collections of London
Citizen_ 84
1465 (_circa_). +A Dinner of Flesh+ _Russ | 1,087.854593 |
2023-11-16 18:35:11.8403270 | 6,194 | 10 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland, Music transcribed by
June Troyer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. III. MAY, 1883. NO. 8.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_, J. H. Vincent, D. D., Plainfield, N. J.
_General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.
_Office Secretary_, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.
_Counselors_, Lyman Abbott, D. D.; J. M. Gibson, D. D.; Bishop H. W.
Warren, D. D.; W. C. Wilkinson, D. D.
REQUIRED READING
FOR THE
_Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1882-83_.
MAY.
HISTORY OF RUSSIA.
By MRS. MARY S. ROBINSON.
_CHAPTER X._
ALEXANDER NEVSKI—MIKHAIL OF TVER.
We have seen that Mstislaf the Brave defied the tyranny of Andreï
Bogoliubski, in his attempt to intimidate Novgorod the Great.[A] When
Vsevolod, surnamed Big Nest, by reason of his large family, would force
the city to his will, Mstislaf again came to its rescue; and when
Iaroslaf of the Big Nest family, continuing the feud, betook himself
to Torjok near the Volga, where he obstructed the passage of the
merchants and brought famine upon the great city, Mstislaf the Bold,
of Smolensk, son of the Brave, left his powerful capital, one of the
strongest of Russia’s fortified cities, and went to the help of the
distressed people. “Torjok shall not hold herself higher than the Lord
Novgorod,” he swore in princely fashion, “I will deliver his lands,
or leave my bones for his people to bury.” Thus he became champion
and prince of the Republic. Between Iaroslaf and his brothers Iuri of
Vladimir, and Konstantin of Rostof ensued one of the family wrangles
common to the times, that was settled on the field of Lipetsk (1216),
where Konstantin allied with Mstislaf won his cause, and Iaroslaf was
compelled to renounce both his claims and his captives. When the bold
Mstislaf had put the affairs of the principality in order, he took
formal leave of the _vetché_, assembled in the court of Iaroslaf, and
resisting their entreaties to abide with them, went as we have seen
to the aid of Daniel of Galitsch.[B] But according to his wish he
was buried beside his father, the Brave, who, when at the height of
his greatness was borne down with disease, commanded that he should
be carried to Saint Sophia in Novgorod, received there the eucharist
amid the congregated citizens, crossed his once mighty arms upon his
breast, and closed his eyes forever upon the scenes that had witnessed
his achievements. In the cathedral lie the two warriors in mute
company, with the consort of Iaroslaf the Great, his son Vladimir, who
laid its foundations, the archbishop Nikita, whose prayers extinguished
a conflagration, and a goodly company of other illustrious dead.
[Footnote A: _Vid._ THE CHAUTAUQUAN for January, 1883, p. 181, col. 2.]
[Footnote B: _Vid._ THE CHAUTAUQUAN for February, 1883, p. 13, col. 2.]
In course of time the Iaroslaf who had renounced his claim to the
Republic after the defeat at Lipetsk, was elected its prince, he being
also Prince of Suzdal; but he was compelled to make good his claim
before the Grand Khan in Asia, and perished in the desert journey. Of
his two sons, Andreï succeeded him at Vladimir (Suzdal), and Alexander
at Novgorod.
The incoming of the Tatars had left the Russian realm a prey to its
northern neighbors,—the Finnish tribes, the Livonians and Swedes. In
his early years Alexander proved his capacity for leadership by a
battle won against these united forces near one of the affluents of
the Neva—an exploit that gained him his surname Nevski, and that has
been commemorated in the historical ballads of his people. An Ingrian,
a newly Christianized chief in the Russian service, on the eve of the
engagement, beheld Boris and Gleb, the martyred sons Saint Vladimir,
the Castor and Pollux of Russian tradition, standing in a phantom boat,
rowed by phantom oarsmen, toward the camp of their countrymen—going
to the help of their kinsman Alexander. “Row, my men!” said one of
the brothers, “row, for the rescue of the Russian land!” In the hour
of conflict, one of the captains pursued Burger, the Swedish general,
through the water to his ship, but swam back successfully and mixed
again in the fray, when he reached the firm land. The exploits of
another knight are sung who brought in three Swedish galleys. Gabriel,
Skuilaf of Novgorod, tore away Burger’s tent and hewed down its ashen
post, amid the cheers of his men; and Alexander with a stroke of his
lance “imprinted his seal on Burger’s face.” Rough work was this,
in rude times; but thus was the national strength asserted, and the
national honor protected.
Novgorod, like all the republics of medieval times, recognized
the principle of caste distinctions, and hence was subject to the
dissensions consequent upon an enlarged freedom in conflict with these
class divisions. Its tendency was toward oligarchy. As monarchies
adjacent to it increased in size and strength, it was constrained to
form protective alliances now with the one, now with the other; but to
the latest period of its independence it cautiously guarded its civic
rights and laws against the encroachments of princely power. Some
differences between the citizens and Alexander led him to withdraw from
the city; but the incursions of the Sword-Bearers with their train of
northern tribes, made his presence again necessary at the head of the
army. He conducted a campaign characterized by extreme bitterness on
both sides, and ending in a conflict on Lake Peïpus, the Battle of the
Ice, in 1242, when a multitude of the Tchudi were exterminated and the
Livonian Knights were seriously crippled. The Grand Master expected to
see his redoubtable foeman before the walls of Riga; but Alexander
contented himself with reprisals, and a recovery of the lands wrested
from the Republic.
Through a score or more of years, partly by reason of its remote
northern location, and its relations with the western powers, Novgorod
had evaded the imposition of the Tatar yoke, put upon the rest of
the realm. But the time came when the khan at Saraï determined to
bring under his sway the region of the lakes; and Alexander, with his
brother Andreï, was summoned to the Horde for confirmation of their
duties as vassal princes. Batui, the khan, received the hero of the
Neva with consideration, and added to his domains large tracts of
Southern Russia, including the Principality of Kief; but with these
largesses was imposed the humiliating task of raising tribute for
the Mongol court. When the _posadnik_ announced this hard command to
the _vetché_ of Novgorod, the people, paying no heed to his cautious
and qualified phrasing, uttered a terrible cry, and tore him limb
from limb. A rebellion, headed by Alexander’s son, Vasili, gathered
force, till the rumor spread that the Asiatics were moving toward the
city. Yielding for a time to the necessity imposed upon them, the
people again rallied, this time around Saint Sophia, and declared they
would meet their fate, be it what it might, rather than submit to the
unendurable subjugation. Alexander sent them word that he must leave
them to themselves, and go elsewhere. The Mongol emissaries were at
the gates: the people in the acquiescence of despair admitted them
to their streets. During the days that the baskaks, census-takers
and tax-gatherers, went from house to house—and the days were many,
for the city covered an area hardly less than that of London in this
century—its industries were suspended, its stirring, joyous life
extinguished in silence and gloom. The priceless possession of the
state, its freedom and independence, was lost: and though the great
lords and wealthy burghers might still boast of their wealth, the
simple citizens had lost what they had believed to be an enduring
heritage, and what they had cherished as an enduring hope.
Yet a restricted freedom still remained: nor till three centuries
later was this sacrificed to the power of the Muscovite and the unity
of the Russias. Even then the history of the republic belonged to
the Empire. The right of representation, of government by laws, and
by the free consent of the governed, were matters of history not to
be forgotten. The most rigid of Russian despots could not utterly
ignore them, and they have produced an element of unrest that, however
painful in its immediate results, is yet inevitable and healthful and
hopeful. They have been one of the influences at work, bringing to
tens and hundreds of thousands of lips the watch-word uttered since
the reign of Nicholas, on the rivers, on the mountain boundaries, in
the mines, the residence of the noble, the factory, and the hut of the
peasant—_Svobodnaya Rossia_: Free Russia.
Everywhere the collection of the tribute was attended with revolts. One
in Suzdal, sure to bring terrible reprisals upon the people, compelled
Alexander to a second journey to the Horde, where he had also to excuse
himself for failure to send his military contingent. The chronicles
aver that the men were defending their western frontiers at this time.
The khan detained his noble vassal for a year. On his return journey
the prince, whose bravery had endured so sore a conflict with his
sagacity and prudence, and whose health had weakened, died at a town
several days’ journey from Vladimir. When the tidings were brought to
Novgorod, the Metropolitan Kyrill, who was celebrating a religious
service, announced to the congregation: “Learn, my dear children, that
the sun of Russia is set.” “We are lost,” they answered, and sobs were
heard from all parts of the church.
Long will this Alexander, “helper of men,” be revered by his
countrymen. Religion and patriotism with them are one; hence it is
not strange that he is enrolled among the saints of the Church. As
protector of the modern capital, his name is given to its stateliest
promenade. The monastery dedicated to his memory is one of the three
Lauras, or seats of the Metropolitans, filled with treasures and
shrines of the illustrious dead. Thither repair the sovereigns before
the undertaking of momentous enterprises, even as the Nevski bowed
before the Divine Justice in Saint Sophia, ere he went forth upon his
expeditions and journeys. His timely submission saved the realm from
further exhaustion, while his military successes preserved it from
sinking under the hardest subjection that has ever been imposed upon a
European people.
Daniel, a son of this renowned prince, received as part of his appanage
the devastated town of Moscow, which up to this time had been an
obscure place, unnoticed by the annalists, beyond the mention of its
origin. They record that in 1043 the Grand Prince Iuri Dolgoruki,[C]
while on a journey, tarried at the domain of a boyar who for some
reason he caused to be put to death; that having his attention directed
to certain heights washed by the river Moskova, he brought settlers
thither, who built a village on the spot at present covered by the
Kreml. A little church, Our Savior of the Pines, is still preserved,
a relic of these early days. Daniel and his sons increased their
domains by the annexation of several cities; and during the life of
Iuri, the second son, was initiated a feud with the house of Tver,
that endured through eighty years ere it was closed by the merging
of the principality into that of Moscow. The contests of the two
kinsmen at the court of the Horde, illustrate the subserviency of
the princes to their conquerors. With many of them no deceptions or
malice were too base for the forwarding of their purposes. Iuri, by his
representations, contrived to obtain the arrest of the Prince of Tver.
While the khan was enjoying the chase in the region of the Caucasus,
Mikhail was pilloried in the market-place of a town of Daghestan, an
object of wondering comment to the populace. Both there and when held a
prisoner in his tent, he bore his sufferings with fortitude, consoling
himself with prayer and with the Psalms of David. As his hands were
bound, an attendant held the open book before him. His nobles would
have contrived his escape, but he remonstrated: “Escape and leave you
to the anger of my foe? Leave my principality to go down without its
ruler and father? If I can not save it, I can, at least, suffer with
it.” Later, when speaking with his young son, Konstantine, of their
far-off home, tears filled his eyes, and his soul was troubled. He
repeated the words of the Fifty-fifth Psalm: “Fearfulness and trembling
are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me.” An attendant priest
endeavored to console him with the words: “Cast thy burden upon the
Lord and he shall sustain thee. He suffers not the righteous to be
moved.” The prince responded: “O, that I had wings like a dove; then
would I flee away and be at rest.” Iuri had procured a death-warrant
for his cousin, and attended by hired ruffians approached the tent,
from which the boyars and attendants had been ordered away. “I know
his purpose,” said Mikhail, as they took his hand in parting. When
the murder was done, Kavgadi, a Tatar, beholding the torn and naked
body, exclaimed against the indignity, and ordered it to be covered
with a mantle. Long did the Tverians bewail their martyred prince.
His body, incorruptible, it was averred, was recovered and laid to
rest in their cathedral, where the pictured record of his fate is
still vivid on its walls. He, too, is a saint, exalted by suffering,
as Alexander was exalted by heroism. Some years later, when his son,
Dmitri of the Terrible Eyes, met at Saraï the murderer of his father,
“his sword leaped from its scabbard,” and laid him low. He rendered
not unwillingly his own life in its prime as atonement for this act
of filial vengeance. Then, as now, a quick, and, as they say, an
uncontrollable impulse moved many a Russ to similar, sometimes to
inexplicable acts.
[Footnote C: _Vid._ THE CHAUTAUQUAN for January, p. 180, col. 1.]
A third Prince of Tver escaped from the plots of his grasping Muscovite
neighbor, Ivan Kalita, or Alms-bag, (1328) so called from that article
that hung ever at his girdle. Yet as he acquired great wealth by his
prudent management, which increased the commerce and industries of
his realm, he had not repute for self-denying charity. He established
markets and fairs along the Volga, that added to his revenues with many
hundred pounds of silver: probably in the _poltiras_, or half-pounds,
current from the time of Saint Vladimir to the fifteenth century.
About the year 1389 coins of silver and copper were substituted for
the marten skins that had been used as a medium of barter. A hundred
and fifty years later were introduced the rouble and copek,[D] the
coins most in use of the modern currency. Ivan also enriched the
Kreml with several stately churches, among them the Cathedral of the
Assumption—Uspenski Sobor—where for above three hundred years the tsars
have crowned themselves,—the most sacred of all the Russian churches
in the estimation of the people. From one of its interior corners
rises the shrine of the Metropolitan, Saint Peter, who is said to have
prophesied to his sovereign: “If thou wilt comfort my hoary years, wilt
build here a temple worthy of thy estate, and our religion; this thy
city shall be chief of all the cities of Russia. Through many centuries
shall thy race reign here in strength and glory. Their hands shall
prevail against their enemies, and the saints shall dwell in their
borders.”
Kalita is regarded as the first of the Muscovite princes.
[To be continued.]
[Footnote D: Rouble signifies a piece broken off. Copek is thought to
be derived from the Russian word for lance, referring to the weapon of
Saint George stamped upon the coin.]
A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY AND LITERATURE OF SCANDINAVIA.
By L.A. SHERMAN, PH.D.
VII.—ESAIAS TEGNÉR: JOHANN LUDVIG RUNEBERG.
Now that we have finished our Carolinian romance, shall we hear
something of the author? He is certainly a brilliant poet, for
his story which we have been reading is no deep-planned and long
worked-over effort, but was written in the few days after a severe
sickness when the author could not yet leave his couch. He wrote
it to occupy his mind, and beguile the time. How is he esteemed in
Sweden? Will it be thought incredible when I say no old hero, not even
Charles XII., is reverenced there more deeply, no name is cherished so
fondly,—that no man so nearly seems worthy to be called the father of
his country, as this same poet-bishop, Esaias Tegnér?
All this is hard to explain, so many-sided was the life he led. We need
to realize that he was more active as a bishop and party-leader than a
poet. Then to appreciate him in the last capacity we must go among the
Swedes themselves. We shall find in him the bond of unity of a whole
nation, in that he has sung best the ancient glory of the race, and
discovered to the world the heroic integrity of the Northern character.
We shall note that it is he whose words are most, next to the Bible, on
the lips of every Swede. If we go into a peasant’s cottage, far from
railways and culture, we shall be sure to find some one who has not
only heard of the great poet, but can even repeat for us whole cantos
from his “Frithiof’s Saga,”—perhaps all of “Axel” itself. And nobody
even sets about learning these poems by heart: they cling to the memory
in spite of the reader.
But we must begin our history. Who were Tegnér’s parents? What was
their rank in life? C. W. Böttiger, Tegnér’s son-in-law, who wrote a
short life of the poet, shall answer for us:—
“A few years ago north of the church in Tegnaby, there was seen a
gray cottage fallen into ruins, with moss-grown walls and two little
windows of which one, according to the ancient custom of the province,
was in the roof. The people regarded it with a kind of reverence; and
if one asked the reason, the hat was raised with the answer: ‘The
Bishop’s grandfather once lived there.’ His name was Lucas Esai´asson,
his wife’s Ingeborg Mänsdotter. According to testimony handed down
traditionally in the parish, this Lucas Esaiasson was a poor but
exceedingly industrious and pious man. A peasant during a greater part
of the time when Charles XII. was king, he continued yet twenty years
after the ‘shot,’ a Carolinian at the plow. This and his Bible were his
dearest treasures, and all he had to leave to fourteen children, for
whom he procured bread with the plow after he had given them names from
the Scriptures. There was one called Paul, another John, a third Enoch,
and so on. A whole temple-progeny was growing up under his lowly roof:
the Old and New Testaments were embracing each other in his cottage.
The youngest son, born on the day of King Charles’s death, was named
Esaias. The older brothers inherited their father’s plow, and became
peasants; Esaias inherited his father’s Bible and became a minister.”
We wish we could continue to quote Mr. Böttiger, but his story proceeds
too slowly. This Esaias was the father of our poet. Showing unusual
aptitude for books, he was taken from the farm where he had gone out
to service, and placed in the school of Wexiö. Coming from the _by_
or village of Tegn, and having but one name, he was entered in the
school register, kept after the manner of the time in Latin, as Esaias
Tegnérus. The latter, the Latin suffix _us_ being omitted, became
afterward the family name.
In due time this Esaias Tegnér passed to the university, and after
graduation was ordained as we have seen, a minister. He is remembered
as a talented preacher, and merry man of society. He married a pastor’s
daughter whose mother was celebrated for wit, force of character,
and poetic gifts. Like qualities reappear in a marked degree in our
poet, who was the fifth son of this marriage. He was born in Kykerud
[Chikerood], November 13, 1782, and took his father’s name.
Ten years later the minister’s family was broken up by the death of
the father. Two daughters and four sons were thus left in a measure
to the charity of the world. The young Esaias was soon taken into the
counting-room of one Jacob Branting, a crown-bailiff of the province
and friend of the deceased pastor. Here he learned to keep accounts
and developed rapidly into a valuable clerk. All the leisure he could
command was given steadily to books. He read everything he could find,
particularly the old Norse sagas, and amused himself by turning some
of the driest themes of history and biography into poetical form. The
crisis in his life came early. He had been in Branting’s office four
years, and so won the respect and love of his employer as to be thought
of already as the future son-in-law and successor to the office of
bailiff. But Branting had observed the lad’s genius for books, and was
beginning to think him fitted for something higher. One night, as they
were riding together, Esaias astonished him by rehearsing with some
minuteness the principles of astronomy, which he had gathered from his
reading. Branting’s decision was at once made. “You shall study,” said
he. “As for the means, God will supply the sacrifice, and _I_ will not
forget you.”
Young Esaias commenced at once to study Latin, Greek, and French.
So remarkable was his memory that he was able, after glancing a few
times over a list of fifty or sixty words, to repeat them with their
meanings. To his other tasks he added later, the study of English,
which he learned by the aid of a translation of Ossian. A change soon
follows. Lars Gustaf, his oldest brother, not yet graduated from the
university, had been asked to serve as tutor in the family of a rich
manufacturer and owner of mines in Rämen. Lars consented on condition
that he might bring with him Esaias; for during his temporary absence
from the university he had undertaken to guide his brother’s work. The
rich proprietor into whose house they were to enter was Christopher
Myhrman, a name prominent in the history of Swedish manufactures.
He had himself built up the foundries and mills of Rämen, turning
the wilderness into a large and flourishing town. Amid his multifold
business cares he always found time to read his favorite Latin authors,
and enjoy the society of his family, whose circle at that time
comprised eight vigorous sons and two blooming daughters.
“To this place, and to this circle it was,” says Mr. Böttiger, “that
Lars Gustaf and Esaias Tegnér betook themselves one beautiful summer
afternoon in July, 1797. They had traveled in a carriage over the road
on which the owner of the mills had been obliged, twenty years before,
to bring his wife home upon a pack-saddle; but they left the coach
behind them and now came on foot at their leisure through the forest.
Suddenly there burst upon their gaze the loveliest prospect. On a point
of land, extending out into the water thickly set with islands, and
encircled with birch and fir, lay like a beautiful promise the pleasant
garden sloping in terraces to the sea, girded with the setting sun and
covered with shady trees. ‘Who knows what dwells under their branches,’
perhaps the poet-stripling was already asking, with quickened pulses.
_We_ know what dwelt beneath them. It was his good fortune he was
coming here to meet; it was amidst this smiling and magnificent nature
that his talents were destined to develop, his powers to be confirmed,
his wit to grow; it was over the threshold of this patriarchic
tabernacle that his knowledge was to be brought to ripeness, and his
heart find a companion for life.
“What here in the first room attracted his attention was the big
book-cases. He found them richly supplied not only with Swedish,
English, and French works, but also Greek and Roman authors of every
sort. With greedy eyes he fixed himself especially by the side of a
folio, on whose leathern back he read: _Homerus_. It was Castalio’s
edition, printed in Basel in 1561. Here was an acquaintance to make. He
made it immediately, and in a manner of which his own account is worthy
of being told:—
“‘So without any grammatical foundation, I resolved to attempt
the task immediately. At the outset it naturally proceeded slowly
and tediously. The many dialectic forms of which I had no idea at
all, laid me under great difficulties, which would probably have
discouraged any less energetic will. The Greek grammar I had used was
adapted to prose writers: of the poetic dialects nothing was said.
I was therefore compelled just here to devise a system for myself,
and further, to make notes from that time, which now show that among
many mistakes I sometimes was right. To give way before any sort of
difficulty was not at all my disposition; and the farther I went, the
easier my understanding of the poet became. With the prose writers
Xenophon and Lucian, I also made at this time a flying acquaintance;
but they interested me little, and my principal work continued to be
with Homer, and also Horace in Latin, | 1,087.860367 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Volume One, Chapter I.
HIS HOUSE.
Early morning at Saltinville, with the tide down, and the calm sea
shimmering like damasked and deadened silver in the sunshine. Here and
there a lugger was ashore, delivering its take of iris-hued mackerel to
cart and basket, as a busy throng stood round, some upon the sands, some
knee-deep in water, and all eager to obtain a portion of the fresh fish
that fetched so good a price amongst the visitors to the town.
The trawler was coming in, too, with its freight of fine thick soles and
turbot, with a few gaily-scaled red mullet; and perhaps a staring-eyed
John Dory or two, from the trammel net set overnight amongst the rocks:
all choice fish, these, to be bought up ready for royal and noble use,
for London would see no scale of any of the fish caught that night.
The unclouded sun flashed from the windows of the houses on the cliff,
giving them vivid colours that the decorator had spared, and lighting up
the downs beyond, so that from the sea Saltinville looked a very picture
of all that was peaceful and bright. There were no huge stucco palaces
to mar the landscape, for all was modest as to architecture, and as
fresh as green and stone- paint applied to window-frame, veranda
and shutter could make it. Flowers of variety were not plentiful, but
great clusters of orange marigolds flourished bravely, and, with
broad-disked sunflowers, did no little towards giving warmth of colour
to the place. There had been no storms of late--no windy nights when
the spray was torn from the tops of waves to fly in showers over the
houses, and beat the window-panes, crusting them afterwards with a coat
of dingy salt. The windows, then, were flashing in the sun; but all the
same, by six o'clock, Isaac Monkley, the valet, body-servant, and
footman-in-ordinary to Stuart Denville, Esquire, MC, was busy, dressed
in a striped jacket, and standing on the very top of a pair of steps,
cloth in one hand and wash-leather in the other, carefully cleaning
windows that were already spotless. For there was something in the
exterior of the MC's house that suggested its tenant. Paint, glass,
walls, and doorstep were so scrupulously clean that they recalled the
master's face, and seemed to have been clean-shaven but an hour before.
Isaac was not alone in his task, for, neat in a print dress and snowy
cap, Eliza, the housemaid, was standing on a chair within; and as they
cleaned the windows in concert, they courted in a special way.
There is no accounting for the pleasure people find in very ordinary
ways. Isaac and Eliza found theirs in making the glass so clear that
they could smile softly at each other without let or hindrance produced
by smear or speck in any single pane. Their hands, too, were kept in
contact, saving for cloth and glass, and moved in unison, describing
circles and a variety of other figures, going into the corners together,
changing from cloth to wash-leather, and moving, as it were, by one set
of muscles till the task was concluded with a chaste salute--a kiss
through the glass.
Meanwhile, anyone curious about the house would, if he had raised his
eyes, have seen that one of the upstairs windows had a perfect screen of
flowers, that grew from a broad, green box along the sill. Sweet peas
clustered, roses bloomed, geraniums dotted it with brilliant tiny
pointless stars of scarlet, and at one side there was a string that ran
up from a peg to a nail, hammered, unknown to the MC, into the wall.
That peg was an old tooth-brush handle, and the nail had been driven in
with the back of a hairbrush; but bone handle and string were invisible
now, covered by the twining strands of so many ipomaeas, whose
heart-shaped leaves and trumpet blossoms formed one of the most lovely
objects of the scene. Here they were of richest purple, fading into
lavender and grey; there of delicate pink with well-formed starry
markings in the inner bell, and moist with the soft air of early
morning. Each blossom was a thing of beauty soon to fade, for, as the
warm beams of the sun kissed them, the edges began to curl; then there
would be a fit of shrivelling, and the bloom of the virgin flower passed
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 12. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1840. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE TOWN OF ANTRIM.]
Travellers whose only knowledge of our towns is that derived in passing
through the principal street or streets, will be very apt to form an
erroneous estimate of the amount of picturesque beauty which they often
possess, and which is rarely seen save by those who go out of their way
expressly to look for it. This is particularly the case in our smaller
towns, in which the principal thoroughfare has usually a stiff and formal
character, the entrance on either side being generally a range of mud
cabins, which, gradually improving in appearance, merge at length into
houses of a better description, with a public building or two towards
the centre of the town. In these characteristics the highway of one town
is only a repetition of that of another, and in such there is rarely any
combination of picturesque lines or striking features to create a present
interest in the mind, or leave a pleasurable impression on the memory.
Yet in most instances, if we visit the suburbs of these towns, and more
particularly if they happen, as is usually the case, to be placed upon
a river, and we get down to the river banks, we shall most probably be
surprised and gratified at the picturesque combinations of forms, and the
delightful variety of effects, presented to us in the varied outline of
their buildings, contrasted by intervening masses of dark foliage, and
the whole reflected on the tranquil surface of the water, broken only by
the enlivening effect of those silvery streaks of light produced by the
eddies and currents of the stream.
Our prefixed view of the town of Antrim may be taken as an illustration
of the preceding remarks. As seen by the passing traveller, the town
appears situated on a rich, open, but comparatively uninteresting plain,
terminating the well-cultivated vale of the Six-mile-water towards the
flat shore of Loch Neagh; and with the exception of its very handsome
church and castellated entrance into Lord Ferrard’s adjoining demesne,
has little or no attraction; but viewed in connection with its river,
Antrim appears eminently picturesque from several points as well as from
that selected for our view--the prospect of the town looking from the
deer-park of Lord Massarene.
In front, the Six-mile-water river flowing placidly over a broad gravelly
bed, makes a very imposing appearance, not much inferior to that of the
Liffey at Island-bridge. The expanse of water at this point, however,
forms a contrast to the general appearance of the stream, which, although
it brings down a considerable body of water, flows in many parts of its
course between banks of not more than twenty feet asunder. The vale
which it waters is one of the most productive districts of the county,
and towards Antrim is adorned by numerous handsome residences rising
among the enlivening scenery of bleach-greens, for which manufacture
it affords a copious water-power. Scenes of this description impart a
peculiar beauty to landscapes in the north of Ireland. The linen webs of
a snowy whiteness, spread on green closely-shaven lawns sloping to the
sun, and generally bounded by a sparkling outline of running water, have
a delightfully _fresh_ and cheerful effect, seen as they usually are with
their concomitants of well-built factories and handsome mansions; and in
scenery of this description the neighbourhood of Antrim is peculiarly
rich. The Six-mile-water has also its own attraction for the antiquary,
being the _Ollarbha_ of our ancient Irish poems and romances, and flowing
within a short distance of the ancient fortress of Rathmore of Moylinny,
a structure which boasts an antiquity of upwards of 1700 years.
In our view the river appears crossed by a bridge, which through the
upper limbs of its lofty arches affords a pretty prospect of the river
bank beyond. In building a bridge in the same place, a modern county
surveyor would probably erect a less picturesque but more economical
structure, for the arches here are so lofty, that the river, to occupy
the whole space they afford for its passage, must rise to a height that
would carry its waters into an entirely new channel.
But the principal feature in our prospect is the church, the tower and
steeple of which are on so respectable a scale, and of such excellent
proportions, as to render it a very pleasing object as seen from any
quarter or approach of the town. It would be difficult to say in what the
true proportions of a spire consist, whether in its obvious and practical
utility as a penthouse roofing the tower, or in its emblematic aptitude
aspiring to and pointing towards heaven. Still, every cultivated eye will
remark how much more dignified and imposing is the effect of a spire
which is only moderately lofty, as compared with the breadth of its base,
than that of one which is extremely slender. We would point out the spire
of St Patrick’s Cathedral, for example, or that before us, on a smaller
scale, as instances of the former sort. Any one acquainted with the
proportions of those attenuated pinnacles which we so often find perched
on the roofs of churches erected within the last ten years, cannot be
at a loss for examples of the latter. The church itself at Antrim is,
however, rather defective in point of size, as compared with its nobly
proportioned tower and spire.
The suburb of the town, on this side of the bridge, runs up to the
demesne wall of Lord Ferrard’s residence, Antrim Castle, an antique
castellated mansion, seated boldly over the river in a small park laid
out in the taste of Louis XIV., from the terraced walks and stately
avenues of which there are many beautiful views of the surrounding
scenery.
In point of historical interest, there are but two events connected with
Antrim worthy of any particular note--the defeat of the insurgents here
in the rebellion of 1798, on which occasion the late Earl O’Neill lost
his life; and a great battle between the English and native Irish, in the
reign of Edward III., hitherto little spoken of in history, but forming
one in a series of events which exercised a great influence over the
destinies of this country.
Very soon after the first invasion of Ulster by John de Courcy, the
English power was established not only throughout the counties of
Down and Antrim, but even over a large portion of the present county
of Londonderry, then called the county of Coleraine. We find sheriffs
regularly appointed for these counties, and the laws duly administered,
down to the time of Edward III. The native Irish, who had been pushed out
by the advance of this early tide of civilization, took up their abode
west of the Bann, and in the hilly county of Tyrone, from whence they
watched the proceedings of their invaders, and, as opportunities from
time to time presented themselves, crossed the intervening river and
“preyed” the English country. The district around Antrim was from its
situation the one chiefly exposed to these incursions, and the duty of
defending it mainly devolved on the powerful sept of the Savages, who at
that time had extensive possessions in the midland districts of Antrim,
as well as in Down.
The most formidable of these incursions was that which took place
immediately after the murder of William de Burgho, Earl of Ulster, who
was assassinated by some malcontent English at the fords of Belfast, A.
D. 1333. The earl had been a strenuous asserter of the English law, and
had rendered himself obnoxious to the turbulent nobles of the country by
the severity with which he prohibited their adoption of Irish customs,
which, strange to say, had always great charms for the feudal lords of
the English pale, arising probably from the greater facilities which
the Brehon law afforded for exacting exorbitant rents and services from
their tenants. The immediate object of the assassins of the earl was to
prevent him carrying the full rigour of the law into operation against
one of his own _hibernicised_ kinsmen; but the ultimate consequences of
their act were felt throughout all Ireland for two centuries after. For
the Irish, taking advantage of the consternation attendant on the death
of the chief officer of the crown in that province, crossed the Bann
in unexampled numbers, and after a protracted struggle, in which they
were joined by some of the degenerate English, succeeded at length in
recovering the whole of the territory conquered by De Courcy, with the
exception only of Carrickfergus in Antrim, and a portion of the county
of Down, which the Savages with difficulty succeeded in holding after
being expelled from their former possessions at the point of the sword.
It was during this struggle that the battle to which we have alluded was
fought at Antrim. The story is told at considerable length and with much
quaintness by Hollinshed; but want of space obliges us to present it to
our readers in the more concise though still very characteristic language
of Cox:--
“About this time lived Sir Robert Savage, a very considerable gentleman
in Ulster, who began to fortifie his house with strong walls and
bulwarks; but his son derided his father’s prudence and caution,
affirming that “a castle of _bones_ was better than a castle of
_stones_,” and thereupon the old gentleman put a stop to his building.
It happened that this brave man with his neighbours and followers were
to set out against a numerous rabble of Irish that had made incursions
into their territories, and he gave orders to provide plenty of good
cheer against his return; but one of the company reproved him for doing
so, alleging that he could not tell but the enemy might eat what he
should provide; to which the valiant old gentleman replied, that he hoped
better from their courage, but that if it should happen that his very
enemies should come to his house, ‘he should be ashamed if they should
find it void of good cheer.’ The event was suitable to the bravery of the
undertaking: old Savage had the killing of three thousand of the Irish
near Antrim, and returned home joyfully to supper.”
Sir Henry Savage’s “castles of bones” were found insufficient in the end
to resist the multitudes of the Irish; and the English colonists, as we
have mentioned, notwithstanding their victory at Antrim, were finally
obliged to cede the valley of the Six-mile-water to the victorious arms
of the Clan-Hugh-Buide, whose representative, the present Earl O’Neill,
still holds large possessions in the territory thus recovered by his
ancestors.
With respect to the origin of the place, there is little to be said
beyond the fact, that, like that of most of our provincial towns, it
was ecclesiastical. The only remnant of the ancient foundation is the
round tower, which still stands in excellent preservation about half a
mile north of the town. The name is properly “Aen-druim” signifying “the
single hill,” or “one mount.”
A CHAPTER ON CURS.
Without doubt I am a benevolent character: the grudge gratuitous to
my nature is unknown: I never take offence where no offence is given.
Hence, on most animals I look with complacency--for most animals never
intermeddle with my comfort--and on only a few with antipathy, for only
a few so behave as to excite it. High up on the list of the latter--I
was going to say at the very top, but that pestering, pertinacious fly
impudently alighting, through pure mischief alone, on the tickle-tortured
tip of--but he’s gone--no, he’s back--there now I have him under my hat
at last--tut! he’s out again under the rim--up with the window and away
with him! At the head, then, ay, at the very head--how my grievances come
crowding on my brain!--I unhesitatingly place that thrice-confounded
breed of curs, colleys, mongrels, or whatever else they may be called,
with which the rural regions of this therein much-afflicted country are
infested. The milk of my humanity--yea, I may say the cream, for such
it was with me--has in respect to them been changed to very gall--an
unmitigable hostility has possessed me, which--did not the scars of
the wofully-remembered salting, scrubbing, scarifying, and frying (to
say nothing of two months’ maintenance of an hospital establishment of
poultices and plasters), to which my better leg was twice submitted,
counsel me to mingle discretion with my ire--would absolutely make me
turn Don Quixote for their extirpation.
Let flighty philosophers frolic as they list with the flimsy phantasies
no optics save their own can spy--let political economists prate about
public problems, till other people’s pates are nearly as addled as their
own--let flaming patriots propound and placid placemen promise this,
that, and t’other, as grievous burdens or great concessions; but let men
of sense give heed to things of substance--let them exclaim with me,
“Out upon all abstract gammon--out upon all squabbling about what we can
only hear, but neither see nor feel, taste nor smell--bodily boons--real
redress--and first and foremost, ‘to the lamp-post’ with the curs!” I
have suffered more at their teeth, both in blood and broad-cloth, than
all the benefactions I have ever received at the hands of any government
would balance. The inviolable independence of British subjects, forsooth!
the parental guardianship of the constitution, the security for life
and person--faugh!--away with the big inanities, so long as a peaceful
pedestrian cannot take an airing along a highway, much less adventure
on a devious ramble, without exposing person and personalities to the
cruel mercies of a tribe of half-starved tykes issuing from every cabin,
scrambling over every half-door, and almost throttling themselves in
their emulous ambition to be the first to tatter the ill-starred wight
who has stumbled on their haunts. Let no one urge in their behalf
that they are faithful to the misguided men who own them: so much the
worse, since in their small system, fidelity to one must needs manifest
itself in malice, hatred, and uncharitableness to every creature else,
dead or alive. No, there is no redeeming trait--they are _curs_,
essentially biting, barking, cantankrous, crabbed, sneaking, snarling,
treacherous, bullying, cowardly _curs_, and nothing else. This, under all
circumstances, I undertake to maintain against all gainsayers, though
at the same time I am free to confess that I write under considerable
excitement, having just returned from the country (whither--besotted
mortal not to be content with the flag way of a street, and the scenery
of brick and mortar--I had repaired, forsooth, for air, exercise, and
rural sketching) with a couple of new coats, to say nothing of trousers,
curtailed beyond recovery, a bandaged shin smarting beyond description,
and a host of horrid hydrophobic forebodings consequent thereon. It
chanced that in an evil hour I made an engagement with an ailing friend,
whose house was situate in what I may emphatically term a most _canine_
locality, which constrained me to make several calls upon him. Unhappily
it was only approachable by one road, the sides of which were here and
there dotted with a clutch of cabins, in each of which was maintained a
standing force of the aforesaid pests. This ambushed defile, about three
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THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 8.
XXVII. RETRIBUTION
XXVIII. LIGHT
CHAPTER XXVII
RETRIBUTION
I
The Bishop's House was a comfortable, double dwelling of a smooth,
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[Transcriber's note: Original spelling variations have not been
standardized. {Old English} style letters have been shown in {braces}.
Characters with macrons have been marked in brackets with an equal sign,
as [=e] for a letter e with a macron on top; [p=] shows a letter p with
a stroke through the descender. Underscores have been used to indicate
_italic_ fonts. A list of volumes and pages in "Notes and Queries" has
been added at the end.]
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. V.--No. 134. SATURDAY, MAY 22. 1852.
Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition, 5_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
NOTES:--
A few Things about Richard Baxter, by H. M. Bealby 481
Latin Song by Andrew Boorde, by Dr. E. F. Rimbault 482
Shakspeare Notes 483
Publications of the Stuttgart Society, by F. Norgate 484
Manuscript Shakspeare Emendations, by J. O. Halliwell 484
The Grave-stone of Joe Miller 485
Folk Lore:--Swearing on a Skull--New Moon--Rust 485
Minor Notes:--Epitaph at Low Moor--Sir Thomas Overbury's
Epitaph--Bibliotheca Literaria--Inscription at Dundrah
Castle--Derivation of Charing 486
QUERIES:--
Poem by Nicholas Breton 487
The Virtuosi, or St. Luke's Club 487
The Rabbit as a Symbol 487
Is Wyld's Great Globe a Plagiarism from Molenax? by
John Petheram 488
Minor Queries:--Poem on the Burning of the Houses of
Parliament--Newton's Library--Meaning of Royd--The
Cromwell Family--Sir John Darnell, Knt.--Royal
"We"--Gondomar--Wallington's Journal--Epistola
Lucifera, &c.--Cambrian Literature--"VCRIMDR" on
Coins of Vabalathus--Lines on Woman--Penkenol--Fairfax
Family Mansion--Postman and Tubman in the Court of
Exchequer--Second Exhumation of King Arthur's Remains,
&c. 488
MINOR QUERIES ANSWERED:--Welsh Women's Hats--Pancakes
on Shrove Tuesday--Shakspeare, Tennyson, and Claudian 491
REPLIES:--
The Ring Finger 492
The Moravian Hymns 492
Cagots 493
Sheriffs and Lords Lieutenant 494
St. Christopher 494
General Pardons: Sir John Trenchard, by E. S. Taylor 496
Replies to Minor Queries:--Dayesman--Bull; Dun--Algernon
Sidney--Age of Trees--Emaciated Monumental Effigies--Bee
Park--Sally Lunn--Baxter's Pulpit--Lothian's Scottish
Historical Maps--British Ambassadors--Knollys
Family--'Prentice Pillars; 'Prentice Windows--St.
Bartholomew--Sun-dial Inscription--History of
Faction--Barnacles--Family Likenesses--Merchant
Adventurers to Spain--Exeter Controversy--Corrupted
Names of Places--Poison--Vikingr Skotar--Rhymes on
Places--"We three"--Burning Fern brings Rain--Plague
Stones--Sneezing--Abbot of Croyland's Motto--Derivation
of the Word "Azores"--Scologlandis and Scologi 497
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 501
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 502
Notices to Correspondents 502
Advertisements 503
Notes.
A FEW THINGS ABOUT RICHARD BAXTER.
In the year 1836, I visited Kidderminster for the purpose of seeing the
place where Richard Baxter spent fourteen of the most valuable years of
his life; and of ascertaining if any relics were to be found connected
with the history of this remarkable man. Baxter thought much of
Kidderminster, for with strong feeling he says, respecting this place,
in his poem on "Love breathing Thanks and Praise" (_Poetical Fragments_,
1st edit. 1681):--
"But among all, none did so much abound,
With fruitful mercies, as that barren ground,
Where I did make my best and longest stay,
And bore the heat and burden of the day;
Mercies grew thicker there than summer flowers:
They over-numbered my daies and hours.
There was my dearest flock, and special charge,
Our hearts in mutual love thou didst enlarge:
'Twas there that mercy did my labours bless,
With the most great and wonderful success."
While prosecuting my inquiries, I was shown the house in which he is
said to have resided. It is situated in the High Street, and was, at the
time of my visit, inhabited by a grocer; but I had my doubts, from a
difference of opinion I heard stated as to this being the actual house.
After looking at this house, I visited the vestry of the Unitarian
Chapel, and examined the pulpit; the description of which given by your
correspondent is very correct. He omits to mention Job Orton's chair,
which was shown me, as well as that of Bishop Hall. From all I could
learn at the time, and since, I should say that there is not the
slightest probability of any engraving having been published of this
pulpit. Sketches may have been made by private hands, but nothing I
believe in this way has ever been given to the public. I have long taken
a deep interest in everything, pertaining to Richard Baxter. I some
years ago collected ninety-seven out of the one hundred and sixty-eight
works which he wrote, most of them the original editions, and
principally on controversial subjects. After they had served the purpose
for which I purchased them, I parted with them, reserving to myself the
first editions of the choicest of his practical writings. The folio
edition of his works contains only his practical treatises. One of the
most remarkable facts connected with the history of Baxter, is the
prodigious amount of mechanical drudgery to which he must have patiently
submitted in the production of his varied publications. He had a very
delicate frame: he was continually unwell, and often greatly afflicted.
To this constant ailment of body he refers in a very affecting note in
his _Paraphrase on the New Testament_ under the fifth verse in the fifth
chapter of the Gospel of St. John. The reference is to the impotent man
at the pool of Bethesda, who had an infirmity thirty and eight years.
_Note._ "How great a mercy is it, to live eight and thirty years
under God's wholesome discipline? How inexcusable was this man, if
he had been proud, or worldly, or careless of his everlasting
state? O my God! I thank thee for the like discipline of eight and
fifty years. How safe a life is this, in comparison of full
prosperity and pleasure."
His ministerial duties were of an arduous nature, and yet he found time
to write largely on theological subjects, and to plunge perpetually into
theological controversy. The _Saint's Rest_, by which his fame will ever
be perpetuated, was published in 1619, 4to. It is in four parts, and
dedicated respectively to the inhabitants of Kidderminster, Bridgenorth,
Coventry, and Shrewsbury. It was the first book he wrote, and the second
he published (_The Aphorisms of Justification_ being the first
published): it was written under the daily expectation of dying. The
names of Brook, Hampden, and Pym, which have a place in the first
edition, are, singularly enough, omitted in the later ones. Fifty years
after the appearance of the _Saint's Rest_, and a few months only before
his death, he published the strangest of all his productions; it is--
"The Certainty of the World of Spirits, fully evinced by
unquestionable Histories of Apparitions and Witchcrafts,
Operations, Voices, &c. Proving the Immortality of Souls, the
Malice and Misery of Devils and the Damned, and the Blessedness of
the Justified. Written for the Conviction of Sadducees and
Infidels."
12mo. 1691.
His _Reliquiae Baxterianae_, folio, 1686, is the text-book for the actual
every-day life of this eminent divine.
H. M. BEALBY.
North Brixton.
LATIN SONG BY ANDREW BOORDE.
The life of this "progenitor of Merry Andrew," as he is termed, would,
if minutely examined, doubtless prove a curious piece of biography. Wood
furnishes many particulars, but some of his statements want
confirmation. He tells us that Boorde was borne at Pevensey in Sussex;
but Hearne corrects him, and says it was at Bounds Hill in the same
county. It then becomes a question whether he was educated at Winchester
school. Certain it is that he was of Oxford, although he left without
taking a degree, and became a brother of the Carthusian order in London.
We next find him studying physic in his old university, and subsequently
travelling through most parts of Europe, and even of Africa. On his
return to England, he settled at Winchester, and practised as a
physician. Afterwards we find him in London occupying a tenement in the
parish of St. Giles-in-the-Fields. This appears to have been the period
when, in his professional capacity, King Henry VIII. is said to have
consulted him. How long he remained in London is uncertain, but in 1541
he was living at Montpelier in France, where he is supposed to have
taken the degree of doctor in physic, in which he was afterwards
incorporated at Oxford. He subsequently lived at Pevensey, and again at
Winchester. At last we find him a prisoner in the Fleet--the cause has
yet to be learned,--at which place he died in April, 1549. The following
curious relic is transcribed from the flyleaf of a copy of _The Breviary
of Health_, 4to., London, 1547. It is signed "Andrew Boord," and if not
the handwriting of the facetious author himself, is certainly that of
some one of his cotemporaries:
"Nos vagabunduli,
Laeti, jucunduli,
Tara, tantara teino.
Edimus libere,
Canimus lepide,
Tara, &c.
Risu dissolvimur,
Pannis obvolvimur,
Tara, &c.
Multum in joculis,
Crebro in poculis,
Tara, &c.
Dolo consuimus,
Nihil metuimus,
Tara, &c.
Pennus non deficit,
Praeda nos reficit,
Tara, &c.
Frater Catholice,
Vir apostolice,
Tara, &c.
Dic quae volueris
Fient quae jusseris,
Tara, &c.
Omnes metuite
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IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES
A Story for the Young
by
Everett Evelyn-Green.
1901
CONTENTS
Prologue.
Chapter 1: A Brush with the Robbers.
Chapter 2: A Hospitable Shelter.
Chapter 3: A Strange Encounter.
Chapter 4: Paul's Kinsman.
Chapter 5: In Peril.
Chapter 6: In The Hands of the Robbers.
Chapter 7: The Protection of the Protected.
Chapter 8: The Rally of the Red Rose.
Chapter 9: The Tragedy of Tewkesbury.
Chapter 10: The Prince Avenged.
Notes.
Prologue.
"Mother, will the little prince be there?"
"Yes, my son. He never leaves his mother's side. You will see them
all today, if fortune favours us--the good King Henry, his noble
queen, to whom he owes so much, and the little prince likewise. We
will to horse anon, that we may gain a good view of the procession
as it passes. The royal party lodges this night at our good
bishop's palace. Perchance they will linger over the Sunday, and
hear mass in our fair cathedral, Our loyal folks of Lichfield are
burning to show their love by a goodly show of welcome; and it is
said that his majesty takes pleasure in silvan sports and such-like
simple pleasures, many preparations for the which have been
prepared for him to witness."
"O mother, I know. Ralph and Godfrey have been practising
themselves this many a day in tilting and wrestling, and in the use
of the longbow and quarterstaff, that they may hold their own in
the sports on the green before the palace, which they say the king
will deign to watch.
"O mother; why am I not as old and as strong as they? I asked Ralph
to let me shoot with his bow; but he only laughed at me, and bade
me wait till I was as tall and as strong as he. It is very hard to
be the youngest--and so much the youngest, too."
The mother smiled as she passed her hand over the floating curls of
the gallant boy beside her; He was indeed a child of whom any
mother might be proud: beautiful, straight-limbed, active, and
fearless, his blue eyes glowing and shining, his cheek flushed with
excitement, every look and gesture seeming to speak of the bold
soldier spirit that burned within.
And these were times when it appeared indeed as if England's sons
had need of all the warlike instincts of their race. Party faction
had well-nigh overthrown ere this the throne--and the authority of
the meek King Henry, albeit the haughty Duke of York had set forth
no claim for the crown, which his son but two short years later
both claimed and won. But strife and jealousy and evil purposes
were at work in men's minds. The lust of power and of supremacy had
begun to pave the way for the civil war which was soon to devastate
the land. The sword had already been drawn at St. Albans, and the
hearts of many men were full of foreboding as they thought upon the
perilous times in which they lived; though others were ready to
welcome the strife which promised plunder and glory and fame to
those who should distinguish themselves by prowess in field or
counsel in the closet.
The gentle Lady Stukely, however, was not one of these. Her heart
sank sometimes when she heard the talk of her bold husband and
warlike sons. They had all three of them fought for the king at the
first battle, or rather skirmish, at St. Albans four years before,
and were ardent followers and adherents of the Red Rose of
Lancaster. Her husband had received knighthood at the monarch's
hands on the eve of the battle, and was prepared to lay down his
life in the cause if it should become necessary to do so.
But if rumours of strife to come, and terrible pictures of
bloodshed, sometimes made her gentle spirit quail, she had always
one consolation in the thought that her youngest child, her little
Paul, would not be torn from her side to follow the bloody trail of
war. Her two first-born sons, the younger of whom was twenty-two,
had long been very finished young gallants, trained to every
military enterprise, and eager to unsheathe their swords whenever
rumour told of slight to King Henry or his haughty queen from the
proud Protector, who for a time had held the reins of government,
though exercising his powers in the name of the afflicted king.
But Paul was still a child, not yet quite eight years old; and of
the five fair children born to her between him and his brothers,
not one had lived to complete his or her third year, so that the
mother's heart twined itself the more firmly about this last brave
boy, and in the frequent absences of husband and sons upon matters
of business or pleasure, the companionship between the pair was
almost unbroken, and they loved each other with a devotion that may
easily be understood. Paul felt no awe of his gentle mother, but
rather looked upon himself as her champion and defender in his
father's absence. It was no new thing for him to long for manhood
and its privileges; for would not these make him all the stouter
protector to his mother?
But she was wont when he spoke such words to check him by gentle
counsel and motherly sympathy, and now she took his hand in hers
and patted it smilingly as she replied:
"Ah, my little Paul, time flies fast, and you will be a man before
very long now; but be content for these next days to be yet a
child. Perchance the little prince will pay more heed to such as
are of his age.
"You may chance to win a smile from him, even if the nobles and
gentlemen regard not children."
Paul's face brightened instantly.
"O mother, yes; I had not thought of that. But I do so long to see
the little prince. Oh, if he were to notice me--to speak to me--how
happy I should be! We were born on the same day, were we not, dear
mother--on the thirteenth of October? But I am older, am I not?"
"Yes, my child; by two years. You will be eight upon your next
birthday, and he six. But I hear he is such a forward, kingly,
noble child, that both in appearance and discretion he is far in
advance of his actual age. Those who are brought up with royalty
early learn the lessons which to others come but with advancing
years."
"I love the little prince, our good king's son," cried Paul with
kindling eyes; "I would that I had been called Edward, too. Mother,
why was I not given his name, as I was born on his day, and that of
the good St. Edward too?"
The mother fondly caressed the golden curls of the beautiful child
as she answered:
"Ah, my son, we knew not till long afterward that our gracious
queen had borne a little son on thy natal day. Paul is a name which
many of our race have borne before, and so we called our child by
it. It is the man that makes the name, not the name the man."
"I know that, mother; yet I would fain have borne the name of the
little prince. But hark! I hear the sounds of the horses' feet.
They are bringing them round to the door. Sweet mother, lose no
time. Let us mount and depart. I would fain have been in the
gallant band of gentlemen who rode out this morning at dawn to
welcome and escort the king and queen; as my father and brothers
were. But let us not delay. I should be sorely grieved were we to
miss seeing the entry into the city."
Lady Stukely smiled at the impatience of the child, knowing well
that many hours must elapse before the royal party would reach the
city walls; but she was willing to gratify the ardent desires of
her little son, and as she was already dressed for the saddle, she
rose and took him by the hand and led him out to the courtyard,
where some half dozen of the good knight's retainers were awaiting
their lady and her son.
Stukely Hall was no very large or pretentious place, but it was
built in that quadrangular form so common to that age, and
accommodated within its walls the dependents and retainers that
every man of rank had about him under the old feudal system, which
obliged him to bring to his lord's service on demand a certain
following of armed and trained soldiers.
In those days, when every article of common consumption was made at
home, the household of even a knight or gentleman of no great
wealth or note was no inconsiderable matter, and even the field
labourers almost always dwelt within the walls of their lord's
house, eating his bread, and growing old in his service as a matter
of course, without thinking of such a thing as change.
So that although the greater part of the retainers had ridden off
at dawn with the | 1,088.657805 |
2023-11-16 18:35:12.7346190 | 846 | 9 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. II.--NO. 97. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, September 6, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE SMALL PASSENGER WITH THE LARGE VALISE.]
[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2]
TIM AND TIP;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG
BY JAMES OTIS.
CHAPTER VI.
TIM MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE.
When Tim left old Mose's kitchen it was nearly time for the steamer to
start on her regular trip, and the passengers were coming on board
quite fast. The bustle and excitement which always attend the sailing of
steamers, even though the trip be a short one, were all so new and
strange to Tim that he forgot his own troubles in watching the scene
around him. He saw Mr. Rankin near the kitchen, and was told by him that
he could remain on deck until the Captain should ring his bell, when he
would let him know of it.
Therefore Tim had an opportunity to take in all the details of the
interesting scene. The deck hands were scurrying to and fro, wheeling in
freight or baggage on funny little trucks with very small wheels and
very long handles; passengers were running around excitedly, as if they
thought they ought to attend to matters which did not concern them;
newsboys were crying the latest editions of the papers; old women were
trying to sell fruit that did not look very fresh, and everything
appeared to be in the greatest confusion.
While Tim was leaning on the after-rail of the main-deck, his attention
was attracted by a very small boy, who was trying to get himself and a
large valise on board at the same time. The valise was several sizes too
large for the boy, and some one of the four corners would persist in
hitting against his legs each time he stepped, and then, swinging
around, would almost throw him off his feet.
Twice the boy started to go on board, and each time the valise grew
unruly, frightening him from continuing the attempt lest he should be
thrown into the water. Then he stood still and gazed longingly at the
plank upon which he did not dare to venture.
It was a comical sight, and Tim laughed at it until he saw the boy was
really in distress, when he started to aid him.
"Let me help you carry your valise," he said to the small passenger, as
he darted across the narrow plank, and took hold of one side of the
offending baggage. "Two can lug it better'n one."
The boy looked up as if surprised that a stranger should offer to help
him, and then gave up one-half the burden to this welcome aid. This time
the journey was made successfully; and as the valise was deposited on
the steamer's deck, the little passenger gave a deep sigh of relief.
"So much done!" he said, in a satisfied way, as he took off his hat and
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that did not look much larger
than a postage stamp. "Where are you goin'?" he then asked, turning to
Tim.
"Why, I ain't goin' anywhere," replied the Captain's boy, not fully
understanding the other's question.
"Oh!"--and the boy's face grew troubled--"I thought maybe you was goin'
in the boat."
"So I am," answered Tim, now understanding the question. "I work here."
| 1,088.754659 |
2023-11-16 18:35:12.9353210 | 3,540 | 28 |
Produced by Mary Starr
WYOMING
A STORY OF THE OUTDOOR WEST
By William MacLeod Raine
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. A DESERT MEETING
2. THE KING OF THE BIG HORN COUNTRY
3. AN INVITATION GIVEN AND ACCEPTED
4. AT THE LAZY D RANCH
5. THE DANCE AT FRASER'S
6. A PARTY CALL
7. THE MAN FROM THE SHOSHONE FASTNESSES
8. IN THE LAZY D HOSPITAL
9. A RESCUE
12. MISTRESS AND MAID
13. THE TWO COUSINS
14. FOR THE WORLD'S CHAMPIONSHIP
15. JUDD MORGAN PASSES
16. HUNTING BIG GAME
17. RUN TO EARTH
18. PLAYING FOR TIME
19. WEST POINT TO THE RESCUE
20. TWO CASES OF DISCIPLINE
21. THE SIGNAL LIGHTS
22. EXIT THE KING
23. JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS' MEETING.
CHAPTER 1. A DESERT MEETING
An automobile shot out from a gash in the hills and slipped swiftly down
to the butte. Here it came to a halt on the white, dusty road, while
its occupant gazed with eager, unsated eyes on the great panorama that
stretched before her. The earth rolled in waves like a mighty sea to
the distant horizon line. From a wonderful blue sky poured down upon
the land a bath of sunbeat. The air was like wine, pure and strong, and
above the desert swam the rare, untempered light of Wyoming. Surely here
was a peace primeval, a silence unbroken since the birth of creation.
It was all new to her, and wonderfully exhilarating. The infinite roll
of plain, the distant shining mountains, the multitudinous voices of the
desert drowned in a sunlit sea of space--they were all details of the
situation that ministered to a large serenity.
And while she breathed deeply the satisfaction of it, an exploding rifle
echo shattered the stillness. With excited sputtering came the prompt
answer of a fusillade. She was new to the West; but some instinct
stronger than reason told the girl that here was no playful puncher
shooting up the scenery to ventilate his exuberance. Her imagination
conceived something more deadly; a sinister picture of men pumping lead
in a grim, close-lipped silence; a lusty plainsman, with murder in
his heart, crumpling into a lifeless heap, while the thin smoke-spiral
curled from his hot rifle.
So the girl imagined the scene as she ran swiftly forward through the
pines to the edge of the butte bluff whence she might look down upon the
coulee that nestled against it. Nor had she greatly erred, for her first
sweeping glance showed her the thing she had dreaded.
In a semicircle, well back from the foot of the butte, half a dozen
men crouched in the cover of the sage-brush and a scattered group of
cottonwoods. They were perhaps fifty yards apart, and the attention
of all of them was focused on a spot directly beneath her. Even as she
looked, in that first swift moment of apprehension, a spurt of smoke
came from one of the rifles and was flung back from the forked pine
at the bottom of the mesa. She saw him then, kneeling behind his
insufficient shelter, a trapped man making his last stand.
From where she stood the girl distinguished him very clearly, and under
the field-glasses that she turned on him the details leaped to life.
Tall, strong, slender, with the lean, clean build of a greyhound, he
seemed as wary and alert as a panther. The broad, soft hat, the scarlet
handkerchief loosely knotted about his throat, the gray shirt, spurs
and overalls, proclaimed him a stockman, just as his dead horse at the
entrance to the coulee told of an accidental meeting in the desert and a
hurried run for cover.
That he had no chance was quite plain, but no plainer than the cool
vigilance with which he proposed to make them pay. Even in the matter
of defense he was worse off than they were, but he knew how to make
the most of what he had; knew how to avail himself of every inch of
sagebrush that helped to render him indistinct to their eyes.
One of the attackers, eager for a clearer shot, exposed himself a trifle
too far in taking aim. Without any loss of time in sighting, swift as a
lightning-flash, the rifle behind the forked pine spoke. That the bullet
reached its mark she saw with a gasp of dismay. For the man suddenly
huddled down and rolled over on his side.
His comrades appeared to take warning by this example. The men at both
ends of the crescent fell back, and for a minute the girl's heart leaped
with the hope that they were about to abandon the siege. Apparently the
man in the scarlet kerchief had no such expectation. He deserted his
position behind the pine and ran back, crouching low in the brush, to
another little clump of trees closer to the bluff. The reason for this
was at first not apparent to her, but she understood presently when the
men who had fallen back behind the rolling hillocks appeared again well
in to the edge of the bluff. Only by his timely retreat had the man
saved himself from being outflanked.
It was very plain that the attackers meant to take their time to finish
him in perfect safety. He was surrounded on every side by a cordon of
rifles, except where the bare face of the butte hung down behind him.
To attempt to scale it would have been to expose himself as a mark for
every gun to certain death.
It was now that she heard the man who seemed to be directing the attack
call out to another on his right. She was too far to make out the words,
but their effect was clear to her. He pointed to the brow of the butte
above, and a puncher in white woolen chaps dropped back out of range
and swung to the saddle upon one of the ponies bunched in the rear. He
cantered round in a wide circle and made for the butte. His purpose was
obviously to catch their victim in the unprotected rear, and fire down
upon him from above.
The young woman shouted a warning, but her voice failed to carry. For a
moment she stood with her hands pressed together in despair, then
turned and swiftly scudded to her machine. She sprang in, swept forward,
reached the rim of the mesa, and plunged down. Never before had she
attempted so precarious a descent in such wild haste. The car fairly
leaped into space, and after it struck swayed dizzily as it shot down.
The girl hung on, her face white and set, the pulse in her temple
beating wildly. She could do nothing, as the machine rocked down, but
hope against many chances that instant destruction might be averted.
Utterly beyond her control, the motor-car thundered down, reached the
foot of the butte, and swept over a little hill in its wild flight. She
rushed by a mounted horseman in the thousandth part of a second. She was
still speeding at a tremendous velocity, but a second hill reduced this
somewhat. She had not yet recovered control of the machine, but, though
her eyes instinctively followed the white road that flashed past, she
again had photographed on her brain the scene of the turbid tragedy in
which she was intervening.
At the foot of the butte the road circled and dipped into the coulee.
She braced herself for the shock, but, though the wheels skidded till
her heart was in her throat, the automobile, hanging on the balance of
disaster, swept round in safety.
Her horn screamed an instant warning to the trapped man. She could not
see him, and for an instant her heart sank with the fear that they
had killed him. But she saw then that they were still firing, and she
continued her honking invitation as the car leaped forward into the zone
of spitting bullets.
By this time she was recovering control of the motor, and she dared
not let her attention wander, but out of the corner of her eye she
appreciated the situation. Temporarily, out of sheer amaze at this
apparition from the blue, the guns ceased their sniping. She became
aware that a light curly head, crouched low in the sage-brush, was
moving rapidly to meet her at right angles, and in doing so was
approaching directly the line of fire. She could see him dodging to and
fro as he moved forward, for the rifles were again barking.
She was within two hundred yards of him, still going rapidly, but not
with the same headlong rush as before, when the curly head disappeared
in the sage-brush. It was up again presently, but she could see that the
man came limping, and so uncertainly that twice he pitched forward to
the ground. Incautiously one of his assailants ran forward with a shout
the second time his head went down. Crack! The unerring rifle rang out,
and the impetuous one dropped in his tracks.
As she approached, the young woman slowed without stopping, and as the
car swept past Curly Head flung himself in headlong. He picked himself
up from her feet, crept past her to the seat beyond, and almost
instantly whipped his rifle to his shoulder in prompt defiance of the
fire that was now converged on them.
Yet in a few moments the sound died away, for a voice midway in the
crescent had shouted an amazed discovery:
"By God, it's a woman!"
The car skimmed forward over the uneven ground toward the end of the
semicircle, and passed within fifty yards of the second man from the
end, the one she had picked out as the leader of the party. He was a
black, swarthy fellow in plain leather chaps and blue shirt. As they
passed he took a long, steady aim.
"Duck!" shouted the man beside her, and dragged her down on the seat so
that his body covered hers.
A puff of wind fanned the girl's cheek.
"Near thing," her companion said coolly. He looked back at the swarthy
man and laughed softly. "Some day you'll mebbe wish you had sent your
pills straighter, Mr. Judd Morgan."
Yet a few wheel-turns and they had dipped forward out of range among
the great land waves that seemed to stretch before them forever. The
unexpected had happened, and she had achieved a rescue in the face of
the impossible.
"Hurt badly?" the girl inquired briefly, her dark-blue eyes meeting his
as frankly as those of a boy.
"No need for an undertaker. I reckon I'll survive, ma'am."
"Where are you hit?"
"I just got a telegram from my ankle saying there was a cargo of lead
arrived there unexpected," he drawled easily.
"Hurts a good deal, doesn't it?"
"No more than is needful to keep my memory jogged up. It's a sort of a
forget-me-not souvenir. For a good boy; compliments of Mr. Jim Henson,"
he explained.
Her dark glance swept him searchingly. She disapproved the assurance
of his manner even while the youth in her applauded his reckless
sufficiency. His gay courage held her unconsenting admiration even while
she resented it. He was a trifle too much at his ease for one who had
just been snatched from dire peril. Yet even in his insouciance there
was something engaging; something almost of distinction.
"What was the trouble?"
Mirth bubbled in his gray eyes. "I gathered, ma'am, that they wanted to
collect my scalp."
"Do what?" she frowned.
"Bump me off--send me across the divide."
"Oh, I know that. But why?"
He seemed to reproach himself. "Now how could I be so neglectful? I
clean forgot to ask."
"That's ridiculous," was her sharp verdict.
"Yes, ma'am, plumb ridiculous. My only excuse is that they began
scattering lead so sudden I didn't have time to ask many 'Whyfors.' I
reckon we'll just have to call it a Wyoming difference of opinion," he
concluded pleasantly.
"Which means, I suppose, that you are not going to tell me."
"I got so much else to tell y'u that's a heap more important," he
laughed. "Y'u see, I'm enjoyin' my first automobile ride. It was
certainly thoughtful of y'u to ask me to go riding with y'u, Miss
Messiter."
"So you know my name. May I ask how?" was her astonished question.
He gave the low laugh that always seemed to suggest a private source of
amusement of his own. "I suspicioned that might be your name when I say
y'u come a-sailin' down from heaven to gather me up like Enoch."
"Why?"
"Well, ma'am, I happened to drift in to Gimlet Butte two or three days
ago, and while I was up at the depot looking for some freight a train
sashaid in and side tracked a flat car. There was an automobile on that
car addressed to Miss Helen Messiter. Now, automobiles are awful seldom
in this country. I don't seem to remember having seen one before."
"I see. You're quite a Sherlock Holmes. Do you know anything more about
me?"
"I know y'u have just fallen heir to the Lazy D. They say y'u are a
schoolmarm, but I don't believe it."
"Well, I am." Then, "Why don't you believe it?" she added.
He surveyed her with his smile audacious, let his amused eyes wander
down from the mobile face with the wild-rose bloom to the slim young
figure so long and supple, then serenely met her frown.
"Y'u don't look it."
"No? Are you the owner of a composite photograph of the teachers of the
country?"
He enjoyed again his private mirth. "I should like right well to have
the pictures of some of them."
She glanced at him sharply, but he was gazing so innocently at the
purple Shoshones in the distance that she could not give him the snub
she thought he needed.
"You are right. My name is Helen Messiter," she said, by way of
stimulating a counter fund of information. For, though she was a young
woman not much given to curiosity, she was aware of an interest in this
spare, broad-shouldered youth who was such an incarnation of bronzed
vigor.
"Glad to meet y'u, Miss Messiter," he responded, and offered his firm
brown hand in Western fashion.
But she observed resentfully that he did not mention his own name. It
was impossible to suppose that he knew no better, and she was driven
to conclude that he was silent of set purpose. Very well! If he did not
want to introduce himself she was not going to urge it upon him. In a
businesslike manner she gave her attention to eating up the dusty miles.
"Yes, ma'am. I reckon I never was more glad to death to meet a lady than
I was to meet up with y'u," he continued, cheerily. "Y'u sure looked
good to me as y'u come a-foggin' down the road. I fair had been yearnin'
for company but was some discouraged for fear the invitation had
miscarried." He broke off his sardonic raillery and let his level gaze
possess her for a long moment. "Miss Messiter, I'm certainly under
an obligation to y'u I can't repay. Y'u saved my life," he finished
gravely.
"Nonsense."
"Fact."
"It isn't a personal matter at all," she assured him, with a touch of | 1,088.955361 |
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