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THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN
BY ELLEN GLASGOW
AUTHOR OF "THE DELIVERANCE," "THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1909
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1909,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1909. Reprinted
May, July, August, September, twice, October, 1909.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
I. IN WHICH I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS
II. THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
III. A PAIR OF RED SHOES
IV. IN WHICH I PLAY IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
V. IN WHICH I START IN LIFE
VI. CONCERNING CARROTS
VII. IN WHICH I MOUNT THE FIRST RUNG OF THE LADDER
VIII. IN WHICH MY EDUCATION BEGINS
IX. I LEARN A LITTLE LATIN AND A GREAT DEAL OF LIFE
X. IN WHICH I GROW UP
XI. IN WHICH I ENTER SOCIETY AND GET A FALL
XII. I WALK INTO THE COUNTRY AND MEET WITH AN ADVENTURE
XIII. IN WHICH I RUN AGAINST TRADITIONS
XIV. IN WHICH I TEST MY STRENGTH
XV. A MEETING IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN
XVI. IN WHICH SALLY SPEAKS HER MIND
XVII. IN WHICH MY FORTUNES RISE
XVIII. THE PRINCIPLES OF MISS MATOACA
XIX. SHOWS THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE
XX. IN WHICH SOCIETY RECEIVES US
XXI. I AM THE WONDER OF THE HOUR
XXII. THE MAN AND THE CLASS
XXIII. IN WHICH I WALK ON THIN ICE
XXIV. IN WHICH I GO DOWN
XXV. WE FACE THE FACTS AND EACH OTHER
XXVI. THE RED FLAG AT THE GATE
XXVII. WE CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND US
XXVIII. IN WHICH SALLY STOOPS
XXIX. IN WHICH WE RECEIVE VISITORS
XXX. IN WHICH SALLY PLANS
XXXI. THE DEEPEST SHADOW
XXXII. I COME TO THE SURFACE
XXXIII. THE GROWING DISTANCE
XXXIV. THE BLOW THAT CLEARS
XXXV. THE ULTIMATE CHOICE
THE ROMANCE OF A PLAIN MAN
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH I APPEAR WITH FEW PRETENSIONS
As the storm broke and a shower of hail rattled like a handful of
pebbles against our little window, I choked back a sob and edged my
small green-painted stool a trifle nearer the hearth. On the opposite
side of the wire fender, my father kicked off his wet boots, stretched
his feet, in grey yarn stockings, out on the rag carpet in front of the
fire, and reached for his pipe which he had laid, still smoking, on the
floor under his chair.
"It's as true as the Bible, Benjy," he said, "that on the day you were
born yo' brother President traded off my huntin' breeches for a yaller
pup."
My knuckles went to my eyes, while the smart of my mother's slap faded
from the cheek I had turned to the fire.
"What's become o' th' p-p-up-p?" I demanded, as I stared up at him with
my mouth held half open in readiness to break out again.
"Dead," responded my father solemnly, and I wept aloud.
It was an October evening in my childhood, and so vivid | 216.839194 |
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Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text
by _underscores_.
UNDER CANVAS OR THE HUNT FOR THE CARTARET GHOST
THE HICKORY RIDGE BOY SCOUTS
A SERIES OF BOOKS FOR BOYS
By Capt. Alan Douglas, Scout-master
The Campfires of the Wolf Patrol
Their first camping experience affords the scouts
splendid opportunities to use their recently acquired
knowledge in a practical way. Elmer Chenowith, a lad
from the northwest woods, astonishes everyone by his
familiarity with camp life. A clean, wholesome story
every boy should read.
Woodcraft; or, How a Patrol Leader Made Good
This tale presents many stirring situations in which
the boys are called upon to exercise ingenuity and
unselfishness. A story filled with healthful
excitement.
Pathfinder; or, The Missing Tenderfoot
Some mysteries are cleared up in a most unexpected
way, greatly to the credit of our young friends. A
variety of incidents follow fast, one after the other.
Fast Nine; or, a Challenge from Fairfield
They show the same team-work here as when in camp. The
description of the final game with the team of a rival
town, and the outcome thereof, form a stirring
narrative. One of the best baseball stories of recent
years.
Great Hike; or, The Pride of The Khaki Troop
After weeks of preparation the scouts start out on
their greatest undertaking. Their march takes them far
from home, and the good-natured rivalry of the
different patrols furnishes many interesting and
amusing situations.
Endurance Test; or, How Clear Grit Won the Day
Few stories "get" us more than illustrations of pluck
in the face of apparent failure. Our heroes show the
stuff they are made of and surprise their most ardent
admirers. One of the best stories Captain Douglas has
written.
Under Canvas; or, The Hunt for the Cartaret Ghost
It was hard to disbelieve the evidence of their eyes
but the boys by the exercise of common-sense solved a
mystery which had long puzzled older heads.
Storm-bound; or, a Vacation Among the Snow Drifts
The boys start out on the wrong track, but their scout
training comes to the rescue and their experience
proves beneficial to all concerned.
Boy Scout Nature Lore to be Found in The Hickory Ridge Boy
Scout Series, all illustrated:--
Wild Animals of the United States--Tracking--Trees and
Wild Flowers of the United States--Reptiles of the
United States--Fishes of the United States--Insects of
the United States and Birds of the United States.
_Cloth Binding_ _Cover Illustrations in Four Colors_
_40c. Per Volume_
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
201 EAST 12th STREET NEW YORK
[Illustration: THE SCOUTS BUSIED THEMSELVES MAKING PREPARATIONS FOR THE
CAMP MEAL]
THE HICKORY RIDGE BOY SCOUTS
UNDER CANVAS
OR
THE HUNT FOR THE CARTARET GHOST
BY CAPTAIN ALAN DOUGLAS
SCOUT MASTER
[Illustration: N Y B Co.]
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I OUT FOR SHELL-BARKS 13
II WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ROAD 25
III NEAR THE HAUNT OF "SPOOKS" 34
IV "TO THE VICTORS BELONG THE SPOILS" 45
V WHAT A SCOUT LEARNS 55
VI LOOKING AROUND 66
VII HARVEST TIME 77
VIII HOW ELMER'S PLAN WORKED 88
IX THE CAMPING-OUT EXPEDITION 99
X IN FOR A GLORIOUS TIME 109
XI SACKING THE FOREST STORE-HOUSE 120
XII THE MIDNIGHT VIGIL 130
XIII A STRANGE FIGURE IN WHITE 141
XIV TOLD AROUND THE CAMP FIRE 152
XV THE BOOGIE OF THE TOWER 163
XVI HOMEWARD BOUND--CONCLUSION 174
UNDER CANVAS
CHAPTER I
OUT FOR SHELL-BARKS
"TOBY, we must be half-way there now; don't you think so?"
"Guess you're right about that, Mr. Scout Master; as near as I can
calculate."
"Glad to hear you say so, Toby, because, excuse me for saying it, but
until I hear something that sounds like business I'm all up in the air.
I've known you to fool your trusting scout comrades before this."
"There you go, George Robbins, suspicious as ever. No wonder they call | 216.839459 |
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The Woman with a Stone Heart
A Romance of the Philippine War.
By
O. W. Coursey, (U. S. Vols.)
Author of
"History and Geography of the Philippine Islands."
"Who's Who In South Dakota."
"Biography of General Beadle."
"School Law Digest."
All of these books are published and for sale by
THE EDUCATOR SUPPLY COMPANY
Mitchell, South Dakota
Copyrighted 1914
By O. W. Coursey
THE WOMAN WITH A STONE HEART
INTRODUCTION
To those whose love of adventure would cause them to plunge head-long
into an abyss of vain glory, hoping at life's sunset to reap a
harvest contrary to the seed that were sown, let me suggest that
you pause first to read the story of "The Woman With a Stone Heart,"
Marie Sampalit, dare-devil of the Philippines.
Perhaps we might profitably meditate for a few moments on the musings
of Whittier:
"The tissue of the life to be
We weave in colors all our own,
And in the field of destiny
We'll reap as we have sown."
--The Author.
DEDICATION
To Her, who, as a bride of only eighteen months, stood broken-hearted
on the depot platform and bade me a tearful farewell as our train of
soldier boys started to war; who later, while I was Ten Thousand miles
away from home on soldier duty in the Philippine Islands, became a
Mother; and who, unfortunately, three months thereafter, was called
upon to lay our first-born, Oliver D. Coursey, into his snow-lined
baby tomb amid the bleak silence of a cold winter's night, with no
strong arm to bear her up in those awful hours of anguish and despair,
My Soldier Wife, Julia,
this book is most affectionately dedicated.
"Only a baby's grave,
Yet often we go and sit
By the little stone,
And thank God to own,
We are nearer heaven for it."
--O. W. Coursey.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
Marie Sampalit 10
Region Around Manila Bay 29
Admiral Dewey 39
Aguinaldo 61
Marie, Her Mother, etc. 82
Filipinos at Breakfast 100
End of the Boat-Battle 113
The Rescue 126
Floating Down The Rapids 129
General Lawton and Staff 139
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapters: Page
I. Love Defeated 9
II. First Shot of A New War 25
III. Avenged Her Lover's Death 41
IV. The Interval 57
V. Filipino Uprising 69
VI. As A Spy 81
VII. Off For Baler 93
VIII. The Gilmore Incident 105
IX. The American Prisoners 113
X. Death of General Lawton 131
XI. North-bound 141
XII. Crossing the Sierra Madres 153
XIII. Compensation 167
CHAPTER I.
LOVE DEFEATED
Marie Sampalit and her fiancee, Rolando Dimiguez, were walking
arm-in-arm along the sandy beach of Manila bay, just opposite old
Fort Malate, talking of their wedding day which had been postponed
because of the Filipino insurrection which was in progress.
The tide was out. A long waved line of sea-shells and drift-wood
marked the place to which it had risen the last time before it began
to recede. They were unconsciously following this line of ocean
debris. Occasionally Marie would stop to pick up a spotted shell
which was more pretty than the rest. Finally, when they had gotten
as far north as the semi-circular drive-way which extends around
the southern and eastern sides of the walled-city, or Old Manila,
as it is called, and had begun to veer toward it, Marie looked back
and repeated a | 218.543052 |
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PRINCES AND POISONERS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR AND TRANSLATOR_
LEGENDS OF THE BASTILLE. BY FRANTZ FUNCK-BRENTANO. With an Introduction
by VICTORIEN SARDOU. Translated by GEORGE MAIDMENT. 1899. Crown 8vo.
Cloth, 6_s._
CONTENTS.--I. The Archives; II. History of the Bastille; III. Life in
the Bastille; IV. The Man in the Iron Mask; V. Men of Letters in the
Bastille; VI. Latude; VII. The Fourteenth of July.
LONDON: DOWNEY AND CO., LIMITED.
[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF GABRIEL NICOLAS DE LA REYNIE
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL OF POLICE
(_Engraved by Van Schuppen, after the painting by Mignard_)]
Princes and Poisoners
STUDIES OF THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV
BY
FRANTZ FUNCK-BRENTANO
TRANSLATED BY
GEORGE MAIDMENT
[Illustration: colphon]
LONDON
_DUCKWORTH and CO._
3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.
1901
_Second Impression, May 1901_
_All rights reserved._
PREFATORY NOTE
Twelve months ago I had the honour of introducing M. Frantz
Funck-Brentano to the English public by my translation of his _Legendes
et Archives de la Bastille_, and in my preface to that book I gave a
rapid sketch of his career which need not be repeated. If history is to
be continually reconstructed, or rather, perhaps, to undergo a process
of destructive distillation, there is no one more competent than M.
Funck-Brentano to perform the feat. We lose our illusions with our
teeth; the fables that charmed our childhood dissolve in the modern
historian's test-tube, and the mysteries that fascinated our forebears
become clear with a few drops of his critical acid.
In his former book, M. Funck-Brentano solved once for all the mystery
of the Man in the Iron Mask, showed up the impostor Latude in his true
colours, and gave us surprising information about the latter days of the
Bastille. In the present volume, the fruit of several years' research
among the archives at the Arsenal Library, he conclusively dispels the
cloud of suspicion that has hung over the sudden death of Charles I's
winsome and ill-fated daughter Henrietta; gives us for the first time
the authentic history of that beautiful poisoner Madame de Brinvilliers;
suggests a very plausible explanation of Racine's hitherto inexplicable
retirement from dramatic writing; and throws a strange light upon the
private history of Madame de Montespan and other fair ladies of Louis
XIV's Court. If it be objected that some of the details of the 'black
mass' and kindred abominations are too gruesome for print, it may be
urged in reply that these details are related with the cold impartial
pen of a serious historian, not coloured or heightened with a view to
melodramatic effect. 'Truth's a dog that must to kennel,' says Lear's
Fool; Louis the Magnificent tried to stifle the damning evidence against
his jealous, passionate mistress; when Time and patient research among
long-forgotten papers have combined to bring the truth to light, it
would ill become us to blame a scholar like M. Funck-Brentano for not
joining the monarch's conspiracy of silence.
G. M.
_November 1900._
CONTENTS
PAGE
MARIE MADELEINE DE BRINVILLIERS--
I. HER LIFE, 1
II. HER TRIAL, 36
III. HER DEATH, 76
THE POISON DRAMA AT THE COURT OF
LOUIS XIV--
I. THE SORCERESSES--
The Dinner of La Vigoreux, 117
Sorcery in the Seventeenth Century, 121
The Practices of the Witches, 128
The Alchemists, 133
La Voisin, 144
The Magician Lesage, 159
The ' | 218.543131 |
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THE LETTERS
GRACCHUS
ON THE
_EAST INDIA QUESTION_.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD,
BOOKSELLER AND PUBLISHER,
NO. 190, OPPOSITE ALBANY, PICCADILLY.
1813.
Printed by S. GOSNELL, Little Queen Street, London.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following Letters appeared in the MORNING POST, at the dates which
are annexed to them. The impartial Reader will find in them a strong
determination, to uphold the public rights of the Country, with respect
to the India Trade; but he will not discover any evidence of a desire to
lower the just, and well-earned honours, of THE EAST INDIA COMPANY, nor
any symptom of a disposition hostile to their fair pretensions.
LETTERS
OF
GRACCHUS.
LETTER I.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE EAST INDIA QUESTION.
_Tuesday, January 12, 1813._
The crisis, at which the affairs of the East India Company are now
arrived, is one which involves the most important interests of the
British Empire. It would be unnecessary to prove a proposition which is
so universally acknowledged and felt. It has happened however, that, in
our approaches towards this crisis, the Public understanding has been
but little addressed upon the subject; so that the appeal which is now
suddenly made to their passions and imaginations, finds them unprepared
with that knowledge of the true circumstances of the case, which can
alone enable them to govern those passions, and control those
imaginations. Let us then endeavour to recover the time which has been
lost, by taking a deliberate view of the circumstances which produce
this crisis.
The crisis, is the proximity of the term which may conclude the East
India Company's rights, to the exclusive trade with India and China, and
to the powers of government now exercised by them over the Indian
Empire.
The rights of the East India Company are two-fold; and have long been
distinguished as, their _permanent_ rights, and their _temporary_
rights. Those rights are derived to them from distinct Charters, granted
to them at different times by Parliament. By the former, they were
created a _perpetual_ Corporate Society of Merchants, trading to
India[1]. By the latter, they obtained, for a _limited period of time_,
the exclusive right of trading with India and China, and of executing
the powers of government over those parts of the Indian territory, which
were acquired either by conquest or by negotiation. The Charter
conveying the latter limited rights, is that which will expire in the
course of the ensuing year 1814; on the expiration of which, the
exclusive trade to the East will be again open to the British population
at large, and the powers of the India Government will lapse in course
to the Supreme Government of the British Empire, to be provided for as
Parliament in its wisdom may judge it advisable to determine.
The renewal of an _expired_ privilege cannot be pursued upon a ground of
_right_. The exclusive Charter of the Company is _a patent_, and their
patent, like every other patent, is limited as to _its duration_. But
though the patentee cannot allege a ground of right for the renewal of
his patent, he may show such strong pretensions, such good claims in
equity, such weighty reasons of expediency for its renewal, as may
ensure its attainment. Such are the claims and the pretensions of the
East India Company to a renewal of their Charter; and as such they have
been promptly and cheerfully received, both by the Government and the
country at large.
But the progress of society, during a long course of years, is of a
nature to produce a considerable alteration in the general state of
things; the state of things must, therefore, naturally be called into
consideration, upon the expiration of the term of years which determines
the exclusive Charter of the East India Company; in order to inquire,
whether that Charter should be renewed precisely in the same terms, and
with the same conditions, as before; or whether the actual state of
public affairs demands, that some alteration, some modification, of
terms and conditions, should be introduced into the Charter or System
which is to succeed.
The arduous task of this investigation must necessarily fall upon those
persons, who chance to be in the Administration of the Country, at the
latest period to which the arrangements for the renewal of the Charter
can be protracted; and it is hardly possible to imagine a more difficult
and perplexing position, for any Administration. Those persons, if they
have any regard for the duties which they owe to the Public, will
consider themselves as standing _between two interests_; the interest of
those who are about to lose an exclusive right, and the interest of
those who are about to acquire an open and a common one. They will be
disposed to listen, patiently and impartially, to the pretensions of
both parties; of those who pray for the renewal of an exclusive
privilege, and of those who pray that they may not be again wholly
excluded from the right which has reverted. And although they may amply
allow the preference which is due to the former petitioners, yet they
will endeavour to ascertain, whether the latter may not, with safety to
the public interest, receive some enlargement of the benefits, which the
opportunity opens to them, and from which they have been so long
excluded.
While they thus look alternately to each of these interests, and are
engaged in striving to establish a reconciliation between the two, it
will be neither equitable nor liberal for one of the interested parties
to throw out a doubt to the Public, whether they do this "from a
consciousness of strength, and a desire of increasing their own power
and influence, or from a sense of weakness and a wish to strengthen
themselves by the adoption of popular measures[2]." And the author of
the doubt may find himself at length obliged to determine it, by an
awkward confession, that Ministers do not do it "with any view of
augmenting their own patronage and power[3]."
It is thus that the Ministers of the Crown have conducted themselves, in
the embarrassing crisis into which they have fallen. Fully sensible of
the just and honourable pretensions which the East India Company have
established in the course of their long, important, and distinguished
career, they have consented to recommend to Parliament, _to leave the
whole system of Indian Government and Revenue to the Company_, under the
provisions of the Act of 1793; together with _the exclusive trade to
China_, as they have hitherto possessed them; but, at the same time,
considering the present state of the world, and its calamitous effects
upon the commercial interest in general, they are of opinion, that some
participation in the Indian trade, thus reverting, might possibly be
conceded, under due regulations, to British merchants not belonging to
the East India Company; which would not impair the interests either of
the Public or of the Company.
In this moderate opinion, they are fully justified, by the consent of
the Company, to admit the Merchants of the out-ports to a share in the
Indian trade. And thus far, all is amicable. But the out-port Merchants
having represented to Government, that the condition, hitherto annexed
to a Licensed Import Trade,--of bringing back their Indian Cargoes to
the port of London, and of disposing of them solely in the Company's
sales, in Leadenhall Street,--would defeat the object of the concession;
and that the delay, embarrassment, and perplexity, which such an
arrangement would create, would destroy the simple plan of their
venture; and having therefore desired, that they might be empowered to
return with their cargoes to the ports from whence they originally
sailed, and to which all their interests are confined; Government, being
convinced of the justice of the representation, have proposed that the
Import Trade may be yielded to the Out-ports, _under proper
regulations_, as well as the Export Trade. To this demand the Court of
Directors peremptorily refuse their consent; and upon this _only point_
the parties are now at issue. This question alone, <DW44>s the final
arrangements for the renewal of their Charter.
Yet it is this point, which one of the parties interested affirms, to be
"a question of the last importance to the safety of the British Empire
in India, and of the British Constitution at home;" and therefore
undertakes to resist it, with all the determination which the importance
of so great a stake would naturally inspire. But, when we compare the
real measure in question with the menacing character which is thus
attempted to be attached to it, we at once perceive something so
extravagantly hyperbolical, something so disproportionate, that it at
once fixes the judgment; and forces upon it a suspicion, that there is
more of policy and design, than of truth and sincerity in the assertion.
That objections to the measure might arise, capable of distinct
statement and exposition, is a thing conceivable; and, these being
stated, it would be a subject for consideration, how far they were
removable. But to assert, in a round period, that the safety of the
empire in Europe and Asia is fundamentally affected in the requisition,
that a ship proceeding from Liverpool or Bristol to India, might return
from India to Liverpool or Bristol, instead of to the Port of London,
is calculated rather to shake, than to establish, confidence in those
who make the assertion. Yet this is the question which the country is
now called upon to consider, as one tending to convulse the British
Constitution. Surely, if the foundations of the empire in both
hemispheres have nothing more to threaten them, than whether the
out-port shipping shall carry their cargoes home to their respective
ports, or repair to the dock-yards in the port of London, the most timid
politician may dismiss his alarms and resume his confidence. When the
East India Company, by conceding a regulated Export Trade, have at once
demonstrated the absurdity of all the predictions which foretold, in
that Trade, the overthrow of the Indian Empire; we may confidently
believe, that the Import Trade will prove as little destructive, and
that its danger will be altogether as chimerical as the former.
Whether the Court of Directors endeavour to fix that menacing character
upon the proposed Import Trade, as a bar against any further
requisition, is a question which will naturally occur to any
dispassionate person, who is not immediately and personally interested
in the conditions of the Charter; and he will be strongly inclined to
the affirmative in that question, when he finds, that the reason which
they have alleged for their resistance, is their apprehension of the
increased activity which the practice of smuggling would acquire, from
the free return of the out-port ships from India to their respective
ports. It is not a little extraordinary, that they should so strenuously
urge this argument against those persons, who, while they propose the
measure, are themselves responsible for the good management and
protection of the revenue; and who must therefore be supposed to feel
the necessity of providing means and regulations, adapted to the measure
which they propose. The Ministers of the Crown have not failed to inform
the Court of Directors, that, in consequence of the communications which
they have had with the Commissioners of the Customs and Excise upon the
subject, they find that the Directors have greatly over-rated the danger
which they profess to entertain; and they acquaint them, that new
regulations will be provided to meet the new occasion; and that the
out-port ships and cargoes will be subject to forfeiture upon the
discovery of any illicit articles on board. Yet the Court of Directors
still persist in declaring, that the hazard of _smuggling_ is _the
reason_ why they will not grant to the out-ports an import trade; and
this, through a fear of compromising "the safety of the British Empire
in India, and the British Constitution at home."
A calm and temperate observer, who scrupulously weighs the force and
merits of this reasoning, will naturally be forced into so much
scepticism as to doubt, whether there may not be some _other reasons_,
besides the safety of the Empire, which may induce the East India
Company to stand so firm for the condition of bringing all the import
Indian trade _into the Port of London_? Whether there may not be some
reasons, of a _narrower_ sphere than those of the interests of the
Empire? In searching for such reasons, it will occur to him, that the
Port of London is the seat of the Company's immediate and separate
interests; and he will shrewdly suspect, that those interests are the
_real_, while those of the Empire are made the _ostensible_, motive for
so vigorous a resistance. When he reflects, _that it is proposed to
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THE HEART OF ROME
A Tale of the "Lost water"
BY FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD Author of "Cecilia," "Saracinesca," "In the
Palace of the King," Etc.
THE HEART OF ROME
CHAPTER I
The Baroness Volterra drove to the Palazzo Conti in the heart of Rome
at nine o'clock in the morning, to be sure of finding Donna Clementina
at home. She had tried twice to telephone, on the previous afternoon,
but the central office had answered that "the communication was
interrupted." She was very anxious to see Clementina at once, in order
to get her support for a new and complicated charity. She only wanted
the name, and expected nothing else, for the Conti had very little
ready money, though they still lived as if they were rich. This did not
matter to their friends, but was a source of constant anxiety to their
creditors, and to the good Pompeo Sassi, the steward of the ruined
estate. He alone knew what the Conti owed, for none of them knew much
about it themselves, though he had done his best to make the state of
things clear to them.
The big porter of the palace was sweeping the pavement of the great
entrance, as the cab drove in. He wore his working clothes of grey
linen with silver buttons bearing the ancient arms of his masters, and
his third best gold-laced cap. There was nothing surprising in this, at
such an early hour, and as he was a grave man with a long grey beard
that made him look very important, the lady who drove up in the open
cab did not notice that he was even more solemn than usual. When she
appeared, he gave one more glance at the spot he had been sweeping, and
then grounded his broom like a musket, folded his hands on the end of
the broomstick and looked at her as if he wondered what on earth had
brought her to the palace at that moment, and wished that she would
take herself off again as soon as possible.
He did not even lift his cap to her, yet there was nothing rude in his
manner. He behaved like a man upon whom some one intrudes when he is in
great trouble.
The Baroness was rather more exigent in requiring respect from servants
than most princesses of the Holy Roman Empire, for her position in the
aristocratic scale was not very well defined.
She was not pleased, and spoke with excessive coldness when she asked
if Donna Clementina was at home. The porter stood motionless beside the
cab, leaning on his broom. After a pause he said in a rather strange
voice that Donna Clementina was certainly in, but that he could not
tell whether she were awake or not.
"Please find out," answered the Baroness, with impatience. "I am
waiting," she added with an indescribable accent of annoyance and
surprise, as if she had never been kept waiting before, in all the
fifty years of her more or less fashionable life.
There were speaking-tubes in the porter's lodge, communicating with
each floor of the great Conti palace, but the porter did not move.
"I cannot go upstairs and leave the door," he said.
"You can speak to the servant through the tube, I suppose!"
The porter slowly shook his massive head, and his long grey beard
wagged from side to side.
"There are no servants upstairs," he said. "There is only the family."
"No servants? Are you crazy?"
"Oh, no!" answered the man meditatively. "I do not think I am mad. The
servants all went away last night after dinner, with their belongings.
There were only sixteen left, men and women, for I counted them."
"Do you mean to say--" The Baroness stopped in the middle of her
question, staring in amazement.
The porter now nodded, as solemnly as he had before shaken his head.
"Yes. This is the end of the house of Conti."
Then he looked at her as if he wished to be questioned, for he knew
that she was not really a great lady, and guessed that in spite of her
magnificent superiority and coldness she was not above talking to a
servant about her friends.
"But they must have somebody," she said. "They must eat, I suppose!
Somebody must cook for them. They cannot starve!"
"Who knows? Who knows? Perhaps they will starve."
The porter evidently took a gloomy view of the case.
"But why did the servants go away in a body?" asked the Baroness,
descending from her social perch by the inviting ladder of curiosity.
"They never were paid. None of us ever got our wages. For some time the
family has paid nobody. The day before yesterday, the telephone company
sent a man to take away the instrument. Then the electric light was cut
off. When that happens, it is all over."
The man had heard of the phenomenon from a colleague.
"And there is nobody? They have nobody at all?"
The Baroness had always been rich, and was really trying to guess what
would happen to people who had no servants.
"There is my wife," said the porter. "But she is old," he added
apologetically, "and the palace is big. Can she sweep out three hundred
rooms, cook for two families of masters and dress the Princess's hair?
She cannot do it."
This was stated with gloomy gravity. The Baroness also shook her head
in sympathy.
"There were sixteen servants in the house yesterday," continued the
porter. "I remember when there were thirty, in the times of the old
Prince."
"There would be still, if the family had been wise," said the Baroness
severely. "Is your wife upstairs?"
"Who knows where she is?" enquired the porter by way of answer, and
with the air of a man who fears that he may never see his wife again.
"There are three hundred rooms. Who knows where she is?"
The Baroness was a practical woman by nature and by force of
circumstances; she made up her mind to go upstairs and see for herself
how matters stood. The name of Donna Clementina might not just now
carry much weight beside those of the patronesses of a complicated
charitable organization; in fact the poor lady must be in a position to
need charity herself rather than to dispense it to others. But the
Baroness had a deep-rooted prejudice in favour of the old aristocracy,
and guessed that it would afterwards be counted to her for
righteousness if she could be the first to offer boundless sympathy and
limited help to the distressed family.
It would be thought distinctly smart, for instance, if she should take
the Princess, or even one of the unmarried daughters, to her own house
for a few days, as a refuge from the sordid atmosphere of debt and
ruin, and beyond the reach of vulgar creditors, one of whom, by the
way, she knew to be her own excellent husband. The Princess was
probably not aware of that fact, for she had always lived in sublime
ignorance of everything connected with money, even since her husband's
death; and when good Pompeo Sassi tried to explain things, telling her
that she was quite ruined, she never listened to what he said. If the
family had debts, why did he not borrow money and pay them? That was
what he was paid for doing, after all. It was true that he had not been
paid for a year or two, but that was a wretched detail. Economy? Had
not the Princess given up her second maid, as an extravagance? What
more did the man expect?
The Baroness knew all this and reflected upon what she knew, as she
deliberately got out of her cab at the foot of the grand staircase.
"I will go upstairs myself," she said.
"Padrona," observed the porter, standing aside with his broom.
He explained in a single word that she was at liberty to go upstairs if
she chose, that it was not of the least use to go, and that he would
not be responsible for any disappointment if she were afterwards not
pleased. There is no language in the world which can say more in one
word than the Italian, or less in ten thousand, according to the humour
of the speaker.
The Baroness took no notice as she went up the stairs. She was not very
tall, and was growing slowly and surely stout, but she carried her
rather large head high and had cultivated importance, as a fine art,
with some success. She moved steadily, with a muffled sound as of
voluminous invisible silk bellows that opened and shut at each step;
her outer dress was sombre, but fashionable, and she wore a long gold
chain of curious and fine workmanship to carry her hand-glass, for she
was near-sighted. Her thick hair was iron-grey, her small round eyes
were vaguely dark with greenish lights, her complexion was like weak
coffee and milk, sallow, but smooth, even and healthy. She was a strong
woman of fifty years, well used to the world and its ways; acquisitive,
inquisitive and socially progressive; not knowing how to wish back
anything from the past, so long as there was anything in the future to
wish for; a good wife for an ambitious man.
The magnificent marble staircase already looked neglected; there were
deep shadows of dust in corners that should have been polished, there
was a coat of grey dust on the head and shoulders of the colossal
marble statue of Commodus in the niche on the first landing; in the
great window over the next, the armorial crowned eagle of the Conti,
cheeky, argent and sable, had a dejected look, as if he were moulting.
It was in March, and though the sun was shining brightly outside, and
the old porter wore his linen jacket, as if it were already spring,
there was a cold draught down the staircase, and the Baroness
instinctively made haste up the steps, and was glad when she reached
the big swinging door covered with red baize and studded with smart
brass nails, which gave access to the grand apartment.
By force of habit, she opened it and went in. There used to be always
two men in the outer hall, all day long, and sometimes four, ready to
announce visitors or to answer questions, as the case might be. It was
deserted now, a great, dismal, paved hall, already dingy with dust. One
of the box-benches was open, and the tail of a footman's livery
greatcoat which had been thrown in carelessly, hung over the edge and
dragged on the marble floor.
The Baroness realized that the porter had spoken the truth and that all
the servants had left the house, as the rats leave a sinking ship. One
must really have seen an old ship sink in harbour to know how the rats
look, black and grey, fat and thin, old and young, their tiny beads of
eyes glittering with fright as they scurry up the hatches and make for
every deck port and scupper, scrambling and tumbling over each other
till they flop into the water and swim away, racing for safety, each
making a long forked wake on the smooth surface, with a steady quick
ripple like the tearing of thin paper into strips.
The strong middle-aged woman who stood alone in the empty hall knew
nothing of sinking vessels or the ways of rats, but she had known
incidentally of more than one catastrophe like this, in the course of
her husband's ascendant career, and somehow he had always been
mysteriously connected with each one. An evil-speaking old diplomatist
had once said that he remembered Baron Volterra as a pawn-broking
dealer in antiquities, in Florence, thirty years earlier; there was
probably no truth in the story, but after Volterra was elected a
Senator of the Kingdom, a member of the opposition had alluded to it
with piquant irony and the result had been the exchange of several
bullets at forty paces, whereby honour was satisfied without bloodshed.
The seconds, who were well disposed to both parties, alone knew how
much or how little powder there was in the pistols, and they were
discreet men, who kept the secret.
The door leading to the antechamber was wide open, and the Baroness
went on deliberately, looking about through her hand-glass, in the half
light, for the shutters were not all open. Dust everywhere, the dust
that falls silently at night from the ancient wooden ceilings and
painted beams of Roman palaces, the dust of centuries accumulated above
and sifting for ever to the floors below. It was on the yellow marble
pier tables, on the dim mirrors in their eighteenth century frames, on
the high canopy draped with silver and black beneath which the effigy
of another big cheeky eagle seemed to be silently moulting under his
antique crown, the emblem of a race that had lived almost on the same
spot for eight hundred years, through good and bad repute, but in
nearly uninterrupted prosperity. The Baroness, who hankered after
greatness, felt that the gloom was a twilight of gods. She stood still
before the canopy, the symbol of princely rank and privilege, the
invisible silk bellows were silent for a few seconds, and she wondered
whether there were any procurable sum which she and her husband would
grudge in exchange for the acknowledged right to display a crowned
eagle, cheeky, argent and sable, in their hall, under a canopy draped
with their own colours. She sighed, since no one could hear her, and
she went on. The sigh was not only for the hopelessness of ever
reaching such social greatness; it was in part the outward show of a
real regret that it should have come to an untimely end. Her admiration
of princes was as sincere as her longing to be one of them; she had at
least the melancholy satisfaction of sympathizing with them in their
downfall. It brought her a little nearer to them in imagination if not
in fact.
The evolution of the snob has been going on quickly of late, and
quicker than ever since vast wealth has given so many of the species
the balance of at least one sort of power in society. His thoughts are
still the same, but his outward shape approaches strangely near to that
of the human being. There are snobs now, who behave almost as nicely in
the privacy of their homes as in the presence of a duchess. They are
much more particular as to the way in which others shall behave to
them. That is a test, by the bye. The snob thinks most of the treatment
he receives from the world; the gentleman thinks first how he shall act
courteously to others.
The Baroness went on and entered the outer reception room, and looking
before her she could see through the open doors of the succeeding
drawing-rooms, where the windows had been opened or perhaps not closed
on the previous evening. It was all vast, stately and deserted. Only
ten days earlier she had been in the same place at a great reception,
brilliant with beautiful women and handsome men, alive with the
flashing of jewels and decorations in the vivid light, full of the
discreet noise of society in good-humour, full of faces she knew, and
voices familiar, and of the moonlight of priceless pearls and the
sunlight of historic diamonds; all of which manifestations she dearly
loved.
Her husband had perhaps known what was coming, and how soon, but she
had not. There was something awful in the contrast. As she went through
one of the rooms a mouse ran from under the fringe of a velvet curtain
and took refuge under an armchair. She had sat in that very chair ten
days ago and the Russian ambassador had talked to her; she remembered
how he had tried to extract information from her about the new issue of
three and a half per cent national bonds, because her husband was one
of the financiers who were expected to "manipulate" the loan.
A portrait of a Conti in black velvet, by Velasquez, looked down,
coldly supercilious, at the empty armchair under which the mouse was
hiding. It could make no difference, great or small, to him, whether
the Baroness Volterra ever sat there again to talk with an ambassador;
he had sat where he pleased, undisturbed in his own house, to the end
of his days, and no one can take the past from the dead, except a
modern German historian.
Not a sound broke the stillness, except the steady plash of the water
falling into the fountain in the wide court, heard distinctly through
the closed windows. The Baroness wondered if any one were awake except
the old porter downstairs. She knew the house tolerably well. Only the
Princess and her two unmarried daughters slept in the apartment she had
entered, far off, at the very end, in rooms at the corner overlooking
the small square and the narrow street. The rest of the old palace was
surrounded by dark and narrow streets, but the court was wide and full
of sunshine. The only son of the house, though he was now the Prince,
lived on the floor above, with his young wife and their only child, in
what had been a separate establishment, after the old Roman custom.
The Baroness went to one of the embrasures of the great drawing-room
and looked through the panes at the windows of the upper story. All
that she could see were shut; there was not a sign of life in the huge
building. Ruin had closed in upon it and all it held, softly, without
noise and without pity.
It was their own fault, of course, but the Baroness was sorry for them,
for she was not quite heartless, in spite of her hard face. The
gloomiest landscape must have a ray of light in it, somewhere. It was
all their own fault; they should have known better; they should have
counted what they had instead of spending what they had not. But their
fall was great, as everything had been in their prosperity, and it was
interesting to be connected with it. She faintly hoped Volterra would
keep the palace now that they could certainly never pay any more
interest on the mortgage, and it was barely possible that she might
some day live in it herself, though she understood that it would be in
very bad taste to occupy it at once. But this was unlikely, for her
husband had a predilection for a new house, in the new part of the
city, full of new furniture and modern French pictures. He had a
pronounced dislike for old things, including old pictures and old
jewellery, though he knew much about both. Possibly they reminded him
of that absurd story, and of his duel at forty paces.
Volterra would sell the palace to the Vatican, with everything in it,
and would look about for another lucrative investment. The Vatican
bought all the palaces in the market for religious institutions, and
when there were not enough "it" built the finest buildings in Rome for
its own purposes. Volterra was mildly anti-clerical in politics, but he
was particularly fond of dealing with the Vatican for real estate. The
Vatican was a most admirable house of business, in his estimation,
keen, punctual and always solvent; it was good for a financier to be
associated with such an institution. It drove a hard bargain, but there
was never any hesitation about fulfilling its obligations to the last
farthing. Dreaming over one of his enormous Havanas after a perfect
dinner, Baron Volterra, Senator of the Kingdom of Italy, often wondered
whether the prosperity of the whole world would not be vastly increased
if the Vatican would consent to be the general financial agent for the
European nations. Such stability as there would be, such order! Above
all, such guarantees of good faith! Besides all that, there were its
cordial relations with the United States, that is to say, with the
chief source of the world's future wealth! The Senator's
strongly-marked face grew sweetly thoughtful as he followed his own
visions in the air, and when his wife spoke of living in an antiquated
Roman palace and buying an estate with an old title attached to it,
which the King might graciously be pleased to ratify, he playfully
tapped his wife's sallow cheek with two fat fingers and smiled in a way
that showed how superior he was to such weakness. It was not even worth
while to say anything.
Once more the Baroness sighed as she turned from the window. She meant
to have her own way in the end, but it was hard to wait so long. She
turned from the window, glanced at a beautiful holy family by Bonifazio
which hung on the opposite wall above an alabaster table, estimated its
value instinctively and went on into the next drawing-room.
As she passed through the door, a low cry of pain made her start and
hesitate, and she stood still. The degree of her acquaintance with the
members of the family was just such that she would not quite dare to
intrude upon them if they had given way to an expression of pardonable
weakness under their final misfortune, whereas if they were bearing it
with reasonable fortitude she could allow herself to offer her sympathy
and even some judicious help.
She stood still and the sound was repeated, the pitiful little tearless
complaint of a young thing suffering alone. It was somewhere in the big
room, hidden amongst the furniture; which was less stiffly arranged
here than in the outer apartments. There were books and newspapers on
the table, the fireplace was half-full of the ashes of a burnt-out
fire, there were faded flowers in a tall vase near the window, there
was the undefinable presence of life in the heavier and warmer air. At
first the Baroness had thought that the cry came from some small
animal, hurt and forgotten there in the great catastrophe; a moment
later she was sure that there was some one in the room.
She moved cautiously forward in the direction whence the sound had
come. Then she saw the edge of a fawn- cloth skirt on the red
carpet by an armchair. She went on, hesitating no longer. She had seen
the frock only a day or two ago, and it belonged to Sabina Conti.
A very fair young girl was kneeling in the shadow, crouching over
something on the floor. Her hair was like the pale mist in the morning,
tinged with gold. She was very slight, and as she bent down, her
slender neck was dazzling white above the collar of her frock. She was
trembling a little.
"My dear Sabina, what has happened?" asked the Baroness Volterra,
leaning over her with an audible crack in the region of the waist.
At the words the girl turned up her pale face, without the least start
of surprise.
"It is dead," she said, in a very low voice.
The Baroness looked down, and saw a small bunch of yellow feathers
lying on the floor at the girl's knees; the poor little head with its
colourless beak lay quite still on the red carpet, turned upon one
side, as if it were resting.
"A canary," observed the Baroness, who had never had a pet in her life,
and had always wondered how any one could care for such stupid things.
But the violet eyes gazed up to hers reproachfully and wonderingly.
"It is dead."
That should explain everything; surely the woman must understand. Yet
there was no response. The Baroness stood upright again, grasping her
parasol and looking down with a sort of respectful indifference. Sabina
said nothing, but took up the dead bird very tenderly, as if it could
still feel that she loved it, and she pressed it softly to her breast,
b | 219.607424 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
"The Browning Cyclopaedia."
_SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION._
"Conscientious and painstaking,"--_The Times._
"Obviously a most painstaking work, and in many ways it is very well
done."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"In many ways a serviceable book, and deserves to be widely bought."--_The
Speaker._
"A book of far-reaching research and careful industry... will make this
poet clearer, nearer, and dearer to every reader who systematically uses
his book."--_Scotsman._
"Dr. Berdoe is a safe and thoughtful guide; his work has evidently been a
labour of love, and bears many marks of patient research."--_Echo._
"Students of Browning will find it an invaluable aid."--_Graphic._
"A work suggestive of immense industry."--_Morning Post._
"Erudite and comprehensive."--_Glasgow Herald._
"As a companion to Browning's works the Cyclopaedia will be most valuable;
it is a laborious, if necessary, piece of work, conscientiously performed,
for which present and future readers and students of Browning ought to be
really grateful."--_Nottingham Daily Guardian._
"A monumental labour, and fitting company for the great compositions he
elucidates."--_Rock._
"It is very well that so patient and ubiquitous a reader as Dr. Berdoe
should have written this useful cyclopaedia, and cleared the meaning of
many a dark and doubtful passage of the poet."--_Black and White._
"It is not too much to say that Dr. Berdoe has earned the gratitude of
every reader of Browning, and has materially aided the study of English
literature in one of its ripest developments."--_British Weekly._
"Dr. Berdoe's Cyclopaedia should make all other handbooks
unnecessary."--_Star._
"We are happy to commend the volume to Browning students as the most
ambitious and useful in its class yet executed."--_Notes and Queries._
"A most learned and creditable piece of work. Not a difficulty is
shirked."--_Vanity Fair._
"A monument of industry and devotion. It has really faced difficulties, it
is conveniently arranged, and is well printed and bound."--_Bookman._
"A wonderful help."--_Gentlewoman._
"Can be strongly recommended as one for a favourite corner in one's
library."--_Whitehall Review._
"Exceedingly well done; its interest and usefulness, we think, may pass
without question."--_Publishers' Circular._
"In a singularly industrious and exhaustive manner he has set himself to
make clear the obscure and to accentuate the beautiful in Robert
Browning's poem... must have involved infinite labour and research. It
cannot be doubted that the book will be widely sought for and warmly
appreciated."--_Daily Telegraph._
"Dr. Berdoe tackles every allusion, every proper name, every phase of
thought, besides giving a most elaborate analysis of each poem. He has
produced what we might almost call a monumental work."--_Literary
Opinion._
"This cyclopaedia may certainly claim to be by a long way the most
efficient aid to the study of Browning that has been published, or is
likely to be published.... Lovers of Browning will prize it highly, and
all who wish to understand him will consult it with advantage."--_Baptist
Magazine._
"The work has evidently been one of love, and we doubt whether any one
could have been found better qualified to undertake it."--_Cambridge
Review._
"All readers of Browning will feel indebted to Dr. Berdoe for his
interesting accounts of the historical facts on which many of the dramas
are based, and also for his learned dissertations on 'The Ring and the
Book' and 'Sordello.'"--_British Medical Journal._
"The work is so well done that no one is likely to think of doing it over
again."--_The Critic_ (New York).
"This work reflects the greatest credit on Dr. Berdoe and on the Browning
Society, of which he is so distinguished a member,--it is simply
invaluable."--_The Hawk._
"The Cyclopaedia has at any rate brought his (Browning's) best work well
within the compass of all serious readers of intelligence--Browning made
easy."--_The Month._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA.
By the Same Author.
=BROWNING'S MESSAGE TO HIS TIME. His Religion, Philosophy, and Science.=
With Portrait and Facsimile Letters. Second edition, price 2_s._ 6_d._
_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS._
"Full of admiration and sympathy."--_Saturday Review._
"Much that is helpful and suggestive."--_Scotsman._
"Should have a wide circulation, it is interesting and
stimulative."--_Literary World._
"It is the work of one who, having gained good himself, has made it his
endeavour to bring the same good within the reach of others, and, as such,
it deserves success."--_Cambridge Review._
"We have no hesitation in strongly recommending this little volume to any
who desire to understand the moral and mental attitude of Robert
Browning.... We are much obliged to Dr. Berdoe for his volume."--_Oxford
University Herald._
"Cannot fail to be of assistance to new readers."--_Morning Post._
"The work of a faithful and enthusiastic student is here."--_Nation._
THE BROWNING CYCLOPAEDIA
_A GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF THE WORKS_
OF ROBERT BROWNING
WITH
Copious Explanatory Notes and References
on all Difficult Passages
BY EDWARD BERDOE
LICENTIATE OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS, EDINBURGH; MEMBER OF
THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF SURGEONS, ENGLAND, ETC., ETC.
_Author of "Browning's Message to his Time," "Browning as a Scientific
Poet," etc., etc._
LONDON: SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. LTD.
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
1897
FIRST EDITION, _December, 1891_.
SECOND EDITION, _March, 1892_.
THIRD EDITION (Revised), _September, 1897_.
I gratefully Dedicate these pages
TO DR. F. J. FURNIVALL
AND MISS E. H. HICKEY,
THE FOUNDERS OF
THE BROWNING SOCIETY.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The demand for a second edition of this work within three months of its
publication is a sufficient proof that such a book meets a want,
notwithstanding the many previous attempts of a more or less partial
character which have been made to explain Browning to "the general." With
the exception of certain superfine reviewers, to whom nothing is
obscure--except such things as they are asked to explain without previous
notice--every one admits that Browning requires more or less elucidation.
It is said by some that I have explained too much, but this might be said
of most commentaries, and certainly of every dictionary. It is difficult
to know precisely where to draw the line. If I am not to explain (say for
lady readers) what is meant by the phrase "_De te fabula narratur_," I
know not why any of the classical quotations should be translated. If
Browning is hard to understand, it must be on account of the obscurity of
his language, of his thought, or the purport of his verses; very often the
objection is made that the difficulty applies to all these. I have not
written for the "learned," but for the people at large. _The Manchester
Guardian_, in a kindly notice of my book, says "the error and marvel of
his book is the supposition that any <DW36> who can only be crutched by
it into an understanding of Browning will ever understand Browning at
all." There are many readers, however, who understand Browning a little,
and I hope that this book will enable them to understand him a great deal
more: though all <DW36>s cannot be turned into athletes, some undeveloped
persons may be helped to achieve feats of strength.
A word concerning my critics. No one can do me a greater service than by
pointing out mistakes and omissions in this work. I cannot hope to please
everybody, but I will do my best to make future editions | 219.63589 |
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Transcribed from the 1896 “Lizzie Leigh and Other Tales” Macmillan and
Co. edition. Scanned and proofed by David Price, email [email protected]
THE DOOM OF THE GRIFFITHS.
CHAPTER I.
I HAVE always been much interested by the traditions which are scattered
up and down North Wales relating to Owen Glendower (Owain Glendwr is the
national spelling of the name), and I fully enter into the feeling which
makes the Welsh peasant still look upon him as the hero of his country.
There was great joy among many of the inhabitants of the principality,
when the subject of the Welsh prize poem at Oxford, some fifteen or
sixteen years ago, was announced to be “Owain Glendwr.” It was the most
proudly national subject that had been given for years.
Perhaps, some may not be aware that this redoubted chieftain is, even in
the present days of enlightenment, as famous among his illiterate
countrymen for his magical powers as for his patriotism. He says
himself—or Shakespeare says it for him, which is much the same thing—
‘At my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes
Of burning cressets...
... I can call spirits from the vasty deep.’
And few among the lower orders in the principality would think of asking
Hotspur’s irreverent question in reply.
Among other traditions preserved relative to this part of the Welsh
hero’s character, is the old family prophecy which gives title to this
tale. When Sir David Gam, “as black a traitor as if he had been born in
Builth,” sought to murder Owen at Machynlleth, there was one with him
whose name Glendwr little dreamed of having associated with his enemies.
Rhys ap Gryfydd, his “old familiar friend,” his relation, his more than
brother, had consented unto his blood. Sir David Gam might be forgiven,
but one whom he had loved, and who had betrayed him, could never be
forgiven. Glendwr was too deeply read in the human heart to kill him.
No, he let him live on, the loathing and scorn of his compatriots, and
the victim of bitter remorse. The mark of Cain was upon him.
But before he went forth—while he yet stood a prisoner, cowering beneath
his conscience before Owain Glendwr—that chieftain passed a doom upon him
and his race:
“I doom thee to live, because I know thou wilt pray for death. Thou
shalt live on beyond the natural term of the life of man, the scorn of
all good men. The very children shall point to thee with hissing tongue,
and say, ‘There goes one who would have shed a brother’s blood!’ For I
loved thee more than a brother, oh Rhys ap Gryfydd! Thou shalt live on
to see all of thy house, except the weakling in arms, perish by the
sword. Thy race shall be accursed. Each generation shall see their
lands melt away like snow; yea their wealth shall vanish, though they may
labour night and day to heap up gold. And when nine generations have
passed from the face of the earth, thy blood shall no longer flow in the
veins of any human being. In those days the last male of thy race shall
avenge me. The son shall slay the father.”
Such was the traditionary account of Owain Glendwr’s speech to his
once-trusted friend. And it was declared that the doom had been
fulfilled in all things; that live in as miserly a manner as they would,
the Griffiths never were wealthy and prosperous—indeed that their worldly
stock diminished without any visible cause.
But the lapse of many years had almost deadened the wonder-inspiring
power of the whole curse. It was only brought forth from the hoards of
Memory when some untoward event happened to the Griffiths family; and in
the eighth generation the faith in the prophecy was nearly destroyed, by
the marriage of the Griffiths of that day, to a Miss Owen, who,
unexpectedly, by the death of a brother, became an heiress—to no
considerable amount, to be sure, but enough to make the prophecy appear
reversed. The heiress and her husband removed from his small patrimonial
estate in Merionethshire, to her heritage in Caernarvonshire, and for a
time the prophecy lay dormant.
If you go from Tremadoc to Criccaeth, you pass by the parochial church of
Ynysynhanarn, situated in a boggy valley running from the mountains,
which shoulder up to the Rivals, down to Cardigan Bay. This tract of
land has every appearance of having been redeemed at no distant period of
time from the sea, and has all the desolate rankness often attendant upon
such marshes. But the valley beyond, similar in character, had yet more
of gloom at the time of which I write. In the higher part there were
large plantations of firs, set too closely to attain any size, and
remaining stunted in height and scrubby in appearance. Indeed, many of
the smaller and more weakly had died, and the bark had fallen down on the
brown soil neglected and unnoticed. These trees had a ghastly
appearance, with their white trunks, seen by the dim light which
struggled through the thick boughs above. Nearer to the sea, the valley
assumed a more open, though hardly a more cheerful character; it looked
dark and overhung by sea-fog through the greater part of the year, and
even a farm-house, which usually imparts something of cheerfulness to a
landscape, failed to do so here. This valley formed the greater part of
the estate to which Owen Griffiths became entitled by right of his wife.
In the higher part of the valley was situated the family mansion, or
rather dwelling-house, for “mansion” is too grand a word to apply to the
clumsy, but substantially-built Bodowen. It was square and
heavy-looking, with just that much pretension to ornament necessary to
distinguish it from the mere farm-house.
In this dwelling Mrs. Owen Griffiths bore her husband two sons—Llewellyn,
the future Squire, and Robert, who was early destined for the Church.
The only difference in their situation, up to the time when Robert was
entered at Jesus College, was, that the elder was invariably indulged by
all around him, while Robert was thwarted and indulged by turns; that
Llewellyn never learned anything from the poor Welsh parson, who was
nominally his private tutor; while occasionally Squire Griffiths made a
great point of enforcing Robert’s diligence, telling him that, as he had
his bread to earn, he must pay attention to his learning. There is no
knowing how far the very irregular education he had received would have
carried Robert through his college examinations; but, luckily for him in
this respect, before such a trial of his learning came round, he heard of
the death of his elder brother, after a short illness, brought on by a
hard drinking-bout. Of course, Robert was summoned home, and it seemed
quite as much of course, now that there was no necessity for him to “earn
his bread by his learning,” that he should not return to Oxford. So the
half-educated, but not unintelligent, young man continued at home, during
the short remainder of his parent’s lifetime.
His was not an uncommon character. In general he was mild, indolent, and
easily managed; but once thoroughly roused, his passions were vehement
and fearful. He seemed, indeed, almost afraid of himself, and in common
hardly dared to give way to justifiable anger—so much did he dread losing
his self-control. Had he been judiciously educated, he would, probably,
have distinguished himself in those branches of literature which call for
taste and imagination, rather than any exertion of reflection or
judgment. As it was, his literary taste showed itself in making
collections of Cambrian antiquities of every description, till his stock
of Welsh MSS. would have excited the envy of Dr. Pugh himself, had he
been alive at the time of which I write.
There is one characteristic of Robert Griffiths which I have omitted to
note, and which was peculiar among his class. He was no hard drinker;
whether it was that his head was easily affected, or that his
partially-refined taste led him to dislike intoxication and its attendant
circumstances, I cannot say; but at five-and-twenty Robert Griffiths was
habitually sober—a thing so rare in Llyn, that he was almost shunned as a
churlish, unsociable being, and paused much of his time in solitude.
About this time, he had to appear in some case that was tried at the
Caernarvon assizes; and while there, was a guest at the house of his
agent, a shrewd, sensible Welsh attorney, with one daughter, who had
charms enough to captivate Robert Griffiths. Though he remained only a
few days at her father’s house, they were sufficient to decide his
affections, and short was the period allowed to elapse before he brought
home a mistress to Bodowen. The new Mrs. Griffiths was a gentle,
yielding person, full of love toward her husband, of whom, nevertheless,
she stood something in awe, partly arising from the difference in their
ages, partly from his devoting much time to studies of which she could
understand nothing.
She soon made him the father of a blooming little daughter, called
Augharad after her mother. Then there came several uneventful years in
the household of Bodowen; and when the old women had one and all declared
that the cradle would not rock again, Mrs. Griffiths bore the son and
heir. His birth was soon followed by his mother’s death: she had been
ailing and low-spirited during her pregnancy, and she seemed to lack the
buoyancy of body and mind requisite to bring her round after her time of
trial. Her husband, who loved her all the more from having few other
claims on his affections, was deeply grieved by her early death, and his
only comforter was the sweet little boy whom she had left behind. That
part of the squire’s character, which was so tender, and almost feminine,
seemed called forth by the helpless situation of the little infant, who
stretched out his arms to his father with the same earnest cooing that
happier children make use of to their mother alone. Augharad was almost
neglected, while the little Owen was king of the house; still next to his
father, none tended him so lovingly as his sister. She was so accustomed
to give way to him that it was no longer a hardship. By night and by day
Owen was the constant companion of his father, and increasing years
seemed only to confirm the custom. It was an unnatural life for the
child, seeing no bright little faces peering into his own (for Augharad
was, as I said before, five or six years older, and her face, poor
motherless girl! was often anything but bright), hearing no din of clear
ringing voices, but day after day sharing the otherwise solitary hours of
his father, whether in the dim room, surrounded by wizard-like
antiquities, or pattering his little feet to keep up with his “tada” in
his mountain rambles or shooting excursions. When the pair came to some
little foaming brook, where the stepping-stones were far and wide, the
father carried his little boy across with the tenderest care; when the
lad was weary, they rested, he cradled in his father’s arms, or the
Squire would lift him up and carry him to his home again. The boy was
indulged (for his father felt flattered by the desire) in his wish of
sharing his meals and keeping the same hours. All this indulgence did
not render Owen unamiable, but it made him wilful, and not a happy child.
He had a thoughtful look, not common to the face of a young boy. He knew
no games, no merry sports; his information was of an imaginative and
speculative character. His father delighted to interest him in his own
studies, without considering how far they were healthy for so young a
mind.
Of course Squire Griffiths was not unaware of the prophecy which was to
be fulfilled in his generation. He would occasionally refer to it when
among his friends, with sceptical levity; but in truth it lay nearer to
his heart than he chose to acknowledge. His strong imagination rendered
him peculiarly impressible on such subjects; while his judgment, seldom
exercised or fortified by severe thought, could not prevent his
continually recurring to it. He used to gaze on the half-sad countenance
of the child, who sat looking up into his face with his large dark eyes,
so fondly yet so inquiringly, till the old legend swelled around his
heart, and became too painful for him not to require sympathy. Besides,
the overpowering love he bore to the child seemed to demand fuller vent
than tender words; it made him like, yet dread, to upbraid its object for
the fearful contrast foretold. Still Squire Griffiths told the legend,
in a half-jesting manner, to his little son, when they were roaming over
the wild heaths in the autumn days, “the saddest of the year,” or while
they sat in the oak-wainscoted room, surrounded by mysterious relics that
gleamed strangely forth by the flickering fire-light. The legend was
wrought into the boy’s mind, and he would crave, yet tremble, to hear it
told over and over again, while the words were intermingled with caresses
and questions as to his love. Occasionally his loving words and actions
were cut short by his father’s light yet bitter speech—“Get thee away, my
lad; thou knowest not what is to come of all this love.”
When Augharad was seventeen, and Owen eleven or twelve, the rector of the
parish in which Bodowen was situated, endeavoured to prevail on Squire
Griffiths to send the boy to school. Now, this rector had many congenial
tastes with his parishioner, and was his only intimate; and, by repeated
arguments, he succeeded in convincing the Squire that the unnatural life
Owen was leading was in every way injurious. Unwillingly was the father
wrought to part from his son; but he did at length send him to the
Grammar School at Bangor, then under the management of an excellent
classic. Here Owen showed that he had more talents than the rector had
given him credit for, when he affirmed that the lad had been completely
stupefied by the life he led at Bodowen. He bade fair to do credit to
the school in the peculiar branch of learning for which it was famous.
But he was not | 219.638926 |
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Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed
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[Illustration: AS BOB CROSSED HOME PLATE WITH HIS RUN, JERRY WAS NOT
FAR BEHIND HIM.]
----_The Motor Boys_----
NED, BOB AND JERRY
AT BOXWOOD HALL
Or
The Motor Boys as Freshmen
BY
CLARENCE YOUNG
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES”
“THE RACER BOYS SERIES” “THE
JACK RANGER SERIES,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
=Price, per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.=
=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=
THE MOTOR BOYS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE BORDER
THE MOTOR BOYS UNDER THE SEA
THE MOTOR BOYS ON ROAD AND RIVER
=THE MOTOR BOYS--SECOND SERIES=
NED, BOB AND JERRY AT BOXWOOD HALL;
Or, The Motor Boys as Freshmen
=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX
=THE RACER BOYS SERIES=
THE RACER BOYS
THE RACER BOYS AT BOARDING SCHOOL
THE RACER BOYS TO THE RESCUE
THE RACER BOYS ON THE PRAIRIES
THE RACER BOYS ON GUARD
THE RACER BOYS FORGING AHEAD
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
=Ned, Bob and Jerry at Boxwood Hall=
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE OVERTURNED AUTO 1
II. A FAMILY CONFERENCE 10
III. THE RACE 20
IV. THE DECISION 29
V. GOOD NEWS 37
VI. BOXWOOD HALL 46
VII. OFF TO COLLEGE 53
VIII. PROFESSOR SNODGRASS 61
IX. THE PROFESSOR’S SHOES 70
X. A COOL RECEPTION 79
XI. THE PROFESSOR’S DILEMMA 87
XII. IN THE GYMNASIUM 97
XIII. THE BANG-UPS 105
XIV. THE INITIATION 113
XV. CAUGHT 124
XVI. A COLLISION 132
XVII. THE AEROPLANE 140
XVIII. THE POSTPONED EXAMINATION 148
XIX. THE BOXWOOD PICTURE 160
XX. “WHO TOLD?” 167
XXI. THE COASTING RACE 175
XXII. THE ICE BOAT 183
XXIII. SPRING PRACTICE 191
XXIV. A SCRUB GAME 199
XXV. A VARSITY LOSS 207
XXVI. DISSENSIONS 214
XXVII. THE ROOTERS INSIST 220
XXVIII. IN THE TENTH 228
XXIX. MR. HOBSON 235
XXX. THE WINNING GAME 240
INTRODUCTION
MY DEAR BOYS:
With this volume begins a new series of adventures for the “Motor
Boys.” Under the title “Ned, Bob and Jerry at Boxwood Hall; Or, The
Motor Boys as Freshmen,” I have had the pleasure of writing for you
the various happenings that took place when the three young men, whose
activities you have followed for some time, entered a new field.
The fathers of Ned Slade and Bob Baker, and the mother of Jerry
Hopkins, in consultation one day, decided that the young men were
getting a bit too wild and frivolous.
“It is time they settled down,” said their parents, “and began to think
of growing up. Let’s send them to college!”
And to the college of Boxwood Hall our heroes were sent. It was a
surprise to them, but it turned out to be a delightful surprise, and
one of the reasons was that their old friend, Professor Snodgrass, now
an enthusiastic collector of butterflies, was an instructor at Boxwood.
Of what took place at the college, of the hazing, the initiation, the
queer developments following an automobile rescue, of how the motor
boys gradually overcame an unfair prejudice, and how they helped to
win a baseball victory--for all this I refer you to the following
pages. The titles of the second series will include the names Ned, Bob
and Jerry, in various activities, and while they will still use their
motors, in auto, boat or airship, those machines will be of secondary
consideration.
And with this explanation, and with the hope that you will accord this
book the same welcome you have given my other writings, I remain,
Sincerely yours,
CLARENCE YOUNG.
NED, BOB AND JERRY AT BOXWOOD HALL
CHAPTER I
THE OVERTURNED AUTO
“What do you reckon it’s all about, Jerry?”
“Well, Bob, you’re as good a guesser as I am,” came the answer from
the young man who was at the wheel of a touring car that was swinging
down a pleasant country road, under arching trees. “What do you say it
means?”
“I haven’t the least idea, unless it’s some business deal. Ned, why
don’t you say something, instead of sitting there like a goldfish being
admired by a tom-cat?” and Bob Baker, who sat beside Jerry Hopkins, the
lad at the wheel, turned to his chum in the rear seat of the car.
“Say something!” exclaimed Ned Slade. “I’m as much up in the air about
it as you fellows are. All I know is that my dad, and yours, and
Jerry’s mother, are having a confab.”
“And a sort of serious confab at that,” added Bob. “Look out there,
Jerry!” he cried suddenly. “You nearly ran over that chicken,” and
he involuntarily raised his hand toward the steering wheel as a
frightened, squawking and cackling hen fluttered from under the front
wheels of the automobile, shedding feathers on the way. Then Bob
remembered one of the first ethics of automobiling, which is never to
interfere with the steersman, and he drew back his hand.
“A miss is as good as a mile,” remarked Jerry coolly, as he brought the
car back to a straight course, for he had swerved it to one side when
he saw the chicken in the path. “But I agree with you, Bob, that the
conference going on at my house, among our respected, and I might as
well say respectable, parents does seem to be a serious one. However,
as long as we can’t guess what it’s about there’s no use in worrying.
We may as well have a good time this afternoon. Where shall we go?”
“Let’s go to Wallace’s and have a bite to eat,” put in Bob.
“Why, we only just had lunch!” exclaimed Ned, with a laugh.
“Maybe you fellows did, but I wouldn’t call it a lunch that I got
outside of--not by a long shot! Mother isn’t at home, it was the girl’s
day out and I had to forage for myself.”
“Heaven help the pantry, then!” exclaimed Jerry. “I’ve seen Bob
‘forage,’ as he calls it, before; eh, Ned?”
“That’s right. He did it at our house once, and say! what mother said
when she came home--whew!” and Ned whistled at the memory.
“I wasn’t a bit worse than you were!” cried Bob, trying to lean back
and punch his chum, but the latter kept out of reach in the roomy
tonneau. “Anyhow, what has that got to do with going to Wallace’s now?
I’m hungry and I don’t care who knows it.”
“Well, don’t let that fat waiter at Wallace’s hear you say that, or
he’ll double charge us in the bill,” cautioned Jerry. “They sure do
stick on the prices at that joint.”
“Then you’ll go there?” asked Bob eagerly.
“Oh, I s’pose we might as well go there as anywhere. Does it suit you,
Ned?”
“Sure. Only I can’t imagine where Bob puts it all. Tell us, Chunky,
that’s a good chap,” and he patted the shoulder of the stout lad who
sat in front of him.
“Tell you what?” asked Bob, responding to the nickname that had been
bestowed on him because of his stoutness.
“Where you put all you eat,” went on Ned with a laugh. “You know it is
impossible to make two objects occupy the same space at the same time.
And if you’ve eaten one lunch to-day, and not two hours ago, where are
you going to put another?”
“You watch and see,” was all the answer Bob made. “Hit her up a bit,
Jerry. There’s a stiff hill just ahead.”
“That’s right. I forgot we were on this road. Well, then it’s settled.
We’ll go to Wallace’s and let Bob eat,” and having ascended the hill,
he turned off on a road that led to a summer resort not many miles from
Cresville, the home town of the three lads.
“Aren’t you fellows going to have anything?” asked Bob. “You’ll eat;
won’t you?”
“Oh, for cats’ sake, cut out the grub-talk for a while!” begged Ned.
“Say, what about that conference, anyhow? Does any one know anything
about it?”
“All I know,” said Jerry, “is that I asked mother to come out for an
auto ride this afternoon, and she said she couldn’t because your dad,
Ned, and Bob’s too, were coming over to call.”
“Did you ask her what for?”
“No, but I took it for granted it was something about business. You
know mother owns some stock in your father’s department store, Ned.”
“Yes, and she deposits at dad’s bank,” added Bob, whose father, Andrew
Baker, was the president of the most important bank in Cresville. “I
guess it must be about some business affairs.”
“I don’t agree with you,” declared Ned.
“Why not?” Jerry demanded. “When mother said she couldn’t come out I
hustled over and got you fellows, and here we are. But what’s your
reason for thinking it isn’t business, Ned, that has brought our folks
together at my house?”
“Because of some questions my father asked me this morning.”
“Serious questions?” Bob interrogated.
“Well, in a way, yes. He asked me what I’d been doing lately, what you
fellows had been doing, and he wanted to know what my plans were for
this winter.”
“What did you tell him?” inquired Jerry, slowing down as he came to the
crest of another hill.
“Oh, I said we hadn’t decided yet. I didn’t tell him we had talked over
making a tour of the South, for we hadn’t quite decided on it; had we?”
“Not exactly,” responded Jerry. “And yet the South is the place when
winter comes. I guess we might do worse.”
“Well, I didn’t say anything about that,” went on Ned, “because, if I
had, dad would have wanted to know all the particulars, and I wasn’t in
a position to tell him.”
“Is that all he asked you that makes you think the conference may be
about us, instead of business?” Bob inquired.
“No, that wasn’t quite all. He asked me about that trouble we got into
last week.”
“Oh, do you mean about the time we were pulled in for speeding?” asked
Jerry with a laugh.
“That’s it,” assented Ned. “Only it isn’t going to be anything to grin
at if dad finds out all about it--that we nearly collided with the hay
wagon while trying to pass that roadster. Say, but it was some going!
We fractured the speed limits in half a dozen | 219.703701 |
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Produced by Clare Boothby and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in |
| this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of |
| this document. |
| |
| The children's letters on page 108 have been reproduced in |
| this text as diagrams. |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
ESSAY ON THE CREATIVE IMAGINATION
BY
TH. RIBOT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
ALBERT H. N. BARON
FELLOW IN CLARK UNIVERSITY
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD.
1906
COPYRIGHT BY
THE OPEN COURT PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO, U. S. A.
1906
_All rights reserved._
TO THE MEMORY OF MY TEACHER
AND FRIEND,
Arthur Allin, Ph. D.,
PROFESSOR OF PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION,
UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO,
WHO FIRST INTERESTED ME IN THE PROBLEMS OF PSYCHOLOGY,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED, WITH REVERENCE
AND GRATITUDE, BY
THE TRANSLATOR.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The name of Th. Ribot has been for many years well known in America, and
his works have gained wide popularity. The present translation of one of
his more recent works is an attempt to render available in English what
has been received as a classic exposition of a subject that is often
discussed, but rarely with any attempt to understand its true nature.
It is quite generally recognized that psychology has remained in the
semi-mythological, semi-scholastic period longer than most attempts at
scientific formulization. For a long time it has been the "spook
science" _per se_, and the imagination, now analyzed by M. Ribot in such
a masterly manner, has been one of the most persistent, apparently real,
though very indefinite, of psychological spooks. Whereas people have
been accustomed to speak of the imagination as an entity _sui generis_,
as a lofty something found only in long-haired, wild-eyed "geniuses,"
constituting indeed the center of a cult, our author, Prometheus-like,
has brought it down from the heavens, and has clearly shown that
_imagination is a function of mind common to all men in some degree_,
and that it is shown in as highly developed form in commercial leaders
and practical inventors as in the most bizarre of romantic idealists.
The only difference is that the manifestation is not the same.
That this view is not entirely original with M. Ribot is not to his
discredit--indeed, he does not claim any originality. We find the view
clearly expressed elsewhere, certainly as early as Aristotle, that the
greatest artist is he who actually embodies his vision and will in
permanent form, preferably in social institutions. This idea is so
clearly enunciated in the present monograph, which the author modestly
styles an essay, that when the end of the book is reached but little
remains of the great imagination-ghost, save the one great mystery
underlying all facts of mind.
That the present rendering falls far below the lucid French of the
original, the translator is well aware; he trusts, however, that the
indulgent reader will take into account the good intent as offsetting in
part, at least, the numerous shortcomings of this version.
I wish here to express my obligation to those friends who encouraged me
in the congenial task of translation.
A. H. N. B.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
Contemporary psychology has studied the purely reproductive imagination
with great eagerness and success. The works on the different
image-groups--visual, auditory, tactile, motor--are known to everyone,
and form a collection of inquiries solidly based on subjective and
objective observation, on pathological facts and laboratory experiments.
The study of the creative or constructive imagination, on the other
hand, has been almost entirely neglected. It would be easy to show that
the best, most complete, and most recent treatises on psychology devote
to it scarcely a page or two; often, indeed, do not even mention it. A
few articles, a few brief, scarce monographs, make up the sum of the
past twenty-five years' work on the subject. The subject does not,
however, at all deserve this indifferent or contemptuous attitude. Its
importance is unquestionable, and even though the study of the creative
imagination has hitherto remained almost inaccessible to experimentation
strictly so-called, there are yet other objective processes that permit
of our approaching it with some likelihood of success, and of continuing
the work of former psychologists, but with methods better adapted to
the requirements of contemporary thought.
The present work is offered to the reader as an essay or first attempt
only. It is not our intention here to undertake a complete monograph
that would require a thick volume, but only to seek the underlying
conditions of the creative imagination, showing that it has its
beginning and principal source in the natural tendency of images to
become objectified (or, more simply, in the motor elements inherent in
the image), and then following it in its development under its manifold
forms, whatever they may be. For I cannot but maintain that, at | 219.740119 |
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E-text prepared by KD Weeks, Greg Bergquist, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) images page generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 43020-h.htm or 43020-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43020/43020-h/43020-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43020/43020-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/crestofcontinent00inge
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
There are two footnotes, which are positioned directly
following the paragraph where they are referenced.
More detailed comments may be found at the end of this
text.
[Illustration: GARFIELD PEAK.]
THE CREST OF THE CONTINENT:
A Record of a Summer's Ramble in the Rocky Mountains and Beyond.
by
ERNEST INGERSOLL.
"We climbed the rock-built breasts of earth!
We saw the snowy mountains rolled
Like mighty billows; saw the birth
Of sudden dawn; beheld the gold
Of awful sunsets; saw the face
Of God, and named it boundless space."
Twenty Ninth Edition.
Chicago:
R. R. Donnelley & Sons, Publishers.
1887.
Copyright,
By S. K. Hooper,
1885.
R. R. Donnelley & Sons, The Lakeside Press, Chicago.
TO
THE PEOPLE OF COLORADO,
SAGACIOUS IN PERCEIVING, DILIGENT IN DEVELOPING,
AND WISE IN ENJOYING
THE
RESOURCES AND ATTRACTIONS OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
WITH
THE HOMAGE OF
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
Probably nothing in this artificial world is more deceptive than
absolute candor. Hence, though the ensuing text may lack nothing in
straightforwardness of assertion, and seem impossible to misunderstand,
it may be worth while to say distinctly, here at the start, that it is
all true. We actually _did_ make such an excursion, in such cars, and
with such equipments, as I have described; and we would like to do it
again.
It was wild and rough in many respects. Re-arranging the trip, luxuries
might be added, and certain inconveniences avoided; but I doubt whether,
in so doing, we should greatly increase the pleasure or the profit.
"No man should desire a soft life," wrote King Aelfred the Great.
Roughing it, within reasonable grounds, is the marrow of this sort of
recreation. What a pungent and wholesome savor to the healthy taste
there is in the very phrase! The zest with which one goes about an
expedition of any kind in the Rocky Mountains is phenomenal in itself; I
despair of making it credited or comprehended by inexperienced
lowlanders. We are told that the joys of Paradise will not only actually
be greater than earthly pleasures, but that they will be further
magnified by our increased spiritual sensitiveness to the "good times"
of heaven. Well, in the same way, the senses are so quickened by the
clear, vivifying climate of the western uplands in summer, that an
experience is tenfold more pleasurable there than it could become in the
Mississippi valley. I elsewhere have had something to say about this
exhilaration of body and soul in the high Rockies, which you will
perhaps pardon me for repeating briefly, for it was written honestly,
long ago, and outside of the present connection.
"At sunrise breakfast is over, the mules and everybody else have been
good-natured and you feel the glory of mere existence as you vault into
the saddle and break into a gallop. Not that this or that particular day
is so different from other pleasant mornings, but all that we call _the
weather_ is constituted in the most perfect proportions. The air is
'nimble and sweet,' and you ride gayly across meadows, through sunny
woods of pine and aspen, and between granite knolls that are piled up in
the most noble and romantic proportions....
"Sometimes it seems, when camp is reached, that one hardly has strength
to make another move; but after dinner one finds himself able and
willing to do a great deal....
"One's sleep in the crisp air, after the fatigues of the day, is sound
and serene.... You awake at daylight a little chilly, re-adjust your
blankets, and want again to sleep. The sun may pour forth from the
'golden window of the east' and flood the world with limpid light; the
stars may pale and the jet of the midnight sky be diluted to that pale
and perfect morning-blue into which you gaze to unmeasured depths; the
air may become a pervading Champagne, dry and delicate, every draught of
which tingles the lungs and spurs the blood along the veins with joyous
speed; the landscape may woo the eyes with airy undulations of prairie
or snow-pointed pinnacles lifted sharply against the azure--yet sleep
chains you. That very quality of the atmosphere which contributes to all
this beauty and makes it so delicious to be awake, makes it equally
blessed to slumber. Lying there in the open air, breathing the pure
elixir of the untainted mountains, you come to think even the
confinement of a flapping tent oppressive, and the ventilation of a
sheltering spruce-bough bad."
That was written out of a sincere enthusiasm, which made as naught a
whole season's hardship and work, before there was hardly a wagon-road,
much less a railway, beyond the front range.
This exordium, my friendly reader, is all to show to you: That we went
to the Rockies and beyond them, as we say we did; that we knew what we
were after, and found the apples of these Hesperides not dust and ashes
but veritable golden fruit; and, finally, that you may be persuaded to
test for yourself this natural and lasting enjoyment.
The grand and alluring mountains are still there,--everlasting hills,
unchangeable refuges from weariness, anxiety and strife! The railway
grows wider and permits a longer and even more varied journey than was
ours. Cars can be fitted up as we fitted ours or in a way as much better
as you like. Year by year the facilities for wayside comforts and short
branch-excursions are multiplied, with the increase of population and
culture.
If you are unable, or do not choose, to undertake all this preparation,
I still urge upon you the pleasure and utility of going to the Rocky
Mountains, travelling into their mighty heart in comfortable and
luxurious public conveyances. Nowhere will a holiday count for more in
rest, and in food for subsequent thought and recollection.
CONTENTS.
I--AT THE BASE OF THE ROCKIES.
First Impressions of the Mountains. A Problem, and its Solution.
Denver--Descriptive and Historical. The Resources which Assure
its Future. Some General Information concerning the Mining, Stock
Raising and Agricultural Interests of Colorado. 13
II--ALONG THE FOOTHILLS.
The Expedition Moves. Its Personnel. The Romantic Attractions of the
Divide. Light on Monument Park. Colorado Springs, a City of
Homes, of Morality and Culture. Its Pleasant Environs: Glen
Eyrie, Blair Athol, Austin's Glen, the Cheyenne Canyons 26
III--A MOUNTAIN SPA.
Manitou, and the Mineral Springs. The Ascent of Pike's Peak;
bronchos and blue noses. Ute Pass, and Rainbow Falls. The Garden
of the Gods. Manitou Park. Williams' Canyon, and the Cave of the
Winds. An Indian Legend. 36
IV--PUEBLO AND ITS FURNACES.
The Largest Smelter in the World. The Colorado Coal and Iron Company.
Pueblo's Claims as a Trade Center, and its Tributary Railway
System. A Chapter of Facts and Figures in support of the New
Pittsburgh. 51
V--OVER THE SANGRE DE CRISTO.
Up and down Veta Mountain, with some Extracts from a letter. Veta
Pass, and the Muleshoe Curve. Spanish Peaks. Beautiful Scenery,
and Famous Railroading. A general outline of the Rocky Mountain
Ranges. 60
VI--SAN LUIS PARK.
A Fertile and Well-watered Valley. The Method of Irrigation. Sierra
Blanca. A Digression to describe the Home on Wheels. Alamosa,
Antonito and Conejos. Cattle, Sheep and Agriculture in the largest
Mountain Park. 71
VII--THE INVASION OF NEW MEXICO.
Barranca, among the Sunflowers. An Excursion to Ojo Caliente, and
Description of the Hot Springs. Pre-historic Relics--a Rich Field
for the Archaeologist. Senor _vs._ Burro. An Ancient Church, with
its Sacred Images. 81
VIII--EL MEXICANO Y PUEBLOANO.
Comanche Canyon and Embudo. The Penitentes. The Rio Grande Valley;
Alcalde, Chamita and Espanola. New Mexican Life, Homes and
Industries. The Indian Pueblos, and their Strange History.
Architecture, Pottery, and Threshing. 92
IX--SANTA FE AND THE SACRED VALLEY.
Santa Fe, the Oldest City in the United States. Fact and Tradition.
San Fernandez de Taos--the Home of Kit Carson. Pueblo de Taos
Birthplace of Montezuma, and Typical and Well-Preserved. The
Festival of St. Geronimo. Exit Amos. 106
X--TOLTEC GORGE.
Heading for the San Juan Country. From Mesa to Mountain Top. The
Curl of the Whiplash. Above the silvery Los Pinos. Phantom
Curve. A Startling Peep from Toltec Tunnel. Eva Cliff. "In
Memoriam." 115
XI--ALONG THE SOUTHERN BORDER.
The Pinos-Chama Summit. Trout and Game. The Groves of Chama.
Mexican Rural Life at Tierra Amarilla. The Iron Trail. Rio San
Juan and its Tributaries. Pagosa Springs. Apache Visitors. The
Southern Utes. Durango. 120
XII--THE QUEEN OF THE CANYONS.
Geology of the Sierra San Juan. The Attractions of Trimble Springs.
Beauty and Fertility of the Animas Valley. The Canyon of the
River of Lost Souls. Engineering under difficulties. The Needles,
and Garfield Peak. 129
XIII--SILVER SAN JUAN.
Geological Resume. Scraps of History. Snow-shoes and Avalanches.
The Mining Camps of Animas Forks, Mineral Point, Eureka and
Howardville. Early Days in Baker's Park. Poughkeepsie, Picayune
and Cunningham Gulches. The Hanging. 136
XIV--BEYOND THE RANGES.
Ophir, Rico, and the La Plata Mountains. Everything triangular.
Mixed Mineralogy, Real bits of Beauty. "When I sell my Mine."
An Unbiased Opinion. Placer _vs._ Fissure Vein Mining. 149
XV--THE ANTIQUITIES OF THE RIO SAN JUAN.
Rugged Trails. Searching for Antiquities. The Discovery.
Habitations of a Lost Race. Prehistoric Architecture, "Temple
or Refrigerator." "Ruins, Ancient beyond all Knowing." Guesses
and Traditions. Some Appropriate Verses. 156
XVI--ON THE UPPER RIO GRANDE.
Good-bye and Welcome. Del Norte and the Gold Summit. Among the
River Ranches. Wagon Wheel Springs. Healing Power of the
Waters. The Gap and its History. A Day's Trout Fishing. 166
XVII--EL MORO AND CANYON CITY.
A Great Natural Fortress. Down in a Coal Mine. The Coke Ovens.
Huerfano Park and its Coal. Canyon City Historically. Coal
Measures. Resources of the Foothills. 177
XVIII--IN THE WET MOUNTAIN VALLEY.
Grape Creek Canyon. The Dome of the Temple. Wet Mountain Valley.
The Legend of Rosita. Hardscrabble District. Silver Cliff and
its Strange Mine. The Foothills of the Sierra Mojada.
Geological Theories. 185
XIX--THE ROYAL GORGE.
The Grand Canyon of the Arkansas. Its Culminating Chasm the Royal
Gorge. Beetling Cliffs and Narrow Waters. Running the Gauntlet.
Wonders of Plutonic Force. A Story of the Canyon. 193
XX--THE ARKANSAS VALLEY.
Entering Brown's Canyon. The Iron Mines of Calumet. Salida.
Farming on the Arkansas. Buena Vista. Granate and its Gold
Placers,--Twin Lakes. Malta and its Charcoal Burners. A
Burned-out Gulch. 201
XXI--CAMP OF THE CARBONATES.
California Gulch. How Boughtown was Built. Some Lively Scenes.
Discovery of Carbonates. The Rush of 1878. The Founding of
Leadville. A Happy Grave Digger. Practice and Theory of Mining.
Reducing the Ores. 209
XXII--ACROSS THE TENNESSEE AND FREMONT'S PASS.
Hay Meadows on the Upper Arkansas. Climbing Tennessee Pass. Mount
of the Holy Cross. Red Cliff. Ore in Battle Mountain. Through
Eagle River Canyon. The Artist's Elysium. Two Miles in the Air.
On the Blue. 222
XXIII--FROM PONCHO SPRINGS TO VILLA GROVE.
In Hot Water. A Pretty Village and Fine Outlook. Pluto's
Reservoirs. The Madame's Letter. Poncho Pass. The Sangre de
Cristo Again. Villa Grove. Silver and Iron. 225
XXIV--THROUGH MARSHALL PASS.
The Unknown Gunnison. A Wonder of Progress. Climbing the Mountains
in a Parlor Car. Four Hours of Scenic Delight. Culmination of
Man's Skill. On the Crest of the Continent. The Mysterious
Descent. 243
XXV--GUNNISON AND CRESTED BUTTE.
Tomichi Valley. Gunnison from Oregon to St. Louis. Captain
Gunnison's Discoveries. A Discussion with Chief Ouray. A
Beautiful Landscape. Crested Butte. Anthracite in the Rockies.
250
XXVI--A TRIP TO LAKE CITY.
Lake City. A Picture from Nature. A Hard Pillow. The Mining
Interests. Alpine Grandeur of the Scenery. The Home of the Bear
and the Elk. Game, Game, Game. 262
XXVII--IMPRESSIONS OF THE BLACK CANYON.
The Observation Car. Gunnison River. Trout Fishing Again. The Rock
Cleft in Twain. A Beautiful Cataract. A Mighty Needle. The
Canyon Black yet Sunny. Impressions of the Canyon. Majestic Forms
and Splendid Colors. 266
XXVIII--THE UNCOMPAHGRE VALLEY.
Cline's Ranch. Montrose. The Madame and Chum Respectfully Decline.
The Trip to Ouray. The Military Post. Chief Ouray's Widow. The
Road on the Bluff. Hot Springs. Brilliant Stars. 273
XXIX--OURAY AND RED MOUNTAIN.
A Pretty Mountain Town. Trials of the Prospectors. A Tradition.
From Silverton to Ouray by Wagon. Enchanting Gorges and
Alluring Peaks. The Yankee Girl. A Cave of Carbonates.
Vermillion Cliffs. Dallas Station. 278
XXX--MONTROSE AND DELTA.
Playing Billiards. Caught in the Act. A Well-Watered District.
Coal and Cattle. A Fruit Garden. A Big Irrigating Ditch. The
Snowy Elk Mountains. A Substantial Track. A Long Bridge. 290
XXXI--THE GRAND RIVER VALLEY.
An Honest Circular. Grand Junction. Staking Out Ranches. The
Recipe for Good Soil. Watering the Valley. Value of Water. Some
Big Corn in the Far West. A Land of Plenty. Going West. 296
XXXII--THE COLORADO CANYONS.
A Memorable Night-Journey. Skirting the Uncompahgre Plateau.
Origin of the Sierra La Sal. Crossing the Green River. Wonders
of Erosive Work. An Indian Tradition. The Marvelous Canyons of
the Colorado. 303
XXXIII--CROSSING THE WASATCH.
The Tall Cliffs of Price River and Castle Canyon. Castle Gate. The
Summit of the Wasatch. "Indians!" San Pete and Sevier Valleys.
"Like Iser Rolling Rapidly." Through the Canyon of the Spanish
Fork. Mount Nebo. 312
XXXIV--BY UTAH LAKES.
Rural Scenes Beside Lake Utah. Spanish Fork, Springville, Provo
and Nephi. Relics of Indian Wars. Pretty Fruit Sellers. First
Sight of Deseret and the Great Salt Lake. Ogden and Its
History. 317
XXXV--SALT LAKE CITY.
Sunday in Salt Lake City. The Tabernacle and the Temple. Early
Days in Utah. Shady Trees and Sparkling Brooks. Social
Peculiarities of the City. Mining and Mercantile Prosperity.
Religious Sects. Schools and Seminaries. 324
XXXVI--SALT LAKE AND THE WASATCH.
The Ride to Salt Lake. A Salt Water Bath. Keep Your Mouth Shut.
The Shore of the Lake. An Exciting Chase. A Trip to Alta. Stone
for the Temple. An Exhilarating Ride. 335
XXXVII--AU REVOIR.
At Last. On Jordan's Banks. Chum's Grandfather. Let Every Injun
Carry his Own Skillet. The Parting Toast. Good-Night. 342
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
GARFIELD PEAK _Frontispiece._
DENVER 17
DEPOT AT PALMER LAKE 20
PHOEBE'S ARCH 21
MONUMENT PARK 24
IN QUEEN'S CANYON 28
CHEYENNE FALLS 31
IN NORTH CHEYENNE CANYON 34
A GLIMPSE OF MANITOU AND PIKE'S PEAK 37
THE MINERAL SPRINGS 40
PIKE'S PEAK TRAIL 45
RAINBOW FALLS 49
GARDEN OF THE GODS 53
ENTRANCE TO CAVE OF THE WINDS 57
ALABASTER HALL 62
VETA PASS 67
CREST OF VETA MOUNTAIN 69
SPANISH PEAKS FROM VETA PASS 75
SANGRE DE CRISTO SUMMITS 78
SIERRA BLANCA 83
OJO CALIENTE 86
EMBUDO, RIO GRANDE VALLEY 89
NEW MEXICAN LIFE 94
A PATRIARCH 98
MAID AND MATRON 99
OLD CHURCH OF SAN JUAN 102
PUEBLO DE TAOS 107
PHANTOM CURVE 112
PHANTOM ROCKS 118
IN MEMORIAM 119
TOLTEC GORGE 125
EVA CLIFF 130
GARFIELD MEMORIAL 131
NEAR THE PINOS-CHAMA SUMMIT 136
CHIEFS OF THE SOUTHERN UTES 141
CANYON OF THE RIO DE LAS ANIMAS 146
ON THE RIVER OF LOST SOULS 152
ANIMAS CANYON AND THE NEEDLES 157
SILVERTON AND SULTAN MOUNTAIN 162
CLIFF DWELLINGS 168
WAGON WHEEL GAP 173
UP THE RIO GRANDE 178
GRAPE CREEK CANYON 181
GRAND CANYON OF THE ARKANSAS 186
THE ROYAL GORGE 191
BROWN'S CANYON 194
TWIN LAKES 199
THE OLD ROUTE TO LEADVILLE 202
THE SHAFT HOUSE 204
BOTTOM OF THE SHAFT 205
ATHWART AN INCLINE 206
THE JIG DRILL 207
FREMONT PASS 211
CASCADES OF THE BLUE 214
MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS 219
MARSHALL PASS--EASTERN <DW72> 223
MARSHALL PASS--WESTERN <DW72> 227
CRESTED BUTTE MOUNTAIN AND LAKE 230
RUBY FALLS 232
APPROACH TO THE BLACK CANYON 235
BLACK CANYON OF THE GUNNISON 241
CURRECANTI NEEDLE, BLACK CANYON 247
A UTE COUNCIL FIRE 251
OURAY 255
GATE OF LODORE 261
WINNIE'S GROTTO 264
ECHO ROCK 267
GUNNISON'S BUTTE 271
BUTTES OF THE CROSS 274
MARBLE CANYON 279
GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO 283
GRAND CANYON, FROM TO-RO-WASP 287
EXPLORING THE WALLS 292
CASTLE GATE 297
IN SPANISH FORK CANYON 300
TRAMWAY IN LITTLE COTTONWOOD CANYON 305
SALT LAKE CITY 311
MORMON TEMPLE, TABERNACLE AND ASSEMBLY HALL 325
GREAT SALT LAKE 331
I
AT THE BASE OF THE ROCKIES.
Old Woodcock says that if Providence had not made him a justice of
the peace, he'd have been a vagabond himself. No such kind
interference prevailed in my case. I was a vagabond from my cradle.
I never could be sent to school alone like other children--they
always had to see me there safe, and fetch me back again. The
rambling bump monopolized my whole head. I am sure my godfather must
have been the Wandering Jew or a king's messenger. Here I am again,
_en route_, and sorely puzzled to know whither.--The LOITERINGS OF
ARTHUR O'LEARY.
"'There are the Rocky Mountains!' I strained my eyes in the direction of
his finger, but for a minute could see nothing. Presently sight became
adjusted to a new focus, and out against a bright sky dawned slowly the
undefined shimmering trace of something a little bluer. Still it seemed
nothing tangible. It might have passed for a vapor effect of the
horizon, had not the driver called it otherwise. Another minute and it
took slightly more certain shape. It cannot be described by any Eastern
analogy; no other far mountain view that I ever saw is at all like it.
If you have seen those sea-side albums which ladies fill with algae
during their summer holiday, and in those albums have been startled, on
turning over a page suddenly, to see an exquisite marine ghost appear,
almost evanescent in its faint azure, but still a literal existence,
which had been called up from the deeps, and laid to rest with infinite
delicacy and difficulty,--then you will form some conception of the
first view of the Rocky Mountains. It is impossible to imagine them
built of earth, rock, anything terrestrial; to fancy them cloven by
horrible chasms, or shaggy with giant woods. They are made out of the
air and the sunshine which show them. Nature has dipped her pencil in
the faintest solution of ultramarine, and drawn it once across the
Western sky with a hand tender as Love's. Then when sight becomes still
better adjusted, you find the most delicate division taking place in
this pale blot of beauty, near its upper edge. It is rimmed with a mere
thread of opaline and crystalline light. For a moment it sways before
you and is confused. But your eagerness grows steadier, you see plainer
and know that you are looking on the everlasting snow, the ice that
never melts. As the entire fact in all its meaning possesses you
completely, you feel a sensation which is as new to your life as it is
impossible of repetition. I confess (I should be ashamed not to) that my
first view of the Rocky Mountains had no way of expressing itself save
in tears. To see what they looked, and to know what they were, was like
a sudden revelation of the truth that the spiritual is the only real and
substantial; that the eternal things of the universe are they which,
afar off, seem dim and faint."
* * * * *
There are the Rocky Mountains! Ludlow saw them after days of rough
riding in a dusty stage-coach. Our plains journey had been a matter of a
few hours only, and in the luxurious ease of a Pullman sleeping car; but
_our_ hearts, too, were stirred, and we eagerly watched them rise higher
and higher, and perfect their ranks, as we threaded the bluffs into
Pueblo. Then there they were again, all the way up to Denver; and when
we arose in the morning and glanced out of the hotel window, the first
objects our glad eyes rested on were the snow-tipped peaks filling the
horizon.
Thither _Madame ma femme_ and I proposed to ourselves to go for an early
autumn ramble, gathering such friends and accomplices as presented
themselves. But how? That required some study. There were no end of
ways. We were given advice enough to make a substantial appendix to the
present volume, though I suspect that it would be as useless to print it
for you as it was to talk it to us. We could walk. We could tramp, with
burros to carry our luggage, and with or without other burros to carry
ourselves. We could form an alliance, offensive and defensive, with a
number of pack mules. We could hire an ambulance sort of wagon, with
bedroom and kitchen and all the other attachments. We could go by
railway to certain points, and there diverge. Or, as one sober youth
suggested, we needn't go at all. But it remained for us to solve the
problem after all. As generally happens in this life of ours, the fellow
who gets on owes it to his own momentum, for the most part. It came upon
us quite by inspiration. We jumped to the conclusion; which, as the
Madame truly observed, is not altogether wrong if only you look before
you leap. That is a good specimen of feminine logic in general, and the
Madame's in particular.
But what was the inspiration--the conclusion--the decision? You are all
impatience to know it, of course. It was this:
Charter a train!
Recovering our senses after this startling generalization, particulars
came in order. Spreading out the crisp and squarely-folded map of
Colorado, we began to study it with novel interest, and very quickly
discovered that if our brilliant inspiration was really to be executed,
we must confine ourselves to the narrow-gauge lines. Tracing these with
one prong of a hair pin, it was apparent that they ran almost everywhere
in the mountainous parts of the State, and where they did not go now
they were projected for speedy completion. Closer inspection, as to the
names of the lines, discovered that nearly all of this wide-branching
system bore the mystical letters D. & R. G., which evidently enough
(after you had learned it) stood for--
"Why, Denver and Ryo Grand, of course," exclaims the Madame,
contemptuous of any one who didn't know _that_.
"Not by a long shot!" I reply triumphantly, "Denver and Reeo Grandy is
the name of the railway--Mexican words."
"Oh, indeed!" is what I _hear_; a very lofty nose, naturally a trifle
uppish, is what I _see_.
Deciding that our best plan is to take counsel with the officers of the
Denver and Rio Grande railway, we go immediately to interview Mr.
Hooper, the General Passenger Agent, among whose | 219.798983 |
2023-11-16 18:20:43.7868070 | 2,005 | 13 |
Transcribed from the 1913 Jarrold and Sons edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
ROMANTIC BALLADS,
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH;
AND
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES;
BY
GEORGE BORROW.
* * * * *
Through gloomy paths unknown--
Paths which untrodden be,
From rock to rock I roam
Along the dashing sea.
BOWRING.
* * * * *
NORWICH:
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JARROLD AND SONS.
1913
Contents.
Preface
Lines from Allan Cunningham to George Borrow
The Death-raven. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
Fridleif and Helga. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
Sir Middel. From the Old Danish
Elvir-shades. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
The Heddybee-spectre. From the Old Danish
Sir John. From the Old Danish
May Asda. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
Aager and Eliza. From the Old Danish
Saint Oluf. From the Old Danish
The Heroes of Dovrefeld. From the Old Danish
Svend Vonved. From the Old Danish
The Tournament. From the Old Danish
Vidrik Verlandson. From the Old Danish
Elvir Hill. From the Old Danish
Waldemar's Chase
The Merman. From the Old Danish
The Deceived Merman. From the Old Danish
Miscellanies.
Cantata
The Hail-storm. From the Norse
The Elder-witch
Ode. From the Gaelic
Bear song. From the Danish of Evald
National song. From the Danish of Evald
The Old Oak
Lines to Six-foot Three
Nature's Temperaments. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
The Violet-gatherer. From the Danish of Oehlenslaeger
Ode to a Mountain-torrent. From the German of Stolberg
Runic Verses
Thoughts on Death. From the Swedish of C. Lohman
Birds of Passage. From the Swedish
The Broken Harp
Scenes
The Suicide's Grave. From the German
The Original Title Page.
200 copies by subscription
{i:S. Wilkin 1826 title page: tp1.jpg}
The London (John Taylor) Title Page.
300 copies including those bearing the imprint of
Wightman & Cramp.
{i:John Taylor 1826 title page: tp2.jpg}
PREFACE
The ballads in this volume are translated from the Works of OEHLENSLAEGER,
(a poet who is yet living, and who stands high in the estimation of his
countrymen,) and from the KIAEMPE VISER, a collection of old songs,
celebrating the actions of the ancient heroes of Scandinavia.
The old Danish poets were, for the most part, extremely rude in their
versification. Their stanzas of four or two lines have not the full
rhyme of vowel and consonant, but merely what the Spaniards call the
"assonante," or vowel rhyme, and attention seldom seems to have been paid
to the number of _feet_ on which the lines moved along. But, however
defective their poetry may be in point of harmony of numbers, it
describes, in vivid and barbaric language, scenes of barbaric grandeur,
which in these days are never witnessed; and, which, though the modern
muse may imagine, she generally fails in attempting to pourtray, from the
violent desire to be smooth and tuneful, forgetting that smoothness and
tunefulness are nearly synonymous with tameness and unmeaningness.
I expect shortly to lay before the public a complete translation of the
KIAEMPE VISER, made by me some years ago; and of which, I hope, the
specimens here produced will not give an unfavourable idea.
It was originally my intention to publish, among the "Miscellaneous
Pieces," several translations from the Gaelic, formerly the language of
the western world; the noble tongue
"A labhair Padric' nninse Fail na Riogh.
'San faighe caomhsin Colum naomhta' n I."
Which Patrick spoke in Innisfail, to heathen chiefs of old
Which Columb, the mild prophet-saint, spoke in his island-hold--
but I have retained them, with one exception, till I possess a sufficient
quantity to form an entire volume.
FROM ALLAN CUNNINGHAM,
TO GEORGE BORROW,
_On his proposing to translate the_ '_Kiaepe Viser_.'
Sing, sing, my friend; breathe life again
Through Norway's song and Denmark's strain:
On flowing Thames and Forth, in flood,
Pour Haco's war-song, fierce and rude.
O'er England's strength, through Scotland's cold,
His warrior minstrels marched of old--
Called on the wolf and bird of prey
To feast on Ireland's shore and bay;
And France, thy forward knights and bold,
Rough Rollo's ravens croaked them cold.
Sing, sing of earth and ocean's lords,
Their songs as conquering as their swords;
Strains, steeped in many a strange belief,
Now stern as steel, now soft as grief--
Wild, witching, warlike, brief, sublime,
Stamped with the image of their time;
When chafed--the call is sharp and high
For carnage, as the eagles cry;
When pleased--the mood is meek, and mild,
And gentle, as an unweaned child.
Sing, sing of haunted shores and shelves,
St. Oluf and his spiteful elves,
Of that wise dame, in true love need,
Who of the clear stream formed the steed--
How youthful Svend, in sorrow sharp,
The inspired strings rent from his harp;
And Sivard, in his cloak of felt,
Danced with the green oak at his belt--
Or sing the Sorceress of the wood,
The amorous Merman of the flood--
Or elves that, o'er the unfathomed stream,
Sport thick as motes in morning beam--
Or bid me sail from Iceland Isle,
With Rosmer and fair Ellenlyle,
What time the blood-crow's flight was south,
Bearing a man's leg in its mouth.
Though rough and rude, those strains are rife
Of things kin to immortal life,
Which touch the heart and tinge the cheek,
As deeply as divinest Greek.
In simple words and unsought rhyme,
Give me the songs of olden time.
THE DEATH-RAVEN.
FROM THE DANISH OF OEHLENSLAEGER.
The silken sail, which caught the summer breeze,
Drove the light vessel through the azure seas;
Upon the lofty deck, Dame Sigrid lay,
And watch'd the setting of the orb of day:
Then, all at once, the smiling sky grew dark,
The breakers rav'd, and sinking seem'd the bark;
The wild Death-raven, perch'd upon the mast,
Scream'd'mid the tumult, and awoke the blast.
Dame Sigrid saw the demon bird on high,
And tear-drops started in her beauteous eye;
Her cheeks, which late like blushing roses bloom'd,
Had now the pallid hue of fear assum'd:
"O wild death-raven, calm thy frightful rage,
Nor war with one who warfare cannot wage.
Tame yonder billows, make them cease to roar,
And I will give thee pounds of golden ore."
"With gold thou must not hope to pay the brave,
For gold I will not calm a single wave,
For gold I will not hush the stormy air,
And yet my heart is mov'd by thy despair;
Give me the treasure hid beneath thy belt,
And straight yon clouds in harmless rain shall melt,
And down I'll thunder, with my claws of steel.
Upon the merman clinging to your keel."
"What I conceal'd beneath my girdle bear,
Is thine--irrevocably thine--I swear.
Thou hast refus'd a great and noble prey,
To get possession of my closet key.
Lo! here it is, and, when within thy maw,
May'st thou much comfort from the morsel draw!"
The polish'd steel upon the deck she cast,
And off the raven flutter'd from the mast.
Then down at once he plung'd amid the main,
And clove the merman's frightful head in twain;
The foam-clad billows to repose he brought,
And tam'd the tempest with the speed of thought;
Then, with a thrice-repeated demon cry,
He soar'd aloft and vanish'd in the sky:
A soft wind blew the ship towards the land,
And soon Dame Sigrid reach'd the wish'd-for strand.
Once, late at eve, she play'd upon her harp,
Close by the lake where slowly swam the carp;
And, as the moon-beam down upon her shone,
She thought of Norway, and its pine-woods lone.
"Yet love I Denmark," said she | 219.806847 |
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Produced by Al Haines, prepared from scans obtained from
The Internet Archive.
STAND UP, YE DEAD
BY
NORMAN MACLEAN
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
MCMXVI
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DWELLERS IN THE MIST
HILLS OF HOME
CAN THE WORLD BE WON FOR CHRIST?
THE BURNT-OFFERING
AFRICA IN TRANSFORMATION
THE GREAT DISCOVERY
{v}
PREFACE
Two years ago the writer published a book called _The Great Discovery_.
It seemed to him in those days, when the nation chose the ordeal of
battle rather than dishonour, that the people, as if waking from sleep,
discovered God once more. But, now, after an agony unparalleled in the
history of the world, the vision of God has faded, and men are left
groping in the darkness of a great bewilderment. The cause may not be
far to seek. For every vision of God summons men to the girding of
themselves that they may bring their lives more into conformity with
His holy will. And when men decline the venture to which the vision
beckons, then the vision fades.
It is there that we have failed. We were called to put an end to
social evils {vi} which are sapping our strength and enfeebling our arm
in battle, but we refused. We wanted victory over the enemy, but we
deemed the price of moral surgery too great even for victory. In the
rush and crowding of world-shaking cataclysms, memory is short. We
have already almost forgotten the moral tragedy of April 1915. It was
then that the White Paper was issued by the Government, and the nation
was informed of startling facts which our statesmen knew all the time.
At last the nation was told that our armies were wellnigh paralysed for
lack of munitions, while thousands of men were daily away from their
work because of drunkenness; that the repairing of ships was delayed
and transports unable to put to sea because of drunkenness; that goods,
vital to the State, could not be delivered because of drunkenness; that
Admiral Jellicoe had warned the Government that the efficiency of the
Fleet was threatened because of drunkenness; and that shipbuilders and
munition manufacturers had made a strong {vii} appeal to our rulers to
put an end to drunkenness. It was then that the King, by his example,
called upon the people to renounce alcohol, and the nation waited for
its deliverance. But the Government refused to follow the King. There
is but one law for nations, as for individuals, if they would save
their souls: 'If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.' But our
statesmen could not brace themselves to an act of surgery; they devised
a scheme for putting the offending member into splints. And, since
then, it looks as if the wheels of the chariot of victory were stuck in
the bog of the national drunkenness. The vision of God has faded
before the eyes of a nation that refused its beckoning.
This book deals, therefore, with those evils which now hide the face of
God from us. If drunkenness be the greatest of these evils, there are
others closely allied to it. Two Commissions have recently issued
Reports, the one on 'The Declining Birthrate,' and the other on 'The
Social Evil,' {viii} which reveal the perilous condition of
degeneration into which the nation is falling. It is difficult for
people, engrossed in the labours and anxieties of these days, to grasp
the meaning of the facts as presented in these Reports. In these pages
an effort is made to look the facts in the face and to make the danger
clear, so that he who runs may read. And the writer has had but one
purpose: to show that there is but | 219.838077 |
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Produced by David Widger
SKETCHES NEW AND OLD
by Mark Twain
Part 2.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS--[Written about 1865.]
"MORAL STATISTICIAN."--I don't want any of your statistics; I took your
whole batch and lit my pipe with it. I hate your kind of people. You
are always ciphering out how much a man's health is injured, and how much
his intellect is impaired, and how many pitiful dollars and cents he
wastes in the course of ninety-two years' indulgence in the fatal
practice of smoking; and in the equally fatal practice of drinking
coffee; and in playing billiards occasionally; and in taking a glass of
wine at dinner, etc., etc., etc. And you are always figuring out how
many women have been burned to death because of the dangerous fashion of
wearing expansive hoops, etc., etc., etc. You never see more than one
side of the question. You are blind to the fact that most old men in
America smoke and drink coffee, although, according to your theory, they
ought to have died young; and that hearty old Englishmen drink wine and
survive it, and portly old Dutchmen both drink and smoke freely, and yet
grow older and fatter all the time. And you never by to find out how
much solid comfort, relaxation, and enjoyment a man derives from smoking
in the course of a lifetime (which is worth ten times the money he would
save by letting it alone), nor the appalling aggregate of happiness lost
in a lifetime your kind of people from not smoking. Of course you can
save money by denying yourself all the little vicious enjoyments for
fifty years; but then what can you do with it? What use can you put it
to? Money can't save your infinitesimal soul. All the use that money
can be put to is to purchase comfort and enjoyment in this life;
therefore, as you are an enemy to comfort and enjoyment, where is the use
of accumulating cash? It won't do for you say that you can use it to
better purpose in furnishing a good table, and in charities, and in
supporting tract societies, because you know yourself that you people who
have no petty vices are never known to give away a cent, and that you
stint yourselves so in the matter of food that you are always feeble and
hungry. And you never dare to laugh in the daytime for fear some poor
wretch, seeing you in a good humor, will try to borrow a dollar of you;
and in church you are always down on your knees, with your eyes buried in
the cushion, when the contribution-box comes around; and you never give
the revenue officer: full statement of your income. Now you know these
things yourself, don't you? Very well, then what is the use of your
stringing out your miserable lives to a lean and withered old age? What
is the use of your saving money that is so utterly worthless to you? In
a word, why don't you go off somewhere and die, and not be always trying
to seduce people into becoming as "ornery" and unlovable as you are
yourselves, by your villainous "moral statistics"? Now I don't approve
of dissipation, and I don't indulge in it, either; but I haven't a
particle of confidence in a man who has no redeeming petty vices, and so
I don't want to hear from you any more. I think you are the very same
man who read me a long lecture last week about the degrading vice of
smoking cigars, and then came back, in my absence, with your
reprehensible fireproof gloves on, and carried off my beautiful parlor
stove.
"YOUNG AUTHOR."--Yes, Agassiz does recommend authors to eat fish, because
the phosphorus in it makes brain. So far you are correct. But I cannot
help you to | 219.841229 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
DONA PERFECTA
by B. PEREZ GALDOS
Translated from the Spanish by Mary J. Serrano
INTRODUCTION
The very acute and lively Spanish critic who signs himself Clarin, and
is known personally as Don Leopoldo Alas, says the present Spanish novel
has no yesterday, but only a day-before-yesterday. It does not derive
from the romantic novel which immediately preceded that: the novel,
large or little, as it was with Cervantes, Hurtado de Mendoza, Quevedo,
and the masters of picaresque fiction.
Clarin dates its renascence from the political revolution of 1868,
which gave Spanish literature the freedom necessary to the fiction that
studies to reflect modern life, actual ideas, and current aspirations;
and though its authors were few at first, "they have never been
adventurous spirits, friends of Utopia, revolutionists, or impatient
progressists and reformers." He thinks that the most daring, the most
advanced, of the new Spanish novelists, and the best by far, is Don
Benito Perez Galdos.
I should myself have made my little exception in favor of Don Armando
Palacio Valdes, but Clarin speaks with infinitely more authority, and I
am certainly ready to submit when he goes on to say that Galdos is not
a social or literary insurgent; that he has no political or religious
prejudices; that he shuns extremes, and is charmed with prudence;
that his novels do not attack the Catholic dogmas--though they deal so
severely with Catholic bigotry--but the customs and ideas cherished
by secular fanaticism to the injury of the Church. Because this is
so evident, our critic holds, his novels are "found in the bosom of
families in every corner of Spain." Their popularity among all classes
in Catholic and prejudiced Spain, and not among free-thinking students
merely, bears testimony to the fact that his aim and motive are
understood and appreciated, although his stories are apparently so often
anti-Catholic.
I
Dona Perfecta is, first of all, a story, and a great story, but it is
certainly also a story that must appear at times potently, and even
bitterly, anti-Catholic. Yet it would be a pity and an error to read it
with the preoccupation that it was an anti-Catholic tract, for really it
is not that. If the persons were changed in name and place, and
modified in passion to fit a cooler air, it might equally seem an
anti-Presbyterian or anti-Baptist tract; for what it shows in the light
of their own hatefulness and cruelty are perversions of any religion,
any creed. It is not, however, a tract at all; it deals in artistic
largeness with the passion of bigotry, as it deals with the passion of
love, the passion of ambition, the passion of revenge. But Galdos
is Spanish and Catholic, and for him the bigotry wears a Spanish and
Catholic face. That is all.
Up to a certain time, I believe, Galdos wrote romantic or idealistic
novels, and one of these I have read, and it tired me very much. It was
called "Marianela," and it surprised me the more because I was already
acquainted with his later work, which is all realistic. But one does not
turn realist in a single night, and although the change in Galdos was
rapid it was not quite a lightning change; perhaps because it was
not merely an outward change, but artistically a change of heart. His
acceptance in his quality of realist was much more instant than his
conversion, and vastly wider; for we are told by the critic whom I have
been quoting that Galdos's earlier efforts, which he called _Episodios
Nacionales_, never had the vogue which his realistic novels have
enjoyed.
These were, indeed, tendencious, if I may Anglicize a very necessary
word from the Spanish _tendencioso_. That is, they dealt with very
obvious problems, and had very distinct and poignant significations,
at least in the case of "Dona Perfecta," "Leon Roch," and "Gloria." In
still later novels, Emilia Pardo-Bazan thinks, he has comprehended that
"the novel of to-day must take note of the ambient truth, and realize
the beautiful with freedom and independence." This valiant lady, in
the campaign for realism which she made under the title of "La Cuestion
Palpitante"--one of the best and strongest books on the subject--counts
him first among Spanish realists, as Clarin counts him first among
Spanish novelists. "With a certain fundamental humanity," she says,
"a certain magisterial simplicity in his creations, with the natural
tendency of his clear intelligence toward the truth, and with the
frankness of his observation, the great novelist was always disposed
to pass over to realism with arms and munitions; but his aesthetic
inclinations were idealistic, and only in his latest works has he
adopted the method of the modern novel, fathomed more and more the human
heart, and broken once for all with the picturesque and with the typical
personages, to embrace the earth we tread."
For her, as I confess for me, "Dona Perfecta" is not realistic
enough--realistic as it is; for realism at its best is not tendencious.
It does not seek to grapple with human problems, but is richly content
with portraying human experiences; and I think Senora Pardo-Bazan is
right in regarding "Dona Perfecta" as transitional, and of a period when
the author had not yet assimilated in its fullest meaning the faith he
had imbibed.
II
Yet it is a great novel, as I said; | 219.841339 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
THE DIARY
_of a_ FRESHMAN
_By_
CHARLES MACOMB FLANDRAU
Author of "Harvard Episodes"
_NEW YORK_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE AND COMPANY
_MDCCCCI_
_Copyright, 1900, by_
The Curtis Publishing Co.
_Copyright, 1901, by_
Doubleday, Page & Company
University Press
John Wilson and Son
Cambridge, U.S.A.
_TO THE_
"_For Ever Panting and For Ever Young._"
_Courteous acknowledgment is here
made to the Saturday Evening
Post, Philadelphia, in which these
papers first saw the light._
_*THE*_*
DIARY *_*of a*_* FRESHMAN*
*I*
Mamma left for home this afternoon. As I want to be perfectly truthful
in my diary, I suppose I must confess that before she actually went away
I sometimes thought I should be rather relieved when she was no longer
here. Mamma has a fixed idea that I came to college for the express
purpose of getting my feet wet by day, and sleeping in a draught by
night. She began the furnishing of my rooms by investing in a pair of
rubber boots,--the kind you tie around your waist with a string. The
clerk in the shop asked her if I was fond of trout-fishing, and she
explained to him that I had always lived in the West where the climate
was dry, and that she didn't know how I would stand the dampness of the
seacoast. Mamma thought the clerk was so interested in my last attack
of tonsill | 219.901008 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel 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:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and un-italicized text by
=equal signs=.
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
TEN STORIES BY
JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
MCM
_Copyright, 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
_D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston_
_To my Mother, who sent me to college,
I offer these impressions of it._
_J. D. D._
PREFACE
If these simple tales serve to deepen in the slightest degree the
rapidly growing conviction that the college girl is very much like any
other girl--that this likeness is, indeed, one of her most striking
characteristics--the author will consider their existence abundantly
justified.
J. D. D.
CONTENTS
I
_The Emotions of a Sub-guard_ 1
II
_A Case of Interference_ 37
III
_Miss Biddle of Bryn Mawr_ 67
IV
_Biscuits ex Machina_ 85
V
_The Education of Elizabeth_ 123
VI
_A Family Affair_ 151
VII
_A Few Diversions_ 205
VIII
_The Evolution of Evangeline_ 247
IX
_At Commencement_ 279
X
_The End of It_ 321
THE FIRST STORY
_THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD_
I
THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD
Theodora pushed through the yellow and purple crowd, a sea of flags
and ribbons and great paper flowers, caught a glimpse of the red and
green river that flowed steadily in at the other door, and felt her
heart contract. What a lot of girls! And the freshmen were always
beaten--
"Excuse me, but I _can't_ move! You'll have to wait," said some one.
Theodora realized that she was crowding, and apologized. A tall girl
with a purple stick moved by the great line that stretched from the
gymnasium to the middle of the campus, and looked keenly at Theodora.
"How did you get here?" she asked. "You must go to the end--we're not
letting any one slip in at the front. The jam is bad enough as it is."
Theodora blushed. "I'm--I'm on the Sub-team," she murmured, "and I'm
late. I--"
"Oh!" said the junior. "Why did you come in here? You go in the other
door. Just pass right in here, though," and Theodora, quite crimson
with the consciousness of a hundred eyes, pulled her mackintosh about
her and slipped in ahead of them all.
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_yellow_,
And her _praise_ we'll ever _tell_--_oh_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
the line called after her, and her mouth trembled with excitement. She
could just hear the other line:
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_green_,
She's the _finest_ ever _seen_!
and then the door slammed and she was upstairs on the big empty floor.
A member of the decorating committee nodded at her from the gallery.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she called down.
"Beautiful!" said Theodora, earnestly. One half of the gallery--her
half--was all trimmed with yellow and purple. Great yellow
chrysanthemums flowered on every pillar, and enormous purple shields
with yellow numerals lined the wall. Crossed banners and flags filled
in the intervals, and from the middle beam depended a great purple
butterfly with yellow wings, flapping defiance at a red and green
insect of indistinguishable species that decorated the other side. A
bevy of ushers in white duck, with _boutonnieres_ of English violets
or single American beauties, took their places and began to pin on
crepe paper sunbonnets of yellow or green, chattering and watching
the clock. A tall senior, with a red silk waist and a green scarf
across her breast, was arranging a box near the centre of the
sophomore side and practising maintaining her balance on it while she
waved a red baton. She was the leader of the Glee Club, and she would
lead the sophomore songs. Theodora heard a confused scuffle on the
stairs, and in a few seconds the galleries were crowded with the
rivers of color that poured from the entrance doors. It seemed that
they were full now, but she knew that twice as many more would crowd
in. She walked quickly to the room at the end of the hall and opened
the door. Beneath and all around her was the hum and rumble of
countless feet and voices, but in the room all was still. The Subs
lounged in the window-seats and tried to act as if it wasn't likely to
be any affair of theirs: one little yellow-haired girl confided
flippantly to her neighbor that she'd "only accepted the position so
as to be able to sit on the platform and be sure of a good place." The
Team were sitting on the floor staring at their captain, who was
talking earnestly in a low voice--giving directions apparently. The
juniors who coached them opened the door and grinned cheerfully. They
attached great purple streamers to their shirt-waists, and addressed
themselves to the freshmen generally.
"Your songs are great! That 'Alabama <DW53>' one was awfully good! You
make twice the noise that they do!"
The Team brightened up. "I think they're pretty good," the captain
said, with an attempt at a conversational tone. "Er--when do we
begin?"
"The Subs can go out now," said one of the coaches, opening the door
importantly. "Now, girls, remember not to wear yourselves out with
kicking and screaming. You're right under the President, and he'll
have a fit if you kick against the platform. Miss Kassan says that
this _must_ be a quiet game! She _will not_ have that howling! It's
her particular request, she says. Now, go on. And if anything happens
to Grace, Julia Wilson takes her place, _and look out for Alison
Greer_--she pounds awfully. Keep as still as you can!"
They trotted out and ranged themselves on the platform, and when
Theodora got to the point of lifting her eyes from the floor to gaze
down at the sophomore Subs across the hall in front of another
audience, the freshmen were off in another song. To her excited eyes
there were thousands of them, brilliant in purple and yellow, and
shouting to be heard of her parents in Pennsylvania. A junior in
yellow led them with a great purple stick, and they chanted, to a
splendid march tune that made even the members of the Faculty keep
time on the platform, their hymn to victory.
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _yellow_ is on _top_!
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _purple_ cannot _drop_!
_We_ are Ninety-_yellow_ and our _fame_ shall never _stop_,
_'Rah_, _'rah_, _'rah_, for the _freshmen_!
They sang so well and so loud and strong, shouting out the words so
plainly and keeping such splendid time, that as the verse and chorus
died away audience and sophomores alike clapped them vigorously, much
to their delight and pride. Theodora looked up for the first time and
saw as in a dream individual faces and clothes. They were packed in
the running-gallery till the smallest of babies would have been sorely
tried to find a crevice to rest in. A fringe of skirts and boots hung
from the edge, where the wearers sat pressed against the bars with
their feet hanging over. They blotted out the windows and sat out on
the great beams, dangling their banners into space. She could not see
the Faculty behind her, but she knew they were adorned with rosettes,
and that the favored ones carried flowers--the air where she sat was
sweet with violets. A group of ushers escorted a small and nervous
lady to the platform: on the way she threw back her cape and the
sophomores caught sight of the green bow at her throat.
Oh, _here's_ to Susan _Beane_,
She is _wearing_ of the _green_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
they sang cheerfully.
Just behind her a tall, commanding woman stalked somewhat consciously,
decked with yellow streamers and daffodils. The junior leader
consulted a list in her hand, frantically whispered some words to the
allies around her box, and the freshmen started up their tribute.
Oh, _here's_ to Kath'rine _Storrs_,
Aught but _yellow_ she _abhors_,
Drink her _down_, drink her | 220.004426 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND
By Agnes Herbert
The Record of a Shooting Trip
With Twenty-Five Illustrations Reproduced from Photographs
London: John Lane
MCMVIII
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0010]
[Illustration: 0011]
TO
THE LEADER OF
THE OPPOSITION SHOOT
SOLDIER, SHIKARI, AND SOMETIME
MISOGYNIST
TWO DIANAS IN SOMALILAND
CHAPTER I--WE SET OUT FOR SOMALILAND
```_This weaves itself perforce into my business_
`````King Lear=
|It is not that I imagine the world is panting for another tale about a
shoot. I am aware that of the making of sporting books there is no end.
Simply--I want to write. And in this unassuming record of a big shoot,
engineered and successfully carried through by two women, there may be
something of interest; it is surely worth more than a slight
endeavour to engage the even passing interest of one person of average
intelligence in these days of universal boredom.
I don’t know whether the idea of our big shoot first emanated from my
cousin or myself. I was not exactly a tenderfoot, neither was she. We
had both been an expedition to the Rockies at a time when big game there
was not so hard to find, but yet less easy to get at. We did not go to
the Rockies with the idea of shooting, our sole _raison d’être_ being to
show the heathen Chinee how not to cook; but incidentally the charm of
the chase captured us, and we exchanged the gridiron for the gun. So
at the end of March 190-we planned a sporting trip to Somaliland--very
secretly and to ourselves, for women hate being laughed at quite as much
as men do, and that is very much indeed.
My cousin is a wonderful shot, and I am by no means a duffer with a
rifle. As to our courage--well, we could only trust we had sufficient
to carry us through. We felt we had, and with a woman intuition is
everything. If she feels she is not going to fail, you may take it from
me she won’t. Certainly it is one thing to look a lion in the face
from England to gazing at him in Somaliland. But we meant to meet him
somehow.
Gradually and very carefully we amassed our stores, and arranged for
their meeting us in due course. We collected our kit, medicines, and
a thousand and one needful things, and at last felt we had almost
everything, and yet as little as possible. Even the little seemed too
much as we reflected on the transport difficulty. We sorted our things
most carefully--I longed for the floor-space of a cathedral to use as
a spreading-out ground--and glued a list of the contents of each
packing-case into each lid.
To real sportsmen I shall seem to be leaving the most important point
to the last--the rifles, guns, and ammunition. But, you see, I am only a
sportswoman by chance, not habit. I know it is the custom with your born
sportsman to place his weapons first, minor details last. “Nice customs
curtsey to great kings,” they say, and so it must be here. For King
Circumstance has made us the possessors of such wondrous modern rifles,
&c., as to leave us no reason to think of endeavouring to supply
ourselves with better. We, fortunately, have an uncle who is one of the
greatest shikaris of his day, and his day has only just passed, his sun
but newly set. A terribly bad mauling from a lion set up troubles in
his thigh, and blood poisoning finally ended his active career. He will
never hunt again, but he placed at our disposal every beautiful and
costly weapon he owned, together with his boundless knowledge. He
insisted on our taking many things that would otherwise have been left
behind, and his great trust in our powers inspired us with confidence.
It is to his help we owe the entire success of our expedition.
It would be an impertinence for a tyro like myself to offer any remarks
on the merits or demerits of any rifle. Not only do the fashions change
almost as quickly as in millinery, not only do great shikaris advise,
advertise, and adventure with any weapon that could possibly be of
service to anyone, but my knowledge, even after the experience gained
in our long shoot, is confined to the very few firearms we had with us.
They might not have met with unqualified approval from all men; they
certainly served us well. After all, that is the main point.
Our battery consisted of:
Three 12-bore rifles.
Two double-barrelled hammerless ejecting.500 Expresses.
One.35 Winchester.
Two small.22 Winchesters.
One single-barrel.350.
One 410 bore collector’s gun.
A regular _olla podrida_ in rifles.
My uncle selected these from his armoury as being the ones of all others
he would feel safest in sending us out with. There may, in the opinion
of many, be much more suitable ones for women to use, but, speaking as
one who had the using of them, I must say I think the old shikari did
the right thing, and if I went again the same rifles would accompany me.
My uncle is a small man, with a shortish arm, and therefore his reach
about equalled ours, and his rifles might have been made for us.
We also towed about with us two immensely heavy shot guns. They were a
great nuisance, merely adding to the baggage, and we never used them as
far as I remember.
As we meant frequently to go about unescorted, a revolver or pistol
seemed indispensable in the belt, and under any conditions such a
weapon would be handy and give one a sense of security. On the advice of
another great sportsman we equipped ourselves with a good shikar pistol
apiece, 12-bore; and I used mine on one occasion very effectively at
close quarters with an ard-wolf, so can speak to the usefulness and
efficiency of the weapon.
It was the “cutting the ivy” season in Suburbia when we drove through it
early one afternoon, and in front of every pill-box villa the suburban
husband stood on a swaying ladder as he snipped away, all ora ora
unmindful of the rampant domesticity of the sparrows. The fourteenth of
February had long passed, and the fourteenth is to the birds what Easter
Monday is to the lower orders, a general day for getting married.
A few days in town amid the guilty splendour of one of the caravan-serais
in Northumberland Avenue were mostly spent in imbibing knowledge. My
uncle never wearied of his subject, and it was to our interest to listen
carefully. Occasionally he would wax pessimist, and express his doubts
of our ability to see the trip through; but he was kind enough to say
he knows no safer shot than myself. “Praise from Cæsar.” Though I draw
attention to it that shouldn’t! The fragility of my physique bothered
him no end. I assured him over and over that my appearance is nothing to
go by, and that I am, as a matter of fact, a most wiry person.
This shoot of ours was no hurried affair. We had been meditating it for
months, and had, to some extent, arranged all the difficult parts a long
time before we got to the actual purchases of stores, and simple things
of the kind. We had to obtain special permits to penetrate the Ogaden
country and beyond to the Marehan and the Haweea, if we desired to go so
far. Since the Treaty with King Menelik in 1897 the Ogaden and onwards
is out of the British sphere of influence.
How our permits were obtained I am not at liberty to say; but without
them we should have been forced to prance about on the outskirts of
every part where game is abundant. By the fairy aid of these open
sesames we were enabled to traverse the country in almost any part, and
would have been passed from Mullah to Sheik, from Sheik to Mullah, had
we not taken excellent care to avoid, as far as we could, the settled
districts where these gentry reside. At one time all the parts we shot
over were free areas, and open to any sportsman who cared to take on the
possible dangers of penetrating the far interior of Somaliland, but
now the hunting is very limited and prescribed. We were singularly
fortunate, and owe our surprising good luck to that much maligned,
useful, impossible to do without passport to everything worth having
known as “influence.”
The tents we meant to use on the shoot were made for us to a pattern
supplied. They were fitted with poles of bamboo, of which we had one to
spare in case of emergencies. The ropes | 220.008362 |
2023-11-16 18:20:44.0821870 | 387 | 9 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
By Thomas Dixon
TO GERTRUDE ATHERTON WITH GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
II. TEMPTATION
III. FATE
IV. DOUBTS AND FEARS
V. WINGS OF STEEL
VI. BESIDE THE SEA
VII. A VAIN APPEAL
VIII. JIM'S TRIAL
IX. ELLA'S SECRET
X. THE WEDDING
XI. "UNTIL DEATH"
XII. THE LOTOS-EATERS
XIII. THE REAL MAN
XIV. UNWELCOME GUESTS
XV. A LITTLE BLACK BAG
XVI. THE AWAKENING
XVII. THE SURRENDER
XVIII. TO THE NEW GOD
XIX. NANCE'S STOREHOUSE
XX. TRAPPED
XXI. THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE
XXII. DELIVERANCE
XXIII. THE DOCTOR
XXIV. THE CALL DIVINE
XXV. THE MOTHER
XXVI. A SOUL IS BORN
XXVII. THE BABY
XXVIII. WHAT IS LOVE?
XXIX. THE NEW MAN
LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY
MARY ADAMS, An Old-Fashioned Girl.
JIM ANTHONY, A Modern Youth.
JANE ANDERSON, An Artist.
ELLA, A Scrubwoman.
NANCE OWENS, Jim Anthony | 220.102227 |
2023-11-16 18:20:44.0833050 | 5,423 | 9 | CROMER***
credit
Transcribed from the 1800 John Parslee edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: The sea shore at Cromer]
_OBSERVATIONS_
UPON THE TOWN OF
CROMER,
CONSIDERED AS
A WATERING PLACE,
AND THE
Picturesque Scenery
IN ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD.
* * * * *
BY EDMUND BARTELL, JUN.
* * * * *
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
PRINTED BY AND FOR JOHN PARSLEE,
_And Sold by T. Hurst_, _No._ 32, _Pater-noster Row_, _London_;
_J. Freeman_, _London-Lane_, _Norwich_. _and B. Rust_, _Cromer_.
1800.
Preface.
BATHING places being generally resorted to during the summer season, for
the different pursuits either of health or pleasure, I have often
wondered that some little account of such as are not so much esteemed as
Weymouth, Brighthelmstone and Ramsgate, should not be published; and more
particularly where the situation of the place itself, and the scenery of
the country around, are not entirely destitute of beauty.
These considerations, added to a residence on the spot, first induced me,
for my private amusement, to consider Cromer and the scenery in its
neighbourhood in a picturesque point of view. My profession, that of a
Surgeon, leading me daily to one or other of the scenes here described,
is certainly an advantage, as the features of landscape appear extremely
different accordingly as they are affected by difference of weather, of
lights and shadows, and of morning and evening suns.
In watering places where there are neither public rooms nor assemblies,
walking and riding become the chief sources of amusement; and for
invalids it is more particularly necessary to divert the attention, by
pointing put those things which are esteemed most worthy of observation.
Few people are altogether insensible to the beauties of a fine
country,--few things to a contemplative mind are capable of giving that
satisfaction which the beauties of nature will afford.
By the same rule, also, gentlemen's seats, which are often the
repositories of the works of art, produce ample speculation for the
artist and virtuoso.
In visiting small, and I may be allowed to say, obscure watering-places,
retirement seems to be the principal object. Where bathing only is the
inducement, the place and its neighbourhood is of very little
consequence, provided it is convenient and near the sea; but where the
mind and body are capable of being sufficiently active to be amused
abroad, or to those whose aim is pleasure, a country affording that
amusement by its variety, is certainly to be preferred; and to such as
are fond of the study of landscape, variety and some degree of beauty are
absolutely necessary.
As every little excursion will begin and end at Cromer, each will be
formed into a separate section. I have before said that this undertaking
was at first intended solely for my own amusement, and with that idea I
had sketched several views, but after I had come to a determination to
hazard its entrance into the world, I found it necessary to confine
myself to one only, on account of the additional price they would have
put upon the publication.
After the excellent things which have been produced in this way, by the
Rev. Mr. Gilpin, there is certainly great temerity in attempting, even
for private amusement, any thing which bears the most distant resemblance
to such elegant productions. From which consideration, I cannot here
omit to solicit the indulgence of the public for the ensuing pages, which
are intended only as humble imitators, not as daring rivals of that
excellent master.
CONTENTS.
_Section the First_.
THE situation of the town of Cromer. The parish church a beautiful
specimen of architecture, in the time of Henry the fourth. The beauty of
its proportions injured by the necessary manner in which it has been
repaired. Accident of a bay falling from the steeple. Anecdote of
Robert Bacon. Free School. Inns. The Fishery the chief support of the
lower class of inhabitants,--also, a great source of picturesque
amusement. Boat upset. Mercantile trade. Dearness of Coals,--the
reason of it. Cromer an eligible situation for retirement. A
description of the bathing machines, cliffs, and beach. Sea-shore a
constant amusement to the artist. Picturesque effects of the storm and
the calm compared. Sea-fowls. Light-house. Overstrand. Cromer Hall.
_Section the Second_.
WALK to Runton. Cromer seen to advantage in the return from Runton. The
battery.
_Section the Third_.
EXCURSION to Holt--upper road to be preferred. Description of the
country between Cromer and Holt. Churches or villages, seen through a
valley, a very common species of landscape. Fine distance a circumstance
of great beauty. Heath ground terminated by distance. Particular effect
given to a distance. The influence which a distant prospect, under
particular circumstances, has upon the mind. Holt. Return from Holt by
the lower road. Beeston Priory. Remark of Shenstone's upon ruinated
structures. Felbrigg beacon.
_Section the Fourth_.
FELBRIGG. Grounds described. Oak,--its uses in the
picturesque,--improved by age and decay. Shenstone's ideas of trees in
general, particularly the oak. Felbrigg house, pictures and library.
Beckham old church,--the loneliness of its situation greatly to be
admired. Such scenes calculated to excite reflection.
_Section the Fifth_.
CHURCH at Thorp-Market described. Stained or painted glass in
windows,--its effect. Gunton Hall, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord
Suffield. Offices very fine. Parish Church in the park. North-Walsham.
Hanworth, the seat of Robert Lee Doughty, Esq.
_Section the Sixth_.
RIDE from Cromer to Mundesley. Trimmingham beacon. Mundesley. The
beach at Mundesley. View from it particularly affected by the state of
the weather. Effects of partial lights, called by Mons. du
Piles--"accidents in painting."
_Section the Seventh_.
THE Cottage at Northrepps,--its romantic situation. Casual observations
on planting. Echo at Toll's hill.
_Section the Eighth_.
BLICKLING, the seat of the Honourable Asheton Harbord. Description of
the house, pictures, etc. The park. Mausoleum. Parish church.
Aylsham. Road from Aylsham to Cromer. Woody lanes frequently very
picturesque.
_Section the Ninth_.
WOOLTERTON, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Walpole. Its
situation. Ruin in the park.
_Section the Tenth_.
SHERRINGHAM, Upper. Description of the grounds belonging to Cooke
Flower, Esq. Shepherd's cottage, rural situation of. Thatch considered
as the most picturesque covering to a cottage. Connection of objects
necessary to produce a pleasing effect. Weybourn. Sherringham, Lower.
Good situation of the inn. The beach. Thompson's description of a
sun-set at sea.
CROMER.
_Section the First_.
THE town of CROMER is situated on the north-east part of the county of
Norfolk, upon the edge of the british ocean, from which it is defended by
cliffs of considerable height.
It must formerly have been a place of much more consequence than it is at
present, as that which is now called Cromer, was in the survey made by
the Conqueror, accounted for under the town and lordship of Shipdon,
which has long given way to the encroachments of the sea, together with
the parish church dedicated to Saint Peter.
At low water there are many large masses of old wall to be seen, which
appear evidently to have belonged to some of the buildings of the old
town; and at very low tides a piece of building is discoverable, which
the fishermen call the Church Rock, it being generally supposed to have
been a part of the old church of Shipdon, and I think with some
probability of truth; though others have doubted it, supposing it
impossible but that the constant action of the sea for so many ages, must
long ere this have dissolved all traces of it.
The present church, dedicated to Saint Peter and Saint Paul, was probably
erected in the time of Henry the fourth. It is a very handsome pile,
built with flint and freestone, consisting of a body and two aisles,
covered with slate; the tower, which is square, with an embattled top, is
an hundred and fifty-nine feet in height.
The entrance at the west end, is a beautiful specimen of gothic
architecture, now in ruins; as is the porch on the north side and the
chancel. The flinting in many parts of the building, for the beauty of
its execution, is, perhaps, scarcely any where to be excelled.
The inside of the church, which is kept in good repair, is capable of
containing a very great number of persons; it is also tolerably well
pewed; but except the double row of arches which support the roof and
divide the aisles, very little of what it has been remains; these,
however, are of beautiful proportions, and the windows which were
formerly of noble dimensions, and probably ornamented with that most
elegant of church-decorations, painted glass, are now in a great measure
closed up by the hands of the bricklayer.
Amongst the repairs done to the church is one, which though it may be,
and certainly is, in some measure beneficial, yet, as it affects the
beautiful proportions of the middle aisle, the eye of taste must
regret--I mean the flat ceiling, which diminishes the height of the
building by cutting off the roof. Height when duly proportioned
proportioned certainly adds much to grandeur. In churches and in most
gothic buildings the roof terminates in a point corresponding with the
other parts, and by the exclusion of which the proportion and beauty of
the building is in a great measure destroyed.
There is something too in the dark and sombre hue of the roofs of
churches, when the timbers are left in their original state, that is very
pleasing.
Monuments there are none of any consequence,--one or two of the Windham
and Ditchell families are all the church contains; but a well-toned organ
has been placed in the gallery within these few years, for which the
church is peculiarly adapted.
At about a third part of the height of the staircase, which leads up the
steeple, is a door which opens upon the lead of a small turret,
communicating with the stairs, from which a few years since, a boy, by
the name of Yaxley, fell into the church yard, between some timbers which
were laid there for the repairs of the church, without receiving any
other hurt than a few slight bruises, and is now on board a ship in his
Majesty's service.
Robert Bacon, a mariner, of Cromer, (says the History of Norfolk) found
out Iceland, and is said to have taken the Prince of Scotland, James
Stewart, sailing to France for education, in the time of Henry the
fourth.
By the will of Sir Bartholomew Rede, citizen and goldsmith, also an
alderman of London, made in October, 1505, in the twenty-first of Henry
the seventh, the annual sum of ten pounds was bequeathed for the
foundation of a free grammar-school, which is paid to the master by the
goldsmith's company.
The houses in general are indifferent and the rents very high; yet
tolerable accommodation is to be found for strangers, from one to three
guineas per week, some of which command a fine view of the sea, and are
extremely desirable.
The want of a large and well-conducted Inn is amongst those few things
which are chiefly to be regretted by those who pay a visit to Cromer.
Parties are frequently formed for an excursion to a watering place by
those who have neither time, nor inclination, to stay sufficiently long
to make it worth their while to engage lodgings; of course they complain
of the want of accommodation. The consequence is, they become disgusted
with the place, and not unfrequently, I fear, leave it with a
determination of coming no more, but also by describing to others the
inconveniences they have experienced, deter them from making trial of a
place where their neighbours have fared so indifferently.
Unfortunately the trade to an Inn-keeper (in this and I suppose, indeed,
it is the same in most small bathing places) is almost entirely confined
to the summer season; therefore, unless the influx of company at that
time was sufficient to carry him through the expences of the winter also,
I very much fear such an Inn as is necessary for the situation could not
answer. However, I should think the trial of it, though hazardous, might
probably prove successful: with such an addition, Cromer would, perhaps,
in the course of a few years, stand a chance of rivalling some of the
more celebrated bathing places for the number, as well as consequence of
its visitors; without it, it must to a certainty remain contented with
its present acquisitions.
Lobsters, crabs, whitings, cod-fish and herrings, are all caught here in
the finest perfection; the former are always eagerly sought after by all
who arrive; indeed, coming to Cromer and eating lobsters are things
nearly synonymous.
The lower class of people are chiefly supported by fishing; the herrings
which are caught here are cured in the town, a house within three or four
years having been erected for that purpose, which, I believe, answers
well both to the proprietor and the fishermen, who now find an immediate
market for any quantity they may bring in.
The fishery, independent of the pleasure we receive from the
consideration of the support it brings to a numerous, hardy, and in many
instances, an industrious set of people, is not without its effect in a
picturesque point of view. The different preparations for a voyage; the
groupes of figures employed in different ways,--some carrying a boat down
to the water's edge,--some carrying nets, oars, masts and sails; while
others, in a greater state of forwardness are actually pulling through
the breakers, form a scene of the most busy, various and pleasing kind.
The return, also, of the fishermen from this little voyage, frequently
affords a scene truly interesting; particularly in the herring season,
which being in the autumnal equinox, is liable to wind, which sometimes
suddenly bringing a considerable swell upon the beach, renders the coming
in of the boats both difficult and dangerous; a circumstance which
although it cannot fail in a great measure to take from the pleasure we
should experience in being witness to such a scene unconnected with
danger, yet the different attitudes of the boat as it is impelled over
the billows, the exertions of the crew, the agitation of the water, and
the expression marked in the countenances of the surrounding spectators
awaiting their arrival--are all of them incidents so highly picturesque,
that we can but behold them with admiration.
At one moment the little bark followed by a mountain of a sea hanging
over its stern, every instant menacing destruction--the next thrown up
aloft, ready to be precipitated into the gaping gulph below; alternately
keeping the spectators and crew, trembling between fear and hope, till at
last some friendly wave with dreadful force hurls it upon the shore. {9}
Those faces (for upon such occasions the beach is always covered with
beholders) which were but the moment before the most strongly expressive
of the feelings of wife, mother, children or friend, under the most
torturing anxiety for the safety of those who are most nearly allied to
them, by the ties of affection or of interest, are in an instant changed
to smiles and tears of joy, to thanks for their safety, and almost in the
same breath to enquiries about the success of the voyage.
The mercantile trade here is small; the want of a convenient harbour
where ships might ride in safety, will ever be an obstacle; there are,
however, small exports of corn and imports of coal, tiles, oil cake,
London porter, &c.
Perhaps there are few places, even at the distance of twenty miles from
the sea, where coals are dearer than they are here; one principal reason
of which is, the expence and hazard attending the unloading; to effect
which the vessel is laid upon the beach at high water (which can only be
done in fine weather) and when the tide is sufficiently ebbed, the coals
are taken from the vessel by carts, each carrying half a chaldron, which
is as much as four horses can well get up the steep and sandy road cut
through the cliff.
Thus the business is carried on till the returning tide obliges them to
desist till the next ebb. About two tides generally serve to complete
the ship's unloading, which is seldom of greater burthen than from sixty
to seventy tons.
From the loading and unloading the vessels arises another source of
picturesque amusement from the combination of horses and carts, men and
boys--these employed in their different departments compose various
groupes, and give a new character to the scene, by connecting maritime
with rural occupations.
There are no places of public amusement, no rooms, balls, nor card
assemblies. A small circulating library, consisting chiefly of a few
novels, is all that can be obtained; but still for such as make
retirement their aim, it is certainly an eligible situation.
The bathing machines are very commodious, and the bather a careful,
attentive man. The shore, also, which is a fine firm sand, not only only
renders the bathing agreeable, but when the tide retires, presents such a
surface for many miles as cannot be exceeded. The sea too is one of
those objects that appears to have the constant power of pleasing. Other
scenes (though beautiful in themselves) by being seen constantly, either
lose much of their power or become tiresome by their sameness;--it is not
so with the sea--those who live constantly by the side of it, if their
occupation lies within doors, seldom fail at the leisure hour of noon or
eve, to pay their respects to it, even in the most stormy weather. This
fondness can arise from no other source than the constant variety it
produces. Its charms are various and incessant--whether its azure
surface is dressed in smiles or irritated into frowns by the surly
northern or eastern blast.
The cliffs in many parts are lofty and well broken, and their feet being
for the most part composed of strong blue clay, are capable of making
considerable resistance to the impetuous attacks of the sea; so that when
the upper parts which are of a looser texture are brought down by
springs, frosts or other accidental circumstances, and are carried away
by the action of the tide, the feet still remain, opposing their bold
projections to the fury of the storm.
It is very rare too, that there is a scarcity of shipping to adorn the
scene; the trade from Newcastle, Sunderland and the Baltic, keeping up a
constant succession. The different parties of pleasure, also, that
assemble upon the beach in an evening, for walking, riding or reading,
constitute variety and make it a very pleasant resort. But towards the
close of a fine summer's evening, when the sun declining in full
splendour, tinting the whole scene with a golding glow, the sea shore
becomes an object truly sublime. The noble expanse of blue waters on the
one hand, the distant sail catching the last rays of the setting sun,
controlled on the other by the rugged surfaces of the impending cliffs,
the stillness of the scene, interrupted only by the gentle murmurs of the
waves falling at your feet or perhaps by the solemn dashing of oars, or
at intervals, by the hoarse bawling of the seamen;--"music in such full
unison" with the surrounding objects and altogether calculated to inspire
so pleasing a train of thoughts to the contemplative, solitary stroller,
that he does not awake from his reverie till
"black and deep the night begins to fall.
A shade immense, sunk in the quenching gloom;
Magnificent and vast, are Heaven and earth.
Order confounded lies; all beauty void;
Distinction lost; and gay variety
One universal blot; such the fair power
Of Light, to kindle and create the whole."
What can give a more adequate idea of the power of the divine Creator
than such a scene? What can give a fuller comprehension of the compass
of human invention than the intercourse which is maintained between
nations through the medium of navigation? And to an Englishman can there
be a more pleasing or exulting theme, than the wide extent of the
commerce of Great Britain and the glory of the British Navy?--the bulwark
of this happy land.
"This royal throne of Kings, this scepter'd Isle,
This earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demy Paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself,
Against infection and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands."
To the artist, also, the sea furnishes an almost never-ending source of
amusement; it is a constant moving picture capable of a thousand
modifications, and of being treated on canvass in various ways; it admits
too of the grandest effects of light and shadow, and in the hands of such
a master as Vanderveldt of producing wonderful effect. But it is in the
storm alone that the grand effects I am speaking of are to be found.
"When huge uproar lords it wide"
It wants at such times no adventitious aids to set it off. The calm on
the contrary without some assistance, as rocks, fortifications or
figures, will hardly be able to support itself. It is true you may place
a vessel in the fore-ground, but a ship at anchor lying with her whole
broadside to the eye, however noble it may be to contemplate or pleasing
by the goodness of the painting, will always be a formal object. If you
wish to make it picturesque you must compose your fore-ground of some
projecting rock, or pier-head, a boat or two lying on the shore, and a
few appropriate figures; remove the ship in the fore-ground to the second
distance, with others in the last distance to mark the horizon, and with
these materials, if well managed, a very pleasing picture may be formed.
But a storm at sea has in itself sufficient grandeur to support it; the
vessel labouring with the sea, having all its formal lines broken by the
disposition of its sails, and which being, as is often the case, strongly
illuminated by the sun bursting through the gloom, with the whitening
surges breaking upon the shoals or dashing against the sides of the
vessel, doubly augmenting the blackness of the sea and sky, form a
contrast so noble as to render all other aids superfluous.
Sea fowls as having a peculiar character of their own, and also as
tending to mark that of a sea-coast view more strongly, have always been
considered, and with the greatest propriety, as objects highly
picturesque and amusing whether in natural or in artificial landscape.
Mr. Gilpin has treated of them at large in his Forest Scenery, with that
accuracy and elegance peculiar to himself; nor has another great master
done them less justice.
"The cormorant on high
Wheels from the deep and screams along the land;
Loud shrieks the soaring hern; and with wild wing | 220.103345 |
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E-text prepared by Mary Glenn Krause and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) | 220.103487 |
2023-11-16 18:20:44.3161330 | 879 | 14 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Kathryn Lybarger and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: A S Fuller]
THE
NUT CULTURIST
A TREATISE
ON THE
PROPAGATION, PLANTING AND CULTIVATION
OF NUT-BEARING TREES AND SHRUBS
ADAPTED TO THE
CLIMATE OF THE UNITED STATES,
WITH THE SCIENTIFIC AND COMMON NAMES OF
THE FRUITS KNOWN
IN COMMERCE AS EDIBLE OR OTHERWISE USEFUL NUTS
By ANDREW S. FULLER,
_Author of the "Grape Culturist," "Small Fruit Culturist,"
"Practical Forestry," "Propagation of Plants," etc., etc._
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
ORANGE JUDD COMPANY
1896
COPYRIGHT, 1896,
BY ORANGE JUDD COMPANY
PREFACE
Believing that the time is opportune for making an effort to
cultivate all kinds of edible and otherwise useful nut-bearing trees
and shrubs adapted to the soil and climate of the United States,
thereby inaugurating a great, permanent and far-reaching industry,
the following pages have been penned, and with the hope of
encouraging and aiding the farmer to increase his income and
enjoyments, without, to any appreciable extent, adding to his
expenses or labors. With this idea in mind, I have not advised the
general planting of nut orchards on land adapted to the production
of grain and other indispensable farm crops, but mainly as roadside
trees and where desired for shade, shelter and ornament, being
confident that when all such positions are occupied with choice
nut-bearing trees, to the exclusion of those yielding nothing of
intrinsic value, there will have been added many millions of dollars
to the wealth of the country, as well as a vast store of edible and
delicious food.
This work has not been written for the edification, or the special
approbation, of scientific botanists, but for those who, in the
opinion of the writer, are most likely to profit by a treatise of
this kind. Unfamiliar terms have been omitted wherever simple common
words would answer equally as well in conveying the intended
information. There being no work of this kind published in this
country that would serve as a guide, I have been compelled to
formulate a plan of my own, and to describe all the newer varieties
from the best specimens obtainable, and these may not, in all cases,
have been perfect. Under such circumstances, this work must
necessarily be incomplete, and especially where the possessors of
claimed-to-be new and valuable varieties have either refused or
failed to give any information in regard to them. On the contrary,
however, I must acknowledge my indebtedness to many correspondents,
who have so generously placed specimens of both trees and nuts of
rare new varieties in my hands for testing and describing, as well
as assisting me in tracing their history and origin.
That this treatise may become the pioneer of many other and better
works on nut culture is the sincere wish of
THE AUTHOR.
RIDGEWOOD, N. J., 1896.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION, 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ALMOND, 12
CHAPTER III.
THE BEECHNUT, 44
CHAPTER IV.
CASTANOPSIS, 55
CHAPTER V.
THE CHESTNUT, 60
CHAPTER VI.
FILBERT OR HAZELNUT, 118
CHAPTER VII.
HICKORY NUTS, 147
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WALNUT, 203
CHAPTER IX.
MISCELLANEOUS NUTS--EDIBLE AND OTHERWISE, 254
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Fig. Page.
1. | 220.336173 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 12. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, January 20, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Poor pussy comes at break of day,
And wakes me up to make me play;
But I am such a sleepy head,
That I'd much rather stay in bed!
OUR OWN STAR.
"As we have already," began the Professor, "had a talk about the stars
in general, let us this morning give a little attention to our own
particular star."
"Is there a star that we can call our own?" asked May, with unusual
animation. "How nice! I wonder if it can be the one I saw from our front
window last evening, that looked so bright and beautiful?"
"I am sure it was not," said the Professor, "if you saw it in the
evening."
"Is it hard to see our star, then?" she said.
"By no means," replied the Professor; "rather it is hard not to see it.
But you must be careful about looking directly at it, or your eyes will
be badly dazzled, it is so very bright. Our star is no other than the
sun. And we are right in calling it a star, because all the stars are
suns, and very likely give light and heat to worlds as large as our
earth, though they are all so far off that we can not see them. Our star
seems so much brighter and hotter than the others, only because it is so
much nearer to us than they are, though still it is some ninety-two
millions of miles away."
"How big is the sun?" asked Joe.
"You can get the clearest idea of its size by a comparison. The earth is
7920 miles in diameter, that is, as measured right through the centre.
Now suppose it to be only one inch, or about as large as a plum or a
half-grown peach; then we would have to regard the sun as three yards in
diameter, so that if it were in this room it would reach from the floor
to the ceiling."
"How do they find out the distance of the sun?" asked Joe.
"Until lately," replied the Professor, "the same method was pursued as
in surveying, that is, by measuring lines and angles. An angle, you
know, is the corner made by two lines coming together, as in the letter
V. But that method did not answer very well, as it did not make the
distance certain within several millions of miles. Quite recently
Professor Newcomb has found out a way of measuring the sun's distance by
the velocity of its light. He has invented a means of learning exactly
how fast light moves; and then, by comparing this with the time light
takes to come from the sun to us, he is able to tell how far off the sun
is. Thus, if a man knows how many miles he walks in an hour, and how
many hours it takes him to walk to a certain place, he can very easily
figure up the number of miles it is away."
"Why," said Gus, "that sounds just like what Bob Stebbins said the other
day in school. He has a big silver watch that he is mighty fond of
hauling out of his pocket before everybody. A caterpillar came crawling
through the door, and went right toward the teacher's desk at the other
end of the room. 'Now,' said Bob, 'if that fellow will only keep
straight ahead, I can tell how long the room is.' So out came the watch,
and Bob wrote down the time and how many inches the caterpillar
travelled in a minute. But just then Sally Smith came across his track
with her long dress, and swept him to Jericho. We boys all laughed out;
Sally blushed and got angry; and the teacher kept us in after school."
"Astr | 220.421084 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
DR. MAURUS JOKAI'S
MORE FAMOUS WORKS
(Authorised Translations).
LIBRARY EDITION.
6/- each.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Lion of Janina; or, The Last Days of the Janissaries.
An Hungarian Nabob.
Dr. Dumany's Wife.
The Nameless Castle.
The Poor Plutocrats.
Debts of Honour.
Halil the Pedlar.
The Day of Wrath.
Eyes Like the Sea.
'Midst the Wild Carpathians.
The Slaves of the Padishah.
Tales from Jokai.
NEW POPULAR EDITION.
2/6 Net each.
The Yellow Rose.
Black Diamonds.
The Green Book; or, Freedom Under the Snow.
Pretty Michal.
The Day of Wrath.
LONDON: JARROLD & SONS.
[Illustration: portrait of Mor Jokai]
THE STRANGE STORY OF RAB RABY
BY MAURUS JOKAI
[Illustration: SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE.]
THIRD EDITION
LONDON
JARROLD & SONS, 10 & 11, WARWICK LANE, E.C.
[All Rights Reserved.]
PREFACE
TO JOKAI'S "RAB RABY," IN ENGLISH,
By Dr. Emil Reich.
In "Rab Raby," the famous Hungarian novelist gives us, in a manner quite
his own, a picture of the "old regime" in Hungary in the times of
Emperor Joseph II., 1780-1790. The novel, as to its plot and principal
persons, is based on facts, and the then manners and institutions of
Hungary are faithfully reflected in the various scenes from private,
judicial, and political life as it developed under the erroneous policy
of Joseph II.
Briefly speaking, "Rab Raby" is the story of one of those frightful
miscarriages of justice which at all times cropped up under the
influence of political motives. In our own time we have seen the Dreyfus
case, another instance of appalling injustice set in motion for
political reasons. "Rab Raby" is thus very likely to give the English
reader a wrong idea of the backward and savage character of Hungarian
civilisation towards the end of the eighteenth century, unless he
carefully considers the peculiar circumstances of the case. I think I
can do the novel no better service than setting it in its right
historic frame, which Jokai, writing as he did for Hungarians, did not
feel induced to dwell upon.
The Hungarians, alone of all Continental nations, have a political
Constitution of their own, the origin of which goes back to an age prior
to Magna Charta in England. Outside Hungary, it is generally believed
that Hungary is a mere annex of "Austria"; and the average Englishman in
particular is much surprised to hear that "Austria" is considerably
smaller than Hungary. In fact, "Austria" is merely a conventional
phrase. There is no Austria, in technical language. What is
conventionally called Austria has in reality a much longer name by which
alone it is technically recognised to exist. This name is, "The
countries represented in the _Reichsrath_." On the other hand, there is,
conventionally and technically, a Hungary, which has no "home-rule"
whatever from Austria, any more than Australia has "home-rule" from
England. In fact, Hungary is the equal partner of Austria; and no
Austrian official whatever can officially perform the slightest function
in Hungary. The person whom the people of "Austria" call "Emperor," the
Hungarians accept only as their King. There is not even a common
citizenship between Hungarians and Austrians; and a Hungarian to be
fully recognised in Austria as, say a lawyer, must first acquire the
Austrian rights of naturalisation, just as an Englishman would.
The preceding remarks will enable the reader to see clearly that Hungary
never accepted, nor can ever accept Austrian rule in any shape
whatever; and that the entire business of political, judicial, and
administrative government in Hungary must legally be done by Hungarian
citizens only. The King alone happens to be an official in Austria as
well as in Hungary; but according to Hungarian constitutional law he
cannot command, nor reform things in Hungary except with the formal
consent of the Hungarian authorities, in Parliament and County. In
Austria indeed, the "Emperor" was, previous to 1867, quite autocratic;
and even at present he has a very large share of autocratic power.
Now, Emperor Joseph II. desired to melt down Hungarian and Austrian
manners, laws, and institutions into one homogeneous mass of a
Germanised body-politic. With this view he commanded the Hungarians to
practically give up their own language, their ancient national
constitution, and old County institutions, thinking as he did, that such
an unification of the Austro-Hungarian peoples would make the Danubian
Monarchy much more powerful and prosperous than it had ever been before.
He sincerely believed that his scheme of unification would greatly
benefit his peoples; nor did he doubt that they would readily obey his
behests to that effect.
However, the Emperor was quite mistaken as to the effect of his imperial
policy upon the Hungarians. Far from acquiescing in his plans, the
Hungarians at once showed fight in every possible form of passive
resistance, rebellion, scorn, or threats. To them their Constitution
was, as it still is, dearer by far than all material prosperity.
The Emperor's ordinances were coolly shelved, not even read, and with a
few exceptions, all his commands proved abortive. Many Hungarians
admitted then, as others do now, that Joseph's reforms were in more than
one respect such as to benefit Hungary. Yet no Hungarian wanted to
purchase these reforms at the expense of the hoary and holy Constitution
of the country. Joseph, in commanding all those reforms, without so much
as asking for the consent of the Estates, violated the very fundamental
principle of the Hungarian Constitution. This the Hungarians were
determined to resist to the uttermost. In the end they vanquished the
ruler, who shortly before his death withdrew nearly all his ordinances,
and so confessed himself beaten.
It is in the midst of these historic and psychological circumstances
that Jokai laid his fascinating novel. A young Hungarian nobleman,
indignant at the illegality and injustice of public officials of his
native town, who shamefully exploit the poor of the district, approaches
the Emperor with a view to get his authorisation for measures destined
to put an end to the criminal encroachments of the said officials. The
Emperor gives him that authority. But far from strengthening young
Raby's case, the Emperor thereby exposes him to the unforgiving rancour
of both guilty and innocent officials who desperately resent the
Emperor's unconstitutional procedure.
The novel is the story of the conflict between the young noble and the
Emperor on the one hand, and the wretched, but in the nature of the
case, more patriotic officials, on the other. As in all such cases,
where virtue appears either at the wrong time, or in the wrong shape,
the ruin of the virtuous is almost inevitable, while no student of human
nature can wholly condemn his otherwise corrupt and despicable enemies.
In that conflict lies both the charm of the novel and its tragic
character.
As in all his stories, Jokai fills each page with a novel interest, and
his inexhaustible good humour and exuberant powers of description throw
even over the dark scenes of the story something of the soothing light
of mellow hilarity.
EMIL REICH.
_London, Nov. 1st, 1909._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II. 6
CHAPTER III. 11
CHAPTER IV. 16
CHAPTER V. 27
CHAPTER VI. 37
CHAPTER VII. 46
CHAPTER VIII. 50
CHAPTER IX. 58
CHAPTER X. 64
CHAPTER XI. 70
CHAPTER XII. 82
CHAPTER XIII. 86
CHAPTER XIV. 96
CHAPTER XV. 104
CHAPTER XVI. 112
CHAPTER XVII. 130
CHAPTER XVIII. 141
CHAPTER XIX. 150
CHAPTER XX. 159
CHAPTER XXI. 173
CHAPTER XXII. 178
CHAPTER XXIII. 188
CHAPTER XXIV. 197
CHAPTER XXV. 204
CHAPTER XXVI. 219
CHAPTER XXVII. 224
CHAPTER XXVIII. 234
CHAPTER XXIX. 237
CHAPTER XXX. 249
CHAPTER XXXI. 255
CHAPTER XXXII. 259
CHAPTER XXXIII. 268
CHAPTER XXXIV. 278
CHAPTER XXXV. 286
CHAPTER XXXVI. 289
CHAPTER XXXVII. 296
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 301
CHAPTER XXXIX. 308
CHAPTER XL. 317
CHAPTER XLI. 324
CHAPTER XLII. 328
CHAPTER XLIII. 335
CHAPTER XLIV. 339
CHAPTER XLV. 345
CHAPTER XLVI. 349
CHAPTER XLVII. 352
CHAPTER XLVIII. 357
CHAPTER XLIX. 360
CHAPTER L. 364
INTRODUCTION.
Now it is not because the double name of "Rab Raby" is merely a pretty
bit of alliteration that the author chose it for the title of his story,
but rather because the hero of it was, according to contemporary
witnesses of his doings, named Raby, and in consequence of these same
doings, earned the epithet "Rab" ("culprit"). How he deserved the
appellation will be duly shown in what follows.
A hundred years ago, there was no such thing as a lawyer, in the modern
sense, in the city of Buda-Pesth. Attorneys indeed there were, of all
sorts, but a lawyer who was at the public service was not to be found,
and when a country cousin came to town, to look for someone who should
"lie for money," he sought in vain.
Why this demand for lawyers could not be supplied in Buda-Pesth a
hundred years back may best be explained by briefly describing the two
cities at that epoch.
For two cities they really were, with their respective jurisdictions.
The Austrian magistrate persistently called Pesth "Old Buda," and the
Rascian city of Buda itself, "Pesth," but the Hungarians recognised
"Pestinum Antiqua" as Pesth, and for them, Buda was "the new city."
Pesth itself reaches from the Hatvan to the Waitz Gate. Where Hungary
Street now stretches was then to be seen the remains of the old city
wall, under which still nestled a few mud dwellings. The ancient Turkish
cemetery, to-day displaced by the National Theatre, was yet standing,
and further out still, lay kitchen gardens. On the other side, at the
end of what is now Franz-Deak Street, on the banks of the Danube, stood
the massive Rondell bastion, wherein, as a first sign of civilisation, a
theatrical company had pitched its abode, though, needless to say, it
was an Austrian one. At that epoch, it was prohibited by statute to
elect an Hungarian magistrate, and the law allowed no Hungarians but
tailors and boot-makers to be householders.
Of the Leopold City, there was at that time no trace, and the spot where
now the Bank stands, was then the haunt of wild-ducks. Where Franz-Deak
Street now stretches, ran a marshy <DW18>, which was surmounted by a
rampart of mud. In the Joseph quarter only was there any sign of
planning out the area of building-plots and streets; to be sure, the
rough outline of the Theresa city was just beginning to show itself in a
cluster of houses huddled closely together, and the narrow street which
they were then building was called "The Jewry." In this same street, and
in this only, was it permitted to the Jews, on one day every week, by an
order of the magistrate, to expose for sale those articles which
remained in their possession as forfeited pledges. Within the city they
were not allowed to have shops, and when outside the Jews' quarter, they
were obliged to don a red mantle, with a yellow lappet attached, and any
Jew who failed to wear this distinctive garb was fined four deniers.
There was little scope for trade. Merchants, shop-keepers and brokers
bought and sold for ready-money only; no one might incur debt save in
pawning; and if the customer failed to pay up, the pledge was forfeited.
Thus there was no call for legal aid. If the citizens had a quarrel,
they carried their difference to the magistrate to be adjusted, and both
parties had to be satisfied with his decision, no counsel being
necessary. Affairs of honour and criminal cases however were referred to
the exchequer, with a principal attorney and a vice-attorney for the
prosecution and for the defence.
At that time, there was in what is now Grenadier Street, a
single-storied house opposite the "hop-garden." This house was the
County Assembly House whence the provincial jurisdiction was exercised.
It had been the Austrian barracks, till finally, Maria Theresa promoted
it to the dignity of a law-court, and caused a huge double eagle with
the Hungarian escutcheon in the middle, to be painted thereon; from
which time, no soldier dare set foot in its precincts. Here it was only
permitted to the civilians and the prisoners confined there to enter.
Only the part of the building which faced east was then standing: this
wing comprised the officials' rooms and the subterranean dungeons.
The magnates carried on their petty local dissensions, aided by their
own legal wisdom alone, yet every Hungarian nobleman was an expert in
jurisprudence in his own fashion. There were even women who had proved
themselves quite adepts in arranging legal difficulties. The Hungarian
constitution allowed the right to the magnate who did not wish the law
to take its course, of forcibly staying its execution, and the same
prerogative was extended to a woman land-owner. The commonweal also
demanded that each one should strive to make as rapid an end as possible
to lawsuits. Long legal processes were adjusted so that there should be
time for the judge as well as the contending parties to look after
building and harvest operations, as well as the vintage and pig-killing.
On these occasions lawsuits would be laid aside so as not to interfere
with such important business.
But if the tax-paying peasant was at variance with his fellow-toiler,
the local magistrate, and the lord of the manor, were arbitrators. So
here likewise there was no room for a lawyer.
But when the peasant had ground of complaint against his betters, he had
none to take his part. There was, however, one man willing to fill the
breach, although he had been up to this time little noticed, and that
man was Rab Raby--or to give him his full title of honour, "Mathias Raby
of Raba and Mura."
He it was who was the first to realise the ambition of becoming on his
own account the people's lawyer in the city of Pesth--and this without
local suffrages or the active support of powerful patrons--but only at
the humble entreaty of those whose individual complaints are unheard,
but in unison, become as the noise of thunder.
The representative of this new profession did Raby aim at being. It was
for this men called him "Rab Raby," though he had, as we shall see, to
expiate his boldness most bitterly.
In what follows, the reader will find for the most part, a true history
of eighteenth century Pesth. It will be worth his while to read it, in
order to understand how the world wagged in the days when there was no
lawyer in Pesth and Buda. Moreover, it will perhaps reconcile him to the
fact that we have so many of them to-day!
CHAPTER I.
They sit, the worshipful government authorities of Pesth, at the
ink-bespattered green table in the council room of the Assembly House,
the president himself in the chair; close beside him, the prefect, whom
his neighbour, the "overseer of granaries," was doing his best to
confuse by his talking. On his left is an empty chair, beside which sits
the auditor, busy sketching hussars with a red pencil on the back of a
bill. Opposite is the official tax-collector whose neck is already quite
stiff with looking up at the clock to see how far it is from
dinner-time. The rest of the party are consequential officials who
divide their time between discussing fine distinctions in Latinity, and
cutting toothpicks for the approaching mid-day meal.
The eighth seat, which remains empty, is destined for the magistrate.
But empty it won't be for long.
And indeed it is not empty because its owner is too lazy to fill it, but
because he is on official affairs intent in the actual court room,
whereof the door stands ajar, so that although he cannot hear all that
is going forward, he can have a voice in the discussion when the vote is
taken.
From the court itself rises a malodorous steam from the damp sheepskin
cloaks, the reek of dirty boots and the pungent fumes of garlic--a
combined stench so thick that you could have cut it with a knife.
Peasants there are too there in plenty, Magyars, Rascians, and Swabians:
all of whom must get their "viginti solidos," otherwise their "twenty
strokes with the lash."
For to-day is the fourth session of the local court of criminal appeal.
On this day, the serious cases are | 220.499415 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
YOSEMITE
LEGENDS
BY
BERTHA H. SMITH
WITH DRAWINGS BY
FLORENCE LUNDBORG
[Illustration]
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO
Copyright, 1904
by Paul Elder and Company
San Francisco
[Illustration: The Valley in the Mist.]
[Illustration]
The Legends
Page
Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear 1
Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind 11
Hum-moo, the Lost Arrow 19
Py-we-ack, the White Water 31
Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah and Tis-sa-ack 45
Kom-po-pai-ses, Leaping Frog Rocks 55
The Illustrations
The Valley _Frontispiece_
Mirror Lake 1
A Grizzly Facing page 6
Oaks 11
Po-ho-no in Bridal Veil Facing page 14
The Lost Arrow 19
Tee-hee-neh Facing page 26
Cloud's Rest 31
Spirits of Vernal Falls Facing page 38
El Capitan 45
The Spirit of Tis-sa-ack Facing page 52
The Three Brothers 55
The Patriarch's Prayer Facing page 60
[Illustration: YO-SEM-I-TE
LARGE GRIZZLY BEAR
"Ke-koo-too-yem, the Sleeping Water."]
Yo-sem-i-te, Large Grizzly Bear
When the world was made, the Great Spirit tore out the heart of
Kay-o-pha, the Sky Mountains, and left the gash unhealed. He sent the
Coyote to people the valley with a strong and hardy race of men, who
called their home Ah-wah-nee, and themselves, the Ah-wah-nee-chees.
The Ah-wah-nee-chees lived the simple, savage life, which knows no law
but to hunt and kill and eat. By day the trackless forests rang with
the clamor of the chase. By the flaring light of their fires the
hunters gorged themselves upon the fresh-killed meat, feasting far
into the night. They made war upon the tribes that lived beyond the
walls of Ah-wah-nee and never knew defeat, for none dared follow them
to their rock-ribbed fastness. They were feared by all save the
outcasts of other tribes, whose lawless deeds won for them a place
among the Ah-wah-nee-chees. Thus the children of Ah-wah-nee increased
in number and strength.
As time went by, the Ah-wah-nee-chees, in their pride of power,
forgot the Great Spirit who had given them their stronghold and made
them feared of all their race. And the Great Spirit, turning upon them
in his wrath, loosed his evil forces in their midst, scourging them
with a black sickness that swept all before it as a hot wind blights
the grain at harvest time.
The air of the valley was a poison breath, in which the death shade
hovered darkly. Before the Evil Spirit medicine men were powerless.
Their mystic spells and incantations were a weird mockery, performed
among the dying and the dead; and when at last the Evil One passed
onward in his cursed flight, the once proud and powerful band of
Ah-wah-nee-chees was like a straggling pack of gaunt gray wolves.
Their eyes gleamed dully in their shrunken faces, and the skin hung in
loose folds on their wasted bodies.
Those who were able fled from the valley, which was now a haunted
place, eerie with flitting shadows of funeral fires and ghostly
echoes of the funeral wail. They scattered among the tribes beyond the
mountains, and Ah-wah-nee was deserted.
A vast stillness settled upon the valley, broken only by the songs of
birds and the roar of Cho-look when Spring sent the mountain torrents
crashing over his head. The mountain lion and the grizzly roamed at
will among the rocks and tangled chinquapin, fearless of arrows; the
doe led her young by an open path to the river, where trout flashed
their colors boldly in the sun. In the autumn the choke-cherries and
manzanita berries dried upon their stems, and ripened acorns rotted to
dust upon the ground after the squirrels had gathered their winter
store. The homeless Ah-wah-nee-chees circled wide in passing the
valley.
Over beyond To-co-yah, the North Dome, among the Mo-nos and Pai-u-tes,
a few of the ill-fated Ah-wah-nee-chees had found refuge. Among them
was the chief of the tribe, who after a time took a Mo-no maiden for
his bride. By this Mo-no woman he had a son, and they gave him the
name of Ten-ie-ya. Before another round of seasons, the spirit of the
Ah-wah-nee-chee chieftain had wandered on to the Land of the Sun, the
home of happy souls.
Ten-ie-ya grew up among his mother's people, but the fire of a warrior
chief was in his blood and he liked not to live where the word of
another was law. The fire in his blood was kept aflame by the words of
an old man, the patriarch of his father's tribe, who urged him to
return to Ah-wah-nee, the home of his ancestors, and gather about him
the people whose chief he was by right of birth.
So Ten-ie-ya went back across the mountains by a trail abandoned long
ago, and from the camps of other tribes came those in whose veins was
any trace of Ah-wah-nee-chee blood; and, as before, the number was
increased by lawless braves of weaker bands who liked a greater
freedom for their lawlessness. Again, under the favor of the Great
Spirit, the Ah-wah-nee-chees flourished and by their fierce strength
and daring became to other tribes as the mountain lion to the wolf and
the coyote and the mountain sheep.
[Illustration: "A monster grizzly that had just crept forth from
his winter cave."]
And it chanced that one day while Ten-ie-ya and his warriors were
camped near Le-ham-i-te, the Cañon of the Arrow-wood, a young brave
went out in the early morning to the lake of Ke-koo-too-yem, the
Sleeping Water, to spear fish. His lithe, strong limbs took no heed of
the rocky talus in his path, and he leaped from boulder to boulder,
following the wall that rose sheer above him and cut the blue sky
overhead.
As he reached the base of Scho-ko-ni, the cliff that arches like the
shade of an Indian cradle basket, he came suddenly upon a monster
grizzly that had just crept forth from his winter cave. The grizzly
knows no man for his friend; least of all, the man who surprises him
at the first meal after his long sleep. The rivals of Ah-wah-nee were
face to face.
The Ah-wah-nee-chee had no weapon save his fish spear, useless as a
reed; yet he had the fearlessness of youth and the courage of a race
to whom valorous deeds are more than strings of wampum, piles of pelt
or many cattle. He faced the grizzly boldly as the clumsy hulk rose to
its full height, at bay and keen for attack. With instinctive love of
conflict roused, the young chief seized a broken limb that lay at his
feet, and gave the grizzly blow for blow.
The claws of the maddened brute raked his flesh. The blood ran warm
over his glistening skin and matted the bristled yellow fur of the
grizzly.
The Ah-wah-nee-chee fought bravely. While there was blood in his body,
he could fight; when the blood was gone, he could die; but with the
traditions of his ancestors firing his brain, he could not flee.
Furious with pain, blinded by the blows from the young chief's club
and by the blood from the young chief's torn flesh, the grizzly
struggled savagely. He, too, was driven by the law of his breed, the
universal law of the forest, the law of Indian and grizzly
alike,--which is to kill.
Such a battle could not last. With a low growl the crippled grizzly
brought himself together and struck with the full force of his
powerful arm. The blow fell short.
Urging his waning strength to one last effort, the Ah-wah-nee-chee
raised his club high above his head and brought it down with a heavy,
well-aimed stroke that crushed the grizzly's skull and sent him
rolling among the boulders, dead.
That night as the Ah-wah-nee-chees feasted themselves on bear meat,
the story of the young chief's bravery was told, and told again; and
from that hour he was known as Yo-sem-i-te, the Large Grizzly Bear.
In time the name Yo-sem-i-te was given to all the tribe of
Ah-wah-nee-chees, who for fearlessness and lawlessness were rivaled
only by the grizzly with whom they shared their mountain fastness. And
when long afterward the white man came and took Ah-wah-nee for his
own, he gave it the name by which Ten-ie-ya's band was known; and
Cho-look, the high fall that makes the earth tremble with its mighty
roar, he also called by the name of the Large Grizzly Bear,
Yo-sem-i-te.
[Illustration: PO-HO-NO
SPIRIT OF THE EVIL WIND
"And the oaks unfurl their soft green banners in welcome of the
coming summer."]
Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind
The white man calls it Bridal Veil. To the Indian it is Po-ho-no,
Spirit of the Evil Wind.
The white man, in passing, pauses to watch the filmy cloud that hangs
there like a thousand yards of tulle flung from the crest of the rocky
precipice, wafted outward by the breeze that blows ever and always
across the Bridal Veil Meadows. By the light of mid-afternoon the veil
seems caught half-way with a clasp of bridal gems, seven-hued,
evanescent; now glowing with color, now fading to clear white sun rays
before the eye.
The Indian, if chance brings him near this waterfall, hurries on with
face averted, a vague dread in his heart; for in the meshes of the
Bridal Veil hides an eerie spirit, a mischievous, evil one--Po-ho-no.
In the ripple of the water as it falls among the rocks, the Indian
hears Po-ho-no's voice. In the tossing spray he sees the limp forms
and waving arms of hapless victims lured by the voice to their
destruction.
The Indian's mistrust of Po-ho-no dates back to a day of long ago, a
bright blue day of early spring such as the children of Ah-wah-nee
love, when the valley has thrown off its white winter blanket, and
dogwood blooms, and the oaks unfurl their soft green banners in
welcome of the coming summer. It was the time when deer begin to
trail, leaving the lowlands of the river for the higher ranges; and
while the men hunted in the forest, the women went forth to gather
roots and berries for the feast.
The Sun had come back from the south; and as he stood high in the
heavens looking into the valley over the shoulder of Lo-yah, the
Sentinel, three women were tempted to stray from the others and wander
along a trail that led high above the valley to the spot whence the
misty spray of the waterfall flutters downward.
[Illustration: "For in the meshes of the Bridal Veil hides * *
Po-ho-no."]
They talked with what zest women may whose simple lives give them no
secrets to hold or betray. They laughed as they filled their baskets,
stooping to scrape the earth from a tender root, to strip the
seed from a stalk, or gather grasses used in basketry; and their
voices were as the purling of lazy waters gliding over stones. They
were happy, for as yet they knew naught of the joy-sapping fever of
discontent.
Of a sudden the laughter ceased, and in its stead arose the mocking
wail of Po-ho-no, Spirit of the Evil Wind. The youngest of the women,
venturing near the edge of the cliff to pick an overhanging wisp of
grass, had stepped upon a rock where moss grew like a thick-woven
blanket. She did not know that the soft, wet moss was a snare of the
Evil One, and even as the others cried out in warning, Po-ho-no seized
her and hurled her down among the rocks.
A pair of helpless arms waving in despair; long, loose hair sweeping
across a face, half veiling one last look of terror--and she was gone.
If she uttered a cry, the sound was lost in the gleeful chatter of
Po-ho-no and his impish host.
The two women left above dared not go near the treacherous ledge,
lest they too come within reach of the vengeful Spirit. Afraid even to
give a backward glance, they hurried down the steep path to spread the
alarm. Scarce was their story told before a band of daring braves
rushed to the rescue of the maiden; but though they searched till
night among the rocks where the water swirls and leaps to catch the
rainbow thrown there by the western sun, they found no trace of her.
The maiden's spirit had joined the forces of Po-ho-no, and could know
no rest, nor be released from his hateful thrall, until by her aid
another victim was drawn to his doom. Here she must stay, hidden by
the mist from watchful eyes, beckoning always, tempting always, luring
another soul to pay the forfeit of her own release. Then, and then
only, would the spirit of the maiden be free to pass on to the home of
the Great Spirit in the West.
Since that day of long ago many of the children of Ah-wah-nee have
fallen prey to Po-ho-no, the restless Spirit of the Evil Wind, who
wanders ever through the cañon and puffs his breath upon the waterfall
to make for himself a hiding-place of mist. Now every Ah-wah-nee-chee
knows this haunt of the Evil One. By day they hurry past, and not one
would sleep at night within sight or sound of the fall lest the fatal
breath of Po-ho-no sweep over him and bear him | 220.535305 |
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THE COLLECTED
WORKS OF
AMBROSE BIERCE
VOLUME II
IN THE MIDST OF LIFE
TALES OF SOLDIERS AND CIVILIANS
Originally Published 1909
PREFACE
TO THE FIRST EDITION
Denied existence by the chief publishing houses of the country, this
book owes itself to Mr. E.L.G. Steele, merchant, of this city. In
attesting Mr. Steele's faith in his judgment and his friend, it will
serve its author's main and best ambition.
A.B.
SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 4, 1891.
CONTENTS
A HORSEMAN IN THE SKY 15
AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL CREEK BRIDGE 27
CHICKAMAUGA 46
A SON OF THE GODS 58
ONE OF THE MISSING 71
KILLED AT RESACA 93
THE AFFAIR AT COULTER'S NOTCH 105
THE COUP DE GRACE 122
PARKER ADDERSON, PHILOSOPHER 133
AN AFFAIR OF OUTPOSTS 146
THE STORY OF A CONSCIENCE 165
ONE KIND OF OFFICER 178
ONE OFFICER, ONE MAN 197
GEORGE THURSTON 209
THE MOCKING-BIRD 218
CIVILIANS
THE MAN OUT OF THE NOSE 233
AN ADVENTURE AT BROWNVILLE 247
THE FAMOUS GILSON BEQUEST 266
THE APPLICANT 281
A WATCHER BY THE DEAD 290
THE MAN AND THE SNAKE 311
A HOLY TERROR 324
THE SUITABLE SURROUNDINGS 350
THE BOARDED WINDOW 364
A LADY FROM RED HORSE 373
THE EYES OF THE PANTHER 385
SOLDIERS
A HORSEMAN IN THE SKY
I
One sunny afternoon in the autumn of the year 1861 a soldier lay in a
clump of laurel by the side of a road in western Virginia. He lay at
full length upon his stomach, his feet resting upon the toes, his head
upon the left forearm. His extended right hand loosely grasped his
rifle. But for the somewhat methodical disposition of his limbs and a
slight rhythmic movement of the cartridge-box at the back of his belt he
might have been thought to be dead. He was asleep at his post of duty.
But if detected he would be dead shortly afterward, death being the just
and legal penalty of his crime.
The clump of laurel in which the criminal lay was in the angle of a road
which after ascending southward a steep acclivity to that point turned
sharply to the west, running along the summit for perhaps one hundred
yards. There it turned southward again and went zigzagging downward
through the forest. At the salient of that second angle was a large flat
rock, jutting out northward, overlooking the deep valley from which the
road ascended. The rock capped a high cliff; a stone dropped from its
outer edge would have fallen sheer downward one thousand feet to the
tops of the pines. The angle where the soldier lay was on another spur
of the same cliff. Had he been awake he would have commanded a view, not
only of the short arm of the road and the jutting rock, but of the
entire profile of the cliff below it. It might well have made him giddy
to look.
The country was wooded everywhere except at the bottom of the valley to
the northward, where there was a small natural meadow, through which
flowed a stream scarcely visible from the valley's rim. This open ground
looked hardly larger than an ordinary door-yard, but was really several
acres in extent. Its green was more vivid than that of the inclosing
forest. Away beyond it rose a line of giant cliffs similar to those upon
which we are supposed to stand in our survey of the savage scene, and
through which the road had somehow made its climb to the summit. The
configuration of the valley, indeed, was such that from this point of
observation it seemed entirely shut in, and one could but have wondered
how the road which found a way out of it had found a way into it, and
whence came and whither went the waters of the stream that parted the
meadow more than a thousand feet below.
No country is so wild and difficult but men will make it a theatre of
war; concealed in the forest at the bottom of that military rat-trap, in
which half a hundred men in possession of the exits might have starved
an army to submission, lay five regiments of Federal infantry. They had
marched all the previous day and night and were resting. At nightfall
they would take to the road again, climb to the place where their
unfaithful sentinel now slept, and descending the other <DW72> of the
ridge fall upon a camp of the enemy at about midnight. Their hope was to
surprise it, for the road led to the rear of it. In case of failure,
their position would be perilous in the extreme; and fail they surely
would should accident or vigilance apprise the enemy of the movement.
II
The sleeping sentinel in the clump of laurel was a young Virginian named
Carter Druse. He was the son of wealthy parents, an only child, and had
known such ease and cultivation and high living as wealth and taste were
able to command in the mountain country of western Virginia. His home
was but a few miles from where he now lay. One morning he had risen from
the breakfast-table and said, quietly but gravely: "Father, a Union
regiment has arrived at Grafton. I am going to join it."
The father lifted his leonine head, looked at the son a moment in
silence, and replied: "Well, go, sir, and whatever may occur do what you
conceive to be your duty. Virginia, to which you are a traitor, must get
on without you. Should we both live to the end of the war, we will speak
further of the matter. Your mother, as the physician has informed you,
is in a most critical condition; at the best she cannot be with us
longer than a few weeks, but that time is precious. It would be better
not to disturb her."
So Carter Druse, bowing reverently to his father, who returned the
salute with a stately courtesy that masked a breaking heart, left the
home of his childhood to go soldiering. By conscience and courage, by
deeds of devotion and daring, he soon commended himself to his fellows
and his officers; and it was to these qualities and to some knowledge of
the country that he owed his selection for his present perilous duty at
the extreme outpost. Nevertheless, fatigue had been stronger than
resolution and he had fallen asleep. What good or bad angel came in a
dream to rouse him from his state of crime, who shall say? Without a
movement, without a sound, in the profound silence and the languor of
the late afternoon, some invisible messenger of fate touched with
unsealing finger the eyes of his consciousness--whispered into the ear
of his spirit the mysterious awakening word which no human lips ever
have spoken, no human memory ever has recalled. He quietly raised his
forehead from his arm and looked between the masking stems of the
laurels, instinctively closing his right hand about the stock of his
rifle.
His first feeling was a keen artistic delight. On a colossal pedestal,
the cliff,--motionless at the extreme edge of the capping rock and
sharply outlined against the sky,--was an equestrian statue of
impressive dignity. The figure of the man sat the figure of the horse,
straight and soldierly, but with the repose of a Grecian god carved in
the marble which limits the suggestion of activity. The gray costume
harmonized with its aerial background; the metal of accoutrement and
caparison was softened and subdued by the shadow; the animal's skin had
no points of high light. A carbine strikingly foreshortened lay across
the pommel of the saddle, kept in place by the right hand grasping it at
the "grip"; the left hand, holding the bridle rein, was invisible. In
silhouette against the sky the profile of the horse was cut with the
sharpness of a cameo; it looked across the heights of air to the
confronting cliffs beyond. The face of the rider, turned slightly away,
showed only an outline of temple and beard; he was looking downward to
the bottom of the valley. Magnified by its lift against the sky and by
the soldier's testifying sense of the formidableness of a near enemy the
group appeared of heroic, almost colossal, size.
For an instant Druse had a strange, half-defined feeling that he had
slept to the end of the war and was looking upon a noble work of art
reared upon that eminence to commemorate the deeds of an heroic past of
which he had been an inglorious part. The feeling was dispelled by a
slight movement of the group: the horse, without moving its feet, had
drawn its body slightly backward from the verge; the man remained
immobile as before. Broad awake and keenly alive to the significance of
the situation, Druse now brought the butt of his rifle against his cheek
by cautiously pushing the barrel forward through the bushes, cocked the
piece, and glancing through the sights covered a vital spot of the
horseman's breast. A touch upon the trigger and all would have been well
with Carter Druse. At that instant the horseman turned his head and
looked in the direction of his concealed foeman--seemed to look into his
very face, into his eyes, into his brave, compassionate heart.
Is it then so terrible to kill an enemy in war--an enemy who has
surprised a secret vital to the safety of one's self and comrades--an
enemy more formidable for his knowledge than all his army for its
numbers? Carter Druse grew pale; he shook in every limb, turned faint,
and saw the statuesque group before him as black figures, rising,
falling, moving unsteadily in arcs of circles in a fiery sky. His hand
fell away from his weapon, his head slowly dropped until his face rested
on the leaves in which he lay. This courageous gentleman and hardy
soldier was near swooning from intensity of emotion.
It was not for long; in another moment his face was raised from earth,
his hands resumed their places on the rifle, his forefinger sought the
trigger; mind, heart, and eyes were clear, conscience and reason sound.
He could not hope to capture that enemy; to alarm him would but send him
dashing to his camp with his fatal news. The duty of the soldier was
plain: the man must be shot dead from ambush--without warning, without a
moment's spiritual preparation, with never so much as an unspoken
prayer, he must be sent to his account. But no--there is a hope; he may
have discovered nothing--perhaps he is but admiring the sublimity of the
landscape. If permitted, he may turn and ride carelessly away in the
direction whence he came. Surely it will be possible to judge at the
instant of his withdrawing whether he knows. It may well be that his
fixity of attention--Druse turned his head and looked through the deeps
of air downward, as from the surface to the bottom of a translucent sea.
He saw creeping across the green meadow a sinuous line of figures of men
and horses--some foolish commander was permitting the soldiers of his
escort to water their beasts in the open, in plain view from a dozen
summits!
Druse withdrew his eyes from the valley and fixed them again upon the
group of man and horse in the sky, and again it was through the sights
of his rifle. But this time his aim was at the horse. In his memory, as
if they were a divine mandate, rang the words of his father at their
parting: "Whatever may occur, do what you conceive to be your duty." He
was calm now. His teeth were firmly but not rigidly closed; his nerves
were as tranquil as a sleeping babe's--not a tremor affected any muscle
of his body; his breathing, until suspended in the act of taking aim,
was regular and slow. Duty had conquered; the spirit had said to the
body: "Peace, be still." He fired.
III
An officer of the Federal force, who in a spirit of adventure or in
quest of knowledge had left the hidden _bivouac_ in the valley, and with
aimless feet had made his way to the lower edge of a small open space
near the foot of the cliff, was considering what he had to gain by
pushing his exploration further. At a distance of a quarter-mile before
him, but apparently at a stone's throw, rose from its fringe of pines
the gigantic face of rock, towering to so great a height above him that
it made him giddy to look up to where its edge cut a sharp, rugged line
against the sky. It presented a clean, vertical profile against a
background of blue sky to a point half the way down, and of distant
hills, hardly less blue, thence to the tops of the trees at its base.
Lifting his eyes to the dizzy altitude of its summit the officer saw an
astonishing sight--a man on horseback riding down into the valley
through the air!
Straight upright sat the rider, in military fashion, with a firm seat in
the saddle, a strong clutch upon the rein to hold his charger from too
impetuous a plunge. From his bare head his long hair streamed upward,
waving like a plume. His hands were concealed in the cloud of the
horse's lifted mane. The animal's body was as level as if every
hoof-stroke encountered the resistant earth. Its motions were those of a
wild gallop, but even as the officer looked they ceased, with all the
legs thrown sharply forward as in the act of alighting from a leap. But
this was a flight!
Filled with amazement and terror by this apparition of a horseman in the
sky--half believing himself the chosen scribe of some new Apocalypse,
the officer was overcome by the intensity of his emotions; his legs
failed him and he fell. Almost at the same instant he heard a crashing
sound in the trees--a sound that died without an echo--and all was
still.
The officer rose to his feet, trembling. The familiar sensation of an
abraded shin recalled his dazed faculties. Pulling himself together he
ran rapidly obliquely away from the cliff to a point distant from its
foot; thereabout he expected to find his man; and thereabout he
naturally failed. In the fleeting instant of his vision his imagination
had been so wrought upon by the apparent grace and ease and intention of
the marvelous performance that it did not occur to him that the line of
march of aerial cavalry is directly downward, and that he could find the
objects of his search at the very foot of the cliff. A half-hour later
he returned to camp.
This officer was a wise man; he knew better than to tell an incredible
truth. He said nothing of what he had seen. But when the commander asked
him if in his scout he had learned anything of advantage to the
expedition he answered:
"Yes, sir; there is no road leading down into this valley from the
southward."
The commander, knowing better, smiled.
IV
After firing his shot, Private Carter Druse reloaded his rifle and
resumed his watch. Ten minutes had hardly passed when a Federal sergeant
crept cautiously to him on hands and knees. Druse neither turned his
head nor looked at him, but lay without motion or sign of recognition.
"Did you fire?" the sergeant whispered.
"Yes."
"At what?"
"A horse. It was standing on yonder rock--pretty far out. You see it is
no longer there. It went over the cliff."
The man's face was white, but he showed no other sign of emotion. Having
answered, he turned away his eyes and said no more. The sergeant did not
understand.
"See here, Druse," he said, after a moment's silence, "it's no use
making a mystery. I order you to report. Was there anybody on the
horse?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"My father."
The sergeant rose to his feet and walked away. "Good God!" he said.
AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL CREEK BRIDGE
I
A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down
into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his
back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck.
It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack
fell to the level of his knees. Some loose boards laid upon the sleepers
supporting the metals of the railway supplied a footing for him and his
executioners--two private soldiers of the Federal army, directed by a
sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy sheriff. At a short
remove upon the same temporary platform was an officer in the uniform of
his rank, armed. He was a captain. A sentinel at each end of the bridge
stood with his rifle in the position known as "support," that is to say,
vertical in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the
forearm thrown straight across the chest--a formal and unnatural
position, enforcing an erect carriage of the body. It did not appear to
be the duty of these two men to know what was occurring at the centre of
the bridge; they merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that
traversed it.
Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran | 220.54082 |
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PEACHMONK
A SERIO-COMIC DETECTIVE TALE IN WHICH NO
FIRE-ARMS ARE USED AND NO ONE IS KILLED
BEING A | 221.403578 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are John
Bedford?'" Page 303]
_The_
QUEST OF THE FOUR
_A STORY OF THE COMANCHES AND
BUENA VISTA_
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
AUTHOR OF "THE LAST OF THE CHIEFS,"
"THE YOUNG TRAILERS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK AND LONDON: MCMXX
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.--The Meeting of the Four
II.--The March of the Train
III.--At the Ford
IV.--On Watch
V.--The Comanche Village
VI.--The Medicine Lodge
VII.--The Great Sleep
VIII.--New Enemies
IX.--The Fiery Circle
X.--Phil's Letter
XI.--With the Army
XII.--The Pass of Angostura
XIII.--A Wind of the Desert
XIV.--Buena Vista
XV.--The Woman at the Well
XVI.--The Castle of Montevideo
XVII.--The Thread, the Key, and the Dagger
XVIII.--The Hut in the Cove
XIX.--Arenberg's Quest
XX.--The Silver Cup
XXI.--The Note of a Melody
XXII.--Breakstone's Quest
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"The man spoke in a sharp whisper: 'You are John Bedford?'"...
_Frontispiece_
"Putting his blanket beneath him, he lay before one of the fires"
"A black, snakelike loop fell over Bill Breakstone's head"
"The third boy from the rear stopped and listened"
THE QUEST OF THE FOUR
CHAPTER I
THE MEETING OF THE FOUR
A tall boy, dreaming dreams, was walking across the Place d'Armes in New
Orleans. It was a brilliant day in early spring, and a dazzling
sunlight fell over the city, gilding the wood or stone of the houses,
and turning the muddy current of the Mississippi into shimmering gold.
Under such a perfect blue sky, and bathed in such showers of shining
beams, New Orleans, a city of great and varied life, looked quaint,
picturesque, and beautiful.
But the boy, at that moment, thought little of the houses or people
about him. His mind roamed into the vast Southwest, over mountains,
plains, and deserts that his feet had never trod, and he sought, almost
with the power of evocation, to produce regions that he had never seen,
but which he had often heard described. He had forgotten no detail of
the stories, but, despite them, the cloud of mystery and romance
remained, calling to him all the more strongly because he had come upon
a quest the most vital of his life, a quest that must lead him into the
great unknown land.
He was not a native of New Orleans or Louisiana. Any one could have told
at a glance that the blue eyes, fair hair, and extreme whiteness of skin
did not belong to the Gulf coast. His build was that of the
Anglo-Saxon. The height, the breadth of shoulder and chest, and the
whole figure, muscled very powerfully for one so young, indicated birth
in a clime farther North--Kentucky or Virginia, perhaps. His dress,
neat and clean, showed that he was one who respected himself.
Phil Bedford passed out of the Place d'Armes, and presently came to the
levee which ran far along the great river, and which was seething with
life. New Orleans was then approaching the zenith of its glory. Many,
not foreseeing the power of the railroad, thought that the city, seated
near the mouth of the longest river of the world, into which scores of
other navigable streams drained, was destined to become the first city
of America. The whole valley of the Mississippi, unequalled in extent
and richness, must find its market here, and beyond lay the vast domain,
once Spain's, for which New Orleans would be the port of entry.
Romance, too, had seized the place. The Alamo and San Jacinto lay but a
few years behind. All the states resounded with the great story of the
Texan struggle for liberty. Everybody talked of Houston and Crockett
and Bowie and the others, and from this city most of the expeditions had
gone. New Orleans was the chief fountain from which flowed fresh
streams of men who steadily pushed the great Southwestern frontier
farther and farther into the Spanish lands.
It seemed to Phil, looking through his own fresh, young eyes, that it
was a happy crowd along the levee. The basis of the city was France and
Spain, with an American superstructure, but all the materials had been
bound into a solid fabric by their great and united defense against the
British in 1815. Now other people came, too, called by the spirit of
trade or adventure. Every nation of Europe was there, and the states,
also, sent their share. They came fast on the steamers which trailed
their black smoke down the yellow river.
The strong youth had been sad, when he came that morning from the dingy
little room in which he slept, and he had been | 221.403699 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
######################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
This e-text is based on ‘The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine,’
from July, 1913. The table of contents, based on the index from the May
issue, has been added by the transcriber.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been retained, but
punctuation and typographical errors have been corrected. Passages
in English dialect and in languages other than English have not been
altered.
Special characters have been used to highlight the following font
styles:
italic: _underscores_
small caps: ~tilde characters~
######################################################################
FICTION NUMBER
~The Century Magazine~
~Vol. LXXXVI~ JULY, 1913 No. 3
CONTENTS
PAGE
~Beelzebub Came to the Convent, How~ _Ethel Watts Mumford_ 323
Picture by N. C. Wyeth.
~Millet’s Return to his Old Home.~ _Truman H. Bartlett_ 332
Pictures from pastels
by Millet.
~Man who did not Go to Heaven on _Ellis Parker Butler_ 340
Tuesday, The~
~Borrowed Lover, The~ _L. Frank Tooker_ 348
~Remington, Frederic, Recollections
of~ _Augustus Thomas_ 354
Pictures by Frederic Remington,
and portrait.
~Spinster, American, The~ _Agnes Repplier_ 363
~Coming Sneeze, The~ _Harry Stillwell Edwards_ 368
Picture by F. R. Gruger.
~Balkan Peninsula, Skirting the~ _Robert Hichens_
V. In Constantinople. 374
Pictures by Jules Guérin and
from photographs.
~Noteworthy Stories of the Last
Generation.~
The New Minister’s Great _C. H. White_ 390
Opportunity.
With portrait of the author,
and new picture by Harry
Townsend.
~Camilla’s First Affair.~ _Gertrude Hall_ 400
Pictures by Emil
Pollak-Ottendorff.
~T. Tembarom.~ _Frances Hodgson Burnett_ 413
Drawings by Charles S. Chapman.
~Mannering’s Men.~ _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_ 427
~Verita’s Stratagem.~ _Anne Warner_ 430
~St. Elizabeth of Hungary.~ By _Timothy Cole_ 437
Francisco Zubarán. Engraved
on wood by
~Hard Money, The Return to~ _Charles A. Conant_ 439
Portraits, and cartoons by
Thomas Nast.
~Morgan’s, Mr., Personality~ _Joseph B. Gilder_ 459
Picture from photograph.
~Socialism in the Colleges.~ _Editorial_ 468
~Money behind the Gun, The~ _Editorial_ 470
~One Way to make Things Better.~ _Editorial_ 471
~“Schedule K,” Comments on~ _Editorial_ 472
~Christmas, On Allowing the Editor _Leonard Hatch_ 473
to Shop Early for~
~Business in the Orient.~ _Harry A. Franck_ 475
~Cartoons.~
Foreign Labor. _Oliver Herford_ 477
Ninety Degrees in the Shade. _J. R. Shaver_ 477
VERSE
~My Conscience.~ _James Whitcomb Riley_ 331
Decoration by Oliver Herford.
~House-without-Roof.~ _Edith M. Thomas_ 339
~Sierra Madre.~ _Henry Van Dyke_ 347
~Prayers for the Living.~ _Mary W. Plummer_ 367
~Little People, The~ _Amelia Josephine Burr_ 387
~Belle Dame Sans Merci, La~ _John Keats_ 388
Republished with pictures by
Stanley M. Arthurs.
~Eden, Beauty in.~ _Alfred Noyes_ 399
~Gettysburg, High Tide at, The.~ _Will H. Thompson_ 410
~Blank Page, For a~ _Austin Dobson_ 458
~Maeterlinck, Maurice~ _Stephen Phillips_ 467
~Brother Mingo Millenyum’s Ordination.~ _Ruth McEnery Stuart_ 475
~Ballade of Protest, A~ _Carolyn Wells_ 476
~Same Old Lure, The~ _Berton Braley_ 478
~Limericks.~:
Text and pictures by Oliver Herford.
XXX. The Gnat and the Gnu. 479
XXXI. The Sole-Hungering Camel. 480
HOW BEELZEBUB CAME TO THE CONVENT
BY ETHEL WATTS MUMFORD
Author of “The Eyes of the Heart,” “Whitewash,” etc.
WITH A PICTURE BY N. C. WYETH
Copyright 1913, by ~The Century Co.~ All rights reserved.
Sister Eulalia rose from the bench by the door in answer to Sister
Teresa’s call. The broken pavement in the outer patio of the Convent of
La Merced echoed the tapping of her stick as she slowly made her way
to the arch leading to the interior of the building. Sister Eulalia
was blind, but as nearly the whole seventy years of her life had been
passed within these same gray walls familiarity supplied the defect
of vision. Her daily tasks never had been interrupted since, a full
half-century before, a wind-driven cactus-thorn had robbed her of
sight. She wore with simple dignity the white woolen garb of the order,
with its band of blue ribbon from which depended a silver cross, the
snowy coif framing her saintly face with smooth bands that contrasted
with the wrinkled surface of her skin. To the eye of an artist, her
frail figure in its quaint surroundings of Spanish architecture, dating
from the early years of the seventeenth century, would have made an
irresistible appeal. But no artist ever sought that remote, almost
forgotten city, and for the few Indians and half-breeds who have
inherited the fallen glories of Antigua de Guatemala, the moribund
convent held no interest. Occasionally one of the older “Indigenes”
whose conscience troubled him would leave an offering of food at the
twisted iron gate and mumble a request for prayers of intercession; or
the dark-eyed half-Spanish children would stare with something of both
fascination and fear at the five white-clad ancient women who, morning
and evening, crossed the patio to the chapel: Sister Eulalia on the arm
of Sister Teresa, Sister Rose de Lima and Sister Catalina, one on each
side of the Mother Superior. To these two younger sisters--their years
were but sixty-six and sixty-nine--had fallen, by common consent, the
care of the Mother Superior, whose age no one knew, so great it was,
and whose infirmities the nuns loyally concealed. By them her wandering
sentences were received as divine revelations, and indeed her strange,
thin voice, as it repeated Latin texts with level insistence, conveyed
a weird, Delphic impression.
The Mother Superior had been a woman of learning, of beauty, and of
high birth, but all that had been long ago. Now she was but a pale
shade repeating vaguely the words learned in a former life. Her
features remained fine and fair, as if preserved in some crystalline
substance. Her skin was unlined, for care and sorrow could reach her no
more.
Unless she were being conducted to and from the chapel by her devoted
handmaidens, or lay at rest in the state bed of the visitors’ room,
she sat in the high carved seat at the end of the refectory table, her
thin hands folded, her eyes fixed on the symbolic cross on her breast,
unconscious of those who came and went about her, or of the echoing
aisles and lofty pillared porticos that surrounded her abstracted
existence.
As the blind nun crossed the court and entered the refectory, she
became conscious of an unusual stir. She divined the presence of
each of the sisters, divined them strangely intent and not a little
agitated. The voice of Sister Rose de Lima reached her in a whisper of
portent.
“The reverend Mother has spoken--in Spanish!”
A pause followed the announcement. There was a slight sound from the
white prophetess. Sister Teresa and Sister Catalina, who stood beside
her, drew insensibly closer. Their hands were joined, finger-tip to
finger-tip, in the prayerful pose of medieval funereal statues; their
withered faces were drawn with expectation. At the opposite end of
the table stood Sister Rose, leaning forward breathlessly. Sister
Eulalia remained at the entrance, rigid, as if turned into stone. The
moments lengthened. The sunlight danced in golden motes through the
long windows, innocent now of their olden glories of painted glass,
and showed the worn carving of memorial stones emblazoned with coats
of arms, half erased by the passing of many sandaled feet. The stone
walls betrayed by protruding nails the absence of their wood-carvings
and panels. The badly repaired rifts in the earthquake-torn walls
showed garishly. The white figures, as in a tableau, remained still
and unmoving, and the seated form of the Mother Superior appeared as
lifeless as the waxen figure of Jesus under its shade of glass on the
little altar.
She opened her eyes, if such a slow unclosing of the lids could be so
called, revealing two wells of opaque blackness. A quick sigh escaped
the lips of the three nuns. Sister Eulalia heard, and slowly knelt,
ready to receive the word should such be sent.
The reverend Mother’s colorless lips moved. At first no sound issued
from them. Then, with strange forceful vibration, her voice broke the
waiting stillness.
“Woe!” she cried. “Woe! ‘The Fiend, as a roaring lion, walketh about,
seeking whom he may devour!’”
Four withered hands hastily made the sign of the cross.
Heavily as they had lifted, the waxen lids closed over the opaque black
eyes. The rigid body relaxed slightly, and the Mother Superior relapsed
into her wonted insensibility.
“We are surely to be tempted!” said Sister Eulalia. “Sisters, we must
be strong to resist the Fiend.” Sister Teresa nodded. “We are warned,”
she added.
Sister Rose crossed herself again.
Very gently Sister Catalina assured herself of the comfort of the
reverend Mother, and the four aged nuns turned to their tasks again,
but with beating hearts. The Fiend would beset them soon, and in
some dreadful guise. Sister Rose breathed a prayer for strength, as
she filled the tiny red lamp burning ever before the waxen image.
Sister Teresa hurriedly began “Aves,” as she peeled an onion; Sister
Catalina’s “paternosters” preceded her into the garden; and Sister
Eulalia’s beads slipped hastily through her knotted fingers as she
returned to the mechanical perfection of her work at the loom.
“As a roaring lion!”--Sister Eulalia’s blind eyes could conjure more
dreadful sights than the faded vision of her less afflicted companions
would ever see. Now she brought them before her in endless array of
horror. She would know him only by his roar, she thought, and he might
creep up close noiselessly. Her ear was alert to the lightest sound.
But the day wore on and no roaring beast came with hellish clamor to
affright the gentle recluse.
[Illustration: Drawn by N. C. Wyeth. Half-tone plate engraved by H.
Davidson
“THE FIVE WHITE-CLAD ANCIENT WOMEN WHO, MORNING AND EVENING, CROSSED
THE PATIO TO THE CHAPEL”]
Sister Catalina entered the patio from the garden-close, a yellow
hill-rose in her hand to pleasure her afflicted companion with its
subtle peppery scent; an act not sanctioned by the drastic rules of the
convent. But years upon years had rolled by, bringing a gentle sagging
of discipline. Occasionally one of the few priests who still clung to
the wrecked cathedrals came to hear confessions of puerile and trifling
misdemeanors, and a severer penance than a dozen “Aves” was unknown and
unmerited. Sister Eulalia inhaled the rose’s fragrance gratefully. Her
blunt, weaving-calloused fingers sought and found the soft petals of
the flower with loving touch.
It was thus that the Rev. Dr. Joel McBean saw them. He paused,
delighted. What a characteristic picture! How well composed; how
symbolical of a decaying faith! His kodak was instantly leveled, and
with a snap the sisters were immortalized. For Dr. McBean was known far
and wide on the west coast for his lectures on the benighted people of
other lands. His present visit to Central America combined his vacation
with a search for new material for his winter tour.
The click of the camera caused Eulalia, the sightless, to turn sharply.
Catalina, who was slightly deaf, seeing her companion’s movement,
looked about and stood still in open-mouthed amazement. Then she made
the gesture common to all women in all lands, and emitted the sound
that accompanies it when the invading hen must be incited to flight.
“Shoo!” she cried. “Shiss--shiss!” and waved her garden apron at the
intruder.
Sister Eulalia grasped the hem of Catalina’s flowing sleeve.
“What is it? Oh, what is it?” she gasped.
“A man! A strange man!” came the answer in a frightened whisper.
The gentleman in question realized that he was distinctly de trop, but
he strongly desired to gather more lecture material from this promising
source. Setting down the camera, he took out his well-thumbed volume
of “Handy Spanish” and sought for a suitable phrase of explanation and
introduction. There were headings about “The Hotel,” “The Laundry,”
“The Eating and Procuring of Meals,” “At the Railway Station,” “The
Diligence,” “The Physician”; but among the thousand useful phrases,
not one seemed to offer itself aptly. At last he found the heading he
sought: “Cameras--Films--Developing, etc.” “Have you any cyanide?” did
not fit. “Have you a darkroom in this hotel?” seemed ambiguous. “Direct
me to the photographer” would not do. Ah! Eureka! “May I take your
picture?” He bowed politely, approached the now thoroughly frightened
nuns, and with carefully spaced utterance made his request. “May I take
your picture?” he repeated, with a graceful sweep of his white hand.
“Fotografia--cuadro--”
Sister Rose appeared in the doorway, followed by Teresa. His gesture
included them also, and the ancient gateway, the columned portico, and
the quaint façade of the little chapel.
“Beautiful!” he cried. “Multo bueno! Hermosa, hermosa--muy hermosa!”
He wanted to take their picture! The nuns were completely at sea. Why
should this stranger, this man with queer apparel and strange speech,
want their picture? They possessed only one--the portrait of Our
Lady of Mercy above the little altar of the chapel--and why should
any one want a thing that so obviously it was impossible for them to
give? Bewildered, they looked from one to another. Sister Rose, being
the youngest and most mentally alert, became aware of the sacerdotal
character of their visitor: the gold cross at the end of his chain, the
wide-bordered felt hat which he waved so gracefully, the neat black
clothes, the breviary that bulged from his pocket; but, more than all,
the expression of his smiling face and gentle, near-sighted eyes.
“He is a priest--see you not?” she said excitedly. “His dress, his
manner, bespeak it. He comes from some foreign land. Alas! that the
reverend Mother cannot speak with him in Latin!”
“It is true,” said Catalina. “Pardon, reverend Father,” she quavered,
“I did not know! Our picture--you shall see it.”
She turned toward the chapel, but the visitor waved her back. The group
before him was irresistible, just as they were. Catalina instinctively
obeyed his gesture, marveling.
“Are--are there any more of you?” he inquired in his halting Spanish.
Now at last they understood. The reverend Father was making the rounds
of the clerical houses in order to make his report to the bishop. That
had happened once before. Sister Rose launched into explanations.
“No. We are all that are left, except the Mother Superior,” she told
him. “We are allowed here on sufferance only, for as, of course, the
reverend Father knows, the churches have all been taken by the state,
and but for the reverend Mother, who was kinswoman to some one great
in the land, we should have been sent forth. Alas! our numbers have
dwindled--grave upon grave we have made, each nun for herself, and now
all are filled save five. We have not, it is quite true, turned the
holy sod of our last sleeping-places as often as is the rule; but we
have grown old, and the work is hard--”
It was the lecturer’s turn to be utterly confused and routed; the
sudden change of manner, the deference shown to him all at once;
above all the avalanche of Spanish was too much for him, but he still
retained his amateur photographer’s zeal. With a hand raised to draw
their attention, but which the nuns mistook for pastoral blessing, he
steadied the camera against his narrow chest, and snapped a second
picture. With a polite “Thank you” and a sigh of satisfaction, he wound
the reel, heartily regretting the while that the limits of the camera’s
focus must necessarily leave out the perfection of the setting--the
towering, smoking peak of the Volcan de Fuego on the right, stained
red and yellow by its sulphurous outpourings, and the menacing green
inactivity of Agua’s deadly summit; all the gloom and glow of those
earthquake-seamed walls, and tottering, carved gateways.
“Mil gracias!” He thanked them awkwardly. “I--well--goodness! how
_does_ one say it?” He seized upon the “Handy Spanish Phrases”
again, and ran his finger down the line of camera sentences. “Please
make me six prints.” “This is over-exposed.” “You have fogged the
plate.”--“Tut, tut!” he exclaimed impatiently, “how in the world do you
say ‘I’ll give you a blue-print’?--blue-print--blue-print--Ah! this
will do. ‘An excellent portrait’--presented--for you,” he explained,
and supplemented the statement with an elaborate pantomime. The nuns
watched his gesticulations with breathless interest. He pointed to each
in turn, made a circle around his own face, smiling blandly and nodding
appreciation.
The sisters conferred.
“It clears!” said Sister Rose. “He asks us have we broken the rules
and looked at ourselves in a looking-glass.” She advanced toward Dr.
McBean and spoke for the sisterhood with deep earnestness. “Oh, no,
reverend Father, we have not seen our own reflections for fifty years,
and more--oh, never! There never has been a mirror on the walls of La
Merced. Vanity is not our sin. Thanks be to Our Lady, not even in the
convent well have we looked to see our faces reflected. Oh, no!”
Dr. McBean caught a word here and there, and felt that he was being
vehemently reassured about something, probably that the nuns would
be grateful for his kindness; that the elderly virgins knew nothing
whatever of such a thing as a camera, and had no idea of the use to
which he put his black box, would have seemed so ridiculous that the
possibility of it never occurred to him. With more bows, and renewed
and halting thanks, he took his departure.
“To-morrow,” he called. “_Mañana_--I will bring the
blue-prints--_mañana_. Adios! Gracias!”
The nuns watched his departure in silence, but as the sound of his
tripping footsteps died away, they turned to one another excitedly.
“Tell me, you who have eyes--what was he like?” begged Eulalia.
The others turned to her pityingly.
“Thou shalt hear. We had forgotten thine affliction, poor sister. He is
thin of the leg and round above. He wears glasses on a small nose. His
eyes are blue, and his hands are beautiful and white, like the hands
of Father Ignatius--the saints rest his soul! He wore black, with a
cassock very short indeed; and a round white collar, and a gold cross
hung at his waist. He bore a small black box, that doubtless contained
a holy relic, for ofttimes he clasped it to his bosom and cared for it
most lovingly.”
“How strange,” mused Eulalia, “that the reverend Fathers should send
one to question us thus unannounced, and one who also speaks so
strangely! His words were confusing, and I caught not often the sense,
though I listened with all my ears. Had it not been for Sister Rose, I
never should have guessed his mission.”
“Had’st thou seen him, thou would’st have known,” said Sister Teresa.
“His calling was not to be mistaken; moreover, with the reliquary he
blessed us.”
They had great food for speculation. Such excitement had not come into
their lives in unnumbered years. The dreadful prophecy of the Mother
Superior was forgotten. For the first time in a decade Eulalia was
heard to lament her loss of sight. Try as she would, she could not
make a satisfactory mental picture from her companions’ descriptions
of their visitor. These were vivid and detailed enough, but somehow
she could not bring them to take definite shape. Over and over again
they discussed the form and face, the manners and raiment of Dr. Joel
McBean. Not a gesture they did not speculate upon and imitate, not a
sentence of his incoherent Spanish that was not dissected, analyzed,
and wondered about. In particular, why did he want their picture, and
then leave without it?
But “to-morrow” he had said, to-morrow he would come; then perhaps they
would understand.
The sunlight turned copper-red, warning them of the lateness of the
hour and putting a sudden end to their excited converse. Suddenly
sobered and recalled to its own world, the flustered dove-cote
subsided. With stately tread they sought the reverend Mother. She
suffered herself to be lifted from her chair, and with eyes downcast
took her slow way to the chapel, with the help and guidance of her two
faithful attendants.
* * * * *
The perspiration stood in great beads upon the brow of Joel McBean as
he emerged from a black, unventilated closet in the Posada del Rey, a
tray of chemicals in his hand. He held the developed films up to the
light and nodded with satisfaction. The pictures were excellent, clear
and sharp, well composed, excellently suited to the enlargement of
the stereopticon. He examined each with minute care, but found none
requiring the intensifier. There at last they were fixed forever,
the replicas of this strange land of contradictions--pictures that
should make his audiences realize how fortunate they were to be able
to stay at home in comfort while an intrepid and intelligent explorer
braved the trials of arduous travel in order to bring the simulacrum of
these other lands to their very doors, together with enlightening and
well-turned elucidations of the manners and customs of these benighted
dwellers in lands forgotten. Already he felt glowing sentences
stirring in his brain, sonorous and uplifting words, at once pitying
and broad-minded. “Tolerance”--that was the motto of his discourses;
tolerance always, but coupled with the well-directed searchlight
of comparison. What a point he would make of these aged, recluse
women--their ignorance, their useless lives, their abasement before the
Juggernaut of outworn rules! He flattered himself that his presence,
momentary as it was, had brought new impetus, and a realization of
other and more intelligent peoples, to these remnants of obsolete
conditions. “Obsolete conditions”--ah, a good expression!
He slipped the sensitized paper under the films in their wooden cases,
and set them for a moment on the rim of his balcony overlooking the
cobbled pavement of the unfrequented King’s Highway, upon which the
tropic sun beat with white fury. A moment only sufficed, and he
withdrew the prints. They proved marvelously good; as portraits they
could not have been excelled. He smiled with satisfaction. How pleased
these benighted little sisters would be, he thought, for he was a
kindly man. He slipped the photographs between the leaves of his “Handy
Spanish Phrases,” and, walking along the red-tiled gallery, made his
way across the blue-and-white-walled patio, and while parrots shrieked
at him and capuchin monkeys chattered, he passed from their cages
toward the great, sweating water-jars, and emerged into the glare of
the street.
Everywhere the remains of huge triumphal arches met his eye; enormous
buildings of state and vast churches, seamed and cracked by the
volcano’s upheavals, now flowered with creepers and plumed with growing
trees. The silence indicated complete desertion, except where one
caught, from time to time, in some shattered palace, a glimpse of an
Indian family at their squalid tasks, or the bray of a burro echoing
from some stately ruin.
At last the twisted wrought-iron gate and the flanking spiral columns
of the gateway of the convent came in sight. Dr. McBean quickened his
steps.
He had been eagerly awaited within those solemn walls. After matins
the excited sisters had gossiped and chatted over the events of the
previous day, and then proceeded--each quietly, in her own cell, and
unknown to her fellows--to make an elaborate toilet. The least faded
blue ribbons were put on, a fresh coif was found, spots and stains
were removed from worn white garments, while the little silver crosses
received an unaccustomed furbishing.
Somewhat shamefaced they met, and laughed like children as each
realized the worldliness of the others, till again Sister Eulalia’s
complaint turned them to consolatory condolences. A frown of petulance
had settled between Sister Eulalia’s brows. To be sure, it was lost
in a maze of wrinkles, but it was there. In her old heart was revolt
against the sorrow accepted so bravely fifty years before. She did not
realize her sin, absorbed as she was in the Great Interest.
When Dr. McBean entered the patio he was met by the four nuns, who
advanced smiling, with murmured hopes of a happy sleep of the night
before and perfect health to-day.
“I kept my promise, you see,” he beamed, handing the prints to Sister
Teresa, and speaking in his native tongue. “The pictures are really
very good, and I hope you will enjoy having them. Thank you so
much--and good-by. I start on my journey again to-day; so I must be
off. Good-by, again. Adios--buanos dais!”
The nuns curtsied and bowed. He paused a moment in order to jot in
his note-book: “Ignorant peoples invariably gratefully receive and
appreciate--all evidences superior civilization”--bowed again and
departed.
It was not till any further glimpse of him was denied by the corner
wall that they turned to the photographs. They looked in astonishment,
which increased to puzzled wonder; then a look of fear crossed Sister
Teresa’s face. Sister Eulalia, with tears in her eyeless lids, had
disconsolately sought her seat on the weaving-bench. These marvels
were not for her. For a moment she hated her companions--they were no
longer companions. She was alone in her misery.
From the depths of self-pity she was rushed to sudden astounded
attention by sounds of wrath, of venomous speech, of resentment and
anger. Sister Eulalia could not believe her ears, and the angry
conversation gave her no hint of its cause. It seemed the babblings of
sheer madness.
Sister Teresa had been the first to exclaim.
“See!” she cried, “I cannot understand | 221.403806 |
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_THE AMERICAN SPORTSMAN'S LIBRARY_
_EDITED BY_
_CASPAR WHITNEY_
RIDING AND DRIVING
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The Gallop-change from Right to Left. The horse, having been in
gallop right, has just gone into air from the right fore leg. The
right hind leg was then planted, which will be followed in turn by
the left hind leg, then the right fore leg, and lastly the left
fore leg, from which the horse will go into air; the change from
gallop right to gallop left having been made without disorder or a
false step.
RIDING AND DRIVING
RIDING
BY
EDWARD L. ANDERSON
AUTHOR OF "MODERN HORSEMANSHIP," "CURB, SNAFFLE, AND
SPUR," ETC., ETC.
DRIVING
HINTS ON THE HISTORY, HOUSING, HARNESSING
AND HANDLING OF THE HORSE
BY
PRICE COLLIER
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1905
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1905.
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1905.
_Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._
CONTENTS
RIDING
BY EDWARD L. ANDERSON
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BREEDING THE SADDLE-HORSE 3
II. HANDLING THE YOUNG HORSE 20
III. THE PURCHASE, THE CARE, AND THE SALE OF
THE SADDLE-HORSE 30
IV. SOME SADDLE-HORSE STOCK FARMS 47
V. THE SADDLE--THE BRIDLE--HOW TO MOUNT 54
VI. THE SEAT--GENERAL HORSEMANSHIP 64
VII. AMERICAN HORSEMANSHIP--OUR CAVALRY 78
VIII. HOW TO RIDE--THE SNAFFLE-BRIDLE--THE
WALK AND THE TROT--SHYING--THE CUNNING
OF THE HORSE--SULKING--REARING--DEFEATING
THE HORSE 85
IX. WHAT TRAINING WILL DO FOR A HORSE--THE
FORMS OF COLLECTION 103
X. THE SPUR 109
XI. SOME WORK ON FOOT--THE SUPPLING 112
XII. THE CURB-AND-SNAFFLE BRIDLE--GUIDING BY
THE REIN AGAINST THE NECK--CROUP ABOUT
FOREHAND--UPON TWO PATHS 121
XIII. THE GALLOP, AND THE GALLOP CHANGE--WHEEL
IN THE GALLOP--PIROUETTE TURN--HALT IN
THE GALLOP 127
XIV. BACKING 135
XV. JUMPING 138
XVI. GENERAL REMARKS 147
DRIVING
BY PRICE COLLIER
INTRODUCTION I
I. ECONOMIC VALUE OF THE HORSE 159
II. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE HORSE 169
III. THE EARLY DAYS OF THE HORSE IN AMERICA 179
IV. POINTS OF THE HORSE 195
V. THE STABLE 211
VI. FEEDING AND STABLE MANAGEMENT 225
VII. FIRST AID TO THE INJURED 239
VIII. SHOEING 251
IX. HARNESS 259
X. THE AMERICAN HORSE 284
XI. A CHAPTER OF LITTLE THINGS 300
XII. DRIVING ONE HORSE 315
XIII. DRIVING A PAIR 333
XIV. DRIVING FOUR 353
XV. THE TANDEM 392
XVI. DRIVING TANDEM. By T. Suffern Tailer 401
BIBLIOGRAPHY 427
INDEX 429
ILLUSTRATIONS
RIDING
BY EDWARD L. ANDERSON
The Gallop-change from Right to Left. The horse, having
been in gallop right, has just gone into air from the
right fore leg. The right hind leg was then planted,
which will be followed in turn by the left hind leg, then
the right fore leg, and lastly the left fore leg, from
which the horse will go into air; the change from
gallop right to gallop left having been made without
disorder or a false step _Frontispiece_
FIGURE FACING PAGE
1. Race-horse in Training. Photograph by R. H. Cox 5
2. Dick Wells. Holder of the world's record for one mile.
Photograph by R. H. Cox. 5
3. Thoroughbred Mare, L'Indienne. Property of Major
David Castleman. Photograph by the author 7
4. Cayuse. Photograph by W. G. Walker 7
5. Abayan Koheilan. Arab stallion, bred by Amasi Hamdani,
Smyri, Sheik of the District of Nagd. Property
of Sutherland Stock Farm, Cobourg, Canada 7
6. Norwegian | 221.501983 |
2023-11-16 18:20:45.4820170 | 6,906 | 302 |
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by The Internet Archive)
MISS DIVIDENDS
A Novel
BY ARCHIBALD CLAVERING GUNTER
AUTHOR OF "MR. BARNES OF NEW YORK," "MR. POTTER OF TEXAS," "THAT
FRENCHMAN!" "MISS NOBODY OF NOWHERE," "SMALL BOYS IN BIG BOOTS," "A
FLORIDA ENCHANTMENT," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
THE HOME PUBLISHING COMPANY
3 EAST FOURTEENTH STREET
1892
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY A. C. GUNTER.
_All rights reserved._
Press of J. J. Little & Co.
Astor Place, New York
CONTENTS.
BOOK I. THE GIRL FROM NEW YORK.
I.--Mr. West 7
II.--Miss East 17
III.--Her Father's Friend 30
IV.--Mr. Ferdie begins his Western Investigations 38
V.--The Grand Island Eating-House 54
VI.--Mr. Ferdie Discovers a Vigilante 66
VII.--What Manner of Man is This? 77
BOOK II. A CURIOUS CLUB MAN.
VIII.--The City of Saints 101
IX.--The Ball in Salt Lake 115
X.--"Papa!" 135
XI.--"For Business Purposes" 153
XII.--A Daughter of the Church 166
XIII.--The Love of a Bishop 179
XIV.--A Rare Club Story 197
BOOK III. OUT OF A STRANGE COUNTRY.
XV.--The Snow-Bound Pullman 217
XVI.--"To the Girl I Love!" 233
XVII.--A Voice in the Night 240
XVIII.--The Last of the Danites 251
XIX.--Orange Blossoms among the Snow 264
MISS DIVIDENDS.
BOOK I.
THE GIRL FROM NEW YORK.
CHAPTER I.
MR. WEST.
"Five minutes behind your appointment," remarks Mr. Whitehouse Southmead
in kindly severity; then he laughs and continues: "You see, your oysters
are cold."
"As they should be, covered up with ice," returns Captain Harry Storey
Lawrence. A moment after, however, he adds more seriously, "I had a good
excuse."
"An excuse for keeping _this_ waiting?" And Whitehouse pours out
lovingly a glass of Chateau Yquem.
"Yes, and the best in the world, though probably not one that would be
considered good by a lawyer."
"Aha! a woman?" rejoins Mr. Southmead.
"The most beautiful I have ever seen!" cries Lawrence, the enthusiasm of
youth beaming in his handsome dark eyes.
"Pooh!" returns the other, "you have only been from the Far West for
three days."
"True," remarks Lawrence. "Three days ago I was incompetent, but am not
now. You see, I have been living in a mining camp in Southern Utah for
the last year, where all women are scarce and none beautiful. For my
first three days in New York, every woman I met on the streets seemed to
me a houri. Now, however, I am beginning to discriminate. My taste has
become normal, and I pronounce the young lady whose fan I picked up on
the stairs a few moments ago, just what I have called her. Wouldn't you,
if she had eyes----"
"Oh, leave the eyes and devote yourself to the oysters," interjects the
more practical Southmead. "You cannot have fallen in love with a girl
while picking up her fan; besides, I have business to talk to you about
this evening,--business upon which the success of your present
transaction may depend."
"You do not think the financial effort France is making to pay its war
indemnity to Germany will stop the sale of my mine?" says the young man
hurriedly, seating himself opposite his companion, and the two begin to
discuss the charming _petit souper_, such as one bachelor gave to
another in old Delmonico's on Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue before
canvas-back ducks had become quite as expensive as they now are, and
terrapin had become so scarce that mud-turtles frequently masquerade for
diamond-backs, even in our most expensive restaurants. For this
conversation and this supper took place in the autumn of 1871, before
fashionable New York had moved above Twenty-third Street, when Neilson
was about to enter into the glory of her first season at the Academy,
when Capoul was to be the idol of the ladies, and dear little Duval was
getting ready to charm the public by her polonaise in "Mignon."
This year, 1871, had marked several changes in the business of these
United States of America. During the War of the Confederacy,
speculators, under the guise of Government contractors, had stolen great
sums from Uncle Sam. In 1865 the Government changed its policy, and
began to make presents of fortunes to speculators, thus saving them the
trouble of robbing it.
In 1868 it had just finished presenting a syndicate of Boston
capitalists with the Union Pacific Railway, many millions of dollars in
solid cash, and every alternate section of Government land for twenty
miles on each side of their thousand miles of track. It had, also, been
equally generous to five small Sacramento capitalists, and had presented
them with the Central Pacific Railway, the same amount of Government
land, and some fifty-five millions of dollars, and had received in
return for all this--not even thanks.
The opening of these railroads, however, had brought the West and East
in much more intimate connection. Mines had been developed in Utah and
Colorado, and the Western speculator, with his indomitable energy, had
opened up a promising market for various silver properties in the West,
not only in New York and other Eastern cities, but in Europe itself.
One of the results of this is the appearance in New York of the young
man, Captain Harry Storey Lawrence, who has come to complete the
negotiations for the sale of a silver property in which he is
interested, to an English syndicate, the lawyer representing the same in
America being Mr. Whitehouse Southmead, who is now seated opposite to
him.
As the two men discuss their oysters, champagne, partridges and salad,
their appearances are strikingly dissimilar. Southmead, who is perhaps
fifty, is slightly gray and slightly bald, and has the characteristics
of an easy-going family lawyer,--one to whom family secrets, wealth and
investments, might be implicitly trusted, though he is distinctly not
that kind of advocate one would choose to fight a desperate criminal
case before a jury, where it was either emotional insanity or murder.
The man opposite to him, however, were he a lawyer, would have been just
the one for the latter case, for the most marked characteristic in Harry
Storey Lawrence's bearing, demeanor and appearance is that of
resolution, unflinching, indomitable,--not the resolution of a stubborn
man, but one whose fixed purpose is dominated by reason and directed by
wisdom.
He has a broad, intellectual forehead, a resolute chin and lower lip.
These would be perhaps too stern did not his dark, flashing eyes have in
them intelligence as well as passion, humanity as well as firmness. His
hair is of a dark brown, for this man is a brunette, not of the Spanish
type, but of the Anglo-Saxon. His mustache, which is long and drooping,
conceals a delicate upper lip, which together with the eyes give
softness and humanity to a countenance that but for them would look too
combative. His figure, considerably over the middle height, has that
peculiar activity which is produced only by training in open air,--not
the exercise of the athlete, but that of the soldier, the pioneer, the
adventurer; for Harry Lawrence has had a great deal of this kind of life
in his twenty-nine years of existence.
Leaving his engineering studies at college, he had entered the army as a
lieutenant at the opening of the rebellion, and in two years had found
himself the captain of an Iowa battery--the only command which gives to
a young officer that independence which makes him plan as well as act.
But, having fought for his country and not for a career, as soon as the
rebellion had finished, this citizen soldier had resigned, and until
1868 had been one of the division engineers of the Union Pacific
Railway. On the completion of that great road, he had found himself at
Ogden, and had devoted himself to mining in Utah.
Altogether, he looks like a man who could win a woman's heart and take
very good care of it; though, perhaps his appearance would hardly
please one of the strong-minded sisterhood, for there is an indication
of command and domination in his manner, doubtless arising from his
military experience.
As the two gentlemen discuss their supper, their conversation first
turns on business; though, from Lawrence's remarks it is apparent there
is a conflicting interest in his mind, that of the young lady whom he
has just seen down-stairs.
"You don't think that _milliard_ going to the Germans will affect the
sale of the Mineral Hill Mine," asks Harry, earnestly, opening the
conversation.
"Not at all," replies the lawyer. "No fluctuation in funds can affect
the capital the English company is about to invest, and has already
deposited in the bank for that purpose."
"Then what more do they want? The mine has already been reported upon
favorably by their experts and engineers."
"They insist, however, upon a title without contest," returns Southmead.
"Why, you yourself have stated that our title to the Mineral Hill was
without flaw," interjects the young man hastily.
"Certainly," answers the lawyer; "but not without _contest_. I have
to-day received a letter from Utah, stating that there is apt to be
litigation in regard to your property. If so, it must certainly delay
its sale."
"Oh, I know what you mean," cries Harry, a determined expression coming
into his eyes. "It is those infernal Mormons! When we made the locations
in Tintic, there was not a stake driven in the District, but now word
has been given out by Father Brigham to his followers that as it is
impossible to stop the entry of Gentiles into Utah for the purpose of
mining, the Latter-Day Saints had best claim all the mines they can
under prior locations and get these properties for themselves, as far
as possible. Consequently, a Mormon company has been started, who have
put in a claim of prior location to a portion of one of our mines,
without any more right to it than I have to this restaurant. And what do
you think the beggars call themselves? Why, Zion's Co-operative Mining
Company." Here he laughs a little bitterly and continues: "It was Zion's
Co-operative Commercial Institutions, and now it is Zion's Co-operative
Mining Companies. Those fellows drag in the Lord to help them in every
iniquitous scheme for despoiling the Gentile."
"All the same," replies the lawyer, "if you wish to make the sale of
your property to the English company that I represent, you had better
compromise the matter with them. I sharn't permit my clients to buy a
lawsuit."
"Compromise? Never!" answers the other impulsively. Then he goes on more
contemplatively: "And yet I wish to make the sale more than ever. You
see, the price we name for the property is an honest one. It is worth
every dollar of the five hundred thousand we ask for it."
"Then, why not work it yourself?" asks the lawyer.
"Simply because I have got tired of living the life of a
barbarian--surrounded by barbarians. It was well enough to spend four
years of early manhood in camps and battles, three others in building a
big railroad, and three more in the excitement of mining, away from the
_convenances_ and graces of life that only come with the presence of
refined women; but now I am tired of it, more so than ever since I have
seen that young lady down-stairs."
"Ah! still going back to Miss Travenion?" laughs the lawyer.
"You know her name then?" cries the captain, suddenly.
"Yes," says the other. "I happened to be impatient for your coming. The
evening was sultry. I walked out of the room, looked down the stairs and
saw your act of gallantry."
"Ah, since you know her name, you must know her!"
"Quite well; I am her trustee."
"Her trustee!" cries Harry Lawrence impulsively. "Her guardian? You will
introduce me to her? This is luck," and before the old gentleman can
interrupt him, the Westerner has seized his hand and given it a squeeze
which he remembers for some five minutes.
"I said her trustee; not her guardian," answers the lawyer cautiously.
"If, as your manner rather indicates, you have designs upon the young
lady's heart, you had better get a reply from her father."
"Her father is living then?"
"Certainly. Last January you could have seen him any afternoon in the
windows of the Unity Club looking at the ladies promenading on the
Avenue, just as he used to do when he lived here, and was a man about
town, and club _habitue_ and heavy swell. Ralph Travenion has gone West
again, however, but I have not heard of his death."
"Then for what reason does his daughter need a trustee?"
"Well, if you will listen to me and smoke your cigar in silence," says
Southmead, for they have arrived at that stage of the meal. "Erma
Lucille Travenion----"
"Erma--Lucille--Travenion!" mutters the young man, turning the words
over very tenderly as if they were sweet morsels on his tongue.
"Erma--Lucille--Travenion,--what a beautiful name."
"Hang it, don't interrupt me and don't look romantic," laughs the
lawyer.
But here a soft-treading waiter knocks upon the door and says: "Mr.
Ferdinand Rives Chauncey would like to see you half a minute, Mr.
Southmead."
And with the words, the young gentleman announced, a dapper boy of about
nineteen, faultlessly clad in the evening dress of that period, enters
hastily and says: "My dear Mr. Southmead, Mrs. Livingston has
commissioned me to ask you if you won't come down and join her for a few
moments. Oh, I beg pardon--" He pauses and gives a look expectant of
introduction towards Harry Lawrence. The lawyer, following his glance,
presents the two young men, and after acknowledging it, Chauncey
proceeds glibly, "Awful sorry to have interrupted you."
"Won't you sit down and have a glass of wine and a cigar?" says
Southmead hospitably.
"Yes, just one glass and one cigar--a baby cigar--they remind me of
cigarettes. I have not more than a moment to deliver my message. You
see, Mrs. Ogden Livingston has just come back from Newport, and to-night
gave a little theatre party: Daly's 'Divorce,' Clara Morris, Fanny
Davenport, Louis James and James Lewis, etc. Have you seen Lewis's
Templeton Jitt? It is immense. That muff, Oliver, actually giggled,"
babbles this youth, commonly called by his intimates Ferdie.
"So, Mr. Oliver Livingston laughed? It must have been very funny,"
remarks Whitehouse affably.
"Didn't he, when Jitt, the lawyer, got his ears boxed instead of the
husband he was suing for divorce. You want to see that play, Southmead;
it might give you points in your next application for alimony."
"I am not a divorce lawyer," cries the attorney rather savagely.
"Oh, no telling what might happen in your swell clientele, some day,"
giggles Ferdie. "But Ollie was scandalized at the placing of a minister
on the stage--an Episcopal minister, too."
"Does he expect to use an Episcopal minister soon?" asks the lawyer,
suggestively.
"Not very soon, judging by the young lady," grins Ferdie. "The only time
Miss Dividends----"
"What the dickens do you call Miss Travenion Miss Dividends for?"
interrupts Whitehouse testily.
"You ought to know best; you're her trustee," returns the youth.
"Besides, every one called her that at Newport this season, especially
the other girls, she is so stunning and they envied her so. Lots of
money, lots of beaux and more of beauty. If she didn't have a level
head, it would be turned."
"Yes, she has got a brain like her father. Besides, Mrs. Livingston
keeps a very sharp eye on her," remarks Southmead.
"Don't she though?" chimes in Mr. Chauncey. "Look at to-night. The widow
invited your humble servant to take care of the Amory girl, so that
Ollie could have full swing with Miss Dividends--I mean Erma. We are all
having supper in the Chinese-room. Mrs. Livingston wishes to see you for
a moment on business; Miss Travenion on more important business. They
chanced to mention it, and knowing your habits, I thought it very
probable you were at supper here. I told them I could find you if you
were in the building. I roamed through the _cafe_ and inquired of
Rimmer, and he suggested you were up-stairs. The head waiter in the
restaurant corroborated him. It won't keep you long. Miss Travenion and
Mrs. Livingston wish to see you particularly. They are very busy."
"Busy!" cries the lawyer. "What have those two birds of Paradise to do
with business?"
"They are packing. They wish to know if you can possibly call on them
to-morrow afternoon."
"To-morrow afternoon, Captain Lawrence's business compels my
attention."
"Ah, then, to-morrow evening."
"Unfortunately I have promised to deliver an address at the Bar
Association Dinner."
"Very well, to-morrow morning."
"Still this young gentleman's business," remarks Mr. Southmead. "It is
important and immediate."
"Oh, very well, then," returns Ferdie; "suppose you come down to our
supper party _now_! I know what Mrs. Livingston wants to say to you,
won't take over three minutes, and Miss Travenion won't occupy you five.
Come down and join us? We are pretty well finished."
"But this young gentleman," remarks Whitehouse, smiling at Lawrence.
"Oh, bring Captain Lawrence down with you," and before Southmead can
reply to this request, which is given in an off-hand, snappy kind of a
way, Ferdie finds his hand grasped warmly in a set of bronzed maniples
and Harry Storey Lawrence looking into his eyes with a face full of
gratitude, and saying to him, "Certainly! I will run down with you with
the greatest pleasure."
"But--" interjects Southmead.
"Oh, it will not inconvenience me in the slightest. It will be rather a
pleasure," cries the Westerner.
And before he can urge any further objection to Mr. Ferdinand Chauncey's
proposed move, the two younger men have left the room and are walking
down-stairs, and the lawyer has nothing to do but to follow after them
as rapidly as possible.
The door of the Chinese-room is opened for Mr. Chauncey. As he looks in
one thought strikes the mind of the mining man, and that is,--If you
would thoroughly appreciate the beauty of women, be without their
society for a few months. Then you will know why men rave about them,
why men die for them.
No prettier sight has ever come before the eyes of this young
Westerner,--who has still the fire of youth in his veins, but whose life
has kept him away from nearly all such scenes as this,--than this one he
gazes on with beaming eyes, flushed face, a slight trembling of his
stalwart limbs. This room, made bright by Chinese decorations and
Oriental color, illuminated by the soft wax lights of the supper table,
and made radiant by the presence of lovely women--one of whom--the one
his eyes seek--the like of which he has never seen before--Erma
Travenion.
CHAPTER II.
MISS EAST.
The girl stands in an easy, but vivacious, attitude. She has just been
telling some story, and growing excited, has got to acting it, to the
derangement but beauty of her toilet, as a little bonnet made all of
<DW29>s has fallen, and hanging by two light blue ribbons, adorns her
white neck instead of her fair hair, which, disordered by her
enthusiasm, has become wavy, floating and gold in the light, and red
bronze in the shadow.
The party having left the supper table with its fruit, flowers, crystal,
silverware and decorated china, are grouped about, looking at her.
The chaperon, Mrs. Livingston, standing near the door, is a widow and
forty-five, though still comely to look upon, and the girl behind her is
interesting in her own peculiar style, being piquant and pretty. Though
it is late in September the weather is still quite warm, and dressed in
the light summer costumes of 1871, which gave as charming glimpses of
white necks and dazzling arms as those of to-day, either lady would
attract the eyes of men: but the glorious beauty of Erma Travenion still
holds the Westerner's gaze.
Eyes draw eyes, and the young lady returns his glance for a second.
Then Mrs. Livingston speaks: "Why, Chauncey," she says, "I thought you
were going to bring Mr. Southmead."
"And I have brought his client," laughs Ferdie. "Mr. Southmead will be
here in a minute. He was engaged with Captain Lawrence and could not
leave him. So I took the liberty and persuaded Captain Lawrence to join
us also. But permit me," and he presents his companion in due form to
the hostess of the evening.
While Harry is making his bow, Mr. Southmead enters.
"Ah, Chauncey," he says laughingly, "you have made the introduction, I
see. But still, Mrs. Livingston, I think I can give you some information
about Captain Lawrence which Ferdinand does not possess. He is a _rara
avis_. He has not opened his mouth to a beautiful woman for eight
months."
"Excuse me," interposes Lawrence gallantly. "That was before I had
spoken to Mrs. Livingston."
This happy shot makes the widow his friend at once. She says: "Not
spoken to a beautiful woman for eight months! Surely there could be no
beautiful women about," and her eyes emphasize her words as she looks
with admiration on the athletic symmetry the young Western man displays
under his broadcloth evening dress.
"Not spoken to a beautiful woman for eight months!" This is an
astonished echo from the two young ladies.
"Yes," replies Southmead laughing. "He has been in southern Utah. He
only stopped over night in Salt Lake City on his trip to New York; he
comes from the wilds of the Rocky Mountains."
"The Rocky Mountains?" cries Erma, whose eyes seem to take sudden
interest at the locality mentioned.
A moment after, Mrs. Livingston hastily presents the Western engineer.
"Miss Amory--Miss Travenion: Captain Lawrence."
"Not heard the voice of beauty for eight months? That is severe for a
military man, Captain Lawrence," laughs Miss Amory, her eyes growing
bright, for she is in the habit of going to West Point, to graduating
exercises, and loving cadets and brass buttons generally and awfully.
"I was once Captain of an Iowa battery," answers Harry; "for some years
after that I was a civil engineer on the Union Pacific Railway, and for
the last three I have been a mining engineer in Utah."
"On the Union Pacific Railway," says Miss Travenion, her eyes growing
more interested. "Then perhaps you know my father. Won't you sit beside
me? I should like to ask you a few questions. But let me present Mr.
Oliver Ogden Livingston, Captain Lawrence." She introduces in the easy
manner of one accustomed to society the Westerner to a gentleman who has
arisen from beside her.
This being remarks, "Awh! delighted," with a slight English affectation
of manner, which in 1871 was very uncommon in America, and reseats
himself beside Miss Travenion.
"There is another chair on my other hand," says the young lady,
indicating the article in question, and looking rather sneeringly at Mr.
Oliver for his by no means civil performance.
Consequently, a moment after the young man finds himself beside Miss
Travenion, though Mr. Livingston has destroyed a _tete-a-tete_ by
sitting upon the other hand of the beauty.
Ferdie has grouped himself with Miss Amory and is entering into some
society small talk or gossip that apparently interests her greatly, as
she gives out every now and then excited giggles and exclamations at
the young man's flippant sentences.
Mrs. Livingston is occupied with Mr. Southmead, who has just said: "You
brought Louise with you from Newport?"
"Of course," answers the widow. "We have left there for the season."
Then noticing that the gentleman's glance is wandering about the room,
she continues: "You need not hope to find Louise here. She is only
sixteen--too young for theatre parties. The child is in bed and asleep."
A moment after their voices are lowered, apparently discussing some
business matter.
During this, Erma Travenion appears to be considering some proposition
in her mind. This gives Lawrence a chance to contemplate her more
minutely than when he picked up her fan on the staircase or as he
entered the room. He repeats the inspection, with the same decision
intensified: she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen; but,
dominating even her beauty, is that peculiar and radiant thing we call
the charm of manner.
Seated in a languid, careless, dreamy way, as if her thoughts were far
from this brilliant supper-room, the unstudied pose of her attitude,
gives additional femininity to her graceful figure; for, when
self-conscious, Miss Travenion has an appearance of coldness, even
_hauteur_; but there is none of this now.
Her well-proportioned head, supported by a neck of enchanting whiteness,
is lighted by two eyes which would be sapphires, were they not made
dazzling by the soul that shines through them, reflecting each emotion
of her vivacious yet brilliant mind. Her forehead has that peculiar
breadth, which denotes that intellect would always dominate passion,
were it not for her lips that indicate when she loves, she will love
with her whole heart. Her figure, betwixt girlhood and womanhood,
retains the graces of one and the contours of the other. The dress she
wears brings all this out with wonderful distinctness, for it is jet
black, even to its laces,--a color which segregates her from the more
brilliant decorations of the room, outlining her exquisite arms,
shoulders and bust, in a way that would make her seem a statue of ebony
and ivory, were it not for the delicate pink of her lips and nostrils as
she softly breathes, the slight compression of her brows, and the
nervous tapping of her little foot that just shows itself in dainty boot
beneath the laces of her robe. These indicate that youthful and
enthusiastic life will in a moment make this dreaming figure a vivacious
woman.
As Lawrence thinks this, action comes to her. She says impulsively: "You
must let me thank you again for the attention you showed me on the
stairway."
"What attention?" asks Mr. Oliver Livingston, waking up also.
"Something you were too occupied with yourself to notice," smiles the
young lady. "I dropped my fan as we entered this evening, and this
gentleman, though he did not know me, was kind enough to pick it up.
But," she continues suddenly, "Captain Lawrence, you can do me a much
greater favor."
"Indeed! How?" is Harry's eager answer.
"You say that you have been an engineer upon the Union Pacific Railway.
What portion of it?"
"From Green River to Ogden, though I was employed as assistant at one
time at Cheyenne."
"From Green River to Ogden! Then you must have met my father, Ralph
Harriman Travenion."
"No, I never had that pleasure," answers the young man, after a moment's
consideration.
"But you must have!" cries the girl impulsively. "He was one of the
largest contractors on that portion of the road."
"Your father--a railroad contractor?" answers Harry, opening his eyes,
which appear to the young lady very large, earnest, and flashing
compared to the rather effeminate ones of Mr. Livingston.
"Not in New York," laughs Ollie, waving his white hands. "When here, Mr.
Travenion is one of our leading fashionables. Did you see any one dance
more gracefully than your father did last winter, Miss Erma?--though I
believe he did have something to do with the building of the railway out
there."
"I don't see how that was possible," suggests Lawrence. "I and my
assistants figured all the cross-sectionings of that portion of the
work, and I know that none were accredited to Ralph Travenion. Our
largest contractors were Little & Co., Tranyon & Co., Amos Jennings,
George H. Smith, and Brigham Young--nearly all Mormons."
"You are sure?" says the young lady, knitting her brows as if in
thought.
"Certainly!"
"This is very curious. Why, I have even had letters from him on Union
Pacific paper."
"Perhaps he was a silent partner in one of the companies," suggests
Lawrence, who is very much astonished to find a girl in New York's most
exclusive set, as Miss Travenion evidently is, connected so intimately
with one of the builders of a railway in the Far West.
"Perhaps you are right," says the young lady contemplatively. "However,
I will know all about it myself in a few weeks."
"He is coming to visit you, I presume?"
"No, but I am going to take a trip to California with Mrs. Livingston
and her party," remarks Erma, "and _en route_ I expect to meet him--my
dear father, whom I haven't seen for half a year!" and the girl's eyes
light up with sudden tenderness and pleasure. "_Apropos_ of the
trip--excuse me." Here she rises suddenly and passes to the family
law | 221.502057 |
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State of the Union Addresses of John Quincy Adams
The addresses are separated by three asterisks: ***
Dates of addresses by John Quincy Adams in this eBook:
December 6, 1825
December 5, 1826
December 4, 1827
December 2, 1828
***
State of the Union Address
John Quincy Adams
December 6, 1825
Fellow Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives:
In taking a general survey of the concerns of our beloved country, with
reference to subjects interesting to the common welfare, the first
sentiment which impresses itself upon the mind is of gratitude to the
Omnipotent Disposer of All Good for the continuance of the signal
blessings of His providence, and especially for that health which to an
unusual extent has prevailed within our borders, and for that abundance
which in the vicissitudes of the seasons has been scattered with
profusion over our land. Nor ought we less to ascribe to Him the glory
that we are permitted to enjoy the bounties of His hand in peace and
tranquillity--in peace with all the other nations of the earth, in
tranquillity among our selves. There has, indeed, rarely been a period
in the history of civilized man in which the general condition of the
Christian nations has been marked so extensively by peace and
prosperity.
Europe, with a few partial and unhappy exceptions, has enjoyed ten
years of peace, during which all her Governments, what ever the theory
of their constitutions may have been, are successively taught to feel
that the end of their institution is the happiness of the people, and
that the exercise of power among men can be justified only by the
blessings it confers upon those over whom it is extended.
During the same period our intercourse with all those nations has been
pacific and friendly; it so continues. Since the close of your last
session no material variation has occurred in our relations with any
one of them. In the commercial and navigation system of Great Britain
important changes of municipal regulation have recently been sanctioned
by acts of Parliament, the effect of which upon the interests of other
nations, and particularly upon ours, has not yet been fully developed.
In the recent renewal of the diplomatic missions on both sides between
the two Governments assurances have been given and received of the
continuance and increase of the mutual confidence and cordiality by
which the adjustment of many points of difference had already been
effected, and which affords the surest pledge for the ultimate
satisfactory adjustment of those which still remain open or may
hereafter arise.
The policy of the United States in their commercial intercourse with
other nations has always been of the most liberal character. In the
mutual exchange of their respective productions they have abstained
altogether from prohibitions; they have interdicted themselves the
power of laying taxes upon exports, and when ever they have favored
their own shipping by special preferences or exclusive privileges in
their own ports it has been only with a view to countervail similar
favors and exclusions granted by the nations with whom we have been
engaged in traffic to their own people or shipping, and to the
disadvantage of ours. Immediately after the close of the last war a
proposal was fairly made by the act of Congress of March 3rd, 1815, to
all the maritime nations to lay aside the system of retaliating
restrictions and exclusions, and to place the shipping of both parties
to the common trade on a footing of equality in respect to the duties
of tonnage and impost. This offer was partially and successively
accepted by Great Britain, Sweden, the Netherlands, the Hanseatic
cities, Prussia, Sardinia, the Duke of Oldenburg, and Russia. It was
also adopted, under certain modifications, in our late commercial
convention with France, and by the act of Congress of January 1st,
1824, it has received a new confirmation with all the nations who had
acceded to it, and has been offered again to all those who are or may
here after be willing to abide in reciprocity by it. But | 221.502762 |
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[Illustration: BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.]
Edition d'Elite
Historical Tales
The Romance of Reality
By
CHARLES MORRIS
_Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the
Dramatists," etc._
IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES
Volume II
American
2
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
PONCE DE LEON AND THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH 7
DE SOTO AND THE FATHER OF WATERS 13
THE LOST COLONY OF ROANOKE 23
THE THRILLING ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH 29
THE INDIAN MASSACRE IN VIRGINIA 40
THE GREAT REBELLION IN THE OLD DOMINION 49
CHEVALIER LA SALLE THE EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI 62
THE FRENCH OF LOUISIANA AND THE NATCHEZ INDIANS 76
THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN HORSESHOE 88
HOW OGLETHORPE SAVED GEORGIA FROM SPAIN 95
A BOY'S WORKING HOLIDAY IN THE WILDWOOD 104
PATRICK HENRY, THE HERALD OF THE REVOLUTION 113
GOVERNOR TRYON AND THE CAROLINA REGULATORS 124
LORD DUNMORE AND THE GUNPOWDER 135
THE FATAL EXPEDITION OF COLONEL ROGERS 145
HOW COLONEL CLARK WON THE NORTHWEST 153
KING'S MOUNTAIN AND THE PATRIOTS OF TENNESSEE 166
GENERAL GREENE'S FAMOUS RETREAT 171
ELI WHITNEY, THE INVENTOR OF THE COTTON-GIN 185
HOW OLD HICKORY FOUGHT THE CREEKS 193
THE PIRATES OF BARATARIA BAY 206
THE HEROES OF THE ALAMO 217
HOW HOUSTON WON FREEDOM FOR TEXAS 225
CAPTAIN ROBERT E. LEE AND THE LAVA-BEDS 231
A CHRISTMAS DAY ON THE PLANTATION 241
CAPTAIN GORDON AND THE RACCOON ROUGHS 252
STUART'S FAMOUS CHAMBERSBURG RAID 261
FORREST'S CHASE OF THE RAIDERS 277
EXPLOITS OF A BLOCKADE-RUNNER 291
FONTAIN, THE SCOUT, AND THE BESIEGERS OF VICKSBURG 302
GORDON AND THE BAYONET CHARGE AT ANTIETAM 311
THE LAST TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 319
JOHN MORGAN'S FAMOUS RAID 331
HOME-COMING OF GENERAL LEE AND HIS VETERANS 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
AMERICAN. VOLUME II.
PAGE
BATTLE OF ANTIETAM _Frontispiece._
ALONG THE COAST OF FLORIDA 9
DE SOTO DISCOVERING THE MISSISSIPPI 19
POCAHONTAS 32
JAMESTOWN RUIN 54
COALING A MOVING BOAT ON THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER 73
OLD SPANISH FORT, ST. AUGUSTINE 98
HOME OF MARY WASHINGTON, FREDERICKSBURG, VA 108
HOME OF PATRICK HENRY DURING HIS LAST TWO
TERMS AS GOVERNOR OF VIRGINIA 114
ST. JOHN'S CHURCH 122
OLD MAGAZINE AT WILLIAMSBURG 138
VIEW IN THE NORTHWESTERN MOUNTAINS 155
COTTON-GIN 186
JACKSON'S BIRTHPLACE 198
THE ALAMO 218
COTTON FIELD ON SOUTHERN PLANTATION 242
COLONIAL MANSION 262
GORDON HOUSE 316
TRIUMPH OF STONEWALL JACKSON 323
LEE'S HOUSE AT RICHMOND 348
_PONCE DE LEON AND | 221.509521 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Jonathan Ingram, Keith Edkins
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Library of Early
Journals.)
Transcriber's note: A few typographical errors have been corrected: they
are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
{69}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 195.]
SATURDAY, JULY 23. 1853..
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
William Blake 69
A Poem by Shelley, not in his Works 71
The Impossibilities of History 72
"Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat," by T. J.
Buckton 73
Shakspeare Correspondence, by J. Payne Collier,
George Blink, &c. 73
"The Dance of Death," by Weld Taylor 76
MINOR NOTES:--Old Lines newly revived--Inscription
near Cirencester--Wordsworth--"Magna est Veritas et
praevalebit"--"Putting your foot into it" 76
QUERIES:--
Fragments of MSS., by Philip Hale 77
The Electric Telegraph, by W. Matthews 78
MINOR QUERIES:--Sir Walter Raleigh--Ancient
Fortifications: Hertstone, Pale, Brecost--Newton and
Somers--Daventry, Duel at--Passage in Burial Service--
"They shot him on the nine-stane rig"--Wardhouse, and
Fishermen's Custom there--"Adrian turn'd the bull"--
Cary's "Palaeologia Chronica"--The Southwark Pudding
Wonder--Roman Catholics confined in Fens of Ely--White
Bell Heather transplanted--Green's "Secret Plot"--
"The full Moon brings fine Weather"--Nash the Artist--
Woodwork of St. Andrew's Priory Church, Barnwell--
"The Mitre and the Crown"--Military Music 78
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Stoven Church--The
Statute of Kilkenny--Kenne of Kenne--Rents of Assize,
&c.--Edifices of Ancient and Modern Times--Gorram--
"Rock of Ages" 80
REPLIES:--
Remuneration of Authors 81
On the Use of the Hour-glass in Pulpits 82
Ladies' Arms borne in a Lozenge 83
PHOTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE:--Multiplication of
Photographs--Yellow Bottles for Photographic
Chemicals 85
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Donnybrook Fair--Abigail--
Honorary Degrees--Red Hair--Historical Engraving--
Proverbs quoted by Suetonius--"Sat cito, si sat bene"--
Council of Laodicea, Canon 35.--Anna Lightfoot--Jack
and Gill--Simile of the Soul and the Magnetic Needle--
Gibbon's Library--St. Paul's Epistles to Seneca--
"Hip, Hip, Hurrah!"--Emblemata--Campvere, Privileges of--
Slang Expressions: "Just the cheese"--The Honorable Miss
E. St. Leger--Queries from the Navorscher--"Pity
is akin to Love" 86
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 89
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 90
Notices to Correspondents 90
Advertisements 90
* * * * *
Notes.
WILLIAM BLAKE.
My antiquarian tendencies bring me acquainted with many neglected and
obscure individuals connected with our earlier English literature, who,
after "fretting their hour" upon life's stage, have passed away; leaving
their names entombed upon the title-page of some unappreciated or
crotchetty book, only to be found upon the shelves of the curious.
To look for these in Kippis, Chalmers, Gorton, or Rose would be a waste of
time; and although agreeing to some extent with the _Utilitarians_, that we
have all that was worth preserving of the _Antediluvians_, there is, I
think, here and there a name worth resuscitating, possessing claims to a
_niche_ in our "Antiquary's Newspaper;" and for that distinction, I would
now put in a plea on behalf of my present subject, William Blake.
Although our author belongs to the _eccentric category_, he is a character
not only deserving of notice, but a model for imitation: the "_bee_ in his
bonnet" having set his sympathies in the healthy direction of a large
_philanthropy_ for the spiritual and temporal interests of his fellow men.
The congenial reader has already, I doubt not, anticipated that I am about
to introduce that nondescript book bearing the running title--and it never
had any other--of _Silver Drops, or Serious Things;_ purporting, in a kind
of colophon, to be "written by William Blake, housekeeper to the Ladies'
Charity School."[1] The curious in old books knows too, that, apart from | 221.603347 |
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ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE
By Frances M. A. Roe
PREFACE
PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the
| 221.69752 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 734. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE STORY OF THIERS.
In a densely populated street of the quaint sea-port of Marseilles
there dwelt a poor locksmith and his family, who were so hard pressed
by the dearness of provisions and the general hardness of the times,
that the rent and taxes for the wretched tenement which they called
a home had been allowed to fall many weeks into arrear. But the good
people struggled on against their poverty; and the locksmith (who
was the son of a ruined cloth-merchant), though fallen to the humble
position of a dock-porter, still managed to wade through life as if
he had been born to opulence. This poor labourer’s name was Thiers,
and his wife was a descendant of the poet Chenier; the two being
destined to become the parents of Louis Adolphe Thiers, one of the most
remarkable men that ever lived.
The hero of our story was at his birth mentally consigned to oblivion
by his parents, while the neighbours laughed at the ungainly child,
and prognosticated for him all kinds of evil in the future. And it is
more than probable that these evil auguries would have been fulfilled
had it not been for the extraordinary care bestowed upon him by his
grandmother. But for her, perhaps our story had never been written.
Under her fostering care the child survived all those diseases which
were, according to the gossips, to prove fatal to him; but while his
limbs remained almost stationary, his head and chest grew larger, until
he became a veritable dwarf. By his mother’s influence with the family
of André Chenier, the lad was enabled to enter the Marseilles Lyceum
at the age of nine; and here the remarkable head and chest kept the
promise they made in his infancy, and soon fulfilled Madame Thiers’
predictions.
Louis Adolphe Thiers was a brilliant though somewhat erratic pupil. He
was noted for his practical jokes, his restlessness, and the ready and
ingenious manner in which he always extricated himself from any scrapes
into which his bold and restless disposition had led him. Thus the
child in this case would appear to have been ‘father to the man,’ by
the manner in which he afterwards released his beloved country from one
of the greatest ‘scrapes’ she ever experienced.
On leaving school Thiers studied for the law, and was eventually called
to the bar, though he never practised as a lawyer. He became instead
a local politician; and so well did the rôle suit him, that he soon
evinced a strong desire to try his fortune in Paris itself. He swayed
his auditory, when speaking, in spite of his diminutive stature,
Punch-like physiognomy, and shrill piping speech; and shout and yell
as his adversaries might, they could not drown his voice, for it arose
clear and distinct above all the hubbub around him. While the studious
youth was thus making himself a name in his native town, he was ever on
the watch for an opportunity to transfer his fortunes to the capital.
His almost penniless condition, however, precluded him from carrying
out his design without extraneous assistance of some kind or other;
but when such a stupendous ambition as that of governing one of the
greatest nations of the earth filled the breast of the Marseilles
student, it was not likely that the opportunity he was seeking would be
long in coming.
The Academy of Aix offered a prize of a few hundred francs for a
eulogium on _Vauvenargues_, and here was the opportunity which Louis
Adolphe Thiers required. He determined to compete for the prize,
and wrote out two copies of his essay, one of which he sent to the
Academy’s Secretary, and the other he submitted to the judgment of
his friends. This latter indiscretion, however, would appear to have
been the cause of his name being mentioned to the Academicians as a
competitor; and as they had a spite against him, and disapproved of his
opinions, they decided to reject any essay which he might submit to
them.
On the day of the competition they were as good as their word, and
Thiers received back his essay with only an ‘honourable mention’
attached to it. The votes, however, had been equally divided, and the
principal prize could not be adjudged until the next session. The
future statesman and brilliant journalist was not, however, to be cast
aside in this contemptuous manner, and he accordingly adopted a _ruse
de guerre_, which was perfectly justifiable under the circumstances. He
sent back his first essay for the second competition with his own name
attached thereto, and at the same time transmitted another essay, by
means of a friend, through the Paris post-office. This paper was signed
‘Louis Duval;’ and as M. Thiers knew that they had resolved to reject
his essay and accept the next best on the list, he made it as near as
possible equal to the other in point of merit.
The Academicians were thoroughly out-generalled by this clever
artifice, and the prize was awarded to the essay signed ‘Louis Duval;’
but the chagrin of the dons when the envelope was opened and the name
of Louis Adolphe Thiers was read out, can be better imagined than
described. The prize, which amounted to about twenty pounds, was
added to another sum of forty pounds gained by his friend Mignet for
essay-writing; and with this modest amount, the two friends set out
on their journey to Paris. On their arrival there, both of them were
at once engaged as writers on the _Globe_ newspaper, and M. Thiers’
articles soon attracted such attention that the highest political
destinies were predicted for their author.
Alluding to the small stature of our hero, Prince Talleyrand once
said: ‘_Il est petit, mais il grandira!_’ (He is little, but he will
be great!) Meanwhile, the young adventurer, as we may call him, was
engaged on general literary work for the press, writing political
leaders one day, art-criticisms the next, and so on, until a publisher
asked him to write the _History of the French Revolution_. He accepted;
and when published, the work met with so great a success that it placed
him in the front rank of literature, and gained for him the proud title
of ‘National Historian.’ After this the two friends published the
_National_ newspaper, an undertaking which we are told was conceived
in Talleyrand’s house, and was largely subscribed to by the Duke
of Orleans, afterwards King Louis-Philippe. M. Thiers disliked the
Bourbons; and when, in 1829, Charles X. dissolved a liberal parliament,
he took the lead in agitating for the reinstating of the people’s
rights. The king having determined to reply to the re-election of the
‘221’ by a _coup d’état_, the nature of which was secretly communicated
to M. Thiers, the latter hastened to the office of the _National_
and drew up the celebrated Protest of the Journalists, which before
noon was signed by every writer on the liberal side. As M. Thiers was
leaving the office, a servant of Prince Talleyrand placed in his hand a
note, which simply bore the words, ‘Go and gather cherries.’ This was a
hint that danger was near the young patriot, and that he should repair
to the house of one of the Prince’s friends at Montmorency--a place
famous for its cherries--and there lie hidden until the storm had blown
over.
M. Thiers did not immediately accept the hint, but remained in the
capital during the day, to watch the course of events and endeavour to
prevent his friends from doing anything rash. He energetically sought
to dissuade those who were for resisting the king’s decree by force of
arms; but did not succeed. When the barricades were raised, he left
Paris, because he thought that the people were doing an | 221.798769 |
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Produced by A. Light
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
[British-born Canadian Poet--1874-1958.]
[Note on text: Italicized stanzas will be indented 5 spaces.
Italicized words or phrases will be capitalised. Lines longer
than 75 characters have been broken according to metre,
and the continuation is indented two spaces.]
[This etext was transcribed from an American 1909 edition.]
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
Author of "The Spell of the Yukon"
CONTENTS:
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
Men of the High North
Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
The Ballad of the Northern Lights
One of the Down and Out--that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare!
The Ballad of the Black Fox Skin
There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
The Ballad of Pious Pete
I tried to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to God, I did.
The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
The Ballad of One-Eyed Mike
This is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye,
The Ballad of the Brand
'Twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare,
The Ballad of Hard-Luck Henry
Now wouldn't you expect to find a man an awful crank
The Man from Eldorado
He's the man from Eldorado, and he's just arrived in town,
My Friends
The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief;
The Prospector
I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
The Black Sheep
Hark to the ewe that bore him:
The Telegraph Operator
I will not wash my face;
The Wood-Cutter
The sky is like an envelope,
The Song of the Mouth-Organ
I'm a homely little bit of tin and bone;
The Trail of Ninety-Eight
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
The Ballad of Gum-Boot Ben
He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.
Clancy of the Mounted Police
In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear
Lost
"Black is the sky, but the land is white--
L'Envoi
We talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure,
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
I've drifted, silver-sailed, on seas of dream,
Hearing afar the bells of Elfland chiming,
Seeing the groves of Arcadie agleam.
I was the thrall of Beauty that rejoices
From peak snow-diademed to regal star;
Yet to mine aerie ever pierced the voices,
The pregnant voices of the Things That Are | 221.804921 |
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Produced by Barbara Kosker, Nick Wall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
A
PRACTICAL ENQUIRY
INTO
THE PHILOSOPHY
OF
EDUCATION.
BY JAMES GALL,
INVENTOR OF THE TRIANGULAR ALPHABET FOR THE BLIND; AND
AUTHOR OF THE "END AND ESSENCE OF SABBATH
SCHOOL TEACHING," &c.
"_The Works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have
pleasure therein._"--PSAL. cxi. 2.
EDINBURGH:
JAMES GALL & SON,
24, NIDDRY STREET.
LONDON: HOULSTON & STONEMAN, 65, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
GLASGOW; GEORGE GALLIE. BELFAST: WILLIAM M'COMB.
MDCCCXL
Printed by J. Gall & Son. 22, Niddry Street.
PREFACE.
The Author of the following pages is a plain man, who has endeavoured to
write a plain book, for the purpose of being popularly useful. The
philosophical form which his enquiries have assumed, is the result
rather of accidental circumstances than of free choice. The strong
desire which he felt in his earlier years to benefit the Young, induced
him to push forward in the paths which appeared to him most likely to
lead to his object; and it was not till he had advanced far into the
fields of philosophy, that he first began dimly to perceive the
importance of the ground which he had unwittingly occupied. The truth
is, that he had laboured many years in the Sabbath Schools with which he
had connected himself, before he was aware that, in his combat with
ignorance, he was wielding weapons that were comparatively new; and it
was still longer, before he very clearly understood the principles of
those Exercises which he found so successful. One investigation led to
another; light shone out as he proceeded; and he now submits, with full
confidence in the truth of his general principles and deductions, the
results of more than thirty years' experience and reflection in the
great cause of Education.
He has only further to observe, that the term "NATURE," which
occurs so frequently, has been adopted as a convenient and popular mode
of expression. None of his readers needs to be informed, that this is
but another manner of designating "THE GOD OF NATURE," whose
laws, as established in the young mind, he has been endeavouring humbly,
and perseveringly to imitate.
_Myrtle Bank, Trinity, Edinburgh, 8th May, 1840._
CONTENTS
PART I.
ON THE PRELIMINARY OBJECTS NECESSARY FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT AND
IMPROVEMENT OF EDUCATION.
CHAP. I. Page
On the Importance of establishing the Science of Education on a
solid Foundation, 13
CHAP. II.
On the Cultivation of Education as a Science, 16
CHAP. III.
On the Improvement of Teaching as an Art, 25
CHAP. IV.
On the Establishment of Sound Principles in Education, 32
PART II.
ON THE GREAT DESIGN OF NATURE'S TEACHING, AND THE METHODS SHE
EMPLOYS IN CARRYING IT ON.
CHAP. I.
A Comprehensive View of the several Educational Processes
carried on by Nature, 37
CHAP. II.
On the Method employed by Nature for cultivating the Powers of
the Mind, 45
CHAP. III.
On the Means by which Nature enables her Pupils to acquire
Knowledge, 52
CHAP. IV.
On Nature's Method of communicating Knowledge to the Young by
the Principle of Reiteration, 56
CHAP. V.
On the Acquisition of Knowledge by the Principle of
Individuation, 65
CHAP. VI.
On the Acquisition of Knowledge by the Principle of Association,
or Grouping, 72
CHAP. VII.
On the Acquisition of Knowledge by the Principle of Analysis,
or Classification, 83
CHAP. VIII.
On Nature's Methods of Teaching her Pupils to make use of their
Knowledge, 95
CHAP. IX.
On Nature's Methods of Applying Knowledge by the Principle of
the Animal, or Common Sense, 101
CHAP. X.
On Nature's Method of applying Knowledge, by means of the
Moral Sense, or Conscience, 111
CHAP. XI.
On Nature's Method of Training her Pupils to Communicate
their Knowledge, 129
CHAP. XII.
Recapitulation of the Philosophical Principles developed
in the previous Chapters, 141
PART III.
ON THE METHODS BY WHICH THE EDUCATIONAL PROCESSES OF NATURE MAY BE
SUCCESSFULLY IMITATED.
CHAP. I.
On the Exercises by which Nature may be imitated in cultivating
the Powers of the Mind, 148
CHAP. II.
On the Methods by which Nature may be imitated in the Pupil's
Acquisition of Knowledge; with a Review of the Analogy between
the Mental and Physical Appetites of the Young, 170
CHAP. III.
How Nature may be imitated in Communicating Knowledge to the
Pupil, by the Reiteration of Ideas, 177
CHAP. IV.
On the Means by which Nature may be imitated in Exercising the
Principle of Individuation, 192
CHAP. V.
On the Means by which Nature may be imitated in Applying the
Principle of Grouping, or Association, 204
CHAP. VI.
On the Methods by which Nature may be imitated in Communicating
Knowledge by Classification, or Analysis, 218
CHAP. VII.
On the Imitation of Nature in Teaching the Practical Use of
Knowledge, 233
CHAP. VIII.
On the Imitation of Nature in Teaching the Use of Knowledge
by Means of the Animal, or Common Sense, 245
CHAP. IX.
On the Imitation of Nature in Teaching the Practical Use of
Knowledge by means of the Moral Sense, or Conscience, 257
CHAP. X.
On the Application of our Knowledge to the Common Affairs of
Life, 274
CHAP. XI.
On the Imitation of Nature, in training her Pupils fluently to
communicate their Knowledge, 288
PART IV.
ON THE SELECTION OF PROPER TRUTHS AND SUBJECTS TO BE TAUGHT IN
SCHOOLS AND FAMILIES.
CHAP. I.
On the General Principles which ought to regulate our choice
of Truths and Subjects to be taught to the Young, 306
CHAP II.
On the particular Branches of Education required for Elementary
Schools, 317
CHAP. III.
On the Easiest Methods of Introducing these Principles, for
the first time, into Schools already established, 326
Notes, 331
PRACTICAL ENQUIRY, &c.
PART I.
ON THE PRELIMINARY OBJECTS NECESSARY FOR
THE ESTABLISHMENT AND IMPROVEMENT
OF EDUCATION.
CHAP. I.
_On the Importance of establishing the Science of
Education on a solid Foundation._
Education is at present obviously in a transition state. The public mind
has of late become alive to the importance of the subject; and all
persons are beginning to feel awake to the truth, that something is yet
wanting to insure efficiency and permanence to the labours of the
teacher. The public will not be satisfied till some decided change has
taken place; and many are endeavouring to grope their way to something
better. It is with an earnest desire to help forward this great
movement, that the writer of the following pages has been induced to
publish the result of much study, and upwards of thirty years'
experience, in the hope that it may afford at least some assistance in
directing the enquiries of those who are prosecuting the same object.
On entering upon this investigation, it will be of use to keep in mind,
that all the sciences have, at particular periods of their history, been
in the same uncertain and unsettled position, as that which Education at
present occupies; and that each of them has in its turn, had to pass
through an ordeal, similar to that which education is about to undergo.
They have triumphantly succeeded; and their subsequent rapid
advancement is the best proof that they are now placed on a solid and
permanent foundation. It is of importance, therefore, in attempting to
forward the science of education, that we should profit by the
experience of those who have gone before us. They succeeded by a strict
observation of facts, and a stern rejection of every species of mere
supposition and opinion;--by an uncompromising hostility to prejudice
and selfishness, and a fearless admission of truth wherever it was
discovered. Such must be the conduct of the Educationist, if he expects
to succeed in an equal degree. The history of astronomy as taught by
astrologers, and of chemistry in the hands of the alchymist, should
teach both the lovers and the fearers of change an important lesson.
These pretended sciences being mere conjectures, were of use to nobody;
and yet the boldness with which they were promulgated, and the
confidence with which they were received, had the effect of suppressing
enquiry, and shutting out the truth for several generations. Similar may
be the effects of errors in education, and similar the danger of too
easily admitting them. The adoption of plausible theories, or of
erroneous principles, must lead into innumerable difficulties; and
should they be hastily patronized, and authoritatively promulgated, the
improvement of this first and most important of the sciences may be
retarded for a century to come.
The other sciences, during the last half century, have advanced with
amazing rapidity. This has been the result of a strict adherence to well
established facts, and their legitimate inferences.--A docile subjection
of the mind to the results of experiment, and a candid confession and
abandonment of fallacies, have characterized every benefactor of the
sciences;--and the science of education must be advanced by an adherence
to the same principles. The Educationist must be willing to abandon
error, as well as to receive truth; and must resolutely shake off all
conjecture and opinions not founded on fair and appropriate experiment.
This course may appear tedious;--but it is the shortest and the best. By
this mode of induction, all the facts which he is able to glean will
assuredly be found to harmonize with nature, with reason, and with
Scripture; and with these for his supporters, the Reformer in education
has nothing to fear. His progress may be slow, but it will be sure; for
every principle which he thus discovers, will enable him, not only to
outrun his neighbours, but to confer a permanent and valuable boon upon
posterity.
That any rational and accountable being should ever have been found to
oppose the progress of truth, is truly humiliating; yet every page of
history, which records the developement of new principles, exhibits also
the outbreakings of prejudice and selfishness. The deductions of
Galileo, of Newton, of Harvey, and innumerable others, have been opposed
and denounced, each in its turn; while their promoters have been
vilified as empyrics or innovators. Nor has this been done by those only
whose self love or worldly interests prompted them to exclude the truth,
but by good and honourable men, whose prejudices were strong, and whose
zeal was not guided by discretion. Such persons have frequently been
found to shut their eyes against the plainest truths, to wrestle with
their own convictions, and positively refuse even to listen to evidence.
The same thing may happen with regard to education;--and this is no
pleasing prospect to the lover of peace, who sets himself forward as a
reformer in this noble work.--Change is inevitable. Teaching is an art;
and it must, like all the other arts, depend for its improvement upon
the investigations of science. Now, every one knows, that although the
cultivation of chemistry, and other branches of natural science, has, of
late years, given an extraordinary stimulus to the arts, yet the science
of education, from which the art of teaching can alone derive its
power, is one, beyond the threshold of which modern philosophy has
scarcely entered. Changes, therefore, both in the theory and practice of
teaching, may be anticipated;--and that these changes will be
inconvenient and annoying to many, there can be no doubt. That
individuals, in these circumstances, should be inclined to deprecate and
oppose these innovations and improvements, is nothing more than might be
expected; but that the improvements themselves should on that account be
either postponed or abandoned, would be highly injurious. An enlightened
system of education is peculiarly the property of the public, on which
both personal, family, and national happiness in a great measure
depends. These interests therefore must not be sacrificed to the wishes
or the convenience of private individuals. The prosperity and happiness
of mankind are at stake; and the welfare of succeeding generations will,
in no small degree, be influenced by the establishment of sound
principles in education at the present time. Nothing, therefore, should
be allowed to mystify or <DW36> that science, upon which the spread and
the permanence of all useful knowledge mainly rest.
CHAP. II.
_On the Cultivation of Education as a Science._
From numerous considerations, it must be evident, that education claims
the first rank among the sciences; and, in that case, the art of
Teaching ought to take precedence among the arts;--not perhaps in
respect of its difficulties, but most certainly in respect of its
importance.
The success of the teacher in his labours, will depend almost entirely
on the extent and the accuracy of the investigations of the philosopher.
The science must guide the art. Experience shews, that where an artist
in ordinary life is not directed by science,--by acknowledged
principles,--he can never make any steady improvement. In like manner,
when the principles of education are unknown, no advancement in the art
can be expected from the teacher. Every attempt at change in such
circumstances must be unsatisfactory; and even when improvements are by
chance accomplished, they are but partial, and must be stationary.--When,
on the contrary, the teacher is directed by ascertained principles, he
never can deviate far from the path of success; and even if he should,
he has the means in his own power of ascertaining the cause of his
failure, and of retracing his steps. He can, therefore, at his pleasure,
add to or abridge, vary or transpose his exercises with his pupils,
provided only that the great principles of the science be kept steadily
in view, and be neither outraged, nor greatly infringed. No teacher,
therefore, should profess the art, without making himself familiar with
the philosophical principles upon which it is founded. In the mechanical
arts, this practice is now generally followed, and with the happiest
effects. The men of the present generation have profited by the painful
experience of thousands in former times; who, trusting to mere
conjectures, tried, failed, and ruined themselves. The mechanics of our
day, instead of indulging in blind theories of their own, and hazarding
their money and their time upon speculation and chance, are willing to
borrow light for their guidance from those who have provided it. They
slowly, but surely, follow in the path opened up to them by the
discoveries of science,--and they are never disappointed.
The unexampled success of the mechanical arts, would, upon the above
principles, naturally lead us to conclude, that the sciences, from which
they have derived all that they possess, must have been cultivated with
corresponding energy. And such is the fact. Since the adoption of the
inductive method of philosophizing, nearly all the sciences have been
advancing rapidly and steadily; and the cause of this is to be found in
adhering to the rules of induction. No science has been allowed to rest
its claims upon mere theory, or authority of any kind, but upon evidence
derived from facts. Mere opinions and suppositions have been rigidly
excluded; and that alone which was acquired by accurate investigation,
has been acknowledged in science as having the stamp of truth. The
inductive philosophy takes nothing for granted. Every conclusion must be
legitimately drawn from ascertained facts, or from principles
established by experiment; and the consequence has been, not only that
what has been attained is permanent, and will benefit all future
generations, but the amount of that attainment, in the short time that
has already elapsed, is actually greater than all that had been
previously gained during centuries. In this general improvement,
however, the science of Education has till lately formed an exception.
The principles of true philosophy do not appear to have been brought to
bear upon it, as they have upon the other sciences; and the consequences
of this neglect have been lamentable. In every branch of natural
philosophy, there are great leading principles already established. But
where were there any such principles established by the philosopher for
the guidance of the teacher? By what, except their own experience, and
conjectures, were teachers directed in the training of the
young?--Thirty or forty years ago, what was called "education" in our
ordinary week-day schools, was little more than a mechanical round of
barren exercises. The excitement of religious persecution, which had
been the means of disciplining the intellectual and moral powers of
Scotsmen for several previous generations, had by that time gradually
subsided, and had left education to do its own work, by the use of its
own resources. But these were perfectly inadequate to the task. The
exercises almost universally employed in the education of the young,
had neither been derived from science, nor from experience of their own
inherent power; and they would, from the beginning, have been found
perfectly inefficient, had they not been aided, as before noticed, by
the stimulant of religious persecution.--The state of education, at the
time we speak of, is still fresh on the memory of living witnesses who
were its victims; and some of the absurdities which were then universal,
are not even yet altogether extinct.
Soon after the period above stated, an important change began to take
place in the art of teaching,--but still unaided and undirected by
science. Some of the more thinking and judicious of its professors,
roused by the flagrant failures of their own practice, made several
noble and exemplary efforts to place it on a better footing. Had these
efforts been guided by scientific research, much more good would have
been done than has been accomplished, and an immense amount of
misdirected labour would have been saved. But although many of the
attempts at a change failed, yet some of them succeeded, and have
gradually produced ameliorations and improvements in the art of
teaching. Still it must be observed, that philosophy has had little or
no share in the merit. Her labours in this important field have yet to
be begun. Valuable exercises have no doubt been introduced; but the
principles upon which the success of these exercises depends, remain in
a great measure concealed from the public generally:--And the reason of
this is, that the public have been indebted for them to the _art_ of the
teacher, and not to the _science_ of the philosopher.
That this is not the position in which matters of so much public
importance should continue, we think no one will deny. Education must be
cultivated as a science, before teaching can ever flourish as an art.
The philosopher must first ascertain and light up the way, before the
teacher can, with security, walk in it. Experiment must be employed to
ascertain facts, investigate causes, and trace these causes to their
effects. By fair and legitimate deductions drawn from the facts thus
ascertained, he will be enabled to establish certain principles, which,
when acted upon by the teacher, will invariably succeed. But without
this, the history of all the other arts and sciences teaches us, that
success is not to be expected;--for although chance may sometimes lead
the teacher to a happy device, there can be no steady progress. Even
those beneficial exercises upon which he may have stumbled, become of
little practical value; because, when the principles upon which they are
based are unknown, they can neither be followed up with certainty, nor
be varied without danger.
There will no doubt be a difficulty in the investigation of a science
which is in itself so complicated, and which has hitherto been so little
understood; but this is only an additional reason why it should be begun
in a proper manner, and pursued with energy. The mode of procedure is
the chief object of difficulty; but the experience and success of
investigators in the other sciences, will be of great advantage in
directing us in this. In the sciences of anatomy and physiology, for
example, the investigations of the philosopher are designed to direct
the several operations of the physician, the surgeon, and the dentist;
in the same way as the investigations of the Educationist are intended
to direct the operations of the Teacher. Now the mode of procedure in
those sciences for such purposes is well known, and forms an excellent
example for us in the present case. The duty of the anatomist, or
physiologist, is simply to examine the operations of Nature in the
animal economy, and the plans which she adopts for accomplishing her
objects during health, and for throwing off impediments during disease.
In conducting his investigations, the enquirer begins by taking a
general view of the whole subject, and then separating and defining its
leading parts. Pulsation, respiration, digestion, and the various
secretions and excretions of the body, are defined, and their general
connection with each other correctly ascertained. These form his
starting points; and then, taking each in its turn, he sets himself to
discover the principles, or laws, which regulate its working in a
healthy state;--what it is that promotes the circulation or stagnation
of the blood, the bracing or relaxing of the nerves, the several
processes in digestion, and the various functions of the skin and
viscera. These are all first ascertained by observation and experience,
and then, if necessary, established by experiment.
These principles, having thus been established by science, are available
for direction in the arts. The physician acts under their guidance; and
his object is simply to regulate his treatment and advice in accordance
with them. In other words, _he endeavours to imitate Nature_, to remove
the obstructions which he finds interfering with her operations, or to
lend that aid which a knowledge of these principles points out as
necessary. The surgeon and the dentist follow the same course, but more
directly. In healing a wound, for example, the surgeon has to ascertain
from science how Nature in similar cases proceeds when left to herself;
and all his cuttings, and lancings, and dressings, are nothing more than
_attempts to imitate her_ in her healing operations. So well is this now
understood, that every operation which does not at least recognise the
principle is denounced--and justly denounced--as quackery; and the
reason is, that uniform experience has convinced professional men, that
they can only expect success when they follow with docility in the path
which Nature has pointed out to them.
Precisely similar should be the plan of operation pursued by the
Educationist. He should, in the first place, take a comprehensive view
of the whole subject, and endeavour to map out to himself its great
natural divisions;--in other words, he should endeavour to ascertain
what are the things which Nature teaches, that he may, by means of this
great outline, form a general programme for the direction of the
teacher. His next object ought to be, to ascertain the mode, and the
means, adopted by Nature in forwarding these several departments of her
educational process; the powers of mind engrossed in each; the order in
which they are brought into exercise; and the combinations which she
employs in perfecting them. In ascertaining these principles which
regulate the operations of Nature in her educational processes, the same
adherence to the rules prescribed by the inductive philosophy, which has
crowned the other sciences with success, must be rigidly observed. There
must be the same disregard of mere antiquity; there must be the same
scrupulous sifting of evidence, and strict adherence to facts; there
must be a discarding of all hypotheses, and a simple dependence | 221.898021 |
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Produced by Craig Kirkwood, 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/))
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
HOW TO TELL FORTUNES
CONTAINING Napoleon’s Oraculum, and the Key to Work It
ALSO Tells Fortunes by Cards, LUCKY AND UNLUCKY DAYS, SIGNS AND OMENS.
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER
168 West 23d St., New York City
HOW TO TELL FORTUNES BY CARDS.
In telling Fortunes by Cards--as in all games in which they are
employed--the Ace ranks highest in value. Then comes the King, followed
by the Queen, Knave, Ten, Nine, Eight, and Seven; these being generally
the only cards used.
The order, and comparative value of the different suits, is as
follows:--First on the list stand “Clubs,” as they mostly portend
happiness; and--no matter how numerous, or how accompanied--are rarely
or never of bad augury. Next come “Hearts,” which usually signify joy,
liberality, or good temper; “Diamonds,” on the contrary, denote delay,
quarrels, and annoyance; and “Spades”--the worst suit of all--grief,
sickness, and loss of money.
We are of course speaking generally, as, in many cases, the position
of cards entirely changes their signification; their individual and
relative meaning being often widely different. Thus, for example, the
King of Hearts, the Nine of Hearts, and the Nine of Clubs, respectively
signify, a liberal man, joy, and success in love, but change their
position, by placing the King _between_ the two nines, and you would
read that a man, then rich and happy, would be ere long consigned to a
prison!
SIGNIFICATION OF THE CARDS.
The individual meaning attached to the thirty-two cards employed is as
follows:--
THE EIGHT CLUBS.
_Ace of Clubs._--Signifies joy, money, or good news; if reversed, the
joy will be of brief duration.
_King of Clubs._--A frank, liberal man, fond of serving his friends; if
reversed, he will meet with a disappointment.
_Queen of Clubs._--An affectionate woman, but quick-tempered and
touchy; if reversed, jealous and malicious.
_Knave of Clubs._--A clever and enterprising young man; reversed, a
harmless flirt and flatterer.
_Ten of Clubs._--Fortune, success, or grandeur; reversed, want of
success in some small matter.
_Nine of Clubs._--Unexpected gain, or a legacy; reversed, some trifling
present.
_Eight of Clubs._--A dark person’s affections, which, if returned,
will be the cause of great prosperity; reversed, those of a fool, and
attendant unhappiness, if reciprocated.
_Seven of Clubs._--A small sum of money, or unexpectedly recovered
debt; reversed, a yet smaller amount.
THE EIGHT HEARTS.
_Ace of Hearts._--A love-letter, or some pleasant news; reversed, a
friend’s visit.
_King of Hearts._--A fair, liberal man; reversed, will meet with
disappointment.
_Queen of Hearts._--A mild, amiable woman; reversed, has been crossed
in love.
_Knave of Hearts._--A gay young bachelor, who dreams only of pleasure;
reversed, a discontented military man.
_Ten of Hearts._--Happiness, triumph; if reversed, some slight anxiety.
_Nine of Hearts._--Joy, satisfaction, success; reversed, a passing
chagrin.
_Eight of Hearts._--A fair person’s affections; reversed, indifference
on his or her part.
_Seven of Hearts._--Pleasant thoughts, tranquillity; reversed, ennui,
weariness.
THE EIGHT DIAMONDS.
_Ace of Diamonds._--A letter, soon to be received; and, if the card be
reversed, containing bad news.
_King of Diamonds._--A fair man--generally in the army--but both
cunning and dangerous; if reversed, a threatened danger, caused by
machinations on his part.
_Queen of Diamonds._--An ill-bred, scandal-loving woman; if reversed,
she is to be greatly feared.
_Knave of Diamonds._--A tale-bearing servant, or unfaithful friend; if
reversed, will be the cause of mischief.
_Ten of Diamonds._--Journey, or change of residence; if reversed, it
will not prove fortunate.
_Nine of Diamonds._--Annoyance, delay; if reversed, either a family or
a love quarrel.
_Eight of Diamonds._--Love-making; if reversed, unsuccessful.
_Seven of Diamonds._--Satire, mockery; reversed, a foolish scandal.
N. B.--In order to know whether the Ace, Ten, Nine, Eight and Seven
of Diamonds are reversed, it is better to make a small pencil-mark on
each, to show which is the top of the card.
THE EIGHT SPADES.
_Ace of Spades._--Pleasure; reversed, grief, bad news.
_King of Spades._--The envious man, an enemy, or a dishonest lawyer,
who is to be feared; reversed, impotent malice.
_Queen of Spades._--A widow; reversed, a dangerous and malicious woman.
_Knave of Spades._--A dark, ill-bred young man; reversed, he is
plotting some mischief.
_Ten of Spades._--Tears, a prison; reversed, brief affliction.
_Nine of Spades._--Tidings of a death; reversed, it will be some near
relative.
_Eight of Spades._--Approaching illness; reversed, a marriage broken
off, or offer refused.
_Seven of Spades._--Slight annoyances; reversed, a foolish intrigue.
The Court cards of Hearts and Diamonds usually represent persons of
fair complexion; Clubs and Spades, the opposite.
SIGNIFICATION OF DIFFERENT CARDS OF THE SAME DENOMINATION.
_Four Aces_, coming together, or following each other, announce danger,
failure in business, and sometimes imprisonment. If one or more of them
be reversed, the danger will be lessened, but that is all.
_Three Aces_, coming in the same manner.--Good tidings; if reversed,
folly.
_Two Aces._--A plot; if reversed, will not succeed.
_Four Kings._--Rewards, dignities, honors; reversed, they will be less,
but sooner received.
_Three Kings._--A consultation on important business, the result
of which will be highly satisfactory; if reversed, success will be
doubtful.
_Two Kings._--A partnership in business; if reversed | 222.183755 |
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Half A Rogue
By
Harold MacGrath
To The Memory Of My Mother
Half A Rogue
Chapter I
It was Warrington's invariable habit--when no business or social
engagement pressed him to go elsewhere--to drop into a certain quaint
little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners. It was out of the
way; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became like
the far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying. He always
made it a point to dine alone, undisturbed. The proprietor nor his
silent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was. To
them he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dined
there in order to be alone. His table was up stairs. Below, there was
always the usual dinner crowd till theater time; and the music had the
faculty of luring his thoughts astray, being, as he was, fonder of
music than of work. As a matter of fact, it was in this little
restaurant that he winnowed the day's ideas, revamped scenes, trimmed
the rough edges of his climaxes, revised this epigram or rejected this
or that line; all on the backs of envelopes and on the margins of
newspapers. In his den at his bachelor apartments, he worked; but here
he dreamed, usually behind the soothing, opalescent veil of Madame
Nicotine.
What a marvelous thing a good after-dinner cigar is! In the smoke of
it the poor man sees his ships come in, the poet sees his muse
beckoning with hands full of largess, the millionaire reverts to his
early struggles, and the lover sees his divinity in a thousand
graceful poses.
To-night, however, Warrington's cigar was without magic. He was out of
sorts. Things had gone wrong at the rehearsal that morning. The star
had demanded the removal of certain lines which gave the leading man
an opportunity to shine in the climax of the third act. He had labored
a whole month over this climax, and he revolted at the thought of
changing it to suit the whim of a capricious woman.
Everybody had agreed that this climax was the best the young dramatist
had yet constructed. A critic who had been invited to a reading had
declared that it lacked little of being great. And at this late hour
the star wanted it changed in order to bring her alone in the
lime-light! It was preposterous. As Warrington was on the first wave
of popularity, the business manager and the stage manager both agreed
to leave the matter wholly in the dramatist's hands. He resolutely
declined to make a single alteration in the scene. There was a fine
storm. The star declared that if the change was not made at once she
would leave the company. In making this declaration she knew her
strength. Her husband was rich; a contract was nothing to her. There
was not another actress of her ability to be found; the season was too
late. There was not another woman available, nor would any other
manager lend one. As the opening performance was but two weeks hence,
you will realize why Warrington's mood this night was anything but
amiable.
He scowled at his cigar. | 222.184804 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.2623690 | 45 | 16 | LIFE AND WORK, VOLUME II (OF 2)***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Note: Project Gutenberg has the other | 222.282409 |
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Produced by Theresa Armao
THE WOMEN OF THE FRENCH SALONS
By Amelia Gere Mason
PREFACE
It has been a labor of love with many distinguished Frenchmen to recall
the memories of the women who have made their society so illustrious,
and to retouch with sympathetic insight the features which time was
beginning to dim. One naturally hesitates to enter a field that has
been gleaned so carefully, and with such brilliant results, by men
like Cousin, Sainte-Beuve, Goncourt, and others of lesser note. But the
social life of the two centuries in which women played so important a
role in France is always full of human interest from whatever point of
view one may regard it. If there is not a great deal to be said that is
new, old facts may be grouped afresh, and old modes of life and thought
measured by modern standards.
In searching through the numerous memoirs, chronicles, letters, and
original manuscripts in which the records of these centuries are hidden
away, nothing has struck me so forcibly as the remarkable mental vigor
and the far-reaching influence of women whose theater was mainly a
social one. Though society has its frivolities, it has also its serious
side, and it is through the phase of social evolution that was begun
in the salons that women have attained the position they hold today.
However beautiful, or valuable, or poetic may have been the feminine
types of other nationalities, it is in France that we find the
forerunners of the intelligent, self-poised, clear-sighted, independent
modern woman. It is possible that in the search for larger fields the
smaller but not less important ones have been in a measure forgotten.
The great stream of civilization flows from a thousand unnoted rills
that make sweet music in their course, and swell the current as surely
as the more noisy torrent. The conditions of the past cannot be revived,
nor are they desirable. The present has its own theories and its own
methods. But at a time when the reign of luxury is rapidly establishing
false standards, and the best intellectual life makes hopeless struggles
against an ever aggressive materialism, it may be profitable as well as
interesting to consider the possibilities that lie in a society equally
removed from frivolity and pretension, inspired by the talent, the
sincerity, and the moral force of American women, and borrowing a
new element of fascination from the simple and charming but polite
informality of the old salons.
It has been the aim in these studies to gather within a limited compass
the women who represented the social life of their time on its
most intellectual side, and to trace lightly their influence upon
civilization through the avenues of literature and manners. Though the
work may lose something in fullness from the effort to put so much into
so small a space, perhaps there is some compensation in the opportunity
of comparing, in one gallery, the women who exercised the greatest power
in France for a period of more than two hundred years. The impossibility
of entering into the details of so many lives in a single volume is
clearly apparent. Only the most salient points can be considered. Many
who would amply repay a careful study have simply been glanced at, and
others have been omitted altogether. As it would be out of the question
in a few pages to make an adequate portrait of women who occupy so
conspicuous a place in history as Mme. De Maintenon and Mme. De Stael,
the former has been reluctantly passed with a simple allusion, and
the latter outlined in a brief resume not at all proportional to the
relative interest or importance of the subject.
I do not claim to present a complete picture of French society, and
without wishing to give too rose-colored a view, it has not seemed to
me necessary to dwell upon its corrupt phases. If truth compels one
sometimes to state unpleasant facts in portraying historic characters,
it is as needless and unjust as in private life to repeat idle and
unproved tales, or to draw imaginary conclusions from questionable data.
The conflict of contemporary opinion on the simplest matters leads
one often to the suspicion that all personal history is more or less
disguised fiction. The best one can do in default of direct records
is to accept authorities that are generally regarded as the most
trustworthy.
This volume is affectionately dedicated to the memory of my mother, who
followed the work with appreciative interest in its early stages, but
did not live to see its conclusion.
Amelia Gere Mason Paris, July 6, 1891
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. SALONS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Characteristics of French
Woman--Gallic Genius for Conversation--Social Conditions--Origin of the
Salons--Their Power--Their Composition--Their Records
CHAPTER II. THE HOTEL DE RAMBOUILLET Mme. De Rambouillet--The
Salon Bleu--Its Habitues--Its
Diversions--Corneille--Balzac--Richelieu--Romance of the
Grand Conde--the Young Bossuet--Voiture--The Duchesse de
Longueville--Angelique Paulet--Julie d'Angennes--Les Precieuses
Ridicules--Decline of the Salon--Influence upon Literature and Manners
CHAPTER III. MADEMOISELLE DE SCUDERY AND THE SAMEDIS Salons of the
Noblesse--"The Illustrious Sappho"--Her Romances--The Samedis--Bons Mots
of Mme. Cornuel--Estimate of Mlle. De Scudery
CHAPTER IV. LA GRANDE MADEMOISELLE Her Character--Her Heroic Part in the
Fronde--Her Exile--Literary Diversions of her Salon--A Romantic Episode
CHAPTER V. A LITERARY SALON AT PORT ROYAL Mme. De Sable--Her
Worldly Life--Her Retreat--Her Friends--Pascal--The Maxims of La
Rochefoucauld--Last Days of the Marquise
CHAPTER VI. MADAME DE SEVIGNE Her Genius--Her Youth--Her Unworthy
Husband--Her Impertinent Cousin--Her love for her Daughter--Her
Letters--Hotel de Carnavalet--Mme. Duplessis Guengaud--Mme. De
Coulanges--The Curtain Falls
CHAPTER VII. MADAME DE LA FAYETTE Her Friendship with Mme. De
Sevigne--Her Education--Her Devotion to the Princess Henrietta--Her
Salon--La Rochefoucauld-- Talent as a Diplomatist--Comparison with Mme.
De Maintenon--Her Literary Work--Sadness of her Last Days--Woman in
Literature
CHAPTER VIII. SALONS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Characteristics of
the Eighteenth Century--Its Epicurean Philosophy--Anecdote of Mme. Du
Deffand--The Salon an Engine of Political Power--Great Influence of
Woman--Salons Defined--Literary Dinners--Etiquette of the Salons--An
Exotic on American Soil
CHAPTER IX. AN ANTECHAMBER OF THE ACADEMIE FRANCAISE The Marquise de
Lambert--Her "Bureau d'Esprit"--Fontenelle--Advice to her Son--Wise
Thoughts on the Education of Women--Her Love of Consideration--Her
Generosity--Influence of Women upon the Academy
CHAPTER X. THE DUCHESSE DU MAINE Her Capricious Character--Her
Esprit--Mlle. De Launay--Clever Portrait of her Mistress--Perpetual
Fetes at Sceaux--Voltaire and the "Divine Emilie"--Dilettante Character
of this Salon
CHAPTER XI. MADAME DE TENCIN AND MADAM DU CHATELET An Intriguing
Chanoinesse--Her Singular Fascination--Her Salon--Its Philosophical
Character--Mlle. Aisse--Romances of Mme. De Tencin--D'Alembert--La Belle
Emilie--Voltaire--the Two Women Compared
CHAPTER XII. MADAME GEOFFRIN AND THE PHILOSOPHERS Cradles of the New
Philosophy--Noted Salons of this Period--Character of Mme. Geoffrin--Her
Practical Education--Anecdotes of her Husband--Composition of her
Salon--Its Insidious Influence--Her Journey to Warsaw--Her Death
CHAPTER XIII. ULTRA PHILOSOPHICAL SALONS--MADAME D'EPINAY Mme. De
Graffigny--Baron D'Holbach--Mme. D'Epinay's Portrait of Herself--Mlle.
Quinault--Rousseau--La Chevrette--Grimm--Diderot--The Abbe
Galiani--Estimate of Mme. D'Epinay
CHAPTER XIV. SALONS OF THE NOBLESSE--MADAME DU DEFFAND La Marechale
de Luxenbourg--The Temple--Comtesse de Boufflers--Mme. Du Dufand--Her
Convent Salon--Rupture with Mlle. De Lespinasse--Her Friendship with
Horace Walpole--Her Brilliancy and her Ennui
CHAPTER XV. MADEMOISELLE DE LESPINASSE A Romantic Career--Companion
of Mme. Du Deffand--Rival Salons--Association with the
Encyclopedists--D'Alembert--A Heart Tragedy--Impassioned Letters--A Type
Unique in her Age
CHAPTER XVI. THE SALON HELVETIQUE The Swiss Pastor's Daughter--Her
Social Ambition--Her Friends Mme. De Marchais--Mme. D'Houdetot--Duchesse
de Lauzun--Character of Mme. Necker--Death at Coppet--Close of the Most
Brilliant Period of the Salons
CHAPTER XVII. SALONS OF THE REVOLUTION--MADAME ROLAND Change in the
Character of the Salons--Mme. De Condorcet--Mme. Roland's Story of
her Own Life--A Marriage of Reason--Enthusiasm for the Revolution--Her
Modest Salon--Her Tragical Fate
CHAPTER XVIII. MADAM DE STAEL Supremacy of Her Genius--Her Early
Training--Her Sensibility--A Mariage de Convenance--Her Salon--Anecdote
of Benjamin Constant--Her Exile--Life at Coppet--Secret Marriage--Close
of a Stormy Life
CHAPTER XIX. SALONS OF THE EMPIRE AND RESTORATION--MADAME RECAMIER A
Transition period--Mme. De Montesson--Mme. De Genus--Revival of the
Literary Spirit--Mme. De Bea | 222.282488 |
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Transcribed from the 1876 H. Colbran edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
ROME, TURKEY,
AND
JERUSALEM.
* * * * *
BY THE REV. E. HOARE,
VICAR OF TRINITY, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
AND HONORARY CANON OF CANTERBURY.
* * * * *
_SECOND EDITION_.
* * * * *
LONDON:
HATCHARDS, PICCADILLY.
H. COLBRAN, CALVERLEY ROAD, TUNBRIDGE WELLS.
1876.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed by JOHN STRANGEWAYS,
Castle St. Leicester Sq.
CONTENTS.
ROME:— PAGE
THE OUTLINE 1
| 222.381601 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.3674210 | 5,881 | 6 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Carol Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE WORKS
OF
FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR.
VOL. I.
Memorial Edition.
Cambridge:
PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AND SON,
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
[Illustration: Sketch of Francis Maitland Balfour]
Memorial Edition.
THE WORKS
OF
FRANCIS MAITLAND BALFOUR,
M.A., LL.D., F.R.S.,
FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE,
AND PROFESSOR OF ANIMAL MORPHOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF
CAMBRIDGE.
EDITED BY
M. FOSTER, F.R.S.,
PROFESSOR OF PHYSIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE;
AND
ADAM SEDGWICK, M.A.,
FELLOW AND LECTURER OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
VOL. I.
SEPARATE MEMOIRS.
London:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1885
[_The Right of Translation is reserved._]
PREFACE.
Upon the death of Francis Maitland Balfour, a desire very naturally arose
among his friends and admirers to provide some memorial of him. And, at a
public meeting held at Cambridge in October 1882, the Vice-Chancellor
presiding, and many distinguished men of science being present, it was
decided to establish a 'Balfour Fund' the proceeds of which should be
applied: firstly to maintain a studentship, the holder of which should
devote himself to original research in Biology, especially in Animal
Morphology, and secondly, 'by occasional grants of money, to further in
other ways original research in the same subject'. The sum of L8446 was
subsequently raised; this was, under certain conditions, entrusted to and
accepted by the University of Cambridge; and the first 'Balfour student'
was appointed in October 1883.
The publication of Balfour's works in a collected form was not proposed as
an object on which part of the fund should be expended, since his family
had expressed their wish to take upon themselves the charge of arranging
for a memorial edition of their brother's scientific writings. That
edition, with no more delay than circumstances have rendered necessary, is
now laid before the public. It comprises four volumes.
The first volume contains, in chronological order, all Balfour's scattered
original papers, including those published by him in conjunction with his
pupils, as well as the Monograph on the Elasmobranch Fishes. The last
memoir in the volume, that on the Anatomy and Development of Peripatus
Capensis, was published after his death, from his notes and drawings, with
additions by Prof. Moseley and Mr Adam Sedgwick, who prepared the
manuscript for publication. To the volume is prefixed an introductory
biographical notice.
The second and third volumes are the two volumes of the Comparative
Embryology reprinted from the original edition without alteration, save the
correction of obvious misprints and omissions.
The fourth volume contains the plates illustrating the memoirs contained in
Vol. 1. We believe that we are consulting the convenience of readers in
adopting this plan, rather than in distributing the plates among the
memoirs to which they belong. To assist the reader the explanations of
these plates have been given twice: at the end of the memoir to which they
belong (in the case of the Monograph on Elasmobranch Fishes at the end of
each separate chapter), and in the volume of plates.
All the figures of these plates had to be redrawn on the stone, and our
best thanks are due to the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company for the
pains which they have taken in executing this work. We are also indebted to
the Committee of Publication of the Zoological Society for the gift of
electrotypes of the woodcuts illustrating memoir no. XX. of Vol. 1.
Several photographs of Balfour, taken at different times of his life, the
last shortly before his death, are in the possession of his relatives and
friends; but these, in the opinion of many, leave much to be desired.
There is also a portrait of him in oils painted since his death by Mr John
Collier, A.R.A., and Herr Hildebrand of Florence has executed a posthumous
bust in bronze[1]. The portrait which forms the frontispiece of Vol. 1. has
been drawn on stone by Mr E. Wilson of the Cambridge Scientific Instrument
Company, after the latest photograph. Should it fail, in the eyes of those
who knew Balfour well, to have reproduced with complete success his
features and expression, we would venture to ask them to bear in mind the
acknowledged difficulties of posthumous portraiture.
Footnote 1: In possession of the family. Copies also exist in
the Library of Trinity College, and in the Morphological
Laboratory, at Cambridge.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFACE i
INTRODUCTION 1
1872
I. On some points in the Geology of the East Lothian
Coast. By G. W. and F. M. BALFOUR 25
1873
II. The development and growth of the layers of the
blastoderm. With Plate 1 29
III. On the disappearance of the Primitive Groove in the
Embryo Chick. With Plate 1 41
IV. The development of the blood-vessels of the Chick.
With Plate 2 47
1874
V. A preliminary account of the development of the
Elasmobranch Fishes. With Plates 3 and 4 60
1875
VI. A comparison of the early stages in the development
of Vertebrates. With Plate 5 112
VII. On the origin and history of the urinogenital organs
of Vertebrates 135
VIII. On the development of the spinal nerves in Elasmobranch
Fishes. With Plates 22 and 23 168
1876
IX. On the spinal nerves of Amphioxus 197
1876-78
X. A Monograph on the development of Elasmobranch
Fishes. With Plates 6-21 203
1878
XI. On the phenomena accompanying the maturation and
impregnation of the ovum 521
XII. On the structure and development of the vertebrate
ovary. With Plates 24, 25, 26 549
1879
XIII. On the existence of a Head-kidney in the Embryo Chick,
and on certain points in the development of the
Muellerian duct. By F. M. BALFOUR and A. SEDGWICK.
With Plates 27 and 28 618
XIV. On the early development of the Lacertilia, together
with some observations on the nature and relations of
the primitive Streak. With Plate 29 644
XV. On certain points in the Anatomy of Peripatus Capensis 657
XVI. On the morphology and systematic position of the
Spongida 661
1880
XVII. Notes on the development of the Araneina. With Plates
30, 31, 32 668
XVIII. On the spinal nerves of Amphioxus 696
XIX. Address to the Department of Anatomy and Physiology
of the British Association for the Advancement of
Science 698
1881
XX. On the development of the skeleton of the paired fins of
Elasmobranchii, considered in relation to its bearings
on the nature of the limbs of the Vertebrata. With
Plate 33 714
XXI. On the evolution of the Placenta, and on the possibility
of employing the characters of the Placenta in the
classification of the Mammalia 734
1882
XXII. On the structure and development of Lepidosteus. By
F. M. BALFOUR and W. N. PARKER. With Plates
34-42 738
XXIII. On the nature of the organ in Adult Teleosteans and
Ganoids which is usually regarded as the Head-kidney
or Pronephros 848
XXIV. A renewed study of the germinal layers of the Chick. By
F. M. BALFOUR and F. DEIGHTON. With Plates
43, 44, 45 854
POSTHUMOUS, 1883
XXV. The Anatomy and Development of Peripatus Capensis.
Edited by H. N. MOSELEY and A. SEDGWICK. With
Plates 46-53 871
Francis Maitland Balfour, the sixth child and third son of James Maitland
Balfour of Whittinghame, East Lothian, and Lady Blanche, daughter of the
second Marquis of Salisbury, was born at Edinburgh, during a temporary stay
of his parents there, on the 10th November, 1851. He can hardly be said to
have known his father, who died of consumption in 1856, at the early age of
thirty-six, and who spent the greater part of the last two years of his
life at Madeira, separated from the younger children who remained at home.
He fancied at one time that he had inherited his father's constitution; and
this idea seems to have spurred him on to achieve early what he had to do.
But, though there was a period soon after he went to College, during which
he seemed delicate, and the state of his health caused considerable anxiety
to his friends, he eventually became fairly robust, and that in spite of
labours which greatly taxed his strength.
The early years of his life were spent chiefly at Whittinghame under the
loving care of his mother. She made it a point to attempt to cultivate in
all her children some taste for natural science, especially for natural
history, and in this she was greatly helped by the boys' tutor, Mr J. W.
Kitto. They were encouraged to make collections and to form a museum, and
the fossils found in the gravel spread in front of the house served as the
nucleus of a geological series. Frank soon became greatly interested in
these things, and indeed they may be said to have formed the beginnings of
his scientific career. At all events there was thus awakened in him a love
for geology, which science continued to be his favorite study all through
his boyhood, and interested him to the last. He was most assiduous in
searching for fossils in the gravel and elsewhere, and so great was his
love for his collections that while as yet quite a little boy the most
delightful birthday present he could think of was a box with trays and
divisions to hold his fossils and specimens. His mother, thinking that his
fondness for fossils was a passing fancy and that he might soon regret the
purchase of the box, purposely delayed the present. But he remained
constant to his wish and in time received his box. He must at this time
have been about seven or eight years old. In the children's museum, which
has been preserved, there are specimens labelled with his childish
round-hand, such as a piece of stone with the label "marks of some shels;"
and his sister Alice, who was at that time his chief companion, remembers
discussing with him one day after the nursery dinner, when he was about
nine years old, whether it were better to be a geologist or a naturalist,
he deciding for the former on the ground that it was better to do one thing
thoroughly than to attempt many branches of science and do them
imperfectly.
Besides fossils, he collected not only butterflies, as do most boys at some
time or other, but also birds; and he with his sister Alice, being
instructed in the art of preparing and preserving skins, succeeded in
making a very considerable collection. He thus acquired before long not
only a very large but a very exact knowledge of British birds.
In the more ordinary work of the school-room he was somewhat backward. This
may have been partly due to the great difficulty he had in learning to
write, for he was not only left-handed but, in his early years, singularly
inapt in acquiring particular muscular movements, learning to dance being a
great trouble to him. Probably however the chief reason was that he failed
to find any interest in the ordinary school studies. He fancied that the
family thought him stupid, but this does not appear to have been the case.
In character he was at this time quick tempered, sometimes even violent,
and the energy which he shewed in after life even thus early manifested
itself as perseverance, which, when he was crossed, often took on the form
of obstinacy, causing at times no little trouble to his nurses and tutors.
But he was at the same time warm-hearted and affectionate; full of strong
impulses, he disliked heartily and loved much, and in his affections was
wonderfully unselfish, wholly forgetting himself in his thought for others,
and ready to do things which he disliked to please those whom he loved.
Though, as we have said, somewhat clumsy, he was nevertheless active and
courageous; in learning to ride he shewed no signs of fear, and boldly put
his pony to every jump which was practicable.
In 1861 he was sent to the Rev. C. G. Chittenden's preparatory school at
Hoddesden in Hertfordshire, and here the qualities which had been already
visible at home became still more obvious. He found difficulty not only in
writing but also in spelling, and in the ordinary school-work he took but
little interest and made but little progress.
In 1865 he was moved to Harrow and placed in the house of the Rev. F.
Rendall. Here, as at Hoddesden, he did not show any great ability in the
ordinary school studies, though as he grew older his progress became more
marked. But happily he found at Harrow an opportunity for cultivating that
love of scientific studies which was yearly growing stronger in him. Under
the care of one of the Masters, Mr G. Griffith, the boys at Harrow were
even then taught the elements of natural science. The lessons were at that
time, so to speak, extra-academical, carried on out of school hours;
nevertheless, many of the boys worked at them with diligence and even
enthusiasm, and among these Balfour became conspicuous, not only by his
zeal but by his ability. Griffith was soon able to recognize the power of
his new pupil, and thus early began to see that the pale, earnest, somewhat
clumsy-handed lad, though he gave no promise of being a scholar in the
narrower sense of the word, had in him the makings of a man of science.
Griffith chiefly confined his teaching to elementary physics and chemistry
with some little geology, but he also encouraged natural history studies
and began the formation of a museum of comparative anatomy. Balfour soon
began to be very zealous in dissecting animals, and was especially
delighted when the Rev. A. C. Eaton, the well-known entomologist, on a
visit to Harrow, initiated Griffith's pupils in the art of dissecting under
water. The dissection of a caterpillar in this way was probably an epoch in
Balfour's life. Up to that time his rough examination of such bodies had
revealed to him nothing more than what in school-boy language he spoke of
as "squash;" but when under Eaton's deft hands the intricate organs of the
larval Arthropod floated out under water and displayed themselves as a
labyrinth of threads and sheets of silvery whiteness a new world of
observation opened itself up to Balfour, and we may probably date from this
the beginning of his exact morphological knowledge.
While thus learning the art of observing, he was at the same time
developing his power of thinking. He was by nature fond of argument, and
defended with earnestness any opinions which he had been led to adopt. He
was very active in the Harrow Scientific Society, reading papers, taking
part in the discussions, and exhibiting specimens. He gained in 1867 a
prize for an essay on coal, and when, in 1868, Mr Leaf offered a prize (a
microscope) "for the best account of some locality visited by the writer
during the Easter Holidays," two essays sent in, one by Balfour, the other
by his close friend, Mr Arthur Evans, since well known for his researches
in Illyria, were found to be of such unusual merit that Prof. Huxley was
specially requested to adjudicate between them. He judged them to be of
equal merit, and a prize was given to each. The subject of Balfour's essay
was "The Geology and Natural History of East Lothian." When biological
subjects were discussed at the Scientific Society, Balfour appears to have
spoken as a most uncompromising opponent of the views of Mr Charles Darwin,
little thinking that in after life his chief work would be to develop and
illustrate the doctrine of evolution.
The years at Harrow passed quickly away, Balfour making fair, but perhaps
not more than fair, progress in the ordinary school learning. In due course
however he reached the upper sixth form, and in his last year, became a
monitor. At the same time his exact scientific knowledge was rapidly
increasing. Geology still continued to be his favorite study, and in this
he made no mean progress. During his last years at Harrow he and his
brother Gerald worked out together some views concerning the geology of
their native county. These views they ultimately embodied in a paper, which
was published in their joint names in the _Geological Magazine_ for 1872,
under the title of "Some Points in the Geology of the East Lothian Coast,"
and which was in itself a work of considerable promise. Geology however was
beginning to find a rival in natural history. Much of his holiday time was
now spent in dredging for marine animals along the coast off Dunbar. Each
specimen thus obtained was carefully determined and exact records were kept
of the various 'finds,' so that the dredgings (which were zealously
continued after he had left Harrow and gone to Cambridge) really
constituted a serious study of the fauna of this part of the coast. They
also enabled him to make a not inconsiderable collection of shells, in the
arrangement of which he was assisted by his sister Evelyn, of crustacea and
of other animals.
Both to the masters and to his schoolfellows he became known as a boy of
great force of character. Among the latter his scrupulous and unwavering
conscientiousness made him less popular perhaps than might have been
expected from his bright kindly manner and his unselfish warmheartedness.
In the incidents of school life a too strict conscience is often an
inconvenience, and the sternness and energy with which Balfour denounced
acts of meanness and falsehood were thought by some to be unnecessarily
great. He thus came to be feared rather than liked by many, and
comparatively few grew to be sufficiently intimate with him to appreciate
the warmth of his affections and the charm of his playful moments.
At the Easter of 1870 he passed the entrance examination at Trinity
College, Cambridge, and entered into residence in the following October.
His college tutor was Mr J. Prior, but he was from the first assisted and
guided in his studies by his friend, Mr Marlborough Pryor, an old Harrow
boy, who in the same October had been, on account of his distinction in
Natural Science, elected a Fellow of the College, in accordance with
certain new regulations which then came into action for the first time, and
which provided that every three years one of the College Fellowships should
be awarded for excellence in some branch or branches of Natural Science, as
distinguished from mathematics, pure or mixed. During the whole of that
year and part of the next Mr Marlborough Pryor remained in residence, and
his influence in wisely directing Balfour's studies had a most beneficial
effect on the latter's progress.
During his first term Balfour was occupied in preparation for the Previous
Examination; and this he successfully passed at Christmas. After that he
devoted himself entirely to Natural Science, attending lectures on several
branches. During the Lent term he was a very diligent hearer of the
lectures on Physiology which I was then giving as Trinity Praelector, having
been appointed to that post in the same October that Balfour came into
residence. At this time he was not very strong, and I remember very well
noticing among my scanty audience, a pale retiring student, whose mind
seemed at times divided between a desire to hear the lecture and a feeling
that his frequent coughing was growing an annoyance to myself and the
class. This delicate-looking student, I soon learnt, was named Balfour, and
when the Rev. Coutts Trotter, Mr Pryor and myself came to examine the
candidates for the Natural Science Scholarships which were awarded at
Easter, we had no difficulty in giving the first place to him. In point of
knowledge, and especially in the thoughtfulness and exactitude displayed in
his papers and work, he was very clearly ahead of his competitors.
During the succeeding Easter term and the following winter he appears to
have studied physics, chemistry, geology and comparative anatomy, both
under Mr Marlborough Pryor and by means of lectures. He also continued to
attend my lectures, but though I gradually got to know him more and more we
did not become intimate until the Lent term of 1872. He had been very much
interested in some lectures on embryology which I had given, and, since
Marlborough Pryor had left or was about to leave Cambridge, he soon began
to consult me a good deal about his studies. He commenced practical
histological and embryological work under me, and I remember very vividly
that one day when we were making a little excursion in search of nests and
eggs of the stickleback in order that he might study the embryology of
fishes, he definitely asked my opinion as to whether he might take up a
scientific career with a fair chance of success. I had by this time formed
a very high opinion of his abilities, and learning then for the first time
that he had an income independent of his own exertions, my answer was very
decidedly a positive one. Soon after, feeling more and more impressed with
his power and increasingly satisfied both with his progress in biological
studies and his sound general knowledge of other sciences, anxious also, it
may be, at the same time that as much original inquiry as possible should
be carried on at Cambridge in my department, I either suggested to him or
acquiesced in his own suggestion that he should at once set to work on some
distinct research; and as far as I remember the task which I first proposed
to him was an investigation of the layers of the blastoderm in the chick.
It must have been about the same time that I proposed to him to join me in
preparing for publication a small work on Embryology, the materials for
this I had ready to hand in a rough form as lectures which I had previously
given. To this proposal he enthusiastically assented, and while the lighter
task of writing what was to be written fell to me, he undertook to work
over as far as was possible the many undetermined points and unsatisfactory
statements across which we were continually coming.
During his two years at College his health had improved; though still
hardly robust and always in danger of overworking himself, he obviously
grew stronger. He rejoiced exceedingly in his work, never tiring of it, and
was also making his worth felt among his fellow students, and especially
perhaps among those of his own college whose studies did not lie in the
same direction as his own. At this time he must have been altogether happy,
but a sorrow now came upon him. His mother, to whom he was passionately
attached, and to whose judicious care in his early days not only the right
development of his strong character but even his scientific leanings were
due, had for some time past been failing in health, though her condition
caused no immediate alarm. In May 1872, however, she died quite suddenly
from unsuspected heart disease. Her loss was a great blow to him, and for
some time afterward I feared his health would give way; but he bore his
grief quietly and manfully and threw himself with even increased vigour
into his work.
During the academic session of 1872-3, he continued steadily at work at his
investigations, and soon began to make rapid progress. At the beginning he
had complained to me about what he considered his natural clumsiness, and
expressed a fear that he should never be able to make satisfactory
microscopic sections; as to his being able to make drawings of his
dissections and microscopical preparations, he looked upon that at first as
wholly impossible. I need hardly say that in time he acquired great skill
in the details of microscopical _technique_, and that his drawings, if
wanting in so-called artistic finish, were always singularly true and
instructive. While thus struggling with the details which I could teach
him, he soon began to manifest qualities which no teacher could give him. I
remember calling his attention to Dursy's paper on the Primitive Streak,
and suggesting that he should work the matter over, since if such a
structure really existed, it must, most probably, have great morphological
significance. I am free to confess that I myself rather doubted the matter,
and a weaker student might have been influenced by my preconceptions.
Balfour, however, thus early had the power of seeing what existed and of
refusing to see what did not exist. He was soon able to convince me that
Dursy's streak was a reality, and the complete working out of its
significance occupied his thoughts to the end of his days.
The results of these early studies were made known in three papers which
appeared in the _Quarterly Journal of Microscopical Science_ for | 222.387461 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.3683750 | 3,253 | 73 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v3
by George Meredith
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Title: Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v3
Author: George Meredith
Edition: 10
Language: English
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BOOK 3.
XII. MORE OF CUPER'S BOYS
XIII. WAR AT OLMER
XIV. OLD LOVERS NEW FRIENDS
XV. SHOWING A SECRET FISHED WITHOUT ANGLING
XVI. ALONG TWO ROADS TO STEIGNTON
CHAPTER XII
MORE OF CUPER'S BOYS
Entering the dining-room at the appointed minute in a punctual household,
Mrs. Lawrence informed the company that she had seen a Horse Guards
orderly at the trot up the street. Weyburn said he was directing a boy
to ring the bell of the house for him. Lord Ormont went to the window.
'Amends and honours?' Mrs. Lawrence hummed and added an operatic
flourish of an arm. Something like it might really be imagined. A large
square missive was handed to the footman. Thereupon the orderly trotted
off.
My lord took seat at table, telling the footman to lay 'that parcel'
beside the clock on the mantelpiece. Aminta and Mrs. Lawrence gave out a
little cry of bird or mouse, pitiable to hear: they could not wait, they
must know, they pished at sight of plates. His look deferred to their
good pleasure, like the dead hand of a clock under key; and Weyburn
placed the missive before him, seeing by the superscription that it was
not official.
It was addressed, in the Roman hand of a boy's copybook writing, to
General the Earl of Ormont, I.C.B., etc.,
Horse Guards,
London.'
The earl's eyebrows creased up over the address; they came down low on
the contents.
He resumed his daily countenance. 'Nothing of importance,' he said to
the ladies.
Mrs. Lawrence knocked the table with her knuckles. Aminta put out a
hand, in sign of her wish.
'Pray let me see it.'
'After lunch will do.'
'No, no, no! We are women--we are women,' cried Mrs. Lawrence.
'How can it concern women?'
'As well ask how a battle-field concerns them!'
'Yes, the shots hit us behind you,' said Aminta; and she, too, struck the
table.
He did not prolong their torture. Weyburn received the folio sheet and
passed it on. Aminta read. Mrs. Lawrence jumped from her chair and ran
to the countess's shoulder; her red lips formed the petitioning word to
the earl for the liberty she was bent to take.
'Peep? if you like,' my lord said, jesting at the blank she would find,
and soft to the pretty play of her mouth.
When the ladies had run to the end of it, he asked them: 'Well; now
then?'
'But it's capital--the dear laddies!' Mrs. Lawrence exclaimed.
Aminta's eyes met Weyburn's.
She handed him the sheet of paper; upon the transmission of which empty
thing from the Horse Guards my lord commented: 'An orderly!'
Weyburn scanned it rapidly, for the table had been served.
The contents were these:
'HIGH BRENT NEAR ARTSWELL.
'April 7th.
'To GENERAL THE EARL OF ORMONT
'Cavalry.
'May it please your Lordship, we, the boys of Mr. Cuper's school,
are desirous to bring to the notice of the bravest officer England
possesses now living, a Deed of Heroism by a little boy and girl,
children of our school laundress, aged respectively eight and six,
who, seeing a little fellow in the water out of depth, and sinking
twice, before the third time jumped in to save him, though unable to
swim themselves; the girl aged six first, we are sorry to say; but
the brother, Robert Coop, followed her example, and together they
made a line, and she caught hold of the drowning boy, and he held
her petycoats, and so they pulled. We have seen the place: it is
not a nice one. They got him ashore at last. The park-keeper here
going along found them dripping, rubbing his hands, and blowing into
his nostrils. Name, T. Shellen, son of a small cobbler here, and
recovered.
'May it please your Lordship, we make bold to apply, because you
have been for a number of years, as far as the oldest can recollect,
the Hero of our school, and we are so bold as to ask the favour of
General Lord Ormont's name to head a subscription we are making to
circulate for the support of their sick mother, who has fallen ill.
We think her a good woman. Gentlemen and ladies of the
neighbourhood are willing to subscribe. If we have a great name to
head the list, we think we shall make a good subscription. Names:--
'Martha Mary Coop, mother.
'Robert Coop.
'Jane Coop, the girl, aged six.
'If we are not taking too great a liberty, a subscription paper will
follow. We are sure General the Earl of Ormont's name will help to
make them comfortable.
'We are obediently and respectfully,
'DAVID GOWEN,
'WALTER BENCH,
'JAMES PANNERS PARSONS,
'And seven others.'
Weyburn spared Aminta an answering look, that would have been a begging
of Browny to remember Matey.
'It's genuine,' he said to Mrs. Lawrence, as he attacked his plate with
the gusto for the repast previously and benignly observed by her. 'It
ought to be the work of some of the younger fellows.'
'They spell correctly, on the whole.'
'Excepting,' said my lord, 'an article they don't know much about yet.'
Weyburn had noticed the word, and he smiled. 'Said to be the happy
state! The three signing their names are probably what we called bellman
and beemen, collector, and heads of the swarm-enthusiasts. If it is not
the work of some of the younger hands, the school has levelled on minors.
In any case it shows the school is healthy.'
'I subscribe,' said Mrs. Lawrence.
'The little girl aged six shall have something done for her,' said
Aminta, and turned her eyes on the earl.
He was familiar with her thrilled voice at a story of bravery. He said--
'The boys don't say the girl's brother turned tail.'
'Only that the girl's brother aged eight followed the lead of the little
girl aged six,' Mrs. Lawrence remarked. 'Well, I like the schoolboys,
too--"we are sorry to say!" But they're good lads. Boys who can
appreciate brave deeds are capable of doing them.'
'Speak to me about it on Monday,' the earl said to Weyburn.
He bowed, and replied--
'I shall have the day to-morrow. I 'll walk it and call on Messrs.' (he
glanced at the paper) 'Gowen, Bench, and Parsons. I have a German friend
in London anxious to wear his legs down stumpier.'
'The name of the school?'
'It is called Cuper's.'
Aminta, on hearing the name of Cuper a second time, congratulated herself
on the happy invention of her pretext to keep Mrs. Pagnell from the table
at midday. Her aunt had a memory for names: what might she not have
exclaimed! There would have been little in it, but it was as well that
the 'boy of the name of Weyburn' at Cuper's should be unmentioned. By an
exaggeration peculiar to a disgust in fancy, she could hear her aunt
vociferating 'Weyburn!' and then staring at Mr. Weyburn opposite--perhaps
not satisfied with staring.
He withdrew after his usual hearty meal, during which his talk of boys
and their monkey tricks, and what we can train them to, had been pleasant
generally, especially to Mrs. Lawrence. Aminta was carried back to the
minute early years at High Brent. A line or two of a smile touched her
cheek.
'Yes, my dear countess, that is the face I want for Lady de Culme
to-day,' said Mrs. Lawrence.' She likes a smiling face. Aunty--aunty
has always been good; she has never been prim. I was too much for her,
until I reflected that she was very old, and deserved to know the truth
before she left us; and so I went to her; and then she said she wished to
see the Countess of Ormont, because of her being my dearest friend. I
fancy she entertains an 'arriere' idea of proposing her flawless niece
Gracey, Marchioness of Fencaster, to present you. She's quite equal to
the fatigue herself. You 'll rejoice in her anecdotes. People were
virtuous in past days: they counted their sinners. In those days, too,
as I have to understand, the men chivalrously bore the blame, though the
women were rightly punished. Now, alas! the initiative is with the
women, and men are not asked for chivalry. Hence it languishes. Lady
de Culme won't hear of the Queen of Blondes; has forbidden her these many
years!'
Lord Ormont, to whom the lady's prattle was addressed, kept his visage
moveless, except in slight jerks of the brows.
'What queen?'
'You insist upon renewing my old, old pangs of jealousy, my dear lord!
The Queen of Cyprus, they called her, in the last generation; she fights
our great duellist handsomely.'
'My dear Mrs. Lawrence!'
'He triumphs finally, we know, but she beats him every round.'
'It's only tattle that says the duel has begun.'
'May is the month of everlasting beauty! There's a widower marquis now
who claims the right to cast the glove to any who dispute it.'
'Mrs. May is too good-looking to escape from scandal.'
'Amy May has the good looks of the Immortals.'
'She can't be thirty.'
'In the calendar of women she counts thirty-four.'
'Malignity! Her husband's a lucky man.'
'The shots have proved it.'
Lord Ormont nodded his head over the hopeless task of defending a woman
from a woman, and their sharp interchange ceased. But the sight of his
complacency in defeat told Aminta that he did not respect his fair
client: it drew a sketch of the position he allotted his wife before the
world side by side with this Mrs. Amy May, though a Lady de Culme was
persuaded to draw distinctions.
He had, however, quite complacently taken the dose intended for him by
Mrs. Lawrence, who believed that the system of gently forcing him was the
good one.
The ladies drove away in the afternoon. The earl turned his back on
manuscript. He sent for a couple of walking sticks, and commanded
Weyburn to go through his parades. He was no tyro, merely out of
practice, and unacquainted with the later, simpler form of the great
master of the French school, by which, at serious issues, the guarding of
the line can be more quickly done: as, for instance, the 'parade de
septime' supplanting the slower 'parade de prime;' the 'parade de quarte'
having advantage over the 'parade de quince;' the 'parade de tierce'
being readier and stronger than the 'parade de sixte;' the same said for
the 'parade de seconde' instead of the weak 'parade d'octave.'
These were then new points of instruction. Weyburn demonstrated them as
neatly as he | 222.388415 |
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E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, Josephine Paolucci
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Transcriber's Note: The spelling "diapson" occurs in our print copy
in the article from the _American Art Journal_.
PULPIT AND PRESS.
Sixth Edition.
BY
REVEREND MARY BAKER EDDY,
DISCOVERER AND FOUNDER OF CHRISTIAN SCIENCE.
1897.
CONTENTS
DEDICATORY SERMON
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE TEXT-BOOK
HYMN--_Laying the Corner Stone_
_Feed My Sheep_
_Christ My Refuge_
NOTE
CLIPPINGS FROM NEWSPAPERS
CHICAGO INTER-OCEAN
BOSTON HERALD
BOSTON SUNDAY GLOBE
BOSTON TRANSCRIPT
JACK | 222.478609 |
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Transcriber's note
Some of the spellings and hyphenations in the original are unusual; they
have not been changed. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected
without notice. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected,
and they are listed at the end of this book.
STARLIGHT RANCH
AND
OTHER STORIES OF ARMY
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER.
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
AUTHOR OF
"MARION'S FAITH," "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1891.
Copyright, 1890, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
STARLIGHT RANCH 7
WELL WON; OR, FROM THE PLAINS TO "THE POINT" 40
FROM "THE POINT" TO THE PLAINS 116
THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP 201
VAN 234
STARLIGHT RANCH.
We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the night was chill, and
we were yet high up along the summit of the great range. We had been
scouting through the mountains for ten days, steadily working southward,
and, though far from our own station, our supplies were abundant, and it
was our leader's purpose to make a clean sweep of the line from old
Sandy to the Salado, and fully settle the question as to whether the
renegade Apaches had betaken themselves, as was possible, to the heights
of the Matitzal, or had made a break for their old haunts in the Tonto
Basin or along the foot-hills of the Black Mesa to the east. Strong
scouting-parties had gone thitherward, too, for "the Chief" was bound to
bring these Tontos to terms; but our orders were explicit: "Thoroughly
scout the east face of the Matitzal." We had capital Indian allies with
us. Their eyes were keen, their legs tireless, and there had been bad
blood between them and the tribe now broken away from the reservation.
They asked nothing better than a chance to shoot and kill them; so we
could feel well assured that if "Tonto sign" appeared anywhere along our
path it would instantly be reported. But now we were south of the
confluence of Tonto Creek and the Wild Rye, and our scouts declared that
beyond that point was the territory of the White Mountain Apaches,
where we would not be likely to find the renegades.
East of us, as we lay there in the sheltered nook whence the glare of
our fire could not be seen, lay the deep valley of the Tonto brawling
along its rocky bed on the way to join the Salado, a few short marches
farther south. Beyond it, though we could not see them now, the peaks
and "buttes" of the Sierra Ancha rolled up as massive foot-hills to the
Mogollon. All through there our scouting-parties had hitherto been able
to find Indians whenever they really wanted to. There were some officers
who couldn't find the Creek itself if they thought Apaches lurked along
its bank, and of such, some of us thought, was our leader.
In the dim twilight only a while before I had heard our chief packer
exchanging confidences with one of the sergeants,--
"I tell you, Harry, if the old man were trying to steer clear of all
possibility of finding these Tontos, he couldn't have followed a better
track than ours has been. And he made it, too; did you notice? Every
time the scouts tried to work out to the left he would herd them all
back--up-hill."
"We never did think the lieutenant had any too much sand," answered the
sergeant, grimly; "but any man with half an eye can see that orders to
thoroughly scout the east face of a range does not mean keep on top of
it as we've been doing. Why, in two more marches we'll be beyond their
stamping-ground entirely, and then it's only a slide down the west face
to bring us to those ranches in the Sandy Valley. Ever seen them?"
"No. I've never been this far down; but what do you want to bet that
_that's_ what the lieutenant is aiming at? He wants to get a look at
that pretty girl all the fellows at Fort Phoenix are talking about."
"Dam'd old gray-haired rip! It would be just like him. With a wife and
kids up at Sandy too."
There were officers in the party, junior in years of life and years of
service to the gray-headed subaltern whom some odd fate had assigned to
the command of this detachment, nearly two complete "troops" of cavalry
with a pack-train of sturdy little mules to match. We all knew that, as
organized, one of our favorite captains had been assigned the command,
and that between "the Chief," as we called our general, and him a
perfect understanding existed as to just how thorough and searching this
scout should be. The general himself came down to Sandy to superintend
the start of the various commands, and rode away after a long interview
with our good old colonel, and after seeing the two parties destined for
the Black Mesa and the Tonto Basin well on their way. We were to move at
night | 222.481635 |
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THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. VII.--MAY, 1861.--NO. XLIII.
AGNES OF SORRENTO.
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD TOWN.
The setting sunbeams slant over the antique gateway of Sorrento, fusing
into a golden bronze the brown freestone vestments of old Saint Antonio,
who with his heavy stone mitre and upraised hands has for centuries kept
watch thereupon.
A quiet time he has of it up there in the golden Italian air, in
petrified act of blessing, while orange lichens and green mosses from
year to year embroider quaint patterns on the seams of his sacerdotal
vestments, and small tassels of grass volunteer to ornament the folds | 222.483403 |
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Produced by David Widger
QUOTES AND IMAGES: MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV.
MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV.
Duc de Saint-Simon
A cardinal may be poisoned, stabbed,
got rid of altogether
A good friend when a friend at all,
which was rare
A King's son, a King's father, and
never a King
A lingering fear lest the sick man
should recover
A king is made for his subjects, and
not the subjects for him
Admit our ignorance, and not to give
fictions and inventions
Aptitude did not come up to my desire
Arranged his affairs that he died
without money
Artagnan, captain of the grey
musketeers
Believed that to undertake and succeed
were only the same things
But with a crawling baseness equal to
her previous audacity
Capacity was small, and yet he believed
| 222.488779 |
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THE SORCERESS.
THE SORCERESS.
A Novel.
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT,
AUTHOR OF
“THE CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,”
“THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST,”
ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & Co.,
31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1893.
[_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_]
PRINTED BY
TILLOTSON AND SON, BOLTON,
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BERLIN.
THE SORCERESS.
CHAPTER I.
IT was perhaps a very good thing for Bee at this distracting and
distracted moment of her life, that her mother’s illness came in to fill
up every thought. Her own little fabric of happiness crumbled down about
her ears like a house of cards, only as it was far more deeply founded
and strongly built, the downfall was with a rumbling that shook the
earth and a dust that rose up to the skies. Heaven was blurred out to
her by the rising clouds, and all the earth was full of the noise, like
an earthquake, of the falling walls. She could not get that sound out of
her ears even in Mrs. Kingsward’s sick room, where the quiet was
preternatural, and everybody spoke in the lowest tone, and every step
was hushed. Even then it went on roaring, the stones and the rafters
flying, the storms of dust and ruin blackening the air, so that Bee
could not but wonder that nobody saw them, that the atmosphere was not
thick and stifling with those _debris_ that were continually falling
about her own ears. For everything was coming down; not only the idol
and the shrine he abode in, but heaven and earth, in which she felt that
no truth, no faith, could dwell any longer. Who was there to believe in?
Not any man if not Aubrey; not any goodness, any truth, if not his--not
anything! For it was without object, without warning, for nothing at
all, that he had deserted her, as if it had been of no importance: with
the ink not dry on his letter, with her name still upon his lips. A
great infidelity, like a great faith, is always something. It is tragic,
one of the awful events of life in which there is, or may be, fate; an
evil destiny, a terrible chastisement prepared beforehand. In such a
case one can at least feel one’s self only a great victim, injured by
God himself and the laws of the universe, though that was not the common
fashion of thought then, as it is now-a-days. But Bee’s downfall did not
mean so much as that it was not intended by anyone--not even by the
chief worker in it. He had meant to hold Bee fast with one hand while he
amused himself with the other. Amused himself--oh, heaven! Bee’s heart
seemed to contract with a speechless spasm of anguish and rage. That she
should be of no more account than that! Played with as if she were
nobody--the slight creature of a moment. She, Bee! She, Colonel
Kingsward’s daughter!
At first the poor girl went on in a mist of self-absorption, through
which everything else pierced but dully, wrapped up and hidden in it as
in the storm which would have arisen had the house actually fallen about
her ears, perceiving her mother through it, and the doctor, and all the
accessories of the scene--but dimly, not as if they were real. When,
however, there began to penetrate through this, strange words, with
strange meanings in them: “Danger”--danger to whom?--“Strength
failing”--but whose strength?--a dull wonder came in, bringing her back
to other thoughts. By-and-by, Bee began to understand a little that it
was of her mother of whom these things were being said. Her mother? But
it was not her mother’s house that had fallen; what did it mean? The
doctor talked apart with Moulsey, and Moulsey turned her back, and her
shoulders heaved, and her apron seemed to be put to her eyes. Bee, in
her dream said, half aloud, “Danger?” and both the doctor and Moulsey
turned upon her as if they would have killed her. Then she was beckoned
out of the room, and found herself standing face to face with that grave
yet kindly countenance which she had known all her life, in which she
believed as in the greatest authority. She heard his voice speaking to
her through all the rumbling and downfall.
“You must be very courageous,” it said, “You are the eldest, and till
your father comes home----”
What did it matter about her father coming home, or about her being the
eldest? What had all these things to do with the earthquake, with the
failure of truth, and meaning, and everything in life? She looked at him
blankly, wondering if it were possible that he did not hear the sound of
the great falling, the rending of the walls, and the tearing of the
roof, and the choking dust that filled all earth and heaven.
“My dear Beatrice,” he said, for he had known her all his life, “you
don’t understand me, do you, my poor child?”
Bee shook her head, looking at him wistfully. Could he know anything
more about it, she wondered--anything that had still to be said?
He took her hand, and her poor little hand was very cold with emotion
and trouble. The good doctor, who knew nothing about any individual
cause little Bee could have for agitation, thought he saw that her very
being was arrested by a terror which as yet her intelligence had not
grasped; something dreadful in the air which she did not understand. He
drew her into the dining-room, the door of which stood open, and poured
out a little wine for her. “Now, Bee,” he said, “no fainting, no
weakness. You must prove what is in you now. It is a dreadful trial for
you, my dear, but you can do a great deal for your dear mother’s sake,
as she would for yours.”
“I have never said it was a trial,” cried Bee, with a gasp. “Why do you
speak to me so? Has mamma told you? No one has anything to do with it
but me.”
He looked at her with great surprise, but the doctor was a man of too
much experience not to see that here was something into which it was
better not to inquire. He said, very quietly, “You, as the eldest, have
no doubt the chief part to play; but the little ones will all depend
upon your strength and courage. Your mother does not herself know. She
is very ill. It will require all that we can do--to pull her through.”
Bee repeated the last words after him with a scared look, but scarcely
any understanding in her face--“To pull her--through?”
“Don’t you understand me now? Your mother--has been ill for a long time.
Your father is aware of it. I suppose he thought you were too young to
be told. But now that he is absent, and your brother, I have no
alternative. Your mother is in great danger. I have telegraphed for
Colonel Kingsward, but in the meantime, Bee--child, don’t lose your
head! Do you understand me? She may be dying, and you are the only one
to stand by her, to give her courage.”
Bee did not look as if she had courage for anyone at that dreadful
moment. She fell a-trembling from head to foot and fell back against the
wall where she was standing. Her eyes grew large, staring at him yet
veiled as if they did not see--and she stammered forth at length,
“Mother, mother!” with almost no meaning, in the excess of misery and
surprise.
“Yes, your mother; whatever else you may have to think of, she is the
first consideration now.”
He went on speaking, but Bee did not hear him; everything floated around
her in a mist. The scenes at the Bath, the agitations, Mrs. Kingsward’s
sudden pallors and flushings, her pretence, which they all laughed at,
of not being able to walk; her laziness, lying on the sofa, the
giddiness when she made that one turn with Charlie, she who had always
been so fond of dancing; the hurry of bringing her to Kingswarden when
Bee had felt they would have been so much better in London, and her
strange, strange new fancy, mutely condemned by Bee, of finding the
children too much for her. Half of these things had been silently
remarked and disapproved of by the daughters. Mamma getting so
idle--self-indulgent almost, so unlike herself! Had they not been too
busily engaged in their own affairs, Bee and Betty would both have been
angry with mamma. All these things seem to float about Bee in a mist
while she leaned against the wall and the doctor stood opposite to her
talking. It was only perhaps about a minute after all, but she saw
waving round her, passing before her eyes, one scene melting into
another, or rather all visible at once, innumerable episodes--the whole
course of the three months past which had contained so much. She came
out of this strange whirl very miserable but very quiet.
“I think it is chiefly my fault,” she said, faltering, interrupting the
doctor who was talking, always talking; “but how could I know, for
nobody told me? Doctor, tell me what to do now? You said we should--pull
her through.”
She gave him a faint, eager, conciliatory smile, appealing to him to do
it. Of course he could do it! “Tell me--tell me only what to do.”
He patted her kindly upon the shoulder. “That is right,” he said. “Now
you understand me, and I know I can trust you. There is not much to do.
Only to be quiet and steady--no crying or agitation. Moulsey knows
everything. But you must be ready and steady, my dear. Sit by her and
look happy and keep up her courage--that’s the chief thing. If she gives
in it is all over. She must not see that you are frightened or
miserable. Come, it’s a great thing to do for a little girl that has
never known any trouble. But you are of a good sort, and you must rise
to it for your mother’s sake.”
Look happy! That was all she had to do. “Can’t I help Moulsey,” she
asked. “I could fetch her what she wants. I could--go errands for her.
Oh, doctor, something a little easier,” cried Bee, clasping her hands,
“just at first!”
“All that’s arranged,” he said, hastily, “Come, we must go back to our
patient. She will be wondering what I am talking to you about. She will
perhaps take fright. No, nothing easier, my poor child--if you can do
that you may help me a great deal; if you can’t, go to bed, my dear,
that will be best.”
She gave him a look of great scorn, and moved towards her mother’s room,
leading the way.
Mrs. Kingsward was lying with her face towards the door, watching, in a
blaze of excitement and fever. Her eyes | 222.540412 |
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A Broader
Mission for
Liberal Education...
_Baccalaureate Address,
Delivered in
Agricultural College Chapel,
Sunday, June 9, 1901._
_By_....
J. H. WORST, LL. D.
_President._
A Broader Mission for Liberal
Education.
Baccalaureate Address, Delivered in Agricultural
College Chapel, Sunday, June 9, 1901.
BY J. H. WORST, LL. D.
AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE P. O.,
North Dakota.
[Illustration: J H Worst]
A BROADER MISSION FOR LIBERAL EDUCATION.
BACCALAUREATE ADDRESS, DELIVERED IN AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE CHAPEL, SUNDAY,
JUNE 9, 1901.
BY J. H. WORST, LL. D., PRESIDENT.
In America we recognize no aristocracy except that of genius or of
character. Our countrymen are all citizens. Our government was founded
upon the principle that "all men are created free and equal" and though
intellectual endowments differ widely in individuals, yet special
privileges are accorded to no one as a birthright. Therefore the college
graduate, as well as any other aspirant, must carve his way to fame and
fortune by energy and perseverance, or lose his opportunity in the
tremendous activities going on about him. His only advantage is superior
training which must nevertheless be pitted against practical minds in
strenuous rivalry for every desirable thing he would accomplish. The
mere fact of education is considered no badge of merit. Education
represents power, but until it manifests itself in action, it is merely
static, not dynamic, potential, not actual. It conveys to its recipient
no self-acting machinery which, without lubricant or engineer will reel
off success or impress mankind, as a matter of course.
The question is no longer asked by practical men "what does a man know"
but "what can he do?" Knowing and doing have thus become so intimately
associated by common consent as to be inseparable; for knowing without
doing is indolence and doing without knowing is waste of energy. The
former is sinful, the latter wasteful. For many years progressive
educators have been striving against the culture-alone theory and
advocating the education of the whole man--hand as well as head, body as
well as mind. As a result the ancient educational structure is pretty
well broken down, and the erstwhile curriculum has become a
reminiscence. Many wealthy parents still educate their children for the
larger pleasure which they believe education of the old type will afford
them in life, but parents generally have come to look upon life as a
period of intense activity rather than a brief round of pleasure, and
hence provide an education for their children that will fit them for the
every day demands that duty or necessity may make upon them. Since it is
a matter of common observation that wealth is easily dissipated,
especially when inherited, farseeing parents prefer an education for
their children that is adapted to some useful end rather than the
education that is largely ornamental or fashionable.
The vicissitudes of life are many. Fortune is fickle and but few young
people can hope to command perpetual leisure even should their bad
judgment make such a thing desirable. There can never be real
independence of thought and action apart from one's conscious ability to
cope with others on equal terms in any human emergency. The young man
who rejoices in the provident hoardings of his ancestors which exempt
him from strenuous exertion on his own part has but a small mission in
life. Work is the normal condition of man. The stern necessity that
compels him to labor, to think and to plan, lifts him into the
pleasurable atmosphere of usefulness and imparts zeal and ambition to
his energies. There can be no "excellence without great labor", and
"hard work is only another name for genius."
A young man cannot begin life with a richer heritage than good health,
good habits and a liberal education--an education that imparts culture
to his mind and power to his body. If he should never have occasion to
use his hands in some useful vocation, the training they have received
will never prove burdensome. On the other hand, the fact of being in
possession of reserve powers will prove a source of pleasure. It will
dispel many a dark cloud and remove positive forebodings of possible
want. The world is strewn with the wrecks of men who inherited fortunes
before they had developed the mental poise or business experience
necessary to estimate money at its true value. If they had earned their
money by honest effort they would not have fallen into habits that led
to unbridled extravagance and ultimate disgrace. The inheritance of
unearned wealth quite frequently proves a curse rather than a blessing.
God never intended, however, that parents should provide a property
inheritance for their children that will deprive them of the natural
advantages which reasonable labor and its restraining influence afford
both body and mind. Parental drudgery and self-denial for the purpose of
relieving children from the necessity of wholesome effort is mistaken
generosity. It makes parent and child alike fall short of the high
purposes for which life is given. For life is intended for more
important purposes than mere money-getting or the pursuit of objects
from which man is utterly divorced at death. Poor indeed must be the
soul if, at death, it must part from all it loved in life. But this
frenzy of excitement in which parents | 222.543615 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Patty in Paris
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "Patty Fairfield," "Patty's Summer Days," etc.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK September, 1907
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I PLANS FOR PATTY
II THE DECISION
III SOUVENIRS
IV AN AQUATIC PARTY
V GOOD-BYES
VI THE OLD MA'AMSELLE
VII WESTERN FRIENDS
VIII DAYS AT SEA
IX PARIS
X SIGHTSEEING
XI AN EXCURSION TO VERSAILLES
XII SHOPPING
XIII CHANTILLY
XIV MAKING A HOME
XV ST. GERMAIN
XVI AN EXPECTED GUEST
XVII A MOTOR RIDE
XVIII A NEW YEAR FETE
XIX CYCLAMEN PERFUME
XX THE BAZAAR
XXI A SURPRISE
ILLUSTRATIONS
"A long blue veil tied her trim little hat in place"
"'There never was such a dear, lovely, beautiful stepmother on the face
of the earth!'"
"The next morning the girls spent in packing and getting ready to go
ashore"
"They also read books of history outside of school hours quite from
choice"
"They were all perched on Patty's big bed--alone at last"
"'I just remember! I left my purse on the seat!'"
CHAPTER I
PLANS FOR PATTY
The Fairfields were holding a family conclave. As the Fairfield family
consisted of only three members, the meeting was not large but it was
highly enthusiastic. The discussion was about Patty; and as a
consequence, Patty herself was taking a lively part in it.
"But you promised me, last year, papa," she said, "that if I graduated
from the Oliphant School with honours, I needn't go to school this
year."
"But I meant in the city," explained her father; "it's absurd, Patty,
for you to consider your education finished, and you not yet eighteen."
"But I'll soon be eighteen, papa, and so suppose we postpone this
conversation until then."
"Don't be frivolous, my child. This is a serious matter, and requires
careful consideration and wise judgement."
"That's so," said Nan, "and as I have already considered it carefully,
I will give you the benefit of my wise judgment."
Though Nan's face had assumed the expression of an owl named Solomon,
there was a smile in her eyes, and Patty well knew that her
stepmother's views agreed with her own, rather than with those of her
father.
It was the last week in September, and the Fairfields were again in
their pleasant city home after their summer in the country.
Patty and Nan were both fond of city life, and were looking forward to
a delightful winter. Of course Patty was too young to be in society,
but there were many simple pleasures which she was privileged to enjoy,
and she and Nan had planned a series of delightful affairs, quite apart
from the more elaborate functions which Nan would attend with her
husband.
But Mr. Fairfield had suddenly interfered with their plans by
announcing his decision that Patty should go to college.
This had raised such a storm of dissension from both Nan and Patty that
Mr. Fairfield so far amended his resolution as to propose a
boarding-school instead.
But Patty was equally dismayed at the thought of either, and rebelled
at the suggestion of going away from home. And as Nan quite coincided
with Patty in her opinions on this matter, she was fighting bravely for
their victory against Mr. Fairfield's very determined opposition.
All her life Patty had deferred to her father's advice, not only
willingly, but gladly; but in the matter of school she had very strong
prejudices. She had never enjoyed school life, and during her last year
at Miss Oliphant's she had worked so hard that she had almost succumbed
to an attack of nervous prostration. But she had persevered in her hard
work because of the understanding that it was to be her last year at
school; and now to have college or even a boarding-school thrown at her
head was enough to rouse even her gentle spirit.
For Patty was of gentle spirit, although upon occasion, especially when
she felt that an injustice was being done, she could rouse herself to
definite and impetuous action.
And as she now frankly told her father, she considered it unjust after
she had thought that commencement marked the end of her school life, to
have a college course sprung upon her unaware.
But Mr. Fairfield only laughed and told her that she was incapable of
judging what was best for little girls, and that she would do wisely to
obey orders without question.
But Patty had questioned, and her questions were reinforced by those of
Nan, until Mr. Fairfield began to realise that it was doubtful if he
could gain his point against their combined forces. And indeed a kind
and indulgent father and husband is at a disadvantage when his opinion
is opposed to that of his pretty, impulsive daughter and his charming,
impulsive wife.
So, at this by no means the first serious discussion of the matter, Mr.
Fairfield found himself weakening, and had already acknowledged to
himself that he might as well prepare to yield gracefully.
"Go on, Nan," cried Patty, "give us the benefit of your wise judgment"
"Why, I think," said Nan, looking at her husband with an adorable
smile, which seemed to assume that he would agree with her, "that a
college education is advisable, even necessary, for a girl who expects
to teach, or indeed, to follow any profession. But I'm quite sure we
don't look forward to that for Patty."
"No," said Mr. Fairfield; "I can't seem to see Patty teaching a
district school how to shoot; neither does my imagination picture her
as a woman doctor or a lady lawyer. But to my mind there are occasions
in the life of a private citizeness when a knowledge of classic lore is
not only beneficial but decidedly ornamental."
"Now, papa," began Patty, "I'm not going to spend my life as a
butterfly of fashion or a grasshopper of giddiness, and you know it;
but all the same, I can't think of a single occasion where I should be
embarrassed at my ignorance of Sanscrit, or distressed at the fact that
I was unacquainted personally with the statutes of limitation."
"You're talking nonsense, Patty, and you know it. The straight truth
is, that you don't like school life and school restraint. Now some
girls enjoy the fun and pleasures of college life, and think that they
more than compensate for the drudgery of actual study."
"'An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in vain,'" sang Patty, whose
spirits had risen, for she felt intuitively that her father was about
to give up his cherished plans.
"I think," went on Nan, "after you have asked for my valuable advice,
you might let me give it without so many interruptions. I will proceed
to remark that I am still of the opinion that there are only two
reasons why a girl should go to college: Because she wants to, or
because she needs the diploma in her future career."
"Since you put it so convincingly, I have no choice but to agree with
you," said her husband, smiling. "However, if I eliminate the college
suggestion, there still remains the boarding-school. I think that a
superior young ladies' finishing school would add greatly to the
advantages of our Patty."
"It would finish me entirely, papa; your college scheme is bad enough,
but a 'finishing school,' as you call it, presents to my fancy all
sorts of unknown horrors."
"Of course it does," cried Nan. "I will now give you some more of my
wise advice. A finishing school would be of no advantage at all to our
Patty. I believe their principal end and aim is to teach young ladies
how to enter a room properly. Now I have never seen Patty enter a room
except in the most correct, decorous, and highly approved fashion. It
does seem foolish then to send the poor child away for a year to
practise an art in which she is already proficient."
"You two are one too many for me," said Mr. Fairfield, laughing. "If I
had either of you alone, I could soon reduce you to a state of meek
obedience; but your combined forces are too much for me, and I may as
well surrender at once and completely."
"No; but seriously, Fred, you must see that it is really so. Now what
Patty needs in the way of education, is the best possible instruction
in music, which she can have better here in New York than in any
college; then she ought to go on with her French, in which she is
already remarkably proficient. Then perhaps an hour a day of reading
well-selected literature with a competent teacher, and I'll guarantee
that a year at home will do more for Patty than any school full of
masters."
Mr. Fairfield looked at his young wife in admiration. "Why, Nan, I
believe you're right," he said, "though I don't believe it because of
any change in my own opinions, but because you put it so convincingly
that I haven't an argument left."
Nan only smiled, and went on.
"You said yourself, Fred, that Patty disliked the routine and restraint
of school life, and so I think it would be cruel to force her into it
when she can be so much happier at home. Here she will have ample time
for all the study I have mentioned, and still have leisure for the
pleasures that she needs and deserves. I shall look after her singing
lessons myself, and make sure that she practises properly. Then I shall
take her to the opera and to concerts, which, though really a part of
her musical education, may also afford her some slight pleasure."
Patty flew over to Nan and threw her arms about her neck. "You dear old
duck," she cried; "there never was such a dear, lovely, beautiful
stepmother on the face of the earth! And now it's all settled, isn't
it, papa?"
"It seems to be," said Mr. Fairfield, smiling. "But on your own heads
be the consequences. I put Patty into your hands now, so far as her
future education is concerned, and you can fix it up between you. To
tell the truth, I'm delighted myself at the thought of having Patty
stay home with us, but my sense of duty made me feel that I must at
least put the matter before her."
"And you did," cried Patty gleefully, "and now I've put it behind me,
and that's all there is about that. And I'll promise, papa, to study
awfully hard on my French and music; and as for reading, that will be
no hardship, for I'd rather read than eat any day."
Mr. Fairfield had really acquiesced to the wishes of the others out of
his sheer kind-heartedness. For he did not think that the lessons at
home would be as definite and regular as at a school, and he still held
his original opinions in the matter. But having waived his theories for
theirs, he raised no further objection and seemed to consider the
question settled.
After a moment, however, he said thoughtfully: "What you really ought
to have, Patty, is a year abroad. That would do more for you in the way
of general information and liberal education than anything else."
"Now THAT would be right down splendid," said Patty. "Come on, papa,
let's all go."
"I would in a minute, dear, but I can't leave my business just now. It
has increased alarmingly of late and it needs my constant attention to
keep up with it. Indeed it is becoming so ridiculously successful that
unless I can check it we shall soon be absurdly rich people."
"Then you can retire," said Nan, "and we can all go abroad for Patty's
benefit."
"Yes," said Mr. Fairfield seriously, "after a year or two we can do
that. I sha'n't exactly retire, but I shall get the business into such
shape that I can take a long vacation, and then we'll all go out and
see the world. But that doesn't seem to have anything to do with
Patty's immediate future. I have thought over this a great deal, and if
you don't go to college, Patty, I should like very much to have you go
abroad sooner than I can take you. But I can't see any way for you to
go. I can't spare Nan to go with you, and I'm not sure you would care
to go with one of those parties of personally conducted young ladies."
"No, indeed!" cried Patty. "I'm crazy to go to Europe, but I don't want
to go with six other girls and a chaperon, and go flying along from one
country to the next, with a Baedeker in one hand and a suit case in the
other. I'd much rather wait and go with you and Nan, later on."
"Well, I haven't finished thinking it out yet," said Mr. Fairfield,
who, in spite of his apparent pliability, had a strong will of his own.
"I may send you across in charge of a reliable guardian, and put you
into a French convent."
[Illustration with caption: "'There never was such a dear, lovely,
beautiful stepmother on the face of the earth!'"]
Patty only laughed at this, but still she had a vague feeling that her
father was not yet quite done with the subject, and that almost
anything might happen.
But as Kenneth Harper came in to see them just then, the question was
laid before him.
"There is no sense in Patty's going to college," he declared. "I'm an
authority on the subject, because I know college and I know Patty, and
they have absolutely nothing in common with each other. Why, Patty
doesn't want the things that colleges teach. You see, she is of an
artistic temperament--"
"Oh, Kenneth," cried Patty reproachfully, "that's the most fearfully
unkind thing I ever had said to me! Why, I would rather be accused of I
don't know WHAT than an artistic temperament! How COULD you say it?
Why, I'm as practical and common sensible and straightforward as I can
be. People who have artistic temperaments are flighty and weak-minded
and not at all capable."
"Why, Patty," cried Nan, laughing, "how can you make such sweeping
assertions? Mr. Hepworth is an artist, and he isn't all those dreadful
things."
"That's different," declared Patty. "Mr. Hepworth is a real artist, and
so you can't tell what his temperament is."
"But that's just what I mean," insisted Kenneth; "Hepworth is a real
artist, and so he didn't have and didn't need a college education. He
specialised and devoted all his study to his art. Then he went to Paris
and stayed there for years, still studying and working. I tell you,
it's specialisation that counts. Now I don't know that Patty wants to
specialise, but she certainly doesn't need the general work of college.
I should think that you would prefer to have her devote herself to her
music, especially her singing; for we all know that Patty's is a voice
of rare promise. I don't know myself exactly what 'rare promise' means,
but it's a phrase that's always applied to voices like Patty's."
"You're just right, Kenneth," said Nan, "and I'm glad you're on our
side. Patty and I entirely agree with you, and though Mr. Fairfield is
still wavering a little, I am sure that by day after to-morrow, or next
week at the latest, he will be quite ready to cast in his lot with
ours."
Mr. Fairfield only smiled, for though he had no intention of making
Patty do anything against her will, yet he had not entirely made up his
mind in the matter.
"Anyway, my child," he said, "whatever you do or don't do, will be the
thing that we are entirely agreed upon, even if I have to convince you
that my opinions are right."
And Patty smiled back at her father happily, for there was great
comradeship and sympathy between them.
CHAPTER II
THE DECISION
It was only a few days later that Nan and Patty sat one evening in the
library waiting for Mr. Fairfield to come home to dinner.
The Fairfield library was a most cosey and attractive room. Nan was a
home-maker by nature, and as Patty dearly loved pretty and comfortable
appointments, they had combined their efforts on the library and the
result was a room which they all loved far better than the more formal
drawing-room.
The fall was coming early that year, which gave an excuse for the fire
in the big fireplace. This fire was made of that peculiar kind of
driftwood whose flames show marvellous rainbow tints. Patty never tired
of watching the strange- blaze, and delighted in throwing on
more chips and splinters from time to time.
"I can't see what makes your father so late," said Nan, as she wandered
about the room, now adjusting some flowers in a vase, and now stopping
to look out at the front window; "he's always here by this time, or
earlier."
"Something must have detained him," said Patty, rather absently, as she
poked at a log with the tongs.
"Patty, you're a true Sherlock Holmes! Your father is late, and you
immediately deduce that something has detained him! Truly, you have a
wonderful intellect!"
"I don't wonder it seems so to you," said saucy Patty, smiling at her
pretty stepmother; "people are always impressed by traits they don't
possess themselves."
"But really I'm getting worried. If Fred doesn't come pretty soon I
shall telephone to the office."
"Do; I like to see you enacting the role of anxious young wife. It
suits you perfectly. As for me, I'm starving; if papa doesn't come
pretty soon, he will find an emaciated skeleton in place of the plump
daughter he left behind him."
As Mr. Fairfield arrived at that moment, there was no occasion for
further anxiety, but in response to their queries he gave them no
satisfaction as to the cause of his unusual tardiness, and only smiled
at their exclamations.
It was not until they were seated at the dinner table that Mr.
Fairfield announced he had something to tell them.
"And I'm sure it's something nice," said Patty, "for there's a twinkle
in the left corner of your right eye."
"Gracious, Patty!" cried Nan, "that sounds as if your father were
cross-eyed, and he isn't."
"Well," went on Mr. Fairfield, "what I have to tell you is just this: I
have arranged for the immediate future of Miss Patricia Fairfield."
Patty looked frightened. There was something in her father's tone that
made her feel certain that his mind was irrevocably made up, and that
whatever plans he had made for her were sure to be carried out. But she
resolved to treat it lightly until she found out what it was all about.
"I don't want to be intrusive," she said, "but if not too presumptuous,
might I inquire what is to become of me?"
"Yours not to make reply, yours not to reason why," said her father
teasingly. "You know, my child, you're not yet of age, and I, as your
legal parent and guardian, can do whatever I please with you. You are,
as Mr. Shakespeare puts it,'my goods, my chattel,' and so I have
decided to pack you up and send you away."
"Really, papa!" cried Patty, aghast.
"Yes, really. I remember you expressed a disinclination to leave your
home and family, but all the same I have made arrangements for you to
do so. It was the detailing of these arrangements that kept me so late
at my office to-night."
Patty looked at her father. She understood his bantering tone, and from
the twinkle in his eye she knew that whatever plans he may have made,
they were pleasant ones; and, too, she knew that notwithstanding his
air of authority she needn't abide by them unless she chose to. So she
waited contentedly enough for his serious account of the matter, and it
soon came.
"Why, it's this way, chickabiddy," he said. "Mr. Farrington came to see
me at the office this afternoon, and laid a plan before me. It seems
that he and Mrs. Farrington and Elise are going to Paris for the
winter, and he brought from himself and his wife an invitation for you
to go with them."
"Oh!" said Patty. She scarcely breathed the word, but her eyes shone
like stars, and her face expressed the delight that the thought of such
a plan brought to her.
"Oh!" she said again, as thoughts of further details came crowding into
her mind.
"How perfectly glorious!" cried Nan, whose enthusiasm ran to words, as
Patty seemed struck dumb. "It's the very thing! just what Patty needs.
And to go with the Farringtons is the most delightful way to make such
a trip. Tell us all about it, Fred. When do they start? Shall I have
time to get Patty some clothes? No, she'd better buy them over there.
Oh, Patty, you'll have the most rapturous time! Do say something, you
little goose! Don't sit there blinking as if you didn't understand
what's going on. Tell us more about it, Fred."
"I will, my dear, if you'll only give me a chance. The Farringtons mean
to sail very soon--in about a fortnight. They will go on a French liner
and go at once to Paris. Except for possible short trips, they will
stay in the city all winter. Then the girls can study French, or music,
or whatever they like, and incidentally have some fun, I dare say. Mr.
Farrington seemed truly anxious to have Patty go, although I warned him
that she was a difficult young person to manage. But he said he had had
experience in that line last summer, and found that it was possible to
get along with her. Anyway, he was most urgent in the matter, and said
that if I agreed to it, Mrs. Farrington and Elise would come over and
invite her personally."
"Am I to be their guest entirely, papa?" asked Patty.
"Mr. Farrington insisted that you should, but I wouldn't agree to that.
I shall pay all your travelling expenses, hotel bills, and incidentals.
But if they take a furnished house in Paris for the season, as they
expect to do, you will stay there as their guest."
"Oh," cried Patty, who had found her voice at last, "I do think it's
too lovely for anything! And you are so good, papa, to let me go. But
won't it cost a great deal, and can you afford it?"
"It will be somewhat expensive, my dear, but I can afford it, for, as I
told you, my finances are looking up. And, too, I consider this a part
of your education, and so look upon it as a necessary outlay. But you
must remember that the Farringtons are far more wealthy people than we,
and though you can afford the necessary travelling expenses, you
probably cannot be as extravagant in the matter of personal expenditure
as they. I shall give you what I consider an ample allowance of pin
money, and then you must be satisfied with the number of pins it will
buy."
"That doesn't worry me," declared Patty. "I'm so delighted to go that I
don't care if I don't buy a thing over there."
"You'll change your mind when you get there and get into the wonderful
Paris shops," said her father, smiling; "but never fear, puss; you'll
have enough francs to buy all the pretty dresses and gewgaws and
knick-knacks that it's proper for a little girl like you to have. How
old are you now, Patty?"
"Almost eighteen, papa."
"Almost eighteen, indeed! You mean you're only fairly well past
seventeen. But it doesn't matter. Remember you're a little girl, and
not a society young lady, and conduct yourself accordingly."
"Mrs. Farrington will look out for that," said Nan; "she has the best
possible ideas about such things, and she brings up Elise exactly in
accordance with my notions of what is right."
"That settles it," said Mr. Fairfield; "I shall have no further anxiety
on that score since Nan approves of the outlook. But, Patty girl, we're
going to miss you here."
"Yes, indeed," cried Nan. "I hadn't realised that side of it. Oh,
Patty, we had planned so many things for this winter, and now I shall
be alone all day and every day!"
"Come on, and go with me," said Patty, mischievously.
"No," said Nan, smiling at her husband; "I have a stronger tie here
even than your delightful companionship. But truly we shall miss you
awfully."
"Of course you will," said Patty, "and I'll miss you, too. But we'll
write each other long letters, and oh! I do think the whole game is
perfectly lovely."
"So do I," agreed Nan; and then followed such a lot of feminine
planning and chatter that Mr. Fairfield declared his advice seemed not
to be needed.
The next morning Nan and Patty went over to the Farringtons to discuss
the great subject. They expressed to Mrs. Farrington their hearty
thanks for | 222.579109 |
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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 well-
trained ear to the heated words which fell from his wife's lips.
"She'll go and do the same as her sister Jenny done," said Mrs. Dowson,
with a side glance at her daughter Flora; "marry a man and then 'ave to
work and slave herself to skin and bone to keep him."
"I see Jenny yesterday," said her husband, nodding. "Getting quite fat,
she is."
"That's right," said Mrs. Dowson, violently, "that's right! The moment I
say something you go and try and upset it."
"Un'ealthy fat, p'r'aps," said Mr. Dowson, hurriedly; "don't get enough
exercise, I s'pose."
"Anybody who didn't know you, Joe Dowson," said his wife, fiercely,
"would think you was doing it a purpose."
"Doing wot?" inquired Mr. Dowson, removing his pipe and regarding her
open-mouthed. "I only said----"
"I know what you said," retorted his wife. "Here I do my best from
morning to night to make everybody 'appy and comfortable; and what
happens?"
"Nothing," said the sympathetic Mr. Dowson, shaking his head. "Nothing."
"Anyway, Jenny ain't married a fool," said Mrs. Dowson, hotly; "she's got
that consolation."
"That's right, mother," said the innocent Mr. Dowson, "look on the bright
side o' things a bit. If Jenny 'ad married a better chap I don't suppose
we should see half as much of her as wot we do."
"I'm talking of Flora," said his wife, restraining herself by an effort.
"One unfortunate marriage in the family is enough; and here, instead o'
walking out with young Ben Lippet, who'll be 'is own master when his
father dies, she's gadding about with that good-for-nothing Charlie
Foss."
Mr. Dowson shook his head. "He's so good-looking, is Charlie," he said,
slowly; "that's the worst of it. Wot with 'is dark eyes and his curly
'air----"
"Go on!" said his wife, passionately, "go on!"
Mr. Dowson, dimly conscious that something was wrong, stopped and puffed
hard at his pipe. Through the cover of the smoke he bestowed a
sympathetic wink upon his daughter.
"You needn't go on too fast," said the latter, turning to her mother. "I
haven't made up my mind yet. Charlie's looks are all right, but he ain't
over and above steady, and Ben is steady, but he ain't much to look at."
"What does your 'art say?" inquired the sentimental Mr. Dowson.
Neither lady took the slightest notice.
"Charlie Foss is too larky," said Mrs. Dowson, solemnly; "it's easy come
and easy go with 'im. He's just such another as your father's cousin
Bill--and look what 'appened to him!"
Miss Dowson shrugged her shoulders and subsiding in her chair, went on
with her book, until a loud knock at the door and a cheerful, but
peculiarly shrill, whistle sounded outside.
[Illustration: "Miss Dowson, subsiding in her chair, went on with her
book."]
"There is my lord," exclaimed Mrs. Dowson, waspishly; "anybody might
think the 'ouse belonged to him. And now he's dancing on my clean
doorstep."
"Might be only knocking the mud off afore coming in," said Mr. Dowson, as
he rose to open the door. "I've noticed he's very careful."
"I just came in to tell you a joke," said Mr. Foss, as he followed his
host into the kitchen and gazed tenderly at Miss Dowson--"best joke I
ever had in my life; I've 'ad my fortune told--guess what it was! I've
been laughing to myself ever since."
"Who told it?" inquired Mrs. Dowson, after a somewhat awkward silence.
"Old gypsy woman in Peter Street," replied Mr. Foss. "I gave 'er a wrong
name and address, just in case she might ha' heard about me, and she did
make a mess of it; upon my word she did."
"Wot did she say?" inquired Mr. Dowson.
Mr. Foss laughed. "S | 222.579359 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Mary Johnston]
*THE OLD
DOMINION*
BY
MARY JOHNSTON
Author of "By Order of the Company" "Audrey"
and "Sir Mortimer"
LONDON
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO LTD
1907
1st Impression, January, 1899
2nd " August, 1899
3rd " May, 1900
4th " July, 1900
5th " October, 1900
6th " February, 1901
7th " August, 1901
8th " August, 1902
9th " April, 1904
10th " (Pocket Edition) March, 1906
11th " " " Sept. 1907
TO MY FATHER
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
I. A Sloop comes in
II. Its Cargo
III. A Colonial Dinner Party
IV. The Breaking Heart
V. In the Three-Mile Field
VI. The Hut on the Marsh
VII. A Mender of Nets
VIII. The New Secretary
IX. An Interrupted Wooing
X. Landless pays the Piper
XI. Landless becomes a Conspirator
XII. A Dark Deed
XIII. In the Tobacco House
XIV. A Midnight Expedition
XV. The Waters of Chesapeake
XVI. The Face in the Dark
XVII. Landless and Patricia
XVIII. A Capture
XIX. The Library of the Surveyor-General
XX. Wherein the Peace Pipe is smoked
XXI. The Duel
XXII. The Tobacco House again
XXIII. The Question
XXIV. A Message
XXV. The Road to Paradise
XXVI. Night
XXVII. Morning
XXVIII. Bread cast upon the Waters
XXIX. The Bridge of Rock
XXX. The Backward Track
XXXI. The Hut in the Clearing
XXXII. Attack
XXXIII. The Fall of the Leaf
XXXIV. An Accident
XXXV. The Boat that was not
XXXVI. The Last Fight
XXXVII. Vale
*CHAPTER I*
*A SLOOP COMES IN*
"She will reach the wharf in half an hour."
The speaker shaded her eyes with a great fan of carved ivory and painted
silk. They were beautiful eyes; large, brown, perfect in shape and
expression, and set in a lovely, imperious, laughing face. The divinity
to whom they belonged was clad in a gown of green dimity, flowered with
pink roses, and trimmed about the neck and half sleeves with a fall of
yellow lace. The gown was made according to the latest Paris mode, as
described in a year-old letter from the court of Charles the Second, and
its wearer gazed from under her fan towards the waters of the great bay
of Chesapeake, in his Majesty's most loyal and well beloved dominion of
Virginia.
The object of her attention was a large sloop that had left the bay and
was sailing up a wide inlet or creek that pierced the land, cork-screw
fashion, until it vanished from sight amidst innumerable green marshes.
The channel, indicated by a deeper blue in the midst of an expanse of
shoal water, was narrow, and wound like a gleaming snake in and out
among the interminable succession of marsh islets. The vessel, following
its curves, tacked continually its great sail, intensely white against
the blue of inlet, bay and sky, and the shadeless green of the marshes,
zigzagging from side to side with provoking leisureliness. The girl who
had spoken watched it eagerly, a color in her cheeks, and one little
foot in its square-toed, rosetted shoe tapping impatiently upon the
floor of the wide porch in which she stood.
Her companion, lounging upon the wooden steps, with his back to a
pillar, looked up with an amused light in his blue eyes.
"Why are you so eager, cousin?" he drawled. "You cannot be pining for
your father when 't is scarce five days since he went to Jamestown. Do
the Virginia ladies watch for the arrival of a new batch of slaves with
such impatience?"
"The slaves! No, indeed! But, sir, in that boat there are three cases
from England."
"Ah, that accounts for it! And what may these wonderful cases contain?"
"One contains the dress in which I shall dance with you at the party at
Green Spring which the governor is to give in your honor--if you ask me,
sir. Oh, I take it for granted that you will, so spare us your
protestations. 'T is to have a petticoat of blue tabby and an overdress
of white satin trimmed with yards and yards of Venice point. The
stockings are blue silk, and come from the French house in Covent
Garden, as doth the scarf of striped gauze, and the shoes, gallooned
with silver. Then there are my combs, gloves, a laced waistcoat, a red
satin bodice, a scarlet taffetas mantle, a plumed hat, a pair of clasped
garters, a riding mask, a string of pearls, and the latest romances."
"A pretty list! Is that all?"
"There are things for aunt Lettice, petticoats and ribbons, a gilt
stomacher and a China monster, and for my father, lace ruffles and
bands, a pair of French laced boots, a periwig, a new scabbard for his
rapier, and so on."
The young man laughed. "'T is a curious life you Virginians lead," he
said. "The embroidered suits and ruffles, the cosmetics and perfumes of
Whitehall in the midst of oyster beds and tobacco fields, savage Indians
and <DW64> slaves."
The girl put on a charming look of mock offense. "We _are_ a little bit
of England set down here in the wilderness. Why should we not clothe
ourselves like gentlefolk as well as our kindred and friends at home?
And sure both England and Virginia have had enough of sad
raiment. Better go like a peacock than like a horrid Roundhead."
Her companion laughed musically and sang a stave of a cavalier love
song. He was a slender, well-made man, dressed in the extreme of the
mode of the year of grace, sixteen hundred and sixty-three, in a richly
laced suit of camlet with points of blue ribbon, and the great scented
periwig then newly come into fashion. The close curled rings of hair
descending far over his cravat of finest Holland framed a handsome,
lazily insolent face, with large steel-blue eyes and beautifully cut,
mocking lips. A rapier with a jeweled hilt hung at his side, and one
white hand, half buried in snowy ruffles, held a beribboned cane with
which, as he talked, he ruthlessly decapitated the pink and white
morning-glories with which the porch was trellised.
The house to which the porch belonged was long and low, built of wood,
with many small windows, and at either end a great brick chimney. From
the porch to the water, a hundred yards away, stretched a walk of
crushed shells bisecting an expanse of green turf dotted with noble
trees--the cedar and the cypress predominating. Diverging from this
central walk were two narrower paths which, winding in and out in
eccentric figures, led, on the one hand, to a rustic summer-house
overgrown with honeysuckle and trumpet-vine, and on the other to a tiny
grotto constructed of shells and set in a tangle of periwinkle. Along
one side of the house, and protected by a stout locust paling overrun
with grape-vines, lay the garden, where flowers and vegetables
flourished contentedly side by side, the hollyhocks and tall white
lilies, the hundred-leaved roses and scarlet poppies showing like gilded
officers amidst the rank and file of sober essuculents. Behind the
house were clustered various offices, then came an orchard where the
June apples and the great red cherries were ripening in the hot
sunshine, then on the shore of a second and narrower creek rose the
quarters for the plantation servants, white and black--a long double row
of cabins, dominated by the overseer's house and shaded by ragged yellow
pines. Along one shore of this inlet was planted the Indian corn
prescribed by law, and from the other gleamed the soft yellow of
ripening wheat, but beyond the water and away to the westward stretched
acre after acre of tobacco, a sea of vivid green, broken only by an
occasional shed or drying house, and merging at last into the darker hue
of the forest. Over all the fair scene, the flashing water, the velvet
marshes, the smiling fields, the fringe of dark and mysterious woodland,
hung a Virginia heaven, a cloudless blue, soft, pure, intense. The air
was full of subdued sound--the distant hum of voices from the fields of
maize and tobacco, the faint clink of iron from the smithy, the wash and
lap of the water, the drone of bees from the hives beneath the eaves of
the house. Great bronze butterflies fluttered in the sunshine,
brilliant humming-birds, plunged deep into the long trumpet-flowers;
from the topmost bough of a locust, heavy with bloom, came the liquid
trill of a mock bird.
It was a fair domain, and a wealthy. The Englishman thought of certain
appalling sums lost to Sedley and Roscommon, and there flitted through
his brain a swift little calculation as to the number of hogsheads of
Orenoko or sweet-scented it would take to wipe off the score. And the
girl beside him was beautiful enough to take Whitehall by storm, to be
berhymed by Waller, and to give to Lely a subject above all flattery.
He set his lips with the air of a man who has made up his mind, and
turned to his companion, who was absorbed in watching the white sail
grow slowly larger.
"How long, now, cousin?"
"But a few minutes unless the wind should fail."
"And then you will have your treasures. But, madam, when you have
assumed all the panoply your sex relies on to increase its charms 't
will be but to 'gild refined gold or paint the lily.' The Aphrodite of
this western ocean needs no adornment."
The girl looked at him with laughter in her eyes. "You make me too many
pretty speeches, cousin," she said demurely. "We know the value of the
fine things you court gallants are perpetually saying."
"Upon my soul, madam, I swear"--
"Do you know the amount of the fine for swearing, Sir Charles? See how
large the sail has grown! When the boat rounds the long marsh she will
come more quickly. We will soon be able to see my father wave his
handkerchief."
The young man bit his lip. "You are pleased to be cruel to-day, madam,
but I am your slave and I obey. We will look together for Colonel
Verney's handkerchief. How many black slaves does he bring you?"
She laughed. "But half a dozen blacks, but there will be several
redemptioners if you prefer to be numbered with them."
"Redemptioners! Ah, yes! the English servants who are sold for their
passage money. I thank you, madam, but _my_ servitude is for life."
"The men my father will bring may not be the ordinary servants who come
here to better their condition. He may have obtained them from a batch
of felons from Newgate who have been kept in gaol in Jamestown until
word could be got to the planters around. I am sure I wish the ship
captains and the traders would stop bringing in the wretches. It is
different with the <DW64>s: we can make allowance for the poor silly
things that are scarce more than animals, and they grow attached to us
and we to them, and the simple indented servants are well enough too.
There are among them many honest and intelligent men. But these gaol
birds are dreadful. It sickens me to look at them. Thieves and
murderers every one!"
"I should not think the colony served by their importation."
"It is not indeed, and we have hopes that it will cease. I beg my
father not to buy them, but he says that one man cannot stop an
abuse--that as long as his fellow-planters use them he might as well do
so too."
Sir Charles Carew delicately smothered a yawn. "The ship that brought me
over a fortnight ago," he said lazily, "had a consignment of such
rascals. It was amusing to watch their antics, crowded together as they
were in the hold. There were two wild Irishmen whom we used to have on
deck to dance for us. Gad! what figures they cut! The captain and I
had a standing wager of five of the new guineas as to which of the
rascals could hold out longest, promising a measure of rum to the
victorious votary of Terpsichore. When I had lost a score of guineas I
found that the captain was in the habit of priming his man before he
came upon deck. Naturally, being filled with Dutch courage, he won."
"Poor Sir Charles! What did you do?"
"Sent the captain a cartel and fought him on his own deck. There was
one man in the villainous company whom, I protest, I almost pitied,
though of course the rogue had but his deserts."
"What was he?"
"A man of about thirty. A fellow with a handsome face and a lithe
well-made figure which he managed with some grace. He had the air of
one who had seen better days. I remember, one day when the captain was
bestowing upon him some especially choice oaths, seeing him clap his
hand to his side as though he expected to touch a rapier hilt. He was
cleanly too; kept his rags of clothing as decent as circumstances
allowed, and looked less like a wild beast in a litter of foul straw
than did his fellows. But he was an ill-conditioned dog. We had some
passages together, he and I. He took it upon himself to defend what he
was pleased to call the honor of one of his precious company. It was
vastly amusing.... After that I fell into the habit of watching him
through the open hatches. A little thing provides entertainment at sea,
Mistress Patricia. He would sit or stand for hours looking past me with
a perfectly still face. The other wretches were quick to crowd up,
whining to me to pitch them half pence or tobacco, but try as I would, I
could not get word or look from him. Sink me! if he didn't have the
impudence to resent my being there!"
"It was cruel to stare at misery."
"Lard, madam! such vermin are used to being stared at. In London,
Newgate, and Bridewell are theatres as well as the Cockpit or the King's
House, and the world of mode flock to the one spectacle as often as to
the other. But see! the sloop has passed the marsh and has a clean
sweep of water between her and the wharf."
"Yes, she is coming fast now."
"What is coming?" asked a voice from the doorway.
"The Flying Patty, Aunt Lettice," the girl answered over her shoulder.
"Get your hood and come with us to the wharf."
Mistress Lettice Verney emerged from the hall, two red spots burning in
her withered cheeks, and her tall thin figure quivering with excitement.
"I am all ready, child," she quavered. "But, mark my words, Patricia,
there will be something wrong with my paduasoy petticoat, or Charette
will not have sent the proper tale of green stockings or Holland smocks.
Did you not hear the screech owl last night?"
"No, Aunt Lettice."
"It remained beneath my window the entire night. I did not sleep a wink.
And this morning Chloe upset the salt cellar, and the salt fell towards
me." Mistress Lettice rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed
lugubriously. Patricia laughed.
"I dreamed of flowers last night, Aunt Lettice; miles and miles of them,
waxen and cold and sweet, like those they strew over the dead."
Mistress Lettice groaned. "'T is a dreadful sign. Captain Norton's wife
(she that was Polly Wilson) dreamed of flowers the night before the
massacre of 'forty-four. The only thing the poor soul said when the
warwhoop wakened them in the dead of the night and the door came
crashing in, was, 'I told you so.' They were her last words. Then
Martha Westall dreamed of flowers, and two days later her son James
stepped on a stingray over at Dale's Gift. And I myself dreamed of
roses the week before those horrid Roundhead commissioners with the
rebel Claiborne at their head and a whole fleet at their back, compelled
us to surrender to their odious Commonwealth."
"At least that evil is past," said the girl with a gay laugh. "And ill
fortune will never come to me aboard the Flying Patty, so I shall go
down to the wharf to see her in. Darkeih! my scarf!"
A negress appeared in the doorway with a veil of tissue in her hand.
Sir Charles took it from her and flung it over Patricia's golden head,
then offered his arm to Mistress Lettice.
The wharf was but a stone's throw from the wooden gates, and they were
soon treading the long stretch of gray, weather-beaten boards. Others
were before them, for the news that the sloop was coming in had drawn a
small crowd to the wharf to welcome the master.
The dozen or so of boatmen, white and black, who had been tinkering
about in the various barges, shallops and canoes tied to the mossy
piles, left their employments and scrambled up upon the platform, and a
trio of youthful <DW54>s, fishing for crabs with a string and a piece of
salt pork, allowed their lines to fall slack and their intended victims
to walk coolly off with the meat, so intense was their interest in the
oncoming sail. A knot of <DW64> women had left the great house kitchen
and stood, hands on hips, chatting volubly with a contingent from the
quarters, their red and yellow turbans nodding up and down like
grotesque Dutch tulips. The company was made up by an overseer with a
broadleafed palmetto hat pulled down over his eyes and a clay pipe stuck
between his teeth, a pale young man who acted as secretary to the master
of the plantation, and by three or four small land-owners and tenants
for whom Colonel Verney had graciously undertaken various commissions in
Jamestown, and who were on hand to make their acknowledgments to the
great man.
They all made deferential way for the two ladies and Sir Charles Carew.
Mistress Lettice commenced a condescending conversation with one of the
tenants, Darkeih added a white tulip to the red and yellow ones, and
Patricia, followed by Sir Charles, walked to the edge of the wharf, and
leaning upon the rude railing looked down the glassy reaches of the
water to the approaching boat.
The wind had sunk into a fitful breeze and the white sail moved very
slowly. The tide was in, and the water lapped with a cooling sound
against the dark green piles. In the distance the blue of the bay
melted into the blue of the sky, while the nearer waters mirrored every
passing gull, the masts of the fishing boats, the tall marsh grass, the
dead twigs marking oyster beds--each object had its double. On a point
of marshy ground stood a line of cranes, motionless as soldiers on
parade, until, taking fright as the great sail glided past, they whirred
off, uttering discordant cries and with their legs sticking out like
tail feathers. Slowly, and keeping to the middle of the channel, the
boat came on. Upon the long low deck men were preparing to lower the
sail, and a portly gentleman standing in the bow was vigorously waving
his handkerchief. The sail came down with a rush, the anchor swung
overboard, and half a dozen canoes and dugouts shot from under the
shadow of the wharf and across the strip of water between it and the
sloop. The gentleman with the handkerchief, followed by a man plainly
dressed in brown, sprang into the foremost; the others waited for their
lading of merchandise.
Before the boat had touched the steps the master of the plantation began
to call out greetings to his expectant family.
"Patricia, my darling, are you in health? Charles, I am happy to see
you again! Sister Lettice, Mr. Frederick Jones sends you his humble
services."
"La, brother! and how is the dear man?" screamed Mistress Lettice.
"As well as't is in nature to be, with his heart at Verney Manor and his
body at Flowerdieu Hundred."
The boat jarred against the piles and the planter stepped out, grasping
Sir Charles's extended hand.
"Again, I am happy to see you, Charles," he cried in a round and jovial
voice. "I have been telling my up-river good friends that I have the
most topping fellow in all London for my guest, and you will have
company enough anon."
Sir Charles smiled and bowed. "I hope, sir, that you were successful in
the business that took you to Jamestown?"
"Fairly so, fairly so. Haines here," with a wave of the hand towards
the man in brown, "had a lot picked out for me to choose from. I have
six <DW64>s and three of those blackguards from Newgate--mighty poor
policy to shoulder ourselves with such gaol sweepings. I doubt we 'll
repent it some day. The blacks come by way of Boston, which means that
they will have to be cockered up considerably before they are fit for
work. Is that you, Woodson? How have things gone on?"
The overseer took his pipe from between his teeth and made an awkward
bow.
"Glad to see your Honor back," he said deferentially. "Everything's all
right, sir. The last rain helped the corn amazingly, and the tobacco's
prime. The lightning struck a shed, but we got the flames out before
they reached the hogsheads. The Nancy got caught in a squall; lost both
masts and ran aground on Gull Marsh. The tide will take her off at the
full of the moon. <DW71>'s been playing 'possum again. Said he 'd cut
his foot with his hoe so badly that he couldn't stand upon it. Said I
could see that by the blood on the rag that tied it up. I made him take
off the rag and wash the foot, and there wa'n't no cut there. The blood
was puccoon. If he 'd waited a bit he could 'a' had all he wanted to
paint with, for I gave him the rope's end lively, until Mistress
Patricia heard him yelling and made me stop."
"All right, Woodson. I reckon the plantation knows by this time that
what Mistress Patricia says is law. Here come the boats with the boxes.
Tell the men to be careful how they handle them."
After a hearty word or two to tenants and land owners the worthy Colonel
joined his daughter and sister; and together with Sir Charles Carew they
watched the precious boxes conveyed up the slippery steps, the overseer
shouting directions, plentifully sprinkled with selected, unfinable
oaths to the panting boatmen. When all were safely piled upon the wharf
ready to be wheeled to the great house, the empty boats swung off to
make room for others, laden with the colonel's Jamestown purchases.
One by one the articles climbed the stairs, each as it reached the level
being claimed by the overseer and told off into a lengthening line. Six
were <DW64>s, gaunt and hollow-eyed, but smiling widely. They gazed
around them, at the heap of clams and oysters piled upon the wharf, at
the marshes, alive with wild fowl, at the distant green of waving corn,
the flower-embowered great house, the white quarters from which arose
many little spirals of savory smoke, and a bland and child-like content
took possession of their souls. With eager and obsequious "Yes Mas'rs"
they obeyed the overseer's objurgatory indications as to their
disposition.
There next arose above the landing | 222.585032 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.5650330 | 1,648 | 10 |
Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions
(www.canadiana.org))
FAITHFUL MARGARET.
_A Novel._
ROBERTSON'S CHEAP SERIES
POPULAR READING AT POPULAR PRICES.
BY ANNIE ASHMORE.
"Vengeance for any cruel wrong
Bringeth a dark renown;
But fadeless wreaths to her belong
Who calmly bears it down;
Who, scorning every mean redress,
Each recreant art abjures,
Safe in the noble consciousness,
_She conquers who endures_."
TORONTO:
J. ROSS ROBERTSON,
CORNER KING AND BAY STREETS.
1880.
FAITHFUL MARGARET.
CHAPTER I.
A DYING WOMAN'S COMMAND.
She was dying--good old Ethel Brand, the mistress for half a century of
the hoary castle which stood like an ancient cathedral in the midst of
the noble estate in Surrey, Seven-Oak Waaste.
No need now of these whispering attendants, and that anxious little
physician; she would not trouble them more. No need for these grim
medicine vials, marshaled upon the little table near her couch; she was
past mortal needs or mortal help; her face, set in cold repose, seemed
glistening with supernal light, while waiting for the fatal kiss of
death.
And over her bent a woman, breathless, pulseless, motionless, as if
carved from stone, listening, with straining ear, for each slow,
rattling breath; watching, with great, glistening eyes, for each
darkening shadow over the noble face--Margaret Walsingham.
No high-born dame was she; no fortunate next-of-kin, watching with
decorous lament for the moment of emancipation from her weary wait for a
dead woman's shoes. Only Mrs. Brand's poor companion, Margaret
Walsingham.
Four years had she ministered to the whims, the caprices, the erratic
impulses of that most erratic of all creations, an eccentric old woman;
and exalting the good which she found, and pardoning the frailties she
could not blind her eyes to, her presence had become a sweet necessity
to the world-weary dowager, who repaid it by unceasing exactions and
doting outbursts of gratitude; and there had been much love between
these two.
Paler waxed the high patrician face, darker grew the violet circles
beneath her heavy eyes.
Margaret clasped her hands convulsively.
"Will she go before seven?" whispered she.
Old Dr. Gay stooped low and listened to the labored inspiration.
"Going--going fast," he said, with faltering lips.
A wail burst from the crowd of servants standing by the door; sobs and
tears attested to the love they had borne their dying mistress.
"Hush!" whispered Margaret. "Do not awake her."
"They'll never wake her more," said Dr. Gay, mournfully.
She turned at that with terror in her eyes; she laid a small, strong
hand upon the doctor's arm and clung to it convulsively.
"She must live to see St. Udo Brand," said she, in a low, thrilling
voice. "She must, I tell you--it is her dearest, her last wish--it is my
most earnest prayer. Surely you will not let her die before that wish is
fulfilled?"
She gazed with passionate entreaty in the little doctor's face, and her
voice rose into a wail at the last words. He regarded her with helpless
sympathy and shook his head.
"She can't live half an hour longer," said Dr. Gay. "She'll not see St.
Udo Brand."
A fierce shudder seized Margaret Walsingham from head to foot. The blood
forsook her lips, the light her eyes--she stood silent, the picture of
heart-sick despair.
She had often appealed to Dr. Gay's admiration by her faithfulness, her
kindness, her timidly masked self-sacrifices; she appealed straight to
his heart now by her patient suffering, unconscious as he was of its
cause.
"I will do what I can to keep up her strength," he said, approaching the
bed to gaze anxiously again at the slumberer. "I will try another
stimulant, if I can only get her to swallow it. Perhaps the London train
may be here by that time."
"Thank you! oh, thank you!" murmured Margaret; gratefully. "You little
know the desperate need there is for Mrs. Brand seeing her grandson
before she dies."
Tears welled to her eloquent eyes, her lips trembled distressfully, she
waved the servants from the room and followed them out.
"Symonds, I wish you to hasten immediately to Regis for Mr. Davenport,
the lawyer," said she, when she had dismissed the other servants down
stairs. "Give him this note and drive him back here as quickly as you
can drive."
She dropped her note into the groom's hand, and watched him from the
oriel hall window, as he hurried from the court below, out into the
deepening twilight, from the road which went to the pretty little
village of Regis, some two miles distant.
She stood in the waning light, watching for the lawyer's coming, and her
thoughts were wild and bitter.
She had a _doom_ to confront, as terrible to her as unsought martyrdom
is to the quailing victim of a blinded hate; a _doom_ from which she
fain would court grim death himself if he would open his gates to let
her escape; a humiliating and revolting _doom_ from which she recoiled
with vehement dislike, every nerve in her high-strung frame quivering
with horror.
Ethel Brand had ever been capricious in her life, but of all the mad,
impulsive freaks which her lonely heart had led her into, her last
caprice was the most ill-advised, the most disastrous.
Margaret Walsingham had answered Mrs. Brand's advertisement for a
companion four years previously, when she was a pale, timid girl of
twenty, clad in orphan's weeds, and scarce lifting her deep, earnest
eyes to the inquisitive gaze of her patroness; but her quiet, grave,
soulful character had strangely fascinated the haughty old lady, and
from the humble post which she had gone to Castle Brand to fill, she
quickly rose to be the prime object of all its mistress' dreams, to be
beloved, and indulged, and admired as no living mortal had ever been by
that closely-guarded heart, save St. Udo Brand. Margaret Walsingham was
a sea-captain's daughter. Up to her twelfth year she had sailed the seas
in his ship and looked to him for society; and not till then was she
sent on shore to be educated. Still the stout captain had been ambitious
for his daughter, and had taken care that her education, when it did
commence, should be thorough, comprehensive and elegant in all its
branches; so that when after eight years of ceaseless learning on her
part, and ceaseless voyaging on his, he proposed going home to England
and retiring with his daughter upon a handsome fortune, she was well
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THE MEMOIRS
OF
JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT
1725-1798
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
[Transcriber's Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
CONTENTS
CASANOVA AT DUX
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA
VENETIAN YEARS
EPISODE 1 -- CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 2 -- CLERIC IN NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 3 -- MILITARY CAREER
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 4 -- RETURN TO VENICE
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
EPISODE 5 -- MILAN AND MANTUA
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
TO PARIS AND PRISON
EPISODE 6 -- PARIS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 7 -- VENICE
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 8 -- CONVENT AFFAIRS
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
EPISODE 9 -- THE FALSE NUN
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
EPISODE 10 -- UNDER THE LEADS
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
ENLARGE TO FULL | 222.642097 |
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E-text prepared by Afra Ullah, Sjaani, and Project Gutenberg Distributed
Proofreaders
AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY
BY
EDITH VAN DYNE
1910
LIST OF CHAPTERS
CHAPTER
I UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY
II A QUESTION OF "PULL"
III DIANA
IV THE THREE NIECES
V PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
VI THE FLY IN THE BROTH
VII THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS
VIII OPENING THE CAMPAIGN
IX THE VON TAER PEARLS
X MISLED
XI LIMOUSINE
XII FOGERTY
XIII DIANA REVOLTS
XIV A COOL ENCOUNTER
XV A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE
XVI MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN
XVII THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
XVIII A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS
XIX POLITIC REPENTANCE
XX A TELEPHONE CALL
XXI THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
XXII GONE
XXIII THE CRISIS
XXIV A MATTER OF COURSE
CHAPTER I
UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY
"You're not doing your duty by those girls, John Merrick!"
The gentleman at whom this assertion was flung in a rather angry tone
did not answer his sister-in-law. He sat gazing reflectively at the
pattern in the rug and seemed neither startled nor annoyed. Mrs.
Merrick, a pink-cheeked middle-aged lady attired in an elaborate morning
gown, knitted her brows severely as she regarded the chubby little man
opposite; then, suddenly remembering that the wrinkles might leave their
dreadful mark on her carefully rolled and massaged features, she
banished them with a pass of her ringed hand and sighed dismally.
"It would not have mattered especially had the poor children been left
in their original condition of friendless poverty," she said. "They were
then like a million other girls, content to struggle for a respectable
livelihood and a doubtful position in the lower stratas of social
communion. But you interfered. You came into their lives abruptly,
appearing from those horrid Western wilds with an amazing accumulation
of money and a demand that your three nieces become your special
_protegees_. And what is the result?"
The little man looked up with a charming smile of good humored raillery.
His keen gray eyes sparkled as mischievously as a schoolboy's. Softly he
rubbed the palms of his hands together, as if enjoying the situation.
"What is it, Martha, my dear? What is the result?" he asked.
"You've raised them from their lowly condition to a sphere in which they
reign as queens, the envy of all who know them. You've lavished your
millions upon them unsparingly; they are not only presumptive heiresses
but already possessed of independent fortunes. Ah, you think you've been
generous to these girls; don't you, John Merrick?" "Go on, Martha; go
on."
"You've taken them abroad--you took my own daughter, John Merrick, and
left _me_ at home!--you've lugged your three nieces to the mountains and
carried them to the seashore. You even encouraged them to enlist in an
unseemly campaign to elect that young imbecile, Kenneth Forbes, and--"
"Oh, Martha, Martha! Get to the point, if you can. I'm going,
presently."
"Not until you've heard me out. You've given your nieces every advantage
in your power save one, and the neglect of that one thing renders futile
all else you have accomplished."
Now, indeed, her listener seemed perplexed. He passed a hand over his
shiny bald head as if to stimulate thought and exorcise bewilderment.
"What is it, then? What have I neglected?" was his mild enquiry.
"To give those girls their proper standing in society."
He started; smiled; then looked grave.
"You're talking foolishly," he said. "Why, confound it, Martha, they're
as good girls as ever lived! They're highly respected, and--" "Sir, I
refer to Fashionable Society." The capitals indicate the impressive
manner in which Mrs. Merrick pronounced those words.
"I guess money makes folks fashionable; don't it, Martha?"
"No, indeed. How ignorant you are, John. Can you not understand that
there is a cultured, aristocratic and exclusive Society in New York that
millions will not enable one to gain _entree_ to?"
"Oh, is there? Then I'm helpless."
"You are not, sir."
"Eh? I thought you said--"
"Listen, John; and for heaven's sake try for once to be receptive. I am
speaking not only for the welfare of my daughter Louise but for Beth
and Patricia. Your nieces are charming girls, all three. With the
advantages you have given them they may well become social celebrities."
"H-m-m. Would they be happier so?"
"Of course. Every true woman longs for social distinction, especially if
it seems difficult to acquire. Nothing is dearer to a girl's heart than
to win acceptance by the right social set. And New York society is the
most exclusive in America."
"I'm afraid it will continue to exclude our girls, Martha."
"Not if you do your duty, John."
"That reminds me. What is your idea of my duty, Martha? You've been
talking in riddles, so far," he protested, shifting uneasily in his
chair.
"Let me explain more concisely, then. Your millions, John Merrick, have
made you really famous, even in this wealthy metropolis. In the city and
at your club you must meet with men who have the _entree_ to the most
desirable social circles: men who might be induced to introduce your
nieces to their families, whose endorsement would effect their proper
presentation."
"Nonsense."
"It isn't nonsense at all."
"Then blamed if I know what you're driving at."
"You're very obtuse."
"I won't agree to that till I know what 'obtuse' means. See here,
Martha; you say this social position, that the girls are so crazy
for--but they've never said anything to _me_ about it--can't be bought.
In the next breath you urge me to buy it. Phoo! You're a thoughtless,
silly woman, Martha, and let your wild ambitions run away with your
common sense."
Mrs. Merrick sighed, but stubbornly maintained her position.
"I don't suggest 'buying' such people; not at all, John. It's what is
called--ah--ah--'influence'; or, or--"
"Or 'pull.' 'Pull' is a better word, Martha. Do you imagine there's any
value in social position that can be acquired by 'pull'?"
"Of course. It has to be acquired some way--if one is not born to it. As
a matter of fact, Louise is entitled, through her connection with _my_
family--"
"Pshaw, I knew _your_ family, Martha," he interrupted. "An arrant lot of
humbugs."
"John Merrick!"
"Don't get riled. It's the truth. I _knew_ 'em. On her father's side
Louise has just as much to brag about--an' no more. We Merricks never
amounted to much, an' didn't hanker to trip the light fantastic in
swell society. Once, though, when I was a boy, I had a cousin who
spelled down the whole crowd at a spellin'-bee. We were quite proud of
him then; but he went wrong after his triumph, poor fellow! and became a
book agent. Now, Martha, I imagine this talk of yours is all hot air,
and worked off on me not because the girls want society, but because you
want it for 'em. It's all _your_ ambition, I'll bet a peanut."
"You misjudge me, as usual, John. I am urging a matter of simple
justice. Your nieces are lovely girls, fitted to shine in any sphere of
life," she continued, knowing his weak point and diplomatically
fostering it. "Our girls have youth, accomplishments, money--everything
to fit | 222.642139 |
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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, after
we had finished the whole Composure, some Observations made by that
Ingenious and Learned Person Mr. ~Hook~, a Worthy Member of the ~Royal
Society~, my much Honoured Friend, and by him communicated to me, were
super-added: As likewise some others also ~Microscopical~, of my own,
which his gave me the occasion of making._
_Those that shall think fit to examine, as well as to peruse these
Observations, we advertise them, ~First~, That they begin, and so proceed
till they end again, with the Seed: For they will hardly be able to avoid
Errour and Misapprehension, if either partial or preposterous in their
Enquiries. ~Next~, That they confine not their Enquiries to one time of
the Year; but to make them in several Seasons, wherein the Parts of a
~Vegetable~ may be seen in their several Estates. ~And then~, That they
neglect not the comparative ~Anatomy~; for as some things are better seen
in one estate, so in one ~Vegetable~, than another._
_What, upon Observation already made, we have erected, as they are not
Sticks and Straws; so neither do we assure all to be of the best Oak. How
Dogmatical soever my Assertions may seem to be, yet do I not affect the
unreasonable Tyranny of obtruding upon the Faith of any. He that speaketh
Reason, may be rather satisfied, in being understood, than believed._
THE CONTENTS
CHAP. 1.
_Of the Seed as Vegetating._
The Method propounded. 1, 2. The _Garden-Bean_ dissected. 2. The two
_Coats_ thereof. 2, 3. The _Foramen_ in the outer _Coat_, 3, 4. What
generally observable of the Covers of the _Seed_, 4. The main Body of the
_Seed_, 5, 6. The _Radicle_ distinguish’d. 6. The _Plume_ distinguish’d.
8. Described. 9. The _Cuticle_ described. 10, 11. The _Parenchyma_. 11,
12. The _Inner Body_, how observed. 14, 16. Describ’d. 15, 16, 17, 18.
The _Coats_ how in common subservient to the _Vegetation_ of the _Seed_.
20, 21. The _Foramen_, of what use herein. 22. The use of the _Inner
Coat_, and of the _Cuticle_. 22. Of the _Parenchyma_. 23. Of the Seminal
Root. 23, 24. How the _Radicle_ first becomes a _Root_. 24, 26. How after
the _Root_ the _Plume_ vegetates. 26. How the _Lobes_. 27. That they do,
demonstrated. 29, 32. How the _Lobes_ thus turn into _Dissimilar Leaves_.
32. What hence resolvable. 32, 33. The use of the _Dissimilar Leaves_.
CHAP. 2.
_Of the Root._
The _Skin_ hereof, its Original. 37. The _Cortical Body_, its Original.
37. Description. 37, 38. _Pores._ 38. _Proportions._ 39. The _Lignous
Body_, its Original. 39. Described by its _Pores_, 40. Its Proportions.
42. The _Insertment_, its original. 42. Description. 43. Pores. 43.
Number and size. 44. A fuller description hereof, with that of the
Osculations of the _lignous Body_. 44, 45. The _Pith_, its original
sometimes from the _Seed_. 46. Sometimes from the _Cortical Body_. 47,
49. Its _Pores_. 49. _Proportions_. 49, 50. _Fibres_ of the _lignous
Body_ therein. 50. The _Pith_ of those _Fibres_. 51.
How the _Root_ grows, and the use of the _Skin_, _Cortical_ and _lignous
Body_ thereto. 51, 54. How it groweth in length. 55. By what means it
descends. 56, 57. How it grows in breadth. 58. And the _Pith_ how thus
framed. 59. The use of the _Pith_. 60, 61. Of the _Insertment_. 61, 62.
The joint service of all the Parts. 63, 65.
CHAP. 3.
_Of the Trunk._
The _Skin_, its original. 67. The original of the _Cortical Body_. 67. Of
the _lignous_. 68. Of the _Insertment_ and _Pith_. 68. The Latitudinal
Shooting of the _lignous Body_, wherein observable. 69. The _Pores_ of
the _lignous Body_, where and how most remarkable. 70. The _Pith_ of the
same _Pores_. 70. A lesser sort of _Pores_. 71. A third sort only visible
through a _Microscope_. Observed in Wood or Char-coal. 71. Observed in
the Fibres of the Trunks of Plants. 72. 73. The _Insertions_ where
more visible. 73, 74. The smaller Insertions, only visible through a
_Microscope_. 74, 75. The _Pores_ of the Insertions. 76. Of the _Pith_.
77, 79.
How the _Trunk_ ascends. 80. 81. The disposition of its Parts consequent
to that Ascent. 81, 82. Consequent to the different Nature of the _Sap_.
83, 84. The effects of the said Differences. 84, 89. Which way, and how
the _Sap_ ascends. 89-98.
The Appendix.
_Of Trunk-Roots and Claspers._
_Trunk-Roots_ of two kinds. 99. _Claspers_ of one kind. 100. The use of
both. 100, 103.
CHAP. 4.
_Of the Germen, Branch, and Leaf._
The Parts of the _Germen_ and _Branch_ the same with those of the
_Trunk_. 104, 105. The manner of their growth. 105, 107. How nourished.
107. And the use of Knots. 108. How secur’d. 109. The Parts of a Leaf.
110. The Positions the _Fibres_ of the Stalks of Leaves. 110, 111. The
visible cause of the different shape of Leaves. 112. And of their being
flat. 113. The Foulds of Leaves, their kinds and Use. 114-118. The
Protections of Leaves. 119, 120. The use of the Leaf. 120, 123.
_The Appendix._
_Of Thorns, Hairs and Globulets._
_Thorns_ of two kinds. 124, 125. _Hairs_ of divers. 126. Their use. 127.
_Globulets_ of two kinds. 128.
CHAP. 5.
_Of the Flower._
Its Impalement of divers kinds. 129, 130. Their use. 130, 132. The
_Foliation_, its nature. 132. Foulds. 133, 134. Protections. 135. Downs.
135. Globulets. 136. Its Use. 137, 139. The _Attire_ of two kinds. The
Description of the first. 140, 142. Of the other. 143, 145. Their use.
145-148.
CHAP. 6.
_Of the Fruit._
The Number, Description, and Original of the Parts of an _Apple_.
149-152. Of a _Pear_. 153, 155. Of a _Plum_. 155-159. Of a _Nut_. 159,
161. Of a _Berry_. 161, 162. The use of the _Fruit_. 163-167.
CHAP. 7.
_Of the Seed in its state of Generation._
The _Case_, its Figures. 168. The outer Coat, its Figures. 170. Various
Surface. 170, 171. And Mucilages. 171, 172. The nature of the outer Coat.
172. Its Original. 173, 174. The Original of the inner. 174. Its Nature.
175, 176. The _Secondine_. 177, 178. The _Colliquamentum_ herein. 178.
The _Navel Fibres_. 179, 180.
In the Generation of the _Seed_, the _Sap_ first prepared in the
_Seed-Branch_. 181. Next in the inner Coat. 182. With the help of the
outer. 182. The use of the _Secondine_. 183, 184. Of the Ramulets of the
_Seed-Branch_. ib. Of their _Inosculation_. ib. How the _Colliquamentum_
becometh a _Parenchyma_. 185, 186.
_Cl. Glissonius_ in Prolegomenis præfixis Libro de _Hepatis Anatomia_, c.
1.
Plantæ quoque in hunc censum (_sc. Anatomicum_) veniunt. Varia enim
partium textura, & differentiis constant: & proculdubio ex accurata
earundem diffectione, utiles valde Observationes nobis exurgerent;
præstaretq; in illis (inferioris licet ordinis) rebus examinandis operam
impendere, quam in transcribendis (ut sæpe fit) aliorum laboribus,
inutiliter ætatem transigere. Quippe, hoc pacto, ignavarum apum more,
aliena duntaxat alvearia expilamus, nihilq; bono publico adjicimus.
_To be added and corrected._
Pag. 8. _l._ 15. after _must_, _adde_ upon the Sprouting of the _Bean_.
_p. 12. l. 23._ after _dense_, _adde_ and thence their different
Tinctures. _p. 18. l. 13._ after _that_, _adde_ when. _p. 20. l. 8._ for
_the_, _read_ an. _p. 56, l. 8._ _r._ once. _p. 90. l. 11._ _dele_ as.
_p. 91. l. 12._ _r._ older. _p. 120. l. 11._ after _all_, _r._ is. _p.
134. l. 11._ _r._ _Convolvulus_. _p. 143. l. 10._ _r._ ever. _p. 145. l.
14._ for _not_, _r._ or. _p. 159. l. 8._ for _by_, _r._ to. _p. 160. l.
18._ dele _not_. _p. 185. l. 14._ after _therewith_, _r._ the. _dele_ the
former _the_.
_In some Copies._
P. 168. _l. 4._ _r._ _ultimate end_, and _p. 170. l. 22._ _r._ _Favous_.
_The Reader is desired to excuse the misplacing of the Figures by the
Graver, in the Authors absence._
Transcriber’s Note
The above additions and corrections have been made, and in addition the
following changes were made to correct suspected printing errors:
Contents, “Coliquamentum” changed to “Colliquamentum” (The
_Colliquamentum_ herein.)
Contents, “subsetvient” changed to “subservient” (how in common
subservient)
Page 13, “anothet” changed to “another” (there being another Body)
Page 28, “ruus” changed to “runs” (which runs into the _Plume_)
Page 93, “and and” changed to “and” (the _Lignous Body_, and from the
production)
Page 99, “Rooots” changed to “Roots” (Of Trunk-Roots and Claspers.)
Page 121, “Leavs” changed to “Leaves” (the Leaves above-named)
Page 126, “althoegh” changed to “although” (although they are various)
Page 126, “to to” changed to “to” (in some resemblance to a _Stags-Horn_)
Page 171, “transpareut” changed to “transparent” (on the other,
transparent;)
Fig. 16, “The The” changed to “The” (The _Cortical Body_, or _Barque_.)
Punctuation and word spacing were amended without note; spelling remains
as printed.
THE ANATOMY OF VEGETABLES
Begun.
With a General Account of _Vegetation_ founded thereon.
CHAP. I.
_Of the Seed as Vegetating._
Being to speak of Vegetables; and, as far as Inspection and consequent
Reason may conduct, to enquire into the visible Constitutions and Uses of
their several Parts; I chuse that Method which may with best advantage
suit to what we have to say hereon: And that is the Method of Nature her
self, in her continued Series of Vegetations, proceeding from the Seed
sown, to the formation of the Root, Trunk, Branch, Leaf, Flower, Fruit,
and last of all, of the Seed also to be sown again; all which we shall in
the same order particularly speak of.
The Essential Constitutions of the said Parts are in all Vegetables the
same: But for Observation, some are more convenient; in which I shall
chiefly instance. And first of all, for the Seed we chuse the great
Garden-Bean.
If we take a Bean then and dissect it, we shall find it cloathed with
a double Vest or Coat: These Coats, while the Bean is yet green, are
separable, and easily distinguished. When ’tis dry, they cleave so
closely together, that the Eye, not before instructed, will judge them
but one; the inner Coat likewise (which is of the most rare contexture)
so far shrinking up, as to seem only the roughness of the outer, somewhat
resembling Wafers under _Maquaroons_.
At the thicker end of the Bean, in the outer Coat, a very small _Foramen_
presents it self: In dissection ’tis found to terminate against the point
of that part which I call the _Radicle_, whereof I shall presently speak.
It is of that capacity as to admit a small Virginal Wyer, and is most
conspicuous in a green Bean.
This _Foramen_ may be observed not only in the great Garden-Bean, but
likewise in the other kinds; in the French-Bean very plainly; in Pease,
Lupines, Vetches, Lentiles, and other Pulse ’ | 222.679161 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.6592290 | 5,801 | 7 | MARINE***
E-text prepared by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 53122-h.htm or 53122-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/cu31924030112977
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN MERCHANT MARINE
* * * * * *
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., Limited
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.
TORONTO
* * * * * *
[Illustration: SOUTH STREET, NEW YORK; FROM MAIDEN LANE, 1834
From a print in the possession of the Lenox Library]
THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN MERCHANT MARINE
by
JOHN R. SPEARS
Author of "Story of the New England
Whalers," etc.
Illustrated
New York
The Macmillan Company
1910
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1910,
By The Macmillan Company.
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1910.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. In the Beginning 1
II. Early Growth 22
III. Evolution of the Smuggler and the Pirate 40
IV. Before the War of the Revolution 59
V. Merchantmen in Battle Array 85
VI. Early Enterprise of the United States Merchant Marine 100
VII. French and Other Spoliations 119
VIII. The British Aggressions 132
IX. The Beginnings of Steam Navigation 150
X. Privateers, Pirates, and Slavers of the Nineteenth Century 177
XI. The Harvest of the Sea before the Civil War 197
XII. The Packet Lines and the Clippers 214
XIII. Deep-water Steamships--Part I 240
XIV. Deep-water Steamships--Part II 258
XV. The Critical Period 277
XVI. During a Half Century of Depression 298
ILLUSTRATIONS
South Street, New York; from Maiden Lane, 1834 _Frontispiece_
PAGE
An Early View of Charleston Harbor 38
Captain Kidd's House at Pearl and Hanover Streets, New
York, 1691 70
Custom House, Salem 100
Elias Hasket Derby 108
An Early Type of Clipper Ship: _Maria_, of New Bedford, built
1782 122
A Virginia Pilot-boat, with a Distant View of Cape Henry, at
the Entrance of the Chesapeake 148
Engines of the _Clermont_ 158
Clipper Ship _Syren_ 220
Captain Samuel Samuels 222
Clipper Ship _Witch of the Wave_ 232
Sailing of _Britannia_, February 3, 1844 254
Four-master _Dirigo_, First Steel Ship built in the United
States 298
Seven-masted Schooner _Thomas Lawson_ 312
A Modern Clipper Ship and a Modern Brig 318
Cunard S. S. _Lusitania_ 334
THE STORY OF THE MERCHANT MARINE
CHAPTER I
IN THE BEGINNING
The first vessel built within the limits of the United States for
commercial uses was a sea-going pinnace of thirty tons named the
_Virginia_. Her keel was laid at the mouth of the Kennebec River,
in Maine, on an unnamed day in the fall of 1607. The story of this
vessel, though brief, is of great interest because, in part, of certain
peculiarities of rig and hull which, in connection with a sea-going
vessel, now seem astounding, but chiefly because it portrays something of
the character of the men who, a little later, laid the foundations of the
American Republic.
The adventure which led to the building of the _Virginia_ grew out
of that wonderful harvest of the sea, the cod fishery on the banks of
Newfoundland. For more than a hundred years before she was built many
fishermen of Europe had been sailing to the Banks in early spring and
returning home each fall. Throughout the sixteenth century there were from
100 to 300 fishing vessels there every year, excepting only those years
when wars raged the hardest. In 1577, for instance, as the records show,
350 vessels sailed for the Banks, gathered their harvest, went ashore
in the bay where St. John, Newfoundland, now stands, cured the catch on
flakes built on the beach, and then sailed for home well satisfied.
Though dimly seen now, those fishermen, as they flocked across the sea in
the spring, form one of the most striking pictures in history. For no one
had ever charted the western limits of that waste of waters. The Banks lay
beyond a belt of the sea famous, or infamous, as the "roaring forties."
And yet in ships so rude that the hulls were sometimes bound with hawsers
to hold them together these men anchored where black fogs shut them in,
where sleet-laden gales were a part of their common life, where bergs
and fields of ice assaulted them, and where irresistible hurricanes from
the unknown wilds beyond came to overwhelm them. To these real dangers
they added others that, though born of the imagination, were still more
terrifying. They saw evil spirits in the storm clouds, and demons came
shrieking in the gales to carry their souls to eternal torment.
Even in pleasant weather life was hard. Masters ruled their crews by
torture. To punish an obstinate sailor they wrapped a stout cord around
his forehead and then set it taut until his eyes were popped from
the sockets. The food brought from home spoiled. In the best vessels
the crew slept in leaking, unwarmed forecastles, while in some of the
vessels--those that were but partly decked over--they slept unsheltered.
The brine of the sea covered them with sores called sea boils, and their
hands dripped blood as they hauled in their cod lines.
Consider further that these fishermen came from four nations that were
always at war with each other, either openly or in an underhanded way. And
yet the English, the French, the Spanish, and the Portuguese anchored side
by side on the Banks, built their flakes side by side on the Newfoundland
beach, and when a ship opened her seams as she wallowed in the gale, the
crews of the others within reach eagerly lowered their boats to rescue
the drowning.
In courage, fortitude, sea skill, and resourcefulness those Banks
fishermen had never been surpassed.
This is by no means to say that the fishermen never fought each other.
Good fair fighting was a part of the comfort of life as they saw it. But
the conditions that eliminated the weaklings naturally created in their
minds a standard of justice under which all who survived could work.
Let it be noted now that with all their hardships they were not without
compensating rewards. Good digestion waited on appetite. The life ashore
while curing the catch--a life where venison and wild fowl replaced their
salted meats, and the red people of the region came to visit them--was a
time for jollification. But more important than all else they had leisure
as well as hard work. For having a share in the catch instead of wages,
they obtained enough money, on reaching home, to enable them to pass the
winter beside the hearthstone, where they told tales of adventures that
stirred the blood. So the love of the sea was cultivated and the race was
perpetuated.
Into the midst of these fishermen, as they worked among their flakes upon
the Newfoundland beach, came Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on August 5, 1583,
who was the forerunner of the New England colonists. He told them he had
come to take possession of the country and establish an English colony
there. The fishermen saw that such a settlement would interfere with
their business, but no resistance was made while he erected a monument and
did such other things as the customs of the day required of those taking
possession of a new land. One may fancy they saw in Sir Humphrey a man
of their own sort. For he had crossed the sea in the ten-ton _Squirrel_,
and although she was, as they said, "too small a bark to pass through the
ocean sea at that season of the year," he sailed in her when bound for
home; he would not ask his men to take a risk which he would not share.
And when the storm that overwhelmed him came, he sat down at the stern of
the little bark with a book in his hand, and shouted in a cheerful voice
to the crew of the _Hind_, which was close alongside:--
"We are as near to heaven by sea as by land."
The sailors of Gilbert's expedition have been called "no better than
pirates" (Bancroft), but at worst they were able to cherish the abiding
faith of their master as expressed in those words. The seamen who sailed
(1530) with William Hawkins in that "tall and goodlie ship of his own,"
the _Paul_, to the coasts of Africa and Brazil, and with Drake in the
_Pelican_ in that famous voyage around the world, and with Raleigh's
expedition to the coast of North Carolina, were recruited from among these
fishermen, to whom adventure was as the breath of life. And the men who
did the actual work of building the _Virginia_ were of the same class.
As the reader remembers, the first charter of Virginia as a colony
provided for two colony-planting companies. One, the London Company,
settled its colonists in what is now the State of Virginia, while the
other, the West-of-England or Plymouth Company, was to people the northern
coast. In May, 1607, the Plymouth Company sent two vessels to establish a
fishing colony on what is now the coast of Maine. One of the vessels was
a "fly-boat" called the _Gift of God_. A fly-boat was a flat-bottomed,
shoal-draft vessel handy for exploring inland waters. The other was "a
good ship" named the _Mary and John_. These ships shaped their course to
an island off the coast then well known to the fishermen, and now called
Monhegan, "a round high Ile," where they arrived on August 9. On the 18th
they located their settlement on a peninsula, on the west side of the
mouth of the Kennebec, which was "almost an island." There they erected
dwellings, a storehouse, and a church, with a fort enclosing all. Then
"the carpenters framed a pretty pinnace of about 30 tons, which they
called the _Virginia_, the chief shipwright being one Digby of London."
A plan of the fort as "taken by John Hunt, the VIII day of October in the
yeere of our Lorde 1607," is reproduced in Brown's _Genesis of the United
States_. This chart is important because it shows under the guns of the
fort a small vessel which was, no doubt, the "pretty pinnace" _Virginia_.
While the dimensions of the _Virginia_ were not recorded, we can get a
fair idea of her size from Charnock's _History of Marine Architecture_
(II, 431), where a smack named the _Escape Royal_, in 1660, was of 34 tons
burden and 30 feet 6 inches long by 14 feet 3 inches wide, and 7 feet 9
inches deep. The 30-ton _Virginia_ was not far from these dimensions. She
carried a spritsail and a jib. As the sail spread was insufficient for
driving the vessel in light airs and confined waters, oars were provided.
The hull was partly decked, enough to protect the cargo.
The crew had to be content with an awning when the wind was light. When
the wind was heavy, they had to face the gale, as was the custom on the
Banks. And yet the _Virginia_ was built by men who intended to use her
not only in the fishery and the coasting trade with the Indians, but for
oversea trade as well. It is a matter of record, too, that she made at
least one voyage from England to the Chesapeake, and it is believed that
some of the Kennebec colonists sailed in her upon that voyage.
Curiously enough, however, the Kennebec colony failed somewhat
ingloriously. The winter was long and severe. A fire destroyed the
storehouse and the provisions that had been brought from England. The
unexplored wilderness oppressed them. In fact, while they would face a
hurricane at sea in an open boat, the terrors of the wilderness, though
chiefly of their own imagining, drove them away, and they were hard
pressed at home to find excuses for what they had done.
In the meantime a settlement was made at Jamestown, Virginia. Of the 105
colonists at Jamestown, 48 were described as gentlemen, 12 as laborers,
4 as carpenters, and the others as servants and soldiers. The servants
were white slaves, who were not, however, held for life. The ships with
this oddly assorted colony arrived in the Chesapeake on April 20, 1607.
Of the things done at Jamestown two only need be considered here. They
began creating a merchant marine in 1611 by building a shallop of twelve
or thirteen tons' burden. A Spaniard who visited the colony at that
time noted that the iron used in the boat had been taken from a wreck at
Bermuda--a fact that shows the colonists had not had enough interest in
ship-building to bring iron for that purpose from home.
The truth is the Virginia colonists never had much interest in shipping,
save only as they built many vessels of small size for use in local
transportation on their inland waters. The reason for this condition of
affairs is pointed out in Bruce's _Economic History of Virginia_. The
money crop was, as it is now, in many parts of the State, tobacco. Tobacco
had been introduced into England in 1586. The settlers found the Indians
cultivating it on the James River, but they gave little heed to it until
1612, when John Rolfe, the first American "squaw man," began producing
it partly for his own use and partly because he was trying to find some
product that could be exported to England with profit. Thus Rolfe's garden
was the first American agricultural experiment station. Under cultivation
the leaf produced was of better quality than that obtained from the
Indians, and when a trial shipment was sent to England the success of the
venture was great. Thereupon the colonists became so eager to produce it
that the authorities felt obliged to prohibit the crop unless at least
two acres of grain were grown at the same time by each planter.
The demand for Virginia tobacco increased until the merchants sent their
agents to the colony to buy and pay for the crop long before it was
harvested; they even sent ships to lie there for months before the harvest
in order to have first chance to secure it. Why should the Virginians
build or buy ships under such circumstances?
Now consider some of the conditions surrounding the first New England
settlers. Many fishermen had visited the New England coast before a
settlement was made there. These adventurers found full fares and they
looked upon the coast at a season when it was not "stern."
It was to this coast that the Pilgrims came.
Of the well-known story of the Pilgrims it seems necessary to recall
here, first of all, the fact that they were Englishmen who had lived for
several years among the Dutch, a people who described themselves upon
their coinage as a nation whose "way is on the sea." More than a thousand
ships were built every year in Holland where the Pilgrims were sojourning,
and everybody lived in a seafaring atmosphere. Though a distinct people,
the Pilgrims necessarily absorbed, as one may say, something of the Dutch
aptitude for trade and sea life. Thus, when ready to migrate to America,
they were able to secure the capital they needed for the venture from
merchants who were acquainted with the success that had attended the
fishing voyages to the coast.
It is worth noting, too, that Captain Thomas Jones, of the _Mayflower_,
had fished in Greenland waters, and that Mate Robert Coppin was carried
as the pilot of the ship because he had been on the parts of the coast to
which the expedition was bound. The Pilgrims intended to settle somewhere
near the Hudson River, but on November 11, 1620, the _Mayflower_ was
found at anchor under Cape Cod. While lying there a number of the company
came to think that a settlement there would serve their purpose well, and
the reasons given in support of this proposition are of interest because
they show what business ideas animated these Pilgrims. The location, they
said, "afforded a good harbor for boats." It was "a place of profitable
fishing." "The master and his mate and others experienced in fishing"
preferred it to the Greenland fishery where whaling made large profits.
Moreover, the situation was "healthy, secure and defensible." While the
desire for "freedom to worship God" was perhaps uppermost in their talk,
as it was in their writings, the Pilgrims were "intensely practical in
applying their theories of Providence and Divine control to the immediate
business in hand," as Weeden says, in his _Economic History of New
England_.
After settling at Plymouth, as the reader remembers, life was hard during
the first years. But the poetic rhapsodies about the "stern and rock-bound
coast" do not convey an accurate idea of the agricultural possibilities
of the region. Some of the farm lands of eastern Massachusetts are among
the most prolific and profitable in the nation. The average yield of
Indian corn per acre in Massachusetts in 1907 (see Year Book, Department
of Agriculture) was exceeded only by that of Maine (another part of the
"stern and rock-bound coast") and that of the irrigated lands of Arizona.
Arizona averaged 37.5 bushels per acre, Maine 37, and Massachusetts 36.
Consider, too, that it was in April, "while the birds sang in the woods
most pleasantly," that Squanto and Hobomoc, red neighbors, taught these
Englishmen how to fertilize the fields with fish, and to plant corn in
fields that the Indians had cleared. And corn, produced on these fields,
formed the first cargo of the first American sea-trader of which we have
a definite record.
Through various causes not necessary to enumerate the Pilgrims got on
so poorly that it was not until 1624 that they began ship-building. The
prosperity that came to them in that year was due to success in fishing.
They took enough cod to freight a ship for England. The profit on the cod
was so much beyond the immediate need of the people that they launched
"two very good and strong shallops (which after did them greate service)."
As it happened, in the year following the building of these shallops
the Pilgrims produced such an abundant crop of corn that they had some
to sell. Accordingly they loaded a shallop with it, and sent it, under
Winslow, to the Kennebec, where he traded it for 700 pounds of beaver
skins.
A year later a more important, or at any rate a more profitable, voyage
was made. Some English merchants who had maintained a trading-post on
Monhegan Island sent word down the beach that they were going to abandon
it and would sell the remainder of their goods at a bargain. Although
in the years that had passed the Pilgrims had, at times, come so near to
starvation that men had been seen to stagger in the street because they
were faint with hunger, they had persisted. They had caught and sold fish.
They had produced forest products and corn for sale. They had traded with
the Indians for furs. They had traded with the fishermen who came over
from England, and they had made a profit on every deal--they had not lived
in Holland for nothing. When a bargain in trade goods on Monhegan Island
was offered, they had capital to make a purchase, and going there with
a shallop they secured stuff worth £400. Then, on finding at the mouth
of the Kennebec some other goods that had been taken from a French ship
wrecked on that coast, they bought an additional £100 worth, which was all
their boat would hold, as one may suppose. For as soon as they reached
Plymouth Bay they cut their shallop in two and lengthened her, so that
when another opportunity was offered to buy goods at a bargain she would
have a larger capacity.
Recall, now, a number of events occurring in America before, and at about
the time of, the first voyages of the Pilgrim shallops. Henry Hudson had
sailed in the _Half Moon_ up the river that bears his name (September,
1609), and the Dutch, after building a few fur-buying posts in that
country, had begun a permanent settlement on the lower end of Manhattan
Island (1623). Adrien Block, a Dutch explorer, had built a "yacht" on
Manhattan Island (during the winter of 1614-1615), that was used later in
the coasting trade. At New Amsterdam the Dutch built many small boats for
gathering furs on the Hudson, and they repaired ships coming to the port
when there was need. But as late as October 10, 1658, J. Aldrichs wrote
a letter from that town saying, in connection with a "galliot" that was
needed for local use (N. Y. C. docs. II, 51):--
"We are not yet in condition to build such a craft here."
At a still earlier date the French had made a permanent settlement in
Canada. In the long story of the French in America it is of interest to
note first that the Bretons and Basques had been among the pioneers on
the Newfoundland fishing banks. It is not difficult to believe that the
Basques were there before Cabot's time.
Of the French explorers we need to recall but one, Samuel de Champlain,
"young, ardent, yet ripe in experience, a skilled seaman and a practiced
soldier," who had been leading a strenuous life in the West Indies. In
1603 he made a voyage to the St. Lawrence River. In 1604 he helped to make
a settlement on the St. Croix River, where he remained until the next
year. When a badly needed relief ship came in 1605, he explored the New
England coast down around Cape Cod.
In 1608 Champlain built a trading-post where Quebec now stands, and in
1616 there were two real home-builders there, a farmer named Louis Hebert
and Champlain himself. In 1626 the population numbered 105, all told. It
is not unlikely that the French ship, from which the Pilgrims obtained
enough cheap goods to fill their shallop, in their second voyage to the
Maine coast, had been wrecked while on a voyage to Quebec. The seafaring
merchants of New England inevitably took much interest in the development
of this colony from a rival nation.
Still more interesting, though in a different way, were the settlements
of the West Indies. The Spaniards had introduced the sugar-cane and
<DW64> slavery, an economic combination of the greatest importance to
the commerce of the world; for while the Spaniards maintained, as far as
possible, a monopoly of their own trade, both slavery and sugar-planting
spread all over the islands. Moreover, Spanish exclusiveness was to lead
to adventures on the part of some New Englanders.
In 1605 the crew of an English ship took possession of Barbados. On
February 17, 1625, an English ship "landed forty English and seven or
eight <DW64>s" on the island, and thus began building a colony that was of
the utmost importance to New England traders in later years. In 1676 the
export of sugar "was capable of employing 400 sail of vessels, averaging
150 tons."
In the meantime (1619), a Dutch privateer had come to Jamestown, Virginia,
where "twenty Africans were disembarked," and sold to planters who were
to use <DW64> slaves, for many years thereafter, with profit, in the
production of tobacco. And slaves, sugar, and tobacco were among the first
articles of merchandise to bring profit to the New England ship-owners.
Most interesting of all, however, were the centres of population
established upon the New England coast. The English fishermen who came to
the coast after the arrival of the Pilgrims, occasionally landed men to
remain through the winter in order to trade for furs and procure a supply
of provisions--venison, wild fowl, etc.--for the use of the crews of the
ships that were to return in the spring.
Of this character was a settlement made at Cape Ann in 1623. The Rev. John
White, of Dorchester, England, having become interested in the fishermen,
persuaded some merchants to send out people to form a colony. The | 222.679269 |
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E-text prepared by Brian Coe, David Tipple, and the Online Distributed
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available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 58256-h.htm or 58256-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58256/58256-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/russianarmyjapan01kuro
Transcriber’s note:
Underscores are used for italic markup; the three words that
end this sentence _are in italics_.
Equals signs are used for bold-face markup; the four words
that end this sentence =are in bold face=.
There are 91 footnotes in the source book marked by characters
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numbers and each footnote has been moved to the end of the
chapter that contains its marker.
THE RUSSIAN ARMY AND THE
JAPANESE WAR
[Illustration: _General Kuropatkin._]
THE RUSSIAN ARMY AND
THE JAPANESE WAR,
Being Historical and Critical Comments on
the Military Policy and Power of Russia
and on the Campaign in the Far East,
by
GENERAL KUROPATKIN.
Translated by
Captain A. B. Lindsay,
2nd King Edward’S Own Gurkha Rifles
Translator of “The Battle of Tsu-Shima”;
“The Truth about Port Arthur,” etc.
Edited by
Major E. D. Swinton, D.S.O., R.E.,
Author of “The Defence of Duffer’S Drift”;
and Editor of “The Truth about Port Arthur.”
With Maps and Illustrations
IN TWO VOLUMES: VOL. I.
New York
E. P. Dutton and Company
1909
Printed in Great Britain
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE
“The General stands higher than any other Russian officer, not only in
Russian opinion, but in that of professional soldiers all the world
over, and if any human agency can change the deplorable situation
to Russia’s advantage, Kuropatkin may be the man to do it.”[1] This
sentence, written by the military correspondent of the _Times_ in
February, 1904, well expresses the sentiment that predominated when
General Kuropatkin’s appointment to command the Russian army in
Manchuria was announced.
“It may be that a military genius would have overcome the moral and
physical difficulties we had to encounter. Possibly; but an Alexeieff,
a Kuropatkin, a Linievitch, a Grippenberg, a Kaulbars, and a Bilderling
were unable to do so,”[2] were the words used by the General himself
two years later when reporting to his Sovereign.
Though these two quotations epitomize the _raison d’être_ and
tendency of this book, they by no means afford a complete description
of its scope. Were it nothing but an _apologia_, not even the former
re | 222.685489 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.7151190 | 879 | 8 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards, Carol Ann Brown, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 36825-h.htm or 36825-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36825/36825-h/36825-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36825/36825-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/tabletsamos00alcorich
TABLETS
by
A. BRONSON ALCOTT
"For curious method expect none, essays for the most part
not being placed as at a feast, but placing themselves as at
an ordinary."
_Thomas Fuller._
Boston
Roberts Brothers
1868.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. Bronson Alcott,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
Electrotyped and Printed by
Alfred Mudge & Son,
No. 34 School St., Boston.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.--PRACTICAL.
I. THE GARDEN. PAGE.
1 Antiquity 5
2 Ornaments 11
3 Pleasures 14
4 Orchard 20
5 Sweet Herbs 25
6 Table Plants 28
7 Rations 36
8 Economies 41
9 Rural Culture 48
II. RECREATION.
1 The Fountains 59
2 The Cheap Physician 65
III. FELLOWSHIP.
1 Hospitality 69
2 Conversation 75
IV. FRIENDSHIP.
1 Persons 81
2 Woman 88
3 Family 92
4 Children 95
V. CULTURE.
1 Modern Teaching 103
2 Socratic Dialectic 108
3 Pythagorean Discipline 113
4 Mother Tongue 118
VI. BOOKS. 127
VII. COUNSELS.
1 Religious 139
2 Personal 145
3 Political 148
4 Soul's Errand 151
BOOK II.--SPECULATIVE.
I. INSTRUMENTALITIES.
1 Tendencies 159
2 Method 162
3 Man 166
II. MIND.
1 Ideas 173
2 The Gifts 179
3 Person 181
4 Choice 184
III. GENESIS.
1 Vestiges 189
2 Serpent Symbol 191
3 Embryons 193
4 Temperament 195
IV. METAMORPHOSES.
1 Sleep 201
2 Reminiscence 203
3 Immortality 205
TABLETS
BOOK I
PRACTICAL
"Philosophy, the formatrix of judgment and manners, has the
privilege of having a hand in everything."--MONTAIGNE.
I.
THE GARDEN.
"If Eden be on earth at all,
'Tis that which we the country call."
HENRY VAUGHAN.
[Illustration: Decorative banner of bird among grapes and leaves]
THE GARDEN
I.--ANTIQUITY.
"I never had any desire so strong and so like to covetousness," says
Cowley, "as that one which I have had always that I might | 222.735159 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.7621080 | 5,886 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Note:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031341906
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Q U I S I S A N A
OR
REST AT LAST
From the German of F. Spielhagen
BY
H. E. GOLDSCHMIDT
ONLY TRANSLATION SANCTIONED BY THE AUTHOR AND BY
THE INTERNATIONAL LITERARY ASSOCIATION
NEW YORK:
JAMES B. MILLAR & CO., PUBLISHERS.
1885.
TROW'S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
QUISISANA.
I.
"Why have you roused me, Konski?"
"You were lying on your left side again, sir," the servant, who held
his master clasped by the shoulder, replied, as he completed the task
of restoring him to a sitting posture on the sofa; "and you have been
drinking champagne at dinner, more than a bottle, John says, and that
surely is..."
Konski broke off abruptly, and turned again to the travelling boxes,
one of which was already unlocked; he commenced to arrange its contents
in the chest of drawers, and went on, apparently talking to himself
rather than to his master--
"I am merely doing what the doctor has insisted upon. Only last night,
in Berlin, as I was showing him to the door, he said: 'Konski, when
your master is lying on his left side and begins then to moan, rouse
him, rouse him at once, be it day or night. I take the responsibility.
And, Konski, no champagne; not for the next six weeks, anyhow, and best
not at all. And when you have once got into Italy, then plenty of water
to be mixed with the wine, Konski, and...'"
"And now oblige me by holding your tongue."
Bertram had remained sitting on the sofa, his hand pressed to his brow;
he now rose rapidly and strode impatiently about the room, casting
every now and then an angry glance at his valet. Then he stepped to one
of the windows. The sun must be setting now. The high wooded hills
yonder still shone forth in sunny splendour, but the terrace gardens
sloping towards the valley, and the valley itself, with the village
within, lay already in deepest shadow. The picturesque view, the
graceful charm of which he was wont to appreciate so heartily, had no
charm to-day for his dulled brain. Konski was quite right; the
champagne which he had to-day taken for the first time since his
illness, in direct defiance of the doctors injunctions, had not agreed
with him. Well, he had taken champagne because his throat had got
unbearably dry from much talking, and he had talked so much because the
frequent pauses in the dinner conversation were making him nervous. The
whole thing had been a positive bore; the genial host, the fair hostess
had surely fallen off, changed sadly for the worse during the last
three years. Or... could he possibly have changed himself? Did he
really begin to grow old? If you get seriously ill at fifty, you are
apt to go downhill with startling rapidity!
This had been the second emphatic _memento mori_--after an interval of
twenty years! The first--the first had been her work. Aye, and she had
kissed him a thousand times, and had vowed deathless fidelity yonder on
the mountain-<DW72>, where the giant oak still lifted its mighty crown
of foliage above the bronze- leafy roof of the beeches. Why the
deuce did they always give him these rooms? He'd better ask Hildegard
this very evening for other rooms--at once, before that blockhead
Konski had unpacked everything.
"Leave these things alone," he exclaimed, turning round from the
window; "I do not intend to remain in these rooms. I do not intend to
stay here at all, I think. We shall probably be off to-morrow."
Konski, who was already deep in the recesses of box number two,
believed he had not heard aright. He lifted his head out of the box and
looked in amazement at his master.
"To-morrow, sir? I thought we were to stay a week at the least."
"Do what I bid you."
Konski replaced, the shirts which he was holding in the portmanteau and
rose hastily from his knees. His master was evidently in a very bad
temper; "but that kind of thing never lasts long with him," Konski was
saying to himself, "and then the champagne..."
Aloud he said--
"You can be sure, sir, that there won't be much trouble about the
officers who are going to be quartered here. I know all about it from
Mamsell Christine. Only a colonel, a major, a couple of captains, and
some six lieutenants or so, and perhaps a surgeon-major. None of our
princes, and certainly none of theirs. A mere handful for a large place
like this; they'll be lost, like currants in a bun. And you can remain
in these rooms, where we always have been, and you'll see none of them,
for I don't suppose they'll have this blessed man[oe]vre in the garden
below."
"I do not know at, all what you want with your everlasting
man[oe]vres," Bertram exclaimed angrily.
He had gone back, to the open window, through which there came a strong
current of air. Konski went and closed the door of the adjoining room,
then stepped up to within a certain respectful distance of his master,
and said modestly, lowering his voice--
"I beg your pardon, sir, but what does it matter, after all, if Miss
really comes..."
"What do you mean?" Bertram said without turning round. "What has that
to do with my going or staying? Why should the little one not come?"
Konski rubbed up his stiff black hair with a certain sly smile, and
said--
"Not Miss Erna; the other lady--who is never allowed to come when you
are here."
"Lydia? Fraeulein von Aschhof? Are you mad?"
Bertram turned round with the rapidity of lightning, and now uttered
these words in a rough tone, whilst his eyes, generally so gentle,
shone out in great anger. Konski was frightened; but his curiosity was
greater than his terror. He would gladly have at last learned the real
truth about the young lady who was not allowed to come when his master
came on a visit to Rinstedt, and whom he had therefore never yet seen,
although in the course of years he had accompanied his master half a
dozen times. But he was once more doomed to disappointment; his master
had suddenly become perfectly calm again, or at least preserved the
appearance of perfect calmness, and now asked in his usual voice--
"From whom have you got your information? Of course from Mamsell
Christine?"
"From Mamsell Christine, of course," Konski made answer.
"And she got it from My Lady?"
"From her Ladyship direct."
"And when is the lady expected to arrive?"
"This very evening, along with Miss Erna; and there will also come a
Baron Lutter or Lotter--I could not quite make the name out; they
pronounce things so queerly here in Thuringia."
"Well, well!"
Bertram now remembered that Hildegard, his hostess, had at table
mentioned more than once the name of the Baron von Lotter-Vippach. Of
Lydia, too, although he made it a point never to be drawn into
conversation about her, she had again and again commenced to speak;
clearly, as he perceived now, with the intention of preparing him to
some extent for the intended surprise. But My Lady had reckoned without
her host. This was a downright want of consideration; nay, worse, it
was a breach of good faith. There was no reason why he should put up
with it, and he did not mean to put up with it.
"Where's the master? and where is My Lady?" he asked aloud.
"The master has ridden over to the coal mines; her Ladyship has gone
into the village. They left word that they would be back before you
were awake again; and you had not lain down on your left..."
"That'll do. Into the village, did you say? Give me my hat."
"Please take your overcoat too, sir," said Konski; "there's a nasty
mist rising from the valley, sir; and the doctor, he did say that if
you caught cold now, sir..."
Bertram had put his hat on, and waived the proffered garment back. In
the doorway he turned, and said--
"Do not trouble about the boxes. We leave again in an hour. And one
thing more. If you say one word to Mamsell Christine, or to anybody in
the house, now or later--you understand me--and I hear of it--we
part--for all that."
He had left. Konski was now standing by the open window scratching his
head, and the very next minute he saw him striding swiftly down the
garden.
"Upon my word!" he murmured; "who'd think that six weeks ago he lay at
the point of death?--And off this evening again--an hour hence! Not if
I knows it. First, I must settle my little business with Christine, and
that is not to be done all at once. Christine says that at that time
the Fraeulein would have nothing to say to him. I can't make it out.
Twenty years ago he must have been a very handsome fellow; why, he is
so almost still. Nor was he a poor man even then, though, of course, he
has inherited lots since. I am devilish keen about seeing the old maid.
One thing is sure and certain, she will arrive this very evening."
Then he cast one dubious look at the boxes. Perhaps it was taking
needless pains to unpack them.
"But, but--he'll surely think better of it--he is not the one to run
away from any woman, even if she should number forty years or
thereabout; and--and..."
And so the faithful Konski, after having given a most incredulous shake
of the head, set to work, and continued to unpack his master's
travelling boxes.
II.
Meanwhile Bertram, had already crossed the bridge which spanned the
brook at the bottom of the garden terrace, and was hurrying along to
the village along the line of meadows. His hostess, Hildegard, had said
at dinner that she meant to-day, like every Thursday afternoon, to
visit her newly-founded Kindergarten; so he thought there would be no
difficulty in finding her. He had been a frequent visitor at Rinstedt,
and knew every lane in the village; and the Kindergarten, they said,
was on the main road, not far from the parsonage. Well, and what did he
mean to say to Hildegard when he met her? First, of course, make sure
of the facts. But there was little need for that. Konski was a smart
fellow, who was not likely to have made a mistake; and then he was on
such excellent terms with the omniscient Mamsell Christine! He would
ask her what had induced her to break through the agreement to which
she had now adhered for the last twenty years. And yet--what a needless
question! Why, women are never consistent! And in such things they
always like to assist each other and work into each other's hands, even
if they are by no means specially fond of each other. And now it seemed
as if there were special fondness between these two. His beautiful
hostess had, quite contrary to her wont, sung Lydia's praises in every
possible variety of way! And then, take the fact that she had sent her
own daughter to Lydia's _pension_, and had left the girl there in the
small _Residenz_ for three years. Poor Erna! Fancy her for three years
under the care of that crazy woman! Poor Erna--the beautiful creature
with the great, deep, blue eyes! That should never have happened. It
was a positive insult to him. He had urged every argument against it;
had found out a supremely suitable place in Berlin for her; had offered
to undertake careful personal supervision; had urged them to confide
the child to his care, to give the child an opportunity of seeing
something of life under its larger, nobler aspect. And they had said
yes to everything; had thanked him so very much for his exertions, his
kindness; and at the last moment they had contentedly plumped back into
the beloved mire and stagnant waters of the pettiness of life in the
small _Residenz_. To be sure, My Lady herself had been brought up in
that social quagmire, and still cherished with plaintive delight
recollections of bygone splendour, and mourned in secret over her own
hard fate which had not permitted her, like Lydia, to sun herself all
the days of her life in the immediate rays of princely favour, but had
doomed her to marry a man who was not nobly born--a man rich enough,
forsooth, but bearing the unaristocratic name of Bermer, and having
friends of similarly unaristocratic names, to whom, for all that, one
had to be civil. Yes, a real Baron--a Baron von Lotter-Vippach--would,
of course, be infinitely preferable! And fancy her, fancy My Lady
forcing the Baron's company upon him after he had expressly urged that,
being only half convalescent, he needed perfect repose; and would, if
they were to have company in the house, rather in the meanwhile deny
himself the delight of seeing his old friends, and would come to them
in spring instead on his return from Italy!
Yes, something like this he would say to his beautiful hostess, in
perfect calmness and good temper, of course, only tinged with a touch
of finest irony.... And this new building by his side--why, it must
surely be the Kindergarten!
So it was. But the girl who was in charge of the children who were
playing on the garden-plot in front of the building, said to him, in
answer to his question, that My Lady had left half an hour ago; had
gone to the parsonage, she thought. A couple of boys who were running
about told him My Lady had gone to the village-mayor along with the
parson.
The mayor's farm was situated at the opposite end of the village.
Bertram started off in that direction, but before he had got half way
he bethought himself that the parson would probably walk back with
Hildegard, and that in that case he would of course have no opportunity
of speaking plainly to her. So he turned back, determined to wait for
her near the parsonage, which she was bound to pass on her way home.
And yet, how could he wait? He could not tell whether he would have
time left to carry out his intended flight; nay, every moment brought
Lydia nearer, every moment he must expect to see the carriage whirl her
past him where he stood. What? was he to stand here like this, and be
compelled to bow to her? Never! To the left a narrow lane led direct to
the forest, which, higher up, almost bordered on the mansion-house.
This road back was somewhat longer than the one he had come by, and was
steeper too; but anyhow it was much shorter than the carriage-drive,
for that branched off from the high road in the main valley at the
entrance to the side valley, thus intersecting the whole length of the
village, and ultimately wound its long serpentine road up the high hill
crowned by his friend's stately mansion. This way he would gain an
advance of a good half-hour anyhow. It was to be hoped that his friend
and host, Otto Bermer, had meanwhile returned from the coal mines; they
lay in the opposite direction. He'd make a clean breast of it to Otto,
and make Otto take his farewell compliments to My Lady. Poor Otto! "The
grey mare was the better horse," no doubt; and poor Otto would not
relish the task; but what was to be done? And did not he, Bertram,
anyhow enjoy the doubtful reputation of being selfishness incarnate!
Well, then, this done, they would swiftly get some conveyance or other
ready for him. If required, Konski could stay behind with boxes and
such-like impedimenta; and in two or three hours' driving, first
through the forest, to avoid the danger of meeting her, then along the
high road, he would reach Fichtenau. He was fond of Fichtenau. There he
would rest in that evergreen dale for a few days, and recover from the
fatigue of the journey and from this day's manifold annoyances. Anyhow,
he would have escaped from Lydia, have broken away from the snare which
those women had set for him! He owed this satisfaction to himself, and
perhaps the reflection would smooth the rough forest path he had now
entered upon.
For it was rough, was that path; much more so than he remembered it
being formerly. Much rougher and much steeper too; in fact, most,
most--abominably steep. Never mind; by following the tiny brooklet
which was murmuring in the glen by his side, and which fell into the
big brook in the valley below, he must speedily reach the little bridge
leading to the opposite side; and then a smooth, or at least a fairly
smooth, path would lead him on to the mansion.
What on earth could she have to do, she and the parson, at the mayor's?
Something, probably, about getting appropriate quarters for those who
were coming to the man[oe]vres; to be sure, My Lady, never idle, must
needs take an interest in everything! Or perchance it was some
charitable purpose, something for the sick, for the poor; in the
pursuit of such noble aims My Lady never spared herself now, that is
never since Royalty had set the example, and made it fashionable! And
anyhow, it was hardly polite, in one so uniformly polite as My Lady, to
leave the house and walk right away to the far end of the village with
one guest already in the house, and with other guests expected every
minute. Possibly--possibly My Lady was not unwilling to avoid the one
guest; and the others, to be sure, must needs drive past the mayor's
house. What more natural than, in such a case, to enter the carriage
that brought the new guests; whilst driving with them through the
village, what more simple than to give a confidential hint or two, just
the merest suggestion, as to the treatment of the bird which she had
captured--oh, so cleverly! No, no, My Lady--not captured yet... not
yet!
But where was the little bridge? It ought to have appeared long ere
this. What! Climb down the steep glen, get your feet wet in the brook
below, and climb up again the opposite side? Perish the thought! Why,
everything seemed to go against him to-day!
At last. And a broad new bridge too. And pair fully rustic, with
elaborate rustic ornaments of curiously entwined and intertwisted tree
branches. And, worst of all, such a confounded bit higher up the stream
than where the old bridge had been.
And the path on the opposite side, too; new, new like the bridge, new
and fashionable, a regular promenade path; belonging, no doubt, to the
elaborate system of paths which his noble and beautiful hostess had for
years woven, like a complicated network, through the woods around. Of
course, like Charlotte in the "Elective Affinities," the fair
chatelaine must needs have that passion for beautifying everything;
like Charlotte, but not, oh dear! no, with any tender _penchant_ for
her husband's well-born friends. Well, well! He himself had never
doubted the unapproachable virtue of My Lady: what if she now, tried
her gentle hand ever so little at this, surely it was only the outcome
of the excessive goodness of her chaste, and cool, and philanthropic
heart.... Heart!... And oh the wretched pain, the horrid, horrid
sensation in my own heart. Who the mischief could be philanthropical if
he felt like this? Perhaps this insane running and climbing has brought
on a relapse. The story might then close where it began, and fair Lydia
would come just in the nick of time to see that when people talk of a
broken heart, they are not necessarily talking nonsense.... What
rubbish, though! If my heart breaks, it will be because it has got some
organic fault, and because I took champagne when I should not have done
so.
He had dropped upon a bench by, the wayside, and there he crouched,
almost bent double, pressing his handkerchief to his mouth, to prevent
his moans from being heard in the silence of the darkening woods.
The attack passed away. Gradually the agonising pains grew less. With
the physical anguish much of the fierce passion into which he had
worked himself passed away too. In its stead he felt a terrible
heaviness, a dull languor in all his limbs, and there was a sort of
stupor about his brain.
Supposing it had given way, he mused. Fancy, sitting alone here in the
wood, a dead man, for goodness knows how long, and then terrifying a
poor wretch who chanced to pass this way first! This was not a pleasing
thought. But this anyhow would have been the worst. Death in itself he
did not dread. Why should he? Death was but the end of life. And life?
His life? If he could say that his living harmed no one, except perhaps
poor Konski whom he sometimes tormented by his wayward moods--yet, on
the other hand, it gladdened no one, least of all himself. The few poor
students or struggling artists would have their allowances paid out to
them for the time fixed, whether he lived on or not, and a few public
institutions were welcome to divide the residue between them. All that
would be settled in the shortest and most business-like manner. Never a
tear would be shed by any human being, unless perchance by old Konski.
But no; it was impossible to think of the good, easy-going fellow in
tears.
He was sitting at the foot of a spreading beech tree. A crow, perched
on the top, uttered a shriek.
Bertram looked up with a grim smile. "Patience!" he said.
But it was not on his account that the crow had uttered that cry, but
probably because somebody was approaching. He saw a lady coming down
the side-path which led from the forest direct to his bench. Again,
this convulsive pain at the heart! But he forced himself to look again;
and no, it was not Lydia. Lydia was taller, and her blonde hair was of
ashen hue; this lady's hair was dark, very dark. And the style of
walking, too, was different, very different: an easy, even, step,
making it appear as if she were floating down the somewhat steep path,
although he could see the movement of the feet beneath the light summer
dress. And now she had come quite close to him. She gave a little
start, for, gazing up to the shrieking crow, she had not noticed him,
and he had sprung up somewhat abruptly from the bench. But in a moment
she was collected again, and the flush faded as quickly from her cheek
as it had spread.
"Is, it possible?--Erna!"
"Uncle Bertram!"
There was something wondrously melodious in the voice, but not the
slightest trace of the glad emotion which he himself had experienced
which he himself had experienced on seeing his darling. His heart
contracted; he would fain have said: "You were wont to give me a
different reception;" but he blushed to face the young beauty as a
beggar, and letting, go her hands, he only said--
"You did not expect to find me here?"
"How could I?" was her reply.
"To be sure!" thought Bertram. "How could she? What a silly question of
mine!"
He knew not what next to say, and, in some embarrassment, he stood
silent. The crow above had been silent during the last half-minute or
so, and now commenced to croak, abominably. Both had involuntarily
gazed up; now they were, walking silently side by side along the path.
III.
The evening was closing in around them. Through the thick undergrowth
of wood which bordered the path on both sides but little light could
penetrate; overhead the leafy crowns of the beeches interlaced and
formed an almost continuous roof. At a certain abrupt declivity a few
rough steps had been placed.
"Will you take my arm. Uncle Bertram?" said Erna. It was the first word
spoken between them since, several minutes ago, minutes which had
weighed like lead upon Bertram, they had left the bench under the beech
tree.
"I was just going to put the same question to you," he replied.
"Thanks," said Erna. "I know every step here; but you--and then, you
have been ill."
This might, of course, have been meant in all friendliness; but there
was a coldness about the tone, something like giving alms, Bertram
thought.
"Have been," he made answer; "but quite well again--quite well."
"I understand you are going to Italy for the winter--for the sake of
your health."
"I am going to Italy because I hope I shall be rather less bored in
Rome than in Berlin--that is all."
"And suppose you are bored in Rome too?"
"You mean, bores are bored everywhere?"
"No, I do not mean that; indeed, it would have been most disagreeable
on my part had I meant anything of the kind. I only wanted to know
where people go to from Rome, if they desire still to travel on. To
Naples, I should say?"
"To be sure. To Naples, to Capri! In Capri there stands amidst orange
groves, with subl | 222.782148 |
2023-11-16 18:20:46.7621200 | 3,765 | 9 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: ORVILLE WRIGHT IN THE 80-MILE-AN-HOUR “BABY WRIGHT”
RACER.]
How It Flies
or,
THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR
The Story of Man’s Endeavors to Fly and of the
Inventions by which He Has Succeeded
By
RICHARD FERRIS, B.S., C.E.
Illustrated by Over One Hundred and Fifty Half-tones and Line
Drawings, Showing the Stages of Development from the
Earliest Balloon to the Latest Monoplane and Biplane
New York
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
381-385 Fourth Avenue
Copyright, 1910, by
THOMAS NELSON & SONS
THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK
PREFACE
In these pages, by means of simple language and suitable pictures, the
author has told the story of the Ships of the Air. He has explained
the laws of their flight; sketched their development to the present
day; shown how to build the flying machine and the balloon, and how
to operate them; recounted what man has done, and what he hopes to do
with their aid. In a word, all the essential facts that enter into the
Conquest of the Air have been gathered into orderly form, and are here
presented to the public.
We who live to-day have witnessed man’s great achievement; we have seen
his dream of ages come true. Man has learned to _fly_!
The air which surrounds us, so intangible and so commonplace that
it seldom arrests our attention, is in reality a vast, unexplored
ocean, fraught with future possibilities. Even now, the pioneers of
a countless fleet are hovering above us in the sky, while steadily,
surely these wonderful possibilities are unfolded.
The Publishers take pleasure in acknowledging their indebtedness to the
_Scientific American_ for their courtesy in permitting the use of many
of the illustrations appearing in this book.
NEW YORK, October 20, 1910.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE 7
I. INTRODUCTORY 11
II. THE AIR 20
III. LAWS OF FLIGHT 37
IV. FLYING MACHINES 55
V. FLYING MACHINES: THE BIPLANE 78
VI. FLYING MACHINES: THE MONOPLANE 112
VII. FLYING MACHINES: OTHER FORMS 141
VIII. FLYING MACHINES: HOW TO OPERATE 151
IX. FLYING MACHINES: HOW TO BUILD 174
X. FLYING MACHINES: MOTORS 193
XI. MODEL FLYING MACHINES 215
XII. THE GLIDER 241
XIII. BALLOONS 257
XIV. BALLOONS: THE DIRIGIBLE 296
XV. BALLOONS: HOW TO OPERATE 340
XVI. BALLOONS: HOW TO MAKE 351
XVII. MILITARY AERONAUTICS 363
XVIII. BIOGRAPHIES OF PROMINENT AERONAUTS 379
XIX. CHRONICLE OF AVIATION ACHIEVEMENTS 407
XX. EXPLANATION OF AERONAUTICAL
TERMS 452
HOW IT FLIES
Chapter I.
INTRODUCTORY.
The sudden awakening--Early successes--Influence of the gasoline
engine on aeroplanes--On dirigible balloons--Interested
inquiry--Some general terms defined.
In the year 1908 the world awakened suddenly to the realization that at
last the centuries of man’s endeavor to fly mechanically had come to
successful fruition.
There had been a little warning. In the late autumn of 1906,
Santos-Dumont made a flight of 720 feet in a power-driven machine.
There was an exclamation of wonder, a burst of applause--then a relapse
into unconcern.
In August, 1907, Louis Bleriot sped free of the ground for 470 feet;
and in November, Santos-Dumont made two flying leaps of barely 500
feet. That was the year’s record, and it excited little comment. It is
true that the Wright brothers had been making long flights, but they
were in secret. There was no public knowledge of them.
In 1908 came the revelation. In March, Delagrange flew in a Voisin
biplane 453 feet, carrying Farman with him as a passenger. Two weeks
later he flew alone nearly 2½ miles. In May he flew nearly 8 miles. In
June his best flight was 10½ miles. Bleriot came on the scene again
in July with a monoplane, in which he flew 3¾ miles. In September,
Delagrange flew 15 miles--in less than 30 minutes. In the same month
the Wrights began their wonderful public flights. Wilbur, in France,
made records of 41, 46, 62, and 77 miles, while Orville flew from 40 to
50 miles at Fort Myer, Va. Wilbur Wright’s longest flight kept him in
the air 2 hours and 20 minutes.
The goal had been reached--men had achieved the apparently impossible.
The whole world was roused to enthusiasm.
Since then, progress has been phenomenally rapid, urged on by the
striving of the inventors, the competition of the aircraft builders,
and the contests for records among the pilots.
By far the largest factor in the triumph of the aeroplane is the
improved gasoline engine, designed originally for automobiles. Without
this wonderful type of motor, delivering a maximum of power with a
minimum of weight, from concentrated fuel, the flying machine would
still be resting on the earth.
[Illustration: The Renard and Krebs airship _La France_, at
Chalais-Meudon.]
Nor has the influence of the gasoline motor been much less upon that
other great class of aircraft, the dirigible balloon. After 1885, when
Renard and Krebs’ airship _La France_ made its two historic voyages
from Chalais-Meudon to Paris, returning safely to its shed, under the
propulsion of an electric motor, the problem of the great airship lay
dormant, waiting for the discovery of adequate motive power. If the
development of the dirigible balloon seems less spectacular than that
of the aeroplane, it is because the latter had to be created; the
dirigible, already in existence, had only to be revivified.
Confronted with these new and strange shapes in the sky, some making
stately journeys of hundreds of miles, others whirring hither and
thither with the speed of the whirlwind, wonder quickly gives way to
the all-absorbing question: _How do they fly?_ To answer fully and
satisfactorily, it seems wise, for many readers, to recall in the
succeeding chapters some principles doubtless long since forgotten.
* * * * *
As with every great advance in civilization, this expansion of the
science of aeronautics has had its effect upon the language of the day.
Terms formerly in use have become restricted in application, and other
terms have been coined to convey ideas so entirely new as to find no
suitable word existent in our language. It seems requisite, therefore,
first to acquaint the reader with clear definitions of the more common
terms that are used throughout this book.
_Aeronautics_ is the word employed to designate the entire subject of
aerial navigation. An _aeronaut_ is a person who sails, or commands,
any form of aircraft, as distinguished from a passenger.
_Aviation_ is limited to the subject of flying by machines which are
not floated in the air by gas. An _aviator_ is an operator of such
machine.
[Illustration: A free balloon, with parachute.]
Both aviators and aeronauts are often called _pilots_.
A _balloon_ is essentially an envelope or bag filled with some gaseous
substance which is lighter, bulk for bulk, than the air at the surface
of the earth, and which serves to float the apparatus in the air. In
its usual form it is spherical, with a car or basket suspended below
it. It is a _captive balloon_ if it is attached to the ground by a
cable, so that it may not rise above a certain level, nor float away in
the wind. It is a _free balloon_ if not so attached or anchored, but is
allowed to drift where the wind may carry it, rising and falling at the
will of the pilot.
[Illustration: A dirigible balloon.]
A _dirigible balloon_, sometimes termed simply a dirigible, usually has
its gas envelope elongated in form. It is fitted with motive power to
propel it, and steering mechanism to guide it. It is distinctively the
_airship_.
_Aeroplanes_ are those forms of flying machines which depend for their
support in the air upon the spread of surfaces which are variously
called wings, sails, or planes. They are commonly driven by propellers
actuated by motors. When not driven by power they are called _gliders_.
[Illustration: A biplane glider.]
Aeroplanes exist in several types: the _monoplane_, with one spread
of surface; the _biplane_, with two spreads, one above the other; the
_triplane_, with three spreads, or decks; the _multiplane_, with more
than three.
The _tetrahedral plane_ is a structure of many small cells set one upon
another.
_Ornithopter_ is the name given to a flying machine which is operated
by flapping wings.
[Illustration: A parachute descending.]
_Helicopter_ is used to designate machines which are lifted vertically
and sustained in the air by propellers revolving in a horizontal plane,
as distinguished from the propellers of the aeroplane, which revolve in
vertical planes.
A _parachute_ is an umbrella-like contrivance by which an aeronaut may
descend gently from a balloon in mid-air, buoyed up by the compression
of the air under the umbrella.
For the definition of other and more technical terms the reader is
referred to the carefully prepared Glossary toward the end of the book.
Chapter II.
THE AIR.
Intangibility of air--Its
substance--Weight--Extent--Density--Expansion
by heat--Alcohol fire--Turbulence of the
air--Inertia--Elasticity--Viscosity--Velocity of
winds--Aircurrents--Cloud levels--Aerological stations--High
altitudes--Practical suggestions--The ideal highway.
The air about us seems the nearest approach to nothingness that we know
of. A pail is commonly said to be empty--to have nothing in it--when it
is filled only with air. This is because our senses do not give us any
information about air. We cannot see it, hear it, touch it.
When air is in motion (wind) we hear the noises it makes as it passes
among other objects more substantial; and we feel it as it blows by us,
or when we move rapidly through it.
We get some idea that it exists as a substance when we see dead leaves
caught up in it and whirled about; and, more impressively, when in the
violence of the hurricane it seizes upon a body of great size and
weight, like the roof of a house, and whisks it away as though it were
a feather, at a speed exceeding that of the fastest railroad train.
In a milder form, this invisible and intangible air does some of our
work for us in at least two ways that are conspicuous: it moves ships
upon the ocean, and it turns a multitude of windmills, supplying the
cheapest power known.
That this atmosphere is really a fluid ocean, having a definite
substance, and in some respects resembling the liquid ocean upon which
our ships sail, and that we are only crawling around on the bottom
of it, as it were, is a conception we do not readily grasp. Yet this
conception must be the foundation of every effort to sail, to fly, in
this aerial ocean, if such efforts are to be crowned with success.
As a material substance the air has certain physical properties, and
it is the part of wisdom for the man who would fly to acquaint himself
with these properties. If they are helpful to his flight, he wants to
use them; if they hinder, he must contrive to overcome them.
In general, it may be said that the air, being in a gaseous form,
partakes of the properties of all gases--and these may be studied
in any text-book on physics, Here we are concerned only with those
qualities which affect conditions under which we strive to fly.
Of first importance is the fact that air has _weight_. That is, in
common with all other substances, it is attracted by the mass of the
earth exerted through the force we call gravity. At the level of the
sea, this attraction causes the air to press upon the earth with a
weight of nearly fifteen pounds (accurately, 14.7 lbs.) to the square
inch, when the temperature is at 32° F. That pressure is the weight of
a column of air one inch square at the base, extending upward to the
outer limit of the atmosphere--estimated to be about 38 miles (some say
100 miles) above sea-level. The practical fact is that normal human
life cannot exist above the level of 15,000 feet, or a little less than
three miles; and navigation of the air will doubtless be carried on at
a much lower altitude, for reasons which will appear as we continue.
The actual weight of a definite quantity of dry air--for instance,
a cubic foot--is found by weighing a vessel first when full of air,
and again after the air has been exhausted from it with an air-pump.
In this way it has been determined that a cubic foot of dry air,
at the level of the sea, and at a temperature of 32° F., weighs 565
grains--about 0.0807 lb. At a height above the level of the sea, a
cubic foot of air will weigh less than the figure quoted, for its
density decreases as we go upward, the pressure being less owing to
the diminished attraction of the earth at the greater distance. For
instance, at the height of a mile above sea-level a cubic foot of air
will weigh about 433 grains, or 0.0619 lb. At the height of five miles
it will weigh about 216 grains, or 0.0309 lb. At thirty-eight miles
it will have no weight at all, its density being so rare as just to
balance the earth’s attraction. It has been calculated that the whole
body of air above the earth, if it were all of the uniform density of
that at sea-level, would extend only to the height of 26,166 feet.
Perhaps a clearer comprehension of the weight and pressure of the ocean
of air upon the earth may be gained by recalling that the pressure of
the 38 miles of atmosphere is just equal to balancing a column of water
33 feet high. The pressure of the air, therefore, is equivalent to the
pressure of a flood of water 33 feet deep.
[Illustration: Comparative Elevations of Earth and Air.]
But air is seldom dry. It is almost always mingled with the vapor
of water, and this vapor weighs only 352 grains per cubic foot at
sea-level. Consequently the mixture--damp air--is lighter than dry air,
in proportion to the moisture it contains.
[Illustration: Apparatus to show effects of heat on air currents. _a_,
alcohol lamp; _b_, ice. The arrows show direction of currents.]
Another fact very important to the aeronaut is that the air is in
_constant motion_. Owing to its ready expansion by heat, a body of
air occupying one cubic foot when at a temperature of 32° F. will
occupy more space at a higher temperature, and less space at a lower
temperature. Hence, heated air will flow upward until it reaches a
point where the natural density of the atmosphere is the same as its
expanded density due to the heating. Here another complication comes
into play, for ascending air is cooled at the rate of one degree for
every 183 feet it rises; and as it cools it grows denser, and the speed
of its ascension is thus gradually checked. After passing an altitude
of 1,000 feet the decrease in temperature is one degree for each 320
feet of ascent. In general, it may be stated that air is expanded
one-tenth of its volume for each 50° F. that its temperature is raised.
This highly unstable condition under ordinary changes of temperature
causes continual movements in the air, as different portions of it are
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BENTLEY'S
MISCELLANY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1837.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
ADDRESS.
Twelve months have elapsed since we first took the field, and every
successive number of our Miscellany has experienced a warmer reception,
and a more extensive circulation, than its predecessor.
In the opening of the new year, and the commencement of our new volume,
we hope to make many changes for the better, and none for the worse;
and, to show that, while we have one grateful eye to past patronage,
we have another wary one to future favours; in short, that, like the
heroine of the sweet poem descriptive of the faithlessness and perjury
of Mr. John Oakhum, of the Royal Navy, we look two ways at once.
It is our intention to usher in the new year with a very merry
greeting, towards the accomplishment of which end we have prevailed
upon a long procession of distinguished friends to mount their hobbies
on the occasion, in humble imitation of those adventurous and
aldermanic spirits who gallantly bestrode their foaming chargers on the
memorable ninth of this present month, while
"The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad."
These, and a hundred other great designs, preparations, and surprises,
are in contemplation, for the fulfilment of all of which we are already
bound in two volumes cloth, and have no objection, if it be any
additional security to the public, to stand bound in twenty more.
BOZ.
30th November, 1837.
CONTENTS
OF THE
SECOND VOLUME.
SONGS of the Month--July, by "Father Prout;" August; September, by
"Father Prout;" October, by J.M.; November, by C.D.; December, by
Punch Pages 1, 109, 213, 321, 429, 533
Papers by Boz:
Oliver Twist, or the Parish Boy's Progress, 2, 110, 215, 430, 534
The Mudfog Association for the Advancement of Everything 397
Poetry by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson:
Elegiac Stanzas 16
Lady Blue's Ball 380
My Father's Old Hall 453
Fictions of the Middle Ages: The Butterfly Bishop, by Delta 17
A New Song to the Old Tune of Kate Kearney 25
What Tom Binks did when he didn't know what to do with himself 26
A Gentleman Quite 36
The Foster-Child 37
The White Man's Devil-house, by F.H. Rankin 46
A Lyric for Lovers 50
The Remains of Hajji Baba, by the Author of "Zohrab" 51,166
Shakspeare Papers, by Dr. Maginn:
No. III. Romeo 57
IV. Midsummer Night's Dream--Bottom the Weaver 370
V. His Ladies--Lady Macbeth 550
The Piper's Progress, by Father Prout 67
Papers by J.A. Wade:
No. II. Darby the Swift 68
III. The Darbiad 464
Song of the Old Bell 196
Serenade to Francesca 239
Phelim O'Toole's Nine Muse-ings on his Native County 319
Papers by Captain Medwin:
The Duel 76
Mascalbruni 254
The Last of the Bandits 585
The Monk of Ravenne 81
A Marine's Courtship, by M. Burke Honan 82
Family Stories, by Thomas Ingoldsby:
No. VI. Mrs. Botherby's Story--The Leech of Folkestone 91
VII. Patty Morgan the Milkmaid's Story--Look at the Clock 207
What though we were Rivals of yore, by T. Haynes Bayly 124
Papers by the Author of "Stories of Waterloo:"
Love in the City 125
The Regatta, No. I.: Run Across Channel 299
Legends--of Ballar; the Church of the Seven; and the Tory
Islanders 527
Three Notches from the Devil's Tail, or the Man in the Spanish
Cloak, by the Author of "Reminiscences of a Monthly Nurse" 135
The Serenade 149
The Portrait Gallery, by the Author of "The Bee Hive"
No. III. The Cannon Family 150
IV. Journey to Boulogne 454
A Chapter on Laughing 163
A Muster-chaunt for the Members of the Temperance Societies 165
My Uncle: a Fragment 175
Why the Wind blows round St. Paul's, by Joyce Jocund 176
Papers by C. Whitehead:
Rather Hard to Take 181
The Narrative of John Ward Gibson 240
Nights at Sea, by the Old Sailor:
No. IV. The French Captain's Story 183
V. The French Captain's Story 471
VI. Jack among the Mummies 610
Midnight Mishaps, by Edward Mayhew 197
The Dream 206
Genius, or the Dog's-meat Dog, by Egerton Webbe 214
The Poisoners of the Seventeenth Century, by George Hogarth:
No. I. The Marchioness de Brinvilliers 229
II. Sir Thomas Overbury 322
Smoke 268
Some Passages in the Life of a Disappointed Man 270
The Professor, by Goliah Gahagan 277
Biddy Tibbs, who cared for Nobody, by H. Holl 288
The Key of Granada 303
Glorvina, the Maid of Meath, by J. Sheridan Knowles 304
An Excellent Offer, by Marmaduke Blake 340
The Autobiography of a Good Joke 354
The Secret, by M. Paul de Kock 360
The Man with the Club-foot 381
A Remonstratory Ode to Mr. Cross on the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius,
by Joyce Jocund 413
Memoirs of Beau Nash 414
Grub-street News 425
The Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman 445
The Relics of St. Pius 462
A few Inquiries 470
Lines occasioned by the Death of Count Borowlaski 484
A Chapter on Widows 485
Petrarch in London 494
Adventures in Paris, by Toby Allspy:
The Five Floors No. I. 495; No. II. 575
Martial in Town 507
Astronomical Agitation--Reform of the Solar System 508
The Adventures of a Tale, by Mrs. Erskine Norton 511
When and Why the Devil Invented Brandy 518
The Wit in spite of Himself, by Richard Johns 521
The Apportionment of the World, from Schiller 549
Ode to the Queen 568
Suicide 569
The Glories of Good Humour 591
Song of the Modern Time 594
Capital Punishments in London Eighty Years ago--Earl Ferrers 595
A Peter Pindaric to and of a Fog, by Punch 606
The Castle by the Sea 623
Legislative Nomenclature 624
Nobility in Disguise, by Dudley Costello 626
Another Original of "Not a Drum was heard," 632
Index 633
ILLUSTRATIONS.
BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
Page
Oliver Twist--The Dodger's way of going to work 2
A Marine's Courtship 82
Oliver Twist recovering from the fever 110
Midnight Mishaps 197
Oliver Twist and his affectionate Friends 215
A Disappointed Man 270
The Autobiography of a Good Joke 354
The Secret 360
Oliver Twist returns to the Jew's den 430
The Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman 445
Oliver Twist instructed by the Dodger 533
Jack among the Mummies 610
Portrait of Beau Nash, by W. Greatbach 414
BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.
SONG OF THE MONTH. No. VII.
July, 1837.
BEING A BAPTISMAL CHAUNT FOR THE BIRTH OF OUR SECOND VOLUME, AS SUNG
(IN CHARACTER) BY FATHER PROUT.
(Tune "_The groves of Blarney_.")
"Ille ego qui quondam," &c. &c.--_AEneid._
I.
In the month of Janus,
When Boz to gain us,
Quite "miscellaneous,"
Flashed his wit so keen,
One, (Prout they call him,)
In style most solemn,
Led off the volume
Of his magazine.
II.
Though MAGA,'mongst her
Bright set of youngsters,
Had many songsters
For her opening tome;
Yet she would rather
Invite "the Father,"
And an indulgence gather
From the Pope of Rome.
III.
And, such a beauty
From head to shoe-tie,
Without dispute we
Found her first boy,
That she det_a_rmined,
There's such a charm in 't,
The Father's _sarmint_
She'd again employ.
IV.
While other children
Are quite bewilderin',
'Tis joy that fill'd her in
This bantling; 'cause
What eye but glistens,
And what ear but listens,
When the clargy christens
A babe of Boz?
V.
I've got a scruple
That this young pupil
Surprised its parent
Ere her time was sped;
Else I'm unwary,
Or, 'tis she's a fairy,
For in January
She was brought to bed.
VI.
This infant may be
A six months' baby,
But may his cradle
Be blest! say I;
And luck defend him!
And joy attend him!
Since we can't mend him,
Born in July.
VII.
He's no abortion,
But born to fortune,
And most opportune,
Though before his time;
Him, Muse, O! nourish,
And make him flourish
Quite Tommy-Moorish
Both in prose and rhyme!
VIII.
I remember, also,
That this month they call so,
From Roman JULIUS
The "_Caesarian_" styled;
Who was no gosling,
But, like this Boz-ling,
From birth a dazzling
And precocious child!
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
OLIVER TWIST;
OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS.
BY BOZ.
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
CHAPTER THE NINTH.
CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN,
AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS.
It was late next morning when Oliver awoke from a sound, long sleep.
There was nobody in the room beside, but the old Jew, who was boiling
some coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling softly to
himself as he stirred it round and round with an iron spoon. He would
stop every now and then to listen when there was the least noise below;
and, when he had satisfied himself, he would go on whistling and
stirring again, as before.
Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he was not thoroughly
awake. There is a drowsy, heavy state, between sleeping and waking,
when you dream more in five minutes with your eyes half open, and
yourself half conscious of everything that is passing around you, than
you would in five nights with your eyes fast closed, and your senses
wrapt in perfect unconsciousness. At such times, a mortal knows just
enough of what his mind is doing to form some glimmering conception of
its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space,
when freed from the irksome restraint of its corporeal associate.
Oliver was precisely in the condition I have described. He saw the Jew
with his half-closed eyes, heard his low whistling, and recognised the
sound of the spoon grating against the saucepan's sides; and yet the
self-same senses were mentally engaged at the same time, in busy action
with almost everybody he had ever known.
When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the saucepan to the hob, and,
standing in an irresolute attitude for a few minutes as if he did not
well know how to employ himself, turned round and looked at Oliver, and
called him by his name. He did not answer, and was to all appearance
asleep.
After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew stepped gently to the
door, which he fastened; he then drew forth, as it seemed to Oliver,
from some trap in the floor, a small box, which he placed carefully
on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised the lid and looked in.
Dragging an old chair to the table, he sat down, and took from it a
magnificent gold watch, sparkling with diamonds.
[Illustration: Oliver amazed at the Dodger's Mode of 'going to work']
"Aha!" said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders, and distorting every
feature with a hideous grin. "Clever dogs! clever dogs! Staunch to the
last! Never told the old parson where they were; never peached upon old
Fagin. And why should they? It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or kept
the drop up a minute longer. No, no, no! Fine fellows! fine fellows!"
With these, and other muttered reflections of the like nature, the
Jew once more deposited the watch in its place of safety. At least
half a dozen more were severally drawn forth from the same box, and
surveyed with equal pleasure; besides rings, brooches, bracelets, and
other articles of jewellery, of such magnificent materials and costly
workmanship that Oliver had no idea even of their names.
Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out another, so small
that it lay in the palm of his hand. There seemed to be some very
minute inscription on it, for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and,
shading it with his hand, pored over it long and earnestly. At length
he set it down as if despairing of success, and, leaning back in his
chair, muttered,
"What a fine thing capital punishment is! Dead men never repent; dead
men never bring awkward stories to light. The prospect of the gallows,
too, makes them hardy and bold. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade!
Five of them strung up in a row, and none left to play booty or turn
white-livered!"
As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark eyes which had been
staring vacantly before him, fell on Oliver's face; the boy's eyes
were fixed on his in mute curiosity, and, although the recognition was
only for an instant--for the briefest space of time that can possibly
be conceived,--it was enough to show the old man that he had been
observed. He closed the lid of the box with a loud crash, and, laying
his hand on a bread-knife which was on the table, started furiously up.
He trembled very much though; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see
that the knife quivered in the air.
"What's that?" said the Jew. "What do you watch me for? Why are you
awake? What have you seen? Speak out, boy! Quick--quick! for your life!"
"I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," replied Oliver, meekly. "I am
very sorry if I have disturbed you, | 222.783179 |
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Twenty-Five Ghost | 222.785094 |
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######################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
This e-text is based on the printed edition of ‘Shakespeare and
the Stage,’ by Maurice Jonas, from 1918. Inconsistent spelling and
hyphenation have been retained, but punctuation and typographical
errors have been corrected.
Illustr | 222.842356 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently
normalized. Inconsistent capitalizations of christian and christianity
have been left as in the original.
A SERMON DELIVERED BEFORE HIS EXCELLENCY EDWARD EVERETT, GOVERNOR, HIS
HONOR GEORGE HULL, LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR, THE H | 223.549172 |
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PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW
A SELECTION OF THE WORLD'S ART MASTERPIECES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
BY DOLORES BACON
Illustrated from Great Paintings
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Besides making acknowledgments to the many authoritative writers upon
artists and pictures, here quoted, thanks are due to such excellent
compilers of books on art subjects as Sadakichi Hartmann, Muther,
C. H. Caffin, Ida Prentice Whitcomb, Russell Sturgis and others.
INTRODUCTION
Man's inclination to decorate his belongings has always been one of
the earliest signs of civilisation. Art had its beginning in the lines
indented in clay, perhaps, or hollowed in the wood of family utensils;
after that came crude colouring and drawing.
Among the first serious efforts to draw were the Egyptian square and
pointed things, animals and men. The most that artists of that day
succeeded in doing was to preserve the fashions of the time. Their
drawings tell us that men wore their beards in bags. They show us,
also, many peculiar head-dresses and strange agricultural
implements. Artists of that day put down what they saw, and they saw
with an untrained eye and made the record with an untrained hand; but
they did not put in false details for the sake of glorifying the
subject. One can distinguish a man from a mountain in their work, but
the arms and legs embroidered upon Mathilde's tapestry, or the figures
representing family history on an Oriental rug, are quite as correct
in drawing and as little of a puzzle. As men became more intelligent,
hence spiritualised, they began to express themselves in ideal ways;
to glorify the commonplace; and thus they passed from Egyptian
geometry to gracious lines and beautiful colouring.
Indian pottery was the first development of art in America and it led
to the working of metals, followed by drawing and portraiture. Among
the Americans, as soon as that term ceased to mean Indians, art took a
most distracting turn. Europe was old in pictures, great and
beautiful, when America was worshipping at the shrine of the chromo;
but the chromo served a good turn, bad as it was. It was a link
between the black and white of the admirable wood-cut and the true
colour picture.
Some of the Colonists brought over here the portraits of their
ancestors, but those paintings could not be considered "American" art,
nor were those early settlers Americans; but the generation that
followed gave to the world Benjamin West. He left his Mother Country
for England, where he found a knighthood and honours of every kind
awaiting him.
The earliest artists of America had to go away to do their work,
because there was no place here for any men but those engaged in
clearing land, planting corn, and fighting Indians. Sir Benjamin West
was President of the Royal Academy while America was still revelling
in chromos. The artists who remained chose such objects as Davy
Crockett in the trackless forest, or made pictures of the Continental
Congress.
After the chromo in America came the picture known as the "buckeye,"
painted by relays of artists. Great canvases were stretched and
blocked off into lengths. The scene was drawn in by one man, who was
followed by "artists," each in turn painting sky, water, foliage,
figures, according to his specialty. Thus whole yards of canvas could
be painted in a day, with more artists to the square inch than are now
employed to paint advertisements on a barn.
The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 came as a glorious flashlight. For
the first time real art was seen by a large part of our nation. Every
farmer took home with him a new idea of the possibilities of drawing
and colour. The change that instantly followed could have occurred in
no other country than the United States, because no other people would
have travelled from the four points of the compass to see such an
exhibition. Thus it was the American's _penchant_ for travel which
first opened to him the art world, for he was conscious even then of
the educational advantages to be found somewhere, although there
seemed to be few of them in the United States.
After the Centennial arose a taste for the painting of "plaques," upon
which were the heads of ladies with strange- hair; of
leather-covered flatirons bearing flowers of unnatural colour, or of
shovels decorated with "snow scenes." The whole nation began to revel
in "art." It was a low variety, yet it started toward a goal which
left the chromo at the rear end of the course, and it was a better
effort than the mottoes worked in worsted, which had till then been
the chief decoration in most homes. If the "buckeye" was
hand-painting, this was "single-hand" painting, and it did not take a
generation to bring the change about, only a season. After the
Philadelphia exhibition the daughter of the household "painted a
little" just as she played the piano "a little." To-day, much less
than a man's lifetime since then, there is in America a universal love
for refined art and a fair technical appreciation of pictures, while
already the nation has worthily contributed to the world of
artists. Sir Benjamin West, Sully, and Sargent are ours: Inness,
Inman, and Trumbull.
The curator of the Metropolitan Museum in New York has declared that
portrait-painting must be the means which shall save the modern
artists from their sins. To quote him: "An artist may paint a bright
green cow, if he is so minded: the cow has no redress, the cow must
suffer and be silent; but human beings who sit for portraits seem to
lean toward portraits in which they can recognise their own features
when they have commissioned an artist to paint them. A man _will_
insist upon even the most brilliant artist painting him in trousers,
for instance, instead of in petticoats, however the artist-whim may
direct otherwise; and a woman is likely to insist that the artist who
paints her portrait shall maintain some recognised shade of brown or
blue or gray when he paints her eye, instead of indulging in a burnt
orange or maybe pink! These personal preferences certainly put a limit
to an artist's genius and keep him from writing himself down a
madman. Thus, in portrait-painting, with the exactions of truth upon
it, lies the hope of art-lovers!"
It is the same authority who calls attention to the danger that lies
in extremes; either in finding no value in art outside the "old
masters," or in admiring pictures so impressionistic that the objects
in them need to be labelled before they can be recognised.
The true art-lover has a catholic taste, is interested in all forms of
art; but he finds beauty where it truly exists and does not allow the
nightmare of imagination to mislead him. That which is not beautiful
from one point of view or another is not art, but decadence. That
which is technical to the exclusion of other elements remains
technique pure and simple, workmanship--the bare bones of art. A thing
is not art simply because it is fantastic. It may be interesting as
showing to what degree some imaginations can become diseased, but it
is not pleasing nor is it art. There are fully a thousand pictures
that every child should know, since he can hardly know too much of a
good thing; but there is room in this volume only to acquaint him with
forty-eight and possibly inspire him with the wish to look up the
neglected nine hundred and fifty-two.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I. Andrea del Sarto, Florentine School, 1486-1531
II. Michael Angelo (Buonarroti), Florentine School, 1475-1564
III. Arnold Boecklin, Modern German School, 1827-1901
IV. Marie-Rosa Bonheur, French School, 1822-1899
V. Alessandro Botticelli, Florentine School, 1447-1510
VI. William Adolphe Bouguereau, French (Genre) School 1825-1905
VII. Sir Edward Burne-Jones, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1833-1898
VIII. John Constable, English School, 1776-1837
IX. John Singleton Copley, English School, 1737-1815
X. Jean Baptiste Camille Corot, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1796-1875
XI. Correggio (Antonio Allegri), School of Parma, 1494(?)--1534
XII. Paul Gustave Dore, French School, 1833-1883
XIII. Albrecht Duerer, Nuremberg School, 1471-1528
XIV. Mariano Fortuny, Spanish School, 1838-1874
XV. Thomas Gainsborough, English School, 1727-1788
XVI. Jean Leon Gerome, French Semi-classical School, 1824-1904
XVII. Ghirlandajo, Florentine School, 1449-1494
XVIII. Giotto (di Bordone), Florentine School, 1276-1337
XIX. Franz Hals, Dutch School, 1580-84-1666
XX. Meyndert Hobbema, Dutch School, 1637-1709
XXI. William Hogarth, School of Hogarth (English), 1697-1764
XXII. Hans Holbein, the Younger, German School, 1497-1543
XXIII. William Holman Hunt, English (Pre-Raphaelite) School, 1827-
XXIV. George Inness, American, 1825-1897
XXV. Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, English School, 1802-1873
XXVI. Claude Lorrain (Gellee), Classical French School, 1600-1682
XXVII. Masaccio (Tommaso Guidi), Florentine School, 1401-1428
XXVIII. Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier, French School, 1815-1891
XXIX. Jean Francois Millet, Fontainebleau-Barbizon School, 1814-1875
XXX. Claude Monet, Impressionist School of France, 1840-
XXXI. Murillo (Bartolome Esteban), Andalusian School, 1617-1682
XXXII. Raphael (Sanzio), Umbrian, Florentine, and Roman Schools,
1483-1520
XXXIII. Rembrandt (Van Rijn), Dutch School, 1606-1669
XXXIV. Sir Joshua Reynolds, English School, 1723-1792
XXXV. Peter Paul Rubens, Flemish School, 1577-1640
XXXVI. John Singer Sargent, American and Foreign Schools, 1856-
XXXVII. Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti), Venetian School, 1518-1594
XXXVIII. Titian (Tiziano Vecelli), Venetian School, 1489-1576
XXXIX. Joseph Mallord William Turner, English, 1775-1831
XL. Sir Anthony Van Dyck, Flemish School, 1599-1641
XLI. Velasquez (Diego Rodriguez de Silva), Castilian School, 1599-1660
XLII. Paul Veronese (Paolo Cagliari), Venetian School, 1528-1588.
XLIII. Leonardo da Vinci, Florentine School, 1452-1519.
XLIV. Jean Antoine Watteau, French (Genre) School, 1684-1721
XLV. Sir Benjamin West, American, 1738-1820
Index
ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
The Avenue, Middleharnis, Holland--_Hobbema_
Madonna of the Sack--_Andrea del Sarto_
Daniel--_Michael Angelo (Buonarroti)_
The Isle of the Dead--_Arnold Boecklin_
The Horse Fair--_Rosa Bonheur_
Spring--_Alessandro Botticelli_
The Hay Wain--_John Constable_
A Family Picture--_John Singleton Copley_
The Holy Night--_Correggio (Antonio Allegri)_
Dance of the Nymphs--_Jean Baptiste Camille Corot_
The Virgin as Consoler--_Wm. Adolphe Bouguereau_
The Love Song--_Sir Edward Burne-Jones_
The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine--_Correggio_
Moses Breaking the Tablets of the Law--_Paul Gustave Dore_
The Nativity--_Albrecht Duerer_
The Spanish Marriage--_Mariana Fortuny_
Mrs. Richard Brinsley Sheridan--_Thomas Gainsborough_
The Sword Dance--_Jean Leon Gerome_
Portrait of Giovanna degli Albizi--_Ghirlandajo (Domenico Bigordi)_
The Nurse and the Child--_Franz Hals_
The Meeting of St. John and St. Anna at Jerusalem--_Giotto (Di
Bordone)_
The Avenue--_Meyndert Hobbema_
The Marriage Contract--_Wm. Hogarth_
The Light of the World--_William Holman Hunt_
Robert Cheseman with his Falcon--_Hans Holbein, the Younger_
The Berkshire Hills--_George Inness_
The Old Shepherd's Chief Mourner--_Sir Edwin Henry Landseer_
The Artist's Portrait--_Tommaso Masaccio_
Acis and Galatea--_Claude Lorrain_
Retreat from Moscow--_Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier_
The Angelus--_Jean Francois Millet_
The Immaculate Conception--_Murillo (Bartolome Esteban)_
Haystack in Sunshine--_Claude Monet_
The Sistine Madonna--_Raphael (Sanzio)_
The Night Watch--_Rembrandt (Van Rijn)_
The Duchess of Devonshire and Her Daughter--_Sir Joshua Reynolds_
The Infant Jesus and St. John--_Peter Paul Rubens_
Carmencita--_John Singer Sargent_
The Miracle of St. Mark--_Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti)_
The Artist's Daughter, Lavinia--_Titian (Tiziano Vecelli)_
The Fighting Temeraire--_Joseph Mallord William Turner_
The Children of Charles the First--_Sir Anthony Van Dyck_
Equestrian Portrait of Don Balthasar Carlos--_Velasquez (Diego
Rodriguez de Silva)_
The Marriage at Cana--_Paul Veronese_
The Death of Wolfe--_Sir Benjamin West_
The Artist's Two Sons--_Peter Paul Rubens_
The Last Supper--_Leonardo da Vinci_
Fete Champetre--_Jean Antoine Watteau_
I
ANDREA DEL SARTO
(Pronounced Ahn'dray-ah del Sar'to)
_Florentine School_
1486-1531
_Pupil of Piero di Cosimo_
Italian painters received their names in peculiar ways. This man's
father was a tailor; and the artist was named after his father's
profession. He was in fact "the Tailor's Andrea," and his father's
name was Angelo.
One story of this brilliant painter which reads from first to last
like a romance has been told by the poet, Browning, who dresses up
fact so as to smother it a little, but there is truth at the bottom.
Andrea married a wife whom he loved tenderly. She had a beautiful face
that seemed full of spirituality and feeling, and Andrea painted it
over and over again. The artist loved his work and dreamed always of
the great things that he should do; but he was so much in love with
his wife that he was dependent on her smile for all that he did which
was well done, and her frown plunged him into despair.
Andrea's wife cared nothing for his genius, painting did not interest
her, and she had no worthy ambition for her husband, but she loved
fine clothes and good living, and so encouraged him enough to keep him
earning these things for her. As soon as some money was made she would
persuade him to work no more till it was spent; and even when he had
made agreements to paint certain pictures for which he was paid in
advance she would torment him till he gave all of his time to her
whims, neglected his duty and spent the money for which he had
rendered no service. Thus in time he became actually dishonest, as we
shall see. It is a sad sort of story to tell of so brilliant a young
man.
Andrea was born in the Gualfonda quarter of Florence, and there is
some record of his ancestors for a hundred years before that, although
their lives were quite unimportant. Andrea was one of four children,
and as usual with Italians of artistic temperament, he was set to work
under the eye of a goldsmith. This craftsmanship of a fine order was
as near to art as a man could get with any certainty of making his
living. It was a time when the Italian world bedecked itself with rare
golden trinkets, wreaths for women's hair, girdles, brooches, and the
like, and the finest skill was needed to satisfy the taste. Thus it
required talent of no mean order for a man to become a successful
goldsmith.
Andrea did not like the work, and instead of fashioning ornaments from
his master's models he made original drawings which did not do at all
in a shop where an apprentice was expected to earn his salt. Certain
fashions had to be followed and people did not welcome fantastic or
new designs. Because of this, Andrea was early put out of his master's
shop and set to learn the only business that he could be got to learn,
painting. This meant for him a very different teacher from the
goldsmith.
The artist may be said to have been his own master, because, even when
he was apprenticed to a painter he was taught less than he already
knew.
That first teacher was Barile, a coarse and unpleasing man, as well as
an incapable one; but he was fair minded, after a fashion, and put
Andrea into the way of finding better help. After a few years under
the direction of Piero di Cosimo, Andrea and a friend, Francia Bigio,
decided to set up shop for themselves.
The two devoted friends pitched their tent in the Piazza del Grano,
and made a meagre beginning out of which great things were to
grow. They began a series of pictures which was to lead at least one
of them to fame. It was in the little Piazza, del Grano studio that
the "Baptism of Christ" was painted, a partnership work that had been
planned in the Campagnia dello Scalzo.
"The Baptism" was not much of a picture as great pictures go, but it
was a beginning and it was looked at and talked about, which was
something at a time when Titian and Leonardo had set the standard of
great work. In the Piazza del Grano, Andrea and his friend lived in
the stables of the Tuscan Grand Dukes, with a host of other fine
artists, and they had gay times together.
Andrea was a shy youth, a little timid, and by no means vain of his
own work, but he painted with surprising swiftness and sureness, and
had a very brilliant imagination. Its was his main trouble that he had
more imagination than true manhood; he sacrificed everything good to
his imagination.
After the partnership with his friend, he undertook to paint some
frescoes independently, and that work earned for him the name of
"Andrea senza Errori"--Andrea the Unerring. Then, as now, each artist
had his own way of working, and Andrea's was perhaps the most
difficult of all, yet the most genius-like. There were those, Michael
Angelo for example, who laid in backgrounds for their paintings; but
Andrea painted his subject upon the wet plaster, precisely as he meant
it to be when finished.
He was unlike the moody Michael Angelo; unlike the gentle Raphael;
unlike the fastidious Van Dyck who came long afterward; he was
hail-fellow-well-met among his associates, though often given over to
dreaminess. He belonged to a jolly club named the "Kettle Club,"
literally, the Company of the Kettle; and to another called "The
Trowel," both suggesting an all around good time and much good
fellowship The members of these clubs were expected to contribute to
their wonderful suppers, and Andrea on one occasion made a great
temple, in imitation of the Baptistry, of jelly with columns of
sausages, white birds and pigeons represented the choir and
priests. Besides being "Andrew the Unerring," and a "Merry Andrew," he
was also the "Tailor's Andrew," a man in short upon whom a nickname
sat comfortably. He helped to make the history of the "Company of the
Kettle," for he recited and probably composed a touching ballad called
"The Battle of the Mice and the Frogs," which doubtless had its origin
in a poem of Homer's. But all at once, in the midst of his gay
careless life came his tragedy; he fell in love with a hatter's
wife. This was quite bad enough, but worse was to come, for the hatter
shortly died, and the widow was free to marry Andrea.
After his marriage Andrea began painting a series of Madonnas,
seemingly for no better purpose than to exhibit his wife's beauty over
and over again. He lost his ambition and forgot everything but his
love for this unworthy woman. She was entirely commonplace, incapable
of inspiring true genius or honesty of purpose.
A great art critic, Vasari, who was Andrea's pupil during this time,
has written that the wife, Lucretia, was abominable in every way. A
vixen, she tormented Andrea from morning till night with her bitter
tongue. She did not love him in the least, but only what his money
could buy for her, for she was extravagant, and drove the sensitive
artist to his grave while she outlived him forty years.
About the time of the artist's marriage he painted one fresco, "The
Procession of the Magi," in which he placed a very splendid substitute
for his wife, namely himself. Afterward he painted the Dead Christ
which found its way to France and it laid the foundation for Andrea's
wrongdoing. This picture was greatly admired by the King of France who
above all else was a lover of art. Francis I. asked Andrea to go to
his court, as he had commissions for him. He made Andrea a money offer
and to court he went.
He took a pupil with him, but he left his wife at home. At the court
of Francis I. he was received with great honours, and amid those new
and gracious surroundings, away from the tantalising charms of his
wife and her shrewish tongue, he began to have an honest ambition to
do great things. His work for France was undertaken with enthusiasm,
but no sooner was he settled and at peace, than the irrepressible wife
began to torment him with letters to return. Each letter distracted
him more and more, till he told the King in his despair, that he must
return home, but that he would come back to France and continue his
work, almost at once. Francis I., little suspecting the cause of
Andrea's uneasiness, gave him permission to go, and also a large sum
of money to spend upon certain fine works of art which he was to bring
back to France.
We can well believe that Andrea started back to his home with every
good intention; that he meant to appease his wife and also his own
longing to see her; to buy the King his pictures with the money
entrusted to him, and to return to France and finish his work; but,
alas, he no sooner got back to his wife than his virtuous purpose
fled. She wanted this; she wanted that--and especially she wanted a
fine house which could just about be built for the sum of money which
the King of France had entrusted to Andrea.
Andrea is a pitiable figure, but he was also a vagabond, if we are to
believe Vasari. He took the King's money, built his wretched wife a
mansion, and never again dared return to France, where his dishonesty
made him forever despised.
Afterward he was overwhelmed with despair for what he had done, and he
tried to make his peace with Francis; but while that monarch did not
punish him directly for his knavery; he would have no more to do with
him, and this was the worst punishment the artist could have
had. However, his genius was so great that other than French people
forgot his dishonesty and he began life anew in his native place.
Almost all his pictures were on sacred subjects; and finally, when
driven from Florence to Luco by the plague, taking with him his wife
and stepdaughter, he began a picture called the "Madonna del Sacco"
(the Madonna of the Sack).
This fresco was to adorn the convent of the Servi, and the sketches
for it were probably made in Luco. When the plague passed and the
artist was able to return to Florence, he began to paint it upon the
cloister walls.
Andrea, like Leonardo, painted a famous "Last Supper," although the
two pictures cannot be compared. In Andrea's picture it is said that
all the faces are portraits.
Just before the plague sent him and his family from Florence a most
remarkable incident took place. Raphael had painted a celebrated
portrait of Pope Leo X. in a group, and the picture belonged to
Ottaviano de Medici. Duke Frederick II., of Mantua, longed to own this
picture, and at last requested the Medici to give it to him. The Duke
could not well be refused, but Ottaviano wanted to keep so great a
work for himself. What was to be done? He was in great trouble over
the affair. The situation seemed hopeless. It seemed certain that he
must part with his beloved picture to the Duke of Mantua; but one day
Andrea del Sarto declared that he could make a copy of it that even
Raphael himself could not tell from his original. Ottaviano could
scarcely believe this, but he begged Andrea to set about it, hoping
that it might be true.
Going at the work in good earnest, Andrea painted a copy so exact that
the pupil of Raphael, who had more or less to do with the original
picture, could not tell which was which when he was asked to
choose. This pupil, Giulio Romano, was so familiar with every stroke
of Raphael's that if he were deceived surely any one might be; so the
replica was given to the Duke of Mantua, who never found out the
difference.
Years afterward Giulio Romano showed the picture to Vasari, believing
it to be the original Raphael, neither Andrea nor the Medici having
told Romano the truth. But Vasari, who knew the whole story, declared
to Romano that what he showed him was but a copy. Romano would not
believe it, but Vasari told him that he would find upon the canvas a
certain mark, known to be Andrea's. Romano looked, and behold, the
original Raphael became a del Sarto! The original picture hangs in the
Pitti Palace, while the copy made by Andrea is in the Naples Gallery.
The introduction of Andrea to Vasari was one of the few gracious
things, that Michael Angelo ever did. About Andrea he said to Raphael
at the time: "There is a little fellow in Florence who will bring
sweat to your brows if ever he is engaged in great works." Raphael,
would certainly have agreed, with him had he known what was to happen
in regard to the Leo X. picture.
Notwithstanding Andrea's unfortunate temperament, which caused him to
be guided mostly by circumstances instead of guiding them, he was said
to be improving all the time in his art. He had a great many pupils,
but none of them could tolerate his wife for long, so they were always
changing.
Throughout his life the artist longed for tenderness and encouragement
from his wife, and finally, without ever receiving it, he died in a
desolate way, untended even by her. After the siege of Florence there
came a pestilence, and Andrea was overtaken by it. His wife, afraid
that she too would become ill, would have nothing to do with him. She
kept away and he died quite alone, few caring that he was dead and no
one taking the trouble to follow him to his grave. Thus one of the
greatest of Florentine painters lived and died. Years after his death,
the artist Jacopo da Empoli, was copying Andrea's "Birth of the
Virgin" when an old woman of about eighty years on her way to mass
stopped to speak with him. She pointed to the beautiful Virgin's face
in the picture and said: "I am that woman." And so she was--the widow
of the great Andrea. Though she had treated him so cruelly, she was
glad to have it known that she was the widow of the dead genius.
PLATE--THE MADONNA DEL SACCO
_(Madonna of the Sack)_
This picture is a fresco in the cloister of the Annunziata at
Florence, and it is called "of the sack" because Joseph is posed
leaning against a sack, a book open upon his knees.
Doubtless the model for this Madonna is Andrea del Sarto's abominable
wife, but she looks very sweet and simple in the picture. The folds of
Mary's garments are beautifully painted, so is the poise of her head,
and all the details of the picture except the figure of the
child. There is a line of stiffness there and it lacks the softness of
many other pictures of the Infant Jesus.
PLATE--THE HOLY FAMILY
In this picture in the Pitti Palace, Florence, Andrea del Sarto
represents all the characters in a serious mood. There are St. John
and Elizabeth, Mary and the Infant Jesus, and there is no touch of
playfulness such as may be found in similar groups by other artists of
the time. Attention is concentrated upon Jesus who seems to be
learning from his young cousin. The left hand, resting upon Mary's arm
is badly drawn and in character does not seem to belong to the figure
of the child. A full, overhanging upper lip is a dominant feature in
each face.
Other works of Andrea del Sarto are "Charity," which is in the Louvre;
"Madonna dell' Arpie," "A Head of Christ," "The Dead Christ," "Four
Saints," "Joseph in Egypt," his own portrait, and "Joseph's Dream."
II
MICHAEL ANGELO (BUONARROTI)
(Pronounced Meek-el-ahn-jel-o (Bwone-ar-ro'tee))
_Florentine School_
1475-1564
_Pupil of Ghirlandajo_
This wonderful man did more kinds of things, at a time when almost all
artists were versatile, than any other but one. Probably Leonardo da
Vinci was gifted in as many different ways as Michael Angelo, and in
his own lines was as powerful. This Florentine's life was as tragic as
it was restless.
There is a tablet in a room of a castle which stands high upon a rocky
mount, near the village of Caprese, which tells that Michael Angelo
was born in that place. The great castle is now in ruins, and more
than four hundred years of fame have passed since the little child was
born therein.
The unhappy existence of the artist seems to have been foreshadowed by
an accident which happened to his mother before he was born. She was
on horseback, riding with her husband to his official post at Chiusi,
for he was governor of Chiusi and Caprese. Her horse stumbled, fell,
and badly hurt her. This was two months before Michael Angelo was
born, and misfortune ever pursued him.
The father of Angelo was descended from an aristocratic house--the
Counts of Canossa were his ancestors--and in that day the profession
of an artist was not thought to be dignified. Hence the father had
quite different plans for the boy; but the son persisted and at last
had his way. When he was still a little child his father finished his
work as an official at Caprese and returned to Florence; but he left
the little Angelo behind with his nurse. That nurse was the wife of a
stonemason, and almost as soon as the boy could toddle he used to
wander about the quarries where the stonecutters worked, and doubtless
the baby joy of Angelo was to play at chiseling as it is the pleasure
of modern babies to play at peg-top. After a time he was sent for to
go to Florence to begin his education.
In Florence he fell in with a young chap who, like himself, loved art,
but who was fortunate enough already to be apprenticed to the great
painter of his time--Ghirlandajo. One happy day this young Granacci
volunteered to take Michael Angelo to his master's studio, and there
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A Plain Introduction to the Criticism of the New Testament
For the Use of Biblical Students
By The Late
Frederick Henry Ambrose Scrivener
M.A., D.C.L., LL.D.
Prebendary of Exeter, Vicar of Hendon
| 223.936508 |
2023-11-16 18:20:47.9195170 | 1,863 | 15 | ATROCITIES***
E-text prepared by Brian Coe, Moti Ben-Ari, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/truthaboutgerman00londiala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
THE TRUTH ABOUT GERMAN ATROCITIES
Founded on the Report of the Committee on Alleged German Outrages
1915
Parliamentary Recruiting Committee,
12, Downing Street, London, S.W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
Appointment of Committee 2
Terms of Reference 2
Composition of Committee 2
1. CIVILIANS murdered and ill-treated 5
2. WOMEN murdered and outraged 15
3. Murder and ill-treatment of CHILDREN 16
4. Brutal treatment of the AGED, the CRIPPLED and the INFIRM 17
5. The use of CIVILIANS as SCREENS 18
6. KILLING WOUNDED SOLDIERS and PRISONERS 19
7. LOOTING, BURNING and DESTRUCTION of PROPERTY 19
FINDINGS OF THE COMMITTEE 23
(1365) W. 5601/507 250M 7/15 H. C. & L., Ltd.
THE TRUTH ABOUT GERMAN ATROCITIES.
INTRODUCTION.
_Prussia joined in a Guarantee of Belgian Neutrality._
The neutrality of Belgium was guaranteed by a treaty signed in 1839 to
which France, Prussia and Great Britain were parties.
_Recent German Assurances._
In 1913 the German Secretary of State, at a meeting of a Budget
Committee of the Reichstag, declared that "Belgian neutrality is
provided for by international conventions, and Germany is determined to
respect those conventions."
On July 31st, 1914, when the danger of war between Germany and France
seemed imminent, Herr von Below, the German Minister in Brussels, being
interrogated by the Belgian Foreign Department, replied that he knew of
the assurances given by the German Chancellor in 1911 (that Germany had
no intention of violating Belgian neutrality) and that he "was certain
that the sentiments expressed at that time had not changed."
_Passage through Belgium Demanded by Germany._
Nevertheless, on August 2nd, the same Minister presented a note to the
Belgian Government demanding a passage through Belgium for the German
Army on pain of an instant declaration of war.
_Passage Refused by Belgian King and Government._
Startled as they were by the suddenness with which this terrific war
cloud had risen on the eastern horizon, the leaders of the nation
rallied round the King of Belgium in his resolution to refuse the
demand and to prepare for resistance.
_Invasion._
On the evening of August 3rd, the German troops crossed the frontier.
_Early Outbreak of Atrocities._
No sooner had the Germans violated Belgian territory, than statements
of atrocities committed by German soldiers against civilians--men,
women and children--found their way into the newspapers of this
country. The public could hardly believe the record of cruelty that
rapidly accumulated, but the persistence with which reports from one
district tallied in general outline with reports from other localities
left little doubt in the public mind as to the truth of the alleged
atrocities. But it became necessary to make absolutely certain of the
facts.
_Home Office Collected Evidence._
The Home Office, in the autumn of 1914, wisely decided to collect
evidence of the truth, and, during the concluding months of 1914, a
great number of statements taken in writing were collected from Belgian
witnesses (mostly civilians), and from British officers and soldiers.
The statements were taken by the staff of the Director of Public
Prosecutions and a number of barristers who assisted the Home Office.
_Government Appointed a Committee to Investigate--Terms of Reference._
On December 15th, 1914, the Government took the important step of
appointing a Committee:--
"To consider and advise on the evidence collected on behalf
of His Majesty's Government, as to outrages alleged to have been
committed by German troops during the present war, cases of alleged
maltreatment of civilians in the invaded territories, and breaches
of the laws and established usages of war; and to prepare a report
for His Majesty's Government showing the conclusion at which they
arrive on the evidence now available."=
_Careful Selection of Members of Committee._
In order that the findings of the Committee should command the
confidence of the public, the Government was careful to appoint upon
it men whose judicial outlook, training and experience for their
responsible task could not be questioned.
The Right Hon. Viscount Bryce, O.M., the distinguished British
Ambassador at Washington from 1907 to 1912, was appointed
Chairman, and the other members of the Committee were:--
The Right Hon. Sir Frederick Pollock, Bart., who was Corpus
Professor of Jurisprudence at Oxford University, 1883-1903,
and is Judge of the Admiralty Court of Cinque Ports. He is one of
the leading authorities on the laws of this country;
The Right Hon. Sir Edward Clarke, K.C., was Member of Parliament for
Plymouth (20 years) and London City (1906); was Solicitor-General
from 1886 to 1902;
Sir Kenelm Digby, G.C.B., K.C., who was a County Court Judge from
1892 to 1894, and Permanent Under-Secretary of the Home Office from
1895 to 1903;
Sir Alfred Hopkinson, K.C., LL.D., represented Manchester and North
Wiltshire in the House of Commons; was Principal of Owens College,
Manchester, from 1898 to 1904; and Vice-Chancellor of Victoria
University, Manchester, from 1900 to 1913;
Mr. H. A. L. Fisher, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Sheffield;
Mr. Harold Cox, the well-known Journalist and Editor of the
"Edinburgh Review," who represented Preston in the House of
Commons from 1906 to 1910.
_How the Committee Worked._
The Committee laboured for three months, examining the evidence, and
more than 1,200 statements made by witnesses were considered. These
depositions were in all cases taken down in this country by gentlemen
of legal knowledge and experience, and the greatest care was exercised
in the task.
_Doubt Removed as Work Proceeded._
The Committee approached their responsible task in a spirit of doubt,
but, to use their own words, "the further we went and the more
evidence we examined, so much the more was our scepticism reduced....
When we found that things which had at first seemed improbable were
testified to by many witnesses coming from different places, having
had no communication with one another, and knowing nothing of one
another's statements, the points in which they all agreed became more
and more evidently true. And when this concurrence of testimony, this
convergence upon what were substantially the same broad facts, showed
itself in hundreds of depositions, =the truth of those broad facts
stood out beyond question=."
_Fairness of Witnesses' Evidence._
The Committee expected "to find much of the evidence by
passion, or prompted by an excited fancy. But they were impressed by
the general moderation and matter-of-fact level-headedness of the
witnesses."
_No desire to "Make a Case."_
Nor could the Committee, in examining the depositions, "detect the
trace of any desire to'make a case' against the German Army." "In
one respect, the most weighty part of the evidence," according to
the Committee, consisted of the diaries kept by the German soldiers
themselves.
| 223.939557 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.1659950 | 65 | 16 |
Produced by Dianna Adair, Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford,
Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
The Iron Boys on the
Ore Boats
OR
Roughing It on the Great Lakes
By
JAMES R. ME | 224.186035 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.2625060 | 2,670 | 6 | EXPLOSIONS***
E-text prepared by MWS, Tom Cosmas, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 51748-h.htm or 51748-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/torpedowarsub00fultrich
TORPEDO WAR, AND SUBMARINE EXPLOSIONS.
by
ROBERT FULTON
Fellow of the American Philosophical Society,
and of the
United States Military and Philosophical Society.
The Liberty of the Sea will be the Happiness of the Earth.
New-York:
Printed by William Elliot, 114 Water-Street.
1810
New York
Reprinted
William Abbatt
1914
Being Extra No. 35 of The Magazine of History with Notes and Queries
CONTENTS
Page
TORPEDO WAR, &c. 5
PLATE I 7
PLATE II 10
PLATE III 13
PLATE IV, Fig. 1 15
Fig. 2 17
PLATE V, Fig. 1 & 2 17
Fig. 3 20
THOUGHTS -- On the probable effect of this invention 20
Estimate of the Force to Attack so Formidable a Blockade Fleet 32
Manner of Arranging the Boats Until Wanted 33
First Mode of Attack 35
Second Mode of Attack 36
ON -- the imaginary inhumanity of Torpedo war 40
A VIEW -- of the political economy of this invention 43
EDITOR'S PREFACE
In view of the prominent part played in the present World War by
torpedoes and submarines, the subject of our Extra No. 35 is
peculiarly timely.
The original of 1810 is very scarce, only one copy having been sold
at auction in many years: nor are copies to be found in any but a few
of our libraries. Fulton's claims for his invention have been fully
substantiated and some of his predictions, made more than a century
ago, are remarkably interesting, in view of the events of the past
five months. His estimate of our population in 1920 has already been
exceeded in fact, and only his plan of affixing torpedoes to their
prey by means of harpoons seems--for it was made in the days of wooden
ships--fantastic, in these days of iron clads. He could not foresee that
almost exactly a century would elapse before his invention would be
extensively used--though he cautiously says "it is impossible to foresee
to what degree torpedoes may be improved and rendered useful."
In the Joline collection of autograph letters, sold this month, was an
extremely interesting letter of Fulton's, addressed to Gen. William
Duane. A part reads:
"New York, March 1, 1813
I am happy to find you continue the firm friend to torpedoes; an
infant art which requires only support and practice to produce a
change in Maritime affairs of immence (_sic_) importance to this
country. Expecting the enemy here, I have not been idle, I have
prepared 9 torpedoes with locks that strike fire by concussion, and
four with clockwork locks."
The letter is of great interest throughout, and tells of his plans for
blowing up the enemy or driving them from New York waters, his regret
that he had not enough torpedoes for the Chesapeake; and contains a list
of the cost of various sorts, &c.
We regret that we could not secure permission to copy the whole of it.
TORPEDO WAR, &c.
_To JAMES MADISON, Esq. President of the United States, and to the
Members of both Houses of Congress._
Gentlemen,
In January last, at Kalorama, the residence of my friend Joel Barlow,
I had the pleasure of exhibiting to Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Madison, and a
party of gentlemen from the senate and house of representatives, some
experiments and details on Torpedo defence and attack; the favourable
impression which the experiments appeared to make on the minds of the
gentlemen then present; and my conviction that this invention, improved
and practised to the perfection which it is capable of receiving, will be
of the first importance to our country, has induced me to present you in
the form of a pamphlet a description of my system, with five engravings,
and such demonstrations as will give each of you an opportunity to
contemplate its efficacy and utility at your leisure; and enable you to
form a correct judgment on the propriety of adopting it as a part of our
means of national defence. It being my intention to publish hereafter
a detailed account of the origin and progress of this invention, and
the embarrassments under which I have laboured to bring it to its
present state of certain utility; I will now state only such experiments
and facts as are most important to be known, and which, proving the
practicability of destroying ships of war by this means, will lead the
mind to all the advantages which we may derive from it. I believe it
is generally known that I endeavoured for many years to get torpedoes
introduced into practice in France, and in England; which, though
unsuccessful, gave me the opportunity of making numerous very interesting
experiments on a large scale; by which I discovered errors in the
combinations of the machinery and method of fixing the torpedoes to a
ship; which errors in the machinery have been corrected: and I believe I
have found means of attaching the torpedoes to a vessel which will seldom
fail of success. It is the result of my experience which I now submit
to your consideration; and hoping that you will feel an interest in the
success of my invention, I beg for your deliberate perusal and reflection
on the following few pages. Gentlemen who have traced the progress of
the useful arts, know the years of toil and experiment, and difficulties
which frequently pass, before the utility and certain operation of new
discoveries have been established; hence it could not be expected,
that torpedoes should be rendered useful without encountering many
difficulties; and I am aware, that in the course of farther essays other
difficulties will appear; but from my past experience I feel confident,
that any obstacle which may arise can be surmounted by attention and
perseverance: of this gentlemen will be better able to judge, after
examining the following facts and details:
Note on vessels of war of the United States
From which a comparative estimate may be made of their expence, and the
expence of armed Torpedo boats; also the degree of protection which a
given sum would effect, expended in either way.
_The Ship Constitution_
Guns 54
First cost, dollars 302,718
Annual expence when in commission, dollars 100,000
Draft of water, feet 23
_The Wasp_
Guns 18
First cost, dollars 60,000
Annual expence in commission, dollars 38,000
Draft of water, feet 15
_A Gun Boat_
First cost, fitted for sea, dollars 12,000
Annual expence in commission, dollars 11,000
Men 36
Number of gun boats of the United States 167
This Work having been published in haste, the errors of the press,
and those of diction, shall be corrected in the second edition.
(For tables, see pages 54-55)
[Illustration: PLATE I.]
PLATE I
_Is a view of the brig Dorothea, as she was blown up on the 15th of Oct.
1805._
To convince Mr. Pitt and lord Melville that a vessel could be destroyed
by the explosion of a Torpedo under her bottom, a strong built Danish
brig, the _Dorothea_, burthen 200 tons, was anchored in Walmer road,
near Deal, and within a mile of Walmer Castle, the then residence of Mr.
Pitt. Two boats, each with eight men, commanded by lieutenant Robinson,
were put under my direction. I prepared two empty Torpedoes in such a
manner, that each was only from two to three pounds specifically heavier
than salt water; and I so suspended them, that they hung fifteen feet
under water. They were then tied one to each end of a small rope eighty
feet long: thus arranged, and the brig drawing twelve feet of water, the
14th day of October was spent in practice. Each boat having a Torpedo
in the stern, they started from the shore about a mile above the brig,
and rowed down towards her; the uniting line of the Torpedoes being
stretched to its full extent, the two boats were distant from each other
seventy feet; thus they approached in such a manner, that one boat kept
the larboard the other the starboard side of the brig in view. So soon
as the connecting line of the Torpedoes passed the buoy of the brig,
they were thrown into the water, and carried on by the tide, until the
connecting line touched the brig's cable; the tide then drove them under
her bottom. The experiment being repeated several times, taught the men
how to act, and proved to my satisfaction that, when properly placed
on the tide, the Torpedoes would invariably go under the bottom of the
vessel. I then filled one of the Torpedoes with one hundred and eighty
pounds of powder, and set its clockwork to eighteen minutes. Every thing
being ready, the experiment was announced for the next day, the 15th,
at five o'clock in the afternoon. Urgent business had called Mr. Pitt
and lord Melville to London. Admiral Holloway, Sir Sidney Smith, Captain
Owen, Captain Kingston, Colonel Congreve, and the major part of the
officers of the fleet under command of Lord Keath were present; at forty
minutes past four the boats rowed towards the brig, and the Torpedoes
were thrown into the water; the tide carried them, as before described,
under the bottom of the brig, where, at the expiration of eighteen
minutes, the explosion appeared to raise her bodily about six feet; she
separated in the middle, and the two ends went down; in twenty seconds,
nothing was to be seen of her except floating fragments; the pumps and
foremast were blown out of her; the fore-topsail-yard was thrown up to
the cross-trees; the fore-chain plates with their bolts, were torn from
her sides; the mizen-chain-plates and shrouds, being stronger than those
of the foremast, or the shock being more forward than aft, the mizenmast
was broke off in two places; these discoveries were made by means of the
pieces which were found afloat.
The experiment was of the most satisfactory kind, for it proved a fact
much debated and denied, that the explosion of a sufficient quantity of
powder under the bottom of a vessel would destroy her.[A] There is now
no doubt left on any intelligent mind as to this most important of all
facts connected with the invention of Torpedoes; and the establishment of
this fact alone, merits the expenditure of millions of dollars and years
of experiment, were it yet necessary, to arrive at a system of practice
which shall insure success to attacks, with such formidable engines. For
America, I consider it a fortunate circumstance that this experiment was
made in England, and witnessed by more than a hundred respectable and
brave officers of the Royal navy; for, should Congress adopt Torpedoes
as a part of our means of defence, | 224.282546 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.2683240 | 5,801 | 91 |
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[Illustration: _"Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy,
excitedly_.--Page 47. Frontispiece.]
BILLY BOUNCE
by
W. W. DENSLOW and DUDLEY A. BRAGDON
Pictures by Denslow
G. W. Dillingham Co.
Publishers New York
Copyright 1906 by W. W. Denslow
All rights reserved.
Issued September, 1906.
To
"Pete" and "Ponsie"
List of Chapters.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED
VILLAIN 9
II. A JUMP TO SHAMVILLE 22
III. BILLY IS CAPTURED BY TOMATO 34
IV. ADVENTURES IN EGGS-AGGERATION 47
V. PEASE PORRIDGE HOT 63
VI. BLIND MAN'S BUFF 77
VII. THE WISHING BOTTLE 88
VIII. GAMMON AND SPINACH 97
IX. IN SILLY LAND 110
X. SEA URCHIN AND NE'ER DO EEL 124
XI. IN DERBY TOWN 138
XII. O'FUDGE 152
XIII. BILLY PLAYS A TRICK ON BOREA 167
XIV. KING CALCIUM AND STERRY OPTICAN 181
XV. BILLY MEETS GLUCOSE 195
XVI. IN SPOOKVILLE 210
XVII. IN THE VOLCANO OF VOCIFEROUS 221
XVIII. THE ELUSIVE BRIDGE 236
XIX. IN THE DARK, NEVER WAS 247
XX. THE WINDOW OF FEAR 257
XXI. IN THE QUEEN BEE PALACE 267
Full Page Illustrations
"_Why it_ is, _a large fried egg," said Billy, excitedly_.
--Page 47....Frontispiece.
PAGE
"I _can't tell you where Bogie Man lives, it's against the rules_." 14
_"Now," said Mr. Gas, "be careful not to sit on the ceiling."_ 17
"_Come, now, don't give me any of your tomato sauce._" 39
_Billy never wanted for plenty to eat._ 64
_"He-he-ho-ho, oh! what a joke," cried the Scally Wags._ 82
_"That's my black cat-o-nine tails," said the old woman._ 90
_The Night Mare and the Dream Food Sprites._ 101
_"Get off, you're sinking us," cried Billy._ 134
_He saw flying to meet him several shaggy bears._ 141
_"Talking about me, were you?" said Boreas, arriving in a swirl of
snow._ 172
_"Me feyther," cried she, in a tragic voice, "the light, the
light."_ 187
"_Come up to the house and spend an unpleasant evening._" 217
_Billy shot a blast of hot air from his pump full in Bumbus's face._ 263
"_Allow me to present Bogie Man._" 271
Preface
OUR PURPOSE.--Fun for the "children between the ages of one and one
hundred."
AND INCIDENTALLY--the elimination of deceit and gore in the telling:
two elements that enter, we think, too vitally into the construction of
most fairy tales.
AS TO THE MORAL.--That is not obtrusive. But if we can suggest to the
children that fear alone can harm them through life's journey; and to
silly nurses and thoughtless parents that the serious use of ghost
stories, Bogie Men and Bugbears of all kinds for the sheer purpose of
frightening or making a child mind is positively wicked; we will admit
that the tale has a moral.
CHAPTER I.
DARK PLOT OF NICKEL PLATE, THE POLISHED VILLAIN.
Nickel Plate, the polished Villain, sat in his office in the North
South corner of the first straight turning to the left of the Castle in
Plotville.
"Gadzooks," exclaimed he with a heavy frown, "likewise Pish Tush!
Methinks I grow rusty--it is indeed a sad world when a real villain
is reduced to chewing his moustache and biting his lips instead of
feasting on the fat of the land."
So saying he rose from his chair, smote himself heavily on the chest,
carefully twirled his long black moustache and paced dejectedly up and
down and across the room.
"I wonder," he began, when ting-a-ling-a-ling the telephone rang.
"Hello," said he. "Yes, this is Nickel Plate--Oh! good morning,
Mr. Bogie Man--Sh-h-h--Don't speak so loudly. Some one may see
you.--No--Bumbus has not returned with Honey Girl--I'm sorry,
sir, but I expect him every minute. I'll let you know as soon as
I can. Oh! yes, he is to substitute Glucose for Honey Girl and
return here for further villainous orders. Oh! a--excuse me, but
can you help me with a little loan of--hello--hello--pshaw he's
rung off. Central--ting-a-ling-a-ling--Central, won't you give me
Bogie Man again, please--what! he's left orders not to connect us
again--_well!_--good-bye."
"Now then what am I to do? I have just one nickel to my name and I
can't spend that. If Bumbus has failed I don't know what we shall do. A
fine state of affairs for a man with an ossified conscience and a good
digestion--ha-a-a, what is that?"
"Buzz-z-z," came a sound through the open window.
"Is that Bumbus?" called Nickel Plate in a loud whisper.
"I be," answered Bumbus, climbing over the sill and darting to a chair.
"Why didn't you come in by the door?--you know how paneful a window is
to me."
"When _is_ a cow?" said Bumbus, perching himself on the back of his
chair and fanning himself with his foot.
"Sometimes, I think--" began Nickel Plate, angrily.
"Wrong answer; besides it's not strictly true," said Bumbus, turning
his large eyes here and there as he viewed his master.
"A truce to foolishness," said Nickel Plate, "what news--but wait--"
and taking two wads of cotton out of his pocket he stuffed them in two
cracks in the wall--"walls have ears--we will stop them up--proceed."
"Honey Girl has disappeared," whispered Bumbus.
"Gone! and her golden comb?"
"She has taken it with her."
"Gone," growled Nickel Plate--"but wait, I am not angry enough for a
real villain"; lighting a match he quickly swallowed it. "Ha, ha! now I
am indeed a fire eater. Gadzooks, varlet! and how did she escape us?"
Bumbus hung his head. "Alas, sir, with much care did I carry
Glucose to the Palace of the Queen Bee to substitute her for Honey
Girl--dressed to look exactly like her, even to a gold-plated comb.
I had bribed Drone, the sentry, to admit us in the dead of night.
Creeping softly through the corridors of the Castle, with Glucose in
my arms, I came to the door of Honey Girl. I opened the door and crept
quietly into the room; all was still. I reached the dainty couch and
found--"
"Yes," said Nickel Plate excitedly.
"I found it empty; Honey Girl had fled."
"Sweet Honey Girl! alas, have we lost you? also which is more
important, the reward for the abduction--but revenge, revenge!" hissed
Nickel Plate.
"What did you do with Glucose?"
"Glucose has gone back to her work in the factory," said Bumbus, "but
will come back to us whenever we wish."
"Enough," said Nickel Plate, "Bogie Man must know of this at once. I
will telephone him--but no, he has stopped the connection. Will you
take the message?"
"Sir, you forget."
"Too true, I need you here: a messenger." So saying Nickel Plate rang
the messenger call and sat down to write the note of explanation to
Bogie Man.
"Rat-a-tat-tat" came a knock on the door.
"Come in," said Nickel Plate in a deep bass voice, the one he kept for
strangers.
The door popped open and in ran--yes, he really ran--a messenger boy.
And such a messenger boy, such bright, quick eyes, such a clean face
and hands, not even a high water line on his neck and wrists, such
twinkling feet and such a well brushed uniform! Why you would hardly
believe he was a messenger boy if you saw him, he was such an active
little fellow.
"Did you ring, sir?" said Billy Bounce.
"Sh-h-h, not so loud," whispered Nickel Plate mysteriously--the whisper
he kept for strangers. "Yes, I rang."
"Very well, sir, I am here."
"Ah-h," hummed Bumbus. "Are you here, are you there, do you really
truly know it? Have a care, have a care."
"Excuse me, sir," said Billy bewildered, "I don't think I understand
you."
"Neither do I," said Bumbus. "Nobody does. I'm a mystery."
"Mr. who?" said Billy.
"Mr. Bumbus of course."
"Oh! I thought you said Mr. E."
"Don't be silly, boy," interrupted Nickel Plate.
"Bumbus, be quiet."
"I be," said Bumbus.
"Can you read?" whispered Nickel Plate.
"Yes, sir."
"That's good. Then perhaps you know where Bogie Man lives."
"No, sir, but if you'll tell me I can find his house," said Billy,
hoping it wasn't the real Bogie Man he meant.
"That would be telling," said Nickel Plate.
"But, sir, I don't know where to find him."
"Did you ever see such a lazy boy?" hummed Bumbus. "Lazy bones, lazy
bones, climb up a tree and shake down some doughnuts and peanuts to me."
"But really," said Nickel Plate frowning, "really you know _I_ can't
tell you where Bogie Man lives; it's against the rules."
[Illustration: "I _can't tell you where Bogie Man lives, it's against
the rules_."--Page 14.]
"Then, sir," said Billy, his head in a whirl, "I don't see how I can
deliver your message."
"That's your lookout. You're a messenger boy, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And your duty is to carry messages wherever they are sent?"
"Yes, sir, but--"
"There, I can't argue with you any more. You will have to take the
message--good day," said Nickel Plate handing Billy the note.
"But, sir--"
Bumbus jumped off his chair and slowly revolved around Billy, humming--
"Little boy, Billy boy, do as you're told.
Refusal is rudeness: I surely shall scold.
Here's your hat, there's the door,
Run while you may,
I have the great pleasure to
Wish you good-day."
As he sang this, Bumbus circled closer and closer to Billy until
finally he touched him, digging him in the ribs and giving him gentle
pushes toward the door. Suddenly Billy found himself outside of the
room with the door slammed in his face.
"Well," said Billy staring at the note in his hand, "I'm glad I'm out
of that room anyway." Then looking up at the door he read painted in
bold, black letters on the glass "Nickel Plate, Polished Villain. Short
and long orders in all kinds of villainy promptly executed. Abductions
a specialty." And lower down in smaller letters, "I. B. Bumbus,
Assistant Villain, office hours between 3 o'clock."
"What am I to do with this note? It is addressed to Bogie Man,
In-The-Dark, Never Was. If I don't deliver the message I'll be
discharged, and if I do deliver it--but how can I--oh pshaw! I know,
I'm asleep--ouch!" for he had given himself a sharp nip in the calf of
his leg to wake himself.
But there was the note still in his hand, and there in front of him
stood the building he had just left.
"I'm awake, that's certain, and--I beg your pardon, sir--" for he had
bumped into a little old gentleman who was hurrying in the opposite
direction.
[Illustration: _"Now," said Mr. Gas, "be careful not to sit on the
ceiling."_--Page 17.]
"It's Mr. Gas, the balloon maker," cried Billy, joyfully; "perhaps you
can help me; it's a good thing I ran into you."
"Humph!" said Mr. Gas, with his hands on his stomach, "it's not a very
good thing for me that you ran into me, but I'm glad to see you."
"I am sorry, Mr. Gas, but I'm really in very serious trouble," said
Billy, with a sigh.
Mr. Gas smiled. "I might have known you didn't know the way to Bogie
Man's house."
"Why," said Billy, in surprise, "how did you know--"
"Gift horses can't be choosers, which means, don't ask any questions,"
said Mr. Gas, pinching Billy's ear; "but come along to my house, and
I'll help you."
"Now," said Mr. Gas, when they had entered the shop where he made all
the toy balloons for all the little boys and girls in all the world,
"be careful not to sit on the ceiling, because if you do you'll burst
some of my balloons."
Billy laughed. "Sit on the ceiling; why, how could I?"
"Wait and see," said Mr. Gas; "nothing is impossible to your Fairy
Godfather."
"Are you my Fairy Godfather?" asked Billy, opening his eyes very, very
wide.
"On Sundays and week days I am; the rest of the time I'm not."
"But what other days are there?" said Billy.
"Strong days of course. I thought you knew Geography," said Mr. Gas
huffily.
"Yes, sir, I suppose so," said Billy afraid to ask any more questions.
"Now then, put on this suit," said the balloon maker, producing what
looked like a big rubber bag.
"Yes, sir, but--"
"Of course it's wrong side out. How can I get the right side inside
unless the wrong side is outside of the inside of the outside of the
inside of your outside clothes. Anybody who can count his chickens
before they are hatched ought to know that."
Billy gasped and proceeded to pull the suit on over his messenger boy's
uniform.
"Stand on your head."
Billy knew how to do this. He had practiced it often enough against
fences when he should have been delivering messages.
Taking one of Billy's trouser legs in each hand, Mr. Gas gave a quick
jerk and Billy found himself standing on his feet with the rubber suit
inside of his uniform.
"There," said Mr. Gas, "that's done--the next thing is to blow you up."
"Oh! Mr. Gas, please don't do that," said Billy, thinking of gunpowder
and things.
"With a hot air pump--stand quiet," chug-chug-ff-chug-ff-squee-e went
the pump and there stood Billy like a great round butter ball. His
uniform fitted as close and snug on the rubber suit as the skin on
an onion. For that was a peculiar property of the rubber suit; any
clothes, loose, tight or otherwise were bound to fit over it.
"Thank you sir," said Billy looking down and trying to see his foot,
"but--"
"Here's the hot air pump; put it in your pocket.--Now--be careful,
don't jump or you'll bump your head. You're ready now to hunt Bogie
Man."
"How am I to get there?"
"Jump there of course," replied Mr. Gas. "When you get outside the door
all you have to do is to jump into the air; that will carry you out of
town. Then keep on jumping till you get there. That's simple, isn't it?"
"But can't you tell me in which direction to jump?" asked Billy.
"Jump up, of course; if you jump down you'll dent the sidewalk."
"But shall I jump North or East or South or West, sir?"
"Exactly; just follow those directions and you will be sure to arrive;
but wait, before you start I'll give you Barker, my little dog."
"What kind of a dog is he?" asked Billy.
"A full-blooded, yellow cur. He won the Booby prize at the last dog
show."
"Thank you, sir; but won't you keep him for me until I get back?"
"Don't jump to conclusions, Billy, it strains the suit; Barker will
help you when you want shade or shelter by night or day."
"Isn't he rather a small dog for me to get under?" asked Billy,
looking at the tiny animal Mr. Gas held out to him.
Mr. Gas stamped his foot. "More questions--listen: when night or rain
comes on, drop to the ground, dig a little hole, hold Barker's nose
over it and pinch his tail to make him bark. Shovel in the dirt, and of
course you will have planted his bark. Well, you know what is planted
must grow, so up will come the bark and the boughs, and you can shelter
yourself all night beneath the singing tree."
Billy took the dog and started out of the door. "Thank you; is that
all, sir?"
"Of course not," said Mr. Gas.
"Yes, sir."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye?" asked Billy, in surprise, "I thought you said--"
"Yes, that's it; we had to say good-bye before it could be all."
"Oh! good-bye," said Billy, and going outside took a great big jump up
into the air.
CHAPTER II.
A JUMP TO SHAMVILLE.
Up, up, up, went Billy when he took his leap into the air.
Way above the house tops, past the city, over green fields, hills and
valleys, crossing brooks and rivers that looked like little threads of
silver so far below were they, until he thought he never would alight.
Finally things began to get larger and larger and larger on the earth,
and he knew he was floating gently down, down, down. It was just like
going down from the twenty-first story in a very slow, very comfortable
elevator.
Plump, and Billy was on the ground. Before him stood a city. This
seemed strange, for he knew he hadn't seen it until his feet touched
Mother Earth.
"Excuse me, sir," said Billy, to a tall, thin, rusty coated man who was
looking intently at the heavens through a long hollow tube open at both
ends.
"Oh! you're here, are you?" said the man, lowering the tube and looking
at Billy. "I've been waiting for you to come down."
"Yes, sir," said Billy; "excuse me, but what city is this?"
"Shamville. So you are a meteor."
"No, sir, I'm a messenger," said Billy.
"Pardon me, but you _are_ a meteor, by right of discovery, and I ought
to know, for I'm a near Astronomer."
"A near what?"
"Not a near what, but a near Astronomer; with my near telescope I have
nearly discovered hundreds of nearly new stars," said the man, looking
very, very wise.
"Oh! I see," said Billy, smiling. "Well sir, you may be a near
astronomer, but in this case you are not near right."
"Well, you're a near meteor and that will do well enough in Shamville."
By this time they had entered the city.
"Who is that long haired, greasy gentleman writing on his cuff?" asked
Billy.
"You must meet him. He is our village near poet," answered the
star-gazer, impressively. "Allow me, Mr. Never Print, to introduce my
latest discovery, Billy Bounce, a near meteor."
Mr. Never Print stopped writing, and after rolling his eyes and
carefully disarranging his hair, said: "How beautiful a thing is a
fried oyster! Have you read my latest near book?"
"No, sir," said Billy.
"Ah! such is near fame," said the poet, untying his cravat. "Art is
long, but a toothless dog does not bite."
"Sir," said Billy, "I didn't quite catch your meaning?"
[Illustration: _The Near Poet._]
"The near meaning, you mean; like all great near poets, my meaning is
hidden. Perhaps you will understand this better: The little flower,
like a beefsteak, reminds us that a gentle answer comes home to roost."
Billy was so bewildered by this that he leaned against a wall, or
rather, he leaned on what looked like a wall. As the near astronomer
helped him to his feet he said:
"Be careful of the near walls. They're just painted canvas, you know,
and are not meant to lean against."
"Thank you," said Billy; "is there anything here that is not an
imitation?"
"Oh, no!" answered the astronomer, "this is Shamville; but I assure you
we're all just as good as the original."
"Well, I must be off," said Billy, "I must deliver this note to Bogie
Man."
"To whom?"
"To Bogie Man. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Oh, my goodness! Oh, my gracious! What have I done, what have I done?"
cried the astronomer, beating himself over the head with his near
telescope.
"I don't know sir, I'm sure," said Billy; "from what I've seen I
shouldn't think you had ever done anything."
"Hear him! hear him!" screamed the astronomer, then calling to the
people on the streets: "Come near-artist, come near-actor, come near
everybody, we have in our midst one who would expose us to the people
who really do things."
With fearful cries the entire population made one dash for Billy, who,
forgetting that all he had to do was to jump, tried to run. In his big
suit he found this almost impossible and soon he was surrounded by an
excited mob.
"Roast him at the steak," cried the butcher, still holding in his hands
the papier mache chicken he had been selling when the call came.
"Splendid," said, the near poet.
"Boil him in oil," suggested the near artist.
"What is it, forgery?" asked the blacksmith.
"Put him in a cell," said the merchant.
Billy saw that he was in a tight place and must act quickly. No one had
as yet taken hold of him, they were all too excited to think of that;
but he knew a near policeman was even then trying to edge through the
crowd and something must be done. Just then the near astronomer put
out a hand to seize Billy's collar--quick as a wink Billy reached up
and pushed the star gazer's plug hat right down over his eyes.
"You can't see stars this time at any rate," said Billy, and then was
surprised to find himself rising, rising, rising off of the ground.
In hitting he had jumped up to reach the star gazer's hat and of course
up he went.
"Good-bye," called Billy, to the astonished crowd, "I had forgotten
that you couldn't do any more than _nearly_ catch me or I should not
have been frightened."
And the last Billy ever saw of Shamville was a great sea of big round
eyes and wide open mouths.
"I wonder whether this is the beginning or the end of my adventures,"
said Billy to himself. "I hope it is the last because I really want to
deliver this note to Bogie Man as soon as I can. They will think it
strange at the office if I'm gone longer than a week delivering one
message."
"My goodness, can that be a cyclone?" For just ahead of him Billy saw a
great cloud from which came a hum-m-m--Buzz-z-z-z. "Why, it's a swarm
of bees and they are carrying something. I do hope they won't sting me."
By this time Billy had met them and of course, as he couldn't steer
himself in the air, the bees had to get out of the way.
"Hum-m," said a big old fat bee, clearing his throat, "what sort of a
beetle are you?"
"I'm--I'm a boy," said Billy, very, very politely, because he saw that
the soldier bees had fixed sting bayonets.
"I've never heard of a beetle boy--stop a minute, I want to look at
you."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Billy, "but I can't."
[Illustration: _General Merchandise._]
"We'll soon fix | 224.288364 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.3684590 | 5,801 | 37 |
Produced by David Reed
HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
Edward Gibbon, Esq.
With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman
VOLUME ONE
Introduction
Preface By The Editor.
The great work of Gibbon is indispensable to the student of history. The
literature of Europe offers no substitute for "The Decline and Fall of
the Roman Empire." It has obtained undisputed possession, as rightful
occupant, of the vast period which it comprehends. However some
subjects, which it embraces, may have undergone more complete
investigation, on the general view of the whole period, this history
is the sole undisputed authority to which all defer, and from which
few appeal to the original writers, or to more modern compilers. The
inherent interest of the subject, the inexhaustible labor employed upon
it; the immense condensation of matter; the luminous arrangement; the
general accuracy; the style, which, however monotonous from its
uniform stateliness, and sometimes wearisome from its elaborate ar.,
is throughout vigorous, animated, often picturesque always commands
attention, always conveys its meaning with emphatic energy, describes
with singular breadth and fidelity, and generalizes with unrivalled
felicity of expression; all these high qualifications have secured, and
seem likely to secure, its permanent place in historic literature.
This vast design of Gibbon, the magnificent whole into which he has cast
the decay and ruin of the ancient civilization, the formation and birth
of the new order of things, will of itself, independent of the laborious
execution of his immense plan, render "The Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire" an unapproachable subject to the future historian: [101] in the
eloquent language of his recent French editor, M. Guizot:--
[Footnote 101: A considerable portion of this preface has already appeared
before us public in the Quarterly Review.]
"The gradual decline of the most extraordinary dominion which has
ever invaded and oppressed the world; the fall of that immense empire,
erected on the ruins of so many kingdoms, republics, and states both
barbarous and civilized; and forming in its turn, by its dismemberment,
a multitude of states, republics, and kingdoms; the annihilation of the
religion of Greece and Rome; the birth and the progress of the two new
religions which have shared the most beautiful regions of the earth; the
decrepitude of the ancient world, the spectacle of its expiring glory
and degenerate manners; the infancy of the modern world, the picture of
its first progress, of the new direction given to the mind and character
of man--such a subject must necessarily fix the attention and excite
the interest of men, who cannot behold with indifference those memorable
epochs, during which, in the fine language of Corneille--
'Un grand destin commence, un grand destin s'acheve.'"
This extent and harmony of design is unquestionably that which
distinguishes the work of Gibbon from all other great historical
compositions. He has first bridged the abyss between ancient and modern
times, and connected together the two great worlds of history. The great
advantage which the classical historians possess over those of modern
times is in unity of plan, of course greatly facilitated by the narrower
sphere to which their researches were confined. Except Herodotus, the
great historians of Greece--we exclude the more modern compilers, like
Diodorus Siculus--limited themselves to a single period, or at 'east to
the contracted sphere of Grecian affairs. As far as the Barbarians
trespassed within the Grecian boundary, or were necessarily mingled up
with Grecian politics, they were admitted into the pale of Grecian
history; but to Thucydides and to Xenophon, excepting in the Persian
inroad of the latter, Greece was the world. Natural unity confined their
narrative almost to chronological order, the episodes were of rare
occurrence and extremely brief. To the Roman historians the course was
equally clear and defined. Rome was their centre of unity; and the
uniformity with which the circle of the Roman dominion spread around,
the regularity with which their civil polity expanded, forced, as it
were, upon the Roman historian that plan which Polybius announces as the
subject of his history, the means and the manner by which the whole
world became subject to the Roman sway. How different the complicated
politics of the European kingdoms! Every national history, to be
complete, must, in a certain sense, be the history of Europe; there is
no knowing to how remote a quarter it may be necessary to trace our most
domestic events; from a country, how apparently disconnected, may
originate the impulse which gives its direction to the whole course of
affairs.
In imitation of his classical models, Gibbon places Rome as the cardinal
point from which his inquiries diverge, and to which they bear constant
reference; yet how immeasurable the space over which those inquiries
range; how complicated, how confused, how apparently inextricable the
causes which tend to the decline of the Roman empire! how countless
the nations which swarm forth, in mingling and indistinct hordes,
constantly changing the geographical limits--incessantly confounding the
natural boundaries! At first sight, the whole period, the whole state
of the world, seems to offer no more secure footing to an historical
adventurer than the chaos of Milton--to be in a state of irreclaimable
disorder, best described in the language of the poet:--
--"A dark
Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height,
And time, and place, are lost: where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand."
We feel that the unity and harmony of narrative, which shall comprehend
this period of social disorganization, must be ascribed entirely to the
skill and luminous disposition of the historian. It is in this sublime
Gothic architecture of his work, in which the boundless range, the
infinite variety, the, at first sight, incongruous gorgeousness of
the separate parts, nevertheless are all subordinate to one main and
predominant idea, that Gibbon is unrivalled. We cannot but admire the
manner in which he masses his materials, and arranges his facts in
successive groups, not according to chronological order, but to their
moral or political connection; the distinctness with which he marks his
periods of gradually increasing decay; and the skill with which, though
advancing on separate parallels of history, he shows the common tendency
of the slower or more rapid religious or civil innovations. However
these principles of composition may demand more than ordinary attention
on the part of the reader, they can alone impress upon the memory the
real course, and the relative importance of the events. Whoever would
justly appreciate the superiority of Gibbon's lucid arrangement, should
attempt to make his way through the regular but wearisome annals of
Tillemont, or even the less ponderous volumes of Le Beau. Both these
writers adhere, almost entirely, to chronological order; the consequence
is, that we are twenty times called upon to break off, and resume the
thread of six or eight wars in different parts of the empire; to suspend
the operations of a military expedition for a court intrigue; to hurry
away from a siege to a council; and the same page places us in the
middle of a campaign against the barbarians, and in the depths of the
Monophysite controversy. In Gibbon it is not always easy to bear in mind
the exact dates but the course of events is ever clear and distinct;
like a skilful general, though his troops advance from the most
remote and opposite quarters, they are constantly bearing down and
concentrating themselves on one point--that which is still occupied
by the name, and by the waning power of Rome. Whether he traces the
progress of hostile religions, or leads from the shores of the
Baltic, or the verge of the Chinese empire, the successive hosts of
barbarians--though one wave has hardly burst and discharged itself,
before another swells up and approaches--all is made to flow in the same
direction, and the impression which each makes upon the tottering fabric
of the Roman greatness, connects their distant movements, and measures
the relative importance assigned to them in the panoramic history. The
more peaceful and didactic episodes on the development of the Roman law,
or even on the details of ecclesiastical history, interpose themselves
as resting-places or divisions between the periods of barbaric invasion.
In short, though distracted first by the two capitals, and afterwards
by the formal partition of the empire, the extraordinary felicity of
arrangement maintains an order and a regular progression. As our horizon
expands to reveal to us the gathering tempests which are forming
far beyond the boundaries of the civilized world--as we follow their
successive approach to the trembling frontier--the compressed and
receding line is still distinctly visible; though gradually dismembered
and the broken fragments assuming the form of regular states and
kingdoms, the real relation of those kingdoms to the empire is
maintained and defined; and even when the Roman dominion has shrunk
into little more than the province of Thrace--when the name of Rome,
confined, in Italy, to the walls of the city--yet it is still the
memory, the shade of the Roman greatness, which extends over the wide
sphere into which the historian expands his later narrative; the
whole blends into the unity, and is manifestly essential to the double
catastrophe of his tragic drama.
But the amplitude, the magnificence, or the harmony of design, are,
though imposing, yet unworthy claims on our admiration, unless the
details are filled up with correctness and accuracy. No writer has been
more severely tried on this point than Gibbon. He has undergone the
triple scrutiny of theological zeal quickened by just resentment, of
literary emulation, and of that mean and invidious vanity which delights
in detecting errors in writers of established fame. On the result of
the trial, we may be permitted to summon competent witnesses before we
deliver our own judgment.
M. Guizot, in his preface, after stating that in France and Germany, as
well as in England, in the most enlightened countries of Europe, Gibbon
is constantly cited as an authority, thus proceeds:--
"I have had occasion, during my labors, to consult the writings of
philosophers, who have treated on the finances of the Roman empire; of
scholars, who have investigated the chronology; of theologians, who have
searched the depths of ecclesiastical history; of writers on law, who
have studied with care the Roman jurisprudence; of Orientalists, who
have occupied themselves with the Arabians and the Koran; of modern
historians, who have entered upon extensive researches touching the
crusades and their influence; each of these writers has remarked and
pointed out, in the 'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire,' some negligences, some false or imperfect views some omissions,
which it is impossible not to suppose voluntary; they have rectified
some facts combated with advantage some assertions; but in general
they have taken the researches and the ideas of Gibbon, as points of
departure, or as proofs of the researches or of the new opinions which
they have advanced."
M. Guizot goes on to state his own impressions on reading Gibbon's
history, and no authority will have greater weight with those to whom
the extent and accuracy of his historical researches are known:--
"After a first rapid perusal, which allowed me to feel nothing but
the interest of a narrative, always animated, and, notwithstanding its
extent and the variety of objects which it makes to pass before the
view, always perspicuous, I entered upon a minute examination of the
details of which it was composed; and the opinion which I then formed
was, I confess, singularly severe. I discovered, in certain chapters,
errors which appeared to me sufficiently important and numerous to
make me believe that they had been written with extreme negligence; in
others, I was struck with a certain tinge of partiality and prejudice,
which imparted to the exposition of the facts that want of truth
and justice, which the English express by their happy term
misrepresentation. Some imperfect (tronquees) quotations; some passages,
omitted unintentionally or designedly cast a suspicion on the honesty
(bonne foi) of the author; and his violation of the first law of
history--increased to my eye by the prolonged attention with which I
occupied myself with every phrase, every note, every reflection--caused
me to form upon the whole work, a judgment far too rigorous. After
having finished my labors, I allowed some time to elapse before I
reviewed the whole. A second attentive and regular perusal of the entire
work, of the notes of the author, and of those which I had thought it
right to subjoin, showed me how much I had exaggerated the importance of
the reproaches which Gibbon really deserved; I was struck with the same
errors, the same partiality on certain subjects; but I had been far from
doing adequate justice to the immensity of his researches, the
variety of his knowledge, and above all, to that truly philosophical
discrimination (justesse d'esprit) which judges the past as it would
judge the present; which does not permit itself to be blinded by the
clouds which time gathers around the dead, and which prevent us from
seeing that, under the toga, as under the modern dress, in the senate
as in our councils, men were what they still are, and that events took
place eighteen centuries ago, as they take place in our days. I then
felt that his book, in spite of its faults, will always be a noble
work--and that we may correct his errors and combat his prejudices,
without ceasing to admit that few men have combined, if we are not to
say in so high a degree, at least in a manner so complete, and so well
regulated, the necessary qualifications for a writer of history."
The present editor has followed the track of Gibbon through many parts
of his work; he has read his authorities with constant reference to
his pages, and must pronounce his deliberate judgment, in terms of
the highest admiration as to his general accuracy. Many of his seeming
errors are almost inevitable from the close condensation of his matter.
From the immense range of his history, it was sometimes necessary to
compress into a single sentence, a whole vague and diffuse page of a
Byzantine chronicler. Perhaps something of importance may have thus
escaped, and his expressions may not quite contain the whole substance
of the passage from which they are taken. His limits, at times, compel
him to sketch; where that is the case, it is not fair to expect the
full details of the finished picture. At times he can only deal with
important results; and in his account of a war, it sometimes
requires great attention to discover that the events which seem to
be comprehended in a single campaign, occupy several years. But this
admirable skill in selecting and giving prominence to the points which
are of real weight and importance--this distribution of light and
shade--though perhaps it may occasionally betray him into vague and
imperfect statements, is one of the highest excellencies of Gibbon's
historic manner. It is the more striking, when we pass from the works of
his chief authorities, where, after laboring through long, minute, and
wearisome descriptions of the accessary and subordinate circumstances, a
single unmarked and undistinguished sentence, which we may overlook
from the inattention of fatigue, contains the great moral and political
result.
Gibbon's method of arrangement, though on the whole most favorable
to the clear comprehension of the events, leads likewise to apparent
inaccuracy. That which we expect to find in one part is reserved for
another. The estimate which we are to form, depends on the accurate
balance of statements in remote parts of the work; and we have sometimes
to correct and modify opinions, formed from one chapter by those of
another. Yet, on the other hand, it is astonishing how rarely we detect
contradiction; the mind of the author has already harmonized the whole
result to truth and probability; the general impression is almost
invariably the same. The quotations of Gibbon have likewise been called
in question;--I have, in general, been more inclined to admire their
exactitude, than to complain of their indistinctness, or incompleteness.
Where they are imperfect, it is commonly from the study of brevity, and
rather from the desire of compressing the substance of his notes into
pointed and emphatic sentences, than from dishonesty, or uncandid
suppression of truth.
These observations apply more particularly to the accuracy and fidelity
of the historian as to his facts; his inferences, of course, are more
liable to exception. It is almost impossible to trace the line between
unfairness and unfaithfulness; between intentional misrepresentation
and undesigned false coloring. The relative magnitude and importance of
events must, in some respect, depend upon the mind before which they are
presented; the estimate of character, on the habits and feelings of the
reader. Christians, like M. Guizot and ourselves, will see some things,
and some persons, in a different light from the historian of the Decline
and Fall. We may deplore the bias of his mind; we may ourselves be on
our guard against the danger of being misled, and be anxious to warn
less wary readers against the same perils; but we must not confound
this secret and unconscious departure from truth, with the deliberate
violation of that veracity which is the only title of an historian
to our confidence. Gibbon, it may be fearlessly asserted, is rarely
chargeable even with the suppression of any material fact, which bears
upon individual character; he may, with apparently invidious hostility,
enhance the errors and crimes, and disparage the virtues of certain
persons; yet, in general, he leaves us the materials for forming a
fairer judgment; and if he is not exempt from his own prejudices,
perhaps we might write passions, yet it must be candidly acknowledged,
that his philosophical bigotry is not more unjust than the theological
partialities of those ecclesiastical writers who were before in
undisputed possession of this province of history.
We are thus naturally led to that great misrepresentation which
pervades his history--his false estimate of the nature and influence of
Christianity.
But on this subject some preliminary caution is necessary, lest that
should be expected from a new edition, which it is impossible that it
should completely accomplish. We must first be prepared with the only
sound preservative against the false impression likely to be produced
by the perusal of Gibbon; and we must see clearly the real cause of that
false impression. The former of these cautions will be briefly suggested
in its proper place, but it may be as well to state it, here, somewhat
more at length. The art of Gibbon, or at least the unfair impression
produced by his two memorable chapters, consists in his confounding
together, in one indistinguishable mass, the origin and apostolic
propagation of the new religion, with its later progress. No argument
for the divine authority of Christianity has been urged with greater
force, or traced with higher eloquence, than that deduced from its
primary development, explicable on no other hypothesis than a heavenly
origin, and from its rapid extension through great part of the Roman
empire. But this argument--one, when confined within reasonable limits,
of unanswerable force--becomes more feeble and disputable in proportion
as it recedes from the birthplace, as it were, of the religion. The
further Christianity advanced, the more causes purely human were
enlisted in its favor; nor can it be doubted that those developed with
such artful exclusiveness by Gibbon did concur most essentially to its
establishment. It is in the Christian dispensation, as in the material
world. In both it is as the great First Cause, that the Deity is most
undeniably manifest. When once launched in regular motion upon the bosom
of space, and endowed with all their properties and relations of weight
and mutual attraction, the heavenly bodies appear to pursue their
courses according to secondary laws, which account for all their sublime
regularity. So Christianity proclaims its Divine Author chiefly in its
first origin and development. When it had once received its impulse
from above--when it had once been infused into the minds of its
first teachers--when it had gained full possession of the reason and
affections of the favored few--it might be--and to the Protestant, the
rational Christian, it is impossible to define when it really was--left
to make its way by its native force, under the ordinary secret agencies
of all-ruling Providence. The main question, the divine origin of the
religion, was dexterously eluded, or speciously conceded by Gibbon;
his plan enabled him to commence his account, in most parts, below the
apostolic times; and it was only by the strength of the dark coloring
with which he brought out the failings and the follies of the succeeding
ages, that a shadow of doubt and suspicion was thrown back upon the
primitive period of Christianity.
"The theologian," says Gibbon, "may indulge the pleasing task of
describing religion as she descended from heaven, arrayed in her native
purity; a more melancholy duty is imposed upon the historian:--he
must discover the inevitable mixture of error and corruption which she
contracted in a long residence upon earth among a weak and degenerate
race of beings." Divest this passage of the latent sarcasm betrayed by
the subsequent tone of the whole disquisition, and it might commence a
Christian history written in the most Christian spirit of candor. But as
the historian, by seeming to respect, yet by dexterously confounding the
limits of the sacred land, contrived to insinuate that it was an Utopia
which had no existence but in the imagination of the theologian--as he
suggested rather than affirmed that the days of Christian purity were a
kind of poetic golden age;--so the theologian, by venturing too far into
the domain of the historian, has been perpetually obliged to contest
points on which he had little chance of victory--to deny facts
established on unshaken evidence--and thence, to retire, if not with
the shame of defeat, yet with but doubtful and imperfect success. Paley,
with his intuitive sagacity, saw through the difficulty of answering
Gibbon by the ordinary arts of controversy; his emphatic sentence,
"Who can refute a sneer?" contains as much truth as point. But full and
pregnant as this phrase is, it is not quite the whole truth; it is the
tone in which the progress of Christianity is traced, in comparison with
the rest of the splendid and prodigally ornamented work, which is the
radical defect in the "Decline and Fall." Christianity alone receives
no embellishment from the magic of Gibbon's language; his imagination is
dead to its moral dignity; it is kept down by a general zone of jealous
disparagement, or neutralized by a painfully elaborate exposition of
its darker and degenerate periods. There are occasions, indeed, when its
pure and exalted humanity, when its manifestly beneficial influence,
can compel even him, as it were, to fairness, and kindle his unguarded
eloquence to its usual fervor; but, in general, he soon relapses into a
frigid apathy; affects an ostentatiously severe impartiality; notes all
the faults of Christians in every age with bitter and almost malignant
sarcasm; reluctantly, and with exception and reservation, admits their
claim to admiration. This inextricable bias appears even to influence
his manner of composition. While all the other assailants of the Roman
empire, whether warlike or religious, the Goth, the Hun, the Arab, the
Tartar, Alaric and Attila, Mahomet, and Zengis, and Tamerlane, are each
introduced upon the scene almost with dramatic animation--their progress
related in a full, complete, and unbroken narrative--the triumph of
Christianity alone takes the form of a cold and critical disquisition.
The successes of barbarous energy and brute force call forth all the
consummate skill of composition; while the moral triumphs of Christian
benevolence--the tranquil heroism of endurance, the blameless purity,
the contempt of guilty fame and of honors destructive to the human race,
which, had they assumed the proud name of philosophy, would have been
blazoned in his brightest words, because they own religion as their
principle--sink into narrow asceticism. The glories of Christianity,
in short, touch on no chord in the heart of the writer; his imagination
remains unkindled; his words, though they maintain their stately and
measured march, have become cool, argumentative, and inanimate. Who
would obscure one hue of that gorgeous coloring in which Gibbon has
invested the dying forms of Paganism, or darken one paragraph in his
splendid view of the rise and progress of Mahometanism? But who
would not have wished that the same equal justice had been done to
Christianity; that its real character and deeply penetrating influence
had been traced with the same philosophical sagacity, and represented
with more sober, as would become its quiet course, and perhaps less
picturesque, but still with lively and attractive, descriptiveness? He
might have thrown aside, with the same scorn, the mass of ecclesiastical
fiction which envelops the early history of the church, stripped off
the legendary romance, and brought out the facts in their primitive
nakedness and simplicity--if he had but allowed those facts the benefit
of the glowing eloquence which he denied to them alone. He might have
annihilated the whole fabric of post-apostolic miracles, if he had left
uninjured by sarcastic insinuation those of the New Testament; he might
have cashiered, with Dodwell, the whole host of martyrs, which owe their
existence to the prodigal invention of later days, had he but bestowed
fair room, and dwelt with | 224.388499 |
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Produced by David Widger and Dagny
KENELM CHILLINGLY
HIS ADVENTURES AND OPINIONS
By Edward Bulwer Lytton
(LORD LYTTON)
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
S | 224.408553 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Young Yagers
A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Ticknor and Fields, Boston, USA
This edition dated 1857
The Young Yagers, by Captain Mayne Reid.
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THE YOUNG YAGERS, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE CAMP OF | 224.500221 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Hollowdell Grange, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
This is one of Fenn's earliest books. The theme is that a boy from
London goes down to stay in the country with his cousins, where the way
of life is so very different, and challenging, from all that he had
known in the great city. The descriptions of country life of those days
are very well done, but we must make one warning--that many of the
countrymen we meet in the story speak with a strong Lincolnshire accent,
and the author has done his best to represent these sounds with what
must very often look like mistakes in transcription.
There are all sorts of country situations to be encountered, from
working with animals, to meeting the various village characters, to a
near drowning, and even, at the very end to an attempted rescue, one
that failed, of a drowning boy caught in a sluice on the beach.
There may well be a few mistakes, because the copy used was very old,
and the pages very browned, while at the same time not very well
printed. But we have done our best and at least what we offer here is
better than what you would have got from the book itself in its aged
condition. As so often with this kind of book it makes a very good
audio-book, and listening to it is a great pleasure.
________________________________________________________________________
HOLLOWDELL GRANGE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A FISH OUT OF WATER.
It was such a fine hot Midsummer day at Hollowdell station, that the
porter had grown tired of teasing the truck-driver's dog, and fallen
fast asleep--an example which the dog had tried to follow, but could
not, because there was only one shady spot within the station-gates, and
that had been taken possession of by the porter; so the poor dog had
tried first one place, and then another, but they were all so hot and
stifling, and the flies kept buzzing about him so teasingly, that he
grew quite cross, and barked and snapped so at the tiresome insects,
that at last he woke Jem Barnes, the porter, who got up, stretched
himself, yawned very rudely and loudly, and then, looking in at the
station-clock, he saw that the 2:30 train from London was nearly due, so
he made up his mind not to go to sleep again until it had passed.
It _was_ a hot day--so hot that the great black tarpaulins over the
goods-waggons were quite soft, and came off all black upon Jem Barnes's
hands. The air down the road seemed to quiver and dance over the white
chalky dust; while all the leaves upon the trees, and the grass in the
meadows, drooped beneath the heat of the sun. As to the river, it shone
like a band of silver as it wound in and out, and here and there; and
when you looked you could see the reflection of the great dragon-flies
as they flitted and raced about over the glassy surface. The reeds on
the bank were quite motionless; while, out in the middle, the fat old
chub could be seen basking in the sunshine, wagging their great broad
fantails in the sluggish stream, too lazy even to snap up the flies that
passed over their heads. All along the shallows the roach and dace lay
in shoals, flashing about, every now and then, in the transparent water
like gleams of silver light. Down in the meadows, where the ponds were,
and the shady trees grew, the cows were so hot that they stood up to
their knees in the muddy water, chewing their grass with half-shut eyes,
and whisking their long tails about to keep the flies at a distance.
But it was of no use to whisk, for every now and then a nasty, spiteful,
hungry fly would get on some poor cow's back, creep beneath the hair,
and force its horny trunk into the skin so sharply, that the poor animal
would burst out into a doleful lowing, and, sticking its tail up, go
galloping and plunging through the meadow in such a clumsy way as only a
cow can display. A few fields off the grass was being cut, and the
sharp scythes of the mowers went tearing through the tall, rich, green
crop, and laid it low in long rows as the men, with their regular
strokes, went down the long meadows. Every now and then, too, they
would make the wood-side re-echo with the musical ringing sound of the
scythes, as the gritty rubbers glided over the keen edges of the bright
tools.
Hot, hot, hot!--how the sun glowed in the bright blue sky! and how the
down train puffed and panted, while the heat of the weather made even
the steam from the funnel transparent as it streamed backwards over the
engine's green back! The driver and stoker were melting, for they had
the great roaring fire of the engine just in front of them, and the sun
scorching their backs; the guard was hot with stopping at so many
stations, and putting out so much luggage; while the passengers, in the
carriages said they were almost stifled, and looked out with longing
eyes at the shady green woods they passed. One passenger in particular,
a sharp-featured and rather sallow youth about twelve years old, kept
looking at the time-table, and wondering how long it would be before he
arrived at Hollowdell, for that was the name printed upon the ticket
Fred Morris held in his hand.
But just at this time there were other people travelling towards
Hollowdell station, and that too by the long dusty chalky road that came
through the woods and | 224.583465 |
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Produced by Brendan OConnor, Jonathan Ingram, Wayne Hammond
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Library of Early
Journals.)
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCVII. SEPTEMBER, 1849. VOL. LXVI.
CONTENTS.
THE SCOTTISH MARRIAGE AND REGISTRATION BILLS, 263
THE CAXTONS.--PART XVI. 277
AUTOBIOGRAPHY--CHATEAUBRIAND'S MEMOIRS, 292
THE GREEN HAND.--A "SHORT" YARN.--PART IV. 305
MORAL AND SOCIAL CONDITION OF WALES, 326
THE STRAYED REVELLER, 340
NEW LIGHT ON THE STORY OF LADY GRANGE, 347
THE ROYAL PROGRESS, 359
DIES BOREALES. NO. IV. CHRISTOPHER UNDER CANVASS, 363
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET; AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW,
LONDON.
_To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCCVII. SEPTEMBER, 1849. VOL. LXVI.
THE SCOTTISH MARRIAGE AND REGISTRATION BILLS.
About two years ago, we found it necessary to draw the attention of
our readers to certain alterations which our Whig rulers, or at least
a section of them, proposed to make in the existing law of marriage,
as applicable to Scotland. We stated our views moderately, not
denying that in some points it might be possible to effect a salutary
change; but utterly deprecating the enforcement of a bill which was
so constructed as to uproot and destroy the ancient consuetudinal law
of the kingdom, to strike a heavy and malignant blow at morality and
religion, and which, moreover, was regarded by the people of Scotland
with feelings of unequivocal disgust. So widely spread was that feeling
amongst our countrymen, of every shade of political opinion and form
of religious faith, that we believed this ill-advised attempt, once
arrested in its progress, would be finally withdrawn. Popularity, it
was quite clear, could never be gained from persisting in a measure so
unpalatable to the whole community; nor had England, save in the matter
of Gretna-green marriages, any visible interest in the question. It is
just possible--for self-conceit will sometimes betray men into strange
extravagancies--that a few individual legislators had more confidence
in the soundness of their own opinions than in that of the opinions of
the nation; but, even if we should give them credit for such honest
convictions, it still remains a doubtful point how far individual
opinions should be allowed to override the national will. There may
be parliamentary as well as regal despotism; and we are much mistaken
if the people of Scotland are inclined to submit to the former yoke,
even at the hands of those who claim honour for their party on the
strength of traditionary denunciations of the latter. We think it is
pretty clear that no private member of parliament would have attempted
to carry through a bill, the provisions of which had been encountered
by such general opposition in Scotland. No ministry would have lent
its support to such a case of insolent coercion; and we confess we
cannot see why the crotchets, or even the convictions, of an official
are to be regarded with greater favour. In a matter purely Scottish,
it would, indeed, be gross despotism if any British cabinet should
employ its power and its interest to overwhelm the voice of Scotland,
as fairly enunciated by her representatives. That has not been done,
at least to the last unpardonable degree; yet, whilst grateful to Lord
John Russell for having, at the last moment, stopped the progress of
these bills, we may very fairly complain that earlier and more decided
steps were not taken by the premier for suppressing the zeal of his
subordinates. Surely he cannot have been kept in ignorance of the
discontent which has been excited by the introduction of these bills,
three several times, with the ministerial sanction, in both houses of
parliament? Had a bill as obnoxious to the feelings of the people of
England, as these avowedly are to the Scots, been once abandoned, it
never would have appeared again. No minister would have been so blind
to his duty, or at all events to his interest, as to have adopted the
repudiated bantling; since, by doing so, he would have inevitably
caused an opposition which could only terminate in his defeat, and
which, probably, might prove fatal to the existence of his cabinet. And
yet, in the case of these bills, we have seen three separate attempts
deliberately made and renewed--first in the House of Commons, and
afterwards in the House of Peers--to thrust upon Scotland measures
of which she has emphatically pronounced her dislike. No wonder if,
under such circumstances, when remonstrance is disregarded, and the
expression of popular opinion either misrepresented or suppressed, men
begin to question the prudence of an arrangement which confides the
chief conduct of Scottish affairs to a lawyer and judge-expectant,
whose functions are so multifarious as to interfere with their regular
discharge. No wonder if the desire of the Scottish nation to have a
separate and independent secretary of state, altogether unconnected
with the legal profession, is finding an audible voice at the
council-boards of the larger cities and towns. Of late years it has
been made a subject of general and just complaint, that the public
business of Scotland is postponed to everything else, huddled over with
indecent haste at untimeous hours, and often entirely frustrated for
the want of a parliamentary quorum. This arises from no indisposition,
on the part of the House of Commons, to do justice to the internal
affairs of the northern kingdom, but it is the natural result of
the system, which virtually leaves Scotland without an official
representative in the cabinet. Every one knows that Sir George Grey
is not only an able, but a most conscientious home-secretary; but, in
point of fact, he is home-secretary for England alone. It is impossible
to expect that, in addition to the enormous labour attendant upon the
English home administration, any man can adequately master the details
of Scottish business. The fundamental difference which exists in the
laws of the two countries would of itself prove an insurmountable
barrier to this; and consequently, like his predecessors, Sir
George Grey has no personal knowledge either of our wishes or our
requirements. He cannot, therefore, take that prominence in a Scottish
debate which his position would seem to require; and the duty which
ought to be performed by a member of the cabinet is usually intrusted
to a subordinate. In this way Scottish public business receives less
than its due share of attention, for the generality of members,
observing that cabinet ministers take little share in such discussions,
naturally enough attribute their silence to a certain degree of
indifference, and are careless about their own attendance. All this,
which involves not only scandal, but positive inconvenience, would
be cured, if a return were made to the older system, and a secretary
of state for Scotland numbered in the roll of the cabinet. The want
of such an arrangement is positively detrimental to the interests of
ministry; for, during the last session, they have assuredly gained
but few laurels from their northern legislation. Four or five bills,
purporting to be of great public importance, have been withdrawn, and
one only, which establishes a new office connected with the Court of
Session, has been graced by the royal assent. Among the lapsed bills
are those which form the subject of the present paper; but they have
not yet lost their vitality. On the contrary, we are led to infer that,
in the course of next session, they will again be introduced, in some
form or other, before parliament.
This mode of treatment is so unprecedented, that we cannot pass it
over in silence. It may not be unconstitutional, according to the
letter of the law; but if it be true, as we maintain it to be, that
the people of Scotland have already protested against these measures,
it does seem rather tyrannical that for the fourth time they should
be compelled to | 224.587172 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
WHERE LOVE IS
By William J. Locke
New York
Grosset & Dunlap Publishers
Copyright, 1903 By John Lane
“_Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith_.”
_The Proverbe of Solomon_
WHERE LOVE IS
Chapter I--THE FIRST GLIMPSE
HAVE you dined at Ranelagh lately?” asked Norma Hardacre.
“I have never been there in my life,” replied Jimmie Padgate. “In fact,”
he added simply, “I am not quite sure whether I know where it is.”
“Yours is the happier state. It is one of the dullest spots in a dull
world.”
“Then why on earth do people go there?”
The enquiry was so genuine that Miss Hardacre relaxed her expression of
handsome boredom and laughed.
“Because we are all like the muttons of Panurge,” she said. “Where one
goes, all go. Why are we here to-night?”
“To enjoy ourselves. How could one do otherwise in Mrs. Deering's
house?”
“You have known her a long time, I believe,” remarked Norma, taking the
opportunity of directing the conversation to a non-contentious topic.
“Since she was in short frocks. She is a cousin of King's--that's the
man who took you down to dinner--”
She nodded. “I have known Mr. King many weary ages.”
“And he has never told me about you!”
“Why should he?”
She looked him full in the face, with the stony calm of the fashionable
young woman accustomed to take excellent care of herself. Her companion
met her stare in whimsical confusion. Even so ingenuous a being as
Jimmie Padgate could not tell a girl he had met for the first time that
she was beautiful, adorable, and graced with divine qualities above all
women, and that intimate acquaintance with her must be the startling
glory of a lifetime.
“If I had known you for ages,” he replied prudently, “I should have
mentioned your name to Morland King.”
“Are you such friends then?”
“Fast friends: we were at school together, and as I was a lonely little
beggar I used to spend many of my holidays with his people. That is how
I knew Mrs. Deering in short frocks.”
“It's odd, then, that I haven't met you about before,” said the girl,
giving him a more scrutinising glance than she had hitherto troubled to
bestow upon him. A second afterwards she felt that her remark might have
been in the nature of an indiscretion, for her companion had not at all
the air of a man moving in the smart world to which she belonged. His
dress-suit was old and of lamentable cut; his shirt-cuffs were frayed;
a little bone stud, threatening every moment to slip the button-hole,
precariously secured his shirt-front. His thin, iron-grey hair was
untidy; his moustache was ragged, innocent of wax or tongs or any of
the adventitious aids to masculine adornment. His aspect gave the
impression, if not of poverty, at least of narrow means and humble ways
of life. Although he had sat next her at dinner, she had paid little
attention to him, finding easier entertainment in her conversation with
King on topics of common interest, than in possible argument with a
strange man whom she heard discussing the functions of art and other
such head-splitting matters with his right-hand neighbour. Indeed, her
question about Ranelagh when she found him by her side, later, in the
drawing-room was practically the first she had addressed to him with any
show of interest.
She hastened to repair her maladroit observation by adding before he
could reply,--
“That is rather an imbecile thing to say considering the
millions of people in London. But one is apt to talk in an imbecile
manner after a twelve hours' day of hard racket in the season. Don't you
think so? One's stock of ideas gets used up, like the air at the end of
a dance.”
“Not if you keep your soul properly ventilated,” he answered.
The words were, perhaps, not so arresting as the manner in which they
were uttered. Norma Hardacre was startled. A little shutter in the
back of her mind seemed to have flashed open for an elusive second, and
revealed a prospect wide, generous, alive with free-blowing airs.
Then all was dark again before she could realise the vision. She was
disconcerted, and in a much more feminine way than was habitual with her
she glanced at him again. This time she lost sight of the poor, untidy
garments, and found a sudden interest in the man's kind, careworn face,
and his eyes, wonderfully blue and bright, set far apart in the head,
that seemed to look out on the world with a man's courage and a child's
confidence. She was uncomfortably conscious of being in contact with
a personality widely different from that of her usual masculine
associates. This her training and habit of mind caused her to resent;
despising the faint spiritual shock, she took refuge in flippancy.
“I fear our Tobin tubes get choked up in London,” she said with a little
laugh. “Even if they didn't they are wretched things, which create
draughts; so anyway our souls are free from chills. Look at that
woman over there talking to Captain Orton--every one knows he's
paymaster-general. A breath of fresh air in Mrs. Chance's soul would
give it rheumatic fever.”
The abominable slander falling cynically from young lips brought a look
of disapproval into Jimmie Padgate's eyes.
“Why do you say such things?” he asked. “You know you don't believe
them.”
“I do believe them,” she replied defiantly. “Why shouldn't one
believe the bad things one hears of one's neighbours? It's a vastly more
entertaining faith than belief in their virtues. Virtue--being its own
reward--is deadly stale to one's friends and unprofitable to oneself.”
“Cynicism seems cheap to-day,” said Jimmie, with a smile that redeemed
his words from impertinence. “Won't you give me something of yourself a
little more worth having?”
Norma, who was leaning back in her chair fanning herself languidly,
suddenly bent forward, with curious animation in her cold face.
“I don't know who you are or what you are,” she exclaimed. “Why should
you want more than the ordinary futilities of after-dinner talk?”
“Because one has only to look at you,” he replied, “to see that it must
be very easy to get. You have beauty inside as well as outside,
and everybody owes what is beautiful and good in them to their
fellow-creatures.”
“I don't see why. According to you, women ought to go about like
mediaeval saints.”
“Every woman is a saint in the depths of her heart,” said Jimmie.
“You are an astonishing person,” replied Norma.
The conversation ended there, for Morland King came up with Constance
Deering: he florid, good-looking, perfectly groomed and dressed, the
type of the commonplace, well-fed, affluent Briton; she a pretty,
fragile butterfly of a woman. Jimmie rose and was led off to another
part of the room by his hostess. King dropped into the chair Jimmie had
vacated.
“I see you have been sampling my friend Jimmie Padgate. What do you make
of him?”
“I have just told him he was an astonishing person,” said Norma.
“Dear old Jimmie! He's the best fellow in the world,” said King,
laughing. “A bit Bohemian and eccentric--artists generally are--”
“Oh, he's an artist?” inquired Norma.
“He just manages to make a living by it, poor old chap! He has never
come off, somehow.”
“Another neglected genius?”
“I don't know about that,” replied Morland King in a matter-of-fact way,
not detecting the sneer in the girl's tone. “I don't think he's a great
swell--I'm no judge, you know. But he has had a bad time. Anyway, he
always comes up smiling. The more he gets knocked the more cheerful
he seems to grow. I never met any one like him. The most generous,
simple-minded beggar living.”
“He must be wonderful to make you enthusiastic,” said Norma.
“Look at him now, talking to the Chance woman as if she were an angel of
light.”
Norma glanced across the room and smiled contemptuously.
“She seems to like it. She's preening herself as if the wings were
already grown. Connie,” she called to her hostess, who was passing by,
“why have you hidden Mr. Padgate from me all this time?”
The butterfly lady laughed. “He is too precious. I can only afford to
give my friends a peep at him now and then. I want to keep him all to
myself.”
She fluttered away. Norma leaned back and hid a yawn with her fan; then,
rousing herself with an effort, made conversation with her companion.
Presently another man came up and King retired.
“How is it getting on?” whispered Mrs. Deering.
“Oh, steady,” he replied with his hands in his pockets.
“Lucky man!”
Morland King shrugged his shoulders. “The only thing against it is papa
and mamma--chiefly mamma. A Gorgon of a woman!”
“You'll never get a wife to do you more credit than Norma. With that
face I wonder she isn't a duchess by now. There _was_ a duke once, but
a fair American eagle came and swooped him off under Norma's nose. You
see, she's not the sort of girl to give a man much encouragement.”
“Oh, I can't stand a woman who throws herself at your head,” said King,
emphatically.
“What a funny way men have nowadays of confessing to the tender
passion!” said Mrs. Deering, laughing.
“What would you have a fellow do?” he asked. “Spout blank verse about
the stars and things, like a Shakespearean hero?”
“It would be prettier, anyhow.”
“Well, if you will have it, I'm about as hard hit as a man ever
was--there!”
“I'm delighted to hear it,” said his cousin.
A short while afterwards the dinner-party broke up.
“I don't know whether you care to mix with utter worldlings like us, Mr.
Padgate,” said Norma, as she bade him good-bye, “but we are always in on
Tuesdays.”
“I'll tie him hand and foot and bring him,” said King. “Good-night, old
chap. I'm giving Miss Hardacre a lift home in the brougham.”
Before Jimmie could say yes or no, they were gone. He found himself the
last.
“You are certainly not going for another hour, Jimmie,” said Mrs.
Deering, as he came forward to take leave. “You will sit in that chair
and smoke and tell me all about yourself and make me feel good and
pretty.”
“Very well,” he assented, laughing. “Turn me out when it's time for me
to go.”
It had been the customary formula between them for many years; for
Jimmie Padgate lacked the sense of time and kept eccentric hours, and
although Connie Deering delighted in her rare confidential chats with
him, a woman with a heavy morrow of engagements must go to bed at a
reasonable period of the night. She was a woman in the middle thirties,
a childless widow after a brief and almost forgotten married life, rich,
pleasure-loving, in the inner circle of London society, and possessing
the gayest, kindest, most charitable heart in the world. Her friendship
with Norma Hardacre had been a thing of recent date.
She had cultivated it first on account of her cousin Morland King; she
had ended in enthusiastic admiration.
“It is awfully good of you,” she said, when they were comfortably
settled down to talk, “to waste your time with my unintelligent
conversation.”
“There's no such thing as unintelligent conversation,” he declared.
“For a man like you there must be.”
“I could hold an intelligent conversation with a rabbit,” said Jimmie.
Norma Hardacre, on arriving home, entered the drawing-room, where her
mother was reading a novel.
“Well?” said Mrs. Hardacre, looking up.
Norma threw her white silk cloak over the back of a chair.
“Connie sent her love to you.”
“Is that all you have to say?” asked her mother, sharply. She was a
faded woman who had once possessed beauty of a cold, severe type; but
the years had pinched and hardened her features, as they had pinched and
hardened her heart. Her eyes were of that steel grey which the light
of laughter seldom softens, and her smile was but a contraction of the
muscles of the lips. Even this perfunctory tribute to politeness which
had greeted Norma's entrance vanished at the second question.
“Morland King drove me home. What a difference there is between a
private brougham and the beastly things we get from the livery-stable!”
“He has said nothing?”
“Of course not. I should have told you if he had.”
“Whose fault is it?”
Norma made a gesture of impatience. “My fault, if you like. I don't
lay traps to catch him. I don't keep him dangling about me, and I don't
flatter his vanities or make appeal to his senses, I suppose. I can't do
it.”
“Don't behave like a fool, Norma,” said Mrs. Hardacre, rapping her book
with a paper-knife. “You have got to marry him. You know you have. Your
father and I are coming to the end of things. You ought to have married
years ago, and when one thinks of the chances you have missed, it makes
one mad. Here have we been pinching and scraping--”
“And borrowing and mortgaging,” Norma interjected.
“--to give you a brilliant position,” Mrs. Hardacre continued, unheeding
the interruption, “and you cast all our efforts in our teeth. It's sheer
ingratitude. Why you threw over Lord Wyniard I could never make out.”
“You seem to forget that, after all, there is a physical side to
marriage,” said Norma, with a little shudder of disgust.
“I hate indelicacy in young girls,” said Mrs. Hardacre, freezingly. “One
would think you had been brought up in a public house.”
“Then let us avoid indelicate subjects,” retorted Norma, opening the
first book to her hand. “Where is papa?”
“Oh, how should I know?” said Mrs. Hardacre, irritably.
There was silence. Norma pretended to read, but her thoughts, away from
the printed lines, caused her face to harden and her lips to curl
scornfully. She had been used to such scenes with her mother ever since
she had worn a long frock, and that was seven years ago, when she came
out as a young beauty of eighteen. The story of financial embarrassment
had lost its fine edge of persuasion by overtelling. She had almost
ceased to believe in it, and the lingering grain of credence she put
aside with the cynical feeling that it was no great concern of hers, so
long as her usual round of life went on. She had two hundred a year of
her own, all of which she spent in dress, so that in that one
particular at least, if she chose to be economical, she was practically
independent. Money for other wants was generally procurable, with or
without unpleasant dunning of her parents. She lived very little in
their home in Wiltshire, a beautiful and stately young woman of fashion
being a decorative adjunct to smart country-house parties. In London, if
she sighed for a more extensive establishment and a more luxurious style
of living, it was what she always had done. She had hated the furnished
house or flat and the livery-stable carriage ever since her first
season. In the same way she had always considered the omission from
her scheme of life of a yacht and a villa at Cannes and diamonds at
discretion as a culpable oversight on the part of the Creator. But
the sordid makeshift of existence to which she was condemned was not
a matter of yesterday. In spite of the financial embarrassments of the
maternal fable she had noticed no cutting down of customary expenditure.
Her father still played the fool on the stock exchange, her mother still
attired herself elaborately and disdained to eat otherwise than _à la
carte_ at expensive restaurants, and she, Norma, went whithersoever
the smart set drifted her. She had nothing to do with the vulgarity of
financial embarrassments.
As to the question of marriage she was as fully determined as her
mother that she should make a brilliant match. She had had two or three
disappointments--the unwary duke, for instance. On the other hand she
had refused eligibles like Lord Wyniard out of sheer caprice.
The only man who had given her a moment's stir of the pulses, a moment's
thought of throwing her cap over the windmills, was a young soldier in
the Indian Staff Corps. But he belonged to her second season, before
she had really seen the world and grasped the inner meaning of life.
Besides, her mother had almost beaten her; and in an encounter between
the dragon who guarded the gold of her daughter's affections and the
young Siegfried, it was the hero that barely escaped destruction; he
fled to India for his life. Norma lost all sight and count of him for
three years. Then she heard that he had married a schoolfellow of
hers and was a month-old father. It was with feelings of peculiar
satisfaction and sense of deliverance that she sent her congratulations
to him, her love to his wife, and a set of baby shoes to the child. She
had cultivated by this time a helpful sardonic humour.
There was now Morland King, within reasonable distance of a proposal.
Her experience detected the signs, although little of sentimentality
had passed between them. | 224.600468 |
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E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 46092-h.htm or 46092-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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A LITTLE PILGRIMAGE IN ITALY
[Illustration: PERUGIA: LOOKING TOWARDS ASSISI.]
A LITTLE PILGRIMAGE IN ITALY
by
OLAVE M. POTTER
Author of 'The Colour of Rome.'
With 8 Plates and Illustrations by Yoshio Markino
Toronto
The Musson Book Company
Limited
First Published November 1911
Cheap Re-Issue 1913
Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty
FOREWORD
One morning of high summer three pilgrims met together in the City
of Genoa to sally forth in search of sunshine and the Middle Ages.
At least that was what the Poet said, for sunshine and Ancient
Stones were the passions of the Poet's life.
The Philosopher insisted that we went in search of Happiness.
It is no matter. But in fact we did meet one July day of sweltering
sunshine in Genoa, the Western Gate of Italy, which is a city of
grateful shadows, whose narrow streets defy the brilliant sun.
This is a book of simple delights, a chronicle of little pleasures,
so I shall not talk much of Genoa, although to my mind she is the
most Italian of all the great cities of Italy. Nor shall I speak of
Florence, or Naples, or Venice, or Rome. Doubtless, like me, you
have loved them all.
[Illustration: A STREET IN GENOA.]
If you come with me I shall take you away from the great cities
where your feet are bruised on the stony streets and never feel the
soft warm earth beneath their soles, where mountainous walls of
brick limit your vision to smoke-clouded strips of sky, where you
never smell the fragrance of the night. If you come with me I shall
take you to the hills, the deep-bosomed rolling hills, with their
valleys and their plains and with towered cities riding on their
crests. You will lie with me under the olives and stone-pines,
where the warm earth cushions your limbs in luxury, and the
sunlight flickering in the green shadows lights on a wealth of
flowers.
Then, if you will, come back to your haunted streets.
But I am persuaded that if you go there you will find a great
content among the little cities of great memories which stand
knee-deep in flowers upon the hills of Italy, or in those nobler
towns,--Siena, who belongs to the Madonna, and Perugia, whose name
is as a torch to light your feet into the Valleys of Romance. In
their streets you are seldom shut away from the mountains and the
sky; and little gracious weeds and grasses have spread a web among
their stones as though an elfin world sought to entrap a monster
and pull him down to ruin.
Our little pilgrimage took us to many shrines, and haunts of
peace and beauty. We made our discoveries, saw much, learned not
a little philosophy. And, most of all, we caught a glimpse of the
heart of Umbria--Umbria of the saints. We watched the gathering of
the golden maize in the plain below Assisi while we walked with
St. Francis among the vines and olives; we saw the vintage being
brought home with song and thanksgiving at Orvieto and Viterbo.
We dwelt among beautiful simple-hearted men and women, living in
little farms far from the toil of the modern world, who still
worship God in the gladness of their hearts and the spirit of the
ardent thirteenth century; who toil and spin and bear children
and lie down to die, not with the stupidity of animals or the
self-satisfaction of the bourgeoisie, but full of a beautiful
content, moved by a beautiful faith. We dipped into Tuscany too,
into Lombardy, into the March of Ancona, into Lazio, but nowhere
else was the world as perfect, as unspoiled as in Umbria. If you
are travel-stained with life, if the sweat of a work-a-day world
still clings about you, if you have lost your saints and almost
forgotten your Gods, you will cure the sickness of your soul in
Umbria.
[Illustration: GENOA: THE HARBOUR.]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
FOREWORD v
I. AREZZO 1
II. CORTONA 14
III. PERUGIA 24
IV. TODI 45
V. SIENA AND THE PALIO 58
VI. SAN GIMIGNANO DELLE BELLE TORRI 88
VII. MONTE OLIVETO MAGGIORE 105
VIII. CHIUSI 116
IX. HANNIBAL'S THRASYMENE 129
X. ASSISI 144
XI. GUBBIO 171
XII. ANCONA 188
XIII. LORETO 201
XIV. RAVENNA 216
XV. THE REPUBLIC OF SAN MARINO 234
XVI. URBINO 245
XVII. FOLIGNO 259
XVIII. CLITUMNUS 276
XIX. SPOLETO 280
XX. THE FALLS OF TERNI 296
XXI. NARNI 303
XXII. ORVIETO: THE CITY OF WOE 316
XXIII. VITERBO 333
XXIV. ROME 353
ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATES
PERUGIA: LOOKING TOWARDS ASSISI _Frontispiece_
SIENA: TORRE DEL MANGIA _Facing page_ 62
SAN GIMIGNANO " 102
LAKE THRASYMENE " 137
ASSISI: THE LOWER CHURCH OF SAN FRANCESCO " 152
ANCONA: THE FISHING FLEET " 192
SPOLETO: THE AQUEDUCT " 292
THE FALLS OF TERNI " 298
HALF-TONES
GENOA: THE HARBOUR _Facing page_ viii
A STREET IN AREZZO " 8
CORTONA FROM THE PORTA S. MARGHERITA " 20
PERUGIA: PIAZZA DEL MUNICIPIO " 28
PERUGIA: THE RING OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN " 30
PERUGIA: PORTA EBURNEA " 40
PERUGIA: THE TOMB OF THE VOLUMNII " 42
A STREET IN SIENA " 66
SIENA: S. DOMENICO AND THE VIA BENINCASA " 68
SIENA FROM THE CONVENTO DELL'OSSERVANZA " 72
SIENA: THE PALIO " 84
SAN GIMIGNANO: THE WASHING PLACE " 96
CHIUSI: THE PALACE OF THE BISHOP " 126
A STREET IN ASSISI " 148
THE LITTLE CLOISTER IN S. FRANCESCO D'ASSISI " 154
ASSISI: THE PORZIUNCULA " 168
GUBBIO: PIAZZA VITTORIO EMANUELE " 180
GUBBIO: VIA CARMIGNANO " 184
LORETO " 202
SAN MARINO " 236
URBINO: SAN FRANCESCO " 252
FOLIGNO: THE WASHING PLACE " 268
THE TEMPLE OF CLITUMNUS " 278
A STREET IN SPOLETO " 288
THE CATTLE FAIR AT NARNI " 306
A STREET IN ORVIETO " 322
ORVIETO: ETRUSCAN TOMB " 330
VITERBO: MEDIAEVAL HOUSE IN THE PIAZZA S. LORENZO " 336
VITERBO: FROM A WINDOW IN THE PALACE OF THE POPES " 340
VITERBO: VIA DI S. PELLEGRINO " 346
ROME: ST. PETER'S SEEN FROM THE ARCO OSCURO " 354
ROME: A FOUNTAIN IN THE BORGHESE GARDENS " 358
LINE DRAWINGS
A STREET IN GENOA _See page_ vi
AREZZO: THE PRISON " 6
CORTONA FROM THE PIAZZA GARIBALDI " 16
PERUGIA: DETAIL FROM THE CHOIR OF S. PIETRO DE'
CASSINENSI " 24
PERUGIA: ARCO DI AUGUSTO " 27
THE GRIFFON OF PERUGIA " 32
FOUNTAIN IN THE CLOISTER OF S. PIETRO DE' CASSINENSI " 36
DETAILS FROM THE APSE OF THE CATHEDRAL OF TODI " 51
TODI: S. MARIA DELLA CONSOLAZIONE " 54
SIENA: BANNER-HOLDER " 61
SIENA: TORCH-REST " 64
SIENESE YOUTHS IN PALIO DRESS " 77
SEEN AT THE PALIO " 81
THE TOWERS OF SAN GIMIGNANO " 89
CHIUSURE FROM MONTE OLIVETO MAGGIORE " 107
CITTA DELLA PIEVE FROM CHIUSI " 118
ETRUSCAN CINERARY URNS " 122
CHIMNEYS AT PASSIGNANO " 133
ASSISI: S. MARIA MADDALENA AT RIVO TORTO " 159
ASSISI: THE CARCERE " 163
GUBBIO: THE LAMPLIGHTER " 173
GUBBIO: SAN FRANCESCO " 177
GUBBIO: THE MEDIAEVAL AQUEDUCT " 183
PEASANTS AT LORETO " 206
| 224.609477 |
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E-text prepared by Martin Robb
THE PILOTS OF POMONA
A Story of the Orkney Islands
by
ROBERT LEIGHTON
CONTENTS
Chapter I. In Which I Am Late For School.
Chapter II. Andrew Drever's School
Chapter III. A Half Holiday.
Chapter IV. Sandy Ericson, Pilot.
Chapter V. The Hen Harrier.
Chapter VI. "Better Gear Than Rats."
Chapter VII. What The Shingle Revealed.
Chapter VIII. Dividing The Spoil.
Chapter IX | 224.638526 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.6228600 | 768 | 11 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
ART-STUDIES FROM NATURE,
As applied to Design:
_FOR THE USE OF_
ARCHITECTS, DESIGNERS, AND MANUFACTURERS.
COMPRISED IN FOUR PAPERS BY
F. E. HULME, F.L.S., F.S.A.;
J. GLAISHER, F.R.S.;
S. J. MACKIE, F.G.S., F.S.A.;
ROBERT HUNT, F.R.S.
REPRINTED FROM THE ART-JOURNAL.
_WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD._
LONDON:
VIRTUE & CO., 26, IVY LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1872.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY VIRTUE AND CO.,
CITY ROAD.
PREFACE.
Nature may be studied in many aspects; her wealth of service and beauty
is freely open to all who seek; and while the man of science, by patient
study and assiduous toil, may learn something of her mystery, and gather
from her not unwilling hands rich treasure of knowledge for the benefit
of humanity (for without the midnight watch and the elaborate
calculation of the astronomer navigation would yet be in its infancy;
without the enthusiasm of the botanist as he toils in the tropic forest
the virtues of many a healing plant would be unknown; without the keen
perception of the geologist the miner’s task would be in vain), so the
man of art in no less degree may find in her study richest elements of
beauty, loveliest suggestions of colour, forms of infinite grace. A
delight in the study of Nature, a desire to realise something of its
grandeur, is a source of unbounded pleasure to its possessor, for to him
no walk can be a weariness, no season of the year dreary, no soil so
sterile as to be barren of interest:--
“The meanest flow’ret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening Paradise.”
The lichen on the rock, the wayside grass, the many-coloured fungi, are
no less full of beauty than the forms that more ordinarily attract
attention, and are no less worthy of study. “The works of the Lord are
great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein;” and Nature
has ever to the devout mind, from its own inherent beauty and its
testimony to Him its creator and sustainer, been a study of the deepest
interest. Some who glance over these opening remarks before entering
upon the search for such material in the body of the book as may seem
available for their immediate purpose, may consider that this view of
the subject is unpractical; but we would remind such that all art,
pictorial, sculptural, decorative, or what not, is only noble and worthy
of the name so far as it affords food for thought in the spectator, and
testifies to thought in the artist, and that the nobility of the work is
in direct proportion to such evidence of inner life. Art that is
æsthetic and sensuous, though pleasing to the eye, must ever in the
nature of things hold a subordinate place to that art which is symbolic,
to those forms in which an inner meaning | 224.6429 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.6632490 | 1,469 | 10 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: THE CREATURE SPRANG TO ITS FEET]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
A LITTLE MAID OF PROVINCE TOWN
By
ALICE TURNER CURTIS
Author Of
A Little Maid of Massachusetts Colony
A Little Maid of Narragansett Bay
A Little Maid of Bunker Hill
A Little Maid of Ticonderoga
A Little Maid of Old Connecticut
A Little Maid of Old Philadelphia
Illustrated by Wuanita Smith
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Philadelphia
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT
1913 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Anne Nelson 1
II. Anne Wins a Friend 14
III. Anne's Secret 27
IV. Anne and the Wolf 39
V. Scarlet Stockings 51
VI. Captured by Indians 62
VII. Out to Sea 73
VIII. On the Island 86
IX. The Castaways 97
X. Safe at Home 107
XI. Captain Enos's Secrets 119
XII. An Unexpected Journey 129
XIII. Anne Finds Her Father 143
XIV. A Candy Party 157
XV. A Spring Picnic 177
XVI. The May Party 186
XVII. The Sloop, "Peggy" 195
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Creature Sprang to Its Feet 1
A Blanket Fell Over Her Head 65
She Worked Steadily 111
"This Is From Boston" 162
The Boat Began to Tip 194
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Little Maid of Province Town
CHAPTER I
ANNE NELSON
"I don't know what I can do with you, I'm sure!" declared Mistress
Stoddard, looking down at the small girl who stood on her door-step gazing
wistfully up at her.
"A man at the wharf said that you didn't have any little girls," responded
the child, "and so I thought----"
"'Twas Joe Starkweather told you, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Stoddard.
"Well, he's seven of his own to fend for."
"Seven little girls?" said Anne Nelson, in an almost terror-stricken
voice, her dark eyes looking earnestly into the stern face that frowned
down upon her. "And what would become of them if their mother should die,
and their father be lost at sea?"
"Sure enough. You have sense, child. But the Starkweathers are all boys.
Well, come in. You can take your bundle to the loft and leave it, and
we'll see what I can find for you to do. How old are you?"
"Eight last March," responded Anne.
"Well, a child of eight isn't much use in a house, but maybe you can save
me steps."
"Yes, indeed, Mistress Stoddard; I did a deal to help my father about the
house. He said I could do as much as a woman. I can sweep out for you, and
lay the table and wash the dishes, and bring in the wood and water,
and----" there came a break in the little girl's voice, and the woman
reached out a kindly hand and took the child's bundle.
"Come in," she said, and Anne instantly felt the tenderness of her voice.
"We are poor enough, but you'll be welcome to food and shelter, child,
till such time as some of your own kinsfolk send for thee."
"I have no kinsfolk," declared Anne; "my father told me that."
"Come you in; you'll have a bed and a crust while I have them to give
you," declared the woman, and Anne Nelson went across the threshold and up
to the bare loft, where she put her bundle down on a wooden stool and
looked about the room.
There was but a narrow bed in the corner, covered with a patchwork quilt,
and the wooden stool where Anne had put her bundle. The one narrow window
looked off across the sandy cart tracks which served as a road toward the
blue waters of Cape Cod Bay. It was early June, and the strong breath of
the sea filled the rough little house, bringing with it the fragrance of
the wild cherry blossoms and an odor of pine from the scrubby growths on
the low line of hills back of the little settlement.
It was just a year ago, Anne remembered, as she unwrapped her bundle, that
she and her father had sailed across the harbor from Ipswich, where her
mother had died.
"We will live here, at the very end of the world, where a man may think as
he pleases," her father had said, and had moved their few household
possessions into a three-roomed house near the shore. Then he had given
his time to fishing, leaving Anne alone in the little house to do as she
pleased.
She was a quiet child, and found entertainment in building sand houses on
the beach, in wandering along the shore searching for bright shells and
smooth pebbles, and in doing such simple household tasks as her youth
admitted. A week before her appearance at Mrs. Stoddard's door, John
Nelson had gone out in his fishing-boat, and now he had been given up as
lost. No sign of him had been seen by the other fishermen, and it was
generally believed by his neighbors that his sloop had foundered and that
John Nelson had perished.
Some there were, however, who declared John Nelson to be a British spy,
and hesitated not to say that he had sailed away to join some vessel of
the British fleet with information as to the convenience of the harbor of
Province Town, and with such other news as he had brought from Ipswich and
the settlements nearer Boston. For it was just before the war of the
American Revolution, when men were watched sharply and taken to task
speedily for any lack of loyalty to the American colonies. And John Nelson
had many a time declared that he believed England meant well by her
American possessions,--a statement which set many of his neighbors against
him.
"'Mean well,' indeed!" Joseph Starkweather had replied to his neighbor's
remark. "When they have closed the port of Boston, so that no ship but the
king's war-ships dare go in and out? Even our fishing-boats are closely
watched. Already the Boston people are beginning to need many things.
Americans are not going to submit to feeding British soldiers while their
| 224.683289 |
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Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE
By Susanna Haswell Rowson
Contents:
CHAPTER I. A Boarding School.
CHAPTER II. Domestic Concerns.
CHAPTER III. Unexpected Misfortunes.
CHAPTER IV. Change of Fortune.
CHAPTER V. Such Things Are.
CHAPTER VI. An Intriguing Teacher.
CHAPTER VII. Natural Sense of Propriety Inherent in the Female Bosom.
CHAPTER VIII. Domestic Pleasures Planned.
CHAPTER IX. We Know Not What a Day May Bring Forth.
CHAPTER X. When We Have Excited Curiosity, It Is But an Act of
Good Nature to Gratify it.
CHAPTER XI. Conflict of Love and Duty.
CHAPTER XII. Nature's last, best gift: Creature in whom excell'd,
whatever could To sight or thought be nam'd! Holy, divine! good,
amiable, and sweet! How thou art falln'!--
CHAPTER XIII. Cruel Disappointment.
CHAPTER XIV. Maternal Sorrow.
CHAPTER XV. Embarkation.
CHAPTER XVI. Necessary Digression.
CHAPTER XVII. A Wedding.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XVIII. Reflections.
CHAPTER XIX. A Mistake Discovered.
CHAPTER XX. Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth her
hand to raise a fallen sister. Chapter of Accidents.
CHAPTER XXI. Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show That mercy show to me. POPE.
CHAPTER XXII. Sorrows of the Heart.
CHAPTER XXIII. A Man May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain.
CHAPTER XXIV. Mystery Developed.
CHAPTER XXV. Reception of a Letter.
CHAPTER XXVI. What Might Be Expected.
CHAPTER XXVII. Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head, Like a
fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A Trifling Retrospect.
CHAPTER XXIX. We Go Forward Again.
CHAPTER XXX. And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to
sleep, A shade that follows wealth and fame, But leaves the wretch to
weep.
CHAPTER XXXI. Subject Continued.
CHAPTER XXXII. Reasons Why and Wherefore.
CHAPTER XXXIII. Which People Void of Feeling Need Not Read.
CHAPTER XXXIV. Retribution.
CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion.
PREFACE.
FOR the perusal of the young and thoughtless of the fair sex, this Tale
of Truth is designed; and I could wish my fair readers to consider it as
not merely the effusion of Fancy, but as a reality. The circumstances
on which I have founded this novel were related to me some little time
since by an old lady who had personally known Charlotte, though she
concealed the real names of the characters, and likewise the place where
the unfortunate scenes were acted: yet as it was impossible to offer a
relation to the public in such an imperfect state, I have thrown over
the whole a slight veil of fiction, and substituted names and places
according to my own fancy. The principal characters in this little tale
are now consigned to the silent tomb: it can therefore hurt the feelings
of no one; and may, I flatter myself, be of service to some who are so
unfortunate as to have neither friends to advise, or understanding to
direct them, through the various and unexpected evils that attend a
young and unprotected woman in her first entrance into life.
While the tear of compassion still trembled in my eye for the fate of
the unhappy Charlotte, I may have children of my own, said I, to
whom this recital may be of use, and if to your own children, said
Benevolence, why not to the many daughters of Misfortune who, deprived
of natural friends, or spoilt by a mistaken education, are thrown on an
unfeeling world without the least power to defend themselves from the
snares not only of the other sex, but from the more dangerous arts of
the profligate of their own.
Sensible as I am that a novel writer, at a time when such a variety
of works are ushered into the world under that name, stands but a poor
chance for fame in the annals of literature, but conscious that I wrote
with a mind anxious for the happiness of that sex whose morals and
conduct have so powerful an influence on mankind in general; and
convinced that I have not wrote a line that conveys a wrong idea to
the head or a corrupt wish to the heart, I shall rest satisfied in the
purity of my own intentions, and if I merit not applause, I feel that I
dread not censure.
If the following tale should save one hapless fair one from the errors
which ruined poor Charlotte, or rescue from impending misery the heart
of one anxious parent, I shall feel a much higher gratification in
reflecting on this trifling performance, than could possibly result
from the applause which might attend the most elegant finished piece
of literature whose tendency might deprave the heart or mislead the
understanding.
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE,
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I.
A BOARDING SCHOOL.
"ARE you for a walk," said Montraville to his companion, as they arose
from table; "are you for a walk? or shall we order the chaise and
proceed to Portsmouth?" Belcour preferred the former; and they sauntered
out to view the town, and to make remarks on the inhabitants, as they
returned from church.
Montraville was a Lieutenant in the army: Belcour was his brother
officer: they had been to take leave of their friends previous to their
departure for America, and were now returning to Portsmouth, where the
troops waited orders for embarkation. They had stopped at Chichester
to dine; and knowing they had sufficient time to reach the place of
destination before dark, and yet allow them a walk, had resolved, it
being Sunday afternoon, to take a survey of the Chichester ladies as
they returned from their devotions.
They had gratified their curiosity, and were preparing to return to the
inn without honouring any of the belles with particular notice, when
Madame Du Pont, at the head of her school, descended from the church.
Such an assemblage of youth and innocence naturally attracted the young
soldiers: they stopped; and, as the little cavalcade passed, almost
involuntarily pulled off their hats. A tall, elegant girl looked at
Montraville and blushed: he instantly recollected the features of
Charlotte Temple, whom he had once seen and danced with at a ball at
Portsmouth. At that time he thought on her only as a very lovely child,
she being then only thirteen; but the improvement two years had made in
her person, and the blush of recollection which suffused her cheeks as
she passed, awakened in his bosom new and pleasing ideas. Vanity led him
to think that pleasure at again beholding him might have occasioned the
emotion he had witnessed, and the same vanity led him to wish to see her
again.
"She is the sweetest girl in the world," said he, as he entered the inn.
Belcour stared. "Did you not notice her?" continued Montraville: "she
had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of lovely eyes of the same colour,
has contrived to make me feel devilish odd about the heart."
"Pho," said Belcour, "a musket ball from our friends, the Americans, may
in less than two months make you feel worse."
"I never think of the future," replied Montraville; "but am determined
to make the most of the present, and would willingly compound with any
kind Familiar who would inform me who the girl is, and how I might be
likely to obtain an interview."
But no kind Familiar at that time appearing, and the chaise which they
had ordered, driving up to the door, Montraville and his companion were
obliged to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabitant, and proceed
on their journey.
But Charlotte had made too great an impression on his mind to be easily
eradicated: having therefore spent three whole days in thinking on her
and in endeavouring to form some plan for seeing her, he determined
to set off for Chichester, and trust to chance either to favour or
frustrate his designs. Arriving at the verge of the town, he dismounted,
and sending the servant forward with the horses, proceeded toward the
place, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground, stood the
mansion which contained the lovely Charlotte Temple. Montraville leaned
on a broken gate, and looked earnestly at | 224.68543 |
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E-text prepared by Turgut Dincer, Les Galloway, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/greekphilosoph02benn
Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57126
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Footnotes are at the end of the book.
THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS
VOL. II.
THE GREEK PHILOSOPHERS
by
ALFRED WILLIAM BENN
Εὑρηκέναι μὲν οὖν τινὰς τῶν ἀρχαίων καὶ μακαρίων φιλοσόφων
τὸ ἀληθὲς δεῖ νομίζειν· τίνες δὲ οἱ τυχόντες μάλιστα καὶ πῶς ἂν
καὶ ἡμῖν σύνεσις περὶ τούτων γένοιτο ἐπισκέψασθαι προσήκει
PLOTINUS
Quamquam ab his philosophiam et omnes ingenuas disciplinas
habemus: sed tamen est aliquid quod nobis non liceat, liceat illis
CICERO
In Two Volumes
VOL. II.
London
Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co., 1 Paternoster Square
1882
(The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved)
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
THE STOICS pages 1-52
I. Why the systems of Plato and Aristotle failed to secure a hold
on contemporary thought, 1—Fate of the schools which they founded,
2—Revival of earlier philosophies and especially of naturalism,
3—Antisthenes and the Cynics, 4—Restoration of naturalism to its former
dignity, 6.
II. Zeno and Crates, 7—Establishment of the Stoic school, 8—Cleanthes
and Chrysippus, 9—Encyclopaedic character of the Stoic teaching, 9—The
great place which it gave to physical science, 10—Heracleitean reaction
against the dualism of Aristotle, 11—Determinism and materialism of the
Stoics, 12—Their concessions to the popular religion, 14.
III. The Stoic theory of cognition purely empirical, 15—Development of
formal logic, 16—New importance attributed to judgment as distinguished
from conception, 16—The idea of law, 17—Consistency as the principle
of the Stoic ethics, 18—Meaning of the precept, Follow Nature,
19—Distinction between pleasure and self-interest as moral standards,
20—Absolute sufficiency of virtue for happiness, 21—The Stoics wrong
from an individual, right from a social point of view, 22—Theory
of the passions, 23—Necessity of volition and freedom of judgment,
24—Difficulties involved in an appeal to purpose in creation, 24.
IV. The Stoic paradoxes follow logically from the absolute distinction
between right and wrong, 25—Attempt at a compromise with the ordinary
morality by the doctrines (i.) of preference and objection, 26—(ii.) of
permissible feeling, 27—(iii.) of progress from folly to wisdom, 27—and
(iv.) of imperfect duties, 27—Cicero’s _De Officiis_, 28—Examples of
Stoic casuistry, 29—Justification of suicide, 30.
V. Three great contributions made by the Stoics to ethical speculation,
(i.) The inwardness of virtue, including the notion of conscience,
31—Prevalent misconception with regard to the Erinyes, 32—(ii.) The
individualisation of duty, 33—Process by which this idea was evolved,
35—Its influence on the Romans of the empire, 36—(iii.) The idea of
humanity, 36—Its connexion with the idea of Nature, 37—Utilitarianism
of the Stoics, 38.
VI. The philanthropic tendencies of Stoicism partly neutralised by
its extreme individualism, 40—Conservatism of Marcus Aurelius, 41—The
Stoics at once unpitying and forgiving, 42—Humility produced by their
doctrine of universal depravity, 42—It is not in the power of others to
injure us, 43—The Stoic satirists and Roman society, 44.
VII. The idea of Nature and the unity of mankind, 44—The dynamism of
Heracleitus dissociated from the teleology of Socrates, 46—Standpoint
of Marcus Aurelius, 46—Tendency to extricate morality from its external
support, 47—Modern attacks on Nature, 48—Evolution as an ethical
sanction, 49—The vicious circle of evolutionist ethics, 50—The idea of
humanity created and maintained by the idea of a cosmos, 51—The prayer
of Cleanthes, 52.
CHAPTER II.
EPICURUS AND LUCRETIUS pages 53-119
I. Stationary character of Epicureanism, 53—Prevalent tendency to
exaggerate its scientific value, 55—Opposition or indifference of
Epicurus to the science of his time, 57.
II. Life of Epicurus, 58—His philosophy essentially practical, 59—The
relation of pleasure to virtue: Aristippus, 60—Pessimism of Hêgêsias,
61—Hedonism of Plato’s _Protagoras_, 61—The Epicurean definition of
pleasure, 62—Reaction of Plato’s idealism on Epicurus, 63—He accepts
the negative definition of pleasure, 64—Inconsistency involved in his
admissions, 65.
III. Deduction of the particular virtues: Temperance, 66—Points of
contact with Cynicism, 66—Evils bred by excessive frugality, 67—Sexual
passion discouraged by Epicureanism, 67—Comparative indulgence shown
to pity and grief, 68—Fortitude inculcated by minimising the evils of
pain, 69—Justice as a regard for the general interest, 70—The motives
for abstaining from aggression purely selfish, 70—Indifference of the
Epicureans to political duties, 73—Success of Epicureanism in promoting
disinterested friendship, 74.
IV. Motives which led Epicurus to include physics in his teaching,
75—His attacks on supernaturalism directed less against the old
Polytheism than against the religious movement whence Catholicism
sprang, 76—Justification of the tone taken by Lucretius, 78—Plato and
Hildebrand, 78—Concessions made by Epicurus to the religious reaction,
80—His criticism of the Stoic theology, 81.
V. Why Epicurus adopted the atomic theory, 82—Doctrine of infinite
combinations, 83—Limited number of chances required by the modern
theory of evolution, 84—Objections to which Democritus had laid
himself open, 85—They are not satisfactorily met by Epicurus, 85—One
naturalistic theory as good as another, 87—except the conclusions of
astronomy, which are false, 87.
VI. Materialism and the denial of a future life, 88—Epicurus tries to
argue away the dread of death, 89—His enterprise inconsistent with
human nature, 90—The belief in future torments is the dread of death
under another form, 92—How the prospect of death adds to our enjoyment
of life, 93—Its stimulating effect on the energies, 94—The love of life
gives meaning and merit to courage, 95.
VII. The Epicurean theory of sensation and cognition, 95—Negative
character of the whole system, 98—Theory of human history: the doctrine
of progressive civilisation much older than Epicurus, 98—Opposition
between humanism and naturalism on this point, 99—Passage from a drama
of Euphorion, 99.
VIII. Lucretius: his want of philosophic originality, 100—His alleged
improvements on the doctrine of Epicurus examined, 101—His unreserved
acceptance of the Epicurean ethics, 103—In what the difference
between Lucretius and Epicurus consists, 103—Roman enthusiasm for
physical science, 104—Sympathy of Lucretius with early Greek thought,
105—The true heroine of the _De Rerum Naturâ_, 105—Exhibition of life
in all its forms, 106—Venus as the beginning and end of existence,
106—Elucidation of the atomic theory by vital phenomena, 107—Imperfect
apprehension of law: the _foedera Naturai_ and the _foedera fati_,
108—Assimilation of the great cosmic changes to organic processes,
110—False beliefs considered as necessary products of human nature,
111—and consequently as fit subjects for poetic treatment, 112—High
artistic value of the _De Rerum Naturâ_, 113—Comparison between
Lucretius and Dante, 113.
IX. Merits and defects of Epicurus: his revival of atomism and
rejection of supernaturalism, 114—His theory of ethics, 115—His
contributions to the science of human nature, 116—His eminence as
a professor of the art of happiness, 116—His influence on modern
philosophy greatly exaggerated by M. Guyau, 117—Unique combination of
circ | 224.687444 |
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THE PLAYWORK BOOK
THE
PLAYWORK BOOK
BY
ANN MACBETH
WITH 114 DIAGRAMS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & COMPANY
1918
_Printed in the United States of America_
Published October, 1918
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
A WOOLEN BALL 25
ANOTHER WOOLEN BALL 27
A SPRIG OF FLOWERS 30
A SKIPPING ROPE 33
A SUCKER 37
<DW57>s 38
THE MEAL SACK 40
AN EMERY CUSHION 42
RAT-TAIL KNITTING 44
A PEEP-SHOW PICTURE 46
CUP AND BALL 48
STORKS 50
A CORK DOLL 52
A RABBIT 52
A CORK HORSE 54
AN ENGINE AND TENDER 55
A CHEST OF DRAWERS 56
A CRADLE 57
A DOLL'S TABLE 58
A DOLL'S BED 58
A DOLL'S CHAIR 59
ANOTHER DOLL'S CHAIR 60
NECKLACES 61
A HAT BAND 64
A FAN 65
A PIN-WHEEL OR WHIRLIGIG 65
A TIN WHEEL OR BUZZER 67
A WOODEN MILL 68
A FEATHER WHEEL 70
AN AIR PROPELLER 72
A REVERSING PROPELLER 73
A WATERWHEEL AND SHUTE 74
A POP-GUN 76
A WHISTLE 78
A LONG WHISTLE 79
A SQUEAKER 80
A BUZZER 80
A CLAPPER 81
A TELEPHONE 82
A DRUM 83
A MEGAPHONE 84
RUSH FURNITURE 85
RUSH WHIP 86
RUSH RATTLE 87
PAPER BEADS 88
FISH BONE TEA-SET 89
A RUSH OR RAFFIA BAG 90
THE HARVEST PLAIT 91
DOLL'S FURNITURE 92
A WHEELBARROW 94
A FERN BASKET 95
A DOLL'S STOOL 96
A DOLL'S STOOL OF FEATHERS 97
A PORTER'S HAND BARROW 98
A CRANE 99
A TOP 101
A TEETOTUM 102
BOW AND ARROW 103
A DART 105
A CROSSBOW 106
A CATAPULT 108
A TARGET 109
A RAFT 110
A CANOE 111
A SHIP 114
A PROPELLER 118
A DOLL 119
A BROWNIE 122
KITES 124
A MONKEY ON A STICK 131
A DANCING LADY 134
A MODEL AEROPLANE 136
A FARMYARD 138
A DOLL'S HOUSE 140
THE PLAYWORK BOOK
Far enough below the surface, in every one of us there lives, very
often almost forgotten, the child, who, like Peter Pan, "never
grows up." It is this everlasting child in us that keeps the keys
which open for each his Kingdom of Heaven, and sad it is for
those of us who have lost sight of the keeper of the keys. The
sweetest and loveliest things in our lives are the simplest things.
They do not abide in the excitable enjoyment of luxuries and
entertainments to be bought with money; they lie in the living and
eternal interest of the homeliest things of daily life, wherever
people are simple, and sincere of heart, and full of loving, kindly
thought and care for the concerns of others; where people do things
themselves instead of paying for them to be done; where wealth
is counted in love, in thoughtfulness, and in interest in other
people, and not in many possessions. These things are the heritage
of all children, and we are happy if we can carry our heritage with
us through our life; for this indeed is to be of the Kingdom of
Heaven.
A child who is unspoiled by the false and ignorant estimates of
others with regard to the rank and standing of those among whom
he lives, is perhaps our truest socialist. He comes into the
world possessing nothing, so far as he is aware, save his own
identity; he knows no distinction of class; his ideas of rank are
based solely on the beauty, charm, and kindness which are in due
proportion the characters of those he lives with. He makes his own
little kingdom if he is encouraged to work it out, or play it out,
for himself; and happy is the child and happy is the parent of that
child who learns to play independently, and to gather together
his kingdom, without a continual cry for assistance from others.
Here is one of the first great landmarks in education, and a child
who is unspoiled by too many possessions in the way of toys will
be one well provided, for his mind should at once move to create
these possessions for himself. This power to create, this moving
of the spirit to make something out of chaos, is in all healthy
human beings, and it is the happiest faculty we have. It is, in
fact, one of the most vital sides of religion in us, and perhaps
the most important to us. It brings us into direct kinship with
the Great Creator of all things. This moving of the Holy Spirit
over the chaos of the world, in our businesses, in our workshops,
in our shipyards, in our buildings, in all craftsman's work in
our factories, is probably never realized by the churchmen among
us, and only vaguely apprehended by the educational authorities.
Yet does not this very power of creative thought amongst even the
humblest of us constitute religion of the most living vitality?
This Holy Spirit moving, and living, and creating anew in every
trade and craft, and in every place where men are busy, should
be better realized by us, and more respected; we should then be
better men and women. The inventive minds among us are indeed our
prophets, answering to the call of those whose labor is too long
and heavy, and producing what will lessen the burden. Answering
again the call for more light, more beauty, more music in the
world, and producing our arts and our playgrounds, our games, our
schools and colleges. Answering again the call for freedom from
pain, and we have our hospitals, and our great doctors, and all who
work for the betterment of the world. Here is the real and living
church of God on earth. They say we are leaving the churches behind
us. Say rather that the church is more with us, and all are its
ministers who are working for the world's welfare.
We rebuke far too often that habit of children of asking questions.
We say, "Be quiet," and "You will see some other day"! Yet it is by
questions that the child shows most his interest in life, and his
inclinations and desires and tendencies.
We instruct a child for years in the writings, doings, sayings,
and contrivings of others who have gone before us. How rarely
do we realize that in these little ones there may be as great,
or greater, light within, only needing care and encouragement to
develop and flame up, and show its creative strength? It is sad to
think how often these little lights are snuffed out in their first
flickerings by the thoughtless things we say, by the foolish way
we tease them at the slightest sign of independent thought, by our
ignorant habit of commending and praising those who give up their
independence, and conform to the commonplace habits and customs we
have adopted as convenient.
Many very young children show astonishingly developed faculties
in certain directions even before they can express themselves in
speech. I know a little boy who, in his second year, showed such
an interest in machinery that his elder relatives had to learn
the parts of a locomotive engine in order not to betray their own
ignorance; and over and over again we see the faculties of the
creative mind so strong in young children that it is difficult to
persuade ourselves that they have not some previous experience
to draw upon. Especially is this the case in music and the arts,
for here there is perhaps less dependence on tools and previous
technical training required, than in other constructive work.
But it is sad to see, and very common also, that these bright
beginnings too often flicker out, not because the spirit is
lacking, but because these children are only too often driven to
hide their lights, because they feel conspicuous, are teased, and
rebuked, and chidden for their non-conformity, and are made to feel
themselves outcasts if they pursue the way their spirit tends to
lead them; and they lose their light, these finer little spirits,
and subside into the twilight of mediocre minds.
It is indeed difficult, in these times of over-crowded schools and
over-worked teachers, to foster and develop the personalities of
these little ones, but we all look to a time when education may be
a stronger force among us, more respected and more desired, when
those who teach in our elementary schools may be the finest men
and women we have, those of the greatest hearts, and the widest
understanding (for into their hands we place the most precious
thing we have); a time, when, realizing that the laborer is worthy
of his hire, we must also be brought to realize that the hire must
be worthy of the laborer.
We become more and more socialistic in our community life in these
days, and a child is now so little left to the charge of his mother
that his life, almost from babyhood upwards, is just a passing on
from one trained hand to another till he is able to support himself
independently, and often long after that. His years of school
grow longer and busier, and now even his playtime is to be more
closely guarded and supervised. Yet it is to be hoped that here the
guarding and supervising will be specially directed to preserving
his independence and his choice of leisure occupation.
Games are good for all, yet playtime should emphatically not be
all games: this is where our public schools have failed us; they
have given too much importance to games, and almost none to private
enterprise in constructive play. In the little contrivances of
children lie the germs of vast mechanical and artistic enterprises.
The marvelous crafts passed on to us from ancient days in every
land were never the result of training in schools, they partook
more of the qualities of what I would call "constructive play,"
passed on from parent to child, each new thing a little different
from any other, changing and varying in every age, yet all through
a pleasure and a joy to their makers. Our trades and our crafts
have all their beginnings in the immature constructions we make as
children. We build houses, we furnish them, we make instruments of
music (and un-music), we make ships, we fashion vessels of clay,
and wood, and metal; we weave and we paint; we dimly foresaw the
days when men should fly like birds, and we made kites. All this
went on for countless generations, and then we laid captive the
steam and the electric current, and lo! a change; all things are
possible. Yet we have had a set back; we have forgotten awhile
that the spirit in all of us is greater than the machine. We
have allowed our machines to make our toys, and instead of being
toy-makers our children have to some extent become toy breakers,
not because they are really trying to destroy, but because they
have the right and natural desire to see how a thing is made. It
is not enough, however, to know this; it is very essential that a
child should make for himself, and the probability is that if the
thing is easily bought he will not take the trouble to make it. He
will be inclined to take it for granted that just because it is a
"commercial" article, a thing to be bought in a shop, he cannot
make it. Toys imported from abroad have been so plentiful and so
cheap of late years that the children of to-day rarely attempt
to make them for themselves, and they are immensely the poorer,
intellectually speaking, for the lack of this necessity to make
them. It is for this reason that I have gathered together a small
collection of the contrivances of past generations, and the present
generation too, not in order that | 224.68838 |
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The Mentor, No. 26, American Landscape Painters
THE MENTOR
“A Wise and Faithful Guide and Friend”
Vol. 1 No. 26
AMERICAN LANDSCAPE PAINTERS
GEORGE INNESS
HOMER MARTIN
A. H. WYANT
THOMAS MORAN
D. W. TRYON
F. E. CHURCH
[Illustration: American Art Annual]
_By SAMUEL ISHAM_
The beginnings of art in America were confined almost exclusively to
portrait painting. In the earliest colonial times unskilled limners
came from the mother country and made grotesque effigies of our
statesmen and divines. As the settlements developed and the amenities
of life increased better men came, and native painters were found | 224.688387 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.7196170 | 945 | 9 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41515-h.htm or 41515-h.zip:
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[Illustration: "MORTON FOUND TIME TO ANSWER ALL HER QUESTIONS."]
WHEAT AND HUCKLEBERRIES
Or
Dr. Northmore's Daughters
by
CHARLOTTE M. VAILE
Illustrated by Alice Barber Stevens
BOSTON AND CHICAGO
W. A. WILDE COMPANY
Copyright, 1899,
By W. A. Wilde Company.
_All rights reserved._
WHEAT AND HUCKLEBERRIES.
To J. F. V.
This Story
TOO SLIGHT TO BE AN OFFERING TO HIM, BUT WRITTEN
IN DEAR REMEMBRANCE OF HIS EARLY HOME
AND OF MINE
Is Lovingly Dedicated
C. M. V.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--HARVEST AT THE FARM
CHAPTER II--TALKING IT OVER
CHAPTER III--BETWEEN TIMES
CHAPTER IV--AT THE OLD PLACE
CHAPTER V--AUNT KATHARINE SAXON
CHAPTER VI--AUNT KATHARINE--CONTINUED
CHAPTER VII--HUCKLEBERRYING
CHAPTER VIII--A PAIR OF CALLS
CHAPTER IX--A GLIMPSE FROM THE INSIDE
CHAPTER X--SOME BITS OF POETRY
CHAPTER XI--AN OUTING AND AN INVITATION
CHAPTER XII--WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK
CHAPTER XIII--INTO THE WEST AGAIN
CHAPTER XIV--THE NABOB MAKES AN IMPRESSION
CHAPTER XV--ESTHER GOES TO PRAYER-MEETING
CHAPTER XVI--IN WHICH SEVERAL PEOPLE GET HOME
ILLUSTRATIONS.
"Morton found time to answer all her questions"
"He leaned on the gate when he had opened it for the girls"
"She opened the door in person"
"Tom and Kate watched them go"
"'It has been delightful to see you in this lovely old home'"
CHAPTER I
HARVEST AT THE FARM
Just how Dr. Philip Northmore came to be the owner of a farm had never
been quite clear to his fellow-townsmen. That he had bought it--that
pretty stretch of upland five miles from Rushmore--in some settlement
with a friend, who owed him more money than he could ever pay, was the
open fact, but how the doctor had believed it to be a good investment
for himself was the question. The opportunity to pay interest on a
mortgage and make improvements on those charming acres at the expense of
his modest professional income was the main part of what he got out of
it. The doctor, as everybody knew, had no genius for making money.
However, he had never lamented his purchase. On the principle perhaps
which makes the child who draws most heavily on parental care the object
of dearest affection, this particular possession seemed to be the one on
which the good doctor prided himself most. Its fine location and natural
beauty were points on which he grew eloquent, and he sometimes referred
to its peaceful cultivation as the employment in which he hoped to spend
his own declining years, an expectation which it is safe to say none of
his acquaintances shared with him.
So much for Dr. Northmore's interest in the farm. It had a peculiar
interest for the feminine part of his household in the early days of
July, when wheat harvest had come and the threshing machine was abroad
in the land. It was too much to expect of Jake Erlock, the tenant at the
farm, who, since his wife's death had lived there alone, that he would
provide meals for the score of threshers who would bring the harvesting
appetite to the work of the great day. Clearly this fell to the
Northmores, and the doctor's wife had risen to the part with her own
characteristic energy. But for once, on the very eve of the threshing,
she | 224.739657 |
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HELEN'S BABIES
With some account of their ways, innocent, crafty, angelic, impish,
witching and impulsive; also a partial record of their actions during
ten days of their existence
By JOHN HABBERTON
The first cause, so far as it can be determined, of the existence of
this book may be found in the following letter, written by my only | 224.739808 |
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_THE CONTEMPORARY SCIENCE SERIES._
EDITED BY HAVELOCK ELLIS.
| 224.805737 |
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WORKS BY PERCY MACKAYE
_DRAMAS_
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. A Comedy.
JEANNE D’ARC. A Tragedy.
SAPPHO AND PHAON. A Tragedy.
FENRIS THE WOLF. A Tragedy.
A GARLAND TO SYLVIA. A Dramatic Reverie.
THE SCARECROW. A Tragedy of the Ludicrous.
YANKEE FANTASIES. Five One-act Plays.
MATER. An American Study in Comedy.
ANTI-MATRIMONY. A Satirical Comedy.
TO-MORROW. A Play in Three Acts.
A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. A Romance of the Orient.
THE IMMIGRANTS. A Lyric Drama.
_MASQUES_
CALIBAN. A Shakespeare Masque.
SAINT LOUIS. A Civic Masque.
SANCTUARY. A Bird Masque.
THE NEW CITIZENSHIP. A Civic Ritual.
_POEMS_
THE SISTINE EVE, and Other Poems.
URIEL, and Other Poems.
LINCOLN. A Centenary Ode.
THE PRESENT HOUR.
POEMS AND PLAYS. In Two Volumes.
_ESSAYS_
THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PLAY.
THE CIVIC THEATRE.
A SUBSTITUTE FOR WAR.
_AT ALL BOOKSELLERS_
Uniform with this volume
SAINT LOUIS: A CIVIC MASQUE
AS ENACTED BY 7,000 CITIZENS OF SAINT LOUIS
CALIBAN
[Illustration: PRELIMINARY SKETCH OF SETEBOS, BY JOSEPH URBAN]
CALIBAN
BY THE YELLOW SANDS
BY
PERCY MACKAYE
[Illustration]
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1916
ENDORSED BY THE DRAMA LEAGUE OF AMERICA
_Copyright, 1916, by_
PERCY MACKAYE
_All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian_
_All acting rights, and motion picture rights, are reserved
by the author in the United States, Great Britain
and countries of the copyright Union_
SPECIAL NOTICE
Regarding Public Performances and Readings
No performance of this Masque—professional or amateur—and
no public reading of it may be given without the written
permission of the author and the payment of royalty.
The author should be addressed in care of the publishers.
During the Shakespeare Tercentenary season of 1916, the
Masque--after its New York production at the City College
Stadium, May 23, 24, 25, 26, 27--will be available for
production elsewhere, on a modified scale of stage
performance.
With proper organization and direction, amateur participants
may take part in performances with or without the Interludes.
For particulars concerning performances wholly amateur,
address Miss Clara Fitch, Secretary Shakespeare Tercentenary
Committee, 736 Marquette Building, Chicago, Ill.
After June first, a professional company, which will
coöperate with local communities, will take the Masque on
tour. For particulars address Miss A. M. Houston, Drama
League of America, 736 Marquette Building, Chicago, Ill.
“_Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands!_”
THE TEMPEST.
CALIBAN
BY THE YELLOW SANDS
_A COMMUNITY MASQUE
Of the Art of the Theatre_
Devised and Written to Commemorate the
Tercentenary of the Death of
SHAKESPEARE
_Illustrations by_
Joseph Urban & Robert Edmond Jones
TO · THE · ONLIE
BEGETTER · OF · THE · BEST
IN · THESE · INSUING
SCENES · MASTER · W · S
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND CHARTS
Cover Design: “When the kings of earth
clasp hands” (Act II, Second Inner
Scene). By Robert Edmond Jones.
Preliminary Sketch of Setebos.
By Joseph Urban _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Ground Plan for Auditorium (with
Stages of Masque Proper and
Interludes). By Joseph Urban xxx
Design of Stage for Masque Proper.
By Joseph Urban xxxii
Preliminary Sketch for Seventh Inner
Scene. By Robert Edmond Jones 98
Preliminary Sketch for Tenth Inner
Scene. By Robert Edmond Jones 138
APPENDIX
Inner Structure of Masque (Chart).
By Percy MacKaye 154
A Community Masque Audience
(Photograph). By E. O. Thalinger 156
Community Masque Organization Plan
(Chart). By Hazel MacKaye 158
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE xiii
MASQUE STRUCTURE xxix
PERSONS AND PRESENCES xxxi
PROLOGUE 3
FIRST INTERLUDE 32
ACT I 34
SECOND INTERLUDE 76
ACT II 78
THIRD INTERLUDE 110
ACT III 111
EPILOGUE 142
APPENDIX 147
PREFACE
Three hundred years alive on the 23rd of April, 1916, the memory of
Shakespeare calls creatively upon a self-destroying world to do him
honor by honoring that world-constructive art of which he is a master
architect.
Over seas, the choral hymns of cannon acclaim his death; in
battle-trenches artists are turned subtly ingenious to inter his art;
War, Lust, and Death are risen in power to restore the primeval reign
of Setebos.
Here in America, where the neighboring waters of his “vexed Bermoothes”
lie more calm than those about his own native isle, here only is given
some practical opportunity for his uninterable spirit to create new
splendid symbols for peace through harmonious international expression.
As one means of serving such expression, and so, if possible, of
paying tribute to that creative spirit in forms of his own art, I have
devised and written this Masque, at the invitation of the Shakespeare
Celebration Committee of New York City.
The dramatic-symbolic motive of the Masque I have taken from
Shakespeare’s own play “The Tempest,” Act I, Scene 2. There, speaking
to Ariel, Prospero says:
“Hast thou forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy
Was grown into a hoop? This damn’d witch Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible
To enter human hearing was hither brought with child
And there was left by the sailors. Thou...
Wast then her servant;
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthly and abhorred commands,
Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee,
By help of her most potent ministers
And in her most unmitigable rage,
Into a cloven pine, within which rift
Imprisoned thou didst painfully remain...
Then was this island—
Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp hag-born—not honor’d with
A human shape... that Caliban
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know’st
What torment I did find thee in,... it was a torment
To lay upon the damn’d.... _It was mine art_,
When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
The pine and let thee out.”
“It was mine art”.... There—in Prospero’s words [and
Shakespeare’s]—is the text of this Masque.
The art of Prospero I have conceived as the art of Shakespeare in its
universal scope: that many-visioned art of the theatre which, age after
age, has come to liberate the imprisoned imagination of mankind from
the fetters of brute force and ignorance; that same art which, being
usurped or stifled by groping part-knowledge, prudery, or lust, has
been botched in its ideal aims and—like fire ill-handled or ill-hidden
by a passionate child—has wrought havoc, hypocrisy, and decadence.
Caliban, then, in this Masque, is that passionate child-curious part of
us all [whether as individuals or as races], grovelling close to his
aboriginal origins, yet groping up and staggering—with almost rhythmic
falls and back-slidings—toward that serener plane of pity and love,
reason and disciplined will, where Miranda and Prospero commune with
Ariel and his Spirits.
In deference to the master-originator of these characters and their
names, it is, I think, incumbent on me to point out that these four
characters, derived—but reimagined—from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest,”
become, for the purposes of my Masque, the presiding symbolic _Dramatis
Personæ_ of a plot and conflict which are my own conception. They are
thus no longer Shakespeare’s characters of “The Tempest,” though born
of them and bearing their names.
Their words [save for a very few song-snatches and sentences] and their
| 224.835576 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emmy and the Online
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text by _underscores_.]
THOUGHTS
FOR
THE QUIET HOUR
Edited By D. L. Moody
[Illustration]
Fleming H. Revell Company
CHICAGO : NEW YORK : TORONTO
_Publishers of Evangelical Literature_
Copyrighted 1900
by
Fleming H. Revell Company
TO THE READER
One of the brightest signs of the times is that many Christians in our
Young People's Societies and churches are observing a "Quiet Hour"
daily. In this age of rush and activity we need some special call to go
apart and be alone with God for a part of each day. Any man or woman who
does this faithfully and earnestly cannot be more than twenty-four hours
away from God.
The selections given in this volume were first published in the monthly
issues of the "_Record of Christian Work_," and were found very helpful
for devotional purposes. They are also a mine of thoughts, to light up
the verses quoted. Being of permanent value, it has been thought
desirable to transfer them from the pages of the magazine to this
permanent volume.
May they have a helpful ministry, leading many into closer communion
with God!
[Illustration: D. L. Moody]
Index of Texts Quoted in This Volume.
=Genesis=
1: 4, 34
2: 7, 36
3: 3, 71
9, 5
24, 109
4:15, 105
6: 8, 128
12: 1, 18
13:12, 124
15, 37
16: 9, 94
18:17, 96
25: 8, 18, 28
11, 68
28:12, 102
15, 60
16, 69, 102
32: 1, 24
32, 119
33: 1, 111
=Exodus=
2: 3, 32
4:13, 32
14:13, 6
19, 112
20: 3, 81
24:18, 11
28: 2, 12
33:14, 88
34: 2, 25
=Numbers=
9:23, 20
11:14, 51
13:27, 38
28, 38
=Deuteronomy=
1: 2, 26
4: 1, 102
18:14, 80
33:25, 63, 69
=Joshua=
4:21, 20
5:14, 26
23:11, 7
24:15, 114
=Judges=
6:14, 78
8:18, 38
=I. Samuel=
1:10, 128
13, 128
27, 50
28, 50
2: 3, 23
12:24, 43
=II. Samuel=
5:19, 57
22:36, 24
=I. Kings=
2:34, 106
8:12, 94
13, 94
17: 3, 52
10, 113
=II. Kings=
6:17, 11
10: 5, 74
25:30, 39, 113
=I. Chronicles=
4:23, 92
=Job=
5:17, 100
=Psalms=
5: 3, 12
16:11, 110
19:12, 74, 124
21: 4, 90
23: 2, 38
3, 31
25: 4, 12
32: 8, 93
34: 1, 51
19, 6
39: 3, 52
55:22, 58
62: 5, 40
63: 1, 45
65: 3, 112
78:14, 91
90: 1, 114
12, 96
91: 3, 104
9, 119
11, 98
100:2, 95
103:2, 122
4, 122
19, 53
118:14, 6
119:117, 72
134: 1, 17
3, 17
145: 2, 9
16, 17
=Proverbs=
4:18, 34
23, 53
11:25, 121
13:25, 47
16:32, 50
27: 1, 21
=Ecclesiastes=
9:10, 78
=Song of Solomon=
1: 5, 57
6, 37
2: 3, 13
15, 35
3: 1, 30
4:16, 70
7:10, 57
=Isaiah=
6: 5, 51
30:18, 19
32:20, 72
40: 8, 104
31, 10, 31,
42, 80
41:13, 43
14, 21
43: 2, 112
48:10, 94
49: 5, 14
23, 44
50:10, 105
56: 2, 72
=Jeremiah=
18: 4, 113
22:21, 104
=Ezekiel=
12: 8, 36
34:26, 85
36:37, 88
37: 3, 101
=Daniel=
5: 1, 122
6:20, 15
9: 9, 89
10: 8, 109
=Hosea=
6: 3, 18
=Jonah=
1:11, 125
=Micah=
7: 8, 100
=Zechariah=
4:10, 64, 116
13: 1, 56
=Malachi=
3: 6, 85
18, 123
=Matthew=
2:10, 100
13, 106
5:14, 45, 55
16, 106
45, 35
48, 65
6: 6, 95
32, 75
33, 30
8: 6, 72
10: 8, 68
42, 52
14:14, 81
23, 81
22, 59
15:28, 44
20:18, 92
28, 93
25:21, 59
26, 59
24-26, 44
26:39, 15
40, 40
27:32, 54
28:16, 107
18, 107
19, 107
20, 41
=Mark=
2: 3, 122
5:36, 99
6:41, 123
7:34, 46
10:17, 120
13:34, 22
14:41, 65
50, 121
=Luke=
2:10, 107
13, 126
14, | 224.835654 |
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Produced by Carlos Colón, University of California and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
SIXPENCE NET
Cloth Bound, 1s. net
THREE DAYS
IN THE
VILLAGE
AND OTHER SKETCHES
BY
LEO TOLSTOY
These sketches are written
in the style of Tolstoy's
"Popular Stories and Legends,"
and give the reader
various glimpses into modern
village life in Russia
THE FREE AGE PRESS
Publisher: C. W. DANIEL
3 Amen Corner, London, E. C.
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE
_And Other Sketches_
_No Rights Reserved_
THREE DAYS IN
THE VILLAGE
_And Other Sketches_
_Written from September 1909 to July 1910_
BY
LEO TOLSTOY
_Translated by_ L. _and_ A. MAUDE
LONDON
THE FREE AGE PRESS
(C. W. DANIEL)
3 AMEN CORNER, E. C.
1910
CONTENTS
PAGE
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE--
FIRST DAY--TRAMPS 7
SECOND DAY--THE LIVING AND THE DYING 20
THIRD DAY--TAXES 33
CONCLUSION--A DREAM 41
SINGING IN THE VILLAGE 55
TRAVELLER AND PEASANT 63
A TALK WITH A WAYFARER 75
FROM THE DIARY 79
THREE DAYS IN THE VILLAGE
_FIRST DAY_
TRAMPS
Something entirely new, unseen and unheard-of formerly, has lately
shown itself in our country districts. To our village, consisting of
eighty homesteads, from half a dozen to a dozen cold, hungry, tattered
tramps come every day, wanting a night's lodging.
These people, ragged, half-naked, barefoot, often ill, and extremely
dirty, come into the village and go to the village policeman. That
they should not die in the street of hunger and exposure, he quarters
them on the inhabitants of the village, regarding only the peasants as
"inhabitants." He does not take them to the squire, who besides his own
ten rooms has ten other apartments: office, coachman's room, laundry,
servants' and upper-servants' hall and so on; nor does he take them to
the priest or deacon or shopkeeper, in whose houses, though not large,
there is still some spare room; but he takes them to the peasants,
whose whole family, wife, daughters-in-law, unmarried daughters, and
big and little children, all live in one room--sixteen, nineteen, or
twenty-three feet long. And the master of the hut takes the cold,
hungry, stinking, ragged, dirty man, and not merely gives him a night's
lodging, but feeds him as well.
"When you sit down to table yourself," an old peasant householder told
me, "it's impossible not to invite him too, or your own soul accepts
nothing. So one feeds him and gives him a drink of tea."
Those are the nightly visitors. But during the day, not two or three,
but ten or more such visitors call at each hut, and again it is: "Why,
it is impossible...," etc.
And for almost every tramp the housewife cuts a slice of bread, thinner
or thicker according to the man's appearance--though she knows her rye
will not last till next harvest.
"If you were to give to all who come, a loaf [the big peasant loaf of
black bread] would not last a day," some housewives said to me. "So
sometimes one hardens one's heart and refuses!"
And this goes on every day, all over Russia. An enormous
yearly-increasing army of beggars, <DW36>s, administrative exiles,
helpless old men, and above all unemployed workmen, lives--that is to
say, shelters itself from cold and wet--and is actually fed by the
hardest-worked and poorest class, the country peasants.
We have Workhouses,[1] Foundlings' Hospitals, Boards of Public Relief,
and all sorts of philanthropic organisations in our towns; and in all
those institutions, in buildings with electric light, parquet floors,
neat servants, and various well-paid attendants, thousands of helpless
people of all sorts are sheltered. But however many such there may
be, they are but a drop in the ocean of the enormous (unnumbered, but
certainly enormous) population which now tramps destitute over Russia,
and is sheltered and fed apart from any institutions, solely by the
village peasants whose own Christian feelings induce them to bear this
heavy and gigantic tax.
[1] Not in the English sense, for there is no Poor-Law system
entitling the destitute to demand maintenance.
Just think what people who are not peasants would say, if--even once
a week--such a shivering, starving, dirty, lousy tramp were placed in
each of their bedrooms! But the peasants not only house them, but feed
them and give them tea, because "one's own soul accepts nothing unless
one has them to table."
In the more remote parts of Sarátof, Tambóf, and other Provinces, the
peasants do not wait for the policeman to bring these tramps, but
always receive them and feed them of their own accord.
And, as is the case with all really good deeds, the peasants do this
without knowing that they are doing a good deed; and yet it is not
merely a good deed "for one's soul," but is of enormous importance
for the whole of Russian society. It is of such importance for Russian
society because, but for this peasant population and the Christian
feeling that lives so strongly in it, it is difficult to imagine
what the fate would be, not only of these hundreds of thousands
of unfortunate, houseless tramps, but of all the well-to-do--and
especially of the wealthy who have their houses in the country.
It is only necessary to see the state of privation and suffering to
which these homeless tramps have come or have been brought, and to
imagine the mental condition they must be in, and to realise that it
is only this help rendered to them by the peasants that restrains
them from committing violence, which would be quite natural in their
position, upon those who possess in superfluity all the things these
unfortunates lack to keep themselves alive.
So that it is not the philanthropic organisations, not the Government
with its police and all its juridical institutions, that protects
us, the well-to-do, from being attacked by those who wander, cold,
hungry, and homeless, after having sunk--or, for the most part, having
been brought--to the lowest depths of poverty and despair; but we are
protected, as well as fed and supported, by that same basic strength of
the Russian nation--the peasantry.
Yes! Were it not that there is among Russia's vast peasant population
a deep religious consciousness of the brotherhood of all men, not
only would these homeless people, having reached the last stages of
despair, have long since destroyed the houses of the rich, in spite
of any police force (there are and must be so few of them in country
districts), but they would even have killed all who stood in their
way. So that we ought not to be horrified or surprised when we hear or
read of people being robbed, or killed that they may be robbed, but we
should understand and remember that if such things happen as seldom as
they do, we owe this to the unselfish help rendered by the peasants to
this unfortunate tramping population.
Every day from ten to fifteen people come to our house to beg. Some
among them are regular beggars, who for some reason have chosen that
means of livelihood, and having clothed and shod themselves as best
they might, and having made sacks to hold what they collect, have
started out to tramp the country. Among them some are blind, and
some have lost a leg or an arm; and sometimes, though rarely, there
are women and children among them. But these are only a small part.
The majority of the beggars that come now are passers-by, without a
beggar's sack, mostly young, and not crippled. They are all in a most
pitiable state, barefoot, half-naked, emaciated, and shivering with
cold. You ask them, "Where are you going?" The answer is always the
same: "To look for work"; or, "Have been looking for work, but found
none, and am making my way home. There's no work; they are shutting
down everywhere." Many of these people are returning from exile.
A few days ago I was barely awake when our servant, Ilyá Vasílyevitch,
told me:
"There are five tramps waiting near the porch."
"Take some money there is on the table, and give it them," said I.
Ilyá Vasílyevitch took it, and, as is the custom, gave each of them
five copecks [five farthings]. About an hour passed. I went out into
the porch. A dreadfully tattered little man with a sickly face, swollen
eyelids, restless eyes, and boots all falling to pieces, began bowing,
and held out a certificate to me.
"Have you received something?"
"Your Excellency, what am I to do with five copecks?... Your
Excellency, put yourself in my place! Please, your Excellency, look
... please see!" and he shows me his clothing. "Where am I to go to,
your Excellency?" (it is "Excellency" after every word, though his face
expresses hatred). "What am I to do? Where am I to go?"
I tell him that I give to all alike. He continues to entreat, and
demands that I should read his certificate. I refuse. He kneels down. I
ask him to leave me.
"Very well! That means, it seems, that I must put an end to myself!
That's all that's left me to do.... Give me something, if only a
trifle!"
I give him twenty copecks, and he goes away, evidently angry.
There are a great many such peculiarly insistent beggars, who feel they
have a right to demand their share from the rich. They are literate
for the most part, and some of them are even well-read persons on whom
the Revolution has had an effect. These men, unlike the ordinary,
old-fashioned beggars, look on the rich, not as on people who wish
to save their souls by distributing alms, but as on highwaymen and
robbers who suck the blood of the working classes. It often happens
that a beggar of this sort does no work himself and carefully avoids
work, and yet considers himself, in the name of the workers, not merely
justified, but bound, to hate the robbers of the people--that is to
say, the rich--and to hate them from the depths of his heart; and if,
instead of demanding from them, he begs, that is only a pretence.
There are a great number of these men, many of them drunkards, of whom
one feels inclined to say, "It's their own fault"; but there are also
a great many tramps of quite a different type: meek, humble, and very
pathetic, and it is terrible to think of their position.
Here is a tall, good-looking man, with nothing on over his short,
tattered jacket. His boots are bad and trodden down. He has a good,
intelligent face. He takes off his cap and begs in the ordinary way. I
give him something, and he thanks me. I ask him where he comes from
and where he is going to.
"From Petersburg, home to our village in Toúla Government."
I ask him, "Why on foot?"
"It's a long story," he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
I ask him to tell it me. He relates it with evident truthfulness.
"I had a good place in an office in Petersburg, and received thirty
roubles [three guineas] a month. Lived very comfortably. I have read
your books _War and Peace_ and _Anna Karénina_," says he, again smiling
a particularly pleasant smile. "Then my folks at home got the idea
of migrating to Siberia, to the Province of Tomsk." They wrote to
him asking whether he would agree to sell his share of land in the
old place. He agreed. His people left, but the land allotted them in
Siberia turned out worthless. They spent all they had, and came back.
Being now landless, they are living in hired lodgings in their former
village, and work for wages. It happened, just at the same time, that
he lost his place in Petersburg. It was not his doing. The firm he was
with became bankrupt, and dismissed its employees. "And just then, to
tell the truth, I came across a seamstress." He smiled again. "She
quite entangled me.... I used to help my people, and now see what a
smart chap I have become!... Ah well, God is not without mercy; maybe
I'll manage somehow!"
He was evidently an intelligent, strong, active fellow, and only a
series of misfortunes had brought him to his present condition.
Take another: his legs swathed in strips of rag; girdled with a rope;
his clothing quite threadbare and full of small holes, evidently
not torn, but worn-out to the last degree; his face, with its high
cheek-bones, pleasant, intelligent, and sober. I give him the customary
five copecks, and he thanks me and we start a conversation. He has been
an administrative exile in Vyátka. It was bad enough there, but it is
worse here. He is going to Ryazán, where he used to live. I ask him
what he has been. "A newspaper man. I took the papers round."
"For what were you exiled?"
"For selling forbidden literature."
We began talking about the Revolution. I told him my opinion, that the
evil was all in ourselves; and that such an enormous power as that of
the Government cannot be destroyed by force. "Evil outside ourselves
will only be destroyed when we have destroyed it within us," said I.
"That is so, but not for a long time."
"It depends on us."
"I have read your book on Revolution."
"It is not mine, but I agree with it."
"I wished to ask you for some of your books."
"I should be very pleased.... Only I'm afraid they may get you into
trouble. I'll give you the most harmless."
"Oh, I don't care! I am no longer afraid of anything.... Prison is
better for me than this! I am not afraid of prison.... I even long for
it sometimes," he said sadly.
"What a pity it is that so much strength is wasted uselessly!" said I.
"How people like you destroy your own lives!... Well, and what do you
mean to do now?"
"I?" he said, looking intently into my face.
At first, while we talked about past events and general topics, he had
answered me boldly and cheerfully; but as soon as our conversation
referred to himself personally and he noticed my sympathy, he turned
away, hid his eyes with his sleeve, and I noticed that the back of his
head was shaking.
And how many such people there are!
They are pitiable and pathetic, and they, too, stand on the threshold
beyond which a state of despair begins that makes even a kindly man
ready to go all lengths.
"Stable as our civilisation may seem to us," says Henry George,
"disintegrating forces are already developing within it. Not in deserts
and forests, but in city slums and on the highways, the barbarians are
being bred who will do for our civilisation what the Huns and Vandals
did for the civilisation of former ages."
Yes! What Henry George foretold some twenty years ago, is happening
now before our eyes, and in Russia most glaringly--thanks to the
amazing blindness of our Government, which carefully undermines the
foundations on which alone any and every social order stands or can
stand.
We have the Vandals foretold by Henry George quite ready among us in
Russia. And, strange as it may seem to say so, these Vandals, these
doomed men, are specially dreadful here among our deeply religious
population. These Vandals are specially dreadful here, because we have
not the restraining principles of convention, propriety, and public
opinion, that are so strongly developed among the European nations. We
have either real, deep, religious feeling, or--as in Sténka Rázin and
Pougatchéf--a total absence of any restraining principle: and, dreadful
to say, this army of Sténkas and Pougatchéfs is growing greater and
greater, thanks to the Pougatchéf-like conduct of our Government
in these later days, with its horrors of police violence, insane
banishments, imprisonments, exiles, fortresses, and daily executions.
Such actions release the Sténka Rázins from the last remnants of moral
restraint. "If the learned gentlefolk act like that, God Himself
permits us to do so," say and think they.
I often receive letters from that class of men, chiefly exiles. They
know I have written something about not resisting evil by violence, and
for the greater part they retort ungrammatically, though with great
fervour, that what the Government and the rich are doing to the poor,
can and must be answered only in one way: "Revenge, revenge, revenge!"
Yes! The blindness of our Government is amazing. It does not and will
not see that all it does to disarm its enemies merely increases their
number and energy. Yes! These people are terrible, terrible for the
Government and for the rich, and for those who live among the rich.
But besides the feeling of terror these people inspire, there is also
another feeling, much more imperative than that of fear, and one we
cannot help experiencing towards those who, by a series of accidents,
have fallen into this terrible condition of vagrancy. That feeling is
one of shame and sympathy.
And it is not fear, so much as shame and pity, that should oblige us,
who are not in that condition, to respond in one way or other to this
new and terrible phenomenon in Russian life.[2]
[2] One of the most depressing features of L. N. Tolstoy's
environment is the large number of unemployed and beggars
from the adjacent highway. They wait outside the house for
hours every day for the coming of Leo Nikolayevich. The
consciousness of his inability to render them substantial aid
weighs heavily upon him, as does also the fact that, owing
to insurmountable obstacles, he cannot even feed them, and
allow them to sleep in the house in which he himself lives.
These unfortunates surround Leo Nikolayevich at the steps,
and besiege him with their importunate requests, just at the
time when he seeks the fresh air and is most in need of mental
rest and solitude after long-continued and strenuous mental
labour. In view of this fact, the idea has occurred to some
of Leo Nikolayevich's friends, of establishing in the village
of Yásnaya Polyána a lodging- and eating-house for tramps,
the use of which by the latter would save L. N. unnecessary
trouble. The establishment of such premises--L. N. has viewed
the idea very favourably--would at least afford some temporary
relief to the wandering poor who are in dire need. At the
same time the peasantry of Yásnaya Polyána would be relieved
of the too heavy burden of supporting the passing unemployed
described by Tolstoy in his article. Lastly, it would afford
Tolstoy, in his declining years, considerable mental relief,
which it would seem that he has more than deserved by his
incessant labours on behalf of distressed mankind. Perhaps
among those who read the present sketches some will be found
who, prompted by the impulses animating the author, may desire
to render some material help towards the practical realisation
of the projected undertaking.
Contributions may be sent to the following address: V.
Tchertkoff, Editor of the Free Age Press, Christchurch, Hants,
Eng.
_SECOND DAY_
THE LIVING AND THE DYING
As I sat at my work, Ilyá Vasílyevitch entered softly and, evidently
reluctant to disturb me at my work, told me that some wayfarers and a
woman had been waiting a long time to see me.
"Here," I said, "please take this, and give it them."
"The woman has come about some business."
I told him to ask her to wait a while, and continued my work. By the
time I came out, I had quite forgotten about her, till I saw a young
peasant woman with a long, thin face, and clad very poorly and too
lightly for the weather, appear from behind a corner of the house.
"What do you want? What is the matter?"
"I've come to see you, your Honour."
"Yes... what about? What is the matter?"
"To see you, your Honour."
"Well, what is it?"
"He's been taken wrongfully.... I'm left with three children."
"Who's been taken, and where to?"
"My husband... sent off to Krapívny."
"Why? What for?"
"For a soldier, you know. But it's wrong--because, you see, he's the
breadwinner! We can't get on without him.... Be a father to us, sir!"
"But how is it? Is he the only man in the family?"
"Just so... the only man!"
"Then how is it they have taken him, if he's the only man?"
"Who can tell why they've done it?... Here am I, left alone with the
children! There's nothing for me but to die.... Only I'm sorry for the
children! My last hope is in your kindness, because, you see, it was
not right!"
I wrote down the name of her village, and her name and surname, and
told her I would see about it and let her know.
"Help me, if it's only ever so little!... The children are hungry, and,
God's my witness, I haven't so much as a crust. The baby is worst of
all... there's no milk in my breasts. If only the Lord would take him!"
"Haven't you a cow?" I asked.
"A cow? Oh, no!... Why, we're all starving!" said she, crying, and
trembling all over in her tattered coat.
I let her go, and prepared for my customary walk. It turned out that
the doctor, who lives with us, was going to visit a patient in the
village the soldier's wife had come from, and another patient in the
village where the District Police Station is situated, so I joined him,
and we drove off together.
I went into the Police Station, while the doctor attended to his
business in that village.
The District Elder was not in, nor the clerk, but only the clerk's
assistant--a clever lad whom I knew. I asked him about the woman's
husband, and why, being the only man in the family, he had been taken
as a conscript.
The clerk's assistant looked up the particulars, and replied that the
woman's husband was not the only man in the family: he had a brother.
"Then why did she say he was the only one?"
"She lied! They always do," replied he, with a smile.
I made some inquiries about other matters I had to attend to, and then
the doctor returned from visiting his patient, and we drove towards the
village in which the soldier's wife lived. But before we were out of
the first village, a girl of about twelve came quickly across the road
towards us.
"I suppose you're wanted?" I said to the doctor.
"No, it's your Honour I want," said the girl to me.
"What is it?"
"I've come to your Honour, as mother is dead, and we are left
orphans--five of us. Help us!... Think of our needs!"
"Where do you come from?"
The girl pointed to a brick house, not badly built.
"From here... that is our house. Come and see for yourself!"
I got out of the sledge, and went towards the house. A woman came out
and asked me in. She was the orphans' aunt. I entered a large, clean
room; all the children were there, four of them: besides the eldest
girl--two boys, a girl, and another boy of about two. Their aunt told
me all about the family's circumstances. Two years ago the father had
been killed in a mine. The widow tried to get compensation, but failed.
She was left with four children; the fifth was born after her husband's
death. She struggled on alone as best she could, hiring a labourer at
first to work her land. But without her husband things went worse and
worse. First they had to sell their cow, then the horse, and at last
only two sheep were left. Still they managed to live somehow; but two
months ago the woman herself fell ill and died, leaving five children,
the eldest twelve years old.
"They must get along as best they can. I try to help them, but can't do
much. I can't think what's to become of them! I wish they'd die!... If
one could only get them into some Orphanage--or at least some of them!"
The eldest girl evidently understood and took in the whole of my
conversation with her aunt.
"If at least one could get little Nicky placed somewhere! It's awful;
one can't leave him for a moment," said she, pointing to the sturdy
little two-year old urchin, who with his little sister was merrily
laughing at something or other, and evidently did not at all share his
aunt's wish.
I promised to take steps to get one or more of the children into an
Orphanage. The eldest girl thanked me, and asked when she should come
for an answer. The eyes of all the children, even of Nicky, were fixed
on me, as on some fairy being capable of doing anything for them.
Before I had reached the sledge, after leaving the house, I met an old
man. He bowed, and at once began speaking about these same orphans.
"What misery!" he said; "it's pitiful to see them. And the eldest
little girlie, how she looks after them--just like a mother! Wonderful
how the Lord helps her! It's a mercy the neighbours don't forsake them,
or they'd simply die of hunger, the dear little things!... They are the
sort of people it does no harm to help," he added, evidently advising
me to do so.
I took leave of the old man, the aunt, and the little girl, and drove
with the doctor to the woman who had been to see me that morning.
At the first house we came to, I inquired where she lived. It happened
to be the house of a widow I know very well; she lives on the alms she
begs, and she has a particularly importunate and pertinacious way of
extorting them. As usual, she at once began to beg. She said she was
just now in special need of help to enable her to rear a calf.
"She's eating me and the old woman out of house and home. Come in and
see her."
"And how is the old woman?"
"What about the old woman?... She's hanging on...."
I promised to come and see, not so much the calf as the old woman, and
again inquired where the soldier's wife lived. The widow pointed to the
next hut but one, and hastened to add that no doubt they were poor, but
her brother-in-law "does drink dreadfully!"
Following her instructions, I went to the next house but one.
Miserable as are the huts of all the poor in our villages, it is long
since I saw one so dilapidated as that. Not only the whole roof, but
the walls were so crooked that the windows were aslant.
Inside, it was no better than outside. The brick oven took up one-third
of the black, dirty little hut, which to my surprise was full of
people. I thought I should find the widow alone with her children;
but here was a sister-in-law (a young woman with children) and an old
mother-in-law. The soldier's wife herself had just returned from her
visit to me, and was warming herself on the top of the oven. While she
was getting down, her mother-in-law began telling me of their life.
Her two sons had lived together at first, and they all managed to feed
themselves.
"But who remain together nowadays? All separate," the garrulous old
woman went on. "The wives began quarrelling, so the brothers separated,
and life became still harder. We had little land, and only managed to
live by their wage-labour; and now they have taken Peter as a soldier!
So where is she to turn to with her children? She's living with us now,
but we can't manage to feed them all! We can't think what we are to do.
They say he may be got back."
The soldier's wife, having climbed down from the oven, continued
to implore me to take steps to get her husband back. I told her it
was impossible, and asked what property her husband had left behind
with his brother, to keep her and the children. There | 224.899276 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.8792600 | 1,747 | 9 | HISTORY OF SAUL AND THE WITCH OF ENDOR***
Transcribed from the 1816 R. Thomas edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
A
FEW REMARKS
ON THE
Scripture History
OF
SAUL,
AND
_THE WITCH OF ENDOR_,
* * * * *
BY J. CHURCH,
_SURRY TABERNACLE_.
* * * * *
TRY THE SPIRITS WHETHER THEY BE OF GOD.—John.
FOR SATAN TRANSFORMETH HIMSELF INTO AN ANGEL OF LIGHT.—Paul.
WHAT WILL YE DO IN THE DAY OF YOUR VISITATION, WHERE WILL YE
FLEE FOR HELP.—Isaiah.
* * * * *
Sold in the Vestry.
* * * * *
_SOUTHWARK_;
PRINTED BY R. THOMAS, RED LION STREET, BOROUGH.
1816.
* * * * *
_REMARKS_
ON THE SCRIPTURE HISTORY OF
SAUL, &c.
“WOE ALSO TO THEM WHEN I DEPART FROM THEM.” Hosea ix, 12.
“GOD IS DEPARTED FROM ME, AND ANSWERETH ME NOT.”
1 Sam. xxviii. 15.
_To all those who love the Lord Jesus Christ in Sincerity_.
BELOVED,
IT is your mercy the divine Spirit is the glorifier of Jesus; that he has
set him forth in his word as the Christ of God; what he is, what he has
done, and what he has graciously said to his people. This is the work of
our faith, to receive as we need, these things, all the way to heaven.
The person of Jesus is the delight of the Father, the glory of heaven,
and the foundation of the Church, considered as God-man Mediator.—The
glories of his person is revealed in the word, but we must die to see
them in full perfection, and no doubt that will be an heaven worth dying
for: but blessed be God we are not wholly in the dark about these
excellencies, so runs the promise, _They __shall all know me_, _from the
least to the greatest_.—His person is truly blessed; his love is
immutable; his work is honorable and glorious, exactly suited to all the
necessities, of his people. His covenant engagements, his precious
offices, his sweet titles and characters, the Father’s gracious
acceptance of the work he accomplished, and to which he had called and
appointed him. These, and a thousand more interesting points, are set
forth as matters of our faith, and the food of our souls. His
everlasting righteousness is our justification, his precious
blood-shedding is our atonement, and his prevalent intercession at the
Father’s right-hand, is the basis of our hope, and the ground of our
acceptance.—I say again, my dear friends in Jesus, what a mercy! This is
our refuge, our remedy, our joy, our triumph, our present and eternal
all: and that we have the most important evidence of interest in these
capital blessings, by being led from every other refuge; and under a
sense, a daily view of our need, we are enabled to fly for a refuge, to
lay hold on this hope; nor can we have a pain, a sorrow, a cross, a
misery of any kind, from sin, Satan or the world, but the holy Spirit
designs thereby really to endear the Lord Jesus to us, as he is revealed
in the word. There is another most blessed consideration for our faith,
viz. What Jesus has graciously said to his people, in all the precious
declarations of the Father’s love; the evidence he has given of this in
the gift of the dear Son, to obey, suffer, and die—the declarative
evidence of his own love, in his willingness to accomplish the work of
redemption; and blessing his people with the gift of the holy Spirit, as
the principal evidence of interest in his love and work. His precious
invitations to poor, needy, helpless, lost, wandering, undone sinners,
who being in the least imaginable degree convinced of their state, they
are invited to him, with the most comfortable assurance of salvation;
which assurance _of_, and _to_ faith, will, in due time, produce the
comfortable assurance of sense. His promises are exceeding
glorious—hence the Church declared, after a beautiful, tho’ enigmatical
description of her Beloved, _His mouth is most sweet_. The promises are
very precious, yea, the Apostle calls them _exceeding precious_—they are
exactly adapted to our cases, let them be what they may: if thirsting for
the consolations of the Spirit, Jesus says, _I will pour water on him_,
_and floods on the dry ground_. If ready to give up all, having waited
long to little purpose, he says, _The vision is for an appointed time_,
_at the end it will speak_. If a soul is groaning under guilt, he says,
_I will he merciful to your unrighteousness_, _and your sins and
iniquities I will remember no more_. If we feel our sins too strong for
us, he promises he will subdue them. If we are made sensible of our
backsliding, he says, _I will heal your backslidings_. If in great
difficulties, and we know not which way to get out of them, he says, _I
will bring the blind by a way they __know not_: _I will guide thee with
mine eye_. If harrassed by the Devil, he promises to _bruise him under
our feet shortly_. If complaining of hardness of heart, he says, _I will
give you a new one_—and if full of fears, he declares he will be _an
hiding place in every storm_; and if we feel as if we were forsaken of
God; and are actually forsaken of friends, relatives, acquaintance, and
both professor and possessor shun us; and suppose every ray of sensible
comfort gone, yet, he cannot, will not leave or forsake you; for he hath
said, _I will never_, _never_, _leave you_: _I will never_, _no_,
_never_, _no never_, _forsake you_! for so the learned say it is in the
original, not less than five times mentioned. How sweet the thought!—so
that we may confidently sing—
The soul that on Jesus bath lean’d for repose,
He can not, he will not forsake to his foes;
That soul though all Hell should endeavor to shake,
He’ll never, no never, no never, forsake!
And he is not a man that he should lie, nor the son of man, that he
should repent. Let our faith plead these things, and may we rejoice in
him who is the faithful God—he never can leave or forsake his dear
Children, his Bride, his jewels, his crown, his honour, his glory, his
own flesh and blood. This is our security and our triumph. His love
cannot change; his nature is immutable; his purposes cannot be broken;
the bond of union cannot be dissolved; he is one with them, he is in
them, and they are engraven on his heart, on his arms, and on the palms
of his hands; and he has sworn, _Because_, or _As I live you shall live
also_. Yet there may be some apparent forsakings, these are chiefly
imaginary; yet they have caused these sad complaints—_Why hidest thou thy
face_, _O Lord_? Zion said, _The Lord hath forsaken me—my God hath
forgotten me_! | 224.8993 |
2023-11-16 18:20:48.8794870 | 6,919 | 16 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES
The Story of Slavery
_By Booker T. Washington_
President of Tuskegee Institute; author of
"Up From Slavery," Etc.
_With Biographical Sketch_
PUBLISHED JOINTLY BY
F. A. OWEN PUB. CO., DANSVILLE, N. Y.
HALL & McCREARY, CHICAGO, ILL.
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING CO.
_The Story of Slavery_
BOOKER T. WASHINGTON
BY EMMETT J. SCOTT
Booker T. Washington, the author of the following sketch of slavery in
America, was himself born a slave, and the story of his life begins
where "The Story of Slavery" leaves off. He was born about 1858 or 1859
on a plantation near Hales Ford, Va., about twenty-five miles east of
the city of Roanoke, in a region which, now almost deserted, was in
slavery days a flourishing tobacco country. A few years ago he was
invited to speak at the annual fair at Roanoke, and took advantage of
the opportunity to drive out to the old plantation to visit again the
scene of his childhood. He met there several members of the Burroughs
family to which he had formerly belonged, and with them he went through
the old Burroughs house, which is standing, and talked over the old
days.
It was while he was living there that he was awakened one morning to
find his mother kneeling on the earth floor of the little cabin in which
they lived, praying that "Lincoln and his armies might be successful and
that one day she and her children might be free." It was here a little
later on, as he tells us in the book, "Up From Slavery," in which he has
related the story of his life, that he heard the announcement that he
and all the other slaves were free.
"I recall," he says, "that some man who seemed to be a stranger and who
was undoubtedly a United States official, made a little speech and then
read a rather long paper--the Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After
the reading we were told that we were all free and could go where we
pleased.
"My mother, who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her
children, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us
what it all meant; that this was the day for which she had so long been
praying, but fearing she would never live to see.
"For some minutes," he continues, "there was great rejoicing, and
thanksgiving and wild scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feeling of
bitterness. In fact, there was pity among the slaves for our former
owners. The wild rejoicing of the emancipated <DW52> people lasted but
a brief period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to their
cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great responsibility of
being free, of having charge of themselves and their children, of having
to plan for themselves and their children, seemed to take possession of
them. To some it seemed, now that they were in actual possession of it,
freedom was a more serious thing than they had expected to find.
Gradually one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves began to
wander back to the 'big house' to have whispered conversations with
their former owners as to their future."
Thus it was that freedom came to Washington and so it came, perhaps, to
some three and one-half millions of others on their plantations
throughout the South.
Shortly after the "surrender," as the Southern people say, young
Washington made a long journey across the mountains with his mother to
West Virginia where his stepfather was then living, and it was in Malden
he grew up to young manhood. Malden is situated in the mining region of
West Virginia, and after a time young Washington went to work in the
mines. It was while he was working down in the coal mines of West
Virginia that he one day overheard one of the miners reading from a
paper concerning a school at Hampton, Virginia, where a <DW64> in earnest
would be given a chance to work his way through school. He determined at
once that he would seek out and find that school. So it was that a few
months later he set out afoot across the mountain in the direction of
Richmond to find his way to Hampton Institute. In his remarkable
biography he has described how he made that journey; how he arrived
hungry and penniless in the city of Richmond; how he slept for several
nights under the sidewalk in Richmond until he was able to earn enough
money to reach the famous school of which he had read.
In this same biography he has told, also, of how the teacher in charge,
who was very doubtful about admitting him at first, finally, in place of
asking him any questions about what he had learned in school, set him to
work sweeping and dusting the schoolroom.
"I swept that recitation room three times," he said, "then I got a
dusting cloth and I dusted it four times. All the woodwork around the
walls, every bench, table and desk, I went over four times with my
dusting cloth. I had the feeling that my future depended upon the way I
dusted that room."
When he had finished the teacher came and looked very critically over
the results of his work. Then she said: "I guess you will do," and that
was his entrance examination. This rather peculiar entrance examination
illustrates the spirit of the institution in which Booker Washington
gained his first forward preparation for life.
At the time that young Washington entered Hampton Institute, General
Armstrong, the founder of the school, was engaged in a great and
interesting experiment. His purpose was to create a school which would
give the sons of the freedmen education in character as well as in
books. Booker Washington saw that this education was the thing above all
others that the masses of the <DW64> people needed at this time, and
realized better than any other of the graduates of the institution the
significance and bearing of the work that General Armstrong was trying
to do. He made up his mind then that he would go out into some part of
the South and establish a school which would do for other members of his
race what Hampton had done for him. His opportunity came when a call
came to Hampton for a man to take charge of a school at Tuskegee,
Alabama. It was thus in 1881 that the famous Tuskegee Institute came to
be started.
This school, which was started on July 4, 1881, in a little shanty
church, with one teacher and thirty students, has grown until it now has
a student body of 1600, with 165 teachers and officers, 103 buildings
and property to the value of $1,500,000.
In 1895 Mr. Washington was invited to speak at the Atlanta Cotton States
Exposition on <DW64>s Day. In that speech he made an appeal for peace
between the races, and formulated a program for mutual cooperation
between black and white which has been the basis of all his efforts
since that time.
From that time on his fame has grown steadily, both in this country and
abroad. In 1896 Harvard University conferred upon him the honorary
degree of Master of Arts for service in the education of his race. He
has received numerous other honors since that time and has spoken in
every state of the Union in favor of <DW64> education. A few years ago
when he went abroad he was invited to dinner by the King of Denmark. In
April, 1912, there was held under his leadership at Tuskegee an
international conference on the <DW64> to which representatives came from
many parts of Africa as well as the West Indies and South America. The
result of this was a plan to form a permanent international organization
to study the <DW64> problem in all parts of the world and hold meetings
triennially.
Mr. Washington is the author of several books in addition to his
autobiography, "Up From Slavery," which has been translated into every
civilized language in the world, including Japanese.
The most noted of these books are, "Working with the Hands," "The Story
of the <DW64>," in two volumes, "My Larger Education," and "The Man
Farthest Down," which is a record of a journey of observation and study
of the working and peasant peoples of Europe.
[Illustration: Booker T. Washington]
The Story of Slavery
I
It was one hot summer's day in the month of August 1619, as the story
goes, that a Dutch man-of-war entered the mouth of the James River, in
what is now the State of Virginia, and, coming in with the tide, dropped
anchor opposite the little settlement of Jamestown. Ships were rare
enough to be remembered in that day, even when there was nothing
especially remarkable about them, as there was about this one. But this
particular ship was so interesting at the time, and so important because
of what followed in the wake of its coming, that it has not been
forgotten to this day. The reason for this is that it brought the first
slaves to the first English settlement in the New World. It is with the
coming of these first African slaves to Jamestown that the story of
slavery, so far as our own country is concerned, begins.
Although the coming of the first slave ship to what is now the United
States is still remembered, the name of the ship and almost everything
else concerning the vessel and its strange merchandise has been
forgotten. Almost all that is known about it is told in the diary of
John Rolfe, who will be remembered as the man who married the Indian
girl, Pocahontas. He says, "A Dutch man-of-war that sold us twenty
Negars came to Jamestown late in August, 1619." An old record has
preserved some of the names of those first twenty slaves, and from other
sources it is known that the ship sailed from Flushing, Holland. But
that is almost all that is definitely known about the first slave ship
and the first slaves that were brought from Africa to the United States.
The first slaves landed in Virginia were not, by any means, the first
slaves that were brought to the New World. Fifty years before Columbus
landed on the island of San Salvador, the first African slaves were
brought from the West Coast of Africa to Spain, and we know from
historical references and records that <DW64> slavery had become firmly
established in Spain before Columbus made his first voyage. It was,
therefore, natural enough that the Spanish explorers and adventurers,
following close upon the heels of Columbus in search of gold, should
bring their <DW64> servants with them.
It seems likely, from all that we can learn, that a few <DW64>s were
sent out to the West Indies as early as 1501, only eleven years after
the discovery of America and one hundred and twenty years before the
first cargo of slaves was landed in Jamestown. Four years later, in a
letter dated September 15, 1505, written by King Ferdinand to one of his
officials in Hispaniola, which we now call Hayti, he says among other
things: "I will send you more <DW64> slaves as you request. I think there
be an hundred."
Thus early was <DW64> slavery introduced into the New World and what do
you suppose was the reason, or rather the excuse, for bringing black men
to America at this time?
It was to save from slavery the native Indians. A good priest by the
name of Las Casas, who accompanied the first Spanish explorers and
conquerors, found that the native people, the Indians, were fast dying
out under the cruel tasks put upon them by their Spanish conquerors.
Unaccustomed to labor, they could not endure the hardships of working in
the mines. The <DW64>s, on the contrary, had, in many cases, been slaves
in their own country, and had been accustomed to labor. At the same time
it was said that one <DW64> could do the work of four Indians. So it was
that this good man, out of pity for the enslaved Americans, proposed
that the black people of Africa should be brought over to take their
places.
Thus the traffic in African slaves began, and in the course of the next
three hundred years many millions of black people were carried across
the ocean and settled in slave colonies in the New World. They were
brought to America, first of all, to work in the mines, and afterwards
more of them were brought to do the almost equally difficult pioneer
work on the plantations. Thus, in all hard labor of clearing and
draining the land, building roads and opening up the New World to
cultivation and to civilization, the black man did his part.
It has been estimated that no less than 12,000,000 slaves were
transplanted from Africa to America to supply the demand for labor in
the West Indies, in South America and in the United States, during the
centuries that the white people of Europe were seeking to establish
their civilization in the Western World.
Perhaps as many as 12,000,000 more, who were taken in the wars and raids
in Africa, died on the way to the coast, or in the terrible "middle
passage," as the journey from the coast of Africa to that of America was
called. Many of those captured and sold in Africa, who did not die on
the high seas in the crowded and stifling hold of the ships into which
they were thrust, did not survive what was known as the "seasoning
process," after they were landed in America.
Roughly speaking, it is safe to say that not less than 24,000,000 human
beings were snatched from their homes in Africa and sold into slavery,
to help in building up the world in which we live today in America.
Although African slavery was introduced into America at first in order
to save from extinction the native people of the West Indies, who were
not strong enough to endure the hardships of slavery, it is sad to
recall that the slavery of the <DW64> did not serve to preserve the
Indian, for it was but a comparatively few years after the Spaniards
landed in the West Indies before nearly all the native tribes had been
swept away. There are today in the West Indies only a few remnants of
the Indians whom Columbus met when he first landed in America.
The black man, on the other hand, in spite of the hardships he has
endured, has not only survived but has greatly increased in numbers. So
greatly has the black man increased that in the West Indies today the
black population far outnumbers all other races represented among the
inhabitants. Altogether, it is estimated there are now about 24,591,000
<DW64>s in North and South America and the West Indies. Of this number
10,000,000 are in the United States.
II
The story of the first American voyage to Africa to obtain slaves of
which there is any definite record, is that of a certain Captain Smith,
commanding the ship, Rainbowe, and sailing from Boston. Captain Smith
had sailed to Madeira with a cargo of salt fish and staves and, on the
way home, he touched on the coast of Guinea for slaves. There happened
to be very few slaves for sale at the moment and on this account,
Captain Smith, together with the masters of some London slave ships
already on the ground, conspired together to pick a quarrel with some of
the natives, so as to have an excuse to attack their village and carry
off the prisoners made as slaves. Captain Smith's share of the booty was
two slaves with whom he returned to Boston.
It happened, however, that when he reached home he got into a quarrel
with the ship's owners over the proceeds of the voyage, and, in the
lawsuits which resulted, the story of the manner in which the slaves
were obtained was told in court. Thereupon one of the magistrates
charged Captain Smith with a "threefold offence--murder, man-stealing
and Sabboth breaking." He was acquitted of all three charges on the
ground that these crimes were committed in Africa, but, as a result of
the trial, the slaves were returned to their homes.
This story is interesting, for one reason because it shows that, in the
early days of the slave trade, the barter and sale of <DW64> slaves, so
long as it was conducted in an honest and orderly way, according to the
accepted customs and manners of trade, was not considered a wrong or
wicked business.
At first the slave traders purchased slaves only from the native chiefs.
These slaves were generally prisoners who had been taken in the tribal
wars. In some cases they were men or women who had been sold for debt.
There were, also, other ways in which one black man in Africa might hold
another in slavery.
Very soon, however, the ordinary sources of supply of slaves was not
sufficient to meet the demand of the American trade. Then traders became
less scrupulous. They began buying from any one who had a man or woman
for sale. This encouraged kidnapping. Not infrequently the man who
brought a gang of slaves to the coast to be sold would himself be
kidnapped and sold by other men before he could return home. Sometimes
the traders, after they had purchased a gang or a "coffle" of slaves, as
they were called, would invite the traders on board ship in order to
entertain them. Then, after they were under the influence of liquor,
they would put chains upon them and carry them away with the very slaves
the traders themselves a few hours before had sold.
As time went on, and the demand for slave labor increased, the men
engaged in this cruel traffic became hardened to its cruelty and the
West Coast of Africa became one vast hunting ground. Men and women were
tracked and hunted as if they were wild beasts. It grew so bad at length
that the conscience of the civilized world was aroused. Then, one by
one, the nations of the world began to prohibit the traffic. England,
which had formerly been one of the nations most deeply involved in this
evil business, now became the leader in the attempt to put a stop to it.
The importation of slaves was prohibited in the United States in 1808,
but that did not put an end to the importation of slaves. For, after the
invention of the cotton gin at the close of the eighteenth century by
Eli Whitney, a Connecticut school master, slaves were needed more than
ever, to plant and till and pick the cotton which had now become much
more valuable than before.
Although it was no longer lawful to import slaves, they were smuggled
into the country. As late as 1860 the famous yacht, Wanderer, which had
at one time been owned by a member of the New York Yacht Club, brought
into the United States 450 slaves, and it has been estimated that as
many as 15,000 slaves were smuggled into the different Southern ports in
the year 1858.
At this time it had become the custom to gather great numbers of slaves
at different points along the coast of Africa, in what were called
barracoons. These were nothing more or less than strong stockades made
by planting trees close together in the ground so as to form a strong
enclosure from which there was no escape. In these barracoons slaves
captured in the interior were held until they were ready to be shipped.
Swift sailing vessels, which travelled so fast that, once they escaped
the vigilance of the war ships stationed along the coast, they could
never be overtaken, were used to carry the slaves from the coast of
Africa to that of America.
These vessels would hover about in the neighborhood of one of these
slave barracoons until the coast was clear; then swiftly the living
cargo would be hurried aboard, and the vessel would put on all sail and
make all possible haste to put itself and its human freight beyond the
reach of the police ships.
Usually these slave ships were provided with a lower, or what was called
a "slave deck," beneath the ordinary deck of the ship. In some
instances, in order to escape suspicion, the ship would have no
permanent slave deck but such a deck would be hastily arranged after the
vessel arrived in the neighborhood of one of the slave barracoons. In
such cases the ordinary cargo would be put in the bottom of the ship and
then, above this and from three to five feet beneath the ordinary deck,
a second deck would be hastily improvised. Here as many slaves would be
stowed away as could be possibly crowded into the narrow space.
It is only necessary to read the descriptions of the methods by which
this traffic was carried on to understand the horrible suffering to
which the slaves were subjected during this middle passage. In many
instances, when brought out on deck for a little air, the slaves had to
be chained to keep them from jumping overboard.
Sometimes a pestilence would break out on one of these ships and the
whole cargo, consisting of three or four hundred slaves, would be lost.
It is said that the yellow fever was brought to America by slaves. There
are instances, also, where the captain of a slave ship jettisoned, that
is to say, threw over-board, a whole ship-load of slaves to escape being
caught by the ships that were pursuing him.
When a slave ship reached the shore of America there were snug harbors
at various points along the coast into which one of these swift sailing
vessels could always hide until its cargo of slaves had been discharged.
The island upon which the present city of Galveston is built was once a
refuge for slave pirates and slave smugglers. The coast of Louisiana is
full of shallow bays, which reach far into the land, and they were a
favorite resort for slave smugglers. Here was the hiding place of the
Barataria pirates who were long famous as slave smugglers.
Mobile Bay was one of the points at which a slave cargo was
occasionally landed. It is said that the hull of the very last slave
ship, the Lawrence, which was captured and burned by the Federal troops
during the first year of the Civil War, may still be seen hidden away in
the swamps and marshes east of Mobile.
There is still living in the suburbs of Mobile a little colony of
Africans who were brought over on this last slave ship. When they were
released by the Federal officers they settled here. It is said that
there are old men living in this settlement who still speak an African
language, but their children have all grown up to be good Americans.
Once a ship load of slaves was landed on the American coast, they were
immediately divided and scattered in every direction. Some were taken to
one plantation, others to another, and so on until all were disposed of.
Soon they were so thoroughly intermingled with the great body of slaves
that all trace of them was lost. At least it was rare that anyone ever
did trace the cargo of slaves after it was once landed, although slave
ships were frequently captured on the high seas.
When slavers were captured red-handed on the high seas by the United
States or English navies, an effort was made to return the slaves to
their homes in Africa. As this was not practical the English government
established at Sierra Leone, on the west coast of Africa, a station to
which they sent all liberated slaves. It was in this manner, that what
is now one of the most thriving English colonies on the west coast of
Africa was started.
The story of the slave trade is one of the darkest chapters in the
history of the Western World, for though it began in the comparatively
harmless way already described, it grew steadily worse until in its last
stages even those familiar with slavery in its worst form came to look
upon it with shame.
And yet, in spite of all the suffering that it entailed, and in spite
of its degrading effect upon the people who engaged in it, we can see,
as we look back upon it now, that some good has come out of it. It
served, for one thing, to bring a large number of the savage people of
Africa into closer contact with the enlightenment and civilization of
the Western World. In the end, it aroused in the minds of some of the
best people in Europe and America a new interest in Africa and led
hundreds of good Christian people to give up the security of their
comfortable homes and give their lives to the task of uplifting and
educating the neglected races of the Dark Continent.
Among the first and greatest of those who gave their lives for this
purpose was the missionary, David Livingstone, who did more than anyone
else to arouse the world to the iniquities of the African slave trade.
III
Although, slavery was introduced into Virginia as early as 1619 it was
not until nearly one hundred years later that African slaves began to be
brought into the English colonies in any very large numbers. For nearly
a century the bulk of the rough labor in the field and in the forest was
performed, not by <DW64> slaves, but by white bond servants, who were
imported from England and sold like other merchandise in the markets of
the colonies.
In 1673, for example, the average price of a bond servant in the
colonies, so the historian Bancroft tells us, was ten pounds. At this
same time a <DW64> slave was worth twenty-five pounds.
It was often that the almshouses and prisons of England were emptied in
order to furnish laborers for America. It should be remembered, however,
that many of the persons who were sent out as bond servants to America
were political prisoners, and some of these were persons of quality.
When there was a civil war in England the victorious party frequently
disposed of its prisoners by sending them to the colonies as bond
servants, or even as slaves. Thousands of Irish Catholics were sent over
to America in this way, and it is said that the hardships which these
unfortunate bondsmen suffered on the voyage was hardly less than those
endured by the African slaves.
It should be remembered, also, in the case of these white bond servants,
as in that of the <DW64> slaves, the sale of human beings began
innocently enough. At the time the English colonies were planted in
America there was comparatively little free labor anywhere, and
especially was this true of farm labor.
The freedom and independence which seem now to be the natural rights of
everyone were enjoyed by very few among the masses of the laboring
people in Europe one hundred or two hundred years ago. At that time
nearly everyone who worked with his hands was bound, in one way or
another, to a master who had control over his actions to an extent which
amounted to something like servitude. But it was to the man on the soil
and in the country that freedom has everywhere come most slowly. In
fact, it was not until the middle of the last century that the complete
emancipation of the serfs took place in Western Europe. It was not until
1861, two years before Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation set
the American <DW64>s free, that the Russian serfs were emancipated.
It is necessary to remember these facts if we wish to understand how it
came about that the slavery of the black man and the servitude of the
white man came to be established in this country.
When the first bond servants were sent to America it was not intended
that they should be transferred and sold from one owner to another. It
was merely intended that they should be bound to labor for the man who
paid their passage money until that sum had been repaid. Gradually,
however, in their eagerness to obtain labor, people lost sight of the
fact that the merchandise they were selling was human beings. It was not
long, therefore, before the bond servant was rated among the other
property, the horses, the sheep and the cattle, in the inventories of
the estate, and he could be disposed of by will and deed along with the
remainder of the stock on the plantation.
At first the only legal distinction between the bond servant and the
<DW64> slave was that the one was a servant for a period of years and the
other was a servant for life. In the long run, however, this distinction
made a great difference. In the first place, as the number of these bond
servants who became free increased there grew up in the colonies a
considerable body of citizens who had known the trials and hardships of
servitude. These people naturally sympathized with those of their own
class and this created a sentiment against white servitude.
The case of the <DW64>, however, was different. He was a man of a
different race and he was doomed to perpetual servitude. The result was,
as time went on, it came to be regarded as the natural vocation and
destiny of the man with the black skin to be the servant and the slave
of the white man.
One thing that helped to fix the status of the black man, and which
finally resulted in the passing away of white servitude in favor of
<DW64> slavery, was the fact that the <DW64> was better fitted to perform
the hard pioneer work which the time demanded. Particularly was this
true in the more Southern colonies, like Georgia and the Carolinas.
In South Carolina an effort had been made to reestablish serfdom as it
had existed in England one hundred years before. In Georgia, it was at
first hoped, by prohibiting slavery to establish a system of free labor.
In both instances the effort failed and, after a very few years, <DW64>
slavery was as firmly established in Georgia as it had been in the
neighboring state of South Carolina.
Still later, efforts were made to establish white servitude in Louisiana
and large numbers of German "redemptioners," as they were called, were
brought over for this purpose. In a very few years these colonists had
been swept away by disease.
In one of the reports setting forth "the true state" of the colony of
Georgia it was said that, "hardly one-half of the servants of working
people were able to do their masters or themselves the least labor: and
the yearly sickness of each servant, generally speaking, cost his master
as much as would have maintained a <DW64> for four years."
With the introduction of rice planting the necessity of employing
Africans was doubled, because, as it was said, "white servants would
have exhausted their strength in clearing a spot for their own graves."
Thus it came about that <DW64> slavery grew up on the mainland to replace
the servitude of the white man, just as it had grown up in the West
Indies to take the place of the slavery of the native Indians.
It most not be assumed, however, that the <DW64> slaves, because they
were better able than the white man to stand the hardships of labor in
the New World, did not suffer from the effects of the work they were
compelled to do. The truth is that so many of them died that the stock
of slaves had to be continually replenished. In some parts of the
country it was even said of the slave, as one hears it sometimes said of
horses, that it paid to work them to death. It was a rule on some of the
plantations that the stock of slaves was to be renewed every seven
years.
One of | 224.899527 |
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Transcriber's note
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. Minor punctuation
errors have been corrected without notice. A few obvious typographical
errors have been corrected, and they are listed at the end of this book.
Transylvania University Studies in English
II
A Syllabus of Kentucky Folk-Songs
By
HUBERT G. SHEARIN, A. M. Ph. D.
Professor of English Philology in Transylvania University
and
JOSIAH H. COMBS, A. B.
Editor of The Transylvanian
Transylvania Printing Company
Lexington, Kentucky
1911
TO
R. M. S.
INTRODUCTION
This syllabus, or finding-list, is offered to lovers of folk-literature
in the hope that it may not be without interest and value to them for
purposes of comparison and identification. It includes 333 items,
exclusive of 114 variants, and embraces all popular songs that have so
far come to hand as having been "learned by ear instead of by eye," as
existing through oral transmission--song-ballads, love-songs,
number-songs, dance-songs, play-songs, child-songs, counting-out rimes,
lullabies, jigs, nonsense rimes, ditties, etc.
There is every reason to believe that many more such await the
collector; in fact, their number is constantly being increased even
today by the creation of new ones, by adaptation of the old, and even by
the absorption and consequent metamorphosis, of literary,
quasi-literary, or pseudo-literary types into the current of oral
tradition.
This collection, then, is by no means complete: means have not been
available for a systematic and scientific search for these folk-songs,
which have been gathered very casually during the past five years
through occasional travel, acquaintanceship, and correspondence in only
the twenty-one following counties: Fayette, Madison, Rowan, Elliott,
Carter, Boyd, Lawrence, Morgan, Johnson, Pike, Knott, Breathitt, Clay,
Laurel, Rockcastle, Garrard, Boyle, Anderson, Shelby, Henry, and
Owen--all lying in Central and Eastern Kentucky.
All of the material listed has thus been collected in this State, though
a variant of The Jew's Daughter, page 8, has come by chance from
Michigan, and another of The Pretty Mohee, page 12, was sent from
Georgia. The Cumberland Mountain region, in the eastern part of the
State, has naturally furnished the larger half of the material, because
of local conditions favorable to the propagation of folk-song. However,
sections of Kentucky lying farther to the westward are almost equally
prolific. The wide extension of the same ballad throughout the State
argues convincingly for the unity of the Kentucky stock--a fact which
may be confirmed in more ways than one.
The arrangement is as follows: The material in hand is loosely grouped
in eighteen sections, according to origin, chronology, content, or form.
Though logically at fault, because of the cross-division thus inevitably
entailed, this plan has seemed to be the best. No real confusion will
result to the user in consequence. In fact, no matter what system be
adopted, certain songs will belong equally well to two or more different
categories.
Under each of these eighteen main divisions the treatment of the
individual song-ballad is in general as follows: First, stands the
title, with variant titles in parentheses. Should this be unknown, a
caption coined by the editors is placed in brackets. Secondly, a Roman
numeral immediately follows the above to denote the number of versions,
if variants have been found. Thirdly, the prosodical character of the
song is roughly indicated by a combination of letters and numerals. Each
letter indicates a line; the variation in the letters indicates, in the
usual fashion, the rime-scheme of the stanza. Each numeral indicates the
number of stresses in the line (or lines) denoted by the letter (or
letters) immediately succeeding it. When a chorus, burden, or refrain is
present, the metrical scheme of this stands immediately after an "and,"
as, for example, in The Blue and the Gray, page 14. In the case of the
refrain, the letters used are independent of those immediately preceding
the "and," and denoting the rime-scheme of the stanza proper. Fourthly,
an Arabic numeral follows to indicate the number of stanzas in the song,
exclusive of the refrain, should one be present. If the number of
stanzas in a ballad is indeterminable, because its form is fragmentary,
or because its variant versions differ in length, this fact is indicated
by an appended ca (_circa_). Sixth, and last, is a synopsis, or other
attempt to give briefly such data as may serve to complete the
identification.
Illustration of the third item above may be helpful. Thus in Pretty
Polly, on page 7, 4aabb indicates a quatrain riming in couplets, with
four stresses in each line. In Jackaro, page 9, 3abcb indicates a
quatrain riming alternately, with three stressed syllables in each line.
In The King's Daughter, page 7, 4a3b4c3b indicates a quatrain, with only
the second and fourth lines riming and with four stresses in the first
and third lines and three stresses in the second and fourth. In Johnnie
Came from Sea, page 14, 6aa denotes a rimed couplet, with six stresses
in each line.
It has, naturally, been difficult at times to decide whether certain
stanzas should be counted as couplets, or as quatrains half as long. In
such cases, the air, or tune, and other data, often rather subtle, have
been employed in making decisions. The quatrain form has in uncertain
instances been given the benefit of the doubt. Even thus, certain minor
inconsistencies will perhaps be noted. It is hardly necessary to add
that assonance freely occurs in the place of rime, and as such it is
considered throughout.
All attempt to indicate the prevailing metrical unit, or foot, within
the line has been frankly given over. Iambs, dactyls, and their ilk
receive scant courtesy from the composer of folk-song, who without qualm
or quaver will stretch one syllable, or even an utter silence (caesura),
into the time of a complete bar; while in the next breath he will with
equal equanimity huddle a dozen syllables into the same period.
Consequently, this item, even if it could be indicated, would have scant
descriptive value.
It is a pleasant duty to acknowledge gratefully the assistance of those
who have transmitted to our hands many of the songs: Mesdames J. W.
Combs, W. T. Phillips, Jennie L. Combs, Richard Smith, Martha Smith,
Ruth Hackney, W. F. Hays, Ollie Huff, Robin Cornett, Lucy Banks, Sarah
Burton, Kittie Jordan, and Ruby Martin; Misses Martha Jent, Maud Dean,
Virginia Jordan, Jessie Green, Lizzie Cody, Margaret Combs, Barbara
Smith, Helena E. Rose, Sarah Burton, Sarah Hillman, Cordia Bramblett,
Nannie S. Graham, Myrtle Wheeler, Melissa Holbrook, Rosetta Wheeler,
Ruth Hackney, Ora McDavid, Jeannette McDavid; Messrs. Wm. W. Berry,
Chas. Hackney, S. B. Wheeler, R. L. Morgan, Enoch Wheeler, Thos. H.
Hackney, James Goodman, W. S. Wheeler, Harry M. Morgan, Henry Lester, T.
G. Wheeler, C. F. Bishop, and John C. Jones.
Especially helpful as collaborators have been Messrs. Winfred Cox, Emory
E. Wheeler, Roud Shaw, A. B. Johnston, C. E. Phillips, and H.
Williamson.
Kind words or letters of appreciation and, in some cases, of suggestion,
from the following have encouraged the preparation of this syllabus:
Professors Alexander S. Mackenzie, of the Kentucky State University;
Clarence C. Freeman, of Transylvania University; John A. Lomax, of the
University of Texas; Albert H. Tolman, of the University of Chicago;
John M. McBride, Jr., of the University of the South; George Lyman
Kittredge, of Harvard University; Henry M. Belden, of the University of
Missouri; and Katherine Jackson, formerly of Bryn Mawr College, who has
most generously given the use of her manuscript collection. None of the
shortcomings of this brochure, however, can be imputed to them in the
slightest degree.
SYLLABUS
I.
_The songs in this group are the survivors of English and Scottish
originals, found for the most part in the Child collection. Certain of
those given in sections II to XVIII below could doubtless, with due
effort, be identified in like manner._
THE KING'S DAUGHTER (SIX PRETTY FAIR MAIDS, PRETTY POLLY), iv, 4a3b4c3b,
9ca: Variants of Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight, Child, No. 4. By a
stratagem she drowns the lover just as he is about to drown her.
PRETTY POLLY, iv, 4aabb, 9ca: Parallel in general plot to the above,
save that she is led by the lover to an open grave and there slain. (Cf.
5, page 28.)
FAIR ELLENDER, 4a3b4c3b, 10: A variant of the Earl Brand cycle, Child,
No. 7.
LORD OF OLD COUNTRY, 4aa, with refrain as below, 10ca: A variant of The
Two Sisters, Child, No. 10.
The miller was hung upon Fish-gate, Bosodown,
The miller was hung upon Fish-gate,
(These sons were sent to me)
The miller was hung upon Fish-gate
For drowning of my sister Kate!
I'll be true, true to my true-love,
If my love'll be true to me.
THE ROPE AND THE GALLOWS (LORD RANDAL), 4aa, 12ca: A variant of Lord
Randal, Child, No. 12.
EDWARD, 4a3b4c3b, 10: A variant of the Old World ballad of the same
name, Child, No. 13.
THE GREENWOOD SIDE (THREE LITTLE BABES), ii, 4a3b4c3b, 9: Variants of
The Cruel Mother, Child, No. 20.
LITTLE WILLIE, 4a3b4c3b, 5: A variant of The Two Brothers, Child, No.
49.
LORD BATEMAN (THE TURKISH LADY), ii, 4abcb, 17ca: Variants of Young
Beichan, Child, No. 53.
LOVING HENRY (SWEET WILLIAM AND FAIR ELLENDER), iii, 4a3b4c3b, 11ca:
Variants of Young Hunting, Child, No. 68.
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ELLENDER, iii, 4a3b4c3b, 17ca: Variants of Lord
Thomas and Fair Elinor, Child, No. 73.
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM, iv, 4a3b4c3b, 15ca: Variants of the Old
World ballad of the same name, Child, No. 74. (Published by Combs in
Jour. Am. Folklore, 23.381.)
LORD LOVELY, 4a3b4c3b, 9: A variant of Lord Lovel, Child, No. 75.
COLD WINTER'S NIGHT (BOSOM FRIEND, LOVER'S FAREWELL), vii, 4a3b4c3b,
9ca: Variants of The Lass of Loch Royal, Child, No. 76. (Published by
Shearin, Mod. Lang. Review, Oct., 1911, p. 514.)
LORD VANNER'S (DANIEL'S) WIFE, ii, 4a3b4c3b, 17ca: Variants of Little
Musgrave and Lady Barnard, Child, No. 81.
BARBARA ALLEN, vi, 4a3b4c3b, 11ca: Variants of Barbara Allen's Cruelty,
Child, No. 84.
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON, 4a3b4c3b, 12: A variant of the Old
World ballad of the same name, Child, No. 105.
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER, ii, 4a3b4c3b, 12ca: Variants of Sir Hugh, Child, No.
155. One of the Kentucky versions makes the murdered boy's mother go
seeking him switch in hand, to punish him for not returning home before
nightfall. (Communicated by Dr. Katherine Jackson.)
THE HOUSE CARPENTER, iii, 4a3b4c3b, 13ca: Variants of The Demon Lover,
Child, No. 243.
DANDOO: A fragmentary variant of The Wife Wrapt in Wether's Skin, Child,
No. 277, as follows:
He put the sheepskin to his wife's back, Dandoo;
He put the sheepskin to his wife's back,
Clima cli clash to ma clingo,
He put the sheepskin to his wife's back,
And he made the old switch go whickity-whack,
Then rarum scarum skimble arum
Skitty-wink skatty-wink
Clima cli clash to ma clingo.
THE GREEN WILLOW TREE, metre as below, 11: A variant of The Golden
Vanitee, Child, No. 286.
There was a ship sailed for the North Amerikee,
From down in the lonesome Lowlands low--
There was a ship sailed for the North Amerikee,
And she went by the name of the Green Willow Tree,
And she sailed from the Lowlands low.
THE DRIVER BOY (YOUNG EDWIN), 4a3b4c3b, 12; The above adapted to a
recital of Emily's love for the mail-driver boy and of his untimely
murder.
PRETTY PEGGY O, metre as below, 6: A fine lilting lyric of the Captain's
love for his lass; his farewell; and his death. It begins:
As we marched down to Fernario,
As we marched down to Fernario,
Our captain fell in love with a lady like a dove,
And they called her by name Pretty Peggy, O.
(Cf. Child, No. 299, Trooper and Maid. Published by Shearin, Sewanee
Review, July, 1911, p. 326.)
LADY GAY, 4a3b4c3b, 9: An English woman sends her three children to
America. They die on board ship, their shades return to the mother at
Christmas and warn her against pride. (Cf. Child, No. 79, The Wife of
Usher's Well, and a close variant from North Carolina in Kittredge's
Edition, p. 170.)
JACKARO, iv, 3abcb, 17ca: The daughter of a London silk merchant loves
Jack, the sailor-boy, against her father's will. Disguised as a man, she
follows him to "the wars of Germany," finds him wounded on the
battle-field, and nurses him back to health; then they are married. (Cf.
Child, 1857 ed., iv, p. 328. The Merchant's Daughter of Bristow, 4abab,
65: Maudlin disguised as a seaman follows her lover to Padua; they are
married, and return to England.)
THE FAN, ii, 4abcb, 12: A sea-captain and a lieutenant woo a lady. To
test their love she throws her fan into a den of lions. The sea-captain
recovers it and wins her. (Published by Shearin, Mod. Lang. Notes, 26.
113; for British originals see Belden, Sewanee Review, April, 1911, p.
218, and Kittredge, Mod. Lang. Notes, 26. 168.)
THE APPRENTICE BOY, iii, 4abcb, 12ca: Like Keats's Isabella, the
daughter of a merchant in a post-town loves her father's apprentice. He
is slain by her brothers and his body hidden in a valley. His ghost
reveals the murderers, who, striving to flee, are lost at sea.
(Identified by Belden with an English version, The Constant Farmer's
Son, in The Sewanee Review, April, 1911, p. 222.)
II.
_The songs in this group are apparently of British origin. Material has
not been at hand to justify an attempt to establish their identity._
THE RICH MARGENT [MERCHANT], 2abcb, 12: Dinah, daughter of a rich London
merchant, loves Felix contrary to her father's wishes. Going into the
garden she drinks poison. Felix arrives and drains the rest of the
potion. Both are buried in one grave.
BENEATH THE ARCH OF LONDON BRIDGE, 4a3b4c3b and 4aaaa, 5ca: Here a man,
whose son has recently died, finds a waif. Struck by his resemblance to
his own heir, he adopts the orphan boy.
JACK WILSON, ii, 4a3b4c3b, 9: The confession of Jack Wilson, a Thames
boatman, awaiting execution in Newgate prison for robbery done in
Katherine Street, and his denunciation of the "false deluding girl" for
whose sake he had done the wrong.
THE OLD WOMAN OF LONDON, 3abcb, 6: She causes her husband to suck two
magic marrowbones, which blind him; then leading him to the river, she
essays to push him in to drown. But he steps aside, and she dies in his
stead. The refrain is:
Sing tidri-i-odre-erdri-um,
Sing fol-de-ri-o-day!
THE GOLDEN GLOVE, ii, 4aabb, 9: A mariner's daughter, about to be
married to a young squire of London, feigns illness, goes a-hunting on
the estate of her favored lover, a farmer, intentionally drops her
glove, and vows she will marry only the man who can return it. Of
course, the farmer is the lucky finder.
SHEARFIELD, 3abcb, 15: An apprentice in Sheffield recites his running
away to London, where he enters the service of an Irish Lady, who falls
in love with him. He, however, cares only for Polly Girl, her maid. His
jealous mistress, by a stratagem, causes him to be hanged for theft.
FAIR NOTAMON [NOTTINGHAM] TOWN, 4aabb, 7: An absurd recital, full of
obvious contradictions, of a countryman's visit to the city, where he
sees the royal progress:
I called for a quart to drive gladness away
To stifle the dust--it had rained the whole day.
LOVELY CAROLINE OF OLD EDINBORO (EDDINGSBURG TOWN), ii, 3abcb, 9: She
weds young Henry, "a Highland man," and goes with him to London.
Deserted by him, she wanders forlorn to a sea-cliff and plunges in, to
drown.
WHO'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?, metre as below, 3: A rally-song upon the
landing of Charles Stuart, The Young Pretender, at Mordart, in
Inverness-shire, July, 1745, beginning:
There's news from Mordart came yestreen,
Will soon yastremony (sic) ferly,
For ships o'er all have just come in
And landed royal Charlie.
(Published by Shearin, Sewanee Review, July, 1911, p. 323.)
CUBECK'S [CUPID'S] GARDEN, 3abcb, 16: The poet overhears a lady and her
father's apprentice a-courting in "Cubeck's Garden." The angry parent
banishes the lad, who goes to sea, is promoted, draws forty thousand
pounds in a lottery, returns and marries his fair love.
WILLIAM HALL, ii, 4abcb, 11ca: He is a young farmer of "Domesse-town"
and loves a "gay young lady" of "Pershelvy-town" against her parents'
wishes. Banished by them to sea, he returns, finds by a ruse that the
lady is yet faithful, and marries her.
ROSANNA, 4aabb, 6ca (fragmentary): Silimentary, the lover, bids Rosanna
farewell, and is later lost at sea; at the news she stabs herself with a
silver dagger.
MARY OF THE WILD MOOR, 3ab4c3b, 8: She, with her babe, returns one
winter night to her father's door to seek forgiveness and protection, is
rebuffed by him, and perishes in the snow.
BETSY BROWN, 4aabb, 8: John loves Betsy, the waiting-maid; his old
mother objects and packs her off across the sea. He dies of grief.
THE ROMISH LADY, 6aabb (or 3abcb), 12 (or 24): "Brought up in popery,"
she obtains a Bible and turns Protestant, is tried before the Pope, is
condemned, bids farewell to mother, father, and tormentors, and is
burned at the stake.
III.
_The songs of this group are connected more or less closely with
American colonial times. For most of them it is fair to infer a British
origin._
[TO AMERICA], ii, 4aabb, 8ca: An [English] sailor, bound for America to
serve his King, is forgotten by his sweetheart. Returning to her
father's hall, he finds her married, and vows to return to Charlestown,
where cannon-balls are flying.
THE SILK MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER, 2aa, 17: A London lad and his sweetheart
set sail for America. The ship springs a leak, the passengers drift in a
long-boat. Lot falls to the girl to be slain, her lover takes her place.
A passing ship carries them back to London, and they are married.
THE PRETTY MOHEE (MAUMEE), iii, 4aabb, 7: An Indian maid falls in love
with a young adventurer and wooes him. He tells her he must return to
his love across the sea. This he does, but dissatisfied returns to the
"pretty Mohee."
SWEET JANE. 4a3b4c3b, 12: Her lover sails for America "to dig the golden
ore," "loads up" his trunk with it, and after many trials reaches home,
across the main, and reclaims his bride.
IV.
_The songs of this group find their common bond in their reference to
Ireland, where some of them undoubtedly had their origin._
IRISH MOLLY O, 6aabb and 6aabb(?), 7: A Scotch laddie, MacDonald, falls
in love with "Irish Molly." Scorned by her parents, he wanders about,
signifying his intention to die for her, and suggests an appropriate
inscription for his tombstone. (See an Old World variant in Brooke and
Rolleston's Treasury of Irish Poetry, p. 15, Macmillan, 1905.)
WILLIAM RILEY, 6aabb, 7: Eloping with Polly Ann, he is brought back to
trial by her irate father, is defended by an aged lawyer, is
transported, and departs wearing the maiden's ring. (See an Old World
variant in the volume just named, p. 6.)
ROVING IRISH BOY, 4a3b4c3b, 12: He lands in Philadelphia and "makes a
hit" with the ladies. Then he visits "other parts"--among the Dutch of
Bucks County, he meets an inn-keeper's daughter, and leaves off
rambling.
THE WAXFORD GIRL, 4a3b4c3b, 6: A youth murders his sweetheart and throws
her into a stream. He tells his mother, who sees the blood on his
clothes, that his nose has been bleeding. He is haunted by the ghost of
the dead girl. (Cf. Lizzie Wan, Child, No. 51, and Miller-boy, page 28.)
PATTY ON THE CANAL, 3abcb and 3abcb, 9: Pat lands in "Sweet Philadelphy"
and soon "makes himself handy" on the canal, likewise among the girls,
whose mothers become anxious. He is a "Jackson man up to the handle."
MOLLY, 6aabb, 4: An Irish lad comes to America, courts Molly, but
against her parents' will. He goes to serve a foreign king for seven
years, returns, and finds that Molly has died of grief.
JOHNNIE CAME FROM SEA, 6aa, 10: Irish Johnnie escapes a shipwreck and
lands in America. Thinking him penniless, a landlord refuses him his
daughter's hand. Johnnie "draws out handfuls of gold" and departs, to
drink "good brandy."
IRISH GIRL, a fragment, as follows:
So costly were the robes of silk
The Irish girl did wear--
Her hair was as black as a raven,
Her eyes were black as a crow,
Her cheeks were red as roses
That in the garden grow.
V.
_The songs of this group are based upon incidents or events of the Civil
War._
BOUNTY JUMPERS, 3abcb, 9: Sam Downey, a soldier, "jumps his bounty," and
is apprehended in Baltimore. Refusing to return the money, he is shot by
the military authorities.
HIRAM HUBBERT, 3abcb, 9: Hiram Hubbert is taken by the Rebels in the
guerrilla warfare in the Cumberland Mountains, tried, tied to a tree and
shot. He leaves a last letter of farewell to his family.
THE GUERRILLA MAN, 3a3b4c3b, 5: A Southern soldier goes to Shelby
County, Ky., and falls in love with a "Rebel girl," who loves him in
spite of the opposition of her mother, and determines to follow him.
MURFREESBORO, 4a3b4c3b, 7: A Union soldier lies dying on the
battlefield. He sends to his mother and sweetheart a message recounting
his bravery.
BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG (THE TWO SOLDIERS), ii, 4a3b4c3b, 13: Two comrades
promise each other to bear messages, in the event of death to either of
them on the field--one to a sweetheart, the other to a mother.
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY, 4a3b4c3b4d3e4f4e and 4a3b4c3b3e4f3e, 2: A mother
has lost two sons in gray, at Appomattox and at Chickamauga. Her third
has just died in blue at Santiago.
ZOLLICOFFER: A fragment as follows:
Old Zollicoffer's dead, and the last word he said
Was, "I'm going back South; they're a-gaining."
If he wants to save his soul, he had better keep his hole,
Or we'll land him in the happy land of Canaan.
I'M GOING TO JOIN THE ARMY, 3abcb, 12: A volunteer's farewell to his
sweetheart as he leaves for Pensacola, her fears, and his promise to
return.
[COME ALL, YE SOUTHERN SOLDIERS], 3abcb, 8: A volunteer, aged sixteen,
from Eastern Tennessee, describes the march into Virginia and his
feelings at his first sight of the "Yankees."
VI.
_The songs of this group relate to the days of pioneer migration
Westward. The one exception is The Sailor's Request, placed here in
order to bring it into proximity with its later variant, The Dying
Cowboy._
ARKANSAS TRAVELLER (SANTFORD BARNES) ii, 4a3b4c3b, 14ca: A laborer's
humorous recital of his hard experiences in Arkansas. He leaves the
state, vowing that if he sees it again it will be "through a telescope
from hell to Arkansaw."
STARVING TO DEATH ON A GOVERNMENT CLAIM, 4aa and 4aabb, 20: "Ernest
Smith" recites humorously his hard experiences as claim-holder in Beaver
County, Oklahoma. He resolves to go to Kansas, marry, and "life on
corn-dodgers the rest of his life | 224.936559 |
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FRANCIS BEAUMONT
Born 1584
Died 1616
JOHN FLETCHER
Born 1579
Died 1625
_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_
THIERRY AND THEODORET
THE WOMAN-HATER
NICE VALOUR
THE HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE
THE MASQUE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF
GRAYS-INNE AND THE INNER-TEMPLE
FOUR PLAYS OR MORAL
REPRESENTATIONS IN ONE
THE TEXT EDITED BY
A.R. WALLER, M.A.
[Illustration]
Cambridge:
at the University Press
1912
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
[Illustration]
Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET
Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO.
Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS
New York: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
_All rights reserved_
PREFACE
In 1905, the Syndics of the University Press asked me to complete, upon
the lines laid down in the preface to volume I, the editing of the
reprint of the Second Folio of the works of Beaumont and Fletcher which
had been begun by Arnold Glover. The present volume sees the end of the
task. In 1906, it was announced that a volume or, possibly, two volumes
of notes would follow the text. These, together with a critical text of
the scattered poems, must be left to other hands. I hoped, at one time,
to undertake this additional burden myself, but that seems now to have
become impossible.
A. R. WALLER
_21 May 1912_
CONTENTS
PAGE
Thierry and Theodoret 1
The Woman-Hater 71
Nice Valour, or The Passionate Mad-man 143
Mr. Francis Beaumonts Letter to Ben.
Johnson 199
The Honest Man's Fortune 202
The Masque of the Gentlemen of Grays-Inne
and the Inner-Temple 281
Four Plays or Moral Representations in
One 287
Appendix 365
THE TRAGEDY
OF
Thierry and Theodoret.
_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter Theodoret, Brunhalt, Bawd[b]er._
BRUNHALT.
Taxe me with these hot tainters?
_Theodoret._ You are too sudain;
I doe but gently tell you what becomes you
And what may bend your honor! how these courses
Of loose and lazie pleasures; not suspected
But done and known, your mind that grants no limit
And all your Actions follows, which loose people
That see but through a mist of circumstance
Dare term ambitious; all your wayes hide sores
Opening in the end to nothing but ulcers.
Your instruments like these may call the world
And with a fearfull clamor, to examine
Why, and to what we govern. From example
If not for vertues sake ye may be honest:
There have been great ones, good ones, and 'tis necessary
Because you are your self, and by your self
A self-peece from the touch of power and Justice,
You should command your self, you may imagine
Which cozens all the world, but chiefly women
The name of greatness glorifies your actions
And strong power like a pent-house, promise[s]
To shade you from opinion; Take heed mother,
And let us all take heed these most abuse us
The sins we doe, people behold through opticks,
Which shews them ten times more than common vices,
And often multiplys them: Then what justice
Dare we inflict upon the weak offenders
When we are theeves our selves?
_Brun._ This is, _Martell_,
Studied and pen'd unto you, whose base person
I charge you by the love you owe a mother
And as you hope for blessings from her prayers,
Neither to give belief to, nor allowance,
Next I tell you Sir, you from whom obedience
Is so far fled, that you dare taxe a mother;
Nay further, brand her honor with your slanders,
And break into the treasures of her credit,
Your easiness is abused, your faith fraited
With lyes, malitious lyes, your merchant mischief,
He that never knew more trade then Tales, and tumbling
Suspitious into honest hearts; What you or he,
Or all the world dare lay upon my worth,
This for your poor opinions: I am shee,
And so will bear my self, whose truth and whiteness
Shall ever stand as far from these detections
As you from dutie, get you better servants
People of honest actions without ends,
And whip these knaves away, they eat your favours,
And turn 'em unto poysons: my known credit
Whom all the Courts o' this side _Nile_ have envied,
And happy she could site me, brought in question
Now in my hours of age and reverence,
When rather superstition should be rendred
And by a Rush that one days warmth
Hath shot up to this swelling; Give me justice,
Which is his life.
_Theod._ This is an impudence, and he must tell you, that till now
mother brought ye a sons obedience, and now breaks it Above the
sufferance of a Son.
_Bawd._ Bless us!
For I doe now begin to feel my self
Turning into a halter, and the ladder
Turning from me, one pulling at my legs too.
_Theod._ These truths are no mans tales, but all mens troubles,
They are, though your strange greatness would out-stare u'm:
Witness the daily Libels, almost Ballads
In every place, almost in every Province,
Are made upon your lust, Tavern discourses,
Crowds cram'd with whispers; Nay, the holy Temples,
Are not without your curses: Now you would blush,
But your black tainted blood dare not appear
For fear I should fright that too.
_Brun._ O ye gods!
_Theod._ Do not abuse their names: They see your actions
And your conceal'd sins, though you work like Moles,
Lies level to their justice.
_Brun._ Art thou a Son?
_Theod._ The more my shame is of so bad a mother,
And more your wretchedness you let me be so;
But woma[n], for a mothers name hath left me
Since you have left your honor; Mend these ruins,
And build again that broken fame, and fairly;
Your most intemperate fires have burnt, and quickly
Within these ten days take a Monasterie,
A most strickt house; a house where none may whisper,
Where no more light is known but what may make ye
Believe there is a day where no hope dwells,
Nor comfort but in tears.
_Brun._ O miserie!
_Theod._ And there to cold repentance, and starv'd penance
Tye your succeeding days; Or curse me heaven
If all your guilded knaves, brokers, and bedders,
Even he you built from nothing, strong _Protal[dy]e_,
Be not made ambling Geldings; All your maids,
If that name doe not shame 'em, fed with spunges
To suck away their ranckness; And your self
Onely to empty Pictures and dead Arras
Offer your old desires.
_Brun._ I will not curse you,
Nor lay a prophesie upon your pride,
Though heaven might grant me both: unthankfull, no,
I nourish'd ye, 'twas I, poor I groan'd for you,
'Twas I felt what you suffer'd, I lamented
When sickness or sad hours held back your swe[e]tness;
'Twas I pay'd for your sleeps, I watchd your wakings:
My daily cares and fears, that rid, plaid, walk'd,
Discours'd, discover'd, fed and fashion'd you
To what you are, and I am thus rewarded.
_Theod._ But that I know these tears I could dote on 'em,
And kneell to catch 'em as they fall, then knit 'em
Into an Armlet, ever to be honor'd;
But woman they are dangerous drops, deceitfull,
Full of the weeper, anger and ill nature.
_Brun._ In my last hours despis'd.
_Theod._ That Text should tell
How ugly it becomes you to err thus;
Your flames are spent, nothing but smoke maintains ye;
And those your favour and your bounty suffers
Lye not with you, they do but lay lust on you
And then imbrace you as they caught a palsie;
Your power they may love, and like spanish Jennetts
Commit with such a gust.
_Bawd._ I would take whipping,
And pay a fine now. [_Exit Bawdber._
_Theod._ But were ye once disgraced,
Or fallen in wealth, like leaves they would flie from you,
And become browse for every beast; You will'd me
To stock my self with better friends, and servants,
With what face dare you see me, or any mankind,
That keep a race of such unheard of relicks,
Bawds, Leachers, Letches, female fornications,
And children in their rudiments to vices,
Old men to shew examples: and lest Art
Should loose her self in act, to call back custome,
Leave these, and live like _Niobe_. I told you how
And when your eyes have dropt away remembrance
Of what you were. I'm your Son! performe it.
_Brun._ Am I a woman, and no more power in me,
To tye this Tyger up, a soul to no end,
Have I got shame and lost my will? _Brunhalt_
From this accursed hour, forget thou bor'st him,
Or any part of thy blood gave him living,
Let him be to thee an Antipathy,
A thing thy nature sweats at, and turns backward:
Throw all the mischiefs on him that thy self,
Or woman worse than thou art, have invented,
And kill him drunk, or doubtfull.
_Enter Bawd[b]er_, _Protaldie_, _Lecure_.
_Bawd._ Such a sweat,
I never was in yet, clipt of my minstrels,
My toyes to prick up wenches withall; Uphold me,
It runs like snow-balls through me.
_Brun._ Now my varlets,
My slaves, my running thoughts, my executions.
_Baw._ Lord how she looks!
_Brun._ Hell take ye all.
_Baw._ We shall be gelt.
_Brun._ Your Mistress,
Your old and honor'd Mistress, you tyr'd curtals
Suffers for your base sins; I must be cloyster'd,
Mew'd up to make me | 224.942477 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 8
[Illustration: THE OLD VINCENNES TRACE NEAR XENIA, ILLINOIS]
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 8
Military Roads of the
Mississippi Basin
The Conquest of the Old Northwest
BY
ARCHER BUTLER HULBERT
_With Maps and Illustrations_
[Illustration]
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904
BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 11
I. THE CLARK ROUTES THROUGH ILLINOIS 15
II. MIAMI VALLEY CAMPAIGNS 72
III. ST. CLAIR'S CAMPAIGN 108
IV. WAYNE AND FALLEN TIMBER 160
APPENDIXES 219
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. THE OLD VINCENNES TRACE NEAR XENIA, ILLINOIS _Frontispiece_
II. SKETCH MAP OF PART OF ILLINOIS, SHOWING CLARK'S
ROUTES 21
III. HUTCHINS'S SKETCH OF THE WABASH IN 1768 (showing
trace of the path to Kaskaskia; from the original
in the British Museum) 35
IV. THE ST. LOUIS TRACE NEAR LAWRENCEVILLE, ILLINOIS 62
V. A PART OF ARROWSMITH'S MAP OF THE UNITED STATES,
1796 (showing the region in which Wilkinson, Scott,
Harmar, St. Clair, and Wayne operated) 117
VI. DR. BELKNAP'S MAP OF WAYNE'S ROUTE IN THE MAUMEE
VALLEY, 1794 (from the original in the Library of
Harvard University) 197
PREFACE
This volume treats of five of the early campaigns in the portion of
America known as the Mississippi Basin--Clark's campaigns against
Kaskaskia and Vincennes in 1778 and 1779; and Harmar's, St. Clair's, and
Wayne's campaigns against the northwestern Indians in 1790, 1791, and
1793-94.
Much as has been written concerning Clark's famous march through the
"drowned lands of the Wabash," the important question of his route has
been untouched, and the story from that standpoint untold. The history
of the campaign is here made subservient to a study of the route and to
an attempted identification of the various places, and a determination
of their present-day names. Four volumes of the Draper Manuscripts in
the library of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin give a vast
deal of information on this subject. They are referred to by the library
press-mark.
Turning to the study of Harmar's, St. Clair's, and Wayne's routes into
the Northwest, the author found a singular lack of detailed description
of these campaigns, and determined to combine with the study of the
military roadway a comparatively complete sketch of each campaign,
making use, in this case as in that of Clark's campaigns, of the Draper
Manuscripts.
A great debt of thanks is due to Mr. Reuben Gold Thwaites, Secretary of
the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, for assistance and advice; to
Josiah Morrow of Lebanon, Ohio, the author is indebted for help in
determining portions of Harmar's route; and to Francis E. Wilson,
President of the Greenville Historical Society, many thanks are due for
help in questions concerning the pathway of the intrepid leader known to
the East as "Mad Anthony" Wayne, but remembered in the West as the
"Blacksnake" and the "Whirlwind," because he doubled his track like a
blacksnake and swept over his roads like a whirlwind.
A. B. H.
MARIETTA, OHIO, September 14, 1903.
Military Roads of the Mississippi Basin
The Conquest of the Old Northwest
CHAPTER I
THE CLARK ROUTES THROUGH ILLINOIS
On the twenty-fourth of June, 1778, George Rogers Clark, with about one
hundred and seventy-five patriot adventurers, left the little pioneer
settlement on Corn Island, in the Ohio River, opposite the present site
of Louisville, Kentucky, for the conquest of the British posts of
Kaskaskia and Vincennes in the "Illinois country."[1]
The boats running day and night, the party reached Clark's first
stopping-place, an island in the Ohio near the mouth of the Tennessee
River, in four days. Just below this island was the site of old Fort
Massac--now occupied by Metropolis, Massac County, Illinois--built
probably by a vanguard from Fort Duquesne, a generation before, when
the French clearly foresaw the end of their reign on the upper Ohio.
Here, almost a century before that, was the old trading-station of
Juchereau and the mission of Mermet--the subsequent "soul of the mission
of Kaskaskia," as Bancroft describes him. The situation was strategic on
two accounts: it was a site well out of the reach of the Ohio floods,
and it was near the mouths of both the Tennessee and Cumberland
Rivers--valleys known of old to the Shawanese and Cherokees. As a coign
of vantage for traders and missionaries, it had been of commanding
importance. It was, likewise, near the Ohio terminus of several old
buffalo routes across Illinois, roads which became connecting links
between Kaskaskia, on the river bearing that name near the Mississippi,
and the mission at Fort Massac. The old paths of the buffalo, long known
as hunting traces, offered the traveler from the Ohio to the old-time
metropolis of Illinois a short-cut by land, saving thrice the distance
by water, and obviated stemming the swift tides of the Mississippi. One
of the principal backbones of Illinois was threaded by these primeval
routes, and high ground between the vast cypress swamps and mist-crowned
drowned lands of Illinois was a boon to any traveler, especially that
first traveler, the bison. This high ground ran between Kaskaskia and
Shawneetown, on the Ohio River, the course becoming later a famous state
highway. Its earliest name was the "Kaskaskia Trace."
Clark's spies, sent out to Illinois a year before, undoubtedly advised
him to land at Fort Massac and, gaining from there this famous highway,
to pursue it to Kaskaskia. His plan of surprising the British post
necessitated his pursuing unexpected courses. It was well known that the
British watched the Mississippi well; therefore he chose the land route.
Here, at the mouth of the Tennessee, his men brought in a canoe full of
white traders who had recently been in Kaskaskia; certain of these were
engaged to guide Clark thither. The party dropped down to Massac Creek,
which enters the Ohio just above the site of the old fort, and in that
inlet secreted their flat-boats ready to begin their intrepid march of
one hundred and twenty miles across country.[2]
As this little company of eight or nine score adventurers drew around
their fires on Massac Creek, they little dreamed, we may be sure, of the
fame they were to gain from this plucky excursion into the prairies of
Illinois. It was impossible for them to lift their eyes above the
commonplaces of the journey and the possibilities of the coming
encounter, and see in true perspective what the capture of Illinois
meant to poor Kentucky. It is not less difficult for us to turn our eyes
from these general results, which were so brilliant, and get a clear
insight into the commonplaces of this memorable little campaign--to hear
the talk of the tired men about the fires as they cleaned the heavy
clods of mud from shoes and moccasins, examined their guns, viewed the
night, and then talked softly of the possibilities of the morrow, and
dreamed, in the ruddy firelight, of those at home. Of all companies of
famous campaigners on the Indian trails of America, this company was the
smallest and the most picturesque. Clark had but little over half the
force which Washington commanded at Fort Necessity in 1754.
Little Massac Creek is eleven miles in length but drains seventy square
miles of territory. This fact is a significant description of the nature
of the northern and central portions of Massac County. From the Cache
River a string of lakes extends in a southeast and then northeast
direction to Big Bay River, varying in width from one to four miles;
around the lakes lies a much greater area of cypress swamps and
treacherous "sloughs" altogether impassable. The water of these lakes
drains sometimes into the Cache and at other times into the Big
Bay--depending upon the stage of water in the Ohio.[3]
There were three routes from Fort Massac toward Kaskaskia; one, which
may well be called the Moccasin Gap route, circled to the eastward to
get around the lakes and swamps of Massac County; it passed eastward
into Pope County, where it struck the Kaskaskia-Shawneetown highway.
This route ran two and one-half miles west of Golconda, Pope County, and
on to Sulphur or Round Spring. From thence through Moccasin Gap, section
3, township 12, range 4E, Johnson County; thence it ran directly for the
prairie country to the northward. As noted, this route merged into the
famous old Kaskaskia and Shawneetown route across Illinois--what was
known as the Kaskaskia Trace--in Pope County. It was this course which
in earliest times had been blazed by the French as the safest common
highway between Kaskaskia and the trading and mission station (and later
fort) at Massac. The trees along the course were marked with the proper
number of miles by means of a hot iron, the figures then being painted
red. "Such I saw them," records Governor Reynolds, "in 1800. This road
made a great curve to the north to avoid the swamps and rough country on
the sources of the Cash [Cache] river, and also to obtain the prairie
country as soon as possible. This road... was called the old Massac
road by the Americans."
[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF PART OF ILLINOIS
Showing Routes of George Rogers Clark]
The second route circled the Massac County lakes to the westward,
cutting in between them and the canyons of the Cache River, near what is
familiarly known as Indian Point (section 33, township 13, range 3E,
Massac County), or one mile south of the northwest corner of Massac
County; thence, running north of northwest, it crossed the Little Cache
(Dutchman's Creek) one and one-half miles north of Forman. Thence the
route is up the east side of the Cache and through Buffalo Gap, section
25, township 11, range 2E, Johnson County, to the prairie land beyond.
The third | 225.103142 |
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“_Whatever your occupation may be_, _and however crowded_
_your hours with affairs_, _do not fail to secure at least_
_a few minutes every day for refreshment of your_
_inner life with a bit of poetry_.”
* * * * *
Poems
You Ought to Know
* * * * *
SELECTED BY
ELIA W. PEATTIE
(_Literary Editor of the Chicago Tribune_)
* * * * *
ILLUSTRATED BY
ELLSWORTH YOUNG
* * * * *
[Picture: Publisher’s logo]
* * * * *
CHICAGO NEW YORK TORONTO
Fleming H. Revell Company
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
* * * * *
Copyright, 1902
By Tribune Company
* * * * *
Each illustration copyrighted separately
* * * * *
Copyright, 1903
Fleming H. Revell Company
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
Each morning, for several months, THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE has published at
the head of its first column, verses under the caption: “Poems You Ought
to Know.” It has explained its action by the following quotation from
Professor Charles Eliot Norton:
“_Whatever your occupation may be_, _and however crowded your hours
with affairs_, _do not fail to secure at least a few minutes every
day for refreshment of your inner life with a bit of poetry_.”
By publishing these poems THE TRIBUNE hopes to accomplish two things:
first, to inspire a love of poetry in the hearts of many of its readers
who have never before taken time or thought to read the best poems of
this and other centuries and lands; and, secondly, to remind those who
once loved song, but forgot it among the louder voices of the world, of
the melody that enchanted them in youth.
The title has carried with it its own standard, and the poems have been
kept on a plane above jocularity or mere prettiness of versification;
rather have they tried to teach the doctrines of courage, of nature-love,
of pure and noble melody. It has been the ambition of those selecting
the verses to choose something to lift the reader above the “petty round
of irritating concerns and duties,” and the object will have been
achieved if it has helped anyone to “play the man,” “to go blithely about
his business all the day,” with a consciousness of that abounding beauty
in the world of thought which is the common property of all men.
No anthology of English verse can be complete, and none can satisfy all.
The compiler’s individual taste, tempered and guided by established
authority, is almost the only standard. This collection has been
compiled not by one but by many thousands, and their selections here
appear edited and winnowed as the idea of the series seemed to dictate.
The book appears at the wide-spread and almost universal request of those
who have watched the bold experiment of a great Twentieth-Century
American newspaper giving the place of honor in its columns every day to
a selection from the poets.
For permission to reprint certain poems by Longfellow, Lowell, Harte,
Hay, Bayard Taylor, Holmes, Whittier, Parsons, and Aldrich, graciously
accorded by Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the publishers, thanks are
gratefully acknowledged. To Charles Scribner’s Sons, for an extract from
Lanier’s poems, and, lastly, to the many thousand readers, who, by their
sympathy, appreciation, and help have encouraged the continuance of the
daily publication of the poems, similar gratitude is felt.
CONTENTS
ADDISON, JOSEPH
The Spacious Firmament on High 58
ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY
An Untimely Thought 73
Nocturne 210
ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS
Rock Me to Sleep 30
ARNOLD, MATTHEW
Requiescat 90
Self Dependence 156
Song of Callicles 214
BARBAULD, MRS. A. L.
Life 161
BEATTY, PAKENHAM
To Thine Own Self Be True 37
BEGBIE, HAROLD
Grounds of the “Terrible” 164
BLAKE, WILLIAM
The Lamb 153
The Tiger 176
BOKER, GEORGE H.
Dirge for a Soldier 53
BOURDILLON, FRANCIS WILLIAM
The Night Has a Thousand Eyes 115
BRONTË, EMILY
Remembrance 42
BROWN, BROWNLEE
Thalassa 140
BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT
The Cry of the Children 106
BROWNING, ROBERT
Misconceptions 184
The Year’s at the Spring 135
BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN
Thanatopsis 112
To a Waterfowl 225
BUNYAN, JOHN
The Shepherd Boy’s Song 100
BURNS, ROBERT
Banks o’ Doon 76
Highland Mary 152
John Anderson My Jo 185
Scots Wha Hae 182
BYRON, LORD
Destruction of the Sennacherib 32
Maid of Athens 186
She Walks in Beauty 57
The Isles of Greece 232
CAMPION, THOMAS
Cherry Ripe 36
CAREY, HENRY
Sally in Our Alley 68
CARLYLE, THOMAS
To-Day 179
CARY, PHOEBE
Nearer Home 174
CHATTERTON, THOMAS
Faith 144
CHAUCER, GEOFFREY
An Emperor’s Daughter Stands Alone 60
CLARKE, MACDONALD
In the Graveyard 166
COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR
Kubla Khan 190
CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN
A Sea Song 134
DAVID
Psalm XXIV 155
Psalm XLVIII 231
Psalm XLVI 44
Psalm XIX 74
Psalm LXXXIV 111
Psalm CXXI 119
DICKINSON, EMILY
The Grass 217
DOBSON, AUSTIN
A Lovers’ Quarrel 188
The Paradox of Time 208
The Pompadour’s Fan 75
In Quaque 188
DURIVAGE, FRANCIS A.
All 160
ELIOT, GEORGE
Two Lovers 48
FINCH, FRANCIS MILES
Nathan Hale 212
FOSS, SAM WALTER
He’d Had No Show 93
GARNETT, RICHARD
The Ballad of the Boat 172
GILLINGTON, MARY C.
Intra Muros 21
GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG
Mignon’s Song 110
HARTE, FRANCIS BRET
Flynn of Virginia 204
The Society upon the Stanislaus 210
HAWKER, ROBERT STEPHEN
The Song of the Western Men 129
HAY, JOHN
Jim Bludso 64
Little Breeches 202
HENLEY, W. E.
Invictus 131
HERBERT, GEORGE
Virtue 34
HERRICK, ROBERT
Counsel to Virgins 138
Delight in Disorder 62
HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT
Babyhood 40
HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL
The Chambered Nautilus 87
The Last Leaf 84
HOOD, THOMAS
Her Moral from Miss Kilmanseg 95
Past and Present 123
Song of the Shirt 85
The Death-Bed 33
HUNT, LEIGH
Abou Ben Adhem 107
INGALLS, JOHN JAMES
Opportunity 109
JACKSON, HENRY R.
My Wife and Child 220
JONSON, BEN
To Celia 187
KEATS, JOHN
Ode on a Grecian Urn 97
KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT
The Star-Spangled Banner 120
KINGSLEY, CHARLES
The Three Fishers 230
KNOX, WILLIAM
O Why Should the Spirit of Mortal 228
LAMB, CHARLES
The Old Familiar Faces 18
LANIER, SIDNEY
Evening Song 54
LEVER, CHARLES
The Widow Malone 218
LOGAN, JOHN
To the Cuckoo 94
LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH
Arsenal at Springfield 158
Serenade (“The Spanish Student”) 96
The Bridge 76
The Day Is Done 200
LOVELACE, RICHARD
To Althea from Prison 98
To Lucasta on Going to the Wars 35
LOWE, JOHN
Mary’s Dream 124
LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL
Jonathan to John 222
June 194
The Heritage 116
To the Dandelion 170
LYTLE, WILLIAM H.
Antony and Cleopatra 226
MACKAY, CHARLES
A Deed and a Word 47
MAHONY, FRANCIS
The Bells of Shandon 196
MCCREERY, J. L.
There Is No Death 25
MCPHELIM, E. J.
Elia 70
MEYNELL, ALICE
The Shepherdess 130
MILTON, JOHN
Song on a May Morning 163
MOORE, THOMAS
Believe Me if All Those Endearing Young 101
Charms
Oft in the Stilly Night 63
The Harp that Once 195
Though Lost to Sight 20
’Tis the Last Rose of Summer 132
MULOCK, DINAH MARIA
Douglas, Douglas, Tender and True 149
NEALE, JOHN M.
Jerusalem the Golden 183
NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY
Lead Kindly Light 72
O’CONNOR, JOSEPH
The Fount of Castaly 142
PARSONS, THOMAS W.
On a Bust of Dante 126
POE, EDGAR A.
Annabel Lee 178
POPE, ALEXANDER
Ode on Solitude 103
READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN
Drifting 50
REALF, RICHARD
A Holy Nation 23
RONSARD, PIERRE
The Rose 143
ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA
Uphill 148
RYAN, ABRAM
Song of the Mystic 81
SCOTT, SIR WALTER
Bonny Dundee 167
Border Ballad 169
Breathes there the Man 104
Where Shall the Lover Rest 216
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM
One Touch of Nature 89
Portia’s Speech on Mercy 207
Ruthless Time 46
Song from “Cymbeline” 71
Time Hath, My Lord 46
To Be or Not to Be 224
Macbeth’s Soliloquy 200
When in Disgrace with Fortune 19
SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE
Music when Soft Voices Die 133
An Indian Serenade 141
SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP
A Ditty 118
SILL, EDWARD ROWLAND
The Fool’s Prayer 28
SPALDING, SUSAN MARR
Fate 22
STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS
A Requiem 90
SUCKLING, SIR JOHN
Ballad upon a Wedding 192
Why So Pale and Wan 139
SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES
A Match 137
TAYLOR, BAYARD
Bedouin Song 67
The Song of the Camp 146
TENNYSON, LORD
Break, Break, Break 24
Bugle Song 108
Crossing the Bar 193
Moral from “The Day Dream” 66
From “In Memoriam” 121
Tears, Idle Tears 151
THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE
At the Church Gate 92
The Garret 198
TOMPKINS, JULIET WILBOR
For All These 45
VILLON, FRANÇOIS
Ballad—Dead Ladies 128
WALLER, EDMUND
Go, Lovely Rose 82
On a Girdle 199
WHITE, JOSEPH BLANCO
Night 79
WHITMAN, WALT
O Captain, My Captain 38
Warble for Lilac Time 206
WHITTIER, JOHN G.
Indian Summer 181
The Waiting 136
WILLARD, EMMA
Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep 105
WITHER, GEORGE
The Shepherd’s Resolution 80
WOODWORTH, SAMUEL
The Old Oaken Bucket 86
WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM
The Daffodils 162
The World Is Too Much with Us 102
To Sleep 17
TO SLEEP.
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
William Wordsworth was born in 1770 and died at Rydal Mount in 1850. He
was educated in Cambridge, where he graduated in 1791. He traveled on
the continent before that, but he settled down for several years in
Dorset. A visit from Coleridge determined his career in 1796. He was
again abroad in 1798, but returned the following year and went to live at
Grasmere in the Lake District. He held severai government positions and
was poet laureate from 1843 to his death. His chief works are, “The
Evening Walk,” “Descriptive Sketches,” “The Excursion,” “White Doe of
Rylston,” “Thanksgiving Ode,” “Peter Bell,” “Waggoner,” “River Duddon,” A
Series of Sonnets, “The Borderers,” “Yarrow Revisited,” and “The
Prelude.”
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I’ve thought of all by turns, and still I lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds’ melodies
Must hear, first utter’d from my orchard trees,
And the first cuckoo’s melancholy cry.
Even thus last night and two nights more I lay,
And could not win thee, Sleep, by any stealth;
So do not let me wear tonight away;
Without thee what is all the morning’s wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.
BY CHARLES LAMB.
Charles Lamb was born at London in 1775. His most successful writings
are the “Tales from Shakespeare” (written in collaboration with his
sister), and his “Essays of Ella.” Lamb died in 1834.
I have had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days—
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies—
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I loved a love once, fairest among women;
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her—
All, all are gone the old familiar faces.
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him to muse on the old familiar faces.
Ghost-like I pace round the haunts of my childhood,
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father’s dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces—
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed—
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
WHEN IN DISGRACE.
BY WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising,
From sullen earth), sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
“THOUGH LOST TO SIGHT, TO MEMORY DEAR.”
THOMAS MOORE.
Sweetheart, good-by! The fluttering sail
Is spread to waft me far from thee;
And soon before the favoring gale
My ship shall bound across the sea.
Perchance, all desolate and forlorn,
These eyes shall miss thee many a year;
But unforgotten every charm—
Though lost to sight, to memory clear.
Sweetheart, good-by! One last embrace!
Oh, cruel fate, two souls to sever!
Yet in this heart’s most sacred place
Thou, thou alone, shall dwell forever.
And still shall recollection trace
In fancy’s mirror, ever near,
Each smile, each tear, upon that face—
Though lost to sight, to memory dear.
INTRA MUROS.
BY MARY C. GELLINGTON.
At last ’tis gone, the fever of the day—
Thank God, there comes an end to everything;
Under the night cloud’s deepened shadowing,
The noises of the city drift away
Thro’ sultry streets and alleys, and the gray
Fogs ’round the great cathedral rise and cling.
I long and long, but no desire will bring
Against my face the keen wind salt with spray.
O, far away, green waves, your voices call;
Your cool lips kiss the wild and weedy shore;
And out upon the sea line sails are brown—
White sea birds, crying, hover—soft shades fall—
Deep waters dimple ’round the dripping oar,
And last rays light the little fishing town.
FATE.
BY SUSAN MARR SPALDING.
Susan Marr Spalding was born in Bath, Me., and educated in a seminary
there. From early girlhood she wrote verse, her sonnets being graceful
and tender. At the death of her parents she lived with her uncle, a
clergyman, in New York. She married Mr. Spalding, a literary man, and
made her home in Philadelphia.
Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart,
And speak in different tongues, and have no thought
Each of the other’s being; and have no heed;
And these, o’er unknown seas to unknown lands
Shall cross, escaping wreck; defying death;
And, all unconsciously, shape every act to this one end
That, one day, out of darkness, they shall meet
And read life’s meaning in each other’s eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life
So nearly side by side that, should one turn
Ever so little space to right or left,
They needs must stand acknowledged face to face.
And yet, with wistful eyes that never meet.
With groping hands that never clasp; and lips
Calling in vain to ears that never hear;
They seek each other all their weary days
And die unsatisfied—and that is fate.
A HOLY NATION.
BY RICHARD REALF.
Richard Realf was born in England in 1834 of poor parents and began
writing poetry at an early age. His early work attracted the attention
of Tennyson, Miss Mitford, Miss Jameson, Miss Martineau, and others, and
they secured the publication of his volume, “Guesses at the Beautiful.”
He dabbled some in sculpture, and even studied agricultural science. In
1854 he came to New York, where he wrote stories of slum life and
assisted in establishing some institutions for the relief of the poor.
He joined the first free soil parties moving to Kansas and was arrested.
He did newspaper work until he joined John Brown’s party. He was Brown’s
secretary of state. He was arrested in connection with the Harper’s
Ferry affair, enlisted in 1862, was wounded, taught a black school in
South Carolina in 1867, and for years led a hand to mouth existence, all
that time writing poetry, some of it of the most exquisite beauty.
Family troubles resulted in his suicide in San Francisco about 1875.
Let Liberty run onward with the years,
And circle with the seasons; let her break
The tyrant’s harshness, the oppressor’s spears;
Bring ripened recompenses that shall make
Supreme amends for sorrow’s long arrears;
Drop holy benison on hearts that ache;
Put clearer radiance into human eyes,
And set the glad earth singing to the skies.
Clean natures coin pure statutes. Let us cleanse
The hearts that beat within us; let us mow
Clear to the roots our falseness and pretense,
Tread down our rank ambitions, overthrow
Our braggart moods of puffed self-consequence,
Plow up our hideous thistles which do grow
Faster than maize in May time, and strike dead
The base infections our low greeds have bred.
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
BY ALFRED TENNYSON.
Alfred Tennyson was born at Lincolnshire in 1809. In 1828 he wrote, with
his brother, the “Poems by Two Brothers.” He went to Trinity College,
Cambridge, where he met his friend, Arthur Hallam, upon whose death he
wrote “In Memoriam.” When Wordsworth died in 1850, the laureateship was
given to Tennyson; later he was made a Baron. He died at Aldworth, on
the Isle of Wight, in 1892, and has been given a place in Westminster
Abbey near the grave of Chaucer. Other of his longer poems beside the
one mentioned above are: “The Princess,” “Maud,” “Enoch Arden,” and the
“Idyls of the King.”
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O, sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
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